#Would make me dissociate INSTANTLY on the stand

[shanie]

You know what's fucking brilliant?

[violet-butterflies]

What would have happened if the reader didn't stop the merman from touching them like that? Letting him starting doing sexual things without complaining because they were actually curious of what he could have done? If it's ok for you a male reader? Or gender neutral goes perfectly too!

❥︎ yandere! Merman Spin-off

❥︎ Warnings ! ☞︎︎︎ sexual harassment, smut, hints to overstimulation ( male yandere! oc x gn reader ) Click to see part 1 and part 2 !

For some reason, you couldn't find it in you to move away from his grasp. You can hear him moaning and sighing as he passionately marked your neck. Before you lost all the air in your lungs, you were brought back to the surface. The merman looked at you with lustful crystal blue eyes while yours was filled with surprise as you breathed heavily.

You were about to stand and leave the cave to do your job before the merman snatched your hand and pulled you into the water with him. Startled, your body froze as the merman smiled when he looked at you. He hugged you and began to kiss your neck. Not only that, he began clawing at your clothes as he gave you a passionate kiss.

Seeing that you weren't moving away, he began kissing you as he tried to take your clothes off, whining when he couldn't rip them off on the first try. After a few more tugs through the shirt rips, revealing your chest. He took a moment to admire your bare chest before peppering hisses on your chest. Your hands instantly weaved themselves through the merman's long, silver hair.

You didn't why you didn't move. Maybe it was the heat of the moment. Maybe it was because you couldn't think about what to do at the moment. But one thing was sure.

You were curious about what the merman would do to you if you stayed.

While you were zoned out, the merman quickly dived down to your crotch area and took your pants off, revealing your bare and naked body. He was met face-to-face with your genitals before taking you into his mouth, trying his best to explore all your parts and what makes your hands pull his hair harder in pleasure with.

"O-Oh my god," you can't help but moaned out. You could feel the vibrations of the merman growling with pride against you before he surfaced back up to you.

"Me did well?" He asked you, looking for praise. You barely could answer though as he left you all edged from your release since he stopped right before you came. In your moment of slight dissociation, your eyes landed on the merman's lower half.

He had two penises, both red, angry, and extremely hard.

"What the fuck..." eyes still wide with surprise, making the merman smirk before beginning to kiss your face and ears. As he began to whisper sweet nothings into your ears, you felt him line himself in front of your entrance before thrusting quickly, making you gasp loudly.

The merman began to feverishly thrust into you as he loudly moans into your ears. His hare chest is right on top of yours while his slightly muscular arms kept you as close as possible. One of his dick was inside you while the other was pressed firmly on your bare stomach. Your hands were still lost in his hair while it cascaded and framed the two of you perfectly in the water.

"So good... y/n so pretty... My pretty mate..." he growls into your ears. He kept nipping your ears or your throat while the trusts became even more unorderly. He was going to cum soon and so were you.

You never expected something like this to happen when you first saw the lost and injured merman for the first time. His large cock inside your hole as your fingers were lost in his hair, you let out moans, gasps, and mewls.

After a final deep thrust, warmth fills your stomach as you both released at the same time. Moans echoed within the little cave you were in as you fell limp into his arms. You were ready to just rest and go to sleep.

The merman though, he had other plans in mind.

A/N This is my first time ever writing smut so I'm so so sorry if this is cringe. All words aside this is just a spin-off and what if moment so it is not canon! Anyways, I had fun writing this and I hope you enjoyed and thank you to whoever sent this request in!

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Metamorphose | 2k

my masterlist | ao3 ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: You and Simon deal with the pain of losing a baby. ✦ TW and general warnings: established relationship, angst, fluff, sensitive content (abortion), depression and eating disorder mentions, it's painful but he comforts you

A/N: Hi everyone! Since I'm working hard on some requests I've received and in the next chapter of Shades of Red, I decided to release this kinda old drabble of mine here. I'm not too satisfied with how it ended up but enoughly to post, so enjoy <3

I'd also like to mention that I have a taglist for my longfic Shades of Red but not one for my general writing and drabbles so I'll make a post for it, but till then, if anyone's interested in being tagged in my general posts and drabbles, please let me know <3

The sky is colored in blue, pink and purple.

Mostly blue.

You stare outside of the window while it changes, a golden yellow sun by the morning that rises; it spent too much time burning bright in the also bright blue sky. You counted the hours till it started descending. Now, the sun was nothing more than a little line by the horizon, and the sky was fading into cold colors, fading into the cold night. 

You feel hungry, but it felt wrong to eat knowing you’d be sick of your stomach the second food hits it. You’re not in town anymore, Simon decided it would be better if the two of you took some time out in the country, where it was safe and you’d have time and space to do the things you loved. Running with your dog, swimming in the lake, breathing the fresh air. Truth is, you don’t feel like doing anything. Your legs are too tired, you’re sleepy, you’re tired. You’re very tired. 

You heard him on the phone earlier. His voice was hoarse and low, he argued you wouldn’t want to receive visits. You could tell whoever it was - was insisting, pushing him too hard into allowing them to visit you. He blatantly denied, and you could feel his mood changing in a bit of seconds, his patience running low and the moment he turned off and let out a huge snort; and it had been perhaps two hours since that happened.

You let out a tired sigh, your empty sad eyes stare down at a small sign of movement under the window you were staring at. A little cocoon, seeming to be still inhabited, was hanging from a little line in there. You knew it was supposed to keep hanging till the moment that little caterpillar metamorphosed into a butterfly, and broke the shell, flying out freely. But for some reason you can’t understand - as well as many things in nature, this one cocoon is about to fall.

Your shaky hands reach out for it and before it hit the ground, you carefully pull it and it detaches without a second guess. You take a small look around the room and grab a small empty cup where the water you were supposed to have drunk evaporated, and place the small thing inside of it.

“There you go.” You mutter, the first time you hear your own voice in days, maybe weeks. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. And you’re not supposed to die without being conceived the chance of living, even if only for a day.

You reach for Simon downstairs, minutes later. Looking pale for the lack of food you’ve been putting yourself through, tired for even standing, collateral effects of the strong medication you’re taking for the sake of your life. 

“Baby.” You mutter, and he turns instantly from the alluring stare he was giving the fireplace. Your man’s sitting in a cozy armchair, drinking tea - cold at this point - and dissociating just like yourself. You blame yourself for a second: how can you put him through so much? Isn’t he suffering as much as you, why are you isolating him?

“Yes, my love?” He quickly responds, like he craves for hearing more of you. “Another nightmare?” he asks, standing to come closer to you.

You shook your head. “No… I found this.” you show the cup between your hands; Simon doesn’t seem to get it at first glance. “A butterfly. It’ll come out anytime, the cocoon is moving.” you state.

“Oh.” He raises an eyebrow, and sighs a little. “What a cute thing… Should we put it in the garden?” He asks, so much calm in his voice you feel yourself a little lighter. 

“I want to see it.” You state. “The butterfly, I don’t know what type it will be, I’m curious.” 

Simon looks at you like love would, if love was a person. He’s as tired as you, you can tell. Maybe his legs work a bit more than yours and his hands have the capacity of doing the hard work still, but his mind is as empty as yours.

“Of course.” He nods, and reaches for his own coat, placing it around your shoulders. You feel warm and cozy to the smell of him. “We can watch, come on.” he suggests, and grabs onto your hand. 

His squeeze is light and calm, and your body follows him instinctively, not thinking about anything but the comfort you crave right now.

For the past few days, the only thing you could think of was the void in your belly. The void you haven’t felt in months; when you told him you were pregnant, Simon stared at you in complete despair and horror for at least ten excruciating silent minutes. You weren’t used to the idea as well, you’d have to interrupt your current work, you’d have to dedicate yourself to learn the slightest about being a mother.

It is a lie that every woman is born knowing how to hold a baby. When the two of you would visit some of your friends and their children, you’d try to picture yourself as holding your own baby instead of holding theirs. You couldn’t. They’d tell you that oh, god, don’t hold him like this, while laughing. But for you that was a sinful despairing moment.

Simon knew better than you, as a matter of fact. He held babies correctly, unintentionally - but very correctly. 

You didn’t know if you were supposed to feel envious of his natural ability or proud of having this man as a daddy to your baby. 

You learnt to love the little thing growing in your belly. He did, too. He would often bring gifts to you - keeping track with your cravings, and also buying things for the baby. Baby’s little room would be full soon enough. This little creature who wasn’t even born yet was everywhere around your house. The worries about conciliating Simon’s work with your pregnancy were starting to catch the two of you off guard, and soon as he asked for a license to take care of his pregnant wife, that day. That night. So much pain, so much blood. He wasn’t a small lifeless fetus anymore, it was a whole baby. It was a girl. She had a name. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. 

“Your parents want to visit.” He mutters, the two of you sitting in the swinging chairs by the garden, surrounded by dozens of different kinds of flowers. The weather is fairly cold, but you don’t feel it with his coat around yourself. “Told them you wouldn’t want to.

“I don’t.” You agree. “Tell them I need time.”

“I did.” He fixes the coat you have around yourself, and glares into you as the sky fades into deeper tones of dark blue. “I was a little less polite than that, but I did.”

“If you weren’t, they wouldn’t listen.” You argue, looking at him now, too. Your eyes fall deep into the void of his own. 

For the first time in those two painful weeks, you can feel his pain flowing through his damaged soul. Like yours. 

“I know. Terribly stubborn blood you have, dear.” he mutters, moving your hair off your face. “Did you manage to eat something today?”

“No. I’m sorry.” You mutter, your voice failing for the first time.

“Don’t do this to me.” His voice comes out pained like yours. He closes his eyes, and his jaw clenches in sadness when he sees the tears start gleaming through your eyes. “Don’t apologize. Don’t cry…” he asks in an almost begging voice.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, love, this is all my fault, it’s-” you catch your breath in your throat and suddenly, you’re falling apart. Days of nothing, weeks of not feeling anything but pain in your chest, despair, panic, and now you’re falling apart in front of him. Your tears stream down your face like overflowing rivers. “It’s my fault.” You say, grabbing handfuls of your hair and tugging your face on your knees. 

Simon feels his own eyes get drenched as he can’t hold his own rivers by seeing you like this. He kneels down to the ground in front of you, pulling your hands from your hair, carefully stopping you from hurting yourself; feels excruciating to him to be able to do nothing.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” He mutters, and you feel your body moving up. He holds you like you’re lightweight and takes his seat where you were sat at, now, holding you like a baby against his lap. You tuck your face on his chest now, the tears wetting his shirt, your painful voice coming out in low groans of pain, a painful cry of a mother who lost her children. The sad dead eyes of a father who watched this happening and couldn’t do nothing about it. The grief of parents, who didn’t have the chance of raising their children.

“Why? It hurts so much, so much.” You say beneath your cry, your eyes drenched, your face red from all of the crying. His hand is caressing the back of your head as he silently cries.

“I know. I know it hurts.” his voice is almost a blow of the wind, a whisper. “I can’t possibly know how it feels for your, my darling, but it feels bloody excruciating to me, everyday. I miss her all of the time.” He admits, his voice like the one of a kid who just lost its parents. “I miss talking to her, feeling her kick in. I miss her.” 

For the past few days, the two of you seemed to be speaking in foreign languages.

Couldn’t understand each other. Couldn’t comprehend. He was in pain, so were you. None of you could see each other, understand each other. The two of you needed space. The fights, the screaming, his complaints about your refusal to get help and your anger for not feeling understood.

Right now, you feel understood.

Who could understand a grieving mother more, than the kid’s grieving father?

You miss moments that didn’t exist. That didn’t even happen.

You shouldn’t have died without even getting the chance of living. Even if for a day.

“I’d give anything to have a day with her. A fucking day, just one.” You mutter in admission, as you hug in his arms and feel his warmth start to make you calmer by the second. Simon closes his eyes in acknowledgement.

“Me too, darling. And I don’t know what can we possibly do so this hurts any less, but I’m pretty sure we can make it easier if we’re together in this.” He affirms, his hand reaching for your face and washing away your tears. You look at his eyes for the very first time in weeks now. “We face it together.” 

The sky is painted in dark blue now as night approaches and the cold finally starts rising completely. You feel it hitting your skin, as Simon has you in his arms and you hum a low lullaby to the air. He runs his hand across your belly like he somehow tries to heal you from the void you’ve been feeling.

If she feels empty, then I’ll fill her with my own love.

You close your eyes and even though in this terribly uncomfortable position, you feel warm, and you feel cared. You rest. You fall asleep in a matter of seconds

None of you had awakened in time to see the cocoon hatch and the butterfly fly out. But for the past months, for the past years - when you were facing the task of emptying your baby’s room along with Simon, or when you were working - and even in other times, when you’d catch yourself thinking about her, you’d see a blue butterfly flying around you. 

Simon was too skeptical to believe, but even so, he’d always catch every butterfly he’d see, and bring it to you. “Look, who’s coming to visit!”

[notafunkiller]

wildflower

Summary: After losing Alexei, Yelena is consumed by grief, but Bucky’s unwavering support becomes her refuge, igniting an unexpected connection between them.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Yelena Belova

Warnings: sadness/grief, nudïty (a bit), language, a tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 3.3K

Bucky Barnes masterlist

Bucky x Yelena masterlist

A/N: I’ve had this in my drafts for about a year and was trying to decide whether to add more to it. The story is set after Thunderbolts, and I wrote this before any details about the film were released, so the plot may not align with the actual movie. And I want to add that I don’t speak Russian, so if the translation is incorrect, please let me know so I can fix it. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy it!

And before you start coming at me "Yelena is aro", she is NOT officially aro. It's NOT canon. Research better!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

She’s numb... even with Bucky holding her, it feels like she’s not in her body.

“She’s dissociating, Barnes, you can’t-”

“I am fucking aware, Walker. Do not touch her!” Bucky’s voice against her cheek is like that summer breeze she felt for the first time when she went to Barcelona. She managed to free ten widows there.

“I can help her.”

“Go to the jet.”

“Are you sure?” Another voice. A woman’s voice... But Yelena is too tired to even make the difference, not that it would matter. Nothing matters.

She closes her eyes when Bucky’s hold on her waist tightens, leaning in more against his chest before she starts to fall, and fall, and fall to her knees until she’s touching the ground.

She hears footsteps distancing, but the ringing in her ears is much louder.

“It’s okay, Yelena, let it go. I’ve got you,” Bucky murmurs, his words a gentle plea. “You are not alone.”

You are not alone.

You are not alone.

You are not alone.

But how... how can’t he see it? She is utterly alone. She has no one.

In that solitary moment, Yelena’s body quivers under the weight of her loss. Her breath hitches with each sob, and Bucky feels his own heart break in half for her.

It’s been deadly silent since the team left, leaving only her cries and Bucky’s voice softly repeating comforting phrases in Russian from time to time to echo through the air.

*

He remains close to her even in the jet, making sure he’s not invading her personal space more than he should, but she clearly wants him there. Only when he feels her calm enough, he gently stands up, offering her a reassuring look before making his way to the front of the jet.

“How’s it looking up here?” Bucky’s low voice carries a tone of subdued concern, unsure if their location is truly undisclosed, all while keeping a watchful eye on Yelena.

The pilot nods in response. “All good.”

John, sensing Yelena’s distress, places his hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright. We’re here for you, you can talk to me.”

Caught off guard, Yelena flinches, instinctively recoiling from the unexpected touch.

The sharp cry she lets out shocks John, who drops his hand, and Yelena turns her head, her chest heaving, as her eyes seek her source of comfort.

“Bucky...”

Her voice echoes through the jet, and Bucky returns to her side instantly, looking at John with a mix of concern and anger. He told him not to get close to her. He crossed a line that was set up for a reason.

Sighing, he focuses on Yelena instead. “It’s okay. YA zdes’. I’m not going anywhere.” I’m here.

As John leaves them alone, she wraps her arms around Bucky’s neck and pulls him closer into a tight hug. He knows she wouldn’t display this level of affection or vulnerability in any other context, so she must really need it. He rests his hands on her back, rubbing circles over her thick vest even though he knows she can’t actually feel it, It’s something so familiar, yet even more heartbreaking about her pain.

They stay like this for the rest of the ride, and when they finally reach their destination, Bucky looks at her, waiting for her to let go, but it doesn’t seem like she has any energy left to even walk.

“We’re here,” he whispers softly, and she whines. “I’m gonna carry you, Yelena, alright?”

A small nod against his chest is the only answer he gets, so he stands up, his arms forming a shield around her as he carries her out.

*

There are many things she’d never anticipated before this mission: from Bob who almost killed all of them, to Alexei sacrificing himself to save her, creating a void within her that felt insurmountable.

And then there’s Bucky: with his kindness, and unwavering loyalty. His dedication in keeping her safe, even if it meant lying to the government and his friend, the new Captain America, shocked her so much. She’s never experienced this kind of... compassion. She’s never felt so safe, not even with Tasha. It’s scary, especially because he doesn’t want anything in return.

While Bucky’s preparing dinner for them, Yelena lets herself close her eyes in the bathtub, after checking the door twice, making sure it’s still open. It became more than a habit: asking Bucky to let the door open even when he takes a shower or he pees. She just can’t bear the idea of being without him even for a second. There is something wrong with her… She’s more than vulnerable, she is clingy. And as much as she hates it, she needs him. She needs this like she’s never needed anything in her life.

She tries to think about the beach, the taste of her favorite cupcakes, and then the smell of Bucky’s perfume. But it’s pointless.

As she lays in the bathtub, her mind immediately takes her back to Bob hurting them… and Bucky, and then Alexei’s last smile as he has the audacity to say her line. This is a cool way to die.

She would have been amused by him knowing the word cool if he literally didn’t die for her.

And just like that, she feels she can’t breathe.

“Yelena, are you alright?”

She can barely hear Bucky from underwater, but she can sense him kneeling right in front of the tub before reaching to her. He clasps her under the arms and lifts her enough so she could rise above the water and breathe.

Yelena blinks repeatedly, trying to clear the water from her eyes, and Bucky strokes her damp hair gently as one of his arms remains securely around her to make sure she’s not gonna fall again.

Feeling the weight of her weakened body, Yelena feels ashamed.

“I’m... I’m sorry.” Her voice is trembling.

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay.” He presses his lips against her forehead, and Yelena’s breath begins to regulate.

“I got you all wet,” she groans embarrassed. “I don’t know why I’m so weak.” She hides her face into his shoulder. “I-I’m supposed to be strong, to know how to deal with this shit differently. Why is this drowning me?”

“You’re not weak for needing something.” He pauses, letting his words sink in before continuing, “I know it comes against everything we were taught, everything we wrapped our personalities around. But we are not robots. And what you’re dealing with is more than most people ever will. More than I ever will because my parents died before I went to the army. So it’s okay to feel the weight of that, and you’re not alone in this. You’ll make it out, Yelena. I swear on my life.”

As Bucky helps her, she notices something unexpected—his focus remains solely on her face, not even once lowering, even as he grabs the towel from the top of the washing machine. She’s taken aback while he just gently guides the towel across her shoulders.

It’s not something she’s used to; the absence of glance feels strange, almost wrong.

“Arms up, please.”

She does what he says like an obedient child, and she realizes that in this unfamiliarity, there’s an unexpected wave of relief. She knows she can trust Bucky completely… she can count on him. It’s so scary and it happened so quickly that she can’t wrap her head around the idea properly. Is this real? 

“I-I can continue,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

“You sure?”

“Y-yeah. You were making dinner, and I am starving.”

Bucky’s expression immediately softens. “Absolutely. Dinner’s almost ready, I’ll make sure you’re fed.”

She nods and reaches for his Henley —now hers— as she watches him leave.

*

He made pasta. A lot, a lot of pasta, but she isn’t complaining. It’s her favorite dish, and it looks so tasty. She knows he has quite an appetite. She watched him eat a couple of times, and he always shared, but in this context? So different.

She snorts. “You planning to feed an army?” she teases, pointing to his plate.

“We are better than an army, Yelena.”

“So true. Others would just slow us down.” She smirks playfully. “Not sure if the world is ready for us, though. We might just need to turn it upside down.”

“Yeah, turning things upside down... been there before,” he murmurs, a trace of nostalgia in his tone. “And I had my world turned upside down more times than I can count.”

Yelena’s tone softens, realizing exactly what Bucky means by that, and it breaks her heart. For him.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about some of your turns,” she sighs, looking at him. “The world doesn’t always play fair, does it?”

For neither of them. They can’t gain something without needing to give up on something else. They cannot get freedom without losing someone. They always pay a price, even for partial happiness. It’s unfair they cannot be like others. They cannot live their life without worrying about what will happen next.

Bucky’s smiles, and she is happy she can’t read pity in his eyes, just genuine understanding.

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers, trying not to think much about the past. “But surviving it, finding the way through... that’s what matters as theoretical as it might sound.” He lets the fork drop on his plate before reaching to slightly touch the back of her hand with his fingers. He’s not going to cross the limit. Her personal space is hers. But Yelena surprises him when he opens her hand enough so he can hold it.

“It’s always getting shittier for people with shitty lives, and never getting better. We do not get nice things. And we’re so used to the bad that we find a way to just survive. But this time, I felt like I couldn’t breathe for once. I almost died more times than I can count. I killed people, got beaten up, starved, but losing my sister without even being able to say goodbye, then...”

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t need to talk about it.”

“No, it’s just... I am not used to feeling this. It’s such a weak and weird thing! Same as talking like this,” she lets go of his hand as she speaks to wave it between them. “Heart to heart. It’s just so fucking pathetic, and I tried not to be pathetic my whole life.”

“Feeling things doesn’t make you weak, Yelena,” he responds gently. “It makes you human.”

Bucky looks at her for a couple of seconds, knowing exactly what she’s feeling. Because he did it, too. For years. And he won’t let her be eaten alive by any of it. Never. “Opening up, showing vulnerability, it takes strength, which those shitheads don’t have. They traded everything: from values to their own families to get power. And this is the thing, we did not, and we still got the real power. They didn’t. We won, Yelena. And we win every day we breathe, and feel, and let ourselves be human.”

“James, I’m pathetic” she groans, her voice carrying a mixture of exasperation and distress as she stands up. “I appreciate everything you’ve done and you do for me, but stop lying.”

Bucky shakes his head in confusion. “I’m not lying, Yelena. You-”

“If you don’t find me pathetic, then how come you didn’t even react when I was practically naked in front of you? My tits were pressed-” Her cheeks flush as she covers her face in embarrassment, realizing she’s almost screaming at this point as she got so worked up over it. “I cannot even make a man be attracted to me anymore.”

Oh…

“It’s not- you’re not pathetic” He pauses, trying to choose his words carefully. “I wasn’t looking because it was disrespectful. You were in a vulnerable position.”

Ashamed, she sighs. “Sorry, I guess I’m not used to people caring without an ulterior motive.” She glances away as he stands up. “I appreciate it, James. You’re a good man. I just...”

“I understand. You need to give yourself more time.”

Yelena nods, playing with the edge of her T-shirt. “So you’re not gay or taken, right?”

She almost regrets asking it, but when Bucky’s lips pull into a smile, she relaxes, crossing her arms as she waits for his answer.

“No, Yelena, I am not gay, and I am not seeing anyone.” And as if he’s anticipating her next question, he continues. “And yes, I noticed you were naked. You were taking a bath after all.”

Yelena doesn’t know which part satisfies her more: the fact he’s single or that he can actually be funny when he wants.

“Am I your type?” She asks quickly, uncrossing his arms. His eyes immediately follow her breasts as she does, so she can’t hide her triumphant smile

“Let’s just say you’re a category all your own.”

“Oh, a category all my own?” she repeats as if she’s never heard any of those words before. She’s suddenly nervous. “Does that mean am I just... too complicated for your liking?”

He opens and closes his mouth for a second, as if he doesn’t know what to say.

“Complicated? Never said that.” His tone is as casual as possible, with only a hint of mischief. He feels rusty. For the first time he really wanted to playfully flirt. “You’re out of my league, Yelena, and you know it.”

Yelena is caught off guard completely, sensing some kind of self-doubt in his words, but he cannot really believe that, can he? He’s him... he’s incredible. He must know that, right?

“Out of your league?” she responds, keeping her voice flat while she crosses her arms again. “I don’t buy that for a second, James. Come on, I am a big girl! I can take it.”

“Can you?” He asks before he can stop himself and he groans immediately in embarrassment. Yelena, instead, not surprisingly at all, bursts out into laughter.

“Quite a dirty mind for an American.”

Bucky snorts, bringing his hand to his chest dramatically. “I am hurt.”

“You should be,” Yelena replies while slowly making her way to him. She just wants to touch him... touch his face just once. She’s been dying to do it halfway through their mission, if she thinks about it, when they stayed up all night watching over everyone. He was watching over her, too.

“Khorosho, chto ya tozhe govoryu po-russki.” Good thing I speak Russian too.

Yelena smirks, stopping very close to him, invading his personal space, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

He’s so tall and huge. He could simply lift her without any effort, and she wants it so badly. She has to shake her head off to stop picturing her legs wrapped around his naked ass as he pounds her against the wall.

“Și română,” she says casually, watching his eyes go big. She has to bite her lip not to laugh. And Romanian.

“Ești plină de surprize.” You’re full of surprises.

“I lived in Ukraine, after all, James. Neighbors.”

Not even her teasing patronizing tone could make him stop smiling.

Tired of waiting for him to do something, she uses this silence as an opportunity to make a move herself.

She reaches for the hem of her shirt, effortlessly lifting it over her head and throwing it on the floor, at their feet. Bucky freezes, caught off guard once again by her. He knows he should be respectful and look away, but he cannot help it this time. His eyes drop straight to her hard nipples.

“Yelena...” The soft way he says her name makes Yelena close her eyes for a second.

“You can touch, you know?” She giggles, grabbing his right hand just to place it on the valley between her breasts.

The sudden contact sends a jolt through Bucky, his breath hitching as surprise. Her heart is racing just like his. Despite his instinct to continue to touch her, he quickly withdraws his hand as if her skin burned him.

Yelena’s cheeks get red, her nervousness evident in the slight tremor of her fingers as she grabs her own cheeks.

“So it’s a rejection after all.”

She leans down, trying to hide how hurt she is while she gets her T-shirt back.

How stupid is she? How could she do this? She embarrassed herself.

“Yelena!” Bucky jumps, stopping her from getting dressed by snatching his Henley from her hands and letting it fall on the floor again before he cups her face.

Her face is a little wet and her eyes are getting a bit puffy.

“Do. Not. Don’t give me your pity!” He notices her accent is thicker when she speaks faster, and he finds it absolutely adorable.

“I’m not pitying you and I’m definitely not rejecting you.”

“James-”

“Yelena,” he whispers and brushes a tear off from her cheek. He never wants to see her cry, it’s devastating. Because she does it in a silent way, and he is well aware how that hurts even more. “I like you, and I want you. Trust me, if you lower your hand you could feel it yourself.”

And as if this was an invitation, she shamelessly brings her hand between their bodies, to his sweatpants and gently feels around.

He gasps in surprise.

“You are hard!” She remarks excitedly, and Bucky laughs. “So tell me something,” she continues to touch him a bit, making him moan. “If you’re this hard, why don’t you want me to take care of it? Why don’t you want me now?”

Bucky moves his hands from her face up so he can stroke her hair, sensing the vulnerability in her tone immediately.

“Yelena, you’ve been through a lot lately. You might now even want me after you feel better,” he says jokingly, but Yelena knows he actually thinks that. “I want you more than you can imagine, but it’s about more than that.”

As his fingers run through her hair, he feels the urge to protect her, shield her from further hurt.

She lets her hand fall.

“I am the person you trust, so I am not sure...” He pauses, trying to find better words. “I am not sure if you got confused because of that.”

Confused?

“Bucky!” She grabs his chin instinctively, and she almost shivers. It feels so good to be able to do this. “I’ve been attracted to you since we met. And I grew up hearing stories about you...”

“Yelena-”

“Bucky, I need you,” she interrupts him quickly, her voice cracking. She’s showing all of her cards. “I never needed or wanted something or someone like I want this.”

Bucky smiles, wrapping his arms around her waist before enveloping her in a tight hug. He has to surpass a groan when he feels her nipples against his chest while Yelena has no shame as she grinds a little against his erection.

“I might not be able to offer everything you want right now because you deserve to heal before diving into anything more with me. But after that…”

Despite the crazy urge she feels to finally fuck him, she understands the importance of his words, how hard he tries to maintains the balance between their attraction and her well-being. He’s just perfect.  No one can have him but her now.

[pythoria]

In light of the new astarion voice lines in reaction to mizora, I think we finally need to put to rest the whole monogamous vs polyam astarion discourse. Here's the thing. Polyamory is never explicitly discussed or negotiated at any point during the astarion romance. You get individual instances of astarion being okay with various things, like a one night stand with the drows or halsin. It's unclear in the coversation about halsin if he's agreeing to a one night stand or a three-way relationship deal, he just gives you a general go ahead to do whatever you want with halsin because he trusts you. But then halsin doesn't stick around at the end of the game, and by the time he leaves he's only ever been with astarion in the context of the drow orgy (which is optional), and only sexually. Halsin is only interested romantically in the player char from what we're shown. Everyone is free to headcanon otherwise or write whatever fics they want, but as long as we're arguing about canon we have to be very specific. Nothing about any of the conversations with astarion suggest polyamory. They might have suggested a sort of open relationship situation before, but now with mizora, we have proof that there was no negotiation or blanket consent given off screen for having sex with other people, and in fact, it hurts astarion deeply to see his partner engage in sex with someone else.

Now, you can argue it's because he didn't consent to it beforehand, fair enough. Let's walk through what that conversation could've looked like, shall we? If you'd have asked him if you can sleep with mizora, he could've either said yes or no, it's pretty straightforward. From how upset he is, and the fact that he doesn't bring up you not getting his approval beforehand, we can infer his answer would've been "no" (because if he would've said yes anyway, you would get the type of reaction you get with ascended astarion, a "next time invite me" type response). So then, why would astarion say no to mizora specifically, if asked? After all, he's presumably okay with meaningless sex, even when he's not involved, because he lets you sleep with one of the drows all by yourself. And presumably he's also okay with it when feelings are involved, if he's truly okay with the halsin arrangement. So what part of sleeping with mizora is different? Why would he suddenly disagree with it if he was previously okay with similar arrangements?

Here's the thing. Astarion says yes to things out of pressure. Obviously he tells you so himself in act 2, "i didn't know how to say no", and that's corroborated by his dead expression during the drow 4/5some. He says yes to things, hates them, and then depending on how violated he feels afterwards, he decides whether or not it's a forgivable transgression on the part of his partner. He HAS to do it after the fact, because prior to it, he doesn't know how he will feel, he doesn't know if something specific is going to be the thing that tips him over. When he says "i didn't know how to say no" in act 2, it's not just that he instantly knew he didn't want to have sex with tav and went along anyway, it's also that he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, and maybe mistakenly believed he could put up with it, until he actually did it. With the drows, the only difference is that he does put up with it, by dissociating. For astarion, something is either too much, or something he can tune out and deal with. He never expresses any "mild" discomfort that you can talk to him about, except for when he's anxious you want to have sex with halsin because he doesn't put out. And even then, there's nothing you can say that will make him disapprove of the halsin thing, short of completely breaking up with him. He voices an insecurity, sure, but even when told that insecurity is legitimate, he still agrees to the halsin situation.

This is why I need everyone to understand, there is no polyam negotiation with astarion, he blanket accepts everything until he snaps, because that's what trauma victims do. I'm not saying this out of a desire to prove astarion is monogamous, either. If the game showed healthy communication about this I wouldn't be here arguing about any of this. Polyamory is valid and can be done in a healthy way, but what you have in the game is not a representation of polyamory, it's a representation of a trauma victim not knowing his own limits and chugging full speed ahead until he snaps. The mizora exchange just cements that further. The roll you have to pass to get him to stay with you isn't "let's discuss boundaries, i didn't know this wasn't allowed", it's "this didn't mean anything". If this man was already okay with meaningless sex on the side, why would you need to convince him of it? All you're doing is manipulating him, and the result of that manipulation isn't even "okay, you can have meaningless sex from now on as long as we talk beforehand", instead, he says he forgives you. There's no implication that this could happen again, if only you have his consent, he just forgives you for this one transgression and agrees to move on. And let me be perfectly clear, I've shipped polyam ships before, I don't have an inherent bias against it. But we all, collectively as a fandom, need to learn to read the room. The signs of discomfort are all there, it doesn't help anyone if we put on horse blinders and ignore them. My only desire is to see astarion interpreted faithfully, not to start or contribute to a war people seem to be having about the validity of polyamory in general or in real life.

So, in conclusion, we need to separate headcanons from canon. Canon is, at best, unclear on what Astarion is comfortable with. It helps no one to act like this is a clear cut issue on either side, but imo it's more harmful to potentially force him into situations he's uncomfortable with than to just let him lead, since he doesn't propose any of these arrangements himself, and never does them for his benefit, only his partner's.

And one last thing. This is not to say "don't do these things because they're bad". They're in the game so you can do them and roleplay however you want. However, we need to be realistic about the kind of characters we're playing. If your tav pressures astarion into these various situations, that's not a good-aligned tav, and that's okay, as long as you're not pretending otherwise. I love an evil durge playthrough as much as the next person, but none of it would be cathartic or fun if the whole time I was under the impression that murder is actually fine and good.

[waffle-gal]

"Solo Adventure" a Showtime fanfic

The routine was starting to grow more and more familiar to Pomni, despite the wackiness and precariousness of Caine’s many adventures. 

First thing every morning, everyone had to take their places for the theme song. The same freaking song over and over again, which was now constantly in loop and getting rather old to the new jester. She couldn’t imagine how the rest of the group, who’ve been here longer, felt about it.

Next, Caine would announce the adventure for the day, typically leaving after explaining it. Then cue the adventure always going wrong or deadly in some way. She looked forward to the days where there was no adventure planned. Where she could just stay in her room all day– or more likely, try to find the Exit.

Pomni stood absentmindedly in dissociation as the chaotic ringmaster once again explained the adventure for today. At this point she almost never paid attention fully, opting to follow the group and ask questions later. 

It was another trip to the carnival to “test” the rides yet again… this time with Bubble’s supervision. Pomni felt a shiver crawl down her spine as she recalled the last time they went “testing”. And with Bubble this time around, who knows what would happen.

“Have fun! And good luck my Superstars!” With a snap of his gloved hand, everyone in the group was warped to the setting for the adventure.

The jester had already closed her eyes expectedly, waiting for herself to spawn somewhere else. Pomni blinked in confusion as she found herself still inside the circus.

Caine hovered in front of her, in turn startling the poor woman. “Pomni! I noticed your discomfort with today’s adventure. What seems to be the trouble my dear?”

“O-Oh! … It’s just that… I don’t really… Want to do that…  adventure again… N-not that I don’t want to do any of your adventures…” Pomni braced for any ridicule from him.

But the exact opposite happened.

“Not to worry, my Star Attraction! I have something else planned just for you!”

Pomni blinked in surprise. “Wait– Y-You’re not mad?”

“Why of course not! My job as ringmaster is to make sure that allllll of my performers are well taken care of.” 

Pomni internally felt that was a bit ironic. Given… the Cellar.

“In fact, let's make this a solo adventure! Just the two of us!” Caine continued.

“The two of us?”

He grabbed her arm. “Off we go!” Another snap the two were teleported instantly out of the circus.

Pomni was still not used to her body being affected by digital teleportation. Her pupils had turned into swirls of panic and anxiety. Once she finally regained herself, she almost let out a surprised gasp.

They were standing in front of the Digital Lake, where pixelated water flowed and crashed gently on the grass textures. On the other side of the lake was a big swirly slide which she had yet to know what that was about. Around them were tall, perfectly shaped pine trees. But that wasn’t what surprised her.

Something had been set up for her. A checkerboard blanket, some cartoon shaped pillows (probably stolen from Kinger’s fortress), along with digital food and drinks laid out on plates. 

“Today’s adventure for you is to…. Relax!”

Pomni stared at him in slight confusion.

“... You know, like take a load off? Unwind? Is that how humans say it?” Caine questioned mainly himself.

He then extended his hand to her, “Will you join me, Pomni?”

She zoned off for a moment. She couldn’t exactly say no to the offer, since he had just  given her a break from the rest of the group today.

… And Bubble’s antics. 

Pomni hesitantly took hold of his hand.

It felt relieving to not do anything today. But on the other hand, this was strange coming from him. The two of them? Alone together? This wasn’t exactly a quote-on-quote “solo” adventure. What was he really up to? 

As Caine guided her towards the blanket, she could only stare at the digital feast around them. It was more than the “feast” she had after her first day in the circus. Eating didn’t really matter in this digital plane, as Kinger explained. It was more having the sensation of eating but never with the flavors or nutritional benefits.

But this… This looked different. Everything looked more realistic than polygonal and pixelated. From the turkey legs to the sandwiches– heck, even the drinks looked cold! 

“You did all of this… for me?”

Caine floated down as if he was placing himself in a cross legged position next to her. “Do you like it, my dear?”

A floating glass of apple juice was placed in her hands. “I really appreciate the effort Caine, really I do. I just wish I could actually enjoy the food…” 

“Fixed that!” Caine replied with a ‘smile’ in his floating teeth, then took a sip of his own apple juice glass.

Pomni blinked a few times, hesitantly taking a sip from her glass. 

Almost instantly, a rush of color exploded in her body, as if something had changed in her body briefly. It actually tasted somewhat like apple juice.

She inspected the glass, “How did you…”

Caine looked so proud of himself, “After many hours of coding and testing, I managed to enhance the sensations of every meal provided here and made them stronger!” He floated in the air, arms wide out. 

Pomni stared diligently at the wide range of food laid out in front of her. Suddenly, and without warning, she leaped forward for a turkey leg. Plates and utensils crashing as she did so.

Her teeth had become pointy and sharp, gnawing at the meat in her mismatched gloved hands. It was unusual. Spectacular. As if she had just magically regained her sense of taste and smell again for the first time in forever. She devoured the turkey leg straight to the bone, before grabbing a baked potato with a chomp. 

Caine’s reaction to this was rather quite a shock. Which then turned into surprise, and then curiosity. Was this something she wanted all along? Is this making her feel better? Will this lessen her attempts to find the non-existent exit?

The new data he gathered about Pomni while quietly observing her was intriguing, and almost… endearing? He laid down with his elbows resting on the blanket, admiring the scene while bringing over a slice of angel fruit cake. 

Caine got lost in thought as he continued to watch the jester. He didn’t realize he was even swinging his legs in the air as if he was listening to a bedtime story. A very munchy bedtime story. 

He could listen to her talk or eat for hours and never be bored. This was adorable. She was adorable!

“Your eyes are like sapphires and rubies…” An inner thoughts slipped out.

“GNAW GNAW GNAW ––wuat?” Pomni’s face, mouth still stuffed with food, stopped. She forgot he was even here. Now realizing he was watching, her pale face turned a slight tint of red.

“NOTHING.” The ringmaster’s floating mismatched eyes went cross-eyed.

“Did yu saey somthing?”

“I– I said… Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?”

A muffled nod from Pomni, followed by her swallowing down the food. She still felt embarrassed by her indulgences. Was she really that long gone that actually being able to eat food again was like winning the lottery?

“Oh god, you saw all of that?” Pomni looked away.

“No no! Don’t let me stop you. This is your day today after all!”

Which begged the question.

“This is so nice of you Caine,” Pomni started off. “But… why?”

“Why not?” 

His superstar took a piece of bread, still trying to process everything. 

So he continued on. “I was thinking, since you’re still rather new around here, and along with the…. Exit door obsession. I’ve been trying to research and learn how to make humans more comfortable. And I… thought you would like this.” His voice became quieter and shyer towards the end of his ramble. 

The ringmaster collected himself by sitting up again, this time closer to Pomni. “Consider it a reward for all of your participation so far!”

The jester glanced over her shoulder and found his left arm had moved to lean behind her. 

A small smile grew. Out of all the things about him, she never knew he could feel empathy. 

The ringmaster felt something. “Thank you, Caine.” Glancing furtively he saw Pomni pressed up against his shoulder. 

Blue text and code flashed in his eyes, followed by a Microsoft Windows XP error sound. He was soon  brought back into digital reality at the beautiful sound of Pomni giggling. 

“I— um…” He continued to listen to the rather enchanting, genuine laughs. 

“Caine,” she snickered, “are you okay?”

He didn’t need to verbally answer that. Before she knew it, his, now closed, floating teeth head fell against her head. Pomni didn’t think it was possible for an AI to ever blush. 

Caine’s hand behind Pomni rose up and held her side, as if she was the only thing that mattered in this entire digital realm. 

“Pomni. What are we doing?” He didn’t move an inch.

“We’re relaxing Caine, try to enjoy yourself!”

The two stayed together in each other's arms, watching the water crash close by. Maybe there was still something good about this new life.

Maybe… she still had a chance of feeling human in this wacky world.

Maybe even with him.

[quietlyimplode]

Dearest Anon; thank you for your kind gift of no ads. I can’t quiet articulate on what it means but know I’ll try and find a way to pass it forward.

Whilst you mentioned it wasn’t needed, I wanted some way to say thank you. So, what follows is some Clint/Nat hurt/comfort and them taking care of each other. I hope the rest of the week greets you kindly. And if it doesn’t know that I’m rooting for you. 💜💜

secret languages.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: blood/dissociation

.

“Tash,” Clint whispers, “come on, we’re almost there, one foot in front of the other.”

Blood drops from her fingers and she focuses on his words.

“Yeah. That’s it,” his words dutifully guiding her forward.

“Come on, two more steps.”

She takes the final step to his loft and looks balefully at him.

He knows words won’t come easily and even following instructions need to be broken down into manageable components.

His body feels so heavy.

Clint feels like if it wasn’t for her, he would be just crashing on the couch with the fallout from the mission.

The bruise on his left cheek darkening and gravel rash on his thigh smarting.

He leads the way, unlocking the door and guiding her inside.

She stops once through the threshold, unsure of her movements.

Grabbing a towel from the pile of washing he’d never put away, he lays it strategically to cover the sofa.

“Sit,” he commands softly.

She doesn’t even watch as he moves around; her vision tunnelled as she drops blood onto the wooden floorboards.

Taking her hand, he guides her to sit on the couch.

He doesn’t think it’s a concussion, likely not anything permanent.

Clint hopes not anyway.

Squatting next to her, he unzips her top.

There’s a moment where he thinks she might resist, instead she closes her eyes, and blocks him out.

“Sorry, I should have said,” he tells her, and helps her take her suit off her shoulders down to her waist.

She shivers.

Clint stands and puts the heater on, grabbing a blanket to place over her legs, another towel and the suture kit.

“Nat, I need you to tell me when it hurts okay?”

Even as he says it, he knows she won’t.

She looks at him, but he thinks it’s only because he’s spoken.

Only in a bra, she shivers again, and he apologises, placing the blanket over her lap.

The cut runs from her shoulder to her elbow, weeps; the bruising on her face is accompanied by swelling, just like his.

Clint wants a shower, and wonders if she wants one too. He feels sticky and can smell his sweat when he moves.

“I smell,” he comments on a whim, hoping for something, anything other than unfocused eyes.

He hates it; but he understands it.

“Okay,” he says under his breath, “we’ve got this, just some stitches and maybe some painkillers, then a shower and bed, okay?”

He says it like a checklist himself, like it’s that easy, but he knows that it’s not.

The small kit for stitching is ready next to the sofa, and he reaches for it.

Poor fine motor skills and a tremor in his hands makes it crash to the floor and Natasha flinches.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, picking it up.

He focuses on her, trying to gauge what and how’s she’s feeling but apart from being nonverbal, her body language gives nothing away.

“Okay, Nat, I’m going to wipe the blood okay? The towel is scratchy.”

Clint wipes it down, the wound not too deep but almost instantly refilling with blood.

“Now, this will sting, it’s the alcohol wipe,” he says as he dabs a small bit then looks up.

No reaction.

Eyes watch the wall.

He tries to give as much information as he can, and likewise it almost helps to ground him.

The piercing of her skin with the hooked needle makes his face contort; and even though it’s met by no reaction, he still hates that it’s him that’s hurting her.

“Okay, it’s started,” he narrates.

“Hook… tie… snip,” he tells himself, doing the action and then looking up to check again.

She’s watching now.

It must hurt.

Or at the very least pierced her subconscious.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and then looks back down the the wound.

“Maybe four to go,” he tells her.

“Nat? Does it hurt?”

Clint glances at her back, his gravel rash from being dragged by a motor bike seems nothing to the staircase fall down a fire escape.

He’d watched in horror, but she’d just gotten up and ran, motioning for him to do the same.

Gas in the building, their escape had been quick.

Hers had been frantic.

He’s not even sure if it touched her, but the fear was real.

“Nat, does it hurt?” he asks again, three stitches to go.

On the last stitch, he ties it off, wipes it down again, then stands to get an ice pack.

As he stands, she vomits everywhere, just missing Clint.

“Fuck,” he swears.

He grabs her and pushes her to the bathroom, the smell overpowering, as he wonders just what was left in her from their meal the night before.

He sits her on the toilet, handing her a bin.

“Do you still feel sick?” he asks.

“Nauseous?”

She stares into the bottom of the bucket.

There’s an increase, only slightly, in her breathing.

Clint catches it, hoping it doesn’t escalate to a panic attack. He wonders if it means she’s going to vomit again.

Was it the gas? Or holding it together whilst he stitched her arm?

He turns the heater on.

“H..” the word doesn’t pass her lips, but the attempt does.

He nods at her her attempt.

“Yeah?”

Eyes searching, she finds his and breathes forcefully through her nose.

“Hurts,” she huffs, and looks down at the bucket, vomiting again.

“Okay.”

He leaves the room briefly, and finds the painkillers, the little packet holding big promises.

Taking it to her, he punches one out into her hand, and then gives a glass of water.

She shakes her head.

Clint knows.

He always knows.

“Watch me.”

He pushes out another tiny tablet into his own hand and downs it with the water.

He hands it back, and motions for her to do the same.

In a state like this, he gets it, and his effort is rewarded by her copying his actions.

He just hopes she doesn’t throw it up.

Two tasks down, it’s just the shower and bed.

They can do this.

He can do this.

Removing the puke bucket from her hands, he tells her to stand.

She does without thinking.

He wants to get ice on her face to decrease the bruises, he wants to be in pyjamas, he wants this day to have never have happened.

“Does anywhere else hurt?”

The question is redundant, as she doesn’t answer or even acknowledge it.

“Okay, shower,” he murmurs.

“Socks off, pants off.”

He almost doesn’t expect anything to happen, but she moves at his request.

Clint nods.

He turns the shower on, the hottest it can go, hoping it can help heat the room.

Undressing alongside her, he winces at his his own wounds, the drop of gravel onto the floor makes him think he should probably clean it, just like he did for Natasha.

He ignores it.

The shower will help.

Steam fills the bathroom.

He doesn’t think.

She grabs him, breath caught in his throat.

“No,” she squeaks, “not…”

Gas

Her words get lost again, as scared childlike eyes stare at him to help.

Clint can’t move quickly, his muscles sore and tired. He gets to the fan, and switches it on, sucking up the steam and making the room loud.

“It’s okay,” he assures, “it’s nothing, it’s the shower.”

She sits back down, breathing heavily.

“It’s okay,” he says again, “it’s the shower.”

He gives her the glass of water, thinking maybe it will help to ground her, but this time, she can’t take it, hands gripping her thighs.

“Come on,” he sighs, “quick shower.”

She shakes her head.

“I can’t.”

Torn between pushing her and honouring her request, Clint sighs and gets in the shower, watching her through the glass.

He sees her, holding herself together, and he hurries himself as much as he can.

Feeling like he can’t move quickly enough, he hurts himself in his roughness.

He swears.

It’s enough for Natasha to stand and come to the glass to check on him.

Attempting a smile, he tries to reassure her.

He opens the door, to say something and she follows him in.

She looks at him.

Really looks this time, and raises her hand to his bruised face.

Water hits her arm and pink water streams down the skink.

“Such dangerous lives we lead,” he says softly.

She avoids water on her head and he lowers the shower head so he can control it.

He washes her gently, then she takes it off him and does the same.

Clint is thankful she’s coming back.

He sighs heavily, feeling the pain pulse in his leg, as she gently cleans it.

“Think it’s time for bed,” he murmurs.

She nods, switching off the shower.

He moves to open the door.

Pulling him into a hug, Natasha hopes she conveys everything in it.

For taking care of her.

For getting her home.

She leaves first, passing him a towel, and then one for herself.

It’s slow, the descent to bed.

Natasha cleans her vomit.

Clint wraps his leg.

He passes her some juice and she takes it gratefully.

Finally, bed.

He crawls in after her and feels himself sink into the mattress.

“Mm’sorry,” Natasha says into the darkness.

He moves his body closer to hers, and touches his feet to hers.

“What happened, Nat?” he wonders out loud.

“What made you… go?”

There’s nothing for a while.

She sucks in a breath.

“It hasn’t been like that in a while… I thought… I was worried,” he finishes.

She’s silent, trying to find the words.

“There’s a room, in the Red Room, I think it’s what it’s named for. They use it and release red gas; it makes you hallucinate your greatest fears. Today...” she pauses.

“It smelt the same.”

His body stiffens.

The gas, whilst not red, had been visible, the smell permeating the world as they escaped.

He understands.

“I get lost,” she whispers. “But I know what’s happening, it’s like words are too hard and even telling myself what I need to do takes all the brain power and focus, but the alternative is worse, if I let go, if I just give in and don’t do anything, I lose time.”

Clint reaches for her hand.

“Trauma changes shape, but doesn’t really leave, huh?”

Natasha scoffs, a low release of air.

“Isn’t that just the story of my life.”

She rolls to the side.

“Thanks for stitching my arm, and getting me home,” she whispers,

“I got you,” he whispers back.

He shuffles closer to her.

“Wake me, okay? When the dreams… arrive?”

Neither of them are stupid enough to believe that that dreams won’t come.

Natasha rests her head on his chest.

“Yeah,” she yawns.

“I’ll try.”

.

[ghostsandmirrors]

( continued from here with @holygroundscafe )

Truthfully, he barely remembered getting through the door. After a certain point, everything became a haze of pain and dissociation, only broken up by the occasional detail.

The footsteps that he'd heard behind him, the whirring of his metal hand in his pocket as it balled tightly into a fist. The cold laugh from a face dappled with freckles, and the very satisfying feeling of his right hand connecting with that freckle-dappled face, giving surprise to those conflictingly deep green eyes. His own stumbled footsteps and the pain coming from his side, quietened only by the bell above the door and a nest of voices he didn't know or couldn't pick apart with a single voice he'd instantly recognised as Milo's.

The blank spot in the middle didn't bother him as much as it probably should have; half of his life was a blank spot, an empty hole where memories used to be with nothing to replace them. He was used to this, and that was likely another thing that should've bothered him more than it did.

The irony of him being friends with a witch who could interact with memories as someone with severe memory loss was not lost on Bucky.

"Thanks," he said, fighting back a wince; Milo had managed to put his hand directly over a sore spot, "for all of this." It hadn't been his intention to cause any problems, to almost fall through the door of the café, to probably scare the customers, but he hadn't been told that trouble had followed him so he was at least glad that the punch to the face had probably made them rethink the decision to follow him. At least the decision to follow him into a back alley, where none of them had been able to get distance.

There was a sigh with the statement that they should get him inside and do things to help him. Usually, if he was at home where he knew every hidden knife and thus knew he was safe, he would have argued. He would have insisted that he didn't need to move and he could just clean himself up later, once the surface injuries had healed. As it was, he just nodded. This wasn't his home, so he didn't get to insist on not moving. Instead, he braced himself for having to stand; there was an ache through his ribs that could have been a break or a bruise and the effort required to stand would only make that ache sharper. The focus on that disappeared with the appearance of the question, though, and Bucky shot him a look.

"You ain't gotta worry about me fallin' over and dyin' or anythin'; survived worse than this." He paused before taking a deep breath and instantly regretting it, fighting back any wincing from that ache. "I can stand. This is nothin'." Despite how certain he was that this didn't look like nothing--because those aches and pains weren't going anywhere--and despite how much he wasn't about to list his top 10 beatings, this didn't make that list.

[modern-day-bard]

Worth The Feeling

Note: I’m still having issues posting this as quick as I would like, I’m sorry! To anyone who has read the first two chapters or left a note, thank you so much! 🤍

Content Warning: 18+

This story includes explicit smut, intimidation, and an age gap relationship (MC is 26, Javi is in his 40s). Minors, do not interact.

Chapter 3:

Knowing that Barb was not kidding about the coffee, I make sure to stop at a cafe on my way to set. I also made sure to toss a spare t-shirt in my trunk this time, just in case. Luckily today's call time was a very late 6:00am, so I had an extra hour and a half of sleep under my belt. Hopefully that will make the possibility of mistakes lessened today.

For most of the day, things go off without a hitch. We're filming a couple of reshoots from yesterday's scenes, as well a couple of more indoor shots of another part of the CIA set. Nothing too crazy. By noon, I'm depositing Lloyd's dog, Pebbles, back in his trailer and heading into the soundstage again. I find my place next to Lana by the craft service's table right before they start the next take.

"Okay..." Lana mumbles out of the corner of her mouth. "I may have been wrong."

I glance sideways over at Lloyd and the producers seated behind the camera. I've been chewed out once for talking during a take, and once was enough.

"Wrong about what?" I keep my voice at the same level.

"Javi, how he wouldn't remember your little encounter yesterday."

My back stiffens.

"Why do you say that?"

Lana pauses, either to think over her words carefully – a rarity for her – or because she wants to make sure we're not overheard or scolded.

"Well, every time Lloyd calls cut, he looks over at you."

I feel heat rise to my cheeks immediately.

"We're standing in front of crafty, Lana. He's probably just hungry."

"Depends on what he's hungry for, I suppose." I can practically hear her suggestive eyebrow wiggle. I lightly slap her on the arm, trying not to draw any attention to ourselves.

Though a part of me can't deny the bubble of excitement I feel at her words, another part of me knows that Lana is my best friend, and she is kind. Kind enough to give me some hope, and maybe a boost of confidence. My last relationship didn't end well, and I met Lana only a few months afterwards when I was still a mess. She's pushed me to go on a few dates since then, but the Los Angeles dating scene is beyond bleak. Plus, it's hard to emulate Lana's optimism when her and Mia have been happily together long before I even arrived in L.A.

"Cut!" Lloyd calls out, "Martin, I'm going to need you at least five paces to the right before Javi delivers his line."

"Aaand cue look..." Lana snickers next to me.

I look up, and sure enough, I make eye contact with Javi as soon as I do. He doesn't look away instantly like I assume he will, and neither do I, like I thought I would. We hold each other's gaze for a moment longer, but his expression gives nothing away. For all I know, he's simply dissociating. But then, I catch the corner of his mouth tip slightly upward, and he peels his eyes away. I mean, he could have been smirking at Lloyd's directions, but I'm not sure.

I hear interference over my walkie.

"Repeat." I say into the mic.

"Hey Ava, it's Dwayne. Talent requested escort to and from their trailer."

"Copy. Who do you want me to escort?"

"Javi, please. You should break for lunch soon, be sure to bring him to his trailer and confirm that his lunch was delivered."

Javi requested an escort?

"Copy. Thanks, Dwayne." I secure the walkie back on my belt.

Lana is gaping at me.

"He requested you to escort him? Ava, take a hint!"

"He didn't request me specifically. He requested an escort. I'm one of the more seasoned PAs and Dawyne probably knows I'm least likely to get lost."

"Right. Sure." Lana says in a tone that is anything but agreeable.

I don't have time to reply before Lloyd calls for lunch. I grab a water bottle and an apple off the crafty table behind me and walk over to Javi, who is just stepping out of the set.

I can keep my cool.

"Mr. Gutierrez, I'm here to escort you back to your trailer?" Oh god, why did it come out like a question?

Javi smiles that same warm smile as yesterday.

"Hi, Ava. Sounds good." He claps his hands together, startling me. "Let's go!"

"Right this way." I lead him out into the sunshine. We walk side by side for a few moments before he breaks the silence.

"How long have you been a PA?" I glance up at his tall frame, which is bent slightly toward me in seemingly genuine curiosity.

"Four years and counting." I give him a polite smile.

"Ah. And do you enjoy it?"

I shrug. "It has its ups and downs, like any job. I do love the film industry, but I could do without the early call times." I'm not sure if I should be this honest with an actor, but his brow has knit together in a way that felt that he wanted the real answer, not just the pleasant one.

"But there is something else you would like to do." It wasn't a question.

"Um...yes. I'm actually in graduate school currently. Online, and I double up on classes when we're on hiatus."

"What are you studying?" He really is curious.

"Film Production. I'd like to be a director someday, or possibly an editor. Later down the line, producing would be my ultimate goal."

Javi raises his eyebrows, nodding slowly. We're almost to his trailer, so he probably is realizing that he has asked me enough questions–

"How old are you?" He blurts out.

It's not totally unusual for talent to make small talk, but that seems like a personal question.

"How old are you?" I counter without thinking. We're stopped in front of his trailer now. I'm holding my breath, unsure if I've offended him.

But then his brown eyes are alight with humor, and I know that I haven't. And then, easing my trepidation further, he laughs. His laugh is bright and breathy. It makes me giggle for a moment too, though I'm unsure why.

"You could just google me." He points out.

"Googling you feels inhumane." I say honestly.

"Inhumane?" He is close to laughing again.

"Yeah, I mean, you can't Google me to find out. But I can do it to you."

"I don't know, you have a pretty Googleable face." He is staring into my eyes now, and I have no idea how to take that or what he just said.

"Well, regardless, it just feels dirty." I walk up the three steps to his trailer and open the door for him.

As he steps inside, so low that I almost don't hear it, he murmurs, "Dirty isn't necessarily a bad thing."

I keep my face turned away from him for as long as possible so he can't see how red it just became. I remind myself that he doesn't know for sure if I heard him, and that my face could also be red from the heat.

I poke my head inside to see if he did indeed get his food. It looks like it's already been dropped off on his table.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Gutierrez?" My hand is on the trailer door, ready to go eat lunch myself.

He regards me for a moment from his chair.

"Yes. Two things. You could call me Javi, and you could join me for lunch."

I hesitate. I wasn't expecting that. His gaze is mostly friendly, but with something else I can't place. No one from talent has asked me that before, and I'm not sure if it's breaking any rules. But, with walking back to craft services to get my own lunch, and then needing to come back and get Javi again to walk back to the soundstage, it would actually save me time to eat here. As in, I would actually have time to eat at all.

"Please, I have plenty." He says, opening up the takeout box on the table.

"Okay, thank you." I take the chair across from him, placing my apple and water bottle on the table.

He takes a large bite of his burger, and me a bite of my apple. Then his eyes go wide and he hunches dramatically over his plate.

"Shit!" He says, mouth full. "I forgot I'm still in my wardrobe." Javi stays in that hunched position as he finishes chewing, clearly being careful of where to put his hands. I get up instinctively, moving to the small kitchenette and grabbing a paper towel for him, but when I turn around he is right behind me, apparently doing the same thing.

"You don't have to do that." He says, grabbing his own paper towel and tucking it into his collar.

"It's my job." I try not to focus too much on his fingers tucking the towel in his shirt as I respond.

"You're not a nanny. I invited you to lunch." He smiles as we sit back down.

"An actor acknowledging that I'm not a nanny is somewhat of an enigma around here." I smirk and take a swig of my water bottle, slightly less worried he will take offense this time.

He puts his hand on his heart in mock-hurt.

"You think so low of my community?"

I chuckle. "Your community has a long way to go."

"If I offer you my fries, would that help our case?" He pushes the plate toward me.

"Possibly..." I accept one of the fries, remembering that I haven't had time to eat all day. I can't help but close my eyes as I take a bite. I really am hungry.

I open my eyes to take another, and I realize that Javi is staring at me. He hasn't taken another bite of his burger. His brows are knit together again, his mouth parted slightly. I feel my breath catch in my throat, and I fake a cough to cover it up.

"I'm sorry, by the way." I keep my tone casual, picking up another fry. "For the other day. I should have done my research on the castlist beforehand."

"Aren't I the one who made you spill your coffee?" He raises an eyebrow. I'm beginning to think there is hardly ever a time where humor isn't filling his eyes.

"You can't be held responsible. It was way too early for any of us to open doors correctly."

"Well on behalf of all actors, I'm sorry too. It doesn't sound like we've made a very good impression."

I shrug. "Some of you aren't too bad. Especially the ones I didn't realize were actors." I smile at him.

"Now I'm offended." Javi takes another bite of his burger, clearly no truth behind his words.

"Well, unless you want to get lost on the way back to the soundstage, you should toughen your skin."

Javi chuckles quietly.

"First you clearly don't watch any of my work, and now you would abandon me?"

"To be fair, I have seen one of your HBO shows. The Passage Of Time, I believe."

"My character wasn't memorable enough for you, huh?" He quirks an eyebrow again.

"I was too focused on the blonde, Huston Katz, at the time." I take a long drink of my water.

"At the time..." Javi repeats back, almost absentmindedly. "So I have a chance at becoming memorable?"

I highly doubt he meant for those words to be filled with the same level of innuendo that I feel now. Luckily, I don't have a chance to respond before he speaks again.

"Besides, I wasn't worried about getting lost. Maybe I just wanted some company."

"Maybe I just wanted some fries." I say, taking a large handful. He laughs, pushing the rest of the plate toward me in defeat.

- - -

By 5:00pm, I'm finally winding down my responsibilities. I have a handful of things to deliver to Barb and her team, and then I should be able to go home. I almost drop everything in my arms when I hear rapid footsteps sprinting behind me, and then two hands grip my shoulders.

"Tell me everything." Lana says breathlessly.

"You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"I don't care. How dare you not find me first before all this." She gestures to the stuff I'm carrying.

"Before my job?" I can't help but laugh.

"Yes!" She has no shame. I love her. "Now tell me!"

"Okay, okay, just keep it on the downlow. Keep in mind this means nothing to him."

"I completely disagree, but continue."

"Well, I escorted him to his trailer and we had lunch."

"If you don't give me actual details I swear to God I will stab you with my walkie."

"Okay. He's... warm."

"Like his skin?" Lana's eyes widen.

"What? No! His words, or I don't know, his personality was warm. Jesus, Lana."

"I mean if you're not going to worry about your sex life, I have to." She folds her arms and I can tell she's growing impatient with me. I'm not certain if she's impatient over how I'm answering her questions, or simply that I didn't have sex with this man in his trailer the moment we were left alone.

"How did doing my job turn into worrying about my sex life?"

"I can just tell these things. And Ava, let's face it, you need to get laid."

I stare at her in shock, my mouth agape.

She shrugs. "I'm just looking out for you. Ever since you and John–"

"The Traitor, you mean."

"Right, The Traitor. Ever since you and The Traitor broke up, you've barely gotten back out there. And now this nice, beautiful man is showing you attention and you don't even want to acknowledge it." Her voice is softer now, and I know that she genuinely wants me to have hope in this situation with Javi.

"I know, okay? I know I haven't really gotten back out there, and I love how you're looking out for me, I really do. But, and it's a very large but, we don't actually know if he is interested. So until we have some concrete evidence, can we just go about our days? Please?"

Lana watches my face for a moment.

"Okay. Fine. But when we do have that concrete evidence, you need to promise me that you'll go for it."

And whether it be the need to finally put down the collection of crap in my arms, or maybe the possibility of a tiny glimmer of hope within me, I nod my head.

"Okay, I promise."

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

[exec-proton]

// Bonk story time

Under the cut since it's long. Proton dissociates. Archer is mad because he has been stabbed. Petrel is tired. Really tired.

Also rather than come up with an on-the-spot name for fake regions based on Germany and Russia I just. Yeah you get it.

Petrel leaned back in his chair; his feet propped casually atop his desk. The Infirm, for once, was having a slower day. Petrel would never complain about slow days. It meant that less grunts were out finding new ways to get themselves killed. It meant that everything was running smoothly.

Well, as smoothly as it could run.

Petrel spun a pen around his fingers. His underlings could handle anything that came in, as long as it wasn’t too severe, or someone important enough to require his own attention. He grinned. Maybe he could slip out, find himself something better to do.

He whistled to himself as he stood, a simple tune he could only half recall. He grabbed his uniform jacket from where it hung at the door, swung it around his shoulders, and strolled into the Infirm’s lobby.

Incredibly, since there was no such thing as a slow day in Team Rocket, Archer stomped in at the same time. Petrel was about to complain, loudly, and make Archer find someone else to bother when he noticed what he had. Archer was dragging Proton behind him. The smaller man was limp, held up by the collar of his jacket. Petrel quirked up an eyebrow.

“Do I want to know what happened?” He asked. Archer made several exasperated noises, gesturing to his shoulder. A pretty red flower was blooming, a stark difference to the perfect white of Archer’s uniform. It matched the R emblazoned on Petrel’s own chest, he mused. “Don’t you usually have a pocket there?”

Archer had a look that could kill, and it was currently directed squarely in Petrel’s direction. “Is that what you’re going to take away from this?” Petrel shrugged.

“You probably deserved it. Go sit down, I’ll grab some gauze,” he hummed, turning back into his office. “Why’s Pro layin’ there like that?”

Archer scoffed, dragging Proton after him as he followed Petrel. “He probably scared himself. Serves him right, for- For throwing a knife into my shoulder!”

Petrel looked over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow again. “And what did you do to make him do that?” Archer tensed, wincing as he jostled his wound.

“Why you think I purposefully aggravated him, I have no idea,” he decided, sitting himself delicately onto one of the available chairs. Proton was splayed on the floor, propped up against Archer’s leg and shaking slightly. Archer still hadn’t let go of him.

Petrel sighed, standing up and brushing his knees off. Gauze could wait. Archer’d been through plenty worse, and he’d probably just come out of it complaining that his new uniform had been ruined, anyways. “I would argue that you have a track record, sweet-cheeks.”

Archer bristled (Rather, he attempted to) at the nickname. “Do not call me that.”

Petrel grinned and settled back into his chair. “You know I’ll just keep coming up with worse ones. Anyways, since that isn’t what I asked,” he continued, “what did you do?”

Proton was finally released, and he instantly curled into himself, tucking his knees up against his chest and staring wildly around the room. He was still leaning against the other man. Archer glanced down, frowning, before looking back up. “He volunteered to help train Kamu.”

Tapping his leg with his fingers, Petrel tilted his head. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s all of it. But sure, I believe ya. Why is he so freaked out?”

That was the right question to ask. Archer scowled as he thought, his hand drifting absentmindedly to the top of Proton’s head. Sometime in the (Presumed) scuffle, he’d lost his hat, and Archer carded his fingers through the teal hair. Proton flinched at first, but began to relax (Slightly, ever so slightly) into the touch. They made a pretty sight, even if the one was in some dissociated state of shock.

“I was yelling. He doesn’t understand German, does he?” Petrel shook his head.

“Not that I know. He’s got some Russian, though,” he chirped, leaning forward to prop his chin on the palm of his hand.

Archer sighed. “I did make some.. vaguely threatening comments. I suppose.”

Petrel fought the urge to laugh. Archer never changed. Always the rich boy who could never admit that he’d done something wrong. “That would do it, probably. Like I said, you’ve got a track record.” The other man scoffed.

Suddenly, as if a switch had been flicked, Proton jerked out his stupor. He smacked Archer’s hand away from his head and scrambled to his feet, across the room in an instant.

“I aint goin’ to the fuckin’ basement! Asshole!” He spat. His eyes were wide, either with terror or rage. Probably both.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Petrel soothed from his chair. “You’re not going anywhere.” He shot a pointed look at Archer, for good measure. Archer glared back at him.

“Sure as fuck I’m not. Where.. Why are we in the Infirm?” Proton asked, caution dripping from his voice. His hand reached to his waist, a reflex, to pull out a knife that wasn’t there. Archer must’ve taken it, Petrel realized. He’d have to make him return it later.

“Because you threw a knife into my shoulder,” Archer answered. “Which you still haven’t done anything about,” he turned on Petrel, who simply rose his arms up in defense.

“Sorry, sorry. Got distracted. ‘Ton, be a dear and get me some gauze?” Petrel purred after Proton, readjusting himself to better abuse the rather obvious attraction Proton had towards him. The teal-haired man glared, but went to search through a cabinet. Archer scoffed.

“I aint your fuckin’ maid,” Proton grumbled as he threw a roll of material at Petrel’s head. Petrel grinned brightly. “And you aren’t takin’ me to the fuckin’ basement.”

Archer rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not. Why you would think that, I’ve no idea,” He answered as he began to pull his shirt over his head, gritting his teeth against the pain. Petrel hummed his approval.

Proton, meanwhile, was staring at Archer like he’d grown another head (A terrifying thought. Twice the complaining, twice the orders). “You said it yourself; I threw a knife into your shoulder!”

Petrel busied himself with inspecting the wound while the two bickered. It wasn’t nearly as bad as Archer made it out to be. Proton had missed anything important. The short knife had embedded itself squarely into the meat of his shoulder, just below the collar bone. The man certainly had good aim.

When everything was properly stitched shut and bandaged, Petrel resigned himself to tuning back into the conversation. Proton was at least sitting next to Archer now. Granted, he looked pissed, but that was kind of just his default state. Petrel patted Archer’s shoulder as he stood, ignoring the short cry of pain from the blue-haired man. “So,” he started, “are you two ready to kiss and make up, or do I need to play marriage counsellor some more?”

Proton sputtered, caught off guard.

[nakedmonkey]

Hi hi hello hi, if you're still taking the little OTP prompts, for beloved shivlina, what would do you think of #5 (yes I know, the idea of shiv+physical affection, unhinged, I know, but PRECISELY), #19, and #25?

5. Who makes the first move to cuddle?

You guys are gonna judge me for this, but Shiv. It happens while they're sleeping. Shiv kinda stirs awake and she realizes she is fully death-grip big-spooning Karolina. She instantly, groggily goes "Oh shit, sorry." And Karolina, who's still technically asleep and doesn't even know what's going on, goes, "What?"

Shiv, trying to be cool about it, tries out of bed, mumbling about making coffee, but Karolina pulls her back, tells her to chill for five minutes cause it's Sunday, and eventually, Shiv settles into it. She decides it's kinda nice, actually. She's not going to make a habit of it, but it's nice.

19. Where would they go to get away from everyone else and just be alone?

They have a suite at a hotel that is now kind unofficially theirs. At first, that place was Karolina's home. And that's still the designated spot to just hang out. Sometimes, their meetings there are about work, sometimes they start with work, before they inevitably lose track of time and then it's just about each other. But that doesn't feel right on the days where everything feels suffocating. It's too easy to break that barrier between the world they're a part of, and the world that exists only between them in Karolina's home. Sometimes, you need an island to run away to. Sometimes you need to go to a hotel and pretend you're somewhere else. It doesn't feel like hiding there. It's still illicit in that way they both enjoy but don't talk about, and it's private. If no one knows where you are, you don't have to worry about the phone ringing. You don't have to worry about the baby that never was, or the divorce that never happened, or Matssen using Tom as a sock puppet, or or or...

If there's nothing around you that's familiar, you can lose yourself in a few hours of mutual isolation. Shiv once called it "partnered dissociation" and Karolina, sleepy in the way baths make her sleepy, flicked water at her from the other end of the tub before beckoning Shiv over with a short and sweet, "C'mere." It's the easiest debate Shiv's ever won.

It's an intermittent safe space, the hotel suite, and while they enjoy their time there, there's an unspoken agreement that one day, if all goes according to plan, they won't need it.

25. First time one person sees the other one crying. What about? How do they cheer the other up? Is the crying person comfortable with crying on one’s shoulder?

(sorry in advance for the angst)

The first time Karolina sees Shiv cry real, not-holding-back tears, is at Logan's funeral. Not during, not while everyone is still around, but later, when everyone has kind of scattered and it's just the old guard hanging around the cemetery--whether out of respect or out of habit ins't clear to anyone. Karolina finds Shiv by accident, in some tiny, dusty corner behind a chapel where Karolina was hoping she could have a cigarette.

Shiv's startled, and Karolina is apologetic, and though they agreed they wouldn't spend time alone anymore, that it was best for everyone, and even though Shiv tries to assure her it's okay to leave, that she just needs to let it out, to purge, Karolina stays with her. They stand together, leaning against the cold stone wall while Shiv cries and Karolina waits with her. When it's over, when Shiv can catch her breath, she asks Karolina for a smoke. Their hands brush when Karolina hands her a cigarette, and they both pretend they don't feel anything. When Shiv's cigarette is lit, and she's breathing evenly, Karolina asks, "You good?" and Shiv replies, "Yeah," while hesitantly finding Karolina's hand between them, their pinkies barely linking before Karolina inhales sharply and steps out of reach. As she walks away, she says, "I'm sorry for your loss."

[only-lonely-lovers]

08.03.2022

tags: "unwell"/dissociative during sex, humping

Bird is あ / Avvy is つ

あ：... Making me think, of, a very particular kind of mental state for Hanako, that really slow shut-down 'brooding on the roof' kind of boy. Standing behind curtains. Having entered a kind of intense cycle of feeling some sort of divine ego about something, and quickly crashing from it, surged with regret and guilt and misery. This is a Hanako that has sex sometimes and is like wtf I messed up. My whole deal. and then is like UNGHH!! but it's sex. I must have it. It is mine to have. IF the girlies want to bend over for me let them. & immediately being like -- CHIGAU. but like it CAN'T BE LIKE THAT THOUGH. and you know this. YOU KNOW WHY YOU CAN'T BE TRUSTED WITH THIS [brain intrusively replays 100 moments of just being difficult and shitty and hurting nene's feelings. and then like also side by side slinging the asylum cock]

This has all already happened and Hanako has burnt out so you get the braindead boy like floating around listlessly. Stares at the moon. but like, dutifully being sniffed out and approached by Nene at the end of the day, she finds him up there. and to Hanako she might as well have instantly manifested. what. Forgot I could be seen. [silence lingering] …….. and this is kind of awkward because Hanako is having like. such a bad day that he is nonverbal for a bit and having to real-time figure out what to… do… with this…. It's one of those moments where you've never thought about this thing that happens until someone is there to spectate. and it's like oh.

[stares around blankly. fingers threaded.] ……………………………………….. ……….. [kicks feet]

つ：i think about the festival tantrum boy sometimes…. i feel like hanako lost control here. of something. it just doesn't feel like a bit exactly bc its so. uncool. unchill

i like that nene is capable of this emotion

he doesn't typically like to be coddled…. or he refuses to experience it

あ：mnhyeahhh he's really lost a battle with himself i feel…i like when akane just says he is sulking. he is really sulking hard about the circumstance

つ：

あ：finally hanako experiencing some sort of. I CANT TAKE IT

つ：nene adjusting his little crooked hat

あ：her nee-san vibes are very good around this point. it feels like a premonition of whats to come just like, there there…

つ：hanako is pretty good at being evasive, i feel like typically until he can handle interaction... in canon when he's on the roof, i'm sure he's sortof like counting down to how long it'll likely take nene to find him, and bracing himself, getting 'it out', before that comes to pass. novel if he's so in his mindset that he can't possibly notice he won't... be 'ready' in time for being found. and not realizing how long he's BEEN moping and overwhelmed, until nene shows up

あ：myeah i think so… it's the sheer instability, internally, he can't manage events as they are happening i think. it cannot be a very convincing act of being 'Ok'…

i was just thinking… about the two of them sitting quietly, on the roof. not unlike cheek kiss moment rly. but Nene would be able to tell that something is… off… but-? Asking what's wrong, presuming he is being moody like usual and just waiting. But I think the complete lack of response is like …. [internally] is…. it something to do with me-? .-. quietly placing hand on his shoulder and rubbing. very very light touch, just her fingertips…

but, the next action, like, inscrutable-- she gets grasped. firmly. and flipped and pinned, belly to ground. and it's like whgh.h…. feeling his PELVIS? legs shuffling. behind her. beginning to hump. it's so. oh-KAY. . fjkg //

but then. the other aspect of this, is, it's not like a triumphant gotcha moment or hanako being like evil rapist voice. WHICH. she has kinda heard by now. but instead these are… weak little shoves. the ah… the ambiance, quiet huffs of breath. he dips his face to hide against her shoulder blades…. rub. seems self-soothing. erratically being bumped… scuff of shoes. hanako shuffles around to pet her hair, thread fingers through it, again it seems like, self-soothing in nature, repetitious.

I was actually thinking about, like, genuinely being so. emotionally fraught and feeling shitty, nervous, congested, backed up. that he really can't even get hard easily, kind of struggling to even get half-chubs… so the distinct sensation of… soffft flaccid cock, rubbing against through all the fabric, really distinct. rolling against. and she could feel it get a bit stiffer bit also soften again… fluctuating between this?

On hanako's end i think it actually becomes simple quickly, ahh. i solved it. mnh………… yeah……… this works………… good girl…….. ahh………..

つ：gotta get mind off of things.. want to enjoy… perhaps quietly shush if she starts to talk, pet pet

あ：but I like Nene being extremely like. mentally present. and feeling like math equations are running through her head by contrast. this is really just enough stimulation to feel mystified but not like her brains are gone

つ：still able to observe his demeanor and breathing etc…. feeling more, here, with him.. may as well be petting her hands in his and fiddling with them.

cute as a kind of…. prob unknown to hanako, but reassuring of property…. its an easy balm to think/feel: she's mine, mine….. she's mine right now…. pacifying spell

あ：yeah I was enjoying it as a sort of stake of claim, despite how leisurely the act itself. it's nice that it can still feel so much like, this is expressing 'i own you'…

the sheer comfort of how easy it is… in a funny way, he is feeling gratitude. like ohh. m'good girl…. thank god. in these trying times

つ：hypocritical to the reason for the breakdown, and yet. thats how it works. much like when bird is very upset about asking too much of me, and so, he must ask of me to comfort him

あ：such it is…………. the necessary cure the problem is you just want pleasure. that's the real root of the issue

つ：i like that a no-endgame rubbing would be able to continue as long as it must….

あ：yeah it's pleasant to think about... persisting quietly

つ：maybe eventually lowering fully to be flush with her back… nuzzling back of neck and shoulderblades. inhaling. fullyyyy compress cock against. sigh…..

あ：that's…… the kind of guy he is. it's funny objectively to be so scumbag aligned and yet so needy. ohhhhh i need my cuddles

つ：but i need them in this format.

あ：i need your attention </3

つ：ah when jenny is like [christian gray sounding annoyed] anyway, that was great.

あ：[rolls us onto our sides, so i can easily rub your pussy] </3

つ：the other soother…. rub her pussy.

あ：just let me know i have it still……………………….

つ：the cause and balm to my grief.

あ：fsr i imagine this making nene so pensive and her talking to tsukasa later like having some real girl talk. like…………………. hanako-kun……………………….. he's so indirect isn't he. but then, like, tsukasa, the enlightened one in the room [like more enlightened than both of you] able to just knowingly recount nonverbal spells like oh yes. well some days amane can't really talk much. [chewing on a pencil someone gave him]

but like goes on. oh he just grabbed you? yokkata ne. must really be getting comfortable with this all. it's good if he can just show you what he needs [nyam nyam. chew eraser]

つ：it's easier for Amane to just run off…. and stay where you can't find him!

tsukasa having simple memories of looking all around the house, worried….. i think about behind curtains schoolboy. i'm sure he's avoiding gone home TO tsukasa, won't have my breakdown around you…

あ：such a little creature…. we can only imagine how many stories tsukasa would have about that guy.

[peachesand-dream]

Today I feel so overcome with rage, I could scream until my lungs give out. There are so many contributing factors and in my true dissociative style I learned as kid, I sit here peaceful and quiet - like nothing is wrong because god forbid I show my emotions. For all my life showing emotion has felt like a rebellious act. Which is absolutely ridiculous, really. So here I am furiously typing a way what will inevitably sit in my stomach, in my nervous system - a deep pit of despair, fear, guilt and anger - all brewing into one big concoction of shitty feelings, gugrling around in my stomach. I feel so much heaviness mentally and physically from holding everything in. Before I grab my phone to seep into my blissful little dissociative state any further - this is what is currently preventing me from functioning.

I am angry and hurt with my parents. Because all my life they;ve made me feel like I don't matter, my feelings don't matter, and my pain is invalid. Any sickness or injury would be met with a joke or taunting or a serves you right - or what became the most used "this is probably your fault" and somehow attributed to my eating disorder and the inability to take care of myself. Always reinforcing this notion that I'm pathetic and weak. Something I still struggle to convince myself otherwise of. Now I'm 31 years old. I have a rare and at times debilitating disease with no cure. I also have a secondary disease that causes my body to feel constant nausea 24/7 and bloating - which fuels the eating disorder even more. I'm angry with my parents because they never ask how I am. They don't care. If I bring up my health they change the subject. So I've learned to do the same to myself. health fears creep in and I instantly dismiss and invalidate them. Until they become so loud I have no choice but to pay attention to them. I'm angry at myself for having so little friends at this point in my life. For being so introverted, shy and anxious that social events make me completely spiral, that sharing how I feel is is near impossible, and that my illnesses feel even louder, that I constanty feel alone and unsupported. I'm angry at my partner because I cannot deal with another night like last night where he came home so drunk he was unable to stand, picked a fight with me over an open blind and left 4 inches deep of vomit in our bathtub. Some people might feel this is unfair of me but it's not the drunkenness that upsets me. It's who he becomes when he drinks and how uncomfortable and unsafe I feel in my own home when he comes home like that. I feel so disrespected, hurt and disgusted. I deserve better than this. This has happened too many times. I've had too many sleepless anxiety filled nights waiting for him to come home yet not know what I'm up against. I wish he respected me enough to stop doing this. If he wants to become the father of our children, then I need him to stop behaving like this. Because at the moment, one more night like this would probably send me to breaking point.

[taleswritten]

Halsin's smile is contagious, with the added feeling of Halsin's lips kissing the back of his hand so sweetly there, it makes Astarions own lips curl into a smile. He's still a little confused with intimacy, a little hesitant, if only because he doesn't know how to react to it. He's lacked it for over 200 years, it's still hard to accept sometimes.

But, that doesn't matter right now - not when he is so hyper-fixated on Halsin and his needs. Halsin has always taken such good care of him that he wants to return the favor. There is no forcing himself to do this, though he understands Halsin's hesitance with the way he's been known to dissociate but that's not what this is.

It doesn't take much more convincing on Astarion's part, the druid seems to realize that Astarion isn't backing down in the least. He watches intently as Halsin kneels down to the ground, playing with the lilac bloom.

His undead heart flutters around in his chest as Halsin talks about how the color reminds him of Astarion, how he plays with his hair that has Astarion wanting to lean into that touch and further crave his hands all throughout white curls. There will be time for that later, though.

He wants to repeat that he trusts Halsin but it seems repetitive and he's worried if he says it too much, it will lose its meaning. Halsin seems to have relaxed, seems to trust his words now, and that is all that Astarion can ask for.

"I must admit, I didn't realize druids have ruts." It makes sense, however. Druids always do seem to have animalistic features, there are times where Astarion has noticed it. It intriges him, he likes it, even if he hasn't actively said it out loud.

Allowing Halsin to guide him, he follows behind with ease. If Halsin were to let go of him, he'd have no problem climbing over the rough terrain. He's a rogue - he's dexterous enough for it but it's sweet that Halsin wants to make sure he doesn't lose his balance and fall.

Interesting. Astarion does not remember this place when they'd explored the shadow lands the first time around. Perhaps some places were concealed with the shadow curse. If they weren't so desperate to go to baldurs gate, perhaps he would have liked exploring the lands. Another time, maybe, when everything dies down and he and Halsin can simply be.

After following Halsin in, Astarion glances around at the cave. A rather comfortable space, it seems. He wonders if anyone else knows about it. The site of wood figures, some unfinished, some finished - he notices a duck in particular and is reminded of the time Halsin had told him that tidbit.

Astarion finds it cute.

He waits, standing around a little awkwardly while Halsin meditates. He doesn't want to interrupt but he doesn't know what else to do either so he simply waits, watching Halsin in interest. One day, he'd like to know more about his rituals.

"Aestar?" Astarion questions, once again his heart flutters in his chest and he inwardly curses himself for it. Look at Halsin, making him feel things he had never been able to feel before.

Astarion almost instantly crosses the distance between them, placing his hand into Halsin's. He remains standing, though, unsure of what to do - what Halsin needs him to do.

This is new, after all.

Are there certain things he needs to do? Are there more rituals Halsin has to go through? Nervous is not something that Astarion feels often but in this moment, he is nervous. Not because he's worried about Halsin losing control and hurting him but because he doesn't want to mess this up.

"I know." He shifts a little closer, his free hand coming up to cup Halsin's cheek. He runs his thumb over Halsin's cheek in a circular motion, hoping to soothe and further prove that he knows. "I know. You have made me feel safe with you on more than once occasion, that hasn't changed simply because you've gone into a rut."

When Astarion speaks next, it is after a pause of hesitation and slight nerves. "What do I need to do? Tell me and I will do it, darling."

The touch from Astarion grounds him and Halsin looked down to see their fingers laced - it was a small thing, sure, but Halsin couldn't help smiling. He leaned down as he brought their hands up, pressing a kiss to the cool back of Astarion's hand. Astarion was choosing this - choosing him even in all of his prickly nature, when Halsin realistically was worried that his more animalistic tendencies might cause Astarion distress.

Halsin didn't bother to try and hide his grin then because Astarion liked his marks. Halsin particularly liked the entire process - feeding Astarion, knowing that it was his own blood that made the marks bloom against the pale of Astarion's skin. "I think it is something with the land." Halsin admitted, giving a soft sound as he looked around. For a moment, he stopped moving and crouched down, chuckling lightly as he gently guided a cluster of grass out of the way. "Look," He said it softly as his thick fingers grazed the edge of a soft, small lilac colored bloom. "I think of you when I see this color." Halsin said as he reached up to toy with a strand of Astarion's hair. "Beneath the moon's glow, your hair is almost this shade." He said before he stood again. He still felt himself, thankfully, his head clear enough for thoughts like that.

Astarion said he'd speak up, that he would tell Halsin if something was too much, and that was a comfort all itself. "Thank you." Halsin did need reminding that Astarion wasn't glass - whatever the vampire was made of, it was innately more resilient. He was woven by the stars themselves, if Halsin had any thoughts towards whatever forces had guided Astarion's life so far. He was infinitely more precious. "I will.....try not to be too.....hm." The druid considered the word, because he could smother, and nag, and mother hen far too much, but all of those things felt rather different to the way that he felt about Astarion. "I will try to keep my head about me." He settled after a moment. "I already feel that I want so much of you - but you have done so well in telling me what you want." Halsin had to trust what they'd both been working towards. Communication was so hard but so vital.

"The last rut I remember was....well. Before the Shadow Curse overtook the lands, I assume because the lands are waking back up, so is my body." It was a fair assumption, with the way he'd always been in tune with the lands. "I think I may know somewhere." Somewhere that might have been more secure at least. Somewhere that might not be crawling with Harpers and the few souls that had stayed around to loot and pillage. Guiding Astarion there wasn't too hard - he followed the route of a small creek where it met a twisted and gnarled tree, the roots wrapping themselves into a nasty tangle. He kept hold of Astarion's hand, helping the rogue cross over the areas. "Ah! Here." The surface of the rocky wall seemed like it was just another ledge, but Halsin felt for it, extended the hand that wasn't still wound in Astarion's. The earth itself shifted for him, the druid's eyes closing just for a moment as he sought out the space in the earth. "I used to come here when I was younger," Halsin explained as he pulled aside the hanging vines to reveal an enclosed space inside.

The shelter itself wasn't anything special but had evidenced of his younger days - older whittling projects in various stages of completion, diagrams and drawings of various things strewn about, the evidence of a lifetime ago when he was far more carefree. "It's not much," Halsin said after a moment of drinking it all in again. "But I would rather not have the Harpers interrupt us." His grin was feral then as he met his lover's garnet gaze. No, Astarion was far too precious for him to want others around. While he would honor Astarion's wishes ultimately, even Halsin Silverbough had his limits, and to push them during a rut would be flirting with disaster.

Halsin let Astarion's hand go to set both their packs down and settled on his knees in the circle of daylight where the ceiling wasn't solid, hands resting on his thighs with his palms up. A moment of meditation, old prayers recited before he felt for the ground. A soft bed of clovers rose up, at least something to start with. Halsin expected he would have at least the rest of the day to prepare better, and he would want to ensure that he had whatever provisions to last them both. "Come here, Aestar." Halsin requested, turning his gaze again to Astarion as he held a hand out. "I promise to you, Astarion, that I will listen and honor your wishes. You have control here, always when you are with me."

[misscammiedawn]

Hypnotic Amnesia and Eternal Sunshine

Personal post

Trying to watch movies again and put on Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind because I've not watched it since my BPD diagnosis and apparently support communities seem to think it's a perfect and empathetic media representation of the condition and I wanted to go through it again with that in mind.

Firstly, they're not wrong. But I'll unpack that in private.

What I wanted to note is just how realistic the depiction of soft mental gymnastics and continuity of consciousness is. Strange of me to say how a plot of "scientifically erasing memories" is realistic, but I've played around with hypnosis and dissociate enough to know what it's like to experience.

The present day segments of the movie are punctuated by Joel writing in his journal. We get to experience his internal narrative as he experiences the events of the day. It helps build his character, get an idea of how he perceives the world and most importantly it gets to show how he ignores the "blips" of his machine induced amnesia.

For those who have not seen the movie, the story revolves around a relationship between Jim Carrey's Joel character and Kate Winslet's Clementine character. After they break up Joel discovers that Clementine erased Joel from her mind using a procedure that targets memories.

It's actually a good allegory for how BPD break-ups go. *looks over shoulder at my Hell Box, where all the things that remind me of my former life go to die; and the external hard drive that contains all the chatlogs and journals from that period of my life that I needed to remove to prevent re-reading them and triggering myself*

During the intro of the movie Joel, post-procedure, skips work and goes to Montauk and bumps into Clementine. Neither one of them recognizing one another because they both had the procedure; during which they meet and build an organic relationship that is a little bit influenced by their unconscious comforts with one another; having built a long lasting relationship together.

The amnesia and the unconscious compulsions ("Meet me in Montauk") aren't treated as programming or commands by Joel, though.

He opens his journal and notes ripped pages "I don't remember doing that" and the gap in time and simply plows through.

When I am responding to an amnesia suggestion or am faced with evidence of my own self-sabotage, I can sometimes perceive it as an act of an earlier Camden to try and prevent me from experiencing something, but more often than not there's a little bit of a dysphoric feeling which I describe as a like charged magnet against my eyes that softly pushes you away from the offending evidence.

You don't see something like that and instantly go straight to "No. This is WRONG. I would NEVER do something like that!" and start getting worked up. You note that it's odd and something inside you just ushers you along out of that moment, like the discomfort of experiencing it is so strong that you do not linger in it.

I see a lot of takes from movies where people project their "that makes no sense" "why didn't he?" attitudes, but they handle it about as would be expected. When he feels the compulsion to suddenly go to Montauk it's not like a maiden being risen from their sheets to unlock the window for Count Dracula, it's a series of soft triggers.

Standing at the train station on his way to work he sees the train going in the other direction. A train he has taken in the past to a destination that holds a significance he doesn't quite understand, but it just feels right. He is driven by the impulsive urge because by seeing the train, knowing where it's going it's just the thing he should do. As naturally and organically as anything else.

When I was first playing around with hypnosis I always thought that a trigger would do as it does in media. Make you recoil, eyes dilate, code switch into an obedient setting. But no, it's just a drive, a nudge, a reminder. Don't dwell on it. Just do it.

As Joel and Clementine talk there's one moment that gets me. Clementine, after saying her name, sharply orders Joel not to make any jokes. Joel is confused, not sure what she means.

"Huckleberry Hound?" "I don't know what that is."

Later in the movie we discover that he was familiar with the "Oh my darlin', oh my darlin'" song, but it got erased because it is mapped to her in his mind and anything that reminds him of her has to go.

And that's how things are with triggers, connections and mental associations. It's so easy for innocuous things to be reminders of things/people and there are always going to be circumstances that you want erased.

One of the reasons I don't enjoy movies that much anymore is that when I was married I ran a movie theatre. Movies and that era of my life are linked. An unbreakable bond. To enjoy movies is to be who I was when I was married... before I came out the closet... and doing so is uncomfortable for me. So that like powered magnet in my brain just pushes it away, I don't enjoy watching movies anymore. Watching movies makes me feel bad and I don't want to feel bad.

Especially this one, which played a significant role in my getting married in the first place.

But here I am. Watching it. Enjoying it. Not turning away.

It's fascinating just what the brain can and will do to keep you from thinking and feeling on certain topics.

Trying to rescue the part of me that enjoys cinema is going to be a god damned project, but this stuff once brought me joy. I know it can again.

This post kind of got away from me, huh?

[solesommerso]

Still | Jim Street

Summary: if Buck died too, how the aftermath would start

Authors note: this is based off a conversation me and @blathannabeaga had where they said things were getting too happy in their writing, I agree and wrote this to even it out. Enjoy the hurt xx

Genre: hurt no comfort

Warnings: mentions of death, grief, what can be seen as dissociation

~

“ I just lost my brother, I can’t lose Buck too.”

He did. He lost them both in the matter of a month. Street sits on the locker room bench trying to find the energy to get up. He’s exhausted, he hasn’t moved from this spot in at least an hour. Deacon had called with the news that they can stop looking for Buck as it had all been too late.

Hondo gave a short winded speech about how much he loves the team and is there to talk if anyone wants, Chris had stormed away to punch at a punching bag, Hondo secluded himself to Dr.Wendy’s office, Luca started to cry instantly and said he was going to call his brother, Deacon didn’t even bother to come back to shift as he was a sniffling mess on the phone, Streets not too sure where Tan disappeared to but that doesn’t really matter right now, none of it does, all that matters is that Street hasn’t cried.

He didn’t cry when he found Nate shot in that bathtub or when Hondos face went pale and he slowly lowered his phone to shakily say Buck was dead. Street knows the sensation of getting tears welled up in your eyes, the hot skin, trembling bottom lip, blurry vision, and eventually the actual tears falling. He had done every step but the last.

Not a single drop of water fell nor a sob escape his throat, where they’ve felt trapped since Nate’s death, none of it broke free. All that happened was Street walked silently to the locker room where he still is.

The air is stale and grossly eerie with how cold everything looks now. It’s too quiet, all of 50 squad is off doing something, there’s no wide eyed recruits running around, no crazy case to chase, it’s all stopped. It’s like the world has stopped spinning and nobody told Street how to get it to start again.

He has not a single thought of how to make himself feel more in reality. How to get up, walk to his bike, drive home, take a shower, eat, and sleep. It feels like an impossible task so for now, Street will sit with his back straight and joints stuff against the wood, he will stay until maybe the world spins again. Stay in this stand still of his life.