#in a very real way the constant electric lighting is depressing

[ssaalexblake]

today is great b/c it’s the first time in a month the sun’s been out enough that i could actually use natural light instead of turning a light on 

#in a very real way the constant electric lighting is depressing #need some natural sun #it's been solid grey cloud cold and rainy here since mid december #it also snowed yesterday which is weird for where i live #anyway but it actually layed enough to get pics of the snowman my niece made #all i need for sun is snow apparently #i'm really bored #ugh

[heyitssmiller]

Clandestine: Chapter Thirteen

Fitting that this is chapter thirteen. It was destined to be unlucky. And it was also the hardest one to write by far. Thanks for being so patient with me. One last cliffhanger, yes? For old time’s sake.

@lumosinlove your characters continue to live in my head rent-free, so thank you!

@donttouchmycarrots is my dude, my pal, my babe, and the best proofreader ever

Special thanks to @wonder-womans-ex for providing what just might be my favorite line in this chapter

Clandestine Masterlist

CW: violence, gun violence, nightmares, anxiety, mentions of food, injuries

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Logan woke up to Finn crying.

He was admittedly good at being quiet about it – he muffled any noise into his pillow, body turned towards the wall and curled up tight. It was the shaking that gave him away. Logan wasn’t sure what was going on at first, but his heart just about shattered when he realized. He rolled over to face Finn, pulling him gently into his arms and holding him close. His heart lurched as the redhead shuddered and buried his face in Logan’s chest, arms wrapping around him tightly as he sniffled. Logan screwed his eyes shut and breathed, nice and slow in an attempt to get Finn to match him. He wasn’t sure what was upsetting his partner, but he wanted nothing more than to fix it, to help however he could. Finn leaned further into him and stayed there for what felt like an eternity before he calmed down, breaths slowing and tears drying.

Logan could feel every swell of muscle, every gentle dip between his ribs, the eyelashes that were still wet and clumped together, the way his skin felt all clammy. He wished he could pull him even closer, hold him even tighter, even though there was physically no distance between them. Maybe Finn could find comfort in the confines of his arms, the way Logan had found safety in Finn’s.

“Want to talk about it?” he finally whispered, making Finn tense up again. He peered over Logan’s shoulder to look at their sleeping partner, then looked back down at Logan.

Sometimes Finn just took his breath away. Sure, his eyes were glassy and his nose was red from crying but he was still so beautiful, with muted light filtering through the curtains turning messy auburn hair into shiny copper, seeming to glitter in the sunlight. Big, brown doe eyes looking so incredibly soft as he stared down at Logan. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to being looked at like that. Like he was something to be cherished, something to be adored.

Logan felt his breath hitch.

“Hallway?” Finn asked, glancing back at Leo. “Don’t want to wake him up.”

Logan smiled. He loved learning how all three of them showed love and how it varied depending on which partner they were interacting with. Finn was more teasing with Logan, always throwing jabs and chasing them with happy grins and lots of kisses. With Leo he – well, he still teased mercilessly, but it was softer around the edges. The kind of affection that made him get all squinty-eyed because he was smiling so much and too-tight hugs because he couldn’t possibly hold back. Leo didn’t act that different when it came down to it, but he picked up quickly on what the two of them liked – intertwining his fingers with Finn’s as often as he could, running his hand through Logan’s hair time and time again. The constant motion of his hands was directed at the two of them instead of the lock in his pocket more often than not, a new soothing habit forming quickly. It was adorable. Logan wasn’t really sure how he was different, but he knew he was softer with the two of them more than he’d been with anyone else. He could feel himself turning into a sappy romantic and he wanted to hate it, but he really couldn’t.

Finn scrambled up reluctantly and Logan followed him across the room, nervous and itching to pull Finn back into his arms. He reached for Finn as soon as the door closed completely. “Bad dream?” His stomach dropped when Finn just nodded, biting down on his lip hard as his eyes welled up with tears again.

“I don’t want to go back there.” Finn admitted, voice a soft whisper in the silence of the hallway. Logan sighed and pressed closer, standing on his tiptoes just a little to loop his arms around Finn’s neck. Logan didn’t want to go back, either, but it was different for Finn. He’d been there for longer, after all, and Logan still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened during that time. Finn refused to talk about it, and Logan was too afraid to ask, as selfish as that made him feel. To top it all off, Logan had no idea how to help. Usually bad dreams were only loosely based on reality – but Logan had a feeling these were a little too real. They’d lived it, after all. To wake up from a nightmare and realize it was basically reality…

How could you comfort someone who’s bad dreams were all true?

“I know,” he said simply, lacking the words for anything else and running his fingers through Finn’s messy bedhead soothingly.

“We won’t be there for too long.” Finn said after a while. He seemed to be trying to comfort Logan with the words, even though he was the one who had been crying about it earlier. Logan ached for the redhead. He had such a big heart, always putting others before himself even if he was in a bad place himself. Logan needed to pay more attention, to pinpoint that evasion tactic and not let him get away with it. Everyone needed solace, even the ones who primarily did the comforting.

Finn’s eyes had closed sometime earlier, his head tilted to lean into Logan’s hand, his breath tickling the inside of Logan’s wrist. Logan wiped away a stray tear tenderly and sighed. Finn didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Logan wasn’t going to force him to talk, but he was worried about what would happen if he didn’t talk about it with someone. Sometimes it was nice to talk to someone with an outside perspective – someone who wasn’t in the thick of it like Logan was. So Logan reluctantly let it go for now and tried the next best thing: cheering Finn up.

“And it’ll be nice to bash some heads in while we’re there.”

That earned a laugh from Finn, and Logan felt such stark relief at the sight – it left him a little breathless. It was sad that a genuine laugh from either of his partners was so rare now. Logan felt like he needed to cherish them when they happened.

How depressing was that?

“Bashing some heads in is now on the list, I guess.” Finn murmured, placing a lingering kiss to Logan’s temple, who hummed thoughtfully.

“Do you even know how to throw a punch?”

Finn was in the process of kissing Logan when he said that, which just turned into a laugh against Logan’s lips. “No, but you do.” Logan could hear the smile in his voice. “And that’s way hotter than it probably should be.”

Logan looked up at him nervously to make sure he wasn’t kidding, then relaxed at the honesty in those mischievous eyes. Even upset and stressed, Finn somehow knew what to say to soothe worries Logan hadn’t even told him about. Being in a job like his… well it was ugly. It was brutal and violent and messy and not many people would want to be involved with someone like that – someone with bloodstained hands, too many paranoid tics, and a heavy, guilty conscience.

Finn and Leo didn’t seem to mind all that much, thankfully.

The realization made Logan grin sharply and nip at Finn’s lower lip before delving into another deep, intoxicating kiss. It was too easy, getting lost when he kissed Finn. So much of their surroundings faded away until all he was aware of was the feel of slightly chapped lips against his and hands holding his hips in order to pull him closer. Finn seemed to have that effect on Logan – he always had, ever since that New Years party. He was the kind of person everyone naturally gravitated towards, pulled in without a second thought. It was part of what made him so damn good at his job.

Finn breathed in sharply before kissing him again, heady and sure of himself and making Logan weak in the knees. All five senses were overwhelmed with Finn, Finn, Finn. It thrummed along with his pulse in a steady, loud rhythm. And yet his mind still drifted back to the bedroom with Leo, the thought of joining him back in bed tugging at him just as Finn broke the kiss and pulled him back towards the door, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Sometimes I’m convinced you’re a mind reader.” Logan smiled and willingly let himself get drawn back into the quiet, sleepy warmth of the bedroom. Finn just shrugged.

“Maybe I am.”

Leo was still sound asleep, sprawled out on his back with one leg sticking out from underneath the covers and hanging off the side of the bed at what looked like a very uncomfortable angle. Logan smiled at Finn’s affectionate snort, then followed him back to bed and crawled in the middle again. He curled up on his side, facing the blond as Finn pressed against his back and tangled their legs together. Leo’s hand moved up the bed, searching for Logan’s until he found it and then seemed to drift off to sleep again with a content sigh.

It scared Logan a little, how important the two of them had become in such a short amount of time. They were slowly invading more and more space in his head until his only thoughts seemed to be about them, all the time. Maybe it should be a little worrying, but Logan couldn’t find it in himself to be too concerned – not when the thoughts made his chest feel light as air and his stomach full of butterflies.

***

It was getting close to go-time, and everyone was on edge. The energy was palpable, like an electric current flowing through the group. Shoulders were tense, words were short and clipped, a sense of focus and determination in the air.

Leo had never been part of something like this. The only missions he’d been on were with Logan and Finn and that was it. Having a big group like this, all feeling the same things and wanting the same goal, it was intoxicating. It sucked you in and made you want to be a part of it, too.

But he couldn’t. He was stuck here, on the sidelines, left to wait aimlessly until everyone returned. That meant letting them go and resigning himself to a night of restlessness and worry.

Leo hated it.

He didn’t cling to his partners like he so desperately wanted to. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to let go again. He didn’t ask for empty promises of being careful, nor did he beg them to be safe. He couldn’t hold them to words they might not be able to keep. But he allowed himself to stare, just a bit. He let his eyes linger over Logan’s steady hands as he loaded his gun and methodically checked it three times, just like always. He watched Finn pull a clean shirt over his head and fiddle with the sleeves, seemingly lost in thought. Leo memorized what he could, just in case. The exact shade of Logan’s eyes, the freckle pattern across Finn’s cheeks and nose. He hated that his brain automatically jumped to worse-case scenario like that, but – well, considering the circumstances and what they’d already been through at the hands of the Snakes… could you blame him?

There was also this feeling in the pit of Leo’s stomach. He wasn’t sure if this was just the anxiety talking, but everything in that moment felt so decided, so final.

It felt like goodbye.

As if Finn knew exactly what was going on in his head, he drew Leo in for a hug and kissed his cheek, lingering for a second before leaning back to meet his eyes. They shared one of those looks – one that expressed a multitude of emotions without saying a single word. When Finn kissed him, it was deep and achingly slow. He was taking his time, wanting to make the moment last as long as he could. Leo knew the feeling. He fisted his hand in Finn’s shirt and pulled him impossibly closer, tilting his head for a better angle and softly running his tongue across the seam of his lips. A gentle rush, a quiet thrill, but still with a noticeable, tangible melancholy.

Leo could still count the number of kisses they’d shared on two hands. That wasn’t nearly enough for him. He wanted as many different types of kisses as he could think of – happy, teasing, soft, hard, tender, and everything in between. He wanted to lose count by the end of the week. He wanted to learn everything there was to know about his partners.

He just hoped they’d get that chance.

Logan pressed up against the two of them, slotting seamlessly into place. Transitioning from kissing Finn to kissing Logan was as easy as breathing – a simple turn of his head and a slight bend to accommodate for the height difference. It was the kind of kiss you were meant to remember. A whirlwind of sweet and passionate, deep and gentle, loving and regretful.

More than anything it just hurt.

Leo’s gut churned as he pulled back and looked at the two of them, lost for words. What was he supposed to say in a situation like this, after all? He didn’t think there was anything he could say to make this easier, or reassure them. Words didn’t seem like enough anymore – they just felt insincere and meaningless. Leo didn’t think he’d ever faced that problem before. Words usually came fairly easily to him, especially if something was important to him. But now they were failing him and it left him feeling even more lost, adrift in a raging sea that he had no idea how to navigate.

“Let’s do this,” Finn said finally, part resigned and part determined, before heading towards the bedroom door.

The rest seemed to happen all at once in a blinding flurry of activity. Goodbyes with the team were quick and rushed and then they were all loading up into cars, green and brown eyes meeting his every once in a while before the doors closed and the engines growled to life.

Leo watched the caravan of cars head down the driveway, then rushed across the wrap-around porch to keep them in his sights for as long as he could until they disappeared behind an outcropping of trees. He kept his eyes trained on the spot and clung to the wooden railing with a white-knuckled grip.

And that was where he would stay. If that was the last place he saw them, it would be the first place he would see them again. He didn’t care if he stood there all night until it bled into morning; he wasn’t moving an inch.

***

Sirius sat in the backseat next to Remus for the drive, which was silent and tense with rising adrenaline and battle plans running through everyone’s heads – especially Remus’. He could practically see his mind working. He’d been planning nonstop for the past two days to make sure that all the loose ends were tied up and that they were doing this the right way. Any illegal processes now could compromise the court trials that would come after putting the Snakes behind bars. Between that and coordinating between the other agencies that were helping them take down the Snakes, it was looking like a Herculean task. They could’ve pulled out the big guns and requested help from the FBI, but no one really wanted to do that. This was personal, after all – for pretty much everyone on the team. The feds could take over later, after everyone was apprehended.

Remus chewed at his lower lip, eyes trained on nothing in particular. The back of his head was highlighted in the headlights of the car behind them, illuminating in a startling contrast to the rest of the dark interior of the van. Sirius stared and stared until he just couldn’t help it. He reached over to turn Remus’ head towards him, then ran his thumb lightly over that abused lower lip until Remus let it go. Color seeped back into it, turning the pink a darker, cherry red. Again, Sirius stared. That mouth quirked into a teasing smile.

“You’re going to chew a hole in your lip if you keep that up.” He said and looked up into honey-colored eyes, slowly pulling his hand back. Remus just huffed under his breath – a short, nervous shadow of his normal laugh.

“Yeah. I could really go for some chapstick right now.”

Sirius smiled, pulling Remus towards him and kissing him gently, reverently. It still kind of blew his mind, how much things had changed in the past few months. Remus used to hate him. Well, maybe hate was a strong word, but they definitely weren’t friends. And now here they were, making out in the back of a van. Even though their mission was coming to an end and Sirius really wouldn’t have a reason to stay in Gryffindor any more, he could no longer fathom leaving. Remus played a huge part in that, of course, but Sirius also had friends now – real friends who didn’t try to use him constantly or only contacted him when they needed something. He had a home, as ridiculously cliché as that sounded. Nothing about Slytherin felt like this, and it made Sirius wonder if he’d ever actually had a place to call home before he found himself in Remus’ tiny apartment with the dying houseplant and the lumpy couch and an entire cabinet devoted solely to mugs.

The kiss turned softer until Sirius pulled back and just looked at him, an overwhelming rush of emotion in his chest. Remus wasn’t his home – one person couldn’t be all of that, Sirius knew that much – but he sure was a big part of it.

Remus licked his lips thoughtfully, tasting Sirius’ chapstick. “What flavor is that?”

“Pina colada.”

“Nice.”

That made Sirius smile again. “It’s going to be fine, Re.” Sirius reassured and tucked Remus against his side. It was an awkward squeeze in the back of a van, but neither of them cared.

“Yeah,” Remus sighed, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. “We’ll be ok.”

They both flew out of their seats a little when the van hit a pothole, smushing them closer together. Sirius pressed a kiss to his temple, soft and lingering, before speaking up again. “Do you want to talk through the plan once more?”

Sirius always found that talking through things helped calm him down. Saying the facts out loud tended to get rid of the unnecessary fears going on inside his head, plus it made him feel more prepared. And he knew Remus was the same way, from all the times he’d helped the analyst plan missions.

This earned him a soft, thankful smile and then Remus was off, talking a mile a minute about strategies and backup plans and anything else he could think of. Sirius let his voice wash over him and tried to ignore the dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

***

Leo didn’t know how long he stood there, gaze never once wavering from the treeline, when Hope joined him. She held out a mug for him, full of what looked like hot chocolate and a thick layer of whipped cream. Leo smiled faintly in thanks and took it before returning to his vigil. It was so quiet outside. No crickets like back home, no wind whistling through the trees, nothing. It set Leo on edge.

“So,” Hope mercifully interrupted the silence, “I heard you like to cook.”

Leo looked over at her, more than a little confused at the non sequitur. “Yeah. I do.”

She traced along the grain of the wooden railing, avoiding the chipping paint. “Those boys might be hungry when they get back, and that’s a whole lot of cooking to do by myself. Care to lend a hand?”

Leo snorted at the accidental pun and looked down at the hand trapped in a sling. He knew what she was doing, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad. He could definitely use the distraction.

“That sounds perfect.” He said and followed her inside, only casting one glance over his shoulder at where the driveway disappeared and the woods began before he joined Hope in the warm glow of the kitchen. Lyall and Jules were there too; they had the refrigerator door thrown open and seemed to just be staring at the contents. They looked so alike, standing side by side like that. The same slightly-bowed legs and identical shades of brown hair. Lyall gave his son a mischievous look, reached for the can of whipped cream, and squirted some directly into his mouth while Jules watched on with his jaw nearly on the floor.

“I didn’t know we were allowed to do that!” he gasped and snatched the can from his dad. A few seconds later there was whipped cream in his mouth. And on his chin, cheeks, a little on his nose…

Hope sighed good-naturedly. “You’re teaching our son bad habits and making a mess.”

Lyall just bent over laughing, a snort escaping every once in a while.

Leo smiled as Jules tried to get all the whipped cream that missed his intended target with his tongue, eyes crossing in the process. He took a sip of his hot chocolate and leaned back against the kitchen counter as Lyall kept pointing to places on his face that Jules had missed. Hope shared a look with Leo and rolled her eyes in a “what can you do?” kind of gesture. It was all so lighthearted and affectionate and exactly what Leo needed in that moment.

He wondered if Hope somehow just knew these things – it was definitely possible. Mother’s intuition and all.

“So what are we making?” She asked, tying her hair up while Lyall threw an apron over his neck. Jules was still working on the whipped cream.

Leo shrugged his good shoulder. “What do you have in the pantry?”

“So much!” Jules exclaimed, deeming his face good enough and throwing the pantry door open. “We’ve got pancake mix, potato chips, poptarts, hot dog buns-”

***

The take-down mission was going about as well as expected.

Which meant that it was going well, but it was also a chaotic disaster at the same time. Fitting, right?

Agents were everywhere, it seemed, outnumbering the Snakes at least three-to-one. The Snakes were scattering, running for the exits and fighting tooth and nail to get out – whether that was with weapons they had or just their fists, they weren’t going down without a fight. But even if they made it out, they were met with another line of defense waiting for them in the form of the Durmstrang agents.

Remus really had the op planned out to the last contingency, it seemed.

Logan and Finn were headed down an unfamiliar hallway, looking for stragglers to round up and escort outside. Most Snakes had joined the main fight to get out, sequestered in the entryway. Logan was glad they were tasked with this, though. There were too many familiar faces back there – Greyback, Lestrange, Snape. Logan wasn’t sure he was quite ready for that just yet. Between that and the sound of gunshots echoing in his head… well, let’s just say it brought back bad memories. And even though it wasn’t the best utilization of his skillset, he hadn’t been separated from his partner. He’d learned from experience what a bad idea that was. When this was all over, he wasn’t letting the two of them out of his sight for at least a week.

God, he couldn’t wait for this to be over.

Movement caught his eye and his gun was instantly up and aimed at the person. Yellow eyes landed on them and Logan held his breath, every muscle tensing and adrenaline spiking.

Logan knew they had direct orders to bring the Snakes in alive, but it was much harder to think about that when he was staring Riddle down from the sights of his gun. He knew exactly where to aim – he’d seen it mapped out on Leo’s chest, memorized the angry red wound contrasting against the gentle slope of his collarbone. A shot not intended to kill, but to inflict unfathomable levels of pain – another thing Logan had branded into his memory. A shot that was intentional, designed to send a message. And Logan definitely wanted to send back a reply.

Riddle recognized them and got this smug gleam in his eyes. “Long time, no see.”

Logan’s finger twitched against the trigger.

“Trust me, we’re planning on never seeing you again.” Finn said, then sighed dramatically. “And it looks like that dream is going to become a reality, since we’ve got all the evidence we need to lock you up for – what do you think, Logan? Two life sentences?”

“I’m banking on three.”

“But it’s not really up to us, now is it?” Finn shrugged. “If it were, I think you’d be dead by now, so I guess we’ll have to wait and see what the judge says.”

Riddle still looked remarkably calm. And it was that ego, that sense of infallibility that ended up being his downfall. “All the evidence you have is circumstantial. Any decent lawyer can get those charges dismissed.”

“Sure.” Finn’s smile turned lethal, knowing he had Riddle right where he wanted him, ready to deliver the final blow and relish in the aftermath. “But I think all that detailed information on the flash drives can put you away for a long time. Why seven flash drives, by the way? Lucky number?”

Riddle’s smile faded in increments as the realization struck. “That’s not possible.”

“Oh, it’s very possible. You can thank the guy you shot for that.” Finn said darkly. They watched the gears turning in Riddle’s head, then the way his face turned from pale to a sickly green. His hand went to the inside pocket of his jacket where his flash drive used to be – where the fake one now was, switched when Riddle had pulled a bleeding, agonized Leo close to taunt Logan and Finn through his microphone.

Yeah. Karma was a real bitch sometimes.

Logan smiled, grim but glad to finally be putting this guy behind bars. “You’re coming with us.”

***

“Yo,” Pots said into a phone, a grin almost too wide on his face, “we got some stinky bastards over here. Can you come get them please and thank you?”

Remus snorted at his antics, no doubt talking to the FBI since processing criminals was in their jurisdiction now and not Gryffindor’s. He almost wished it was on speaker phone – he would’ve loved to hear their response.

Remus found Sirius waiting in the parking lot, watching all the Snakes get corralled into transport vehicles and taken to whichever prison they were being kept in until the trial. Some of their own agents were by the ambulance getting tended to, but there weren’t any serious injuries, thank god. Talker took a superficial gunshot to the thigh and Kuny’s arm got grazed by a bullet but everyone else was fine. The element of surprise and the backup by the other agencies really did wonders. That and the fact that they were all armed to the teeth and not even thinking about leaving this job unfinished. They had a pretty good reason to win this round, after all.

He couldn’t believe it was all over. This mission had taken months and lead to way too many problems, but they were finally done with it. They could finally move on. Remus was thinking of taking the next week off of work and spending it at the cabin, just him and Sirius. A much-needed vacation sounded like a dream right about now.

Sirius’ back was to him, but he heard Remus coming and didn’t flinch when long arms wrapped around him, tight and secure. He leaned back into the familiar warmth behind him and let himself be held. He’d been great in there. Remus had been a little worried about letting him come, afraid that taking down people he’d worked with for years would be too hard for him or – even worse – that his presence would be a bright red bullseye for the Snakes. Luckily, there had been so many other agents and so much chaos that most of them had only noticed Sirius and Regulus in the aftermath, when it was too late to do anything about it.

“We did it.” Remus murmured, letting go and stepping around to gauge Sirius’ reaction. The raven-haired ex-Snake smiled at him, a hint of something warring with the relief on his face.

“We did.” He finally said, eyes flitting from Remus to the action around them. He still looked a little uneasy, after everything. Remus couldn’t blame him – sometimes it took a while for the adrenaline to wear off and for reality to set in. “Doesn’t feel real just yet.”

Remus grinned wolfishly, letting the victorious feeling wash over him. “It’s real.”

“Sirius Black?” One of the other agents inquired, causing the man in question to turn around.

“Yes?”

The agent pulled out a pair of handcuffs, looking very bored of the current situation. “You’re under arrest for the crimes you committed with the Snakes organization. If you could put your hands behind your back-”

Remus stepped forward aggressively, staring the agent down. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The agent didn’t flinch. “Following orders. Even if he quit the Snakes, he’s still got to answer for what he did during his time there.”

“But he’s helping us – he’s a consultant for our agency. He’s got immunity.” Remus looked between Sirius and the agent, running a hand agitatedly through his hair at the blasé attitude of the agent.

“Take it up with my boss.”

It was all happening so fast. Remus was still reeling from the mission, his brain struggling to keep up with the new situation. The agent started to lead Sirius away when Remus shouted, “Wait!” He hurried to stand in front of Sirius, caramel eyes hard and fierce and determined with an underlying blaze to them as they met silver. He didn’t care if he was making a scene; he didn’t care who was watching. The only thing that mattered was the man standing in front of him, eyes resigned and – unsurprised.

He knew this might happen. And he hadn’t said a word about it. He came on this mission willingly, knowing this was the way it could end.

Remus would have to come back to that.

“I’m going to fix this. Ok?” Remus met his gaze firmly, letting the honesty drip from his words.

The ex-Snake nodded quickly, trustingly. The sight was a little nauseating, because what if there was nothing Remus could do? Sirius was counting on him now; he couldn’t stand the thought of letting him down, not when he was looking at Remus like that – like Remus could fix anything, when Remus knew damn well that he couldn’t. His chest seized up and he held his breath, gritting his teeth resolutely. He’d find a way. He had to.

Sirius was loaded into the back of a car, his brother already cuffed and waiting in the seat beside him – no doubt being charged for the same thing. Their faces were stony masks, tense and unreadable.

From the next car over, Riddle watched with a smile.

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #coops #sirius black #remus lupin #o'knutzy #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #clandestine #cw: violence #cw: gun violence #cw: nightmares #cw: anxiety #cw: food #cw: injury

[vendettaparker]

Where’s My Love: Chapter 2- A Second Chance [T.H]

Summary: Tom learns what it feels like to watch a flower die; though I suppose a heart that is broken is a heart that was loved. Harrison reminds everyone about the finality of death. 

Word Count: 4.7k of pure pain 

Warnings: Angst (like the most i’ve ever written; which is saying something), mentions of sex, mentions of alcoholism, depression, cursing, character death, unhealthy grieving, grief in general, very very small mention of/hint to suicide (it’s extremely brief and you might even miss it, but it’s there)

a/n: i lowkey am kinda sorry about how sad this is. i’m just now realizing how sad this series is going to be as a whole (today i came up with a new plot idea and it made me cry just thinking about it so...), anyways, technically you could argue that this has a happy ending, so theres that to look forward to :) also you’re my best friend if you catch the WandaVision reference! reblogs, likes, and feedback is extremely appreciated! this series hasn’t been doing great in the notes department :( i’m still gonna write it obvi, but anything helps with the motivation, thanks <3 ps. thanatos is the god of death

Series Masterlist| Main Masterlist

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     “Tom,” You smiled up at your husband, eyes shining in the moonlight and heart swelling with love. “We should go home soon. There’s still more to be done tonight.” 

     Tom smirked and tilted your face up, capturing your soft lips in a heated kiss, tongue slipping in and clashing with yours. He pulled away after a while of savoring your taste, lips pink and swollen, “You’re right, darling. There’s still so much to do tonight.” Tom lips travelled further down to your jawline, where he kissed, nipped, and sucked, leaving a dark pink love bite. 

     You whimpered and tugged at his unruly curls, bringing his lips closer to your sweet spot. Tom chuckled and littered kisses and marks all up and down your collar bones. You brought his face up to yours and kissed him, practically shoving your mouth onto his in a clash of teeth and tongue. 

     Tom pulled away and groaned, “You’re gonna be the death of me, love.” His eyes darkened with arousal and you smirked, knowingly. 

     Your breathing slowed and you giggled, pushing him away gently, “Then we better get to it, lover.” 

     Tom stood up from where you were both lying, holding a hand out to help you up as well. You placed your hand in his and basked in the warmth of his touch. Something so simple as holding hands was enough to make you feel electric. Bursts of tingles and butterflies filled your body. You felt like you were on fire, burning up with the desire to feel him, touch him, and just love him.

     All the while, an evil in the form of Aristaeus watched from the shadows, his disdain growing for Tom by the minute. He watched as Tom held you close, as he seized every opportunity to kiss you. His hatred for the son of Apollo only deepened when he saw how your eyes shone and how your smiled grew in his presence. How perfect you looked and how all the intimacy and love you possessed was now only for Tom. You were only for Tom, and Aristaeus just couldn’t have that. 

     Watching Tom’s smile and listening to his care-free laugh, he knew that he needed to feel that. He needed the source of that type of happiness. 

     Aristaeus waited in the shadows for his moment to take what he wanted. Dagger clutched in his hand and blade sharpened, ready for use. The moment he saw you and Tom stand up and begin the journey back to your villa, he knew the time was now.  

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

     With your hand clasped tightly in Tom’s, you began the trek back to the villa you’d purchased for the two of you. You swung your hands up with Tom’s as you both happily made your journey in comfortable silence. 

     You reveled in the way his hand felt in yours. Warm, encasing your entire being in warmth. It was so simple, just his hand clutching yours, holding your hand and your heart. There are only so many ways to describe love, and his hand in yours said more than any empty words could. 

    Your peacefulness was interrupted when you heard a shuffling in the wooded area you were walking through. The bush you were passing shook and soon Aristaeus launched out of it, dagger in hand, aimed at Tom. You screamed and Tom pushed you away to keep you away from the evading blow. 

     Tom dodged the attack, swiftly throwing a punch to the offender's jaw, momentarily stunning him. Tom grabbed your hand, and began running through the woods. You could hear the shouts and curses of Aristaeus behind you, quickly gaining speed on the gravelly road. 

     In an attempted detour, you ran through the thicket, hoping the thick mixture of branches and thorns would diverge the route of the crazed man chasing you. The thrones pricked at your skin and scratched up your face. Tom was no better, hand slowly loosening up on yours due to the pain of the thrones scrapping up his arms. 

     “Tom!” You yelped, tripping on a small log. The momentum of the fall ripping your hand from his, leaving his cold. Tom, stressed and frantic, kept running, unaware of the fact that you were no longer behind him. 

     “Come on (Y/N)! We’re almost home!” Tom yelled back, seeing the light of a clearing just up ahead. Tom jumped through the last few branches, breathing heavily once he reached the other side of the woods. He ended up in a meadow, close to your home. Tom turned around to hug you and make sure you were alright, but you were nowhere to be found. 

     “Love, we made it! Look, our villa’s right over ther—” Tom cut himself off, realizing he was now alone. 

     Tom began walking back into the woods, a sharp shot of anxiety ran up his spine. Why wouldn’t she follow me? He thought, is she hurt? Tom continued, his thought quickly being interrupted by a pained scream. 

     “(Y/N)? (Y/N)!?” Tom ran where he heard the scream and then the whimpers. His heart dropping to his stomach, bile rising. He finally found you, laid out in a pile of daisies, leg purple and bruised, small drops of blood coming from two puncture wounds in your leg. 

     It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened, and the snake slithering away from your limp body told Tom all he needed to know.  

Aristaeus had fled upon seeing you. He too knew, and he even saw with his own eyes, what had happened. The viper dug in deep and long, the poison immediately taking effect on you. 

     “(Y/N)? Fuck, darling?” Tom crouched down to your still body. He didn’t want to believe what he was seeing, he didn’t want to believe the pained look in your eyes, or the tears welled up in his. “It’s okay, love. You’re alright. Can you move? Can you get up? Please?”

     Tom did his best to help you up, but you were limp, no movement in your entire body, only your eyes showed the fear you were feeling. 

     “Tom,” you mumbled, tears streaming down your cheeks, “I-I can’t feel anything.” You cried softly, your face almost stoic from the poison coursing through your veins. 

     “No, no, darling. You can feel me, right?” Tom grabbed your limp hand and squeezed, expecting a squeeze in return. Yet nothing came, your hand remained cold and limp in his.

     You choked out a sob, “I can’t feel you.” Tears streamed down the side of your face, soaking the ground beneath your head, leaving small weeds in their wake. 

     Tom let out a painful whimper at your words. “Darling, it’s okay, we’re okay. Yeah? We’re gonna go home, and then you can lay down and get better, okay? I’ll bring you tea and flowers and Paddy will come over and play chess with you. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Tom’s tears soaked into your now cold skin, momentarily warming it. 

     “Yeah…” you mumbled softly, tears slowing and breath hitching. 

     “Yeah, and t-then Sam can come over and bring your favorite meal, o-or maybe a cake? And Harrison can work on your garden, so it won’t be limp when you get better. And I'll serenade you every night, even after you’re well, because I love you. And we’re gonna make it through this, just hold on.”

     His words faded in and out, beginning to sound muffled and underwater. Your head tilted to the side, clearly seeing the immeasurable pain etched onto his features. Tom caught your gaze and still, still tried to manage a small, hopeful smile. Deep down Tom knew this was pointless, he knew you wouldn’t ever make it home to see the villa, or the gift he left in the garden. The golden potted plant—an orchid—was now going to be a constant reminder to what he lost. But he could fake it, and fuck, he was going to fake it like it was real. 

     He would trick himself for the rest of his life until he truly believed you were okay. But he wouldn’t have to wait that long, because sitting there, holding your near lifeless body in his arms, he was ready to believe anything that even remotely implied you were okay. 

     Just past Tom you could see a figure watching you from the shadows. His suit was black and his white hair was gelled back. He stepped out of the shadows and tapped his foot impatiently, as if waiting for your time to be up. And then it hit you. You knew this man—or rather this god. 

     “Thanatos…” you whispered, eye’s finally glazing over with lifelessness. The now once bright and vibrant eyes, now dull and empty. A mere shell of what they once were. 

     “No, no, no!” Tom screamed, his painful wails being heard by the whole town. “No! (Y/N), come back! Please, please, please, please, please…” 

     You were now standing away, a lonely spectator to the happenings in the woods on this mortal realm. 

     “Come, child.” Thanatos held his hand out, ready to lead you away. 

     “But I never got to say goodbye.” Your eyes welled up with tears, seeing Tom frantically shake your body, trying to bring you back to life. “I never got to live my life with him.” 

     Thanatos gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze, “We must go now. Don’t worry, little one. You will see him again.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊

      Tom didn’t move. He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep. He wished he didn’t even breathe. He sat in the villa and stared at the now dying orchid, limp and sickly, in the golden pot. You never even got to see it, he thought, you would’ve loved it. 

     All of Tom’s thought’s surrounded you, and how he could no longer hold you. He felt so cold, he found no joy in things he used to. And all he wanted to do was cry. But he couldn’t. He’d cried himself dry over the past three days. Now all he felt was pain, and he couldn’t even ease it with tears. 

     “Tom,” Harrison snapped him out of his daze, pulling his gaze away from the dying orchid. “It’s time.” 

     Tom let out a breath, pained and labored. Today was the day. The day your body would be laid to rest. The day that you would truly be lost to him. 

     “Come on, everyone’s waiting for you.” 

     Tom groggily pulled himself from the bed. He dressed slowly and carefully, wanting to look his best for the last time he’d see you. Every intake of breath hurt his head, another painful reminder that he was here and you weren’t. He was alive, and you were gone. 

     The clearing that he once found solace in was cold. The flowers around him were limp and dying, and the world just looked gray. The color was gone from his eyes and all he could think was, it should’ve been me.

     Paddy hadn’t spoken a word since he heard of your death. He hardly even looked at Tom, every time he did the young boy would tear up and look away, too embarrassed of his tears to let them be seen. But in the dark, in the comfort of his bed, he cried for you. His first encounter with death, and it had to be you. His heart hurt more than his young mind could comprehend; he could hardly imagine what Tom was feeling. 

     Harry and Sam were numb. They hardly knew how to feel. They loved you like a sister but only knew you for a few months. Was it appropriate to mourn the loss of someone you only knew for a moment? Was it ignorant to fein a stoic exterior when your sister was gone? In the comfort of each other, the boys mourned. They cried a bit, but mostly tried their best to remember the good times. Harry remembered how you always backed him up in an argument, even against Tom, and how you always expressed how blessed you felt getting to know their family. Sam remembered how you always volunteered to be his test subject for his dishes. How you were always sweet, but honest. You fit so well into their lives, it was almost impossible to imagine you wouldn’t be in them anymore. 

     Harrison couldn’t believe it, or rather he didn’t want to. He held Tom close, and tried to convince him that everything was okay. He was the rock the group leaned on in any way they could. 

     He was a rock, and he was cracking. He found himself alone in clearing multiple times, watering the flowers, doing his best to keep them afloat, and yet they still withered away. He tried to feel you there, so he could tell Tom that maybe you weren’t truly gone, but all he felt was the absence of your presence. 

     Tom looked at the patch of dirt you laid under. He looked at it and all he felt was anger. Anger at Aristaeus for leading you to your death, anger at the viper that sealed your fate, anger at the gods for letting you be taken, and anger at himself for living through it. 

     The ceremony was short; just him and his brothers, gathered around a patch of dirt, crying. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

     Everyone was forced to cope. They all had their tricks to make the pain ease. Paddy would play chess by himself, wishing you were there for him to beat, but mostly remembering how many times you praised his amazing chess skills and made him feel special. Harry and Sam took on the duty of attempting to fix your garden in the clearing. They took shifts watering the plants and picking out the weeds.

     Harrison smiled whenever he saw wild daisies. They always reminded him of you, partially for your pure innocence, but also because when you first met him, you gave him a flower crown made out of daisies. The crown was now limp and wilted, but he would treasure it until the day it withered away. 

     Tom suffered the most, though. He lost not only his soulmate, but his best friend. His coping consisted of copious amounts of alcohol to help him sleep, then he would see you in his dreams, and he’d have to drink more to stop from feeling the constant pit in his stomach growing with each baited breath. 

     “Tom, this isn’t healthy.” Harrison chided each time he walked into the murky depths of his bedroom; which was at least twice a day to check on the poor boy. 

     Harrison sat on Tom's bed as Tom laid on his stomach, facing away from him. Tom would grumble, then sniffle and completely ignore the presence of someone new in his room. The bed would be musty, his hair would be in knots, and his eyes would have a constant red rimmed appearance accentuated by the dark circles that resided underneath. 

     “Tom come on, let’s go for a walk. Sam and Harry fixed up the garden a bit; I think you’d like it.” Harrison shook Tom’s shoulder gently, prompting him to face the blonde. 

     “It won’t be the same.” Tom mumble, voice hoarse and wobbly.

     “I know, but they worked hard on it. They’re grieving too, y’know?” 

     “Of course I fucking know.” Tom snapped, swatting Harrison’s hand away, “You think I don’t know how much of an impact she had on all of us? You think I don’t hear Paddy crying at night when he thinks he’s alone, or the way he refuses to look at me?” 

     “Tom—”

     “You think I don’t know that this is my fault?” Tom sobbed, burning holes with his harsh gaze into Harrison. “I know, Haz. I know all too well how we’re all grieving.”

     Tom broke down, heaving and rambling about how it was his fault, about how helpless you looked, and how broken he was. All Harrison could do was listen. 

     “She died in my arms, Haz. S-she curled up and just… died.” Tom spoke barely above a whisper, his crying ruining his voice. “She looked so scared and I couldn't help her. I couldn’t save her.” 

     “I know.” Harrison was crying now too, tears falling from his diamond eyes. 

     “It was supposed to be me. The attacker was after me. I-I should’ve taken the hit, and then she’d be alive.” 

     “No, Tom. You don’t know that that would’ve saved her from this fate.” Harrison scolded Tom’s reckless words. “She could’ve died a day later, or minutes later. Life is not a guarantee. Tom.” 

     “At least we would’ve been together.” 

     Harrison frowned, “In the underworld? And what type of existence would that have been?” 

     Some turned away from Harrison, “One where we would at least have each other.” 

     Harrison softened his gaze and held Tom close before he could protest, “You still have us. I know it’s not what we want right now, but it’s what you need. You can’t go through this alone; I won’t let you.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

     As the weeks went by, Tom’s grief continued to eat away at him. Try all he might, he could never escape you. You were in all of his favorite things. His lyre now laid dusty and cold next to his bed, it hadn’t been touched since your wedding night. 

     He held it together as long as he could, but it was too much. The pain ripped away at him and ate him up. One day he reached his breaking point. He needed you to come home. He needed you in his arms. Nothing in this mortal world could ever compare to your sweet kisses and loving praises. Nothing would ever satiate him again. 

     How could this have happened? How could the gods have cursed him this way. He was a good man, he did all that was expected of him. He went above and beyond for his community, for others. He helped find and procure the fleece that placed Jason rightfully on the throne of Iolcus in Thessaly. His music cured lost souls, helped them find solitude and comfort in his songs. He did everything right. And yet the gods mock and torture him by taking you away. Ripping his other half from him, stealing you. The only comfort in his otherwise lonesome life. There’s no need for old age, sickness, or murder to take him away now; his grief will surely get the job done. 

     “Tom,” Harrison, spoke softly, taking in the man who’s broken soul was starting to shine through to his exterior appearance. His hair matted, eyes red and puffy, knuckles bruised from letting his anger out on the pillars over his home. What was supposed to be your home. Now the clay brick home was cold, your presence no longer there to bring natural warmth. “Tom, come on. You have to keep going.” Harrison put a hand on his friend's shoulder, giving it a hearty squeeze. “She wouldn’t want this for you. She loved you.”

     “Then why was she taken from me?” Tom burst, hands flying to his hair, gripping his unruly curls. “Why would the gods allow this pain? I’ve done it all. I was so good, I-I did all that they asked of me.” 

     “Tom, please just come—” 

     “No! Harrison, don’t you see? I can’t move on! I can’t think about anything other than what was lost, what I lost. There must be a way to get her back. I’d do anything, just to hold her one more time. To love her, like it’s all I was put here on this Earth to do.” Tom pushed Harrison’s hand away. “Help me. Please, find a way.” 

     Harrison sighed sadly, rubbing his face with his hands. Tom, the most deserving person of his happy ending had it ripped from him, and there was nothing that could be done. Almost as if it was fate, there were no loopholes. Expect maybe—no. It was too risky. The god of the underworld was not a merciful man. 

     “Harrison? You have something?” Tom looked at his friend, a glint of barely visible hope in his eyes, the type that only the thought of you could bring. The look on Harrison’s face clearly showed that the gears in his head were turning. This look always brought about Harrison’s best ideas, or in this case, his only one. 

     “I— well, it’s not plausible.” Harrison debated. “You’d need your father’s help, and even so,” he whispered the last part “you’d need to go to the Underworld and bargain with Hades.”

     Tom looked at his friend in shock? How could this be the only plan he’s come up with? A plan that would surely get Tom killed, or worse, turned into a lost soul. “What? No, no— there has to be another way. There are other gods—more merciful— who would help us.”

     Harrison shook his head, “I’m sorry, Tom. But death? That’s final. The only god with the power to bring (Y/N) back is Hades. And he always has a price.” 

     Tom debated his options, one being the clear winner. He knew he couldn’t go on without you, he wasn’t strong enough. If he were less selfish then maybe he’d find a way to find joy again. But he needed you more than he needed the air in his lungs. He didn’t care if he was being selfish, trying to bring you back to a world that had just gotten used to life without you. He spent his whole life being selfless, helping others. It was time to get what he was due, what he was owed: His happy ending. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

     Tom paced and pondered, his restless mind a futile assistance in this matter. His thoughts only focused on you and how to bring you home. In the beginning, he took into account all of the risks he’d be taking going to the underworld and bringing you back. He’d need to enlist the help of his father, to persuade Hades to listen to his pleas. He’d need to safely get in and out of the Underworld with you entow, and the hardest part of all; he’d need Hades permission for you to come home. 

     It was not that Hades was cruel or unjust; he was just simply too fair. Death is final and Hades followed that order to a tee. He scarcely made exceptions and when he did there was always a price that needed to be paid. Usually, that price was worth the life of the soul being returned, a hefty sum. 

     Tom hardly worked out the intricacies of his plan before Harrison caught him, bag packed and determination scrawled across his face. 

     “Tom, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Harrison chided, standing in between Tom and the doorway. 

     “I’m getting her back, Haz. I need her home. You guys may be able to move on and be okay, but I can’t. She meant more to me than any of you will ever know.” 

     “You’re gonna get yourself killed, Tom.” Harrison spoke in a hushed whisper as to not alert the others to what was going on, “What happens then, huh? How do you think we will feel then? We already lost (Y/N), Tom; we can’t afford to lose you too.”

     Tom’s eyes glistened with frustration and unshed tears, “but I’m not complete without her…” he whispered, sniffling. “I have to do what I can.” 

     “No, Tom. I’ve let this go on long enough.” Harrison spoke sternly, “You have to move on. I’m sorry because I know it’s not fair. I know that this shouldn’t have happened. It broke all of us. But you need to come back to us, okay? You need to move on with your life. Paddy is thirteen, Tom. He has no father-figure, he needs you. Harry and Sam have been by your side since they were babies, they need you. And you're my best friend, I need you. You don’t get to walk out on us because of your pain, because we never walked out on you. We were hurting, yet we stayed by your side. You need to do the same for us.” Harrison gave Tom a tightlipped smile, “Please, Tom. Just try.”

     Tom had never seen such anguish in Harrison's eyes. He knew him and his brothers had also been struggling and he knew he was being selfish. He needed to do better. 

     “Okay,” Tom choked out, tears streaming down his cheeks, “I’ll try.” Tom placed his bag down on the floor and sat on the bed. He placed his face in his hands and sniffled out sobs. It was time for him to let you go. 

     Harrison left Tom alone in his dark room, shaking with anger. Once again the anger had returned, tenfold. Tom just wished he’d held your hand tighter, maybe then he’d be in your arms right now. Instead he was alone in his room, mind clouded with guilt and exhaustion. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

     “Tom.” Your voice whispered in his ear, taunting him. Reminding him of what he lost. What he couldn’t save. The only one he couldn't save. The only one he needed to save. 

     “I’m right here, Tommy.” You never ceased. You constantly called to him as he tried his best to put his tortuous thoughts to rest. You stood over him, eyes wide in fear. You watched him, and you whispered. 

     “Tommy, why couldn’t you save me?” 

     You broke his heart all over again every night. 

     He sat up in his bed, body wet with sweat and eyes clouded with tears. 

     “(Y/N). Please, darling,” he begged, “I tried, please, I’m still trying.” You walked over and stood right above him, face inches apart. It was almost as if he could smell the sweet scent of flowers on you. The orchids and daisies you loved so much wafting over him, calming him. Until your cold, dead grip latched onto his shoulder. 

     “You failed, my love.” 

     Tom woke with a start, screaming and crying into the empty abyss of his room. You were nowhere to be found. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed you back. You needed to come home and never leave his side ever again. If he had to spend one more day without you, he’d lose it. He’d become the monster he felt like on the inside. All the dark, twisty despair holed up in his heart would rush out in acts of unchecked rage and violence. He was never the villain, but he would be. 

     He couldn’t follow through with his promise to Harrison. He couldn't just move on and pretend that life made any sense without you, because it didn’t. Nothing made sense, and everything hurt. 

     Zeus created humans to have another half, and they would spend the rest of their lives if they had to, searching for it. You were Tom’s, and you were ripped away from him. That just won’t do. 

     He couldn’t spend another night lying awake, thoughts ripping apart his mind. He couldn’t sleep either, or else he’d see you. See what you’ve become. A ghost of happier times. A reminder of what never was and never will be. A figment of his ill fated mind. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

     The next morning, Paddy went into Tom’s room to bring him breakfast, as usual. It’s been months since he’s eaten with his brothers, and the new normal was one of them toughing it out and giving him his food in his room, then listening to his cries form outside the door for a moment, just to gauge if he was getting better; he never was. 

     Paddy was about to knock but paused before, gently pressing his ear up against the door. He didn’t hear crying like he usually did, he didn’t even hear sniffles.

     Paddy hesitantly opened the door, afraid of what he might find. The silence was all too scary for the young boy. Once the door was fully opened Paddy got a good look around, not seeing Tom anywhere. 

     Paddy dropped the bowl of food on the floor and ran for Harrison. 

     “Harrison! Harrison! Sam! Harry! Anyone!” Paddy yelled out, running around the garden looking for the boys. He slammed into Harrison, who was just on his way to the garden. 

     The force knocked the wind out of a crying Paddy and slammed him into the ground. 

     “Woah,” Harrison breathed out, bending down to help Paddy up. Paddy gasped to catch his breath and attempted to stop the tears. 

     “What happened, kid?” Harrison rubbed his bruised back, “Come on, Paddy, breathe.” 

     “G-Gone…” Paddy wheezed out, “Tom’s gone.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

tags and moots: @justapurrcat @itsapeterthing @peterbenjiparker @kelieah @portraitoforion @ptersmj @princessofguineapigs @cherrytholland @waitimcomingtoo @rosyparkers @iovebug @hollandcrush @celestialbarnes @blissfulparker @starktonyx @asonofpeter @keithseabrook27 @devildisguiseasangel @felicityparkers​ @selfcarecap​

#tom holland #tom holland au #tom holland series #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland angst #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fluff #greek mythology fic #orpheus and eurydice

[emachinescat]

That I Could Fear a Door

A Tales of Arcadia: Trollhunters Fan-Fiction

By @emachinescat

Summary: Jim had thought that going back home, back to the real world, would be an easy and painless process. He thought it would be simple - it should have been simple. It wasn’t. A reimagining of Jim’s return from the Darklands, where he quickly finds that adjusting to real life after so much trauma isn’t as easy as one might think. 

Words: 5,639

TW: PTSD, depression, panic attacks

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

Years I had been from home,

And now, before the door

I dared not open, lest a face

I never saw before …

I laughed a wooden laugh

That I could fear a door,

Who danger and the dead had faced,

But never quaked before.

- From "Home" by Emily Dickinson

Jim had thought that going back home, back to the real world, would be an easy and painless process. After all, during his weeks in the Darklands, first alone and searching the endless shadows, then hunted like an animal, then captured and beaten and forced to fight for the sport of others, hadn't he dreamed endlessly of just that? Of seeing the sun again, of seeing his friends, of hugging his mom, of cooking and eating and training and playing video games and slacking off on homework? He thought it would be simple - it should have been simple.

It wasn't.

The first few moments after crashing back into the over world were indeed euphoric. There was the sun, filtering in through the branches of the trees. It took all of his self-control not to stare straight into it. Even in the evening breeze, there was a warmth in the air that he hadn't felt in so long that it seemed more like a memory. He lay there, flat on his back in the grass, wishing he could feel the soft tickle of the blades on his skin, but trapped in his Eclipse armor. Still, he was free.

Much of the next hour was a blur. He later would recall a few hazy moments - hugging his friends, receiving the amulet from Blinky and finally - finally - shedding the stifling second skin of the Eclipse armor, trying to convince Nomura to stick around, Claire semi-joking about how bad he smelled, and the word free chasing itself around in his head like a dog after its own tail. Free, free, free!

He would always remember in perfect clarity the moment he hugged his mother again, but that hadn't come until later the next week. He wanted more than anything to go to her immediately upon his escape, but Toby and Claire convinced him otherwise.

"What's she going to think if you come home looking like … well, looking like… that?" Toby demanded, gesturing unhelpfully to Jim as a whole.

"And the smell…" Claire added, also unhelpfully.

"You have been through a great ordeal, Master Jim," Blinky reminded him gently. "If you go home now, there will be questions you cannot answer and not the rest you need."

And so Jim reluctantly agreed to go home in Toby's stead with Aaarrrgghh while Toby covered for him at home once more.

It was surreal, Jim found himself thinking as he stood in the Domzalski household's upstairs bathroom, shower already running hot behind him and Aaarrrgghh just across the hall, waiting for him in Toby's room. Just this morning, he had woken up in a cage on cold stone, in a state of perpetual, gnawing hunger that had become the norm, hanging on to the tiniest thread of hope that today might be the day he was finally rescued - but knowing deep down that it was much more likely to be the day he finally died. Now, he had a full stomach for the first time in nearly a month. He was with his friends, safe, electric lights warding off the darkness that had been his hell for so long. Hot water waited for him, beckoned for him. He could be warm and clean again. Just a few days ago he had said something about how much he missed soap. He should have been happy, he thought miserably. Maybe happy wasn't the right word. He was very happy to be away from the Darklands, from Gunmar and Dictatious and goblins and monsters. But he wasn't content.

He also couldn't bring himself to undress. He had been standing in front of the mirror for a good five minutes now, as steam billowed out from behind the curtain and fogged the glass, obscuring the face he'd barely recognized anyway. Good riddance, he thought half-madly, for the boy in the mirror was a warped doppelganger, touched by death and despair, with his sunken eyes, wan skin stretched too tight over abnormally prominent cheekbones, dark, puffy bags under his eyes, and a smattering of bruises and cuts pulling the whole package together with a sickly little bow. His hair was a bit longer than he usually kept it, matted and caked with dirt and blood. It felt crusty to the touch, and brittle somehow, as if it would crumble to dust if he tried to brush it.

He looked bad enough as it was from the neck up. He had no desire to see what awaited him beneath his filthy clothes. He wondered blearily how they had gotten so disgusting when they had been underneath his armor the whole time. Sweat and revoked shower privileges would do that to a person, he finally reasoned, and at once he found he couldn't get in the shower quickly enough.

He stripped off the offending garments with an urgency he hadn't felt even at his most desperate moments in the Darklands, nearly tripping over the edge of the tub in his haste to get in. He was relieved that the mirror had fogged, but he still avoided making eye contact with it just in case.

The water burned his skin, but he turned it hotter, attacking his hair first with nearly half a bottle of shampoo, applying and rinsing, applying and rinsing, until he couldn't see from the suds cascading down his face and the murky water ran clear. He conditioned once, something he'd never done before. He didn't know if it did anything, but it made him feel cleaner.

And then he was scrubbing himself all over, the water reddening the skin on his arms (he studiously avoided looking anywhere else), again and again, as if trying to peel his very skin off. Dirt and sweat and blood poured off of his battered body and he watched it meander toward the drain in a detached sort of way before resuming his frantic washing.

It wasn't until his skin was so raw that he felt like he was an onion peeled of its top few layers that he stopped, breathing heavily, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him, nausea roiling as he regretted the deli sandwich he'd scarfed down earlier. Knees weak, he found himself sinking to the floor of the tub, knees drawn up awkwardly to his chest. The water pounded on his head, back, shoulders, and he let it, slipping into a kind of sleep-trance, watching the water swirl around his feet before making its relentless way to the drain. He thought of nothing, felt nothing, and only broke out of the haze when the water grew cold and panic lanced through him at the loss of warmth. He turned off the water, more tired than he could ever remember being in his life, somehow managed to stand up on wobbly legs, wearily slid back the shower curtain - and froze.

Since he'd been in the shower so long that the water had gone cold, the mirror had also de-fogged, and he found himself unwillingly confronted with the specter that he had been hoping to avoid - his reflection.

Before he'd been captured, he'd scavenged for food and found himself eating something mostly every day, so he'd been nourished but always hungry. After he'd been taken, however, any meals - and he used that word lightly - were few and far between. They'd fed him just enough to keep him alive. He could see now from his emaciated frame that they had still essentially starved him. He'd been Gunmar's prisoner for what felt like years, but it had to have been a week at most.

Still, close to a month without a reliable food source had done its work: He'd always been skinny, but now he could see, fully defined, every rib. Any muscle mass, lean though it might have been, that he'd gained during his training was gone, his arms weak and frail looking. His armor had protected him from extensive physical damage all the times that he had been beaten or tossed around like a soccer ball, but his whole torso was mottled with bruises of all colors, shapes, and sizes, all in different stages of healing. A good deal of them were centered over his ribs, and he winced as the pain that had been his constant companion flared up. He wondered vaguely if he needed to see a doctor. He wouldn't be surprised if Gunmar had cracked a few in one of his rages. He cast the thought aside - how would he explain the state he was in? - and turned abruptly from the horrible, somehow shameful image of his battered body and quickly dressed in the pair of pajamas Toby had let him borrow. They would have swallowed him whole on a normal day, but now they made him feel tiny and breakable and pathetic and weak, and he only kept them on because he hated the way he looked underneath even more.

He offered a simple "G'night," to Aaarrgghh before falling into Toby's bed, expecting to fall asleep the instant his head hit the pillow.

To his surprise, and to his irritation, sleep refused to come. He couldn't get comfortable. The bed was too soft, the blankets too warm, and the moonlight making its way in between the cracks in the curtains toyed with him, tickling his eyelids with the suggestion of light and making it impossible to fall asleep. There were none of the noises he'd come to grow accustomed to, either - no faint buzzing of the magically reinforced bars holding him in, no tromping footsteps of the guards, no click-clacking of goblin claws or snorts or whistled operas or snarls or distant, echoing screams…

In the end, Jim tossed and turned, sick with fatigue and enraged at how cruelly sleep evaded him. He finally, mercifully fell into a restless, nightmare-filled slumber around five in the morning, but even the worst of the dreams didn't wake him, exhausted as he was, and he was trapped back in the Darklands, suffering torture after torture at Gunmar's hands, until he woke again eighteen hours later, on a cot in Troll Market.

He had been moved there at dusk the next day when his coma-like slumber pressed on and his friends, who had not realized the extent of his injuries or exhaustion, grew worried. Vendel had examined him while he slept, expertly bound ribs that had indeed been cracked, and performed all the healing rituals and magic he knew to be safe for a human. Even so, he'd warned Jim, who felt numb and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, it would be a week before he could even begin to regain his strength and pass as his old self, and longer for him to truly be back to the same physical shape he had been in before he'd gone to the Darklands.

And so Jim stayed in Troll Market, under Vendel's care, for another eight days, while Toby got to put on a magical mask and pretend to be him and have his life and hug his mom. Jim tried not to be bitter about it, but it was hard. Blinky and Aaarrrgghh spent all their spare time with him, and Claire and Toby came to Troll Market after school every day and kept him company until they were expected home. Jim talked to them, laughed hollowly, took the homework they gave him, and then retreated within himself as soon as they had disappeared out of sight.

It will be better soon, he kept telling himself desperately. I just need to get out of Troll Market, go back home, get back to my normal life. Once I'm feeling better and things are back to the way they were, it will be like I never left.

Once again, he was very wrong.

***

In the weeks that followed his re-emergence into his real life, Jim discovered very quickly that the life he had left was either very different than he had remembered it to be, or that he himself was very different than he had once been. He supposed both might be a little true.

Being in his mother's embrace was the only thing that felt completely safe and normal after his return. He didn't care that she had just grounded him; when he finally saw her again, he hugged harder and longer than he could ever remember doing, and he had felt better, more like himself, until he'd tried to go to sleep that night and the cold returned. The next morning, he had attempted to do his usual routine like nothing had ever happened, but even that familiar motion felt hollow and the smile he flashed his mom before leaving for school barely concealed the emptiness just beneath the surface.

Other than that first hug, everything else around him, including his friends, school, good food, trolls, even his mom - all things he had coveted during his time in the Darklands - were strange and foreign to him.

Claire and Toby, though they did their best to be understanding and supportive, were obviously thrown off by his sudden mood swings and sullen attitude. They seemed distant and somehow unfamiliar, and Jim found himself feeling awkward around them, unable to figure out what to talk about or why he should laugh at the joke Toby had just made. Didn't they understand that none of this really mattered? There was so much darkness and pain and fear just beneath the skin of this world, and if they scratched the surface just a little too deeply, it could break loose and destroy them all. So he did what he could to avoid these awkward moments all together, and barely noticed the hurt and disappointment blooming in their eyes as he shut them out and walked away.

He'd thought school would be a great return to normalcy, but everything about it grated on his nerves. Even the cheers as he returned to campus - Congrats on beating Jim Lake Disease! - made him feel claustrophobic. He barely held it together anytime Steve cornered him, his heart racing madly in his chest like it wanted to escape, with or without him. The teachers were demanding, the sound of the lockers made his head ache and reminded him too much of the sound of a cage door slamming shut, and once, when Coach had grabbed his arm to show the class proper movement for a volleyball serve, raw, animal fear had overtaken him, and he'd flipped the teacher onto his back and scurried, terrified, under the bleachers. He barely remembered it, except for the pain in his chest, the short, insufficient puffs of breath, and Claire finally coaxing him out after class dismissed and herding him to the nurse. It was a panic attack, she'd said, eyeing him with concern, and had he had any drastic life changes, any unusual stressors? He lied, because he couldn't do anything else, and she told him to consider seeing a counselor anyway.

"Maybe the nurse is right," Claire said on their way to Troll Market that evening. "You're obviously struggling with this. Maybe you should go to counseling, or something." Her voice was soft and soothing, like she was talking to a wounded beast. Perhaps she was.

Jim laughed, a harsh, cold sound that stopped his best friends in their tracks. "Oh, sure, I'll just do that," he said sarcastically, hating himself as the bitterness dripped from his lips like an overflowing witch's brew but unable to stop the words or the emotions that spawned them. "I'm sure there's plenty of shrinks out there that can help me with my troll-induced trauma."

One of the things he'd missed the most was food - good food, not soupy nightmare-creature eggs or slimy soup made from monster meat that was probably not good for humans but that he had scarfed down on the rare occasion that Gunmar had deigned to feed him. Now, he ate because it was expected of him, but he barely tasted the food. Even his favorite recipes were like ash in his mouth, and cooking didn't bring him the pleasure it once had.

If Claire and Toby were baffled by his behavior, their confusion was nothing compared to that of Blinky and Aaarrrgghh, his two closest friends and trainers in Troll Market. Blinky had fretted on more than one occasion that perhaps they had brought home a changeling Jim somehow, not the real one. After all, Jim Lake, Jr. was kind and funny and fun to be around, and this new Jim was brooding and dull and never truly present. Jim saw the worry in Blinky's six eyes and in the anxious set of Aaarrrgghh's jaw, and it saddened him - just not enough to shake him from the waking hell his life had become. Training was a monotonous routine as he gradually built his strength back up, and even Draal, perhaps the least emotionally-inclined of the trolls save for Vendel, found himself hesitantly asking the young Trollhunter if he was okay, if there was anything he needed that might help him feel better. Jim gave him a half-hearted smile, truly touched, but said no. He wasn't sure anything could fix this hole that had been drilled inside of him. It was too dark, too empty, and it hurt too damn much.

His mom had noticed a difference in him too, but she was at a complete loss. Jim tried his hardest to be his old self when he was with her, and being in her company did bring back a spark of his personality, but even so, he saw the concern in her bright blue eyes whenever she looked at him, and he'd seen her at school in conference with Seňor Uhl, and knew that she was trying to get any inkling of what was eating away at her son. Claire and Toby were no help to her, either, for after she had cornered them after school one day, demanding to know what had happened and why Jim was behaving so uncharacteristically, they had taken extra care to avoid her, unable to say or do anything to ease her worry.

***

And so this went on for nearly two weeks before Toby, Claire, Blinky, Aaarrrgghh, and Draal met up with the sole intention of finding a way to bring their friend back. He was suffering so much, and no one could truly understand what he had gone through.

"He clearly has signs of PTSD," Claire said heavily, clarifying for a befuddled Aaarrrgghh: "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"This… order?" Aaarrrgghh drawled, eyes wide in concern.

"Disorder, big guy," Toby corrected, heaving a weary sigh. "It means he's been through something traumatic, and he can't deal with it."

"Well, how do humans usually deal with their trauma and stress?" Blinky asked, always straight to business.

Claire and Toby exchanged knowing glances. "Most of the time, we don't. We just avoid it all together," Claire admitted. "But when someone has been through something like Jim has - extended periods of isolation, being a prisoner, abuse - it's not enough to pretend it doesn't exist." A tear rolled down her cheek and she brushed it away with the heel of her hand angrily. "I knew he'd be in bad shape when he came back," she admitted. "But he was so happy to see us when we rescued him that I thought that maybe he would be okay."

"What do humans do if they cannot ignore this trah-mah?" Draal enunciated the unfamiliar word. It was quite endearing to see such a hulk of a beast with so much concern in his dark eyes.

"Usually, they see a therapist," Toby supplied.

Aaarrrgghh frowned. "There - I - pissed?"

Toby snorted in almost manic laughter. "Therapist," he repeated, still chuckling. "A person who goes to school to know how to help people with their problems and stuff."

"Well," Blinky said, a new light in his eyes, "we shall venture forth and find Master Jim one of these therapists! Then he'll be back to his old self in no time!" He noticed the dubious expressions on the humans' faces. "What? Are the therapists extinct?"

"No," Claire replied. "But Jim was right - he can't talk to anyone but us about what has happened, and he obviously has no interest in talking to us!"

"Yeah," Toby chimed in, "if he went up to a shrink and told them that he had been stranded in a dark, forbidden hellscape searching for a lost child and then was the prisoner of a crazy troll that wants to escape his eternal prison and conquer the overworld… he'd be thrown in the loony bin for sure."

"So it's hopeless." Blinky's arms fell limp at his sides. "We can do nothing to help Master Jim escape the clutches of PDSC." Neither Toby nor Claire bothered to correct him. Blinky continued, "Is there anything else that might help Master Jim? Anyone else that he might talk to that would not throw him in this 'loony bin'?"

Claire opened her mouth to say no, but shut it abruptly, the light of an idea sparking in her eyes. "Actually," she said, the hint of a real smile making an appearance for the first time in a very long time, "I think I have an idea." When six pairs of eyes locked onto her hopefully, she added, "And it might even be a good one!"

***

When Jim got home from school two days after the secret meeting between his friends he was surprised to hear someone bustling about in the kitchen when he opened the front door. His mom worked late on Tuesdays, and anyway, her car wasn't in the drive. He reached his hand into his bag, paranoia growing, and his fingertips had just brushed the curve of his amulet when a tall Asian woman wearing a smart pantsuit limped into sight. His bag fell to the floor.

"Nomura?"

It was odd seeing her in her human form; after spending so much time around her changeling form in the Darklands, he had forgotten that she was quite pretty as a human. "Hello, Little Gynt." Her voice was also much less grating in this shape, but he found he didn't like the softer tones as much anymore.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, picking his bag up and hanging it on the stair rail, though he closed his hand around the amulet first, clutching it tightly in one fist. It wasn't that he didn't trust Nomura - she had proven herself to be a loyal, if reluctant friend - but because he had come to associate her presence in general with danger. If she noticed his cautionary measure, she didn't mention it. "I thought you left," he added as an afterthought.

"I did, but I came back," she replied vaguely. A stab of annoyance shot through Jim, and even the negative emotion came as a relief - he had felt nothing but fear and numbness since returning home. The change was nice, even if it was fleeting.

"Why?" His eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you were worried about me?"

She studied him with dark, serious eyes for a long moment. "I don't worry about anyone," she finally responded.

Jim felt a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. She said this, but he could see beneath the surface now. Their time as prisoners of Gunmar had shown him that there was much more to the changeling than met the eye. He waited for the consuming awkwardness that always set in when he was around his friends to descend, but to his surprise, he continued to feel relatively comfortable around Nomura, more at home than he had in a long while.

"Shouldn't you be in a wheelchair or on crutches or something?" he asked, gesturing to her legs. Normally she wore dresses, so he could only assume that the legs of the pantsuit hid some spectacular bruises. "I thought your legs were really hurt."

"They were broken," she agreed. "But my kind heals quickly." She moved forward slowly, then sat on the couch. "They still need a bit of rest to recover fully, though."

Jim sat down across from her in an armchair. "I can't remember if I ever said - thank you, for believing me, for helping me escape." He paused, eyes on his fidgeting hands in his lap. "For being kind."

"Well, I'm more than just a pretty face," Nomura said, and it was impossible to tell if she were joking or not. After a companionable silence, she asked, "So how have you been holding up, Little Gynt?"

Jim didn't know what it was about her, but something made him want to tell Nomura about sleepless night after sleepless night, about the nightmares that plagued him whenever he finally collapsed from exhaustion, about the cavern that had been dug seemingly overnight between himself and his friends, about how he either felt nothing or everything at every moment, about how loud footsteps made him anxious and how physical touch - except hugs from his mom - made him want to wither into himself or run away screaming, about how he had had all these expectations about what life would be like on the other side of Killahead Bridge, and how none of them had come through. He gave her a weak smile, and said, "I'm fine."

An undefinable expression flitted across the changeling's features. "Yeah, kid," she said finally. "I'm fine, too."

***

After that, Jim came home on Tuesdays and Thursdays, his mom's late days, expecting Nomura to be there, because she always was. Sometimes they'd have a cup of tea and sit in silence. Often they'd talk about mundane things - Jim would talk to her about school and his mom, and Nomura would talk about anything from opera to history to art to the strange old man who had flirted with her at the laundry mat Sunday night.

These visits, as ordinary as they were considering she was a changeling and he the Trollhunter, slowly seemed to draw more of the old Jim back out into the light. Talking to Nomura was different than talking with his friends; perhaps it was because she had been there with him in the Darklands, had suffered alongside him at the hand of Gunmar. And the more he talked to Nomura, the easier it was to talk to his friends, too. Slowly, the cavern that had been dug between him and his friends, troll and human alike, began to shrink, and he laughed aloud at a stupid pun Toby made at lunch, and he didn't retreat into himself every time a locker slammed. Still, there was a barrier between himself and his real life, the one he wanted back more than he could express but that was always just out of reach.

He found himself actually complaining to Nomura about this three Tuesdays after he had first found her waiting for him in his home. "Toby spent weeks wearing a magical mask and pretending to be me and to have my life," he said. "Sometimes I just wish that I could put that mask on and be me again too."

Nomura was quiet for several seconds, and then she told a story that seemed to be very much off topic: "When I was a child, I was told stories of the human world. It was a wonderful place, full of light and life and the sun…"

"What does this have to do with-?"

"Shut up and let me talk." When Nomura told you to do something, you did it or risked life and limb. So Jim wisely shut up and let her continue. "I grew up longing to go to that world, to see the sun and to feel the warmth and the light. The surface world was a fairy tale, and I was a little girl who grew up in the dark. Nothing else could have spoken to me more.

"But when I was finally given my chance to come into the world, to take the place of a little Asian-American girl named Zelda Namura, I was separated from my parents and my home, all alone in a world I did not understand, and it didn't matter how much I had dreamed of the sun, it wasn't what I had expected at all.

"Adjusting was… difficult. It was not until the human body I had replaced had grown older and was taken by her family to the opera that I found something that connected me to this world, something to enjoy, something of beauty. But it wasn't until I met another one like me, here in Arcadia, while under the employ of Bular, that I truly felt at home."

"Mr. Strickler," Jim realized.

"Yes. There's something very special about talking with someone - even if it's someone you're not crazy about - that understands you, where you've come from, and what you've been through."

"Is that the moral of this story?" Jim asked, partially touched, partially exasperated. "Are you trying to tell me that talking to you is going to make all of this go away because we've been through the same thing?"

Nomura shrugged. "Who knows? I just think it's a good story. You can take what you want from it."

Jim smiled.

And then everything, like water pushing relentlessly at a weakening dam, broke.

***

Jim could never remember crying the way that he did that evening. He didn't think he was sad, exactly, or hurt, or even angry anymore - he was just exhausted and overwhelmed with everything that he had gone through but kept to himself. The fear and humiliation of his capture, the paranoia that his friends were never going to trust him after he betrayed their them and went to look for Enrique without them, anxiety about Gunmar and the paralyzing horror every time he wondered if there was any way he could have followed them out of the Darklands, how he was having trouble connecting with the world he'd always known, the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the numbness and terror that followed him interchangeably, the way that every touch to his arms sent him back to his prison, being dragged painfully between two trolls strong enough to rip him in half with one swift yank…

He talked and cried and had no fewer than two panic attacks, and Nomura just sat there quietly all the while, watching with an unreadable cocktail of emotions in her eyes. When he had finally quieted, his heart feeling both emptier and lighter than it had since before he had made his journey to the Darklands, she simply handed him a packet of tissues she had packed in her purse and asked, "Better?"

He offered her a sniffle and a watery smile, unable to speak anymore, too stunned to fully process what had just happened. She stayed by his side, just being there, until his mom's headlights shone through the blinds. She would climb out the bathroom window and into the night.

Jim slept peacefully that night. If he had bad dreams, he didn't remember them.

***

It was a slow process, even after the cathartic conversation with Nomura. Jim slowly found himself acclimating more and more to his old life, with friends, school, home life, and even troll hunting becoming things to look forward to rather than dread. Loud noises and unexpected touch still startled him, but he was able to ground himself more easily now. He fell into a routine very similar to the one he'd had before, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Cracked ribs, bruises, and cuts healed much faster than emotional scars, but at least he knew, in time, he would be okay. He was acutely aware that nothing would ever be exactly the same as it had always been, though. What he had gone through was something no person, no teenager especially, should have to experience. And while he had entered the Darklands of his own volition, none of what had happened to him there was his fault (at least that's what they told him; it would take a long while to truly believe that himself, but that knowledge, like everything else, would come in time). He had been isolated in the dark, on the run, hunted, captured and held in deplorable conditions, starved and beaten, forced to fight for his life, and nearly broken beyond repair, but he had made it this far.

Things might never be as they were, but he could forge a new path from here. He could grow stronger, adapt, overcome, and prove to Gumnar, to his friends, to troll kind, and to himself that he was more than what had been done to him. He was more than pain and trauma and helplessness and fear and rage.

He was James Lake, Jr., Jim to his friends, the first ever human Trollhunter, the son of Barbara and student of Blinky, Little Gynt, and even, he supposed, Buttsnack. Some days he would only feel like some of these things. On bad days, he wouldn't feel like any of them.

But he wouldn't forget the truth. He wouldn't lose sight of who he was so completely, not again. And, if by some horrible twist of fate he did, he knew now that he had an odd but utterly complete assortment of friends - humans, trolls, and even a couple of changelings - who would help him fight his way out. Out of the Darklands. Out of the past and pain and dark recesses of his own mind.

And into, as cliche as he knew it was, the light.

#trollhunters #tales of arcadia #jim lake jr #fanfic #angst #whump fic #emotional whump #ptsd tw #depression tw #panic attacks tw #nomura #seriously there's no way this kid escaped the darklands without being traumatized af #so i fixed it #here's my take on how it could have gone down realistically #poor jim #jim whump #emcatwrites

[chocoships]

Egoshiptober day 2: Shared item

Pairing: Antihero, no au (or at the very least domestic)

Summary: Anti is slowly going mad because of boredom but thankfully Jackie is there to fix it.

Anti was walking aimlessly through the house, bored out of his mind. The sound of his footsteps was the only sound resonating in the house. There was nothing for him to do, everything that he could think of to occupy his time seemed unappealing too. He wasn’t in the mood for chaos, his regular targets for such urges were all out of reach anyway, but he wasn’t feeling up for his more reasonable hobbies either. Crochet and puppet making was fine, but without a creative drive or the right mindset behind it, it could be more of a frustrating chore than anything else.

A scowl was fixed on the face of the glitch as he stopped by a window, staring outside. The weather seemed to also reflect his mood, or at the very least influence it. The sky was an apathetic shade of grey, completely uniform with no nuance and stretched far beyond the horizon. A constant drizzle had also accompanied the depressing grey sight for the entire day, bringing with it an uncomfortable breeze of wet coldness in the air. 

Couldn’t it have stormed instead? 

Anti would have greatly preferred hearing the incessant drum of the rain, thrown against the windows and roof with such force it resembled more of a waterfall, accompanied by deafening thunder and strobing flashes of lights in the distance. This, or anything else really, would be far more better than the current forecast, which was only good for creating an endless amount of boredom for the glitch.

Anti walked away with an irritated huff. This day so far had been greatly underwhelming; he needed something to do quick or he’d most likely go mad. He continued on with his directionless pacing, restlessness slowly morphing into frustration with each crawling minute. But, as the glitch passed in front of the living room, it all came to a stop. He stood frozen in place, his scowl mostly lessened. Anti carefully backtracked his few last steps, right up until his head could peek through the doorframe of the open room. His gaze immediately zeroed in on the thing that had seized his attention.

He didn’t know how he could’ve missed it this entire time but there, laying on the couch with his eyes closed, was Jackie. 

His toned arms rested behind his head, acting like a makeshift pillow that wouldn’t interfere with the headphones he currently wore. That might explain why Jackie looked so peaceful, probably resting in a good compromise between sleep and wakefulness, even though the increasing sound of Anti’s wandering had echoed all over the house.

The sight alone brought a small smile to Anti’s lips, breaking his irritated frown for the first time today. A few minutes passed where he only stared at the slow rhythmic rising and falling of Jackie’s chest as he breathed. The hero looked so serene, so comfortable, and most importantly: irresistibly enticing. He was wearing one of his oversized hoodies, one that Anti had stolen and smugly worn in front of him numerous times, and in this exact moment he didn’t want anything more than to be enveloped in that warm softness.

A bit of cuddling with his Jackie might be what he needed all along to save him from this restless boredom that buzzed under his skin. 

But if Anti was known for something it wouldn’t be for his reasonable choices in how to approach any given situation. 

Jackie was brought out of his almost, but not quite, asleep state when a sudden weight seated itself on top of his legs. He opened one bleary eye with a low questioning hum, a tired smile forming on his face as the sight of Anti’s face came into focus. The glitch was perched atop of him, staring with something in his eyes that Jackie’s weary mind couldn’t fully grasp.

“Heyyy gorgeous,” Jackie slurred while he yawned, “what’re you doing?”

Instead of answering, Anti stayed silent as he slid his hands under the hero’s hoodie. Jackie couldn’t help the tired giggle that escaped him when the featherlight fingers brushed across his skin.

“You’re really warm, you know that?” Anti stated, relishing in the overabundant warmth that radiated from the man under him. Jackie raised an eyebrow at this, but other than that didn’t seem to be very concerned about the oddity of Anti’s behavior.

“Thanks? But for real, what are you doing?”

“Nothing much, really,” Anti sighed, glancing toward the window for a short second before staring back into Jackie’s curious eyes. “Today just honestly sucks ass, so I’ve decided to tap out and make it your problem instead,” He purred, a look of pure mischief fixed on his face.

“Uh? What’s that supp-” Jackie barely had the time to ask what Anti meant. He was abruptly interrupted mid-word when fabric was suddenly shoved in his face and his partner’s weight shifted from his thighs to his chest. Weak protests tumbled out of him as Anti shimmied his way into his already oversized hoodie.

“Wait, babe, stop! You’re going to stretch out the fabric!” 

“Well too bad, you should’ve known better than to lounge defenseless in plain sight!” Anti’s muffled voice replied. Jackie could feel his warm breath climbing up his skin, leaving behind a faint tickling sensation.

“This-” Anti exclaimed, his head popping out of the hole right next to Jackie’s, “-is our hoodie now!” His hair was a mess, sticking in all directions and probably loaded with static electricity, but Anti had a smug grin stuck on his face nonetheless. Jackie rolled his eyes as the glitch settled down against him, but an undeniable fondness was clear in them. They were now lying chest to chest. Anti slid his arms to rest under his shoulder blades while the hero positioned his atop the glitch’s lower back. Jackie knew how to recognize a losing battle when he saw one, once Anti decides to get comfortable there’s no use in fighting back, so he might as well get comfy too.

“You know, if you wanted to cuddle you could have just said so. I could’ve brought a blanket or something instead of ruining my hoodie,” Jackie said, no real animosity or resentment present in his tone, only a light teasing.

“Oh shush, it was already big on you. What difference will a size or two make?” Anti nuzzled his face into the crook of Jackie’s neck, taking in the comforting warmth and scent that he’d grown to love. “A blanket wouldn’t have been the same anyway. I like being close to you like this,”

“You also like being a bastard, though,” Jackie mumbled into the glitch’s hair, his eyes slowly falling shut as his previous drowsiness came back to him. Anti’s weight on top of him seemed to lull him further into it.

Anti chuckled against his boyfriend’s neck, relishing in the small shiver that it elicited from him. “Oh yeah, that too for sure. But it’s part of my charm, isn’t it?”

A low hum coming from Jackie was the only response that he received before the house slipped back into silence, content instead of restless like before.

#egoshiptober #egoshipping #ego shipping #antihero #choco's writing

[one-boring-person]

Unexpected Resistance. (Part Three)

The Terminator (1984) x OC

Warnings: gun usage, violence, death

Context: The T-750 and the T-800 have a brief encounter.

A/N: I apologise for taking so long to update this! I will try to write more of it in a shorter span of time so that it's not so stilted, so please bear with me 😅💛

Edited and Co-written by: @jawline-of-steel

Masterlist

Sarah winces as she watches the T-750 break yet another pair of handcuffs, the cyborg easily snapping each metal loop off from around her wrists, dropping them to the floor and returning her hands to her sides, standing rigidly once more. The policemen surrounding her frown and murmur amongst themselves, one of them going to lock her up once more, forcefully lifting her hands into position behind her, cuffing them together tightly. Emotionlessly, the terminator simply breaks free again, staring at the men around her as they go to draw their weapons, her eyes momentarily fixing on the detective, who has called out to them to stand down. 

From across the room, the T-750 makes eye contact with Sarah, keeping a constant visual on her target so that she doesn't miss anything, as is her directive. Her HUD registers a minor threat from the officers around her, but she follows the orders given previously by Sarah, which stated that attack is not a viable option. Flashes of data appear on the display, her inner CPU processing this at lightning speed, informing her system of everything that is occurring, providing accurate information on all necessary happenings in the room. With no real source of information regarding Kyle Reese, the T-750 is left to make the conclusion of his temporary safety, or capture at the hands of the humans in the police station. None of them, however, are willing to reveal his whereabouts or his current status. Considering this, the logical process of data that follows this acknowledgment is then as to the whereabouts of the pursuer coming after her primary objectives. Once again, white lines of text and encrypted data flood the HUD, the processors deciphering it and creating a realistic outline of the T-800's possible movements. A new directive is formed: locate and subdue the target.

Returning to the present, the T-750 registers that her target has moved away into another room, leaving no visual for the Terminator to track. Keeping a blank expression, the cyborg begins moving forwards, aiming for the door at the far end of the room, which has the highest possibility of being the chosen exit route for Sarah. Almost instantly, the cops around her jump into action, pulling their weapons and levelling them at her, one of them demanding that she stop, though the words go unregistered as orders in the T-750's CPU, the lack of obedience to this man meaning that she simply pushes him out of the way.

Just as she does this, a deafening crash echoes up the hallways, the sounds of splintering wood and tumbling bricks, as well as smashing glass and squealing metal all mixing into one crescendo of noise. The T-750's head snaps round, visual processors fixed on the origin of the disruption, the registered threat-level on her HUD spiking when gunshots begin to tear through the shocked silence that has filled the room. A new course of action is swiftly planned on her display, changing her route of travel so that she is now headed directly towards the point of conflict, where screams and cries of pain are now very audible.

Stepping out into the hall, her head rotates from side to side to determine the most efficient path. Her body turns in accordance and she begins striding down the corridor to her left, easily catching up to a police officer who is running in the same direction, an automatic assault rifle clutched in his hands. Firmly, she takes it from him, ignoring the shout of protest as she continues on, cocking the weapon with practiced efficiency, taking off the safety and placing a finger over the trigger. Returning all priority to the corridor ahead of her, the T-750 moves towards the ever-increasing sound of gunshots and screams, barely registering the sudden lack of clear light as the overhead bulbs are compromised, a new line of code flashing across her HUD:

_COMBAT_MODE_ENGAGED_:_AWAITING_TARGET_IDENTIFICATION_

As this function is activated, all secondary objectives are fazed out of her immediate recall system, only primary directives registering as important and referrable. Statistics for the rifle in her hands appear to the left of her vision, probability for success showing on the right, though this is mostly neutral at present, due to the largely unknown identity of the current threat. Turning a corner, however, she soon corrects this.

Bodies are strewn through this new hallway, blood pooling around them all as they lay there, some still alive, barely, breaths ragged and pained, eyes wide and terrified. A sparking circuit box is set into the wall a little way away, the door torn off and the wires emitting sharp cracks of electricity every few seconds, the systems evidently having short-circuited due to an overload of energy. The T-750 observes this and moves on, stepping over whimpering men as they clutch at her boots, hoping either to stop her walking into certain death, or to get help from her, neither of which she has any inclination of abiding to.

The gun clicks in her hands as she lifts it a little, prepared to shoot at the unknown threat as she rounds another corner, her visual sensors honing in on one particular person standing at the end of the corridor.

_TARGET_ACQUIRED_

The words are quick to register before she has depressed her finger on the trigger, bullets ripping from the muzzle of the deadly weapon. They tear into the back of her target, holes appearing in the tight leather of the coat. The wearer spins on his heel to address the source of this new attack, guns raised in an offensive manner. As his processors register the T-750, however, the T-800 pauses momentarily, his HUD having performed a automatic scan for hidden threat, her cybernetic nature is revealed to him instantly. In this brief moment, the other cyborg fires off another round of bullets, the damage registering on his display as minor, though the attack does catch his CPU off guard, due to the unexpected attack from a seemingly allied opponent.

Lifting his weapons, he shoots back at her, aiming to disable the other cyborg so that he may decipher what has influenced the programming of her CPU, every shot levelled at her abdomen, where there are no vital energy cells, so as not to induce permanent damage. As is usual with the terminators, she does not flinch or show any recognition of pain, maintaining a continuous onslaught of bullets, creating some more serious damage to his left shoulder, though the cybernetic joints of the limb are left intact due to their ability to deflect the majority of these aged bullets. Humans in the future were quick to realise that regular bullets have no impact on the killing machines, as the ammunition just crushes itself against the hyper-alloy endoskeletons.

The T-800 begins walking down the corridor towards the inferior model, shielded eyes fixed on her as he continues to shoot, only tossing aside the weapons when they run out of ammo. At this point, her own rifle seems to deplete it's rounds, the gun now in the process of being reloaded until the cyborg realises that her opponent is too close for firearm usage in any case. Throwing the gun down, she moves to meet the T-800 half way, expression as blank as his. Internally, the T-800 tracks the distance between them; six metres, five metres, four metres…

At three and half metres, he notices her remove a glove, the movement slow and calculated, the revealed hand turning to conceal itself slightly, closing into a fist so that he cannot determine anything from its current state.

At two point seven-five metres, he has formulated his own course of action.

The two lunge at each other, the T-800 grasping the smaller model's arms and throwing her to the side as his sunglasses go flying from his face to reveal missing skin and flesh around his eye, the sphere of metal now fully visible. Her body smashes into the wall, a large dent appearing in it as she slides to the floor, the T-750 attempting to get back up again, only to be picked up by her enemy and slung into the opposing wall again, the sound unbearably loud as support beams and bricks crack and falter under the immense weight. Scrambling to regain control of the situation, the female cyborg rolls onto her back and kicks out at the approaching killer, only to find her leg caught in a vice-like grip. Effortlessly, the T-800 uses this hold on her to swing her round into the wall once more, before bending down to pick her up by the throat, slamming her up against the very surface he just threw her into.

"Your model is registered under Skynet files as a decommissioned series. You have no place here." The T-800 states emotionlessly, face remaining unchanged.

"Your files are correct, I am a decommissioned series, but my mission parameters state that I must be in this time period, and so your secondary statement is incorrect." She responds, tonelessly, one hand coming up to grasp at the arm holding her captive.

"What is your mission? There is no record of any second Skynet model required for this objective." 

"I am not a Skynet operative. I am a Resistance soldier."

The T-800's expression doesn't change, but his HUD begins running through every possible reason for this new response.

"That is not possible. You are Skynet technology." He finally states, tightening his grip around her throat.

"You are incorrect. It is entirely possible. I was developed and recreated by Skynet, but was captured and reprogrammed by the Resistance. I am no longer required to obey Skynet orders." As she says this, a sudden commotion interrupts them.

Both heads snap round, visual processors fixing on Kyle and Sarah as they stumble round the corner, only to come to an abrupt halt when they see the two cyborgs. Instantly, the T-800's targeting sensors flash in recognition, prompting a need to move on his located target, his grip tightening considerably around the T-750's throat, feeling her no longer useful to him.

"Leave the building. Now!" The inferior model suddenly calls out to them, her own mission objectives kicking in, "Get out of the city as quickly as possible! I will find you!"

The two humans nod, eyes wide as they race off back down the corridor, the T-800 going to follow, only for his head to be grabbed by the T-750, one of her hands on either side of his face. HUD flashing, he is forced to turn to her, his display registering a sudden pressure at the base of his right ear, minor damage appearing as she digs a finger into the vulnerable spot. His CPU finally works out what is happening and engages his defence mode, his grip constricting around her throat more.

The exposed metal finger of the T-750 pierces the soft skin, entering the port just below the endoskeleton's upper jaw joint. A transmission of electricity crosses between them, the identical charge of this energy neutralizing the superior model's own impulses, causing a system-wide temporary shutdown.

The T-800's eye widen minutely.

#terminator imagine #terminator 1984 #terminator #arnold schwarzenegger #linda hamilton #michael biehn #t-800

[yandere-romanticaa]

In the dark of the night.

Was this fic needed? No. Am I still going to write it...? Yes! Based of a drawing of Fyodor taking the place of the Joker from the DC universe. If you guys liked this let me know, because I have another idea.👀

"This just came in, another bank robbery happened today at the Gotham City Bank! We have reasons to believe that the culprit is none other the Joker, or if we go by his civilian name, Fyodor Dostoyevsky..."

"Another attack from the terrorists happened today at 17:00 at the park..."

"They're everywhere, and the police aren't doing shit! How are we gonna-?!"

Turning off the TV, the (h/c)ette frowned at the news. There was no escaping these stories, was there? They were everywhere! Every single day something had to happen and someone always got killed in the process! It was depressing really... What a sad world this was. People killing eachother on the streets, the endless crimes were just suffocating. (y/n) had no idea how she was even alive by this point but she just kept moving foward. She loved this city, she really did, but boy did it have its problems.

Getting up from the sofa, she grabbed her jacket and purse. She was feeling hungry and knowing that there was nothing in the fridge, (y/n) decided that the best thing to do was to go to the nearest grocery store and to buy some groceries. She locked her door and made her way out of the building. She walked down the dimly lit streets of Gotham city, the warm rays of the setting sun tingling her skin. She had no clue in just how much danger she was in this very moment as a pair of eyes stared at her from the distance.

"Your little mouse has left her den, boss."

"....thank you, Goncharov~"

♡♡♡

The sun had fully set when (y/n) had gotten to the store. She opened the glass door to see the cashier reading a newspaper, not really paying attention to her. She shrugged him off as she grabbed a basket and walked down the isles. The bright lighting of the store was almost too much for (y/n), but it was nice to be out of the apartament. She had been stuck inside her home for the entire day due to work related issues. Now, she could finally relax and have a nice evening.

Entering the ceral isle, she looked at the many diffirent cereal boxes, wondering which one she should take. All of them looked wounderful to her, although some were a lot more sugary then other. Before she could reach out her hand to grab a box, an odd sense of dread came over her. Something felt... wrong somehow. She felt like she was being watched, like someone was burning holes at the back of her head. She turned her head at both sides of the isle and was met with utter silence. The lights of the store lightly flickered, giving the entire situation an even more eerie feel. Her hands felt cold as she could still feel that stare, but for the life of her she just could not find out where it was coming from. Without even thinking, she quickly grabbed a couple of things and left the store in less the five minutes.

Oh, how little did she know that her life was going to change so drastically from that evening forward.

♡♡♡

Ever since that night, the constant sensation of being followed had become an all to familiar feeling to (y/n). No matter where she went she always felt watched, like this other person was sizing her up, studying her to see how she would react. Several of her co-workers had mysteriously vanished without a single trace and (y/n) worried that she was going to be the next target. All of those news reports came back to her, how the Joker and his gang kidnapped innocent people for their own gain. She was no longer the happy, bubbly girl everyone knew but now she was slowly turning in to a frightened and catious individual who never dared to step foot out of her door after dark.

It didn't help that she lived in a somewhat dangerous area of the city, and that she was alone. Her friends were always scattered and she always had to walk alone in the dark. No matter where she went, (y/n) could never seem to find peace. Her workplace, with her friends, at the mall, in her home... She felt violated, this constant feeling of being watched was far too much for her. She didn't understand why this was happening, but then again neither did the culprit.

Fyodor was never the type for love and romance. He had a dream, a dream of cleansing this world and all of the sinners within it. But somewhere along the line, someone had caught his eye. This rather odd girl who went by the name of (y/n). She fascinated him but he was also confused. Why was he feeling like this? He was a God, he was supposed to be stronger then this damn it. How was one little girl able to make him feel so weak, so human? And yet again, he wanted her all for himself. He wanted to see what makes her tick, he wanted to hear her cries for him and him only. The big bad villian of Gotham city had falled in love but Fyodor would never say that. His ego simply wouldn't allow it. Then again, that isn't really going to stop him from getting (y/n). He was slowly making her his own, day by day he was one step closer. He got rid of all of his rivals, her bills were somehow "overdue", she almost never had electricity now and was having trouble with work.

Yeah, she was going to be homeless in no time.

♡♡♡

Just like that, in a mere two months (y/n) had lost it all. Her family, friends, home, money, everything was just gone. She had no one to turn to, nowhere to run. The landlord had kicked her out of her apartment which meant that she was forced to spend the night on the streets. Tears pricked (y/n)'s eyes as she looked around. The street was dark and there were almost no people around. The cold winter wind danced across (y/n)'s frame as she shivered. The moon had risen long ago and it felt oddly comforting despite her situation, almost as though the gentle moonlight was trying to comfort her, that she was going to be safe.

But that couldn't be further from the truth.

Far away in the darkness lurked danger, a danger (y/n) never anticipated. Hungry violet eyes watched her shaky form walk down the street as he spoke to his men. He gave out the orders, and they would follow them to the end.

"My, my Fyo, you sure do have good taste~!"

"Quiet Kolya! If you don't shut up we'll be spotted..."

Fyodor raised his gloved hand in the air which in turn caused complete silence. That didn't stop the clown from grining from ear to ear though. His boss was plotting and it was always entertaining to see him be so serious. They all moved out, quietly following (y/n). They stuck closely together like a pack of wild mice, never letting her out of their sight. Fyodor felt excited, dare he say happy even. His little mouse was so close, she was going to be his for all of eternity. No longer would the sinners of the world taint her innocence as he would keep it all to himself. Who knows, he might just toy with that innocence he oh so adores...

After a bit of walking, (y/n) stopped in front of a dark alleyway. Honestly, could things get anymore perfect? He mirrored her footsteps like a shadow as she remained oblivious to his presence. The poor girl was tired, all she wanted was to just sleep. She hoped, begged God for all of this to be some kind of nightmare. That the Joker wasn't real, that he wasn't wreaking havoc in her beloved city, that she hadn't lost all of her friends, her home...

Fyodor was mere inches away from her now and with lightning speed, he grabbed a syringe from his pocket and pricked (y/n)'s neck with it. She gasped in horror, placing her hand on that same spot. The drug was strong, which caused (y/n) to lose her balance in mere seconds. Looking up she was met with a sight she never wanted to see. That evil grin, those twisted violet eyes... It was everything the girl wanted to avoid and yet here he was.

The devil himself had decided to take her.

Cold and short breaths escaped (y/n)'s frosty lips as she tried to fight the drugs, but whenever she tried to lift a finger it just would not move. Soon enough, shadows and whispers were all around her as she felt herself beibg carried away. Wicked giggles and horrible smiles painted her vision as her poor mind turned numb and black.

The Joker had won. He was proud to say that all that hard work and patience had been worth it. He had his little darling in his arms and for a second, everything just felt... perfect.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere au #dc au #yandere dc au #joker fyodor #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd #yandere bsd #yandere bungo stray dogs x reader #yandere fyodor dostoyevsky #yandere fyodor dostoyevsky x reader

[wiltedeyesandtwistedlies]

What are the inattentive symptoms of ADHD?

Before I answer, it’s important to acknowledge that not everyone experiences ADHD the same way. I came up with this list through hours of extensive research, but I still explained each one based on how I experience them personally, because I wanted it to be an honest and accurate resource.

Now, I experience every inattentive symptom of ADHD severely. As well as most hyperactive type symptoms, but not nearly as severely. Hence why my explanations are on the severe side. So if you don’t experience every one of these, or you don’t experience them exactly like this, that doesn’t mean you don’t have ADHD.

Most Commonly Known Symptoms:

Inattentive ADHD is pretty much the same thing as hyperactive ADHD but with less hyperactive tendencies. So technically these symptoms apply to both, but ADHD has a few more that won’t be listed here.

• Inability to focus on disinteresting or unengaging tasks even if you need or even want to – As if your brain physically won’t let you. Because that’s exactly what’s happening. There is no, “Just do it because you have to.”

For real. Imagine a video came where you’ve reached the end of the map and there’s that invisible barrier to keep you from going any farther. But all the other players are passing it just fine. They look at you like you’re crazy and can’t believe that you can’t get through. But it’s literally IMPOSSIBLE.

Now apply that to easy individual movements or tasks like plugging in your charger right next to you or washing a few bowls.

• Focusing WAY too much on this single thing whether you like it or not. It’s called “hyperfixating” and it’s both the most exhilarating experience in the world and the most soul crushing. You can watch/do nothing else, consume nothing else, think of nothing else. It’s exciting and invigorating. But as soon as there is no more material/info about it to devour, existence is gray and meaningless. The adrenaline rush and laser focus are like nothing else, but the crash is just as intense.

• Inability to divert attention to something different when you're already focused on something else. (More of a product of the two above, really)

• Inability to organize or maintain a neat system. It’s not that we don’t have a system (because we do, and if it’s altered in the most miniscule way we will know and we will be furious) but that our systems tend to be more about ease of access. It looks messy, but everything is just easily reachable instead of tucked away in drawers or hidden in organizer bins.

“Out of sight, out of mind.” As soon as we can’t see it, or we get used to it and it becomes a background visual (like background noise but for your eyes), it no longer exists. Until we see it again we have never seen it before either.

• Emotions are forceful and kinda scary. Lacking the ability to regulate emotions means violently strong feelings. They can sweep you away and leave you stranded in an uncomfortable predicament. Major highs and lows as well as strong grudges and emotionally based actions.

• Distractability: There’s this stereotype that all people with ADHD are hyper airheads who cut off mid sentence to shout random shit like “SQUIRREL!” whenever they see something remotely interesting. They’re super excited about it and HAVE to let everyone know, no matter what they were doing before. It’s kind of the “cutesie” version that the media portrays a lot. Most ADHDers don’t actually fit this stereotype.

However, stereotypes are often based on true characteristics, even if they have been twisted into a sick joke or a cruel portrayal.

NOTE: There is nothing wrong with this form of ADHD. It just sucks that if you don’t match this stereotype, no one really believes you have ADHD. Also that so many people use it to insult and bully people with ADHD, even if that isn’t how they display their symptoms.

Lesser Known Symptoms:

Basically if these are #relateable, you probably have ADHD.

• Unable to conceptualize time in any way. Will this take two minutes? Three hours? No one knows! You thought this would take a half hour at most and it’s taken three! How?? This was a five-minute task and you’ve just realized you zoned out. It felt like two seconds but it was two hours!

• There is only Now and Not Now. Again, it’s a time thing. The future always seems so far away that it's almost like it doesn't exist. "Time is a construct" is something I often say because I have no sense of time passing, having past, or will pass. People describe me as "living in the present.” But that’s only because I forget that there is a future or that time is moving. I just don't think about it at all and when I try to it's impossible to understand and it feels made up.

• Sensitive to any form of rejection, actual or perceived. A friend texts you back, but they don’t sound nearly as enthusiastic as usual. You immediately tear your message apart to try to find what upset them and how you can make it up to them. Because surely that’s what that nontypical period means? You want to curl up in a hole and never come out, never face the horrible thing you’ve done to a treasured friend. Intense fear and sorrow mingle into all consuming guilt. The kind that makes you wish you’d never met them, just so they wouldn’t have to be hurt by you now. All because they added a period.

Everyone with some form of an anxiety disorder will recognize this. But it’s also a very common ADHD experience. This is in part because anxiety is SUPER likely to be comorbid with ADHD. But we also have Rejection Sensative Dysphoria. Which basically means we’re ridiculously sensitive to the slightest possibility of the barest chance that we maybe might receive a sliver of perceived ambiguous rejection. To the point where we cut off good relationships for seemingly no reason because we’re too afraid to even speak to them again, much less explain our emotions that we know are irrational but can’t help. The guilt and regret are too agonizing, the fear to face them too much.

• Reading is AWFUL. We’ve already established that attention is not your friend. Unfortunately, that makes it difficult to read blocks of boring text. The information could be good, it could be fun even. But if the format is too uniform and plain, it’s impossible to get past the first few sentences. You just keep rereading the same line over and over, realizing every time that you zoned out halfway across. It’s infuriating and very sad. It also makes studying an absolute nightmare.

Many people actually don’t have this experience. They hyperfocus on their reading or their schoolwork so it isn’t a problem. I was the same way until college and now I can’t even read a little recipe card without zoning out. But it’s a very common experience nevertheless so I listed it anyway.

• Ringing ears, hearing electricity. This is one I just heard about. I haven’t been able to actually research this one, but it’s interesting and every ADHDer I know has confirmed it so I’m adding it. ‘Cause I’ve had constant ringing since I was old enough to talk. And I’ve always been able to hear power lines, household appliances, wires inside the walls, all those varying vibrating hums and crackling pops. It’s one of the weird quirks that “run in the family.” Just like Tinnitus and all ADHD symptoms. Apparently, MANY people with ADHD have similar experiences.

• Negative stimming. Things that negatively stimulate your senses. After encountering a certain stim, you feel it physically. It causes a sensation that hurts, in a way. It shouldn’t, logically. But your body’s reaction is to pain. This includes foods you can’t eat because the texture is wrong. Clothing you can’t wear because you can easily breath but no you really can’t because the collar sits wrong against your throat. Sounds that make your spine stiffen or skin crawl. Bright lights or colors that don’t affect anyone else but make your head ache.

Stims and sensitivity can affect any and all senses. A certain smell, agitating fabrics, an unbelievably smooth stone, specific tastes and food textures, certain color combinations, particular sounds/pitches/volumes, et cetera.

• Positive stimming. The other side of the sensory coin. Things that are exceptionally pleasant to your senses/stimulate you positively. For example, the way light shines through a transparent bright blue gem. Watching the light catch and twist so fluidly when you move it takes your breath away. There’s a euphoric feeling to it, and you can’t look away. It’s too pleasing. It’s like a deep satisfaction you can physically feel throughout your whole body, emanating from deep within your chest. You never want to stop that feeling.

Personally, it feels like my chest is somehow much deeper than it actually is. And at the farthest, deepest part is where that satisfaction settles. Nothing else can ever reach that hidden, impossibly deep cavity. It’s so amazing, I never want it to stop. It can feel like that endless pit is starved, and the stim is the first sustenance it’s ever had so it never what’s to let it go.

• Forgetting supposedly unforgettable things. Like where the fuck I parked my car. Also what my car looks like. It’s blue right? It has a hatch. I accidently memorized the license plate (complicated story) but I can’t tell you what model it is?? Is it even in this parking lot? I’ve never parked anywhere else but my memory is obviously garbage so now I need to check every parking lot just in case.

End Note:

It’s important to know that ADHD has many symptoms that overlap with other nuerodivergencies such as autism or ASD. Executive dysfunction can be caused by a number of mental illnesses such as depression and anxiety. Emotional regulation problems can look just like Bipolar disorder and vice versus.

My point is, every symptom could actually be something else. It’s really easy to be misdiagnosed because they all have such similar symptoms. I know someone who thought they had ADHD for years, but it was actually a mix of severe depression and anxiety that fucked with their working memory (as both depression and anxiety do). Someone else I know was diagnosed with manic depression and thought they might be bipolar, but it was undiagnosed ADD the whole time.

#cassidy talks once in a while #info about everything adhd #add #add symptoms #adhd symptoms #add info #adhd info #add information #adhd information

[lxvesickreality]

fix you

Request: Bucky x reader just absolute raging angst with the promise of a happy ending? ✨♥️

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of suicide

Word Count: 1866

Add on: song being used is called Fix You by Coldplay 

gif is NOT mine, credits to owners

Please do not read if easily triggered by talk of suicide and dark pasts. If you are feeling in that way at all even if you didn’t read this, my inbox is always open and you can private message me anytime. 

When you try your best but you don't succeed

When you get what you want but not what you need

When you feel so tired but you can't sleep

Stuck in reverse

You never had an easy childhood and you had no role models to look up to as you grew. Your parents got into a fatal car crash on the way to get induced to have you since your mother was almost two weeks past her due date. You almost didn’t make it because your mom was dying quickly. You were born on a street that 12 minutes away from the hospital and you were taken away from your mother the minute you came out. Your parents passed away that night. As you grew up, you were told this story by many social workers that made you jump home to home to live with foster homes. It devastated you and sent you to a dark place.

Many homes you grew up in weren’t very nice to you. When you were 8 years old, you were struck by the male figure in the house for not finishing your peas on your plate. He called you ungrateful, selfish, and even a bitch. You were sent to your room that was as small as a bathroom. Each time your social worker came, they put on a front and wouldn’t let them know you lived in a small room, not in the normal sized bedroom like they said. From 8 years old to 13, you lived in that place until you were able to get on the phone with your social worker to explain what had been going on. You left the next day to a different home. The next couple of years was like that until your 15th birthday. You found a home where they wanted you and made you feel welcomed by embracing you with open arms. They adopted you and gave you a better chance at an education so you can do what you wanted. You had everything you had ever wanted but something wasn’t right. You would try your damndest to show how happy and appreciative you were to find someone like them because you knew kids in the foster system either never made it out or stayed in a really bad home until they were considered an adult. You just missed your family.

You ended up in a really dark place by your 16th birthday. You caused your adoptive family a lot of money with the therapist and psychiatrist they provided you with. They knew how sad you were. Who wouldn’t be sad? What they didn’t know was you were depressed and developed PTSD along the way. Your psychiatrist put you on several different medications to help you stay focused in school, let you sleep properly, and feel okay for once. One day, you tossed and turned all night because that day was really bad for you. It was your birthday and though your adoptive family went all out for you, buying you a car and your own laptop so you could write down your thoughts, you were feeling weighed down. You felt sorry that you disrupted their lives and blamed yourself for it. You continuously would blame yourself for your parents’ death. You should’ve felt happy but instead it felt reversed so you did something you regretted; you took half the bottle of antidepressants.

When the tears come streaming down your face

'Cause you lose something you can't replace

When you love someone but it goes to waste

What could it be worse?

The person who wanted you to call mom came to check up on you when you unexpectedly left to go to bed at 8pm a few weeks after you attempted suicide, she caught you crying into your pillow. Her heart clenched at the sight of a girl she desperately wanted to be her daughter. She wasn’t able to have kids so she felt incredibly lucky to have you by her side. Your sobs were loud enough to draw her husband and their small Cockapoo, Pilot upstairs so the small family of theirs comforted you in every way they possibly could. 

You told them, “I feel so alone. I miss my parents. I barely even knew them but I remember the safeness and security I felt around them. I was a baby, a newborn and they passed away. I didn’t even get to know them.” they wanted to know more but didn’t want to push you. You eventually continued, “The first family I lived with was a good family. I lived with them for 5 years I believe and it was so great. I was loved but they told social worker back then they no longer wanted me. Their explanation was they finally got pregnant. With twins! Three kids were too much so they let me go. I lost a family I loved but I guess they didn’t love me back, you know? It just went to waste. When I got to my first abusive home, I lost a part of my self-respect that day and I never got it back. I lost so much the first time that asshole struck me. He made me think the worst of myself at 8 years old up until I was 13. Did you know he beat me till I passed out because I started my period for the first time?”

You went on for awhile and they all listened to you until you fell asleep on your adoptive mother’s lap while she stroked your hair gently to get the knots out. That day was memorable for you because you started to feel more loved. 

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

At 18, you felt different. It was as if you had this electricity surging through you dying to get out and to be used. You didn’t know what it was until you got into a fight with someone on the street for trying to pay you for a certain action no one in their right mind would want to do to some random old guy. He was found dead in the morning inside of a dark alley you dragged him to. Their diagnosis was that he was killed by 12,000 volts of electricity which must’ve been from the telephone pole near him. The police didn’t think anything of it but you did then a few days later, S.H.I.E.L.D. found you. It seems as your adoptive parents knew exactly what was going on. You became an agent that night with every intent on controlling and managing your powers. They called you Carmina, Latin word for electro. 

Years rolled by in a blur but time stopped when you met him. 

But high up above or down below

When you are too in love to let it show

Oh but if you never try you'll never know

Just what you're worth

Bucky Barnes was in no way perfect, in fact he was probably the most imperfect guy on this entire universe. His past was dark and foggy to him but he knew what had happened, of course, he did. Nobody would forget the murders they committed and he didn’t wish to be a part of anyone’s life. He barely let his best friend back in because of the things he did to him and his team but you were the most unique, gorgeous person he had ever met. He didn’t know what drew him in, maybe it was the sweet smile you gave everyone that you knew and didn’t know; or the twinkle in your eye when you talked about something you were very passionate about; maybe it was the same mutual darkness in the back of your brain that matched his. It was something and it made a change for everything. 

You were the first to ask him out. It was a pretty big risk for you seeing as you didn’t trust people very often given your past but he had something separating him from every guy you’ve ever met. He was perfectly imperfect to you. Oh god was he imperfect. It just made you fall even more for him. 

You both were very closed off people making it difficult to talk to one another without giving too much information about yourselves but you were a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent so you had a file. Bucky didn’t think twice to look at it and you did the same with his from H.Y.D.R.A. You both weren’t ready to mention the files you took a peek at because you wanted it to be told in your own way from the heart so it took a while to warm up to each other but eventually you did and it was epic. You fell head over heels in love with each other from one date, the very first date. But the moment you opened up was tragic.

5th date and you were crying but he didn’t understand why. Your past was nowhere near as bad as he was yet you felt like you were barely worth anything. He didn’t understand why you were crying so hard because you worth everything so he told you his past in bits and pieces. You cried in each others arms together, comforting and kissing each other to make yourselves feel better. You felt happy and content to find someone who loves you for you and vice versa. 

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

From the very beginning, you felt unlucky and like you were bad luck because nothing good ever happened to you. Your parents passing away was the beginning of a tragic story or that’s what you thought before you found your adoptive family. The loneliness and constant worry about yourself followed you every home you went to. Your depression was something you never imagined you would have and it was the worst thing you imagined. You would never wish that upon your worst enemies because that was real and it controlled everything you did. You didn’t try to kill yourself because of it, you did it to get away from the pain and you were so lucky to still be here because you wouldn’t have died feeling loved. You would’ve died feeling sad and alone. You weren’t alone. You survived. 

Bucky Barnes helped you through your journey of recovery after dropping your therapist and psychiatrist for good. He and your family guided you through the tunnel that you couldn’t see in. Your family taught you to love. He taught you to open up. Life wasn’t all that bad anymore. You weren’t unlucky nor were you a bad charm to anyone. You started that way but it didn’t define who you were. 

Bucky and you tied the knot 6 years of being together and had the biggest family. You felt at peace. That’s what life wanted you to have. It just gave you a dark tunnel in the beginning and you found your way through. You were finally happy. 

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier imagine #the avengers #the avengers imagine

[yeosanqtuary]

with u - pt. 12

☆ - list of chapters

☆ - all content are fictional.

“jongho.”

--

san took a deep breath as he stopped in front of the apartment door, raising his hand to the keypad lock. the door unlocked successfully and was pushed open, only to reveal wooyoung sitting on the dining table, working on his homework with hongjoong. 

ah... he didn’t expect to see him immediately when he entered the apartment!

what should he do now?

“oh, hey san. wanna join us?” wooyoung asked as if nothing had happened that afternoon, smiling brightly at him like he always did. 

“a-ah, well, s-sure,” 

“okay! let’s work on our history homework together!”

san nodded and smiled back awkwardly, retreating to his room immediately. 

he was such a dumb ass! why didn’t he just ask to have a moment with wooyoung? how long are you gonna drag this for?

he gathered his materials quickly and stepped into the living room, but hongjoong wasn’t there anymore. maybe he went back to his room?

san awkwardly took a seat opposite wooyoung and set his materials down, accidentally exerting too much strength when he placed his pencil down, causing it to roll off the table. 

wooyoung saw that and immediately dove his hand down the table to grab it, groping around for the pencil. san too had squatted down and was reaching for it, but wooyoung had grabbed his hand instead. 

he immediately pulled it away, as if he was afraid that san might bite, but it was the total opposite. 

“s-sorry,” mumbled wooyoung after he had regained his posture. 

“it’s nothing. thanks for the help! let’s start, shall we?” san stood up and sat down on the tall bar chair, only to almost fall off. seeing this, wooyoung burst out laughing, even though it wasn’t really funny. he doubled over in laughter when san regained his balance but almost fell off again. 

“s-stop laughing! it ain’t funny!” san’s cheeks had turned five shades of red in embarrassment. he buried his face in his arms on the table, secretly enjoying the attention wooyoung was giving him. plus, the way he laughed... the way his laughter was filtered into a melody in his head...

“haha! okay-hahah! f-fine, let’s start for real now,” wooyoung finally managed to contain his laughter and started focusing on the worksheet, but the scene just kept replaying in his mind. 

he ignored the constant replays for almost two minutes, but as soon as his eyes fell onto san’s figure, he erupted in giggles and eventually started laughing loudly. 

“hey, it isn’t that funny...” san whined with an agonized look on his face, feeling like the dumbest ever. 

“i-i’m sorry! it’s just... it’s just-pfft!” wooyoung giggled a few more times and finally stopped, picking up his pen as he took a deep breath to calm himself down. "okay, let's start. share your answer with me when you're done!"

"you too," san replied and the two boys started focusing on their assignment.

eventually, the sounds of their pen and pencil scribbling against the paper filled the quiet living room as the two became engrossed in completing their work. however, like a spell was cast on them, their focus didn’t seem to last and after a short while, their thoughts had drifted to the same place: my soulmate.

san was the first to put down his pencil. he looked up from his paper and leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. wooyoung noticed his action and looked up too, only to find san staring at him with a smile on his face. he thought that he would want to see his smile every day and blushed at that thought. how nice would that be!

san inched closer as he saw that wooyoung had went back to working on his paper after looking up at him. he was probably feeling shy, san thought. he’s cute when he’s shy.

“h-hey, what are you doing? hurry u-up and finish your work so we can check it together,” wooyoung finally gave in to san’s antics and thus, forgot everything that he wanted to write on his paper. damn it, i had a lot in mind... but i don’t care, since i’m with you.

his cheeks had flushed red again. well not really, since it was already a light shade of red from the start. why was he feeling so much like this today? it was indescribable. he just felt more... happy and lively today. like he wanted to pounce onto san and not let go of him for as long as he could. damn, he could hold on forever, too, if only san wanted him too...

“wooyoung? wooyoung! woo! young!” san’s calls had snapped wooyoung out of his thoughts. he felt so embarrassed to have been daydreaming about san in front of san himself. with that, his cheeks flushed a few shades deeper than it already was. 

“what’s with you today? you’re especially cuter,”

“n-no i’m not! s-stop calling me c-cute...”

san chuckled a little, but sighed afterwards. “wooyoung. i need to tell you... ah, no, we need to talk. wait, no, i mean-”

“mm, i get it already. what’s wrong?” it was wooyoung’s turn to chuckle and think that he was cuter than usual. 

“it’s about, um, that incident during lunch period,” san had spoken the words slowly, observing wooyoung’s expression as each word left his mouth.

"ah... right, i have something to say about that, too. but you go first," thankfully, he didn't seem to avoid the topic or seem uncomfortable with it.

"okay," san took a deep breath. "s-so... what happened was that i had my soulmate pain and yeosang had brought you over. i didn't know why he did it then, but after you touched me, it was clear as day,"

"then, i grabbed your hand and told you that we were-"

"soulmates?!" wooyoung exclaimed, cutting san's sentence off.

"y-yeah. judging from your reaction after you had snapped out of your trance after i told you, it seemed like you hadn't heard it at all, so..."

"san, san! i had a vision! or maybe even just a dumb daydream, that we were in a grass field, with a calming breeze, fresh air and all! you told me that you've finally found me and that we're, we're soulmates!"

san was shocked. what wooyoung experienced was indeed a vision, not a daydream. he had read online that individuals with conditions would experience a vision when they find their soulmate. however, this would only happen once in a blue moon. you could say that wooyoung is very lucky.

seeing that san had this... horrified(filtered by wooyoung's mind) look on his face, wooyoung felt his heart drop from a mountain. a lump had formed in his throat and drops of tears slid down his soft, rosy cheeks.

"w-what's wrong? was my vision actually a dumb daydream? a-am i not your soulmate after all? am i... no, will i ever... find a soulmate? s-san, i t-think you mistook me for someone else. i could never-"

seeing wooyoung like this totally broke san's heart. he didn't want to hear anymore of those words. immediately, he went over to wooyoung and took him into his warm embrace, gently stroking his back.

"wooyoung-ah. i haven't mistook you for anyone else. that wonderful feeling, that electricity that shot through my body when you touched me, that voice in me screaming that you were my soulmate. plus, i'm sure my indicator is red right now,"

wooyoung flinched when he heard the last sentence. he released the hug and looked for a red indicator.

"!!!"

indeed, it was red.

"someone else could've touched you at the same time as i did..." he was feeling depressed again.

"hold on, before you think of anything ridiculous! i've read about an article regarding visions. apparently, those with conditions can experience visions! but it's a once in a blue moon thing. since your vision was about us, then i'm sure it is the vision. so, neither of us have mistaken anything. you're my soulmate, and i'm your soulmate,"

"r-really..." wooyoung sniffled, "i'm glad..."

san smiled and raised his hands to his cheeks, wiping his tears off.

"there, there, don't cry. you've finally found your soulmate,"

"saaaan!!! i really, r-really-hic-like youuu! i'm so happy. i'm so glad my soulmate is you!"

with his hands still cupping wooyoung's cheeks, san leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

"i like you too, wooyoung,"

they embraced each other for a few more minutes, while a certain couple had walked in and accidentally stepped on san's abandoned assignment. it had found its way onto the floor, right in front of the door.

"ah... see, joong? i told you we should've came back later!"

"damn, sorry hwa. but i needed to take a shit and there weren't any appropriate public toilets i could've shat in,"

anyway, san didn't even notice the two elders. he was too engrossed in thinking. thinking about their future. they would get a job after graduating high school, rent an apartment and adopt a cat or a dog, maybe. wake up to each other's faces... wow, the life. and maybe... spicy nights? damn...

"san? san... d-do you wanna go get, um, i-ice cream?" wooyoung had calmed down and realised he had been running his snot and tears all over san's shoulder and he kinda wanna compensate that.

san had no idea why but it seemed like he could listen to what wooyoung was thinking, even though he wasn't speaking at all.

"ah, you wanna compensate me? no worries," he smirked and proceeded to sweep wooyoung off the floor and headed his room.

"a-ah, i-i'm not-"

"what are you thinking?" he chuckled, gently flicking his forehead. "change your clothes! i'm gonna go change into mine, too. we're gonna get ice cream. you're paying!"

damn, i'm not dreaming, right?

#ateez #san #wooyoung #hongjoong #seonghwa #woosan #seongjoong #high school au #soulmate au #transmigration #ateez au #kpop au #fluff #bxb #kpop #ateez fanfic #fanfic #kpop fanfiction

[yasbxxgie]

Surviving ‘stressful process’ of being black male African-American men quietly combat negative stereotypes about them

Keith Borders tries hard not to scare people. He’s 6-foot-7, a garrulous lawyer who talks with his hands. And he’s black.

Many people find him threatening. He works hard to prove otherwise.

“I have a very keen sense of my size and how I communicate,” says Borders of Mason, Ohio. “I end up putting my hands in my pockets or behind me. I stand with my feet closer together. With my feet spread out, it looks like I’m taking a stance. And I use a softer voice.”

Every day, African-American men consciously work to offset stereotypes about them — that they are dangerous, aggressive, angry. Some smile a lot, dress conservatively and speak with deference: “Yes, sir,” or “No, ma’am.” They are mindful of their bodies, careful not to dart into closing elevators or stand too close in grocery stores.

It’s all about surviving, and trying to thrive, in a nation where biased views of black men stubbornly hang on decades after segregation and where statistics show a yawning gap between the lives of white men and black men. Black men’s median wages are barely three-fourths those of whites; nearly 1 in 3 black men will spend time behind bars during his life; and, on average, black men die six years earlier than whites.

Sure, everyone has ways of coping with other people’s perceptions: Who acts the same at work as they do with their kids, or their high school friends?

But for black men, there’s more at stake. If they don’t carefully calculate how to handle everyday situations — in ways that usually go unnoticed — they can end up out of a job, in jail or dead.

“It’s a stressful process,” Borders says.

Melissa Harris Lacewell, a political scientist at the University of Chicago, says it's at the heart of being a black American male.

“Black mothers and fathers socialize their sons to not make waves, to not come up against the authorities, to speak even more politely not only when there are whites present but particularly if there are whites who have power,” she said.

Chess in the real world

“Most black men are able shift from a sort of relaxed, authentically black pose into a respectable black man pose. Either they develop the dexterity to move back and forth, or ultimately they flounder.”

It’s a lot like a game of chess, says 43-year-old Chester Williams, who owns Chester Electric in New Orleans. He has taught his three sons, ages 16, 14 and 11, to play.

“The rules of the game are universal: White moves first, then black moves,” he said. “Black has to respond to the moves that the whites make. You take the advantage when it’s available.”

Twenty-year-old Chauncy Medder of Brooklyn says his baggy jeans and oversized T-shirts make him seem like “another one of those thuggish black kids.” He offsets that with “Southern charm” he learned attending high school in Virginia — “a lot of ’Yes, ma’ams,’ and as little slang as possible. When I speak to them (whites), they’re like, ’Hey, you’re different.”’

Such skillful little changes in style aren’t talked about much, especially not outside of black households — there’s no reason to tip your hand. As Walter White, a black sales executive from Cincinnati puts it: “Not talking is a way to get what you want.”

Coping strategies

He recalled that, “as a child, we all sat down with my mother and father and watched the movie ’Roots,”’ the groundbreaking 1970s television miniseries tracing a black family from Africa through slavery and into modern times.

The slaves were quietly obedient around whites. “But as soon as the master was gone,” he said, “they did what they really wanted to do. That’s what we were taught.”

Historians agree that black stereotypes and coping strategies are rooted America’s history of slavery and segregation.

Jay Carrington Chunn’s mother taught him “how to read ’Whites Only’ and ’Negro Only’ before she taught me anything else,” said the 63-year-old, who grew up in Atlanta. “Black parents taught you how to react when police stopped you, how to respond to certain problems, how to act in school to get the best grade.”

School is still a challenge, even from an early age.

Last year, Yale University research on public school pre-kindergarten programs in 40 states found that blacks were expelled twice as often as whites — and nine out of 10 blacks expelled were boys. The report did not analyze the patterns, but some trace it to negative views about black boys.

Perception: Young males = public enemies

Black male children are often “labeled in public schools as being out of control,” said Lacewell, who studies black political culture and wrote “Barbershops, Bibles, and BET: Everyday Talk and Black Political Thought.”

“If you’re a black boy who is smart and energetic and always has the answer and throws his hand up in the air,” she said, “you might as a parent say, ’Even if you know the answer you might not want to make a spectacle of yourself. You don’t want to call attention to yourself.”’

Bill Fletcher still has nightmares about his third-grade teacher, a white woman who “treated me and other black students as if we were idiots,” he said. “She destroyed my confidence.”

But his parents were strong advocates, and taught him to cope by having little contact with teachers who didn’t take an interest in him, said Fletcher, former president of TransAfrica Forum, a group that builds ties between African-Americans and Africa.

As black boys become adolescents, the dangers escalate. Like most teenagers, they battle raging hormones and identity crises. Many rebel, trying to fit in by mimicking — and sometimes becoming — criminals.

“They are basically seen as public menaces,” Lacewell said.

Counting the casualties

Rasheed Smith, 22, a soft-spoken, aspiring hip-hop lyricist from the Bedford Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn, recently tapped his long fingers, morosely counting his friends killed in neighborhood violence in the last five years — 11 in all. Few spent much time beyond their blocks, let alone their neighborhood. Some sold drugs or got in other trouble and had near-constant contact with police.

Smith has survived by staying close to his family. He advised: “With police, you talk to them the way they talk to you. You get treated how you act.”

Twenty years ago, Carol Taylor’s teenage son — now a lawyer — was mugged twice near their Brooklyn home, but police officers “treated him like he had done the mugging,” she said. She wrote and self-published “The Little Black Book: Survival Commandments for Black Men” filled with tips on how to deal with police: keep your hands visible, carry a camera, don’t say much but be polite.

“Don’t take this as a time to prove your manhood,” wrote Taylor, a retired nurse and community activist who said she’s sold thousands of the pocket-sized, $2 books.

And more general advice: “Learn to read, write and type, and to speak English correctly. This is survival, not wishful thinking. If you are going to survive in America, go to college!”

One selective business program at historically black Hampton University in Virginia directs black men to wear dark, conservative suits to class. Earrings and dreadlocked hairstyles are forbidden. Their appearance is “communicating a signal that says you can go into more places,” said business school dean Sid Credle. “There’s more universal acceptance if you’re conservative in your image and dress style.”

Corporate communications

One graphic artist says he wears a suit when traveling, “even if it’s on a weekend. I think it helps. It requests respect.”

But in the corporate world, clothing can only help so much, said Janet B. Reid of Global Lead Management Consulting, who advises companies on managing ethnic diversity.

Black men, especially those who look physically imposing, often have a tough time.

“Someone who is tall and muscular will learn to come into a meeting and sit down quickly,” she said. “They’re trying to lower the big barrier of resistance, one that’s fear-based and born of stereotypes.”

Having darker brown skin can erect another barrier. Mark Ferguson has worked on Wall Street for 20 years. He has an easy smile and firm, confident handshake.

“I think I clean up pretty well — I dress well, I speak well — but all that goes out the window when I show up at a meeting full of white men,” says Ferguson of New Jersey, who is 6-foot-4 and dark-skinned. “It’s because they’re afraid of me.”

“Race always matters,” said Ferguson, whose Day in the Life Foundation connects minority teenagers with professionals. “It’s always in play.”

The smile factor

Fletcher knows his light brown skin gives him an advantage — except that he’s “unsmiling.”

“If you’re a black man who doesn’t smile a lot, they (whites) get really nervous,” he said. “There are black people I run across all the time and they’re always smiling particularly when they’re around white people. A lot of white people find that very comforting.”

All this takes a toll.

Many black men say the daily maneuvering leaves them enraged and exhausted. For decades, they continuously self-analyze and shift, subtly dampening their personalities. In the end, even the best strategies don’t always work.

“I’ve seen it play out many times” in corporations, said Reid of Global Lead. “They go from depression to corporate suicide. Marital problems can come up. He loses all self-confidence and the ability to feel manly and in control of his own fate.”

Sherman James, a social psychologist at Duke University, studies how the stress of coping for black men can damage the circulatory system and lead to chronic poor health. Black men are 20 percent more likely to die of heart disease than whites, and they have the highest rates of hypertension in the world, according to the National Medical Association.

What doesn't kill makes you stronger

The flip side, black men say, is that many learn to be resilient. Ferguson recalls when a new Wall Street colleague, minutes after meeting him and hearing he grew up in a housing project in Newark, N.J., asked if he had been involved in “any illicit activities” there. He shrugged it off.

Over the years, as he has earned promotions and built client relationships over the phone, he has learned to steel himself for face-to-face meetings — for clients’ raised eyebrows and stuttered greetings when they see he is black.

“It just rolls off our backs — we grin and bear it. You can’t quit,” he said, sighing heavily. He vents his frustrations to mentors and relaxes with his wife and young children.

“Then you go back,” he said, “and fight the good fight.”

Photographs

Rasheed Smith, 22, pauses in a talk about his life during a visit to a cafe in the Bedford Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn, N.Y. Smith, the son of immigrants from the Caribbean island of Barbados, has survived life in the tough neighborhood by staying close to his family

Karrym Ferguson, a 10th grader at Central High School in Newark, N.J., listens to Mark Ferguson during his June 13 visit to the school. Ferguson, a Wall Street financier who grew up in Newark and attended the same school, established the Day in the Life Foundation to help students succeed

#code switching #amerikkka #racism #white supremacy #black men #carol taylor #the little black book: survival commandments for black men

[pubtheatres1]

ONE GIANT LEAP Brockley Jack Theatre 2 – 27 July 2019 “That’s one small step for man…” Neil Armstrong INTERVIEW WITH WRITER & DIRECTOR OF ARROWS AND TRAPS THEATRE, ROSS MCGREGOR LPT: Hello Ross, We’re rather pleased to have another chat with you about your company, the award nominated Arrows & Traps but also wanted to grill you a little bit on your new writing, ONE GIANT LEAP. How long did it take you to write it? Hi there, how lovely to be asked. I have a somewhat unusual process in that I pitch the idea to the Jack, book the slot, design the artwork / poster, get the show on sale, start selling tickets and only then start writing the script. This is partly due to the quick turnaround of shows and my lack of time between, and also that we have to book these things quite far in advance as the Jack is a popular and sought-after space, but also because I have an issue with self-discipline, and so if I didn’t have a concrete deadline, I think I’d still be tinkering with Frankenstein, a show I wrote and produced in 2017. One Giant Leap is the first completely original piece that I’ve written without a source material, and it took me about two weeks to get onto paper. ONE GIANT LEAP is celebrating the fiftieth Anniversary of the Apollo 11 Moon Landing but it seems you have got your own spin on it. Could you tell us the story in nutshell? Yes absolutely. It’s a comic take on the greatest conspiracy in history. It centres on Edward Price, a producer of a failing 60’s sci-fi show called Moonsaber – which is basically a poor man’s Star Trek. Edward’s life has fallen into a rut, his wife has left him, he’s lost his house to the IRS, and Moonsaber has just been cancelled in its first season. All looks grim, until a representative to President Nixon comes to his door with a suitcase of money and a proposition. The Apollo 11 Moon Landing is four days away, but due to the moon being about a hundred degrees too hot for photographic film; they can get there, they just can’t film it. And what is a massive propaganda exercise without proof that you actually did it? So they ask Edward to fake the footage by any means possible, if he can do it, he can bring Moonsaber back to life for another season, if he fails – he loses everything. Where does the comedy come from? Mainly from the people that Edward employs in Moonsaber. They’re a ragtag bunch of actors, stage managers and technicians, and due to the show being cancelled – they’re falling apart at the seams – it’s down to Edward to keep it all together, to pull off the greatest lie in history, whilst trying to save his marriage, salvage his career, and keep the lies he’s telling intact. It’s a study of the creative industry, a satirical and loving homage to theatre. We’re not trying to say anything serious about whether the moon landing was or wasn’t real, but more provide a raucous night out at the theatre, and keep you laughing about it on the Overground home. Why is it important to offer a lighter comedy in theatre right now? I think, at times, theatre can take itself too seriously, and become too myopic about tackling the dark and dreadful issues that are affecting society – I’ve lost count of how many shows there are about Brexit playing right now – and whilst that’s great, and admirable - speaking for myself, after the last year I’m sick of the darkness, I’m bored by the constant stream of depressive updates about the rise of the Right, I can’t engage with it, the European elections gave a victory to nationalists, we gave a state visit to a racist, homelessness is at an all-time high, and we’re literally cooking the planet to death. There are sometimes when I just want a great night out and forget how scary the world seems right now – laughter is the best medicine – not as a retreat, but a reminder of the good in us, of the joy, of the light. As the company is repertory, you’ll be working with some actors you know very well. Did you have any of them in mind when you were writing the script? I certainly wrote two of the eight roles with long time company members Will Pinchin and Lucy Loannou in mind. And whilst yes, the roles are tailored to suit both of them - I did write the roles of Howard and Alchamy to stretch and challenge Will and Lucy, because I’d never seen them play characters like that. Will is nothing like Howard, and Lucy isn’t at all like Alchamy, but in way, they’re made for those roles, and for me, they’re perfect choices. I do like working with the same actors repeatedly, it is true, because you build up a short hand of technique and approach, but also you build up a trust. The actors in the company come in on day one, sort of knowing what to bring me, and what kind of vision I’ll probably have, since my style is something of a constant, but also I’m able to, as their director, cast them in roles that perhaps play against type, or test their flexibility and skillsets. I’m not an actor, but if I were, I’d hate to play the same roles every time, to only get the “intense one” or the “dopey one” or the “awkward one” – I’d want to think I could play anything that was thrown at me, and I think our rep system allows for experimentation and exploration. What has been the hardest part of the whole process to date? We’re only in the first week of rehearsal, so nothing too taxing thus far. Hands down, the hardest part of a comedy is when you’ve rehearsed it so much you no longer find it funny, at which point we need an audience. One Giant Leap hasn’t hit that point yet, obviously, but I think most comic work benefits from the response and energy an audience gives. Theatre can be electric when you have that to play off, but in terms of where we are – One Giant Leap’s greatest challenge is the analysing of why something is funny, and making sure it’s that way every time. It’s all about timing. For many years I laboured under the misapprehension that stand up comedy was just a funny person being funny with a microphone, that was until I saw Dylan Moran do the same set twice in the space of three weeks. He has a very casual, off the cuff, almost improvised way of performing, and I assumed that it was just his natural charisma and quick wit, until I saw the set the second time, only to find it was identical to the first. All the pauses, the stresses, the tangents, the quips, all of which was honed, polished and a work of precision. It was funny because he’d worked out the best way to get the laugh, every time, and that’s beyond art, it’s science, it’s music. Traditionally Arrows and Traps have produced a selection of brilliantly adapted classics, including Dracula, Frankenstein, Crime & Punishment and Anna Karenina. Have you got a soft spot for one of them? I loved the breathlessness and breadth of Anna Karenina, the precision and murk of Crime & Punishment, the thrill and gothicism of Dracula, and the humanity and pang of loss in Frankenstein. I think my favourite adaptation, if I had to pick one, is probably Frankenstein – but that’s purely subjective, and there was something about the biography of Mary Shelley, which we incorporated into the show, that really spoke to me – in the sense of a creator and a creation, a parent and child, a sinner and the terrible revenge. You’ve also got THE STRANGE CASE OF JEKYLL & HYDE coming up at Jack Studio in September. Your adaptations of the classics have been Arrows and Traps main focus, so does ONE GIANT LEAP herald a shift away from this? No, in fact because I know the next season of shows, One Giant Leap is perhaps the anomaly. Our work normally has a dark bent, we favour drama with funny lines as opposed to an out-and-out comedy. We’ve only ever done one full comedy before, The Gospel According To Philip back in 2016, so this is something of a return to that. I knew that the company was changing, and wanted to make a swansong to the current phase of work, I had originally planned for it to be TARO but that story ended so sadly, I wanted the last one to be lighter, more celebratory – there’s something inherently amusing about the various tropes you usually get in the theatre world, and so I thought a comedy would be a fitting homage to where we’ve come from, and a clean break to where we want to go next. The company has been going from strength to strength, what are the things of which you are most proud? Mainly, that we’re still going. Most theatre companies on the fringe don’t make it to their third show, we’re on our seventeenth. Part of that is sheer stubbornness, there have been points where any rational person would have thrown in the towel, but there was always something in me that would never bend, never break, never give up. It’s part ambition, part not wanting to fail, part wanting to make my father proud of me, part bloody-mindedness, part theatre-addiction. I think production-wise I’m most proud of The White Rose, to what that achieved, all the five star reviews and the Best Production Offie-nom, but of course I’m also very proud of the other twelve times we’ve been nominated for Off West End Awards, the relationship we’ve built with the Jack, the bond I have with my creative team and my casts, and just the fact that people seem to like the work. It’s still always funny to me when a reviewer calls us “critically-acclaimed” or “renowned rep company” – to me it’s just me, telling the stories I want to tell, with people I want to work with, you don’t always think about how it looks from the outside. I’m just producing the theatre I’d like to go and see. It was rumoured that you would be leaving fringe theatre for other careers, partly because of problems with funding. Was there are truth in that? Absolutely! And in a sense, this is still completely true. I am indeed done with fringe. I think I got to The White Rose in 2018 – where we got the Offie-Nom for Production, we had eight 5-star reviews, four 4 star reviews, we’d completely sold out, and done it the cheapest way possible, and we still didn’t break even. Which was very hard to take, and forced me to face the truth – you cannot hope to attain best practice ITC rates for your casts / creatives / yourself if you only do 15 shows in a 50 seater and you don’t have subsidising support from an arts grant scheme. It just isn’t possible. So I made the decision to stop producing work. Now obviously, with the shows being booked so far in advance, there were still three productions upcoming in the diary that I had to honour. But knowing I was quitting, and that this was the end for me, was too hard to bear - ultimately I had to face the fact that theatre is my life, and I could never leave it – so I had to find a way to make it work financially, not just for myself but for everyone else in the company, particularly the actors who are so often completely screwed over in fringe, and often end up working for nothing. Which is where the idea to change the model came from. Shrink the casts and sets to a more tourable model – 14 people down to 4 – and engage a tour booker to take the productions out of London to larger spaces that could widen the potential revenue. The Jack is our home, and we will always premiere all our shows there, but then we will take them into the provinces. The vision is still the same, adaptations of literary work, and biopics of iconic figures of history, but the remit and scale of the endeavour has changed. I don’t see it as an ending, just a moving from one phase into another. But yes, absolutely, the 8-10 handers, movement-heavy, ensemble, big music, huge shows – this stage in our trajectory is ending with One Giant Leap, and whilst I see why it has to end, a part of me is sad to see it go, because there was something so wonderful about doing a massive 15-hander like Three Sisters. Are you one of those people who is meticulously planning the future? Yes indeed, because really we have to plan ahead in order to book the shows with the venues. We’re doing One Giant Leap next month, and then move to Jeykll & Hyde in September, both at the Jack – and then Hyde goes on tour for about six months, with an opening of our next biopic Chaplin coming about halfway through the run in February. Because I’m overseeing contracts, and touring plans, and writing the scripts as well as casting each show and most likely directing each one, I need to know where we’ll be and when we’re doing it – I’m trying to build a book of shows, a repertoire that is constantly touring, moving forward, and ever-evolving – reaching more audiences, and engaging with new communities. In the meantime, we can’t wait to see ONE GIANT LEAP. Could you give us a little flavour of what’s to come? In terms of shows after One Giant Leap, we have Jekyll & Hyde - a dark, political thriller set in a post-Trump America – a gritty examination of the corruption of power, then Chaplin – which tells the story of the 20th Century’s most famous clown, documenting his path to becoming the iconic Little Tramp – and his meteoric rise from Victorian poverty to Hollywood fame. After that, we’re bringing back one of our most successful productions of 2017, Frankenstein, revisited and rewritten for a more tourable model, and then a biopic of Marilyn Monroe, called Making Marilyn, which covers the Norma Jean origin portion of the star’s life. After that – who knows? I’ve always wanted to tackle Madame Bovary – and I’d like to bring back TARO as it was one that I was particularly proud of in terms of its style and poetry. Finally, your shows at Brockley Jack are becoming legendary, it’s a great partnership. What are the things you’ve learnt about theatre whilst working at Brockley Jack? So much. The Jack has been a great place to develop my approach to stagecraft, and how to tell stories as clearly and engagingly as possible. Since we joined the Jack, we’ve built a vision of the style we want to have, and how we approach each difficulty, or tricky moment to stage, how our work with movement and text interconnect, and what we look for in our ensemble for each show. And, I guess, ultimately, I’ve being able to return to my training as a writer, and I’ve been so lucky to have so many opportunities to experiment with my writing, and get to think about how to tell a story and how to build each character. Playwriting is not something I’ve tried before, and I’ve loved delving into each of the worlds that the Jack has opened the door to. But I think most of all, I’ve been honoured by the patronage and support of Kate and Karl – and they’ve shown me the power of hard work, diligence, and care – if I ended up with anything like the talent and acumen they have, I’d be very happy. @June 2019 London Pub Theatres Magazine Ltd All Rights Reserved THIS SHOW HAS ENDED ONE GIANT LEAP Brockley Jack Theatre 2 – 27 July 2019 directed by Ross McGregor produced by Arrows & Traps Theatre Productions Box Office > Below: Rehearsals at Brockley Jack Studio "We’re not trying to say anything serious about whether the moon landing was or wasn’t real, but more provide a raucous night out at the theatre, and keep you laughing about it on the Overground home." "... speaking for myself, after the last year I’m sick of the darkness, I’m bored by the constant stream of depressive updates about the rise of the Right, I can’t engage with it, the European elections gave a victory to nationalists, we gave a state visit to a racist, homelessness is at an all-time high, and we’re literally cooking the planet to death." "Most theatre companies on the fringe don’t make it to their third show, we’re on our seventeenth. Part of that is sheer stubbornness, there have been points where any rational person would have thrown in the towel, but there was always something in me that would never bend, never break, never give up. It’s part ambition, part not wanting to fail, part wanting to make my father proud of me, part bloody-mindedness, part theatre-addiction." "... knowing I was quitting, and that this was the end for me, was too hard to bear - ultimately I had to face the fact that theatre is my life, and I could never leave it – so I had to find a way to make it work financially, not just for myself but for everyone else in the company, particularly the actors who are so often completely screwed over in fringe, and often end up working for nothing. Which is where the idea to change the model came from." " ... most of all, I’ve been honoured by the patronage and support of Kate and Karl (Jack Studio Theatre) – and they’ve shown me the power of hard work, diligence, and care – if I ended up with anything like the talent and acumen they have, I’d be very happy." In celebration of the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Apollo 11 Moon Landing, Arrows & Traps Theatre bring their critically-acclaimed approach to a brand-new comedy set in the back streets of a Hollywood lot. One Giant Leap is about the power of having an impossible dream, realising it’s impossible, and then trying your hardest to fake it and hope no one notices.

[phantomphangphucker]

One Lonely Star

⚠️warning: analysis of the human condition, angst, depression, violence, mass global death, murder, major character death, suicide, torture, cannibalism, body horror, dissection, animal death⚠️

When all the stars fell down, 

there was nothing I could do.

For all my power and heroism,

 there was nothing I could do.

-a phantom of the past-

Chap. 1 - Star Fall Down

I don’t know how long it’s been since I last saw the light of day, I walk pushing and shoving rubble out of my way. I’m not sure what they belong to anymore. I used to be able to tell which brick belonged to which building, which siding was from the school or what piece of neon lighting was from the nasty burger. Now it’s all just a blend of grays and browns, there’s the occasional splash of something else but it’s fleeting and eventually becomes muddied too. The odd living or sentient thing I see, is best avoided I’ve found. Societal collapse relieves most folks of their inhibitions and it gives them newfound urgency. Urgency which always trumps whatever morals and mental high roads they have or once had. It’s different for me, I knew this urgency before the fall; had my morals tested before everything crashed. 

So I guess I was a step ahead, I’m still unsure if that’s for the best or not. Sure it made it easier to adjust to all of this but others noticed my ease; and people, humans especially, are easily paranoid. It doesn’t help that the young, quick to fight, and those seeking to take advantage of things were the first to succumb to this harsh reality. Those were the ones who trusted me and believed in me most. I mean sure my parents are still around but they never really knew me, trusted me or even really liked me. Well, at least that’s how they were about half of me, though if I’m honest they didn’t know either half of me. Before everything fell I had suspected they were starting to realize how far from them I had become but that doesn’t matter now. Survival and trying to protect what’s left is what matters now. At least my parents can agree with me on that. Though if at any point they had begun to trust or like all of me, that time had since past. My ease with suffering, destruction and sudden mass disaster made them blame me. Because of course, since I was used to everything going to hell then I must be the cause! I guess if I hadn’t reacted with jokes or may be shown a facial expression other then resignation, they may have viewed me differently. 

I visibly sigh, giving my current surroundings another once over; just in case. I need more, always more. Yet there’s never really enough. There isn’t enough for anyone and there are not enough people to need things either. Sure there’s an abundance of many things, picking up a discarded poker chip, but those things aren’t good for much. Flicking the chip across the floor it manages to break off some glass from one of the few somewhat intact windows. Chuckling, it’s not like windows do any good down here anymore. Deciding that there’s nothing here worth the effort I elect to head back to my overpass, not that it really counts as an “overpass” anymore. Looking back I’d honestly rather just jump out one of the real windows. One that can actually see the outside air and sky. But I know that’s a fools game today, a gamble not worth much thought. Even if I did find a way out to the above from that building, who knows how far a drop the ground is; and it’s not like I can fly. Chuckling dryly, it’s been longer than I’d like. Turning back, using both memory and the glow of my eyes to guide me “home”. 

“Home” is a funny word now, it really doesn’t mean what it used to mean. All it means now is that I can rest, stop, breathe; for a while. When I’m out I never breathe, I just hold abated breath. Can’t risk anything or one hearing. Before I could breathe, I did breathe, all the time actually. That seems dangerous and absurd now. Back then dangers came and went, they were boisterous, flashy and wanted to be noticed. Now danger is a constant, it never leaves, and it doesn’t care about making itself known. Before I could fight back, I could spar, I could joke; I can’t do that now. Not with this danger. 

Humans can be ruthless things, sure ghosts have naturally equipped weapons but they seldom have a true drive to just end you. Ghost can be content with returning to the same game of hunt and chase, over and over again. Humans want finality and when they really truly want it, they never take breaks. Maybe that’s why I’m still here, why I still keep doing this again and again. I’m not content to succumb to accepting the finality of this situation but I’m also not willing to just try again later. I won’t accept finality and I won’t take breaks. So that’s why I went looking today and why I’ll go again tomorrow. Till I have what I need, what they need. 

Ghosts gave up on this place years ago, I don’t think I’ve even sensed a single one in months. I guess humans are no fun to scare when they’ve gotten past all their senses. And I guess cities aren’t so fun when nothing works. Sadder thing yet, it’s not just here; it’s everywhere. They’re everywhere. 

I used to love the stars, there were my everything when I had nothing else. They were a safe haven I could have fled to if everything went to hell. Well, guess what? Everything did go to hell, but the stars were the hell. Yet I can’t bring myself to ever hate the stars, even if they’re on earth now rather than the sky. Everything’s better in the sky, including me; I would know. That’s the great irony of this all, my one love stole my other love. The two things in the world that gave me mental safe haven, apparently unable to coexist. On top of that, I’m basically the definition of two things that technically can’t coexist, coexisting. That’s another reason why really, because dammit, if I can make life and death coexist then I damn well will do the same to the sky and stars. Though that’s not something that’s really a desire of mine much anymore, these stars, our stars, need to be destroyed. 

As I sit here, legs crossed, tinkering away on what little I’ve managed to find over time; I can’t help but look back. That’s always how it is, get in the zone of simply making something, anything, and the mind goes to pleasanter times. Before all of this mess I was a pretty happy kid, all things considered. I can’t really say if I’m still happy. I think I am, but it’s not the same kind of happy. Maybe it’s closer to hope than happiness. I remember the day with odd clarity but I’m sure much has gotten muddled in the years since. I can’t really say how long it’s actually been, times a funny thing like that. 

Just a day with ordinary classes, ordinary teachers and extraordinary friends.

At first, I thought it was nothing more than another ghost attack, we all did; how could we not? We all lived in Amity Park after all. 

One look outside changed everyone’s mood though, the sky was alight with a great many blazes.

As if someone had set every single cloud on fire, turns out that was pretty close to the truth. 

Emergency broadcasts erupted over every phone and every speaker. 

Screaming to stay indoors, away from the windows and to not under any circumstances look at the sky. 

Being kids, we did what kids do, we looked to the skies. 

Light danced across the sky in massive arches, I knew it immediately as lighting. 

Far more massive than anything I’d ever seen and very much not right. 

I foolishly assumed it must be that weather ghost again and looked for a way to leave; to change. I wish I had been right. 

The teachers had herded us all up, packed and watched closely. There was nowhere I could run and no one who could hide me. So I waited, just like everyone else. 

Not knowing was the worst part, I’ve learned over the years before this time and since this time that the worst thing I can do, is to do nothing. Both for my own sake and others. If I didn’t believe that before the day the stars fell I would have after. 

In movies, people like to say the crash came without a warning but that’s not true. We had a warning, the buzzing, the popping, the air becoming brutal just to breathe in. 

Instinctively I just stopped breathing, I had known no one would notice. That was something I had been right about. 

Everyone had gone to the ground, I had gone into a fighting stance originally but I got pulled down by the chaos of the others. 

The roof shook for only a second before it all came down, massive flashes of blinding electricity shooting everywhere and at everything. 

It hadn’t taken me long to notice that it wasn’t just things it had struck and was still striking, but rather beings. 

They say this is when fight or flight kicks in, when you see a person's true colours. That saying is true and I had long since lost my flight response. Fighting was all I knew, had been all I’d known for so long. But this, this was something I couldn’t fight. I hadn't even known where to start.  

So I did what I knew, I protected. I wore my colours, my true colours. Secrets be damned, secrets don’t matter in the face of death. In the face of people dying while you’re just, there. 

Turns out I needn’t worry about my secret, there wasn’t anyone left to tell.  

That day I learned something, something about intangibility. Something I wish I hadn’t. 

There’s a big difference between a regular human being made intangible and me becoming intangible. Raw electricity will go through me, it won’t go through them. But that wasn’t for a lack of me trying, anyone who was there wouldn’t dare disagree; if they had lived. 

I screamed, I cried, I wailed, I begged. All while struggling to hold onto, grab onto, and cover as many as I could. They flocked to me too, understanding that I always had and would play protector. But it didn’t matter, the electricity went through each one, most I didn’t even get to see die. 

They were gone too fast and eventually I was left to cradle the last one. I’ve seen so many others go like this since, had so many others go because my protection just wasn’t good enough; that I can’t say who I was cradling that day. Things blur, it’s all a matter of time. 

Stepping out of the destroyed school I had been soaked in blood, none of it my own, and tears, all of it my own. And I looked to the skies. 

And everything was coming down, crash and burn. Every building, every plane, every person unable to hide. This was on such a level that for seconds all I could do was stare, eventually I made some unremembered joke. I’m sure it was either really stupid or unbridled genius. 

Then I got to work, I did the one other thing I knew. I tried to exchange witty banter and a few blows. Turns out that doesn’t work on a gigantic ball of electricity and exploding gas. And that was when I knew, I remember looking up and seeing the empty night sky. Not a single star. Then staring around me, massive balls destroying everything. 

I had no time then to think about, really think about it, now I do. Back then I had simply fallen into trying to get people inside shelters, away from the nightmare from the skies. Others did the same too, even my parents. But they as always didn’t recognise me as their son and I guess I was acting to calm, too collected. In short, I had gotten too good at lying and playing a facade. 

They shouted and yelled at me, assumed it must be my fault. Some plan to make myself look like a hero. My mom has always been good at fear-mongering and being a ghost expert everyone assumed she was right about me, who to them was just a ghost. And like that, they turned on me, now that they had something to blame, something that had a consciousness. I quickly learned that my human allies were all dead or gone. 

I hid, I had to, if not for my own safety then for theirs. Humans, in their chance to seek revenge on those they deem responsible, will put themselves in harm's way. I couldn’t have that. And if they managed to destroy me, in their fear, then I wouldn’t be here to protect them. I couldn’t have that either. So I ran. 

And that’s how I discovered that flying was bad, very bad. The stars electricity was drawn to movement and the higher up the movement was the more attractive it was, and I move both fast and high. This caused the electricity to target me, and this show caused the humans to be even more sure that I was somehow controlling or responsible for this. While my intangibility could protect me, I could only hold it for so long and the blinding light really was blinding. 

Eventually, everything caught up with me, emotional and physical exhaustion, I just stopped. Stopped all of it, the flying, the intangibility and my colours. In some way, I wanted the pain of electricity, felt I deserved it. Why wouldn’t I? I had failed to save everyone. My ghost healing is all that saved me then. 

The only other like me was not so lucky, it turned out. Shortly after this catastrophe started he, being the frootloop he was, tried to bend the arm of the world. Tried to offer his “protection” for a price. He didn’t know what I had already learned and I’m not sure he would have listened if I had been able to get a hold of him. Intangibility wouldn’t work. He tried his plan and it killed him. I know it did, I’d heard it over the radio. 

Eventually, I think I’m done with my tinkering; this one might actually do something. What exactly? I don’t know but anything is better than what currently is. I’ve given up on testing things, on making sure it’s just right; I guess I realised I don’t have time for that anymore. I don’t have time for much at all anymore. But that’s ok, my time was never really mine was it? No, it always belonged to everyone else. To their safety, their future, their survival. It always was and always will be. And that’s ok. It really is. 

Look I know you can’t always save everyone, but that’s always been my plan. At the very least I’ll save some of them, a part, something that can exist on. I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I have been, and will continue to be, saving more parts than wholes. A leg here, an eye there, even a patch of hair will just have to do. I can’t afford to be choosy with anything, not a single scrap. And every single scrap has seen me bleed and cry, that’s what doesn’t get easier. Mourning still happens even if I don’t have the time, even if no one does. I know a lot of people walking around are permanently mourning, unable to just carry on. They’re the ones waiting to just be taken out. I wish they wouldn’t do that, they’ll become another person I can only save part of. And everyone, every single one, is worth being save in the whole. I don’t care what hardships they’ve seen or who they lost, dammit! They have inherent worth! They deserve the right to survive! I always want to shout at them when I do spot one of the wanderers. If you can’t bare to survive for your own sake then find someone or thing else to survive for! Someone or something needs you! Wants you! I promise! But I know shouting does no good, I’ve tried; oh how I’ve tried. They’ll either learn it on their own or well.............or they just won’t. But I’ll be there to pick up the pieces, always. Put back together what I can and hope the rest forgives me for not rescuing it too. I like to think they all do but I know some don’t, they’ve told me so. 

Picking up my new trinket I begin the walk to the surface, breathing stalled and eyes always scanning. Looking for stars or looking for people, I no longer know which I’d really prefer. The first time a saw some eat another person was when I knew this really was hell. As I pass one of the many haphazardly built concrete caves, I do wind up spotting a person; and they spot me. 

I never take off my colours now, I can’t afford to. I need to be able to fly, fight, fire, or become intangible at a moments notice. I must not die. Sometimes that’s a problem and right now is one of those times. This person is clearly one that blames me, I know that immediately, as the fling anything they can get their hands on. A second runs out and attempts to fire what is a now empty ecto gun, old habits die hard. I shake my head and sigh at them, my parents. They look worse for the ware, with them being so close to where I’ve been resting and tinkering; they must be tracking me. This knowledge just makes me sigh deeper and longer, I know talking to them is no use. They’ve lost everything, believing both their kids dead and gone. And they blame me, a parents desire to kill who they believe is their children’s killer is unmatched. It can’t be faltered or bent. I know that and I know that to tell them now would break them to dust. They need something to blame and if they knew they’d eventually blame themselves, that’s yet another thing I just can’t have happening. So let them blame me, I’ll gladly take the fall. It’s what I do. 

It doesn’t take much to get away from them, they’re weakened and without usable weapons. Though they’d rip me to shreds with their bare hands if they could, and I know they’d think they were doing it for their kids; for me. Which is touching and I choose to hold on to the warm feeling that brings. Warm feelings don’t come often, so they have to be cherished. 

The time comes when I get to where and when I need to be. This star is the biggest I’ve spotted, so it’s always the one I pick to try and destroy. Take out the biggest, baddest foe and the rest will fall like flies, that’s how it works right? Well, I sure hope so. 

I stick my fists inside and charge up the blasters with my own ghostly energy. They look something like giant balls attached to tubes encasing my arms. Balls to defeat balls, I find some humour in that really. Once they’re all charged I ram them inside the star with an angry growl. 

It doesn’t work. 

I know I can’t go back to the same place as before, I know my parents will be waiting for me. I’m used to this though, just move on. Keep going. You’ll get it. Eventually.

to be continued.....

#lexoendus #ice #black ice #fanfic #phanphicc #danny phantom #danny fenton #my writing #maddie fenton #jack fenton #jazz fenton #clockwork #skulker #cujo #frostbite #death #violence #murder #dissection #cannabalism #body horror #have a fic suck my dick

[sserpente]

A/N: Request from anon. Yes. I kept some.

Words: 1891 Warnings: smut, slight dub-con

When you told your family you would move out to accept the job you had been offered just recently, they had shaken their heads in disbelief. Arkham Asylum. It wasn’t exactly the place the most skilled nurses with the highest education possible ended up but at least, they paid well. Your salary was twice as high and your colleagues were mostly friendly.

There was only… this… constant depression hovering in the air like poisonous gas—you couldn’t blame anyone for that. Working in a place that locked away homicidal lunatics with a criminal record longer than a child’s wish list for Santa did things to your mind on the long term.

A vacation was overdue, especially for you. Unfortunately, however, this week, routine examinations were overdue as well. Even if mostly, the prisoners of Arkham Asylum got treated like laboratory experiments rather than actual human beings who had simply made the wrong choices, the government made sure to have their health checked semi-annually; and given you were, as of now, the only female nurse licensed to undertake gynaecological exams, it was up to you to check on every female prisoner there was—with none other than Harley Quinn leading the way.

You swallowed thickly when the male guard rolled her in on the chair she had been restrained to, her face lighting up with utter amusement upon seeing you.

“You’re new here. Welcome to the circus.” She grinned smugly. Your blinking was your only response.

“Alright, I’m assuming you know the drill. This medical exam is just a precaution.” You started, pretending to be all but unaffected by her playfulness. The guard was still blocking the door, his legs spread a little as he held the heavy gun in his hands.

“You can leave now.” You said, the tone in your voice allowing no contradiction as you nodded to underline your words. He was here for your safety rather than Harley’s, however, you would be doing things a little different from how your predecessor had done them. First off—no men during a gynaecological exam, if anything to make her feel more comfortable. She might be a criminal but you were not going to go against human rights, after all.

“Are you sure? She’s crazy.”

Her eerie grin proved his points as she attempted to move her head to stick her tongue out. “Uuuuuh,” she mused. “The lady wants some alone time with me. Are you jealous?”

“I am sure. Wait outside. I will call you if there’s any problems.”

Hesitating, the guard nodded and then obliged. The door fell shut with a thump. Only after you heard the lock click, you moved to remove her restraints.

“I’m Doctor (Y/L/N) but you can call me (Y/N). As I said, this exam is just a precaution. I won’t do anything you are uncomfortable with.”

Harley’s grin grew even wider as if some kind of devilish plan formed in her mind. It was hard not to feel insecure about her strange behaviour.

“Whatever you say, Doctor (Y/N).”

You tilted your head.

“First off, I am going to examine your breasts. Checking if there are any lumps or anything else abnormal... Can you take your top off?”

Harley sighed. “Sure,”

She wore no bra, of course. They took it away from her after she had attacked one of the guards with one of the metal pieces inside.

Looking straight into her blue eyes, you took a step forward as if to ask for permission. When she didn’t react, you slowly brought your hands up to palpate her breasts one at a time. They were gorgeous. Beautifully shaped with round and perky nipples inviting anyone who took a glimpse to suck on them… they felt absolutely amazing when you squeezed them a little.

“You’re enjoying this so much, am I right?” Harley giggled, causing you to roll your eyes. She cannot read minds, calm down. You had had a lot of patients who were both charming and sexy. You could deal with this.

“It’s my profession, Doctor Quinzel.” Calling her by her real name calmed you a little. It reassured you she was a normal woman who had lost her mind.

“Call me Harley, pumpkin. You’re literally touching my boobs right now.”

She had a point there.

“Does anything hurt you here?” You asked, looking up to meet her blue eyes once more. Harley shook her head like a cheerful child.

“Alright, then please remove your underwear, sit down on the chair and put your legs on the knee rests.”

Turning your back to her rather reluctantly to prepare the lube, she surprisingly did as she was told. Stripping completely naked, climbing on the gynaecological chair and wiggling her pretty toes until you returned.

Only when you finally sat down in front of her and began examining her vulva, you realised you wouldn’t need any lube after all. Harley was soaking wet and apparently, in a very playful mood to act on it. The way she was biting her lower lip made your heart beat faster, yet you only cleared your throat and slowly brought your fingers to her vagina.

“Do you experience any irritation, redness or discharge beyond the normal?”

“Nope. I’m all good.”

At least, you wouldn’t have to ask about her sexual habits. Here in Arkham Asylum, what came closest to a sexual experience was when she was allowed to take a shower.

Nodding, you inserted two fingers into her wetness and rested your other hand on her abdomen to palpate her once more. Just a routine examination, you reminded yourself.

“I betcha doing this turns you on.” You suddenly heard her say, wiggling her eyebrows in the process.

“Again, it is my profession, Harley.”

The crazy woman shrugged.

“Does anything hurt?” You asked then, applying a little bit more pressure.

“Nope. Not there.”

“Not there?”

“Go a little higher.”

Frowning, you did as you were told.

“A little higher…” She dragged on her words like chewing gum and when you finally reached her desired destination, she moaned.

That clever girl had tricked you. Harley arched her back when you grazed her g-spot.

“Yes, right there, pumpkin!”

“Harley! This is a medical exam! Stop this nonsense.”

Giggling, she started biting her fingertips and bucked her hips when you attempted to remove your fingers from her to get the metal speculum.

“I used to be a psychologist, Doctor (Y/N). That look in your eyes is so obvious. You want me. I can tell.” She mused in a seductive voice.

“Can you?” You replied, unbelieving. “Harley, I am your nurse. I am here to make sure your body is all sound, nothing more and nothing less.”

It was exactly what you were trying to convince yourself of. She was right. You did want her. The way she was gushing around your fingers made your own pussy soaking your panties. You longed to take off those gloves and palpate her without any rubber drowning the sensation.

“And nooooow you’re trying to convince yourself.” Your heart skipped a beat. She might be crazy but she was right, she did use to be a psychologist.

“Harley… regardless of what I do or don’t want, anything between us beyond this medical exam would be illegal. So if you please let me do my job.” You mentally patted your shoulder. That was a persuasive response.

Harley, however, only smirked again.

“Are there any cameras in this room?”

“No. This is a confidential medical exam, there is no—“

You were rudely interrupted when she suddenly yanked you forward and pressed her soft lips against yours, wasting no time in capturing them in a passionate kiss. Her tongue darted out to push into your mouth, playing with yours in a dominant manner while simultaneously, her hands travelled underneath your shirt to caress your stomach and after she had successfully pushed your bra out of the way, she began groping and kneading your breasts. With every single touch, you melted against her.

This is wrong. She is your patient!

Harley giggled when she pulled away to let you catch your breath, grabbing your hand to place it on her wet pussy again.

“Finish what you started, pumpkin!” She growled against your lips as a devilish grin spread on them. You didn’t object this time.

Quickly, you got rid of those stupid gloves and tossed them to the ground, a moan escaping your lips when your fingers connected with her moist warmth. Her pussy was perfect—and you instantly stroked over it a few times in joyful anticipation before seeking out her clit and massaging it rhythmically with your thumb, two of your fingers once more disappearing in her core.

Your whole body was on fire, the arousal rushing through you like adrenaline. Harley leaned back again, her hands playing with her hardened nipples as she watched you playing with her.

One advantage of being a trained nurse licensed to do gynaecological exams was knowing exactly how to make a woman cum quickly. Again and again, you curled your fingers to massage her g-spot, your thumb never ceasing to flick and circle her clit.

Harley’s toes curled. She was whimpering by the time you felt her tightening around your fingers and then, with a loud scream that possibly alerted the guard just outside the door, she came.

Panting hungrily, you watched her riding out her orgasm, her juices wetting your hands as she kept contracting around you, sighing contently when she relaxed again.

“Is everything alright in there?” The guard. Your blood ran cold.

“Yes! It’s fine, no worries!” You shouted, your voice shaking a little.

Harley only grinned.

“Let’s swap, watcha think?”

“Harley…”

“C’mon, pumpkin...” You sucked in air when she bit her lower lip again, climbing off the chair entirely naked only to practically push you against it. She placed your legs on the knee rests, wasted no time in tearing off your pants and panties and then noticed with smug satisfaction that you were wet for her.

“Such a pretty little pussy…” You suppressed a blissful moan.

Only Harley decided not to use her fingers. Instead, after examining your most intimate parts with her hands for a while, she suddenly knelt down and licked over your slit to lap up your juices, the vibrations of her moans sending jolts of electricity right to your clit.

Eagerly, she started eating you out, nipping, biting and licking over your flesh until you buried your fingernails in the soft leather of the gynaecological chair.

You were sure to lose your mind when she wrapped her lips around your clit, sucking on it until you saw stars. She certainly knew how to send a woman flying too. You came with a high-pitched scream, contracting and gushing against her skilled lips and tongue until you were completely spent.

A knock on the metal door startled you.

“How much longer is it gonna take? I’m supposed to take her back to her cell in five minutes.”

Harley stuck her tongue at you, winking as she did.

“We’re almost done. Tell the boss we will need another appointment tomorrow though.” You shouted, sliding off the chair when Harley giggled again at your little white lie.

“What, seriously?”

Well, there was going to be another appointment—only not the way the guard outside this very door thought…

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, would you care to support me by buying me a cuppa? I would appreciate it so much! ko-fi.com/sserpente

#harley quinn #harley quinn imagine #harley quinn smut #harley quinn x you #harley quinn x reader #margot robbie #dc #dc imagine #suicide squad #suicide squad imagine #suicide squad smut #harleen quinzel #arkham asylum

[persorene]

I've gotten several asks over the last few months about my icon and requests to learn more about him, so I'm going to try to briefly describe him. This is my first time actually talking about my baby boy so if I ramble I apologise!

This is Ilnori!

His story has changed quite a bit over the last year or so but he's stayed relatively the same.

Ilnori is a Dramurian (original alien species I wrote for the story he's in) so uh, I should probably explain Dramurians and a bit of the story.

Story background: the story is set in the very distant future on a planet called Osrad that is several thousand light years from Earth. Earth was dying and there was no chance to save it so after an extensive search, the planet Osrad was discovered by scientists to be rather earth like- enough so to sustain colonies and preserve the human species. The planet was scouted robotically by android-esque surveyorsand when the surveys came back with information that the planet waa habitable the colonies were set up. 50,000 people total, ten ships each carrying 5,000, would be sent to Osrad on a staggered release schedule, one ship would launch every five years and each was to target a different area of the planet so that if one colony didn’t survive due to climate, conditions, area geography etc, the next group would have a better shot at surviving. If all went well, they would be able to communicate with each other from their various colonies and begin to populate the planet. However, the scientists and thus the settlers, already well on their way to Osrad, were unaware of how uninhabitable the climate would have become by the time the ships reached it, and that the planet was already the home to an intelligent species called the Dramurian.

The Dramurian: The dramurian are a highly intelligent race. They are bipedal mammals, taller than humans and with a spindly build. Their skin comes in a variety of dull, earthy tones such as greys, rusts and browns. They have pointed ears, sharp teeth, four eyes- one main set and a smaller set positioned slightly above and behind the main ones, these allow them to see more clearly through the gloom and fog of Osrad. They are capable of slight electrical manipulation and they pride themselves on their ability to seamlessly blend nature and technology. Their cities are domed, the glass filters the sunlight through and amplifies it beautifully to give the appearance of a warm and sunny environment amidst the nearly constant mists, rains and fogs that cover most of Osrad. Inside the domes, lush forests and plant life sprawl amongst gorgeous architecture and art. Their vehicles hover just enough to keep them from damaging the grounds or requiring roads. They worship a ancient rumoured to be robotic race who created them by blending organic material with a synthetic, android like being to create the intelligent race that now exists. They value knowledge and learning over other pursuits and are generally a fairly peaceful race. However, they view human life as inferior, undeveloped and beneath them. This hatred has only continued to grow with each colony that lands. The Dramurians once had a nearly universal government body that spread knowledge, wealth and resources fairly. Conflict over natural disasters, food shortages and power struggles has collapsed this system, leaving individual city states and countries to fend for themselves. As resources run out, humans invade and more cities fall, the tension only continues to grow.

Osrad: Osrad is a large planet with a breathable, earth like atmosphere and sustainable amounts of fresh water. They have two moons and a smaller, closer, redder sun than the one found near Earth. This smaller, closer and colder sun has had several climate affects that the human scientists had not realised- due to filtering a redder light, the foliage is all tinged a slight red, like leaves on Earth in autumn. The climate is exceptionally cool and gloomy with a nearly constant cover of fog, mists and rainfall. Some portions of the planet are warmer and dryer but these are far and few between. A climate shift is slowly killing the planet and making it less and less habitable, even for the Dramurian. The air is cooling even further and crops are failing to grow causing a massive planetwide food crisis. These food shortages are causing conflict amongst once peaceful dramurian civilizations.

Okay, so now that the background information is out of the way-

Ilnori: Ilnori is the only child of Esdreus, leader of a relatively large territory known as Ibrord that contains one of the earliest human colonies. His father was a diplomat who was killed by humans during an effort to make contact with them. Ilnori was too young to remember the day his father was killed by the human colonists during a diplomatic meeting but he has grown up in the fallout, watching his mother torment and punish the colony for his death. Esdreus sees humans as animals and uses them as such- keeping some as pets, others as work animals and killings those who step out of line or pose a threat.

Ilnori disagrees strongly with her treatment of the humans but his opinion doesn’t matter to her. He is a scholar, studying every aspect of the planet and why it’s dying, the sciences they use and now the humans as well. His mother is vehemently opposed to his fascination with the beings she views as inferior. As a young adult, Ilnori begins to accompany his mother on regular inspections of the colony under the guise of wanting to learn about his role as the next leader of Ibrord, truly he goes along to protect the human colonists from her wrath and also because he enjoys studying them and  learning their behaviours and language. He thinks that they and their resilience are beautiful. He’s angry that his mother could look at them, look at how far away they came and how hard they fought to survive and see any weakness or inferiority. He wants desperately to help them but he doesn’t know how, he can’t even understand them.

Being a skilled inventor, Ilnori develops a translator to be worn on the ear and translate in real time. Translators similar to this are already in use across Osrad so that the various spectrum of Dramurian languages can all be understood. He has modified the one he already owned and tampered with it enough to allow it to translate this strange human language as well. He picks up enough of the human’s language and speech patterns to set up a basic translator, it’s buggy and not perfect but it helps and he begins to pick up on what the humans are saying, how truly frightened they are. The few who remember Earth desperately wish they’d never come here. His heart aches for these people and their struggles, they’re starving, dying and sick nearly constantly but all of their food and medicines go to his mother's main city state as payment for living on her lands. Ilnori grows to resent his mother and her stranglehold on these people. He begins to sneak in food and small vials of medicine on his visits, which he hides around the colony and hopes the humans- and not his mother- find.

I've started rambling so I'm going to try to wrap this up

Ilnori eventually befriends a human from the colony and vists her regulalry, helping her heal and nurse the sick and injured humans (she's a doctor- or as close to it as she can get) He also begins to regulalry steal back supplies and return them to colony. Ilnori begins to help the humans his mother keeps prisoner back in Ibrord as well, sneaking into the prisons to feed them and teach them and treat their injuries. He is caught by a guard one night and is taken to his mother for punishment she convicts him of treason, a crime usually punishable by death, but because he is her son, he is instead banished to the harsh wilderness of Osrad.

He turns to crime to survive, stealing what he needs to live from the outskirts of his mother's communities while hiding alone in the wilderness. He's angry at what she's done. He's heartbroken that he can't help the humans at the colony any more and he's worried to the point of being sick about what happened to the humans he was caught helping in the prisons. He stays alone until the human he'd befriended bavk at the colony stumbles upon him- thin, alone and clearly depressed in the wilderness. She brings him back to her family at the colony and the story unfolds from there as the human and ilnori plan to help the humans integrate into society and work toward a solution for the future for both of their species.

Ilnori is a mess of a boy, kind and compassionate and overwhelmingly empathic, he would do anything to correct an injustice and help someone in need. He's also reckless, impulsive and loyal to a fault.

Sorry, I kind of sped through the last bits there because this post got waaaaay too long but if you want to know anything else about him or the story, let me know!

#persoreneoc #long post

[dragonshoard]

It’s way too late for me to be doing this, yet here I am. Some fanfic for my AU written by mwa. 

Connor doesn't understand why he is here. It would have been rational for him to take Cole back to the police department and end this nonsense, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

This is a part of my (ihoarditall on tumblr) AU, so you'll probably need to read the very first post for context. The link is right here.

Ao3 Link

The muted pounding of the rain coming down was a welcome constant to the irregular sounds of grinding metal and the occasional noises of the other patrons in the bus. The vehicle had insulated seating, so much of the disruption that occurred in other forms of transportation were heavily muted, allowing for the child seated next to Connor to doze.

Upon scanning the smaller body sitting next to him, Cole’s body temperature was at a depressed temperature of 97.2 F°, which was unconcerning in itself if the child didn’t usually run around a mid 98 F°.

They had already gone to Mr. Blake’s residence and taken the essentials they had needed for travel; however, it seemed as if Connor had miscalculated. It appeared that what Cole was wearing wasn’t enough to properly maintain a stable body temperature and that he needed another source of thermal regulation if he was to remain within a safe threshold during the drive to the next stop.

Connor didn’t hesitate to remove his jacket and place it around Cole, attempting to make sure he didn’t wake the child up. It was a useless effort, because as soon as Connor moved, the connection between them vanished instantly, causing Cole to jolt awake upon noticing the absence.

Cole was quick to notice the jacket that was a tad too dark to be his own swallowing his small frame, and turned to Connor, silently questioning the android.

“Your body temperature would have continued to drop to dangerous intervals had I not given you another means of thermal regulation.”

Despite being young, Cole seemed to understand most of what Connor was telling him, in context, while chalking up the rest into the “things that Connor says” section. He looked at the android who was now only wearing the sweater and reclaimed Connor’s left hand.

“I have built in thermal regulators. My body will adjust, Cole. Do not worry,” he reassured, responding to the emotions that Connor recognized, after a moment, as worry and disbelief.

Connor, despite being familiar with the method of communication, found it odd to feel after his own… ability to emote had been revealed. The overlap in his own emotions was confusing at times and would take time to get used to.

Another problem was that emotions, in themselves, were the most confusing things to analyze and process in a practical manner. They tended to combine in ways that left Connor not understanding half of the things that ran through his processors. It was worse when he realized that there were multiple ways of feeling a singular emotion. Happiness could be detected in an overwhelming, uplifting, feeling in the chest; however, at the same time it could be muted; a warmth that radiated throughout the entire body. It could be felt in excitement, and it could be felt (strangely) in disappointment.

Connor gently removed his hand from Cole and, instead, replaced his arm over the boy’s shoulders, easily fitting the child against his side. Without prompting, Cole reached over and grabbed the other arm that wasn’t around his shoulders, clearly not wanting to end the connection.

Connor didn’t really understood why Cole found it comforting. He imagined that his mind was cluttered (scared) and the absolute opposite of calming, yet Cole continued to seek him out.

Cole’s emotions, through his new lens, were somehow more intense and real in the light of everything that had occurred. When he’d been nothing more than a machine (and he wasn’t a machine anymore, wasn’t he, he was alive), he hadn’t understood or been able to put the electric impulses that had passed from Cole to him into perspective. Connor had been able to place words to the emotions that Cole had synthesized, but he didn’t recognize them in what he knew and “felt” (as much as a machine could feel) himself; however, as time had passed… the android had begun to understand more, had begun to sympathize (and later empathize).

As an android who’d been programmed to deal with victims and perpetrators alike in emotional distress, he had, of course, recognized the signs of post-traumatic stress disorder. Connor had been programmed to be able to handle such situations in the short-term context, just enough to extract information. He wasn’t designed to handle persons with long-term emotional disarray.

It was painful. That was the word for it. Painful.

Painful, to watch the boy who was clearly touch starved and suffering from mental health issues having to resort to receive help from the lifeless android that he had been. Reflecting on his actions, Connor felt… he felt such shame at not reaching out to the boy after the first few days, though he knew, rationally, that his separation and respect to not do so had been what had allowed Cole to reach out in the first place.

Connor couldn’t understand why no one had helped the boy. He couldn’t understand why no one looked at Cole for more than a few seconds and refused to see an issue beyond his selective muteness. He was a human child. A kind child whose smiles were so small and rare, yet so precious. Surely humans were more sensitive and attentive to the emotional well-being of their own?

Connor had learned a lot more in his time as a glorified police assistant than the deputies and investigators had wanted him to learn. He’d found how… genuinely horrible humans could be to each other. The ones who had programmed him had failed to explain their potential for harming both themselves and everything around them before they had dispatched him.

He’d learned the horrible things they did to each other. To their children.

Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on Cole’s shoulder as he only just barely stopped the emotion of pure disgust from going through him to Cole.

He couldn’t allow Cole to go with them, no. He couldn’t, wouldn’t. Not when the foster system was riddled with the potential worst of the worst.

Connor was horribly flawed: riddled with emotions he could barely understand and equipped with the naive (irrational) belief in his own freedom. However, despite all of his flaws, he recognized after a few hours of processing and analyzing that he was not bad, per say, but he was not good either. He was a mystery. Connor was something new, something that had not been analyzed in other androids (not yet, but close).

Looking down at Cole, at the boy he had essentially kidnapped (was it kidnapping if Cole was already planning to run away), he realized for the first time, that he didn’t quite care what he was.

Because this child had looked at the tears in the android’s interface created from the endless hell that had been the majority of his existence, and had poked and prodded at them until they became cracks, and those cracks became gaping wounds. And Cole hadn’t laughed. He hadn’t cried.

Cole had clung to his hand like an extra limb, had expressed cautious rays of happiness to the pulse of emotions (as muted as they had been) coming from Connor, both positive and negative. He had accepted the android, flaws and all.

Connor didn’t understand. He didn’t know why he wanted (he shouldn’t have wanted anything) for Cole to be with him, he didn’t know why Cole clung to him and not to anyone else. He had so many questions that this child would not, could not, answer. Logically, Connor should have left him back in the precinct.

(Logically, he should have reported himself back to Cyberlife for the malfunction in his programming)

Connor didn’t understand his actions, or most of anything else that pertained to his situation and the child could not give him the answers he needed.

Yet, he stayed.

#dbh #detroit: become human #detroit become human #dbh connor #cole anderson #my fic #myfic #bbau #origin