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readyplayerhobi · 4 years

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Flower | 30

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Angst, fluff

; Warnings: Discussions of sex, questions of consent (no rape, don’t worry), body issues, body weight issues, self-esteem problems, self-confidence issues, brief mention of self-harm thoughts, mentions of bullying

; Word Count: 4.2k

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: This chapter is one pretty close to me and might be tough for anyone else who’s also overweight or has been overweight during those tough times in school! Don’t worry about the MC, she’s okay. There’s no rape, the consent thing is briefly mentioned as a question. Please reblog this if you enjoyed so others can read, leave me comments or asks so I can know what you think :) only 10 more chapters left...

; Flower Masterpost

Giggling quietly to yourself, you scroll through the pictures on your phone carefully. It takes you forever to finally move onto the next one as you feel the need to carefully scan over each one in depth to catch all the little things. There’s so much to find in each picture and you spend as long as you can looking them over in amusement, grinning at the odd fashion choices.

“What are you laughing at?” Hoseok asks, coming over from the kitchen with a fresh glass of water for you and a cup of peppermint tea for himself. He’d only been home from work for about ten minutes while you’d been home for over half an hour now. Taking a sip from your glass, you smirk at him slightly as he sits next to you with a deep sigh.

Tiredness is etched into his face today, the dark circles under his eyes a little deeper than usual. He’d been struggling to sleep lately for some reason, waking up repeatedly apparently. Reaching over, you gently cup his cheek and stroke his skin softly, enjoying the welcome smile he gives before you turn your phone around to let him see.

“Interesting hair. How many jars of hair gel did you go through when you were a teenager?” You tease him, watching as his eyes widen when he realises what the photo is. It’s of Hoseok when he was a teenager; maybe fourteen or fifteen and with what looks like a bucket of grease on his head. The spikes of his hair turn quickly into an overly long hairstyle in the next picture, straightened but with a distinctive fringe covering one eye.

“You had an emo phase! Look at you! All that eyeliner and those neon streaks. I never had an emo phase, you know. I don’t think I had any phase to be honest. Except for a horse phase when I was really young.” Hoseok goes to grab for your phone, his mouth pulled into a cringe as you scroll to the next picture and reveal yet another emo looking Hoseok with an abundance of sweatbands, colourful wristbands and more. He looked distinctly drunk, even though he can’t have been more than sixteen.

It’s so strange seeing Hoseok with slightly chubbier cheeks, his body gangly and lean in that teenage boy way as it went through the process of puberty while his face still maintained such a youthful look. Despite that, you can see the template for the statuesque face he’d end up with already in the pictures. The elegant slope of his nose was still pretty, even if he’d not quite grown into it at that point and a jawline that’s not quite as strong as it is now.

“Mom sent you this, didn’t she?” He groans, rubbing at his eyes before peering back at the phone through gaps between his fingers. Chortling softly, you shake your head before looking back at the screen.

“No, actually. She put them on her Facebook. Apparently she found the pictures while cleaning and scanned them in. Reminiscing about your wild years.” That makes Hoseok make the strangest noise, a combination of a groan and a shout. He’s looking at his own phone instantly, face palming when he sees the pictures.

“Moooom,” He whines pathetically, looking through them. You place your phone down on the coffee table and shuffle closer to him, letting yourself see the photos through his screen. Glancing at his face, you take in his slight frown and the pout of his lips, hoping he’s not too annoyed that his mom has put them up.

“Are you angry at her?” Shaking his head, he sighs deeply before letting his phone drop onto the table too.

“Not really. Just...it’s more embarrassing. Though, isn’t that her job at this age? As you can see through; I’ve always been good looking. Maybe not always with the best style admittedly but...at least the music is still great. My Chemical Romance remains one of the best bands in my opinion, even if they’re not as heavy as what I listen to now.” Rolling your eyes, you pull your legs up and rest a hand on your knee.

“I mean...it was certainly a style.”

“So come on then, I’ve shown you mine. Where’s your embarrassing teenage pics?” Hoseok teases, sticking his tongue out at you playfully. The silver ball of his tongue piercing catching the light momentarily before it disappears into his mouth once more.

Awkwardly, you smile back at him before shrugging slightly. The sudden change in your behaviour is obviously noticeable as Hoseok frowns, tilting his head in a silent question at you. Licking your lips, you realise that you’re playing with your fingers. A nervous habit.

“I don’t have any,” At the confusion Hoseok shows, you clear your throat. “I mean, outside of graduation photos. I...I wouldn’t let myself be photographed back then.”

“Wha-, seriously? Like...none? I don’t think my parents would have let me, even as grumpy as I was to them all the time.” You can understand why he doesn’t understand. There’s not many people you can think of who have near enough zero pictures of those years. For many teenagers today, the very idea of not having a million pictures might be unthinkable.

“Have you ever been overweight?” You ask quietly, the question seemingly random as you lean into him until he has to wrap his arm around you to make it comfortable. For a moment, he doesn’t respond. Being with him for well over a year now means that you’ve come to understand him, the knowledge that he’s not ignoring you but considering your question carefully.

“No. Can’t say I have.” He finally answers, running his fingers along your arm slowly.

Twisting your lips, you sigh heavily and let your head fall back against his shoulders as you let your mind wander back to when you were younger. Back to where your insecurities began, all those years ago. Swallowing hard, you decide to go ahead with it. You’d alluded to it enough and now felt like the right time to finally talk about your formative years.

But your breath stutters, throat closing tighter as you realise it’s hard to go back to then. To when you were so easily hurt and affected by everything. Even in the safety of Hoseok’s embrace, you felt the tremor of fear and anxiety as your memories came back tainted.

“I have. I mean, when I was a little kid, I was like a stick. I could eat whatever I wanted and I used to spend so much time running around having fun. We don’t have too many pictures from back then; my parents couldn’t really afford a camera. Occasionally they’d get a disposable one but that’s about it. But...when I hit puberty around twelve or thirteen...I just kind of, ballooned? I don’t think I even realised it at the time, but it’s like my metabolism just plummeted or something. And before I knew it...I was the fat kid in class.” The heat in your eyes tells you that you’re on the verge of crying and you take a moment to breathe, blinking hard before looking up at the ceiling.

Hoseok remains quiet, letting you tell him without interrupting or anything.

“I mean...no one outright bullied me or anything, you know? It wasn’t like in the movies where you’re getting beaten up or shoved into lockers. It was more...the comments, the looks and just the general knowledge that you’re not attractive. Teenagers are really good at making those sly comments that are so hurtful, especially when you’re so young and still finding yourself. It’d be like...we’d be watching something and a pig would turn up on the screen and somebody would snicker and say it was me. Or someone else would joke about dating me and...I could just tell that it was an insult. And that their reasoning was my weight.” The arm around you tightens suddenly, as if hearing the casual cruelty you’d endured had ignited Hoseok’s protective instincts.

Memories flit by in your mind as you recall incidents; someone in your class finding out your crush and spreading that you liked them. Their disbelieving snort as they looked you up and down, their eyes falling heavily on your stomach before saying it would never happen. Without even realising it, you’re cradling your stomach now. Still not flat like you’d always fantasised, but not like it used to be.

You didn’t hate it now at least. Never loved, but not hated anymore.

“That...that sticks with you. Something I’m not too sure people realise is that, like, when you’re overweight...you’re constantly aware of it. It’s not just your body, it’s your life. It is you. There’s this weird mentality that people think overweight folk don’t know it, that you’re oblivious. You’re never oblivious. You’re not allowed to be oblivious. People make sure you’re aware, you know? The people telling you it’s unhealthy or it’s ugly and stuff. If you’re overweight, you’re well aware of these issues. But trying to resolve them is just as hard. You go to the gym and you’re aware of all the fat rolls, the way you jiggle and roll. How you’re out of breath doing the simplest thing while super fit people are probably watching you in disgust, even though you’re there to get fit,”

“If you eat, then you feel uncomfortably aware that you’re not just eating. That you’re fat and eating. So you become self-conscious over food. If it’s something healthy like a salad then you just think everyone is laughing at you. ‘What’s she bothering with that for?’. If it’s unhealthy then it’s more like, ‘of course she’s eating that, the lard ass’. You’re hyper aware of every aspect of your life and that’s the worst thing. Just...being so aware. You’re convinced that everyone is judging you, staring at you or talking about you. I felt so many times when I was like, fifteen or sixteen that I just...took up more space than I should.” Wiping at your eyes, you sniff before looking at Hoseok and giving him a watery smile.

The concern on his face for you makes your heart swell, the knowledge that he’s listening to you openly. That he cares. Even if you’re exposing a part of you that you’ve never let anyone see. Not even Chungha or Soyeon. It had felt far too personal, something that they couldn’t understand.

“It’s like...everyone has a certain amount of space they’re allowed to have, but when you’re fat, you realise that you take up more. And you become so aware that other people don’t like that. That they’re disgusted by the idea, and you become afraid of things like...sitting on a seat in a bus because you’re terrified of spreading past your ‘space’. Or sliding through a small gap and the panic that you’re just being...too much. I’d always try and run to the school bus when class finished so that I could find a seat first. And I’d always let the other person sit next to the window so that I could hang as close to the edge as possible and get off quickly. Then I’d panic that I’d look disgusting to others, half-hanging off the seat. I just...it affects you. Mentally. You just do things differently because you’re always aware of your body. In negative ways,”

“I’d never go swimming with anyone else. Mandatory swim classes left me panicked because it meant people would see me. See all the lumps and the bumps, everything I hated. I’d never look at myself naked in the mirror, or even in my underwear because I hated it. I was disgusted. I used to fantasise about just...slicing off bits of me to make myself nice and thin. I don’t even know if that’s normal.” Your voice breaks slightly, going slightly hoarse as you recall the pure hatred and revulsion you’d felt for yourself back then. The way your body felt like a cage you were trapped in.

Sitting up straight again, you take a deep breath to fortify yourself before smiling at him gently. Taking his hand, you squeeze it for reassurance and feel comforted when he squeezes back.

“I hated myself. Didn’t ever think I was going to be anything amazing. Or that I’d ever fall in love. How could anyone fall in love with me when I hated myself, right? When I was seventeen, I finally took the plunge and joined this free gym. Started eating healthier. It was really hard. I hated it so much. Vomited everywhere from the exercise, cried a lot. I wanted to lose weight healthily though, not too fast otherwise I’d end up thin but with skin flaps. So it was gradual. I wasn’t hugely overweight thankfully, but I only felt finally happy when I was nineteen.” Now you laugh at yourself, rolling your eyes and poking at your stomach in amusement before kissing Hoseok’s cheek playfully.

He doesn’t laugh back, causing you to kiss him gently. A silent way of letting him know that you’re okay, that it’s okay for him to laugh and smile too. When you pull away, he hesitates for a moment before giving you a slightly awkward smile. It’s enough for you.

“That’s why I didn’t have any experience until college. I was nineteen when I met Chungha and Soyeon in class. They were like...these ridiculously beautiful girls who were so confident and full of life, you know? Partygoers and everything. And I wasn’t. But somehow, we found things in common and it’s like...they knew I needed encouragement. So, it was slow but...I did stuff. I went to the parties...hated them just as much as I thought I would. Finally kissed a guy; wasn't as good as I thought it’d be. Lost my virginity to a random guy at a party in some house when I was twenty. Also wasn’t that good. The extent of my dating life was a few guys who didn’t last long. Both in terms of relationship and sex.” You grin at Hoseok, wiggling your brows and causing him to chuckle in amusement.

His chest gets a little bigger as he pushes it up, a smug look on his face. “All those memories obviously pale in comparison to my amazing kissing and sex skills.”

Snorting, you push at him playfully before reaching up and pulling him down, hand resting on the short undercut hair on his neck as you bring him into a kiss. Hoseok obviously wants to prove his skills, kissing you a little more intense than you’d expected but you just laugh into it before pulling away and smiling at him happily.

“Well...I’m not going to say you’re wrong. It did kind of depress me a little that it seemed guys were only interested when I was a bit thinner but, I also felt a weird sense of pride. That I’d finally done it. Gotten what I thought I’d wanted. Until I realised I hated that whole scene and wanted nothing to do with it. So...I just kept myself as in shape as I could over the years and tried to come to terms with myself. As you know...I’m not quite there. But I’m better than I was, I promise. I just feel a little bad that I was convinced being thin would change things. It changes some stuff but...not everything.”

You can tell that Hoseok isn’t entirely sure what to say. It isn’t surprising really, you wouldn’t have any idea how to respond to someone telling you all these sad things they’d experienced either. But then again, you were just generally useless when it came to anyone else’s emotions and feelings.

When he does finally speak again, his question surprises you completely as it seems to have nothing to do with what you’d just been telling him.

“Did you drink alcohol back then? I know you don’t drink it now because you don’t like the taste but if you went to parties…” He trails off, his face twisted in question as he considers what you’ve said. It was true that you didn’t like the taste, hence why you never drank it. You also just preferred to drink something like water as it was much healthier for you.

“I did. Too much. When I started going to them, I threw myself into the alcohol as it helped me to overcome my shyness. A drunk me is apparently very outgoing. I also have very little inhibitions when I’m drunk. Pretty sure the only reason I first kissed a guy was because I was completely fucked. And I’d drank a lot when I lost my virginity; there was no other way I was going to get naked in front of a guy.” You don’t notice the instant concern on Hoseok’s face when you say that, your gaze far away as you stare unseeingly at the TV screen.

You’re too busy remembering those wild years in college. Or what you can remember anyway. Another reason you hated alcohol was the way you didn’t feel in control of yourself and your emotions while inebriated along with the way you often end up forgetting parts of a night. Why anyone could possibly enjoy that all the time was beyond you.

“You...I hate to have to ask this but...you did...consent to it. Right? It wasn’t like...forced on you?” Hoseok sounds intensely uncomfortable as he asks the questions, causing you to frown as you look back at him. “I just...if you were really as drunk as you say you were, then I mean, well, I just...I wouldn’t have been comfortable sleeping with a girl who would only sleep with me if she was completely inebriated.”

He shifts in position on the couch, bringing a knee up so only one foot remains on the floor while taking your hands. The look on his face is completely earnest and filled with worry. For you. And you finally click as to what he’s talking about. Hoseok is concerned that you may have been raped for your first time.

Smiling at him gently, you squeeze his hands and shake your head. “No, no baby. Please don’t think that, I swear. It was consensual. I wasn’t that drunk. Just...enough to let me get over my worries. I needed the alcohol for the confidence and the lights off. I remember it all though. He wasn’t good but he wasn’t mean or anything either.”

His worry seems to decrease a little, shoulders lowering as he lets out a deep breath and you marvel for a moment that you’ve found someone who gets worried about things like that. Things that you hadn’t even bothered to properly consider. If you hadn’t been completely sure in the knowledge of your first time then you’d be concerned as well.

Leaning forward, you kiss his cheek affectionately before grinning at him and cupping his chin. “Thank you for being concerned about me though. I promise, I’ve never been forced into anything like that. I may not have enjoyed a lot of sex but I did it openly in the hopes of it getting better.”

Hoseok’s cheeks flush ever so slightly and you laugh sweetly, kissing his lips quickly before shifting back. Leaning against the couch sideways, you let your head flop onto the back and smile at him.

“So, yeah. That’s why I have no pictures of me from being a teenager. If you thought I don’t like being photographed now, then you’d be shocked to see me back then.” There’s a moment where Hoseok is stiff, unsure of what to do before he smiles back and shifts into a similar position, his head closer than you might have anticipated.

But you get the sense that he’s a little uncertain of how to proceed now.

So you make the move for him, gently pushing at him until he’s laying on the couch. The L-shape means he’s at the point the two halves connect, one half completely free except for Kasumi stretched out. But you want the safety and security of his body. Not only for yourself, but also to comfort him. Even if he hasn’t said it, you can tell he’s a little unsettled by your negative feelings towards yourself.

Hoseok let’s you move him with ease, smiling happily when you get yourself settled and comfortable. His natural scent is strongest at the base of his neck, and you inhale it happily while your arm rests over his waist. Even if you’d talked about your deep and painful teenage years as willingly as you could to him, it was still traumatic to remember. And you needed your own comfort to assure yourself that those years were over.

“Well, I don’t think you’d have wanted to meet teenage Hoseok. So it's probably a good idea we never knew each other.” Humming, you recall all the times Hoseok has told you about his own teenage years. Unlike you, he was much more open about them. Mainly because he acknowledged how bad he’d been.

“I doubt it would have mattered anyway. From what I’ve learnt from you, teenage Hoseok wouldn’t have given me one look. Nevermind two looks.” There’s a brief pause and you feel Hoseok’s chest rise as he goes to respond. He stops though and you chuckle, running your fingers along the soft material of his shirt over his stomach.

“...you might have got one look. I mean, I’ll be honest. I wasn’t exactly picky but that’s not a good thing. Just means I was an out of control teenager. Besides, it sounds like you were very shy and quiet. I was...not. Loud, brash, abrasive. Often drunk and high. God, I was terrible. I don’t know how my parents put up with me, honestly. I wouldn’t have wanted you to meet me. I’d have just hurt you even more.” Humming, you wiggle against him slightly and kiss his neck gently.

“I’m glad we met when we did. I think we’d both had enough time to grow and accept ourselves. There’s no way I would have reached out to you if I was still like my teenage self. And I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have said yes if you’d been like you were.”

“True. Three cheers for maturity! But on a more serious note; I’m glad you’ve told me. I figured there was something along those lines after all these months but...I understand more now. I hope I haven’t made you feel uncomfortable or embarrassed.” Closing your eyes, you nuzzled closer to him while shaking your head.

“You haven’t. At least, not through anything you’ve done. It’s mostly been in my head. If anything...you’ve helped me to grow and become more...loving of myself. Just you accepting me has helped so much for my mind to understand that...well, I’m not ugly or anything. That you’re not judging me. And that you actually find me attractive. It’s a slow process.” You feel the press of Hoseok’s soft lips against your forehead, their warmth resting there for a few moments while the arm wrapped around you gently runs along your arm.

The very fact that you can talk with him like this is pure proof of the growth you’ve experienced over almost a year and a half with Hoseok. Just his welcome acceptance and love of you has created a safe space for you to explore yourself and grow comfortable in your own skin and mind. It was nice.

“I’m glad. And if I ever do anything that’s wrong, then please tell me. The last thing I want is to be an asshole by accident. Or remind you of a bad time.” Laughing gently, you smile and nod before tightening your arms around his waist fondly.

“I mean...I’m still considering the whole lingerie thing. Especially those super revealing ones. I’d love to wear one but I just...don’t think I look sexy in them.” Pouting, you shift as Hoseok moves until he’s looking at you with wide eyes that quickly become stern. Poking your cheek gently, he tuts.

“I’m not gonna push you into that, but there’s literally no way you wouldn’t look sexy wearing black lace lingerie. Oh god. Just the thought of you in it makes me hard. But for now, I’m content with my mind for that.” The way he presses his hips against you lets you know that he’s being truthful, the mental image of you in the lingerie you’d bought on a whim the other month causing the erection that presses against you.

Grinning, you push at him until he’s laying back again and crawl on top of him, raising your brows. “I think you just get horny at the thought of sex full stop.”

“Well...duh. I’m a man. With a beautiful girlfriend. Whom I enjoy sex with.” Laughing loudly, you lean down and kiss his nose playfully. The whine he lets out when he tries to follow you for a proper kiss causes you to grin as you press at his shoulders, holding him in place.

“Glad to hear it.”

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mostlycompetentwriter · 3 years

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You Can STAY - Part 12

Pairing: Y/N x Felix (Side Pairing: Y/N x Stray Kids)

Genre: Fantasy AU; OT8; Scarlet Heart AU

Warnings: Lots of Angst; Major Character Death

A/N: This is the final part of You Can STAY. I have determined that I am very bad at writing series, and I apologize for the ending...I imagine that many of you will express mixed emotions.

However, there is a epilogue coming soon in the future! And I will, of course, add all of the parts together into one easily accessible story for future readers!

Nine Months Later

If I were to tell the end of my story, I would want it to go something like this: “At the edge of the Kingdom, secluded in the northernmost woods, a former Castle Mage lived with her husband and unborn son, dreaming about the King who stole her heart.”

I don’t like sad endings, but sometimes there are sacrifices whose consequences are too grave to ignore. While Felix ruled the Kingdom exactly as I had once urged him, I did my part by spending long hours tucked away inside a little cabin as my stomach grew rounder and the days grew shorter.

Jisung was good company, when he was around. In between his visits, he worked on the margins, watching over Felix and working with Chan to secure our borders and alliances. He was still very much ostracized from political life, and Felix, to my knowledge, had never forgave his brothers for their part in the rebellion that changed the Kingdom.

“I can deal with his wrath,” Jisung told me one morning. “I’m perfectly content.”

I managed a smile in return, but it was half-hearted. I knew that Jisung was referring to our marriage, one that only existed on paper, so that he could support me in isolation. He was more than content to live with me and provide anything that my heart desired.

But my heart’s most fervent wish lived in the Castle beyond the horizon, and I could easily glimpse the tops of the tallest towers, wondering if Felix ever looked out from the balcony and thought of the woman he once loved.

Of course he does, a voice at the back of my head reminded me.

“Hyunjin tells me that Felix speaks of you often,” Jisung added, even though it didn’t do much to assuage my guilt.

Thankfully, Felix had accepted Hyunjin back into the Castle as a personal advisor, likely because Hyunjin had nothing to do with Jisung, Jeongin, and Chan’s plan to overtake the Kingdom and dispose Changbin.

It seemed like a distant memory, and I sighed at the nostalgia of those memories: occasions where I walked through the hallways of the Castle, exploring the gardens and distant grounds, thinking of the day when Felix and I would finally both be free to love without constraint.

It belongs in that past, those sort of thoughts, and I had long ago given up on the prospect of a complete family where I could simply exist as someone who wanted to love and be loved.

Of course, there was also the issue of my health.

Despite early good reports on my pregnancy, our doctor had recently decided that my prognosis wasn’t as easy as he had initially perceived: “You might have difficulties,” he told me. “During the birth.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage, and I barely felt Jisung squeezing my hand as everything changed in a single moment.

One day, along the bright edges of the morning, Hyunjin came to visit.

“You look well,” he told me, accepting a drink from Jisung who then came to sit next to me.

“I feel good,” I said, even though there was still a prickling of doubt at the furthest reaches of my subconscious - a reminder that my future was suddenly difficult to presume.

“I’m glad,” Hyunjin replied sincerely, and he turned his attention to Jisung. “I just got back from a meeting with a Southern convoy. Things are turning around.”

“Good,” Jisung said, reaching out to take my hand. “We were worried for a while.”

I forced a smile, barely listening as they continued talking, discussing the same politics that I could barely stand since they had cost me everything.

“Where are you going this weekend?” Jisung asked, and I was faintly aware of Hyunjin’s response, but more than anything, my attention was suddenly preoccupied with a sharp pain in my abdomen.

I winced immediately, and Jisung noticed my discomfort, falling down onto his knees in front of me. “Y/N?” he asked, tone hesitant.

“Hurts,” I managed, and I could see Hyunjin getting up from the corner of my eye.

“Do you need the doctor?” Jisung asked, and I managed a nod, keeling over when it felt like a thousand knives were piercing me all at once.

“I’ll go,” Hyunjin volunteered, but his voice sounded distant, like I had abruptly been submerged beneath the water, struggling to hear.

“Y/N!” Jisung repeated, and his eyes were frantic as they found mine. “You’ll stay with me, right?”

I tried to say something, but there was a peculiar pull to the dark that was far more compelling, and I fell under its spell while Jisung became nothing more than a distant shadow.

When I woke back up again, the shapes and figures surrounding me were difficult to discern.

My stomach rolled and my skin felt like it burning! I groaned at the discomfort, attracting the attention of the two men standing at the door. “Y/N,” Jisung’s familiar voice spoke through the reverie, and he was at my side within moments, taking my hand in his own.

“Hello again, dear,” another voice said, and I recognized the doctor as he released a tired sigh. “Seems like we’re at a difficult point.”

I nodded, opening my mouth to speak, but ultimately deciding to remain silent. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Jisung whispered to me, and my heart ached at the pain in his eyes. “Do you feel like seeing a visitor?”

Not really, but I agreed nonetheless, expecting Hyunjin to enter the room. But nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight of a familiar mess of red hair and bright green eyes. “Y/N.”

“Felix,” I said, voice hoarse and gravelly, but there were tears falling even without my awareness, and I quickly noticed that Jisung and the doctor had vacated the room.

It was a little awkward though, after all this time, looking back at Felix as he looked back at me, gaze heavy with something striking. “Y/N,” he whispered, and I was shocked to see him breakdown, making it to my bedside before falling onto the edge of the mattress.

“Are you okay?” I asked, instinctively, reaching out without hesitation to card my fingers through his hair.

He sniffled in response, looking up at me with tear-streaked eyes and a beautiful smile. “I am now.”

My heart stuttered at his sentiment, and I wanted nothing more than to curl myself into Felix and lose myself there in his embrace. “I missed you,” I whimpered.

“I know, love,” Felix said, and he pressed a kiss to the back of my hand.

“I’m sorry I left,” I whispered - as if it were an afterthought.

“I understand,” he replied, looking at me to expose the truth - he was aware, despite what I had burdened myself with believing. He knew why I had to leave, and there was nothing but peace left between us.

Peace and Love.

“At first, I was angry and confused,” Felix said. “But I read your letter, and I had Hyunjin to help guide me. He helped me realize that you left so that I could fulfill the destiny I had been denied as a child. It was painful without you, but our circumstances were far from trivial.”

“Yes,” I exhaled, tightening my grip on him. “I never wanted to leave.”

“It’s okay,” Felix reassured me, and his eyes were soft as they paused on my lips. “We’ve always been tethered at the soul. Together, even if it couldn’t be in the way we truly desired.”

He kissed me then, igniting a furious passion that had laid dormant inside of me for months. “It’s yours, you know,” I said, pulling back to graze the pretty line of his lashes. “The child is ours.”

Felix inhaled abruptly, looking down at my swollen stomach. “Truly? Hyunjin said that you were pregnant, but I didn’t want to assume-”

“It could’ve never belonged to anyone else,” I interrupted him. “It’s always been you.”

Felix nodded, allowing one hand to smooth down over the sheets, following the outline of my stomach. “This is more than I could ever ask for.”

I smiled at his pretty words, but then I felt a cold sweat break out against the back of my neck. “Felix,” I said. “The doctor told me that the pregnancy might bring some complications.”

He shivered, and I was surprised by the unfiltered grief written across his expression. “I know that too.”

“If I don’t survive-”

“If,” Felix growled, emphasizing that nothing could ever be certain.

“If,” I agreed. “I want you to raise our child. He deserves to be with his father.”

Felix visibly swallowed, looking away as if having trouble completing such a promise, but I forced him to look at me again. “Alright,” he eventually conceded. “If such things manifest.”

“And you need to forgive your brothers,” I said, holding him at attention in case he tried to move away again. “After all this time...”

“Y/N,” Felix sighed. “Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

I held my tongue, glancing down at our intertwined hands. “Think of it as a start to the next chapter.”

Felix chuckled, affectionate gaze meeting mine. “I’ll be here until it’s over. When you can rest for as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And you will always have me. In one way or another.”

“I can rest easy,” Felix said, and he started murmuring something soft and sweet to the unborn child inside of me, and I found myself able to breathe a lit bit easier for the first time in months.

I even managed a smile, knowing that I could still give Felix a piece of me after I was gone. Unlike our complicated time together at the Castle, our unborn son would be free of those heavy restrictions, and perhaps it was the better outcome. Because, when I really thought about it, our son wouldn’t just be a piece of me. It would be a little part of Felix as well, and I felt nothing short of triumphant when I imagined a world with the right combination of Y/N and Felix. Together at long last.

Victorious until the bittersweet end.

#stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #lee felix fanfic #felix fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #skz scenarios #felix imagines #felix scenarios #scarlet heart au #mostlycompetent

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years

Text

Summer Nights: Part 3

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x Overweight/Plus size Female identifying Reader

Series: Summer Nights

Warning: Fred’s death, the series will mention issues such as guilt, grief, etc. + Chapter specific warnings: guilt, self-blaming, trauma, scenes of magical healing, mentions of past childhood fatphobia/body shaming

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff (formerly imaginesofeveryfandom) aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Summary/Request: You’d always had brief glimpses of Charlie Weasley throughout your life, but despite your closeness with the rest of the Weasley family and your friendship with the Weasley Twins, you had never officially met. Until Charlie Weasley decided to take the summer off from his work as a Dragon Keeper at the Romanian Reserve and come back home, to the Burrow, that is.

Notes: Gif is my own, using my art of Charlie Weasley which you can find on my art blog @artisticwarnug here. If you use please make sure you credit me and my art blog properly, that the ownership is clear as it is my own art and I would hate for it to be unclear that I made it <3 x

Prologue / Part 1 / Part 2

Dinner that night was a riotous affair. You, six Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione all crammed in around a table, reaching for the amazing food that Mrs Weasley always made. Shoulders bumped against each other, the volume reaching extraordinary heights, but as you sat there you couldn’t help but smile. This felt right. Being around all these people. So welcome. Watching the way Ginny looked up to Charlie and the way Ron and Harry joke around, while Hermione rolled her eyes at George. You’d often felt alone since Fred’s death, a distance seemed to exist in your mind between yourself and the Weasley’s, a gnawing guilt. While you lived with them there were very few moments like this, one’s where you felt like yourself again.

As you look around the table with a smile, your eyes catch Charlie’s. A soft, small smile, shy, lifts at the corner of your mouth and you're delighted to say that Charlie smiles more with his eyes than anything else.

When you go to bed that night you think perhaps it will be a night in which you will fall asleep easily, in which the memories won’t haunt you, in which the guilt that settles like a stone in your stomach will ease...that is a foolish belief you realise rather quickly. Your head rests against your pillow as you stare at the ceiling.

You toss and you turn, twisting this way and that. You lie on your side for a moment, arm curled beneath your pillow, before flipping onto your back and then your front before going back to your back. You try sleeping with your head at the other end of the bed, maybe you’ll trick your brain that way. It doesn’t work. You try every trick possible, but you just can’t sleep. The frustration is clouded by other thoughts, intrusive ones, the ones you try not to dwell on because you can’t change the past and you can’t bring him back. You don’t have that kind of power, although sometimes you wished you had a time turner, you might go mad, but maybe, in the process you could bring one of your best friend’s back. Maybe you wouldn’t fail him this time.

You lie there trying desperately to calm your mind, to silence your thoughts, to sleep, for what seems like hours. In truth it can’t have been more than an hour before you decide to just forgo all the tossing and turning and potter downstairs to make a warm cup of something and maybe nab a biscuit or two.

The Burrow is eerily quiet at this time of night, the lights are out, the stairs creak as you pad down them, and a chill has you grabbing the knitted throw blanket from the living room on your way to the kitchen. There was never a shortage of blankets at the Burrow. Something you could thank Mrs Weasley endlessly for.

You wrap yourself up as tightly as possible, the blanket a soothing weight across your shoulders, before putting the kettle on the stove. Despite magic being at your disposal, you always preferred to make hot drinks whether coffee, tea, hot chocolate or otherwise, the muggle way. Working with your hands, going through the motions of creating something whether food, drink, art or something else entirely, helped you calm down more often than not. You suppose it was very Hufflepuff of you, doing things the muggle way, doing things the homely way.

You look up before he’s even at the entrance to the kitchen, you hear the footsteps softly pad down the stairs, the creek of an old floorboard, the quiet shuffling of clothes and a soft sigh of frustration. You didn’t know who you’d expected, Charlie, wasn’t it though. Perhaps Ginny or maybe Ron or even Mrs Weasley.

The tattooed dragon that had previously been on his neck had moved, as magical tattoos are want to do. It was now laying across the other side of his neck, nearer to his shoulder, barely peeking from his sleep shirt, sleepy and annoyed looking. You wondered if it wanted to sleep but couldn’t because of Charlie’s alertness. You’d never given much thought to wizarding tattoos, but you suppose they must have some sort of personality or thought process or....something. Why else would they move? You supposed that they might work like wizarding portraits, perhaps the dragon had been a real one, its likeness etched into his skin.

His hair is out from the tie it had been in during the day, loose around his face and a sort of bird's nest that screamed ‘i’ve been tossing and turning for a while now’. During the day he’d looked so confident, put together, like everything was okay, but here, in the dark of the kitchen, with only a few little lights to provide a warm glow, he looked haggard. He looked how you felt.

“Would you like something to drink?” You keep your voice soft. Partly knowing that the walls in the Burrow were thin, not wanting to wake the others, and partly because it didn’t seem right to speak loudly or even speak at your normal volume right now.

He pauses for a moment, taking in the kettle on the stove that’s begun to whistle quietly, thanks to a well placed muffling charm, the blanket across your shoulders, the bags underneath your eyes. He blinks before nodding his head towards you in confirmation, a small upturn at the corner of his mouth, a polite smile not more and not less. It cannot compete with his earlier bright smile during the day.

“Tea, please, love.” You grab a tea bag and another mug, making both your own preferred hot drink and his mug of tea. Only stopping to ask if he had sugar in his tea, for him to respond with 3, and you to not comment further despite knowing his mother would probably exclaim that 3 was 2 too many.

You carefully hand him the mug, not wanting to spill a drop, fingers brushing against his. You note his hands are rougher than most wizards, years of hard work will do that. Most wizards and witches have soft hands, skin that only ever touched a wand. The Weasleys are some of the few you knew who relished in hard work and manual labour, some things magic helped with like chopping vegetables, but other things like collecting eggs or planting fruit in the garden seemed to them more suited to their hands. Like you they seemed to enjoy the calming nature of going through the steps, of grounding yourself with the world around you.

You sip at your drink and study the grooves in the table, the different grains of wood, the stains and the marks. Some you know the story of. Like the burn that was caused by Ginny playing with Arthur’s wand at the age of 5. Others are the sorts of stains and marks that come from a family using it every day, from children playing and drawing and existing.

Charlie clears his throat and you lift your eyes to his, he looks a little sheepish, “Sorry, if this is a bit...if you don’t want to talk, but can I ask why you’re not in bed?”

The truth is that you’ve barely known Charlie a couple of days and perhaps normally you’d be reluctant to talk about anything personal, about nightmares or your guilt or your feelings. But, Charlie isn’t a complete stranger. He’s a Weasley and there has never been a Weasley you couldn’t talk to, even Percy who could be and had been an arse in the past. Even when he wasn’t around, the other’s talked about Charlie, their darling boy or their amazing brother. If you knew one Weasley you inevitably felt like you knew the rest even if you’d never met. Maybe it was that he was a Weasley, that he was Fred’s cool older brother, or maybe it was that you were lonely and fed up of hiding it all...that you knew him the least and it seemed easier to talk to someone who’d understand and yet didn’t know you well enough to push too far. Or maybe it was just that Charlie Weasley had one of those faces that made you want to talk.

“I...I struggle to sleep these days. I’ve struggled to sleep since the battle to be honest...if it's not tossing and turning then it’s nightmares. When the lights go out the thoughts come out...”

“From what I heard you did alright. You helped people, you got a few death eaters along the way...” There was an unspoken question, ‘what do you have to be haunted about? What did you do? or what did you not do?’

“Yeah....I helped some people, used my healer training to my advantage and sure I got a few stunning spells in, but I....I couldn’t save the one person that really mattered. I couldn’t....” You breathe in a shaky breath and can already feel the tears welling in your eyes at the thought of him. A hand reaches across the table and covers your own. It’s a comforting gesture, it reminds you that you’re safe here.

“I couldn’t save Fred...I tried, y’know, I even tried muggle methods, I thought maybe if magic wouldn’t help, muggle medicine might...I thought if I could just get him breathing again he’d be okay. It would all be okay...I” You close your eyes hard, feeling the press of your lids together, the wetness welling at the corners, “It’s my fault...I don’t even know why your parents let me stay...how any of you can even look at me...if I had been a better healer, or better at defence, then Fred might still be here.”

“You can’t seriously believe that?”

You lift your eyes to his, his eyebrows are furrowed, twisted down, mouth set in a frown. “I should have been able to save him. I have helped so many people. I have stopped so many people from dying...but I couldn’t save him.” You avert your eyes, his stare feels too intense, too much.

“You’re not to blame, look at me,” He squeezes your hand, firmly, but still gentle. The other reaches forward, a finger underneath your chin to lift your face as he brings your gaze back to his and leans ever forward as if all he wants is for you to truly listen and truly believe. “You didn’t kill Fred. You didn’t cause his death. No one can bring someone back from the dead..there was nothing you or anyone else could do. Rookwood was to blame. Voldemort and his followers were to blame. Not you.”

“Then why do I feel like I am? Like I should have done better?”

“Because we all do. Do you think Percy doesn’t blame himself? Like maybe if he’d not made a joke, not distracted Fred, he’d still be here? Do you think George doesn’t think he could have protected his own twin better? Me? I wish I'd bloody been right there, right next to him. I wish I did more and I feel the guilt of not doing more each day...We all feel like we failed him. You don’t feel guilty because you did something wrong, you feel guilty because he was your friend and you’re a good person. Good people always want to do better, even if it's not possible, love.”

“How do you do it? How do you keep going?” It feels impossible some days, the idea that you shouldn’t feel guilty or sad or angry or hurt. Some days you almost forget that he’s not here, you see George and go to ask after Fred, you think of a joke and think that you should go tell him...Some days simply getting out of bed seems impossible.

“I let it go. You can’t live in the past or else you’ll forget the present, and never look to the future. That’s what we were fighting for. That’s what Fred was fighting for, a better future. I chose to stop punishing myself for what I did or did not do because my brother would feed me a canary cream if he heard me blaming myself.”

You let out a sharp laugh, quick, unexpected even for you, and it's true. Fred wouldn’t stand for it, he wouldn’t stand for anyone blaming themselves, he’d tell you to buck up and crack a few jokes, stop hurting yourself. He was like that. Whenever he found you squirrelled away behind a tapestry, sad and crying, he always found a way to make you smile. His life’s work was getting people to smile.

“...Thank you. I know it’s not going to get better over night, but...maybe it’s time to try and stop dwelling in the past.” You stare into your empty mug for a second before rising to place it beside the sink. He’s still drinking his tea, and you, realise this whole time you hadn’t asked him why he wasn’t asleep.

“Why...why aren’t you asleep, Charlie?” You lean back against the counter to watch him, the blanket slipping off of your shoulders slightly.

“I...I have a few old injuries that keep me up sometimes. Mostly my back, the scars I have ache a lot...but I...I sleep best on my back so...”

It surprises that his lack of sleep was something that seemed so fixable to you, but you often had to remind yourself that most witches and wizards struggled with even basic healing charms and didn’t think in the same way that you did. Healing was a skill and knowing the right solution to a problem took both natural intuition and training.

“Do you...have you ever learnt lenio?” You move closer to him, throwing the blanket off of your shoulders and onto the back of your chair. Each step shows your healer nature as you itch to get closer and have a look at the problem, to solve it like you do every day of the week.

“Uh, I’ve never heard of it?”

“Oh...I suppose you’re probably used to being given potions for pain, they usually last longer, don’t rely on the witch or wizard’s will power. It’s a...a pain relief spell, it works on a great deal. I...Hermione’s scar hurts a lot so I taught her it, but her scar’s easy for her access...you could always see me before you go to sleep each night and I can administer it. It’s considered outdated because of potions but I find that it’s most effective for scarring or pains that distract or make you unfocused and people don’t get as reliant.”

“Does...does it last awhile?”

“It varies on the caster’s strength of thought, I typically find when I cast it it lasts anywhere between 12 hours to a day, some people it can last minutes. Hermione manages to make it last around 8 hours. It’s why it fell out of fashion, not a lot of wizards or witches have the aptitude for it.” Potions had become easier. Easier to make. Easier to administer and more predictable when duration was involved. But, pain relief potions could be addictive and you always found yourself leaning towards charms and spells over potions, where possible.

“Before you...before you go to bed could you cast it? I’d really like to get some sleep, love.”

Nod with a small smile, easing the tension in Charlie’s shoulders just that little bit. That famous bedside manner of yours pushing its way to the surface.

“You said it was your back?” You ask as you reach for your wand in the waistband of your pyjama shorts. He nods at you, “First year on the reserve a Hungarian Horntail decided he didn’t like me very much...never told mum.” You let out a little laugh at that, the thought of Mrs Weasley’s reaction was rather comical in your mind. While she could be fearsome, she was also known for her over the top and sometimes melodramatic responses.

You understand why he chose not to tell her. Mrs Weasley could be overbearing in her protectiveness and you’re sure she would never have let him work on the reserve again, no matter how much he loved it. “Could you...um, disrobe for me.” You ignore the nerves in your stomach and try to get into the healer mindset, you’ve seen plenty of patients wear even less and it was never a problem before. You weren’t going to let Charlie Weasley taking his shirt off get to you. You’d seen him without it early that day and surely he couldn’t affect you quite so much the second time.

Or that’s what you told yourself before you found yourself gazing at him a little too long. Truth was Charlie was an attractive man, even fully dressed and the beauty of his torso was not diminished by you having seen it previously. Up close you noticed things that you hadn’t earlier in the day. Scars of various types caught your eye, a few bite marks you recognised well as various types of dragon, scratches, burn marks, his body told the story of a dragon keeper who had known pain and yet still enjoyed his job. He was covered in freckles head to toe, or at least what you could see of his body, and red hair that criss crossed his arms and his chest. The dragon had moved from his shoulder and neck area, stalking its way across his left ribs, breathing little spouts of fire.

You cleared your throat and gestured for him to turn his back towards you. You could see it was covered in scars, a large portion was burn scarring, but there were claw marks too. You placed a hand gently on the top of his shoulder and gently pushed him forward so that you could get a better look. Your other hand softly trailed over the skin, examining the depths of the scars, making an assessment of what sort of scarring it was. “These were healed poorly, did you not go to the reserve healer?” You could tell they could have been healed better, they would have left a mark certainly, but with less pain you were sure. It was, in truth, a rather shoddy job.

“Oh, I went...he’s just not very good.” You scoff, not very good was an understatement and you wrecked your brain for anyway you could fix the damage done. You’d never seen wounds healed so poorly or such extensive scarring caused by magical healing, you think that they might have healed better on their own.

“This was about nine years ago, correct?” You watch the back of Charlie’s head move up and down in a nod, “He used a mending charm.” You scoff, irritation strong within you.

“Is that wrong?”

“They’re meant for objects not people, it’s why you have so much scarring, why it hurts...I just wonder...I wonder if...I know you just wanted me to do a quick lenio, Charlie...but I’d like to try something, I have absolutely no idea if any of the spells I know will work, but I might be able to permanently reduce the pain, and the damage.”

“You couldn’t do that with Hermione?”

“Her scar is the product of dark magic...that’s...we’re still trying to figure out how to undo that sort of injury, but this is normal in comparison. I could make it worse or I could make it better or it could do nothing...”

“Love,” he looks over his shoulder at you, eyes surprisingly full of mirth, “I doubt you could make it worse, give it your best shot.”

You think through all the healing spells you know and you contemplate the nature of this. It isn’t an open wound or a broken bone, but it is damaged flesh, scar tissue so mangled it hurts and you think deep about your time at St Mungo’s, the many healer’s you’ve known and learnt from and you think of your own experience creating spells, melding your wants, desires, outcomes, into a single word, a single channel for your magic. You use his confidence in you and your desire to see his pain reduced or undone as a force behind the words that leave your mouth without even thinking and the almost natural movement of your wand.

“Renovare” It’s not a spell you know and yet, as you speak the words and channel your magic through your wand, you know what it does and you know what it’s purpose is. Renew. To fix what isn’t wounded, but is damaged, to heal what has been healed poorly. You watch delicate streams of pearlescent light, flickering between white and pink and teal, fall over the scars and break them apart delicately before rehealing wounds. You hear Charlie hiss and squeeze his shoulder in reassurance that everything is working the way it should and that you’re sorry it hurts. The scars that are left behind are less angry, closer to the skin, and less like knotted damaged tissue. Perhaps had you been there when it happened, there would be no scars at all, but unmending and re-mending a wound is not so perfect or simple. You have the presence of mind to realise this is a new spell, of your own creation, and that you should write all of this down before you go to sleep tonight. This spell could be a breakthrough for wizarding medicine, at least where angry scars that cause pain are concerned. You’re so focused on fixing his pain that this realisation doesn’t bring you the pride it should, after all, not many witches or wizards could simply create a spell.

There’s something satisfying about watching the process, the breaking open of skin and the regrowth of new. The new scars looking as you’d want them to be, knowing that you have fixed the work of a poor healer and hopefully, in the process, stopped the pain that causes Charlie’s lack of sleep.

You run your hand over the new scars once you’re done, checking the thickness of the scar tissue, his dragon has moved to his back now, curiously dancing around your fingers, nipping as if it could catch them. You get the feeling that it is grateful for your work. “Does it hurt at all? or...at least is the pain lesser?”

“It’s...it’s sore, like i’ve just come off the quidditch pitch, but it doesn’t hurt. Not like it used to.”

“Mmm...,” you continue your observations for a while, asking more questions about how it feels as you go, “I suspect the soreness will go, I have just broken your scars open and re-healed them...they look better, proper healing work, none of that bollocks from before.” You find your patience for bad healers always to be quite small, healing was serious business, people’s lives, their feelings were at risk and bad healers, in your opinion, simply shouldn’t exist.

“I...thank you for letting me try I...”

“I’ve never heard that spell before.”

“That’s because I just created it.” He looks at you as you expect, surprised and a little bit in awe. Most wizards and witches can’t just make their own spells, you know this, but your experience with Fred and George had taught you a few things. The two of them had always innately created their own charms and potions, and they taught you how it should feel, how to focus, how to think, how to tap into that part of yourself that was purely magic, that knew without words what it could and wanted to do.

“That’s...impressive.”

“Your brothers’, they’re...they were...George and Fred have always...” You sigh in frustration, it is so hard to find the right tense now. George is here and Fred is not, but they're a pair, not individuals and it feels wrong to...to leave one out. He’s patient with you, soft eyes, a reassuring smile as a hand reaches for yours and gives a quick squeeze. “When we were in school, the twins just knew how to make their own spells...all their products are their own work and creation...they taught me how to...how to tap into that part of me, the part that knows what to do. I’ve not done it in years, I've not had need to...I just knew what I wanted to happen and I let myself guide me.” You smile at him softly, round cheeks pushing upwards with your smile. His eyes are darting curiously across your face as if seeking out the answer to some question only he knew.

There’s a look of surprise behind the curiosity. You can see it, that he never fully realised just how brilliant his brothers’ were. Most of the people who meet...met the twins underestimated their abilities, but they were brilliant. Sometimes you just have to look past the laughter, the jokes and the ostentatious colours.

“Thank you...thank you for this,” He gestures to his back, “and thank you for teaching me something about the twins that I...that I failed to realise myself. We’ve always undervalued them, I love them...loved...but, even I saw them as jokers and never...never realise the work they put in.”

“Brilliant, that’s how I describe them. Insane. Terribly immature at times. Quick to anger, like most Weasleys, but brilliant and kind...” You look off into the distance, eyes losing focus for a second, “have I told...has anyone told you how I became friends with the twins?”

“I always assumed they just wouldn’t leave you alone,” It’s a cheeky smile that makes you laugh, “that would be rather like them.” You lean against the table, thick thigh pressing lightly against the outside of his knee as you think back on how you met the twins.

“In truth...it’s not a wholly happy story. But it’s not entirely sad either, meeting them was the best thing that ever happened to me. They gave me friendship, companionship, knowledge, protection, and family. They gave me a wizarding family that would always support me and I don’t think at the age of eleven I truly understood the importance that your family would play in my life. Now, I couldn’t live without them.” You turn your eyes on him with a soft smile.

“We have a way about us...Weasley’s collect people, I think. We’re never happy alone, we like a full house, we like fighting over a bathroom in the morning and cramming around the table. Mum loves adding people to the family, and I'm sure the moment she met you she knew you’d be the newest addition.” You smile at that. You wonder if a Weasley could ever truly be happy alone. While Charlie lived away from his family, you were sure, judging by his little smile, that the distance was hard on him and that he probably surrounded himself with friends and colleagues to feel that familiarity.

“It was my first year and I was crying…” You look up at the ceiling, the wood beams that cross it, the hanging pots and drying herbs. “I was behind the tapestry on the 5th floor...there’s this little room behind it and I found it by accident, I’m rather clumsy,” You laugh and look back at him. It startles you a little to realise you have his undivided attention, but it also pleases you, to know that he’s listening, that he values what you have to say even if it's just a silly little story.

“I was bawling really, none of that quiet dainty crying. It was rather horrible actually...they must have heard, said I sounded like Moaning Myrtle which just upset me more...they sat beside and they asked ‘what’s happened? Who do we need to prank?’' It was ever so Fred and George even back when you were all just eleven. Their solution to a problem was often either pranking the person responsible or starting a fight with them. The latter was your least favourite of the two.

“Sounds like them, although I wouldn't have been surprised if they offered to throw a few punches...we have hot tempers.”

“You seem awfully mild mannered for a Weasley to me?” It was true, Charlie and Bill both seemed like two calm individuals, at least compared to Ginny or Ron or even Mrs Weasley. All of whom were known for their explosive, passionate tempers.

“Well, love, you’ve never seen me nearly tear the Ravenclaw quidditch captain a new one after a blatant display of cobbing...Although, i’m definitely less fiery than Ginny. She scares me a little sometimes.”

“She is prone to bouts of violence,” You love it about her though, her quickness to defend others, her bravery. If there ever was a Gryffindor it certainly was Ginevra. “Either way, they offered pranking services rather than violence...good move on their part, I suspect I would have been terrified of them had they offered to break someone’s nose…”

“So who or what made you cry? Homesick?”

“No...I mean, I was homesick, but that wasn’t what had me crying behind that tapestry...it was boys actually. They’d been picking on me, all years, all ages, all houses, for the first few weeks of my life at Hogwarts. Sometimes it was my hair...and other times it was my teeth, sometimes it was the fact I was muggle born...but mostly, it was that I was fat,” You see he rearing up to say something at the word, but you stop him before he can speak, “I am fat. Charlie, that’s not an insult to me, I can be a million wonderful things, and fat is just a descriptor. I am fat and a hufflepuff and I am pretty and I am brave and I am terribly dedicated to my work. But back then...the way they used it. That was an insult. I was fat, I was a whale, a pig, or some other creature they could demean me with. They said I was ugly and unworthy and ‘who’d want to date you?’...I wasn’t even old enough to care about dating, but they made me feel like I was unlovable...and then your brothers came along.”

You smile at him, at the hand he’s placed on your knee in reassurance, the hand that doesn’t stay there too long out of respect for you. He’s listening now, truly, there is no desire to butt in, to interject, because he realises that you do not unjustly hate your body. You are simply telling a story. “After that they never let anyone say a bad word about me...they protected me and I protected them too...you’ve not seen a thing until you’ve seen a hufflepuff fly at Draco Malfoy with the intent to maim.” You quirk a lip thinking of all the times you’d nearly hurt the boy, he was better now, you could have a civil conversation, but Merlin, he’d been terrible in school.

“Should I worry for my personal safety?” Charlie laughs, leaning back away from you as if you might attack at any moment, but it is all play and it makes you chuckle. “I think you’re safe, dragon boy…”

There’s a comfortable silence in which your leg pressed against Charlie’s as you leant against the table, Charlie leaning back in his chair. It’s the sort of silence that feels like companionship, there is no pressure in your chest to speak, no feeling that the silence was wrong, no strange buzzing in your chest.

“I’m glad they looked out for you...you deserve to have people who look after you the way you look after them.”

“You...you barely know me.” You look at him through your lashes, feeling shy, bashful at the kind words. He just gives you a stunningly soft smile, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

“True, but in the short time I have known you you’ve been nothing but kind, caring, and you even invented a spell simply to help me. Love, that says more than anything else about you. You care about people...and people should care about you too.” The tenderness should scare you, intimidate you, instead it makes warmth blossom in your chest and happy tears well in your eyes because no one has ever said something so kind. Even when you doubt how useful you are, even with the guilt, it means so much to hear someone acknowledge the kindness you give, the care you provide, and not take it for granted. It is this that makes you realise how desperately you want to keep Charlie Weasley in your life, even simply as a friend because he cares so deeply about people and because he doesn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed to share those thoughts or feelings that would matter most to a person.

It is with those words and thoughts in your head that the two of you say goodnight and you return to your bed, the blankets don’t feel irritating anymore, your head does not buzz with bad thoughts. While it is hard to go to sleep it is not out of guilt or anger or sadness, but a sort of giddiness that you haven’t felt in so long. You fall asleep with a smile.

#summer nights #reader insert #readerinsert #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasleyxreader #charlie weasley/reader #charlie weasley / reader #harry potter #harry potter reader insert #plus size reader #overweight reader #female reader

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lotusjwy · 4 years

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“You can trust me” for our boys Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen? 👀

ooooh boy, carrie u just know me. i wrote this so easily, idk WHY that was so easy to write honestly.

enjoy around 2k words of xicheng being mean to each other bro, i needa go make them kiss or smth this hurt

It wasn’t a very common occurrence, but ever since the events at Guanyin Temple, Lan Xichen would sometimes have days, where most people around would know to give him a wide berth, lest he spit poisonous words at them. These days were unlike the days where he had no desire to exist in the world. Instead, on these days he was infinitely angry at the world. There was never any rhyme or reason to the days – at least, no pattern that he had been able to recognise that would trigger or prompt him to get in these moods. And no one would be safe from the words he spoke, regardless of who they were to him.

Lan Wangji had learnt first-hand to leave his brother alone when he was in these moods, when Xichen had called him a disgrace to the Lan Sect ways due to his devotion to Wei Wuxian. That Wei Wuxian was a menace to their society and that perhaps they would have benefitted had he met the same fate as his parents. After the fact, Xichen had profusely apologies, explaining that he that he didn’t know why he had said what he had said and that he didn’t mean them. And while Lan Wangji had accepted his apology, their relationship had been strained for a long while after that. In order to protect their brotherhood, both would avoid each other on these days.

However, it would seem that Lan Wangji hadn’t passed this message along to Jiang Wanyin, who was currently pounding on the entrance to the Hanshi, which Lan Xichen had been refusing to open for the past ten minutes. He knew that if he let the other in, that it may come to blows with Lan Xichen’s foul mood and Jiang Wanyin’s general angry disposition. After another few minutes of having to listen to Jiang Wanyin yelling his name, Lan Xichen slammed the doors open, his face displaying the annoyance that he was feeling at the situation.

“You would think, Sect Leader Jiang, that after a few minutes of not receiving a response, you would get the message that I do not wish to speak with you.” His voice was cold and icy, not leaving any room for argument.

Or so he thought, were he not speaking with Jiang Wanyin. Jiang Wanyin who looked confrontation in the face and barrelled right through.

“You don’t want to talk to me?” Jiang Cheng’s voice was full of disbelief that the other was acting this way, so early in the morning. He’d never seen Lan Xichen acting like this.

“I want you to leave.” Lan Xichen could feel his patience growing thin, if the other didn’t leave right now, then he didn’t know what would come from the following interaction.

“Well, too bad. Since when have I ever left you alone when you’re in a bad mood? Talk to me about it, perhaps that will help you navigate back to being yourself.” With those seemingly simple words, Jiang Wanyin further entered the Hanshi and sat down in front of Lan Xichen.

“There is nothing I wish to speak about with you, at this moment. Leave.” He took a calming breath, willing himself to not lose himself.

“You can trust me, Lan Xichen.” Jiang Wanyin’s voice was earnest and full of understanding, he was being exactly the type of friend Lan Xichen would crave any other day. But not today, today he is angry at the world, and is willing to fight with anyone, and so that’s just what he does.

“I thought I could trust Jin Guangyao. Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang thought they could trust me. Yet all forms of this trust were broken within a few tragic moments.” His voice was hard, not like the usual calming voice that Jiang Wanyin had grown used to over these months. “You’ll find I’m unable to readily believe your words.”

It had been months into their growing friendship – relationship maybe – yet Jiang Cheng had never realised that Lan Xichen still struggled with trust. “And I fucking thought I could trust Wei Wuxian, yet you don’t see me shutting myself off from the fucking world over it.”

“No, you just tortured people out of spite, out of hatred towards your brother. They were innocent people you tortured, yet you did it anyway. Perhaps the world would have benefited from shutting yourself off from the world. More people would be alive.” Internally, Lan Xichen hated himself for even uttering those words, knowing this was something that haunted Jiang Wanyin even after all these years.

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes at the other, not understanding why the other was verbally attacking him like this. “Every person I killed was a demonic cultivator, you don’t believe they deserved it?”

“Perhaps demonic cultivation is the wrong path to take, however you didn’t offer rehabilitation for them? Surely, you had other avenues to help that didn’t result to torture. No, instead you had to let your anger take charge as usual.” His voice turning to morbid fascination as he continued to speak, he could see Jiang Wanyin slowly grow more and more angry as he continued to speak his poisons.

Oh. So, he wanted to play that game? Unluckily for Lan Xichen, Jiang Wanyin had been waiting for someone to bring this up with him, thought admittedly he never expected someone he thought was his friend to bring it up.

“Do you know how many demonic cultivators I came across that were previously of the Lan Sect, Sect Leader Lan? It would seem your sect doesn’t offer its’ own members the rehabilitation that you’re so bravely offering right now.”

“You’re lying.” Xichen narrowed his eyes at Jiang Wanyin, not believing his words for a second. He’d have noticed if his disciples were following such paths, he’d have known.

“I’m in Cloud Recesses, esteemed Zewu-jun. Lies aren’t allowed here.” With a smirk, he continued speaking, a smug lilt to his voice, “I can even show you the pile of forehead ribbons that came with each of the cultivators. I have a collection, if you would like to call it that, of little mementos that link each demonic cultivator to a sect.”

“Why would you keep them? Rumour has it you burnt the bodies where they lay.” He was determined to not let the other win this argument.

“And create damage to the sect that I so painfully built back up? No, my disciples disposed of the bodies. You’re not wrong, they were burnt, just not in Lotus Pier. Lotus Pier has seen enough flames to last an eternity.” And Jiang Cheng was never present for any of the burnings. He’d witnessed too much burning flesh in his lifetime, he never wants to see or smell that ever again.

“You’ve not yet explained why you would keep articles from the bodies.” He tried to keep his voice steady and absent from any of the anger that was rushing through his veins. He’d never wanted to yell at another so desperately before.

“To remind myself that while the once first disciple of Yunmeng Jiang created demonic cultivation, that I never once came across another demonic cultivator from within my own sect.” It was an odd pride he’d always felt. A secret pride that he’d never spoken about to anyone before now. “There were countless from the Nie, Jin and Lan sects, yet none from my own. Fascinating isn’t it? That somehow the sect where demonic cultivation was founded never produced another known demonic cultivator.”

“Isn’t that because they saw first-hand what you did to demonic cultivators?” Forcing his voice to sound calm and uninterested, Lan Xichen was determined to make Jiang Wanyin feel as bad as he was making Lan Xichen feel with his words.

Jiang Cheng let out a snort, “partially, I won’t deny that. However, I believe they saw what it could to do those around them. How negatively it could impact on everyone, including themselves. The issue all you fucking hypocrites have is that you just tell your disciples that demonic cultivation is bad, and they should never pursue it, or you will punish them.”

“And what? You believe you have the upper ground here?”

“Gods no. I’ll never claim to have an upper ground, we lived through a war, we were all bound to fuck up in some way or another. But I tell my disciples in explicit detail what demonic cultivation can do to families. I remind them of Jin Ling who grew up without parents due to the inability to control demonic cultivation. Because if a genius like Wei Wuxian couldn’t fucking control it, then what luck did a lowly disciple have?”

And that was something Jiang Cheng had spent years working through himself. The knowledge the Wei Wuxian didn’t mean for everything to go as badly as it did. That he had just lost control of the situation and it had grown and grown until the unthinkable had happened, and Jin Guangyao took explicit control of the situation. It was still something he had to talk himself through, on his bad days. But he would not have Lan Xichen attempt to make him feel bad about the things that he has been through, no matter who they are to each other.

Looking away from Jiang Wanyin, Lan Xichen grit his teeth and spoke tersely, “I see.”

“That’s all you have to say?” He couldn’t believe the other was acting like this. Xichen had spat venom yet seemed to be retreating the second Jiang Cheng fought back. Coward.

“I don’t know what else you want from me.” He let out a heavy sigh, and turned back to Jiang Wanyin, his eyebrows raised, as if asking why the other was still here.

Jiang Cheng laughed frostily, voice full of hurt and regret, “I had thought that the two of us had an understanding after all these months. It would seem that I was wrong to think you would ever trust someone as vile as me.”

“No one asked for you to attach yourself to me.” He almost winced, as he said it, knowing that they were about to cross dangerous territories in this conversation. Perhaps with irreversible consequences.

“Attach myself? Lan Xichen, need I remind you who fucking approached who first, or have you coincidentally lost all memory of that moment?” Lan Xichen. That was the answer. Lan fucking Xichen had approached Jiang Cheng with hopes of friendship first, right out of his seclusion, so why the fuck was he acting so haughty now?

“I approached you out of desperation on my part. I wished to forget A-Yao’s existence, and so I approached you. You who is so very clearly unlike him. It meant nothing more to me and has seemed to have run its course.” I’m sorry, I don’t mean it, he wanted to be able to say, but his mood didn’t allow him to, his words leaving his mouth faster than he could shove them back in and never have the time to utter them.

“Of course, I’m the fool in this situation. Why would the great Lan Xichen approach lowly Jiang Wanyin for friendship or anything more? It would seem you were correct, my trust in you was misplaced, I will endeavour to rectify that mistake of mine. Thank you for the honourable life lesson, esteemed Sect Leader.” With a final, stilted and angry bow, Jiang Cheng turned around and left the room, muttering under his breath about ungrateful people.

As Jiang Cheng stormed out, Lan Xichen closed his eyes in defeat. Ah, Lan Huan, you’ve finally done it. You’ve finally pushed away everyone that genuinely gave you care. Jiang Cheng wasn’t like Wangji, who had forgiven his words without a second of hesitation, no Jiang Cheng would remember each word that had been uttered in this room. Once scorned, Jiang Cheng wouldn’t return without a genuine apology, an apology that Lan Xichen wasn’t sure he was ready to give the other. Not without thinking more deeply about what kind of a relationship he wanted with the other.

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innittowinit · 3 years

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Abandoned amusement parks are the best place for young children (Chapter 19)

Fic summary:

Techno, Tommy, Wilbur and Phil have been hanging out at the abandoned amusement park in the woods since they moved in. Techno likes knowing he's definitely alone with his brothers Tommy likes climbing on the old rides Wilbur likes having a place to play his music Phil likes spending time with his younger brothers

That is, until a group of brothers calling themselves the 'dream team' move in down the road. Will the sleepy boys give in and share the park or will they succeed in scaring the new kids off?

Chapter summary:

Eret's been acting...strange Techno senses somethings definitely off

Chapter word count: 1726

AO3

Friendships were a complex thing. Techno had known that as long as he could remember. People come and people go, it was nothing, especially not to him or Wilbur. Inherently, they knew all they had was each other, maybe their other brothers would also always be with them but what they had together was a special bond. Neither Phil nor Tommy would ever be able to understand them the way they understood each other and that was fine, they had lived every day side by side, they shared almost all their core memories and so their rationality was incredibly similar because of it, meaning they could very easily understand each other.

Never had they asked for a friend that would feel the same way as the friendship they had with each other, and yet they always seemed to be asking for too much. That’s the part that confused Techno.

Never had they needed to be understood. Never had they needed something complex. All they needed was someone to accept them so why did it feel like everyone always ended up leaving? Were they the problem? It always felt like they were trying so hard so why did it feel like they were pushing people away?

You see, recently Eret had been acting….off.

He had been stumbling over words, fidgeting, leaving quickly with the excuse of ‘being late for something’, and taking hours to reply to any kind of message. Each of these things would be fine on their own but with them all together, they felt a little strange.

It didn’t seem like Wilbur had noticed the recent shift in behaviour yet so Techno didn’t dare bring it up, it wasn’t uncommon that he was overly cautious and he didn’t want to risk upsetting his brother over something that might not even be a big deal, especially when he had just started to get over the incident with the ticket booth.

“So....He’s been busy a lot lately” Wilbur sighed, draping himself across the couch and clutching his phone in one hand. Niki had insisted they add some stickers onto it since letting them live off a ‘boring flip phone’ (as she had called it) was apparently not okay.

“Do you think he’s okay? Maybe something’s going on at home..”

Oh. Techno was positive everything was okay at home. Of course there was a possibility that he was just being protective of Wilbur because he didn’t want anyone hurting his brother but seriously! In his opinion, if you had enough money to eat fucking burger king as a school lunch you were doing fine financially, and really, that’s all that mattered right? Money had always been the reason why their parents were never around.

It was probably just his jealousy talking but he had always had a bit of an underlying anger for people with a big disposable income, how was it fair that their parents had to work so much at minimum wage jobs that they could hardly see them just to keep them warm and fed and yet other families could have their parents around by the time they were home from school /and/ have extra money for treats.

“Wil, don’t worry about him.” Techno sighed, trying to choose his words carefully. He knew Wilbur was always more sensitive to rejection than him.

“He’s more..social than we are, he probably just has other friends that he doesn’t want to ignore or something”

“Maybe.. I wish he’d tell us though, I don’t like being left on read”

With a sigh and a gentle prod for him to sit up a bit more, Techno wrapped an arm around Wilbur, feeling how he melted into the contact straight away. Of course it hurt Techno too to be ignored by the one person they thought actually could be a good friend but he needed to put on a brave face for Wilbur. Of course it felt like a stab in the gut to have trusted someone so much to be able to start talking to them and then they just disappear but Wilbur needed him right now, it was obvious to anyone that he was the one with the bigger connection issues.

“Wil, trusting people is a part of being friends. We can talk to him tomorrow alright? And we can explain that it would make you feel better if he said his plans before disappearing”

-----

It was Tuesday night and other than a few memes she had screenshotted off of instagram and sent them, they hadn’t really heard much at all from Eret. She hadn’t hung around them long enough at school for either of them to really bring it up with her and honestly, Techno was getting incredibly worried about what was going on. He’d never had a real friend like this before, of course Skeppy always made him laugh but he was family so he didn’t count, if he messed up with family he knew as long as they weren’t adults they’d still love him afterwards, friends worked differently though. He had his Hypixel friends too but they didn’t count either since they were online and he could type to them on days when he was struggling more. By now he’d known them so long they were basically family, they’d all taken hours out of their own time to research Techno’s problems to try and be as accommodating as possible- all in all he really couldn't compare them with Eret.

It was tricky and he knew communication was one of the more important parts, which was ironically what he struggled with the most. Maybe on one of his worse-off days, where he normally would have had Wilbur doing most of the talking for him, Eret had assumed he was angry with her or giving her the silent treatment, maybe she had taken offence to the fact that Wilbur and Techno were very obviously closer than she was with each one of them. The thought that somehow they might have made her feel left out made him feel a little sick, had they not explained well enough what had led to this point? Maybe it was selfish for them to relish in the fact that she rarely bugged them for explanations.

All in all, Techno was sure they had done something for the sudden shift in attitude and, not wanting to make Wilbur feel worse than he already did, he wasn’t sure who could help him.

Maybe he could wait up until his parents got home? People on TV were always getting advice from them but then again.. His family wasn’t really like those on tv, if he was being honest he was half sure he’d be yelled at for being awake before he could have a chance to ask for help.

He could also ask Phil, but then again Phil was already beyond stressed trying to make sure they were all okay, he really didn’t want to bother him. Niki was closer to Wilbur than she was with him and he was sure his hypixel friends were all still at school because of the time zone difference.

The only other person he could really think of talking to about this was Skeppy, and so, hopping out of bed, trying his hardest not to make too much noise and wake up Wilbur, he made his way to the PC.

11:36PM

From what he knew, Skeppy usually stayed up late and slept so late he often missed his bus anyway so he probably was still up.

Clicking onto discord, he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the green dot next to his cousin's icon, immediately messaging him.

11:36 OrphanDestroyer: Hey nerd

11:36 OrphanDestroyer: U awake?

It took a few minutes for him to answer, Techno was just about ready to give up and accept he had just chosen the one night he may have gone to bed on time to try and message him.

11:42 japanesesymbolforbeginner: 1 sec ina call wiv bbh

Writing ‘bbh’ off as one of Skeppy’s friends he had forgotten to tell them about, Techno waited patiently for Skeppy to say he was free.

11:46 japanesesymbolforbeginner: ok im done, what you need

11:46 OrphanDestroyer: SO

11:46 OrphanDestroyer: Do you remember Eret?

11:48 OrphanDestroyer: Okay well basically for like the past few days he’s been ignoring me and Wilbs and I’m really really worried we offended him or something like maybe we hurt him or he’s mad or maybe he decided he's too good to be friends with us which tbh I don't blame him for because we kinda are losers and maybe people won't be friends with him because he's friends with us or something? Idk idk I just really wish he’d tell us something because like Wil is freaking out and idk what to tell him, he really struggles with this kinda stuff and I wanna help but idk how.

11:48 japanesesymbolforbeginner: Ok...fuck

11:48 japanesesymbolforbeginner: Has he replied to any messages or anything? Maybe he’s busy?

11:48 OrphanDestroyer: Not really

11:49 japanesesymbolforbeginner: Okay okay so here’s what I think you should do

11:49 japanesesymbolforbeginner: If he’s ignoring you you're gonna need to confront him next time you see him and don’t just agree when he makes an excuse to leave, like say you NEED to talk

11:50 japanesesymbolforbeginner: If u think he’s offended bc sometimes you don't speak a lot maybe just message him some resources or whatever on the type of mutism you deal with, even if he doesn’t reply he’ll probably still open it.

11:50 japanesesymbolforbeginner: like he might just be in the position where he’s nervous he’ll offend you if he asks something about it? Like maybe he doesn't understand fully and he just needs one of you to open the discussion

11:50 OrphanDestroyer: okay you're probably right

11:50 OrphanDestroyer: There’s a link I have to one I normally email teachers whenever we have a new one so i'll probably send him that

11:50 OrphanDestroyer: Tomorrow though, my dads gonna be home soon and he’ll kill me if im still awake

11:51 japanesesymbolforbeginner: aight, night Techno, good luck and btw you're all always welcome to come over if things get tense over there with ur parents

#sbi #sleepyboisinc #dream team #sleep bois inc #fanfiction #fanfic #mcyt #technoblade #wilbur #wilbur soot #dream smp #au

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sweetmemories2606 · 4 years

Text

Answers (Gruvia/Gajevy Fanfic) Chapter 2

Originally this was my prompt for Gruvia Week 2020 day 3: perverse, but as it often happens, the story decided to become multi-chapter.

Here's the basic info to jog everyone's memory:

Title: Answers

Pairings: Gruvia, Gajevy (from ch 3), may include other ships as well

Summary: Everyone has secrets, but some are deadlier than others. Gray didn't imagine Juvia was hiding anything, until she was taken by the Magic Council for questioning.

Timeline: Grand Magic Games

Warnings: Major plot twist and incoming angst. 😏

Word Count: around 2000 words per chapter

Link: Ch 1 Ch 2

I hope you'll enjoy!

----------------------

Chapter 2: Suspicion

"They sent you to infiltrate Fiore in case the invasion failed, didn't they?"

Standing up, Juvia glared at the two agents. "I refuse to stay here and listen to you make such accusations without evidence."

Doranbolt reached for the handcuffs before using his teleportation magic. Appearing behind her, he quickly placed them around her wrists.

Juvia gasped upon realising that they prevented her from using magic. Not good.

Returning to his seat at the table, Doranbolt gave her a determined look. "You're not going anywhere until we have the truth."

"If you give us useful information, we might consider not arresting you." Lahar said.

Juvia struggled against the cuffs, but it was pointless. "I don't trust either of you."

Doranbolt sighed. "Look, I'm giving you a chance to do the right thing here."

"The right thing." She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Why do people always use that term?"

"If you don't cooperate..." Lahar threatened.

"You'll arrest me, I know." Juvia shrugged.

"But before that..." Doranbolt lifted a glowing hand. "I'll use my magic to see through your memories."

Juvia considered this for a moment, quickly coming to the conclusion that it wouldn't be the worst case scenario. After all, it's not like they would find anything useful there either.

"Go ahead." She shrugged, and the two agents seemed confused. "You won't find what you're looking for."

"Alright, then." Doranbolt pressed his hand against her forehead and closed his eyes.

----------------------

At the infirmary

Gray was met with cheers and congratulations from his comrades once he re-entered the infirmary.

"Well done, Gray." Makarov was the first to congratulate him.

"It was about time." Cana rolled her eyes.

"You're a real man." Elfman yelled.

"I'm so happy for you!" Mirajane swooned.

"Wait a second..." Gajeel was the first to notice. "Where's Juvia?"

The mood instantly changed as people became confused, worried and honestly a little afraid.

"Gray?" Erza asked, leaving Natsu's side since she had been comforting him and taking a step towards the ice mage.

"She's gone." He answered and his mind replayed the weird moment from before in an attempt to understand it.

"Gone where?" Gajeel asked, his tone even more concerned.

"I don't know." Gray answered, sincerely. "She told me not to worry, but I can't help it."

"I'm confused." Natsu affirmed. "Did you guys get together or not?"

Everyone looked at the ice mage in expectation. "That's not really any of your business, flame brain." Gray snapped, a slight blush colouring his cheeks.

"Please." Cana scoffed. "If you wanted to keep it a secret, then you shouldn't have been so obvious."

Before he could protest, Makarov stepped in. "Gray, I understand you are a private person, but we just want you to be happy."

"And if being with Juvia is what makes you happy, we want help to make that happen." Levy continued.

"Speak for yourself." Gajeel muttered, glaring at the ice mage.

"I appreciate you wanting to help." Gray said after a few silent moments. "But I think it's up to me and Juvia now."

"And where is Juvia?" Makarov asked, looking worried. "Why isn't she with you?"

"She was taken by the Magic Council." The former revealed, ensuing shocked gasps and screams.

"But why?" Levy asked what all were thinking.

Defeated, Gray slumped into a chair. "I have no idea."

----------------------

Outside Crocus

"I still can't believe she hurt Lucy like that." Meredy was still in disbelief over what they had witnessed earlier.

"It seems the Sabertooth guild doesn't care about humanity." Jellal stated pensively.

"Do you think they could be the evil we've been sensing?" Ultear suggested.

"Can't be." He immediately responded, shaking his head. "They were all in their stand yesterday when I saw the figure."

"They could've used an illusion like Raven Tail." Ultear wisely pointed out.

Meredy was thoughtful for a moment. "I don't think we should spend much time considering this."

"We've got bigger issues to think about." Jellal said, glancing at the crystal ball in her hands which showed the still image of Juvia walking away from Gray, following Doranbolt and Lahar.

They had been aiming to check up on Lucy, but once the image of the couple outside the infirmary appeared, Meredy insisted they watched this interaction. They knew why she was interested in the couple and couldn't deny their own curiosity.

Watching Gray try to confess was amusing and when they finally kissed the trio smiled in delight. However, the beautiful moment was soon ruined by the two Magic Council agents.

"Why do you think they want to talk to Juvia?" Meredy wondered.

"I don't know." Jellal frowned, worried and suspicious.

"It's not really our business." Ultear pointed out, making the image disappear from the ball.

"It could be, if she's involved in something dangerous." He told her.

"You don't think she is, do you?" Meredy's eyes widened, her disbelief clear.

Jellal and Ultear shared a look before he sighed. "I've always sensed that she had a connection to Zeref."

"Me too." The time mage admitted.

"But…" Meredy didn't want to believe it. She refused to. "She can't…"

"I remember meeting her when we were members of the Council, while she was still in Phantom Lord." Ultear mused. "There was a certain...energy to her which now that I think about it is similar to Zeref's."

"I didn't feel that." Meredy said, now conflicted.

"This without mentioning the fact that her file is nearly empty." Jellal remembered. "I always thought that was the fault of the orphanage where she grew up, but it could be something else."

"Well, whatever she's hiding, we should figure it out before someone gets hurt because of it." Ultear affirmed.

----------------------

In Alvarez

"I still think that you should have killed her on Tenrou Island." Dimaria stated as the Spriggan 12 met with Emperor Spriggan to discuss the matter of Juvia Lockser.

"Why?" Irene questioned. "The girl is hardly a threat."

"You said the same about her father." Larcade observed.

"And she was right." Zeref spoke, silencing their argument. "Or are you forgetting that Daniel was the one who allowed us to dispose of the Council members that posed a threat to the Empire?"

"Yet why are we letting them live?" Larcade motioned towards the image of Doranbolt and Lahar that was shown on a screen.

"For now." The Emperor said. "But we didn't arrange this meeting to discuss them."

"No, we did not." Irene said as everyone became serious.

"We should focus on our latest mission to infiltrate Fairy Tail." Invel reminded them.

Dimaria voiced her opinion. "I still believe this is rather risky."

"I agree." Ajeel piped in. "Trusting a mere servant to gain us access to their inside information…"

"Well, if any of us went there they'd be easily suspicious." Brandish pointed out, looking bored as usual.

"Besides, we can't forget that our spy has a deep connection to one of their core members." August finally spoke.

"That is precisely why I chose them." Zeref stated with a knowing smile. "It's always easier for people to trust someone they think they know."

----------------------

Inside the castle

"Are you sure that was the right call?" Doranbolt asked while organising the files.

"I don't know." Lahar let out a defeated sigh. "But we established that she's not a threat."

"That doesn't mean we can trust her, though." The former concluded, closing the now empty drawer on the desk.

"Of course not." The latter shook his head. "We'll keep a close eye on her and if she does anything suspicious, we can arrest her."

"Don't you think it would be better to take her now instead of waiting?" Doranbolt suggested.

As expected, Lahar disagreed. "We do not have enough evidence to arrest her now."

The former sighed. "Sometimes I hate having to do things the right way."

----------------------

Outside the Mercurious

Juvia left the palace feeling uncertain and unsafe. Even though she hadn't said anything incriminating nor did her memories reveal the truth, she felt like Doranbolt and Lahar remained suspicious.

She was grateful that they had let her go, though. The thought of being arrested and sent to ERA was terrifying, even more so when everything was finally falling into place.

Thinking back to her moment with Gray, she couldn't help but to smile. He had been so sweet, trying to tell her he felt the same and then politely asking if he could kiss her.

Juvia hadn't expected him to be such a gentleman, but it was a welcome surprise. She could only imagine how he would act if they did get together. At least she hoped this would be the outcome of the conversation they were meant to have later.

What if it isn't? She stopped in her tracks, suddenly overwhelmed by fear. Strange how she was more afraid of losing him than being sent to prison.

Another terrifying thought came. What if he finds out about Alvarez? What will I tell him?

Juvia sighed as she resumed walking along the palace gardens. She really needed to start figuring out what to tell him and everyone else about the interrogation. There must be a way to dissuade them from asking too many questions she couldn't answer.

She was about to start brainstorming when suddenly she felt a familiar presence. Stopping again, she looked ahead and sure enough there was a hooded figure not far ahead.

There was a moment of silence as Juvia stared at the figure, unsure what to do. Then, they suddenly removed their hood, revealing a familiar head of blonde hair and big brown eyes. It was Lucy.

#fanfic #gruvia #fairy tail #plot twist #alvarez empire #grand magic games #infiltrate #crime sorciere #juvia lockser #gray fullbuster #doranbolt #lahar #future lucy #jellal fernandes #ultear milkovich #meredy milkovich #answers #chapter 2

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 19

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud

“I don’t think your husband likes me very much,” Salena comments, as she and Esme lounge in the shade of the back patio.

They share a pitcher of non-alcoholic sangria while watching as Chloe entertains the kids in the pool and Kyle and Tyler –chatting amicably- busy themselves at the barbecue; both shirtless and tanned and buff in their remarkably different ways, both clad in swim shorts that sit dangerously low on their hips. There’s no sign of Ovi; he’d run into town on an errand over an hour again and had yet to return.

“Don’t take it personally,” Esme says, as she stretches her legs and places her feet in the chair across from her; one hand nursing her own drink as the other holds the bottle Addie nurses from as she lays along her mother’s thighs. “He doesn’t like anyone.”

“I’d laugh, but I don’t think you’re joking.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t like people. He’s just very...I don’t know...guarded. He doesn’t trust as easily and quickly as I do. And he has his reasons. Very valid ones.”

“From his military days?”

“That and what he did afterwards. It wasn’t an easy life. For him more so than me. I wasn’t as involved as he was. I was just the ‘brain side’ of things; he was all physical. And it did a lot of damage. Mentally.”

She refuses to delve further into it. It’s not her story to tell; finding it disrespectful - not only to Tyler himself, but the struggles he’s endured and the progress he’s made- to discuss it with anyone without his knowledge.

“And physically by the looks of it,” Salena says.

Esme nods. “The last job we were on...the one that nearly killed him...it caused the most issues. It was a long haul. Months in the hospital, months in inpatient therapy. If you could see what he was like then, you’d see how far he’s come. How hard he to work to get where he is now. I’m proud of him. I don’t tell him that often enough. I should pretty get on that.”

“Well I may not know exactly what you’re talking about or what happened on this last job you worked, but he’s lucky to have you. You’re strong as hell. If you’ve managed to stick around through all of that and through all of whatever happened in Colorado...”

“I guess maybe I’m old fashioned in thinking that you don’t just walk away from things...from people...without trying to work on them first. And I know he comes across pretty intense, but he’s worth it. I wouldn’t have put all the time and the effort into it if he wasn’t. He’s a big man with an even bigger heard. You just have to give him a chance.”

“Think he’ll give me a chance?”

“It’s going to take some time. It’s just who it is. He doesn’t like people in his space. Don’t let him get to you. He’s not doing it to hurt you. He’s doing it to protect himself.”

“Men are brilliant at that, aren’t they?” Salena smirks. “Guarding themselves like that? “

“And he’s twice as bad as your average man,” Esme says. “I love him...with all that I am and all that I have...but he’s exhausting.”

The other woman laughs at that. “You know what’s exhausting? Your children. Are they always like this?”

“Always. From the time they get up in the morning. They can’t sit still. Ever. They're all energy, stamina, and fearlessness. Have you seen my son’s face? He got into a fight at school. Defending his brother. Four older kids jumped him, and he kicked their asses. All of them. AT the same time. And I’m not naming names or finger pointing but guess what parent he gets THAT from. Here’s a hint: it’s not me.”

“I don’t think they got anything from you,” Salena remarks. “Are you sure you gave birth to them? Because not one of them looks like you.”

“Right?! I told you. I wasn’t joking. They all look like him. They’re exactly like him; head to toe. Inside and out. How unfair is that? Mind you, it’s still touch and go with Tanner. Personality wise. He’s on the fence but he leans more towards me. That other ones? All Tyler.”

“Strong genes.”

“Whatever you do, do not say that to him. Because we’ll get into a conversation about it and you’ll have to hear about his dominate DNA and his super sperm and no one...and by no one, I mean me...wants to hear that.”

Salena laughs and reaches for the pitcher of sangria and fills both their glasses. Well you did get one that looks like you. That little nugget is definitely all mommy.”

“So far,” Esme agrees. “But she’s a tough little thing. She probably should still be in the hospital because of how small she was when she was born and all the problems she had, but she was not having any of it. There was no way she was staying there, and she proved all the doctors. She is a little nugget,” she leans down and presses a kiss to Addie’s forehead, then places the empty bottle on the table and lifts her to her chest. “Won’t be for long eating the way she does, mind you.”

“Speaking of eating,” Salena comments. “I see something I’d like to eat.”

Esme glances towards what has captured her friend’s attention; both Tyler and Kyle standing at the side of the barbecue, the latter talking animatedly about one of his especially daring fireman rescues and dramatically flexing his biceps.

“Okay as much as it grosses me out because he’s my brother. I’m hoping it’s Kyle you’re talking about and not my husband. Because I have to draw the line somewhere on comments I won’t allow.”

“Honey, your man is fine as hell and I was not expecting THAT when I walked over here today. Not in a million years was I expecting him to look like he does. When you said retired, I thought you meant old man retired. But I’d never disrespect you by taking things too far. I definitely was talking about your brother.”

“Ewww,” she wrinkles her nose in disgusts, then holds Addie out at arms lengths, one hand under her bum, the other supporting the back of her head. “...can you believe that, Addie? Someone finding Uncle K attractive? Uncle Shrek is more like it.”

“I know you aren't talking about me,” he comments, as he steps up onto the patio, a slight sunburn gracing his broad shoulders, ball cap backwards on his head, sunglasses on.

“You’re the only uncle here so if the shoe fits...”

“See what I put up with?” He winks at Salena. “Thirty-five years of this. Her talking shit about me like that. You think she’s all sweet and cute? Try growing up with her. Pain in the ass.”

Esme smirks. “Kyle used to undress all my Barbies and put them in compromising positions together all over my doll house. And then he’d try and convince our mom that I did it.”

He grins at the memory. “You were a twisted little thing. Even then.”

“I was five! You were eight and sneaking peeks at Mike’s porn collection he kept under his mattress. Don’t even try to deny it. Perv.”

“I was...curious...” he reasons.

“He also used to like walking around in mom’s high heels. He used to steal them out of her closet and parade around like RuPaul.”

“Why is why my calves and my ass are as fabulous as they are,” Kyle concludes. “You ladies need anything? Kids want something to drink.”

“I’m fine,” Esme says. “But Addie needs something?”

“What’s that?”

She holds the baby out to him. “You’ll smell it in about five seconds.”

“Really, bean?” he grimaces as he takes her from her mother. “How does someone so small smell so bad?”

“Because she’s a Rake and they’re all rotten inside. Big and small. Thank you, big brother. You’re a gem.”

“And you’re still a pain in the ass,” he playfully retorts, and then disappears into the house.

“Oh yeah,” Salena sighs. “I would definitely eat that.”

“Please tell me you’re not talking about my brother’s ass when you’ve only known him for two days.”

“I don’t mean eat in a literal way. Or maybe I do. Because I’d let him eat mine like a cupcake.”

“Oh my God,” Esme nearly spits her drink across the table. “That’s my brother! And I have my kinks but...ewwww....” she gags. “...even I draw the line somewhere.”

“Oh, come on! You mean you’ve never done it or had it done?”

“No. Hell no. Just....” she makes a retching noise. “...I think I’m going to puke.”

“Does he do that sort of thing?”

“I don’t know. He’s my brother. I don’t know what he does in the bedroom. I don’t even want to think about it. He did have an ex-girlfriend that was a dominatrix though.”

Salena’s eyes widen.

“He met her when there was a fire at a sex show. I do not make this stuff up. It’s the honest to God truth. He’s a fireman. He has met women in the weirdest situations.”

“Has he ever been married? Any kids?”

“No and no.”

“Single?”

“Sadly, no. But he can be. Do you want him to be? I can make it happen.”

“I do not want you breaking him and his girlfriend up just for me.”

“Oh, I don’t like her anyway. We have history. And not good history, either. I can hook you up. Want me to take one of the team? I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do what?” Tyler asks as he joins them on the patio, Declan on his hip, wrapped in an oversized beach towel.

“Nothing,” she quickly and innocently replies. “I’m doing absolutely nothing. What are you doing?”

“I’m bringing you your kid. He wants mommy.”

“Sure he does. You’re his favorite. Don’t bring him here.”

“I’m busy doing shit. Here... go see mommy...” he places Declan in her lap then places a hand on the back of her neck and a kiss to her cheek. “Do I even want to know what you two are doing?” he asks, as he grabs a disposable plastic cup from a stack on the table and pours himself some of the sangria.

“We were just talking about eating ass,” Esme replies, and he scowls. “Were your ears burning, honey? Because they should have been.”

“We do a lot of weird shit, but we don’t do THAT.”

“Salena wants Kyle to eat her ass like a cupcake.”

He nearly chokes on a mouthful of sangria.

“You never learn your lesson about walking in on girl talk,” Esme says. “You wanted to know what we were doing, now you do. Hey,” she snags him by the wrist before he can walk away. “I need you to me a favor.”

“If it involves THAT, you married the wrong guy.”

“Salena wants to feel you up. Let her touch your arm.”

“What?” he laughs. “Why?”

“She told me that she asked you earlier today and that you said no. Because you said it was disrespectful towards me letting another woman do it. Which is very sweet, and I love you very much for, by the way. So she asked me to ask you. If she could touch your arm.”

Tyler glances back and forth between the two women. “You’re kidding, right?”

“She’s curious. She’s never seen arms like that. She’s lived a sheltered life. If I didn’t know you, I’d want to touch them too. Please? Make her day. Just flex and let her feel them. I promise I won’t get mad.”

“You’re both fucked,” he declares, but relents; quickly flexing his left arm and allowing Salena’s hand to explore. Starting at the shoulder and travelling over both bicep and tricep before ending up on his forearm. “You’re lucky I love you,” he says to his wife, palms coming to rest on the arms of her chair as he leans down to kiss her; long, soft, and enough to make her toes curl.

“Do I get kissed like that too?” Salena inquires as he walks off, frowning when she gets the middle finger in response.

“That wasn’t so bad was it?!” Esme calls after him. “I love you! Just so you know!”

“I now understand why you have five kids,” Salena says. “Because if I had a body like that next me in bed every night...”

“Sorry. He’s taken. He’s all mine.”

“Lucky bitch.” Salena mutters, and then playfully digs her elbow into Esme’s side. “This must be the bonus kid.” she says, as Ovi steps through the sliding doors; giving a sheepish smile and a small wave, clutching a colorful bouquet of flowers in his other hand.

“This one is my favorite,” Esme declares. “Just don’t tell the others. Why are you all dressed up?” she asks him, studying the short-sleeved button down and his neatly pressed khaki pants. “You clean up good.”

“Just wanted to look good, I guess. These are for you,” he offers Esme the flowers. “Just because.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Ovi,” she presses a kiss to his cheek as he leans down to embrace her. “I wasn’t THAT mad at you. You didn’t have to get me flowers.”

“I know. But I wanted to.”

“I’m going to go and get a refill,” Salena announces, as she stands and grabs the nearly empty pitcher of sangria. “Seems like you two need to talk. And who knows, maybe Kyle needs some help.”

“My brother knows how to change a diaper,” Esme retorts. “No groping him in front of my kid!”

“I make no promises,” her friend laughs, and then disappears into the house.

****

Ovi slips into the chair alongside of her, greeting Declan enthusiastically as the toddler climbs off Esme’s lap and into his. He’s a favorite with all the kids; affectionate and compassionate and possessing the patience of a saint.

Smiling, she lifts the flowers to her face and inhales deeply, then leans sideways in her chair and presses a kiss to his cheek. “They’re beautiful, thank you. That’s very sweet of you. Tyler’s going to be worried you’re setting the bar too high for him.”

Ovi chuckles at that.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she insists. “You know that, right? I don’t you buying me thing to get back on my good side. You could have just come and talked to me.”

“I know. I guess I was just afraid to. After what happened the other night, I was worried I’d only make things worse. I never meant for things to come out like that; I wanted to talk to you myself. I didn’t want you finding out like that.”

“Well Chloe has a real way of making a mess of things.” Esme concludes. “I guess she told you? That I confronted her. Gave her shit?”

Ovi nods.

“She said a lot of things that were out of line. About me. About my kids. About Tyler. And you know defensive I get. Especially about him. He’s the person she should be talking shit about. Considering he’s the reason you’re even here. That he nearly died making sure you even got to see your fifteenth birthday.”

‘I know. And I told her that. That she had no right saying things about him. That he doesn’t deserve it.”

“No. He doesn’t. And you know what else he doesn’t deserve? Getting dragged back into this bullshit. He gave it up, Ovi. The job. He walked away. Not just to save himself, but to keep his family together. You know important that is to him. Having a family.”

“I do,” Ovi confirms.

“Then why couldn’t you just let him have a life? Why couldn’t you just let him rest? He deserves that. Hasn’t he done enough? Hasn’t he sacrificed enough for the job? For you?”

“I didn’t mean to drag him into it. I just thought he could help with some things. Maybe do some easy jobs from time to time. Until we could get things off the ground.”

“There is no such thing as an easy job,” she argues. “There’s always a chance that something will go wrong. That you could get hurt. Or worse. But then you went to Nik? Before you even talked to Tyler? What the hell? He’s the first person you should have went to.”

“I just wanted advice,” he attempts to explain. “About how to talk to him about it. And I figured...”

“The last person you should be going to about how to deal with Tyler is Nik. Trust me. She doesn’t even know how to deal with Tyler properly. She just knows how to take advantage of him and manipulate him. You realize that’s what she did, right? That she used his PTSD against him and all the fear he had about not being to provide for his family. She completely fucked with his head. That’s not okay, Ovi. That’s nowhere near okay. Yet you turn around and trust her before you trust him?”

“I never thought about all of that,” he admits. “And I really did only go to her for advice. And then she offered me a job and...”

“Did you really tell her that you felt you something to prove to him?”

Ovi blinks. “What?”

“She told Tyler that he’s the reason you started thinking about the job. That he made you feel as if you needed to prove to him that you were worthy of his love. That you were worthy of being treated like one of his kids.”

“I never said that. I would never say that.:

“Are you sure? Because that’s what Nik told him. That he’s the reason you wanted to do the job. That he made you feel like you had to.”

“I would never say that!” he insists. “Not everything he’s done for me. Not just in Dhaka but when he came to Mumbai to help, when he talked to my father about letting me live with you, everything in Colorado, and now here. I would never say that about him. And he’s never made me feel like that. Ever.”

“Are you bullshitting me? Because if I find out you’re lying to me and you did say all that about him...”

“I swear! On my mother’s grave. I never said anything like that. And I never will. Why would Nik tell him that?”

“Because she’s Nik,” Esme grumbles. “Because she wants to manipulate him into her helping. And it worked. You know he agreed, right? To help you. To train you?”

He nods.

Esme scoffs. “You’re going to need a bigger set of balls because he is going to hard core on you. He won’t show you any mercy. You think basic training for the military sounds tough? This will be ten times worse. And when he’s in that ‘zone’, he’s ruthless. Savage. He will break oyu. I’m not even joking. You really think you’re ready for that?”

“I guess I’ll find out.”

“Oh you’re going to find out. When he has you passing out or puking all over the place. I am telling you; you need to be prepared. You need to be ready. Because he will not go easy on you. He might even go even harder on you than anyone else. Consider yourself warmed.

Ovi sighs heavily.

“Why are you even doing this?” she asks. “Getting involved in the job? I don’t get it. I can’t even wrap my head around it. After everything that happened in Dhaka. Everything you saw. Why? Was that not traumatizing enough? Because it sure as hell was for me. And I already had firsthand experience in absolutely shit shows. But that? On the bridge? That was fucked up, Ovi. And I don’t think I’ll ever get over that.”

“You went through more than I did,” he attempts to reason. “You stayed there. With him.”

“Well someone had to because Nik sure as shit wasn’t sticking around. And this isn’t about me and what I did. This is about you wanting to do the job and me not understanding why. Is it Chloe? Did she put you up to this?”

“I swear it was not her.”

“Then what the hell? It’s not Tyler. It’s not Chloe. Is it me? Did I say something or do something because I...?”

“No!” Ovi interjects. “It’s definitely not you. You’re my mom. The only mom I’ve ever had. That I remember. It’s not you.”

“Then help me understand this,” she implores. “Because I don’t get it. I don’t get why...after everything you’ve been through and after everything that Tyler’s been through...you’d want that life.”

“I honestly don’t know,” he admits. “I just want to do it. I have to do it.”

“That makes absolutely zero sense. Ovi, you need to listen to me. Because I’m going to talk you like a mother. Actually, I am going to resort to begging you. Forget about this. The job. Don’t do this. It is not the life you want and it’s not the life I want for you. I’ve lived that life. Long before you came along. Before Tyler even came along. I have seen what happens to people. Good people that thought they could handle the job and couldn’t. And it didn’t end well. The job destroys you. Slowly. It kills you from the inside out. Until you either put a bullet in your brain or someone else does it for you.”

He nods slowly and swallows heavily, considering her brutally honest words.

“The job never lets you go,” Esme continues. “Even when you walk away. You see that. You’ve been with us for five years now. You see what it’s done to Tyler. You know the demons he battles with every minute of every day. You’ve seen him when he’s been in the darkest possible places and he’s wanted to kill himself. You’re here on the days he can’t even get out of bed. Why would you want that for yourself? I don’t want that for you. And I know Tyler doesn’t want that for you.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes back tears. “That he’s gone through all of that. That he still goes through it.”

“But you’re still going to do it, aren’t you. You’re still going to go through with this.”

He nods.

Sighing heavily, she shakes her head in disbelief, then places her elbow on the arm rest and her cheek on her palm. She glances out towards the pool where Tyler now stands at the edge; arms crossed over his chest as he looks down at Millie, who's in the midst of a rather animated tale, hands wildly moving and gesturing with nearly every word. She’s tall and lanky yet still looks so tiny alongside of him, and when stops talking she copies his stance of arms over chest, hip slightly cocked to the side. Their resemblance uncanny as they stare one another down; same color and texture of hair, same skin tone, same facial expression.

He breaks first, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. And Millie giggles when he effortlessly scoops her up off the ground with one arm, then shrieks when he tosses her into the water. The twins want in on the action and they quickly scramble for the ladders on the sides of the pool, their bare feet smacking against the deck as they rush towards him. The fun lasts for several minutes; the kids squealing and each time they’re hurled into the water, making it a competition on who can make the biggest and loudest splash. There’s a smile on Tyler’s face. A genuine smile. For a long time, he’d had to force them for the sake of the kids; the depression so powerful and profound that most days just putting one foot in front of the other was considering tremendous progress. But it’s real now; lighting up his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes. And it’s so beautiful.

“Ovi,” Esme begins, as she struggles to hold back the fold of threatening to me. “I need you to listen to what I’m about to say. And it’s going to sound super harsh and I’m sorry for that and you know that I love you like you’re one of my own.”

He nods.

“But if something happens and you fuck up and you need Tyler to come and save your ass, you better make sure he comes home. Alive. Because if he doesn’t, I will never...ever...forgive you. Do you understand me? If something happens to him and he doesn’t make it out of there and you do, I will spend the rest of my life hating you. Because that is my husband. The father of my children. The love of my life. And if he dies, I will hold you responsible and I will make sure it haunts you until you take your last breath.”

The sliding door opens and Salena and Kyle step out, chatting and laughing as if they’ve been friends forever, Salena now sporting his baseball hat. And Kyle frowns when he sees his sister’s tear stained face and her attempts at brushing away the remnants of her emotional meltdown.

He glares at Ovi. “What the hell did you do to my sister?”

“Nothing,” Esme answers for him, using the back of her hand to clean up the last of the tears. “You know how I get; how I cry for the stupidest reasons sometimes. I just had a baby three weeks ago. My hormones are still messed up.”

“You sure?” her brother asks. “Because...”

“Because what? What are you going to do, K? Beat him up? I already have one overprotective man in my life, I don’t need another. I’m fine. It’s just my emotions; all over the place.” She gives him a reassuring smile as she pushes her chair away from the table and stands up. “I’m going to go in and start bringing things out. If you want to hold onto little bean there...”

“You kidding? I’m going to hold her forever. I’m never giving this one back.”

“You might have to fight her for over that. He’s sort of attached to her. That’s his last one and he’s enjoying it all he can.”

Kyle shakes his head. “I keep telling you both. Go for the even half dozen. The procedure can be reversed and then just get it done again after the sixth.”

“Yeah, that’s a no from me, Kyle. We’ve reached our limit. Five is fine. Neither of us are OCD enough to make it an even number.”

“One more,” he encourages. “A boy.”

“You’re insane. Three boys are enough. More than enough. You want babies, you have them. Find someone that’s actually willing to have sex with you and put your spawn in them. My baby making days are over, thank you very much.”

“I’m kind of one Kyle’s side here,” Salena says. “One more wouldn’t hurt. And you guys make really cute kids, so...”

“No more babies,” Esme insists. “That’s it. We’ve reached the end of the line. And don’t even think about putting this bullshit in Tyler’s head because he comes to me and suddenly thinks another one is a good idea, I’m coming to kick both your asses.”

“Do you want some help?” Salena inquires as Esme heads for the door. “I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine. I’ll call you if I need you. You’re a guest. So just sit down and do guest stuff. Or get Kyle to flex and feel up his arm. So you can see the difference. Boy versus man. And you’re the former, Kyle. In case there was any doubt.”

“That’s harsh,” he complains. “My arms are just as big.”

“Sure,” his sister agrees. “If you put both of yours together. Then they’re as big as one of Tyler’s.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re a savage, kid. A straight savage.”

“Personally. I think your arms are just right.” Salena drawls, then gives him a wink before following her friend into the house.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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traumatized-motherfuckers · 3 years

Text

Stress-based sickness, psychosomatic disorders, and the F word. Fibromyalgia.

Read up or listen up @t-mfrs.com (podcast available wherever you stream.)

Waking up, like I didn’t sleep for weeks. Falling asleep after five minutes on my feet. A pounding head. That sense of dread. Sticky sharp pains through in my shoulders and neck. Brain short on energy, missing a few cards from the deck. Waves of nausea and stomach cramps. Chills and sweats, depending on the body amps. Swollen lymph nodes. Muscle weakness poorly bodes. Insatiable hunger but nothing sounds edible - shit, now desire to throw up is incredible. Eyes shriveling, dry, back into my skull. The aches in my legs, pulsing and dull. Foggy thoughts. Racing heart. When will this end, why did this start?

Did I finally catch the ‘rona? Or am I just past my limit for being stressed out again? Well, I just moved, so this time I know that the answer is very likely… stressed.

So who wants to talk about getting sick? Yeah, among this group, the answer might be surprising. A lot of us do.

Why? Not because we love bitching and complaining when we feel less than ideal - spoilers, that’s every day, there’s really nothing left to say about the raging shit storms inside of us after a few years of it. We’re tired of hearing about it, too… just like we’re tired of living it, feeling it, and fearing it.

No, for us, it’s because it feels like there’s always a surprising ailment right around the corner when we least expect it. One that seemingly has no logical basis or reasonable solution. One that no one else understands. One that feels like it’s born of mental illness, somehow, while being very physically present. One that we don’t even bother bringing to doctors anymore, because no one needs to be shamed and shoved out the door again by their flippant disinterest in anything we say after the words, “Yes, I have anxiety.”

Yep. If you haven’t tried to mingle mental health with western medicine before, let me give you a quick disclaimer: unless you’re missing an arm, don’t bother. In my experience, the only thing you’ll get is an eye roll, possibly a prescription bandaid that somehow makes you feel worse, and a bored recommendation to see a psychiatrist - even if you already do.

All of this, of course, has the effect of only making you feel more upset. First, mentally, as you ruminate over the disrespect of essentially being called a liar just because the doctor doesn’t have enough training. Then, physically, as your increased stress and systemic arousal pushes your body into a new level of overdrive.

Oh, was it a mindfuck just to make the doctor appointment, get yourself there, and deal with the social anxiety of a waiting room for 30-120 minutes? I bet it felt great for someone to then invalidate your health concerns, recommend you calm down, and send you out the door without even looking you in the eye. Feeling more upset, now on a highly emotional basis? Enjoy the shame, hypertension, and lost sleep, as if you needed any more of that.

Today, I want to talk about the stress-central area of my health that hasn’t been completely figured out… and the label that I - embarrassingly - just recently learned is highly applicable to my physical condition.

But also, the outrage that I feel over said label, because, well, it explains nothing. In fact, if anything, it probably does all of us a huge disservice after we’re granted this diagnosis by pushing us into the express lane for being written off. It also separates two issues that are poorly explained, rather than combining them into one full picture that might actually yield answers. Oh, and should I mention that I think this is a larger problem of gender bias in the healthcare system? Yeah, why the fuck not. Might as well air all my grievances as a nice lead-in to another upcoming episode; is mental illness diagnosis skewed by gender?

I don’t want to let my pounding head and aching shoulders deter me too much, so let’s just get started.

History of ailments

I’ve talked about this before, but to briefly cover how fucked up this body is… let’s take a trip back to 2013 when my system failed me out of the blue. And by “out of the blue,” I mean that I had chronically overworked myself running on anxiety, obligation, and starvation for 2 years, leading to physiological revolt.

So, looking back, “duh.”

But at the time? This was all-new. It was crisis-inducing and beyond comprehension that I went from a perfectly healthy, physically resilient, surprisingly strong and low maintenance specimen to a chronically pained, systemically ill, digestively impaired, and constantly exhausted sack of wallowing self-hated.

After a lifetime of zero health concerns, I found myself bedridden and obsessed with every weird thing my body was doing to me. Which, as you’ve probably guessed, came hand in hand with the new weird things my brain was doing to me.

You’ve probably heard the “What IS CPTSD?” episode by now, so I’m guessing you’re not a stranger to the details about the common emergence of complex trauma symptoms. Yes, that’s based on a lot of research, but it’s also a throwback to my own experience. I was a long time depression and anxiety lurker, first time complex trauma contributor around age 23, when my brain was suddenly uprooted by a series of new social and therapy-based traumas.

My depression became debilitating negative self-regard and stronger suicidal ideation. Suddenly, my social anxiety became agoraphobia. My new health issues became topics of obsessive and intrusive thoughts… you know, when I wasn’t ruminating about my role in every trauma, my worthlessness as a human, and my recently-unsettled childhood memories. My early twenties were a great time.

And with all the mental strain, came the unresolvable insomnia. Which fed right into the health problems. Which circled back to spark more mental duress. Health anxiety is not a fun way to live.

So, to call my illnesses psychosomatic is completely appropriate. But, also, completely insulting when a western medicine practitioner utters the phrase as if it was a turd slowly coming out the wrong end. And that’s exactly what happened every time I tried to seek help.

To be clear - back in the day I had some very easily detectable physical problems. I understand that doctors have a difficult job when it comes to interpreting the immeasurable inner experiences that their patients detail, but that wasn’t entirely the case here. When your body stops digesting food, well, there’s some evidence to prove that it’s a fact. When a 96oz medical grade laxative used for colonoscopy prep results in zero percent colon cleanse… uh… somebody isn’t doing their duty (pun intended). And boy, did my digestive system just decide that it was DONE doing its only job.

Everything I ate seemed to spark unpleasant physical responses, but moving materials through my guts and extracting nutrients wasn’t one of them. After months of garbage disposal failure, I was basically a walking sewer mixed with a compost pile. I found myself chronically starving, exhausted, puffy, distended, intestinally inflamed, and generally sickly. Your body doesn’t fare so well when it has no sustenance, it turns out.

At the same time, or maybe slightly predating my digestive protests, I started getting ill in weird ways. Things I had never experienced before started popping up, like chronic respiratory tract infections, sinus infections, and gum infections. I was having what seemed like allergic responses to something in my inner or outer environment. I was often covered in hives or my face and stomach were inflating like balloons for no apparent reason. I had near-constant pain in my continually-locked shoulders and neck. My actual skin, itself, hurt, as if I was being stretched to the brink of bursting. My lifelong migraines transformed into something new - disorienting tension migraines that came with horrifying loss-of-vision auras and feverish shakes.

Generally speaking, I was so tired all the time that I could barely get out of bed for more than a few moments before retreating back to my safe place to feel like garbage. My limbs felt like someone had tied weights to them and extracted several major muscle groups. I struggled even showering or washing my face, because both required holding my arms up higher than I was capable of enacting. I was so deliriously tired that I couldn’t see straight, think, or complete basic tasks.

On top of giving up my impressive life trajectory in the aftermath of the physical breakdown - because I was too fucking exhausted to consider the next steps I needed to take for grad school - this is also where I’ve previously mentioned my drive-aphobia coming into play. When you can’t count on your own faculties, you definitely don’t want to be behind the wheel. And suddenly, life gets very restricted.

I gave up my… anything life trajectory at that point. I went from a wildly social and focused student with a fantastic sense of humor about life and stronghold of self-determination to… Hiding indoors. Keeping isolated. Obsessing over my health. Googling the most embarrassing things late at night. Having no answers. Feeling like a crazy person. Hating myself. Fearing that this was the end. Assuming that my future was over. Guilting myself for fucking up my past. Replaying my tragic story of a rapid flight and a crash, after everything I had fought so hard to accomplish. Giving up.

This is riiiiight about where I pull most of my inspiration for talking about living in perpetual “trauma states” from. Being consistently triggered, out of control, and terrified. Having no answers and no one to even ask. Watching mental illness take over my world without the slightest clue of what was happening. And, oh, the perpetual torment of unpredictable physical breakdowns.

Everyday a new surprise. Every moment the opportunity for a shocking change in vitality. Every night a battle of my brain versus my chronic pains versus sleep.

And so it persisted, throughout 2013 and into several later years… despite the fact that I actually came up with an answer for myself that vastly improved a good part of the sickness struggle... but definitely didn’t fix it all.

Finding AN answer

I’m sure I’ve already mentioned this, too… but eventually I found some respite in my health struggles through no help from modern medicine. In fact, I helped myself thanks to familial clues when I decided to exclusion-diet my way into an answer. My grandpa had celiac’s disease long before it was trendy and I decided gluten was a logical place to start. And what do you know? That helped about 60% of my ailments.

So began years of obsessing over figuring out the gluten free life. Which, contrary to popular opinion, fucking sucks. I get that it became a trendy idea at exactly the wrong point in my life, but goddamnit, I hate the question, "Are you ACTUALLY gluten free, or is it by choice?" It is not a dietary walk in the park when essentially every item is contaminated with some form or another of secret sauce and your body is going to flip out at the slightest dusting.

I remember being so distraught over having these drastic dietary considerations to figure out on my own that I would spontaneously break down into tears in all sorts of places - the fridge, the grocery store, restaurants, social contexts when people kindly asked, “how about you choose where to eat this time.” I can’t choose! I can’t eat anything! I would privately bawl to myself. What a fun time that was.

But that was not nearly the end of it.

It turned out, yes, entirely cutting the glutens helped immensely. I also realized that sugar was not my friend. In fact, processed anything was not going to have a great outcome. But then… there was this other weird pattern that I started noticing in my life… sometimes I was pretty healthy and (relatively speaking) happy with the way things were going off-wheat. But sometimes I was just as sickly and digestively screwed when I definitely hadn’t consumed anything questionable. As if other tried and true components of my diet randomly became gluten analogs that upset me just as much.

Plus, there were some ailments that just never seemed to go away. The insomnia was a persistent problem that stretched back to being about 5 years old, but got more severe with time. The aches and pains in my neck and shoulders only worsened, no matter how many tennis balls I rolled on, yoga classes I attended, or muscle relaxers I popped. The exhaustion came and went with connections to my mental health and diet, but not directly related to bready food items. The brain fog didn’t clear up when I had a strictly regimented diet. The tension migraines never fully returned from where they came.

I was still finding myself bedridden and ready to give up on the whole idea of living on a semi-regular basis. Sometimes it was every two weeks, sometimes once a month, sometimes a few months apart. But I never knew why, how long it would last, or how to control the system-wide failures.

And if you want to know how western medicine helped me with any of these continued challenges… it didn’t. I tried to get answers for years before I finally gave up. Every doctor turned me away. Every specialist was critically uninterested. Even the Mayo Clinic neglected to listen to what I said or utilize applicable resources, after I was so sure they could solve the medical mystery of my life.

So. I stopped trying at a certain point. I resolved myself to being health anxious and perpetually confused by myself. I realized that I would never know what any day was going to bring, because my discomforts and continued sicknesses seemed to come and go with the tides.

Eventually, after years of this bullshit, it got a bit better. I buckled down with - you guessed it - strict routines designed to circumvent some of the challenges.

I realized that my diet needed to be incredibly tight, and by that, I mean “boring.” Beyond gluten, I cut out basically everything sugary, carby, and processed. I noticed that without a certain variety of physical exercise on a regimented basis, everything started slipping. I prioritized finding ways to get to sleep at night, even if it meant being rigid and assessed as “dramatic” by less slumber-impaired humans. I gave up any activities that caused neck and shoulder strain, and tried to be better about things like stretching. I also noticed that dealing with my emotions was a gateway to pain and discomfort relief, which was an uphill battle all it’s own. And, you know, eventually I learned about this Complex Trauma thing that explained a HUGE part of early to mid twenties, including a majority of the physical ailments.

But, although I began to live like an above-averagely healthy human again… I’ve still always had a few mysteries about my health.

Sure, over the course of many years I’ve figured out how to live with a semi-predictable body after long periods of never knowing what tomorrow would bring. But, unfortunately, there are still times when my system throws me a curveball. During those unanticipated spans of health failure, I’m left ruminating on a question or three that haven’t ever been answered consistently.

One of the most common inquiries is coming at you next.

Stress or sick?

So, even after all my life changes and careful modifications. All my sacrifices and seemingly over-the-top regimes. I’ve still had an ongoing health obsession that pops up from time to time when my shit starts to go downhill.

The incrementally-observed question that runs through my head on repeat… “Wait, am I communicably sick, or am I just fucking stressed out again?”

I realized a while back - maybe in my mid-late twenties - that holy hell, I sure felt like I was coming down with the flu more often than it was logical. The thing was, my symptoms only ever progressed to the point of feeling like I was still actively fighting off the sickness as it took hold. I would get the temperature dysregulation, the headache, the muscle pain, the foggy feeling, and oh boy, the exhaustion - that generally serve as your first signs of contagious trouble.

I would be too deliriously tired to get up and do anything. If I made myself go to work, it felt like wading through a dream. Half present, half falling asleep at my desk. My body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Even my head was too heavy for my neck to manage the task.

Beyond the energy void, I would genuinely start to experience pre-illness complaints, like swollen lymph nodes, congestion, and the aforementioned shivers and shakes. I would find myself incredibly hungry, as though my immune system was ramping up for a fight. I would get weak, like all my electrolytes were purged from my body. I would characterize the experience as feeling “generally under the weather” in preparation for something much larger slamming into town.

Beyond the energy void, I would genuinely start to experience pre-illness complaints, like swollen lymph nodes, congestion, and the aforementioned shivers and shakes. I would find myself incredibly hungry, as though my immune system was ramping up for a fight. I would get incredibly weak, like all my electrolytes were purged from my body. I would characterize the experience as feeling “generally under the weather” in preparation for something much larger slamming into town.

And I would respond in kind. I would retreat to bed, Nyquil and vitamin C showering over me on frequent intervals, gearing up for the systemic war of a lifetime. I would drift in and out of sleep for a day or two, fending off the weird muscle aches and sweat sessions that come with an emerging fever. Interestingly, many of my old food reactivities would rear up during this period. I would get my neti pot and vomit-bags ready for action.

And then… nothing else would happen. Assuming I chilled out and retreated to a state of forfeit when I actually treated myself with kindness and care, everything would work out. After 1-5 days of being back in my bedridden state, determined that significant contagious sickness was headed my way, it would seem to just disappear overnight. Or, clear up by about 70% overnight, to be more realistic.

It took several rounds of this pattern - I couldn’t tell you how many - before I finally realized… heyyo, my body shuts the fuck down when I’m stressed out. Every time I experienced one of these sudden falls from health, it followed (or ran in tandem with) a period of significant stress, anxiety, and/or depression. And if I let myself relax for a week, it would all be okay. If I tried to push through it because ObLiGaTiOnS, I was signing myself up for a prolonged and far more serious health failure. It happened too many times; I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Like I had postulated earlier in my adulthood - my health seemed to be drastically affected by my mental state. Particularly, my interpretations of stress, obligations, and fears.

And I can tell you, my health anxiety quieted down for a while in the aftermath of the acceptance. Call it immersion therapy. When you’ve experienced the same event over and over again, but A never leads to B, and C-alming your shit makes condition A disappear back into the ethers... well, eventually you take it for what it is and just stop panicking so much. I think I got tired of preoccupying myself with the whole dumpster fire at some point and preferred to extinguish the flames by letting them run their course.

This is where I’ve lived for the past many years now. Realizing that if I push myself too hard mentally or physically, or if I let too many stress signals infiltrate my brain… I’m about to get fucked up. My health will slip quickly. I will be reactive to essentially every food on this planet. My body will be puffy, inflamed, and painful. Not to mention, so goddamn tired all the time. But that’s it. It won’t last forever. I’m not going to die. Telling myself the opposite makes it all last a lot longer. Don’t pile stress about your stress-induced sickness onto your existing stress, and you'll be better soon.

And yet, when it’s happening, I also never know for a fact that my stress-based illness is definitely what’s going on. The result is getting trapped in a “will I or won’t I” obsessive spiral of anticipating the worst while reassuring myself that it might be nothing at all. There’s a lot of internal and external conversation about it, as people want to know if you’re sick and you want to be able to warn them that you feel like death… but also have to throw in the caveat, “Iunno, you have to realize that this happens to me all the time and it’s usually nothing, though.”

Of course, this creates the opportunity for my brain to 1) tell me I’m probably fine, quit complaining, pussy, and 2) compare myself to everyone else on the planet, who doesn’t crumble when their brain interprets times are hard. Because, of course, I have to make myself feel mentally ridiculous for feeling physically horrible. Other people are always happy to help in this regard, too. "You sure get sick a lot. I thought you had the flu last month. Wow, it always seems like something is wrong with you." Mhm, I feel the same on all accounts.

And, Fuckers, that’s why I stopped talking about it or looking for answers a long time ago. Instead, I've just relied on the most logical answer and quit worrying. I’ve done enough research on my own, not to mention all my Animal Science schooling, to know how stress responses work. They’re significant. They have the potential to disrupt your entire body through hormonal dysregulation. And they work differently - as far as we can tell - depending on the organism.

So that’s what I’ve leaned on. Acknowledgement that stress really screws with me. It zaps my energy. It fogs up my brain. It makes me overstimulated. It causes weird pains and immune system responses. It churns up my digestive problems. It also makes me feel like I’m starving but nauseous all at once. Over long periods of time, it can lead to infections. It, obviously, ruins my sleep, which reaaaaally doesn’t help with any of it.

That’s that. Pretty complicated but simple. Try not to stress yourself out and god help you, if you do. Chill for a few days and you’ll be alright, probably. No one knows why it happens. Doctors don’t care. Just watch out for yourself, because no one else deals with this shit.

Unless… they totally do.

So, that’s fibromyalgia

I guess this is where I tell you something that a lot of folks have probably already figured out. Sorry if you’ve been yelling at me through your headphones this whole time - chill, I’m getting to it.

There definitely is a term for everything I’ve described. There are millions of other people who experience it. And, yeah, doctors often still don’t believe it’s real… but the numbers and anecdotal evidence don’t lie.

Ever heard of fibromyalgia?

Of course you have. But have you ever really looked into what it meant? Because… I hadn’t.

Annnnd then a listener and I were chatting on Instagram a few weeks ago. And she mentioned... everything I just mentioned. And her diagnosis had been? Fibromyalgia.

Via DM, your fellow Fucker started telling me about being tired all the time, mysterious aches and pains that worsen with stress, IBS symptoms, improper temperature regulation, and over-exertion that leads to required days of recovery. My jaw hit the floor.

You know I hopped online and started doing more research of my own. And all of the information was confirmed and expanded upon in a way that drove my mandible straight into the basement.

Hey, you know how fibromyalgia is synonymous with “widespread pain?” Oh shit, if you dig into it, there is a lot more to learn. Here’s a (maybe, complete?) list of the currently known associated symptoms. Keep in mind, I couldn’t find a single comprehensive resource for this information. This list is compiled of information from the the peer-reviewed article I'm going to read from later, the American College of Rheumatology, the CDC, Healthline, and Medical News Today. And if it sounds like a bit of a "catch all" pile, I think you're right.

Pain and stiffness all over the body

Fatigue and tiredness

Depression and anxiety

Sleep problems

Problems with thinking, memory, and concentration, known as “fibro-fog”

Headaches, including migraines

Tingling or numbness in hands and feet

Pain in the face or jaw

Digestive problems, such as abdominal pain, bloating, constipation, and irritable bowel syndrome

Tenderness to touch or pressure affecting muscles, sometimes joints or even the skin

Irritable or overactive bladder

Pelvic pain

Trouble focusing or paying attention

Pain or a dull ache in the lower belly

Dry eyes

Sleeping for long periods of time without feeling rested (nonrestorative sleep)

Acid reflux

Restless leg syndrome

Sensitivity to cold or heat

Problems with vision

Nausea

Weight gain

Dizziness

Cold or flu-like symptoms

Skin problems

Chest symptoms

Breathing problems

Insulin resistance

Wait, wait, wait. THAT’S what fibro is? Because, I’m sorry, I have literally never heard any of that detail before… and although it gets so ambiguous that I suspect these ailments are all the conditions that just haven't been explained before by medical science... this list just described my life. All the way down to the tiniest detail of dry eyes, as I now recall chronically dumping drops into mine for those same years in my 20s. What. The. Shit.

Prior to this research, my symptomatic knowledge of fibro was essentially - pain, of the unexplained and incurable variety. No one ever once has mentioned anything else about the condition to me, or allll the ways that it correlated with my years of health trauma. Not my peers, not my doctors, and not even my amazing, well-informed therapist.

So, maybe I’m really late to the game here, but long story short, my mind was blown when I heard that there’s actually a term for this experience which I had forfeited to processing as a “unique way that my body individually destroys me” for all these years. I thought I was just uniquely uncomfortable all the time and stopped burdening others with my experiences.

Maybe that’s why I never had anyone clue me in to the diagnosis - I honestly stopped talking about the cyclical sickness a while back, after recognizing that people didn’t respond favorably to the narrative, “I just get too stressed out to function.” Shutting my mouth and writing off my experiences may have halted my potential for hearing a realistic account of living with fibromyalgia. Oh, how the trauma shame shenanigans never stop royally fucking you.

Of course, based on my own recent education, now I’m wondering if fibromyalgia applies to far more of us in the trauma community. Because if I hadn’t found reliable information on it in all my trauma and inflammatory illness research over the years… how many other people are in the same boat?

And this brings me to my next point. I really hate the term fibromyalgia.

Why I hate the term

There’s actually another explanation for why I never heard about everything that fibromyalgia describes. Uh, you’re going to hate me for this, but I didn’t think it was a “real” diagnosis.

Yep. I’m telling you with moderate guilt that for the longest time, I appraised fibro in the same way that western medicine considers all psychosomatic illnesses - not valid. And I’m unhappy with myself, too. Believe me, I feel like my least favorite kind of person... a hypocrite. But this also points to the systemic issue that undermines so many of our attempts to get help, and that makes me far more unhappy.

You see, a number of years ago, as a budding counselor with a few years of experience, my therapist friend mentioned something about fibro. Specifically, that it was a common label granted to more seriously mentally affected patients… and it wasn’t believed to be a real thing. I wish I could remember more detail on the context, but the basis of the story is, someone that I trusted - someone with many trauma patients - told me that in her experience, no one took fibromyalgia seriously. People with intense mental illnesses regularly presented with unfounded complaints of pain, and this is the term they were assigned as a result.

There was no proof of their physical discomfort. The patients tended to have myriad mental and physical health issues. They tended to be more difficult clients. Professionals had doubts about how serious the complaints were. No evidence, no respect. It was just about that simple.

To give more weight to the story, here’s one quick excerpt that is actually validating to read, from an article titled, The management of fibromyalgia from a psychosomatic perspective: an overview.

“People with FM often reported dismissive attitudes from others, such as disbelief, stigmatization, lack of acceptance by their relatives, friends, coworkers, and the healthcare system, that consider them as ‘lazy’ or ‘attention seeking’ people, with their symptoms ‘all in their head’. Such dismissiveness can have a substantial negative impact on patients, who are already distressed, and also on the degree of their pain.”

So… similar to the asshole social associates described above… for years after that, I paid no attention to fibromyalgia. When people brought it up, I nodded and moved on. I didn’t disbelieve that there would be a connection between mental illness and the onset of bodily pains after my own experiences, but the term had also been shuttled to a file in my head that sidled up next to, “seeking prescription pain meds.” This was an incorrect judgement based on incorrect, oversimplified information. But unfortunately, it left an impression.

So… similar to the assholes described above… for years after that, I paid no attention to fibromyalgia. When people brought it up, I nodded and moved on. I didn’t disbelieve that there would be a connection between mental illness and the onset of bodily pains after my own experiences, but the term had also been shuttled to a file in my head that sidled up next to, “seeking prescription pain meds.” This was an incorrect judgement based on incorrect, oversimplified information. But unfortunately, it left an impression.

It took the real life account of someone with the diagnosis to show me all the ways that my previous perception was completely incorrect. I suddenly realized how reductive and insulting the false information had been. Annnd all the ways that I could have really helped myself and a few others a lot sooner if I had just investigated the term on my own, rather than lazily falling back on someone else’s casually-expressed opinion.

So, I’m saying… fuck me. 100%. That makes me really upset with myself. But it makes me even more frustrated with the medical field.

And this is why I hate the term fibromyalgia.

It doesn’t actually explain a fucking thing… and it doesn’t seem like anyone is actually trying to.

At this point, there is no known cause for the development or persistence of the disorder. Fibromyalgia has essentially become more of a label for a grouping of symptoms that we “allow” people to assume when we don’t know what the hell might be wrong with them. I say “allow” very purposely, because it feels like our medical overlords have granted us this word as a way to pacify the uncomfortable masses - not treat them.

At this point, there is no known cause or organic mechanism for the development or persistence of the disorder. Fibromyalgia has essentially become more of a label for a grouping of symptoms that we “allow” people to assume when we don’t know what the hell might be wrong with them. I say “allow” very purposely, because it feels like our medical overlords have granted us this word as a way to pacify the uncomfortable masses - not treat them.

Millions of humans have detailed the same experiences, but science hasn’t yet come up with a way to explain them, so let’s go ahead and give them a new diagnosis that boils down to “Not sure what’s going on, but they say it’s unpleasant and it sounds a little something like widespread pain. Cool, let’s call it a day. Nah, we don’t need to educate the medical community or the public - we don’t need a single list of all the known comorbidities - because we don’t get it, ourselves. Let’s make sure we put that disclaimer right in the definition, so everyone knows it’s a controversial topic."

And implicit in saying that doctors and scientists don’t understand the term, comes a negative connotation of assumed delusion or attention-seeking complaints.

Essentially, what I’m bitching about is the tendency of researchers and practitioners to shuttle things they can’t directly measure to the back of the relevancy line. Despite all of the anecdotal evidence from fibro sufferers that corroborate the same causes, symptoms, and outcomes… we can’t see what they’re talking about and we don’t have an easy explanation, so we put this in the “fake news” stack of information - AKA psychosomatic illness.

Now, it’s also worth mentioning that fibromyalgia is deeply intertwined with trauma. Something like 2/3rds of fibro patients also have confirmed PTSD symptoms, if not higher. Exact numbers depend on which study you trust. Just know, it is a prevalent, accepted, correlation between trauma and the development of fibromyalgia. And of course, no one has determined the causative or affective relationship between the two at this point in time.

Hell, we all know that a lot of mental and physical health professionals don’t even want to acknowledge trauma at this point - or, do so with a smirk and an eyebrow raise, at best. So tethering the two poorly-comprehended disorders together? Oh boy, it’s a sure-fire way to ensure that no one listens to a word you say after honestly answering their background information questions. Might as well throw down your wallet and walk yourself right out of the office at that point.

The medical field’s lack of trauma education is a big problem. Making “psychosomatic” a dirty word isn’t helping millions of folks out there. Being invalidated by the people who could possibly help you is another mental health crisis waiting to happen. And all of this is infuriating to me, following my own experiences and thinking about other people’s.

Should we take this one outrage step further? Sure.

You know that a vast majority of fibromyalgia sufferers are… women. Sorry, about to get a tad feminist. Is anyone here surprised that primarily female voices tend to be written off by medical professionals? Ha, ha, ha. No, probably not.

For all of human history, the ladies have been getting the shit end of the stick when it comes to medical care. We all know that women were given amazing explanations for their ailments, such as having “hysterics” or "the vapors" not so long ago.

Furthermore, there is research showing that doctors do not take women’s accounts of pain severity seriously, in particular. Even fellow female doctors and nurses are given different treatment by staff when they go to the ER, versus male counterparts. And if you’re a minority or socioeconomically challenged woman? The data says you might as well take two aspirin and see what happens the next morning, because the medical attention research is even worse for those demographics. Huge surprise.

So, pulling this all together: Considering that the majority of us who receive complex trauma diagnoses are women… considering that implicit in this label, comes the increased likelihood that we’re not economically well-to-do and belong to minority groups one way or another… how do you figure we’ve ever had a chance of receiving real help for our unmeasurable physical conditions?

So, pulling this all together: Considering that the majority of us who receive complex trauma diagnoses are women… considering that implicit in this label, comes the increased likelihood that we’re not economically well-to-do and belong to minority groups… how do you figure we’ve ever had a chance of receiving real help for our unmeasurable physical conditions?

Yeah, we haven’t.

We’ve been given a term - complete with a wink and a nudge - that no one wants to meaningfully research or prioritize understanding. We’ve received a new phrase that doctors will “generously grant us” when we’re drowning in unexplained symptoms and pain. We’re then labeled with a word that essentially amounts to “disregard and humor” for all our future appointments. On top of it all, we’re carrying the burden of traumatic histories, which immediately qualify us for misunderstood diagnoses that more or less equate “ghosts in their blood” - because, hell, we can’t quantify mental illness, either.

The whole ordeal makes me really upset. The fact that I was inadvertently pulled into this biased disbelief makes me more upset. It also serves as quite a demonstration of how powerful or deleterious knowledge can be after it worms its way into your head involuntarily and becomes your only “go-to” piece of data, true or false.

One seemingly-trustworthy person mentioning a negative opinion of fibromyalgia one time in my past somehow infiltrated my thoughts to the extent that I didn’t have a second thought for 5 years? And we're talking about a goddamn trauma researcher - with, what I consider - an otherwise open and connection-happy mind?

The power of assumed authority and truth in opinion is significant. If I can be swayed in this way, how could less mental health informed medical professionals stand a chance in responding differently? That’s frightening and clarifying… though immensely upsetting.

So, since biomedicine hasn’t bothered to find any great information for us, despite the rapidly increasing rate of fibromyalgia diagnoses in the past two decades - how can we make sense of the information to actually help ourselves?

Let’s talk about that next.

What we can conclude

So it kindof blows finding out that you probably qualify for a new medical term… only to find out that we don’t actually know anything about said term. I say this, because if you’re waiting for me to pop off with some sweet research on fibromyalgia… uh… I haven’t found it yet. But not for lack of trying. So far every article I’ve seen has been pretty basic and uninspired.

Does fibromyalgia correspond with trauma? It does. Does stress mediate and moderate fibromyalgia, PTSD symptoms, GI problems, and depression? It does. Does it take a long time and numerous appointments to receive medical help for fibromyalgia complaints? It does. Does the comorbidity of post-traumatic symptoms make fibro more uncomfortable and challenging to overcome? What do you know - it fucking does.

(Wow. So enlightening. Having two debilitating disorders is less fun than having one. Who’s funding these research studies, anyways?)

The first thing I can conclude is, there’s not that much to conclude. This is to say, no one - that I’ve seen, so far - has revealed anything super shocking or thought-provoking about fibromyalgia.

Really, the most interesting things I learned from my reading are that

1) insulin resistance is another associated disorder, which explains even more of my baffling life

2) sex hormones are leached from your system under stress, which, refer to point number one... explains another huge chunk of my existence, and

3) the recommendations for treating fibro long term are the same recommendations I’ve given for getting your trauma life re-ordered.

You know how I always push for people to find out what’s manageable on their own through trial and error, rather than approaching trauma recovery with preventable fires burning in every area? Hey - someone agrees.

Namely, it's recommended that in order to manage fibromyalgia you establish routines including strictly nutrition-based eating habits, non-threatening forms of consistent exercising, prioritizing tons of sleep, and controlling your environment as much as possible for stressful stimuli. Doctors can also supplement your rehab with antidepressants, because, again, fibromyalgia is related to the same underlying hormonal imbalances as depression - but the larger health issues are managed best by changing your behaviors. Just like I’ve said.

I suppose this is no surprise, since this entire time I’ve unknowingly been talking, in large part, about how I’ve controlled my own fibromyalgia symptoms. I just thought it was mandatory trauma pains I was dampening. But the word is out! There's a separate phrase for it. The doctors and I agree; stop treating yourself like a turd, and maybe you’ll stop feeling like one. Whatdoyouknow. Sometimes there are reasons for the things I notice experientially, even if they aren’t originally informed by medical lingo.

Secondly, looking at what we can conclude at this point about fibro… Well, it justifies my previous hypothesis that stress is the root of my body’s evil. There’s not much to definitively say about fibromyalgia at this point, but we know for a fact that it is agitated and potentially caused by stress.

This perfectly aligns with my observations that a terrible work week mixed with a personally challenging month on top of a physically exhausting cleaning marathon will lead to a systemic breakdown every time. And, conversely, those times when life has actually been pretty chill correspond to periods of bodily health and limited upset - the times when I wonder “was I ever really sick at all?” and start to health gaslight my damn self.

Realizing the link between stress and sickness, of course, also begins to explain the correlation to trauma, and particularly, complex trauma.

Now, let me start by saying that there’s some debate over the downstream effects of PTSD - some researchers swear that it decreases system arousal in the face of later stress, others have collected data reflecting that a nervous system hyper-sensitization takes place. From my own trauma involvement, I’ve seen and heard more cases of the latter; we’re quick to upset and easily pushed into stressed territory. I don’t know many, if any, trauma folks who are non-responsive to disturbing life events... but that sounds more like a deep, dangerous, clinical depression symptom to me.

Personally, once I’ve been chronically stressed for a few weeks or months, then I notice the loss of stress response take over. My limbic system gives up, the HPA axis stops responding, and therefore nothing can rattle me. Perhaps you’ve also had the experience of laughing when your car breaks down, because it’s already been 3 months of disaster around every turn and there’s nothing else you can do for yourself. So, sure, people can reach a point where they legitimately don’t respond to the chaos anymore, but I’m not so sure that’s a consistent norm. I think it’s more likely that you turn off your stress reactions if you’ve been adequately prepped to dissociate for the sake of sanity or your chemical balance is so wack that your danger center has powered down.

I can tell you without a doubt that before the point when my stress threshold has been raised sky-high thanks to repeat exposures and wiring disconnections... I’m a rapid-responder when anxiety comes calling. Stimulus - rapid survival reaction - no space in between being startled and shaking from head to toe. And this is the case for basically every Motherfucker I know. I’m no expert, but I think we tend to fall more into the hypervigilant camp surrounding this podcast, rather than the laxadonical one. Always on the lookout, always ready, often bowled over by our own responses.

I’m a rapid-responder when anxiety comes calling. Stimulus - rapid survival reaction - no space in between being startled and shaking from head to toe. And this is the case for every Motherfucker I know. I’m no expert, but I think we tend to fall more into the hypervigilant camp surrounding this podcast, rather than the laxadonical one. Always on the lookout, always ready, often bowled over by our own responses

This nervous system sensitization, as they call it, explains a lot of trauma symptoms. I’ve regularly discussed the hypersensitivity problem it creates, when your brain doesn’t adequately filter out or assess neutral stimuli because it considers basically everything to be a threat. This can also contribute to the ADD and ADHD diagnoses that we receive, when our heads are too busy trying to sort all that data streaming in to direct our thoughts in a steady way. Or, the ways that we’re uniquely thrown immediately into panic mode when we sense a risk. Plus, we’ve probably all had the experience of tiny, secret triggers sneakily upsetting our bodies when the stimulation wasn’t even significant enough to pass through our cognitive recognition centers. These are all caused by the same systemic over-sensitization problem.

In general: yes, we trauma folk are sensitive to our environments - inner and outer. We are easily pushed down survival pathways to fight/flight/freeze/fawn responses. We rapidly catastrophize ambiguous information, which can convince our brains and bodies that the worst has already happened. We’re hyperaware and easily overstimulated, often agitated, and regularly on edge.

I maintain, in the face of controversial evidence, that we get stressed out easily. And our bodies react dramatically.

I feel like I should also state that this is especially true, as most of us have read, when we have unresolved emotional strain floating around in our meat jackets. We can be overstimulated and aroused (in a bad way) from the inside, out. Since the majority of us are not skilled in emotional recognition or resolution, we’re often walking around with a lifetime of hard feelings stored in our guts. And there’s been roughly zero doubt in my head about emotional and environmental stress contributing to dissociation, contributing to a vagal nerve shutdown as a big part of the digestive failure that characterizes fibromyalgia, IBS, Crohns, and so many autoimmune disorders.

On top of the unresolved emotional root of stress, this pings another episode that I've previously released. The one about being overly restrictive in your diet and exercise for the sake of appearance perfectionism. If you physically exert yourself too strongly through caloric deprivation or extreme work outs, you can easily stress your body into a survival response. It can't tell the difference between starvation for bikini season and starvation for lack of food. Running your ass off for your upcoming wedding or running your ass off for your upcoming bear attack. Your danger sensing center is sensitive and it overreacts, much like myself.

Now, considering that all these examples of central nervous system sensitization and physiological survival states that go hand in hand with Complex Trauma and Fibromyalgia, so many weird health mysteries are potentially resolved. But, not exactly the pain component. Or, is it.

Again, the authors out of Italy and Brazil who penned, The management of fibromyalgia from a psychosomatic perspective: an overview, have a potential way to think about that. They state:

“Even if the causes and pathophysiology of FM are not completely known, widespread chronic pain could be explained by a vulnerability due to a perturbation in the central processing of sensory information, named ‘central sensitivity’ or ‘central sensitization’, that amplifies the response of the central nervous system to a peripheral input. Hence, people with FM and/or other central sensitivity syndromes have a lower threshold for interpreting sensory information as noxious. Several factors, such as genetic predisposition, deficiencies in neurotransmitter levels, biochemical changes in the body, endocrine dysfunction, mood states, anxiety, sociocultural environment, psychological trauma and past experiences in general, expectancy beliefs, and catastrophization have been proposed as explanatory mechanisms of patients’ subjective experience of central sensitivity. Current research indicates that abnormal sensory and pain processing is a key factor in the pathophysiology of FM. There is robust evidence that abnormalities in central pain processing, rather than damage or inflammation of peripheral structures, play an important role in the development and maintenance of chronic pain in patients with FM.”

Interesting, huh? I still think inflammatory responses are a big part of the 1000 piece stress puzzle, but I don’t disagree with the idea that our finely-tuned danger detection systems amplify pain and discomfort signals to deafening levels. Putting all the system data together, you can deduce a fairly complete picture of how strain, physical degradation, and pain are all related.

Finally, I have confirmation that being overly stimulated causes everything from my energy drain to my dietary responses, migraines, and autoimmune attacks... all the way down to my temperature sensitivity, random presentation of allergic reactions, and even that occasional sharp pain in my jaw… not to mention all my life-altering functional problems, like being unable to sleep at night, existing with debilitating pain, and living while feeling sedated?

All of my strange health complaints from the past decade have aligned with this new label. And that label corresponds perfectly with my inkling that running on cortisol and overzealous guardsmen have been the major source of my health anxiety sauce. Welp, it’s been validating research for all of my educated guesses, to say the least.

Long story short, there’s not a ton of helpful information about the reasons for developing fibromyalgia or what makes it get worse. But there’s one thing we do know for a fact; stress is the enemy. At least I think it’s comforting to conclude that stress is the root of many of our C-PTSD complaints, as well as depression, anxiety, insomnia, obsessive thoughts, and now… a whole list of common maladies, labeled fibromyalgia.

Whether or not it’s really understood, at least there is a connection between everything. At least there’s something that ties ALL the random, disjointed pieces of torture together. I’m guessing that for many of us, fibromyalgia is similar to complex trauma, again, in that regard.

And, lastly, I can conclude that… I have more questions

More questions than answers

Here’s one last excerpt from the aforementioned article, which is the only one I found that’s worth hearing from.

They state: “FM is labelled, often with a negative connotation, as a ‘functional somatic syndrome’, part of a ‘somatization disorder’, ‘fashionable diagnosis’, ‘idiopathic pain disorder’, ‘non-disease’, ‘psychosomatic syndrome’, dismissing the true suffering of the patients. In the absence of a univocal identified biological cause, subjective reports of symptoms by the patients are often viewed derogatorily and discredited as ‘psychogenic.’”

Like I said, there isn’t a lot of helpful information out there if you’re looking to learn more about this controversial condition. Unfortunately, it has been categorized as a “functional somatic disorder” which essentially means that we don’t have an explanation for the organic basis of the disorder.

Uh, I don’t know what could be more organic than the endogenous hormones in our own bodies creating downstream health effects, but hey, I’m not a biologist anymore, what do I know?

The fact remains - there’s a lot more to understand about the assorted mechanisms that lead from trauma into depression, generalized stress disorder, and physical manifestations of a biochemical system that’s running off-balance. And this is where I have the biggest questions.

First, I have to get this out of the way. I’m wondering about the known gender split in fibro. The numbers are horrendously skewed towards women as the primary sufferers, and that’s not helping the medical legitimacy case. So, what are the chances that men just don’t have fibromyalgia at the same rate as women? Either they don’t get stressed to the same magnitude or their bodies respond completely differently? It’s possible. OR. Is it something else?

It seems to me like this follows another similar mystery - what are the chances that men just don’t suffer from Complex Trauma at the same rate as women? Pretty poor? Probably more of a diagnostic or seeking-help issue? Yeah, I think so, too. Yet, if you look strictly at the numbers, it sure seems like there are more women hearing about C-PTSD than men.

This analogous labeling issue between the genders makes me think of a few explanations…

1) Men don’t seek help for their physical ailments the way that women do, either because they’re less in tune with their bodies or because they’re shamed for not being tough enough if they complain. Just like C-PTSD.

2) Men don’t hear about fibromyalgia, because it is an engendered diagnosis reserved for dramatic women at this point. Just like C-PTSD. They receive other partial diagnoses, like IBS, that are less controversial. This leads me into a whole spiraling rant about several genital-dependent psychological diagnoses that I feel similarly about, but one of them is…

3) Men don’t receive the same level of fibromyalgia labels as women because men don’t often receive Complex-PTSD labels, which would serve as a hint to their doctors, since trauma is a well-known predisposing factor…

This brings me to the next set of questions.

It’s unpopular opinion time, but, frankly, I don’t know that any of these trauma and fibro issues are really that separate.

It seems to me like we’re talking a lot about one particular problem that splinters off into a thousand different outcomes, depending on the circumstances, the biology, and the human in question. Not separate conditions.

First comes the trauma, then comes the presentation of downstream physical and mental symptoms. Presentation, magnitude, and personal recognition of these symptoms varies, just like severity of Complex Trauma does. But under both conditions, our experiences are often so similar - the hard part is that we struggle to describe them and often lean on abstract language which can be used in such diverse ways. We focus on different problems, depending on our own life impacts.

So, maybe we notice and report internal events differently, but it’s hard for me to believe that the two disorders aren’t more than corresponding diagnoses - and are, in fact, one and the same.

I could be very wrong, but I’d sure like to find out.

So, to the small percentage of fibromyalgia sufferers who don’t have trauma… you sure? To the depressed and anxious folks who can’t seem to get a grip on their physical health, but never saw their life as traumatic… want to take another look? To all the traumatized folks with Raynauds, food allergies, hypertension, ADD, aches, and migraines… have you really looked into the full definition of fibromyalgia?

ARE these conditions of trauma and fibromyalgia different? Or is this another complication in identifying unseeable symptoms in a population of folks who never learned to name their mental and physical experiences? Is this an artifact from a group who tends to underestimate and under-report their own experiences in light of unhealthy others’ core beliefs? How prevalent is fibromyalgia, really? Especially in the context of Trauma?

Is it possible that everything boils down to one underlying event - trauma - that produces a whole host of other biological adaptations down the line? Did we create a separate term for it, simply based on a lack of standardization?

Or is this an exclusionary problem?

Have all the various ways we’ve learned to categorize and describe our experiences actually separated one full disorder into two half-disorders; one that encompasses the brain and another that covers the body? Is it our societal misunderstanding of the connection between our perceptions and our meaty husks, forcing us to separate the issues of mental and physical health that would be better understood together, as one?

I’m not sure! But I’m definitely thinking a lot about it.

Partially, from personal bias. I always considered my physical issues to be part of my trauma life, not separate from it - and that explanation made perfect sense to me. Where do these disorders really split? Maybe it’s possible to have Complex PTSD without the physical symptoms, but that's really not what I hear from people. The most of us have at least some periods of physical ailments, even if they're not persistent. To me, it seems like a distinction that should be made within the trauma diagnosis - with or without physical wellness degradation - rather than piling a separate, largely-ineffective diagnosis on the vast majority of us who have some variety of said bodily ailments.

I feel like the real issue isn’t “what is fibromyalgia?” The actual problem is a lack of biological understanding in the Psychology field. And a mirrored failure to understand Psychology in the medical field. Then, throw in a reluctance to study the conglomerate of bio-physiology and mental health issues in the scientific research literature because both experiences are difficult to measure or confirm and the studies would be less elegant.

If more psychologists actually learned system biology and more medical practitioners actually studied abnormal psychology, maybe we wouldn’t have disparate diagnoses that each come with a half-recognition. Maybe we could have one term that encompassed the full experience of trauma. Maybe these professionals could confirm all the details that we don’t understand by working with a more comprehensive approach to how humans work as a whole, rather than organ by organ. Just a fucking thought.

Because, I can tell you, if my therapist friend had the same biological education that I did at the time, I guarantee that she wouldn’t have told me fibromyalgia was a “pseudo diagnosis.” If she had knowledge of the connection between stress hormones and bodily breakdown, plus the trauma physiology that determines our sensitivity to stress - there’s no way she would have been so flippant or insensitive with her words. But under the influence of her counseling peers, the diagnosis became a fallacy.

I think this highlights the danger of the problem at hand. It only took one industry-determined void of knowledge to pass along an unfair opinion that skewed at least my perception for years down the line. And, think about it, how many times has one innocently-baseless comment in the psychology or medical fields probably created a lifetime of bias in an up-and-coming professional?

Maybe this is why we have the self-perpetuating negative connotation of psychosomatic illness in our society that seems to crawl its way towards improvement, while every other disorder makes significant strides. A lack of personal understanding of the biology-psychology connection is easily turned into a respected opinion, and readily transmitted to unknowing people who are eager to learn from their wise mentors. And so, the next generation inherits the same set of half-baked progress-stunting ideas. Over and over and over.

Depressing! And enlightening.

And that’s roughly where I stand today, after days of fibromyalgia research and very few satisfactory answers. Depressed and enlightened.

More or less, asking myself more questions about the legitimacy of our entire mental and physical healthcare system and all the lines we draw in the sand. Confident that trauma leads to increased stress leads to increased brain and body trauma. Somewhat happy to know that I’m actually not the only one who consistently apologizes for feeling like shit and questions if it’s “valid” or not because it seems connected to my brain. But also, pretty pissed off that we’ve been given a word that comes with no explanations and a hellofalot of medical field judgement, as if we needed more of that.

Oh, one more factoid to throw into the end of this conversation. There’s a link between low socioeconomic status and fibromyalgia.

Hey, the same link exists between socioeconomic status and complex trauma. Hey, it’s another predisposing factor for post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms’ emergence. Hey, big surprise, if you have a stable and predictable physical and financial environment, you’re less likely to develop the terror-based conditions brought on by earlier trauma.

If you have financial resources, you’re also less likely to be chronically stressed by the demands of life. You’re probably also more likely to receive respectable medical care. Therefore, meaning that you’re both less likely to have enough perturbation to develop over-sensitive nervous system responses and less likely to be dismissed by doctors with a label they don’t believe exists. Plus, probably more likely to have access to mental health care that could prevent the onset of Complex Trauma presentation, and likely fibromyalgia, altogether.

Oh, look, logic explains so many things. Or, fuckit, let’s just choose to believe that poor people are lazy and always want to complain about something, whether it’s in their heads or their bodies. Whatever the rich white men say.

Big issues to think about.

Like I state way too often on this show, it’s the small things in this trauma life that bring you comfort. And monumental societal failures that make you scream. (Okay, I just added that last part today.)

Wrap it

Okay, let me get out of here before I question more beliefs that are way out of my paygrade. Sorry, medical and psychological practitioners. I know that I’m just a critical observer who, like that kid everyone hates in class, perpetually asks too many questions.

At the bottom of all my complaints, I just wish that we could come up with a way to characterize these disorders that actually helped people understand what was happening. If you know how your body is reacting to what stimuli and how the symptoms are all related, that's a lot more powerful than throwing assorted barely-defined titles at them.

If we can't definitively say that fibromyalgia and trauma symptoms are one and the same, fine. Let there be a distinction. But I think it would be preferable to call fibro something more telling and true to the accepted cause. Call it semantics, but something like Stress Affective Syndrome would be more useful than the made-up word of fibromyalgia. Please, anyone feel free to come up with a better phrase, because I just made "Stress Affective Syndrome" up so I could say "I've got SAS." It already fits the bill.

I guess I’m just up in arms that I’ve tried to find answers for my brain and body health all these years, and turned up completely empty handed until random connections have eventually given me the information I’ve needed after a decade of effort. Maybe if I had my complex trauma diagnosis before I had my health complaints, someone would have mentioned fibromyalgia. Maybe, they would have knowingly smirked and sent me to a psychiatrist. Hard to say.

Even if I had gotten that information about fibro, would it have helped separate from the C-PTSD diagnosis? Honestly, probably not. I would have just been harder on myself for suddenly being too weak in the face of stress. And after reading that medical professionals doubt the validity of fibromyalgia, in the first place? Well that would have been a whole other source of disbelief, anger, and negative self-regard. Maybe a whole new crisis, once my inner critic got a chance to hammer away at my head.

I suppose that figuring out the patterns of my strange bodily conditions actually needed to happen organically for this Fucker, because any semi-questioned diagnosis would have just been more fuel for my trauma fire at that point when I so thoroughly despised myself. Confirming to myself, for a fact, that stress fucks me up may have been a prerequisite for accepting that I might be “one of those fibro people.” You know, the ones who lie about their symptoms. Ha.

And, again, this says a lot about the potential damage that poorly-described labels can do to people… just as much as it says about my own reluctance to be considered a weak-minded over-reactor by outsiders.

All of this being said, I’m so grateful for finally finding out exactly what all fibromyalgia actually entails. It took too long, but honestly, the information came at the perfect time. Two days after I got it, I was stress-sick. Ahhh, it's fibro time. How’s that for irony?

As always, I do think there is some empowerment in the basic root understanding that you aren’t the only one who’s dealt with any of this. The mysterious illnesses, the pain, or the lack of care from modern medicine aren’t individual experiences. Hey, you might even be relieved to know that someone else on this planet routinely asks herself, “Do I have cancer for real this time, or am I just overworked again?”

After years of nobody I spoke to having a tale that even mildly resembled my autoimmune breakdown, finding anybody who related to my issues was extremely relieving. Not only was it a common experience, but it meant that I hadn’t somehow brought the discomfort on myself - through mental illness, physical shenanigans, or plain old weakness - the ways that I feared.

Furthermore, it proved that I hadn’t imagined it all. Because believe it or not, you’re surprisingly willing to throw yourself under the bus after all the pain has passed. I’ve spent the past decade telling people, “I think I have the glutens, as I call it... but I don’t really know though, it’s never been explained, sometimes other things bother me, and sometimes it’s really not a big deal, I don't know what it is” as an almost-apology. A disclaimer that I, too, doubt my own memories and conclusions because they weren’t properly validated by who I considered authority figures.

Hearing that other people had digestive disorders and autoimmune disasters in the wake of Complex Trauma, via the book The Body Keeps The Score, shocked me into self-acceptance of my prior experiences. Hearing that all of it can be encapsulated by this term fibromyalgia a few days ago - well, shit. This is a more mainstream occurrence than I ever previously thought.

And you know what? It does matter to me that I’m not the only one who falls apart when my brain gets overwhelmed. Even if it doesn’t fix anything. Even if my own postulations for how fibromyalgia is born from trauma feel more applicable than the scientifically proven ones. Even if I don’t believe the term deserves to stand alone as a medical label without further delineation - especially of the connection to and overlap with trauma. Even if I think… it might be inseparable.

And you know what? It does matter to me that I’m not the only one who falls apart when my brain gets overwhelmed. Even if it doesn’t fix anything. Even if my own postulations for how fibromyalgia is born from trauma are more enlightening than the scientifically proven ones. Even if I don’t believe the term deserves to stand alone as a medical label without further delineation - especially of the connection to and overlap with trauma. Even if I think… it might be inseparable.

Now I know. When I feel a physical breakdown coming on, with the suspected cause being stress… I don’t have to apologize for it. I don’t need to tell people that I just can’t handle the pressure with unfettered shame for my own biochemistry. I can rest assured that what I’m going through is common - far more common than we know - and completely valid. Even if there are people ready to tell you that it's not.

But, to be honest, I still probably won’t tell anyone that it’s called fibromyalgia. I’m not proud to say, I wouldn’t want them to think I’m just being dramatic.

UGH.

#cptsd #healcptsd #actually CPTSD #just cptsd things #traumabrain #Complex Trauma #trauma recovery #complextrauma #complexptsd

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starstruck-xavier · 4 years

Text

Signs

TW for suicide attempt but this is my first @badthingshappenbingo fic! so i’ll probably have the summary etc under the cut because it’s very angsty

ao3 || wattpad || bthb masterpost || fanfic masterpost || main masterpost

words: 1585 ships: platonic anxceit, extremely subtle queerplatonic moxiety fandom: sanders sides prompt: suicide attempt

summary: It seems like every time Virgil's planned out a final attempt, it's been foiled by other plans that distract him from his initial intentions. It's this time, however, that he finds out how.

X = finished, O = planned/wip i might take requests? i don’t know yet, i’ll definitely announce when i am hdghfdf stay safe out there everyone <3

The exhilaration that washes calmly over Virgil as he gazes at the pills in his hand could almost be interpreted as fear, but he tries to morph it into a type of excitement or relief. Of course, he’d much rather live a happy life that’s not muddled with mental health issues and he can feel his heart beating out of his chest as if his fight-or-flight reflexes are about to kick in and have him give up on this attempt entirely, but this is what he’s been planning for some time. He’s actually made it, he can’t just bail this time.

Each of the planned attempts he’s made in the past have always been unintentionally interrupted by his friends (or maybe they were intentional, a small voice in the back of his head suggests, but he highly doubts it). A few months ago he was on the rooftop when Logan came out too, saying he wanted to study the sky as it was a clear night, and he stayed with him as they both stargazed together. A while before that he ran into Patton on his way to the bridge downtown and they ended up getting coffee together before walking back to campus. Perhaps it was a year ago by now when he was going about trying to take apart a disposable shaving razor when the twins decided to invite him to see a movie and then play video games back at the dorm. It was a nice movie. Virgil remembers poking harmless fun at Roman for crying during the emotional parts, how Roman then returned the teasing when Virgil sneezed at the sudden sunlight upon exiting the cinema. He remembers the taste of salt and toffee dissolving in his mouth. The sound of the brothers arguing over a Smash tournament as he very easily beat them both in each game they played. The smell of Belgian chocolate at the quaint cafe that Patton took him to. The sight of Logan’s relaxed smile and the reflection of the stars in his glasses. The feeling of contentment every time someone made him forget about what he was about to do.

The feeling of blood trickling down his arm and bruises on his collarbones. The sight of his teary face in the mirror as he tries countless times to pull it together. The smell of his room during a depressive episode when he can’t even begin to try cleaning up. The sound of his muffled, hitched breaths at night when he suffers through panic attacks alone. The taste of nothing but chewing gum and metal.

Where there’s good, there’s more bad, and Virgil will never understand the optimism in some of his friends. They all have their passions, the things that will always make them smile, the will to push through the hard times like it’s as simple as swimming through water. But while they all swim expertly through clear water, Virgil struggles through a thick bog with no swimming abilities at all.

The idea of death has always frightened him, but perhaps it’s time to face that fear head on.

The knocking at the bathroom door doesn’t even phase him this time around. He’s aware that he’s crying but ignores his core impulses as he raises his hand to his parted lips, tastes the bitter capsules in his hand, about to swallow maybe six or seven of them. But then, suddenly, his movements falter and his body shudders all over, because of course his anxiety would stop him from doing this, and whoever’s on the other side of the door finally manages to unlock it from the outside and break in to see the sorry sight.

“Virgil!” The shout sounds all too familiar. Janus rushes over and immediately takes hold of the wrist connected to the hand that’s clamped over Virgil’s mouth; the fear on his friend’s face counters any coolness that he usually exhibits, looking shocked, almost guilty. “Virgil, spit out whatever’s in your mouth.”

How did he know? For a moment Virgil’s clueless, but then remembers just how perceptive and observant Janus secretly is. One of his courses is about psychology, he’d know if someone’s showing concerning signs. Brief memories of brightly coloured posters in doctors’ offices flash through his mind about signs that someone may be about to commit suicide: a sudden change in appearance (Virgil had told Roman he was thinking of growing out his hair, but really he was too nervous and unmotivated to visit the hairdressers), becoming withdrawn or detached (Patton gave Virgil a hug one time that he doesn’t quite remember feeling; he felt like he was watching his body from across the room), prolonged sadness or mood swings (he still feels guilty about reacting with annoyance when Logan pointed out that he seems a little more melancholy lately). Janus would know these things. Those posters are probably all over the psychology textbooks, he’s probably read that list of signs a hundred times.

Apparently he’s taking too long to react, because Janus taps him lightly on the cheek with his other hand. "Don’t act like I can’t tell what you’ve got in there.” He tugs at Virgil’s arm gently, his voice strict and serious sounding while his movements are delicate, not violent or made out of anger like Virgil had expected. "I’m not leaving you until I know you’re okay. Spit it into the sink.”

Fresh tears well up in his eyes as he removes his hand from his mouth and spits the pills into the porcelain bowl. His plans are all over. Again.

"That’s better.” Janus’ voice immediately softens, although still maintaining a serious and concerned tone as his eyes stay fixated on Virgil’s face. "Much better. Is there anything else you’ve done?”

Virgil shakes his head and inhales sharply as his brain finally catches up, he’s failed yet again but this time it’s different because he’s been caught, caught by the psychology student of all people, and now he’s going to tell everyone else - a string of breathy sobs steal the rest of the air from his lungs. "I’m sorry—“

"No, none of that. No apologising.” Removing his grip on Virgil’s wrist, Janus instead moves to hold his hand comfortingly. "Do you think you can talk to me about this? I'm not going to pressure you, but I will ensure that you talk to somebody, at least.”

"Don’t you— don’t you have a class soon?” Virgil uses his free hand to rub the tears from his face, but the action doesn’t really do much as the old tear tracks are quickly replaced with new ones. This is the first time in months that he’s let himself cry uncontrollably like this in front of someone else; his cheeks feel warm with embarrassment.

Janus notices this and raises one eyebrow, his expression appearing almost hurt. "You think I'm going to prioritise a class over a close friend of mine who just tried to kill himself? That I've found you trying to swallow the pill bottle and now I'm just going to leave you alone?” There’s a beat of silence as Janus examines Virgil’s face, seemingly finding something amongst the chapped lips and avoidant eyes that proves, perhaps, deep down, Virgil really did expect for him to leave for a class in which he could easily ask for notes from someone who’ll actually show up. His voice drops, almost to a whisper. "Really?”

Virgil’s throat feels scratchy and dry as his breath hitches again. "I…”

Memories start to flood his mind again, but these are different. The side glances that Janus would give him that Virgil passed off as nothing - people look at things and other people all the time, right? The hushed whispers to their other roommates, him telling Logan that tonight’s a great opportunity to stargaze, telling Patton that there’s a new cafe in town that sells amazing Belgian chocolate with its drinks, telling Roman and Remus that he thinks they’d love the new film coming to the local cinema. He probably also suggested to them, when Virgil wasn’t there, that they should take their reclusive friend too. That he deserves a sweet treat. That he’d love to know about the upcoming meteor shower.

And now that Virgil thinks about all those events, when plans were unintentionally interrupted by stargazing or platonic coffee dates or movies, he remembers the soft looks, the carefree laughs, the gentle touches. Remus really went out of his way to make sure Virgil had easy access to his favourite snacks during the film while Roman congratulated him with hugs when he won the Smash tournament. Patton paid for the entire coffee date despite Virgil’s protests and seemed to catch his eyes with a fond glance as he kissed him on the cheek playfully just to see him smile. Logan caught him looking down at the traffic and the streetlights below him and cupped Virgil’s face with his hand, lifting up his chin so he could see the breathtaking array of constellations that shone despite the light pollution of the ruthless city.

How would they have reacted if they didn’t distract him from his plans in time? If Janus wasn’t there to see the signs and alert them? Virgil pictures their faces, solemn, tear-stricken, in agony of losing a friend. And then he makes eye contact with the man in front of him again, the one who just saved his life, and amazingly, this isn’t even the first time.

"I’ll tell you about everything.”

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dottie-wan-kenobi · 4 years

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A @batfam-christmas-stocking fic written for @lurkinglurkerwholurks!! happy holidays <3

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“You guys really don’t have to do all this for me,” Duke says as he and Alfred step out of the suit fitting place. His words are part uncomfortable and part resigned. Jason and Steph have both already talked to him about what it’s like to be a Wayne kid—to have all that money at his disposal, and adults around who will spend it on him without a second thought—but actually living it is different.

There’s some Wayne Foundation event happening soon, and Duke is expected to go. He’s also expected to have a suit, and since he hasn’t had to wear one since his aunt’s funeral way back when he was a little kid, Alfred made plans for him to get one. Several ones, actually, but today he only tried on the one meant for the upcoming party.

Alfred slips the cuff links they brought along back into their box. “It’s no matter, Master Duke,” he says, casually handing the box over like it doesn’t hold very expensive cuff links that Thomas Wayne once wore. “All young men need a well-fitting suit.”

Staring down at the box in his hands, he asks, “But one so… much?”

After a brief moment, Alfred closes Duke’s fingers over the box and guides him gently by the wrist to slip it into his jacket pocket. They start walking, and Alfred pats his shoulder once. “So much, sir? If you mean the cost, I assure you, this is hardly a drop in the bucket. Master Dick in particular has gone through a great many suits in his lifetime, and there have been no repercussions.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, though.” Feeling like he can confide some in the older man, Duke says, “I don’t know, it’s just…. That thing cost so much money, and I’m only going to wear it once? It just seems like a waste.”

“If you’d like, you may certainly wear it more than once. People will talk, of course, if you do so more than once every few months, but the opinions of others should have no consequence on how you live your life, Master Duke.”

“I guess. Hey, where are we going? The car’s that way.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I’m afraid I forgot to tell you. There’s another stop that needs to be made at Trader Joe’s.”

Duke makes a face. That sounds boring, and he’s ready to go home. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

“Not long at all.”

“Can I like, do some window shopping then? I won’t go too far, I just haven’t seen much of this part of Gotham, you know? I figure some exploring will help me with my, uh, job.”

Knowingly, Alfred agrees. Soon enough, they get there, and Alfred promises to not dilly-dally. Shrugging, Duke waits until he’s inside to wander off, glancing at the shop windows. One is a toy store, and though Duke is sixteen, much too old to play with toys, he finds himself standing there for a while, staring at all the colorful and expensive items.

It’s weird, knowing that if he asked for something inside, he could get it easily. His life has never been like that—even before the orphanages and group homes, his parents’ jobs weren’t well paying enough that he could ever get something from this place. They did their best, and he can’t think of a holiday that went by where he wasn’t happy. The memories of his parents’ smiles, exhausted but content, are never far from his mind. But the facts are that this store would’ve probably always been out of their reach. And now, if he wanted, he could go and ask Alfred for some money, enough to get something from here, and Alfred wouldn’t say no. Maybe he’d say Duke needs to follow a certain rule, like only get what he can hold, but that would be it. He can’t imagine Alfred would say anything about only spending so much.

It’s different and kind of overwhelming, but he’s getting used to it, he thinks.

If Steph is to be believed, he might never be fully used to it, though. Honestly, Duke isn’t sure that’s a bad thing. He doesn’t want to lose sight of what it’s like to struggle, but at the same time, it’s nice not having to worry about it anymore.

Seeing two men hustling it down the street, he’s thrown from his thoughts. Relatively well dressed, though not anything like the suits Duke was just trying on, they seem mean and like the thugs he’s come into contact with through his day job as the Signal. Not the ones he’s really used to, the ones who he used to see when he was a kid, who rob people because they’re starving and there’s no other way to get money quick enough.

It’s somehow still surprising when they see him, standing there in a nice outfit and with a visibly expensive watch, and decide that he’s the one they’re going to target. Not that surprising, granted, but for some reason, he had thought crime wouldn’t be so bad here. The rich parts of Gotham always tout themselves as being “safer”, after all. He should know better by now.

They descend on him so fast it’s kind of impressive, honestly, or at least it would be if it weren’t extremely annoying. The taller of the two speaks first, his voice gravely and deep. “This is a mugging,” he says, pulling a gun from his pocket and aiming it at Duke’s chest. “You gonna make it easy on us, kid? ‘Cause me and my pal here got no issue doing this the hard way.”

The thing is, Duke is a civilian right now. Any other day, any other circumstances, he’d be suited up as The Signal, and he could deal with these losers easy as pie. He can easily envision how he could take them down—the shorter guy has a weapon, too, but he’s anxiously gripping it in his pocket. It’s probably not a gun, or he’d have brought it out when his friend did. Maybe a knife, or some other kind of blunt object. Which means that Duke could allow the tall guy to get close so Duke can disarm him, and punch him hard enough to knock him out before moving on to Shorty. No real threat of being shot, and whatever Shorty’s got, it shouldn’t be too hard to disarm him too. Duke is getting really good at these petty fights, enough that he doesn’t really feel threatened.

Except Duke can’t do anything. Duke Thomas, the civilian, is someone who isn’t supposed to know how to fight, just another rich wimp.

Raising his hands, he tries to seem weak. Like he’s scared and playing it off like he’s amused. There are layers to this shit, and he’s not about to fail at one of the easier parts of the job—acting. “W-what do you want? Money?”

“Your watch,” Shorty says. “And your jacket.”

“You got any weapons on you?” Tall Guy shifts his aim up and down, trying to be threatening.

“No,” Duke says honestly, but they don’t believe him. Pulling him roughly to a nearby alleyway, they pat his pockets, and when they find the box, Shorty slips it out and carefully examines it. It’s a nice box, old but hardly worn at all.

“Thought you said you don’t got any weapons,” Shorty growls, slowly opening the box while Tall Guy keeps the gun aimed at Duke. When Shorty sees the cuff links, he snorts, puts the lid back on, and slips it into his own pocket. Then he steps forward and keeps patting until he finds Duke’s wallet. “You richie-riches. Pah,” he says as he opens it up.

Duke can tell the moment he recognizes the name he sees on Duke’s driver’s license.

Duke Thomas is a name that’s becoming well known, same as all the other Wayne kids. He’s the only one who’s consistently been in the papers lately, though, since everyone is curious about the newest foster child.

“You one of them Waynes?” Shorty demands, tone harsher than the grin widening on his face would suggest. To Tall Guy, he says, “We should kidnap ‘im, man. Get a ransom offa Wayne. I hear he don’t mess around when it comes to the children.”

“You’re right,” a new voice, a familiar voice, interjects. “He doesn’t. And neither do I.”

As Tall Guy and Shorty turn their attentions to Alfred, Duke… doesn’t relax like he thought he might. Instead, he tenses, because how likely is it that Alfred is distracting him, blocking out the mouth of the alley, so Duke can have a chance to fight these losers? He knows Alfred isn’t helpless, but of the two of them, Duke is the one with more experience dealing with losers like these two.

With their backs to him, he drops his hands and starts to crouch into a fighting position.

Except…it turns out, Alfred doesn’t really need him to do anything. Tall Guy steps forward with the gun aimed high, his finger on the trigger. “Who’re you?” He demands, standing straight and tense as Alfred approaches. “The nanny?”

“The butler, actually. In any case, that is my grandson you’re threatening, and really, sir, simply so you can steal his watch?”

Tall Guy and Shorty don’t seem to know what to say. Shorty pulls out a knife.

Alfred disarms and knocks both of them out within a few minutes, and Duke hardly even has to help, just punches Shorty when he comes staggering over, dazed and in pain. A few punches is all it takes before Duke’s knocking the guy out. Before they leave the scene, he makes sure to retrieve the cuff links, not wanting to lose them.

They hurry back to the car, and once they’re both settled in their seats, on the road back to the Manor, Duke can’t keep quiet anymore. “Why did you do that? I could’ve handled it.”

“Yes, I have every faith you could have, Master Duke,” Alfred says. “But your identity must be protected. If this gets out, no one will be much surprised to hear that I fought them off. No suspicion will be slung at you. And even if that were not the case, you are family.”

“I’m only Bruce’s foster kid,” Duke refutes. It’s easy to think of the Waynes as family. It’s not as easy to think about his real parents, and what they would think about all this, what they would want for him. They would want him to be happy, he knows that, and he’s happy with Bruce. But he can’t ignore that his parents could still be out there somewhere, that for all everyone knows, this could be temporary. It doesn’t feel great to put distance between himself and the others, but right now, he kind of needs it.

“Yes, but still, you are family. You always will be, my boy. And while you are part of us, I will defend you. Unfortunately, you’ll just have to get used to it.” Alfred smiles, then, and though Duke is feeling a big mess of emotions, he can’t help but smile back. It felt really nice to be defended. He hasn’t always had someone who would do that, and even if in the past few years his friends have filled that role, he remembers being a young kid, no one in his corner once his parents were gone.

It’s a good, good feeling.

#bcs19 #duke thomas #alfred pennyworth #batfam #batfamily #batfam fic #fanfic #my writing #lurkinglurkerwholurks

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treatian · 4 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 65: Flight of the False Prince

The Queen was making excellent progress with her magic, simply excellent! In the last year or so, as Snow White and her dear father began to travel more and the Princess became dedicated to riding, Regina was filled with a bitterness that egged her on her progress. She didn't like the King, but she was a woman, his wife, and he could sense her needs. She needed attention. She desired approval, craved the ability to be good at something, anything that might make him glance her way. In the end, the Dark One's approval was all she was left with. Her growing talents helped and sometimes, when she wore her tight low cut gowns, those helped too. There once was a time that she questioned everything, took her steps slowly, and it was a struggle to get her to commit to anything other than their lessons. Now things had changed. Now she obeyed every command he gave to her, took risks that frequently paid off when coupled with her desperation, and late at night when he checked in on her in her quarters, he saw her practicing. Better yet, she had a lair, a workspace of her own now. A room she'd created with her magic, ready and full to the brim with boxes for hearts that she was slowly collecting. Mostly they were her servants, nobodies who had seen something they shouldn't, but every now and then, when she found someone was particularly irksome and she could get a private moment with them, a heart was taken. She was now the proud owner of a soldier's heart, a noble's heart, the heart of her step-daughter's favorite tutor, and after the most recent bell in a far away Kingdom, a princess's heart.

And he couldn't have been prouder.

The progress she was making was good, it was leaps and bounds ahead of his own. The curse he needed her to cast still eluded him. He looked for it always, constantly. But so far, there had been no luck. He tried to calm himself day after day. He tried to tell himself that between his searching and Jefferson's searching they were bound to stumble upon it. And there was still time. There was lots of time left to find it, but that didn't change the fact that he knew he'd feel a lot better on the day that he held the curse in hand. Though his books and visions helped him know some of the ways he needed still to prepare Regina, he knew that he couldn't truly know anything until he saw it for himself. And then came the task of convincing her to do it. Regina wasn't her sister, crazed and desperate to please that she'd ruin an entire realm for him. No, Regina was going to be a tricky beast. He was going to have to stoke the animosity between her and her step-daughter so that it grew until she resented not only her Snow White, but the entire realm for supporting her. He had to make it so that the curse was her only option at "winning". For that he had to be sure the board was set and every chess piece was in his control. And he wasn't going to do that until he had the damn curse in hand!

A knock at the door suddenly summoned him from his thoughts. It was a good time for visitors. Summer had passed just enough that hiking up the great mountain to see him was no longer a terrible burden, but it was before the cool of Winter set in up in the higher altitudes making it perfect. All this translated to was "a beautiful time" for those seeking the Dark One's assistance, and a "busy time" for the Dark One himself. He couldn't wait until Winter truly came, and he could leave this chilly existence for more travel…hopefully this season he'd find his curse. Until then…

He heard the knock on the door, but his mind was too busy spinning nearly as fast as his wheel that he couldn't be bothered to get it. Instead he simply allowed his magic to unlock and open, if the fool wasn't brave enough to step inside and find him then he didn't want whatever it was he sought hard enough to be worth his time.

"Hello?!" someone called. "Is anyone here?"

He didn't respond. Partially because he didn't know how. He recognized that voice, he recognized it and felt his stomach drop and his heart begin to race. That was the Shepherd. It was David's father. He lived weeks away from him, what on earth was he doing here? Had something happened to David? And why was he so fearful of that if James was the one he was supposed to be worried about?

"Six years ago, you took my son!" he called, his footsteps as well as the echo indicating that he was in the room. Obviously the open door had been easy enough to follow. "And now I need your help."

Was that it? Could he simply be unaware of the issues surrounding the King's boy and wanted his other son back? That was something he could handle. A simple spell would be all he needed to ensure James stayed safe and arrived back in the hands of his father the King?

"Well, I'm sorry! A deal's a deal!" he laughed, smiling over his worry as he worked the wool in his hand. "Can't give you back the boy."

"I'm not asking for that," he replied. "But James...he's missing. I want you to help me find him."

Missing. Was he really? The boy would only be about six now, he'd not thought to check in on him as often as he had Regina over the years though now he knew precisely what he'd be doing when he got up from his place at the wheel. Double-checking what the hell King George was doing that a six-year-old prince was able to go "missing". The boy was important, he couldn't afford to lose him. Luckily, whether he knew it or not, the boy had another father who appeared was more than willing to help in his search. Perhaps he would be able to get James back where he needed to be without ever having to leave this castle. And a good thing too, he knew that blood was the best, often the most dedicated, to finding what they lacked. Perhaps dear Robert was just what the boy needed.

"Ah. And what would you offer me for this little feat of magic?" he questioned.

"I have nothing to offer!" the man proclaimed. Honesty. He could always appreciate that.

"Not much of a negotiator, are you?"

"You owe me," he stated in reply.

"So..." Finally, he stopped his spinning and turned to face the poor father. "You finally grew a spine…"

"I think I finally became a father," he corrected. "I'd do anything to see my boy...and tell him I'm...I'm sorry."

Ah…so a father he had become. And a truthful one at that, for his advance was often times enough to make strong men suddenly weak but as he walked toward him Robert didn't take a step back. the poor man rocked a little unsteady on his feet, perhaps, smelled of stale alcohol, certainly, but waver out of fear? Not at all. He had to look away from such a man. For a moment he feared and hoped he might look into the eyes of his own father and hear words like that, for just a moment, he heard those own words repeating over and over in his head, one of the things he was determined to say to Baelfire again, one day, when they were together. Perhaps then his son might break this terrible tradition they had in their family. But the truth was that Robert was neither Pan, nor the Black Fairy, not Baelfire, nor him! And, in fact, he owed him nothing. It was a good transaction, clean, fair, and honest. But he hadn't expected the parents to always see it that way. Having Robert here, now, it was proof that time had finally arrived. How good for dear Ruth.

"You know, I don't have time for maudlin stories! And everything has a price," he insisted suddenly, perhaps a bit too loudly. That was certainly not the character that Robert needed out of him at the moment. And frankly, he had a sudden desire, looking at Robert, to get him out of this castle and dispose of this memory at the wheel. Clearly the hopes of a child never really died, just hid themselves well. "Although I-I could be persuaded to help you in exchange for, uh...one hair off your head. Small things can have great power!"

Robert nodded. "Fine. It's yours." Good, the sooner this was over the sooner he could figure out what was actually going on. He couldn't use a mirror charm because he didn't know where the boy was to look in a reflection, nor could he use the blood of his father because that kind of spell took far too long, a locator potion or spell would never work as his father had nothing of his and frankly, following something around in that way would look a tad suspicious. Instead, he summoned the glass ball to him and looked deep inside of it.

Though sound was still elusive this little toy had come in quite handy since he'd acquired it. He was able to easily see the reason the Wizard had gained such notoriety through it, despite having no magic himself. In fact, it had done the very thing he'd wanted it to do. Through this very crystal ball, he'd seen the Apprentice. He'd seen the house at the bottom of the mountain that Jefferson had described and confirmed his suspicions. The old man in the red robe was, in fact, The Apprentice. Somehow, he'd managed to hide his house and his presence from right under his nose. But the crystal, being magic that didn't belong to him, was something the Apprentice could not have prepared for. Of course, he didn't dare approach the Apprentice or do much more than watch him in this ball at the moment. For now, the Apprentice believed that it was he who was watching him and not the other way around, which meant that for once the Apprentice was right where he wanted him to be. There was no telling what he might do if he was caught and gave him the idea that he knew where he was. He was closer than any Dark One had ever been to conquering that old fool. Now was the time for patience. Among other things of course.

As he gazed into the crystal ball, he focused on Prince James and the images that came to it were not ones he expected, but made sense all the same.

"Curious…" he commented as he watched the image of a brown-haired boy crawl out of bed, dress hastily before grabbing a rucksack, and then leave his bedroom quietly so as not to wake the guard who was sleeping outside.

"The boy wasn't abducted at all. He ran away." The images changed, the boy meeting some very unsavory men, men who snuck him on a ship and then laughed about it after he was hidden. The place they'd taken him, an island, one that he was aware of only because he'd been watching Jiminy, who was keeping an eye on Geppetto, who had recently invented a wooden puppet the Blue Bug had brought to life only to have it run away to the same place. That incident had left both Geppetto and Jiminy in great distress, but gave him not a care for there was still no sign of the dark-haired man who would know his son. What were the chances that both Pinocchio and James would both end up on Pleasure Island…this was a situation that would require watching.

"But where he went to...you don't want to follow."

"Why?! Where is he?!" Robert insisted as he set the glass bauble aside.

"In a land built from temptation. And I have an extra ticket in."

In the palm of his hand, he produced a ticket for the man that would get him on a ship that would take him to James. Robert lunged and he was quick to pull it away. A deal was, after all, a deal; no matter how simple and cheap the pricetag.

"Ah! Hair first!" he insisted. Robert leaned forward willingly and allowed him to pluck one hair from the top of his head with barely a wince, for the moment he'd plucked it off, that was the moment Robert took the ticket from his hand. A perfect exchange. "Our second deal is now complete," he concluded stepping up to Robert. Still the man showed no sign of fear or anxiety. Instead, he offered a small bow and muttered a quick "thank you" before grabbing the bag at his feet, dragging it to the door, and leaving.

He reclined against the table as he left and inspected the hair he'd plucked. "Small things can hold great power…" he muttered in a singsong voice, mocking his own words. Of course, they were true words, small things could have great power but as he looked this small hair in his hand over, he was more than confident that this thing, had no power at all. Not for him. He had the very strong urge from the Seer that Robert would be dead soon, and with his interest laying mostly in the False Prince, Robert was of no consequence. And so, he felt nothing when he brushed his hands and let the hair float to the ground where it would turn to dust. Right along with Robert. But…perhaps, because of this, he might get the chance to know the son he'd allowed him to take, if only for one brief moment before his life was extinguished, perhaps he might become in that moment the father that his son's deserved. That was all he ever hoped for himself, that someday, when the moment came he was face to face with his own son again, he might become that very same thing. Someday. Someday.

"Someday...may we all be reunited with our sons…"

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Prince Charming #Regina #Evil Queen #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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they-did-what-to-allura · 5 years

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My letter for the @justice-for-allura project. Posting mostly to remind anybody who might be lurking that this is a thing, and it’s a cool thing. If you feel bad bout how Allura’s story went down and wanna make your points known, this is a great opportunity for it.

Edit: Changed some things, fixed a couple typos and reworded some points for clarification.

To the Voltron Team, DreamWorks, to Any and All Involved with the Decision to Kill Off Allura,

Let me begin by thanking the team for giving us this iteration of Allura to begin with. She is a beloved character to many fans. If she wasn’t such a great character, there wouldn’t be so many of us upset about the way her story ended. So, thank you for Allura. She was an amazing character with interesting layers of personality and a delightful design.

In this letter I will explain not only why I was personally disheartened by her death, but also why I believe it was a poor choice to make in terms of writing and the larger narrative.

On the personal end, I related very much to Allura. I empathize with the trauma of losing loved ones and it was cathartic for me to see a character lose so much, but not be defined by that loss. A character who retained a multifaceted personality that included a playful streak, a love of sparkly things, a sense of justice, and abundant courage. She is not reduced to her loss even though it impacts her journey as a character.

Allura’s struggle with Alfor’s corrupted AI also deeply resonated with me. While this is coming from a rather abstract point, it reminds me of my own struggle with a father who is an addict. Allura had to let Alfor’s AI go in spite of how painful it was, in spite of the better memories haunting her every step of the way. The possibility I will have to let my own father go is a very real one because he has made it clear he will never change. His addiction has effectively corrupted our relationship and fed into my own stints with substance abuse. This will be an unspeakably painful decision for me and we have many happier memories that reel through my mind every moment I even contemplate making it.

To relate to a character, to be inspired by a character and her persistence, and then watch her die…really blows. My stomach sank. I felt like crap. I felt even crappier upon hearing that my friend’s nine year old niece sobbed when she watched the ending. I doubt we related to Allura for the same reasons, but I do know that Allura was her favorite character. So with that, I’ll get into the less personal and more objective reasons as to why I feel Allura’s death was a horrible decision.

Firstly, VLD is geared toward younger audiences. I know VLD has a notable periphery demographic, with many older teens and adults such as myself watching and being in the fandom. I know sometimes this periphery demographic can be louder than the intended audience, which I can only assume is children due to the toys and easy-read supplemental materials. VLD has a Y-7 rating, so even if the volume of the periphery demographic drowns out that of the intended, the rating alone demonstrates that this is a show that’s at the least meant to be accessible to children.

Children are impressionable. Representation is important for people of all ages, of course, but it is especially important to children. Kids connect more easily to media where they can see themselves and for the good or the ill, fictional characters can be role models for children.

Allura was a non-white female leader, described in-universe as the “Heart of Voltron.” That’s amazing! That’s truly rare. It’s sad that it’s rare. It’s 2019 and there should be a plethora of non-white female protagonists for young girls of color to look up to. But there aren’t.

Allura was fantastic representation for young girls of color. Representation they hardly ever get. I cannot see a single good reason to take that representation away from them. In fact, it seems downright mean to take that away from them. I do not want the excuse that the staff weren’t aware of the importance of representation, either. You can’t promote the show with official art like this:

…and claim you’re unaware of how important representation is. Particularly for children, for whom this show was rated as being appropriate for.

I do not feel the excuse that this show was about war is reasonable either. Yes, in real life, war is painful. Lives are lost indiscriminately. This was one of the justifications cited for Adam’s death when VLD was criticized for portraying the “Bury Your Gays” trope. However, VLD had already made it clear that war had costs. The Arusian village was destroyed purposely to bait the team. Several Blades of Marmora lost their lives aiding the team. The costs of war were very clear early on in the show. Allura certainly didn’t have to die to reinforce a theme that had already been reinforced several times prior.

On that note, it is very telling that an apology letter was sent for the death of a character who had all of two minutes of screen time, but not for Allura, a major protagonist.

Many people are offended by Allura’s death, feeling that it is racist and sexist. I do not want to believe that Allura’s death was intended to be either of these things. However, there are serious unfortunate implications in killing off your only WoC in the main cast that cannot be ignored. VLD is fictional but it exists in a real world, where real people are impacted by these issues.

While Allura’s death ultimately feels disrespectful given what she represented and its sheer pointlessness in the story, I see attempts at respect in its overall framing. Allura is revered as a hero. There is a statue built in her honor. She has a legacy. These are things that generally shape the celebration of a fallen hero. But even within the framing, there are mixed signals. Most notably, her loved ones take cheery selfies in font of her monument. In my personal opinion, that is the antithesis to an attempted respectful tone.

And I specifically use the word ‘attempted’ because despite the framing, Allura’s death does not actually come across as respectful in the least. It is crammed into the last nine minutes of the final episode. It is immediately followed by a flash forward to the future. Neither the characters nor the audience have time to mourn her. I do not want to hear the excuse that Allura’s death isn’t offensive because “she died as a hero.” Simply because something may be framed to be respectful doesn’t mean it actually is. The poor execution of that attempted framing itself is one of the lesser of many harmful messages sent by the decision to kill Allura off.

In a world where representation is important, an importance that is acknowledged by the staff, somehow someone still came to the conclusion that Allura’s narrative should end in death. Intent aside, her death falls into the “Disposable Woman” cliche, and is especially gutting because she is a WoC. I cannot reiterate how rare it is to see characters like Allura, non-white women that serve as major protagonists.

Allura suffered unduly throughout the series. She lost an entire planet, her family, her home, her title, and eventually her life. She was always a giving character. She was willing to sacrifice herself to save the Balmera as early as season one. It is noble of her to have that kind of dedication, I’m not saying it isn’t. But girls are socialized to sacrifice their happiness for others, it is a message they internalize at multiple levels.

Girls are socialized to put others before themselves and to sacrifice, and this expectation is especially pressing for girls of color. The SBW (Strong Black Woman) stereotype is a notably prevalent one because of the expectation placed on black women specifically to always be strong and constantly put their own needs last. While Allura is an alien, she is in-universe a minority post Altea’s destruction and IRL, redesigned to be non-white. And many fans, including myself, do see her as specifically black-coded because of her skin tone, hair texture, and having Kimberly Brooks as her voice actress.

A hopeful ending for any character who sacrificed as much as Allura would be one where that character is rewarded for their sacrifice. Where they’re able to find happiness on the other end. Where the audience feels payoff because a character we’ve seen give for so long finally gets. Where the audience feels fulfilled because a character we’ve seen grieve and grieve finally gets to breathe. For kids to see a non-white female character get this kind of ending isn’t only hopeful, but important. Girls— especially girls of color —should be shown that they don’t have to give up everything. Boys should also be shown these narratives, because they shouldn’t internalize the expectation of the girls and women in their lives to constantly sacrifice.

Allura’s sacrifice stands out as particularly glaring when we take into account that teamwork was supposedly one of VLD’s major themes. In a show entitled Voltron: Legendary Defender, wherein the titular robot must be formed by a team, it seems very out of place that it was up to one person to save the day. What was the point of the team bonding with each other, and with the lions, if all of that was going to be rendered useless in the battle that mattered the most?

None of the main characters we’d been led to believe loved each other made any real attempt to find another solution through teamwork. They more or less accepted Allura’s sacrifice at face value even though she was supposedly important to them. The paladins offered some minimal protest, then each gave Allura a hug and just watched her walk to her death. In addition to undercutting the theme of teamwork in the show, it just felt very strange to watch. I didn’t feel like I was watching a team who fought side-by-side at all. These characters felt less connected to each other than they did during the first season and at this point, supposedly they’ve fought side-by-side for years.

Not only did Allura’s lone sacrifice seem to undercut the theme of teamwork, but it just seemed incongruent to the atmosphere of the series. While loss was depicted and prevalent in VLD, nothing ever indicated that it would be a tragedy. Watching Allura’s death play out feels like watching a show that forgot what genre it was supposed to be. The emotional beats aren’t the right ones.

We feel no payoff from her death because it didn’t accomplish anything of value in the narrative. Allura had something to live for after the war, her newfound family and love interest. She didn’t have anything to atone for, unlike Honerva. At best (and I really mean at best here) one could argue that her death contributed to Lance’s development because he spends his life spreading her message after the fact. However, many viewers understandably perceived this as a demotion for Lance with its own set of unfortunate implications. Even if that was the case— which itself feels like grasping at straws for some kind of explanation —I shouldn’t have to point out why it’s extremely problematic for a female character to be killed for her love interest’s development.

Allura’s death felt as pointless as it did out of place. It felt unsatisfying and frankly, just like someone in the writer’s room wanted to be Edgy™ for the sake of it. It also felt particularly mean coming from a team who acknowledged how important representation was to its viewers and who used representation as a promotion point.

VLD is over. That is clear. I do not write this with the intent to get the “real ending” or anything of the like. I write this to express why Allura’s death effected me personally, why I feel it has harmful messages, and why it comes across both as harsh and as poor writing.

I hope all those who were involved with this decision reflect on the feedback from the way her death was perceived, most important the feedback of the WoC in the audience. Major character death should always be handled with care, especially in children’s programs. Representation should always be handled with care, especially in children’s programs. The way Allura’s story ultimately ended feels careless at best and malicious at worst.

Signed,

An Incredibly Disappointed Viewer

#justiceforallura #voltron critical #representation #allura #justice for allura

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violentnonretirement · 5 years

Text

About Bastet: Jack

I’m doing multiple posts to kind of separate out things. This one will be about Jack, there will be one about Ana, and then one about the general Lore.

So keep in mind this is just about Jack, since the short story was equally about both and I literally have way too much to talk about with Ana to fit them both here while still being at all readable.

I’m just going to go through chronologically. Also under the cut because it’s... It’s a lot. Ana’s might end up longer, though.

“ As she took a closer look, she could see that the jacket and his flesh had been ripped apart by a shotgun blast. From that range, it should have killed him, but Jack had certain advantages. His wounds could heal themselves—a legacy of his past as a test subject and an enhanced soldier...“

First of all, we can finally do away with the ‘Gabe wasn’t trying to kill Jack’ theories because he absolutely was. Also, referring to Jack (and by extension Gabe) as test subjects says a lot about the nature of the SEP. Not an exact process, not a 100% smoothed out deal. Jack and Gabe were test subjects.

Jack’s got a crazy good healing factor. Like. We learn later the bullets from Reaper have a necrotic agent of some sort that’s trying to keep him from healing and his body is still pushing through to heal the wound literally minutes after the attack, also aided by Ana’s dart.

“ His genetic enhancements should have helped him acclimatize to different conditions, the same way they should have stopped the blood that was seeping through the shirt he’d tied across his midsection as a bandage. “

First of all, “genetic enhancements”. Second, Jack is able to acclimate to different weather very easily.

ALSO

How many times has Ana bailed his dumbass out of danger???

“ ...He made a face at the bitterness. “Any sugar?” “ “ ....“You’re a kitten, Jack,” Ana laughed. “

THIS IS FUCKING CUTE COME AT ME. I got that hc wrong Jack apparently likes sweet things if tea is too bitter for him. Fucking adorable you big punkass funky boy.

Tangent here to talk about their banter? Like it’s so... honest? Like it’s just “these are two extremely close people who still have the fun sarcasm and are easily filling back into the role of close friends despite everything that’s happened”. It’s genuinely entertaining and I had a lot of fun reading the back and forth because it’s just fun and snarky and both have so much life to their replies. And it shows they know each other to the point that Ana knows Jack well enough that she literally drugs him because she knows he’s about to be a dumbass the minute he wakes up.

Also, proof that no one but the three of them and by extension Talon know Jack and Ana and Gabe are alive.

Jack took a trip to New York with his mother and loved the Egyptian museum as ‘his favorite part’, so that’s rly cute.

“ “We tried to find you,” Jack said somberly. “I used every resource at my disposal. Gabe even put McCree on it personally. Not a trace. Everyone else tried to convince me you were gone and that I was being irrational. But deep down I knew that you couldn’t be dead.” “

“...It turns out we couldn’t do it without you,”

“.... Don’t let this go. Don’t be like the others. They dismantled everything we spent our lives building, and then they made us into villains.”

“ “... You never were good at letting go,” Ana chided him. “Too stubborn for your own good.” “

Fucking. One of my big headcanons confirmed. That Jack and Gabe did everything in in their power to find Ana, and that Jack did not give up. If there’s something to be learned about his character from this it’s that Jack is a deeply emotional and very unforgiving character. He remembers, and he holds grudges like a motherfucker.

Even after the years, Jack was in Cairo because he believed Ana was alive and he wanted to find her.

Jack says he’s moving on and his quest is moving on but I don’t think Jack can let things go. Period. He couldn’t let go of Ana, Overwatch- his in-game lines “I’ve got a long memory”. Jack does not forget, and again, he holds grudges like a motherfucker.

She was thought to be dead for years and yet Jack held out hope the entire time, all the way up to chasing her down in Egypt after hearing there was a vigilante there and hoping it was her. If we’re looking at canon Jack, canon Jack loves Ana deeply. She is an important person to him. Just like he loved Gabriel.

Which brings me to a big point. Jack is an angry, frustrated figure but he feels deeply. He feels so deeply for the people he’s with. Ana, Gabe, those people are so fucking important to him that the issue of Ana’s unknown fate, plus the (still only theorized) ‘betrayal’ from Gabriel, two people who were so important to him, turning to anger and vengeance would feel like the only option for him.

“ Ana read the desperation on Jack’s face. “Getting revenge for what happened won’t accomplish anything other than getting you killed.” “Maybe, but I still have to fight. Everyone else gave up, but not me.” “

This is the core of my style of characterization. If Jack lets this fight go- against Talon and Hakim and Los Muertos- he has nothing left. Jack was a soldier for the majority of his life. We know he enlisted around 18 and fought in the crisis, and led Overwatch, all adding up to about 30 years of “fighting the good fight” and something like 6 of fighting it from the shadows. At this point, giving up that fight would force him into an identity crisis, and I don’t think Jack wants to face that, so he just puts up walls against forming new bonds, and considers that, yes, he may die, but he wants to do what’s right. (it’s not healthy. There are so many times when Jack is wrong, etc, and he’ll fight you tooth and nail because he’s a stubborn jackass but he’s not a mentally healthy person)

This also supports my hc that Jack kind of blamed everyone. In that anger, Jack considered everyone at fault, and then sat on that anger and pain for years as he tried to find out what happened. He saw people either get to return to normal life, be forced into mercenary situations, or worse, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it- just try to find out what caused it and expose the people who ruined his life.

“ “Cairo and the world will suffer until we bring them all down! You have to see the bigger picture,” Jack said heatedly. “Are you even hearing yourself? You would never have made this argument before,” Ana said disapprovingly. “The way we do things matters.” “

Jack was the man who believed in saving everyone and Gabe was the bigger picture person, I think. I think Gabe did the dirty work no one else wanted because he saw what needed to be done and got it done for the greater good, even if that meant sometimes morally wrong choices in the moment. Now, Jack sees Hakim and Cairo, he sees the wrongness there and he doesn’t want to get involved because he knows Talon is Hakim’s benefactor and taking out Talon is the only true way to get rid of Hakim.

And we see that as much as he loves Ana, he is still angry and lashes out. He sees the world through a selfish view. He sees it as ‘this needs to get done and I don’t know why you don’t see it my way’ but Ana sees Cairo as she has for the time she’s been gone. Egypt is her home, she can’t see it rot under Hakim. This is her mission.

It was the sort of problem that was never Jack’s strong suit. He preferred two sides, concrete facts, and one clear, unequivocal decision.

In messy situations, Jack finds an answer, and he goes with it. And in a time when almost all his decisions are ‘messy’, Jack often has the moments between Los Muertos escaping and the grenade at Alejandra’s feet. There is what’s important now, and what’s important for the future. Deciding that Alejandra was the most important then, and then agreeing to help with Hakim, Jack is being forced to do what’s right again, and it causes him to fight against the personas of Soldier: 76 and of Strike-Commander. We hear SO much that Jack is stubborn, stubborn, stubborn, but he relents to Ana. He comes back after storming off and helps Ana take down Hakim. Hakim is the grenade at Alejandra’s feet- he cannot ignore his conscience, and here, he also knows he cannot do this without Ana.

“ He had gotten one good night’s sleep since he arrived in Cairo, and it was the first in as long as he could remember “ ...He was uneasy now. Staying in one place for too long was risky, especially now that Gabe would be looking for him. He had to move on.

Also going along with the “Jack just doesn’t stop” vein of characterization. Jack can’t stop. Especially now that Talon is very aware of his presence and that he’s coming after them.

“That’s why it’s a great photo!” laughed Jack.

cute.

So let’s get into Vincent.

Jack is gay, as confirmed by Chu. I have my issues with this reveal like I did with the Christmas comic and Tracer’s reveal. The romantic partner characters are not really, full characters. They’re stand-ins, and they’re not given a whole lot before they’re buried in the story again, but they do their job. Lena is a lesbian, and Jack is gay. This in itself makes me so happy. Because here, in this whole update, we are given a Manly Man’s Man in Jack- except that we learn he’s a deeply emotional man, struggling with trauma and mental health issues, and is so far from the picture so many people might have of a gay man. Like Lena, he isn’t defined by his sexuality, it’s just a part of him. Which is what we want. Yes, again, I have my issues with the reveal, but in the end, and if I’m deeply honest with myself, I’m happy that two mainstay characters in this game are irreversibly, wholly, completely confirmed inside and out as SAGA, and I’m happy that Jack is given that identity as someone who was open about it. Ana apparently knew Vincent well enough that she recognizes him from an old photo.

But in that vein, we get the fact that they’re separated, and that once upon a time Jack “I’ll never stop fighting” Morrison wanted to settle down in the quiet life with his then-boyfriend, and openly talked about that, at least with Ana if not others. Again, we’re given the image that Jack as a younger man was a very openly emotional, connected, and caring figure. Someone who loved the people he was close to dearly and showed that.

“At least you and Gabe managed to have families.”

Another one of those hcs I’m ding-ding at, Jack did not really engage in relationships as Strike-Commander. Whether or not he tried we don’t know, but he didn’t ‘manage’ to have a family, or connections beyond platonic love for people like Ana, and Gabe, and likely others. But it also ties into that resentment and anger he’s been nursing for so long. It’s not a kind remark. Not mean or hateful, just, kind of unnecessary.

“I just thought my mask was scary.” Jack smiled.

What a fucking dork.

In all. I’m happy. I’m so happy to see Jack confirmed as gay, I’d love to know more about Vincent, I’d love to see where this all goes, and I love that we have a continuation, more lore for Ana, and more personality for both of them- seeing these softer sides of the ghosts.

That being said, I’m happy with the s76 lore we have. I love him, he’s my dude, but we need lore on literally anyone else. I would be happy if their story was either on pause for the next however long or working in the background while other characters got their stories and their time in the spotlight. I want to see Zen, Lucio, Zarya, the Junkers. They need to be fleshed out. They need to be fully realized.

#god fuck this took forever #headcanon;#using that just because I'm making speculations etc #anyways

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slashtakemylife · 5 years

Text

Sad Voltron thoughts

The greatest weapon of the universe is really handled by a bunch of teenagers

So I’m late to this, I’ve spoiled myself since S8 came out but only now have I really watched the season and I’ve only reached the episode after clear day, now before I begin I will declare this:

I am a CASUAL viewer

I’ve followed VLD since S2 came out and the only ship I have is Adashi, and considering how you can easily take out their two scenes and the plot stays exactly the same, there is absoutely no ship bias in here, just a viewer (that also means that I’ve made this out of memory, any details I’ve miss please tell me but this are my thoughts as someone who is not going to take the time and go back into the seasons, I just watch the show and what stayed stayed)

S8 made me sad, the entire tone of the season is sad, dark and filled with loss and death, now this is supposed to be about the war and it’s consequences, to me it’s more of the consequences of Voltron’s actions, or lack of, rather than just Honerva’s evilness, so to me the fact that they must stop her is not something they want to do because they want to do the right thing but rather it’s them taking responsability for their actions, like saving the universe is the least they could do after everything they failed, (long post)

- Just to be clear

What Canon Shows

What I thought/interpret

In S2 Voltron along with their allies, the beginings of the Coallition, joined to defeat Zarkon, and S3 showed Voltron trying to consolidate the Coalition

The Coalition which is basically the UN and at it’s core it is just a group project, now each of these planets need to rebuild, yes sure they’ll sing up but each have their own issues so we need one neutral party to check and connect all the planets, this is Voltron or mainly, Allura, she is the face and leader of the Coallition

The Coalition plot line is dropped off the moment Allura goes to Blue, so we see none of them until later on

The Coalition still exist but there is no longer this figure to join them, imagine if the UN was just a big room were countries, whenever they wanted, would go and chat about problems the world may have, no one would go

I’d like to point to another part, the Garla, the Coalition began exclusively to defeat the Garla, not to create a united universe, they are literaly pointing a finger at them and calling them evil, the Garla, who’ve been inmerse in a conquerer mentally are left to fight and essencially detroy themselves

At this point, the Coalition works, not because Voltron is doing something good but because their objective, the Garla, are busy fighting themselves, thus no one is actively conquering or managing the enslaved colonies, thus making it seem like there is “peace”

S? I think 5? finally shows the struggle of the leaderless Galra and it finally dying out thanks Lotor becoming emperor, not by the Paladins, but by Shiro’s clone who is controled by Honerva

The Paladins couldn’t give a flying f*ck about the Galra, if the show had followed it’s initial intentions, Shiro would’ve died and Keith becomes the Black Paladin, it would show someone on the team actually cares for the Garla and wants to see them included in the Coalition, Keith, convinced Lotor is the right guy, helps him get to the throne, but since it’s Shiro’s clone controled by Honerva this moves becomes by the Garla and for the Garla, Voltron still doesn’t care about them and the fact that Keith is hardly there or mention, their Galra rep is essencially gone, Galra = Evil

Lotor rise to power is a Galra move for the Galra and it’s shown when he too shows to be evil, he is the crazy villain to defeat in S6

We get to S7, the Paladins learn the universe is in chaos, by the Galra again not having a leader and creating little evil groups and by the planets that didn’t have a defender, so what should we do? Go to Earth

For starters, S3 to 6 I rarely remember them doing anything with the Coalition so the fact that everything is in chaos by small Garla groups means the planets are still defensless, were is the Coalition? why they left each planet to their own device? why couldn’t they help each other?

With no Allura or Voltron or figure to join them, each to their own, leaving them vulnerable to attacks, the Coalition is just a name, Voltorn shook the bee hive, twice, and left, they killed their leaders and then did nothing for them, we also see a druid has decimated most of the Blade of Marmora

The Blade of Marmora, an organization that survived completely hidden for 10,000 years becomes more publicly active to support Voltron, they are now few in numers and pretty much extint

Earth is also in bad shape, Sam said they were the last people standing so it’s natural to assume many people have died on Earth, they get just in time because Sendak of all people went specifically to Earth just for fun of revenge and really by pure chance the paladins wanted to go there and they also get a big ship, the Atlas

We finally see the Coalition, we get to see aliens we’ve previously seen and they are all helping, it seems like the Coalition works just fine

S8, Voltron and the Atlas go back to space to hunt for Honerva but they are literaly just cruising space , they reach a Galra outpost were they try to get the Galra to cooperate, we learn this general was made to give his support to Voltron, only for them to kill their leader and disappear, making him suspicious or uncooperative with Voltron

At this point I thought, yeah, Voltron has killed the Galra’s leader twice, and it’s just now that they care for the Galra? When they are scattered, defeated, low on numbers? They never cared before, why now? Is it because the Coalition is not working and the Galra are weak that they are now finally taking them in consideration? They actually show Honerva is also decimating the Galra so do they go help them because they too have clues to Honerva? So they really don’t care, got it, only Keith does

And also at this point I go hu? That’s right, Lotor was empreror, did he do anything in his reign? Did Voltron tried to include the Galra in the Coalition? This is the first time I hear any Galra said they swore allegiane to Voltron and with Lotor in the throne it makes sense but did we ever see Lotor do something? I remmeber in the Honerva episode she said, find the emperor! And I thought, Zarkon? That b*tch alive? Oh please no! Oh yeah that’s right, Lotor was emperor, wait, what did he do as emperor again? He never even wore a type of head ornament to show status to really drill in my head yes he is the leader nor did he do anything emperor like or really ruled the Galra for me to think, yes this guy made his generals swore their allegiance to Voltron, this is the first time I hear of this and really no wonder he is bitter, Voltron killed his previous leader, put another that made him swear to Voltron and then Voltron killed him as well and left, like WTF Voltron? Chose a side you look like a moody teenager but you have the greates weapon known in the universe and you swing your sword and whoever makes you mad

They go to Olkari again by pure chance and only once they are close to the planet do they see it’s real devastating state, they also mention Olkarion was a key base to the Coalition, a communication base or just a base, idk can’t remember

So at this moment I think, that’s right, the Olkari! Then why did they go to Earth in S7? shouldn’t the Olkari be better equipped to handle the lions than Earth? why expose Earth who is still building up their defenses rather than go to the place they liberated long ago that has the best engineers in the universe?

Also they go by chance, first of all, this is the first time I hear they are vital to the Coalition, I know they are great allies but I’ve never seen or told beforehand they had such a big role and if they had, why didn’t they call anyone from the Coalition? Once Earth was back online they contacted Matt, the Coalition arrived on Earth, there is a working functioning one

Yes they may arrive late but I’m sure they could’ve sent a signal to the Coalition, to the Atlas, to Voltron who we actually literally in that episode see them use their mega thrusters just for fun, they should’ve recieved the distress signal but arrived too late not by chance, this makes me question their statement as if they were really a big part of the Coalition and only after they see the state of Olkari that they send the rebels to evacuate other planets, but it’s stated the robeast had beem destroying plantes for a while, why did no one in the Coalition said a thing? Why is it surprising now? In S7 the universe was chaos, the planets defenseless, so then we are back to square 1 but this time it feels worse and the worst part is that is their failure at not making a strong enough Coalition at going back to Earth rather than stay and help

In Olkari they mention how their information could save billions of live, Allura saying how they need to save all the lives in the universe

Ok, um which lives again? Let’s check the groups shall we? Earth was decimated not long ago, many people died, some are still alive, the Olkari were able to flee but we see that many must have died as well, Ryner probably dead, the Galra, are said to also be scattered and low on numbers due to Honerva, the Blade of Marmora are mostly dead because of that one lonely druid, the Alteans are alive but they are used by Honerva, if they speak they die so disposable and also in low numbers this are all the major groups Voltron has that I can remember

Everything is destroyed and dead, yes I know there are people still there to save but at this point, me as the viewer, I am just so depressed of this constant death and destruction, they never mention a bit of hope, at least one place they can defend and keep safe, a focus, at this point I’m just praying for Shay and her Balmera because they are the only group that they haven’t talked about

I can’t get emotionally invested, the heroes are motivated but they just look so down, so sad, I have nothing to root for, everything Voltron once did is pretty much gone and at this point I think, well what did they do?

The Coalition failed, I only remember seeing it work once on Earth, the farthest place from the conflict, by them failing at consolidating the Coalition the planets they saved are gone, their allies like the BoM are mostly dead because they came our more publicly to support Voltron, they killed the Galra leader twice and did nothing later which bit them in the ass when these random groups of Galra’s attacked them, they now are interested in the Galra because they are as much f*cked up as the rest of the universe and pretty much no longer a threat

I just...What The Ever Loving FUCK is happening, I’m sorry but I can’t get invested in this and worse, all of this just told me that everything I’ve been seeing for two years meant for nothing and no it’s not because Honerva was supper powerful but because they failed at doing what they were supposed to do! Honerva didn’t hit a well stablished big tower, she hit a Jenga tower that already had blocks taken away

And everything is so gloomy, not only am I sad all the time but it feels pointless, if they save the universe is because it’s the least they should do! I just can’t anymore, I know how it ends, I already reached the part were they go into Honerva’s mind so at this point I know they are not going to adress the previous issues i had, it’s only the big battle at the end were Allura dies so I want and don’t want to watch it but the only episode I’ve truly enjoyed is Clear Day and it’s only because it has nothing to do with the plot

Ok this is canon romantic stuff, I’m not feeling Allurance, Lance has stated his love twice, like literal, I LOVE YOU, Allura just smiled and the first thing she sees in her allucination is Lotor, her ex, I know it’s for the dark entity but it felt like Allura couldn’t shake off his memory, even if she doesn’t love him and she clearly looks traumatized to see him, it tells me she is not ready to jump into a relationship, she hasn’t healed from Lotor’s betrayal, she is just looking for someone to hold her before she snaps but I don’t feel an ounce of love of her to Lance, this makes me feel bad for Lance because he is cleary in love but Allura can’t and won’t be able to reciprocate until she is healed and I know perfectly well it won’t happen

#voltron season 8

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sveasauvageon · 4 years

Photo

Congratulations, you have achieved peak millennial || GW

☾♔; March 11, 2018 ☾♔; sotd: That's how you write a song ⠀⠀⠀ by Alexander Rybak ☾♔; comedian otd: Sarah Millican ☾♔; Audition {a mod example} ☾♔; {G} https://goo.gl/XSTtMc ☾♔; mod(s): @.themadmonarchist @.maybones et moi

Title: from a Bill Maher joke (I like some of his stuff)

FINALLY done with this.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ஜ۩۞۩ஜ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀Svea Richelle Estelle Sauvageon, (16-17, 17 by Nov.) ⠀⠀⠀Gick längst stränder av guld ⠀⠀⠀Såg solen färga himmeln röd ⠀⠀⠀Och där sanden ännu är varm ⠀⠀⠀Av dina steg vill jag sätta fötter ⠀⠀⠀Och alla minnen som jag nu bär ⠀⠀⠀Finns där som skatter i mitt bröst

⠀⠀⠀Translation ⠀⠀⠀(according to the lyrics translate website): ⠀I walked along beaches of gold ⠀Saw the sun paint the sky red ⠀And where the sand was still warm ⠀From your steps is where I want to put my feet ⠀And all the memories I carry with me, ⠀Remain there like treasures in my chest

Allt man kan önska sig by Eric Saade https://goo.gl/t5NgUv (I was totally gonna go with a Dima song, egoist, but I wanted a swedish song for my swede)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ THE BASICS

Nickname: Vea (Vay-ah), S (Minah, Eloise, and other close elites), Duchess S (by Gossip Witch), the Swede, Estelle/Stella (by her Grandmama), my moon and stars (Grandpapa), Richelle (her mother and maternal grandfather), princess (papa), Her/Your Royal Highness and älskling (henry), storasyster (Lili and Xander)

Gender: cis-female

Date of Birth: November 23

Place of Birth: Enköping, Sweden

Nationality: British-Swedish

Ethnicity: caucasian (of Frankish, Swedish, and anglo-saxon descent)

Accent: alternates between Swedish and Posh English, usually depending on her level of anger/passion

Blood Status: pure-blood (though, not the purest. Her mother's family is a straight-up blood-purist type family, but her father's is far more open, and if you trace back 5 generations, there's a muggle-born, as well as muggles and etc further back. So technically, she is a "pure" blood, since that term is generally applied to someone whose ancestors up to their grandparents have no muggle or muggle-born blood, but there are numerous muggles and muggle-borns if you go back beyond that, on her father's side. Her mother's is as inbred as the royal families of the real world.)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Face Claim: Cara Delevingne

Hair: Blonde (sometimes magically died platinum/silvery-gold because actual nerd). Long, and generally tied into a different style everyday; ponytails, elaborate braids, etc. When's she's feeling lazy, she'll just leave it free, yet it always ends up perfectly straight without any effort on her part.

Eyes: light blue

Height: 1.73m

Weight: idk, presumably light

Body: slim and athletic

Any Scars/ Marks?: n/a

Any Tattoos/ Piercings?: just her ears, triple pierced for ear cuffs (are they all dragons? Yes), but also, maybe she'll get a dragon tattoo one day.

Quirks/ Mannerisms: n/a (I probably mixed this in with the habits section)

Style: erratic, she wears numerous styles, and doesn't really have one exactly, though if you wanted to summarize her closet in a single word; expensive would be that word. She prefers clothes of silk, cashmere, and/or leather, and tends towards gem embellished things. Her style is basically "I like" and "I do not like", it's quite simplistic, like, in the way she chooses her clothes. Emilio Pucci is probs her favourite brand, also Gucci and Valentino. Also, also D&G and Elie Saab, but that just goes without saying.

Additional Information: #OnWednesdaysWeWearWhite

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ PERSONALITY:

Head cannon: Svea's a bit of an oddball slytherin (as in she doesn't fit the general mold of a slytherin, she only comes off as crazy to people who witness one of her Eurovision rants, which is around 80% of the stuff that comes out of her mouth so meh, she's got a little bit of a rep as a nutty swede). She can seem standoff-ish or intimidating at first glance, her entire vibe is "arrogant and proud", and "proud of her arrogance", however, she's extremely outspoken and often involves herself in situations that she has nothing to do with (especially if someone is bugging one of her friends or she sees/hears something "stupid" aka bullying) and is a lot more approachable once she starts speaking. She's quite outgoing, and easily befriends people, as well as being well-mannered and polite (even towards people she hates. She makes her hatred clear, but she'll be saying "fu.ck off" with a smile and a "please and thank you"). She generally comes off as a very bossy "Swede" (and she's proud of that. The world would be a better place if everyone strived to be a little more like Sweden).

Theme Song: shall we begin by Ramin djawadi {https://goo.gl/9Px2Ne}

Strengths: Hardworking, passionate persevering, unrelenting, obsessive (I'd call it a strength), adoring/doting (bordering on becoming a negative trait though), highly self-aware, nerdy af, dedicated, ambitious, resourceful, and cunning (duh-doi, slytherin), independent, protective, proactive, aggressively European/Swedish

+Mom Friend: she's a total mom-friend (even fits in with her sort of GG role), she's ridiculously protective of and invested in her friends and family. It's not inherently a bad thing, hence it's in the strength list, she follows their love lives and is somehow always around to lend an ear/shoulder/offer to hex the fu.ck out of someone. She's always around to give (unsolicited) advice to friends, and really, everyone. However, her mom-friend behaviour can go to the negative extremes because not only is she willing to forgive anything someone she loves does, but she'd also go to any length to protect them, including ruining the lives of others (or literally ending said life) if she feels someone she loves is threatened in anyway. She has a lot of resources at her disposal and uses all of them to protect those she loves. Flashy social takedowns aren't really her thing, it's more framing someone for an illegal act and having them sent to some kind of prison. Her protective behaviour can border on the socio or psychopathic, as she displays a complete lack of empathy for the person who hurt her loved one (regardless of how small that hurt may have been) and seems to lack the ability to see them as another living creature, also seems to relish in the pain she caused that person, displaying a somewhat sadistic side of her as well.

+Boss As.s Bi.tch: she's commanding AF (behaviour she inherited from her Grandmama tbh), she's not as bossy when it comes to her circle of friends. There's an equal playing field there, but for anyone she does not consider a close friend, she's always bossy, her commanding tone increasing on how beneath her she thinks someone is.

Weaknesses: Elitist, unforgiving (except when it comes to people she loves, she's so forgiving of them), somewhat vain (but like, look at her), arrogant, narcissistic, elitist (though, you have to earn the right to be elitist in her eyes), manipulative (duh-doi, that's just basic slytherin-ing), cunning, b.tchy, salty, snarky, stubborn, relentless, aggressive.

+Superiority Complex: like, she doesn't think it's a problem, but it technically is. Her core belief is that if you want respect, earn it, and she feels she's worked hard to accomplish all that she has (well, except her money, that she was born into), so she has earned it.

+Hypocrisy: whilst she claims she has high moral standards, and certainly acts like she's above the idiotic "dark" behaviour her house has a reputation for, but when it comes to her friends, she forgives basically everything. She's like one of those mom's of bad kids who defends them regardless of what stupid shít they've done willingingly, like "Paul Ryan, you should know better. You know my son doesn't know anything about healthcare. Donnie trusted you, he's a slow boy. He's a slow boy, look at him! You took advantage of him." (It's an old, in this day and age, joke made by Trevor Noah about one of Trump's fox news defenders after the healthcare debacle). Anyway, Svea's friends could literally burn down the school or her house or kill someone and she'd be all "okay, here's how we're going to handle the authorities sweetie". Like, she wouldn't even question why did it. The only time she'd struggle with forgiving someone she loves would be if they hurt someone else she loves.

+a messy bítch who loves drama: it's low-key, somewhat, she's certainly not looking to start drama, but she absolutely, 100% wants to hear about it (hence she follows gossip witch), and if it's negatively affecting someone she cares about, she will involve herself to protect them, aggressively.

+Internalizing: she's not so good at sharing her own problems and/or feelings. Whilst she's always around to talk about her friend's issues and feels, when it comes to herself, she tends to shove it down between 60 layers of jokes and salt. When genuinely hurt by something or someone, she tends to just walk away and brood silently in a dark corner. She sees herself as a leader and believes that leader's can't go around showing weakness, so she struggles to open up about that side to even her closest friends.

Habits: - eye rolling (so much eye rolling) - tends to tune out her entire environment when she's in "the zone" (no longer walks and reads because she has run into and fallen off of stuff) - twirls her hair with her wand when she's thinking (like how we use fingers) - Swears a lot - hums Eurovision songs around 90% of the time - corrects people, all the time. She can't not correct people.

Skills/ Talents: - multilingual (English, Swedish, French, Russian, German, and Danish) - magic (she has yet to encounter a form of magic she does not immediately excel at) - memory (it's not really eidetic or photographic, because it's not instant, but after 3 reads of a thing, she can rattle off the whole thing word for word) - making references (that's a talent right? Because otherwise, I am screwed) - emotional manipulation/acting (works best on people that don't know her, she can still manipulate other people, but it takes a little more effort and time) - obsessing (again, totally a talent right because otherwise I have literally no skills)

Any mental health issues: She's got some deeply buried mommy issues, and her narcissism is probably on the borderline of crossing into a disorder. But meh, nothing she's been diagnosed with, and definitely nothing that affects her daily. Actually, her perpetual repression of that could/should cause her emotional distress is probs another disorder, but again, eh. It'll probably all explode one day in some kind of breakdown, but she's basically fine.

♣️ Favorite Quotes/ Sayings that your character would use: - "I'm not better than you because my grandparents had magical parents. I'm better than you because I'm smarter, prettier, and more accomplished."

- "urg, fu.ck you."

- "urg, you're/she's/he's/they're the worst."

- "you should do what I say or my son-in-law (Tyler) is going to hit you."

- "duh-doi"

- "that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

- "what, am I supposed to be impressed?"

- "if you want to buy my forgiveness, start with a Fabergé egg."

- "I am a bi.tch when I wanna be."

- "You win some, you lose some. Except for me/us, I/we always win."

- "I'll pass on that glass of non-premium liquor you're drinking."

- Tbh, she says urg a lot. And a lot of swearing.

- "I care. I care a lot. It's kinda my thing." (Leslie Knope quote, but like, that's Svea @ all her smol beans. aka friends and fam, many of whom are taller than her or her height, but they're all smol precious beans that need her protection)

♣️ Swedish sayings/phrases she uses: - "Pfft, well now you've taken a poop in a blue cabinet." (I dunno the Swedish for this one, it could just be a joke, Alicia Vikander mentioned it when she was on the Graham Norton show. I don't think she's lying, because Alicia's amazing, but she could just be fu.cking with us.)

- "You can't come here and slide in on a shrimp sandwich." (I dunno the Swedish for this one either, it could also just be a joke, Alicia Vikander also mentioned it when she was on the Graham Norton show. I don't think she's lying, because Alicia's amazing, but she could just be fu.cking with us, possibly again. It's said to someone if they're being too ostentascious or acting superior, or says something that smacks of class warfare)

- "Better breadless than clueless" ("Bättre brödlös än rådlös" in Swedish. Apparently the English equivalent is; "Better short of pence than short of sense." But I've literally never heard of it in my life. )

- "throw yourself in the wall" ("Släng dig i väggen" in swedish, apparently it's the equivalent to "take a hike".)

- "bring your spikes down" ("Tagga ned" in Swedish. Apparently it's the equivalent to "chill" )

- "no cow on the ice" ("Ingen ko på isen" in Swedish. Apparently it's the equivalent to "no worries")

- "[pronoun is] forest crazy" ("Skogstokig" in Swedish, it's the equivalent to calling someone "raging mad")

- "dressed up to his/her/their teeth" ("Klädd up till tänderna" in Swedish, the equivalent to "dressed to the nines", supposedly.)

- "[pronoun]'s hair hurts" ("Ont i håret" in Swedish, the equivalent for the term "hungover")

- "Taste is like your bum, divided" ("Smaken är som baken, delad" in Swedish, I don't think there's an equivalent per say, but it's basically about people's shi.tty opinions.)

- "If there's room in the heart there's room for the arse." ("Finns det hjärterum så finns det stjärterum" in Swedish, apparently Swede's talk about behinds, this is meant to be welcoming people into their home. I fu.cking love Sweden you guys, it's wild.)

Additional Information: - Well, my extra bit about her swedish phrases probs coulda gone here, but eh. - Also, also, she's kind of OCD, it's not really on a disorder level, which why it's here, because she's not "neat" by our standards, or the standards of someone who actually has OCD, she calls it "controlled chaos", her stuff is literally everywhere, but she always knows where her things are and always knows when someone's touched it or moved it like 2 inches to the left. - tends to get hangry (poutine is the best solution to that problem btw)

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Likes: stupid puns, muggle space exploration science, quidditch (Vrastra Vultures forever btches!), winter, snow, muggle technology, EUROVISION (hey, she's a European, and a Swede, they love the Eurovision), Melodifestivalen, muggle EuroPop music, football (aka soccer, but she European, she call it by its proper name. Also, ARSENAL FOREVER BÌTCHES), Aaron Ramsey, muggle history, magical history, the stars, the night sky, a song of ice and fire (of course), Dragons, Sweden, magic, her wand (precious), Tolkien's Middle-Earth, Vhagar (precious baby), muggle comedy panel shows, herself (ya seen her? She's real pretty), emeralds, satin, muggle drinks (vodka and ice coffee with caramel are delicious, she will fight you), firewhiskey, rain, kittens, dragons, shipping her friends with each other

Dislikes: rude people (there's a difference between being full of yourself and having manners), Hogwarts magic interfering with her muggle shít, her housemates making fun of her muggle shít (like, excuse me, but can your old af radio playing all 1000+ Eurovision songs at any time of day? That's what I thought), "woman" being used as an insult (she is a woman, and better than you, so fúck off), bertie botts every flavour bean (it's the "every" flavour that repulses her), idioticy, unearned elitism (if you wanna act superior, fine, but at least have something that makes you superior, and blood is not one of those things), Cornwall, camomile tea (it's disgusting), corduroy, roses, her things being moved/touched

Hobbies: reading, learning, football, just hanging out with her friends (forcing them to watch Eurovision)

Any health problems? (allergies, illnesses, etc): n/a

♣️ Family Background

:: Sauvageon Aesthetics: :: https://goo.gl/u4nRiU *contains a tiny bit about the Prince's at the end* Svea is from two notable families (though, even she argues about the notoriety of her mother's family, she would say that they are, in fact, not of note).

The Prince Family Through her mother, Svea is the heir to the Prince Family, a British Wizarding Family who are absolutely psychotic when it comes to blood purity. They are an old family, left off the list of the "Scared Twenty-Eight" for unclear reasons, though Marcius Prince claims it's due an ancestors' very public liaisons and relations with muggle royalty/nobility. Old and pure-blood proud, the Princes are fervent purportors of the concept of blood supremacy and purity, and proud Slytherins. Having all been sorted into the House dating back to Salazar Slytherin himself (or so they claim). Due to centuries of inbreeding with other pureblood families (who are all cousins at this point), the Princes tend to have the following traits; violent tendencies, mental instability, and some are enfeebled (though the family goes to great lengths to hide and eliminate such members). Additionally, due to their close genetics, the family additionally has trouble conceiving, generally ending up with only one child born per generation. Their numbers are currently dwindling, and the name is expected to die if Svea's mother doesn't have another child (or not if Svea agrees to take their name, solid no on that though).

The House of Sauvageon The Sauvageon's are a very family old wizarding family, they were originally French, and later immigrated to Sweden in the late 1700's. Unlike most ancient wizarding families (particularly the British ones), they have never shied away from breeding with muggles and muggleborns, often gaining the label of "blood traitor" from the British families, but they're Swedish, and blood density is irrelevant there. There are as liberal and socialist as their country. Despite being loathed by the blood purist-type families, they are still approached very few generations for marital matches, as they are exceedingly wealthy and when the aforementioned house runs out of options.

♣️ Family Affiliation: Swedish Ministry of Magic, Durmstrang Institute of Magic (not a happy association, but it's their homeschool, and most Sauvageon's have attended it), House of Bernadotte, House of Châteaudun (and their successive houses), and the Riddarhuset (The House of Nobility in Sweden -- don't really have any power or special tax exemptions anymore, basically protection of historical titles and coat of arms)

Socio-economic status: More money than God(s), HBO, and Netflix combined ♣️ Family Members:

▪️ Father: Petter Sauvageon | Colin Firth | 50 (if alive) | Dragonologist | missing, presumed dead

▪️ Mother: Diana Prince | Rachel Weisz | 47 | works at the British Ministry of Magic at The Department of International Magical Cooperation, specifically in the International Magical Office of Law (aiming to become Minister for Magic one day, which would suck for everyone that's not a pureblood) | alive

▪️ Step-Mother: Iliana Drubetskaya | Lena Headey | 44 | former Quidditch player, Quidditch commentator/reporter now | alive

▪️ Younger Half-Sister: Lena Sauvageon | Dafne Keen | 12 | second year student at Koldovstoretz | alive

▪️ Paternal Grandfather: Ludvig Sauvageon | Sir Patrick Stewart | 77 | socialite and patriarch, former politician | alive

▪️ Paternal Grandmother: Linnéa Sauvageon | Dame Judi Dench | 78 | socialite and matriarch | alive

▪️ Paternal Aunt: Brigitta Sauvageon | Gillian Anderson | 46 | Politician, shadowy, high-ranking role in the Swedish Ministry of Magic | alive

▪️ Paternal Uncle: Kåre Sauvageon | James D'Arcy | 45 | Art Collector | alive

▪️ Paternal Cousin: Viggo Sauvageon | Mooms-mooms | 21 | Curse-Breaker for Rökstenen Wizarding Bank (the Swedish counterpart to Gringotts) | pretty, I mean alive

▪️ Maternal Grandfather: Marcius Prince | Sir Michael Caine | 80 | socialite, patriarch, author (of very anti-muggle/muggle-born books) | alive

**the families are further expanded upon here: https://goo.gl/d1pTdj (storyboard) & here: https://goo.gl/Dm6mpM {aesthetics collection with captions, primarily focused on the Sauvageons}

♣️ What is your character's relationship with their family? She has a very positive and close relationship with her paternal family. They were (and remain) her primary guardians, and growing up with the Sauvageon's in Sweden very much molded her into the person she is. Her grandmother is her role model, her sister is her *Gollum voice* precious, her step-mother inspired her to play Quidditch, her father instigated her love of eurovision and dragons, she considers the Sauvageon's her home. Her maternal family on the other hand, "poor" would be an understatement. Svea and her maternal grandfather (Marcius) actively hate each other, and it's not much better than that with her mother.

♣️ Which family member does your character feel the closest to? She's quite close with her entire paternal family, but as of the last 12 years, it's definitely been her younger sister; Lili. She's a protective type of person, so having the responsibility of an older sibling was an absolute dream come true for this nerd.

Happiest Memory: she has quite a few, but the absolute number one would be the time she attended a Eurovision song contest with her father as a child (mathematically, but vaguely, it was probs around Marija, Dima, or Alexander's win).

Saddest Memory: when she learned that her father went missing. Like, it could be various arguments/standoffs with her mother, but her method for dealing with that is walking away/burying it, with her father going missing, there wasn't anyone to be angry at or someone to walk away from. Someone she loved was taken from her and she was literally powerless to do anything about it. Probably also why she's such an aggressive mom friend, on a subconscious level, she goes out of her to ensure someone she loves cannot be taken again.

How does your OC feel about pureblood supremacy?: She hates the "concept", and thinks it's the most idiotic thing ever thought up by someone. She was raised on Swedish ideals, a very liberal and socialist nation where blood purity or "impurity" is irrelevant, blood is blood, move the fck on. Muggle-borns have time and again been shown to be as powerful as any "pureblood", not to mention it's scientifically impossible for a person to have absolutely no muggle blood in their family histories, the wizarding population is too small when compared to the muggle population in the world, the species would've die out.

How does your OC feel about muggles/ half-bloods? Does your OC think they should be a part of the magical community? Of course they should be part of the magical community. Honestly, she supports the idea of reintegrating the magical and muggle worlds. What are they gonna do? Spread a nerve agent in their shops? They have magic and could easily handle any weapon the muggles send their way. She doesn't really understand why they have to hide.

Quick facts: Svea is half-Swedish, half-British, but was raised as a Swede from birth. Her mother's family was quite ashamed of the whole idea of a "liaison" and "bast.ardry" (how lame), thus she was born in semi-secrecy (secret from the British buddies of her mother's family) at the Sauvageon Estate in Enköping. Her paternal family has custody of her from birth, and she didn't see her mother or maternal family again for a decade (well, she was an infant, we can't actually be sure she ever did see her mother).

From the ages of 2-5, Svea was enrolled in Förskola, and when aged 6, she attended Förskoleklass, school for muggle children in Sweden (both are optional for Swedish kids, "Förskola" is preschool, available to children from ages 1-5, and "Förskoleklass" is preschool class, which I guess is effectively a year of kindergarten, for children aged 6). There she was integrated into muggle culture (or something like that, I can't remember the word I want) and made numerous friends, including one of her all time besties; Lara Coburg (the only one of her muggle friends to be introduced to the magical world, in a very Jacob Kowalski way now that I think of it, even though I hated him in the Fantastic Beasts movie). Lara is aware of the magical world and the only one of Svea's muggle friends who she maintains regular contact with.

After Förskoleklass, Svea attended 4 years of the muggle compulsory school in Sweden (which is for ages 7-16, and basically the north American equivalent of elementary through to high school), with the plan being that she would "transfer" to private, boarding school once she reached the age for magical schooling. However, when she was 10, her mother and maternal grandfather came to Sweden to claim custody and make her a British citizen, to meet the residential requirements to attend Hogwarts. The Sauvageon's initially refused, but as they loathe their local home school, Drumstrang (a very non-Swedish Scandinavian school, because Sweden is liberal af and Drumstrang is magic racist af), they agreed.

Svea spent a year living with her mother and maternal grandfather before being admitted into Hogwarts and did not like it in the least. They were horrified and appalled by the rambunctious, muggle-friendly, aggressively European child she was (and tbh, still is), and spent the year trying to force it out of her. They kept her isolated and cut off all her connections to her father's family, and tried to instruct her in the ways of pureblood, often screaming in frustration and anger when she argued back or simply replied with "so what" or "why". They later took to locking her in rooms, and starving her when she started leaving the estate on her own to mingle with the local muggle population. Eventually, their little war came to a head when they broke her electrical toys from her father's family, and in her fury, she magically set fire to the Prince Estate (on purpose, though they claimed it was an accident to the Improper Use of Magic Office). The fire resembled the Fiendfyre curse, and it was stronger than any fire Svea had produced before. Although no one died, the entire estate became ruins, and took 4 ministry workers plus her mother and grandfather to contain. After the incident, Svea was able to reconnect with her paternal family (crying to the ministry people there about missing her father and worried that her grandfather would say no because he's jealous of her other grandfather, yes she was faking her tears, anyway, they fell for it and informed her Swedish fam who immediately apparated to the Prince Estate). The Sauvageon's offered to pay for the restoration of the Prince Estate, but in exchange, Brigitta Sauvageon would be staying with them until Svea left for Hogwarts. Once that was settled, Svea and her maternal family became akin to strangers living in the same house, with Marcius Prince calling Svea and her aunt "unwelcome guests".

After she received her Hogwarts letter, instead of Diagon Alley, Svea's Aunt and Grandmother took her to Drottningsgränd, basically the Stockholm Diagon Alley (btw, I'm really proud of myself, because I googled Swedish street names and that effectively translates to "Queen's Alley" mostly because there's an actual street called "King's street", well, in Swedish it's "krongsgran" or something like that, tbh, I already forgot). Anyway, it resulted it quite a tiff with the Prince's, who insisted on Diagon Alley and wands from Ollivanders, they lost the argument on the later, but she did get her books, robes, and other school items from Diagon Alley. Also an adorable tawny owl they named "Fredrick".

Additional Information: - her name is poorly made pun, like, "pun" is actually pushing it. "Svea" comes from a personification of Sweden, a derivative of "Svear", the Swedish name for the ancient Germanic tribe; the Swedes. "Svear" also later evolved into "Sverige", the Swedish name for Sweden and means "the realm of the Svear". Her surname, "Sauvageon", is a French form of "Savage", an English word, nickname, and surname meaning wild and uncouth, which was derived from a Middle English form of Old French; "salvage" or "sauvage", which meant untamed. Effectively, her name means Savage Swede, the flip around being a ref to the annoying flip around in the French language with certain terms and/or phrases (also in other languages, but French is the one I got beef with as a Canadian person). Richelle and Estelle are just because I like frenchy names that rhyme, and they're vaguely posh sounding, so I'm assuming her mother picked those ones. I say, assume, I made these characters, she did pick them for Svea.

- uses a ridiculous array of glitter and nerd-design pens (ink and quills are aesthetically pleasing, but impractical. Come on, the pencil was invented in fcking 1564)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ HOGWARTS INFORMATION

House: Slytherin

Year: 7

Best Class(s): Arithmancy and History of Magic (honestly, she's great at all of her classes, but those two are her highest scores, well, she get's an outstanding in everything, but they're in like 98-100 percentile, and the others are just 90-98, if Hogwarts used numbers)

Worst Class(s): none

Any Pets?: a tiger patterned kitten, super smol and super cute, but has been a "kitten" for a suspiciously long time. It's been tiny and like a baby since she first got it in her fourth year, though she simply claims that it's a rare Swedish breed. She named it Vhagar, after a dragon in ASOIAF because she's a massive nerd.

Reputation at Hogwarts: All in all, Svea's got a pretty stellar reputation. She certainly doesn't cause any trouble, she's heavily active in school events and protective of younger students. She's always been doing her own "foreigner" thing, in everything she does, she's aggressively Swedish about it (and that's something she says herself). She's basically the high-achieving "socialist" elitist, she definitely thinks she's better than you, but she's not going to tolerate something as stupid as "blood purity" in "her" school. Her reputation is basically that of the smart, sporty, pretty "cool" girl. Or I guess simply "The Swede". Seriously, she's super liberal, she loves Eurovision, what about that isn't Swedish? The fact that their faceclaim is English, but whatever. ▪️ Is your OC based on one of the character archetypes? If so, which one: Lily van der Woodsen/Bass/Humphrey (somewhat, she's a lot less selfish/self-centered than Lily)

▪️ If not, please write a 2-4 sentence tagline for your OC: GW: The liberal foreigner, the relentless Head Girl. Duchess S is our resident "mother of dragons", or so she claims. Sadly, not all of us can be Daenerys Stormborn. Sad for the Duchess at least. Whilst she may not be blood of the dragon, she is blood of the Franks. With extravagant tastes and a penchant for chopped off heads (metaphorically, of course), Duchess S may seem like a nice friend for you to have, but cross her, and you'll be eating cake. (Svea, off in the distance: MARIE ANTOINETTE NEVER ACTUALLY SAID THAT YOU UNCULUTURED SWINE!)

Additional Information: - Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch Team, also team captain - Head Girl - She could've been a Ravenclaw, but her ambition heavily outweighs her thirst for knowledge

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Wand: acacia wood Wand Core: dragon heartstring Wand Length: 11 ¾" Wand Flexibility: inflexible, but swishy

Patronus: Swedish Short-Snout

Bogart: her mother

Amortentia: fresh coffee (though the taste disgusts her, hence she pumps caramel into her ice coffee), newly laundered clothes, and petrichor (the scent of wet earth after a recent rain fall)

Affinity to any particular magic?: she's quite skilled with wandless magic, and occlumency (taught by her grandmother), to protect her mind against any invaders. She's dabbled in some legilimency, but does not care for it.

Additional Information: - ridiculously in love with/knowledgeable about dragons. super obsessed with them. - I guess it would fall under affinity, but she's quite drawn to fire and fire-based spells, creatures, potions, etc. She'd never admit it to someone of authority (yet), but her favourite spell is fiendfyre. - obtained her appariting license earlier than would be possible (because her birthday makes her 17 after the usual UK test dates) by applying for it at the Swedish Ministry of magic, which issues Apparition licenses at 16 (completely made that up, but whatever, I don't like half of the few things we know about JKR's Sweden, they're not very Swedish. How is Drumstrang a Scandi school? Scandi's are so liberal, I get it's a German, WWII stereotype, but make it limited to German and Germanic states then, the Scandi's are liberal af. Well, Sweden is, also I think Finland).

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ USER INFORMATION

Username: @.drownedinmoonlight Activity Level (Scale 1-10): 8-ish

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⚜️ OPTIONAL

Playlist: https://goo.gl/vaSFwA {Svea} ⠀⠀⠀⠀& https://goo.gl/Wwgx4s {Svea x Henry} Moodboard: https://goo.gl/VBPzCG Social Media: https://goo.gl/uXqRa9 {insta} Storyboard: https://goo.gl/d1pTdj Aesthetic Collection I: https://goo.gl/qDJazT Aesthetic Collection II: [still in my drafts] Svea x Henry Aesthetics Collection: https://goo.gl/nVaubL Wardrobe/Style Collection: https://goo.gl/g8rBdV Plotting Set: Story: ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ��۩۞۩ஜ

When you have completed the audition, please tag the mods: @.drownedinmoonlight @.themadmonarchist and @.maybones and use the hashtag #gossipwitch, #GW

#audition #gw #mine #polyvore #template #Svea Sauvageon

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