#and i am. aware of the trigger warnings. im not sure how ill feel about that until i play but im intruiged by how horrible it sounds ig | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mxvladdy · 4 years

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Diavolo- True Form

Whoooooooo weeeee! ‘Pologies for the wait on these longer posts. I’ve been hit with a one two punch of house emergencies and sudden costly ass repairs, so my creative juices have been rightly squashed as of late.

Plus side I got my drawing tablet and drafting table back so I can neaten up my blog lay out now (yay!)

Anyway this one was a challenge in the best possible ways. I really like Diavolo because of how little we know about him so it gave me some wiggle room. Or at least what I know of him- im only on like chapter 23 of the stories. Idk if I did him justice as this is angsty af but I sure had a blast writing it!

Hope ya like! Next up: Beelzebub

Trigger warning: Mention of blood, and swearing.

Diavolo-

He'll never show you, so don't ask. His true form is god-like in its own right and such knowledge, such truly raw demonic power in its natural form is not for your mortal eyes.

No matter what your lineage, it would break you. And despite his roles and being the literal devil, he doesn’t want you suffering.

Sometimes when he thinks you wouldn't notice he relaxes his hold on reality, just a fraction. He wants to relieve some of the tension that is always building just below the surface. Like closing your eyes when you have a tension headache. The mental energy he has to exert to keep face is enormous. Regular glamour doesn’t work nearly as well as his own, or Barbato’s magic.

But you see hints during your downtime spent in his company. A ripple in his reflection on the window pane. Unexplainable shadows dancing across his exposed skin. Too many teeth in his mouth when he laughs. Sometimes when you stare into his eyes you see something indescribable staring back behind them. His usually warm and inviting gaze darkening. A barest flicker, a hulking bestial thing kept locked behind in his golden gaze. It's enough to freeze the blood in your veins.

On certain nights when you can slip away from the brothers you stay in his room. Lying awake, you watch his magic wane and shift as he slumbers. Sometimes you see runes, or at times letters. You are tempted to write them down and ask Solomon. But something stops you each time.

The worst images are the faces. Unknown souls trapped beneath his flesh clawing to be freed. Silent screams fading back into his body as he dreams. Your fragile fingers trace the patterns they leave as you wait for the next day wrapped in his embrace.

Only once have you seen more of his form then he would ever wish. The depths of his strength and mental fortitude were unknown to you so the slip up took you both by surprise. He masks the error well, but the sudden shift in energy in the room couldn’t be suppressed .

You are suddenly so aware of the oppressive weight of gravity on your frame. Your bones grinding together under the force of his aura. You panic, desperate by the need to breathe, but are unable to draw even the smallest bit of oxygen as it is robbed from the room. Time and reality wrapped too, distorting in ways only you thought only Barbatos could do. You knew in that moment the sudden dread of death, how mortally was but a rusty shackle tethering you down.

He collects himself, dispelling the energy and locking his glamour down tight to protect you. But that split second of fury felt like an eternity to you as you sink to the floor. You hiccup a shaky sob and shiver. Your fragile human mind bowing under the strain of what it cannot comprehend. Scolding hot tears fall from your cheeks, before splashing crimson the stone below you.

You didn't approach him again for over a month. No matter how strong you are, some things were better off unseen.

Mini Fic

He didn’t know. For once in his ancient pitiful existence, he had been unaware of his surroundings. It had been for just a moment, one tiny crack in his veneer. The foolishness of Mammon and Belphegor’s actions finally poked the right nerve. He wouldn’t hurt them, for Lucifer’s sake. That prideful demon would never forgive him if he did. But he could scare them. A quick look at his true self; a flash of the deepest bowels of hell. Enough to give them a reminder of their positions and standing in his court. He had expected their whimpers of fear, could taste the acidic tinge of it exuding from their pores. What he didn’t expect though was your blood curdling screams alongside.

Ironically, he would have to thank the second eldest later. His fast thinking is the only thing that saved you from complete damnation. His body shielded yours, taking the brunt of the stronger daemons hellish might for you. What little magic Mammon still had left used to protect you. Though, while your vision was blocked, you could still feel his oppressive presence. It racked your mortal flesh. Diavolo knew what affects his power had on humans. He spent years breaking and consuming damned souls with zeal after all.

The brothers had run from him after that, screaming for Simone. Barbatos following close behind, a look of consternation on his usually impassive face. You had been so limp in Mammon's arms. Diavolo could do nothing, shocked by his own weak will and realization that he might have ruined everything. You had been whisked away so quickly by his faithful servant and the brothers that he hadn’t had a chance to look you over himself. But the brief moment he saw will haunt him for years to come. Your eyes red from the sudden haemolacria, the blood staining your clothes and face. Your fingers digging away at your soft skin, black and purple blotches staining what he could see. Mouth opened wide on a silent scream. He knew what you must have seen. The souls of the damned trapped under his glamour breaking free to latch on to your unmarred soul trying to drag you back with them.

Against his butler's advice he stands at your door now days later trying to see you. He couldn’t sit around and just hear updates second hand. The brothers had been keeping guard most days in a valiant attempt to keep him away. But he could only be waylaid for so long before he used his rank against them.

He had arranged a full council meeting. Every one of the brothers knowing full well it was to get them out of his way. Yet, the order was absolute. This time none of the brothers could reject it. Barbatos would keep them in that room for eternity if he so wished for it. He hated using his age and power against them, but he saw no other way to get to you.

It was foolish now, standing as he was in front of your door. A part of him hoping you would turn the knob and let him in. Let him comfort you for once, instead of the asinine distractions the brothers offered. He could help too. Hells, he wanted to. He wanted to be closer to you. Power discrepancy be damned. The other part of him knowing it was for the best that you didn’t. Your guardian and tormentor all in one. He listens to your muffled sobs for a moment fighting with his feet to stay cemented to the floor instead of heading back in defeat.

"When my father was still around he took me down to the deepest depths of the kingdom. Where the worst of the traitors and sinners are imprisoned." His deep baritone rumbles through your door during a break in your crying. "It’s a place few seldom go; even now I have yet to return. Back then he told me ‘there will never be a human soul that is undeserving of punishment. Even the ones destined for the celestial realm are tethered to sin.’ At that time I believed him. The things I saw in your realm... " The prince chuckles wearily.

He remembers the ever present scowl on the old King's face. His dark eyes looking out at the sea of damned souls he controlled. Even as a young daemon, fresh into his wings and still sharpening his horns to impress others he could tell how much his father detested his position. How it had warped him, turning him bitter and cold, even to his mate and only child.

Diavolo never wanted to be like that. Not to the ones he supposedly cared for at the very least. "I think that is why he hated the other realms so much.” He continued. “Humans, for their ability to choose which realm they would eventually end up in after they pass. That even the worst sinners could find redemption enough at the last moment to get to the pearly gates. While daemons, no matter how well they served, or the duties they did for the good of their own would never be seen as equals to our celestial counterparts or yours. That this existence is all we'll ever be destined to have. Nightmares and monsters, stories to tell little human children to keep them in line.” He pauses, collecting himself. “I believed wholeheartedly that every human deserved the punishments only my kind could dowel out. But, in this past year I have spent with you, I find myself changing. You are so undeserving of such torment. Somehow you are understanding and forgiving beyond measure to us. You handle our ill tempers with such grace. For daemons such as us, it is staggering, and humbling. I regret that I have hurt you so deeply and have broken your trust. I swear it as the head of this realm I would never intentionally do so." He looks at the door handle willing it to open. " I am so sorry."

Your crying picks up again. Huge heaving sobs that rattle your chest. Great Father, he just keeps making it worse. Clearing his head Diavolo turns.

Rejection of this nature was new to him. No one had ever dared to ignore him, especially such as this. The royal in him- his father's blood- seethed that he would even stoop so low as to grovel to a short lived thing like yourself. Even deeper yet, it demanded another taste of your essences. You little soul kept safe behind your rib cage. He wanted it added to his collection, kept tucked away deep within his maws.

It was sick; it was wrong. He chokes on the idea. The intrusive thought burrowing deep. How deplorable was he? Perhaps the angels were right to keep him out of heaven.

You didn't show to class the following day, or the days after. Unsurprising to him and the seven of the inner council. He figured the other day wouldn’t change anything. But it was utter agony to him. These days trapped in his office only getting short and curt updates on your health from Lucifer. It had been a special kind of torment.

Today he sat once again at his desk staring at some godforsaken bitching of a royal cousin. He knew this whelp. Some backwater thrice removed eons ago. Yet he was demanding an audience? The gall. The ink of their eligible handwriting makes him cross eyed. Would this day ever cease? He looks to his hourglass, the sands within seemingly frozen in time.

"My Lord, perhaps you should take a moment to stretch your legs?" Barbatos moved from his corner. Gloved hand coming to rest on top of the same three lines he had been reading for the past two hours. "This work could wait another evening I’m certain ."

"Did I do the right thing my friend?" Diavolo doesn't even bother answering the question his servant posed. They both knew he wouldn't. "This program. Our human exchange students. Solomon is one thing, but-"

"Your will and path is absolute." Barbatos states. "There are no mistakes within you, merely stumblings onto different paths."

With a gentle push Barbatos moves the hulking demon out of his way to collect and organize the scrolls and letters scattered about the large desk. "You made the right choice bringing them here. Look at what they have done. They are entertainment to you are they not?"

The prince rose knocking his desk aside and descended on his butler. His true form out in all its unholy glory now. His highly condensed magic distorting the study as if he was a black hole. The axis of the room shifts. His priceless collection of books and toys disintegrating from the cold radiation he emits.

It was all for show really. There was nothing he could do to an ancient being such as Barbatos. So he lashed out, throwing a tantrum in the security of his office. The hopeless agitation he felt fueling the flames of his rage. His butler had only added holy water to his already festering wounds.

Barbatos had been by his side for time in memoriam. The crafty bastard had helped raise him. Had shaped him into the ruler he was today. If anyone could break and remold him it would be his oldest companion.

The dark haired daemon waited for the waves of agitation to dry up. Moving only when the prince was in his more presentable demonic form. Large barrel chest heaving as he reined himself in. “Are you back to your senses?” He asks coolly, already categorizing the items to replace and furniture to be mended.

"I had not meant for it to go like this." Diavolo croaks into his hands collapsing back on what remained of his desk. Building a bridge between realms, yes. That noble idea was the greater purpose of this program, but the rest of it. The classes, and dances. The parties where he threw his newest toys about to see how they would react to things other mortals worshiped? That had been for his own curiosity and amusement. Lesser beings navigating a foreign world blind to the dangers that were right under their very nose. Bring a mortal with no magic into his realm? Deep down he knew this was an inevitability. Especially with the freedoms he granted them. He just didn’t think he would get so attached.

“No one believes that you would hurt them on purpose.” His butler cuts off his downward spiral. “It would ruin the program. That is what you are so stressed about, right?” Barbatos eyes him skeptically. Diavolo, himself, and Lucifer had spent many sleepless weeks constructing and negotiating this program. If the Arch Angels heard a mortal was hurt down here it could very well end this little escapade. But the look in the prince’s eyes told a different story.

A warm glow emanated from his cheeks and he was unable to meet the old daemon’s gaze. Ah. "Or perhaps things have changed?" Barbatos smiles coyly up from beneath his bangs. "You are your mother's son after all. Neither of you were ever able to stem your bleeding hearts for long." Diavolo squawked indignantly but didn’t argue. Instead he merely turns a darker shade of red and curses under his breath.

He skipped out on court that evening. Not that he cared much. The other nobles would no doubt use the time to gossip about his whereabouts and uncouth behavior of late. Truth be told, he was avoiding the brothers more than anything else. They had made it expressly clear (some more then others) how they felt about him currently. He wouldn't doubt that Belphegor had a few more brothers on his side now.

Instead he stood at your door once more with a tea tray in hand. He had bumped into Simone on the way. The angel had come to bring you dinner and to check up on the last of your wounds. Celestial magic worked miracles on those who have been touched by the darker arts. Diavolo was grateful for his talents. And, by some miracle, Simone had made it abundantly clear he was not going to bring this to the higher ups on his end either.

Upon seeing the prince slinking up the house's stairwell the other man had simply smiled and offered him the tray. “I suddenly got a message from Luke. Could you perhaps drop this by our friend’s door?” Diavolo had accepted without preamble, large hands dwarfing the platter of little tea cakes and sandwiches. The young cherubs work no doubt. His cooking was a fine treat, and a great incentive to at least open the door.

“Hello again.” He knocks twice. “I just wanted to check in on you. I know I am the last person you wish to see but I was hoping to talk?” Silence greets him. Were you awake? He breathes deeply and focuses on picking up your vitals. You were up, your heart thumping steady somewhere in the room. That was good. “I also have dinner for you. Simone had an urgent matter to attend to so he- for better or worse- entrusted this to me.”

Diavolo searches hopelessly for something else to say. He couldn’t just leave the food and go. He needed to see you. “I don’t plan on staying long today. I understand when I am not wanted, but I cannot help myself but be worried for you. Perhaps this is just me contritioning, because I know I caused this. The amount of times I have been called a ‘ass’ by Solomon over this have been staggering.” He rambles. After another bout of silence from your end he coincides. “I see- I will leave the food by the door and let you rest.” Defeated he puts the food down and turns to leave.

The door clicks open slowly. One bloodshot eye peeking through the crack. “Oh mio piccolo mortale.” He loses his grip on your shared tongue at a loss. You looked- you must have been in the hall longer then he or the brothers had known. Such damage couldn’t be done in a few moments. Your skin was healing as nicely as Lucifer had said, but the deep purple scarring still remained on the surface. The burn pattern of it all was random. Twisting wounds that reflected an oily sheen from the light of the hallway. “I-.”

“I know-” You cut him off with a raised hand. “and I feel as though I owe you an apology too.” Your voice was so weak and shaky. A mockery of your normally strong and jovial tone. Hearing you laugh at school had brightened the dreary halls. He hadn’t realized it until you weren't there.

“You owe me nothing.” Diavolo says in earnest. He watches you contemplate your next words before throwing whatever you were going to say away.

“Would you like to come in?” Your eyes drop to the tray. “Luke always makes more than I can eat.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” He backs out. All his plans crashing and burning around his feet. His actions had been irreparable.

“Perhaps not,” You open the door wider taking the tray and heading to your side table, leaving him no room to argue. “But then again, being a lamb among such wolves as yourself and the brothers isn’t smart either.” You meant it as a joke but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle. It was true. Gods. “Dia-” You approach him again but falter at the last second.

As much as you wanted to be close to him again the memories were still so fresh in your mind. The cold hell fire of his magic ensnaring you, searing your skin. The whispered words of sinners long since past still echoing in your head, all in languages you’ve never heard before. The worst though had to be the screaming. Lost souls begging for help. Some sounded so familiar…You shutter involuntarily.

You wanted to hate him for this. Curse him for putting you through this pain. But how much could you blame him? Or any of them? They were daemons. Whether he meant to hurt you or not, it truly had only been a matter of time before it happened. It would be hypocritical of you to fear or hate him forever over this. Six of the seven brothers have threatened your life before, and you have forgiven them. Hell, one of them actually killed you. What’s more was that Diavolo’s wrath hadn’t even been directed at you.

Wrong place at the right time; seemed to be your forte. “Please, come in.” You repeat again firmer than before mustering up either courage or sheer human stupidity to order him in. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “We need to talk.”

He enters, following at your heel like a lost puppy. All air of princedom gone as you clicked the door shut. Diavolo fiddles with his hands, old habits from childhood coming with his nerves. He didn’t know what to expect anymore. Yelling? Some kind of beratement? A plea to go home and never look back? He would let you.

You pass by him, giving him a large berth of space to get to your seat. “Tea?”

Diavolo jerks his head to you. He had forgotten momentarily the plate of food he had used to get access to you. You smile sheepishly pushing it and a plate of sweets towards him with your unbandaged knuckles. He doesn’t move till your hand retracts back to your lap. You jerk your head to the open seat waiting for him. You weren’t going to take no for an answer.

“I- thank you.” The daemon sits making himself as small as possible in the straight back chair. He takes the porcelain and drinks mindlessly. The scalding hot tea doing little to help the tightness of his throat, but it did thaw some of the ice in his mind.

“Are-how…” He fumbles so unsure of what to do next. “I see you’ve been keeping up with your school work.” Diavolo closes his eyes, wincing internally at his words. That’s what he comes up with? Idiotic.

You smile anyway, eyeing the massive pile of books and paperwork spewn about your bed. “Yeah. I’ve taken to doing my school work with Levi in his room. Mammon and Beel are nice enough to drop it off to the teachers when they are due.” He nods. He knew this of course. But it was nice to hear it from you. But yet, you don’t meet his eyes. Far too afraid to see what hid behind them.

The thought of being dragged back into those dark depths again makes your pulse quicken. You instead stare at your nail beds, finding them more interesting. They were purple now. The nails stained black by the contact with his magic. “Will- will that go away?” He asks. Demonic curses or taints were nigh impossible to remove fully. Disgustingly, he hoped they didn’t. Then your nails would match his. The darker depths of his soul coo at the idea, happy that in a small way every daemon would know your his. Not as good as a pact, but as close as he could get to being a part of your little mortal life.

“I’m not sure.” You reply honestly bringing your hands up to place them on the table. “Simone and Solomon have done what they could. But, it is as good as it’s going to get for now. They say it could fade with time.” You look up at him, eyes gazing to the left of his face. “Luke thinks I should see a stronger angel.” Diavolo winces, the thought stung, and terrified him. “I told him no.”

That surprised him. This was your chance. The celestial realm had been skeptical from the beginning. If they knew, it would be a perfect caveat for them to step in. “Why?” Finally you look at him. The fear was still there. Hesitation evident in your eyes. Yet you forced yourself to look at him, fighting through your trepidation.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About your father and what you think of me?”

“Of course.” He replies without hesitation reaching for your cold hands. You flinch but don’t move away. It felt-nice. His warmth chasing away the perpetual chill that covered your fingertips. Idly you stroke his strong hands with your thumbs.

“Then, I think we can work on this privately.” Slowly but surely you felt like you could fix this. Not for the program, but for yourself.

#obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me headcanons #gods have mercy I wanna smooch him so bad

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xsarcasticwriterx · 3 years

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Au Volant-part 1

Summary: You were free, you had control until bucky and Steve showed up at your door.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: Angst, swearing, minor tfawts ep 2 spoilers.

Notes: This is a series btw and I'm not sure how long it'll be (not like I do for any of my series) and yea that's all just know it will be pretty....dark pfft. Also, this does NOT fit in the marvel timeline even if references are made to such.

Steve knew when he was out-matched, hell even before the serum he knew when he'd lose he just didn't know when to stop. Bucky did though and nothing about that had changed in 100 years. Not even now when steves ass was being handed to him. after getting bucky back steve and bucky had gone off on their own mission to find other super-soldiers who may still be alive. of course they expected this to be easier than it was.

Of course, bucky could've just brought steve to Isaiah Bradley but he still knew steve would be pissed after finding out what had been done to him and he just wanted to leave Isaiah to his own thing still.

Then there was you. Bucky met you back when he was first becoming the winter soldier. you were their first test into becoming one of them. of course, your trigger words hadn't been finished before you killed those who were working on you and escaping. it s why they advanced buckys mechanism. You'd had tried to free him but they were already in the works of triggering buckys words.

Bucky knew you were free but only by self-discipline and no one knowing the words aside from hydra who, by this point, you'd spent the last century running from. He wanted you to stay out even if he knew where you were at.

That was until now, they needed another super soldier to win. Sure he could call Isaiah but as far as triggers go you were more likely to not only survive this but even join it. So with that process bucky grabbed steve ignoring his words and ran to your house.

you were 95 years old, despite how you looked. you had managed to escape hydra. Ever since hydra fell you ere truly free for the first time in a long time. you had enrolled in college majoring in history, ironic yes but you figured with your overextended life maybe you could use it and become a history professor.

This was your plan until there was a knock at your door. you figured it was the pizza you had ordered until you opened it seeing a bloody avenger and the weapon that hydra used over and over again to kill people. So with that you slammed the door, locked it, and walked back to your living room. "y/n come on" you heard bucky say. "nope" you yelled back.

"I thought you said shed be willing to help?" you heard steve groan. "I never said willing I said she could help" bucky replied. steve sighed "look y/n I know-" steve started to say "you don't know shit about shit star-spangled man with a plan," you said back.

"I spent the last 70 years running from this man ok. Now I know he is back to Sargent Barnes or whatever crap he was before but guesses what it does mean I am willing to just jump back in the man who was on my ass trying to kill me just yesterday, and it sure as fuck doesn't mean that I am willing to jump back into war" you wished they just go away. You were finally free safe. "steve go" "huh?" "go ill be back with you in a few minutes" and so steve walked away out of hearing distance. bucky said down but your door.

"look y/n I know what you've been through ok. I know they hurt you because they hurt me too. See this difference is I was a soldier before this...you were just someone in the wrong place wrong time. Me and steve here are looking for the others those who were like us, set them free too. Though they seem to either be like you, Isiah, or are still trying to fight. now I'm here because most are trying to fight and they're gathering together and fighting. I don't blame you for not trusting me I get it, some days even I don't trust me but know that I never wanted to hurt you." bucky cleared his throat "I am James 'bucky' Barnes and you are part of my amends" bucky said before the door opened and he fell back.

You stuck your hand out "give it" you said which bucky only looked up at you confused. "come on there's only so many therapists for brainwashed murderes give it" you said again. bucky handed you the tiny book. you opened it and crossed out your name handing it back to him. "get up and get your boy toy over there to come inside. I need to get ready if we're going to war." you said walking upstairs. "so you'll come?" bucky asked. "sure James why the fuck not but be aware you may be fixed but I'm only free out of pure will, soon as someone says the words I'm no longer free" you said walking to your room.

Bucky opened his notebook writing down ten words. he handed the paper to steve. "what's this?" he asked looking down at the words in both Russian and English. "her trigger words. just know as soon as there said she's one of them" bucky knew the words. hydras orders were if he found you to trigger you. "so she's not...." steve trailed off "nope she's only free out of self will" bucky shrugged sometimes he wished he had been able to be like you. "is it safe to bring her?" steve asked fearing what would happen if you became like bucky. "ill be fine" you said from the top of the stairs. you were wearing your gear which consisted of a black long sleeve made out of bulletproof gear that you stole from the police, black leggings for movement, black boots, and a hoodie. your hair was out of your face and you had your daggers on one side of your belt and your guns on the other.

"don't be a moron and say those words and everything will be fine," you said walking down. "now what's the game plan what do I need?" "what you have and spare clothes and weapons," Steve said. you nodded walking to your garage where the rest of your knives and guns were at along with your disguised clothes. "so you said that the soldiers are grouping up and fighting. know why?" "There are only rumors some say they want new hydra, others say they're scared some say they are forming a 'better' hydra," bucky said following you.

you grabbed a bag stuffing clothes in and ammo along with some daggers. "so are we staying with the rest of the little einstens?" you asked turning to steve. you were met with two confused faces. you blinked, how on earth are you, a person on the run, more educated on pop culture than these two "its....its a kids show" you said clearing your throat "im asking if were staying at the avengers headquarters" you said awkwardly. "oh no were tracking the group and certain people, those suspicious and then we just stay in hotels" steve said. you nodded and walked to the front door. "lets go then shall we"

you two got into steves car. "so how come no ones ever heard of you if you were on of them?" steve asked. "got out before i become one fully they never were able to trigger me" you shrugged. "she tried getting me out but...she was too late" bucky looked down. steve shut up from that point on. you all drove to a motel close to where they had seen a few people hiding out at from the sights of it.

the motel was kind of well really bad, not quite what you expected when rolling with the avengers. they said it was to stay undercover, large purchases and such could trigger that someone famous is rolling in. So here you were sat on a rigidy bed in the motel. there was 2 beds but 3 of you so someone had to share. "not it" steve said flopping back onto a bed. you and bucky looked at each other. "come on you two have known each other for almost as long as buck and I" steve said sitting up.

you grumbled sitting on the bed before sighing. not like you slept much so maybe you wouldn't have to actually share the bed. "for tonight we will fill you in" steve said. you 3 sat at a table and they told you the information they have and what they're plan is.

They said how they have a few places where they think people are hiding out based on the hours of activity and a few spots look like people are hiding out there. They said their plan was talk until people started noticing bucky and then chose to fight, then they came to you. Now their plan was talk but with back up incase shit takes a turn again.

Bucky and steve had gone to sleep but you were still up sat at a table. you were sharpening your daggers. you were zoned out for a while at this point. you didn't sleep often due to fear that if you let your guard down you wouldn't be able to hold back the soldier part of you. you really only slept when you were on the verge of passing out. This started when one night you had a dream, not long after you escaped, of the man saying the words. you felt your whole brain shift, luckily you woke up and were able to push back before anything happened. since then it was too close of a call to risk anything ever again.

You saw movement and looked up seeing bucky look around in almost a panic before he saw you. his breathing steadied "hey" he whispered out of breath. you nodded to him "you ok there?" "hmm? yea why are you up isnt it late?" you looked at the clock. last you looked it was 12am. you shrugged "same reason your up" "guess being brainwashed has its cons" you huffed "ysupposeou could say that"

"you sleep at all" bucky asked standing and walking to you. "i sleep when i feel like im going to pass out" you returned back to sharpening your daggers "last time i casually slept the world almost had another winter soldier" you scoffed "never doing that shit again" you looked up at bucky. his hair was a mess and a thin layer of sweat covered his chest. he was definitely muscly and you'd be lying if you said he wasn't hot.

"you should rest ill watch over you make sure you don't change" he said looking at you. "no its fine got another" you looked down at your watch looking at the date "few days before i pass out" you shrugged. "y/n. sleep" he stated. you shook your head. bucky groaned, walked to you and threw you over his shoulder "come on sleep time" he said putting you on the bed. you groaned but soon as you were laying down you felt your eyes insticntly close. "stupid body" you grumbled

soon slumber took over. bucky smirked down at you. you two were one in the same except while he was forever free you, you were free on pure will and keeping your guard up. "ill keep you safe doll, no one will change you even yourself" he said brushing the hair from your face. soon he felt as peace seeing you so calm and he laid next to you. the bed reminded him of the ones in the military. sleep took him over not too longer after.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #the winter solider fanfiction #the winter solider x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu x reader #marvel cinematic universe #marvel

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detectivecosmosdreamland · 3 years

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System Update!!

So *apparently* denial is a big hurdle in a lot of peoples' discovery of their plural!self and while I still dont believe I could get dx'ed with a disassociation disorder most days I believe in ourself.

✨TRIGGER WARNING✨

Relapsed Saturday. My skin is still in tatters and I cant look at it. I get triggered at seeing my SH and wanna just go hardcore at it, Stevie ig knows and wanted to help. Woke up Mon afternoon covered in bandaids, theyre sweet af. Had to shower yesterday and Dio took over, got drunk in the bath at 10am.

You know I didnt know I was losing time until I started focusing on scheduling myself. I had my first p!aware blackout yesterday, when my partners got off work we went somewhere and idk. I m!asked and got the reply of just putting rocks in my mouth. Noice.

Ive been trying to host a "Body Party" everyday. A body party is more or less focused meditation where we talk about things other then ourselves. So Ill step as far away from the front as I can get while being conscious and just talk, about the inner worlds and its workings (a lot of us have aphantasia) image descriptions, relationships with external people, how we can help each other, what we know about ourselves, questions for the others, and quirky ideas about distinguishing each other.

I started video journaling yesterday and we like it but we really just wanna talk. Journaling is so hard and I keep stopping. Were really audio sensory based so weve figured out hearing ourself talk to ourself really sets the sound in stone. Still having trouble talking to one another, most days if [amanda or the gatekeepers] is near the front everyone get a string phone. Like *thaaaaaanks* now I can tell you to ask someone if they know whos FUCKING SINGING PEACHES and theyre like 🤷 if the sound reverberates to their cup and if we can hear their sound back sure if not 🎶 i got my peaches out in georgia i get my weed from california 🎶

Anyway Im still blurry most days but I can feel Rose, Mandy, Stevie, Tricki, Marie, Isobella, Connor, and Babes. Which is a lot, and amazing! Cant believe its been 4 months of questioning my plurality. But my headspace is getting worse. Much worse. I can feel theres so many Emotional Loops in me. Now that theres spaces inbetween us theres space to see that Im in a flashback its also not me and bc I am aware of both, I can try my best to evaluate whos (or near who) freaking out and how to help them while also sending someone to pilot the meatsuit is hella nice.

Oh bc were cracking so hard in our external world were finally moving in that direction as well. One of my partners is taking me in to get evaluated stablized and diagnosed sometime later this week. Its so traumatizing to finally be getting help theres an internal reminder for "getting groceries" later this week. My partner told me it was probably a good idea to seek help, and after explaining thats all I wanted but Id been demonized over asking for a therapist at 14. And I dunno how or where to start, and that I'd be too scared to do it myself, but she called and made a initial assessment interview for me. And she's taking me, like a dog to the vet. Well a dog that asked but ye. I am on the path to getting better! And even if I get dx'ed with something I dont see coming I know Im still a multiple and that I need to work on my communication within myself.

All the Love, Karter n Rose xx

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cullxtheherd · 3 years

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Long(-ish) time listener, first-time caller here - just wanted to say that I really love your take on Jacob, and that your taste in music is A+! Also, I come offering a few songs that I think have big Jacob vibes - "Unsainted" by Slipknot, "The Heresy" by Mushroomhead, and "Feed the Machine" by Nickelback (just trust me).

hglkghjl oh my god hi!!! how are you?? first of all thank you what the heck skjhdndkf you are absolutely too nice sjdhsdjskdf but i am glad you enjoy my stupid shit™

and i am gonna dive into these songs rn.

yes but i would like to counter with this slipknot tune [x] and also this one cause i kinda forgot about them and now im scREam? [x] GLLHKGLLHBKGLHKGLKL

holy shit yeah i love mushroomhead but it's been yEARS since i properly listened to them- like?? since you had to buy the dvd to see the music videos cauce mf TV would not play them skjdskjsk i did not even know they had new content out?? tbh ksjfkdfjdkj?? but alsoo [x] and [x] anddd its taking me aGES to answer this cause im on a trip through songs of my younger years and like THANK you!!!! i am having so much fun skjfdkdjf

oh. my god okay. it's. it is. it. has taken everything in me to type nickelback into my youtube search bar. i'm really over here like:

hgkhlgkhlghll okay but i AM listening here i go pray for me...

okay. here's the thing. if chad fucking kroeger wasn't singing this i would really like this- the guitar solo is a little extra, but i've also listened to dragonforce and completed that shit on guitar hero0 jAYSUS CHRiST- anyways! i?????????????????? am going to have a lil quick jacob inspired music romp, join me if you like!

5 bands/artists, 5 songs below the cut!! but, FIRST!!

a warning: these first three groups will be triggering and offensive in many/multiple ways! please be prepared!!

𝙺𝙾Я𝙽:

Never Never: [x] - this is particularly nice™ if you follow my he was married timeline;

Shoots And Ladders: [x] - this pertains to childhood sexual abuse i haven't even had the stomach to write about yet for the Seed boys and it's not part of my timeline currently, but. it is definitely part of my headcanons and there is not enough brain bleach for me to ever live the same ever again 🙃

All In The Family [x] - i do not think this needs any explanation but i ammmm hahahahhahahahhksjud imagining john and jake hghg;glghlhglhgljhgl

It's On! [x] - i really forgot how much i miss early 00s/late 90s rock aaand wow so much of it it very The Seeds™

Coming Undone [x] - wow how hot was jon davis kdjskjdks i mean he still is but hewlp senmdddd shheelpppshdaslkf

𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇 𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒:

The Becoming [x] - yeah 😢 it really do be like that. if you've never heard this before it can be a little... jarring, unsettling and/or painful to listen to, especially if you aren't in a good or positive headspace. there are a lot of sudden and loud mechanical/industrial type of noises as well a running background track of people screaming out in pain so... enjoy. that.... i actually?? really love this song and the entire album. it describes the fight with mental illness well in my opinion.

Mr Self Destruct [x] - it's perfect. would also very much work for Joseph but i do think this is just verrrryyy, sickeningly Jacob

I Do Not Want This [x] - this is another that is just not good if you aren't in the headspace for it

Big Man With A Gun [x] - this is just. explicit. and rude. and accurate. you're welcome.

Eraser [x] - don't listen to this if you're feeling low or not well mentally. definitely a deputy ship song.

bonus cause i can't follow rules even of my OWN making and i could go on for an embarassingly LONG time about NIN in relation to any one of my muses and sjkdnksdfns here you go:

The Perfect Drug [x] - this is a great song for any seed/deputy ship tbh but kdjkfdjfsnkfndhbf this a whole ass mf ass jacob seed ass mood and i am yelling out loud and my dogs are barking and all my cats ran awAY AaaaAaa

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑶𝒇 𝑨 𝑫𝒐𝒘𝒏:

Violent Pornography [x] - this song makes me laugh out loud to be honest?? i am not? a sane individual

Cigaro [x] - LMAOOAHAHHAHAHSJABSDKAS UBISOFT SHOULD HAVE HIRED ME FOR THE WHITETAILS RADIO SOUNDTRACK BYEE HHHAJKDnsaf

Suite-Pee [x] - sorry but this is apparently just funny meme time now im hahjdgsfkjddgf

War? [x] - accurate meme hour continues

I-E-A-I-A-I-O [x] - glhfmlkfgmlkdfg i'mm ghlghklgkhl the absolute mutterings of a ginger madman trapped between two mountains

𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓗𝓾𝓻𝓸𝓷:

The Ghost On The Shore [x] - fricken love this song and this group

Drops In The Lake [x] - pooor ol widower. i've been toying with a universe where his wife is still clinging to life, mostly burnt and nearly dead in that old veteran's center and hahahaha this doesn't hurt at all 🥴

Long Lost [x] - this is fine. not imagining my otp. nope.

The World Ender [x] - 🤠🗡

Yawning Grave [x] - this is also a lucifer jam as fuck

𝕰𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖔𝖙 𝕸𝖔𝖘𝖘:

Silver + Gold [x] - super good ship song for character arcs; dep ship or not

Closedloop [x] - 𝒊𝒕'𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 . . .

I Heard [x] - what a fuckin jam. also wow how cute is elliot?? ? wow

99 [x] - i dont have anything to say its just so accurate and so good

Without The Lights [x] - this is a very accurate interpretation of a physically and sexually abusive relationship through dance, please use caution! but this is going to be accurate for any canon type relationship with jacob or maybe even all of the seeds. personally i refuse to write any strictly non-consensual material, but i am fully aware this is more than likely something that happens. having been in similar relationships in the past this video goes on repeat a lot and i can't even begin to say how beautiful it is- i cry every single time.

"𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓸𝓯𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝓰𝓼 𝔀𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓸𝓭𝓼 . . ."

hoLY COW if you made it this far you deserve something dont u... hmnnn. i'm sure i have something somewhere on a hard drive

that should do sjdkjfkd ok i love youu thank you for sending me this ask akjnsfdskf i hope u are having a great day!! bye!!

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sadsapphicslut · 3 years

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chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!!

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

Chapter One

A Dead Brother

I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

“Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

❈

“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

“Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

It rang four times before he picked up.

“Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

“Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood – that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene. My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

❈

The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

#my writing #writing #original writing #original content #original fiction #creative writing #dark academia #tw death #tw drugs #tw mentions of sex #tw swearing #tw mental illness #tw medication #alo writes

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fairycosmos · 4 years

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TRIGGER WARNING : I know you're not a psychiatrist tbh I just need to vent and I really like you so yea, I've come to the conclusion that I am what everyone thought I was which is a lazy little bitch using depression and suicidal thoughts as an excuse to be lazy I use to feel guilty but idc anymore it just shows there's no hope for me at all the only problem is I don't have the guts to shoot myself in the head and it's the last option I have Im sorry I just don't know who to turn to

hey dude. i’m sorry to hear you’re hurting so much right now. i know it’s a complex and personal issue that words alone can’t solve, but i still hope you’re open to some comfort, some alternative narratives to center your thoughts around. and idk just a few words from someone who can understand to an extent....i think first and foremost it’s a good idea to ask yourself, when you’re in the right state of mind to, where all of this self loathing is actually coming from. whether it’s grounded in anything substantial. it’s important to remember that a massive part of depression is feeling like you’re faking, over-exaggerating, using it as an excuse etc. i’ve heard a lot of people with mental illness echo the same sentiment. and the fact that you feel this way, so violently negatively towards yourself, indicates that you ARE struggling with a much deeper problem. but we’re taught to overlook it and to blame ourselves, partially due to society’s attitude regarding mental illness. in short we’re conditioned to feel like we’re lazy and worthless if we can’t produce labor and profit, or if something prevents us from doing so, but that’s merely a capitalist myth. those around you have internalized its message and are now projecting it onto you. but now that you recognize that fact, you can begin dismantling that belief system in your own head. cause in actuality, it’s got nothing to do with you or your value as a person. it’s the system that’s the issue, and the way it sees human life as nothing more than a means to an end, when people are so much more than that. you are so much more than that. you’re not here to constantly please everyone or to be some emotionless machine. so anyone who was judging you by that standard is fkn deluded and their opinion doesn’t hold much weight to begin with. then there’s also the stigma surrounding depression itself. people who’ve never experienced it don’t get how debilitating it is to live with. how it doesn’t just prevent people from working, how it prevents people from progressing in all areas of their lives when it’s left unacknowledged. which is why the answer isn’t to hurt yourself, it’s to admit to what hurts. this isn’t a matter of personal failure, or of laziness. it’s an illness, something that needs to be confronted head on with time, treatment, and self help in order to move beyond it. it’s just as serious as any physical ailment, but you don’t have to beg anyone to understand that. you’re going through so much just by getting through the day and the fact that you’re still here counts for so much. i promise, you are not your negative thoughts. your mind is just trying to get you to stay in the cycle of self hatred > self destruction > self hatred so that you feel more discouraged and less likely to seek the support you need, even though that could be the one thing that would break the repetitive pattern. idk who made you believe that you are this bad and unforgivable person but i hope you know that it is genuinely, truly possible to grow beyond that way of thinking. it may take time, and it may feel unreachable right now, but change is honestly constant especially if you seek it out. the way you see yourself in five years will not mirror the way you see yourself now, you know? this is all a process and as long as you’re getting through it, you’re doing so much better than you realize.

it’s ok to recognize all of that and to still feel like shit, to still feel like giving up sometimes. sadness, anger, pain - they’re exhausting and terrifying, but you don’t have to push those emotions away. though they don’t have to control all of your actions either. because they’re never as permanent as they feel. part of being suicidal is thinking in a black and white fashion, where everything has to be all or nothing. but it doesn’t. there’s a lot of nuance and a lot of different choices you can make, if you just breathe and keep yourself in a safe environment above all else. like i said, you’re living with an illness and bad days are a natural part of that. but having the tools to be able to cope with them in a healthy way could make all the difference. and that IS an option for you, even if you can’t see it right now. are you currently seeing a mental health professional? if not, i’d really really suggest looking into that before you make any permanent and heavy handed decisions about whether or not it’s worth it to stay alive. seriously, even if you’re unable to see a therapist at the moment - there are depression/suicide hotlines you can call who can help you with the next step, there may be support groups in your area, your doctor may be able to refer you to a counselor. you are capable of reaching out, as proven with this message, which is a really good sign. and building routines around personal self help and finding what works for you would be a step in the right direction, too. there is so much that can be done in terms of identifying what you feel the way you feel, relearning how to treat yourself, developing a support network over a period of time, opening up to make room to heal - it’s possible. i promise it is. it’s possible to live a full, stable life that you’re proud of despite having depression. if you have any trusted loved ones, now may also be a good time to talk to them about whats going on. i’m sure they want to have the chance to be there for you, and it’s alright to lean on them when you need it. you’re clearly in a very emotional state right now so i don’t blame you if you can’t bring yourself to believe me, but i hope it’s an idea you can keep revisiting. because really what my main point is, is that you deserve to stay alive regardless the fact that you’re dealing with a mental illness. i don’t want to sound cliche but it’s true that nothing would be the same without you, that you’re here for a reason (which you fulfill every day, just by being who you are) and that your presence is far more precious than you know. i’m sorry you were made to feel any different. you get this one life and i would really hate to see you do something you could regret over situations and feelings that can be helped. you are not beyond hope, you are not a lost cause. especially if you live your life as if you’re not. you still exist and that means there are a million different ways things could turn out, the future is ever changing. the present is all you need to worry about. it’s just another symptom of depression to catastrophize and picture everything ending in the worst case scenario, which is something that can also be helped with therapy/practicing mindfulness. anyway, i’m aware that this is getting super long and i’m going to leave some links that may be of some use to you in terms of follow up support, but i’m really begging you. no matter how awful you feel tonight, just allow yourself to breathe through it. cry through it. call someone if it all feels like too much. keep yourself away from anything you could use to harm yourself with. and then wake up tomorrow knowing you have the chance to try again, knowing that that is a good thing, knowing that this moment is not what your whole existence is going to look like. please, please call someone if you think you’re a danger to yourself. even if you have to pick up the phone on autopilot. you mean so much. im sending you a lot of love and hoping you find the self appreciation you deserve. if you ever need a friend please feel free to message me. you’re not on this alone.

https://faq.whatsapp.com/general/security-and-privacy/global-suicide-hotline-resources/

https://www.helpguide.org/articles/depression/coping-with-depression.htm

https://www.mentalhealth.org.nz/get-help/a-z/resource/50/suicide-coping-with-suicidal-thoughts

https://medium.com/@sameoldzen/finding-intrinsic-self-worth-in-a-capitalist-system-7069be072b5b

https://serenitymentalhealthcenters.com/31-coping-skills-for-depression/

#tw suicide #tw self harm #anon

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matteredloyaltyaa · 4 years

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NAV.

GOOGLE DOC (RULES/ABOUT/VERSES).

PLOTTING FORM. HEADCANONS. WISHLIST.

Tumblr mobile friendly version of my rules under the read-more.

DISCLAIMER:

I do not claim to own or have created this character, though the headcanon posts you see here are of my own interpretation of this character and events. I am private and selective, meaning that I only write with mutuals (those who I follow and who follow me in return), and tend to watch who I follow back and/or write with for my own comfort. However, my askbox is open to everybody if you wish to talk to me or the character on this blog, but I may not answer everything put in there.

PASSWORDS:

Due to my social anxiety, I don't have a password in these rules, nor do I send them in. I read everybody's rules and pages before following and usually before interacting.

ACTIVITY:

This is my main blog, which means that I am on it most of the time. However, I do suffer from some mental disorders, namely anxiety, depression, and OCD. These tend to affect how I interact ooc and can make me overly distant sometimes, and it's usually nothing anybody has done to me but my own mind running off on it's own about things. So, I do apologize for that. I may be absent from blogs during bad periods or make a couple posts here and there that I always delete after an hour or two stating that I'm in a bad way. Everything will be tagged.

HIGH HONOR:

Please note that I base my characterization off my raw play of this game, in which Arthur is HIGH HONOR and you may see more of that toward the end of his main verse. However, I still play him as a morally grey individual, especially as he’s trying to find his own mind on things in a way, but ultimately he leans more toward honorable moral choices (or what are considered honorable for the life he leads). He will do both good and bad things. At his point in time, I’m not exactly leaning towards adding a low honor verse, as his portrayal within the fandom has turned me off completely and after playing that route myself, I don’t really see much reason to. However, that may change if I end up finding a way to put a spin to that.

BLOG & PERSONAL TRIGGERS:

Please note that I don't have many triggers myself outside of suicide and overly anxiety inducing content (jumpscares, purposely paranoia inducing posts, etc).

There are some themes that I would like to avoid writing about in detail or at all. Namely, I WILL NOT write out anything like incest (the John/Arthur ship tends to fall into this category for me, along with Arthur/Dutch and Arthur/Hosea, so I will say that it's a NOTP for me), abuse (outside of mentions in regards to backstory, all forms), pedophilia, and rape. Also, I should note on a personal side that pregnancy can make me a little uncomfortable due to some gender stuff with me. I don't mind mentioning it, nor do I mind parental relationships when it comes to Arthur and sometimes outright adopting children in certain verses, but threads and interactions solely based off pregnancy can make me uncomfortable. It's difficult to explain but I would like to avoid it. Really, when in doubt, just ask.

This blog does and may contain triggering material, due to the nature of this game and the character. The biggest ones that will be present here are violence, guns/shooting, crime, and illness. I should also note that, due to the fact that this game takes place in 1899, there may be some triggers related to the views of this time period. Arthur himself is rather progressive and doesn't hold those views himself, but that doesn't mean the people around him don't and may be referenced in threads. Everything will be tagged as I catch it and where needed.

SPOILERS:

This game has been out for at least a year now. I will not be tagging for spoilers anymore, so please follow or read at your own risk if you are working through the game for the first time.

WRITING, SPEED, and NSFW:

My general writing style is paragraph/paragraphs. I don't mind one-liners but I usually only reserve those for starters that I’m writing and I tend to expand on the length of those as I go. I format my posts, mostly just some minimal spacing, small text (not sub), and all-caps words, bold, and italic usage. If this bothers anybody or makes it hard to read, please let me know and I can continue our thread in a non-formatted way. I also use icons, but I will follow my partner's lead on iconless rps. I can also be a little long-winded with my replies but you aren't obligated to match that. As long as I don't get like three sentences back to five paragraphs, we're all good.

I'm a slow rper. It may take me a day or two to get around to things, both asks, threads, and messages. I don't mind a nudge here and there but if it feels like you're pressuring me, I will warn you and block if it continues.

I'm 24, the muse is 36 in his main verse. We are both over the age in regards to nsfw. Smut is kind of rare for me and I don't do it often on Tumblr, however if we're in a ship and you want to write that over Discord, I may be open to it. That said, too, I will ONLY write nsfw with people and muses who are OVER 18. There is no exception to this. That noted, too, Arthur's in his 30's so a massive age gap may not appeal to him much either.

SHIPPING:

I’m going to sound like a hardass but: I am a highly selective shipper on here, and the ships that do appear on this blog are ones I have had for quite some time. Everything of a romantic nature will need to be discussed with me and the chemistry has to be there for me to agree to shipping. I’m not an insta-shipper, nor am I accepting to pre-established romantic relationships outside of those in canon. They will need to be discussed with me like every other ship and may be subject to me disagreeing to do it. Otherwise, I am multi-ship, despite being highly selective, and I’m fine with discussing them but please be aware of this.

FOLLOWING, DRAMA, AND DUPLICATES:

I will usually give someone a day or two of active posting after following before I unfollow if I don't receive one back. I don't mean anything personal by that, I'm simply making sure I don't accidentally like or send anything in if we aren't mutuals. That said, too, I am selective with who I do follow. If you're a sideblog and you don't have that blog easily accessible on your main blog or you don't message me about it, I'm likely going to miss it. I don't follow rp blogs that are run more like personals if only to keep my dash slower. Also, generally, if our writing styles don't mesh, you're rude to me, or you post nasty things, I will likely unfollow/block/or not follow back.

I don’t interact with or reblog callout posts. I don't have great patience with ooc drama and will likely unfollow if there is a lot of it being posted by you.

Following and being followed by duplicates (other Arthurs) is completely fine with me. However, with the mentality sometimes, I won't go out of my way to follow first if only to avoid making anybody uncomfortable by me doing so. I'm also non-exclusive for general interactions, so multiples of the same character I am fine with. I may take mains, however, which means these blogs get priority over plots and focus in headcanons, etc.

CROSSOVERS AND ORIGINAL CHARACTERS:

I'm crossover friendly so long as I know the character/fandom. That said, if I just can't get into it or make it fit, I won't force it.

I love original characters and you guys are cool with me, however I do need to see at least some stats or a verse we can interact in before I follow/follow back. I'm also fine with your OC knowing Arthur in their backstory but, again, romantic stuff needs to be talked over with me first.

STARTER CALLS:

I've found that I don't enjoy doing starter calls. I may do them here and there when the urge strikes, but the best way to interact with me is to message me or continuing memes sent or sent to me. I'm also more than happy to like other starter calls, too, if you want to throw them my way.

QUESTIONS?:

No. Go away. >:(

I’m kidding. Just drop me a message, I’ll get back to you. I also have a Discord available to mutuals, if that’s what you prefer. I promise I’m not as much as a hard ass as these rules make me seem.

ABOUT THE MUN:

Hey! Thank you for reading these if you do. A little introduction here: my name is Rory, I'm 25, Canadian and operate mostly out of the GMT-7 time zone. Though, I tend to post at odd hours so that may not be too noticeable. I'm nonbinary and I prefer they/them. I'm a full time university student, which means that I may disappear when studies pile up or my time is divided. That said, I do enjoy talking to people when I'm able. My IMs and Discord are always available to mutuals, just drop me a message.

#failed: rory has died . || ooc .#;pinned #[Figured I could do a more mobile friendly thing on here to pin #or more mobile friendly to Tumblr lol]#/// long post #[I hope the readmore works on the dash rn #if not I'm sorry]

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ayanna-wild · 5 years

Text

Memories For Sale

Word Count: 1638

Pairings: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, possible trigger, reader is a prostitute in this if that bothers you or triggers you please do not read.

A/N: Request from someone on Wattpad

Summary: You did what you could to get by, trusted no one, and tried to ignore the spotty holes in your memory. But then this man shows up, and everything you thought you remembered or thought you knew was so very wrong.

............................................................

You leaned back against the stone wall behind you. The rough texture of the bricks bit at your skin, but you ignored that. You need a short break, your feet were hurting from standing on them for so long. The heels you wore only made it worse and the short dress you had slipped on did little to protect your back from the bricks. It was apparently a dead night, probably due to the storm hovering above the city. The clouds had yet to release their downpour but it probably wouldn't be long.

Unfortunately though that meant business would be slow tonight and you'd have to work even longer the next night to make up for it. You took a slow drag from the cigarette between your fingers, flicking the ash onto the pavement below you. With a heavy sigh you pushed yourself off the wall, and turned to start walking home. Well at least to that shabby apartment you called home.

"Y/N?"

You paused, turning your head to look over your shoulder.

"Yeah?"

The man simply stood there staring at you with a mixture of emotions. He was an attractive man, with black hair and deep brown eyes. The suit he was wearing, what looked to be very expensive and normally you'd have tried to warm up to after seeing that. However, you were tired, you were annoyed, and you just wanted to go home.

"Don't you recognize me love?" The man asked frowning.

You turned to face him fully and slowly looked him over from head to toe before shrugging.

"Sorry, I can't be expected to remember every man I... service..."

His whole attitude changed after hearing that. He looked shocked, angry, and heartbroken? That one confused you, why did he look so distraught about that?

"Listen it's been a long and uneventful night, I'm currently off the clock, but try again tomorrow night, I'll give you a discount or something."

You tried to walk away, but he grabbed your elbow.

"You really don't know who I am, do you?"

His grip wasn't tight or aggressive like the other times you had been grabbed. When you tried to pull your arm free he let go immediately, another thing you weren't use to.

"Should I?"

The man smiled sadly for a moment and you felt a dull ache in your chest at seeing him sad.

"I suppose not, my name is Lucifer Morningstar, and I know you very well my dear."

You searched his eyes for a moment but saw nothing that said he was lying.

"That's nice, but I really should be getting home."

You took a cautious step back, an uneasy feeling lingered in the air.

"Wait, just let me explain."

He must have sensed your unease and became a bit desperate.

"Listen Lucifer, was it? I'm tired and it's about to storm, I'm done for the night, if you go two streets over you can find some other girls who will definitely jump at the chance to have you as a costumer."

He looked almost offended at that and scoffed.

"Do I look like I would need to pay for sex?"

You rolled your eyes and stared to walk away at a faster pace than normal.

"I'll pay you for your time!"

You walked faster.

"Five Hundred for one hour!"

You almost tripped on your heels with how fast you stopped.

"Are you serious? Just to talk?"

"I'll add another five hundred for every hour you are there."

Your common sense screamed at you that something wasn't right but your mind told you to take the pay day.

"Fine, one hour, and add six hundred for every extra half hour."

Lucifer smiled, holding out his hand to you.

"Deal."

You shook his hand, letting out a small yelp when he started pulling you in the direction of a sleek black Corvette.

The ride had been filled with silence which you suspected was not a normal thing for him. When you had reached the club he owned and made it up to his penthouse, you felt a little dumb not asking for more money.

"Would you like a drink my dear?"

You shook your head and watched him pour one for himself.

"Ok, start talking."

He chuckled as he raised the glass to his lips.

"Straight to the point as usual at least you haven't changed too much darling."

"You say that as if you know me."

"Oh I do! Very well, you are my wife after all."

You had no words, how were you even supposed to respond to that? The man was clearly insane.

"Right... well this was fun, but I think I should go, you can keep the money and-"

Lucifer stepped in front of you, preventing you from reaching the elevator.

"You don't believe me? Surely you've wondered about your past? The lapse in memories you have?"

You started walking backwards, trying to put distance between them.

"I was in an accident, I... I got amnesia!"

It sounded more like you were trying to convince yourself than him.

"Is that what you were told? How did it happen?"

Your head was hurting, it was a dull ache, but it was growing.

"I was hit by car trying to cross the street..."

"Really? And you walked away with just a few scratches and missing memories? Sounds a bit too good to be true." He raised an eyebrow.

"Well I got lucky I guess."

Your back hit the piano and the ache in your head turned into a pounding.

"Luck? Oh, no darling there was nothing lucky about that Uriel took you, he made sure the accident wasn't fatal, and he made sure you wouldn't remember anything."

Everything grew blurry and you were faintly aware of Lucifer calling your name as your legs gave out. Your head was swimming, and your body felt so heavy. You couldn't make out what was being said to or even what you were saying.

Lucifer sat you on the couch, and waited patiently for you regain your senses. You slowly blinked, fingers rubbing your temple in a poor attempt to relieve the pain in your head.

"Darling are you alright?"

You pulled away from him slightly.

"Yes. I'm fine."

Lucifer stepped away, seeing the distrust in your eyes.

"Can you tell me what you remember?"

You searched your memories for anything of significance and looked back at him apprehensively.

"Ash, a lot of brimstone, there was a lot of doors, I remember you were there, but its all blurry, and none of it makes sense, it's just flashes of memories, I can't remember them." You muttered.

Lucifer smiled a little and reached out to you. He pulled his hand back when he saw you flinch away.

"Why did you do this to yourself? You are priceless to me, why would you sell yourself?"

You pulled your knees to your chest and shrugged.

"It was a last resort, I needed food, money, I didn't have anyone."

"But surely you must have had other options?"

"Most guys don't question my career choice you know." You joked weakly.

He didn't seem to find it very funny.

"Pardon my bluntness, but those men were only interested in you for sex, and unlike them I care very deeply about you."

You felt the overwhelming urge to cry, and you didn't know why. You suddenly felt so ashamed to be sitting in front of him looking like this.

"Y/N? Why are you crying?"

"It's stupid I know. I don't even know you and I just feel so ashamed to let you see me like this." You laughed, but tears were staining your cheeks.

Lucifer sat beside you pulling you into his arms.

"Oh my beautiful queen, you've nothing to feel ashamed for. I don't think any less of you and I'm not angry."

You pulled out of his arms, having a man hold you like that, comfort you, it wasn't how you were used to men treating you. Lucifer looked hurt for a moment before he cleared his throat.

"Why don't you take a shower, you can stay the night and I'll have Maze bring you some shorts to sleep in, you can wear one of my shirts."

You nodded slowly and Lucifer directed you in the direction of the shower.

You stayed in the shower for nearly an hour, crying and hoping the steaming water would wash away the shame you were feeling. When you finally stepped out you saw clothes sitting on the sink. It was just a large t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts with some underwear. You walked back out into the living room once you were dressed.

"Do I play or is it just you?"

Lucifer looked up from where he sat at the piano. He smiled at you and moved over so you could sit beside him.

"No, you much preferred drawing to playing an instrument. And Dad knows attempting to teach you was a disaster." Lucifer chuckled.

You smiled, softly running your fingers over the keys, droplets of water fell from your hair onto your lap. Lucifer watched you for a moment.

"I'd like if you stayed with me for a while my dear. Perhaps I could help you regain your memory or at the very least give you a place to sleep. Where you wouldn't need to sell your body to strange men. More to the point, I've been trying to find you for a very long time, and I couldn't bear to lose you now."

You meant his eyes, studying him as if searching for any ill intent or alternative motive he might have. You found none and so you smiled, the first real smile you had given in such a long time.

"I'd love to stay with you Lucifer."

.........................................................................

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#lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #luciferonfox #lucifer morningstar #lucifer netflix #luciferonnetflix #lucifer fox #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer morningstar one shot #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer morningstar imagines

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heartlesslywhumping · 5 years

Text

I got an ask regarding some touchy subjects and rather than just respond to the ask and have it pop up in everyone’s feeds, I decided to copy/paste the question under a cut.

Here are the trigger warnings,

TW: Loss of a loved one TW: Guns TW: Shootings

im writing a story about my oc’s life after she finds out that her boyfriend died in a school shooting he was responsible for & im having trouble writing the grieving process for her. her facing the fact that she misses him & still loves him but is shocked & appalled @ the actions he committed, not wanting to believe that he was planning something so horrific, or wanting to believe he was even capable of doing something like that. (i get it if u don’t want to tho, it’s a bit controversial)

Before I start, I’d like to remind everybody that all the research I put out is taken from the internet, conversations with people I know, and the occasional book. I am not a professional in the matters of mental health and this is not infallible, my word is not law and this is for fun and writing purposes only. Seek out real help in the form of counselors, doctors, and therapists if you are affected in real life.

So I’m sure everyone is aware of the five stages of grief. A lot of people use that for the end all, be all of writing grief but the thing is, there is no end all be all when it comes to emotions or brain stuff.

Some people fit that mold exactly whereas others skip all but one. Some speed through and some take ages in each stage. There is no neat lineup of emotions, more like a roller coaster that never ends. An unfortunate side effect of the firm belief in the five stages means that some people criticize themselves for “not grieving correctly”. Each grieving process is unique as each person is unique.

Of course, misunderstanding the grieving process can lead to some fun internal angst!

That being said, I think it’s important to know and acknowledge the five stages of grief. To keep this from being a crazy long, college essay length response, I’m going to try to keep all of this brief. If you (or anyone) would like further information about any of these individual steps and would like my help in research, just let me know!

Denial: Denial is stage number one. It most often shows itself by being unable to acknowledge situations, avoiding the facts of a problem, and downplaying the consequences of issues. It can show up in regards to anything that makes one feel vulnerable or out of control. Which is basically grief. These days, doctors say that a bit of denial is actually good and can be helpful. It gives the brain little doses of what has happened, protecting us from taking in too much too soon. The brain naturally gives us little breaks to process, regroup, and try again. However, denial can easily become unhealthy. When one avoids a problem altogether, the denial stops one from taking important actions, or a person becomes unable to face anything or delaying getting help

Anger: Lashing out at others, at yourself, and even at the person who died. There’s anger at being left behind, being in pain, that life has changed, at the events that led up to death, there’s even anger at being angry. This is probably a lot of what your character will feel, potentially even the majority or getting stuck in that feeling. There’s the anger that the boyfriend did this, anger that there was nothing your character could do, anger that the boyfriend died, anger at themselves for grieving or being angry at the dead.

Bargaining: This most often shows up before someone dies. The sudden return to faith, the praying, the thought of karma, all those things. After death it shows up in “What if I did [blank], then could I have stopped this?” “If only I had done, said, noticed [blank], then this wouldn’t have happened”, “What if when they said or did [blank], that was a sign?” It’s a lot of blaming oneself for something that was completely out of their control. Were there signs? Was there something I could have done? It can turn utterly unreasonable, too. “If I had eaten the carrot first instead of the potato, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.” People can even go into the somewhat fantastical idea that if they do one thing or another, than they will wake up and it will all have been a bad dream or misunderstanding. It can also turn into “If I do XYZ, then this will never happen to me again.'' This is another stage I wouldn’t be surprised if your character kept returning to.

Depression: This is when the “sad” part of grief shows itself most clearly. It feels as though it will last forever. This term doesn’t mean the mental illness, it means the response to loss. People often withdraw from life, they wonder what the point is of anything, they get lost in a fog. The realization of loss hits hard and is understandably depressed. Can this all lead to a mental illness? Of course. But having depressive reactions to depressive situations is a normal response. The odd thing would be to not experience depression after depressing situations.

Acceptance: This is often confused with the sun coming out and everything being okay again. The reality is, nothing will go back to the way it was. One may never be okay with what happened. And that’s normal. Acceptance is accepting the reality that a loved one is gone and recognizing that this reality is your new reality. One may not like it or find it to be “okay” but it’s reality now. People learn to live with it and keep going. They learn how to live in a world where their loved one is gone. They readjust and realize that they can’t live in or change the past. There is no replacing someone but one can move on, make new connections, new meaningful relationships, new lives overall. Many people see this as a betrayal of a loved one but it’s not. It’s continuing to live life. You aren’t replacing someone, you can’t replace someone. But you can make new relationships and lives while respecting and loving those who have gone.

Now, of course everyone grieves differently. These five stages don’t always occur in this order, some last longer than others, some don’t show up, some keep coming back for more. There’s no right or wrong way to grieve, it just happens. Some show their pain externally, some keep it internal. It’s all different and it’s all okay. Understanding these stages is important but they fluctuate.

Some Final Notes about Grief: Grief shakes faith. That doesn’t just mean religion, although yes, that too. Faith in the world is shaken, faith in ourselves, each other, anyone that could be perceived to have “stopped” this. Law enforcement, medical professionals, caretakers, etc. Some ask how such a thing could have happened to such a good person or how the world is so unfair. People also are shaken in themselves and their relationships. Who are they without their loved one? Who were they before? Who are they going to be after? Some people may try to go back to the way they were before but come to realize that there is no going back. We are often defined by others. We define ourselves by our relationships to people. We are certain people to our spouses, our siblings, children, friends, coworkers, etc. We’re mentors, we’re caregivers, we’re the mom friend, we’re the bad influence, etc. When someone passes away, it can feel like we’ve lost that part of ourselves as well. That is part of grief. Your character may wonder where they stand now, they’re the “girlfriend of a school shooter”, what does that mean? This of course, spurs the whole bargaining and blaming and all of that stuff.

Second thing I want to mention: Trauma. This is a traumatic event, regardless of whether your character was there or not. The moment she is told turns into a traumatic event. She may feel that she doens’t have the right to be traumatized because she wasn’t affected. But she was. She is just as traumatized as anyone else, just in a different way. She will likely have some post-traumatic effects. This may or may not lead to PTSD, but there will be lasting effects.

Side note: PTSD can happen to anyone. Most people refer it to war events but it can happen to anyone that has had a traumatic event occur in their lives.

People affected by trauma tend to feel unsafe. Whether that’s in their bodies, in their abilities, in their relationships with others, what have you. Regaining a sense of safety can take anymore from days to years. It’s often hard for people to regulate or soothe difficult emotions in their lives that they may not associate directly to the trauma. They may also find speaking about their trauma overwhelming. There are actually researchers trying to find nonverbal ways to help emotional regulation.

Processing trauma puts words, emotions, and meaning to it. This is most commonly undertaken with a therapist or a counselor. Attending to safety allows one to move through processing and integrated it rather than reacts to it. Now, people often can be overwhelmed and emotionally flooded while processing. The feeling of safety and stability must be regained before moving on with a personal recovery or story. The point of processing is not to relive the trauma but it’s also not meant to tell a story without any emotions. This involves exploration, mourning, and remembrance of what happened, along with the space to grieve and express emotions.

Eventually, people find their new sense of self and reality. They redefine themselves in the context of new reality. Trauma no longer becomes a defining aspect of their life. They are not organizing their life around their traumatic experiences. Trauma becomes integrated into the story of their life but it is not the story that defines them. Eventually, people come to recognize the impact of their trauma but are able to take concrete steps towards empowerment and a new way of living. Some find this through a mission to help them heal and grow further, such as mentoring. Regardless of how it’s achieved, recovery is different for everyone. Many feel this burning desire to get better quickly and can feel frustration that a process is taking too long or they’re not doing it right. Sprinkle heavy air quotations around all of this. Recovery is not defined by the complete absence of thoughts or feelings around trauma but the ability to live with it in a way that it’s not controlling your life. It’s important for those recovery to be gentle, patient, and compassionate with themselves. However, because emotions are wack, they’ll likely need someone to help them with this as they will not be at all kind to themselves.

Now, I’ve thrown around the term “Integration.” What does that mean? Trauma integration is a process in which trauma is acknowledged to be a part of a new, ongoing reality but is no longer the center of experience and life because it is surrounded by awareness. In better terms, it’s realizing that trauma happened and is a part of your life story but it does not define your life story.

Here is a helpful image that explains what happens before, during, and after trauma. The creator says that her view of this “roadmap” is a circle, not a line. None of these stages are “one and done”. Survivors of trauma usually go through every stage multiple times with varying lengths and intensities. It’s a spiral, not a line.

I’m going to post more research regarding trauma later, because I think it’s neat for writers but especially whumpers.

The final thing I want to offer is that I would not be surprised if your character dealt with survivor’s guilt. If you don’t know what that is, it’s exactly what it sounds like. Guilt that you survived where others did not. Now, your character may not have been in any direct danger but her guilt over the fact it was her boyfriend that killed others will likely be the same. I know people that have dealt with survivor’s guilt because their house did not burn down in a wildfire and their friend’s did. It’s the feeling that one has done something wrong by surviving a tragic even where others succumbed. It can even show up in an employee who kept their job when an equally qualified co-worked was laid off. Emotions are wack.

Of course, it’s not logical for someone to feel responsible for another person’s fate but humans rarely have control over their guilt.

There is the obvious guilt over surviving. That one stayed safe where others didn’t, even if the person in question was whole countries away. The feeling that one does not deserve to be safe or should have been harmed/affected as well. One finds themselves questioning the fairness of the world or hating their “good fortune.”

Then there’s guilt over what “should” have been done. There’s remorse that maybe one didn’t do enough. They should have known, should have tried harder, done better, etc. It’s an inflated sense of failure or responsibility. Back to bargaining with the sense that someone should have done something differently. Eventually, one has to realize that there’s only so much a single person can do.

There’s more guilt over what you did. Leaving behind family for better or safer opportunities, pushing someone out of the way while running from danger, etc. There’s also the potential guilt for coincidence. Waylon Jennings was supposed to be on the plane that crashed and killed Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper, and Ritchie Valens. Jennings told Holly that he had given up his seat to a flu-stricken Big Bopper and Jennings would instead be taking the unheated tour bus. Holly joked that he hoped Jennings froze on the bus. Jennings responded with “I hope your ol’ plane crashes.” Later, Jennings said that for years he thought he caused the plane crash.

Now we know there was no way Jennings caused the crash through a teasing comment, but guilt is funny that way.

Survivors often try not to think or talk about an event. Additionally, many feel on edge, vigilant, paranoid, detached, easily startled. They may obsess over what happened, feel confused, unworthy about living, unsure of the meaning of life, or are plagued by the sense that no matter where they go or what they do, they're never safe. This may appear in your character feeling that she never truly knows someone else and can never trust another person.

Eventually your character will have to learn to forgive herself, even though she didn’t (or did, depending on your story) cause anything to prompt her boyfriend to do that.

Final notes: Grief doesn’t just go away. It sticks around for years after. Sometimes you’re hit by it out of the blue random. The wounds remain but the pain lessens and life goes on. Recovery is possible and reachable, but grief will always stay. Recovery, peace, and healing are not found in another person. A new relationship or a discussion with another victim will not heal your character. She may find closure in talking with others, she may find help from a therapist, but one person cannot heal another. There is help, there are resources, and it will all help her to heal but ultimately that comes from her. A physical therapist cannot touch you and presto! You’re healed and strong again. They can train you and help you work through your pain until you body is strong but it will be your muscles that heal and your body that fixes. It’s the same way for mental health. A therapist or counselor will help but they cannot give you a new brain or heal it for you. Of course, your character can be in a new relationship by the end of the story but I would be careful about framing things to seem like her new boy/girlfriend is the cure for her. They cannot fix her or give her peace. They may love and support her but I would just be aware not to frame things like a new relationship is her cure.

That’s it from me! Already this is pretty crazy long and that’s the gist of things. If you would like my research and input on other things, let me know!

#tw guns #tw shooting #tw violence #tw death #tw loss of a loved one #anonymous #heartless answers

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pseudonymfox · 5 years

Text

A Widow and the Outlaw

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Cowboy AU)

Summary: All alone in the woods Bucky finds a griefing widow and decides to save her life. Both of them showing each other there worlds...

Warnings: mentions of killing/violence/death, fluff, guns?

A/N: Enjoy! I really like it :) Yes I had to take this picture hehe

Up in the hills was supposedly live a rich couple all alone in a cabin, sleeping on their piles of cash he heard from a fella. And if it’s one thing Bucky and his outlaw gang needed than it was money so he prepared everything for a long ride with food and munition to get over the next few days that it would take.

The tip he got about them was better be something good otherwise it would be nothing but waste to ride this far into the mountains. Through different terrains and weather changes he rode about three day until he could see his destination in further distance. He wanted to take one quick look before going in to make sure he wasn’t going to walk into something he couldn’t handle. He didn’t have much of a plan, it was just a quick in and out.

As he got closer he could make out small whimpers and cries from a woman that was sitting on ground, a grave in front of her. She looked like she’s been through a lot, her hair disheveled, the clothes she wore dirty and wet from the rain. Must been sitting there for a few hours he thought and got off of his horse, closer to her.

“All we needed was each other..that’s what you always told me” she mumbled under her breath.

“Uhh..- You alright there Lady?” he asked her carefully trying not to startle her.

“Who are you?” She asked surprised and stood up, taking a few steps away from him.

“Sorry..I don’t mean no harm” he replied, holding his hand up in surrender to assure her that Bucky wasn’t one of the crazy ones out here. People around here could be cruel and disgusting, he couldn’t say he was a good man but he kept his sympathy around most people. Not always thinking to kill or steal from people.

“Well it doesn’t make a difference anymore if I get killed from an outlaw, from wild animals or simply from starvation” she sighed quietly, picking up flowers and placing them gently on top of the grave.

“-We came out of the city in search of something different...something where we could be free..something true” she added as Bucky decided to stay silent for a moment.

“-We were a pair of fools” she chuckled softly.

“Is there a train station or somewhere else I could bring you to?”Bucky asked hoping to help the lost lady.

“No I..he wouldn’t want this...I am gonna do this for you Elijah” she stood now up again and starting to walk away, something about her seemed to catch his interest.

“I am gonna leave you to it then” he replied and wanted to walk back but felt like he couldn’t leave like this. Somehow he felt guilty for something he wanted to do to them even tho he never did.

“-Is there anything left for you to get over the days?” he spoke up again and she turned around again.

“Nothing. We didn’t have an idea about hunting. Couldn’t even catch a darn mouse, just found some poisenes berry’s” she told him grinning sadly.

“Well you won’t last much longer if ya don’t know how to hunt...Come on I’ll show you” he suggested her. Bucky wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he would leave like this. It would be her death, he didn’t want more undeserved deaths that laid heavy on him which followed him every day, plaguing his mind.

“Alright but you better not try any funny business. I may be weak but I know how to stand up for myself” she said proudly and followed him down the path.

“I don’t doubt that” Bucky laughed leading the way.

“You ever skinned an animal before? or learned how to read tracks?” he asked quietly as the got further between trees, trying not to scare the animals away.

“No but as I told you I haven’t catched much before” she told him, her voice low as well.

”You gotta learn how to if you want to survive out here” he let her know, the city wasn’t really far away but still.

“I am aware of that. Where are we heading? Do I need to look for something?” the women stopped by his side kneeling into the ground, gazing through the wood.

“We try it a bit more down, near the river. Look for movement and listen closely” he explained her and she nodded following along again.

“What happened to your husband? If you don’t mind me asking” he asked carefully choosing his words thinking that she must be still grieving about the loss.

“A bear got him. Came out of nowhere. It was horrifying to watch, he survived only a for a couple days after that...Buried him two weeks ago” she told him looking to the ground.

“I’m sorry” he let her know.

“That was more his dream then mine.” she said, Bucky slowly stopping and going more carefully.

“You seeing something?” he asked and looked at her taking the bow and an arrow ready.

“No just lots a trees and the river. Stuff like that” she sighed out looking around more crunching her eyebrows together, concentrating to see something.

“Alright. Close your eyes for a second” he told her really softly.

“How is that supposed to help?” she mumbled back but did it anyway. Maybe he is robbing her now or knocking her out she thought and stepped a bit back, after all they just met and she was pretty sure that he is an outlaw and that mostly never meant something good.

“Just do it, concentrate on sounds. Tell me what you hear?” he whispered and saw the smirk on her lips growing.

“You talking. That’s what I hear.” he breathed out a chuckle.

“Open your eyes again and look again” he instructed so she did and looked around until her eyes widened and she pinched his arm and pointed towards. “There is a rabbit” she whispered smiling from ear to ear.

“See you concentrated on the forest instead of thinking and looking to hard for something specific.” he said and pointed the arrow at the rabbit, breathed another time in and out deeply before letting the arrow go and hitting the rabbit letting it fall over dead.

“Impressive” he heard her mumbling, probably to herself and catching her watching him closely, like she was taking notes in her head about this for later. They both got closer to the now dead rabbit and he pulled it by it legs up taking the arrow out again before holding it towards her.

“You got a knife?” he asked her as she took the rabbit by both legs like Bucky did.

“No not right now. Should I get it?” she raised her brows, the cabin wasn’t far but it was better she learned it without one first.

“No just try to skin it like this. Hold it tightly by his legs, grab his fur and just pull downwards really strong..it will come right off” he explained and nodded doing what he said, she pulled and pulled til the skin came right off, easier as expected as she got right grip for it. “I did it!!” she laughed out proudly showing the rabbit up to him.

“Yeah see. Not that hard” Bucky rested his hands and on his hips.

“Ok I think that was enough for one day I think I should get back now” she bit her lip from grinning so proudly. With the rabbit slung over her shoulder they made their way back up the path.

“Thank you for showing me that. I wouldn’t make it if you wouldn’t showed up” she said after a few moments of silence, looking at him as he nodded.

“No need to thank me. The rabbit should at least last a few days before you have to catch another one”

“Well now I know how to” she winked at him letting him blush faintly. Bucky tried to hide it as they got up the stairs but she noticed it.

“I would invite you in but I look like a mess and in there is one too” she took a fallen out hair strand behind her ear and opened the door just a crack so she fitted through it.

“I’ll be on my way then” he tapped his hat and turned around to leave. She watched him get almost to his horse before she got a few steps out again.

“My name is (Y/N)” she called out.

“Bucky Barnes” he smiled back, getting on his horse again and riding away down towards the city.

A week has barely gone by as Bucky was riding around in this area again and thought that he could check in and see that how you were doing already. In further distance he heard gunshots sounding through the forest so he made his horse running a bit faster just in case something was going south at your cabin and as he took the path up his breathing and heartbeat slowed down again as he saw you with the gun shooting or well trying to shoot some bottles you stood up.

Concentrating on the bottle you wanted to hit you pressed the trigger again but missed once again, the gunshot letting you flinch a bit. Not one of the damn bottles broke or even came in the slightest distance of the bullets. If it would go like this longer you had to go to visit the gunsmith again for new muntion. Sighing out frustrated you let the gun drop, wanting to give up as you heard a horse coming closer. You immediately turned around and held up the your rifle to the visitor. Bucky was surprised but didn’t even flinch, he was used to be getting pointed at with all kinds of weapons.

“Bucky! Good lord I could’ve shot you” you rolled your eyes and took the gun down.

“But you didn’t” he chuckled and watched you turn back around to the bottles just pointing at them. “You wanna learn how to shoot?” he asked and you looked back.

“How are you always around when I need help sir?” she raised her eyebrows at him and all he could do was shrug and walk to her side.

“I was around and heard shootin’ so here I am..wanted to check in anyways” he confessed, having (Y/N) on his mind now for the past couple of days. She looked better now, more relaxed, cleaner with new clothes and all. Like a new person. “I guess I could use a little help..again.” you sighed out, clearly not happy about it. You usually didn’t like to get help all the time but out here you needed it, it was still all so different than to your life before.

“Nothing to be ashamed of..It’s simple.” he said and came up to her side standing closely to her side, she could already feel his hot breath against her skin as she tried to concentrate on his instructions and on the bottles.

“Make sure you stand right so you don’t pulled back to much, hold you arm a bit up and lean the end against your shoulder then just point out, concentrate, take a deep breath and pull always the trigger after you breathed out” he explained showing her and as he stepped away again she pulled the trigger but missed letting her breath out frustrated. “I’ll never understand that.” she said.

“Here I’ll show you and then you try again. You can learn, not that hard. I promise” he took one of his rifles from his horse.

“You have experience from years of being an outlaw”She said shaking her head and as he did it it all looked so easy as he did it and fast, he didn’t miss.

“Try again” he said as he turned back to her so she did even if it was the last time before she would get to frustrated with this or lock any more people to her.

Pointing the gun, doing what she was told and then pulled the trigger as the bottle exploded into shreds. She hit one.

“I did it..Who would have thought?” she laughed out and he applauded her as she bowed like she knew a lady would do.

“-You know I actually cleaned up a bit and was just making dinner...You want to join?” she asked and laid the gun away.

“Sure. Would be my pleasure.” he grinned and followed her into the house. It was pretty simple just from the outside but had just her touch something he didn’t often when he got into cabins that are as far away as this one.

“Just take a seat. It’s almost done. It’s with Rabbit, one I catched myself” she told him stirring in it and preparing two dishes for the both of them. Handing one Bucky who digged in right away, he was a interesting men cause he clearly didn’t have manners which you liked. You thought that this was probably one of the first times he had like a dinner inside at a table like “normal” people around these days but after all he is a outlaw so you weren’t surprised the way he acted.

“I guess it tastes good?” you chuckled as he stopped himself and put the plate down trying now not to eat like a animal.

“Yeah it does great quite delicious” he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and sat up.

“I think that might be also the first time that the food I made doesn’t taste awful. Cooking was also new for me. I was raised with a silver spoon in my mouth so I practically had to learn everything for myself after we moved up here so I am even more grateful that you showed up” she told him and poured him something in a glass to drink.

“Really? Well if it’s make this easier I don’t know either how to cook” he whispered like it was a secret making her giggle, which must be the most wonderful sound he ever heard.

“Well I guess we have to learn a lot more from each other” she smiled at him from across the table.

“I guess so”

Feedback appreciated!

Tags: @learisa / @escapetheshackles / @racheo91 / @torntaltos / @1967-chevy-impala-called-roscoe / @haru-ririchiyo / @memory-of-a-goldfish / @jewelswrites-ish

If you enjoy my content, please consider supporting what I do :)

xoxo Sophie <3

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #cowboy au #Cowboy Bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine

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mxvladdy · 3 years

Note

wait holy shit youre taking requests???? okay first of all, im in love with your writing skills especially those true forms they are *chefs kiss* magnifique. second, may i request for an angst but fluff ending prompt for barbatos/simeon/solomon (im an absolute simp for them) about MC having a really bad asthma attack and coupled with anxiety attack? (totally not me lmao) please and thank you! sorry for being too specific!

A/N: Oshbagosh! I hope you are good fam! You have excellent taste in simpin ngl Barbatos came out of left field for me, though I am weak for a quick wit and sharp tongue lol. And thank you for liking my works! Sorry, this took so long;.;

I hope my research was good and accurate!

Barbatos

Does not know what is going on at first. Were you having an allergic reaction to something you ate? Had you gotten into some Devildom spices he hadn’t secured well enough?

Panics internally. He is very ready to spend the exurbanite amount of energy it would take to turn back the clocks before you started wheezing.

Externally he keeps a level head, glad his gloves hide how sweaty his palms are. He remembers then your human medical file.

He tends to you quickly grabbing your medication and carrying you away from whatever triggered this attack.

“Do you need a doctor?” Barbatos asks for the umpteenth time. He runs a gloved hand up and down your back. You shake your head weakly coughing to try and dislodge some phlegm now breakdown in your throat. You take a shaky breath feeling your airways loosen, the fresh air that fills your lungs taste so sweet.

“I’ll be ok Barb.” You wheeze taking another deep inhale from your inhaler. “Stop hovering and sit please, you are starting to stress me out more.” The demon makes a weird tutting noise in distress but comes to sit next to you. You lean back with a groan. The garden wall was rough on your back but you didn’t care at the moment. It had been so long since you had a flare-up you had almost forgotten what it felt like. You shift over slightly seeking out the heat of your companion's body. Exhausted you flop over to rest your head on his shoulder.

“Here let me.” He pulls out his ornate handkerchief and starts whipping at your nose and eyes. “What triggered this love? Have I missed someplace in my cleaning?” He knew he didn’t, never in all his years had he ever missed a spot. He would retire in shame if he did, but he felt like he had to fill the silence. If you were talking that meant you were alright. Right? He curses at himself. He thought he knew more about humans than this, yet you somehow threw curveball after curveball at him. He needs you to be safe and happy yet he choked on something like this? Perhaps he would suffer more of Solomon’s companionship to pick his brain on human ailments. As long as he could dodge eating any of his cooks.

You fidget as he cleans your face and fusses over you, but you let him. This was for his benefit more than yours. “No, I think it's pollen. Your plants are not something I’m used to yet, and with the wind, it just hit harder.” He grunts, not pleased with your answer. He could do anything about the plants, and things out of his control were few and far between. You catch the inner argument he was having with his many selves and scoff. “Barb-” You take the cloth from him and tuck it in your pocket. “You and all your selves absolutely cannot control my illness, and that's ok.” He doesn’t look convinced, no doubt looking for a loophole in the webs he weaves.

“Given the time I-” He stops at your withering look. “I don’t like not being in control.” Your look softens.

“Who does?” You clear your throat finally feeling a bit more like yourself. Well, at least the garden wasn’t spinning anymore. “There. I think I can manage. Can you help me to the nurses' office? I should get a check-up since it’s been a while since I’ve had an attack. Then I think I’m going to call it a day.”

Barbatos nods helping you to your shaky feet. His hands locked around your arm like he was afraid you would crumble again. You give him a reassuring look and lean into his weight. You didn’t need it, but it was a nice feeling, being looked after. Besides, it was so rare to get his sole attention. “I’ll inform the young master that we will be taking the rest of the day off.”

“We?”

“Of course.” He says resolutely. “Unless you wish for me to leave?” He barely contains his smile when he feels your hands squeeze tighter around his bicep.

“As long as I’m not impeding.” Your words are half-hearted at best. You don’t give a damn if it throws off some super-secret agenda, you were happy to have more time with him. He calmed your nerves.

Simeon

He hadn’t meant to trigger an attack. The weather outside was simply lovely. It was dry and warm with a breeze that made grass dance in a mesmerizing way. The track around one of the Devildom’s many bodies of crystalline water was beautiful at this time of the day. He had to share his enthusiasm.

He just wanted to go for a walk with you. He had so much to talk about with you that he forgot how long his legs are compared to yours. He was so excited he didn’t realize how fast his gait is and how much you were struggling to keep up with him. He didn’t realize your troubles until he felt a sweaty palm on his wrist.

Openingly gets panicked but knows about human medicine and where you store your inhaler.

Simeon breathes deeply through his nose and out his mouth. One deep inhale and one long exhale- focus just focus. His chest clenches in alarm at your shallow pants, his eyesight narrowing down to pinpricks. Blessedly he keeps a steady hand.

“Slowly now my dear.” He shakes your inhaler before bringing it to your lips. His strong fingers massaging your jaw to loosen it. Squeezing your cheeks he slips the apparatus past your teeth noticing how glassy your eyes were becoming. “Inhale.” He orders thanking his father you understand him enough to comply. He watches you like a hawk till he hears your heartbeat steady. Once he is sure he could look away he calls Lucifer. He doesn’t remember what he said, but he knew it was a panic-fueled rush.

“Simeon,” He looks up from his phone. “I’m ok…” You wheeze blinking up into the afternoon moons. Simeon shushes you running his warm hands over your cheeks. They were ice-cold despite the heat. He warms his palms with magic watching the fog clear from your gaze. “Thanks.”

“You shouldn’t thank me.” He pulls away, shaking his head. “This is my fault. I apologize, my dove.” You chuckle breathlessly becoming aware of your surroundings. Last thing you remember was walking up the shoreline. Now the hardwood of the bench pokes at your back. Had you collapsed here? Or did Simeon carry you over? “I should have been more aware of the situation.” He pulls at his hair in frustration. His lower lip turns red as he worries it with his teeth.

You swat his hand away from his hair wincing in sympathy when a few chunks of hair that follow. Linking his dexterous fingers with your clammy ones, you trace the lines in his palm with your thumb. You try to breathe in time with the steady rise and fall of his chest letting your meds take full effect. Your breathing was better, but you still had spots in your vision. “It’s not your fault really. I should have told you when I started feeling bad.”

“I should have noticed. How can I protect you if I can’t even realize your limitations?” He bemoans. You exhale a jerky laugh. Your lungs throbbing with the sharp movement. It ached for sure, but not enough that you couldn’t get up. Ignoring his protests you get off the bench and pull him up with you.

“None of that!” You wag a finger in his face. I’m allowed to panic, not you. You try to make light of the situation but your finger trembles in his face. “You did exactly what you should have so don’t doubt yourself. Sides’-” You clasp yours. hands together playing with your thumbs. “I got horribly distracted too, and pushed myself.”

“By what?”

“You.” Your cheeks heat in embarrassment. “ You were so excited to have the day with me I didn’t want to ruin the mood.”

Simeon blinks. “You-didn’t want to ruin the mood by telling me you were having an asthma attack?” You shrug, a childish smile crossing your face. Unbelievable. Simeon swears under his breath. “I-I am at a loss for words.” He places both his hands on your shoulders squeezing them. “I will find them later and then we'll talk about your amazing lack of self-preservation, but for now, Lucifer is waiting for us at the nurses' office.” Not giving you time to argue he scoops you up, arm holding you under your knees and securely around your shoulders. Once he knew you were safe, he would make sure to have an eye on you at all times.

Solomon

The dusty old library located in the catacombs of the school was a dead giveaway to be trouble for your lungs. You both knew that. He warns you, the moment you feel ill they are leaving, no questions, no arguments. Very much the calmest of the three. He is human...mostly… so he knows the signs and can catch it much faster than the others.

Still worried about you though. You aren’t a mage, just his regular old human.

When he gets nervous he makes jokes. Not appropriate given the circumstances but they just come out. So while he is dragging you from the school he is making the obligatory joke about him taking your breath away.

He will have whatever medications or potions he can think of at the ready for you to use if you need them. Won’t baby you or hover, you’ve lived with this for long he doesn’t want to insult you in any way. But he will keep close and have his ringer on loud in case you need him.

But now he wants you to rest and recover. He’ll keep you company though.

You gaze sleepily out of the bedroom window propped up on an exorbitant amount of puffs and pillows. You breathe out with caution, testing to see if you were still having any lingering effects from being down in the catacombs. It wasn’t anything too serious this time, thankfully. The moment you started clearing your throat and breathing just a little too hard to be considered normal, Soloman had grabbed both your bags and dragged you from the moldy and dusty space. You were a little put out at how quickly your asthma had acted up. You had just found the book you were looking for too.

“If you keep squirming out of your blankets I’ll seal you in there with magic.” Your captor friend appears, pulling aside the drapes around his bed to sit next to you. He flashes you a cocky grin placing a tray on his bedside table. Solomon scans your face looking for any inkling of pain that might linger. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m hot.” You lie. In truth, the many blankets he wrapped you in felt marvelous, but you were being cantankerous. You wanted to get up and go back to work. The mage raises a pale brow, not believing a word of it.

“Of course you are, my little scholar.” He tucks you in again a little tighter then props your cocooned feet on his legs. “How are you really?”

You shrug. Compared to other attacks you’ve had this one was thankfully mild. Most likely because he had whisked you out the winding maze-like library faster than you thought possible. The jitters from the panic attack that followed took more out of you. Luckily for you, Solomon handled that easily too. “You know I want to go back.” You had your hands on the book you wanted when you started feeling a little breathless. You wanted to believe it was out of excitement for the tomes. But the back of that section of the library was damp, cool, and dark. The perfect trifecta for your lungs to riot.

Solomon nodded unfazed. “Yes, I’ve come to realize that whenever danger is present you seem to gravitate towards it.” He smiles fondly at your pout. Your thirst for knowledge was almost as insatiable as his, and both of you seemed to have a knack for attracting danger. He watches you fidget in your confines for a little bit more before sighing. “Alright-alright, I get the drift hold still.” Leaning over you he loosens the covers around your arms to give you a little bit of freedom. As soon as you were free you pinch his nose hard in retaliation. “Oi!” He laughs pulling back to rub at his nose. “Such violence! And here I came bearing gifts!”

“That’s for insulting me!” You huff settling back down. “I hope it’s food, I’m starving.” You eye him expectantly.

“Feed you? After that assault? My, you are brazing.” He picks up the tray he brought despite himself. The school cafe was serving your favorites today. Placing it on your lap he brushes his lips across your cheek. “Plus, I made tea.” You hum in excitement, eyes lighting up with glee. While he couldn’t cook worth a damn (you chalk it up to him irretrievably destroying his sense of taste and smell tolling over potions for years). He did have amazing luck with blending tea leaves and spices. A skill he severely took for granted.

You pick up the tea and breath deeply only to have a coughing fit. His warm broad hands are there in an instant pushing you back into the pillows. “Sorry-sorry. Still a bit tender.” You smile through watery eyes. “It smells great!”

“Does it? What do you smell? I admit, I just picked out things that looked pretty together.” He flushes pink rubbing at the back of his neck.

You take the cup again and sniff. It had a hint of springtime in it, warm and sharp. Something earthy mixed with fire. You take a sip. “Hmm, spicy. Is that licorice?” Solomon nods.

“It is indeed, I read that licorice and black pepper can help with asthma symptoms and circulation. I figured it could wash the taste of your meds away.” He jokes watching you eat and take small sips of the steaming brew. He smiles to himself, glad you could get so comfortable in his room. Perhaps once you were dozing he could slip back into the library and conveniently “borrow” the book you had to leave earlier.

#obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me #requests

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theothersideofhim · 5 years

Text

Stan Figures It Out: Part 1 (or, Asmodeus’ Super Fun Beehive Poking Text Log) (or, Nobody)

((So a few days ago me and Sarah went through a lot of really cool character development, but it was all over discord. I’d really like to have a record of it over here and let ya’ll read cuz it was GR8.

Broke up it up into two parts since it’s so much, and this is part one. Basically Ash ( @ashenheartx ) decided to bother Stan about stealing his idea of making Merlin into a Hell puppet for a hot second, his previous relationship with God, and basically have a big old gay crush on Lucifer. Stan hates all these things and overreacts in true Stan theatrics fashion.

Warnings: NSFW descriptions and general lewd emojis. Ash being Ash. No other triggers far as I know.

Next part to come soon, probably tomorrow.))

Ash:

[txt] ps fuck you for stealing my idea and then failing it btw this is overdue

Stan:

[txt] OH CONGRATULATIONS

[txt] ITS BEEN HOW FUCKING LONG? AND YOU JUST GET THE BALLS TO FUCKING SAY SOMETHING TO ME?

[txt] WELL WELL WELL AT LEAST I KNOW YOU CAN DO MORE THAN FUCK

Ash:

[txt] well your butt was already spanked figured itd take this long for it to heal

Stan:

[txt] HARDY HAR HAR. YOURE REAL FUNNY YOU KNOW THAT? I SHOULD GIVE YOU A PROMOTION TO HEAD FUNNYMAN

[txt] GUESS WHAT THE CURRENT FUNNYMAN IS DOING?

Ash:

[txt] ruling hell for you

Stan:

[txt] WHA

[txt] NO

[txt]

[txt] I PUT HIM IN CHARGE OF THE WRITING TEAM FOR RICK AND MORTY

[txt] SO KEEP THAT IN FUCKING MIND

Ash:

[txt] you lied so hard and fast

[txt] you STUTTERED IN TEXT

Stan:

[txt] WELL I FIGURED THATS HOW YOU LIKED IT

Ash:

[txt] STUTTERED?

Stan:

[txt] I MEANT HARD AND FAST BUT FROM YOUR TRACK RECORD YOU DO SEEM TO LIKE SHRINKING VIOLETS SO

[txt] SHRINKING SHRIEKING NUNS

Ash:

[txt] that was ONE nun

[txt] well alright it was mORE than oNE nun but she was special circumstance

Stan:

[txt] MMMMHMMMMM. AND BY THE WAY THAT WAS TIME WELL SPENT GOOD JOB. THAT DIDNT TURN INTO AN INCREDIBLE FAILURE

[txt] WHILE WE'RE ON THE FUCKING TOPIC

Ash:

[txt] he is only a failure FOR NOW

[txt] he's still not a defective one like many others

[txt] and has actual power

Stan:

[txt] Yeah he does I'll give him that

[txt] Can you really blame me for trying to step in and speed things up?

Ash:

[txt] yes

Stan:

[txt] Nope not allowed

Ash:

[txt] it is allowed because now it will take TWICE AS LONG

[txt] because now he has sex and it's not as much of a pressure point

Stan:

[txt] im sorry im

[txt] IM FUCKING

[txt] gagGING BE RIGHT BACK

Ash:

[txt] ?????????? stop thinking about my son's dick

Stan:

[txt] YOU MENTIONED YOUR SONS DICK and please DON'T act like you DON'T think about it

Ash:

[txt] it's kind of my entire schtick to think about hidden treasure

Stan:

[txt] Isn't the real hidden treasure the dicks we sucked along the way though

Ash:

[txt] see now ive gone from mad to camaraderie and i dont appreciate that

[txt] some how i doubt you have sucked any dicks tho

Stan:

[txt] OH NO IM THE DEVIL OOOOOHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[txt] IVE SUCKED ONE DICK DONT @ ME

Ash:

[txt] 🤔

[txt] proof

Stan:

[txt] UH IM SORRY

[txt] THEY DIDNT REALLY HAVE KIK OR SNAPCHAT BACK AT THE BEGINNING OF THE UNIVERSE

Ash:

[txt] bitch you gave god a bj why isn't this FRONT PAGE news

Stan:

[txt] THERES SOME HIDDEN TREASURE FOR YOU NOW FUCK OFF

Ash:

[txt] GURL WE AIN'T DONE WHO ELSE YOU BLOWIN

Stan:

[txt] RIGHT NOW IM PRETTY SURE EVEN ENTERTAINING THIS CONVERSATION IS CONSIDERED SUCKING YOUR DICK SO YOU??????????

Ash:

[txt] pretty sure my poor dick is flacid and not in your mouth but okay

Stan:

[txt] THE LAST THING YOU WANT IN MY MOUTH IS YOUR DICK

[txt] I'LL SUCK YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING HEAD

[txt] ILL VORE YOU FUCKING TRY ME

Ash:

[txt] honey

[txt] darling

[txt] you've done worse to me please

[txt] oop kink shamed the devil

Stan:

[txt] If there's anything that can be said for me

[txt] It's that I don't have that as a kink

Ash:

[txt] shocking honestly

[txt] what with that mouth tum

[txt] but really not even luci? slacking

Stan:

[txt] YOUSHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT LUCIFERS ENTIRE DICK

Ash:

[txt] why the FUCK would i do that? it's a good dick

[txt] ESP WHEN IT'S CUTE AND SMALL

Stan:

[txt] LISTEN YOU OVER GLORIFIED FUCK BUDDY

[txt MAYBE I SHOULD TELL EVERYONE ABOUT YOUR LITTLE """""HIDDEN TREASURE""""""

Ash:

[txt] my cute butt because that's not hidden at all and you can ask luci

Stan:

[txt] Is it motherfucker????????????? Is it???? You're telling me you let Lucifer fuck you in the pussy????????????????????????? Because I'm calling bullshit on that. I'm calling bullshit that you ever allow anyone to get that fucking close to you anymore.

Ash:

[txt] well all of that is true, but he is aware of it i am sure. we didn't spontaneously know each other when we dropped out of the sky

[txt] besides you probably dont share treasure like that because then how do you get to roll around in it when you want to to feel special. you dont. that's like telling people where the candy stash is

Stan:

[txt] YOU REALLY HIDING THE CANDY FOR LIKE 6000 YEARS CHIEF?????[txt] AT THE VERY LEAST I SHOULD GET A TASTE

Ash:

[txt] oh wait did i let the cat out of the bag for you because wow??????????????????

[txt] didn't you already know i had a pussy like come on man you've probably found it already

[txt] it's pretty hard to remember some of that time when we first got down here though

Stan:

[txt] oh no bitch

[txt] i definitely knew

[txt] a shame you don't reMEMBER the fun we had

[txt] but it's been a WHILE AND A HALF

Ash:

[txt] must not have been all that good?????????????

[txt] dick wasn't bomb apparently

[txt] besides you alwyas had a thing for luci

Stan:

[txt] I'LL PUT A BOMB IN YOUR ACTUAL ASS I DID NOT ALWAYS HAVE A THING FOR HIM AND STOP CALLING HIM LUCI

Ash:

[txt] you had a THING for luci the first day we hit Hell don't even pretend you didn't

[txt] luci luci luci

[txt] how else am i supposed to say his name when he poppin that puss

Stan:

[txt] IM GONNA F CU KING PISSS

[txt] FUCK OFF

Ash:

[txt] 💄💯✨

[txt] and lemme remind you; it pOPS 💦

[txt] if you aren't saying 'luci' when you come im not sure what you're doing with your life

[txt] but it's the wrong thing, darling

[txt] i'll pray for you and your weird little obsessive love affair

Stan:

[If Ash is anywhere near the ninth level of Hell at that moment he might hear Stan literally screeching like a raccoon being rammed with a tennis racket. But then shortly after he wouldn't hear anything except for the illusion of Mitski's "Nobody" chorus playing on loop. It was sad and melancholy and repetitive and perfectly summed up the insult Stan WANTED to say about Ash's fucking life, but wasn't able to get past the screaming. Who the fuck cared about Ash's little opinion? Nobody nobody nobody nobody nobody nobody nobody nobody nobody nobody nobody nobody nobody nobody nobody....]

Ash:

[Look, Ash is a CACKLIN' instead of being offended because if Stan had meant to camouflage his feelings he had instead loudly broadcasted them. So, as a final goad, he gently hit send one final time.

[vid] it's grainy like ten years ago small cellphone quality with sound, but it sure is Lucifer getting railed from chest to between thighs. it's less than thirty seconds and includes orgasms that end with dick withdrawing with an aforementioned pop and leak of white fluid

[txt] ❤️ 🎵 ttyl ]

Stan:

[Stan was having a HARD TIME OKAY????? He sure as fuck didn't need to be called out by Ash, and he sure as fuck couldn't keep up the illusion as soon as the video came through. That song snapped right out of Ash's reality with the same kind of swiftness as Stan's surprisingly potent jealousy boiling up within him. The phone got thrown on the ground, stomped on, punched a few times, then kicked across the motel room.

THEN Stan got out a bat and beat the phone within an inch of it's digital life, manifested a hydraulic press and squished the phone with 12 tons of pressure per square inch, before finally mANIFESTING A GERMAN LEOPARD 2A6 TANK AND ROLLING IT THROUGH THE MOTEL LOBBY TO FINALLY DESTORY THE PHONE.

(And then blast it with the tank's fully traversing rotating gun turret but by then he'd realized he'd never get that image out of his head no matter how much damage he did the phone.)]

#ashenheartx #burningfeathersx #discord shenanigans #long post #tried to make this easy to read as possible but if you have any trouble let me know #TLDR: WHY YOU MAD??? CUZ LUCI'S PUSSY POPS SEVERELY AND YOURS DON'T?????))#ooc

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cyanpeacock · 5 years

Text

Realtalk(tm): The Continued Brainprocessing of Fucky Shit

it’s a long one boys but they all are atm

like jinkies scoob i have been Avoiding So Much with les drogues. avoiding so much like, wow, shit, I Feel So Empty Around People Who Were In My Life. but yes, very necessary to dissociate from this shit for a period while i adjusted to the possibility of, oh, wait, this really is My Apartment? this... i can Live Here without being Disturbed or Attacked? still adjusting. but without les drogues this time.

im continually coming to terms with like... ok, so, i have been and sometimes still like... engage in emotionally and physically abusive behaviour towards my own body, and to other bodies around me?

and also, i am coming to terms with, this does not strictly mean i am An Abuser Forever full stop (i.e. Bad Person, Irredeemable, Disgusting, Abhorrent, Should Be Euthanised, etc).

this is reflective of, emotional and physical abuse has been so normalised to me as a young individual, that i have been repeating patterns of behaviour i saw routinely growing up, not even understanding why that kind of behaviour is hurtful or how i could do stuff differently. and that kind of makes me go, oh shit. dude, what the hell? that’s... that’s actually, yeah, that’s one fucked up upbringing. it really Was that bad.

even regarding like The Voices In My Head(tm), my reaction historically was just like, scream at them? yell at them? injure the body somehow until they shut up or it passes out?

which, uh, oh. that’s totally what my mother did when i was displaying “unreasonable” or “irrational” emotions as a small thing. rejecting then snapping then shouting then smacking until i either ran away to cry alone and injure myself more (emotional abandonment; reenacting and normalizing physical punishment) or went very numb and quiet and compliant like a Good Child (dissociative reaction/freezing; fawning).

now like i am aware of these structures and this history Right Now. but still frequently i do get into the old frame of mind where it’s like, “you’re being stupid. you’re overreacting. you’re being melodramatic. Other People Have It Worse. Just Don’t Think About It” which, yeah, that’s introjected from a number of adult figures in my life. very very unhelpful, but when you’re a kid, you’re looking to adults for structures to implement to help you navigate your own life. when those adults are emotionally unhealthy... Yeah. this happens.

and right now, i’m like, uh, what the hell? it’s not a dick measuring contest, you’re telling a kid in pain that they’re not allowed to express their pain?

like i’ve talked abt this before probably but it’s an incident that reminds me how fucked up the whole situation was and is. when my school found out i was self harming in like y7 (so like, 11-12yo), because i’d cut so far down my PE shorts didn’t cover the marks, my PE teacher legally had to get the school to call home. and like, i fucking Begged her, please don’t, a call home is gonna make things SO much worse for me. but ofc the law is the law especially when it comes to teaching, and the call home got made. and later that evening my mother bust into my room with NO warning and fucking screamed at me, “You Selfish Little Cow.”

like i went numb as hell. i don’t really remember clearly what she said after that but it was a whole tirade. stuff about how i was a brat and going to get her in trouble with social services and how i was ruining the family (implicitly, her life) and causing trouble, and how i ought to Think About What I’d Done. i was thinking/feeling, oh my god, she’s beating me again. i’ve ruined everything for everyone again. this is all my fault. i’m responsible, i’m the one to blame, i should have hidden it better. i’m not allowed to talk. i’m not allowed to feel. i’m supposed to be Quiet and Good and Do School and Not Annoy Anyone and Behave. i’ve failed. i am a failure. I Am A Selfish Little Cow.

i think i tried to commit after she left? but like, in that way where you’re so numb and out of it you can’t actually physically pull together the methods, despite the mind wanting No More.

and like i’ve been going to visit the woman that DID THAT TO ME. smiling and telling her about my life while Really Fucking Avoiding Telling Her Any Details About My Life. hesitating in pain and then adding “xx” to the end of the text messages i felt like i was obliged to send her. trying to convince myself “she’s my mum, i’m not gonna get another one, i should call her, it’s not so bad, we can talk about... uh, talk about politics, or religion, or, uh, her dog, or my siblings...” COMPLETELY fucking avoiding the fact that, like. this is the Same Person who caused me all that pain, and i don’t feel safe or secure talking to her about important details of my life, or my emotions, or, well, me. i hide and go Nothing Is Wrong! :) I’m Doing Fine! :)

and! it really does seem like she’s not, you know, as cruel as she was with me, with her other children, at least since after i ran away. but no amount of that can actually change MY memories of growing up with her? my more-or-less programmed Make Her Happy reaction to her physical body? i can’t just, you know, conveniently forget those Things that Hurt Me to engage with her for her happiness. because, well, Her Happiness is not My Happiness, although i was lead to believe that was so. and, when i’m Conveniently Forgetting those things (i.e. my emotions at the hands of an abusive relative), i’m not behaving with the proper regard for myself as a person, and by extension i’m missing pieces of how to properly engage with other people.

i don’t wanna like, mask the in between spaces of utter dread and anxiety and total blankness with Everything Is Totally Fine. I Am Functioning. Yes I Did Well In School This Year. That’s All That Matters. What Have I Been Doing? Oh You Know. The Usual. (without ever saying what The Usual is, because, yeah, when i’m in that Mode, i don’t fucking know what i do at home! idk how i spend my time! My Function Is To Avoid Conflict).

because, uh, yeah, academically, sure! i am functioning, sort of! bodily? uh, well, i’m SLOWLY learning how to properly feed myself, and sleep without chemicals, and stay clean, stuff like that. socially? Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. okay, fuck. that’s the one i can’t... figure out, like, at all, on my own. how do i... where the fuck do I even start? i’m not even okay enough with Myself to navigate the social world without passing inappropriate judgement on potential peers. i see people who might, Might, be friends, and my brain goes POTENTIAL THREAT REGISTERED. SELF: SIGHTED. ACTION: HIDE. DO NOT APPROACH. FLEE IF CONTACT INITIATED.

SO LIKE. my issue now is, i totally know that like... these patterns of behaviour are not My Fault, don’t make me Useless, Bad, Bratty etc, if i sit down and write about it, frowning on-and-off for hours. but, i can’t actually implement these regulatory thought processes in realtime quickly enough to... meet new people and enjoy it? on like, a social level? even on a professional level i have to wait for a good day, and switch off like, chunks of me to get the Task Completed. and uh, talking to friends isn’t a Task process, it’s supposed to be a Leisure process?

i’m quite capable of filling my time and navigating the world quietly, alone! there is a surprising amount i can find to do. but hypothetically i’d really like to, like, meet people, and not talk about “haha dude I’m so sick right now. let’s smoke another blunt,” because while it was... uh, reassuring? and i suppose fun? for a while? to meet other people dealing with life pain like that, that sort of thing gets really mutually toxic.

like, i’m in the process of quitting drugs altogether, and drugs tend to go hand in hand with that social space. daily use, even second-hand smoke, is not something i can be around any more. weed was great for ages, but now like, the drug basically told me “nah g i’m not for u any more”? - as in, it was not helping me any further, i could feel this, and i just... smashed the pipe i’d smoked out of since living in the YMCA, deleted my dealers’ numbers, and withdrew. goodbye ganja! I Keap The B o m g In My Mind Now

i was offered like, support from a local drug addiction charity? people fucking pushing me and pushing me to go there, actually. but like... i step outside the place and the ground is carpeted in fag ends. there are cheap booze shops like 5 minutes walk away. it felt like the kind of place where something heavy would come up in group, and i’d be with the people who peel away afterwards to chainsmoke, get a couple litres of cheap voddy, then somebody pulls out their second phone to get a baggie of the good shit once the booze hits? like it could easily just drag me back down. this is a thing i gotta discuss later, and more privately. that kind of group Not For Me.

i’d also like... started Really noticing the whole undercurrent of like, anger and judgement and denial and impermanence in the we’re-all-mentally-ill-here social spaces i used to hang out in? and i’m aware that i was participating in that too, and that while it was good to begin with and for a long time, it really isn’t good for me any more. actually tbh i go Completely Wack upon returning to those people and places now. which, fuck, like, if the person in question happens to be reading this, i’m very sorry. and yeah, sorry doesn’t cut it, because that must have been Fucking Alarming from your perspective, and i wouldn’t have done it if i’d been in my right mind, and i wasn’t in my right mind, and currently can’t be around so many triggers, and yeah your lifestyle being triggering to me is NOT your fault at all, which is why all i can really do is a disappearing act. cuz there’s no conversation that can even make a goodbye feel right, fucker that this situation is. rip.

so yeah uh. my issue now, is Establishing Trust and Healthy Social Connections. that is, trust that someone is gonna like me for, the collection of things i like and do and say and am? uh, or even several people?

this... is one i can’t figure out Alone, because, well, it concerns social relations. and i have very little confidence in social relations, because, well, they’ve either been painful, or centered around painful experiences. and i’ve been told that when i’m really truly enthusiastic and happy about something, i’m overwhelming and annoying to others? so i put the brakes on like crazy if i start feeling “too” happy and end up going Appeasement Mode to get out of the social situation as quickly and smoothly as possible.

and uh, what, i don’t even know the collection of things i like and do and say and am. i don’t... Know all of those things at any one time. how, uh, what? what am I. you know. the usual ??????????? flippy haze.

i mean! i’m getting better at talking Within myself. i REALLY try to talk slowly with kindness and understanding of context to myself and the voices in my head now, and figure out solutions to pain and problems that don’t involve different kinds of pain or avoidance? but i still lapse into like, you know, Augh Jesus Christ I’ve Heard This One Before Why Do I Need To Have This Discussion Again, and frequently i can’t find a viable alternative for avoidance, because i get overwhelmed easily and that makes EVERYTHING worse. and i haven’t figured out how to take my foot off the brake pedal, either, even though i’m not always pressing it. I Need It There For Now Or Else The Car Might Crash u kno.

so, like, what? i guess i just keep, talking kindly to the voices, and also to myself? practice until it becomes the default state of being when a trigger pops in? this requires patience, and also booting away people who refuse to have patience with me. unfortunate, necessary.

the thing about IRL conversations, is they happen so QUICKLY, and like, i don’t have enough time to calm the brain down from every trigger that pops up! because like, it can be a facial expression, a movement, a word or phrase, a tone, something in the periphery, something behind me, an internal sensation. it’s SO much information my brain is scanning urgently for threats, and my brain scans harder the more a person knows me, because a person who knows you can deal WAY more damage than a stranger.

so... yes. this is the part i require assistance with. Hrrrrrrmmnhghdfgjnh.

I SUPPOSE. perhaps now the university have stepped in to arrange a case review with the NHS, they can really push for the kind of support i need. which, yeah, it’s long-term one-on-one trauma-focused counselling or therapy, and also some help with social interaction???? not repeated crisis team referrals, not some 12-week DBT course, i’ve literally been off finding DBT skills and employing them on my own because the waiting lists are so fucking long, and not a 12-week psychodynamic course, because i’ve been seeing a psychodynamic counsellor on and off for four years privately, and the work is nowhere near a conclusion. shit, i’d be satisfied if they could just somehow secure funding for me to keep seeing that guy specifically? he’s REALLY helpful to me, literally like my fucking role model for non-toxic masculinity. and i’m not ready for like, group social skills work, Yet. but soon, you know? only when i’m like “okay, yeah, i really do think I can handle this without my health going backwards again” - which, i need more within-myself security for that.

also better mood monitoring would be nice, i.e. seeing the same damn person, who actually knows my case, instead of a different person every time saying “I’ve just quickly had a look at your case notes”. because if i go low again this winter, then my “depressive disorder NOS” is bipolar, and i’ve been mismedicated from the beginning. and yeah honestly like? as soon as it starts getting dark and cold, I get inexplicably sad, even with plenty of indoor light and warm clothes and whatnot. but yeah we’ll see about that.

anyway This Shit Wack. Im Done.

#fliptext #trauma #abuse #drugs #self harm #emotional abuse #verbal abuse #physical abuse #fuck uhhh ask to tag #ask to tag #isolation #(boosh voice) i-so-la-tion i-so-la-tion

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timeoutforthee · 6 years

Text

Like It or Not-Chapter 11

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings: denial, unsupportive people, invalidating feelings

Read it on AO3!

“Roman! A word?”

Roman turns away from the door and walks back to his teacher, Mr. Hurley. “Yes?”

“I noticed you weren’t at auditions yesterday,” he starts and Roman takes a deep breath. Yesterday, while all his friends were singing their heart out, he was in therapy with Dr. Picani. And during therapy, he had made a decision. One his drama teacher-slash-director would not appreciate.

“Yeah, about that....,” his teacher raises an eyebrow, “I’m not doing Beauty and the Beast.”

“...what?”

“You know, I’ve been having all sorts of health issues lately, and I think it would be best if I stepped back for a while,” Roman recites, perfectly, just as he and his therapist practiced.

“You look fine to me!” his teacher says, which is one of the responses they had planned for.

“Not all illnesses are visible.”

Mr. Hurley sighs and rubs his temples.

“What am I supposed to do for the Beast?”

Roman winces. He knows his director doesn’t mean anything by it, that it might even be a compliment, considering it was the lead. But having someone in his life immediately assume he would be a beastly, ugly monster is not doing wonders for his self esteem.

If it was up to him, he’d be Lumiere. But lately, no one seemed to ask what he wanted.

“I...don’t know?”

“Do you know how many men are in the theater department?”

“Six-”

“Six!” his teacher cries at the same time. “We already had to make the narrator a female role. That leaves seven male roles, and now I only have five actors?”

And there it is. The crushing guilt he was trying to avoid.

“I’m sorry,” Roman’s voice is surprisingly soft, “I just...I can’t.”

No matter what he wants, how badly he wants this, he can’t have all those people staring at him. He can’t make himself dress up as a terrifying, ugly beast. He can’t have people wait the whole play for a dashing prince and then just be...himself.

“You know, this could have been a big role for you. It would look great on a college application.”

Roman shakes his head, his voice failing. His teacher sighs.

“Fine.”

When Roman walks in, fifteen minutes late, he looks every bit as princely as he likes to pretend to be, except for the red around his eyes.

The other three exchange glances. Thomas smiles.

“Glad you could make it, Roman.”

“Ah, well, you know, you can never predict traffic!”

“Nice try,” Thomas’s smile never falters, “But try again.”

“Why, what do you mean?” He can see Virgil raising his eyebrows out of the corner of his eyes. Patton is looking at him in concern, and Logan is staring at him like he can see right through him.

“You know, part of group therapy is being open with each other, being vulnerable, even with emotions we find uncomfortable.”

“I, uh,” Roman sits down, “It’s just been a rough day.”

“We thought so, considering you didn’t show up for lunch,” Virgil says. Roman shoots him a glare. He couldn’t have, like, five minutes?

“What happened?” Thomas asks.

“I decided not to do the winter musical, which the theater department had some strong opinions about. And my dad and I got into a fight. It’s really not a big deal, I’m just being my overdramatic self,” Roman tries to brush it off.

“Roman, I think you may have trouble with invalidating your feelings.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you tend to brush off your feelings by saying you’re being over dramatic, or that they’re not important. But any feelings you experience are very important to you.”

“Well, sure, I guess, but that doesn’t mean they should be...right?”

“Let me ask you this,” Thomas continues, “Why do you think they’re unimportant?”

“I was crying in a bathroom for ten minutes over not being in a play, doc, I think in the grand scheme of things, it’s not going to matter.”

“I think that’s a little unfair,” Patton speaks up, “I mean, depending on how big of a picture we’re looking at, we could argue everything is meaningless. But that doesn’t mean it truly is. Our feelings in the moment matter in the moment.”

“Also,” Virgil says, “I haven’t known you long, but even I can see how much Theater means to you. You’re giving up that passion, that escape from the real world. It’s a good step for you, and you have to do it, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you want to. Of course you’re upset.”

“That’s true,” Thomas says, “And plus, you said earlier that it wasn’t just that, it was the negative backlash from your director, and also a fight with your father-”

“Did I say that?”

“You did,” his therapist responds, “What was that about?”

“My dad was hoping that without theater, I could try and take up sports again,” Roman says, “And I couldn’t tell him the real reason why I couldn’t, so I just told him I couldn’t, but that wasn’t good enough for him and it just…” and, oh God, he’s getting choked up again, so he just cuts himself off, with a “today has just not been my day.”

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement,” Logan says.

“And that brings us back to undermining our feelings,” Thomas says.

“Okay, I get it,” Roman rubs at his eyes, a little harder than necessary.

“Why do you feel like you couldn’t tell him the real reason?” Thomas asks, a little gentler this time.

Roman laughs. “He wouldn’t believe me.”

“Wouldn’t believe what?”

“That I have an eating disorder. I eat so many fruits and vegetables, and I work out so much, my strength was the only thing that made him proud-” Roman’s mouth snaps shut before he starts sobbing again. This is ridiculous.

“Do any of you have a similar experience?” Thomas asks, “Patton, you mentioned before that your mom caught you, so she knows about your eating disorder. What about you two?”

“My parents do not know,” Logan says and Roman looks over at him, “My mom...actually asks me for diet tips.”

Thomas doesn’t even try to hide that he’s writing that down. That is concerning. “And your dad?”

“My dad has this ridiculous notion that psychology and mental illnesses aren’t ‘real,’ that it’s a new phenomenon instead of a legitimate medical field. I haven’t told him the specifics of why I need to come here, and he’s never asked,” Logan’s hands go to his glasses, like they usually do when he’s nervous, “And I intend to keep it that way.”

“What about you, Virgil?”

Virgil sighs, “I don’t know what Violet knows. She just...sent me to a therapist one day. I tried to tell her I didn’t need it, but she wouldn’t listen, and eventually I came here. She brought up my eating habits during our family session, so I guess that’s why. She makes me eat something at dinner, usually an apple, so I guess she knows. But we don’t talk about it.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, I don’t necessarily want to talk to her.”

“Why?” Thomas keeps pressing.

“I don’t really want to talk to anyone.”

“You say that, and yet you’re here.”

“Not for long if you keep questioning me.”

Thomas holds up his hands. “Okay. If you’re done sharing, that’s fine. Originally, today I wanted to talk to you guys about what’s holding you back from recovery. We talked about what was motivating you all to move forward, but we need to look at any toxicity in life and see if we’re able to cut it off. Does that make sense?”

They all nod.

“So would you say your environments are contributing more to your recovery or your disorder?”

They all go silent for moment, thinking.

“I mean, I think it’s fair to say my environment is great. My mom has been nothing but supportive,” Patton says. And she has. She’s been great, group therapy has been great, his doctors have been great, the only problem is him and this constant empty feeling in his chest. He almost feels bad. Apparently, Virgil picks up on it, because he jumps in.

“Violet’s trying her best, I guess,” he says, “She’s taking me to these appointments and she took me in, which is already more than a lot of people would do.” It’s just me.

“And that doesn’t invalidate your experiences,” Thomas reassures them, “It just means we have to look somewhere else to find your triggers.”

“My family is not triggering,” Roman rushes to say, but he’s a little too late and a little too unsure.

“Roman, let’s jump back a bit. You said you felt your emotions were unimportant. Have your parents ever said they were unimportant?”

“No,” he says immediately, then, “Maybe?”

“Which isn’t ideal. I don’t think it’s just you invalidating your feelings, I think it’s your whole family. And I’m afraid, and Emile’s afraid, that it might make you feel like you’re unimportant.”

Roman isn’t sure what to do. He knows he should straighten his back and flick his hands up and smile and reassure him that he doesn’t have to worry about that. He should defend his family, because they’ve done so much for him. They only wants what’s best for him.

But he’s stuck. The words aren’t coming up and he can’t raise his head to actually look at his therapist.

Thomas gives it a minute to sink in, then turns to Logan.

“And the fact that your parents don’t understand, that they consider your habits healthy even, is very concerning. It’s hard to step back and recognize that what you’re doing is unhealthy when everyone around you is saying it’s fine.”

Logan nods, thinking. If he had never met with the doctor, if he had never met with Thomas, where would he be now? Still delusional, not even recognizing the signs?

“This is such an important topic, and one you guys need to be aware of. I’m going to put a little star next to it, so you can continue talking about it with Dr. Picani,” Dr. Sanders says, “But we’re out of time for today. Until next time, guys.”

Roman tries to subtly speed walk down the hallway, but the other three catch up to him, anyway.

“So?” Virgil asks.

“So what?” Maybe acting clueless will work.

“So why did you skip lunch today?”

“And where were you during gym?” Logan asks.

“My director caught me right before I went to lunch,” Roman says, defeated, “Our talk wasn’t the greatest, and I just...couldn’t eat right then.”

“But you are coming back tomorrow?” Patton asks. After all, he’s never stopped his behaviors, why should he expect Roman to quit immediately? And really, they all know that. They’ve all had a good streak of eating decent meals for two weeks, but it was only a matter of time before someone had a bad day.

“Yeah,” Roman says, straightening up and looking Patton in the eyes, “I will.” And he means it. He doesn’t want to. But he will.

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #roman sanders #sanders sides #THIS TOOK FOR FUCKING EVER OH MY GOD #like it or not #my writing

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