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crumblycornbread · 1 year

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So here’s a little story all about how social interactions go when I speak with someone who has my personality functions but flipped and turned upside down. 😅

Hi, late 20-something INFJ here who is living in a small, sleepy Appalachian city. 🖖🏻 I’m also a master’s level social worker with a trauma informed and clinical background who recently decided to begin practicing in a medical environment. While the change of pace has been nothing less of exhilarating, there has been the occasional bump in the road while adjusting to the social environment of this workplace. I was quick to recognize/observe questionable relationships between coworkers and knew to be more assertive with my boundaries than usual. However, as always, there’s that *one* co-worker who just loves testing boundaries and thus pushing my buttons. This co-worker is no other than a middle aged ESTP who has been running from himself for as long as I’ve been breathing. So, keep reading if a story about addressing a boundary setting in the most INFJ way possible sounds interesting. (ADHD-side note: This is story is also your sign to make that decision you, fellow INFJ/human, need to better yourself… and always trust your intuition when it comes to speaking your mind.)

I feel the best stories are told when the characters have names. Emphasis on characters and not narrator. 😉 So, this ESTP deserves a name, but not just any name. It should be a name that belonged to a pretty famous INFJ: Remus Lupin. Perhaps, we can just say Lou for short because after all we’re talking about a middle aged man from West Virginia here. If you’re wondering why I feel that Lou should be named after an INFJ, let me tell you why: It is a reminder that the story and details you are about to learn about this person is not limited to a specific personality type. Everyone has their demons, or werewolves. Whatever. 🤷🏻‍♀️ Another character featured in this story is Sybil, an INFP. I actually met Sybil way before I met Lou. In fact, thanks to her I learned more than I cared to before I even met the guy. Like me, Sybil is a social worker but she’s been practicing for a bit longer than myself. She’s also much closer in age to Lou than I am. It would make complete sense for the two of them to be friends. However, unbeknownst to the two of them I had already been briefed on their horribly kept secret office romance. Sometimes I wonder if she would have told me as much as she did, if she had actually known I was much more difficult to manipulate than she predicted. Anyways, Sybil shared legends of Lou that were stained with admiration, obsession, lust, and annoyance. Girl had it bad. Lou was great at letting her feel in control through the use of his apathy. Their relationship was almost villainous. Regardless, I learned a lot from Sybil. She told me about how Lou’s bias towards people who struggle with addiction likely comes from having to overcompensate as a parent due to his ex-wife’s alcoholism. (His daughter is 5 years younger than me btw.) Repressed resentment can do a lot to a person, but I knew it could not be the source that created the wounds that afflicted Lou so apparently. Sybil is an incredibly resilient and intelligent woman, but she is incapable of seeing this man for who he really is. Whereas, I saw him for who he was the moment he said his first sentence to me.

There is nothing more irritating to me than having the ability to see so clearly through an ESTP’s bullshit while everyone is left stunned and fumbling while trying to follow their stuttering Ti. 🤬 They’re not THAT brilliant y’all, but god are those weasely fuckers good making you think otherwise. (I clearly have an almost visceral love/hate relationship with ESTPs. Please reference the Elena, Bonnie, and Damon trynamic to understand Sybil, myself, and Lou here.) On the day I was first able to put a face to Lou’s name, I think he must have grown two inches the moment he saw a new member in his audience. He flung the office door open as an entrance and I could almost smell the God complex roll off from him as he strut past me like an English Bulldog on a leash sizing up a fire hydrant. He was then of course too impatient and did not allow me the time needed to prepare in introducing myself to such organized chaos. He took it upon himself, gladly. It was quite frankly disgusting. I loved it. 😂 Lou is low key Nurse Ratchet at our place of work which is rather ironic. Our jobs are interdisciplinary in nature where we alongside and act as gatekeepers deciding who will and will not be admitted to our psychiatric unit. Though we always deflect by making the psychiatrist sound like the all great and powerful Oz. We, meaning Lou and I, are still the information gatherers and boy do we gather information differently.

“I’ll lead this one, okay,” Lou sharply spurts out as he reaches and swiftly pulls to open a privacy curtain. I think I’ve lost count how many times this man has said this to me as we prepare to assess a patient. It’s been very hard for us to establish a good working rhythm. It’s unclear to me if he’s uncomfortable with our power dynamic because I have more education while he has more experience in this position. Or, if Sybil has told him about how I prefer to take my time during assessments so I can gather as much information as possible for diagnostic purposes. I wonder this because it seems Lou likes to rush through questions because he’s already came to a conclusion before having even set eyes on the patient. He ironically voices this same frustration with other coworkers. It is glaring how blind he is to himself.

In between assessing and staffing patients to psychiatrists, Lou is bombarding me with personal questions hoping to probe himself into a debate. He’s also doing the whole damaged-goods-eliciting-rescue routine that I’m sure works on a lot ladies, like Sybil for instance. It’s not doing him any favors with me though because it’s only pissing me off. Can’t a woman just write out her note and process information so that she can come to her own conclusion in peace? 🙉 I can tell he both loves and hates that I can’t immediately agree with him. His inability to get a good read on me though seems to keep him curious and engaged. In the span of a week this man had revealed an ungodly amount of personal information to me, intentional or not. Here’s a short list of things I learned about the guy:

-His dad was a WWII veteran that was abusive “but” not nearly as abusive as father was to him.

-He was married once and has a daughter from that marriage.

-He gained two cats from the divorce and he expected me to be shocked that he had two cats for some reason.

-He was a respiratory therapist (RT) at a major trauma/research hospital in the Midwest for many years before deciding to go back to school to become a nurse, and ultimately starting his life completely over.

-I asked him to tell me about the grossest thing he had ever seen as a nurse. Ya know, expecting to have a humorous conversation about poop or something, but no. Lou proceeds to tell me three extremely gruesome and graphic trauma stories he witnessed as a RT that happened more than 10 years ago. This man- this father has witnessed more children die than any father/man/human should have ever seen. He apathetically laughed while being able to recall the sight of brain matter collecting on his shoes, completely unphased.

-He boasts of the multiple failed relationships and flings he’s encountered (many with coworkers) as if to make himself sound alluring. He regrettably tells me the story of the woman who broke him and how he’ll never be able to love again but he doesn’t know why...

What unfolds next is eerily reminiscent of the Twilight scene where Edward broods just enough to persuade Bella into saying the “V” word (and no I don’t mean virgin). Lou repeatedly and admittedly tells me he doesn’t know why he can’t fully connect/trust others, over and over. It was as if he was waiting for another response to attack and defend for the victory. But let’s just be human for a second. I’m a trauma therapist. If you probe a trauma therapist enough she’s going to say the “T” word. I looked at him square in the eye and said:

“It’s sad to me that you don’t see yourself as deserving of love and other positive feelings. Though I’m not surprised these are the results from your line of thought. If you believe, consciously or not, that you are stupid and undeserving of love you will never allow yourself to receive a love that is unconditional and long lasting. That is a self-fulfilling prophecy that prioritizes your safety over loneliness. To be completely honest, you sound like someone who has been traumatized.”

He became speechless. Suddenly, he had no rebuttal. It’s as though some of the fog had finally lifted for him. I continued:

“From what little I’ve learned about you, I’m not shocked by this. Your job as a RT was hard. You saw things no human should be made to witness. And you know what? The way you’re responding to that trauma is a completely human response. It is not your fault that you did not receive the support you needed in that profession to not still carry around some battle scars. You deserve more.”

He became very teary eyed and lost the ability to keep eye contact. I averted my gaze and began respectfully distracting myself with my note until I (finally) finished it. I felt like gloating in that moment. He spoke up a bit later to talk about his shock because he didn’t know it was even possible to become traumatized by one’s profession. We also talked about how complex trauma is and how it’s never truly “one thing”. I then covertly educated him on trauma responses and interventions/treatments while also normalizing his experience. He is one of many medical professionals who are living with PTSD. Mind you, the Covid epidemic has also exacerbated this lived experience too. Nevertheless, given the fact that Lou is a man of his age living in Appalachia and has his own particular set of life experiences, he lacked the emotional intelligence and self-compassion to sit with his pain long enough to see it for what it is and what it’s not (anger). He just needed a little direction and borrowed patience from another human. We all need that from time to time.

With all that being said, you now know that this INFJ’s response to the exhaustive boundary-testing ESTP, Lou, was to do a quick patch on some deeply rooted trauma and therefore silencing him just long enough to finish doing my fucking job. Don’t fuck with me, Lou. Listen, this bastard was brazen enough to be on a phonecall with one of his coworkers that he canoodles with (not Sybil btw) while sitting next to me in our office. He clearly underestimated the abilities of my youthful ears which meant I had to overhear a jealous woman ask about his feelings towards me, a woman he very nearly met. He responds by laughing and I can I tell from my peripheral vision he’s waiting for me to look at him but he again runs out of patience before saying, “I don’t think she has daddy issues.” I sure as hell ignored his existence after that until he later apologized for his inappropriate comment. But also- how kind of him to assume I don’t have any daddy issues after having a father that was an ESTP.

P. S. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t an ego boost to render such an argumentative person speechless and then seeing them on the verge of tears because they finally got the courage to not run from the mirror when they were really just tryna get them some. 😈

P. P. S. Casual not so casual reminder to treat people as the humans they are and not the roles they fulfill, including yourself.

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the-diary-of-red-beryl · 1 year

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ramblings in my delirium

tw: suicide, mental health. this one’s more of a ramble, and not a whole lot of conclusiveness. i've currently also a cold, which makes my cognitive processing struggles a bit more difficult. still, i think i’ve discovered some new things about myself lately so here it is:

if there was a phrase that i felt best described my life so far, I'd say that it's akin to being in a city of eternal night.

it dawned on me recently that I'd never felt happy or enjoyed doing anything once in my life. I've always felt bored, and especially at night, I'd feel existential dread. this has been the case for as long as i can remember. i can feel distracted or engaged from doing some things, but the moment it's done I feel no added warmth. for exercise, or learning a skill, or doing adult things like paying bills or finishing saving up for a big purchase, i feel the satisfaction of making progress or achieving a goal, but i ultimately don't derive joy from it. it's something that needs to be done, and it's good if it's done well. what this means is that it's something I'd do if I'm alive and forced to keep living, but it wouldn't be something I look forward to experiencing, I couldn't care less about any of it, especially if I contemplated whether to die tomorrow.

i was prepared for my life to end when i was seventeen. I couldn't see an end to the troubles that i was facing, or hope for a future where i might feel positively. it surprises me that five years have passed by since these moments, because these years feel f*cking long. i take some level of comfort in the fact that the world doesn't just crumble into non-existence at the whim of my mood, each day passes whether I will for it to or not. it feels like a sick joke to me really, that my struggles are a blip in the sea of primordial soup, in which the universe only cares for whether I choose to be alive the next day, and there's absolutely no guarantee that if I choose to continue that eventually I will see better and more agreeable days. I don't necessarily need to be here either, I'm not important. although i guess I'm technically held here against my will simply because the human body is insanely good at not wanting to actually die, even when it gets around to it. one of the richest emotions I've ever felt was insane fear staring at the noose i had set up in front of me back then. i already have an overactive emotional gut, but i quite literally recoiled in a stomach ache and was figuratively sh*tting myself and uncontrollably shaking. it does remind me that i wanted to use dying as a means to escape the pain and hopelessness that i was (and still) am going through, even at the cost of the potential to see life turn out for the better. that pure fear is probably the biggest reason why I'm still alive, and why dying is not something i consider anymore whenever i feel like I'm stuck again and ready to give up.

i do have days where I feel content, though it's more so a feeling that arises out of having my primary needs met like having food on my plate, a roof over my head and money coming in that I've earned for myself. it's not enough to make me look forward or want to wake up for another day, but these are the things that must happen should i keep living, is what i feel. i imagine when people say they feel content, it's that it's these things, but also that they have things they enjoy and can look forward to in the near future, something that keeps them going. i just feel numb. i can recognise moments when people would be happy, and i can feel happiness vicariously through others, i can also mirror happy facial expressions. but I don't physically feel any of it for myself. the warmth doesn't linger in my body, and i dare say it was never there in the first place. i smile out of social obligation to others, whether to build amicable acquaintanceships, or to show appreciation for a thoughtful gesture (an appreciation of a more transactional nature, objectively understanding that something is good for me without the added emotion of feeling "touched").

many people have close friends that they only see twice a year or so, but with whom when they catch up, it's like they've never left. a question that comes to mind for me when thinking about this, is what you're supposed to do for the six months between each visit. I think I'd really struggle getting by if I only had friends that I saw twice a year, given how much of a struggle it already is for me to just survive each day. i think that when people say this, it's because they already have other things in the picture that make their lives worth living, and these friends are an added bonus, which, I do think is the way it should be. i also think that what elevates these in-between periods is the feeling of family, a home with the warmth of people that care for you (and you them) that you interact with more frequently if not daily, and with whom you feel safe and secure around, and who help you recharge your energy as you go through your day-to-day life, although i do wonder whether you need to be close with these people. that said, i do think that what deepens a connection isn't necessarily how much time you spend with them, if you already have the right chemistry then twice a year is enough to maintain that, and i guess when or if your everyday life overlaps then you'd take up that opportunity together as well? i think proximity is a big factor in this case, whether that's living closeby or having similar schedules.

so suppose there’s an ideal friend out there for me, for my current state of being, assuming that i don’t feel happiness for the foreseeable future. it’d have to be someone that isn’t off put or stressed by me not feeling happy when we hang out or that i don’t enjoy doing things, who is able to find comfort in me just being there and what i bring to the table. i can provide presence, responsiveness, a piece of mind, huge interest in human psychology and emotional connections. i can be someone you share a meal with, and if you just need me there, i can share your space. i’ve almost described having a pet. it is something i’ve been considering, given it might provide me with the much needed oxytocin day-to-day, however i’m worried that i be able to consistently look after it, or worse yet not be able to form a bond (based on my history with people). but also, i think i see the difference here is that a pet doesn’t choose to be with you, but a friend does. to have someone out there get to know you, and decide that you’re the one they want in their life (because it’s you and not anyone else), that’s something i’m looking for. of course, the other alternative is i meet someone who manages to muster all these positive emotions in me for the first time ever, and they happen to appreciate that and want to be close, which may or may not happen. but i do think that either way, i don’t believe that i need to be without flaws to have friends (and my flaws aren’t particularly bad), it just depends on whether someone takes an interest in me and that it’s mutual.

well, the kind of people i choose to associate with is fairly specific. foremost, i can’t stand people who intentionally choose to harm others, whether physically or emotionally, or resort to displays of anger, intimidation and control to get the things that they want. i also can’t stand people who display indifference or bystander behaviour when it doesn’t take much effort to do something good in the situation. then, i prefer people who are reliable and competent, who can get things done (this one’s partly due to me having trauma from growing up with unreliable parents, but also is a core value of mine), and can communicate well and navigate difficult topics, whether they’ve experienced it or not, and have the ability to empathise. i’m fine with the friendship being bumpy, and over time you’re meant to decide whether the friendship is well-suited and worthwhile anyway. but from there, i think what’s left is chemistry and things i haven’t figured out i needed, and chance.

I've never experienced or been able to develop a deep relationship with someone else in which I could feel comfortable being myself in, and safely rely on. I can't say I've ever truly had fun being with someone, felt warm after getting to know them and really feel that from what they bring into my life (objectively, saying i had fun with someone means that i felt that our conversation flowed naturally and that we had similar values, and i would like to do this again another time to develop our friendship further). that said, i think i’ve gotten better at building and maintaining acquaintances or not-so-close friends, and seeming more personable.

the question that is begged here is that, how does someone form a friendship with others if not on a basis of sharing joy? i think typically this would be the case, that people just naturally gravitate towards those that they enjoy being with, share common interests, and eventually build trust with and feel safe around. but for me, who doesn't enjoy doing anything and never actually feels ok, who can only mirror positive emotions in others at the cost of not being true to myself, it's a bit of a trick question. not to mention that i think and communicate in a way that is not neurotypical, and my obliviousness to some social etiquette makes some people rule me out as someone to consider getting closer to. the expectations to conform to said social interaction rules is a whole different story, given that it drains me to mask like that and feels wholly unnatural and unsustainable, and the nature of which doesn't provide me with any emotional markers to follow suit. a quick summary, as a teenager i heavily, very heavily displayed symptoms of borderline personality disorder, and i believed that my difficulty in building relationships with others was only because I didn't have the opportunity to do so and learn from experience of getting socialised. but now, having been able to meet and befriend many people, and see the friendships come and go, i realise that i struggled to learn the 'right' way to act anyway, unless someone explained to me subsequently what i did or didn't do, and why and how it affects others, because i really, absolutely, do not feel any emotions relating to when these things are done to me. i suppose maybe it's a bit like teaching a colourblind person to see colours like someone who isn't colourblind might see. but what i mean is that, i think people follow these actions and phrases to show intent, like expressing to the other person that their personal space is respected, or that they're welcome in the home, but to me, I don't feel any different if it's done another way as long as it clearly shows their intent (which i say i can read intent well at least). I'd actually add further that i think the intent in mind for these practices isn't necessarily the one they truly feel deep down, it's more so a desired message that they wish to send across, regardless of how they actually feel, something more diplomatic? I'm just theorising here, but it might be a mechanism that people use to establish the safety of space between others, close friends or coworkers or whatnot, and playing the game shows to others that you're on the same page on what the rules are, and the objective is to preserve both yourself and others. in the same vein, it's why i think I'm decent at tackling difficult topics like my experiences and feelings, or breaking down industry jargon and ideas into something digestible for any audience, but absolutely struggle with persuading people and influencing how they feel subtly through words and visuals or build morale and rapport, I'm not utilising that "space". i can feel emotions through others, and mirror what they express, and can predict their behaviour based on past experiences, but I can't accurately fathom what they're thinking or influence it well even through clear communication. i do recognise this as a skill that i want to learn because of its usefulness, although I would not use this if i can help it.

a consolation prize is that i can at least feel comfort when I'm able to put my jumbled thoughts into words, although knowing whether I've made progress in choosing a suitable direction or solution out of it is a different story (i blame depression brain fog). one thing I've learnt in my years of navigating this thick brush of depression is that there's a lot of false alarms for when things might seem to make a turn for the better. after socialising with a group of new people, the mix of feeling distracted, engaged, and hopeful, makes me think that maybe I'm finally happy, but the distinguishing factor is that that "feeling" is so terribly impermanent, almost as though it's just something i conjured up for myself after desperately looking for its true form for so long. i think I'm just good at identifying moments where i should be happy (but I'm not), not that not feeling happy in those moments necessarily means that there's something wrong with me. sometimes it comes out later that my intuition was right that i felt that something was off earlier, for example i felt that i didn't click with the people i just met. that said, i too often do scratch my head when clearly nothing's wrong, but i still feel terribly numb. whether that's travelling in a new country, eating very good food, going to concerts, going for a walk, or meeting old friends. i wonder whether it's because I don't know what actually makes me happy, because it exists and I've yet to find it, if I just can't feel it at all, or i do feel it, but not in a large enough magnitude because my other emotions are greater in scale?

objectively, I don't believe that there needs to be a reason why certain people have different things that make them happy. the reason's trivial, it's that they feel happy first, and then later realise why that's the case. although for the more unfortunate, it would help to understand the reason first and subsequently try out things. for me though, both are hard because i don’t have any indications in the first place to help figure out where to go from there. the more helpful thing for me to consider is rather purpose. the dangerous moments are when i wonder to myself why i’m alive, whether there’s a point to any of this. the other day i settled on the idea that maybe someone out there needs to meet me, and specifically me. maybe meeting me will brighten up their life (and them mine), however far into my life this might be. i think it works, because it takes the focus away from what i want (because it’s as easy for me to stop wanting it and to prefer to disappear), and onto something more out of my control that i still kind of care about. but i still wonder what i need to do to brighten up the rest of my day-to-day life to make it more worth living and less painful. workplace adjustments, homelife adjustments, looking after myself physically and understanding more of myself, professional help (this one’s always hard and a work in progress given the financial costs, suitability and time availability of health practitioners and counsellors, etc.), but it still feels like i’m missing quite a bit. my current guess is that maybe i can start taking note of my experiences so that i can recount it back to that person later in my life? somehow it’s a lot easier for me to do things when it’s for someone else’s sake (though not just anyone’s).

#diaryposting #diary entry #self reflecting #journal #writing #online diary #dear diary #diary #my diary

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p33paw · 3 years

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broken contract

zhongli x f!reader

summary | breaking a promise to zhongli, and paying the price with spread legs (pwp, thigh riding, cockwarming, overstimulation, praise kink, sir kink, degrading kink)

warnings | nsfw

word count | ~10k

links | ao3

I would never get drunk in the middle of the day.

But— Beidou is only in town for the day, a short stop sandwiched between two several month long expeditions spent sailing the sea, too far away for contact. We settled to meet at the Third-Round Knockout. Her, me, a table of food, and all morning to talk before she visits the other people she cares about. We each got a single drink to toast with, then one became two, two became three, and... well...

I might be drunk in the middle of the day.

"Zhongli is going to kill me—" I groan, planting my head into my arms, leaning into the table.

I was supposed to meet with him today as well, as soon as Beidou's left. I can feel the heat on my flushed face where it connects with my skin. I'm drunk. He hates when I drink, enough that he told me to never drink before I see him.

Beidou grunts, and I hear the creak of her chair as she leans back in it.

"What's with you and that old man?" She asks, followed by the thud of her empty glass hitting the table. She calls for another round, and I groan again, tilting my head up to look at her.

"Wha'd'you mean?" I ask, pouting my lower lip out.

Beidou squints at me, then lifts her hands to gesture.

"Are you—" She holds her tongue with her teeth, a look of concentration knitting her brow. She forms her index finger and thumb on one hand into a circle, then pushes her other pointer finger out, jamming it into the circle she created. "—y'know."

As she continues to thrust her finger into the space created by her hand, the waiter approaches, dropping two new drinks in front of us. Beidou doesn't notice, but she's shot a dirty look.

I squint at her, knowing exactly what she's asking, but refusing to answer truthfully.

"No?" I sit all the way up, batting my eyelashes to antagonize her. "What are you talking about?" As I finish speaking, I lift my new drink, sipping it to keep my buzz if this is the conversation we're having.

Beidou blinks back, a delirious and gullible look in her eyes.

"Are you gonna go have sex with him?" She asks, point blank.

I choke on my drink, not expecting to hear the question. I have to take a moment to steady myself, eyes flicking up to Beidou as she crosses her arms and stares me down.

"I— I—" I blink, stumbling over my words, trying to collect my thoughts. I settle for a jab back, looking at Beidou with as much courage as I can muster. "Are you gonna go have sex with Ningguang?" I ask.

Beidou's brows tick in, a no less severe expression on her face. "Of course." She says, just as brash. "Now answer my question."

I falter, pursing my lips. Damn, I thought that would buy me more time.

"I'm—" I start, trying to look up and meet her eyes. I end up shying away from her severe stare, hiding in my drink. "Yes." I admit, no way around it. "We are... involved."

"Involved?" Asks Beidou, leaning in, "Like more than just having sex?"

I suck my lower lip in, hesitant to talk about it. This is something that happened recently, more than a month after Beidou last left Liyue Harbor. My hands instinctively come together, my fingers resting on a bracelet that was a gift from Zhongli. He called it the contract of what we have between us, the guarantee of the promises we've made each other, and the reminder than I belong to him. There's no official title, but...

"A lot more than just sex." I say.

Beidou 'oohs', leaning in even closer.

Before she can get another word out, the door to the tavern swings open with a slam. Beidou and I both crane our necks to look. Standing in the entryway, tall, elegant and beautiful, is lady Ningguang. Her eyes are locked to Beidou though, and intimidating enough that I find myself faltering.

She walks in, tailed by two guards.

"You're in trouble now—" I whisper back, trying to make myself look at small as possible.

Beidou shoots me a glare of her own, before pulling her face into a wide smile, staring at Ningguang as she approaches.

"Hey—y my beautiful flower, has anyone told you how lovely and gentle and beautiful and intelligent and—" Beidou starts, interrupted by Ningguang.

"I've been waiting for hours." Ningguang says, voice severe, barely flicking her eyes over to me. She gives me a curt nod of acknowledgment and I blink back in surprise.

Beidou squints at her. "I— told you I'd finish lunch at twelve." She says as looks over to me. "My friends are just as important to me—"

Ningguang immediately reaches to her side, pulling a pocket watch from a chain where it's fastened. She flips it open, pushing it forward, directly toward Beidou. Beidou leans in, lifting her brows as she reads the time, surprise clear in her expression.

"Now what does that say?" Ningguang asks, staring Beidou down.

Beidou swallows, eyes flicking up to stare at the other woman. "Two-oh-six." She says, lifting her drink, finishing it in a single swig, dropping the empty glass to the table, then slowly starting to stand.

Shit. I promised Zhongli I'd be done by noon, myself.

Beidou turns to me once standing, reaching a hand over to clasp my shoulder. "I'm glad to have seen you," She starts, "If my next adventure finds me dead—" She nervously glances toward Ningguang, "Know that you were my greatest friend." At that, she reaches into her pocket, pulling out and slamming down a satchel of mora that is certainly— more than enough to pay our tab. She turns, walking away from the table.

Ningguang smiles, small, watching Beidou approach her, before turning her gaze to me. "I'm sorry for interrupting—" She says, lifting her hands together, looking apologetic. "I'm sure you understand?"

I nod, giving her a reassuring smile of my own. "I had plenty of time with her." I say back, waving her off.

I lift to my feet to stand and leave as well, met with a head rush that makes me waver. I have to shoot my hands out to the table to steady myself, coming into the realization that I drank much more than I should have.

A hand darts forward, landing on my arm, holding me steady.

"Are you alright?" I hear Ningguang ask, much closer than before.

I nod, slowly blinking, trying to focus my eyes, batting her away.

"I'm fine— just a bit—" As I try to step away, I stumble, barely catching myself on another table. "—drunk." I sigh out, then look up to Beidou to glare. "I hate you." I bite out. I always try to drink as much as her, and, inevitably, end up far drunker.

Beidou gives me a toothy grin, shrugging. "Learn to hold your liquor." She says.

Still next to me, Ningguang turns to glare at Beidou, until the smile slips from her face. She looks to the side, sheepish.

"You're in no condition to get home alone." Ningguang says, lifting her hand and snapping her fingers together.

One of the two guards steps forward, at attention, walking up next to us.

"Assure that she arrives home safely." She says, voice stern, before turning back to meet my eyes again. "If you tell him where you live he'll get you home. Let me know if there are any problems." She says, then steps away before I can protest, back to Beidou's side.

Together, the two turn, walking for the exit. Beidou looks back, giving me another wave as she's ushered away, until the door swings shut behind them, and I'm alone with the guard.

"Where do you live, ma'am?" He asks.

I look up at him, feeling sheepish. I'm drunk, that doesn't mean a need a guard to walk me home.

"You can— leave me." I start. "I'm more than capable of getting home, I'm not sure why Lady Ningguang even—" I take the first step forward, lose my footing, and fall over face first, collapsing to the ground.

I groan, collecting myself and sitting up, blowing a stressed breath. Maybe it's good Beidou's only home a few days a year, she'd drink me into an early death otherwise.

The guard's hands land on me this time, helping me to stand. I let him, but once I'm up, the hands don't come off. Instead, I'm lifted up into his arms, until he's carrying me.

"Just tell me where to go." The guard starts, looking embarrassed for me. "Ma'am."

I huff a sigh with half a mind to struggle to get out of his hold— but— realize it isn't worth it. I would probably just fall on my ass if I attempted to walk anywhere, this is likely for the best.

Now, I have to consider my options. Fake sick and abandon my plans with Zhongli because I'm in no state to meet him, or—

Zhongli's address spills from my mouth, something selfish and needy rearing in my chest. I want to see him, I don't care how much trouble I'll be in once he sees my current state.

The guard nods, walking forward with me in his arms. It's foreign to exit a bar belligerently drunk and see it's still the middle of the day. The outside is busy with working people despite the clouds in the sky and the threat of rain looming above them.

I hide my face in my own shoulder, embarrassed as the guard strides forward, down the streets, deeper into the city, carrying me to where Zhongli lives. The closer we approach, the more nervous I get, mind racing at how he might react to the mistake I've made.

I really shouldn't be drunk.

My stomach twists as I spot Zhongli's home, and consider my current position. I'm already going to be in enough trouble as it is— I don't need him to see me in another man's arms. I lift my hand, tapping the shoulder of the guard, signaling to be let down. The guard listens, lowering me to my feet. I have to take a second to balance myself, but finally find my bearings, walking forward to close what feels like an immeasurable distance between me and Zhongli.

I approach his threshold, but before I can knock, the door opens. Zhongli stands in the entryway, his eyes flicking between me and the guard at my back, his expression set.

"Didn't we agree you'd arrive by noon?" He asks, finally staring at just me.

I nod, then stumble toward him. He receives me in his arms, holding me tight as I bury myself in his chest. His arms feel massive as they wrap me, cradling me like I'm something fragile. I drag in an inhale, breathing in the scent of clear spring and mountain air that seems ever present on him.

"Are you alright?" He asks, softer.

I tilt my head back to look at him, and see his face is knit with concern. I nod, staring up at him through my lashes.

"I'm— f-fine." I slur out, then watch as Zhongli's brow ticks in.

There's a drop in my stomach as it happens, knowing he's become aware of what's made me late. He looks away from me, up to the guard.

"Thank you." He says, voice firm, before guiding me into his house.

"I'm sorry—" I try to start, keeping pressed to his side, my fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt.

Zhongli closes the door, soft, careful, before turning to look at me again.

"You're drunk, aren't you?" He asks, disappointment clear in his voice.

I nod, moving my hands against his abdomen. I keep touching, grabbing, pawing at him.

"I'm sorry—" I repeat, lifting my hand to his chest. "Can I make it up to you? I—"

Zhongli catches me at the wrist, holding my hands still. He sighs, then walks away without another word. I stay in place, fidgeting with the bracelet on my wrist, restlessness and guilt twisting my stomach, as I wait, I hear water start to run.

He reappears, walking straight for me. He lands his hands on me in silence, lifting me into his arms. I curl my fingers into his shoulder, holding tight as he carries me to the bathroom. I look around, noting that the bath is running, filling with water.

I'm carefully lowered to my feet, then Zhongli steps back, creating distance, crossing his arms across his chest. He looks right at me.

"Do you need help undressing?" He asks.

I shake my head no, stumbling over my own feet as I grab the hem of my dress, lifting it up and off. It falls to the floor with a thump. Standing in my undergarments, I can feel Zhongli's eyes on me, burning me in the way they flick across my body, studying me. I embarrass, shoving my panties down and off as quickly as I can, shedding my bra even faster, then standing nude with my arms wrapped around my core.

"It's ready for you." Zhongli says next, the sound of water flowing cut short.

I look up to meet his eyes, finding them locked to my body, searching the expanse of it. I carefully step forward, until I'm directly in front of him.

"I'm sorry—" I repeat, feeling small, watching as his steady gaze locks back to my face.

"It's okay." He says. "We can talk about it later."

I nod, tight, still in my own head. I almost want him to be mad, to express the upset I see clear on his face so that the guilt in my stomach settles. Instead, his words and actions are measured with restraint.

I look away from him toward the bath. It's drawn high, shimmering with soap. I lift my leg, stepping in, until I'm standing in the water. Then, I lower myself in, sinking into the warm feeling that envelops my body.

I glance back over to Zhongli, watching as he walks to the door, sheds his jacket, and hangs it. From there, he turns, walking back toward the bath, removing his gloves, unpinning his cufflinks, slipping them both into his pocket. He carefully rolls his sleeves up his forearms, one at a time.

My heart jumps to my throat as he reveals his arms, thick with muscle and defined veins like his hands, a light ghosting of hair that covers the entire limb. He kneels next to the tub, lifting a bottle of soap. He pours the soap into his hands, then pushes those hands forward, landing them on my body.

"I'm sorry." I repeat, voice as small as I can make it, searching the hard line of his unwavering expression.

His eyes flick up to meet mine, piercing in the way they look at me. He slides his soaped hand against my skin, over my chest, up to my neck. He rests there, caressing with his thumb, keeping his eyes on me.

"You reek of alcohol." He says, voice low and gentle. "Didn't you promise to never drink before seeing me?"

I duck my head, heart jumping to my throat. I nod, tight. "Yes." I breathe out, blinking down to watch my hands curl around each other underneath the water. "I'm sorry." I repeat.

Zhongli says no more, but continues to move his hands. He drags them along me with purpose, washing every square inch of my body in silence, before he's up, grabbing a toothbrush from his counter. He kneels back down, holding the brush, staring at me.

"Can you open your mouth for me?" He coaxes.

I swallow around my tongue, but do, just parting my lips.

Zhongli's free hand comes up, cupping my face. His thumb forces between my lips, pressing to my bottom row of teeth. He opens my mouth, pulling his thumb back, only to dig his fingers into my cheeks, holding my face in place. He moves forward with the toothbrush, pushing it into my mouth, watching it go in, all while I search his face.

He starts to move, brushing the caps of my teeth, moving the brush in and out of my mouth, dragging it against my lips. I find my eyes fluttering shut, embarrassment overwhelming me.

All of this is because I couldn't control myself, and now, I have to be cared for. He finishes brushing my teeth, allows me to rinse, then pulls the plug from the bath. He stands up, finds a towel, dries his hands on it, and brings it to me.

"Will you be okay on your own for a moment?" He asks, waiting until I nod in confirmation to stand up and walk away.

Once he's gone, I lift my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I wait in the bath while the water drains, consumed with upset. I just want him to kiss me the way he always does, hold me tight, and make me feel like nothing else in the world matters. Instead, I'm helpless as he picks up the pieces of me.

There's a small tremble in my core as I stand up. It's a sinking feeling that acknowledges my fault, a repeated reminder that I'm the one who fucked up and crossed the boundaries we set.

I reach for the towel that Zhongli used, dry off with it, then walk out of the bathroom. I go straight for his bedroom, finding pajamas already laid out for me on the bed. It's a top and bottom set, silken, too large, I lift the buttoned top, slipping it over my head without unbuttoning anything. The hem falls past the middle of my thigh, wearing more like a dress than anything else. I don't bother with the pants.

I poke my fingers from the oversized sleeves, curling them into the fabric at the collar of the shirt, lifting it to my face. I breathe in, finding it rich with the scent that lingers on Zhongli. I nearly buckle, eyes fluttering shut as I breathe it in, grounding myself in it.

When I open my eyes again, reality comes crashing back.

I walk out of the bedroom, eyes peeled for Zhongli. I find him in his kitchen, dropping a mixture of leaves into a pot of still water that sits on a low flame. His sleeves are still rolled up to his elbow, the muscles of his forearms flexing as he uses them.

I make a noise, watching him, wishing his hands were on me. He glances back.

"You should lay down until the tea is done." He says, quiet.

Though I know it's for the best, I refuse to listen. I shake my head no, walking toward him with uncertainty.

"I don't—" I start, taking a ragged breath. "Are you angry? I don't want you to be upset with me— please, I—" I falter as Zhongli pauses his movement. "Please." I repeat, begging, breathier than last time.

Pin prick tears collect at the corners of my eyes, desperation for reassurance fueling my courage.

Finally, Zhongli turns and approaches me, his expression strained. He lands one hand on my waist, sliding it up my side. His other cups my chin, gentler than I expect, running his thumb along my bottom lip to my cheek.

"Go lay down." He repeats, his face relaxing into something kinder, more familiar. "You'll feel better if you lay down."

I whine, wrapping my arms around him tighter, hesitant to let go now that I've got some of the attention I desperately wanted.

"Do you hate me now?" I ask, voice small.

Zhongli's brows lift, his hand traveling higher to thumb the tear from my eye. He moves in closer, holding eye contact with me.

"Of course not." He says, quiet, holding my face steady to lean in and press a chaste kiss to my lips. "I am upset." He says, his breath warm against my lips, tightening his hand on my waist to pull me closer. "But we can wait to address it when you're sober." He presses another kiss.

Though the words are severe, it's a relief. I press into his lips with all of my might, digging my fingers into his shoulders, steadying myself. He can still love me the same, despite my mistakes.

Zhongli pulls back from the kiss with a soft noise, quickly turning to attend to the pot. I finally relax, moving with him, keeping myself pressed against his broad back, my arms looping his waist.

"You're too kind to me." I mumble, muffled by his shirt.

Maybe it's the drive of the alcohol, or the way his hands felt when he ran them along my body as he washed me, or maybe even just his kindness, but I find myself craving intimacy. I carefully drag my hands down his abdomen, grazing my fingers against the fabric of his shirt, until I reach his belt. There, I move carefully, working my fingers to lift the clasp, my other hand dragging down across his lap as I hold my breath.

Zhongli goes still beneath my palms. I move slower, glacially, pressing against his belt. I don't make it far before his hand covers my own, stilling my movement.

"No." He says, voice low and soft. "Not while you're drunk."

I whine, pressing against his back. "But I want to—" I pout.

Zhongli turns to face me, an unfamiliar stern look on his face. "No." He repeats, just as he lands his hands on me and lifts me into his arms.

I'm helplessly carried to his bedroom, then, unceremoniously dumped onto his bed.

"Rest until the tea is done." Zhongli says, an order, before leaning in and pressing a parting kiss to my forehead. "I'll be back when it's ready." He says, then pulls back.

I puff my cheeks out, pouting, but refrain from protest. Zhongli turns, walking back out of the room, leaving me alone. I decide to settle, admitting that he's right, I should lay down. I wrap myself in a comforter, burying my face in his pillows, and let my eyes shut. I find myself relaxing, mind filled with memories of us in this bed together, and how safe I feel here, until I slip into sleep.

***

I open my eyes, disoriented, watching Zhongli's back retreat from the room. I blink slowly, sitting up, lifting my hands to rub my eyes. I must've fallen asleep, and, I glance out a window, noting the setting sun in the sky, it must've been for hours.

I take in my surroundings, noticing that to my side is a cup of tea on a plate, billowing a soft cloud of steam. I steady myself before reaching for it, then lift it to drink. It tastes floral, minty, bright against my desensitized tongue.

I blink again, trying to focus my eyes as I recollect the events of the day. I notice a slight ache in my head, and remember the fact that I was drunk.

Embarrassment heats my face, the automatic memory of Zhongli's disappointment in me springing to the forefront. I hide in the cup of tea, willing myself to forget.

It's a useless effort.

Though, as memories come back in, I come to a conclusion: I owe Zhongli my thanks, and maybe another apology.

I tilt the cup of tea back, finishing it despite its temperature, then set the empty cup down on it's plate. I lift from bed, stumbling out to the living area, searching for what I want. I find him lounging, a book open in his hands. He hardly glances up at me, brows raised.

"How do you feel?" He asks.

I ignore the question, striding right for him. I plant a hand on his shoulder, swing my leg over his lap, then crawl on top of him, forcing my way into his hold. His arms come back together behind my back, keeping his book steady.

"Better." I finally mumble, once I'm in his lap.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"I'm better." I mumble, pressing my face into his neck, taking care to breathe in a way he can feel. "Thanks to you."

Close like this, I find the same feeling from earlier, a desire for his hands on me, running along my body, the desire to be wanted. I tilt in closer, arching my spine to press our bodies flush. I land a hand on his chest, and slowly drag it down his abdomen.

"Is that so?" Zhongli asks back, voice low, breathy.

I nod into his neck. "You took care of me..." I continue, dragging my hand lower with my goal in mind, resting my fingertips against his belt. "Now I want to take care of you—" My hand ghosts lower, until I'm resting my palm flat against where his cock sits.

I only make it that far before Zhongli's hand covers mine, stopping my movement, pulling it back. I tilt my head back, looking at him with a confused pout. This is the second time he's stopped me. His face is calm, neutral other than the slight uptick in the corner of his lips, his lowered eyes flicking down my face in a controlled way.

"You can't have everything you want." He says, voice low enough my stomach tightens.

He drops my hand from his hold, lifting his own hand to brush my hair from my face. He grazes his fingers against my cheek, holding his eyes on me until I falter, tucking my chin down, embarrassment burning my skin.

He immediately catches my chin, tilting my face back up.

"What am I supposed to do with you?" He says, then sighs, pressing his thumb to my lower lip. "You disobeyed our contract, broke my trust and—" His eyes flick across my face, calculating. "—you need to be punished for it."

I swallow, retracting my hands to myself, curling them in the loose fabric of the shirt I'm wearing, unable to look at up at him. This isn't what I expected, but—

"I'm sorry." I mumble, tilting my hips to press against his lap, keeping my legs spread. "You can—"

"No." Zhongli says as his other hand drops to my hip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh to hold me in place. "What kind of discipline is that?" He asks. "Giving you exactly what you want—" He leans in toward me, until his lips hover next to mine. "Exactly what you're desperate for—" His hand slides up my side, to the bottom of my ribs. "—aren't you?"

I whine, nodding, breaking my thin restraint to roll my hips, pressing our bodies together as close as I can without him being inside of me.

"Please—" I breathe out, not above begging.

Zhongli's hands both drop to my hips, stilling my movement. He handles me with his firm grip, until I'm forced off of his lap. He moves my hips into place, sitting me down on his thigh. He holds me there, his expression relaxed as he stares me down.

"Why don't you show me? Show me how desperate you are." He says.

His leg lifts, pressing against everything bare between my legs, giving a moment of pressure. I nearly buckle, relief and arousal curling in my stomach as I finally feel him stimulate me. Then, he stops. I buck my hips, grinding myself against his thigh, chasing to find the same pressure again.

"That's it—" He coaxes out. "Just like that."

I warm under the praise, looking up at him through my lashes, continuing to move my hips, fucking myself against his clothed thigh. All I have the mind to do is roll my hips, my breaths coming out heavier, cut only by soft moans, the pressure between my legs from my movement enough to stimulate my clit.

"Such a pretty sight—" Zhongli continues, watching me. "—getting yourself off on my thigh." At that, his thigh lifts again, the pressure enough to pull another whine from my throat

His lips twitch to smile as he hears it, his thumbs hooking into the hem of my shirt. He pulls it up, just barely, not far enough to expose more than my thighs. He lifts his leg again, pressing until I gasp, clenching around his thigh with my own.

He relaxes his leg as I whimper, leaning in toward him. My hips buck, grinding at a more rapid pace, arousal burning low in my abdomen. I whine, lifting one hand to his bicep, curling my fingers around it, holding on to steady myself.

Zhongli tilts his chin back, watching me through half-lidded eyes.

"I bet you can cum just from my thigh, can't you?" He asks.

I nod, swallowing around my tongue, struggling to keep my eyes open as I roll against his thigh in a rhythm, fighting to stimulate my clit, everything between my legs dripping wet as it slides together.

"Pathetic little girl." Zhongli sighs out. "Undisciplined, so easy to make finish." He lifts a hand, sliding it up my thigh, until he's holding my waist with the shirt hitched up around his wrist.

He exposes me with the motion, his eyes turning down to watch me grind myself against his thigh with short desperate movements.

"I bet you feel good, don't you?" He asks, briefly flicking his eyes back up to my face. "Do you want something?"

I whimper, nodding, the movement of my hips losing rhythm, unevenly jerking against his thigh.

"Use your words." He says back.

"Please— please— let me cum— let me— let me cum—" I breathe out, eyes fluttering shut as I chase the pleasure.

"Not yet. Keep going." Zhongli says back. "I want to hear you keep begging... those little noises you let out when you're desperate."

I blink my eyes back open, searching his face as I nod. Though his expression remains calm, there's a flush collecting on his cheeks. And, when I look down, I see his cock is standing to attention, the fabric of his pants tight around the length. I whimper out another moan, twisting my hand in the fabric of his shirt on his bicep, changing the pace of my hips to move faster, the pleasure drawing me in.

Zhongli lets out a noise, holding my hip tighter to slow my movement. He leans in, pressing a kiss to my neck, the warmth of his mouth catching my heart in my throat as his lips continue, brushing along my jaw, until he reaches my ear.

"I can tell what you want." He says, voice low. "You always spread your legs for me, beg me to fuck you, like you deserve it." He moves in closer, nipping my earlobe. "Slow down." He demands.

I'm quick to listen, changing the movement of my hips to slow, intentional rolls, careful to stimulate everything between my legs with each movement. He lifts his leg between mine, pressuring until I whimper, arching my back to move with him.

"Such a pretty noise." Zhongli sighs out, relaxing his leg and leaning back again to watch me. "You can be such a good girl when you listen to me."

My eyes flutter shut, heat warming my chest as I bloom from the praise. I move my hips with intent, pleasure at the forefront of my mind.

"Please—" I beg again. "Let me cum, please sir—" The honorific slips off my tongue, followed by a breathless moan.

Zhongli responds with a pleased noise, his hands tensing on my hips.

"Go ahead." He finally assents. "Ruin yourself with nothing but my thigh. Let me see it."

Permission is all it takes, my entire body rocking as I roll against his thigh the final few times, crashing into an orgasm that grips my muscles tight enough I tremble.

I lift from his knee with a broken moan, tilting forward, arching my back as I succumb to my climax.

As I still tremble, coming down from the high, my breathes panted, Zhongli releases my hip, moving to press his hand between my legs. His other hand hooks into the fabric of my shirt, pulling it above my navel, displaying my body to him. His fingers slide against my pussy, eased by the collecting slick. They feel blunt, spreading me open, then—

I gasp as his fingers press to my clit. My still cum sensitive pussy flutters, gripping on air. My body is torn between pressing into it, or jerking away in over-sensitivity. My thighs twitch, abdomen held tight enough to hurt.

"Look at you." Zhongli sighs out, his eyes locked between my legs. "Such a mess just from riding my thigh— spread open like that's all you're good for." He moves his fingers, gently pressing his index and middle to circle my clit, playing with me despite the way I twitch in oversensitivity.

"You're beautiful like this." He breathes. "I can't imagine how beautiful you'll look when I'm inside of you." He says, then finally retracts his hands, landing them both on his belt as he carefully works to unbuckle and open it.

His fingers move quick, intentional, knowledgeable in the way he undoes the clasp. He doesn't go further than that, instead lifting his hand to catch my wrist, pulling it toward his lap. I whine, taking control back as my hand is guided, fumbling to push into his undergarments, wrapping my hand around his cock. He lifts his hips, helping me adjust further, until his cock is free, flushed red with blood, painfully hard, resting against his stomach, exposed.

My stomach tightens just looking at Zhongli's cock. I'm up before I realize I am, sinking to the ground on my knees, directly between his legs. He watches me with a relaxed smile, his eyes half lidded. I wrap my hand around the base of his cock, steadying it as he lifts a hand to cup my cheek, helping me guide in. I push my tongue out, making contact with the head of his cock first. I lap at the slit, the taste of his skin salty on my tongue.

Zhongli's stomach twitches, his cock pulsing in my hand as I finally stimulate him back. I lower my eyes, staring only at his cock, then lean all the way in, taking him into my mouth with a soft moan.

I hear a breathy noise from above me, quiet, and force myself to take his cock deeper, feeling it throb against my tongue.

"Perfect— such a perfect girl—" Zhongli praises, running his fingers through my hair, petting me before he grips again, holding tight. "You know just how to make me feel good— so pretty with my cock down your throat—" He moans again as my mouth tightens. I fight to relax my throat, desperate to take him deeper.

I rock my hips against nothing, like I'm still sat on Zhongli's thigh, moans high in my throat vibrating around his cock. I can feel the arousal between my legs, cascading down my thighs, creating even more of a mess as I move my mouth on his cock, sloppy, focused only on making him feel good as I move my head.

I'm doing well if the constant low moans from Zhongli mean anything.

"Just like that—" He continues to praise. "So good—"

I flutter my eyes shut, forcing myself to take him into my throat again, curling my tongue along the shaft of his cock to follow a vein. His cock throbs against my tongue, his abdomen twitching above me. It lasts for only a moment before a hand lands in my hair, holding tight, pulling me off.

I look at Zhongli with a pout, noticing he looks fucked out of his mind, slowly blinking back at me. I move forward, pushing my tongue out, leaning in open mouthed, desperate for the taste of cum down my throat.

I look up at Zhongli through my lashes, begging with my eyes.

He huffs, blinking down at me. "Not yet." He says. "You don't deserve it yet."

Before I can protest, he releases me, moving his hands back to relax on his thighs.

"Up." He demands.

I nod, swallowing around my nerves, lifting back to my feet on unsteady legs. Zhongli's eyes flick down to my thighs, the slick coating them, glinting in the lowlight. His hands move toward me again, landing on my hips, tugging me closer between his legs. Once he's satisfied with my position, he lifts his hands to unbutton the shirt I'm wearing.

He does each button slowly, intentionally, revealing a new line of skin down my chest, down my stomach, following it with his eyes, until he opens the shirt, putting my body fully on display. I fight to not shy away as he drags his eyes along me, his jaw tensing in restraint.

He doesn't hold for long.

Zhongli's arms wrap my waist, pulling me even closer as he leans in, landing his lips on my stomach. His breath is hot as he drags his mouth across my abdomen, pressing a kiss when he sees fit.

I lift my arms, curling them around his shoulders to cradle his head, one of my knees lifting to rest on his thigh. He keeps one arm wrapped around my waist, tight, holding me in place. He drops the other, pushing his hand back between my legs. This time, he has a goal in mind, his rough fingers sliding against the soft skin of my pussy just to wet them, before pushing them further back, until the pads of his fingers just rest at my entrance.

I pull in a sharp breath, my legs tensing in anticipation for him to finally be inside of me, even if it's just his fingers. His mouth moves again, up my ribs, to my chest, his breath hot against my breast, his tongue pushing out to lap at my nipple just as— ah.

I gasp, my body tensing as Zhongli's fingers finally push in, two sinking into me, stretching me out as he curls them up, petting my insides. He distracts me by rolling my nipple with his teeth, a pleased noise low in his throat as I react, arching toward his stimulation, melting into his control.

His fingers are slow, careful to not hurt me as he pumps them in and out of me. I flutter my pussy, gripping down, desperate to feel him deeper. I lift my hands, carding them into his hair to hold tight, still cradling his head as he moves his mouth of my breast up to my collar, scraping with his teeth.

I feel the pressure of another finger resting at my entrance and tense my thighs, already stretched tight. His lips move higher, pressing a kiss to the base of my neck as the only warning I get before the third finger pushes in, pulling a whimper from low in my throat.

Zhongli keeps his stimulation gentle, darting his tongue out to drag it up the tendon of my neck, sinking his fingers back into me, stretching me with the taper of his fingers' girth. I tug his hair tight, tight enough to pull him from my neck, forcing him to tilt his head back and look at me. His expression is dark, unsated, desire apparent. I take panted breaths, staring back down at him as I milk his fingers.

"Please—" I breathe out. "Please, sir."

It's all it takes, the corner of Zhongli's lips twitching to smile as he pulls his fingers out of me, dragging a wave of slick with them. I tilt my head down to watch as he leads that hand to his lap, wrapping it around his cock, pumping and wetting the length.

His hand on my waist drops down my hip, guiding me to turn my back to him. He holds tight, lifting and handling me until I'm spread on his lap, my knees planted to either side of his, his mouth pressed to my shoulder. He wraps my waist from behind, holding me in place to his chest.

His other hand stays on his cock, guiding to press the head of it to my pussy. He slides against me, dragging the tip through everything sensitive, before lining up with my entrance. He holds his cock steady, kissing along the length of my shoulder, to my neck, waiting with his lips pressed to my ear.

"Go ahead." He breathes out. "Take it."

I swallow, nodding, looking down my abdomen, staring at his cock where it connects with me. I lift my hands, curling them around the arm he's wrapped my waist with, digging in with my nails to hold tight as I shift my hips, sinking down on his cock. I feel his stomach tighten against my back, a jagged breath escaping his lips as I finally envelop him, lowering onto his cock until I'm resting in his lap, our bodies fully connected.

I only pause for a moment, small moans slipping from my mouth as I adjust to finally being stretched on his cock. I can't help but move, lifting my knees to bounce in his lap, fucking myself.

Zhongli's sucks in a breath once I move, sharp, tightening the hand he has on my waist to hold me in place.

"Not yet." He says, voice low, restrained. "You don't deserve it yet. Sit." He demands.

I whine, fluttering my pussy along the length of his cock, just barely shifting my hips to keep stimulated.

"Please—" I beg again, desperate to move.

"No." He says back, firm in his resolve. "I want to see how desperate you can get—" His free hand drops between my legs, sliding against my pussy to explore where I'm stretched on his cock.

"Keep begging." He sighs out, dragging his fingers to my clit, evenly pressuring.

"Please, I— ah—" I draw in a sharp breath as his mouth continues to move against my shoulder, tightening down on the skin, sucking to bruise.

I whine as he loosens his mouth, dragging his tongue along the mark to soothe it, then moves higher, sucking another.

"I—I—" I swallow around my noises, hips fighting to move as Zhongli keeps me held in place. "I want you to feel good— please—" I manage to gasp out. "Let me— let me make you feel good—"

Zhongli makes a noise, low, that rumbles his chest where it's pressed to my back. He moves his arm from my waist up, dragging his fingers into my soft skin that gives under his touch, up to my neck. He circles my neck with his hand, his palm flat to my throat. His chin hooks over my shoulder, tilting down so he can watch the muscles of my abdomen tense, his fingers still playing between my legs. The hand on my throat tightens, holding me still, until there's a fuzz in my brain, intoxicating in the way he's controlling me.

"I do feel good." He breathes out. "—watching you like this— trembling little thing—" He squeezes the sides of my throat tight, speeding his fingers to a stutter against my clit.

I whimper, entire body pulling tight enough to shake, being forced toward another orgasm quicker than I can handle.

"You can't even control yourself— all those noises— you're so reactive." He tapers off, voice low.

He slows his fingers to more intentional strokes, dragging my orgasm out of me. I shout, eyes rolling back as the feeling overtakes. I dig into his arms with my nails, shaking through it as I cum in waves. It pulses through my abdomen, making me tighten on his cock. He goes until it's too much, continuing to pet my clit even as my hips jerk, whines constant in my throat, body arching away from the stimulation in oversensitivity.

"Please— sir—" I beg again, whining as tears collect in my eyes.

"You should see yourself—" He continues speaking, unfazed despite the way his fingers finally move from my clit, dragging up to rest his palm flat to my twitching abdomen.

I swallow, fighting to open my eyes, head rolling back, thoughts fuzzy.

"I want—" I start, mumbling. "I want to make you feel good— please fuck me—" I beg.

Zhongli huffs a laugh against my back. "So," he starts, soft, "You want—" His hips adjust, his arm steadying me as he finally snaps his hips up, fucking into me once.

It pulls a guttural moan from my throat, my mentality lost as I melt in his hands.

"—this?" He asks, rocking his hips against my ass before pulling back and snapping them again.

I whimper, managing to nod despite the way my head rolls back.

"Yeah— yes—" I mewl out, completely pliant in his hands.

Zhongli hums in consideration, tightening his grip on my hips to hold me still, then finally fucks himself into me, rolling his hips in a rhythm. The room fills with the sound of our skin connecting, my wanton moans a constant that he meets with heavy breaths of his own, unwavering as he fucks himself up into my lax body.

His endurance might be the death of me, his thrusts never stopping as I bounce in his lap from the force he's using to fuck into me, nearly just along for the ride, holding on tight.

I try to last, but don't make it long before the threat of an orgasm builds again, low in my abdomen.

"I'm—" I whimper out, thighs tensing where they bracket him, before crashing into another orgasm.

It rips through my body, hard enough to hurt, every muscle feeling exhausted, weak. Zhongli's hips never slow. Instead, he fucks into me harder, even as I feel myself cry out, face wet from tears and saliva, digging my nails into his arm deep enough to draw blood.

"Please— please— Zhongli—" I whine, tapping his arm, begging for a moment of mercy.

"Pathetic." Zhongli sighs out from behind me, though, he slows his hips to a stop, holding my stomach as I fight to catch my breath.

I try to relax, fluttering around the length of his cock buried inside of me. I realize, sitting down, his lap is soaked. I must have—

"What a messy thing." Zhongli observes first, rocking his hips against me.

"I'm sorry." I whimper out, flexing my numb fingers, trying to get a handle on myself. "I keep— I— it hurts— it's— I'm sorry."

"We can stop." He says, voice finally soft. "If that's what you want."

I'm quick to shake my head, refusing to finish until he's cum, until I've pleased him. I lift my own hips, fighting the ache in my thighs to ride, rolling back into his lap.

Zhongli hums, pleased, pressing his lips to my shoulder. "Good girl." He breathes out. "That's why you're mine."

I nod, moans high, whined, fighting my own body to ride his cock. I move in rough, jerky motions, lifting as far out of his lap as I can manage, sure to drag the full length of his cock out until the head catches my entrance, then sink back down.

I'm encouraged by the noises that start to slip from Zhongli, low, exhaled moans that come in tandem with each bounce. I steady myself, arching my back to ride with as much fervor as I can muster, colliding with his lap as I bounce.

Zhongli's hands begin to tense, his moans more frequent, his stomach tight against my back. It's almost a relief when his hips snap up, colliding into my movement, his cock jerking to flood warmth low in my belly as he exhales a shuddered moan against my shoulder, throbbing inside of me.

Shaking, I lift to my knees, only for Zhongli to pull me right back into place.

"I'm not done with you." He says, voice steady. "You're staying right here. I'll use you again when I feel like it."

I whimper, nodding. I can feel myself throbbing, milking his cock that remains buried inside of me, the mess between us growing.

Zhongli settles back, one arm still looping my waist, the other reaching to his side, lifting the book he was reading earlier.

It's humiliating, crumbling back to lean into his chest, eyes barely staying open, watching as he occupies himself by reading, all while his softening cock is buried inside of me, twitching every time I clench. Though, the break is needed, pain from oversensitivity fading.

He doesn't let me rest much, occasionally pausing only to fuck up into me, his cock growing increasingly hard as the time ticks on, until he's fully erect, rocking against me again. Though, he doesn't seem to react to it, instead continuing to read even as he tilts his hips hard enough noises slip from my throat.

Zhongli holds, unmoving, unwavering, keeping me split open on his cock until I'm throbbing, arousal low in my abdomen demanding I be fucked again. I squirm in his lap, clenching down, desperate for him to react, hold my hips, take what's his.

Instead, he reads his book like he doesn't feel it, feel me pulsing around his cock buried inside of me, cum and slick dripping from my thighs, my stomach warm where he's filled me.

Every movement becomes torture, every breath forcing his cock to move inside of me, teasing in the way it drags along everything sensitive. He continues to let his hips twitch, fucking his cock up into me with no real intent other than to make me whimper.

I only make it so long before I break, tilting my own hips, carefully lifting my knees to bounce in his lap in short, careful motions.

Zhongli notices.

"Did I give you permission?" He asks, voice low, freezing me in place.

I whine, shaking my head.

"N-no—" I mumble out.

Zhongli sighs, lifting his hands, slowly, carefully marking his page and setting the book down. His arm wraps my legs under my knees, lifting and holding them to my chest. His other wraps my waist, holding me in place, then, he stands, still inside of me, carrying me to his bedroom.

He releases me onto his bed on my stomach, keeping his cock locked inside. He presses a hand to the center of my upper back, holding me in place, then finally shifts his hips, pulling his cock out. I whine, clenching on air, feeling the cum-slick mixture pulse from my abused pussy, drooling out, across my clit and out onto the sheets.

Zhongli lets out a low noise at the sight, pressing his hand firmly against my back, before finally stepping away.

I whine once out of contact with him, shifting to flip to my back, look at him carefully slipping out of his clothes. He peels them off, layer by layer, until he's nude, then finally comes back to pay me attention. I lift my knees, keeping my thighs held together, watching as he watches me.

"You need to learn to obey me—" He sighs as he approaches, landing his hands on my thighs, pulling them apart. "You can't get out of trouble just by spreading your legs open and being my whore, no matter how much favor it wins you."

He digs into the soft flesh with his fingers, glancing down between my legs as he slots his cock against my pussy, sliding against it. His fingers hook into the shirt I still have on, roughly jerking the fabric to tear it off my body, until we're both nude.

Zhongli's hips roll, dragging his cock along everything sensitive while he stares at me, a mess in his sheets, twisting my hands and panting, begging for more.

"No one wants a disobedient girl—" He sighs out, shifting his hands up to my hips and holding on tight. He tugs, dragging me down the sheets until my ass hangs over the edge of his bed. He stands between my thighs, leaning in toward me, holding my spread legs upright.

"I'm— sorry—" I choke out again. "I'm sorry, sir."

Zhongli inhales, slow, restrained, staring down at my face. He shifts his hips back, until just the tip of his cock is pressed to me. He moves his hand until he can wrap the base, guiding it lower between my legs until the head rests just at my entrance.

"Beg." He says, low.

I whimper, nodding, a repeated 'please' spilling from my mouth like breath. I rock my hips, feeling the head of his cock catch as it slides against my pussy, desperation taking over the way I lift my hips, until I'm begging with my body, too.

Zhongli slips into a pleased smile, watching me break beneath him, until his hands tighten on my body again, holding me in place.

"You're such a good girl when you listen." He praises, then finally shifts in, pushing his cock inside of me.

I gasp as I feel him enter, eyes rolling back, scrambling to wrap his hips with my legs. My hands lift to my chest, curling there.

I brace as Zhongli drags his cock out, just in time for him to snap his hips forward, fucking into me hard enough I drag up the sheets. There's no mercy in his pace, the snap of his hips rough, colliding into me as he grips my thighs, trying to hold me in place.

I moan with each thrust, pulsing in tandem with the drag of his cock inside of me. I know I look like a mess, but I'm not present enough to care, instead focused on panting through my breaths as he fucks himself into me, the sound of our skin connecting filling the room.

The drag of his cock is perfect, stimulating everything inside of me, keeping me stretched open. I keep moaning, desperate, held tilted back, barely present enough to watch Zhongli fuck himself into me through my lashes.

I have to tilt my chin back, guttural moans carving my throat, entire body pulling tight as Zhongli fucks me like it's nothing. An ache starts in my core, forcing me to grip harder on his cock. It's a familiar tension in my muscles, dragging me closer to an orgasm, his cock pounding against every sensitive spot.

"I'm— I can't—" I sigh out, turning my face into my shoulder through my whimpered moans.

"Already?" Zhongli asks, never slowing the roll of his hips. "Pathetic mewling thing—" He moans himself, guiding his hand to wrap my throat, loosely holding it, digging his other hand into my thigh.

I whimper through my moan, too embarrassed to look at him, the roll of an orgasm building low in my stomach, close enough to hurt.

"I'm—" I manage to whimper out, before cascading into an orgasm, pussy fluttering around the length of Zhongli's cock.

"So quick." He chastises, seemingly unaffected.

I can feel my body trembling with the effort, it takes to be fucked, constant mewled moans spilling from my throat. I feel messy, used, my hands curling against my chest as he continues to fuck into me. The drag of his cock overstimulates, my cum sensitive pussy making me desperate enough that my thighs fight to close, preserve what's between them.

Zhongli refuses it, dropping both hands to hold my thighs tight, keeping me spread.

"No." He chastises, breathless. "You'll take it until I'm done."

I mewl out, desperate, darting both of my hands down to hold his forearms, digging in with my nails, jerking my hips as his movement never stops.

"Please—" I beg, not even sure what I'm asking for at this point, shaking with the effort, head rolling back on my shoulders. "I'm sorry, sir— please— please— it hurts— I'm sorry—"

I look up to Zhongli, pleading with my eyes. It takes a moment, but his expression finally softens, his thrusts slowing until he's resting with his hips flush to my ass, I continue to tremble, clenching around his paused cock. I jump as his hand connects to my chest, his rough skin tenderly dragging down my ribs and abdomen.

He goes to my own hands, prying them from his arms, lifting them until they're above my head. He slots his hand against mine, threading our fingers together, squeezing tight. The motion grounds me, preparing me for when hips rock, gently stimulating me with his cock again.

"You can do it." Zhongli sighs out, rocking himself into me, carefully moving his hips. "Just keep taking my cock like my good girl." He squeezes my hand with his as he talks, tilting his hips back to drag the full length of his cock out of me before fucking it back in.

"You're perfect—" He praises, even as my eyes roll back, "Such a— such a good girl."

I warm under the praise, blinking up at Zhongli as I come back to my body, stretched open on his cock.

"I'm—" I mumble out, disoriented.

He holds me tighter, leaning in to catch my lips. He exhales against them before we meet, kissing me with an even pressure. I arch into it, heart thumping as I warm from the affection.

Zhongli pulls back, hovering his lips next to mine as he speaks.

"You can do it—" He breathes out. "That's my girl."

I tilt my head back, eyes fluttering shut as I relax against the mattress. The drag of his cock in and out of me continues, gentler than before. He rolls his hips against me, breathy moans of his own escaping, a relaxed look on his face.

Zhongli squeezes my hand tight, a grounding motion, before his hips speed, chasing. I lift my shaking legs, wrapping his hips and holding on for the ride, my lax body dragging up the sheets, until, finally, his thrusts lose rhythm again, stuttered movement matching the moaned noises from low in his throat. I watch his face, until his expression breaks, the surrender of ecstasy taking over. There's a catch in his breath, noises low in his throat all warning whats to come.

I flutter around his pulsing cock as it finally jerks, flooding my stomach, his hand holding mine tight enough to hurt.

He watches my face as he cums, looking relaxed, before coming down, meeting my lips with his hips resting flush to my ass. I'm kissed hard enough my head tilts back into the sheets, trembling body otherwise pliant in his hands. He handles me up the bed, to the center, carefully to stay inside of me. I sigh as he relaxes, pressing me into the mattress with his weight, coming down from the high as our bodies continue to rock together, no real chase for pleasure in the movement, just a desire for closeness.

"I'm proud—" Zhongli starts, pressing another kiss to my lips. "—so proud to call you mine."

I muster just enough energy to smile, lifting my hands to thread them into his hair and hold him against my lips a moment longer, before I fully collapse, exhausted.

Looking up at Zhongli, wrapped in his arms, I watch his face soften. The severity of his expression eases, tension melting from him, until he finally seems relaxed.

"I'm sorry." I mumble again, quiet. "I'm sorry for breaking the contract."

Zhongli smiles, soft, bringing a hand up to cup my face, running his thumb along my cheek.

"I forgive you." He says. "It was a mistake."

His hand lifts from my face, grabbing one of my hands at the wrist. He places it above my head, curling his fingers around the bracelet he gave me to signal our bond.

"If you choose to do it again... I won't hesitate to remind you that you belong to me." He says, pressing a kiss to the corner of my lips.

I nod, eyes barely open, body sinking into the exhaustion that envelops it, finally feeling settled with the spoken forgiveness.

I would never get drunk in the middle of the day.

—but, if it means getting punished like this...

I might repeat the mistake.

#genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin fic #genshin impact #genshin #genshin zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli smut #zhongli x y/n #zhongli

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mionemymind · 3 years

Text

Chapter 7: The New Beginning

Fake Memories

Series Summary: After Y/n is caught cheating on Wanda with Carol, Y/n would do just about anything to get Wanda back into her life. But was it even Y/n’s fault that she cheated? Or was it the new enemy set on revenge?

Chapter Summary: Healing isn’t easy, especially when Y/n doesn’t know if she wants to.

A/n: First, I want to thank you to all the anons that have filled my inbox with nothing but sweet comments. Dealing with family matters is always hard and something I struggle with but reading those made it a little easier. And I think I’m ready to admit this, but the family matter that I’ve been dealing with is that recently, my grandma has passed away. And death is always something hard for me to talk about. But everyday is a new day, and everyday I learn to take a baby steps from this. I will be okay, but all of you have been a tremendous help. Second, I want to say thank you to a couple friends ( @somewhatgreatexpectations @abimess @randomshyperson @yourtaletotell ) that have helped me come out of my writer's block so hand it to them for helping me update. But just thank you all haven’t given up on me yet. You all are the reason why I still push myself to write. So thank you thank you thank you. (Not my GIF)

Warnings: Anxiety, curse words

Word Count: 6.4k

Masterlist

“Bucky,” looking up from his book, Bucky focused his attention towards Y/n. Still true to his word, Bucky visited Y/n every day regardless of the time. Sometimes he would even sleep on the couch even though it was uncomfortable. Other times, they would just sit around with each other’s company. And if they were lucky, they would do a group board game night with Beth. But she doesn’t quite like playing with them, stating, “Heroes and their uncanny ability to always win.”

“What is it like - in - um - in,” closing his book, Bucky finished Y/n’s sentence with, “therapy?” Nodding her head, she replied, “Yeah, therapy.”

“It’s different.” Bucky paused, not quite really sure how to word out his thoughts. He knew Y/n was still unsure about getting help but all he wanted was the best for the girl. “I mean at first, I didn’t speak at all. I hate being forced into doing things, but it was part of a contract deal with the government. In order to pardon me of all my crimes as the Winter Soldier, I needed to do mandated therapy.”

Rubbing his hands together, Bucky could feel himself getting vulnerable. This was never easy, but he quickly reminded himself that this was for Y/n. “There were a lot of exercises done during the span of a couple of sessions and somehow, I did find myself actually speaking to her. My therapist is a mixture of patience and sternness. She knew when I was avoiding certain things and depending on her call, she would either back off or put a little bit of pressure on me to speak. She matched my energy so it was like speaking to myself.”

“Would you say it helped?” Bucky was quick to nod. As much as he didn’t want to admit it (he did for Y/n’s sake), therapy did end up relieving some of the stress and nightmares of being the Winter Soldier. “Yeah...I would say it did, kid.”

“Would you say that you’re healed?” Bucky thought about it before answering with, “I would say that I’m a little less broken.”

It was quiet in this part of the tower. Almost too quiet. Of course, Y/n didn’t expect terrifying screams or cries for help. But still. It drove Y/n crazy to know that in each room was someone different dealing with their own struggles. She would be happy for them for getting help, but she hated that she needed it too.

“Beth,” Y/n called to grab her attention. The two were walking at a slow pace towards their destination. It wasn’t far but Beth stated clear orders for Y/n to not push herself. “Hmm?”

“Why do I need to heal?” The two continued to walk as Beth thought of a good answer. In fairness, everyone's reasons for wanting to heal were different. To sum it up in one general answer didn’t seem genuine. So Beth asked, “Well...do you want to stay broken?”

Y/n stood still. Whether it was because of Beth’s question or because they reached their destination didn’t quite matter. “I - uh-” Feeling frustrated, Y/n sat at a nearby chair. She ran her hands through her hair as her leg anxiously bounced.

“I don’t even know what I want,” she whispered. Beth squatted in front of Y/n. With one hand she cupped Y/n’s cheek, in the other, she placed it on her knee to stop her leg from bouncing. This may have gone beyond nurse protocol, but is there truly a good protocol to follow when it comes to emotional superheroes?

“Y/n,” Beth whispered sternly. For a second, Y/n looked into Beth’s eyes and felt a little calm but the anxious feeling was still overwhelming. “No one and I mean no one has answers to everything in life. It’s okay to be confused. It’s okay to feel nervous. It’s going to be okay...you hear me?”

Y/n nodded in response. Although Y/n loved to prove a point, it was the way Beth carried herself to be so strong that even her stubbornness wouldn’t be able to fight it. It was the way that Beth was one of the few people in the world that Y/n didn’t feel the constant need to argue about everything. She was one of the few that Y/n could trust to be right. And that scared Y/n.

“Now I wouldn’t be agreeing to this if I didn’t know that things would turn out okay. So at any point, you want to stop, just press this button and I’ll be on my way to you.” Once again, Y/n slowly nodded in agreement as she was given a blue button with a lowercase B in the middle.

“Let's go now, okay? Don’t want to wait any longer for Y/n 2.0.” With a couple of pats to the knee, the two stood up and went to the door. Beth opened it as Y/n walked in with a button in hand and a cane in the other.

“Ah, Ms. Y/n, glad you can join me.” Y/n slowly sat down with a tight lip smile. “Darling, let me introduce myself. I am Dr. Estella Johnson, I will be your new mental health therapist.”

It has been a week since Fury’s meeting. The majority of the Avengers, besides Bucky and Wanda, were tasked with missions near and far, all with the task of finding more information in regards to Hydra’s plan. So far, all of them came back empty-handed.

For Bucky, Fury still tasked the Avenger with dealing with whoever had hurt Y/n in addition to trying to get more information from Memory Man. As for Wanda, the girl never got real orders from Fury as to what to do. Even when she tried to ask, Fury simply dismissed her stating “I have places to go.”

So here she was standing in Y/n’s room with a handful of supplies. The place was still a broken mess, but with enough elbow grease and a touch of magic, Wanda could have it fixed in no time. “Maybe then it will be easier for us to talk,” Wanda hoped.

There was still no new information on Y/n. The same updates “she’s okay” was all that was given to them. Well, that was all that was given to Wanda. The team still didn’t speak much about Y/n. However, Wanda’s patience was running thin, but with a lot of thinking, she knew that it was simply best to wait. Not only that, Fury only unfolded more mysteries for the redhead during the meeting.

With another click of his button, Fury showed an old family picture of Y/n and her parents. “Y/n Wolfenstein. The only daughter of elite members Aldous and Helda Wolfenstein.” It was obvious the room felt a bit different, but Fury couldn’t quite place whether they cared or not.

Click. “Hein Stromanoff better known as Memory Man by us. Not much new detail about him other than what you already know.” Before Fury could click again, Tony had interrupted with, “Actually, this is the first we’ve heard of him.”

With a stoic look, Fury looked to see if Stark was bullshiting with him. This was not the time nor place to pull jokes, especially since his daughter’s safety was growing to be compromised. But when Tony didn’t budge, that’s when more things clicked in Fury’s head. “They don’t know,” he thought. “They seriously don’t know.” Even though Fury had more questions than answers, this was still not the time to ask them.

Putting his feelings aside, Fury said, “Well then. Memory Man was first known after an altercation at one of Tony’s parties a couple of months back. He was quickly captured and apprehended with the help of Carol and Y/n the very next week.”

“Altercation?” Wanda thought. She couldn’t really remember much of an enemy altercation during Tony’s parties for the past few months or any altercation at all. Even as Wanda kept thinking, Fury slightly noticed the fist that Wanda formed at the mention of Carol and Y/n.

“For a couple of months, all that was known about Memory Man was his unique set of powers. He has the ability to replace memories and feelings, however, his powers are only able to work when he touches your head.”

“Replace with what?” Steve asked. Usually, he would be one of the first to be informed of new enemies so it did slightly tick him off that he was only now made aware of Memory Man.

“Different memories or with whatever he pleases. He can alter how we remember things which makes him dangerous. In addition, his effects seem to be permanent. He is unable to reverse any damage done.”

“How did Carol and Y/n even know about this enemy?” Fury looked at Steve as well as the rest of the crew. He could only trust that there was a reason Y/n didn’t tell them what had happened. The only thing Fury wondered thought was why?

“That is none of importance. Now here are your missions.”

It’s been hours later in the day and so far, Wanda has painted the walls, built the furniture, and organized the closet. Everything was new so far but it still needed decorations.

“All done.” Wanda stood near the center of the room, admiring her work. The girl was covered with sweat and paint. The only thing she used her magic for was to remove all the old and broken furniture. Everything else was done by hand. Although she could have gotten everything done in probably 30 minutes with the use of her magic, she wanted to feel accomplished in her work. She also hoped that once Y/n came back from her mission, she would feel in every ounce of the room just how sorry Wanda was for hurting her.

Too busy in thought, Bucky was walking by and noticed that Y/n’s door was opened. Walking in undetected, he noticed the new improvements done to Y/n’s room. What was even more surprising was the redhead in the middle of the room.

“You did this?” Slightly startled Wanda immediately turned around and was relieved to see Bucky. “Yeah, just got done actually.”

Walking further into the room, Bucky was amazed at the sight of everything and practically nodded in approval. Once he was done, he looked at Wanda and slightly smiled to see the small strokes of paint on her. “She did this herself,” he thought.

But with one single feeling of his scar, the weight of what Wanda did brought a whole new perspective of things. Although Bucky didn’t see the mess that Y/n’s room was in, Wanda did. And she didn’t even need an explanation to try and fix things for Y/n.

“Why?” Bucky was curious and hopeful. He didn’t speak much to Wanda to know that she was hurting badly after the altercation. But knowing what he knew, he desperately hoped that this was for a good reason.

“I-” Wanda looked around the room and knew why she had done this but being asked by Bucky was somewhat unexpected. She looked back at him and said, “I have my reasons but I want Y/n to be the first to hear why. So if you happen to see her, please tell her that I just really want to talk to her - honest.” One thing that Bucky did love about Wanda was her ability to wear her heart on her sleeve regardless of all the pain she had been put through, something that sometimes made Bucky jealous. So as he saw the genuine expression on Wanda’s face, he knew he finally had good news for Y/n.

Steve roamed around the facility, his guard held high along with his shield. He was doing his final sweep of the building, wanting to make sure that all Hydra agents were captured. Slowly walking into the last room, he relaxed slightly at its empty state. “All clear. All agents have been detained. Start the evacuation process.”

“Understood Captain.” Steve wedged his shield into the ground as he unbuckled the strap of his helmet. He proceeded to throw it at the wall not caring about his childish reaction. “Fuck,” he screamed internally as he groaned in frustration.

This was the 7th Hydra building that his team had managed to extract and there was not a single bit of information that could be given to help Fury. Although it did help to know that these criminals were being captured, Steve couldn’t help but be so angry. What were they wanting with Y/n? Why did they need Y/n so fucking badly? And where the fuck is Y/n even at?

Pacing around the room, Steve could feel the pressure and anxiety building up inside him. He was a walking volcano waiting to explode. This negative feeling was something Steve wasn’t used to. This was different beyond what he had experienced before. And maybe it was the underlying fact that Steve’s guilt was still eating him up inside. With no known whereabouts of Y/n’s location or even mission, Steve didn’t have a single source of outlet for his guilt. So this whole time, it’s been sitting inside him like a parasite. And it certainly didn’t help that the guilt exponentially increased during the meeting with Fury.

Click. “Across the United States, there have been more than several spottings of Hydra agents and facilities. Not only have their numbers grew but so have their bases. With the information that Sergeant Barnes has managed to retrieve, Y/n is nothing but a lesson to be learned by ALL members of Hydra. A traitor among their ranks is something to not take lightly.”

Click. “This is where we come. While I have increased security around the building, we must figure out Hydra’s next step.” Fury slid each member, besides Wanda, a folder containing all the specific details. “In each folder is a different section of the U.S. with various people and locations. We need to capture and control as many as we can before this gets out of hand.”

With another click, the projector was turned off. “I need at least two reports each week of what your situation is. Other than that, your flights are scheduled for tonight.” And just like that, the ticking time bomb inside Steve started.

“Captain, criminals have been boarded. Surveying agents have also been posted. Waiting for your arrival to departure.”

Not wanting to waste any time, Steve picked up his shield and helmet. What he failed to realize was the small crack that he caused in it. Although it was nothing, Captain America was really close to breaking. “Copy that.”

“She’s doing fine, Carol,” Beth sighed. Whether it was Bucky, Carol, or Fury, Y/n came with a lot of people that cared about her. And unfortunately, that means a lot of people needing daily updates and sometimes hourly updates. This pressure was something new and familiar to Beth, but how she wished for a small break.

“You know I’m not supposed to be giving you this confidential information.” Sometimes it was like these heroes didn’t understand just how much she could lose her nursing license if they found out how lenient she was. “I know. I know. I just-”

“-care for Y/n. I know Carol. I’m glad that you do and as her nurse, I also want what’s best for her. So please let me do my job. I’ll give you updates but relax a little. Y/n is in good hands.” In the middle of filing her reports, her pager had gone off.

Quickly looking at it, Beth read, “Y/n NEEDS you!” Sighing once again, Beth hurriedly said, “I need to go now, Carol. Bye.” Not caring enough to hear her say it back, Beth hung up and left her office.

Running at the speed of sound, Beth maneuvered through the quiet hallways as fast as she could. This was the first time that Y/n had actually used the button and she certainly didn’t want to let the girl down on her promise.

In little to no time, Beth arrived in front of Dr. Estella’s office. Beth quickly knocked and entered the room. She first noticed the tense atmosphere as well as how fast Y/n’s leg was bouncing. In fast strides, Beth squatted beside Y/n and had placed her hand on Y/n’s anxious leg. Out of instinct, Y/n placed her hand above Beth’s and held it.

“Are you okay?” She whispered while noticing the irregular breathing from Y/n. “I-”

“Hello, Beth. I was just telling Y/n about the steps we are going to take to regain her memory.” Beth eyed Estella down, wishing that she could at least be mildly concerned at Y/n’s frightened state.

“They - they want to run tests on me. Beth - I - I don’t want tests. I can’t do tests.” Y/n was terrified. The last time someone wanted to do tests on her was - “Don’t worry honey. They won’t do tests.” Beth turned to Estella with a stern look. “Is there any other way to help her with her memories?”

Estella thought for a moment before standing up. She walked towards her shelf and grabbed two notebooks. She slowly walked towards Y/n and gave the two notebooks to her. Sitting back down, Estella explained, “Old fashioned methods never fail. It may take longer but it’s bound to work.”

Y/n sighed in relief. Her grip on Beth’s hand loosened as she grabbed the two notebooks. “Your assignment for the next couple of months is with every memory, I need you to write it down. Even if you don’t think it’s the right recollection of the memory, it’s still important to write it down. In the other notebook, I need you to write memories that make you feel happy or any memory that is one of your favorites. Every other week, we’ll take a look and talk about it.”

A small alarm came from Estella’s watch, indicating that this session was over. “That's for today Y/n. As always, you are doing wonderful my dear. See you soon now.” Estella gave Y/n a small smile as the duo left the room. As Beth shut the door, Estella couldn’t help but worry for Y/n. “That girl is something else.”

Adjusting to her new schedule was hard, but trusting another person was harder. They were only three sessions in and Y/n hardly spoke. Each session was two hours long. Half of it was dedicated to general mental health therapy while the second half was dedicated to restoring her brain’s memories.

During the first half of the session, Y/n would remain impassive. Her guard was always up and her answers varied in shortness. This lack of participation only led to longer silences that broke when the clock ticked. Something Estell noted was the way Y/n would glance at the clock, waiting for the hour indicator stating that therapy was over.

The second half of the session was drastically different. With each session was a new brain exercise to help Y/n remember. It was like a switch had gone off. Rather than remaining to herself, Y/n would participate in each exercise like a kid in gym class. She was attentive and somewhat anxious to get things started. This was something Estell also noted and she could only hope her questions would be answered.

However, with only three sessions, Estell knew things weren’t going to move quickly when it came to Y/n. There were always patients that didn’t like speaking to someone about their problems. What she found was that superheroes were harder to crack considering they would let their pride and ego get the best of them. But with a quick look at Y/n’s file, she knew that was not the case. Ex hydra member turned to Avenger within days apart from each other didn’t sit well with Estell. Not because of who Y/n was associated with, but the age that she was recruited. A kid shouldn’t have to fight for the world when she can barely process what’s happened to her.

But regardless of the waiting game that Estell had to play, she knew that if she didn't continue to try and break the ice, Y/n would never open up. So today, Estell had in place a different tactic that surely could work.

“Hello, Y/n,” Estell said in her always charming voice. As Y/n sat down in her seat, the first thing she noticed was the sprawl of comics laying on the table in front of her. A glance at them, Y/n knew they only included them.

“I want to start today’s session a bit different if you don’t mind.” Y/n nodded for Estell to continue, hoping she wouldn’t have to talk about the Avengers today. “I understand that therapy is hard and is something that takes some getting used to. So starting today, we will start every session with a bit of light reading. Not only does this improve your brain, but I found that it is a bit of a relaxer.”

Estell got up from her seat and stood in front of the table, glancing at the selection she had. “I wasn’t quite sure on what you like to read so I brought out some comics from my collection. Choose one that you like.”

Looking closely at the selection, the majority of the comics were of Captain America, Iron Man, or Thor. People often called them the “Big Three” but they were only big disappointments. However, deep in the mess of comics, Y/n spotted a familiar logo and managed to grab it without making a bigger mess.

“Nice choice. Let’s see,” looking over her stack, Estell picked up a Hawkeye comic. “I’ll be reading this one today.” She walked back to her seat and mentally made a note of Y/n’s choice.

The two read in silence. At first, Y/n hadn’t meant to actually read but the art was too good to pass over. She then found herself suddenly hooked to the point she didn’t even glance at the clock. The more she read, the more she realized how little she actually knew about Bucky. But a deeper realization hit her, this was the first time Y/n truly realized how much brainwashing she received from her parents.

Of course, she studied about the Winter Soldier from the books provided to her, but none of them ever mentioned how heinous Hydra’s actions were. “We tortured him,” she thought. “And I believed it to be good.”

It had been a while since Y/n thought about her parents and even Hydra. She wanted to remove that part of her life so badly. But how could she when the person that saved her was the same person that she hurt? Before she knew it, Y/n finished the comic, and unfortunately, it had left on a cliffhanger.

Frustrated, she placed the comic back on the table and crossed her arms. Confused by her actions, Estell placed her comic back on the table and jokingly said, “Reading not your forte?”

“It isn’t that. Stupid comic left on a cliffhanger.” Progress, Estell noted. That was the longest sentence Y/n said and she planned on getting more.

“I can bring the next issue for our next session if,” Y/n scooted closer to Estell, needing to know what she had to do. “If you can tell me, is he as scary as they say he is?”

With a small smile on her face, Y/n replied with, “Hardly.”

Bucky sat in his regular seating, eating the ramen he ordered for him and Y/n. As he was slurping his noodles, he felt Y/n’s eyes on him. Making eye contact with her, Y/n gave a ridiculous look to which he responded with, “What?”

“Can you be any louder?” Bucky swallowed before saying, “Absolutely. Want to see?” Bucky held up his next set of noodles with a proud smirk on his face. Rolling her eyes, Y/n said, “No thanks dinosaur.”

“Now you’re just being mean.” Still, Bucky continued to eat his ramen as loud as he possibly could. At one point, Beth came in to change Y/n’s pillows and even commented, “Is it that good, Bucky?”

“Apparently. He won’t stop slobbering it up,” Y/n said sarcastically. Bucky simply laughed at Y/n’s comment as Beth shook her head at Bucky’s actions. She left the room with a nod and soon the two finished up their food while continuing to watch the film that Bucky has put on.

Although the film was interesting, Y/n couldn’t help but think about the information she learned about Bucky. Before she read those comics, all she generally knew about Bucky was that he was Steve’s best friend. At one point, Hydra was involved and had tested on Bucky. A couple brainwashing sessions later, the Winter Soldier was created.

According to Hydra literature, he was one of the most successful assassins they’ve had. Even when he did gain consciousness of his actions, a quick session would quickly devoid him of rebelling against Hydra. He was the person that could get the job done.

After that, things got fuzzy. She knew that Steve was involved in the reasons that Bucky was back but that was it. Even during her time with the Avengers, Bucky hardly spoke about his past. It was something he only confined in with Steve, Sam, and his therapist. Looking at it now, it made sense why the two didn’t speak much. However, Y/n’s anxiety and curiosity got the best of her. She needed to know.

“Did you hate me?” Bucky heard her clearly over the film. He took a moment to think. Before responding, he paused the movie and looked at Y/n. “I hated your family. Not you.”

Y/n’s shoulder slightly relaxed at this revelation but there were still questions she needed answers to. “Did you ever want to hurt me?”

Quick to respond, Bucky said, “Yes but only to get back at Hydra. But I think you leaving the cause will hurt them more than me hurting you.” He ended his sentence with a chuckle while briefly remembering the times that Y/n did piss him off. It was never serious, just Bucky getting made over new things in this generation.

“Bucky...why didn’t we talk before?” Y/n looked away from Bucky, still not ready to admit her attempt.

Taking a leap of faith, Bucky intertwined their hands and said in the most gentle voice, “Because I was childish. I took my hatred and placed it on you when it wasn’t your actions. I looked at you and thought about all the times Hydra hurt me and I just couldn’t get over it. But…”

Bucky sighed, trying his best to overcome this need to build barriers. It was time to be vulnerable. It was time to heal. “I was tired of hurting. So I started to get help and I started to hate you less and I started to love myself for once. And when I found myself removing my hate of Hydra from you, I felt like I couldn’t really talk to you. I spent so much time avoiding you that I didn’t know where to begin. I really would have spoken to you Y/n, I just wish it was under different circumstances.”

“...Me too.” The two continued with their movie and never once did Y/n remove her hand from Bucky’s grip. She found the strong and somewhat gentleness of it to be comforting. Similar to the feeling of a weighted blanket. But rather than the soft feeling of a blanket, Bucky’s coarse hand felt even more comforting.

“We talked about you today.” Bucky leaned back in his chair and said, “Oh, really?” Y/n nodded. Although she wouldn’t mention the jokes that she and Estell shared about Bucky, it sure was the first time she actually enjoyed the therapy.

“Yeah, I talked about how lonely you are,” she teased. Bucky rolled his eyes at the offending comment. “Hey! I have you. That’s gotta count for something.”

“Yikes Bucky. That’s really sad.” Unphased by her comment, Bucky replied, “And to think I was going to get your favorite pullover. Y/n slightly smacked Bucky’s arm with a betrayed expression. “Well did you?”

“Nahh, couldn’t get it. There was someone in the way.” Tilting her head in confusion, Y/n asked, “Who?”

“Wanda.”

“Are you prepared, Y/n?” Feeling her palms sweat, Y/n nodded in agreement as she opened her journal up. “Okay, since this is our first time hearing your memories, let's start easy with any favorites or happy ones that you would like to talk about. Start whenever you’re ready.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Y/n moved to page 3 of her journal and started to read the vague memory she had.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Carol Wanda asked. The two were training today as they worked on better body movements for Y/n’s powers. The easier the flow, the better the trajectory of her powers. It was during the middle of training that they decided to take a small break.

When she was drinking her water, Carol Wanda noticed the jagged breathing coming from Y/n. Even as she asked, Y/n still didn’t respond to her. Putting her water away, Carol Wanda started to walk towards Y/n when suddenly a huge spike surge of Y/n’s powers caused her to flame up.

“Y/n!” Automatically, the sprinklers turned on in the room, but the water that came from it didn’t affect Y/n’s flames. From the looks of it, it probably made it worse.

“ Carol Wanda! It won’t stop!” Y/n could feel the hot flames coming off of her body but nothing was helping. Her breathing was still jagged and her anxiety was causing her powers to act up.

“Do you trust me?!” Carol Wanda yelled through the flames. By now, Carol Wanda used her powers to prevent Y/n’s flames from reaching the ceiling. There was already enough water damage that would cause another pretty penny coming from Tony’s wallet.

And as the two locked eyes, Carol Wanda could feel Y/n. She could mostly feel the anxiety and trust that surged through her but there was something else. With a flick of her wrist, Carol Wanda threw Y/n into the nearby pool and immediately jumped in after her.

Carol Wanda swam towards Y/n seeing that her flames were still trying to fight the water surrounding them. So with one final idea, Wanda grabbed Y/n’s shirt and kissed the girl that made her feel everything at once.

“Tell me Y/n, why is that a favorite memory?” Still feeling nervous about this reveal, Y/n answered with, “I have a - uh - a hard time talking sometimes and I think that was one of the first things I loved about her. She understood what I was feeling before I did. According to her, she just felt me.”

“Do you think she still feels you?” Shrugging her shoulders, Y/n answered timidly with, “I’m not sure if she can...I haven’t been feeling much of anything lately.”

“Well, you’re doing great, Y/n. Do you think you’re able to do another?” Y/n nodded her head again while flipping through a couple pages. Satisfied with her choice, she read.

The night was cold as the two watched the stars from the balcony. With Carol Wanda’s back to Y/n’s chest, they enjoyed the night as best as they could even though the light pollution in the air made it harder to see the stars.

They didn’t speak much until Y/n saw Carol Wanda starting to shiver. Automatically, Y/n used her fire powers to raise the temperature of her body. She brought Carol Wanda closer to her chest as she said, “I told you we needed a blanket.”

“Pshhht. What’s the point of a blanket when I have the best heater as a girlfriend?” Y/n laughed at Carol Wanda’s words since she was always used as either a heater or ac depending on Carol Wanda’s temperature. “Plus, this gives me a better excuse to cuddle.”

“Do you even need an excuse to cuddle?” Carol Wanda shook her head no as she replied, “Not really buttt I don’t want to sound like a clingy girlfriend.”

“Does it matter what you sound like? As long as you’re my girlfriend, everything is going to be alright.”

“I think this is one of my favorites just because it feels calm.” Estell tilted her head, indicating for Y/n to continue. “I’ve always been surrounded by chaos that I hardly know what it feels like to be calm. And when I try to calm down, it ends up feeling weird to me. So this was one of the few times that feeling calm wasn’t bad.”

“I know that this is only our seventh session, but you’ve been progressing at such a great pace Y/n. I’m very proud of you for the steps you’re taking. And if you’re up to do one more, we can end this session after. Let’s do something a little more vulnerable if you don’t mind.”

Flipping through her favorites, there weren’t really ones where she felt vulnerable but in between the pages, she found the right one.

“When did you realize you were into girls?” Y/n and Carol Wanda lied in bed, bodies tangled together as the tv played in the background. There were a couple empty bottles lying around as the twin decided to steal some of Tony’s stash. It wasn’t like he was going to notice.

“I never really thought about it before,” Y/n replied honestly. Time in Hydra didn’t really allow her to think much about love. It was always about the future of Hydra.

“Then how did you know that you wanted to date me?” Y/n thought about the first time that she saw Carol Wanda and the months that lead after their first encounter. She thought about how Carol Wanda made her feel and how she continued to make her feel.

“I look at you and feel a little more human. Even my parents couldn’t make me feel like that. So this feeling has to be different compared to the rest. You’re not like the rest. So I only assumed this was what love felt like.” With teary eyes, Wanda kissed the love of her life.

After Y/n’s tenth session in therapy, she was cleared by Beth and Estell to go back to her room up in the tower. Although she was scared to see the team, Bucky warned her that they were going to be gone for a while. Something about important missions which only relaxed Y/n.

As she walked into her room, Bucky trailing behind her with all her shit, she stopped at the entrance amazed at what she saw. “Why must you have so much shit with you?”

“I’m high maintenance. Get over it before I tell Beth.” Bucky rolled his eyes at the small threat but no matter what he says, he will always be scared of Beth.

The two stood in silence as Y/n soaked in her improved room. She barely remembered what it was like before her breakdown, but seeing it transformed was still a lot to process.

“What do you think?” Y/n walked in and touched the new sheets she got. “No more sleeping on the floor,” she thought. The more she looked around the more she couldn’t help but not believe what she was seeing. “Did she really do this?”

“Yeah, kid. She did all of it.”

Finding herself to be hungry, Y/n walked to the kitchen late at night and grabbed food from her cubby. The feeling almost felt too surreal as she remembered the countless times that she had to starve to survive. “No more,” she thought. Grabbing a couple chips, she went back to her room and stopped midway at the sight of Wanda.

“Y/n?” She said in disbelief. Rubbing her eyes awake, she still found Y/n standing right there. This wasn’t an illusion that her mind created. She was really here.

Taking a step forward, Wanda asked, “When did you get back home?” Y/n scratched her neck, feeling anxious about the situation. “Today.” Wanda took another step forward and said, “You’re really here.”

Subconsciously, Wanda’s power reached out to Y/n. It almost brought Wanda to tears. She could finally feel Y/n and she no longer felt like nothing.

Feeling her anxiety rise, Y/n started to walk past Wanda but her words stopped her. “Please give me a chance to tell you I’m sorry.”

“I - I don’t know Wanda. I-” Wanda walked back in front of Y/n and softly grabbed her hands. This only increased Y/n’s anxiety as she couldn’t handle all of this at once. “Please.”

Y/n pulled her hands away from Wanda and started to open her door. She responded with, “You don’t even know everything.” As Y/n started to close her door, Wanda said, “So then please tell me.”

“I - I can’t.” Y/n closed her door, feeling her anxiety reaching its peak but Wanda still tried as she said, “I’ll be here when you can.”

Deep under the states lied the very organization that the Avengers were hunting. Behind all the forgotten cities, railroads, and trash was Hydra. In almost the middle of nowhere stood a tall man with a sharp beard and eyes full of hatred.

He was surrounded by mere agents that followed his command at every beating second. On the screen in front of him lay his target of more than three years.

With an insidious smile, he said, “We’re coming for you Y/n”

Chapter 8

A/n: I hope this update was worth the wait. I never want to disappoint y’all

Taglist: @halobaby @arelyitsherec8 @blackxwidowsxwife @cristin-rjd @madamevirgo @trikruismybitch @paradiselost916 @mmmmokdok @morbid-gaymer @dailyavengering @itsnottilly @helloalycia @randomshyperson @tomy5girls @daenerys713 @ensorcellme @lezzzbehonesthere @imagine-reblog @sighsam @olsensnpm @tquick99 @feolok @emilyprentisslittlewhore @mvddison99 @iamapotato @shadowybailiffdreamer-donkey @yuhloversxx @mjaudrey @upsidedowndanvers @somewhatgreatexpectations @wandavixen @second-try-stevie @magicallymaximoff @username23345 @coollemonsaresour @littlewinchester15 @aimezvousbrahms @afuckingshituniverse @am-just-a-cosmic-joke-to-me @ohmygooddamnbisexualmood @diaryoflife @s7uts @newyork1432 @the-anxious-stargazer @hello-mtf @marvelousbelladonna @ima-gi–na-tion @obsessed-with-wandamaximoff @the-camilucha @itsnottilly @171611 @kaitlynroseb @daisybri7 @drpepperobsessed @bemyvitamin @musicinourlips @marvelousbelladonna @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xastrydx @chasethemoon @naixia00 @lostandsearching @stupidsapphicsstuff @haechanana @the-camilucha @severepeanutartisanhands @owloftheshadows @somewhatgreatexpectations @ywuen @mixed-fandom-mess @loomontoia

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #fake memories

498 notes · View notes

iraprince · 3 years

Note

this might not be something you personally have difficulty with, but i was recently diagnosed with severe adhd and i was wondering if you had any tips regarding just like….drawing?? i have such a hard time getting started even though i usually end up feeling pretty stoked and happy with my work if i manage to get something down. i used to draw constantly as a kid to help me focus in class, but in my adult life i just feel like there are so many invisible barriers between myself and putting pencil to paper. i’m sure there are a lot of perfectionism issues involved as well, so i guess just any sort of advice in any of those areas would be greatly appreciated! your work is fantastic and i’m really grateful that you share adhd stuff as well!! have a great day! :o)

i actually have a LOT of difficulty with this -- i have more difficulty than i have advice, probably! but my advice always ends up boiling down to the same thing lately, and it sounds really hokey but i mean it as literally as possible bc it's the only thing that consistently works for me: be fucking nice to yourself!

for a long time the only solution i had to being Inexplicably Unable To Do Something was to yell at myself, bully myself, assume that i wasn't trying hard enough, and end up a miserable little ball of confusion and frustration. it was def worse before i was diagnosed, but it's definitely not gone (sometimes "i don't know why i can't just do it!" just gets replaced with "well, i know what the problem is, so why can't i find a way around it?!"). and after many many years of experience with the bullying reaction vs a much shorter time comparing this reaction to other, kinder approaches, i can say with a lot of confidence that handling it with internal yelling and shaming doesn't work, straight up. it's not helpful, and most of the time it makes things worse -- even if you manage to force yourself to complete a task once or twice like this, it's too exhausting and demoralizing to be sustainable. so, while you haven't mentioned frustration in your question, that's still where my mind goes as a first step: if you're experiencing distress or anger or embarrassment over running into those barriers over and over again, the first step is practicing being calm and forgiving, not immediately trying to find a way around it. once you hit the wall and you find you can calmly go "oh, okay! this isn't working. let's figure out why" instead of immediately launching into "what the fuck is WRONG with me????", finding solutions is a lot easier.

the times i've surprised myself by having things just suddenly Flow after a long period of struggling are usually brought about by a ton of excitement and enthusiasm! i get really into a rarepair and i'm gripped with the need to make my own content, or i make a new oc who i really love, or i get back into a piece of media i haven't touched in a while and get all charged up with excitement. you gotta feed the tank to make stuff, so setting time aside to consume stuff that inspires and excites you is just as important as setting the time aside to actually sit down and try to draw.

another thing that has helped me is trying to be really purposeful abt reminding myself WHY i draw; sometimes, especially since it's my job, the images i'm supposed to be making just turn into this big featureless stack of Tasks instead of me really thinking about + appreciating what i do and why i love it. when i'm in a rut with commissions, for example, sometimes before i even try to start working (or if i HAVE tried to start and it's just not happening), i stop and sit down with the wips and really LOOK at them. i go through them one at a time and point out things i like about them or what i'm looking forward to doing: "the pose came out so good on the first try and i want to see what it'll look like finished," or "detailing all this hair is going to be so fun and relaxing." when you get so caught up in the constant repeated thought of "i just want to DO something, i want to DRAW," especially when it's been days or weeks or months where you can't, i think you can unconsciously start replacing "i want to draw because it's fun and i like what i make" with "i want to draw because i keep failing to and i just want to prove i can still do it," and for me the latter thought is usually way more distressing than it is motivating.

and finally, a failsafe: sometimes, when i can remember to do it, my secret weapon is counting down at myself for the tiniest steps possible. like i'll literally say out loud, "on the count of five, i'm going to stand up and go get my sketchbook. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...." it has to be out loud and i think the reason it works is because like. if you say it out loud, reach five, and you don't do it, you feel astronomically goofy??? and then i just go from there: "on the count of 5, i'm going to find an empty page." "on the count of 5, i'm going to start sketching a head." it kind of forces through the executive dysfunction in a way i haven't really been able to replicate with anything else. it doesn't always work in a super meaningful way -- like, plenty of times i do like three steps and then i'm like "i hate this and i don't want to and i'm not gonna make anything good like this so i give up!" and then i just take the L for the afternoon. but when the "frozen in place, literally cannot stop just staring at the page" thing is the main issue, it might be enough of a push to get going!

as always here's me going "oh oop no i dont have a lot sorry" and then rambling for paragraphs and paragraphs but by now we should be used to that. good luck, and remember 2 be patient + nice :D

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avengers-x-reader · 3 years

Text

admittance

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

description: bucky has been having nightmares recently. all you want to do is help him, but it’s hard when he denies the fact that he’s having these nightmares in the first place.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: brief language, mentions of nightmares & violence, some angst i guess??

a/n: this is set before the events of TFATWS - bucky is speaking to a therapist, but the events with the flag smashers and all that jazz have not yet occurred.

Does he really think I don’t know what he’s doing? you think to yourself as you make your way through the apartment you shared with Bucky. The clock on the oven shows a bright green “3:28am,” and you sigh with the realization of how little sleep you’d been getting recently. You know that Bucky’s been getting even less sleep, though, and the thought makes your heart clench in pity.

Well, maybe pity isn’t the right word. Pity gives a connotation of weakness and sorrow on behalf of the weak. You knew for a fact that Bucky Barnes was not weak. After everything he’s gone through in his life, and after everything he’s done to try and make amends with the people he’s hurt, you considered him to be the strongest person you’ve ever met. However, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of sadness and compassion over your boyfriend’s struggle to sleep as he forced himself to come face-to-face with the acts of violence he’d committed in his past.

For the past few weeks, Bucky had been transitioning to sleeping on the living room floor whenever he was kept awake due to nightmares. He never flat-out admitted that nightmares were the cause of his sleepless nights, but after putting together the puzzle pieces of his sweat-soaked sheets, his tossing and turning, and his reluctance to talk about why he’d been sneaking out of your room most nights, you were able to figure it out for yourself.

You pass the island in the kitchen and smile sadly when you see Bucky sleeping, curled up on floor just as you’d suspected he’d be. At least he’s getting some sleep, you think, but this relief is short-lived and it disappears when he begins to thrash around.

“Honey?” you call out softly, not wanting to startle him awake. You know that Bucky is a bit disoriented when he first wakes up, especially after he’s had a nightmare, and you don’t want to make his transition to the real world any more jarring than it had to be for him.

Your soft voice did nothing to wake him up or stop his thrashing, so you bend down to his level and try again. “Bucky, babe, please wake up.”

Your hand resting gently on his shoulder is what eventually does the trick. His eyes open harshly, and he sits up as he attempts to gasp for breath.

“There you are,” you whisper with a smile, but tears start to build in your eyes as you think of how much pain Bucky must be in. He’s still trying to catch his breath as he looks frantically around the room before settling his gaze on you.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he whispers, rubbing his eyes. “Did I wake you?”

You choose your words carefully. He didn’t know that you knew about his nightmares, and you didn’t want to ask him about them if he wasn’t ready to talk about them. “Not at all. I got thirsty and came out for a drink, and wanted to know what you were doing on the floor all by yourself.”

Bucky gives a short, unamused laugh and shakes his head before replying, “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Got it,” you nod. Your hand has been rubbing slow circles on his back in an attempt to slow down his breathing, and slowly but surely, his breaths have been calming down as you sat next to each other. “You’ve been sleeping out here a lot recently,” you continue softly.

“Well what do you want me to do about that?” he asks louder than you’d been talking before. He pushes himself to his feet and begins pacing the room. “I come out here so that I don’t wake you up and you’re mad. If I stayed in our room and kept you awake with me, I’m sure you’d be mad then, too. So what would you like for me to do?”

You didn’t reply for a good minute or so. You stare at him for a while, trying to figure out where this sudden outburst was coming from. You didn’t take it personally, but you still didn’t appreciate him lashing out on you when you were just trying to understand what was going on in his head. Finally, you reply, “I just want to be there for you.” This causes Bucky to stop his pacing and stare at you, but you continue, “I know you’ve been having nightmares, and I know you’re trying to keep me in the dark about them, but I don’t know why.”

“I-I’m not-” Bucky tries to interrupt, but you cut him off. “Yes, you are. I can tell. Now you don’t have to talk to me about them if you don’t want to, and you don’t even have to come back to our room to sleep at night if being with me is causing more of an issue, but don’t sit here and lie to my face about something as obvious as this. It’s insulting.”

You recognize that you’re being a bit harsh, but you wanted to get through to Bucky that you know about his nightmares, and you want to help him through them as much as you could - however you could.

Bucky walks towards where you’re still sitting on the floor and holds his hands out as an invitation to help you stand. You accept, grunting a bit as you’re pulled swiftly to your feet. He says nothing as he keeps your hand in his and leads the two of you back to the bedroom. Your confusion must be showing on your face, because he looks back at you and says softly, “It’s not you that’s the issue.”

“Then what is?” you ask, still allowing Bucky to lead you to the bed. The two of you lay down under the covers as you await his response. “James,” you continue with a just-as-quiet, but sterner tone of voice.

Bucky bites his lip and looks away with a sad smile. “It’s me,” he says simply. “I’m the issue,” he carries on before you can ask any questions.

“That’s the biggest pile of bull shit I’ve heard in my entire life,” you scoff, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend’s body. He usually feels so much bigger than you, but in this moment, he may as well be half your size. He folds in on himself, and you can tell from the way his shoulders are shaking that he’s crying.

“I’m trying to make amends,” he begins to explain through his tears. “I’m trying to act better, do better, be a better person, but it’s so hard when I’m reminded over and over again about how fucked up I used to be.”

“You’re doing your best,” you try to comfort him, but this seems to just make things worse as he turns away from you and shakes his head.

“Then I must be a pretty terrible person,” Bucky says dryly, “because apparently even my best isn’t good enough.”

Your heart sinks. Did someone tell him he wasn’t good enough? You know he’s been working with Dr. Raynor on making amends...she’s always seemed a bit harsh, from what Bucky’s told you about her. Did she say something about him not trying hard enough?

“Who told you that?” you finally ask.

“Nobody had to tell me. I just know,” he replies, keeping his back turned away from you.

You consider how you should respond for a few minutes. You don’t want to let him sit in this self-deprecating mindset, but you also know that you won’t be able to convince him otherwise when he’s so convinced already that he’s not doing enough to make amends. Finally, you say, “Bucky, look at me.”

He makes no effort to turn around and face you, so you say, “James Buchanan Barnes, turn your handsome face around and look at me.” He eventually complies and his lips are turned slightly upward into a smile, but his eyes are still glossy. “You can’t fix everything all at once,” you go on to say. “I know you want to be able to, and I know it’s hard knowing how many amends you need to make and the mental energy it takes to make these amends, but you have to stop putting so much pressure on yourself.”

“But if I don’t put this pressure on myself, I may never get it all done,” Bucky argues, squeezing his eyes shut and keeping them closed for a few moments. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

Your heart clenches, and you sigh heavily. “You’re right,” you admit. “I don’t know what it’s like. But that’s why I want you to talk to me about how you’re feeling, and admit when you need help, because otherwise I’m in the dark here. And you know I’m scared of the dark,” you smile sadly.

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, but when he finally does, it says it with the clearest tone you’ve heard from him all night. “I love you so much.”

Aaaaand here come the waterworks, you think to yourself. “Oh honey, I love you too,” you reply, holding him tightly so that he couldn’t see the way tears had immediately sprung into your eyes. “I just want to help. I’m sorry if I’m being pushy or invasive, I just don’t want you suffering alone with these nightmares and this pressure of being ‘good enough’.”

“I know,” Bucky says. “You’re not being invasive...you’re being a good girlfriend and a good person. That’s part of what I love about you so much - your selflessness and your intense need to just...help people.”

You nod into his chest, hoping your tears weren’t dampening his bare skin. “Just let me know how I can help you. I’ll do anything.”

Bucky thinks on this for a moment before saying, “You’re right, ya’ know...about the nightmares. That’s what’s been keeping me awake these past few weeks...and I know that you know you’re right, I just feel like I have to admit it to you so that I can try and move on from them myself.”

You pull away from his chest, not caring anymore if he could see you crying. He knows you well enough at this point to probably assume you were crying, anyways. “Whatever you need to admit out loud...whatever you need to talk about. I’m here,” you assert with a strong voice. “I’m here,” you repeat quieter, moving your hand up to cup his cheek.

“You’re here,” Bucky whispers with a smile, nuzzling into your palm. His eyes flutter shut, and you hope he’s attempting to get some more sleep.

You aren’t naive enough to think that you can get rid of Bucky’s nightmares, but you and him both know that you’ll be there to talk them through with him when they occur next time - whenever that may be.

thank you for reading - i hope you enjoyed!! requests are open and welcome :)

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky x reader #tfatws #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky one shot #bucky barnes one shot #fluff #angst #imagine #one shot #reader insert #avengers imagine #avengers one shot #avengers x reader

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xsamsharons · 3 years

Text

letters - nikolai lantsov.

pairing: nikolai lantsov x reader

genre/warning: it's pretty angsty, specially towards the end.

words: 1.4k

summary: a collection of the most important letters your prince and childhood best friend sent you during the years he was away from you.

a/n: i implied that nikolai is an aquarius in this... and i'm not sorry.

Arrived on December 25: One month since he left the palace.

I sat down to write to you as soon as I got to the infantry, as I promised, and I’d say I miss you but I don't want you to let the compliments get to your head. This will probably get to you in a few weeks, but I hope you’re doing well and I'm looking forward to seeing you again soon (but not too soon… i can use some time away from you).

Arrived on January 20th: Two months since he left the palace.

Happy New Year!

It sucks that you aren’t here to help me steal liquor from the main room, or to sneak out into the gardens to tell horror stories about the fold, and I hope you haven’t replaced me with my brother yet. I hope you’re not having too much fun without me, and I still won’t say I miss you.

Arrived on December 17th: Three years since he left the palace.

I did it, I completed my service! I know I haven't been writing to you as much as I used to during my first year here, but ever since being named Mayor I've been a lot busier and couldn’t find the time to sit down and use ink to express my thoughts. I think I also didn’t want to admit to myself how much I miss home, and putting it on paper only made it seem all the more real. I’m coming back in a month, we can spend all the time together that you want (and i know you want to spend a lot of time around me after not having seen my beautiful face for three years) and i think i’ll even still be there for your birthday! I won’t get you a gift, though, because my presence should already be enough.

See you soon, lapushka.

Found on your nightstand on November 21st: The morning he left Ravka.

I’m struggling to put into words everything going through my mind as you are sleeping next to me. I can recall our kiss and I can recall your touch accompanied by your soft words against my lips. If I focus on the good, everything feels right, and if I focus only on last night, it almost feels like we have enough time left.

I’m deeply sorry you have to find out once I'm not already next to you, but I'm leaving Ravka in the morning and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you this to your face, which is why I'm writing it down as you sleep. It feels almost ironic how after a year together, we’re back to the letters, and it feels almost stupid how even though a year sounded like an eternity, our time together is already over once again.

I hope you can forgive me for a lot of things, but i specifically wish for you to forgive how much time i wasted not kissing you, or denying my feelings, or not appreciating our time together. I wish for you to forgive me waiting until our last night together to finally admit everything to you and do what I've been wanting to do my whole life, and I wish for you to forgive me for going away the morning after it happened.

I’ll come back to you, if you’ll still have me, and I'll do things right once I'm back by your side.

I hope you can forgive me,

Arrived on December 19th: One year since he left Ravka.

I haven’t heard back from you in the year I've been gone, and it’s driving me insane. I’ve thought about you every single day since I left, and on the days where I feel like everything I'm doing is useless, I picture your face to remind myself what I'm fighting for. You’ve always seen through me, which is why I assume you know I'm a wreck without you and your letters to get me through the months I spend away from you, and I don’t know if you need more time, or if you simply don’t want to associate with me anymore. Either way, I remember your letters during my first year in the infantry. I keep them all inside a drawer in my room, and I've been re-reading them more and more often, pretending like they’re new ones that you’ve been sending me during recent times.

I’m not afraid to say I miss you anymore, and I do so like crazy.

Arrived on January 7th: One year and one month since he left Ravka.

I assume you not responding to my last letter means you are done with me, and I completely understand. I saw a bird on the beach today, and I remembered you pointing that specific species out to me in one of the dozen of books you read.

Happy new year,

Arrived on November 19th: Two years since he left Ravka.

I doubt you will ever want to write to me again, just like I doubt you even open the letters that I still send every month updating you on the most mundane things about my life. However, if one day you wake up and find that you miss writing to your very handsome prince, please make sure to address the letters to Sturmhond, the privateer, and not Nikolai, the prince.

I miss you everyday,

Arrived February 16th: Two years since he left Ravka.

I hear your voice in every sea shanties i hear the crew sing, and I see your face in every person I see when we get a day on land. I drive myself crazy at night just wishing I could see you again, hear from you again, touch you again, even though my mind doesn’t fail to remind me how much I don't deserve your affection, your letters or your touch. Everything reminds me of you, and everything that doesn’t just makes me feel like I'm drifting further away from the only place i’ve ever called home.

I can attempt to put into words how sorry I am for how things happened between us, but my intention was never to hurt you or to ruin anything we could’ve been. I miss your hands running through my hair on the nights when i couldn’t sleep, i miss your arms around my body tightening on the days when we had to separate for a few days, i miss seeing your eyes shine with admiration while watching the sun set over the horizon from the palace’s roof, but most of all i just miss… you.

I’d trade a lifetime of adventures for just a minute of your presence,

Written on August 19th: The journey back to Ravka. Letter never sent.

I’m on my way back to Ravka and the only thing I can think about is your sleeping figure the morning i left. My mind should be occupied with thoughts about the responsibilities that await me, about the Sun Summoner and The Darkling, about the war and the fold, but they’re not.

The space you occupy in my thoughts and in my heart is almost suffocating, sucking the air and life out of everything until there’s nothing else but you. I should’ve put you first, and I should've come back the minute I realized my mistake, but I was scared of my feelings so I avoided them until it was too late.

I keep thinking you’ll run into my arms and tackle me onto the ground when you see me again just like last time, your hair looking like you just rolled out of bed and your eyes filled with sleep.

I’ll see you soon,

Written on February 9th: One day after the Darkling’s attack on the Little Palace. Barely legible handwriting.

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Written on February 13th: Five days after the Darkling’s attack on the Little Palace. Letter lost at sea.

I’ll never stop looking for you, and I promise I'm coming back for you, I won't let him hurt you. I’m sorry that my foolishness led you to end up in his hands.

I’ll find my way back to you, because it’s always you,

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storytellerofuntoldlegends · 3 years

Text

gods and the mortals they worship

A/N: honestly this idea started out due to the fact that scott and jack are gonna be housemates, and a friend and i were like "haha what if c!scott moved into Innit Hotel with jack" which turned into "haha what if c!scott was the god of mcc but he just seemed like a Dude to everyone else" which made my brain go brrr and think "haha what if god!scott and goddess!kristin met for tea" and then this fic happened. it got much angstier than i intended it to whoops

Warnings: implied/referenced temporary character death, grief/mourning, hugs, emotional hurt/comfort

Summary: Kristin, the goddess of death. Scott, the god of champions. Two deities that at first glance, have nothing to do with the other. But all the same, the two deities are close friends, meeting for tea and talking about the mortals they adore. However, some conversations painfully remind them of the mortality of their loved ones.

Kristin rather enjoyed it when a fellow deity joined her for tea. Not many would, XD was a little wary of her, being her opposite in a sense. And his sister Drista visited her often enough, but the young goddess was a bit on the rambunctious side, which was expected for the trickster. But the deity's whose visits pleased her the most were Scott's. The god of champions was always lovely to chat with, and she looked forward to each event he organized- always rooting for her husband's team, of course.

They met for tea weekly, but this visit... something seemed off about Scott. He seemed cheery enough, talking about how he had recently moved into the Innit Hotel with Jack and the other servers he was drifting between. But there was a melancholy expression on his face for a brief moment as he traced the flower pattern on his teacup, and a lost, faraway expression would come over his face from time to time. These were expressions Kristin recognized all too well- grief. She saw it in the faces of many mortals when she called their loved ones to her side- and it was unnerving to say the least to see such an expression on a god's face.

"Who are you mourning?" she asked, startling Scott slightly. The god's ever color-shifting eyes refused to meet her.

"The loss of my mcc team, of course," Scott countered with a half-hearted smirk. Kristin gave him an expression of disbelief, and the smirk melted away to something more downcast as he fiddled with something on a chain around his neck. A ring.

"Oh Scott," she said softly.

"Tried the married life thing. It was nice, for a bit. But it was a modified hardcore world, and it didn't end well. For him... or for me," Scott said, hand drifting to his throat with a grimace. Kristin set down her tea, placing a comforting hand on Scott's shoulder. Scott had a unique position as a god- he was one of the few who felt the sting of death. As he willingly lived among mortals most of the time, his godly power had to be diminished to do so. Which meant he could die- but it would never truly stick for him. Granted, death didn't really stick for most of the crowd he stuck around with. They would be reborn into other servers, maybe retaining impressions of the ones before- but Scott was the only one who truly remembered each server he had been on.

"I'm so sorry. Is he..." Kristin trailed off, unsure if she wanted to know if Scott's husband had been reborn into a different server.

"He's on another server with me now. Empires SMP. Calls himself the Codfather these days. I keep hoping he'll remember... but I don't know if I want him to," Scott said, eyes watery.

"Why not?" Kristin asked. If she was in a similar situation with Phil, she absolutely would want him to remember her.

"Because what kind of god can't even keep his husband alive?! I couldn't protect him before, who says I could do it now. Besides with my luck, by the time he'd remember me, I'd only lose him again. Why waste the effort on more heartbreak," Scott said, something vengeful in his tone. The aura around him tinged red, and Kristin drew her hand back with a jolt. Scott took notice of his surroundings, and with a sheepish smile his aura shifted to something more neutral and warm.

"That's why you're hiding in the Dream SMP with Jack, isn't it? You don't want to risk him remembering," Kristin asked softly. Scott let out a sigh.

"I'm not... hiding, exactly. Just lying low, somewhere where I don't have to pretend I'm not a god," Scott explained with a faraway glance.

“What if you were to tell this... Codfather," Kristin suggested. Scott wrinkled his nose in disgust in the name.

"Jimmy. His name is Jimmy," Scott corrected, sounding reverent as he murmured his name the second time. It was almost silly, a god worshipping the ground a mortal walked on- not that Kristin was one to talk. But then again, Phil wasn't exactly mortal.

"Then why don't you tell Jimmy the truth about who you are," Kristin prodded. Few knew the truth about Scott's godly status- Phil, most notably, and Wilbur. And now, she supposed, all who were on the Dream SMP. Otherwise, most knew Scott as someone who had a connection to the god of champions, and carried out his invitations to the games- not that Scott himself was the god in question.

"I... I don't know. Maybe it's safer for him if he never knows," Scott said with a sigh. Kristin squinted at him suspiciously.

"Scott, I've known you for centuries. Tell me the real reason you don't want to tell him," she said pointedly. Scott laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. With a deep breath, his expression settled into something more solemn.

"I don't want things to be different between us. I liked the way it was, on that modified hardcore world. We had a flower valley, with a pond and overgrowth and- and his silly insistence on wanting to protect me, like I was the fragile one, not him. I even experienced a brief afterlife with him, after we had lost all our lives on that world. And that... that was beautiful. But then things reset, and he was reincarnated. And how could I not follow him?" Scott said wistfully. His eyes shone with bittersweet tears, a fond smile on his face.

"You truly have the heart of a mortal, my friend," Kristin said with a soft smile. Scott chuckled, shaking his head.

"Well I certainly can't let anyone know that, think of my reputation," he joked. Kristin laughed.

"Oh please, we all know how much you cherish your champions," she teased.

"Don't tell a soul," Scott said in a mock-serious tone.

"Oh please, the only souls I know are dead ones," Kristin replied with a chuckle. Scott laughed too, but it fell short as his eyes landed on the flowers that decorated the teacups.

"I think the worst part is that he sees me as an enemy. I guess rightfully so, I pushed him away because I was afraid of letting him back in. I don't think I'll be able to look him in the eyes if we end up on the opposite sides of a battle," Scott said, voice fragile as the delicate teacups on the table before them.

"Maybe there's still time to make amends. You could extend some token of peace towards him?" Kristin suggested gently.

"Maybe. I just..." Scott trailed off.

"You just want to mope around in a world of constant hardship and destruction?" Kristin teased lightly, smirking. Scott laughed.

"I guess the Dream SMP isn't the greatest place to hide out," he said, still chuckling. Kristin was relieved to see her friend back to his more genuine smiley self, multicolored eyes glinting with amusement.

"Maybe not. Are Phil and Wilbur staying out of trouble?" Kristin asked, picking her tea back up to sip at. Scott laughed again.

"Staying out of trouble is asking a lot for your family. But I think Phil has forced Wilbur to make friends with Ranboo," he replied, picking up his tea as well.

"Oh? How did that go?" Kristin asked.

"Not sure, honestly. I think they opened a burger place? I've mostly been keeping to myself in the Innit Hotel," Scott said with a shrug.

"I'm sure Tommy loves that," Kristin said dryly.

"Oh yes, cussed me out until I threatened to not let him on mcc anymore. He changed his tune pretty quickly," Scott laughed.

"Doesn't Jack actually own the hotel now?" Kristin asked.

"Yes, but Tommy doesn't seem to know that," Scott answered with a sigh, shaking his head.

"I'm sure he'll get over it. Probably still a little jumbled from being brought back," Kristin muttered, unable to help looking miffed at that. She wasn't exactly fond of people being torn from her domain, especially by an overzealous mortal and the god who he eerily resembled. Although she couldn't exactly blame XD, the book had called him and he was forced to answer.

“Maybe life and death shouldn’t be toyed with anymore,” Scott said softly, after a few beats of silence. Kristin thought of Scott’s struggles with death and rebirth, then thought of her own family. Her husband who survived and lived, never dying- and her son, who fought and died, but ended up living.

“You wouldn’t see me complaining,” Kristin replied, voice coming out more melancholy than she meant it to. Scott looked to her with brows creased in sympathy.

“What a pair we make,” he said with a humorless laugh. Kristin laughed too, just as bleak as Scott’s own laugh.

“The goddess of death whose loved ones live, and the god of champions whose loved ones lose,” she said, voice forlorn. Scott set down his tea, dropping his gaze from Kristin’s.

“I do tend to be drawn towards the lost ones, don’t I?” he said with a weak smile.

“Nothing wrong with rooting for the underdog,” Kristin pointed out with a shrug. Scott looked at the flowers on the teacups, and his smile was a bit brighter this time around, less sad and bittersweet.

“I guess not. Maybe you’re right, maybe there is time to smooth things out with Jimmy,” Scott said, looking back up at Kristin.

“Good! Being mopey doesn’t suit you. And telling him the truth couldn’t hurt either,” Kristin insisted brightly. Scott rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

“Okay Mumza, no need to get on my case. I said I’d try and smooth things over, not reveal that I’m an all-powerful god that was married to him once because I like playing mortal,” he replied, dragging out her nickname with a teasing grin. Kristin grinned back.

“I guess your situation is a little different than when I told Phil I was a goddess,” she said semi-sheepishly.

“Phil was also hopelessly head-over-heels for you when you told him. Jimmy is decidedly not,” Scott pointed out with a laugh.

“Oh Jimmy will come around eventually. If he knows what’s good for him,” Kristin said, sipping at her tea. Scott blinked at her in confusion.

“Are you threatening my ex-husband?” he asked, tone so adorably baffled that Kristin couldn’t help but laugh.

“All I meant was that he doesn’t know what he’s missing. Any man would be lucky to have captured your attention," she clarified with a teasing grin. Scott flushed in embarrassment, the aura around him tinging pink.

“You’re acting like an embarrassing mum trying to convince her son to get out there and start dating,” Scott huffed, trying to play off his flusteredness.

“You’re the one who called me ‘Mumza,’” Kristin pointed out, still grinning.

“This is rude, I’m being attacked and you’re twisting my words against me now-” Scott cut off with a laugh, unable to keep up the mock-offended act as his aura shifted back to being a neutral warm color. Scott finally looked the most himself that he had been all day- aura full of warmth, a smile on his face, and color-shifting eyes sparkling.

“Oh, whatever will you do?” Kristin teased. Scott shook his head, picking up his tea and finishing it off with one last sip before standing from the table.

“I think I’m gonna leave, actually. It’s about time I head out anyway,” Scott said. Kristin looked at how low her own tea had gotten, and sighed before standing with a gentle smile.

“Well as always, it was wonderful to have you. I hope everything works out,” she said softly, holding out her arms. Scott hugged her without hesitation, and Kristin got the feeling he was silently thanking her for her advice through the hug.

“See you next week?” Scott asked after he pulled away.

“I look forward to it,” Kristin replied. Scott smiled, giving a two-fingered salute before disappearing in a burst of color. The lightshow faded, leaving Kristin in her rather gloomy domain. The loneliness after a fellow deity left was always the worst, and the heavy conversation from before didn’t help matters much. Scott and Kristin were very similar beings for two deities that ruled over extremely different things- both of their hearts were too big, too smitten with mortals. Scott could at least compete alongside mortals if he so chose, but Kristin was in a plane of existence that her loved ones could only reach through tragedy. Perhaps Scott had it worse- Kristin could at least distance herself from mortals, while Scott stubbornly refused to. But all the same, Kristin was hopeful that things would work out for the god of champions. And maybe, things would work out for her family as well.

MCYT Taglist: @corazon10000 @damiensaidno @franticfandomfanatic @hetapeep41 @space-ace123

#dsmp #3rd life smp #empires smp #mumza #scott smajor #mcyt #mcyt fic #hurt/comfort #sage writes

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coldmorte · 3 years

Note

bro i'm a sucker for soft Vandermorgan....dutch reading while arthur sketches.....leaning on eachother.....dutch reaching over to rub arthur's back every few pages........running his hand through arthur's hair...soft k*sses and giggling...

Howdy, anon! 💜

My apologies that it took me a week to get back to this one. I gave time to consider it, and I hope the fic I wrote in response makes up for that!! It’s a very cute ask, and I love tenderness between them, too. But despite my affection for lighthearted stuff, I usually struggle with writing it (I’m a very dark and morbid person - oops 😅). Anyway, I’ve been getting quite a few soft VDM asks lately, so I figured I would accept another challenge!

I was hesitant about actually posting this, but I figured, what is there to lose? It does have some angst sprinkled in (I couldn’t help myself), but I hope I did your idea justice!!!

Oh, and to anybody else who sent VDM asks recently, I am still giving them some thought! So, stay tuned 😉

In the meantime, please enjoy…❤️🖤

“Why are you avoiding me, Arthur?”

Hand freezing and pencil ceasing its scratching within the journal on his lap, Arthur furrowed his brow as he peaked over the fire at Dutch. Yet, his eyes remained wide and questioning as he pushed back, “I’m not avoiding you. I just didn’t think you wanted to be bothered while you read.”

“Oh, come on. You know I never minded it in the past, especially not on a cold night like this. We could use all the heat we can spare between us,” Dutch flipped his book shut, patting the ground beside him.

Likewise, Arthur slid the bookmark of his journal in place as he closed it. “Well, I guess… it’s just…”

Dutch chuckled as he noticed Arthur bite his lip to suppress a timid smile. He gestured to Arthur, beckoning him over once again. “I know it’s been a long time since it’s been just the two of us, but you don’t have to be shy.”

“Alright,” Arthur agreed as he pushed himself to his feet, journal still clutched in one hand. He walked over and knelt next to Dutch, but before he could properly get seated, Dutch reached forward and grasped him by his shirt collars. Pressing Arthur’s back to his bedroll, Dutch pinned him there as he straddled his hips.

The journal got cast aside as Arthur grabbed at Dutch’s back. Their lips met, hungrily and impassioned. Dutch pressed his chest firmer against Arthur’s and moaned at the warmth that radiated between them. He pulled back and grinned down at Arthur through heavily-lidded eyes, “See, isn’t it better on this side?”

“I was afraid this might happen,” Arthur laughed as he reached a hand forward and brushed some loose curls away from Dutch’s face.

Emitting a soft hum, Dutch felt himself glow with a warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Leaning in close once more, he whispered, “And are you complaining?”

“Never.” Arthur pulled Dutch in for another kiss, before Dutch backed away and sat up.

“I didn’t think so.” Dutch smirked as he reached for his wool blanket and unfolded it. Motioning for Arthur to sit up as well, he handed him a corner. They each wrapped part of it around themselves as they huddled close to the fire.

Arthur scooped his journal up and leaned against Dutch, his back pressed into the older man’s arm and shoulder for support. He reopened the journal on his lap, but his position hid his face and the journal’s contents from Dutch as he returned to sketching.

Attempting to peer over Arthur’s shoulder to no avail, Dutch asked, “What are you working on?”

“What are you reading?” Arthur shot back.

Dutch felt his heart briefly flutter. He couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice as he responded, “Since when do you care about what I read?”

When Arthur gave no response, Dutch slipped one hand around Arthur’s chest, hugging him and pulling him tighter. Gradually, he let his hand glide lower, until it reached the top of Arthur’s pants. Tugging at the shirt tucked in there, Dutch moved it out of the way and slipped his cold fingers inside. Arthur jumped at the sudden intrusion and gave a shriek, “AHH! Dutch! Your hand is freezing!”

Nuzzling his nose against the back of Arthur’s neck, Dutch pressed a soft kiss there. His lips grazed the sensitive flesh as he muttered, “Why are you being so difficult tonight, my boy?”

“Too bad you just ruined any chance of seeing my sketch.” Arthur’s voice had a teasing edge, but it was lighthearted. “Read to me, first. I always liked listening to your voice.”

At that statement, Dutch pulled his hand away from Arthur’s warm skin but still kept it wrapped around him as he moved his head back in surprise. His mouth hung slightly agape at the boldness in Arthur’s tone, though he felt the corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. “So, that’s how you want to play this game… fine.”

Picking his book up in his free hand, Dutch opened it in his lap and scanned the pages. Arthur continued to sketch as Dutch’s other hand rubbed small circles over his chest.

Landing on a passage that caught his eye, Dutch began to read, “‘But whether the resistance against tyrants is non-violent or physically violent, the overarching efforts to overthrow oppression justifies the means.’ What do you think of that, Arthur?”

“It’s very nice, Dutch.”

“‘Nice?’ That’s the word you’d use to describe it?” Dutch protested, though he affectionately wrapped his arm tighter around Arthur as he did so. He flipped through the pages for a few more moments of silence before his eyes landed on another. “Well, how about this one? ‘The whole point of America is freedom. Freedom of thought, freedom of deed, freedom of action.’”

Letting out a sigh, Arthur tilted his head back so he could look at Dutch. Their faces were close - mere inches apart - as Arthur spoke, just barely above a whisper, “Does it always have to be about politics, Dutch? Some greater good? I thought we came out here to escape all that.”

Dutch wanted to argue and explain how important Evelyn Miller’s writings were to their mission as a gang and their survival. But he knew Arthur was right. This was their moment to share, and it wasn’t any use wasting it on philosophical debates. Those could wait.

Tipping his head forward, Dutch pressed a chaste kiss to Arthur’s lips and nodded as he pulled away. “Okay.”

Arthur smiled at him as he turned his head back towards his journal and continued to work. Looking back at his book, Dutch searched for a different passage to read. Though most of the ones he noted were about ideological teachings, he did finally settle on one that made his eyes narrow and lips tighten in consideration.

Taking a breath, Dutch traced the words with his finger as he read aloud, “‘Say what you have to say, not what you ought. Any truth is better than make-believe.’”

Arthur did not say anything in response, though Dutch felt his hand stop drawing, as if Arthur was thinking about it. Dutch could feel the steady beat of Arthur’s heart as he gently massaged his chest.

Eventually, Dutch buried his face in Arthur’s blond hair as he asked, “Hmm, was that better?”

Arthur flipped his journal shut in his lap and rocked lightly into Dutch as he muttered, “You know I was never much good with words.”

“Oh, son… and you know that I wish you wouldn’t downplay yourself like this.” Dutch squeezed Arthur’s breast as he cradled him closer. “You speak from the heart, that’s what matters most... same goes for when you draw in that journal of yours.”

At that, Arthur bent his head down towards the journal in his lap. He tied the leather flap and slid the pencil in place underneath it. Lifting the journal, he set it in front of where the two of them were seated and pushed it forward. It was like a silent invitation, placed just out of reach.

Adjusting his position, Arthur turned around so he could lean his chest against Dutch as he wound both of his arms around the older man’s waist. He buried his head in the crook of Dutch’s neck, and Dutch couldn’t suppress a shiver as Arthur’s warm breath vibrated across the bare flesh at his collar when he spoke, “Thank you for reading to me. ‘M getting tired…”

“Rest up, it’s been a long day.” Dutch set his own book aside so he could readjust himself and wrap his arms around Arthur’s back. He rubbed soothing circles as he rested his chin atop Arthur’s head and watched the flickering glow of the fire.

This was real.

This wasn’t make-believe, or some long-lost memory. Arthur’s steady breathing and the warmth of his flesh confirmed that fact. Dutch let his eyes flicker shut in thought as he was once again reminded of how right Arthur was.

At the end of the day, all those fancy words in his books and his own philosophizing would be meaningless without Arthur by his side.

Dutch furrowed his brow as he blinked his eyes open. Biting his lip, he took a sharp breath and paused. He hesitated to say the words on the tip of his tongue, but he released a long exhale as he tightened his grip on his boy.

He felt safe here.

“You know, Arthur… you’re right. This life of crime, even I sometimes wonder where it all ends, or if it even ends at all. I try to do what’s best, I really do. I know I talk a lot about loyalty and how important it is to keep faith, but these moments when I’m alone with you….” Dutch let his voice trail off. Even amidst his own speaking, he couldn’t fail to notice the light snore coming from Arthur’s lips.

But rather than feeling anger or frustration, Dutch merely smiled. In a way, it was a relief. Arthur couldn’t hear him, and if he could, he would never remember Dutch’s words come morning. Somehow, it was easier this way. Whatever he said aloud, he knew he wouldn’t have to prove or justify it to anybody. He could speak from the heart.

The truth.

“I don’t know how I could ever go on without you. Please, don’t ever let go…”

At that, Dutch squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He focused on the way Arthur maintained a tight grip around his waist, despite his steady snores. The words weren’t meant to be literal, but for the moment, Dutch could allow himself to believe it was possible both physically and figuratively.

Dutch blinked the dampness away from his eyelashes as he looked back towards the fire. The journal was still sitting there, illuminated by the orange glow. Shifting on the ground, Dutch lifted his head away from Arthur and peered down at him. He seemed unbothered by the movements, so Dutch decided to push it further. Unwrapping one arm from around Arthur’s back, Dutch leaned slowly forward, until his fingertips were just able to land on the journal’s leather cover.

Pulling the book towards him, Dutch was able to pick it up in one hand and place it in his lap. He briefly feared the action disturbed Arthur, for he whined and pressed his face harder against Dutch’s shoulder. However, his heavy breathing continued, and Dutch proceeded to slide the journal’s strap out of its place. Holding the pencil in his hand, Dutch turned to the bookmark at the back.

There, he found a sketch of two animals - a buck and a wolf. Despite serving contrasting roles in the wild, they looked perfectly at ease within the sketch. They curled around each other as they laid down to rest, their noses nearly touching. The way they huddled together made it seem believable that they really could find harmony, regardless of their true natures.

On the opposite page, a message was written, “‘Couldn’t resist, could you?’”

Dutch chuckled, Was he really that predictable?

Using the pencil, he scrawled his own note underneath, “‘It’s no use trying to fight who we really are.’”

Taking one last look at the sketch, Dutch ran a finger over it. Just as he could speak in metaphorical language, Arthur could draw in it. But the meanings underneath it all remained the same.

Just because it wasn’t literal, that didn’t mean it wasn’t the truth.

Closing the journal and placing it back where he found it, Dutch kept a firm hold on Arthur as he pulled the both of them down to lay on his bedroll. Adjusting the blanket, Dutch made sure it was draped snugly over them as Arthur soundlessly snuggled his face against Dutch’s chest and hugged him tighter. Once Dutch was comfortable, he likewise wrapped his arms around Arthur, one holding him by the small of his back and the other rumpling his hair.

Feeling tired as well, Dutch shut his eyes. With his final words for the night, Dutch thought of what he just wrote in the journal as they held each other close. Continuing along the same line of thought, he whispered, “We just gotta embrace it.”

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simonalkenmayer · 3 years

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hi simon! i have been a lurker on your tumblr for a while but have never really gotten the courage to be able to send an ask untill now. i am a little bit desperate hahah

i deal a lot with self hatred and it has been getting really bad recently it always gets worse in the summer months. i dont know why but my mind keeps getting stuck in these thought loops of never being “good enough” and i dont really know how to stop them. i am just wondering if u have any experience with this and what has helped with you

thank u so much!!

Yes. I do. I’ve done many things I’m not proud of, learning my lessons as all people do. I’ve also made mistakes, even at times when I should have or thought I did, know better. I struggle with letting those things get too over important in my thoughts, and so have to constantly be scientific in my thinking to counter it.

What helps me is to have a checklist of thoughts I use as a measure.

1. Is there a specific thing triggering this feeling—an action I took, an event, am I comparing my response to someone else’s? If the answer is no, then move on. If the answer is yes, then identify specifically, the thing that is triggering these feelings. For example, “I was rude to someone without intending to be. This isn’t who I am.” Identify what must be done to make amends and then do them at the next available opportunity. Until you can, try not to think about it. (This obviously gets more complicated if you are dealing with, say, something someone said that reminded you of an abusive parent or something like that, but it does help you begin to pick apart and analyze your feelings and why they exist.)

2. Am I being realistic in my feelings? In other words, am I being too harsh? I cannot be perfect. I cannot be all-knowing. I cannot make people fall in line. So am I demanding of myself that I be those things? For example, if you struggle with feeling as if you haven’t gotten your degree fast enough…is that realistic or did things happen in the only way they could? Are you asking yourself to be superhuman?

3. Am I being kind to myself? If not, why? If I were to hear a friend talk about themself the way I am speaking of myself, what would I say to them? If I am actually practicing kindness, I must also practice it with myself. I must also ground myself in that.

4. What can I do? Often these feelings are grounded in feeling helpless or overwhelmed by a situation. So I like to think of things I can do. Often small. Often very minimal effort. A tiny step in the right direction.

5. What benchmarks am I using? If I am comparing myself, why? Why that comparison? We all have our role models, so thinking about why I’ve chosen the ones I have, grounds me in that purpose. It also prevents me from comparing myself to people who do not matter—materialists, appearances, that sort of thing. Shallow comparisons fall away if you can identify why you look to those things.

6. Am I being true to myself? Who is it I want to be and am I representing that person, given all of the above criteria? Perhaps I am limited in actions, or am plodding along a timeline that cannot be sped up, or coping with terrible people and circumstances, perhaps roadblocks fall in my way. Those don’t matter so long as I am authentic as I pick my way through.

The simple fact is, we will all die, and when we do, there’s no one there to measure, grade, or chastise us. Just us. Wealth cannot come with you. Accolades will be raised at your funeral for all they’re worth. The only trie measure of a person is how they pass on what they learn, how they help others, how they taught others something true. So even if that’s all you ever do, you have done enough by any worthwhile measure. You can aim to do more, and should, but “enough” is a really idea. Try to help one person a day. That is a good place to start. And don’t do it for credit. Do it silently, do it to your best ability. In my estimation that sets you above 90% of people in their everyday lives, locked in their own thoughts and misfortunes.

I hope this helps.

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 3 years

Text

A chatty writing update | novels, short fiction, etc!

Hi folks!

It’s been a while since I last wrote an update on this blog! I thought it’d be fun to go back to basics, and just talk about writing. This post chats about: new plans for Feeding Habits, my newest novel, my short story goals & growing collection, along with process reflections.

(image description: a photo of green leaves with the text “writing update” in a white font written on top. /end image description)

Post starts under the cut!

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed)

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites, @avakrahn, @maisulli

What have I been up to?

For starters, I finished my second year of my Writing undergrad last week and got two of my final grades back today (A+ baby)! For anyone who has taken online university, y’all already KNOW, but this year was so difficult. Would not recommend! Really proud of myself to have gotten through this absolute rollercoaster of a school term and am excited to get into some writing. That leads us to:

What have I been up to (writing edition)?

2021 started off so fast. By the time January hit, I was so consumed in my new semester that I did not have time to write Feeding Habits (my novel). In the first few days of the term, I managed to write between class, until I could no longer keep up! Essentially, I did not write any of that novel until exam season (last week), where I did manage to get in about 3k words in ~4 days.

Feeding Habits

I’m currently drafting what I believe will be the last chapter of this book (chapter 10: Swan Song). This chapter is so bizarre for a few reasons. It begins the book’s third part and also marks the shift back into Lonan’s head from Harrison’s. I originally thought this part would be much, much longer, with at least another five chapters to go, but quickly realized the book’s content was nearly completed. In my 4 day 3k palooza, I hit 50k in the book (the word count goal), and couldn’t see myself extending past 60k. Since then, I’ve made the loose decision to write this final chapter as a ~novella. Here are a few reasons why:

1. This chapter is structurally very strange.

I unashamedly shift from present to past to present to past past, and so much more every 12 words. I mapped out the timeline on a sheet of paper, and there were over 20 shifts in scenes (the chapter is only about 4400 words at the moment). The fictive past is incredibly important to this chapter, more important than the present, and I thought it would make more sense to not break randomly for a chapter so I could upkeep the consistent inconsistency of the chapter.

2. The chapter is very abstract

This stems from the structural changes, but there are paragraphs in this chapter of the fictive present that are loosely based in reality. They’re more poems than they are factual paragraphs, and keeping them all contained in one place (so a mega chapter/ novella) would reduce the most confusion!

3. There’s not much left to cover

Like I said above, Feeding Habits is on its last leg, lol! I know exactly where the book needs to end up, which is very, very soon from where I’m currently at on the timeline. Swan Song should cover what 2-4 chapters would cover in terms of arcs.

Feeding Habits and I have a really weird relationship, tbh! When I realized a few weeks ago that it’d been over a year since I started the book, I realized I just needed to finish it. Not that I want to rush (because I’ve taken longer than a year to write a book in the past), but that in order to move onto another project, I’d like to put this one behind first. This book has been the hardest thing I’ve ever written, and has reminded me there’s always a time to let go. This sort of scrounges up a conversation about letting this entire series go, which is certainly something I’ve been contemplating doing soon(ish). If this spinoff series gets a third book, that may or may not be the last Fostered book for a very long time (or ever)! There are many complex reasons to move on, but the main one is that I have other projects I’d like to focus on. This is not a definitive decision, but something I’ve certainly been thinking about!

Here are a few excerpts I wrote recently:

(TW: death, gore)

Dying feels like being a trout dangled out of water. Clinging to a hook. Mouth open. Scales iridescent in a final death cry. It’s like blood spurting up the knuckles, drowning out the flesh. It’s that moment on the long fall down when the clouds cup the body. Easy drifting. The sound a skull makes when it cracks is really just the afterthought.

(TW: death, gore)

Kill shot. Death blow. Coup de grace. Right in the heart. He feels it. The blood swelling, slicking his palms. He can do it. Reach into the cavity. Feel for the ribs. Part each bone. Then cup the humming heart. Stay there. Right. It’s never been easier.

Look at this PURE moment of Lonan holding a baby I CANNOT:

The grocery store was a fifteen-minute walk away. With Olivia clinging to his shoulder, Lonan was acutely aware that she could feel his heartbeat. Open valve. Close. Repeat. Hers pulsed right above his, a miniature drumming. The sky had bruised purple, misted with clouds. The evening air nipped his cheeks, so he made sure Olivia was securely fastened between him and his jacket. With wide eyes, she absorbed the drowsy suburbia, all its family cars pulling into driveways, all its couples heading back home after a sunset walk. When Lonan passed a young boy walking two golden retrievers, Olivia giggled, and didn’t stop, even after he’d spent fifty dollars on groceries and nearly the rest on a red Corolla marked with a MUST GO NOW sign outside a convenience store.

Let’s move on!

Mandy and Cora

I said I wouldn’t talk too much about this project, but I just love it so much?? I wanted to share my SUPER early thoughts on drafting a novel, especially one that is SO different from what I’ve been writing recently. I talked about this before in THIS post, but the summary about this project is that it’s a YA contemporary novel! Can’t believe I’m writing YA again, it’s been so long, but I also think it’s going so well. Everything I’ve learned as a literary fiction writer has been a fantastic primer for transferring back to the genre. Admittedly, I have not written much, but I’m having a lot of fun diving back into a lighter project. This is the summary:

Cora and Mandy are identical twins who’ve always done everything together. But when Mandy decides to go to university out of province after graduation and Cora doesn’t, Cora takes this as an opportunity to “test run” life apart from her sister for the first time by spending the summer at her aunt’s house across the country.

I have come up with a few ~things since I last talked about this project, mostly how I’d like to structure it. As of now, I’d like the book to be structured super loosely. I’m really pulling on a lot of inspo from “We Are Okay” by Nina LaCour (which is SO good), particularly how “nothing happens-y” that book is. This project (which I still need a title for!!) will be structured in short chapters that cover something Cora does on her own for the first time (without Mandy). For example, a few ideas are “Flight”, “Lunch”, and “Groceries”. “Flight” is the first “chapter” (they’re really kind of vignettes) where Cora flies to her aunt’s house. I still can’t determine if this book will take place in Canada. On one hand, I feel like there will be a wider audience if it takes place in the US (is that just an assumption??? maybe?? someone let me know!), but also: don’t really care too much about an audience at the moment! It could also take place in Canada (So Ontario and British Columbia). But if it does take place in the US, I think it may take place in NYC and San Francisco. The problem is: I really don’t like researching lol, and while I’ve been to NYC many times, I will definitely write it wrong! Does this really matter on a first draft?? absolutely not lol, but of course I am already overthinking!

But back to structure: I am looking forward to seeing what this looser structure will do. This is a story that is solely around one half of a set of twins learning to be her own person (and ultimately that she doesn’t have to completely forget her sister in order to do that), and as a twin who KNOWS this feeling, I think this structure of her doing things for the first time is SUPER relatable.

I was worried it might sound silly/worrying to others who are not twins that Cora hadn’t done things like “lunch” or “groceries” on her own, but I feel this so much as an identical twin myself! Not that she hasn’t done anything at all by herself, but as a twin, when you do something without your twin for the first few times, at least in my experience, you notice. If any twins are reading this--weigh in!

This story is the most personal thing I’ve ever written. It definitely is an OwnVoices book! Usually, I avoid details that are remotely similar to me because they make me uncomfortable haha, but with this book, it’s all me, lol! The characters are all Guyanese, which is SO fun because I’ve been planning what they eat (my fellow Caribbean peeps know: the FOOD!), which is so fun (yes they have pumpkin and shrimp, yes they have roti, yes they have pera, yes they have mithai). Every time I’ve gone to dabble at this book, or even think about it, I get incredibly emotional for this reason? I don’t exactly know why. I think this is a story I just so want to tell, with the culture I love SO much that I definitely struggled to love as a child. This is reclamation bitchessss!

Not going to lie tho: the prospect of writing ~a book~ is kind of freaky! I’m going to make the minimum word count for this book pretty short (50k) and see where it goes from there. I think I will focus on this project this summer! Originally I was going to write a literary novel this summer, but I think this one’s calling my name!

Here’s a pretty rough excerpt:

Try. I remind myself that’s what I’m doing after the flight attendant fills me a disposable cup of Coca Cola and all I can think of is Mandy and I shoving Mentos into a bottle of the stuff when we were twelve. Just me, wedged in the middle seat between an exchange student heading out for summer break and a middle-aged woman sipping a cocktail, thinking of Mandy and I bursting whole oranges in a blender when we were bored one Winter break as the plane dips through a wave of turbulence. Mandy and I dying our hair neon green with highlighters (didn’t work—our hair is too dark) as the plane lands on the tarmac. Mandy and I arguing so loud last month, we both lost our voices as I lug my carry-on out of the overhead compartment and shuffle off the plane and through the airport, searching for Aunt Vel.

Short Fiction

I’ve written so much short fiction this year! I have a goal to write a short story a month (they can range in length, as long as 1 is “complete”), so my short story brain has seriously been soaking it all up lately. Let’s chat my month to month breakdown so far:

January:

I wrote four stories in January! The first is a flash fiction piece called “Shark Swimming” that follows a young woman who attends a shark swimming class after breaking up with her girlfriend. I wrote this story for a “test” workshop for my fiction class, and it was based off the prompt “think about something you’re afraid to do and make the character do that thing”. I’m not particularly afraid of sharks, but had been wanting to use the title “Shark Swimming” for AGES (literally since 2018).

This story is one of my favourites. It’s only about 900 words, but I think there’s something profound in how mundanely specific it is. The entire story doesn’t even see the narrator swim with sharks once; it actually takes place fully in the sanctuary’s lobby. But I really love this narrator. This is the first story I’ve written in second person in a while, though I felt really connected to the unnamed narrator. She struggles with accepting that she truly is a “boring” person, and there’s something about the final image that really gets me!

I’ve been submitting this around, though it’s been rejected a handful of times. Hoping I can secure it at a magazine one day because I really love it!

The second story is “Joanne, I’ll Pray for You” which is actually a rewrite of one of my very first short stories (the first story I did not write for a class haha), “NYC in Your Apartment”. I LOVE this rewrite a lot, and also learned the original is not a very good short story! Revising this story taught me just how much I’ve learned in the 2 years I’ve been writing short fiction. Seeing the 2019 version versus the 2021 version side by side is fascinating because I essentially “gutted’ the 2019 version of its beginning and end until all that was left was the middle of the story (aka the actual story). AKA: this is the only story I’ve ever written with a hopeful ending and I cut out all the happy bits lol I am SO sorry (that arc is more for a novel or novella). That’s how this went from a 5k word story to an 1800 word story (my Submittable thanks me for this lol). A lot of details and scenes I included were more pertinent to a 3 act structure/novel, which of course short stories don’t often have because of their brevity. I love rambling about writing theory, and seeing that actually pay off is so fascinating!

(TW: trauma)

Like the original, this story follows Joanne, a woman in her early twenties, who spontaneously breaks up with her boyfriend. She claims the poltergeist haunting her drove her to this decision. The original draft focused a lot more on the traumatic events Joanne survives, but this draft really loosens them up. It focuses less so on the events themselves, and more on how Joanne’s life is affected. I found the details of these events were less important, and even sort of contradicted Joanne’s insistence she is being haunted. Instead, the poltergeist really takes more precedence in the new draft as a force Joanne doesn’t understand. That ambiguity, I think, is what the story truly needed.

I also centralized Joanne’s relationship with her boyfriend, Julian, here. Now don’t get me wrong, I really didn’t add anything to this draft. It was a matter of trimming the fat around it to leave the lean “meat” in the centre. But by removing that fat, I was able to emphasize what was most important here, and that was her relationship. Julian always played a really big role in the original draft, but I feel like his role as both a friend and partner to Joanne is much more emphasized since this draft literally is only two scenes now. Because there is less, there is more room for Joanne to reflect, which I’m happy about!

A final change I made was the setting and therefore the title. The original, which was “NYC in Your Apartment,” I couldn’t keep because I shifted the setting to Toronto (this is how I originally saw it, but in 2019 I just?? couldn’t?? write?? canlit??), and “Toronto in Your Apartment” sounded sort of gross LOL. The new title comes from a line in the story which I think is more relevant to the themes!

The next short story I wrote in January was “How to Spell Alpaca.” This one is super fun because I wrote it SO fast (in about 15 minutes or so). THIS is the writing update if you’re interested in learning more. I talked extensively about this one in that update, but some developments are that I dove into an edit a few weeks ago to really understand the core of the story. I’m still not quite there (this is just an intuitive feeling; I know not everything has “clicked), but I am really intrigued by the two mothers in the story, the narrator, and her newfound acquaintance, Violet. Both really struggle to understand their place as mothers (the narrator even declares she isn’t a mother anymore). The narrator, who is in her 50s, sees herself in Violet, who is much younger (~20s), and so she views Violet’s relationship with her daughter in a cautionary, yet mournful way, like she can see it will end up like her own relationship with her daughter, despite wanting the opposite. This is a really subtle story. I feel like if you blink, you’ll miss the message. But I think it’s compelling for that reason. It’s really a portrait of parenting and how to grapple with mistakes you may make that inevitably affect your children. Wow just unlocked the theme writing this lol.

The final story I wrote in January is “The Party,” which may be in my top 3 faves I’ve ever written. This story follows Aida, a recent divorcee in her ~40s. The day her divorce turns official, she moves into a new house and receives a party invitation addressed to the previous homeowner, yet RSVP’s anyway. At this party, she’s hoping to find some sense of noticeability, having struggled with being nondescript her whole life. Things seem quite normal at the party, until it gets bizarre.

I LOVE this story, y’all. Like “How to Spell Alpaca” it really delves into motherhood. Aida, our narrator, is incredibly hurt after her divorce. She now lives farther from her children she struggled to feel connected to in the first place, and doesn’t really know how to reignite her life. This party is a means to do that. This is the first story I’ve written that contains a “twist” which is strange because I really prefer stories that give us as much info as possible upfront, but yes, this one sort of twists.

February

I wrote one story in February, and that was “Protect the Young.” This title is SO changing when I think of a new one because it’s thematically incorrect, haha, but this story follows a woman in her late 40s whose daughter, Lindy, announces she is married the same day all their backyard chickens turn up dead. The discovery of dead chickens prompts our narrator to recall her ex-husband’s murder and the role her daughter may have played in his death.

I love this story so much! I think this would make a great closing for my short story collection. It just has that vibe! I wrote this for my second fiction workshop. I thought I had to hand in the story a week earlier than I had to, so I panicked and wrote this in one sitting! Little did I know, I did not need to do that lol but I’m very happy because this story is so fun. We get to learn more about Arnold (her ex), his relationship with Lindy, and how that translates to Lindy’s relationship with her new husband, Malcolm. I LOVE true crime (I listen to about 3-4 hours of case coverage daily), and this is my first “true crime” story. Because of that, I’m very sus of a few details that probably wouldn’t slide in actual investigatory work, so I’ll also be working on that in a revision. My professor also gave me a great suggestion that may alter the story’s structure a bit, though I look forward to toggling with it in the future.

March

In March, I was really on a Criminal Minds kick lol. I’ve been watching this show since I was seven (oops), and dove into a rewatch since it hit Disney+! This story, “Where to Run When the Lamb Roars,” is very clearly Rachel watching 5 episodes of CM a day. Oops! We follow 14-year-old Astrid as she and her older half brother kidnap a young girl to sacrifice for their yearly ritual.

I knew a few things going into this story, but the main thing was that I did NOT want to show any details of a potential murder (if one even occurs). I really wanted to keep all of those elements off the page because this story is not about those events, but about Astrid’s relationship with her brother. They are a murderous duo, with Astrid actually being the dominant partner. I wanted to explore that. I knew her brother, Fox, was more of a submissive partner in their team, even when he used to do this same thing with his father when he was much younger (chilling!), and so it was a task to explore how this young girl’s desire for violence works. The end actually comes right before the story starts, one could say, but I like it for this reason. It really made me contemplate the story by the time I finished it, and helped me examine what it really was about versus what it appeared to be about.

April

(TW: sexual content, non explicit)

I was so busy this month! Who knows if I’ll write a story last minute, but I did write one story this month called “Five Times Fast.” I wrote this during a “writing sprint” that was being hosted at a flash fiction workshop I recently took with one of my favourite writers ever, K-Ming Chang. I learned so much from this class, and am so happy I came out of it with a draft! This story is just over 300 words, so the shortest flash I’ve ever written, but I’m really happy with it. It was based off the prompt “describe the last time you or your character was naked.” In this case, the narrator has a “friends with benefits” relationship with Ricky who works at a laundromat. This story highlights a moment in this relationship (and also Ricky’s goofy personality lol). I really like it! Hopefully I’ll submit it to some magazines soon.

My short story collection

Very briefly I wanted to touch on my short story collection which I’ve titled “She is Also Dead.” I’ve been meaning to make a blog post on this, so look out for that in the coming months, but this collection is already at around 35k words (about 14 stories so far). The collection also surprisingly has a solid amount of flash fiction which is kind of fun! There’s definitely a range here, which is what I personally love in short story collections.

I feel very professional now that I have a ~collection chart. This is her:

(image description: A chart with the title “She is Also Dead.” It is broken into four columns: Story, Status, Word Count, and Published. Entry 1 - Story: Slaughter the Animal. Status: Revisions, Word Count, 3982, Published: N/A. Entry 2 - Story: Joanne, I’ll Pray for You, Status: Polished, Word Count: 1809, Published: N/A. Entry 3 - Story: Primary Organs, Status: Published, Word Count: 2342, Published: The Malahat Review. Entry 4 - Story: Faberge, Status, Polished, Word Count: 619, Published: N/A. Entry 5 - Story: The Wolf-Antelope Will Not Come for Us, Status, Polished, Word Count: 1556, Published: filling Station (forthcoming). Entry 6 - Story: How to Spell Alpaca, Status: revisions, Word Count: 1327, Published: N/A. Entry 7 - Story: Blink Twice for Final Judgement, Status: Polished, Word Count: 6572, Published: N/A. Entry 8 - Story: The Species is Dead, Status: Published, Word Count: 1208, Published: Minola Review. Entry 9 - Story: Shark Swimming, Status: Polished, Word Count: 907, Published: N/A. Entry 10 - Story: The Party, Status, Polished, Word Count 2339, Published: N/A. Entry 11 - Story: Fig, Status: Polished, Word Counter: 947, Published: N/A. Entry 12 - Story: Protect the Young, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4128, Published: N/A. Entry 13 - Story: Where to Run When the Lamb Roars, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 2174, Published: N/A. Entry 14 - Story: Phantom Limbs, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4844, Published: N/A.) /end image description.

This order is DEFINITELY not permanent (at this point whenever I write a story, I just fit it randomly into this chart lol), and some of the info is outdated (for example, Slaughter the Animal is now polished!!! thank god!!!). But just an idea of what I’m thinking of including.

This is the summary so far:

In SHE IS ALSO DEAD, characters are pushed to act on their gravest impulses. A small town turns murderous when their local invasive species, the Janices, begin dying. A child struggles to understand her mother’s suicide. A college dropout who insists she’s being haunted by a poltergeist unexpectedly breaks up with her boyfriend. A mother acknowledges her daughter’s murderous tendencies after her backyard chickens mysteriously die. A young girl caters the funeral of a girl rumored to be killed by a wolf-antelope. A newly-divorced mother RSVP’s to a bizarre party she was not invited to, and a murderous brother and sister upkeep their yearly tradition of abducting a young girl. These stories follow characters who navigate death, violent desires, womanhood, and loss, both self-imposed and otherwise.

This is also so subject to change as I may pull and add stories to the collection!

I think I’m going to leave this update here for now! I’ve written TONS of poetry too, but I honestly ~hate my poetry right now lol, so! Hope you enjoyed this chill rambly update. Hope writing has going well for you all! All the best!

--Rachel

#writing #writeblr #writerblr #amwriting #writingupdates

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dropofgoldensun · 3 years

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omg hiiiii i am here from cat (@luvdsc) wondering if you could offer any advice about college apps 🙏 especially about the uc piqs? thank you so much i hope ur doing well!!!!!!!!

yes yes hello friend !! 💝 miss cat directed you to me because i did my college apps last year !!! (yikes one year passed already?? why does that feel ages ago 🤧)

first of all, congratulations on making the decision to apply to college !! i know it’s been hard for a lot of people our age to figure out the college situation recently, so i’m proud of you for choosing to take the extra step this summer to buckle up and write those essays 💞

i’ve compiled a few tips on answering the PIQs (i was actually in the middle of typing this up when i received your ask haha), but some of them can be applied to other essays, as well !! they’re all under the cut (because, unfortunately, being brief is not my forte) 😊

(and for reference, the prompts i chose were #2 (creativity), #6 (subject), #7 (community), and #8 (anything) !!)

tip #1: understand the prompt.

before you even begin writing, it’s important to understand what the question is really asking. for the UC PIQs, this will look different depending on which four prompts you decide to do.

in question one, for example, they want to know about your skills in leading others, but notice that they’re also curious about your resolution abilities and teamwork experience. or in question two, they don’t want to know that you paint and that you love painting—they could be asking how resourceful you are, how you think outside the box when you have an idea.

once you know the question you’re going to be answering, you can move on to brainstorming!

tip #2: write down three (3) key takeaways.

these are like the most basic, not-even-a-sentence answers you would give to each question. so for me, in response to question eight (“what do you believe makes you stand out as a strong candidate for the UCs?”), my answers were perseverance, courage, and character. i had a story about that, so i wrote about my experience with martial arts.

i recommend you do something similar. decide on three things that you want to communicate to your audience, and write them in the footnote of your document. your goal is to cover all three points so that, if anyone were to read your essay, they would walk away understanding those three things about you.

i found this strategy really helpful for keeping my essay streamlined while writing—if a sentence didn’t relate to any of those main points, i would cut it since those words would take up valuable space in the word count. stay focused on what needs to be in this essay, and if you have extra words left in the word count later, you can add those details back in.

and once you’re done with your essay, make sure to refer back to your takeaways and check that you covered all of them sufficiently!

tip #3: highlight your stories.

i sent cat an ask a couple days ago with a few pictures of my response to an end-of-year college counseling survey that referenced this tip (you can find it here). basically i said that, when choosing what topics to write about, pick things that interest you! if you get excited talking about it, your audience should get excited about reading it, because they’ll pick up on the passions you have and then everyone’s excited !!! :D

i’ll tell you a secret: everyone you meet, everyone you see, has countless unique experiences that few others may have. me? i spend hours making mashups out of kpop songs. i earned my black belt years after a traumatizing experience during training. i get russian harry potter and spanish dr. seuss books from the library. and i created a collaborative online google photos album for my classmates that now has thousands of entries. although these aren’t necessarily unique to only me, they’re still special enough to the point where, when you put them all together, you get a better image of the person i am, and what i value.

so find a story, a habit, a hobby that makes you different, because i believe that everyone has them. give them some food for thought, or that one-liner that sticks in their brain and won’t go away. and remember: these stories don’t all have to be extraordinary—they should be about people or moments of special value to you, because that’s what matters.

personal tip: when i was brainstorming ideas, i decided that the best way to get ideas out there was to go on a rant (because sometimes it helps to just have a conversation with yourself !!) and i recorded myself, so i could replay what i said !! this was so so crucial to me finding my own voice for writing essays. notice the way you word things when you talk—a good line or two may make it into the final draft :)

i found it helpful to read sample essays as well! they give a lot of great ideas on the kinds of topics people write about. (also, it’s kind of fun, because who doesn’t love a good story?)

but the people reading your essay won’t be there to just enjoy your story; what they really want you to do is to tell them what you learned from your experience. they want to know whether you’re teachable and willing to grow both as a student and as a young adult. so make sure to take note of the life lessons you learned, experience you gained, character you built, etc.

minor tip on ending your essay: if you’re telling a story that happened in the past, then close with what you learned and how you can apply that to your life moving forward. if you’re telling a story that has no definite end yet (like a passion or dream you have), you probably don’t have everything figured out (and you can say that in your essay!), so it might be better to close with your hopes for the future.

tip #4: ask your family for help.

peer-editing is one of the most effective ways to detect errors and inconsistencies in your writing, because, after staring at your essay for so long, you might gloss over glaring contradictions. for all of my essays, i printed them out and asked my parents to help me revise them. we’d meet every other night (or every night, depending on how much time was left) to review and discuss improvements.

i actually kept some of those printed drafts (only the first and the final ones for comparison), and let me tell you from experience—you’re probably going to have a lot of drafts (i think the most i did was seven? but you don’t need to go that far!). this part of the process does take some time, so remember to be patient and kind to yourself :) these essays won’t happen overnight!

enlisting the help of others also helps keep you accountable. one of the struggles many seniors face while writing essays is just... setting aside time to do them. and even though the constant reminders from your parents will definitely get repetitive and a bit stress-inducing, i can tell you from personal experience that i’m so glad they did; otherwise, i don’t think i’d have my essays done in time :’)

while writing college essays is challenging, your family will be there supporting you each step of the way. chances are that they’ll have their own pointers to pass on to you, since they probably remember doing this process themselves! and, out of everyone in your life, they probably remember the most about you (because you probably don’t remember much when you were four or five), so they might have a couple starter ideas for topics when brainstorming. you can rely on them for their advice and their experience.

tip #5: self-editing.

here’s the part that takes the longest time.

use action words. this is probably something you’ve heard all throughout elementary school where they didn’t like you to say “said” because it was “boring”… but honestly, the difference between “doing my own version” and “infusing it with my personality” could go a long way. also, use words that you would actually use in an essay—then it’ll have your own special flair, and not sound like it’s taken from some stuffy 80s textbook!

here are some of the words i used (once again, you shouldn’t use these words if they don’t sound like something you’d write/say): potential, overlay, wrestle, launch, analogous, weave, infuse, experiment, outlet, revel, fascinate, satisfaction, pursue, expand, distinction, capture, range, archive, engage, beyond, build, adversity, cultivate, preserve, commit, explore, convey, naturally

also, be on the lookout for repeated words. i once wrote an essay without noticing that i used “hope” three times in the same paragraph. don’t do that! use synonyms :) personally, i tended to run short on synonyms, so i always kept a tab or two open on my computer reserved for searching up new words.

side note: unfortunately, during my search for synonyms, i discovered that thesaurus.com just didn’t give me what i was looking for. i highly recommend using wordhippo instead; it has so many more options and they’re grouped by the different definitions of your word! i found the synonyms i needed really quickly and it was very satisfying!

avoid the passive voice! my teacher gave me this tip for theses or any other college-level writing. here’s an example of the passive voice: “there was a large part of me that wanted to turn back.” that’s twelve words taking up precious space in your word count! instead, say something like, “i considered turning back.” you’ve just freed up eight words :)

tip #6: final revisions.

this is the step where you fine-tune your essays. meet that word count.

read your writing out loud. does it sound like you? it should. every writer has a different voice, and you need to ensure that yours is pervasive throughout your essay. feel free to use contractions—not only do they reduce your word count (this was a good thing for me, since i had a problem with getting under 350 words), but they also give a more casual tone to your essay, as if you’re telling a story to someone in the room.

next, pretend to be an admissions officer and have someone else read your essay to you. do you get excited hearing about this student who shares your name? if you do, there’s a good chance the real admissions officers will love your essays, too. this also gives you a chance to review to your essay as a whole. pay attention to the overall flow. is there a clear beginning and end? do you resolve the issues and overcome the trials you brought up? listen to it as if it’s a story, and take this time to enjoy what you’ve written. you worked hard!

final thoughts / encouragements.

oh my goodness, did we make it to the end? honestly if you did, thank you so much 🥺

okay but despite my relatively optimistic tone throughout this post, i’m still going to be honest with you—the college essay writing process is difficult. it requires you to look inside yourself and analyze the “why” behind some of the things that you love, and that isn’t easy to do at all. it’s intellectually and emotionally challenging, because not only do you need to use so much energy writing, but you also have to dig deeper to understand yourself, and that’s not easy, either.

but i wanted to encourage you, too. no matter what you may think of yourself at 12am, 2am, 4am writing these essays, believe you have a personality that others love and will love when they meet you. you are an interesting person with unique experiences who deserves to share your thoughts with others. you have so many people behind you, supporting you during these next few months. and when you find that you can’t write any more, remember to take time to care for yourself. have a warm shower. go to bed early. i could go on and on about why sleep is good for your brain but i’ll spare you the details in this post 😉

one last thing: keep the bigger picture in focus. remember, by december or january, you will be finished with most of the application process. that’s no small accomplishment. you can do it. 💝

i really hope you found tips that you were looking for, and that they’re applicable to your own PIQs and other essays !! if you have any other questions, feel free to send in another ask (i promise my response won’t be this lengthy LOL) 💘💓

oh, and if you feel comfortable enough reaching out about anything in particular, i’m only a DM away 💕 i wish you the best of luck on writing your essays and i hope you enjoy your final year of high school !! 💗🌸💟💖

#asks #college tips

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