#fun fact about me; i used to have constant panic attacks because the muscles in my chest twitch occasionally when i'm anxious

[randomly--accessed--memories]

Vox's mind is stored in his heart. He's capable of staying completely conscious even without a head, limbs, or any other parts of his body— as long as his heart is intact, he can remain self-aware.

After physically torturing Vox, dismembering him until he was only a torso, all Alastor needed to do to begin the real show was to get inside his heart. The last thing Vox felt before his Old Life ended and his New Life began was one of Alastor's little shadow tentacles slithering into his heart.

On good days, Vox will sometimes abruptly become very aware of his heart/heartbeat and feel a frantic need to protect it, even though nothing's happening and his chest is totally intact. On bad days, he'll suddenly be gripped with the sensation of something wriggling around in his heart, which either triggers a directionless meltdown or a bout of self-harm aimed at his chest.

#vox (ram) #randomly accessed memories #dark #cw self harm #cw body horror #fun fact about me; i used to have constant panic attacks because the muscles in my chest twitch occasionally when i'm anxious #and when they first started happening i thought i was going to have a heart attack and die! that lasted for three years! #i am so grateful not to be scared of them anymore #the constant fear of death was fucking *hellish*

[lycaran]

Meet Lonnie

So uh...May have made a Hardenshipping fankid.

His name's Lonnie, an orphan street kid that Archie and Maxie adopted who counts as a fankid in my eyes, god damn it.

I can’t draw muscles or children to save my life.

Originally @cryptidanaphafsi​ did this I with their fankid I believe? 

Info under the cut because I really started to ramble about details...A lot. 

Bad Quality picture, but his adult versions both have a keystone in the middle of their mask that they use for Mega Evolution.

Notes:

RSE canon is Emerald, which leads in Alpha Sapphire in the future, though in this canon way, RSE events get resolved Without a protagonist. Hypothetical game futures for the SM and USUM games.

RSE Version -

-Still living on the streets at this point, 8-10 in age.

-Met a few times over the course of the story, usually found hiding around a corner after an encounter with Maxie or Archie(outside of hideout encounters), seems mostly in awe of how cool the plans seem.

-Selectively mute, if talked to he'll make gestures towards the player but since the player is about ten, all you really get from talking to him is "...."

-Jumpy, running off as soon as the player is done talking

-Vitiligo

-In the Sapphire & Emerald versions of the game, post game, he's absolutely Terrified of Kyogre, developing Aquaphobia as he grows older.

-Sometime post game, Archie and Maxie pick him up bc he still seems to tag along just behind one of them, and hey, the kid needs a home. And when they’ve patched things up, they’re really good dad’s.

ORAS Version, constants-

- Adopted pre-game and raised by Maxie and Archie before they split bc of differing ideals...again.

- Mid-twenties.

- Team Magma Admin.

- Aquaphobia from past trauma, selectively mute.

- I can't draw muscles but he's definitely the strongest person there, thanks to Archie and a bit of Matt.

- As an adult, Vitiligo patches have spread and caused part of his hair to grow in white.

- Personality wise, he's a rather nice man, only really being a sore loser. And takes after Maxie alot in the brains department, including dumbassery. 

- He’s dating both an Aqua Grunt and a Magma Grunt, don’t tell his dads though. A grunt in the Magma hideout asks you if you want to place a bet on that happens when the bosses find out, then realizes you are Not one of the grunts, and runs off.

- Aqua Grunt is named Dew

- Magma Grunt is named Ashe

- I will draw them eventually, they will be mentioned elsewhere.

Omega Ruby -

-he appears somewhat sporadically, usually around Maxie. Fought once at Mossdeep city when the player beats the gym, viewing the player as a threat to Maxie's goal...and wanting to make use of himself, aquaphobia keeping him from following the rest of the team down to the Seafloor Cavern. Team: Crobat, Camerupt, Mightyena, Sealeo.

-A Grunt, Ashe, follows him around and acts as an interpreter. Talking directly to Lonnie is always "..." before the grunt buts in to explain what he's trying to say.

-When defeated by the player, he'll turn to the grunt, signing furiously, only for the grunt to exclaim "I can't say that to a child!" before Lonnie leaves in a huff.

- During the Delta Episode he's fought at the Magma Hideout, without Ashe, absolutely Livid about what Zinnia did to Maxie, and fighting the player as soon as they enter, seeing them as just something else that'll upset his dad. Team: Crobat, Camerupt, Mightyena, Walrein.

- Post Delta Episode, you'll actually find him alone in a house on the Battle Resort. When talked to, he still won't talk, but after interacting with him Maxie walks in to explain that he and his son were there, trying to lay low, relax a bit, and they're waiting on "a certain someone" to show up for a talk.

Alpha Sapphire Version, aka the Canon Version-

- Not very active story wise, always seen rather ominously popping up mere seconds after an interaction with Team Aqua. He doesn't have an interpreter this time, so all the player really gets is "...." then a yes/no text box before he leaves.

- Appears on Mt. Chimney with Maxie to try and stop Team Aqua's little attempt. Maxie will actually translate some of what Lonnie's trying to say, and while it would be nice, he doesn't exactly explain Why Lonnie tends to be tailing Team Aqua, Archie most specifically

-And ho boy. When Kyogre gets awoken, this poor man is having the Worst day.

- In Sootopolis, he's seen quite visibly shaking, signing Something at Archie, who might be having a "Oh shit." moment and a half because his Son is VERY MUCH AFRAID OF WATER, AND VERY MUCH CAN. NOT. SWIM.

- So yeah. Not a fun time.

- Half of what he's signing is ruined by how shaky his hands are. Ashe looks ready to strangle Archie, and Dew is reeling from the reality and Actually starts cursing Archie out as soon as the player leaves to handle Kyogre.

- Tbh if the two boys didn’t start trying to murder Archie first, Maxie might’ve.

- When Kyogre is captured, when the player leaves and all is said and done, he gives the player a piece of Cameruptite with a small little Thank You note.

- Battle Resort/Battle Maison, he is once again found in a house, but this time Maxie is already there. And once the player talks to the two, Archie walks in, but when that happens, the player is asked to leave so they can have a Family chat.

Sun & Moon Games-

- Okay this is just me being self indulgent and including him in my favorite games of the series, plus it’s just neat.

- Basically, he’s there on a honeymoon with Ashe and Dew.

- Even after the teams disbanded, he’s very partial to his Magma outfit. Only real change coming coming from the removal of the Magma symbols on his vest. Still keeping the combined symbols on his mask.

- More or less appears as a cameo. The only reason they’re even having a Honeymoon in Alola is because it has both Water and Volcanos near eachother.

- Shows up in post game, investigating the Altar of the Sunne/Moone as the idea of other worlds really peaked his interest.

- Funny Images: 6′0″ string bean and a 5′7″ man with average muscle trying to carry a 6′5″ man with muscle from hell because the waves touched him and he freaked out.

Ultra Sun & Moon Games - 

- Mostly the same.

- With the addition of the player actually getting his help against Rainbow Rocket

- When reaching the mansion, Lonnie will be there. Along with Ashe and Dew.

- He’ll then “ask” which side the player wants to take on, fighting either Archie or Maxie depending on choice. Vs. Archie, he takes Ashe with him, Vs. Maxie, he takes Dew. The other of his husbands goes with the player to help handle the other boss.

- After this, you can find Lonnie, Dew, and Ashe at the battle tree.

- Funny Images: Trying to get Lonnie onto Aether, a man made island in the middle of the ocean.

Pokespe Version -

- His age is more me throwing darts at a board trying to guess when shit happens.

- He’s alot more playful and joking in this version.

Ruby Sapphire Chapter -

- 16

-Actually adopted prior to the Ruby&Sapphire Chapter, but in a surprising twist, stays mainly with Archie.

- Interacts with Ruby and Sapphire once, maybe twice through the whole Manga.

- Hard for Archie to be intimidating with a giant of a teen in a life jacket clinging to him everytime they get near water, but he makes it work

- He stays with Arche and team Aqua for two reasons and two reasons only

- One, he lacks past trauma with Kyogre in pokespe, thus doesn’t fear water as much and can stand to be around it more. Two, alchoholics scare him more than water ever could.

-Along with that, Archie also has the safer public persona, so win win on his part

- Lonnie, being a teen, does tend to wander though. Barely seen for most of the chapters. When Archie and Maxie have their fight, he's there for a split second, before letting out his Crobat and fleeing.

-I don't have it all ironed out, but basically, the whole battles between Magma and Aqua through the whole arc have slowly built up this fear in Lonnie's brain when it comes to his dad's, and this is the tipping point.

- Sadly, both leaders are a bit preoccupied to notice at first that he's gone, and it's a fullblown panic after the fact.

-Sadly tho, this doesn't slow down their plans. But Blaise and Amber are put in charge of trying to track him down and find him.(Not in a bad way, more in a Extremely worried parents with a missing son way)

- Cue end of arc.

Emerald Arc

-still 16

-Makes brief cameos, he tends to linger around the back.

- Actually, screw it, I'll make this pretty later but he and Emerald do become friends.

- Has a small interaction with Emerald, writing about how he finds his equipment cool, and is in awe of how he calms pokemon.

-And boy oh does this lead to some Fun

- Cut the confrontation with Guile in the cave, the first Jirachi attempt

- Alot changes here.

- First of all, while Jirachi still escapes, Guile lingers for a moment. Looking at Lonnie for a long moment. And while he does 'reflect' back the attacks with his sword, he sends the attack flying off into a wall instead of at Emerald and Lonnie.

- Later, Guile actually snatches the poor kid, pulling off somewhere just to have a few moments to make sure he's okay

- If you know the manga, you know it's gonna be revealed to Lonnie at this point that Guile is, in fact, Archie. And while he tries to avoid the details, he does tell Lonnie he needs Jirachi to fix things

- Lonnie assumes, sadly naive, that this has to do with Maxie and their family. Even asking Archie where his other dad is, only to be met with silence.

- That doesn't settle well with him, actually demanding to know what happens, atleast as much as you can demand when you can’t talk. The last he heard about them was nearly destroying Hoenn so what happened?

- Archie doesn’t tell him, straight up Refuses to tell him what happened.

- This does not go well. Leading to Lonnie once more running off.

- Lonnie keeps in touch with Emerald after the arc is over, basically adopted him as a little brother because they’re both weird looking kids, Emerald being unusually short, and Lonnie having Vitiligo.

- He runs into Amber after this and kind of just, vibes there, treats Amber like an uncle, and that’s who looks after him for the next few years.

ORAS Arc -

- 20

-Lives with Amber, mostly helping the man with fishing and all around, just trying to have someone around he can 'talk' to without needing an interpreter or to write down every word he says.

-Team Aqua....2!

-He does end up joining the New Team Aqua, since he feels more safe with them in Pokespe. Along with this, he’s curious about where they came from and what’s going on here.

-Looks most like my concept sketch for him in this version.

- Eventually just, disepears in the midst of fighting. He's learned enough and doesn't want to face that all.

- Listen when I tell you. When he sees Maxie and Archie, he's pissed.

-And when The Dustening happens...

- He actually does cry. Hell, it's probably the only time he speaks, begging in a hoarse voice he never uses for his dad's to stay there. Just for once. Let them be a family just for Once.

- It doesn't work.

- Funny Images: Emerald, looking up at Lonnie who is like 3-4 times their height: “I AM GOING TO STEAL YOUR KNEECAPS!!!!” Lonnie, amused, signing: “You-can-try.”

-Pokemon Seen: Crobat, Sharpedo, Sandslash.

Sun and Moon Arc -

- 22

-He actually appears here.

- Listen, he's a smart man, and he knows a lot.

-Appears after that small time skip after Sun and Moon disepear through the portals, ultimately he's here investigating the portals.

- He 'talks' with Kukui and Burnet to try and figure out what's going on.

-I don't know how it'd be incorporated, but basically, he's trying to figure out where the Hell his dad's are. And if these Wormholes can help him, by god is he going to use them

- Knows that, most likely, they’re dead and gone for good. But still holds out hope that somewhere out there, they’re still alive.

- He's still wearing the life jacket. Less for Aesthetic, more because he’s scared shitless about being on an island.

- Are this chapter is where he would have started dating Dew and Ashe, having met them when that whole, other Team Aqua & Magma were made in ORAS.

#pokemon oc #pokemon fankid #hardenshipping fankid #of sorts #lisTEN HE COUNTS IN MY EYES GOD DAMN IT #They raised him. He's there kid #I'm not good at oc shit but uh. yeah #lyca-art #oc: Lonnie

[gaystardust]

through darkness of mind [Kanera Week: trust/vulnerability]

Synopsis: Kanan has nightmares. Hera helps. @kaneraweek Rating: T Warnings: discussion of Kanan’s past, discussion of parental death. Graphic description of panic attacks and anxiety. Trauma-related nightmares, trauma-related alcoholism, possible emetophobia AO3 Link: [link] A/N: Title from Godspeed by Frank Ocean. I’m on a new medication that gives me constant anxiety and regular panic attacks - so this happened. Also, I’m serious. Editing was hard because the panic felt too real - I tried to make it a little less so, but it’s still pretty detailed. Be careful, look after yourself. I am not responsible for your decision to read these.

  The world blurred as he sat up too quickly, barely aware he’d fallen asleep. His heartbeat was loud in his eyes, and his stomach twisted. The air still smelt like burning flesh, both from fire and his lightsaber blade.

The rolling acid of his stomach made him swallow hard. There was nothing in his stomach to bring up, but his body was still trying.

Nightmare. It was a nightmare.

Again.

Kanan made himself breathe hard through his nose, counting in and out. Really, he should have been exhaling through his mouth, creating a perfect circle of breath but the nausea wasn’t going to let him.

He was awake. Sweaty, shaking, and on the edge of hyperventilating, but awake. He was awake, and safe, and alive.

Even if it didn’t feel like it.

Mygeeto was almost a decade behind him. The constant feeling of darkness and despair still sat heavy on his soul, but it was over. Only its shadow remained, an outline only seen behind closed eyes.

He was safe.

Kanan forced his fingers to relax where they were digging into the hard duraplast of the table.

The table. The kitchen table.

He’d fallen asleep in the shared space again. That thing Hera had specifically told him not to do, especially when he could just go to bed - except he had no idea what time it was. They’d been aimlessly floating around space for the last week, and the standard planetary day-night cycle was already gone from his brain.

The world around him moved sluggishly as he looked around, still blurred around the edges. Was it a side effect of waking up mid-sleep cycle, or was he on the edge of a panic attack?

The vibrating under his skin suggested the latter, but maybe it was both. His toes were numb, and his fingers were sluggish and stiff as they tapped on the duraplast of the table. Something close to pins and needles ran up and down his legs.

He ran through a quick battlefield assessment to make sure it was nothing worse - and then immediately slammed down on the reminder than he knew how to do that.

Whatever it had been before, it was easing closer and closer to a panic attack.

Kanan closed his eyes, watching the patterns swirl behind his eyes. He counted his breaths, just like he’d been taught dozens of times in his life. Inhale the recycled air, still cleaner than some planets, and exhale all of the bad feelings.

The door at the other side of the room slid open. Kanan jumped. His muscles seized as he tried to size up the threat, forcing down the panic that rose in his throat.

Even seeing Hera there didn’t stop the rising pain in his chest. His breathing was mostly under control now, but his heart was beating too fast.

“Kanan?” Hera said quietly, hovering in the doorway. She overly still, her lekku held close to her back in a way that must have been uncomfortable. “Are you okay?”

He could feel the thu-thump thu-thump thu-thump behind his eyes, pushing everything out of focus.

He nodded and was caught in a loop of motion. It made him rock back and forth, until he forced himself to slump forward against the table. His fingers started tapping, but that was a good enough reroute. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no, it’s alright.” She moved a little closer, hands held up as if placating a wild animal.

He felt like one. A herd animal trapped between a cliff and a predator, about to make a terrible choice.

“Talk to me, love. What’s the matter?”

The pet name burned in a way he didn’t want to think about. He could hear it mirrored, in another accent, on another set of lips, in another time. The word was different, but the feeling was the same.

He couldn’t shake his head, not without risking another loop. He had to speak. “Just… just a nightmare.”

Hera nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” his voice cracked, “thanks.”

Her approach took too long, but when she sat down on the corner of the bench Kanan realised it was actually too quick. She was nowhere near him, but it was still too close. He could hear her boots tapping on the floor, rhythmic and irritating.

Or maybe those were his boots.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

Kanan took the risk of shaking his head, just catching himself before the repetition kicked in. “It’s fine, I’m used to it.”

The look Hera gave him was full of pity - or maybe his brain was lying. “Do you get nightmares a lot?”

“I used to. They stopped when I started going to sleep too exhausted to dream.” He watched Hera settle herself back into the seat. “Or too drunk to.”

She hummed. “So that’s why you drank so much?”

It felt too obvious, and some awful part of him felt like she should have realised already. Why else would he have been drinking so much, if not to stop his nightmares? Did she think he’d just been doing that for fun?

Or maybe it had been a fact of Kanan’s life for so long, it felt that obvious. That didn’t mean someone who’d known him only a few months would understand, not even someone who knew his darker secrets.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he repeated, which seemed to answer enough for Hera. She nodded, not pushing him any further but not letting the room around them fall quiet. She didn’t seem comfortable with the quiet.

Or maybe he was just projecting.

He couldn’t tell anymore.

“After my mother died, I had nightmares all the time,” she admitted quietly, looking down at the table instead of towards him. It made his skin fizzle less. “I kept thinking that what happened to her would happen to me, or my father. The one day he’d go out, and never come back.” She traced an invisible pattern on the table, all straight lines and slight curves. “I only grew out of it when I realised it didn’t matter whether it happened to us - it had already happened to her. Worrying it would happen to my father wouldn’t do anything.” When Hera looked up again, she looked as anxious as Kanan felt. “It wouldn’t have stopped him, either.”

Maybe (when he was able to sort through his thoughts without uncovering more panic) he would work his way through everything he’d just been told. So much of it was new, but it wouldn’t settle in his thoughts. It would have to wait.

It would have made sense, if Hera thought he was afraid of dying. He hid himself almost completely, unwilling to do anything that would risk identifying him as a Jedi. But she’d seen through him instantly.

Kanan dropped his head into his hands, half in disbelief that he was going to admit. “I keep seeing people I care about die. And not just the battles I was in. Some of them, I only heard about in stories, but I still see everyone die right in front of me,” he gestured to the centre of the room, but didn’t look up.

There was a pause after he stopped talking, as if Hera wanted him to continue. He just shook his head - or shuffled it as much as he could without lifting his head - trying to make it obvious he wasn’t going to.

She seemed to take the hint, at least a little. “Kanan, you were a child. There was nothing you could have done.”

“I know,” he managed quietly, voice crackling. “But I still dream it.”

Even leaning into his arms, his head felt heavy. Shuffling his legs felt like moving dead weight. The adrenaline had left his system as quickly as it entered, leaving nothing but exhausting in its wake. Kanan sighed.

“I felt them, Hera. I felt the Force shrivel up and die, just like the rest of the Jedi Order.”

She reached out a hand, leaving it at the edge of his line of sight but not any further.

It took a moment for Kanan to realise she was asking for permission.

Lifting his head, he dropped his arms to the table. The back of one hand landed in her open palm.

Even with her lekku twitching in discomfort, Hera smiled softly, but not out of pity. More like mutual understanding.

“The Force didn’t die, love. It’s everywhere, all around us.” She laughed softly, barely louder than breathing. “That’s how you explained it, right?”

That had been months ago, just after they’d left Gorse. The fact she still remembered made Kanan’s chest flutter, but not with anxiety.

“Well, it’s all around us, but it’s also in every living thing,” he corrected, practically hearing the repeated lesson in the back of his mind. “That’s the difference between the Unifying Force and the Living Force… I think.” He never really understood the difference, even after so many lessons. It was blurry and difficult to identify, and there was no one to correct him now.

He could feel the spiral before he fell into it. Kanan huffed through his nose, forcing himself to focus on the feeling of air moving through his body.

Hera didn’t notice. “If the Force is in all things, then it definitely can’t be dead. I’m not saying you didn’t feel something awful, but the Force didn’t die.”

“The Order did.”

“Not all of it.” Her eyes were sharp, focused on him. She looked like she had a plan. “You’re still here. And if you are, there has to be others. Even you can’t be self-centred enough to think you’re the only Jedi with the skills to survive the Purge.”

But it wasn’t just the Purge. It was Knightfall. It was the person vendettas some of the Clones still held against their Generals. It was Kardoa, Mygeeto, Kaller.

He had no energy to argue about it, nor to think about the different types of trauma he had, and how that affected his nightmares. He doubted he would ever have the energy for it.

“It’s far more than that,” he just about managed, using all of his strength not to lie on the table again. “But I really don’t want to talk about it, Hera. Can I just go and sleep, please? I’m exhausted.”

Hera squeezed his hand. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.” He had no idea what she’d assumed, but he wasn’t going to ask. Then she stood up, gently pulling him from the bench. “Come on. I want to make sure you’re in bed before you fall asleep sat up again.”

He didn’t argue as Hera lead him to the cabin he was staying in. It was starting to gather the clutter of somewhere well lived in, but the blankets stacked on the bed were the thing he looked forward to most.

As soon as she deposited him on the bed, Kanan slumped sideways, pressing his back close to the wall. He didn’t bother stripping down, too aware of Hera in the room and too exhausted to work out clothes fastenings.

Hera didn’t move, just watching him from the doorway again. “Shout of me if you need anything, okay? I know the intercom is by the door, but you don’t have to say anything. Just press it and I’ll come and check on you.”

It Kanan far longer than it should have to understand, his adrenaline sapped brain not even sure what was words and what was just sounds. “You’re not staying?”

She hesitated, before shaking her head. “No, of course not. Why, did you think I would?”

He tossed the idea of her leaving around in his head before coming to his conclusion.

“Please stay.”

It sounded like a beg, and perhaps it was. He knew all too well the risks of sleeping alone. At least with someone else there, a heartbeat near him, he’d know everything was okay. That they were somewhere safe.

Hera hesitated before moving into the room. She hesitated again after a few steps, moving to push the flight suit trousers from the body. Underneath were the dark leggings she wore while they were to make up for the lack of heat while they were in space.

As soon as she sat on the edge of the bed, she pulled upright Kanan to remove his jumper, chucking it onto the floor. She moved to pull off his boots and put his own hands on his belt to make him remove it himself. He just about managed it in the time it took Hera to undo two sets of laces.

Then she curled up beside him, back pressed to his chest. One of his arms looped across her waist automatically, holding her close.

She was cool, surprisingly so. Did Twi’leks run cooler than Humans?

“Try and get some sleep,” she said quietly.

He hummed his understanding, the world around him warm and soft. “I’ll try. Don’t leave while I’m asleep, okay?”

If he’d been more awake, perhaps he would have noticed Hera stiffen, and then relax back into his body. “Of course not.”

His “goodnight” was muffled in her shoulder, making Hera laugh quietly.

“Sweet dreams, Kanan.”

#kaneraweek2020 #star wars #kanera #star wars rebels #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #my fic #zi writes

[artistic-writer]

The Paradox of Light :: CS AU : Rated E :: Part 1

Title: The Paradox of Light by @artistic-writer​ Summary: Imagine having one person, one constant, one love in your life that holds your head when you go under the surface. They will be there forever, holding your hand through everything life can throw at the pair of you, but what happens when a crack forms? What happens when it grows into something neither of you can control? What happens when the one person who was there to guide you becomes an obstacle and rather than hold you up, they pull you down? How do you find your way out of the darkness without your light? Rating: E Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, alcoholism/alcohol abuse, sexual addiction, domestic violence, fighting, choking, erotic asphyxiation (use in a non-informed manner), depression, death of Liam Jones, panic attacks, PTSD, attempted rape/non-con/dub-con, stab wounds, bar fights, rehab/AA meetings

- but there is a happy ending to this story, i promise.

Author’s Note: I missed this ficversary because of everything that is going on in the world right now, but its been in the plan to re-release it as a multichapter for some time.  It’s A LOT otherwise and whilst I initially always intended this to be a one shot, because I wrote it in one go, its not logical to expect people to stop and read so many words in one go.  The lovely fanart by @itsfabianadocarmo​ features in all chapters, so go show her some love!

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!  This fic has a lot of them for a reason.  If you want to ask about any, please don’t be afraid to message me.

Part One [ below the cut ]

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At first they had hated each other, with Emma setting her sights on the older Jones brother. Killian was nothing more to her than a thorn in her side. Cocky, arrogant and with a boyish smile that she wished she could slap right off his face, he was not for her. No, Emma Swan wanted Liam Jones, the stronger, more level headed of the two, but with a decade between them, by the time Emma had worked up the courage to tell him how she felt, Liam was announcing his marriage.

When Liam moved from their sleepy little hometown, leaving Emma’s teenage heart in pieces and Killian to continue his roguish antics unchecked, was when Emma began to notice him. He had a certain appeal. He had a car, would take her anywhere at the drop of a hat and puberty had been kind to him, with unblemished skin and a dashingly handsome growth that sprouted from his chin. The more Emma looked at him the more she felt that the bravado and confidence he exuded was more for just show. In private, when it was just the two of them, Killian was different.

One day in high school, they had decided to skip their respective classes and hang out at the edge of the school field. Killian was kind, less presumptuous and respectful when it was just the two of them and Emma liked it. He gave her his jacket when she was cold and his smell made her feel safe, like she was home, which considering she was adopted, was huge. Even the Nolans, her adoptive family, couldn’t completely fill the hole in her heart left by being abandoned, but somehow Killian could.

Killian’s senior prom was the turning point for her. He was a few years older than Emma and had promised to take her to both his and hers. He insisted because if nothing else, attending his with her would be a dry run for her own. Killian taught her to dance that night, holding her close, splayed hand pressed delicately to her lower back, the tips of his pointed ears turning red when Emma had pressed her body further into his, her early teenage yearning for Liam Jones long since gone.

“There’s only one rule. Pick a partner who knows what he is doing.”

Emma had often thought about his words, long after her prom and into her college years, but whilst she had attended a local one, Killian had followed in his brother's footsteps and joined the Army. They never lost touch, sending letters to each other that mentioned everything and anything they could talk about. It was no substitution for the lilt of his accented voice, or the smile on his face that never failed to pick up her mood, but it was all she could get between his visits home.

When he was on leave, the first place he always went was her house. It was familiar to have him near her again, laughing and joking as they did silly things like play cards and swim in the lake. Emma knew he never wanted to talk about what he did in the line of duty, she could only imagine, so she never pressed him and knew that if he ever wanted to, he would tell her. Instead they spent their time poking fun at each other, acting more like a couple than most couples they knew, but with an annoyingly platonic and chaste intimacy that left Emma pining each time he deployed and left her with a seared cheek from his kiss.

But he was a gentleman, and she expected nothing less from him.

Five years went by between Killian joining the military and the day he came home. He was a ranger, the most elite sniper in his class, able to hit a target from over two thousand yards away, but his career had ended when he had been injured in the line of duty and subsequently medically discharged. Shrapnel now littered his torso, had embedded itself in his shoulder joint and had ripped through the muscles of his left upper arm like it was paper. A sniper with the inability to fire a weapon was useless, and rather than push paper for the rest of his life, Killian had come home carrying more than just physical scars and it was the wake up call Emma needed.

She had been beside herself to learn of his injuries. Her heart had skipped a beat in her chest and her blood had run cold through her entire body when she had been informed by Liam via an early morning phone call.

“He’s okay, he just wanted you to know that.”

That was the exact moment Emma Swan vowed to share her feelings that she had kept locked behind closed doors for so long. She loved him and needed to tell him lest she risk losing him with him never knowing how she felt.

The day he arrived home, waiting for him on the military airstrip in her senior prom dress was Emma, hair blowing in the warm breeze that whipped across the tarmac. There was a brief silence between them and people stared at her attire, but Emma did not care. She had finally realised what she had been fighting for so many years. Killian Jones, her best friend and confidant, was the man she loved and wanted to spend the rest of her life with. So she had told him.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“In your prom dress?”

“Shut up and listen.”

“Okay, love.”

“I love you, Killian. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen and you held me at your prom. ‘Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing’ you told me…”

“Aye, Swan, I did…”

“Then I hope to God you know what you are doing because I am petrified.”

“I’m sure we can work it out.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

Eight years later and they shared everything. The transition back into civilian life had been hard on Killian, but Emma was always there for him. She watched him cry, watched him scream and watched him fight with the demons inside of his head on a daily basis. It never went away, but it got easier, and on more than one occasion Killian had told Emma that she was his saviour. Only she knew how to help him, calm the beast and soothe his soul, but Killian’s descent into darkness had only just begun.

The day Killian’s phone rang and a police officer informed him of his brother’s demise was the day that would haunt Emma forever. Liam had been killed in a car accident on his way to visit them, the car having rolled along the highway so many times they had struggled to free his body. Emma would never forget the blood curdling sound Killian made as he screamed Liam’s name, collapsed to the floor and curled into the childlike ball of sobs. She let him cry, she let him shout and she let him smash every door in the house in his rage, and then after everything, she let him drink.

Killian Jones had lost count of the bottles he had seen the bottom of since the death of his brother. Each rum laden glass cask gradually weighed less as it emptied but the sorrow that felt like it was crushing him only got heavier. Liam had died quickly, in a car accident with no clear person to blame, and it had changed Killian forever. Whatever demons he carried from active service were amplified, the voices in his head taunting and eating away at his resolve.

There were no answers to his pleas to God at the bottom of the bottles, and even worse, there was no absolution.

  Six months ago

It had been only a short time since Liam’s death, but Killian had spent every second he wasn’t at work at the local bar. He always shot Emma a text letting her know where he was for which she was thankful. His drinking was starting to spiral and it had become pretty apparent that he was drinking more and more to try and quell the voices in his brain. It was wrong, Emma knew that, but it calmed him and helped him sleep, and despite her brain telling her it was wrong to enable him, her heart ached each time he sobbed himself into a slumber, so she let him drink to forget.

Or at least she thought she was. There had been a shift in his behaviour recently and whilst Emma figured he was starting to sober up, clear the niggles in his brain and finally begin to accept his loss, Killian was in fact becoming a functioning alcoholic. His breath reeked of booze each time he returned home, sometimes with bloody knuckles and sometimes with a glassy stare, but each time he was the same. Drunk, and the more he needed to drink to forget, the more frustrated he was becoming with being without his brother.

That night he came home, stumbling through the door and groggily mumbling to himself as he toed off his shoes at the door, Emma simply greeted him as usual without judgement. She was hurting as well. Liam had been her friend too, but as much as she was hurting, she could never compare to how hard Killian had fallen into the darkness of sorrow.

“How was work?” Emma asked, the question becoming somewhat of a code between them. It was something she had devised in order to gauge his level of inebriation and also work out how bad his mentality had been compromised during the day. She shifted her weight, resting a hand to the kitchen island as she watched him struggle with the zip of his jacket.

“It was unusually dull,” Killian slurred sarcastically, his balance suddenly compromised as he tried to pull his arms free from the confines of his sleeves. He stepped sideways, foot landing heavily on the hardwood floor with a thud as he tried to keep himself upright. Finally freeing his arms he staggered backwards into the lounge and sank down onto the arm of the couch with a sigh when the back of his thighs hit the solid mass.

“And your colleagues?” Emma prodded, moving to stand before him. The voices in his head were something he dealt with every day, sometimes successfully blocking them out, but it seemed the demon of drink always gave them free reign to torment him before he had consumed enough to silence them.

Killian screwed up his features, the rosy tint in his cheeks from too much rum hidden under a swipe of his hands as he covered his face with a wavering nod. “Chatty,” he whispered into his palms, inhaling deeply and letting his body hunch over as tears sprang from his eyelids.

“Hey,” Emma soothed, stepping between his parted thighs and pulling his hands from his face. His face was warm beneath her hands as she cupped his head, tilting his head back so he was looking up at her. “I’m here,” she told him softly, searching the clouded grey hues of his eyes with her own. “I’m here.”

Killian couldn’t stop the sound he made escaping his throat as he cried, the wail cutting straight through Emma’s chest and splitting her heart in two. He buried his face in the softness of her sweater, muffling his cries against her body and wrapping his arms around her, desperate to hold onto anything. “Don’t go,” he sobbed. “I need you.”

“I’m here,” Emma repeated, her voice watery from the lump that had begun to sting the back of her throat. “I need you too,” she whimpered, pinching her eyes closed just enough to let a single tear roll from her eyelid and scorch a line down her face. It fell from her chin and down the back of Killian’s shirt, his cries subsiding as he pulled his head back to look up at her.

It had taken weeks for her own grief to manifest enough that she had cried for her friend. Emma wasn’t sure where rock bottom actually was, but she was pretty sure they were both there at this exact moment in time, the silence between them echoing with the words neither of them needed to say. Killian had cried a literal river for his brother, but this had been the first time Emma had shed a single tear, and it had somehow ignited the need within both of them to feel again.

“Emma…” He gulped after her name, his voice raspy and gritty, the emotion in his words all he needed to tell her exactly what he needed as he rested his hands to her hips and gently pushed himself to his feet.

“Killian…” Emma sighed his name, looking up at him through her eyelashes with a prickle of heat that surged over the skin of her neck and through her entire body.

“I want…” he began nervously, unable to stop the way his gaze lingered over her body and his hands toyed with the hem of her sweater. His fingertips barely brushed the surface of her exposed skin but Emma gasped audibly, her eyes fluttering closed and her hand grasping the fabric of his shirt between shaking fingers.

“I know,” Emma said softly, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips as she watched her hand against his chest, the quickening heartbeat beneath her fingertips matching the pounding in her ears. Emma lifted her gaze, blinking away more tears. “I want to feel too.”

The first thing they both felt again was softness of lips slightly salty from tears, mouths sliding against each other haphazardly and clothes being discarded with abandon. There were no words, only the soft pants and heavy breathing that accompanied their ascent to the bedroom, a trail of clothes in their wake. It was like a bright light in both of their lives, neither having made love since Liam’s death, and they savoured every second.

Even drunk, Killian knew every inch of her body, every curve, dip and patch of silky skin committed to his memory. And he knew exactly how to make Emma feel, how to excite every cell in her body the way she needed in that exact moment. Killian never stopped touching her, taking his time to make sure that every hair on Emma’s body was standing to attention for him before he dipped his head between her thighs and finally gave her what she needed.

Emma’s cries were like music to his ears and Killian lapped at her essence like he was hearing her moans for the first time. They urged him on, his own need growing hard between his legs with every gasp she emitted from her slightly parted lips. He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t need to, because the sounds Emma made as she writhed beneath his assault told him everything he needed to know.

The first time she came, her body stiffening as he relentlessly flicked his tongue over her clit, Killian felt something other than his own arousal surge through him. It was like a drug, a calm washing over his woes and guiding him from the depths of pain. He needed more and when Emma’s cries subsided he surged upwards and impaled her in a single thrust of his hips, watching the way her features twisted in pleasure and loving the feeling of being whole.

“I love you,” he whispered, stilling inside of her and stroking the side of her flushed face with his fingertips.

Emma could barely focus, her eyelids rolling open and fresh tears stinging her eyes once more. She blinked them away and Killian wiped them from existence with a gentle swipe of his thumb over her cheek. “I love you,” he repeated, holding her gaze as he angled his hips a little and sank into her further. Emma’s back arched off of the bed, her body yearning to feel more of the light that only Killian could shine on her.

“Oh God, I love you so much,” she gasped huskily, finally releasing the breath she had been holding and almost losing herself once more with the barest of movements. When Killian began to move and her walls fluttered around him, Emma groaned, more symphonic tones that made him want even more than before.

Killian’s hand found hers, their fingers lacing together and their palms pressing together so firmly that Emma almost couldn’t feel her fingertips anymore. He lifted their joined digits above Emma’s head, increasing his pace as he pressed the back of her hand into the bed, his grip like a vice, tethering him to her and both of them to reality.

Killian’s other hand found Emma’s hip and his fingernails dug into her skin, a sensation she didn’t find unpleasant because like the burning between her thighs and the increasing pressure in her stomach, it made her feel, and that was all she wanted. She wanted the light once more, to bathe in its glow as she lost herself and fell from grace at the hand of the man she loved, the swivel of his hips and the drag of his length along her inner walls delicious and torture at the same time.

Emma was so close it was almost painful, the room filled with the stench of sex and alcohol fading away as the pin pricks of white began to flicker behind her eyelids. She felt Killian’s forehead rest against hers and the warmth of his rum laced breath invade her nostrils as his own body shuddered, his knuckles turned white with his grip and he whimpered her name like a prayer.

“I’m here,” Emma panted hoarsely, her hand finding the side of his face and her lips ghosting over his.

It was enough to send them both into oblivion, their bodies basking in the rays of euphoria and numbing the sting of pain they both felt in the very depths of their hearts. They were lost in each other, swaying in an ocean of pleasure that they would quite happily have drowned in should the waves become tumultuous, but they didn’t, instead gently lapping at the edge of their subconscious, chasing away the agony.

For now.

#cs au #hurt/comfort #the paradox of light #icymi

[searchingforstarss]

I'm playing the ultimate spiderman game and there's these guys with bats and now I can't get the idea out of my head. could you write irondad whump h/c with peter being beaten with a bat, maybe getting his jaw broken? Love all your fics so much!!!

i’m so sorry this took me a few days anon! i adored the prompt and i really wanted to make sure i did it justice. thank you so much for sending this in, i loved writing it so i hope you enjoy it x

–

“Look, kid, I’m listening to you, trust me, and I know things are getting bad but I’m not back in town until Thursday and I just need you to wait until then. Once I’m back we can come up with a game plan together.”

“I can handle it by myself, Mister Stark, we might not have until Thursday.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker, I do not, under any circumstances at all, want you going anywhere near this guy without me there. You hear me?”

“Okay, fine. I hear you.”

–

For the last three months, women have been being attacked in the middle of the night, usually in alleyways or secluded areas of parks, the kinds that most people know not to go anywhere near at night. None of this is particularly new, per se, because New York is a dangerous city and that’s why Peter spends so much time out patrolling, trying to protect the people and the city that he loves.

But it’s the same man, tall, broad shoulders, dark clothing and masked every time. Rumours have been flitting about the city that he carries a baseball bat with him.

Peter’s been dreaming of finally achieving something important, being able to break a big case all by himself, to prove to the Avengers and the NYPD that he’s capable of much more than they give him credit for.

This seemed like exactly the right opportunity, even if Tony kept telling him to leave it the hell alone. Once Peter’s successfully caught the guy, he’ll change his tune, surely. Just like the Vulture all over again.

So, he mapped it all out as carefully as he possibly could. He tracked the masked man’s movements around New York using Karen to hack into the city’s security camera network (and a whole lot of bribing and convincing her not to tell FRIDAY about his efforts because that would have Mister Stark putting an end to everything before he would even have a chance to go after the guy.)

The man operates between midnight and three am, Peter noted, and then he catches a C line train back to a ramshackle apartment block on the outskirts of Brownsville.

Peter figured that would give him a three-hour window. It all seemed quite easy, really. Wait until Mister Stark was out of town, tell May he was spending the night at Ned’s to work on a physics project and sneak out the window in his Spider-Man suit to slip into the man’s home. He thought maybe he could rummage around a bit, look for come evidence while he waited for the man to come home, only to ambush him and call the police on him in his own home. Right where he’s not expecting it.

Peter was quite proud of himself, honestly. He was so sure that he was going to prove Tony wrong, show him that he can do things like this himself.

It all would have been fine if Peter didn’t miss one tiny little detail. The man always returns home earlier on a Saturday night.

(Maybe he’s religious; maybe he has to get up early for church in the morning, Peter thinks to himself slightly deliriously, later on, wouldn’t that just be wildly ironic.)

He was caught off guard, so engrossed in the pair of bloody gloves that he’d found just lying out on the couch that he hadn’t heard the masked man creep into the apartment behind him.

Then everything went horribly, horribly wrong and he ended up here.

Wrists shackled to the wall behind him, slumped up against the ratty wallpaper in what looks like a bedroom inside of the apartment that he’s spent the last few days monitoring security footage of so closely. He really didn’t mean for this to happen. He should have listened to Tony.

Now, he’s just sitting, arms aching and splinters poking through the suit into the backs of his thighs from the neglected wooden floor below him. But honestly, most of his worries stem from the fact that this masked man is just sitting across from him. He’s settled on the edge a threadbare looking mattress, unmoving. It’s dark in the room and the only light slipping through the windows is from the flickering streetlamps outside. Peter can barely see the man anyway, face shielded by the mask, but he can tell he’s being stared at.

He’s getting sick of it. Sure, maybe he’s in a little over his head and maybe this is all just the universe punishing him for deliberately going against what Tony told him to do, but he’s over it and he wants to go home.

“Nice place you got here, but would you mind, like letting me go? I have places to be, man.”

“You’ve been pissing me off, Spider, prancing around the city in those tights, trying to get in my way. I think I’ll keep you right here.”

So he does speak. It’s a little unnerving when Peter can’t see the lips move from behind the mask.

“First of all, they’re not tights. Plus, who are you to talk, anyway? Who’s your style icon, Jason Voorhees?”

The man stares at him. “Shut up.”

“Oh c’mon. Jason Voorhees from Friday the 13th? You really don’t know him? He’s kinda a psychopath, not to spoil the whole thing for you or anything. It really is a great movie, you really should sit down and give it a watch sometime.”

“I said, shut up.”

“Alright, alright. Just trying to be helpful, but clearly, I’m not here for my movie recommendations. That’s fine, I get it.”

More silence.

“Seriously, though, I’m getting kinda bored over here. What are we doing, exactly? Apart from the whole me sitting here and looking pretty while you stare at me like a serial killer thing. Now that I think about it, the resemblance between you and Jason really is uncanny. “

“I’m trying to figure out what to do with you.”

Kinda ominous, but whatever.

“Whatever you do, I’d like to be wined and dined first, preferably.”

“If you don’t shut up right now, I’m going to make you,” the man growls, voice low and ripping from the back of his throat.

“That sounds a little like an innuendo and I’d really rather you didn’t.”  

“That’s it,” he mutters, turning to leave the room. Peter is relieved to have a break from dark eyes boring into him when the man returns only a minute or so later, breaking Peter’s brief solitude far too soon and oh - shit, there’s a bat clutched in his grip and his blood runs cold through his veins because holy fuck, clearly the baseball bat rumours were true.

Peter swallows down his panic.

“We’re gonna go play baseball? I’m not exactly a great shot, and you might have to let me out of these first,” Peter rattles his wrists around in the metal chains and they clink together, echoing around the sparse room, “but sounds like fun.”

“We’re not playing baseball.”

“Shame, because I passed a park on my way here and I’m pretty sure that there’s only been like, six murders there this year so that could have been a fun spot.”

“I’m going to enjoy this, you fucked up little kid.”

“Hey, I’m not a little-” Peter starts, but he’s cut off by all the air being knocked out of his lungs as he sees the bat raised in front of him.

People - mostly Tony, really - have always told him that his big mouth in the worst situations will get him in trouble someday. Today’s the day, apparently. Tony will have a great time telling him ‘I told you so,’ over this one.

His thoughts are cut off when the baseball bat collides with his jaw and a searing, fiery pain consumes his entire being. He’s engulfed by it, bones crunching and splintering underneath the unforgiving wood of the bat as it returns, again and again and again. No matter how desperately Peter begs and pleads, his pride and smart quips surrendering to the raw agony, the bat doesn’t stop.

His mouth is awash with the metallic taste of his own blood, and he spits it out uselessly around the pulverised bones of his jaw. It only fills right back up, coating the inside of his mouth with red once more. A drop trickles down his chin.

His jaw radiates a throbbing pain that courses through his veins. Dark spots dance and blur in the edge of his vision as his consciousness ebbs. At least if he’s unconscious he won’t have to feel any of this.

“Finally, peace and quiet. Let’s see how easy it is for you to run that mouth of yours now.”

Peter tries to spit another lot of blood out of his mouth in one last show of defiance, but he can’t even open his mouth properly without feeling like the pain will quite literally tear his entire skull open, let alone get the muscles to function enough to propel the blood anywhere, anyway.

Everything hurts.

He tips his head back against the wall in defeat. His eyelids droop, feeling too heavy to keep open, but the pain is worse when he closes his eyes. It’s all he has to focus on.

There’s a thunk, something heavy landing on the floorboards in front of him. Heavy footsteps leave the room. When he chances cracking one eye open, the man is gone, but the baseball bat, decorated with smears of Peter’s own crimson blood, has been tossed onto the floor in front of him.

—

There’s a crash at the door and Peter flinches back into the wall behind him. He’s not sure how long he’s been drifting in and out of consciousness and his entire jaw screams at the sudden movement but he doesn’t care because the man is back and he can’t do it again, he can’t.

He screws his eyes shut in misery and tries to prepare himself to take it because this is his fault, after all, he was stupid and he didn’t listen to Tony.

Now he’s paying the price because maybe Tony’ll be mad, maybe he won’t even come to get Peter - or even worse, maybe no one will come at all, to teach him a lesson and he’ll be left curled up here forever, shackled to the wall, bleeding and broken with the constant threat of a bat to the face looming over him the second he steps out of line.

Footsteps stop in front of him.

His lungs burn as he holds his breath unsurely. He waits for the sound of the bat being picked up off the floor in front of him but it never comes. Instead, it sounds like it’s kicked away. Peter resists the urge to cringe away because god, that’s maybe that’s even worse. The man could be sick of the bat already, maybe it’s not enjoyable enough for him anymore - not that it was ever enjoyable for Peter but he thinks it was probably better than a knife to the chest or a bullet to the head.

Based on his research, Peter is pretty sure that this man hasn’t killed anyone yet, hasn’t gone quite that far, but there’s a first time for everything.

He can vaguely sense movement in front of him. Someone is getting closer and he doesn’t dare to move or breath, knowing that he’s completely unable to protect himself with his arms compromised behind him.

Then there’s a voice.

“Hey, kid. Wanna open those eyes for me?”

Tony.

He blinks his heavy eyes open, doing what the man asks because avoiding doing so was what got him in this whole mess in the first place. Sure enough, when he does, he finds Tony crouched in front of him. He’s in a three-piece suit, glasses hastily shoved down the front of his shirt, the Iron-Man armour standing sentry behind him.

He stares.

Tony came. He’s here. Even though he was stupid and he didn’t listen and he fucked things up. Tony only forgave him after the Vulture because he saved the day. He did what he was meant to do, as a superhero. Tonight he’s only managed to piss off a notorious serial-attacker and consequently screw up his jaw past even the best abilities of his healing.

He needs to apologise, he needs Tony to see how sorry he is for everything, because maybe if he does Tony might get him out of here. Try as he might, he can’t form proper words around his broken jaw. Instead, whines and mumbles slip past his lips incoherently, eyes blown wide with all the words he wants to say but can’t force out.

“Shh, no buddy, don’t strain yourself, it’s all okay, everything is okay.”

Tony is lowering himself onto the floor next to Peter, reaching up to undo his shackles from the wall with a small rusted key. Peter doesn’t know where he got it from, but he’d entirely forgotten about the ache in his arms from the restraints, anyway, too focused on his jaw. He shakes them out at his sides.

If Peter is being uncuffed, then surely that must mean that Tony is considering getting him out of here. Peter so desperately wants to get out of here. What if Tony won’t take him with him if he doesn’t know exactly how sorry Peter is?

“Pl’se. S…s-s’rry.”

“No, Pete, it’s okay.”

Peter shakes his head frantically, the movement irritating his jaw but he continues anyway. He needs to keep apologising. He doesn’t want Tony to leave him here, he’s already in an insurmountable amount of pain and he doesn’t think he can survive anymore if the man with the bat comes back.

He won’t argue with Tony ever again. He’d be willing to promise anything if he could form words around the stabbing pain and shattered bones of his jaw.

“W’nna go h’me. W’th you. Pl’se. Don’t l’ve me.”

“I’m taking you home, I promise,” Tony says, never taking his eyes away from Peter’s. He’s strong and steady in a way that Peter definitely isn’t right now. It’s reassuring. “I just don’t want to risk flying and irritating that nasty looking jaw of yours, buddy. You’re not bleeding out so we’re safe to just wait here, you’re fine. Brucie and the medics will be here soon and we’ll be home before you know it.”

“‘M’st’r St’rk.”

“I’m here. You’re okay,” Tony murmurs and Peter lets the gentle tone wash over him, settling over his ragged and aching body, soothing like a balm.

He reaches a hand out to tangle it in the stiff fabric of Tony’s suit jacket sleeve. It’s not the softened cotton of his lab outfits that Peter is so used to but it will do. It’s enough.

Tony leans over and as gently as he can, lowers Peter down so his head is resting in his lap. “Get comfy down there for a minute, Pete. Won’t be long ‘til we’re out of this dump.”

Peter nods weakly. Now that Tony’s here, this dump isn’t nearly half as bad as it was only half an hour ago. Home sounds good though. He’d kill for a warm bed and some painkillers. Maybe he can even bribe Tony to keep this from May for a day or two so he can avoid being violently chewed out for lying to her about his and Ned’s physics project - though, he’s sure there’s a very slim chance of convincing him of that. He and May are a formidable force when combined.

Hands find his shoulders and they rub slowly at the tenseness there and the back of his neck with the sort of tenderness that only comes out when Peter’s upset or in a considerable amount of pain. Right now probably counts as both.

Peter doesn’t want to talk anymore, doesn’t want to risk aggravating his broken bones further now that Tony’s comfort is giving him something to focus on rather than the never-ending pain. He just wants to lie here and listen to him talk until it’s time to go home.

“Gotta tell you, kid, you gave me a hell of a scare. Your vitals went all wonky. I couldn’t get the baby monitor footage without your mask on but I could still track you. I owe the Secretary of State another meeting since I crashed out of our last one. Maybe I’ll drag you out there with me to get you back for this little stunt, huh? It’ll bore you to death, that’s a promise,” Tony chuckles. There’s no malice to his words, and Peter lets himself relax further back against him.

He was stupid, but it’s okay because Tony is here and Tony is looking after him.

Tony won’t let anyone hurt him anymore.

—

When Peter can talk properly and form full sentences again two days later, after bone reconstruction surgery and lots of help from his accelerated healing, the first words out of his mouth, in true Peter Parker fashion, are, “I’m so, so sorry, Mister Stark.”

Tony shushes him almost immediately. “Nuh-uh, none of that. God, you’re a stupidly self-sacrificing kid, have I ever told you that?”

“Maybe once or twice.”

“You’re lucky I love you then, huh, bud?”

“Mmm. Guess I am.”

“If you ever pull something like this again, I might have to reconsider.”

“Nah, you won’t.”

Tony’s silent for a moment. “Yeah, you got me there. I won’t.”

#ask #anon #irondad #irondad fic #my writing

[beghostdocrimes]

Blood Blossoms

Happy Holidays @qlinq-qhost! I was your Secret Santa this year. The prompt you gave me, and I quote, was ‘a n g s t hour with Danno’. Hope I managed to catch that, combined with your suggestions of Blood Blossoms.

Enjoy!

AO3

Danny knew what pain was.

The constant bruises and muscle aches from fighting were there to prove it. The exhaustion that clung onto him and seeped into his very bones, making him want to do nothing more than to just go to bed and sleep for a month. The mental strain that showed itself in tired eyes and sleeping in class and at the dinner table. 

There were things he didn’t want to think about that hurt more. 

Skulker’s continuous taunts and weird stalker behavior, Spectra’s sneers, Vlad’s constant creeping he couldn’t help but get used to somehow (which was even worse), the Observants’ supervision on his every move, Clockwork’s warnings that rang in his ears every second it was completely silent, his friends’ and sister’s worry…

And a million more things were constantly hammering in his head.

There were the easy days, on which the Box Ghost showed up maybe two or three times, or Technus decided to show his face on Tucker’s PDA at random. He had learned to take care of those within 10 and 30 minutes, respectively. Missing half a class was still better than missing a whole one, or even an entire day. Some bruises were the worst damage he got from that, though sometimes Technus managed to get him to burn himself on some electricity from one of his devices. He could deal with those.

Some days were manageable, with Skulker or Spectra showing up. He’d just try to ignore their constant yammering and focused on getting them into the Thermos asap. Skulker packed a serious punch, and Danny figured he’d at least had one sprained...something every time, plus maybe a light concussion on the worst days. Spectra...did more mental damage than the others, and that pain took longer to go away. Jazz tried to help, but she didn’t understand exactly what it did to him.

He had to deal with that alone.

And then there were the hardest days. With Walker, or Vlad. Sometimes multiple at once. Walker teaming up with someone was bad no matter what, since Walker attacking included half an army of goons, all with weapons and half a brain cell each. Vlad was becoming more of a nuisance each time, but he’d created a web of alliances with all kinds of ghost from the Zone, and fighting off 5 of them at the same time wasn’t good for his body. 

The sound of a bone snapping in two as he tried to block a ghost from ramming into him still echoed in his head sometimes, and it left him nauseous every time he thought back to it. 

Sam had said he was stupid for not remembering he could literally turn untouchable, and Danny had, though sulking, agreed. He was used to the fact that he could, now, unlike in the first months, but it hadn’t become an instinct yet. He was still human, and humans didn’t do that. Nor did they turn invisible or fly, but hey, those were also fun. Turning intangible just felt...off. Not being able to grab anything or hold onto anything weirded him out.

The ghosts he fought had their powers under control and knew them inside out. He was at a disadvantage fighting literally anyone, being just a rookie compared to everyone. Even Vlad had his intangibility under control, and he wasn’t even a full ghost. But on the other hand, if Vlad could get a hold of it all, maybe Danny could, too.

In 20 years, maybe.

Sometimes he had help during battles, sometimes he didn’t. Which was fine, because not everyone could be at his side every second of the day-- be it during school or at 3 A.M. again. Nobody had any respect for his health, or sleeping schedule, or homework.

Lancer’s disappointed yet concerned look also made Danny flinch and shrink into himself every time he saw it. Or Jazz’s worried lecture when she tried to scold him for not trying harder in school, even though she knew about the ghost fighting. His parents...didn’t do much about anything. They probably figured he was just not trying his hardest, but besides the occasional conversation with his mother about his grades, Danny was left alone.

That loneliness also hurt.

His friends understood better than anyone else, but they didn’t get the full picture. He had trouble sleeping, and they sometimes helped him see things besides the things in his nightmares, but they also had stuff besides just helping their friend sleep at night or keep him awake at school. Sometimes they couldn’t. And even though Danny knew it wasn’t their fault, and that they had a life besides and without him, but a feeling of betrayal sometimes came crashing into his head, and it kept becoming harder to get rid of it each time it came.

He had friends, allies, family, all there to back him up where they could in a situation he needed them, and everything always eventually worked out. He wasn’t leading the most normal life, but at this point, he couldn’t imagine anything different. 

Danny thought he knew what pain was.

This was more…stiffening. Crawling. Agonizing. Trembling. It felt like it could burn him to ashes from inside out, or from the outside in. At this point he wasn’t sure anymore. It was suffocating, all over, and nowhere, nothing, all at once. Danny was sure it was there, because he didn’t have the imagination to make this up. It was there. But how?

The only thing that had come close to this was the pure and utter helplessness he’d felt after the Nasty Burger explosion. He didn’t want to think about it, dammit. But that was heavy. Untouchable. Not in his nerves, just in his head. Mental and physical pain were two very different things, as he’d learned the hard way. Being in expert in both gave him enough credit to state that fact.

But this, this was everywhere. In his bones, in his flesh, in his nerves, in his guts, in his skin, in his head, oh God his head—

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The continuous loop of ‘no-no-no please stop get away stop god please no more no-no-no--’ was all his brain could muster up in that exact moment, with his nerves on fire and brain completely fried. Was he screaming? He didn’t know. Couldn’t say. Sound was nowhere, complete silence, save for the buzz in his head. It had some sort of metallic rattle to it, but that could just be the adrenaline messing with him.

Or the utter and complete panic.

How he’d ended up in this situation, where he was, who had him, and what they were going to do to him were all blanks. His parents? Jazz? Sam and Tucker? Valerie? Vlad? He didn’t know who knew he was gone from where he was supposed to be right now, and who actually did know, and probably had him somewhere in a laboratory.

After seeing just what some of the creeps he’d encountered were actually prepared to do to get what they needed from their ‘subjects’, Danny wasn’t sure how to stop his imagination from running scenarios in his head. The metallic buzz mangled all the sounds even worse now, and it felt as if his throat was the driest place on the earth all of a sudden. He must’ve screamed because they amped up whatever it was they were using: raw ectoplasm, poisons, electr--

And then it just...stopped. Disappeared. It was gone, and he could breathe. He felt his muscles relax and his jaw unclench, and he opened his mouth to breathe. It was more of a weak pant with a rattle to it, but he took what he could at that moment. 

He stared up at the ceiling with wide and unfocused eyes, the white blinding lights all that really registered in his scrambled mind. 

So he was on his back, then.

No chambers filled with weird liquids, which was a plus. The air felt dry and fabricated in his mouth. ‘Basement,’ Danny concluded after two minutes of just breathing. Outer space suddenly seemed less and less fun than it used to be, because Danny decided right then that he was quite fond of breathing and air and all that.

The buzz in his head started to fade a bit, and the sounds from around started to separate from each other. Beeps from machines, liquids boiling, a freezer humming, metals clicking together.

No people breathing.

Which meant either that one, there were no people, and he was probably being watched and examined from a distance, with fancy cameras and audio equipment and scanners and whatnot. Which was kinda cool, but also kinda freaky. Because it meant less clues for Danny on who had him.

Or, option two, they were ghosts.

Even less clues as to who had him this time. Although...Vlad actually had the money to set up a whole lab, as did the Guys in White, but his parents? He couldn’t imagine them setting up a lab this...professional. Not like this, at least. They had everything they needed, but it was always a mess at home, in the basement. If Danny craned his neck, he could see the counters/desks glowing with the lack of dust and other things. Nothing was out of place.

So Vlad or the Guys in White, then. 

Or there was some new person in town after him he didn’t know about because he was an idiot for not paying attention to his surroundings more, which was basically what Sam and Tucker had been telling him for the past year whenever he bumped into poles, at first, and then it became ghosts and lurking dangers he failed to notice, and then they’d yell at him to turn around already but he’d be too slow because of Lancer’s assignment and Tetslaff’s exercises from the day before and he was still sore, dammit, so he would get shot right in the chest, and then he’d fly back and slam straight into a wall and not be able to brea--

It was back. It was less painful, but it was back.

Danny managed to not completely lose all of his awareness of his surroundings this time, just in case someone would enter via somewhere in the room he hadn’t seen yet and watch him. God, that was even worse than the cameras. The lights seemed to be flickering, but that could just be his head again. There was a slight pulsing pain coming from the back of his head. He probably slammed it back on the table when it started again.

The thought of checking whether he was bound to the table or not suddenly popped into his head, and he immediately regretting trying to check. A flare of pain shot from his right wrist up his arm until it slammed into his back and stayed there.

He didn’t try to move his left arm.

The fact that the pain was less than before rose back into the part of his brain that was actually functioning somewhat normally, and Danny realized that that was actually happening. Whoever was behind this all, was testing something. It couldn’t be in something he ate, or drank, because then they wouldn’t be able to regulate it like this. Maybe it was something they did with the table, or the bounds. They seemed pretty much electrically wired to shock him if he tried to get out. It could be something they did with the whole room, and that’s why there weren’t any other people in the room.

Or...

Or they were testing him.

But with what?

Danny writhed on the table as a particularly nasty sting made its way up his back, settling at the base of his neck and staying there. Whether it was intentional or just his body imagining things, Danny wasn’t sure. It didn’t feel good, and that was all he cared about in that moment. It was as if his muscles had gone rigid right under his jaw as well, and the urge to clamp his teeth together to try and stop it was overwhelming.

It proved unnecessary as the pain disappeared for a second time for seemingly no reason. Danny slumped back onto the table, breathing still ragged and pulse absolutely going through the roof. 

Mind still scrambled and disconnected from the rest of himself and reality, Danny found it the perfect time for some more investigating.

Priorities listed in his head, he tried to focus on the feeling of the table pressing into his shoulders and back. It felt sticky with sweat, very uncomfortable, but not cold. Sensing cold meant he was human, not being able to feel cold meant he was ghost. He was ghost right now. Which was good.

Probably.

Danny didn’t remember how he was caught, but it was more likely to be after a particularly nasty fight. So while he was ghost. And he still was a ghost. Whoever had him hadn’t seen him transform.

That didn’t mean they didn’t know, though.

The cuffs around his wrists were electrically charged, as he’d learned the hard way. Moving his head from side to side made his vision swim and nausea rise, but he found that his head wasn’t strapped down or confined in something. A flare of pain shot down his neck when he tried to lift his head, but Danny grit his teeth and did it anyway. Self-preservation be damned for the moment. There were cuffs around his ankles as well. Maybe charged, maybe not. Danny kind of didn’t want to find out.

The room was smaller than a classroom, about the size of a bedroom. Maybe bigger. The floor was some sort of plastic-looking surface, the walls had an off-gray shade to it, and the ceiling was white with lamps in near the corners. The counter was still reflecting the bright light that seemingly came from everywhere, everything in the same place as it had been some time ago.

How long had he been here, anyway?

And where the fuck was the door?

Another flare of pain, short and sharp, made its way through his body, and Danny had to focus to not lose consciousness entirely, despite how appealing it seemed. His breathing became even more panting-like after screaming again, and it sounded off, worse than it’d been. God, he hoped his lungs were okay. He kind of needed those. They didn’t feel all that okay, though. Having been so focused on not dying or passing out and figuring out where he was, the pressure in his chest had completely missed his notice.

Danny was glad it had, because now there was even more pain to think about. Coughing made it worse, and tears sprung to his eyes as he tried not to. Steady and soft breaths were all he could manage as he attempted to calm himself down.

In, hold, and out. 

Jazz had shown him some ways to calm down after a panic attack, and breathing was one of them.

In, hold, and out.

Danny was sceptic at first, but after having tried it himself after one of Vlad’s particularly nasty stunts, he had repeatedly thanked her for showing it to him.

In, hold, and out.

Sam had mentioned something about a ‘pyramid of senses’, or something like that, but it didn’t seem all that appealing to try in a place he didn’t know and was trying to get away from. He wanted to ground himself, of course, but he’d better focus on himself instead of his surroundings for now. To avoid another one.

In, hold, and out.

It was odd, actually. How your own mind could betray you in such a way, that you needed to shut it off enough to reboot itself by focusing entirely on one simple task that usually required zero mental effort. Or how listing things calmed the mind down enough to turn active again, instead of running in circles, banging pots and pans together and not wanting to stop.

In, hold, and out.

And why was hyperventilating a thing? And was it a mental thing or a physical thing? How did it even work? And what caused it?

In, hol--

Oh no.

Hyperventilating. Pain. No clear source. Ghost form.

Danny paled.

Blood Blossoms.

#Secret santa #holiday truce 2019 #fic #danny phantom #dp #phandom #qlinq-qhost

[demeaiko]

Be yourself

Be Yourself

           It was in the middle of fall 2016 where my paradoxical behavior had surfaced and was challenged. This particular day I was off from work and school which I decided to stay home. I was sharing a room with my older brother, we got along, for the most part, the only problem I had was that he snored horrendously, the house reeked like a skunk because of the constant cloud of marijuana. I was seeking a little attention now which led to the upcoming event.

I was laying on my bed earphones in listening to the Mack Miller album, “The Divine Feminine”. I was also browsing on a controversial app called Grindr which is a gay “dating” app. Before making assumptions at this time I was in the mind state that I wanted to explore myself as I always had a feeling deep down I was attracted to the same sex. I never acted on it as my household was very homophobic at the time, so I felt it was best to keep that under wraps until I was able to make my own decisions without consequences. As I was browsing the guys on the app, I was conversing with a guy. His description on his profile was Discreet Latino, height 5’11”, weight was about 190 and the guy was pretty muscular more on the toned side, and his position stated he was a dominant top.

We exchanged messages: first, it was small talk like how’s your day, and what our purpose was on the app. My purpose was pretty straightforward, I wanted to find friends and possibly someone to start sort of dating. I say that because again I wasn’t out of the closet and just wanted someone to connect with comfortably as I was finding myself. He said he was looking for the same as he was discreet and wanted something more discreet and maybe someone more long term. I felt our goals were harmonious as we both wanted something sort of secret yet meaningful from my perspective. After about an hour of airing out stuff about each other as he worked for a warehouse, loved to smoke marijuana, and he was very independent.

He sent me a message saying, I really like talking to you, you’re really cute, you can hold a conversation well, when can I meet you in person?

I replied back,Thank you! I don't mind meeting you as well, I like the vibe I’m getting, what day works best for you to meet!”

He quickly replied,” Honestly I have work and overtime this whole week, I'm only available today, what’s the chance of meeting you today?”

At this time, I felt like it was now or never to meet this guy as he applied the pressure very charmingly and I was indeed intrigued by him. Around this time I also had signed my first car note for a 2008 Pontiac named “Grey Goose”, and had the taste for freedom, so I replied back, “Sure I'm mobile and I don't have much planned, I prefer early though is that ok with you”, he replies back “That’s fine come over in about an hour here's my address”.

I looked up the address and it was only about ten min away, so it wasn’t to far, as I confirmed his address I received another text from one of my close cousins that would always pressure me to smoke marijuana with him. He texted asking if he could see me, I told him that would be fine and about five to ten min later he had knocked on my door coming in with a joint in hand. He said, “What’s up bro, you want to smoke?”, I looked at him and said, “sure I don’t mind”, mind to tell you I usually don't partake in smoking but this day I felt the urge to do something different.

After I and my cousin had gotten done smoking I was definitely feeling stoned, my brain felt as if it was pressed on the back end of my skull. Moments later I had gotten a message back saying he was ready and I could stop by. I input his address and made my way there sluggishly. I pulled up to these baby blue and white color schemed apartments, which were not well maintained. I parked Grey Goose in the parking lot and examined my surroundings, I saw a couple of familiar stores like 7/11 and Safeway then proceeded to his apartment. When I knocked on the door and he opened up, he had his shirt off showing his muscles and smiled saying hi. First, I was very intrigued, but after I looked past him I saw there was a lot of boxes piled up like he was either moving in or moving out. I paid it no mind at first and proceeded into his living room and sat on his burgundy couch.

We were talking for a while about nonsense, like he could tell I was high, and I was young. Once we had gotten deeper into the conversation I asked him, “So why all the boxes, are you moving in?” he replied, “No I’m actually moving back to Mexico in about five days, it's expensive staying here so it’ll be going to stay with my parents”. At that point, I deemed him a liar in my eyes because I felt that should have been disclosed before we met up. So me being me, I said back, “Well, in that case, I think I’m going to get going. I thought we were on the same understanding that we wanted something more than something temporary”. I had gotten up and headed halfway to the door when he charmingly took hold of my hand and gently guided me back to his couch to talk. I had already made my mind up to leave, I slightly pulled away and walked to the door. I opened it half way he stood directly behind me brushing his body against mine and closed the door in front of me. At this point my heart was pounding out of my chest, my blood felt like molasses as I knew what was going on and what I had gotten myself into. He again gently guided me to his couch. I sat there stuck partially from me being high. He started kissing my neck which made me pull away. I then said, “I don't feel comfortable, and this isn't what I want to do,” He spat back, “We are having fun, just go with the flow remember your pretty new to this”. I wasn’t buying it. I sat there motionless. He then told me to take my pants off, I again sat there ignoring him this time which made him infuriated, He yelled loudly “Take them off!” At that point a tear came down my face. So much on my mind I didn't know who I was dealing with and he had a physical advantage in my mind over me. My pants came off, he eyed me and said,” Lay on your stomach on the couch, I slowly did as he said and buried my face into the beige pillow. He then disrespectfully put his hands on my bottom and complimented my physic which did not feel genuine. I had asked him, “Will you at least use a condom? I’m really young and have a long life ahead of me hopefully, I don't want to deal with any diseases or problems this early on.” I also didn't want my first time bottoming (being the receptive partner) to be someone raping me. He spat back quickly, “I told you to go with the flow, and that this will be fun. I've never had complaints about my game so sit back and enjoy.” The room went black as he entered me, I buried my face into the pillow and honestly felt like dying, I didn't know what this guy’s history was or if he would let me leave without someone getting more physically hurt. Luckily, he had finished after about five minutes that felt like forever, and he then briskly walked to the bathroom cleaning up. I took this opportunity to leave and quickly got into Grey Goose. The tears kept falling like a may rain storm. I parked my car at home and sat there for hours getting myself together as I knew if I showed up distressed at home I would have to tell what happened. I knew I couldn't hold it in or come up with a lie, I usually never cry. I walked in and seen my mom sitting in her recliner chair watching TV, I told her hi and kept proceeding to my room where I reflected on the event a little more before I had gone to sleep.

           With me going through such an intense situation it would be ludicrous to not become affected or gain insight into what could have been prevented. I partially take responsibility for what happened, I was not secure with myself and knew as a kid to never enter into just anyone’s home. I rushed into this situation instead of understanding the key points in our interaction. First was the fact I nor this guy was comfortable in our own skin, we had to be hidden in how we went about meeting each other. I also was extremely gullible, after I seen the boxes packed across the apartment, I should have listened to my intuition and made my exit. To make matters worse, this malicious individual got away with everything! As much as I wanted to let someone know about what happened, I was more fearful of the consequences of my family finding out about my sexuality and disowning me altogether. This led to me being silent on the matter and keep to myself.

This situation also led to me not attending school anymore, when this happened it was two weeks before finals, I was nowhere near in the right mind state to complete school or sadly again not tell anyone what was going on. The most painful part I experienced about the altercation was the fact I went thru the most excruciating phycological pain ever. Every night I would wake up emergently gasping for air, laying in a pool of sweat as panic attacks seem to be a new norm for me. I don’t ever want anyone else to go through this deal of pain, loss, and exposure again. I want this story to touch people especially anyone that has LGBT individuals in their intimate lives. Parents this goes to you as well as you can become more aware of your child and teach compassion and acceptance, this creates an environment where your child can express themselves in a healthy way and communicate their desires to be their self unapologetically. #lgbt #gay #lesbian #bisexual #transgender #blackcommunity #gaycommunity #blackmen #awareness #rapevictims #mystory #mytruth #lgbtq #pesonalnarritive

[spideyxchelle]

here is my weird spideychelle parent headcanon. its an atypical family situation. but still good. because there are all different kinds of families. 

peter parker is 29 years old and successful. he’s not sure how it happened. technically, he’s aware that he got bit by a radioactive spider in high school and was given superpowers and then recruited to the Avengers and then accepted into MIT with Tony’s help and now runs a sector of Stark Industries. but he’s like not sure how this is his life. 

why of all of the people in all of the world this life happened to him. he doesn’t regret it. not for a single second. but sometimes he gets bogged down by the whys. because he thinks a lot about what people deserve. he’s a superhero after all. 

but being successful isn’t always what its all cracked up to be. and neither is being a superhero. he’s lost people. he’s a lost a lot of people. and some of them haven’t even died. in his quest for the greater good he’s had to cut some people loose, people that would have only have gotten hurt if he didn’t set them free. people like Ned and MJ. 

Aunt May he never could have cut free. she’s his aunt and would have murdered him, superpowers or not. but Ned and MJ were the greatest personal casualties of his life. 

he let Ned go when he was nineteen. when Oscorp found out about their friendship, kidnapped him and experimented on him until he was something different. something so un-Ned it was painful. the hobgoblin. 

it took everything peter had to take Ned down and it took Tony even longer to piece back together Ned’s mind. once he was pretty much himelf again Peter had to walk away. it was his fault. and Ned deserved better. 

he let MJ go when he was 23. it took them to the end of college to act on their feelings. and less than a year after graduation for MJ to become a target. after the first attack, peter told himself it was a one time thing, he could keep her safe. after the third attack, mj held his face in her hands and assured him that she would be safe. that she could take care of herself. after the fifteenth attack, he broke things off. for her. and selfishly, for him. he didn’t want to keep living through the constant panic of someone hurting her.

she fought with him, fought for him for four months. and then, it was over. he managed, somehow, to get her to back off.

and that was when he became the best version of Spider-Man. his work at Stark Industries was better, too. without Ned and MJ to distract him he could throw himself into work. and he did. Tony called it self-destructing. but peter is 29 and successful. and how can being successful be self-destructing?

he dates, when he can, but he’s married to his work. he’s married to the suit. may worries, he knows, but he’s fine. just fine. he’s 29 and successful. 

and he’s avoided Ned and MJ for all these years. which is impressive, or he likes to think so. well, sort of. he’s avoided the Ned for all of these years. he had one moment of weakness with MJ at 25. but since then, he’d held strong.

he knows a couple of things about his friends peripherally. like, he knows that Ned is now a therapist, his work has him out in California. far away from New York and all of the horrors that are in his memories. and MJ is in DC. she’s some kind of reporter. a white house correspondent, he thinks. he reads her articles sometimes. but her voice is so distinctly MJ that its more painful than anything else. 

so he’s doing a damn good job of keeping his distance. until Stark tech gets questioned by the federal government. he and Tony are asked to go down to DC, to be interviewed by a council of senators. Tony curses the entire plane ride down. that the government has proved they’re corrupt. and he’s not going to give them access to his private tech. no way, no hell. no matter what they say.

and peter nods in all of the right places, but he’s distracted. of course he’s distracted. MJ is in DC. but DC is a big city, he reminds himself, he’ll be fine. he’ll be just fine. no way he’s gonna see her.

he’s wrong. 

the council meeting is mostly for show. its the governments way of flexing their muscles at Tony. and Tony completely shuts them down. and so, on their way out, they’re attacked by reporters. asking Tony if he thinks he’s above the law, if he plans to ever be cooperative with this administration. the questions go on and on. 

and Peter smiles in the right places. he’s a good figure head. he knows how to be Tony’s heir well. he’s been doing it for years. his perfect facade does not crack until he sees a Flash of unruly black hair whip down the hallway. 

its so quick he thinks he almost imagines it. but he hasn’t. he knows he hasn’t. he stiffly nods at the reporters and claps Tony on the back, “excuse me.” the reporters call after peter as he makes his way out of the eye of the storm, but their attention is ultimately on Tony. 

he turns the corner. he expects to see her. he knows he didn’t imagine it. but it doesn’t prepare him for the reality of it. 

she’s bent over, holding a toddler by the chubby arms and hissing, “what did I tell you about running off, mister?” the kid pouts, “sworry, Mama.” and Peter feels a weird, sharp pain. its been a long time since he’s had any kind of feeling in his chest. and of course she brings it out in him. every extreme emotion. 

the big, brown eyes of her son look beyond MJ’s shoulder right at Peter. and, if possible, he feels the scrutiny of a three year old. MJ follows her son’s line of vision and her lips fall open in surprise. “Peter,” she whispers. 

he swallows thickly, “hey, Em.” the kid squints at peter and points his chubby finger at MJ’s face and corrects him, “Mama.” he’s so like her. her child. it makes peter feel a rush of affection toward this child. 

“sorry,” peter says covering a smile, “she’s Mama, of course.” her child seems satisfied. 

MJ stands and tugs her son against her leg, “i heard you were in town.” “yea,” he manages, “Tony’s always in some kind of trouble-” “I know why you’re in town. I’m literally a reporter, Parker.” Peter chews on his lip, “right. I’m sorry. of course.” 

he focuses his attention on the little boy, looking at MJ too long is too hard. he drops to his knees and smiles at the boy, and offers his hand to shake, “hey there. my name’s Peter. i was a friend of your mom’s in school.” her son chews on one fist and looks up at MJ for permission. she sighs and nods, so the boy offers his free hand to peters to shake. 

the kid mumbles, “i’m benjy.” “Benjy?” peter says brightly, “that’s a nice name. i had an uncle named Ben.” 

peter’s eyes are bright. he looks up at MJ and expects to share a smile. she had barely known his uncle ben, they’d maybe met at a school thing once his freshman year, but when they were friends and when they dated she always liked to hear stories about ben. but she wasn’t smiling.

in fact, she looked guilty. and avoided his eye.

peter glanced down at her son confused. and then it clicked. a horrible, dreadful feeling settled in his stomach. 

peter gawked at the little boy and scrambled to his feet. taking two large steps away from Benjy, his eyes were the size of saucers, “Michelle....”

“Peter I can explain,” she whispers.

and that’s the comment where he knows for sure. this is his son. 

“explain?” his voice cracks, “you wanna explain...how you....how could you....he’s what? three? MJ. jesus christ. three years.” “closer to four,” she corrects him, “i was pregnant for nine months after all.” “holy shit,” peter curses. and Benjy huffs, “no bad words.” 

“holy shit,” peter repeats louder, his head whirling, “why didn’t you....how could you...he’s three, MJ. he’s three. and i’ve missed it.” 

and that’s when all of his shocked ramblings catch up to him. he’s missed it. he’s missed his son’s birth, his first steps, his first birthday, his first words. all of it. there are all of the shining moments he wasn’t apart of. 

and he’s name Benjamin after his uncle. there is another Ben Parker in the world. and he’s missed it. 

“i wanted to tell you so many times,” MJ’s eyes are watering and Peter is furious. she doesn’t get to be upset. not after this. its not fair. “why didn’t you??” he demands. MJ straightens her shoulders like she’s preparing for battle and answers honestly, “you dumped me because you were afraid someone was gonna use me against you. i always thought that was stupid. then, i found out i was pregnant. and if they could use me to hurt you....imagine what they’d do to him. i’m sorry peter. i am. but i had to protect my son.” 

“our son,” peter grits his teeth, “our son. he’s my son, Em. i’m his freakin’ Dad. and you kept him from me.” 

Benjy looks like all of this information is confusing him. but he holds on to one thing. he looks at peter and tilts his head, “my Dad?” his little mouth grows into peter’s dopey smile. and the resemblance is uncanny. he can’t look away.

no matter how he’s feeling about MJ right now. he’s so taken with Benjy he can’t stand it. its possible to have love at first sight. he doesn’t know this little boy but he loves him. peter drops to his knees and ignores MJ’s watery eyes. he focuses on the little boy in front of him. he doesn’t know how to introduce himself to his three year old son. he’s never had any practice. 

so he just opens his arms. and the wonderful thing about little kids is that they’re so loving. they soak up love and affection like a sponge. and this little boy has been without his Dad his whole life. and now peter is here with open arms. so, of course, he staggers into them on his chubby legs. 

peter closes his arms around him. and exhales. “you wanna come to my house?” Benjy asks into peter’s shoulder. peter nods, “sure, that sounds fun.” 

he chances a look at MJ and she’s gripping her bag to her chest and watching peter and benjy hug. she looks a little guilty but mostly she’s steely. like, she’s out for benjy and benjy only. and peter can’t look at her. it hurts too much.

he spends the rest of the day in some kind of haze. MJ doesn’t fight him. she doesn’t argue when Benjy wants to spend the day with his Dad. he spends the whole day with his son. at a park, at an ice cream shop, back at MJ’s apartment playing with Benjy’s toys. he has a Spider-Man toy that his mother bought him, Benjy tells Peter proudly. and its his favorite. 

and, finally, he puts Benjy down for bed. 

when he’s ready, when he’s done looking at his sleeping son, he stumbles into MJ’s living room where she’s sitting on the couch in the darkness. she hears his coming and looks to him. peter stays in the door and stares back. 

she asks softly, “is he sleeping?” peter nods, “he’s good.” “good,” MJ repeats.

and he’s not sure what to say to her. he wants to yell. he wants to have a go at her. but, mostly, he wants to know about his son. “what’s he like?” MJ smiles in a way he’s never seen before. its brilliantly bright, “he’s, god, so smart, peter. he’s so smart. and kind. he doesn’t get that from me. and he’s perfect. i know all parents say that....but my boy is so perfect.” she launches into little stories about when Benjy was a baby. she shows him pictures and peter can’t tear his eyes away. she tells peter about Benjy’s best friend Daniel and how they’re in the same daycare. about how much polite he is to his grandparents. how he likes space and wants to be an astronaut. she says this softly, like she’s aware of what the Infinity Wars did to Peter. what they made me. 

and while it does sting, it also makes him pleased. his son is into science. MJ grabs his hand to comfort him and a weird spark jolts between them. and peter can’t do this. not now. maybe not ever. he pulls his hand away and stands, “i have to go.” “sure,” MJ nods, “of course.” 

“i want to be in his life...” “peter,” she sighs. “no,” he says louder, “i know its a risk, okay? and while i’m so mad at you, god so mad, for keeping him from me....i also understand why you did it. but he’s my son. and i won’t let you keep him from me anymore.” “you live in new york, i live in DC.” “we’ll figure out the details. but, MJ, i’m serious. Benjy’s my son. and i’m gonna be in his life.” 

when he finally makes it back to the suite that he and Tony are staying at in DC, Tony is tossing back a whiskey, “there you are. i was starting to worry.” peter pours himself a drink, swallows it in one go and blurts out, “i have a son.” Tony blinks, “excuse me.” “i ran into MJ. she works here. and she has a little boy. my little boy.” 

“jesus,” Tony whispers and guides peter to the couch, “are you okay?” “he’s three. his name is Benjy. and she didn’t tell me.” “we’ll sue for custody,” Tony nods. Peter sighs, “i’m not gonna take a little boy away from his mother. i just...wish I had known.” 

“why didn’t she tell you?” “i’m Spider-Man. she wanted to keep him safe.” that shuts Tony up. and Peter glares at him, “what? say it.” “its a good reason, Peter.” “bullshit,” Peter stands, “i understand the reason. but its not a good reason. he’s my son.” “yea, sure, but you are Spider-Man.”

“i’m not listening to this,” Peter heads to his room. “sleep on it, son,” Tony says softly. and peter suddenly remembers that day on the roof after the ferry. he remembers tony saying if something had happened to peter it would have felt like it his fault. and he didn’t want it on his conscious. he wonders if Tony knows a thing or two about parenting. 

when he wakes up the next morning he hears the shrieking of a toddler’s laughter coming from the living room. he wanders out into the living room, tugging a shirt on and sees Benjy playing with Tony. MJ is standing closeby watching. when Benjy spots Peter he shrieks, “Dad!” and runs at him. he hugs Peter’s legs and Peter ruffles Benjy’s hair, “hey buddy,” he looks at MJ, “hi.” 

she smiles in a thin line. Tony looks between the two of them awkwardly and then decides to scoop Benjy up and take him to the terrace to look at something cool. when the door clicks, MJ says, “i want to make this work. i asked the post if i could relocate to New York.” “why?” “because he is your son. and i shouldn’t have kept him from you. he’s just....he’s my baby, peter. can you blame me for wanting to protect him? his Dad’s a superhero.” peter drops his head, “i want to stop being mad at you. but its so hard.” “its gonna take time,” she nods, “i know that. but i’d like to make our family work. for Benjy’s sake. a weird, hybrid modern family.” 

Benjy is over the moon when they tell him he’s moving to New York to be closer to his Dad. and he spends his fourth birthday upstate at Avenger’s headquarters with MJ and Peter. and his fifth birthday is when Peter looks at MJ for the first time and isn’t mad anymore. its the first time he looks at her and sees why he loved her so many years ago, why he loves her now. so he kisses her after Benjy goes to bed. 

and on his seventh birthday, Benjy celebrates with his little sister, Mayday. 

#headcanon ask #spideychelle

[garyclone]

Pokemon Vault Boy?

Okay me and a few others in the VB Discord was talking about if VB was a pokemon and THIS is what we got: @sandwichknight: Alphdorable Irradiated mascot Pokémon Ht: 3'00"

Alphdorable is (almost) completely harmless. They like to go up to trainers and hug them, which makes them very good as comfort.

Trainers must also be aware to wear protective clothing while with Alphdorable, as they are slightly radioactive.

Me: What if the Evo line is human-like, but their appearance seems round and soft, even in its final form, and they still retain their softness, even after the final Evo where he’s just got a huge ass horn coming outta his head and leaking radiation everywhere. So like imagine Jigglypuff, but with longish arms and legs and there’s a visible neck and head separation. But their hands are kinda stumpy and squared-off along with its ‘feet’ which is pretty much it’s shoes but it’s entirely made of flesh and can’t be removed.

S: Betascot Radioactive Mascot Pokémon Ht: 4'07" Unlike its previous reserved form, Betascot are more social and energetic. Their Trainers are highly advised to wear better protection once Alphdorable evolves, as Betascot would emit more radiation than its previous form.

Trainers sometimes take Betascot with them on long journeys as a “companion”.

Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA A A A A A A A

S: Gammad Nuclear Mascot Pokémon Ht: 7'11"

Very unlike the behaviour of Alphdorable and Betascot, Gammad are absolutely violent and reckless. They tend to get into fights with almost anything, including their own Trainers if they are not careful.

@beta-gamma-delta: poor trainer might I add?

S: These Pokémon are well feared because of their behaviour and capabilities. However, experienced trainers have shown that they are not all reckless and rampaging. In fact, they are highly intelligent and caring. The reason this does not show is because it is subdued by Gammads own constant rage.

Me: What if Gammad still retains some of its cheery and kind behavior and wants to actually protect smaller, KINDER, Pokémon like Happiny and Cleffa, but they always get scared off or actually faint in his presence, and he gets so distraught and rampages, unless if it’s trainer calms it down quickly. They would also be a attention hog in fights, especially tag team fights, having a high critical-hit ratio to prove its ‘worth’ to its trainer, and would actually DEMOLISH the rival trainer’s pokemon. (Kinda like the Mega Evo Lucario in the anime that almost killed Pikachu) Also, trainers must be wary when adding new additions to their team, since they’ll feel like they’re getting replaced soon and would fight their trainer or the newly added pokemon, even if it’s another powerful pseudo-legendary or Legendary pokemon. It takes take for Gammad to get used to new team lay outs, especially if they’re not the starting pokemon. If it does manage to faint, it’s face is the only time you can see either fear or bliss on its face, just like Primeape.

S: The constant anger and violence is still never explained. Some presume that they are experiencing repeated pains in their body which triggers their anger. Gammad is also said to be quite relatable to Incineroar, except that Gammad is way more violent and brutal.

Me: Hypothetically if you place Gammad with another 'powerful’ pokemon, it’s unique ability 'Nuclear Rage’ would activate, causing instant poison damage upon any physical hit (Like Muk’s Poison Touch) AND would increase either AP or critical-hit ratios. It only activates if the rival pokemon has a type advantage, high level (50+), or any ability that can nullify Gammad’s stats, enraging him. It doesn’t activate if it’s a lower level pokemon or if it’s a base Evo, such as when people have unevolved pokemon on their teams holding evolite.

S: I can also see Gammad having Anger point as another ability as well. Maybe he also has an exclusive move as well? Maybe something to do with his horn, body, or radioactivity.

Me: His abilities would probably be Moody for both of its pre-evos, and it’s final Evo can have Anger Point, Poison Touch, or that fake one I made up. His exclusive move could be a physical poison move that involves his horn, piercing the enemy as he emits a toxic aura, and with the wound he makes, the 'poisonous’ aura would seep into the rival’s wound, poisoning them with a 100% guarantee (like how Will-o-Whisp has a 100% guarantee to burn) and having a hefty attack stat too.

S: Splenetic Stampede? Raging Rush?

Me: Radioactive stab? Venom horn?

S: Nuclear Horn can work.

Me: I feel like his horn would be like slanted, just like his hair curl seems to be in the illustrations, and the horn itself would be bright yellow and maybe a foot long or so. If anyone makes fun of how short it seems or tries to cut it off (like a slowpoke’s tail) Gammad would rampage for HOURS.

S: Maybe it glows green as he attacks with it?

Me: Maybe blue, since it’s acidic drool would resemble Nula Cola Quantum, and would make a more unified color palette.

S: Also, I imagine that once he stabs his foe, he would (try to) lift up his victim like a Rhino Beetle.

Ooh. I like it.

Me: YEEESSSSSS SS And he just screams and flexes its massive muscles and just TOSSES the rival pokemon away like a crumpled up piece of paper.

If Gammad does managed to get knocked out, when it’s healed, it’s been reported that the pokemon for awhile becomes consumed by shame and can actually get picked up on by smaller and weaker pokemon, and would revert almost to the personality of its first form, expect it is VERY depressed and is touch-repulsed. Even it’s tears are toxic, and the few owners of Gammad struggle to get it out of this emotional rut.

S: When Gammad wants to mark territory, it would mark or even impale things with its horn.

Me: VERY few Gammads exist in just one area, and if more than one meet, it’s a all out brawl to the death. You can tell areas that were once fighting grounds by seeing massive marks in the ground and if you use a Geiger counter, you can see how radioactive the area truly is. Rarely, some lower evos of Gammads can appear in these areas, but flee upon the sight of trainers or other powerful pokemon. If a Gammad wanders near a town or city, it is hunted down by local authorities and is caught in a high quality ultra ball, and is kept by the Nurses at the local pokemon center as a failsafe. Rarely Nurses would give them out to VERY established trainers or Champions, as a 'prize’ but they’re just really getting rid of this 'horrid’ pokemon.

S: It is very strange seeing a Gammad with the personality of a regular Alphdorable. They would become very shy all of a sudden and can resort to hiding behind their own Trainer. This can make some Trainers and even Pokémon laugh at such a powerful Pokémon becoming so afraid and frightened.

Me: If one manages to catch any of a Gammad’s pre evos, they MUST be a pro trainer and have a certain amount of badges, and must buy a hazmat suit. If it eventually evolves into Gammad, the trainer MUST report its existence to the authorities. The trainer can keep it, but must warn rivals if they fight, Gammad can critically hurt their pokemon. Along with its terrifying appearance and power, Gammad are known to be very fickle with their emotions, mostly being pissed off, but can get emotionally distraught under certain conditions. It is rare for a Gammad to be seen calm or happy, only if it wins a VERY easy match or its trainer is grooming/feeding it.

Some parts of Gammad and it’s Evo line are sought after, mainly it’s 'mask’, horn, and drool. The mask isn’t part of its body (like Mimikyu’s rag or Farfetch’d’s leek) but they get INSTANTLY SCARED if anyone tries to take it off, especially in its pre evos. Rumor has it if you take it off, it’s pre evos would suffer from shock and faint unless if the mask is returned. If it’s not, they WILL enter a coma like state and die. It’s suggested that they’re all disgusted by their true appearance, and very few people have seen their faces in each form. If a Gammad takes it’s melting mask off and reveals it’s face to its trainer, it is the ULTIMATE form of respect towards it’s trainer, since it won’t show it’s face to anything unless if it trusts them. The horn is pretty obvious, and is thought to be medicinal, or can be used as a fighting items such as the Stick or Bone Club. Removal of the horn from its mid or final Evo (the only ones with horns) would enrage it and VERY few horns make it on the market. Finally, the drool is only found in its final form, where the mask starts to melt away and reveal part of its face, mainly the lower jaw. The drool itself is radioactive and can be used as a unorthodox power source, and is coveted by evil organizations such as Team Galatic or Magma. Probably the most important thing is the MASK, since it just DESTROYS their character and they wouldn’t have a will to live.

G: this. this is beautifull

Me: If you see the face of Alphdorable, it’s just two beady black eyes and a constantly open mouth, hinting at a genetic deformity where all the species of this pokemon suffers from lock-jaw. It’s face in its Betascot form is the same, but with visible fangs piercing through its own skin if the mouth does close (which is VERY painful and hard to close) and a white pupil appears on its black eyes. Gammad’s face is the most drastic, with a parasitic-like mouth, with jagged teeth pointing in each direction, but it’s mouth can close with better ease. It’s eyes are now constantly leaking the blue radioactive material, and can be considered to be it’s constant tears. It’s jaw seems to be split open however, and it can be seen from its side profile, even with the mask on. The white pupil appears to changed into a radioactive-symbol-like shape, but it’s debated if he pupil actually split up into smaller pupils like some sort of bug or deep-sea fish. Gammads will panic if one tries to remove its melting mask, and it’s the only time where they can be seen to be totally consumed by fear and would bawl for DAYS if the mask is removed. After that, they WILL rampage if the mask isn’t returned, and will die from a heart attack (like Primeape) if they’re in a manic state for too long. The mask itself changes upon each evolution, with its base form being the most human like (AKA most like VB) After the second Evo, the eyes would have a small crack in the mask, and the coloration of the mask will fade a bit. In its final Evo, the plastic is starting to melt, and a huge chunk of the mask is cracked open, slightly revealing either the left or right eye and the mouth. The lower part of the mask where the mouth is, is either burnt or in a goopy melted state. If a Gammad feels like it’s getting 'stared at’ for too long, it will strike at what it’s making it uncomfortable, since they seem to be concerned about its appearance. Gammads seem to miss their 'cuter’ form, in their pursuit of achieving power, a more impressive horn and larger muscles/height.

I feel like the pokemon’s skin tone would just be solid blue, with yellow markings where the stripes should be, along with black 'feet’, but as Gammad, the blue coloration around the arms disappear and appears pale white (like if the sleeves got ripped off.)

@emnide: im thinkin like okay sorry i was rereading everything maybe this has been said before but i feel like theyd be used in marketing and advertisments like how tigers are used on animal crackers yknow people probably promote gammas as “these guys r friendly dont worry” but theyre just sugarcoating the creature’s behavior i wonder how the body structure is like for the gammad. on all fours like a gorilla or smth? idk im thinkin of nrvb now okay now im getting some ridiculous ideas bear with me what if the alphadorables and betascots had regular nuka-colas for spit/blood/etc? but its not very prominent and i bet some people have tried to put em into zoos but then they evolved and caused a ton of trouble so maybe even the smaller pre-evos would be avoided in fear that it would evolve and turn into a gammad and then theyre all sad but hey theyve got eachother what if they were crafted as well? ( this mightve already been said but i havent read through the beginning part i apologize ) like how super mutants were created with the FEV, the lil radioactive pals mightve been a way to showcase a company after tinkering with but instead turned into well. radioactive pals cronch cronch gammad shaped crackers

G: immagine a small girl adopting an alphadorables

E: oh man dude what if they evolve and she gets killed and like their reputation is ruined because it circulated the news

G: maybe she only get hurt very badly, no Need to be that tragic

E: so like they used to be loved and stuff but incidents of what they become make people shun em time to be tragic

G: poor gurl and poor boi

Me: I REALLY like the idea of them being man-made like Ditto and Porygon

E: i live by drinking the blood of vault boy

Me: Shit fam same

E: and nice to do! to elaborate on that idea, the creators perhaps wanted to make a mascot for their company. be like “hey guys check out this cool pokemon!!!! buy our nuclear generators!!!!!!!!” then they either escaped, got out of hand, and developed to become more powerful and have more forms or just released in belief that nothingll happen

Me: But their faces were kinda eerie so that’s why they forced them to wear masks, up to the point that they think they’re disgusting if they loose their mask, and get into a panicking state.

E: holy shit yes

Me: Oh and Gammads would be bipedal, but since they’re so massive and have huge fists, they could go on all fours but rarely do, since they feel more monstrous when pokemon or trainers stare at them when they do it.

E: oo okay i see sounds real cool

Me: The pre evos are incredibly rare in the wild and mostly can be found in abandoned buildings with other Poison or Ghost type. They’re highly coveted in just their BASE form, if it’s the middle or final evolution, they’re shunned and hide in caves in the mountains or woods.

E: what if gammads were like nukalurks like they evolve by sittin in abandoned nuka quantum factories ( if the company exists in this world )

Me: YES!!! Just like Magnezone, Leafeon, and other area-induced evolutions. You need to take the middle evolution to their 'source’, a abandoned lab hidden in the middle of a forest and take them to the most irradiated area, and they’ll evolve. However many have forgotten about their true home and that’s why so few Gammads can be found in the wild.

E: are first evos super adorable or a lil bit off or absolutely horrifying

Me: Super cute, but wears a mask all the time.

E: i wonder if anyones drawn on a mask before

Me: Their body looks kinda like Machop mixed with Jigglypuff, so they’ll look human like but are soft and round around the natural edges like elbows and fingers. If you draw on their mask in any evolution, they’ll just panic and run off crying, and can been seen frantically trying to scrub any 'imperfection’ on their mask, even if the mask is damaged, usually when they’re a Gammad.

S: I was thinking that his back would be kind of spiked. Or small parts of his body would be coloured like Uranium.

Me: NICE If you touch his spine where you can see it poking through the skin, Gammads would panic since it’s really their only weak spot. Plus would they have hair? Or just the horn when it develops in its mid evo.

S: Hmm. Can be a yes and no. I’ll say that the hair can develop. But what if it hardens over time?

Me: Like it just becomes like a hunk of Uranium and just looks sculpted, and where the hair curl should be is where the horn grows over time/enlarged drastically with the final evo.

S: I would say that his hair would be in the shade of yellow. And maybe quite gem-like?

Me: Like it’s barely different from the horn itself, and can be confused for being the same genetic material. What color should their face be? I was thinking either blue like the body’s 'suit’ or a ghastly pale white, and the white coloration appears on it’s arms and hands, especially in it’s final form, to pretty much hint at that the 'sleeves’ got ripped off upon evolution.

S: Pale white for the face?

Me: Maybe? Underneath the mask, and the blue coloration on its body would stop at the yellow stripe around the neck, and then it’ll be pale white. The hands could also be that color, or just blue.

S: I had a little idea, just like the “Uranium spine spikes”, maybe they would also appear on other parts of the body? There would be patches of grey and blue (maybe green as well) where the spikes are developing.

Me: I gotta admit that sounds fucking rad.

#vault boy #caps #SORRY THAT THIS IS SO LONG

[krumpwrites]

MHAM Post #16: Hope

I met Hope, the writer of this piece, when we were in middle school. We were, I don’t know, 14 maybe? To this day, I still remember how, when we first met, I thought she had it all together.

No one has it all together, obviously, that’s the whole point of these posts this month. But it’s just so interesting that you still can’t help but assume that about people sometimes. 

Hope has been one of my friends for a very long time now. She’s the kind of person who I used to spend every second of every day with, and I’d still never get sick of her. But even now, we can go months without talking, and the minute we do, it feels like we picked up right where we left off.

That’s something I really appreciate about her. I think there’s a kind of unspoken understanding between the two of us. We just know how each other’s brains work, like we’re on the same wave length or something. 

I know being vulnerable isn’t always Hope’s favorite thing, but I think she’s such a talented writer that I just had to ask for her help this month. She writes in a way that makes people who can’t understand, understand. That’s what I enjoy most about this piece. It’s not as much about specific experiences, as it is about making a concept make sense to others. 

I’m sure all of you will get as much out of this as I did. Check it out: 

I am not generally an open person. It takes a lot for even those I am closest with to truly get me to open up. In fact, I am having a hard time even writing this because of the sheer idea that someone who doesn't know me will read this and I'll be exposed in a very vulnerable way. But I have faith in the idea behind why I'm writing this and because of the fact that it might make even one person more comfortable with themselves, or help them realize that there are so many (normal) people who have these types of feelings/problems/issues - whatever you want to call it - that helps a little bit.

I found out about anxiety when I was much younger, although at the time I didn't have the explanation for it that I do now. I do remember waking up suddenly in the middle of the night, not able to take a full breath, feeling like the walls were closing in. I remember feeling a terrible pit in my stomach, a feeling I have become quite familiar with, thinking that there must be something wrong but for some reason not being able to recognize just what I was so fearful of. I often feel that when people think of anxiety, they immediately associate that word simply with worry. I can't tell you the frustrating amount of times I've been on the other end of, "Well why are you so worried? Just calm down." If that was a viable solution, I would have been cured years ago! The best way that I can describe anxiety in my case (disclaimer: not the same for everyone) is an overwhelming sense of fear. It's a fear in the worst way, because you're not even sure what it's really of, and in the rare case that I can pinpoint it, it's usually something that I know in my brain isn't valid, or even something that warrants this type of reaction. The part that separates anxious people from those who aren't is that even though you know and can tell yourself you shouldn't feel a certain way, it will never help or cause it to go away.

On good days, panic attacks are just a few minutes long, they're slow to come on and I can recognize hours beforehand that they're creeping their way up to the surface. On the worst day, my calcium levels spiked from breathing so hard and fast that my hands froze up in a weird position that resembles claws, my muscles in my face became paralyzed and my speech became slurred because my jaw went numb (my mom thought I was having a stroke and took me to the ER - a fun day). There are some days where my biggest success has been getting out of bed. There are periods when I go days or weeks being physically and emotionally exhausted from having constant feelings of anxiousness and depression all day, every day. It's during those times that I can feel myself becoming disinterested and detached from everything around me because it's so much easier to just go home and wait it out. *Note: I have found it hard to explain to someone that the reason you're so tired is because of worrying so hard. Although it is a mental issue, the effects manifest themselves physically because your brain feels like it is on a constant treadmill of fear and worry. Something that may seem so minor to someone else, becomes a giant source of gut wrenching uneasiness, which branches into 100 different little anxieties which all bubble up until they become as horrible and thought consuming as the first.

There have been times when I was so scared to get on the train or in my car, I couldn't go to work. I've counted down the seconds to leave a meeting because I know that for whatever reason, any second I might start hyperventilating and crying for no reason at all. It's a terrible feeling when you have to explain to someone that you "just feel off" but have no good explanation as to why. What does that even mean? To someone else it may seem that I'm just feeling too lazy to carry through on our plans and am blowing them off. But to me, it means that at that moment, the only safe haven that I have is home because at least there I can curl up in a ball until I feel normal again.

In the grand scheme of things, I am so lucky to be who I am and have all that I have-my health, friends, family, the list goes on. In some moments, in the midst of a panic attack or a particularly depressing episode it's hard to recognize all of the things that I should be grateful for. Some days it's much easier to focus on the negatives which can drown all of the good out. Treading through the topic that is mental health (that even today has such negative connotations and at times, very little understanding throughout society) is a confusing and painstaking process. I've only just recently found a medication and the right dose of it that works for me, and that's after many years of visiting doctors and talking to professionals.

My hope is that with more open dialogue and open minds, people will feel more comfortable talking about these issues and that society will become more receptive to learning about them.

#mental health awareness month #mental health #mental health month #mental health awareness #mhm #mhm2017 #anxiety #panic attack #friends #middle school

[topicprinter]

11 Things You Are F-ing Up But Don’t Need To.A list of self sabotaging behaviors that are hindering your success.Learned from personal experience on my long journey towards success. Over and over and over again.#1 Paralysis by Analysis: You are overthinking everything. Worrying about every detail. It doesn’t need to (and never will) be perfect. Just go out and get your hands dirty.“Done” is the new “Perfect”\**The secret to getting ahead is getting started***- Mark Twain*#2 Worrying about what other people think: You are doing this for you. Not them. The more success you have the more haters you will get. What they think is meaningless. What you think is what matters.#3 Listening to your inside doubter: Don’t be your own biggest enemy. NO ONE knows WTF they are doing at first. Even the most seasoned athlete, celebrity, scientist has doubts but they use them to ‘energize themselves’ NOT to self-sabotage. Don’t listen to that doubting fool inside. You go get yours girl!#4 Counting closed doors instead of looking for open ones: You need to look for open doors or windows to break through instead of counting closed doors or opportunities. All it takes is 1 YES! Stop looking for ways out and start looking for more ways IN. Kick those doors in if need be bro but you will be surprised by how easily many of them open with just a light knock.#5 Letting failures stop you instead of using them as stepping Stones to success: You don’t learn to be the world’s best ‘anything’ without failing and retrying many many times. Same goes for your goals and life. Embrace the process and learn from failures using them as your main building blocks towards your goal. #4 and #5 are where most people lose. Quitters quit and the people who succeed didn’t. Plain and simple. Failures will happen. Plan for them and use them. If you aren’t having failures then you aren’t doing enough. Failure is a healthy by-product of effort.#6 Competing against others instead of competing against yourself: You are your only competition. You need to work harder each day and be better than yourself the day before. Not your competition. As long as you are getting better and learning as you go you are doing it right. If you spend time worry about other people accomplishments you waste time not attending to your own. The only person you should be reckoning with is the person in the mirror.#7 Not making periodic honest assessments: We all need to make ‘honest’ assessments of ourselves periodically. Do this without judgement. View yourself as a 3rd person objectively for a few minutes. Write down where you went wrong and make sure to write down what you did right. Don’t beat yourself up on all the bad stuff. You need to know what to fix. Then get to fixing it. Without self judgement. This is actually pretty hard to do but go easy on yourself! The fact that you are making an assessment that most people are afraid to do means you are worthy of your own kindness.#8 Making excuses and Blaming others: This is the most popular way to F-Up your life. Blame and excuse are our natural mechanism to protect our inner psyche. It’s much easier to quit, let ourselves off the hook and blame someone else than to admit there is a problem and work to overcome them. Scapegoating will just hurt yourself.We all have issues. We all have something in our past that holds us back. Some worse than others for sure but what WE DO from this point forward is our own responsibility and no one else’s. How YOU react to these issues, traumas, problems, setbacks and failures is what matters now.There are very legitimate roadblocks that occur in our lives but we need to assess the problem, find possible solutions to overcome them and then act on those solutions. The more blame you put around is less energy you have to complete your task.#9 Saying no when you should say yes or Saying yes when you should say no: Don’t lose out on opportunities because you don’t know if you are up to the task or have anxiety about it. Say yes then work through to accomplish them. Grasp opportunities when they are presented.Conversely, if you truly want to meet your goal. Don’t say yes to something that goes against your goal. Trying to lose weight or get physically fit? Say no to that night out of drinking. 95% of the time it’s someone who wants to pull you back down. Use your intuition. Deep down you know when you should say “no”. Caveat: saying yes to most invitations is worth it. See #10#10 Not taking that leap of faith: Networking and meeting new people is essential to thriving. Most of all my greatest business and social gains were from meeting someone unexpectedly because I said ‘yes’ to something. I said ‘yes’ to talking to someone even though I felt shy. I said ‘yes’ to quitting my job and going out on my own even though I was scared to death. I said ‘yes’ to walking up to people and initiating a conversation. It turns out most people want to interact with each other. Taking a risk is how you get things done. A body builder has to stretch out and overwork their muscle to see gains. Same applies to us in our everyday lives!#11 You Don’t Believe You Can Do IT . **Beware**Positive thinking without works doesn't work. We need to think we can do something in order to do it. Otherwise, we never get started on the journey. “Oh I can’t do that” or “Get that idea out of your head. Our family just isn’t made to rich” etc are deadly to your future. If you think you are cursed you will be. If you think you can do something maybe you will or maybe you won’t but you need to believe that it IS possible in the very least.Again, conversely, All the positive thinking in the world won’t make anything happen much less your dreams if it isn’t followed by ‘works”. You need to WORK toward your goal for it to happen. But you need to believe it can happen as well!BONUS: Not letting yourself day dream: HOPE is your biggest ally. Without it we stop to engage, compete or care. Let yourself day dream. Imagine what you want to accomplish. Dream about where you want your life to be in 2 or 5 years. Let yourself dream as big as you want! The bigger the dream the more work needed but even if you fall short you will be MILES from where you began and you might just find that place to be where you wanted to be after all. Don’t let inspiration go. Take advantage of it while you can and let yourself be your own biggest asset!A little about me. My name is Dave Giovacchini. A lot of my friends and colleagues call me Bluehair Dave (I used to have blue hair when I was a musician in San Diego and the name stuck.)I work from home running my own digital marketing company and have won or been nominated for a few awards in my industry. One of them being the “2 Comma Club Award” for doing over 7 figures with one website in a year. I have worked at home for myself successfully and beyond my own dreams for over 11 years now. (All mostly done in swim trunks or sweatpants!)I also do consulting and education in my industry and found that just about everyone faces the same challenges that I did and still do face regarding our own self-sabotage in our personal and business lives.This list is a short compilation of my own self-defeating behaviors that I took stock of while on my journey towards success. I was broke most of my adult life and had to rely on others or my girlfriend (now wife) to cover my expenses and rent. I Felt pretty crappy about myself and where I was and where I was headed.One day after the death of my long time buddy/dog “Astro” from cancer I was in a pretty deep rut and more than a bit depressed. I was in my early 30’s and nothing to show for it except a lot of fun times from playing music. (which were some amazing times!) But I was broke and without direction. I was envious of my friends who were able to buy homes and take nice vacations. I couldn’t even afford to go out to dinner with them because I didn’t have the money.When I took a really painful and oddly liberating self examination of myself and my life I noticed I was committing these cardinal sins. And all of them and in high amounts. I didn’t even know what they were at the time.I was hustling and working but nothing was coming of it and so I naturally blamed everything and everyone except the one person in charge… Me.Once I recognized that the only constant was change… and embraced it. Things began to change for me.Once I began recognizing and utilizing these tools and enacting them (stumbling mightily along the way I might add!) my life literally did a 180 degree turn for the better.I was the person responsible for my failures and, in turn, my successes as well. Once I did this success quickly followed. It also helped my generalized anxiety and reduced my panic attacks which I suffered from since I was a young adult. Even the smallest of accomplishments felt like huge victories and massive amounts of weight were lifted off my back.I was amazed at how much this changed my life. I also noticed that the people I met that I admired or wanted to emulate also had this same outlook on life.I also noticed that the people who had my old outlook were stuck in the same place that I used to be stuck. This led me to believe that outlook and attitude has a profound effect on people’s lives.So I wanted to share this with all of you and maybe someone out there can get the same help from it that I have gotten.I also realize that everyone is different and this is just my own personal experience but once again. Just about everyone I interact with whom I or other people consider to be ‘successful’.. my neighbors, professional athletes, business owners and wildly successful corporate executives all share these same beliefs. Almost down to a “T”. There has to be something to that. Try it out for yourself and let me know how your journey changes.Best Wishes,Bluehair Dave

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