#{ i got my nails done today and i talked to my therapist about starting low dose t today

[joemxcmillan]

.

[sincelastsession]

Joshua. I've requested that Mom calls to schedule an appointment to start sessions with her. My goal is better understanding and communication. I want to understand psychologically as much as possible how in the world my mom operates.

She lies. She lies straight to my face and she has no remorse or guilt. She gets angry when she us caught. She is quick to defend Esteban who is the alcoholic cobbler who IS a con artist, a compulsive liar, paranoid, controlling, abusive, and who has put his hands on her me and my sister. My mother got my sister a restraining order but didn't make him go away. She lies about him being gone but will not let me have a key to her home in case of emergency. My sister has a key, she may have lost it but was given a key. My mom hoards and it is out of control and she needs help. She has started to get confused easily. She can flip from happy to furious and back very quickly. She has a shopping addiction. She can't understand how very bad foolish choices she has made have hurt me. She does not remember the things she has said and done to me. She makes excuses to not figure things out so she doesn't have to do it. She plays the victim card. She does have trauma. I don't understand what love is to her and how she expresses it to me. She often doesn't listen to me and makes excuses. She blames me for many triggers of hers but has not gotten an actual diagnosis for PTSD. If I feel bad she feels worse. If I give her space to speak she usually has nothing to talk about or will blame me for her not remembering. She acts like a child at times and talks in a baby voice. The person you will meet is a fake persona, a mask. She doesn't hold it well. As soon as my last therapist called her out or I brought up Esteban and how she's chosen having him in her life after promising me years ago he'd be gone she admitted she did it to shut me up. She didn't remember any of this and will bully, gaslight, or call me a liar. She quits sessions when therapists call her out and will make excuses to not show up for appointments with me when she's promised before. I don't trust promises because of her and my father. She was an absent, angry, agressive, neglectful mother. She does on some level care or I suspect she does but it's very difficult to know if she means something or is just trying to shut me up. She listened to me talk to her about what I want to accomplish with her in therapy and the told me she lost the number because I texted her too much. I asked her why she didn't save it. She said she didn't know how. She says she doesn't know how to get to her email. She talks to scammers. She has been scammed multiple times and continues to be tricked because she's unable to love herself properly and truly thinks these people are coming to see her and are going to fix her problems with money. Sometimes I feel she's very mentally ill and needs proper care. I don't understand how she's still a nurse. I don't understand how she's the charge nurse. She's very secretive. Today she let out that she has another phone. I asked her why. She said it was to find her regular phone or use if she looses the first one. Often her pinky nail is longer than the others. I think she is hiding a lot. She is not the same person all the time. I have seen her switch. I understand she is diabetic but I know the difference between high and low blood sugar behavior. I think she may have brain damage. Esteban has threatened to kill my family but she doesn't remember telling me this. I think he's just using her. The last woman he was with shot a gun at my mother. My sister was around all of these people. I think my mom lives a double life. My uncles don't get along with her and avoid her.

My uncles do not understand the amount if shit I have been through and are very not understanding when I've tried to ask them for help. They don't want anything to do with me as far as I can tell. They do not contact me on thier own.

My Aunts on my Dad's side are the same.

I have requested that my mother relay to my father to call and schedule a good time for him to come in.

I have requested that someone help Piper schedule a seperate appointment.

I would like to have multiple sessions and work on educating what is going to be productive with me and what things are not ok.

I am willing to hold myself accountable and work on my shit that they will probably point out.

They haven't met a therapist that will call them on shit or point out cognitive distortion etc. I'm not asking you to do so. I've just noticed that if you have to set a boundary and correct someone then you do.

Ofc my family doesn't like to be called out. I don't like it either but I know it is nessesary for growth and being upset and or crying over hard truths is never fun.

I would like to play you the audio I have recorded of my father and mother featuring me with a screwed up back in distress probably on meds losing my mind while I'm tag teamed.

My father has threatened me and crossed my boundaries more times than I can count. I don't even remember the amount of times he has hurt me physically be it slapping, pinching, punching me in the face, shoving me, and the latest was pulling me by my hair. He has never put his hands on my sister to my knowledge. I did threaten him a very long time ago that if he hurt her and I found out that it would be the last time it happened. Currently Piper's fiance is taking marriage classes. I don't like the guy but I respect this. My sister is freaking out because she doesn't want to move out if her bedroom and travel. She's lost 3 jobs due to her issues. My dad is fucking with her head. She manipulates him back. He has treated her like he treated me when my mom left but not to the same extent. He threatens to kick her out. He let's her take things from the house that are mine and my mother's. She is a manipulator and a compulsive liar. She can put on a false persona but as soon as she is found out or people don't play into her bullshit she will escalate the situation and direct others, usually my parents to attack me. Since she was a small child she has faked being hurt by me. She thought it was funny to scream and say I hurt her and would smile and laugh when my parents attacked me. I never touched her in ANY of these instances. I had to teach her how to wash and brush her hair. I have gone out of my way to do things my parents should have done. She walked around constantly with matted hair as a child and into her teens. This past year I cleaned over 20 cups with alcohol and bowls and other shit up in her bathroom. I bought 200-400 dollars of things for her and the house and had my dad reimburse me. My parents have failed to buy her underwear and bras and nessesary things. I had to do her hair and makeup and wrangle her for dance classes and recitals. She was neglected in various ways. She was endangered as well. I believe she was sexually assaulted as a small child and she did not play with the older kids. She was an outcast. She never did her homework. She was never put on the correct meds for her issues and has an aversion to any meds but will smoke weed and do psychedelics etc...she's very into this gen z rave culture. She has not gotten her GED and will not work on it or take the test. She says what people want to hear to avoid things. She is incredibly insecure. She thinks she's a tough bitch and she thinks she scares me. I have caught her telling her older friends lies about me when she thought I left. She has told me not to show up at the same music venues as she goes to for fear I'll embarrass her. I have only interest in her safety. I don't know why she doesn't understand that I am not a big stupid idiot and I have zero plans to wreck her shit though sometimes I'd like to. She has absolutely no clue what it was like growing up for me and thinks I have it all easy even still. She says I'm embarrassing to friends behind my back. I have heard it. I have never once purposefully attempted to embarrass her or anything of the sort in front of her friends. She tells them to ignore me. She doesn't understand my autism like she thinks she does. She doesn't understand my other health issues either. She has self diagnosed and tried to literally compete with me about who has it worse and incites fights over very stupid things. Once again I feel that she's deeply scared and insecure. I hope to just try to communicate with her in a normal manner. I have been inappropriate in dumping stress on her and calling her about mom and dad's abuse and texting her. She's quicker and more articulate than me during arguments and knows the narccistic tornado tricks. After an argument with her where she was in the wrong she's jumped 18 different subjects and I'm a horrible bitch for something unrelated and then my parents usually attack me as well. They think I hate her.

I don't know how to explain my Dad. I think you will see many things from him. I think if it's more than one session then that would be good.

None of them are consistent and the facades and masks fade and slip.

They think you will fix me. They have put me in therapy at 12 and I have been raised by therapists, doctors, and psych hospitals and my grandparents who are no longer with us.

I don't like this for...I'm grappling with saying US and HER instead of ME. That keeps popping up. I have been writing for hours. But I am not I or her it feels like. I don't know who her is or who I am sometimes. Like yes I have this name. I have a home. I have a headache. I am in freeze state or whatever just compulsively typing this shit out because my brain will not stop the chatter. It's not like you would gear someone speak. I don't go out of my body. Everything is locked in. When dissociative states happen and I zone out I am in a different place. When parts of me take over I feel strapped in. I'm too tired. I can't stop myself when that happens. The other part of me has to finish. I don't get to be in control often. I don't know what my core is. I don't know if I have an inner child sometimes and sometimes I do. My handwriting changes. I can write many things and it looks like different people wrote it on paper.

This bothers me. I don't think I'm DID but I also know dissociative disorders manifest differently for everyone.

I don't want this problem. I don't want this on a chart unless it's proven to be real and I don't want to be treated like an insane person. I do not think I'm a hypochondriac. Many people do. I don't understand what ud have to gain with that. I find it really odd. I think they get me having real symptoms confused with my special interest in medical topics. Trust me I wish it were something else but then I'd probably be not here with us as I have had to solve false diagnosis that doctors have almost killed me with. I solve because a Rheumatologist in baton rouge almost killed me with a false diagnosis. He still practices. My parents should have sued. I have permanent damage to my liver because of this man.

[pretoriafics]

Be mine - Immersive Weekend #2

Okay, first of all, I would like to say that I got a lil bit confused about the "dating" word. I did some researches because, as you all know, I'm a Portuguese native speaker who has English as a second language. I'm sorry if this request is not what you are expecting ç_ç I did my best on it. I can't avoid language issues. You can request another one if you didn't like this.

+18 ONLY Reader’s name: Anne Word count: 1.755 Pairings: Hungarian!Chubby!Reader x Bucky Contain: Tons of fluff <3; Smutty Warnings: English is not my main language <3; Inappropriate language MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE MASTERLIST

You used to take a few photos from Central Park itself and couples. This last one gives you an amount of money and helps you to share your photography studio. Bucky met you one of those days, and you were taking a few photos from the park. You were so charming, especially your size. Bucky would love to hold your shorty form in his arms.

But when his therapist recommended Bucky to talk with you, things began to evolve.

You were an amazing woman. He loves the artistic persona of you and how kind you are. You were such a precious help for him while he tries to let all things about Winter Soldier in his past. And, of course, it didn't take too long for Bucky to feel attracted to you. After all, your confidence and accent were pretty seductive for him. You achieved the deed to got him to blush once when you were flirting with him.

But things have been changing lately.

Bucky has been so busy with Sam and the missions that your dates were constantly interrupted by an emergency. It completes gets you annoyed, but you were trying to be understanding. Then, one day, both of you just thought that yeah, maybe it would be better if you guys just spend time together. It could be at his apartment or yours.

But he needs to try a date night one more time, with no interruptions. Just you and him.

Bucky took you to a surprise date. He covers your eyes, and you could take it off just when both of you arrive at your destiny. The sky was full of stars, and the waterfall gives the romantic mood you need. Near the banks of the waterfall, there was a van. Its interior was all padded with pillows and blankets and entirely decorated with lights.

You gaped slightly with all of that, and your heart almost melted inside your chest. Then, Bucky holds your hand and looks at you.

"I thought that I should do something special to you. Our dates always get ruined by something, but this time it will be different."

"This is so beautiful..." You said, with the air in your lungs fading away. Your heart was racing, and you look at him with a smile on your face. "I can't believe this!"

Bucky looks at you smiling, and he walks to his car again, putting a song on it. Then, he approaches you and reaches out to you.

"Would you give me the honor of a dance with me?"

You felt your face burning.

"Of course."

He took your hand and pulls you close to his body, and then you and he was dancing slowly under the stars glancing at each other. All of that was being so perfect! His hands were resting on your waistline, your hands onto his chest... Bucky can't stop looking at each detail of you. Your curly hair, your eyes... He loves the shape of your lips. That certainly is the part of your body that drives him crazy! The way you moves them... Bucky could spend the entire day just looking at your moving lips.

He could spend his entire day looking at your ass too. However, Bucky doesn't think he could talk it with you. Not right now. He even hasn't touched you the way he wants yet! But maybe he could get it today.

"You're stunning today." He said to you, resting his hand on your face and sliding his thumb on your skin in a gentle caress. "Mainly with your blushed cheeks."

You let out a low chuckle, feeling your cheeks got even redder.

"Am I blushed?"

"Yeah, totally. But don't worry, it's cute."

You look at him, letting out a low chuckle again. Bucky always arouses feelings inside your chest, but this night he was doing it on a completely new level.

You rest your head on his chest, and he put his chin on your head. Now, he was sliding his fingers through your curly hair. You were still dancing slowly, in such an intimate moment. You two had never done it before.

Then, Bucky's voice made presence again.

"Doll... Uh, I mean, Anne..." Bucky clears his throat, anxious. You rest your chin on his chest, looking up to him.

"You can call me Doll if you want, Bucky." You said, almost melting for his words. "I don't mind."

He smiles at you, resting his hand on your face and looking at you with such caress in the eyes.

"Okay, Doll. I wanna know if you are hanging out with someone else."

"I'm not. What about you?"

"I'm not either. I mean, I don't need it, and I don't want to. I have you. You're all I want and need."

Oh my Godness. It was pretty hard for you to stand on foot right now. Your legs were shaking in anxiety. He never told things like that for you before.

"You know, I don't need someone else. I just need you."

Bucky gives you a smile and curves himself to kiss you softly and slowly. That was not the first kiss of yours, but without a sign of doubt was a different one. It was like the first time you tasted his lips. So magical. So right. It felt like home to you.

Then, he breaks the kiss. Bucky stays so close to you that you could feel his breath on your face.

"So be mine, Anne." He said with a low and soft voice. Your heart failed a beat. "Let me be yours and be mine. I want you."

You felt anxious, and the words suddenly wipe away from your mind.

"Are you requesting me to be your girlfriend?" You finally said, and a chuckle let out the soldier's lips.

"Yeah, I am."

"Okay. I want it. I'm yours."

With his heart warm in pure love, Bucky kisses you again, slowly and so caring. When he breaks the kiss, this time, he took your hand and guides you to the van.

"Come here." He said, entering the van and sitting in the blankets. Between the pillows, he took out a small black box. You lay down on the blankets, looking at him when he gives you the box "It's just a gift. You know, to forget every time I needed to leave you alone."

You opened the box and saw a golden and delicate necklace. You let out a sigh, enchanted.

"You didn't have to do it, Bucky. Oh, thank you. It's so beautiful!"

You sat on the blankets, taking the necklace off of the box. Bucky took the jewel and put it on you.

"I'll not let you alone anymore, okay? I promise you."

Bucky gets close to you, and you get stuck into his blue eyes. Then, he rests his hand on your bare leg and kisses you, with his hand sliding up and down on you. He absolutely loves the softness of your skin, so he can't wait to see you giving your body to his wills. The taste of your lips, the smell of yours... It all acts like fuel to him. He just wants to kiss you even more.

Bucky deep the kisses on your lips and his touch on your bare leg puts your body on fire. You are pretty sure he could be considered a drug. You are addicted to him, and you needed more of his lips, his touches.

He lays you down in the blankets of the van without stopping to kissing you. His hand slides up on your leg, going under your dress and reaching your panties. Actually, you and Bucky never did anything related to sex. He was from other times, and he still got some old manners. So, he wanted to touch you just when he get sure you want him the way he wanted you.

Now he gets your answer Bucky can't wait to find out how you react to his touches.

Bucky slides his lips from yours to your neck, kissing you and putting some nibbles on your skin. A wave of pure fire runs through your body, and when he slides his fingers on your pussy over your panties, you let out a long sigh of pleasure. Wanting more of him, you slide down your nails on his abs under his shirt. You reach his pants button, and you open it. When your hand slides to his cock's direction, you felt a smile on his lips.

"Such an impatient girl... I'll take care of your manners later."

You bite your inner lip and looks at him. When your eyes met his blue ones, your body shakes. There was something different on them. They were darker, possessive. Bucky pulls the top of your dress down, exposing your naked breast. Then, he fits himself between your legs on his knees, taking your panties off and spreading your legs. His hands run through the inner part of your legs, and he looks at you. The white color of your face was already redder in lust. The vision of you giving yourself on him droves him crazy.

Bucky curves himself over you, taking one of your nipples with his mouth. Your fingers intertwine in his hair in an incentive to continue, while his fingers trace circles on the most sensitive part of your body. His touches make your veins burn, and you already feel wetter.

But when you let escape a low moan... Damn, it just made his desire for you grow even more. He wants you mad in lust, begging him to continue. He wants to hear you scream his name under the night.

Bucky let out your nipple, and you look at him, dizzy in pleasure. He goes down on your body and kisses the bare skin of the inner part of your leg. His voice was low and darker.

"I'll just put one rule tonight, babe." He said, without stopping to kiss you. His deep eyes were focused on yours while you look at him, putting your body up by your forearms to look at him better. You were a prisoner under his blue eyes. "I want you looking at me all the time." His kisses slide upon you until his mouth reaches your wet pussy, eating you with such a will.

But then, he started to talk again while eats you.

"I want to see how you are when you come."

Yeah, it will be a long and noisy night.

[fandomfanfics12]

Home Lives With You-Part 9

Title: Home Lives With You. Pairings: Steve x Tony Part: 9/? Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst, blood, abuse (physical and verbal), ptsd, anxiety, bullying Summary: Peter’s been living with the abusive Thompson family for years, it was the only family in the system that would take him. When Steve and Tony get a phone call from the social worker who introduced them to their daughter Morgan for an emergency placement, they feel like they must pay back the favor. But are Steve and Tony taking on more than they can handle, and will Peter be able to adjust to a warm and welcoming family home? A/N: Sorry for dropping off of the face of the Earth! I had a lot of assignments due and it’s currently exam season for me so i’ve tried to focus my attention on school! Also my laptop broke for a short while so i had to get that fixed. Again sorry for the wait and this is kinda long lol. Hope you enjoy!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Steve bounced his knee up and down, the nerves rattled through his chest. He had always hated this lobby, had hoped he’d never have to come back here. But Tony had taken the morning off to drive Steve to work himself, had insisted that Steve come here even when Steve’s heart was up in his throat.

“I’m sorry sweetie.” Steve whispered and his husband stopped flicking through a magazine to look at Steve.

“Honey we’ve gone over this, I’m not mad. Well I am, but not for the reasons that you’re thinking of.” Tony said softly and Steve inhaled sharply.

“What can I do to fix it?” he whispered and Tony let out a chuckle. Steve’s chest tightened, he didn’t want to worry Tony, didn’t want Tony to be mad.

“I’m mad that you got the Peter hug.” He said and poked his tongue out. And just like that, the knot in Steve’s chest loosened and his internal world calmed down a little. He wasn’t actually angry, it was just his competitive streak. Just like he had been when trying to get Morgan to call him dad first.

“Was there anything else that made you mad?” Steve asked and Tony shook his head, leaning forward and briefly pressing his lips against Steve’s.

“No and I want you to stop worrying alright?” Tony whispered and Steve nodded, pressing his nose against Tony’s and rubbing it gently, Tony’s eyes fluttered closed and Steve grinned.

“Alright.” He whispered and Tony nodded.

“Its you and I against this remember? Not me against you.” Tony whispered and Steve nodded, the sound of heels on the floor approaching letting them know that their time was up.

“I’ll make us some chicken and vegetables for dinner?” Steve asked and Tony nodded, standing with him.

“I’ll be at the office late so put mine in the microwave, tell Pete he can call me if he gets stuck with his work alright?” Steve nodded his head, the words barely registered.

“Alright.” Steve said and then his therapist was in sight, her hair shorter than Steve remembered.

“I’ll see you tonight.” And then Tony’s hand slipped out of Steve, leaving him completely alone to face his demons.

-

Peter tried to keep his head down low as he headed to the parking lot. His mind was racing with worry-was Steve okay? The question had plagued him all day, and he was looking forward to finally getting the answer. He just had to get to the car.

“Peter!” the car was in sight, Peter sped up, the door opened and Morgan jumped out. She was in a pair of kid-sized overalls and ran straight to him, wrapping her arms around Peter’s legs.

“Are you alright little miss?” Peter asked as he squatted down to her height.

“Can we make chocolate chip cookies today?” she asked, her eyes wide and worried. Peter chuckled, relief washed over him that she was alright. He hoped that he’d still be able to see and talk to Morgan when he moved on to the next foster home. After all, his residence in the Stark-Rogers household really was only temporary. They would be getting rid of Peter as soon as they could, but maybe he could still talk to Morgan after that?

“is that okay with your parents?” Peter asked and she nodded, a grin split open on her face.

“Yes! Daddy said I could as long as you watched!” she giggled, her tiny hands reached for Peter’s.

“Alright little miss, I’ll supervise.” Her eyes lit up and Peter’s heart squeezed, she was too adorable for her own good.

“Peter?” there was that voice again, Peter turned and saw MJ, standing before him and smiling softly at Morgan.

“MJ?” he shot up so he was standing again and a small smile graced her lips.

“I was wondering if I could copy the notes you took today in Chem? I had a doctor’s appointment.” She explained and Peter nodded his head, digging through his pockets for his phone.

“yeah, sure, put your number in and I’ll text them to you. is everything alright?” he glanced back to the car where Steve was patiently waiting and his heart hammered inside of his chest. He shouldn’t take too long, and he really did want to know how Steve was doing.

“oh yeah I’m fine. Thanks for asking!” MJ pressed a few buttons on the phone and then handed it back to him, Morgan tugged on Peter’s hand.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Morgan asked and Peter squeezed his eyes shut, MJ just laughed.

“No little Miss, come on.” Peter tugged on Morgan’s hand but she just stared up at MJ.

“Why not? She’s really pretty.” Peter wanted to disappear, how was this happening to him?

“Let’s go make those cookies huh? Plus your dad is waiting.” Morgan finally nodded, moving to follow Peter. He didn’t dare look back at MJ, his heart hammered inside of his chest. How was he ever going to look her in the eye again?

“Hey Pete, how was school?” Steve asked, a smile on his face. Peter searched for any visible signs that something was wrong, but couldn’t find anything. If anything, Steve seemed more relaxed.

“Fine, how was your day Mr Stark-Rogers?” Peter asked, Steve simply shrugged.

“I had a great day Pete, who was that girl?” Steve asked, Peter turned his head towards the window.

“just a girl from class, are you sure it’s alright for Morgan and I to make cookies?” Steve nodded his head.

“Yeah, but I have one condition.” Peter’s head snapped back to Steve and his stomach churned. Steve’s face was serious, the smile gone.

“Yeah?” Peter asked, slowly curling his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms.

“I get to eat some.” Steve said at last and Peter let out a long deep exhale.

“Oh, of course, absolutely.” Morgan giggled from the back and Steve smiled, Peter uncurled his hands. This was fine, this was good. He let out several deep breaths and knew that it didn’t go unnoticed by Steve. Soon enough they were in the driveway and Peter was getting out of the car.

“hey Pete?” Peter froze, hand on the doorhandle.

“Yes Mr Stark-Rogers?” Peter asked, he stared straight ahead.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You seem a little…on edge.” Peter relaxed and looked to Steve. He truly did care, he really was a good parent. But he wasn’t Peter’s parent.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking though.” Steve narrowed his eyes ever so slightly but nodded his head.

“Alright, I’ll be in the living room if someone gets a little too hyper.” Peter smiled and nodded and finally exited the car.

“Come on!” Morgan cried and Peter nodded, following her inside.

-

Tony was increasingly growing exhausted as the hours grew later and later. He was supposed to have started heading home twenty minutes ago, but he was still nowhere near done with his workload. He glanced at his phone and worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Steve would be mad if he stayed back at the office too late, but Tony couldn’t let Hammer’s numbers beat him. Not after what happened at Fury’s birthday. He needed to remind his boss that Tony was still the best. It was at that moment that the phone rang.

“Tony Stark-Rogers, how may I help you?” Tony said, the words tumbled out automatically.

“Still at the office then?” Steve’s voice murmured and Tony sighed.

“Would you be mad if I stayed back for an extra hour or two?” at that, Steve sighed.

“you’re overdoing it honey.” Tony squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m fine, seriously Stevie. I’m just a little further behind than I thought.” Tony lied, he drummed his fingers on the desk and counted the seconds between his words and another one of Steve’s prolonged sighs.

“Morgan and Peter made cookies.” Tony smiled, but he didn’t move away from his desk.

“that’s good.” The whole office building was dark except for Tony’s office, everyone else had gone home to their families and partners. Everyone but Tony.

“do you really have to stay back?” Steve asked after a long pause and Tony found himself nodding. It took him a moment too long to realise that he was on the phone and Steve couldn’t actually see him. Tony cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Tony said and Steve chuckled.

“You don’t need to make it up to me, your job is important.” Tony cringed, regretting calling in the first place. Wishing he had just gone home.

“how was therapy?” Tony asked before Steve could hang up the phone.

“Fine.” And then the line went dead.

“Fuck.” Tony groaned, dropping the phone on his desk and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. He took several deep breaths and then straightened. He had work to do, he would make it up to Steve later.

-

Steve didn’t want to be angry with Tony, but he was ninety percent sure that Tony didn’t actually need to stay back at work. But then he wasn’t one to argue with Tony about his job, especially not after what he’d done at his boss’ birthday.

“When’s daddy coming home?” Morgan asked as she tugged on Steve’s sleeve, drawing his attention down to her.

“He’s going to be a while longer.” She frowned.

“Like last year?” she asked and Steve shook his head, pulling her up and into his chest.

“Not like last year, alright? how are those cookies coming along?” Steve carried her to the kitchen where baking pan after baking pan contained dozens of cookies.

“We made a lot Mr Stark-Rogers.” Peter said, his cheeks tinged pink. Steve just grinned, placed Morgan on the ground and picked up a cookie. He bit into it and moaned, they were perfect. Crunchy on the outside but soft and gooey on the inside.

“these are amazing.” Steve said and Peter’s face lit up.

“Really?” Steve nodded and reached for a second one.

“We’ll have to triple check that all the doors are locked from the cookie monster tonight.” Morgan gasped and Steve winked at Peter.

-

Peter was so relieved that the cookies had turned out well. Relieved that Steve wasn’t made at the amount of cookies that they had made. But he was disappointed that Tony wasn’t going to be coming home anytime soon. Peter also noticed that even though Steve was pretending to be calm and relaxed, his body was tense. Different to how he’d been just twenty minutes earlier. It dawned on Peter that they had had an argument. He looked down at his phone, the screen lit up from a text from MJ.

Thanks Peter.

He drew his attention back to Steve, his brows furrowed together in worry for the older man.

“Pete?” Steve asked softly and Peter forced his eyes down. It was rude to stare.

“You don’t have to answer sir, I was just wondering if everything was alright with your husband?” Peter forced the words out and the room fell silent.

“Princess why don’t you go play with your dolls?” Steve asked and she nodded, took a cookie and then raced out of the room. Peter’s stomach twisted and churned, he shouldn’t have asked. He’d overstepped the boundaries of this house, they would get rid of him now.

“Tony likes to be the best in his field, which I support and encourage. He likes to challenge himself, and feels compelled to do better each month.”

“So he stayed late because he doesn’t think he’s the best?” Peter asked and Steve shook his head.

“I think he knows that his numbers are the best, but he’s paranoid that they aren’t. he’s a bit of a perfectionist.” Steve explained and Peter nodded, picked at a loose thread on his hoodie and then looked back up at Steve.

“should we go get him then?” at that, Steve’s brows rose.

“What do you mean?”

“Well I can tell that you’re really worried about him and Morgan made some comment that tells me this is something your husband struggles with. Does it get really bad?” Steve nodded his head.

“Yeah, it can do. I was going to talk to him about it when he got home.”

“so let’s go get him. Remind him that the numbers aren’t as important as he thinks.” Steve smiled softly.

“Yeah, alright.” And it seemed like a breath of relief for Steve to say those words. Peter couldn’t help but grin, this was good. He knew Steve was worried, really worried.

“Cool, I’ll go get Morgan.” Peter said and walked away, glad that he’d done something right. helped this family rather than hindered it. he’d been useful, not just a burden.

-

Morgan was propped on Steve’s hip, Peter at his side and Steve watched the numbers light up as the elevator travelled upwards. The building was dark and quiet, eerie. Which was just a sign that it was time for Tony to come home, he shouldn’t work like this. finally the elevator stopped and the doors opened and they stepped out into a well lit hall.

“This place is really fancy Mr Stark-Rogers.” Peter said and Steve nodded his head. Every time Steve came to the office, he was reminded of just how ornate and rich the people that Tony worked with were. Reminded Steve of just how much he didn’t fit in Tony’s life. At the end of the hall they turned left and there was only one office with a light on. Steve reached his hand out, fingers just about ready to grasp the knob when there was a noise.

A giggle.

Steve’s entire arm seized up and he recoiled from the door. Took a step back and stared at the wood.

“Don’t stop.” A voice that was completely unfamiliar to Steve groaned and Peter’s head whipped towards Steve.

“Mr Stark-Rogers?” Peter whispered and Steve’s mind was racing, Tony wouldn’t dare. There was no way, he’d never be so cruel, so callous. Tony loved Steve too much to ever do this, loved their family and their life too much to do this. he was too good a man to ever do such a thing.

“Steve?” Steve turned and walking towards him, not in his office, was Tony. Every muscle in Steve’s body relaxed and relief crashed into him. Thank god. He pulled his husband in with his free arm and brought his lips down to Tony’s. but when Steve pulled back Tony was frowning.

“what are you doing here?” he asked, looking between them all.

“We came to take you home, you’re working too hard.” Steve said and Tony tilted his head.

“This isn’t like last year honey.” Tony promised and Steve shrugged.

“Peter was the one who convinced me to come get you, and I’m glad that he did.” Steve explained and Tony glanced at the kid who suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Alright, you’re right. let’s go home.” Tony said and Steve relaxed, then glanced back at the office door.

“Who’s in there?” Steve asked, unable to quiet the anxieties in his head. Tony scrunched his nose up in disdain as he looked at the door.

“Hammer.” Tony said with a frown.

“Isn’t that your office?” Steve asked and Tony snorted as they began to walk away.

“Stevie my office is at the other end of the hall. You turned left instead of right.” oh. Steve felt like the world’s biggest idiot and felt his cheeks turn red.

“Oh.” Tony let out a giggle that melted Steve’s heart, how did he get so lucky? And how could he have ever doubted Tony?

“so I heard you kids made some cookies?”

-

Snuggled into Steve’s chest, Tony felt like all was right in the world. Just upstairs were the kids who were sleeping soundlessly. Steve flicked through the channels with a slight frown.

“What are you looking for?” Tony asked, wishing that Steve would just enjoy their quiet evening. But then Steve’s face broke out into a broad grin, and it set Tony’s body on fire. Steve turned his head and brushed his lips against the top of Tony’s head and Tony turned, just as the beginning of one of his all-time favourite movies started to play.

“Pretty Woman?” Tony asked and Steve nodded, his smile slowly faded.

“You still love this movie, right?” Tony nodded, as if he could ever grow tired of this movie.

“Yeah.” He whispered, but he wasn’t looking at the screen. Tony was too busy studying Steve’s profile, all the lines and curves of his face. The slope of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw, the crease between his brows.

“Stop staring.” Steve said and a nervous smile spread over his lips, Tony chuckled but didn’t look away. A blush crept over Steve’s cheeks, turning them red and he turned to look at Tony. Steve had the prettiest eyes known to man. Tony felt himself leaning closer and closer, and Steve’s eyes fluttered shut. a mischievous twinge in Tony’s personality forced him to turn last second and licked up the side of Steve’s face. Steve let out a harsh and loud shriek, he jerked back and Tony tilted his head up as laughter bubbled out of him.

“Tony!” Steve cried, but it was swallowed up by his own fit of laughter as he wrapped his arms around Tony, pulling him into Steve’s lap.

“Yes honey?” Tony asked and batted his eyelashes.

-

It was moment’s like this that reminded Steve why he could never love anyone else ever again. Moments when he looked into Tony’s large and soft brown eyes and his heart was sent into overdrive.

“Your eyes are so pretty.” Steve whispered because Tony needed to be reminded of just how pretty his eyes were. Steve’s husband looked away bashfully, ran a hand through his hair and then looked back to Steve.

“You’re a dork Mr Stark-Rogers.” Tony whispered and Steve cupped the side of Tony’s face.

“We’re okay, right?” he whispered because Steve needed the reassurance that he wasn’t about to lose Tony. Tony truly was Steve’s entire world, and Steve never wanted to live in a world where he couldn’t hold his husband like this.

“Better than okay.” Tony whispered before crashing his lips against Steve’s. Steve’s hands came to rest on Tony’s ass and he squeezed ever so slightly. Tony moaned into his mouth and his fingers fisted in Steve’s hair. Steve began to slide his hands up and down along Tony’s back, tracing his fingers along the bottom of his shirt. Finally Tony pulled back for air and Steve smiled dazedly up at him.

“you okay?” he whispered a little breathlessly and Tony nodded.

“Let’s just watch the movie.” He whispered and Steve nodded but Tony didn’t move.

“Something wrong honey?” Steve asked with a smirk and once again Tony’s lips came against Steve’s, bringing them closer together.

“Thank you for forcing me to come home.” He whispered against Steve’s lips and Steve chuckled.

“We’ve got to start taking better care of ourselves.” At that, Tony tipped his head back and laughed.

“deal.” He said and looked down at Steve with the softest smile. Steve returned it, relief flooded him in knowing that they’d get through this. he brushed his lips against Tony’s once more and then Tony moved off of Steve’s lap and curled up beside him again.

“I love this movie.” He mumbled and Steve chuckled. One day they’d be old and grey and they’d curl up on the couch just like this and watch pretty woman and Steve would still be just as in love with Tony as he was right in this very moment.

  @smallnjh @picklepotatoe13 @thatisamericasass @briebriebrieee @aftereveryraincomessunshine @meyamoadriytu @loveliestdisappointment

[samsexualdeancurious]

His Own Hands | Chapter Two

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Words: 1,914

Summary: Bucky is settling in well with the Avengers but he keeps having nightmares - flashes of repressed memories of a girl being tortured by his hands and then vanishing into a swirling black portal. He's not sure who she is until Fury introduces them to their newest potential team member, a girl Bucky recognizes on sight and Fury calls "Portal".

Warnings: Hurt!Reader, Lack of Communication, torture, trauma, PTSD

Written for Nanowrimo 2020

Betaed by Saxxxology and Amory

Cover art edited by me

---

2017

She’s small under his hands, skin bruised from repeated beatings and eyes glazed over with whatever cocktail of drugs the scientists have given her this time. She still cries out, though, when the Asset’s metal hand curls around a fistful of matted hair and drags her to the table in the center of the cell. Slender fingers claw uselessly at his wrist, nails catching on the edges of the metal plates.

The Asset growls as he throws her up onto the table, his other hand coming around to pin her down by her throat. She stares up at him with wide, frightened eyes despite the drugs.

“Lay still,” he orders but she doesn’t. Her legs kick out, a valiant effort to hit something that will hurt him. Valiant but useless.

“She’s feisty today,” the overseeing Hydra officer comments. The Asset doesn’t remember his name.

“Not for long,” is the Asset’s reply as he tightens his hold on her throat. Her mouth is wide in a desperate attempt for air and the Asset watches her eyes begin to roll back, waiting for that moment just before she loses consciousness completely.

Before that happens, though, a low humming noise fills the room. The Asset frowns, glancing around to see the officer looking equally confused. He looks back to the girl just in time to see her eyes open wide, focused on him. For a moment, she doesn’t look drugged at all.

Bucky wakes with a start, metal arm swinging at whoever is standing over him only to be blocked by strong hands.

“Bucky,” Steve says, leaning over him. “Buck. It’s just me.”

“Steve,” he gasps, sagging on the bed. All he can see of his best friend is the silhouette of his broad shoulders and rumpled hair.

“Bad dream?” Steve sits on the edge of the bed and comes into the square of light falling through the open curtains. His expression is gentle, concerned.

Bucky sits up, shifting to lean against the headboard, and nods.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Her, his mind unhelpfully corrects. Portal.

He shakes his head.

Steve frowns but doesn’t push. “You gonna be able to sleep again?”

Bucky shrugs.

“Try for me?”

“Yes, mother.” Bucky gives Steve a light shove.

Steve rolls his eyes but stands. “You know where to find me.”

Bucky nods, tugging his blankets up to his chest and waving Steve away. “Go back to bed.”

Steve hesitates a moment before he goes, the door clicking shut softly behind him. Once he’s heard Steve’s footsteps retreat back down the hallway, Bucky leans his head back against the wall with a sigh.

It’s been almost a month since he was acquitted of any crimes he committed while under Hydra’s control and the nightmares that had been going away have returned full force. He’s had one almost every night this week alone. His therapist, a Dr. Isabella Lowry found and cleared by both Fury and Stark, hasn’t been much help beyond suggesting the nightmares are formerly repressed memories slipping through the cracks. Bucky had just nodded along because of course they’re memories. All of his nightmares are.

Nothing scares him nearly as much as the things his own hands have done.

--

He doesn’t end up falling asleep again. Instead, he sits in bed until a semi-reasonable hour before throwing on some workout clothes, pulling his hair back into a loose bun, grabbing his duffel from his closet, and heading down to the gym.

While Steve likes to take out his feelings with his fists, Bucky prefers to run. He could go run outside but it’s cold, the New York fall taking its toll on the temperatures, so he settles for the indoor track that runs along the walls of the large oval room. He’s still a little off-balance without his arm but he gets his rhythm after about one lap and soon loses himself in the beat of his feet hitting the ground, the rush of air in and out of his lungs.

When Bucky finally begins his cool down, head clearer than it was when he first came down, he finds he’s no longer alone in the gym. Natasha, dressed in a sports bra and leggings, is making good use of one of the punching bags. Bucky finishes up his run and, after a stop at his bag for a swig from his water bottle, he crosses the room to join Natasha.

“Morning,” he says, holding the bag still for her with his shoulder braced against it and his arm keeping things steady.

“You got up early,” she replies without breaking her rhythm.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmare?”

“You’ve been talking to Steve.”

“He’s worried about you.” She glances over at him, her green eyes meeting his blue ones. “We all are.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky insists.

Nat actually stops punching, bouncing on her toes and swinging her arms to stay warm. “Don’t you lie to me, Bucky Barnes.”

“I’m not!”

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes and moving in to continue beating up the punching bag. “You and Steve, I swear. You’re the most stubborn men I’ve ever met.”

Bucky totally isn’t pouting. “Steve’s worse than me.”

Nat just snorts, stepping back from the bag. “Help me stretch. Then we can go shower before Fury gets here.”

“Sure.” Bucky follows her to a nearby mat. “Why’s Fury coming?”

“Seriously? We talked about this a week ago.” Nat begins doing some stretches while Bucky helps push her a little further when she indicates for him to. “He’s bringing a potential new team member. She’s been working with Coulson and other teams for a while, and he thinks she’s ready for us.”

“You know her?”

Nat nods, ponytail flipped funny with her body bent the way it is. “Yeah, I’ve worked with her. She’s awesome. I think you’ll like her.” She straightens out, shooting Bucky a wink.

He flushes and shoves her shoulder lightly. “Why do you say that?”

She shrugs, accepting the hand he offers to help her up. “Just a hunch.”

Bucky glares at her retreating form before shaking his head and heading up to his room to shower. He takes a little longer than usual, savoring the compound’s incredible water pressure. While there are many things he misses from the past - mostly people - the plumbing is not on that list.

He throws on a comfy red t-shirt and jeans before slipping on some socks and padding down the hall to the common area. Wanda and Vision are already in the kitchen, him watching her intently as she makes scrambled eggs. Steve is at the table nursing a steaming mug of coffee.

“Morning, Buck,” he says. “Sleep okay?”

Bucky shrugs, getting his own mug from the cupboard and preparing coffee for himself before joining Steve at the table.

Steve is frowning but he doesn’t comment.

“More nightmares?” Wanda asks with a sympathetic expression.

Bucky groans. “Does everyone know?”

“No,” Steve assures him. “I just ran into Vision on my way out of your room last night.”

“I was doing my nightly rounds,” Vision explains. “I heard you and came to investigate.”

Bucky scrubs a hand over this face. “Thanks, Vis. I’m fine, though. Just… Hydra stuff.”

Vision nods solemnly. “I understand. Is it safe to say you do not wish to speak of the ‘Hydra stuff’ at this moment in time?”

Bucky can’t help a fond smile at that. Vision might still be learning but he’s a good guy - computer? “Yeah.”

“Then I shall endeavor to steer the conversation elsewhere. Would you like some breakfast?”

“I made enough for everyone,” Wanda adds with a gentle smile. “Just eggs and bacon but…”

“Eggs and bacon sound amazing,” Bucky assures her. “I would love some.” He glances over at Steve to find his friend watching him intently. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve replies, sipping his coffee. “Just thinking.”

They lapse into silence for a moment before Vision speaks up once more. “I do believe Fury has reached the front gate.”

Sure enough, Clint comes in moments later to announce “Fury’s here” before snagging a slice of bacon and disappearing back down the hall to the more business side of the compound.”

“These are done. I’ll put them in the microwave to stay warm,” Wanda says, already scooping the eggs into a bowl and covering it with a towel. “Bacon to go?”

Bucky happily grabs a few pieces from the plate Wanda holds out as he passes, shooting her a smile and a “thanks”. Armed with bacon and his still-mostly-full mug, he heads off down the hall

The team all convene in the conference room. Bucky crunches on his bacon, settling into the chair between Steve and Nat just as Fury enters the room. Following close behind him is a woman - a woman Bucky knows but can’t place.

She’s gorgeous, that much he knows right away. Intelligent eyes flit over the room, taking them all in as she nervously nibbles her lower lip. She’s dressed comfortably in jeans and an oversized flannel shirt that Bucky’s pretty sure came from the men’s section, with minimal makeup and hair pulled back. Despite her casual look, Bucky thinks she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Fury looks them over with a stern eye. “I would like you to meet a new potential team member. This is Y/N. She’s been working with SHEILD for a little over a decade in a variety of roles, most recently with Coulson’s team. Her powers are probably the most similar to Dr. Strange and I want you to spend a few weeks training together and getting to know each other before she joins you on missions. How does that sound?”

The team exchange glances and Bucky notes once again how everyone seems to defer to Steve and Tony - and Thor, if he were here, but he comes and goes depending on Asgard’s needs.

Once he’s gotten an affirmative from everyone present, Fury turns to Y/N. “Would you like to give a small demonstration of what you can do?”

Y/N perks up a little at that, relaxing at the prospect of doing something she knows while the team watches, eager to see what this new person can do. Bucky finds himself sitting forward in his seat, coffee forgotten on the table.

Y/N unbuttons and rolls up her sleeves - more of a push than a roll, really. She closes her eyes a second and when she opens them again, Tony gasps and Bucky’s heart leaps into his throat.

Her eyes, whites and all, have turned a deep purple color. She flicks her fingers in a circular motion similar to the movement Bucky’s seen Dr. Strange make, and he watches in horrified fascination as familiar purple sparks fly from her fingertips. They find a point midair where they explode outward to form a circle reminiscent of the orange ones Dr. Strange makes, except this one is lined with purple and the world Bucky can see beyond is not one he’s familiar with.

Y/N steps through the portal - there’s really no other word for it - and Tony startles with a curse. Everyone swivels around to see a second portal burst open and a grinning Y/N emerging as the first portal closes in a shower of purple sparks.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” she says quietly, ducking her head as the purple-edged circle collapses behind her.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Fury says, maybe a little more dramatic than is necessary. “Meet Portal.”

---

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—

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis​​ @laughing-at-the-darkness​​​​ @tumbler-tidbits​​​​ @imsuperawkward​​​​​​ @emoryhemsworth​​ @manawhaat​​

[blissfulalchemist]

4 and 24 for the angst prompts for anyone of your choice? 😘😘😘 BREAK MY HEART LICI!!!

Okay I don’t know how heartbreaking this is but I have done a little Lizette and John that’s canon. So please enjoy.

4. “Do you know what it’s like?” 24. “How much does it hurt knowing you lost me?”

I’m not sure why I ordered soup from this place, they didn’t even have my favorite one today. The spinning of the rice in the vortex from my spoon has my mind occupied as John sits across from me. He’s been picking me up from school more and more lately, ever since mom said he could see me whenever he wanted. It’s mixed feelings in my heart as I spend more time with him. We’re starting to run out of the basics to talk about, and I never thought I would feel this much anger towards him again. I thought knowing John actually loves my mom would help but it hasn’t...and that scares me a bit. I don’t want to end up like him. I’m not him. 

“How are the early applications going? Do you need any help with them?” John hasn’t touched much of his food either, he knows the inevitable is coming. 

“No I got them covered,” I’ve had them done for a month now. Just before he started coming by more often. 

“Liz,” he starts softly, like I’m a child. His child, “what’s wrong?”

I snort, “Nothing. Everything is fine. You just have to remember that I took care of everything on my own.”

He sighs leaning his arms on the table, “I know and I’m sorry,” he’s reaching for my hand before I snatch it away. His blue eyes look hurt, “You shouldn’t have had to do it on your own.”

“I have mom,” she’s all I’ve ever had but that’s starting to change too, “it wasn’t always perfect but she was there for me.”

“I wanted to be, Liz,” I watch as he restrains himself from crossing his arms, “I would have always been there for you had-.”

“Had you not been the leader of a deadly cult,” I cut him off shaking my head, “Yeah I know John.” My words come out shorter than I originally intended, but fuck him! Why did I ever want to get to know him? “I know how shit went down, it was covered in depth, the news outlets did a fine job of that,” drunk me was smarter, trying to protect me like mom did. I should have listened to Val that night, she warned me what would happen. The bowl is pushed from me a few inches, “I’m pretty sure it’s going to be taught in schools at some point.” It’s a straight lie, never could bring myself to admit that it already was. I never told mom how it was covered briefly, a footnote, an example that cults were still around in the twenty first century. Their only other mention was some of the students that chose them, Eden’s Gate, as a subject for their paper, college sociology sucked. Back then it was something that happened so long ago, felt like talking about the Mansons, and I did my paper on some other subject that seemed meaningless now. 

Looking back on that class now, the looks given to me during the presentations of said paper made more sense. They figured out who I was before I ever knew anything about my connection to them. Mom did a good job hiding it all and my brain did a hell of a job tuning out everyone around me. I’m sure the one therapist I had as a child would say it was a learned coping skill.

His jaw clenches and moves slightly to the left, “Well guess it’s good that you’re graduating early.”

“You really think that will stop the stares? The whispers?” I wonder if he’s noticed the looks from some of the older people here that would recognize his face. Or maybe it's from the scene I’ve started to make.

“Look, Liz, I understand that this whole situ-.”

My nails scrape against the plastic table, the small sound hurting my ears, “You understand,” my voice is low as I’m glaring at the table, “Really? That’s what you’re starting with?” I laugh looking him in the eye, “I don’t think you do. Tell me do you know what it’s like, what it’s really like to find out your life has been a lie? How mom’s vacations were because she had anger problems and nightmares about her time in Montana. Living without her for the first few years of life all so she can prevent social services from taking you from her forever. Or how ‘bout because of your sperm donor’s family mom actually resorted to being a murder and torturing people too,” I hiss the last part not wanting people to hear about mom. She could still get in trouble for it I’m pretty sure. The news of that from mom had sent me reeling, I stayed at Val’s for a week before I calmed down enough to come back home.

He looks down to his gloved hands sadly, “I didn’t know that wo-.”

“John do you know what it’s like to know that what the kids at school said to you turned out to be true. How much it hurt to be rejected for something you never thought possible, to think it was all lies because it was just easier to accept you were unlikeable.” I feel the lump in my throat form at those memories, “To have the permanent reminder,” I point to the scar on my upper left lip, “that parents told their children to hurt you because ‘daddy’ was a monster and so she deserves it because she’ll end up just like him.” I feel my arms shaking as my volume increases, “To worry that the only friend you’ve ever had in your life will leave because everyone else did once finding out you were the spawn of the devil,” “You’re just like your father! Nothing more than the devil. Devils produce more, no way around that.” Those words never stopped hurting, she was five when grandma said them as punishment, “How my own family decided I was too much to take care of while mom was sick because they all worried I would turn out like you!” My hand is holding onto something soft, silky as I continue, “The pain you’ve caused me and mom, how could ever possibly know what it’s like or even begin to understand it John!” 

I feel the water run down my face, noticing how I’ve become inches from his face. He’s silent, still, everything I had wanted him to be. Be the cold and calculating man people described him as and not the joke locals made him out to be, seeing his blank look now….i want the loud, over the top, dramatic man. Prove he was just putting on a show for me. Some false idea of him actually being a father. “Say something!” I’m glad that we’re outdoors as I yell in his face, my hand having hit the table. I look to see my other hand gripping his tie and shirt, just have to count to three, then my grip can loosen.

“What do you want me to say?” His voice is calm and unnerving to me. A chill runs up my spine. Is this how mom felt hearing his brother’s voice? His question stuns me as I no longer have an answer. My hand slowly releases him, “You’re right. I don’t know what any of that feels like. That I can’t begin to understand or know the full extent of what I put you and your mother through.” He’s smoothing out his shirt taking deep breaths, I see the anger management is working wonders, “I know there’s nothing I could ever do to make that up to you. But I’m trying Liz. I’m trying to be here for you now.”

I sit back down slowly, “Why not sooner? Why wait for me to find you?”

“I was respecting your mom’s wishes. Giving her space,” I can’t decide how much of what he’s saying true or not anymore. “I hurt her. I lost her,” he averts his eyes, “in more ways than you can ever know. I didn’t want her to leave but she turned into something I didn’t recognize. I just wanted the woman I fell in love with back.”

“Kidnapped,” the word leaves my mouth on instinct and he looks up stunned, “The woman you kidnapped back. The mom I deserved!” Everything is spinning and I don’t know how much of him I want in my life anymore. Is it even right to have him in my life? He’s committed so much wrong and I don’t know what kind of idiot mom was to fall for his tricks but she must have been kinder...softer. The mom I thought I had this whole time, a lie. An act. Someone that was dead and gone in his bunker surely, all by his hand. Everything in my life has been harder because of him, he’s the root of this life. 

I can’t think, everything is tangled and a mess. If my mom ever had a bleeding heart I must have inherited it to have played this game with him this long. I inherited his rage too, his old car was proof of that. There was no straight answer and I can’t live like this. I had a goal, a plan, everything was black and white, but now the colors are becoming muddled. I hate him and that’s all I need to know right this moment. 

My hand reaches for the warm soup bowl, throwing the contents in his face, “I don’t ever want to see you again.” I snatch my things, jerking the table, a glass of water spilling on him also. I regret that the soup wasn’t hotter, “Tell me John,” I tell him looking over my shoulder, “how much does it hurt now knowing you just lost me too?” I don’t wait for an answer, speeding to the nearest bus stop, jumping on the first one at random. People look away pointedly as I cry pulling out my phone calling the one person who’s never lied to me to come and get me.

[dragonlily88]

Your Love Gives Me Strength - Pacifica Northwest/Mabel Pines (Commission)

(This was my very first writing commission. It took me way longer then I would have liked... thank you so much @wombatking for commissioning me and being so patient. Story down below)

“Mabel… are you sure you want to do this?”

 “Yes, Dipper.” Mabel narrowed her brown eyes at her brother, a serious look in them that was rare to see in them. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life.”

 Rolling his eyes, Dipper picked up the bottle of bright green nail polish. “Man, what shade of green is this? Radioactive snot?”

 Laughing, she watched the slow and careful strokes of the brush on her nails. “I think it’s actually called electric lime or something like that. I see you painted your own nails for this.”

 Taking a quick glance at his own nails before returning to the task at hand, Dipper’s cheeks took on a light pink tint. “Y-Yeah… black and gold are his favorite colors so…”

 “Oh, I see. Your super smart and totally hot boyfriend convinced you to let him paint them, didn’t he?”

 “N-No!”

 “...You feel for the puppy dog eyes.”

 “I feel for the puppy dog eyes.”  Sighing, his lips curled into a small smile at the memory. “He said that my nails were a blank canvas for him to express himself on.”

 “I bet that’s not the only thing about you that he compared to a canvas.” Wiggling her eyebrows, She laughed as her brother’s face turned a shade of red that would put a tomato to shame.

 “Mabel!”

 “Speaking of your rather attractive college artist boyfriend, where is he now? Still studying in Tokyo?”

 “Rome, actually. He’s thinking about staying there until he finishes school.”

 “I’m still surprised mom and dad let you date him.” Mabel didn’t hear anything he said after that as she focused on the date on the calendar. Today she was going to be going to a Pride Parade with her brother and girlfriend. She was so excited but also…  scared. So many bad things could happen. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe… maybe she should just stay home.

 “Mabel? Hello! Earth to Mabel!” Waving his hand in front of her face, Dipper made a face at the far off look in his sister’s eyes. “Are you in there? Mabel!”

 “Wha! Dipper, don’t scare me like that!” If she were still able to move her legs, Mabel was almost certain that Dipper would be wearing that bottle of nail polish.

 “You’re the one staring off into space… are you okay? You haven’t done that in a while.”

 “What are you talking about? I did that just last week when we were video chatting.”

 “Yeah, but when you finally snapped out of it you yelled, and I quote, “Not the kittens! Take me instead!” then proceeded to yell for Pacifica to bring you your teddy bear.”

 “His name is Captain Rehpic and he’s my second in command.”

 “Mabel, I’m serious. Are you okay?”

  Was  she okay? If she were being honest, no. She was a complete anxiety-filled, scared mess. Not that she would admit that so easily. That’d be like admitting defeat and that was something Mabel only did begrudgingly. So, she did the only thing she could think of at times like this. Put on a brave face and pretend that everything was fine. 

 “Dipper, I’m okay.”

 He knew that smile. Knew it all too well. Mabel was fighting a battle he’d never understand. This meant that no matter how much he wanted to help, he just couldn’t be what she needed to win at this moment. He’d let it go, for now. However, this will not stop him from worrying or passing on the information. If he knew Mabel - and oh lord, did he know his sister like the back of his eyelids - she’d seek out help when she really needed it. All he could do was silently offer his help and be there, waiting.

 “Alright. I trust you. Just know that if you ever need my help or to talk you can always count on me.”

 “I know… thank you.”

 “Mabel!”

 “Oh joy. Your rich, pretty, and sassy girlfriend is here.”

 “I bet she would get along with your boyfriend. They seem to have a lot in common.”

 “Whatever. I’m gonna grab a soda while we wait for your nails to dry. You should start thinking about where you want to get lunch on the way to the parade.”

 “Righty-o boss man!” As soon as the door was closed behind him, Mabel lost her smile. She could do this. Though, what she heard on the other side of the door was not helping her feel confident. 

 “You’ll never guess what I got for your…” Pacifica trailed off when she saw Dipper standing outside of the bedroom, leaning on the closed door. He had his arms crossed and a serious face. The last time he had looked at her like that was when she and Mabel had started dating. “What did I do this time?”

 “Nothing. But, we still need to talk.”

 ~*~

 “There. All set.” Taking a step back from her girlfriend, Pacifica smiled at her work. “Purple is definitely your color. Also, you were right about the skirt. Shorts just wouldn’t go with the outfit.”

 “Does that mean I’m the new fashion queen?”

 “I thought your fans answered that question for you long ago.” As they laughed together, Pacifica pulled out her own outfit for the parade. “Do you like it? I made it myself.”

 “Uh, I love it! What a dumb question. You work that ombre, girl.” Watching her start to strip out of her current outfit, Mabel let out a low whistle. “It must be my lucky day.”

 Placing her hands on her hips, Pacifica gave her an amused smile. “This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. Not to mention, I just stripped you not even five minutes ago.”

 “Does this mean you like me?”

 “Something like that.” Giggling, Pacifica finished getting ready. “Do you know where you want to eat yet?��

 “That cute little cafe near the park that takes in stray cats?”

 “You want to go to  Catfeine? Why am I not surprised? Though… it is a rather adorable place with really good food.”

 “Yay! Caffeine, kitties, and pastries!” 

 A loud groan and dull thud that the girls could only guess was Dipper smacking his head on something came from the hall. “She doesn’t need any more caffeine and sugar, you crazy woman!”

 “Let’s get going before your brother overrules you.”

 ~*~

 “Mabel, do reasonable. You do not need all of those-”

 “Silence! I have spoken! Give me more!”

 Sighing, Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose. The last thing he wanted was to be stared at by strangers in a cat-themed cafe while his sister yelled at him about stickers. “You have a problem.”

 “YOU HAVE A PROBLEM!”

 “You’re gonna get us kicked out if you keep yelling.” Taking another look at his sister’s wheelchair that could now pass as a float, Dipper fixed Pacifica with an annoyed look. “I blame you.”

 “What? All I’m doing is making my girlfriend feel beautiful and happy.”

 “You’re feeding her sticker and glitter addiction.”

 “Which makes her happy. Honestly, it’s not the worst thing she could be addicted to.” Tying the last sparkling ribbon to the chair, Pacifica took her seat at their table. “What do you think?”

 “I think that I have the best girlfriend ever. Dipper would never cover me in glitter.”

 “It gets everywhere! Last time I helped you with doing glitter eyeshadow it somehow ended up on me and I kept finding it the weirdest places.” 

 “Where was the weirdest place?”

 “...You don’t wanna know.”

 The three laughed as their food - or in Mabel’s case, dessert - was set down in front of them. The conversation kept going between the two as Mabel just silently stared at her food, almost as if trying to will the spoon into her mouth.

 “Uh… Mabel-”

 “No. I got this.”

 Sharing a look with Dipper, Pacifica reached over towards Mabel’s spoon. “Sweetie, let me-”

 “No! I can… I can… I can’t do this anymore! I’m tired of being completely useless! I mean… I’m not able to do anything on my own. I need help doing everything! Do you have any idea what this feels like? To not be able to do even the simplest of things?”

 “Mabel… why didn’t you talk to us about this sooner instead of just locking how you felt away?”

 Looking down at her lap, Mabel couldn’t find it in her to look either of them in the eye. “Because I thought I could handle it. I figured that maybe if I can’t take care of myself anymore, I could at the very least handle my own thoughts and feelings for once.”

  “I learned very quickly after that, that I didn’t have to do it alone. No matter how stubborn I can get. Going through something is hard for everyone physically, mentally, and emotionally… I don’t know how I got so lucky to have the people that I do in my life. After a much-needed cry and group cuddle session, along with dessert, we were off to have a great time at pride.”

 “Miss. Mabel?” A kid rolled up to the group in a wheelchair with their mother. They looked nervous, holding a picture that Mabel quickly recognized.

 “That’s the limited print we did for the blog!” The picture was of her, Pacafic, and Dipper in some wacky design she had dared them to wear with her for April Fools.

  “Turns out that they were a huge fan of my blog and that I had inspired them to chase their own dream of being a professional athlete.”  Pacafic held up a picture of two taken at the parade, the kid beaming.  “Their name is Alex and they were in a horrible car accident that left them paralyzed from the waist down. Seems they were going through the same problems as I was, not talking about how they felt or asking for help. But they’re seeing a therapist to help… actually, I am now too, thanks to Alex.”

  “We still see the little slugger from time to time either for collaborative videos or when we get invited to their games.”

  “Yeah! Man, can that kid play some mean baseball!” A loud thud came from upstairs, causing the girls to sigh in annoyance. 

  “Dipper! Tell your boyfriend to calm down and keep it in his pants for just a couple of seconds so we can finish the video!”

Laughing as she left the room, Mabel continued.  “Long story short... I learned a lot these past few weeks. I never knew that I would miss being able to do small things like change my own clothes or feed myself until I wasn’t able to anymore. But, on the bright side, I get to take baths with my beautiful girlfriend whenever I need one. I have such wonderful, caring people who love and support me in any way they can… and you guys do too! If you’re facing a battle make sure you don’t fight by yourself. I’m sure there’s an army, no matter how small, waiting in the wings to fight alongside you. You can get through things together. Stay beautiful and true to yourself. Mabel, signing out.”

[peachyteabuck]

fashión (bucky barnes x reader)

Summary: At one of your best friend’s drag shows, Bucky catches your eye. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the dance pop blaring through the bar’s speakers, but for some reason you’re feeling a little more daring than usual.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 2,536

Trigger Warnings: Blowjobs, shitty flirting, people are drunk and do sex things

Notes/Other: This was done for @propertyofpoeandbucky ‘s mystery writing challenge!! My prompt was “You’re my best friend. How could I put anyone before you?” and has been bolded within the fic! Also, I feel like this is the total opposite of what I’ve written recent but when I got this prompt I knew this wip was perfect for it. 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Dating has always been hard for you. Friends and family have always tried to set you up on dates - as has Tindr - but nothing seemed to stick. No one ever seemed to do the trick.

“C’mon, babe…” your friend coos to you. You’re in a dressing room at some fast-fashion establishment, the wide and tall mirror forcing you to stare back at yourself. The too-bright lights burn your eyes, the top radio hits from last year only depress you, and the smell of weed and regret radiating from your skin is making you want a sandwich. “Listen, I know you don’t want to do this-”

Your sigh cuts her off. “Then why are you making me?”

She steps over to you, readjusting the floral jacket before speaking. As you look in the mirror you realize actually kind of…like it. Which is weird. “Because I know better than you, you’re a shut-in, and every moment you’re not being ravished by a muscular hot dude physically kills me.”

God, her brazen personality always catches you off guard. That’s probably why she’s the performer and you just sit alone in the basement of your shared home - sewing and eating and writing all day.

In the end, you don’t buy the jacket. Lucy ends up taking you to her favorite thrift shop and you pick up a deep blue faux-fur coat and some velvet heels in the same shade. Boujie? Maybe. But it’s something you feel confident in, so you don’t grumble too much when you see the total.

You both get to the club early so she can get ready, focus on turning her face into the inside of an elementary schooler’s pencil case – one young enough to understand that there’s never such thing as too much stationary (or too much color) but young enough to constantly be losing caps. As she steps into the threshold of the famous bar, Lucy’s met with jeers from janitors and bartenders and sound techs alike – all people ecstatic to see their favorite person like a dog left alone during a long work day. As she greets them with the same overjoyed smiles, you slip past the jolly merriment to the dressing room in the back of the building – her outfit bag and make up suitcase in your hands, her shoes and wig in your hefty backpack. Despite the outfit you’d picked out earlier you’re donning the same outfit you’d been wearing since the techie days of middle school – black jeans, black t-shirt one size too big, and all black sneakers. All the better to blend in.

Three hours later Lucy has officially turned into Boudoir Z, her drag persona and the username for her long-abandoned Neopets account. The club is packed with people, almost as tight as her dress is with her pads, and some old Kesha song thumps the floor to its beat.

“Are you ready?” you ask, double checking her hands for any loose nails.

She grins as wide as she does right before every show, eyes bright and sparkling like a child on Christmas. “Hell yeah.”

As her intro song starts you scurry away to find your way to the bar, hoping to grab something strong before the show really starts. You don’t really like attending your friend’s (or anyone’s) drag shows, they’re loud and crowded and normally that’s your definition of Hell. Sometimes, though, you can muster up the energy. For whatever reason, today seems to be one of those days. Or nights.

Whatever. Time is an illusion.

The first few beats of the song are long, edited for artificial pauses to build excitement in the crowd. You know the version of Lady Gaga’s Applause well, so it throws your entire brain through a loop when someone pumps into you when you try and grab your rum and coke.

“Sorry,” the guy hisses, immediately moving to make sure he didn’t spill any of his wine cooler on you. You’re about to brush him off, thinking he’s just another guy trying to cop a feel while the main attraction distracts from any protective butches within eye shot. But when you notice he’s carefully avoiding your chest – and pulling away when he notices the lack of dampness on your sternum – you allow yourself to give him a half glance at the brick wall of a man in front of you.

God, you’re so ashamed you noticed that. You’re also ashamed to notice his thick thighs, massive arms, silver hand with black lining, his perfectly mused brown-black hair, and beautiful scruff.

“H-hi,” you stutter, deep exhale one close to dramatic women in movies when they think they’ve seen God. Good luck ladies, I’ve already found him – he’s in the shadiest gay bar in NYC. you think as he shyly smiles at you with cheeks you want to shove between your thighs and lips you want attached to your-

“I’m so sorry,” he tells you, checking again to make sure he didn’t turn your shirt into a bar tap. “I got distracted by-“

You sigh. Of course, he was looking at Lucy. “It’s fine, really, I promise.”

In a brief pause between songs, you two lock eyes. Grey-green ones meet your own and fuck, he’s so dreamy.

“I’m,” he seems hesitant to introduce himself. “Bucky. Name’s Bucky.”

You murmur your own name while looking him up and down again. Black combat boots perfectly shined, black jeans tight enough to rival your own, and black hoodie thick enough for winter in Upstate Main.

“Aren’t you hot?” you blurt, alcohol loosening your brain’s tight grip on your thoughts.

The man, Bucky, shrugs. “I run pretty cold.”

Another few moments of silence dialogue between you two - and judging by his set jaw and the hungry look in his eyes he’s thinking the same thing you are.

But, if you’re anything besides an introverted stylist, seamstress, and occasional therapist for the person up on the stage…it’s a tease.

You lean towards Bucky’s ear, music starting up again. “Wanna come join me close to the stage?”

He smiles, picking his drink back up. “Sure thing.”

Lucy, as always, is dressed to impress. Or scare small children.

Either way one perceives her, she’s killing it.

The large, sheer nightgown’s puffed sleeves make the look even more dramatic. The black contrasts extremely nicely with her large platinum blonde hair, and combined with her large, maroon lips and thick, pointed eyeliner - it’s a nice reminder that drag is both an art and something weird as hell. Watching your best friend to what they love and truly one of the best experiences of your life.

The pair of you are off stage left, Lucy on the other side grinding on some speakers. As some Nicki Minaj song plays, you can feel Bucky bounce to the beat behind you. He’s got a surprising amount of rhythm, and as your hips sync his body presses closer and closer to your own. It doesn’t take long, maybe half a chorus for it to turn into full-on grinding, your ass pressed into his crotch so hard you’re worried he’s going to be bruised when he wakes up tomorrow.

Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, though, nipping at the outer shell of your ear with his lips pressed into the tender skin.

“You do this kind of thing often?” he asks, already deep voice now at a low growl.

You shake your head, moving to take another sip of your drink before answering. “Not really, but Lucy is my best friend so sometimes I get dragged,” you snort a little at your unintentional pun. “To shows and stuff.”

Bucky snickers a little. “That’s totally not what I was asking about, but you also don’t seem like the person who’d be friends with Boudoir Z.”

Your cheeks immediately heat hotter than the Equator as you attempt to backpedal. After a few seconds of stammering, though, the liquid courage surging through your veins comes to a head. “Can I suck your dick?”

You turn to face the man behind you, who seems just as surprised at your inquiry as you are. Still, with his eyebrows raised to his hairlines and his eyes wide, he agrees. “Fuck yeah, lead the way.”

The bathrooms here are surprisingly clean, even if the lock of the door doesn’t quite work. But, judging by the second Pink song of the night, you’ve got awhile before the masses become unoccupied and their bladders realize how much alcohol they’ve consumed.

He shoves you against the tiled wall, lips plush and a stark contrast to his scratchy beard. You want it between your thighs, you sigh into his mouth and a wave of heat rolls through your center. But that’ll have to wait for another time.

Locating his zipper as you kiss him is hard, but not impossible, and soon you’re able to free his cock from its painful confines. Bucky gasps at the rush of cold air, a sound that turns into a deep moan when you wrap an eager hand around him. Maybe some other time, some other night when you’re not fueled purely by endorphins, caffeine, and several glasses of bottom-shelf alcohol, you’d do some foreplay, maybe some dirty talk.

Now, though, your mouth waters at the sign of his hard length, and before Bucky can even get a good grip on your hair you’re spitting on him before taking him as far as your throat permits. He moans deep and guttural, jaw going slack and head leaning against the wall. One of his hands feels cool on your head and it’s nearly sobering, how the freezing material feels against the fire dancing across your skin. You’d question the (seemingly) nonhuman appendage, but the progressive soaking of your underwear and his cursing brings your focus to a pinpoint.

Every single one of his “oh fuck”s and “oh baby that feels so good”s drive you to take him harder, faster, and all too soon Bucky’s getting the message and fucking into your throat. Spit falls from your jaw to between your knees, some slick reminder of how gross this is. That only pushes you, though, to wrap a hand around his base with the other massaging his balls.

“Fuck I’m gonna come,” he moans, eyes rolling to the back of his head as both hands wrap around him. “Gonna fucking come down your throat, fuck.”

Fuck yes he is, you think, shoving him back down your throat one last time before the grip on your scalp gets impossibly tight and his thrusts suddenly still and his lets out the deepest, most erotic noise you’ve ever heard in your entire fucking life. The salty taste of him rolls down your tongue and down your throat, his whole body tense as he shoots his load into your mouth.

The second he releases your hair you fall back against the sink, air you’re gulping tainted with the taste of Bucky’s cum. He seems stunned, a little out of it, but still offers to reciprocate. It’s then you realize that Patti LaBelle is playing, and if you’re remembering the song correctly, you’ve got thirty seconds to be backstage and ready to help your best friend get de-dragged.

“Fuck, I gotta go,” you hiss, splashing cold water on your face and trying to calm your ragged breaths. Just before you can open the bathroom door, though, Bucky stops you.

“Wait, just,” he huffs, digging in his pockets for something. Quickly he produces a phone, and he hands it you with the “new contact screen” on it. “Please, give me your number.”

It’s obvious he’s the stronger of both of you, so you slam your fingers on the cracked screen to string together your phone number. It seems the man’s satisfied, because he releases the ajar door from your grip and lets you flee backstage. Lucy comes off just in time for you to meet her, ready with make up wipes and chapstick. Instead of taking both from you, though, she brushes past you to grab at a bottle of water – a surefire sign she’s not done.

You begin to protest, knowing she’s too drunk to lip sync to choral music, let alone her traditional encore playlist. But she waves you off.

“I’m just going to meet some people at the bar take some pics,” Lucy downs the entire 32 ounces of water in record time, barely getting any lipstick on the mouth of the thing. “Don’t worry, just…I don’t know,” she rolls her eyes at her own inability to speak. “Go kill a Westboro Baptist Church member or something, alright? Just…” she hiccups and starts to lean to the right, but adjusts herself before you can do anything. You steady her with a hand on her shoulder, and she lowers her face to yours and juts her lower lip out to pout. “Just wait up for me, okay. I don’t think I can find my way home alone.”

Before you can respond she pushes past you and into the screaming crowd, her shouts and shrieks almost as loud. A quick scan of the dimly-lit bar reveals no Bucky, and without his number you’re stuck putting her reveals back together and unused the unused supplies.

At the end of the night you meet Lucy back where you left her – only this time in black leggings and a purple NARAL shirt shirt three-sizes too big. As she wipes away at the thick cosmetic mask with a dirty make up wipe, your eyes meet hers in the mirror.

“I saw you with some guy tonight,” a smirk paints her lips as heat paints your cheeks. “Did anything happen?”

You bite at your bottom lip, hoping she won’t press further. Luckily, she remains covert, just giving you a once over before speaking again.

“Are you gonna run off with him and abandon me to do all my drag shit by myself?” She asks. Lucy’s tone is playful, but you can tell there’s a hint of seriousness to it.

You shake your head, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear and tucking your hands into your jean pockets. “C’mon, you know I’d never do that. You’re my best friend. How could I put anyone before you?”

Lucy turns around and smiles, perfectly white teeth especially pearly surrounded by the smudged deep purple lipstick and thick, black eyeshadow, a misplaced lash, and what looks to be a twenty-dollar bill stuck behind her ear due to excess wig glue. “Good, because there’s no way I could do Boudoir Z without you.”

Silence settles over both of you as she wipes off the rest of her make up (and pulls out the cash stuck in her hair and to her neck). The only sounds are her throwing loose powders and eye shadow into her make up suitcase and, soon, your phone vibrating in your back pocket. On the screen flashes a text from an unknown number, Bucky you think, and then another right after.

wanna see you again

when are you free

You smile at the screen, giddy like a middle schooler being asked out by her crush. “Hey, Luce…” you wait until she’s facing you to continue. “When’s your next show?”

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

if you’re cool with it, i was thinking about ocd!john with some joger? growing up my parents never let me have knives and that sort of thing because with ocd i needed symmetry, so if i was to cut my finger i would have to cut the other one. idk it’s something i’ve heard a lot of people with ocd go through, nicking their ankle while shaving and then having to do the other one too. just sucks man

Beta-ed by @agnosticofgod

“Put. The. Knife. Down.” Roger said, no, commanded, his body pale white, his knees weak as he stared into the bathroom.

John looked up, eyes wild, the hairs on his neck standing up, almost like the hackles of a trapped animal.

He didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge Roger’s order. The knife he held in his white-knuckled hand hovered over his shin.

“John. I said, put the knife down,” Roger said again, his voice low, a tone almost nobody ever gets to hear.

John looked down at his left leg, which he had propped up on the sink. It was unmarred, besides a growing bruise in the middle. His other leg couldn’t say the same.

There was a gash in the middle of his shin. He’d rammed it accidentally into one of their fancy metal tables and cut it pretty badly. There was blood oozing down from it, covering his ankle and foot in dark red.

John tried to make it better though.

He started to bump and smash his shin against the table again, trying to get his wounds to be symmetric, but his skin refused to break open, bruising a deep purple instead.

He didn’t have any other choice but to use a knife to remedy this. The table was a fluke, but a knife wouldn’t be. He would’ve much preferred a razor to do the job, but Roger threw all those out when he caught John purposefully cutting his cheek to match the other.

“John, do you hear me?” Roger said, taking a careful step closer to John. John wasn’t a wild animal, but he was unpredictable. John was the most level headed, sweet and calm person you could ever meet. Until he had to complete a ritual.

That was a version of John even Roger had issues understanding. He was chaotic and irrational and impulsive. The compulsions were too loud to ignore.

Like the day John fell through the shower glass door. While Roger panicked and called 999, John, without hesitation, grabbed a shard and sliced open his other arm. No thought, no delay. All John craved in that moment was uniformity.

Which is why Roger moved slowly. If he scared John, he knew John would plunge the knife into his leg. This knife was serrated, though. Meaning John would have to saw at himself to get anywhere. The mental image made Roger nauseous.

“Sweetheart, did you hear me?” Roger repeated.

“I have to make it equal,” was John’s reply. He said it as if it was obvious. As if he was saying the sky is blue and the grass is green. One leg is hurt, so the other one has to get hurt too. Or else bad things will happen. Obviously.

“I know you feel that way. Can we talk about it?” Roger says, trying to sound lighter and more relaxed. Like his boyfriend wasn’t threatening to cut himself right in front of him.

“Can I do it first? And then we’ll talk?” John asked innocently. Roger had never had the guts to ask John if he could think rationally at all in these moments. The things he said sounded so deluded, Roger could only believe John was entirely consumed by the compulsion.

“No. I want to talk now. Is that okay?”

John shook his head, the serrated edge touching his leg hairs. “No. If I don’t do it soon, something bad is gonna happen.”

Roger’s heart sped up when the knife inched closer to John’s flesh. “Like what?” he asked, not knowing if this would help or make it worse.

“You’ll die. Or Russia will detonate their nukes. Mum might get cancer. I’m not sure which,” John said easily.

Roger blinked. The Russia one was new. No more news channels for John. And knives. No more knives.

“What if I told you none of that was true? That you had no impact on me living or your mum’s health. Or Russia,” Roger said, risking another step towards John. He was terrified of trying to snatch the knife away, cutting himself or John in the process. John had a good grip on it. He could wait for an opportunity, though.

John’s leg was cramping from holding it up so high for so long, but he kept it propped on the sink. “That’s not true. I don’t want to talk anymore,” he said, looking down at his leg.

Symmetry is what keeps things balanced. It is what keeps things correct. The universe is an example of symmetry. Too much of one element and you get destruction and fiery explosions and implosions. John knew this and believed in it passionately. Things had to stay equal or he’d implode. It was simple as that.

He brought the knife down onto his skin, jumping back when his hand exploded in pain.

Roger had slapped John’s hand with everything he had. It made his stomach twist and his vision double, laying a hand on his lover in such a vulnerable position, but it had to be done.

The knife clattered onto the bathroom floor, skidding away from John. John looked back at Roger, his nostrils flared. He began to bend down to pick it up, but Roger wrapped his arms around his middle and picked him up.

“What are you doing? What is wrong with you? Let me down! Put me down, Roger! Put me down! You have no idea what you’ve done! I need to do this! Roger! Roger!”

John screamed and struggled, kicking at Roger, who hauled him to their bedroom, tossing him onto their bed.

John sprung up from the bed only to be pushed back down by Roger.

“John! Please! Please, for a second, think about what you are doing. I know it’s hard, but please! You want me to let you cut yourself? So that your mum doesn’t get cancer? Do you understand how crazy that is?” Roger cried, exasperated. He knew John was struggling. He’d never say he wasn’t. But this was hard on him too. John deserved so much better than this disorder.

John paused his frantic efforts, laying back on the bed. He’d gotten blood all over himself, the bed and Roger. His leg with the gash hurt. It really hurt. He couldn’t imagine having two legs that hurt like that.

John sniffled as his brain battled. Logic versus obsessions. Who would win?

If he thought really hard about it, he knew all of this was ridiculous. And yet, he still perused this insanity, only because the compulsions were so scary. The anxiety of not doing them made him want to die. John didn’t have a choice.

Most times he didn’t have a choice. When left alone, his OCD would win. But Roger was here. And although it didn’t make the prospect of Roger dying or Russia nuking them any less terrifying, he could be a source of comfort and refuge.

John wiped his eyes and croaked, “My leg hurts.”

Roger felt his heart sinking with joy, a very strange feeling. He took it, though.

He helped John downstairs and sat him in the kitchen while he got the first aid kit, which was in a kitchen drawer. He wet a paper towel and wiped up all the blood before tending to John’s cut. It was deep, but it didn’t need stitches. John whined and trembled as alcohol fizzed on the cut. The ointment didn’t feel any better. The bandage stung.

Roger got up, grabbed a chair and sat next to John. He buried his face into his hands and exhaled deeply. “You’ve given me a run for my money, Deacy,” he mumbled into his palms.

John curled up on the chair, hugging his knees to his chest. He felt guilty. He felt nervous. He felt close to crumbling. Disappointing Roger, though? It made him feel ashamed. A grown man, incapable of controlling his mind enough for his partner to not have to worry every goddamn day? What a failure.

What made it worse was that he still ached to make himself equal. He feared that the moment Roger looked away, he’d reach for a knife again. He hadn’t learnt his lesson. His impulsivity still ruled him.

“I’m sorry,” John said, his voice quivering.

Roger laughed bitterly. “Oh, John. I could never be mad at you. Really. Right now, I’m mad at myself,” he said, as he rubbed his eyebrows.

“Why?” John asked, clueless as to how Roger could spin the situation as his fault.

“‘Cuz I’ve seen you like this for months now. Years. And I’ve never done anything. It was never cute or weird. Always disturbing. And I just let you get worse because I was too chickenshit to ask or reach out,” Roger replied.

John bit his thumb nail. “That was never your job to do. I know I’m...irrational. I know the things I do are bad. And I never asked for help, either.”

Roger shook his head, getting up. He knelt before John, his hands finding John’s own. His thumb rubbed over the front of the hand he had slapped earlier, still warm and red.

“It’s not the same, babe. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a bystander. Sorry for slapping you and manhandling you. John, you’re far too precious for any of this. Tomorrow, we’ll call a doctor, okay? This ends today. No more hurting yourself. No more worrying. No more thinking all those thoughts. You’re-” Roger had to clear the lump in his throat. “Too good of a person to have to do this. Okay? I love you, Deacy.”

John didn’t like doctors. Didn’t like therapists. Didn’t like pill bottles. But he nodded. “I love you too,” he said, suddenly feeling weak. This little game he was playing with himself was over. He didn’t know if he liked that or not.

Anything for Roger.

He squeezed Roger’s hand.

♚

“Roger! Roger!!” John called, running into Roger’s office (which was just a room filled with his instruments).

Roger set down the guitar he was fiddling with, rushing over to John’s side.

“What? What is it?” he asked, looking John all over.

John held up a finger, his lips curled into a frown. On the tip of his index finger, a single bead of blood. Paper cut.

“I’m scared, Rog. Thinking bad things. I need help. Need help,” John sputtered out, leaning from foot to foot, anxious.

It had been 6 months since the incident. Therapy was going well. John finally found the right pill and dose. Things were improving, progress was being made. This paper cut, though, had sent John back all the way to step 1.

It was a paper cut. Just a paper cut. No big deal. No big deal if he made it equal either. It was just a paper cut, after all.

“I think I’m gonna-”

“No, no, don’t worry. Thank you for telling me, John. Come sit,” Roger said, leading John to a chair. John sat, still holding his finger up, his eyes dark, as if the finger was taunting him.

Roger crouched beside John, getting a tissue from his pocket to dab at the speckle of blood.

“Okay. So remember in therapy, how you’re supposed to do confirmations? How do they go again?” Roger asked.

John hesitated, his mind blurry. “Uh...it’s affirmations. Um. Okay. Um. I’m in control of my mind, not anyone else or the world. Uh. I can resist bad urges because I am in control, not my mind. I have authority over what I do, not my thoughts. I have overcome obsessions before and I will right now. I am not defined by my OCD,” John said, growing more and more confident as he spoke. Roger smiled, rubbing his shoulder.

“I am strong. I am better than this. I am smarter than this,” John finished, his finger lowering.

“That was fantastic, babe,” Roger says, kissing John’s cheek. “How’s the stress level now?”

“7... maybe 6...”

“That’s workable. Do you want to talk about it or be distracted?”

“Distracted. Please,” John said stiffly.

“Can do,” Roger says with a salute.

Within 10 minutes, they were outside, looking inside the engine of on of their older cars

“So, I was thinking, if we got a newer piston, it’d run faster,” Roger said, flicking the old rusty one.

John shook his head. “It’s a mini cooper, love. Nothing’s gonna get it over 100 unless we install a double muffler.”

“And how is that going to work, exactly?” Roger asks, a hand on his hip.

“Well...”

John spent the next 20 minutes going over a figurative overhaul of their busted mini coop. He’d gotten so passionate about them needing a double muffler, he’d forgotten all about his finger and his need for symmetry. All he thought about in that moment was convincing Roger a single muffler would be a speed cap.

All the while, Roger smiled and played dumb, getting John to talk on and on about the car, knowing he was easing up, forgetting about his paper cut. When the worry faded from John’s eyes, Roger knew he’d done a good job.

“But why get a double muffler when it’s so much work?”

“Roger! I just told you why!”

“I don’t get it.”

“Oh goodness. We need a double because...”

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E50 (Feb. 5, 2019)

Are any of us ever, really, on the internet?

This week’s guests are Taliesin Jaffe and Matt Mercer!

Brian shames Taliesin and Matt for (to be fair, accidentally) pouring coke in with their 22-year-old scotch. I am also physically pained by this. I may need a minute to compose myself. (@loquaciousquark: “I like how you’re Brian in this and I’m Matt.”)

Announcements: MAME drop airs three hours before Talks every week! Next week’s Between the Sheets will feature Will Friedle, and last night’s episode featured Quyen Tran! Critical Role will be taking this coming Thursday off, and Talks Machina will be taking next Tuesday off, but the show returns on Valentine’s Day!

But for now, let’s jump into Episode 50: The Endless Burrows

Stats for this week’s ep: Fjord got the 50th HDYWTDT in the 50th episode! The Roper’s crit on Caleb would have one-shotted him had Caduceus not reduced it by negating the crit. Spurt is the first on-screen guest player character death in the history of the show. Chris Perkins was at the table for 22 minutes and 15 seconds. Taliesin: “That’s an episode of network television right there.”

Chris was in town unexpectedly, and asked if he could come watch the show. Matt had written Spurt as an NPC character, just to see how the M9 would react to him. As he was driving to the studio, he realized it could be a lot of fun to let Chris play the character instead. Chris was on board, and Matt told him “You’ll know when to jump in,” and that was that. Nobody else had any idea he was going to be playing.

Caduceus is “in his element but out of his element” underground. “He’s looking for things to be excited about. Not a lot of things to be excited about here. It’s kind of awful.” Taliesin is trying to let him be a little more tactical, to just take care of things and do what needs to be done. “He’s on edge, but it’s a healthy edge.”

Matt clarifies that the party haven’t really emerged into the Underdark---they’re just skimming the edges of it. After spending a lot of time there in the last campaign, Matt didn’t necessarily want to bring it back there again.

Caduceus doesn’t see the group as being deceitful so much as just people who haven’t had the option of being open before. “He’s trying to make that option available.” Part of his training at the temple involved talking to people, helping them feel better, and helping them open up, so this is nothing new to him. Matt: “The solitary therapist.” Taliesin: “He really, really likes them.”

Spurt was originally intended to be a potential hindrance to keep the group from getting past the fire giants stealthily, if he wound up coming along with them. Turned out he... sort of removed himself from that equation.

On the parade of tragic backstories: “I don’t think Clay fully comprehends how bad this all is. I don’t know if he can comprehend art film horror. ‘That’s rough, man.’“ Matt: “He’s the Fred Tatasciore of the group.” Everyone is delighted by that comparison.

Matt was looking for opportunities to bring tragic backstories together. Taliesin calls it a “car crash” approach.

Why are D&D characters often so tragic? Taliesin: “It’s harder to make an interesting happy person.” Matt: “That’s true, but it’s not impossible.” He talks about how it’s natural to try to build something into a character’s backstory to propel them into the dangers of adventure. It’s also the opportunity for a player to work through something they’re going through out-of-game in a safe, cathartic way.

Caduceus is “still a little lanky”. Taliesin points out that this is to be expected because he’s a “vegan on the road”. There’s a long discussion about how the food he makes is “basically semi-firm tofu”.

Matt freaks out a bit about the unintentional callback... VM also being a mid-level party descending into the Underdark in search of a halfling and almost losing a rogue’s foot to lava. A lot of things had to go a particular way for that to happen, and he definitely wasn’t expecting it, especially since he was consciously trying to avoid familiar territory with the Underdark this time around.

Brian: “Which is funny, because the writers never even saw the first campaign.”

Taliesin points out that a trickster cleric is meant to be more of a toolkit, whereas a grave cleric build is more of a medkit.

Taliesin: “I’ve learned my lesson, and I have like three new character ideas ready to go, for this campaign or the next.”

There’s a lot of debate about where the hell Spurt got a skunk, which leads to the creation of the magical item Skunk Jug, which produces a skunk.

Caduceus enjoyed the romance novel, but it hadn’t “entirely clicked”. “He’s aware that: ‘Ah, they’re doing the hanky-panky stuff.’ It’s not really in his wheelhouse.”

Matt was very proud of the group coming up with their plan to get past the giant, and he felt a bit bad that Nott rolled so low (although he also loves the “magnificent clusterfuck” moments that are the hallmark of D&D). Brian: “That’s just a testament to how bad Sam is as a player.” 

Caduceus took Warcaster as his next feat. “This seems to be in-character and useful.”

Fan art of the week: Nott running across the lava! Taliesin: “I want to play that game. That’s an 8-bit game I want to play.”

Brian asks Matt if the game’s about where he thought it would be at episode 50. Matt: “We’re charging into Xhorhas earlier than I was expecting. We need to get Ashley back soon.” (They’ll get her back in a couple months.) He also points out that some story beats have happened in the world in the group’s absence. He didn’t want to tailor the story’s trajectory to manufacture a big moment in episode 50. The group’s involvement in the Empire has been less than expected, but the direction they’re taking is much more direct than he was expecting. Taliesin points out that if the group had been Vox Machina, they would’ve involved themselves in the politics of the war instantly. Matt reiterates that he loves DMing in a reactionary way when the players push in an unexpected direction.

All Taliesin wants to do right now is fix that sword. He’s expecting it to be, like, a +1 cursed sword that just sings constantly and can’t ever be put down.

Taliesin: “I’m enjoying corralling all the kids.” Matt points out that he’s a much-needed influence on the group. Beau is the one that Cad considers to be his best friend. Dani: “You two can’t not be best friends in this show.” Cad thinks of Fjord as an angsty teen. He thinks Caleb is occasionally up his own butt a bit. He hasn’t figured out that Jester’s an adult yet. “’Oh, she’s happy and fine. Thank goodness someone is.’ And obviously she’s not, but he hasn’t figured that out yet.” He’s disappointed in Nott for the amount of drinking, although he hasn’t said it out loud.

Taliesin: “Cad thinks dangerous things have wisdom. Sometimes just walking up to something and asking is very useful. Sometimes you can avoid getting arrested in front of a coffee shop by offering the officer a hot pocket.”

Matt talks about how getting players to avoid combat is a teaching process that involves incentivizing out-of-the-box approaches. That’s in direct contrast to the more traditional grind-through-fights approach to D&D that was prevalent in the early editions, so it can be a process. He points out that you can talk to players out-of-game, or you can change your own plans to allow players a non-combat win even if it’s a bit of a stretch.

Taliesin and Matt both own a pair of chaps. As you do.

Taliesin’s personal inspiration for Cad’s staff was very Dark Crystal-driven. The crystal comes from the land he lives on. He dug up the crystal and made the staff himself; the beetles crawl into and out of the stick continuously.

Talks Machina: After Dog

Brian: "Are you relaxed right now?” Taliesin: “Yeah, there’s something in this Coke that’s really...”

Taliesin got started with eyeliner in high school with Vampire LARPing. He had a (mumblemumble)”furk idee” that got him into goth clubs early. Matt first learned to apply eyeliner for cosplay, then wore it for the first time outside of cosplay clubbing with Taliesin (they also had an industrial goth karaoke night).

Dumbest way they’ve managed to injure themselves? Matt was editing There Will Be Brawl’s final episode, which was a bit too overambitious and he was the only editor, and he didn’t sleep for 72 hours and threw his back out horribly from sitting too long. Taliesin was doing a student film as a teenager, and was asked to do a stunt that involved holding someone up to a moving train (Matt: “What the fuck, Taliesin?”). He had really long goth nails at the time and managed to break all ten of his nails off entirely doing that stunt. “I didn’t drop him into the moving train!” Matt: “That’s why unions are good.”

Brian: “I lit myself on fire with a molotov cocktail.” Yes, really, but he wasn’t badly burned. Taliesin: “Did you at least hit the man? Did it stick to him?” Brian: “It was not a man. It was a porta-potty.” Matt reiterates how grateful he was not to have grown up with cellphone video.

Matt: “So you’re saying...” Taliesin: “I was Emperor Norton, yeah.” Matt: “Aw. I’m proud of you!”

We all learned... a lot today. See you in two weeks for episode 100 of Talks Machina!

[sugarkitten-mamahoney]

Life Update ✨

Post: # 6

Date: Monday — August 12, 2019

Time: 11:21 PM Mtn Standard

Topic: My Life As Of Today

Greetings lovely flowers. 🌹

I'd like to start off today's post by saying I'm terribly sorry for not keeping up with my entries and for disappearing for weeks. A lot has happened in the span of the beginning of this blog up to today & I'll gladly fill you in.

TW: mental health issues, PPD, medication, depression, alcohol ab*se, self h*rm, s*icidal thoughts, bullying, body image, loss of a family member

Well back in the ending of May, I came to the realization that I was in fact suffering with PPD. I fought to keep it all bottled up in hopes that by not speaking about it and my ugly feelings, that it'll eventually solve itself and just go away. I was wrong. It came to the point where getting up to take care of my baby was a struggle, my relationship with Daddy was being affected, I was angry and irritated as soon as I woke up, and I felt really alone, ugly, worthless, and I honestly was dying to sleep all day and to be left alone. I didn't want to take care of myself and I had to force myself to be there for my baby. It truly affected my relationship with Daddy and of course our son and other family members, so I was pushing away those who I care about most.

I ended up talking with my boyfriend about how I was feeling and what has been going on in my head. I cried to him as I explained how ugly, pissed off, numb, and annoyed I felt. He held me. He kissed me. He told me he was glad to hear me speak up. He said he noticed the change. He wanted me to know that he is here for me always and that he loves me. I'm so glad I opened up to him and trust him with all my heart. I really don't know what I'd do without him. I love him.

I got the support, comfort, understanding, and love from Daddy. He was first. Then it was a couple of family members, my mom, aunt, sister-in-law... some understood, others didn't. They just agreed to disagree. It's hard opening up to those you love and trust when it comes to mental health when they do not understand or believe you. But I did it anyway and let them feel however they wanted... it's not my fault PPD affects a lot of young, 1st time moms. It's not my fault my seratonin levels are unbalanced and low.

I've had my battles overcoming depression a couple of times in the past. I've dealt with being cyber bullied to the point of feeling suicidal. I've self harmed and abused alcohol to forget my feelings and who I was. I even started lying to my parents and sneaking off to drink and black out with people I could not even trust. I was spiraling out of control because I never felt comfortable and safe to tell my parents how I felt when they rejected me at first for telling them that I was depressed. So I secretly suffered, I did.

But I'm getting help. I have talked with my doctor, and also seeking help from the mental health facility and will hopefully be paired with a wonderful therapist. I've also been started on a low dose of anti-depressants. My doctor and I went over all the options, twas ultimately my choice, and she always has my best interest at heart. So we went forth and started the medication as part of my treatment. I'm hoping I get better before Halloween, but only time will tell.

Another thing that's been going on is of course the fact that I'm struggling with my self-esteem and body image. I'm no longer body positive towards myself and feel nothing but resentment, disgust, and hatred towards my body. I should not feel this way at all but I do. I overeat. I eat when I feel bored and lonely. I'm over 210 pounds and I feel like shit. I hate my body.

Soooo, I am talking about this with my doctor of course AND also getting lots of support and love from Daddy. He is supportive of me and does his best to not get frustrated with me when I happen to down talk my body and he is encouraging me to eat better, drink water, and get active. Baby steps. He gets me. Daddy is truly helping and without him here, I know I'd be an even bigger mess than I am now. I was honest when I told him how I got skinny and lost weight and he promised me he will help me but the RIGHT & healthy way. I love him.

And well... my best friend of 11 years basically said she is kind of done being my best friend. She said that I am "emotionally exhausting to talk to" and that she "did not know what to say to me any more because she doesn't know how to talk to me." Whatever that means right?? I'm so tired of being hurt and abandoned. I promised her I would never do that to her and kept that promise but she writes me a sad letter in an unfinished notebook (which is unlike her, it never happens) and basically said she's calling it quits. I lost a best friend. What does one do when her best friend dumps her?? I've been ignoring that with everything else that has been happening....

Another thing is I recently lost my grandfather. It hurts talking about. I can't help but to cry and breakdown. I was very close with my grandfather, and my grandmother. We were all raised to be a close-knit family and we were all connected... what we have is special. But now my cheí is gone, he is reunited with my grandma... it just hurts. I seem okay but really, I still feel so overwhelmed with emotions yet empty at the same time. I'm also still in shock... i can't believe he is gone. It hurts so much.

So anyway, this was all that's been going on and my life just got a bit too out of hand for me to be active on here with my personal blog. I am hoping to get back into that to keep me busy. My son keeps me busy for the most part, and with the recent loss of my cheí, I was swamped and stressed since I'd take my baby and I up to the hospital everyday just to visit him. Also was making time to spend quality time w Daddy and re-bond with our baby. So it's been a hell of a ride. But here is a list of good things that have happened in between so I don't end this on a shitty note:

✧ Daddy, Baby, & I are doing better

✧ Baby turned 5 months old

✧ Baby melon also started rolling like a pro & is starting to crawl backwards

✧ I'm drinking more water

✧ I'm on top of taking my medication

✧ Daddy bought me a lot of great books

✧ My nails are growing back

✧ I watched some new movies w Daddy from RedBox (should I do mini reviews of the movies?? Hmm... maybe !!)

✧ Baby melon chews on his toes

✧ I've been wearing one of my grandpa's shirts

✧ I'm becoming more responsible with the money Daddy gives me

✧ I started reading more books more often

✧ I've been tracking my feelings lately & keeping a diary

✧ Daddy, baby, & I went a 3 hour road trip and had fun

✧ I wrote a nice caption for my next serious Instagram post and to me, it's super welcoming, helpful, safe, and inspiring (???)

✧ My mom is sleeping more

✧ I'm doing my best

[hazyheel]

Wrestlemania 35 Review

The pre-show started with the Cruiserweight Championship, Buddy Murphy vs. Tony Nese, and the two started out fast and violently. Murphy got split open somewhere around his eye early on in the match, after he slipped off the turnbuckle. The two exchanged heavy strikes in the match, and Nese seemed to have the advantage for much of the match. At one point, Nese hit a springboard moonsault to Murphy, who was hanging between the ropes. Nese even hit a reverse rana to Murphy, and Murphy really landed right on his head. The two again began to exchange combinations of strikes, each countering the final hit into a combo of their own. Nese even hit a package piledriver for a near fall, and then a 450 splash for a near fall. Nese went for the running Knese, but Murphy intercepted with a bicycle knee and Murphy’s Law, but Nese got his foot on the ropes. Murphy went for the running knese as well, but Nese got the interception with a superkick, before hitting a german suplex into the corner, and then the running Knese for a big win.

Grade: B+. Really good way to open up the show. I was shocked at how much offense Nese scored, almost a burial of Murphy, but I think that it will play into the story. I was pleasantly surprised to see Nese win the match, I really wasn’t sure if it would play out well, but it looked super good and by the end of the match, it felt like Nese’s time. Congratulations to him, I look forward to his title reign.

It didn’t take long for them to jump into the women’s battle royal. No Lacy Evans, so I was automatically wrong about this match. Asuka had a staredown with Nikki Cross, reminiscent of their feud in NXT a few years ago. Ember Moon hit a cool looking eclipse over the top rope to eliminate Naomi, and must’ve hit 3 before getting eliminated. For some reason, Sarah Logan and Lana hugged, before the rest of the riot squad destroyed Lana. The Riott Squad completely destroyed their opponents throughout the match, until Dana Brooke eliminated both Ruby Riott and Liv Morgan. Final four were Asuka, Sonya Deville and Sarah Logan, but Carmella was on the outside hiding on the outside. Deville, Asuka and Logan had an awesome sequence together, and Logan eliminated both of them, only for Carmella to come in. The two fought, and Logan even held on to the middle rope to stay in, until Carmella got the win with a superkick. 

Grade: A-, because I like to be positive. I am not normally a fan of battle royals, but this one was really good. There were a lot of interweaving stories, everyone got time to shine, and it told a fun tale. Lots of creative eliminations, and really non stop action. They really stole the pre-show today. 

Next up was the Raw Tag Team Championship match, Curt Hawkins and Zack Ryder vs. The Revival. Dawson and Hawkins started the match out, but it seemed like the challengers were pretty outclassed. Ryder was beaten down for most of the math, with the Revival destroying any limb they could get their hands on. Hawkins eventually got the hot tog, and absolutely lit up the champions. Ryder went for a suplex to Wilder out of the ring, but both men ended up tumbling out of the ring. There was then a flurry of offense on the outside, with Hawkins nailing a spear on Wilder, and then getting hit with a nasty brainbuster from Dawson. Dawson dragged him back into the ring, and Hawkins looked to be out. Dawson tried to bring him up for some sort of move, but Hawkins got a rollup for a shocking win.

Grade: B+. Another really good match. Started out slow, but it really picked up by the end of the match, with a flurry of offense during his hot tag. All hope seemed lost when the Revival nailed their big moves on the outside, but Hawkins finally pulled off a win. It was a good payoff to such a long story, and I was into it. So happy for Hawkins to pull it off, and to win a belt at the same time is just a cherry on top.

Then right into the Andre the Giant memorial Battle Royal. Che and Jost made their entrance, looking absolutely lost being in the ring with these guys. The two comedians immediately hid underneath the ring. A fun elimination from Andrade, as he monkey flipped Kalisto over the top rope. Luke Harper tried to vertical suplex Ali out of the ring, but Braun hit a big boot to eliminate them both. Ali took a terrible bump as a result. In the final three, Jost and Che actually got in the ring, and Jost attempted to get Braun to talk to a therapist, but Braun, of course, beat up the therapist. Che tried to run, but Braun got in a punch to take him out. He then threw Jost a a pile of superstars on the outside.

Grade: C-. When all was said and done, this was a silly comedy match, and it was actually pretty fun and funny. Just some stupid action, Jost and Che were funny in their attempts to eliminate Braun, and considering that Che and Jost didn’t actually get eliminations, nor did they really fight anyone, it went better than these types of matches normally go. Celebrity stuff is always iffy, but this went well.

Before anything started, Alexa Bliss came out for a promo. She said that she was going to give herself a Wrestlemania moment, and she snapped her fingers and Hulk Hogan came out. He cut the stereotypical Hogan promo. Then they posed together. Kinda cute. But then Paul Heyman marched out to the ring, and cut a promo in the ring. He said that Lesnar would not be leaving for Las Vegas right after the match is over.

So, we opened the main card with Brock Lesnar vs. Seth Rollins for the universal Championship. Lesnar had a special entrance video, where a sword destroyed Lesnar’s beast skull. Lesnar started the match with a stiff knee to the stomach. beating him down outside, and hitting the F5 quickly. Lesnar threw him around ringside, over the announce table and into a commentator. The match officially began, and Seth was drilled with several german suplexes. Seth shoved the Lesnar into the ref, and then nailed a low blow. He was then able to hit the curb stomp three times, and got the win.

Grade: D+. The beatdown was fun, but there wasn’t much to this match. Rollins hitting the low blow felt odd from an underdog babyface. It was an exciting moment, but I bet these two could’ve had a great match. It’s also odd that this match came on first. It just felt like an odd victory to open the show. Although, I am pretty happy about the outcome.

Next up was Randy Orton vs. AJ Styles. It didn’t take long for Orton to start cheating, hitting a thumb to the eye early on. Orton just kept trying to hit the RKO, but Styles wiggled out of it each time. At one point, AJ faked going for a phenomenal forearm and orton went for the RKO, obviously missed and Styles nailed a 450 splash. AJ was desperate in his attempts to avoid the RKO, but did take one after a rollup, for a near fall. AJ hit a big phenomenal forearm to the outside. He then hit a Phenomenal Forearm in the ring for the win.

Grade: B. Not as fast of a match as I thought it would be, but still pretty good. They worked together quite well, and the story of AJ desperately attempting to avoid the RKO was good, and it made the near fall even more convincing. Shocked to see that Styles went over, but still happy to see one of my favorites go over. I hope these guys wrestle again, because I think they can do better.

Lacy Evans did a catwalk. Then there was the Smackdown tag team Championship match, Usos vs. Aleister Black and Ricochet vs. Shinsuke Nakamura and Rusev vs. The Bar. The action was very fast, with a flurry of offense from everyone and many quick tags. Cesaro had a huge swing on Ricochet for about a minute before locking in the sharpshooter, before an Uso broke them up. Rusev and Nakamura actually did really well as a tag team, better than I thought they would, putting together some hard hitting striking combinations.  There was then a huge ass tower of doom, but Ricochet flipped out of it. Ricochet went up for the 630 senton on Sheamus, with Black covering him, but everyone broke it up. There was a big finisher fest, with Ricochet selling a brogue kick like he was shot. The usos then hit sheamus with three superkicks and a double splash for the win.

Grade: B+. A lot faster than I assumed it would be. This match really reminded me how good the bar, Nakamura and Rusev all are. They have been in some less than flattering matches lately, but this one was really good. Everyone got in tag moves, showing that all of these teams will work well in the tag division. I am bummed that Black and Ricochet didn’t win, but hopefully they can go on to feud with the Usos sooner rather than later.

Next match was Miz vs. Shane McMahon in a Falls Count Anywhere match. Shane started out by running away, but quickly got the advantage via cheap shots. At one point, Shane was going to elbow Miz through an announce table, but his dad (yay) got in the way. Shane and Mr. Miz squared off in the ring, with Shane utterly destroying Mr. Miz, only for the Miz to run in and take down shane. They began to brawl through the crowd, near the LED pillars, and into the stands. They even started destroyed the announce tables in the crowds, and Miz hit him so hard with a moniter that he fell over a railing and about a 6 foot fall. Miz then hit the Skull Crushing Finale on a platform for the cameras, for a near fall. They battled even higher, with Miz superplexing shane through a platform, and it completely caved it in. Shane was able to get the arm over Miz for the win.

Grade: B+. A wild, brawl, with some big spots, and every bit of soap opera crap. That superplex will be shown in video packages for years to come. It was good clean fun, and although I wasn’t too pleased with Miz losing, but given the spot, it was just a coincidence that Shane got the pin. It wasn’t too serious, nor did I think it would be. If they had more weapon spots, then maybe this would’ve been higher. But still, I thought it was really good.

Into the Women’s Tag Team Championship match, the Boss N’ Hug Connection took on the Divas of Doom, The IIconics and Nia Jax and Tamina.  The IIconics quickly established that they would only tag in if they were in the advantage. Pheonix and Natalya hit a hart attack on Billie Cay for a near fall. Jax and Tamina were taken out pretty early, only to come back in and absolutely destroy the IIconics. Banks and Bayley were lying in the corners, and Jax and Tamina went up for splashes, but Phoenix took Jax out. Bayley nailed an elbow drop to Natalya, followed by a splash from Banks for a near fall. Phoenix nailed Bayley with a super glam slam, but the IIconics threw her out of the ring and made the pin to win the belts.

Grade: D. Decent action, but it was a little short for the speed of it all. I think that they definitely should have gone with a standard tag match if Bayley and Sasha were gonna get pinned anyway. The super Glam Slam was a memorable moment, and I think it was in character for the IIconics to steal the pin. Maybe I am just upset that Bayley and Sasha lost the belts without having a real classic match for the belts. Maybe they will get them back in the future, but the IIconics will probably make for some very entertaining TV in the next few weeks.

And for the WWE championship, Kofi Kingston took on Daniel Bryan. The crowd was fully behind Kingston right from the beginning of the match. Bryan did what he could to keep the match on the mat, but he was also able to go at a fast pace with Kingston. Bryan attempted to work over Kingston’s leg. At one point, Kofi went for a springboard splash to the outside, but Bryan dodged it and sent him careening into the table. Kofi went for several double stomps throughout the match, but Bryan had it scouted at one point, picked him out of the air, and locked in a lion tamer. At one point, Kingston Nailed the SOS, only for Bryan to counter it into a Lebell Lock, raining down elbows into the ribs. Eventually, Bryan just kept kicking Kingston in the chest and sides, until Kingston screamed at him telling him to keep hitting him, and the two dueled with kicks until Kingston hit an inverted suplex for a near fall. Kingston then followed Bryan to the outside, but Rowan got in his way. Kingston hit Rowan with a trouble in paradise, and then Big E and Xavier Woods nailed him with the midnight hour. Back in the ring, there was a great near fall as Kofi was hit with the running knee. In his frustration, Bryan stomped on Kingstons face and head, before locking in the lebell lock once again. Kofi fought out of it, and returned the favor with stomps as the crowd cheered along. Kofi then hit the Trouble in Paradise for the win, finally gaining the WWE Championship after 11 years. After the match, Kofi celebrated with his kids and even a new shirt.

Grade: A. This match was absolutely awesome. The suspense was awesome, the selling from everyone was great, and Daniel Bryan’s work as a despicable heel made the match so much more fun. It felt like Kofi wouldn’t win due to how Bryan kept countering everything kofi threw at him at first. Kofi played a great underdog, and even the knew day on the outside kept the crowd hyped up. Kofi totally deserved this win, and I think he will be a fantastic WWE Champion. I can’t wait.

Backstage, Alexa Bliss talked to Colin Jost and Michael Che backstage, with some trainers. Bliss said that Strowman is a nice guy. They all argued, before Bliss said they were in good hands, before Scott Hall and Kevin Nash were revealed as their doctors.

Next was Rey Mysterio vs. Samoa Joe. They started out quick, with Joe beating his ass quickly. Mysterio did hit the 619, but Joe quickly choked him out for the win. Not gonna grade this one.

Then it was Drew McIntyre vs. Roman Reigns. The two squared up in the beginning of the match, before absolutely destroying each other with punches. McIntyre had most of Roman’s moves scouted, such as countering the drive by with a vertical suplex. Throughout the match, McIntyre got into Reigns’ head by telling him that he broke the Shield, and destroyed his brothers. That only fired up Roman. He then unleashed a fury of great offense, followed by several superman punches and then a spear for the win.

Grade: B-. Good match, but not nearly enough time. They could’ve put on a classic together, but since the story was Roman as an underdog, he couldn’t get in as much offense. But I think that these guys could do a lot better, and I am bummed that they didn’t get time to really put on an awesome match.

Then, Elias had his concert. First playing drums on the tron, then piano on the tron, then the guitar in the ring. He was his own band. What a fun little segment. He was about to start his full song, but he was interrupted by some older baseball footage. Cena then came out in his old Thuganomic persona. He even had a huge scowl on his face. He announced that he was about to turn heel, and that Elias’ music sucks more than his own movies. There was too much to talk about in this “promo,” but he hit the five knuckle shuffle and hit the FU and left.

Grade: C. What the flying fuck was that? I think it was good, but I really don’t know. I’ll call it down the middle, because it was funny, but probably a burial of Elias. I don’t know, I just don’t know.

Into the No Holds Barred Match of the night, Batista vs. Triple H. Batista entered with an enterage of bodyguards in a nice van, while Trips entered on a Mad Max type car. Shawn Michaels was on commentary, which I assumed would factor into things. Two went at each other with absolute fury, it was a visceral match, very much like a street fight. It wasn’t long before Trips began choking Batista with a chain, also whipping him. He then stretched Batista’s fingers with pliers, and even pinned him down with a chair and ripped out his nose ring. It was disgusting, I don’t know how they did it. Batista attempted several times to put Trips through a table, but it did not work. They continued to beat each other down with weapons and stiff shots. Batista went to batista bomb Trips through an announce table, but Trips back body dropped him instead, but the table didn’t break. What is with these tables? Trips then hit a huge running spear through another announce table, which thankfully broke. Trips finally got a sledgehammer from under the ring, but as he went to attack Batista, Batista speared him for a near fall. Batista then brought Trips up for a batista bomb for another good near fall. As Batista went for a superplex onto the steel steps in the ring, but Trips countered with a powerbomb onto the stairs, and then the pedigree for a near fall. Eventually, Flair came out to give Trips a sledgehammer, then distracting Batista so that Trips gets a sledge shot and another pedigree for the win.

Grade: B-. Shockingly decent. I flip flopped on this match a lot in the build up, thinking it could suck or be great. It was actually good, but really nothing more. The weapon shots were stiff, and it had a very ruthless aggression feel. Very fun, and I am not very shocked with the outcome. I thought Batista would win, but I understand if Trips doesn’t want to retire yet. Pretty good match, nothing more.

Now, Kurt Angle’s farewell match, against Baron Corbin. For some reason, they kept saying that Corbin was “Wrestlemania’s favorite son.” I don’t know why that is, but it is certainly incorrect. The two had a pretty decent match, and Corbin sold pretty well for angle. Corbin hit a big deep six for a near fall. Angle hit the angle slam for a near fall, but then he took the straps down and locked in the ankle lock for a submission sequence. Angle even went for a moonsault, but he missed, allowing Corbin to hit the end of days for the win. The crowd was piiiiiiiiissed. But Corbin quickly left the ring, and Angle cut a goodbye promo, asking them to play his music one last time, the crowd chanted you suck, and people cried. They even cut to a sign that said you never sucked, and I teared up.

Grade: B. The match wasn’t good, but with respect to angle, and the emotion of his retirement, I will cut it some slack. Corbin sold a lot, and made Kurt look good. And although I was shocked at the outcome, it was the right call. Corbin gets a huge boost from that. But anyway, thank you Kurt, we will never forget you. You suck will never mean the same thing again thanks to you.

And we moved swiftly into the intercontinental title match, Bobby Lashley against the Demon Finn Balor. Lashley came out with weird, yellow contacts in. But of the two entrances, Balor’s was definitely better. He was on a huge pillar surrounded in smoke, with body paint that resembled a pharaoh, I think. The bell rang, and Balor started off in a much more aggressive manor than he normally does. However, Lashley quickly fought back, hitting huge suplexes and lariats. Lio Rush was super scared the entire time, running away from Balor at any point. Lashley even hit a spear through the ropes, followed by another in the ring for a near fall. Balor even hit a huge powerbomb, followed by the Coup de Gras for the win.

Grade: B+. Short but sweet. I never thought that I would give this match a good grade, but this match made me realize what makes a good, or great match: back and forth. WWE matches are often very one sided, but this had swinging momentum, and that is what made it so good. So these guys can put on a good match, they just aren’t often given the chance to. I really liked this match, and I wish they would do more like it. Good stuff to both of these guys.

They had a bit of a dance break with R-Truth and Carmella. Good times, they are funny.

And in the main event, possibly the most important Wrestlemania main event ever, Becky Lynch, Ronda Rousey and Charlotte Flair fought for the Raw and Smackdown Women’s Championships. Charlotte arrived in the arena via helicopter, with people rolling out the red carpet for her. Rousey had live music for her entrance, smiling at the Joan Jet and the Blackhearts, but turning all business when she stormed down the ramp. Becky didn’t get anything special, but the fan support for her was huge. Rousey wasn’t holding anything back in this match, delivering the stiffest kicks I have ever seen from a man or woman in all of wrestling. Lynch and Flair exchanged very stiff strikes in the middle of the ring, each going for the other’s submission. Flair and Lynch tried to powerbomb Rousey out of the ring, but she latched on a (bad looking) armbar on Flair between the ropes. Becky then nailed a basement dropkick to Rousey, still hanging, sending her tumbling to the floor. Charlotte went for a moonsault early on, only for Lynch to reverse it into a disarmer, only for Rousey to break it up quickly. Rousey attempted a double armbar, but Lynch and Flair worked together hitting three double powerbombs before Rousey fell. At one point, Lynch loced in the disarmer through the ropes, before Flair broke it up. Flair then hit a huge avalanche spanish fly on Lynch for a near fall. Rousey’s leg was absolutely destroyed throughout the match, with Flair even locking in the figure four on the ringpost for a time. Flair almost locked in the figure 8, but Lynch broke it up with a flying senton. Becky then introduced a table, but Rousey flipped it, saying “tables are for bitches.” Charlotte nailed a double spear for a pair of near falls. Flair then set up a table in the corner, attempting to double spear the opponents through it, but they countered with a flip into the table. In the finish, Rousey attempted to hit Lynch with the pipers pit, but Lynch countered into a crucifix cover, for the win. The pin was iffy, but no big deal.

Grade: A-. Non stop action once again. These women went at it as fast as they could, and it was really great. This was not one of those triple threat matches where people were constantly resting on the outside. They were always in the ring, with hard hitting sequences and awesome moves. I thought the finish was a bit anticlimactic, but considering how the show went so far overtime, I am not surprised that this is what they went with. They really did do great in the main event, and I am happy to see Becky with the belts that she so rightfully deserves.

Overall Grade: B

Pros: Cruiserweight Championship; women’s battle royal; raw tag team championship; Styles vs. Orton; smackdown tag team championship; falls count anywhere; WWE Championship; Intercontinental Championship; Women’s Championship

Cons: Men’s battle royal; Universal championship match; Women’s tag team championship; Cena promo (i think); matches were very short

[marypsue]

Imbalance, 4 / ?

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / ?

I'm also on AO3 as MaryPSue!

...

Angus McDonald adjusts his spectacles on his nose, and gives the circle of clear, cracked crystal a cautious tap with the glowy star stuck to the end of his wand.

There’s a short, sharp shower of sparks, a sizzle, and Angus jumps backwards, his eyebrows smoking. He reaches up and cautiously pats out one ember that’s still smouldering in his dark curls.

“Well, that’s - that’s not good, sir,” he says.

“Yeah, I kind of figured that one out,” Magnus says. “Do you know what it is?”

Angus peers at the compact.

"Looks like smoky quartz, sir," he says. "You said you found this in Lucas Miller's lab?"

"Yeah, but it was an emerald when I found it." Magnus watches as Angus' eyebrows shoot up, that spark of interest that means he's found a mystery and won't stop until he's solved it creeping into his curious expression. "Does smoky quartz usually, like, literally smoke? Smoke that's full of creepy whispers?"

Angus takes the compact from Magnus' hand, gingerly, like he's afraid it might bite, and adjusts his spectacles again. "No, that's not a known property of smoky quartz. This is - it's very interesting, sir! Taako said Lucas was transmuting circles of other materials into these gemstone mirrors, but it's been more than a year since you guys destroyed the Grand Relics and reunited the Light of Creation, if it was going to revert you'd think it would have already done it by now -"

"Speaking of Taako," a familiar voice drawls from the doorway.

"Taako!" Magnus shouts, bounding over to scoop his old friend, who’s leaning against the doorway in a carefully casual pose, up into an enormous bear hug. Taako makes a strangled noise as he's hoisted into the air.

"No, put me down! Put me down, you oversized - you...giant gorilla man.”

Taako tolerates the hug for a few moments more, before struggling his way out of Magnus’ grip. He lands on his feet, like a cat, fussing with his multiple enormous scarves indignantly and deliberately not looking at Magnus. 

“So,” he says, holding out one arm, facing away from Magnus, and examining his glittery nail polish. “The student becomes the master, huh? Ango McDango, protégé mine. Mind telling me when you and the Hammer here got so tight?”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir!” Angus chirps. “Would you take a look at this, sir? It’s a kind of magic I’ve never seen before, sir!”

“Yeah, yeah, your ass-kissing is noted,” Taako says, spinning to glare Magnus down. “But that doesn’t change the fact that one of my oldest friends decided that he’d rather ask you about a cool magic thing than me. Taako. The wizard?”

“Yeah, we replaced you with a younger, more adorable model,” Magnus says. He reaches out and steals Angus’ cap off his head, giving Angus’ curls a ruffle. “Thanks, little man.”

“Okay, well, first off, good luck finding anybody more adorable than me,” Taako says, flipping one scarf back over his shoulder. “Second, good luck replacing all this, uh, uh, this raw magical talent, knowledge, and experience.” He darts a hand out, palm up, gesturing towards Angus without looking. “Hand it over, Ango m’boy, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

...

Some therapists have framed Rorschach blots on their walls. Some therapists have soothing watercolours. Delia Shelley has a John Tenniel illustration framed and hanging beside her license to practice and her diploma. It’s in colour, a pink-dress-clad Alice taking tea with the Mad Hatter and March Hare. A plaque in the mat surrounding the illustration says, in discreet, elegant gold calligraphy, “We’re All Mad Here”.

The first time Storm saw it, he thought it was in vaguely poor taste. 

Now that he’d gotten to know Delia and her sense of humour, he can see why she keeps it there, but there’s still something about it that makes him just a little uneasy. He’s sure there are people who’ve had one initial appointment with her and never come back due to that illustration. He was almost one of them. 

It’s just that Delia’s such a good therapist. She’s really good at finding the sore spots, picking his insecurities apart, getting to the root of the issue. Storm’s learned a whole lot about himself since he started coming to see her, and - he wouldn’t exactly say he’s better, but he’s definitely less worse.

And, of course, there’s Delia herself. She can take a little getting used to. Starting with the 80s shoulderpads and enormous hair. Today, her blazer is lime green, with hot pink piping along the lapels, and she’s wearing a lipstick-pink skirt and lightning-bolt earrings with it. Storm hasn’t been able to figure out yet whether she dresses up to try to look bright and fun and ‘hip’ for an audience of students, or if she genuinely just likes to look like an eighties workout video threw up all over a clown. 

“So, how’ve you been since our last visit?” Delia asks, tapping her pen gently against the notepad resting on her knee. Since he’s been coming here, Storm’s seen her make notes in it exactly once. He’s pretty sure it’s a sort of security blanket.

He shrugs one shoulder. “Fine.”

Delia tilts her head to one side, her smile turning knowing. “Does that stand for Fucked Up, Insecure, Neurotic, and -”

“No, I mean...” Storm takes a breath, considering his words. “I’ve been better, but at least I’m stable.” He grips his knees, blows out the breath. “It’s hard to tell lately what’s my brain chemistry and what’s just my news feed.”

Delia nods, and throws in an eye roll. “Wonderful old world we live in, ain’t it.” 

Storm huffs out half a laugh.

“Is that why you asked to see me again so soon?” Delia asks, uncrossing and crossing her legs. The notebook gets set down beside her, within easy reach but out of sight. “Your news feed?”

Storm shakes his head. “No, no, I’m dealing with it. No, there was...something strange happened yesterday, and I just wanted to...” 

He stops. Delia leans towards him a little. “Storm?”

“It’s all right, it’s just a little difficult to think how to -” Storm leans back against the chair’s low back, runs a hand through his hair. “I saw a man die yesterday.”

Delia’s perfectly-arched eyebrows shoot towards her hairline.

“Go on,” she says.

...

Now, for just a second here, we go back to that hill in that park. The wind is up, really tossing those treetops around, and that circle of dead grass is really obvious now. In fact, just looking at it, it seems to be bigger than the last time we saw it. And it's getting bigger still.

The outside edge of the circle creeps forward, inching towards this little purple plastic gem that's lying in the grass. As soon as it hits the gem, there's a flash, like a whole bunch of sparklers going off at once, and then -

...

"So just - just let me get this straight - that was one of those patented Griffin McElroy's Beautiful Ass Monologues, huh? That's what -"

"Now, Justin, in fairness, I think it's pronounced 'beautiful-ass' -"

"- that's what everybody's horny for?"

"All right, Juice, let's hear all the different, original ways you would describe the top of a grassy hill. It's gotta be at least three."

"I'm just saying -"

"No, Justin, now I want to hear it."

"- it's not your best work, Ditto. Not your finest craftsmanship."

"Three exciting, beautiful, original descriptions of the top of a fuckin' hill, Justin. I wanna hear them, Justin. Right now, Justin. Right off the top of your -"

"Okay. Okay, Griffin, you know what?"

"No I don't know, Juice, what?"

"I'll take your fuckin' challenge."

"All right, then let's hear it."

"..."

"..."

"You know, I really thought you boys would do more with 'Griffin McElroy's Beautiful Ass Monologues'."

"Shut up, Dad, I'm trying to be creative."

...

And then, we see the inside of a roller derby arena.

The rink is deafening with the clatter of wheels against wood. It's almost drowning out the yelling, although as people notice what's going on and stop to look, the clatter's dying down. A small crowd's gathering at one end of the rink, all staring up at the ceiling.

And at the girl suspended in midair just below it.

"Just hang on, Jill, we'll get you down!" a much smaller girl almost directly under her shouts, hopping up and down like that will get her all the way up to the ceiling of the arena.

"How!?" the girl suspended in the air yells back down, flailing her arms and legs with no apparent results. "I don't even know how I got up here!"

Another girl crosses her arms over the logo on her jersey. "Have you tried thinking happy thoughts?"

...

"Well, that's weird," Taako says, sitting back and eyeing the compact distrustfully. 

"Yeah. The whole situation's weird," Magnus agrees. "Especially since I'm pretty sure you had the compact last? I don't know how it managed to get into my storage room."

Taako waves a hand dismissively. "No, that's not what I meant. I'm talking about - well, Ango, since you're apparently the go-to wizarding expert now, what'm I talking about?"

Angus adjusts his spectacles again, surveying the compact from several angles, raising his hands to form a square to frame it. Magnus is pretty sure he's just using detect magic, but it sure looks impressive.

"That's very odd, sir!" he says, finally, lowering his hands. "You'd expect to find transmutation magic around an artifact like this, but that's not - it's there, sirs, but it's very old and faint! I don't think this was done with transmutation magic, sirs!"

"Yeah, yeah, you made a basic deduction, whoop dee do," Taako yawns. "Enough about what isn't there. What is there, Angus?"

Angus McDonald frowns. It isn't a frown of confusion, or upset about Taako's teasing. It's a frown that says that something is off its axis and Angus isn't sure he can make it right, and it makes him look, very suddenly, a whole lot older.

"Necrotic energy, sirs," he says.

Taako shoots Magnus a pointed glance. It blunts itself on Magnus.

"Wait, isn't that necromancy stuff?" he says. "What's it got to do with that asshole Lucas - well, okay, when I put it like that..."

"Got it in one, bubbeleh," Taako says. "And that smoke. Weird smoke, necromancy...remind you of anything?"

It's Magnus' turn to frown. Angus looks from Taako to Magnus, obviously trying to interpret the tense silence.

"Is this about Wonderland?" he asks, quietly, and Magnus doesn't miss the way Taako flinches. He's sure he flinches too.

"World's greatest smartass detective," Taako mutters under his breath, reaching out and turning one of the coasters on the table into an oversized chocolate chip cookie, which he immediately takes a large, angry bite out of. The face he makes says, loud and clear, that it doesn't taste anywhere near as good as a chocolate chip cookie baked the conventional way, but that that's not going to stop him from finishing it.

"We should tell your sister. And Barry," Magnus says. "They should know about this."

"Oh, yeah," Taako says, spewing crumbs, and swallows hard. "Can't wait to see their faces when you tell 'em that your, uh, that you found a rock that's a lich."

"There's a lich hiding on the Plane of Thought," Angus breathes, looking at the compact with his eyes alight. "Oh wow, that's very clever! I bet the Raven Queen's emissaries would never think to look there, it's not supposed to have magic! I wonder if they got the idea from you, sirs!" He beams up at Magnus and Taako. Even though he's not the one eating a cookie made out of a cardboard coaster, Magnus still feels a little sick to his stomach.

"Chyup," Taako says, stuffing the last of the cookie into his mouth and dusting off his hands. "Looks like it's time to call in the big guns."

...

We see a forest, thick, dark pine trees rising like columns holding up the distant arch of the sky. There’s a dirt road cutting through the trees, winding around and switching back in on itself, slowly coiling its way up the mountain. And on that road, there’s an old, wood-panelled hatchback sedan with a snowboard and a pair of skis strapped to the roof rack.

We see, through the windshield, two young human men, one with hair cropped close to his scalp and one with hair hanging limply in his eyes, both singing along to the radio. The young man with the short hair drums, badly, on the steering wheel, while his companion rolls the passenger-side window down and pulls out a lighter and a hand-rolled blunt. He clicks the lighter once, twice, but it doesn’t catch.

Squinting through his hair, he gives it one more click.

The fireball lifts the roof off the car, spraying sparks and bits of charred snowboard flying into the trees. Along either side of the ribbon of dirt road, the forest kindles.

...

"Now that's a Beautiful Ass Monologue."

"Well, that's funny. I don't remember there being any asses in it."

"Daaaaad."

"Low-hanging fruit."

"And you call yourself our father!"

...

The goddess turns her attention back to her knitting, gesturing to one of the pews in front of her. Lucretia remains standing, back rigid, staff clutched white-knuckled in both hands until she fears the oak might splinter under her fingers. She’s not here to worship.

Istus glances up, and half-smiles when she sees Lucretia still standing.

“You want to know if it was all worth it,” she says, kindly, and Lucretia interrupts.

“No. Not worth it. We saved the world. We saved every world.” She states it as simple fact, because it is. They did save the world. Her voice only wavers on the last question. “Was it all necessary?”

“Necessary,” Istus repeats thoughtfully, her knitting needles clik-cliking against each other as her hands fly. An intricate pattern of stitches takes shape under her fingers. Lucretia has to wrench her eyes away, force herself to focus on the goddess’ face. It’s a friendly, lovely face, beautiful in a warm, inviting way. Even while looking directly at her, Lucretia can’t seem to make out Istus’ eyes.

“All the suffering, the worlds destroyed, the lives lost, the wars -” She stops herself. But still, the image of Taako’s face over the business end of the Umbra Staff, counting down; the horror in Davenport’s voice as he’d asked her what she’d done - “Was that fate?”

Istus just holds her gaze. Clik clik clik go her needles, a steady rhythm, almost comforting.

Lucretia gives herself a mental shake. 

“Magnus told me about meeting you here. About how you -” She almost says interfered. “Intervened when the Hunger arrived. Was this your plan all along?” she asks, a little more sharply than she’d intended. It’s not that she resents Istus’ attempts - or ability - to put her at ease, so much as she doesn’t trust it. There have been many, many times in Lucretia’s unnaturally long life when it would have been easy for her to let go, to do what seemed natural, to give in.

And if she had, everything would have been lost. 

“Is this how it had to be, to stop the Hunger? All this pain? Was it necessary?”

For a moment, Istus doesn’t speak, turning her focus back to her knitting. The clatter of her needles, the quick movement of her fingers, is almost hypnotic. Lucretia shuts her eyes.

“You each made choices,” Istus says, at last. 

“Did they matter?” Lucretia spits. Istus looks up again, catching her gaze and holding it. Even as she looks directly into those eyes, Lucretia can’t recall what they look like.

“They meant the world,” Istus says, softly.

Lucretia exhales, slow and shaky. Her deathgrip on her staff doesn’t shift, but she leans forward, slightly, letting six feet of heavy oak take some of her weight.

It’s been so long. She’s borne it all herself for such a long time.

“Then I could have chosen better,” she says, under her breath, almost without realising the words have left her thoughts. She’s not certain if it’s a relief or another weight slung around her neck.

There’s a huff of air, and Lucretia looks up to see Istus obviously trying to bite back another laugh. 

“Look, if you ask me, at this point you can just take the win,” Istus says. She holds up her knitting, so that Lucretia can see the subtle shift in the pattern, from tight, tiny cabling to large, loose, soft-looking scallops. “Every decision you made, every step you took, has brought you to -”

It’s probably rude to interrupt a goddess, but Lucretia points with the tip of her staff towards the elaborate scarf Istus is holding up, right at the hard line where the black stops and the scarf turns into a riot of colour.

“Is that supposed to be smoking?”

Istus looks down, just as the scarf erupts into flame.

“Oh, ___________,” Istus says. The word dissolves into static in Lucretia’s ears - not like voidfish static, more like the sound of something that can’t quite be comprehended with mortal ears. She’s still very sure, somehow, that it’s a dirty word. 

It’s not a very large flame, but it is rapidly eating a hole in the scarf, and filling the bright, airy temple with thick, choking, bitter grey smoke. 

Istus rises from her seat with inhuman grace, and then throws the scarf on the floor and stamps on it, hiking up her skirts to keep them from catching on fire as she stomps one foot up and down. It doesn't seem to be having any effect. Lucretia debates with herself for a moment, but the smoke is growing so thick that she can no longer see the ceiling overhead. She points her staff, and as Istus raises her foot for another stamp, casts a bubble of protection around the little flame, cutting off its air.

Finally, the flames die out with a hiss that almost sounds like a human voice, leaving the scarf hanging together by two or three stitches and an enormous hole lined with grey ash in its middle.

Istus raises it to eye level, looking through the hole so that it frames her face, and says, “Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Lucretia presses her lips together, but she can’t keep her shoulders from shaking, just once, with a burst of laughter.

...

We see a drivethrough lineup, packed solid, car horns blaring. None of the cars are moving, though, all of them backed up from the pickup window.

The reason for the bottleneck is instantly obvious when we look through the pickup window and see several people in what we recognise as Taco Bell uniforms, running around the restaurant kitchen chasing a sheep. Which is also wearing a Taco Bell uniform. And a headset.

...

Marial’s newsfeed is suddenly full of stupid National Enquirer stories. In between all the unfortunately, depressingly real bad news, she scrolls past people turning into potted plants, aging or de-aging years in an instant, suddenly emitting a light so bright that it blinds everyone in a five-foot radius. Every once in a while one or two of these will slip past her filters, she knows, but this is...a lot. And when she checks the sources - yeah, that one really looks like it’s from the Washington Post. And that one could easily be mistaken for the New York Times. If these are spoof sites, they're good spoof sites. And if it's some kind of prank or protest about fake news, then it's hilarious.

Sighing, Marial puts down her phone, reaching for the textbook beside her. Just as her hand lands on the cover, a hand reaches out and covers hers. It’s ice cold, and she can see the bones through it. Not like the hand is skinny or has poor circulation. Like someone’s dipped Marial’s hand in a freezer. Like the skin is translucent, nearly completely transparent, each yellow-white bone clearly visible through it. 

Marial looks up.

The dead guy flashes a crooked smile at her.

“Hi,” he says, in a voice that’s half-solid, half-whisper. “Can we talk?”

[mistyeyedpea]

I've been feeling so stuck lately.

I ran a fever today, which honestly isn't unusual for me since I get low grade fevers from time to time. My body likes to freak out on me. Because I dont have a ln actual diagnosis for what I go through I feel like it drives me a bit nuts. I tell doctors what I can remember, but honestly I've lived.my whole life thinking most of the things I felt and experienced were normal and doctors are so uninterested, unmotivated and unwilling it makes the mundane task seem so painful. Its even more painful when you tell them for years you have these symptoms and they only write down what they think is necessary enough to explore. The rest is dismissed as being anxious, paranoid, dramatic... its ironic isn't it? How you go to get help and these very people continue to perpetuate the pain and suffering you go through. I wouldn't go down such spirals if I had answers.

The craziest part is when you have been doing research all your life, and having lived experience with chronic physical and mental conditions... but because I appear fine on the outside, to someone who doesn't know a this about me.... to deny me is absurd. I wouldn't designate a label that isn't meant for me, but this ableism in the medic field... it needs to stop. The stigmas need to stop. Doctors need to understand that its okay to not have all the answers. Whats not okay is harming them further by gaslighting, invalidating peoples lived experiences. Where is the compassion?

We as patients, as people, can be highly aware of our issues where as some arent. I happen to be someone who's highly self aware. I observe everything from sensations to what and how I feel... I monitor my own person. I once saw a post that said "having anxiety is being hyperspace of your own existence" and they really hit the nail on the head there. I feel my anxiety stems from be being highly sensitive to what I feel and my surroundings.. I feel anxiety is just a symptom of other conditions...

It drives me crazy that I am only realizing how many signs were missed. How did people not notice? I had to learn to adapt all my life on my own... immersed in it day by day I learned to survive. It hurts me almost everyday. Im learning to let go of this feeling. This feeling that I was a victim of the system that couldn't understand me, rejected me. It made it harder to understand myself throughout the years. But now I understand..

I know that as the years go by and im alive i learn more, and I know that doctors do too.

Despite all I have been through, and still continue to go though, I push through this painful existence hoping one day, ill actually be seen. And that ill be in the hands of a doctor who won't judge me when I tell them my concerns... cause I have many.

I literally stayed up all night the other night cause I couldn't sleep.. trying to remember to document articles of research I find trying to keep them saved on favorites. I often forget how to find the favorites page so I started a notes with the links.

I started doing this in the event a doctor tries to get smart with me... I truly don't have the patience or bandwidth for it anymore. They dont do it in a nice way. They do it in a condescending way. At least the people ive dealt with..

I am a person who was born female so naturally... this is fucking oppressive as is.

I tried talking to my mom about me being Autistic and having adhd, and how im finally accepting it because for years I had "episodes" which i now know, were fucking meltdowns.

I could go on about it, but I dont want to get off topic.

My mother asked me "wow so you finally got diagnosed?"

The last time I went to an Evaluation the man I met with was a total douche who told me I was a hypochondriac had conversion disorder and my anxiety was what was causing everything... He also went off my previous diagnosis and asked me very broad questions about their symptoms to which I replied yes or no... I met with this man for less than 20 minutes and he literally went off my old diagnosis.

He knew nothing about me other than what we talked about and my previous medical records. He made stigmatizing statements when I told him about my body pains and how its possible fibromyalgia, he said he doesnt diagnose women til their thirties.

When I mentioned that I suspect im autistic he basically laughed in my face and told me im not autistic and if I want to see "the autism room" so I can "see" what "autism looks like"

I didn't contact these people back for a long time after that because it took so long to process.... medical gaslighting is real. And gaslighting in itself is insidious as it makes our imposter syndrome so much worse. We question our own existence and realities which attributes to even more mental and physical anguish... psychologically so damaging and these people have no idea.

I think I may have a case with them.. but anyways...

I learned to live in this mind. In this body. In this life to the best of my knowledge and abilities. I have to remind myself its not my fault im chronically overwhelmed or feeling behind. Im coming to terms to the fact that I am disabled. I hate to limit myself, but I have to acknowledge this in order to accept myself and release the internalized abelism.

I have to accept that I never was and never will be like other people and that's okay.

I also need reminder that being diagnosed doesn't make you (autistic). Being (autistic) makes you (autistic).

I put autistic in parentheses because you can literally change it out and tweak it to fit almost any medical condition and it holds true.

Anyways im signing off. I think I've done enough ranting for the night.

Perhaps I'll rant again and plunge deeper. I try to not give to many details but as a neurodivergent person I can't help but go on tangents at times. I'll forget what I thought if I dont write them down, so letting my brain puke words is the best mental exercise I can give myself.

If I do end up seeing a therapist, it makes it alot easier to sort myself.

I have also been trying to orient my mind with art. I try to think of the art I can make .. but when the time comes, im blank. All these ideas for my mind to run into a wall...

Sometimes I wish I had a therapist as a friend.. or a psychiatrist.

It would be good to have someone invested in you the way a friend would ... signing off

[redhourglass]

Bad at Love

Written for @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid and @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian‘s Divas of Storytelling Challenge. My song was Taylor Swift’s “Back to December,” but I also took inspiration from Halsey’s “Bad at Love,” which is where the title is from, as well as countless other TS songs because I’m a monster.

Summary: Ten months after your breakup, you meet up with your ex, realizing where you went wrong in your last fight. (Non-hunter AU)

Warnings: Angst and fluff throughout, reader has some anxiety, Dean has a daughter from a previous relationship

Words: 2.9k

“Huh.” She doesn’t quite know how she feels about it now, but in almost cynical way, she finds it kind of funny. She’d been mistaking love for so many smaller emotions for so long, and the one time she actually gets it right, it’s well after the relationship is already over.

Yesterday.

Her hands hug her coffee mug, now mostly empty, her paint-chipped nails anxiously tapping against the porcelain cup as she shifts her gaze from the looking out the window, to the door, and back again. Straightening her sweater and smoothing the pleats of her skirt, she takes a deep breath through her nose and exhales slowly through her mouth, counting backwards from ten the way her therapist told her to.

Her therapist also advised against multiple cups of coffee, but here she was, on her third cup of the day. She wouldn’t have been so tempted to accept the refill if she hadn’t been so early, but nerves got the best of her. She hadn’t slept more than a few hours the night before, tossing and turning most of the night.

Ten months is a long time to go without thinking about someone. She’s never been able to do that, but kudos to the people who have.  Is it foolish to linger on something that ended almost a year before? Most definitely, but it’s not like she can just forget about what happened. He was a huge part of her life. To discard all those memories would be losing a part of the person he helped her become.

Pushing up the the sleeve of her sweater past her wrist, she glances down at her watch. Seven minutes past ten.

Is he coming? Had he changed his mind?

To be honest, if he had decided not to come, she won’t blame him. She would’ve been hesitant, too, if if one of her exes had asked to see her again.

“And Dean, the one you dated before this. You loved him, correct?”

She opens her mouth to correct her therapist because obviously she hadn’t loved him or she wouldn’t have left, but the words don’t come. Her mouth just hangs open, and she realizes, with a twist of the winch around her heart, that she’d been wrong about herself all along.

“Huh.” She doesn’t quite know how she feels about it now, but in almost cynical way, she finds it kind of funny. She’d been mistaking love for so many smaller emotions for so long, and the one time she actually gets it right, it’s well after the relationship is already over.

The memory threatens to put a gloom on her otherwise hopeful mood, so she straightens her posture, pushes stray strands of hair back behind her ear before glancing again at the watch on her wrist. Figuring she would at least wait another half-hour, she pulls her book from her purse and opens up to the place where she left off.

She found the fairy-tale much simpler and more forgiving and than the real world. As they say, everyone does love a good happy ending. She just hoped her own story could have a fraction of that same happiness, though perhaps with less dragons to slay.

Four pages later, the bell above the door chimes.

She glances up, having been so immersed in her ink and paper world she’d forgotten there was a much larger universe outside of it. As if by magic, her eyes are drawn to the man who’d just come in, her breath catching in a barely audible gasp in her throat. She sets her book down slowly, not even paying much attention to where she places it.

Her table is closer to the wall at the back of the diner, so it takes his eyes a minute to find her. The green of them nearly stops her heart the instant they do. He crosses the room in a few strides, and she reads a similar apprehension on his face as her own.

To combat some of the winter chill, he’s grown a beard, a burgundy knit beanie pulled down over the tops of his ears, and he’s wearing the same mossy green coat she remembers wearing a few times around the apartment. It had smelled so much like him, almost feeling like a hug whenever he wasn’t home.

“Hey.” His voice is gentle, as rugged as she remembers, and warm like tomato soup as he slides into the booth seat across from her.

“Hey yourself.” So much of him is the same, yet now that he’s up close, she can see many of the finer differences. His eyes are different, not in color, but in intensity — stronger, yet distant, like he’s keeping his emotions behind a concrete wall. He doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping well, either. Maybe thinking about today kept him up late, too.

Her hair has fallen back in front of her face again, bangs too long to be bangs but too short to stay behind her ears. She pushes the hair back out of the way with a single swipe of her hand. “I guess this is kind of awkward, huh?”

“A little,” he says, though his smile is kind.

“Should we start off with the basics?”

He shrugs. “I guess. I’ve never really done this before, met up with an ex, so…”

Her heartbeat thumps loud and fast. “Is it bad that I asked?”

“No, not really,” Dean says. She’s relieved. “It wasn’t really weird or anything, just…strange?”

“That would be a synonym of weird,” she says and can’t help but laugh. It’s not hard to force herself to relax at this point. She’s always been comfortable with Dean, but he was right about this being strange. There’s an urge to let things fall back into old habits, but she knows that she’d quickly fall into the realm of becoming too comfortable if she let things go too far. They aren’t together anymore. She has an inkling that it’s going to be hard to remember that the longer they’re together.

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, ignoring the heavy pounding in her chest. She’d read somewhere that acting confident in an otherwise uncomfortable situation could help alleviate some of her anxiety. Sort of a ‘fake it til you make it’ mentality. Her smiles is twice as cool as the nervous teenager she feels like she is on the inside. “So, how has life been treating you, Dean Winchester?”

“Well…” He purses his lips, searching for the right words. “Life’s been treating me…pretty okay, I guess. The shop’s been keeping me pretty busy since you wrote that article about the benefits of supporting local small businesses, so thanks for that. Again.”

“Of course,” Her smile is polite, if not kind.

“But mostly, it’s just been back and forth between home and work,” Dean says. “Bobby…You remember Bobby right?” Y/n grins, remembering the man fondly. It had taken her two weeks to break through his gruff exterior. She finally broke down and bought him an expensive bottle of whiskey. He’d warmed up to her pretty quickly after that. “Well, he hired a couple more people to help run the place and to keep me from working on the weekends as much as possible. Gives him the chance to relax more, too.” Dean leans in close, resting his elbows on the table. “You know, he’s talked about retiring?”

“Well, he’s worked there, what, thirty years?”

“Close to it, yeah.”

“Then he should retire.”

“That’s what I told him,” Dean says. “But I also bet he’d be so bored from sitting around all day that he’d be back at the shop within a month.” His rumbling laugh sends shivers down her spine. He’s exactly the way she remembers. She’s not sure what she expected, but the familiarity of him hits her like a punch to the gut.

She laughs, too, but it’s too distracted to be genuine. “That’s probably true. Poor guy.”

Dean smile remains on his face as he relaxes, small crow’s feet crinkling warmly around his eyes. “So, how’s life treating you these days, Y/n? Same old chaos or has it mellowed out some?” His arms stretch out to rest casually on the top of his booth. “You’re still working for that online newspaper, right?”

The waitress comes by then, taking Dean’s order — a black coffee and a piece of their best pie.

“Yeah, I’m still working there,” Y/n says as the waitress walks away. “It’s been the same old kind of thing, you know, either running around like a madwoman trying to finish an article or throwing crumpled up pieces of paper at the trashcan because I can’t think of what to write about.”

“That sounds stressful.”

“It is,” she says with a sigh, propping her elbow up on the table so she can rest the side of her cheek on the palm of her hand. “Which is part of why I’ve started looking for a different job. I could use a little quiet right now.”

The waitress come back with Dean’s coffee and the slice of pie, setting both down in front of him. Y/n can’t help but smiles when she sees it’s a slice of apple pie, the kind she made for him on Father’s Day.

She sits up straight in her seat as Dean picks up his fork. “How is she?” She bites her lip, fingers knotting together with genuine concern. If anything hurt as badly as ending her relationship with him, it was knowing she’d inadvertently ended her relationship with his daughter as well.

“She’s…good,” Dean replies slowly. “She started the first grade a few months ago at a new school, so that’s been a little rough.”

“Understandably,” she adds. She’s done her fair share of moving around to know what that’s like.

“But she seems to be making some new friends, so I’m happy.” He takes a bite of the pie. His eyes almost roll into the back of his head, unable to hold back a low moan.

There had been a reason she’d chosen this diner. One of her friends at the paper had reviewed it a few months ago and said this diner’s pie was some of the best in the state.

She laughs lightly at Dean’s dramatics, pleased he’d liked it so much. “That’s good. I’m glad she’s doing okay.”

Dean nods, swallowing. A somber looks crosses his face and he stares down at his plate. “She misses you,” he says, looking up as if to gauge her reaction.

Her heart clenches in her chest. Without much thought, she places her hand over his, brushing her thumb back and forth across his knuckles in a gesture meant for comfort as she says, “I miss her, too.” Dean gives a stiff nod, his jaw locking in discomfort as he struggles to look away from her hand, and she realizes she’d overstepped a boundary. She pulls her hand away and returns it to her lap where it form into a tight fist, so tight her nails dig half-moons into her palm. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why’d I do that?

The rest of their time together is brief and skirted. Though they’re getting along just fine for the most part, she can tell Dean’s holding back, not quite laughing the way he used to or smiling as brightly as she remembers. She doesn’t blame him in the slightest, feeling she’s guilty of the doing the same thing.

Ten Months Ago.

He stands behind her as she cooks, distracting her by trailing kisses down the side of her neck as he wraps his arm around her middle, holding her close to him.  “Marry me,” he whispers as he plants a kiss right below her earlobe.

She’d gotten so caught up in what he was doing that she nearly drops the spatula. “What?”

“Marry me.”

She starts to laugh uneasily. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why is that ridiculous?”

She gives him a dubious look. “Um, because we’ve only been together four months?”

He purses his lips, contemplating it for a second, then shrugs. “So what? I don’t see any problem with that.”

Wriggling out of his grasp, she turns around to face him. “So, I haven’t even met your dad yet.”

As expected, Dean stiffens.

“See? What I’d tell you?”  She turns her back to him, returning to her cooking, completely dismissing him.

“That’s not…” Dean huffs, scowling. Digging into the pack pocket of his jeans, he pulls out his phone.

“What are you doing?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder.

“Calling my dad to see if he wants to have dinner tomorrow night.”

“What? Dean, no!”

“You wanted to meet him,” Dean says, “so I’m letting you meet him. What’s the big deal?” With a frustrated huff, she rips the phone from his hands. “Hey!”

“Dean, I’m not marrying you,” she says stubbornly.

“Why not? Do you not want to?”

“No, I…” The decision is too difficult, too complex for a simple yes or no answer.  She shakes her head helplessly, groaning in frustration as she drops her face into her hands. “I don’t know,” she says, her voice slightly muffled, though not enough to where Dean can’t understand her. “It’s just,” She lifts her head, crossing her arms. “It’s too early for me to think that far into the future. A lot could happen between now and then.”

“Too early to think about our future?” Dean’s eyes narrow. “I have a daughter, Y/n, the one thing I constantly have think about is my future. I need to know that she’s going to be okay, that if something were to happen to me, someone would be here to take care of her. If you’re not willing to think about a future for us, if you can’t even see one, then what’s the point?”

Her eyes widen in shock as the weight of his worlds settle. Moisture stings in her nose, making her eyes glisten.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do, actually. I do. I don't date to fool around, Y/n. I do it because I want to marry someone. I’m ready for marriage. Clearly, you’re not, which means I love you in a completely different way than you love me, if you even love me at all.” It’s a low jab, but the resentment and bitterness has been building up for some time.

Y/n’s bottom lip trembles without a sound. She hasn’t said the words yet, fearing their relationship would just end as badly as her previous relationships if she does, like it was some curse of irony or misfortune. He’s said them a number of times, and he’s always said he was okay with her not saying it back, that actions spoke louder than words, but clearly that was a lie.

Dean turns away from her, facing the kitchen table where the two dozen roses he bought for her last week have wilted in their glass vase.

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. We can pack up your things in the morning after I take MJ to school.”

Y/n instantly pales. “What am I supposed to tell her?”

Dean looks back at her. “I’ll tell her,” he decides, knowing it would best best if she heard it from him.

Y/n nods, sniffling, and quickly wipes her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her sweater. “I don’t want to stay ‘til morning,” she says quietly.

Dean presses his mouth in a thin line. “You want help packing your stuff?”

She shakes her head. “No. I’d rather just do it myself.”

When MJ is dropped off after soccer practice later that evening, there’s one less car in the driveway.

Now.

Drinking when you’re at an emotional low is not something she recommends. She hadn’t realized she’d been keeping her feelings locked up until she’d already downed half a bottle of wine.

She should have guessed though, that seeing Dean again after all this time wasn’t something she would just walk away from unscathed. Wounds she’d thought healed have opened like a floodgate, and before long she’s sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, coasting down the road at about forty-five. She has no destination in mind, just relies on the hum of the road beneath her tires and the autonomy of the drive to calm her down. It starts to rain, a dull pat-pat that soothes her tortured soul like a strings in a symphony.

She takes back roads through unfamiliar neighborhoods, choosing turns at whim, and it’s not until she turns onto the last street that she realizes she’d unknowingly been leading herself to an actual destination. She eases to a stop in front of his house, peering out through the rain-streaked car window at the house that glowed softly in the yellow light of the streetlamp out front. There’s a few lights on inside. Pulling up the sleeves of her jacket, she sees that it’s almost midnight, yet Dean appears to still be awake.

The rain has eased up to a light mist by the time she gets out of her car, her breath condensing in a white smoke as it hits the air.

This is her swallowing her pride, her regret, and the feeling that ten months ago she didn’t understand. This is her taking her future by the hand and running with it. Love was once a fleeting thing to her, a mystery, a curse. Now, it’s as simple as breathing.

At his front door, she takes a moment to gather herself and raises her fist to his door, knocking hard four times. Then she shoves her hands back inside the pockets of her jacket, stands back, and waits, counting to ten as she holds her breath, then exhales.

Let me know if you would like to be tagged in future fics!

Tagging: @tardis-is-mine @andhiseyesweregreen

[matskreider-blog]

5 & 20 for pekka/juuse?

5. “Just breathe.” deficient & determined au. content warnings: description of a panic attack/disassociation spell from the pov of the person going through it.

In the still, warm darkness, Pekka lays curled up on his side. He’s hiding from the lazy winter sunrise, hiding from the warm body on the other side of the bed, hiding from his coaches, his teammates, his fans. Pekka is hiding, and he feels all the more pathetic for it.

His play has been on again off again for far too long, and he finds himself drawn to the same ways of coping that he had before Juuse. Shutting himself off from his teammates, for one. Ignoring social media, for another, even though he hardly posted anything. Mechanically going through training and practice, leaving his mental game behind. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was giving up more starts to Juuse in the coming games, if not being pulled in favor of him.

These thoughts take advantage of the fact that he’s not yet managed to do anything by way of living yet in the day. Even though it’s 7:45am, he wonders why he wasn’t more productive yet today, why he hasn’t at least gotten up and done something with himself. His body still aches from the game last night, but he doesn’t see any sense in thinking that that meant hard work. They’d lost in overtime, a loss he blamed himself for.

He curls up a little tighter, ignoring the way it makes his quad twinge, and tries to keep his breathing quiet. Pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, he tries to think positive, think the way that his therapist has told him is okay to direct towards yourself. And it works, for a little bit. But then he thinks to himself how pathetic it is that he has to use someone else’s words to make himself feel better, and it just drags him down further.

Being under the covers is nice, he thinks to himself, in a vain attempt to reroute his thoughts. It’s dark, and quiet, and eventually it takes the oxygen away so you don’t have to continue being so worthless and a drain on everyone else. Isn’t that great?

He is feeling sort of light headed, but he can’t tell if it’s because of the blankets or something else. Vaguely he feels someone shaking him, but maybe he’s just trembling by himself. It wouldn’t be the first time that that happened. But he should probably stop moving, if he doesn’t want to wake up Juuse. And he doesn’t, that’s the last thing he wants to do.

So he tries to fight against the movement, but that proves hard to do. Maybe someone else is actually shaking him? His chest feels kind of tight, but maybe it’s because he’s balled up so tight. He would try to unclench, but his body feels kind of locked in position. Maybe later, when he has more energy, he’ll spread out, but for now, he’s okay. He’ll make himself be okay.

Then Pekka swears he’s being thrown into a snowbank. Everything is cold and everything is white. Eventually, definition starts to filter in. He’s in his bed, still, but the covers have been pulled off of him. The shaking is still happening, but now he’s pretty much certain that it is him, but the hands on him are trying to help him ground himself.

Faintly, he hears some wheezing. Juuse should probably get that checked out, there’s no way he can play if he’s wheezing like that. But then he hears Juuse’s voice, and he sounds okay, so who could be wheezing?

“That’s it, come back for me. You’re okay, I promise you’re okay. Just breathe, babe, just breathe.” The words are familiar, and he tries to take the advice – but when he does, his lungs feel stiff, and that gets him panicking. Finally, he can move somewhat, and he rolls onto his arms, coughing and gasping as he tries to breathe. Juuse rubs a comforting hand down his back, and somewhere Pekka realizes that the wheezing was him.

It takes a few minutes before Pekka can breathe again, before the floaters go away and he can actually focus on Juuse. He looks troubled, but relieved now that Pekka was more alert than before. “…How long was it?” he asks, softly.

“About an hour,” Juuse answers, his voice just as soft. “You only started moving a little bit in the last five minutes though, and at that point I…I just wanted to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself.”

Pekka nods, and diverts his gaze. “I…um…” He takes a breath, now that he can, and squeezes his fingers into the duvet. “I…was thinking about…my gameplay. And I felt…not good. So I just kind of…got stuck.” He knows that it’s not the most eloquent, but his brain still feels like mush, and he’s trying.

Juuse, the sweetheart that he is, knows how to read between the lines. “I’m sorry that happened, babe. You know you can always wake me up if you’re having bad thoughts, right?” he insists, gently placing his hand on Pekka’s knee. “I promise I won’t yell or be mad.”

Pekka heaves a shaky sigh. “I…I know. Thank you. Um…can I have my collar now?” he asks softly, his voice trembling.

“I’d rather have your neck clear right now. Just for a little bit, until you calm down, okay?” Juuse murmurs. “I’ll collar you later, but I want to make sure you’re okay first. I don’t want you hurting.”

Pekka can feel his chest tightening again, but Juuse puts a hand on the back of his neck, and it helps to settle him.

“Shh, I’m not mad at you, babe. I just want you safe, okay? It would be irresponsible of me to do that right now,” Juuse explains. “But if you want, we can go downstairs and make some breakfast? If doing things with your hands might help?”

The suggestions sit right with Pekka. He can make up for his shit play with doing as Juuse says, and he can make Juuse proud and earn his collar back. He wants to prove himself to be good, so he looks at Juuse and nods. When he gets a smile and a kiss on the cheek in response, he feels infinitely more settled.

20. “You gotta stop doing that.” boss & baby au.

Juuse pretends not to know how much sway he has over the Family. He pretends not to know how much he means to the organization as a whole, and he pretends that he’s too young to know any of it. He shyly hides his English skills, blushing on cue, and keeps his mouth sealed tight against secrets others let slip around him.

He observes, but he doesn’t act.

But he knows how much he means to Pekka. With every dress, every choker, every meal, every palette and brush, he receives materialistic affirmation of Pekka’s devotion. With every moan, every kiss, every bruise, and every sigh, he receives an emotional affirmation that carries just as much weight in his heart as his Daddy’s black card does in his wallet.

He observes, and he acts on those observations.

Sometimes, though, these two desires conflict. He’ll be under Pekka on some Friday morning, sliding his hands down warm skin and opening his mouth to let out small noises of pleasure, when the phone will ring. Not Pekka’s phone for pleasure, nor Juuse’s phone for complete strangers or trusted friends, but Pekka’s work phone. And he’ll sigh, but pull back to check who it is, and Juuse will throw an arm over his eyes and will hope that it’s no one of consequence.

It will be a vain hope, because he will already have a pretty good idea of who is calling based on the little secrets he’d heard here and there. He’ll drum his nails on his stomach, exposed in the morning light, and he’ll listen to Pekka answering with his business voice. It’s awfully close to his bedroom voice, soft yet powerful, and it will inevitably get Juuse going again.

He’ll debate in his mind if this is a call he can afford to interrupt. He’s a smart boy, and he’ll come to a decision. If it’s not, he’ll wait it out, and see if they have more time before Pekka must go. If it is, however, he’ll push himself up to his knees and sidle over to where Pekka is talking on the phone.

He’ll kiss his neck, first, to test the waters. If he’s not pushed away, he’ll continue, down to his shoulder, and from there let his hands rove. Maybe he’ll tease at Pekka’s nipples first or maybe he’ll drag his nails over Pekka’s abs first, but either way, he will do both. Either way, he’ll keep working at his Daddy until he can reasonably slide his hand into Pekka’s boxers and move his fingers in such a way that he knows Pekka will be hanging up soon.

When he does, he’ll pin him to the bed with a low growl, admonishing, “You gotta stop doing that.”

To which Juuse will reply, “When it stops working, I will.”

And then they’ll be too busy to talk about anything of consequence for quite some time, and Juuse will feel a satisfaction he thinks he’ll never get tired of. And, maybe, he’ll offer some advice on the predicament over breakfast, with his Daddy’s marks fresh on his neck, peeking above his pink satin robe. Or, maybe he’ll just sit quietly and eat, crossing his ankles under the table and listening with his mouth full.

After all, he’s good at that.