#this happened so so recently i think the post got deleted but I FUCKING SCREAMED AND IT WAS SO WEIRD TOO IT WAS SO EWWW

[incarnateirony]

sorta laying on my back thinking. I've ignored 2po's recent wave of attacks until the last few topical answers, but honestly, like. it's so over man. this is. this is so over. it's beyond over. You lost before you ever heard there was a prequel.

You can deny and lash and writhe and flip shit and crap your pants and reinterpret meet and greets all you want but like. when we get to the end of the road. and it happens--not if, but when--when it happens, just like "when" the confession happens in S15 he called me delusional for at the start of the season--just. just remember this.

Remember the final time you clowned yourself, and make it the final time, and leave. Because I've been reminding for the last solid year all the other waves of serious failure on leaks or spec he's had, and he has to be aware by now, clinging to a dim hope that his wishes and denials will be true and THIS TIME, this time I'll be wrong about something I'm this loud about, like I was all the other things he denied, and called delusional, only to prove he was the delusional one.

like... will this be enough? come end of february will it be enough to make him leave? Again I know he'll send trolls to be like WELL U DONT KNOW EITHER but no, dude, I do. I knew it like I knew about it being JohnMary before deadline and about learning from parents and subverting revenge and war and all of the other billion lessons I tweeted out they screamed in denial. And that rug they brush it under is looking pretty mountainous right now.

Seriously dude. For fuck's sake. When we get to the end of the road, delete yourself, wholesale. This is going to be so far past the level of failure you've ever witnessed, which is impressive, because you spent 5K to argue with me before and be wrong. Of other people's money. On a situation so embarassing you lied about it until I dropped the receipts.

Like seriously... what's it gonna take for them to get a clue. I just want to post music, and alchemy, and reblog conveniently activated now meta and shit from days old, and have fun, but the motherfucker insists on treating fandom like a warzone and like. When he's ultimately proven wrong about all his, and gayle and suzanne's, malicious reframing and partial reporting, their agendas, all of it comes out as the wash of GARBAGE it has always been... will he FUCKING leave already? Will all of them? Or will they just find a new way to con people into paying for their gold passes to conventions? Rely on fandom ignorance not knowing the association of scripthunt and winchestersupdates? Like what's the end goal here.

Clearly it isn't the truth, he's never meaningfully showed ability to find it. And for alllll his self convincing he meaningfully invaded my server, he still doesn't know fuck for FUCK of what we got told Dec 2020, and if he did, honestly, the dude would delete his blog *right fucking now*, but he won't. He won't listen until his own lies put him through a meatgrinder again. Only this time, he's tricked multiple lanes of people to influence viewing of a different show. And people are gonna fuckin figure it out.

I'm sorry dude, we're NOT all working on M&G whispers thrice interpreted like you are, or bottom of shit mountain coffee runners who can't read. You are, in fact, like factually, and for real, absolute fucking garbage at interpreting shit, and/or so are your sources. please. for fuck sake. Commit to going away when you're wrong. Call it "if" you're wrong if it makes you feel better, but there's no if, dude, any more than there being an If about the Confession, or the Roadhouse ending, or Omissions. You just want to imagine an If to work with. There's no if. It's When.

Commit, motherfucker. You won't bet money this time. What about betting your socials. Come on, coward, stop running. Where do you think we're going.

Believe it or not, buddy. There's people to talk to in production past paid M&Gs. There's people that know far more than coffee runners with screened content that are literally only there as rubberstamp hires. There's people that I've been able to ask very direct questions to and be, y'know. Right.

The reshoots squealing was, honestly, the funniest, since it was mostly about The Path of 1 and shifting from post-15.18 bubble to Omitted bubble. For magical reasons that has NOTHING to do with something sent *after* the net draft submissions but *before* filming and certainly no association with other charts drawn for restructure. That would be too scary for 2po to think about. It'd be too scary to think about me giving bobo this shit publicly, or at least the late wave of it. Because he wants to scream bobo isn't credited like that stops him from talking to his bff. Spoiler: the ending is still the same, it's rearranging the journey! :)

Dense fuckers. You focused on how to achieve things or know things the absolutely worst ways that have left you unplugged, untrusted, locked out, and clueless on direction, with your best source being a tech consultant in a need to know system where she needs to and knows very little lmfao.

#Youtube

[golbrocklovely]

i'm just gonna make a general post since i got a bunch of asks about this and i don't really feel like answering them all separately since they are all about the same thing

so… colby reposted a snap of brennen's dog, aka the night he hung out with stas. and on top of that, he also made two folders of his trip to europe and tomorrowland, which both obviously also included stas.

for those of you that think this is him fucking around or trolling us, i don't think it's as deep as some of you are making it seem.

i think this man was literally just going thru all of his saved snaps and decided to make those folders for funsies, for his own sake. and then he probably reposted the video of brennen's dog bc he forgot he posted it. maybe he misses brennen's dog since his own just passed recently. who knows.

do i think this is him secretly trying to piss us off? no. i don't think he really trolls us as much as yall think he does. but if you disagree, that's fine.

and him, posting a video or pic, with a friend (in this case stas) is not him asking to be shipped with her. clearly, colby is very much single and very much doesn't like being shipped with her. he literally yelled on xplrclub that he's third-wheeling in vegas with sam and kat and he constantly deletes comments that ship him and stas together.

was the malishka thing a bit weird? yes. does it mean it was him trolling us? no, not technically. colby is an affectionate person, him calling her baby isn't the weirdest thing. he calls us love, darling, sweetheart, all the time. and clearly stas told him what to write since it was in russian.

and i get it. some of you are so pissed at stas that now even a slight mention of her, a glimpse if you will, immediately triggers you to say "colby deserves whatever he gets, i'm done with him and his trolling, he's being used and doesn't care, ect ect" and that's understandable. but what you don't realize is that you are PLAYING into her hand.

stas wants attention. we've all established this. she clearly likes being shipped with colby bc it gives her what she wants: attention. thinking any little thing colby does that has stas involved is now trolling or him going against his own word of not wanting to be shipped with her makes her WIN. she gets the attention she wants, and it becomes a whole conversation for two days. then a pause happens, colby hangs out with her or she posts him, and then ANOTHER wave of outrage comes my way.

what i'm saying is: IGNORE HER. ignoring him isn't something you have to do. him posting his friend, which is all he's doing btw, isn't some clever way to piss you, in particular, off. he's literally just posting a friend. and since stas is his friend, he's GONNA POST HER, since that's what he does with all of his friends. if you have to block him or unfollow him, that's fine. that's your choice.

and colby, as much as he complains about being used, doesn't care that that's what's happening. it sucks, i know. but either he doesn't know it, which is the worse case scenario, or he does know and just doesn't care. this man doesn't exactly scream confrontational, so he probably has to subtly tell her to chill out, if he does that at all.

so please, i am BEGGING you guys, stop talking about stas. i would love to see us, for one day, not mention her. especially one day when she TRIES to get attention. pay her no mind, and she loses. it's a win-win for us all.

#personal #text #i'm literally SO DONE with this topic of conversation

[mappingthemoon]

On the last day of July, my birthdaughter sent me this text: “Hey! Random question; did you have any names in mind [if] I was going to be a boy?” I paused, considering how to tell her that story. A memory I hadn’t thought about in nearly 17 years.  Yes, I had picked out a “boy” name – a boy’s name. She would’ve been called Benjamin, after a boy who lived at the punk house where I stayed during my second trimester. That was his middle name. David Benjamin. I was almost embarrassed to tell her – it does seem very 21 of me to name a baby after some guy I’d only known for a few months. But it wasn’t just that, you know? I had come to Athens with no job and no money and no place to live, knowing nobody except my then-partner. All the punks at 666 House showed great kindness in letting us sleep on their couch and share their food for free while we got situated, but something felt different about David. He was quiet; he liked to sit on the porch with a book and a bottle of whiskey. He was an observer and this intrigued me. He was a good listener; he asked questions. I felt, or perhaps projected, some kind of wordless understanding between us – I wanted to know him better.

I didn’t tell T. any of this, just that he was a guy who lived at the punk house. I didn’t tell her that I’d had a crush on him; that later, after she was born, I came back to Athens and had a fling with him (he said, I want you on the back of my bike); that he went to New Orleans and I tried to go after him (drinking in the streets kissing in doorways screaming at trains sleeping in hurricane-gutted houses), tried to bring him back; that when we lived together again in another Athens punk house I was often tempted but never unfaithful (drunken mario kart tournaments in his room in the fallingdown shack, platonic but tense nightswimming excursions that enraged my jealous drunken boyfriend, talking & laughing & sharing a handle of royale club on the porch). I hadn’t thought about these things for a long time. These memories are part of the trauma brain years & the abuse years, a chunk of time I’ve blocked myself off from in my efforts toward healing. Because you can’t just choose to remember only the fun nights of drunken revelry and erase all the terrible moments. It’s gotta be all or nothing. So I had locked it all up, walked away, and gotten over punk. I think, at that time, I needed to build the highest wall in order to learn, gradually, how to maintain healthy boundaries. I needed to define my surroundings in harsh black and white so that I could get my shit together well enough to permit gray areas again. This is a survival mechanism until it’s not. This is an act of self-preservation until it’s not.

I am still too raw about this to construct a good story. You can probably tell where this is going anyway. The day after T.’s text, my friend Simone called to tell me that David was dead. He was only 37. He had quit drinking, but it killed him anyway, and I am so fucking angry about it. He had tried to get better, but it was too late. It didn’t matter. It happened fast, and I didn’t even know that he was sick. We were not in frequent contact in recent years; the last time we talked was probably via email in 2019, to discuss a tattoo design I wanted to commission from him (which never materialized). Our lack of communication was more circumstantial than intentional. We traded zines and artwork in the mail, but he wasn’t living in Athens and he wasn’t consistently online, or he’d delete an account and I wouldn’t notice or I wouldn’t go looking too hard for the next one, or maybe I wouldn’t recognize the new username, I don’t know. He was a printmaker. He had been posting new work up until a month before he died and I didn’t know, and I’m mad about that, too.

I can’t help but feel like he was saying goodbye, in the synchronicity of T. asking me about her boy-name on the very same day that he died. It’s too weird and unnerving that she’d ask me that question, on that day, completely out of nowhere. And that it brought back all of those fond memories – not the shitty drunken times, not the scary pregnancy times, but the things I loved about him so much that I was once ready to name my child after him. All the things I saw in him before all that other shit got in the way.

I had lunch with my friend Rachael, who had known David since high school and had known that he was sick. She told me that she woke up at 3am on July 31, saw one of his prints suddenly slip off of her bedroom wall and fall to the floor, and thought, Oh, he’s gone. The witching hour, she said. That was when he died. When I came home from that lunch I glared at my own prints of his hanging on my own wall, daring him to give me more proof. (Did we ever talk about this? Did we have this conversation on a porch over whiskey or perhaps hiding inside the pillowfort we built while tripping mushrooms? Didn’t I tell him about how Houdini and his wife Bess had a secret code that he would contact her with, if there was any afterlife to speak of? I can’t remember, and I don’t want to delve into my old journals yet. But it seems like the kind of thing we would have talked about, being 20something dirtykids enamored with magic & ghosts & hellbent on preserving a sense of childlike wonder in the face of late capitalist adulthood.) Rachael also told me that he had a whole shelf at his house devoted to my work, the zines and art I’d given him over the years. I had no idea, and I’m fucking mad about that, too. Why didn’t we keep in better touch? Why am I so cold and paranoid about being close to people? Why didn’t he fucking reach out to me, either?

I sat down at the computer to pull together a folder of my David photos to share with his friends and family. I had forgotten that I still had a few videos, too. I pulled up a video from 2009, of David and C. play-wrestling in the living room at Spillage House while World/Inferno’s “Let’s Steal Everything” plays on the stereo, perfectly timed with the drunken blows and slurry insults. Another video, we hung butcher paper in the kitchen and set off fireworks into cups of paint to make splatter art, with David & C. making running pseudointellectual commentary and arguing about what color to explode next while I struggled to contain my giggling behind the camera. By now, in the present, I was ugly-laugh-crying. This was the funniest fucking dumbass shit, you know? And it’s gone forever. It was one of the worst times of my entire life, but goddamn I missed it in that moment. The stress of living with that houseful of drunken lost boys probably took years off of my own life, but I fucking missed it. I know, I know: What I really miss is my own lost youth, the privilege of being able to exist in such chaotic poverty before serious adult fears take over. Before you realize that you won’t be able to do this kind of bullshit forever. That eventually someone will get sick or pregnant or hit by a car or thrown in jail, and you’ll realize you better step up and play the game if you want to make it past 40. Get a stable job, get health insurance, assimilate just the bare minimum to pass while telling yourself that you’re still being true to your values, and try not to be an asshole about it. What I really miss is feeling like I still had time to work all these things out abstractly before the realities of life catch up. What I really miss is still having the energy to just sit on the porch shooting the shit after work instead of cocooning into a ball of exhaustion and existential dread. I miss believing that this is not all there is in life.

I had written a surprising amount about him in my zines. I’m nervous to post all of it publicly, still embarrassed by the degree to which I wantonly overshared in my early 20s. Truth be told, I’m nervous to even deeply revisit those early issues privately. I’ve been gradually digitizing the archive, a process that is fraught with anxious avoidance, trying to protect myself from the assault of my own damn feelings. But really, I’m starting to suspect that the best way to grieve might be to immerse myself, to jump into the deep end and get it the fuck over with. Here is an excerpt, though, for now. I wrote this in early 2008, for Phases of the Moon #3.

David always used to say, Tell me something good, in this way that was hopeful yet acknowledging of the fact that most of us are, ultimately, carrying a heavy sadness of one sort or another. I'd get nervous, put-on-the-spot, but actually it was a good exercise in honesty. I would want to tell him a fantastic story, something earth-shatteringly beautiful. I'd think about it too much, feeling as though it was my sole responsibility to prove to him that this world is generally an okay place to exist. But then I'd tell him the small things: I'm reading a really good book right now..., and I got some film for my camera; and this was enough sometimes.

#personal #death #grief #Dear Sir Decadent #666 House #Spillage House #Little Star #synchronicity #rough drafts #alcoholism

[daz4i]

Bestie. Bestie. I know I've already sent him for a character meme before, but that was a long time ago and also this one is ~detailed~ so. Takuto, if you'll indulge me? :3

Also! If I may, I'm sending Akechi too 'cause we all want to talk about our blorbos ^^ <3

mwah thank you bestie 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

takuto:

What I like about them: he’s genuinely such an interesting character. his role in the story is generally such a sexy one (anti-villains are p rare from my experience so it’s so cool to see one). i love his confidant and even his class questions and his presence is genuinely very calming

What I dislike about them: why are you me. i’m me

Favourite moment: that one scream after the fist fight. you know the one

Least favourite moment: hmmmmm not sure if i have one i particularly dislike but ig while they’re very plot and character important, his one on one conversations with the thieves can be a bit slow and at times even uncomfortable to watch bc of second hand embarrassment lmao 

A situation with this character that I want to see explored more: i really wanna know what happens to him in his reality! we see him basically become a nobody, the thieves don’t recognize him, and i assume it’s his doing? so i’m curious, once everyone’s happiness is actualized, what does he have left to do?? what does he do??? pls i need answers

An interesting AU for this character: curious to think abt how thing’s would’ve gone if he told akira from the start he knows they’re the pt and abt the metaverse and cogpsi. like, how would the thieves react? would they be more guarded around him, or more open? would he become a confidant to them all? idk it’s interesting!!!! idek if it counts as an au bc it’s more canon divergence but eh.

A crossover: i’m ngl my brain is flat out of ideas. fuck it. the bible. biggest crossover of the year. ig it’s technically already canon but anyway

OTP: takuto x you u3u 

Other ships?: takurumi ofc! and i think his ship with zenkichi is cute! 

BROTP: shibusawa true bro xx

NOTP: whatever his ship with akira is called. for obvious reasons

An assortment of headcanons! (but this post is long enough as is so i’m limiting myself to one): that man lives in the lamest ass apartment you’ve seen in your life. he does NOT get paid enough to afford more. rip king 

goro:

What I like about them: the mental illness(es) and everything else also

What I dislike about them: uuuuuuuh ig he’s got some moments that give me second hand embarrassment?? esp in his detective persona. i’m sorry goro you posted cringe you’re gonna lose subscriber

Favourite moment: any time he’s being unhinged during the third semester 😍 but esp as a navi

Least favourite moment: genuinely can’t choose bc any moment that may be cringe is just so funny or i’m simply too happy he’s there that i can’t bring myself to dislike it. ig in his original confidant some of the ranks were a bit boring? so just pick one of those rank ups where he just says how interesting it is to talk to akira despite us never seeing them talk 

A situation with this character that I want to see explored more: you know that deleted content from royal where he’s in a rehab center? yeah i wanna know what’s up with that and have more information and see how he heals and how he is afterwards

An interesting AU for this character: actual detective goro........ him solving crimes he didn’t commit himself.......... solving mysteries........... connecting dots and following leads...... perhaps with a trusty partner who looks great in drag called watso- *gets shot* 

A crossover: i’m making him besties with dimitri fire emblem even if it’s the last thing i do 

OTP: my special little polycule of goro x akira x haru x yusuke. but also just akeshu 

Other ships?: akekita, akeharu, ryugoro

BROTP: futago and anngoro!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NOTP: recently found out some ppl actually ship him with shido and well. i’m not here to police anyone’s ships but Keep That Shit Away From Me 

Extra headcanon: autistic king. masking expert and hyperaware of people’s perception of him due to years of trauma. his special interest is featherman. stims by fiddling with his gloves. i’m right about this 

send some characters?

#long post

[sillyrabbit81]

Milestone Celebration Part 2: Lookout

Deleted scenes from Lookout

Summary of Original Fic: You and Sy have been married for ten years. About 18 months ago you split up to protect yourself and your two boys after he refused to get help with his issues. Sy agreed to get help and it seems to have worked and now he wants to get back together. He recently got back from a 12 month deployment and you decide to go on a date to see if you can reconcile.

Pairing of Original Fic: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 900

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst

Authors Note: These snippets will be presented pretty much as I left them, incomplete and unedited. I’m bloody nervous about posting these, I guess because they are so unpolished, so please be gentle with me!

This story doesn't have so many rewrites but, it kept veering ways I didn't want it to go so these are the parts I took out to keep the tone of the story and characters consistent.

Masterlist

Milestone Celebration Masterlist

Original fic link: Lookout

Snippet One

You do know what you need, but you can’t ask for it, it would be impossible. No one can promise that it will never happen again, that he will never shut you and the kids out, and it wasn’t fair of you to ask him to. You look down at your summer wedge heel sandals, distracted by a small chip in the pale pink polish on your big toe. “I don’t know what else there is to even try.”

“So what?” Sy’s voice is hard with a venomous edge. You look up and see the anger in his stance. “Is this over then? Is it pointless to even try?”

You have no answer. Maybe it is hopeless, but the thought of never being kissed by Sy again, never waking up with him again, never holding his hand again, fills you with so much grief you have to look away again.

“Don’t do that,” Sy says, closing the distance between you. “Sugar, look at me. We’ve gotta…” he hesitates as you turn your face back to him and whatever he reads in your expression isn’t good. “Shit.”

“Sy, I…” you start, but he interrupts you.

“Just tell me if I’m wastin’ my time here,” he says with a spitefulness that nearly breaks you. “Just be goddamn honest with me, woman. Do you even wanna be together, or is all this because you don’t have the goddamn guts to tell me you don’t love me anymore? Because if ya don’t, then this is just fuckin’ cruel.”

You feel stunned. You don’t know if you want to scream at him or burst into tears. You clench your jaw, and feel your chin start to wobble as you breath roughly through your nose. You don’t want him to see you cry, but you don’t think you can stop the tears.

Snippet Two

You wish you could see his face clearer, so you had some idea what he was thinking, but it’s so dark on the porch.

Sy goes still, he doesn’t move for a few seconds, and all you can hear is the sound of his hard breaths and your heartbeat in your ears. He slowly brings his forehead to yours while his hand slips under your shirt and he traces your spine with a gentle finger. He makes you shiver again and he growls, “I love you.”

He waits, but you don’t say it back, you can’t.

“I wanna come home, Sugar,” Sy says. Before you can reply, he kisses your cheek gently. As he speaks he keeps kissing you, inching closer to your mouth and his voice is just as tender as his lips. “I want that more than I want to sleep with you. I wanna be home with you, with the boys. Even if ya never touch me again, that's ok, I just wanna be there.”

Snippet Three

“Did I say that?” You vaguely see Sy nod. “I guess I’ve changed my mind.”

“You can’t resist me, is what you’re tryin’ to say,” Sy teases, rolling his hips as he kisses your neck. His mouth is hot, his lips are firm and urgent as he sucks hard at your skin.

“Sy,” you whine, “Stop being a dick and take my pants off.”

“Fuck, woman,” Sy growls in your ear, then sinks his teeth into your ear lobe.

Sy moves you like a rag doll, sliding an arm under your back, forcing you to upright just long enough to pull your shirt off before you flop back on the mattress. Then his hands are at the waistband on your pants and you hear him grunt as he pulls them down your legs. You expect him to lay back over you, but you feel Sy move his weight and the room is suddenly bright.

“Sy!” you cry, squashing your face up and covering your eyes with your arm.

Sy chuckle’s and you feel his hands on your knees as he slowly spreads your legs apart. Cautiously you remove your arm and watch as Sy slides his hands firmly down your thighs.

“I wanted to see you,” Sy says, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. He continues the path of his hands over the sides of your hips before he settles on your waist. “What’s the point of havin’ such a hot wife if I don’t get to look at her?” he grins at you, and you see the mischievous lust in his eyes.

“I love how fuckin’ wet you get for me.” He flattens his hand over you, pressing the heel of his palm against your clit and thrusting two fingers straight into your core.

“Please Sy,” you say as you rock against his hand. You have missed this, missed his rough touch, missed the way he made you feel both beautiful and dirty at the same time. “Please just fuck me.”

Snippet Four

“I didn’t think I’d ever be with you again,” Sy murmurs. You know he doesn’t mean it as a rebuke, but you can’t help feeling like it is.

“I’m sorry,” you say, not surprised when you hear your voice waiver. Sy looks down at you alarmed, and lifts your chin to see your face better.

“You ain’t gonna cry are ya, Sugar?” he asks, as he gently wipes below your eyes. “I didn’t mean it was your fault or nothin’.” He chuckles without any real humour and adds, “I thought I’d fucked up too bad.”

#sillyrabbit81 milestone celebration #captain syverson #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #syverson fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #captain syverson fanfiction #cpt syverson #captain syverson x reader

[donghyuckcuyhgnod]

if you don’t mind me asking, what did travis scott do?

hello! of course i don’t mind you asking, in fact i think it’s very important that people know about this. just a heads up and a trigger warning, there are mentions of death and other mature topics below.

just the other night, november 5th, travis scott held a festival. not only did he not hire enough security for the original amount of people attending, but when thousands MORE people suited for the venue capacity raged through the gates and got in, HIS security stood by and did nothing. during the concert, despite people screaming for help, he continued to perform. he knew what was going on in the crowd, and he knew that his fans were being trampled on and suffocated to death, but he did nothing. he even encouraged people to rage and “break through barricades,” all while disrespecting the security and paramedics trying to get into the crowd. there are VIDEOS of people being, quite literally, resuscitated in the crowd while he stares at them and continues to sing and dance. there were chants of “stop the show” but he did not listen! and he continued to perform and let this happen, even when people were jumping on the emergency vehicles right in front of his eyes. him and his shit excuse of security is responsible for the deaths of eight people, and the injuries of hundreds more. not to mention, it took him nearly two days to release an apology, which was very insincere because it’s pretty obvious that he didn’t give a fuck in the apology video 😕 there should be legal action taken against travis scott and his crew, and to me, it’s absolutely infuriating that he let this happen and did nothing about it. kylie jenner even took videos of the ambulance trucks and thought it was a good idea to post them on her social media (which she quickly deleted). talk about insensitive and disrespectful.

travis scott was the singer, coordinator, founder, and organizer of this festival. if security fails, it is his fault. he is liable on many levels. this is also not the first time this has happened. he was arrested a few years ago and was charged for inciting a riot and disorderly conduct at his concert in may of 2017.

(i believe there are already lawsuits in progress against travis due to these recent events.)

this is what i know, so please, if anyone has more information, feel free to share.

#euphoriclelesasks #my heart goes out to the victims and their families #travis needs to be held responsible

[scottymcgeesterwrites]

Ambiguous

There has been something I need to write about and shout into the void. It has been tearing me apart, and I don’t know how people will react elsewhere, so I figured this was the safest place. This will be the soft reveal before even speaking about it to my friends. Or maybe I will never speak about it ever again. Maybe I will feel fine after writing it this way.  For my entire life, people have mistaken me for being Indian, to the point where actual Indians walk up to me and start speaking in their dialect. My mile-long blank stare makes them realize that I am not Indian, and one of two things happen - they either apologize and explain they mistook me for Indian, or they exclaim, “You’re NOT Indian?”

I’m Cuban and Colombian. I grew up in New Jersey. I am an American citizen but it gets confusing when you take into account that my mother flew to Santiago, Chile to have me there because of a clinic that specialized in geriatric pregnancy at the time, so my “birthplace” reads Chile on my passport. That’s always a mouthful to have to explain and it further confuses people, so I end up saying, “I was born in New Jersey”.  My skin tone is best described as ambiguous. I could be many things. I’ve gotten Middle Eastern, Indian, and specifically “Egyptian”. I have no idea why “Egyptian” but. Whatever.  I have always lived in some liminal space where people ask the dreaded question, “What are you?” Now here’s the most frustrating thing of all - not everyone who has asked me that was white. Growing up, I thought that I could relate to someone who wasn’t white to understand how I feel. Black people have asked me that. Indian people have asked me that. Middle Eastern people have asked me that. Cubans and Colombians have asked me that.  Throughout my youth, I was paranoid that maybe I was adopted or something, given how people didn’t seem to connect me with my parents. I was told that my Cuban side hails from Spain, but my Colombian side is shrouded in mystery. My dad never liked to talk about my family. I never knew anyone past my grandparents. Well, I did meet my great-grandmother once when I was seven, but she had practically turned back into a baby at that point, banging on the table demanding food and needing to be spoon-fed. My own people don’t recognize me, and they often say things like, “You don’t LOOK Latino!” or “What? You’re LATINO?” and the best one yet “You don’t SOUND Spanish!” The worst offenders, however, would laugh and say, “¡Pareces Hindu!” which means “You look Hindu!” Hindu is the religion, dumbass. Anyone, and I mean anyone, can be racist and slip some “micro-aggression”. I am not fluent in Spanish, but I can write and understand every word in Spanish. I often inadvertently offend Spanish-speaking people when I reply to them in English when they thought they were being sneaky by talking in Spanish around me.  The reason I don’t speak Spanish as fast as my peers is because of two reasons:  1. My parents at the time when I grew up believed in the misconception and pseudoscientific belief that children will be “confused” if two or more languages are spoken in the house.  2. Central New Jersey, where I grew up, hadn’t yet seen many Hispanic people, so locals at the time often leered at people who spoke Spanish in public.  When my mother took me to our local Gymboree, I spotted a butterfly and shouted in Spanish, “¡Mariposa! ¡Mariposa!”. The other mothers kept staring at me, and then distanced themselves from us.  The weirdest thing ever was experiencing white people who studied the Spanish language better than me and making fun of me for actually being Spanish but being unable to speak it fluently. I had a crush on this girl whom I’ll call “Anjy” in freshman year of college. It took me until now to realize that I think she had a Latino fetish. Anjy only exclusively went out with Latino men, but never seemed to openly admit it. The only thing she did admit was that, “I can only be with a man who speaks Spanish. It’s so important to me.” So obviously I wasn’t a contender, despite being Latino. Anjy doesn’t have an ounce of Spanish in her. None. But she studied it since high school and fell in love with it and became Spanish’s #1 fan. I was so jealous of how fluent she was. She could roll her r’s and speak it beautifully. Since we became friends, I said to her, “Oh, I can finally practice my Spanish with someone!” We tried, but she laughed at me and said, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. You sound like a gringo.” It’s a very topsy-turvy world where some white girl uses a derogatory term on me, a derogatory term from my culture that describes an outsider, used to describe me. She went to Costa Rica after we graduated, lived there for a few years, and came back home with a husband.  (That’s when I fully realized just how much she fetishized us.) A few years ago, my now-fiancée gifted me a DNA test for my birthday. That came out of left field for me, and opened up a range of emotions that I wasn’t ready for. She said she remembered how I wondered aloud why I looked the way I looked and about my ancestry.  I sat on the DNA test for a while. 

I stared at it. 

I held the kit in my hands. 

I opened it and closed it.  What if I really was Indian? What if I found out something that made me feel so much worse? But how bad could it be? I was also wary about the company keeping my DNA for nefarious reasons. However, luckily enough, my fiancée had bought the kit from AncestryDNA - the one DNA company that has responded to people saying they would delete their DNA at their request. I bit the bullet and sent my sample.  When the test came back, I opened it up and everything made sense. It made so much sense that I laughed out loud. It’s so funny how nobody has guessed the only other possibility for my skin tone that is what I actually am.  I am pretty much half native to the Americas.  I’m not sure what that’s called. Native American seems to be associated exclusively to North America. So Native South American? Native to the Americas? Native American (et al)? The Colombian side can be traced through turmoil in South America, up through Mesoamerica, and into North America. So many spots lit up all over the Americas. And like the Cuban side said, I was indeed from Spain as well.  I was split right down the middle. 50/50. The native side and the European side were practically screaming at each other in my genes. I felt as though a great weight had been lifted from me that I didn’t even know was there. I knew for a fact that I was my parents’ son. I had an explanation for why I look the way I look, and it made sense and it was obvious. It didn’t end there though.  I didn’t feel Native American. I had no cultural connection to anything “native”. I tried thinking in terms of my personality though. I always had a strong belief in saving the land and respecting the dead. I did vandalize a construction site back in my high school days to preserve farmland. My family did like to decorate the house with Aztec and Mayan statues. Aside from that though, I had about as much personal connection to native culture as Olive Garden does to Italy. The thing about my parents being from Cuba and Colombia is that those were two very violent and turbulent places in the past century. After I tell people where my families hail from, they always asked me with wide-eyes, “Oh have you been there???” Well, I dunno man. If you have any inkling of what’s going on the world you would know the awkward relationship that the United States has had with Cuba, and what it means to be a fucking exile. And the fact that Colombia has seen gang wars for the entirety of my life. So no. I haven’t. When I was a little boy I asked my parents if we would ever visit Colombia or Cuba, but they told me we shouldn’t go back. Colombia was violent, and Cuba’s government watched everyone. My mother was afraid of what would happen if she tried going back. Maybe they wouldn’t let her, or us. Maybe they’d let us through but I wouldn’t even be allowed to return if they knew I was the son of an exile. Worse yet, they might detain my mother. You never know when your family had beef with the government and was told to leave.  And what really drives a knife in my heart is hearing people ask that really annoying question. “Have you visited???” As if they were hot and exotic touristy locales. No. Because my parents were forced to flee, because they needed a better life.  “Wouldn’t your mom love it if you got married in Cuba? She would get to visit her home!”  You don’t get the trauma she has. You don’t understand how much of a toll it would take on her to return home and see all the things she once knew and love gone or tarnished. She received word recently that the farmhouse she grew up in now became a restaurant. The house that my grandfather built by hand. Strangers now sit and eat there. Maybe tourists. The hotel that my great-grandfather used to own now doesn’t belong to us anymore - the government said it was theirs. There is nothing for her to go back to but loss.  I felt distraught when I saw a former college classmate who has become an Instagram influencer immediately visit Cuba once travel restrictions were eased. She posted all about it and acted as if she were an expert about it. She used to be a lawyer in Washington D.C. until she decided to “take hold of her life” and “follow her dream” and go to Bali and now lives everyday in tropical paradise. It seemed like some people were pointing out the hypocrisy in her posts about life given the lifestyle she leads, since she felt the need to say something about it. She made a video where she tried to relate to her followers. She said how “it’s still hard” for her, that she “has to work every day”, and meanwhile literally the next fucking day she posts a picture of her having lunch by a waterfall, or napping in her hammock by the beach. But when she visited Cuba, and took pictures and wrote a long post about the country, I just lost it. She met up with some other white Instagram influencer friend, and they took selfies at a café and lectured about the region and--- That’s supposed to be my country, my culture. I’m supposed to feel that way about my people, not you. I went to a wedding recently in July. This black man slapped me on the back after I cracked a joke and said, “Hey, where you from?”

“New Jersey.” He laughed. “No, but really though. Where are you from?” “New Jersey.” “I mean originally. Your background. What are you?” It was the first time I had been asked that question since I got back my DNA test results, and for some reason it hit me so much differently.

I really wanted to say, “I don’t know.” It’s ironic how knowing what I am made me feel more confused, more alone and more isolated than ever before. I am bad at speaking Spanish, and when I try to practice with other Spanish-speaking people they laugh at me and say, “You sound like a gringo” and say they can’t bear to practice with me. I don’t look Latino. I might look Indian or I might look Middle Eastern. With me, everyone assumes things about me, no matter what they are. Some people have the luxury of automatic and unspoken assumptions about their background. Then there’s me. Not quite tan, not quite white. I don’t raise enough suspicion at the airport to warrant a search but at the same time I have to jump over one extra hurdle when they ask me one extra question: “Where are you from?” or “How long are you staying here?” or “What are you here for?” It’s very subtle and deceptively innocent. Nobody else who is pasty white gets asked any questions. They just stamp their passport and wave them away. I’m just ambiguous enough to warrant that extra step - just in case, you know? I envy people so much who can have a clear culture and place to point and say, “I’ve been there. I’ve been where I come from.” I envy people who can recognize all the idiosyncrasies of their family’s region. I don’t belong to any country or culture or identity. There are only a few scant pieces of culture that my parents passed on to me. “Oh, on Christmas we do this” or “We say this once and a while. That was a common expression there.” I envy people with huge families who have not been estranged by government and bloodshed or lost to time. I envy people who can trace their families back to their grandfathers and great-grandfathers and great-great-grandmothers. As a kid I wish I was able to say something like, “My great-granddaddy fought Nazis in the war!” I will never know anyone beyond that one old great-grandmother who no longer recognized anyone’s face. Everyone else is a name on a tombstone, or a whisper in vague oral history. I envy people who can firmly say, “I am *insert nationality here*” Because I always mumble at that phrase.  I am. . .a. . . I am from. . . . uh I am. . .  I am. 

#onlife #culture #racism #ethnic minorities #ethnicity #cuba #cuban #colombia #colombian #spanish #hispanic #latino #spain #race #personal #identity #brown skin #tan skin #black #white #ambiguous #india #indian #english #language #native american #native #aztec #mayan #maya

[titaniumpsychologist]

Duality of Light - Chapter 4 Deleted Scene

As everyone knows (especially with anything creative), sometimes what you're making just doesn't fit with what you're going for. Or sometimes you doubt your ability to accomplish it. Well, for those interested, and for my posterity, I'm going to post an initial (really rough, really meh, but was also really hard for me to remove) scene that didn't make the "final cut" for Ao3.

Contains spoilers for a "big reveal" for chapter 4 of the DBH fanfic I'm writing. If you know, you know lol. (Fic can be found here on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/37467820/chapters/93505051)

Rough draft content and my reasoning for removing it found under the break. Contains strong language. SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 4 AHEAD.

[Gavin POV]

[half-bros be on phone at this point]

"Elijah," Gavin said. Damn, was he crying? Gavin Reed did not cry.

"Gavin?"

On Elijah's end, Gavin could hear things dropping, like tools or metallic materials. His brother was probably in his workshop.

"Sorry, you sound busy," Gavin said. It felt like glue was trying to keep his words from coming out. "I'll hang up."

"No! No, it's okay. I'm not busy, I'm more surprised, actually. Can I help you with anything?"

"Make it make sense, Elijah, because nothing is fucking making sense right now!"

"Gavin, hey, you called me and I answered. So what happened?"

"Elijah, I swear, this better be some kind of fucking joke. You better not have had a hand in any of this even though I fucking know you did something. Tell me that you didn't fucking do this!"

Elijah went silent. Gavin nearly threw his phone across his apartment because that was confirmation enough that Elijah knew. He knew about this the whole fucking time.

"Say something, you piece of shit!" Gavin screamed into his phone.

"You found out. About your... condition."

"No shit! What the fuck is this? I'm getting pieces over here and I don't like the picture they're making. Make it make fucking sense."

"Gavin, you need to promise me that you'll remain calm if I explain myself, okay?"

"I'm fucking bleeding blue when the entire time I thought my blood was red like every other fucking human on the planet. But sure, I'll remain calm."

Elijah huffed a long sigh. "You're an android, Gavin."

"No shit, Sherlock! How long have I been an android? Can you even call me Gavin? Am I one of your fucking experiments? Are you the one that messed with my public records?"

"So you know about those, too."

"I know that they're locked down and I can't think of a single person with enough clearance with the government who'd think to do that shit. There's two files that are like that. Why the fuck is one dated when I had my accident?"

"It's... complicated."

"Then un-complicate it, dipshit!"

"I'll start at the beginning, then."

Gavin closed his eyes and wiped the tears running down his face with his sleeve. He should probably sit down for this.

[Insert Connor POV scene placeholder for what Connor and Hank are doing at around this time, probs at station or library]

[Gavin POV]

It was... a lot.

Gavin stared at the copies of his public records Elijah sent that were stored on a local drive somewhere. One was what he expected: a collection of newspaper articles where his name was mentioned for arrests, a brief article of when he got promoted to detective, a brief biography that listed him as "Reed, Gavin; D.O.B. October 7th, 2002," and one from a more recent time he had to talk to the press to bring awareness to kids about the dangers of Red Ice.

The second file...

Gavin Reed, born on October 7th, 2002 as Gavin Reed-Kamski in the city of Detroit, MI passed away on November 2nd, 2028 at age 26 while on duty working for the Detroit Police Department.

Son of Henry Kamski (passed January 2nd, 2025, aged 59) and Rachel Reed (passed December 18th, 2024, aged 55) he is survived by his half-brother Elijah Kamski. May his memory be honored and we appreciate his service to the community.

Underneath was the formal picture of him in his dress uniform, the same one hanging on a wall with all his other coworkers at the Detroit Police Central Station. There was another picture of his mom and dad with him and Elijah at the front, posing for a group photo for when he finished high school at sixteen, three years after Elijah.

He was looking at his own fucking obituary.

"You're still there?" came Elijah's voice on the other end of the phone call.

"Fuck."

"Are you okay?"

"Fuck, Eli. Just... what the fuck did you do? Am I dead or not?"

"You're dead. But... not."

"How does that make any fucking sense?"

"I can send you more files. Ones that'll give you more context."

"Eli, how the fuck is any of this fucking possible if this is saying I'm dead?"

[REDACTED SECTION BECAUSE LOL I'M USING THIS SEGMENT FOR STUFF]

Gavin scrubbed a hand down his face. Fuck. What did Elijah do?

"Explain," he said. "You better fucking explain. Now."

"Gavin, it's complicated and I'm going to explain the best way I can." Elijah sighed. His next words were shaky, like he was trying to keep himself together. "I was there. For once in my life, I was there for my brother, but it was too... fucking late to realize what I was doing to my family. I lost everyone. And it wasn't fair. My brother was just getting his life started and then it ended so fast. But no, I thought maybe I could get another chance, give him another chance. I thought maybe I could bring my brother back, so I left CyberLife and took the remnants of an RK100 android that I had in my possession and I programmed the most lifelike android I could create. I programmed his memories and his personality based on what I remember of him, of the journals that he used to write in for a majority of his life, specifically created a mind palace that would take all that input and simulate the closest thing to my brother. I did this for an entire month."

"Then why the fuck don't I remember it that way?"

[MORE REDACTED SHENANIGANS BC I MIGHT USE THIS LATER]

Well, my reasoning for why I removed this from the final draft was because of my struggles with trying to characterize Kamski for what I needed to fit in later. Also, I wasn't that happy with how to make this whole reveal impactful until the whole literally bringing Gavin to the gravesite idea that I had for another scene just... fit better. Ended up doing the shuffle with my timeline. It solved one of my issues with one of my plotlines (which is a bonus), but it created another problem with a different plotline. UGH. Why writing be difficult?

#tp's fanfics deleted scenes

[anothertimdrakestan]

Burn (Tim Drake x Reader) angst????

Words: 1.6k

Req: Hello!! May I request Tim x reader angst?? The song “Burn” from Hamilton is stuck in my head so why not put it into context with Tim cheating on reader?? Thanks and bring on the pain..

omg i love this song and im shit at angst but you only get better from trying right??? so lmk how i did i tried lmao hope you enjoy!

You dove into Bart’s chest as the tears began falling. “Just say it’s not true, say I’m wrong. Just say it” you clutched the fabric of his shirt while he stayed silent, his arms rubbing your back. “I- we- we all thought you guys were over I didn’t realize I would’ve said something but he was so secretive” Bart murmured while you let the sobs wrack your body. 

“All the nights he didn’t come home from the tower he was with her?” You began, pushing Bart away while you felt like tearing your hair out. “Every time he left me on read he probably wasn’t even the person I was texting” you continued spitting out the words in such a way that Bart was flinching at your delivery. “And now, when he needs a fucking reason to be out of Gotham he’s on a trip with her? Just leaving me here like it’s nothing? Like everything we had was just a fun little power trip for him?” you were yelling by now. 

“No- I mean yeah, Tim’s an idiot. But maybe it’s not true, maybe you just need to talk to him or something” Bart piped up, your head whipped around. “Yeah? Who am I gonna talk to? Mr. Taking My New Girlfriend On A Getaway Trip? You know he didn’t take me anywhere. Months. I begged for a day together and he was just too busy. He’s not too busy for her though, clearly she’s everything I’m not.” your anger was seeping from you slowly, the realization that every time he told you he was yours he was probably sharing rooms at the tower with her. “god FUCK how long has this been going on? It’s been like a month since he moved in to the tower- dammit! My friends told me this long distance bullshit doesn’t work but ‘oh y/n we’re perfect it’ll be fine! I’ll fly home all the time! We can call every night’ that turned out great didn’t it.” you felt the hot angry tears get replaced with the slow rolling tears that reminded you once again you weren’t good enough to be kept around.

“Do you- maybe- wanna talk to him?” Bart was clearly terrified of you but you appreciated his help. “B, what good is that gonna do? You know Tim as well as- better than me. He’ll give me a shitty excuse that it was ‘for the greater good’ or that I’m ‘just looking at it wrong’ you know he’s better with words than either of us he could run- dammit he has run circles around me like a fucking toy” you had begun scrolling through your phone wondering how many texts got copied and pasted to another text thread with someone he probably cared about more than you.

“So, what are you gonna do then?” Bart had sat next to you on the floor, letting you rest your head on his shoulder while you scrolled through text after text noticing every red flag or lazy text. “Y/n that’s not good to be looking at, you’ve gotta block him or something” Bart whispered, staring at your screen probably reading every message in slow motion. 

“It’s not just the messages I’ll be blocking” you whispered, letting the seething anger slide back in. In what Bart would describe as almost super human speed you began the descent to freedom, blocking, unfollowing, and deleting almost everything that was reminiscent of you and Tim. Then you got to your main instagram account. “Fuck it” you whispered, unfollowing him knowing that tabloids would be starting the smear campaign now. 

It felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders at an immeasurable price- the price of heartbreak which you’ll be indebted to for a long time. 

~a week later~

“I have really got to buy myself some damn pajamas” you groaned to yourself, pushing down the little lovesick demon in your head that was telling you it was okay to keep sleeping in Tim’s hoodies and sweats because maybe he’ll apologize and you can take him back and be in love again and- not gonna happen. The celebrity magazines had been lurking near your apartment for days now, waiting to hear the newest gossip and find out what truly happened as you’d been radio silent- only adding to the interest of the paparazzi. As you realized you had to go outside today you prepared yourself for the onslaught of questions. 

“Y/N L/N WHAT’S GOING ON WITH YOU AND MR. DRAKE-WAYNE?” “MISS Y/N WHY THE UNFOLLOW?” “HAVE YOU BEEN SEEING HIS RECENT POSTS? WHO IS THE MYSTERY GIRL?” you cringed at the last question, reminding yourself that his actions didn’t matter as he hadn’t truly been a part of your life for months. 

Before you could get into the black SUV waiting for you, you were stopped and trapped until you spoke into the microphone in front of you. “Anything you can give us on Tim Drake-Wayne and you?” you took a small breath, willing yourself to stay calm. “I’m sorry I simply just don’t know who that is” you smiled between your words, using the confused moment on the questioner’s face to slip into the car and drive off, finally letting you exhale the breath you’d been holding in. 

~two weeks later~

You almost threw up at the sound of a once familiar knock on your door. 

“Y/n, y/n I know you’re here let me in we’ve gotta talk” his voice pleaded from your hallway. After three deep breaths and promises to yourself to stay strong you opened the door. Tim looked normal, it was horrible. You had been fighting to look that normal and were barely holding together but here he was, wearing the shirt he wore the night he told you he loved you with the ever present stern look like nothing had ever gone wrong. He moved to come inside but you blocked his path. “We can talk out here. I don’t have much to say” you hissed, watching him sheepishly back off. “Y/n I just wanted a chance to explain and give my side and-” you cut him off. “Apologize. You’re here to apologize and if you aren’t you’d better leave now” you were screaming and sobbing and melting down internally but you held your composure. 

“Well, yeah, that too. But also we need to issue a public statement because yaknow it’s kinda been going so fast and I think if we could just sit down and work everything out we could stay on better terms because I am so sorry love” you flinched against your own will at the familiar nickname. You took a second to remind yourself that he was again just using his words to get the better of you, you were not going to fall for the same trick twice. “There’s no statement Tim, I’m not clearing your name or coming to your side- hell, I’m going to go work with fucking lexcorp so you won’t even have to worry about seeing me at the office. You and I are separate entities, you broke that relationship when you began the lies and the goddamn cheating, there’s no public statement I’d make that would put you in a better light you’re lucky as hell that this is all I’m saying got it?” you watched him flinch at your words and against all your control you could feel your body begging you to hug him and kiss away the pain like you’d done for months on months. 

“Y/n I want to apologize, I should’ve never- it- it was a lapse in judgement but I want to make it right” Tim pleaded, you watched his facade falter, like he truly felt sorry. “That’s great Tim, I’ll try to remember that when I remember all the nights you said you were stuck at the tower with work when you were with her okay? Sound good? You have a good one okay?” you feigned a smile, shutting the door and crumpling to the ground. 

You let yourself cry silently, burying your head in your hands. Your heart was heavy, it had been learning to beat on it’s own now, not to the beat of Tim’s and it hurt. But it was done? Not really. Not when you’re in the public eye, running a business that would eventually have to work with Wayne Ent. it wouldn’t ever truly be over. Your body was practically turning in on itself, your throat burning as you held in sobs, refusing to let anyone know how deeply this wound would scar. A scar so jagged and deep you feared if would keep your heart permanently broken. 

So how does it end? Because this was supposed to be the closure everyone said you needed. Where you give him a slap in the face for hurting you, telling him to ‘fuck off’ and instantly the pain subsides. But the pain was so intense and raw nothing felt soothing anymore. In a span of weeks you’d lost friends, hell- you’d lost family, and you’d lost love. Because no matter how hard you try to pry the words he said from your brain they creep back in. Nights when he’d call you from the Tower and explain how much he missed you and how perfect you were, days when you got texts about how he missed kissing every inch of your face, memories of the beautiful moments you’d had together that you figured you’d be telling your kids about. Those don’t just die with the relationship. They fester and they boil into your skin, they run through your veins, they flash in your head, reminding you that even when you gave every ounce of love you could muster you still weren’t enough. That’s what will forever stick. So it doesn’t every truly end does it?

Because you can’t burn away scares without leaving a deeper wound. And your wounds were deeper than you could fathom. Your wounds had just simply broken you. 

Tim Drake had broken you. 

So how the fuck do you get fixed?

#this makes me cringe but i tried so it is what it is #tim drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake x y/n #tim drake x you #tim drake x civilian!reader #tim drake angst #bart allen #batboys #batfam #dc angst #tim drake x fem!reader #red robin #red robin x reader #dc fanfic #tim drake fanfic #batfamily #batman #teen titans #titans tower

[world-of-aus]

Wish You Were Here - One Shot

Pairing: Biker! Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 8,915

Warnings: angst, fluff, blood, violence

Summary: Bucky will go to any extent to protect his family, even to the extent of pushing you far away from him, but has he gone to far this time.

Author’s Note: Anything italicized are flashbacks! Oh man was this one a fun one to write, there was so many times i was constantly adding things only to delete because it just wasn't flowing right, but if you ask me i’m pleased, and i hope you’ll enjoy it as well! Behind the Screen will be updated this week and ill be posting about a schedule for my works after i upload this! Happy Reading sweet angels!

“James, sweetheart five more minutes and then I'm going to need you to come inside and wash up before dinner!” you yelled through the backdoor of your home. Your rambunctious five-year-old looked up from where he was ankle deep in his sand box. You watched as your son comically threw his head back, a loud groan leaving his lips, “but mom!”  

Though you knew your raised brow would be to no avail you still raised it anyway, your hands on your hip, “five minutes James, five minutes and no longer,” you called out.

You could almost hear his grumpy fine, as he glared at you from his spot in the sand. You chuckled at his behavior before turning away from the door, returning to your post at the sink where you were washing the pots you had used to whip up dinner for the two of you. You watched your son from the window above the sink, he looked so happy, so carefree, you wished all his days were like this. Recently his behavior had been at an all-time high, there was usually no consoling the five-year-old, not when he wanted his dad, and nothing to do with mom. What were you supposed to tell him though, surely “oh yeah daddy’s not going to be home anytime soon because he chose the club over you and I” would be the last thing your son would want to hear. Every day that passed you could see your son’s once happy form slowly shrink in on itself, you knew he sensed the change in your home, he could sense his father's absence, and it was affecting the both of you.

You sighed as you shut off the sink putting the last pan up to dry, peering up you saw your son stare off into the distance towards the front of your home before he was bolting from the sandbox. You watched with wide eyes as he ran past the back door, right past the side of your home. You cursed as you turned on your heel making your way through your home practically ripping the door off its hinges as you pulled it open. You ran down the steps two at a time, freezing at the last step, hand to your chest as you tried to catch your breath.

“Mama, mama, look uncle Steve is here!” he beamed from where he sat in Steve’s arms.

You gave him your best tight-lipped smile, “I can see that baby, say why don’t you go wash up real quick so I can talk to Uncle Steve,” You saw your son frown.

“Do I have to mommy, I really want to spend time with Uncle Steve,” he whispered eyes casted down.

You sighed, heart breaking, “as soon as you freshen up, I promise you can come right back out and spend a few minutes with Uncle Steve, okay?” you bargained.

Just like that a bright smile took over your son’s tiny face as he squirmed in his uncles hold. You watched Steve place him down, your son running up to you hugging your thighs tightly, “Love you momma,” he whispered placing a wet kiss to your leg.

“Love you too, now go on, go get cleaned up baby,” you spoke softly ruffling his brown locks. The second you heard your front door close you looked over to Steve.

“What are you doing here Steve?” you questioned arms crossing over your chest.

“It’s Bucky y/n he’s - ”

You held up your hand silencing him, “where’s Natasha?” you questioned.

Steve sighed, “Y/n it’s not what you think, it’s -”

You shook your head, “I don’t want to hear it Rogers, I asked where Natasha was?” you muttered.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, “Clint got into a bit of a slip-up with another member, she was called to go stitch him up.”

“so then wait for her to get back, Natasha has skilled hands she’ll be quick”

You could see Steve was getting impatient, “y/n Bucky will have lost a lot of blood by the time she gets to him, he need’s you.” he tried

“Yeah well we all need things, doesn’t mean it always happens,” you muttered looking at the floor.

“Please y/n,” he was getting desperate.

“This better be the last time Steve, I told you I wanted out the second he decided our family wasn’t his top priority, the second he decided-” your words caught in your throat, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Your head fell, you shook it slightly as you willed the tears away. You took in a shaky breath eyes meeting Steve’s, “where is he?”

Steve was about to answer, when you heard the distant rumble of two more bikes, one that you had grown accustomed to seeing for years.

“were you guys just going to show up,” you hissed at Steve, “did you just think I would agree to this?” you questioned getting angrier by the second.

“We were hoping you would say yes,” he sighed, “there was no one else y/n, you were always there to nurse us back to health, he needed you.”  

You scoffed, “needed me, understatement of the fucking year,” you muttered under your breath as the bikes drew closer.

You watched Steve rush over to Bucky, his frame wobbling, your eyes grew concerned.

“Hey y/n,” Sam greeted, you nodded your head at him, “Samuel.”

Your eyes widen the second they land on Bucky, and you can’t control yourself as your feet carry you to him like they had done so many times before. A worried gasp is leaving your lips as you pull at the lapels of Bucky’s jacket, your feet almost fail you, there’s blood, so much blood, your face pales. “What the fuck happened,” you whisper eyes looking from Steve, Sam and then finally landing on his.

“Should see the other guy,” he smirks, “missed you doll,” he murmurs.

You scoffed, “please Barnes, if this doesn’t kill you, I’ll do it myself, what were you thinking coming here like this I have James inside the house!” you growled.

“Now sweetheart -” he’s cut off by the sound of your front door slamming, your son’s voice squealing in delight, “DADDY!”

Your eyes widen in horror, your son had never seen his dad like this, “apply pressure to the wound” you hiss turning on your heel  to stop your son from getting any closer, but he’s too quick and before you can even get his name out in warning he’s stopping in front of his dad and uncles. He’s frozen, his head turns to look up at you slowly, “mommy, why is daddy bleeding?” he questions you, you can see his lip start to wobble his eyes glistening, a knot formed in your throat, this is what you wanted to avoid.

Your dropping to your knees to turn your little boy to face you, you need to divert his eyes from the blood soaking his shirt,  your hands reach up to cup his cheeks, “daddy’s bleeding because he got hurt baby he’s -”

“is daddy going to die?!” your son questioned cutting you off, his voice scared.

“oh baby no, daddy’s not going to die, it’s just a cut, like a booboo,” you tried to reassure, “uncle Steve and Sam brought him to mommy, and mommy’s going to take care of him.”

“You promise you’re going to make him all better?” he questioned eyes glistening, bottom lip trembling.

Your thumbs ran under his cheek, “I promise baby, he’s going to-”  

You were cut off by Steve’s frantic calls of Bucky’s name, you and your son looked up to see Bucky slouched over, face paler than when he had first arrived.

Your son looked over to you in fear, tears falling down his cheeks, “Mommy, what’s wrong with daddy,” he cried, “mommy please help daddy you promised, you promised you would make him better!” he screamed reaching for Bucky’s leg.

You held your son back while you shouted for Steve and Sam to get Bucky inside, and to your room. All the while attempting to soothe your thrashing five-year-old, the wails for his father tore at you. You scooped him into your arms, running with him towards the house as you tried to calm his tears. Sam greeted you in the living room reaching for your son, “ he’s in the room, Steve’s applying pressure, I'll watch the little guy.”

Your son kicked and screamed some more, “mommy no, please mommy,” he wailed as you pulled away from him, tears glistening In your own eyes, “please don’t let anything happen to daddy, please!”he said reaching towards you. You wanted to rush back and hold your son tightly while you whispered reassuring words into his ears, but right now you had a promise to keep, “daddy’s going to be okay baby, mommy promises daddy’s going to be okay,” you called back disappearing down the hallway into your room.

You entered the door shutting it behind you, your materials were already spread out on your night stand, you looked over to your bed, Steve hovering over Bucky, “i got the bleeding to stop but he’s not looking good y/n,” you nodded your head stiffly.

“I’ll take it from here Steve, just please go help Sam with James, please,” you whispered.

Steve gave you a stern nod before he was leaving Bucky’s side, you moved forward to take his spot. You made quick work of cutting open his shirt, you had no time to waist as your hands weaved between your nightstand and the wound on Buckys stomach, this was second nature to you, you had been doing this for years now, though this was the worse you had seen during your time at the club, the most you had ever seen was a small gash, but this was something new, even for you. By the time you were done with Bucky, you knew you’d need to get rid of the clothes on your skin, the sheets beneath his body, and likely get a new bed.

You were numb by the time you completed the last stitch, your skin was crawling as you looked down at the blood that covered your hands and your shirt. Making your way over to your bathroom you scrubbed frantically at the blood on your skin till it was red and raw. You slipped off your shirt dumping it in the trash-bin and slipping on another. You walked back over to Bucky checking on him, his breathing was even, and his color was returning ever so slowly. You went to push his hair from his face when soft knocks sounded on your door, you turned your head muttering a weak “come in”.

Steve peeked his head in giving you a small smile, before he was pushing in, the door behind him closing, “how is he?” he questioned.

You took in a shaky breath, “he did lose quite a bit of blood, but with enough rest and some food and water he’ll make a recovery, wouldn’t suggest moving him for a good day he’s going to be in for a hell of pain, so he can stay here, you and Sam as well if you’d like.”

Steve nodded, his eyes meeting your dazed ones, “thank you for helping us, for helping him, how are you doing?”

Who knew those words would  be the ones to break you, the first tear fell and after that it was like a dam had been destroyed, a month worth of tears and pain fell through. Sobs wracked your body, your hands coming up to your face to try and contain them. Steve rushed forward his arms wrapping tightly around you. “It’s been a month Steve, a fucking month of radio silence, and the day he shows up he’s halfway to being on deaths door,” you cried “it’s been a long and hellish month of hearing James beg to see his dad, hell to see any of you, he misses the club, and he can't quite understand why dads never home to play with him, tuck him in, have a movie night, it’s funny that when the lot of you decide to finally show up it’s because Natasha wasn’t available to keep this asshole from dying, it wasn’t because you wanted to see your nephew, it wasn’t because he finally decided he was choosing his family, no it’s because he was hurt and you had nobody else,” your mad now, angry hot tears rolling down your cheeks as you swat at Steves chest, “did you see that little boys face when you showed up, did you see how his eyes lit up to see his dad, did you even care to think how this might affect us you guys coming here after a month of nothing” you yelled, “you can’t even begin to imagine  how hard it is to raise that little boy on my own when all he wants is to see or spend time with his dad, he can feel his absence, I can feel his absence, and it's all because I asked him to cut back from the club a little, just a little, and what does he decide,” you shake your head, “he decides that he can’t do that, that his family isn't enough.”

“Y/n --”

You shook your head, “I don’t want to hear it Steve, if it’s not coming from his mouth,” you said pointing to your bed, “I don’t want to hear it.”

Steve tried to speak a confused look on his face but there was another knock on your door, this time Steve was the one to call them in. You had expected to see Sam and James, and you did but there was another head popping in behind them, you steeled yourself, your eyes watched as she went over to your bed, her hands running over the now bandaged wound, she looked up at you with worried eyes, “is he going to be okay?”

“he’ll be fine, he probably won’t wake for the rest of the evening but he’ll make it.”

You felt tapping at your legs to see your son looking up at you wide eyed, “did you fix him mommy, did you make daddy all better.”

You kneeled down smiling at your son, god he looked so much like his dad, “yeah baby mommy made daddy all better, he’s going to be okay,” you murmured.

Your son’s eyes lit up his arms throwing themselves around your neck, “I love you mommy, thank you for taking care of daddy like you take care of me”

“Love you too baby,” you whispered kissing the side of his head.

Your arms wrapped around your son as you hoisted him up, his arms still wrapped tightly around your neck, his cheek smushed to yours, “you guys are welcome to stay as long as you like, I'm going to go and feed this little guy and spend time with him before bed so if you don’t mind cleaning up I would appreciate it.” you murmured before you were stepping past Steve and Sam making your way out of your bedroom.

You didn’t see the three of them the rest of the evening, your sole attention on your son. James stayed glued to your side the rest of the evening, some part of him was always touching you, like he was grounding you to him,  whether it be his hand holding yours while you ate dinner in silence, his toes brushing yours where they were nestled deep in the sand  box, or his hands rubbing your cheek, his petite frame in your lap while you read to him in the comfort of his bed before bedtime.  

“Mommy can I spend time with daddy tomorrow?” he questioned quietly while you tucked him into bed.

“Only if he’s feeling better, if he is you can go spend some time with him in the room, daddy’s booboo is very painful so he won’t be able to play with you.” you murmured pushing his hair from his face. The same grey eyes you had fallen in love with where staring right at you  in the form of a new love.

“That’s okay, I can find another way to play with him, oh I know I can take him my blocks and a book and maybe some of my favorite toys that make me feel better when I got a booboo,” he replied cheerfully, his smile growing wider as he thought of all the things he could do with his dad, “i’ll make him feel all better like you did mommy!”

You smiled softly, “I bet you will baby, but right now mommy needs you to get some rest, and as soon as you wake up you can go see your dad,”

He grinned brightly before he was leaning forward placing a kiss to your lips, “goodnight mommy,”

You stood placing one last kiss to his head, “goodnight baby,” you whispered, turning off the light before making your way from the room leaving the door slightly cracked.

Looking towards your bedroom the room to your door was still shut, but a light shone at the bottom, you suspected the other three were still in there with him.

The events of the day finally caught up to you as you sat at your kitchen table a glass of water in front of you. Your form crumpled as you finally let the tears fall, hadn’t life given you enough pain when Bucky walked out the door, it seems it hadn't because now you had to witness the man you still loved almost die, and to hear the wails of your son crying out for the dad he missed dearly, well that just about did you in.  

“Bucky we barely even see you now, the only time we do is if I'm needed at the club and I have to bring James along,”

Bucky sighed, his lips set into a deep frown, “Y/n this club is our life, the club needs me now more than ever, especially with Rumlow sticking his nose in our business.” he muttered his hands scrubbing over his face.

“The club is not our life Buck, this,” you said gesturing around you “this is our life.”

Bucky looked up at you his face set in a cold glare, “what is it that you want y/n, you want me to just drop everything, to leave the club, to be home with you and our son?”

“Is that so bad to ask for?” you questioned in disbelief, “is me wanting you to spend a little more time with me and your son a bad thing?”

He sighed standing from the table, “i can’t do this right now, I don’t want to fight with you,”

“then when are we going to do this Bucky,” you asked, “because between the club and you plotting with Steve, Sam, and Natasha, we barely even see you, James is always asking for you, he’s always asking for you throughout the day.”

“I’m working to keep the club running, I’m working to keep this family safe,” he said turning on you eyes in a cold glare, “the club might not be important to you, but it is to me, why can’t you be like the others, why can’t you be like Natasha?”

The question knocked you off your feet, the green monster rearing its ugly head into you, “wha-” you paused gathering your jealousy fueled thoughts, “what do you mean be like Natasha?” you whispered.

“Natasha lives for the club, she fights to keep things right, she’s there.” he hissed.

“Buck-”

“No y/n I know what you’re asking, and I’m sorry but I can’t, the club needs me, they need me now more than ever, we’re close to getting the upper hand on Rumlow and I'm not risking him getting away again.”

“So that’s it, the club, catching Rumlow, all that means more to you than your family, than your son, than me?” you questioned your voice wavering.

“Yeah I guess so,” he muttered.

“Then I want out James, I can’t do this anymore, I can’t be second choice, and neither can your son, it’s not right, I don’t want our son growing up around all this, we could handle it, but he’s beginning to understand everything, and I can’t raise him around the dangers that lurk.”

He scoffed before he was moving towards the door, “where are you going?” you questioned watching his retreating back.

He looked over his shoulder, “to Natasha’s,”

The jealousy reared into you again, “why?”

He glared at you, “because she’s there.”

That night that he left to Natasha’s you hadn’t seen or heard from him since, and it had only been harder when James started asking where daddy was. You hadn’t been too sure what to tell him, so you did the best you could and gave him the same short answer every time, with a promise that daddy would be home soon. Every day that passed James stopped asking less and less about his father, and when he was coming home. He knew something had changed, but he wasn’t sure what caused it, the day that he promised he would start being a good boy so daddy would come home broke you. Your son was blaming himself, and you didn’t know what to do or say to fix any of this.

The sound of feet walking down the hallway pulled you from your thoughts, you quickly wiped at your tears, fanning at your face. You looked to your side to see the Sam, Steve, Natasha. You gave them a nod before your eyes were going back to you glass. You heard the scrapes of the chairs next to you, you looked up their eyes trained on you.

“You okay?” Sam questioned.

You scoffed, you were so tired of that question, “does it look like I'm okay Sam, I already tore into Steve earlier, but maybe I'll feel the tiniest bit better if I give it another go,” you muttered. They looked at you confused didn’t say anything so you continued.

“I haven't heard from Bucky since he left a month ago, I also haven’t heard from any of you either, none of you called, texted or even showed up, and trust me I get it there’s things going on at the club so to some extent I understand,” you took a breath, “but you know what I can’t understand, is that it took Bucky being critically injured and Natasha not being available for you all to come by, you didn’t come by to see us, check on us, to spend time with James, no, you came because you had no other choice, so how do you think I'm feeling?” you hissed

“But y/n”

“But nothing Sam, the day Bucky left, I had asked Bucky to simply spend more time with me and his son, I never once asked him to give up the club, that's his life, but it wasn’t mine, not since we had James, and just like Bucky wanted to protect us, and keep us safe, that is why I chose to leave, James was beginning to understand the things he saw when I would bring him out with me, I couldn’t put my son through that, so I made that decision for my family,” you sucked in a breath, “when I told him my decision he decided that he didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to fight for us, but before he left he asked me why I couldn’t be like all of you, like Natasha, she was apparently more understanding, was there for him  when I wasn’t, but the only time he wanted me around the club is when he called for me,” you shook your head, “so I'm sorry if I'm not doing my best, but the day Bucky left, he didn’t just leave with his things, no, he took all of me with him, so excuse me if I'm not the welcoming committee you all were expecting but for a month I had to raise my son alone, my son who asked me every hour of everyday where his father was and if he was finally coming home today, and that continued for weeks till he just stopped asking, stopped expecting to see the bike pull up, the door open.”

“Y/n,” natasha spoke up, you looked up at her through tear filled eyes, “we had no idea, none of us knew, Bucky didn’t explain any of this to us, he never told us there was any issues going on at home”

“of course he wouldn’t,” you scoffed, “as soon as he entered the club, it was strictly club business, family and home was not supposed to be brought up.”

“no y/n, understand when we say none of us knew, there’d be times we would ride with him over here once we were finished up at the club, and he would pull just outside of the gates, till we were out of sight, we thought he was coming home to you.”

“well he wasn’t, how did you not know about this?” you questioned her, “that night he left he said he was going to you, because you were there, because you’ve always been there.” you muttered.

“y/n I can assure you Bucky did not come to me that night, Bucky hasn’t been to my home unless it was with one of these two,” she said gesturing to Sam and Steve.

“she’s right y/n,” Steve spoke up quietly, “we swear none of us knew this was happening, or that it was this bad.”

“yeah y/n, if Barnes wasn’t recovering, I would have knocked him on his ass.” Sam muttered, reaching out his hand to you, you looked at his palm skeptically before placing yours in his.

“But Steve when I spoke to you outside before the two of them got here you seemed like you knew,” you questioned confused.

“Bucky told us he had upset you pretty bad before he arrived at the club this morning, he said you weren't going to be too happy seeing us there, that you might not want to help, because of how bad he messed up, I tried telling him you couldn’t stay mad with him, much less with the fact that he was stabbed, but he kept holding off coming over here, I just thought you were extremely upset still, but I didn’t know it was because of all this so when you got upset with me in the room, I was surprised as well, but you wouldn’t let me get a word in.”

You shoulders sagged, “so none of you knew,” you whispered shakily.

Sam’s thumb ran over your hand, “we swear none of us knew, we would never let you go through something like this y/n you have to believe us.”

You knew you believed them, they were the closest thing to family that you had, you knew they wouldn’t lie to you, not like this. The only thing that was bothering you was the thought that Bucky was hiding something much bigger, bigger than all of you if he went to this extent. To say your night had been restless was an understatement. You barely slept a wink, you were more concerned with confronting Bucky, to get to the bottom of all this, you needed to know why he had done what he did.

Sam, Steve, and Natasha had stayed up with you as long as they could, they reassured you every second that your mind raced with the thoughts of “what ifs”. Eventually you sent them off to the two guest bedrooms despite their protests.

“guys really, go get some rest, there’s no point in me taking a bed I won’t be getting any sleep in, there’s just too much on my mind.”

After sending them off to bed, you remained on the couch, it wasn’t until the first rays of sun peeked through the curtains that sleep finally pulled you under, and even then, your dreams were plagued by your own thoughts.

The smell of coffee and the sizzling sounds of eggs pulled you from your restless sleep. Peeking your head over the couch you saw five bodies, in the kitchen, your son was seated on the counter closest to the stove his legs swinging happily as he watched his father cook, the other three sat at your table a cup of coffee in front of each of them as they watched your son,  you could sense an underlying tension in the room, had they confronted Bucky? Pulling yourself from the couch you let out a pained groan, your back screaming at you for sleeping on the too small couch, “Mommy, you’re awake!” your son squealed the second he had seen you.

You smiled at him softly making you way over to him, “good morning baby,” you whispered into his hair as you placed a kiss to his head. You bid the other’s one as well before your eyes were falling on Bucky, he gave you a tight-lipped smile a cup of coffee in his hand, “How are you feeling you questioned?”

“feeling more sore than anything, thank you for helping me out, but I think we need to talk, doll, or at least i have some explaining to do, and apologizing as well.”

You took the cup from his out stretched hand, your brow raised at him, “you think,” you muttered.

Wanting to enjoy a nice breakfast with your son, you dropped the subject for now, but you weren’t going to let him forget you needed to talk. You were relatively quiet during breakfast opting instead to enjoy your son’s joyous chatter as he told everyone surrounding him all he had done the month he had been apart from them. His laughter was contagious as was his bright smile, you almost forgot for a moment the storm looming over you. Once breakfast was finished and the dishes had been cleared, your son had asked if he could show his uncles and auntie Nat, his collection of toy cars you had recently purchased him. You nodded your head, smiling when an excited squeal sounded through the room, your son grabbing as many hands as he could.

The room fell into silence, the sound of a chair scraping against the tiled floor filled the room, you turned your head Bucky sitting in the chair closest to you.

“What are you hiding?” you questioned right off the bat.

A sigh left his lips, his head shook slightly, “there’s no easy way to explain any of this sweetheart.”

You glared at him, “well you better find a damn way too, because I deserve to know what the hell is going on with you.”

“It’s Rumlow,” the name made your breath catch in your throat, “we had underestimated him and how far he was willing to take things, we had stopped some of the business transactions he had been doing around our area and well he wasn’t too happy,” a deep sigh fell from his lips, “a few days after we had done that the first manila envelope showed up on the steps of the club, it was addressed to me,” he took a deep breath his hand that on the table was clenched into a fist, “there was pictures, they were of you and James, he threatened your life,” he growled his eyes boring into yours.

You froze at his words, “as soon as I saw the pictures of the two of you in there, I lost it, I didn’t know what to do sweetheart, he knew how much you two meant to me, and he knew that threatening to come after the two of you would throw me off,” he paused, “I had to do something, and I had to do it quick but I knew that if I did it right away you wouldn’t let me go so easily, so I had to plan it out, I had to slowly push you away from the club, only calling you when it was necessary, even coming home late, it pained me to do any of this sweetheart but that night that I told you I was keeping the two of you safe, I was really doing it.” You remained quiet wanting him to continue, “letters had still been showing up on the doorstep of the club, I thought by pushing you away little by little that they would stop but they didn’t, so I had to do it all together that night, I’m so sorry for what I put you through sweetheart, I would never intentionally hurt you or our son like this if I wasn’t trying my hardest to keep the two of you out of harm's way, I know it wasn’t the best way to go about things and you probably hate me for the hell I put you through, but I'm so sorry, i didnt think there was another way.”

You took in everything Bucky had just told you, you were frozen in your spot, “why didn’t you say anything, did the club know?” you questioned voice shaky.

“Nobody knew doll, I was always the first one to the club,” he sighed, “I didn’t want to worry anyone, I didn’t want them doing anything that would throw Rumlow off, from the photos I was receiving there was someone scouting the house, and I knew If I told the others they would be rushing over here doing what they could to protect the two of you,” he shook his head, “i felt helpless, and I thought by doing this it would help to protect the two of you, I've regretted it every day since.”

You took in a shaky breath, “and did it?” you questioned, “did you stop receiving threats”?

He nodded his head eyes casted down, you slumped in your seat, you didn’t know what to feel. You didn’t know whether to feel angry, sad, happy, scared, you just didn’t know, you were numb to it all, how do you take in the information that your husband had left you and your son a month ago to protect your life. You knew Bucky would go to whatever extent he needed to protect the two of you, but you would have never imagined it going this far, and that’s what worried you. How bad had this threat been to have him planning out weeks of pushing you away, to have him leaving you for a month, the way he did.

“Buck why couldn’t you just talk to me, why couldn’t you tell me what was going on?” you questioned looking up at him through tear filled eyes.

“I was scared doll, I didn’t want to involve you in this, especially with James and how you had been feeling about bringing him to the club, I imagined this only making matters worse, I just, I couldn’t put you through that,”

“Bucky we are in this together, you could have told me what was going on, and I would have understood what it was that you needed to do, you shouldn’t have had to do this alone.”

“sweetheart,” he sighed, “Rumlow is a dangerous man, he’s proved more times than none he will stop at nothing, and the second he threatened your life, I lost it, I wasn’t thinking rationally, all I knew was I needed to protect you and in that moment in time I hadn't cared how I did it, I didn’t think of the consequences, I didn’t think of the pain I would leave in my wake, I just wanted you safe,” Bucky’s hand reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping away at a tear, “I’m so sorry I put the two of you through this sweetheart, I thought I was doing right, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know how sorry I am, I know now I should have come to you, come to the guys about this, but I was just so fucking scared to lose you, that I did just that,”

“Bucky I-”  

Suddenly gunshots were breaking through the windows of the front of your home a scream tore through you, as glass continued to shatter around you. Bucky was quick to move as he flipped your table, yanking you down with him. You could hear the screams of your son, terror ran through you, you weren't thinking as you stood with a racing heart running through the kitchen “y/n no!” Bucky yelled over the gunfire; you didn’t make it far as Bucky jumped after you, both your bodies flying to the floor in the hallway, Bucky grunted his body crawling over yours. Tears were streaming down your face, as the gunfire continued to pour through your home, the sound of glass breaking and wood cracking filled your ears. You could still hear your sons screams a few feet away from the two of you, “Bucky,” you choked out.

He pulled you closer to him, your face pressed into his chest, time slowed for you as the rain of gunfire continued. You weren’t sure how long you laid there body pressed in terror against his before the gunfire finally ceased, the sounds of bikes loudly  racing away.

“You guys good?” Bucky yelled out.

“We’re all good,” Steve called out,  

“Sweetheart, you okay?”Bucky whispered looking down at you.

You pulled your head from his chest looking up at him, you nodded your head stiffly, “we’re going to get up slowly, and I want you to make your way to James room, you got that?” He questioned.

You didn’t give him an answer as you did what you were told, you were careful as you made your way over to your sons room only to find his bed flipped against the door. You leaned up peeking over it to see them in the farthest corners of his room.

“Mommy!” James cried as he pulled away from Steve’s hold, face red with tears streaming down his face. He ran into you his small arms wrapping around you holding on tightly as he cried into your legs.

You did your best to lean down hugging his tiny frame to you, “mommy,” he hiccupped, “daddy’s bleeding again,” you looked over to where Bucky leaned against the door, his bandaged wound stained in blood.

“Natasha do you think you can check him out please?” you whispered.

Natasha nodded beckoning Bucky closer, it was quiet for a few minutes, your son’s sniffles quieting the longer you held him.

Steve was the first to break the silence, “Buck is there something you want to tell us?”

Bucky stayed silent for a minute wincing when Natasha pierced the needle through his skin, a sigh left his lips before he was retelling the information he had just shared with you in the kitchen.

“goddamnit Buck, why didn’t you come to us earlier, we could have helped you with this, we could have avoided all this,” Steve grunted gesturing around your home.

“Fuck!” bucky hissed as Natasha finished the last stitch, “I know what you all would have done, rumlow already had eyes on the house, on my wife and kid, had I involved any of you, you all would have been in his radar too.”

“You didn’t have to go through this by yourself, we’re a team, a family, we would have figured something out with you, you didn’t need to do any of this.”

Bucky looked over to you, his eyes locking on you and your son, “I know that now,” he voiced quietly.

“Well we need to do something, we can’t let that asshole get away,” Sam piped in.

“We’re not doing anything till I get my family safe, and I know that they’re going to be safe,” Bucky grunted.

Bucky worked quick, he gave you a few hours to pack any salvageable belongings for you and James, you worked silently not lingering to long on things. Most of the rooms towards the front of the home had been destroyed with bullet holes, and your room just so happened to be in the front. You couldn’t help the various what ifs that popped up in your head, as you looked through your clothes, picking out ones that had no damage. Your mind kept racing; what if Bucky had still been in here when it happened, what if you had been in here, what if James had been outside playing, what if after what if played through your mind. You found yourself bracing your hands against your drawers as the tears took over.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky questioned softly from the doorway. You looked over to him, the second he saw your tear stained cheeks he was making his way over to you. You caved the second his arms wrapped around you, “I’m so sorry sweetheart, I’m so sorry I let it get this bad,” he murmured into your hair, pulling you closer the louder your cries got.  

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed you in a blur as Bucky worked on getting you and James somewhere safe Steve, and Natasha had gone to check the location where you would  you be moving too was ready for you, while sam was asked to go to the club and get some help in moving the two of you without anyone noticing. You had just finished packing the last of the things for the two of you when you head your sons small voice from his room, “are you not going to come with us daddy, are you still not going to come home?” From where you stood you were able to see your son sitting on the floor surrounded by his toys, Bucky kneeling in front of him.

Bucky took James face in his hand getting him to look up at him, “I won’t be home right away son, but I promise when daddy fixes all this mess that I'm coming home to you, and daddy will spend time with you every day when all this is over.”

“Will you be safe?” he questions in a timid voice, “I know mommy can’t go with you because she has to keep me safe, but will someone be there to keep you safe and fix your booboos, I don’t want anything to happen to you daddy,” he whispered lower lip trembling.

Bucky leaned forward to press his lips to your sons head, “I promise I'll be okay buddy, I’ll have someone watching my back.”

Your son nodded his head before he was looking back up at his dad, “when you come back home will you tell mommy sorry?” he questioned looking up at him with grey doe eyes, “mommy was really sad when you werent home daddy,”  

He smiled sadly, “I promise I'll tell her sorry every single day for the rest of my life when I get home,” his head turned towards you, eyes locked on yours, “I’ll also tell her I love her, and that I'll never hurt her ever again, because you and your mom mean more to me than I could ever put into words, I love you so much,”  though his words were spoken to your son, with the intensity his eyes held you knew the words were meant for you to hear.

It was nearing midnight when you finally arrived to your new home, pulling up to the stone gate, you watched Sam punch in a code, the gate swung open immediately, granting the car you were in, and the one behind you entrance. Just as quickly as it had opened it was also quick in closing, “Mommy is this our new home?” your son questioned from beside you.

“I’m not sure baby,” you murmured amazed at the vast expansion of land.

“I hope it is, it’s beautiful mommy, oh mommy look, a playground!” your son pointed out once you drew closer to the house. He was pressed against the window, his breath fogging up the glass, as soon as the car was in park your son was bolting out.

Before you exited the car, you turned to Sam, “I'm assuming you won’t be staying?” you questioned eyes meeting his in the mirror. He shook his head, “We got a lead on Rumlow and if we get moving tonight, we may be able to finish this sooner than later, Nat and Steve are already at the club waiting for us, they fixed up the place already for you guys.”

You nodded your head slowly looking back to your son to see Bucky had joined him your son squealing in delight as Bucky pushed him higher on the swing. You smiled at the sight, you loved seeing your son so happy, your heart clenched at the thought of what they were about to embark on. Your eyes met Sam’s again in the mirror, “Sam promise me you all will be safe, I need you all to come out of this unharmed,” you paused taking in a breath your eyes falling on Bucky, “ I need you to bring him back to us, James needs his dad, and I need him too, I can’t do this without him” Sam turned in his seat his eyes meeting yours, a warm smile on his face, “I promise, we’re bringing him back to you, and I can promise he’s never going to slip up again, not if any of us have a say in it,” he sighed, “that man loves you y/n, he loves you more than anything, even the club, so trust me when I say he’s going to come back to the two of you.”

You nodded your head your hand reaching out to touch Sam’s cheek, “please be safe Samuel, aside from Nat, I don’t think I'd be able to deal with all this chaos without you,” you smiled eyes tearing.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone with those two,” he chuckled, “now go, go talk to your man, we have to be getting ready soon, and I know if we stall any longer he’s never going to want to leave, not when he just got the two of you back.

Giving Sam one last smile you exited from the car making your way over to the Bucky, you son was giggling happily screaming at you to watch how high he could go. You hated to break your son’s happiness but you know Bucky needed to go.

“you’re going so high baby; say why don’t you and I go inside and check out the rest of the house?” you questioned.

Your son nodded frantically, slowing the swing down with his feet, he jumped from the swing bolting for the front door. Your son entered the home eyes widening, “mommy can I go look?” he questioned you from where you stood with Bucky in the doorway, “sure baby, but before you go, you need to tell daddy bye, he has to go already.” You watched him move forward just as Bucky kneeled his hands wrapping around his neck, “be safe daddy, and please come home, I promise I'll be good for you and mommy,” he said pulling back and placing a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. Bucky grabbed his face in his hands, “I promise I’m coming home son, and when I do, me and you are going to spend a whole day out here on the swings, now go on and go look at your new room, I have to say goodbye to mommy before I leave.” Your son gave him one last squeeze before he was running into the house, his squeals of delight sounding through the house.

Bucky stood looking at you, “I’ll be back as soon as all this is over and we’ve taken care of Rumlow.”

You nodded your head, “Please be safe, we both need you to come home to us, I can’t do this without you.”

His hand came up to your cheek, “and I promise you won’t have to, I'll be home sooner than you think,” he assured his thumb running over your skin. Your feet moved your forward, your hands wrapping around him as you pushed yourself into him, though it was awkward Bucky still managed to wrap his arms around you. His lips pressed to your head, “I’m coming home to you and our son doll, and I promise, I won’t ever leave the two of you, ever again.”

You wanted to share those three words with him, the three words that you had longed to say for weeks, but you knew you would need to wait a little longer as Bucky was signaled it was time to go, he was out of time. You watched him walk away from you, you just hoped with every part of your being that this time he would be coming back to you. You watched the cars disappear down the darkened road, looking up to the sky you looked upon the glowing stars and wished.

Just like the first time Bucky had left, James had started to ask if his dad was coming home soon, it wasn’t like the first time, instead of every hour like he had before, now it was once daily every morning that he woke. One week quickly turned to two, and when you were rounding into the third week, you began to worry. There had been no word from anyone, no phone call, no text message, not even a visit since you had arrived to this home. Your mind and body had been restless, the morning of the beginning of week three began the same with James asking you over breakfast if daddy would be home today. You didn’t know what to say anymore, you didn’t want to offer him any broken promises because quite frankly you just didn’t know anymore. While you were tending to the dirty dishes James asked if he could go play outside on the swings for a bit, “of course sweetie, I’ll be out shortly just let me finish up here and I’ll join you, make sure you leave the door open just close the screen behind you,” you reminded him as his feet ran through the house. You went back to the dishes, you found this was the only way to keep your thoughts from running, if you do use solely on one task there was no way your mind could wander away from you.

You were on the last dish when you heard your son screaming for you. His screams of your name were incessant, you dropped the plate into the sink shutting off the water hurriedly as you ran through the living room, and out the door onto the porch. You looked over to your son who was still by the swings, then you saw the unknown car pulling up from a distance.

“James sweetheart run to mommy,” you called worried, “hurry!”

James looked at you with wide eyes and ran for you the fastest his little legs could carry him. The closer the car got the closer you pushed you and James to the door of the house. Your heart was thrumming away in your chest, “mommy I’m scared,” James called from behind your legs.

“It’s okay baby, it’s okay mommy’s here,” you hushed.

You watched with baited breath as the car pulled to a stop, the black tint making it hard to see who was inside. You took another step back as the door was swung open, a foot peeked out first. You watched and waited, your heart raced eyes going wide as the person pulled themselves from the car.

“Daddy!” Your son squealed as he bolted past his hiding spot behind the back of your legs racing down the steps and into his fathers awaiting arms. Your legs wanted to give out on you, you held onto the doorway as you looked on at the sign in front of you, your eyes watering. You watched as Bucky lifted James into his arms, shutting the car door with his foot as he made his way over to you. You couldn’t tear your eyes away the closer he drew, until he was inches away from you. “Hey sweetheart,” he murmured a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

You didn’t think twice as you closed the distance between the two of you, your lips crashing into his, “ewwww,” your son squealed, “that’s gross!”

You smiled into the kiss before you were pulling away slightly, you hands came up to cup Bucky’s face in your hands, your fingers roamed the skin there, “you came home,” you whispered through a smile a tear falling from your eye.

Bucky’s finger reached up to wipe it away, “I made a promise doll,”

“Is everyone okay, is he-“ you sucked in a breath, “is he taken care of?”

“Everyone’s okay, no one got hurt,” he reassured, “yeah he was taken care of, we won’t be seeing him ever again.”

“So what’s going to happen now?” You questioned, “what about our home?”

Another smile pulled at Bucky’s lips as his arm wove around your back, pulling you and James closer to him, he placed a kiss to his sons head before he was looking down at you.

“We are home,”he stated, “home for me is wherever the two of your are.”

Another tear fell from your eyes as you leaned up to press your lips to his once more, “I love you,” you whispered into his lips.

“I love you too.”

Wish You Were Here Tag-list: @lovely-geek @scuzmunkie @amanda-the-fangirl @unlistedpond

#wish you were here #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes one shot #daddy!bucky barnes #biker!bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel oneshot

[anxiouslyfred]

The Rainy Painting

Summary: Remus paints the memories he gets from his soulmate and posts them online. Since it’s Tumblr he posts to he never expects that his soulmate could actually find them though.

/\/\

Remus had leapt on the idea as soon as he encountered it, and ran away with it completely over the years that the internet and social media was growing in the world. At this point there were honestly a number of blogs convinced that he was actually the one to start the trend that picked up, rather than than he'd stolen the idea from classical artists.

True, it really was only speculation that some of the masterpieces of art were inspired by soulmate memories, but that had been enough for Remus to start posting his drawings online, eventually finding Tumblr as a home for them.

Drawing them had just been a way to make the memories feel more real to him. There were places he'd never been but could tell you everything that happened to his soulmate there and he kind of wished the memories were more solid sometimes. Place names would really be useful, but despite knowing it was possible to get them, his parents often mentioned that helping them meet, Remus's soulmate never seemed to focus on locations.

It wasn't really an attempt to locate his soulmate, as Roman was far to regularly pointing out he'd have a higher chance of managing that on something like Instagram, or Twitter, or just about any social media. He just wanted to post the art that came from the memory dreams, and see just how much of the emotions around the memories he could convey in them.

Something in the art must have at least resonated with people since his art filled the most popular posts under the #soulmate dreams tag.

/Another Approach to Memory Dreams\

There were journals spread over Virgil's shelves. Sometimes the pages had full memories he'd gained while dreaming recounted in them, but usually it was descriptions of the location, everything he could remember that would stand out if he ever found himself there. All of his soulmate's memories preserved on shelves to the right of his door.

He had journals and trinkets from things he thought could be the memories sent to his soulmate too. They were kept in books to the left of his door, with pen pots and extra scrapbooks holding identifying things for the locations. How could Virgil know if someone was talking about somewhere he'd visited without a pencil or postcard stating where that was? Place names just weren't that important to him to actually remember.

Sometimes, when Virgil was feeling extremely alone and unloved by everyone, he'd read and reread all the memories of his soulmate, just trying to figure out if he could find them. If there was actually a way he might manage it from the information he'd gotten.

He'd overheard some teens talking about memory art, or soulmate art while they'd been browsing in the art store he worked at and was wondering about looking it up. Virgil would never dare to post anything he drew online. The only thing that would happen was it'd get ignored, in the best instance, otherwise he'd probably face a lot of criticism.

Virgil had seen more than enough of that hate and criticism of anything when his cousins had convinced him to get a twitter for a while. That had only lasted a week before Patton had deleted his account as well as the app from his phone, refusing to watch Virgil panic over things happening a world away they could do nothing to help, or just freaking out over the amount of things people tried to claim made someone evil that were really just coping mechanisms for stressful situations.

If people describing or painting the memories they got from their soulmate was a thing though, surely any social media would have some people posting it?

That thought had Virgil hesitantly searching it on Tumblr while trying to get the idea out of his head.

He did not expect to see the store he worked in painted red and tilted on one side. Just the brashness of the brush strokes in the painting made it feel angry, a lot like the customer from 3 weeks ago that had argued over the size a top was labelled and started throwing things when he'd informed them that he was that days working manager.

Looking on the blog that had posted it, their most recent picture was also familiar to Virgil; a soaked city street, with a blue car driving away in the distance. That could have been taken from the day Patton had left for one of his family celebrations, leaving with the comment that possibly Virgil could try making a new friend while he was away. It had left Virgil feeling abandoned and guilty, as though his isolation from the world made him a burden upon his only real friend.

Holding his breathe and wishing to anything that was listening in the universe, Virgil opened their ask box and started typing out his memory of saying goodbye to Patton. He tried to play it off, pretend it was just a strange coincidence that he'd lived the scene the painting seemed to reveal, but had to know if this could be his soulmate, could be someone actually painting his memories and posting them.

/Returning to Remus\

It wasn't often people actually commented on the scenes he painted. Sure, occasionally someone would praise the emotions Remus worked to capture in paints, but the images wouldn't get asked about. They all knew it wasn't his memory to share and that he'd only post the stories if it was something that caught his interest in absurdity.

So when Remus had a message basically telling him the memory with some details that the dream hadn't included added, he was excited and very very confused.

The message just ended as though the person sending it didn't think they could be soulmates at all, “Just you know, the latest picture made me think of that, is all.”

He wasn't replying publically if he was about to get rejected. “O.o You got the entire bloody scene completely right and are saying it 'just made you think of it'??? Honey, unless you literally have your soulmate sat right the fuck beside you, I'm claiming that role right now!!! Wanna give me the shortest description of your last memory dream in a DM and see if I can fill in some details????”

Thank goodness they hadn't sent the ask in on anon so Remus could reply privately, but this felt huge, and like he'd explode if he didn't do something right now.

By the time the alert on his phone went off again, Remus had climbed out of the window of his apartment and up onto the roof. Sure there was a fire escape but that was taking the easy route, and never let it be said that Remus took the easy route to do anything.

The message on his phone simply read “angry red dude screaming and throwing paint.”

Whomever Anxietoid-Mess was, it was now confirmed that they were Remus's soulmate.

“My brother getting angry a week ago, because I pointed out the story he's been writing is all innocent and predictable with nothing really interesting for me to want to read it. We'd been painting together in an attempt to get along because his friend doesn't think families can be as dysfunctional as ours is.” Remus recited, bouncing in his seat.

The sun was setting on the city and as much as he'd love rain, or a thunderstorm, it was easier to use a phone in dry weather. And now he was messaging, and with a few clicks now he'd remembered following, his soulmates Tumblr, well Remus's future sure looked interesting. Perhaps he could even get some place names eventually.

#dukexiety #remus sanders #virgil sanders #artist remus #online meeting #soulmate au

[capri-ramblings]

Hi Capri, you're recent "what if I have to go" post got me thinking. How would Leona, Ruggie, Jack and Idia react to an s/o (female) who wants to break up with them? Feel completely free to ignore/delete this If you want 💞💞

I'm not very good with angst but I hope this is good enough! You all have been so nice with asking me for Requests and I just wanna say that if there is a request I'm not comfortable or able to do, I will definitely inform said user that sent me the request,so if I haven't sent any to you it means I am working on your request (I'm just super slow on updates im sorry 😔) Okie that's it! thanks for reading and enjoy! ( ꈍᴗꈍ)

A Sense of Abandonment

Leona Kingscholar

- He wouldn't take it so kindly.

- In the first place,being able to get as intimate as you did with him was hard enough but now you wanted to break it all up?

- "Sure" Is what he'll say, and from how casual and nonchalant it sounded, it was as if he didn't really care, but what he's really saying is "Are you fucking kidding me?"

- If you thought being his partner brought out his predatory possessiveness, you should think otherwise.

- Any other male getting near you was an offense to him now, and he doesn't hesitate to make his aggression known.

- He still acts like you're his and every single time you tell him off for it, he gives you that dull expression of his.

- Leona conflicts you.

- He says he doesn't care, acts cold to you, but then you confront him and and he just toys with your temper

- He's hurt and you've wounded his pride more than it already was before

- Of course you won't be forgiven so easily nor would he be able to forget you

- The way you always seemed to bring out his softer side, and how genuine you were with everything you did for him.

- How did it end up like this? How could he have lost something so valuable without being able to fight for it?

- The breakup leads to a deep rooted frustration for Leona, and before he gets over it, it's going to be a turbulent ride. For both parties.

Jack Howl

- This young pup would be both confused and extremely hurt.

- "Why?" Would be his first reaction to it and even when you try to tell him it wasn't anything personal, he'll see it as him failing to make the relationship work

- He'll put it in his mind that he wasn't good enough and that he had neglected your needs as a partner

- Jack is still rather protective over you but he doesn't really talk or even get near you like he would used to do before the break up

- He'll do a lot of self reflecting and even attempt to get back together, Though he'd see if you were comfortable with it of course

- Unlike Leona, he doesn't hold a grudge against you but whenever you're mentioned near him, Jack's expression turns hard and the heartbreak starts all over again as if it happened yesterday

- It's just a lot of confusion for this young male, and talking it out is the last thing he does because honestly,he doesn't know what to say

- He loved you, still does, but you didn't want to be with him anymore and there was nothing he could do to change it.

- Eventually,he moves on and realizes that in life not everything you love stays with you, but as long as he sees you happy and well, he's satisfied and doesn't disturb your social life or try to include himself in it

- Acceptance is hard but Jack learns to embrace it on his own and sees your falling out with him as a lesson for the next time he gets into a relationship.

Idia Shroud

- It wasn't really a surprise. He was expecting it.

- After all, someone as vibrant as you being with someone as dull as him? It was impossible from the beginning

- So Idia just nods and doesn't even spare a glance as you walked out the door.

- He was expecting it,so it doesn't affect him at all.

- Or so he thought.

- He's online and playing games as he always spends his time when his eyes shift to the one corner of the screen,where messages would pop out and there's one left unread.

- It's your name and it was sent a few weeks before the breakup.

- He's staring at it blankly, not even realising that his hand on the mouse drifts towards it and opens the message.

- [ "Oh my god, I didn't see the message icon until today lmaoo, HI IDIAAAAA." ]

- His chest caves in and for a moment, he doesn't know why he couldn't breath all of a sudden, or why his vision seemed to blur.

- He pushes away from his computer, hands trembling as it clutches his chest.

- Everything hurts.

- He wants to scream but when his mouth opens, nothing but a breathless gasp escapes him and Idia falls to the floor. His figure crumbled and hunched over.

- He can't fucking breath for God's sake,was he dying?

- Ortho finds the blue flamed male desperately trying to compose himself, and the first time he reaches out to touch him, Idia screams.

- "Get the fuck away from me!"

- It's shaky and harsh,almost a grating sound and it makes the younger boy flinch.

- Idia's eyes are just a pool of sorrow and once it fixes on Ortho, they seem to lose their colour.

- "Why..?" He murmurs, gasping for air. When he slams the ground with his fist, the room seemingly tilts and Idia's crying fills in the silence.

- Ortho comforts his brother, quietly listening to his sobs and senseless blabber.

- He keeps repeating the same questions

- "Why?"

- "Wasn't I good enough?"

- "Why didn't I stop her?"

- It's a combustion of anger and sorrow, and poor Idia doesn't handle it well. It was hard enough confronting his emotions when you came to confess to him, but now, you were gone and he was supposed to just be okay with it?

- He doesn't want to hate you, a part of him still hopes for the day you'd come back to him, but each time he somehow passes by you or even hear your name, he feels like burning the entire place down. So he will always find a way to avoid you.

- Idia doesn't even try to talk it out with you or entertain the thought of just being friends. He can't cope with it, thus it's best he did what you did which is go his own way without looking back.

- Ortho gets him back on track by distracting him with either work or new ideas for inventions, and as time passes on, Idia learns to not let his occasional heartbreak bother him as much

- Though a second relationship isn't something he'd dive right into, he might even reject the idea of love all together. But could you really blame him?

Ruggie Bucchi

- Ruggie wished he hadn't gotten so attached in the first place

- He should've known you were going to ditch him soon enough, everyone leaves behind dirt after all.

- He'll play it off like he never took the relationship seriously but it leaves a serious wound on him whether he admits it or not

- Like Idia he tries not to hate you for choosing to leave him but that slight tinge of hurt and betrayal he feels whenever you send him a smile and wave to him as if you didn't just crushed his heart ticks him off

- Ruggie just can't stand to be in the same room as you and whenever people ask him about you, he'll be quick to make the relationship seem like a joke to him

- He doesn't want to go to you and beg you to give him a second chance but he's grinding his teeth when he sees other guys get close to you

- Ruggie's heartbreak comes with Jealousy and anyone trying to take a chance with you is going to find themselves falling over their feet (literally), he'll use his unique magic and make you unapproachable to other guys, anything to make you feel as miserable as him

- There's times when he tries to figure out what went wrong or how he could've made you stay but then the frustration of it all would just lead back to only one solution; No one would wanna end up with a street rat like him.

- To say he'll move on is just another way of saying that as long as he doesn't have to stay inside the same social space as you he'll act like the relationship didn't even exist

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst wonderland Headcanons #twst wonderland angst #leona kingscholar #twst Leona #jack howl #twst jack #idia Shroud #twst idia #ruggie bucchi #twst ruggie #twst x reader #angst headcanon

[xparadisexlostx]

Palaemon

So this is a ficlet I’ve been working on for a while now. I don’t know if it’s really going to go anywhere, but I’ve worked on the first chapter, editing and deleting shit for a while and while I have some issues with it, I wanna post it just because of all the work I’ve put into it.

This story will have some body gore/mutilation, and especially as it goes on just elements of things that are Not Ok (and I mean that in a SHIELD brought Coulson back to life against his will and I fully believe they do shady/potentially immoral experiments way). 

I have a whole profile for Winnie that I’ll link when I find it lmfao.

“Data log six-four-seven. Project name: Palaemon. This is project head Dr. Winifred Fletcher.” She wanted to make her voice a monotone over the recording, but as she passed the guards at the entry point and headed up the drive she could feel a shiver of fear crawl up her spine that caused an unconscious little quiver in her tone. It’d been a long time since she’d personally done any field documentation. Years, even. Back when she’d been young and zealous and determined to make a name for herself at SHIELD. Now she had dozens of low-level researchers and new hires in those same shoes she had been, eager to run headfirst into danger if it meant getting her approval. She didn’t have time to deconstruct how she felt about that. SHIELD had always kept her too busy.

She pressed the button on her recording device again. “It is May twenty first two-thousand-and-fourteen. I have been called in to assess a scene at cite three-nine-nine. All seven agents deployed are active participants in Palaemon and were last administered compound HDR 3-00-1 six days ago: the fifteenth of May, two-thousand-and-fourteen. All participants were cleared by medical staff before deployment two days ago, with no unusual side-effects documented during examination.”

Her voice had returned to its normal, professional drone, but something was making her deeply uneasy.

She wasn’t afraid of death. She wasn’t even particularly afraid of pain. It wasn’t the dark gravel drive only illuminated by headlights, or the dilapidated building that leaned like its tired wooden bones might snap at any second that sent chills up her spine. Part of the lure of SHIELD was the thrill of danger, and the morbid, twisted curiosity that came from the unknown. She didn’t fear any external force… only herself and the consequences of her own actions.

Her foot pressed just a little too hard on the brake as she stopped, and it threw her roughly against the seatbelt, which locked like a retractable leash around the neck of an ill trained poodle. A little cough left her, and she groped blindly beside her for the gear shift before finally freeing herself of her bindings. She snatched a bag from the passenger seat and pushed open the door. Immediately the night air rushed around her, heavy and humid, clinging to her skin, laying on her chest, and making it harder to breathe. Cicadas were droning a loud, repetitive song in the trees around her, and by the time she began ascending the stairs to the porch, her heavy breathing had fallen in sync with the alien music.

There was a terrible smell coming from the house, like that of wasting fish and burned fat. And someone was crying. Soft piteous whimpers that turned into wails that escaped the cracks of the open windows. Winnie recognized the voice as Veronica Cooper---one of the field agents who had recently joined Project Palaemon. There were other voices, talking in soft, short sentences that she assumed were platitudes that would make the agent calm down, but she couldn’t quite make out the words. She did note, as she pulled on a pair of sterile gloves, that the attempts apparently failed. The crying only grew louder and more desperate. 

She opened the half cracked door and felt a hard lump form in her throat. When the stench hit her eyes they immediately began to burn in their sockets. Directly inside the doorway, a dead agent was lying prone on the floor, his face straight down in a puddle brown vomit streaked with blood that, upon further investigation, appeared to be his own. His body was covered in bites and scratch marks, his shirt was ripped away to reveal a bloated stomach, and in his still clenched fists he was clutching shards of glass. Winnie looked around, her headlamp only illuminating fractions of the hall at a time, each just as bloody and horrific as the scene in front of her. She determined he must be holding onto the remnants of a light fixture that had been ripped forcefully from the ceiling. Wires were hanging from the hole, and directly below, the metal fixture had been discarded---it’s lightbulbs torn out. Why? The shards were too small to use as weapons. Perhaps he’d been holding onto the light as he was being attacked? Possible. But…

From her bag she produced a tongue depressor as she knelt down by the body. Carefully, she pulled back his lips as best she could. Shards of glass glittered in the bright light of her head lamp. They were deeply embedded in his gums and crushed between his teeth. He’d been eating them when he died. That possibly explained the vomit. But what could possess a man to do something like that? 

“Doctor Fletcher?” A man’s voice called. An agent she didn’t know. She heard Cooper screech and then begin to violently sob. The old, thin floors shook as the vibrations from the other room carried down the hall. That same male agent swore, and there was a scraping sound of wood on wood as if someone had run into a table or a chair. She was going to have to make her assessment of the dead wait until she had dealt with the living.

Winnie carried on down the hall, gingerly stepping over and around everything she could. Blood was smeared along the peeling remnants of wallpaper. And there were no lights except for that which came from her flashlight. Fixtures were ripped out of the ceiling, and there was a lamp on the floor that had been violently shattered with three disembodied, mangled fingers laying in the wreckage. She passed the dining room, her light just barely illuminating three mutilated figures. Each with swollen stomachs and eyes that had been torn from their sockets. They had fallen close to the entryway, each with a single bullet hole in their heads. But she couldn’t stop to observe them the way she wanted to.

By the time she reached the living room, Cooper’s wailing was so loud it made her ears ring. There was no light at all coming from the doorway, and she frowned. Her confusion didn’t last long. The second she stepped into the room, headlamp blazing, Veronica Cooper began to screech and howl like a wild animal. She was handcuffed, but it still took two other agents to restrain her. They were trying to keep hold of her arms while a third agent was attempting to put a blanket over her completely nude upper half. 

“Will you cut that fucking lamp off?!” One of the agents hissed as Veronica bit into his arm like a rabid animal. Blood began to bubble out of the wound and dribble through Cooper’s parted lips before the third agent managed to forcibly pry her jaw off.

The doctor hesitated for a moment, needing to get at least a preliminary glance at the agent Cooper. She looked much like the dead bodies in the dining room. Her stomach was heavily bloated, and one of her eyes was missing from its socket. Claw marks and bites were all over her exposed upper body, and her hand was missing three fingers that Winnie assumed matched those she’d seen in the hall. 

She turned off the headlamp. 

Immediately Cooper went from a raving wild woman, to a crumpled, sobbing creature. When the blanket was brought back to her, she didn’t resist. At least not that Winnie could see. Granted, she couldn’t see much. The only light in the room came from a trickle of moonlight that snuck its way through the torn curtains.

“Agent Cooper.” The doctor stepped forward blindly. It didn’t draw any visible or audible response from the agent. “Agent Cooper, can you understand me? It’s Doctor Fletcher. Can you tell me what happened?”

No response.

One of the agents restraining her chimed in. “When we arrived at the house Agent Cooper and three others were alive. Cooper was in the hall, and we managed to restrain her. I heard crying coming from the downstairs bathroom. There was also gurgling and---running water. No one responded when I called out for them, but when I stepped into the room and they saw my headlamp, they started screaming. I ran, thinking I could calm them down or find some way to restrain them if I could get back to the other agents, but they pinned me down in the dining room, and Tillman and Renolds were forced to open fire. When the scene was secured we attempted to speak to Agent Cooper, but she was confused. She hasn’t said much aside from ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘please’ or ‘water.’”

She nodded and bit the inside of her cheek. “And the others? This was a seven man team. We’re missing two agents.”

“We searched the house and the two exterior buildings but they were clear. Best guess is when things got weird they bolted.”

 “Or they did this to them and fled the scene.” The man who had been bitten growled. He was holding onto Veronica with a vice grip now. She couldn’t see him properly, but the way the poor girl’s shoulder was awkwardly raised while the rest of her shadowy form slumped lifelessly toward the floor was proof of his tight hold on her. “We got a search team out in the forest looking for the-shit!”

Fletcher saw his shadow contort awkwardly as he tried to maintain his grip and distance himself from Veronica all at once.

“Jesus fuck-Renolds grab her. Grab her!” 

“What--why? You’ve-”

There was a thud as the agent dropped her completely and stepped back. “She’s licking the blood off my fucking arm!”

“Water.” Agent Cooper was hoarse from all her screaming, and there was desperation in her tone. The men shuffled awkwardly as Veronica attempted to get closer to the bleeding man again. “Please! Water!”

“Can’t you give her something?” 

“No.” Fletcher said, her response automatic. She wasn’t sure what was turning faster, her mind or her stomach. But she knew that they couldn’t give Veronica anything. Not yet. “There’s a medical transport outside parked behind me. They’ve been instructed on what to do, but ride with them back to HQ and help them keep her contained. Afterwards my staff will assess any injuries you have and release you back to your duties.”

There was a long silence.

She was glad it was dark. If her light was still on, she would have likely seen disgust on their faces. It was on hers. Here she was denying Veronica even the slightest semblance of peace. It was callous at best, and unforgivably monstrous at worst. But HDR 3-00-1 was one of the most bizarre drugs she’d ever worked with and these were their first human trials. Any drug, even a mild sedative, could interfere with accurate lab results. As soon as she’d been given a full examination, her team would give her the best care SHIELD could offer. Fletcher would make sure of it.

One of the men cleared his throat. “The search party will radio you directly if they find anything.”

The agents had to carry Veronica out of the house. She fought them all the way down the hall, but once she saw the light of the med-transport there was no containing her agonized screams. When her cuffs were released she began clawing at her own face, and when the agents pulled them away, she fought them like a wild animal. One of the med staff caught a foot in the jaw as they laid her onto the metal gurney and pulled the straps up to restrain her. Even after one of the men pulled off his jacket and draped it across her face to blot out the light, she continued to howl and buck against the restraints, nearly tipping the gurney onto the ground. The last thing she heard as they pulled the doors shut was Veronica Cooper’s raspy, haggard voice begging for water.

[dustedmagazine]

Ian Mathers’ 2020: We’re stuck inside our own machines

I’ve had a song I loved in high school and haven’t thought much about since stuck in my head. The song “Apparitions” by the Matthew Good Band is a fine example of the alt rock of the late 90s; if you grew up then but somewhere down in the states (or elsewhere) instead of my southern Ontario you may well have your regional equivalents, and like this one they may not resonate terribly strongly outside of their time and place. It popped back into my head after a long time recently and of course 2020 has changed it a little. A song that as a teen I felt keenly as about loneliness (albeit also about how technology can feed into that) of course now plays on my nerves as another small piece of art about the way that most of us (those scared and/or responsible anyway) have only that relatively narrow, technologically mediated connection to the people we love. All of us, artists and listeners alike, are trying to fit our feelings and art and selves down these little connections, with some success.

On a personal level, 2020 wound up being stressful in ways we couldn’t have predicted even after the pandemic hit. In circumstances that could have seen governments on this continent support those unable to work (and those who shouldn’t have to), support those workers who are truly essential, support workers and renters and even landlords and small businesses, instead we got a near-total abeyance of those governments using the resources we provide them with to save any of us. On a personal level my wife and I were lucky enough to be able to work from home (not that it didn’t come with its own forms of stress, and now that I’m off until January I have several work/stress-related illnesses to recover from) but still saw friends and loved ones lose good, used-to-be-sustainable livings overnight, saw family businesses succumb to a near-total absence of effective government support after months of trying to keep above water, etc.

It is probably no surprise that this is not a situation conducive to listening to music, let alone writing about it; I have deliberately and happily kept busy on behind the scenes stuff at Dusted that I could still manage but looking, at the end of the year, at the amount I managed to actually create is demoralizing if not at all shocking. I’m not sure I think next year will be ‘better’ in many important ways, although at our job there is a growing feeling among coworkers that next year has to have some work/life balance because 2020 was, maybe more than anything else, unsustainable.

That’s not to say I didn’t spend a lot of time and emotion on music this year, and if nothing else constant sleep deprivation, stress, and panic meant I was probably open to being deeply moved by all sorts of art even more than normally (it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even read a sad or moving twitter thread out loud to my wife without getting teary, which is kind of… nice?). Funnily enough the band that did the most to keep me sane didn’t really put out anything in 2020. Personal favorite, Low, instead started, in early April, getting on Instagram with something they called on whim “It’s Friday I’m in Low.” With one brief break they have now done by my count at least 35 shows (catalogued here, by the way), every Friday at about 4 my time.

Admittedly it’s easier for Low to pull this off than some bands, since the 2/3 of the trio that sing are a married couple (they’ve had a couple of socially-distanced backyard shows with bassist Steve Garrington, but he’s mostly been isolating elsewhere). These shows have seen the band’s Alan Sparhawk take a mid-set break to do follow-up phone interviews with the acts featured in the COVID-curtailed touring bands series Vansplainingthat they started on YouTube, or just to give a tour round their vegetable garden and talk tips. It’s seen Alan and Mimi Parker draw on their impressive, 25+ year body of work (averaging 4-5 songs a set, I don’t think they’ve repeated themselves yet) and talk a bit between songs about pandemics, politics, song choices, and whether Alan should grab his bike helmet this time.

They’re not the only musicians out there speaking love and sanity (and playing music) into the strange digital interzone filled with hate and disinformation where we’ve all been forced to gather while locked down, but they were and the most consistent and steady signal being emitted each week. No matter how tired I was from work or what new symptoms I’d developed or what horrific thing I read into the news, even if I had to take an emergency nap while it was actually airing, every Friday the show was there. Once things do return to something more like normal, it’s one of the few things I’ll unambiguously miss about this weird-ass year.

So if that makes an argument for Low as my band of the year (admittedly again… it’s not like Double Negative has aged poorly, either), that does a disservice to those 2020 records I did connect with; even if there are still literally dozens I have to go through, many of which I expect to love, my top picks this year (if as unrankable by me as always) hit me as hard as any top pick in recent years did. So here I present a quick and informal top 5, which the rest of my top 20 following in alphabetical order. Here’s hoping for more time and space in 2021 for music, and even more than that, for more support for those who need it from those who could have been providing it all this time. (The Matthew Good Band, incidentally, always did best with their ballads. “Strange Days” is another I’ve had in my head these days; the image of moving “backwards, into a wall of fire” has stuck with me since the 90s and it’s never felt more grimly appropriate.)

Greet Death — New Hell

New Hell by Greet Death

This one is, in some sense, cheating; it came out November 2019. But that just means it’s the latest winner of my personal Torres Prize for Ian Being Late to the Party (so named because becoming slightly obsessed with Torres’ Sprinter just after I sent in my 2015 list was the first time I noticed that one of my favorite records of each year tends to get picked up by me just after I call it quits on the year, no matter how long I try to wait). This very doom and gloom slowcore/metal/(whatever, just know it’s heavy) trio at first felt very much like my beloved Cloakroom (whose Time Well has also won a Torres Prize) but sure enough nuances revealed themselves. Back in February it felt almost a little too negative, but then the rest of 2020 happened. And the extended burns of “You’re Gonna Hate What You’ve Done” and the title track remain searing.

Holy Fuck — Deleter

Probably the record I’ve been trying to write about the longest in 2020, and the one I’m most disappointed in myself that I just couldn’t get the requisite paragraphs together. It’s a wonderful effort from the consistently great Toronto resolutely human-created (and —mediated) dance music quartet, one that both feels like a summation of everything they do well, and with the addition of some outside voices (including strong turns from the singers of both Hot Chip and Liars) a step forward at the same time.

Spanish Love Songs — Brave Faces Everyone

Brave Faces Everyone by Spanish Love Songs

As the year got worse, this roar of defiance only got more crucial for me to hear every so often; I was a big enough fan of it, even after writing it up for Dusted, that when they solicited fan footage for a subsequent music video you may just be able to get a glimpse of me in it. (I’m the one in a “No Tories” t-shirt.) My punk rock-loving twin brother was the one who introduced me to Spanish Love Songs and we were supposed to spend an evening in June screaming along to them live in a packed, sweaty room. I need that in my life again.

Julianna Barwick — Healing Is a Miracle

Healing Is A Miracle by Julianna Barwick

It’s a sign of what 2020 has been like here that even just this album title leaves bruises, and while I privately worried Barwick would have a hard time following up 2016’s sublime Will (probably my favorite record that year), it seems that continuing to take whatever downtime she needs to keep focusing and refining her particular muse has once again yielded amazing results. Anyone who thinks they know what a Barwick track sounds like should really check out, say, “Flowers”, but much of this record absolutely sounds like Barwick, just even better than before. She also boasted my wife and I's favorite streaming concert of 2020, an absolutely gorgeous rendition of this album with Mary Lattimore showing up.

Phoebe Bridgers — Punisher

Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers

I joked on Twitter recently that I have far too nice a dad (and far too good a relationship with him) to be as obsessed as I am with Phoebe Bridgers’ “Kyoto”, but here we are. Like most of her generation, Bridgers’ social media presence ranges from shit-posting to inscrutable, but even though things are often just as hard to figure out in her beautiful songs (as they often are in life), there’s an emotional clarity to them that can just grab you deep down. Couple that with seriously impressive songcraft and the progress from her already astounding debut Stranger in the Alps and more than anyone else in 2020 I’m excited to see just where the hell Phoebe Bridgers is going to go, because it feels like she’s talented and hardworking enough to go just about anywhere and drag a lot of our hearts with her.

Other Favorites

Aidan Baker & Gareth Davis — Invisible Cities II

Anastasia Minster — Father

Deftones — Ohms

Hum — Inlet

Kelly Lee Owens — Inner Song

Mesarthim — The Degenerate Era

Perfume Genius — Set My Heart On Fire Immediately

Protomartyr — Ultimate Success Today

Rachel Kiel — Dream Logic

The Ridiculous Trio — The Ridiculous Trio Plays the Stooges

Sam Amidon — Sam Amidon

Shabason, Krgovich & Harris — Philadelphia

Stars Like Fleas ��� DWARS Session: Live on Radio VPRO

Well Yells — We Mirror the Dead

Yves Tumour — Heaven to a Tortured Mind

Five Reissues/Compilations/etc.

Aix Em Klemm — Aix Em Klemm

Bardo Pond — Adrop/Circuit VIII

Charles Curtis — Performances & Recordings 1998-2018

Coil — Musick to Play in the Dark

Hot Chip — LateNightTales

Ian Mathers

#yearend 2020 #dusted magazine #ian mathers #greet death #holy fuck #spanish love songs #julianna barwick #phoebe bridgers #aidan baker #gareth davis #Anastasia Minster #Deftones #hum #Kelly Lee Owens #mesarthim #perfume genius #protomartyr #rachel kiel #the ridiculous trio #sam amidon #Shabason Krgovich & Harris #Stars Like Fleas #well yells #yves tumour #aix em klemm #bardo pond #charles curtis #coil #hot chip

[three--rings]

I saw on the Twitter thread that people bullied out WX+F because of Sami’s series and I’m flabbergasted! What is this world! I don’t understand why people called Sami racist in the first place and now they’re going after commenters! What is this fandom! And I would deanon myself if I remembered my login and take the heat but I’ve been in racist fandoms, Merlin anyone? or YAB or Heirs? and CQL is tame honestly! This is bonkers I have no words to explain my disappointment. Thank you WX+F and all.

As I said, I don’t know the fic in question.  I don’t know who Sami is.  From what I can tell, the fic was recently posted, involved Wangxian being reincarnated as white, was called out on twitter, and has since been deleted.  But as the callout twitter thread has ALSO been deleted, and maybe other accounts?  It’s hard to say.

What is clear is Wangxian+fan left a positive comment of some kind on that fic (they are typically the first or one of the first comments ON EVERY WANGXIAN FIC POSTED) and for that they were bullied and piled on by multiple people. 

The premise of the fic in question certainly sounds problematic and the author probably needed a gentle taking aside and explaining WHY that’s a problem.  Instead the fallout is fandom wide and has destroyed a very powerful force for good that a lot of people weren’t aware of, but the writers of the fandom deeply valued. 

There’s always going to be shitty, offensive fanfic.  Trust me on this one.  People are going to have Bad Ideas and they’re going to write those ideas and you’re going to see them and go WHAT?  Forever.  Sometimes it’s going to be a really fucked up pairing or extreme sexual content or just downright disgusting.  Sometimes it’s going to be terribly sexist or homophobic or racist.  Because fandom is made of humans and there are a lot of ignorant, stupid, and shitty humans out there. 

As a community, we have to come up with an answer of what do you do when you see a fic like this?  And, yunno, I don’t think the answer is get the loudest megaphone you can to scream about how terrible the author is.  Because then you’ve released the hounds.  You’ve identified a target.  And that target will have some pretty bad things happen to them.  Acting like that’s a surprise in this day and age is disingenuous.  But a lot of people think if you’ve Done The Thing, you deserve what’s coming to you.

This time an innocent bystander got smeared with a target as well.  And a whole fandom suffers.  Well, they were in the wrong place at the wrong time...

Somehow I can’t help thinking that the idea that this is a war and you’re with us or against us and there are no innocent mistakes and you have been accused and therefore you must cease to be in this space because personal growth and learning isn’t allowed....

You know, y’all really have come of age under the American Right Wing, haven’t you?  You’ve internalized so much of the rhetoric and attitude.  It’s honestly just...discouraging to see such a clear reflection of world politics in fandom.

I’m only posting this because apparently draft and queue are no longer options on asks, thanks tumblr for continuing to get worse.

[hillbillyoracle]

Dealing with Stress When You Live in a Rough Place

This isn't necessarily tarot or shadow work, but I wanted to write a little bit about strategies I've found useful for dealing with my neighborhood in it's current state. All of this can apply to managing stress generally but I'm focusing on folks in my boat. I'm incredibly sleep deprived so it's going to be rambly - I'm warning you now. But hopefully this helps someone.

I've shared a little bit about what's been going on in other posts; we hear shootings at least weekly, people will play loud music so loud the window rattle really late at night, all out brawls have broken out in the parking lot, our neighbors bang against the walls even in the middle of the night, most our neighbors have made it clear they don't like us because we're gay, we've had our car broken into at least 2 in the last month, kids have taken to beating our cars with sticks, climbing on and under them, screaming in front of our house, beating on our door and running off - like y'all it's a lot!

I talk about this so folks can know where I'm coming from. Some folks read this and they're horrified, some folks are going to read that and be like fuck that's tame. How hard a situation looks really does depend on what your normal is and how you were raised. For me, it's pretty intense. I was raised in out in the country so I didn't grow up living really close to people like I have to here in the city. And country neighborhoods have their own brand of rough, do not underestimate it, but most of what I've compiled here is going to be about living in close proximity with other people in areas with high crime rates.

Mindset Shifts

The Sooner You Accept Your Lack of Control - The Better

And I mean really accept it. Not just intellectually understanding that there's not anything you can do, but getting as okay with that as you can manage. For folks who are already traumatized that's a whole lot harder to do. Living in a space that traumatizes you daily will also make that harder as time goes on. But it's been some of the most important work I've done while living in a place that this. Sometimes I cope by being very public about what I'm going through, sometime I cope by

Sensory Management is Not a Luxury, It is a Necessity

This has become overwhelmingly clear to me that sensory overload in rough neighborhoods is a wildly underdiscussed health issue. There's measurable health differences in people who are exposed to a lot of noise versus those who aren't. I'm autistic so this is something I have to do just to function but I've seen a huge shift in my girlfriend's mental health since living here too. Take it seriously and try to attend to it just like you would any other health concern, making it a part of your routine. This is where adapting Polyvagal strategies has come in handy.

Good is Still Good Even If There's a Ton of Bad

There are very few moments of pure joy in a neighborhood like this. One of the reasons that a gratitude practice has been genuinely helpful is that it's shown me how much good can get swept away in the tidal wave of crap in a place like this. So that I don't feel helpless or internalize how worthless places like this are designed to make you feel, I try to resist by reflecting on the good. IT helps me feel like my life still has meaning while I'm living here and it's not a waste to be right where I am right now.

I Am Not Failing Myself For Not Getting Sleep, Food, Safe, Etc

I'm lucky that we've been good on food but sleep and safety have been in short supply. I realized I often felt like I was a bad person for being in this situation where I couldn't sleep, I criticized myself for not being able to sleep through all the noise and getting worked up. I have to remind myself daily that I'm not failing myself for what I can't really control. I'm not a bad person because of what people around me choose to do.

Polyvagal Strategies Adapted

Nature

Ideally, when you're trying to regulate your nervous system, you'd want to get out into nature more. It's just flat out not accessible or safe to do so here. I'm lucky that my room faces a nice tree and when I'm getting stressed, I take some time to just sit and really look at it. I try to notice the details. I also really enjoy feeding birds on my window sill. I invested in a big bag of bird seed with some Christmas money that's lasted me at least a year now but I used to get bags for about 5 dollars at Kroger. If you can't get close to nature, lure it to you.

Need something totally free? You can also pull up livefeeds of bird feeders on YouTube. I used to watch them when I couldn't walk to put out birdseed. Still very helpful. Nature cams in general are great. Put on a nature doc like Planet Earth. Change your computer and phone backgrounds to have natural landscapes. Even just sketching landscapes and having landscape are around your space can help.

If you can buy some soil, dig some up, or swipe some from a public garden bed, you can grow some small plants on your window sill. You can grow a lot of seeds from vegetables and some fruits you get at the store. You can also collect seeds from trees and try to grow them (it's difficult, plant several at a time). Take cuttings of plants you can identify as safe. Extension services will also sometimes send seeds for free. Taking care of a plant really helps us spend more time in the restorative part of our nervous system.

Sound

At the intersection of sound and nature is nature noises. If you're trying to block out your neighbors anyways, nature noises are the best option. I've had the best luck rain and storm sounds. Water noises in particular have a calming effect on our nervous system. If I really need to block something out I'll layer a rain generator over some music I like (rain sounds + Elliot Smith = a vibe).

Music in general can have different  activating and calming effects on our nervous system. Pay attention to what music activates you and makes you more likely to be in conflict with people when you listen to it and what music makes you more social. Physically relaxation is harder for me personally to gauge. As a person with trauma I can't always tell when my body is relaxing or not. So paying attention to how I treat others helps me check myself.

Temperature + Touch

When we're warmer, we tend to feel more socially connected than when we're cold. Put on some extra clothes, pile on the blankets, take a bath, or grab a space heater if you have one. It's worth increasing the temp a little if you're stressed. Too hot and we can begin to feel crowded out. So if you're feeling the need to flee, it's worth trying to cool off a little. I usually do this by splashing some cool water on my face.

While we crave touch from others, touch from ourselves also helps calm our nervous systems! Jin Shin Jyutsu has been super helpful for me. There are a few videos online. I recommend searching Facebook for a woman local to me - Jennifer Bradley. I took one of her in person classes before the pandemic and it's been very helpful especially around sleep. I think the only place she's got her recent videos up is on her Facebook page but they're worth tracking down. She's a very good teacher and just a very soothing presence in general.

There's some evidence that just imagining being hugged or held is calming on the nervous system. Some goes for imagining ourselves out walking in nature. Don't be afraid to spend time daydreaming!

Breath + Movement

A lot of unsafe neighborhoods make common advice like going for a walk completely out of the question. However, even just moving more around your space can help. Yoga has been very helpful to me. My partner finds bodyweight exercises really help her. Any movement you feel good doing counts. Including movement you imagine yourself doing as well.

Breathing is movement, or seems to have a similar effect at least. I really recommend checking out a few breath work strategies to use. You've always got your lungs on you so it's easy to use. I like the in for 4 counts, hold for 7, release for 8 pattern. Breath is a direct line to the nervous system and I try to do a breathing pattern several times a day just to regroup.

Cognitive Strategies

Journal Like Your Life Depends on It

I'm not joking. TMS journaling - journaling stream of consciousness very intensely for about 20-30 minutes and then destroying what you've written - has been key not only to me surviving this place but having fewer Fibro flares than when I was living in much calmer places. But honestly all journaling is helpful. I've been keeping a daily journal in Notion and that alone has been helpful. Making sure I've gotten as much as possible off of my mind throughout the day has helped so much. Find a journaling strategy that allows you to take the cognitive load of (or a few) and practice them as often as you can. Not into journaling? I used to take videos of myself talking into the camera and save or delete them depending on whether I wanted to come back to them. Are words rough? Draw your feelings or scenes as you saw them.

Find the Story That Works

There are a bunch of conflicting ideas about what the right view of trauma and the story of it is. I personally really hate any narrative that places me as a victim. For better or worse, I like to look at what I've learned in any giving situation. So in my current situation, when I'm overwhelmed, I remind myself that I'm only getting a glimpse of what some people in places like this go through. It's increasing my empathy and expanding my awareness which allows me to better serve others. It's made me more committed to keeping my materials accessible over profiting. There's been a lot of benefit when I frame it that way. And that works for me. If that story isn't helpful for you - work to find a frame to narrate your experiences - as they're happening - that help you feel more whole.

Conclusion

I'm not sure if these strategies will work for other people but I wanted to at least have something out there than people could hopefully find if they're struggling with the same thing. Basically, if you can't fix it - manage it. Find ways to make the experience less traumatic if you're able to. Manage your sensory input. Do what you can with what you have where you are. Too many folks will tell you that you absolutely have to change your material circumstances before you can address mental health but for many of us that's just not possible. Or in the words of one of my favorite Buddhist teachers, Robina Courtin, "If you can do something, do something, but if you can't, what are you going to do?"

#polyvagal theory #trauma #urban poverty #coping methods #coping mechanism