#louder every day and nobody ever said anything to acknowledge that it was real nobody talked about hearing the buzzing but it just

[louderfade]

exene talking about the state of the world. the good stuff starts at eight minutes. or you can just read the transcript complete with the usual errors that accompany robot transcribed speech (the irony of which is not lost on me). maybe it's not about transhumanism and living forever (or maybe it is who knows), but there's definitely an agenda of surveillance and control at work which is designed to keep the powerful in power. cash rules everything around me and you will own nothing etc. the future is worse.

#google has helpfully flagged this as a 'conspiracy theory' which let me know it was definitely worth paying attention to #sometimes a conspiracy theory turns out to be flatearth-tier but anything those in control are putting effort into discrediting #concerns me and makes me look deeper. if they're going to the effort to control the discourse there's something there that #threatens them. anything google calls a conspiracy theory is worth a closer look. it often means someone has gotten too close to the truth. #she's brave to be talking about this shit they basically cancelled her and forced her to apologize for talking about how they want #to take our guns and the media is lying to you and stirring up fear so they can get away with passing gun control #like wtf leftists should be all about gun rights. a disarmed population is totally at the mercy of the state's authority #it's not very punk to surrender entirely to regimes in power and let the only people with guns be the police #like c'mon guys we need guns. and it's like drugs. they exist anyway. better they do so in broad daylight than in the shadows #they let adam curits talk about this stuff for some reason and no one calls him a conspiracy theorist idk why but there's a reason #i guess his stuff is not a threat to them bc it's dense and heady and seven hours long so the masses will never absorb it #ex punk rocker yelling about new world order in plain language monologues of digestible length is a much bigger threat #i swear there are secretly fifty people in control of everything and their entire aim is to make sure it stays that way no matter what #but it's really gross how obvious it's getting like the whole system just funnels money straight to the top and they don't even care #about hiding it anymore they're just doing it out in open and denying objective reality with confidence it's too much sometimes #i swear i can feel my grasp on reality deteriorating. it's as if there were a loud buzzing in the out of doors that was getting #louder every day and nobody ever said anything to acknowledge that it was real nobody talked about hearing the buzzing but it just #keeps getting louder and i'm finally like wtf is with this buzzing and everyone gets mad at me for shouting over their netflix show #that they weren't really enjoying in the first place. like no one is happy in the modern world. why can't we talk about why without #turning against each other. that's why doug saying 'maybe we're all the same' is such a big deal to me. anyone who is trying to unite us #is doing important work. that trump supporter is not the enemy. they are the victim just like you.

[mr-miss-anonymous]

Stowaway

Word count: 1,565

Pairing: Swerve/Overlord

Rating and warnings: M; implied immobility, belly kink, cockwarming

Despite being one of the only locations available for good drinks and quality service, Swerve prided himself on being the best of the best. His selection of alcoholic beverages and good, relaxing energon concoctions was something he’d spent decades perfecting, and it was no surprise to him when the bar was full to bursting day in and day out. On an average basis, he quite enjoyed the company of his customers, and he tended to put of closing down the bar as long as he possibly could. Given the shift in circumstances, however, Swerve no longer had the opportunity to do such things, and he often ended up shutting things down long before they neared closing hour.

Still, it was for a good cause. A very, very good cause.

Having organized his space so that the berthroom and connected commodities were directly above his bar—more for saving space and convenience than anything—Swerve could hear every little sound that came from either floor at all times. In the early days of his business, he’d set it up to keep his precious stock safe from any thievery, but things had turned around rather quickly for him, and the minibot had grown accustomed to listening for other distinct sounds during the day than he did the sound of some poor soul trying to break into his bar.

It was often subtle, but Swerve had grown accustomed to making out the quiet, distinct creaks and groans of the ceiling panels above. He couldn’t help the goofy smile that spread across his faceplates every time the crack of floorboards grew louder and more frantic, as if the inhabitants on the floor above him were rearranging heavy furniture or something.

That was one way to look at it, he thought to himself, having finished delivering a second round of drinks to a rowdy table when the ceiling sounds had begun again. It was like clockwork, at times, and he knew from the sounds of it that he needed to start closing down.

It was a little difficult to shoo his patrons out of the door that evening, but Swerve had managed. He gave a few of the regulars a good thirty-minute heads up before going around the room and gathering the tabs of everyone else. Once he had finished, nearly two-thirds of the bar’s inhabitants had already left, leaving behind those who were either too inebriated or too stubborn to leave right away.

“Here,” Swerve had said to one of the larger, bulkier mechs still sitting at the bar stool. The bot went by the name Blaze, though given his patchy purple paint job and the assortment of scars dotting his frame, Swerve could only guess that the designation had been a half-assed attempt at keeping his past under wraps. “Lock up when you’re done here, will you? I’ve got a few more deliveries to make, and I don’t have time to do it myself tonight.”

Blaze—or whatever his real name was—gave Swerve a nod and a smile (was it a smile? Swerve couldn’t tell past the resting murderous expression Blaze always wore) before accepting the keys with a mumbled agreement. He had been one of the establishments first and last customers, and having lasted so long without moving on, Swerve had grown to trust him with his very life. Well, maybe not his life, but Swerve trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t try to steal half of his inventory.

They didn’t exchange words so much as share a passing look of acknowledgment before Swerve was hoisting a varied box of energon goodies and alcoholic beverages on one hip and heading for the stairs. Whether or not Blaze had caught on to what was really going on, Swerve wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter much, of course. It wasn’t like Swerve was hiding an entire Decepticon leader in his private quarters.

Okay, maybe he was doing just that, but still. Swerve kept it under wraps, and so far, nobody had ever become the wiser. He was still very much an Autobot at heart, and he’d decided long ago that neither his preferred kinks nor his chosen sexual partner mattered much as long as he kept to himself. He was a talker, sure, but even he could keep a secret.

As he climbed the stairs, the box of energon treats and drinks jostling against his side, Swerve found it becoming harder and harder to suppress the excitement he felt. The routine had become a sort of daily practice that Swerve indulged in, and though his income was starting to stretch thin from the sudden rise in energon demand, he wouldn’t put a stop to it for the world.

The room was dim, but not dark, and as Swerve climbed to the top of the stairs, he could make out the familiar silhouette of something—no, someone—sitting at the far end of the room. What was left of his berth, which had originally been propped up a few feet off of the floor, now lay smushed under thousands of tons of bulging mesh and broken armor plating. Swerve panels grew hot between his thighs as he shuffled further into the room, taking in the sight that lay before him as though it were his first time seeing it.

“Primus,” he gasped, nearly dropping the box of energon in his grasp. “You’re massive, Overlord.”

“All thanks to you, little bot,” Overlord said, a cruel smile lifting the corners of his lips. “Come over here. Show me what you’ve brought.”

On average, Swerve would have believed that he was the one in charge of their relationship. He made all of the decisions, he was the one to top during their more intimate moments, he was responsible for feeding and indulging Overlord’s current state. Even then, sometimes even he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to simply obsess over the massive mech he had helped make.

He loved getting the chance to slip sweet, decadent treats past Overlord’s plump lips while he fondled and rubbed and worshipped the large folds of mesh between his fingers. He would have given anything to be able to spend the rest of his existence in that room, Overlord’s spike pressed deep into the folds of his valve while he fed the Decepticon one little morsel at a time until the mech’s mass took up the entire room. Overlord could hardly move in his current state, and Swerve adored it.

Before he knew it, his fans had clicked on, and a gush of lubricant had begun to pool behind twitching valve panels. Swerve moved slowly, taking in the gigantic mass that was Overlord before he set the box of energon goodies aside. It was still in reach, of course, but he was desperate for a little foreplay before they began the official process.

Overlord lifted his helm to the sky, his neck arched so that the tender mesh between splitting plating was revealed. Swerve immediately pounced, his legs spread against Overlord’s protruding middle and his now-unsheathed spike grinding into the folds of fat as he sucked and kissed the exposed mesh of Overlord’s neck. He groped the flabby folds of fat that bulged underneath Overlord’s chest plating with loud, needy whines, quiet gasps and groans escaping him as he panted for breath between kisses.

“Miss me?” Overlord chuckled, one large, plump servo coming up to fondle the closed seams of Swerve’s panels. It didn’t take much prompting before said panels retracted, a gush of fluids flooding out over fat fingers. “You’re eager tonight, Swerve.”

“Open up,” Swerve said, pulling back just long enough to shimmy downwards. “I wanna take your spike.”

Overlord did as he was told, and with a loud hiss, his plating retracted and his spike pressurized. Swerve was quick to slide onto the erect member, his helm falling back with a satisfied sound as the squelch of lubricant accompanied the steady process. Before long, Overlord’s thick, large spike was all but gone, having been pushed far enough into Swerve’s valve that part of the minibot’s belly bulged outward from the intrusion.

Swerve gave a little shimmy to get himself comfortable before he reached down for the box of energon goodies, one servo clutching the folds of Overlord’s mesh to keep him steady. He brought the entire box up and balanced it on the bulge of Overlord’s middle to keep it in easy reach, then began shuffling through the contents.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he said, bringing out a large bottle of dark liquid to start with. “I’ve got quite the selection for you tonight.”

Overlord licked his lips in anticipation, his optics gleaming with excitement. He knew he could rely on Swerve to keep him nice and plump, and today would be no different. Still, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to gently jab at Swerve’s confidence.

“You really think a little bot like yourself could fatten me up?” Overlord asked, leaning back until there was little room left, the mass of his middle pushing the small box tightly against Swerve’s front. “I’d like to see you try, Swerve.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Swerve said, returning Overlord’s smug smile with a grin of his own. “Once I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for more.”

Overlord’s optics brightened with joy, and Swerve couldn’t deny the rush of excitement that filled him. He couldn’t wait.

#chubformers #transformers #tf swerve #tf overlord #swerve #overlord

[averykedavra]

No Longer Will You Deceive Yourself

Anon asked: Demus? Where Remus thinks Janus is gonna leave him but Janus is like, "Honey no. You're stuck with me-"

Sassy, I love it. And yes, I haven’t touched these prompts, but I was really tired today and needed to write some quick hurt/comfort, so sue me. Warning: I am, as said before, really tired, and I am writing this during my online graduation, so it will probably be not great and somewhat OOC. Thanks to @chaospersonified for supplying me with the plural of Pocky. Title from Forbidden Fruit ‘cause it’s late and I can’t function.

Find this fic on Ao3 here!

Summary: Remus knows Janus is going to leave. He has the Light Sides now--he doesn’t need Remus. He just wishes Janus would get it over with.

Words: 2733

Pairings: Platonic Dukeceit.

Warnings: blood mention, death mention, violence mention, swearing, self-deprecation, self-isolation, sympathetic Janus and Remus

Remus isn’t a patient person.

Okay, yeah, big shocker. He’s all about surprise and excitement and adventure and pushing the envelope. He’s filled with energy, vibrating and dancing and spreading through him at every possible opportunity. He has a million thoughts that tug him in different directions and splinter his bones into little pieces and he follows them blindly, leash around his neck, ‘cause why not? There’s no point in waiting if he can do something already. It’s instant gratification or things get boring. Everything could always be more exciting and more disturbed and faster.

Sometimes Remus wonders if he sees the world faster than everyone else, if other people don’t feel like everyone else is in slow motion. Probably not. It’s probably a weird Remus thing, like every other part of Remus, another trait that sets him apart. Being unique is fun, but it’s lonely, especially when you’re the kind of unique no one wants.

“People hate what they don't understand,” Janus would say. “Society is built to reject anyone who doesn’t conform to its standards, unless that nonconformity can be harnessed for its own ends. Nobody is perfect, they’re just better at hiding it. You have freedom, and that is something many people would kill for.”

Janus was always good at reassuring Remus. Well, in his own way, which was basically “Eat the rich.”

Remus still isn’t a patient person, though, and that’s why he wants Janus to just leave.

He knows Janus is gonna. He knew it the moment Janus came back downstairs after that video, wild glee on his face. He knew it the moment Janus whispered “I told him.” He knew it when he watched that episode--seriously, Patton could turn into a frog with killer abs? Who knew--and he saw Janus take off those ridiculous gloves and share his name. And Roman was a bitch about it, so Remus reminded himself to stab Roman at some point, but Thomas wasn’t. Thomas accepted Janus. Patton accepted Janus. And if Patton said something, then it was law.

Janus had a place now. He’d pulled a Virgil, clawed himself up from the recesses of Thomas’ mind and snatched a seat at the table. He had it all before him now: baking cookies with Patton, listening to music with Virgil, debating with Logan, questing with Roman. He had all that love and that happiness and that disgusting goodness.

With that as an option, why would he ever choose Remus?

Remus, with his too-loud voice. Remus, with his despicable ideas. Remus, with his inability to remember boundaries--hug, don’t hug, Janus lied but sometimes he didn’t and Remus could never tell which--and his inability to stop himself from blurting out everything that came to mind. He was so sensitive sometimes, too. Every short reprimand felt like a knife stabbing through the lining of his heart. Every time someone turned away and ignored him was a rope around his neck, choking him out. And not in a fun way.

Remus is everything wrong with Thomas. No one in their right mind would choose to be around him. Janus only liked him because there was no one else, and without someone by your side, the Mindscape was a cold and empty place.

One particularly evil and selfish part of Remus was almost glad when Virgil left. It meant Remus had Janus all to himself. It meant he could scrounge up more scraps of attention and pretend that attention was affection, acknowledgment was respect, and companionship was friendship.

Now Janus has a better option waiting for him.

And Remus has spent three days waiting for him to leave.

Look, he gets it. Janus wouldn’t want to nope out right away. He probably feels bad for Remus, wants to get everything sorted before he leaves for good. Maybe, Remus dares to hope, he’ll miss Remus. Just a little bit.

Because Remus will miss Janus. He will. It hurts like hell to even imagine life without the sassy snake by his side. He’ll have to learn to cook dinner, for starters. Probably end up just eating a million Pockies and human hands. Not healthy, but Remus can look however he wants, so it’s fine. And he can’t die.

No, it’s the little things that he’ll miss. Janus’ snicker whenever Remus makes a particularly dirty joke. The way their shoulders bump when they watch horror movies together. The way Janus nods along as Remus rants about whatever, hardly listening but still trying to look respectful. The way Janus hugs him with all six arms and lets Remus curl up against his chest and be safe.

He’ll miss all that. But this is a huge opportunity for Janus! Remus wants his friend to be happy, even if Janus doesn’t care about him.

He’s not selfish enough to force Janus to stay.

Maybe he’s on the wrong side of the Mindscape if he’s trying to be selfless.

Well, he can’t say he hasn’t considered it--lock Janus in a closet so he’ll never leave. He thought about it with Virgil, too. But Janus would escape and Virgil would escape, and they’d be mad, and then there’d be no chance of them ever even saying hi to him again.

Well, Virgil didn’t anyway. So maybe Remus has nothing to lose.

Still. The thought of keeping Janus there against his will makes Remus feel weirdly icky. Is this what morals feel like? He suddenly has a lot of pity for Patton--they feel all twisty and guilty, like snakes in his stomach.

Remus tries his best to ignore the snakes. And the snake, the one who spends less and less time with him, who spends more and more time upstairs. The one who comes back downstairs smelling like cookies.

If he can ignore Janus, if he can get out of Janus’ way, it’ll be easier for both of them.

So he doesn’t come out for breakfast. He gets used to days without Janus, nights on his own, smashing in the skulls of thousands of enemies to fill his mind with blood and guts and murder because that’s safe and not all sappy and sickly like the feelings in his stomach.

It’s lonely. He’ll admit that. He wonders if it would be worth it to go fight his brother or torture Thomas or follow Patton around, but odds are, Janus will already be there. And he doesn’t think he can face Janus. His resolve is shaky and crumbling like an old castle, and one kind word from Janus would send it crumbling down. He’d probably end up crying, begging for Janus to stay. And maybe Janus would for Remus’ sake, and Remus would have to live with the fact that he was making Janus miserable. Or maybe Janus would look him in the eyes and say that Remus should suck it up, that no one wanted the evil twin, that he was Intrusive Thoughts and not Needy Bitch Thoughts.

That’s what Remus was. Needy. Like a dragon with its hoard. Scrambling for the last bits of happiness he could find.

Who needed happiness anyway? Who needed friendship? He had a mace and a pet octopus, he was good to go.

He was fine. Really. He summoned food in the Imagination and watched conspiracy theories to get himself to fall asleep. Everything was fine. Janus was probably packing up now, getting ready to go, probably glad to be rid of an awkward goodbye.

It was a surprise when on day three, Remus heard a knock on the door.

He considered just ignoring it. But the knocking came again, louder. He heard his name. Janus.

Why was Janus here?

Curiosity won out over logic, and Remus tossed the bleeding opossum he’d been dissecting to the side. Carefully maneuvering around piles of bones, he trotted over and opened the door.

He tried to brace himself for anything. Anger, joy, disgust.

He didn’t expect Janus to sigh in relief and hug Remus around the waist.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Remus quickly extricated himself from the hug. It felt good, but Janus was leaving, so he shouldn’t let himself enjoy it. “Cat got your dick?”

“I haven’t seen you for three days!” Janus exclaimed. “Are you alright?”

Remus stared blankly at Janus. “What?”

“It’s been three days,” Janus said. That didn’t clear anything up. “Did you lose track of time in the Imagination?”

“Naw,” Remus said, because lying to Janus wasn’t a good idea. “Just got wrapped up in stuff. Why, whatcha need?”

“I needed to check on you.” Janus’ frantic worry had softened, now, replaced with concern. “Have you eaten? Is everything alright?”

“I’ve eaten, duh,” Remus said, carefully avoiding the second question. “What’s the big deal here? Where’s the fire? Do you need me to kick Thomas in the ass?”

“There’s nothing wrong,” Janus said slowly. “At least in that regard, but--”

“Then I don’t see why you need me!” Remus laughed. “Look, it’s wonderful to see you, but I’ve got some very important things to dissect so if you could let me go that would be ve-ry-nice, thank you!”

“Wait.” Janus reached forward and grabbed Remus’ arm. Remus could easily fight Janus off, he was a real twink, but Remus found himself rooted to the spot. “I want to know what happened.”

“What?” Remus laughed again, ignoring how brittle it sounded. “Nothing happened!”

Janus gave him a long look. “Go ahead, keep lying, it’s not like I can taste them or anything.”

“Whatever.” Remus folded his arms. “I’m in a mood to smash some skulls. You volunteering yours?”

If this were anyone else, they would have left. Janus stood his ground. “I want to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“Because--” Janus threw up his hands. “Because I’m worried about you, you idiot! You disappeared with no warning! What am I supposed to do with that information, keep going about my business as usual? I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt or dead, and now you’re clearly lying to me, so I want to make sure that mentally, you’re okay.”

Remus laughed. “I’m Intrusive Thoughts, Jan, I think it’s against my job description to be mentally okay.”

“Be that as it may.” Janus’ eyes were painfully soft. “I’m worried, Remus. If I'm the cause you can talk to someone else, maybe Patton--”

“Hold on, hold on!” Remus frowned. “If you’re the cause?”

“I mean...” Janus suddenly developed an interest in his gloves. “There are so many other people around that could have upset you, you know.”

“You didn’t--” Remus stopped himself before a lie could escape.

“I did,” Janus said, his mouth falling open. “Remus, I’m sorry, whatever it is--”

And Remus understood now. Janus had searched him out because he felt guilty, and maybe he didn’t want Remus dead. If Remus was hurt, after all, Thomas would probably be affected. And now Janus felt even more guilty and maybe he’d try and stick around for Remus’ sake, but Remus couldn’t reassure Janus that it wasn’t his fault because technically it was and Janus could sense lies.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I’m sorry,” Janus repeated, the words forced but genuine.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Remus said with a wave of his hand. Truth.

“I must have done something,” Janus said, eyes narrowed.

“You’re not doing it on purpose.” Truth.

“If it’s hurting you,” Janus said, “I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s hurting me.” Truth.

So why did Janus’ eyes flash?

“Of course it matters,” Janus snapped. “Why would you even say that?”

Remus shrugged. “I’m bored. Can I leave now?”

“No!” Janus seemed to regret raising his voice as soon as he did. “Remus, please just talk to me.”

“I’m not one for talking,” Remus said with a grin. “Try something more hands-on.”

“Holy shit.” Janus rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to reach out and you’re being insufferable.”

“That’s me!” Remus wiggled his hips. “Dunno what you expected, JanJan!”

“Look.” Janus looked Remus in the face. “Please just say, no tricks or sexual innuendos, that you are alright.”

“I’m...alright?”

Janus’ lips tightened. “You were lying.”

Remus froze. “Oh.”

He was? He wasn’t alright? He thought he was. Well, maybe he wasn’t. He was sad. But he was okay with this. He’d come to terms with it. Right?

Janus was saying his name. Remus realized he’d zoned out. Quickly he pasted a too-wide smile on his face. “What were you saying?”

Janus’ eyebrows drew together. “Remus, do you want to come into the kitchen? I can make us food and we can talk this out, or--”

“Why bother?” Remus blurted out without thinking.

Janus reeled back like he’d been slapped. “What?”

“Nothing!” Remus immediately clarified. “It was nothing, don’t worry about it--”

“What did you mean.” Janus’ face was getting scary intense. “Tell me.”

“Look.” Remus raised his hands. “It’s not a big deal, if you knew what the problem was you’d agree, you don’t have to worry or anything.”

“Well, what’s the problem?”

“Not a big one!”

“I hate this.” Janus closed his eyes. “We could go in circles forever, or you could actually tell me what’s on your mind. You’ve never hesitated before,” he added, “of course this is the one time you have an ounce of self-control.”

Remus flinched. He couldn’t help it.

Janus’ eyes widened slightly. “Re?” he asked, using the nickname Remus hadn’t heard since they were kids.

“Leave me alone,” Remus choked out, reaching for the doorknob.

“Remus, wait--”

“Leave me alone!” Remus yelled. “Stop fucking drawing it out and just leave! I know you want to, I get it, leave already before you drive me insane!”

"Remus,” Janus said slowly, “what are you saying?”

“I know you want to,” Remus said, his voice cracking. “Just--just leave, okay? Go make friends with the others. Make up with Virgil. I’m fine on my own. I am! I’m--I’m fine.”

He knew Janus could taste the lies in the air, that hugged Remus’ throat and burned in his eyes. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. They were the last things that gave him comfort, the last ragged bits of protection against the world, against the contemptuous look Janus would clearly give him, finally realizing that there wasn’t a problem, it was just Remus being stupid and needy again--

“You think I’m going to leave?” Janus whispered. Why was he drawing it out? Just to torture Remus? Remus liked torture but not like this, not all scratchy and achey.

“Yeah, duh.” Remus shrugged, swiping at his eyes. “Don’t blame you. ‘S better up there. No me.”

He risked a glance at Janus, bracing for a glare of anger. Instead, he got Janus standing there, his mouth open, looking absolutely gutted.

What?

“Who told you I was leaving?” Janus asked.

“No one.”

“Good.” Janus stepped forward. “Because I’m not.”

Remus tried to piece together that sentence. “Huh?”

“I’m not leaving,” Janus repeated. “I would never even think of that. Why on earth would you think I would? You wouldn’t last a day without me taking care of you.”

“I lasted three,” Remus pointed out. “A-and it’s okay. You don’t have to f-force yourself to stay for my sake. I’m okay with it.”

“Well, I’m not!” Janus exclaimed. “Remus, you’re my best friend! I couldn’t just leave you behind!”

“You don’t have to feel guilty, I get it--”

“This is not guilt.” Janus stared into Remus’ eyes. “This is love. I love you, you are my best friend, and you are stuck with me until the end of time. Will things change now that Patton has finally seen sense? Yes. But if I ever do end up going upstairs?” Janus smiled. “I’m taking you with me.”

“Really?” Remus whispered. “But they hate me.”

“Too bad.” Janus cupped a hand around his mouth and glanced around. “Don’t tell anyone, but they have terrible taste.”

Remus giggled, and Janus laughed too, and Janus laughing was the best thing in the whole entire world.

“You’re not leaving,” Remus repeated, hoping this wasn’t a dream.

“I’m not,” Janus agreed. “So stop being stupid and come help me make lunch--oof!”

Remus wrapped his arms around Janus, squeezing tightly, burying his face in Janus’ shoulder.

And Janus didn’t laugh or judge him. He just hugged back, all six arms, and waited there until Remus was ready.

Remus knew he could take all the time he needed.

Janus wouldn’t leave.

#averywrites #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #fanfiction #platonic dukeceit #platonic demus #sympathetic deceit sanders #sympathetic janus #sympathetic remus #remus sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders angst #dukeceit angst #tw blood mention #tw violence mention #tw death mention #tw cursing #angst #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort

[shiftysdogtags]

I Knew You

I based this off Taylor Swifts song ‘cardigan’. When i heard the song i immediately thought Joe Liebgott and i seen this story play out and i knew i had to write it. I’m not 100% happy with it and i know no one asked for it but here it is anyway.

Warnings: passing mentions of drinking and being drunk. Slight swearing. Also my terrible writting✌🏻

If you listen closely you can hear my heart breaking in the distance. And a big thank you to @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant for the teddy bear idea and the title.

Taglist: @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @floydtab

Headcanons and ships for the pacific and band of brothers are open

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I knew you

Dancin’ in your Levi’s

Drunk under a streetlight

Joe didn’t let many people get too close to him. Very few people knew the real him, they just seen the person he wanted them to see. He was soft and delicate. Not delicate like a flower, delicate like a grenade with the pin removed. One wrong move and he could blow up. It was because of this people avoided him. He was blunt and rough around the edges. Maybe he was standoffish too, but he was my Joe and nobody knew him better than i did.

“Joe, get off the street” i tried pulling him onto the path.

I would love for Joe to show people this side of him, slightly drunk and giddy. He was swinging from a street lamp and dodging cars that tried to beep him out of the way. Although i tried to be serious, the more he swung around the dizzier he became, making me laugh. All i had to do was pull him twenty feet to the right and he would be inside my house and safe.

Joe stumbled in my direction and pulled on my hand “Dance with me, Doll”

No matter how much i objected and stated that i had two left feet he persisted. It wasn’t dancing exactly but the way he held my hand gave me butterflies. The sound of his laugh when he threw his head back was enough to put me in a trance and i swore if that was the last sound i ever heard it wouldn’t ask for anything more.

Joe made me feel careless and brave. With him my by side i was afraid of nothing, as if i could do anything i dreamed of. I found fearlessness somewhere in side of me and it was all thanks to him.

It wasn’t until he spun me i realised i was also tipsy. Slightly light headed, he pulled me to his chest with a kiss to my temple. A car stopped, catching us in the headlights and i decided it was time to go inside. Trying to pull Joe towards the house again he stumbled over his feet but, i somehow managed to get him to the spare room and into bed.

He was almost half asleep and i pressed my lips to his forehead. “Night, Joey”

I knew you

Playing hide-and-seek and

Giving me your weekends

Joe and i kept each other a secret. Although people knew we were friends, they didn’t know the true or full extend of our relationship. Relationship, if it could even be classified as that. On a normal day we would be polite and only acknowledge each other if really needed. Our days off were spent together doing anything and everything. I learned about Joe and who he really was by just sitting around and listening.

“Do you think stuffed bears have feelings?“ he asked me, lying on the sitting room floor counting the cracks in the ceiling. He had one arm under his head and the other was holding a bear i found in my mothers attic amongst my old childhood toys.

Of course i laughed and i though how out of character it was for Joe to ask something like that. We were hidden from view, the curtains were closed and no one could ruin the time we got to be alone together. The Joe i knew was softer and more vulnerable than he would like to admit. Opening the curtains would be like him confessing the fragility of his emotions and letting people into his life. They would be kept closed and the world would be none the wiser of his feelings or his closeness to me in that moment.

Watching him investigating the bear i realised how few people saw this side of Joe. I loved being one of the only few, if not the only person, he acted like this with. He pulled on a loose thread and a hole formed. He looked wide eyed at me with an apologetic face. It wasn’t until he heard my laugh did he join in too. With anyone else he would have brushed it off but he was afraid to hurt me.

“I think you hurt his feelings” i said nodding to the bear. He laughed louder and threw the bear at me.

To kiss in cars and downtown bars

Was all we needed

Joe used to drive around for hours with me in the passenger seat changing the radio. He would pick me up after work in the diner downtown. After a long day he would tell me i needed to loosen up and go on an adventure with him.

“Come on Y/N, have a little fun once in a while” he said with a little smirk and that was all that was needed to convince me. That smirk on his face made me feel like i was selling my soul to the Devil.

With no destination in mind we normally ended up parking the car beside the bay. When we were together we didn’t need material things or to be doing anything specifically, all we needed was each other. All of our major firsts happened here. The first time we kissed was eating ice cream a few months after Joe got back from Europe. The first time he mentioned the war and what he experienced happened at the bay.

It was here on a chilly Autumn night i realised i was in love with Joe. We sat on the car bonnet sharing a blanket as we watched the car headlights dance across the bridge. He was warmer than me, always had been. With my head on his shoulder and his lips in my hair i hoped he felt the same way.

There was never supposed to be anything romantic about our rendezvous, but i couldn’t help but hope. The bay had seen the same amount of kisses shared between us as cars that crossed the bridge.

I knew you

Tried to change the ending

Peter losing Wendy

I knew nothing good would come of this. The ending was clear before anything had even begun. The second i met him everything played out like a dream in front of me. Heartbreak was the only possible outcome and vivid hallucinations danced in front of me, almost real enough to touch. But when i reached out my hand they were gone just as fast as they came, disappeared in a cloud of smoke

“We’re just friends and you know it” Joe stated, cigarette hanging from his lips

“Thats bullshit, Joe.”

My emotions got the better of me and ignoring the warning signs, i let them. Despite all this i had hoped, really hoped that i could somehow change it. Joe was Joe and he did what he wanted when he wanted. I knew i was delusional to believe i had the power to change anything, let alone a strong willed person like Joe. He refused to grow up, constantly acting childish and never committing to anything for a significant amount of time. People around him were play things that he singled out to suit his specific needs. He dropped them like toys and picked them back up again when he was bored.

“Can you honestly sit there and tell me there are no feelings between us?” I begged him for an answer. “Do you feel anything for me? Anything at all?”

No answer was given, just a simple shrug of his shoulders. If my heart wasn’t broken before it certainly was then. He couldn’t look at me, focusing his eyes over the steering wheel and watching the rain fall against the windscreen.

“I can’t do this anymore” Getting out of his car i slammed the door closed and ran across the street into my house. Even though the distance was short i was soaked and my clothes felt heavy on my skin as did Joe’s words, or lack of words, did on my heart.

That boy had me wrapped around his little finger. Like a puppet on a string, Joe pulled me left and right. He had me where he wanted me. Believing that having something more than a fling with Joe was a fantasy. Being with him was like playing make believe. He makes my head spin and his voice fogs my judgement. It was time to come back to reality. It was time for me to grow up, with or without him. I wanted to forget him.

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss

I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

The smell of smoke would hang around this long

‘Cause I knew everything when I was young

It was while making coffee the next morning i realised tying to forget someone like Joe is near damn impossible. Every detail about about him lingers in my mind, his name constantly on the tip of my tongue. The shape of his lips are imprinted onto mine and i will never forget how they felt. The spark when his deep brown eyes met mine is always embedded deep in my heart where no one else can reach. His touch is eternally burned onto my skin, forever part of me. I knew i would never really be able to untangle Joe from my life. It was hard to know where he ended and i began.

The coffee machine was done and i took my favourite mug from it’s place in the press. Of course it was positioned next to the mug Joe usually used. I noticed the coffee stains on the edges. I’m sure if i looked closely enough i would see transcripts of all the late night conversations shared between us. They were never really serious, only ridiculous ‘what if’ scenarios, but it made me wonder. What if i never met Joe? What if he never smiled at me the way he did? What if we never had that fight? How many washes would it take to get the smell of him and his smokes out of my clothes?

Everything blended into one and i couldn’t remember a time in my life when Joe wasn’t part of it. It was impossible to know what parts of my life actually belonged to me and not him. Pictures float in front of me, reminding me of our time together. No matter how hard i tried to forget, each memory will be forever burned into my heart.

I knew I'd curse you for the longest time

Chasin’ shadows in the grocery line

No matter where i went a memory of Joe played like a movie in front of me. It was like an outer body experience, as if i was watching from afar. Shadows danced in the store aisle, distracting me. I only noticed the cashier was ready for me when the man behind me cleared his throat. Apologising, i quickly placed my few items and thanked the girl quickly leaving the store.

When i reached my car i realised all my thoughts were consumed with Joe. He haunted my memories and my past. Flashbacks came daily in the most random of places. Every inch of our home town crawled with the sound of his voice and each street screamed him name tauntingly at me.

Starting the car, i made my way home while desperately trying to avoid any streets where i shared moments with Joe. It was impossible. Every street contained a different story and a different memory. The streetlight outside my house is the one i danced with Joe under. He was everywhere and unavoidable.

He ruined me in all the best ways. Joe stripped me back to the basics and built me up again in ways i can’t describe. Before Joe life was boring and grey. Now, it is full of colour and new sounds i wouldn’t have experienced without him. He turned everything i knew upside down. The vitality in everything we did together will always be etched into me. It has made me a different person and for that i can’t be anything but thankful towards him.

I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired

And you’d be standin’ in my front porch light

I missed him, more than anything. Two months later i still missed him and I have never felt so alone. Even when Joe left to join the paratroopers i never felt this lonely. Somehow the thought of having him in the same town but not as my friend was worse than him never coming home. That was such a terrible thought but it’s how i felt.

The thunderstorm outside reminded me of the night i fought with Joe. The rain beating against the window made it feel less lonely. It created a sound displacing the constant silence that surrounded the house now Joe wasn’t around. Picking up the stuffed bear he once made fun of i smiled before i threw it across the room. He was everywhere.

I almost missed the banging noise against the front door. Cautiously walking to the window to see who it was because who in their right mind would be out in weather like that. The last thing i expected to see was Joe standing on my front porch knocking at my door. I deliberated for a moment whether to let him in. Could i leave him outside and hope he would leave, or should i let him in and wreck the little progress i have made in forgetting him?

I chose the latter, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch. After opening the door he stood there not saying a word. He didn’t come in straight away and i watched the raindrops fall from his face in the light. He looked exhausted like he hadn’t slept in days. I handed him the blanket and he followed me in placing it around his shoulders.

He said nothing, he just smirked. “Hey Doll”

And I knew you’d come back to me

#band of brothers x reader #joe liebgott x reader #band of brothers imagine #joe liebgott imagine #bob imagine #bob x reader #band of brothers imagines #Joe Liebgott imagines #joseph liebgott imagine #joe liebgott #Spotify

[swagreus]

Meat Cute

So @bluandorange made a post a while ago that I CANNOT FIND about Reaper being a Klyntar symbiote and we threw around ideas about it and now YOU GET 3000 words of it.

UNDER THE JUMP-- three relationship milestones between Reyes and the symbiote not yet named Reaper.  Morreyeson, pre-relationship Reyes/Reaper, implied Reyes/Reaper/Morrison

TW for medical setting, abuse of medical authority, government dehumanization, a little body horror, the SEP sucked a lot

(An introduction)

It's a day like any other in the SEP, which means it's a day of bullshit and nausea and unknown things shoved into his body.  

Gabe is fucking exhausted. They've been running them on treadmills for a few days, testing their response to the last round of shots, and the science wonks are making happy noises about how far above human baseline they are and it's still not enough. Not enough to take on the swarms pouring out of the omniums, not enough to survive long enough. And he knows it, but he's sick, his body's never where he left it, and he's so goddamn tired of being poked.  

Two labcoats-- new ones, that's never good-- come into the gym where Gabe is having a lift-and-bitch with Lawson and Morrison. All three of them clam up, Morrison's pretty pink mouth snapping shut around a profane assessment of program management.  Lawson sets down her absurdly large kettlebells, wipes stray hairs off her sweat-drenched brow, makes a show of re-tying her pony.

"We're just here for 24.  Candidates 76, 52, Carry on," says one of the labcoats-- young man, white, thin brown hair, mouthing the words like it's something he saw on a TV show. He used to learn their names, but they cycle too much now. It's not worth it. They never bother learning his name.

The three candidates share an unimpressed glance, just a flick of eyes meeting, brown -hazel - blue, wordlessly despairing together at the new desk jockeys that have given carte blanche to change their bodies from the inside out.

Gabe bends slowly, maintains eye contact, setting down the massive barbell, slowly, with so much control that the sound of the bar shifting inside the weight plates is louder than the sound of 300kg touching the floor.  

"That's my day shot. See you tonight, losers."

Two sarcastic, perfect salutes.  He can feel their worried gazes on him as he strides out of the gym. He doesn't think about it. Sometimes candidates don't come back.  Rodriguez washed out last round.  Stevens and McCullough went off for some kind of candidate trial and then a day later their numbers were scrubbed from their rooms. Nobody said anything.

"So, what did the wheel of injections land on today?" he asks, as he follows the new labcoats toward one of the procedure rooms-- oh, god, one of the airlocked ones, where they had that round of aerosolized stuff that almost killed Wallace.

"You're a special boy, Reyes," the older labcoat says, unphased by his irreverence.  "You're the only surviving candidate who passed the cross-matching."

Surviving. A chill goes through him. Not like he didn't know, but it's the first time anyone on the admin side's acknowledged it out loud.

"Cross matching. You-- that's for organ donation. Right?"

"Something like that," older labcoat says. He unlocks the door with a card-- not a palm scan, these two must be visiting experts and not part of the program proper. Not part of the plan that was laid out. Not part of the consent forms he signed, he knows that for damn sure.  

The government is just throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks now. And he and his fellow candidates? They're the wall.

Young labcoat gestures to the procedure room. "In and on the bed."

He glances down at his sweat-soaked gymwear. "No prep? No decontam?"

"Not necessary."

Whatever that means.  

His sense of outrage is exhausted. All the ethical lines were crossed a long time ago, whatever new fuckery they have for him today is just... it's just how he lives now.

Sometimes he wonders if he'll ever see the outside of this place.  

He goes inside. Lays down on the bed. Younger labcoat follows him in, slaps a couple of ekg pads onto him and clips a blood-ox monitor onto him, but that's all-- he retreats, leaves Gabe alone.  That's not-- usual. They've moved one of the remote surgery units in, but the only attachment on it right now is a dual-clamp arm holding a sealed capsule about the size of a coffee can.

They don't know what to look for, he thinks.

They don't think there's anything to do if he crashes, he thinks.

They're scraping the bottom of the barrel and whatever they found there is in that hazmat canister hogvering over him.

He can feel the pressure change as they seal the room-- he can feel so many things now. No windows, but they all know when it's raining now. Wallace and Morrison and Hu can hear silent alarms and security systems now.  The soft press of the sealed-in air is oppressive, bears down on his ear drums like deep water.

Older-labcoat's voice crackles across the intercom:

"We're introducing a liquid enhancement system to you. There'll be some discomfort, but if things go well, you'll be out of here in an hour."

"What's IN the liquid-"

The remote surgeon unit whirs to life and unceremoniously cracks the canister over his body, like the shittiest fried egg onto a pan, and black ooze splatters onto his gym clothes and over his arms and torso.

It's viscous, rippling with the fall, and it takes a second for Gabe to realize that it's moving slowly with more than just gravity. He thinks, horrified: slime molds crawling over concrete. He thinks of those creepy funguses that zombify ants. People use them as fitness boosters, don't they? Is that what this is? He slaps at it, tries to scrape it off, and it clings to his fingers.  He can feel panic rising.

"Don't move, 24. That stuff's worth more than you."

He doesn't ask if they're joking. They're not.

Here's the rub: there's a robot apocalypse happening outside. All of them know that. And they've all accepted that this is the price to pay for even the chance of stopping it: they let go of their autonomy, their dignity, their certainty. It's fucking inhumane and it's probably necessary.

The black slime inches over his gym-shirt, and when it moves on, the cotton is dry.  It slides a little easier over his skin, and he can feel it replacing his cold sweat, displacing or ... intaking it, he can feel it clinging, and then pressing, and then--

It's suffocating, his skin feels like it's suffocating, bloating, filling--

The ooze pools up eagerly, covers his neck, slides under his t-shirt, slides over his face, and his control breaks and he screams and it goes down his throat and into his skin--

Then it's gone, and for a second he's actually-- he hates himself for this-- he's actually afraid he's broken the government's expensive zombie fungus ooze.

He breathes in-- and it's fine. It's like nothing happened. It's okay. The horrible feeling of drowning is gone.

"So what should I --"

And then his legs kick out without his consent and one of the monitors starts to scream-- blood ox, has to be, because he's suddenly breathless, struggling to inhale as his body goes stiff and jerks (myoclonic seizure, literally means muscular jerking-)

His head slams against the stainless steel biobed and he's out.

He comes back up in a different room-- different smell, different ekg machine beeping into his ears. It's not sterile in here, it smells like a fucking locker room, and when he lifts his swimming head, looks around, he sees it's because there's more than half a dozen candidates holding down every patch of available floor. There's a hand in his, suddenly gripping tight-- Lawson. His bunkmate Wallace is asleep in a chair next to the bed, loud clatters as Chin and Morrison scramble to their feet, cards falling from their reaching hands. Johannsen bolts through the door, shouting out into the hallway, and more bodies poor into the little room. They swarm him, everyone laying hands on his arms, shoulders, chest, talking over each other worried-relieved-urgent.

"...what's with the sleepover? I miss midnight TV?" The energy in the room is unpleasant, thick with fear and some kind of unfamiliar celebration.

"You  didn't come back," Lawson said quietly. "They didn't-- they didn't say anything." She bites her bottom lip, snarling at herself for the moisture flooding her eyes.

"Like McCullough." Morrison says, his voice cracking in the middle, part raw emotion, part  chemicals that seem to be putting the farmboy through a second puberty. He's got a deathgrip on Gabe's bicep. "Like Stevens. Had to check every day your number was still on your bunk."  

"Then after five fucking days they just come in and say 'he's stable' and we could see you-"

"Fuck. Fuck."

"How the fuck are you, man?" Wallace asks, sleep-slurred, pushing his way through to grab some bed-side real estate.

"I'm-- I'm fine."

...he really is. He doesn't feel like he's been out for five days. He feels like he's just woken up from a nap.

"Hey, I'm fine."

"Of course you are, asshole," Morrison laughs, eyes as shiny as Lawson's and Wallace's and Chin's and he pushes himself up and lets all these angry queer soldiers hug him because they only have each other here and apparently he's survived five more days amidst the bullshit.

He never sees the two labcoats again. They don't tell him if the zombie slime failed or succeeded, they don't tell him anything, and once he manages to forget it he doesn't think about it again.

(An Acclimation) He doesn't think about it when a Bastion gets off a shot a second before he can disarm it, close range, and he sees bone and cauterized meat and a cartoon cross-section taken out of his left side. He's too busy killing it and then passing out.

When he wakes up, and his skin is burned but whole, and his ribs ache but aren't visible, don't end where they were vaporized, he thinks-- it must have been a hallucination. He and Morrison can heal, but not like that.  It didn't happen.

He doesn't think about it when he steps into a building and inhales and tastes (explosion) and throws himself back out the door like an asshole.

He struggles to explain what alarmed him to his support crew, but they trust him now, they clear the building and send in a remote-control bomb unit instead. It circles the room twice before it finds the well-sealed package of explosives, the leaked chemicals barely detectable even to the tuned sensors.

(But he knows. He tasted it in the air. He knew it was an accellerant.)

He doesn't tell them that.  He doesn't explain it; he doesn't explain things. He's a fucking war hero, he doesn't have to explain. It's nothing, Morrison can hear ultrasonic and he can taste accelerant in the parts-per-billion it's just SEP bullshit.

(Soon the rumors go around that he's psychic. He encourages that. Keeps people on their toes.)  

They win the war, but the world's still in danger, a house on bombed out foundations with opportunistic termites all through it.  He and Morrison are the last survivors of the SEP, and they give themselves one day to mourn before they confront the new impossible mission the UN's saddling them with.

They've saved each other's lives more often than they can count.  They're closer than brothers. Closer than lovers.  When he kisses Jack and Jack rumbles "Thank god, thought you never would" and drags him down on top of him, it's an anticlimax, it's just another piece of warforged machinery clicking into place.  

They love each other and if it feels like that makes him stronger, makes him faster, makes him healthier, well who the fuck knows about hormones. Not him. He hasn't had a t-shot in months. Their bright new Swiss doctor looks at his blood panel and informs him serious as a headache that his body chemistry his changed. He produces his own testosterone now.

"That's impossible," she says. "I know. I've tried everything."

"SEP bullshit," he says.

"...Was it worth it?" She touches the patch on her own arm.

"To stop the war. Not for this."  

There's a lingering hate in his head, and something echoes it sometimes, just this instinctual fear when he thinks about the program, the procedure room.  

But that's just common sense.

They walk into the UN and Jack Morrison bats his lashes and convinces an entire security counsel that what they always meant to do was put him in charge of the new 'Overwatch' project and oh as an afterthought there should be a spec-ops branch and Gabriel Reyes should run it.

The lack of argument as they bolt Jack over his head stings, boils resentment in his belly. Petras doesn't even put up a token argument, despite Gabe's war record, his seniority. They get everything they want, and it tastes a little like ashes. He wants something to wash it out and has no idea what, but there's this odd-- intrusive flash, like something from a dream, of the crunch of bone and a strange taste in his mouth that would satisfy.

"Of course they wanted me in charge," Jack says that night, sitting around a kitchen table with Gabe and his brand new SIC, an old friend from the war. "They think I'll listen to them."

"They think you'll look better on a poster," Ana says, so that Gabe doesn' thave to.

Jack nods grimly. He's a realist. He squeezes Gabe's hand, then lays his own on his chest.

"I'm nonthreatening BARBIE," he chirps, and despite himself, Gabe snorts.  

Ana gapes, because she wasn't there for the SEP and doesn't know about the angry farm-queer who lurks under that polish and that lantern jaw. It still occasionally surprises her when Jack has a personality. Gabe knows better, but he still loves it when Jack's bitchy side sneaks back out.

"I have such features as BEING WHITE and PROBABLY DUMB. I'm from a FARM. Math is hard!"

Ana puts her face in her hands.

"Shut up," Gabe snickers, propping his elbows on his knees, loving this shady idiot with his whole heart. His brain fills with a wash of home-together-safe that he can almost taste (he can taste accelerant) (he can smell fear) and the taste of ashes fades.

"You love it."

"Fuck you."

"You love me."

"God, Bloomington, I really do." He pulls Jack unprotesting into his lap and Ana rolls her eyes and quotes fraternization regs at them without conviction.

And for a while it's good.

It's hard, but they're managing. It's a complicated business, saving the world, they walk lines, they cross him, but they're making a difference, they're doing real good when the UN's back is turned, they hold each other at night and make quiet promises that they won't make the same mistakes as their predecessors, they won't abuse their power like those who came before, they will do this RIGHT...

They make new mistakes.

They stop new crises.

They step too heavy.

They save the world even as it lashes back against them, over and over.

They take risks, spread the umbrella wide, looking for oddities and oddballs who don't fit any of the profiles the UN wants them to consider. A little shithead from the newly reformed Deadlock gang; a terrified teenaged super-intelligent gorilla from the moon; a multiple amputee ninja; a woman displaced in time.

(An Awakening)

They hire a brilliant geneticist, a follower of the late Harold Winston's work. She and Doctor Winston's other ... successor... get along poorly. But they don't have to see much of one another. What biological research Winston-the-actual-fucking-gorilla gets up to, he does with Angela Ziegler and not Moira O'deorain.

Moira has an edge to her that Gabe responds to. Jack ... doesn't, but he takes Gabe's word that she's necessary.  He takes Gabe's word that a lot of things are necessary. They trust each other, they have to.  

"It's fascinating, what you are," she says one day, his medical records spilled out across her desk. She clucks at the old-fashioned paper copies from the SEP-- there's no digital record of any of it, and the paper is more black-highlighted redactions than anything else.

"...you could be more, I think."

"I'm done with people poking me," he says.

And then Talon takes over an entire town in Italy without anyone noticing, and Blackwatch is moving fast but not fast enough, and he tastes accelerant again but this time the explosives are already primed and three Blackwatch soldiers die screaming, and this time he goes to her.

"Do you know what they did to me?"

"No idea. It's fascinating," she says, the faint lilt in her voice making it sound almost gleeful. "But I've been having a look at your latest blood draw, and there's something to it. Something more to you. I want to start some... off the books research."

"...it'll be on my books," he says.

She smiles, and if it doesn't look reassuring, she's not the only one in Overwatch who's not an expert at social cues.

She tells him: There's something in him. Something she can't identify. Something alive.

"Don't look so alarmed," she says, arching a brow. "Humans are full of micro-organisms. Whole species of bacteria that live only in our guts. We're walking colonies. You, you just have something a bit extra."

And for the first time in decades, Gabriel thinks -- black ooze.

Tasting his own emotions. The constant bitterness of stress that's making the stress worse.

A hole, like a cartoon-cut out, in his side.

"...And."

"And!" Her mismatched eyes light up.  "It's operating at maybe a tenth of its potential. It was weakened, nearly killed-- like a vaccine-- but this isn't a pathogen, it's beneficial. It can be stronger. You can be stronger."

"This could go very wrong."

"Come now, I wouldn't just incubate this thing in you."

He doesn't say: the government didn't hesitate to do exactly that.

"I've learned how to suppress and contain it, if there's any untoward side effects." She tuts away his concern, and it's testament to how bizarre his life has been for how long that ... he accepts that.

In retrospect, foolish.  But he lets her start him on this cocktail of -- fungus food, he mentally calls it.

And she's right. God, she's right. He's stronger every day. He heals faster, his metabolism is more efficient, his reaction time halves and halves again.

He means to tell Jack, he really does.

But.

One night, one stolen half-hour in their shared quarters, Jack has Gabe's knees over his shoulders and his tongue deep in Gabe's ass. His poster-boy, his G.I. Barbie holding the world at bay with the sheer force of their shared bond and the skill of his tongue, and he loves, and he loves, and he loves--

And loving Jack has a taste, a sweet, satisfying taste that he can't get enough of.

And something unfurls in his mind.

/Awake/ it coos.

/Tastes good./

And blackness ripples under his skin and he freezes and shoves Jack back, fetching up against the wall, staring down at his own chest, grabbing only at familiar skin and unchanged musculature. No sign of the alien presence. Not even the echo of a voice.

"What's wrong?" Jack picks himself up from where Gabe threw him-- not just onto the floor but almost against the far wall, he didn't mean to.

Gabe opens his mouth to tell him everything. Everything. The two strange labcoats. The impossible healing. The taste of accelerant, the taste of emotions. Moira.

He doesn't know how to say it. It sticks in his throat.

"It's-- nothing, I had a bad moment. S'fine."

"Okay," Jack says, eyes still worried but taking him at his word.

Jack takes his word that a lot of things are fine.

Gabe draws him back into his arms and kisses the worry off his face and pretends he can't taste fear, fear, fear.

#Venom (2018) #Overwatch #Overwatch AU #Reaper Symbiote #Gabriel Reyes #Jack Morrison #Moira O'Deorain #Angela Ziegler #body horror #trans gabriel reyes #trans angela ziegler #ana amari #precanon #pre-fall of overwatch

[littleoldrachel]

Next chapter is up! Read it here on ao3, or here on ff.net, or under the cut. 

100 Ways to Say I Love You Summary: In which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall in to a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, they both know it anyway.Or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Previous |  chapter 12/100 - “Take my jacket. It’s cold outside”  Based on this post by p0ck3tf0x  Tw for mentions of negative body image, depression, anxiety, self-harm, fat-shaming, and discussions around classism. 

The thing is, when Remus said you can go, it wasn’t meant to be a permanent thing. He didn’t mean take your stuff and get out of my home, he didn’t mean you’re not welcome here anymore. But he should have realised, that with Sirius’ history, he wouldn’t have taken it any other way. Within an hour of their row (? - Remus doesn’t want to call it a row, or a conflict, or anything that suggests that things aren’t fine between them, because in doing so, it acknowledges the mishmash of hurt, anger, and embarrassment that has tangled itself in his chest), every trace of Sirius’ semi-residential status has quietly removed itself from Remus’ flat.

And Remus hates it. He hates not hearing Sirius impersonating Freddie Mercury, he hates that there are no longer toothpaste smears on the bathroom sink from where Sirius spits too enthusiastically, he hates the way that Winky mopes around the patch of sofa Sirius had made his own, pawing at the indent his perfect arse left there.

For the longest while, all Remus can do is sit on the floor in front of his sofa, Winky against his chest, too numb to even cry. His head is a tornado of emotions, and he flips between self-doubting guilt and self-righteousness anger dizzyingly fast. On the one hand, he knows he’s justified in his frustration - and the part of him that has therapy stitched in to his very core reminds him that his feelings are valid and important. Impact matters more than intent - and whilst he doesn’t doubt that Sirius’ intentions were good (because Sirius is good - reckless and thoughtless and impatient, but fundamentally, unshakably good), it doesn’t detract from the fact that his words hurt. It hurts because Sirius should know better than to call him proud and force his ‘help’ upon him. It hurts because the implication that money and a new place to live would make all his problems disappear is fucking offensive.

It hurts because having Sirius living with him for the last couple of weeks has been so fucking domestic and lovely, and this was a just a harsh reminder of what cannot be.

(Remus has to suck in a shaky breath at this point, because, numb as he is, this wound has struck him at his centre, and it hurts).

And then there’s the other part of him - the part that is so steeped in self-loathing and depression that it will never truly be cleansed. It whispers that this was an overreaction, that it was deserved, that he’s ruined the best thing in his life - that Sirius will never come back. It murmurs that it wouldn’t be so bad to take the money and offer, that Remus has doomed himself to struggling forevermore. (It lies, Remus tells himself, though even in his head, he’s not as firm as he would like to be).

He’s itching to talk to his friends and have them validate his feelings, because if he keeps them inside his head, he is going to have a breakdown. He can already feel the ragged edges of his heart aching with every shuddering breath, and his eyes are burning with unshed tears.

But he can’t. Because Sirius will be home by now - with James and Lily, not with him, because home will never mean Remus ever again now - and Sirius will need them both. And… if he’s being really honest with himself, he’s afraid of what calling them might mean;

James doesn’t do sides, but if he did, Remus knows he would always choose Sirius in a heartbeat. The two of them are closer than brothers, and matter more to each other than almost anything else, and whilst Lily is more likely to be neutral, Remus cannot pit her against her best friend and fiance - not for his sake, it’s not worth it.

(He’s not worth it).

Remus jolts and realises his nails are embedded in his palms - the stinging pain in his hands is real, and he stares at the way blood oozes from the marks. It scares him how much Sirius means to him - it terrifies him that he’s so quickly reverted to old coping mechanisms, and it’s this unbridled panic that makes him finally move.

He needs to get out - and not in the sense those words would have meant a couple of months ago, he just needs some time out. Running away from his problems hasn’t always helped in the past, but the thought of staying here, and having to deal with the fallout of his and Sirius’ relationship, of having to explain himself to every one of his friends, of having to explore with his therapist why this hurts so much - he can’t.

And so, he won’t.

Winky blinks dopily at him, then tucks herself back into his stomach, and he makes a rare, spur-of-the-moment decision.

He’s going home.

(If you can call a place that made you despise everything about yourself, that tore you down with every millimetre you grew, that taught you that you were wrong and worthless and - if you can call a place like that home).

The following morning finds him at the train station, an over-priced ticket in his pocket and a dreadful heaviness in his heart. He’s thrown things together in a rucksack without really thinking - which is how he later ends up with twelve pairs of socks but no underwear - and he rang his mother on the way to the train. She had done her best to hide her surprise beneath a layer of genuine pleasure, but Remus knows there’ll be prying questions when he arrives.

(He’s weirdly okay with that - perhaps by then, his heart will have finished gouging scars in his chest).

And so, he avoids the calls from his friends, cancels on his therapist, pointedly doesn’t look at Sirius’ Snapchat story, and clambers aboard the train that will take him to the place he once thought he’d never escape. The journey is appalling - as all trains outside of London are - and it’s early evening before he finally arrives.

His father stands on the platform, a tall, thin man leaning on a stick and squinting at every passenger who exits the train. When he claps his eyes on Remus, he hobbles towards him as fast as his knees will allow.

“Ahuv, Remus!”

“Shalom, papa,” Remus returns, allowing himself to be clasped tightly in a warm embrace. Despite the rockiness of their relationship, the comfort this contact gives him almost brings tears to his eyes, and he has to swallow hard against his father’s shoulder to hide it.

“You look tired,” Lyall says, almost accusatory, and Remus waves a hand.

“Work. Delays. London stuff,” he says, “is mama at home?”

Lyall frowns at the change of subject, but allows it, attempting to take Remus’ backpack as they make their way to the car park. “No, we are collecting her from work on the way home. She is very happy you are here.”

“I’m happy to be here,” Remus says, internally wincing at how bad of a liar he is.

“Nobody is happy to be here, Remus. This is the place people come to die.”

“Papa.”

“Hush now.” His parents’ car is almost as battered as his own, and it takes three attempts before it sputters into life, but his father pats the dashboard affectionately anyway. “Tell me about your work.”

Remus shifts uncomfortably. “There’s not a whole lot to tell,” he says, and at his father’s noise of displeasure, he begins a halting update on the publishing company and its struggle in the digital age. By the time they’ve reached his mother’s place of work - a hotel on the outskirts of town - Remus is cringing from the weight of his father’s disappointment at his lack of anything - no success, no promotion, no clue what he’s doing with his life.

(Perhaps this was a mistake).

(But then his mother arrives and hugs him so warmly and tightly that he can’t stop the tears from leaking out this time).

Her chatter fills the journey back to his parent’s tiny house, and continues on into dinner. Remus is grateful for it, because exhaustion is starting to cloud his brain, and any more interrogation about his employment failures will lead to an actual breakdown. Instead, he soaks up the unchanged-ness of his childhood home and tries to pay attention to all of the gossip about people he used to know like his own family.

(He hopes that his father’s mention of the girl he’d briefly dated in secondary school was out of humour and not hopefulness, but the glint in Lyall’s eyes makes his heart sink).

The nostalgia here is suffocating - as he lies in a bed too small for his frame, and stares up at a ceiling that’s still covered with posters of animals, he struggles with the memories of the depression that had almost taken control of him as a teenager. He remembers avoiding looking at his body and the way it bulged when stepping from the shower, and how unhappy it made him to catch sight of his reflection. He remembers spending hour after hour either crippled with a darkness so all-encompassing, it pinned him in bed, or a panic so overwhelming, it was all he could do to lie as still as possible. He remembers picking apart razors and playing with lighters and sharpening shards of glass with the sole intention of destroying himself.

They aren’t good thoughts.

(But it’s not Sirius and how everything is ruined between them. It’s something altogether different and darker, but it sucks him into a restless sleep far more effectively than recent events could).

He deliberately hadn’t bought a return ticket - partially because he hadn’t felt able to make that sort of decision, and partially because his bank account wouldn’t stretch that far - and so, he doesn’t even think about going back. He spends his days wandering streets he used to know like the back of his hand, helping around the house with cleaning, and exploring the tracks into fields and forests at the edge of the town. Most of the time, he’s alone, but as long as he keeps himself busy, he’s fine - he can handle this.

He knows his parents are worried about him - they discuss him in hushed voices when they think he’s not listening, and he pretends not to notice the concerned looks they give him. His friends are worried too, and it’s this that reassures the tiny part of him that feared their rejection.

Look, he knows he can’t stay here forever - he can’t even stay here long at all, given the fact he’s supposed to be at work - but right now, it’s where he needs to be.

Alice: Is this you having a breakdown?

Remus: Nah, just needed some time out.

Alice: From ???

Alice: From Sirius?

Alice: Bc I swear, if /he’s/ the reason you’ve run off back to the place that nearly killed you, imma kill him.

Remus: It’s not like that Al

Remus: I swear, no killing necessary

Alice: Are you okay?

Alice: Like honestly?

Remus: Yeah

Remus: At least, I will be. I needed this.

Remus: It’s complicated. But I’ll explain when I’m back.

Alice: You are coming back, then?

Remus: ???

Remus: Of course??

Alice: Just checking

Alice: Love you [purple heart emojis]

Remus: [purple heart emojis]

James: i don’t like thinking of you being back there but i will accept that you’re doing what’s right for you

James: just know that i’m here when you’re ready to talk, k?

James: love you so much [sparkly heart emojis]

Remus: Thanks Prongs [sparkly heart emojis]

Lily: i miss u, when r u comin home?

Remus: Idk yet, but I miss you too [red heart emojis]

Lily: [sad face emoji, broken heart emoji, red heart emoji]

Sirius: can we talk pls?

“Don’t forget your drugs, hamud.”

“Aren’t I a little old to be your hamud, mama?” Remus looks up from his bowl of porridge with a wry smile, the endearment warming his heart.

Hope looks affronted, clasping a dramatic hand to her bosom. “Nonsense,” she says briskly, “you are always my hamud, Remus. In fact, here.” She whips his bowl away, deftly tips the bottle of golden syrup upside down and liberally sweeps it across the surface. When she returns it, she’s grinning mischievously, and Remus can’t help the chuckle that bursts out of him at the smiley face dribbled over the oats. “When you were little, you wouldn’t eat your breakfast without this,” Hope says fondly, and Remus smiles too as he’s tugged into the memory.

“And when you were in hospital, papa went out of his mind trying to get me to eat,” he says, spooning up a mouthful of pure syrup. “Because he didn’t know that I had your sweet tooth.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, ahuv,” Hope chides him, but she’s still smiling. In the weak morning sunlight, the rays catch the strands of her hair that are turning silver, and dance over the crinkles about her eyes. Remus deliberately doesn’t think about the way her eyes strain to read the papers, or how stiff she rises from prayers, because thinking about her ageing sends him on a downwards spiral into thinking about death and the anxiety that gives him is not something he ever wants her to witness.

Remus swallows and takes another bite. Hope sips at her tea, and the morning is quiet and still for a while as they sit with their thoughts.

Eventually, Hope clears her throat. “It’s not that I don’t love having you here,” she begins, and Remus’ heart sinks at what must be coming next, “but I am worried about you being here.”

“You don’t need to worry, I’m fine,” Remus says automatically, and Hope tsks loudly.

“It is an insult to me as your mother that you expect me to believe that.” Remus lowers his spoon, ready to apologise, but Hope continues. “It’s my job to worry about you, ahuv. And it doesn’t take much to work out that something’s upsetting you.”

Remus hesitates, because whilst he and his mother are both trying this openness and honesty thing, there’s a large part of him that still feels he has to shield the ugly parts of himself from her, that doesn’t want to burden her with his messy problems. In that pause, Hope reaches a hand out towards him, and links their fingers together.

“Talk to your mama, Remus.”

Remus sighs. “It’s - it’s complicated. I - sort of argued with Sirius. And I’m really pissed at him, but I still l - he’s still my friend, and I… I guess I’m just disappointed.”

“What did you argue about?” Hope’s tone is neutral, but when Remus raises his eyes to hers, the care in them is so much that a lump rises in his throat.

“He… well, I told you about his Uncle Alphard.”

“Yes, yes, the reason you didn’t come to Hanukkah.”

“When he died,” Remus says slowly, “he left Sirius his money. A lot of money. And Sirius - he said he’d give me half of it.”

There’s a pause. Hope’s eyebrows have climbed to her hairline, and then she repeats incredulously, “he’d give you half?”

Remus pushes himself from the table and begins to pace, unable to control the irritation that is thrumming through his limbs.

“It’s like he thinks he can just throw money at a situation and magically make it better? Like I don’t know that my flat is terrible. And he comes along with his millions and says he’ll move us somewhere better and I’m just supposed to click my heels and snap to it? Like I’m some fu- some charity case.”

Hope stares down into her mug. When she speaks, she sounds tired - more tired than Remus has ever heard, “when someone is born with that level of privilege, it takes a long time for them to unlearn it. I’m not -” she raises her hands placatingly when Remus makes to protest. “I’m not trying to excuse him. He should know better. And that he doesn’t is exhausting for us working-class folks.”

“I’m just tired of it. I’m tired of having to save everything I can and watch them spend the equivalent of my rent on a shopping spree. And I know they don’t even mean to be dicks about it, but that sort of makes it worse, because they’re so used to their entitlement that they don’t have to think about it.”

Hope lets him rant - perhaps it’s because she can tell he needs to let this out to someone who understands, perhaps it’s because she uses his frustration to fuel her own anger, perhaps it’s because she loves him and she’s his mother. Either way, she makes an encouraging noise to continue, and suddenly, it’s like every ache of growing up in poverty is exploding out of him:

“They’ve never understood it - not really. James and Sirius both come from private school, six-car, four-house families. At uni, I had to teach them how to do their laundry, because they have people to do that for them. They didn’t understand why I had to have two jobs to cover uni. They don’t understand how privileged they are that their parents paid for their accommodation and tuition fees and everything they asked for. They don’t understand what it’s like to have to learn to drive illegally in your cousin’s stolen car because their daddies bought them their own when they turned seventeen.”

Remus leans against the table, hands clenching its surface so tightly he can feel the splinters embedding themselves in his palms. “And even the others are too middle class to get it - Lily went abroad every year for holidays, and Frank and Pete sort of get it but they’ve never struggled for money for meals or had to watch their parents go to bed hungry so that they could eat.” He meets his mother’s eyes and the understanding in them draws him back to his seat with a sigh. “And I'm glad they've not had those experiences… I’m just tired.”

“I’m sorry, ahava shelli,” Hope says after a while, once it becomes clear that Remus has run out of steam. There’s little else that can be said, and Remus continues to stew in his hurt frustration, the pleasant feeling from before entirely dissipated. He glares at the smiley face in his bowl - though its smile has turned into a grim slash by now.

The silence stretches for a long while, and Remus can tell Hope’s building up to something, because the anticipation makes his stomach squirm unpleasantly.

“You know that Sirius didn’t mean this maliciously,” Hope says carefully, and Remus opens his mouth to protest - because sure, but? Not the point? But Hope quickly continues, “I’m not saying to forgive him immediately. Because he needs to learn to be better. Not just for your sake. But… if this boy is as good as you’ve made him sound over the years, I know he’s going to do the work. He cares too much to let this come between you. And so do you.”

“I know,” Remus says softly - this isn’t anything he hasn’t spent the last week circling back to in his head, but somehow, hearing it out loud makes something click.

(I care too much to let this come between us).

“You know why this hurts so much,” Hope murmurs, squeezing his hand gently.

Remus takes a deep breath, and it aches like pulling glass from a wound when he admits, “I’m just - I can’t help but think we’re too different sometimes. Like, even if he felt the way I do, we’re from such different lives - I have nothing to offer him that he-”

“Remus John Lupin. I did not raise you like that.” His mother’s voice is sharper than it’s been this whole conversation, and Remus starts. “Money or no money. That man would be lucky to have you. Do I make myself clear?” she says fiercely, and Remus nods meekly.

(One day, he’ll be able to believe her. One day, he’ll know his worth - he has to trust in that. For now, he’ll have to trust in the people he trusts the most).

“So, what now?” Hope says eventually, quieter and calmer than before.

“I just need him to apologise,” Remus says at last. Because if he doesn’t - then he’s not the man Remus is convinced he is, and he’s not worth the years of pining Remus has subjected himself to.

(But he will apologise, and he is worth it. Remus is certain of it).

“Have you let him?”

“I - what?”

“Have you given him the chance to apologise?” Hope says.

Remus looks at her, then down at the porridge, and bites his lip.

“I think you know what you need to do, hamud,” Hope presses the palm of a warm, weathered hand against his cheek, and leaves the room.

Travelling back to London feels bizarre - although he was free to leave his parents’ this time around, there’s a sense of lightness and freedom that accompanies him all the way down south. It’s warmer in the city, and it’s warmer in his soul - though sadly not in his flat as he re-enters, and shivers as the temperature drops a few degrees.

He can’t afford to turn the heating on, so he pulls on another woolly jumper and pretends its as good, and makes a cuppa. Once he’s settled on the sofa with a blanket about his shoulders, he pulls out his phone, and begins to respond to the piles of messages he’s left answered over the last few days.

Eventually, he comes to Sirius’, and tries to summon the same resolve he felt yesterday, in that tiny kitchen.

(It shouldn’t be so difficult to tap out such a brief response).

Remus: Yes, when?

His heart speeds up painfully when he hits send, and he clutches his phone to his chest like a teenage girl, because he likes Sirius so fucking much, no matter how problematic he is, and he’s desperate for this to work out.

His phone buzzes, and Remus jumps, immediately checking his notifications. To his… disappointment? Relief? He’s not sure how to feel - either way, it’s not Sirius.

Instead, it’s a message to the group from Kingsley, informing them all that the following evening is a Compulsory Gang Meet, to be missed under pain of death. His friends are so fucking dramatic.

Speaking of dramatics - Winky slinks into the apartment through the tiny broken windowpane, catches sight of him, and flings herself at his feet, meowing loudly. Alice has been coming and feeding her, but Remus still feels guilty that she’s been alone all week.

He snaps a selfie of her curled against his stomach, and goes to send it to Sirius - even goes as far as to tap out a how cute is your daughter??? before remembering.

(Soon, things will be normal again, and Remus can go back to pining in peace - still torturing himself with dreams that can never be, but at least he’ll be torturing himself with Sirius instead of this awful distance).

To say that things are Awkward at the pub, would be the understatement of the century - possibly even the millenia. Sirius nodded and smiled when Remus arrived - late, obviously - but they haven’t talked yet, and the only available seat was directly opposite Sirius, not exactly ideal for a deep, meaningful chat.

“Gonna go for a smoke,” Kingsley stands, waving his lighter. “Anyone coming?”

“Yep,” Frank says solemnly, pulling out his inhaler, and making to stand. Alice rolls her eyes, too used to his jokes to even muster a smile, and yanks him back down unceremoniously.

“I’ll come,” Remus says, surprising himself, because cigarette smoke makes his head hurt and stings his eyes, but he also can’t stand the unhappy tension every time his and Sirius’ eyes meet.

Kingsley’s eyes flicker knowingly towards Sirius, then back at Remus, and his smile twists into something too sympathetic for Remus to bear. “Let’s go,” Remus says hurriedly, seizing his threadbare coat from the back of his seat, and looping an arm around Kingsley’s.

Sirius suddenly stands, and the chatter of the group dies immediately, as their friends look between them. The attention makes Remus’ anxiety flare.

“Take my jacket - it’s cold outside,” Sirius says, his eyes imploring Remus to meet his gaze. Remus steadfastly looks at the floor, but takes the proffered leather jacket, sliding it around his shoulders.

He’s loathe to admit it, but it helps. It’s baggy around the shoulders and tight around his middle, effortlessly cool in a way that Remus has never been and could never be, but it takes the bite out of the wind. (And, a tiny treacherous corner of his mind whispers, it smells like Sirius - his fancy aftershave and outdoors and paints - which is possibly more comforting than any physical benefit).

Kingsley lights up a cigarette, taking a long inhale, and releasing his breath slowly, so that smoke combines with the mist it creates. He’s all long limbs and dark, glowing skin, casually sprawled against the pub wall, like something straight out of a catalogue. Remus leans beside him, and for a while, neither of them say a word.

Then -

“So. You and loverboy are in a tiff?” Kingsley’s tone is light, but he links their arms together in solidarity, which takes the sting out of loverboy.

“He’s not my loverboy.”

“Sure, and I’m a straight white boy.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Fine. I like him-” (it’s strange how much easier that is to say out loud these days? Remus-half-a-year-ago would have a panic attack sooner than admit that) “-but it’s not like that.”

Kingsley blows a circle of smoke, and Remus is half-admiring (because Gandalf, duh?) and half-disgusted (because smoking, duh?). “What’d y’all fight about?”

Remus sighs. “Me being poor and him being rich.”

Kingsley frowns. “What, is he tryna Pretty Woman you?”

Remus laughs in spite of himself. “Something like that.”

Kingsley sighs. “Rich people, eh?”

“I know.”

“Are you gonna forgive him?”

Remus stares at him, because as if Remus has any choice in this, as if he’d let this stand between almost a decade of friendship and an unrequited crush. “Of course.”

“Does Sirius know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard through the grapevine that he’s convinced he’s ruined everything.”

“If by grapevine, you mean you eavesdropped on him-”

“Fuck you, I have my sources,” Kingsley elbows him playfully in the ribs.

Remus laughs. “I’m waiting for an apology. But when he does, of course he’s forgiven.”

Kingsley stares at him. “If you were any more in love with him, you’d be vomiting rainbows, I hope you know how gross you’re being.”

“Wow that’s homophobic.”

“Your mum’s homophobic.”

“Not anymore.”

Kingsley cackles, stubs out his cigarette, and slings an arm around Remus. “I’ve missed you, don’t just disappear again, kay?”

“I won’t.”

Kingsley shifts from one foot to another. “Fuck, it’s cold. You coming back in?”

“In a minute. Go on without me.”

“You sure?” Kingsley frowns, but he’s only wearing a shirt, and just the sight of him is making Remus shiver.

“Go,” he urges, and Kingsley slips back inside, the door swinging shut behind him.

Remus leans back against the wall, wrapping the jacket around himself, and exhaling slowly. He can’t say that he’s altogether surprised when the door opens again, and a familiar voice says, “Moony?”

Sirius stands there, wringing his hands together, looking more nervous than Remus can bear. “Can we talk?”

“Yes,” Remus says immediately, and Sirius’ shoulders visibly relax.

“Thank you,” he says, the relief palpable, “can we…?” He gestures down the road, and Remus shrugs.

“Sure.”

Sirius smiles - hesitant and still nervous, but just as fucking cute as ever. Remus’ heart - his stupid, fucking traitorous heart - pounds a little harder at the sight of it (and wow, he’s never getting over this man).

“Let’s go.”

#littleoldrachel writes #writing #fic #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #100 ways to say i love you

[intheemyart]

Conserving The Moment

Has it been two days since Alverstoke Destler-Lee, the famous actor that people praised a lot, beat her to the point that she couldn't even move freeely? With all the bruises on her body, she couldn't help but to wear so many layers of clothing. 

To cover her hands with long cardigans. To cover her legs with long pants. To cover her neck with a scarf. To cover her face with a mask, hiding even her emotions behind. Though people still say that she looks graceful and elegant, still they thought it was strange for Frederica to suddenly transform into this kind of person. Someone who seemed to transition into a religious person —which is of course not—.

"Oh, an allergic reaction you don't need to worry of." The simple answer she gave to everyone in the museum regarding her clothing and everyone nodded. Not in the world they would've thought the real reason. 

"Mrs Destler-Lee, will you be able to be found in the conservation room?" asked a staff standing on the information desk when she said to her that she would not receive any guests except certain names that has been listed down. Frederica nodded. "Let those names find me in my private conservation room. Accompany them there if they visited. I'm going to work on a painting," she said as she entered her room.

And so, she disappeared behind the door. Busy with her own world.

────────── 

For Asa, moving is an opportunity to organize his belongings, especially his collections of Sol-Mae artworks. As he started to settle in, he noticed one of his mother's art needs a little touch of repairing. Although the painting looks fine, he believe the canvas needs to be changed, seeing how long the piece had not been taken care of. As he about to contact his usual man for the job, the thought of Frederica passes his mind, where in their previous lunch date he promised her to bring his mama's painting into the museum. 

He then got himself ready to go, he drove to Frederica's workplace in less than 10 minutes with his black Porsche, he took the time to stop by a flower shop to purchase a bouquet of red rose for the lady. 

As he arrive at the museum, he approach the front desk staff and they direct him to Frederica's workspace. Asa enter quietly without disturbing the lady, he watches her soft hands work beautifully conserving the art in front of her. He stays silent for minutes to observe her absolute beauty, adoring the every second of it. Afraid of being called a creeper for staring, he disturb the lady with a soft voice. 

"Frederica? It's Asa. I got something for you.”

He hands the lady a bouquet of red flower, then with a soft smile he shows her his late-mother painting that needs her help. "I am sorry for the disruption, but I'm here to drop Sol-Mae's artwork. I think the canvas definitely needs to be changed.”

────────── 

Being super focused on her job makes her unaware of her surroundings, as always. Not to mention the classic instrumental songs playing on the low volume from the speaker at the corner of the room. If the lad, Asa, didn’t called her, perhaps she may not even realize about his presence in the private conservation room. Her fingers dropped the brush carefully to the table as she pushed away the big magnifier up. 

She turned her head and smile at the guest softly behind the mask she’s currently using; to hide her bruise and to protect her from the chemicals she’s working with.

Her sweet voice welcomes him to the room. “Hello, Asa. I’m sorry for not acknowledging your presence a while ago,” she said softly as she took off her gloves and washed her hands before walking towards him. “This painting looks lovely and wonderful,” she said as she look at him in the eye. A couple kissing with poles in between. “You want to change the frame? I sense that this painting is a little bit dirty.”

────────── 

Singapore weather was hot as hell, He notices the lady has covering so many skin of her body. Although he already knew what was going on, from the babysitter he forced her to bring, Asa still shoot the question. "What's with the attire here? Is it a uniform or?"

Asa let out a good laugh to fix the atmosphere, making it a bit relax as he knew the lady will answer the question with a lie. Frederica then starts talking about the painting, Asa gave a nod with a slight smile on his face. "Yes, I believe It's been ages since this particular piece has got frame changes." 

"I knew you can help me with this one." 

He get himself closer to her as both of them started to observe the painting. He explains in a soft voice to her ear. "The painting portrays a forbidden love. Even though it's forbidden, the two of them still tries to pour their emotions as they were madly in love."

Asa started to lay his hand on hers before she starts to do her work, he looks into her face from the side as his voice became stern, showing his concerns to the lady. "I know what he did to you, and that is not love. That is abuse." His hand direct her fragile body to face him gently, looking into her eyes deeply. The distance was so close to the point they could just gave each other a passionate kiss, but Aidan whispers instead. "I knew we just met, but just like this painting, you—Frederica—is precious to me." “Nobody in this world are allowed to be treated like a punching bag, Fre." “He clearly don't deserve you.”

────────── 

As she received a question regarding her attire today just like what the other staffs did to her, Frederica brushed her nervousness with a smile and a faint laugh. “An allergy. I think because of the extreme weather these days,” she lied as an answer. At this point, she didn’t knew that he was spying on her with the babysitter he gave her days ago. Perhaps, that’s the reason why we shouldn’t receive anything or ‘anyone’ from a stranger you just met.

Her eyes still fixated on the painting brought to her studio. From the distance, she could already plan what to do with the painting. “I’ll clean the painting and remove the varnish. Retouch some parts that loses its color after respraying it with a new varnish.” She smiled at the man who suddenly became so close to her, causing her to speak nervously. “Then, I’ll change the frame—“ she paused for a while and gulped. Too close, she decided to take a step back.

“The meaning of the painting is indeed illicitly beautiful,” she commented. She didn’t lie on that one. As in trying to interpret the story behind the painting, it doesn’t mean that she normalize it. 

“Umh—“

Her heart beats faster and her eyes widen as she heard what he said— so close. So close to her that they might’ve kissed at this point. Frederica couldn’t help but to look at him in the eyes too. To hear that he knew everything back at home, she was shocked. “H—how… did you know?” she asked him behind the mask she’s wearing. Her body trembled in fear and shock, asking him. “How did you know about that—?” she asked him again. How? How did he know about the abuse? She couldn’t think clearly.

"I knew we just met, but just like this painting, you—Frederica—is precious to me." 

That word quickly struck her with reality. He knew everything about her. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” she said. “Did you spied on me? You have no right to say that!”

Frederica looked at him, scared. “It’s not your problem. It’s my problem!” “Get out!” she shouted, though her voice is too soft to be considered as a shout

────────── 

As Frederica started to exaggerate the situation with her meaningless panic, Aidan handle the situation by hugging her tight in his arms. His hand goes to her back — rubbing them gently to soothe the panicked lady. He then whisper softly. “Shh… you will be safe with me.“

The hug made the lady a bit calm, He then look directly to her teary eyes. The eyes that could tell us that she is suffering in pain. There was a minutes of silence, only a classical music can be heard from the corner of the room. Their eyes spoke louder than their words. Aidan slowly took her mask off. Oh how it pierced his heart to see the mother of two got bruises on her face. It was terrifying to see the result of the domestic abuse she been getting. He couldn’t say a word, there is no words can describe his emotions right now.

He is mad to the man that could do such thing to this beautiful creature, He also felt sad as he imagine to be on her shoes with two kids in a abusive relationship. In his mind he thought: “I will protect her, at all cost. Just like I will protect my sister.”

Without saying any words, Aidan clash his lips on Frederica’s for a passionate kiss. He couldn’t handle his desire to just kiss the fragile lady. The kiss was so gentle that he never done it this way before. The kiss gets deeper as he move his hand from her neck down to her cardigan, letting it down slowly as he wants everything to happen within her consent. His hands go down to her hips, without breaking their kiss — he lifts her up to the near table beside them. As the lady is sitting on the table, Aidan hands are busy removing every layer of clothes that left on her body — leaving only her undergarments. Aidan then lower move his gentle kisses to her bruises, from lips to her cheek, down to her soft neck.

His one hand are on her waist as the other was on the table. The kiss eventually continue to go down to her chest & her belly. It hurts him to see all the scars on her silk body, he continue the kiss to her hip bones. Aidan looks up to her for more consent before doing anything else, as he started to lower down his body & lift Frederica’s long legs to the table.

────────── 

A warm hug— and a tight one wrapped her body at once. At once, Frederica felt a little calmer than before. She felt something that healed her through the whisper and the soothing words. Tears ran across her cheek. It’s indeed, been a rough time for her. Eyes showing her pain. Her body trembled as he took him in his hug. Everything seems so perfect to explain how she’s handling everything at once by herself, without ever talking about the matter to anyone else but him; Aidan.

As he took off her mask, the lass closed her eyes. Her emotions mixed as one inside her heart. It was embarassing to let anyone see her in this situation. In this condition. She always look her best and now… fragile.

Lips on lips— they met each other’s. Frederica’s heart beats faster as this was the first time someone kissed her but not Alverstoke. Not that man. A man she just knew days ago from a simple question.

A passionate, soft, gentle kiss that suddenly felt so beautiful. 

Cardigans off— showing her bare skin of bruises. Her heart was in full of doubts; to continued or not. She’s technically still married to the man. She’s still someone’s wife. Her mind was blacked out by several thoughts and consequences. But then she realized, if her husband doesn’t even treat her well and cheated behind her— shouldn’t she do some revenge? Why would she care about what he had in mind or how he feels? He abandoned her too.

She hold her breathe when he lifted her to the table next of them with her being undressed one by one, until she showed him most of her bare skin. A faint moan was heard from her lips as he moved the kisses down— from the lips, cheeks, neck, chest, and belly.

Frederica looked up and bit her lower lips as she felt lips on her hip bones, slowly but sure going down. She tried to brush off the thoughts in her mind and let herself enjoy the moment while it lasts. 

“Umhh—“ she opened her eyes and looked down at the lad. Both of her long legs on the table. Frederica exchanged gaze with him— a scared one yet tempted, a nervous one yet seduced. Doubts could be seen, but she gave him a faint smile on her face, giving him her consent to do more.

────────── 

He put an obvious smirk on his face as she gave the consent to continue. Aidan then kisses her thighs gently, exactly on the bruises. The kiss eventually leads him to her panties, he then rub her sensitive bud with the tip of his nose. Moving it up and down slowly.

Aidan sense she is hesitant about the affair, he looks up to the lady who clearly enjoy the touch he was giving, and ask her softly as his hands started to pin both of her legs for a better ‘workspace’. 

“Are you sure about this?“ He asked to the lady.

────────── 

How long has it been since Alverstoke touched her this way? It’s been a while, before the birth of the twins to be exact. To feel this kind of sensation running in her bloodstream— she felt so wonderful. She felt like she was recharged.  Kisses on her thighs, slowly leading to her private part— the most sensitive of her body. Frederica locked her eyes on him, seeing every movement of him under there… while she bit her lower lips. Her chest moved uncontrollably, feeling the urge to be pleased.

Another question was asked and a nod simply became the answer to her. “You said that you’ll keep me safe. Then let me trust you with this one— I want to let the past go. I want… to feel appreciated again,” she answered carefully while trying to control her breathe.

Frederica knew exactly that right after this, there’s no point where she could turn back time. It is what it is and this is what she wants. 

“Do it before I change my position and started to please you instead.”

Naughty words slipping through her lips.

────────── 

Her words, the one that she repeated his word about keeping her safe, made Aidan smile a bit. His mind kept telling him how wrong this is — banging somebody’s wife. But deep inside Aidan know that she needs this, the affection, the genuine love, the affair. That is all he got to hear, her fire asking to be breed with gasoline. The ‘Do me’ sentence that gave him nothing but consent. Aidan then came back down to slide her panty down to her feet. 

Her body look majestic for a mother of two who just gave birth, Aidan adore her since the day she lended her hand for an introduction. Here she is, laying all naked on her own workspace with nothing but a bra on — having an affair with him — a red wine enthusiast.

Just like wine, Frederica gets even fine with age. Aidan submissive always ranging in younger girls section, but this affair was different. His feelings towards pleasing her was not just about lust, he finally could feel the ‘love’.

He once again gave in, without any hesitation or even touching her with his bare hands — he just crashes his tongue to her redden bud. The sensitive bud of hers been calling him to let his tongue dances on it since the beginning. Aidan gently letting his tongue dances on the redden bud while he looks up to her, notices how much she is enjoying this moment. The air was full with her needy moans. If Aidan was in his usual behavior, Frederica will already be on her knees chocking on his shaft. 

Once again, this moment was meant for her pleasure. She deserves it, I’d do it often too knowing how long she been staying with her abusive husband. As the pace of his tongue on her bud gets a bit rough, Aidan slides 2 fingers into the lady’s private part.

────────── 

Legs wide open in front of the man he barely knew. They talked once, twice with what happened today, and now they ended up in a lustful affair, in her working area at the museum. Something Frederica never imagined before— not even once. Turning forty at the end of the year yet still doing and looking great; innocent, pure, yet sexy at the same time. Her cheeks blushed as the man slid down the black panty she’s currently using— contrast with her milky-white fair skin.

Naked and exposed to Aidan. Her hands grabbed the corner of the table when his tongue started to please her, dancing on her sensitive red bud down there. At first, she tried her best to hold it inside but the pleasure she felt made her dizzy. The electrifying sensation that rushed inside her, causing her body to bend a little bit backward. He’s truly one of a kind, treating woman like her as a queen. 

“Mmhh— Aidan…” she moaned while calling his name.

The sound of the classic music that once filled the room has now been taken over by her moans of needing more and more— especially when his tongue’s pace started to please her rougher than before. “For God’s sake—! Ahhh…. that feels so good mhh~” she moaned.

Eyes shut and she tried so hard to bit her lips, toning down her volume of moans and heavy breathes. She threw her head back, facing the ceiling as her body slowly trembled. And as the two fingers slid in, she gasped— in a loud moan she quickly covered with her hand.

“Oh— yes!” she screamed out gently as she started to move her hips slowly, following his movements. “It feels so good ahhh…” 

────────── 

He then breaks the dance as he started to thrust his fingers good into her. Aidan’s eyes was fixated to her body reaction, It was satisfying to see her squirms — obviously asking for more. Aidan knew exactly what she needed — a climax, so that’s what he is aiming to. His fingers form into a hook, then moving it in the perfect motion to hit her walls — making her on the edge. His other hand was placed on her lower belly, pinning it down so they won’t move away.

Aidan eyes goes up to her eyes as he had found the spot. With a smirk on his face, he kept hitting the walls with his fingers. The room was filled with her noises, her moan & the mess he made down there. With gentle tone, he said: 

“How about a release?”

────────── 

Its getting deeper and the hook really made a huge difference inside her. Hitting the wall again and again in such perfect motion, causing the lass to grab on the corner of the table tighter than before. Her body is quivering from the euphoria that started to built. 

Frederica couldn’t hold it any longer as she started to feel the urge to let go something. The urge to moan faster and louder than before. She did it right in front of Aidan. “Ahh— again… faster— deeper,” she moaned as her body was shaking. The mother of two smiled at him, panting. She kissed him on the lips softly before she pulled away, parting their lips that became the start to this lusty affair. Of an affair that reached its climax.

An elegant woman turned into a lusty one— her hair in mess and so does her appearance right now. Almost naked, only with her bra on.

────────── 

Aidan put a devilish smirk as the lady finally release it all, he welcomes her short but passionate kiss. He then breaks the kiss as he started to pull his fingers out from her, laying his forehead on hers as he thrusted his juicy fingers into her mouth. He rested his forehead to hers as his fingers getting ‘cleaned’ well by her. He whispers softly to her. 

“Divorce him. He should always give you satisfaction — like I just did, not beating you up. You are a precious woman, not his punching bag.“

Aidan then took his fingers out from her mouth, leaving a kiss on her forehead as she nodded to his request. He hands her cardigan from the floor, then walks out from the room like nothing happened. As he reached the door, without turning his back, he said: “Text me.”

────────── 

Frederica happily put his fingers inside her mouth, licking it seductively as she cleaned his finger after pleasing her with so many ways, in an unexpected way and place, after the short passionate kiss that they had. 

Both foreheads met each other as she licked him clean, as he tried to convince her for a divorce. Yet still, Frederica doubted herself. There were so many things to be taken under consideration. 

“I don’t know… I’ll try to look for a way out. The twins needs him.”

She could only nodded her head. She wanted to divorce him so much, but again, she needs to settle some matters first. The twins and her family, not to forget that divorce wasn’t easy and will never be easy Frederica realized that her life worth more than living in an abusive marriage with him. She hold on to the cardigan that he handed back and started to dress up when he left her alone in the room like nothing happened before. 

“I’m going to divorce him, sooner or later…” she mumbled when he told her to text him.

End of Conserving The Moment.

[ghostofviper]

Updated Prompts- use these ones

I took out ones that had been used a lot. Please request from this list.  All  one prompt list now just send in numbers and wrestler.  

Request Rules:

Send in your wrestler and the number (NO WWE/NXT – I don’t write for them) – I won’t write for the Briscoe brothers anymore, so please don’t ask. 

You can combine prompts.

I always acknowledge request asks.   If I didn’t respond I didn’t get your ask, so please ask if you didn’t get a response once requests are closed.    

I tailor the requests how they come to me during the writing process.  I don’t take specific requests for smut, fluff, angst, etc.  I never know what direction a story is going until I start writing it, so what comes out is what you get. Some will be short, some will be longer.  Depends were it takes me.

I have no problem receiving multiple requests from people.  Send in as many as you want. Happy to take anonymous requests.

COMMENT AND REBLOG!  This a serious motivator.  It’s hard to write not knowing if people are enjoying. I get really down if I don’t get comments.  Especially if you requested it, please give me some feedback. 

Send me a name and number.   If you send more than one number in the same ask I’ll assume you want them in the same story.  If you want a separate story for each number either specify in the ask or send in separate asks

Thank you everyone!

PROMPT LIST

“Don’t be so rough. There can’t be any marks.”

"Why is your back all scratched up?"

 “Don’t trust anyone.”

“I don’t care whether you like it or not. Just take it.”

“Am I supposed to be scared now?”

“No! I’m tired of doing what you say.”

“You’ll never be enough.”

“Could you get out of my way?”

“What are you doing down here by yourself?”

 “There’s something wrong with you”

“I thought you’d be gone by the time I woke up”

“This stays between us.”

 “I can’t give you what you want.”

“You were convenient”

“Everyone can tell you love me.  It’s obvious”

“They told me I would find you here”

“Tell me what it will take.”

“Don’t you dare touch me again.”

“Don’t feel bad.  There was no chance for you to begin with.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Do I look like someone who’s interested in you?”

“I bet you look even better with your clothes off.”

 “I’d hold on to something if I were you.”

 “I see you’ve started without me.”

“Wanna taste?”

“Less talking. More fucking.”

“You’re really going to make me beg for it?”

 “You’re so sexy when you’re all hot and bothered.”

“Try to keep quiet. We don’t want to get caught.”

“Forget the bed. Let’s fuck right here.”

“Fuck, I love the sounds you make.”

“Does this feel good?”

“Please… Don’t stop.”

“Please. I need you. Now.”

 “Get on your knees.”

“This cock isn’t gonna suck itself.”

 “I just wanted a taste.”

“Is there anything you can’t do with that tongue?”

 “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

 “I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that. “

“You make a sound and its game over baby.”

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me?”

“You’re not allowed to cum without my permission.”

“Fuck, that’s good.”

“How ‘bout you come and help me out, huh?”

“What do you mean not yet?”

 “Were you dreaming about me again?”

“I can’t wait to taste you.”

“You have no idea how good you make me feel.”

“We’re in public, you know.”

 “The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh.”

“Does that feel good? You want more?”

 “Just be still and relax…”

“Are you serious? Here? Now?”

“I don’t like the blindfold… I want to see you!”

“You can stay, but your clothes must go.”

“I don’t care if people are around or not, take off your clothes.”

“Why are you not sitting in my lap?”

“You won’t get away with having that attitude for long.”

“You aren’t very good at this, you need more practice.”

“I’m done with you, go clean yourself up.”

 “We both know that you want it, so stop complaining.”

"I’ll make sure you can’t walk tomorrow."

"I’m never getting on my knees for you again."

“This can be our little secret.”

“You don’t care anymore, do you?”

“Is asking for cuddles afterwards really too much for you?”

“You’re a lot more attractive when you don’t open your fucking mouth”

“This shouldn’t have happened.”

“Please tell me you forgive me”

“You don’t have to worry. I’m never going to touch you.”

“I want it to hurt.”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

 “You can trust me”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Does she know we fucked on this table?”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“Would you mind if I kissed you?”

“I’m not doing this”

“We’re not going to talk about this now.”

“Is that too much to ask?”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that”

“All I want is an apology.”

“You used my bed!”

“I’m looking for attention”

“Did I interrupt something?”

“You’re hurting me”

“I just want to forget for a while.”

“I’m sick of being treated like this.”

“Did you do this on purpose?”

“I can be nice”

“You shouldn’t have said that.”

 “I’m really bored and it’s late.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“He wasn’t what I thought”

“I’m all alone and I’ve got nothing on”

“Jesus, you’re an asshole.”

“And slowly…I was forgotten.  You didn’t even realize it had been two months since we spoke until you came home to fuck me and I wasn’t there.”

“I heard you found a new friend”

 “I guess you finally learned”

“I’m starting to think you have no heart”

 “You’re a worthless slut, don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I don’t realize how mean I can be”

“I change my mind every day”

“I’m not sure I’m done with you”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you walked out”

“I’m trying not to think about you”

“I never loved you enough to care”

“I believed you were the one”

“I can’t say I’m surprised”

“Do you know who that was?”

“I fucking hate everything about you.”

“Tell me that you need me.”

 “Stop filming me, moron!”

“Thanks, but I’m not interested”

"I could really use a fuck right now."

“No, keep your clothes on.”

“You know I’m not like that.”

“Do you ever mean the things you say?”

“What a pretty thing you are.”

“Remember when we used to play?”

"If you beg I might have mercy on you."

“You know where the door is, you can let yourself out.”

 “Tell me what it’ll take…”

“It’s too late for regrets.”

 “You owe me.”

“I told you not to get too close to me.”

“I told you to leave, but you didn’t. I gave you the chance!”

 “Just tell me your feelings were real”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Can this stay between us?”

“Please don’t make me go home.”

“I thought you said you were busy?”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“Can you shut up for five seconds?”

“I thought you knew.”

“If nobody’s around, what’s stopping us?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“It’s really not that complicated.”

“Just admit I’m right.”

 “It’s just you and I tonight.”

“Do you get what I mean now?”

“You know I can’t be found with you.”

“I only want you.”

“I don’t like your attitude.”

 “If you find me unattractive you sure have a funny way of showing it." 

#requests #request prompts

[theoriginalbread]

Venting

TW: domestic violence/abuse, childhood trauma (abuse, neglect, etc.), abandonment, depression, self harm, suicide, PTSD; a whole bag of issues, clearly

⚠️⚠️⚠️ You have been warned! ⚠️⚠️⚠️

Scroll until the colored text to skip!!!

I got really high last night and suddenly got super sad that my entire childhood was robbed from me. I remembered that I used to take care of my baby brother, since he was in his diaper, and he was the best thing in my life at the time. I got to play with my best friend as he grew up and developed skills until he would get to be as smart as, and maybe even smarter than, my older brother and I. I remember feeling so much love for him. I was so excited and that’s about the last real feeling I remember from my childhood. Since then it’s been a slow and steady incline into “maturing” faster than other kids.

I remember how often my mom wouldn’t come and pick me up from school. I would wait and wait in the hot sun on the corner of the school street she instructed me to stay at until she came to get me. She would be there about 60% of the time. Enough for me to get familiar with the route home in case I needed to walk home. I walked home, alone, as a little child, often. And I don’t think I ever felt scared, more like anxious. What would I find out when I get home? Would there be a home? Would my mom be okay? Would my dad be yelling again? If nobody was home, they couldn’t reach me. Some days, I would get home to find no one was home and since I was small, an elementary school child, they wouldn’t give me a key. I would wait outside the house for hours and then cry to my neighbors and ask them if they’d seen my parents leave or if they could help me find them or if they’d let me in. I was ignored by them a lot too. They didn’t want to deal with a crying kid who wasn’t theirs. I never saw the inside of the house they were in because I only ever saw the front door and the window. My mom never scolded me or even acknowledged my feelings. I received no comfort.

I had to start using my brain much more to ignore things around the house and in the family than before. I had to try and keep the act up to not alert anyone that I knew too much. I remember how heartbroken I used to feel when I would see my mom cry and hear my dad yelling. Or how scared I felt when my mom told me if we ever heard them yelling at each other again to just go into the room and put on music real loud. (Trauma based tinnitus anyone? 🤲🏽 Can’t get that fucking ringing out of my ears)

I was confused. I cocked my head at that statement, like a dog, trying to learn new commands. I don’t think I ever got over that exact moment in time. My heart races, miles and miles per hour, at the sound of my parents raising their voices, in jest. In normal conversation. A laugh, through headphones and muffled, sounding too close to a yell and my head starting to spin, my knees lose their strength.

I used to think that I deserved to feel the way I did, at fucking NINE YEARS OLD. I was depressed. I was so horribly depressed I fantasized about dying at school. And I don’t mean intrusive thoughts, I mean genuine fantasy. I would be so lost in fantasy thinking about how much it would mean to people and how sad they would be at my death and that finally they would see that I’m worth their time and affection. So god damn terrible.

That was elementary. Middle school wasn’t any better. In fact it got worse. Yelling matches with my dad almost every other day. I’d pick a fight over everything that I could. I hated him so much. He would always slap me and try and intimidate me, but as stubborn as he made me, I’d never back down. I would double down and yell louder and call him names and watch him break down and cry because he only wanted to be a good father and he hated the way we had become. But I never bought that angle. I hated him so much.

Immediately I’m transported to the night I was on the computer in the living room, laughing and playing with friends. Mom bursts out of the room screaming at the top of her lungs, followed by my father, face so red you’d think he was about to burst. Scream crying her best attempt at a sentence, “he’s going to hit me” and I did not think and I did not take time to listen and immediately put myself between him and her and tried so hard, my one hundred and twenty pound self, against a man, at least a hundred pounds heavier than I, to halt his approach on my mother. My older brother came rushing over to my aid as my younger brother held my mother and backed further and further away while my older and I tried our best to stop my father from moving forward. He didn’t even see us. Whatever the issue, whatever it was that caused him to turn into these fucking demon, he didn’t even acknowledge his own children trying to prevent bloodshed. He was screaming so loud I felt my ears burn after each sentence. He pushed my brother and I aside like rag dolls and yet we both kept pushing him back and harder and at one point I even considered punching him. I’ve never wanted to hit somebody so bad in my life, and that’s On EVERYTHING. I hate violence and he made me want to punch him until his nose broke because of how blind he was.

That’s probably one of the most traumatic days of my entire life, family wise anyway. For months after, he didn’t step foot into our house. He had to fix his shit. Nobody said anything. We just did our best to pick the pieces up and keep moving and helping my mom relax.

For the longest time after, I had problems with my mom. Oh yeah, she’s not so innocent either. I feel terrible for all she’s been through, but it’s not an excuse for how she treated me too. Scratching me and throwing my head into the wall. Yelling at me that I’m just like my father and throwing my phone onto the floor so damn hard it shattered into pieces and spread everywhere into the room. Pieces of glass hit me and I was afraid I’d been cut and she instead checks on my younger brother, in the top bunk of our bunk bed, and apologizes so much and tells him she loves him so much and not to be afraid. She left the house that night, in the middle of the night, and went driving to god knows where and blamed the whole thing on me. She told my dad that I pissed her off because I didn’t listen to her and called her names and none of that was true, obviously. I told her that night I didn’t want to give her my phone because I can’t wake up on time without the alarms. She felt I was undermining her authority by not immediately giving it up. My father came the next day, mad as hell and he slapped me. Told me to apologize to her for all that and I told him, “no, because I didn’t do anything and she hurt me.” He scoffed and went to go talk to her. My mom ignored me for a week after. She didn’t feed me and she didn’t look in my direction. It took a long time for her to talk to me, and she didn’t let it go for months. Years later, I asked him if he knew why I never apologized, then told him about what she did and he said he had no idea. They fought that day. I left the house screaming and crying and having a panic attack. I went to my girlfriend’s house and I slept it all away, blocking both their numbers and trying so hard to will myself dead.

I have so much more to say but I can’t dump everything on the internet. I just feel like I can’t tell anyone this, and obviously there’s a time and place for even the slightest mention of any sort of childhood experiences, but idk. I don’t feel like anyone else understands me and I’m not sure if that’s internal or not. I can’t tell, cause even when I’m with some of my close friends, I feel all they do is talk abt their stuff and ask after they feel they’ve overshared or that they heard what they wanted to hear. And then by the time I get the nerve to start saying what I want to, something else comes up and the topic is gone.

I know I need a therapist, this isn’t new info and it isn’t shocking but man I just need to say it somewhere, ya know? I just can’t keep it inside forever. That thing that people say, “trauma keeps you at the age you experienced it”….that applies to me so hard lmao.

I just wanted a fucking hug man. And my tears wiped away and my damn emotion acknowledged.

If anyone makes it this far, thank you. I hope this wasn’t too long and that it didn’t set off any alarms. Take care of yourself, please?

⚠️⚠️⚠️

End of post!

#mine #8:11 am #writing #tw #tw vent #ptsd #abuse #trauma

[marshmarrowsans]

Merry Christmas and happy new year, @lostsoulwolf​ and @undertalesecretsanta​!  You got us-- a blog run by two mods-- as your Undertale Secret Santa, so guess what?  We made you two gifts! ^-^ Mod Kasha drew this fan art of your CUTE AS HECK OC with Sans, and Mod Cerbie wrote this fanfic about your CUTE AS HECK OC with Sans.  We hope you enjoy them, because we had a lot of fun working on them! Summary: Another year passes by in the underground, and Sans isn’t too enthusiastic about it.  Luckily, Mikaela has a few ideas to get him in the holiday spirit...

A brand new year was arriving. Around this time many people make resolutions to better themselves, or maybe to save up money for a big goal, and still some just wish for a brand new, better start. However, far below the ground of Mt. Ebott, there was a population of decent folk who all just shared one dream every passing year: to finally attain their long awaited freedom from the magical barrier that trapped them down here.  

However that didn't stop the monsters from celebrating and welcoming in the New Year.  It was a way to try to keep up their spirits when all else seemed hopeless and grim. Every year was a hope and a dream that maybe this was the year they would gain their freedom. Of course, that didn't mean individual monsters didn't have other dreams. In fact, a short skeleton monster was dreaming of making do by sleeping at his sentry fort. At this point in his life the New Year's celebration meant very little to Sans-- he made more of an effort during Gyftmas, when he played "Sansta Claus" mainly for his brother's happiness, but it didn't really matter to him whether or not the New Year was greeted with celebration. As far as Sans was concerned, they would always be stuck done here.

As he snored away, a wolf-like monster came over, carrying a bunch of echo flowers in her paws.  Her fur was damp up to her elbows, the sleeves of her jacket rolled up.  She must have reached far into the water to gather them.  That wasn’t surprising, considering that whispering one’s New Year’s resolutions or wishes into an echo flower was a tradition, so they were in high demand at the moment.

“Oh Sans, there you are!” she greeted him, a cheerful lilt to her familiar voice.  Sans snorted in his sleep a bit.  He didn’t lift his head, though he was apparently awake enough to mutter a response.  It wasn’t like he could just ignore his best friend.

“mikaela…  i told you, i’m not into the whole new year celebration thing...”  

“Awwh, come on , lazy bones! There has to be SOME holiday spirit, even in you! You had it in you around Gyftmas.” She leaned over his side-- got right in his face-- and flashed him a toothy grin.  “You already called me Mikaela instead of shortening my name to ‘Kay like you usually do.  So see?  You can put in the effort for my sake, at least.  I mean, that’s a whole extra two syllables.”

He stuck his hand in her face, which would have been extremely rude if it wasn’t the kind of silly roughhousing they engaged in all the time.  “that was different, ‘kay.  i only did that for my brother so he wouldn’t lose his holiday spirit like i did.  it’s hard for me to celebrate the new year when i know it’s just gonna be another year of the same, y’know?”

Mikaela stared at him with her hands on her hips for a long moment.  When that didn’t work, she let out a sad whimper. “Sans, come on….don’t make me bring out the big guns.”

“...  no.  oh no, you wouldn’t.” “I would…”

“don’t you dare.”

“You leave me no choice…”

“nooo…” The short skeleton pleaded with her.  “i said….”

But it was too late.  She whimpered some more, bowed her head just enough that she had to look up at him through her eyelashes, angled her ears back and widened her eyes.  She was hitting Sans-- that poor, defenseless little skeleton man-- with the most powerful and skillful puppy dog eyes he had ever seen.  He practically felt his soul melting in his chest, along with a lot of guilt for denying her the holiday cheer she so desperately wanted to see from him.

“nooo…  you stop that, ‘kay! You’re not gonna change my mind!” Sans insisted. But he was wrong…  oh, he was so wrong. The whimper just got louder, it even turned to a whine for a moment, and her eyes grew even more pitiful.  She looked like she could cry.  Stars, he would never forgive himself if he made her cry.  “ugh…  fine… fine.  i just don’t see the point in--”

“Yesss! “ Just like that, she went back to normal, if not even happier than before.  Her ears perked up and her tail began wagging excitedly.  “As per tradition of the New Year, I brought you some echo flowers!  Seeing as how I knew you wouldn’t go out and pick them yourself.”  She began handing them over before noticing he was scratching his ass. “I wish you would stop that.”

“heh.  bit of a waste of one of your new year wishes, i’nnit?  and besides. there’s nothing there but a tail bone.” Sans chuckled before stretching and leaving his post. “you’re lucky we’re such good friends.  do me a favor, though, and don’t ever teach papyrus that trick.  the one with the eyes.  it’s my only weakness and i’m trusting you with that knowledge,”  he quipped as he took the flowers.

“Can skeletons even make a sad puppy face? Eh, guess you never know with Papyrus.  He can be pretty adorable.” Mikaela shrugged.  “So go on then, make a wish! Anything your soul desires.”

“anything, huh?”  Sans’ voice softened.  He traced the tips of his fingers idly over the glowing petals of the echo flower.  “... i guess…  i dunno.  you probably already know my biggest wish.  it’s the one we’ve all made.  year after year after year.  but it’s never enough.  each year we all make a wish to leave this place, but we’re still here.” Sans sighed, frustrated and downtrodden.  “so what difference does it make if i wish for it again?  just one wish in a sea of identical wishes.  and none of ‘em are being heard.  why would mine be?”

“Well…”  Mikaela tapped her thumbs together thoughtfully.  “Well, it’s less about believing that there’s someone or something out there that’ll actually directly grant your wish, and…  more about setting goals and instilling yourself with a sense of hope, I think.  So…  Yeah.  Even though nobody can answer us, we can still keep wishing and keep hoping.  After all, if we all lose hope then we stop trying, am I right?  And trying is what helps us achieve the things that we wish for!”  She smiled at him reassuringly.  “So never stop trying, Sans.  Even if it’s just a little.  It can make all the difference.”

Sans couldn’t help but blush and rub his neck.  She always made him feel like such a loser and a downer…  in the best way possible, of course.  She made him feel like he wanted to better himself.  “yeah.  i know you’re right.  heh, you must have been talking to my brother.  sounds like something he’d say.  well, i guess some of us have to remain strong enough to hold on to what little hope and happiness we have, but…  it’s been really hard for me lately.”  Sans admitted.  He noticed the worried expression on the she-wolf’s face. “but hey!  don’t let me get you down.  what about you?  what’s your wish?  you know, other than the usual?”

Mikaela sighed and smiled sadly.  “My wish is to help make you happy in whatever way I can, big or small.” She admitted.   Hearing that made his soul feel like it was fluttering in his chest.

“‘kay…  you’re too good for me, y’know that?”

She acknowledged his somewhat self-deprecating comment with a slight shake of her head, then continued.  “Isn’t there some other wish you have? Other than the usual?”

Sans shuffled his feet, as if thinking about if he really wanted to tell her. He was so used to being closed-off and secretive, after all.  He never talked about his own problems, his own feelings.  He just supported other people through theirs.  But as had been the case for many months, they were really good friends, so what the hell?  If he had to tell anyone, he’d rather it be her than anyone else.  He gave in.

“well…  there is this one little thing.  i’ve always, y’know, stared at the sparkling rocks in waterfall, but they’re not the same.  my wish is to see the stars.  the real stars, out there, so far away you can hardly comprehend it.  and the moon too.  but that’s not going to happen.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground, but not too quickly to see Mikaela’s face light up with a smile. “Is that so?  Well, Sansy, I may have just the thing. Come on-- I have something to show you!” She latched on to his hand and began tugging him in the direction of Waterfall.

“the thing just for me?” He repeated. “did you catch a bunch of stars? that’d be a paw-some feat.” He chuckled.

“Well you’ll never find out if you don’t move that tail bone of yours!” Mikaela let out.  That finally got Sans to follow her of his own free will.  Appealing to his sense of curiosity never failed.

“fine. but i’m pretty sure it ain’t nothing i haven’t seen before. “ Sans insisted.

“Oh, trust me. I think you’re going to love this! I discovered this ‘paw-some’ thing a few days ago! I couldn’t believe it when I saw it, but…  well, you’ll see.” She promised.

Sans shrugged, letting her pull him along without a fight. He was pretty sure he had seen just about everything there was so see down here…  except, apparently, for a crevice that led into a small cavern.  It was hard to see in the darkness, away from the lanterns and the glowing flowers.  And besides that, the opening had been blocked by a patch of overgrown marsh grass and could easily be missed. “...  okay, i stand corrected.  i guess i haven’t seen everything down here after all.”

“And that’s just the entrance!” Mikaela noted as she continued pulling him along. “I noticed a nice smell coming from inside.  Something I’ve never smelled before in the underground.”

She continued pulling Sans along and around a corner next to the ice cube carrying river, and then she finally stopped. The area didn’t look like much-- just another dark blue rocky walled cave-- until, that was, Sans noticed a tiny bit of light leaking from above.  He glanced up and his pupils widened at the wondrous sight that awaited him overhead.

Way up on this part of the underground, the ceiling had an opening just wide enough to let in a ray of true moonlight and a glimpse of the actual stars themselves.

“Well….what you think??” Mikaela asked.  Her tail made little scuffing noises against the ground as it wagged in anticipation.

Sans remained quiet, staring up at something he never thought he’d see in his lifetime. To him, it was like finding a treasure chest. Suddenly his broken smile didn’t seem so broken.  In fact, it seemed genuine.  If for only a little while, it was a true smile. “...  damn, ‘kay.” He finally let out after a long stretch of silence.  “wow.  i…  i don’t know what to say.  this is amazing.  heh.  i guess… some wishes can come true.”

Her tail began frantically wagging as her toothy grin returned. “Didn’t I tell you?  Isn’t this place magical? Ha, and I guess that means two of our wishes came true! I was able to make you happy again.”

“you’re right about that.  this is a better start to the new year than i could have ever predicted.” Sans smiled back at her. “y’know, i think maybe i can hold on to some hope after all.”

“Make that three wishes coming true, then.  Papyrus’ wish was you finding renewed hope,” Mikaela told him. “Three wishes come true.  Can’t beat that.”

“or maybe you can.”  Mikaela knew that tone.  It was the tone of a man who just had a brilliant, brilliant idea.  “you know…  i’ve heard of a new year’s tradition the humans have up there.  and i know we aren’t exactly buddy-buddy with humans on a lot of matters.  but i think they’ve actually got a pretty good idea here.”

His friend was intrigued, her ears perked up in curiosity.  “Ooh?  And what tradition might that be?”

Sans turned to her and pulled his hands from his pockets. “here, let me borrow this.”  He took one of the glowing echo flowers from her paws and turned away. Quietly he stared at the flower for awhile, as if making his wish in silence, before letting out a big sigh and as loudly as he could, he proclaimed, “i wish for a kiss from my best friend at midnight!  y’know, as per human tradition.”  He shot her a wink…  although it was the most nervous wink of his life.  He felt like his soul was going to explode in those moments awaiting her response.

   “...  Your best friend?” Mikaela didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but they did constantly say that they were each other’s best friends.  

“oh, yeah.  she’s a real gem.  about yea high--” he stretched up and placed the palm of his hand directly on top of her head-- “long hair.  super pretty.  like can’t-take-your-eyes-off-her pretty.  most convincing puppy dog face in the world.  great sense of humor, and, ah…  honestly, she could cheer up a guy who’s so far down in the dumps he’s practically in the bottomless pit below it.  can’t miss her.”

Mikaela’s soul began to pound in her chest.  She knew it.  She knew she hadn’t been imagining something more going on between them.  His lingering touches on her arm whenever they were around each other, the abundance of hugs he liked to give her, the occasional joke that just crossed the line into the realm of the flirtatious… “Well…  If you’re sure, then…  Hell yeah.  Let’s make it four wishes come true, then.”  She was quick to pick him right up off the ground and give him a big kiss, before either of them lost the courage to do so.  He was ready for it, and he held on tight.  Though he couldn’t kiss back without lips, he nuzzled his teeth against her in a way that conveyed the same effect.

They only pulled away from each other when Sans began to laugh against her lips, his soul glowing like a miniature star of their own.  “damn, ‘kay! you really went for it.  you must have been waiting for that almost as long as i was.  there’s just one problem.  uh…”  He scratched the back of his skull. “it’s not midnight yet.”

“Oh dear.  I….  I’m sorry about that.” Mikaela apologized and sat him back down on his own two feet.  Her ears folded back a little and she blushed with embarrassment. “I guess I got a little carried away in the heat of the moment.”

“ ‘eh...but who’s countin’?” Sans shrugged. “you can just give me another one when the time comes.  And another one after that…  some more after that…”  He put his hands on her waist to pull her a little closer, earning a bashful giggle.

“Alright, well don’t get carried away,” she teased him.  “I won’t keep kissing you if you fall asleep on me.”

“dude.  my entire life isn’t about sleeping.  and besides.  humans also have this saying about kisses.  i dunno what they mean by it, but it’s perfect.  y’know what they say?”  He leaned in a little, got up on the tips of his toes, and said it to her in a quiet voice, like a secret: “every kiss begins with ‘kay.”

“...  That joke sucked, Sans.” “i love you too.”

#undertale secret santa #undertale secret santa 2017 #lostsoulwolf #sans/oc #sans x oc

[reenignegolb-blog]

I was reading a cool little article on my quora feed about the psychology of wearing earbuds or headphones, and what is the correct way to go about trying to talk to somebody who is wearing them, or if you are wearing them and somebody is trying to talk to you. In my personal experience, people get offended and think you are ignoring them or don’t like them/are avoiding talking to them. I use to wear headphones 100 percent of the time in our physics study lounge to stop distractions, and I always knew how it was perceived, but I didn’t really care. It isn’t like they care about you, they just want you to like them, because they think everyone should like them? I don’t really know... It is how people are at my local college. Nobody can mind their own business to an extent. I take headphones as a clear sign of doing work and not wanting to be interrupted.  Most of the time, someone will be talking at my face until I realize, and I take at least one out and say sorry what? But really, should I be apologizing? Rarely that person apologizes too, which is nice, or they continue talking at my face, which is still okay. I don’t mind, until I put the earphone back in and they continue to prod me multiple times, that is complete rudeness. 

I am sure to make it obvious when I don’t want to be bothered by intently staring at my work or saying ‘okay time to get some stuff done’ and keeping earbuds in. There is always the option of pretending not to hear them, but I am not a complete asshole. If I leave one out, I am working, but in a relaxed manner and conversation is welcomed, or I am being really polite because sometimes I assume they are uncomfortable with the lack of random noise fluctuating in the atmosphere, or even with themselves, or with me, or a combination., whatever... but people should respect if somebody does not want to talk, and not take it personal. There are times when it is important to be present and polite with people. But these people are not my friends. My focus is on my education. Friendship to me is different than other people, and I find many people at school uninteresting and shallow, judgmental. I am not talking about my classmates in my major, because most of them are pretty good people. But everyone has something unique about them and that is what is pretty awesome to me. The general campus gets wasted all the time, everyone wants to be popular and social status is important, it is similar to high school. I go to a small private school I guess that is what I get. I go to a bigger university at the same time and I love it there, it is much more diverse and nobody is up your ass in your business if you just want to do your own thing. Maybe because the same people don’t pass me every single day and recognize me from before?

I remember some girl saying I was no fun because I didn’t want to go to some party. Sorry I have done what you have done before you did it and much more. I use to drink and go to these house parties, had good times, bad times, but just wanted more out of life, what’s next? I grew out of it real fast. Things really are put into perspective sometimes. Still, people have the nerve to assume who you are and what you have been through. My personal philosophy is usually to do my own thing, coming and going while keeping to myself. I don’t understand at all why I am required to interact or talk to everyone. I now force myself to say hello and hi when I walk in a room. It is a friendly social norm, and doesn’t take much energy, but I really gave up on society a long time ago, and it makes people feel good...Hi how are you? Good you? Good. That’s good. Isn’t everything good? (I don’t really care, neither do you, why are you asking if you don’t actually want to know how I am?) Staying low-key has its advantages, but I have become a target for other people. Here is how this is related to earbuds.

For one thing, I actually listen to music with earbuds on, unlike the Arthur meme. Music is awesome, I can’t live without music. I don’t think there has been one day where someone walking by me hasn’t tried to get some kind of reaction out of me by saying something rude or mean, insulting. I think they are trying to impress their friends or seem cool or boost their ego. The snide remarks, laughing, condescending smirks with accompanying insults about my appearance or how I act or whatever it is, is usually just annoying, but it is so consistent in my life I feel like I am being bullied most of the time. It can really get to you if you are not 100 percent confident, and is anyone? It is what I meant when I said I was a target. Because I do my own thing, I have been called gay, a weirdo, awkward, loner, stoner, and other labels that are thrown on me simply because they know nothing about me. How can you say that about people when you haven’t spoken one word to them, just from seeing them a few times. Through gossip and rumor spreading, why am I even a topic of conversation to people I don’t even know, is your life really that boring, you have nothing else going on that you have to attack me? 

My counselor says that girls will say things, for example my favorites, ew or gross when I am near because I don’t give them attention or talk to them, or ignore them. That just doesn’t make sense to me, because isn’t that counter-intuitive, that if you want somebody to talk to you and be friends or like you that you wouldn’t basically make fun of them or insult them? And if that is what they really think, why can’t they keep it to themselves or at least say it out of my earshot. Then I think, why would I want to talk to such shallow people, so ugly on the inside, that making fun of somebody else is an okay thing to do, and if they are all friends, why would I want to be friends with people who think that is okay? Who does that leave to be friends with? Nobody. I literally just began to assume everyone was the same. I still think that too. I don’t know if I believe her though? Because like, when I see somebody walking past me and they are by themselves, who cares why would I try to make fun of them? I don’t think for one second I know anything about them, and I don’t really care/ it isn’t my business? If I wanted to get to know them I guess I would start by making eye contact, and if they met mine give a friendly smile, but if they didn’t acknowledge me or make eye contact or looked away I wouldn’t take it personal or anything, feel rejected and say ‘oh she is ugly’. Especially if you can tell someone might be having a hard time, I would never want them to feel bad about themselves. I just can’t understand how people can think like this. Is everyone really that horrible? 

My only option is to not believe what they say, which is really hard when every single person is saying the same things. It is hard not to internalize what other people are saying about you, and generally is affecting my interactions with everyone, even the nice people. I become withdrawn. If what my counselor said is true, then it is my own fault because I won’t make eye contact or talk to people. I use to make eye contact with everyone, because I like to be confident and friendly, but the negative reactions, such as disgusted faces and turning away, I decided okay some people are not comfortable with eye contact I guess I won’t make any. Honestly my college experience has been made horrible because of this. Why can’t people just say hi to each other or something? It makes no sense. People in NY are assholes. My main problem is that I am uncomfortable with attention that is focused on me, from anybody. 

People act more like sheep than anything. I must assume they are super insecure, can’t think for themselves, and are immature. I use to walk without earbuds, and then started to so I could maybe distract myself from hearing so many negative things about myself to the point of hating myself. Well, I guess they took it to be an invitation to talk even more shit, and louder, like oh lets make sure he hears us because he has earbuds in. Now I play loud music, so I actually can’t hear them. I have tried putting them in without music and walking, but it honestly is just so depressing, that now I even avoid walking by groups of people if I don't have to. There are many reasons like this why I am not ever completely myself and never will be. I am grateful to have friends outside of the one school I go to, and a larger university that I will be attending next year for grad school. I honestly have had enough of it. I mean being a commuter, is easier to choose to not have friends. I can just go to my classes and talk with people and go home. It doesn’t matter what I do when I am not in school because I am not doing things with them. I don’t think I could live on campus and act the same way, I would definitely need friends to survive. I know exactly who I would be friends with and hang out with too, but I refuse to as a commuter, it is really weird to me? It is hard when I am driving or commuting to school or in between schools at 2 hours in a day, combined with taking more classes than everyone and working, I don’t have time to stay on campus.

Honestly if I could, I wish there was a person that was in some of my classes that I could do assignments with, but there are only a few people I would consider. From what people say a lot of people don’t even complete assignments or start them on time, waiting until the last minute. It is like people are studying physics, but they hate physics, or don’t care about the classes or education. It is hard to talk about the material with somebody. I can't do shallow conversation. People look at you weird if you act overly interested in what you are learning. I feel like I am constantly dumbing myself down to blend in. I absolutely hate attention, and I remember I use to hide being smart before college because I would get attention for it. I use to sit in class and do nothing, because I was just really bored. I hate that feeling when others think you are trying to be a know it all or outdo them. I have only asked one person to work on things with me, on the condition that they would have to start it earlier because I do, and they said they would, but we have yet to work on something together. I respect them as student, because I think it is obvious who is at least on the same level as you and who isn’t. I know they can, but they are generally lazy. The only other student I would work with probably doesn’t have time. That is what I assume, but I have never asked. Even in my larger school’s classes, people are on their phones and talking the entire time the professor is lecturing, and then he wants to know the reason I am requesting to complete the project by myself instead of teams of 2-3 where he partners me up with a random person. Umm, I am worried about them affecting my performance, some of them failed a test that required an hour of studying to pass?

I have many flaws, one is that I tend to gravitate towards intelligence. That is all I really care about anymore. Intelligence is so attractive to me. I judge everyone on that, everything else is secondary. I have found that when people know you are intelligent, they come to you for homework answers and free help. These same people that have made fun of you or aren’t your friend, until they need something of course. There is a kid in my engineering group, who makes no effort in our group exercises, so I just finish and leave without helping them now. Normally I am waiting and walking them through it. Once I saw he sat on his phone for 15 minutes straight I was done helping. Besides, people have high expectations from you. I also don’t want to scare people for how smrt i am. It is ironic because intelligence isn’t jack shit if you don’t use it. You can be intelligent and still be a dumb ass, I am proof. 

[princethephoenixx-blog]

Now You Hear Me, Now You Don’t

Eight months ago, I had just returned from a three year overseas working trip. My plan was to stay in Sydney for the 3 month holiday, and then return. The few months before my return were some of the hardest I had experienced in a long time. Career-wise, everything was amazing. I was teaching in one of the best schools, loved my colleagues and students, and I was earning good money. Socially, I was fine. I had some great and supportive friends. Everything, then, seemed to be perfect. While I was living this ‘perfect’ little life, I overlooked the darkness that was slowly shadowing itself into and over my everyday routine. Even though I didn’t directly acknowledge it at the time, deep down I knew what was headed my way. It was a feeling that I was all too familiar with. It was the urge to intoxicate myself, not only to block out the stress and anxiety of every day life, but also the aching triggers of past experiences. This feeling and I had a long history. If I had to describe it, I would say it is like being in a toxic, emotionally and physically draining relationship with someone. However, even though this person is killing you, very slowly, but ever so surely, you always seem to find a reason (or an excuse) to let them back into your life. Most of the time you aren’t even aware of the damage they are causing you. You grow an unbreakable bond, and eventually it gets to the point where you allow and need this pain, just so you can feel anything at all. Last year, while overseas, I experienced one of the most traumatic episodes of my life. One morning, I woke up on a normal sunny day. As soon as I opened my eyes, I started to hear the usual chatter of my neighbours from my window. It took me a couple of minutes, but I realised that they were talking about me. I just lay there and listened as carefully as I could. I was physically frozen and emotionally scared. They were talking about me and how they had heard me having sex with men, sometimes many men at the same time. They knew about the drugs I was taking and spoke of my usage, and how they couldn’t believe that I would get up to such disgusting shenanigans. After all, I was very well-respected and liked within the community. They even seemed to get a snapshot of my Grindr profile. They had heard everything, and they weren’t afraid to share it. I was absolutely mortified. My anxiety levels were through the roof. This literally was my worst nightmare unfolding before me. All of these people knew my family, even the ones in Australia. I went into my lounge room and just sat there. What was I going to do? I was too scared to leave my apartment. I felt hopeless. The voices of gossip started again. They were getting more violent and aggressive as time passed. There was a little cafe below my apartment where men spent their days gambling and chatting. They all knew me. I could hear them getting ready to come upstairs and approach me. I couldn’t leave without them seeing. I was stuck. The swearing and degrading talk was getting louder. I closed the blinds and locked my doors and windows, hoping to make them believe I wasn’t at home. Then something very unexpected happened. I heard my cousin and uncle downstairs, shouting and arguing with the people who were slandering me. The fight escalated. I could hear it all, but was paralysed. I just sat there, on the floor, crying and trembling. The sound of sirens shook me, and I realised the police were now involved. I could hear them being informed about my drug usage and ‘disgusting’ sexual activities. In a panic, I stood and tried to hide anything related to drugs that I had in my apartment. I thought the police officers would come up, but they never did. They departed the scene, saying they would be back. The yelling and arguing between the men and my relatives grew stronger, to the point where everyone was shouting over each other. Then it happened. BANG! BANG! No. This couldn’t be happening, I thought, but the screams and cries said otherwise. My uncle had been shot. The sounds of sirens and shouting overpowered my hysterical cries. I was mortified, but still couldn’t move. I just sat there, staring into blank space. I focused my attention back to the conversations. Now it wasn’t only the neighbours that hated me, but my cousins too. To them, I didn’t go downstairs, even though my uncle had died trying to protect me, purely because I didn’t care. That was their perception of the situation. The clinking of chains and guns, swearing and voices were getting closer to me. I curled up into fetal position next to the door, hysterically hyperventilating. They would be up any minute. It just kept getting worse. They were now talking about what I was doing at that particular moment, as if they could see me. Fuck. Obviously they could see and hear me. Cameras. That was the only logical explanation since I was alone. So, I sat in a dark corner, away from their view. I was up all night in that very position. There were times when the situation would ease, then escalate again. The sun arose once more. By now, word had spread around the neighbourhood, and to almost everyone I knew. My colleagues, students, friends and neighbours were all outside on the street. They were saying the most awful things about me. I wanted to do something, but could barely breathe. If I opened the door, they would kill me, just like they did to my uncle. It didn’t stop, so I said ‘Fuck it. Let them kill me.’ I opened my door and just sat waiting for someone to come up. Maybe if they beat the shit out of me, it’ll all be over, I thought. The old lady who lived across from me called out my name. “Anyone there? Why is the door open? Hello?” she said, sounding slightly concerned. Clearly she hadn’t heard the news. I got up and shut the door. As I continued to stay situated, I felt everything getting worse and worse, darker and more sinister. It was almost as if everyone got more violent the longer they had to plan. All this coming from people who were close to me. I cracked. Completely broke down. It was finally all too unbearable for me. I stumbled to my bathroom, barely catching a breath, found and smashed a razor, and cut both of my wrists. It still didn’t hurt more than pain I was suffering in my mind and soul. Once I saw the blood trickling down my hands, I had a sudden mental jolt, and a voice told me to call my psychologist. I told her everything, and that I needed help before they killed me. She listened, then calmly asked me to just look outside my window. It took her 15 minutes to convince me to do this. I finally gained enough courage, and cautiously peeked out the window. Nobody was there. The street was empty. But there was one problem. The voices still were. Even though I was literally face to face with the fact that this was all literally happening in my head, I still had something in me telling me it was real. Now, not only was I terrified of everything I was hearing, but I was also thinking that I had lost my mind. It was a battle between reality and a very dark imagination, and both were doing their best to sway me to their direction. My psychologist called my best friend and she was at my place within half an hour. She told me to pack a bag and that we’d be going to her place. I refused to leave. I still believed that there was a mob waiting for me downstairs. She assured me that the taxi was right outside and that no one would even see me leave, majorly because nobody was there. Half an hour later, I put a hoodie over my head and charged hurriedly towards the taxi. During that 15 minute trip, I was constantly checking around me, to see if I was being followed. Once we arrived at her place, she poured me a whiskey, and we sat and talked while I calmed down a little. I still somehow believed that everything I heard actually physically occurred, even though she pointed out evidence which proved otherwise. For example, one of the voices I heard was of a friend who wasn’t even in the same city at the time. Yet I still wasn’t convinced. My friend had to go and check on her beauty salon, and I was feeling a little better by this time. I told her I would be OK while she was absent. She left, and I had a couple more whiskeys and a sleeping pill. Even though the time span of these events felt like much less, I realised that I had locked myself in my flat for almost 5 days. That’s 5 days with no sleep, food or water. Naturally, my body was exhausted. I lay down. The next thing I remember is opening my eyes in hospital, surrounded by family and friends. Based on what I was told, my friend returned from work and couldn’t wake me. My body must have been too tired to respond. She thought I had committed suicide and called an ambulance, along with my relatives. For 2 months after this, before returning to Sydney, I was not allowed to live alone anymore, so I stayed with close relatives. I was in and out of hospital and had countless appointments with doctors, psychologists and psychiatrists during this period. Also during these already overwhelming couple of months, I was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, severe clinical depression and manic-depressive behaviour. Still, to this day, I simply cannot understand how my brain manipulated me into believing that these horrific events actually physically occurred. It doesn’t make sense to me. It was like watching a film where you are the main star. The film takes very twisted and dark turns and plays on your biggest fears, and there is absolutely no way out until the film runs its course. It took months to shake the horrific, terrifying and threatening feeling off of me. It has now been around one year, and I still live in fear. The fear that maybe something that I’m hearing or seeing, may not actually be there. I live in fear, not only because of other traumatic experiences that I have actually lived through in the past, but also of things that only I can hear or see. Things that are only in my head. This psychosis, this mental break, psychotic episode or whatever else you’d like to call it, will forever haunt me. Even though it hasn’t happened again since then, I will never know if it will creep up on me again. Until next time… Prince x

#mental health #lgbtq #psychosis #sydney #gay #middle east #life lessons #addiction #drugs