#i need to clarify what I imagine here is intense constant screaming that only he can hear for a week straight

[jayaorgana]

Thinking about a Beru Skywalker AU where after she dies she starts haunting Vader. After he cuts Luke's hand off she stands in the room screaming for a week straight.

#i need to clarify what I imagine here is intense constant screaming that only he can hear for a week straight #her image like... glitches for him fyi #she switches in between 15 like she was when he left and 25 like she was when shmi died and how she looked when she died #and she makes the room smell like burning #and he has to pretend hes not being ghost harrased in public #pippa.txt

[one-winged-whump]

Keeping Track

heyyy i never post writing, but I wanted to write a section where I retconned a character getting an injury and I really liked it, so I thought it would post it here!!

also yes this is in first person, and no i will not apologize for it <3

Warnings: pet whump, collars, fear, branding, manhandling, dehumanization, creepy whumper, torture

Word count: 2187

I cracked open my eyes and sat up as I heard the doors to the office click open. To my utter lack of surprise, Sisko was strolling into the room, much too chipper for the time of day. My face formed a snarl and the smaller feathers on my wings puffed in disgust as he passed me, and I had to resist the urge to reach out and knock his legs out from under him. The fine chain leash around my neck jangled as I turned my head to follow him with my gaze.

Unfortunately, he reached his desk unscathed and sat down with his mug of coffee to begin booting his computer up. As it did, he swiveled his chair around to face me, watching me with intense, appraising eyes. I scowled at him, hoping that looks would kill for once. But he didn’t chide me contemptuously like usual, just studied me like I was a particularly fascinating bug on a window sill.

When his login screen popped up, Sisko finally set his coffee down and turned to his computer, the faintest smile on his lips.

I huffed indignantly. We’d only been here a week and I was ready to tear this man limb from limb every moment of the day. Hopefully I’d get a chance soon. Then I could get the key to this stupid collar with its weird tech and go find the boys. Then we could all get out of here together and go home. It was a wildly outlandish plan, but I was willing to take any chance I could for an escape. I’d had enough of being treated like an animal, thank you very much.

The clacking from Sisko’s computer slowly brought me out of my own thoughts and I inwardly groaned. Why the hell was his keyboard so damn loud? Who even likes loud, clicky keyboards like that?

“You know, bird,” Sisko said suddenly, making me start. “You and your companions aren’t the only animals I own.” I wanted to scowl at him again, but that made me pause. Other animals?

“I have the more exotic ones like you tucked away in a room together. They’re quite impressive, honestly.” He chuckled, still not looking away from his screen. He continued casually, like he was talking to a friend instead of me, a bird girl chained to the ground.

“Everyone who sees them insists so. But you all are just that much more special.” He pulled away from his computer, rolling his chair backwards and turning to face me pointedly. “You’re the only ones of your kind.”

I glowered. Was he trying to say something that would upset me? If he was, this wasn’t it. I knew we were the only people like this, and it honestly didn’t bother me. It was everyone else who seemed to have some kind of problem with us.

“Yes, truly rare,” Sisko mumbled, seemingly to himself. Then his eyes fell on me again. He crossed his ankle over his knee and propped his head up with one elbow on his desk. “I feel like I need to make sure everyone knows that I own you now.” His smile, which had started out as a smug little smirk, was quickly turning into the excited grin of a child in a toy store. A shiver ran over my skin, but I kept my angry facade.

Sisko paused for a lingering moment before speaking again. “While I own rare and lovely animals, I also own cattle. Did you know that, bird?” I blinked in surprise. It made sense, I guessed, but somehow, it was impossible to imagine Sisko in his sharp, sleek suits overseeing fields of huge, smelly cows.

“Mostly for meat. I like to know where my food comes from, start to finish,” he clarified, and I rolled my eyes, folding my arms over my chest. Maybe if I pretended to be uninterested enough, he would just go back to ignoring me.

“And ‘start to finish’ means keeping constant track of all of this cattle,” he continued, prattling on and on. “Knowing the cows from the steer from the heifers from the springers. Knowing which ones have had their vaccines, which ones are sick.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs the other way. “It’s all very important to know.” I sighed loudly and dramatically, slumping myself against the bookcase behind me. If this bothered him, he didn’t show it. Just kept that same unsettling grin.

“There are several ways to keep and identify cows from one another. An ear tag, of course, given at birth.” Sisko flicked his earlobe with a finger. “The easiest method, in my opinion, but they can fall off. So we must also have a backup method of keeping track of them.” I yawned exaggeratedly, hoping to annoy him into shutting the hell up. Why in the world was he telling me about his cattle, of all things?

“One of the alternate options is a tattoo on the inside of the ear,” Sisko explained, biting his bottom lip to try to contain his excited smile. “But it’s so hard to get them to stand still long enough to make it clear enough to read. Which leaves us with the other option.” He sat up, weaving his fingers together excitedly, eyes glittering. It made me extremely uneasy. I could feel some of my smaller feathers begin to puff up anxiously.

“Freeze branding is more popular these days, but I honestly prefer a good, old fashioned hot-fire brand, myself,” he said. “It might not be quite as good as freeze branding, but I would say it’s much more effective for...behavioral problems.” Sisko could no longer contain his feral grin, and I felt my heart seize in my chest suddenly. Shit. Fuck.

“I think they should just about be ready,” he said with mirth and I paled, head spinning. There was no way even he was batshit enough to do this to me. It had to just be some kind of horrible scare tactic, like stories parents tell their children to frighten them into obeying.

But sure enough, not fifteen seconds later, there was a knock at the door. My mouth went dry as Sisko called in a sing-songy voice “Enter!”

Three men entered the room wearing thick cloth gloves. I recognized them as some of the goons that had kidnapped us all in the first place. In their gloved hands, they carried a bucket with wash cloths hanging over the side, a blow torch, and a metal rod. The rod was a few inches longer than my arm, with a curved metal handle on one end, and a pattern I couldn’t make out in the other. My blood froze in my veins.

“So lovely to see you gentlemen again,” Sisko cooed to the men. “You may start whenever you’re ready.” I hoped, nay, expected at least one of them to grow a conscience and say “Hey, what we’re about to do is wrong!” But consciences seemed in short supply around here.

I scrambled to try to get away, but my collar and leash kept me securely fastened and unable to get more than a couple feet away. The men approached slowly, then one jumped on top of me, shoving me onto my back with enough force to snap my head against the marble flooring.

As I tried to blink the stars from my vision, hands gripped me from all sides and rotated me so now I was laying on my stomach.

“Oh, excellent choice,” Sisko purred from his desk. “I think that’s the perfect place for it.” I tried to at least get on my hands and knees, get just a touch of leverage to shake the bastards off, but there was a heavy weight on my legs, and my hands were bound together under my body. When the hell had that happened?

I heard the soft zrrip of a zip tie fastening and realized that my feet were also bound now. In a panic, I flapped my wings, hoping that if they couldn’t help me to my feet, they could at least disorientate the men.

But a shock of pain ran up my right wing as one of them smacked it down and slammed his boot down on it. I definitely would have cried out if I could have. Instead, I let out a gasping grunt.

My left wing was still free, but I stopped moving it when I slammed it harshly into the bookshelf in an attempt to hit one of the men. As soon as I paused, the man I’d tried to cuff with it stepped on top of my wing, putting his entire weight on it.

I was panting hard, trying so hard not to start crying and also trying to keep myself from absolutely losing it. With the two men on my wings, everything from the waist up was effectively pinned to the ground. When I moved my legs, the last man laid a threatening foot on it, so I stopped. I couldn’t deal with him breaking one or both of my legs. Not right now.

So I just had to lay immobile while the men above me flicked on the blow torch and began heating the long metal rod. The iron brand.

The wait was horrible. The only sound in the room was the loud wrooooosshhhh of the flame and my own breath coming in shallow gasps. Flat on my stomach, I couldn’t see what the men were doing. I could see the floor, part of the bookshelf, and a sliver of blue sky outside the window. I couldn’t even see Sisko, though I was sure his face still held that disgusting manic grin.

After what felt like hours, the blow torch snapped off, and I froze. Oh, no. The man on my left wing shifted, and I felt the bottom of my shirt being pulled up to my wings, exposing my lower back. Oh, god! My entire body was rigid, tense with dreadful anticipation. Please, god, someone help me! Please, I-

The most searing pain I’d ever felt shot through me. I screamed a mostly soundless guttural scream that hurt on the way out, but not nearly at the level of my lower back. I tried to squirm away for even the most minuscule relief of the more than white hot pain, but I felt boots on my neck, my shoulders, anything that could still move.

Tears were freely flowing down my face as my hands clawed at my stomach underneath me, as if I could reach through it and grab the pain away.

A foul smell reached my nose and I realized that was me. Sour and charred and sickening. That was my skin I could hear sizzling and blistering. I let out another hoarse, gasping wail from my gut and slammed my head into the marble floor, trying to stop the pain somehow.

I was breathing so hard that it felt like my entire body was jerking with spasms, which made the burning hot pain worse, which continued to make my breath come out in labored pants. On and on and on in a worsening circle. My head swam and my vision dimmed at the edges. Was I blacking out? I hoped I would, because that would be the only reprieve I could get from the unbearable, agonizing pain.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the pressure lifted from the small of my back, but the rush of cold air stung nearly as bad and I inhaled sharply as a new flood of tears spilled from my eyes. The wound pulsed with every beat of my unnaturally fast heart rate, and it made me sick to my stomach, like I might throw up. I was sweating and shivering all over, hiccuping with barely-controlled wheezing gasps for breath. Even the tips of my flight feathers were trembling.

I felt a touch near the wound and I would have jerked away if I’d had the energy, but I couldn’t. The thought of that metal touching me again was almost too much, but luckily the touch was much softer than white hot metal. It took several moments of flinching pain for me to realize that one of the men was smearing a salve on the brand wound. Probably something to keep the infection away, hopefully some kind of numbing agent. Either way, every time the cloth met my back, it was a painful jolt to my nervous system.

I closed my eyes and put my forehead against the cold marble, shuddering softly and shaking with sobs, but not wholly because of the pain. I was branded now. Like fucking chattel. A permanent mark, a reminder.

Someone grabbed a fist full of my hair, yanking my head up to face them. I pried my eyes open to see Sisko’s smug, unbothered face grinning back at me.

“Don’t worry. It looks lovely,” he told me. Then, his smile broadened as he said, “And now everyone knows you’re mine, bird.”

#eheheheheh #ya love to see it #oc avi #oc sisko #whump #whump writing #pet whump #nonhuman whump #collars #creepy whumper #manhandling #branding #dehumanization #marki writes #volitation #there are four people who know the context but its okay #whump stuff #ask to tag #torture #mute whumpee

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 32: Martin

They’re right. Jon Prime can’t see the colors of fear like Tim can. It’s something between a shock and a relief to all of them, but especially to Jon. Less pleasing is the news that, apparently, the one in the Institute who can see marks is Jonah, although Jon Prime admits he doesn’t know how he sees them, or even if he actually sees them or just Knows they’re there.

Tim gets very dramatic about this, but Martin suspects it really does bother him more than a little.

They won’t let Tim push himself to experiment, but he does a couple of carefully controlled and supervised peeks at objects and statements. Martin and Martin Prime are both extremely vocal and vehement in their opposition to him going up to Artifact Storage to have a look around, and even Sasha agrees it would be a really terrible idea. Jon makes it unanimous by declaring that Tim has met his quota of bad decisions for the year and begun borrowing against the next. Tim gives in gracefully enough.

He cheers up some when the first Sunday in Advent passes—not that any of them are churchgoers, but it’s a convenient way to mark the start of the season—and they’re able to decorate their house for Christmas. Martin hasn’t celebrated, really, since his grandfather died, and Jon even longer ago than that, but it’s hard not to join in with Tim’s enthusiasm. Jon finds a sprig of mistletoe and hangs it over the door; Sasha teases him about it, then evidently regrets it when it touches off a mini-lecture about its history as a protective plant to ward off witches and demons.

Martin finds himself staring at it every time they pass through the front door. It’s just a silly superstition, of course, but if he thought it would work, he’d deck out every door and window in the place. From the fact that he comes back from lunch one day and sees Tim with a search page called up for protective plants and charms, he suspects he’s not alone in that.

As the calendar goes over into December, they’re all beginning to relax somewhat. Jon is less neurotic; Sasha is less secretive and a bit more open about what she’s doing (emphasis on a bit). Martin is able to keep himself from overcompensating for his shortcomings (or, as Jon insists on referring to them, perceived shortcomings), and Tim hasn’t done anything catastrophically stupid in three weeks. Even the Primes seem more relaxed. Jon Prime is getting progressively stronger; he still says he has trouble thinking down in the tunnels, but he’s able to move around without needing to sleep for two days afterward. Martin Prime seems less worried about him, seems being the operative term. Martin knows it can’t last, but he hopes they’ll at least get through the new year before they have to start really worrying about fears and monsters and cops and bosses.

He should really know better by now.

Martin assumes the footsteps on the stairs belong to Tim or Sasha. He cut his lunch a bit short because he was expecting a callback regarding a statement follow-up, which he’s just ended, and he assumes it took longer than he anticipated. He looks up, ready to pass on the information, but the words dry up in his throat at the sight of the person striding towards him. Solid, with well-defined muscles and a blonde crew cut, the woman looks a good deal like the description of the assassin in the Jeffrey Archer book he did his last school report on, but despite being in plainclothes, she screams cop. This, then, must be Detective Alice “Daisy” Tonner, and Martin has no idea why she’s here.

Her eyes narrow when she spots Martin, and he shrinks back instinctively from the intensity in her eyes before he gets a hold on himself. He hasn’t, he reminds himself, done anything wrong. “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asks, his voice only squeaking a little.

“You’re Martin Blackwood?” she demands.

“Y-yes?”

“The Martin Blackwood?”

If this were any other situation, Martin might respond with a paraphrase of that line from one of the Hitchhiker’s Guide books, he can’t remember if it’s the second or third off the top of his head: No, just a Martin Blackwood, don’t you know I come in six packs? That, however, would be tantamount to suicide. Then he remembers that the Primes got pulled over. “I’m the Martin Blackwood that works in the Institute, yes. Can I help you?”

Daisy—it’s impossible to think of her as anything else—eyeballs him, then grunts. “Detective Daisy Tonner. I need to talk to the Head Archivist.”

“Yep. Of course. Right this way.” Martin jumps to his feet, nearly toppling his chair over backwards, and starts towards Jon’s office. “Uh, can I get you a…cup of tea or…?”

“I’m fine,” Daisy growls.

The small, furry mammal of Martin’s inner being flattens its ears and crouches in the grass, desperately hoping to avoid being seen, and Martin swallows hard. “R-right. Um. This way.”

He leads Daisy over to Jon’s office door and opens it cautiously. He’s pretty sure Jon isn’t recording, at least not on the tape recorder, but he’s usually careful anyway, especially since none of them knock anymore; Jon’s asked them to stop and they’ve decided, collectively, not to ask questions. Yet.

Jon looks up from the spread of papers on his desk and smiles, but it fades quickly. Martin can only imagine what his face must look like. “Martin. Is everything all right?”

“There’s a Detective Tonner here to see you,” Martin answers.

He is in complete agreement with whatever emotion Jon’s face is attempting to convey as he shuts the folder and shoves the papers aside. “Ah…send her in.”

“Okay. I’m, um, there’s something I need to run down,” Martin says. “U-unless you need me to stick around.”

Jon seems to understand. Of course he does. “No, I should be all right.” He doesn’t sound completely sure. “Make certain your phone is on you, though.”

Martin doesn’t bother pointing out that the tunnels don’t get service. “Right.” He steps out and nods to Daisy. “You can go in.”

Daisy doesn’t thank him, just pushes past him and shuts the door. Martin stands still for a moment, trying to shake the creeping feeling of dread, then turns and heads for the trapdoor leading to the tunnels.

Something I need to run down. Jon told Martin, after Melanie’s visit, that he liked that as a code phrase for ducking into the tunnels, so they’ve all been using it lately. Usually it’s to ask the Primes a question or clarify something, sometimes just to check up on them and see if they need anything. Jon and Sasha are taking it in turns to map out the tunnels, too—they’ve almost finished the first level. Maybe. Tim and Martin, on the other hand, occasionally go down just to get some relief from the constant pressure of the Eye.

It’s interesting, Martin thinks as he clicks on his torch and descends the steps, how differently they react to the tunnels, or more specifically to the effect of the tunnels on them. Tim embraces it, and Martin suspects he would spend all his time down there if he thought he could get away with it, but he usually goes down at least once a day, if only for a few minutes. Sasha finds it kind of exciting, not being able to just ferret out the tunnel’s secrets easily, but the problem is that she’s addicted to the mystery of it. Jon is in a weird place; on the one hand, he also wants to know everything about the tunnels that he can, but on the other, he’s already starting to get to a point where if he stays down for too long, he winds up drained and shaky. Both he and Sasha are under strict injunctions not to spend more than an hour a day in the tunnels, and privately, Martin thinks that might be too long for both of them.

And Martin? He’s in a weird place, too. He does like the comfort of not being constantly watched, and of knowing that he can ask people how they’re feeling and know he won’t accidentally compel them to answer, and if he’s being honest, it’s one of the two places in the world he feels completely safe and relaxed (his mind skips away from actually acknowledging what the other place is). At the same time, though, he feels…guilty. Like he’s abandoning someone who’s depending on him.

With a sigh, he leans against the wall of the tunnel for just a moment, then straightens up and heads down to the Primes’ “room”. The door is open, and Martin can just faintly hear Jon Prime’s voice. It’s too low to make out the words, but when he cautiously pokes his head around the doorframe, he sees the Primes sitting up against the wall of the room, their battery-operated camping lantern lit and casting a soft golden glow over the pair of them. Martin Prime’s head rests on Jon Prime’s lap, and Jon Prime absently tangles the fingers of one hand through his curls. In his other hand he holds a book, and he’s reading aloud in a low, soothing voice. Martin almost wants to duck back out again, sit on the floor outside the room, and just listen for a little while.

But Jon Prime glances up as he turns a page, sees him, and makes a small noise of surprise. “Martin. I didn’t see you there. Is everything all right?”

“M-maybe?” Martin feels his cheeks go hot. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I—”

“It’s fine,” Jon Prime assures him. He keeps his voice low, and Martin wonders if Martin Prime is asleep. “Come on in. What time is it?”

Martin points his torch at his wristwatch, just to be sure. “Almost one in the afternoon. I just—it’s maybe not an emergency. I can come back—”

“Sit.” Jon Prime sets the book aside and glances down at Martin Prime. “How are you, love?”

“I’m fine. It’s fading fast,” Martin Prime replies. He starts to sit up, but Jon Prime stops him with a hand to the chest. “Jon…”

“Relax. Rest. You don’t need to—you’re fine.” Jon Prime looks up at Martin. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, ‘course not.” Martin comes into the room and automatically makes sure he doesn’t shine the torch in Martin Prime’s eyes. “I just…I just wanted to let you know, I guess. Daisy just turned up.”

Jon Prime sucks in a deep breath. “Oh, God.”

“She’s just here to deliver the next tape, though, right?” Martin asks. Anxiety suddenly grips him. He shouldn’t have left the Archives, no matter what Jon said. “She won’t hurt him, will she?”

“N-no.” Jon Prime doesn’t sound too sure. “She didn’t hurt me this time around…not physically. But…in theory, yes, she’s just dropping off the next tape. I accidentally compelled a statement out of her—I hadn’t yet learned I could do that—and made her rather angry, but…well, let’s hope it won’t come to that.” He takes a deep breath. “Then again, she did encounter us. Who knows what she’s thinking.”

“Christ, I should’ve stayed up there. I-if Jon’s going to—God, he’s going to be exhausted after, and none of us are there to cut the statement.” Martin sucks in a breath. “And he’s alone, if she does anything—I’ve got to get back up there.”

“Go easy,” Martin Prime cautions him. “And don’t break the door to his office down. She might…you won’t be the one she takes it out on.”

Martin takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Um, d-do you two need anything?”

“Some paracetamol, maybe?” Jon Prime asks. “We’re getting low.”

Martin winces and glances at Martin Prime. “Migraines?”

“Mm-hmm. Hadn’t had one in a while. I kind of thought I outgrew them, but…” Martin Prime gestures vaguely at his head. “Been bad for the last week or so.”

“I’ll be back later with some aspirin,” Martin promises. “Works better for migraines. M-maybe some of that ginger tea, too? We’ve got a ton of it.”

“Thank you,” Martin Prime says with a soft smile. “Be careful.”

Martin hums in agreement, then heads back to the stairs.

By his watch, it’s been no more than five, ten minutes since he came down into the tunnels—not nearly enough time for Jon to take Daisy’s statement, and Tim and Sasha probably won’t even be back yet. He climbs the stairs, head bowed in thought, pushes the trapdoor open, and steps out into the Archives.

And flinches.

Elias—Jonah—stands next to Martin’s desk, hands clasped in front of him, patiently waiting. His piercing grey eyes are fixed on Martin as he stands, half-in and half-out of the tunnel.

“Martin,” he says calmly. “I wondered where everyone was. Surely you don’t all go to lunch at the same time—have you been exploring the tunnels on Institute time?”

Martin panics slightly. He swallows hard, and he knows his knees are shaking as he climbs out and lets the trapdoor close behind him. “I-I came back from lunch a bit early to take a phone call. Jon told me t-to go ahead and take the rest of it once the call was done.”

“In the tunnels?”

Martin swallows hard. He’s usually fairly good at coming up with a plausible lie to cover something he shouldn’t do, or at least of distracting people from the fact that he needs to lie. But somehow, he doesn’t think he’ll manage it. Not completely.

“I’ve—I’ve been putting some things together,” he says. He manages to take a step closer, then another, until he’s by his desk and not far from Elias. Definitely closer than he wants to be, but it seems important that he do it like this. “Making connections.”

“Have you now,” Elias says blandly.

Martin takes a deep breath. He’s got to give Elias just enough of the truth to make it plausible, but not let on how much he knows, and most importantly, he can’t let Elias know the others know, too. “I’ve been thinking about the statements. One in particular. That woman who ran into Gerard Keay and the—the burn victim. There’s something he said to her, something I can’t stop thinking about—‘For you, better beholding than the lightless flame.’ I wondered what that meant, and—and then I started thinking. You know, I-I feel like—we all feel like—we’re being watched a lot down here, a-and I know it’s not CCTV or anything because there aren’t any cameras down here, but that’s what it feels like—like someone’s peering over our shoulders all the time. And that statement had a lot of eyes in it, you know? There was even an eye pressed up against the camera for just a minute on the footage we looked at.” He swallows hard. “When I go down in the tunnels—I don’t feel that. I can think down there, because I don’t feel like someone’s looking at my thoughts a-and judging them. It’s not just the woman’s imagination, o-or a crazy delusion. There is something that watches us. It might even be called the Beholding. A-at least, that’s what I’ve been calling it. And it’s here. I think it’s watching the Institute. All the time.”

There’s a brief silence, during which Martin swears he can almost hear the Eye blinking. It’s fond of you, Martin Prime said, way back in the beginning of all this, and Martin desperately hopes that’s true. Or at least that it’s fond enough of him to keep Elias from knowing how much he’s withholding. Then, suddenly, he realizes that’s going about it the wrong way and starts instead hoping that the Eye is curious enough about how this interaction will play out to keep Elias from knowing how aware the Archives team is.

“That’s very clever of you, Martin,” Elias says after what’s probably no more than a second, but feels like an eternity. “How long have you known all this?”

Not thought you’ve known, Martin notes. Known. Interesting. And frightening. “A while. At least since the Jane Prentiss attack. I-I was alone a lot, I had time to think, so…I did.”

Elias hums slightly. “I see. And what are you going to do about it, exactly?”

“Wh-what? I mean…” Martin flounders slightly and casts an involuntary glance in the direction of Jon’s firmly shut office door. “I-it’s not like I can—what do you mean?”

“I mean, Martin, do you intend to keep this knowledge to yourself?” Elias lifts an eyebrow. “Or do you plan to tell Jon?”

Sadly, there’s no right answer to this question. Martin tries to summon up his train of thought from back when Martin Prime first started telling him about all this. What would he have done if the Primes hadn’t been there to tell Jon? “I—I have to. He gets upset when we keep things from him, a-and he’s paranoid enough as it is, so if he thinks I’m keeping secrets…I promised I wouldn’t anymore. W-we all did.”

“Of course.” Elias’ voice drips with soothing insincerity and makes Martin’s skin crawl. “Will he believe you, though?”

“I’ve got—I can show him the connections I made,” Martin says. “He can be a bit skeptical sometimes, but he’s not stupid. A-and we’ve all seen enough, done enough, between Jane Prentiss and the couple of things we’ve been able to verify and—I at least have to try.” He swallows. “I don’t think he’ll be skeptical about this.”

“No,” Elias agrees, which surprises Martin. “I don’t suppose he will. And I’m sure your evidence is very convincing. But what will you do if he doesn’t believe you?”

Martin licks his lips and tries to shrug. “Protect him, I guess. As best as I can. If I’m right, he’ll find out the truth eventually on his own.”

“Oh, you are.” Elias’ frank admission makes the breath catch in Martin’s throat. He expected Elias to prevaricate, or attempt to convince him he was imagining things, but…no, no, this is definitely more frightening. “You’re absolutely right, Martin. And I’m sure, as smart as you are, that you’ve gone over a number of other statements beyond Ms.—Saraki’s, was it?—and found even more connections to support your theory, so you know this goes well beyond the Institute.”

“I-I…yes?” The more Elias agrees with him, or seems to praise him, the more frightened Martin gets. Which is probably the point.

“Mm. I wonder, though, if you really understand the implications of what you’ve discovered. There is so much more to this than you realize, Martin, and I wonder if you realize how harmful telling Jon would be.”

“Why? Because he’ll ask the wrong questions?” Martin asks before he thinks about it. “If Jon—he won’t quit or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. Not now. He’ll, he’ll look into things, start investigating. If I don’t have answers for him, he’ll try to find them on his own—that’s not a bad thing. What do you think will happen if I do?”

Elias jerks his head back slightly a split second before Martin tastes the static on his tongue and realizes what just happened. He tries not to let it show on his face. He’s fairly certain he isn’t supposed to know about that, and there’s no reason anyone would suspect that the Beholding gave them spooky knowing powers. Certainly he’s not supposed to have them. Hopefully his reaction doesn’t show on his face.

It doesn’t seem to. Elias gathers himself quickly. “You’re getting emotional, Martin. Just calm down.”

Martin isn’t sure if he’s relieved or alarmed that Elias seems able to resist his compelling. Then again, he’s not all that powerful. “I’m not emotional! I-I’m just—I was asking.”

“Of course Jon will try to find answers. But please understand that some of those answers…may not be in his best interest. Or yours, for that matter.” Elias leans slightly forward and meets Martin’s eyes. “Allow me to give you an example.”

Martin can’t stop the frightened gasp that rips itself from his throat as Jonah’s—there’s no denying in this instant that they belong to Jonah Magnus—eyes bore into Martin’s. The world seems to go black and white with a green wash and fill with static, and the thoughts fill his mind, thoughts and sights and memories not his own—

Her name on his lips is almost like a curse, and she lets one of her own fall as she sets aside the can and looks into those eyes, and she needs no prompting from the Eye to know what he has come to do. Even as they talk, as they both try to taunt each other and figure out who has the upper hand, she reaches into her pocket and fishes out the lighter, Gerard’s lighter—she never should have left the boy behind, but maybe it’s better this way—flicks it on. One little spark, and it will all end for him. But he reaches into his own pocket, pulls out a dark and ominous object, primes it, aims it at her. It comes to this, to which of them can ignite faster. She dares him to do it. He fires. She feels the impact, gasps and collapses, and for a moment, she wishes she had made other choices, she wishes—but no. She is dying, but in all she has done, she has kept safe that which she swore to keep safe. Still. She thought it would hurt more.

—and the color rushes back to the Archives, all the grey sucking into Jonah’s eyes as he blinks and straightens back up, adjusting his suit jacket with an imperious tug. Martin is pressed back against his desk, clutching it behind him with both hands and barely keeping from crumpling to the floor. His face is wet and his breath coming in short pants and gasps, and he realizes he’s sobbing, not sure if it’s with sorrow or fear. Maybe it’s both.

“Knowledge can be dangerous, Martin,” Elias says, as calmly as if he hasn’t just made Martin experience the death of a fiery old woman from inside her own head, at the hands of the man in front of him. “Do keep that in mind.” He turns to walk away, then pauses and glances over his shoulder. “Oh—and I would be cautious who I shared that knowledge with, if I were you. Jon isn’t the only one who would require proof, and I rather think Detective Tonner might have cause to suspect you had…ulterior motives in making such a wild and bold claim without evidence to back it up.” With that, he strides out of the Archives.

He passes Sasha coming in on his way out, or at least Martin’s pretty sure it’s Sasha; all he can see right now is a blur as he tries without success to get his sobbing under control. It’s definitely Sasha’s voice that speaks next, sounding worried. “Martin?”

“I—I’ll be right back,” Martin manages to choke out. He turns and bolts blindly from the Archives in the direction of the washroom. Once there, he locks himself in and slides down to the floor, buries his face in his arms, and cries.

It’s one thing to know Elias Bouchard murdered Gertrude Robinson. It’s another thing to experience it, to feel her dying moments imprint on him—what she felt in the moments leading up to it. And now he knows what it feels like to be shot, wonders if it felt like that for Martin Prime. God, he hopes he never has to deal with that again.

He takes a deep, shaking breath as the sobbing finally subsides and wipes at his face, then gets up to wash the tears and snot off. Once he’s done, he studies himself in the bathroom mirror. His eyes are reddened, his skin bears the too-shiny look of being freshly scrubbed, but it’s the best he can do. Hopefully it’ll be enough. He takes a deep breath and heads back into the Archives.

He gets there just as the door to the main corridor slams, making him jump. From the fact that Jon is frozen halfway across the Archives and Tim is over by their desks with Sasha, Martin guesses it’s Daisy leaving. Jon sighs and runs a hand through his hair, then turns and freezes. “Martin! Are you all right?”

Tim turns, his face creased in concern, and takes a step towards him with his arms already stretching out, but Martin shakes his head quickly. “Don’t—not right now. Please.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want a hug. He does, desperately. After what he’s been through, he can admit what he shied away from when he first went down to the tunnels—that the safest place in the world is in Tim and Jon’s arms. But he also knows that if he gives in and lets either of them touch him right now, he’ll fall apart. He’s just managed to get himself back together, and they still have half a day to get through, somehow.

Sasha holds out a mug—his mug, or at least the one he usually uses, the cobalt blue one with the raised pattern that looks like a cable-knit sweater, which happens to match the one he’s wearing today—brimming with tea. Martin accepts it with quiet thanks, then manages to sit down before he falls over. Tim pulls out his chair, turns it around, and straddles it, resting his chin on the back; Sasha sits down at her own desk, but doesn’t fire up her laptop yet. Jon hovers nearby, his face creased with anxiety and exhaustion in equal parts. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Martin lies. He’s never felt less fine in his life, but he’s also not sure Elias isn’t listening; even if he’s not lurking right outside the Archives, he could be watching Martin, waiting to see how he’s going to bring up his “theories”. “I was—exploring the tunnels. While you were talking to Detective Tonner. Sorry for sneaking around on you.”

Jon looks confused for a split second, then suddenly seems to understand. “Well, it’s not like I haven’t been down there myself. We all have. In fact, I think we’d best just leave the trapdoor unlocked in the future. I’d like to have a complete map of it anyway. But please, all three of you—don’t go down alone. Certainly not without telling anyone. Take a companion if you feel the need to explore.” He slides off Martin’s desk. “Tell you what. Why don’t we all go down there right now? There’s nothing going on at the moment. We’ll take an hour and look around a bit. Together.”

Sasha grabs a piece of paper, writes BACK IN 60 MINUTES on it, folds it into a tent, and leaves it up on their desks, then gives Jon a charming smile. “Just in case Elias comes down to visit.”

“Right. Bring your tea, Martin, come on.” Jon strides briskly over to the trapdoor, which Martin didn’t lock when he came out.

Tea. Martin opens his desk drawer and pulls out the bottle of aspirin he keeps there, slips it into his pocket, and grabs the box of ginger tea off their station before following the others down into the tunnels. Tim waits for him at the foot of the stairs, makes like he’s going to put his hand on Martin’s back, then evidently remembers his earlier request and instead takes the box of tea out of his hands. Martin nods gratefully.

The door to the Primes’ room is still open. Jon pokes his head in the door. “Sorry to bother you, but I didn’t want to wait until after hours.”

“Two visits in a single day. I’m honored,” Jon Prime says dryly. He’s smirking a little, but his expression falls when he sees Martin come in the room. “I am now concerned.”

Tim hands over the box of ginger tea. “That makes…four of us. Five if Martin Prime there wants to join in the concern.”

“Sure. I love worrying,” Martin Prime says, his head still resting in Jon Prime’s lap. “I’m guessing it’s not your Jon we’re worrying about? Unless he’s more upset by Daisy’s statement than you were.”

“No, it’s Martin,” Sasha replies. “I came back from lunch just as Elias was leaving and Martin was—” She catches herself.

“Having a bit of a breakdown,” Martin replies softly.

“Oh, God. Already?” Martin Prime sits up abruptly, then winces, evidently regretting it.

“Have a seat. All of you,” Jon Prime instructs. He studies Martin in obvious concern. “What did he say to you?”

Martin pulls the aspirin out of his pocket and shakes it once before handing it to Jon Prime. “It’s…I don’t know where to start. He was waiting for me when I got out of the tunnels.”

Haltingly, clutching his tea in both hands and staring into its depths, he tells the others the whole story—Elias’ questions, his own half-truths. Sasha’s eyes brighten when he mentions accidentally attempting to compel Elias, and she turns to Jon Prime, whose lips are set in a thin line. He shakes his head. “I know what you’re thinking, Sasha, but it won’t work. He’s strong enough to resist you. I tried, once, with all the force I have…he answered me, but only because he wanted to.”

“So it’s like Zone of Truth? He can choose to fail the saving throw automatically?” Tim frowns. “That’s unfair.”

“Well, he’s had two hundred years to practice, Tim.” Jon Prime turns back to Martin, and his expression is grim. “I don’t imagine he was pleased with that. What did he say about that?”

“He didn’t mention it,” Martin replies. “I—I think I managed to not let on that I realized I’d done it? He just told me to calm down. Th-then he said…he said there were some answers that may not be in our best interest, and…” He takes a deep breath. “He showed me Gertrude’s death.”

“He what?” both Jons shout in unison.

Tim lets out a string of Italian hot enough to blister paint and starts to stand. Sasha grabs his pant leg and tugs him back down, but even she looks pale in the lantern light. “Showed you. How? Put the pictures in your head?”

“Not pictures. More than video, too. It was like…like VR, o-or—I don’t know how to explain it.” Martin’s voice shakes, and he has to set the tea mug down before he breaks it. “I-it was like I was Gertrude Robinson. I-I could, I could feel what she was feeling, I had her thoughts, a-and I was listening to her talking with Elias—with Jonah—a-and then he…she had a lighter, I think she was going to burn the Archives down, and he had a gun, and she was telling him to shoot her or leave her alone, so he did.”

Jon Prime closes his eyes tightly. “‘Thought it would hurt more,’” he murmurs.

Martin Prime rubs his chest absently. “She must have a higher pain tolerance than I do.”

“It wasn’t physical pain she was talking about,” Martin says. Something clicks into place and he knows it with a certainty he’s felt about precious little else in his life. “It was the emotional pain, the knowledge that she was dying, that her plan failed. That the Fears were still out there and Jonah’s plan could still succeed.” A stabbing headache, not quite a migraine but similar in intensity, hits him directly between the eyes, and he closes his eyes, rubbing at the spot.

“Christ, Martin,” Tim breathes. “Will you take that damn hug now?”

“Y-yeah.”Martin manages a smile as he opens his eyes again and Tim’s arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him close. Jon reaches over and grips his hand hard; Sasha rests a hand on his other arm.

“God.” Jon Prime looks shaken. He clutches Martin Prime’s hand like a lifeline. “I-I always just assumed…”

Martin shakes his head slightly. “From what I could feel, she was—there were some regrets, but I don’t think actually dying upset her all that much, and I think that kind of surprised her.” He sighs. “Not that I was doing all that great. A-and then it all stopped, and I just…I’m pretty sure I was crying before all that, but I hadn’t noticed. Elias told me that ‘knowledge can be dangerous’, and then said I should be careful about who I shared the knowledge he’d just given me with.”

Tim tenses, but Martin Prime just sighs. “In other words, he thought your first instinct would be to tell Daisy he killed Gertrude. Only there’s no proof for that, so she would have assumed you were covering up for Jon.”

“She said they know I didn’t do it,” Jon murmurs. “They got the CCTV footage cleaned up…”

“Then she’d have blamed me,” Martin says softly. “Not that I would have told her anyway. I’m not stupid. But—”

“But he knew that,” Sasha completes. “I bet he was trying to convince you to tell her. Put the idea in your head. Maybe he thought you’d do it to prove him wrong…”

“And then either you or Jon would get arrested,” Tim says harshly. “Or worse.”

“Probably worse,” Martin Prime agrees. “He—” He suddenly freezes, his spine stiffening. “Oh.”

“Oh? What ‘oh’? I don’t like that ‘oh.’” Tension creeps into Tim’s voice.

“Tim, have you—looked at anyone on the team?”

“L—wh—no,” Tim sputters. “You mean with my—? No! I promised I wouldn’t—a-and that’s, that’s invasive, I don’t—why would I do that?”

“Because I’m wondering how many marks you all have. Separately and individually.” Martin Prime takes a deep breath. “If Jonah knows your Martin is developing powers…”

“No,” Jon Prime breathes. “No, he—he wouldn’t, it won’t—it wouldn’t work that way.” He pauses. “Would it?”

“If they’re all reading statements? Why wouldn’t it?”

Martin feels the other three draw closer to him, all of them managing to huddle in a group together. It’s Jon who finally asks, his voice full of trepidation, “Why wouldn’t what work?”

Dread runs down Martin’s spine as Martin Prime seems to meet each of their eyes, despite his blindness. “If you all have roughly the same number of marks, and you’re all developing powers from the Eye…Jonah might be considering whether or not he has to actually use your Jon for his ritual. Or if he could use one of you instead.”

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #emotional cruelty cw #mind manipulation cw #canon-typical Elias Bouchard asshattery

[nad-zeta]

Match up ^o^

May I request a Match up, please?

I’m at the part when I have to choose a route and I honestly don’t know/care. So I decided why not let some lovely internet stranger choose for me? Who do you think I would pair the best with?

I also noticed how much effort and detail you put into these so I decided that it was only fair to try to put in just as much effort in requesting. Or maybe I am just extremely vain so blabbering on this much about myself comes naturally (I also wouldn’t be too suprised if this were the case lol). Either way, I apologise for this getting so long. And without further ado, let’s learn about yours truly. Uh, yay?

I will start with my physical appearance because that’s easiest.  

First of all, I am rather tall for a woman. Pair that with the fact that I constantly wear boots with 8 centimetre or greater heels and I almost always cap out somewhere above 182 centimetres (that’s 6 feet in American). So yes. I’m not exactly the approachable type, on the account of my height and near constant resting bitch face. I always look pissed off at something (and to be fair, I usually am).

I am a brunette with boring brown eyes. Nothing of note there. 

I prefer to walk on my toes, for whatever reason. I also have great posture when I walk and these two factors always make it seem like I am floating. I’ve been told that I always seem very confident and self-assured. Which is complete bullshit because 90% of the time, I am winging it. 

I am a dancer (of sorts. More on that later), so I am rather slim and toned. This is literally the only aspect of my physicality that I am actually confident in. The rest of me can burn in hell for all I care. 

I am also very touch adverse. I hate the feeling of skin touching my skin it grosses me touch. However. There are a select few people in this world that I accept and enjoy hugs and cuddles from (and who I could snuggle with for hours). If I let anyone cuddle me that means I trust said person unconditionally and feel extremely comfortable around them. It’s essentially the ultimate statement of trust.

Onto personality.

If you can’t already tell, I have about as much dignity as a wet cat. I while I certainly do have an ego, it can be kind of difficult to bruise. Publically, I am absolutely shameless and don’t give two shits about what others think. 

I have a tongue of steel and can rapid fire the most atrocious insults and comebacks when provoked. I’m known for my venomous sarcasm and biting wit among my own circles. I have a line for nearly every single situation so one-liners have become my thing. Which works out for me because I am a huge flirt.

I’ll flirt with pretty much anyone regardless of gender, I don’t give a crap. To clarify, it’s not because I am an attention whore (okay, yes. I am a complete attention whore), it’s because I am a theatre kid so excessive eye contact and sexual jokes are kinda where I thrive. I am also not afraid to get questionably lascivious with my flirting if someone tries to out-pace me. I never blush, I never falter, and I never let anyone know that they got the better of me. It shows weakness. 

Despite my salacious façade, I am not inherently a sexual person. As a matter of fact, I am quite the opposite. I don’t experience sexual attraction (kudos to my asexual humans. I see you). This has rendered me practically immune to all charm, crushes, and sex appeal. It makes my life a lot easier, in my opinion. I don’t get too attached. I also enjoy messing around with the egos of fuck boys. 

As mentioned earlier, I am an attention whore. I love showing off because I crave validation (this could point to some deep seated insecurities about myself that I refuse to acknowledge…. Ahem). Being on stage as where I thrive. And yes, I am a dancer, as I stated earlier. But I am not your conventional prissy ballerina. I am a circus performer. More specifically, I’m an aerialist. I have covered trapeze, contortion (I am unnaturally flexible), lyra, and silks. It’s a lot of fun almost dying every day and finding bruises in the most questionable places (if you cant already tell, I am an adrenaline junkie. I took karate for the first dozen or so years of my life and have recently been searching for more weapons combat classes because apparently I don’t have enough bruises already).

I am not easily impressed. And I don’t give out compliments very often. And that includes myself. I can be unnecessarily hard on myself at times… most of the time. But then again, who isn’t? 

As for the side of me that isn’t stark-raving mad, I am usually a pretty objective person. While I have no qualms with discussing emotions (both mine and friend’s. I am a great listener and actually give pretty good advice when it comes to dealing with intense emotions). I tend to avoid letting them interfere with my logic. I look down on those who allow their emotions to dictate their actions. It makes them needlessly reckless. 

I am typically a pretty chill person. When I am among people I am unfamiliar with, I tend to stay quiet and try not to rock the boat too much (again, I won’t hesitate to unleash a severe tongue lashing upon any poor soul who happens to rub me the wrong way… Or just happens to exist. I don’t take shit from other people and I hate it when others try to control me. (I don’t play rough, I play smart). 

I really enjoy reading, writing, or drawing quietly. I can’t stand loud and excessive noises or people (parties, screaming, concerts). I am a true extroverted introvert. I love being the center of attention and chatting, but I need my alone time. People are exhausting to deal with. 

Because of my aversion to loud sounds, I tend to avoid typical dance parties like the plague. While I am very good with mingling and partying in general, I can only keep it up in short bursts before I have to retreat somewhere quiet. This is also the reason I greatly prefer the nighttime (if I had a choice I would sleep all day and only frolick around at night. I just love the dark. It’s comforting in a weird way). I also love the night because that’s when I get to sleep and just peace out on life. It’s kinda like non-committal dying.

I am near constantly on hyper-alert so I am not easily startled. When I do get startled, I have a tendency to squeak, yelp or growl. These noses are purely reactionary sounds but for whatever reason, my friends think that they are absolutely adorable and will go to great lengths to startle me just to hear me make them.

To counteract my friend’s malevolence, I have learnt to be super observant, especially when I feel threatened. Usually, I am caught up on my own world and thoughts. I have an imagination so powerful that I can trick my brain into feeling false sensations such as an extra limb or falling. I much prefer to spend my time in my head rather than our boring reality. But if I feel threatened, or think that another attack is imminent, I instantly become hyper aware. These moments of lucidity enable me to make certain observations others would otherwise be overlooked (for example. I was able to tell when my professor lost her wedding ring due to the discoloration around her ring finger and the habitual and near-constant worrying she did at it. I offered to help her look after class ^.^. I admittedly felt kinda smug when I saw her surprise.) Ironically enough, I like to refer to this mode of thinking as “Sherlocking”. I can be quite the detective when I really try. 9 out of 10 times my friends will come to me when they suspect infidelity, I am pretty good at digging up dirt. 

However, I have to make the conscious decision to do this, usually when I am trying to figure someone out or manipulate them into liking me. So this isn’t constant and usually I go about my day like everyone else, blissfully unaware of my surroundings.

Uhh, there is probably more I could cover but this is getting very long as-is and you are probably forcing yourself to get through my seemingly eternal ramblings. So I am going to stop here and go grab myself some food. 

Best of luck to you,

-November

Hi there love!<3 you sound like such a cool interesting person! ^_^ Hehehe I probs took so long with this match up that you already chose a new route lol! Anyways thanx for waiting soooooo long for this and I hope ya enjoy it love ^0^ ^_^

I match you with……………………… Masamune

Honestly, it was between Masamune and Mitsuhide for me lol but i eventually decided to go with Masamune 

The first time Masamune sees you, his eyes go wide in awe, like wow you are one tall fine lady! He has legit never met anyone so tall. After you were named as chatelaine, you stayed behind with some of the warlords to chat and get to know them better, you are after all going to be seeing their faces every day for the next 3 months. 

Right of the bat, Masamune is howling in laughter at the fact that you are way taller than Ieyasu. You, Masamune and Mitsuhide basically tease the poor porcupine for a solid 20 minutes. “My my I never expected such a scary-looking little mouse to be so bubbly and friendly.” 

Oooh, this boy just stared a war of wits. Today day was a good day cause your tongue of steel was rapidly firing witty words and sarcastic remarks at the resident kitsune. He almost couldn’t keep up, almost. Masamune was just standing there watching the whole scene unfold, you truly were going to be a lot of fun! Masamune decided to test out that tongue of steel of your and started firing some flirty pick-up line, while unbeknown to him you are the queen of one-liners, and have no shame when it comes lascivious flirting. Masamune, of course, never backs down from a challenge, and he was determined to make you blush. The conversation got so heated that it made even Hideyoshi blush on your behalf. You simply laughed and fired another one of your pick-up lines.

After the little chat in the hallway and a massive speech from mama bear for talking about things that were not PG13, cause of the kids *cough* Mitsunari *cough*, you and Masamune become quick friends. He had never met a woman before that was immune to his boyish wild charm, and handsome sexual appeal. Masamune was definitely popular with the woman, not as popular as Hideyoshi, but he was definitely a fuckboi. As surprised as he was, that his normal antics didn't work on you, his ego wasn’t dented one bit, it just made him more determined to get to know you. 

Masamune definitely finds your flirtatious nature attractive, especially when you managed to score the two of you free sweet bun just by flirting with the shop owner, he was, even more, shook when the shop owner was a woman, your flirtation truly knows no bounds. The two of you would spend loads of time together, just going out for tea and sweets while getting to know each other. TBH although Masamune would never admit it, he found it refreshing that you weren't just his friend simply cause he was hot or cause you wanted to climb in stations but because you actually liked him as a person. You and Masamune definitely made an unstoppable team when it came to banquets. The two of you would team up and start teasing everyone there. When you two cuties are together its always a good time with loads of laughter and banter

Masamune discovered that you like him, was an adrenaline junkie. He loved that he finally had someone around that would do stupid shit with him just for the thrill of it. The two of you would go out on adventures 24/7 jumping down waterfalls and hiking up cliffs. The two of you goofball would also dare each other to do the craziest shit. Like one-time Masamune dared you to jump off the castle’s roof onto your balcony, and you freaken did it, no questions asked. Or like the one time you dared him to put his head in Shogetsu mouth, mind you the little cub was now grown into a full-blown tiger

One day you and Masa went to go watch one of Mitsuhide’s undercover performances. The three of you were investigating a shady daimyo in one of the nearby provinces. The three of you disguised yourselves as performers and joined a circus troop as their new dancers. You were so excited, the stage is where you truly come alive. You had promised Masa to show him something that would shock/surprise him after he gave you the grand tour of  Azuchi. Today was the day, you had kept your dance and performances a secret from the two men, and now it was finally time to show them what you can do. You had 3 different performances planned. The first one was contortion. To say Masamune was shook would be an understatement he never knew anyone could be so freaken flexible, like wow. Your next performance was aerial dancing, his blue eye gleamed in delight, watching you move through the air so gracefully. If he wasn’t sure before he was sure now, this boy loved ya. But what really took his breath away was when you trapezed through the air, he was absolutely mesmerized at the way you flew through the air doing back-flips and other cool ass tricks. Masamune loved the look of pure joy on your face as you performed and after the show, you explained to him that you were a theatre kid back in the past. Mitsuhide definitely took note of your skills, and since that day you now accompanied him on most missions that required him to disguise himself as a performer.

Masamune loved everything about you at this point. Your overdramatic introvert/extrovert personality. The way you walked. Gosh, he loved the way you walked, it looked like you were an angel floating around wherever you went. He loved your banter and one-liner for every situation. And most of all he loved your hyper-alert side. Boy did he love to come up behind you to scare the crap outta you just so he could hear you squeak, yelp or growl. Like he lived for those adorably cute noises. And you somewhere along the line had fallen in love with the big idiot. He was always coming up with new fun adventures to go on or new fun things to do. He was one of those few people that could actually keep up with your banter

What was he most impressed with you may ask, well you Sherlocking skills of course. One day there were rumours of some super shady daimyos visiting Azuchi. Word on the street was that they were planning on stealing Mitsunari report to make the poor angel look bad. Mitsuhide was away sorting out some other plots and schemes, so it was now up to you to use your skills, to save the angel. You used your detective skill to gather evidence, and since your inner circle knew you were from the future, you were planning on catching them in the act and filming them for evidence. Masamune was always up for an adventure, so he acted as you own personal Watson. The two of you hid while watching the whole scene unfold, once they left the room the two of you came out. “What do you think they are going to do with the report lass,” he asked while his blue eye gleamed in delight. “Hmmmmm, I believe they are going to burn the evidence in the forest” you replied in your best British accent. Masamune couldn’t help but laugh. The two of you made your way to a secluded part of the forest and spotted them making a fire. Masamune looked at you curiously “How did you know they were going to be in this exact spot.” “Elementary, my dear Masamune.” He couldn’t help but burst out in laughter you really were a super fun kitten. Unfortunately for the two of you, they heard you guys laughing behind the trees and before you knew it, the two of you were surrounded. One of the men had a sword right at your throat ready to cut you open, that is when you shocked them by not backing down from the fight, you hit the sword away with one of your own gifted to you by your dearest one-eyed dragon. “ Point that sword at me one more time and i’ll slash your Achilles’ tendons, and TBH given the medicine situation of this time, no one would know how to fix your injury, so I hope you like hobbling around on one leg for the rest of your life cause that is what will happen.” These men were shook; meanwhile, Masa was next to you howling in laughter, “She’s not joking boys, this lass delivers on her threats.” You had never seen grown men run away from a fight so fast. You and Masamune picked up Mitsunari’s report that had fallen on the ground during the commotion and walked back hand in hand

You didn’t really like skin touching skin, but TBH you definitely like the warm feeling of Masamune’s hand warmed around yours. The two of you had come to fall in love with each other, and it wasn’t long before you two cuties entered into a relationship. Despite both of you being adrenaline junkies, both of you also loved your quiet times. Often you would sit together in his manor each doing your own thing. You would read and write, and Masamune would sit at his desk pretending to work (Cause admin is so freaken boring). 

The two of you would have the best time together during banquets you loved being the centre of attention and would chat with everyone, but as the night would progress you would start feeling a bit drained and that’s when the one-eyed dragon would swoop in, pick you up and takes you to a quiet corner where the two of you cuddle and snuggle together.

He would spoil you rotten with the most amazing food, he would basically, cook anything your heart desires just to see that beautiful smile on your face. His heart would always burst with affection whenever he cuddles and kiss you, he knew that the fact that you allowed him to cuddle you was the ultimate statement of trust between the two of you.

Often the two of you cuties can be found causing mischief and giving Mamayoshi more grey hairs or cuddled together sharing stories of your day

Other potential matches............... Mitsuhide 

Hope u enjoyed it dear @november-solarstorms

#ikesen masamune #masamune date #ikemen sengoku masamune #matchups #match ups #masamune matchup #ikesen matchup #submission

[allonsysilvertongue]

Chasing Hope

Summary: “If I ask you to name all the things you love, how long will it take for you to name yourself?” A story on finding hope, forgiveness and love in a world they never imagined they would survive. Post-MJ. Previously

9. A Time to Remember

"There are all these moments you think you won’t survive. And then you survive." — David Levithan

Effie was vaguely aware of the repetitive stroking of her hair. She stirred, finding herself enclosed in someone's arms and jolted upright. She turned sharply to look behind her shoulder - her pupils wide with her hand on her chest - to see Haymitch slowly pushing himself up to a sitting position.

"Sorry," he muttered for startling her, she supposed. "Don't run off. Sit and watch this."

The small pressure of his hand between her shoulder blades was reassuring in that moment and she felt the warmth spreading to her skin. Her heart ached. For years she had yearned for the comfort of his touch and now that he was giving it freely to her, a part of her wanted to shy away from the hands that had failed to pull her with him to the safety of District Thirteen.

"Watch," he gestured behind her when she was still staring at him with that slightly alarmed look on her face.

Turning her face towards the shoreline, she saw that the sky had taken on a pale yellow hue and then slowly, as the time ticked, it grew in brightness and intensity.

"Sunrise," she breathed in amazement.

"Yeah, new day."

"What was it that Katniss once said?"

“About the sun? Something 'bout the sun persist in rising...?" He clarified to which she nodded. "The sun persists in rising so I make myself stand."

"That is quite something, isn't it?" Effie hummed quietly. "To never giving up..."

"To never giving up," he echoed that sentiment, and it surprised her when he pressed a chaste kiss to her bare shoulder before pulling the robe that had slipped off back to cover the skin.

Effie fretted, bunching the robe on her lap together in her hands. He was tender and gentle, and it was glaringly obvious that he was making considerable effort to be nice to her but she hated the way he sometimes treated her like she might break, the way he was doing now. This Haymitch was a man she did not understand. She understood the man who took what he wanted from her; the one who would back her against the wall and kissed her until her lips bruise, leaving her breathless and wanting more; the one who would annoy her on purpose; the one who would have told her to get over whatever it was she was anxious about. He was brusque and brash and honest.

It felt too much like a front now. A rational part of her knew that with the Games and war over, this could be the person he really was underneath it all. No, she knew he could be this way because she had seen him showed genuine care and concern over Katniss and Peeta, over Johanna and Annie. Chaff's and Finnick's death had ate away at him. Haymitch cared deeply even if he did not make an open gesture of it.

She was just afraid that he might not care about her the way she had cared about him. She had trusted him only to be let down. She was worried that he was only acting this way because of his guilt and if she were to absolve him of it, he would treat her the way he did before, and that would shatter her.

Try, Dr. Aurelius had advised. Anger will fester and destroy. Try to let it go.

In the end, she said nothing, not even to acknowledge that kiss. Effie rose from the sunbed and offered her hand to him, pulling him up with her. He chuckled at that and despite the wariness she felt in her heart, she managed a smile.

After their return to Twelve, neither Haymitch nor Effie ever talked about that morning by the beach but whenever she was restless at night from nightmares and wandered out to the front porch with her kerosene lamp, Haymitch would end up there with her scant minutes later.

Now that the street lights were fixed, there really was no need for the lamp but Effie continued using it regardless and by now, it had become a beacon for Haymitch to find her.

"Is the boy in there?" He asked as he climbed the steps of the porch to settle down on the additional rattan chair that Peeta had placed there. "Never seen him out here with you."

"I've told him before that it is not necessary for him to sit out here with me. He spends most of his time including his nights with Katniss and I would rather it stay that way. Being with each other is good for them and I do not wish to impose any more than necessary.”

She was never alone out here. Haymitch would come each time and he would stay until she grew exhausted and retired to bed. At times, she caught him trying to stifle a yawn but he never excused himself to head home until she bade him goodnight.

That night, it was different.

As he recounted to her the rebuilding and construction efforts in District Twelve and lamenting the changes that was happening, she dozed off at the sound of his voice. It wasn't that listening to him bore her but it soothed her and made her calm enough to fall asleep, the way it had been that night in District Four.

In her dreams, she felt herself being lifted; light and weightless as if nothing in this world could weigh her down. She was moving but not in a smooth, seamless manner one expected if one was flying. The movements were jerky, a step at a time, and she felt herself being shifted, as if someone was trying to even out her weight.

She opened her eyes.

“Put me down,” Effie demanded immediately.

At her request, he glanced down at his arms where she was staring up at him.

“Alright,” Haymitch acquiesced and once she was on her feet, he stepped back.

They looked at each other.

“Just wanted to get you to your bed,” he told her. “Didn’t want you sleepin’ on the chair at the porch – might hurt your neck or something.”

“Oh.”

“Well… goodnight, sweetheart,” he mumbled, already angling his body away from her and towards the door.

“You’re never like this,” she remarked, putting out there the very thing that had been on her mind for days.

His brows furrowed. “Never what..?”

“This,” she gestured helplessly. “Walking on eggshells… Every act and move you make and do, it’s as if you are afraid that it might make me… run away.”

At her statement, he blinked and then looked down.

“You are always…. Haymitch, you’re always so sure of yourself. You’ve never cared about how I – “

“Yeah well,” he cut her off, not wanting to hear anymore of her observation on him.

He rubbed the back of his neck and clenched his jaws. Effie knew he was beginning to close himself off again, something he does when he was uncomfortable.

“You are not being yourself,” she said. “Do you think I will break if you are a little more… you?”

“Don’t know what that means,” he mumbled. “I’m me, still. I just ain’t sure how you… how you are with me. You’re angry with me, I get it. I don’t want to risk you being anymore mad at me – that’s all. Whatever it is between us, it’s already fragile enough, yeah? And I – This is unchartered water, sweetheart,” he motioned at the space between them.

Effie sighed.

Try, her doctor’s familiar voice whispered once more.

Haymitch was trying.

She should, too.

Try to let it go.

She reached out for his hand and his gaze snapped at her. When she slipped her hand in his and led him to the bedroom, she could sense his hesitation and confusion.

“Effie…”

“Come sleep with me,” she said.

The abrupt stop was telling. A frown sat on his features.

“Not like that,” Effie hurried to say, her cheeks turning red at the misunderstanding. “Sleep with me like… we did at the beach in Four. Hold me, please.”

She strode towards the bedroom, her steps purposeful before she could lose her nerves. The need to be held by Haymitch and the part of her that did not want to be touched by him was a constant war inside of her. Her heart desperately wanted it but her logical mind screamed at her to be careful.

In the confines of her bedroom, Effie placed the lamp next to her bed. Pulling the covers back, she slid in. Haymitch stood at the other side before he toed of his shoes and got in under the covers as well. She gave him a smile at that because a part of her was sure that given how careful he was acting around her, he would have slept on top of the covers. Perhaps he was trying to prove a point.

"You want to …" he opened his arm out to her.

Effie inhaled and strengthened her resolved. He is not going to betray you now. He won't hurt you. She scooted closer to him, pillowing her head on his arm. He was on his back with a hand resting on his stomach, staring at the ceiling. Effie was on her sides facing him, her hands safely tucked between them on the mattress.

They had done this before after long, exhausting days spent during the Victory Tour. They had spent some nights in her bed in this exact position except her fingers would have been drawing random patterns on his chest, a leg hooked over his. They had been so familiar with each other's bodies. They had been so comfortable with each other.

Now... They were both playing on the safe sides; learning and getting reacquainted. She had loved him and she always will but she needed to learn to trust him once more especially now, when he was allowing her glimpses into his heart.

"You are right," she whispered, her voice carried in the quiet of the night. "We are in unchartered water."

Next to her, she felt him shift but to his credit, Haymitch remained. The Haymitch before this would have extricated himself and removed himself from any potential conversation where feelings and emotions were involved.

"It's been something that I have been thinking about since the war ended, and even more so since I came here."

"We should talk this out, sweetheart," he murmured, turning his head slightly to his right to look at her. "We have to."

"You are never one to talk."

"Before... When it was dangerous," he corrected her. "I want to talk now. If it's about us, then I want to talk 'bout it, alright?"

'Before' was the crux of the matter, wasn't it?

He turned to his side then so that they were facing each other on the bed. The pad of his thumb was rough against the smooth skin of her arm but the repeated movement was comforting. Under the light of the bedside lamp, his grey eyes were bright as his gaze traced her face, taking in the sight of her without her wigs and her make-up. This wasn't the first time he had seen her this way but the intensity of his gaze still left her flustered.

"Effs...?" He prompted.

"This isn't about you leaving me behind. It hurts, of course, and I felt lied to. I am still trying to come to terms with it but I also understood why you did not tell me about District Thirteen or the rest of the plans with the other victors."

"Then what are you thinking about?"

"We were... We were trapped if a foxhole. We were both trapped in there for years. I need to be sure that what we have is real and that..." Effie trailed and paused to collect her thoughts. "That it will last beyond the stress of Games, the grief and pain of common loss. I need to be sure that we were... not just using each other."

Haymitch snapped his mouth shut and in his eyes, she could see that he was furiously thinking this through.

"It started out that way, Haymitch," Effie reminded him.

"Yeah, started is the key word here," he snorted. "Over the years… I thought you... I - "

"You were afraid of President Snow having leverage over you. You never had anyone else after your family and your girlfriend were.... and you told me it should remain that way."

“You were there," he pointed out. "You were there, sweetheart."

“I was there, exactly. I was convenient.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he sat up abruptly, pulling his arm out from under her head. He shot her a guilty look when he realised but the frustration was evident on his face. “Yeah, you were there and you were convenient but after they won… Effie, you were the only who understood - the pressure, the stress and the dangers Katniss and Peeta were in. You played your part to shield them and help them quell the fire Katniss started. You care about those kids the same as me. That ain't somethin' I share with anyone else. You understand?”

“I do not want the fact that I was the only one there to be – " Effie heaved a breath. "Haymitch, you are free. This is a different world now. There is no one to get any leverage against you, to use people you love as pressure points. You are free."

And she really did not want him to stay tied to her just because he felt guilty over what happened to her during the war.

"What are you saying?"

"There are other women," she lifted her gaze to him, slowly pushing herself up. "I've seen this district and the people coming in to resettle. You have choices, not just someone who is conveniently there. You might even... You might find them more to your... taste."

He laughed then; sharp and indignant.

"I don't have a taste. Why? Do you?"

"Surely you do," she insisted, "a type that you are partial to."

"Yeah, difficult, feisty and stubborn," he listed, looking at her pointedly. "Blonde," he wound a lock of her hair around his finger, "with eyes so blue. Someone who stands her ground... Sound familiar yet?"

Her breath hitched and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on ends. She felt warm all of a sudden and in a sudden quick movement, she snatched the hair band from the night stand to gather her hair into a messy bun, including the lock Haymitch had wound around his finger.

"You are missing my point," she told him calmly. "I want us both to be sure."

“Nah, you need to be sure. I get what you're tryin' to say, sweetheart. I do. If you need to be sure and you need some time to sort it out, figure things out first then do it. I ain't going anywhere. There's no rush to … to do anything. Right? If we're going to try and have a shot at something, then I want to do it right this time."

"Even if... at the end of the day, you are not what I want?" she asked tentatively.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, his fingers curled over the covers but instead of yanking it out of the way and storming out of her room back to his house, he slowly released his grip.

"Yes," he gritted his teeth.

For years, he had been the only one she wanted. He had spoilt every other man for her. Why was he willing to wait even after she had asked him that question?

“How are you so sure about what you want?” she asked. "Or... who you want."

Haymitch chuckled derisively as he rose from the bed. He went towards the window, parting the blinds to peer outside. He was buying time so Effie let him, watching him quietly from her place on the bed.

"Every night, I had nightmares about you dying," he turned, folding his arms and perched himself on the window sill, "and every morning when I wake up, I checked to make sure that you weren't the one executed by Snow. When Portia was publicly executed, I thought that was it, you'd be next. I demanded Coin to launch a rescue attempt to include you. Plutarch threatened to have me sedated just so I would get in trouble with Thirteen," he snorted. "I worried myself into a fucking state 'bout your fate, sweetheart. That was a pretty big clue."

This was the first time she was hearing any of this. He had never shared this with her. He never had a reason to until now.

"I couldn’t deal being in Thirteen on my own. I wanted you there when they threw me in a room for weeks to make me quit cold turkey. I wanted you through all the withdrawals. I wanted you by my side as I dealt with Katniss and the fucking war. I needed you, sweetheart."

Effie bit her lower lip. He was a proud man and to admit that he needed her... It was tremendous and to feel needed was truly something.

"It's always been right there in front of me but it took Thirteen to make me see it... to make me understand that you're more than just....someone I sleep with. You're so much more than that."

What was she supposed to say to such an admission? In the end, Effie held her hand out to him and when he took it, she pulled him towards her. Haymitch settled back on the bed and this time, she burrowed into him.

"I need time," she whispered.

"I know. Go to sleep."

XxX

Effie woke up to a sight that was achingly familiar.

Haymitch was sprawled on his stomach with a hand shoved under the pillow where he was no doubt, clutching the hilt of his knife. Being a light sleeper meant that he would stir at the slightest of movement but after years, Effie was adept at slipping out of bed without waking him up and that morning was no different.

She was buttering her toast when he entered the kitchen, his shirt wrinkled from the night he spent sleeping in it.

“Should have woken me up,” he muttered. “You had any sleep at all?”

“I slept,” she assured him. “I do not make breakfast as good as Peeta but you are welcomed to it.”

The least she could do, she decided, was to offer him breakfast. Besides, she took pity on him, standing there in the middle of Peeta’s kitchen, a little uncertain of his welcome. Effie waved him towards the stool and he sat down, nodding once at her when she poured coffee for him.

“The kids will wonder,” he pointed out. “We’ve been havin’ breakfast over at Katniss and it’s not always that we’re both missing at the same time.”

They did wonder and by lunch, they dropped in to check by which point, Haymitch had long returned to his own house.

Effie trailed after her two young charges as they made their way across to Haymitch’s house. Not once had she mentioned the fact that she had indeed seen Haymitch that morning or that he had spent the night with her.

“I just hope he’s not passed out drunk,” Katniss muttered darkly. “He’s been doing well. You noticed?”

“Yeah,” Peeta agreed. “I think whatever side project he’s working on, it’s good on him. It keeps him occupied.”

Effie listened quietly. She had all but forgotten of that project of his. He had mentioned it in passing several times but she had never asked him in detail about it. It made her curious now especially so since he had likely written to President Paylor about.

Katniss stopped just at Haymitch’s gate and popped open the letter box. Effie frowned at her brazen behavior. Checking other people’s mail was the height of bad manners and she was about to tell Katniss the same when the girl turned towards Peeta.

“He has it, too,” she waved the golden envelope in her hand.

“What is it?” Effie asked.

“From the Capitol,” Peeta explained. “It’s an invitation for Remembrance Day. They’re holding events and banquets to commemorate the first year anniversary of the end of the Rebellion.”

Haymitch was lounging on his sofa, his silver flask in hand and a book in the other. When they came in, he shot them an annoyed look at being disturbed and shut the book, placing it face down on the table without letting any of them get a glimpse of its title.

Katniss tossed the envelope on his lap and when he was done reading, he raised his head to look at the three of them standing in his living room.

“I’m not going,” he declared with a note of finality.

“I thought so,” Katniss threw Peeta a smug look.

“You were considering it?” Haymitch addressed that question to Peeta. “What the hell for, boy? So they can parade the remaining Victors around? No way I’m signing up for that.”

Effie took in the scene in front of her. Haymitch and Katniss was a given. They would not go and they would not change her mind. Peeta could still be swayed but the likelihood of him going without Katniss was slim.

The mention of the Capitol had set something off in her. She had not stepped foot in the City since she left with Peeta for District Twelve and the way she see it, this would be a good opportunity to see the difference and the changes in the City for herself now that a year had passed since the Capitol as she once knew it fell.

It could even be her chance to head home. As peaceful as District Four was, she did not belong there. Johanna, Annie and Finn formed a family unit of their own and she had been in Twelve long enough to know that while she could get used to life here, she was still uncertain. Peeta had never mentioned anything about having his house back – not that he would since he had more or less moved in with Katniss – but Twelve wasn’t her home.

The Capitol had been the only home she knew. True, she had felt ill at ease being there immediately after the war ended but so much could have changed during the months she was gone.

She felt her eyes on him and when she sought it out, she saw Haymitch was looking at her contemplatively. Effie averted her gaze, wondering if he knew what she was thinking.

Effie thought of the night before and the talk they had. He was hoping for something that much was clear and to leave now immediately after what he had confessed to her would be too much like running away. It would shut him off again, and they would take two steps back after he had taken the courage to be truthful to her. But … She was allowed to be selfish, wasn’t she? She was allowed to place herself first and think of her own needs and happiness, surely?

“Remembrance Day will still go on without any of us there, right?”

“Sure,” Haymitch shrugged. “They only probably want you there so you can give a speech.”

“I’m not good with that,” Katniss said.

Haymitch snorted in response. “No kidding.”

“Effie?” Peeta turned towards her. “You’ve been awfully quiet. You have any thoughts on this?”

“I – No,” she forced a smile. “It is your decision ultimately. It is just an invitation after all.”

“There’ll be a crowd, a hell of a lot of people,” Haymitch piped in but his attention was focused solely on her, as if there was a message he was trying to convey. “That’s too much attention.”

Attention… That was the very last thing she wanted.

In the end, they all agreed that the best thing to do would be to stay and watch the live telecast from Twelve.

At some point during Paylor’s speech, Haymitch started chuckling to himself, the glass of whiskey halfway to his lips.

“Pray tell, what is so funny?” Effie glared.

There was nothing amusing about President Paylor’s speech. It was beautifully crafted and called for unity amongst the districts now more than ever to move forward and build a new beginning for themselves and the generations to come.

“Nothing,” Haymitch’s laugh tapered off. “Just that… I never thought I’d survive the Games; never thought I’d survive having my name reaped for the second time; never thought I’d survive the fuckin’ Rebellion and yet… here I am watching this.”

“Me, too,” Katniss agreed solemnly. “Here I am.”

“I didn’t think I’d make it out alive either,” Peeta nodded his head.

“You are all survivors,” Effie reached to pat Peeta’s hand. “All of you.”

“So are you, sweetheart,” Haymtich’s gaze slid towards her. “Now, all we gotta do is live.”

Longest chapter so far. I'd love to read your reviews and your take on chapter 9 on Effie waking up next to Haymitch by the beach or Effie briefly considering returning to the Capitol or the hayffie talk that they so badly needed to have which they sort of did in bed ! Is this a step forward for hayffie?So pleasseeee tell me what your thoughts. 

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #chasing hope

[matnabidao]

Simple tips to Date Someone with Anxiety

Simple tips to Date Someone with Anxiety

Individuals usually don’t also notice the way the internal pleasure and anxiety, an anxious hope of one thing bad that will happen destroy love, relationship, and basic well-being that is psychological. Each few activities Unexpected difficulties in personal communication, which as a total outcome, can undermine and destroy perhaps the many steady and powerful connections. You frequently can hear stories on how an individual mail order bride harasses somebody else with concerns and a companion seems that she or he is playing the part of the sedative in a few. Let’s make an effort to figure away what’s behind all of this and additionally just how to time somebody with social anxiety!

What exactly is anxiety?

online internet internet dating a woman with anxiety

Anxiousness eliminates energy, immobilizes, and results in persistent pleasure. All of us can occasionally get in ourselves thoughts that accompany the alarm: “Something awful will happen”, “I can’t cope with it”, “I believe I’ll get crazy”, “It will perhaps perhaps perhaps not work”. Signs can vary. It is a beverage of unpleasant premonitions, emotional arousal, and concern. Internet Online Dating somebodywith anxiety and depression, you may possibly realize that anxiety is a consistent condition, a tendency that is person’s regular and intense unfavorable experiences of anxiety. Such an individual becomes cranky, he or she frequently exhibits abrupt mental outbursts, tearfulness, vulnerability, as well as the level that is physical – tiredness and muscle tissue stress. Nevertheless, to begin with, we must find out just what the essential difference between anxiety and stress is. These two principles tend to be mental responses, however the very first a person is experienced much more extremely than anxiety.

It really is understood that anxiety develops slowly from anxiety. That is amazing your family member doesn’t get back during the typical time, you begin stressing but remain peaceful. This is the way anxiety is manifested. However, if you imagine awful things of exactly what can take place and consider it constantly, have violent pulse and anxiety, then that is worry.

Just how to figure out concealed anxiety:

You are able to believe that anxiety is “settled” inside you by additional signs – your practices and behavior:

Gluttony;

Extortionate craving for alcoholic beverages;

Regular sense of exhaustion, you may be exhausted maybe not from your own task, but from the constant inner stress anxiety that is accompanying

Increased drowsiness when prolonged rest does not trigger deep leisure and data data recovery;

Unquenchable sexual interest;

Increased sociability whenever you were unable to continue to be alone and fills any time that is free tasks and group meetings;

Workaholism;

Exorbitant passion for on-line games;

Excessive, obsessive reading of publications.

Natural love and joyful life could be uncovered to those individuals who have freed on their own from their particular tensions that are inner restrictions and now have attained genuine confidence. a confident individual, unchanged by anxiety and stress assaults, does not look for research of love from a family member. If in every thingthat the partner does, you attempt to see some “message” concerning the mindsettoward you, nothing good shall come from it. a commitment shall destroy and also you are affected, that great discomfort of mistrust, anxiety, and anxiety, torturing a true love. internet dating somebody with despair and anxietyAnd you are more and much more impatient and ruthless. You realize, a smart individual is an individual person. But perseverance comes only once anxieties that are internal option to it. And this is the just real means – only realizing very very very own self-worth, having discovered to admire yourself, a self-confident individual can truly become delighted.

Internet Internet Internet Dating with personal anxiety: exactly what it is like

As it happens that maybe perhaps not just women but additionally males frequently feel a feeling of anxiety, having a permanent commitment. Different facets and a true quantity of unfavorable thoughts provoke such emotions. As an example, your girlfriend possessed a commitment and she will continue to talk to her ex. In a standard individual, such circumstances can’t cause a sense of envy and anxiety that a family member can keep. Additionally, numerous issues are delivered by close interaction with pals, a inadequate period of time invested collectively.

Since a commitment constantly includes changes that are constant development, and anxiety, there’s no necessity to be concerned. In a commitment, anxiety presents a anxiety about dropping the endorsement or value of the companion, dropping closeness and comprehension. For all social individuals who have problems in accepting on their own and now have a self-esteem that is unstable it really is particularly bad to drop help, love, and respect for nearest and dearest. In addition, they face the worry is kept as well as frequently insist upon formal connections since a formal wedding is much more specific and assists to lessen anxiety in front of the future.

Whenever one individual is dating some one with personal anxiety, it is extremely hard for the one that is second continue to be relaxed and calm. a partner that is anxious has to purchase yourself a good deal period, power, along with other resources. Generally, a person who will act as a sedative will start to feel frustrated, irritated, and mad whenever these “investments” of resources don’t cause instant modifications. a nervous companion needs to restore self- confidence once more and once more.

Methods for those that would like to get free of unnecessary anxiety:

Pay attention to your emotions. Watch out for the noticeable modification of feelings and experiences. Bring your thoughts beyond imagination. Go ahead and replace the bad tale up to a moment that is positive. Set a buffer between your self therefore the bad photo.

Think about a particular concern: “What is it that concerns myself as of this time?” once you understand about your anxiety, you could get rid from it simply imagining that it’s anything materialistic: erase, wash off, slashed with scissors, disperse to the wind, wash off with springtime water, burn, etc.

Consider what can relax you, flake out, motivate, assistance. So what can you counton when excitement, fear and anxiety commence to overwhelm you? Get a hold of an individual (occupation, pastime) in your environment which could sooth you down.

Understand that anxiety is definitely an exaggeration of occasions. As many people state: “Don’t make mountains out of molehills”. Determine the scale of one’s anxiety and lower it to at least.

Think about just what will take place within the worst situation? The great price at your minute is the fact that you are taking out of the variables for the result that is final of anxiety. Don’t forget to remove information that is negative ideas.

Extortionate anxiety is sensed by surrounding folks in numerous techniques. Some will sooth a nervous individual, other people will feel dissapointed about, the third might scold, the 4th will sympathize or genuinely believe that you totally destroyed your thoughts. The primary thing is the method that you address yourself as of this minute. And right right here approval, great feeling, and laughter may do a great task. Be relaxed and be able to over come concerns, doubts, and anxieties.

Strategies for internet internet dating somebody with anxiety

How exactly to date somebody with anxiety and despair (women, in particular)? It is certainly not easy to understand a nervous lady. When this woman is nervous, her item of anxiety catches her entirely. She starts to persuade nearest and dearest of imminent risk, verifying obsessive behavior to her arguments, control, emotions and also rips. She screams: “Pay focus on my concerns, personally i think bad”, “I know. I’ve a premonition”. And she hears in reaction: “Calm down, every things are all right. Your worries are groundless”. It really is impossible to possess a dialogue by way of an end that is good men and women talk various languages; their particular frame of mind isn’t the exact exact same. As being a total outcome for the dialogue, there isn’t any comprehension; there clearly was a condition of resentment or a need to not fulfill anymore. But nevertheless, simple tips to day somebody with despair and anxiety?

just how to time somebody with anxiety and depressionDating a lady with anxiety, you must recognize that problems, perils, and catastrophe are often genuine on her behalf. Such women don’t appear with may be but exaggerate their particular scale and start to produce a field that is“alarming around themselves along with other men and women, that may truly be reproduced when you look at the world that is real. It is really not required to find out every little thing by having a nervous girl instantly, as quickly as she offers arguments of her concern. It is best to speak about your later on whenever fictional events and believed types of anxiety will never be therefore huge and destructive inside their power.

The primary part of dating somebody with anxiety is certainly not to concern her anxiety, to not attempt to prove otherwise. Pay attention, relaxed, and agree: “Yes, you are worried, I comprehend. Don’t stress, every thing will be fine”. Then you will need to change ideas of a nervous person to something different: just just what she had been thinking about before. And constantly draw her focus on the good moments of life as well as the moment that is positive this or that circumstance.

Find out the genuine reason behind anxiety. Probably the cause for the deterioration of connections had been an wrongly translated or insignificant circumstance which should be clarified.

Know yourself. This relates to guys which frequently give grounds for anxiety. In cases where a representative of this more powerful intercourse continuously cheats on their family member or flirts with surrounding ladies, then this really is a reason that is serious to imagine – is it the only he desires to see close to him? Or possibly cheating is only a means to say yourself? You will need to improve anything in your life, usually, a family member will|one that is loved get away permanently.

Be truthful and genuine. In the event that you aer not prepared relationship that is serious without intrigues and flirting, don’t give a woman a untrue hope – it is easier to actually acknowledge that you will see other people that you experienced. This might be among the best strategies for internet dating somebody with anxiety.

Offer attention. Simple suggestions to day with anxiety? Even a and that is calm balanced girl, who a person pays less interest, will become nervous sooner otherwise . Therefore, you will need to try to find time on her behalf a work that is busy routine. Don’t just forget about people knowledge, which states love with ears – one brief telephone telephone call or message with mild terms often offers an amazing outcome.

Change your mindset towards females. The habit of kissing feminine peers on cheeks or phoning all of them by caressing names often means practically nothing for a guy, but for a lady, it’s a source that is constant of and resentments. Therefore, if a guy truly values their interactions, he shall have to exclude all unequivocal manifestations of focus on various other women from their life.

Strictly dosage information. Nevertheless, this kind of real method anxiety can’t be called optimal – it has actually nothing at all to do with honest relations and carries the possibility of getting puzzled in very own lies.

Resign and tolerate. If none associated with real means assists, there was just one thing – the views of anxiety and endure them persistently. instances whenever males ended attention that is paying assaults from family members and everything ended up being great then.

Consequently, it is far better the specific situation, telephone call in advance and warn men and women near to you that you’re late, and so forth. In working with an nervous individual, tv show tactfulness, politeness, and correctness. In this instance, laughter and jokes tend to be unsuitable, they could be understood by An person that is anxious paradox and mockery. Therefore, so now you learn how to day some body with anxiety.

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