so just over a month ago i think i’ve started having panic attacks. for no reason and seemingly out of nowhere i start getting really nervous, my heart starts racing, i feel dizzy and sort of nauseous, i feel really disconnected from reality, and i can barely speak a full sentence to the people i’m with. it always happens when i’m around other people, and it lasts about 10 minutes or more. i’ve had five since it started. the problem is that two of them happened when i was eating with others and now eating with other people who aren’t my family makes me nervous. i just don’t really know what to do about this whole situation?
((hey y'all!! So this is in honor of 328 followers! I’ve wanted to get it written for a while but this morning inspiration struck and boom it was done! I hope you enjoy))
Words: 1852
Warnings: fighting, yelling, panic attacks, crying, broken objects, if there is anything else let me know
Roman loved being an only child, having all his parents attention was amazing, that is until Patton was born. Suddenly, his solo quest to save his ‘kingdom’ became journeys talking to his babbling brother who still couldn’t walk. He’d sit with Patton and tell him stories for hours, pretending to be fellow knights on a journey to save their kingdom. When his dad had asked why he wasn’t running around the house as much Roman had simply told him that every knight needed their rest, and besides his companion couldn’t keep up and he couldn’t just leave him behind. His dad had smiled, ruffled his hair, and let him know how noble that was. Roman had never felt more proud of himself.
Eventually, Patton learned how to walk and talk and did so with vigor, much to Roman’s delight. Their parents would laugh and smile as they ran through the house, yelling about how they needed to protect the magnificent king and queen from something called a dragon witch. When asked about said creature, Roman would explain that him and Patton couldn’t agree on a bad guy, so this was their compromise. Patton had said that dragons weren’t all bad, and Roman, ever the diplomat and never one to upset his baby brother, had agreed and told him that it was also a witch so it was okay to fight.
That year for Patton’s birthday Roman had begged his parents to let him go to Build-a-Bear so he could make him a dragon witch. Roman would never forget the look of delight, then apprehension, on Patton’s face when he opened it.
“But Roro dragon witches are bad!” He had cried, looking up at his brother who smiled.
“It’s okay Patty, this dragon witch is good! She wants to protect you, and she doesn’t mind pretending to be the bad guy for us when we play.”
With that Patton had smiled the biggest smile and surged forward, chubby toddler arms hugging Roman as tightly as possible.
Then Logan had been born and immediately Roman could tell he was different. He was a lot more fussy than Patton, always yelling and getting into everything, crawling around the house, figuring out how to get things Roman didn’t want him to, and following him everywhere. At first he had been frustrated with his youngest brother, until his mom explained to him Logan just thought he was interesting.
“Mom, Logan won’t leave me alone!” He yelled for the fifth time today, as the one year old pulled on his leg for the third time.
“Roman, honey, I don’t know why this upsets you so much, you used to love when Patton would do this,” she said, coming into the living room and picking up Logan who let out a shriek of protest making grabby hands at Roman.
“I’m ten now, too old for babies,” he told her matter of factly, wrinkling his nose at his brother, “Besides, Patton wasn’t as annoying.”
His mom laughed, shaking her head, “You’re never going to be too old for your brothers. I also find it kind of funny that you think Logan’s annoying when he just thinks you’re the coolest thing, isn’t that right Little Lolo?”
Logan made a gurgling noise as he squirmed in her arms, reaching out for Roman again.
Roman looked at his mom, “What do you mean?” he asked holding his arms out for Logan who readily moved into his arms and started playing with his shirt.
“Think about it, if Logan doesn’t like something he’s not afraid to let us know, but if he thinks something is interesting he will not leave it alone. Like the bees,” his mom explained, a gentle smile crossing her face as Roman looked at his brother.
“I remember that! He wouldn’t leave those poor creatures alone until you got him that bee plushee!”
“Exactly! To him, you’re the most interesting thing in the world, isn’t that cool?”
Roman shrugged, watching his brother rest his head on his shoulder, eyes closing, “I mean I get it, I am pretty cool. Maybe it isn’t the worst thing.”
His mom smiled, ruffling his hair, “That’s my boy. Now, I have to go get Patton up from his nap. You got him?”
Roman nodded, sitting down on the couch and holding his little brother close, silently vowing to protect his youngest brother just like he protected his middle brother.
Then Virgil had come along and Roman wasn’t sure how to feel. Virgil was already five and had his own parents, so why did he need Roman’s?
Of course his mom and dad had explained to both him and Patton why they were taking in Virgil, but he hadn’t missed the tired looks in both their eyes at the idea of another kid. They had explained that Virgil was actually their cousin, and his parents had been deemed unfit to take care of him, so they were taking him in so he didn’t go into foster care. They had been explicitly clear that Virgil probably wouldn’t like them that much at first, he had been through a lot, but they needed to be their for him when they could.
Roman still didn’t exactly get it, how could parents not take care of their kids? But, he did his best to be ready for Virgil. I mean, he was his brother now which meant he needed to be protected at all cost. That’s how it went, Roman had realized, since he was the oldest it was his job to take care of the others, so he would even if he didn’t get it.
Then Virgil had actually moved in and Roman had no idea what to do with this kid who seemed closer to Logan’s age than Patton’s. He had tried to tell him stories like he had Patton, but Virgil had just stared at him, eyes clouded with confusion. So, then he tried to do puzzles with him like he would Logan. He asked him riddles, had their parents get him puzzles for older kids, which backfired stupendously.
After that, his parents had to teach him what a panic attack was.
Feeling rather crestfallen, Roman wasn’t exactly sure what to do. He wanted Virgil to feel comfortable, he wanted him to be able to come to him, and most importantly he didn’t want him to have another panic attack ever again, but it wasn’t that easy and Roman wasn’t exactly known for his patience.
When he saw Virgil laying with Patton one day he lost it. He stopped trying to take care of Virgil, if he didn’t want him then so be it, he could be Patton’s problem.
And then their parents started fighting. Roman wasn’t sure what to do, they had never fought like this before and honestly he was scared, but he couldn’t afford to be, his brothers needed him.
He was trying to distract Logan when he heard the sound of a glass shattering from down stairs and he knew things were escalating. Acting quickly, he picked up a confused Logan and ran to Patton’s room to see a sight that broke his heart. Patton was trying to console a crying Virgil who couldn’t seem to breath to no avail.
“Patty it’s okay,” he reassured, running over with Logan still in his arms, “Why don’t you take Logan to my room and we’ll be there in a minute okay?”
Patton nodded, grabbing Logan from Roman and leaving quickly, letting Roman know how scared he really was when he didn’t even try to stay.
With the door firmly shut, Roman turned to the scared kid in front of him who still couldn’t seem to breath, “Hey Virgil, it’s okay I promise you. I just need you to open your eyes and breath for me okay? We can do it together.”
Roman watched as Virgil forced his eyes open and he smiled, hoping to reassure him, “There we go, now breathe in for seven, like this, perfect. Okay now we are going to hold for four okay? Excellent, you’re doing really well, now out for eight. Hey it’s okay, we can try again. If it’ll help you can put your hand to my chest like you do for Patty. That’s it okay now let’s try again.”
On they went, five minutes passing before Virgil finally got his breathing fully under control.
“Pat says I can trust you,” Virgil’s voice was just a whisper as he stared up at Roman through his bangs.
“I like to think you can,” Roman told him with a shrug, “But if you want to that is up to you, not anyone else. I promise I will protect you though, you’re my brother and I care about you and when you’re ready I hope you can trust me.”
Virgil stared at him for another minute before slowly offering his hand, only for a loud bang from down stairs to send him launching himself at Roman instead.
“Oh Virgil it’s okay, I got you,” he carded his hand through the five year old’s hair, deciding that it might be a good time to move to his room.
Roman could feel his heart breaking again as he carefully stood with Virgil in his arms. He couldn’t believe he was ever upset that Virgil didn’t seem to like him. Of course he’d be apprehensive of him, he was loud and energetic, the combination had probably been way too much for the small boy. He should’ve let him come to him instead of pestering him everyday, it was obvious now that that was what he needed.
Roman sighed as he snuck into the hall, lightly hitting his door with his hip to let Patton know he was there.
The door swung open quickly to reveal a red eyed Patton.
“Roman,” he whimpered as another crash sounded down the stairs.
“Hey Patty,” he whispered, ushering him inside and setting Virgil down on his bed as Patton clambered up beside him, “Okay, I know you all are scared but it’s okay. Why don’t I tell you all a story?”
After the nods of their heads, Roman began an epic tale of four princes and their kingdom, successfully distracting the brothers with his tale. Eventually, Logan was asleep, his head in Virgil’s lap and Virgil’s eyes were drooping as he leaned on Patton, who wasn’t fairing much better.
Feigning a yawn, Roman stretched his arms above his head dramatically, “I don’t know about you guys, but I think this prince needs his sleep.”
Patton smiled, looking at Virgil and Logan, before adding, “I think I could go for a nap.”
Virgil yawned as Roman climbed into bed, carefully moving Logan so his head was resting against his chest. Virgil crawled over to his other side, resting his head on Roman’s shoulder, while Patton laid down on Virgil’s other side, putting an arm around the the younger boy.
“Sleep well my fellow princes,” Roman whispered, as Virgil and Patton started to nod off.
He would rest, but someone had to stay awake just in case. He was the older brother after all.
Val kept their eyes focused on the ground. “W-what do you want me to b-be for you? Kn-Knox liked elves— I could be an e-elf—”
Atlas calculated their next words carefully. “Well… for right now, I want you to stay in your original form until you’ve healed… after that, I suppose you can be whatever and whoever you like.”
Anger wouldn’t help anyone right now. Val was already scared. Besides, Atlas wasn’t angry at Val. They were angry at Knox. They made every attempt to smother their temper.
Val didn’t have anything to say for the rest of the ride and Atlas didn’t push them.
—
“Where… where are we..?” Val peered cautiously out the window. This wasn’t the house they remembered.
“We’re at the doctor’s house. I just need to make sure you’re okay to go home.”
Val barely heard the last sentence. “Wh… what..?”
Atlas repeated themself, but Val heard even less this time.
“Pl-please— please don't—” Val screamed as they felt someone touch their shoulder. Their mind was already far gone from their body. They screamed and struggled as the person held onto them tighter. They didn’t want this. They didn’t want to live their life drugged. They wanted to go back to Knox.
—
“Hey, hey, calm down—” Atlas was afraid to let go of Val. The way they were thrashing and screaming— Atlas was scared they would hurt themself.
Atlas managed to wrestle Val out of the car and all but dragged them in to the doctor’s house.
Once inside, the doctor helped Atlas get Val over to the examination table.
“I’m going to sedate them. You need to hold them down.” The doctor worked quickly and soon Val was asleep.
“What happened?” The doctor asked, taking a half step back.
“I don’t know. They’re here legally this time, though. They’re my responsibility now.” Atlas looked down at Val with concern. “They just… When we got here, they freaked out. I don’t know what triggered it.”
The doctor ran a hand through their hair, stressed. “Well… I’m assuming this was supposed to be a follow up for last time? I can do that and they can go home with you. I’m not exactly a psychiatrist, but I would recommend they see one. We should move quickly. The sedative I gave them will only last for a couple hours based on their weight.”
CW: Suicidal character (brief), panic attack, murder mention, blindfold
Angel waited until they heard the door close before carefully— slowly— opening their eyes. They wouldn’t be tricked by Echo, no matter how genuine they seemed.
They were alone.
With a shaky sigh, Angel sank to their knees. They weren’t sure how long they had been with Calder, but it had been at least a couple of months.
The room they were in was too bright for their eyes, even though no lights were on. They adjusted slowly, squinting until they could look around without getting a headache.
In the room, there was a bed, a dresser with a lamp, and three doors. One door led out to the hall, but the other two were probably a closet and the bathroom.
Angel opened one of the doors.
They fell to the flor with a scream of alarm, covering their eyes quickly.
“Angel??” Echo’s voice came from outside the room. “Angel are you okay?? I’m coming in.”
Angel heard the door open and flinched as Echo placed a hand on their shoulder. “I-I saw someone— Who… Who’s in here?”
“Angel…” Echo sounded confused. “Angel, you and I are the only people in the house.”
“No. No I saw someone.” Angel insisted, pointing vaguely in the direction they had seen the person.
Echo let go of their shoulder and when they spoke their voice had moved. “Angel, you opened the door to the bathroom. There’s a mirror in there. You saw yourself.”
“Oh…” Angel let out a tense breath, tears suddenly rising to their eyes. “I… I-I didn’t recognize myself…”
Echo helped Angel to stand. “It’s okay. Are you alright now?”
Angel nodded, then stopped. “E… Echo..? Can I… do you have something I can use as a blindfold..?”
“… I can look and see what I can find.”
“Thank you…”
When Echo left again, Angel went to look in the mirror. Their own face still looked unfamiliar. Angel could feel their heart reaching in their chest as they made eye contact with their reflection. Nothing happened.
So it really wasthem.
Angel’s hair was long and tangled. Their features were gaunt. They were in dire need of a shower.
They lost track of how long they stared at themself until they heard a knock.
“Come in!” Angel closed their eyes, gripping the edge of the sink.
“Angel. I found something you can use as a blindfold. It’s sleep mask if that’s okay.”
Angel nodded and Echo slid it on over Angel’s face. Angel touched the fabric before relaxing. “Thank you…” They breathed.
“Don’t worry about it. Can we talk for a minute? Come sit down.” Echo led Angel to sit on the bed and Echo knelt in front of them. “You don’t want to open your eyes because you’re afraid that Calder will kill whoever you bond to, right?”
Angel nodded.
“Well… since you told me, I’ve been thinking… What if you bonded with me..?”
“No—” Angel had to bite their tongue to keep from saying anything else. They had expected this. Echo just wanted to use them too.
“Just— Angel, just listen, okay? You can’t go on living your life with your eyes closed.”
“Iknow. That’s why I don’t want to keep living it at all!”
“Stop, please just hear me out. I know this sounds really suspicious— especially because I’m Calder’s sibling— but I’m not trying to trick you or use you or anything. I’m trying to find a solution. Calder won’t kill me. We may not have much of a relationship, but we’re still related and I think that means something to them. I’m not saying take off the blindfold right now— I’m just… I’m just asking you to think about it. Okay?”
Loved this artwork and it inspired me to write some good ol’ Logan angst, please check out their amazing work! Also I wrote this in 3 am I’m sorry if it’s bad
Enough is Enough
It started with the thump in his heart, unfamiliar and unnoticeable at first, it made him adjust his tie and focus on Thomas who was happily chatting along with Roman about the next video. His eyes glancing toward Patton and Virgil, cups of hot chocolate between them and their soft smiles shared with one another.
Thump
This one was uncomfortable now making him grimace as a dull throbbing pain along side with vacant noise feeling his head. All of a sudden he was speaking, his lips were moving and the sides had been giving them their full attention. He was smiling, right? He must have been with the warm look that Patton was giving him.
Butwhy?
Why can’t he breathe?
It felt as if he was outside his own body, simply watching the pleasant atmosphere of the living room. Air seemed nonexistent but the others showed no sign that anything was wrong, which meant that nothing was wrong. After all his warnings were just exaggerations and misunderstandings, Logan will never be able to fully grasp any dilemma due to his insufficient knowledge of emotional matters. He will never fully understand the others.
The perfect picture seemed to blur, he could no longer make out the faces and hear the voices, just his own pounding heart and pure distorted noises. What was happening? What was this fear coming from? He is Logic, something that was supposed to be useful and factually accurate, he displayed everything in a manner that is correct and controlled. So all he needed to do was get a grip-
“Logan, I need you to breathe.”
The sudden rush of air was surprising, his body jerked awkwardly as he coughed, senses flooding back with the pins and needles circulating through his body. His face was prominently wet with tears, blinking away he looked to see all of them surrounding him. Mainly Janus who was rubbing his twitching hand and soothingly patting his back.
The worried expressions varied in severity but held the main amount of concern…concern for him? No it couldn’t be, why would they be concerned for him? “Logan how long have you been..” Thomas trailed off, pointing to the desk making the logical side look over. ‘I’M TIRED’ was written all over the walls and visble papers, stained with pens and assumed sharpies that would take a while to scrub off. He looked down at his hands, now seeing how they were covered in a scary amount of red ink.
It was hard to grasp the fact that he wasn’t in the main room, had he been delirious this whole time? He gripped Janus’s hand tight, “My apologies, I didn’t mean to disturb you all. I will fix my work and insure this incident won’t mess up with the schedule-” “Logan, no one is worried about the damn schedule. We’re worried about you.” Virgil cut off, leaning in to wipe away the stray tears that fell into view.
“Yeah, Logie. Running into your room and finding you drawing all over your walls like mad man while screaming was definitely something, it was almost serial killer worthy!” Remus was noticeably pale despite his crazed smile that stuck firmly on his face, the state that Logan was in was certainly one to be feared if it sickened Remus of all people. Patton took in a deep breath, making Logan look up at him, “But the fact that you kept writing that over and over shows that you..You have been feeling like that for a long time, haven’t you?”
Logan scoffed, turning away, “I am incapable of feeling anything, I’m logic-” He hissed, Janus being to wipe his hand decorated with small miniscule cuts and a sing-song, “Lieee.” slipping from his lips. Roman rolled his eyes and hopped on to the bed with Thomas in tow, “Come on Nerdy Wolverine! You are the one who said that we represent more than what we are. Does that not include you?” He opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out, because what creative side was saying made sense.
But the existence of these feelings, the inferiority and worthlessness that swelled through his chest. Was this all really okay? Thomas leaned his head on his shoulder, “Logan you are logic as you are part of me. What is considered logic is always subjective and it can change, I think I put this burden on you that when it comes to Logic no emotions should be involved. But I didn’t realize how much that put you into denial.” Feeling the cool hands cup his face so tenderly made Logan relax, nuzzling gently as tears began to well back in his eyes. “You can say it Logan, we’re all here. You’re okay.”
With a nod, the side tried to push at first, force what was needed out of his throat so it would be out there. His voice cords weren’t cooperating and his body wanted to twist away from every touch that they were offering him. 'Calm down.’ His true thought pulled apart the incoherent noise, he blinked to see the sight of everyone beside him and gave them a shakey smile.
Jude woke buried beneath the blankets with Cardan asleep in the hollow of her curled body.
She watched him for a long moment, the rise and fall of his sides as he breathed, and wondered what on earth she was doing. In wake of her nightmare, the biggest concern her confused, sleep-addled mind had come up with was that Cat Cardan had been around while she was changing (which, while mildly mortifying, she could get over).
But she had fallen asleep before actually processing the gravity of the discovery, and now… Well, now Jude had time to think.
Once he was back in his faerie body, what would happen? What would he do? say? He knew so much of her, her family, the way she thought and lived and felt—
All she could do was hope he wouldn’t use any of it against her if they managed to turn him back.
And they would. They would turn him back, or at least try, because as tempting as it was to hold this power over him, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t leave him as a cat forever. (And besides, Jude could think of worse things than having a prince of Faerie in her debt.)
Tentatively, Jude brushed the knuckles of one hand over Cardan’s fur before letting her fingers come to rest on the rounded curve of his curled back. He stirred at her touch, turning amber cat eyes to meet Jude’s gaze. She jerked her hand back.
“Sorry, I—” Jude caught herself, biting her lip.
Cardan gave her a soft chirp in response and stood, giving a long stretch before sitting, his tail wrapped close to his body and his cat eyes watching her.
Jude watched him back, studied him—the ways he moved, and the ways he didn’t, graceful and haughty and careless all at once. He’d always been like that, even in his fey form, but the fact that these traits seemed only amplified by this curse made Jude’s stomach burn.
“Is it horrible?” she blurted, surprising him as much as herself. Cardan tilted his head at her and she swallowed. “The curse. Being a cat. Is it… hard? Terrifying? Does it scare you to know you may never be fully yourself again?”
He didn’t move for a long moment, and Jude thought maybe he wouldn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she had expected him to in the first place, if she let herself be completely honest.
But then he nodded. Just once, the smallest dip of his head, a twitch of his whiskers, and Jude was certain that there was something like apprehension in his amber gaze.
She regarded him, gauging the truth in his answer, even though she knew he couldn’t lie, before inclining her head.
“Good,” she said. There was nothing malicious in her tone, nor, she would say, in her heart. But the truth of his fear made her chest tingle and her stomach tighten at the fact that he knew—he knew what it was, now, to have dread hang over everything he did, every move he made, every moment and every thought.
Still, Jude couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes as she said it, focusing instead on the blankets that separated them.
She took a deep breath.
“Get up. We’re going to pay a friend of yours a visit.”
~ ~ ~
If Pellia had learned anything in her eighteen years of life, it was that most humans had a very skewed view of the magic and whimsy of Faerieland.
When she was seven and recently enrolled in public school, her teacher had read a story to the class about a pair of human children who befriended the faeries and would visit Faerieland occasionally. Her classmates had eaten it up. But for the pixie girl living amongst magicless mortals, the most memorable thing about that story had been how wrong it all was.
Young as Pellia had been at the time, she’d known the truth: the fey were not friendly, not most, and their land was not so full of whimsy, with giant toadstools and talking frog butlers and pots of gold at the ends of each rainbow. And certainly, more than anything else, Faerie was not a peaceful place to which two mortal children could safely come and go.
Now, huddled on her cot with the damp chill of the underground seeping into her bones, Pellia marvelled at just how right she had been.
She tilted her head back to rest against the cold stone. Her body ached from yesterday’s beating, her skin mottled with patches of red and blue and black. She was fairly certain one of her ribs was fractured, too, which sucked, but on the bright side, it hadn’t punctured a lung, so, at the very least, she could breathe—somewhat, through the swell of her split lip and crooked nose.
Pellia almost wanted to laugh at how pathetic she was, to be suffering so greatly from a few bruises and a broken rib. She didn’t, though, because that would hurt even more. And her entire body was already in agony.
There was a pain in her chest that wasn’t from her ribs, a gaping hole where her heart should have been. Pellia let her eyes slide closed as she listened to the closed whine of air through her broken nose.
Everything hurts.
She squeezed her eyes tighter, till starbursts danced on her lids and her ears rumbled with a sound like distant thunder.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into the empty noise. She didn’t know who she was apologising to; Amber? her mother? herself? Pellia wasn’t sure it mattered much anymore. She wasn’t sure she would ever get out of here.
The world spun as she dropped her head to her knees and wished for a miracle.
~ ~ ~
The sun had barely sunk below the horizon when they left, secreting out of the house and into the Milkwood on foot, inconspicuous as shadows in the dark.
As they walked, Jude gnawed on a piece of bread, salted against magicks and spread with sweet jam. Cardan, who had been trotting along at her heels, sprung up to sit on her shoulder.
“You leave picks in my clothes every time you do that,” Jude remarked, not looking up from where she was squinting to see the path in the dark. She surprised herself with how easy it was to talk to him, the same as she had before, even though she knew now that it was him.
Cardan snuffed and dug his claws into her shoulder in response. His gaze was fixed on her bread, and when he noticed her looking, he lifted his little cat chin imperiously, giving her a haughty meow.
“Oh, get over yourself,” she scoffed, but she broke a piece off and held it up for him.
He nibbled at it as she picked through the dark, until she nearly tripped in a rut in the ground, causing her to stumble several steps. She swore under her breath as she caught her balance, but Cardan, perched precariously as he was on her shoulder, was forced to jump, or run the risk of being rather gracelessly dislodged.
He walked after that, lithe and soundless as a ghost, picking out the best paths with his superior night vision and guiding Jude over logs and around dips and divots in the uneven earth.
Usually, a journey through the Milkwood, in the dark and on foot, took her the better part of an hour. With Cardan’s help, they made it to the Hill in three quarters of that time.
She was grateful, certainly, but she would never admit to it.
Jude paused on the edge of the Milkwood, crouching low and pulling her hood up to disguise her face as she watched the single guard posted outside the Hill’s entrance. She fingered the hilt of one of the daggers she had at her waist.
Cardan grumbled, eyeing her.
“Well, how were you thinking we get in?” she retorted, frowning.
He made another, decidedly displeased, sound and rolled his eyes before darting towards the hill. She lost him in the shadows a moment later, but soon after saw the guard move away from the gate, hand on their sword as they went to investigate whatever noise had caught their attention.
Jude took her chance, dashing across the open ground and, eyes squeezed tightly shut, through the illusioned entrance to the Hill.
She paused to catch her breath as she waited for Cardan, who came trotting through a few minutes later, looking rather pleased with himself.
She gave him a begrudging nod of approval, at which he twitched his whiskers and gave a smug little purr.
Jude shot him a look.
“Watch it, buddy. I may live here now, but I’m still American and you’re still football-sized.”
He grumbled loudly and she conceded.
“Okay, not football-sized, but close enough.”
The look Cardan gave her was so baleful that she had to laugh.
“I’m joking, I’m above animal cruelty. Now,” she made a show of stepping aside for him, “lead on.”
He did, guiding her through the maze of halls, clear of the bustling servants busy with their chores, past the rooms of sleeping courtiers. Down and down, until they reached the dungeon and the same back entrance they had used before.
At Cardan’s touch, the door unlocked, grating open on rusty hinges so he and Jude could slip into the damp prison beyond.
“Follow the path to the left, fifty-three cells down,” Jude breathed, freeing a dagger from its sheath. “I’ll be back.”
She kept straight, following a hunch down the rows of crowded cells until, sitting slumped on a bench at the end of the row, cradling his helmet in his arms, she found a snoring guard with a key ring at his belt.
She crouched to examine it.
The metal ring was fastened to him by a long loop of fabric, the keys themselves tucked through his belt to hold them in place.
One cut and then pull them free. That was it.
Jude took a deep breath.
Carefully, touching him a little as possible, she lifted a loop of the fabric and sliced through it.
That was the easy part.
Jude sheathed her knife and took hold of the metal ring, her breath stopping as she began sliding it slowly, slowly, slowly from his belt.
The guard snorted, his body jerking slightly. She froze, heart in her throat, afraid to even blink lest she disturb him—
But then he sighed and his breathing returned, easy and regular as his head lolled to one side.
She freed the keys the rest of the way, eyes glued to the guard’s face.
They clanked together and she grimaced, catching them in her hand and trying to silence the ringing metal—
But it was too late. The guard snapped awake, his hand shooting out to wrap around Jude’s throat as she cried out.
“What are you—aargh!” He bellowed, his words cut off by Jude’s fist burying itself in his groin. His grip on her loosened as he curled in on himself and she fell, scrambling back and panting.
Her neck ached and the air whistling down her throat felt dry and raspy, but Jude forced herself to her feet, gaze still locked on the faerie before her.
In the cramped confines of the dungeon her sword would be rendered mostly useless but for short jabs, so Jude drew a dagger, holding it at the ready as she acted.
The guard kicked out weakly in an attempt to hold her back but she moved just out of his reach, her free hand knocking the blow aside as she stepped between his legs.
One swift hit was all it took, the hilt of her dagger crashing down on his unprotected head, rendering him unconscious.
His eyes rolled back and he slumped forward, his forehead planting itself in Jude’s stomach. She shoved him off and watched him tip to one side and crash to the floor. There was a trickle of red sliding down his temple and into his face.
Jude swallowed. Sheathing her blade, she crouched next to him, feeling under his jaw for a pulse.
Nothing. Had she killed him? Her own heart pounded painfully in her chest at the stillness, panic building—
And then she felt it: soft, fluttering—but there, nonetheless.
She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, her lungs aching. She reached out to press her free hand against the cold stone floor, grounding herself.
She didn’t have time for this.
Grabbing the keys from where they’d fallen, Jude stood and headed back to where Cardan waited.
~ ~ ~
The cat prince was standing outside the cell when Jude got there, tail held straight up and fur slightly fluffed. His eyes were fixed on the figure inside. When she stepped closer to the bars, Jude understood why:
On the cot in the back corner, curled loosely in on herself, was the pixie. She looked up at the sound of Jude’s footsteps.
“Oh. It’s you.” The words came out slow and slurred, through a split lip and laboured breathing. The red eyes that had flashed so brightly on their last visit were dull and clouded with pain.
“Are you here for another clue or did you finally figure it out?” The pixie’s voice grated against Jude’s ears, rasping and thick.
She didn’t respond for a moment, taking in the tattered, shortened hem of the fey’s once-beautiful gown.
“I have a deal to make with you.”
A look like disdain passed over the swollen features of the pixie’s face. “Do I look like I’m in any position to be making a deal?”
“You’ll want to hear this one,” Jude said flatly. “Trust me.”
“Trust is a very dangerous thing.”
Jude shrugged. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
The pixie gave a smirk that looked more like a wince. “Are you tryna seduce me?”
“What—?”
“All I’m saying—” she shrugged then winced. “Ow. All I’m saying is, my type is definitely fellow redheads who hold the keys to my cell.”
At her feet, Cardan gave an amused snicker. Jude ground her teeth.
“I am going to turn Cardan back. I want to know what kind of spell you put on him and how to break it. And in return, I’ll get you out of this cell and you can crawl back to whatever hole you came from.”
The pixie regarded Jude for a long moment.
“No deal.”
“What—” Jude snapped her mouth shut. She should have guessed it would come down to this. It was never simple. Never.
“No. Deal,” the fey repeated. “Getting out of this cell is the least of my concerns right now.”
Jude pressed her lips together. “Then bargain with me.”
The pixie tilted her head, her gaze intent as she studied the mortal girl and the cat prince sitting at her side, tail twitching. It made Jude’s skin crawl. Cardan leaned into Jude’s leg, the small weight of him reassuring.
“What’s your name?” the fey asked instead.
When Jude stayed silent she turned to Cardan.
“So she knows who you are—” Cardan inclined his head, and she continued: “—but did y’all figure out the rest of my little riddle?”
Jude failed to see how this had to do with any kind of bargain, but she nodded. Still, the pixie stared at her expectantly. When Jude still didn’t say anything, she sighed.
“‘Kay, look. I can’t tell you all the information here unless I know that you know the basics. Our lovely friend left a loophole that said I can’t reveal anything to anyone. But once you know it, I can talk about him all I want, because then I’m not revealing anything, am I?”
Jude rubbed her thumb over the stump of her shortened ring finger. She wasn’t sure why she was even hesitating on this.
“It’s Balekin,” she said as a blur of black fur clawed its way up her body to settle on her shoulder.
“Nailed it.” The pixie nodded, then stood, slowly, wincing in pain as she moved up to the bars.
In the lesser darkness of the hall, Jude could see just how battered she really was.
Her face and shoulders were more bruise than skin, her lip swollen and split. Her face was puffy around the crooked line of her nose, and dried blood still stained her skin in places. She’d bound her torso with strips torn from the bottom of her dress.
She met Jude’s gaze full on.
“I’m Pellia. Anything I can call you?”
“Jude.”
“Hm. Well, I’d say it’s nice to meet you, Jude, but honestly, nothing is nice, right now.” She let out a little huff of laughter, then grimaced. “So, let’s bargain. You want Cardan to be un-catted and I want back something that was stolen from me. And as you’ve already figured out, the key to both of those things lies with Balekin.”
Jude was silent, waiting for her to continue.
“So here’s my bargain,” Pellia said. “You break me out of here and help me get what I want from Balekin—”
“Which is what?”
“What?”
“What do you want from Balekin,” Jude clarified. “What did he take from you?”
The pixie’s jaw tightened and a look of what Jude could only describe as seething rage contorted her face. “My sister,” she said. “He took my sister.”
Jude’s mouth went dry at the thought and she swallowed. “Okay. So, I help you get your sister back, and you…”
Pellia cleared her throat, attempting to clear the anger from her face, but Jude could still sense it, a searing intensity simmering beneath the surface of her flippant facade. “And I’ll get you what you need to turn Catboy back into,” she paused, “less Catboy.”
Jude frowned. “Into himself. Turn Cardan all the way back to how he was before he even met you.”
“That’s what I said.”
“You said less cat. He needs to be no cat.”
Bitter amusement sparked in Pellia’s eyes, the first kind of light Jude had seen in them.
“He’s always gonna be a catboy, babe.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “He has a tail.”
“So I’ve heard,” Jude responded, frowning.
“Well, there you go. Unless you want me to cut it off once we’ve changed him back—”
She was interrupted by a sudden hiss from Cardan himself. The cat’s claws dug into Jude’s shoulder and she shot him a look.
“But something makes me think he’s not too fond of that idea,” Pellia continued. “So he keeps the tail, ergo: catboy.”
Jude shook her head. “We’ve gotten distracted. Was that your whole bargain?”
One of Pellia’s brows raised. “Unless you can think of something else you’d like to give me? That dagger’s pretty nice.” She nodded at Jude’s belt.
“No.”
“Okay, then yeah. That’s all. I promise I will help you undo the spell on Cardan, provided that you, in return, help me save my family from Balekin’s felonius, rotten clutches.”
It took Jude a moment to realise that this was Pellia’s version of an oath; she had never before heard one made with such informality.
Frowning, Jude responded, “And I promise that in return for your help reversing the curse on Cardan, I will help you save your family.” When Pellia maintained her expectant stare, Jude finished: “…from Balekin’s felonius, rotten clutches.”
Inside the cell, Pellia’s eyes seemed to shine a little brighter as Jude slid the key into the lock.
~ ~ ~
They made their way up from the dungeons, Jude supporting Pellia’s weight and Cardan scouting ahead at Jude’s behest. Well, she said it was scouting. In all honesty, Cardan just didn’t want to be near the pixie girl and the stench of her unwashed, bloodied body.
The scent of it all was nearly overpowering to Cardan’s hypersensitive nose and it, along with everything else about Pellia’s current state, made his stomach flip with nausea.
While he wasn’t particularly fond of blood, Cardan had never considered himself squeamish—that is, until they had made their way into the brighter upper levels of the palace, and Pellia’s bruised and battered state had been on full display.
She was a far cry from the elegant seductress he had met all those nights ago; the soiled fabric of her dress was dark and stiff with dried blood, hanging loosely where it used to hug her body, and her skirt, having been torn into strips, was now knee length at best. Her arms, shoulders, and chest were barely recognizable as skin, covered as they were with the ugly purple-black and red of fresh bruises. But bad as that was, Cardan knew it would be worse beneath her clothes, in the places where people couldn’t see.
It was always worse where people couldn’t see.
Just the thought of it made his stomach flip and his own back ached. He tried not to look too hard at her after that.
When they got to the illusioned exit, Jude held up a hand for them to stop.
“The guard could be right on the other side,” she said. “They’re not gonna fall for your trick twice, Cardan, but I don’t want them to have the chance to raise the alarm.”
Cardan’s tail flicked nervously of its own accord. He sat and pinned it with his paws before he caught Pellia smirking at him. If he’d been less of a coward, he might have stared her down. Instead, he twitched his whiskers in a nervous cat smile as she turned back to Jude.
“You’re making this too complicated,” the pixie said, wincing as she leaned against the wall, a hand to her ribs. “They’re gonna know I’m gone soon anyway, so just knock the guard out and let’s go. Or kill him, I don’t care.”
At Jude’s hesitation, Pellia continued, “If you won’t, then give me a dagger and I will. But if we hang around here much longer, sooner or later someone is gonna come along and—”
Footsteps echoed down the hall.
“We’re gonna get caught,” Pellia said, and Cardan’s mouth almost dropped open at the absolute gall this pixie girl had, as she reached for the dagger in Jude’s belt.
Jude was faster, unsheathing the weapon and glaring at the pixie before flipping it hilt-first to offer to her.
The footsteps were growing louder, closer. Cardan turned to face the direction they were coming from, glancing back and forth between the two women at his back and the sound of their oncoming potential doom.
“We may be working together,” he heard Jude hiss, “but that doesn’t mean we’re friendly. Keep your hands off my knives unless I say otherwise.”
The warning in Jude’s voice made Cardan’s skin tingle, and when he shot a glance at her over his shoulder, he felt his hair rise; if her gaze had been pointed at him, he was fairly certain his blood would have frozen in his veins, too.
Pellia, on the other hand, only seemed amused as she accepted the weapon from Jude, a half-smirk on her lips.
At the other end of the corridor, a guard rounded the corner. Cardan whipped back around to face him, a terrified hiss finding its way unbidden from his throat. The guard caught sight of the blade flashing in the pixie’s hand and shouted, breaking into a run.
“Have fun with that one,” Pellia said, her ruby eyes flicking to the guard. “I’ll clear the way out.”
As she stepped through the portal, Cardan felt, rather than saw, the sneer Jude sent after her.
Turning to face the oncoming guard, Jude muttered to him, “You owe me so big for putting up with that insufferable piece of work,” and drew her sword.
Cardan couldn’t even disagree with her because if he was being fair, he couldn’t say he would voluntarily interact with Pellia either.
Then all thoughts of the pixie were driven from his head as the guard reached the spot where they stood and he leapt back to avoid the fight.
Jude sidestepped the guard’s first thrust, letting him take the offensive for a moment before meeting him head on, parrying his sweeping blow with a force he hadn’t expected, judging by the look on his face. He tried to disengage to reset, but she held him on the defensive, forcing him back and back, their blades coming together in a clanging metallic symphony.
The clash of them smashed into Cardan’s head and rang in his ears, shattering his thoughts, and he pinned his ears back. He wished he had a goblet of Faerie wine. Or better yet, a whole bottle.
The guard cried out as Jude broke past his defense, flinging his sword from his hand. It skittered across the floor, the sound making Cardan’s hair stand on end. He scrambled back as it slid toward him, flashing the torchlight in his eyes.
Jude had the guard subdued now, backed against a wall with her blade at his throat.
The sounds of their heaving breaths was grating on Cardan’s nerves, and he backed into the wall, crouching at its base. He vaguely registered the sound of Jude’s voice, threatening the poor Fey she held at sword point before leaving him cowering against the wall as she moved swiftly, gathering first his fallen sword, which she shoved into her belt, and then Cardan, holding him tight to her body. Her firm grip and the regular beat of her heart helped steady him a little as, Nightfell still held at the ready, she backed through the illusioned gate.
~ ~ ~
Jude gave the guard’s sword to Pellia the moment she stepped through the portal.
“So you can ruin someone else’s blades,” she snarked as she reclaimed her own blood-speckled dagger. There was a fresh smear of red across the pixie’s dress where she’d wiped the blade clean.
Pellia’s only response was a raised eyebrow as she traded the weapons. “So,” she asked, “what’s the plan now?”
“We’re going home. We’ll figure out the rest there,” Jude said. “You can walk?”
Pellia gave her a look of baleful determination. “I can do whatever I have to do.”
Jude nodded as she turned away. “Let’s go then.”
~ ~ ~
They made slow progress away from the hill.
Pellia had thought once she got moving again the adrenaline would kick in and she wouldn’t hurt so much. She was so wrong. Every step sent pain lancing through her body as she was forced to climb over fallen logs or duck under the occasional low branch. The reason she was even somewhat keeping pace with Jude was almost solely because the other girl was half blind in the darkness.
The fact that she was also running on no food and minimal sleep wasn’t exactly helpful either. Her stomach ached with hunger and her bones felt slow; moving forward was like dragging herself through waist-deep sludge. She gritted her teeth and pushed on.
Once, Pellia stumbled over a root, hissing a quiet curse as she caught herself on the tree trunk. Jude glanced at her but said nothing. She was grateful.
By the time Madoc’s manor was in sight, Pellia was ready to drop. It was an effort not to drag her feet as they made their way up to the manor, or drop to all fours and crawl her way up the stairs as she followed Jude to a room on the upper floor.
The room was sparsely decorated—a wardrobe, a vanity and mirror, a separate room for bathing and dressing—but Pellia didn’t notice any of it; her attention was trapped on the bed shoved against the far wall.
Her steps toward it were halting as the full force of her fatigue slammed into her. She nearly stumbled, forcing Jude to catch her, but the mortal girl didn’t take her toward the bed.
“You need a bath before you go anywhere near my furniture,” Jude said, and Pellia couldn’t argue with that.
Within the span of a few minutes, Pellia was sinking into scalding water, feeling its heat seep into her skin and soothe her aching bones.
She was fast asleep a moment later.
~ ~ ~
The water had gone cool and pink with blood by the time Pellia woke. She shivered under its touch and scrubbed at what blood hadn’t already mixed itself into the water, careful of the bruises marring her skin. The ones along her ribs were the worst, dark purple and red eclipsing the space along her side and back. She prodded at it gently, trying to find where the bone had cracked, but succeeded only in causing herself more pain.
Gingerly, Pellia stood and climbed from the tub. Jude had left her a change of clothes: tawny leggings that were too long and a moss green tunic that hung too loose on her emaciated frame. She fixed the accompanying belt loosely around her hips and exited the antechamber.
The bedroom was dark and empty, save for Cardan, curled asleep on the bed. He chirped at her as she entered.
“Hey, catboy,” she said. She wandered to the vanity and pulled open the drawers. From the bed, Cardan meowed loudly.
“Chill, bud, I’m just looking for a comb,” she reassured him as she dug through the contents of the lower drawers. Decorative pins and wires and silk ribbons were sorted meticulously and glinting in the low light.
Pellia’s eye caught on a floral hair clip, sparkling slightly as she picked it up. Her mind flashed back to the day everything had started: a flower crown, a Faerie spy, and Pellia’s own stupid pride.
She closed her eyes against the threat of tears and pocketed the pin before moving on to the upper drawers.
She found a comb there, wide toothed and made of smooth wood. Beneath it was an envelope of heavy white parchment. Pellia shot a glance at Cardan to make sure he wasn’t watching and pushed the comb aside. She opened the letter with her back turned to him.
Her stomach dropped as she recognized Balekin’s bold, angular font. She read, then reread, the letter, feeling her stomach twist tighter each time.
If she has become a liability, he’d written, I expect you will deal with the situation appropriately.
He was going to have her killed. Balekin had all but ordered Madoc to kill her. The paper creased in her hands as her grip tightened and the ink grew blurry through the tears welling in her eyes.
“That wasn’t part of it,” she whispered. Pellia swallowed and shoved aside the shock and terror, felt the oily weight of wrath rise in its place. She closed her eyes, let it build and settle in her bones.
“That wasn’t part of the deal, Balekin,” she hissed, the prince’s name like acid in her throat, hurled from her tongue like a curse. If he thought she was dead, would he bother to uphold his end of their bargain? She didn’t want to think about what might happen to Amber if he didn’t.
Her mind narrowed to a single point, one single thought that burned like a brand in her mind: that prince had better watch his back.
***
A/N:Can we please pretend it hasn’t been like a month since I last updated? I’m so thankful for those of you who have patiently waited for this chapter for so long and I do very much apologise for taking so long with it. Things have been crazy lately and writing has been the last thing on my list, honestly. I’m not sure when I’ll get the next chapter out either, and to be honest, I’m not even going to try and give updates on a timeline/date because chances are I won’t stick to it. I will see this fic through to completion though, and that’s a promise. Not sure if it will be a good ending but it will get one
Anyway, thank you for reading and if you have the time, I’d love if you reblogged and let me know your thoughts! Truly, all of your support is what keeps me going :) <3
Wanda understood why this was necessary. It was either this, or she risked capture, further prosecution, and going back to the Raft. Emotionally and physically, she wasn’t sure she could deal with that again. Finally over the debilitating illness caused by her allergy to tranquilizers, Wanda had let Nat cut and dye her hair red and help her get some new clothes. Wanda… couldn’t look like herself anymore. None of them could. If they did, they’d be caught.
Catching herself in a mirror for the first time since her makeover, Wanda was taken aback by her own appearance. She looked American. She looked Western. She looked like everything she never wanted to be. And to make matters worse, someone had left the radio on, probably to cut through the awkward silence in the house. The song currently playing was Tears in Heaven, by Eric Clapton.
Would you know my name? If I saw you in heaven Would it be the same? If I saw you in heaven I must be strong And carry on ‘Cause I know I don’t belong Here in heaven
Her eyes welled up as she wondered whether Pietro wouldeven recognize her. Perhaps, but… what would be there in his eyes as he did? Would he look at her with confusion? Contempt? Disappointment? What about her parents? Would they say that she had forgotten herself? Forgotten where she’d come from? Forgotten… them?
Maybe it was the stress of the last week, or maybe it was something more, but soon she was outright sobbing, having a moment… and not a good one. “I’m sorry!” she cried, apologizing to her dead family. “I’m so sorry!” She didn’t even hear anyone enter the room…
Wanda felt like all the stress of the last few weeks was hitting her all at once. “Isit though? Willit be okay? Because I’m not so sure it willwork out. And what are we going to do if it doesn’t?” she asked, but then something occurred to her. They didn’t owe her anything at all. It was nice of them - selfless, really - to come and rescue her. But now… they all had to take care of themselves, if it was easier or better for them to leave her behind, then they should do that, shouldn’t they? She’d only brought them trouble, right from the start, as far back as Sokovia. “Not… that you have to figure things out for me, I wasn’t asking you to do that…” she added.
She tried her best to breathe, to get a hold of herself. More often than not, though, once she was in the throes of a panic attack, it just had to run its course. The feeling of cold sweat and a nauseating pit in her stomach was unpleasant but familiar. “He loved who I used to be… not who I am now. He’d be so disgusted, I know he would… Because sometimes I am too!” she exclaimed before she tried to force herself to focus on what Nat was saying. Was she right? WouldPietro see the value in this? Would he forgive her? The fact that Wanda couldn’t clearly think of an answer frightened her. Was she forgetting him? That was a terrifying thought. She tried to allow herself that she’d been under a lot of stress lately and she’d been sick from the drugs they’d given her at the Raft, but that still didn’t seem like a good enough excuse.
This is what we need to do. Wanda thought about those words. Maybe Pietro would have listened to Natasha. She was older, she had more experience with being on the run from people and governments. Pietro wouldn’t have liked it, but… if Natasha explained it to him like this, he would have gone along with it too… right? Wanda hadn’t realized in all her struggling to comprehend what Nat was saying that she’d calmed down a bit. Tears still trickled down her cheeks but at least she could breathe. “I just feel like I’m losing myself…” she whispered. “Like I lost him.”
No matter how many times people tried to tell Wanda that they weren’t here because of herand her mistakesand her irresponsibility, she just couldn’t believe it. She’d been the catalyst that started this whole nightmare. People had died, her comrades had lost their homes and peace of mind, and now here they were, scraping by and changing who they were, because she screwed up. “You can’t say you don’t blame me… even just a little…” she said. “I blame myself. I’m sure everyone who didn’t choose to come with us blames me directly. And there’s no making it right anymore.”
She thought about it, though. Would more people have died had she not done what she did with that explosive? “Do you really believe that? That it was the best I could’ve done. What… should I have done? Steve was there, I’m sure… he has some ideas on how I could’ve handled that better…” Wanda just couldn’t keep from coming back to all her poor decisions in life and berating herself for them. Choosing to volunteer for Hydra’s experiments, choosing to side with Ultron, telling Pietro to leave her side, not doing better with that bomb in Nigeria, causing so much damage in Germany… Why couldn’t she just live her life without killing people and destroying things?
Carter listened in silence - staring down at her hands before she lifted her gaze back up to the stars, her throat tightening almost painfully. She was still struggling to get used to the fact the others spoke kindly. Spoke softly and earnestly, even to her. And to actually have such a question be answered with such open honestly instead of being dismissed or mocked felt… surreal. Left her waiting for a catch that she understood, logically, was never going to come. And there was a part of her that still couldn’t accept that Wanda actually saw her as a friend, and she struggled to accept that this was how it was supposed to be–
“I…” She swallowed thickly, still unable to turn to Wanda, and let out a heavy sigh as she dropped her gaze again. Her skin prickled uncomfortably, the reactor weighing heavily in her chest, and she resisted the urge to rub at it. “I- I don’t… I- I just… can’t help- help but wonder if- if…” Carter floundered, struggling to get herself to speak her mind - to continue displaying the vulnerability that felt wrong to reveal. Something that she tried to protect and keep hidden from everyone around her. “If- if it would’ve- would’ve helped. To- to have something to believe- believe in that was- was… good. What- what I- I had been… been told meant…” She cleared her throat awkwardly - absentmindedly tugging at her bracelet as she looked away. Maybeshe was saying too much. Maybe she should’ve just stayed quiet. “It’s… Nothing. It’s- it’s nothing.”
Wanda stopped talking when her friend interrupted her, not just because of what she was saying, but because of what she was not saying as well. Wanda knew the telltale signs of anxiety and panic because she felt them too, on a daily basis. Falling silent, she watched Carter from whatever angle she permitted, letting her turn away if she needed to. “It’s okay…” she said, but not as the typical placating thing people said to get people with anxiety to stop behaviors that were making them uncomfortable. No, when Wanda said it, she meant it differently. “It’s okay to feel upset and scared. Everyone does. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
As Carter’s panic really set in, Wanda slowly came to stand by her friend, placing her hands on the railing too. She didn’t know if Carter was okay with being touched, and she was in no condition to really be asked that question, so Wanda simply let the pinky finger of one of her hands touch that of Carter’s on the railing, letting her know she was there without being too intrusive if that wasn’t welcome. “Better than what?” Wanda asked. “There’s no shame in what you’re feeling, Carter. Lately I have had panic attacks almost every day. You aren’t alone. A lot has happened in our lives. We’re bound to have moments where we feel overwhelmed. There’s no shame in that.”
Wanda really had no idea that Carter was bottling up quite this much volatile emotion. It wasn’t healthy to do. How many times over the years had she told Pietro not to do this very same thing because… well because thiswas what resulted? How long and over how many troubling things had Carter been bottling up all her unwanted emotions? It made Wanda sad that Carter thought she needed to do this to herself, or even worse, that she couldn’t help doing it to herself. Whatever the cause or the reason, Wanda felt incredibly empathetic towards her.
“Don’t apologize,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.” Wanda fell silent then, just standing nearby, letting Carter tell her what she needed, or not, as she wanted to. If all she needed was for someone to be there in silence with her, Wanda could do that for her. It was strange how much Carter’s panic didn’t bother her. Well, it did bother her in that she felt badly or her friend, but Wanda just couldn’t feel awkward and weird around someone when they were hurting like this. Maybe it was because she was so used to caring for Pietro when it happened to him, or because she was so familiar with how this felt herself, but it didn’t bother her. She wasn’t about to change the subject or try to leave. Carter needed to feel this, to work through it, and Wanda wanted to be there to help her do that.
Carter listened in silence - staring down at her hands before she lifted her gaze back up to the stars, her throat tightening almost painfully. She was still struggling to get used to the fact the others spoke kindly. Spoke softly and earnestly, even to her. And to actually have such a question be answered with such open honestly instead of being dismissed or mocked felt… surreal. Left her waiting for a catch that she understood, logically, was never going to come. And there was a part of her that still couldn’t accept that Wanda actually saw her as a friend, and she struggled to accept that this was how it was supposed to be–
“I…” She swallowed thickly, still unable to turn to Wanda, and let out a heavy sigh as she dropped her gaze again. Her skin prickled uncomfortably, the reactor weighing heavily in her chest, and she resisted the urge to rub at it. “I- I don’t… I- I just… can’t help- help but wonder if- if…” Carter floundered, struggling to get herself to speak her mind - to continue displaying the vulnerability that felt wrong to reveal. Something that she tried to protect and keep hidden from everyone around her. “If- if it would’ve- would’ve helped. To- to have something to believe- believe in that was- was… good. What- what I- I had been… been told meant…” She cleared her throat awkwardly - absentmindedly tugging at her bracelet as she looked away. Maybeshe was saying too much. Maybe she should’ve just stayed quiet. “It’s… Nothing. It’s- it’s nothing.”
Wanda took her hand away and took a step back when she saw Carter startle and recoil from her, thinking that maybe she needed a bit more personal space. As Carter began frantically apologizing again, Wanda just kept talking to her in a steady voice, offering words of calm and comfort. “It’s okay. There’s no need to apologize. There’s nothing wrong with this, Carter, you’re just letting yourself feel. Sometimes you have to let yourself feelthings… even the badthings.”
Carter’s answer to her question had been surprising. Better than this? In her eyes, Carter was an amazing person who had accomplished so much, but as she was seeing now, it may have been at the cost of her mental well-being. “It’s okay,” Wanda repeated. “I’m not disappointed in you. I’m not upset with who you are, Carter. I think you have a lot to be proud of. But I also know the weight of some of the things you’ve done and had to go through can take its toll.” Gods, was she talking to Carter or herself? Her own words really hit home with herself. “You have a lot put on your shoulders every day. People expect a lot from you. I understand how difficult that can be. I also understand how easy it can be to not live up to your ownstandards, let along theirs. But you can take it one step at a time… and I’ll be here to help you…”
But no, Carter was lost in her own head. Wanda’s words weren’t even reaching her. As she sank to the floor, pulled her legs in, and sobbed, Wanda knelt in front of her, gently rubbing one of her legs. “Breathe, Carter… I need you to try and breathe. Slower and more regularly. In and out. I know it hurts, and I know you’re feeling so much right now, but you need to breathe…” She stayed with her, rubbing and speaking calmly, until she finally saw her friend come back to her. When she started to push her away, saying everyone leaves and therefore so should she, Wanda shook her head. “Well, I’m not everyone, and I’m not going anywhere. Okay?” she said firmly.
Carter was spiraling yet again, now blaming herself for Pietro’s death and Sokovia’s destruction, and Wanda kept shaking her head. “No. It’s notyour fault. You did your best. Everyone did their best. I don’t want you to be dead in his place. I want you right here.” Wanda said with conviction as she took one of Carter’s hands and held it in both of hers. Consistency was important because Carter’s focus was tenuous at best, so Wanda kept repeating herself, trying to get Carter to look at her and listen to her words. “No, I’m not better off without you. You’re my friend. This is a rough patch right now. They happen to me all the time, so I understand what you’re feeling. But we can get through it together.” Wanda nodded and smiled, hoping that something was finally beginning to get through to her distraught friend.
Was he sick? He didn’t feel sick. Granted, his only experience with being sick had been when he was very young, before the long sequence of testing had kicked into full gear and changed who he was on a fundamental level. Even with his limited experience, he knew in his bones that this wasn’t a physical illness.
…he still had bones, right? Maybe not human bones. But bones.
This felt more like a sickness of the mind. A restlessness, a fear.
…the radio broadcast played again in his thoughts.
We will take steps to ensure it doesn’t happen again.
Peak Tumblr vibes is taking a post from someone you have literally no clue about and then calling them “privileged”.
Because being indescribably terrified that my partner, the one person that keeps me going through my severe depression and anxiety, as well as financially supports me because not only am I mentally unfit to hold a job but also physically, will divorce me if he finds out I’m not cis because when we got married I didn’t know I wasn’t, is privilege.
Because being scared that the people in my life who currently support me will reject me if they find out and then I’ll have to go back to living with my abusive family is privilege.
Preferring to deal with daily dysphoria and having panic attacks because of it, that I can’t explain to the people I’m closest to and should be receiving support from, rather than losing them and being forced to go back to my abusers, is privilege.
Congrats, you got me. You really called me out, huh?
“The sun spilled in through the blinds and created long, skinny puddles of light on the floor below. It was early still and Sangwoo wasn’t awake yet. His chest rose and fell with each breath he took and Bum traced his collar bone with his slender middle finger, keeping his hand open and weightless; his wrist hovering carefully above his throat. The cool of the night was slowly conceding to the warmth of the morning sun, and between the chilly air and Bum’s delicate touch, goosebumps crept across Sangwoo’s skin, radiating from his chest as his heart pumped away deep below….”
