#fucking life I want to shove down all the sad depressing nothingness in me and try to be bubbly happy excited the whole time

[milo-is-rambling]

Me when I’m not anxious at all about anything especially not traveling or not being home or being around strangers or going to a new airport or not being in control of the schedule or not having immediate access to my safe foods or not seeing funk and I’m definitely not anxious about being in new places and meeting new people and animals and having to be a person while trying to balance my emotions out enough that I don’t bring every conversation down while simultaneously only thinking about saying the wrong thing and bringing the conversation down

#and I’m definitely not afraid at all about how I haven’t told Millie about my current shitty mental health or the plans for an intensive #program and I feel like I might not say anything and I’ll feel bad later but like gahhh I just don’t want to be a bummer for once in my #fucking life I want to shove down all the sad depressing nothingness in me and try to be bubbly happy excited the whole time #who knows how it’s gonna go AND THAT THOUGHT DOESNT MAKE ME WANT TO THROW UP #IM EXCITED FOR THIS AND I DONT FEEL GUILTY ABOUT NOT GOING YO SEE MY DADS PARENTS EVEN THOUGH MY GRANDFATHER IS DYING AND IT DOESNT MAKE ME #FEEL SICK OR HAVE A HARD TIME BREATHING OR TYPING THIS IS ALL FINE I LIVE TRAVELING I LOVE FEELING LIKE IM NOT IN CHARGE OF ANYTHING AHAHAHA #AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHHHHHHH THIS IS FINNNEEEEEE IM FINEEEEE THIS IS GREAT IM NOT GONNA FREAK OUT TO THE POINT OF NOT BEING ABLE TO SLEEP AT ALL #AND IM DEFINITELY NOT GONNA END UP AWAKE FOR TWO FULL DAYS 🫠 #screaming crying throwing up and you can’t smoke weed on a plane. fuck my life bro. #bring back smoking on planes PLEASE #stoner plane even the pilots high fuck it we all wanna smoke and and watch the world be tiny below us right that’s what google maps is for #I feel like I’m doing this life thing wrong.

[asgardianthot]

Hunting Season (sambucky) – Part 1

Fake Dating AU

Series Masterlist

Summary: The Barnes family is your average rich people circus. With Bucky’s post-breakup financial depression, and a literal treasure hunt at stake, his best friend Sam finds himself in a mad situation in order to help him. They sure can pretend to be together, but that’s just the easy part.

A/N: You want some clichés? I’ll give you some clichés! Fake Dating, friends to lovers, asshole ex-boyfriend, only one bed, mutual pinning, slowburn, you name it :) Also rich!Bucky headcanon because I can.

Words: 3944

The night before.

"What is it this time?" Sam answered the phone, preparing for the rant he was about to hear.

On the other end, Bucky sighed heavily.

"Everything?"

Sam kept his chuckle in as he poured the freshly cooked spaghetti on a plate.

"That's a new one." He rolled his eyes, "Is he still calling you or something?"

"Yeah, and... God, I think I might take him up on his offer."

Although his friend's tone was extremely off-putting, Sam knew him too well and was certain that Bucky wasn't being serious. He was just saying it to be dramatic because he felt trapped. Still, he needed to be reminded that there was light at the end of the tunnel.

Wilson placed the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could take his meal to the table which was a few steps away from the actual kitchen zone.

"No, you won't." Sam reminded him.

"I might!"

Bucky didn't sound honest, but he sounded desperate. He had broken up with the world's biggest, most monumental jerk a hundred times before, yet for various financial and emotional reasons, Bucky had also returned to the man too many times. Sam knew there was an emotional bond, a toxic one, but never asked to what extent, he just made sure Bucky didn't fall back into his webs. Recently, though, it seemed as if he had come to his senses; hadn't picked up the phone when the devil's name came up on his screen for weeks, didn't even mention the master manipulator in a long time.

Sam sat at the small table and put his phone on speaker, next to his food.

"You can't just go back for his money, man."

"Well, I can't keep crashing at my parents’ house, either." Barnes replied with more anguish than Sam had expected.

He sounded like he was fed up with the whole living situation. Although the Barnes weren't necessarily bad, they were inherently overwhelming and controlling people with whom Bucky had already spent eighteen miserable years; Sam understood how downright exhausting it must be to go back to them for help, and he understood why he hated it there. He probably had just gotten into an argument, but Sam still felt empathy towards his poor friend, because Sam's parents were the nicest people on earth- sure, they pried and judged from time to time, but only the normal parental amount. He couldn't imagine growing up in the Barnes' house.

So instead of spurring out laments and empathic hums, he focused on finding Bucky a solution, reminding him there was a way out of the mansion-trap.

"What about that job?"

"I didn't get it." There was a hearable stop, followed by a groan, "I don't know what else to do, I don't know how much longer I can stay here!"

As he worked his brain, Sam shoved a forkfull of spaghetti into his mouth, using the time he was chewing to concoct a quick solution. His friend just needed some caring aid, and Sam was good with home finances, he's good at being responsible and setting down instructions. He's a college professor after all, so giving orders and helping people in confusing times was wired into his bones.

He swallowed before speaking, "Tell you what, why don't you come over and we'll figure something out?"

-

Sam was just finished doing his single dish in his single apartment when Bucky got there. He opened the door and found the resemblance of a lost puppy.

"Thank you."

The host ushered him inside, and while Bucky closed the door behind him, Sam returned to the kitchen to finish putting everything away.

"Don't thank me yet. We need to come up with a plan." He turned to him with a mildly disappointing glance, for he was expecting a disappointing answer, "Just to be clear: no savings?"

"Nope." Bucky popped his 'p' with exaggerated defeat.

"Remind me to call you an idiot later."

"Will do." He nodded.

While Sam put away the now clean pan on the bottom counter, James found himself shame-walking to the table. He sat down, extended his arms over the furniture and let his head drop with self-pity.

"What about your folks, are they really not willing to help out?" Sam tried.

"They won't give me a single penny."

"Can't say that I'm surprised."

As soon as Wilson headed towards his friend, he noticed Bucky was waiting for him to be able to stay one hundred percent attentive. He was fidgeting with his fingers and bouncing his leg up and down, looking way too nervous for being around Sam, his best friend whom he trusted more than anyone. So, Sam got the severity of the issue and sat down on the table with him.

"Listen..." Bucky began, although he missed Sam's eye contact on purpose, "I was thinking... and I know that you've already supported me enough, but maybe... you could, uh... Lend me some money?" Suddenly, his face contorted in anguish as he was clearly embarrassed to even ask; before Sam could respond, he started rambling, "Just to get my own place, and I promise I'll pay you back as soon as I get some stability."

Sam tilted his head with sympathy.

"Of course I can lend you some money. But it's still a risky shot, dude."

Seeing him shrug, Sam noticed the evident sadness and surrender in James' face, and Sam wondered if it had been the devil ex or the Barnes who had sucked the hope out of him.

"It's all I got. I can't stand my parents any longer."

Sam nodded, and they fell into some silence. The discomfort coming from Bucky's end of the table was palpable, so Sam attempted to ease some of the tension.

"You can always just leave the country and go live with your sister." He joked.

The way Bucky looked at him with a small smile, Sam could read the gratefulness in his eyes.

"Nah, I could never leave you." Barnes taunted back, "You'd crumble."

"Yeah, that's it." Sam looked away with lifted, disbelieving eyebrows, "Definitely not the other way around."

He got a chuckle out of his best friend, and in comparison to the glim aura that had been surrounding him the last minutes, it was a relieving sound

" 'sides, she wouldn't get off my back either." Bucky added, "Rebecca's not an option."

Once again, silence dropped on them, only this time it was a pensive one. It didn't take long for Sam to have the best idea he'd had yet.

"Drink?" he offered.

"Please."

-

"I'm telling you, I can't seem to do anything right." Bucky admitted in between sips of wine, "The more I try to fix my shit, the more I mess it up, and that's Brock's cue to jump right back into the picture and offer an easy way out."

"You can't let him control you." His friend reminded him, "You're better than that."

Bucky had heard that speech a hundred times, and a hundred times he had lowered his head with shameful agreement, like a toddler being reprimanded and responding with the generic You're right, I'll do better. However, this time, Barnes was honest. Too honest, for Sam's taste, actually. Staring into nothingness as if illuminated by some divine realization of disappointment, he clacked his tongue.

"See, I don't know that I am."

Sam, on his part, was having none of that.

"Yes, you are. You've just made some very questionable choices." He slurred, and only then did Bucky realize how drunk his friend had gotten over the past hour, "And you wanna know why?"

With the last question went a very unpreoccupied hand gesture, employing the hand which held the glass of red wine like he'd forgotten the wine was even there, and therefore almost spilling it all over his carpet.

Bucky cringed and reached for the now turned dangerous beverage.

"I think that's enough wine for you." He laughed, trying to pry the glass away.

"Because you never listen to me!" Sam ignored him, which was Bucky's cue to effectively grab it and leave it on the coffee table, "I told you not to let him pay for stuff in the first place. Told you if he owns everything you share, he owns you."

The words, Bucky remembered from many times prior. The harsh tone, though, was relatively new.

"It just sort of happened." He shrugged, "I lost my job and suddenly..."

As Bucky lost his trail, Sam filled in with amusement, "You became a housewife from, like, the 1950's."

Barnes smirked in an attempt to lighten the mood, and escape the current lecture he was receiving, "Why is that bad?"

Unfortunately for him, Sam was not playing along.

"Because you can't hand them your independence. Not to your parents, not to Brock Fucking Rumlow, not to anyone. You know what's worth more than money?"

"Let me guess, my freedom?"

"Your dignity." Sam laid out the words with much more seriousness any drunk man should be able to convey.

Silence followed the rough declaration, and Bucky sat back. He pursed his lips at the ground, feeling even more judged in that apartment than in his parents' house. At least, they nagged about things that were insignificant to him, but what Sam had just dropped was a truth-bomb that resonated with his deepest concerns.

"That hurt." He admitted.

He wasn't upset, and even less with Sam. This was what he needed to hear, after all, and he could always trust Sam to be responsible and hones, but that didn't mean he would sleep on that sentence until he made some real changes in his life.

"It's just the truth." Sam grinned with somewhat lament as he reached for more wine.

-

The day of.

Sam woke up the next morning with the smell of fresh breakfast, and a hangover. When he managed to get on his feet, he walked down to the living room, where he found Bucky preparing something in the kitchen. Last night's events came back to him at the sight of his face: his cry for help, one late night talk and lots of wine. That's pretty much all that came to mind, which made him wonder what his drunk persona had put Bucky through.

"Morning, pal!" the voice made him jump a bit.

Bucky seemed cheery, which meant that he'd woken up hangover-free, and that drunk Sam hadn't been a pain in his ass. Sam felt he could relax.

"Did I really pass out on red wine in my own couch?" he groaned, scratching the back of his head.

Walking closer, he recognized what Bucky was preparing as french toasts, and his rumbling stomach felt grateful.

"Like a grandpa." Bucky confirmed with a mocking tone.

"Jesus Christ." Sam sighed.

"Don't let your dad hear you say the Lord's name in vain."

The warning reminded Sam of Bucky's parental situation. Bucky was one of Sam’s few friends who knew Sam's parents, and they'd gotten along many times, whereas Sam had never even met the Barnes. He knew Rebecca, but that was about it, and he figured they must be real characters if Bucky kept them away from him.

Sam let his body fall flat onto the couch, and covered his eyes with his arm rather dramatically, "I'm slowly spiraling down into a mediocre professor's life."

"You're not a mediocre professor and you don't have a mediocre life." Bucky denied him the right to self-loathe.

"I disagree. Your problems are the highlight of my week."

"Stop moaning and eat up."

As Sam raised his arm to peak, he found a plate of french toasts and a cup of orange juice being offered to him.

He gave Bucky a look of ultimate gratefulness as he mumbled a thank you and received the food.

Suddenly he appreciated more than ever that his friend was good at cooking, even though it probably came from a tragic backstory like his many childhood maids taught him in order to replace the absence of his parents or something.

"Least I could do." Bucky reckoned, meaning the fact that Sam had welcomed him into his home and offered to help him with his financial situation, "This, and dragging you to bed last night."

Sam visibly cringed before taking a big bite, "Did I say really dumb stuff?"

Bucky reflected on that idea for a hot second. Sam had, as a matter of fact, spilled out some truths, but Bucky didn't want to embarrass him, so he simply let it go.

He chuckled instead, "Nah, just the usual stupidity."

On his way to prepare some coffee, he checked his phone and noticed he'd received a text: we need to talk.

-

He knew what this was about. Which was the reason why he told his parents to meet him for lunch, some place they would approve of, after he'd had time to tidy up and borrow some of Sam's clothes. All just to minimize the judgement he was about to endure.

As soon as he sat down on the restaurant table, Barnes father hit him with that familiar severity.

"Where did you spend the night?"

"A hotel room." Bucky replied.

"You can't afford one."

"And I have you to thank for that." The tone quickly shifted to one of mutual accusations, "You're the one who cancelled all my cards."

"James." His mother joined the conversation in an attempt to get Bucky to lower said tone.

"It’s fine. I'm gonna crash at a friend's house.” Bucky directed the eased words to his mother, "Until I get on my own feet- which I will."

"A friend?" the dad interrupted, "Is that what you're doing now to pay for a roof over your head?"

Bucky raised his eyebrows, unamused, "Are you calling me a whore?"

"James, your father and I are worried." The woman reached over the table for her son's hands, "We want you to get yourself out of this... low spot. And last night, you proved your immaturity to us by throwing a tantrum and running away."

"Wasn't a tantrum." James retrieved his hands from his mother's grasp, "Look, if you're not going to help me out financially, then I see no reason to indulge your criticism. Otherwise it's just free abuse."

The older man rolled his eyes, "Always the drama king."

A cloud of silence fell upon the three people, thankfully soon joined by a waitress who took their orders. After they all delivered their monotone words and handed the lady their menus, Barnes father went back to the same topic.

"So, who's paying for your stuff?"

Bucky sat back on his chair, "Oh, we're still on that."

"Just wanna know how much I owe the poor soul. You keep forcing your financial situation on people, you're gonna run out of friends."

Eventually, James found himself in a tight spot. Whatever answer he gave his father, the man wouldn't be satisfied. His own son begging for money was beyond simple disappointment. The only time George Barnes had approved of Bucky depending on someone was when Brock Rumlow owned his life, because Brock was a family friend and a fine young man. Naturally, an opportunity popped into Bucky's head.

"Well, he's not a friend." He announced, earning attentive looks from both his parents, "He's, uh... we're a couple. He's not lending me money, we're sort of... living together."

Something in their eyes told Bucky they weren't buying it.

"Since when?" the mother asked.

"It's been sporadic. But we're stable."

George Barnes narrowed his eyes, "I take it it's not Rumlow."

"No, I told you, that's over." Bucky shook his head.

"Then I wanna meet this guy."

"Oh, invite him over to Nana's." The woman clapped her hands together.

The simple thought of the upcoming family vacation made him lose his appetite. Every year during spring break, the Barnes would get together for some quality time at their grandparents’ lake house. Bucky figured that this year, he probably would spend one or two weeks there before he could manage an excuse to leave. That was before he made up a fictional boyfriend, though, and the biggest problem was he didn’t have a boyfriend to bring.

"He has plans for the break." He lied.

Winnifred gave him a look that yelled incomprehension, as if she was incapable of fathoming the idea of someone not wanting to join their plans. "He can cancel them, he'll have more fun at the lake house anyways!"

"It's just that-"

"He'd love it.” Her voice began doing that thing where she sounded like she was genuinely begging, instead of simply manipulating, “And maybe you two could win Nana's hunt this year."

Now that caught Bucky’s attention. That actually made him reconsider everything. The Barnes had some very odd traditions, some Bucky loved and some he despised; but there was one in particular he had very mixed sentiments about, and which now presented itself like lifeboat.

"Right. The hunt." He trailed off, contemplating the possibility of participating in the godforsaken annual hunt.

"So what's he do?" his father’s words snapped him back.

"Huh?"

"Your boyfriend. What does he do?"

Bucky swallowed hard. In a moment of complete panic, his blank mind went to the easiest way out: the person who had actually offered his house to him for the night. Sam’s occupation was the only thing that popped into his head.

"He's a... professor.” He blurted out without much thought, “University."

"That's lovely." His mother approved.

Shit. It only then occurred to him that he was effectively making up a boyfriend, job and all, which meant he certainly couldn’t get away from it now. And it would only get worse as he dug into his lie deeper and deeper.

"What do I call him?" the older man asked.

Once again, Bucky found himself gulping.

-

"You told them what?!" Sam exclaimed.

Bucky sat with his head down in shame, while Sam paced around his own apartment, furiously.

"I'm sorry." Barnes said truthfully.

"You could've dragged anyone along with your dumb plans.” Sam ignored him and continued scolding him. “Why me?"

The appellee sighed, "It was an ambush, Sam, you should've seen it."

"I don't care!"

"They were asking me all these questions, it felt like a fucking quizz!” Bucky’s lamenting state turned much more hectic as he tried to explain his actions, “I panicked, I don't know, it just came out."

A big breath of disappointment shook Sam’s chest. Of course, he tried to understand Bucky when it came to his family. He did his best. But this was too much, for now that pressure had been transported to Sam. The weight relied on Sam’s shoulders as a whole. Still, he figured there was no way out of the hole Bucky had dug for the both of us. If the Barnes thought Sam was their son’s boyfriend, then that’s what he was. At least, until Bucky found an exit for both of them.

Reflecting on how this would be the last favor he would ever do for his friend, and at the same time acknowledging that was just a lie he told himself, Sam sat next to Bucky, who seemed expectant of more judgement. Much to his surprise, Sam’s words weren’t harsh.

"I take it they wanna meet the boyfriend." He said, a lot more nonchalantly than either of them expected.

Bucky looked at him with wide eyes, "Shit, are you serious? Would you do that for me?"

"Yeah, wouldn't be the first time I get you out of trouble." Sam ran a hand down his face.

"Sam, you’re-“

"The best, I know.” Wilson glanced up at the ceiling for strength, laying back on his couch, “So when do we have to put on a show?"

There was a brief silence, only interrupted by the sound of Bucky’s fingernails scratching the back of his head, which dropped another wave of tension upon the pair.

"That's the thing." Bucky cringed.

"What's the thing?"

"You know my family's lake house?" he tempted.

"No. No, no, no!” Sam found himself standing up at the mere thought of what he knew he was being asked, “I am not going to the middle of rich nowhere with you and your folks."

"It would only be a week.” Bucky raised his voice with a plea, earning a look of disbelief from Sam who felt like a week was not worthy of being introduced by the word ‘only’, “But, with a bunch of family members."

Samuel shook his head, clear disbelief plastered on his features.

"You don't realize how insane you sound right now."

"Hear me out, this is a good thing. Just... listen.” Bucky raised his hands in defense, “You know how my grandfather left his fortune to Nana?”

Doing his absolute best to stay open-minded, Sam nodded. Perhaps Bucky was headed somewhere with his explanation.

“Well, she has this... odd way of getting rid of it."

"The hell you talking about?" Sam frowned, growing inpatient.

"I never told you ‘cause it made me sound even more of a trust fund baby."

"Which you are."

"Point taken.” Bucky tilted his head with acceptance before he continued, “But this is good for both of us. She hates giving out her money, but she has no use for it, so she... makes it into a game every year."

Sam remained quiet, becoming more and more upset because he started getting an idea of what this was about: money and his family’s eccentric behaviors. And of course, Bucky meant to bring Sam into both of those things.

"I hate your family."

Bucky couldn’t hold back a tiny smirk, "You won't when you find out how much the prize is."

Suddenly, Sam found himself considering the offer. He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm listening." He said, unprepared for the number he was about to hear.

"Four million dollars.” Bucky laid out like he was pitching him a job offer, which, in some twisted way, it was, “We split it, I can get back on my own feet, gain my independence... and you get two millions for being such a good friend."

The amount of money was too much for a family game. The idea sounded too ridiculous for any normal family. But then again, these were the Barnes. Therefore, while Sam was having a hard time processing the information, he blinked fast, maintaining eye contact with Bucky, almost as if waiting for his friend to break character and reveal that this was all a joke.

"Two million dollars?" Sam confirmed.

"Two million each." Bucky nodded, expectant.

Sam had to sit back down, but not next to Bucky this time. He sat on the coffee table, still digesting it. The prize was more than what he made in a year. And it really seemed like this was Bucky’s best solution to all his problems.

"And it's a game?" Sam asked with that same cautious tone.

"Yeah, it's a... treasure hunt.” Barnes shrugged, “With, like, challenges and stuff. She cooks up the entire thing in her twisted little mind."

Sam nodded, at nothing really, but just as a manner of expressing that he had processed everything properly.

"But we'd have to pretend for a full week and actually win the thing."

"Nana loves me, 've always been her favorite. You butter her up, she'll give us the cheats. Make it easy for us."

The man nodded again, this time with purpose, "Okay."

"Okay?" Bucky raised his eyebrows with hope.

"Okay." Sam raised his voice before he could regret the choice, "Let's get this prize."

#sambucky #sam wilson/bucky barnes #sambucky fanfiction #sambucky au #fake dating au #fatws #ftws #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #marvel fanfiction #sam wilson #bucky barnes #slowburn #only one bed #rich!bucky

[erasedcolor-blog]

A memory of Kai being in the hospital. Could be triggering. Warnings for parental abuse, panic attacks, bodily injuries, repetitive thinking, depression, suicidal thoughts. 

Pain. That’s the last thing you feel. The pain of glass forcing its way into your back. Sharp, hot, and then numb. And then nothing. The nothing is what gets you. There are few hours of fading in and out of consciousness, the sound of sirens and people yelling. Barking orders back and forth as they try to figure out if you are worth saving. You don’t feel like you are. You don’t want to be. There is a moment where you stop fading in and out. Where you are just out, floating in that nothingness. You want it to last. It's palpable, the darkness that wraps around you, and you swear you can feel it. Reach out and watch as it passes through your fingers. Thick and smokey and warm. It’s so inviting, and you want nothing more than to let it consume you. To pull it around you and find comfort in a calm you have never felt before.

You don’t want to be saved. The thought makes itself abundantly clear as you feel a tug and the darkness recoils. Slowly at first, and then it seems to avoid you completely. You want it back, you try to reach for it, to pull it back towards you, but you can’t. It slips away from you and you can feel the tears well up in your eyes. The bile growing in the back of your throat as you realize you have to go back.

The room is too bright, it makes you squint as you slowly regain consciousness. This room isn’t yours. The lights are too harsh, there’s nothing on the walls, and there is a soft beeping in the background. There is a numb pain radiating from you back, but the drugs coursing through your body won’t allow you to acknowledge it. There are a number of IVs sticking out of your arm, a breathing tube wrapped around your face and pressed up against your nose. You aren’t sure what it is, maybe it’s the lights or that stupid fucking beeping noise or just the fact that you didn’t want to wake up in the first place, but something sets you off. You reach for the tube on your face, and that beeping gets louder. Pulling it from your face, you vaguely process the fact that someone is talking, moving just on the edge of your peripheral vision. You go to pull the IVs from your arm, but someone stops you. Cold hands grab your arm, your shoulders, push you down into the bed.

You scream. You scream as loudly as your scratchy dry throat will let you. And for the first time in your pathetic life, you fight back. Kicking and yelling, attempting to bite at whoever the fuck is touching you. Another pair of hands grab your legs, the people are talking but you don’t care enough to hear them. They strap your ankles and wrists to the bed, and fuck that just makes everything worse. One of the people pokes a needle into the IV you failed to remove, and in just a few moments things go fuzzy again.

A week passes. You haven’t fought the nurses since the first time you woke up, so you don’t have to be strapped down anymore. Apparently, thrashing around like that had opened up your wounds and you had to go back into surgery. You didn’t even feel it.

You’re alone right now, sitting up in your bed as your mom talks to someone outside of your room. You don’t know who they are. A lady in a suit with her hair pinned up in a very professional matter. Mom isn’t happy. You can hear her voice leaking through the walls, angry and harsh and scared. It’s only a few minutes, then she comes into the room. A smile painted on her face that is so painfully fake.

“Kyler, how are you feeling, sweetie?”

You shrug. You don’t know. Everything is just… numb. Your body, your mind.

“There’s someone here who wants to talk to you, is that okay? It’s okay if you don’t feel up to it. She just has a few questions.”

You’ve already talked to the police. Four times. Four times they asked you what happened, and four times you told them the same thing. ‘I fell.’

“That’s fine.” You answer, but your mom doesn’t seem very happy with that answer. You don’t know why, but you also don’t ask. She asks if you’re sure and you nod, then the woman comes in your room. She asks your mom to leave, and after hesitating she does. Then it’s just you and the professional looking woman.

She smiles at you, worried but kind and warm. You decide you trust this woman, at least a little bit. Her name is Victoria, and she asks you a bunch of questions. At first, they are simple. What’s your name, how old are you, where do you live, what year is it. And then, she asks you what happened. You tell her you fell. She smiles, nods, and then sits on the chair next to your bed that your mother has been sleeping in.

“Kyler,” she begins, pulling a notebook out of her bag. She writes something down. “Do you know how to tell if someone is lying?”

You shake your head.

“Everyone has a tell. That’s something they do when they lie, and if you can establish what that tell is, you will always know when they are lying. Do you understand?”

You nod.

“When you lie, you look down at your hands. Just now, when I asked you what happened, you looked down at your hands and then told me you fell. Were you lying?”

You look away completely now, opting to stare down at your lap instead of at Victoria. She scoots forward, moving the chair closer to your bed.

“I would like to hold your hand, is that okay?”

“That’s fine.”

She reaches for you, very slowly, giving you all the time you need to pull away or change your mind. But you don’t. Gently, she grabs onto you. You admire her nails and the many rings on her fingers. You fidget with one of those rings, the plastic heart monitor on your index finger clicking against metal as you rub your thumb over it.

“Kyler, did someone hurt you?”

For whatever reason, you find the question funny. The police told you that you were found lying in a pile of glass that used to be your mother’s coffee table. You had to go through three surgeries. The first was to remove the glass, the second when they realized the glass was deeper than they thought, the third when you accidentally reopened your wounds. Now, each time you move, it feels as if you are being stabbed all over again.

Did someone hurt you?

How many times have you heard that question? How many times have you gone to school with black eyes and bruised wrists just to be pulled to the side and questioned by an adult?

Did someone hurt you?

How many times have you lied? How many times have you rehearsed the stories with your mom? With your dad? It’s fine. I’m fine. I fell. I tripped. I was clumsy. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

Did someone hurt you?

Smile. Don’t cry. Don’t laugh too loudly. Don’t yell. Don’t talk back. Avoid eye contact. Make yourself smaller. Hide in your room. Just be quiet. Just be quiet. You’re fine. It’s fine. This is fine.

Did someone hurt you?

You don’t know when you started crying, but you become aware of it when a tear falls onto your hand. Victoria doesn’t say anything, you realize she hasn’t said anything for a while now. She’s waiting for you to answer, but you know she has already decided for herself what the answer is. So why lie? You look towards the door. Outside, you can see your mother standing with your father. She looks worried, arms crossed over her chest as she fiddles with her necklace. Your father, he’s there too. With his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes squinted slightly as he speaks to her. Is he worried? Is he angry? If you tell the woman the truth, what will he do? Will he hurt you? Will he hurt your mother? What’s the worst he can do to you? What can he do that he hasn’t done already? Kill you?

Do you even care anymore?

Victoria is looking with you. Looking out that glass wall at the people who raised you. She knows. You know she knows. You know it by the slight frown of her lips and the way she sighs.

“Kyler?” She says your name softly, a reminder that a question has gone unanswered. You wipe your eyes with your free hand, now holding onto her fingers much tighter than before.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me who hurt you?”

“No.”

There is a pause, one where Victoria considers her options. She can’t do anything unless you tell her. You know this. Your father knows this.

“This person, has he hurt you before?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

How long? You don’t know. You can’t remember when it started.

“Forever.”

“Are you afraid of him?”

You glare at nothing, at your hand grabbing onto her fingers as if it’s a lifeline. At the glass wall. At your father, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I hate him.”

That isn’t what she asked, and you know this, yet you aren’t willing to answer. To tell her you are afraid. You don’t want to be afraid. Not of him. Not of anything. Victoria doesn’t press you for an answer, she simply nods. Her thumb rubs over your knuckles but you don’t stop looking at him. She leans in a little closer, grabbing your attention back. There is a smile, a soft sad one, as she places her other hand over yours as well.

“Kyler, did your father hurt you?”

No. The answer you are trained to give is no. Your father is kind and loving and would never hurt you. Never slap you. Never punch you. Never choke you. Never threaten to break your fingers. Never pull a knife on you. Never burn you with cigarettes. Never break your arm. He is kind and loving and would never grab your throat and slam you into a glass coffee table.

You take far too long to answer, but Victoria is patient. Your mouth feels dry and your skin begins to itch. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips.

“Yes.”

#memories #long post

[manyfears-blog1]

Neibolt Blues

Prompt: Could I get a get a fic of reader feeling like an outcast among humanity. Like reader is just too strange and weird that most people find them off putting. (The story of my life.) And even when they make friends eventually there friends leave them because reader is a handful. They go to the creep house to be alone and sorta slump into a depressive state. Penny shows up and finds it weird why someone would actively come to "his" house. Reader is not scared, They are depressed its a whole different ballgame for the clown. Not sure what do with the human he allows them to stay around. Reader is thankful someone is there for them even its a murderous clown. Reader talks to him he listens, sorta. And thats enough for reader to feel listened to. Maybe reader leaves thanking him for listening. Then comes back and a bond starts to develop. Penny finds the reader so strange he likes them (He is quite a freak himself) and they both become friends.

Thank you so much @i-fuck-monsters for the prompt, I really do appreciate you messaging me!

So this one is a little long I’m sorry! I hope it isn’t too bland but I’ve never written something like this and enjoyed giving it a go. My inbox is always open <3

Words: 1684

You shove your hands into your side pockets and slink past pedestrians blocking your path; your breathing is sporadic as you hold back the tears welling up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You make your way through the town without drawing much attention, it almost feels like everyone around you sighs with relief at the thought of you leaving and never coming back, although you believe that to be true more than just a feeling, you stop at the edge of the footpath and stare into the road; replaying countless conversations, your brain cycles through all the people that you once called friends but have all left you like a run-down couch on the side of the road. With a huff, you kick a rock by your foot hard, not looking up to see where it travels but when you hear the ‘tink’ of it hitting a fence you look up, only then realizing you’re standing across from the infamous neibolt house. There are stories of something evil living inside that place, stories of people entering the house but never leaving, without hesitation, you walk straight for the door; the old wooden stairs wobble under your weight but without taking much notice you reach out and open the front door.

Once inside you scan the large room: It’s dusty and reeks of rotting meat, dead animals you assume, cob webs litter the peeling walls and dirt covers the deteriorating floorboards. The appearance doesn’t bother you and you make your way to an old couch stationed in the corner of the room but as you sit down a puff of dust further pollutes the air around you and you cough hoarsely, the coughing quickly turns to sobs and you lean on the arm of the couch and quietly weep. Deep down you hope the stories are true and you do go missing like the others.

The silence is disturbed by the sound of weighty footsteps stalking through the room not far around the corner near the staircase, slowly you lift your head from the arm and look around, heavy tears roll off your face and drop onto the old material below your head. It’s a tall, quite menacing looking, clown? Staring down at you with cold eyes. At least you think it is a clown but its palette is bland; dull, off-white costume with red ropes separating its arm sleeves and frills dangling over white gloved hands. You have no desire to properly analyse its wardrobe choices and gently rest your head back down although you’re still facing the weird clown but stare just past it. Something in the back of your mind is telling you you’re in danger but the mild concern is clouded again by the thick smog developing across your mind and throughout your body; your limbs are heavy, impossibly heavy, the ache in your heart has stopped and now you are numb, you’re not even really thinking anymore but just slowly embracing the nothingness the promises to relieve your invisible pain.

The clown is standing right next to you, still staring, it’s confused. Do you know it’s there? It feels nothing from you; no fear, happiness, not even an inch of curiosity? You might as well be part of the furniture as far as it’s concerned. It does detect a feeling but it wouldn’t know what to do with that: fear is sweet and enjoyable, whereas happiness is bitter. Prey without feeling fear tastes like cobwebs and mothballs but what if they are feeling nothing? The clown crouches next to you and forces its face into your distance field of view.

“Hello, Y/N!” it chirps happily. “You must be a little lost…What are you doing here?

The words rattle through your head a little making it hard to really make sense of the question. Silently you make proper eye-contact with it- the smile looks a little sinister but the fact it’s giving you attention catches you off-guard. Weird looking guy but it’s nice to have anything to talk to, really.

“Uh… Hey.” Your monotone voice creeps out of your throat. “I’m uh- I’m not lost, thanks.” Your dismissive responses show promise of ending any conversation, a tactic you know all too well used against you on the daily.

Before you drift away in thought again it talks to you again.

“Mind if I sit?” it asks, patting its hand on the cushion next to you.

“Sure.” Making sure to turn your head to avoid the dust assaulting your nose and throat again as it sits swiftly next to you, turning to face you.

“Why do you feel like this, Y/N? The emptiness is like nothing else.” The question is blunt and you have to repeat it in your mind to fully grasp the random intrusion by a creepy clown in an old house.

You give it all your attention now, your face red and puffy from crying and coughing.

“…Wait, who are you exactly?” your suspicious tone comes off harsher than expected.

“Oh! Well I’m Pennywise The Dancing Clown!” in his enthusiasm the bells on his costume jingle with his movements. Pennywise doesn’t give you time to respond- “You’re all alone, no friends, Y/N?” His tone becoming a little more derogatory. You used to be afraid of being alone, forgotten, hated, it used to keep you up at night with just the thought of everyone leaving you until it happened. One by one your ‘friends’ have left you. I just don’t think we should hang out spewing hate, twisting rumours to deter others from you You’re so annoying, Y/N, go bother someone else! This used to scare you and you could feel the familiar fear in the back of your mind but it was extinguished before it had a chance to manifest. Again, blank.

“Nope, not really, Penny- err?” The clown’s expression went blank for a brief second, like he was trying to conjure a different response, but his expression lifted slightly again. “Pennywise.”

“Well, Pennywise, I’m here because I want to disappear like the others, I’m already invisible to everyone else so I might as well..”

He seems to ponder over your response, what a weird clown, does he care about what I’m saying? Maybe he isn’t even real, maybe you’ve just-

“Really?” He interrupts- “Peculiar one you are, tell me.”

“Tell you…?” You ask, holding your head up higher to pay more attention to Pennywise.

“Tell me why you are feeling nothing, tell me what happened.”

You’re bewildered by his question, you perk up a little, straightening up your body more to face the clown sitting next to you and you scan his face suspiciously- You can’t read him like the others but you know the look of someone not caring, dismissing you like a fly on the table, but you don’t detect any hidden agenda to his questioning, in fact, he seems genuinely curious.

You take a big breath and tell him about your problems, it seemed so odd at first, you just met this thing and it has occurred to you it can’t be human but you’re not bothered by that in the slightest. It is more like talking to a very quiet, possibly disturbed, cat and you slowly begin to enjoy the time you spend with him on the dusty old couch. After a few minutes, you get up from the couch and walk around the decrepit house with Pennywise following you not too far behind, further supporting the disturbed cat theory, you talk and talk and without knowing, your spirit raises and you’re exploring the house more.

It’s late in the afternoon before you realise how long you have been here chatting and looking around, tripping over the occasional loose floorboard or rat carcass, but Pennywise caught you every time, giggling at your clumsiness.

“I should probably get going actually.” Realising the time, you look up at the clown, a little sad you should leave.

“Good.” He says, a little bluntly. You frown, have you annoyed him? He probably hates you like everybody-

“You didn’t disappear once in this house! Maybe you did something wrong...” He jokes, it takes a minute to process what he is saying but you begin to laugh, something so alien to you.

“You’re right, Penny.” You touch your face with an exaggerated expression of shock. “Maybe I should try again later?” Before he answers you leave the house and wave as you walk into the street.

 The next day you wake up feeling blue again, was yesterday a dream? Did you really meet some weird clown in the neibolt house? You begin to spiral out into your broken state again, so many scenarios buzzing through your skull you feel sick. Lying back in your bed with a thud you sigh loudly and stare out the window; the sky is grey and the sun is hidden by the thick clouds. Out of nowhere you get this feeling, it’s an odd feeling like someone is with you, in your presence but not present, it feels familiar and you start thinking about the day before again. You get a warm feeling inside of you, only just noticeable but you notice it.

Without much thought, you roll out of bed and quickly change clothes so it doesn’t look like you slept in the clothes from yesterday, you did, and race out of the house. Making your way through the twisting streets you finally spot Neibolt and you run towards the dilapidated dwelling. When you open the front door you briskly search the rooms for Pennywise, he isn’t here! You frown and turn to walk out but just as you do, you hear the familiar sound of bells tingling behind you, you turn and face the tall clown who is smiling down at you.

“Hiya, Y/N! You don’t seem so lost this time, want a balloon? He giggles at your surprised expression, you step forward, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Yeah, lets hangout?”

“Yes.” He grins, you smile in return, the warm feeling in your heart spreads ever so slightly.

#it #pennywise #pennywise the dancing clown #pennywise x reader #sfw #depression #pennywise fanfiction #manyfears writes

[l0st-h0p3]

Hello Darkness My Old Friend

I see it.

I’m on the tip of the ice berg.

Slowly it’s melting beneath my feet.

Soon I’ll be crumbling & crashing down.

Shes back. She’s here. I feel her. She’s near.

So last little update since I last wrote. I kinda decided I wanna treat this platform as my safe space. A place where I can vent and complain about my life because sometimes you just fucking gotta let that shit out man.

So I left off with the eating disorder shit so I wanna talk about that because I’ve been stressed the fuck out.

I guess there’s no simpler way to put it... I’m relapsing. It’s been day 3 of restricting and today has been the worst because it was the easiest and now I’m in deep waters.

Today I got a trigger drink. I really do hate that word but it’ll make sense in a second. So back when I was in beauty school I got really really bad I was like 89-90 lbs. All I ever did was drink a dangerous amount of coffee & espresso & eat the same food everyday because it fit in my calorie amount. In that time I was eating 500 calories a day. I guess it was really bad then because I was dating an alcoholic/drug addict and he was mentally, verbally & sexually abusive. After he raped me several times I lost all control of myself and literally diminished into nothingness.

Ok so my trigger drink. I got an iced Americano. If you don’t know what that is it’s 4 shots of espresso with water. I get it black. So because it’s so strong I take small sips throughout the day and I realize I’m not hungry at all.

During the week I normally work at 12 or 1 til close which is anywhere from 8-9. But we all know in the salon world you leave when the last client is finished. So I never eat in the mornings because I’m never hungry. So I come home at 9:30 , smoke a half of a blunt & eat some snackers from Olga’s.

It’s not 12:55 am and my stomach is growling yet I’m not allowing myself to eat. Part of me is like “no don’t fall backwards you made so much progress.”

But I don’t care. I hate my body. I don’t like how I look I feel and look ugly. I’m not comfortable in my own skin and I miss being petite, skinny and tiny.

So I’m an assistant at a salon & spa so I work under the head stylist. She had this client today that was clearly anorexic. Her arms were sooo thin you could snap them like a pencil.

Now some normal persons initial reaction would probably be something like “oh wow she’s so skinny, she needs to gain some weight.”

But what was my initial reaction? Pure jealously. Pure rage. That I couldn’t let myself get to her point because I was too weak.

So I don’t care really right now if it’s my eating disorder talking or if it’s me... maybe it’s both or maybe we are one by now. I mean it’s been 11 years already... what’s 11 more right?

I swear my ED is just a drug I can’t seem to get away from. I love & hate everything about it. It’s a journey filled with endless pain & eternal sadness. You don’t realize what you’re doing to yourself until you step away & look at the big picture and you’re like “fuck maybe this is a problem.”

And the worst part is I even went out of state for treatment and everyone around me thinks I’ve magically recovered because that’s what I want them to think.

Nobody knows I’m relapsing.

I think my disorder is kinda like an addiction. It makes me feel safe and like I have control. I’m terrible with or without it. No matter how hard I try I always end up back in the depths of the disorder.

And what’s sad is I really see me going down hill this time. I’m just not happy with my life right now. I have no close friends which is completely my fault because I lied to them about being with my ex again. I don’t really have that close of a relationship with my older sister because she’s going through some shit. And I don’t know like I love my work so much I love what I do but the depression makes me feel like I’m not going anywhere in my career and that I’m gonna stay stagnant. Some days it’s so hard to get out of bed in the morning. I just feel lost & lonely. And when I feel that way I turn to my friends Ana & Mia because I guess they are my best friends yet terrible enemies. I feel so good yet lost & confused without them.

I don’t feel like anything when I’m at a healthy weight. It’s like the negative attention I get when I’m sickly thin is a pro in my eyes? God that makes no sense.

I still have old pictures on my phone of my body from 2015 up until now. I’m literally triggering myself by looking at old photos of myself. The only thoughts that run through my mind are : “ you were sooo thin. Why did you let yourself go? This is the largest you have ever been? You’re fat. What are you doing to yourself you pig?”

So I’m done. I hate my body. Sure I looked sexy to guys but fuck it I don’t care. Fuck feeling pretty or sexy about myself. I don’t deserve to feel that way. I’m a piece of fucking shit who is terrified of the world and I’m just a lost soul.

I’m so hurt by my past that I can’t forgive myself. I can’t move on. I can’t escape. I’m trapped by my mistakes and traumatic events that occurred because of those mistakes.

Like in all honesty I really do think it was my fault I was raped and abused. Why? Because I knew what he was doing was wrong and I still fucking stayed. I ran back and forth from the toxic relationship for almost 2 years!

The first night me and nick ( 1st Ex boyfriend) hooked up was not like any hookup... it was forced.

So story time. I knew this guy nick through my old friend tyra. I always thought he was cute but I thought if he got in shape and cleaned up a little he would be really attractive yanno? So anyways fast forward to November 2016. Me & my friend tyra go to a college house rave party. We get there and in comes nick. Right when I saw him I was like “damn.” He went to navy school and lost so much weight and he looked really good. So the party starts and everyone’s super fucked up. I got drunk, smoked hella weed, and did some coke & molly. So 5 am rolls around and bodies are just hitting the floor man. I swear I was on an episode of skins or something. So by this point nick and I kinda flirted with each other but it was nothing serious. He was blackout drunk and on hella drugs. So we are kinda flirting and hanging out and we are trying to find somewhere to sleep. Every fucking spot in the house is taken and I decided that nick and I could sleep behind the dj booth on the fucking basement floor. So I sit out my blanket and pillow. I just wanted to cuddle. I was so fucking exhausted by this point and not feeling good because what can I say me and molly don’t get along. And As we are cuddling he keeps grabbing on me and trying to stick his hand down my pants. I keep laughing and telling him to screw off and go to bed. He keeps trying and trying. I keep laughing but nervously now and he keeps being persistent and sticking his hands in my pants. And what did I do? I fucking gave in.

Then we started having a relationship a couple months after that and we went downhill super fast. He never wanted to have a real relationship with me. He was awkward & didn’t really make any conversations with me. We just would get fucked up together and have sex. After awhile he became super manipulative and just mean. I was always searching for valadation from him.

He went to a navy school that was 4 1/2 hours away from where I live. He would visit a lot so I would see him often. Eventually when I started beauty school I would go and visit him. I remember my first weekend up there. I took some days off school and was so excited to finally visit him. The agreement with my parents is that I drove to my sisters college which was about 2 1/2 hours from nicks school so he would pick me up from there because my car was sketchy to take the whole trip. So he picks me up from my sisters apartment and everything seems good. We talk the whole way there and laugh. I get to his apartment and right off the bat he seems awkward around his roommates with me there because I was only 18 at the time and nick was 20 and his roommates were 21 & 22 I think. Mind you he begged me to visit him up at school and always held it against me when we fought that I never made an effort to see him. So the first night is ok we drink but I don’t think I got that drunk. We have sex once or twice as expected and yeah everything seemed ok.

Well the next day things took a weird turn. The whole morning he doesn’t even speak to me and instantly just hops on top of me and starts taking my clothes off. We go to the mall later that evening and he runs into some friends from school. He introduces me as his friend. I just kinda look at him with that “are you fucking serious face?”. I know he got the message instantly. His excuse was that he slipped and said friend. Yeah ok.

The rest of that trip was a blur. We never even left that fucking bed. All he wanted was sex. Like every fucking hour. And I didn’t even feel anything.

I guess the first time he raped me was when I visited the first time. I remember he wouldn’t let me wear clothes to bed. He always wanted me to wear nothing or the least amount of clothes possible. I remember I would wake up in the middle of the night still drunk & confused to find him on top of me trying to “stick it in”. I would kinda be like “wtf Are you doing?” And he would make up some excuse or just “fall back asleep.”

The others times I went up there it got worse. Some days we would barely say a thing to each other. I began drinking a lot because I guess I thought that if you can’t beat em join em. I got sick and tired of always having to take care of his drunk ass so why not get wasted with him?

The abuse got so bad. I remember one time I drove home and had to pull over on the highway because I was sobbing. I couldn’t even sit down or stand up too fast because my vagina had been torn so badly because he would just shove it in. I remember one time I told him to stop because he was hurting me... he told me to “just get used to it” and proceeded to thrust.

I felt trapped. Every time I tried to leave he lured me back in. Until finally I had enough. I stood up to his bullshit and told him what he was doing to me was terrible and no human in their right mind would do that to another human. I finally left.

I think those were my darkest days. My disorder really took ahold of my life and my own fucking boyfriend didn’t realize that I was 90 lbs. I was so sick.

But I still feel responsibility for those events that occurred. It’s MY fault. I could’ve left. I could’ve stood my ground right from the start. I could’ve stood up and grabbed my things that night we were lying beneath the dj booth.

I could’ve. I should’ve.

I didn’t.