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congodoll50 · 2 years

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The Buzz on Hypermobility Sleep Hacks

15 Jan 2018 Little Steps – Hypermobility and Sleep Whilst a lot of the conversation around hypermobility and EDS centers on action, a popular resource of anxiousness, stress and tension for those residing with such problems happens coming from the various other half of our lives – sleep. Sleeping is one of the the majority of opportunity eating and risky encounters (although it may also supply a useful escape coming from any kind of achievable psychological clogs you might face) and in some instances, this has a tendency to surpass the benefit for the majority of people. A lot of individuals residing with EDS have huge difficulties when it happens to receiving sufficient top quality rest. A lot of folks, and also a lot of medical professionals, appear to drop into the same catch. Along with EDS, their sleep is constantly immature during waking, and it likewise usually tends to be challenging to get into the complete selection of sleeping and always keep you wide awake. Often you can receive via so lots of points that you can easily barely drop asleep in your rest. These are quite bad factors for the human brain.

Merely receiving in to bedroom and relocating around while in bed can easily lead to dislocation, subluxation or caught nerves. The only trait I can think regarding is I'm not gonna be capable to rest at all because I've been possessing issue resting after waking up. That's how it goes. To find out more concerning these workout, check out out his publication, The Ultimate Guide to Gymnastics. You will certainly also find him on twitter at @jason_rabbit. After a time of experiencing tiredness and pain, we need to be looking onward to finally getting right into bed. But what is the absolute best therapy for this person that is all but pointless for many people suffering coming from migraines/perceptible discomfort? It has been suggested that we suggest to make use of one tsp of an anti-diuretic, or saline supplement. When the water on our mattress is also low it can easily cause inflammation, which can typically lead to dehydration and fatality. This creates it also even more aggravating when hypermobility produces rest challenging. And again, that has actually to be an inherent individual instinct, whether it's a cognitive dissonance the need to rest or some various other mental factor or something else. It's not as if sleep is a bad thing, like you're not a clever individual and the various other day I informed a buddy I dislike observing me play video games. Or a whole lot of people do have that issue, though. Fear of misplacement while sleeping may produce going to bedroom a difficult and also frightening opportunity for those who experience hypermobility. An additional method hired by doctors to make sure a person may keep straight while resting, is to have their hand resting under their head throughout sleeping, while carrying out a deep breathing so that they would experience the complete weight of their injuries. The physician can after that relocate the patient with their scalp to see if they really feel any type of pain from resting appropriately. For individuals with EDS, this challenge resting can be made worse by Obstructive Sleep Apnea – which sees the connective tissue in the upper airways collapse while you’re trying to sleep – generating breathing problems. If your companion is experiencing a lot more comfy than the sleep-deprived sleepaper has in conditions of his personal well-being and his ability to deal with the stress, this might suggest he may not be capable to manage this when the sleepaper acquires to you. Performing This Site may to boost sleeping health and enhance rest premium is something I advise to every customer I find, but folks who experience hypermobility and EDS, in certain, have much to gain coming from a good evening’s sleep. In reality, the answer to my most usual clients' sleeplessness related concerns could be simple—do you assume that there is a straight relationship between sleep top quality and EDS, or is that only a question of time and place—to avoid. A far better night’s rest are going to help with energy degrees, emphasis and coordination the following day, and making acquiring to sleep a much less nerve-racking encounter will certainly assist to ease stress in the body that might lead to additional discomfort. And because there's no cure for higher blood pressure, it's necessary to maintain in mind that also after being over weight, you can still proceed to consume well, workout, live less, and be much less physically energetic than previously. It’s necessary to carry out as much as you may to create the correct setting for sleep. The issue isn't simply the trouble of time administration, but likewise the issue of generating an setting conducive to rest deprivation. But only because you make one more environment doesn't suggest you acquire to carry on to shed body weight. You really want to remain slim and healthy and balanced. Once you have made that correct change, your odds are wonderful of keeping toned and well-balanced. Concentrating on a set program and relaxing activities will certainly help placed you in the best framework of thoughts once bedtime pulls near. Take it gradually. It is greatest if you carry out so when you are asleep. If you get up at 6:40 am you are taking an amazing and valuable evening's sleep and you have been reading your manual you might observe something has transformed in the schedule. I have invested several hours engaging in and analysis and writing. There is actually a explanation my regular works. Typically, your stress and tension degrees are very likely to create throughout the night, meaning you head to bed in specifically the wrong structure of mind needed to acquire a excellent evening’s sleep. When speaking concerning how to crack down anxiety, a brand-new study was performed through scientists at McMaster University that shows how hard it may be to crack through a persistent, unreasonable sense that might be connected to psychological wellness complications through simply being capable to focus on what you do.

#hypermobility sleep positions #EDS and sleep #how to sleep when you are hypermobile #Ehlers Danlos syndrome and sleep

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jellyluchi · 3 years

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Heyoooo can I request ummm

Hurt/Comfort of Cecelia (hey that’s me!) and Abbacchio where Cece basically is hurt or something like that and he wants to make her feel better?

Sorry if this is vague or what have you I’m not very good at this kinda stuff ;-;

A/N: Hi Cece! Thanks for the request and for your patience! Since I'd asked you before hand I made this a reader insert piece, I hope you enjoy!

Abbacchio x F!Reader: "With you"

—warnings: none —genre: hurt/comfort —word count: 600+

Sometimes you hate the phrase ‘time heals’. You question the validity of such a statement when your continuous hurt is a testament that it is not so. And as your days roll by with little to no progress of feeling better, you start to lose hope. But one man makes it all bearable.

It happened again. You let the culprit go, an honest mistake due to an injury on your leg. You don’t want to feel the way you do and you wish you could forget the events that transpired just yesterday. But it only takes a droplet of unease for discomfort and eventual sadness to spread inside you. Before you know it, self-doubt has a grip on your heart with an iron fist.

Thankfully, according to Bruno, you do not have to work today. You were let go because of said sustained injuries and told to rest. But how can you sit idly when your mind replays the image of the enemy running away, causing you to fail another mission, and makes you want to jump out of bed and after them. You want to run, you want to pace, you want your body to be at speed with your mind. But your body is fatigued, unlike your racing thoughts it’s much too lethargic to do anything but sit. The cognitive dissonance eats at your very soul as you wait for your boyfriend to get home.

During moments like this, nothing brings you comfort than the presence of Leone Abbacchio. Standing at 6’2, he’s difficult to ignore in a room full of people. Yet, he has a way of blending into his surroundings with his stoic and mysterious demeanor that interested you in the first place. He’d been away for a few days on a mission to guard a few of Passione’s men in a different city. You think you’ll finally feel better when you see him.

You hear the front door open and your heart leaps to life. Just the awareness of his existence is already doing wonders.

“Bambina?” he calls out to you.

“I’m in the bedroom” you call back, your body not wanting to leave the cozy surrounding of your shared space.

You hear the door close and more footsteps. There’s some shuffling and you assume Leone is making himself at home by shedding his outerwear.

“Hey” he says from around the door frame of your bedroom.

“Hello…” your voice is meeker than usual. He sees your sunken state. Wrapped in a blanket, your body looks small and crumpled paired with your tear stained eyes. Leone knows about your mission. Bruno made sure to inform him of your injuries and that you’re safe. But it doesn’t hurt him any less to see you like this.

“How are you feeling?” he asks moving closer to sit beside you. You look out the window nearby and feel the bed shift from his weight. His arms snake around your waist to hold your stomach. You think back to when you first met, when he was even afraid to touch you thinking he’d taint you too much with his own darkness. But both of you bask in dim lighting together like two misfit moths who aren’t attracted to light at all.

“Better now that you’re here.” You’re always truthful with him, the only person who you can be sincere with and you know the sentiment is mutual. His head moved to the crook of your neck without you noticing, the same way he can mask his presence, and you feel his lips smirk against it.

“Is that so?” He's making idle conversation and you know this. Neither of you have to say much to each other to understand the depths of feelings.

“Hmm..” you hum in appreciation, letting your head fall atop his. For a man so cold in attitude, he can be so incredibly warm when he wants. And the thought that he is only like this with you, is the greatest comfort you will know.

#abbacchio #leone abbachio x reader #leone abbacchio #leone x reader #abbacchio x reader #bucci gang #bucci gang x reader #team bucciarati #jojo abbacchio #jjba abbacchio #abbacchio imagine #fics #fluff #asks #i hope this is what you were looking for !!!!

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beepbeepbobop · 3 years

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Back again.

I was telling my friend (who isn’t a Baccano! fan, but listens to me ramble) about my take on immortals and Czeslaw, and I don’t know where to put it, so! It goes here. As a warning, this is mostly me rambling and probably treads ground that has been talked about a lot in the past, but I hope it’s interesting anyway.

(This and the Infinity Train post is not a sign that I’m going to be more active in the future. Social media and the prospect of interacting with other people’s posts still make me anxious. Maybe one day.)

So! The first thing to keep in mind is that change is a major theme in Baccano!. No one is incapable of changing, but people have different relationships with it depending on who they are. Czes can't believe that he has changed seventy years after Isaac & Miria stealing him despite clear evidence that he has. Meanwhile, Nile actively resists change: His greatest fear after becoming immortal was that he would become desensitized to the loss of human life and begin to devalue it, so he spent decades fighting in active war zones so that he'd never forget the reality of death. This backfired, and instead left him inured to loss of life...but it's clear that he doesn't want to be this way? Realizing that he's gotten to the point where his expression doesn't even change if someone dies is devastating for him. Chane is the opposite: While it's absolutely for the best that she stops being a hitwoman and killing machine for her father, softening up is terrifying to her because then she can't serve her father the way she wants to. Czes is on the opposite end of the spectrum, because he wants to be better because he thinks he's a bad person (later on, he decides that he's the only bad person left in the world. Sir.), but can't recognize it because he doesn't feel different.

And...this is pertinent to the older immortals in particular - I'd argue even moreso than with the younger ones. Aside from the fact that the Elixir literally stops you from changing in the sense of age or injury...it also has to place inhibitors on your brain. Your brain is, after all, a physical part of your body! There are some....weird aspects about immortality that no one is able to figure out (for example, immortals can give birth; someone also pointed out that there are no examples of crying in reverse even though that's also a part of your body), but it's still safe to say that the brain doesn't age either because then...then a lot of the cast would be catatonic from Alzheimer's. Even without that, the human body can only retain so many memories. If an immortal's brain had the ability to deteriorate over time or overload based off of the amount of memories it contains....well, I don't think any of the older immortals would be able to function. Szilard definitely wouldn't be able to function (and neither would Firo after he devours Szilard) because Szilard has the memories of over a dozen people running around in his brain. Which brings me to my next point: If an immortal's brain functioned like a human's, devouring would not work as a concept. One of the hallmarks of being immortal is gaining other people's memories. Imagine the strain that would cause. And yet, it doesn't seem to be a problem! The chief worry of those who have devoured other immortals is worrying that having the memories of the other person might change you consciously or subconsciously. This is Firo's concern over devouring Szilard.

So...the fact that the brain doesn't physically grow older or change (with some leniency given because real world science sure is iffy here)...feels relevant because, mn...

Many of the older immortals feel stagnant, or stuck in time. Firstly, if the immortals changed at the same pace as a human being, I don't think most of them would be recognizable from one era to the other. And yet, they are! The Victor Talbot of the 1700s is clearly the same person as the Victor Talbot of the 1930s, albeit with alterations (because what kind of person would stay exactly the same after centuries?). The answer to that question is Elmer, by the way. Everyone comments on how he acts just like the Elmer they remember back in the day. But Elmer is a special case, seeing as he's our local empty shell and probable sociopath (not that he has ASPD! ASPD, sociopathy and psychopathy all present and function entirely differently from each other, which makes it....strange that they're lumped under the same umbrella - but that's another matter). Secondly, immortals...Uhm, they all handle grief horribly, and seem to feel stuck in the past? Maiza, for instance, acts starkly different from his past as a rebellious noble-boy gang member, but he's never forgiven himself for giving Gretto the information that led to his death. (Gretto being his brother.) Huey's overarching goal is to bring his dead girlfriend back to life, and he's been working towards this goal for centuries. Sylvie, who admittedly was not an immortal when Gretto died, held off on drinking the Elixir until she was all grown up, then set out to finding Szilard to take revenge on him for killing the boy she had run away with. This lasted for, you guessed it, centuries.

This isn't to say that immortals don't change, or even that they don't change drastically. I mentioned Nile, who became inured to death after fighting in war for decades. Czes went from a trusting, innocent child to someone paranoid and self-centered enough to try and get an entire train car's worth of people killed for his own safety to someone who wants to be a good person, but thinks he never will be and that there's something fundamentally wrong with him. But changing appears to be very, very difficult, and happens over an extended period of time in response to extreme situations.

And...this is particularly relevant to Czes (who keeps coming up as an example because he's the main person I'm thinking about with this tangent) because....it arguably hits him harder than any of the others due to being a child. Only the best decisions were made aboard the Advenna Avis, which includes letting the eight year old drink the immortality elixir. But...mn. It's one thing to be perpetually in your thirties, or twenties, or sixties, and another altogether to perpetually be eight years old. Czes can't truly 'grow up' even though he has more life experience than most adults combined, and it shows in his extreme emotional reactions, his self-centeredness, ect. There's a certain misconception about anime-only fans that he's an adult in a child's body, but I think it's easier to tell in the light novels that that's not the case, especially since you see what he's like back before the Advenna Avis. (He is shy. Very shy. Did nothing wrong ever.) Also, the fact that SAMPLE goes, "Yes! The perfect sacrifice!" when they specifically take a child to target emphasizes this. It's not proof - I'm pretty sure that SAMPLE would focus on his physical age as an 'eternal child', and may or may not have the resources to analyze him and go, "This boy is still eight years old in his head," - , but it hammers the point home.

Then...mn. One thing that's stuck out to me ever since the start is how long Czes was with Fermet. There's such a thing as learned helplessness, and it's not like Czes had anywhere to go, so that's not what is odd to me...especially when Fermet is known for manipulating people, and could definitely seed the idea that Czes can't go anywhere. More than physical proximity, I think about how long Czes believed in Fermet. It's explicitly stated that Czes absorbing Fermet's memories is what made him realize that - oh, Fermet was just sadistic and everything he said was an excuse. And...I think this is both an example of being controlled in many respects, and....another example of an immortal being stuck in the past - but in a very, very different way.

First off, learning that the people you look up to want to harm you is...difficult at best, especially when you're younger? But being mentally 'stuck' at a certain age would make things worse, because Czes is perpetually an age where it's natural to depend on a parental figure, and at an age where the brain isn't equipped to make those kinds of calls or realizations. There's also the matter of cognitive dissonance! Cognitive dissonance means a lot of things, but essentially, it's the idea that you have two conflicting beliefs, but the actions you take can retroactively alter your beliefs/place emphasis on one more than the other, as the mind is predisposed to reduce dissonance. I...take issue with how cognitive dissonance is interpreted because many examples don't account for the beliefs or opinions not being equal in the first place, but that's not the point. The point is that, as a child, the impulse to reduce dissonance is present while also being played against difficulty reading intentions, perceiving the world outside of yourself, and thinking critically. (For what it's worth, abusers also tend to discourage critical thinking because it damages their narrative, which would also play a part.) So, for example...

Say that, theoretically, Czes was yelled at every time he questions the idea that Fermet's intentions are right, or that maybe Fermet doesn't have his best interests in mind. (Czes is insightful, and they lived with each other for a long time, so this probably happened at least once unless the text directly contradicts me.) This is tame compared to the things we know about his time with Fermet, but ignore that. The desire to not be yelled at would lead him to hurriedly agree later on, and cognitive dissonance means that you're inclined to try to make your beliefs agree with your actions. In other words, the more he plays along, the more his brain tells him that he definitely believes this, and it makes perfect sense to! Fermet has shown that he cares about him, and took him in after his grandfather died, so of course. It only makes sense. And it's even harder for him to bridge the gap to a different conclusion because of how difficult it seems to be for immortals to change. It's only when Czes devours Fermet (or...or at least gets his memories) that everything snaps into place, because he can't reconcile that no matter how hard he tries (coincidentally, this also happens when he gets memories of being an adult, and while I seriously doubt that Czes went through Fermet's memories willingly, it kind of hammers my point about how difficult being eternally young would make things). So of course he snaps as hard as he does. It'd be kind of amazing if he didn't, honestly.

TLDR: Being immortal made it even harder for him to recognize or comprehend his trauma. Sorry for that.

#baccano #baccano!#czeslaw meyer #nile (baccano)#I don't know who else I discussed enough to tag #but the segment about szilard made me wonder whether you would have more memories from devouring a dozen people or from living #for a couple centuries #I think it depends on how old the immortals were #discord ramblings

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impishnature · 4 years

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Breaking Point

Thanks for waiting guys! This was 3.9k in the end so yeah haha! Which while normal for me, isn’t going to be attainable daily throughout October.

Imptober Prompts so far

AO3 Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: T+ (Warning for possibly graphic details on injuries.) Prompt: Broken Down/Broken Bones. Summary: Accidents at sea happen, however careful you may be. Unfortunately for Stan, some can dredge up memories with them.

It was strange, quite how quickly the world could turn upside down.

All it takes is one wrong turn, a blink, an exhale of breath, and suddenly all the air is punched out of your lungs and the open sky spins like a fairground ride you never meant to take. Off kilter, ready to take you down as the ground crumbles beneath your feet.

At least, that's how it always seemed to be for Stan. The world was always ready to throw him in the deep end at a moment's notice.

He'd hoped that after everything, the universe might stop trying to push him around.

He'd been quietly humming to himself, a serene smile on his face, tapping calloused fingers on fraying trousers as he sat, staring out to sea. There wasn't a cloud in sight, the sun beaming warm and bright against his arms and back, and the small bobber on the end of his fishing line was all that really kept him linked to reality. Otherwise, his mind was elsewhere, a peaceful static drone buzzing through his blank mind, as seagulls screeched overhead, hoping to snag his catch before he did if he wasn't careful and prepared. Behind him, he could hear his brother as if in the far distance, soft footfalls padding along as he absorbed himself in whatever anomaly had brought them here in the first place.

One moment, under the bright blue sky, Stan felt at one with the world, like all the planets had finally aligned, the puzzle pieces had fallen into place and finally he was living the life he was always meant to lead.

The next second, a loud crack tore through the air and the folding chair he'd been sitting on jerked to the side, toppling, as the boat lurched beneath him. Something hit the metal railing of the boat with a long clattering ring that ricocheted around his ears as he promptly smacked into the floor shoulder first, head bumping slightly after with another flare of pain.

Amidst this, another softer, though no less unpleasant crunch filtered through his disorientated senses. He felt something solid give beneath his fingers, breaking sharply in two and any air in his lungs choked out of him as a flood of pain washed over him. He curled up into a ball on the ground, breathing shallowly, heart thumping rapidly as his brain overloaded with sensation.

"Shit, that was- Stanley?!"

Stan let out a hiss of a response, unable to open his mouth further than the gritted grimace it was locked in. He'd felt this kind of pain before, years and years ago, of course he had- young, homeless, running for his life, still, despite that it didn't really prepare him for a repetition. It was the kind of pain that your mind slowly forgot the true taste of, time taking the edge off. The body, however, never truly forgot. Like, that gut feeling not to put your hand near a flame even if you couldn't quite recall how much it had hurt the last time. And so, adrenaline pumped abruptly through this system, nerves sparking, his body trying it's best to keep him level-headed. His hands clenched tightly at his thigh, pushing down around the wound without being able to look at it. The memories from the last time this had happened were rising from the depths to greet him, skewing reality as all the interlocking recollections, that had quite never made their way to the surface since his 'lapse in memory', were now exposed to the light.

It had been a baseball bat that time, a sudden solid snap to his leg that had made his eyes smart and black dots fizzle across his vision. It had knocked all the air out of him, a wheeze all that he could pull forth from his lungs, even though he felt the need to scream through the agony. Looking down had not been his most sensible idea. As soon as he saw the damage, his vision had blacked out, his muscles going limp. Even now, he had no idea how long he passed out for. It could have been minutes or mere seconds before he joltingly came to again, still locked in a terrible situation he'd found himself in with little means of escape.

But now he was smarter, his body reacting to the pain as if it were an old adversary, a familiar routine that his muscle memory knew how to respond to.

He turned his gaze away, eyes tightly screwed shut and took as steady a breath as he could muster, reminding himself that this time- this time- he wasn't alone to deal with it.

"F-Ford?" The word barely made it past teeth and a pain addled tongue. Heavy footfalls vibrated through the wooden floor, rattling around his skull where it lay. They should have made him flinch, would have if he'd had any sense to spare through the pain. But as it was, the much heavier, louder thump right beside his head of two knees hitting the deck without a care and the warm hand that fell atop his shoulder, instead caused a swell of relief to muddle into the mix of heady adrenaline coursing through him.

"I'm here. I'm right here."

Stan tried to relax under the slow soft movements on his forearm, the reassuring warmth that ran soothing circles across his skin, tried to lock on to the comforting voice, the familiar safety that he hadn't been able to rely on the first time. But the bolts of pain that snapped all the way up his spine, and the bright flare of his injured leg outweighed any optimism he could latch on to. All he could do under the tidal wave of agony was ride out the storm, curling up even further and pulling his leg in tighter to his chest.

"Stan? Stan, can you hear me?"

Ford's voice was an echo of worry at the back of his skull. As much as he couldn't respond to the frantic urgency his brother was trying to urge him with, the cold release of his arm as his brother moved away almost made him sob.

No- no, please don't leave me.

He hadn't even realised he'd latched onto the warmth to keep him tethered. The storm held him in it's thrall and the knowledge that someone else was there with him had been a rope, a life line that connected him to reality even if he couldn't quite break the surface of the water.

I can't do this alone.

He was drowning, water muffling his ear drums until all he could hear was the dissonant ring of a metal bat being swung, over and over with every pulse of pain, a death knell growing louder with every stuttering heartbeat. A distorted laugh bubbled through his skull, bouncing and splintering, increasingly scrambled until it became a cacophony of all the people he had double crossed. Scornful, mocking sounds, jeering at his plight. All of them shadows that surrounded him in the darkness, pushed him deeper and deeper into the water, flashes of yellow sparking up to fill the empty spaces in between that he might have somehow escaped through.

And the one person who might have been willing to help him, the light that might have helped him resurface, was on the other side of them all, pulling further and further away the more he let him, fading from his view with every sinking second.

If only he could open his mouth, if only his jaw wasn't locked and his entire being trembling. If only-

I'm sorry, I can't- It hurts- I'm sorry, I'm sorry-

"Stan."

The word was solid, determined, laced with a hint of fear but none of the anger that he was so despondently sure would follow.

Pull yourself together. What are you? A Child?

"Stan? I'm here. Whatever's happening in there, I need you to focus on me."

It was weird after so many years to hear his brother and father in the same vicinity, even if that vicinity was his own mind.

Especially when they seemed so at odds with one another.

"Please. Please open your eyes."

The warmth from before returned, now resting on his cheeks, small circular embers that dotted across his temples and his eyelids. The heat pulled him from the dark eddies, dragged him out of ice cold waters- but it was the edge to his voice that cut through him. That fear, that urgency, the thought that Ford needed him right that instant. It hushed the laughter, the mocking cries, until with all the energy he possessed, he squinted his eyes open.

The sunlight burned.

But he found solace in Ford's face above him.

Ford's shoulders slumped, arms shaking in tremors that Stan felt travel across his cheeks, but he held him fast, still continuing the soft motions against his skin. "There he is. Welcome back."

"For-" Stan grunted, close to uttering his name but without enough mobility to get his tongue to move in the correct pattern.

"Shh, it's OK." Ford's eyes became focused, quick fleeting glances at the rest of him even whilst his hands continued to soothe and his gaze so obviously wanted to latch to Stan's face. "Just- just tell me what hurts- if you can- whatever you can manage." His words were soft, sharply urgent but with no actual bite to them.

Stan didn't know whether it made him feel fragile or protected but either way he couldn't help the gratitude welling up inside him as his brother stayed at his side.

"Leg."

It was probably pretty obvious with the way he was clutching it, but if he knew Ford, then he'd want to be sure. Either way Stan knew he was in capable hands even if he couldn't quite bring himself to try and struggle out of the foetal position he'd managed to curl himself into.

"Your leg?" Ford nodded, relief awash in his eyes at Stan's utterance. "OK. We can deal with that- we will deal with that, OK?" Stan wasn't sure which one of them the words were for exactly but he took comfort in them nonetheless. "I'm going to take a look, is that alright? I just need you to stay with me."

Stan swallowed, the lump in his throat, solid and unyielding. He nodded once, a sharp tense motion as he braced himself for more pain.

"Easy. Easy- just, stay calm." Ford kept one hand on his face, moving it to act as a divider between his head and the floor. The other hand slowly pulled away, moving to cover Stan's hand on his thigh. "It's OK, Stan, just let me take a look." The hand slowly pried at his fingers, insistent and gentle, urging him to pull away from the pain. Ford's eyes found his again, reassuring and calming. "You trust me, right?"

And just like that it was as simple as breathing.

Stan hissed, an annoyed sound that would have made them both laugh in any other circumstance at the low blow Ford had levied. Instead it did at least lighten the mood ever so slightly, relaxed the tight coil of his muscles enough that even if he couldn't move it himself, Ford could slowly pull his hand away and lay it gently on the floor after giving it a tight squeeze of thanks.

"That's it, you're doing great, Stan."

Stan didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the sentiment.

He didn't feel like he was doing good, let alone great. When he'd been younger...

Well, younger him hadn't had Ford to take care of him. It was deal with the situation or get a much more fatal blow to the back of the head.

So hopefully he'd be forgiven for allowing himself to give in, now that he was a lot older, and greyer, and his brother was knelt beside him, offering to do whatever he could to help.

The soft push on tender flesh snapped him from his desolate thoughts. He whimpered, biting down on the noise almost instantly as Ford's eyes snapped back to his face, watching every subtle change and he couldn't help but try to turn away from it, not wanting to be seen this weak.

"Stan. It's OK." Ford's hand moved, running over his forehead and into his hair before reclaiming its spot around his neck. "It's just us, no one's judging you on how well you deal with this. Besides-" His mouth twisted up into a smile that didn't reach the concern gleaming in his eyes. "I'm the one that's had to patch you up after you've got yourself into fights before. So, out of everyone I think I know your pain thresholds." He kept their eyes locked, hoping to distract as his hand gently pressed again, following the line of his thigh, testing the waters with each ministration. "And I know that you aren't one to let pain get the better of you like this unless it's serious."

Stan tried to scoff, each lance of pain stopping his progress as he took deep breaths in and out. "Y-you say that like it's only me who gets us into fights."

Ford's smile brightened, more genuine than before. "True. True." He hummed, happy to divert attention as Stan's eyes focused more and more on his face. "Then again I've also seen you cry when the twins manage to send us a care package. Remember? That sweater you refused to take off for like a week? So, maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. Maybe you have gone soft in your old age."

Stan's breathing hitched, a half chuckle escaping him. "Shut it, nerd."

"Never."

Ford shifted back onto his haunches, relief marring his expression as he smiled down at Stan, hand moving away from his injury to find his shoulder. "Well, it doesn't seem to be broken, so that's a relief."

Stan blinked blankly at him, the pain a dull ache in the background as he stared at him. "Wha-?"

Ford frowned, glancing back over as Stan's hand moved once more to cradle his wound. "There's no break from what I can feel. No cuts or blood either... It's a strange place for a sprain but there's obviously something going on. If you can sit up, I might be able to get a better look?"

The world was becoming fuzzy around the edges again, his ears ringing, as Ford continued to talk. Not broken? What does he mean not broken? I felt it- And even as he got lost in his thoughts, Ford was slowly pushing and prodding him to move, his body letting him take the reigns as his mind succumbed to the confused buzz of pain still fizzling through his system.

"There we go. Still with me?"

Stan flinched back to reality, the hand on his shoulder tight and firm as it shook him ever so. He nodded, staring down at his own legs, trying to find the source of the pain, to visualise the break he'd felt beneath his fingers. His vision doubled for a second, black spots forming as his leg deformed and reformed, superimposing memory and present day before realigning every time he blinked. His hand trailed down but Ford caught it, putting it back beside him with a few small taps.

"Let me. I'm the Doctor here, remember?"

Stan snorted. "Not a medical one though." His head felt heavy, exhaustion tugging at his every movement as he watched Ford continue his examination. Sparks of pain still zapped through him as he was checked over but it felt strange, on his peripherals. Like it was just out of sync, each flare of pain linked to what he was seeing instead of as soon as the touch physically came. "What happened?"

"Hmm?"

"To the boat, what-?"

"Oh." Ford glanced back at him before continuing his ministrations. "We hit something. Nothing too serious, just an outcropping we hadn't picked up on when we chartered the course by the looks of it." He grinned sheepishly. "Guess that'll teach us for relying on autopilot."

Stan let his head fall back against the railing he'd been propped up on, eyes drifting shut, too heavy to hold open. "Ehh, once in a while we're allowed to make a mistake."

"Quite right." Ford hummed back. A few more moments passed before he finally sat back, turning to Stan once more. "There really doesn't seem to be a break. Can you stand?"

Stan pushed himself up, staring wide eyed at him.

Stand? On a broken leg?

Sure, he'd hobbled on one before. The pain had been excruciating as he stumbled agonisingly away from captors that wanted him dead, biting on his knuckles to keep from making any noise as he all but dragged himself through dark winding corridors. But - well, there was a time and place for that kind of foolhardy response to a broken leg.

And now didn't seem like one of those times.

"But it broke."

Ford frowned, eyebrows furrowing as Stan spoke. "What?"

"It broke. I felt it break."

"You felt it-" Ford's frown deepened, alarm flashing in his eyes as he took in Stan's expression. "Stan, I really can't find a break, are you sure?"

Stan nodded, own mind racing as the dull throb persisted in his leg. "I had my hand on my knee and I felt it-" Nausea flared up then, thick and fast, his entire body listing to the side as he felt the need to heave. His fingers tingled with residual feeling, the unnatural creak and bend of his bones still lodged inside his grasp.

"Whoa, whoa, easy-" Ford's hand propped him up again, gently sitting him upright as he coughed on air. The next words out of his brother's mouth were hesitant, worried, but in a way that suggested he was scared to start an argument. Which didn't make any sense at all to Stan given the circumstances.

"Now, Stan. Are you sure... and don't get mad at me- but are you sure you didn't feel, well... that?"

Stan followed the line of his pointing finger, frowning in disappointed irritation- why didn't Ford believe him- before they finally alighted on what Ford was trying to show him. He stared, uncomprehendingly, at the strange heap of fibreglass and string that he was sure hadn't been there when he sat down earlier that day.

It took a few long seconds to realise it was actually his fishing rod- or what was left of it.

...Oh.

It was neatly snapped in two, held together only by the fishing line that ran through it's eyelets. A line that was now also impossibly tangled around his folding chair and the railing he'd been propping it against.

"Stan?"

He couldn't speak. What could he say?

"Stan... have you broken your femur before?"

"Hmm?"

"Your leg. Have you broken your leg before?"

Stan's head was turned back to the conversation, Ford's face holding a different kind of worry, one that by now he was used to, what with everything they had been through before they'd left on their journey across the sea. It didn't, however, make him feel any better, his heart sinking to rest in his stomach, in a churning mass of shame.

The pain in his leg was dissipating, like clouds dispersing once a storm has passed. As if nothing had ever happened in the first place.

"But I really felt it."

He hated how small his voice had gone, how pleading and childish he sounded. He just needed his brother to believe him- it had to have happened.

Because if it hadn't-

Stan swallowed, lump once more firmly lodged in his throat.

If it hadn't...

"I know you did, Stan." Stan scrunched up his nose at the pity filtering through his brother's voice. "But whatever the memory was that latched on to you, I need you to know you're safe. You're alright." Ford tilted his head to catch his eye, guilt swirling in his gaze and Stan wasn't sure if he hated it more or less than the pity. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Stan let his head fall forwards, hiding his expression from Ford's inquisitive gaze. His fingers fisting in his trousers, above the old wound, the old scar that pulsed in tandem with his heart but only as if to remind him of the memory. "It's not broken?"

"No." Ford's voice was genuine, a doctor letting someone know they were completely healthy and could face the world again.

He didn't feel like he could face the world though.

Stan laughed, a hollow sound as he covered his eyes with his hand. When had he started to well up? How much more shame did he have to go through today? "Great. Brilliant. Fantastic."

"Stan-"

"So, it's just my head that's broken then?" Stan dropped his hand to stare at his brother, almost wishing he hadn't said anything as he physically saw Ford's heart break across his face. Stan tried for a crooked grin, heart hammering in his chest in guilt. "What? It-it's not a new observation, now is it, Sixer?"

"Lee." The old nickname cut off his dark laugh, sobering him up from whatever hysterical road he'd been about to wander down. Ford's eyes were harder, sharper as he came closer and for a second there was fear. That awful paranoia that Ford was about to up and leave, snap at him for being a nuisance and go back to whatever he was doing before he got in his way like he always did. "Lee, don't you ever talk about yourself like that."

"What?"

"I can't listen to you do that. Not anymore."

Ford sat beside him, arm curling around his shoulders before tugging him in against his chest. Stan felt him breathe heavily against his hair, puffs of air that felt and sounded shaky as they sat against the railing together, the boat peacefully bobbing in the water.

"You're not broken, Stan. Anyone whose been through what you have-" There was a definite swallow as his voice cut off, a tightness to his words that Stan couldn't help but blanch at.

Had he made Ford cry?

"Ford-"

"No one's been through what you've been through, Stan." Ford rested his head against the top of his skull, taking a deep breath in and tightening his hold, as if scared that by letting go, Stan would vanish entirely. "You've been through so much and done so much and no one will ever be allowed to judge you, least of all me."

Stan's throat constricted all the more as he struggled to regain control of the conversation. "Ford-"

"I won't hear it." Ford kissed the top of his head.

"You're not broken."

A tear fell then, one that Stan couldn't hold in any longer. He turned, pushing himself into the hug that was being offered and choked out a soft protest as he did so.

"It's alright." Ford muttered above him, slowly rocking them as they sat safe in their own little bubble, their small slice of home gently swaying on calm seas as the empty blue sky stretched far above them. "I promise you, everything's alright."

Warm water hit Stan's scalp and he tightened his hold, a physical apology for making his brother cry, but Ford just gently shushed him, rubbing a hand down his back.

"You don't ever have to feel broken again."

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #stanley pines #stanford pines #sea grunkles #grunkle stan #grunkle ford #imptober 2020

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tracybirds · 4 years

Text

Bad Things Happen Bingo #2 Virgil + Hearing Loss

for @fictivekaleidoscope (EVIL!! EVIL THAT WAS!!) Had to get it out of the way early or my heart would have gotten all cowardly xD

What it says on the tin, so hope you enjoy it!

Edit: hi, my brain is tired, I must also shout out @gumnut-logic for helping me with the ending and reading things through

—————————————————————

The door at the end of the corridor was all the mattered. John is telling him to move, his voice getting sharper and sharper, the intervals between that same instruction being issued getting shorter and shorter. As though he was simply ignoring that one simple direction.

If he had focus to spare, he’d be yelling right back at his brother. He’s running already, he can see the display in his helmet just as clearly as John can. The hydrogen level is rising. The fire is getting closer.

He doesn’t intend to be in the room when they meet.

Steam is hissing from the pipelines, and he lifts his gloved hand to wipe away the condensation. He can’t get at the sweat, dripping down his nose. He can’t escape the heat.

He’s lifted off his feet before he registers the sound, the shockwave blowing through the building.

A sharp crack and the display in front his eyes flickers and dies. His breath quickens, making the most of the oxygen spilling out between the polymer seal in his helmet.

A wave of dizziness keeps him on his knees even as he spots the fire on the ceiling above him.

The pressure is building, his ears screaming against the change in equilibrium.

Virgil has just enough time to recognise the danger and pull himself into a protective ball when the second explosion hits.

Heat seeps into his helmet, the rest of his body strangely cool in a room filled with orange and yellow flame.

He can hear all his brothers now, indistinct as the pain in his ears flares.

It’s the last thing he hears.

Yellow and orange fade to black.

***

Awareness returned with a ringing nausea. Virgil could just make out the strains of muffled conversation bleeding into his consciousness. Blearily, he tried to open his eyes and a deep groan escaped him. He could feel a frown forming even as he shifted to find a more comfortable position.

Something felt off. Beyond the way the ground had changed from hard concrete to soft mattress. Beyond the way his head protested at the slightest movement. His senses were too dulled by exhaustion to work out what had changed.

A hand lightly touched his arm and he flinched away, eyes flying open to see a room filled with harsh sunlight. A silhouette sat next to him and the muted words seemed to take on a more urgent tone.

He peered at the figure, and Scott swam into view, his eyes drawn together in a frown.

“Hey, Scott,” whispered Virgil, the sound getting lost on the way.

Scott made no reply, only frowned more deeply, and Virgil felt his attention start to wander. He didn’t recognise his surroundings, not warm enough for the island and not sterile enough for a hospital.

A sharp tap against his shoulder drew his eyes back to his brother. His lips were moving and Virgil stared at them, trying to blink back the fuzzy feeling in his head.

Scott shook his head, the frustration evident in his sharp actions.

Virgil closed his eyes, struggling to comprehend what he was trying to communicate.

Too soon, he thought. He was rapidly sinking under a wave of exhaustion and the persistent buzzing was starting to wrap around his head in a dizzying manner.

A gentle pat pulled his eyes open one last time and he smiled dopily at his brother’s worried face as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

***

His awareness slowly returned to the sight of silent moonlight spilling over the covers. Every part of him ached and he had vague memories of being thrown across a room. His breath felt tight in his lungs, but worse than that was the dial tone ring that accompanied his every waking moment thus far.

It was starting to get annoying.

“Oh, hey, Virgil,” came a slurring voice out of the dark.

A shadow leaned across the bed, and he scrambled away, unsure of who was in the room with him.

“Hey, hey,” said the voice again, slightly louder now. “It’s me, it’s Gordon.”

The light at his bed clicked on and he stared wild-eyed at his younger brother.

The motion had done little to help his cause, and the buzzy sentences were starting to overlap like two people speaking over each other, arguing and pushing against his own frustration that the world didn’t sound right.

And he still felt sick.

“Wha’ happened?” he rasped, releasing the covers from his grip.

Gordon’s response was rapid, seeming to slice right through him as he tried to untangle the start of the sentence from the end.

“Double explosion.”

Virgil closed his eyes from the effort, no longer interested in the rest of the sentence he had missed.

“I feel it,” he mumbled. He brought a hand to his face and winced as he prodded a strange, goopy substance.

“Yeah, let’s leave that,” said Gordon, pulling Virgil’s hand away. “You want that where it is.”

Virgil stared at his brother, concentrating on the sounds.

“Your voice is weird.”

Gordon’s perpetual smile dropped and his eyes grew tight.

“Yeah?” he said, slowly and clearly over that incessant buzz. “Tell me how, big guy.”

Virgil slowly rocked his head back and forth.

“You’re all muffled. And the timing’s off.” He stared at Gordon, expression pleading. “Keep talking.”

Gordon’s lips quirked, but he obliged without question. Virgil couldn’t make out the content, already his attempts to process the sounds were wearing on him, but he needed to know what had changed. There was a reason he’d mistaken his brother for a stranger. There was a reason his brother sounded like a conversation with a meaning just beyond his reach.

“I can’t hear it,” he snarled, shaking his head.

Instead of replying, Gordon grabbed a tablet and began to type.

Virgil stared at him, emotions welling up within. Gratitude that his brother had noticed his distress warred against the hateful feeling of helplessness, that things might have forever changed.

The tablet made it too real.

You ruptured both your eardrums. Grandma says they can run tests tomorrow. Your brain scan was registering some weird stuff. No need for hospital, so Lady P offered a room.

Virgil read the text in silence. The frustration that had so freely bubbled up only moments before faded away, leaving only exhaustion.

There was one more thing he needed to know before he would allow himself to rest easy.

“Why here?”

Gordon shrugged.

“In case we needed to launch.”

His brain offered up the sound he’d stopped registering, hearing it in his memory as if for the first time. He inhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut at the phantom pain.

“Aw crap, Virg, hang on.”

Gordon ducked into the ensuite and returned with a damp flannel. Virgil took it gratefully and cradled it around his ear, warmth chasing away the steady ache.

He could feel himself relaxing, sinking down into sleep once more.

“Yeah, go to sleep, V,” said Gordon, settling into the chair next to his brother’s bed. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

***

He was pretty sure it was the incessant talking that woke him next.

He rolled over, dragging the covers with him in the hopes his family would get the hint that he was still firmly asleep.

There was to be no such luck as Alan pulled the covers back with a blinding smile.

“Virgil! You’re awake!”

The response in the room was deafening, the sounds overwhelming as they all tried to grab at his attention. The ringing increased, syllables overlapped and all the while Virgil’s brain tried to sort through the mess of sound, to try snatch any kind of meaning from the burst of chatter. But no matter where he turned, only a jumble of noise was left behind.

It would be easy to lose himself, he thought, watching his brothers pile words upon words on top of each other. The world had turned into a foreign soundscape, muffled calls, sentences slurring and sliding into each other, and dissonant voices he could no longer align with his memories.

“Boys! Enough!”

Sharp and discordant in a way that tugged on his ear, Grandma Tracy cut clear through the cacophony. The buoyant white noise subsided until he was left with just one sound. He was ready to gouge out his inner ear than continue to deal with that particular annoyance.

He didn’t catch what was said, still unused to the energy required to partake in conversation, but he watched his brothers leave without protest.

Grandma’s cool hand brushed against his flushed cheeks and she smiled softly.

“Now,” she said. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

Virgil knew that fever was setting in, knew that the ache deep in his bones told a tale of injuries more serious than ruptured eardrums, but he saw his Grandma and his defences fell to their knees as she brushed the hair away from his forehead.

“Grandma, I can’t hear right.”

“I know, hon,” she soothed. “Your left ear’s got an infection, we couldn’t keep it out. There’s a course of antibiotics waiting for you and it’ll come back, right as rain.”

“The world…” His breath caught in his chest. “The world sounds wrong.”

He wouldn’t cry, not here, not now. Not over this.

“Tell me how, sweetheart.” Her fingers ghosted over his skin. “It’s okay, just tell me.”

The tears pricked against his eyelids.

“You don’t sound like you should. Like there’s two of you talking.”

“That can happen, that’s your ear infection messing with your sound perception.”

“Everything’s making the wrong sound. I can’t hear the pitch anymore.”

Virgil sucked in a breath and bolted upright, staring at Grandma Tracy in terror.

“Grandma, I won’t be able to play.”

Her steady hands found their way back to his cheeks and she pulled him close, careful to avoid the burns across his face.

“You will when you’re better,” she said, slowly and clearly, making certain he couldn’t mistake her meaning. “There’s been no damage to your inner ear, it’s not going to be permanent.”

He relaxed against her, folding into the hug.

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She smiled softly as he sank back into the pillows, before straightening in her chair, eyes firm as she looked him over.

“Anything else to tell me?”

Virgil shook his head.

“Sore. Tired. The usual.”

“Good,” she said, patting his shoulder. “This could have been a lot worse. In a few weeks, your ears should be healed and you can go home to work through the duty checks.”

Virgil smiled weakly. He didn’t want to sit around listlessly, with sounds blurring together and two-toned. He wanted to be up and moving, impatient for health and the world vibrant again.

Grandma Tracy leaned forward, and her lips moved with a murmur that couldn’t penetrate his ears.

He’d heard it enough times that it didn’t matter. His brain conjured the sound in her place and lulled him to sleep. At least he could still hear in his dreams.

***

The days went by and Virgil could stay awake for longer and longer periods. The antibiotics took care of the infection and the overlapping voices that had plagued his hearing. The tinnitus faded to almost nothing following a visit to a specialist who had patched his eardrums. Even his bruises had yellowed and started to fade.

“You’re sure you’re up for this?” asked Scott, hovering anxiously. “You’re meant to be resting.”

“I’ve rested plenty,” said Virgil. “I’m fine, a short walk won’t kill me.”

“Yeah, but if your not, it’ll be my head Grandma come after.”

“Stop worrying and help me tie my damn shoes.”

“Sure,” muttered Scott. “Can’t even reach down to tie his shoelaces, but no, Virgil Tracy is fine, just peachy.”

Virgil kicked him.

“I liked you better when I couldn’t hear you.”

“Not like it matters, seeing as you ignore me either way,” shot Scott back at him. “You ready?”

Virgil nodded, grasping the offered hand and hauling himself upright.

They walked in silence for the most part, no need for words between them. With no chatter in his ears, Virgil could focus on why he’d needed to get outside – he’d needed this. Needed to feel fresh air on his skin, to feel the warmth of the sun sink into his bones. To hear the birds chirping their songs.

He stopped and grabbed at Scott’s arm.

“Do you hear that?” he whispered, hardly daring to interrupt the joyous sound.

“Hear what?” Scott jumped to attention, slipping in front of his brother and eyes roaming the garden.

“The birds, Scott. I can hear the birds.”

“Oh,” said Scott, relaxing. “Yeah, man, I can hear them too.”

Virgil closed his eyes and listened, a smile creeping up from the hope blooming in his heart.

Scott grinned as he watched, his own spirits lifting with his brother’s discovery.

“I guess you’ll be able to hear the mouse in your room now too.”

He opened one eye and glared at his brother.

Scott’s lips curled just a fraction.

Virgil shoved him off the path.

#virgil tracy #scott tracy #grandma tracy #gordon tracy #thunderbirds are go #sometimes i fic #bthb card

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walker-journal · 4 years

Text

Devil’s Fork (Solo)

Summary: Powerless and lost, Adam makes the mistake of being at a sundown crossroads around Samhain, and gets scouted by the “other team.”

NPCS: Terry (Human Civilian) , Ma’al (Demon)

Trigger Warnings: Non-consent (Demonic Possession). Body Horror (Possession Imagery) Sorry its long and rambly.

Adam’s letterman jacket did little to keep out Autumn’s bite as the wind scattered orange and red leaves across the road like titian tumbleweeds. His hair, still wet from the locker room showers, was chilled stiff against his head. Terry walked beside him, needling him with jocular compassion and doing his best to assure Adam that their coach would take him off the bench soon. But the truth was that even with Nell’s blood magic stitching him back together, Adam’s recovery was going pretty rough in a way that went deeper than his near-mortal injuries. Terry’s friendly banter was one-sided this evening as Adam just hefted his gym bag over one shoulder and quietly trudged towards the dusty crossroads and the bus stop beyond it.

Adam squinted against the last amber glare of sunset as he looked down the crossroad's paths, trying to see if the bus was late or not. His gut feeling of something being wrong was too late. Terry had fallen completely silent and stock still at the exact center of the crossroad’s intersection. Black ichorous tears welled up in the footballer’s eyes until they seemed to drain out of his skull completely, leaving empty liquid voids that gazed dispassionately at the surrounding apple orchards and swaying fields around him...it.

“You’ve grown careless Walker,” the alien presence making itself at home in Terry pointed out in a voice that was at once gorgeous and verminous. The entity formed words by puppeteering the muscles of Terry’s body, but the sounds that reached Adam’s ears resembled no form of communication on Earth.

Adam sincerely wished he didn’t understand the words, but mom and dad ensured he did. Even speaking the simplest phrases from that alien tongue caused his throat to bleed and unrecognizable colors to swim at the corners of his vision. But the enemy must be understood if it is to be destroyed.

“Ma’al,” Adam spat the only part of the creature's name that a human could safely pronounce, letting a tone of surly contempt mask the feeling of ice water dread trickling down his spine. “Get the fuck out of Terry.”

In the ancient past primitive humanity had venerated things like Ma’al as ‘demons,’ ‘angels,’ or ‘gods.’ They’d mistaken the unexplainable with divinity and doomed whole eras of human evolution to alien subjugation.

Neve…

“Never again ,” Ma’al said, their silken crawl of a voice verbally finishing Adam’s unspoken thought. “Death to the false gods. This is how the creed proceeds, yes?” One of said false gods smiled through the rictus mask of Terry’s face, dark ichor trailing down the fraternity boy’s lips as an entity unfamiliar with how humanoid facial muscles worked tried to mimic an expression of amiability. The result looked more carnivorous than cordial, but Adam doubted Ma’al understood any difference between those two states of mind.

“Your progenitors spoke of deicide with such conviction in our previous encounters,” continued the demon, unperturbed by the seething silence of Adam’s glare. “But in your neural patterns we perceive…” Terry’s black weeping eye sockets turned to regard Adam with detached curiosity. “Hesitation, a dissonance of cognition.”

Adam scowled. But while a year ago an acerbic denunciation would’ve leapt to his lips, there was just a raw ache tonight. The words that’d once made the world simple and clean seemed so empty now. “The fuck you want Ma’al,” the Hunter snapped,

“We come with an offer,” the thing possessing Terry replied with sibilant matter-a-factness, perhaps telepathically discerning that Adam was not in a state of mind susceptible to circuitous subtleties. “Your talents are desirable to the powers we represent.”

At that point Adam nearly turned right around and sprinted in the other direction, somewhere, anywhere but here. Had he really fallen so far already that the anathema to everything he’d believed in thought he was prime recruitment material? But the blind impulse to get away from the crossroads and drink this memory away was hampered by a sense of obligation. This tentacly motherfucker still had Terry. “Haven’t you heard,” Adam spat back. “I’m a normie now, just another loser burnout. I’ve got nothing you want.”

“Easily rectified,” assured Ma’al, the smooth resonance of its voice like a cicada wrapped in satin. “We can make you whole, stronger, faster, and more lethal than you’ve ever been,” Terry’s possessed body took a step forward, but Adam didn’t flinch this time. Three more strides closed the distance between them, the divergent paths of the crossroad extending out beyond sight into the darkening dusk. “Serve well, and you needn't be limited to this mortal mayfly life.”

Adam shrugged with the same noncommittal diffidence he adopted whenever a teacher asked a question outside the purview of his caddish cover identity. “Bullshit,” he shot back, knuckles whitening as they tightened on the strap of the gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Dissemblance is futile,” the telepathic alien pointed out, dismissing Adam’s doltish play-acting. “You know the Hells can grant this and more. Why else would your progenitors be so desperate to curtail our influence on this planet?”

“Why me?” Adam hated that this was the best he had with one of the archenemy staring him straight in the face.

“You desire more than an early death in thankless service to a species whose impulse for self-extinction will render your forebears' sacrifices meaningless,” answered Ma’al with pitiless candor. The demon waited for a scathing rebuttal, some grand statement of hope in mankind's innate virtues and glorious destiny. But nothing came. For the first time in his life Adam wasn’t the son of Leah and Uri Walker, heroes of Gehenna 19. He was just another nobody feeling utterly alone on a dark road.

“You want this,” Ma’al pressed softly.

“Yeah,” Adam admitted hoarsely after a moment, loathing himself for the truth in it. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. “But …”

Ma’al held up Terry’s hand, staying Adam’s last attempt at virtuous protestation.

“Dwell on this,” the demon counseled. “When you are ready to be whole again we’ll be waiting.”

Before Adam could muster any sort of reply the demon had closed its eyes. Terry’s body abruptly fell limp to the dirt road like a puppet with its strings cut. “Shit shit.” Adam knelt beside his fraternity brother, fingers pressed to the fluttering pulse in his neck. First responder procedures raced through Adam’s brain until Terry’s eyes opened, the puzzled humanity in them causing the Hunter to finally exhale in relief.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck my head,” Terry complained, rubbing his temples before glimpsing the stains of black demonic ichor that ran down the front of his clothes and rubbing a finger over his fluid-choked lips. “Wha..what is this shit?”

“You urped up a grape slushy man,” Adam claimed with a wane grin, the expression stark against the bloodless pallor of his face, “it was pretty gross.”

#chatzy #halloween #solo

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soiruntotheriver · 4 years

Note

(9) In summary, when things get hard, does Silver go back to what he knows: being out for himself, lost in creating his “perfect” life, even if it means losing the person who loves him/he loves, all stemming from his repression in realizing his feelings, in repressing his past, an inability to stand being truly seen, and therefore an inability in being an honest, equal partner?

Alright, my dude, you’ve got me doing a deep dive on this one haha. I actually went back and re-watched the last three episodes and took notes to sort all this out in my head. Hopefully it all makes sense. This is all about Flint and Silver’s motivations and the actions they take to achieve their goals towards the end of the series. It’s gonna be a long one, so buckle in. As Jack Rackham once said: “Please forgive me, I will go on from time to time, but generally in the service of thoroughness...” I’m gonna post this under the last of your asks, as I believe it addresses most of your points. If I leave anything out please let me know.

Alright so, *crack knuckles* here we go:

For context: Rackham and Max have gone to create an alliance with Marion Guthrie in Philadelphia, Billy has gone to Rogers to show him how to divide Flint from Silver, and Madi has been taken prisoner.

Early in episode 8 we get the first of a number of similar conversations between Silver and Flint concerning the war. This one has Silver asking what’s going to happen after their current conflict. He points out that any time Nassau hasn’t had a someone to lead/support it (Eleanor, Rackham, Rogers) it becomes a place of horrors. If this is meant to be a period of transition, what’s on the other side? Something better, something meaningful? He asks:

‘But what if it isn't? What if the result of this war isn't beyond the horror, what if it is the horror itself. Have you given this any thought at all?’

To which Flint replies that to be rid of England and fashion something else, he knows that they will have to go through a period of darkness and seeming hopelessness. But that he has to believe that it will be worth it and that progress is possible. Silver responds by saying that’s a lot of potential suffering to wager on blind faith. Flint assures that with the right people in place they can get through it. He also states that those people are meant to be Madi and Silver, and that Madi is just as important to realizing their goals as the cache.

So Silver agrees to try Flint’s plan to retrieve Madi, but he still brings the treasure along just in case this all goes sideways. And it does. Rogers just starts shooting people willy-nilly which even Flint seems surprised about. Just as Rogers is about to blow Madi’s head off, Silver shows him the chest and next thing we know we’re on our way to Skeleton Island to make the exchange. On the way there Flint yells at Silver about how he’s just given Julius more leverage against the cause and crippled the war effort. Silver retorts by telling Flint that they’ll make do somehow and demands his support in this venture. He points out the numerous times he’s helped Flint even though he didn’t necessarily understand or agree with him.

‘My god. The number of times I have followed you blindly, backed you with the men blindly, put men in the fucking ground…good men! Friends! Because you said, “I know the way. "Don’t ask me how. Just do as I say.”’

Silver asks again if Flint will support him and Flint answers: “Yes.”

Shortly after this we have two great conversations happening in parallel: Silver with Hands and Flint with Dooley. Hands tries to convince Silver that Flint is Bad and must be killed. Silver asserts that he trusts Flint. Hands says that a crown can’t be split two ways and that he knows that Silver actually wants Flint dead, he just doesn’t know how to ask for it. To which Silver responds:

‘Hear me very clearly, there is no hidden message and no equivocation, you will make no move against him, you will not speak of doing so to any man on this crew nor to me again. Do it, and you'll answer for it.’

Meanwhile, Flint is telling the legend of skeleton island to Dooley in order to bring up the subject of men loosing their wits. He asserts that he believes Silver is compromised and so he (Flint) finds himself in need of a new partner. Dooley agrees and they go to fetch the gold, almost getting killed by another crew member in the process. They are saved by Hands who tells Flint he wants them to go ahead and take the treasure so that Silver will see Flint’s true colors. The end of the episode has Silver witnessing this betrayal and deciding to send men out after Flint, ostensibly to kill him, though I think he knew those men were not a match for Flint and really just wanted to find out where he was going so that he could get the treasure back.

In a fit of true diabolical evil, our writers chose to follow up this last scene from episode 8 by opening episode 9 with the first flashback of Flint and Silver’s fencing lessons. I literally said “Oh, no” to myself several times aloud as I watched Silver climb that hill to the bluffs.

Now these are lovely scenes I could go on about forever, but the most important takeaway for me right now, is that Flint realizes he doesn’t know anything about Silver’s past. Silver says that his past isn’t important. Flint argues that that’s not true. From Flint’s perspective, he’s revealed himself to Silver, given him his history, which defines him, and also the tools Silver needs to guess at Flint’s future actions. Flint goes on to insinuate that Silver wormed his way into Flint’s story by comparing himself to Flint’s former ill-fated partners. That he did this in order to use Flint’s affection for him to make it more difficult for Flint to act against him later. Silver is disquieted by Flint calling his bluff and seems thrown by that last comment in particular, mostly because I don’t think Silver consciously meant to manipulate him that way at all. Flint says he’s not angry with him but Silver is too overwhelmed to continue. He asks if it’s okay if they resume tomorrow, and flees.

I want to revisit the fireside chat here for a moment in order to point out that Silver was, in fact, already very deeply in the story by that point, a story he’d been made a part of largely against his will (by his injury, by Flint’s machinations, by Billy, etc.). In regards to Silver’s motivations during that conversation, I always assumed them to be exactly what they seemed to be: He wanted to understand why Flint was so driven to wage war and he wanted to voice a real, actual warning that he himself might prove to be Flint’s undoing. Flint responds in a way that makes me think he either A. didn’t think Silver would betray him or B. he didn’t think that Silver could get the better of him.

This is an important moment of dissonance between them, because it repeats itself in the sword lesson flashback: Silver asks if Flint is worried about the fact that he’s essentially teaching Silver to best him in combat and Flint waves him off with a smile, saying he’ll take his chances.

The most significant moment within the flashbacks comes when Silver finally finds the words to outline his philosophy and frame his decision not to share his past. I actually think this scene gives Flint all he needs to know about Silver as a person (in terms of being able to anticipate Silver’s future actions), though I’m not sure in that moment he could really wrap his head around it. Knowing the details of Silver’s past are not necessary when you realize that they did, in fact, define him and one can use that knowledge to recognize the ways in which they shape his future decisions.

Silver maintains that he is not trying to hide anything, he merely absolved himself from the obligation of finding any relevance in his own story because there is no coherence, ‘nor sense, nor grace’ to be found in life. But more than that it’s because he’s experienced ‘events some of which no one could divine any meaning from, other than the world is a place of unending horrors.’ He says that Flint knows of him all that’s relevant to be known and swears that Flint has his true friendship. He asks if it is enough for there to be trust between them and Flint, not quite sure what to make of all this, answers by resuming their lesson.

Intermixed with these flashbacks are our real-time scenes, some of which I want to touch on to check in on Silver and Flint’s states of mind. As Silver and Hands pursue Flint in the forest, Hands asserts that he believes Silver will keep finding reasons to forget everyone’s warnings about Flint. He also mentions when Silver tells the men to split up to find Flint that he’s sending at least one group of them to their deaths. Hands makes a point of saying that Silver’s decision here shows that he’s learned a lot from Flint. Aka, Silver is willing to sacrifice other’s lives to reach his own ends. Silver seems uncomfortable with the comparison, likely because he sees the truth in it. Silver’s desire to not be like Flint is very important in the final moments of the show and will come again up later. Silver admits to Hands that he’s not sure if Flint actually wants to save Madi for the sake of it or if it’s just part of his larger machinations. It’s key to note that Silver’s trust in Flint is degrading further. Both because of Silver’s inherent pessimism, and because of Flint’s own actions.

Meanwhile, Flint and Dooley are doubling back to the chest after having chucked it over an embankment to throw Silver’s party off their scent. Dooley essentially tries to convince Flint that Silver might become a liability. Flint defends Silver but Dooley’s like, yeah, but if it comes to it I’ll kill him for you. The look on Flint’s face clearly shows how not okay he is with the thought of Silver dying, but he keeps his reservations to himself for now. At this point, it is important to acknowledge that neither Silver nor Flint wants the other dead. They are both still trying to outmaneuver each other in order to reach their goals.

Silver finally catches up to Flint which leads us to another Important Conversation wherein Silver states that if the war were to continue it would be just like this, forever - lies, betrayals, death. He also tells Flint that he understands Flint’s motivations more fully now because he’s suffered a similar loss. When Madi was presumed dead, he wanted to give her sacrifice meaning by waging battles in her name. But he says that underneath that desire was the thing that Flint himself taught him to recognize: rage. In a very Miranda moment, Silver tells Flint that part of what drives him is wanting to watch the world burn. This is another way in which Silver does not want to be like Flint.

After this is a deeply depressing flashback wherein Silver is trying to explain his relationship with Flint to Madi by saying: ‘I have earned his respect, after all the tragedies that man has suffered (...) I have earned his trust, I have his true friendship. And so he's going to have mine. And as long as that is true, I cannot imagine what is possible.’ And all of our hearts break a little to think of what could’ve been. Because, as I mentioned before, Silver no longer believes he can trust Flint and so he no longer has faith in their friendship.

The episode ends with Rogers blowing up the Walrus which puts a hold on Flint and Silver’s duel and forces them to ally once again with Rackham. Flint makes a little speech about how their priority is to rescue Madi and tells Jack he’s taking over command of the ship to facilitate that end. The next episode starts with Silver questioning Flint’s motives, sure that he’s only placating John whilst continuing his scheming. Flint throws him by offering a very candid and heartfelt reply about how he isn’t sure he wouldn’t have acted exactly as Silver had if it were Thomas’s life on the line. He states that he meant it when he promised he’d see John through this and still wants to put things back together. Silver is visibly torn over whether or not he believes what Flint is saying.

Alright, we can now fast forward to the Final Confrontation. Flint, realizing that something has passed between Silver and Jack that smacks of betrayal, halts their trek through the woods in order to question Silver about it. Silver can’t bring himself to lie. He asks Flint how much more ‘measuring of lives and loves and spirits’ there will be ‘so that they may be wagered in the grand game. How many casualties can be tolerated for the cause, how much loss?’ So it’s not just Madi’s life he’s concerned for, not just his own or Flint’s. He mentions the men, women, and children who have already died for this, who will continue to die for this. And he cannot see where the line might be, because Flint has yet to draw one - this is a man who frequently endangers himself, killed his best friend, sacrificed crew members, murdered innocent civilians, and has no qualms betraying his allies. I think Silver legitimately believes that Flint will stop at nothing. That’s why it’s not a war to Silver, not like any other, instead it’s a ‘fucking nightmare.’

When Flint insists that Silver stopping the war will mean that they will have been for nothing, that this is how the powers-that-be win, that they’ll be distorted to fit false narratives, Silver asserts that he doesn’t care. I personally don’t find this surprising at all, given how little Silver cares about his own personal narrative. I also don’t think that Silver Doesn’t Care At All, it just means that he doesn’t care enough for it to change his mind. I mean he’s lost a leg for these people, risked his life and freedom for this cause, allowed himself to be molded into a better partner for Flint. When Silver opened himself up to a partnership/friendship with Flint and later to a partnership/romance with Madi, he was choosing to allow meaning back into his life. He became a part of a story. But he’s not totally invested in the story itself. He’s mostly just invested in the people in it. Because what does it matter what strangers say after he’s dead? Life up to this point has been about grabbing onto whatever you can in the moment and enjoying it until it is inevitably taken away from you. Experience has relentlessly taught him to have low expectations. So while I think he cares about his relationship with Flint, is proud of what they were able to achieve together, would like to change the world for the better, and wants to be worthy of Madi, none of those goals/states of being are as achievable to him in this moment as ending the war.

I’m not sure that Silver believes that a “good life” with Madi is possible after this - Flint points out that she won’t forgive him for taking the war away and I think Silver knows that’s true - but he’s willing to go for some kind of reconciliation at least. I also don’t think Silver is factoring a post-conflict relationship with Flint in at all - as far as he’s concerned either Flint will be safe somewhere far away with Thomas or Silver will be forced to kill him.

This leads us up to the ending. I personally don’t believe that Silver killed Flint. I feel that’s an important distinction to make when trying to make sense of Silver’s decisions. I won’t go into all the reasons I believe this, in the interests of keeping this thing under ten thousand words, but I will mention a few.

Firstly, as I mentioned above, I think that Silver honestly didn’t want to turn into Flint. When Madi say she thinks he’s lying about not murdering Flint, Silver says that he’s not the villain she fears he is, he’s not him. I think this is in reference to Flint killing his friends to further his goals. I also believe that Silver thought that giving Thomas back to Flint was the key to Madi’s forgiveness and so I think he would have done it for real in case she ever checked up on it. However, I do also think that Silver embellished the story of Flint’s reunion with Thomas. What parts were true and which were false, who can say? He just sounds like he’s dressing up the story a bit, both for Madi’s sake and for his own.

The second main reason why I think Silver’s story checks out actually involves Rackham. Jack tells Marion Guthrie that Flint has retired. Why would he lie about that when telling her Flint was dead would more thoroughly assuage her concerns? He mentions that Flint retiring was a better story to sell the Maroons, but at this point, the treaty has already been signed, so why keep up the fiction?

The third and most tenuous thought I have about it is that Silver uses his “I’ll wait a day, a week...” etc. line on Madi because it actually worked previously on Flint. Maybe some of Flint’s anguish in the woods is over the fact that he’s going to do what Silver’s asking him to do. Maybe he doesn’t want Silver to have to kill him so he gives in and gives up his war.

In conclusion, and to answer one of your questions directly, I think that characterizing Flint as someone who just wants to sate his rage is just as limiting as characterizing Silver as someone who just wants to take the easy way out. And I think that saying that Flint’s motives for reforming the world were noble is as incomplete as saying that Silver just wanted to save the ones he loved at the cost of everything else. All of those things, and more, are simultaneously true.

For me, Flint and Silver were both bad men and good men. Both had room to grow. Both made choices for each other. Both manipulated each other and made mistakes. Both were forced to make quick decisions under enormous amounts of pressure. They were both angry and afraid and courageous and loyal and deceitful and kind. They were both very very human.

It might not seem like it, but I’m more of a Flint irl. Maybe that’s why I’ve tried so hard to understand Silver, because his motivations were a bit more foreign to me at first. I’ve come to love and sympathize with both of them - which is why I continue to talk about them incessantly and devour fan works - especially the ones that get these two to finally work out their issues. If you’re ever looking for fic recs, btw, please do let me know. A lot of this meta is fleshed out beautifully in fan fiction. And those authors say it more profoundly and elegantly than I could ever hope to.

#james flint #john silver #Black Sails #black sails meta #hoo boy it's a long one folks #black sails s4 #this is practically a play by play

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neverendingwhyy · 4 years

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In this piece of writing I am going to try to recount my counselling session I had this morning, as I feel it was a pivotal moment in my therapy and journey to learning more about myself, my trauma and why I am the way I am. I am going to paraphrase in some areas but none of this will be exaggerated nor will anything be left out unless I feel it was completely irrelevant. So, here goes nothing…

I sat down in my usual spot in her therapy room, completely unexpecting of where today's session would lead. As per usual, I had not planned or thought about what I was going to talk about today, and just let the words flow spontaneously from my mouth. First I confessed my reluctance to go to work since I became pregnant, as well as having a severe back injury that my job makes so much worse.

This lead to me saying:

"I have another confession to make… I downloaded Tinder the other day."

My therapist - let's call her P for private - asked me to explain why I introduced this information as a confession.

"Well, over the past 10 years of my life, the absolute longest I have been able to stay consistently single is the better part of 2 months, yet throughout every relationship no matter how long, short, serious or casual it was, no matter how much I enjoyed or despised it, I longed to be alone. I had the desire to almost date myself in a way, like to learn who and what I really am when I am not half of someone else. Yet every time I finally get the opportunity to do so, I'm immediately, consciously or not, seeking a new connection; all the while preaching to myself and friends and family that I am not at all looking for a relationship. But no matter what, within weeks I am someone else's partner, sometimes reluctantly so due to my inability to turn people down, and sometimes willingly, telling myself this time things will be different. Despite this constant longing to be alone, this idea that I intrinsically despise affection, love, romance, being wanted, I always find myself behaving in a way that would portray anything but those desires or beliefs. I'll find myself back on a dating app in less than a week after becoming single, and my bio every time will state that "I don't know why I'm on here" even though subconsciously I probably knew very well what I was on there for (thought still unable to articulate it to this day, if there is a reason). A severe case of cognitive dissonance, and it annoys the shit out of me. About a week or two ago, I was watching a show and there was an intimate scene with cuddling and kissing. Now, most of my life, due to my personal experiences with... "sex", I have always hated those scenes in movies, always thinking the whole time "Oh just get on with the film already" but for the first time ever, I watched this scene and instead of being irritated by it, I found myself feeling jealous, realising I had a craving for the physical affection that was on the screen in front of me, someone to cuddle and kiss. So that night I downloaded Tinder, and Bumble."

P took this in and asked me:

"What is it about the part of you that wants the affection? Where do you think that part of you comes from? Does this part of you have a certain age?"

I replied, after thinking for a while:

"I guess it would be my seven-year-old self."

P: "Why do you think it is your 7-year-old self?"

Me: "I presume it's because that is the first time I experienced being somewhat sexualised, experiencing something that no 7-year-old should experience, and all I wanted after that experience was someone to hug me and tell me what had happened was not okay."

P: "Are there other behaviours in your life that you can attribute to this 7-year-old part of yourself? What are they?"

I paused:

Me: "I guess this is the part of me that would walk from home to town and back again completely alone, clubbing by myself and getting beyond wasted, and yet still being surprised and damaged when I was subsequently taken advantage of. This is the part of me that chooses to willingly walk home at 3am through the dark, secluded park rather than the open road with people to hear if something were to go wrong, naively telling myself that the decision to do so was to prove to myself I could fight should I need to. The part of me that is a total doormat, and accepts any type of attention from any type of person, even when I know full-well how bad the situation could turn in terms of my safety."

P: "How about you choose an object in the room to represent this part of yourself."

I looked around the room and saw the perfect object, a cute little teddy bear with outstretched arms, as if it were asking for a hug. P asked me to then find an object to represent the part of myself that wants nothing to do with relationships, to be self-sufficient and devote my emotions to me, myself and I, only. Scanning the room again, which is filled with cute little knick-knacks, ornaments, art, plants, teddies, I spotted a little china cat, sitting tall and proud, which I thought was perfect because to me a cat represents "I do not need you".

P asked me go over to the teddy and hold it, after placing the cat in the seat I was originally sat in.

She asked: "What does this part of you want from the part of you that wants to be alone, and self-sufficient? Try to use an "I" statement and ask for what you want, or need, from this other part of you."

I replied, after thinking for a while:

"I need guidance, I need to learn how to stop being so impulsive, to stop seeking gratification that I know is toxic or false. I need to learn delayed positive reinforcement, I need to learn how to say no when I want or need to, and I need to learn and implement these lessons fast so that I can pass them onto my child."

P: "Now come back to your original seat and put yourself in the shoes of your other self. You've just been asked for help from this little 7-year-old you. How do you respond?"

Me: "The first thought that comes to mind is to almost laugh and say 'You're a lost cause, there's no helping you'."

I then paused, knowing that this isn't the right way to feel about myself if I want to make any progress whatsoever. Something suddenly clicked inside my head, I genuinely felt the switch flick and I immediately gained a new perspective. All of a sudden, I looked over at this little teddy bear, and instead of seeing my little 7-year-old self, the child that I was so used to thinking so negatively of, I saw a child that was all of a sudden no longer me, but just an innocent little 7-year-old girl to whom I had no relation to whatsoever.

I said:

"Okay, something just switched in me and I don't hold that view anymore, I don't know if this is because I'm a mother-to-be, or for some other reason, but all of a sudden all I can see is an innocent little girl who doesn't know any better, a little girl I don't know, and I have the overwhelming urge to do absolutely whatever I can to help her feel better, treat herself better, and to not follow the path that I followed."

P: "What is it you would do for her?"

Me: "I would to sit her on my lap, should she be okay with that, and hug her and never let go. I would to tell her it's not her fault, that she was innocent and didn't deserve to go through the things she went through."

P: "Now If you think about it, what mother would allow her 7-year-old daughter to go on Tinder? What mother would allow her 7-year-old to walk into town at night all alone, through dark and secluded routes?"

This hit me hard, what she was telling me was: the parts of myself that would engage in these risky, self-sabotaging behaviours, were merely the acts of my 7-year-old self, who innocently just didn't know any better. My 7-year-old self who knew that she was on this earth to be used over and over again for others satisfaction and pleasure, because that was all she had been shown, through many experiences as she grew in physical age. That this little 7-year-old repeated those behaviours for years and years and years, not knowing that all along there was always the opportunity to change the path she lead and followed.

At this point I think P could tell that this was hitting me quite hard, she asked:

"How are you doing?"

I said: "Honestly this is really hard, I feel raw, like my skin has been peeled off and I am sat here fully exposed, and that if anything touches me it will burn like hell. But this is good, I feel good, this is absolutely necessary, and hard work is the only way I'm ever going to grow. I also feel the need to go home and write about this because this is huge for me in terms of gaining a new perspective, and moving closer to possibly being able to forgive myself for the life I've lead and to hopefully move the fuck on."

Sadly I don't remember much else of the session following this core segment, but I know none of it was as important as this experience. I really hope that if anyone reads this, that it may help them to realise, or at least be open to the chance that, other ways of viewing yourself and your decisions and mistakes do exist. That the way you have viewed yourself and put yourself down most of your life, doesn't have to be the only way you treat yourself forever. Now, this crazy experience only happened today, so of course I'm yet to put the learnings into actions, but the story itself is enough to at least get me thinking in a new light, which I am so grateful for the opportunity to do so. I have spent more of my life than I can remember, viewing myself as the biggest most useless waste of oxygen that there is, and sadly I would say I do still feel that way currently, however I can feel those thoughts and beliefs losing their power over me, and I can see a light for the first time in a very long time. There is hope for change in my behaviours, patterns, decisions, and I can't wait to explore the new opportunities and perspectives that this experience has opened up for me.

If you read all of this, thank you - and if you feel it was a total waste of your time, sorry lol

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flyswhumpcenter · 5 years

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Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

I'm getting flack for Empathic Dissonance on Fanfiction.net but I don't give a shit, Peregrineshipping will live beyond this show's grave fuckers

Oh look it's that one other AU I keep brushing dust off without actually doing anything of substance with it except invent new ways to slap characters I don't own into it. And because I got severely annoyed by some twats trolling on my FFN posts (why am I posting on this site anymore anyway smh), I made sure this fic was obviously Peregrineshipping. They're right when they tell you people write because they're either horny or spiteful.

To casually explain how mages ("magical girls") work here: there are three categories (spell caster, weapon user and healer), and there are Hybrids who are a combination between two of those three. Hybrids are chased down by bounty hunters because they're deemed to be special unicorns. Each mage also represents a Symbol or an Arcana (they're the same: the Arcana system is just deeper with more details on it and it's mostly in Latin) Everything else is spoilers. I am not kidding, I may very well write this bullshit out one of these days. I'm also gonna pull out my "it's fine if they're OOC because it's an AU" card I got from a fellow IoTsumu shipper (who's most likely not gonna read this), because I decided I'd be super self-indulgent today.

Also, big thanks to my pal Cherie for providing me with that sweet, sweet prompt. It's always a pleasure to write Peregrineship and dab on the haters lmao.

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Moonbeams in the Lunar Eclipse

Summary: There's one thing sure in Shun's mind as he escapes from his pursuers with his partner's wrist in his hand: he won't leave this place alone.

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Arc-V (magical people AU, see notes above) Ship: Peregrineshipping (Serena/Shun) (established, mostly implied)

Wordcount: 1.8K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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Saying his day has been absolute shit so far would be an understatement. In fact, he’s sure he’s not had such a shitty day in his life before: getting pursued by a bunch of bounty hunters, with feet bitten off by spells and wounds all over their bodies, tattered colourful outfits shredding little by little on the ground and in the air, really isn’t something he’s ever liked, or ever wanted to experience; but here they are, pursued by a bunch of crazies with their lives in their hands as they try to make it out without losing everything they’ve had.

For Shun, the only things he’s ever gotten were his liberty, his sister, his best friend and Serena; and he’s not intending on losing two of these now.

The streets of this city they don’t know smother him softly, slowly, giving him this sense of dizziness from the oxygen running out of his lungs the deeper they get. He isn’t familiar with that place, they’ve arrived there in a hurry because Ruri and Yuto went after an important lead in their hunt against those who chase and kill the Hybrids (reckless kids, he can’t help thinking: they’re Hybrids themselves, they’re going to get themselves killed and nothing else), and he has no idea as to where they could go to take shelter until these people forget about them.

They’re running out of everything. He barely has enough breathing and energy left to run in the streets like he’s currently doing, enough mana to keep the hunters away, enough eyes to watch over Serena and make sure she doesn’t get left behind in this urban labyrinth. The inside of his palm misses her warmth too much for him to give up on her. He may be clinging onto his sense of orientation more for her and their mission than for his own sake, at this point.

Shun spots a corner sunk in darkness next to his feet, yanking his hand back on Serena’s forearm (who is nearer to him than he thought, she’s faster than expected, that’s finally something he can be relieved about, it’s been a while), shrouding them in the shadows of the night and hoping their chasers don’t spot her body illuminated by solitary moonlight beams suddenly disappearing by swiping to the right. He keeps a hand on her mouth just in case, yellow irises focused on the scene before them, ears on alert; until he can’t hear anything but their breathing, hers muffled by his hand, his barely in control, footsteps vanishing into thin air.

He lets her go, watching her put her back against the wall to examine her injuries closer. Selena’s palms start glowing in a feeble blue light, just enough for him to see her swollen left ankle and cuts all over her body and outfit, blood red and fabric red somewhat mixing in the dark of the night as they silently pray for nobody to come back until they’ll be fine enough to get back to their feet and find shelter somewhere Ruri knows (she’s waiting for them at the end of the maze, he knows it).

They’re breathless, yet the echoing silence makes him uncomfortable. He has problems hearing her over his shallow breath, a hand pressed against the stab wound a billhook got on his abdomen, his second skin having ran out of mana on him way before they could have escaped from these vultures’ claws. The thing is that he can still walk, still get out of here if he ignores the pain enough, if he focuses his mind on the job at hand. The issue relies not on him, but on the fact he cannot guarantee everyone around him is in the same condition. Who cares about a little blood and a few cuts when your legs can still get you somewhere safer, better?

It’s in those moments that Shun regrets being a mere spell caster when he could have been much more; and he gets jealous of Ruri’s healing powers until he remembers the pain it causes her. He misses her more than he envies her anyway: he’s supposed to protect her, not the opposite way around.

“Are you good to go, Serena…?” He asks her with a dry mouth and a voice smelling like dizziness. Maybe he’s lost more blood than he can remember from the attacks. The dark ground and lack of light makes it hard to judge how much of it he’s spilled onto the ground with no hope to get it back.

“Leave without me,” she tells him like she’s dropping a canon ball right above his head, eyes cold but eyebrows frowned, and he knows that because his eyes have developed some kind of night vision. Not that anyone would have associated him with any form of light power; yet he was, somehow, some way, able to illuminate his path and see in the dark, when he had enough stamina left.

Right now, he feels like what little endurance he had left had come back full force, rage engulfing his nerves in a rush of adrenaline.

“What the hell are you saying?!” His voice rises in tone and volume, ignoring the walls amplifying the sounds bouncing amongst them, but her face doesn’t change, none of her features bulge even slightly.

“Leave without me, Shun. I’ll only slow you down. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you fucking with me?! How can you possibly tell me that when we’ve come so far together, when we’re supposed to be a team?! We’re even more than that, we’re alone together in some wastelands neither of us knows, you’re—”

“Listen to what I’ve got to say before screaming your head out, Kurosaki!”

Serena’s sudden bite at his monologue stops him right in his tracks, stealing his speech away, the adrenaline skipping a beat and going straight for his twitching hands and head. He’s furious, but silent now. That’s the only thing it’s done against him that he can account for.

That, and a lingering feeling of betrayal giving his heart frostbite burning, scorching at his insides’ skin. His blood feels poisoned, he wonders if he’s slipping into sceptic shock.

“Look at me! My ankle’s busted, I’ve run out of mana to shoot things, and we’re both bleeding. There’s no point in risking dying here if it’s just to get me out of this mess when I’m no use to you anymore. Get outta here before you can bleed out to death, that’s all I want you to do! I’ll only slow you down, so please,” she retains a sob inside, the sob of the person who’s seen the frontier between what is life and what isn’t for the first time and couldn’t get prepared for it (nobody could), “please leave without me, Shun!”

“…that’s bullshit.”

Serena’s eyes grow wide, her mouth moving to say something only to stop midway through the process to do so, her face split between anger and surprise. In the end, she sniffles in her last few tears and stares right at him.

“I’m not leaving you in some dump because you can’t walk properly or something. We’ll get out of this together, even if we have to limp or drag ourselves on the damn fucking floor for it to happen. That place’s not safe, we need to get you to safety?”

“And what about you, Shun? Are you going to go ahead and back on your footsteps to avenge Ruri? Are you going to do that to me… to all of us again?”

She has a point there; he can’t tell himself otherwise.

“Are you kidding? I’m bleeding the fuck out. I’m not sure if I can even escape from this place alone, my vision’s starting to swim if I move too quickly.” He scoffs, at himself more than at her eventually useless remark. “It’s dark as fuck around here and I don’t want you to have some stupid death by hypothermia or something like that. It’s either we die in this hole or we leave together. I won’t abandon anyone else, not after almost losing Ruri once.”

He takes her hands, wet from their clamminess and cold, in his as if that enforces his point (it doesn’t, really, but her palms are warmer than his and he just wants to touch her, to feel her skin under her gloves while he still can).

“But we’ll leave together, that much I want to promise. I can’t promise it’ll be smooth or fun, but I can promise we’ll try our damn best to escape.”

“You’re strangely forward today,” she ends up replying with a smirk, “but I like it. You should be like that more often.”

“Don’t fucking make fun of me.”

“I’m not.”

They have a short moment of silence before Serena speaks up again.

“How do you plan to get us how out of there, though? It’s not like I can properly walk anymore.”

Before she can add anything else, he gives her his back, hands right above his pelvis, fingers twitching up. Communication has never been his forte, and Serena sure knows that, so he’s trying to do something about that, even if it just ends up being terribly embarrassing for the both of them.

“Climb here.”

“Shun, that’s stupid, you’re injured! You won’t be able to—”

“Get on here before I force you to get there myself.”

She sighs in exasperation and does as he says, his arms sticking her legs against his torso. He has troubles adapting his balance to the new weight on his back, especially when his knees have scrapped the ground before and when he’s weakened already. Still, he pulls through and forces his legs to stay stable as he starts walking.

The heartbeat he feels next to his, too fast for a human in their right condition but still slower than his, is worth it. She has her arms wrapped around his shoulder blades, purple and red fabric brushing against his own outfit. He can’t hope to use his wings when he’s like this, with a human body over where they’d grow with a spell and retract when its effects would end, but it’s fine. It’s fine because they’ll make it out of there, as long as they’re together, as long as he can hear her ask him if he’s fine or he’d need a break. In a way, Serena is the beam of clarity piercing through the night ocean laid before all of them, the one whose presence he needs the most right now. She’s his partner and role model at the same time.

Because, if there’s one thing Shun hopes to become someday, it’s a beacon of light in the darkness.

#bad things happen bingo #arc-v #peregrineshipping #shun kurosaki #serena (arc v)#angst #tension #injury #escape #au: osas #bthb 2

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void-tiger · 5 years

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5 Fictional Characters that make up your Personality

So, I got tagged by the amazingly talented and kind @headspacedad . But, uh, I don’t exactly know that many people on here yet, so...gonna cheat a bit and say if you’ve not been tagged by anyone else yet/have any interest in playing, then I’m “tagging” you now? Yeah let’s just go with that.

So...In no particular order, here are the picks I finally decided to go with:

1. Spring Sprite from Fantasia 2000: Firebird Suite

So...apparently I latched onto her even before my parents read me Narnia (which sparked a life-long love for nymphs and mythology in general. Digressing. Back on topic, Tiger!) Beyond the whole Mythical Nature Girl aesthetic going on and how her best friend is an Elk, I think I’ve finally got it pinned down what, exactly, SmolTiger identified-with-and-absorbed:

She’s insanely curious (more on this later)

She’s a tactile learner, and goes from hesitant to confident as she experiments with her talent, with a bit of gentle prodding from the Elk. (Also important. Hubris and greek-inspired mythological characters DO kinda go hand-in-hand.)

She’s a Perfectionist TM (ahem. Also, see the gif.)

But, then she finds something she can’t heal. And...she just kinda *pokes* it.

And turns out her Curiosity, Confidence, and Pride in her work...turned into outright Hubris. And she gets burned. No, really. Quite literally, with everything she caree about reduced to ash.

Which...what do you do when you’ve screwed up that badly? How do you get back up again? There really isn’t ever an easy answer for that, other than taking time to grieve, then trying again. Fortunately Mr. Elk survived her accidentally letting loose a volcanic demon and is there to lend her a helping...antler.

And things do turn out alright. Her grief heals the land, she tries again. And once she’s regained her confidence? She conquers that mountain, finally spreading her Green all the way to the crater’s edge, the Firebird be damned.

What I took away?

It’s Okay to be curious, particular, and creative (as a tomboy female in a conservative, antiarts religious environment? This was HUGE. And not always a lesson I remembered.)

Your personality and talents are often both your greatest strengths as well as weaknessess.

When you fail, you’re gonna fall HARD. But you WILL survive, especially with help.

Take time to grieve and heal. But then say “screw you. I’m gonna try ANYWAY.” Then watch yourself soar.

Learning a bit of caution and situational awareness isn’t a terrible thing. But don’t let it keep you from Trying Anyway

2. Judy Hopps, Zootopia

I kid you not. From the first scene my brother was like, “oh look. It’s Tiger as a kid.”

...yeah. THAT scene. (Can’t exactly claim that my art or writing have *exactly* calmed down...and...uhhh. Acting intense stuff is morbidly fun.)

And the whole thing with Gideon Grey? Yeah, that was me, too. (Only...I’d have gotten trampled by the sheep, too. Ain’t school and kids just LOVELY.)

But adult Judy wanting to be tolerant, then learning she had a LOT of unlearning left to do? Yeah...uh. Still guilty as charged.

But what I love most about her?

Not only will she Prove You Wrong, but she’ll also prove herself wrong, and grow, and do what she can to Make Things Right. (And try not to make the same mistake twice.)

Oh...and make jokes at her own expense.

(...ahem. I totally don’t make jokes like that. Nope, not me!)

3. Vash the Stampede, Trigun

So...this guy’s an interesting take on the “Crouching Moron, Hidden Badass” trope. In...he seems like a moron, but it’s moreso a persona he puts on. He doesn’t have a “badass switch” that needs to be flipped like many anime protagonists—he’s always That Good. The question is only how much effort is he gonna put into hiding that. Then we learn that he plays up the Fool ‘cause he’s got a ridiculously high bounty on his head...which we assume is exaggerated.

I mean, he’s a pacivist to a fault. “Love and PEACE~!!!” ...right?

Well...yes, and no. Turns out he did end up doing those things, but not intentionally. And he’s so wracked with guilt about it and the stories about what he might have done that he outright represses those memories for a time. And his “goofy fascade” isn’t...just to avoid getting attacked by those who wish him harm (and don’t care who gets caught in the crossfire). He’s also Lonely and craving any sort of non-lethal human interaction he can get.

And he’ll continue to protect, even at the cost of severe personal injury to himself or being forced to play up the Villain everyone believes him to be. It won’t change who he really is.

What I learned from Vash:

Silliness, Kindness, and Competence can coexist. You don’t have to “just pick one”

Cognative Dissonance is HELL. But, it’s one you can survive

You can always Start Again and make restitution for your past mistakes, even though you cannot undo them.

4. Takashi Shirogane, Voltron: LD

yeah yeah I know. Small surprise. But, he’s a fellow struggling mid20 year old who survived an insane amount of trauma and later learns that he might’ve done things he’s ashamed of, yet he actively chooses to fight and protect those in need (and “adopts” a group of squabbling teens along the way).

Not only does he choose to protect, he chooses to be kind. He leads by example with that same kindness, and people notice and respond to it.

That’s damn inspiring.

I wanna be Shiro. I wanna lead like Shiro when I’m called to lead. please don’t pick me!

And the Black Lion chose him despite his trauma and learning about being “Champion”. And staying active? Keeping himself involved and engaged? That gave him purpose, and that purpose gradually gave him healing (even if not closure).

...It also helps that he’s a Complete Dork.

What I learned from Shiro:

Your past does not define you

Kindness is an active choice and strength

Kind Leaders do exist, and they’re worth following

Staying Involved as much as you can actually can help manage your mental health and healing process

5. Jiro Shirogane, Voltron: LD

...aaaand this one should be less of a surprise, honestly. I love both Shiros, okay? I also spent more time with this Shiro, and identified with him maybe a teensy bit more.

Takashi’s “who I wanna be when I grow up”.

(Even though he has his own healing to start, and could stand to confide in...idk. Coran? Allura? They’re the fellow coded adults. Form a support group of “I Crossed the Galra and Survived” or something.)

Jiro’s where I’m currently at, admittedly.

And Jiro’s the one we see trying so damn hard to find “what he CAN do” if being a Paladin wasn’t an option (even though he’s still miserable. But he’s trying.) And when he screws up? We immediately see him doing what he can to Fix It, or at least Do Better. He’s also the one we got to see actively try to manage his mental and physical health, as well as finally open up to Someone. (Even though...egh. Monsantos. Just, monsantos.)

Those were all things I Wanted for both Shiros, but especially Jiro. Those were all also things I learned along the way (and way...way too much meta. Like an admittedly unhealthy amount as I accidentally tied the Shiro(s) being Okay with me learning how to be okay, too) that I could work on giving to myself, too.

What I learned from Jiro:

Focus on What You CAN Do

It’s okay to be longing for something else

Being Kind includes doing what you can to repair your relationships and fix your mistakes

Know when to ask for help, and do what you can to take care of yourself. You can’t help anyone if you’re not taking care of yourself, too

#tiger's musings #5 fictional characters personality challenge #gifs #read more #...YEP. I found the gifs guys.#but hey! I know how to ReadMore now too! well...at least for a PC

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tomerasange · 5 years

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Chapter 5: Hungering in Battle

I was once told in the time of the arena that the greatest weapon in battle is not the sword and shield, nor the bow, nor the spell. In times of desperation and domination, anyone can truly use the art of fear to strike at the hearts of the enemy. To see a violent adversary fall without so much as a swing of the blade is the only true way to save them, my teachers would wax. It has come to my attention I may have inherited more of this teaching than I initially bargained.

As we struck out back toward Phandalin, I could feel whatever injuries I had sustained begin their healing process. We returned to Lionshield Coster, confirmed our findings, and over the course of a day transported the goods back to Lineen. I should clarify that, in transporting these goods, I elected to take very small parcels. Forbid the thought that I injure or aggravate my frame in menial tasks rather than the heat of battle.

I looked over at my two companions, Aurora deftly handling smaller boxes with light materials with her agile fingers and Urnig shouldering crates of heavy produce, and felt a glow not held for some time. Certainly, I had friends in Silverymoon, but this was unlike anything I could encounter in the streets of the North. This was a shot in the arm, an invigorating adventure.

And so, we were paid for our services, seeking to return to the Stonehill Inn on a job well done, when a crowd began forming around the town square. I stared off into the distance to try and determine the source of attention. Unable to see above some of the villager’s shoulders, I weaved through the river of churning bodies to try and get a better view of scene. Only too late did I realize the reason for their gathering was horrific.

As I neared the front of the crowd, I took in a scene so vile and heartless, it made my skin run cold and eyes well in concern. The body of the woodcarver Thel Dendrar had been strung up in a tree, his face bloodied and throat cut in disrespect. No amount of retribution could justify the state of the corpse. I could determine no amount of anger or malice did this; this was sheer indifference through the sieve of mob rule.

Suddenly, a projectile was thrown at the body. A heap of dirt chucked into the air hit the body square, and the whole of the town gasped in agony. To see their friend, their neighbor treated in such a manner was too much for some to bear. I was very nearly sick at the sight. Some took to fleeing back to the safety of their. In a fit of anger, I grabbed the nearest townspeople. “Why hasn’t the guard been sent for? SEND FOR THE GUARD!”

“Sir, I don’t know what you’re saying. We don’t have a guard.” We don’t have a guard.

I felt that members in the crowd had eyes trained on me, no doubt these Redbrands. I released the denizen and marched off towards the townmaster’s hall. This charade had gone on long enough for my liking, and I was going to see justice be done.

Aurora and Urnig followed after me, tailing behind as I came to the front door of a large stone building in the middle of town. Nailed to the door was a paper detailing the orc problems but no appeared to be home. I pounded on the door, in hopes a footman or maid were in the foyer to, at the very, very least, invite me into the building in anticipation for an audience with the head of the town. Yet no one came to the door.

In a very uncharacteristic move, I burst the door down and took in the scene. Across the room of marbled tiles and high side windows, two Redbrands stood above a figure, only turning to me because of the sudden commotion I had caused. I could see the figure was a short Human of roughly middle-age, held hostage on the floor. One of the Redbrands said, “Move along. This doesn’t concern you.”

I drew my sword and pointed it with purpose. “I’ve already given you a chance by ignoring your actions in the marketplace. You will not get a second warning,” and I charged blindly into the fight.

Aurora and Urnig were no doubt blindsided by this turn of events but still managed to summon their magic. Aurora charged with a strike of dissonant strings and Urnig welled up his lightning. At least this is what they told me occurred. In the heat of battle, I felt no others in the room but these two men and my anger.

I cut into one of the men who attempted to return a blow from his sword. My buckler held true. “You won’t leave here alive, you know that?” He tried to fluster me, but my mixed emotions of anger and pleasure derived from combat arrived on my lips as a taunt. “Try me, bitch.”

I felt a cool wind as Urnig attempted to summon up, from what he later told me, a contraption of metal evisceration, but to no avail. Instead, he brought himself into the air, aloft on wings of golden fury, and dove at the other Redbrand. Surely, I hoped he knew he could do that before today.

Having a distraction readily available in the form of a flying Urnig, I grabbed at the Redbrand’s shield and made a stab with my rapier. In a desperate act of self-preservation, he dove his head out of the way, and I attempted another swing of the blade to cleave at his neck. This time, he swung his shield in protest, knocking my blade away. He grinned directly in my face.

In that moment, I could feel the words of my past.

Fear is your greatest weapon.

I curled my fingers into a monstrous form and held the rapier like a madman, a man possessed to my emotions. My eyes no longer deep and jeweled, now vicious and icy. I stared this man back, and choked, “My...blade...hungers.”

The Redbrand suddenly saw his doom, along with his other conspirator who in the melee looked on while dueling Urnig. They both drew fear in their eyes, and the man I dueled with fled my person entirely. I took another wild swing, but it completely missed, as my strokes took on a trance. The middle-age man later confided I resembled a wild fae, whose only interaction I have seen was through artworks, in which the hero staring upon that which lies beyond the veil knows he is mortal.

Urnig chained his fellow in lightning and his face disintegrated in an instant. Aurora, who had held back throughout this fight, took a swing of her rapier towards the fleeing bastard. He ran head first in her attack. In a moment of clarity, I subsided my act of chaos to draw my bow. In times of battle, I have often found myself in a moment of remorse, a small prayer to their soul. I felt nothing as the arrow flew, striking the Redbrand in the back, killing him instantly. As he fell, Aurora whipped her rapier through the air, slicing the cape off of the man’s shoulders, catching it with a flourish and stowing it in her pack.

The middle-age man shook with fear, having just survived a quite traumatizing event, no doubt. I came down from my possessed seance, deeply breathing inward so as to refresh my body’s composition, and turned to face my companions, only to see Urnig, having very well topped his moment with the face of the wolf. He had drawn a knife and began to chop at the limbs of the Redbrands, quartering their limbs and gutting their intestines. I later found out from Aurora he was planning on feeding the meat of the soldiers to Thel’s family, as a token of equivalence. I remark in this moment that I do not, nor will ever, support the actions taken by Urnig when it comes to violence.

The man stared on, aghast. “What are you doing?! You’re draining blood everywhere! It’s inhuman!”

I took him aside as Aurora pleaded with Urnig not to force a widow and her child into cannibalism. “Our sincerest apologies for the scene, my good man. He get excitable. Before we start, I must introduce myself. Tomera Sange of Silverymoon. Perhaps you’ve heard of my family’s work? Now that we have time enough, I must ask what has been happening in this town?” He composed himself. “Well, young man, my name is Harbin Wester, and I’m the town master around these parts. To be perfectly honest, all this started about a few weeks on. Rumors say it’s that blasted Glasstaff. He came to this town without warning and somehow convinced the town guard to lay their weapons down! Now, these once fine men are calling themselves Redbrands and causing odd chaos in the streets!”

So, the town guard are now the Redbrands. “Where do these types like to roost?” “Well, they congregate at the Sleeping Giant, a taproom down the main road to the east, but they also hold up in Tresendar Manor. It’s the well-off structure just beyond the town proper. Old place hasn’t had any tenants for years until they took it. It would be of great help if you were to aid us, seeing how you stopped those two from what they had in mind.” “Of course, sir. I do have one question, before I take my leave. Why haven’t you sent for a militia, or a battalion from Neverwinter? If you are in such a great distress, why haven’t you asked for helped?” Harbin thought about it for a moment, and continued with a sense of dignity. “To be perfectly honest, we’re a small town. We’ve gotten by on our own before, and we're not about to give up now. Even if we sent for help, who’s to say our call would be heard?” I admired his honesty. “You are a brave man, no doubt.” I pressed on. “However, bravery in this case will get you killed.”

We took our leave, allowing Harbin to ruminate on his situation. Aurora convinced Urnig to spread the body parts he had thus collected into the woods for the forest animals to feast on, and we pressed on back to the Stonehill Inn, not a soul left on the streets.

The tavern had a somber yet jittery atmosphere, as our arrival spooked some of the patrons. We took our place at the bar to relax after the day we were forced to partake. For years, I do not recall a day as stressful nor as taxing as today. Certainly, I have had hard days, but not since I was a younger lad, not even so a man.

As I looked at the barmaid, I could see her rearranging the spirits. One bottle in particular caught my eye. A red, oh, a sweet full-bodied red as deep as the carpeting of a king’s court. I called for the barmaid and laid down three gold for a drink. As the glass came into vision, I clasped it gently, swirled it, sniffed it. This will do.

I downed it immediately and slammed another three gold to drain the bottle. Handing the glass back, I stood up and bid my companions a good night before my inhibition ruined my reputation. This amount of wine in the system would doubtless be enough to send me off to sleep.

As I walked up the steps to my room in a state of drifting, legs befuddled, Sildar came into view. He seemed ready to partake in a wash, given he wore only his light underclothes and held a rag in hand. “Ah, Tomera, my dear boy. So sorry I was occupied today. Held an audience with Townmaster Wester, and, well... the matter with Thel and the town. It took all I had to escort these people safely to their homes. Anyway, I was hoping before to set out tomorrow I could discuss something with you. You seem tired, so I’ll leave it at that. Have a good night,” and he walked past.

As he walked off, I followed his form, only slightly, noticing how the years of travel and battle etched his body like a sculpture. I really did have a bit too much to drink.

I lay my head down upon my bed, having somehow shed my gear from my person in a state of looniness, and fell into a troubling sleep which gave way to an absence of dreaming.

#dnd #air genasi #tomera #fighter #story #story log #dnd log #chapter 5 #dungeons and dragons #lost mine of phandelver #cw: gore #cw: cannibalism #spoilers #cw: alcohol

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thinkyoureholy · 6 years

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Dissonants [1]

[Requested by anon]

A/n: I'd like to thank my beautiful cousin who made this moodboard I love you my broski and thank you so much😔✊

Dissonant: adj. Unsuitable or unusual in combination; clashing

Pairing : Byun Baekhyun / Reader

Genre : Angst, Violence, Mature Language, Future Fluff, Future Smut, Gang! AU

Words : 2.1k

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt 4. Pt 5. Pt 6. Pt 7. Pt 8. Pt 9. Pt 10. Pt 11. Pt 12. Pt 13. Pt 14.

-Y/N’s P.O.V-

I threw the knife I had in my hands across the room in anger, watching it embed itself into the wall, “I want you to find that infuriating little brat and bring him to me! Now!”

The others just stayed in their spots, none of them dared to move or even make eye contact with me, that is everyone except Heejin. She stood against the door, her arms crossed over her chest, a smirk adorning her face. She had the audacity to laugh at the situation, causing my anger to grow. I stood up from my seat, stalking over to her, my face showing just how angry I was. I could tell she wasn’t expecting me to do anything about her laughing since I usually never did but this time it was different. This time we all could’ve died thanks to that little pest that goes by the name of Byun Baekhyun and his annoying pack of minions.

“You think this is a game?”

-One Hour Earlier-

“Alright, spread out, if you run into any problems engage if you have to but if you see an opening you take it. I’m not taking home any dead bodies tonight do you understand?”

I heard a chorus of ‘yes’, Haise and Urie already on my left and right. I turned back to look at Min who was in charge of telling us where exactly the truck was at, Ji helping him out by taking out security cameras in the area. Saiko had already left with Hye and Heejin, those three in charge of blinding the drivers with flashbangs and setting off smoke bombs to give us some cover. Saiko and her team had been waiting in the surrounding area, making sure no problems arose while we waited for the truck to get to that intersection.

Haise and Urie were on high alert as soon as they had stepped out of the car, their eyes surveying the area as we walked down the street. I couldn’t help but crack a smile at their rigid frames, the two of them looking like robots.

“If I didn’t know the two of you well enough I’d say the two of you were government manufactured machines.”

“And who says we aren’t?” Haise asked, loosening up a bit as he draped an arm around my shoulder, making the two of us look like a couple to the people around us.

Urie on the other hand stayed rigid, his face as stoic as ever. I elbowed him in the ribs gently, leaning over to him, “At least try to act like you’re a regular member of society and not a gang member on their way to rob an armored truck.”

He nodded briskly, a sigh leaving my lips at seeing him remain just as rigid. It didn’t take long for us to reach the intersection, seeing Saiko and the others in their places. I looked down at my watch, hearing Min say the truck was about to come up on to light ahead in a few seconds. I turned to look at Haise and Urie to see they already had their masks on, Urie handing me mine along with a pistol. I slipped it on, checking the magazine of the gun before seeing the truck stop at the red light as planned. Haise did his bird call, giving Saiko’s team the signal to proceed. Everything happened in a blur, the flashbangs going off first before the smoke bombs were detonated. I felt Urie and Haise both put a hand on each of my shoulders stopping me from being the first one to pass through the veil of smoke. I sighed heavily, waiting for them to give me the all clear signal before following after them.

I checked my watch once more, seeing we had less than five minutes left. Hye had done the calculations on how long it would take the police to arrive on the scene and with the possibility of them being on patrol nearby we had six minutes and some seconds of an opening to get the job done.

“Clear!” Haise yelled out, having gone back to his serious self from just a few minutes ago.

I took a few steps back, Urie having already come over to stand in front of me, protecting me from the blast. As soon as we heard it go off we went to work. I removed my backpack, reaching into it and pulling out a much larger duffle bag that was folded inside, Haise and Urie doing the same. I could hear some scuffling coming from the front of the truck, knowing Saiko and the others were trying to keep the driver and passenger busy. Counting down in my head I knew we had less than two minutes left, Haise and Urie having filled their bags already. We were so close, so fucking close, that is until he decided to show up and completely ruin everything.

I felt a knife being pressed tightly against my neck, making me freeze. I could hear Urie and Haise fighting with whoever tried to restraint them, that is until I heard a single gunshot. At that I turned my head quickly, seeing Haise kneeling on the floor, clutching onto his left bicep with his right hand. At seeing him injured I threw my head back, head butting the guy holding onto me. His hold on me loosened up, giving me the chance to grab onto his wrist tightly and use my center of gravity to flip him over my shoulder and onto the ground. I went to punch him but stopped as soon as I felt a gun being pressed against my temple firmly. I froze once again, looking up into a pair of eyes I didn’t recognize.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, I mean that is unless you want me to blow your brains out, paint the streets with your blood...y’know the whole jazz.”

I could see Urie fighting harder against the arms that held him back, Haise trying to get back up but was kicked back down. I looked around to see Saiko lying on the ground, her hand clutching onto her stomach. Hye had cuts on her arms and bruises leading up to her face. The only one that seemed relatively unscathed was Heejin, I was confused to say the least but I would question her about it later. Right now I had to deal with this problem. I was snapped back into reality at hearing a painful groan coming from Urie.

“Tick tock, doll face. The clock is ticking and it seems like you don’t have much time.” He said in a condescending voice.

I narrowed my eyes at him, “Who the hell are you?”

“Baekhyun. Byun Baekhyun”

My eyes widened at his name, everything seeming to click. He’s the one that’s been meddling with everything my people and I have been doing for the past two months. I had only heard his voice and just the sound of it made my blood boil. So much went on in these last few seconds so my brain didn’t put two and two together until now. I ground my teeth together in anger, looking over to Urie and nodding my head. At the nod Urie stopped resisting immediately, Hye doing the same.

“Haise?”

“Yeah?” He answered in a strained voice.

“Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

“Urie help Heejin with Saiko and fall back.” I ordered them, knowing we were running out of time as soon as the sirens in the background started to get louder.

“We thank you for your kind donation.” Baekhyun said, a smug smile undoubtedly on his lips under the mask he was wearing.

I glared at him, not risking the chance to let him try something as I kept my eyes on him, making my way over to Haise and helping him off the floor. I let him lean against me, seeing Urie and the others just leaving the cover the smoke gave us. I turned back to Baekhyun, a deep frown on my face.

“Don’t count on never seeing me again, I’ll end you for everything you’ve done.” I sneered out, my voice dripping with venom.

“Oh I sure hope you do.” He replied in a smug voice.

-Present Time-

I looked Heejin up and down, noticing her lack of injury, not even a single scuff on her hands. I grew skeptical at this, taking a step closer to her, seeing her back up just the smallest amount.

“Tell me...what were you doing when we got ambushed? Why are you the only one that left unscathed? Even I have a small scratch on my neck but you? Its as if they intentionally spared you...why is that?”

I could tell my questions caught her off guard as she started stumbling over her words. Before I could even think of saying anything else Min came over to stand in between the two of us, his back to Heejin,protecting her, “Y/N come on, ease up a bit.”

“Ease up? You want me to ease up when Haise took a bullet to the arm and Saiko a knife to her side? We’re lucky those were the only two ‘major' injuries given to any of us and you want me to ease up?”

Min faltered at my words, knowing he had absolutely no right to tell me to ease up. I sent a glare to Heejin once more before turning my back on the two.

“Hye go finish patching up Saiko. Ji go back to your computer and see what else you can find on this Byun Baekhyun guy besides his name, Min help him out. Haise and Urie the two of you stay here.” I said, making my way back to my desk before pausing for a few seconds, turning back around to face Heejin, “You better stay out of my sight if you know what’s good for you. You better fucking pray that I don’t find out about you having to do with any one from the gang that ambushed us today because I will make your life a living hell before I put you out of your misery.”

With that being said they all filed out of the room one by one, Haise and Urie were the only ones to stay behind like I ordered. Haise had been sitting in a chair this whole time, blood already seeping through the makeshift bandage around his arm. With a sigh I grabbed my kit from inside one of my desk drawers. I sat down next to Haise without a word, unwinding the bandage from his arm and cutting up the sleeve of his shirt. The two of them watched me work in silence, Haise’s wincing the only thing audible in the whole room.

“Don’t you think you were a little too harsh?” Urie asked, leaning against the desk as he watched me work.

I cleaned out Haise’s wound, noticing that there was no exit wound which meant the bullet was still in his arm. I ignored Urie’s remark and got ready to take out the bullet, cleaning out his wound before reaching into it with a pair of pliers. Haise immediately tensed up, a loud groan falling from his lips as his arm shook the longer I took to extract the bullet. Finally after what might’ve felt like minutes to him but was only a few seconds I managed to get the bullet out.

“Fucking hell, Y/N. Mind giving me a little bit of a warning next time?” Haise said, his face having gone a little pale.

I offered him a small smile, already working on stitching up his wound. Once I was done I wrapped his arm up in new bandages, giving him some pills to take the pain away. I sat back in the chair, throwing the used bandages to the floor roughly, some anger still in me.

“I want you two to keep an eye on Heejin.”

“Y/N-”

I gave Haise a look, silencing him immediately, “Don’t tell me I’m the only one that thinks it’s odd that she’s the only one that came back without a single scratch.”

Urie sighed heavily, crossing his arms over his chest, “And what happens if we do find something?”

I looked at the two of them, seeing how Haise hoped I didn’t say what he thought I would while Urie kept his face blank. I stayed silent for a few seconds before answering his question.

“Simple. I get rid of her and anyone who tries to stop me.” I said, an underlying threat in my tone of voice.

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