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scuttling · 3 years

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Impure

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina Original Female Character Word Count: 4,557 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Priest kink, Religion, Confessional, Masturbation, Vaginal fingering, Oral sex, Unprotected sex, Somehow also sweet Summary: Hotch is a hot priest and steamy, smutty stuff happens. That's it, that's the fic. Note: This is a reformatted, previously published work. Link to A03 or read below! When Sophie Cortes moves to Whitehall, Virginia in the hopes of starting over, she expects it to be difficult. Removed completely from her family, her friends, the job she loved, and the only way of life she’s known for 28 years—it’s hard, and she prays for strength every day for a week before she passes a small Catholic church on her way to the post office. She hadn’t noticed it before, and she smiles, makes a vow to attend mass the following Sunday, and feels for the first time in a long time like God might actually be on her side.

She feels that way for a very, very short time, because the moment she lays eyes on the priest—Father Aaron Hotchner, the sign by the door says—she realizes she’s doomed.

He is not at all what she’d expected in this sleepy, pseudo-Southern town, in that he is hot like burning: he’s in his forties, tall, and kind of beefy, actually, with arms that fill out his clerical shirt a little too well, and a handsome face, dark hair, a kind smile. She takes a seat in the back, the first week she attends, but when he looks out at the congregation, she feels like his eyes are on her and only her. It makes her sweat more than the July heat, and she wets her lips, feels every bit the sinner she is.

The second week isn’t any better, or the third, fourth, fifth. Each time, she enters hopeful and leaves a horny, desperate mess. The sixth week, she confesses.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been... a while since my last confession. I’m new to town—you probably haven’t even noticed me—and I’m trying to start a new life. I was taking a walk around the neighborhood, and I found your little church, and I thought maybe it was God’s way of trying to help me on my journey.”

“It was. He brought you here for a reason,” Father Hotchner says through the lattice of the confessional booth, and Sophie exhales, leans her head back.

“No, Father. It wasn’t God who led me here, it was the Devil himself.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because the moment I saw you standing there, tall, strong, your hands wrapped around the edges of the pulpit, I began having impure thoughts, and they haven’t gone away. The moment I step foot in those doors, my core aches; I try to rub discreetly against the pew for some relief, but there are too many people around me, so I just sit there, hot and swollen, dripping wet, listening to your voice. When I kneel, I kneel for you, not God.” She breathes slowly, in and out of her nose, tries to calm herself down. “You talk about sin, Father, and while you do my body begs for yours; sometimes you pause to swallow, and I watch your throat, and I wonder if that’s you feeling me wanting you.” He is quiet for a moment before speaking again.

“You are right: Lustful thoughts are the work of the Devil. But you can overcome them.”

“I can’t, Father. I’ve tried. I’ve prayed for God’s guidance. I’ve been coming here for six weeks, and each time I see you I crave the touch of your hand, your mouth on my body. I always leave quickly when your sermon is over, because if you saw me, flushed, my nipples hard, my eyes wide, you would know what I’ve been thinking, Father, and I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You were made by God in His image. You couldn’t disappoint me.”

“It doesn’t disappoint you to know I’m thinking of it right now? Of how the only thing between us is this partition, and how if I could get into your lap, maybe I could rub myself to climax, feel your hands on my hips, urging me on, until we both come, here in His house? Because that’s all I can think about, Father.” Tears well up in her eyes, but his voice is soothing.

“That’s okay. It’s alright. I’m not disappointed. I can help you through this.”

“How? Please tell me how, Father. I’ll do anything.”

“First, I want you to recite the Act of Contrition each morning. I want you to talk to God and tell Him you’re sorry, and then I want you to forgive yourself.”

“Forgive myself?” The idea seems insane, after everything she’s confessed to him.

“Yes. You deserve compassion as a child of God. And you should give yourself credit, for despite the heat of your flesh, you haven’t acted on your impure thoughts. God will have mercy because of your resistance. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Father. Thank you, Father.”

“Good. May our Lord and God, Jesus Christ, through the grace and mercies of his love for humankind, forgive you all your transgressions. And I, an unworthy priest, by his power given me, forgive and absolve you from all your sins, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen.” Sophie leaves, and her hands are trembling. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession. I’m not sure you’ll remember me…” The priest shifts a little, Sophie can see it through the barrier that separates them.

“I remember you. Have you forgiven yourself? Have you spoken to God?”

“I’ve tried, Father. I’ve done my penance, I’ve prayed, but I’m still so weak. Today, I watched a bead of sweat drip down your neck, and I wanted to run my tongue over it, follow it into your clothes and taste you, warm and salty. I’m soaked and throbbing even now, just recalling how my body reacted. It hurts.” He swallows hard.

“I’m sorry you are in pain, both mental and physical. But with God, you are strong. With God, nothing is impossible. You will get through this.”

“I didn’t just have impure thoughts this week, Father. I—I touched myself, and I imagined it was your hand. Your fingers inside me, filling me. I came to the thought of you, Father. Will I be forgiven?”

“God forgives you, and I forgive you.” She closes her eyes tightly, sighs.

“Thank you, Father. What is my penance?”

“I want you to spend one hour a day sitting on your bed, completely still and silent. I want you to think of all of the blessings God has given you, all of the ways He has made you strong. I also want you to donate your hands to a good cause; you know the nursing home on Fifth Avenue is always looking for volunteers. Maybe, if your hands are occupied doing God’s work, the temptation to use them in an impure manner will leave you.”

“Thank you, Father. I will.”

“May our Lord and God, Jesus Christ, through the grace and mercies of his love for humankind, forgive you all your transgressions. And I, an unworthy priest, by his power given me, forgive and absolve you from all your sins, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen.” “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession.”

“Have you done your penance, my girl?”

“Yes, Father. I meditated and volunteered until I was so exhausted each night that I fell right to sleep.”

“And what was the outcome? Do you feel better?” She feels shame for what she is about to say.

“I didn’t think of you, but I dreamed of you.”

“What did you dream about?”

“I dreamed of laying beneath you, Father. I dreamed of being taken by you. I dreamed of you filling me up with come and whispering in my ear that it was God’s will.” The priest exhales deeply.

“Did you have the same dream every night?”

“No, Father. One night I dreamed of kneeling to pray, but then taking you into my mouth, performing an act of service on you. You came in my mouth and gave me five Hail Mary’s for worshipping at an altar that was not God’s.”

“Is there more?”

“Yes, Father. I dreamed of your head between my legs, tasting me. I called out your name in pleasure, and you held me tightly and pushed your tongue inside me until I cried, it felt so good. Then you spilled on my skin and—and praised me for fulfilling my duty to God.” His voice is soft when he responds.

“I think it may be time for private counseling.”

“Here at the church, Father?”

“Yes, with me. Once a week.”

“Father, I don’t know if—” She can barely look at him without moaning; how can he expect her to be counseled in his office, just feet from him… alone?

“Trust me. I will help you talk to God. We will find a way to remove these impure thoughts from your mind so you can live in God’s image as intended.”

“Yes, Father, thank you, Father.”

“Amen.” “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession.”

“You didn’t come to counseling.” He sounds disappointed, and she takes a trembling breath.

“No, Father. I’m sorry. You were giving communion, and I opened my mouth for you, and you placed the body of Christ on my tongue, and I… Forgive me, Father. I went into the bathroom and I touched myself. I couldn’t face you after that.”

“You touched yourself… here?” Shame makes her face heat, her eyes water.

“Yes, Father, I’m so sorry. I tried to resist, I did.”

“Did you have an orgasm?”

“Yes, Father. A strong one. That’s the closest you’ve gotten to me, and I couldn’t help the way my body reacted.”

“It’s okay. God forgives you, and I forgive you. Please come to counseling this week, no matter what.”

“Yes, Father. What is my penance?”

“Five Our Fathers, and I want you to wear a rubber band on your wrist and snap it every time you think of me. Maybe the pain will be a reminder to keep your thoughts pure.”

“I will, Father, thank you.”

“Amen.” “Father Hotchner. My name is Sophie Cortes, I…” He stands from his desk, nods stoically.

“I know. Please, have a seat,” he says, gesturing to two armchairs in the corner of the room, and when she perches on one, smoothing her sundress beneath her, he takes the other. His eyes linger on her legs, and she instantly feels shame for the way she’s dressed, even though she’d felt confident and beautiful when she left the house. “You’re here because of impure thoughts that won’t go away. We’ve tried meditation, and service, and praying, but nothing seems to be working. I see you’ve been wearing the rubber band.” He nods to her wrist, and she swallows.

“Yes, Father, but I’m sorry, it’s complicated things further.”

“How so?” he asks with a tilt of his head. It’s so much harder for her to concentrate now that she can see him, now that he’s more than just a shadowy figure in the confessional box. And so close...

“It turns out, I find pleasure in the sting. It’s made me imagine other pleasurable, painful things.”

“Such as?” She sighs deeply, feels dirty, hopes it won’t make him look at her differently.

“Receiving spanking as penance, Father. Your strong hands hitting my thighs and behind until I’m a panting, dripping mess, begging for God’s forgiveness, and yours.” He wets his lips, leans in a little closer.

“Do you think that would help?” She can smell his after-shave, just like she could at communion, and she shifts in her seat, crosses her legs.

“I don't think so, Father. I would… want you even more, afterward.” He nods, pushes a hand through his dark hair.

“I’ll admit, I’ve been struggling, trying to decide how to go about counseling you. I’ve thought of reading scripture to you...” She squeezes her legs together, knows that wouldn’t work. She would only be turned on more, and that’s part of why she feels so messed up in the head. “I’ve thought of kneeling beside you, praying with you, your hands in mine, so we can talk to God together.” Her breath comes quickly at the thought, and he shakes his head. “I don’t think any of that will solve your problem, though, do you?”

“I don’t know, Father. I don’t—I don’t think so.”

“I think there’s only one thing that will help you, Miss Cortes, and I want you to know I don’t recommend this lightly. I have spent many nights talking to God about you.”

“You have?”

“Yes. And I remembered that sometimes, rules aren’t one-size-fits-all. Sometimes, we are allowed to bend them, in the right circumstances, and I think this situation is one of those circumstances.” He sits back in his chair, and he’s breathing heavily too, she notices. “Come here.”

Her mind goes abruptly blank.

“Come… there?” she asks, and he swallows, nods.

“Yes. In my lap. If you want to.” She wants to—that’s the whole reason she’s here—and he’s telling her she can, so she stands, takes a shaky breath, and settles on his thighs. He runs his hands carefully over her legs, then up her arms, caresses her cheeks. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” she answers, breathless, and he slides his hands down her throat, over her breasts, and she moans at the touch.

“I think the only way to resolve the problems you’re having, Miss Cortes, would be to satisfy you. To give you what you’ve been thinking of since the first time you entered my church. Do you want me to do that?”

“Yes, Father.” She closes her eyes, and he gently cups her breasts, squeezes them in his hands. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip.

“Give me a Hail Mary,” he says, and she would do anything he asks in that tone of voice. She nods.

“Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee.” His hands move to her waist, and she sighs. “Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” His hands move to her thighs, and he pushes up her dress, rubs them up until his fingers meet the hem of her panties. She swallows hard. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

“Amen. Another,” he instructs gently, and he rubs his fingers against the soaked crotch of her panties, earning a soft moan.

“Hail Mary Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” He pushes her panties to the side, his fingers gliding over her aching, wet heat, and she moans again, recites faster. “Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

“Amen,” he says, breathless. He guides a finger inside her and she skims her own hands along her body, trembles in his grasp. “Another.”

“Hail Mary Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb—Jesus,” she sighs, when he slips another finger inside, and his other hand rests on her ass, putting pressure there, encouraging her to move. She lifts her hips and sinks back down against his hand, and he wets his lips, blows out a long, measured breath.

“Keep going, Miss Cortes.”

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” She gasps, grips the arms of the chair with her fingers and rides his hand, looking down into his deep, dark eyes. He squeezes her ass.

“Good girl. I want you to come on my fingers. You’ve imagined them inside you—does this feel better?”

“Yes, Father.” She rides faster, moaning, and he fists her dress in his hand, lifts it so he can watch her take him in, which makes her shiver. “Oh, please.”

“What is it? What do you need?” he asks, dropping her dress to touch her cheek.

“Another finger, Father? Please?” His brow furrows, determined, and he adds another; she pumps her hips four times, whines, and comes, clutching his shirt at his shoulders. When she’s spent, she sags against him, panting, and he holds her close, rubs a hand up and down her back.

“That was perfect. You did exactly what I wanted. Are you alright?”

“Yes, thank you, Father,” she murmurs, sitting up in his lap, and though she would love to kiss him, or run her fingers through his hair, she’s fairly certain that’s not what this is.

He offers her a tissue to clean up, slides his fingers out carefully and cleans them off as well, and she sits back in her own chair, legs crossed again. He looks at her seriously, leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I hope that helps you, Miss Cortes. I know you don’t want to have those impure thoughts.”

“No, Father. Thank you, I… I hope so too.” He nods, takes her hands in his, closes his eyes.

“Amen.” He opens his eyes.

“I’ll take your confession Sunday, and then see you for counseling next week. We’ll see how you feel then.”

“Okay. Thank you again.” They both stand, and he walks her to the door; his eyes linger on her face, and she ducks her head, walks down the hall.

That night, she dreams of hands on her hips, holding her down, and helping her move. She wakes to a puddle in her panties. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been a week since my last confession.” She knows she sounds tired when she speaks, and he sighs at the sound of her voice.

“Tell me your sins, Miss Cortes,” he says low. She shivers.

“It didn’t work, Father. If anything, I think it made it worse. I dreamed of you again.”

“I dreamed of you, too.” She sits in silence, shocked, and her heart races. “Did you know I make house calls? For counseling. If a member of the congregation is in need.” She hums, shifts where she sits.

“I didn’t know that, Father. I might… I think that might help me. Will you have time tonight?”

“Yes. I can be there around seven, if that works for you. We can try again.” She gasps softly, presses her thighs together.

“Yes, please, Father.”

“Okay. Five Hail Mary’s for me, Miss Cortes. May our Lord and God, Jesus Christ, through the grace and mercies of his love for humankind, forgive you all your transgressions. And I, an unworthy priest, by his power given me, forgive and absolve you from all your sins, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen.” When Father Hotchner arrives at her apartment that night, he looks like a completely different man—all because of his eyes. They are smoldering, stormy, and the way they sweep over her body when she invites him in, offers him coffee… It makes her mouth water.

She pours a cup for each of them, but they never get a chance to drink it, because he takes her face in his hands and kisses her deeply, passionately, leaving her breathless. When the kiss breaks, she walks them back to the bedroom, and his broad hands grope at her, pulling her dress over her head and tugging her close for another kiss.

“Sophie,” he murmurs, and she puts her hands on his belt, fingers on the clasp.

“Please, Father, may I?” He nods, kisses her again, and she opens it, then his pants, and he guides her back against the bed; he begins at her throat, kissing her hot and wet, and he trails his mouth down her body, over her breasts, her stomach, down to her panties. He mouths at her soaked core, and she moans, arches up off the bed. “Oh, yes.”

He looks up at her, eyes hooded with lust, and he guides her panties off, presses his lips against her pussy in a deep kiss. He flicks his tongue a little, so she’s squirming, whining, and then slides back up her body to lick at her throat. “You taste like sin,” he whispers in her ear, and the moan that passes her lips is pornographic and filthy.

“Forgive me, Father,” she pants in return, touching his throat while he kisses her, and his hands press hard against her waist.

“No need, my girl. This is what God wants—I wouldn’t have dreamed of you if it wasn’t.”

She’s not entirely sure that’s how it works, but she’s not about to argue, not when he’s crawling back down to eat her pussy like it’s a feast he can’t resist, his hands on her thighs spreading her open for a gentle but unrelenting tongue.

“Oh, yes. Yes, right there, please,” she whimpers, and when her hands fall to his shoulders, he picks them up and puts them on his head, encouraging her to tug at his hair. She tips her throat back, moans, and tightens her fingers there, so his tongue is focused just where she wants him, and when she comes she comes wildly, arching up off the bed and clutching his head and nearly screaming her pleasure.

He kisses a path back up her body while she catches her breath, sinking back against the bed, and his tongue in her mouth is hot and dirty, tasting of her. It makes her head swim.

“Can I press inside you, Sophie? Can I make love to you and come inside you like you dreamed?” Her eyes nearly roll back in her head.

“Oh, yes, please, Father.” He pushes down his underwear and takes his cock in hand, presses the wet head inside her slowly; her hands move to his waist, fisting in his shirt, pulling him close, and he groans deeply when he slides fully inside. He kisses her, messy, frantic, and begins thrusting.

“I knew you were sent for me the moment I saw you,” he pants, and she moves beneath him, eyes focused on his gorgeous face and the expressions he makes when he glides in and out of her. “It was the first time you came for mass—you thought I hadn’t noticed you, but you caught my attention on that first day and never let go.” He nibbles her throat, and she rubs her hands over his shoulder, his head, pulling his hair and urging him deeper. “The version of me you dreamed of was right, Sophie; this is God’s will.”

She moans, her head falling back, mouth open, eyes closed, so much pleasure rushing through her body it feels like she’s floating, and she holds him close while he comes inside her, while he moans her name.

They stay there, arms wrapped around each other, hands sweeping over their bodies, and he pulls her close for a series of slow, passionate kisses that make her hum.

When they shower together, he washes her body, his hands careful and reverent, and he helps her dry off just as gently, with a soft, pleased smile on his face.

“How are you feeling?” he asks when they climb back into bed, their limbs entwined, his hand smoothing over her back, and she smiles too, a little shy.

“I feel good, Father, though I am wondering if you make these particular kinds of house calls often.” He laughs lightly, brings his hand up to caress her cheek, and he presses his lips gently against hers.

“This is a house call I’ve never made before,” he assures her, and he sweeps his thumb over her lips. “And one I’ll never make for another woman, I can promise you.”

“Will you make more for me?” she asks, truly curious, and his face softens, he nods.

“Yes, for as long as you’ll let me. I find it hard to condemn our thoughts as merely lustful and impure when I also feel a tenderness for you that’s impossible to ignore. I think you are a gift for me,” he murmurs, kissing her, “and I trust that God has reasons for bringing us together the way He did.”

They lay together a little longer, touching and kissing, and she moans when he presses a hand against her ass.

“May I make a confession, Father?” she asks, licking her lips, and he nods, pulls her closer. “I had one dream I didn’t mention to you, and I would like to see if we can replicate it. Can you come again?” He grinds his hips against her, and she feels him stiff and hot, sighs against his shoulder.

“Anything for you, my girl. What did you dream?” With an innocent smile, she pulls him close, whispers in his ear, and he leans back far enough to roll her onto her stomach—taking her breath away—and press his cock into her. He props himself up on one hand, runs the other over her ass and hip as he pumps inside, and she is swiftly ready to come again, moaning and gripping the sheets.

“Yes, yes,” she whines, and she guides his hand to her breast, where they squeeze together. “Harder, Father, please,” she begs, and he drapes his body over top of hers, mouths at her shoulder, and pounds his hips against her, leaving her an eager, wanton mess.

“You are perfection personified. My gift from God,” he whispers, and when he leans down to kiss her neck, she grips his hair in her fingers, moans.

“If I’m yours, come inside me again so I never forget it.” His hips move faster, less rhythmically, and when he spills inside her, she shudders, comes too; his hands are gentle again while they come down, and for the first time since she set foot in Father Hotchner’s church, she actually feels satisfied.

The next time he gives her communion, she looks into his eyes and offers her mouth; she offers it again later, and she can safely say that she prefers his body to the body of Christ.

#tw religion #aaron hotchner/original female character #priest kink #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader

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real-work-of-art · 3 years

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Shut Up And Kiss Me

A/N: Thank you @oh-honey-styles for putting this on, and giving me something to distract myself with. This is the first time I’ve felt motivated to write in weeks and my first time writing smut, so please by kind to me while I pretend this doesn’t actually exist.

Word count: 420

“Fuck H,” you let out with a breathy moan.

Snapping his hips to meet yours in the most delicious rhythm, Harry takes a moment to look at you. Your head pushing back into the pillows, eyes shut tight, and your lip trapped between your teeth.

You release your grip on his wrist and slowly drag your hand up his arm and across to his chest. First threading your fingers around the cross on his necklace before letting go in favor of gripping on to his hard pec, and that’s how he knows you’re close. You always move your hand up to his chest right before your orgasm rushes through your body. Harry calls it ‘your tell’. He has teased you about it before, but knowing you’re about to come actually sends shocks of pleasure through his body bringing him that much closer to the edge. But he’d never admit how endearing he finds your gentle touch or how it makes his heart beat just a little bit faster every time.

And with just a few more thrusts the metaphorical rubber band at the bottom of your stomach snaps, and your hips rock with every wave of pleasure coursing through your body. Harry is only a few seconds behind you, releasing into the condom with a deep groan and his head thrown back.

Your eyes are still closed as you feel the bed shift next you and you feel Harry’s presence at your side. You feel his fingers slowly running up and down your arm.

“Thanks,” you utter between breaths.

You feel Harry’s fingers abruptly stop and you open your eyes to see confusion written all over his face. Tilting his head to the side, he blinks quickly, clearly trying to process what you just said. “Did you just thank me for making you come,” he finally asks, looking down at you with a small smirk.

You simply nod your head letting your eyes close one more time, before moving onto your side to face Harry. Your hand propping your head up to match him.

He shakes his head, letting out a chuckle.

“You aren’t supposed to laugh!,” you tease him.

“Oh I’m sorry did you want a high five instead,” he jokes with the biggest shit eating grin spread across his face.

You roll your eyes, unable to hold back a matching smile.

“Shut up and kiss me.” And kiss you he does, reminding you of how you got into this messy friends with benefits situation just three short months ago.

Thank you for reading 💕

Can We Fall?

The Night Before

Golden

#harry styles blurb #hsficslam #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing

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mk-empress · 3 years

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Battle Against The Dual-Bladed Duelist

The Boss Fight

The invasion was a success. The folded soldiers had captured Bowser and his minion army. And Bowser’s cowardly mage had even crashed the entire castle. Sure, the minions got away and are now enslaved to do maintenance on Shangri-Spa by the toads, but at least I had Bowser as a living trophy in his own throne room. I was alone in the throne with the chained, oversized koopa.

“Hey! Release me this instant! Don’t you know who I am?! I am Lord Bowser, and I will not stand for-“

“Oh, cut it out already. Can’t you see you belong to me now? You’re already lucky to be in one piece.” I told him. I walked down the red carpet on the floor to Bowser’s throne. I decided to try it out, see how it felt. His throne was surprisingly quite comfortable.

“Hey! Get off my throne! You’re not allowed to sit there!” Bowser barked.

“Silence! You are not the one in charge here anymore. You are my prisoner. I am above you. Now, be good and seal your lips closed, or I’ll cut out your tongue.” I threatened. Bowser gulped and froze in place. Good.

I glanced up and saw the green streamer penetrating the ceiling, creating a large hole. Seeing this reminded me of the other streamers. I had already watched the red streamer, the blue streamer, and the yellow disappear. I felt bitter about it. I was worried about the purple streamer. I decided to step outside to see if the purple streamer was still there. I know I’m not supposed to leave my post, but I needed to know.

When I got outside, I flew under the clouds of Shangri-Spa. I could see the Sea Tower below. Wait-... where’s the purple streamer-? No... I zoomed down to the roof of the Sea Tower, no one was there. Why? Where was Tape? I-I couldn’t be the last one! I can’t be alone! I frantically soared faster than I’ve ever flown before toward Overlook Tower. I stopped above the top. I only saw a couple of toads looking at the hole left by the spool in the pole, nothing else. I shifted my gazed and soared to Shogun Studios. I got a bird’s-eye view of the park. I saw several toads working at the entrance. Some of them were carrying bags of Rubber Band’s broken bands. I glanced into another direction and arrived at The Shroom Temple. I entered through the upper entrance. When I got down to the dance floor, my heart shattered when I saw Hole Punch’s broken, pale, lifeless body. My eyes watered, and I just shook my head. I rushed back out and flew back to the Sea Tower. I landed on the roof and spun circles around looking for Tape. I noticed blood on the ground, and it was fresh. I was panicking. I stared over the edge of the tower into the sea, then I saw blood in the water. Tape had to be down there! Maybe I could save him. I jumped off the tower and dived toward the surface of the ocean. I held my breath as I plunged into water. I scanned my surroundings looking for Tape, then I saw him. I swam deeper down to him, and grabbed his hand. I held on to him tightly in my arms and shot up out of the water back to the roof of the sea tower. I gently laid Tape down. I tried to wake him up.

“Tape! Wake up! Come on!” I shouted, but he didn’t stir. I shook him harder. “Please! I can’t be the last one! Get up! GET UP!” He still didn’t move.

I looked at his body and I started to cry. His wrists were bleeding profusely, and his arms were red. I put my hand on his chest, and I felt his ribs were broken. I pressed my fingers on his neck, there was no pulse. I froze in place. It felt like my heart was just ripped out of my chest. Tape was dead, like the others. I cradled him in my arms and held his head to my chest. I was devastated. His body still felt warm. It came to me that he died recently. I looked up at the clouds above me. Tears streamed down my face. I screamed at the top of my lungs. I thought I could save SOMEONE! I just wanted someone to be with me. I stayed there, with Tape’s body, still holding him close to me. I remembered all the times we had, the good, the bad, and the insane. We fought at times, we sparred at times, we laughed, we raced, we enjoyed each other’s company, and now... I continued to mourn. Deep within me, I felt an inhumanly rage boiling within me.

I blasted up back into Bowser’s castle. I swung open the doors into the throne room. I wanted to shred Mario and Olivia into a thousand pieces. I wanted them to sink into the deepest rivers of The Underwhere! They had to pay for this! I needed revenge! It was all I craved!

“Aww! What’s wrong? Did something hurt your feelings?” Bowser taunted. I was not in the mood to deal with his mockery! I drew one of my sword blades and grasped his throat, choking him, and pointing the tip of the blade at his eye.

“Listen to me. I am NOT going to listen to you whine, beg, or mock me! If you speak one more time, I will murder everyone you love or remotely care about! Then you will know how I feel!” I screamed. I released Bowser, turning my back to him. I was still so enraged, and I didn’t realize that my eyes were glowing. I craved revenge! I had to have it! I would annihilate EVERYTHING in my way! I would destroy Mario! HE’S THE ONE WHO MUST PAY!

I felt like I had the rage of many people at once. I felt like my heart was beating out of my chest, and my back was aching. I thought I felt something seeping out of me. I looked behind and saw dark, wispy shadows. What was this? What was happening to me? Suddenly, I felt like something just bursted out of my back, then I felt it again, and again. I started to notice shadowy creatures appearing around me. I saw the black silhouettes of little boys and girls holding hands, I saw large, black, adult silhouettes- both men and women- towering around me, and then, I saw a massive creature that wasn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before. It had a hand for a head, and the body of a snake. I decided to call it the “Handaconda”. I felt the pain in my back go away, and I felt a bit more in control of myself. The shadows surrounded me, and they looked like they were waiting for something. Oddly enough, I didn’t feel threatened by them, as if they were MY minions. I looked behind me at Bowser and he looked terrified. I just smirked at him. I turned back at the shadows.

“Do you serve me?” I asked. All the shadows nodded the best they could. “I want you all to spread throughout and guard the corridors and rooms of this castle. If you see any of the folded soldiers, do not attack. If you see a small man with a mustache, and a little girl floating beside him, bring them to me for termination. If any of the toads or any of Bowser’s minions enter, get them out any way you like. NO ONE is to enter this room at any cost! Understood?” I commanded them. All the shadows agreed and left the throne room.

I still felt an unnatural rage within me, but I felt a little calmer after creating those shadows. Suddenly, I heard someone from outside the castle. It was faint, but I did hear it.

“DAAAD!” I heard a child scream.

“SON?!” Bowser called.

I glared at Bowser, then he looked at me. I looked up at the hole in the ceiling, then back at him. That boy was coming for his father, and I can’t risk the green streamer being destroyed, now can I? I grinned as I drew my blades and zoomed out through the hole above me. I saw the kid that looked similar to Bowser, and zoomed at him. I latched my blades together into an actually pair of scissors. At the last second, the kid saw me just before I sliced him and his clown car into six, bloody pieces. Some blood had sprayed on me. I watched as the remains of the boy fell to the ground.

“NOOOOO!” I heard the blue mage scream. I cackled as I returned back to the castle.

I landed back on the red carpet in Bowser’s throne. I sheathed my bloodied swords. Bowser stared at me with a worried expression.

“What did you do?!” Bowser barked. He could see the blood on me.

“I simply delayed Mario from entering this castle.” I answered.

“What did you do to MY SON?!” Bowser roared.

“I KILLED HIM! But don’t worry, we’re in Shangi-Spa! The Spring of Purification should revive him.” I explained.

“YOU’RE INSANE, YOU MONSTER!” Bowser screamed at me. Insane? INSANE?!

“Insane?!” I laughed. “With what I’m going through, I think I have the right to go a little insane!” I snapped. My eyes began to water. I was laughing and crying at the same time. I knew I lost my mind, but Mario took so much away from me. He stole my siblings’ lives! He SLAUGHTERED all of them like they were pests! I SAW WHAT WAS LEFT OF THEM! If I’m not allowed to be a tiny bit crazy...

I waited for what felt like an eternity, pacing back and forth, pondering all the things I could do to Mario. I was clutching my skull, my tears were dripping onto the floor, and my rage was destroying me from the inside out. Bowser was good as he stayed quiet the whole time. All of a sudden, I heard the bullhorns outside squeal, then someone spoke.

“Ahem. Attention, fellow minions of Lord Bowser! The folded soldiers guarding the entrance to Bowser’s Castle are no more! Now is the time for us to rise up! Make for the castle and stand with Mario! Together, we shall free Lord Bowser and restore honor to our names! FOR BOWSERRRRRR!” That was the voice of that blue mage. I heard cheers outside.

“HA! Yes, my minions! You hear that?! Soon, my minions well storm and retake this castle. And when I’m free, I’ll stomp you into bits!” Bowser threatened. I simply laughed.

“Oh, I wouldn’t get so excited if I were you. Your weak little army will be rushing to their DEMISE! They won’t even make it to that door.” I replied. My own minion shadows would destroy them first. Then, Mario will be next!

I could hear all the commotion outside. I was wondering who was winning. Not too much time pasted when I heard Bowser’s minions outside trying to break down the door leading into the throne room. It seemed the folded soldiers had failed.

“It would seem I underestimated your minions, Bowser. But, no matter. I will swiftly dispose of them myself.” I drew my blades and flew up out of the castle. I soared around the structure and entered again through the front door. I had a straight shot to the koopa army.

“INCOMING!” One of the minions shouted.

I gripped my blades tightly, and I began my rampage. The minions tried so desperately to land a scratch on me, but alas, my blades minced them first! I laughed maniacally as I wiped Bowser’s army from existence! I thoroughly enjoyed killing them one by pitiful one. In mere minutes, all who were left were the blue mage, and Bowser’s son. They both stared at me in horror. The mage held the kid and turned their gazes away. I thrusted my blade through the kid’s spiked shell, and out the mage’s back. Blood poured from them, and they both became limp. I yanked my sword out, and let the blood drip from the tip. I looked behind me and saw the result of my massacre. The blood of the minions flooded the floor, and the chucks left behind littered across the carpet. It felt great to vent on an ENTIRE raid. I unlocked the door and walked into Bowser’s throne room, then closed it behind me. I was soaked in blood, and I LOVED IT! Bowser stared at me, horrified and speechless.

“I told you not to get so excited. EVERYONE is dead, and now you know how I feel, losing everyone.” I said quietly to him. Bowser sank and started to cry. GOOD! He’s going through what I’M going through. And now all that was left to do was KILL MARIO for what he did to MY family!

Suddenly, I heard more calamity outside the doors. I could hear Olivia... and hissing? I assumed it was Handaconda fighting Mario and Olivia. Finally, Mario had arrived to my doorstep. A wave of uncertainty suddenly hit me- if not even my siblings could stop Mario, why would Handaconda be any different? No, surely it could do something to the plumber. Handaconda was forged within me by my rage. Wait, was it JUST Handaconda fighting Mario? Where were the other shadows I created? I heard loud slams and hisses. I wasn’t sure who was winning behind that door. I flew up and hid in the rafters above, watching that door closely. I heard one last hiss before silence fell. Who just won? I heard a thud against the door, and I heard Olivia talking! No! Everything I created, everything I loved- why does Mario always win?!

Mario and Olivia swung open the doors into the throne room. After a long struggle of saving Bowser’s son and facing so many shadows, they could finally see the end of the green streamer.

“There it is! The end of the green streamer! We did it! It’s the end of the road! The last of the streamers!” Olivia exclaimed. My anger and hatred burned hotter for every second I looked at those two.

“Hey! I’m here too!” Bowser shouted.

Mario and Olivia approached the steps leading up to Bowser’s throne. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I lunged down from above.

“Look out!” Bowser screamed. I flew down and slammed my blades down above Mario, but he jumped back half a second before I could kill him. “I get credit for that!” Bowser said. I slowly floated down to their level.

“Hmph. Well dodged. Of course, I expect nothing less. It would have been terribly boring to end things so quickly, yes?” I was losing my composure rapidly in front of them. “You may have been successful in killing the others and destroying their streamers, but- by doing that- you’ve only doomed yourselves further. You’ve made me angry, Mario. Now, I will cut off your head! En garde!” Mario pulled out his hammer, and I gripped my blades tightly. And so began the duel.

“Let’s get this straight: I WILL annihilate you...but I don’t see why we can’t have some fun first. After all, where’s the challenge in slicing you to strips immediately? Therefore, I shall grant you... a slight advantage.” I sheathed my blades in front of them. I wanted to cut them to shreds, but I wanted to have a little bit of pleasure softening them up. “See? My blades have been sheathed. We’re on equal footing. However! Should you damage this cover during our battle...I shall interpret such boldness as a direct challenge...and I won’t hold anything back!” I warned.

As much as it hurt, I had to hold so much of my fury back. With my swords sheathed, I had to go with fist-fighting, which- I will admit- I wasn’t as skilled with as two of my fallen brothers were. I flew up then dived down toward Mario, but he dodged, and I ended up slamming my fist into the floor. I dashed toward Mario before he could ready a swing. I flipped up and kicked Mario in his chin, sending him flying up. I flew up to him, grabbed him by the neck, then threw him into the floor. I dived after him. Mario scrambled up as fast he could, and swung at my side, but I dodged. Mario hurled his hammer at me, but I caught it. I threw his hammer back at him with powerful force. Mario dodged, but his hammer was destroyed on impact. Mario pulled out a shiny tail and a POW block. He absorbed the tail and floated toward me. I attempted to kick him across the face, but Mario dodged and countered with a tail-swipe to MY face! Mario floated up a little higher, then ground-pounded onto of me, crashing me to the ground. He threw the POW block into the floor, and the shockwave threw me back up. I felt dizzy, as the vibrations rang in my skull. Mario’s tail wore off, then he absorbed an ice flower. He threw four ice balls at me, but I was too dizzy to dodge, and they all hit me, freezing parts of my flesh. The ice flower wore off, and the frost on my skin melted. I laughed.

“All right! Enough. It was fun while it lasted...but your feeble attacks have grown tiresome. Let’s CUT to the climax! Ha haaa!” I exclaimed. I grabbed my swords and slowly unsheathed them. I glared into Mario eyes. Finally, it was time to DESTROY Mario, and take REVENGE for my family! “Guarding is useless! This is the end for you, you despicable fiends! FAREWELL!”

I flew back and latched my blades together. Mario’s doom is now. This was the FINAL CUT! For The Missile Maestro! For The Elastic Entertainer! For The Disco Devil! For The Shifty Sticker! For The Fanged Fastener! FOR KING OLLY! And for myself...This is IT!

I zoomed at Mario. I closed my blades together, but MARIO JUMPED OVER IT?! I turned around and saw Mario land. My rage consumed me. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. A powerful green aura erupted from my body. My eyes glowed and flamed so brightly. Even my blades had their own auras. My hatred became too strong, I had lost full control. I rushed at Mario with uncontrollable speed. I repeatedly tried to slice him with my blades. I heard both Mario and Olivia panicking. Mario could barely keep up with dodging my attacks. I even heard Bowser freaking out.

Eventually, Mario fell too far behind. I swung both my blades, and they cut straight through him, slicing him in half and removing his head. I watched Mario’s body fall apart. I straightened up, then froze. I was still furious. I did it, why couldn’t I calm down? I heard Olivia weeping to the side, then I locked my gazed on her. She stared at me with fearful, watered eyes. She was involved with the deaths of my siblings. I had to kill her too. I dashed at her and swung my blades, but she too dodged, then ran and hid behind Bowser’s throne. I rushed at her and sliced the throne in two, scaring Olivia senseless.

Before I finished her, I heard a certain sound behind me. I turned around and saw a 1-up mushroom absorb into Mario. Next thing I knew, Mario was standing up with no wounds. My rage was still erupting out of me. I charged at him and slashed my blades. Mario dodged and whipped out another POW block, then threw it into me. The shockwave shook my bones, but my rage let me push through it. When I looked at Mario, Olivia had just transformed into the Ice Vellumental. She blew a massive ice beam at me and froze my legs in ice. I couldn’t moved them, I couldn’t fly, I couldn’t escape! Olivia smashed her hands down, and the ice shattered, mangling my legs. I collapse onto me knees. I couldn’t walk. I was bleeding. It suddenly hit me that this most likely is my end. Olivia transformed back to herself than stood behind Mario. Then, Mario gained the 1000-fold arms. My anger was extinguished immediately, and fear took over. My eyes widened as Mario grabbed me and slammed me into a wall. He pressed me against the wall with one arm, and took hold of one of my blades with the other. I knew I was done for. Mario drove that blade straight into my stomach. All my breath was taken away. Mario released me and pulled the blade out, and I collapsed to the floor. I felt so weak. All my rage, my energy, my strength, gone.

I looked up and watched Mario smash the spool of the green streamer. My eyes flooded with tears. I failed! I FAILED! How could I have failed?! I used all my will, all my fury, everything, but I still failed. I failed to protect the streamer, I failed the avenge my siblings. I failed...

“Great job as usual, Mario! That was the last streamer. We’ve done it!” Olivia shouted.

My heart just sank. I was so lost in agonizing thoughts. I zoned out. I don’t remember what they said, or what happened, but when I snapped back and looked up, I saw Mario, Olivia, and Bowser leaving. I was able lift myself up a little bit and took a breath.

“You think yourself a HERO, Mario?!” I screamed. Everyone paused and turned around toward me. “You took EVERYTHING from me! My brothers, my sister, my creations! Do you even understand what you did to me?! WHAT YOU PUT ME THROUGH?!” My body was growing weaker. I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. Life was draining out of my body. I heard Olivia reply.

“You guys all threatened the toads’ lives! You all did terrible things to them!” Olivia replied.

“AND you butchered my army AND my son! Even I couldn’t do something so cruel.” Bowser jumped in.

“You...ruined...us... First, you kill my siblings, then you kill me, and now your going to kill my creator? I loved them! And you are tearing apart our lives! We have feelings just like you, you know? How can you live with yourselves?” I questioned. We had our own lives. We were created for one purpose, but we still treated one another as family. Even King Olly cared about us. The toads neglected Olly, and then these guys come to break us ALL down. Why?

My thoughts slowly became nothing. My vision was fading. I felt so bitter, but none of it mattered anymore. I never heard an answer from the others. I felt a wave of peace come over me. When I die, I would see my siblings again, and- when the time came- I would see Stapler and Olly again too. We would be united again, and I would feel happy once more. I felt calm.

I’m so sorry, but I’m coming.

#pmtok #pmok #pmtok scissors #my story #the legion of stationery

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nerdygaymormon · 3 years

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Hey, do you have any tips to stop dissociating during church/family gospel discussions? I’ve had a lot of bad experiences due to being trans, and it’s gotten to the point where I either dissociate, or daydream about literally anything else, and I miss being able to pay attention and contribute to discussions.

Almost everyone has their “autopilot” activated at some point.

Dissociation may be a normal phenomenon, but like everything in life, all in moderation. It's a regular function of the brain to be able to detach from reality and hold to something reassuring to avoid anxieties.

When dissociation becomes a coping mechanism, the danger is that your brain learns how effective it is for keeping you “safe” by detaching from your surroundings, so it keeps doing it — often whether you like it or not. When something starts interfering with a person's ability to function, it becomes a disorder. Dissociative disorders can be treated by a mental health care professional.

There's things you can do to work on not dissociating. Being in a safe space and having the support of friends and family is very helpful. In fact, that combination can usually avoid even triggering dissociation.

I know that sometimes being in certain environments, like a lesson in church, it's easy for the brain to automatically start the process of dissociating.

Grounding techniques can help. “Grounding” is the process of physically and mentally connecting with the world around you — the ground you can feel beneath your feet, the scents you can smell in the air, and so on — this can re-connect you, or keep you from slipping away.

I use grounding techniques to help with my social anxiety. One thing I do is I have a bracelet on which I put some essential oil, and when I am in the environment that triggers my anxiety, I smell the oil on my bracelet and try to calm myself. I also wiggle my toes and focus on that feeling. I have a friend who keeps rubber bands around one of his wrists and will snap it and that physical sensation helps him.

Here's a link to 30 different grounding techniques. Choose some that you think will help. If you have a friend or family member you trust, they can help. They can offer support, remind you of some steps and techniques, be someone you feel safe with even if you're in an environment that would usually trigger dissociation. Usually people can feel the onset of dissociation, that's a good time to use grounding techniques.

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dangan-happy · 3 years

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(PW: Mom said it's my turn to steal the ahoges) (TW: S*lf H*rm, S*icidal thoughts and doubt) Hey can this go for Shuichi, Miu And Maki? Anyways i really been feeling like i shouldn't exist anymore and i keep hurting myself like its no big deal, And i keep thinking no one cares for me, and i just want to give up on life, alot of people said i should talk to someone about it, and i have been, but its not helping And im feeling worse. (Thank you for reading this, no matter what mod you are)

Um, I...I'm not sure who I'm talking to, but I'm sorry to hear that you're going through something like that. I don't know if it'll help, but I can tell you that those thoughts are wrong.

Even an amateur detective can see that there would be people who would be hurt if something were to happen to you. Perhaps you should talk to the person you are seeing about getting a prescription or a diagnosis for depression. If you can't, maybe ask your friends and family to write down little things that they love about you or how they feel about you to remind you that you are loved. Maybe that would help a little bit. Um...as for that...perhaps you could try substitutions for that. Maybe instead wear a rubber band around your wrist snd snap it when you get the urge or draw on yourself with soft markers. It can help with the urge, and it would be a healthier substitute. As for what you have now...make sure to disinfect and properly bandage your wounds. If nothing else, it should help them not get infected, and...it may help with healing. Getting out of that mindset can be hard, but I'm sure that you can overcome this.

And it's no problem to hear you out. I'm glad that you're reaching out even a little bit. I hope that you keep feeling comfortable enough to talk to us, and that we can help you even a little bit. Um...just know that we all believe in you.

Woah, woah! Hurting yourself how? Ah this - this is something I need to attend to right away. Forget my inventions, you’re far more important!

Even if you think that you’re not important to anyone, I know that there’s at least 1 person that thinks you’re their whole world.. Sure it’s not the ideal number that you wanna hear, but you know what, it’s better than no one. You know what, make that more than 1. Cause I care about ya & I know the ultimate weenie here cares too!! Red eyes cares, even if she doesn’t dare to show it.

Hearing you out is the least I can do, even if it’s just for emotional support or reassurance or whatever the fuck ‘ya need! That’s why we’re here, it’s to help you & many others out. The way you’re feeling can’t be automatically classified as depression, but I would check on seeing a professional due to this state of mind, just to be safe. There’s no need to thank me babes, I’m just doing what I can to help ‘ya. Alright, I’ll be passing the torch, so to speak, to red eyes here..

Miu, do you wanna….forget it. You’re such a waste of my energy, I don’t have time to be insulting you when someone needs to speak their mind.

Hello anonymous, as much as I’d like to not agree with Miu, seeing a professional about this can help out. A therapist would be ideal as you can have an outlet for any pent up sadness or anger that you may have.. What works for me when I’m overwhelmed is writing down the thoughts & crumpling up the paper before tossing it into the trash. Or burning it. But I would suggest tossing it because I don’t want to give you an idea & then you get hurt…

Although you may think it’s a bother, I promise that we’re here to provide any help that we can. Even if you ask for someone as annoying as Miu…but that’s beside the point, we hope we’ve helped you even a bit..

#danganronpa #danganronpa roleplay blog #ask #shuichi saihara #miu iruma #maki harukawa #tw self harm #tw suicide #mod aster #mod rockstar

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captainseaweedbrains · 4 years

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The Dance of the Color Guard, Op.64 Chapter 1

Katniss and Peeta used to be best friends when they were kids, but now in high school, they're barely on speaking terms. It isn't until they are forced together as the titular star-crossed lovers for their marching band's field show that they will have to face their past mistakes and try to get along if they ever hope of defeating the notorious Capitol Height's Imperial Marching Crusaders in competition.

It's all about winning and if that means pretending to be in love with Peeta Mellark, so be it.

But a lot can happen in six months.

Tumblr: x

Ao3: x x

April—Six Months Earlier

“Don’t be so obvious,” her music stand partner Leevy whispered in amusement, “but Peeta Mellark is staring at you again.”

“What?” Katniss looked straight up, not even pretending to be subtle, and locked eyes with the first chair trumpet player sitting directly across the room from her. His eyes widened for a moment, probably assuming she wouldn’t catch his stare with the clarinet section in front of him, but instead of looking away like a normal person would after being caught, Peeta Mellark smiled at her, his right eyebrow raising suggestively in question. Katniss gripped her flute and pointedly turned back to her music, knowing her section would be criticized next on their sloppy runs.

He liked to do that every so often during rehearsal, look at her like she was some kind of joke that amused him. Get her all flustered with those stupid eyebrows and smiles. Leevy enjoyed pointing it out all the time, drawing kissy faces with their initials in hearts on their shared music that Katniss would then furiously erase because what if someone saw that? People in band were gossipy enough with who was dating whom and who broke up with whom.

She didn’t want anyone thinking she had a crush on Peeta Mellark.

Mr. Abernathy, their band director, stepped between them on his podium, breaking any eye contact Peeta could make on her, and tapped his baton on his stand to grab everyone’s attention. “Okay, listen up, ya mangy teens! A few announcements before you all age me once more with your apparent lack of practicing. First being, next season’s field show—”

“Oh, can I say it?” Miss Trinket, their assistant director, asked, already pushing Mr. Abernathy off the podium. Miss Trinket was a small wispy woman, her height mainly due to the massive heels she sported no matter the season, but despite her title and small stature, it was clear to anyone with eyes who was in charge of any decision making for the band program.

Miss Trinket cleared her throat, smiling brightly as the room waited with anticipation.

Marching season was one of the biggest things they did in the school year. Everyone looked forward to it and a strong field show could finally mean getting Athens Ridge High’s Marching Gladiators to finals and beating the crap out of their arch rivals: the rich snooty Capitol Heights Academy’s Imperial Marching Crusaders.

Every year they always came so close to beating them, but Capitol Heights had the money for large expensive props and Athens Ridge did not. They were lucky enough to have been able to afford new marching uniforms a few years back, replacing the threadbare grey ones with sleek black and gold. Mr. Abernathy always reminded everyone that he didn’t care about winning, nor did he give a rat’s ass about Capitol Heights and all their achievements. All he cared about was that they performed to the best of their ability and marched off the field with pride, but Katniss wanted their band to be the best. Everyone in the Athens Ridge band did.

“Can I get a drumroll, please?” Miss Trinket asked, looking pointedly to Gale in the back.

Gale rolled his eyes, but started the roll on his snare drum.

“This year’s marching show is…” Another dramatic pause.

“Will you just tell them, woman? This ain’t the Oscars,” Mr. Abernathy snapped, sick of all her flairs and dramatics. “We’re doing Romeo & Juliet. There. Now get off my podium.”

Miss Trinket held her ground, her pale features brightening under her anger, making her purple-streaked hair stand out more than usual. “Haymitch—!”

Everyone watched, entertained by yet another round of the two directors going at it once more. Katniss turned to look back at Gale, the head keeper of the betting pool, and he signed another two months before their directors would go at it like rabbits. She shook her head, laughing quietly to herself, and turned back to watch as the directors duked it out.

“I’ve heard the music to this field show,” Leevy said after practice, cleaning out her flute. “It’s really pretty. I can see why Miss Trinket picked it.”

Katniss carefully tucked her flute back in its case, giving it one final shine before locking it shut. “You think Miss Trinket picked it?”

Leevy laughed and threw a pointed look over to where Mr. Abernathy sat slunk in his chair, stained coffee mug in hand as he scowled at some piece of paper. “I highly doubt Mr. Abernathy would choose a show like Romeo & Juliet without some heavy outside persuasion.”

She had a point there.

As they waited by the door, ready to book it the second the bell rang, Katniss and Leevy rolled their eyes at the chaos in front of them. Thresh Armstrong, a tuba player known for sneaking in toys from home, had brought out a foam football and had tossed it over to Johanna Mason, one of the smart ass percussionists, who almost crashed into the chimes trying to catch it. She held the ball up in victory and the guys around her hooted and hollered in applause. With a dramatic bow, she tossed it to Gale behind her, who caught it and called out for his girlfriend Madge to catch. Madge squealed in shock when the ball hit her in the back of the head, throwing the ball back at him in protest.

“You’d think Abernathy would put a stop to that,” Leevy commented, laughing despite herself when the ball nailed Marvel Baxter in the face. “People can get hurt.”

“Maybe he wants to see assholes like Marvel get hit in the face, too,” Katniss snorted, glad she got to witness it. “Do you think we’ll get to see Cato get hit in the face?” she asked, eyeing the bulky blond in the far corner with interest.

“Doubt it.” Cato Martin was that stereotypical asshole who thought he walked on water and expected everyone to treat him as thus. And the sickening part was that people did. The school’s star quarterback was praised constantly in their school paper for his dedication to both the school’s athletic department and music department, despite being last chair in Symphonic Band and always being hounded for how bad he played by Mr. Abernathy. Despite his assholery, though, he always had a gaggle of followers around him, probably praising him for breathing.

Katniss hated him so much, and it wasn’t just because they were locker neighbors and she was constantly having to shove him and whatever girl he was making out with off her own locker to squeeze in. Or that, since the 7th grade, he’s only referred to her as “Katnips Everslip” after a very unfortunate wardrobe malfunction at the community pool. Or even that time he taped rubber baby bottle nipples all over her locker sophomore year and only received a slap on the wrist by their dean, Mr. Flickerman, because he didn’t realize how offensive it was and he was so so sorry. Yeah, Cato sucked and she hated him for all those things and more, but she hated him most because Cato Martin was that entitled ass who just expected things to be given to him. He never faced any consequences and those were the worst kind of people.

Laughing at Marvel and his botched up nose, her eyes briefly caught Peeta’s and the amusement she felt seeing Marvel get nailed in the face vanished instantly. Every bully had that one lackey who wasn’t really an asshole, but was kind of one by association because he just went along with anything the bully did. Yeah, that lackey was Peeta Mellark. Which somehow made it even worse. She knew Peeta. Used to be friends with him in elementary school, back when your neighborhood friends were your whole world and nothing could come between you. Now he was just one of Cato’s goons who blindly followed whatever Golden Ass commanded.

“Are you auditioning for color guard again?” Leevy asked, snapping Katniss’s attention back to her friend.

“Huh?”

Leevy’s eyes followed where hers had been and Katniss pretended not to notice the knowing smirk on her friend’s face, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve instead. “Are you trying out for color guard this year?” she asked again.

“Of course.” Katniss flushed at her sure answer, but she always did color guard. It was kind of her thing, especially since Miss Trinket had singled her out freshman year, snatching 14-year-old Katniss off the practice field where she had been marching with her fellow flute players. “You’ve got the perfect arms,” Miss Trinket had told her and she’d been part of color guard ever since.

“I’m hoping for captain, actually,” Katniss admitted, looking down at her beat-up sneakers. She hadn’t told anyone but Prim that, afraid she’d jinx it by putting it out in the universe too much, but going into senior year next season, she’d be the most experienced one auditioning. The odds were definitely in her favor, but the universe also had a tendency of fucking things up when she least expected it and she didn’t want to chance it.

Leevy sighed. “I wish you’d stay with the flutes. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to deal with that”—she pointed at the giggly flute players who were now fawning over Cato like lovesick puppies—"all by myself.”

Katniss gave her friend a sympathetic pat on the arm. “I’d rather shoot myself in the eye than have to deal with Golden Ass’ fan club. Why don’t you try out? You’re small, like me. I bet Miss Trinket would love that.” Their assistant director would be beside herself with joy at having another petite person in guard she could have tossed around. Miss Trinket was always complaining how there were too many tall girls nowadays and that it limited her “vision.”

Leevy shook her head. “Oh, no. No, I don’t think I could ever do what you all do. Who would trust me to throw something in the air and expect me to catch it? And the way you did those handsprings for last year’s show?” She shook her head again in amazement. “I can’t even balance on one foot without falling. I’m nowhere near as talented as you.”

Katniss’ cheeks darkened again at Leevy’s appraisal. Those handsprings were a bitch to grasp, she remembered, and the only reason she was the one doing them wasn’t because Trinket saw her as some talented goddess. No, it was just because everyone else was too afraid of doing them without any type of mat underneath them and Katniss wasn’t. She was about to tell her friend this—that yeah, she was pretty good with a flag and rifle, but all that can be taught and Leevy’s lack of gymnastic talent shouldn’t stop her from auditioning—when the foam football smacked her hard on the side of her head.

“What the hell?” She scanned the chaotic room for the culprit, rubbing at the spot where the ball hit. “Who threw that?”

The culprit in question raised his hand apologetically and jogged over to pick the blue ball off the ground. Her hands balled into fists.

Peeta Mellark.

Of course.

“My bad!” he apologized, smiling down at her in that totally non-assery way that just pissed her off more. “I was trying to throw the ball to Glimmer and—” he started to explain, casually pointing behind him with his thumb.

“Your aim sucks that much?” she fumed, interrupting him. Glimmer was clear across the room by the other French horn players, far from where she and Leevy stood. “That could have hit my eye!”

There was a time, long ago, when she was once taller than him. She used to jokingly lean on Peeta while they waited in lines at school or the grocery store, calling him squirt and messing up his curly blond hair like his dad did, laughing when he’d scowl and pull away, hating that nickname. He always vowed he’d reach his growth spurt someday soon, just like his brothers, and she’d be sorry she ever called him squirt. Peeta stood almost a foot taller than her now, but she stood her ground. Glaring up at him, she considered using the old nickname, just to see if it rattled him

There was no way his aim was that bad. They’d had the same gym class for almost six years now and she knew he wasn’t terrible. Peeta was one of those guys things just came naturally to, especially sports. For years she has watched as he made the winning pass in basketball, smacked a volleyball down to score like nobody’s business, swiped the puck in during hockey. She smelled bullshit.

This was probably some stupid dare Cato or Marvel put him up to. She eyed Marvel off to the side, still rubbing his nose. He was probably pissed at her for laughing at him and thought it’d be funny watching her get nailed in the face, too. Let’s see how hard the ball can bounce off Katnips Everslip’s tiny head! she could hear the idiots snickering. Marvel always did have a small ego. And of course, like always, Peeta just went along with it because that’s what Peeta did. Just go along with anything his friends suggested, even if meant injuring an innocent bystander.

“So why’d you throw it at me?” she point-blank asked, crossing her arms. “Did Marvel put you up to it? Cato?”

His face quickly went from apologetic smiles to annoyance, rolling his eyes at her sneer. “You know, Katniss, believe it or not, accidents do happen.”

“Accident? Please,” she scoffed. “I know you, Peeta. You don’t do accidents. Everything you do is strategically planned and executed with exact precision. So who dared you? It was Marvel, wasn’t it?”

He looked back at his buddies and laughed, shaking his head incredulously. “I’m touched that you think I’m so robotic, Katniss, truly, but believe whatever the fuck you want. I said it was an accident because it was an accident.”

“Just answer the question.”

“I already did.” He leaned toward her, his dark blue eyes mocking, and tapped the football on her nose with a smug smile, walking back over to his friends. Some of the guys made kissy faces at his return, laughing when Peeta shoved them to quit it, but he was laughing along with them.

Katniss’ nails dug into her palms as she watched them, briefly wondering if someone could be glared to death. God, they were the worst.

“Wow,” Leevy breathed, watching the trumpet players, too. “The sexual tension is strong today. Felt like I was in a movie just now.”

She turned to her friend, incredulous. “Sexual tension? With Peeta Mellark?” She gagged at the thought. “Did you not just see him be a complete ass to me? He hit me with a football!”

“Yeah and apologized for it.” Katniss rolled her eyes at the low standard bar Leevy had for apologies. Peeta’s apology was obviously fake and what about that annoying ball tap to the nose? Did she not see how condescending that was? “You two are so going to bone by the end of this year.”

The bell rang before Katniss could choke out a rebuttal.

#Everlark fanfiction #The Hunger Games fanfiction #Everlark fanfic #Everlark #The Hunger Games #My writing #Marching band fic #The Dance of the Color Guard Op. 64 #I hope you all enjoy #Let me know what you think!#:)

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queerwhohatesithere · 4 years

Text

i don’t know if any of you need this but i’m gonna post it anyways and maybe it’ll help someone

here’s a list of coping mechanisms for different things/what u need at that moment

when you need to feel something:

rub ice cubes on your skin

run your hands under warm water/splash cold water on your face

take a bath

go for a run

punch a pillow/punching bag if you have one

drink a hot or cold drink

run as fast as you can for as long as you can

get a piercing or tattoo, or get a friend to give you a stick and poke if possible

when you feel too much:

light a candle or use scented lotion

epsom salt bath

put on a comfy hoodie

listen to music

take slow, deep breaths

journal

rip up paper

cuddle a pet or stuffed animal

use a weighted blanket, if you don’t have one you can have someone lay on top of you or pile pillows or stuffed animals on top of you

sh alternatives:

use ice cubes where you want to/can use with red food dye

red lipstick where you want

paint yourself

watch a comforting show/movie

talk to a friend/therapist

punch a pillow/punching bag

rip up paper or ball it up

go for a run

cuddle with a pet or stuffed animal

delay it like say i won’t for another minute, keep delaying it after each minute has passed

snap a rubber band on your wrist (be careful with this one)

opposite action, this is a dbt skill. the opposite of this would be doing something nice, so i like to aggressively take care of myself, force myself to shower or bathe, light a candle and put in some essential oils, put lotion all over myself after and then go through a skincare routine for my face or wrap myself in a weighted blanket

message a helpline, i’ve found the trevor project to be helpful, even if it just seems like a delay in your mind, it’s best to put it off as much as you can and if you keep doing that sometimes the feeling will pass

cut your hair. it’s really therapeutic and it helps to see a physical change happening

dealing with sadness and depression:

go through the motions of taking care of yourself even if you don’t feel like it. shower, brush your teeth, eat something and drink water and try to get enough sleep

talk to a friend/therapist

journal

listen to music

watch comforting shows/movies

try to get some form of exercise! for me i like to dance in my room to my vinyls it makes me happy

eating ice cream always comforts me

hoodies also are nice

cuddle a stuffed animal if you’re feeling touch deprived

overall, be gentle with yourself

try to get outside, take a walk or hang out with a friend. isolating yourself can make your depression and loneliness worse

dealing with anxiety:

try the 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 method, where you list out 5 things you can see, 4 things you can hear, etc (you can look it up)

take deep breaths

try guided meditation

try to limit your caffeine intake especially when you’re more anxious

drink tea

take an epsom salt bath

light a candle

try to stay grounded, focus on one thing, like rubbing a ring, or the fabric on your shirt and try to remind yourself that you’re okay

dealing with anger:

take deep breaths

take a break from whatever is making you angry

punch a pillow/punching bag

go for a run/bike

tear paper up/break something

scream into a pillow

thinking about something/someone that calms you

rant to someone/journal

listen to music

try to put things in perspective

other coping mechanisms:

doing something each day that makes you happy, listening to music, drinking coffee, hanging out with a friend, etc

scream into a pillow, or even better, drive somewhere like the woods/a park and just scream out into the sky

go for a drive

garden

scribble with a crayon

write stories or poetry

paint something

squeeze a stress ball/play with a fidget cube

try to counteract negative thoughts/replace them with positive and validating ones

get cheap plates from goodwill or something breakable and destroy them

cook or bake something

write a letter with something you want to say to someone (could be someone who hurt you, etc) and then rip it up after

have a fire in a fire pit/a controlled area and/or burn something in it

clean something

sing/dance

take an ice cold bath

shower or bathe fully clothed

start writing something or painting. making things helps

practicing mindfulness

that’s all i can think of for now! ik i repeated stuff but i wanted to put it into categories of what it helps with. my dms are open if any of you want to chat/vent anytime. i’m gonna pin this so hopefully more ppl will see it! idk if it’ll help anyone but ik that past me could have really used this

just remember you are so so loved, and you are so valid. i love you, i’m proud of you, and it will get easier.

edit: this is also not to pretend that any of these things are a perfect solution, but they can help, or make things a little easier for a bit.

#coping mechanisms #slight tw self harm #coping #dbt #helpful #mental health #saving #list of coping mechanisms #just updated this

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growup-gloup · 4 years

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Hey! I was wondering if you have any tips for anger management? Everyone says that I’m always rude when all I do is stay to myself. And when they confront me about it, I get really frustrated and can’t really regulate my reactions during those situations. If there is any tips or any rebloggs that can help me. I would really appreciate it. Thank you!

Hello darling,

The first thing you need to remember is that, just because someone said or did something that offended you doesn’t mean that they intended to upset you. They may not even realize that they upset you. You may be tempted to generalize the situation, such as “They always ignore me”, which may not be the case, and even if it is, it will help to find a way to make yourself heard without giving into your anger.

The second thing you need to understand is what exactly is making you frustrated. Is it the carelessness? Is it that they just don’t understand?

When you are feeling that frustration spike up, just close your eyes for a minute and take a deep breath. Count backwards from ten if you need to. Remind yourself that this person isn’t trying to upset you. Then when you open your eyes, try to talk to them with an open mind. Sometimes you need to explain what you meant in another way. Other times, you have to straight up tell them that it bothers you when they say or do this.

Try to avoid blaming yourself or anyone. Mistakes and misunderstandings happen, and if we don’t talk about them calmly, they’ll continue to happen.

This sounds like such a cliche, but try to focus on the positives. I mean, when something starts to annoy us, whether it’s significant or just a tiny little mistake, it starts to build up and shadow over the person’s other better qualities. This doesn’t mean that you should ignore red flags and toxic behavior, and you should definitely talk about things that do seem like an issue.

Sometimes, if you feel like you can’t cool down, you may need to remove yourself from the situation. Excuse yourself and walk around, even if it’s in the hallway outside the room you were originally in. Some people who have issues with outbursts tend to wear a loose rubber band around their wrist that they snap when they feel tempted to act out. Alternatively, getting involved in some sort of sport or other physical activity, like martial arts or kickboxing, can also help you regulate yourself more, and it’s a way to express yourself without hurting anyone.

If you still feel like you’re having trouble regulating your emotions, you may need to talk to a therapist or anger management expert.

💋

#carpe diem #health #socialize #Anonymous #AMA

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justsomevoltronstuff · 4 years

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Hey I saw that one anon who was having issues with cutting. I was wondering if you have any other methods to help stop, ive tried the rubberband thing and it didn't work. I would do it so much I ended up popping my blood vessels. Which would be fine but I cant do it now because my blood vessels are messed up (long story). Also I would normally not be anonymous but because of the nature of this question uh yeah.

don’t sweat being anonymous or not, I don’t judge and I completely understand wanting to keep your privacy while asking something like this

I personally still do this day use the rubber band because it’s so quick and easy and you can just snap it in any situation and most people don’t think anything of it, but I’ve also used ice and icepacks -it numbs the area and makes the itching with need tame some but you have to be careful to not burn your skin so ALWAYS put a thin piece of cloth around the ice or pack so the harshness of the cold isn’t directly on your skin; I formed a habit of lightly scratching my arm -most assume you have a bug bite or something but if you apply enough pressure to feel it but not enough to dig your nails in it does help (but please please please be careful, it is so easy to slowly start applying more and more pressure without realizing it until your leaving marks); this isn’t like a way to neutralize the urge but it keeps me accountable to stay clean, I always have ‘Alive’ written on my wrist, most people assume it’s just some weird edgy thing but it’s a reminder that i still have breath in my lungs and a purpose in this earth and that helps me a lot personally; this one isn’t something I recommend if you’re still really bad and cutting daily but I’ve been clean for three years and it does enough to calm me but PLEASE don’t do it if you’re at risk of relapsing or if you’re still actively cutting, but when I’m stuck like in a car or in a situation where I can’t snap my rubber band or if I am trying to calm myself down I’ll dig my nails into the palms of my hands and squeeze until my knuckles turn white and/or bite my hand, but I never apply enough pressure to draw blood in either instance; and lastly (this isn’t much of a physical way to curb the urge for the most part) I will lay on my arms and listen to music, I personally am a very musical person so when I get bad and need to restrain myself I’ll straight up just hug myself and lay down knowing my arms will likely fall asleep and go staticky or numb and I’ll listen to music and just pay attention and hear the words (I have a playlist that’s formed purely to make me feel anything but the urge to inflict damage on myself)

I hope something of this can help even if just a little bit, and I’m so sorry if it doesn’t, please stay strong my darling, and I’m so proud of you💜

#rori chats

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swellwriting · 5 years

Text

LOVER 4/18

- THE MAN -

Bucky x Reader/ The Winter Soldier x Reader

A/N: You do not need to be familiar with the song/ Album to read this!!!

Word Count: 2.3k Part 3 Series Masterlist Part 5

Warning: Mentions of injury and blood on the wrists that may be triggering to some. (though not intentionally, they are self-inflicted...handcuffs suck.) Also Sexual references but nothing major. The usual violence.

Summary: “You were tired of being handcuffed to a bed not allowed to leave, you hated being denied drugs and then sedated for hours on end. You wanted to have control again.”

Nat told Tony to stop holding back on your meds, and of course, he listened. Not exactly in the way she intended it to be done though. They kept you heavily sedated, unconscious for an entire day after your first “session” with Wanda.

When you finally came to you felt so groggy, you knew something was wrong. You ate the cold food placed beside your bed and decided then and there that you were going to put an end to these games, whatever Tony was playing with you. And if this meant never seeing Winter or Bucky again, you didn’t care. You were tired of being handcuffed to a bed and not allowed to leave, you hated being denied drugs and then sedated for hours on end. You wanted to have control again.

Before you were too weak to break out of your chains, but the poison has completely run its course so you take your bandage off to see your wound almost completely healed, there is a dark bruising around it and red angry lines in your skin. It will leave a scar but it fits in fine with all the others so you don't really care.

You push your bed tray onto the floor and twist the chains around your hands gripping them roughly and yanking hard on them. The handcuffs don't come free but you rip the metal bars on the sides of the hospital bed clean off, great.

You push your blankets down and all the metal junk clanks together like you’re a damn human wind chime. You push your feet against one of the metal bars and pull your hand away, the cuff digs into the skin of your wrist cutting the sides open and you try to ignore the pain since you can feel the chain weakening and then it snaps, metal clangs to the floor and you look up to see if anyone heard it and is coming.

If the nurse did hear she definitely would be running the opposite direction anyway.

You repeat your actions, place your feet on the other bar, push and pull, your other wrist gets cut open but you don't stop, you are so close, snap! The handcuffs and the bit of chain that was connecting them to the bed hang from your wrists but you are free, you feel free. As if the chains were weighing you down you feel light, at ease and it’s great, but you didn’t think this through.

What now? You look around the room and then get up and walk down the hall.

“I just don’t trust her, she seems wrong. Not that you can ever really trust a woman,” Tony jokes as him Sam and Steve are standing in the hallway outside the medical ward.

“So if I was a man, you could trust me?” You ask as you lean against the wall, the chains and cuffs hang broken from your wrists covered in blood from the cuts they left, blood drips down your arm and onto the floor where you riped your IV out.

“Not particularly,” Tony says and looks you down head to toe admiring your handiwork. “I take it you’re feeling better, why don't you go back and lie down,” he says and it’s so condescending you can’t help the eye roll that comes by instinct.

“I'm tired of being told what to do, of being held a prisoner even though I have done nothing wrong.” You argue.

“You say that with a lot of confidence,” Sams asks, knowing your ledger is just as red as Bucky and Nats.

“I've never done anything wrong to you guys.”

“Spring!” Wanda says, walking into the hallway seemingly the only person concerned about your bloody hands and the trail on the floor behind you, “what did you do?”

You hold up your bloody hands and shrug, aware that there wasn’t really any explaining you could do. Bruce walks down the hallways and is quick to act.

“What the f-,” he stops and wraps his hands around your wrists gently, stopping the blood flow and then walks you backwards down the hallway back to your room, glaring at Tony the entire way. This was his fault in Bruce’s eyes, he told Tony that the handcuffs should have been removed days ago.

Bruce sits you down and Wanda removes the handcuffs with her powers and you thank her, but she isn’t happy with what you’ve done and you can tell on her face.

Bruce starts cleaning the wounds and stitching you up.

“I'm sure you don’t want to “talk” today,” Wanda asks, still unsure of what to call this thing you are doing, this treatment?

“No we can, I'm fine, was just tired of those cuffs, we can start now if you’d like.” You try to sound not so upset but you’re so tired of being treated the way you have been, of being told what to do, of being talked down to and treated differently. You remember the first time Hydra tried to treat you differently than Winter, and you remember the fit you threw to make sure it never happened again.

It’s what your mind goes to as you close your eyes, Wanda’s red glowing hands the last thing you see before the memories start like pressing a play button.

“Asset, you can’t go on this mission, It’s one for The Winter Soldier only, it’s too high stakes and you aren’t ready.” An unnamed officer explains to you as if you are too stupid to understand him. You are stood in one of the labs, having your blood drawn by a lab assistant to your left who seems nervous, looking over your face to see a reaction to being told no.

“Did Winter say that?” You ask.

“No, I did.” Strucker, the Head of your Hydra base among many others, said sternly and you went quiet. “You aren't as strong as him, you aren't as quick or skilled yet, we can’t afford to let this mission fail because we let some girl handle it.”

And something about the way he says that makes your blood boil with rage, like a kettle boiling over you are unable to contain your inner thoughts.

“So If I was a man I could go on the mission. If I was a big strong man I could handle this simple intel mission on my own. I'm so sick of being built up to be this big weapon for Hydra, your big threat only for you to ridicule me and limit me to missions that require seduction and tight dresses as if I couldn’t slit a man’s throat with pants on!”

The unnamed officer lets out a laugh and you give him a deadly glare before looking back to Strucker. He ignores you and you continue, you’ve said too much to take it back so you might as well vent.

“I'm so sick of running as fast as I can and trying to learn everything as fast as I can, perfecting my skills, proving I can be better than Winter in some things. Now I’m left to wonder If I could be Hydra’s number 1 soldier if only I was a man since that seems to be all that’s holding me back!” You yell which startles the lab assistant who is quickly finishing up taking your blood sample, removing the needle and then backing away to the safety of his desk.

“Perhaps you’d be number one if you weren’t sleeping with your coworkers,” the officer jokes, clearly referring to you and Winter even if they aren't certain of what’s going on.

“Yes because that would be a total one-sided thing, I should be punished for seducing him, yet he shouldn’t get reprimanded at all for fucking me as if it would be a one-person job that I’m doing all by myself!” You say with vigour, hatred laced in your voice for the officer. You don't know his name but he is quickly becoming the person you hate most, and that says a lot since you are in a room with Strucker.

“Well if it is a two-man job you just let me know.” The officer says and it would sound like a joke but the look in his eyes tells you it’s everything but, a threat he wishes he could hold up to. He leans in close as he unties the rubber band from your arm, touching your skin with grabby fingers, putting his face all too close to yours.

Perhaps it’s because you know they see you as just a woman who can’t control her emotions, they paint you up to be so bad, a hostile and reckless killing machine but they don't trust you. So in your mind, it’s okay that you’re mad, that you’re fed up and you’ve had enough.

You want to be taken seriously but everything that’s been wired into your brain says there is only one way to show that. So before he can even finish laughing to himself at his own joke, or before he can imagine fucking you in his head you put an end to his thoughts altogether. You close the distance between you in seconds and tackle him to the ground.

“Oh if I was a man, then id be The Man.” You say as you spit in his face. Strucker, the head of Hydra stands there and watches, not stopping you, wanting to see the weapon he created in action. You grab your knife from your thigh holster and slit his throat wide open deep. There’s so much blood that your hand is dripping wet before you pull it away. There is blood splattered on your face and in your hair, your knees are in the puddle that’s quickly growing and u smudge it across the floor and get up.

“Make sure your officers know their place, I am not below them. Number 2 on your list is still miles above them, I am no one’s toy or object. I do my job and I do it well, I deserve their respect!” You say with wild eyes, covered in blood, yet you don’t scare Strucker in the least.

“I’ll make sure they are aware, Asset Number 2,” he says your given name so boldly, to remind you that you may be no object of the officers, but you are his object, his asset and he is Hydra.

Just then Winter walks in completely confused by the scene in front of him, but he has to act like he doesn't care too much. He can’t let them know he is really in love with you. Sure they may be onto the fact that something is going on, especially after what the now dead and forever nameless officer said to you.

There is no harm in sexual relations between their top two soldiers. They aren't about to try to actively stop you, but they aren't going to openly allow it either. Soldiers, Assets they think you have no feelings, so there no harm in acting on basic human needs right? Who else did they think Winter would want to sleep with? Some lowly officer? A lab assistant? No, of course not, he chose the closest thing to his equal, or that’s how they see it anyway.

You walk past Winter without a word, you aren't mad at him. You want nothing more than to fall into his arms and cry and complain but you can’t do that here, can’t show weakness. So you walk down the hallway with your head held high. The officers and lab rats stare as you pass them, a bloody smeared smile on your face daring them to test you, showing them what happens when they cross a line with you.

Earning your respect, or maybe just fear.

“So what do you think, Soldier?” Strucker asks Winter, seemingly calm and uncaring to the whole event that just occurred.

“I'm not sure what you mean Sir?” Winter replies, standing up straight, monotone voice.

“I'm sure you can deduct what happened here, the officer on the floor pushed the other asset a little too far, made her mad and this is how she reacted. What do you think?”

“I think you made her into a weapon first, and then a soldier after. Which I don't think is a problem, just needs to be handled differently, and certainly, with a level of respect I had seen her not getting in the past.” Bucky answers clearly, trying to give a well-thought-out answer.

“I think you’re right,” Strucker says with a sickening smile as he picks up a phone and then calls some officers to the room to clean up the bloody mess.

Winter can’t help but smile inside, he should be angry that someone pushed you this far but he’s glad to know you’re standing up for yourself. He feels like he doesn't have to worry as much.

“That was nothing like what you showed me the other day,” Wanda says with wide eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, it’s just where my mind brought me.”

“I've seen worse, don't worry about me.”

Bruce is patching up your wrists still, eyes wide as he doesn't look up at you.

“Sorry Bruce, I should have waited until you were further away I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay. Now I know not to piss you off,” he jokes, looking up at you with a lopsided smile.

“We have to agree not to piss each other off I guess?” You joke back and he chuckles, finishing patching you up.

Tony had left the floor before the memory started, so it wasn’t accidentally projected into his mind but Steve and Sam were still down the hall, just close enough to have to witness that.

“You were harsh earlier,” Steve says, concerned.

“Harsh? I was right and we just saw that. She’s not innocent!” Same argues.

“Are any of us really?”

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Part 5

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wakeupexhaustedx · 4 years

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TEN UNIQUE TIPS FOR DEALING WITH ANXIETY

1. Here is a more common one but not a lot of people have heard of. Take an ice cube or two in a paper towel in each hand and hold or squeeze (depending on the severity of symptoms.) It makes your brain focus on something different than your anxiety and will kind of sting but not enough to really hurt you. The slight sting will jolt your mind out of its anxious loop.

Anxiety is an obsessive disorder and finding a way out of that way of thinking, if only for just a minute, can calm your body and break the cycle. Textures and sensations can really make a difference.

2. Wear a rubber band or hair band on your wrist. Whenever you start getting overwhelmed, pull that band back and give yourself a little snap or two. It can snap (haha) you back into reality and maybe help you focus. It can sting a little but it can often help change your focus. Again, it causes a little pain but not enough to really hurt you and can keep you from doing more harmful things.

Sometimes causing a little pain can change your mindset and keep you from doing things that can really hurt you. A small snap of pain can help you release some anxious energy and relieve the pressure building inside of you.

3. Focus on your surroundings. Count the things you can see. In your head, describe them. Their color, their shape, how they move or don’t move. What can you hear? Focus on all the little mundane noises around you. Are they loud or soft? Jarring or soothing? Focus on the ground underneath of you. What does it feel like to stand. How does that chair feel against your body? Are your clothes soft, comfortable? How does the air feel on your skin? Is it cold, hot? Is there a breeze? What can you smell? Are they good or bad smells? Comforting or disgusting. Maybe it doesn’t really smell like anything. You can notice that too. Just focus on what is around you.

Noticing your surroundings and grounding yourself aka being mindful can take the focus off of the worries inside your head and onto the real world. Sometimes you don’t want to be in the real world but your mind can be even more scary. I really like using the four, three, two, one technique. Four things you can see, three things you can feel, two things that you can hear, and one thing that you can taste.

4. Take a cold shower. The shock of the temperature can jolt you back into reality and make you refocus while forgetting what you are anxious about. It can also go the opposite way, a very hot shower can soothe you or make it just hot enough to distract you for awhile. A small, simple shock can sometimes be just the thing you need to get out of an unhealthy thinking cycle.

The cold can help you focus on your breathing or at least help you realize you can breathe. It may be uncomfortable but it will definitely distract you. Getting clean and bathing just goes along with this too so that can also make you feel better mentally.

5. Reciting things. It could be anything. Friends names, street names, objects in your room, recipes, anything. Just keep repeating them until your mind wanders or you get distracted enough to calm down It can be very soothing and can also be good for your memory. It can also trigger good memories and that will always help in most anxiety situations.

Even though it can also be a bit of an obsessive thing as well, it is healthier and calmer and the goal is to calm your body down as well as your mind. Just saying things over and over again will force you to focus and slowly those other things will drift away.

6. Eating a strong flavored candy or food. I prefer sour candy, it can take the focus off of the initial problem just long enough for you to calm down a bit. Sour, spicy, something gross or really good. Gum is also helpful to get that anxious energy out. Mints also, they make the air feel colder so you can actually feel the oxygen going in and out of your lungs. Distraction is key in most of these tips. Anxiety gets to be obsessive.

Taste is a very powerful thing. You don’t even realize that you’re reacting half of the time. It can be overwhelming in a good way. The taste will trigger a sensation and whether you want it or not, you’re thinking about that instead.

7. Start a new hobby. Crochet, get an app to learn a new language, try learning an instrument, play a new game, look up and learn a new recipe take up some sort of exercise. Anything to keep your hands and mind busy. There are so many calming things out there that you can learn at your own pace. Not only will it help calm you, you’ll be growing and learning as well.

There are great apps for learning pretty much anything these days. New hobbies help you grow and then you have an anxiety coping tool and a fun new thing to do in your free time!

8. For anyone with a picking habit, freeze a orange. Pick at that instead of at yourself. It’s less harmful and can distract your mind. It may make your fingers a little sore but it’s better than other alternatives. I pick at everything so if I can focus the energy on something other than myself, it’s much less damaging.

A lot of people turn to self harm. There are many different forms. Even picking your nails, skin, and scabs are considered self harm. If you can focus that energy into picking something that isn’t yourself, you will be much better off.

9. If you have time to think about what you have to do that makes you anxious, create a simulation and do it as badly as possible. Your worst possible outcome. Then, most likely, you will be very relieved during and after the event by being prepared and realizing your worst scenario is very unlikely to happen and if it does, you can be prepared emotionally. Acting things out can take away a lot of pressure in some situations. It’s helpful to have a friend or someone to help you think up things that you may have not considered.

Reality role playing can be very helpful, just be cautious with this one because your imagination can take over and you’ll need to try to focus on reality outcomes. Again, that is why having a friend to help can be very useful. They can help keep you grounded and from letting your thoughts go off of the deep end.

10. Make a list or picture board of things that calm you and look at it every day. Seeing those things, even if you can’t do them can work wonders. Places you have visited or would like to visit. Pictures of friends and loved ones. Positive sayings or notes to yourself. Anything that makes you happy or makes you smile. Vision boards can be good for many different things as well... not just anxiety but it can definitely help with that a lot too.

Visuals of things that you like and love can lower your heart rate and get you thinking of better things. Maybe you just need a reminder. Put this board or list somewhere that you are at least once or even better, multiple times a day. Look at it and remind yourself of the good things you have or dreams you have forgotten.

**Some sources I’ve used**

Most of these came from my own experiences and things I’ve learned therapy but here are some good sources I’ve found and browsed through.

~ How to Halt and Minimize Panic Attacks -Psych Central

https://psychcentral.com/lib/how-to-halt-and-minimize-panic-attacks/

~ 29 Unexpected Ways People Cope With Anxiety - The Mighty

https://themighty.com/2017/06/anxiety-relieving-strategies-unusual-weird/

~Alleviate Anxiety: How to Stop Feeling Anxious Now - SimpleMost

https://www.simplemost.com/alleviate-anxiety-how-stop-feeling-anxious/

~ 9 Weird Natural Remedies For Anxiety That Can Actually Work - Bustle

https://www.bustle.com/p/9-weird-natural-remedies-for-anxiety-that-can-actually-work-73148

#mental health #mental disorder #mental awareness #mental illness #anxiety #social anxiety #anxiety tips #self healing #self care #self help #calm down #calm #stress #panic attack #panic disorder

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into-control · 5 years

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submission:

for the anon asking about conversion therapy

The conversion therapy I went to was different from others, I think, because it was linked to a private boarding school. It was divided into 2 age groups. 11-15 years and 16-19 years. I was in the latter group. There weren’t many of us in that age group. Less than 30, for sure.

Idk what it was like for the younger age group. I’m assuming they were less harsh on them and were less detailed and explicit about sexual things to them than they were with us.

They would mention sexual things a lot to us. That’s a big thing that was focused on.

A married couple were the ones running it all. The husband focused on the boys, and the wife focused on the girls.

The husband wasn’t as bad as the wife. He was less harsh and a bit softer. But the wife was seriously disturbed. Evil is the worst that comes to mind, but maybe that’s being too harsh. I can almost forgive the husband, but the wife, I still extremely resent to this day. She was fucked up.

For the most part, it wasn’t physically abusive. They’d hit the boys occasionally, and the girls would get slapped on the arm or the back sometimes, but that was it.

There was a lot of religious preaching.

There were a lot of sexual talks. The husband was too embarrassed to talk to the girls about that, so the wife would do that.

She would go on about how heterosexual sex is normal, natural, and beautiful, and that it’s for the man’s pleasure and that women need to do it, even if they don’t want to. “Your husband owns your body and has the right to do whatever he wants to it”.

There was a lot of brainwashing. They would tell the guys that, even though they think that they’re not attracted to women, their bodies are attracted and will react to women. And with the girls, they’d say it’s impossible for two women to have sex and that women aren’t even supposed to want sex as it’s only for procreation and male pleasure.

If we ever thought something gay, we would have to snap a rubber band on our wrist. We also had to mark every gay thought we had on a diagram of a tree. Every leaf represented a gay thought.

If we were ever seen showing affection to someone of the same gender, we would get screamed at like we’d committed murder. We weren’t allowed to hug each other, hold hands, sit too close to each other, etc.

The wife would tell us that just because being gay is being normalised in society, that does not make it okay, and that we’re disgusting.

They would show us videos and tell stories about situations where people “became straight”, and they’d tell us things to scare us. Like, they’d say that most lesbian relationships are abusive, and they’d say that most gay men are gonna die of AIDs.

One thing that made me really angry just because of the sheer hypocrisy of it is that they would encourage the boys to watch porn of a single woman alone in their free time. That’s supposed to be a sin too, but I guess for them, anything was better than being gay.

Of course, they wouldn’t encourage the girls to do that because girls were told they had to be “pure” until marriage because men don’t want “used goods”.

The wife would ask us really invasive, personal questions about our sexual attractions.

That’s one thing I really hated. She never once even mentioned falling in love with the same gender. It was always just her acting like we’re all sexually-obsessed perverts who want to fuck every girl in existence.

The level of sexism was disgusting. The wife was much more sexist than the man. She was an actual misogynist. She would always talk about how much she hated women. She seemed to think she was one of the only decent women in the world.

The boys would be allowed to play football during breaks, but the girls would have to stay inside and talk because “it’s not feminine” for women to play sports.

The wife would tell us stuff like, “If your husband hits you, it’s your fault for making him angry, and you probably deserve it”, “you have to obey everything your husband says”, “a woman’s only purpose in life is to serve her husband and bear his children”.

Other stupid, sexist rules. The girls weren’t allowed to wear trousers. We had to wear skirts or dresses. She told us lesbianism is only a thing because society encourages women to behave like men. And she said men aren’t attracted to women anymore because “women have started dressing like men”.

They were also really invasive about things like body hair. They would do checks to make sure that the boys weren’t shaving their armpits, legs, or arms because it was considered feminine. And the girls had to shave all their body hair, but she only checked our legs and arms.

The husband had some kind of sympathy for us at least, but the wife hated us. She would constantly insult us and call us disgusting, freaks, homosexuals, lesbians, f*gs, etc.

Oh, I just remembered something so stupid she said that it’s almost funny. She said that, in hetero sex, the woman shouldn’t ever be on top because that can cause the man and woman to become gay because the man is in the woman’s position (submissive), and the woman is in the man’s position (dominant). So fucking stupid, lol. She must think half the straight couples out there are gay then, following that logic.

I can’t emphasize how horrible the wife was. I have no idea how she can claim to be a religious woman when she was practically the devil incarnate. I hate her so much, but I feel guilty for hating her. She would try to emotionally manipulate us into believing that she cared about us and only wanted to help us.

One of the boys was on the autism spectrum, and she’d always call him a “r*tard”, “disabled”, and she’d call him a liar and say he was faking it for attention.

She was a really unkind person. She would constantly mock us and try to humiliate us. She was very sarcastic too.

The husband would try to get her to stop being so harsh.

I swear, with the way she used to speak to us, it was like we were the worst people in the world. She made me feel like I’d committed murder or something. Like I was dirt under her shoe and worthless. She was really, really, really horrible.

It definitely had a really big impact on us. Some of the girls would self-harm. Another girl tried to overdose on tablets, but she survived and got kicked out after that. They called her attention-seeking.

One of the girls ended up running away from the place. She climbed over this fence right at the back of the outside area where the boys would play football and never came back.

I hated myself so much. I literally wanted to die most of the time that I was there. I think I might have had depression. I was there for a year and a half.

The place shut down years ago. The whole thing caused a bit of a scandal in my city at the time. The woman actually had the nerve to contact me and try to ask me to defend the place against the accusations.

She really managed to brainwash some of those girls though. Some of them are married to men now.

To summarise, it was the worst experience of my entire life, and it fucked me up. I would cry almost every day, and then there was this period of a few months where I actually physically couldn’t cry. Like, I’d feel sad and try to force tears, but I couldn’t cry. I don’t know why.

It’s taken me years to recover, but I still have a lot of internalised homophobia deep down. And I still haven’t fully forgiven my dad for forcing me to go there.

And I’m actually still anxious every time I go outside because I’m worried that I’ll bump into that demon woman. After I finished the conversion therapy, I kept having this recurring dream for a few months where I was running and trying to hide, and she was chasing me.

I’m a calm person, but I end up freaking out if anyone says something that reminds me of something she said to me. Like one time, someone made a joke about beating gay people up, and I FREAKED. I lost control of my emotions and ended up yelling at them and then sobbing. I’m never like that usually.

I still can’t bring myself to date a girl, even though it’s been years. I feel too ashamed, like I’m doing something wrong.

That woman is easily one of the worst people I have ever met in my entire life.

I hope she realises what a cruel, stupid, toxic person she is one day, and I hope she feels extremely guilty and ashamed like she made us feel constantly. And I hope she cries about it like she made us cry. But in the end, I hope she changes and becomes a good person. I would try to forgive her if she did.

Anyway, I’m getting kinda emotional, but to summarise, anon, PLEASE do not go to conversion therapy. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life. It DOESN’T work. I’m still gay. All it did was make us miserable and make us hate ourselves. And the stuff that they tell you really stays in your mind, and it’s very hard to clear your mind of it completely.

#anon #submission

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dangan-happy · 3 years

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(TW for self harm) Heya! This is to anyone, really. I've been recently starting to cut myself. Honestly, I don't really want to do it, but sometimes this uncontrollable feeling comes over and I just can't help it. You can see it as an addiction tbh. I don't know what to do, I don't even want to do this, I really don't, I don't like how my hands and legs always hurt. Can you please help me out? Thanks in advance! (I live a sad and empty BALD life)

Holy *CENSOR* on a *CENSOR* ANONYMOUS––

Before we get to the helping portion of this, let me tell you right *CENSOR* now, never hurt yourself again. I know it’s easy to say crap like that, but I really do want to help ‘ya out so you don’t have the need to harm ya’self again. It gets really tempting the more it happens and I wanna help stop that. I may not know what you look like, but I’m sure as hell you’re an attractive mother*CENSOR*. Got it?!

Phew, ok! 🎵 ~ Now that we have that outta the way, it’s great that you recognize this problem.. An addiction is shit, let alone an addiction that is harming you to the point where your body is aching.. A common tactic you can use is snapping a rubber band against your wrist, it’ll sting but it can remind you that’s how a cut feels like. Hurts right? But at least the rubber band won’t draw blood the way a cut would.

Now if that doesn’t work for ‘ya, because it doesn’t always do the trick, I recommend going to a therapist to begin having sessions, yanno, you can clear your mind about this. And they can give you more...professional advice, plus they are trained to deal with these kind of things. And don’t worry about showing weakness or feeling embarrassed, you’re there to get help.. Nothing wrong with that!

Now I pass my genius to my boy, Kiibo! Cause I bet he’s got a few words for ‘ya too anon.

Yes, I will have to agree with Miu on this. Although an addiction similar to this can be extremely difficult to deal with, the best solution is to make an attempt to stop it on its own.

In my opinion, the best tactic to do this is by speaking to a professional about the issue. Due to years of experience, they are better equipped than either Miu or I are, and could give you more proper advice. Not to mention that talking about the experience can be relieving for some.

However, if for some reason you do not have access to therapy, then the best course of action would be to attempt to find what triggers the self-harm, so that you know when to try and resist the impulse whenever it comes, and to find an alternative such as writing about your feelings in a journal or perhaps listen to music.

No matter what you choose to do, please remember this Anon. Recovery will not be easy, it never has, and it never will be. But I promise you, with the proper tactics, you can get through this. Do not give up on your recovery, and hopefully you will be able to overcome your addiction some day.

#danganronpa #danganronpa roleplay blog #ask #miu iruma #K1-B0 #Kiibo #mod miu #Mod Kiibo #tw self harm #self harm mention

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sublimediscord · 5 years

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Tagged by @galaxyparchment (here) (HAHAHAHA THREE FOUR YEARS LATER SORRY)

Rules: Use five minutes, and only five minutes, to write a drabble. No re-reading, no editing. (HAHAHAHA I CHEATED SO MUCH AT THIS)

Based on Crywolf’s “Stay”

(tagging @phoenix-angel-suyari and @setsailslash because bite me I love you both <3)

Your eyes open to dawn, to the feeling of the bed tilting empty. To the sounds of feet padding across the thin carpet and a the slide of wood-on-wood. You blink, arm stretching over the expanse of cotton to your right and fingers curling to catch at the sheets as your other hand knuckles the sleep from your eye.

“Shit, sorry Rals.” You blink again, gaze tracking the word to its source in the faint light. “Didn’t mean to wake you, kiddo.”

“Y-Y-Yancy,” his name is cut to pieces by a yawn, “wh’ time’s it?”

You don’t wait for an answer though, roll over through the still-cooling sweat spots on the bed. Grunt when you prop your head up on the same arm you’re using to rub at your eyes and bear down a little too hard, squinting to read the dim numbers on the clock. You’ve been meaning to replace its batteries for probably three months now. That or get a wired one.

“Six thirty?” You roll back, arching your shoulders as you do and popping your back. The action makes something lower throb lightly, and you can’t help but shiver in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant. “What’re...you’re never up this early, Yance. Why--”

“Rals,” The bed dips the way it should when Yancy’s knee meets the mattress, the weight of it finally right in your mind as he sits, “you know why.”

You reach out to him without thinking, eyes closed once again. Your fingertips skate through the dusting of red-blond hair on his arm, and you follow it up, up, up, until you reach his bare shoulder. You trace lines between the freckles you know are there without even having to look, can feel his skin rising into goosebumps. Can feel something deep in your gut rising with it, both of you shivering at the same time.

“Yance,” you mumble as you throw your free arm arm over your eyes, trying to keep out the sunlight that’s still beneath the horizon. As if doing so could prevent it from crawling up over the mountains at all. The want, the need, to make this moment last, to stretch it like a rubber band until it’s on the verge of snapping, throbs in your chest - pulsing in time with your heart. “c’mon, come back to--”

“We can’t do this, Rals.”

The rhythm in your chest turns cold. Drops into your stomach.

“I don’t c--”

“Raleigh, please.”

There’s something in Yancy’s voice. Something you don’t want to think about. Your mind doesn’t care what you want, though, and your arm drops as your eyes crack open again. In the near-dark, it’s hard to make out your brother, but his eyes are impossible to miss. The same pleading, the same begging, that’s in Yancy’s voice is buried deep within those twin pools.

“Please don’t let a mistake screw up the one good thing you already have.”

Yancy shifts until the hand you have on his shoulder falls to the sheets. The cold in your stomach freezes. Sharpens. You swallow reflexively. It doesn’t help.

“Yance, please don’t--”

“You have Chuck.”

“But--”

“No, Raleigh. We’re not doing this. We can’t.”

He turns his back on you and stands, the bed righting itself. Everything suddenly feels wrong, wrong, wrong, and fear roars in your ears.

“Yance, c’mon--”

You cut yourself off this time, eyes coming fully open as you sit up. The sheets tangle around your legs as you try to free yourself. A pressure wells in your chest, burning its way up your throat and threatening to spill out, and you only just barely manage to hold it back.

“Yancy. Please,” the word breaks whatever wall you’d been trying to build, the pressure finally winning, and a single sob rips its way out of you. “This doesn’t have to be hard, or weird, or,” you trail off, trying to think of the right words to say, the words to get your brother back in your arms where he’d felt so right. Where nothing had felt complicated, nothing had felt out of place--everything had, for the first time, felt like it’d belonged.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, just stay.”

“I can’t.” He says it like a fact. Like it’s something immutable and unchangeable, as simple as one plus one equaling two. His posture shifts, though, drawing in on itself, his shoulders hunching. “This was a mistake. You don’t want this.”

“But I do, Yance. I do. I have, for years, just--you gotta believe me Yance, please--”

Yancy’s entire back stiffens, his shoulders flying up to near his ears. You can see a flush creeping up his neck and into his ears--

(And, oh, doesn’t that just remind you of the firsthand knowledge you now have of exactly how far down that red tinge really goes)

--before he’s whirling back to you, his eyes--

His eyes.

You’ve known your brother all twenty-two years of your life, were practically put through high school by him when your genetic donor--you refuse to think of that walking pile of horse shit as your father--walked out on the pair of you. You’ve learned how to read him. Have gained such an intuitive awareness of him that even now, years after he moved out to “give you your own space, kiddo,” you can still feel his presence like an extension of your own arm. Can tell where he is from the soft sounds he makes when he walks, when he thinks, when he sleeps. Can tell what he’s thinking from the tilt of his hips, the part of his lips, the swirling currents behind his eyes.

Deep within your brother’s eyes, there’s more than just pleading. There’s pain. Agony. And, so quickly you almost miss it, the worst possible thing.

Hope.

Hope that you watch Yancy snuff out with a small shake of his own head.

“You don’t want this, Rals.”

He says your name like he’s begging. Like it’s a prayer. His hands move toward your shoulders, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his palms brushing against your skin before he seems to realize what he’s doing and drops his face forward into his hands.

“You can’t want this. Please kiddo, go be happy with Chuck. Don’t,” there’s a hitch in his voice then, and it splits your chest wide open, “don’t become me, Rals. I-I couldn’t live with myself if--”

Blood roars in your ears--not in anger, but the same way it had when Chuck’d taken you skydiving for your second date.

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” your voice sounds steadier than you feel, your arms and spine the consistency of jello even as you somehow manage to remain upright, “because I already decided for myself.”

But Yancy is still shaking his head, because, you realize with a start, he doesn’t get it.

“I told Chuck.”

Yancy’s eyes are on you with a suddenness that makes a kernel of fear in your guts pulse coolly. When he speaks, his voice is strained.

“What?”

You have to swallow past the lump in your throat. One of your hands reaches out to grasp at his wrist where it’s hanging limply at his side. You manage to your fingers behind the gentle curve where hand and arm meet, curling them to keep your grip; you can feel Yancy’s pulse racing through the contact.

“I told Chuck how I feel about you. How I’ve felt about you my whole life. And,” another swallow, your eyes darting away from your brother’s face before you force them back, “and he doesn’t mind.”

The denial is clear in Yancy’s face, mouth opening to make it real, so you continue speaking as if you hadn’t noticed.

“He said he won’t make me choose if you won’t. And, I love Chuck, I do, but,” you squeeze Yancy’s wrist lightly, the fear in your gut writhing like a living thing, “but I love you too. I don’t regret what we did last night. I’ve wanted it for so long, wanted it so much, I don’t know how I’ve survived the past few years. I--”

Your voice cracks at the edges, and you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to.

“I just know I won’t--I can’t, I--I don’t want this to be the last time. I can’t do this without you, Yance.”

There is resolve in Yancy’s eyes. You watch it--the need to sacrifice of himself to do what he thinks is right for both of you, and especially for you, his little brother--war with your words. Watch it war with the hope that refuses to be crushed, the same hope you feel fighting the fear deep in your belly.

“I know it won’t be easy,” you whisper, “I know it’ll be hard, and that sometimes it’ll suck, but we can get through it the way we have everything. Mom dying, Richard leaving, all of it. We got through it together. So, please Yance.”

You tug at his arm lightly. Can feel his pulse zip.

“Just...stay. Please.”

Through the haze of tears gathering at the bottom of your lids, you watch the resolve in his eyes crumble. His head bows, eyes closing, and you feel something cool and wet land on the back of your hand. When he speaks, it sounds like a little like relief, a lot like love, and, maybe, just a little bit like the future.

“Okay, Rals. Okay.”

#robert writes drabbles #holy shit #I want to tag this but GOD this is old #becketcest

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