#how many excuses can I make to draw top surgery scars

[fishblings]

Jay saw the shirt and Chip insisted on buying it and made him wear it LOL

#jrwi #just roll with it #just roll with it: riptide #gillion tidestrider #how many excuses can I make to draw top surgery scars

[vertebrae-entertainment]

1.25.23 - ‘Anchor’

Hi y’all! Its been a while since we did a proper blog update, so i figured it was time i talk about the thing people usually talk about when i bring up the main character of our fishing game: “whoah, he’s a big dude huh?”

Designing a tough guy

When me and Åge first discussed this project, I told them two things would make me automatically passionate about it. The first was that the main character should be a hot dude, and the second was that he should be transgender. Now, at a glance it doesn't seem that complicated (and it really isn’t). I like hot dudes, I like to draw bulk, and I am a trans man myself. Seeing as we are a two-person team, there’s no CEO to tell me what I can and cannot do, so naturally this was how the basic concept ended up.

Following from there I started designing. I took some amphibious inspiration, building him sort of like a frog- top heavy and with long legs, lending itself well to animating acrobatics. I wanted to make him tall and menacing, with a shadow covering his face to make him seem mysterious. At the same time I couldn't forget his fishing lifestyle. In the end he ended up somewhere between Batman and Popeye, with a sprinkle of elegance for good measure. It turned out to lend itself really well to build him like he was hunting monsters for a living, as that was what the game was turning into.

After settling on a color scheme of black, white and red, and taking inspiration from the simplistic designs of the UPA-revival movement for ease of animation, I figured he needed a tattoo- both to top off the design and hint at his marine connection. The anchor seemed obvious! A symmetrical object right on the middle, plenty of body hair, and our main man was ready for the screen!

The tough guy through a queer lens

I have a huge soft spot for towering tough guys, it's no secret. From Conan to the T-800, this hyper masculine archetype may seem dated and boring to others, but personally I cannot get enough of it. What kind of pressure does it take to make a man two steps from a monster? In an odd sort of way, I suppose I find it relatable. Furthermore, I always find masculinity as a topic lends itself really well to a transgender lens- it's like free nuance! It is one thing to be born into this cruel, limiting role.. But what does it tell of a character, their story, when it is a choice?

Some people express confusion learning that this fisherman is transgender, which drives the question: should you be able to tell? Frankly, I think there should be a hell of a lot more trans men in media before we tackle this question. Assuming someone can’t be genetically tall and bulky due to the gender assigned at birth is an awfully dated idea to begin with, in my humble opinion.

I am out here making what I  would like to see a trans man in a videogame do, which is be huge, wrestle monsters and kiss cute guys. A topic me and Åge started tackling back in the Liquid State days was the concept of a trans power fantasy- which is exactly what it reads on the tin. While there are few men (trans and not) who fit into the shapely mold of a hyper masculine, sword-swinging barbarian god, many admire these characters and live out their fantasies through them.

Besides, you can tell! We specifically make excuses to show off his shark-teeth patterned top surgery scars because we want people to know. Hey, are you a trans guy that likes bulky dudes? This one’s for you!

In conclusion

While my inspirations are deceptively simple and reasons are uncomplicated, I often catch myself thinking about this design. Is it realistic? Is it alienating? Is it empowering? Is it wise? Even if he was designed straight from a trans man’s gut with no worries about the greater question of good representation, I often find myself thinking as though the task of representing all trans men lies solely on my shoulders. It is an unrealistic, unfair expectation. I am not all trans men, neither is he. 

His design and background is a love letter to one of my favorite types of characters, no doubt mixed in with years of queer, man-loving brain soup. He is what I like, and what I want to see in a video game. At the end of the day, I can only hope that what I enjoy also appeals to others.

So far, all signs point to yes. :)

This is our fanart wall, right by my desk at our office. I put them right where i can see them every day. Thanks for the support, folks- it means the world to me.

-Hauk Want to know more? Follow us here or on Twitter for regular updates on this project- or click here to join our discord!

#untitled fishing game #gamedev #indie game #lgbt gaming #gay pride #trans pride #transmasc #queer #GameMaker #fishing game #fishing rpg #fishing platformer #character art #character design #character concept #devblog #indiedev #ever wanted to do hardass fishing as the most shredded trans guy in existence? this game is for you too

[its-short-for-jackalope]

the second prompt for Slowtember is wind, so I decided it was the perfect excuse to draw Zadock doing some magic and having their clothes flapping in a magical breeze and just looking epic... and maybe a little creepy. they have a talent for unsettling smiles.

I did not think I'd be able to get this one done in time since it got pretty detailed & complicated, but I finished this at 2 am, so I'm hardly late at all, lol! I am REALLY, REALLY proud of this one & absolutely in love with how it turned out!!! (I also had sooooo much fun doing the different little knickknacks in the background, so I forsee more drawings of Objects in my future, lol)

more chatter & my first public reveal of some necromancer lore below the cut! <3

okay so before I get to the Lore™ I have to finish gushing, haha.

at this point, I have filled several pages in my sketchbook with drawings and diagrams and notes about the magic in my story, including many sketches of souls & threads/tethers, but this was the Very First Time I got around to experimenting with drawing them digitally!!!

I was so excited, and I'm so beyond thrilled with the results. Like, guys, this is the closest I've ever been to showing just how I imagine it in my brain. 🤯

this is also like. the coolest thing I've ever drawn in my fucking life—and I have drawn some cool stuff lately!!!—so if nobody looks at this then you are all missing out, lmao. <3

alrighty, now that I am done experiencing a rare surge of self esteem, let's get to the Lore™

I have an entire section of a binder dedicated to how the magic in my story works, so this post will NOT be a super detailed guide whatsoever! I'd need SEVERAL posts for that, lmao. I just wanted to try and run through a bit of background stuff to provide some context for this artwork.

You will notice that I have included two versions of this drawing—one with the crazy glowy lights, and one without. This was not (just) to show off Duck's shirt and their badass top surgery scar that was unfortunately covered right up by their dang soul (😂😭💀), but for lore reasons!

There is only one kind of magic in this story, and it can only be gained as blessings from the god-like entity humans named Death; if the god agrees to give you power, It takes a tiny, tiny portion of Itself, Its essence, and puts that right into your soul. (It hurts, btw. In case you were wondering.)

The first blessing makes you Sensitive, allows you to perceive and sense other souls and to properly bear witness to magic. You aren't able to do any other magic besides seeing/sensing unless you receive more essence. Going back for additional blessing(s) is what makes you a necromancer (if you claim that title) and lets you do some real magic. But we'll get into that some other time.

For now, I will leave you with this handy little comparison thingie I threw together on my phone at 3 am instead of sleeping. <3

the regular folks are really missing out! poor bastards.

#i cant believe im actually Talking about my story/lore where people can read it 😳 #ive only told friends & family about this stuff #they will continue to get the juicy details (they have no choice) but i am once again reminding you that #if you have any questions about my ocs or the story or the worldbuilding i will happily talk about them #(prolly not EVERYTHING bc i gotta keep some secrets & spoilers to myself. but there's a lot i can share!!!) #and i would honestly be so so so happy to blab about this all day forever <3 #jack jabbers #my art #slowtember #slowtember23 #slowtember2023 #zadock severine #oc #original character #my ocs #necromancer story #necromancer & musician story #necromancer lore #necromancy #magic #worldbuilding #story lore #writing #magic system #souls #artists on tumblr #digital art #clip studio paint #csp #art

[lvlcurrent]

So it’s me the ask I’m going to be anonymous if you want me to reveal myself I will!! I just do it out of a safety precaution. So in my experience and speaking from most of my peers who are trans I don’t really like seeing scars or want people to out me out about that and it’s usually the most stereotypical thing people see about us and trans people. I think I worded that out okay, please excuse me as you can tell English is not my strong suit but what I’m trying to say there are some people (tiktok) who fetishize the idea of top scars and are some creators who put scars under there chests to pretend to be trans or fetishize those scars. It also causes gender dysphoria and panic attacks this is speaking on my experience and I don’t want to be selfish and speak on behalf of the whole trans community. Also there is not that much informed people about how to create good trans characters and not creating scars that are faded or barely visible due to medicine and due to healing process for a long time so seeing asmo having scars like that it, caused gender dysphoria to me seeing how his scars didn’t disappear or wouldn’t disappear so. Scars aren’t really portrayed good but considering he lives in a world of magic it would be understandable if he found something to make them fade away or change his gender. This is really long and very hard for me to write so I’m going to take a break and come back later so please if you think something is wrong or have questions I will happily answer!

it's fine you can stay anonymous.

i can understand you not wanting to see them, but your view of scars isnt universal and everyone views them differently (👋🏿)

to your point: i dont use tiktok so idk what's happening there but i wasnt fetishizing top surgery scars in any way i was just?? drawing them?? attributing whatever you saw there to my actions is.... idk but you shouldn't project that onto me

there are many ways to depict trans people. one depiction doesnt invalidate another (i wouldn't call myself uninformed in this area either tbh but whatever) it's true that the scars could heal/fade but i dont think them still being visible is a bad thing??

all i can say is sorry that the drawing triggered that reaction from you, and if seeing scars is a catylst for you I'll just tag them in the future

#ask. #anonymous #this is.. #hmmmm

[gumnut-logic]

Warnings: Virgil/Kayo

He was her idiot.

-o-o-o-

Her Idiot

He expected to find her in the gym.

But she wasn’t there.

A quick search of her room and most of the rest of the house proved she wasn’t there either.

He bit his lip. If Kayo didn’t want to be found, his chances weren’t good.

The hangars also failed to reveal his girlfriend and an hour later he started to worry.

“John?”

“I’m sorry, Virgil. Don’t ask, she has already scarred me for life last time I told Gordon where to find her when she was upset.”

“Gordon?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that explains the retaliation. What did she do?”

“I’m not going there. Trust me, you don’t want to either.”

“C’mon, John, I’m worried about her.”

There was silence at the other end of the line.

“Please, John, you can put all the blame on me. I just need to make sure she is all right.”

“You’ll fix my shower?”

“Your shower?”

“My shower.”

“When did it break?”

“Hasn’t broken yet, but I’m sure it will if I point you in the direction of a beach on the north-west side of the island.”

“Thanks, John.”

“I am hiding behind you, big brother. Your girl is scary.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“Hmph.”

Virgil signed off and, grabbing a hat and sunnies, set out for the northern side of the island.

It was late afternoon, but the sun was still at burning strength, so it wasn’t long before he was uncomfortably hot in his long shirt. So he shed it and tied it around his waist, leaving a thin tank top his only protection against the sea breeze.

it was wonderfully cool on his bare skin.

He made good time, jogging part of the way, keeping an eye out for their missing security specialist.

It hadn’t been a good day.

A cascade of poor luck had seen Alan, Kayo and a young woman trapped in a house during an aftershock in Japan. The ground beneath the house had fallen into the river that had undercut the foundations. Kayo had had to make a choice between saving her brother or saving the civilian.

She had tried for both.

Lost the civilian.

And only just managed to catch Alan, who had consequently swung into an exposed beam and gashed his leg open, severing an artery in the process.

It has been bad.

Her yell for help had torn at him, but he had been responsible for six other civilians at the time and had been unable to respond immediately.

Gordon had made it first on the scene. By the time Virgil had been able to make it to her side, she had shut off from the world, her expression ice as she held her wrenched shoulder.

She hadn’t said a word to anyone on the way to the hospital. Virgil stood beside her as Scott questioned the incident.

He sat beside her as they waited for Alan to get out of surgery.

And stood behind her as his little brother woke up.

Now, three days later, finally at home, his little brother was safe in bed in his room, and she had vanished.

He walked past the little cliff and beach they had dubbed ‘their beach’ and continued further around the island. The trail became rocky from that point onwards and he had to clamber over several spots where a path wasn’t really possible.

He still couldn’t find her.

“John?”

“If she breaks my furniture, you’re buying me all new.”

“John.” This had gone beyond a joke.

“Climb down to the beach, there is a small sea cave.”

“There is?” He clambered over jagged basalt, cursing under his breath as it scratched his palms.

“Haven’t you explored the island, Virgil?”

“Uh, been busy. And I don’t have the advantage of Tracymaps.com satellite view.”

“Perhaps you should come visit more often.”

“Yeah, sure, John.”

His brother’s vague snort answered that one fairly clearly. They both knew separating Virgil from Two was not a good idea, for anyone.

He hurdled over a last chunk of rock and his feet hit sand. The little beach was bleached coral white with a scattering of weathered basalt. The high tide line was sketched out with shell and debris from the last major storm, and in the cliff lining the shore the debris disappeared into a darkness where the cooling basalt had left a natural cave that the sea had since chewed on.

Virgil whispered into his comm. “John, is that cliff face stable?”

“Of course. Do you think I’d let our sister under it if it wasn’t?”

“Okay, I get it. Sorry, reflex thought.” A pause. “Does she come here often?”

“Virgil, I keep many secrets. It is my job. I’m already lined up for crucifixion having told you where she was, I’m not going to be drawn and quartered for extra fun.”

“A little over dramatic, don’t you think?”

“She’s your girlfriend, you tell me.”

“She’s your sister.”

“Exactly. I have no protection, despite those twenty-two thousand kilometres. Just remember that this is on your head. Thunderbird Five out.”

A mumble under his breath, “FAB.” And Virgil approached the cave.

It was small but deep. A handful of rough and weather-worn stalactites hung from the entrance like teeth.

“Kay?” His voice was eaten by the darkness, but there was a slight change in the shadows as her face turned to look at him. As his eyes adjusted, and he belatedly remembered to take off his sunnies, her figure, seated on a rock protrusion towards the back of the cave, became clear. “Honey?”

“I’m going to kill John.” It was muttered under her breath and he doubted he was supposed to hear it, but cave and acoustics did it for him.

“You do realise you have him terrified.”

“Obviously not terrified enough.”

“You can blame me. Leave him out of it.” It was firm, but it needed to be said.

She unfolded like a cat, her slim body straightening in the darkness. Her shorts hung low on her hips, her crop top leaving her belly bare. She’d obviously come out here for a run, but it hadn’t been enough. She stalked towards him. “Blame you?”

Despite himself, a spike of concern shot through him. She was half his size, but he knew she could take him on sheer skill alone. Sure he could pin her with his mass, but he doubted she would give him the opportunity.

But then this was Kay, the woman he loved.

“Blame me.”

The little cave blocked the sun and chilled his skin. He shivered.

She walked right up to him and barged into his personal space, simply looking up at him. Then simply stepped around and walked past without saying a word.

He turned to follow her and the sun blinded him for a crucial moment. He grabbed for his sunnies, but in that split second she was gone.

Damnit.

“Kay?” He stepped out onto the empty beach. “Kay!” How the hell had she done that? “For Christ’s sake, Kay, I’m worried about you!”

“You should be more worried about Alan.” Her voice was smooth as honey, from above and behind. He left a gouge in the sand as he spun, looking up to find her crouched on the cliff above the cave.

“Alan is fine.”

“Lucky boy.” She stood up, still cat-like and turning, began to climb further up the hill behind the beach.

“Kay, please!” He made for the rockfall that had allowed him onto the sand in the first place and threw himself up the climb. It appeared that his lot in life was to chase those he cared about. Scott knew how to throw a marathon when he didn’t want to talk. How the hell had he managed to end up dating his brother?

By dating his sister.

If his hands hadn’t been scrabbling over sharp basalt, it would have been a facepalm moment.

“It wasn’t your fault, Kay!”

“Yes, it was.” She was gaining distance, she was just too damn fast.

“No, it wasn’t.”

She stopped and turned towards him, anger in her eyes. “How was it not, Virgil? I let her die and I nearly got Alan killed.”

“It was shitty luck. Sometimes things just happen. You saved Alan. He is recovering.”

She stared at him, her lips thinning to almost non-existence.

And he saw it in her eyes. The fear, the horror and the anger, always the anger. He wanted to reach out and draw her into his arms, hold her tight and reassure her that it would be alright.

But it wasn’t alright. A woman had died.

Kay was out of reach.

And she turned away.

“Kay?”

“Leave me alone, Virgil.” She started climbing again.

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.” And he started clambering over rocks again.

She stopped and turned angrily again. “Why not? If you think being in a romantic relationship gives you the right to harass me, Virgil Tracy, think again.”

He straightened. “No, I care, Kay. That’s all. If you think I’m going to leave you out here to beat yourself up, you’re sorely mistaken.” A pause. “And if you think this is simply because of our current relationship, you’re obviously amnesiac.”

She glared at him as he continued to climb over the damn rocks. “You’re right. You’ve always been a pain in the ass.”

He chose to ignore that, and focussed on climbing without taking the skin off his palms.

Damn the sun was hot.

He could feel her eyes on him, but he refused to look up. Part of him was questioning his decision to come out here and butt in on her grief. Maybe she didn’t need him? Maybe she could handle herself. Maybe he was being an ass. But the thought of her suffering alone and berating herself, like he knew she was, for a twist of fate that would have burnt any of them...his heart just hurt.

So maybe he was being selfish. Maybe he was out here for his own reassurance that she was okay.

But goddamnit, he loved her and she shouldn’t have to face this alone.

“You’re bleeding.”

He couldn’t help it, he jumped. “How the hell do you do that?”

She was crouched on the rock just above him, her eyes scanning him up and down. A smirk appeared on her lips. “If I told you, I would have to kill you.” She nodded her head in the direction of his right hand. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch. I didn’t think to bring my gloves and climbing equipment.”

“You don’t need to follow me.”

“Yes, I do.” And he continued to climb until he was eye to eye with her.

“Why?” It was whispered.

“Because I love you.”

“You are going to use that as an excuse for everything, aren’t you.”

“Possibly.” He sat on the rock next to her and stared out at the ocean. “I remember a beautiful young girl hiding behind her father’s legs, staring out at the five of us. You had a bruise on your cheek and you were afraid to speak to any of us for days. Dad said you had fallen and hurt yourself.” He looked sideways at her. “But that is not what really happened is it?”

She was staring wide-eyed at him, fear in that beautiful green.

“Having the Hood as a member of your family couldn’t have been easy.”

“No.” It was forced from her, a rush of exhaled breath. “Virgil, don’t.”

He stopped. Every muscle in her body was wound like a spring. Flight or fight was on her face and he feared he had gone too far, touched topics that should never be touched.

“You’re not alone anymore, Kay.” He didn’t dare reach out, fearful that she would flee.

But she simply turned away, staring out at the ocean. “I know.” Whispered. “But I can’t afford...”

He waited.

She looked at him and the fear was back. “I can’t.”

He held out an arm, simply offering himself. “You don’t have to.”

Her eyes bounced from his to his arm, obviously assessing what was on offer. There was a battle in her gaze.

“Come here, love.”

The war flickered over her expression again. “You really are a pain in the ass.”

He dared to smile just a little. “But I’m your pain in the ass.”

“Yes, you are.” It was whispered as if it was a decision made. She dropped her legs over the edge of the rock and sidled up next to him.

He let his arm drop around her shoulders and drew her in gently. Just like he had wanted to do since he had set eyes on her. Leaning over he kissed her hair. “Love you.”

“I know.”

He just squeezed her tighter.

They sat there as the sun headed towards the horizon. No words said. At one point, she unwrapped his arm from around her and placed his hand in her lap, turning it over to expose the scratches on his palm. They were minor, but she glared at him anyway.

He shrugged.

She wrapped his hand in both of hers and kissed his knuckles.

He grinned.

“You idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes.

But she didn’t let go.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #kayo kyrano #virgil/kayo #I have a fondness for this one #nuttyfic reblog

[this-is-my-main-i-follow-from]

I already wrote this post, but I’m coming backk up to the top to put a cut bc it’s p long.

my brother is singing falsettos out loud & I’ve already had a stressful day bc I’ve done nothing (lack of structure & lack of productivity gives me really bad anxiety) & he’s either singing out of key & out of time, or it just sounds really bad without the music. He’s the only one who can hear the music bc HeadPhones. & also the falsettos is probably really bad for my mom bc she’s mad that dad left her, esp bc the house is a mess & stressing her out & she needs to go grocery shopping & he used to do that “but now he doesn’t because he stopped loving [her]”, so my bro singing fucking falsettos is really bad. I can’t cook supper bc I don’t have a recipe & the stuff is still frozen & idk what kind of dough I should make & besides the kitchen is a mess & he won’t fucking clean it. I mean it’s also partially my fault bc I’m a lazy adhd mofo, but it’s his job today & my job to cook. I need to get into the kitchen & cook before mom & my OTHER brother get home from shopping but I can’t bc he’s just drawing & singing & the singing is so annoying- I was trying to listen to a thing but I couldn’t fricking hear it bc adhd auditory processing disorders, it didn’t have fucking subtitles or anything & it was not great audio quality & I couldn’t differentiate between the words he was singing, & I couldn’t hear the quiet parts when they overlapped with his singing. I wasn’t going to write all of this I was just going to say that his singing makes me want to cut myself, but apparently there’s a lot more to it. also I don’t want to end up cooking while mom is home bc I don’t have any drawings on my arm & mom is fucking nosy & wants to see my scars so I have to work extra hard at hiding them but even with ppl who arent nosy, like my little bro I don’t like them out, but the longer my older bro sits there fucking yelling out of key, the longer I’m delayed & I won’t be able to cook. By this point, I won’t even be able to cook the meal I was planning on, I have so much shit to do I’ve missed so much & I’m so behind, but I’m so incapable of doing anything like i can’t do chores bc I use the excuse I have homework but I never fucking do my homework so I’m also behind in school & even with the stuff I like like dnd & writing & violin I can’t do, & I skipped online kung fu & I’ve been slacking off under so many excuses but I’m just being lazy & anxious & I also gained so much weight & it makes my body feel so bad & i know this isn’t my body’s happy weight & being fat makes my boobs bigger & I’m fucking trans & I hate them I even tried cutting them off myself & ended up waiting 15 hours to go to the hospital so that I wouldn’t make mom suspicious (& they put me through triage really fast bc apparently I did a lot of dammage- I was planning on giving myself stitches, but my icepack melted & I couldn’t numb my body anymore so they’re lucky I even went to the hospital, it was bad bc I had to walk 20 minutes either way weighted down with a fucking toolbox & I waited outside in the cold bc my phone died & thus:) mom found out anyways so I lied to her about going to buy drugs bc obv /that’s/ a better idea than telling her I went to the hospital & SHUT UP UNNAMED OLDER BROTHER ok he’s between songs now. If I told mom I went to the hospital she would ask why & be like “y didn’t u tell me” & “r u cutting urself again” & like yeah bitch I have been for a while ik the social worker said I should tell you a codeword, but I don’t do that bc u blame yourself or cry or want to talk about & I yes I fucking cut myself what of it? Yeah I tried fucking removing my own left breast, bc u arent’ supportive of medical transitioning, at least not when they’re ur kids. Ur mad at dad bc he got a tattoo bc it’s  body modification & thus uncatholic, but u’ll support ur catholic university friends gettin gtheir eldest daughter a reduction bc her boobs are big & painful- bitch what’s so different about me? I went so far as to try giving myself a reduction, you say you’re concerned about me mutilating my body & making bad decisions, but, you know what? because of this I have legitimately mutilated my body, & made a dangerous & bad decision. isn’t autosurgery proof that I need top surgery bc it’s a danger to my life if I don’t get it? The government is able to pay for it I think & bc it’s a danger to my health (& i get pain & I can’t work out & I get back pain & my skin pulls & hurts & if I jump my tissues yank my skin & it hurts & it puts so much strain on my back, & binding gives me pain, so I need a reduction as much as your catholic university friends’ daughter does) I should be abe to qualify. Even if I don’t qualify yet & have to wait two years, at least that would be the start of two years now instead of in a long time, I mean, mum, you say you want me to talk about it & you’re afraid I’m rushing into it? guess what? They are too! the healthcare system will make me do a bunch of shit to qualify, & tbh, I think that they are better qualified to talk to me about surgery & what I really want than you.  Fucking finally, I hope my brother is done his play & finally shuts up. TA MA DE FUCK NO HE’S STARTING AGAIN CROWS DAMN IT CROWS CROWS CROWS & MAGGOTS I”m not even gonna be able to make anythiung for supper & i have no ideas besides the long one which I don’t have time for anymore. fine. whatever. I’ll go SH in my room. I won’t even work on fanfic bc I’m too fucking adhd & broken. I fucking hate it when ppl say “we;re all a bit adhd” like no bitch shut the fuck up, we all struggle with the things adhd ppl struggle with sometimes, but adhd is a neurological condition that makes those struggles so commonplace & intense that it affects our everyday lives. & no. adhd does not mean we’re more creative. Even if we do have more likeliihood of coming up with funky ideas, most of us struggle to articulate them or understand them, or we forget them as soon as they come. you’re not adhd bc you’re a little more creative, youre just an ableist asshole & fuck you. adhd isn’t creativity its’ a fucking disability. I’m directing this at those fucking parents who have the lovely nd daughter who gave me a hug, but you two are motherfuckers. Yeah I get thaat adhd, once you learn how to mannage it, can be useful, & I understand that part of the reason this disability is so hard is bc society isn’t designed for it (like a lefty using right hand scissors), but ot’s still fuxking REAL & if you can’t deal with it yet, it 100% is a disanbility. OK? Ok. I had smth I was going to say earlier, but I got distracted by smth else that made me mad, so I never got around to it. Youo know what I love? I fucking love how tumblr has next to no character limit so I can just type as much as I want. You know what I don’t like? I’ll probably get deactivated by some SJW maggot-eaten crow-fucker who thinks that my rant& mentioning my failed ed & my self harm (oh fuck shut up, my brother is chanting “dumb”) so anyways some fucking sjw fuck-hole will report this post & my blog & I’ll be deactivated for simply getting angry on tumblr. It’s fucking tumblr! You used to be able to say whatever you needed to say! But now, esp us ppl w EDs, have no safe place to talk about our issues (at least, not w/o fear of gettin gterminated for “encouraging” EDs, when we’re just trying to help ourselves). Anywasy, sorry for all the swears & go se, I swear when I’m mad. I’m gonna go do smth, idk what. Can’t be anything productive, Can’t even be unproductive stuff I like, like watching youtubem, or smth cathartic like playing fiddle. I might just go & bleed a bit & ignore everything for a while. I nkow that the world will still be stressful when I get back, & I’ll still have to cook, & I’ll still be behind in school, & mom will still be broken-hearted over dad, but I’m feeling calmer just thinking about it so that’s what I’ll do. 

#dom personal #vent #various triggers

[desotosykes]

The Comedown || Delia

Summary: DeSoto finds his way to Celia’s flat after leaving Roscoe at the hospital.

Trigger Warnings: This is mainly hurt/comfort? Good things, not bad things. Mentions of revenge, minor talk of past trauma, tending to minor wounds.

Timestamp: September 10, 2019

@amoderngorgon

DESOTO:

Leaving Roscoe at the hospital was the right choice. Des repeated that to himself as he ditched the van that had no doubt been stolen and made his way to Celia’s apartment. Rita was there to make sure that he got through surgery okay and would no doubt at least call once she got some news. It was DeSoto’s job to make sure this didn’t happen again.

Which meant getting in contact with the right people and making sure the perimeter was okay. 

First thing, however, was making sure Celia was okay. The attack was meant for him in a way. At the very least it was because of him. His inability to do what was required of him. He wouldn’t put it past the idiots to try and do something to his girl. 

Knocking on her door, he barely waited for her to pull the door open before barging in. The minute his eyes landed on her, he searched for marks or bruises or anything that would mean she was anything other than okay. When he was sure that nothing had happened to her, he pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers in a rough kiss.

CELIA:

Celia had been finishing up baking a fresh batch of cookies. Mostly because she’d been craving it, but also because she was considering bringing DeSoto some. It was a good excuse to go see him again, even though they’d just seen each other the other day. She couldn’t really help herself. She wanted to spend more time with him.

She had pulled the last tray out of her oven, setting it down on her countertop when she heard a knock on the door. Tossing the oven mitts aside, Celia started for the door, opening it wide and blinking in surprise at the sight of DeSoto.

“De-” she started, and then startled as he pushed right in, looking for something...or checking her for something. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What’s going on?” She questioned, even as he drew her into his arms and kissed her. Her knees went a little weak, and she wrapped her arms around DeSoto, leaning into the kiss. He’d explain, she was sure. But she wouldn’t complain about being held in his arms until he did.

DESOTO:

He kissed her deeply, biting at her lips and gripping her hips tightly. He needed it. Needed her. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he could feel the fatigue and fear trying to creep in. Somehow he needed to combat it. To focus on something else entirely so that he didn’t have to deal with any of it. Celia was a welcome distraction. Would she let him lose himself in her? A part of him didn’t think so. She’d want answers and he couldn’t exactly blame her.

Eventually he pulled away from her, his breath coming in short pants as he ran his hands all over her. He needed to make sure. Needed hard evidence that she was fine. When she didn’t wince, he pulled away from her and shook his head. His head was a whirlwind of emotion. He wanted to sleep, he wanted to cry, he wanted to kill. He couldn’t do any of those things, however. Not right now at least.

Turning away from Celia, he raked a hand through his hair roughly and tugged at the locks. He hated this. Hated all of it. Why couldn’t they have just left them alone? Why did they have to come now? “You have to-- Yous hafta stay with me. It ain’t safe anymore. Yous ain’t safe. Shoulda fuckin’ known better. They’s gonna try and hurt yous t’get to me. M’a idiot. Fuckin’-- Fuckin’...” he trailed off as his throat constricted with tears of all things. 

Fuck he was stupid.

CELIA:

The way he kissed her was with a sort of desperation or something that she hadn’t ever really experienced. It was overwhelming, and a little concerning. Celia opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again, still looking befuddled as he ran his hands all over her body somehow. As if he was expecting that she might be hurt or something.

DeSoto started drawing away from her, and her eyebrows furrowed again. “Are you alright?” She tried again, hoping that maybe now that he’d confirmed she wasn’t hurt she could get him to say...something. Anything. Explain why he’d come so abruptly. Celia would never turn down a visit from him, of course, but he just seemed so...thrown.

“What?” Celia repeated again, staring at him like he might have grown a second head. “DeSoto...who? No one’s going to hurt me.” She definitely had an advantage over any attacker that might come at her anyway. She stepped forward again, wrapping her arms around DeSoto again. “You’re no idiot, but you’re not making a lot of sense here. Hey.” She pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s okay. Why don’t you come sit down with me and we can talk.”

DESOTO:

He was shaking as her arms wound around him once more. Everything was falling apart. All of it. And there wasn’t anything DeSoto could do to change it. It was all out of his hands. Tonight served as a reminder that he’d never be his own person. He’d never be free of his father and his life in New York. And because of it he was going to lose Roscoe and probably Celia. They’d do whatever they had to to ensure DeSoto did exactly what he was supposed to do. And when it was all over? They’d take care of him. 

It was all too much for him to deal with.

The adrenaline was finally gone and DeSoto felt himself breaking down as he buried himself in Celia. He felt weak, broken, helpless. He’d never felt that way. Not since his father had broken his arm because he’d stood up to the man for beating Roscoe. Everything he did from that moment onward was to get rid of that feeling. How fitting it was his father that brought that feeling back so intensely. 

His traitorous tears soaked through the fabric of Celia’s shirt as his chest heaved. It was near impossible to catch his breath as the feeling took over him so totally. He felt stupid, which only added fuel to the moisture leaking from his eyes. 

CELIA:

Celia was a little thrown to see him so upset. She could actually feel him trembling against her. She wasn’t sure what she should do. She’d never seen DeSoto like this. What she could do at least was to hold him, try to support him the same way that he’d supported her when she’d told him about what had happened to her. What else could be done when he didn’t explain?

She could feel the wetness of tears against her shirt, and her heart sunk a little more. DeSoto always appeared so strong to her. So untouchable somehow in her mind. He gave off the energy of the toughest person, but even the strongest needed to let something go. And honestly she was relieved that he felt he could come to her.

“It’s going to be okay. Des...it’s going to be alright.” She reached up with one hand and started rubbing gentle circles in his back, much like her mother used to do when she was a child and woke up from a nightmare. It had always soothed her, and maybe she could try and soothe him a little with it too. “Go ahead and cry all you need.” She pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Are you hurt? I don’t know what’s going on but I...I have a first aid kit. And then, when I’m sure you’re unharmed or patched up, you and I will curl up in my bed together. Alright?”

DESOTO:

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there leaning against Celia. Too long his mind supplied him in form of answer. Eventually the tears stopped and his body quit shaking but Des still stood there, breathing deeply in an attempt to collect himself. He’d been put through too much in one night. Forced to deal with too many emotions. DeSoto was a simple man. Only dealt with anger and annoyance or happiness. He didn’t get complex and yet he had been forced to today. 

Finally pulling away from her, he scrubbed a hand down his face and winced. Okay. Apparently he had gotten hurt. It hadn’t occurred to him that he had there had been so much adrenaline in his system. 

“I can’t sleep. Too much t’do.” He explained as he ran a hand through his hair. He felt calmer now, less frantic. It allowed him to focus on what he needed to do, what phone calls he needed to make. “Where’s the first aid? Think it’s only a few cuts. It ain’t that bad. Not compared t’—.”

CELIA: 

"I didn't say you had to sleep," Celia replied, though that wasn't all that important. The important thing was that she take care of her guy. He was shaken up, and she had to find a way to put him more at ease. At least to some degree.

She leaned in to kiss his cheek. "I'll get it. Don't worry. You come sit on the couch." If he was cut up then she'd rather be bleed on the couch. Even though the idea of him having any cuts or injuries upset her. She didn't even really want to let go of him, but somebody had to get the first aid kit.

"Sit." She ordered, finally regretfully drawing away from him to go to her bathroom, rummaging in her cabinet under the sink before she pulled the whole thing out, quickly heading back over to DeSoto. She glanced him up and down. "Okay, strip. Let me see where you've been hurt."

DESOTO:

DeSoto nodded at the command, moving to the couch only a moment later. His body shifted to autopilot then, focusing on the familiar routine of getting patched up. How many times had he found himself in Tony’s office cut and bruised to hell? How many broken bones had he endured throughout his life? The answer was too many to count. But the routine was always the same. Sit. Strip. Don’t move. Don’t wince. It’ll only hurt for a minute. 

Before Celia had even stepped back into the room, DeSoto had his shirt off and thrown to the side. If he’d been in his right mind he would have worried what she thought. Aside from the ornate tattoo across his chest there was a litany of scars, both new and old. Bruises had started to form from the events of the night. He knew the worst would be on his back from where he’d been kicked and then held down. 

“S’been worse,” he muttered, not looking up at Celia. He didn’t want to see the look of abject horror on her face. She’d seen him naked but that had been different. He wasn’t battered and broken on her couch needing patching up. “I can get it.”

CELIA:

Celia considered herself lucky now that she was a scientist in origin. She could push back a little of the emotion to focus on the rational, reasonable conclusion. It was upsetting, obviously, to see her boyfriend in pain like he was. She wanted to spare him any more of it if she could.

She made her way over to the couch, sitting down next to him as her eyes carefully scanned his body, searching for the worst hurts that he'd received here. It made her a little sick, though Celia could push past that to focus on what needed to be done. Namely patch up her guy.

"No. Let me," Celia insisted, opening up her kit and considering his injuries carefully. "This seems bad enough to me, and I don't think I'd feel right if I didn't try to do something to help you." She reached for some of the gauze there and disinfectant, figuring that would be the part to start with. Clean up some of those wounds.

"Be honest with me Des. Which one is the worst?" Celia was determined to fix him up. And then...well. She didn't know, but she wanted to find every last person who'd hurt her guy and turn them to stone. Something she never would have considered using offensively. But it hurt to see DeSoto like this.

DESOTO:

Celia didn’t flinch when she saw him and— well, it was a start, honestly. Didn’t bother him nearly as badly as it thought it might. Instead he watched her as she pulled out gauze and disinfectant wipes. If he thought hard enough he could picture Tony there and scolding him for getting into another fight. DeSoto would wince and Tony would tell him not to be a baby. He’d be fine. Everything would be fine. 

Her voice brought him back to himself yet again and he looked at her in confusion for a moment before shrugging. “Dunno,” he said plainly, looking at her with a frown. And it wasn’t exactly a lie. His whole body was sore but there was still too much adrenaline or shock or something in his system that was blocking those pain receptors. It’d be hell in the morning but he couldn’t seem to think or care about it in the moment. 

“Should probably shower first. S’how it usually works.” He spoke slowly, going back to being a teen and hopping up on Tony’s table. He’d always made him get cleaned up first. Or washed off the areas himself. Griped about having cuts get infected because they weren’t clean… Or maybe that’s what the disinfectant was for. “M’sorry yous got involved with this. M’gonna make sure they pay and that yous safe.”

CELIA:

It made her stomach churn to see just how dazed and out of focus her boyfriend was. For a moment she felt a horrible wash of anger seep into her, imagining how she would find the people who’d hurt him and turn them to stone. But just as quickly as she felt it, she had to let it go. DeSoto needed her, and he needed her to be level headed.

“I’m going to choose not to think too hard about how often this happens for you to have a usual...but the disinfectant here is to make sure no germs get into any cuts. I’m not sure a shower is necessary.” And she wanted to make sure he didn’t fall over and hurt himself on the way to it. Celia was capable of many things, but she was fairly sure she wouldn’t be able to support all his weight for very long.

Celia studied him for another moment before she reached for the wipes, leaning forward to gently wipe around what looked to be the worst cuts. “It might sting a bit, but it should soon stop and just help you recover.” She narrated what she was doing, because if she didn’t she might start to think hard about what had happened to him and...it made her unhappy.

“Don’t be. I’d much rather you came to me when you were hurt than have to deal with it yourself.” Honestly Celia was glad that he felt he could come to her. Even if it hurt to see him like this. She leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Put some of these on the other cuts here. I’m going to get some ice for your...well for the eye and your back. Okay?”

DESOTO:

It was easy for DeSoto to fade away as Celia worked over the cuts that had been inflicted. The disinfectant stung but not enough to bring him out of the darkness that threatened to consume him. It was different from whatever happened at the warehouse. There was no rage, no demon waiting to be released. It was just a strange, relaxing floating feeling that he wanted to continue to sink into. If he could just stay there, tethered by Celia’s soft voice, he’d be okay...

His eyes slipped closed as his fingers twisted into fists on the couch cushions. As much as he wanted to slip into that darkness, he knew he had to stay present. Disappearing wouldn’t help him or Roscoe. Not now that the family was actively coming for them. The message had been more than clear. They were waiting for a dead body. If he didn’t deliver that what happened tonight would pale in comparison. They wouldn’t toy with them. One would be taken care of and then the other. 

There was a slight pressure on his cheek and Des opened his eyes to see Celia pull away from him. She was… abnormally calm.  Either she was in shock and going through the motions just as he or she was an absolute goddess at compartmentalizing. Regardless he nodded and took the disinfectant from her and looked down at his chest in an attempt to figure out what had already been done. Not seeing anything he moved to his arms and hands, wincing only slightly as he cleaned them enough for bandages. 

“Yous ain’t gotta,” he insisted as he heard her rummaging around in the kitchen. “It’ll go away in a few weeks. Always does.”

CELIA:

Celia returned relatively quickly, frozen peas and another thing of frozen mixed veggies with her. She sat down next to him again, gently placing one bag of frozen food against his bruised back. The other she offered up to him. “This one should be for your eye,” she suggested, glancing his body over to check and see if she had missed any more of his injuries.

“I don’t have much else I can do for you DeSoto. Just...let me take care of you.” Celia couldn’t imagine doing anything else really, at this point. He was hurt, and she wanted to make sure he was okay. She leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Anyway, icing this may only soothe it a little.”

She felt altogether unhelpful. But at least this way she could pretend that she was doing something to at least make things a little better. “Do you want to stay here or come to bed with me?”

DESOTO:

He winced as the bag of frozen food was pressed against his back. The cold seeped into him quickly, working to soothe the tension in his back. He’d be sore as fuck in the morning but— he’d deal with that when he got there. And maybe Celia was right. Maybe the cold would soothe his muscles and the pain wouldn’t be too annoying in the morning. 

The other bag sat in his hand as he all but slumped over. His forearms rested on his knees as he tried to fight back fatigue and worry and the ever present need to move. There was still so much that needed to be done. Things that needed to be cleaned up, people that needed to be contacted, messages that needed to be sent. Nothing, arguably, that could be done while he sat on Celia’s couch. But her touch was soothing in a way that he didn’t understand and the urge to stay with her even stronger than the pull to keep moving.

“Bed,” he said after a long moment, gaze still focused on a spot in front of him before he turned to look at Celia. Perhaps he needed to rest. To get rid of the exhaustion that demanded he succumb to it. He watched her for a moment before moving to rub his thumb against her cheek. “Sleep sounds good.” He gave himself a small nod before leaning in to press his lips to hers.

CELIA:

Sleep did sound good. And hopefully it would be something that would help him recover faster. She didn’t enjoy seeing him in pain. And maybe now that his bruises had sort of been helped in some way, she’d be able to get him into her bed. All she had to do was make herself support him for the stretch of hallway. She could do that.

Celia returned the kiss softly, stroking her thumbs over his cheeks before she reluctantly drew away and got to her feet. “Okay then. Come on.” She reached for his hand, helping him to his feet with her. “We’ll curl up in my bed and I will not let you out of it until you’ve had a full night’s sleep.”

She knew she didn’t have any real control over this, but that much she would make sure of. He needed rest. She led the way over to her bedroom, turning toward him as soon as they were in. “Do you need anything else before bed. Some water maybe?”

DESOTO:

It was easy for DeSoto to follow Celia into her bedroom. He was still mainly on autopilot, following after her as if he was a five year old being ushered into his bedroom by Tony after he’d re-set one of his broken bones. Things were easier that way after he blacked out. He didn’t have to think. Only had to go through the motions of everything. 

The minute he stepped into the room, however, his brows furrowed together. There was so much yellow. The walls, her bed, her blankets. It was bright and welcoming but so much. His rooms had always been… well sort of plain. White walls with dark wood furniture. His bed had just had your typical masculine sheets and comforters. The only decoration he’d ever invested in were his collections of weapons and his clothes. All of which littered every corner of his room. This was almost jarring.

It didn’t stop him from stripping down the rest of the way; leaving him clad in nothing but his boxers as he looked over at her. “Nah. Just wanna sleep,” he al but slurred out as he looked at the bed longer. At least it looked comfortable. Maybe even more comfortable than the beds at The Tipton. Been awhile since he’d slept on something truly comfortable. He waited only a few seconds more before he crawled into the bed, a low hiss of pain leaving him as his back muscles flexed as he situated himself.

Instinctively he held the covers up for Celia, curling as best he could around her once she’d settled next to him.

CELIA:

Celia nodded, moving forward and tugged off her own clothes, leaving bra and underwear on and then debated over going to her closet and putting on her usual night shirt. But then she decided she didn’t want to keep DeSoto waiting there for very long and opted to just slide in next to him, her arms cautiously wrapping around him.

She didn’t want to touch anything that really hurt for him, but she also couldn’t help but want to hold him, to reassure herself that he was perfectly fine. He would recover from these injuries. Celia leaned in to kiss him softly, settling against her pillows. “Goodnight DeSoto,” she murmured, gently running a hand through his hair to soothe him and maybe herself a little at the same time. 

She watched his chest rise and fall with every breath, and she was sure she’d be up a while still just to be sure. But at least DeSoto was safe and in her bed.

#&&celia&& #&&delia&& #OTP: mine #otp: i want you #&&new york meets swynlake&&

[flowerfan2]

Ain’t No Sunshine

McDanno, M, 2600 words, A03

Since Steve almost died, Danny’s been as attentive as ever.  But something is missing, and it hurts worse than any gunshot wound.

Set after the end of season 6.

**********

Steve leans back against the pillows and pushes the sheet down to his waist, exposing the healing scars from his gunshot wounds and transplant surgery.  He knows Danny has a matching scar, though he hasn’t seen it in weeks.  Which is sort of the problem.

 Not that he’s got a thing with scars, necessarily, or that he wishes he could make sure that Danny was healing okay, which, yeah, there’s a little of that.  But mostly it’s that he hasn’t seen much of Danny’s body at all lately, or vice versa.

 Although this thing between them was relatively new before the mess that nearly took Steve’s life, they had fallen into a comfortable routine.  It honestly hadn’t changed much from before they got together – evenings hanging out in Danny’s living room or on the lanai at Steve’s followed by half-hearted protests at spending the night together.  Except their debates about casework and early mornings were resolved with kisses and lazy sex, instead of just more beer.

 But things have been decidedly different since Danny landed the plane on the beach, saving Steve’s life by not drowning him and then doing it again by giving up half of an internal organ.  Sure, they still spend time together, although a little less so now that Danny has returned to work and Steve is on the bench for a few more weeks.  But Danny is as attentive as ever, checking in with Steve multiple times during the day, making sure Steve takes his meds, and coming home as quickly as he can in the evenings.

 It would all be fine, except that it’s not.  For one, their sex life seems to have disappeared along with the now forbidden beer. Now Steve isn’t actually an animal, and he doesn’t actually need sex per se.  But it’s not the lack of sex itself that’s the problem. It’s the distance that lies between them at night, when Danny tucks Steve into bed and then goes out to the couch to read a book, claiming that he doesn’t want to keep Steve awake with his tossing and turning.  It’s the hurt that flares up when Steve reaches for Danny and his partner turns away.

 It’s the ache in his chest when Steve lies in bed like he’s doing now, freshly showered and shaved, waiting in vain for his best friend to slide under the covers and smile at him, make some stupid remark about the craziness of their day, and curl up against his chest to let sleep overtake him. 

 Steve has tried to talk about it with Danny, but the words just won’t come.  He thinks Danny feels it too.  Danny’s great at powering through, at shouldering the world’s burdens, and he has apparently decided that Steve’s recovery is on the list of things he’s responsible for.  He doesn’t even complain – Danny never complains about things that really matter, like caring for Grace and Charlie and going out of his way to help his 5-0 Ohana. Sure, he’ll gripe about the traffic on the way to the doctor’s office, but he’s never once failed to accompany Steve to an appointment.  Taking care of the people in his life is a labor of love for Danny, and Steve is grateful for it.  But it doesn’t take the place of what’s missing.

 Steve hears Danny turn off the shower, and readies himself for the inevitable – Danny shuffling through the bedroom, sleep pants already on, saying a quick good night before excusing himself to do paperwork in the study, or unload the dishwasher.  Steve can’t help but let a bitter laugh escape – his kitchen has never been this clean.

 “Take your meds?” Danny asks, rubbing a towel over his hair and turning to get a clean t-shirt out of the drawer.

 “Yup.”

 “Okay, well, Jerry said he was sending me some more information on that weird break-in at the marina, so I’m going to-”

 “It can wait, Danny.” Steve sits up in bed and gazes at Danny, trying to keep the pleading tone out of his voice.

 “Nah, it’s okay, I’m not sleepy.  It’s no big-”

 “Danny.  I mean it.  It can wait.”

 Danny must hear something in Steve’s tone, and he turns to really look at him.  “Steve, is something wrong?”

 Steve resists the urge to back away.  It’s time. “You know it is.”

 A flicker of fear passes over Danny’s face, and then he’s back to teasing again.  “If this is going to be another argument about going surfing this weekend, the doctor has been perfectly clear about that, Steven, and I for one am in total agreement.”

 Danny’s got his hand on his hip, but in the silence that follows his attempt to diffuse the moment, he lets it fall.

 “Steve?”

 Steve swallows hard, and pats the bed next to him.  “Come here.”

 Danny looks like he’s going to protest, but thinks better of it and sits sideways on the bed, his feet still on the floor.  “What’s going on?”

 “We need to fix this.”

 Danny looks around the room. “Fix what?”

 Steve huffs.  “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

 They’re so far removed from okay that Danny doesn’t even attempt to make a joke about how everything is harder in bed, or any of the ridiculous things he might have said if this evening was going where it would have, before…

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Steve,” Danny says quietly.

 “You’re a terrible liar.”

 Danny stands up and waves his hands, getting upset.  “Then why don’t you come out and say it?” he demands.  “Stop playing games with me, I can’t take any more of this.  I’m trying as hard as I can and if it isn’t enough…” he trails off, and Steve catches a glimpse of tears shining in his eyes.

 He’s out of bed and standing in front of Danny in an instant.  “Hey, that’s not what I meant at all, not at all.”  Steve takes Danny gently by the shoulders, relief flooding him when Danny doesn’t pull away.  But Danny still won’t meet his eyes.

 “Danny, do you think I’m breaking up with you?”

 Danny shakes his head, but a tear escapes and slides its way down his cheek.  Steve swipes it with a finger, and turns Danny’s face to his.

 “I’m not, okay?  That’s the farthest thing from my mind.  I love you.”

 “I love you, too,” Danny chokes out, scrubbing a hand over his face.  He takes a deep breath, and steps back, out of Steve’s hold.  “Then what is it?  What’s wrong?”

 Steve looks down at his hands, now empty, and motions at the space Danny has just put between them.  “This.”

 Danny’s face closes off. He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. “You’re still healing.”

 “Hardly.”

 “Hardly, he says.  Haven’t you been listening to the doctors?  It will take months before you’re one hundred percent.  Months.” Danny paces as he speaks, hands waving.  “I’m not going to risk hurting you, Steven.  I’m not.  I won’t.”

 “But you are.”

 Danny’s head snaps up, his eyes flashing.  “What?”

 “You don’t think this is hurting us?”  Steve steps closer to Danny and holds out his hand.  “I miss you.  I miss us. And I’m willing to bet you miss it too. We can’t keep doing this.”

 Danny presses a hand over his mouth, face crumbling.  “Steve…”

 “Come here,” Steve says, and wraps Danny in a hug.  Danny relents, burying his face against Steve’s shoulder.  Steve keeps his hold light, one hand on the back of Danny’s head, the other softly circling his back.  “Will you let me try something, Danny?  Will you trust me?”

 Danny lifts his head, his blue eyes wide.  “Always.”

 “All right.”

 Steve leads Danny back to bed, and Steve arranges them so that they’re stretched out on their sides. They’re facing each other, not quite touching, which is fine with Steve for what he has in mind.  Cuddling will come later, hopefully, if all goes well.

 “I want you to know there’s nothing to worry about.  That I’m okay.”

 Danny bites his lip.  “I don’t know how to stop worrying.  In the plane… you told me you were dying.  You actually said it.  And you were shot…”

 “It’s not the first time, not for either of us.”  Regrettably, this is true.  They’ve both been shot far too many times.

 “I’m aware,” Danny says, but with no heat in it.  “Enough so that I could tell it wasn’t like the other times.  This was bad, Steve.”

 Steve takes Danny’s hand from where it’s resting on the bed between them, and tangles their fingers together.  “I want you to try something.”

 Danny gives him a questioning look.  “Okay.”

 Steve takes Danny’s hand and places it on his chest, right on the long scar from the transplant.  “Check it out.  I’m okay.”

 Danny is trying not to pull his hand back, Steve can tell.  

 “You’re not going to hurt me, Danny.  I promise.”

 Danny relaxes his hand, letting it lie carefully over Steve’s skin.  Steve puts his hand on top of Danny’s and presses down, but this is too much for Danny and he whips his hand away.

 “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

 Steve gives him a moment, and then takes his hand again and puts it right back.  “I’m all healed there, Danny.  There’s no pain when you do that.  Nothing’s going to break, or bleed.  Not there, and not on the others.”  Steve moves his hand to the messy gunshot wounds.  “You were there for all the doctor’s visits, you know this.”

 Danny closes his eyes, letting out a long breath.  “I should know it.  But it’s hard to forget what I saw.  There was so much blood…”

 Steve knows he passed out in the plane, knows Danny thought he might actually be dead, that they couldn’t find his pulse.  Knows that Danny didn’t give up, risking his life to land the plane on the beach, hoping he could save Steve.  And he did. Steve isn’t going to give up, either.

 “Try, Danny.”  Steve runs his hand up Danny’s arm, slides his fingers under the sleeve of his t-shirt, and then back down again.  Danny shivers, the gentle touch somehow more intimate than any they’ve shared in weeks.  “Please.”

 Danny nods, opening his eyes and meeting Steve’s.  “Okay.”

 Danny starts moving his hand, looking down at Steve’s body as he does.  He circles the scars, then touches them, checking up with glances at Steve’s face as if to make sure he really isn’t hurting him.  Then, to Steve’s surprise, Danny leans over and kisses each one, gently tracing the puckered gunshot wounds on his side and shoulder, and drawing his lips softly over the long surgical incision from the transplant. Finally Danny rests his cheek on Steve’s stomach, his hand still tracing the scars.

 “I was so scared, Steve,” Danny says softly.  “I’m still so scared.”

 “I know, Danny.  I know.”  Steve pulls Danny up his body and pushes his hair out of his face.  “I’m sorry.”

 Their eyes meet, and Steve rejoices as Danny leans in for a kiss.  It’s gentle at first, just a brush of the lips, and then Danny squirms tighter against him and open his mouth with a low moan.

 When they pull apart, Danny’s smile has returned, and it’s like the sun finally coming out from behind the clouds.  They both laugh, relief and happiness and love all there together, more emotion that Steve ever thought he could stand.

 “I was an idiot,” Danny says, humming in pleasure as Steve slides his hips against Danny’s, their legs weaving around each other until the pressure is just right.  “Why’d you let me be such an idiot,” he mumbles, breath coming faster as Steve mouths along the sensitive skin on his neck.

 “You’re my idiot,” Steve replies, pulling back just long enough to divest Danny of his t-shirt.  With a quick look at each other they tug off their sleep pants and boxers.  Danny gazes appreciatively at Steve, running his hand down his hip and pressing their bodies back together, and Steve grins right back at him, taking a moment to nuzzle into the fuzzy hair on Danny’s chest.

 “I take it you’re all healed up, too?”  Steve asks, sliding a hand between them to touch Danny’s most recent scar, almost a twin to his own.

 “We can play doctor later, babe,” Danny pants out, his own hand snaking down to stroke Steve, who is hard and leaking.  “Focus, Steven.”  Steve obliges, finding Danny’s cock and lining it up with his own, both their hands stroking and tugging and generally feeling awesome.  

 “You make me feel so good, Danny,” Steve praises.  “It’s so good.  I…” Steve loses his train of thought as Danny does something with his fingers at the tip, causing a flare of pleasure.  Steve rides the sensations, treasuring the sounds Danny makes, his hot breath against his skin, the feel of Danny’s hands everywhere.

 “Fuck, this isn’t going to last long, is it?”  Danny says, a laugh in his voice as Steve grabs his ass with his other hand and squeezes. Steve doesn’t even have the breath to respond, his reply purely physical as his release hits him.  Danny follows seconds after, and Steve just hangs on, overwhelmed and so, so happy.

 Steve doesn’t know how much time passes before they recover enough to untangle themselves from the damp sheets and wiggle away from the wet spots, but eventually they are sliding towards sleep, Danny curled up against Steve’s good side, his hand roaming over Steve’s chest.  He slows over a scar, one fingertip prodding it gently.

 “You’re really okay?” Danny whispers, barely audible.  

 Steve’s heart skips a beat, and he answers quickly, his voice in his throat.  “I’m really okay.”

 “Let’s never do that again,” Danny says.  

 Steve isn’t sure if he means getting shot at (which is pretty likely to happen again, given their track record) or keeping away from each other out of fear.  He’s fairly certain it’s the latter.

 “As long as we end up here, it’ll be alright.”  He means it. Shit’s going to happen.  It’s life, it’s not going to be smooth.  It’s what you do when it gets rough that counts.

 Danny pushes himself up on an elbow and blinks at Steve.  “You can be very wise, sometimes, you know that?”

 “I have my moments.”

 Danny snuggles back down against Steve, and Steve wraps an arm around him, holding him close.  They’re going to be okay.

 “We are, Steven,” Danny mumbles, “we are.”  Apparently Steve’s inner ramblings weren’t quite as internal as he believed.  “Now go to sleep.”

 “Love you, Danno,” Steve can’t resist one final kiss to the top of Danny’s head.  And the last word.  Because frankly, he did a good thing tonight.

 “I’ll give you a gold star in the morning.  Or a blow job.  Just stop mumbling and let me get some rest.”

 Steve laughs, and Danny joins in, and somewhere in the midst of it all they decide they aren’t that sleepy after all, and blow jobs ensue.  Because why put off until tomorrow, etc. etc.?

 It’s hours later that they are finally fading into sleep, even the joy and relief at their reunion unable to keep them awake any longer.  Steve’s doze is interrupted by one last, nervous question from Danny.

 “What would you have done if it didn’t work?  What you did tonight, if it didn’t fix us?”

 Steve isn’t really fully awake, but he knows the answer without having to think about it.  “I’d keep trying.”

 “Yeah?  Promise?”  Danny sounds worried, and Steve can’t have it, shifting to plant a kiss full on Danny’s lips.

 “Promise.”

 ********

Title from Bill Withers’ Ain’t No Sunshine.

#mcdanno #H50 #hawaii 5-0 #Steve McGarrett #Danny Williams #My fic

[master-sass-blast]

Strong as Stone --Part Thirty-One

Welcome back!

Last time, we got to watch Okoye vacation with M’Baku.

This time, we get to see just what Dewani’s been up to in the cult territory!

Rating: M for mentions of physical abuse, depictions of near death and injuries, and general stress.

Pairings: Okoye x M’Baku.

@the-last-hair-bender, @skysynclair19

You’re going to be faced with many choices in life, my loves. You’ll feel certain about some, and completely at sea about others. Both experiences are natural; try not to fret too much about how you do or don’t feel, and instead keep focused on keeping to the right path.

Whatever you do, make sure it’s something you would be willing to defend if confronted. You won’t always be right, but your conscience will rest much easier for it.

“You’re certain.”

“There’s really no mistaking human experimentation, General.”

Okoye braced herself against her desk and grimaced. “Bast dammit. And here I was hoping General Ross wouldn’t sink that low.”

Jhanvi’s projection mirrored her grimace. “I mean, it gets worse. I’ve been watching all the video feeds on the Raft for three weeks now. I only gave you the basic rundown.”

“Put the details into a report and send it in. Right now, we need to focus on just what we’re going to do next,” Okoye said.

Across the desk --and out of Jhanvi’s field of vision with the projector--Ayo crossed her arms over her chest. “How far into the system are you?”

“I’m basically settled in the whole thing. Their security measures and firewall systems are nothing compared to Shuri’s. It’d be pretty easy for me to open the place up if you wanted to break in.”

“That may be our only option at this point,” Djabi said with a concerned look at Okoye. “If they’re using the vibranium for human experimentation, we can’t afford to sit back and wait for a more diplomatic way of cornering General Ross.”

Okoye drummed her fingers against the surface of her desk. “I don’t disagree, but I’d rather not put HYDRA’s focus on Wakanda if it can be helped.”

“Well, no one knows that HYDRA’s in possession of the vibranium other than them, Agent Ross, and us,” Aneka pointed out. “It’s not like they can start a war with us over it. They’d have to disclose their theft of the vibranium to do that.”

Okoye shook her head. “There are other ways to start wars. Smear campaigns. False journalism. Espionage.”

“This is human experimentation,” Ayo said. “We don’t have a choice.”

She’s right. Bast dammit, how did this get so messy? “Jhanvi, how long would it take for you to have full control over their system?”

“A couple days, give or take.”

“Do it. Aneka, contact Agent Ross once we have Jhanvi’s report. Let him know what’s going on and that we’re making plans to break in. We might need him to keep an eye on his brother. Ayo, Djabi, I’ll need you two to help me run simulations so we can figure out the best way to handle this. I’ll bring the King up to speed.” Once she’d received nods that confirmed everyone understood their duties, she ended the call with Jhanvi and stretched her back. Before she even had time to think about where T’Challa might be at this hour, her kimoyo beads started chirping.

Dewani’s worried face stared up at her when she answered. “I need your help.”

May Bast and M’Baku forgive me for stepping into whatever shitstorm’s been brewing for the past couple months. “I’m on my way.”

Dewani had filled her in while she’d grabbed her go bag.

“Look, this is going to sound crazy, but I’ve been trying to help rescue someone from the cult territory. Problem is... they got caught. I think they’re dying.”

“I’m not a doctor, Dewani.”

“Yeah, but you have a ship and stabilizing equipment that they give out to all the soldiers. I just need help getting them out of the cult territory and to Shuri.”

“Does Shuri know what you’ve been up to?”

“...No.”

She’d sighed, rolled her eyes, and packed the extra medical equipment in her bag before slinging it over her shoulder and jogging towards the main hangar. “You know, we might’ve been able to prevent this if you had told someone what you were doing in the first place.”

“I couldn’t! It’s --it’s complicated, I know--”

Complicated didn’t begin to describe the mess she’d landed in. The cult territory was in the remotest part of the Jabari lands. There wasn’t any place for Okoye to land her ship nearby without drawing certain attention.

There wasn’t really any place for Okoye to land other than the courtyard of the Great Lodge.

Fuck it, she decided as she steered the ship around an outcropping of rock. Dewani chose to keep secrets, she can learn that doing that can bite you in the ass from time to time.

M’Baku was already at the main door by the time she’d landed, confusion evident on his face. “Okoye? What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you--”

“Dewani’s in trouble,” Okoye cut him off. “She’s in the cult territory, trying to rescue someone --and she’s pretty sure they’re dying.”

M’Baku froze, closed his eyes, and inhaled slowly. “What?”

“She didn’t explain any more than that. You know everything I do.”

“Hanuman. Dammit.”

“She’s trying to help someone,” Okoye repeated, softer this time. “She’s trying to do the right thing.”

“Yes, in the absolute wrong way.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I keep telling her not to be so impulsive --wait, why are you here? How do you even know all this?”

“I told Dewani that I’d help if her she needed it. She called me, so here I am.”

That brought a slight smile to M’Baku’s face, though it did little to temper the stress that made his brow furrow and his jaw clench. He kissed the top of her head gently. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Now, how do I get out to the cult territory.”

“Easy. I’m walking you there.”

Okoye frowned. And he thinks Dewani’s impulsive. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You’re the Chief--”

“I’m not going to let you go off to dangerous territory by yourself, let alone to search for my sister.” He strode back towards the Lodge, barking orders at his guards. “We’ll help her together.”

The hike to the cult territory was almost like something out of a horror movie.

Granted, most of the trek just showed off more of the stunning Jabari scenery. They rode most of the way on Jabari land craft, until they reached a cave opening on the side of a mountain at the end of a lone path. Black, withered roots reached out of the cave mouth, clinging to the face of the mountain.

Okoye grimaced as she eyed the roots and the impenetrable darkness inside the cave. “Well. That’s auspicious.”

M’Baku inhaled deeply and clenched his jaw, visibly steeling himself for what he was about to do. “If the coordinates Dewani gave you are accurate, we shouldn’t be too far away once we reach the other end of the tunnel.”

Okoye activated her spear and started walking towards the entrance. “Let’s get this done, then.”

The territory occupied by Ravana’s followers was an utter hellscape. All the plants were black and gnarled, and the sky was deep, blood red color.

Okoye stared up at the scarlet sky, eyes wide and mouth agape. “How... how is this even possible?”

M’Baku shifted his weight from foot to foot. “We need to be as fast as possible. This way.”

She followed him into a dense forest of dead, blackened trees, trying to keep to the narrow, barely visible trail as best as she could.

She wasn’t sure the forest wouldn’t swallow her whole if she deviated from it.

They heard the sounds of arguing before they saw the girls.

“If we had just taken the path--”

“The path that goes right through the center of the main village!”

“Better than being lost in the middle of nowhere!”

“Right, because being held hostage by a bunch of demon-worshipping cultists is so much better than being lost. Good thinking, Izgebe.”

“Will you two be quiet? I’m trying to remember the prayer for pain relief!”

Okoye threaded the gap between two trees and almost ran smack into Dewani, Fukyana, Abayomi, and Izgebe. “There had better be a good explanation for all of this.”

The four girls jumped --and again when M’Bak and his men joined her--but before they had time to start spinning excuses, Abayomi grabbed Okoye’s arm and yanked her down to the ground.

“She’s dying. She needs help.”

Okoye recoiled as she latched eyes on the cause of Dewani’s recent secrecy.

A young woman lay crumpled on the ground, visibly crippled and deformed even in her current state. Her breathing was shallow and thready, and one of her eyes was completely scarred over. Blood was crusted around her swollen, crooked nose, and a faint sheen of sweat covered her whole body.

“What on Bast’s green earth--”

“She wants to be a follower of Hanuman,” Dewani explained quickly. “We tried to help her escape, but we got lost. Do you have anything that could stabilize her?”

“If I do, it won’t help long term,” Okoye said as she started digging through her bag. “We need to get her to the Princess. Quickly.”

Shuri and Jhanvi were waiting for them at the lab when they arrived.

“Do you know what caused her injuries?” Shuri asked as she hooked the young woman up to a better life support system and began scanning the readings for signs of where to start treating the wounded individual.

“It’s been an... ongoing process,” Abayomi said weakly.

Jhanvi peered at the screen displaying the young woman’s vital signs. “Are you seeing this? It’s almost like...”

“Yeah,” Shuri mumbled. “Almost like... there’s an energy field around her.”

Dewani cleared her throat and rubbed the back of her neck. “She, uh, might be a conduit for... Ravana.”

M’Baku fixed his sister with an exasperated glare. “So, she’s possessed.”

“No, she’s a conduit,” Abayomi pushed back. “There is a difference.”

“Possessed, conduit, whatever,” Jhanvi interjected. “Point stands, she needs surgery and she needs it now.” She let out a ragged sigh. “Shit, her eye’s almost completely gone. Have you ever built a optical nerve from scratch before?" 

Shuri grimaced. “No.” 

“Me either. Let's get to work.”

“How in hell did she manage to get herself mixed up in this?”

Okoye watched as M’Baku paced back and forth in his suite at the palace. “As far as I can tell, she found someone that needed help and did her best to help them.”

“A women possessed--”

“Conduit.”

“Whatever!” M’Baku closed his eyes and took a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he tried to reel in his anger. “Normally, I’d applaud Dewani’s instincts to help those in need, but this is a step too far! Several steps too far!”

“For helping someone who looks like they were nearly beaten to death.”

“Ravana is a demon king,” M’Baku said tersely. “This woman --whoever she is--could pose a serious threat to all of us if she truly is a ‘conduit’ of his powers.”

“She was almost dead when we found her,” Okoye said in a low, even voice. “I doubt she could be a threat to anyone, even if she wanted to.”

“Okoye, I appreciate your trying to get me to take a balanced view of the situation, but you don’t know the Jabari beliefs as well as I do. If she’s really a conduit, we are all in danger.”

Before she could respond, her kimoyo beads started beeping.

“The first round of surgeries are done,” Shuri said once she answered. “The... patient is awake. She wants to speak with Chief M’Baku.”

Okoye raised her eyebrows at her partner. “Your presence is requested in the lab.”

M’Baku growled under his breath and took her hand in his as he stalked out of his suite. “I’m going to regret this.”

The young woman was barely awake when they walked over to her. Her nose was reset and some of the swelling was gone, but now that they were in the bright lighting of the lab it was all too easy to see just how much damage had been done to her body.

She lay at a horrifically crooked angle; the visual display of her spine showed several breaks and fractures that had healed and broken again that made the bone set improperly. One of her legs couldn’t straighten out all the way, and the other one was covered in jagged scars. Her left eye was still covered with scar tissue, and one of her hands was missing three fingers.

Okoye grimaced and looked away to keep from ogling her. She’s been through hell in back.

“Don’t try to sit up!” Shuri exclaimed when the young woman saw M’Baku and T’Challa approach her bedside. “Your ribs are still newly healed!”

“Please,” T’Challa insisted, holding up a calming hand. “You need to rest.”

M’Baku crossed his arms over his chest and kept more distance from the bed than the others. “You wanted to speak to me. Now’s your chance.”

She drew in a raspy breath. “Chief M’Baku. I must beg your forgiveness. I did not mean to draw your sister into matters of the darkness.”

“You needed help!” Dewani started.

“And you should’ve thought of your trial,” the young woman retorted, cutting Dewani off. “I would’ve managed.”

“You nearly died!”

“Then it would have been my time.”

M’Baku held up a hand, silencing the two. “What’s happened has happened. None of us can reverse it. I appreciate your apology...”

“Adesina.”

“Adesina. Why did you need my sister’s help in the first place?”

Adesina grimaced as she drew in a sharp breath, scarred leg twitching against the bed. “The priestesses of Ravana foretold my birth --that I would be a perfect vessel for his powers, and that through me he would bring for the age of the Eternal Night. When I was born, I was offered up to the demon king to see if the prophecies were true. He looked upon me with favor and granted me access to his powers and the powers of Simhika.”

M’Baku’s eyes narrowed. “So, you are a host for them.”

“I am a conduit --and none of this was my choice. I was an infant. I had no say in what I became,” Adesina spat out through gritted teeth.

“How did you get hurt so badly?” Shuri asked gently. “There’s evidence of years of abuse here.”

“I grew up in the temple of Ravana, away from my parents. Even though the priestesses kept an eye on me, it was easy enough to escape to explore the forests. When I was seven, I found the tunnel that led to the rest of the Jabari lands --and met a priestess of Hanuman named Olufemi.”

Okoye watched M’Baku’s eyes widen in recognition. Perhaps Dewani did have visions of her grandmother in the hall of the dead, and Olufemi helped Dewani find Adesina.

“She taught me the tenants of Hanuman and how to combat the evils that had been instilled in me. Eventually, the priestesses of Ravana found out and began beating me for my defiance. I tried to escape to the rest of the Jabari lands but was chased away each time by villagers who knew what I was --and each time I returned to a beating worse than the one I had received before.”

“And you came to know my sister how?”

“Abayomi began visiting me after Olufemi’s death, to continue teaching me the path of Hanuman. When she realized my condition was deteriorating, she asked Dewani to help me escape from my captivity.”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing these last few weeks,” M’Baku said as he looked over to his sister.

“Presumably,” Adesina confirmed.

“We need to start the next round of surgeries,” Shuri said as she started gathering equipment. “I need everyone who isn’t working with me to clear the lab.”

“That’s fine,” M’Baku said as he continued to stare down his sister. “We’ve got a lot of talking to do, anyway.”

Once everyone had given M’Baku, Okoye, and Dewani some space to talk things out, M’Baku leveled a stern look at his sibling. “What you did was incredibly dangerous, borderline foolish. The cult territories are strictly forbidden to the followers of Hanuman! You knew better!”

Dewani, for her part, didn’t cower or look frightened. Instead, she stood up to her full height, set her shoulders, and looked M’Baku straight in the eye. “Yes. I did. And, if I was in the same situation at a different time, I’d do it again. I’m not going to let someone die just because the rules say I should.”

M’Baku sighed heavily, looking to the ceiling, then to the floor. Then, he met his sister’s steady gaze and held out his arms to her. “I’m proud of you,” he murmured when she accepted his hug. “You nearly gave me a damn heart attack, but I’m proud of you for doing the right thing.”

Dewani squeezed her brother tighter. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just--”

“You were in over your head?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t think I could’ve prepared you for something like this, but if you... if  you ever find yourself in a similar situation down the road --and hopefully you won’t--just tell me what’s going on, okay?”

“I didn’t want to risk anything getting back to the priestesses of Ravana,” Dewani explained. “Adesina had it bad enough already.”

“Well, even in your attempts at secrecy, our uncle still managed to find out --which will definitely make for a nice mess at your trial.”

“But I saved someone’s life. I brought them out of the cult territory so they could follow the teachings of Hanuman freely. How could that possibly be a bad thing?”

“F’Tendi is a man of prejudice,” M’Baku said resignedly. “And people of prejudice seldom have problems spinning even the most noble of acts into sinister tales. On a different note--” he pointed to Okoye “--you owe her a massive thank you. She shouldn’t have been roped into all of this.”

“Excuse me? The last I checked, I’m your partner. Since when does that mean I wouldn’t help your sister if she asked me?”

“Even for deadly ventures into lands run by cultist to rescue the ‘conduit’ of a literal demon?”

Okoye shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“Still,” Dewani said as she stepped forward and hugged her. “Thank you. I don’t know what we would’ve done if you had said no.”

“I wouldn’t have said ‘no.’ And I’m glad you’re alright.” She pulled away from the hug and clasped the teen’s broad shoulders fondly. “Now, I think you need some rest. M’Baku and T’Challa still need to figure out what will happen to Adesina when her surgeries are completed.”

T’Challa drummed his fingers against the desk in his office. “This is a... precarious situation we’ve found ourselves in. I feel a great deal of sympathy for Adesina, but I don’t know if keeping her here is the wisest choice, all things considered.”

“I can’t take her back to the Jabari lands,” M’Baku insisted. “Even if she is a student of Hanuman, there’s no way the other Jabari would accept her, given her connection to Ravana. She wouldn’t be safe.”

“Well, we can’t just send her back to the cult territory,” Nakia said, placing her hands on her hips. “We all saw what they did to her. They’ll kill her if we send her back.”

“Perhaps we could hold her in one of the prisons,” Okoye suggested. “Not as an actual inmate, of course, but so that we can keep a better eye on her.”

T’Challa shook his head. “She doesn’t deserve to be locked away. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“How many people know that she’s here --that she even exists?” Nakia asked. “Some of the Jabari, the cultists, a few of the Dora, Jhanvi, Shuri, Dewani and her friends, and us. I mean... if she’s here, there’s not much the cultists can do to get her back, right?”

M’Baku nodded. “They’d be killed on sight if they stepped over the threshold between their territory and the rest of the Jabari lands.”

“And it’s not like the Jabari would listen to them if they mentioned Adesina being missing, provided that you could assure your people that they weren’t in any danger.”

“...I suppose not.”

“What if... what if we kept her here? At the palace? We’ve got more than enough space to keep her from running into anyone we don’t want her to. She’d be close to Shuri’s lab so that she could keep up with her treatments.”

T’Challa grimaced. “And what if she proves dangerous?”

“I doubt she will --but, if she does, Ms. Maximoff and the rest of the renegade Avengers are close enough, should we need the back up.”

“I think that’s our best option,” M’Baku said after a moment of thought.

“Correction,” T’Challa said. “It’s our only option.”

When they walked back into Shuri’s lab, Jhanvi was in the middle of installing a cybernetic eye where Adesina’s left eye had been scarred over.

“I forgot what it was like, seeing things with two eyes,” Adesina murmured as Jhanvi worked. “It’s disorienting.”

“Your brain will adjust quickly enough,” Jhanvi assured her.

“Can we have a minute?” T’Challa asked.

“Not really,” Jhanvi grunted as she kept soldering wires into place. “There’s not really a pausing point for installing a fucking eye.”

“Is it alright if we speak with her?”

“Knock yourself out.”

T’Challa rolled his eyes subtly before stepping over to the right side of Adesina’s bed. “How are you fairing?”

“All things considered, not bad. It’s--” she gestured vaguely at Jhanvi and the cybernetics “--a lot to take in.”

“I’m sure. I wanted to let you know that you’ll be staying in the palace once your main surgeries are done. You’ll have full amnesty with us until Chief M’Baku and the Jabari elders decide what to do with your case.”

Adesina’s face morphed into a mixture of pain and gratitude. “I don’t know how to thank you, your Highness. You don’t have to do anything like this for me.”

“A simple ‘thank you’ will suffice. And on the contrary: it’s the only option any of us have right now.”

“If you’re certain. And thank you.”

T’Challa smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Okoye followed T’Challa out of Shuri’s lab, mulling over the situation they’d just landed themselves in.

She didn’t think Adesina posed a real danger to any of them; she was just a badly broken woman in need of healing and a safe place to rest.

But, then, there was the very real chance that she was, in fact, a conduit for a demon. M’Baku seemed certain of it, as did Dewani and her friends.

Okoye grimaced. Bast, please don’t let this choice come back to bite us in the ass.

#sass writes #black panther fanfiction #okoye x m'baku #mostly plot #tw: abuse #tw: injury #we'll back into fluff in the next week or so #wakanda forever

[controllingkittens]

Frederick Chilton & The Abominable Present

Happy fan fic writer's day! I really hope to see something new from you soon! 😘

- @skittle479  

It was wrapped up with a burgundy paper. A perfectly rectangular box adorned with a dark simple lace. Placed at the top of his desk. Frederick had noticed it as soon as he came in.

His office was just like he had left it the previous afternoon. The immaculate bookshelves, the dustless rugs and even the leather arm-chairs he had bid on an indecent amount of money were perfectly placed. Just as he asked for. Just as he liked. His fountain pens were precisely situated the one to the other and a selection of his own books was displayed for tantalising eyes. For sure, surviving as many horrendous attacks as he had and writing his experiences, feelings, and post-studies about his attackers, Dr.Chilton had made himself one of the most prestigious and rich writers of the decade. Everybody wanted to know about the Cannibal, the Crazy Doctor or The Dragon. He suddenly became sort of a hero. And he sort of a like it. His scars were remarkable, inside and out. Even though doctors had made a great work with his skull partial reconstruction, providing him with prosthesis he could use daily, his skin was now a patchwork of different grafts and treatments. Some kids (and adults-thing that drove you mad-) couldn't help but stare at him. 

Mentally, he had tried, he had really tried, and he kept fighting every day. The fact the men who almost got him killed were dead helped. But their ghosts still haunted him some nights.

Luckily, the paranoia had decreased over the months; and as the sun rose and fell each day, your man, the one you had fallen for, start to reappear.

Little gestures, like the one you had to do that day, were the ones that used to drove him crazy back in time.

Before taking a single step more inside his working space, Frederick rose his normal voice tone. Brandom, his secretary, answered him from the other room. "Mrs. (Y/L/N)  came in early this morning and left that for you, Dr." The tension in his neck relaxed instantly. Just the mention of your name made him feel better. The thought of your dazzling presence in his workplace just to leave him what it seemed to be a gift was enough to draw on his face the biggest of the smiles. Swiftly heading to his imperial style desk, he grabbed his phone to text you.    "You should have given it to me this morning"

A soft vibration alarmed you at work. Your heart had been running twice as fast as normal since you had decided to put that mischievous idea into action. Just by reading the text, you knew he hadn't opened the present yet. You were so impatient for that night you had even thought about telling you were sick at work. But that was not how it used to be before. Not the rule games. You had to keep it cool. "You're welcome, my love" Another vibration.     "Don't be mad. A gift? Is it my bday?" "You know it's not. Don't be rude and open the damn box, ok?"

In order to have access to the insides of the rectangular container, Dr.Chilton used the help of his personalised letter opener: a rare piece of silver and gems. Since his encounter with Francis Dolarhyde and the fire, he had had numerous surgeries and almost daily meetings with physiotherapists to bring back his full sensitivity and stimulation of several muscles, including a few fingers. Not wanting to make a -more than possible- mess with your -more than possibly perfect- present, he decided for the opener rather. Inside the box, a dark velvet bag adorned with a small bow almost claimed to be opened. Once carefully opened, the doctor could just not believe his eyes.

He was calling you know. 'Hello, darling' you answered trying to flat your voice. 'Darling' the voice repeated from the speaker 'can you explain to me what kind of monstrosity is this?' A triangular cloth with a bright animal pattern was now laying on his desk. Plus, it had a thick waistband was adorned with the word "BOO".

"It's a jockstrap!" 'I know it's a jockstrap, (Y/N)!' he looked at the piece of men underwear with uneasiness and the realised with terror that his door was still open. With dopey big steps that were assisted by his cane, he reached it and closed it loudly, barking he didn't want to be molested until he said the opposite.

'If you know what it is, then why ask, you silly?' after hearing him howl, you couldn't help to add how he should be more polite to the poor Brandom.

'Don't interrupt me!, I wasn't asking about the object, I was asking about the whole situation itself!' he stated wobbly 'Is this some kind of joke?' 'Oooh ,boo!' -maybe, you have been wrong? maybe it wasn't the time?- 'I'm so sorry! It's been a while since you and I started... doing stuff again you know? And you remember that time when I asked you about how you felt about starting our games again? Well, I thought you'd like a small game...

The other line stayed silence and you knew you had made a terrible mistake. An invisible hand punch your stomach and tears began to fall.

'Honey, I'm so sorry, maybe it's too soon... I'm so stupid..I-'

'Shut up, and tell me what do I have to do.'

What? 'What?' 'You heard me! I swear to God you are way worse than all those maniacs confined in Baltimore...I may not work there anymore' he lowered his voice' but I come to you every night and that's much of the same' he smile widened he heard you giggle 'the rules of your demented game, I demand them now!'

They were pretty simple: Frederick had to put his "lingerie" on and send you a picture with it modelling in his bureau. Afterwards, he would put back his designer clothes back on, leaving the jockstrap on the whole day, and send you bathroom pics every hour just to check.

A message came with a possible way of revenge came with every one of them and you aimed for the night like you hadn't in a few months. During lunch-break though, Frederick sent you something that made you had to excuse you from your fellow coworkers and run to the bathroom to try and stop your laughter.       "I feel my buttcheeks touching each other. I like it, baby"

"I'm glad you do, boo"       "I maybe even get used to these things after all! It even says Boo! I can have one with your name on it!" "That one was personalised, my babe"       "...how much was it?" "...699$...but Boo letters are made in those crystals I love so much!"      "I can live without my buttcheeks touching"

Part 2??-I’m thinking of making a smutty sassy part 2, I don’t know... DON’T KNOW!

#mine #frederick chilton #hannibal lecter #hannibal #fanfic #@yourtropegirl

[entj-werewolf]

I actually got tagged, so I’ll give this a shot! Since it’s big, I’ll put it under the cut...

Tagged by: @unlimited-goldfish​

Rules: Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people.

(As usual with the tagging part of rules, I also just let anyone do this if they want. Idk who to tag most of the time...)

LAST:

1. Drink: Water 2. Phone call: Can’t remember... I think my mom was the last to call me today? 3. Text message: Mainly to my little sister. I’d been texting her about some Splatoon stuff! 4. Song you listened to: Some Splatoon 2 music... 5. Time you cried: I don’t remember, but even if I did.... I’d keep that to myself, ahaa. Lots has been going on though.

HAVE YOU:

6. Dated someone twice: Nope, never dated before either 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: I don’t like kisses, soooo I haven’t kissed anyone at all. I’d probably regret it if I did, tbh. 8. Been cheated on: Nah 9. Lost someone special: A few people, yep... 10. Been depressed: Boy, it was pretty bad when I was a kid I think. Came across some old journals of mine while cleaning through stuff recently, and yeesh, the bullying got to me worse than I remembered from that time. As of recent? I’m... Not too sure. I have drastic confidence drops under huge stress, but idk if they’re depressive states or not? Also, dealing with life loss is rough. I had a horrid time last year after losing my last grandparent. It’s still sometimes unpleasant to think about, so I try keeping my mind off of that... 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: No way. I hate alcohol anyhow... And I dislike dealing with drunk people.

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS:

12-14: Green, Dark Purple, Dark Blue!

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU:

15. Made new friends: It’s not common that I outright make new friends. It’s mostly acquaintances and mutuals! Sooo, nah, haven’t technically made any new friends in the past year.

16. Fallen out of love: Haven’t had any feelings for anyone like that, so nope

17. Laughed until you cried: YEP. Great times...

18. Found out someone was talking about you: Ahh, yep... I’m talked about a lot by family, mostly in negative light. This is every year. RIP. 20. Found out who your friends are: Known that already before the past year! 21.  Kissed someone on your Facebook list: Heck nope

GENERAL:

22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: Only irl people or trustworthy online friends of mine can have my Facebook, buuut... I hate that site. So I actually rarely go on it. (I only signed up ‘cause my family made me when I was a teen, pfffff) 23. Do you have any pets: YES! My black cat, Luna! 24. Do you want to change your name: I thought about this once or twice in my life, buuut I’m fine with Sarah for now. 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: I went out to a new place to try out its vegan donuts, and they had some fresh coconut too. So, as a bonus, I got to have coconut water fresh from the thing itself! With amazing donuts. It was a good start to my birthday - but the rest of my day was being stuck in Ikea for 3-freaking-HOURS with my mom and older sister. I forgot how bad my legs could hurt before that.... 26. What time do you wake up: Technically 11:30-something-am, but I couldn’t get out of bed until like.... 12pm. My sleep is screwed up again, yeah... 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Drawing, I think? 28. Name something you can’t wait for: Nintendo Switch Restocks... just PLEASE, EVERYTHING HOLY, GET THEM FREAKING RESTOCKED SO I CAN GET ONE. Besides that, I can’t wait to move on from my job to a better one. My job situation is driving me insane. 29. When was the last time you saw your mom? Just tonight when saying g’night to her, pffff 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: Hmmm.... Better luck in general would be nice. 2017 is like the freaking biggest pique of my bad luck from what’s happened so far. 31. What are you listening to right now: Still listening to Splatoon 2 music! 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: I... Do not recall meeting or talking to a Tom in my life. 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: Lots of things... Mainly my job and money circumstance stuff.

34. Most visited website: I’m not 100% sure, but it miiiight be Youtube 35. Mole/s: I think so, but only the flat, not-dangerous types. I had one mole removed a couple of weeks ago though and..... That... was NOT pleasant. Turns out I do NOT have skin cancer, so that’s good?

36. Mark/s: Not that I’m sure of or remember atm, but I used to get scars pretty easily 37. Childhood dream: I wanted to be a veteranarian and actually would do a lot of side studies on my own about animals. This dream changed, of course, once I got older and learned more about what felt to be my “purpose” and I aim for that now. But I still like learning about animals and have scrambled knowledge on nature because of that! 38. Hair color: Dark brown 39. Long or short hair: Fairly long hair 40. Do you have a crush on someone: Nope! I have no idea what a crush feels like either..... 41. What do you like about yourself: Uhh... Hmm.... For several years, I’ve been liking my ambitious “energy” of sorts? Makes me feel like I’m living a full life as long as I’ve got that, hahaa... 42. Piercings: Nope, needles and anything that pierces my skin freaks me out to nauseous levels... 43. Blood type: If I recall correctly, it’s O negative; and apparently I can donate to most/all other blood types? (Too bad I don’t physically or mentally handle getting my blood drawn, otherwise I’d be fine with occasional donations to make use of that) 44. Nicknames? Wolf, Kat, or WolfKat - when people try referring to me based on my common online alias; “Fluffy” by some other people; and then freaking “furry” being a more rampant nickname by my friends recently..... -heavy sigh- 45. Relationship status: Single

46. Zodiac: Haven’t been much into this, but I only recall I’m Pisces ‘cause of my birthday. (Those Pisces descriptions are like the dang opposite of my MBTI type.....) 47. Pronouns: Just female stuff. I’ve been mistaken for a guy a lot online somehow, though.... I find it oddly amusing, pffffft. 48. Favorite TV Show: “Gravity Falls” and “[The] Slayers” are my top favorites, and I enjoy several other animated shows alongside these two!  50. Right or left hand: Left-handed pretty much, but I’ve taught myself to use my right hand decently for stuff like holding forks/spoons for eating. And I actually don’t like using left-handed computer mice... Regardless, I draw and write best with my left hand.

51. Surgery: Wisdom teeth surgery - which I had when I was 18 I think? That was a very weird experience for me. I’m glad I only talked to my close friends during the first part of my recovery... I would’ve died of regret if I tried posting anything online while I was drugged with pain killers and who knows what else. Eugh. 52. Hair dyed in different color: Nah, I like my natural hair color as is 53. Sport: Basketball! I’ve always liked this sport... I haven’t played in a long time though. 55. Vacation: My vacations in terms of travel and being fun for me, tend to be for conventions... Like Dragoncon and Momocon. Whenever they can be affordable, at least. 56. Pair of trainers: Idk what this refers to, sooo I looked it up. Synonymous with sneakers and tennis shoes, it seems? In that case, I have a few pairs of these ‘cause I LOVE sneakers/athletic shoes!

MORE GENERAL:

57. Eating: Not eating anything atm. I’m staying up late to wait for my acid reflux to chill the heck out, actually... (I can’t lay down when it gets like this. Ugh.) 58. Drinking: Some sips of water here and there. 59. I’m about to: Try and sleep, maybe. 62. Want: A lot. But for this very moment, I want to be able to lay down without feeling like I’ll throw up!

63. Get married: Nope. Probably never? Idk how to fit marriage into my future, and having to be in such a relationship like that is very.... Overwhelming and intimidating for me atm. 64. Career: I want my dream career right now but I don’t know when my skills will be professional enough for it so it’s just waiting and trying to find other jobs until then.... Game Development is my future, though.

65. Hugs or kisses: Hugs only. No kisses! 66. Lips or eyes: Huh? I dunno. I don’t like eye contact, aaannndd I have no idea what’s significant about lips. Just... Lips are lips? 67. Shorter or taller: No strong preference, but shorter people I tend to like being around the most (’cause lots of tall people treat me in an annoying way TBH. Like petting my head or trying to lean over me? Excuse you.) 68. Older or younger: Uhhh... ? In general, I don’t mind what age people are when I meet them... With friends, I tend to end up with lots of younger ones in my close circle. Very few are older than me. 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: I do not like either... Or caring about looks at all. Sooo, none/neither. 71. Sensitive or loud: I don’t like loudness in general (got sensitive hearing as well), so sensitive would be more preferrable. I mostly have sensitive friends too anyhow. 72. Hook up or relationship: Preferrably neither, but if I ever ended up in that kind of relationship, it would need to be under mutual merits and built from a deep friendship. No casual hook ups. 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: I tend to prefer hesitant people over troublemakers.... But some of my more mischievous friends can keep life interesting at times, hahaa

HAVE YOU EVER:

74. Kissed a Stranger: Heck no 75. Drank hard liquor: Again, hate alcohol 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: I think I’ve lost my glasses once or twice? Those moments are true suffering 77. Turned someone down: Many times. Idk why people keep getting crushes on me... Like... Have mercy for once.... 78. Sex on the first date: Nopenopenope, and I NEVER want that at any point in my life either. 79. Broken someone’s heart: A few times on accident toward friends... Sometimes feel guilty about those moments again even if all is forgiven now. 80. Had your heart broken: I think so, but it’s not often in terms of friendship-based stuff. 81. Been arrested: Thankfully, nope! I intend to keep it that way. 82. Cried when someone died: Definitely. 83. Fallen for a friend: I’m not too sure what this means? Ummm... I mean, I assume it’s like making a huge/important sacrifice for a friend, but idk. I don’t recall anything like that atm other than the times I’d stand up for friends, against their bullies in high school.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

84: Yourself: Normally, yeah. When overwhelmed with stress though? Nope. 85. Miracles: Yup. I’ve experienced quite a few either as an observer/witness, or a few times personally. 86. Love at first sight: Nah. Sometimes, there’s an instant “click” with people even for potential friendships, but that’s not always reliable for something long-term. 87. Santa Claus: Not now, but as a kid, I of course believed in Santa. A ton. 88. Kiss on the first date: Noooooope

OTHER:

90. Current best friend name: Pao/Paola! We’ve been close pals for about 8 years now 91. Eye color: Greyish Green? Sometimes looks more blue-tinted in other light sources? 92. Favorite movie: A tough pick... Hmm... Maybe Zootopia or Inside Out? I also really love Lilo and Stitch!

Alright, so yeah... No specific tags, but if anyone wants to do this, feel free to count it as my tag toward you!

I also noticed some numbers were missing from this list of questions, so who knows where those are? It’s almost 92. Have fun anyhow, maybe!

#not mbti #technically #about me #tag stuff #unlimited-goldfish

[annwithsass]

Coffee. Black, two sugars.

I find myself conflicted as I go about my ever failing daily routine. On one side I have this fight or drive inside of me, pushing me forward, urging me to reach for what I want and believe in, pursue my dreams and don't let anything get in my way.

That's a great thought to have, looks good on a bumper sticker too, but the act itself. Of really doing what you want, be it big or small. Our greatest obstacle to start and keep going forward, is ourselves. We are our own worst everything.

This will be the first real post I make about my battle with mental illness so if reading things about mental illness, it's symptoms, and the dark sides of it are triggering to you in any way, please leave this entry now. I wouldn't want me sharing with everyone cause anyone pain.

My outpatient treatment team advise me that I've in all likelyhood had depression since I was a child. I went through the early years of my life always feeling alone, dejected, and afraid. I was an only child, and I don't blame my parents for my issues [like maybe having a sister or brother would have helped] there's no way to know that and they were great parents working with what they had to make sure I had what I needed to survive and be content. They never knew how bad my anxiety was, how depressed I was, they never knew because I hid it, I never talked about it, I thought I was just being an annoyance and shoved it deep down inside myself.

Until the age of eleven, I didn't really hang out with anyone. I had been ripped away from the place I called home because my parents wanted to move and not that I had a lot of friends where I was living, it was just that I went to a private Catholic school so it was a very controlled enviroment, a lot of variables I'd never been subjected to I was about to have thrust upon me in a very unceramonious way.

I entered puplic school for seventh grade and stayed in that same public school system until graduation in 2009. Within a week or two of being in this new place I now called home, I met people that seemed to be like me, but they weren't as upset as I was all the time. I needed to know their secret, so I asked them one day. "How do you take the edge off? How do you make life not bring you down so hard?" The answer they gave at first was Marijuana and Nicotine. I became a habitual smoker at the early age of twelve and have struggled with it ever since.

[[Authors Note: TO ANYONE WHO READS THIS THAT IS UNDER THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN, CONSIDERING TRYING SMOKING, OR CURRENTLY SMOKING AT ANY AGE. STOP, NOW, SAVE YOUR LUNGS. IT'S HIGHLY ADDICTING AND VERY HARD TO QUIT. I AM MUCH OLDER NOW THAN I WAS THEN AND I AM STILL STRUGGLING TO QUIT ENTIRELY. PLEASE, FOR YOUR HEALTH AND THE HEALTH OF THOSE AROUND YOU THAT YOU LOVE AND THAT LOVE YOU. JUST DON'T START SMOKING. It makes your breath smell bad, teeth yellow, and tongue taste aweful anyway. As well as it kills your sense of taste... Imagine all the pizza, ice cream, or any food that you love and not being able to taste it anymore.]]

So I was smoking cigarettes and pot, I was newly molded into what most people referred to when I was in school as the emo kids, punk kids, weirdo's, there were a bunch of names they used but they all just meant the same thing. I was seen as an outsider, which to their looking glances, I would put on a tough exterior, act like that's how I wanted to be seen, that I wanted no one around and to be left alone. What I really wanted was real friendship, someone to talk to, someone to be there for me. I didn't understand what was happening in my mind and with my day to day life.

I had always had an active imagination, drawing, painting, writing, creating, inventing, I wanted to make things all day everyday. When I reached age sixteen, something inside me just *snapped*. I struggled to create even the simplest of ideas and put them on paper. It got worse and worse and worse until finally I just couldn't take it anymore. I needed to get the feeling out, get the pain out, get the pressure that was building underneath the skin out... At the age of sixteen, I began self-harming and attempted suicide for the first time.

After getting into some legal trouble with my school over my drinking problem. Yes, my habits grew numerous. I was smoking still, cigarettes, weed, and now on top of that, I was drinking and doing other drugs that I won't specify. So I got caught, in school no doubt, and ended up on probation and instead of being put to labor for like a community service type deal, I was put in mandatory counceling. The first time at therapy, did nothing for me. She was a very religious woman and I wouldn't talk to her. I would arrive at the appointments as I was supposed to, then I would leave, that's it.

After my probation was over, I started dating. The first man I ended up with physically abused me. He left a mark that still haunts me to this day, and not a physical one either. One that I haven't been able to shake for years, about my self-esteem. The next man I dated, he was abusive mentally and emotionally. My dumbass kept going back to him, as he asked me out just to break up with me with some massive repulsive excuse in a couple weeks.

Then there's the big ex. We dated for 7 years. That's a lot of my life that I spent letting someone who is now fondly referred to as [the devil] in my house and never by his name. I went through a lot while in that relationship. Not all of it bad either.

I found my calling in Emergency Medical Services as an Emergency Medical Technician and Ambulance Operator. I found goals and aspirations in the EMS field, I began drawing again, playing video games again, I felt like I was living for a while. Those were the bright moments. You can't have light without shadows, however.

During these years is when I was in a motor vehicle collision that should have killed me, and on bad days I wish it had. This wreck took everything from me, I was in a wheelchair for many months and had to work tirelessly after having surgery to rebuild my pelvis to regain the ability to walk. I did all that and once I was upright again, I got back on the ambulance, to help those who needed me.

The wreck left scars you can see but it also left ones beneath the surface. I suffered a traumatic brain injury, which changed the way my brain worked, that whole experience did. Six months after the wreck, I was diagnosed with PTSD. Some months after getting rehabilited and able to go backto my apartment that I shared with the man I was with... I also was diagnosed with MDD, OCD, and Acute Alcoholism. I was diagnosed with those while in a Behavioral Health Unit a few hours from where I lived. I had tried to commit suicide again, things were spiraling and I was losing hope.

The relationship I was in ended and the damage that he had done to me, I locked away [unknowingly]. I moved back in with my parents and did what I could to rebuild. I got a job again and started to feel okay. I went to outpatient therapy and took my medication as I was supposed to, I quit drinking all together, and cut back my smoking cigarettes to almost none and I wasn't doing any other drugs at the time. Things, were finally starting to look up.

Then I decided that I didn't need to be on my medication anymore, I decided that I was fine and the meds were just holding me back. I stopped going to therapy too. I fully quit taking my medication about a week after I met a new man. At this time it had about been a year since my attempted suicide and I had only relapsed twice with the alcohol so I thought I was "CURED". I was wrong.

Soon after stopping my medication, my anxiety started peaking through, I was losing time, full days or weeks even, I relapsed again and again with alcohol, I began hurting myself again only this time it was different. It was like someone else was controlling my hand, it was like I was watching a horror movie but I was the star. Everything else around me was just blur and distortion, the only things clear were my blade and my blood. After a few more relapses and moving to a new house, I came and told my parents that I was struggling again and needed their help. Of course they were right by my side with everything I could need, they were very supportive and still are to this day.

I got back to therapy, got back on a medication regimen, started working on getting better. During therapy however I kept having moments where I was talking but I would lose the time, or I would be telling my therapist about something that had happened only to stop myself because the people I was living with had told me that it hadn't. As the months went on, I began losing more time, this time just complete blank-outs. I would wake up in strange places, cuts all over, I woke up once with a large black-eye [that we later found out I did to myself].

Because of my PTSD what I was going through required a special handling and a special controlled enviroment. That's when I learned about a place called Sheppard Pratt and their Trauma Disorders program. I spent two weeks in their program. Learned that while I don't have the traditional diagnosis of DID, I do dissasociate, and it is heavily related to my trauma. It was while working with them, I recovered memories from when I had dissasociated during my time with my ex... The things I saw, heard, felt, my body, my mind, my everything just went into overdrive. I was sent home with a better understanding of my diagnosis and tools that could help, as well as a clearer head and new meds that helped with nightmares and my other symptoms.

I got home and sitting on my bed felt strange, unpacking my bag felt worse, I knew this was my home but it wasn't behind Sheppard Pratt's walls anymore, it wasn't 100% SAFE. I'm not saying that I ALWAYS felt like I was in danger but it was a feeling that was persistant in any case.

A newer symptom I had never had consistant dealings with reared its ugly head, hallucinations both auditory and visual. At this point my depression is getting even worse because one minute I know exactly what's wrong with me, the next I have no idea. Ontop of all this when I had my psych eval done to return to outpatient care originally, I was diagnosed with ADHD so I've got that doing the mamba with my PTSD and it's a party in my damn head.

All of this information leads us to today, as I'm sitting here now, writing these words, about share them with the world. I am petrified. I am lost. In all that I am I know that what I have is real, it has made me disabled, it has made it so I can't work right now, it makes me feel like a burden both to my family and society.

However, somewhere in all that darkness, there's this little light. A flame, if you would. Burning as bright as it can to get my attention. When I focus in on the flame surrounded by black nothingness. I feel that desire to help people, I feel that passion to make people smile and laugh, I feel the warmth of pulling a friend into a hug and saying, "I'm here for you, I believe in you, I've got you." I get the want to keep fighting, I feel the push to take another step and inhale a little deeper next time just to feel my chest expand with a rush of oxygen.

The darkness in me, I'll always have to fight it. I'll always have to fight tooth and nail with myself to make sure my flame doesn't get snuffed out. I still want to help make this place better and right now the only way I can do that is with my words so that's what I'm doing. If you're reading this and you're struggling with depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, relapses in drug treatment, or you're just having a really shit day. Know that I am reaching out to you, so you know you can reach out to me. I am here to listen, I am here to help, and there are so many others out there like me that just want to help too. Please, hold out your hand and let one of us grab onto it and pull you out of the darkness. You are not alone, and that means never having to fight alone either.

[[Authors Note: There are a lot of details that I left out of this because my journey wasn't the main point of this writing. The main purpose is to inform, educate, and create safe places where people can come to start a conversation about something that should always be being talked about because it's important. Living is important.]]

To everyone who read this, thank you, I know it was long but I put it out so other's like me, that might feel one ounce of what I do or maybe those who have it even worse can know that they have other's like them out there and we want to be that shoulder to lean on and the hug that pulls the pieces back together while you walk through this scary place we call home.

-A

#akf #you are not alone #surviving #markiplier #jacksepticeye #markipliersheroes #always keep fighting #spnfamily #living is important #we can make each other stronger #reach out

[rainbowwriting-love]

A pain I will never understand

I have always had a lot of pain built up inside from depression and social anxiety, but compared with what is happening in my life right now, I have never experienced so much emotional pain that the physical pain actually is relieving. I had always been strong enough to harness it so that I would never get to that point. Same as how I am a passive suicidal, at least as of right now.

I never understood self-harm. I thought it was odd how someone can feel so much emotionally that harming themselves and feeling the pain of cutting or scraping actually helped.

I never understood it until I felt it. And still do. And still constantly think about.

It’s similar to what happens when a dog bites someone. Once they’ve bit a person once, they are more likely to do it again. Once you’ve self-harmed once, you are more likely to do it again.

So where did my pain start? Well, as I have discussed in previous posts, I have suffered depression on and off for 8 some years, and it has slowly increased in severity these past couple of years. My anxiety began as normal new-college experience but it developed into sever social anxiety. The fact that these two mental health issues are high in severity, they constantly battle each other, somedays one being stronger than the other. And only recently did I realize that taking caffeine before track meets had actually been negatively affecting me and holding back my performance at meets.

On top of this, my father suddenly was diagnosed with a rare stage 4 cancerous brain tumor. I immediately rushed home in shock. Everything since has truly gone downhill. All of my thoughts surround him and how different life has become since. He is not the same person anymore, considering it was in the frontal lobe. He doesn’t show his emotion the same and he has lost his filter entirely. Its hard on my mother mainly because she has to stay home to care for him and handle with basically losing her husband and 85% of our income. It seems that we will lose everything material-wise just to keep my father alive, and possibly including our home and my dog. He can’t leave the house as much with the exception of doctor appointments and his daily walks to get some sort of exercise in. he has not motivation and feels as though he isn’t fully there. He still shows his interest in my activities with school and whatnot, but somehow it’s different. It feels like I’ve lost my dad, as if he did pass away. And I miss him more than I ever thought.

It seems that since the start of my teenage years, I’ve grown more distant with my family, especially my parents. I thought going away to college would help, and it honestly did. I needed that time away from home but also still keep that constant contact. It seems that now I’ve grown so much closer to my mom than ever. I go to her with more issues I am dealing with and I feel as though I can trust her more. It makes me upset knowing that it took a trauma to bring my family closer together. It also proves the strength of my mom’s love for my dad more than anything.

 After the surgery, I went back to school and struggled to keep up. Spring break followed the week after, and it felt as though my life had completely fallen apart. I did chores and ran errands several times a day all day, leaving myself to feel lonely and empty inside. I knew I was helping, but something felt missing.

What was missing was my boyfriend. Sure, he had been there for me he day I received news about my dad, but he almost disappeared afterwards. No communication when I needed him most, no effort put into our relationship, let alone our friendship. Being that he lives a half hour from my house, I offered to even pick him up to go somewhere since I basically had my dad’s car for the time being. And he never took my up on the offer, despite saying he would. I tried to talk to him, but it would take him the whole day to respond and he never asked me how I was doing or how my dad was doing. Never a good morning, goodnight, what’s up, how are you, what are you up to, wanna go somewhere...just nothing. He barely kept our snapchat streak of 60+days going.

I thought nothing of it, assuming he was busy with friends or the fact that he was feeling sick at one point. So I made up excuses for his lack of communication, which I typically tend to do for people I care about. His distance didn’t seem clear to me until I tried to hang out with him and he dryly said no. Hell, we hadn’t even kissed or hugged in over 3 weeks. My friends decided to get me to talk about every red flag, and it became apartment that something was wrong with the relationship. Lack of communication, not ever going one a real date, and not effort on his side of the relationship anymore, especially in getting to actually know me. So that Wednesday, I decided to talk to him about it. I walked into his room and asked that typical question “What are we?”

I had no idea what was to come. For all I knew, he was feeling depressed or felt overwhelmed with it being the end of the school year. Maybe he was feeling shy and couldn’t find his courage to put effort into our relationship. All of the excuses and possibilities ran through my mind, and what he told me was shocking. So hurtful that I went numb and distanced myself from the situation as a defense mechanism.

“I don’t want to date you anymore.” Yep. That was his exact wording. Can you believe a college freshman would say that? It sounded to me like a middle school break up. He explained how his difficulty with communication with his last relationship made it hard for him. He examined how “the more he got to know me the more he saw me as a friend.” Right, like he really had tried to get to know me in the first place. He didn’t want to “half-ass the relationship” and make it seem to be purely physical (no sex I promise). He had lost his drive to put effort into the relationship. Into getting to know me. He didn’t feel like he was emotionally able to keep it up. As I left and as said “ya it’s ok” over and over, he said he would be ok and would get over it soon. He even used the “it’s not you, it’s me” cliché as well. Towards the end of our 2 hour talk, I found myself actually comforting him because he had felt bad and hated “disappointing me” (which he already had anyway). Why would I do that when he was the one breaking up with me?

What did he have to get over? Had he ever cared about me in the first place? How long had he known about his feelings towards “us”? Is it really because I have so much going on and have so many issues right now? Is it because I am always so busy? Is it because you don’t find me attractive the same way as before? Is that why you never compliment me as a SO should, the way that I do for you? Or is it because it was all about the chase and you just lost interest after achieving your “prize”, aka my heart, for a short period of time? Honestly I have so many more questions, but being that this was the first time anyone had ever broken up with me before, it being what I count as my first relationship, I can’t find the right words or the strength to ask. I felt trapped within my own niceness and left with soft smile, walking back to my room in numbness with no real closure. I had completely distanced myself from what was happening, and felt like i wasn’t even there. just that numbness was my only coping method.

I walked into my room where my best friends were, told them the basic direct quotes and that he had broken up with me and decided to take a walk, still completely out of it. I ended up in another friend’s dorm room and cried there as he told me that it would be ok and that I would get over it soon. He helped distract me temporarily with a movie and just spending time with him. 

Walking out and heading back to my room, I thought that maybe I would be ok. Maybe it would get over it really fast and just be friends with this now-ex-boyfriend. But what hit me hardest were the thoughts that crawled back into my mind about my father and what my future and his future looked like. In climbing the stairs I felt weak. Every inch of doubt, hate, depression, all of my emotions just broke. Imagine being on a perfectly balance teeter-totter and having a small grain of sand be the final amount of weight to forces your side to drop hard. Or better, being so close to the edge of a cliff that that small gust of wind finally pushes you over and you fall into the sharp, ridge rocks below. It wasn’t that small amount that caused the pain, it was the that but of a push that sent me over.

It was as though someone had a been holding my internal organs, mainly my heart and lungs, and just squeezed as tightly as possible. It felt like someone had shot or stabbed me in my chest. That was the amount of emotional pain that I could no longer control and killed me to a broken point. I never had been one for self-harm, but the amount of pain I was in had me over the edge. Without a knife, I scraped and dug at my wrist, rubbing away my skin until raw. As I did so, the small amount of physical pain relieved that internal tension I couldn’t get rid of. I stopped myself eventually, leaving only one spot that would scar for sure because it was just deep enough. Staring at it, I somehow felt a little better, but disappointment that I gave into self-harm grew inside me.

Gathering up what was left of me, I headed to bed and tried to forget about it.

The next days after were just as hard. All I could think of were the questions in my mind and wondering if my dad will be ok in the end. My suicidal thoughts became as serious as ever, and they still are as I write this. I wrapped up my wrist in hopes it would heal. That Friday, I had a track meet, and my anxiety kept me from jumping almost entirely as my mind raced through everything. With my calves always knotted and cramping, I needed a source of pain that wouldn’t draw attention. I got my calves rubbed out, and the pain was relieving, and it was healthy in its own way.

Since then, my way of physical pain the counter the emotional pain has been getting muscles painfully rubbed out. Even my AT questioned why I wasn’t screaming in pain as usual. I guess once you have something like my emotions for that pain to fill, it doesn’t seem so bad. If anything, it takes it away for a short time.

Despite this, I still think about how much I want to cut, but I keep stopping myself from doing so. I don’t do it because of him, I do it because of everything else and he just happened to be the tip of my iceberg that had the worst possible timing.  

#self harm #depression #anxiety #breakups #mental healh

[elysianmars]

91-100! plsss

Thanks friend :D

91. Do you like your own name?

I actually do now! I used to hate it when I was a kid because I didn’t like standing out so much, but now I like that it’s distinctive and different and I feel like I’ve grown into it a bit. (Maybe it’s weird to say I “grew into” a four letter name like Keri, but that’s how it feels haha). It does still annoy me if people spell my name wrong when they don’t have an excuse though. Like fair enough if you’ve never seen it written down or whatever, but in work my name comes up in emails and I have a signature with my full name there TWICE and yet I get so many different variations of the name… Another slightly annoying thing is that whenever anyone is discussing a place in Ireland called Kerry I ALWAYS think they’re calling me. This happens at work quite a bit and I’ll be like “yes? :)” and everyone will be like “oh we’re talking about Kerry, not Keri” haha. I also think it goes quite well with my surname and I like that I’m probably the only person who has my full name, because my last name is weird and always draws comments (interestingly only when I’m in Ireland though, so make of that what you will)!

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?

Not really tbh, I’m pretty resigned to the fact that I won’t have children so it’s not something I think about much. There are definitely names I like, but it’s hard to think of them off the top of my head haha. I do know though that when it comes to people I’m not a fan of, their names are completely blacklisted lol

93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child?

I honestly wouldn’t mind at all! :)

94. What are you strengths?

Hmmm. I like to think I’m pretty self-aware, and in general I try to do the right thing over the easy thing most of the time. I can be funny sometimes too! And I think I’m fairly positive and encouraging most of the time :)

95. What are your weaknesses?

Haha I am such a scatterbrain it’s actually unreal. I sometimes say I have a head like a sieve, but it’s more like a colander really because that has bigger holes :P I can also be really lazy and unmotivated when it comes to things I don’t care about, I avoid confrontation pathologically and there are times when I genuinely wonder if I am physically incapable of shutting up!

96. How did you get your name?

I’m not too sure really! I think my mam liked the sound of it and she did say that she wanted us to have short names because then people wouldn’t give us nicknames (joke’s on her though, I’ve had so many nicknames over the years, including Kerbear, Kezza, Kezbomb, Kerison, Kerigold, K…) and I think she wanted my name to start with a K because I was her first daughter and her name starts with a K too, which is slightly uncomfortable to think about but that’s my mother for you haha

97. Were your ancestors royalty?

There are very few things I’m certain of in life and my ancestors not being royalty is probably high up on that short list. That said, I’ve never traced my family back all that far but I’m sure that while there would probably be surprises if I did, being descended from royalty wouldn’t be one of them :P

98. Do you have any scars?

I have a few very light incision scars on my lower stomach from various surgeries, and a couple of scars on my hands from where I’m stupidly cut myself when using knives but nothing too major! I have some chicken pox scars on my face but I genuinely don’t even notice them.

99. Color of your bedspread?

At the moment it’s my grey and white Paris-themed duvet cover, which I love and is a nice balance between warm and cool because it’s still quite cold here at night. I really like it actually!

100. Color of your room?

It’s hot pink. Funny story, my sister and I share a room and like, it must be more than 10 years ago now, we were getting it repainted and I wanted it to be in bright colours like the sunset and my sister wanted it to be a deep purple, so my mam made the executive decision to paint it this ridiculous colour of pink as a “compromise” even though we both hated it haha. I’m just so used to it now, and I’m hopefully moving to Dublin in the next few months anyway :)

#thank you! #asks #ask keri a question