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80s4life · 9 months

Text

Pawns”

Word Count: 4,522

Status: Requested!

Ask: Pleeeeeaase write more of Cal from titanic. Literally any prompt I’m so hungry😭

Ask #2: Pleasee could we have more cal hockley content, specifically more chapters for "the things I've never done" and even more short stories if you have the time, I love your work 💕 [THANK YOU SM! I WAS STARTING TO GET SELF CONSCIOUS OF MY WORK AGAIN]

Ask #3 will have an attachment to a separate Cal fic as well, so no request will be shown here until that one.

@: Three cutie pie nonnies!

Relationship: Caledon “Cal” Hockley x Female!Reader

Fandom: Titanic 1997

Summary: Thrusted into the roaring 20′s, all you wanted to be was free and outgoing as all the booming women in city. However, your father’s deal with the devil seals your fate in the hands of your advisor and boss, Caledon Hockley; a man who is haunted by memories, stubborn in his ways, and opposed to the newfound strength in the young women of America. You’re a slave at his will in his eyes, yet you’re just as free as the new reformed women in your own. You’re stuck at a standstill in this endless game of chess, but who’s the pawn?

Warnings: forbidden, early 1900′s morals and customs, Reader is a maid, Cal is the head of the house, Post-Titanic sinking, mature language, kinda spicy, PTSD, domestic violence (included in a PTSD episode ONLY), Kind of a Beauty and The Beast AU for inspiration

{gif is not mine, credit goes to @locke-writes}

It was all an act of practicality from the start: your father owed his father money and he had a set of nimble hands to rid himself of.

Nathan Hockley was a millionaire who dealt in the steel tycoon business in Pittsburgh. Your father had a habit of gambling with the wrong people, which had allegedly caused your father to have an uncomfortable run-in with the powerful man. Unable and too stubborn to do so, your father handed you off as a way of reparation for the damage the bastard had caused.

Nathan’s son, Caledon Hockley, was the exact replica of his father. He was cunning, stubborn, powerful and wealthy; a disrupting mixture of facets that could either lift or crush you with a simple snap of a finger. He was dangerous, among many of his other qualities, which made your business in the Hockley’s presence just that much harder.

With the pandemonium that followed the sinking of the Titanic in 1914, the physical and mental effects had taken ahold of Nathan’s deeply treasured and only son, practically keeping him on house arrest until he was “better”. However, to both Nathan and Caledon’s dismay, 6 years had done nothing for his declining health, the reasoning behind why Nathan had administered you into Caledon’s household in the first place.

All of these events have led you up to this point, your suitcase rolling behind you as one of the many maids in the manor lead you up to your room to unpack. You haven’t seen this young and precarious man yet, but something is telling you that you most likely don’t want to. You are soon to be given your list of instructions to follow immediately and precisely; left to your own devices to either stay afloat or drown in the fury of the Hockley men.

Maria, a young maid in her 20′s, around your age, approaches you with a pure and youthful grin, a light blush to her cheeks. Her hair is cut into a cropped bob of black hair with short but soft curls, her lean frame with modest green eyes making her endearing - intoxicating. “You must be Miss Y/L/N?” her cutesy, high pitched voice only adding to her allure and picturesque innocence.

“Yes, that’s me,” you mutter, displaying your hands as if to show yourself off in sarcasm.

“No need to be so glum!” she giggles, bowing her head to catch your eyes and raise your line of sight. “I’m Maria Espinosa, but I’d assume the least you’d want right now is formalities.”

You snort, but let her continue nonetheless.

“I’ve your instructions - written myself, of course!” she smiles brightly; any harder and she might break her face. “As you know, with your appointment into this manor, the rest of the faculty will be let off, per Nathan Hockley’s request. But, don’t fret, the list is simple, short and can last all day without having to pay too much mind. Every Tuesday and Thursday, there will be a grocer that will restock the cabinets, refrigerator, etc. and help you with the cleaning. You are not to touch the east wing and only reside within the west - this will help eliminate the messes to clean and prevent extra exertion-”

“Sorry, if I may be crude, why are we not to go in the east wing?” you ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

“It was...” Maria drifts off, choosing her words lightly, “After the accident in 1914, the east was torn by his own hands. It was once used for balls and such, but after the Titanic,” she whispers the name as if someone might hear her, “Caledon was bedridden and sick, upset, angry, any emotion in the book. He used that wing as a way to let those emotions out.”

You stay silent as you stare at her with morbid curiosity and fear, nodding once before returning your attention to the list. The rest seems easy, not like the job was ever hard to begin with, just an annoyance for better words.

Maria clears her throat, “Anyway, you must make at least two meals a day, mainly breakfast and dinner, both at 8 am and 8 pm. Caledon might decide not to have lunch some days, but if he does, make sure it is brought to him by 12 pm. He doesn’t like tardiness, so as long as you follow the rules as tightly as you can, you won’t be a target. Any questions?”

“No, no. I’d presume you’d want to be heading out?” you smirk at her mischievously and instantly watch as her taut muscles relax.

“Very much so, yes! It’s been forever since I’ve had a moment of freedom.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you shoo her off playfully. This is your family’s mess to clean, the least you can do is let her be free of the shackles that are now passed down and chained to your ankles.

Maria is halfway through the door when she turns to you from the foyer, “I’ll do a monthly checkup to make sure everything is in line, and for a little company in your lonesome, okay?”

You smile gratefully, hands coming up to play with your nails, “Thank you, you’re very kind. Though, I don’t want to be a burden.”

“A burden? You just gave me my freedom!” she exclaims, laughing as she waves a hand. “I’ll be back by the end of the month! Settle in and enjoy the quiet!”

The moment the door slams shut, your shoulders droop heavily. Your eyes scan the spacious mansion with frightening curiosity. You’ve never even remotely been near land such as this, and now that you’re inside, it feels almost too much. You let your hands glide the carved wooden banister as you walk up the huge steps to the second floor, taking a left down a hall.

Your legs carry you down the long corridor, and, as you place your key into the fob, your eyes lay onto the door across from yours: ‘Lord Hockley’ carved neatly on the door. There’s a rustling behind it and footsteps that approach the other side of the door, eliciting you to push the key one click further and dive through the door as quickly and quietly as possible.

You flop onto the bed with a huff, trying to calm the beating of your heart just enough to allow you to unpack and prepare dinner within the course of 3 hours. When your room is finished, you nod in satisfaction, taking a bath in the connected bathroom and changing into a thin, sheer dress before exiting your room and back down the steps to the kitchen.

Finally do you take the time to read the list on your own. It includes very detailed and descriptive instructions, easy nonetheless, of medication usages and what to do with each, meal plans, recipes, a map of which rooms to clean and how to clean each one, and Caledon’s nightly and morning rituals to follow precisely.

Shrugging your shoulders, you roll your neck to release the tension before opening the cookbook up to the recipe designed for today’s date. “Pork roast,” you state alloud, cringing at the echo of your voice being followed by more movement in Hockely’s room.

Your mind roams as your eyes get lost at the sight of the luscious woods out the window, hands deftly whisking away at the pork roast’s grease with the intent of making a nice gravy to coat the dry, but tender pork roast. Shaking your head, you peer down and try to busy yourself with the already settling boredom you’re consumed by.

You can hear the halls creak, the water drip from the faucet, birds chirping outside, the soft sway of the wind, random clicks, ticks, and other noises. You’re destined to go insane.

You jump unexpectedly with the sound of a crash from upstairs. The noise comes from the general direction of Caledon’s room and you all but groan at what the sound indicates - what your being here demands.

Putting the roast of low, you close the lid with a soft click before ascending up the stairs to Caledon’s room. You stand outside the door, hand on your heart, as you try to calm your rapid heartbeat and breathing. This was to come about sooner rather than later, so you should be glad it’s happening now. However, the banging continues within the room and you know that even if you had met him in a few months, the hell that follows him would never be escaped for as long as your father’s debt remains.

Knocking on the hard wooden door, you speak softly, “Lord Hockley? Is everything alright?”

You’re not given an answer, only the sound of something heavy being thrown and falling to the floor.

“Lord Hockey?” you call out again, louder this time. Unsurprised, you are followed by no answer once more. Annoyance creeps into your words a third and final time, “Lord Hockley, I will come in there myself if you do not open this door. Now,” you demand.

Shrugging when no voice calls to you form the other side of the door, your hand twists the doorknob and pushes the door open. You legs carry you only so far before they stutter to a stop just past the door frame.

Just before you, there is a disheveled, sweaty Caledon Hockley, fit from youth and some maturity in his thirties, shirtless. His eyes look crazed, like a madman, as his hands grip a chair at his desk with white knuckles. Around the room, there’s shelves torn down, broken, books in a disarray on the floor. His bedsheets are thrown about with the other chair from his desk propped against the wall in his fury.

You stare wide-eyed, but somehow, not alarmed in the slightest. You were accustomed to this sort of outburst, especially within the hard working men. You saw it in your father - even in your younger brother. “Lord Hockley,” your voice is softer again, all annoyance and anger lost at the door.

His eyes snap up to you, as if he had just noticed your arrival or presence. “What are you doing in here? You are not to barge in a man’s room, that is uncouth for a woman of your age and status. What is wrong with you?”

“Lord Hockley-” you try to start your confession.

“A woman is not to speak up to a man; are you ferel? Are you-?”

You don’t allow him to finish his slandering, “-I am mentally efficient, Lord Hockley, and very aware of my positioning here. However, I did knock, three times to be exact, with no answer. There had been a ruckus in here for about-” you peer up at the clock above his desk, “-an hour and a half now. I came to be of assistance, but if my help is unwanted, I’d happily leave you to your self-pity on your own?”

He has no other emotion present except bewilderment plastered to his face; eyes wide, mouth agape, and at a struggle for words. His fists clench and unclench as his eyes pan down to stare at the floor, appearing deep in thought.

“Lord Hockley, if I may be so bold?” you ask, scanning his body language and searching to find the meaning of this man’s crazed outburst.

“Go ahead,” he mutters, a hand going up to rub some hair from his eyes, still staring at the floor.

“You may confide in me if that means helping your mental health?” you offer. You know this could go one of two ways: either one, he’ll turn you away, suffer alone, and claim that men have no such weaknesses, or two, he’ll let his guard drop and release him from these dark episodes he’s no stranger to. The latter seems rather unlikely.

“I am not mental.”

“I did not say that. I was simply insisting that everyone has a dark place their mind goes to, which is a detriment to a person’s mental health. Let alone someone who is expected to heal quickly and pick up the family business, am I correct?”

Just as you thought you were getting somewhere, Cal’s eyes snap back up to yours with anger, the malicious anger tearing at his body again, “You know nothing of my family’s business and nothing of me. You have no audacity as to even assume or place yourself in my shoes. I should have you thrown out or hanged for your mouth alone. Get out!”

“Just trying to be of service, sir, since I’m at your will!” you smile sickeningly, bowing to him and sliding through the door just as a book is picked up and thrown.

You let out a deep breath of air on the other side of his door, now in the safety of the hallway. Your throat tightens with a soft sob, tears welling in your eyes. You truly feel as a prisoner on death row, hands and ankles encased in heavy metal cuffs; struggling to walk under the watchful gazes and heavy chains slowing you down, keeping you locked in this manor.

You weren’t the perpetrator, you know this, but you were framed to support the guilty with your own naivety and love.

You drag yourself back down to the kitchen to finish the man’s meal with dejection, but still devoted for the greater future - when you no longer have to be a maid in this manor and be free, lost in the world again.

“Lord Hockley?” you call once more at his door, only this time, you’re holding his tray of dinner. “I have your meal, are you decent?”

You hear a muffled ‘Yes’ and proceed through the door cautiously.

It seems he’s settled now, sitting at his desk with notes and papers scattering the floor and desk. He hadn’t cleaned the room, which you suspected you’d have to clean in the near future. However, you notice the bed is drenched in liquid, and when you look back at him, you notice sweat beading at his forehead, a thin sheen of sweat glistening against his skin.

“Lord Hockley?” you call again, stepping closer towards him. He chooses not t answer you, so you press further. “You’re sweating.”

“I’m very well aware of what my body is doing.”

“Are you feeling ill? I can help you if-” you are cut off by his fist meeting the solid oak of the desk.

“I do not need any assistance from the likes of you, nor do I want it,” his voice is stern, scary.

You try not to lose your temper so easily this time, so you give him a kind, tight-lipped smile. “Of course, my lord, you are a man after all. A man is able to take care of himself just fine, though he installs many maids within his manor. Maids like me,” you giggle dryly, “What shall I do instead, since you are able to clean, cook, and much more without the help of the ‘likes of me’?”

Caledon only groans, “Just leave the food here, you are dismissed. I’ll leave my tray for you to clean in the morning.”

“Oh, how kind,” you roll your eyes, scurrying to the door.

“Oh, and Miss, maybe you could find a better countenance and leave your convictions in your pillow when you arise. Wouldn’t want to explain to my father - and yours - as to why you were no longer needed and let go.”

You can hear the sinister smirk in his voice, but you choose to ignore it - for now - and head to bed briskly.

The next two weeks follow you in a similar form. You do as your told, albeit begrudgingly, and get into many of your childish arguments. Your interactions with the man are nasty and violent at times, always finding yourself dodging an object, taking threats, and coming in the next morning asking for more.

More, more, more; you ask for more because there is nothing else to be given. You have to take everything as a grain of salt. You have to because this means your father’s life and yours. If you manage to screw up, and you will, they will not only have your father’s head, but yours for Caledon’s punctured ego.

Though, somewhere within those weeks, you started to care less and less.

“Lord Hockley?” you knock at his door, tray of food in hand. He once more gives you no answer, so you push in.

Greeted by no light in the room, you walk around in the darkness, knowing this room like the back of your palm now. Placing the tray of food on the oak countertop and go to strike a match, lighting the candle on the desk. Going around the room, you light each and every one of them until the room is dimly lit enough to see.

On the bed, you find Caledon, sweat having gotten worse as you’ve noticed he never leaves his room. When you step closer, he is shivering, teeth chattering. Worried, you go to place the back of your hand to his forehead, but quickly draw your hand back when he jerks upright.

“Lord Hockley!” you jump, the ghost of his skin still lingering on the pads of your fingers. “You’re burning up, I need to help assist you now. You’re very ill and the sickness has gone on long enough-”

“No!” his voice rips through you quiet pleas, rattling off the walls.

“But, Lord Hockley-”

“I said ‘No’! I do not want assistance, I am a grown man!”

“’You can take care of yourself’, yeah, yeah, bullshit!” you scream, the frustration, fear, and hurt finally meeting your words as you are blinded by your emotions.

“What did you say?” Caledon looks at you in disbelief.

You cringe as you can guess what is about to take place in mere minutes, but you don’t hold back anymore. “Is your bigotry deafening your hearing or did you hear me call bullshit?”

Shakily, Caledon gets off his bed, his frame towering yours as he glares down at you with pale skin and dark, chocolate brown eyes.

“Your father wouldn’t want you to be sick, knowing that you would have to run his business soon.”

“My father-” Caledon cuts himself off, a hand going to wipe his face. “This has nothing to do with the business.”

“No? Well then, why else would I have to pamper you like a king? Is it because you’re defective?”

Caledon’s pacing now, trying to calm his increasing ragged breathing.

“Or is it because your useless to him? Mentally unstable?” you continue, trying to get a rise out of him.

“You know nothing of his business nor my personal life!” Caledon snaps back to you, anger finally bursting.

As his anger ensues, he takes steps close to you each time, piercing his thick index finger into you chest for emphasis. “You are nothing, you are worthless. I am a wealthy businessman. I am a strong, independent man with power. People would miss me if I were gone!”

“If you’re such a big man, you wouldn’t lock yourself away in your room like a toddler.”

That’s what finally did him in. You pressed a personal button when your short quips finally hit a nerve, testing his masculinity. Before you have time to react, a glass vase is hurled at you. It was a short throw, and was nowhere near your face, however it caught you by surprise and smashed against your hip.

You ignore the pain, though all you wanted to do was bury yourself in a hole. You came here to help him, but all you are returning is anger and hurt that is most definitely placed at you.

“You’re sick and it is my job to take care of you, so your father won’t have my ass because his baby boy isn’t okay. It’s my job to make sure you are very well satisfied. It is my job that you get your linens washed, food prepared, room cleaned, and make it my duty that your estate is fully functioning all on my own!” you jab a finger in his direction, placing more distance between your bodies until your back hits his door, his body on the other side of the room behind his desk.

He goes to say more, but you cut him off with more furious blows.

“Though, what isn’t my job is to allow you to threaten me. It isn’t my job to be belittled and yelled at by you. It isn’t my job to allow you to throw objects and whatever anger you have and hurl them at me! That is not my job, nor what I will allow any longer!”

“I never asked you to be here. I didn’t want you here. You forced yourself into my estate to protect your father. You knew what you were getting into just by the public papers alone. You knew what was to be expected and yet you came here anyway. You made a prisoner and a victim of yourself.” Caledon’s gaze does not falter and neither does yours.

“You’re correct, Lord Hockley, I may have known what I was getting myself into. What I didn’t know nor expect was the childish frustration and blatant disregard for human decency. I’ve tried over and over again to be kind, but against your better judgement, you couldn’t allow me to be the person to hold such compassion.”

Your eyes are welling up with tears now as you feel a warm liquid flow down your palm and to the tips of your fingers.

“You do not understand what is bothering me and you never will,” Caledon finally starts to calm himself, the self-pity returning as he recounts lost memories you cannot decipher.

“No, but I have made it abundantly clear that I was here to help assist you. However, you saw it as being weak, so it wasn’t in your cards to even allow me the common courtesy of being a human being. You felt as if I was lying to you.”

“God, you are so annoying,” Caledon groans.

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“You know, when you’re silent, I almost like you - wait, are you injured?”

“No!” you yell almost instantaneously.

“Did I do that? Its dripping on the floor, what happened?”

“The glass,” you almost stutter, the atmosphere changing quickly. “The glass shatter and cut some of my hand, I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt.”

“And, you’re ill.”

Caledon sighs, his shoulders slumping. Motioning for you to exit the room, Caledon says nothing as you make a silent pact to clean up.

You are suffering whiplash from the sudden change of emotion and it leaves you on edge, but with the cooling of his mood, it allows the adrenaline and some stiffness to leave you. Confusion overtakes your mind.

Guided into the kitchen, you start to take out numerous medications, searching for something to accommodate his symptoms. Caledon walks up to you quietly, almost afraid to get too close.

You do not say or look at each other, finally finding the right medicine and sliding it to him on the counter before sitting down on one of the bar stools. He sits beside you carefully, taking the medicine.

Taking some gauze and wiping away the cuts with an alcohol wipe, you struggle to wrap your hand. That is, until a warmer, larger one goes to encompass it gently, waiting for an action of opposition to its intentions.

Caledon gaze burns the side of your head before you finally acknowledge him with fear. Softly, he starts, “…Just allow me to help?”

You nod softly as the tears form in your eyes again. Some time passes before you finally work up the nerve to ask, “Why do you do this?”

Caledon looks up from you hand with confusion, which urges you on to elaborate, “Why does your mood change so swiftly, so suddenly?”

Sighing, Caledon gives you a firm look, as if he’s deciding whether to trust you or not - to tell you. “The Titanic,” he starts, “When I survived, I lost almost all of who I was. When I returned home to my father, I was constantly burdened with memories. They would consume me, control me, until I felt like a madman. The only solution was anger. When the anger takes control, there is no longer that burning sadness, guilt, and regret; no hoping I’d done something differently. I couldn’t allow myself to do that because I was no longer that man anymore.”

“It’s scary,” you croak, peering into his eyes.

“It is, but what’s worse is the life I’ve lived after the episodes. My father found me defective, worthless. I will never be able to fully recover, which is bad for business. He locked me away in this estate to stay hidden from prying eyes, bedridden to remain unseen even in this secluded property. I insist on doing the simplest actions myself because it makes me feel as if I’m showing my father I am still capable, just changed.”

You nod slowly as you take in this new information, grateful. The man has finally opened up to you, he’s no longer a stranger in his own home as it seems.

Calmly, Caledon pats your hand, signalling that the wrapping is done. A hand reaches up to tuck a strand of hair from your face, resting it on your cheek just afterwards. “I know I’ve hurt you, but please, try to understand me, I’m not asking for your forgiveness... I just wanted you to understand-”

“You don’t need to ask that, I already forgave you a long time ago,” you smile softly, placing one of your hands on his opposing cheek. “We will learn to adapt, just as you have many times before. We are no longer strangers, yeah?”

“Yes,” Caledon smiles with glossy eyes.

“We will work on this together. You are not alone anymore.”

Caledon looks at you with uncertainty.

“I am here, always. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Kissing his forehead softly, you other hand goes to be placed on his shoulder, “Repeat it.”

“I am not alone,” a tear slides down his cheek.

“Not as long as I’m alive,” you smirk, placing a kiss to each of his eyelids.

“Never again,” the both of you say together, lips finally meeting as if to seal the promise the both of you now shared deep in your hearts.

“Never alone.”

#caledon hockley #caledon hockley x reader #caledon hockley imagine #billy zane #billy zane x reader #billy zane imagine #titanic 1997 #titanic x reader #titanic imagine #titanic #cal hockley #cal hockley x reader #cal hockley imagine #1997 #rose dewitt bukater #xreader #female reader

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justanothersyscourse · 1 year

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Genuine question about ptsd and cptsd

Do you have to have direct nightmares to your events? I have flashbacks (which, i can't ever remember the source of the trauma), but not exactly nightmares of those events, or, directly.

If not - then can nightmares be a more abstract interpretation of trauma you may not remember, if you can do process of elimination? (If it's not related to anything the body is going through currently, or deja vú dreams)

This is a really tough question with a lot of elements. I really like it, and I hope I can answer clearly.

So, for early life trauma, I, specifically, don't have clear flashbacks or nightmares. I get these feelings, like I'm absolutely having a flashback-- my heart rate kicks up, my breathing suddenly catches and struggles, I fight the urge to run and hide, or lash out at people around me.

I always assume SOMEONE is having the true flashback and seeing the memories in their mind's eye.

Sometimes I have a memory and I have to stop and question if it's real, if it's really mine and if it really happened.

Nightmares tend to work the same way, and I'll wake up knowing I had a nightmare, but not be able to remember, or not be able to figure out why it was so disturbing to me.

What really piqued my interest about your question was the worst nightmare I ever had.

I was underground, running from someone I knew all too well, and there were pipes all around me, attached to the walls of this narrow tunnel from start to finish. The pipes kept bursting, scalding me, but they were always bursting right next to me, no matter how slow or fast I ran. This dream had me FUCKED up, and I woke up KNOWING with every fibre of my being that even if it was a different scenario, it was a direct representation of one alter's creation.

The mind is incredibly funny like that.

All this talk of exotrauma and source trauma is so stupid to me.

The brain is notoriously good at refusing to deal directly with situations and emotions, and it's even BETTER at instead clinging to situations and representations that are physically and mentally removed from you and your life and easier to deal with.

Abstract is a perfect word. The brain will twist anything and everything to try to make it more palatable and easier to handle. And sometimes it malfunctions, and you're left with this horrifying and confusing mix of truth and imagination.

Not everyone will experience nightmares and/or flashbacks, and I wouldn't suggest trying to interpret either in order to uncover things outside of therapy. You don't NEED to know, and if you're not ready, you won't figure it out.

PTSD nightmares are different from CPTSD nightmares. PTSD flashbacks and nightmares will usually be about the event specifically. For example, veterans will typically rewitness real images from war. CPTSD flashbacks and nightmares tend to be more generalized and abstract.

PTSD is based on single traumatic events, CPTSD is based on long-term, varied traumas and this can make it hard for your brain to focus on a single part or aspect, so it just tries to shove everything into one. Don't go poking at it until it's safe to do so.

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postapocalyptic-cryptic · 1 year

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HI MIKEY busting in here to say 1, 3, 7, 37

CALLLLLL HI

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

I know I always mention Lighthopping, but I really do think it's very representative of me as a writer. It's also long enough to show my writing in a few different lights/scenarios. Coincidentally, it's got 50 kudos to go before it becomes my second fanfic to hit 1k kudos!

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

I said "mikey-brand cuddles" once and now it's a thing, so obviously the cuddles. I am incapable of writing fic without cuddles.

I've written like 50k words of cuddles.

Also whump. Big thing for me in whump is specifically emotional whump and emotional hurt/comfort. I write a lot about mental health, which is something that's been a theme since I started writing way back in like 2007. Obviously, 5 year old Mikey had a limited vocabulary to talk about it, but I wrote a LOT about anxiety and PTSD and now that I think about it, I was very fixated on this one OC and her coping with an event that was eerily like something that wouldn't happen to me until almost five years after I came up with her story.

I tend to focus on sleep a lot, too. I have absolutely no clue why, but this is also something I can trace back to my 2007-2012 era notebooks.

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

Funny you should ask this, because I consider worldbuilding to be a weak spot of mine, and one of my 2023 resolutions is to get better at it! I don’t have any great examples of worldbuilding up on ao3, but I’m actually pretty proud of the way my Transformers/Pacific Rim fusion is going right now. Lots of worldbuilding in that one when it comes to meshing the technologies and politics, and I’m having a lot of fun on the bus and between classes lol.

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

Okay I’m actually going to do two because I couldn’t choose. First one is my beloved 3x1 (Netflix Iron Fist), which is my lowest-kudos fic at 10. I understand that it’s only 200 words. It’s not the kudos that bother me. It’s the fact that there are only two works in the whole ship tag. Where are the Ward/Danny/Colleen fans!!!!! Did we not watch the same show???????

And now here’s my serious answer, the fic I’m actually proud of despite its unfinished state: In Case of Emergency. I’m gonna be honest with you guys I thought cyborg au would be more of a hit. This is the fandom that hyped me up for 40k words of hockey au and yet there were crickets for cyborgs. Horrible. I love it, though.

#ask tag #calamity-aims

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hiddenhistoryofourenemies · 11 months

Text

Joseph Stalin

Note - the entry isn't intended to justify Stalin - the blog was intended to explain how those enemies got to the point where they became mass murderers.

Introduction:

Stalin was a man that history has undoubtedly not forgotten - many of us associate him as a mass murderer, which of course he was. As I said, I will not defend him or (horror of horrors) support the actions of the former USSR president. However, here we will delve into the past of this man with such a lush mustache and the psyche of the aforementioned man. So let's move to Georgia, specifically the city of Gori in the 1870s.

Childhood:

He was a weak and sickly child, the third in the family, the two older ones died in infancy. He had fused second and third toes on his left foot since birth. His left arm was also abnormal and shorter than his right arm due to a childhood injury. He spoke Georgian as his native language, and spoke Russian with a distinct Georgian accent until the end of his life.

Joseph's father had his own shoe factory in Gori, employing at least ten workers, not counting students. Over time, his progressive alcoholism led to the collapse of the establishment. Due to alcohol problems, he beat the boy and his mother. Stalin protected himself from his father's aggression by throwing one of his tantrums at him. Frequent alcoholic libations ended with throwing "Beso" by the boy's mother.

Teenagehood & the beginnings of the adulthood

According to Montefiore, Stalin later always spoke well of his mother, who according to him was characterized by "indomitable willpower", while according to Radziński, after 1917 he forgot about her, visiting her only twice. The woman was washing linen for local merchants. She was very pious, so she sent him to a church school in 1888 to learn to be an Orthodox priest. At school, he especially remembered the teacher Dmitry Khakhutashvili, who introduced iron discipline in the lessons, often beating students.

In 1894, as one of the best students of the church school, he received a scholarship in the amount of 5 rubles at the theological seminary in the capital of Georgia, Tiflis. He sent some money to his mother, but cut off all contact with his father, who had problems with the law (he died in a drunken fight). Stalin did not like the seminary. As he claimed, "Jesuit" teaching methods prevailed in it, based on interference in the private lives of students. During his studies, he became interested in Marxism. In 1898, his name was included in the list of the most unruly seminarians. There is information next to the entries. Pupil of J. Dżugashvili reads forbidden books. J. Dzhugashvili published an illegal newspaper. In 1899 he was expelled from the university. As he later claimed, he was expelled for promoting Marxism.

Psychology perspective

Now we know what happened to Stalin - one of the biggest mass murderers that ever existed.

Knowing that we can distinguish 2 things (these are MINE speculations, take this diagnose with a grain of salt):

PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) - As we already know Stalin's father was alcoholic and an abusive parent. The effects could be various, for example:

Adjustment disorder occurs in response to a stressful life event (or events). The emotional or behavioral symptoms a person experiences in response to the stressor are generally more severe or more intense than what would be reasonably expected for the type of event that occurred.

Symptoms can include feeling tense, sad or hopeless; withdrawing from other people; acting defiantly or showing impulsive behavior; or physical manifestations like tremors, palpitations, and headaches. The symptoms cause significant distress or problems functioning in key areas of someone’s life, for example, at work, school or in social interactions. Symptoms of adjustment disorders begin within three months of a stressful event and last no longer than six months after the stressor or its consequences have ended.

2. RAD (Reactive attachment disorder) - RAD is characterized by markedly disturbed and developmentally inappropriate ways of relating socially in most contexts. It can take the form of a persistent failure to initiate or respond to most social interactions in a developmentally appropriate way—known as the "inhibited form". In the DSM-5, the "disinhibited form" is considered a separate diagnosis named "disinhibited attachment disorder".

The Ending:

I'm telling you, monsters aren't born, they're made.” - "Seduced in the Dark" by C.J. Jones

History is repeating itself - we, humans are made this way. Even though we try so hard we're always stuck in the same cycle of death,destruction and hatred. Some people can learn - how to break the cycle, others don't care or even don't know how get out from this loop.

Stalin as many other mass murderers was doing the same thing that the abuser did - Joseph's father was an alcoholic and an abuser who beated him up along with his mother.

This can give one lesson - We humans are creating monsters, mass murderers - those who's mind is twisted and filled with hatred and rage. Or even fear.

This is a lesson from the real life - as a parent you have to be careful because YOU can create a cold-hearted and mentally ill killer without empathy or regrets.

That's it for today.

Have a nice day - Bye!

#government #politics #enemy #stalin #soviet union

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lis-likes-fics · 2 years

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Surveillance | Chapter 24

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, PTSD, panic attacks...

~~~

Back at the compound, you made your way back to your room with Natasha and Scout at your sides. Opening your door, you take a few steps in before pausing.

"What's wrong?" Natasha asked.

You took a moment to respond as you stood in the room, feeling the air around you. You could feel the heat in the air, it was not intense but it was uncomfortable and felt like it was sticking to your skin. "It's hot in here," you said.

"It is?" she asked, her brows furrowing. She took a few more steps inside. She did not really understand what you meant, the air was not cool but it did not seem hot in the slightest to her. Her eyes to you and saw you examining the room closely. There were tiny beads of sweat already beginning to form on your forehead as you stood there uncomfortably.

All of your sensitivities have risen. Not only that, but one of your hybrid animals was a snake, and they are cold-blooded. Of course you would sense temperature more intensely than she would. You would probably feel it if someone came into the room.

"Here, come to mine. I keep it cold," she replied, taking your hand as she lead you and Scout back to her own room. She opened the door and the coolness in the air kissed your skin, her scent enveloping you and already making you feel so much better than you were.

Your exhaustion finally caught up to you in that moment. Natasha leaned against the door, petting Scout's head. "I have to have a talk real quick. You get some rest, I'll be right back."

"I can come with," you suggested. She shook her head, "No, you're exhausted. Sleep."

She looked down at Scout, kissing at her and then pointing to you. She happily walked over and jumped onto the bed, lying on your back and passing out in an instant.

You chuckled and nodded with a sigh. "Alright."

Natasha smiled as she left, "Make yourself at home." She closed the door behind her and went to one of the conference rooms where Tony and Steve were already talking. She sat at the table, crossing her arms over her chest.

"So what happened back there?" Steve asked, his brows furrowed as he looked at the two.

Tony answered plain and simple, "Trauma."

Natasha nodded, "Yeah, well obviously."

"What specifically? What happened?" Steve raised a brow.

Tony shrugged as he recalled what happened, "She started talking about something coming to hurt her. Was scared to death about it too. She tried to show me her arm, like there was something there. Full panic attack, I know PTSD when I see it. She's eased me out of enough attacks for me not to."

"What do you think triggered it?" Steve questioned.

Natasha looked over at him, "You heard those reporters. They got antsy, started asking questions about how painful the experiments were. It overwhelmed her, and she freaked."

Steve furrowed his brow as he tried to understand, "So she's afraid of being hurt again?"

Tony shrugged a shoulder as he specified, "Less of being hurt, more of being tortured. As I said, she was showing me her scars. She thought they were open wounds."

"Well, of course she would," came a voice as the door to the room opened. Bucky and Clint walked into the room, gripping Dmitri by his upper arms as they led him in. Bucky sighed, "We thought you would want to take care of him yourself."

They let go of him roughly and he just shot them one of his signature smiles, to which they rolled their eyes in response to. Natasha had him sit down and reluctantly uncuffed the man. "What do you mean, 'of course she would'."

"She was trained that way, her and the girls. While Novakova had her little nuisance Oscar torture her to try and bring out the chimera, she made him do in a way that would make her obey anyone who could inflict pain on her. If you're scared, you'll listen," he explained, his smile wavering as he spoke of the events his new, and only, friend had gone through.

"Her 'superiors' would always be able to control her because she would never risk getting herself into that sort of situation again if she could avoid it," he finished.

"Makes sense to me," Bucky murmured as he went to leave the room, Clint following after him.

"So what do we do?" Steve asked, his question meant for Natasha and Tony.

Natasha answered matter-of-factly, "Well, she's a person who's had a traumatic experience, people who have traumatic experiences see therapists."

"Except us," Tony added.

Natasha chuckled lightly, "Except us."

"So we need to get the therapist a therapist?" Steve raised a brow.

"That, or DIY it," Natasha shrugged a shoulder.

Tony chuckled this time as he shook his head, "No, I think she'd be better off with a shrink. Have you met us, Nat?"

"Or," Dmitri's voice entered the chat again, "you could teach her to defend herself. She won't have to fear pain if she knows how to fight it." He shrugged when their gazes turned on him again, annoyed by his input. "Just a suggestion."

Natasha sighed, turning back to her friends, "I'll go talk to her." She waved and turned back to the door. "You can take care of him," she muttered before leaving.

She made her way down the halls of the compound again, her mind on you as she thought over the options. Get you help, help you herself, or start your training. The only thing that kept her from training you was the part where Fury would likely want to enlist you as an Avenger. If you know how to fight, it would work even more in his favor with your abilities. He'll want to train you up to join the group of Earth's Defenders, which would just paint more targets on your back than you already have for being famous in the first place. The job of an Avenger was a difficult one that would always lead to a tough life to live.

She did not want that for you. She wanted you to get better so you could eventually go back to living a life as normal as you had before.

But it did not seem like you have that option, not with the way things were turning out to be.

As she opened the door to her room, she found you passed out in her bed with Scout laying dramatically on her back. Scout suddenly jolted up at the sound of the door opening, her tongue hanging out of her mouth as she looked at Natasha with a swishing tail.

Natasha smile and closed the door softly behind her before walking over to the bed, petting Scout gently before carefully getting in the bed. You adjusted in your sleep, laying your head in her lap. She saw a ghost of a smile on your face as you seemed to relax even further.

It had been such a long time since you shared someone else's company like this. It had brought you such comfort in so little time as her warmth surrounded you.

Natasha let you sleep, she did not have the heart to wake you when you looked so peaceful like this. She had imagined a scenario similar to this moment in her head so many times, hoping one day that it would come true but always believing it to be impossible. But now, here you were with your head in her lap as you slept peacefully.

She set her hand gently on your head, her thumb stroking over your cheek and brushing hair from your face. She found that she was unable to stop herself as she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

It was at least another hour or two before you woke again, breathing in deeply as your eyes fluttered open. You looked around and found your head in Natasha's lap. Looking up, you saw her laying back against her headboard with her eyes closed. She looked so peaceful.

When her eyes opened, you pretended you were not watching her rest and stretched. "Hey," she said quietly, her voice raspy and beautiful as she smiled. You smiled back shyly before nodded, "Hi... what happened?"

She shrugged, "You said your room was too hot, so I let you take mine."

"Ah..." you muttered as you recalled that moment. The day's events slowly came back to you as you remembered the press conference from hell. You were hoping she would not bring it up before those hopes were suddenly crushed.

"Hey, what happened at the conference? You seemed really freaked out, I wanted to know what's up?" she asked as you sat up, sitting next to her with Scout moving to lay across your lap.

"Do I have to talk about it?" you muttered, tangling your hands in Scout's long fur.

She gave you a sympathetic smile, "You know better than anyone that you should talk to people you trust about things that bother you. Do you trust me?"

You had found a long time ago that you trusted her more than just about anyone. You nodded slowly, your eyes suddenly glued to her beautiful greens. "Yes."

"Then tell me what's up."

You sighed as you sat back and stared at Scout's fur. "I..." you started, wondering how to start. This must have been how your patients felt when they first started sessions with you, before they got comfortable and made themselves at home. "The questions they asked me made me started thinking about..." you swallowed hard, "about what happened. I thought I smelled something and I just freaked. I started seeing my scars again, but they looked like they were freshly made. They hurt so bad, I thought they were actually bleeding."

Natasha was very patient with you, her voice soft as her hands gently traced patterns into your skin with her arm wrapped around you. "You said you smelled something," she asked. "What did you smell?"

You swallowed thickly, finding it hard to answer the question as the memories continued to flood in. "Mint and cocoa," you finally answered.

"What's so wrong about that?" she wondered, "Not a fan?"

You allowed your lip to twitch up a little as she did her best to make you feel more comfortable than you had been before. You took in a breath to help ground yourself, "It's the, uh... It's the perfume Novakova wore."

Natasha stiffened and you felt the change rather quickly. "Did you see her in the crowd?" she asked.

You shrugged, "Honestly, everyone started to look like her. I really wouldn't know."

She nodded and had you set your head on her shoulder. "Steve, Tony, and I were talking. We were trying to figure out what to do about the situation, and I figured it should be your choice."

"Are you going to give me a therapist?" you raised a brow at her.

"She laughed a little, "It was an option... but Dmitri offered one that should be proposed to you."

"Dimi?" you asked, "So you finally let him out, huh?"

"Against my better judgement," she chuckled. You laughed at that and she continued, "He said that we should train you to defend yourself, teach you to fight and whatnot."

You thought over that option as you shrugged a shoulder, "That doesn't sound too bad..."

"It doesn't," she said, "Until the director suggest you become an Avenger and your list of enemies skyrockets."

"I'm a woman billionaire and I'm gay," you said with an arched brow, a smirk on your face that had her remembering how you were before this whole ordeal. "My list of enemies has already been long. To add to that, my best friend is an Avenger, and you are too."

Natasha was the one to raise a brow this time as she smirked, "What do I have to do with anything?"

You suddenly blushed as you became an incoherent mess, "I- uh, you know. We- You- I-"

"I'm just kidding!" she laughed, "Don't hurt yourself."

You scoffed as you turned away to hide your face from her. Scout suddenly stood as she began licking your red face. "Ew, Scout!" you exclaimed as you pushed her off of you. Natasha laughed and you found yourself laughing as well.

This was much better.

~~~

Surveillance taglist: @natasha-danvers @chasethemoon @thelastpyle @readings-stuff @xxromanoffxx @t00manyfand0ms @diaryoflife @mad-moddi-1327 @natsbaby @inquisitive-nix @wandanatlex send a message or make a comment to be added!

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #black widow x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x y/n #black widow x you #marvel fanfic #avengers fanfic #marvel #mcu #avengers #fanfic #lgbtq #lesbians #hot russian spies #fanfiction

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lea-andres · 2 years

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Who's ready for some Team Hooligan braindumping? Because they've never had a headcanon post and I feel bad.

(CW: Drug/Alcohol use, guns, PTSD/Trauma. A lot of my thoughts on Fang are... spicy. And also a lot of them might be stolen from @bitter-sweet-coffee ? I've lost track of what's actually mine and what was something Izzy said that I went "Ah, yes, good... Stealing that." 😂)

I've shared my thoughts on how Bark and Bean met prior, so we won't rehash that. Bean and Fang had met prior to Bean ending up on North Island (Bean "helped" Fang with a couple scores once or twice... although depending on which one you ask you'll get very different descriptions of how helpful Bean was), so when Bark left the island with Bean they turned to Fang for work.

Fang wasn't super wild about having Bean back on his team at the time (he's a wild card, as you can probably imagine. Either incredibly helpful to have or an extreme handicap, no middle ground), but was more than willing to put up with the Dynamite Duck if it meant keeping Bark around. A 6' tall, extremely Hench polar bear is EXTREMELY USEFUL to have on your side when you're in a life of crime.

"Nack the Weasel" is Fang's real name. "Fang the Sniper" is his criminal alias he chose. He prefers to go by Fang.

Bean also goes by an alias, but he didn't choose it himself. "Bean" IS his real first name, but "the Dynamite" came about because the authorities and the news couldn't figure out if he was a duck or a woodpecker, so they gave him a snazzy criminal name to avoid the issue.

Bean will not provide an answer if you ask him directly if he's a duck or a woodpecker. His usual response is "I'm an Aries." (He's not actually an Aries...)

Nic the Weasel (Fang's sister in the comics) does exist in my Canon, but she and Fang are not on speaking terms and Fang never brings her up. Bark and Bean don't even know she exists.

Fang doesn't know about Bark's family and his whole snowboarding thing. As I stated on the North Island specific post, Bark's got selective mutism, and is only capable of speaking to Bean freely. Fang's not really one for conversation either, so he's unbothered by this. Bark doesn't talk? Fine. Doesn't matter.

I don't want to go into too much detail about this, because we get full detail on this in When the Day Met the Night, but Fang suffered some significant PTSD thanks to the Metal Virus. Bark and Bean got infected almost immediately (thanks to Bean, because you really think he'd keep from touching the mysterious metallic goop?), so they don't know the full extent of what Fang suffered during that event.

I will say this: It occurred to Fang how important Bark and Bean are to him during this event. He's never going to tell THEM that, because that involves opening up about feelings and being vulnerable and Fang would rather shoot himself in the foot than do that, but he wouldn't trade them for anything.

Bean and Bark also view Fang as being a crucial part of their weird little group/family. He's cold and crass and antagonistic sometimes (well, usually), and they make fun of him behind his back sometimes (...frequently), but they'll stick by Fang no matter what.

Fang's a world class alcoholic (he was prior to the PTSD, but that didn't help things any.) He keeps a flask on him at all times filled with... something. No one except him knows what it is, and no one except him can actually drink its contents without immediately getting sick. (Well, that's not entirely true, but that's also WtDMtN spoilers.)

The only time Fang does NOT drink is if he's going to be driving his airbike, the Marvelous Queen, somewhere. Fang's more concerned about damaging the bike than he is hurting himself, but at least he's making the right choice?

Bean never engages in any altering substances whatsoever. He has no interest in any of it, he can match the rowdiest party scene with his enthusiasm and zaniness alone.

Bark partakes occasionally, but usually he's looking out for Fang and Bean, so it's truly a rare sight to see him drink.

Sometimes Fang's gun is loaded with real bullets, sometimes it's corks. He tries his best to keep track of what's in it, but sometimes he forgets and winds up trying to shoot things open with corks. He tries not to point it at people unless he knows 100% it's got corks in it.

Bean's got a little pocket dimension of sorts he yanks his bombs out of, similar to Amy's hammer or how I headcanon Espio's throwing knives work. He prefers the cartoony cannonball looking bombs (fun fact: those bombs never technically existed IRL? My fiancé looked into it, the TL;DR is the animation industry created those to be visual shorthand for a bomb, and it was never really replaced by anything as time has gone on? 🤷), but he can call forth any type really. If it explodes, he can get it.

It is illegal for Bean to swear, Fang is incapable of NOT swearing, and while Bark barely talks, he's not opposed to swearing if the situation calls for it.

Fang is an antagonistic little shit that loves to cause drama and pick fights with people, Bean enjoys watching drama unfold but rarely starts it himself. Bark wants out of all drama at all times.

Bark's panromantic asexual, Fang's got a sexuality crisis inbound he's been putting off for as long as possible (he's always thought he was straight, but he's not. He's disasterously bisexual.), and Bean's... an enigma. Like the duck vs. woodpecker thing, he provides no clear answers if asked, Bark just shrugs if you ask him, Fang will contemplate it for a bit, take a long swig from his flask, and confess he has no clue.

Fang's denial about the fact that he's into guys too is a big part of why he's so aggressive toward Espio all the time, but I'd advise against calling him out on that. The calmest reaction you'll get is him calling you a fucking idiot for even thinking that him having a crush on Espio is within the realm of possibility. 👀👀👀

Bark is extremely skilled at the arts. Poetry is his specialty, he's also quite talented at music, but he dabbles in other art forms occasionally. He's not exactly shy about sharing it with others, it's just hard to bring it up considering he doesn't talk to most people.

Bark's also a great singer, but again, doesn't come up often.

Fang plays guitar occasionally. He's also a surprisingly good singer, but he'll plug a bullet between your eyes if you bring it up or make fun of him for it.

Bean's, in his own words, an executioner of music. (Can't sing, can't play any instruments, but will have the time of his life melting your eardrums if allowed to attempt either)

Bean's surprisingly great at photography. Hand him a camera or a cellphone, and he'll take some stunning pictures. But again, it's Bean, they'll be strange photos and he won't follow instructions if someone tries to tell him what to take pictures of.

Bean's also into memes and shitposting. I mean, c'mon, it's Bean. 😂

#team hooligan #fang the sniper #bark the polar bear #bean the dynamite #sonic headcanons #cw alcohol #cw ptsd #cw gun #ask to tw #seriously if i missed anything please let me know

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julieloveupstead · 3 years

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"You Are My Now and Forever" - Upstead

Description: My version of what could or might happen after the last scene from 8x16. I hope you enjoy it

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Events that had taken place only a few moments ago were blurring into one. I didn't know what was real and what was fake. I don't even remember by what miracle I managed to get home. Everything seemed so strange to me, as if all the movements were made by another person, I was just looking at it.

When I entered the apartment it was dark and which was ironic because that's exactly how I felt - as if the darkness had taken over me and I couldn't get out of it.

- Hey, I thought I'd meet you at the hospital - and as if out of nowhere Jay appeared, who like the light he'd just turned on in the living room made all the bad memories from an hour ago evaporate. In that moment, I realized for the first time how much of an influence Jay has on me. How much he has changed in my life and how much he means. All my life I didn't know what it meant to love, what it meant to be loved. I didn't have an example of a loving, supportive family at home. Affection, intimacy, loyalty, love, respect these adjectives were not used at home.

I saw that Jay was saying something, but what I couldn't focus on what he was saying. I just tried to nod, because all I had in my head was the thought that I couldn't let the only good thing in my life get screwed up. I have to, I want with all my might to hold on to him and what we have because what we have is so special and for the first time in my life I feel happy and safe. When I'm with him all that matters is the here and now. No work, no case to solve, no problems, no memories, and no mavens from tonight with Voight. It's just him and me. And that thought causes me to say:

- I love you. - stopping my boyfriend in half a step with this (6 months together and calling him a boy it still makes me feel amazing in my lower abdomen and disbelieve that this wonderful man is mine and most importantly wants to be mine)

- I love you too," he says surprised by my bravery, which even I am surprised by, because not long ago he had a panic attack at the sound of those 3 words.

This guy looks at me with such tenderness and love that I don't deserve, and certainly not after what I did today. I was beginning to barely see through the tears appearing in my eyes. I'm afraid it's the last time I'll hear those words out of his mouth and surely as soon as he hears about what happened in that warehouse in his eyes I'll see disappointment and that will mean my end. Feeling how much I wanted to keep him I let go of all the barriers, because in the end what else was left for me?

- You are so honest and I... - and I just wanted to feel accepted, loved and seen as valuable. Somehow I couldn't say the words out loud. I swallowed my saliva loudly at the memory of my childhood as my own father instilled in me that I deserved nothing, that I was just a worthless loser. And now that I finally felt that I was finally worth something to someone, worth loving, worth trusting, worth telling the biggest demons he was stewing inside and worth opening his heart once again, now I had to break something.

- Hey, hey, everything's going to work out with us too - the way he calmly and tenderly addressed me hurt me even more because he recognized my anxiety right away. It always surprises me how accurately he can read me as if from an open book, in fact I read him too.

- I don't want to be without you," I said with a fear that I was no longer able to mask. I can't live without him. Without it, all my demons will hit me with double or even triple force. Jay is the rock for me, the anchor of what I cannot survive without, he is my everything.

- You never will," he said with tears in his eyes and a slight smile of delight. This man surprised me all the time with how much love he had for me. I wish I could say or show how much I love him, but I fail every damn time. Maybe my father was right and I don't deserve any love?

- Maybe we should get married? - i was surprised by what I had just said, and so was Jay, and yet I really feltrything's going to work out with us too - the way he calmly and tenderly addressed me hurt me even more because he recognized my anxiety right away. It always surprises me how accurately he can read me as if from an open book, in fact I read him too.

- Maybe we should get married? - i was surprised by what I had just said, and so was Jay, and yet I really felt this is the right time. I don't want to lose him. I'm afraid of losing him. I could feel the panic starting to set in.

- I'm serious, let's get married," I repeated this time more confidently to reassure him that I wasn't joking.

- Honey," he smiled tenderly, and a single tear began to run down her cheek. His gaze showed nothing like love, his one hand went to my cheek and brushed it. The gesture caused me to let my eyes close and snuggle more into his warm and soft hand. - I would be honored to marry you, to call you my wife, to hear you call me husband from your lips. I can't wait for the day I see you in church in a beautiful white dress when we have a bunch of beautiful children. I love you so much that you can't even imagine and I can't imagine on this finger - with his other hand he lifted my right hand, with his finger he played with my heart finger and then he kissed it in the place where the ring and the wedding ring should be. And he looked at me again - I love you and I will never stop. Remember what I told you a few weeks ago? I'm not going anywhere, really anywhere. So tell me what's going on? What happened to make your beautiful head germinate with the thought that I might leave you? - throughout the monologue he spoke in a calm, quiet and monotonous voice that is reserved only for me. Jay always knows when something is bothering me and as of now he knows exactly what, well maybe almost. We are mentally connected and I never wanted it to end. More tears flowed down my cheeks as he gently wiped them away with his thumb. I pulled my nose, wondering how I was going to tell him all this.

- I can't tell you. I'm afraid you'll leave me, that you'll hate me, that... - my voice was breaking.

- Hey, Hailey, baby. It's never gonna happen. - said with tenderness and assurance. I closed my eyes again and thought once again of a goat's death and began to tell the story.

- Voight found Roy. He specifically sent us to the houses we were bouncing off the door, and he chose the right house himself, where he found information on where Roy was. After I dropped Adam off at Kim's house to take care of Makayla I followed Hank's trail and found him in the warehouse. - i paused to swallow my saliva, giving him a moment to calm down. Jay didn't say a word, just listened. I felt my legs no longer me and Jay guided me to the couch. I sat up and he planted me in his lap, cradling me tightly against his torso. To calm myself down a bit, I start playing with the fingers of his hand and continued on. - Walton was handcuffed to the pipe and Voight was beating him - I closed my eyes having the events described before my eyes. Jay must have started to suspect something because he pulled me tighter to him so that I was almost lying on top of him. - When Voight spotted me he pointed the gun in my direction - I could feel my defender's muscles toning I knew he remembered the story of the burglar when I was twelve and how he when not was in bad shape after a bout of PTSD set in and pointed a gun in my direction. He still blames himself for that and for what he said at the very beginning of our relationship about my father and my life. I forgave him a long time ago, and he hasn't forgiven himself. And how could I not love him, but going back - Jay I really tried to do everything right. I tried to reason with the Sergeant, but he was like he was in another world. Eyes full of murder, and zero emotion on his face. It was the first time I really saw Hank's resemblance to my father and it scared me so much. I thought I'd finally convinced him to keep Roy, that it could all still be explained. When Voight tried to unseat him Roy grabbed his gun - my breathing began to quicken, I closed my eyes - I thought Walton was going to shoot Voight. It was a good shot, I... no... i had a way out. It was a good shot.

- Those, come to me, sweetheart - when I started to cry Jay kissed my forehead and when I thought that you can't hug a man tighter, I was wrong. - Roy was unpredictable, he almost killed Kim and Kent and could have killed you and Voight. It was a good shot. Baby look at me - I did as he asked. He kissed my eye, then my eyes, then my nose and mouth. - It's not your fault, it's Voights you understand? He's got blood on his hands, not you. I love you and I will not let anyone hurt you. Hailey Anne Upton you are mine now and you will be my future and eternity you understand? - I looked into his eyes and became convinced that he really thinks so. I was overwhelmed by the love I get from him, I'm very lucky. I kissed him tenderly as if there was no tomorrow. I was unable to say how much I love him, or how grateful I am for his presence in my life, so I hoped a kiss would give it all away.

"I love you Jay," I put my forehead to his.

- I love you Hailey - this time he kissed me.

- As for my question ... - I started hesitantly, but Jay cut me off

- We will go back to this, you will see the engagement, it will be one of the most beautiful memories of our lives, of course, apart from the our wedding and the arrival of our children - he laughed tenderly and winked at me and I laughed and hugged more in my boyfriend, in my present and the future.

#upstead #upstead fic #jay x hailey #jay halstead #hailey upton

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aquaquadrant · 3 years

Text

the little things

Kenji’s mouth is dry. “Ben…?” he croaks out.

Ben swallows. “Oh,” he says, in a very small voice. “It’s you.”

~*~

Ben’s been reunited with the other campers, and seems to have come out the other end of his experience stronger than ever before. But as he slowly finds his place back within the group, a bigger picture starts to emerge, piece by piece.

Rated T for: mental illness, mild language, panic attacks, PTSD, anxiety, insomnia, eating disorder (not in a traditional sense, but definitely not a healthy relationship with food)

A/N: Hey Camp Cretaceous fandom, y’all mind if I uhhhh write six-thousand words about Ben’s trauma?? Basically, Netflix kept recommending the show to me so I watched the first ep out of curiosity and then ended up binging the whole thing in like two days, and now here I am.

(Dear sweet, patient, regular readers of mine: I’m so sorry my main fic’s been delayed but I promise it’s getting updated next week, I just had to get some feelings out about Sad Dino Boy)

Hope you enjoy, please reblog and leave a comment if you do! - Aqua

Click here to read on A03 (with more complete tags)

~*~

the little things

~*~

Ben Pincus has returned from the dead, and he’s never been better.

The other campers are amazed. What he’s been through must have been horrible. He thought he was the only one left, that there was no one to help him and no hope of rescue because he was presumed dead. It would’ve been enough to drive anyone into despair, or off of the deep end.

But Ben shows no signs of this.

They didn’t find him holed up somewhere, near starvation and waiting to die, like one might’ve expected. They didn’t find him at all, really. He found them, and by coming to their rescue, no less. And when he did, he wasn’t a trembling mess, he wasn’t a half-mad ball of paranoia, and he wasn’t a hollow-eyed skeleton fueled solely by desperation.

He’s an all new and improved Ben, the best version of himself.

He hasn’t just survived, he’s flourished. He’s brave, he’s confident, he’s capable. He gives his opinions freely and without second-guessing himself, suggesting things the old Ben would’ve recoiled at. He fits seamlessly into the team like he never left. He faces problems head-on with determination and grit and not a trace of fear.

The turnaround is unbelievable. But even more important is that while he’s a new and improved Ben, he’s retained all the best parts of his old self.

Ben is easy smiles and meticulous organization of a leather waist bag and doting affection for a four-ton armored lizard. He’s sensitive and soft-spoken and accepts hugs from his friends gratefully. He still can’t quite pull off coolness, with a voice that sounds as gangly as his limbs look and an awkwardness he hasn’t grown out of.

And it’s perhaps because of this that no one thinks to look closer. This image is an easy thing to accept because it’s what they all want to believe, that Ben is okay- in fact, better than okay. But the truth is not always big and obvious upon first glance.

It’s the little things, as they soon find out.

~*~

That first evening after Ben’s return, after Mitch and Tiff and everything else, they don’t eat dinner.

They all ate their fill at the campsite and, after a month of scarcity, it was more than enough to sate their appetites. It’s Darius who thinks to ask Ben if he’s hungry, remembering that the boy hadn’t had the chance to eat with them. They have a good stockpile of food at the moment and he figures Ben must’ve been struggling.

But Ben shakes his head with an easy smile, and says, “Nah, I ate earlier.”

Darius leaves it at that, because there’s still so much catching up to do. They show Ben around their clubhouse, make plans for where to build a bunk for him (he insists he’d be just fine sleeping on the ground next to Bumpy, but they all veto that immediately). They talk well into the night about the day’s crazy events, filling each other in on their own sides of the story, and everything that’s happened since Ben got separated.

There are some more tears, some more hugs. But ultimately, the mood in the clubhouse is ecstatic. They never thought Ben had survived the fall so to have him back is better than a dream come true, it’s a miracle.

Darius thought he knew what it was to experience a miracle when they first saw that bonfire smoke on the horizon. But if he had to chose between the miracle of them finally leaving the island or the miracle of getting Ben back, it’s not even a competition.

Eventually the exhaustion catches up with everyone, and they turn in for the night. Bumpy parks herself underneath the clubhouse, her presence incredibly reassuring. Ben ends up sharing Kenji’s bunk because it’s bigger than Darius’s even when occupied by two, and the older teen had insisted in a very faux-casual way, to which Ben had rolled his eyes but nonetheless seemed touched by the gesture.

Darius takes the first night watch shift and gets to see all his friends sleeping peacefully. And even though Tiff sailed away with their only means for escaping, he feels a lot more hopeful than he has in a long time.

~*~

It’s canned peaches for breakfast.

A far cry from yesterday’s buffet. But no one’s complaining because the meticulous rationing of their food, courtesy of Darius, means they’re all starving by meal time and couldn’t care less what it tastes like. Darius is in the process of separating the food out into bowls, half a can for each of them, when he realizes Ben has yet to take a seat. He’s lingering at the edge of the room, watching.

“Hey,” Darius calls, “you coming or what?”

Ben shakes his head. “Thanks, but I already got my own breakfast.”

Before Darius can respond, Brooklynn shoots Ben a look. “What? Where?” she demands. “You holding out on us, jungle boy?”

Darius shoots her a look, but Ben just gives an easy smile and unzips the leather pouch that’s reclaimed its spot around his waist. He withdraws a small handful of bright red berries, no bigger than blueberries. It’s not even a fraction of the half-can of peaches the rest of them are settling for, and Darius sees his own unease reflected in the others’ eyes.

Brooklynn glances away. “Oh. Um, sorry. You don’t… you can have some of ours, you know?”

“I’m good.” Ben tosses a couple berries into his mouth. “You guys go ahead, I’m gonna go check on Bumpy.”

“O- oh, okay…” Sammy murmurs, watching Ben go with uncertain eyes. “If you’re sure…”

They’re silent for a moment.

Kenji inhales quietly through his teeth. “So… that’s weird, right?”

Yaz leans forward in her seat. “What do you think, Darius?” she asks lowly.

Darius bites his lip. Even though dinosaurs are his specific topic of interest, he’s gained a lot of second-hand knowledge about general biology and psychology. After all, he has to understand the processes behind behavior in order to identify patterns and deviations.

And right now, he has to admit that Ben is displaying a very concerning behavior.

“I’ll talk to him,” Darius decides.

There’s a collective sigh of relief around the table, and the others start eating. It takes Darius longer than usual to finish his serving.

~*~

“So, uh, bottom line is… you don’t need to feel bad about eating our food. You’re as much a part of this group as anyone else, and we’re happy to share.”

After a couple tense days, Darius is finally talking to Ben about the food situation. Or rather, talking at him. Because Ben’s not looking at Darius- his eyes are tracking the small spider that’s crawling along the railing next to them. Normally, Darius would take it as a sign of boredom and inattentiveness. But there’s an intensity in Ben’s eye that’s a little unsettling-

Quick as a flash, Ben shoots out an arm. He crushes the spider under his thumb and swipes it into his mouth. And then, untroubled as can be, he returns his focus to Darius as if nothing had happened.

Darius has overheard Kenji teasing Ben about eating bugs, and Ben has admitted as much in the stories of his time alone. Berries and grubs were what he lived on. Darius, for one, can’t imagine being hungry and desperate enough to snatch a bug off the ground and eat it.

But it’s even harder to imagine having access to real food, good food, and still choosing to eat bugs.

“Don’t worry so much,” Ben says lightly, patting Darius on the shoulder as he turns to go. “I can take care of myself.”

That does it. “You can’t keep living off berries and grubs!” Darius finally snaps.

Ben whirls around. “Says who?”

“Basic human biology!” Darius retorts.

Ben glares at him, but there’s something shaky behind it. “Darius, I told you it’s fine,” he says evenly, though he doesn’t fully meet Darius’s gaze. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Please? If I’m hungry, I’ll eat.”

Darius hesitates. “You promise?”

Ben breaks into an easy smile. “I promise.”

Darius sighs. It’ll have to be good enough, for now.

“Okay.”

~*~

Darius knows he isn’t the only one still concerned by Ben’s lack of appetite.

Right from the start, Ben was the scrawniest one among them, and it’s only gotten worse. But surely he’ll have to eat at some point, right? Basic survival instincts will win out over whatever stubborn mindset is holding him back. Plus, it’s clear that he’s got enough energy to run and climb and stuff with no problem.

Maybe it’s not as serious as Darius thinks. Maybe Ben just needs time.

~*~

Ben doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

He just- he can’t take their food! Why don’t they get that?

And it’s not because he’s stubborn, it’s not- no matter what Darius thinks. There’s nothing wrong with letting others help you (as long as you don’t let it make you soft, of course). After all, he relies on Bumpy. He just… when he looks at the food, and imagines eating it, he just knows it’ll sit in his stomach. Like a rock, weighing him down.

Plus, plus, if he gets used to eating like that, it’ll just- it’ll be harder to cope once it runs out. He’s already gotten used to roughing it and it was hard enough the first time, he can’t let himself slip back into complacency. And- and really, how long do they think it’s going to last? They’ve searched all the previously inhabited areas of the island and there’s no more food for them to scavenge.

Do they think they’ll be rescued before it runs out? No one is coming to save them. They know it as much as Ben does- they wouldn’t be bothering with rafts if they didn’t. Do they think they’ll escape, then? Sure, because their current attempts have been going so well.

No, they just aren’t thinking long term. Ben is.

There’s nothing wrong with that.

~*~

It’s the sixth day in a row where Ben eats nothing but berries.

He wants to search around some more, see if there’s anything more substantial. That would require him to leave Bumpy, though. And he can’t leave Bumpy. But the hunger is excruciating. It gnaws at him every waking moment, keeps him up at night. He’s never felt such hunger in his life, not even close. He can’t keep going like this, can he?

But there’s nothing else.

Except… something’s crawling up his arm. Something small, and leggy. Ben turns his head, squinting to focus his eyes in the dark. It’s some kind of beetle, with a shiny shell that catches stray shafts of moonlight poking through the roof of his lean-to.

Ben stares at it for a moment. Then, before he can think, he snatches it up and pops it into his mouth. He barely registers any taste, mostly just the crunchy texture. And even though it wasn’t any bigger than a quarter, after he swallows, he feels… fuller. Even if it’s purely imagined, it’s a comfort.

Berries and grubs. It’ll have to be enough.

There’s nothing else.

~*~

Ben continues to decline their offers of food.

~*~

A few weeks after the reunion, Kenji is starting to get antsy.

As the self-designated ‘pro-fun police’ (a clever play on ‘no-fun police,’ if Kenji does say so himself), he’s made it his responsibility to make sure none of his friends just keel over and die from stress one day. That means it’s his job- no, his duty- to lighten the mood with copious amounts of joking, goofing off, and, of course, pranking.

Jumping out to scare his friends while they’re trapped on a dino-infested island might, on paper, sound like a bad idea. But it keeps everyone on their toes, and the relief of realizing they aren’t facing a dino attack, just Kenji pulling a prank, helps keep any real anger at bay. It’s typically an exasperated annoyance, which Kenji will gladly take. His main targets are Brooklynn and Darius, because he can’t fathom doing that to Sammy, and Yaz is- while perhaps in the most need of lightening up- super freaking scary.

But now that Ben’s back, Kenji knows what he has to do.

Before, back when they were just campers and not survivors, Ben was easily the most frightened of them. The kid was scared of dirt. And his over-the-top hysterics always managed to, somehow, put everyone else at ease. Because if Ben was scared of something, that didn’t really mean anything. Again; scared of dirt.

(Now, if Yaz is scared of something, that’s a different story).

Since Ben’s, uh… departure, they’ve been sorely lacking that energy in the group. Kenji would wager he’s not the only one who misses it. He used to have so much fun riling Ben up with just a couple words (none of the others are so easily baited). And whenever Ben would freak out and instantly cling to him, like some kind of scrawny spider monkey, it made Kenji feel… capable, in a way.

Like, if Ben was trusting Kenji to protect him, maybe he wasn’t so useless after all (which was becoming an all too frequent feeling as the others continued to adapt and grow, leaving Kenji struggling to keep up).

Problem is, Ben’s really hard to scare now.

It’s not always obvious, like when he’s bragging about taking down Toro or itching to blow things up. Sometimes it’s the little things. Whenever they’re out in a group, foraging or gathering supplies, and there’s a sound in the distance that makes them all freeze, Ben’s frozen in readiness, not fear. He looks more like Yaz, tense and waiting with his fists up and eyes narrowed.

Sometimes, when they aren’t occupied by any particular task or imminent threat, and have the chance to enjoy some downtime, Ben drifts off to the side and just… watches, all tense, silent, and anxious. He’ll watch the tree line, or Bumpy on the ground below, or even just the rest of them as they go about their business. Kenji is sure he’s not the only one who’s noticed but none of them bring it up.

It’s… unsettling, seeing Ben like this. Kenji figured he just needed a couple weeks to fall back into the rhythm of the group, to see that he didn’t have to be this loner Rambo type of guy anymore. But even though he talks with them easy enough, seems to enjoy their company, and has a good handle on teamwork, it’s like there’s a part of him that can’t fully shake that mentality.

At least, not without help.

~*~

Kenji’s plan is- in his humble opinion- pretty dang brilliant.

He waits for a time when it’s just him and Ben in the main level of the clubhouse (Yaz is running laps around their perimeter, Darius is in his bunk writing in his nerd book, Brooklynn and Sammy are upstairs going over inventory) and then announces he’s going for a shower. His daily showers are common knowledge at this point, so Ben just nods in acknowledgement and goes back to leaning against the railing, watching Bumpy graze down below in that tense-silent-anxious way of his.

Kenji sets up the shower and lets it run (he’ll go down to the river later and get more water to make up for the waste, because even though he tries to avoid manual labor whenever possible, it’s totally worth it in this case). And then, being more careful and silent than he’s ever been (except maybe in cases where he’s being hunted by dinos), he slowly creeps up behind Ben before leaping forward with a shriek, grabbing him by the shoulders.

Ben doesn’t just jump and scream. He jumps, screams, then spins around and swings a fist into Kenji’s jaw in one smooth motion.

Kenji’s laughing even as he staggers back, his jaw stinging (because at the end of the day, even though Ben’s kind of a badass now, he’s still Ben and his arms are pretty much chicken wings so there’s no real harm done, just a bruise at most). Plus that’s a valid reaction, considering everything, and he can’t say he didn’t deserve it.

“Oh man, I totally got you!” Kenji says anyways, to rub it in. “You should see your… face...”

And Kenji trails off because now he’s seeing Ben’s face.

What Kenji expected is this:

Once Ben realized it was just him pulling a prank, he would get mad. In that totally non-threatening dorky Ben way, where he scrunches his nose and puffs out his cheeks, his little fists clenched at his side like an irate toddler. Maybe he’d stomp off but it’d be worth it because being mad is better than being tense-silent-anxious and it’d give him the chance to be annoyed with Kenji. And maybe Ben being annoyed with Kenji would help everything feel a little more normal, a little more like before.

What Kenji gets is this:

Once Ben realizes it was just him pulling a prank, he doesn’t get mad. He starts shaking. Violently, uncontrollably. Like he’s suddenly come down with hypothermia despite being in a tropical jungle, staring at Kenji all the while and not saying a word. His chest rises and falls rapidly in little panicky breaths and the kind of fear in his eyes isn’t the kind that’s funny. It’s glassy-eyed with shrunken pupils that dart around Kenji’s face, frightened and searching, as if he isn’t fully seeing it.

Kenji’s mouth is dry. “Ben…?” he croaks out.

Ben swallows. “Oh,” he says, in a very small voice. “It’s you.”

Kenji hasn’t heard Ben’s voice sound that small since before, and it doesn’t feel like a victory.

By now, of course, the others have noticed the commotion and it doesn’t take more than a second for them to piece together what happened. Yaz rounds on Kenji with a furious snarl and whisper-screams a lecture about how stupid and irresponsible he is. Darius is immediately trying to mediate the situation while Sammy frantically asks Ben if he’s okay, to which he doesn’t respond. Brooklynn steps in, citing an unboxing video about dealing with shock, and when she goes to put a hand on Ben’s shoulder, he lets her.

And now Kenji realizes where he miscalculated. Ben never showed discomfort with physical contact before because he’d never been surprised by it before (because Ben has gotten scary good at being alert, always keeping an eye and an ear out on his surroundings even in the middle of a conversation). And when it came to his friends, it wasn’t unexpected for Sammy to rush in with a hug or Darius to pat his shoulder or Brooklynn to playfully knock elbows.

But Kenji snuck up on him, so Ben’s first thought wasn’t that it was a friend. It was that he was going to have to run for his life, like he has countless times since being stranded on this island.

Kenji apologizes over and over again as Darius gently leads him away by the elbow and Brooklynn talks to Ben in low tones while Sammy squeezes his hand and Yaz takes up a lookout position because they can’t afford for all of them to be distracted even though she occasionally cuts a glare at Kenji out of the corner of her eye so it’s really debatable how vigilant she’s actually being.

Throughout it all, Ben doesn’t get mad, but he doesn’t stop shaking.

~*~

Darius explains it, later.

“The sudden fear reaction signaled a bunch of adrenaline to be released into his bloodstream, to give him the energy needed for running. And then, when he didn’t, there was nowhere for that energy to go. It’s like, even though his mind knew there wasn’t any danger, his body wasn’t convinced.” Then, a sympathetic look. “You didn’t know, man.”

Kenji only nods. But knowing doesn’t make it better because even though Ben’s stopped shaking he doesn’t turn his back on Kenji anymore and somehow that’s a million times worse than if he’d gotten mad.

~*~

There are claws wrapped around Ben’s shoulders and shrieks in his ears.

Wind whips his face and his stomach lurches as he’s carried through the air, weightless, at the mercy of the Pteranodon. He’s never felt so small and utterly helpless before, not once in his life. Even his screams aren’t big enough to carry, snatched away by the wind and deafened by the roars of the terror-birds fighting over the right to tear him limb from limb.

And then he’s falling and has other things to worry about.

~*~

Ben stops sharing Kenji’s bunk.

~*~

In a rare moment of downtime, Yasmina is curled up with Darius’s field guide, adding a few more illustrations, when she feels Ben staring at her.

It’s not the first time she’s felt him staring at her. It is the first time, however, that she decides to stare back.

She means it to be playful, at first. She meets his eyes, one brow quirked as if to say, ‘What, is there something on my face?’ But instead of glancing away in sheepish embarrassment or jolting out of a daze, Ben just stares back. There’s no emotion in his expression at all except intense focus.

The faint smile drops from Yasmina’s face as she stares back in surprise. Then, with ever-growing confusion and a fair amount of alarm, she realizes that Ben’s shoulders are rising, tense and hunched like he’s trying to make himself look bigger.

Like an animal.

Yasmina knows what it is to stare down a wild animal. She’s felt predatory eyes on her before and either bolted or turned to face the challenge. And that’s what it is, for some of the dinos- a challenge. Sometimes they’re testing your mettle, and standing your ground is enough to make them back off.

Ben must’ve learned that, too. And for whatever reason, he’s slipping into that behavior now.

It’s a ridiculous thought. This is Ben, her friend. Her very scrawny friend who can’t weigh more than ninety pounds soaking wet, and prefers a diet of berries and grubs. And yet, here he is, staring her down like she’s a particularly bold pack of Compies that’s decided to threaten him.

Yasmina gives a slow, deliberate blink. “Ben?” she calls. “What’s up?”

Just like that, the spell is broken. Ben gives a violent start, blinking and shaking his head. Yasmina sees confusion flash across his face, and then realization. And now the embarrassment comes, but it’s darkened by something like horror.

Without a word, Ben turns and darts away, scrambling down the ladder to the alcove underneath the house where Bumpy’s napping.

Yasmina lets him go, too baffled and unsettled to form words.

~*~

Eventually, Yasmina tells Darius about it.

His expression is troubled as she runs through the incident. But in the end, there’s nothing more he can tell her than what she’s already worked out on her own. It’s just another side effect of the mindset Ben has adopted throughout his isolation. Those habits were what he relied on to survive, and it’ll take time for him to realize he doesn’t have to constantly be on edge now that he’s got a team to look out for him.

Though privately, Yasmina wonders if maybe the rest of them should take a page out of Ben’s book. Seems like he’s got a better handle on survival than they do.

(And then she thinks how Sammy would react, if Yasmina started acting like a wary animal around her, and she realizes Ben’s methods come with a price.)

~*~

After Ben runs the Compies off for the first time, staring becomes a defense tactic.

It’s not always the Compies, who are slowly but surely learning not to mess with him. Sometimes it’s the Parasaurolophus in the river, or the lone Pteranodon perched in a tree, or the group of Edmontosauruses grazing on the hilltop. As soon as he feels their eyes on him, he knows his best chance is to stare back, to show that he’s willing to put up a fight, that chasing him wouldn’t be worth it.

Obviously, there are some dinosaurs that doesn’t work on. But if Ben can drastically cut down the amount of time spent running for his life by standing his ground, then he’ll take it.

All he has to do is not back down.

~*~

Ben avoids Yasmina for the next few days.

~*~

Brooklynn wakes up in the middle of the night with an unshakeable feeling that something is wrong.

Her bad feeling is confirmed when she gets a look at the moon. Based on its position in the sky, she should’ve been woken up by Ben to take her night watch shift at least an hour ago. This practice, established by Darius months ago who insisted they should always have at least one person awake, has already become routine within the group. Brooklynn couldn’t sleep fully through the night if she tried.

Ben’s only just recently become a part of the routine. Immediately after his return, Darius thought it best just to let Ben settle in and get as much rest as he could, now that he had the security to do so, and everyone agreed. Ben had insisted he didn’t mind, but Darius stood firm, so it’s only been within the last few days that Ben took part.

But this is the first time he hasn’t woken Brooklynn up and her heart is in her throat as she rushes to the lookout point-

Only to find Ben sitting right where he’s supposed to be, looking out over their compound as a small candle burns next to him.

As soon as Brooklynn’s relief passes, it’s replaced with anger. “What are you doing?” she whispers furiously.

Ben, not at all surprised by her presence, gives her a sidelong look. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You were supposed to wake me up, so I could do night watch.” Brooklynn struggles to keep her voice low, so as not to alert the others. “What gives?”

Ben shrugs. “I knew I wasn’t gonna sleep tonight, so I figured I’d just take the whole watch myself.”

“That’s not how this works,” Brooklynn hisses, crossing her arms. “Even if you can’t fall asleep- and I’ve totally been there- you have to lay down and close your eyes and rest. You need to rest.”

Ben breaks into an easy smile, but Brooklynn can see the annoyed creases at his eyes. “Hey, it’s fine. I can-”

“Take care of yourself, I know,” Brooklynn interrupts, hating how frustrated she sounds but unable to help it. “But you don’t have to. We’re a team. We can take care of you too, alright?”

Ben stares at her for a moment. “I know that,” he says, sounding uncertain.

Brooklynn softens. When she reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, he lets her. “Then… why?”

“I don’t know,” Ben admits. The muscles beneath Brooklynn’s hand are so tense, it feels like they’re going to snap. “I don’t know.”

They finish the night watch together.

~*~

Brooklynn almost hates to bring it up to Darius.

Dude’s stressing almost nonstop about everything, all the time. And it really isn’t fair for him to be responsible for the rest of them, including Ben. But Darius is the only one who seems to have the… what’s it called, emotional intelligence, she supposes, to weigh in on the situation.

(Sammy is a close second, but her brand of caring is a little more touchy-feely, and this doesn’t seem like the right time for that.)

Darius is immediately worried, pointing out that Ben might accidentally fall asleep on watch if he keeps this up (something Brooklynn hadn’t even thought about). He promises to talk to Ben about it, and that’s that.

Brooklynn is only slightly relieved because she knows if Darius had a real fix for the problem, he would’ve said so. And if Darius doesn’t have a fix for it, maybe there isn’t one.

~*~

Those first several nights, Ben doesn’t sleep at all.

And it’s not for lack of trying. But how can he sleep, when it’s pitch black and the jungle is full of unfamiliar sounds and he’s got no one but a baby Ankylosaurus by his side? He soon finds it’s even worse without Bumpy, though, because at least he trusted that Bumpy would wake up if there was any danger, as her senses are more powerful than his.

On his own, there’s no one to wake him up. So he has to stay up, and settle for catching short scattered naps throughout the day (if he can find a tree to hide up in).

It’s hard, but he’d rather be tired than dead.

~*~

Ben is taken off night watch, but still ends up awake more often than not.

~*~

Pyromaniac is a word no one ever expected to become synonymous with Ben, and yet here they are.

It’s one of the first things he always suggests as an answer to a problem; blow something up. Darius has a million reasons for them not to do that; they could get hurt, they could start a wildfire and burn the jungle down, they could attract unwanted attention from predators.

But that doesn’t stop Ben from cataloguing everything on the island that can be used as an explosive, memorizing their locations or creating hidden stashes. It doesn’t stop him from using the candles that came with the scavenged emergency kits. He’ll light them for no reason, just to watch the small flame flicker back and forth.

(Someday, months later, they’ll encounter a horrific hybrid dinosaur that is drawn to flames, and they’ll all think about how unsettling it is that Ben shares this trait, but none of them will say it.)

~*~

It’s been one week since Bumpy left, and Ben is starting a fire.

Just a small one. It rained all day and he’s soaked to the bone, which normally wouldn’t be a huge problem considering the jungle climate. But now that it’s nighttime, there’s a chill in the air and he can’t afford to get sick. It’s risky, because at night he knows the light could draw attention to him, but his teeth are starting to chatter so there’s no helping it.

When a Stegosaurus stumbles upon him, baying low and angry at finding another creature in its territory, it’s the fire that makes it balk. Rumbling displeasure, it retreats back into the dark jungle. Ben quickly adds torches to his arsenal, using the rest of his shirt as tinder.

Fire is safety.

~*~

Ben lights his candles in silence.

~*~

“You can’t just run off like that,” Kenji says, deadly serious.

Ben scoffs. “I think you’re forgetting who defeated Toro,” he says with an easy smile.

“You’re not invincible, Ben!” Kenji snaps. The anger churning inside him is deceptively hollow, like it’s masking something else. “And I can’t lose you again.”

Ben isn’t smiling anymore. “You won’t,” he mutters, pushing past Kenji. “I can take care of myself, now. I don’t need you to play the hero and protect me.”

Kenji wants to protest that’s not what this is about, and that’s never been what this is about, but Ben is already gone.

~*~

Ben still lives off berries and grubs.

~*~

“… and so I was thinking, berries have seeds in them, right? So if we plant some, we’ll have our own berry bushes at the clubhouse. It’ll cut down our foraging time in the mornings for sure, and-”

“Uh, who are you talking to, Ben?”

Ben blinks at Yasmina’s voice, the girl having only just entered the room.

“Um, Bumpy?” he says, as if this should be obvious.

Yasmina glances out at the compound, where Bumpy is fast asleep and well out of earshot.

“… right.”

~*~

Ben can’t sleep, even when he’s actually trying.

~*~

“Alright,” Darius says, “so we need to get the T-Rex out of Main Street so we can do another sweep for supplies. Any ideas?”

Ben’s hand goes up.

“For the hundredth time, Ben, we aren’t going to feed the T-Rex to the Mosasaurus.”

Ben’s hand goes down.

~*~

Ben feels more at home with Bumpy than the other campers.

~*~

“You know we didn’t mean to leave you, right? We would’ve come back for you if we’d known…”

~*~

Ben never talks about getting off the island.

~*~

“You have to tell us where you’re going, Ben, you can’t just disappear-”

~*~

Ben keeps slipping away.

~*~

“Blowing stuff up isn’t the answer to everything!”

~*~

Ben keeps saying he’s okay.

~*~

“We’re a team, we have to work together-”

~*~

Ben keeps smiling.

~*~

“Don’t you trust us to protect you?”

~*~

Ben doesn’t know.

~*~

Sammy finds Ben sitting on the roof of the clubhouse one day.

Her footsteps are loud and obvious as she approaches him. No chance of sneaking up. She knows he’s noticed her, from the subtle shift in his body. He doesn’t acknowledge her, though, continuing to stare off over the jungle and into the horizon, his skinny legs slotted through the railing and dangling over the edge.

The sun’s about to set, a few stars already twinkling in the purple edges of the sky. Sammy can remember another night, months ago, where Ben wasn’t here but everyone else was and they spotted bonfire smoke in the distance. She remembers the way her heart raced, the overwhelming joy and relief flooding through her. And yet, there had been undeniable heartache, because the realization that they’d made it out only meant it was more unfair that Ben hadn’t.

Sammy breaks the silence after a few moments.

“Are you okay?”

Ben doesn’t look at her, but she can see the easy smile that slants across his face, dying sunlight reflected in his eyes.

“Yeah.”

Sammy sees the lie for what it is. None of them are okay. No one who’s been through what they have would be. But there’s a certain danger that comes with not being willing to admit it, and an even greater danger that comes with not being able to see it.

“Y’know, it’d be fine if you weren’t.”

Ben doesn’t answer.

Sammy sits with him until the sky turns dark.

~*~

It’s the way he struggles to eat anything he hasn’t obtained by himself.

It’s the way he sometimes goes off on his own without telling anyone.

It’s the way he talks to himself when he thinks no one else is around.

It’s the way he takes any concern for his safety as a personal attack.

It’s the way he leaps at the chance to blow something up.

It’s the way he can stare silently for hours.

It’s the way he smiles a little too easily.

~*~

It’s not jumping at every unexpected movement, or screaming awake from night terrors, or flinching away from the slightest touch. It’s not loud meltdowns or hysterical sobbing or uncontrollable fits of rage.

(Even though those will come, someday, when the island is just a memory.)

It’s the little things, that- once you notice them- keep piling up.

And suddenly, they don’t seem so little anymore.

~*~

#jurassic world camp cretaceous #camp cretaceous #jwcc #jwcc fanfic #my writing

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ouyangzizhensdad · 3 years

Note

RE: WWX and his arc being about trauma. I got into the fandom through CQL and the first time I saw it I actually read a lot of his actions post the burning of Lotus Cove as being influenced by his trauma. He's paranoid even before getting thrown into the burial mounds. He seems to be self medicating with alchohol (which WQ kinda calls him out on). He over-reacts to a lot things, which seems to me like a nasty case of emotional dysregulation as a result of PTSD. He avoids all kinds (1/3)

Of reminders of his tramua, his sword being the greatest example but there were other little things. He never gave much of a fuck about propriety but the way he completely igonres it (and the possible social fallout) later speaks to me less about not caring and more about not *having* the emotional capacity to care, much like what happens with depression. Plus, a lot of his behaviour can be read with various shades of being self destructive, and there are just in general a lot of points (2/3)

Where it's made clear that he's in a pretty bad headspace (him crying about being useless in the burial mounds for example), but none of that ever really gets dealt with so all of those issues are still hanging under the surface even if they're not apparent all the time. I mean, this is just my take, but at least imo WWX ticks a lot of the checkboxes for PTSD in the drama and it explains a lot about the way he acts and the bad decisions he makes. Hope this was helpful! (3/3)

I'm only referring to the drama btw, not the novel (which I haven't read yet). My memory is terrible so I'm not sure if I made it clear or not lol. Anyways, have a good day ^^

Hi there,

I am always curious when people who have only engaged with CQL end up engaging with my novel-only meta blog but perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised: if CQL posts end up in the mdzs tag, why not the opposite? I’ve seen some of my novel meta reblogged and tagged with “the untamed” and “CQL” so maybe the answer is already out there, staring at me in the face!

I’ll start by saying that I do not wish to really argue with people’s interpretations of CQL since I consider that MDZS and CQL are very different works because so many changes were made in the process of adapting the novel, and I personally have no interest in analysing CQL except wrt how it can help us better understand the novel (seeing certain elements removed or changed may help us understand why they mattered in the first place or what their use was). So I will speak to the arguments that could be applied to the novel and why *I* don’t think WWX’s arc in the novel is about trauma, and why I don’t think that picking up certain behaviours that can be exhibited by people with PTSD (but not exclusively by people with PTSD) is enough in itself to support the idea that a character’s arc is about trauma/shaped by PTSD. That does not mean that my interpretation is the only acceptable one--I am aware that a lot of people disagree with me on this and see trauma as a central theme/central part of WWX’s arc--and so I expect that a lot of people will disagree with my points (hopefully after they’ve read this post in good faith). And that’s perfectly fine: how likely is it that we can find another person who will agree 100% with our own interpretation of a work of fiction? And having divergent opinions floating around the fandom, or having to develop counter-arguments is a good way to strengthen our own pov if we don’t find ourselves convinced by that other interpretation, so it’s all good.

So first, I’ll address the biggest point of my argument before moving to address more specific points you raise in your ask. For me, WWX’s characterisation is not about trauma but about resilience.

So first, let’s clarify some things. Going through adversity/experiencing a situation that is difficult =/= experiencing trauma. Trauma is a concept referring to a potential response to going through adversity/experiencing something distressing or disturbing. In short, trauma as it is conceptualised and understood is not universal: not only in the sense that is a spatiotemporally specific concept used to make certain experiences intelligible, but as the reaction to difficult events (as well, what is considered to be an experience that falls under that concept is not itself universal and can take many gorms, and the behaviours and thoughts associated with trauma are generally not exclusive to it, ie having certain behaviours/thought processes is not an automatic proof that someone is dealing with trauma/ptsd). So after all this word vomit I want to clarify that my intent is not to suggest that WWX doesn’t go through experiences that are likely to cause trauma, but that to me, what is being portrayed is a different reaction to these events: resilience (if a slightly more “fictional” portrayal of resilience than what it would be presented in psychology/psychiatry).

Resilience refers to how people adapt or recover successfully from adversity/distressing situation/stress. That does not mean that people’s first reaction to adversity/distressing situations will be not defined by negative emotions, of course. For instance, I don’t think WWX’s heightened paranoia/emotional state directly after the fall of LP when he goes to look for JC is an indication of trauma because at this point WWX is still deep in the middle of that moment of adversity: he’s still a fugitive in the middle of a war, in the middle of danger. This also doesn’t mean that people cannot still have some temporary negative reactions to things that happened to them, afterwards: WWX having to pause when JC presents him with Suibian after he returns from Mass Grave Hill is not inherently an indication of trauma as it can be read that his sword a reminder of the difficult sacrifice he made--and the consequences he faced as a result (just because a situation was not traumatic doesn’t mean we enjoy revisiting it).

Why I think that WWX’s arc or characterisation is about resilience rather than trauma is because of many things, but mostly I want to point out two sections of the novel in particular.

First, this characterisation of WWX through JYL that we get relatively early in the novel:

Most memories from back then were already blurred. Yet, Jin Ling’s mother, Jiang Yanli, remembered all of them, and even told him quite a few. She said that, after his father heard of the news that his parents both died in battle, he had always dedicated himself to finding the child that these past friends had left behind. After searching for a while, he finally found the child in Yiling.

The first time they met, Wei Wuxian was kneeling on the ground, eating the fruit peels that somebody tossed on the ground. Yiling’s winter and spring were quite cold, yet the child only wore thin layers. His knees were already tattered, and on his feet were two different shoes that didn’t fit at all. As he was looking down, searching for fruit peels, Jiang Fengmian called him. He still remembered that there was a “Ying” in his name, so he lifted his head. Although his cheeks were both red and chapped from the cold, he still wore a smile.

Jiang Yanli said that he was born with a smiling look. No matter what unfortunate thing happened, he wouldn’t cling on to them; no matter what situation he was in, he would be happy. Although it sounded a bit heartless, it really was not bad.

This refers to a time of his life that is extremely difficult: he lost both his parents suddenly, at a young age, became suddenly homeless with no means to feed himself except to beg, and yet the only trauma he seems to carry from this experience is related to dogs. To me, this is a clear move from MXTX to position WWX as the kind of protagonist who can face a storm and keep his smile on his face. I can imagine that some people take it perhaps as a subversion, as the text telling us that WWX is weathering it all with a smile but underneath it all he is just a bundle of unaddressed trauma. And that’s certainly a possible interpretation, but it’s not mine. In this case I think the text is being straightforward. What we see of WWX also seems to support that: the way WWX just rolls with being brought back from the death, how easily he finds a way to adapt to things, etc.

I also find it meaningful that the novel choses to include in its ultimate chapter this discussion as part of its wrap-up of WWX’s journey and of Wangxian’s relationship.

After they left the shop, Wei Wuxian still sat on Xiao Pingguo while Lan Wangji held the reins in front.Swaying left and right atop the donkey, Wei Wuxian took the flute from his waist and placed it by his lips. The limpid notes flew across the sky like birds. Lan Wangji halted and listened quietly.

It was the song he sang for Wei Wuxian when they were stuck in the Xuanwu cave. It was also the song that Wei Wuxian just so happened to have played at Dafan Mountain, the song that enabled Lan Wangji to confirm his identity.

When he finished, Wei Wuxian winked his left eye towards Lan Wangji.

“How was it? Beautiful, huh?”

Lan Wangji slowly nodded. “For once.”

Wei Wuxian knew that ‘for once’ referred to how his memory was good for once. He could not help but smile.

“Don’t always be so angry about it. It was my fault in the past, alright? Besides, my terrible memory should be accredited to my mom.” Wei Wuxian propped his arm on Xiao Pingguo’s head, spinning Chenqing in his hand. “My mom said you have to remember the things others do for you, not the things you do for others. Only when people don’t hold so much in their hearts would they finally feel free.”

This was one of the only things he remembered about his parents.

Of course, this is not a direct reference to resilience as it is explored in psychology. But to me it speaks to that idea: one of the biggest lesson WWX has kept with him, one of his only memory of--and thus legacy from--his parents, is this idea that we should not hold so much in our hearts. It also reframes his bad memory as being the result of a philosophy, of an approach to life that not just about being grateful/paying your debts to others, but also a form of resilience, in a sense.

As well, I find that a lot of people who go with the trauma interpretation see WWX’s actions and thoughts processes dyring his YLLZ’s days as being the result of his ptsd, where I personally read it as the influence of modao. I am aware as well that some people do not think that modao actually harmed WWX during that period of his life, but I don’t think that LWJ would have been worried if there were not reasons to believe it would:

One against two, Lan Wangji still refused to back off. He gazed at Wei Wuxian, “Wei Ying, for cultivating an evil path you would eventually have to pay. Throughout time, there has not been a single exception.”

Wei Wuxian, “I can pay.”

Seeing how unconcerned he seemed to be, Lan Wangji lowered his voice, “The path would not only damage your body, but your heart as well (此道损身，更损心性。)”

So now, onto the specific points you raised in the ask.

Self-medicating with alcohol: WWX is shown to enjoy and drink large amounts of alcohol before the fall of LP and after most of the events of the novel have unfolded. In the novel, while WQ tries to make WWX stop drinking, it is as likely to believe that it is for his health (now that he doesn’t have a golden core) than it would be because she was worried he was self-medicating. As well, heavy drinking is a very normalized behaviour (although most physicians don’t think it’s a good thing) in a lot of cultures and times, and considering WWX’s higher tolerance and his general demeanor while imbricated, his drinking is not shown to have a negative effect on his ability to live his life. The line between “self-soothing” (normal aspect of being humans dealing with emotions and hardships) and “self-medicating” (pathological) is hard to trace with alcohol consumption. As well, just because people with PTSD may self-medicate with alchohol doesn’t mean all people who self-medicate with alcohol do it because of PTSD.

He's paranoid even before getting thrown into the burial mounds. As I mentioned briefly before, WWX is at the time a fugitive in the middle of a war: he’s still in the middle of those stressful events and his paranoia is not necessarily a maladaptive response since they are still very much fugitives in the middle of a war. Trauma is not really your reaction during but in the aftermath. It would be more telling if WWX were still exhibiting signs of paranoia in situations where he would have no reasons to.

He over-reacts to a lot things, which seems to me like a nasty case of emotional dysregulation as a result of PTSD. I’m not certain at which reactions you are referring to here, but especially considering that some of this might be chalked up to acting choices since this is based on CQL, I probably won’t address this one point too much in relation to the novel. I do want to emphasize though that we’ve seen prior to Sunshot campaign that WWX can be quite impulsive in certain situations (hitting JZX for insulting Shijie, which he does both before and after the events of the Sunshot Campaign). As well, I do think it’s important to remember that he is still in the middle of the war during the Sunshot campaign, and that he is also hiding something pretty important from the people close to him and living a sort of double life, on top of experiencing fatigue/hunger in a way he hasn’t for years due to the loss of his golden core. In short, there are a lot of things going on that can be used to explain what can be seen as “over-reactions” without necessarily going with PTSD.

avoids all kinds reminders of his trauma, his sword being the greatest example but there were other little things. I’ve broached in my previous discussions, but it’s also pertinent to remember his mom’s philosophy: we can also see this as WWX trying to leave in the pass this difficult sacrifice he made in order to move forward.

He never gave much of a fuck about propriety but the way he completely ignores it (and the possible social fallout) later speaks to me less about not caring and more about not *having* the emotional capacity to care, much like what happens with depression. I have to disagree with that interpretation of WWX and WWX’s actions, but again this might just be a case of CQL-only vs novel-only interpretations of the character. One thing WWX thinks about being reborn in a “lunatic’s” body is that he’ll get to have fun, the way he never could when his actions reflected on others. So while at times WWX flaunts propriety, he is aware of how his actions can impact others and show in different situations that he is aware of propriety. His choice to protect the Wen Remnants goes against that, for sure, but it isn’t necessarily a case of not understanding the possible social fallout so much as putting other things (ie his life-debt towards WN and WQ) before propriety, as we can see for example in this exchange.

Jiang Cheng, “I’m the one who fucking wants to give you a thrashing! Yes, they helped us before, but why in the world don’t you understand that right now any remnant of the Wen Sect is a target of criticism! No matter who they are, with a surname of Wen they have committed a most heinous crime! And those who protect the Wen are at risk of being condemned by everyone! All the people loathe the Wen-dogs so badly that the worse they die the better. Whoever protects them is against the entire world. Nobody would speak for them, and nobody would speak for you either!”

“I don’t need anyone to speak for me.”

[...]

Swords unsheathed, the two stared at each other for a while. Neither was willing to take a single step back. A while later, Jiang Cheng spoke, “Wei Wuxian, have you still not realized what the situation at hand is like? Do you really need me to say it out loud? If you insist on protecting them, then I won’t be able to protect you.”

“There’s no need to protect me. Just let go.”

Jiang Cheng’s face twisted.

Wei Wuxian, “Just let go. Tell the world that I defected. From now on, no matter what Wei Wuxian does, it’d have nothing to do with YunmengJiangShi.”

“… All for the Wen Sect…? Wei Wuxian, do you have a savior complex? Is it that you’ll die if you don’t stand up for someone and stir up some trouble?”

Wei Wuxian stayed quiet. A while later, he answered, “So that’s why we should cut ties right now, in case anything I do affects YunmengJiangShi in the future.”

a lot of his behaviour can be read with various shades of being self destructive Which ones, specifically? I’m not trying to be obtuse, but I’m not sure which ones you mean.

he's in a pretty bad headspace (him crying about being useless in the burial mounds for example) It needs to be said that the crying is only in CQL (it was an acting choice by XZ). My memory is playing tricks on me, but I think pre-rebirth we only see him cry after he kills JZX and after JYL’s death? Someone please fact-check me on this.

Since I don’t believe it was MXTX’s intent to make WWX’s characterisation and arc about trauma, I do feel like interpreting the different behaviours as signs of his PTSD might lead us to miss out on other potential interpretations or meanings behind these choices, if we put aside the PTSD angle. It may also lead us to deny the text the possibility to signify something different through these behaviours and signs, especially on a thematic level--to explore something about how events and emotions shape us in a manner that exists outside of modern psychiatric classification.

TLDR (because god this got long): My point is not that WWX is unaffected by the things that happened to him or the things he’s done during this portion of his life: of course he is! Especially as they are happening to him, or when he is still stuck in a very difficult situation. But I don’t think his character and his arc is about trauma but instead about resilience. That, at the end of MDZS, WWX is still the person JYL described: No matter what unfortunate thing happened, he wouldn’t cling on to them.

#wintersrchild #mdzs meta #mdzs #wwx #maybe i should tag this as unpopular opinion? just in case

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nayarablueglasses · 3 years

Text

Duo x male reader

a/n: oh gods this is so. anyways this was meant for day thirteen of the @gundam-wing-pride event but certain circumstances have caused me to be unable to post in time for it. the tears prompt was kept in mind for this, i hope it suffices.

word count: 2,059

summary: horrific battles never made you cry, so how did a joke from Duo manage to do it?

warnings: reader is in an active war at first, brief mentions of reader becoming deaf to loud sounds after the battle, reader has a very dry way of thinking, i haven't seen the entirety of the show in ages so i think my timeline is a little messed up

reader pronouns: he/him but comes off as gn

How’d you end up here?

You’d woken up to the extremely jarring sounds of the space station’s evacuation alarms. Considering the immediate panicking masses of people that then flooded the streets, it wasn’t the best way to wake up. Especially when you factor in that your first evacuation drill since the ‘safe space’ had been rebuilt, relocated and refortified was supposed to happen next week. Though to be fair, there were absolutely no signs that you knew of that would signal a a war erupting on your colony.

Honestly? You never were impressed by the Gundams. All you knew about them was that they were starting a war with what a few of the colonies had begun to call the “colony rebels.” The White Fang. Maybe the White Fang had started the war, but you could care less. No matter who’d started this, the colonies- your colony- was caught in the crossfires now.

And it wasn’t like you could trust the Gundams, either. It wasn’t that long ago that Gundam Pilot 04 almost blew up an entire colony because their father had been killed. If that was how the Gundams handled personal loss, your colony could only speculate on the ways they’d deal with the political difficulties of a war. And unsurprisingly, it turned out that they handled it absolutely terribly.

The scariest part was the absolute absurdness of the whole war. Two sides that claimed to speak for the colonies. The White Fang pressed attention on the colonies, while the Gundams remained an absolute mystery. Plus, the individual power struggles claiming the colonies, the Treize Faction war against Oz that was reportedly occuring back on Earth... everybody was misinformed about absolutely all of it, and the best you could do was try to make sense of the chaos unfolding and hope it never touched your poor colony.

But wishes don’t always come true. And certainly never the wishes you make.

Like the wish you’d been repeating back to yourself for the last hour- to be able to come out of this unscathed. Your arm had some thoughts on that.

As it turns out, trying to run through an active warzone to the safe space you didn’t know the location of was extremely dangerous. So dangerous that your arm had been hit with a stray bullet. Right now the main dangers were the footsoldiers firing at each other, but not that far off in the distance you could see two of the Gundams fighting a swarm of Taruses. The fact that they weren’t close was anything but comforting, since you’d seen the speed of the Gundams before on T.V.

Oh.

“Hey- get outta the way! Ya try’na get killed?” A White Fang footsoldier shoved you to the side, presumably trying to help. Instead you stumbled facedown into a very large pile of scrap metal. Which very much hurt your arm and effectively trapped your leg as well.

Fun. “The fuck kinda horror movie is this?” You muttered to yourself. Of course, of course you ran directly into the fray. Because of COURSE that was safer than the opposite direction (which in all fairness had been covered in sharp-looking rubble). That’s fine. You could work with this. What did your uncle usually tell you- take inventory in terms of crises?

You hadn’t brought a backpack with you, so, all you could take inventory on was what was in your pockets. One elastic, a single outdated coin, and fuzz. Plus, a bleeding arm and the bullet you figured was still in there, a possibly twisted and hopefully not broken foot, ringing in your ears... and the clothes on your back. Ok.

So this is how you die? Fine. That’s fucking fine. You had plenty to live for, but fine. Who cares?

“Woah-hoh, what the hell? Hey- hey handsome, you awake?”

A very neon green light pierced your consciousness. Out of habit, you tried to raise your arm to block it out- and then an even more painful, piercing feeling jolted through your whole body. “Ahh-huah- ‘m. ‘m awake now. Ohhh gods. Yeah. ‘m- yeah. Fuck. Who’re you and are you going to help me or kill me?”

“Kill you? Man, I might be the god of Death and all but I’m not going to kill you! You related to Heero or somethin’?”

“Don’t know- ow- who the fuck that is. What’s up with that green light shit> ‘M gonna be blinded if I open my eyes.”

And there the light went. Nice. If this guy didn’t kill you, you might actually survive. Sans your arm. Nobody on your colony could help your arm. You figured that life would be interesting from now on. “Great, thanks man. Fuuuuck. You- you see my arm? Yeah- I’m taking your silence as a yeah. This bitch’s fucked and moving at all is very very painful. So hey random stranger. You strong enough to carry me to the nearest amputator?”

Apparently you were just being dramatic. Your arm would 100% be still attached and your foot would survive. Your ears were… fine. After waking up in a hospital on an entirely different colony station, you learned that apparently, there exists a kind of deaf in which it was hard to hear things that were too loud. Which. You now had.

No more concerts. Meh.

The most jarring of everything was when you discovered that a) you were likely to have either trauma or ptsd and b) the guy that carried you to the hospital in his Gundam- was a Gundam Pilot. 02. Duo Maxwell. He’d brought you to Colony 14 Blue and was now reportedly “chillin’ outside until you get discharged.” with the promise that he’d bring you to the Peacemillion afterwards.

Oh. And almost everybody you knew closely had “likely” passed away in the attack. The therapy for that was going to be interesting when you consider that nobody of your family was on the colony at the time of the attack. Honestly the way they were pressing for you to be evaled made it feel like they were planning to make an example out of your supposedly poor mental state. Unsurprisingly the hospital was being run by the White Fang.

Discharge went quickly. The ride back to Duo’s Deathscythe went quickly. The ride in Duo’s Deathscythe went far, far too slowly. And adjusting to life on the Peacemillion went poorly.

Every now and again, Duo would look for you and, if he hadn’t immediately come from a fight (he passed out on your carpet once due to blood loss after being in a gunfight. Zechs was less than appreciative.), he’d bring you to the nearest colony. Being able to enjoy a day out on occasion was a rarity you usually only got to experience with Duo.

“Ooooi, Duo. Check these out. Tell me these aren’t the coolest gloves you’ve ever seen.” You held up some black fingerless gloves for him to inspect. He’d brought you to a new colony, where apparently a special holiday (complete with fun sales) was happening. Admittedly, some of the people on this station were giving you and Duo some especially strange looks whenever Duo would tug on your shirt or grab your hand to get your attention but like. Fuck them.

“Hey, those look pretty awesome!” he grinned and bounced over, snatching the gloves from your hands to look for a price tag. “To steal or not to steal, that is the question.”

You raised an eyebrow. So maybe the crush you’d developed on this overgrown child of a thief was growing. So what? It’s just a crush. Everything’s going to be fine. “Is the price tag expensive or something?”

Duo shook his head. “Exact opposite. There isn’t one.”

“Let’s just leave ten gilla and bolt, then.”

“...wicked.”

Normally the rides back home were silent and awkward, but after the rather exciting day you’d had, you were feeling especially chatty. Which wasn’t to say that there weren’t still awkward breaks in the conversation. It was quiet, sure, but a lot of things had been quiet lately. Being deaf to louder things tended to do that to a person.

Duo drew you out of your thoughts with another tug on your sleeve and pressed one of the gloves into your hand. “Here. Figured we’d both look badass with just one glove. Plus we match!” He held up his gloved left hand with an air of confidence. He wasn’t wrong, honestly. Wearing his braid the way he did, he already cut an impressive figure, but the gloves really sold the look.

You pulled on the glove he gave you, flexing your fingers to test it’s flexibility. After all, if you couldn’t engage in you and Duo’s elaborate handshake, you might have to ditch the glove altogether. Luckily the glove fit you well- functionality and style alike. Ten gilla spent well.

“Not bad. Y’think Zechs’ll get jealous?” Duo laughed at the idea.

“Doubtful, doesn’t he have Noin to get him cool stuff? Plus, I think his mask and that hair are defining accessories, what else does he need?”

You shrugged. “What gay wouldn’t love these? ‘M already enjoying mine ‘nd yours look more worn in than mine do. Solid fuckin’ proof right there.” Not like you could confirm or deny that Duo was gay. Honestly, you didn’t really care for his specific labels, but Zechs was definitely gay so it just helped further the joke. With his demeanor and his lesbian best friend? Could the flags get any gayer.

“More like pansexual on my account. Good to know your take on gender preference though. This mean I’m allowed to openly flirt with you now?” He leaned back into his seat, throwing his feet up onto the table in front of you and resting his head in his hands.

You raised an eyebrow. “Only if you promise not to ‘no homo’ me afterwards.” Duo pretended to fall backwards, clutching at the nonexistent pearls and acting offended. You two giggled when Sally came in from the cockpit to assure herself that somebody hadn’t just gotten a concussion. To which Duo immediately pretended to have a head wound of some sorts (you suspected he was being purposely vague) in hopes of attaining the candy that Sally sometimes had on hand.

Once she left (leaving you and Duo with strong warnings against fooling around more, lest Duo’s “head injury” get worse; to which you had saluted and replied, “absolutely no promises, ma’am!”) you shared a look with the brunette and tried to keep from dissolving into a fit of laughter. To your chagrin, it was a fail. You were laughing so hard that your stomach was starting to genuinely hurt. Duo was doubled over on the ground, wheezing unintelligible words and trying to hand you the lollipop that Sally gave him.

By the time you had managed to calm down and breathe, Duo was getting into the chair beside you and clutching his side. “I think I pulled a muscle from laughing so hard.”

“Yeesh, ‘m crying from laughin’ so much. Aah, this is what y’do to me.” You joked, wiping away tears from the corners of your eyes.

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry before,” Duo paused to think. “like, at all! Now that I think about it, didja even cry when I rescued you?” You shrugged again. The battlefield was pretty terrifying and if you hadn’t found it in you to cry from fear… well, you were feeling a lot of emotions during the whole ordeal. Who could really blame you? “Pretty tough that a fuckin battle didn’t even make you cry. Hey- my bit musta been pretty damn good to make you shed a tear!”

“Yeah, don’t let it get to y’head. ‘S just because ‘m crushin on you.” You mentioned casually, testing the waters.

“Full homo?”

“Full homo.”

Well, would you look at that. Now Duo was crying. What was with you two and tears today?

BONUS:

“You’re so cheesy.” You muttered to Duo, who was proudly holding up your guys’s fingerless gloves- which he had sewn a rainbow patch onto the back of.

He smiled, tugging your glove onto your hand. “Mhm. You love it though.”

Sighing, you returned the favour and pulled his glove onto his right hand. “You’re right. I love it. I love you.”

[all works found under the name "nayarablueglasses" are property of nayarablueglasses. please do not repost, claim as your own, or edit. i do not consent for my works to be part of any social media other then tumblr, including having my works be adapted for asmrs.]

#gundam wing #gundam wing x reader #gundam wing x male reader #duo maxwell #duo x reader #duo x heero #duo maxwell x reader #duo maxwell x male reader #oh gods i hope this doesn't flop.

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bettsfic · 3 years

Text

march pinned: ending the sex project

in the march edition of my lowkey writing-related newsletter, in addition to my writing-related post roundup and upcoming consultation availability, i have personal essay recommendations and a segment on the definition of a project!

for more information on my creative coaching services, check out my carrd.

if you want to receive my lowkey writing-related newsletter directly, you can subscribe here.

full newsletter below the cut, or you can read it here.

fuck february, amiright?

i thought january was bad. but february. february was the stuff of nightmares. my cousin passed away from covid (you can read about her here; she was really an amazing person and i feel so lucky to have known her). i was finally formally diagnosed with PCOS (bittersweet, i guess). my car broke down. i took two (2) days off and it took me two and a half weeks to get caught up again. i can only hope march treats us all a little more gently.

the good news is, i finished revisions on my short story collection to send to my agent, finished workshop submissions for the semester, and now i can return to my first love, fanfiction. that i am constantly working through original fiction to return to fanfiction has been making me think a lot about the nature of a creative, capital-p Project. so, this month’s BTALA (been thinkin a lot about) is going to inspect the concept of a “project.”

new resource

last month i unveiled a folder of my favorite short stories which i’m pleased to hear several of you have perused and gotten some inspiration from. this month i’ve compiled my favorite personal essays. there are fewer essays than there are short stories because i’ve broken them into two groups: personal and craft. next month i hope to have the craft essays compiled.

i’m always looking for more things to love, so if you have recommendations for your favorite short stories and essays, i’d be happy to hear them!

writing-related posts

how to physically maneuver the revision process

the difference between M and E ratings of fic

resources for worldbuilding (check out the reblogs for more!)

a couple syntax/prose book recs

how to break a long work into chapters

march availability

unfortunately i have to cut my coaching hours down a bit, so i don’t have any openings left in march, but i have some availability in april. if you’re interested in a writing consultation, please fill out this google form!

you can learn more about my services on my carrd.

what i’m into rn

for the past year, i’ve basically been trapped in a 10x10 room, and my health is definitely reflecting that, both mentally (does anyone else feel like they’re living in groundhog day? just, every day being exactly the same except fractionally worse than the day before??) and physically (i reorganized the kitchen and could barely move for two days).

reader, i have discovered something called “walking,” in which i put on real human shoes and go outside. it feels strange, bestial. neighbors wave hello to me. a harrowing experience.

while doing this, this walking, i’ve been listening to the lolita podcast which a friend recommended to me, a ten-episode series that dives into everything lolita: the novel itself, its context, adaptations, greater cultural responses, and — as a sticker on my laptop says — vladimir “russian dreamboat” nabokov. as far as i can tell it seems well-researched and presents the many perspectives of lolita in a fair way. i’m only a few eps in, but i’m entranced so far. highly recommended if you, like me, have a complicated relationship with lolita.

i’ve also found myself mildly addicted to a mobile otome game called obey me, which. look i know it’s like the definition of cringe but it’s also mind-numbingly fun and if i want to spend my minimal free time pretending 7 demon brothers are all vying for my affection then that’s between me and god. it’s a lot of what i loved about WoW: frequent events, bright colors, a daily to do list of simple but satisfying tasks, many many rewards, and it doesn’t take itself very seriously. and if i have 4k fic written of mammon/reader that’s nobody’s business but mine and my longsuffering ao3 subscribers.

i’m telling you this because i don’t know anyone else who plays it and am desperate to trade headcanons. so if you play, or start playing, hit me up!! i will give u mad tips and daily AP.

been thinkin a lot about

the project. the project. even the word “project.” PROject (noun). proJECT (verb). what is the project? “project” comes from the latin pro and jacare which means “to throw forward,” or projectum which means “something prominent.” a projector throws forward an image. to project onto something means to throw your perspective onto something else. to embark on a project is to make something prominent in your life. the concept of “the projects” comes from public housing projects, the government throwing forward affordable housing.

what is the project? in joseph harris’ essay “coming to terms” he says that “to define the project of a writer is…to push beyond his text, to hazard a view about not only what someone has said but also what he was trying to accomplish by saying it.” harris’ perspective is that of an english teacher encouraging his students to read critically, not just to summarize a text but to find its project, its greater purpose. and while i first read this essay in a seminar on composition pedagogy, it stuck with me as a writer. it made me reconsider the greater nature of the creative project.

how many of us, if asked to describe our writing project, would begin with a plot or character premise, the nuts and bolts of a specific story? maybe even the working title? but i wonder, is breaking out the plot really the project? is the discipline of sitting down and typing really the project? and when the story is finished, is the project over? what is the project?

in 2019, i wrote 86k words of a novel. i began revising that novel last fall, and i’m finding that i’ll probably keep maybe less than 10k of that initial draft. i’m not bothered by that. the novel i wrote before that started at 125k, then i rewrote the entire thing to 200k, then i whittled it back down to 160k, and next i’ll be tasked with paring it back down to 80k. i’m not bothered by that either. in the past five years or so i’ve written about 2 million words, and i’ve only published 20k of them. only 1% of what i’ve written, i’ve published. in the words of lauren cooper (catherine tate), i’m not bothered.

i used to see publication as the birth of the project, and writing it akin to a long gestation period. then i saw publication as the death of the project, and its life was lived in its drafting. now, publication seems irrelevant to the project. the confines of a story and its many revisions are also irrelevant to the project. the beginning of a story is not the start of the project and the end of the story is not the end of the project. the project is larger than the story, its revisions, its publication, and its eventual readership.

i think it took me so long to see this because for so many years i was still in my first project, the sex project, an exploration of trauma and sexual identity, which began in 2014 with destiel fanfiction, endured through many fandom shifts, my MFA, years adrift as an adjunct, all the way through 2020 with the completion of my short story collection. i used to wonder how anyone could write about anything other than sex. to me it was the only topic worth my attention. i was certain that i would spend my entire life being a sex writer and i’d never find fulfillment writing a young adult sci fi adventure or a highly literary novel about complicated family dynamics. i was baffled by people who were interested in other things, who could write entire novels without using the word “cock” even once.

then my sex project ended. i don’t know when exactly it happened or why, but suddenly i realized i never wanted to write another artful description of an orgasm or find a tactful euphemism for a vagina ever again (personally i prefer “wet cunt” because not only is it blunt, i find it phonetically pleasing). obviously i’m still writing explicit fanfic but it doesn’t feel the same as it used to. sex feels more sidelined to me, even if it’s still the center and drive of a fic. i no longer get any personal satisfaction from writing it, although i do get satisfaction in sharing the work for readers to enjoy.

it’s like i’ve somehow solved the biggest puzzle of my life. or i guess made peace with my meanest monster, that extremely complicated double-mind of desire that some non-sex-repulsed asexuals feel: you want to feel desire you can’t actually feel so you write it into fiction, to try to understand this thing you can’t have and which society tells you you’re missing, and you don’t even know if you don’t have it, because you still feel desire for affection and intimacy, and maybe even a desire to be desired. and for those of us who are asexual and have c-ptsd, sex you don’t actually want (but don’t know you don’t want, because maybe you’re ambivalent and mildly curious and touch-starved) and an unrelenting drive toward people-pleasing can be a dangerous combination. how can you ever know what consent is if you always put other people’s desires above your own?

maybe i’m alone in this. maybe i’m not. maybe for most people, wanting sex is a light switch: yes i want it, or no i don’t. but for me, i had to write a whole lot of words to figure out things like desire, consent, intimacy, forgiveness, the shape that good love takes. the lengthy theoretical flowchart of “i might be interested in having sex if this and this and this and this and this happens in this exact order and under these exact circumstances.”

it was hard to write something into reality that i have never seen except in pieces, in subtext i clung to with no lexicon to give it shape and meaning. te lawrence in lawrence of arabia. some of tarantino’s early work. the film benny and joon. and weirdly, the star wars prequels (that one’s hard to explain; i’ll spare you). i don’t think the sex project was about coming to terms with my asexuality as much as it was trying to organize my thoughts and feelings by continuously rendering my own experiences within a greater, shinier ideal — like how you sometimes have to unravel the entire skein of yarn to find the loose end, and only then can you get started.

i guess i’m in the infancy of the power project now. i’m moving toward themes of control, infamy, greatness. the exact circumstances in which atrocity occurs. how people rise into leadership and fall from grace. the consequences of success. i don’t know why this project has come to me, or what, if anything, it has to do with me. i’m not famous and have no intention of becoming famous; i don’t have social power or influence, at least not beyond my little corner of fandom, and i’m not interested in having it. and yet, here we are, already hundreds of thousands of words in.

my fics digging for orchids (tgcf) and a standing engagement (the hunger games) deal with the detriments of fame. and even float (breaking bad) to a degree is about the aftermath of being so close to power. my novel cherry pop, loosely based on macbeth, is about an ongoing power exchange between two teenage girls. my other novel, vandal, is about a girl who believes she has magic powers and casts a spell on her neighbor to fall in love with her. and i’m in the very early stages of a novel called groundswell, a cult story i’ve been wanting to write for years. i had no idea why i couldn’t write it until i realized it wasn’t yet my project. i’m not even to the stage of developing characters, let alone a premise or plot. i’m still just building my aesthetic pile (i discuss the aesthetic pile here, as well as vandal in more detail), watching documentaries on cults, reading books, finding inspiration, marking down ideas as they come. it may be years before i’m ready to sit down and write it.

now that i know what the project is, i have more patience with myself. it doesn’t bother me to rewrite a novel from the beginning, or to scrap novels altogether, because the story isn’t the project. the project cannot be diminished by cutting words, sentences, paragraphs, entire chapters. the project does not have a product. the project cannot be published. the project is in the practice, in dragging the impossibly large into clear, acute existence, so you can see it. so you can see the very center of what you thought was an unknowable thing.

#pinned #lkwrnl

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ziracona · 3 years

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What do you see happening after Josh is being rescued? Does he meet everyone of his friend eventually or some of them keep their distance? I read one of your answers about them abandoning him and honestly I don't think they didn't care at all about him, but the events were so traumatic and scary that they probably had a hard time taking into consideration that small possibility of him being alive. Plus I guess it's also part of the smooth flow of the game if it makes sense, Mike doesn't go after Jess either after he sees her falling into the mines and accuses Josh of killing her without being 100% sure that she is dead and without seeing Josh around when shit happened to her. But if I were Josh maybe I would be upset knowing they didn't come for me at all. So how would a reunion go?

That’s valid! You can interpret the lack of an interest in rescuing Josh to multiple things—that they are very sure he’s dead, if you want to be as generous as possible to them. That they think he’s probably dead and are afraid of dying too more than willing to save him, that they’re (sans Chris) too mad about the prank he pulled, etc. And I can see why people would go for any number of them. I think to me it has always read like they think he is probably dead, and the whatever he has, 30%, 20% chance? Of still being alive just isn’t enough for them to feel motivated to face very likely death to go hunting for him, especially with flamethrower dude just dead doing the same. Which makes /me/ angry, because Mike went batshit after seeing Jess wounded and dragged through a window and more trying to save her, multiple characters can kill themselves trying to save the others in the finale, etc, and I just think if you /can/ save someone who is your friend—or like, you have a shot anyway—you don’t know it is too late. You should. (& true Jess can still be alive and Mike will assume she is dead, but in his defense, so do basically all blind playthroughs she looks like she falls four stories or something while already almost dead I can’t fault Mike for assuming that was a 100% death there. Boy really tried. Whereas Josh’s vanishing from the shed is much less confirmed. There is no ‘I watched him fall’ here. Just a neither he nor his dead body were still in the shed so /something/ happened). Like I do get it, that’s a terrifying situation and not helping doesn’t = not caring, but I will hold it against characters if they don’t risk themselves to save their friends and I will be unhappy with them. Loyalty is very important to me. But it is a truly terrifying situation.

But I also get why they’d be terrified to go out there. I don’t think it makes them evil to not want to risk it till they have to, it just makes me disappointed in them. I don’t think I said I think they didn’t care about him—typo if I did, because I certainly don’t think that at all! I think Chris was traumatized and felt very sure he was dead, Ashley didn’t care (she explicitly says she thinks he deserves it and tries to stop Chris from saving him the first time), Emily doesn’t care a lot one way or another and is mostly on her own trauma right now and thinking about Matt and the awful shit she saw, that Sam does care but thinks he is probably dead and is in team mom mode and cares more about trying to keep as many friends alive as possible right now than anything else and doesn’t want to lose the others, and Mike is still pissed but also feels very bad and would prefer for Josh to make it but is also more focused on group survival and not losing anyone else since he just lost someone he loves horribly (based largely on how his reaction to the safe room scenario is either to kill Emily and feel awful but do it because he very vocally and visibly doesn’t want the others to be killed and she won’t go peacefully, and he’s terrified of losing them, or to try but not be able to because he loves Emily, and instead give the gun to the others to try to save themselves with in the event she /does/ turn). And although he’s a right coward bastard for leaving Josh if Josh gets grabbed instead of killed, down in the mines, I do think he cared about Josh. He seems truly sorry to some extent when he finds him, and does /try/ to lead him out of the mines. At the point they make the decision to go for the cable car key, I don’t think they don’t care at all, except Ashley. I just think they should care more. Although I tend to give Chris a pass because he just watched a man get beheaded, has strong reason to think Josh is dead, is injured, and spends the entire rest of the game more or less in traumatized mode quiet in the corner.

But that said I can also see why people would interpret the reactions to mean they all believe he is very dead, and mean they’re going after his corpse! I can see lots of basis in-game to interpret in quite a number of ways. And be generous to the fool kids if you want to! I /super/ hold abandoning Josh in the mines wildly against Mike, but Mike is still one of my favorite characters in the whole game. I love how flawed the cast is and that you go in hating most of them and only slowly grow to care because you don’t want them dead-dead, which keeps you there long enough to see some of their good sides. *cheff’s kiss* the great ability of the horror genre. The bar to initially invest is so low, it lets you have such a multi-faceted cast.

Okay anyway, original question! What do I see happening after Josh gets rescued and exorcised.

I think he meets up with all of them again eventually. Interesting to think from Josh’s pov how he’s going to feel. I expect to some degree he does feel abandoned, and fairly, and in RoB it is very clear he is afraid to some extent of Mike and Chris after being dragged off and tied up and left in the shed, and the things they said to him. He also /definitely/ feels massively guilty and self-blaming about all of it. He’s telling himself through Hill that no one will come for him and it’s his own fault by the final chapter. And mostly he’s just afraid of Mike and in ptsd dissociating mode by the time Sam and Mike find him. So, mixed feelings on his part I expect. Lots of fear and pain and hurt at being abandoned and so universally believed capable of murder, hurt, left to die alone in the mines. Pretty damn betrayed, and that on top of the hurt from what happened to his sisters and the inherent paranoia of paranoid schizophrenia. Hurt that they just left him. Hurt they didn’t believe him. Hurt nobody came for him until it was too late. Hurt he got betrayed again. Probably pretty miserable overall. But with that, also feels really bad about going too far and hates and blames himself intensely for everything, and I expect is also kind of not just traumatized but ashamed of what happens to him, and everyone knowing about the possession and the cannibalism. Probably he wants to lock himself in a room in the corner of a big house and never come out. But also is intensely and miserably and hopelessly lonely. Probably feels all of his friendships are likely broken beyond repair.

I don’t think they are though. Chris “I’m not your bro” six seconds later “bro are you for real?” Hartley almost dies trying to save him and wouldn’t care about the possession stuff except to be worried about him. Sam is angry and harboring some resentment, but clearly reacts to Mike reporting he is gone with regret. Mike would probably feel very guilty for leaving him and be hesitant to reconnect and then defensive doing it, but I think he cares. Jess wasn’t even there for this shit so probably she does. Same for Matt maybe? Ashley and Emily are harder to guess for. I think Ashley would be incredibly angry and resentful—I mean she wants him dead in-game, but might eventually join the others if the others got over stuff? Bc she’s also kinda a joiner? Really it’s hard to say she is a very...hair-trigger character. Volatile and intensely and massively changeable. Probably the least predictable of all. That kind of person scares me deeply in real life because I have been very backstabbed by them before. >.> But anyway hard to say. Also a lot of this depends on what ending, even assuming they all live. But I usually assume that like, Mike almost shot Em, didn’t, Matt tried to save her, Sam saw the workshop, etc ending. Emily I really don’t know. She’s a very self-reliant and hard person. She didn’t have anything very specifically for or against Josh with her experience, but wasn’t that close to him before, so I think she just kinda falls wherever she falls.

I think mostly though that they’d reconnect. Definitely Chris would jump to it, and I think Sam would too—she’s a well educated, empathetic and understanding person. She’d know he needs her. And Chris is his childhood best friend and cares the whole game. I think Mike would try to go too because of guilt, and because he’s a decent guy. Probably so would after not much time those least effected by what Josh did. I think Josh would be alone while being exorcised and probably reocvering in a hospital some after, and Chris would be the first, or Chris and Sam possibly. I think he’d be afraid to see them, and it would be complicated and messy and painful for them all, but it would be okay and sort itself out and they’d find old ground quickly. And having them there would be /incredibly/ vital to helping him recover. I think eventually he’d get back on his feet, and a lot of his old friends would be around and stay in his life. I think things would get better. I’d say the OG ExorJosh comic writer I think did a good job of guessing about what a lot of it would be like. Hard, and slow, and messy. But a lot of them care for him, and I think that would matter enough to help things get okay between them again.

#ask #anonymous #until dawn #long post #Josh Washington #spoilers #exorjosh #exor-Josh

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mudwingpropaganda · 4 years

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(Princess) Kinkajou of the RainWings

I want to believe that Kinkajou is actually a biological descendant of Grandeur, but it doesn’t truly matter because she was supporting Glory for the throne and heritage does not equal merit. Kinkajou is fascinating character who took so many punches yet shes never properly thanked or appreciated for them? I think Kinkajou ought to be more painfully optimistic. As a partial foil to Sunny. She’s not optimistic because she NEEDS to be the one keeping the group optimistic. Kinkajou remains happy because of somewhat emotionally stunting double standards in the RainWing queendom and the act that tears only get you so far. Confidence and energy is what people respond to.

Kinkajou deserves so much more than what canon gave her. Tui might have said “her story is over,” but I seriously disagree. Let’s open her book in the first place.

Design headcanons

I may have leaned a tad far into the idea of her design being physically representational of my ideas for her, but let’s just say these are her comfort colors. The default! They spontaneously flicker with pink and yellow patterns but her default is a banana yellow and bright pink combination, with intruding grey scales on the edge of her torso. (I imagine her underbelly is also similarly melting into pink colors, as her wings are. I just didn’t have the foresight while drawing this.)

I referenced a kinkajou in designing Kinkajou! As a result, her paws seem a little too big for her and she has little ears as opposed to Glory’s more serpentine/bird appearance. Kinkajou’s frill is an example of a feathered RainWing that have plumage similar to a bird of paradise that is also susceptible to the color changing pigmentation.

Her eyes are a striking jungle green, the most natural color on her.

I believe that her time under the NightWing’s grasp definitely should have a more visual representation on her. It may be exaggerated but... art is such. She retains indents where cuffs and chains essentially squeezed on her scales and snout. Her scales tend to dull and turn grey if she is not consciously keeping control over these body parts, yet she has more trouble changing the color of her afflicted indents.

Her wing is illustrated with the venom wound she suffered from the accident she had in the Queen competition. Her wings struggled to fold back into her sides after the event and regardless if she had these scars removed or not through “magic,” she finds it awkward trying to put her wings back.

I imagine she had more of a full mane of plumage in store, but due to the stress on the island, they struggle to grow healthily behind her ears.

A personal headcanon of mine is the most noticable circular scales on a RainWing is the clearest indicator of their current emotions. Glory’s was an angry red-orange. Kinkajou’s tends to default, like her indents, to a grey if she doesn’t pay attention. A numbness.

Miscellaneous thoughts

Kinkajou could have been a fascinating case study about the flaws of the RainWings’ lifestyle. Rather than their flaws being a foolish, uneducated, lazy tribe, the RainWings could have been at fault for putting too much trust in their young, making subjects feel obligated to put on a happy face, and their violently isolationist tendencies. Dragonets may be obligated to reach out to adults for help if they need it, not the other way around. That’s why she self isolated to personally focus on her venom practice lest infuriate Bromeliad further. It’s why she maintains a bright yellow and pink coloration rather than subject other dragons to her emotions. It’s why Kinkajou never quite thought she would be able to escape the NightWing island.

When she was young, Queen Grandeur also realized that Kinkajou was one of her own descendants, making Kinkajou a princess. Grandeur may have been the only one concerned catching wind that Kinkajou went missing, but her perception of RainWings as lazy beings was a personal bias that took away any sympathy she had for her offspring, assuming the dismissals were true that she simply went lost in the woods.

Kinkajou’s upbringing really affected her! She begins dropping her ideals of being an ideal RainWing due to her trauma chipping away at her. Especially the fact that she now realizes the extents of what the Queen, her friend, Glory, goals mean when it comes to a symbiotic shared queendom between the RainWings and those who experimented on her for months, or maybe even longer, until Glory finally took action.

Kinkajou retains scars from the NightWing island, both physical and mentally. Scars from her bonds and greying scales from a jarring transfer from a flourishing environment to something significantly harmful for her body and color shifting scales. And aside from that, she developed PTSD from the events on the island. Between nightmares, the occasional flashback if someone jostles her... she herself has compartmentalized the experience so she herself doesn’t fully remember the events of the island. But she remembers things at extremely inconvenient times. Especially around NightWings.

Her friendship with Moonwatcher was initially based on the mental note she makes that Moonwatcher isn’t a “real NightWing.” Originally, Queen Glory asked that Kinkajou, as her friend, made the effort to connect with NightWings attending the school, which panicked her. But Moonwatcher didn’t have anything to do with it. In fact, she spent as much time and she did in the rainforest! If not, more. And there’s an envy that Moon never faced any of the ugliness of the NightWings! But a disconnect that maintains their friendship. It isn’t until they begin to bond on their across the world adventure that they begin to trust each other outside of the fact that they were supposed to. It’s difficult! Of course! Especially when Chameleon (another great victim of the RainWing culture), taking the form of Shapeshifter to incapacitate her. Yet it was Moon’s face that greeted her when she woke from her coma. Who had been by her side intent on her recovery.

A lot of what Kinkajou does is to try and reinstate normality and an environment she finally feels comfortable in, essentially! She feels out of touch with other RainWing dragonets, not enough to be around them, and inevitably confides her self worth mostly to the Jade Winglet, as they don’t know what a RainWing is supposed to be like. She assigns a crush to Winter to make her childhood feel more normal, even if she doesn’t really feel it.

Kinkajou has internalized a LOT of the shit that was thrown at her. To the point where she doesn’t consciously recognize that she’s been putting on a happy face for so long, aside when she needs to put her scales back in their classic pink and yellow. Even when Moon sees her mind, she struggles to recognize if those thoughts really belong to her or not, assuming the ash and glow of lava is that of a NightWings’, not hers.

Queen Glory is the main dragon that teaches her how to read. Her and Moonwatcher were both somewhat or basically illiterate when they started their educations. But are both are passionate about literature. Where Kinkajou becomes an avid writer and attempts to to become a journalist for kingdom specific and international news for the continent! She assists Starflight in the library of Jade Mountain occasionally. But she also helps establish libraries and such in the Rain Forest! She helps Glory develop an education system that doesn’t sacrifice culture for secular curriculum.

LGBT+ headcanons

I would say that Kinkajou is a questioning genderqueer individual and still uses she/her pronouns but is growing partial to neutral they/them and doesn’t object to other terms used to address her. She is generally flexible with how she is perceived as long as she is perceived respectfully.

Kinkajou is also panromantic but also on the aro and ace spectrums! She muses the idea of finding a partner eventually, but finds platonic relationships easier to establish and grow than the prospect of a romantic one. Like how she simply plays with the idea of Winter being her crush for the sake of personal normalcy in her childhood and, honestly, Anemone’s little innocent emotional manipulation spell? Yeah. That never happened. Kinkajou’s oblivious to Turtle’s feelings. Attractions fly RIGHT over her head, from others or her own self. She also may have queer platonic partners perhaps? I don’t make the rules. Love is love! uwu

#wingsoffire #wings of fire #wof #kinkajou wof #wof kinkajou #wof rainwing #rainwings #wof redesign #sebastiowu #enigmew

207 notes · View notes

inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

Note

I know this is controversial but do you have any johnlock non-con or (preferably) dub-con for the twisted minds out there? If it's roleplay even better. If you don't do this sort of stuff just ignore me.

Hey Nonny!

Ahh, I usually don’t so I don’t have a lot of personal recs (more… it just happened in the fic and it’s a side issue), but I’ll give you the ones I have bookmarked as well as the ones I have on my MFL list, if only to bloat this list a bit more, LOL.

Cheers, and as always, if anyone has some recs, please let us know!

NON-CONSENT / DUBIOUS CONSENT

See also Alexx’s Lists:

John bottoms, Dub-con - Johniarty, Johnlock, Johncroft

Alpha!John, Omega!Sherlock & the Dub-con sex

Dubcon Johnlock

Drugged Non-con sex

Johnlock non-con and dub-con sex

And my alternate list: Consent and Relationship Negotiations

Upon Waking by joolabee (E, 3,901 w., 1 Ch. || Mild Dub Con, Magical Realism, Angst, Somnophilia) – It sets on slow: John can only be awake while Sherlock sleeps, and vice versa. Their lives are codependent, but never meeting. Like a set of scales.

A Certain Kind of Hunger by MapleleafCameo (E, 5,881 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Creatures || Incubus!John, Worried Sherlock, Tail Penetration, Somnophilia, PWP, Threats of Non-Con) – A concerned Sherlock watches as John seems to be rapidly losing weight. What he discovers is that John really isn't normal. And he is very, very hungry. The tail was the real surprise.

Caves in the Mountains Are Seldom Unoccupied by starrysummernights & TheMadKatter13 (E, 7,925 w., 1 Ch. || Were-Creatures, Werebear John, Pseudo Bestiality, Rimming, Dub Con, Rough Sex, Come Inflation / Eating, Size Kink, PWP, Bratty Sherlock, Rutting) – “This isn’t something to play at, Sherlock,” he snapped. “If it doesn’t work out- what you’re asking of me- we can’t shrug and say 'oh well, at least we tried'. If we do this… I could seriously hurt you. Do you understand? I could lose control. I could… I could kill you.”

On the Losing Side by missselene (E, 8,210 w., 1 Ch. || Anal / Oral, First Kiss / Time, Angst, Misunderstandings, Mild Dub Con / Drunk John) – After Mary's death, John moves back into Baker Street, but is still upset at the loss of his wife and child. Eventually, he and Sherlock stumble into a sort of relationship, but it's more physical than anything and they don't talk about it. They especially don't talk during sex. If they are going to have sex, Sherlock notices the signs hours beforehand, and he prepares carefully. The lights are off, they're under the covers, he prepares himself using lots of lube so he can make it feel as much like a woman as he can, and he doesn't let himself make any noise so that, if John wishes, he can pretend that he's still with Mary.

Better Than One by Innerspace (E, 14,760 w. 1 Ch. || Threesome, Self-cest / Clone Sex, First Time, BJ’s, Power Play, Slight Dub-Con) – Sherlock creates a clone and discovers things about himself and John he never imagined. John is just along for the ride, so to speak.

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Dev. Rel., Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world's only consulting detective will be on his own once again...or will he?

The Midas Touch by flawedamythyst (E, 32,231 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, John has a Magical Cock, Dub Con, Healer John) – John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It's a lot less cracky than you're probably imagining. Warning: Contains complex issues of sexual consent, although not between Sherlock and John.

A Love with No Name Series by aceofhearts61 (G to M, 49,955 w. across 20 stories || Asexual Sherlock / Straight John, Est. Rel, Queerplatonic Relationship, Romance, Cuddling, Fluff, Platonic Romance, Domestics, Rape/Non-Con) – In which Asexual!Sherlock and Straight!John are platonically in love life partners.

Coventry by standbygo (E, 52,020 w., 26 Ch. || Dollhouse AU || Case Fic, Slow Burn, Sci-Fi / Fantasy, First Kiss / Time, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF John, Falling in Love) – “Let me get this straight,” John said, wondering when his life had become a science fiction film. “Some guy orders up a personality, a person, to his specifications, and they program this into a real live person, who has consented to do this, and she goes to this person and acts as his wife, or lawyer, or Royal Marine, or Navy Seal or what have you, and she has all the skills, all the knowledge, everything? Then you say the magic words, and she follows you back to The House, and they erase it all until her next appointment?”

Scars by SilentAuror (E, 60,494 w., 5 Ch. || Rape / Non-Con / Abuse, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Dub Con Elements, Homophobia, Angst With Happy Ending, Mary is Not Nice) – S3 rewrite, showing Mary’s manipulation of John as he realizes his love for Sherlock. Mary is not having it.

A Cure For Boredom by emmagrant01 (E, 81,665 w., 8 Ch. || Dirty Talk, Threesomes, Light Dom/Sub, Sex Club, Experiments, Anal, Mildly Dubious Consent) – They’d never talked about sex in the year they’d known each other. Well, that wasn’t quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

Secrets and Revelations by Hisstah (E, 83,535 w., 9 Ch. || Sentinel / Guides Omegaverse AU || Adventure, Violence, Anal / Oral, Omega!John / Alpha!Sherlock, Case Fic, Politics, Mild DubCon) – Dr John Watson has some major secrets that he's kept from his flatmate, Alpha Sentinel Sherlock Holmes. Now the Sentinel Tower is after him. Can John stay out of their hands until he can reveal his secrets to Sherlock? Part 1 of Secrets and Revelations

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Rape/Sexual Assault, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock First Person POV, Parentlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Love Making, Possessiveness, Depression, PTSD, Kidnapping, Virgin Sherlock, Eventual Happy Ending) – "For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face." Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Shatter the Darkness (Let the Light In) by MojoFlower (E, 109,683 w., 23 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Genie/Djinn AU || Magical Realism, Kidnapping, Genie Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Case Fic, H/C, Angst, Clubs, John Whump, Mild DubCon, Hand / Blow Jobs, Torture) – Fairy tales are for those who remember how to dream; not John Watson, broken and hiding from his bleak future in a beige bedsit. But then he discovers a lamp and finds himself in the dangerous riptide of an enigmatic man whose very existence is unbelievable, murder charges against his sister, and the growing pains of feeling alive once more.

Ten Days by Engazed (E, 137,208 w., 31 Ch. || Rape/Non-Con, Post-TRF, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture, Case Fic) – Sherlock Holmes has been dead for forty months, and John is at last beginning to live his life again. But just when he believes he might be happy, his world crashes back down around him. John is named a missing person. Someone is pointing DI Lestrade in the wrong direction. And as the days pass, his situation only grows more dire. It seems like the disappearance of his best friend is the only thing that can bring Sherlock Holmes back from the dead. Part 1 of The Fallen

A Fold in the Universe by darkest_bird (E, 152,869 w., 26 Ch. || Omegaverse / Prime Universe Crossover || OmegaJohn / AlphaSherlock, First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Angst, H/C, Dub Con, Humour) – Alpha Sherlock and Omega John are in a relationship. Prime Sherlock and Prime John are not. So what happens when a freak fold in the universe switches one John for the other?

The Gilded Cage by BeautifulFiction (E, 326,887 w., 31 Ch. || Omegaverse || Omega Sherlock / Alpha John, Friends to Lovers, Dub Con, Reproductive Rights) – In a world where Omegas are the property of the elite Alphas, locked away and treasured by those wealthy enough to buy them, John never questioned his flatmate's secondary gender. Sherlock Holmes was an Alpha through-and through. Wasn't he? A chance discovery turns the world on its head, and John is left grappling to come to terms with Sherlock's past as events conspire to threaten their future.

MARKED FOR LATER

Three drinks or was it five by iriswallpaper (M, 1,455 w., 1 Ch. || Mild Dub Con / Drunk Sex, Morning After, First Time, Awkwardness / Awkward Sex, Idiots in Love, Avoiding The Talk™/Miscommunication, Fluff, Happy Ending) – Sherlock wakes up beside John, naked in his bed, after a night of getting hammered together on very good Scotch. Trying to spare John embarrassment, Sherlock makes as much noise as possible to indirectly wake John, all the while dreading the Very Important Talk he knows John will want to have.

Scars by Mildredandbobbin (M, 2,516 w., 2 Ch. || Post-TSoT/Pre-HLV, Rape/Non-Con, Hurt/Comfort, Rape Aftermath, Past Torture, Pre-Slash) – On his honeymoon, John starts receiving anonymous texts with increasingly disturbing images. He discovers how much he doesn't know about Sherlock's time away. Part 1 of the Scars series

No Means No by lindor1306 (M, 3,606 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Underage / Non Con / Rape / Child Abuse, Dub Con, Drunkenness) – When Sherlock attends a party with John, he finds himself in a horribly familiar situation, and learns the meaning of the word 'No'.

Tumblr Mini-fics #7: Triskadekaphilia Fic Fest - The Johnlock Fics by berlynn_wohl (E, 3,791 w., 16 Ch. || First Time, Alley Sex, Dub. Con., Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, ABO Dynamics, Mpreg, Omega Sherlock, Sub Sherlock, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Chastity Device, Drugged Sherlock, Milking, Omega John, Experiments, Nudity, Yoga) – In March 2013, I celebrated 1300 Tumblr followers with my Triskadekaphilia Fic Fest. Followers requested a pairing and a kink, and I wrote a fill for each that was 13 sentences long, with one sentence that was 13 words long, and with one word that was 13 letters long. These are the resulting Johnlock fics. Part 7 of the Tumblr Mini-Fics series

If You Go Out in the Woods Today by Sexxica (E, 5,247 w., 1 Ch. || Fawnlock, Mythical Beings/Creatures, Teen John, Virgin John, Anal Sex / Fingering, Mildly Dub. Con., Bottom John, Top Sherlock, Outdoor Sex, Blow Jobs) – You're sure of a big surprise. 18 year old John Watson certainly didn't expect to stumble into the realm of a forest god, let alone one demanding payment in order to let him and his friend Mike leave.

Company by lookupkate (E, 6,004 w., 2 Ch. || BDSM Club AU || Dom John, Sub Sherlock, Soft Dom John, Mentions of Previous Bad D/S Relationship, Past Non-Con, Humiliation, Happy Ending) – Sherlock goes under cover to suss out an embezzler at a BDSM club. His past is marred by an ex-boyfriend who verbally abused him under the guise of a D/s relationship. What he thinks he needs is a little different than what he needs. Luckily he's placed with someone who can see how fragile he is, Dom John Watson. Once the case is over he realises how much he's going to miss the man. Damn.

Let's go home by thewallflower07 (M, 6,333 w., 2 Ch. || Post-S3, POV Lestrade, Cuddling, Snuggling, Protective John, Hurt/Comfort, Hospital, Restraint, Psychological/Physical Torture, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Non-Con Touching, Non-Con Drug Use, Kidnapping, Fever Dream/Hallucinations, Villain Mary) – Lestrade is driving John to the hospital and helps him bring a heavily injured Sherlock home. In a flashback Mary had kidnapped Sherlock and played her cruel tricks on him. Sherlock is walking through a weird London where nothing is logical and he sees a John Watson he no longer recognizes.

Splat! by Vulgarweed (E, 6,618 w., 1 Ch. || Historical Appalachian 1970′s AU || Dom / Sub, Gunplay, Knifeplay, “Non-Con” Roleplay, Switchlock, Anal, Rimming, Bondage, Hunting Kink, Rough Sex, Object Insertion, Dirty Talk, Comeplay) – Sherlock decides he does want to go hunting with John after all. But not for deer. Part 2 of the The Bone Fiddle series

Pulse by SoftTae (E, 6,620 w., 1 Ch. || Vampire AU || Vampire John, Human Sherlock, Dark John, Dub Con, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Blood Drinking, Anal, Light Bondage, Violent Sex, Biting, Vampire Sex, Angst, Preditor/Prey Dynamic) – This was written for a friend who asked for vampire John, and human Sherlock.

Black Cat by CatieBrie (E, 7,158 w., 1 Ch. || Psychological Horror, Supernatural Elements, Disturbing Themes, Body Horror, Sex, Major Consent Issues / Possible Rape, MCD, Intent Magic, Ambiguity) – He’s watching Sherlock crawl up his body, doesn’t have to see to know he has a blade tucked away somewhere, knows his body will react no matter what. “Do you know what this is, John?” Sherlock holds up a doll made of rudimentary cloth stuffed with god knows what. It’s wearing a crude rendition of John’s favorite striped shirt, denim pants and the hair is too fine and blonde-shocked-grey to be anything else but his.John tries to answer, has no voice, shakes his head. “It’s a poppet.” Sherlock explains, pushes the arms together and John’s limbs react, snapping to his sides and remaining there even as he tries desperately to struggle free.

Perception by orphan_account (M, 7,821 w., 1 Ch. || Rape/Non-Con) – John is perceptive sometimes.

A Chemical Defect Found (On the Losing Side Remix) by AreteArt (M, 7,978 w., 1 Ch. || First Time / Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Mildly Dubious Consent, Angst, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Pining, Anal / Oral Sex, Frottage) – A remix of missselene's "On the Losing Side." After Mary's death, John moves back into Baker Street. He and Sherlock stumble into a relationship, or something of that sort. Sherlock's rather giving when it comes to sex, but that doesn't mean he and John ever talk about it.

A Study in Asexuality by ladyxdarcy (M, 8,082 w., 1 Ch. || Asexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Acephobia, Mentions of Rape/Corrective Rape Therapy, Past Suicidal Ideation, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Overdose, Past Mary/John, Emotional Sherlock, Insecure Sherlock, Vulnerable Sherlock, Est. Rel., Angst with Happy Ending, Fluff) – When Sherlock, asexual to his core, fears that John may grow bored of a sexless life, he decides to do whatever it takes to make John happy so he stays. Good thing John is already happy.

as if not spoken to in the act of love by coloredink (E, 8,288 w., 1 Ch. || Dubious Consent, Codependency, Angst, Drama, Consent Issues) – Sherlock endures the indignities, bodies squirming against one another, the sweat, the saliva, because of John's jam in the fridge and sour-breathed kisses in the morning.

Making History by SaraDobieBauer (M, 8,622 w., 6 Ch. || Vampire AU || Season 1, Vampire John, Dark John, Bondage, Dub Con, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes lay unconscious and handcuffed to John’s bed. John had been waiting for this day ever since he’d first met the consulting detective. He'd been waiting for centuries really.

Slave by skadi_zlata (E, 15,654 w., 1 Ch. || Slavery AU || Rape/Non-Con, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Dub Con, Abuse, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – In the gambling dens of a vaguely AU London, John Watson has won and lost fortunes in a night. One evening he winds up playing with entirely the wrong crowd, the kind of people that make him feel he’ll be lucky to get out of there with his life – let alone anything else. But the announced prize is somewhat unexpected. It’s an abused slave with dark curly hair and mesmerizing blue-grey eyes.

Kingdoms Rise by colbee (E, 15,668 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, References to Canon, Graphic Descriptions of Crime Scenes, Mentions of Rape) – "The name is Sherlock Holmes, and I broke in."

The Wench Is Dead by Chryse (E, 15,915 w., 1 Ch. || Underage, Extreme Dub Con, Flashback, Manipulative Relationship) – “You thought…not just you, Molly too. Probably everyone assumed it. You thought that bad things happened because I used drugs. That I made terrible choices and got myself hurt. And you weren’t wrong, not exactly. You just got it backwards.” What Sherlock put in the box. Part 2 of the Another Country series

Evidence of Human Life by thesardine (E, 16,906 w., 1 Ch. || Possessive Sherlock, Mental Health Issues, Rough Sex, Dubious Consent) – Sherlock's sanity deteriorates while he and John are stranded on a deserted island.

Broken Wings and Cigarettes by solisandluna (NC-17, 20,298 w., 10 Ch. || Violence, Abuse, Rape, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Sherlock Whump, Dark Story) – Sherlock has been missing for two years. So when he is found in a cellar, tortured and raped, how will John help him recover? Can he get over the shock and guilt of seeing his seeing his friend so abused? And can Sherlock be fixed?

A Question of Intent by Mildredandbobbin (E, 22,129 w., 6 Ch. || Omegaverse || Dub Con / Consent Issues, Misunderstandings, Knotting, First Time, Switching, Mating Cycles, Top/Bottom O!Sherlock, Top/Bottom A!John) – Sherlock was on the bed, naked, writhing, tangled in the sheets, on all fours and apparently in the full throes of a Heat. So very not good, the non-lizard part of John's brain was saying -- the enlightened 21st Century, reconstructed Alpha part, the part that supported Omega contra-heat, equality, pro-choice, the Omega rape legislation and general gender liberation. The part that knew Sherlock did not, obviously did not, want to copulate with him and certainly did not want to bond.

Consent by KeelieThompson1 (M, 26,466 w., 11 Ch. || OMC, Rape/Non-Con, Rape Recovery, Sexual Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Developing Relationship, Triggers) – Sherlock has a difficult past regarding sex which John discovers when he tries to change their relationship.

Dubious by mslilylashes (M, 29,907 w., 14 Ch. || Rape/Non-Con, Dub. Con, Abusive Relationships, Victor Trevor) – John says every time Sherlock says 'stop' he will do so immediately. Sherlock knows that there is always a point that most men say they can't stop. The idea that John might be so much more than what Sherlock has come to expect from other men intrigues him, so he begins an experiment in consent. John begins to realise he is being tested, but he doesn't know why. (Does he ever when it comes to Sherlock?) All he knows is that something happened in Sherlock's past to make him think that what he wants or doesn't want doesn't matter in the bedroom. Then the nightmares start. Part 1 of the Dubious series

Lessons in Astronomy Series by CaitlinFairchild (E, 31,164 w. across 3 stories || Angst, Post S3, Grief/Mourning, Mildly DubCon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Physical Abuse, Oral/Anal Sex, Unrequited Love, Pining, Sibling Incest (No Actual Holmescest), Masturbation, Accidental Voyeurism, Drug Addiction, Romance, Dev. Rel., Trust Issues, Happy Ending) – In a different time, a more naive time, Sherlock thought he was the star and John the satellite, circling him in worshipful orbit. He knows now that was never true. John was always the sun, bright and fierce, and Sherlock was the pale, cold moon, his only heat coming from the light he reflected. And then his sun went into supernova. Moriarty said he would burn him and he has, and John is the fire, his rage and grief incinerating Sherlock, burning the heart out of him in the end, turning him into nothing but cinder and ash. And now the supernova is collapsing, a black hole born where there was once warmth and heat and love, and Sherlock is being pulled down, down past the event horizon, into the endless frozen void where nothing can ever escape.

Unsettled by AxeMeAboutAxinomancy (E, 33,879 w., 10 Ch. || HIs Dark Materials AU || Daemons, Dark Themes, Non-Con) – Sherlock's dæmon hadn't settled. Once John realised that, so much made sense. Though so much else didn't, because it practically wasn't possible. Part 1 of the The Utmost Edge of Hazard series

The Half-Life of Love by Calais_Reno (E, 38,751 w., 12 Ch. || Dev. Rel. Angst with Happy Ending, Obsessive / Possessive Sherlock, Different First Meeting, Manipulative Mycroft, Drug Withdrawal, Rehabilitation, Pining, Mild Dub Con, Abusive Parents) – “Maybe we met too soon or at the wrong time, under the wrong circumstances,” said John. Sherlock shrugged. “Hypothesis Contrary to Fact: none of these 'what ifs' happened, so it’s all pointless speculation. We did, in fact, meet at a specific time and place.”

Renegades by augustbird (E, 39,405 w., 12 Ch. || TRF AU, Dubious Consent, Torture, Drug Use) – Sherlock Holmes takes down Moriarty’s syndicate. He also takes John Watson with him. AU of The Reichenbach Fall.

Shadow by MapleleafCameo (M, 40,845 w., 11 Ch. || Rape/Non-Con, Supernatural Elements, Non-Con Kissing, Non-Con Touching, Dub Con, Implied Slavery, BAMF Molly, Angst, Creepy) – Invaders from an alternate universe, another dimension, invaders called Shadows have humanity fighting for their own survival. John, captured by the Shadows, has more to fight for more than he originally thought. Eventual Johnlock.

Defrag by 7PercentSolution (T, 43,748 w., 21 Ch. || Graphics Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage, Angst, Drug Use, PTSD Sherlock, Memory Palace, Case Fic, Mental Health Issues) – Sherlock's hard-drive needs to be cleaned up; viruses detected, malware files deleted, memory freed up, order restored. Follows on chronologically from Musgrave Blaze, but there will be enough back story to stand alone if you haven't read that yet. An important Part of the Game Theory Series. Part 4 of the Game Theory series

Silence by halloa_what_is_this (T, 44,993 w., 13 Ch. || The Piano Fusion || Victorian Sherlock, Dub Con, Voyeurism, Permanent Mutilation, Johniarty, Mute John) – In 1850, John is a mute young man forced to marry to save his father from indebtedness. His sister as his interpreter and his piano to keep him company, he travels to London to live with his husband James Moriarty. Without John's consent, James sells the piano to his friend Sherlock Holmes, who only asks for lessons from John in return. The lessons turn into a power play between the two when Sherlock proposes a deal: John may earn his piano back one key at a time, certain conditions attached. Part 1 of the Aborted Wings series

Mind the Gap by orphan_account (E, 45,089 w., 6 Ch. || Victor Trevor, Dubious Consent, POV First Person Sherlock, Character Development, Friendship, Pining Sherlock, Fluff, Introspection, Parent Death, Vulnerable Sherlock, Doctor John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Child Abuse, Implied Sexual Abuse, Domestic Abuse) – An introspective journey through the life and relationships of Sherlock Holmes. "I can hear the bones hum beneath pale and freckled skin, this sack that holds my form together. Bits and pieces that start at the bottom and end at the top, hiding the blood, muscle, fat. Cells, knit together, constantly in motion. They'll live and die, and replicate, until total equilibrium is met."

Vault by masterofall14 (M, 47,766 w., 23/31 Ch. || WiP || Loosely Inspired By Room, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Parentlock / Sherlock Has a Son, PTSD, Eventual Johnlock, Suicide Attempt, Pining John, Sherlock Loves John & Vice Versa, Big Brother Mycroft, Triggers, Creepy Magnussen, Happy Ending) – Jack lives in Room with his Pa, Sherlock. They share everything, except the secret that Jack isn't privy to... Room is in Appledore's vault. Magnussen and the woman his Pa calls the Wicked Witch visit when Jack sleeps and Jack can't explain where the bruising on his Pa's body comes from... But if they get out, how will they both cope after years of imprisonment? Even Sherlock, who can imagine nothing other than the four walls he has known for thirteen years...

The Night Is Darkest by missselene (E, 48,461 w., 8 Ch. || Post-TLD, Extremely Dub Con, S4 Rage Monster John, Insecure Sherlock, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Exploration, Healing, Self Care, Self Acceptance, Sexual Exploration, Casual Sex, Gentle Sex, Sherlock/OMC, Threesome with 2 OMCs, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Communication, Internalized Homophobia, Relationship Negotiation) – Sherlock Holmes would do anything for John Watson... and that includes letting John do whatever he wants to him. What would it take for Sherlock to stand up for himself and finally start taking care of his own needs?

Command Structure by 221b_hound (E, 49,034 w., 16 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post TRF / Not S3 Compliant, Dom/Sub Play, Dom John/Sub Sherlock, Oral/Anal, Anal Fingering, Frottage, Past Child Abuse, Anxiety Attacks, Captain Watson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Protective John, Slow Build, PTSD Sherlock, Consensual, Past Dub Con, Rimming) – Sherlock Holmes returns from his hunt to destroy Moriarty’s network. He comes home to John, and at long last they start this thing between them that couldn’t begin while Moriarty threatened them. But Sherlock has returned fractured and suffering anxiety attacks. He thinks he needs discipline - the whip - to help him focus and be strong. But his problems are deeper and run back to a childhood of neglect. John Watson is prepared to be Sherlock’s Captain, but he’s a doctor too. His command style isn’t about pain and subjugation. It’s about care and responsibility: and those concepts go in both directions in Captain Watson’s command structure.

Brotherly Bargain by xenobia4 (E, 50,187+ w., 17/19 Ch. || WiP || Rape/Non-Con Elements, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Abuse, Torture, Blood and Gore, Fisting, Dismemberment, Non-Con Oral, Object Insertion, Watersports) – A violent drug cartel abducts Sherlock Holmes after two of their operations in the UK have been shutdown. They upload the videos of torture online, gaining the attention of both the British government and Mycroft.

Musgrave Blaze by 7PercentSolution (T, 64,527 w., 28 Ch. || Equestrian, Country House, Series One, Murder Mystery, Case Fic, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con) – Mixing ACD canon, Sherlock and John are drawn to the rolling hills of Gloucestershire to investigate the mysterious disappearance of a horse, the death of its trainer, and the theft of a three-day eventing trophy from Musgrave Hall. Multi-chapter case fic that brings back some old memories for both men.

Roommates are for little people by alexxphoenix42 (E, 69,042 w., 14 Ch. || Teen/Unilock || Forced to Share a Bed, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Relationship, Sherlock is a Prick, Drinking, Inadvertent Drug Use, Family Wedding, Footballer John / Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Frottage, Slow Burn, Mild Dub Con, Cuddling While Sleeping, Slight Homophobia, Posh Boy, Dirty Dancing, Endearments, Nosy FAmily, Bathing Together, Mild Angst, UST/RST, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff) – John was looking forward to seeing his friends back at uni, but a new year brings new complications, not the least of which is a dorm room with only one bed, and a stroppy roommate with an utterly spectacular arse. God, John doesn't need the headache.

Sherlock's Bane by toggledog (E, 70,095 w., 19 Ch. || Post-TRF, Rape/Non-Con, Rape Recovery) – John's friend, DI Toll, is brought onto a case involving murder and the destruction of a Mozart bust. He starts sexually harassing Sherlock. Toll being such a likeable guy, this appears to go unnoticed by everyone. Sherlock, himself just wants to work on the case and not cause trouble for John. However, the harassment starts getting more and more obscene…

Next Right: Welcome to Westbound Rest Area 818 by elwinglyre (E, 73,618 w., 16 Ch. || American Unilock AU || Bunk Beds, Anonymous Sex, Homophobia, Closeted John, Roommates, Angst with Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Music, Rape/Non-Con, Hurt John, BAMF John) – Sherlock Holmes dreams of escape from his smothering family and space to breathe. Studying chemistry at the University of Michigan, he's almost far enough away to fill his lungs. Almost. While John Watson dreams of being a doctor, he also dreams of being with another man. John knows that with hard work and study, he can make the first a reality, but he's certain the second can never be. Until a secret encounter in the dark at Rest Area 818 changes everything. When Sherlock meets his new roommate, John Watson, he sees a man in the closet. Sherlock hides from no one. Except from his own family, a detective inspector who wants his evidence returned, and his secret encounter at Rest Area 818. Setting late 1970s, Michigan, USA. POV third person alternates between John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

This Is Your Song by agirlsname (E, 79,990 w., 19 Ch. || Moulin Rouge Fusion || Prostitute Sherlock, Poet John, Acting, Singing, Dancing, Writing, Poetry, Musical, Song Fic, Heavy Angst, Unreliable Narrator, Sherlock is French, Love at First Sight, UST, First Kiss/Time, Frottage, Coming in Pants, Anal Sex, Switchlock, Clothed Sex, Crossdressing, Secret Relationship, Forbidden Love, Jealousy, Terminal Illnesses, Grief/Mourning, Breakup/Makeup Sex, Past Drug Use, Attempted Rape, Canon-Typical Violence)– When John Watson is invalided home from the army in 1895, he moves to Paris to rediscover his writing and find a new meaning in life. His old friend Stamford invites him into a group of artist friends, and suddenly John finds himself auditioning to write a show for the famous brothel across the street. There, he meets the most beautiful man he’s ever seen - Sherlock, the star of the Moulin Rouge. But Sherlock is already promised to the investor of the show, the rich Duke Moriarty.

Stranger at the Gate by bendingsignpost (E, 85,190 w., 11 Ch. || Vampire AU || Vampire Sherlock, John with a Sword, Hypnotism, Vampire Sex, Dub-Con, Lying Sherlock, Vampire Puberty) - As far as initiation rites go, kidnapping a human doctor from a defended town ought to seem extreme. When James Moriarty offers him the challenge, Sherlock never considers saying no.

A Study in Slavery by sweetinsane (M, 88,538+ w., 12/? Ch. || WIP || Dark / Slavery AU || ASiP, Angst, Domestic Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Slow Build, Dehumanization, Sexual Slavery, Child Abuse, Master/Slave Dynamics, Dark Content) – John has never owned a slave of his own, but after returning from Afghanistan is awarded one with his pension. A disobedient male slave with way too much troubling history, however, is not what he would have chosen himself.

Fade To Black by twistedthicket1 (M, 93,389 w., 29 Ch. || Split Personality Disorder, Action, Romance, Violence, Implied Rape/Non-Con, BAMF John, Fluff and Angst, Baskerville, Human Experimentation, PTSD, Implied Self Harm) – John Watson believes one day he'll just fade. That he'll drown in the black spaces of his mind, and that one day he will no longer exist. It's always been like this, the dark spots marking out moments in his life he can't remember. Where for just a moment he's someone else. Having a Dissociative identity disorder, he can't even be entirely sure he's really who he says he is. Then he meets Sherlock Holmes. A brilliant detective who when he looks at you can read your entire life story. John is immediately fascinated and afraid, half-wondering if maybe Sherlock can see the other personalities in him and half terrified of the thought of him finding out. Becoming his flatmate seems at once to be a wonderful and horrible idea. Yet as John's Blackouts become more and more severe and his other personalities begin to truly awaken and show themselves with Sherlock's help, the two soon discover that sometimes even the kindest person can harbour a demon best left untouched inside of them. Because not all of John's other personalities play nicely and some may be hiding secrets best left undisturbed...

A Waste of Breath by Chryse (E, 95,452 w., 25 Ch. || References to Drugs, Dubious Consent, First Time, Friendship / Love, Hurt / Comfort, Angst) – John had always assumed Sherlock was uninterested, untouchable, married to his work. He was wrong on all counts. But when Sherlock embarks on a relationship, John worries that he is in over his head.. .and this time he might be right.

We're All A Little Mad Here by angelblack3 (E, 98,019+ w. across 4 works || Series WiP || Dark AU, Obsessive Behaviour, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Kidnapping, Dark Sherlock, Abusive Relationship, Bondage, Aphrodisiacs, Rape/Non-Con, Painplay) – In this universe, Jim got a hold of Sherlock way before he ever met the ones that were meant to save him. Now, they're happy business partners. Though, according to Jim, Sherlock isn't nearly as happy as he could be. He should find someone like Jim found his dear pet Sebby. Sherlock is skeptical, until he finds an army doctor with a psychosomatic limp in a twisted sense of fate.

Riptide Lover by jinglebell (E, 114,090 w., 20 Ch. || Merfolk & Victorian AU || Mermaid Sherlock, Human John, BAMF John/Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, Mild Gore, Dubious Interspecies Consent, Stockholm Syndrome, Dark Romance, Dubcon and Morality, Rough Sex, Abstract Mentions of Rape, Size Queen, Switchlock, Foot Fetish) – The year is 1866. When John becomes swept overboard, he never expects to encounter a living creature of myth. When the merman absconds with John, the lost sailor must use every tool at his disposal to convince Sherlock not to kill him. But it seems that killing John Watson is not what the deadly, beautiful creature has in mind at all...

Thirst by bittergreens (E, 122,257 w. || Post TGG, POV John, Angst, Pining John, UST/RST, Masturbation, PTSD, Sexual Fantasy, First Kiss/Time, Nightmares, Frottage, Friends to Lovers, BAMF John, Mildly Dub Con, Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Rain Sex, Voice Kink/Porn, Loud Sex, Rimming, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Case Fic, Baths / Bath Sex, Mild Gore, Psychological Torture, Fluff, Slow Burn) – When John realizes he has feelings for Sherlock and decides he must keep those feelings secret at all costs, the resulting tension might bring Baker Street to the ground.

"Merry Christmas" I wrapped it up and sent it with a note saying "I love you" by starrysummernights (E, 135,132+ w., 30/31 Ch. || WIP || Post S4, Slow Burn, Mary is Not Nice, Christmas, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Parentlock, Past Torture / Rape) – John has moved back into 221B with his daughter Rosie after Mary was killed, but things are not exactly comfortable between him and Sherlock. After everything that has happened, they are trying to become friends again...and maybe something more. What better time than the Christmas season?! Takes place after TLD.

A Little Help from my Friends by Ttime42 (E, 140,776 w., 28 Ch. || BDSM AU || Switchlock, Fluff, Verbal Abuse, Bondage, Hospitalization, Military Kink, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Consensual, Punishment, Violence, Blood, Knives, Past Drug Use, Dub Con, Masturbation, Case Fic, PDA, Stalking, John’s Giant Junk, Aftercare, Kidnapping, Happy Ending) – In a world where everyone identifies as either a dominant or a submissive, Sherlock is having a rough time moving on from a bad relationship and has sworn off doms forever. John has recently returned to London from war and has a fortuitous run in with an old friend in a park. Sherlock and John's lives are changed forever because of that chance meeting, and they'll both find their way through life with a little help from their friends.

The Frost Is All Over by Chryse (E, 148,518 w., 21 Ch. || Pining Love, Implied / Referenced Rape / Non-Con, Period Typical Homophobia, Virginity, Teenlock, Major Illness, Implied / Referenced Child Abuse) - John was brave and clever and loyal, a commoner who longed for an exciting life. Sherlock was dashing and brilliant and passionate, an Earl’s son who longed to solve crimes. Being a Tale of Glorious Adventures, Love Letters, Treachery, Longing, Secret Identities, Deathbed Confessions, First Kisses, Daring Escapes, and True Love.

Failing Upward by elwinglyre (E, 204,847 w., 40 Ch. || Parallel Universes || Rape/Non-Con, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Magical Realism, Science Fiction, Supernatural Sex, Non-Con Unwanted Frottage, Memory Loss, First Time, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Johnn, Friends to Lovers, First Person POV John) – When John Watson, a young med student who supports himself as a florist-by-day and musician-by-night, finds he is heir to supernatural powers that others would kill to possess, John’s life transforms into a mixture of comedy and terror. As he fights to understand what’s real and what’s imagined, he travels from one alternate universe to another. Along the way he finds the key was there all along: his brilliant best friend, Sherlock Holmes, the man who becomes the touchstone for all that John is and ever will be. Set in current day cities and countryside of Michigan, this story blends romance, magical realism and science fiction with humor. Part 1 of the Failing Upward Universe series

A River Without Banks by Chryse (E, 203,286 w., 23 Ch. || Alternate Realities || Angst with Happy Ending, Depression, Suicide, Violence, Torture, Rape/Non-Con Elements, PTSD, Serial Killers, Virgin Sherlock) – "You love this, being Sherlock Holmes."He had once. When had it all gone so wrong?

The Jewel in the Tower by PoppyAlexander (E, 207,079 w., 39 Ch. || Dystopian AU, Violence, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Mild Dub Con, One World Government, Class Issues, Assassin John / Geisha Sherlock, Self Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Espionage, Miscommunication, Sexual Fantasy, Masturbation, Letters/Texting, Phone Sex, Infidelity, First Time, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Injury Recovery, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Scars, Misgendering, Happy Endings) – In a contemporary dystopia, Unity is peace – despite the fact unsanctioned information, illicit currency, and every sort of danger flows unchecked in the world's pleasure districts. John Watson, a weary hired gun, is assigned by the mysterious Mentor to investigate a subversive element lurking in the Icehouse, the world's most famous House of Repose. As accustomed as he is to dealing with the unexpected, John is nevertheless woefully unprepared to meet the gem of the Ice house, Xie, the world renowned "drashaskaya," the living work of art after which all other drashas are modeled. In sumptuous suites, amid trailing puddles of silk and fervent whispers in the night, John soon learns that nothing is as it seems in the floating world of London's pleasure district. (PUBLISHED AS “At Night in the Floating World”)

Conductivity Series by liriodendron (E, 207,367 w. across 7 works || TRF / Post TRF, ReunionCanon Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Friendship, Romance, Sexual Tension, First Kiss/Time, Synesthesia, Power Dynamics, Self-Harm, Drug Use, Case Fic, Est. Rel., References to Drug Use, Homophobic Language, Religious Content, Intercrural Sex, Unrequited Love, Angst, References to Suicide, Injury, Anal, Dub. Con, BDSM, Suicidal Thoughts, Violent Sex, Suicide, Grief/Mourning, Break Up) – In which Sherlock Holmes locates his heart, John Watson learns what it's like to burn, and there is no darkness that cannot be made bright.

Deflowered - Director’s Cut by Lorelei_Lee (E, 328,535 w., 51 Ch. || Mafia / Mob AU || Rape/Non-Con, Dub-Con, Boss John/Rentboy Sherlock, Bottomlock, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous John, Prostate Milking, Sounding, Anal Beads/Plug, Anal Sex / Fingering, Spanking, Begging, Blow Jobs, Riding Crops, Begging, Romance, Desperation, Minor Character Death, Implied Self Harm, Violence) – It should have been strictly business. Being a Mafia boss with a sadistic sexual streak, John had long since realised that his playthings were in it for the money only. Being a masochistic rent boy, Sherlock seemed too good to be true. Little did they know…

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #non con #dub con #my fic recs #rape cw #Anonymous #long post #consent

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nsheetee · 4 years

Text

Bad Dreams

Pairing: Hendery x Reader Genre: Best Friends to Lovers AU || slight angst, lots of fluff Length: 2.1k Warnings: reader has mild PTSD, mentions of reader in a car accident Summary: In which Hendery is your dreamcatcher, and washes away the bad dreams you’ve been having.

☁︎ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ☁︎

Soulmates are people who are ideally suited for one another; what a concept: to have someone in this world that is made specifically for you. To have someone that perfectly fits with the rough edges of your personality with their own. To have someone that not only understands you, but also knows how to console you and how you want to be cared and loved. And vice versa: the ability to know someone like the back of your own hand, to know someone better than you know yourself.

You always thought Hendery was your soulmate.

From the moment you met him, timidly glancing at him from behind your mother’s legs as your families met for the first time. You didn’t have the chance to make any friends yet, school had not started for you and your neighbors were all older people. So, Hendery was really your first friend.

At first, you bonded over how the pizza crust was the best part of the pizza and how you both liked to play on the swings at the playground. As you grew into your awkward teenage years, you bonded over your same interests in music and how high school popularity really isn’t that important or all it’s cracked up to be. And now, as young adults, you can both whine and joke about the bills you have to pay and the college classes you have to attend in the comfort of your shared apartment.

You know Hendery is your soulmate.

There is no one in your life that has known you as deeply as Hendery does. There is no one who can tell what you’re thinking just by a glance into your eyes, or know what you want to eat even when you don’t. There is no one else that stood by you through the time you decided to dye your hair bright blue, or when your first pet passed away, or when you got accepted to your dream college.

For you, it’s always been Hendery.

Some nights, in the dark confines of your 1AM thoughts, you promise yourself that as long as Hendery never leaves-- never changes, you’ll be okay with not finding a lover. You’ll be okay with being alone because you won’t truly be alone. Either way, you don’t think it’s possible for anyone to know you the way Hendery does. Maybe there is some sort of part in Hendery that is tied to you, some sort of red string that connects him to you.

Maybe that’s how he knew that something happened to you on that rainy night, even before he got the phone call from the hospital.

When Hendery arrived at the hospital, he felt oddly calm. When he saw you, it was like standing in the eye of a hurricane, chaos around him and peacefulness in him. You had some scratches on your face, but other than that you looked fine. You were alive.

You caught Hendery’s gaze and smiled weakly; he didn’t think his feet could carry him to you any faster. Hendery has hugged you many times before, from quick side hugs to full on “never let me go” hugs. But the way he hugged you was different this time. He slowly engulfed you, pushing you into his chest and resting his chin on your head. Hendery was scared; scared that he let you leave home that morning without breakfast, scared that he assumed you would come home okay. He should’ve known fate isn’t blind to who she hurts.

“I’m sorry.” You feel the need to apologize. Hendery doesn’t react, he just keeps holding you close. “I don’t know how it happened. The other car just... hit mine. I-I wasn't speeding. I couldn’t even see it coming-” The more you talk, the more you feel like crying again. It feels like your brain is torturing you into reliving the events of what happened just an hour ago. You gripped tighter onto Hendery, who seemed to know before you that you were going to cry again.

You, once again, are convinced Hendery is your soulmate.

When you’re released from the hospital and allowed to go home, you don’t think you’ve ever been grateful to see your own bed. Even after all those long nights studying in the library, after working for several hours a day; you have truly never appreciated your own room and your warm bed until you’ve felt the roughness of a hospital gurney. But when the hours ticked closer to night time, you grew restless. Tossing and turning, forcing your eyes shut and hoping sleep will come. Nothing helped, the mental pictures that will forever be stored in your memory of that car crashing into yours, the feeling of impact and spinning out of control sending you to sit up in bed, panting and shaking.

The last time you had a nightmare this bad, you were younger. You climbed into your parents’ bed and your dad petted your hair while your mother hummed a lullaby for you.

“There are no such things as nightmares, only bad dreams.” You’re mother sang. You thought it was a funny way of putting it, but whenever you had a nightmare from then on, you convinced yourself it’s only a bad dream.

But this was more than a bad dream; this bad dream was reality less than 24 hours ago. You gathered your pillow and blanket, quietly padding into Hendery’s room. He’s sprawled out like a starfish on his bed, the blanket messily draped over him and his chest slowly rising and falling. You almost feel bad for disturbing him, but you sneak over to his bedside and shake him awake by his bicep anyway.

“Hendery.” You whisper, but it’s enough to make him sit up sharply.

“What is it? What’s wrong.” He grabs your wrist, sleepy eyes looking you up and down.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I had a bad dream. C-Can I sleep here?” Hendery sighs at your response, you can’t tell if he’s relieved or annoyed but he nods his head. You’re about to drop your pillow and blanket on the floor next to the bed, but his grip on your wrist tightens as he pulls you down onto the mattress with him.

“I can sleep on the floor.” You mutter but Hendery groans.

“No, you can’t. The doctor said you almost got whiplash, I know your neck’s probably sore. Just sleep here.” So, you and Hendery shuffle around until he’s laying on his back on one side of the bed with his blanket and you’re laying on the other side on your stomach with your own blanket. Hendery is quick to fall back into his dreams, mouth opening slightly and warmth radiating from his skin and onto yours.

The moonlight from Hendery’s open window casts a spell on you and you fall asleep next to him. His hairy legs rubbing against yours every once in a while and light snores lull you into a surprisingly peaceful night of sleep.

☁︎☁︎☁︎

The next night it happens again. You’ve been trying to go to sleep for over three hours, but your own brain is stopping you from enjoying what few hours of sleep that you’ll be able to get until the sun rises. You don’t feel bad coming into Hendery’s room this time because he’s still up, playing games on his computer at the desk in the corner of his room. He has a headset on and since he’s facing away from the door, you walk up to him.

“Hendery,” He looks at you for a moment to let you know he’s listening, and then turns back to the game. “Is it okay if I sleep here again?”

“Yeah,” He mumbles, still looking at the computer, “But I’m playing with Yangyang and Xiaojun right now, it might not be quiet.” He explains. You shrug despite him not being able to see you and you fall into his bedsheets again, this time using one of his pillows and his blanket as your own.

It’s an hour later when Hendery logs off, shutting the computer down and turning to look at you. You’re completely passed out on your stomach, face half pushed into the pillow and your back rising and falling peacefully.

“Doesn’t it hurt to sleep like that?” Hendery thinks as he changes into pajamas. He stops right before he gets into the bed. Should he go sleep somewhere else? You weren’t taking up the whole bed, but it did feel different to be the one getting into bed with you. Even though you did this just the other night, it feels more intimate to be sharing a blanket now. Hendery keeps his distance from you on the large bed, but he can’t help but notice how much he likes how you look in on his pillow. The thought startles him, but he falls asleep to your hair tickling him and the quiet noises you make.

☁︎☁︎☁︎

The bad dreams keep coming, but you force yourself to not go to Hendery for relief. It’s time to grow up; you can’t crawl into Hendery’s room at all hours of the night when you can’t fall asleep. It’s been hard, maybe those past two nights spent beside Hendery made you a bit dependent on his warmth for comfort, but you force yourself to stay in your room when you wake up from your dreams night after night.

Which is why it surprised you when your bedroom door opened tonight, a sleepy Hendery trailing in and quietly slipping in between your sheets next to you.

“Did I say you can come in?” You tease him for his lack of greeting or asking of permission. He surprises you by rolling over to face you, his nose just centimeters away from yours and his skin so close that it almost burns to not have him touching you. Your breath is caught in your throat as his hazel eyes look into yours, sleepy but determined.

“I can hear you crying when you wake up from your nightmares.” Hendery whispers, “Why didn’t you come into my room.” The teasing smile on your face dims and instead you bite your lip.

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

Hendery decides to do something crazy, something that skews the perfect line you both have drawn between you two that defines your relationship as best friends. His arm wraps around your waist, warm fingertips dipping under your pajama shirt and gently pushing into your back to pull you closer. You give in, gently rolling into his embrace and resting your head on his collarbone as you hide into him. His other hand finds your hair, massaging your scalp as he sighs, his chest meeting yours as it expands and compresses with every breath.

“You never bother me.” He whispers into your forehead, continuing with his touches to the new parts of you he’s never had the pleasure of feeling before. “Please, I want you to trust me. I want you to… confide in me.” He begs and you slightly pull away to look up at him.

“I do trust you, Hendery. You’re my dreamcatcher.” You smile slightly to comfort him.

Hendery wants to kiss you. He’s wanted to do it many times throughout his life: when you went to your high school’s prom together, when you first got your heartbroken by some dumb guy a few years ago, when you got your first apartment together. But right now, unlike all the other times, something is telling him that you want to kiss him, too.

So he does.

Hendery leans in to catch his lips with yours. He’s slow and gentle, so that if you want to pull back at any time you can. But you don’t. You push into him to show him that it’s okay, and it breaks the timid and shy spell set on both of you. You and Hendery kiss for a little longer, lips moving against one another like a bow against a violin, like two dance partners who have been dancing their whole lives together, like soulmates.

You learn about a new part of Hendery tonight: the way he likes to be touched and the way he likes to be held. You learn how his lips feel and how his tongue tastes when it’s dancing with yours. You learn that kissing has never felt so good when it’s with someone you really, truly love.

You fall asleep that night, and every night after, in Hendery’s arms. Your dreams are filled with the soft, plush lips and black, silky hair of your lover, and the best part is that when you wake up, he’s still there.

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