bakerstreet | Sensory deprivation meme

Sensory deprivation meme

the SENSORY DEPRIVATION meme:
You know those things you rely on to navigate you properly through life?
Senses? Yeah, well, kiss those goodbye.

(TRIGGER WARNING: This meme deals with the loss of senses:
blindness, inability to feel. If the concept of blindness, deafness
and/or the loss of any of your senses bothers you, please do NOT play this meme)

✖ Post with your character name/fandom/options for scenarios
(ie; het/slash fluff/smut) and your prompt.
✖ Use RNG to pick your numbers.
1-5 for regular senses, 6-10 for moral sense, 11-16 for cracky senses.

The Basic Five

1. Sense of Sight - Whether you woke up that way, had an accident, a brain tumor expanded or you had a bad reaction to something, you're now blind. Fully and completely. Watch out for that bu--*wince*

2. Sense of Smell - Did someone step in dog crap? It could be you, but you'd never know. You've lost your sense of smell. I guess there's no stopping by the roses for you, huh?

3. Sense of Hearing - "I'M NOT YELLING!!" Yes, yes you are. And no matter how loud you crank AC/DC, you're never hearing Highway to Hell again. Guess I shouldn't have gotten you the Stones compalition CD's, huh?

4. Sense of Taste - No, it doesn't taste like chicken. In fact, it doesn't taste like anything. Perfect time to get that friend that burns everything to cook for you - at least it'll make them happy and you can smile through the whole ordeal.

5. Sense of Touch - Where'd you get that bruise? Or that gaping knife wound? No clue. You have utterly lost the ability to feel anything, like your body is enveloped in fuzzy packing tape. Punch the wall all you want, you ain't gonna feel anything.

The Guiding Factors

6. Sense of Right and Wrong - Tripping people that get in your way? Taking candy from babies? Killing someone that hurt you and yours? All sound like pretty good ideas right about now. Your entire moral code has been thrown into the 'grey' area. There is no right or wrong, only what you want.

7. Sense of Decency - Things that just 'aren't done' are in play for you now. Evicting old ladies and orphans because they can't pay? Pff. Good. Lousy Mooching leeches. Hitting on that underage and naive little thing? Puh-leeze, they're an easy mark. Deflower, deport and debauch yourself to your heart's content.

8. Sense of Self - You don't even know who you are anymore. What are you doing with your life? What's it all mean? What the hell's it for? Why even bother to get up in the morning? Are you going to go try and 'find' yourself? Or just give up?

9. Sense of Preservation - Your life? Means about as much as a mouse fart. Why should you step out of the way of that speeding train? You were there first. Mouthing off to that huge, angry, overpumped steroid-faced goon sounds like a good idea too. He took your seat. And he smells.

10. Sense of Empathy - That ability that lets you put yourself in the shoes of others, to relate to them? Gone. No, you don't know what they're feeling, and quite frankly, you don't want to. You have your own things to deal with, and they're much more important. Why? Because they're yours.

The Quirky Ones

11. Sense of Humor - Wait, am I supposed to laugh now? You have to take your cue from those around you, laughing when they do, usually a little bit late and a little too long. Not even a fart joke will crack a smile.

12. Sense of Direction - You couldn't find your ass with both hands. Literally. You tried. And wound up getting thrown in the clink for inappropriate conduct with a nun. Don't drop the soa-- Too late.

13. Sense of Modesty - So what if you're using a belt as a skirt. It looks good, right? Bending over and showing off too much isn't an issue for you, neither is changing in the middle of the store if you just have to wear that cute little shirt now.

14. Sense of Fashion - Yes, you think a pink polka-dotted bikini top goes just smashingly with the neon green bellbottoms. Bubblewrap tops? Freakin' awesome. Put it on and flaunt it, and watch people's eyes bleed.

15. Sense of Timing - "What do you mean now's a bad time?" Yes, because you think trying to pick up a girl at her husband's funeral is a good thing. What? She's single. You're late to everything. A clock? Wassat? Strange, foreign words...

16. Mix and Match - You poor bastard, you've lost more than one sense. 2? 3? The whole lot? Who knows, that's up to you.

(reposted from memebells@lj, originally here)

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[lol the mental image of james being the "house spouse" and sharon being the one going out and bringing home the bacon, so to speak, is a great one to me.]

"I know you won't, Sharon, but what if I never get back my vision? You're going to have to find another partner..." James is mostly able to ignore Steve, who, by the sound of it, has draped himself over a chair and is in the process of nodding off.

[ You're not the only one! lol. ]

"A new partner isn't the end of the world, James. Neither is your being blind. Tell you what. How about, before we nail down all the furniture so no one can move it and make you stumble, we take it one day at a time? Your arm is already getting stronger, right? You've woken up, you're moving again. You're getting better, and you're going to keep getting better. Your sight was the first thing to go when you got hit. Maybe it'll be the last thing to come back."

She runs her fingers through his hair. "Just... don't give up on yourself, okay?"

"And maybe it won't. You need a partner who isn't blind, who's better for you than me. People are after me so they target you to try to get to me. I left you in danger, and that's my fault."

Steve sighs from over in the corner, making James jump. "You two are exactly the same. Sharon spent a month and a half blaming herself for what happened and now you're doing the same thing. No wonder you get along so well." He's smiling but it can't be heard in his voice.

"James, I'm sorry you're blind," Sharon says, her tone turning dry, "because now you can't see me beat Steve's ass with your pillow."

She moves her hand to his cheek. "And don't kick yourself. All of that only happened because you knocked me out of the way. If I'd moved faster... Just... don't think you're at fault for anything." She was the one who'd decided what to do. She was the one who'd made the wrong decisions.

"Just, for the love of God, don't give up yet. You've still got plenty of healing left to do."

"I'm not giving up," he said quietly. "I just don't want you to get hurt again." He turns his face into her hand, again seeking the comfort of her touch.

"Steve," he says quietly but firmly, "you need to go shower."

Steve sighs but gets up and leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Sharon, get up here." He really wants to feel Sharon curled up against him.

Sharon watches Steve go, looking back at James when the door is firmly shut. "Didn't know comas made people bossy," she teases, lifting his arm and sliding underneath again.

She settles, her head against his shoulder. After a moment, she reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers. "I know you can't do PT right away, but the sooner you do, the better. It'll help." The more he moves, maybe the less stiff he'll get. Maybe he'll even heal faster. Maybe.

"I just..." He's not sure how Sharon will react if he says 'I just wanted to be alone with you.' Still, he tightens his grip on Sharon's fingers when she twines hers with his. "He smelled," he says finally. But he turns, pressing his lips to the top of Sharon's head, breathing in the smell of her that he hasn't experienced in almost two months. He's missed it.

"And maybe I never want to heal. Maybe I never want to go back out in the field."

She quirks her lips when he talks about Steve smelling and lets him take whatever comfort from her he wants.

It all changes with his last words, though, and though her first reaction is to argue, she holds herself back long enough to think it over from his perspective.

She can't see it. She can't see not wanting to be an agent. Not wanting to be brainwashed into being a traitor, that she gets. Not wanting to save people...

"You could retire," she says slowly. "God know most people haven't worked as long as you have." And if she were being honest with herself, he's had to have seen so much more as the Winter Soldier, so much more before he was the Winter Soldier... Maybe he deserves a break that doesn't leave him frozen in a tube.

"You want to plan for the worst-case scenario? Just in case?"

With him, though, worst-case scenarios were never that bad. He had to see that.

"What, the life where I'm trapped in a bed my entire life, unable to move or do anything?" He looks down at Sharon. "No thanks. I'll off myself if it comes to that." He tightens his grip on Sharon, though, moving his hand up to her head. He doesn't need to see the expression on her face to know what it is.

"I don't think certain people are going to let me 'retire' even if I do fully recover. Remember I'm still an internationally wanted terrorist and assassin? That I'm still a huge target for HYDRA? They want me back, if only to put me down themselves.

"We'll find a safe house," Sharon argues. "The safest place we can find. And you're still getting better."

She snakes a hand around him in a loose hug. "We'll make this work, James. Protection for you. Anything. Maybe we'll even live in Avengers Tower or something."

"Do you think they really want me in Avengers Tower? The CIA at lease won't like it. And if you come..." And he didn't want to leave her behind, either, "How are you going to explain them letting you stay there?"

He shakes his head, still unsure how everything's going to work out. He doesn't want to live in Avengers Tower, doesn't want to be so close to Steve so much, and he can't imagine he's welcome there anyways. He's not an Avenger, and he's not a friendly guy. Also, as far as he knows, the Black Widow lives there. And he's had enough of her for many lifetimes.

"We'll work something out."

She pushes his arm off gently and sits on the edge of the bed. "It sounds like you're giving up, James."

And that's the scariest thing that's happened through all of this.

James turns his face away from Sharon and sighs. "I never wanted to be a CIA agent," he says, hands curling into fists. The story was that he had volunteered to do it to avoid jail. But he hadn't volunteered. Watson had threatened Sharon to get him to comply. And it had worked. It was something he both hated and didn't hate himself for. He's just ready for it to be over with.

She reaches behind her and takes his hand. "I'm not asking you to be one. But we need to keep you alive, CIA or not. Understood?"

Her shoulders slump. "You just woke up. You need to give your body time to heal. You're not done, James, and I won't let you think you are. You can still beat this. See again. Live a little. You'll see." She gives his hand a soft squeeze. "Please?"

James lets her take his hand, but only because he doesn't have the strength to pull away. "Yeah, alright," he agrees, but it's tiredly. He closes his eyes and stares just as sightlessly as before.

Of course, though, almost instantly, the door opens. James goes still and silent, shifting his breathing pattern back to slow and steady. It's enough to fool the person who comes in. He recognizes the voice - one of the nurses.

"How's he doing? Is he still asleep?"

Sharon glances at him, not entirely believing the act. "He woke up, actually, but he can't stay awake for long." She glances at the nurse. "Could we get some more blankets?" She doesn't want James to be cold like he had been at first. "And I'd like to talk to his doctor again, please."

He needs physical therapy, she thinks. James will feel better once he has some autonomy again.

She nods. "I'll go get some more, and have to doctor come in." She moves to James's side, checking all his vital signs. James manages to play asleep very well, despite not having much control at all over his body.

The nurse leaves after a few moments and James says once the nurse is gone, "As soon as I can walk, I'm leaving. I've been here way too long, it's not safe."

"You have to walk first," she points out glumly. "You know, my parents have a place in Richmond. And I still use Peggy's place in Brooklyn sometimes. We can go to one of those? Ask someone else to tag along to help keep an eye on the place?"

She gives his hand another squeeze. "I might not be the best person to keep you safe, you know."

"There's nobody else I trust," he tells her, and it's absolutely the truth. If he has to rely on anybody else to keep him from falling into HYDRA's hands, it's Sharon. Not Steve, or any of them. Sharon. "I don't want anybody else. If I never get better, and I can never see, I want you to be the one guiding me."

She sat quietly as she watches him. She believes him. She always believes him these days. After a minute, she crawls under his arm again. "You have to meet me halfway. I'll guide you. Take care of you as best I can, but you have to work harder on not giving up, okay?"

She tucks her forehead against his side. "Sooner you walk, the better. So you better start moving your toes and ankles." She looks up at him. "I trust you, too. I'll make arrangements for when you get out of here."

She'll take care of him as best she can, even though the prospect terrifies her. She hopes he gets better soon.

James lets out a relieved sigh when Sharon burrows against his side again. "I think we can make that work," he says after a moment with a small sigh. "We'll have to get my legs working first... They're pretty numb right now. He can curl his toes, but his knees and ankles are still refusing to respond.

The doctor lets himself in a few minutes later but James doesn't fake sleep again. Instead he lifts his left hand off the bed a bit. "Hey, doc. I'd say I'm glad to see you but I'm still blind, so..."

"Do what you can," she murmurs. "I'll be here if you fall asleep."

She forces herself to sit up when the doctor comes in, though. "And he can even move a little. I'd like to arrange for PT as soon as possible. I know you have to give the go-ahead first, but the sooner we get him out of that bed, the better."

The sooner James can defend himself and be safe, the better. No, the best.

"I definitely agree on the physical therapy." The doctor took a seat on his stool and scooted over. "I'm going to check on your legs, alright?" He carefully pulled up the covers to expose his feet. He reaches out and James flinches away for a moment from the touch - people rarely touch his feet and all the memories he has that are associated with his feet are not good ones - torture to wear down Bucky's mind, the near-frostbite of coming out of cryofreeze...

He turns his face away as the doctor inspects James's feet and he curls his toes on command, lets the doctor bend his ankles and knees, but he doesn't like it.

The pins and needles feeling is sharper than ever, extremely painful, but he doesn't complain. He needs to work though this. He can work through this. He's not Bucky Barnes, he's not the Solider. He's James, and James has never been put into cryofreeze fully conscious, never been tortured to break his mind so it could be more easily eliminated.

He wills himself to ignore the pain, to make it not his.

Sharon remembers the sound of pain he'd made when Steve had grabbed his arm. She can only imagine that it's worse now.

She takes his hand between both of hers, clenching his hand with one and stroking it with the other. She doesn't say anything out loud, figuring that James wouldn't want to be thought of as weak or vulnerable, even like this. Her hands will have to be enough.

He grips her hand back, trying not to squeeze too hard and instead clenching his left hand as hard as he can.

Thankfully, the doctor finishes and tugs the covers back over James's feet. He moves around to James's front. "James, are you alright? If that was painful, you should have said."

"I'm fine," he says, just now able to feel the tears on his cheeks. The doctor wipes away the wetness, obviously hesitant.

"...Alright. I'm going to check your eyes, tell me if you can register any light or movement." He could feel the heat of the light on his face, but the darkness didn't change at all. There was nothing at all. "Your pupils are reacting well... A bit slowly, and not fully, but they are reacting well. Can you try and shift your gaze. Look to your right, please." James obeys, aware that he's looking at Sharon now. "Good, thank you." The doctor pulls away and there's a shuffling of papers.

"I think I'm going to get you into PT. Start off with your arms and legs while you're in bed still, until you can stand and carry your own weight. If your body keeps going at the rate it's been going at, we should have you on your feet in about a week. And hopefully you'll be home in another month."

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Guess who's new adapter died? Ha! Ha...

oh no ;_;