#and it COMPLETELY rewired my brain and the way i think when i draw people

[fidgetspringer]

Quick tip to anyone who is going through the horrors of learning to draw human bodies.

Don't look at the thousands of overly complicated anatomy tutorials, at least not to begin with.

Look instead to urban sketchers. Trust me on this. Urban sketchers have to get those shapes and proportions down on paper quickly and correctly.

Build shape memory before you start to look at where that one muscle goes when the arm is in that one specific position. Come back to that later.

Oh and I hate to say it but keep those urban sketcher tricks in the back of your mind and then draw figure studies every single day. It sucks at first but three of those every day for a week or two and you'll be able to draw human bodies. Pinky promise.

[glowettee]

i need tips to stop oversharing

everyone’s always like “if you be mysterious, people want to be friends with you” but i CAN’TT

UGH I HATE IT SMM ITS LIKE PPL SMILE AT ME AND I START YAPPING TO THEM ABOUT EVERYTHING

i’m so weirdddd ughhh

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕 ♡ 𝒂 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍’𝒔 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

hi angel 🩰 mindy here....

first of all, you're not weird. you’re human, and also really, really self-aware, which is honestly a sign of emotional intelligence. oversharing isn’t a character flaw, it’s just a form of vulnerability that’s maybe lacking a little bit of direction right now. and you know what? that can definitely be rewired.

but you’re right. there’s something so deliciously powerful about being unreadable. not cold. not distant. just quietly self-contained. you know, that one girl in your class who always looks like she knows more than she’s saying. being mysterious doesn’t mean suppressing your personality, it means curating what parts of you, you reveal, and when. think: allure, not silence.

so, if you’re ready to stop trauma-dumping after someone tells you they like your lip gloss... let’s get into your ✧ anti-oversharing glow-up ✧. - love youuuu

✧‧˚ 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒏𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 ✧‧˚

❥ step one: create your “public” script sometimes we overshare because we don’t have a “go-to” version of ourselves for light conversation. so when someone gives us an opening, our brain kind of panics and goes “quick! say literally anything!” and out comes your ENTIRE 7th grade story arc.

to fix this, create a mental ‘highlight reel’ version of yourself for casual convos. i call this your “glow-up script.” these are a few cute, polished, semi-surface-level anecdotes and answers you intentionally rehearse for common situations:

✧ how’s school going? → “it’s been intense but i kind of love it. i’ve been really into productivity stuff lately.” ✧ what do you like to do? → “mostly reading & making pinterest boards like it’s my job.” ✧ how was your weekend? → “super recharging. i’ve been trying to stay offline more lately.”

this gives you a comfy, consistent personality to draw from without reaching into the emotional deep end. bonus: people will find you intriguing because you’re selective.

❥ step two: let silence stretch a little a lot of us overshare because we feel pressure to fill silence. like, someone says something and you feel like you have to respond instantly and enthusiastically or it’s rude. but silence isn’t awkward unless you panic about it.

instead, practice the ✧ micro pause ✧. when someone asks you a question or makes a comment, pause for two full seconds before you answer. let your eyes flick away for a beat. this one trick shifts the vibe completely. it gives you space to choose your words and makes you appear way more composed and thoughtful. think of it as conversational ballet: graceful, intentional, a little mysterious.

❥ step three: replace “omg same!” with “that’s so interesting” oversharing often starts when we relate too hard too fast. someone mentions their cat and suddenly you’re spilling about the time yours almost got run over and how that spiraled into your fear of loss and attachment theory.

instead of instantly jumping into your version of the topic, try observing it in them.

✧ “that’s so interesting, what’s your cat like?” ✧ “wait that’s such a unique story, tell me more.”

this helps you break the reflex to center the convo on yourself. you stay warm and curious without handing over your diary.

✧‧˚ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒃𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒖𝒑𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆 ✧‧˚

❥ develop a ✧ private life aesthetic ✧ if you want to stop oversharing, you need to fall in love with the idea of being private. romanticize it. write diary entries no one will ever read. take photos you don’t post. go to cafes without tagging the location. being private isn’t being lonely, it’s creating a secret world so rich and beautiful that you don’t need external validation.

❥ use a “mental filter” before you speak before you say something personal, ask yourself:

✧ is this earned information, or am i offering it to feel accepted? ✧ would i regret this if it got repeated? ✧ is this helping the conversation or derailing it? ✧ am i sharing this for connection or out of nervousness?

if it’s not intentional, save it for later, or your journal.

❥ try“gentle deflection” you don’t have to answer every question. if someone gets too nosy or the convo feels like it’s tilting into overshare territory, try a soft pivot.

✧ “hmm that’s a long story, maybe another day. but tell me about you!” ✧ “haha i’ve blocked that era out. what about you though?”

play it like a game. you stay in control of the narrative while still being cute & open.

✧‧˚ 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒚’𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 ��𝒊𝒑𝒔 ✧‧˚

❀ when i catch myself about to overshare, i mentally switch into ✧ editor mode ✧ like i’m revising a diary entry. i ask: “does this version of me feel like the version i want to become?” if not, i scale it back.

❀ i also keep a “burn book” journal (not for meanness, just raw thoughts) where i can word vomit everything and no one sees it. it satisfies the urge to get it out without the regret.

❀ lastly, i pretend i’m the main character of a book that’s still being written. no author spills the whole plot in chapter one. they drop breadcrumbs. a line. a glance. a sentence that makes people curious. you are the enigma. the slow-burn story. don’t give them the whole novel.

you’re not too much. you’re just overflowing with personality, and now you’re learning how to bottle it in perfume instead of spilling it like water. and i promise... the more you stay grounded, the more you’ll see how people lean in, want to know more, wonder about you. it’s not fake. it’s just strategic softness.

your power has always been in your words. now you’re learning how to use them, not waste them.

you’re becoming the mystery. the “i wonder what she’s thinking” girl. the “she smiled but didn’t say much” kind of energy. lol.

and trust me, it'll work like wonders.

always here for you, — 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒚 ♡ glowettee hotline operator ☎︎✨

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 2x19, "house vs. god"

the term "functional vampire" rewired my brain, as did this entire episode.

this one completely upended my episode rankings. i think this may be my favorite episode of the show thus far. now i have to contend with that/balance it for my season review smh. fittingly, this has the potential to be my longest recap yet, so godspeed to you, soldiers!

i think i'll start with an odd exchange between wilson and house (before shit hits the fan) that i think encompasses 2x19's conflict.

predictably, house is absolutely enraged by the patient, boyd, claiming to be a faith healer. house hates the concepts of religion and faith on principle because he can't rationalize how someone can believe in something that they empirically cannot prove. he has a really odd way of explaining why this makes him so mad:

"you know, i'd get it if people were just looking for a way to fill the holes. but they want the holes. they want to live in the holes. and they go nuts when someone else pours dirt in their holes."

house's irritation stems from the way he thinks people cling to uncertainty. rather than attempt to solve it, they attribute that uncertainty to a higher power and get upset when someone - like house - attempts to disrupt that. in house's worldview, however, his very profession necessitates a rejection of that uncertainty. the more boyd pushes back on this, the more frustrated he gets.

i start with this bit first because everyone in 2x19 is subject to uncertainty, and he's no exception. at the end of the episode, when the case is all said and done (much more on that later), boyd comes to apologize to house (which pissed me off lol because boyd was 15 with a fever. house is just a cunt). he says the following, very prophet-like: "you're lucky. you go through life with a certainty that what you're doing is right. i know how comforting that is. good luck."

not only is "luck" a concept that is probably foreign to boyd, but this draws a very uncomfortable attention to house's inevitable fallibility, which we just saw some of in 2x17. house, try as he might, cannot be certain, especially because the solution to boyd's case was such a fluke, and wilson was the one who prompted the answer, anyways. house does so much to preserve, if nothing else, his intellect, but some small piece of him is aware of its imperfections. he's trying to get out of his hole, but it's not as easy as he claims:

wilson, meanwhile, attempts to control the uncertain, rather than deny it outright like house. when we first meet grace, wilson is trying to convince her to keep undergoing treatments, or at least palliative care, for her terminal diagnosis; they both know that she has a limited amount of time, but if he becomes EXTREMELY involved with her, by his logic, he can have a hand in solving/mitigating that uncertainty. that's the plain jane version, at least...much more to come.

meanwhile, and much more subtly, 2x19 posits chase as the middle ground between these 2 modes of handling uncertainty. he just...lives with it. whether or not this is a remnant of his upbringing or not, i found his respect and intrigue regarding boyd's faith to be really fascinating. when house first learns that boyd is a faith healer, chase interrupts to say: "a lot of people experience their religion as something more than symbolic." this then goes on to have massive, very palpable ramifications, reaffirmed by the last tally marks he put on the house vs. god whiteboard.

i really like the contrast this has with cameron's quick treatise on religiosity, or a lack thereof, when giving the MRI with foreman. whereas chase can exist within the uncertainty, can understand the draw of The Holes house hates so much, cameron rejects it altogether, saying that it is beyond our comprehension and thus should be beyond our concern. given that she's so involved with the here-and-now, so overextended into the lives of her patients, this tracks, at least to me.

another big marker of uncertainty's impact (and certainty's impossibility) occurs via house's poker game. he keeps wilson out because he knows that wilson, of all people, can not only read him, but has a lie brewing that house can't decipher without external help (a message from "god," maybe?). and when that lie gets revealed, wilson is right: "you're mad because i lied to you and you couldn't tell...that's why you didn't want me in your poker game, because when it comes to being in control, gregory house leaves our faith healer kid in the dust...if the universe operates by abstract rules, you can learn them and protect yourself."

this is just one of the ways poker functions in 2x19 - a site for uncertainty to flourish. i think it's weird that there are 2 poker-themed episodes so close together, but i think the premise functions even better in "house vs. god" than in "all in." blasphemy, i know.

with all that being said, house's diagnosis of wilson as a "functional vampire" actually encompasses a lot of the ways the characters encounter/handle (however subliminally) the uncertainty between faith and unbelief. it's also how they legitimate and self-actualize - their actions yield an action or phenomenon that they benefit from in return. it's another example of house implicating himself in his tirades against wilson's bullshit, and i eat it up every time. let's make a list:

boyd and house are united by their need to "heal." i'll say this till i'm blue in the face - house has remained a medical doctor because he cares about people, and the rush he gets from solving a case is baked into that face. boyd, meanwhile, gets the satisfaction of loving people and feeling like god's chosen. ironically, however, boyd is more cognizant of their similarity than house is. his parting words about luck imply that he's even reconsidering this calling, while house remains victim to its absolutism - he can't conceptualize any other version of life.

house's trademark neediness, which he admits to, also qualifies him as something of a vampire. taking and taking from wilson emotionally fulfills his sense of self and a need for wilson (that we haven't really addressed yet) is a lot like wilson's vampirism, just in the reverse. this episode is sooo "vampire empire" by big thief-coded.

wilson's functional vampirism is the best way his need of neediness has been conceptualized yet. whereas an "ordinary" person would get burnt out by his work in oncology, it provides him with an endless stream of needy individuals. it's kind work tainted by an insane degree of selfishness. specifically regarding grace, wilson needs to be the one to help grace rather than anything extraneous; that's why he's especially upset with house and co. when he sees that boyd has been "helping" grace. i don't think his concern over false hope is untrue, necessarily, but that's definitely not the sole operating factor here.

the boyd and house parallels regarding their own vampirisms actually transfers to boyd and wilson by the end of 2x19, however subtly. their bodily sins (both to do with sex) are both represented and disguised by their need to help people. they both get some reward from helping grace - boyd reinvigorates his faith and wilson fills the gaping black void of neediness in his heart (plus sex. he's such a villain here).

next. did you guys know that there are gay people in our doctor show? 2x19 is bursting with a lot of subtextual queerness not limited to strictly comphet wilson or hilson or house's bisexuality but a wonderful combination of all 3, and then some.

comphet wilson is here, and at his most troubling. i mentioned in an earlier recap that wilson's love language (to use a dated term/concept) is very clearly acts of service. he describes to house how he ended up moving in with grace after helping her with groceries, transportation, etc. while still being overly involved and unprofessional, these are objectively kind actions. so, like always, wilson has to ruin it by injecting sex into the mix.

at this point, it really seems like wilson truly can't conceptualize any sort of relationship between a man and woman - professional, platonic, romantic, etc. - that doesn't end in sex. maybe he's spiraling a bit post-julie, but it also reads as a frantic attempt to control the uncertain both within 2x19 and beyond. what lies beyond the heterosexual is uncertain, if not incomprehensible, to wilson, and his catch-all for relationships is working again after he failed to satisfy julie. it's double-sad, really.

meanwhile, the house/wilson synergy doesn't just implicate wilson in this scenario; house's innate queerness comes part and parcel with his reliance on wilson. i'll make a much longer post (more likely a formal, thesis-driven article, actually) on this at some point, but all the ways that house deviates from the textbook Normal that exists in house md may be read as markers for house's queer identity. i sure read them that way. one of his most maladaptive traits is his misanthropy; at ground zero, his disability unfairly isolated him from the life he once knew. 2x07's comparisons between the gay patient, kalvin, and house reaffirm this.

so it bears underscoring that the only offered solution to house's neediness and isolation atp is wilson specifically. his neediness is compatible solely with the man who can never be fully satisfied in his (sexual) devotion to women. this is not heteronormative in any way (sorry to keep abusing that word). remind me of this seed of a thought when we get to the blood donor/recipient conversation because then they literally start invoking penetration when having this exact same conversation lol.

lastly, i think it's pertinent that are 2 major scenes that associate masculinity, sex, and shame in moments of exposure: the poker game itself and when boyd reveals his rash, his sign of herpes encephalitis. in both cases, the setting is dominated by men (isn't most of house md? lol) with prying, diagnosing eyes. house, wilson, chase, and foreman are quite literally looking to diagnose boyd, but boyd's father is trying to discern boyd's character, to determine where things have gone wrong regarding his faith.

the physical act of revealing the rash is almost like a humiliation rite for boyd; they demand that he take off is clothes and the rash is just below his waist. boyd, and boyd's persona, come crashing down in this moment, as he's failed to live up to the standard imposed by himself and his faith community around him by having sex.

the poker game, meanwhile, moves this dynamic away from physical humiliation and into mental/emotional strife. it's also highly ritualized (a theme in house and wilson's relationship throughout the show - games!). wilson is put under the same diagnostic microscope, except these ill-informed strangers, whom house doesn't even give names, are trying to discern the details of why wilson is screwed up.

once again, another persona collapses under the weight of these masculine gazes bent on exposing the respective scenes' primary subject, thus engendering sex and gender-based humiliation. insert something about how "all will be revealed in god's eyes" here, idk.

following all of this, wilson somehow makes a somewhat redeeming statement (he is NOT absolved. i'm glad he lets grace go on her merry way to her trip in florence, and i hope that she wasn't too in-shambles over him). after deliberating on the legitimacy of house's "victory" over god, wilson declares that, "it is possible to believe in something and still fail to live up to it."

on an immediate level, this implicates the image that boyd wanted to maintain, one of purity and healing and godly influence. in wilson's case, this is to do with his own kind, nonmanipulative oncologist (and heterosexual) persona.

but writ large, this applies to every character. cameron will always be living up to her impossible convictions, believing in them strongly despite circumstances like those in 2x18; chase will continue to try to live up to his idea of what house requires of him; foreman will try to live up to the idea that he's nobly above the rest of the team, struggling against that which makes him similar to house; cuddy will try to live up (and succeed, dammit!) to the astronomically tough expectations and standards demanded of her stature. the list goes on and on. maybe those standards are everyone's metaphorical "holes," and this episode does an excellent job exhuming how house md characters live inside of them.

this mammoth-sized recap is to say nothing about the second gag-off that these 2 have on the street, or not the real nitty-gritty of it at least (i love how house always gets SO CLOSE to winning during their fights, but wilson pulls out a heavy-hitting read at the last second). nor do i really get into the larger narrative house md builds around atheism. i'll link what i've said about that in the past here. but overall, after i've sat down to write this, i'm confident that "house vs. god" is my favorite episode of the show thus far. the only one that could give this a run for its money upcoming is 2x24.

one last thing...

HE LOOKS SO GOOD IN THIS EPISODE. I CAN'T STAND IT. THEY DID IT ON PURPOSE. THEY SPECIFICALLY MADE HIM EXTRA GOOD LOOKING SO HIS VILLAINY WOULD HURT MORE.

[olderthannetfic]

God is there anything more painful than finding a really cool website and then immediately it's fucking infested by antis and puritans 😩

I recently joined a website called Toyhou.se which is basically a website for organizing your characters and art of them. You can make little profiles for them and customize them however you want. I'm obsessed with organizing things and making lists so this website is like fucking catnip for me lmao.

But oh my god. The fucking antis. This website is crawling with them.

Like, the service reviews section of the forums is legitimately fucking horrifying.

There are no moderators. None. Zero. One person runs the site and he refuses to hire anyone to moderate the forums so it's basically just Fight Club for internet lunatics. He will ban people immediately for copyright infringement but suicide baiting or false accusations? He does nothing.

It's meant as a place to make PSAs about people who are scamming, stealing art, being rude to their customers, etc. but instead it's full of puritan busybodies falsely accusing random artists (including minors) of sex crimes.

Basically every fucking PSA is just "[Insert artist] is a z00 and p3d0!" and when you look, the "evidence" is the artist drawing feral porn and porn of chibi characters.

Even when the PSA is legit (like someone calling out an actual groomer) it's filled with completely unrelated garbage like "Yeah they groomed 10 kids. But first, here's proof that they were in a pregnancy fetish server!" like, okay? What the fuck does that have to do with them grooming minors? Hello?

Just the usual anti garbage like "If you like something in fiction that means you like it in real life" and "It's so alarming that this minor is drawing smut of their OCs! They must be getting groomed!" and "If you think of feral/child/whatever characters in a horny way that'll rewire your brain because chemicals! So it's very very dangerous and bad!"

This place is legitimately even worse than Tumblr.

--

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  Penny00Dreadful! @penny00dreadful has 29 fics in the Stranger Things fandom with 25 of them being in the Steddie Tag!

@hbyrde36 recommends the following works by @penny00dreadful:

Crossroads

Cat and Mouse

I'll Tell You My Sins and You Can Sharpen Your Knife

And They Were Roommates!

The Parting Glass

Sam, on top of being an absolutely amazing writer (AND artist!), is one of the brightest lights in this fandom (in my humble opinion). She is incredibly kind and encouraging, always ready to uplift other authors in the Steddie and ST fanfic worlds. I have had the incredible pleasure of being her beta reader for quite some time now, and am consistently blown away by her talent. There isn't a single one of her works that I wouldn't recommend, they are all fantastic reads. -- @hbyrde36

Below the cut, @penny00dreadful answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Opposites attract has always been a major draw for me, especially in my fandoms. Every pairing I’ve ever gotten into in every fandom I’ve been in have all been opposites attract and I’m not going to lie to you, I did not make that realization until this question. 😅 I had a very “Huh… that tracks” moment about it. 🤣 So the opposites attract factor is definitely big for me and while I suppose you could say that’s true for many, many pairings in fandom, there’s something about the complete opposite of both Steve and Eddie that is just enrapturing. From their aesthetic, to their personalities, to their upbringing, it creates such incredibly interesting parallels and options for building stories around them. On top of that, the two of them are so compelling as characters. Their various hang ups and traumas, their loves and hates, the time period and the genre of work they originated in all coalesce into something so captivating. I adore the two of them so much, they’re so fascinating. I think everyone can find a little bit of themselves in either one of them, but especially with the addition of Eddie into the series we got a character who was ‘other’, in the same way so many of us feel and are seen, he speaks to us on such a personal level. So, yeah. I love them.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Oh boy. There are so many. Enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, fluff. But if I had to pick one that has been my longest standing love, it would have to be a slow burn. Like, when it hits, it hits. And it hits hard.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

I looooove writing some tasty hurt/comfort. There’s just something so addictive about someone needing to be taken care of after something bad or traumatic happens or they’ve just had a really shitty day. It’s so cathartic. And also, I cannot like, I love getting comments screaming at me that I’ve made people hurt or cry or feel things because I know I’m going to make it better, I’m gonna give them that comfort. And it’s such an incredible compliment from people when they tell me that my writing has made them feel feelings. Like it is the highest praise possible that I could induce that in someone. It feels amazing.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

Oh my god, that is such a difficult question to answer. I have read so many that have left a permanent mark on my heart or completely rewired my brain. I had to go look through my bookmarks to narrow it down because my god, there are so many talented people in this fandom and even then I was attempted to just give a list of all my top ones because, god they make me feel so many things, people are so fucking talented, I love them. But I would say if I had to choose one, there’s one that lives rent free in my brain. I think of it all the time, it is so god damn special to me and if I’m being honest with myself, it’s the first one that came to mind, It would have to be wouldn’t it be nice (if we could wake up) by kissesforcas  kissesforcas I have talked about this fic on my blog before but it just hits me in the right way every time I read it, it’s absolutely magical. I can’t recommend it enough, please go read it. It changed me completely.  There’s so many beautiful moments in it, the two boys are so protective of each other in it, but they also adore their found family and will defend them at any cost, the two of them feel real, their communication feels genuine and honest and realistic while also being true to their characters, I just adore it.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

YES. FANTASY. It is wild to me that I have not done a fully fledged fantasy AU at all yet. Like I adore fantasy, what gives? Why have I not done it yet? Omg ALSO, historical. Like a lot of my special interests are historical based, WHY have I not done that yet?? AND, AND horror maybe? Like a psychological or zombie or paranormal/supernatural or slasher. So many things I haven’t explored that I want to do, and I can’t wait!

What is your writing process like?

Okay, so first things first, I get an idea.  Kind of obvious, I know, but yeah, the idea stage. Usually it’ll be something that hit out of nowhere, I’ll write down one line in the ideas doc and then pretend I won’t be thinking of it for the rest of the day. Then when I admit to myself I want to expand on it, I’ll take all of the brain worms attached to that idea and put them in their own doc. It’ll all be VERY disjointed at this stage, just a stream of consciousness of different situations/conversations/plot bunnies that popped into my head. Once I feel like I have enough of a concept through that, I begin to put them in order, maybe add a few more. Then I outline. I’m an outline kinda gal.  Over a page or two I’ll give a bare bones outline of what the fic will be, almost like it’s a short story? But still very rough.  Then I’ll start writing, usually in chronological order, I find that makes it easier to plant seeds and foreshadow and create consistency with the voice of the fic. Sometimes I will jump ahead if I’m really excited about a particular part of the fic, I’ll get it out before I lose steam on it. HOWEVER, I find that I almost ALWAYS diverge from the outline. If, as I’m writing, things start going in a different direction, I go with the flow, I don’t fight it. Fighting it, I feel is detrimental to my writing, trying to force myself into a box and hey, going with the flow has been working out pretty well for me so far. 🤣

Do you have any writing quirks?

Quirks? I dunno about that. I think I’m a pretty standard writer, but I do end up writing across three devices a lot of the time depending on where’s more comfortable. PC, tablet and phone. I’ll always stick to writing whatever my brain is focusing on at that time, but if I know I need to get a fic out and I’m not really feeling the inspo anymore, I’ll give myself an extra boost by watching movies with similar themes, listening to music related to it, or even just searching the trope on Pinterest can help me generate excitement about it again.Also do yourself a favor and get yourself a Bluetooth keyboard. It’s a game changer for writing on your phone.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

I’ve done both and I much prefer posting on a set schedule. I always try to get the fic at least 50% finished before I start posting to give myself a nice cushion. Yeah, the immediate endorphin hit of posting once I’m done is great, but I much prefer the option to have a fic mostly or completely done before I post, so I can go back in and tweak things to make a theme hit harder or stick in a tad more foreshadowing or even just to edit.

Which fic are you most proud of?

I love all of my works, honestly. I write for me. I write the things I want to read. I think it would be difficult to narrow down a fic that I am the most proud of. Like I’m actually having a really difficult time picking one and saying “This one. This is the one I am most proud of.” Because I am proud of all of them and it’s for each of their own reasons. Like, some are very, very personal to me, some are stories that made me feel completely unhinged and obsessed(affectionately) and some are stories that touched people in very real ways, or made them feel safe and seen and that is so incredibly special to me. It’s a bit of a cop out to say that I can’t pick one, I can’t choose between my children, but I really can’t, they’re all so special, at least to me, in their own ways.

How did you get the idea for Crossroads?

So I have never seen the movie The Old Guard, but I have heard of it and while I know that reincarnation is not an aspect of that movie, I was struck with the idea of someone going through life over, and over, and over again, just to be close to the one they love the most. Like that kind of time bending devotion. And I had a brain worm of various historical ways of dying and I couldn’t figure out a way to write all of them into one fic before the idea of reincarnation hit. The very first image I had in my head of Eddie dying was being burned at the stake, so I had to work my way up to that time period and beyond. I knew I didn’t want it to be something that had only happened a few times over a couple of hundred years.  I knew I wanted it to be an ancient, centuries spanning kind of devoted love which is what led me to Ancient Greece, and in leading me there, I had to figure out why this was happening. Why Steve was traversing time just to be next to his boy again. Hecate appeared out of the mist and invaded my brain and it all kind of spilled out onto the page after that. 

When writing Cat and Mouse, what was something you didn’t expect?

I gotta be honest, the whole fic was unexpected. 😅 It was one of those stories when I originally thought of it, it was only gonna be a short little thing, maybe one or two chapters. By the end of it we were at 16 chapters and over 70K. Apparently I have no idea how to write anything short. But I think what also took me by surprise was how feral the two of them were for each other even though they didn't actually get together until later. I knew I wanted to have them being snappy and flirtatious for the whole thing and it evolved into the two of them being so dedicated to each other after only meeting a few times. I also didn’t expect the wild reaction I got to the fic, people loved it and were chomping for more and I was floored by it, it made me so incandescently happy!

What inspired Cat and Mouse?

So, the short answer is I saw this post from steddielations and it burrowed so deep into my brain, I had to get it out! Long answer is it was a mix of that post, and then a bit of Mr & Mrs. Smith mixed in along with John Wick. I just loved the idea of two deadly people being so soft for each other they’d be willing to burn the world for each other, do anything at any cost to keep the other safe.

What was your favorite part to write from And They Were Roommates!?

Oh my god, the banter. The banter was loaded with bitching and queerspeak and jabs, it was so much fun. I hadn’t really seen a story where the steddie boys had been bitchy queers before, like leaning into it and I just had to, I had to. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up and I could have gone on for ages just the two of them biting back and forth.

How do/did you feel writing I'll Tell You My Sins and You Can Sharpen Your Knife?

Conflicted, honestly. I was worried the POV I was writing from would be a little too out there, you know? There were a few times throughout writing where I thought I’d have to go back and change it out to be more of a standard fic but at the end of the day it felt so right to have the story told the way it was and it also felt very in line with Take Me To Church as well. It’s also the most poetic piece of writing I have done to date and while it’s not something I can see myself revisiting too often, it was a fantastic exercise in moving out of my comfort zone. It got me, right in the heart.

What was the most difficult part of writing The Parting Glass?

Oh boy. The whole fic was an exercise in catharsis. It was a way of processing my own grief after losing a family member and getting it all out into words was very, very helpful. I think the hardest part was just putting down into words how Eddie was feeling right in the aftermath, you know? Like grief is such a personal thing, everyone experiences it differently, so I wanted to try to figure out how Eddie would respond to it, especially considering it was the death of someone so important to him. So to have him looking around the trailer and it being empty but still with bits of Wayne dotted around like he was about to walk back through the door was probably the realest and most difficult part for me.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

Oh god there’s so many! I could pick so many! But the first thing that came to mind is the small interaction between Eddie and Robin in Return of The King, when Steve is demonstrating his newly acquired vampire strength for the kids and Eddie has to hold onto Robin to keep himself from melting into a puddle: “Down boy.” She muttered. “Me next.” He practically whimpered right back. “Oh god, Robbie, I wanna be that stump. Tell him to do me next.” “You’re pathetic.” “What about it?” [...] Robin leaned in close to his ear but continued to stare at Steve. “If you two don’t calm the fuck down I’m going to get the hose.” Wet Steve. “Please get the hose.” I love Robin and Eddie together whenever I can get them snarking at each other, it’s just so entertaining. 

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

Oh yeah! A good few things. I’m coming back from my writing break and I’m going to be working on the final two fics for my anniversary event, Through The Valley and Devotion.  I also have a Summer Exchange Fic in the works along with starting on my Steddie Big Bang piece that I am also signed up for as an artist, I’m so excited to start them!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

I think I would just like to add that this blog, this concept is such a wonderful idea, you’re doing great work here to bring people and fics to new eyes and it has been an honor and a privilege to be put forward the way I have, I’m so so so thankful. 🖤

Thank you to our author, @penny00dreadful, and our nominator, @hbyrde36! See more of Penny00Dreadful's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[your--isgayrights]

Hi idk if anyone has asked this before but do you think there are thematic implications to Sangah liking works from Murakami Haruki, Raymond Carver, Han Kang.

Yeah, I'm not super familiar with all of the authors myself but I did some basic research while writing Wall fic so I have an opinion about this. First of all, the internationality of these picks shows YSA is well read, but this different kind of well read than KDJ. Her interest in international literature is somewhat connected to her backstory of being from a richer family that wanted to marry her off in my mind bc international language education is somewhat status/wealth associated in modern South Korea. Second of all the kinds of authors she picks out are the type who write singular, artistic works that tend to start from a point of realism and make a comment about the characters' navigation of Society. So the type of reading she's doing isn't sitting down and obsessively following a 3000 chapter webnovel that can only exist through the conglomeration of niche trope after niche trope to be completely understood. I see her as a girlie who like. Will check the new York times best seller list and just buy or check out a new book to read if she hears good things. So this authors of singular works and short stories being her favorite shows she doesn't really follow extensive Series, she's not the type who needs constant updates to keep on living lol. She's the type who occasionally read novels for literature classes which graduated to occasionally reading novels in her free time. Not saying that she reads popular novels just to seem cultured like mister 'art of war on my desk' but I think she is someone who can see opening a book like stumbling upon a television program that just happens to be on you know it's not a major time commitment or something that will rewire her brain and then she'll have thoughts about language use and literary opinions you know.

Then the one author I'm more familiar with is Han Kang and I actually didn't remember her being listed by YSA but you're probably right and I just forgot bc I know Han Kang from reading the Vegetarian more than I know her from being referenced in ORV I guess lol. Han Kang is a popular modern author in South Korea who has both been somewhat of an icon for feminism (I think?) And is definitely a representative of the Trauma literature movement. She grew up in Gwangju and lived through the aftermath of the Gwangju uprising (the people suffered violent oppression and censorship under leadership at the time) and in an interview she once described herself as someone who writes to ask questions instead of answer them. The Vegetarian is an example of a work of hers that starts off very ingrained in reality and slowly becomes surreal in a way that could still exist in the real world but could be interpreted as containing fantasy elements. I think it's interesting to me to draw parallels to YSA here bc the vegetarian is a story about a traumatized woman being controlled and used by other people. Spoilers for the vegetarian I guess but the main character decides to be vegetarian one day without a 'societally acceptable' reason and this 'embarrasses' the people around her so much that they try to force her to change. After she is abused by her husband, father, and brother in law, this experience is held parallel to something she experienced as a child, when she was friends with a small dog and then the dog bit her. Local folk medicine said killing and eating the dog was the only way to cure sickness from a dog bite and she felt no remorse as everyone agreed the dog must be eaten. Forgetting 'the natural order' revokes the rights of personhood or humanity, when the main character of the Vegetarian descends into a psychosis trying to escape participating in the violence of the world around her by 'becoming a plant,' it's shown at the end how even her own sister struggles to see her as a person who can still be spoken with or make her own decisions. So yeah it's pretty fucked up and I have some more specific opinions on it ( like I've written essays about it) but as it relates to YSA the Vegetarian is very much about the POV of outsiders following another person's struggles which I find a very interesting in parallel to YSA leafing through KDJ's memories as his wall librarian. I also think her familiarity with trauma literature as a genre may be off-putting to KDJ specifically because these realistic type stories with a bit of fiction are quite similar in genre to the book his own mother wrote, in fact I find it extremely likely that in the world of ORV YSA read LSK's book somewhere before. I think they're also not the kind of books that get overly silly/ have a 'happy ending' by convention, which is interesting to me bc I see passivity vs agency as an important theme concerning YSA's arc throughout the story and whether or not she has an ability to create a happy ending or not is interesting. Like the little 'you knew??' moment in the epilogues is very important bc YSA and KDJ come from this same 'real world' and because of that neither of them really expected a Happy Ending you know. I like that YSA goes through the journey of beginning to Believe in it before KDJ comes back bc you know it shows that perspective can be changed before we even get to him it's really good.

[badedramay]

haven’t been here in a while but i know you’ve been keeping up with jhok sarkar, and this past week’s episode was so disappointing for me! i really had hoped they were going to draw out sassi’s grudge against arsalan and make him prove himself to her but to think they resolved it all within one episode.. how boring! i’m not sure why they tried going the route of arsalan having no fault when he was still the one who pulled the trigger when he absolutely didn’t have to. what a waste of a potentially riveting storyline. it seems no drama’s really been able to meet my complete expectations lately except for yunhi (which you should def catch up on! the romance between dawood and kim has started to get really good)

i mean WHY introduce this gigantic conflict if it was supposed to be cleared in a such a piddi way???

i am beating the same drum again but GOD PakDramas need to become braver for their female protagonists instead of sacrificing their complexity for plot convenience. this happens again and again now that a FL's emotions become the hardest to follow for viewers because they keep dwindling between either being TOO simple or being TOOOO convoluted (Meerab is a very recent example). yes, arguments can be made that emotions work in different ways for different people but there ARE some subjects which are so universal that we can resonate with the varying degrees of intensity with which characters react to them. grief of losing a family member is one such subject. it completely rewires your entire brain chemistry. 10 days is literally NOT enough time for anyone to have any kind of objective, logical reaction to any thing happening around them when going through such intense grief let alone the very reason for grief. at this point who cares what Arsalan's intentions were?! it was HIS GUN THAT KILLED JEEVAN. PERIOD. Sassi's anger and hatred was justified. even if she found out that the reason Jeevan was there at that place was because of Meeral doesn't change Arsalan's part in the incident. forgiveness is good but GOD Arsalan did nothing to earn that forgiveness. he did one thing of getting Sassi the job and she's on the way to the thana to sneak him thank you notes?? yaaaaaar. yeh toh nahin chaiye tha.

will definitely catch up on Yunhi. i miss Kim :( btw..thoughts on Jannat Say Aagay and Mein teasers?? Ayeza character teaser in Mein has me shaking in anticipation like yess yes YESSSSS gimme a morally grey FL! plus she's looking SO gorgeous uffff this bandi doesn't know how to miss!!!

[fenimores-book-nook]

This is everywhere.

05/27/25 is when I started this, obviously, I did not finish it the same day. That's okay.

I keep telling myself that I should do more research on making a living as a writer and then actually DO those things. Like, send in an article somewhere, make my own website with a blog or something, or SOMEthing, you know? But then. I never do. Well, that's not entirely true. I have done a fair amount of research on it, I just haven't really done the "do" part. It's HARD, okay? Like, really hard. It's hard normally but even harder when you're dealing with depression and being unmotivated and not enjoying life and all of those. Fun. Things. The only reason why I'm writing this right now is because on here, I don't really find that pressure. Gonna be honest, I don't really expect more than, like, two people to read this. And one of those people is my friend who I really appreciate for taking the time to read my lil bloggy blogs. (hi bestie, thank you) But that kind of takes the edge off of it, you know? 'Cause I'm really just doing these for myself. It's putting my thoughts somewhere and maybe there's a third person out there who'll happen upon my little blog and need to read something that I had written.

Anyways.

Welcome back to- no, no. I don't want to do that anymore. I think this blog is just going to be like: HEY, here's my thoughts, BLAHHHHH. Which it kind of has already been that, but with a specific type of writer voice. But now. I'm. Tired. I'm tired of using a "specific writer voice." So we're gonna take down that filter and Imma just write. Okay? Okay.

Completely different topic, but I wrote a children's book. And I love it. :) It's not published or anything-yet-but I was feeling a lot of feelings and I wanted to write them down as well as creating something; so I made a children's book. A little backstory on how that wanting to make one happened: I mean, at this point, if you've read almost any of my other blog posts, you know that I am a writer (obviously) and I'm an aspiring author. So, in my therapy I'm doing this thing called "parts work." And one of the practices that I do to help me is write out and draw my different parts that I feel or have. One session, I showed my therapist the drawings of them and she asked me if I had ever thought about writing and illustrating children's books. So! That's the inspiration that played into that. I didn't start it right away after that, but I thought of it when those feelings hit.

Jumping topics again...despite the date at the top of this blog, it's not May 27th. It's June 4th as I write this. Yeah...motivation went ZIP! away again. But now it's kind of back. Very much kind of.

I've been getting that normal sense of non-motivation, like, daily. But, guess who started anti-depressants??? Meeeee! I'm hoping that they'll help me feel, well, better. It's something that had been on my mind for a while, so after a therapy session of chatting about it, and a psychiatrist appointment, here we are. It takes about 3 weeks to start working since my body isn't used to it and it's essentially rewiring my brain, in some ways. Honestly, I wish it would just start working now. It's been rough. To put it simply: I have not been having a good time lately.

This is really turning into a journal entry, isn't it? Oh well. Maybe you, lovely reader who took the time to read this far, can relate in some ways. I know I always feel more validated when I read or see something I can relate to.

It's not that I'm trying to sound all negative, it's just that the motivation to try and be positive or see the positive, isn't there. It's like there's a wall of fog in between me and the good things that are happening in my life. I know that they're there and some days I can make them out through the fog, but often it's too clouded over to really see them.

Anyways, before I bring this post-that has been absolutely up and down and everywhere-I must give you a reading update. Always. So, guess what I'm reading? THE FAULT IN OUR STARS BY JOHN GREEN!!!! I KNOW, RIGHTTTTT????? Seriously, I am rereading it for the fifth time. Yes, fifth. FIVE. And I'm ding dang proud of that.

I'm also reading, for the first time, The Wild Robot by Peter Brown. It is SO cute. I first got into it by watching the movie of it that recently came out-AAAAMAZING, BY THE WAY!!! GO WATCH IT!-and I loved the movie so much that I wanted to read the book(s). The movie and the book are quite different, I will say, but to me it feels like the set up of the story are different but to both of them: not in a bad way. Like, I understand why Peter Brown wrote it in that way-it is a younger read, after all-but I also understand why the people who made the movie made it the way it is. My personal opinion? I wouldn't change anything about the movie. It's so amazing and perfect. The cast? CHEF'S KISS. The plot? FANTASTIC. The characters? AHG, AMAZINGGGGGGG. Also, relatable. And it's just got such a great message. Obviously, those would all be in the book as well, it's just a bit different. But I have been enjoying the book. It's nice to have an easier read that is full of woodland creatures and a kind robot. :,)

Those are the main two books I'm reading at the moment, although I'm almost finished with Looking for Alaska by John Green, which I have also enjoyed. I just got through a sad part and wanted a break from it so I haven't read it in a few days, but I do still want to finish it sooner rather than later. (we'll see if that actually happens)

So, in conclusion to my lovely book update: John Green is a fantabulous author and go watch and/or read The Wild Robot. Please.

Well, that's it for this post. I really just word-vomited my thoughts but hey, tumblr is kind of like that. It's cool. You're cool.

Thanks for reading all of this. Even if you skimmed some parts, that's okay. Thanks anyways. :)

Until next time,

Thalia <3

P.S. Happy Pride Month!!! <3

[peachyteabuck]

remember what you love like

summary: is a lunch date still a lunch date after you leave the restaurant?

a commission for @buckysbunny

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 2,014

trigger warnings: allusions to compulsory heterosexuality, fingering, fluff, mentions of sexting

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Natasha’s hands are tangled in your forest green cardigan, one hand on the small of your back while the other is pressed into the back of your neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs when you pull away to gasp for breath, head spinning as a trail of spit connects your mouths in a sight you wish you could see in one of those giant oil paintings that draw large crowds to art museums. “My beautiful little Bunny.”

You preen under her praise, your own hands shaky as they find purchase in her hair, the beltloop of her jeans, anything you can grab as she pushes you into your apartment, pressing you against each and every surface she deems fit. Somewhere between your front door and the wall directly opposite said entrance you lose your cardigan and your shoes, clothes falling to the floor as you’re pushes down the hallway and, finally, onto your bed. You’d made it that morning hoping your lunch date wouldn’t end after you’d left the restaurant just as you had cleaned the rest of your apartment. In truth you’re not sure whether the frantic scrubbing and organization of your kitchen was to impress her or distract yourself for how nervous you were, considering you and Natasha have been dating for about three months now and hadn’t done more than cuddle and today, today of all days felt like the right to rectify that. The two of you had spent all night sexting after you’d sent her a picture of you in your new bra – a pale pink one that made your tits look exquisite. Things had only escalated, you shoving your hands down your pajama shorts to get yourself off at her direction.

So yeah, given all of that, you were decently confident that you would end up with her tongue down your throat and her hands groping at your tits – a thought that left you some weird mixture of overjoyed and frightened.

As your back hits your girly, patterned comforter your heart beats against your ribcage, each chamber trying to rip itself from the rest of the muscle just so that it can travel to each of your limbs and make them shake. Something – someone – is screaming in your ears, the high-pitched sound nearly loud enough to drown out the woman who’s crawled on top of you.  

Nearly.

“Hey,” Natasha coos, peppering small kisses along your face and jaw and neck as her center presses into yours. “Hey, Bunny-“

You finally meet her eyes when that pet name – her pet name for you - falls from her lips. Only then does she notice how terrified you look.

“You good, Bunny?” she asks, her own heart now picking up not because her fingertips are on fire and your skin feels just as hot. “Is everything okay?”

“I, uh-“ you struggle to find the words, wishing you kept your blanket-like cardigan on so you could hide in it. “I haven’t done this with uh,” you trying to swallow despite your dry mouth. “With women.”

Natasha exhales deeply, face visibly softening. It doesn’t feel like pity, though, which suppresses a tiny bit of your nervousness; the last thing you want is for the woman responsible for the menagerie in your stomach each time she texts you or says your name or worms her way into every passing thought to think of you as some sort of charity case.

“Oh, babes,” she places each hand flat on either side of your jaw, both thumbs rubbing soothingly into your heated cheeks. “You know I’m okay with that – right? I don’t want you any less just because you haven’t done with women before.”

You sniffle, trying to keep the tears that prick the corners of your eyes in their spot. “A-are you sure?”

Natasha nods, leaving a small kiss on the center of your forehead. “Of course I am, Bunny. I don’t care how many women you’ve had sex with.”

“E-even though I’ve had sex with guys?” your eyes are big and scared, petrified of rejection.

Natasha just smiles, pulling you closer to her. “Yes, Bunny. Your sexual history certainly doesn’t define you as a person and doesn’t change how I feel about you. Okay?”

You smile back, leaning into her arms as you sniffle once more. “O-okay.”

“Now,” she smiles as she pulls back, readjusting herself onto her side as you stay on your back.  “Where were we?”

And just like that – with fear quelled and uncomfortable twisting in your stomach now loose and simmering below your skin – she returns to her original mission, one that involves ghosting her fingers over your clothed chest before thumbing at the hem of your denim skirt. “You’re so cute, Bunny,” she murmurs. “Such an adorable little Bunny all for me…”

Natasha then pushes your skirt up to your stomach, keeping it in place with her forearm as she begins rubbing the two middle fingers of her right hand along your clothed slit. Your chest heaves as she grins down at your scrunched eyes, furrowed brow, and kiss-swollen lips.

“So beautiful,” she murmurs into your neck, teeth barely pressing into the bruises that deepen with each passing moment. “So good for me, Bunny…”

Lewd moans fall from your mouth as circles your clit, the adorable pink cotton panties you had specifically chosen that morning hoping and praying this would happen now completely soaked through. They’re rough against your sensitive, desperate clit – pussy pulsing around nothing as you buck your hips frantically.

“P-please,” you moan, voice nearly unrecognizable now. “P-please N-Nat!”

She presses a firm kiss to your lips, smiling as she moves her hands to rub at your pussy under your panties. The feeling of her hand there without anything between her skin and your is intoxicating – her fingers easily finding your clit once more. “Call me Mommy,” she murmurs, free hand pushing the sweaty hairs from your forehead. “Call me Mommy, sweet Bunny.”

“Mommy, oh fuck-“ you gasp, the feeling of her hands and the mention of that title you’d been discussing the night before shooting another bolt of lightning through your nervous system, hands bunch the sheets in your palms – your fingers nearly numb as all of your blood rushes to your core. “Oh fucking shit!”

For the first time in what feels like hours you find the courage to open your eyes – another moan deep in your chest filling the hot, thick air. You always wondered why people described being fucked as being consumed, as being the main course in a large meal presented to some rich, old-timey monarch after they return from visiting the more desolate parts of the territory they rule over.

Now, though, under Natasha’s heated gaze with three of her fingers stuffed inside of you while the other hand presses into your stomach – you feel like some prized pig slathered in glaze and placed onto an obnoxious silver platter with a whole apple placed into your waiting mouth as fruits and vegetables circle your flesh. If you had ever felt desired, it certainly didn’t match up to the fire in Natasha’s eyes as she devours each time you twitch, moan, beg for more.

“You sure you want more?” she purrs, fingers stroking that spot inside of you that makes your legs shake and eyes tear up once more. “Does my greedy little Bunny want her Mommy to give her more?”

You nod furiously, mouth barely able to keep up with your racing thoughts. “Yes, fuck Mommy please please please I want-“ you moan as she fucks into you harder, reveling in watching you fall apart. “Please I’ll take anything you want to give me Mommy please!”

Without further delay Natasha moves between your legs, maneuvering you so that one of her hands fucked in and out of you while the other circles your clit in hot, tight circles. Your eyes don’t know where to focus – on the sight on Natasha’s hands working you into some kind of putty or the woman herself, whose smug grin and furrowed brow are almost intimidating in their determination.

“M-mommy,” you gasp out, legs trying to shut themselves involuntarily, stopped only by the woman between your legs. Your toes curl, spine bending forward as the white-hot pleasure in your stomach curls itself tighter and tighter around itself. “Mommy, Mommy, I’m gonna, I’m gonna-!”

You come with a guttural moan you almost don’t recognize as yours – a sound so animalistic you wonder if Natasha had rewired your brain into some pre-human thing incapable of speech. It’s hot, so hot, and in your post-orgasmic bliss you wonder if life could get any better.

“How you feeling, Bunny?” Natasha asks, trying to find some signs of life behind your glazed-over eyes.

“So fucking good! I feel so good, Mommy!” you gasp out, mouth dry and lunges seemingly devoid of oxygen.

The woman above you just laughs, though, throws her beautiful head back and laughs and oh God – oh God you need to find it in you to tell her to stop doing that because you’ve only been dating for a few months and her beauty radiates with the power of the sun and you weren’t born with UV-protection in your retinas and if her light doesn’t burn you to a crisp first you think you’re going to fucking explode.

“I’m glad,” she tells you, running her now-wrinkled fingertips over the inside of your trembling thighs. Silence settles of you both as you feel your bones…vibrate? Or maybe that’s chest your heart again – the stupid thing incapable of handling this much joy and pleasure at the same time. It takes a long while for Natasha to speak again, not wanting to spook you in your fragile state. “Hey Bunny?” she asks, watching to make sure you’d heard her. “I’m gonna get you some water, okay?”

You give her a small “okay,” body still as she climbs off your bed.

You’re boneless – inert as you lay there with your arms flat at your sides and your legs in the same bent position Natasha had left them in before she had oh-so meanly abandoned you. Just as before, your chest rises and falls as if a forty-pound weight was pressing into it – each inhale painful and a struggle with the exhales happening all too quickly. It’s unfamiliar, being so satiated. Being with men had left you feeling fine, maybe a little out of breath, but with Natasha? God, you wouldn’t be able to move if the fire alarms went off; you’d just lay here, vision fuzzy around the edges as the smell of smoke came through the air vents. (Then again, given the state of Natasha’s arms, you think she’d be able to carry you out of your apartment building just fine.)

She returns – just as she said she would – with a mug of cold water that she holds as if it was priceless and not something you thrifted for less than a dollar when you had moved from your last apartment.  

“Thanks,” you croak as she hands it to you, watching as you sit up and wince ever so slightly as your sensitive pussy presses into the sheets. You’ll need to change them – and soon – but somehow that feels like an impossible task as you gulp down what, in your state, tastes closer to ambrosia than the shit in your Brita. When you’re finished Natasha takes the now empty mug from you, placing it on your nightstand before hugging you to her chest and pushing you back until you hit the sheets once more, lying down next to you and throwing her arm around your waist.

“You good, Bunny?” she asks again, a part of her always worried about you no matter how much euphoria pooled in your veins.

You nod as you curl into her side, leaving a kiss on her collarbone as you listen to her heartrate slow as it returns its resting pace. It’s calming, that combined with the feeling of her fingers twirling in your mused hair lulling you into the deepest sleep you’ve had in weeks.  

[elisaphoenix13]

First, I love your Supreme Family Chaos series, a lot. Thank you for that. Second, I have a prompt: Pepper taking Peter with her for 'taking your child to work day' or school or smth because she's the only responsible adult and knows that Peter will inherent SI eventually. And it hits Peter halfway that HE may well do Pepper's job one day. And Tony combusts cause he realises he never told Peter because he thought it was obvious.

Stark Heir

Pepper walks off the elevator and over to the penthouse's kitchen to find Peter sitting at the island, half asleep and lazily spooning cereal into his mouth. Tony was nowhere to be seen, likely down in the lab already, but Stephen was standing at the counter across from the teen making himself some tea and occupying himself with something on a Starkpad. The woman frowns when she notices Peter still in his pajamas, and walks over to him to brush away a few strands of hair from the teens forehead. Peter looks up at her sleepily before returning his attention to his breakfast, and Stephen raises an eyebrow at their visitor.

"Tony's down in the lab." His low baritone reverberates through the kitchen and Pepper smiles.

"Actually, I'm here for Peter."

The teen drops his spoon into his empty bowl and looks back up at the CEO as Stephen takes his dishes. "What for?"

"I'm assuming Tony didn't tell you I'm taking you to work with me today?" She asks.

Both Peter and Stephen furrow their brows. "No."

Stephen sighs. "Victor, get all of Tony's appointments and reminders on his schedule from FRIDAY from now on."

"Yes doctor." The AI responds.

"I should have had you do that as soon as Tony put Victor in the tower." Pepper says with an exasperated sigh and looks at Peter. "Go get dressed sweetie. Your regular clothes will be fine."

Peter nods and slides off the stool to go up to his room and change, and Stephen calls out to him. "Collared shirt and slacks." He smirks into his tea when a loud groan reaches them. "Coffee?" He asks the woman across the way.

"No, thank you. I just had some." She places a manila envelope on the counter. "Can you have that scatterbrained husband of yours look over and sign these?"

The sorcerer chuckles. "I'll see what I can do."

Peter returns in the proper attire, with a scowl on his face, and Pepper leads him toward the elevator after they say goodbye to the doctor. The teen still had no idea why he was following Pepper today, but he assumed Tony made up some sort of 'Bring Your Kid To Work' day just to torture Peter. They went through the tower first, and the teen kind of zoned out for that time because he knew how things were done and he had done walkthroughs with Tony on multiple occasions (and by himself). Pepper either didn't notice or she did and didn't say anything because she knew that Peter was aware of how things worked in the tower.

When they left the tower and took a car to another building though, Peter snapped out of his daze. Only to want to slip back into it. Pepper had taken him to a meeting and he wanted to die. He had to fight against all urges to twitch or fiddle with a pen and it was torture. He couldn't really tell anyone what the meeting was about, and when it was finally over and he and Pepper were out of earshot, did he finally ask the question that had been plaguing him for the past couple of hours.

"Uh...Pepper?"

The woman looks up from her desk. "Yes?"

"Why exactly am I here with you?"

Pepper regards him for a few silent moments, making the teen squirm under her gaze, and then cowers when it turns hostile and angry. Maybe that wasn't a good thing to ask? He didn't think she'd get angry if he asked a question, but he was obviously wrong. Was there something said during the meeting that was important for him to know? He doubted it. For all he knew, the people that had attended the meeting just thought Pepper was babysitting for Tony.

"He didn't tell you?!" Pepper huffs with annoyance. "It figures. Peter...if something were to happen to Tony, Stark Industries goes to you. I'm just preparing--"

Peter didn't hear anything after that. His train of thought had skid to a halt and he had frozen in place. The company went to him? That seemed like a terrible idea. It should go to Stephen or Pepper. Not only did he feel undeserving of the responsibility, he was also afraid that he would destroy everything Tony had built up. He was just an orphan from Queens that Tony Stark wouldn't have even given a second glance if he hadn't been bitten by the spider.

That thought had the blood draining from his face and his train of thought starting back up, just to derail from the main subject.

What if he hadn't been bitten? Where would he be when Aunt May died? In the system? He would have never known how much Tony actually cared. About everything. Peter would have never known whay family vacations were like, how protective Stephen was...oh god. He would have never known what it was like to have a Mama Bear. No soothing scents from his parents that made him think of home, no semblance of what a mom should be like (foster homes would probably never live up to what he experienced now) after Peter had practically forced the role onto Stephen, no pure and unquestionable amount of love.

He was starting to feel light headed. He felt like he had ten trains on three tracks going full speed in his head and it was making him shake.

"Oh my god." Peter feels himself being directed to and sat in a chair. "Peter...you need to breathe."

Breathe? He couldn't. His chest was tight, and whenever he did try to breathe it just felt shallow. It didn't fill his lungs, it just made black spots dance across his vision. Then he heard Pepper trying to coach him through long deep breaths, and it helped once his brain focused on her words. He was able to breathe through the tightness in his chest and that as well as the black spots in his vision went away.

"There you go. Keep doing that." Peter obeys silently and vaguely notices her stand from her crouch in front of him, and she disappears from his sight briefly before coming back with a bottle of water. She unscrews the cap, hands it to the teen, and he takes a few gulps as he allows himself to adjust back into reality. "Are you okay now?" Pepper asks carefully.

"Y-Yeah...sorry Aunt Pepper." The teen stammers out.

"It's okay. That was all I wanted to drag you through today anyway. If I had known that Tony didn't say anything, I would have waited."

Peter drinks the rest of the water and Pepper returns to her desk to straighten it up. "How about we got out to lunch before I take you home?"

"Really? You're not too busy?" Peter asks.

"Nope! I'm also pumping you full of sugar as punishment to your father." Pepper says with a smirk but the teen just rolls his eyes.

"Dad would just pawn me off on Mom or something."

"I won't let that happen, and neither will Stephen." She turns back to Peter. "So where to?"

Peter smiles. His previous thoughts forgotten.

___________________________

Tony had just finished going through the paperwork that Pepper had left for him, no thanks to Stephen sitting with him in the living room to make sure he actually did it, when she and Peter came back. It took all of a millisecond for the engineer to realize the teen was on a sugar high and he immediately glared at Pepper, which she returned tenfold much to his surprise. He finished the paperwork so he had no idea what he did to garner her fury.

"Don't look at me like that Pep. I just finished--"

"You didn't tell Peter that he's your heir?!" The female interrupts, almost shouting.

Tony and Stephen look at each other, then back to the raging woman. "I thought that went without saying." The engineer defends. It was a very poor attempt.

"Obviously not or he wouldn't have had a panic attack when I told him!" Stephen frowns, worry evident on his face as he moves to stand, but Pepper points at him. "No. Sit down. Peter is fine now but I purposely fed him sugar so Tony can deal with him."

The moment Tony stood up to hand over the paperwork was all the motivation Peter needed to jump into his back and draw a startled grunt out of the man. The engineer knew better than to try and dump the hyperactive teen on Stephen at this point, because Pepper was one person the sorcerer almost always listened to. If she told Mama Bear to step back and relax and make Tony handle Peter alone, he would do it. Unless Peter was in immediate danger, then Stephen would ignore her and go to Peter's aid, but she would never tell him not to help if that was the case.

"This is cruel and unusual punishment." Tony grumps.

"Hey, Dad...Dad...Dad..."

A heavy sigh. "What Underoos?"

"I think I know a way to make my web fluid stronger! Can we go down to the lab?"

"I guess...even though it goes against my better judgement. Now thank Pepper for your sugar overload." Tony says as he hands over the paperwork while simultaneously trying not to fall over with Peter on his back.

The teen grins at the woman. "Thanks Pepper!" She smiles in response and Peter points toward the elevator. "To the secret lab!"

Tony makes his way to the elevator. "I'm cutting you off from Disney movies."

Peter gasps as the elevator doors close. "Don't you dare!"

Once the elevator doors open on the lab floor, Tony walks over to the teen's personal workbench and pries the boy off. Luckily, Tony didn't have to do much watching after that because Peter was hyper-focused on making stronger web fluid, and he only glanced over from his own workbench every once in a while to make sure Peter didn't blow anything up. This was something else he and Stephen would have to use in the future whether it would be for a sleep deprived teen or a sugar high one. Especially since the crash came an hour later. Tony looked up from rewiring his suit to find that the teen had passed out on top of his work table, completely sprawled across it and drooling on a page of formulas.

"You know, I'm pretty sure this is what it's like to have a toddler." Tony grabs the blanket off the couch on the other side of the lab and throws it over Peter. "Sleep tight kiddo."

"That looks extremely uncomfortable."

Tony looks toward the door to the lab and finds his husband standing with his arms crossed. "He's young. He'll be out patrolling the moment he wakes up."

"He probably takes naps on rooftops." Stephen walks over to the couch and stretches out on it.

The billionaire grins. "I have picture proof that he takes naps hanging upside down. As Spiderman."

The sorcerer closes his eyes with a smile as Tony returns his attention to his armor. "Tony?"

"Yeah babe?"

"We have a weird kid."

"Normal is overrated anyway." The engineer snorts.

[wiggly-blue-shite]

Chapter 31 From the Top!

(Prof H X Ted)

Hello Professor.

Hopefully we can discuss it in person soon

Henry woke up to Theodore still hugging him. Ted was still asleep so Henry didn't move. Don't want to wake him up before he has too. Everyone will be stressed enough as it is.

For a second Henry forgot everything that happened almost as if it was a dream. A really fucking shitty dream. Henry thought he had woken in Ted's arms after a very pleasant yet foggy day together. Perhaps that's what his dream was. He never did remember his dreams.

Henry loved Theodore. In that moment Henry had hope. He believed in Theodore. And he knew that Theodore believed in him. They got this.

Ted began to stir. He was waking up. Ted opened his eyes.

"Good morning." Henry smiled. Ted looked very messy having just woke up. Then again who looks good after waking up?

"Good morning." Ted yawned and rubbed his eye. He smiled back at Henry. Ted sat himself up in bed after letting go of Henry. Henry sat up as well.

"I love you." Henry needed him to know. They were in a situation where Henry didn't want a moment where Theodore didn't know his feelings. They might not make it out alive so it's important.

"I know." Ted chuckled a little bit.

"Rude! Really pulling a fucking Han Solo." Henry faked offended. He wanted to maintain this blissful mood because he knew it would be ruined really soon.

"I'm kidding. I love you more." Theodore smiled. He grabbed Henry's hand. Henry wanted this to be the rest of his life this moment. Nothing else. Not the infected. Not the media. Not biology. Just music and Theodore.

"Impossible." Henry kissed Theodore. Some of the pain had gone away. God that was cheesy wasn't it. I guess cheesy is nice.

"I'm scared." Ted's face dropped. Henry knew that they were in a serious situation but he just didn't want to focus on it.

"Me too." Henry has hope but not a lot of hope.

Paul came out of his bedroom. Emma following behind him. They looked in much better shape than they were last night.

"You guys can borrow some of my clothes." Paul offered as he walked into the kitchen.

"Well Henry's place is on the way. They can get clothes there." Emma sounded very tired. Henry guessed that she didn't sleep at all. Henry didn't blame her. He wouldn't have fallen asleep without Theodore there.

"Ok." Paul started pouring coffee.

The morning was very quiet. Everyone was freaking out silently to themselves. Paul and Emma were basically attached at the hip. Theodore and Henry were the same. None of them ate breakfast, just coffee.

Paul and Emma went back into their room to change.

Henry kissed Theodore's forehead. Henry was going to have to give him something to wear. It might be a little big but Ted will survive.

"Are you ready?" Ted asked.

"No."

"Me neither." Ted smiled sadly.

Emma and paul bolted out of their room clearly wearing whatever the first thing they touched was.

And they were off to Henry apartment. Henry held Ted's hand tightly.

When they got to his apartment Henry quickly rushed into his room to get dressed. He didn't want to hold everyone up. Ted followed behind.

"Here take this." Henry threw an old sweater at Theodore.

"A black turtleneck..." Theodore's voice trailed off.

It struck Henry. He had been wearing almost the exact same sweater that day 4 months ago. It's sweet that Ted remembers that.

Henry shook himself out if the sentimental stage of mind. They didn't have the time for this. The two men got dressed quickly. Henry tried not to stare at Ted changing.

With that they were in there way to the news station. Henry didn't know how this was going to work. He didn't know protocol for news shows. But he tried to maintain hope.

When they got to the studio where they filmed the show. Henry didn't know how this was going to work.

They walked inside. There was a secretary who barely gave them any attention when they walked in. There were a whole bunch of other people all probably with there own stories they want to put on the news.

Henry walked up to the front desk. He was still holding Ted's hand. He saw a couple of men jeering out of the corner of his eye. Henry presumed that they were homophobic assholes but they could also be jeering at the gaudy clothing they were wearing. Henry wanted to flip them off or to kiss Ted in front of them to get the point across but that would probably lower there chances of being put on air.

"What's you pitch?" The woman behind the desk did not look up from her computer.

"We are from hatchetfield. We were there that day." Henry squeezed Ted's hand as he said it. They were actually doing this.

The woman looked up from her computer screen. She looked skeptical.

"Everyone died from the hatchetfield incident." Her voice was serious.

"We didn't." Emma met the receptionist with a passive bitchiness.

"So then what happened?" That's exactly what Henry was fearing she'd ask. There's no way to not sound insane.

"We'll sound crazy but you need to here us out." Theodore replied. Henry was beyond nervous.

"We fear what happened in hatchetfield could spread if we don't raise any awareness." Henry tried to sound professional. Make her see them in a more serious light.

"You're lucky the producers want more hatchetfield news. Wait here." The receptionist gestured to the bench near her desk. She picked up her phone.

The four of them sat down on the bench. Across the room were the men who sneered at Henry and Ted. Henry didn't let go of Theodore's hand. The world might fucking end he can't let a couple homophobes ruin his love for Theodore.

Henry turned and kissed Ted in the cheek. Fuck you possible homophobes.

"What was that for?" Ted looked back at Henry and smiled.

"Nothing." He had obviously not noticed the asshole across the room. There was no need to point them out.

They sat there for a good twenty minutes. Every second was agony knowing the infected could be drawing ever closer. Ted's arm had moved around Henry's shoulder. This was a comfortable position to rest in. Henry kept his eyes on the other three and no one else in the room.

"Hatchetfielders." The receptionist called out. Everyone in the room looked up. Everyone's eyes were on them as they walked up to the front desk.

"Yes?" Paul was in front of the pack.

"The producers want to talk with you. Go through that door." The receptionist pointed to a door to her right. Ok wow they were doing this.

When they walked through the door they were met by a sharply dressed man and woman. They had note pads. They appeared surprisingly approachable, which Henry was not expecting.

"Hello my name's Raffael." The male producer stuck out his hand for someone to shake. They just kinda all took turns shaking his hand.

"And I'm Louise." The woman smiled not sticking her hand out after seeing the catastrophe of a handshake that happened previously.

"I'm Henry."

"I'm paul."

"Emma."

"Ted."

All of the introductions felt uncomfortable.

"So you're from hatchetfield." Louise sat back in her chair. Henry couldn't read her expression. He was too nervous.  Ahhh

Henry nodded. He was a little tongue tied. This is a stressful fucking situation.

"So let's cut to the chase. What happened?" Raffael took a pen out and put in to the page.

Henry had to not sound insane. If they didn't believe them they're fucked. The whole plan rides on getting other people to fight.

"Before I start we are not insane. I have a doctorate in biology. I know what I am talking about." Henry took a deep breath. If they didn't believe him, what could they do? "The asteroid that hit did not rupture a gas line. The asteroid carried an organism, a pathogen really. It infected the people of hatchetfield, rearranging their genetic structure, functionally rewiring their brain. The infected had a certain bloodlust to kill, and spread the pathogen. You may recall the claims of sailors near the island, claiming to hear music coming from the island. Well,  I did studies on the organism briefly, and it has an attraction to music, singing specifically."  The producers looked confused but they don't look skeptical.

"We think that the music that can be heard are the remaining infected." Ted took a breath, "sooner or later they will find a way off the island. Once they get off the island, we're fucked. Excuse my language."

The four of them sat in silence waiting for them to say something.

"We're are going to need you to say exactly that on air. Same inflection and everything." Louise pointed her pen at Henry. Oh god. Ok they did it holy shit.

Henry turned to the other four. They looked hopeful.

"I'm sorry Mr. Hidgens but there was nothing we could have done to save them." The doctor had a remorseful tone. He's probably had to say that at least 5 other times today alone.

"Thank you for trying." They're gone. Steve had left the hospital. Probably to go out to a bar. Henry contemplated going to stop him but he would do the same. Leighton was sitting there stunned.

Henry say down next to him. They could make it out of this, together.

Henry got off the set and the other three ambushed him with a group hug. It must have gone well.

Henry was completely dazed. He really tried to remember what happened but he just blacked out. Henry's brain was just slowly giving up on him really.

The four of them walked back to Emma and Paul's apartment. On the way Henry asked what happened but the other three insisted it went well and didn't say anything else.

"What do we do now?" Henry looked to Ted. Henry grabbed Theodore's hand. It felt like the quiet in the middle of the storm.

"We prepare." Ted kissed Henry's hand. It didn't really matter what happened. If the other three are this hopeful it couldn't have been that bad. Henry's confidence grew.

"I think I'm going to stay in my apartment tonight." They were already on Henry's block. He didn't need to be around everyone for comfort. He wants to spend some time in his own apartment before whatever happens when the infected get there.

"Oh ok." Emma smiled at Henry, "see you tomorrow."

"Take care of yourself, man." Paul patted Henry's shoulder awkwardly.

"I'll make sure of that." Theodore smiled. Of course Theodore was going to stay with Henry. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Emma and paul headed off to their apartment. Henry walked up to his apartment Ted following behind him.

"I'm really proud of you." Ted was too sweet sometimes, "You did great." They walked into the apartment. Henry was glad that Ted decided to stay with him. He got to think of something other than what's going to happen. He just had to think about Theodore.

"Thank you." Henry intertwined his hand with  Theodore's.

"You give me hope." Ted smiled softly. Henry let the world fall away while looking in Theodore's eyes. Henry knew that nothing could go wrong, nothing. Ted kissed Henry.

"I haven't eaten all day." Henry dragged Ted into the kitchen. It's not like Henry has any food. Theodore wants Henry to take care of himself and eating is  pretty important in self care.

"I'll cook you something." Ted leaned on the counter and smiled. Henry doesn't really have ingredients to anything.

"You don't have to do that." Henry leaned up against the same counter.

"I want to." They were very close to each other. Henry maintained eye contact with Theodore.

They kissed once again.

"Today has been too long." Henry chuckled a little bit. Henry was very tired. Really fucking tired.

Henry was glad that Theodore was with him. Life would really be insufferable right now without him. 

Everything will be alright.

~~~

Ohh long ass messy chapter! Idk what the fuck this really.

[ali3nboyfriend]

you reblog a lot of good mental health stuff do you have any adiice for people with atuism and adhd and depression and anxiety on making schedules because OOF

so I’ve done this personally three different ways and two have worked p well for me and the other worked well for my fiancee. for me, it’s always a matter of like... having any structure AT ALL is what helps my ADHD, but your ADHD may need something really specific that none of these methods cover. that’s fine! different things help different people.

first method:

make your schedule as RIGID as POSSIBLE

i’m talking, we’re scheduling breaks. we’re scheduling meal times. we’re scheduling tiny routines down to the minute.

when you’re writing a schedule like this up, it’s best to first write down everything you wanna be doing in the week unscheduled, and then check with your friends and/or housemates/family to make sure you’ve got everything, ‘cause like. believe me otherwise you’ll forget you need to eat or something.

for this method it’s best to schedule out a week in advance (and ONLY schedule the next week; you can schedule the next week every week at the end of the week) and make sure each day alternates certain things, like, if you wanna put drawing and writing in there put drawing on alternating days and writing on the days between those. that way you’re not just doing the same things over and over and over again.

in that vein, switch the times for everything up when you’re scheduling out the next week! it’ll help your brain because, again, you won’t just be doing the same stuff at the same times.

use your phone to set alarms for when you need to switch gears, one five minutes before the next activity and one at the correct time so you have some time to let your brain rewire. you can label the alarms to say what you’re changing to, or just have them say “CHANGE ACTIVITIES, CHECK SCHEDULE” or something like that.

UPSIDE: this scheduling method gives you the most structure. if you need a LOT of structure, this is the kinda thing you wanna go with.

DOWNSIDE: if something unexpected comes up it will just COMPLETELY fuck up a day for you. that’s why i didn’t end up sticking with it, ‘cause like, i’d get into a groove with it for a couple weeks and then Something Would Happen and it’d completely throw me off and then i’d go off the schedule for weeks at a time. you might not be like me though, so it’s worth a shot!!

second method:

this is what we call the block schedule and a lot of people with ADHD swear by this. especially my fiancee my fiancee 100% swears by this

the idea of a block schedule is like, you don’t have set times for activities per say, you have “blocks”, where in that block you can do a list of activities at whatever time you want in that block, and you have five to ten minutes between each block to switch gears

so like. say you have a Creative Block that lasts from let’s say 5pm to 8pm. you have said that during those three hours you can write, draw, or work on your sewing. you cannot be on tumblr (that’s allowed during your “chill time” blocks, which there are two of), but you can write, draw, or work on your sewing, any of those three, at any time you want during those three hours, and you can switch between them as you like, so long as those are the things you’re doing.

so with this, again, write down everything you’re gonna wanna do during a given week, and then assign them into different categories that you’ll use as blocks. Meal Block should be like, AT LEAST two blocks in a day, and then you’re gonna want two or more “Chill Time” blocks for you to relax because if you work all day you’ll burn out, and then whatever else you want. Maybe a Productivity Block and a Creativity Block, or an Animal Care Block if you have pets.

UPSIDE: this kind of schedule allows you to be super flexible! you have stuff you gotta do, but you can do them at any time during your blocks, and you don’t have to go “oh at 2:15pm i HAVE to work on job applications until 3:15pm i’m NOT ALLOWED TO DO ANYTHING ELSE AT THAT TIME,” you can just be like, “Productivity Block’s from 12pm to 4pm so I can do job apps then, or if I’m feeling it more I can work on that book report I have due for a while. C:”

DOWNSIDE: at least for me the blocks were nebulous enough that half the time even though I had my activities written down i would just sit there because i didn’t really know what to do. a lot of people swear by these but for me it was like, the perfect combo of Too Structured but also Not Structured Enough

block schedules are like a Big Thing in the ADHD community tho so if you want more info on them go ahead and google them! there’s a ton of resources out there to help you build a block schedule (and also better explanations than i could ever hope to give)

third method:

this one is not really a schedule at all, but it’s the organization method that works best for me!

this is the to-do list method

for the to-do list method, you need to schedule your sleep times first because a regular sleep schedule is the base treatment for mood disorders and also it’s just good for you. THEN, you need to schedule a time each night, preferably right before you have to sleep, that you’re gonna write out your to do list for the next day. these are the only times you really need to have scheduled out unless you wanna schedule meals.

you write out your to-do list for the next day right before you go to sleep because 1) that way you don’t spend like, an hour after you wake up trying to figure out wtf you gotta do that day, which makes you feel like you’ve wasted time a lot of the time, and 2) it builds a nice routine for you where you think about the next day and what you have to do which encourages mindfulness! it also forces you to wind down.

you can put meals on your to-do list. i do. no shame. we forget otherwise. no shame.

to-do lists help best if you do them on actual paper because you get that nice tactile feeling of checking something off when it’s done. you also get to see a completed checklist of things and it’s just nice as fuck. serotonin generator.

UPSIDE: this is like, THE MOST flexible schedule you can possibly have. you know what you have to do, and you can do them at literally any times during the day, as long as they get done. if something unexpected comes up you can take care of that shit and it’s not like you fucked up your whole schedule or anything because you weren’t doing things at set times anyways. if you don’t get something done during the day for whatever reason, you can carry it into the next day’s to-do list.

DOWNSIDE: the lack of structure really fucks up some people. personally, i prefer myself able to be loosey goosey, but some people will just like, fall apart if they don’t have at least general times set. if you need a lot of structure to-do lists prob won’t help.

[feynavaley]

Hetalia Fanfiction – Beyond the Breaking Point Ch 2

Summary: Caught between a rebellious teen fighting for his independence and an older brother struggling to be a parent, Matthew somatizes. Not drawing attention to his fake ailments seems the best way not to further stress the already precarious situation – but when Matthew takes his resolution a bit too far, all their lives are sent into a tailspin. (Human AU; ACE Family)

The full chapter is under the cut, use your phone browser if you can’t see it from the app. I hope you’ll enjoy it! :)

AO3 | FFN | First | Next | List

———

Chapter Two

The mattress under Matthew’s body was oddly hard. Something cold was pressed against his back and seeped into his pyjama top in wet, unpleasant patches.

Is this a joke from Al?

Matthew whimpered, tossing his head to a side. He was surprised to find a gloved hand touching his face. And, along with the hand, came a concerned voice that slowly started making sense above the ringing in his ears.

“Matthew? Matthew, can you hear me? Come on, Matthew…”

“Oh my God, he’s not dead. Oh, thank goodness.”

Matthew’s hazy brain finally recognized the first voice as belonging to Tolys.

What the…

He pried his eyes open. After a couple of blinks, the array of helmet-cased faces hovering over him lost its blurred edges. The closest one was Tolys, with terror glimmering in his eyes and his brow furrowed in concern.

“Am I dreaming?” Matthew wondered out loud in a weak voice, voicing the only explanation that could excuse the presence of his teammates around his bed.

“Man, he’s fucking delusional. For God’s sake, somebody needs to call an ambulance. I don’t care if we get in trouble, there’s something wrong with him!”

At Mikkel’s ominous words, the memories slammed against Matthew with the force of the waterfall. He gasped, his eyes widening as he tried to jerk up. Tolys’s hands pressed against his shoulders, holding him in place.

“Matthew! Don’t to get up! You fainted like that, you might be seriously hurt…”

Matthew shook his head. Tolys’s plea had suddenly made him aware of an uncomfortable throbbing in his lower abdomen, but it was nothing compared to the searing agony he remembered. It didn’t feel any worse than a painful bruise.

“N—no, I’m fine. Really, I am. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Matthew pushed Tolys’s hands away and sat up, schooling his features in determination as he looked at the boys surrounding him.

“Man, you just fainted,” Mikkel noted at his lefts, shifting on his skates. “This isn’t exactly the definition of ‘fine’.”

Before Matthew could even open his mouth to protest, Ivan’s voice followed Mikkel’s one.

“He’s right, Matthew. And I am so sorry… I didn’t mean to hit you that hard, I thought you would move away.”

Ivan was the only one standing a bit to the side, closer to the edge of the rink. He had taken off his helmet, putting on display his features, soft with regret. A hot wave of shame crept up over Matthew.

“It’s fine,” he murmured with a small shake of his head, “It’s my fault, I should have paid more attention. I was just… I hadn’t had lunch and I was feeling quite dizzy. You didn’t even hit me that hard, really, it’s nothing!”

The abated pain was undeniable proof of Matthew’s words. It was almost as if his entire body had needed a complete shut-down to rewire and start behaving normally again, without faking any pain. Matthew couldn’t believe he had been so pathetic…

“You did look a bit off the game when you got on the ice,” Lukas mused.

“But you still fainted,” Tolys remarked. In spite of having straightened up to give Matthew some space, he was still kneeling next to him, his hands hovering close as if ready to catch him. “This isn’t something to take lightly, you really need to get checked up…”

Several people nodded. Panic rose from Matthew’s chest to his throat, squeezing it an iron grip. An ambulance would mean being taken to the hospital, where his guardian would have to be notified.

Arthur.

The thought of his brother’s name brought along the recollection of his hollow face, of the exhaustion ebbing the light in his eyes. Arthur would be beside himself with concern, and it was the last thing he needed. Not over something so stupid that entirely depended on Matthew being a whiny kid who couldn’t control himself, especially.

He looked around, desperately trying to spot somebody who could support his cause… and with sudden clarity, the solution sparked inside his brain.

“Vasovagal syncope,” he blurted out.

The expressions around him shifted from concern to confusion.

“Vaso— what?” Mikkel voiced out the shared question.

“Vasovagal syncope. It’s a nervous response that makes your blood pressure suddenly drop, and you faint. It can be triggered by many things… sudden pain being one of them. It doesn’t even need to be such a severe pain, it just…” Matthew shrugged, struggling to keep his head high. The embarrassment wasn’t feigned, only the cause was. “It first happened after I twisted my ankle, and I just… passed out right there and then, without any warning. Arthur got a huge scare and brought me to the ER, but the doctor said it was that. Nothing serious. But, he also said it might happen again.”

At least, that was what Matthew had understood form Felicia’s explanation, who was the one who had fainted after twisting her ankle the previous spring. Matthew should probably feel bad. He remembered the concern clawing at his insides as he stared at Felicia’s unnaturally wan face, how an even more intense reflection of his own emotions had been echoed in Lovino’s features… in the end, the accident had cast a gloomy shadow over everybody’s day. At the moment, however, all Matthew could feel was mind-numbing gratitude for the perfect excuse it had offered him.

“Oh, I think I’ve heard of that!” Eduard commented with a nod.

“Is it truly nothing serious, then?” Ivan asked, a timid glimmer of hope gleaming in his violet eyes and softening his features.

Matthew nodded and offered his teammates the most confident smile he could muster.

“Yeah. Just a stupid nervous reaction. I mean, it did hurt, but not to the point of something serious. I just feel a bit sore, now, but I’m fine. I’m really sorry for making you worry like that…”

“The way you cried, though…” Mikkel muttered with a shake of his head, but Matthew could read the doubt in his features, just like he could clearly see how relief was starting to wash away the tension from many faces around him.

He knew he had them. He cracked a small, sheepish grin and ran a hand through his hair.

“That doesn’t mean it’s bad. Don’t you cry when you stub your toe, too? Besides, I think it was mostly the surprise. There’s no need to call an ambulance over something like this, really. We can just keep practising, no need to waste time over this. I’m fine.”

To offer a concrete proof of his words, Matthew rose to his feet. His abdomen answered with a spike of pain, but it was bearable and soon faded to a dull throbbing.

Tolys stood up next to him.

“I really think you should get checked up,” he muttered, but his voice lacked resolution.

The team was using the ice rink without the coach being present, which was a clean break of the safety rules. If something happened, there was a high chance of everybody getting in trouble, and the consequences would be even more severe for the seniors.

“I’m fine,” Matthew reassured for the umpteenth time.

“Okay, we won’t call an ambulance,” Ivan decided, “But you aren’t getting back on the rink, Matthew. You still got hurt, and your head just isn’t in the game. You should just get a shower and go home, or you can stay and watch the rest of the practice, if you want. Just, no more playing.”

Matthew answered with an eager nod. Even the twinge of shame at the reproach couldn’t curb the relief that flooded him, washing away the tension. While not in severe pain anymore, he was thoroughly exhausted; his limbs felt heavy and he was lightheaded and sluggish from the prolonged lack of food. For once, he didn’t mind not playing.

“At least let me check your stomach,” Tolys pleaded as he followed Matthew out of the rink.

“It’s fine!” Matthew hissed, wrapping his arms around himself.

Tolys froze. At the stricken expression that warped his features, a pang of guilt twisted Matthew’s stomach, but he bit down the urge to apologize. The outburst had served its purpose, reminding Tolys of the reason Matthew didn’t like people seeing his naked torso. Tolys didn’t insist anymore, he was silent and expressionless as he followed Matthew to the changing room.

Matthew was aware that Tolys was more stubborn than people gave him credit for. He wasn’t surprised when, upon getting out of the shower, he caught him typing on the phone, with his forehead wrinkled in concentration. Matthew could bet the recipient of the message was Alfred.

He smiled inwardly. He was privy of a piece of information Tolys must have missed: after the last argument, Arthur had taken away Alfred’s phone and turned it off. Neither Alfred nor Arthur were going to know anything about the embarrassing episode for at least a couple of days. By then, Matthew would have been able to tell his own version and find a way to prevent them from worrying.

When Tolys went back to the team to join the training, Matthew climbed up on the bleachers, where he spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between doing his homework and catching glimpses of the team. For how much he regretted not taking part in the practice, seeing his teammates’ undeniable competence quelled down Matthew’s concerns and let him able to relax a bit. The match was going to be hard, but they would make a worthy opponent. In spite of Matthew’s mishaps, there was one part of his life that wasn’t in shambles yet.

At the end of the afternoon, the dull throbbing in Matthew’s abdomen had increased – but he had taken a hockey stick wielded by Ivan to the stomach, after all. The bruise was probably quite deep, Matthew should have expected it to give him some trouble. Besides, hurting more some hours after having been inflicted was normal for a bad bruise, and it wasn’t unbearable, yet. Could real pain be the answer Matthew needed to get rid of the shameful fake ones that often plagued him? It sounded odd, but worth investigating further.

Or maybe, not even that episode had been enough to let Matthew get a grip of himself. By the time he was in front of his house, the pain had increased to a bothersome level and he was feeling nauseous again. He wasn’t sure he would be able to eat supper, and that was shaping up to be a problem with the antibiotic… missing three times in a row was starting to look a bit too daring, even for Matthew’s standards. Matthew’s stomach dropped at the mere thought, but he knew that he had no alternative: he was going to have to tell Arthur.

He was still mulling over the best way to present the issue without making it sound too concerning when he opened the front door.

He wasn’t prepared for the tornado that hit him.

Matthew froze, paralyzed by the screams. He had forgotten that Alfred would be home, and, from the sound of it, something had sparked a big argument.

Matthew took a deep breath, trying to gather the strength to cross the doorway and dive into the storm. His stomach coiled painfully on itself, begging for him to double over.

Matthew knew what he had to do. He should walk past the living room, ignore everything and take refuge into the bedroom, where he could curl on the bed and drown out the sounds with a pair of earbuds and some music. He couldn’t stop his brain from decoding the sounds into words as he walked past the living room, however.

“—Why can’t you just accept that this isn’t what I want to do, Arthur? Why can’t you? I know that I could get good grades and go to university and everything, I know that I’m good enough, but maybe, I just don’t want to! I don’t want to waste the best years of my life getting stale as I sit at a desk, accomplishing nothing!”

“Alfred, that’s not—”

“I want to get out in the open, to do something that matters! School doesn’t. I’ll become a football player, I love doing it, and then I’ll be an inspiration to countless children. I’ll also be rich, do you know how many people I’ll be able to help, then? And I’ll be doing all that using my own money the way I want, nobody will be able to tell me where to stop and what to do! And what does studying matter, in all this? Not. A. Fucking. Thing. I don’t have to do school! Just let me go on with my life and play, I’ll show you what I can do!”

Matthew knew that he shouldn’t have, but his curiosity got the best of him. He peeked into the living room just in time to see Arthur slam Alfred’s binder against the table in frustration.

“Goddamnit Alfred, why can’t you use your brain and think, for once? Can’t you see how many holes are in your plan? You’re gifted with a great intelligence, just use it! What if it all goes wrong? If you don’t become famous as a football player, you’ll be left with nothing! If you just studied, you—”

Alfred stomped his feet, his clenched fists quivering.

“That’s why I need to train! If I train, I’ll be good enough to get taken into a famous team, and you know it far too well! But nooo, you can’t accept that anybody would choose anything different than a boring, mundane job, so you raise all this Hell over missing a couple of days of school for a football camp!”

“If your grades—”

“Some teammates of mine have far worse grades, but I don’t see any of their parents complaining! They’re all going, this isn’t the issue! The issue is that you have to decide what I can do with my life, and I’m tired of it, do you hear me?! I’m sick and tired of this!”

Matthew wasn’t unfamiliar with his brother being angry. He had already seen his red face, his chest heaving for breath. What he had never seen, however, was the unabated hate shining darkly in his eyes, the cruel sneer distorting his features. Matthew found himself paralyzed, the breath blocked in his chest.

“You’re not my father, Arthur! You’ll never be. You aren’t even my real brother, you’re just my stepbrother! You’re nothing to me! What right do you have to have any say in my life? None. You have no right! You’re just pretending to be my father, and doing quite a shitty job at it! Aunt Marianne was right. We should have never stayed with you!”

Arthur didn’t stop Alfred when he whirled around and stomped away, bristling with rage. His face was milky white, his eyes wide and heartbroken.

Matthew instinctively took a step back as Alfred walked past him without acknowledging his presence, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from Arthur’s grief-stricken face. The wrongness of the entire vision felt like being stomped on the chest. His head was spinning, he wanted to be sick.

When Arthur turned, exhaling a shuddering breath that sounded painfully similar to a sob, Matthew wasn’t quick enough to pretend he hadn’t listened.

“Oh! Matthew.”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair in a feeble attempt at pretending confidence. Matthew couldn’t miss the way his arm was shaking slightly, making his own stomach knot in turn.

“I’m sorry you had to listen to this. But don’t worry, all right? Your brother is just… going through a rough patch. He’ll come around, with time.”

Arthur’s shaky smile was as fake as his words.

Matthew wanted to scream. It had been months, when would Alfred ‘come around’? Never, if something didn’t change drastically. Matthew wanted to shake Arthur until he admitted it, but it wasn’t Arthur’s fault. In truth, he was suffering even more than Matthew himself.

He fought back the urge to burst into tears and answered with a nod.

“Y—yeah. He will. Soon, I hope.”

“So do I.” Arthur’s tired smile and grey skin spelt out all his exhaustion even louder than his words did. “But never mind him, how was your day? Ready for your big match?”

In spite of all the concern weighting on his shoulders, Arthur had remembered that Matthew had an important hockey match. How could Matthew be okay with worrying him even further?

He forced himself to ignore the painful stabs to his stomach and nod. He almost felt like a wooden puppet who could only perform a single movement, with all that nodding against his stiff muscles.

“We’re doing great!” The enthusiasm he tried to inject into his words sounded fake, too weak. “But it was quite tiring. I… if it’s all right, I’ll just take my antibiotic and go to bed. It’s already half past seven, and I don’t need to have dinner, Iryna brought a cake to cheer us up…”

Guilt churned in Matthew’s stomach for the lie, increasing the pain to an almost unbearable level, but the genuine tenderness in Arthur’s tired eyes made it worth it.

“All right. Just do remember to take your antibiotic, poppet. And get some rest, you’ve been working hard. You deserve it.”

Matthew hesitated a moment at the door, fidgeting on his feet.

“I love you, Arthur,” he whispered in the end, then swiftly walked away without waiting for an answer.

He did love Arthur, that much was true. But he also loved Alfred just as much. Why couldn’t they all just get along?

To make matters worse, the scorching stabs of pain to his stomach were increasing in frequency; Matthew was clammy and lightheaded. Once again, his stupid body rebelling against the stressful situation. He could barely change into his pyjamas and dive under the pile of blankets before he needed to curl up on himself. He hugged his stomach, trying to breathe through the increasing bursts of agony.

Matthew felt like crying. He was tired of the fighting, of how mean Alfred always was to Arthur.

Alfred was so sure that he had everything figured out, but in truth, he didn’t know anything. Matthew almost wanted to laugh at the notion that he would have been better off with Tante Marianne. Maybe, Alfred should have taken a moment to wonder why their cousin Francis, in spite of loving his birth country, had almost run away from France just after becoming of age. Alfred hardly knew Marianne and Pierre at all, unlike Matthew. Matthew was aware that Oncle Pierre’s high-salary and prestigious job meant he spent most of his time travelling around the world, leaving his son’s upbringing completely in his wife’s hands. Matthew had also seen the way his sophisticated and charming Tante Marianne used to treat Francis. No more than an accessory, a pretty doll to display proudly. Alfred wouldn’t have lasted a week before smuggling himself back to America and to Arthur, Matthew was sure of that.

At the same time, it was also true that Arthur was often too hard with Alfred, too rigid to find a middle ground. Matthew knew that Arthur was very young and just trying his best, and he didn’t blame him for it. That didn’t stop him from wishing Arthur would let go of his pride and admit he couldn’t do everything on his own. Alfred generally listened to Francis, for example, but Arthur was always too reluctant to enlist his help.

And Matthew was too damn coward to let his voice be heard and suggest a solution, and he ended up dealing with a body that was just as much coward and pathetically needy. Served him right.

In addition to the searing pain, a spell of cold had taken Matthew into its grip and seeped into his bones, making him shiver incessantly. He could only curl up tighter on himself and pray to fall asleep, but the knives twisting in his abdomen kept bringing him back to the brink of consciousness.

Sometime later, the door was slammed open and heavy steps preceded the thump of Alfred’s body flopping down on his own mattress and the frame creaking under the weight. He didn’t offer a single word to Matthew.

The fire raging in Matthew’s stomach grew, paralyzing him in a haze of agony. It only got worse as the hours went by.

******

Alfred had always needed less sleep than a common person. Therefore, if Arthur forced him to go to bed at eleven, Alfred would be awake by four the following morning. That was just how it worked. His father had understood it perfectly, but Arthur just didn’t seem to be able to wrap his mind around it. Alfred could have lingered in bed for another couple of hours, but he didn’t want to give Arthur the satisfaction. The exact moment his eyes snapped open, he got up and moved to the living room.

Arthur had taken away his phone, his laptop, the PS4, and gotten as far as unplugging the TV and taking one of the cables into his own room the previous evening, but that didn’t mean Alfred was going to cave in and waste time doing homework. Instead, he flopped down on the sofa with a sandwich in his right hand and a book in the other.

Arthur hadn’t even forbidden him to read, after all. Alfred couldn’t wait to see the livid face when his older stepbrother would realize he had been, once again, outsmarted.

About two hours and a half later, the shuffled footsteps heading towards the living room made Alfred’s nerves tighten with tension, his blood sing at the prospect of a fight.

The steps halted at the door.

Alfred tensed on the sofa, waiting for the scolding.

Only a soft sight came. A moment later, the steps retreated from the living room.

Alfred raised his head just in time to see Arthur’s frame disappear into the kitchen. He couldn’t believe there had been no protest.

I finally showed him who’s the boss around.

Alfred wanted to believe that, in spite of the corner of his mind that made him notice how Arthur's shoulders were hunched over in exhaustion, even if it was just the beginning of the day. He was most likely just too drained to pick a fight. Alfred swallowed down the small trickle of guilt generated by the thought and forcefully directed his concentration back to the book in his hands, a collection of Asimov’s works.

Alfred had picked it only because it was the one closest to him, finding himself quite engrossed in it had been a pleasant surprise. Asimov was an excellent writer, just like Matthew had told him many times. Alfred made a mental note to thank his younger brother.

A moment later, he recalled that they weren’t on speaking terms.

This time, the twinge of guilt that gripped his stomach was more intense.

Matthew was always siding with Arthur, that much was true, and it irritated Alfred to no end. At the same time, Matthew was also merely fourteen years old. No more than a kid. A kid who had had to deal with a childhood of emotional neglect (now that he was older, Alfred was sure that he could give that name to their natural mother’s unintentional – but not less damaging – treatment of Matthew), precarious health, and loss. Moreover, Matthew had never connected with Arthur as smoothly as Alfred had used to, it was only natural for him to try and gather some crumbles of affection. No matter how much Alfred didn’t like it. Of course, the issue would be completely solved if Matthew started realizing that Alfred was the only older person he could truly rely on – but, admittedly, Alfred snapping at him wasn’t going to help with that.

Alfred squashed down the guilt with a resolution to be more patient with his younger brother, and he focused again on the fictional story to prevent his brain from formulating other disturbing thoughts. Arthur’s voice calling his name some time later caught him by surprise, violently jerking him back to reality.

“What?” he asked, not having quite had the time to harden his voice.

For once, Arthur didn’t seem intentioned to scold him. He was just standing at the door, bundled in a trench coat and with violet shadows painfully evident under his eyes, so tired-looking that the normally vibrant green looked dull.

“I have to go out now, I have a meeting for a group project.”

“It’s a quarter past seven, but I have to be at the campus by eight,” he added in answer to Alfred’s visible confusion.

Alfred forced his features to toughen in indifference.

“Fine. We won’t die by staying alone for just a couple of hours, no need to fret.”

A weary sigh seeped through Arthur’s lips.

“That’s not… I know you’re old enough to take care of yourself. I just wanted to ask you to wake Matthew up at half past seven, he looked quite exhausted yesterday. I’m not sure he would wake up on his own.”

Alfred internally rolled his eyes. He agreed on Arthur’s estimation of Matthew’s energies, and that was exactly why he wasn’t going to carry out the request. It was Saturday, Matthew definitely deserved a morning of rest. Alfred couldn’t believe that Arthur had never noticed how frazzled their little brother looked, how he was threatening to fall apart under all the responsibilities and expectations Arthur kept piling up on his shoulders. (The fact that Alfred shared the bedroom with Matthew and, because of that, saw him in his most vulnerable moments, didn’t matter. Arthur should have noticed.) Another reason why Arthur was a far cry from an adequate caretaker.

“Yeah, sure,” Alfred answered anyway, shrugging. For the time being, he was more eager to see how the book ended than to get into a fight.

“This is important, Alfred. Please don’t—”

“I said I’ll do it! Stop treating me like a toddler!”

Arthur sighed again – a soft, weary sound that made Alfred’s nerves tremble with disdain.

“I trust you with this, then,” Arthur said immediately after, much to Alfred’s surprise. “I probably won’t be home before eleven or so.”

With that, Arthur turned and walked away from the living room.

Alfred stared at his back for a moment before shaking himself. Arthur being so accommodating had surprised him, but he didn’t want to dwell on that (on how much of it was caused by Arthur being so exhausted that he could afford to spare energy only for immediately pressing matters). He went back to reading his book, letting the words take him by hand and lead him away from reality and to a soothing yet exciting world that kept Alfred in its clutches for so long that he was barely aware of the way the minutes bled into hours.

When the door creaked open, Alfred took conscience of how much time had passed with a twinge of surprise. He had barely moved from his position.

“Alfred!” Arthur called from the doorway, “Did you wake up Matthew?”

Alfred’s stomach summersaulted at the realization. He had been intentioned to wake up his brother before Arthur came home, somewhere around ten, but it had completely slipped out of his mind. Now, he could only own up to it.

Squaring his shoulders, Alfred took a deep breath to steady himself and got up.

“No, I didn’t,” he said with confidence as he walked the length of the corridor towards Arthur.

A dismayed grimace crossed Arthur’s features.

“What do you mean you didn’t? Alfred, I—”

“For God’s sake, give the kid a rest, will you? He has been running himself ragged since he began high school, can’t you see it? It’s Saturday, he deserves to sleep in for once in his life!”

Arthur didn’t seem moved. On the contrary, his feature tightened in annoyance before he ran a hand through his hair, huffing.

“And, pray tell, when exactly did I say that you needed to make him get up at half past seven? You just needed to wake him up, he could go back to sleep afterwards. In fact, I would have encouraged so.”

Arthur’s words didn’t make any sense. Alfred’s features must have shown his puzzlement, because Arthur rolled his eyes and emitted an exasperated sigh.

“The antibiotic, Alfred,” he explained in a clipped voice, “The prophylactic dose of antibiotic your brother has to take every twelve hours since his spleen has been removed and, with his immune system weaker to begin with, he risks getting mortally ill and dying.”

Alfred stared at his stepbrother, his mouth agape and his eyes wide open. Hot shame crawled up his stomach.

“But I guess this was less important than your rebellious spirit, wasn’t it?” Arthur’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “I see it now. Your little brother’s life is less important than a childish tantrum. I thought you were more mature than this, at least, but I see that I was severely mistaken…”

Arthur’s words stung worse than a physical slap could have. Alfred wanted to scream that he hadn’t wanted that, he wanted to be angry at Arthur – and, at the same time, he couldn’t believe he had missed something so vital.

Arthur trying to walk past him brought him back to his senses. His hand automatically shot out to grab his stepbrother’s arm.

“Where are you going?”

Alfred failed to hide a slight trembling in his voice.

Arthur’s forehead was creased in anger, but the shadows under his eyes made him look more dejected than annoyed.

“Where do you think I’m going? I need to wake up Matthew, it has already been more than three hours…”

Arthur tried to swag Alfred’s hand away, but he didn’t budge.

“I’ll go wake up Matthew.”

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, a spark of anger surging in his eyes, but Alfred was quicker.

“Listen. I fucked up, I know. And I’m sorry, okay?” The admission was like acid in Alfred’s mouth, but he knew that it was needed, if he wanted to prove to Arthur that he was mature enough. “But, if you go to wake up Matthew like that, he’ll see how much you’re stressing over this and he’ll read it as you being angry at him. He’ll just feel guilty and awful and it will add more stress. So, let me do this.”

Alfred couldn’t help the contempt from seeping into his voice at the end of the speech. He hadn’t exactly meant to do that, but he knew that he was right.

Arthur seemed to recognize the truth in Alfred’s words as well. He sagged in his grip and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he talked, his voice was once again controlled.

“All right. Just be kind to him.”

Alfred ignored the bitterness in Arthur’s last remark as he turned and walked away. He wanted to retort that he was always nice to Matthew, that he wasn’t the one stressing their younger brother, but a rational corner of his brain couldn’t help but whisper maliciously that Arthur did have a point. And, for how much Alfred claimed he was taking care of Matthew better than Arthur, he was the one who had forgotten such a vital issue.

The admission only made anger boil hotter in his chest. He gritted his teeth and kept clenching and unclenching his fists as he quickened his pace, but he couldn’t get rid of that feeling unpleasantly clawing at his insides.

If Matthew sees me like this, he’ll be even more stressed.

Sobered up by the realization, Alfred waited a couple of moments in front of the bedroom’s door, forcing himself to take deep breaths until his heartbeat slowed down. Only then, he opened the door and stepped in silently.

The sight of the lump of blankets that hid his brother’s frame brought a smile to Alfred’s face from the sheer cuteness of it.

His lips straightened into a thin line the moment he realized that the lump was trembling.

Is he having a nightmare?

“Mattie, wake up.”

Alfred swiftly strode to his brother, a pang of concern surging in his stomach when no answer met his words.

“Mattie?”

Alfred placed a knee on his brother’s mattress and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, giving it a gentle shake.

“Come on, Mattie, wake up. It’s all right, you’re probably just having a bad dream.”

A broken sound between a sob and a whimper was the only answer.

Frowning, Alfred peeled the blankets away from Matthew’s face as he hunched over him to have a better look.

His heart missed a beat.

Matthew’s face was stark white, the delicate features tightened in unmistakable agony. His breaths were ragged and uneven, seeping out of his bloodless lips in a broken, rushed symphony.

“Matthew!”

There was no reaction to Alfred’s panicked voice. With his pulse racing, he tore off the blankets to find his little brother huddled on himself, with his knees drawn to his chest and his arms tightly wrapped around his abdomen, the knuckles gripping his pyjama top white.

“Mattie, what’s wrong?” Alfred pleaded, “Come on, Mattie, talk to me!”

His shaking hands found a grip around his brother’s shoulders to turn him over and allow Alfred to have a better look.

Matthew moaned at the movement, his ragged breaths quickening. Then, Alfred tried to uncurl Matthew’s legs – and an inhuman, agonized shriek erupted from his throat.

Alfred jumped away as if he had been scalded, avoiding just in time to get in the way of Matthew vomiting over the edge of the bed. The blood pounding in his ears obscured his vision for a moment.

I’m only three hours late. Only three hours, it can’t be…

But Matthew was curled up on himself on the edge of the bed, at that point earnestly sobbing, with the sheets around him soiled with vomit.

Alfred ignored the smell and sprang to his brother’s side, scolding himself for that moment of hesitation.

“Matthew. Matthew, come on, tell me what’s wrong!”

He hated himself for how shaky his voice came out, closer to a plea than an order, but at that point, Alfred could hardly think straight. The fingers tapping his brother’s clammy cheek were singed by the prickling heat of a raging fever.

Three hours.

Such a short amount of time, but it had been enough. Something was so horribly wrong with Matthew, his waxen features were contorted in agony, the breaths coming out of his lips harsh and ragged, as if he wasn’t getting enough air.

Alfred knew that he had to do something, but the terror that had flooded his entire being was acting as a barrier between his brain and any rational thought. All he could do was to take his brother’s clammy face into his hands, stare into his glassy and unseeing eyes as he pleaded in a shaky voice for him to answer, but even the slurred words that finally came out of Matthew’s lips were covered by the roar in Alfred’s own ears.

Alfred was abruptly brought back to reality when the door slammed open.

He instinctively whirled around, his widened eyes meeting a pair of equally scared green ones. Finally, Alfred’s brain registered that the sounds he had been ignoring at the corners of his perceptions were Arthur’s yelling for an answer and his footsteps rushing closer. He had to have heard Matthew’s wail, the entire street probably had.

At that moment, no sight was more welcome than Arthur’s face, the concern shining in his features already dimming as they hardened in determination. The argument that had occurred only some moments earlier seemed to belong to a different lifetime.

“Arthur.” Alfred’s voice was nothing but a weak, trembling plead. “Arthur, there’s something really wrong with Matthew. Please, help!”

Alfred swiftly moved to a side to leave his older brother some space to examine Matthew, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy’s unnaturally pale face.

Alfred prided himself in being mature and independent, but Arthur was the one who had always had Matthew’s health in mind. Arthur was the one who took the child’s hands into his own, who ran his fingers through the blond hair as he called Matthew’s name, somehow managing to keep his voice firm.

Alfred could just stand there, paralyzed, as all his world crumbled around him, every detail in front his eyes screaming how wrong he had been.

******

All Matthew knew was agony. A knife was tearing him apart from the inside, stabbing repeatedly and twisting, acid was eating him up.

Matthew wanted to call for help, but the pain squeezed his lungs, he could only sob.

Then, he wasn’t alone anymore. There were hands on his face, fingers threading through his hair. Voices around him.

“…Mattie, please, Mattie…”

“…phone first. Get me the phone. And then a thermometer, quick!”

Matthew confused brain recognized them as belonging to his older brothers, even if most of the words were too far away for him to comprehend them, muffled by a sea of pain.

He wanted to cry in relief and to plead them to make the pain stop.

But, at the same time, Arthur’s rough fingers against his neck brought with them the faint recollection of other fingers, slender and clammy with sweat, that had lingered on Matthew’s neck on a summer’s afternoon, when he was kneeling in front of a trashcan at the park.

Arthur’s tender voice morphed into a higher, feminine timbre that sent shivers running down Matthew’s back. He could still feel Allyson’s hot breath blowing against his neck.

“Oh, what do we have here, Mattie? An upset tummy because your big brothers are fighting? You know what this means, Mattie-kins? That we’re just the same, you and I. You’re trying to be a little goody-two-shoes, but your body is complaining because it wants to get Big Brother’s attention. Embrace it, Mattie-kins. No matter what you pretend, you’re just a little attention whore.”

Allyson’s words had been with Matthew since them, carefully tucked into a corner of his mind. His greatest fear and his greatest push. He had done everything he could to prove Allyson wrong, he had always done his best to hide the pain and not let his true nature out in the open.

And now, it was all gone. Matthew’s body, his instincts, everything pleaded for his brothers’ help, their voices and touches brought small seeds of comfort through the haze of agony. Matthew wanted to cling to them.

But the recollection of Allyson’s mocking laugh rose above everything else, drowning all of Matthew’s perceptions. He had finally lost the battle with his body, and this time, he was the one who had ruined everything for his family.

(word count: 6,494 words)

———

Notes:

Hetalia Human Names [x] 

Allyson Jones is 2p Nyo America;

Felicia is Nyo Italy;

I’m not a doctor, so there might be inaccuracies, in spite of my research;

Moreover, there are some misconceptions due to the narrators’ erraneous views.

Thanks a lot to the people who liked the previous chapter, and a special thanks to @aph-fanficchallenges and @nordicsawesome for reblogging it! I hope you guys will enjoy this chapter as well :)

[kenzieam]

Surrender to the Call - Chapter Four (Bucky X Lev)

Rating: M (language, violence, mentions of torture and abuse, eventual smut, angst)

Genre: Drama/Angst

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Bucky and Shuri work to bring Lev back but, when she wakes up, can she deal with all the bad shit she did as HYDRA’s pawn?

*******************************************************************************************

Shuri glanced up as Bucky entered the room and smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. If front of her, frozen and unconscious, was Levi, face twisted in a final rictus of terror, her scar standing out a harsh purple against her pale skin. A large holographic display hovered in the air in front of the princess and she frowned at the intricate web before her, playing with her bottom lip.  

Bucky had awakened not long ago, compelled to check Shuri’s progress even though it twisted an agonizing knife through his heart to see Lev, especially with her ghastly final expression, her plea of ‘please’ still fresh in his ears.  

“Sleep well?” Shuri asked, concentrating on the image of Lev’s mind and consciousness in front of her.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “How long was I out?”

“Almost 2 days.” Shuri flicked a look at him. “You obviously needed the rest.”

There was no use denying it and, even if he did, Shuri was too smart to be fooled, and too good a friend. “It’s been rough.”

Shuri nodded, turning her eyes back to the display. She knew the whole story. 

“It is deeper this time.” Shuri murmured and Bucky moved closer to look. “The tendrils of influence, they’re deeper and stronger. Parts of her brain have been altered, the impulse control centre shrunk, the area of aggression nurtured and grown. I read the full report from Dr. Banner. He believes they used cognitive subversion and I must agree.”

“What does that mean?”

“If I had to guess, she was restrained and made to watch multiple images of violence and depravity, and pumped full of steroids and adrenaline at the same time, essentially rewiring her brain. I’ve read reports of this type of torture, it’s quite effective, and devastating to the subject.”

“Can you fix it?”

Shuri paused. “I don’t know.”

Bucky swallowed hard and moved to turn away to hide his sudden tears but Shuri gently rested her hand on his shoulder. “I will try my best.”

Bucky nodded, not able to speak.  

“Is it possible to obtain records of her treatment?” Shuri asked hesitantly, biting her bottom lip as Bucky turned back to look at her incredulously. “I have no desire to learn the degree of misery Levi suffered, but if I knew exactly how and what they did, I may be more successful at reversing it.”

It made sense but Bucky had no desire to read the reports himself, it would be his final undoing to know the details; the end result was enough to break his heart. “I’ll see if Bruce or the team can get them.”

“They are trying to take down HYDRA now?”

“Yes. When we recovered Lev, the government team managed to grab an agent too. I don’t know what they did to him, but they seem to think his information’s credible.”

“Perhaps,” Shuri offered tentatively. “If this results in HYDRA’s fall, Lev’s capture and corruption will have had some value.”

Bucky wiped at his eyes. “I’d rather have Lev whole and with me, even if it meant HYDRA was still out there.”

Shuri nodded silently. After a moment her hand rested gently on Bucky’s forearm, his skin hot, the muscles beneath rock-hard. “This will take time, go out and clear your head, Lev will need you when she wakes.”

********************************************************************************************* The warm sun on his face was indeed relaxing and, as Bucky leaned back against the rock behind him, he did feel his mind beginning to clear. It hurt, the way your hand will ache if you’ve been gripping something hard for a long time then released it; his very being hurt right now. Bucky hadn’t felt this way in a long time, not since he’d first begun to reawaken and remember, relive the horrors HYDRA put him through and the lives he took.  

Lev would be in similar agony... if she woke up. Shuri didn’t sound very confident

Maybe, even if they were taken down, HYDRA did win after all.  

The tears came hot and sudden, feeling like blood as they streamed down his face. He’d given his entire heart and soul over to Lev, she owned him, she had the power to break him. He should have stayed away, stayed unattached, preserved himself; not fallen so desperately in love; for what was life, except for suffering, at least for Bucky? He should have known this wasn’t his life to have, fate would snatch it away sooner or later.  

For a time, his anguish took hold, and the sun had moved across the sky before he was in control again, slumped back against the rock, weak with exertion and emotion.  

He couldn’t leave. No matter what happened. Even through the worst of his agony, when he could hardly draw breath between sobs, that thought had glowed bright in the back of his mind. Lev needed him, regardless of his pain, regardless of his regrets, Lev needed him to be there when she woke up. His words to Steve came back to him, how he‘d wished Lev were dead to save her from the sorrow and pain that awaited her when she awoke, and he knew he hadn’t truly meant them. He was too selfish, too attached, too fused to Lev to separate. He would help her crawl through her hell, be there for her on the other side because that the only option. It was too painful to leave her.

A fresh ache started low in his abdomen. His body craved release, craved the warmth of Lev against him, the feel of him inside her. Once they’d begun being intimate, they’d never stopped. Both were serum-enhanced and insatiable, it was not unusual for one to take the hand of the other when they were home in the Tower, and tug them quietly to their quarters, ignoring the hooting and laughing of their teammates behind them, the teasing that ‘this is the third time today!’. The first few days after a mission were always shot to hell, neither one emerging from their room except to grab food, then back inside. It made the others roll their eyes and tease Bucky and Lev about their ‘sex den’, but they couldn’t help it; they were addicts, each other’s favourite drug.  

Yet, despite his anxious need, there would be no relief. Taking care of himself in the shower barely took the edge off and, even if he wasn’t completely abhorred at the thought of being with another, his body failed to respond to anyone else but Levi.    

Groaning, Bucky scrubbed his hands over his eyes, then pushed to his feet. He needed to exercise, go for a run, hard and fast, exhaust his body to try and temper his mind, then maybe he’d be strong enough to check on Lev again.  

*******************************************************************************************

Shuri was indeed as good as her word to Steve, and had devoted her entire time to Lev, barely taking time out to rest or eat. She ignored both T’Challa and Bucky when they tried to pull her away, flapping her hand dismissively at them, stubbornly focusing on the display of Lev’s brain. She’d ran infinite scenarios, trying to figure out the best way to untangle HYDRA’s corruption, but so far, every simulation resulted in something vital to Lev’s personality being stripped as well.  

Shuri was getting frustrated. As one of the most brilliant people on the planet, she wasn’t used to being unsuccessful at a task she was putting her full attentions to and that in turn made her even more stubborn.  

At both royal sibling’s urging, Bucky was reclaiming himself, taking time to decompress and relax, reflect and think on everything like he had when Shuri had first helped him, and later when Lev had been brought here as a scared, reflexively violent girl, damaged by HYDRA’s mistakes and left to fade away and die in Siberia.

She’d awakened a woman, able to shrug off those chains and grow into a valuable member of the team. No one else, not even Bucky, could get Steve to laugh the way Lev could, no one else could tease the same delighted grin from Bucky or shut Sam down so effectively that even he enjoyed it.

Bucky missed her. He wanted her back.

There had been nothing but radio silence from the team so far, eight days of nothing. Even Bucky’s relay 0f Shuri’s request had been unanswered, and while this unnerved Bucky, he knew the team was too busy to drop a line. They needed to be successful this time; Bucky, Lev, the whole team couldn’t continue on with the spectre of HYDRA still out there, waiting to swoop in and steal Lev or even him, away again; HYDRA needed to be put down like the rabid dog it was.  

A loud rush in the sky grabbed his attention and Bucky looked up from the rodent family he’d been sitting with. He and Lev had sat out here often before, befriending the gerbil-like critters and the little buggers seemed to have remembered him, tentatively sniffing at his large fingers before allowing him to stroke their tiny backs, scurrying along his legs and up his shoulders to tug at his hair and sniff along his jaw.                                                                        

With a jolt, Bucky recognized the quinjet as it hissed past and he stood, gently disentangling and setting down the little creatures before turning and sprinting back towards the palace. It had to be Steve, returning with word of the mission, hopefully with files that could help Shuri with Lev.  

It was indeed the blond captain, talking with T’Challa when Bucky sprinted up, the sweat gleaming on his skin more from anxiety over what Steve was about to say then from the exertion of the run and stopped short when he saw his friend.  

Steve looked like he’d been put through the ringer. Fading bruises and cuts marred his face and the tense way he held his shoulder spoke to an injury his enhanced body hadn’t yet been able to heal fully. Regardless, upon seeing Bucky, Steve strode towards him and pulled his oldest friend into a crushing bear hug. Pulling away slightly, he slapped his hands onto Bucky’s shoulders.  

“We did it.”

Bucky let out a breath he didn’t realized he’d been holding. “HYDRA?”

“All but dead. We cut off the head, Buck. We did it. What’s left is just crumbs.”

Bucky’s heart jolted painfully. This seemed like a dream. “Everyone okay?”

Now Steve’s eyes darkened. “Mostly.”

“Who?”

“Wanda, Sam.... Clint. They’re not dead but Bruce is going to be busy in the medical lab for a while. Tony got busted up pretty bad but his suit took most of the force, he’s walking around like he just got in a car wreck, but at least he’s walking. Nat’s far from 100 % but her, Bruce and Tony are holding down the fort okay.”

“What about the government guys?”

Steve winced. “Not so lucky. What’s left of the teams are being organized to track and kill the last few HYDRA hold-outs.”

“So... it’s really over?”

Steve shrugged, looking exhausted. “I really hope so, but who knows? HYDRA was huge and they lasted so long because they were secret. But we definitely dealt them a critical blow.” He jumped slightly, as if remembering something, and slapped his hands against his chest, resembling a man looking for his missing pack of smokes. Triumphantly, he dug into his front breast pocket and brandished a small thumb drive, holding it out towards the two men. Bucky backed away instinctively, having a pretty good idea what it was.  

T’Challa reached out and accepted it.

“I got your request.” Steve glanced at Bucky before looking back at the King. “That’s what we found regarding Lev. I couldn’t look at it, but Bruce glanced at it and said it all fits his theories.” His voice darkened with grief and sadness.  

Bucky felt his gorge rising and swallowed hard.  

“There’s more.” Steve looked hesitant.

“Just say it, punk.”

“There’s some old files on there. Either we missed them the first time or they weren’t there but....” He took a deep breath. “It looks like Lev wasn’t meant to be your hunter if you went rogue. She was to be your replacement.”

Bucky jerked in shock. What?

“I’m guessing if her cryofreeze hadn’t gone wrong she would have become HYDRA’s new Winter Soldier.”

This was unexpected. Would HYDRA have just left him in cryofreeze to eventually fade away, like Lev? Or would they have released him one last time, just for Lev to track and kill?  

T’Challa spoke up, breaking the gloomy silence. “Come, you must be exhausted, Captain. There is a room ready for you.”  

Steve hesitated, but accepted at Bucky’s slight nod. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

Bucky held out his hand. “I’ll take the drive to Shuri, if you want.”

T’Challa nodded, handing over the drive then turning to Steve, gesturing him to follow.  

Bucky watched them leave, then strode away.

Shuri glanced up from the table she was slumped at and rubbed her eyes. Her expression brightened as her gaze fell on the drive in Bucky’s hand. She yanked a small laptop towards her and held out her hand. Bucky hesitated after giving it to her.  

“Are you staying?” Shuri asked, sounding surprised.

It was morbid, it would be heartbreaking, but Bucky felt compelled to stay and witness at least part of Levi’s torment; she’d lived it, his pain would never compare to hers, it seemed the least he could do. He nodded and Shuri seemed to understand.

The first parts that came up on the screen were written reports and Shuri scanned them quickly, nodding and mumbling to herself, making notes on a small tablet beside her.  

“Just like we speculated, cognitive subversion.” She continued to read and make notes. “I’ve been talking with Dr. Banner and, based on what we were assuming was done, were going to try a direct reversal, in essence, a cognitive affirmation. Show Lev clips of calming, peaceful footage and inject endorphin stimulants, other ‘feel good’ hormones, try to reverse the damage; shrink her overgrown aggression centre, grow the impulse control area again. These reports only confirm that is the best way to try.” Her fingers hovered over the touch pad, a video file had appeared and was waiting to play. After a pause, she tapped the pad.  

A grainy video came up but Bucky had no problem recognizing Lev and his breath hitched in his throat. Lev was twisting in a chair as much as her restraints allowed, the memory suppressor attached to her head. Her devastated, garbled scream came through the speakers and stabbed straight into his heart.    

“Bucky! Buc-” Lev cried, her voice breaking.  

Shuri closed the video, sniffling. A second video came up and her fingers shook slightly as she tapped the pad again.  

Lev was unmoving and blank faced now, secured in perhaps the same chair. Her head was strapped tightly and strange, painful looking devices held her eyes open a la Clockwork Orange. At least four IV lines ran into the crooks of her bruised arms, pumping the steroids and adrenaline into her veins. Her hair had already been shaved, the scar through her eye still bleeding fresh. Screams and bangs sounded over the speakers, light playing over Lev’s cadaverous face. A monotonous voice droned in Russian and Bucky’s fists clenched unconsciously as he listened.  

“What is he saying?” Shuri whispered.

“You belong to HYDRA. Your mind is HYDRA. You are death and pain. You live only to kill and maim...” he broke off with a trembling exhale, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Kill or be killed. No mercy, no pity. You will slaughter all who stand in your way. You are alone, there is no one to save you. You are death, you are death, you are death. And then it just repeats.”  

“Oh, Lev.” Shuri’s voice held near bottomless sorrow. She wiped at her eyes before hitting the pad and pulling the drive free. She tossed it aside with a shudder.    

Bucky took a deep breath, fighting with everything he had to not break down. Shuri’s hand rested briefly on his, then pulled away. She stood suddenly, channeling her horror into action.  

“I will reverse this.” She vowed. Seemingly renewed with fresh energy, she turned away and almost leapt from her chair.  

Bucky watched for a few moments but Shuri was completely focused on her work and he slunk away quietly. He found himself wandering outside again but, rather than returning to the rock formation and gerbil family, he decided to collapse not far from the palace. A convenient rock provided a seat back and for the longest time, Bucky had no energy or drive to do anything. The sun moved across the sky, shadows playing across his face, voices and laughter of Wakandian’s nearby drifted on the wind to his ears, but he stayed motionless, mind churning, trying to chew the newest information about Lev’s treatment into swallowable chunks, but they would never be palatable.  

He was encouraged by Shuri’s newfound confidence, and if there was anyone smart enough on Earth to help Lev, it would be her, but the footage of Lev’s torture played across his mind’s eye on a devastating loop. Eyes forced open, face bleeding, while death and chaos played out in front of her; the disembodied Russian voice, hooking it’s claws deep into her mind.  

No doubt the President will want to see the footage for herself, but it would definitely clear Lev of any guilt for her actions. There was no way she could be held accountable for what she did now. As hard as the footage was to see, and the reports to read, they would guarantee Lev’s clemency.                                    

But, what then?

Shuri reversed the damage, removed HYDRA’s corruption and Levi woke up, then what happened? Lev’s guilt at her actions, involuntary as they were, would still eat away at her. Nearly a thousand people dead, millions more disrupted as their country burned and staggered, how did you recover from that? Bucky would do all he could to help, would love and support her unflinchingly, but how much was too much? Maybe it would be better, for Lev at least, if she simply-

“Buck?”

Bucky startled, muscles creaking and popping after hours of immobility. Steve stood a few feet away, looking tired but still much more refreshed than before. He sat at Bucky’s side with a groan.  

“T’Challa says you’ve been out here for hours.”

Bucky nodded, not looking towards Steve. He cleared his throat. “Shuri and I, we.... reviewed some of that drive you brought.”  

“Bucky, you shouldn’t have-”

“I needed to.” Bucky interrupted, voice strengthening. “Levi lived that; the least I could do was witness it.”

“Was it as bad as we thought?”

“Worse. I don’t know if you can come back from that.”

“Lev can.”

“She’s not bulletproof, punk. She’s only human.”

“And she’s strong, and she has you, and me, and the whole team behind her.”

“Will that be enough?”

“It has to be.” Steve replied quietly. “You’re not the only one who misses her, who wants her back. She’s like a sister to me. Shit, we’re a family, she is my sister.”

Bucky was silent for long moment. “I don’t know, if Shuri removes all that... shit from her mind, what Levi will want. If she’ll stay here for a while, go back to the Tower-”

“Hide out in Bucharest and try to buy plums?” Steve teased gently.

Bucky smirked wryly, reaching over to punch the punk’s shoulder. “Wherever she goes though, I’ll be with her and... if she decides to leave the team, I won’t be staying either.”

Steve nodded silently. In truth, he’d been expecting this. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if Lev just dropped everything and disappeared, started living completely off the grid and away from civilization. The brief image of a small cabin, wood smoke trailing from the chimney and Lev emerging from the front door, holding a tin cup of steaming coffee as the sun glittered through the trees hit him then.  

Whatever Levi decided, she deserved peace and tranquility after all this. And Bucky deserved it too.  

The men went quiet and reflective then, lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Steve cleared his throat and broke the silence. “I’ve got to head back. Bruce and Nat need help. I just came to bring the drive and check in.”

Bucky nodded absently, his attention still elsewhere when Steve stood, despite himself reflexively standing as well. Only Steve’s hand slapping his shoulder pulled him fully out of his own head.  

“Get some sleep, jerk.”  

*******************************************************************************************

Shuri’s message had been cautiously optimistic and Bucky’s heart pounded in his chest as he entered the lab. Shuri looked up and smiled widely.

“I was just about to bring her out of freeze. T’Challa’s on his way too.” Even as she spoke, the King entered, Okoye silent at his side.  

“Did it work?” Bucky asked hesitantly, hating the faint quiver in his voice. Shuri had been working non-stop for the last ten days, stopping only to sleep and eat.  

“I’ve removed all traces of HYDRA’s indoctrination and managed to restore Lev’s brain to her pre-corruption state. But... I can’t do anything about how she’ll feel when she wakes up. I’ve just taken away her killer attitude.” Shuri’s confident tone faltered slightly. T’Challa rested his hand on her shoulder.

“You have done well, better than anyone else could. It is up to Levka now.”

Shuri bit her lip, eyes flicking to Bucky’s as her fingers flew over the controls. With a whoosh of air, the cryofreeze was reversed and the containment cylinder retracted.  

Lev blinked, her twisted expression jerking, her teeth clacked together. Her eyes fell closed again and she sagged against the restraints. Bucky leapt towards her, catching her upper arms and T’Challa was there as well when the restraints retracted, helping Bucky catch Lev’s limp body. Okoye watched on high alert as they guided Lev towards the nearby gurney and laid her down. Shuri was there instantly with a thick blanket, pulling it up to Lev’s chin as her teeth started to reflexively chatter with residual cold. The siblings stepped back, giving Bucky some privacy, but Okoye stayed alert and T’Challa was tensed to react as well if Lev woke up swinging, literally or figuratively.  

“Levi?” Bucky murmured, leaning close. His fingertips burned as they stroked along her cheek, jolts shooting up his arm. It had been so long since he’d touched her. “Baby, are you there?”

Her eyelids fluttered, and Bucky caught the faintest whisper from her chapped lips. “Bucky?”

“I’m here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her lids fluttered again and Bucky finally got to see her beautiful amethyst eyes, unfocused for a breath before locking on Bucky’s. Gone was the hard, razor’s edge of violence darkening her iris's to bruises, left was confusion and the beginnings of relief.  

“Bucky.” Her voice was stronger and her hands lifted weakly, brushing against his broad shoulders. Bucky wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and she half-crumpled, half-snuggled against him, her body beginning to shudder. Bucky’s body trembled in answer and tears started to course down his cheeks.

“I missed you baby, so much.” He choked. His lips brushed her forehead, groaning at the sensation. Lev whimpered and clawed weakly closer, nuzzling into his throat. Bucky closed his eyes in bliss, a bone-deep peace coiling through him, fuck, he’d missed this, he’d missed her.

“Bucky, I...” Lev stuttered and Bucky felt her go rigid in his arms. “Oh god, Bucky. What have I done?”

[lettersfromloui]

all or nothing or just stop thinking

Picked a writing prompt today which was about books and reading. I wouldn't really know what exactly to write about this topic but then I remembered one way of thinking I used to have about books. "What if I read them all?" Of course, I know that it wouldn't be really possible (would it?) but it was still a motivating thought that made me pick up every book that was in front of me whether I was interested in it or not. To be honest, though I am now saying the "either I am reading all or nothing" drive isn't really what is suitable for my own life, this method still helped me discover new book genres, writing styles, etc. that I could take interest in. Being more open to different topics rather than reading the same story from different authors feels like rewiring my brain in some sort of way. Nevertheless, I think I can still keep that openness while not having the "all or nothing" mindset.

From and to overthinking perfectionist (soon not anymore, we're working on it, okay),

Trying to get rid of it, I realized, there has to be some effort to be put in (oh, please no). It is not that I just lived that way when it came to books but truly all areas of life - sports, drawing, writing, academic life - basically when it comes to skills and the daily life. I used to never curate any skills because I simply wasn't forced to as a child (as a child I surprisingly didn't have my own motivation to become excellent at something), I also didn't have that one interest in my life as I could be fascinated by anything and I rather got praised for my intelligence than for my effort. As for latter, I often see this discourse about how the "gifted kids" are now just people that never learned to be good at something because they simply never had to. And it is true, I never had to put a huge amount of effort into school or any skill that was needed. I always was able to pick up quickly but as an adult the standards became higher and whatever skill it was I just dropped it because I wasn't perfect and didn't fit into that standard with no effort anymore. Always felt like I was lacking discipline and drive when I looked around me. When life just easily flows by you for most part, there was no need for real effort. I know, sounds like an awful life (joke, I know I am privileged for that even to be my struggle which probably annoys me more that I turned out to become that. At the same time, trying to not to blame but just accept as it is and working on the now).

As for everyone, humans can sometimes have very limiting thoughts, beliefs and rules they set for no reason. For me, one was (or to this day sometimes still is) definitely the "all or nothing" mindset. It doesn't only keep you from continuing doing something, often times you don't even start. The fear of not being perfect from the very beginning, wasting time and then overthinking it before even starting. Such useless thoughts for what, right? And yet... What to tell an overthinking perfectionist? "Just start. Just do it." Oh, the taste of frustration that comes with these sentences because I know I have been overthinking those sentences over and over, too. At one point, I realized there really is no way around it.

"Just stop thinking" would maybe been a more fitting for me, personally. When I remind myself to just stop thinking, to go with my intuition, my gut, I am able to start (without overthinking every step, yay). So in the end, all it takes for me to just start, is to trust myself enough to know that I am making the "right" choices anyway and that there is no point to think them over and over. The effort and progress will come automatically, no need to think about it either. It also is important to completely get rid of the idea of perfection and the fear of making mistakes. Don't even think about it. Don't let it cross your mind for a single second, just do it (what in the Nike ads...) and when they do cross your mind, let them go. They don't serve you. It is not that one will become a non thinking human who makes no thought through decisions but letting go of the overthinking that does not serve you and only limits you. You are a highly intuitive person, knowing from the gut, from your heart what really is to do. Trust yourself (so corny), believe that you are this person because well, you are.

[the-ram-fire]

Ways to enhance your intuition

Exercises:

These exercises can be done in two ways. You can either pick one paper up and try to guess what is on the paper, or you can think of a paper and try to find it in the pieces of paper. If you feel you need more pieces of paper by all means add more. If you work with deities, your higher self, spirits of any sorts, please feel free to invite them to help you with these exercises, if you’d like.

The number exercise: cut four, same sized pieces of paper with the numbers 1-4 written on them. Turn them downwards and mix them up. Pick one up and try to guess which number it is.

The shape exercise: cut four, same sized pieces of paper, and draw a star, a heart, a circle and a cube on them. Turn them downwards and mix them up. Pick one up and try to guess which shape it is.

The color exercise: cut four, same size pieces of paper, and add a different color to all of them. Turn them downwards and mix them up. Try to guess which paper has which color on them.

The quiz exercise: find a quiz online that you know nothing about - this may be a science quiz, a pop culture quiz, a quiz about a band, or the Viking history quiz. Take the quiz and try to guess the answers.

The object exercise: Get a older object, works best if it’s given by a friend do you and examine it. Try to pick up the objects energies and try to see/hear/smell the person that the object is tied to. It’s best done with a friend because they will most likely know some information about the person and they can tell if you’re right or wrong.

The card exercise: Pick one card up from a deck and try to see the color, the shape and the number of that card. You can also do this with tarot cards, try to feel the cards energies.

Divination: it’s a great exercise for enhancing your psychic abilities and the range of tools you can do divination with is enormous. So, find the one that calls to you and start divining. 

In my experience these are the main exercises which you can sit and work on but they’re not the only ones. Intuition can be worked on throughout the day even in the most mundane tasks:

Try to guess who texted you or is calling you before you pick up the phone.

If other people cook for you, try to guess what you’re having for lunch before seeing it.

Try to pick up what your friend is going to tell you before they do.

Try to guess when the light is going to turn green at a traffic light.

Think of a person, and try seeing what they’re doing at the moment. After you’re done, ask them whatsup.

When talking to a friend on the phone try to see what they’re wearing, what their hair is like, and/or what they’re doing and ask them.

When you get up try to sense what the weather is going to be like today.

When at the store and you’re waiting in line try to sense how much the person before you needs to pay.

Tell a friend to think of a number and try to guess that number.

When listening to music on shuffle, try to sense what the next song is going to be.

When people close to you talk on the phone try and sense who they’re talking to and ask them afterwards. (only if they’re comfortable with it, not all people would like their privacy invaded, my friends and family know why I’m doing that so they’re cool with it)

Try to sense what a close friends text is saying before you open it, or try to sense why they’re calling you.

These are all I can think of a t the moment, hopefully in the future I’m going to add more. Basically anytime, anywhere when you have some space left to guess what’s going to happen, do it.

MEDITATION: I can’t stress how important meditation is, especially to witches, mages, shamans, and all occult practitioners in general. I know it sounds boring when people tell you to meditate but we all need some time to relax and clear our heads. And in the moments of blissful relaxation we let out soul speak to us the most thus coming into our strongest potential where we can energetically change our DNA and rewire our brains. In the moment of deep relaxation you can focus on cleansing your pineal gland / increasing your intuition. 

I like to imagine purple/indigo color and lavender flowers coming out of my pineal gland spreading and covering my whole body and aura. I also like to imagine roots stretching from my pineal gland bursting through my forehead opening an eye in the centre of it. I like to massage the centre of my forehead, and I like taping an amethyst to it lol.

There are lots of guided meditations on youtube, which are extremely helpful, and there are lots of binaural beats and isochronic tones, which are also very helpful. Just find your comfort zone to working on the pineal gland and focus on it. Don’t feel bad if per say, isochronic tones don’t work for you but storm sounds do work. Find your comfort zone and work within it.

Also you might want to check out Sun Gazing, which is a very powerful exercise you’re going to need to dedicate yourself to. 

Pineal gland detoxification: 

Avoid ingesting fluoride - I know this is hard, seeing at the people on top put fluoride in literally everything knowing what it’s doing to our brains. But there are alternatives, the internet is a huge place and you can find almost everything there. Avoid fluoridated water, fluoridated toothpaste, GMO fruits and vegetables, soda, all artificial foods and drinks. Try to eat healthy and organically and if possible reduce eating meat - and cutting it off completely. 

Avoid sleeping with technology in your room if possible - this means wireless routers, mobile phones, computers etc. The pineal gland is suppressed by electro magnetic fields.

Avoid or if you can, completely cut off all sugar, caffeine, tobacco, alcohol and drugs.

Once you’ve detoxified your body and pineal gland it’s time to start working on activating and boosting your pineal gland:

Spend time in sunlight every day - or as much as you can. Practice sungazing as well, and it is best done when the sun has risen or in the moments it’s going away because the sun is the weakest then and it can’t harm your eyes and it won’t bother you.

Oils and incense - 

Sleep and meditate in complete darkness.

Commit to meditation every day.

Dedicate rituals to your third eye - whether it be a bath ritual, once in a full moon ritual, a day of the week ritual, or whenever you feel like it ritual, do it.

Practice yoga, especially Yoga Nidra as it is the most powerful yogic practice to increase the blood flow to your pineal gland.

Eat food that boosts the pineal gland - raw cocoa, coconut oil, lemon - the body’s best friend, basically the master of detox, garlic, raw apple cider vinegar, goji berries, watermelon, honey, hemp seeds, iodine, vitamin K1/K2, boron, bananas, alkaine food, chlorophyll rich foods, oregano oil, sea moss, walnuts, turmeric and melatonin.

Crystals that stimulate the pineal gland - amethyst, lapis lazuli, clear quartz, moonstone, sodalite. You can meditate with these crystals on your forehead daily, you can tape a crystal on your forehead and stay like that for a while, or you can massage your forehead with it.

Chant - there are a lot of chants to boost your pineal gland, you can google some, I’ve found that OM works best for me.

Plants that enhance intuition - ginger, gotu kola, ginkgo, skullcap, elder leaf, berries and flower, fennel, lavender, lemongrass, saffron, bay leaves, rosemary, honey suckle, anise, eyebright, lotus, mimosa, sandalwood, burning acacia, cinnamon, buchu leaves, celery, lilac, mint, mugwort, solomons leaf, frankincense, jasmine, lemon, peppermint, rose, sage, vanilla and star anise.

Oils - bay laurel, carrot seed, galbanum, german chamomile, grapefruit, myrrh, nutmeg, palo santo, petitgrain, roman chamomile, sandalwood, st. john’s wort, angelica root, eleni, juniper, frankincense, rosemary and patchouli.

Incense - ambergris, bay leaf, anise, cinnamon, frankincense, honeysuckle, jasmine, lemon, lemongrass, lotus, magnolia, peppermint, rose, sage, sandalwood, vanilla, heliotrope, basil and eucalyptus. 

And most important of all - trust your gut! The problem with not listening to our intuition is when our rational, logical mind interferes and tries to come up with logical solutions as to why your intuition is wrong. Whenever you get that gut feeling, just go with it, don’t question it. Also always remember to protect yourself when working on your pineal gland, seeing as we are more open and vulnerable to psychic attacks during these moments.