#their traumas? their guilt and pain and anguish? you are no better than whatever you think they are. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 1 year

Text

Glutton for Punishment | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello, hello! I am back back back again. My life has been busy, y'all. School is kicking my ass. But this fic has been like 94% complete for like a month, and I finally got to finish it! yay!

wordcount: 8939

Warnings: angst, self harm, Bucky's trauma

Bucky collapsed onto the bed with a defeated huff. The mattress rippled under his weight and jostled the computer resting on your thighs. His chest rose and fell with another dejected sigh. His meetings with Fury never went well- but they weren’t always bad. Sometimes, things between them were cordial. Neutral. This was not one of those times. Bucky wanted to sink into the bed and never come out. He wanted to dissolve into the earth and disappear. The only thing anchoring him to reality was, as always, you.

“Hey, how’d it go, babe?” The comforting lilt of your voice floated through the air. Maybe drenching your words in overt positivity was too much, but it seemed necessary. Maybe if you could coat your voice in optimism, it would fix whatever plagued Bucky. But you knew it was useless to hope.

He didn’t answer. He just stared up at the ceiling, a blank expression on his face. Coming home to you after a bad day or a shitty meeting was always his saving grace; being near you brought him peace. But he hated bringing the shame home with him.

“That bad, huh?” you ditched your laptop and laid next to him, propped up on one elbow. “What happened?”

Silence. He didn’t tear his eyes from the ceiling. Didn’t even blink. He just gazed upward- hopeless.

In the quiet, your fingers traced up and down his arm. You pressed kisses to his shoulder. He always had a way of shutting you out before allowing you in. It wasn’t personal; it was just his process. He opted to suffer without your help until the pain ate away at him. And when there was almost nothing left, he tore down the walls and welcomed the onslaught of comfort.

“He said it was my fault.” Bucky tried not to sound too pathetic. He knew you worried about him- a lot. Knew that his misery always hurt you. Seeing him in pain brought you nothing but heartache. But his efforts did nothing to hide the anguish in his voice.

You didn’t want to make him repeat the whole ordeal, to relive whatever messed up shit Fury said to him- but you needed context. Your words were soft, your voice gentle. “He said what was your fault, baby?” Bucky didn’t deserve more blame, more guilt. Though none of what he did was his fault, a lifetime of remorse rested heavy on his shoulders after his Winter Soldier days. You wondered how much unjust blame he could carry before it crushed him.

Bucky sighed, “All of it. Everything that went wrong on that last mission- the explosion, all those agents getting hurt-”

“What? You weren’t even the lead on that job- how is any of it your fault?” Heat rose in your chest. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Defending Bucky was your first instinct, your first priority. And while he accepted the shame with which Fury saddled him, you immediately turned to protection. To rage.

Bucky shrugged, “he said I’m the most experienced, so I should’ve known better than to let the lead take our team into the lab.”

“Wait- he said you should’ve argued with the mission lead?”

Bucky nodded.

“But didn’t he reprimand you last month for that exact reason?”

Again, he nodded.

“What the fuck?” Wrath sizzled beneath your skin. No one was allowed to treat Bucky this way- not even Fury. He contradicted himself and put his hypocrisy on full display, knowing Bucky hated himself too much to argue.

“I can-” Bucky’s voice came out hollow. Empty. Guilt had him in a chokehold. “I can see where he’s coming from…”

“No, don’t do that.” It wasn’t a reprimand- but a reminder. You laced your fingers with his, “You know it wasn’t your fault.”

He refused to make eye contact. “I mean, I could’ve spoken up-”

“You weren’t even with them, were you? Didn’t Fury tell you to hit the warehouse on your own?”

He nodded.

“So how is any of it your fault, Buck?” Fury sent Bucky into a tailspin with almost no effort. He knew exactly which buttons to push, which wires to pull. Fury made him his puppet, his scapegoat. He made Bucky work harder than anyone else and never delivered the praise he deserved. Instead, he met Bucky’s efforts with tongue-lashings and bitter insults. With blame.

“I don’t…” he shrugged. “I don’t know- but it feels like it’s on me. A lot of people got hurt and I am the most experienced. I should’ve said something-”

“But if you did, Fury would’ve called you into his office to tell you that you’re arrogant- like he did last time.” A deep breath filled your lungs and calmed your system; anger wouldn’t help Bucky. You needed to channel that energy into comforting him, easing his mind.

You softened your tone, “You know you can’t win with him, Buck.”

“Maybe because I tried to kill him… twice.” Finally, he looked at you, “And I can handle being called arrogant- those agents got hurt, doll. That’s different.”

“I know it’s different. I’m just saying… you weren’t involved. You did what you were told- what Fury told you to do.” Your hand cupped his cheek, he leaned into your touch. “And if he wants to get mad at you for that, he’s a piece of shit. He knows he fucked up, and he’s pinning it on you.”

Bucky pulled you close. He curled in on himself with you at his center, his head resting against your chest. The logical part of his brain believed everything you said. It disregarded Fury’s false accusations and willed the blame to dissipate. But the rest of him took Fury’s every word as gospel. It rejected your assurances, categorizing them as obligatory kindness from a significant other. Shame feasted on his soul. He didn’t want to feel this way, but it came easily. By now, it was second nature.

“Thanks, doll…” He lifted his head and brought his face to yours, “I appreciate you.” He meant it; no one ever supported him like this. But you always listened. You were always there for him, even when he was too ashamed to look you in the eye. You showed him patience and kindness and led him out of the dark more times than he could count.

He dotted a few soft kisses to your lips, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Wait-” Your hand caught his as he tried to get up, “I love you.”

A shy smile pulled at Bucky’s lips. He once again met your lips with his, needier this time. “And I love you.”

He stripped off his shirt and, immediately, your eyes landed on it. By now, you knew better than to stare. But sometimes, you couldn’t stop yourself.

The first time it caught your eye, you couldn’t avert your gaze. You noticed it right away- how could you not? It drew your focus the first moment Bucky removed his shirt in front of you. You didn’t think anything could ever distract you from his perfect body- but you were wrong.

A massive bruise splashed across Bucky’s skin. The cluster of broken blood vessels was dark at the center- nearly black. It exploded into by purples and blues that stained his right shoulder and eclipsed his chest. Sometimes, an angry, red haze leaked from the edges like a wine stain. Greens and yellows- signs of healing- colored the border every now and then. But no matter how many times you bore witness, they never seemed to overtake the tones of violet and navy.

For whatever reason, this thing refused to heal.

On more occasions than you could count, you asked Bucky about this large indigo mark. And he always had an answer:

“Ran through a wall”

“Jumped out of a plane”

“That John Walker asshole hit me with Steve’s shield”

He did, indeed, have a dangerous job and a penchant for peril. For taking risks. But no one else on the team ever seemed to have a bruise like that. Even you received your fair share of stitches and broken ribs, but never anything as persistent as Bucky’s bruise.

Wasn’t he a super soldier? Wasn’t he supposed to heal fast- really fast? His other injuries disappeared like they’d never happened; why did this bruise stick around?

“I think you need to get that looked at,” you told him once, “it can’t be good that it never heals...”

Bucky shrugged it off with a smile. He kissed you on the forehead and thanked you for your concern. But he didn’t get it checked out. He downplayed the massive bruise eclipsing his body and moved on, just like he always did.

“What are you lookin’ at?” Bucky quirked a brow at you, his shy smile making another appearance.

You shrugged, “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It’s not- it’s not that bad,” Bucky did his best to hide his bruise with his vibranium hand, but the colors extended far past what he could cover. “I’m used to it.”

Something had to be wrong with him, right? Something inside his body had to be out of order. The first time you saw it- the first time you saw him without his shirt- was six months ago. How long could a bruise last? And how long did he have it before he showed it to you?

Why hadn’t the serum fixed it by now?

Bucky was well past his expiration date. He lived more years than the universe intended, and his body suffered enough trauma for a hundred lifetimes. He was strong, he was a survivor. But every time you stole a glance at the inky spot on his skin, anxiety blocked your airway. Part of you wondered if this mark signaled his end. There was a chance that his body already started breaking down, that all those years of abuse caught up with him. Maybe his bruise was a harbinger. Maybe his days were numbered. Maybe he was dying.

Maybe you were about to lose him.

Those kinds of thoughts pushed bile into your throat. You shoved them into the darkest corners of your mind and did your best to lock them away, but they reappeared from time to time just to hurt you. Taunt you. Bring you to tears. And while Bucky made his way into the bathroom and turned on the hot water, you remained fixated on the inky spot. On his demise.

Bucky did his best to let the shower cleanse his mind. He told himself he’d let it all go- all the guilt and the blame. He knew he didn’t deserve it. But his shame didn’t run down the drain. It didn’t wash away with the warm spray of the shower. No, he remained coated in it, dripping with it, no matter how hard he scrubbed. And though it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, he never welcomed its reemergence.

A sliver of levity wriggled into his chest as he emerged from the bathroom. He found you reading in bed, your brows knit together in that cute way he loved. But your focus shattered when he stepped into the bedroom. He watched you dogear your page and shut your book as he climbed into bed.

“You don’t have to stop reading because of me, doll-”

“I was only reading while I waited for you,” you extended a hand in his direction and tugged him closer. He didn’t need to know that you only opened your book to distract from your crippling anxiety about his condition. He didn’t need to know that you read the same paragraph over and over and over without retaining a word. “Now that you’re here, I don’t need any other form of entertainment.”

“Is that so?” He narrowed his eyes at you and gestured to the book resting on your chest, “I’m better than Dracula?”

“Way better. So, the guy drinks blood and sleeps in a coffin-” You shot him a wink and knocked your book to the floor, “big whoop.” A dramatic eye roll and a quick laugh accompanied your comments about Bram Stoker’s masterpiece. But a sudden seriousness banished your playful tone as you gave Bucky a once over. He didn’t look any better- not that he ever looked bad. But the hot shower did nothing to help him relax. All his muscles remained taught. His brow still furrowed. The tension in his jaw seemed to turn to concrete. He was hurting.

“How you doin’, Buck?” A gentle hand smoothed over his shoulder and slid down his arm. “You okay?”

A manufactured smile spread across his face. His shoulders rose and fell in an all too casual shrug. “I’m fine- I’m good.” He couldn’t seem to maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds.

Another tug of his hand brought him closer. “You don’t seem fine…”

“No, really. I’m okay,” he brought your hand to his lips and pressed kisses to your palm. He was the farthest thing from okay; it was written all over his face. And though he did his best to put on a façade for you, you saw through the cracks. A heaviness lurked behind the grin he wore. A deep sadness darkened his gaze. You knew he probably spent the entirety of his shower replaying Fury’s words and berating himself within an inch of his life.

An extra helping of guilt dropped upon Bucky’s shoulders as he studied you. One of your nails dug into the cuticle of another. Your smile remained tight and tense. He could practically see the anxiety surging through your nervous system. And it was all his fault. You were worried about him, upset about him. How could he do this to you when you brough him nothing but peace?

He found it in him to take a deep breath, to let his shoulders fall a fraction of an inch. “It’s just gonna take a little time for me to get out of the shitty headspace Fury put me in. I’ll be alright-” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, “I promise.”

Fucking Fury. He seemed to allow everyone else chance after chance; he granted grace to every other member of the team. Everyone but Bucky. “You wanna get some sleep, then?” you cupped Bucky’s cheek, “hopefully, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Bucky nodded. He reached over and flipped off his bedside lamp before giving his pillow a few adjustments. He got settled under the covers and waited for you to do the same- but you didn’t. You laid there, watching him.

“You gonna turn your lamp off, doll?”

“Not until you’re all situated.”

Bucky looked down at his perfectly arranged covers and then back at you, “I’m um, I think I’m settled, baby.”

You quirked a brow at him, “Are you though? Come on-” you found his hand under the covers and pulled him closer. “Assume the position, Barnes.”

He let out a labored, tired laugh. “Baby, thank you, but I can’t. My hair’s still wet, you’re gonna be cold-”

“I don’t care- you had a rough day.” You could practically see the war raging within Bucky’s psyche. He was dying to crawl into your embrace a disappear into your warmth. But he couldn’t- not tonight.

“It’s okay, doll. You don’t have to, it’s-”

“Come onnn, Buck. You knowwww you waaaant toooooo.” You gave your chest a few light pats, beckoning him to you. “I know it always makes you feel better.”

Of course, he wanted to. Something about resting his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, and feeling your hands in his hair eased his soul. Even on his darkest, most soul-crushing days, he found solace with you. But guilt still gnawed at him; Fury’s rant played on a constant loop inside his head. And after what he’d supposedly done, he didn’t feel as though he deserved your love.

“Baby, I know you feel bad; And I know you’re trying to deprive yourself. But guilty or not- which you are not-” you gave his hand a squeeze, “you deserve comfort.”

A touch of heartbreak colored your voice. You were desperate to help Bucky, nearly begging him to grant himself some grace. Some care. In his attempts to hurt himself by staying far from your embrace, he’d hurt you instead. He’d made you sad, filled you with worry. He wondered if he’d ever be able to do anything right.

In an instant, he did as you asked; he’d do anything to make you feel better. His head rested against your chest, his wet hair dampening your shirt. It sent a rush of goosebumps over your skin- but you didn’t care. A deep sigh left Bucky’s chest as he melted against you. He often swore his body was made to fit yours, that he only existed to touch and be touched by you.

“See? Isn’t that better?”

“Mhmm…” he sighed, “much.”

You ran a hand through his wet hair, “Good. Now, let’s get some sleep. Okay?” You flicked off your lamp and wrapped your arms around Bucky, willing every ounce of your love into his body. He’d feel better in the morning- you knew he would. He just needed time and rest and a little love. And you gave him more than he ever dreamed of.

But around two in the morning, a strange sound vibrated on the edges of your consciousness. The dense ‘thud’repeated endlessly, like an eternal metronome. It resounded inside your head, mixing itself in with your dream until it finally woke you.

With your face still smushed into your pillow, you muttered Bucky’s name. The sound stopped- maybe you imagined it. Maybe it really was just part of your dream. Silence settled over your room once again and lulled you back to sleep.

But only a few minutes later, that sound woke you once again.

Your words came out sloppy, heavy with sleep. “Whass tha noise?”

No answer.

“Baby,” you said, more alert this time, “You hear that?”

Bucky didn’t respond.

With a groan, you forced your eyes open. There was no sign of disturbance or struggle; nothing out of the ordinary caught your eye. Everything was in its place- except Bucky. And when you pressed your palm against his side of the bed, the sheets lacked any remnants of his warmth.

This wasn’t like him- not anymore, anyway. Back when you first got together, Bucky left the room when he woke from a night terror. He’d slip out of bed and escape to the living room, forcing himself to withstand his panic attack all alone. But one night, you found him on the living room floor- desperate for breath. He clutched the corner of the rug and gritted his teeth, willing the anxiety to receded.

He flinched when you touched him; he didn’t hear you approach over the pounding in his ears. But the second he saw you, he reached for you. His sickly white knuckles regained their color as he released his fists and collapsed against you. He dropped his head into your lap, falling forward with the weight of his trauma. And he allowed your voice to soothe his racing mind. He let you guide him out of the agony.

Of course, he apologized for waking you. For inconveniencing you. Of course, you wouldn’t hear it. And when the panic finally subsided, he let you walk him back to bed. He buried his face in your chest and thanked you a million times over. After that night, you made him promise to wake you when these things happened- no matter what time it was. You made him promise not to suffer in silence. And he agreed.

You didn’t know he had his fingers crossed.

“Buck?” the anxious pounding of your heart boomed in your chest. “Baby?” You kicked the blankets from your body and abandoned your bed. Slivers of light made their way through the blinds and splashed across the floor, allowing you to search through the darkness. He wasn’t sitting on the floor or in the armchair near the window. Nor did you find him in the en suite bathroom.

“Bucky?” The hall was empty and the office void of Bucky’s presence. And while you searched for him, the sound refused to cease. It echoed through seemingly every fiber of the apartment. It haunted every space. Unfounded worries threw themselves at you, fighting to topple you to the ground. What if Bucky was hurt? What if he was gone?

No- he was fine. Of course, he was. Right? He had to be. The home you shared was safe. Nothing here could hurt or harm him in any way.

Well, maybe not nothing.

The thudding of your heart grew loud in your ears, nearly eclipsing the mystery sound all together. Part of you even doubted the existence of the noise- maybe it was just your anxiety getting to you. Maybe Bucky was in the kitchen grabbing a late-night snack, perfectly safe and happy.

But when you rounded the corner into the living room, all doubt fell away. Shards of your heart did the same as you stood in shock, watching the source of the sound reveal itself.

Bucky sat on the floor near the window, his back resting against the couch.

His metal fist hammered against his right shoulder again and again, beating the flesh a sickly blue.

The utter shock stole your breath, forcing it violently from your lungs. A burning erupted from your chest and spread through your every cell like wildfire. The floor seemed to tilt and ripple as a wave of dizziness sent you nearly collapsing into the closest wall. And through all of it, the sound persisted. The sickly thud of metal striking skin, striking bone.

But there was no time for your shock or sadness or heartbreak. Bucky needed you.

“Buck? Hey-” In only a few strides, you made your way to his side. But he didn’t look at you. He didn’t meet your eyes when you sat down in front of him, nor did he stop his assault. “Bucky, baby, can you look at me?”

He didn’t. He simply forced his hand against his chest over and over, no matter the pain.

“Bucky,” you didn’t recognize your own voice. It came out more strained, more desperate than you’d ever heard it. The sight of Bucky doing this to himself almost made you sick, the sound covered you in goosebumps. A flood of saliva rushed into your mouth, warning you of the impending threat of vomit- but you forced it down.

Every time you asked about it, every time you wondered what caused that bruise- you never imagined it was self-inflicted.

“I need you to stop, okay?” Your words came out frantic, “Can you- can you just look at me for a second?”

His hollow gaze remained fixed on the floor. Anguish twisted his features, pulling his face into a pained mask. But his eyes held no life.

“Please-” your palm landed on his bruised shoulder mere seconds before the next strike. The force of his vibranium fist was sure to shatter your hand, but you didn’t care. You’d do anything to stop him from hurting himself. Anything to ease his pain. And if you couldn’t make him stop, maybe you could soften the blow.

But just as his fist once again neared his shoulder, he stopped. “Move,” his voice was low, almost timid.

“No.”

“Doll,” his eyes remained downcast, “I need you to move your hand.”

You refused. “I’m not gonna move, Buck. I’m not gonna let you hurt yourself.”

Finally, he dragged his shame-filled gaze upward. His despondent look sliced through you, cutting right to the bone. This was worse than the vacant stare he wore moments ago; this was utter misery. “Please…” his voice caught in his throat, barely pushing its way past the tension. “Move.”

But your hand remained; you’d keep it there until the end of time if you had to.

Warm, salty tears breached your lips as you spoke, and only then did you realize you were crying. “Buck, why are you doing this?”

“Because I know you won’t.” He clenched and unclenched his metal fist in a never-ending cycle, itching to resume his efforts. “None of you will. Not Sam. Not Hill. Not ever Fury. So, I have to.”

“Of course, we won’t. Why- Why would we?” It was an unfathomable thought.

“I need- I deserve to be punished. I deserve to face consequences for my actions.” The words fell from his lips in what resembled a recitation, like he had a script to follow. Like he’d said this before. “There are always consequences…” Again, he pulled his hand into a fist; the vibranium whined under his strength. “There have to be consequences.”

“There were consequences- your meeting with Fury? That was the consequence.”

He shook his head, “It’s not enough- people got hurt.”

“It’s more than enough…” With your free hand, you reached for Bucky’s cold fist. He resisted at first, almost scared to be without his method of punishment. But he never could resist your touch. One at a time, you uncurled his fingers from his tight fist. You pressed his cold palm against your chest and held it there, allowing the beat of your heart to vibrate through the metal. “Especially because you didn’t do anything wrong. People got hurt- but it’s not your fault.”

Bucky ached to maim himself. He needed to feel pain. Needed to get what he thought he deserved. But he couldn’t bring himself to tear his hand from your chest. And though you blocked his bruise and made punishment impossible, he liked the way your palm felt against his black and blue skin. It was the one part of him you always shied away from for fear of hurting the already tender flesh. But your touch soothed the deep ache.

“Baby, how…” you swallowed the lump forming in your throat, “how often do you do this?” You weren’t sure you wanted the answer; just the thought of Bucky doing this to himself day in and day out filled your chest with storm clouds. But you needed to know.

His words held a deep shame, “Whenever I deserve it.”

“Buck, you’ve had that bruise for at least six months...”

He shrugged, “I deserve it a lot.”

Everything inside you burst into flames. You wanted to tear Hydra apart, to destroy them for what they did to Bucky. They altered his sense of self so violently, so irreparably, that they changed who he saw in the mirror. He viewed himself only as a vehicle for destruction, a receptacle for other peoples’ wrongs. They drilled into him an acceptance of abuse, of pain, of torture. And now, he didn’t know how to operate without it.

“No, you don’t- you don’t deserve this.” A small quiver forced its way into your voice, “even if this whole thing was your fault- which it wasn’t- you wouldn’t deserve to be hurt.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Sometimes, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t comprehend the sentiment that he didn’t deserve pain and suffering; that he wasn’t always to blame. It was almost like you spoke different languages. Shuri may have eliminated the Winter Soldier programming and rendered his trigger words useless, but she couldn’t remove his shame. His guilt. His instinct to assume blame.

“I can’t do anything right-” His right hand gripped the edge of the rug. He needed some way to release his tension, his anxiety. The fabric bunched inside his fist and twisted with his every move.

“It seems like no matter what I do- or don’t do- someone ends up hurt. That says something about me, doesn’t it?”

“No. It doesn’t.” You slowly removed your hand from his metal wrist and found his right fist. He eased the tension in his grip with your help and released the corner of the rug. It fell crumpled against the hardwood, struggling to regain its shape. “Buck, you always say that you blame yourself because you think you’re a bad person. But I actually think you blame yourself because you’re a good person.”

He gave a small shake of his head.

“You’re willing to shoulder whatever guilt or blame other people put on you- regardless of whether you deserve it- because you’re not selfish.” He was, in fact, the least selfish person in the world. He’d set himself on fire to keep you warm. Would move heaven and earth to make you smile. He was loyal, devoted. He cared about you, about his friends, without ever putting himself first.

“And you haven’t buried yourself in ego or pride like some of the other guys we work with.”

Bucky let out a soft laugh.

No, he didn’t bury himself in ego; he had no ego. His self-image wasn’t inflated or overexaggerated. He just wanted to do his best. To help. To offset with light some of the darkness he caused.

“And maybe it’s your way of seeking redemption- not that you need to be redeemed,” you gave his hand a squeeze. “But maybe part of you feels like if you accept enough responsibility, it’ll make up for the things you were forced to do as the Winter Soldier.”

He let out a sigh from somewhere deep within him, somewhere he didn’t know he had. It seemed to him like he’d been holding on to this truth, this breath, since the day he escaped. And here, in the darkness, he released it. “I just… I don’t want to be the bad guy anymore.”

“That’s the thing Buck,” you gently stroked a few fingertips across his massive bruise, “You never were.”

His forehead fell against yours. The two of you sat there, motionless, for what felt like forever. Cars moved on the streets below. Thunder rolled through the sky. Rain drops tapped against the large windows. But neither of you noticed.

“If I move this hand-” you tapped your once again fingers against his bruised shoulder, “are you gonna do it again?”

He shook his head.

With great hesitancy, you removed your palm from the evidence of his self-inflicted punishment. It looked worse in the eerie 2am lighting, like a black hole formed on his skin; you feared it might envelope him completely if you let it. Your lips replaced your hand, leaving the softest of kisses across his skin. Bucky let loose a small sound- something like a whimper- as you traced the bruise with your mouth. He let a few tears slip down his cheeks.

“Thank you…”

You took a moment to drink him in. He was stronger than humanly possible. Hugely muscular. Nearly indestructible. But in the middle of the night on the floor of your living room, he looked so small. So fragile. His shoulders caved forward, and his read remained bowed. His voice wavered. His right hand shook ever so slightly. He was a man haunted, possessed by his past. Fearing the future. He was hurt. Broken. Lost in others’ perceptions of himself. He lay trapped under his need for validation from those around him. He sought approval from people who never dreamed of granting it.

You wondered if he’d ever be free from his ghosts, or if they’d follow him until he became one himself.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you pressed a kiss to his forehead. “All I ever want is to be there for you when you need me.” The tremor in your voice matched Bucky’s. Pure hurt rendered the air around you thick and heavy. You ached for Bucky, and he, in return, ached to be anyone but himself.

“What do you wanna do? We can go back to bed. Or if you don’t feel like sleeping, we can hang out in here and watch some tv.” You ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, “Up to you.”

Bucky’s mind still raced. His brain sat stewing in a deep pit of sorrow and anguish. But he was tired- exhausted. And while his mind wanted to stay up for a while, he let his body decide. His chest and shoulder screamed with pain. His skin stung. Each breath forced a sharp agony into his consciousness; he knew he must’ve cracked a rib. “Let’s-” he grimaced as an inhale filled his lungs, “let’s go back to bed.”

As gently as you could, you helped Bucky from the floor. He smiled when your hand found his as you led him in the direction of the bedroom. The two of you shuffled down the dark hall in silence with no clue what to say. Bucky wanted to apologize; you wanted to drown him in promises of your love.

Bucky stopped short when you paused, almost running into you. You turned to him suddenly, eying his bruise in the dim light. “You go ahead, okay? I’m gonna grab you an ice pack.”

“Doll, thank you, but I’m fine-”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “does it hurt?”

He shrugged; the motion made him wince. “I mean, yeah. But it’s-”

“Exactly.” You pushed up on your tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek, “I’m gonna get you an ice pack. You get your ass to bed- I’ll be there in a second.”

Bucky whispered a ‘thank you’ and headed in the direction of the bedroom, leaving you alone. But just as he turned the corner down the hall, guilt wrapped around his ankles like a ball and chain. He was stuck; his need to apologize rendering him frozen. He watched you turn in the direction of the kitchen and wondered what he did to deserve you. “Hey, doll…” he called after you. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I promise.”

“But I-”

“You’re doing your best. You’re coping in the only way you know how. That’s not something to be sorry for.”

Bucky shrugged, winced, and disappeared into the bedroom, eager to escape your line of sight. Everything you did, you did for him. And though that knowledge should’ve eased Bucky’s soul, it only added to his guilt. He marked yet another tally to the long, long list of ways in which he didn’t deserve you.

The walk to the kitchen wasn’t long- but it provided a sliver of extra time for you to cope in private. If Bucky knew just how much this upset you, how heartbroken you were, he’d never forgive himself. He, instead, would add that knowledge to his ever-growing mountain of shame. He’d adopt a new method of self-punishment, something more subtle, easier to hide. And he’d never express his guilt or shame to you ever again, all to save your feelings. You couldn’t do that to him; he deserved an outlet, a sounding board, a space to vent. You’d never dream of robbing him of that.

“Alright, here we go,” you pushed open the bedroom door. “I got you one of the big ones, cause that thing is massive, and-” If you didn’t look up at the right moment, you would’ve crashed right into Bucky.

He stood near the foot of the bed, just inside the door, almost vibrating with anxiety. It rolled through him in waves and placed tremors in his hands. He didn’t stand a fighting chance.

His massive frame looming in the darkness almost blocked your path completely- and scared the hell out of you. “Shit-” You tripped over your own feet and stumbled backward, but Bucky wouldn’t let you fall.

He caught you in the nick of time, snatching you from the air and righting you on your feet. “Oh, hey- I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Without a word, you pressed the towel-wrapped ice pack to his skin. Though he detested the cold, the sensation awarded him much needed relief. A deep sigh left his chest as his pain receptors deadened and the constant, months-long throbbing subsided. This was the first thing to put his pain on pause in- he couldn’t remember how long.

You searched his face for any indicators of discomfort, “How does that feel?”

All he could do was nod. The two of you stood there a while as Bucky drank in the relief. The muscles in his shoulders released their tension, his breaths came a bit easier. But something dark lurked beneath his quiet surface.

“Such a gentleman, waiting for me to come back before getting in bed,” you threw him a wink.

Bucky’s attempted laugh came out broken, disjointed. To his credit, he tried to laugh for real. He wanted to put this whole night behind him and slide into bed with you. Under the covers, surrounded by your body heat, nothing could hurt him. The skeletons of his past couldn’t claw out of the ground and wreak havoc on his psyche. But a nagging dread yanked at his heart.

He couldn’t pretend things were resolved. He couldn’t forget his troubles and intertwine his body with yours like the knit of a well-loved sweater. The crushing weight of Fury’s blame sat atop his shoulders, growing heavier by the second. But he couldn’t find it in him to tell you, to ask you for help.

“Come on, let’s go back to sleep. Okay?” You tucked the ice pack into Bucky’s hand and started toward your side of the bed, “I know you’ve gotta be exhausted.”

But Bucky didn’t follow. He didn’t join you, didn’t even nod. He stood there, stuck, his feet anchored to the floor. The cold pack ate through his nerve endings until his hand went numb. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fill his lungs. They felt shallower, somehow- like they lost all capacity.

His deadened fingers fell open, allowing the ice pack to fall against the floor. The sound pulled your focus, halting your efforts to right the sheets and blankets.

“Buck?”

He didn’t answer.

“Hey…” Quick steps brought you face to face with his empty stare. “Is everything-”

His knees met the hardwood as the weight of his anxiety forced him into submission. He fell against the cold floor with a sickening thud, his body shaking with the force. His head bowed; his spine curved forward. Ragged inhales forced their way into his ever-constricting lungs.

“Please-” he begged through choppy breaths, “if you won’t let me do it myself, I need- I need you to.”

“Buck, I’m-”

“I need you to hurt me.”

His words gutted you.

“Baby, no.”

He begged over and over for punishment. For pain.

Bucky fell against you the moment you joined him on the floor. His head lay buried in your neck, his sharp breaths fanning your skin. He begged through the tears, through the torment, for pain. And you refused. Instead, you gave him the lightest, softest affections you could manage.

Under different circumstances, your gentle touch would’ve saved him. It would’ve brought him comfort in his moment of distress, grounded him during a bout of panic. But he didn’t want kind hands. For the first time, your soft touches prolonged the agony. The light circles you rubbed against his back filled him with impending doom. With misery. He wanted torture. Agony.

And even if he were dying, he’d willingly sacrifice his last breath to ask for punishment.

As carefully as you could, you helped Bucky lay down on the floor. How his body continued to run remained a mystery to you. He was drained, physically and emotionally. He was hurt. Panic ravaged his nervous system and pumped him full of cortisol. He was running on empty.

“Let’s try to relax a bit, okay? Let’s try to breathe-”

He shook his head against the rug, “No, I need- I need it. I need you to- can you…” His words came out weak- but desperate.

Your hands raked through his hair and massaged his knotted muscles. Over and over again, you swore your love to him. You showered him in assurances and words of kindness. And though he was grateful when sleep won him over, it didn’t stop his efforts. Even as he finally dozed off, he begged.

“P- please…” he sighed, his eyelids fluttering. “Need you… need you to.” His hand twitched, his brow furrowed. “Hurt- hurt me.” Hearing it didn’t get any easier.

For what must’ve been the millionth time, you refused.

And while Bucky slept in your arms, you remained wired. Every cell in your body swam in a cocktail adrenaline and cortisol. You wondered if you’d ever sleep again. Just when you thought Bucky’s story couldn’t get any darker, it seemed to do just that. His life was all shadows and wormholes wrapped in an inky abyss. No stars, no moon. Just shapeless, unsettling, endless night.

He deserved better.

The sun rose as you fell asleep. Your mind shut off; your body gave out. Thinking yourself in circles while Bucky slept in the safety of your arms depleted your every ounce of energy. Worrying this much didn’t seem healthy; you didn’t think it was even possible to feel such deep concern. You never knew how taxing crying could be. But Bucky was worth it- hands down.

No part of you wanted to fall asleep; Bucky couldn’t be left unsupervised. But a biological need for rest demanded you get some shut eye. And while you slept off the gut-wrenching night you’d spent with Bucky, anxiety seeped into your dreams. Images of Bucky maiming himself flashed behind your eyes. You saw him bloodying his body, abusing himself. His bruise haunted you.

Waking in bed threw you for a loop. Only a few hours ago, you’d dozed off on the throw rug covering your bedroom floor. But when you opened your eyes, you found yourself snuggled under the duvet with Bucky’s body under yours. His arms held you tight, your face nuzzled into his neck. This was how things were supposed to be.

It was then you realized- your head lay against his bruise. Even in your sleep, you did your best to protect him from himself. He wouldn’t dare strike his shoulder and risk hurting you. But the weight of your skull had to hurt him, didn’t it? He was sore, miserably so. Just the pressure of your palm resting against his bruise the night before made him wince- surely, your head was too much. With the utmost caution, you pulled your head from his chest.

“It’s okay- doesn’t hurt,” his voice was weak, full of exhaustion. You didn’t know he was awake.

“Oh. Okay, good. I, um,” you looked around for a few seconds. “I don’t remember getting in bed.”

“We didn’t- well, you didn’t.” He couldn’t believe that after everything he put you through the previous night- all the pain, the heartache, the worry- he let you fall asleep on the floor. It was selfish of him, inconsiderate. He should’ve insisted that you get in bed. He should’ve done what you asked and crawled under the covers with you. He failed you- again. “I didn’t want you to sleep on the floor…”

Your lips met his skin in a chain of soft kisses, “You know I don’t mind.”

“But I do,” he returned every kiss you granted him.

He woke nearly half an hour after you finally dozed off and found you curled up against him. Your head rested against the cold hard wood; the itchy rug left marks against your skin. A small shiver rattled up your spine and pushed you closer to Bucky’s warm embrace; it was too cold for you to sleep without a blanket. His body begged him to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t- not yet. He lifted you from the floor, his shoulder aching with the effort, and tucked you into bed with all the care in the world. Only then could he fall asleep once again.

“I’m sorry about- about all of it,” he said. “Last night was-”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you pulled your face from his chest, “I just wanna know what that was about.”

Bucky hoped that acting innocent would save him. “What?” Maybe if he pretended like he didn’t know what you were talking about, you’d move on. Maybe you’d tell him to forget it and save him the explanation. You didn’t.

“When you asked me to…” you gave a small shake of your head, “to hurt you.” The pain in your voice sliced through Bucky. He wondered if words could make him bleed.

“Oh. Yeah. That was… I was out of line,” his jaw tensed. “That wasn’t okay. I know I made you uncomfortable- I’m sorry. I never wanna upset you. I was being stupid. And selfish. It wasn’t fair of me-”

The shame practically dripped from Bucky’s lips. You could almost see in running down his chin, staining his skin. He expressed his remorse for things that weren’t his fault, for things he couldn’t control. He told you how sorry he was for his trauma responses and the anxiety that held him hostage. Maybe one day, he’d believe you when you told him he didn’t have to apologize. Today was not that day.

“I’m just worried about you, Buck. And I wanna help in any way I can-” you took a deep breath, “I just can’t help in that way.”

“I know.”

“Can you maybe tell me- can you help me understand?”

He remained silent for a long while. If he stayed quiet long enough, he could avoid any further distress on your part. With his silence, he could provide solace. But no. You had a penchant for knowing what made Bucky tick, no matter the pain it caused you.

Your unflinching stare drilled through him until he couldn’t take it any longer. “I needed you to hurt me because that’s what I’m used to. I’m used to punishment,” he finally said. “Because when I fucked up at Hydra, there were consequences. They’d beat me within an inch of my life to get the message across.”

Of course, this was a sad truth you already knew. But hearing it aloud- from his lips- gutted you. The image of a cowering, broken Bucky sent bile rushing up your throat. You could see him lying in a cell somewhere, his blood staining the concrete as Rumlow tore him apart. And of course, he’d never fight back- he couldn’t. Not unless ordered to.

“And now, that’s what I’m accustomed to,” he rested a hand against his bruise, almost on instinct. “I don’t know how to operate without it. I thought I’d be happy to never experience it again but… I feel like I need it.”

Showing Bucky kindness and understanding sat atop your priority list- but you couldn’t grasp his perspective. It didn’t make sense. He lived a life so foreign to you, so utterly other, that the things he said often left you confused. While the two of you had many similarities and things in common, some experiences would simply never be relatable. Some stories could never be shared.

And similar to how Bucky couldn’t understand your flagrant disregard for locking the front door, you couldn’t fathom why he’d beat himself blue.

“Why, Buck?” It wasn’t that you wanted to know. No, the truth could only serve to hurt you. But you needed to understand. You needed to untangle every knot within Bucky’s psyche and help mend his frayed edges. In order to help him, you had to first grasp his perspective. “Why do you ‘need’ it?”

“Because I know I deserve it.” The words came out course, almost aggressive. Bucky shot you a sheepish look, his method of a wordless apology. The next time he spoke, his voice was softer, his tone more even. “I’ve been conditioned to expect it. And waiting for that pain is- it’s torture. It’s almost worse than the punishment itself.”

He thought back on all the beatings he received as result of fucking up missions. On one occasion, they broke all twelve of his ribs in one sitting. Another time, they turned almost his entire body blue with bruises. But the times they made him wait it out were far worse than any bloodshed. He jumped at every sound, lost the ability to think. To sleep. To breathe. Every moment fell prey to the anticipation of agony. Bucky shuddered.

“I keep expecting pain. I feel like I have to look over my shoulder.” The urge to tear himself apart scratched at the inside of Bucky’s skull. If he could just deliver his punishment- if he could just get what he knew was coming- he’d be okay. By destroying his body, he could soothe his mind. But with you so close, staring at him with your blood shot, heartbroken eyes, he was stuck. “It’s like this sense of impending doom that doesn’t end unless I get what I know is coming.”

Things fell quiet as you thought over his words. Anxiety was an old friend you knew well. It accompanied you through everything, never leaving your side for more than a few days. But what Bucky described- that was the stuff of nightmares. That was misery.

“Hang on,” you tripped over a detail in his story, “then what happened last night?” You didn’t mean to sound skeptical- it wasn’t like that at all. You believed every word Bucky said. One part, however, didn’t quite make sense. “Last night, you got your punishment. You got the pain. Why did you ask me to-”

He sighed, “Last night was different. You caught me. I had to stop- I’ve never done that before. I’ve never stopped right in the middle. I was only out there a little while before you found me.” His vibranium hand pulled into a fist and slowly released. He did this time and time again as the urge hurt himself gnawed at him. “I didn’t do enough. It felt like holding in a sneeze or something. And when we came in here to go to sleep, I still had this sense of looming pain, an impending punishment. And I knew you wouldn’t let me give it to myself. So, I asked you to do it.”

The far-away look in his eye dissolved as he came screeching back to the present. Guilt dragged his features downward into a near scowl. “But I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry.” The remorse weighed more than he could shoulder. If he thought he knew what guilt felt like before, he was wrong.

“It’s okay, Buck.” You knew the memory of Bucky begging you for punishment would haunt you forever. It took up prime real estate in your mind and cut you deeper each time you paid it attention. But he couldn’t help it; this was part of his journey. When you started dating Bucky, you knew he wasn’t a ‘regular’ person. Darkness and demons followed him wherever he went, filling his mind with horrors most people could never imagine. Of course, there were going to be speed bumps and rough patches on the road of your relationship. But he never did anything with malice in his heart. He was simply trying to survive. “I know you’re just doing your best-”

“My best is pretty shitty.”

He was always so callous with himself, so unforgiving. It wasn’t fair. “Baby, you’ve made a lot of progress.” He was a completely different person than he was a few months ago. He’d worked hard every day to wade through his trauma and find himself on the other side- all while saving the world. “But it doesn’t all have to happen at once. You can’t heal from everything in one fell swoop. It’s not linear. It’s a slow process-”

“Really slow.” He let out a huff and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Part of him wanted to run; he couldn’t believe he’d subjected you- the kindest, most loving person on earth- to this corner of his awful reality. But he knew being without you was a fate worse than death. Worse than Hydra.

“I don’t want to do this-” he motioned toward his bruise. “I don’t want to hurt myself. But I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to heal the part of me that’s always looking over my shoulder for a punishment.”

You smoothed his hair back and let your hand drift down his cheek, “You don’t have to do it on your own, Buck. Maybe you should talk to someone-”

He shot you a pointed look.

“Not Dr. Raynor. Someone else. Someone with empathy.”

Bucky gave a firm nod and a quiet laugh. “Okay, yeah. That works.

“And in the meantime, whenever you feel that impulse, I want you to tell me, okay? I want to help you through in whatever way I can.”

He tried to protest, but you silenced him. “I’m in this with you- full stop. I’m with you for all the hard stuff and the things you hate about yourself. I’m always in your corner.”

He snaked his arms around you and pulled you as close as possible, relishing in the feeling of your heart beating against his skin.

“This is a pain-free household, okay? We don’t do punishments here. We don’t hurt ourselves, and we don’t hurt each other.” You wiggled a hand free and offered Bucky your pinky, “promise?”

Not hurting you was a given; Bucky would never dream of causing you pain. But refraining from hurting himself was another story. The need sometimes possessed him, drove him to harm himself when the guilt grew too heavy. The look in your eyes, though, pushed him to promise you. You held such love for him, such adoration. And he knew you meant every word you said. You were going to help him through, to support him, no matter what.

He linked his pinky with yours, “Promise.”

“Good.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away, “hey, do you have Fury’s address?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side, “Uh, yeah. I think it’s in my notebook in the office. Why?”

In one swift motion, you slithered from Bucky’s arms and slid out of bed. “Oh, no reason,” you sighed as you headed for the door, “I’m just gonna egg his house.”

———————

Taglist: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @evangeliamerryll @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo

1K notes · View notes

merrivia · 1 year

Text

Thinking today about Damen and how and why he’s disconnected from his emotions, particularly when it comes to the trauma of violence and killing. When he throws the sword to save Laurent in PG, we only realise how much it affected him because of Laurent’s reactions, not his.

This scene is more that just a milestone in terms of Damen’s romantic feelings for Laurent. I mean, it is about that primarily. This is love and care starting to truly blossom, as we can see in the aftermath with his overwhelming concern for Laurent’s safety:

He lands on one knee (ouch 🥺). The rough voice (the anxiety he felt 🥺). The way he’s checking Laurent’s body, ensuring he’s unhurt and okay (😔). We can see through Laurent’s stillness that he is overwhelmed by Damen’s strength, by what he has sacrificed to protect him. It’s one of the most famous scenes in the trilogy for a reason.

But that’s not all that’s going on. Laurent is genuinely apologetic that Damen had to kill an Akielon in this way, and is going to have to retrieve his sword (pulling it out of the man’s torso) and hide the body. I mean the fact that Laurent has to tell Damen to do that is really revealing- Damen knows better than to leave the body. He’s reeling from what he’s done.

All of the emotional weight is carried in the phrasing of “when it was finished” and “…was all he said”. Damen has to put it completely out of his mind, can’t say anymore, or doesn’t. He’s killed an Akielon and is hurting but can’t express it.

Laurent sees that clearly and says so when he sits with him by the fire:

Whatever was on Damen’s face, whatever he was feeling, we as the reader are not told. Laurent sees it though and I think it must have been something close to anguish. And Laurent doesn’t dismiss this as just loyalty to Akielos, either. He sees him in this moment and in doing so acknowledges that Damen is not a mindless killer. That it’s not easy; that it’s never easy.

Damen’s response is really interesting too. He deliberately misunderstands and comes at it sideways. He knows what Laurent is saying, but doesn’t address it. Instead what he says is: I have been trained to be a soldier and that means killing with no hesitation. And I’m experienced, I’ve done it, many times. He doesn’t want to engage with the pain, or the guilt that comes with killing, he can’t, because if he does…if he stops and acknowledges that, it could destroy him. It’s not just Laurent who can compartmentalise well.

Laurent sees through this misdirection. He knows that Damen understood what he meant. Killing always comes at a cost.

And if that’s true, then Damen didn’t slaughter Auguste like an animal, but fought him and killed him like a man. Until Laurent’s perspective shifts on that, he can’t love him back.

Maybe also Laurent is the only person who has seen this side of Damen. Who acknowledges his humanity and conscience and addresses that emotional cost with him. Damen has been forced to lock so much of his emotions away and you can see here the start of how Laurent will unlock that side of him, which we will see continue in The Summer Palace.

I just think that emotional uncovering and closeness is so important and it’s why I love their relationship.

#captive prince #meta #lamen #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #damen x laurent #capri #just feeling a bit emotional today I guess

406 notes · View notes

kyberphilosopher · 4 years

Text

Wʜᴀᴛ I'ᴍ Tʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ Aʙᴏᴜᴛ

“Go ahead and cry little girl... I know how much it matters to you...I'd do whatever I could do. I'd run away and hide with you.”

Word Count: 4176

“He doesn’t care what she tells him or what they talk about, he just loves to hear the sound of her voice. Even better if she has to tell him twice. On the other hand, this could insinuate that he either has a bad memory, is distracted, or is so infatuated with her he can’t concentrate on what she’s telling him.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Everybody on the Mantis seemed to be filled to the brim with something that could never be alleviated.

Things stung like a sunburn... one that was plastered to their brains and wouldn’t go away. Even when the sun would implode in on itself six billion years later, the pink marks and scars wouldn’t fade. All their problems ran so deep- arguably too deep. What could they have done but sat and waited for it to leave them?

Greez Dritus couldn’t stop gambling. The rush of it all... the chance of losing and dying and escaping it each time made him feel invincible. Even when he would lose, it felt so good. It felt right, fated. Godly, even. It nearly destroyed his relationships... almost got one of his crew members killed... but Greez had come back to save him! Not that he needed saving... but it counted for something, didn’t it?

[It didn’t.]

Cere Junda did what she could to let the guilt go. First, she tried confronting it. Then she tried burying it down. Neither of these made her feel any better. She tried meditating, eating, starving, sleeping, ignoring, embracing, and redirecting the guilt. Anything to defer the pain, instead of accepting it. But the more Cere deferred, the more the guilt grew. And the more the guilt grew, the more Cere shrank.

Merrin felt angry too often. Even for her own liking. It was just that, sometimes if she thought too long, or shut her eyes too tight, she could remember her childhood. She could remember being patient and small, just as willing to learn as her fellow nightsisters. She could remember that all was well. But Merrin could also remember the day the armored man came with the droids, and how she wouldn’t have to be patient until she was left alone with no one but the dead.

And Cal Kestis... Cal Kestis might’ve had the worst of it. The man suffered of no addictions, nor physical ailments. On the contrary, in fact. His body was broad and promising from work as a Rigger. Flexible and taut. It was his mind and emotions that was couldn’t seem to function properly.

But it was different from Cere and Merrin’s trauma. It was more intensified, focused, raw on both guilt and loss at once. Cal had been in a complete state of agony since he was twelve years old, since he had held his master’s hand while he died. Master Topal had died for him, after all. Maybe it was for the best that Cal be the one to live with the blame.

Cal thought about this every day. He thought about what he not only could’ve done, but should’ve done. He thought about all the people he’d never be able to love again, and why he didn’t deserve it anyway. Maybe he did have an addiction. Maybe Cal Kestis just loved making himself feel so bad over something nobody but himself hated him for.

It’s not like you were much better.

You felt incredibly heavy with the weight of all the secrets you’d been asked to keep. Strained with all the tapestries of misery you’d been tasked to weave. You were a Slicer, which wasn’t the most morally corrupt job, but it certainly made you feel morally corrupt yourself. Because you doubled as a bounty hunter, you were forced to choose yourself over others. Usually, yourself over the people and things you were turning in.

Once, you had sliced into a mans datapad in search of information you had been tasked with deleting. On this datapad, you found names. Names of children, anywhere between the ages of eight to sixteen, sold off into various different rings. A girl named Aheka Shyn was training to be a medic when she was abruptly kidnapped and sent off to make spice. A boy named Garreth was only fourteen when he’d been stolen from his junk home planet, instead to be sent to an Imperial fighting ring. And you had desperately wanted to send the man to the authorities, arrest him yourself- anything. But if you didn’t delete what you had found, you would’ve starved to death that night.

So you deleted what you found.

There were several more occasions like this, and all of them haunted your memory. You were not a bad person, or even a neutral person. You were much worse. You were a bystander, a failure, the farthest anyone could get from a hero. And you refused to blame anybody but yourself for this revelation.

You would not hate your father, nor blame your actions or lack thereof on the issues he had given you. You would not blame your mother, your brother, your sister- anyone you may or may not have in your life. You wouldn’t blame the first boy who ever broke your heart, or the first girl who had ever let your hands wander against her for false fame. It was you, all you, and if you wanted otherwise, you should’ve given otherwise.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

There are a lot of people in this world, and the next, who find sex to be pleasurable. Sometimes it’s for selfless reasons, and sometimes it’s for selfish reasons. Sometimes it’s simply because it’s one of the many cures for boredom. Maybe the purpose for your particular instance didn’t matter very much. It was pleasurable for you and Cal, and that was enough.

You’d liked Cal for a long time. It was difficult not to. First thing you knew about him was that he had a great taste in music. Second thing you knew about him was that he didn’t know when to ask and not ask questions. The third, and most obvious thing you knew about him, was that he was a good person. From anyone’s point of view but his own, he was someone to be admired and respected. His whole life, the entirety of all occupations he’d had, were based around helping others. And you knew this was further proof that you weren’t good enough for him, but that night was the night that you couldn’t resist any longer.

Cal had given you his consent, and you had given him yours. Both of you were worn out and too honest from the events of the long day, but mentally sober enough to be clear in your mindsets. You knew what was happening. No drugs, no alcohol, no manipulation. You’d found yourself in his quarters while everyone else slept for one reason or another, and then you’d done it.

The act hadn’t lasted long. Both of you were too excited at the heat and promise of intercourse from the time you’d gone without. Not because you couldn’t get intercourse, but because you couldn’t find it within yourselves to muster up enough trust for anybody to touch you so. But then something had snapped between you and Cal, resulting in the rather hot and aroused endeavor.

When it was done and the finger tipped shaped bruises were beginning to form on your hips, your first clear thought cut through like a knife. [“Oh, fuck.”] It wasn’t because there was a good chance that Cal had partially finished inside of you. It wasn’t because either of you had failed to think of any quick source of protection. It was because the consequences of your actions stretched beyond the physical ones.

Were you in a relationship now? What if you weren’t? What if you wanted to be, and he didn’t? What if he wanted to be, and you said otherwise? What if this meant nothing to him? You didn’t know if you believed Cal to be that type of person, but your work as a Bounty Slicer before joining the Mantis crew was enough to teach you to never assume anything about anyone. Where were either of you to go from here?

Cal Kestis was in no position to be in a relationship. He’d told you that tonight, not with his lips, but with his fingers. When people become intimate as you have, sometimes they manage to share more than just their bodies. Cal had managed to share with you just why and how you were wrong about his mental and emotional state. He’d revealed his anguish, his fear of losing people. He’d revealed that he was angry deep inside, that he’d had more than a few regrets in his life. You didn’t know how or why- you’d always been too respectful to ask about his past. But now you had some twisted form of confirmation.

You looked over at him, deep in thought. Cal’s skin was glistening with a thin layer of sweat as he began to regain his breath. His hair was falling in soft, orange locks by his eyes. His lashes were long and dark brown, and seemed heavy as he blinked. You can see the old, mauve gash that stretches from his neck to his cheek like a line in a poem.

The boy raises his veined, left hand to push his hair back. With close eyes and a heaving chest, he says, “was it alright?”

In truth, it was much, much better than alright. Maybe you had low standards for not being touched for so long, but you really believed it was fantastic. A little blurred together from the pace and the clouded mind, but unmistakable in the sensations you’d earned from it. “Yes,” you managed to reply.

Cal sighed finally, eyes still shut. His breathing was beginning to calm down at this point, but your mind was still racing. With his green orbs still glued shut, Cal reaches his arm around you, and rolls to the side. In a fluid motion, without much effort at all really, Cal pulls you towards him until your bare back meets his bare chest.

Cal groans lazily a few more times as he adjusts his body around until he’s completely comfortable. He falls asleep in a matter of seconds. You on the other hand, feel tired, but buzzed. Almost like your deep dark thoughts have the same affect as caffeine.

What the hell was that? You cry out in your mind. What the hell are we going to do now?

But, despite the thoughts that created such anguish after such a pleasurable experience, you could feel yourself sinking into Cal’s embrace. His chest was warm and inviting, and broad enough to snuggle into it at any angle. You didn’t fight too hard to keep your eyes from coming to a stiff close.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

This brings us to now, and why you’ve only said one word to Cal since that night.

It happened about four days ago at this point. You should’ve stayed and voiced your concerns to the boy, but you hadn’t. Instead you’d fallen into a dreamless sleep, only to wake up hours later when the Mantis shook coming out of hyperspace. Cal had removed his arm from around you and turned away, so it was easy to hop up, throw your undergarments on, and rush back to your room before anyone could deduce anything.

It wasn’t that you specifically regretted what you had done- you liked Cal. You liked Cal a lot, actually. The night you spent pressed against him only proved and accelerated that much. But you were an observant person, and you were observant enough to understand that you might’ve just ruined everything.

You weren’t good enough, or worthy enough to be with Cal. He wasn’t perfect, (which would bring you to your next point), but you were even farther from it. How many lives had you ruined just by trying to scrape by? Cal saved and bettered lives like it was nothing. He’d helped the partisans of Kashyyyk without asking for anything in return. He’d informed a single mother of her partners death with as much humility as he could. He’d shown enough empathy towards the Nightsister’s to make even Merrin budge. And you? You hated yourself for all the people you’d let down and would continue to let down into the next life.

But Cal wasn’t in any state of mind to love you. He wasn’t cruel, nor manipulative. But he was damaged and scared of something that scared you more. So how was he ever going to love you? How was he going to put up with you? To take on more suffering than he already struggled with? You couldn’t do that to him, and the option of breaking your heart seemed all the kinder.

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You knew the moment you would be alone with him again, it could’ve gone one of two ways. Way One: that Cal would inform you that he loved you- falsely- and you would fall into his strong arms again and repeat your heated actions. On the other hand, there was Way Two: the way in which Cal told you he loved you, but he couldn’t go any further. Then it would come to an end. Both options upset you, so you decided to freeze yourself in time. Cal could neither lie, nor harm you so long as you kept away from him.

And, as stated above, this went on for four days.

So, there was a build up of frustration within the walls that you’d constructed around yourself. It was a stalemate, and it didn’t take long for you to crack.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

It started slow- the welling of tears across your lower lash line, the flushing of your cheeks, the trembling of your lips. You tried to deny it from happening. You practically shouted at yourself not to cry. It was so stupid. So, so stupid. So... why was it happening?

It overwhelmed you quickly. Your eyes squinted, smearing the drops across your eyes and making your vision blurry. You bit your bottom lip to stop the trembling, but then your nose began to sniffle. It burned to inhale the snot again, and your lips started to quake again. You were lucky you were alone, you thought, before you let the tears fall.

It was night. Or, as nightly as space could get, you supposed. Greez had put the Mantis on autopilot, and hyperspace was whizzing by in indigo and baby blue streaks. White stars laced by in between lines, past the glass of the windows and the metal that had created the space.

All was asleep, except for you. So you allowed yourself to cry, but only if you held yourself to keeping the volume down. And you did. On the steps by the Latero’s terrarium. All of the seeds had grown into miniature plants and trees and flowers by now, blooming in vibrant colors of all kinds. The picture would’ve been so neat and beautiful, if not for your form shaking as you hunched over.

You should not have slept with Cal. Did you regret it? Not exactly. But you still felt so guilty about how much you cared for him, and the knowledge that he couldn’t have actually loved you. You might not have been able to love him too. There was just so many issues that you’d been able to pick up on, especially since you’d done the deed. But Greez had his gambling, Cere had her guilt, Merrin had her anger, and Cal had... Cal had everything. Everything you had shared, every burning mark he’d left on you, it all felt false. Like maybe it wasn’t out of emotions, but a wrong idea.

What a ridiculous thing to cry about, you thought as you cried. But you couldn’t stop. The tears were leaking from you in pearly beads, glistening and swirling with your stress. As much as you hated to admit it, it felt good to cry. You hadn’t done it in a long time, years maybe. There was more than just everything with Cal that was exiting your system along with the tears.

It was from the stress of your father, and whatever he may or may have not done. It was from the stress of work, the stress of your past. The guilt. All of it. It was pouring out of you silently, like the way that someone wrings out a washcloth. The sounds were minimal, and if anyone woke up and heard it, it could easily be mistaken for the little critter on board eating.

However, the person that woke up and heard the noises, didn’t mistake it for the little critter on board eating. In fact, he thought it sounded a lot like someone who was crying, or sniffling. Even if he hadn’t been so observant with his hearing, he could still sense the waves of sadness coming from just past the hallway. They echoed throughout his chest like a wind chime, rippling through him until he felt sad too.

Cal Kestis had a habit of taking on others people’s emotions. He had, even if it didn’t always shine through, an enormous amount of empathy. He had it even for his enemies, and it was the cause of a lot of lost fights.

The Jedi had gone to use the bathroom when his face fell. He looked to the doorway of the stairs for a while, seeing just the outline of someone from his view. He couldn’t make out who it was, but he was quick to rule out Merrin and Greez. This left Cere and yourself, but the hood of your jacket gave it away.

Maker, Cal had to urinate. He had to go so bad. But he went to you first without thinking about it, walking carefully as if not to disturb you. His boots were dropping on the floor louder than he would’ve liked, but it must not have been too loud, since you had not ceased your depressed bobbing or turned around to face him.

Cal didn’t like asking upset people if they were okay, because he was intelligent to understand that being upset was not equal to being okay. But his baby pink lips were already throwing the words out anyway, his voice croaking slightly from the sleep he’d woken up from. “Are you okay?” he ventured out.

Immediately, you turned around with a jump. Your cheeks were a deep shade of magenta, eye lashes long and dark and feathery. Eyes were sparkling beautifully, but for all the wrong reasons. One of your hands hastily wiped your face, as if you had simply sneezed. But Cal had already seen it. He knew you were crying, and you knew that he knew.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you said as your voice cracked slightly. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“You sure?” Cal asked as he took a hesitant step forward. “You don’t look okay.”

Your eyes flitted from him to the miniature tree in Greez’s terrarium. The branches were curled into detailed little swirls, with leaves sprouting in bushes of bright and dark greens alike. In truth, craning your neck to look over your shoulder strained it for you, and looking away alleviated it just as much as it alleviated seeing the boy. “I’m cool.”

You hoped he would leave it and go away. This was a bit of a long shot, and of course he didn’t. Because Cal Kestis had a big, caring heart that was probably corrupted, but big and caring nonetheless.

He walked nearer to you until finally another step would’ve resulted with him on the stairs too. You didn’t dare look up at him, keeping your eyes on the tree like your life depended on it.

“I don’t think you’re okay,” Cal said in a very tired, but very soft and real voice.

You swallowed, trying to keep the tears from falling again. Your eyes had already begun to glisten again like a threat, and your breathing was becoming shaky. But you were a big girl, and you knew you could keep it together if you just kept your eyes on the tree. Where had Cal gotten it? Kashyyyk?

“I mean maybe I’m tired but... you don’t look okay,” he continued. You could feel his soft green eyes on you as your nostrils flared with anxiety. “You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m just having an off night,” you decided to say. Which, by the way, was a safe enough thing to respond with. It wasn’t necessarily a lie- you were having an off night. But somehow it still felt like it wasn’t the truth.

“Can you please look at me?” the boy said softly, though it felt somewhat dominant.

Maybe if you looked at him and kept telling yourself to keep it together, you could. Maybe it would help. Like confronting a dare or showing up an enemy. Was that how you saw Cal now? An enemy?

Your knees croaked in protest as you pushed yourself off the floor. When you stood at your full height, much lower than him due to being a step lower, you lost sight of the tree. Cal’s left shoulder was in the way, covered by a black shirt and dark blue poncho. You followed the seam of it down where his collarbone would be, up the neck to where you had left a few marks, around his jaw and finally to his eyes. They were piercing and begging, and you knew at once you shouldn’t have accepted the challenge of looking into them.

“Are you okay Y/N?” he repeats.

You bite your bottom lip as the tears well again, telling yourself to nod yes. But for some reason, the message doesn’t get from your brain to the nerves or muscles in your head, and instead it shakes no.

Cal reaches his arms around your shoulders again and pulls you into him until your head hits his chest. It’s a bit of a weird angle and position, but it feels nice to rest against something. He’s quick to notice your trembling and slowly eases his knees into a bend as you follow, though you’re more melting like putty.

You start crying again right before he hits the stairs. It’s a little louder than it was before Cal arrived, but only because he knows you feel more protected and comfortable enough to do so. Still, he keeps you close as both a courtesy to others, and yourself. And it’s nice because you can see the tree again, but this time you can hear the rhythm of his heart as well.

Both of his strong, engineer hands are caressing you- one against your shoulder and the other in your hair. Stroking softly and quietly as a contradiction to your sobs, like something calm against something wracking.

It made you cry more when you realized how calm Cal was to all of this. He stayed steady and upright so you could be comfortable against him- you could already feel the tension forming in his back. But his eyes were closed instead of looking around awkwardly. He wasn’t asleep, but it was like his body was entirely dedicated to taking care of you in the moment. He knew how much it meant for you to cry, even if you thought the reasons were stupid and ridiculous and you’d done your best to stop it. He let it happen anyway, and he’d let it happen on him. And if you didn’t know, that’s an incredibly nice thing to do for someone.

You felt like a little girl again, but this time it felt better. It felt like maybe someone actually wanted you to be okay.

Cal didn’t even ask what was wrong. Not yet, anyway. He just stayed in his position, tracing loving circles into your skin without really knowing the reasons why. He cared, but not as much as he cared about you being alright first. That meant something to you. It meant that he cared about you more than whatever reasons that galaxy could come up with. It meant that he’d put you first, before logic or shadows of facts or evidence. For now, at least.

In turn, Cal wanted to do everything he could for you. He didn’t know what was hurting you. He’d ask after, when he’d whisked you off to somewhere special and warm and safe that existed just between the two of you. Like your own little planet with a thousand different rings and scenery. Because, like said before, Cal Kestis has an enormous amount of empathy, and a very big heart.

So, you thought, maybe he can love me like I love him.

[He could.]

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I really came into this trying my best but then I feel like it slowly spiraled as I progressively got more tired. I always say I’ll go back and edit but then I get distracted by the Clone Wars and start something new.

This was based of the song Daddy Issues by the Neighbourhood. I suggest listening to it. AND if there’s any other characters you’d like me to use for this song than tell me! I really like it a lot. anyway, butts.

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo @haztory @fanficsforheartandsoul [can’t even remember if you’re actually on my taglist but i just tag you in everything anyway i’m so sorry], @anakinswhore @chokemeanakin @kit-jpg

#Cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis imagine #cal x reader #jedi fallen order x reader #jfo #jedi fallen order imagine #jedi fallen order fanfiction #cal kestis fanfiction #x reader #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars imagines #cal kestis imagines #cal fanfiction #cal-kestis-imagine

266 notes · View notes

dotthings · 4 years

Text

Well that flayed my emotions as much as I hoped and in some encouraging ways YES PAIN WITH PURPOSE THANK YOU. There’s a lot here, as is usual with Bobo eps and I’m going to have to take this one at a time especially since I really really need to break down what happened with Dean and Cas in this ep, at length. Yep I am going to go on a bit about Dean and Cas. As you do.

I’ve posted quite a bit of meta about how the rift was a combination of things. It’s years of unaddressed issues. Dean’s abandonment issues vs Cas’s tendency to be taken away, or die, or leave. Years of that. Then on top of it, when Cas couldn’t stand with Dean about Jack, and when he kept some crucial information from Dean that he shouldn’t have due to Jack. Let me restate something I’ve said before: Dean wasn’t wrong to express his hurt and anger. He loves Cas, and Cas is imperfect. No Cas isn’t always the screw up and Dean I already knew regretted that and didn’t believe that (see? I told you) nor does Dean ever want Cas dead. But Cas is imperfect and Cas has hurt Dean, as Dean has hurt Cas. Then there’s Cas’s fears about not being needed/wanted, his doubts about his place in this family, and in Dean’s heart vs. the complicated mess that is involved in being adopted into the Winchester clan as deeply as Cas was. So their insecurities have been their own worst enemies for years, and then the Jack and Mary thing happened. And then ON TOP OF ALL THAT, Chuck and Dean’s wondering what’s real what isn’t. I was pretty sure at least some of that might make it overtly into the prayer. But no none of that.

While I think it is definitely good that Dean expressed himself so openly and did it in a prayer he definitely had reasons to believe Cas would hear and it is really really good Cas HEARD HIM OH MY GOD THANK YOU CAS HEARD ALL THAT. It’s also not such good news that what comes out here is that this is all about Dean’s anger issues and he “can’t stop it.” And I’m not deciding here whether this is authorial eye or Dean’s. It certainly makes sense that Dean would pull guilt onto himself (rather than authorial blaming Dean). But Dean pulling all the guilt into himself, crying and apologizing and there being very little in the ep to address the other side of this--the Cas pov, and how Cas has hurt Dean--is just more cyclical unhealthiness.

Maybe this prayer was cathartic. Maybe this will help Dean going forward, letting go of that anger, that guilt.

So that dynamic therefore is actually really unhealthy. Lashing out at your best friend, who you love, that severely because you just can’t help it when a crisis happens and the pressure is on, even if said best friend hurt you? It’s not a problem that Dean expressed his hurt and anger, it’s that he went too far. And he couldn’t help it. And it wasn’t Chuck existential crisis or even about Mary, it’s just that when under pressure Dean lashes out at those he loves and can’t stop it. While that is a valid issue...that kind of takes the entire burden and puts it onto Dean. Full stop. It’s all Dean’s fault. Dean, how dare you get angry and hurt when you best friend does stuff that actually...hurts you. This is, IMO, canon putting the kind of pressure on Dean that fandom does. Only express positive feelings, Dean, otherwise shut up. Regardless of intent, that’s kind of what this scene validated.

So on top of years of issues Dean and Cas haven’t dealt with, chronic issues, about each other. On top of reasons here Dean might think the bond was manufactured by Chuck, but all right, that last point doesn’t seem to be presenting itself unless I reach pretty down deep into subtext. Maybe we can say it’s fueling Dean’s anxieties and made everything worse, ramped everything up.

But I think given how this unfolded, Dean and Cas having some time apart isn’t a bad idea. That this turned out to actually be “Dean lashes out when he’s panicked and he can’t stop himself” and hurt Cas so much with it is worrying and I get it’s supposed to be worrying. But I’m not exactly vomiting rainbows. I WANT THEM TO FIX IT. I’m incredibly uncomfortable with how the story (whether authorial view or not) places it all on Dean.

This is, frankly, going to feed the Dean hate and I’m just so tired of it, it’s unfair, it’s a twisted stanning view of the character, it lacks empathy, and I’m sorry that this episode did something that validated people who literally needed Dean LITERALLY ON HIS KEES CRYING AND APOLOGIZING before they might believe Dean isn’t an uncaring asshole. Some of us didn’t need that to know, while it is good that Dean said what was deepest in his heart. Yet there’s still going to be stans who keep bashing him and saying he doesn’t care about Cas. I really wish they would just stop and they never will so I will ignore it best I can.

After what I just witnesses in this ep, I am beyond FLOORED if there would be ANYONE LEFT IN THIS FANDOM WHO COULD THINK THAT. I get thinking they need couples therapy or maybe they need space. I’m thinking it. But to actually keep flogging the idea that Dean doesn’t care about Cas, that was already egregious before this ep, now it’s REALLY really egregious to keep flogging that.

So I’m uneasy, for what this means for Dean and Cas--not that they can’t or won’t fix this. OBVIOUSLY THEY WILL FIX THIS. They want to fix this. The arc isn’t over--and for what it means for Dean.

On the one hand, I’m glad to see things dig so deeply into Dean’s issues. Because it’s not Dean hate to say, yeah he’s got some anger issues and needs to examine that. But on the other hand, Dean crying and apologizing on his knees is NOT THE FIX FOR THE RELATIONSHIP. Because there’s unaddressed stuff from Cas’s side. And I’m sure a lot of people are going to breeze right by that. Because in this fandom you have to choose Dean or Cas, and one or the other is being dragged as being an uncaring assholes.

The good news, this ep was exactly what I thought and hoped it would be for Dean and Cas otherwise, in terms of getting them past that early season freeze.

Oh that revisiting of Purgatory was effing beautiful, structurally and emotionally. Cas refused to split up this time. Cas waited at the portal. Cas went through the portal with Dean. There is healing in this ep, they went through a similar situation only with a different outcome. Cas isn’t voluntarily staying in Purgatory to wear a hair shirt this time. This time, Cas didn’t run off and leave Dean just to protect Dean, they only got separated after they were overpowered. Cas waited and waited by that portal and Dean looked and looked. That was no really, that was beautiful (whatever issues I have about the prayer itself).

This was the thaw. This was the beginning of the next phase for Dean and Cas, and no it’s not intended as a fix. The door’s been opened, the ice has broken, the walls have crumbled, so that they can fix it and hopefully to an even better, stronger relationship that all they’ve been before, which is really strong already but damn they have so many issues. While Dean and Cas have mostly been a comforting relationship for me on SPN (health for relative values of healthy) and it is mostly a positive relationship...yeah. Issues.

JFC I just really hope Cas is going to get to voice how he feels about hurting Dean as he has and it does an incredible disservice to the characters and their story to skip over that, not just because I’m defensive of Dean, but for Cas’s sake, for the sake of his character and pov. I feel like Cas’s pov is incomplete. He’s not getting to express himself the way I really really hope he will and I think he needs to. Hell, can I have Cas on his knees in tears pouring his heart out about Dean, it wouldn’t be a prayer or actual tears probably, since he’s an angel, but give me something.

Howe even did things get to the point where it’s Dean carrying most of the Destiel and expressing most of the feelings and bleeding out emotionally again and again in canon and yet so many people act like CAS is the one doing all the pining, as if Dean is the uncaring asshole, while we have such gaps in Cas expressing his pov on Dean. It’s absolutely WILD. It’s beyond wild.

The other good news is despite my discomfort with the speech, I am reeling a bit at just how expressive it was. I do think as the one who said the harsh things, Dean would be the one who needed to take the first sledgehammer to the ice wall and he did it. It’s not that I agree all the blame is on him. But yes Dean opened the door and that’s a good thing. Dean falling to his knees, weeping because he’s scared he is losing his best friend again. To PURGATORY AGAIN NO LESS *screaming internally* and with all the times since he’s lost Cas. It wasn’t an angry emotional rant. It was a vulnerable, sad, quiet pleading prayer directly to his best friend. I am a bit shook that the Dean and Cas feelings weren’t nested in with some other bigger plot thing eating at Dean, where Cas is one of a list, or it’s something else breaking Dean and losing Cas is just too much on top of that. No, it’s just a guy falling to his knees because he’s scared he’s losing his best friend who he loves in every sense of the word yet again and it’s just them and their feelings.

The last time we saw something this overt from Dean, tear-filled, raw, laying it all out there, Cas was dead and in The Empty and Cas couldn’t hear it.

Ohhh and remember how I pointed out in S14 Cas hearing in Dean’s trauma memories the scream Dean let out when he lost Cas and I wasn’t sure if Cas knew that was for him or not, just that it was traumatic.

BUT THIS TIME CAS HEARD IT. HE HEARD THE PRAYER. HE KNEW DEAN CRIED. HE HEARD ALL OF DEAN’S ANGUISH ABOUT LOSING HIM. (Hopefully Cas will get an actual clue now, I hope).

#Dean Winchester #Castiel #Dean and Cas #Destiel #spn #supernatural #meta #supernatural spoilers #COPING WITH MY FEELINGS BY THROWING WORDS AT IT

36 notes · View notes

fallingin-like · 4 years

Text

november 20

back to the start by @fuzzballsheltiepants [requested by @nikothespoonklepto]

see which other fics i’m reviewing this month! / my review request post!

containing an injured!andrew who loses all of his recent memories, this fic is has heartbreak and healing. this fic has great pacing and flow, you don’t even notice that you’ve read 30k words until you’re done.

this is an absolutely amazing fic. you did such a great job writing the characters in a way that was in depth and stays really true to them. it was funny, serious, angsty, and fluffy in a way that tied everything together and made it really easy to read. i loved having the opportunity to see andrew fall in love with neil again and see neil really fight to protect andrew.

parts that i especially liked:

”andrew and neil had watched kevin’s interview the night before on exy night in america from andrew’s apartment. neil had spent the ten minutes grinning at kevin’s well-practiced persona while andrew drily commented what they both knew kevin was really thinking” this is so cute! there’s really nothing that brings people together more than making fun of kevin

EXCUSE ME HOW DARE YOU INJURE ANDREW IN THAT WAY

andrew waking up so disoriented and confused and afraid is so heartbreaking. to be brought back to that terrible night, surrounded by strangers, in so much pain. i really cannot handle it, he’s already suffered so much in his life ;-;

ohmygoodness andrew sort of recognizing kevin? is this based on andrew having seen kevin before the club incident or because he’s actually recognizing kevin?

”’did they kill him?’ he asked dully.” ahhh i can feel andrew closing himself off, resigning himself for bad news

”he didn’t know why he was talking, he was revealing too much, he needed to stop but not as much as he needed to know” i hate seeing andrew so distressed, to the point where he can’t contain himself

”he almost laughed, it was such a ridiculous idea that andrew’s perfect memory could be compromised, but dr. kupra’s face was serious.” oh no, what a terrible and ironic injury, for andrew to lose the memories that he likely actually wanted to keep

what in the world kevin, why would you not call nicky to get him to talk to andrew??

”that voice… it tickled something in his chest” AHH even without his memories, something within andrew recognizes neil, so soft

”and you need to understand that you can’t just start touching him when he’s asleep” it’s so comforting to know that neil is around to protect andrew while he is extremely vulnerable.

it’s really not surprising that andrew has a panic attack, to learn that you’ve lost seven years of your life? i can’t even imagine how upsetting and scary it would be

ah yes, of course neil forgets to charge his phone

”like i’m worth something, like i matter” oh no i totally forgot that since andrew is back to his 17 year old self it means his mental health is probably a lot worse. oh my goodness 17 is so young!

”it’s amazing how many words they can say to avoid telling you they don’t know” oh my goodness neil

ANDREW REMEMBERS SOME THINGS, I HAVE HOPE. and it seems like now neil does too!

to hear that they’ve had conversations with andrew that he can’t remember, that they’ve explained the situation to him multiple times already, it sounds hard for anyone, but andrew who is used to his eidetic memory? oof

”this felt more like he had read it in a book, like if he turned the page he would already know what was on the next one, but he couldn’t manage to turn the page. and the next page was important, of that he was sure” wow this description is so so good.

OH NO ANDREW THINKING NEIL AND KEVIN ARE TOGETHER and then “it didn’t seem such an unreasonable question to andrew… the alternative didn’t make sense. the alternative was impossible” ahhh this is so painful, at least neil is not around to hear this.

”that didn’t really surprise neil; he had suspected that andrew had been interested in kevin at some point” ooo i like this

neil talking to andrew’s coach oh my goodness he really can’t help himself. but also it’s his way of caring too, protecting andrew from everyone

ahh i love andrew falling for neil again. “aggression of an eight-pound terrier” THIS IS SO TRUE. picking fights, but too small to actually fight them

”neil was reading on his phone and andrew watched him through his lashes until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore” this is so so sweet, i love being able to see things from andrew’s perspective, he hides so much from the outside that i am always interested in what he’s thinking

”he wouldn’t be the first who thought andrew could be ‘healed,’ whatever that meant.” the thing i like about their relationship is that i think that neil doesn’t think andrew ‘could be healed’. i think neil thinks that andrew doesn’t need healing. that bad things happened to andrew and yes, these things changed him, they shaped him to be the person he is now, but they don’t mean he is broken. uhh i don’t know how to say the words i am thinking. BASICALLY, NEIL DOESN’T THINK ANDREW NEEDS TO CHANGE. HE LIKES (LOVES) HIM AS HE IS

”... but he could still taste his old grief and guilt and fury” ANDREW FEELING GUILT SO MUCH GROWTH

”nicky had been there; he could call nicky, and find out what - who - had broken neil so badly” ahhhhhh i love this!!!

ohmygoodness, all the things that neil is remembering. i love it so much

ugh i want neil to go off on all the people trying to pin down andrew, but at the same time, i guess they had a somewhat reasonable reason for doing what did. BUT STILL THEY SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER. andrew has been through so much!!!!

i love these moments of andrew finding out what happened to neil. we get to see his genuine reactions, even what he’s feeling, not just what he’s emoting (which i’m sure is not much). it’s a little different, because although he still feels this emotional connection to neil, he doesn’t understand why, but his reactions are so pure and unfiltered. i love it

”it’s who i am, it’s not something i can forget” I LOVE THIS LINE and i love love love nicky’s reaction.

ugh, neil fighting to protect andrew is just *clenches fist* so good

okay i love neil, but woah. when he thinks of how lucky he is to have andrew and the first thing that comes up is andREW BREAKING RIKO’S ARM. LOL what a legend

ohmygoodness i forgot that neil is still in school. i really cannot believe that he is able to balance everything, like it’s just so wild to me.

i’m so glad that neil has matt. he has andrew yes, but matt is just a good friend, something that neil has never really had. someone that is openly affectionate and talkative enough to balance neil’s anti-social personality. someone he can go through during these tough times when andrew is not around

NEIL JOSTEN CERTIFIED HOTTIE HAHAH

oh, hearing andrew’s perspective of millport is so good, so interesting

ANDREW ASKING WHICH SCARS ARE FROM HIM ACTUALLY BREAKS MY HEART. nonononono

NEIL ROASTING THE REPORTER IS WHAT I LIVE FOR. but also i’m pretty mad that this guy was able to get into the hospital and approach neil like this. people are so rude and have no sense of privacy somethings UGH

”neil was a trouble magnet. andrew didn’t remember too many specifics, but he knew it with a bone deep certainty” hah

oh, the way that you wrote andrew regaining his memories about riko and drake and maybe easthaven. it’s so impactful seeing it from neil’s perspective. “he watched as that bomb hit, the slow motion ripple effect it had as memories resurface and deductions were made.” your descriptions are so good

the contrast between the texts from the foxes and neil trying to deal with andrew remembering is amazing

it’s so interesting to me the way that the sense of distance between neil and andrew are for different reasons. neil is being so careful not to cross andrew’s boundaries because he doesn’t know what andrew’s okay with, etc. and andrew is still learning about the relationship that he previously shared with neil and doesn’t know where they were at with that, doesn’t know what past him did

oo i love twinyard moments, the bonding. “i didn’t forget you” AHHH i like that they’re so civil now, aaron is probably less stressed (now that he’s not trying to balance school, exy, and the MAFIA) and has matured, he doesn’t repress as much of his emotions maybe. he cares about andrew and both lets himself care about him and allows himself to show it, even if it’s in small ways

so much growth/development to see that neil turns to betsy and actually calls her!! she knows so much about their history, i’d be interested in what kind of relationship neil had with her after their first year

”didn’t know how to tell him that he remembered other things - remembered bits and pieces of meals and drives and games and shared cigarettes on the roof, the weight of neil’s mouth on his own and the feel of his skin, the sound of his hitches of breath. because none of that felt real” THIS IS SO GOOD BUT ALSO HURTS. NEIL IS A PIPE DREAM BUT ANDREW DOESN’T KNOW THAT HE’S ALSO A REALITY TOO

”then neil came out of the bathroom and andrew decided maybe he didn’t hate the girlfriend after all. not if she’d picked out those clothes.” ohmygoodness andrew

”four years. four years since andrew had been nearly torn apart by terror. four years since he had felt that anguished need that seemed so fresh in his memory. and yet neil was still here” THIS IS SO GOOD AHHH

EXCUSE ME HOW DARE YOU BREAK MY HEART LIKE THAT BY SAYING NEIL CAN’T HELP DECIDE WHAT HAPPENS TO NEIL ALSO “everyone but andrew, whose glam intensified” WHAT DOES THIS MEAN AND THEN NEIL SAYING “do you think if andrew cared he wouldn’t let them kick me out in the first place?” AHHHH

oh okay you have redeemed yourself by having aaron and andrew BOTH agree with neil. “look, i might have head trauma but i’m not an idiot” LOL

”andrew wasn’t sure why his stomach clenched, why his fingers dug into the blanket” HHHH HURTS

AARON YELLING WRONG MINYARD YES

oh! so cute to have bonding between andrew, neil, katelyn, and aaron!!

oHH no i forgot that people might hold andrew’s sexuality against him and that makes me so mad

”aaron said mildly ‘out of all the men in this world, why did you have to end up with one who’s too stupid to feed himself?’” LOL

”it would only be a week tomorrow, but it felt like he had always been here, that the rest of his life had been something he’d seen in a movie or read in a book. like this was the only part that was real” oh oh oh. this is so sad, but also it makes so much sense. “it was always like that, though” OH. this, and the rest of the paragraph is so interesting. i love the way that you explain it. and the end of this chapter is so good. it really sets us up for the last chapter and leaves me aching for resolution. for andrew to realise he can and does have this. that it’s real and won’t be taken away from him

i’m a little bit confused about the whole discussion about sexuality and mental illness. why did katelyn misunderstand and what was she thinking? i think i’m just missing something here LOL

”the way andrew hesitated before he nodded meant no, but neil wasn’t going to push him” ugh it’s so good to know that neil can read andrew so well, can tell what he’s not saying, but knows when to push and when to back off.

NO SELF-CONSCIOUS NEIL IS SO SAD

”aaron refusing to sign anything, turning it all over to andrew and neil” aaron is such a complicated character, we don’t get to see him fully explored in the books and i love the way that you used this fic as an opportunity to do so. he cares, but in his own way. even though they have disagreements, at the end of the day, he wants what is best for andrew and i really liked how you portrayed him and throughout this fic.

WHY IS ANDREW SINGING WITHOUT KNOWING

ANDREW KISSING NEIL AND THEN GIVING THE PAPARAZZI THE MIDDLE FINGER IS THE BEST THING

i love that you have parts of this fic from andrew’s perspective. it’s so so interesting to see his honest reactions to memories and people and to experience his introspection. and it’s not super obvious, but i love that with perspective shifts, we also see your writing style adjust to reflect that. you handled this whole fic so well, there was a great balance between humour, softness, and angst that made me really enjoy reading this.

you did such a good job with the characterization, it was so wonderful seeing andrew rebuild his relationships and fall for neil again, the interactions between everyone (including your OCs). i appreciate that, although andrew and neil have kind of re-established their relationship (they both know that they like each other and are comfortable with each other), there’s still some sort of distance. things are still a little bit off and they still have work to do to continue to learn each other. it keeps things realistic and, for some reason, brings me closure. this is such a significant event for both of them and things are different because of that and i’m glad you didn’t ignore that aspect of it. this was just such a wonderful fic, thank you so much for writing it!!

#back to the start #aftg fic review #raelle writes

60 notes · View notes

sidneygardnerblog · 4 years

Text

A Letter For Wayne (Martha)

Dear Bruce,

I need you to understand that you’re not alone. I know that the pain of losing a loved one is never easy, but you have to endure. If you’re reading this letter, it’s because I’m now deceased. Take the time you need to process this. This sort of anguish? I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemies. Never in a million years would I think you’d be touched by death’s hand. Every part of my being is wishing your father will never have to hand you this parchment. He always talked about us taking the time to write out any final thoughts we felt needed to be written.

If you ever feel lost in this world, be sure to remember that you are a Wayne. A child of Gotham. Even if everything else starts to make no sense, your place on this earth will forever be set in stone. Protect your home from any who would cause harm. Protect those who share your birthplace. It’s important to always give what you can, even if it feels like Gotham always takes without ever giving back. Your father is a scientist and I am a doctor. We devoted our lives to making the world a better place, be it through knowledge or healing. I can only hope you continue this trend, to be bigger than yourself and humble enough help those in need.

I know the trauma will be hard to recover from. There will be times when you close your eyes and hope you’ll wake from this nightmare soon. You’ll spend nights crying on end, hating everyone and everything including yourself. You’ll blame yourself, for something out of your control. This guilt you’ll carry, don’t let it kill you. Whatever happens to me, it’s not your fault. Remember the kindness of my eyes and the gentleness of my voice. Think of me in passing but don’t fixate on what you lost. Your father will need your strength. You’ll need each other. I’m sorry I can’t be there for my boys. To hold you both when the weight of the world is too much to bare.

Don’t let the world become a lonely place to live in, Bruce.

Sincerely, Martha Wayne.

#DC #batman #fanfiction #writer #noncanon #superman #nightwing #comic #new 52 #wayne #bruce #red hood

4 notes · View notes

cosmitasiarts-moved · 4 years

Text

Wrote a fic about uuh. something? this one is still angsty but less horribly depressing I promise, it’s about Ness revisiting Magicant. on AO3 at works/21412765

After their journey to save the world, life was gradually settling down and returning to how things used to be, give or take a few friendships. Despite mostly gaining friends, getting a boost in popularity at school, and the fulfillment of saving the world as its own reward, Ness couldn’t help but feel a profound loss and unending emptiness weighing on him.

He felt so disconnected from the people in his life, he’d never experienced it before. He couldn’t even feel the presence of his close friends, let alone the sudden influx of people who suddenly decided it was cool to be friends with the psychic kid who saved the world (They totally never made him feel like dirt or anything before now, not at all.) It was overwhelming to be bombarded with all the attention, even if it was starting to die down as of late.

For the longest time, Ness was trying to figure out why he’s remained so agitated, even long after his journey ended. It’s been months, everyone else around him was able to resume their lives as usual, or maybe that was just him letting his irrational frustration impact how he perceived the state of the world and people around him.

He thought, maybe it was just a reaction to the trauma. Maybe it was losing his longtime best friend. Maybe it was the blatantly artificial friendliness of the people in town and at school. Most realistically, it was everything blended together and building up. The most irritating part to him was the fact that he’s never been impacted by anything this heavily for this long before. He should have bounced back by now! He’s supposed to be the fun, positive friend, that’s what he’s always been.

The restlessness wasn’t getting any better. The dwelling on his anger, grief, and guilt, letting the thoughts cycle viciously through his head over and over, holding the same excruciating impact each time. He still couldn’t sleep soundly half a year later, those same disordered swirls of red assaulting his mind whenever he closed his eyes. The best he could do is toss and turn until his body gets too exhausted to move. After god knows how long he spent going through that same routine in his bed, a rare night came where he was finally able to slip out of consciousness.

The world melted away around him into a dream, easing him back into the familiar ethereal country of his mind’s creation, Magicant. He had no idea why he was back, he hadn’t been back to this place since the final sanctuary. He figured it would have disappeared, or at least be out of his reach, after his initial visit. He stood on his feet, the fatigue on his physical body fortunately not ailing him here.

Taking a moment to look around, he realized the once brightly colored island full of residents and personality had deteriorated into a barren, gloomy wasteland. He couldn’t see far, as a thick fog formed throughout the area. Something was tugging him to trek deeper. He began his return to the depths of Magicant, the dead grass crunching under his socked feet. It was lonely and eerily quiet, last time he had been here he had stumbled across plenty of familiar faces, but this time he was only getting fleeting images of people in the corners of his eyes that would vanish when he tried to focus on them for too long.

As he got further, the terrain shifted to dirty slush covered ground. Ness’s pace was reduced to a creep, trudging through the deepening slush. Coupled with the area’s change, the air went cold and heavy, making breathing increasingly difficult. Despite the frigid air stinging his skin accompanied by the thoroughly unpleasant sensation of snowy, wet socks, the feeling in his body remained in tact.

Ness was forced to a halt, kneeling over to cough, straining to catch his breath. The pressure of the air around him became far too encumbering for him to continue forward without rest. He took a moment to observe his surroundings again, he couldn’t tell how long or how far he’d been walking for. The phantoms of people became rarer, though more recognizable. None of them stuck around too long, all he could do was watch the memories and recreations replay before him until they inevitably dissolved. There were some members from his baseball team hanging out together. Tracy and her friends messing around. Paula, Jeff, and Pu saying goodbye to him. Pokey-

Pokey.

He ran off as soon as Ness registered who he was. Ness sprung back to his feet in pursuit, desperately trying to reach forward as his old friend receded into the oppressive haze. Eventually the slush under him dissipated to a solid ground of deep magenta, and the dread filling his stomach grew stronger.

Something inside of him knew he wouldn’t ever be able to see his old friend again, he wouldn’t ever be able to catch him. Against his better judgement, he forced his aching legs to continue racing through the darkening fog, getting caught up in his delusional hope to just see his long lost best friend one more time.

By the time he finally reached the center of the spiral, Ness’ lungs were burning and his legs wobbled under his weight, which he now realized was feeling like much more than his real body. He collapsed before the coil growing from the center, taking time trying to accept the fact that he was never going to catch his old friend. Though the sorrow gathered and set in his throat, he couldn’t even bring himself to cry about it anymore.

He remained slouched on the ground for a while, heaving his chest. Finally, he hesitantly moved to place his hand on the coil, his vision filled with a blinding light while he felt the land fall away beneath him, plunging him into murky, violet water. A haunting, detached voice resonated faintly from the center of the sea, drawing him towards it.

I… … … … … g… … d…

He waded towards the source of the voice, the water feeling much thicker and impeding his movement much more than he remembered. The restricted pace him gave him plenty of time to ponder. This place has changed so much since his last visit, he could only imagine what he’s going to encounter at the heart of this ocean this time.

I… … … p … … y...

There were no sea monsters infesting the waters this time around. In fact, even with Ness's ever intensifying sense of unease, he hadn’t come across anything immediately dangerous.

N… t… r… … … ht…

Ness couldn’t tell how much time has passed since he got here or how far he’s traveled. Although he was fairly lucid in this dreamlike realm, the rate in which time was passing was completely indiscernible. The only way he could tell he was making any progress was the clarity of the eerie cries.

N… … … s… i… h… … ts…

He was getting close.

Ness!

At last, there was a break in the fog, revealing a weathered, broken down iteration of the statue Ness had been met with before. Ness trembled with apprehension, but readied himself in a defensive and worked his way closer to it. His first step forward, it began to crack. Another step, pieces chipped and fall away. His last step towards it and-

In that instant, the statue shattered, erupting with tendrils of darkness. They sprawled out, completely consuming the sea around Ness, engulfing his sight and chilling him to the bone. Swirls of seething crimson spilled through the void, scorching against his skin and burning his eyes. A deafening cacophony of anguished screeches and Ness's name ripping the air. The overwhelming mixture of numbing cold, searing pain, and incomprehensible white noise rendered Ness unable to move, any thoughts he could attempt to formulate being drowned out to be replaced by overlapping mixtures of his own voice and that of the creature that never ceased tormenting him.

The most vile things inside of his mind smothered Ness, up until this point it had been rotting him from the inside out, only now has it begun the inevitable process of violently tearing him to pieces. The horrid mass flooding from his own conscience was seeping through his body bit-by-bit, causing the burning sensation coursing through his veins.

Hopelessness ravaged Ness's brain while he urgently wracked his mind for solace, a way out, something, anything to save him. Every thought and feeling that had resided in his head for the past months that he repeatedly tried to shelve and push away were all caving in on him at once, he had never experienced anything like this before, tears welled in his eyes, he couldn’t deal with it all on his own.

He doesn’t have to.

In the midst of the thunderous, scarlet whirlpool threatening to shred Ness’ body to pieces, it occurred to him. “Mom…” he choked a sob out into the brutal storm, which seemingly responded by becoming more vicious. He closed his eyes against the harsh force and finally let tears stream down his face. ”... Paula… Please…” his voice was hoarse, the cyclone grew angrier. ”Jeff…” it ripped into him deeper, he had to resist the rising urge to hurl from the pain. ”Pu…” ever so slightly, Ness felt like he could see openings in the darkness overrunning his mind when he opened his eyes.

”Please… I need… I-I… I can’t…” Ness’ aching body shuddered with another sob. ”I need help! Please!” he begged as his stiff legs gave way and he landed on his knees, every inch of his body inside and out screaming at him in pain, though, it was less than before. The pitch black surroundings and red swirls were starting to give way to the purple sea he had remembered from what feels like so long ago. ”I need you guys… I can’t do this by myself...” he whimpered.

The storm continued to lash at Ness’ body, but it’s power over him was weakening. Even if he couldn’t see it, or hear it, he felt a comforting presence enveloping him, as if it were cradling him in a tender hug. “Thank you- thank you… Please stay with me…” He clung to whatever, whoever surrounded him as if his life depended on it, which, it probably does.

The poison red deluge recoiled from him furiously, surrendering to the returning color of the sea and lifting fog, falling back to the center and slowly draining away. As the last of the corruption dispelled, Ness let out a shaky sigh of relief. He closed his eyes and felt himself being pulled back into consciousness.

#earthbound #mother 2 #mother series #ness #ness earthbound #ness mother 2 #fanfic #cosmitasia writes

11 notes · View notes

thebluelemontree · 5 years

Note

Hi, this is lyastark (i changed blogs), you responded to my ask here: /post/175700394682/. i wanted to say that i loved your meta! i was thinking more of their relationship in the purpose of the story. for me, no one knowing about this interaction has to serve some plot purpose. b/c of this, i think that sandor is going to be the one to tell her about LF shitty behavior towards her. her relationship with him is the ONLY one that LF doesn't know about. we know he doesn't b/c he NEVER mentions (1)

sandor to sansa. he was quick to dismiss tyrion, loras, wilas, margaery, etc but he said nothing about sandor. i also believe that sansa has gotten to the point where there’s no one “new” she has met that she would 100% trust with something this big. sandor is someone she explicitly trusts not to lie to her, and is someone she associates with safety and her old life. he’s her hidden dagger, if you will

Hey, glad you liked it.

Yeah, I’m in agreement that Sandor will be crucial to Sansa reclaiming her identity in a few ways, and it will pay off that their relationship has flown under the radar for all this time. While Jeyne Poole is also an alternate possibility or an addition to that, I think Jeyne is on course to meet with (perhaps travel with) Arya first. It may take all of TWOW, maybe to the beginning to ADOS, for Arya and Sansa to reconnect. One thing I’m reasonably sure of is that things will start happening pretty quickly in TWOW for wrapping up Sansa’s training arc. With only two books left, it’s time to start moving all the remaining characters into the final act.

I’m just going to put the rest under the cut. This isn’t so much a coherent meta, but me just riffing because I have a lot of feelings about this topic XD

Littlefinger was only a mask he had to wear. Only sometimes Sansa found it hard to tell where the man ended and the mask began. Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike. She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. Winterfell was burned and desolate, Bran and Rickon dead and cold. Robb had been betrayed and murdered at the Twins, along with their lady mother. Tyrion had been put to death for killing Joffrey, and if she ever returned to King’s Landing the queen would have her head as well. The aunt she’d hoped would keep her safe had tried to murder her instead. Her uncle Edmure was a captive of the Freys, while her great-uncle the Blackfish was under siege at Riverrun. I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr. – Sansa I, AFFC.

“She would have fled them both…” if she had another option available to her. If she had another friend nearby, but in her mind, she doesn’t.

For Sansa’s training arc to end, her sense of isolation and dependence on Littlefinger have to be overpowered. It is a psychological obstacle as much as it is a physical one. Sansa has seen Littlefinger literally get away with murder and come out in a stronger position than he was before. He seems to always be a step ahead of his enemies. He has already bribed and extorted his way to power among the Vale lords. He’s iced Yohn Royce out of political influence. He’s planted seeds of doubt in Sansa toward Myranda Royce before she even met her. (On a side note, Myranda does know Sansa’s real identity, but has never confronted her about it and nor has she used that information against her). So LF’s locked down all the potential allies or troublemakers that he can see. But we know there are things he can’t see, like the possibility of Sansa winning Lothor Brune’s loyalty from him. Nor does he seem to be aware of Lyn Corbray’s seething resentment over being ousted as his brother’s heir thanks to Littlefinger’s marriage brokering. Not to mention he’s hired a bunch of hedge knights for his household guard not suspecting for a moment that they are there to steal Sansa from him. Littlefinger’s hubris has made him blind to things that are right in his own backyard.

While I’m 95% sure Sandor will be at the center of Sansa reclaiming her identity, I definitely don’t think he will be her only trusted ally or source of support before it’s over. That comes from Sansa herself in doing what she does best: being kind and empathetic to win people over. I see her cultivating her own little band of helpers to escape rather than (as some speculations suggest) Sansa simply name-dropping at the tourney and all the Vale lords instantly pledging their swords to her as their new regent/leader/whatever. That makes for a dramatic turn of events but is also pretty unrealistic as I see it. I think she will eventually be in a position to receive Yohn Royce’s military support, but I strongly disagree that it’s going to be as easy as name-dropping. Littlefinger has too much backing of his leadership right now. The Vale lords at the tourney are already on board that gravy train of gifts, gold, and glory. He has custody of Robert Arryn. No one really gives a shit about Lysa’s murder and everyone is looking toward the future with the more robust young falcon, Harrold Hardyng. IMO, Sansa needs to get with Yohn Royce before the rest of the Vale falls in line. He’s against the ropes right now (and being kept far from the tourney for a good reason I think), but he is the one that is most likely to wrest back political power from Littlefinger once Sansa is no longer his pawn. Then she would have powerful backing of her own. The trick is getting her to Yohn Royce and for that, she needs a persuasive reason and the confidence to flee from LF.

Where Sansa is in the story right now, I think she already possesses most of the individual puzzle pieces to what Littlefinger has done. She just hasn’t been able to bring herself to put all those pieces together into one complete, horrifying picture. There’s a lot of trauma and suppression of painful thoughts wrapped up in the things she’s seen and experienced. Things part of being Sansa Stark that will shatter the tenuous safety she finds in being Alayne Stone. She knows on one level that Littlefinger did something with Jeyne. She’s buried that memory and thinks about Jeyne only in more innocent times. She hasn’t dared to ask probably for fear of the answer and for fear of the repercussions from asking. And there’s the fact that she’s trapped with her abuser, who has muddled help and safety with exploitation and pushing her moral boundaries. She’s under a lot of pressure to marry HtH, which has been framed as her best and only chance to go home, even if it comes at Robert Arryn’s expense. All she has to do is let go of her empathy and see people as objects she can use to further her interests, and then she can not only feel safe but powerful and untouchable as well. No one will ever hurt her again. Littlefinger’s philosophy is terrifying, but there are parts of it that are very seductive to someone who has been made to feel powerless, stupid, and vulnerable. In a way, Sansa is being tempted with adopting a cynical worldview similar to what the Hound was for Sandor. Narratively speaking, what better person to bring her back from the edge of losing her humanity than by the person she inspired to reclaim his own? Sandor and Sansa have been saving each other all throughout their story. The first moment they met was defined by Sansa looking Ilyn Payne, the persona of death, in the face and falling backward into Sandor’s hands (ugh, my heart!). Many times he just seems to appear out of nowhere to catch her. So yeah, Sandor as a “hidden dagger” works really well not only for literally saving her life, but saving Sansa Stark’s identity and her core values. But that also comes with unpacking a lot of unpleasant things.

The missing piece of the puzzle and the one thing that will be the final straw should be learning that her father’s arrest and execution was orchestrated by Littlefinger. Sandor was a present for all that. He’s the best person to tell her, and yes, she would believe him. That forces Sansa to start looking at all puzzle pieces she has avoided putting together. Turning against LF will not just be a triumphant moment, but it’s probably going to be ugly and painful. Sansa has a lot of suppressed guilt and shame over what LF has made her complicit in. While she was never a willing participant and shifting responsibility on to her was a key feature of LF’s abuse strategy, Sansa has played a role to some degree in the cover-ups of LF’s crimes. Some people think the unkiss is a symptom of PTSD. Nope. This situation right here puts Sansa at risk for PTSD. It will be shattering to know she ever called Petyr a friend, trusted him, and sometimes helped him while he did awful things. There’s your dark night of the soul that a few people reasonably predict for each of our major POVs in TWOW, especially if an innocent like Robert Arryn dies (I’m 50/50 on that). She’ll need someone who can relate (think of Sandor’s dying anguished confessions of his sins), someone who won’t judge, and someone that can help guide her back to being Sansa Stark because right now, that identity comes with a lot of traumatic baggage. Just as being Sandor Clegane did. (UGH, MY HEART!)

I could go on about how similar both Petyr and Sandor’s backgrounds and origins are, how cynism plays into their world views, and the divergent paths they took. They don’t have to speak of each other or share a scene together, but they have always been opposing philosophical forces with Sansa between them. One embodying sweet lies and the other blunt honesty. But I think the most telling passage about these three is in Eddard VII:

Sansa said, "I knew the Hound would win."

Littlefinger overheard. "If you know who's going to win the second match, speak up now before Lord Renly plucks me clean," he called to her. Ned smiled.

Littlefinger bet against Sandor and lost. Daddy approved.

#ianxmickey #sansan meta #sansa stark #sandor clegane #littlefinger #petyr baelish #bluelemons speculates #twow speculation #sorta meta?#does emotional vomiting count as meta?

51 notes · View notes

my-love-peterp · 5 years

Text

Mistaken Chapter Five

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST DROP ME AN ASK

please like and rb/comment <3

Word Count: 2721 (this actually comprises chapters 7 and 8 on Ao3)

THERE ARE NO ENDGAME SPOILERS, THIS IS A DELAYED UPLOAD FROM AO3

Fic Summary: Peter Parker has been given the responsibility of bringing in a new recruit. Now, as an adult, he realizes that none of the trashy YA novels he read in high school could have prepared him for this. There was a storm on the horizon, and all they could do from the Tower is watch.

Chapter Summary: Lol updating within a few hours after weeks of not updating at all? It’s more likely than you think. HOnestly, not my finest work but I’m so tired and I feel so bad about not getting anything out there sooner. I want to change bits and pieces of this story but my goodness, yeah. So if you’d like to Beta read shit for me, y’all would be much appreciated.

Warnings: honestly idk, if I missed something besides language hmu friends

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four

I ran. There was no stopping me. I stole a cowl from a closet and drifted into the shadows, just long enough to leap from the window.

I materialized and flitted down back alleys until I hit Park Ave. I didn’t know much about this area of New York, but every borough has their drinking holes, right?

Minutes later, I was staggering into a quaint little bar that wasn’t quite the dive that I was looking for, but it would do. This was probably better in any case, fewer leering eyes and a hefty, red-haired, Irish woman who kept my drink full and men away.

Hydra was just one of the many skeletons rattling around in my closet, but they were the Rosetta Stone to my trauma in a lot of ways. Not the foundation, but the guide.

Two more glasses of Lagavulin and those pressing thoughts were kicked to the wayside.

Behind me, the grandfather clock chimed five o’clock. Just call me Jimmy Buffet and saddle me up with a margarita.

What no amount of alcohol could do, unfortunately, was erase the people I’d… met with Hydra. Or lost with them. Most of all, I could never forget my sister.

Brave and stupid drunk, I left my drinking post and headed down Park Avenue rather aimlessly. It felt like I was being drawn in a certain direction, meant to be there, which is absolutely absurd, but I was just drunk enough to believe it.

My feet halted half an hour later outside of a quaint little tattoo parlor. I’d always wanted a tattoo but I’d never had the time nor the money to get one. Fortunately, as a runaway Avenger-in-Training, I had both of those in spades now.

And, as fate would have it, the shop was advertising that they were available for walk-ins today.

Whipping out my new cell phone, I pulled up a picture of what exactly I wanted. My sister and I had always fancied we'd get matching ones someday.

The overly muscled and extremely tattooed man just nodded his ascent and began freehanding a design for the Phoenix on my right side. I was decently numbed from the booze, but as time passed, the more my sides protested in pain. Occasionally, I would feel a quick rush of air push cold wind over my aching skin and nearly groan in pleasure.

Finally, three hours later, I was gingerly easing my shirt back on, sides to be kept wrapped for the next hour or so, in case they started bleeding or weeping plasma and ink.

I stood, signed my name along the dotted line for the payment and stepped out on the street to find none other than Pietro standing, back resting against the side of the building with his arms crossed, obviously waiting for me.

Rather than acknowledge his presence, I moved to hail a taxi. He took that moment to wrap his arms around my middle, sending bolts of pain shooting from my fresh tattoos, and bolted down the street.

Fate, should it exist, obviously had a sense of humor. Minutes later, we were standing in the lobby of Avengers Tower.

Hesitantly, I moved for the elevator doors, wincing with every step as it pulled along my aching muscles, both from the walking and the movement of inked flesh. Pietro followed loosely behind me, as I anticipated. Once he had retrieved me, he certainly wasn’t going to let me escape. He was perhaps the one Avenger I couldn’t simply evade or trick, his eyes caught things as though they were moving half the speed they actually were.

An uncomfortable silence ensued as Pietro pressed the button to take us up to the Penthouse, the de facto floor for team meetings.

Despite receiving an equal number of concerned and suspicious glances, most of the team paid me little to no mind.

Peter gestured to Pietro, eyes questioning, and nods were exchanged. What I wouldn’t give to be able to hear what they were thinking. And maybe it was vain of me to assume that they’d been communicating about me, but I was almost positive.

Lost in my reverie, I almost missed the command Cap gave to Wanda to put me under. I hadn’t even taken a step by the time I was falling to the ground, unconscious, caught in lean arms.

It would be the best rest I’d get for weeks to come.

________________________________________________________________

I woke up in my own rooms, restrained to the bed. What had happened was fairly obvious, considering the only person who was in my rooms besides me was Tony. And he had an Iron Gauntlet trained on me as I came to. I hacked to clear my throat before speaking. “Seems like a bit of overkill Grandpa.”

Tony just glared down at me, not moving a single inch or softening in any way.

I tried again. “So I take it Witchy rummaged around in my head and found some… Not so savory things. Perhaps my stint as a Hydra assassin. Maybe the length of my kill list even. Let me guess, you’re currently prepping a room for me at whatever new and improved raft you built to keep Thanos locked up and never coming back. Fair warning, I’ll never go willingly and I can put up one hell of a fight.”

“Fortunately for you, that decision’s not up to me and would require the input of the feds, which, knowing what we do now, I can fairly certainly say, you’d prefer if they stayed out of it. 12 US government officials assassinated in less than three months by yours truly. Wow. Talk about a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Were I not a better man, I��d shoot you right now.”

“So why are you here Tony, if not to kill me?” I snarled back at him. “What good does me being alive do? To anyone.” That startled him a little bit, shell shocked enough to look up and into my eyes, where I saw my own feral irises reflected.

But he steeled himself again within moments. And then, out of the breast pocket of his blue blazer, he grabbed a sheet of paper.

Not a sheet of paper I realized as he folded it out for me. A picture of a skinny redheaded woman. One I recognized intimately. “Target 17. What do you need to know?” I questioned coldly, unfeeling. That made him jerk backward in his seat and hastily stand, panting and heaving, murderous intent glinting in his brown eyes.

“Her name was Pepper. And she was killed three days before our wedding, carrying my child. So I’d like to know. Was it-,“ he spat out like the words were physically fighting to escape from his body.

“Was it me? No. I was in the wind with my sister for a few months after our covers were almost blown taking out a diplomat in Indonesia. For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry Tony. Especially,” I said, voice dropping to a whisper, “about your son.”

“Excuse me, my what?” Fists clenched, he strode up to the side of my bed, closer to my head. I shied away from him as he bent down and got into my face. “What did you just say to me?”

Fuck. He didn’t know and I just made it ten times worse. The sound of his repulsor charging broke the most pregnant silence I’d ever heard. Before he could fire, though, Thor and Steve burst through the door and caught him as he collapsed in anguish, taking him away, leaving me alone. They knew everything about my time with Hydra. The evil I’d done and the evil I’d allowed to happen. I was the enemy. And I had no backup.

So back to normal.

Hours later, I gave in to my bone-deep weariness and collapsed into sleep. Dream after fever dream encased my drained mind, ephemeral and diaphanous. Most images were forgotten immediately, flighty and fragile as a butterfly’s wing. Others though, others stuck like mosquitos stuck in amber. Flashes.

Light, blood, destruction. Tattooed stars and deep, harrowing scars on ragged faces. Sobbing little boys with green eyes and silky hair.

Despite the intense lunacy and deep feeling of realness, I felt while dreaming, I was aware of a deep, striking pain within myself. It settled in my chest, buried deep, as though I’d replaced my stomach with Mjolnir. The ache was both sharp and dull, full and waning. It signaled that a harsh reality awaited me in the waking world. When I was dreaming it was like the pain had no anchor, no reason for tormenting me, as hapless and defenseless as a newly hatched bird.

When I’m half-awake, like I am now, I know why the pain is here, understand the presence of gut-wrenching guilt and searing hot shame and thus can accept them. I’m not sure which is worse to experience.

Sometimes I’m fully awake, being handed crackers or grapes or bottles of water by a person whose name I don’t know because I’m never cognizant long enough to catalog their face. Seconds later, I’m again drowning, pulled into the depths of my dreamscape.

My reality blurs and the cycle continues, vicious unto the end. And every time I wake, my cheeks are embarrassingly wet. It feels like weeks before I’m awake long enough to realize I’m not alone. That every time I wake, a new face is staring back at me from a different chair in my room.

I come to recognize them again in time. Wanda, Pietro, Bucky, Steve, Vision, even Peter. But never Tony.

I sit up for the first time after what feels like a month, though the limited aching emanating from my bones tells me, logically, that it’s only been a fraction of that time. One either side of my bed is a Maximoff. Wanda looks more concerned than wary. Pietro looks like a lion who caught the scent of an enemy pride.

“Go slowly Kaida,” Wanda urges, “you must be weak. It’s been a few days since you rejoined the land of the living. Her continued inquiries and entreaties fall on deaf ears. As vulgar as it now sounds in retrospect, I knew I had to move or else an accident would occur. I stumbled into my en suite, knowing even without needing to look that they would have removed anything that would have made a suitable weapon.

I also know that, should my biology betray any sign of shifting to make use of my abilities, F.R.I.D.A.Y. would alert the others and the full might of the Avengers would fall upon my head. And Wanda would have me back out in seconds. What couldn’t be stopped of measured for, of course, were things such as my superhuman hearing, that was currently picking up on the muffled conversation the twins were having in my bedroom on the other side of the bedroom door.

“Why are you blocking FRIDAY, we should be alerting the others that the prisoner is awake and ready for their attention.”

“Pietro! She’s not our prisoner,” Wanda reprimanded. “Besides, I wish to have a moment alone with the girl. Even if she is not a child of Strucker, she is what Hydra made her to be, somehow. I just… I’d like for her to have a sympathetic listener at first. We never got the benefit of the doubt. If you remember we weren’t exactly unwilling in our crusade against the Avengers.”

Pietro just grunted in agreement but remained tense at his sister's side. I quickly twisted off the faucet and reentered the bedroom. Rather than speak, Wanda simply patted the seat of the chair across from hers, indicating that I should take a seat. It was the gentlest command ever issued. I slid back until my shoulders brushed the high back of the chair.

Wanda opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off with a gesture of my hands. I leaned forward, extending my head towards her.

“Just look, let my mind answer your questions. I don’t know that I’d have the strength to or that we’d have the time before the others come charging in. If I’m going to die, I need at least one person to know and believe the truth. Maybe help persuade Captain Rogers to end my life swiftly. It’s more than I deserve.”

With that Wanda, eyes shining, placed her hands on my temples and breathed deeply as we were both transported to an infinitely darker place, many years ago.

Sinking through my memories was like drifting uncontrollably through a minefield. Tiny bursts of anguish shot through my mind as Wanda relived my upbringing with my sister, the house of horrors that was our home, being tapped to join Hydra and agreeing without ‘persuasion'. The missions, targets and our downfall. My sister's son. And finally, the mission that sent us both running for the hills...

The time since then. One dead-end job to another, sisters working to support each other, all while looking for the last remaining piece of our family. And, then that day had come. The snap and dust. Guilt flooding me and overwhelming a sense of horror as time passed.

Homeless until my… boyfriend. The horror that home turned into, one that I do still feel as though I deserved. Until one night he went too far and I left. The night Peter found me. Of course in the midst of all this, you had my ‘heroics' that mostly consisted of helping women out of situations I understood all too well. And that damned school. So Peter was looking for me at the behest of the Avengers after the most recent event had even landed on the front page of the New York Times.

My deeply buried need to have somewhere to call home, to have not just someone on my six but to have a family. All the emotions that Hydra and I, through my conditioning at their hands, thought of as compromising and weak.

I had agreed, understanding that I could play the role of Asset for the good guys for once, maybe correct some of the horrific circumstances I had had a hand in creating. My mission would be protecting others for the first time. Only in my wildest dreams had I imagined I'd ever have a family again, but they had begun to feel like home, in spite of the secrets I kept. Now that was ruined. That was inevitable, I reminded myself. Because of who I am, I could never have a family. I didn't deserve one.

“No,” Wanda said, interrupting our shared stream of thoughts, "not ruined, just a little, broken. They accepted us in time." Pietro nodded, eyes alighting on his sister and then on me. Curiosity burned in his soul-deep gaze. He leaned forward and used his abnormally large hand and rough fingers to cover his sister's hand, which I just realized was now twined in mine.

Connected like this, I felt the smallest flicker of hope come to life in me, setting my heart aflutter. Understanding and acceptance filled their eyes and I did tear up a little. I never expected this.

“You are not the monster your parents created. Nor the asset that Hydra trained. You are more than that Kaida. Let us help you find it. Find yourself.”

I nodded, leaning into her embrace as she gripped me by the shoulders and kissed my cheek.

At Wanda’s urging, I stepped into the shower, running my hand through my hair as nearly a week’s worth of grime was stripped off my body. I think it was safe to say that I’d never felt more confused and well, vulnerable in my life.

For the time being, I didn’t have a mission or a purpose. My handler, or the surrogate my mind had appointed was questionable at best now that all had been revealed. I didn’t like being left to my own mind and devices. Too many thoughts would rattle around inside my head. After a few hours, the twins left again, gentle eyes and kind reassurances.

Later and not seconds after my stomach rumbled with a fierceness I had forgotten it had, my door opened and a tray of food entered, held by Bucky, the Winter Soldier.

A/N: I’m uploading another chapter tonight that I am formatting and scheduling right flipping now so I don’t flake again. Really pumped for the new fic I’m starting though!

taglist: @peeterparkr @laurfangirl424 @private-bucky-barnes

10 notes · View notes

masshirohebi-moved · 5 years

Note

“ the pain will always be there. “

poetry sentence startersRain falls morbidly from the sky, dark clouds dulling the colours of the village, drowning the land in shades of grey and blue. And perhaps these sullen colours are better, perhaps this grim weather is to everyones benefit. For anguish lingers in the hearts of all shinobi, the Second War leaving no mind unscarred. Had the sun greeted the group, had the hues of the world been bright and radiant, the misery of a battle won-yet-lost would be ever more apparent. The serpent, for one, did not feel in the mood for pretty weather.Whatever comfort they had tired to offer her was poorly construed. Trying to convince her this was inevitable, trying to convince her she can rise above it. Trying to convince her, and perhaps themself. Their words futile nature is evident when she replies, her dulled hazel eyes never meeting their gold pair. Her lips part, uttering a sentence both true and unbearable to hear:“The pain will always be there.” And when had that pain started for her? Nawaki’s death, they imagine. To hear the news of the boy falling victim to a gruesome death. To know he hadn’t even had the peace of mind that help may come. For no medics awaited the fallen, the only mercy to be a given… a swifter death. And in a way, the viper feels responsible for her brothers fate. Had they not been right there? Had they not stood mere meters away from the blast? The catalyst in her trauma then, that is what the serpent was. Had she never lost her brother, she would never have been so doomed to feel what she feels now. She would never have met Dan… she would never have lost him. A powerful woman, a tenacious and undefeated warrior. They would never, could never, forget the look of grief, terror and pain that etched itself on to her face when she clung to the body of her lover. When she fought the gods of death to bring him back to this world.And to this day, the serpent has not apologized for Nawaki’s death, for their hand in this. They owe her that much, do they not? They owe her something. But they could not voice their guilt, she never asked them to either. They are too cowardly to open that door. And every time they try to bring themself to say sorry, they wish to say something else instead━━ ‘I can bring him back.’But what apology would that be? What risk they would be taking. Too much, for an imperfect jutsu they had stolen from her grandfather. To offer another sin in exchange for their first one… it seemed unfitting. It seemed unwise.

It is Jiraiya who offers more well crafted reassurance to the woman, it is he who seems to be doing a better job than the serpent. And perhaps it is more suitable that way, as they take a step back to allow for the two to have this more meaningful exchange. They are better at unraveling things after all. They are better at killing, fierce and ruthless. It was never their talent to mend. They would unravel the world, they would unravel themself. Destruction lining their core.Besides, when letting her down so very finally, did they deserve to say they loved her? They didn’t think so. Useless unless aimed to kill, and they had certainly killed Nawaki’s attackers. But that talent only came in after. That talent only came in too late. Rain has sunken in to the fabrics of all three shinobi’s clothing, but none shake from the cold. For once, not even the chilly hands of winter can be the primary focus of the snake.“You should go to medical,” they say to her, noticing every laceration on her form, their quiet voice barely surpassing the sound of the wind. But they are unwilling to be loud, scared it may undo her. Humans were such fragile creatures, and she had suffered enough to warrant implosion. Maybe she doesn’t hear them, too lost in her own world of despair, maybe she chooses not to. They catch her sleeve, “Tsunade, you should-”Their own words lose mobility, as they stare in to her blank gaze. Their hand retracts, their resolve to tell her to preform any duty (for her benefit or not), seemingly unfit. What more could anyone demand of her? They fall silent, before allowing her to go as she pleases. An unvoiced declaration that they would follow regardless. They would patch her wounds themself, if they must, they could return the favour after years of her fulfilling the task.And although they walk beside her from the war grounds to the village, they can not help think, as her dulled eyes look back to the familiar landscape - that she would never be coming home.

#ikkakusenkin #||●ANSWERED-❝disclosed❞#/long post #/character death #/death mention

2 notes · View notes

southernfxckinghero-blog · 6 years

Text

Avenge.

Pairings | Avengers x F!Reader

Word Count | 1,878 words

Warnings | INFINITY WAR SPOILERS, language, angst

Summary | The worse has happened and the reader just cannot deal with the pain.

It had happened.

Everything that everyone had been fighting for was all for naught.

The sound of the golden metal fingers connecting in a snap was haunting, not to mention the fact that it seemed to stop time with the echo that followed. Everyone came to a stop that was in the immediate area of Thanos as he disappeared, no one truly knowing what happened. Steve demanded to know what happened, his voice rough and very obviously worried.

The war happening back in the main area of Wakanda raged on, though not for long. Bucky had wandered from the battlefield to find and assist Steve, but as he made it his body felt different - not like it had ever felt before. He started to stumble more and more with each step he took, finally reaching the area where Steve, Wanda, Vision, and several others had been. "Steve?" He called as the super soldier's eyes landed on him, almost falling over. Before Steve could even think to respond, Bucky slowly turned to nothing more than a dust pile before him. A knowing expression fell upon Steve as he realized what was happening, tears filling in his eyes; how could he have let this happen?

Carnage surrounded Wakanda, full of dead human bodies and alien bodies alike, before the majority of the survivors turned randomly to dust - even the king, T'Challa. There were very few survivors. Steve, Rhodey, Rocket, Thor, Bruce, and Natasha were amongst the only heroes on Earth to survive. It was no better in space, specifically on Titan.

Tony was the only original Avenger left standing on Titan, only with Nebula seeming to survive with him. Strange, Drax, Mantis, both Peters, all gone. The amount of pain Tony was in as Peter - Spiderman - died in his arms was so overwhelming that he couldn't even register it. All Tony could manage to do was mourn into his hands, silently cursing himself for ever involving a child. Wanda had given him a vision of all of his friends dead before him - back when Ultron was a threat - and now that it was real, he didn't know what to do.

Back on Earth, [Y/N] curled into a ball against a tree as salty tears ran down her face to mix with dirt and blood. She had been in the immediate area and witnessed the deaths of Vision, Wanda, and Bucky. Part of her begged silently to be taken in place of them, her heart full of pain. "We need to go," Steve ordered with a booming authority, "I said get up, [Y/N]!" He never yelled before, not really, so this sudden anger made her flinch. It was evident that he was trying to hide his agony, though that was no excuse.

The next few months were full of anguish and regret on the survivors, but after the civil war that happened to break the Avengers apart, it was enough to mend the bullet holes. Steve and Tony began talking again, trying to find anyway to reverse the damage with the help of Bruce. Natasha was reunited with Clint, and the two worked on reforming Clint after the death of his family. Rocket and Thor searched the cosmos for Thanos with the help of Nebula, though they had found nothing of interest. [Y/N] was the only person who remained too damaged to function. She hardly spoke to the others, and when she did it was brief.

Every night, [Y/N] would have nightmares involving Thanos. He would torture her friends, the people she loved, in front of her with no mercy - she was never able to save them or do anything. "It's all right, little one," Thanos would coo at her as he ripped the mind stone out of Vision's head over and over with Wanda screaming in the background, "they were holding back your true potential - potential I can unlock. Take my hand and I will lead you to a life without pain." It was always the same. He would beat people she didn't even know, other aliens, down to a pulp and she would cry for him to stop. Dr. Strange was tortured by spikes of ice going into his face, Spiderman beaten until he couldn't breathe, Loki choked out over and over, much more graphic things happened, then it would all start over.

[Y/N]'s response was always the same, in every single recurring nightmare. "I'll never go with you, you sick son of a bitch," she would cry, "just take me and stop torturing them, please!" She would beg, but Thanos never did anything more than smirk. The end of the dream also never varied, it always ended with all of her friends dying. Every time it happened, [Y/N] would wake in a pool of sweat and start crying, unable to sleep the rest of the night. No one was aware this was happening to her, so they couldn't help.

These nightmares lasted for months until [Y/N] finally gave in to what the dream wanted; she told Thanos that she would join him so long as her friends lived. The Mad Titan agreed to these terms, tossing Spiderman to the side to grab her instead - and then the nightmare ended. The terrible dream no longer happened, and sleep was much easier to achieve. Something drastic had changed though, not that it was noticeable to [Y/N]; she felt fine, but the others saw she was far from it.

Knowing nothing of these nightmares that [Y/N] had, they became confused when she would lash out for absolutely no reason. Her personality had changed and she would mutter to herself about killing them, but everyone marked it off as trauma. It was all very bizarre to the other survivors, especially considering [Y/N] had finally come out of her room to socialize. The nightmares, not that anyone knew about them, were gone, so why had [Y/N] changed into someone completely different?

More months passed by and the attitude of [Y/N] only worsened with time. It had become so terrible, in fact, that she had been in several physical altercations with Clint. Everyone had decided that it would be best to contain [Y/N], but upon sharing this information with her, she lost it. "You people will never understand what it was like to lose everything," she yelled in rage, "I loved them, all of them! Yet here I stay, hopeless and lost in this tower in New York, silently praying that this is all just another fucking nightmare." Her words had faded into a whisper, tears rolling slowly down her face as she mourned. "It's never just another nightmare. Hell, maybe Thanos was right after all," she continued after a brief moment, everyone watching on in guilt and confusion, "maybe half of the universe did deserve to die just to prevent anymore pain, but man do I wish it was all of you bastards instead of all of them." With nothing more than a bitter laugh, [Y/N] turned on her heels and began her way back to her room.

Just before [Y/N] reached the top, someone decided to say something. "Another nightmare?" Steve asked simply, his voice low and compassionate despite hearing such harsh words. With bloodshot eyes, [Y/N] turned to the group and smiled grimly. It was only then did they see how broken she was, how tortured she had been, how desperately she wanted everyone back. Her hair was in knots and tangles, her clothing worn and stained, her nails covered in grime. "Why didn't you come to us?" Steve asked after a moment of long silence, taking careful steps towards [Y/N].

Standing completely still, [Y/N] stared at Steve with an intensity he hadn't seen since the war. "Why didn't I come to you? You were the group that never gave a damn about me," she spat once he was close enough, "Wanda always soothed me when I was upset, y'know? She would sing in her first language and rub my back and do whatever she knew would make me feel better. And I would help Peter with his homework even though he never needed it, he always accepted the help." More tears slid down her cheeks. "Vision would teach me things I never knew, and I would teach him to cook. Sam and Bucky would always argue and I would be the one to break it up," she laughed solemnly, "and once I even spoke to Loki about everything from space to his life, and we had fun together." At this point, [Y/N] was a mess of tears in the middle of the room. No one dared to speak or move in fear of angering her, though she needed no persuasion to be angry - she quickly wiped away the tears, her eyes glaring daggers at everyone. "And what have any of you done for me, ever?! I wasn't an original Avenger and that's why you never gave a shit," she pointed at each individual person, "and I tried so hard to get you to notice me. Whenever Steve was around I would always ask to go to the gym with him, but he'd always say he was busy. Clint and Natasha were always too busy to spar with me. Tony and Bruce were always too busy to teach me anything scientific. And Thor was always in space and too busy conquering people that didn't need to be conquered while his brother fought to be his equal. So, to answer your question Steve, I was too busy to come to you." With those last words of truth and anger, [Y/N] stomped back to her room and locked the door.

It took several days after the outburst for anyone to try to communicate with [Y/N]. Steve was the first, of course, and offered to take her out for whatever dinner she desired, but she declined in a rather rude fashion. The next person to offer to take her out for food was surprisingly Clint, but again she declined. Natasha, Bruce, Thor, they all tried to coax [Y/N] from her room and failed. Tony was the only person to not even attempt to comfort [Y/N] after the outburst because he was hurt from her words, true as they may be. It was that famous ego that held him back, so Steve would say, which would only annoy Tony. Finally, he did walk to [Y/N]'s room and offered to get takeout, she accepted. She told him her order through the door, sniffling and hurt, before he left to grab her food.

That was how everything worked from then on; someone would bring [Y/N] food and she would stay locked away. Everyday was the same process over and over again... until Scott Lang offered an option to travel through time. Of course, [Y/N] thought it was impossible, but when it turned out to be truth, [Y/N] promised herself that she would find Thanos when they went back to their own time. She swore to herself that she would be an Avenger, that she would avenge her fallen friends, and that she would be the death of the Mad Titan.

92 notes · View notes

overwatch-trash-sr · 6 years

Text

Angela carefully observed the patient sitting before her – unlike any of the others. Partly man, partly machine; he crashed spontaneously into her life with the force of a vicious storm. When Angela gazed too long at the glowing lights fitted to his artificial torso, her mind was flooded with images of a nightmare she thought herself long recovered from.

It was the memory of Genji’s broken body, lying unmoving on a gurney as medics rushed him from the helipad. He had been so badly injured, even the most esteemed trauma center in the area was only able to stabilize him. Perched precariously on the edge of life and death, the young man was brought to Angela. Her experience as Overwatch’s resident physician was Genji’s final hope.

Overwatch was already keeping tabs on the Shimada clan. They tracked the prodigal Shimada son all the way to his untimely demise at the hands of his older brother. At least, they thought that had been his end, until the trauma center responded to Overwatch’s inquiries into the situation that he was alive – but barely clinging to life.

Genji’s crimson eyes turned down to the white tile floor. He had suffered much since she brought him back. To the untrained eye, Genji seemed healthy – or as healthy as a cyborg could be. Sitting with his back straight, he wore a silent confidence that was almost predatory. Angela was not overwhelmed by his intensity as easily as their comrades.

She was a professional and noticed the slight slouch in his shoulders that betrayed the weight he carried upon them. The covert missions he silently took part in were obviously taking their toll on him. The speculation surrounding Blackwatch’s dealings were all around them. The gossip sometimes made her blood boil. Being a part of the strike team, Angela knew the motives behind Blackwatch’s operations. It didn’t mean she agreed with operating covertly or even understood the necessity. To her, it seemed like betraying the public’s trust and their methods were becoming more questionable, but she was not in charge.

Absently, she blinked away from Genji and down to the glowing screen angled upwards on the desk before her. His name – Genji Shimada – was marked in bold at the top of the page. She scrolled downwards, thoroughly reviewing the vitals her staff had recorded earlier. Through trial and error, she learned what his optimal vitals were. His organic body had needed time to adjust to the changes, more than if it were just a small portion of him – like an appendage. Genji had suffered the loss of a massive percentage of his body. His survival was nothing short of a miracle, but his recovery was even more incredible.

Incredible, but exhaustive. Though the constant care was necessary, Angela worried deeply for his mental wellbeing. The organization pressured her to hasten his recovery, but compromised when she allowed them a more comprehensive role in optimizing his cybernetics. It was a gamble – she worried that his mind wouldn’t be able to cope with all the change, but it was better than rushing him through recovery and risking a preventable complication – like infection or rejection.

She continued to scroll through his chart, quickly looking over the details from his last visit before turning her attention back to him. He really was in great health, at least physically.

His suffering, though, was nearly palpable in the air.

She was afraid she might choke on it – the waves of anguish that seemed to roll off him as he sat quietly staring at the tiled floor. Or maybe it wasn’t his pain she sensed, but her own - over what she had done to an innocent man - projected onto him. Maybe it was his and hers; clashing and combining into a monster neither had control over – not that they ever had – but had to suffer for.

Angela coughed, pushing out the guilt balling in her throat. “So,” she started, breaking the silence that had built. His eyes flicked up to meet hers. There was a gentle quickness to the way he moved – not unlike the flittering of a small bird. “How do you feel?”

A part of Angela yearned to reach out and promise to heal him – to fight away whatever had come to ail him. Perhaps it had to do with the awful circumstances that brought him to her, but Genji stirred up emotions that were unfamiliar to Angela.

She ignored them. After all, it was her patient sitting before her and she was not known to be inappropriate.

Instead, she smiled and Genji’s shoulders lifted slightly along with the corners of her lips. The subtle movement made warmth burst in her chest. Cocking his head like a curious bird, his hard expression softened a bit. “Better,” he hummed, his voice smooth and low. “Now that I’m here.”

Angela quickly swiveled away, trying to hide the burn spread across her cheeks. “I hope you aren’t just saying that,” she quipped, trying to sound casual. Trying to keep it professional. Now her mind was assaulting her with memories of their last meeting – feverish hands, desperate mouths.

She forced the images out of her mind and turned pointedly back towards Genji. A subtle grin had spread across his lips, but it didn’t seem anything other than genuine.

“I hope you aren’t just saying that,” she repeated, firmly this time, as she rolled her stool closer to the bedside.

He kept his gaze fixed to her as she rolled closer. “I mean it,” he assured her. He parted his mouth, but hesitated, closing his lips staunchly instead.

“Good.” Angela stood and gestured to his arms rested neatly in his lap. “May I?”

Genji complied without answering, lifting his living arm into her open hand. He watched her inspect his skin, feeling her gentle fingers as she pressed firmly against his tissue, giving careful observation to his forearm.

She pressed at the sturdy conduits that connected the biological to the artificial. During his recovery, Angela attempted to explain the exact science that held him together, but it had agitated him too much. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear the truth. He didn’t want to face what he was or what he had lost.

A surge of discomfort ran from his arm to his mind, like a zap of lightning. He hissed – partly in shock and pain – as he jerked his arm away from Angela’s probing fingers. It happened from time to time. A misfiring of electrical impulses he was told. The answer satisfied him enough. He didn’t truly care why, he just wanted it to stop. The sensation wasn’t excruciating, but uncomfortable and disorienting – not something he’d easily been able to get used to. It was one of many things that had changed about him.

Angela immediately reached out, holding her hand tentatively above his arm. “Are you alright, Genji?” She questioned, an unusual tinge of worry evident in her voice.

As the world rocked unsteadily around him, he thrusted his arm back into her grip, answering gruffly, “The zaps – like electricity. I can feel them when you press.” He carefully pointed to the spot on his arm that had triggered the reaction.

His spinning gaze fell back to the tiled floor as she did a quick inspection, but Angela gently squeezed his wrist, eliciting his gaze towards her. The expression she wore was so tender, it made Genji’s heart ache. Many of their comrades remarked her angelic features – even dubbing her Mercy for her role in combat. He had seen her in training, witnessed Mercy in action himself. The dramatic armor, the staff, the wings – it was almost comical to Genji, but he had concluded that Angela was one for both efficacy as equally theatrics.

Watching, but not listening, as Angela explained again what was happening inside Genji’s body, he couldn’t deny her cherubic features – round and soft. Her pleasant voice steady and determined; indiscernible words brushed like silk against his ears. Goosebumps rose on his arm.

It was almost hard for him to believe what she’d done to him.

As Angela explained the dynamic behind the symptom he was experiencing, she noticed the shift in his demeanor. He was tense in her grip – muscles taught, hair raised. She quieted, watching as Genji’s eyes turned glossy – his attention lost to a place that was not the room they occupied.

Angela drew a quick breath, ready to draw her patient back to reality, but his eyes snapped towards her before she could. She was almost startled by his unpredictable movements.

Careful to maintain her composure, Angela placed Genji’s arm back in his lap. She silently gestured to the other.

Genji glared; red eyes lingering on hers as he placed his artificial limb in her open grasp. His intense gaze made her feel small and for the first time, she understood what her comrades referred to when they spoke distrustfully of the mysterious ninja. She surmised he was coping to the best of his ability, given everything that had happened to him. Overwatch hadn’t cared to ask about his personal details. Angela assumed the organization knew all they needed, but she didn’t.

Angela delved into Genji’s entire history. Not for any other reason beyond mapping a comprehensive clinical history that could aid in his survival and recovery. She wasn’t the only one with access to the information either – it was reviewed by others working on his case, including other soldiers on the strike team, Torbjörn Lindholm and their commander, Jack Morrison.

Holding his arm now, Angela could feel the slight tug against her efforts to inspect the points of connection – where organic tissue and medical-grade cybernetic technology collided to make him an entire man.

The thought caused her stomach to somersault.

“Are you alright, Dr. Zeigler?” Genji asked, pulling his shoulder out of her now-unmoving grasp.

Angela reeled, her instinct being to pull his shoulder back into his grasp. She stopped herself, instead letting her arms fall to her sides and stepping back towards her stool, trying again to gain control of the situation.

Her heart sank into the pits of her stomach as she answered weakly, “Certainly.” She tried to keep her vision straight. Genji wasn’t feeling well either – she used that to leverage herself. Misery likes company, hm?

As her stare shifted back to Genji, Angela let the realization fully wash over her; she compromised her authority the moment she stepped away from her clinical duties. She breached her contract – crossed boundaries that she never should have crossed. Her duty was to the wellbeing of her patient, but she had failed that mission the moment she decided to be someone other than his physician. Whether that was the moment she agreed to actually take on his case or the moment she touched him with intimate intentions, she was unsure.

Angela set Genji’s arm down and stepped away from the table, hands in the air as though surrendering from a battle long fought.

Confusion settled over Genji’s tensed face, his expression quickly turning distrustful. “Angela?”

Her small frame jolted at the sound of her name extending from his throat, swathing her like a loving serpent. “This is wrong,” she lamented, sitting down on her stool and pushing herself back towards her desk.

Angela stared at his chart. It had auto-scrolled to the top of the page; the line she had last visited was hyperlinked in a highlighted box at the top of the page. It was his name though, that hooked her attention. Genji Shimada. His name played like music in her mind.

“Genji,” Angela’s voice was strained, holding back all the words she truly wanted to say, “I’m sorry,” she said, turning to face him again. It wasn’t that she wanted to hurt him – she had done enough of that, but if he was going to take away her authority, she had to knock him down a bit too. The clinical detachment she usually practiced had failed, it was time to take him on by more personal means.

“We will have to find you a new provider.”

Part Two

#sorry for the formatting #genji #genji shimada #overwatch genji #blackwatch #mercy #overwatch mercy #gency #overwatch #overwatch gency #hi #molly

44 notes · View notes

dipulb3 · 3 years

Text

Traumatizing details of George Floyd's death were shown at trial. Experts weigh in on who should -- and shouldn't -- see them

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/traumatizing-details-of-george-floyds-death-were-shown-at-trial-experts-weigh-in-on-who-should-and-shouldnt-see-them/

Traumatizing details of George Floyd's death were shown at trial. Experts weigh in on who should -- and shouldn't -- see them

They were among the officers responding to a call accusing Floyd of using a fake $20 bill at convenience store.

The footage shows two perspectives of the events before and after the nine minutes and 29 seconds Chauvin and two other officers knelt on Floyd’s neck and body.

Lane’s bodycam is up-close and personal, capturing Floyd’s fear and increasing panic as he struggles with officers trying to put him into a police car: “Don’t do this to me,” he pleaded repeatedly. “I’m claustrophobic!”

Agonizingly clear are Floyd’s struggles to breathe and cries for his mother as Chauvin continues to kneel on Floyd’s neck.

Thao’s bodycam shows the panicked reactions of a growing crowd at the corner of 38th Street and Chicago Avenue as they plead with officers to stop.

“Does he have a pulse?” yelled off-duty firefighter and certified EMT Genevieve Hansen when the officers refuse to let her examine Floyd. “Tell me what his pulse is right now!”

And then a chorus of anguished voices: “What are you doing, he’s dying!” “He’s not moving!” “Get off his neck, bro!” “He’s f**king dead!”

If you and your loved ones haven’t already, should you watch these traumatizing videos and follow the trial as it unfolds? What role might your race, ethnicity or prior experience with trauma play in your decision? If you have viewed them and are struggling with emotions, what can you do to help yourself and those you care about?

Appradab reached out to four trauma experts for their opinions: psychology professor Janet Helms, the director of the Institute for the Study and Promotion of Race and Culture at Boston College; Dr. Cheryl Singleton Al-Mateen, a professor of psychiatry and pediatrics at Virginia Commonwealth University and medical director at the Virginia Treatment Center for Children; and clinical psychologists Michele Cosby and Leslie Kimball, who are both assistant professors of psychiatry at the Virginia Treatment Center for Children.

Here are their thoughts, edited lightly for clarity.

Leslie Kimball: For adults who have had similar traumatic experiences, I think it’s advisable not to watch the video or trial without some opportunity to get support or to talk with someone else about it — isolation is dangerous.

But everyone may be deeply disturbed by these videos — that’s our humanity, our empathy — and that’s a wonderful thing. It’s also an awful thing that we are able to put ourselves in his shoes and feel his terror and helplessness. It was clear he knew what was happening and what was about to happen. It’s secondary trauma — we are witnessing someone else’s trauma, and so we experience a form of trauma.

Be aware if you experience intrusive memories, or even flashbacks. And if you notice that starts to interfere with your daily activities — your sleep, your appetite, and certainly if you start having any unsafe thoughts about death or dying or hurting yourself — the first step is to talk with someone you trust, such as a mental health professional.

When it comes to children, parents need to be careful. We can’t protect children entirely from these realities, but we want their exposure to be developmentally appropriate. No, we would not want young children to watch these tapes, but we may want to have a conversation with them about what they may be hearing. For older children, maybe they watch a news story about it, but if an entire tape is being played, say “Hey, let’s not watch this part.”

Janet Helms: I think White people have a duty to watch the videos, because if you don’t watch as a White person, then you never know these things are happening in your name. So I think you have a duty to watch, to bear witness, to say, “This is not who I am; it’s not who you are.”

It’s a different experience for Black and Indigenous people, because they are watching similar experiences with respect to violence in their own lives every week, and so this is just building trauma, upon trauma, upon trauma for Black people.

In retraumatization, whatever symptoms were experienced the first time, are going to be aggravated a second time, and perhaps more strenuously than the first time. It’s racial PTSD, and my team has resources and a tool kit people can use at #racialtraumaisreal.

I also think even people of color did not expect to see what happened to Mr. Floyd.

Although people of color, particularly Black and Indigenous people, grow up knowing that they are likely to be victims of police violence, we don’t typically see (police) spend such a prolonged amount of time killing a person.

Watching them drain a person’s life is particularly traumatic and not being able to help or prevent that yourself adds additional trauma to the situation.

Now there’s multiple trauma, reoccurring trauma, and also the knowledge that in these situations, no matter how many people are there, Black people are essentially helpless to prevent violence against one of their own.

What I often recommend to Black people is that they recognize that they’ve been traumatized, and that they need to take care of themselves by not watching those videos over and over again, if they can avoid it.

They can choose not to be a witness to this particular incident, to try to keep it out of their minds because it’s more traumatizing to them.

I say to them, “It’s okay to get help. You don’t have to be strong in this situation. This is an inhuman situation, so seek therapy to help you get over your symptoms.” It’s really important that if they talk, they are with people who can understand the trauma, their feelings of anger and guilt — and not with someone who’s going to discard it.

Or with someone, if I may say, who’s a White person who feels bad and wants the Black person to help the White person feel better. It’s not a Black person’s job to do that, it’s the White person’s job to do that for themselves.

Dr. Cheryl Singleton Al-Mateen: Understanding some of the issues related to structural racism in America is a process. People have to appreciate that it’s there, and then understand more and more about how it impacts others as well as themselves.

If someone is really saying “Well, what’s the big deal. I don’t know why should I care,” then maybe they should watch. And if somebody feels it’s part of their journey in that process to see this, then OK. But if somebody feels like “No, I don’t want to see it because it’s going to be painful for me,” then I’d say OK with that as well.

And if someone’s curious because they want to know about it, then “Fair warning, this could be traumatic for you to watch.” But it may be something that’s necessary for some people to see to understand what is happening.

It should not be necessary for someone to watch something that’s traumatizing, because you don’t know what their personal history of trauma is. What is a necessity is to listen, understand and believe.

Michele Cosby: I would encourage any person of color to take emotional inventory of what they can handle. For me as a trauma therapist, I know I dare not watch something that is triggering for me in the middle of my workday when I may not be emotionally resourced to handle it.

I encourage Black people to seek their own support. That could be structured or professional therapy. It can also be seeking out your spiritual leader or talking to loved ones who are seeing and experiencing very similar things.

It’s vicarious trauma. By hearing stories or witnessing and feeling the pain and the fear and the terror, it’s as if you are going through the trauma yourself, because you’re bearing witness to how that was for someone else. And especially for people of color watching, it also triggers their own life experiences, dealing with generations of racial trauma.

As a Black woman, I think what is often triggering is that it makes you think of your son, your uncle, your grandfather — all those people in your life that might encounter that situation.

There isn’t a way to avoid it completely, but I think part of this is taking inventory of emotions, recognizing what your emotions are. So if I have no emotion, if I’m numb, if my life experiences I associate with this leave me hopeless — that’s something I probably need to deal with. If I’m triggered with anger or guilt or desperation, then I need to figure out how to channel that for my own healing.

As a collective, this is not new for us, so having that shared experience can be helpful if it’s being channeled in a way that doesn’t cause you to self-destruct. Because it can easily trigger sadness, depression. Anxiety and fear are based out of not having control, and what those videos show is feeling out of control.

0 notes

maxrev · 6 years

Text

Alliance BC for Kaidan was tough for several reasons. It certainly wasn’t all sunshine and rainbow.

Day 2 - Alliance Training

“Everyone going to MCRD on your feet now!”

Remembering how things had been in BaAT, Kaidan jumped to his feet immediately. He knew what was expected. The drill instructor was headed their way, uniform crisp and pressed to within an inch of its life. The look on his face said more than words ever could.

Out of the corner of his eye, trying to look without being obvious, Kaidan saw quite a few of the new recruits, a very few even biotics like him, weren’t quite sure what to expect...or what was expected of them. They’d all stood up at the strict voice, though the DI wasn’t yelling. Yet.

BaAT wasn’t Alliance BC but he figured he was somewhat better prepared.

“To the bus in a single file line! Do you understand?” The gruff voice had gotten marginally louder.

Surprisingly, they all yelled out with Kaidan, ‘Yes, sir!” Of course, his voice was louder than the rest, their responses lukewarm at best.

"THE CORRECT RESPONSE IS YES SIR, DO YOU UNDERSTAND!"

This time, they all yelled at the top of their lungs, “Yes, Sir!”

They proceeded to the bus and took their seats, waiting for the DI to make an appearance. Kaidan continued to look forward but several must have been sidetracked by the movement of their fellow recruits or looking out the windows.

“HEAD AND EYEBALLS TO THE FRONT OF THE BUS!”

All too soon, the bus ride was over. Once at receiving, the DI got up and proceeded to start yelling at them again. This would be their life at boot camp.

‘FROM NOW ON, THE ONLY WORDS OUT OF YOUR MOUTH WILL BE ‘YES, SIR - NO, SIR’ WHEN SOMEONE ASKS YOU A QUESTION. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“STAND UP! MOVE OUT! NOW!”

And so it began….

Processing was brutal; 36 hours with no sleep. Kaidan struggled to keep his eyes open, struggled not to let his legs buckle beneath him and pass out right there on the floor. Eyes always forward, he’d still managed to see the other recruits in varying degrees of exhaustion. The DIs thrived on creating stress just to see if they were fit to be Marines. Kaidan was going to prove that he was.

Twelve weeks of hell was on the horizon. He was determined to get through it and make his father and mother proud. He owed it to them for what he’d put them through after BaAT.

Coming home, he’d spiraled down into a hellish darkness that had seemed endless. Losing himself, Kaidan had turned to Red Sand. The drug made him feel good, riding high on a euphoria that pushed away the feelings he’d been left with after BaAt was shut down, his dark thoughts drifting away on a tide of pleasure…and the fact that he’d killed another being in cold rage. It didn’t matter to him it was in defending someone he cared so deeply about. Someone who had turned away from him after in fear.

The drug made him forget Rhana’s reaction, how she suddenly couldn’t bear to be around him anymore, couldn’t even look at him. The other students gave him a wide berth as well.

The Red Sand made every problem he’d had insignificant and far removed from his life. He lived in a haze: Didn’t notice the filthy apartment he resided in, didn’t care that his hair went unwashed or his clothes became soiled or that layers of dust and grime coated everything. Even his migraines hurt less. That alone was worth the cost of everything else. Not that he’d gave the cost of what he was doing to himself or those around him much thought.

He couldn’t even be bothered to come to the door when his parents came to check on him. Had finally driven them away with harsh, painful words. The only contact he had was when he needed more money, which only ended up being used for more of the drug.

Until the day his father refused to give him money and Kaidan screamed over the phone at him in anger, hanging up. To him, it was forever. Why care about them if they wouldn’t help him?

The, one day he woke more tired than when he’d passed out, shaking, every muscle in his body aching painfully, cold to the bone. This was it. He knew he couldn’t live like this anymore.

He’d cleaned himself up, waited for the drug to leave his system, worked on becoming healthy once again, instead of the skinny, drugged out failure he’d become. His parents welcomed him back with open arms. It took time to get over the guilt, still struggled with it on occasion but he saw the other side of his father’s refusal to help -- it’s what saved him after all.

What Kaidan hadn’t counted on in BC were three things: He was still not recovered completely from the Red Sand and it showed, the biotics training and what it meant to him specifically and the constant migraines. .

PT was brutal: Running, climbing, carrying rifles, dodging obstacles and make believe opponents. The CFT to measure their strength. Kaidan didn’t even want to know where he ended up on that scale. The recruits never caught a break and it wore him out. His limbs felt weak, he struggled for breath and there were times he thought he was surely going to pass out in the middle of the field or he was going to drop his buddy doing the fireman carry. The DIs pushed them past their point of endurance every single day. Beyond exhaustion, Kaidan proved to himself he was capable of enduring.

Inspections weren’t easier. Constantly being yelled at for something wrong, right down to every minute detail. Ever since he was little, Kaidan had taken care of his things, tried to be neat and clean. BC took it to another level. Embarrassing as it was, there were times he wanted to break down and cry. Then again, there were times he had to hold himself from screaming back in the DIs faces. But, he endured and was determined to succeed.

Water training: Kaidan thought he’d excel at that. He did. Up to a point. Until they pushed past the easy stuff and continued on and on until he felt like he’d drown, felt like he’d swallowed several gallons of chlorine and cleaned out his organs until there was no bacteria left inside him. Still, he pushed on, determined to succeed.

Weapons training: Learn about the weapons they would be using in combat. Classes were easy. Kaidan excelled, far surpassing the other recruits. He was smart, loved to learn and absorbed information like a sponge. Even better, he never forgot anything. What he hadn’t counted on was the endless hours of shooting targets until his arms shook, his hands shook, his eyesight wavered. The other recruits surpassed him here but that wasn’t going to stop him. The five mile hike seemed more like twenty with all their gear. But Kaidan was determined to succeed.

Biotics training: This week the recruits learned to work together. All of them. But the biotics had their own special brand of hell. A hell Kaidan hadn’t been expecting. Mentally, it threw him. Having dealt with the emotional trauma of killing Vyrnus, having Rhana turn away from him in fear, being shunned by the other biotic students and then having BaAT shut down had taken him to places he’d never wanted to go. This almost did the same as he was unable to move past the fear of killing someone again. All the screaming in the world wouldn’t solve that. It was a struggle every day not to let them flare out of control when he was exhausted to the point of passing out. Yet, despite the mental anguish, despite the physical exhaustion, Kaidan persevered. No. He did more than that. He overcame. He was determined to succeed.

By now, Kaidan had managed to work beyond everything that BC and the DIs had thrown at him. He had been determined to succeed and he had. Far beyond his own expectations.

Gas exposure: CS gas released in a room, fellow recruits lined up against the walls. At the moment, gas masks were on. They would have to take them off and be exposed. Kaidan was more worried about what it meant regarding his biotics. The last thing he wanted to do was annihilate his fellow recruits. He was determined to succeed.

The Crucible: Fifty four hours in the field, three meals - biotics received 2 extra protein bars - and only four hours of sleep. The final training exercise to define them as Marines, to come together and work as a team and excel. Kaidan knew migraines were going to be an issue for him during this critical time. If they made it through this, they would be Marines, fit for duty.

54 brutal hours later

He’d been determined to succeed. He’d been determined to endure. He’d been determined to make it through regardless of the hardships he’d faced in his past and the hardships BC had designed specifically to tear recruits down. Indeed, tear them down they had but they’d also built each of them back up and they were stronger than they’d ever been before. He’d gone in determined to make his parents proud and when he saw their smiling faces in the crowd on graduation day, fought an answering smile of his own.

However, even more important than any of those things, he’d made himself proud. Despite the disaster of BaAT, despite the darkness that had threatened to consume him, he learned he could rise above those types of situations and conquer them. He learned discipline and self control. He learned to be fair minded and do what was right even when no one was watching you.

He’d learned that whatever life threw at him going forward, even though he might stumble, even though he might fall, he could get up again and surge forward, a stronger and better person - a Marine fit for the Alliance.

Oorah!

#kaidanweek2017 #Kaidan Alenko #mass effect #maxwrites #alliance training #and if you make it to the end?#You also receive a medal xD #I need a nap now #Thanks Shell for the help though I don't think I used much

16 notes · View notes

agemintherough · 7 years

Note

When the next chapter should arrive? -S3rp3nt3

Ah...I was waiting for someone to ask that. This past week has been quite hard, so very little writing ended up being done. Between two jobs (including preparing for Senior graduation and three semester final exams to administer to my classes), my small family, extended family and affairs, and working on my Instructional Technology Master's Degree, it's been fun trying to balance things out. When I was writing A Gem In The Rough, I would often just write it on my phone on the go, but that led to so many typos. As such, I write the majority of the chapter on my laptop. That being said, I've got quite a bit of free time on Monday that I am dedicating to working on this, so I could theoretically finish it then...But who cares for that? Why don't I give you a preview of what's in store by catching up with my favorite character who, like everyone else in this story right now, is not in a good place:The dream always begins the same:You are standing in a desert street, surrounded by abandoned buildings. You begin to run, but soon realize that you need to be strong. Finally, you find the courage to turn around and move through the buildings. You walk and walk until finally you see her in your path:The blue-haired woman.Your hand feels heavy and you try to lighten it. As you do so, you throw the weight in the air. It materializes into a gem that starts out looking like a clear crystal but slowly materializes into the familiar pink gem that is found in your son's stomach.The gem strikes the woman. It explodes. You look on in horror as the blue-haired woman screams in pain and clutches the charred remains of what was once her hand. The guilt you feel starts to consume you...But this time the dream shifts. The pink gem is now shattered on the floor. You scramble to collect the pieces, desperate to save it. But as you do so, a voice cries from the shards:"I JUST NEED TO BE ALONE!"As you desperately work harder to put the pieces back together, the cries of anguish coming from the woman get louder and louder until they explode into a crescendo of pain. You close your eyes, unable to stop the tears. You feel more useless than you have ever felt in your life. Everything that you have tried to build has fallen apart and you are unable to fix it... Suddenly, the combined yelling of the shards and the woman turn into a loud bang. With that, Greg Universe found himself back in the land of the living.Greg was typically an optimistic, laid-back man. He lived day by day and was not concerned about much besides the necessities of life. In his mind, a perfect day was waking up to his friends and neighbors in a great mood, having a song in his heart, and seeing his son be himself. Washing cars while whistling a song on a hot summer's day was a luxury Greg looked forward to just as much as he did staring up at the stars while propped up next to his beloved van. The small things were enough and he was happy with that.Lately, however, things had been changing for Greg. While the consumption of his Devil Fruit did cause Greg to stare longingly at the ocean he could never again swim in, that did not concern him. Music was always a part of his life and his newfound abilities just solidified that for him. What was truly eating away at Greg was guilt and remorse.While Greg knew a little about some of the darker things Rose had done in the war, he made it a point to have the pair not discuss it and to focus on the beauty of the life they were living in that moment. He had nothing to truly compare her trauma and guilt to until last month, where Greg had gotten into his first true fight since his days wrestling around with his cousin Andy. It was easy to dismiss confronting the likes of General Grevious and those robots attacking that samurai, since those were conflicts that were really happening around him. Miss Doublefinger was different.Upon entering the Grand Line, Greg immediately felt useless compared to the likes of his companions and the pirates Steven called friends. He wanted to help bring him home and do his part to help save the kingdom of Alabasta. He felt useless and was afraid to be the weak link in the Straw Hat crew. After his pep talk with Nami, Greg finally took steps to do his part for the crew he would soon become affiliated with. The Baroque Works assassin was the first human he had engaged in combat (he discounted trying to stop Lapis Lazuli when she had tried to choke Steven and Connie to death) and, as such, was the first person he had ever injured. While he was not directly responsible for beating her (that honor went to the combined forces of Nami and Petrea), he had ruined the Officer Agent's hand in ways that seemed beyond repair. She might have tried to kill him and topple a country, but she did not deserve that. Greg knew that every day she would look down at that hand and blame him...that is if she was not drowning in the ocean due to Malachite or whatever Garnet and Pearl were talking about a few hours prior.After settling back into Beach City and allowing his mind the opportunity to reflect on the events of his odyssey through the Multiverse and his newfound abilities the Rhythm-Rhythm Fruit granted him, Greg found himself having uncharacteristic nightmares about the incident. It bothered him quite a bit and he beat himself up for it. He attributed it to the added stress of Steven going out to the barn to try to save the world, but deep down he knew that it was his own guilt. At first, he debated talking about it to Vidalia or Barb, but he decided against it. He knew from watching Rose that it would take time to heal and, as such, he put it out of his mind. He refused to allow his actions in a war zone dictate his actions at home. By the time of Steven's birthday, he had managed to put it all behind him and had truly embraced the relaxed lifestyle that he had once called his own. He had found solace in playing music again and getting to know the two other Officer Agents who were staying in the house he helped build. Even returning to the Grand Line did nothing to trigger his lingering guilt. However, watching his son storm away into this unfamiliar city brought it back. Not only did the guilt of his fight against Miss Doublefinger consume his thoughts, but now it was compounded by the added fear of losing his son again. Although he knew that bad things happened all the time in the world and that the right thing to do was accept it, it was getting harder and harder for him to do so. Greg always claimed that if every pork chop were perfect, the world would not have the glory that was hot dogs. Sadly, this was one of those times Greg wished he lived in a world of pork chops grilled consistently to perfection. He wanted everything to work itself out. This wish was not just for him, but for his son. Steven already had so much on his plate to deal with. The stress was not healthy for a boy of his age. Regardless, Greg appreciated Pearl's apology to him earlier in the morning. It might not be enough to bring Steven back to the group, but he knew how Pearl truly felt about him. It took a lot for her to be the bigger humanoid sentient being and talk to him. That small action was enough to get him to finally sleep...until the loud noise woke him up from his guilt-filled slumber."Huh? What's happening?" Greg asked, rubbing his eyes as he surveyed the room.His eyes fell upon Zoro and Connie, who were both holding back the door. From the other side, Greg could hear intense shouting and pounding, no doubt the loud banging noise that caused him to awaken from his sleep. The noise and shouting only grew more and more intense, causing the musician to become concerned."We don't know! There was a large...ugh...explosion outside and, before we knew...gah...it, a large mob formed outside the hotel!" Connie panted as she used all of her energy to help Zoro keep the door shut. "I think they think we might be involved with the shooting of the mayor!""That makes no damn sense but explains why we are getting targeted..." Zoro frowned and scanned the room, seemingly looking past the sleep-deprived Greg. "If that's the case, we need to get the hell out of here...and fast. These guys are not in the mood to hear us out. We can't hold them back forever.""Wait...WHAT is happening?!" Greg tried to process everything in his head. "Why the hay would they think we did anything remotely like that?!""Don't know. Don't care. When I count to three, run to that window and jump. We can make the landing and hide in the streets until we can find the others and make a better plan," Zoro shut him down and nodded toward the window in the corner. "WHAT?!" Connie and Greg said at once."We can't just jump out a window! We are up high...she's a kid! I'm overweight and out of shape! How do you expect us to...?!""For the love of...Greg, do you trust me?" Zoro growled.Before the musician could respond, the shouting from the other side of the door intensified and the pounding began to increase. Not having time to argue it out, Greg found himself getting grabbed by Zoro with Connie holding onto his back with everything she had. The only personal belonging beside the swords at his side that he had the ability to carry was the sword that formerly belonged to Rose Quartz. As Zoro jumped out of the window, Greg did everything he could not to faint or panic.Upon landing outside, however, he was unable to stop himself from doing the latter option."WE JUST JUMPED OUT OF A WINDOW! THOSE PEOPLE WERE REALLY GOING TO TRY TO KILL US OR SOMETHING, WEREN'T THEY?! WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?!" Greg panicked, collapsing by a wall in the alley where they landed. "WAIT, WHAT ABOUT STEVEN?! IS HE HURT?! WHAT ABOUT...?!""GREG!" Zoro snapped and grabbed the musician's shirt. "You need to get it through your head that we are in trouble! Staying here and yelling is doing but giving our position away! Be a part of the solution and stop adding to the problem! You have Devil Fruit powers...use them! You wanted to be a pirate? Start acting like a pirate!"As Greg struggled to articulate the dozens of thoughts going through his head, Connie put one of her hands on his back and patted it. "As harsh as he put it, he's right, Mr. Universe. We won't be able to find Steven or do anything if we stay here. We'll protect you, but we need to run!"Understanding that he had no choice in the matter, Greg nodded and let the two of them lead the way, doing their part to hide from the citizens of Water Seven. As they did so, Greg thought back once more to his fight with Miss Doublefinger and how his actions hurt that woman. Regardless of what he did to her, doing what he did saved Petra's (and potentially Amethyst's) lives and overall helped the people of this world. If he had to step up and do it again, Greg knew that he would do it. If push came to shove, Greg would do what needed to done. He would find his son and bring him back to safety. He was Steven's father and it was his responsibility to do so. It was also his responsibility to watch of Connie. If she was protecting him, he would be failing Priyanka and Doug......the thought of which scared him far more than anything Water Seven could throw at him.

3 notes · View notes