#i should probably watch severance it would probably be therapeutic

[magratpudifoot]

I caught a bit of an old Fresh Air interview with Adam Scott this afternoon and remembered the time I saw someone questioning whether straight women actually found him attractive, in a sort of "I can't believe this person is being marketed as a romantic lead" sort of way.

And my pan/demisexuality disqualifies me from answering the mail on that one for a number of reasons, but...uh...yeah?

[1d1195]

Tulips Extra I

You can read Tulips here. I wouldn't read this if you're having a good day, lol. The original was therapeutic for myself so it's a little on the sad side for sure. It was good timing since I've not been feeling very positive lately.

Anyway, it's probably very angsty with a bit of fluff.

Thank you for reading my diary 😉

~4.7k words

Highly recommend listening to: Lung (Vines version) by Vines & Adrianne Munden-Dixon while reading.

“Shh,” he shook his head. “I got it,” he tilted his head at her. His voice was so sure. Like he was telling her the sun would come up tomorrow.

She supposed it would.

If she looked in the mirror, she would see a lot of growth. It had been six months since Harry moved in and she was more open, more communicative, and delegated more. Harry was perfect. Probably too perfect. It was almost unfair and if she thought about it too long, she worried a little too much about the ramifications of her own inadequacy.

Harry never let her feel that way. When she made dinner, he nearly threw a parade. If she was at Target and saw something she thought Harry would like and bought it, he thanked her for hours. It was a little overwhelming sometimes to be praised so highly. In previous relationships, she thought about the fanfare she would get from doing those kinds of things but after years of never getting it, she assumed it wasn’t in the cards for her.

But she hadn’t met Harry. He never let her feel that way. Everything she did was thanked with the utmost gratitude. It was unnerving sometimes that he adored her exactly how she imagined love was supposed to be. There were days, weeks, years, when she thought she wasn’t worthy of the love she dreamed about. Harry came along as if all that time feeling sad never existed. He praised her for things that didn’t need it, but it made her smile.

“M'a lucky guy, kitten,” he kissed her on the forehead while they watched TV. She had brought over a cup of hot water. Harry always had a cup in the middle of the afternoon. It was good for his throat, which was prone to colds and good for his vocal cords when he spent so much of his job talking to other people.

*

There were still hard days for her. Days when her mind ran wild and told her that she wasn’t good enough for Harry. That if she didn’t do everything perfectly or if she forgot something at the grocery story, she didn’t deserve to have Harry in her life any longer. Those years of not being good enough, or rather not feeling good enough, were hard to stamp out of her mind. Harry did a wonderful job getting most of it to disappear. But a bad day was a bad day; and it was hard to predict that. Hard to know when her mind would play a trick on her.

Work was okay except everyone was on edge close to the holiday. The end of the year was always a tricky time. Things needed to be wrapped up financially and socially. Honestly, she was probably the calmest one at work, but she was kind. Helping others with their workload because hers didn’t entail the same types of problems that everyone else was facing. But it did require a lot of her mental load. The satisfaction she felt from helping others was really good for her emotional well-being, but it came at a pretty significant cost: she had a really hard time saying no—especially when she needed to say no.

This led her to carrying several grocery bags into her apartment with Harry. She didn’t want to take two trips. Except she was struggling. Two trips would have been better. Or calling Harry when she got to the parking lot would have helped. He wouldn’t have minded either. He probably didn’t know she was grocery shopping after work, or he would have offered to go with her.

But unfortunately, they had gotten into a bit of a... disagreement the night before. Which only added to her stress emotionally. It was a well-based disagreement. Harry worried she was doing too much for her coworkers and thought (in the kindest way possible) that she should set some boundaries where she felt comfortable helping but still able to get her own stuff done.

In her head she did something wrong. Harry was so kind. Extremely understanding of all the boundaries that she failed to set in her work life and with her family. He knew it wasn’t easy for her. But it was hard for him to watch the person he loved struggle to feel okay with anxiety and stress plaguing most of her thoughts over things she didn’t necessarily need to worry about.

She was almost at the door. Her arm was sore from holding the bags up for so long. The circulation in her hand was disappearing from the bags that had slid down. Why she didn’t just set the bags down at the end of the hall will always make her wonder. But instead, of course, the bag ripped open. The one stupid paper bag she had to get from the store to fit everything. Of course, it had eggs in it. While trying catch it, she dropped the gallon of milk she had in her other hand that naturally exploded onto the floor with the eggs. She gasped and looked at the mess she created in the hall. Fortunately, her neighbors weren’t affected. She was so close to her own door the only one impacted would be herself or Harry.

“—her location says she should be home—oh,” Harry stuck his head out from the door. He heard a loud thud from inside the apartment. Paired with his missing girlfriend, he worried she had hurt herself or something coming up the stairs. Harry watched her for a moment, a frown settling onto his lips at the sight. Her shoulders shaking, her lip wobbling while tears filled her eyes. “Love, m’gonna have her call y’back. She jus’ got home. Think she had a tough day,” he murmured. “S’okay. I’ll take care of it. She’ll call y’back,” he promised. “Okay, bye,” he slid his phone into his pocket. Her gaze didn’t move from the mess on the floor, but she could sense Harry approaching her. Like an injured animal in the wild.

“Was that my sister?” She whispered.

He nodded, but she wasn’t looking. “S’nothing serious,” he promised.

“I think she needed help with her assignment or something. I was supposed to call her when I got home so I could read—”

“Love,” he stepped directly into the mixture of eggs and milk and put his hands on her shoulders. “S’not important right now,” his voice was so gentle. Almost too gentle. “Let’s go inside,” he tugged her gently toward the door. “M’gonna clean this up,” he offered easily.

She looked up at him, her eyes so blurred with tears that his expression was hard to make out. The only good thing her tears did was magnify her perception of Harry’s pretty eyes. They actually looked like emeralds and made her heart flutter despite how sad she was. “You don’t have to,” her voice cracked. “I dropped everything. I should clean it—” the tears fell from her eyes in slow motion. It was like she was watching one of those movies where the girl tries to keep working even though she just found out the love of her life died and she was basically ignoring it. She hated those scenes. They hurt so much. She swiped her hand across her face. “I just need to grab—”

“Kitten,” Harry stilled her movements as she tried to push away from him. “Angel,” he whispered softly. “Please stop.”

“No, I’m okay,” she promised, the saddest smile falling across her lips. Harry looked at her with so much worry and he shook his head.

“No, kitten. You’re not,” his voice was low and he cupped the side of her neck and held her in place. “What happened?”

“Nothing! It’s nothing,” but the words were choked and only half-uttered by the mixture of tears and her throat closing around the sound trying to force its way out of her vocal cords. “I’m fine.” It was like her body was trying to repel the words because she almost folded in half, she crouched and covered her eyes as she let the sobs take over for a second. She would be fine; she just needed a second to get some of the emotion out.

“Angel,” Harry crouched right beside her. “C’mon, kitten. S’not nothing,” he murmured.

She shook her head. No, things with Harry were fine. She wasn’t going to burden him with needless worries and all the anxiety that was coursing through her head. It was all in her head. Truly. It wasn’t something that he needed to—

Harry pulled her toward their door where milk and eggs hadn’t spread to yet. The remaining pile of groceries was mixed in the mess. She crouched by the door again, unable to stop the emotion long enough to make it past the entry way. Gently, Harry pulled her toward him and kissed the top of her head. He knelt beside her, hand cupping the back of her neck and the other gently rubbing up and down her arm. A neighbor peered into the hallway raised his eyebrows at the mess before turning to see Harry and the girl in their doorway. Harry shook his head so minutely he doubted she noticed. Fortunately, their neighbor saluted ever so slightly and retreated inside.

“I’m. Sorry,” she hiccupped.

He shook his head feeling so awful she was this distraught. This upset. He wished he had checked her location before her sister called to ask if she was ignoring her. Wish he had gone down to see where she was when he realized she was supposed to be home. “Shh,” he hushed. “S’nothing t’apologize for, kitten,” he promised quietly.

She continued sobbing and Harry wondered how on earth someone so beautiful, so kind, so utterly adoring could be so sad. It pained him to no end. Watching her breakdown like this felt like someone stabbed him right in the heart. He wanted to do whatever he had to do to make it stop. He knew she kept a lot of her emotions to herself. Years of bottling them up so as not to inconvenience others for simply existing.

“Kitten,” he whispered when her sobs subsided to sniffles. “Y’gotta talk t’me,” his voice was gentle but filled with worry. “M’sorry people let y’down. M’not one of them, though.”

“It’s hard,” her voice was so crackly and broken. Harry almost let it go because he wasn’t sure he could bear the weight of how sad she was.

“I know, baby, I know it is, but I love you so much. I want nothing but t’help you,” he hoped she heard how sincere he was. “I hate seeing y’like this. It hurts me, kitten,” he cupped her face and gazed into her eyes so hopefully she would understand how much he adored her and how much it hurt him. It wasn’t to minimize what she was feeling. It was to hopefully help her reach the conclusion that he was on her side, always. He would do whatever it took to make her smile.

“M’scared,” she whispered. “You’re just going to tell me that I’m being ridiculous—because I am, Harry. I am being ridiculous. I have you. You’re so perfect. You love me so much and you don’t care that I’m a little crazy and you don’t—”

“Kitten,” he frowned. “I would never tell y’that you’re being ridiculous. Please tell me y’don’t really believe that,” his heart felt even worse. How could she think that?

“Because,” she croaked. The seconds it took her to speak after felt like years. Harry waited so patiently, his heart pounding. “Because whenever I felt so overwhelmed,” she shook her head and looked down, despite Harry holding her face so she would have to look at him. She closed her eyes and sniffled.

“Tell me, angel.”

“I have never had someone,” she started again, squeezing her eyes tight. They felt red and swollen. She was certain she looked as terrible as she felt. “It was my own doing,” she whispered. “The reason I get so overwhelmed. When I complained even a little it was turned into something about how I did things wrong. I overwhelmed myself. It was just... in my head,” she whispered.

Harry wasn’t completely sure how he managed to stay upright. He swiped his thumbs below her red rimmed eyes. He thought she was beautiful even when she cried but it hurt him so much to see her like this. “S’not in your head, m’love,” it was hard to say the words without breaking out into cries himself. Seeing her hurt like this made him feel like the worst boyfriend in the world. “Love doesn't have t’be even, kitten. Being mad doesn't have t’be even. Being upset with something I do doesn't mean I have t’be upset with something you do. Y’can be annoyed with me, and I don't have t’bring up something m’annoyed by—which is nothing,” he assured her quickly because he could spot something he said creating a spiral easily. “But love, y’have t’tell me... talking has t’be done. I can't do this alone, kitten. I can't do this without you,” he explained as gently as he could.

“It’s not important,” she shook her head. Her voice cracked again.

Harry winced. “No, but it is, kitten. I can hear how important it is. I see it. I can feel it. Y’need t’tell me. I need you t’tell me everything y’feel. I can tell it hurts. All of it. I want t’fix it. I don’t want you t’hurt. M’not going anywhere. Ever.”

“But it’s… so bad to talk about... exes,” she whispered the last word like it was a curse—like she would be sent right to jail for it saying out loud.

Harry frowned. “Yeah, maybe if y’still in love with them. Do y’still love him?” It was rhetorical honestly. He knew she didn’t.

Her face paled immediately, her sad eyes filling with more tears. “Of course not!”

“I didn’t say it t’make y’mad, m’love,” His voice was gentle again. “I want you t’process this. I can’t have you all bottled up. I need t’know signs and feelings you’re having when y’don’t want t’share them. He messed with you so good,” he smiled without an ounce of humor behind it. It was the saddest smile she had ever seen on his face. He looked… so... disappointed. “M’usually good at figuring out what m’supposed t’do as a boyfriend. But y’stump me sometimes,” he admitted shyly. “It hurts me t’see you flustered and hurt without telling me why. I want t’be there for you. Always. In ways he never was because you—”

“He was always late,” she sobbed again. Harry pulled her to him immediately letting the tears pour out of her and he rocked her so gently. The words spilled out of her as fast as the tears did. “I swear he did it to piss me off and then he would say I was too controlling or neurotic. I was too planned out. He never got me flowers and my mom knew how much that bothered me. She knew he didn’t, even though I lied and said he did. I lied about flowers,” she felt so pathetic saying it out loud. “I lied about so many things he didn’t do because I was disappointed in myself. He didn’t see the point in romantic gestures. He didn’t think about how it kind of made me look like an idiot. I know that’s not the point of a romantic gesture, but I kept doing them for him and I—” the sobs choked her voice for a moment but Harry stayed silent. “I ignored all those red flags. All of them. Every single one of them. Why did I do that?” She cried; her voice sounded so tired. She looked so tired. Harry was quiet for a long time while more tears than he thought were possible fell across her cheeks.

“Because love is also red,” Harry whispered eventually. “Rose colored glasses are red… tulips, my sweet love,” he paused to kiss the top of her head, “are red.” It felt like hours she sobbed against him. The milk spread on the floor probably getting warm and souring the smell in the air and Harry just held her rocking ever so softly. “Thank you,” he said after way longer than anyone would have waited to speak. “For telling me that. I know that was hard. I promise I won’t be late. Ever,” he vowed. “Everything else between us? Might have t’be some compromises and more talking and we might argue. I might get mad, but it doesn’t mean it’s going t’end us, kitten. You have t’know that. M’here for the long haul... But late? On purpose? It won’t be me,” he promised easily. “Whether m’mad because I had a bad day at work or because of traffic, you’ll know the moment I know. M’not going t’miss a single time y’tell me. I will be there early.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head and kissed her temple, letting his lips drag along her skin for longer than he needed but it felt so soothing she nearly cried again. “S’nothing t’be sorry for,” he promised. “C’mon,” he stood, his knees aching from crouching for so long. He held his hand out to her and pulled her to stand beside him. He pushed her toward the sofa.

“What about—”

“Shh,” he promised. “S’fine,” he murmured pushing her to sit. Once seated, he pulled her shoes off, wrapped a blanket around her and kissed her forehead. He placed a book in her lap that she had started earlier in the week and hurried to the kitchen to bring her a bottle of water. “Stay here,” he kissed her forehead again, this time cupping her cheek at the same time and rubbing his thumb along her skin.

“But I—”

“Shh,” he shook his head. “I got it,” he tilted his head at her. His voice was so sure. Like he was telling her the sun would come up tomorrow.

She supposed it would.

*

As low as she got, she felt so much better, much quicker than she usually did. Harry was grateful for the change and was extremely mindful of things that caused her stress. He tried to read her mind as much as possible and was successful more often, which made him feel a lot better.

Talking was so much better. She had never felt so free. Harry knew her every thought. He didn’t belittle her emotions or make her feel like an inconvenience. Right before they fell asleep, she was snuggled close, her eyes watching Harry breathe evenly. The only light coming from a streetlamp outside their window. It wasn’t too bright but illuminated the room enough for her to make out Harry’s shadow beside her. His hand skimmed up and down her arm making her drowsy. “I love you,” she sighed.

“I love you, too, angel,” he murmured.

When they were out with friends Harry was mindful of her well-being. If she wanted to leave, he could sense it before she wanted to go. In fact, he even said he wanted to leave before she mentioned it. Taking her out of the equation made her anxiety lessen profusely.

If there was a problem Harry had (and rarely did that happen because he truly believed she was an angel) he looked her dead in the eye every time and promised her that he wasn’t mad. “I am not mad,” he held her face in his hands like she was a fragile vase. He waited until she nodded, he could see the emotions scrolling through her eyes like an index searching for one to land on for a moment. Only when she nodded would he continue. “I don’t like when y’leave the remote in the couch. S’hard t’find,” he explained. “Can y’try t’leave it on the coffee table?” He asked. She nodded. “Are y’okay, kitten? M’not mad,” he said reassuringly.

She nodded again. “I know,” her voice was soft. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “S’okay,” he smiled encouragingly. “Do y’have anything y’want t’share with me that’s bothering you?” She shook her head. “You’re sure? Not even the whole pizza thing?” He eyed her suspiciously. Harry put the whole box of leftover pizza in the fridge, and he could see the distaste in her eyes when he did so.

“It just takes up a lot of room,” she admitted.

“Good,” he smiled excitedly that she was telling him the truth and he kissed her forehead. “I’ll go fix it now; can y’find the remote?” He found giving her a manageable task was a good distraction when she voiced her worry. He could see her eyes fill with tears despite the fact he wasn’t upset, but he knew it was because she was more than likely overwhelmed with how easy that was. She swiped her hand across her cheek and dug between the cushions to find the controller. When he returned, she handed him the remote to put on a movie. He pulled her toward him, her body half resting against his chest. He kissed the top of her head. “I love you, so much, angel,” he promised.

“I love you,” Harry could hear how much that really meant to her in every syllable.

*

She was carrying her work bag, her lunch bag, and her clunky water bottle when her mom called. Most of the time her mom texted her. So, she assumed it was bad. She settled her things onto the counter as she answered.

“Do you know Harry texted me?” She asked.

“What?” Her heart leapt to her throat. Harry hadn’t ever texted her mother to his knowledge. She knew he periodically texted her siblings but never her mom.

“He shared a whole album with me. I had to have your sister help me open it because you know me with this contraption,” she laughed but she didn’t want to hear about her technological illiteracy. She wanted to know what the album was. “It’s just a bunch of bouquets of flowers. At least two dozen. Maybe closer to three. He said it’s every bouquet he’s ever bought you and the reason why. Birthday. Christmas. Valentine’s Day. Bad day at work. Being brave at the dentist,” she laughed again. She had a hand on her heart as she tried to quell all the emotions rapidly flowing through her in quick succession. “Sweetie,” she whispered, a smile in her voice. “He said he was going to add to it every time he got a new bouquet, but he wanted me to know that he got you flowers. Wanted me to have proof. Do you know what it’s about?”

She felt tears thicken her throat. “Yeah. Yeah I know,” she whispered. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” she promised.

“I know you lied to me,” she said softly. It wasn’t accusing. It was exactly how a mom would react to such a statement. “You never lie about anything so it’s pretty obvious when you do. Especially about something so...little,” she felt horrible. But honestly, she didn’t feel like telling her mom that the flowers weren’t little. They were huge, in fact. It was a huge, glaring, obvious thing that she should have known was wrong. “I’m not too sure what’s going on with you and Harry lately, but I can see how much that man adores you and I know he would do anything to make you smile.”

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know,” she responded. “I know why you did it.”

The tears rolled down her cheeks, but she doesn’t make a sound. “Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she repeated.

“Okay, well... I’m glad you have that album,” she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got a couple of chores to do, Mom.”

“I know, that’s fine. I just wanted to tell you how happy I am for you, sweetie,” she could hear her mom’s encouraging smile in her voice. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Almost as soon as the call ended, she sniffled. Then just as quickly, Harry came through the door and found her wiping her eyes. “Oh, kitten,” he frowned. “S’matter?” She wanted to say ‘nothing.’ But he was holding another bouquet of flowers. Half the tulips were red, and the other half was white. So, she was unable to utter a word and began to cry again. “Angel,” he set the bouquet on the counter beside her stuff and wrapped his arms around her tightly. “M’sorry, love,” he murmured into her hair and squeezed her.

“Can we get married?” She asked through her tears.

Harry didn’t even care how ridiculous she sounded. He continued as if this was a normal conversation that he had every day with her. As if she wasn’t sobbing on a Thursday night for no reason. Or if he asked her if she wanted fish for dinner. “Of course we can, baby, but I have t’propose—”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t care. Right now. Please. I love you so much. So, so much. I can’t—” she hiccupped.

“Hey, hey,” he pulled away and looked at her. “Kitten,” he smiled gently. It was a sad smile, but a cute one. Like he didn’t want to set her off completely. “I love you, too,” he assured her. “I want t’propose the right way and make sure you’re—”

“Then give me the ring now,” she looked at him squarely in the eye. The smile melted off his face and other than her soft sniffle, there wasn’t a sound in the apartment. “Please,” she repeated.

“Kitten,” he sucked his cheek in a bit and looked at her nervously. Like this was a break in her tired mind that he wouldn’t be able to handle. “What happened? Please tell me, you’re worrying me.”

She wiped her eyes again. “You told my mom you got me flowers.”

His entire body deflated, and it was like he just knew. “Stay here,” he said simply.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded, and watched as Harry walked through their apartment. She wondered if he was walking so slowly on purpose. By now, she was used to Harry’s footsteps, and she listened to the sound of them: light and quiet on their hardwood floors. From the kitchen she could hear his dresser drawers sliding open and closed. It was as if he took ten times as long to come back to the kitchen as he did to leave it.

“How did y’know?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I didn’t.”

He smirked and pulled the little box out of his pocket and set it on the counter beside the flowers, her bags and her water. “I was going to wait until Christmas, y’gonna have nothing t’open.”

“I don’t need anything,” she promised.

He chuckled. “Kitten,” he sighed. “What am I going t’do with you?”

“I don’t know. But you have a lifetime to figure it out,” she vowed.

He smiled, shook his head. “Will you—”

“Yes.”

“Can you let me do it the right way—”

“No.”

He sighed. “Kitten,” he chided with a chuckle.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” she wiped her cheeks again and shook her head.

Harry took a deep breath. “Angel, will you—”

“I can’t do it, I’m sorry. Please just kiss me,” she begged.

He laughed, shook his head, and pressed his lips to hers. He held her so firmly in his embrace, dipping her backwards in the middle of the kitchen like this was the most romantic place in the world. When he stood her upright, her cheeks were flushed, and she was silent. She no longer looked anxious as she had when he entered the apartment. He grabbed the ring box, pulled the ring out of the safety of its little cushion and slipped it onto her finger. It fit perfectly. It wouldn’t need to be resized or anything. “Will you marry me?” He managed to ask without her interrupting.

Her response was immediate, though, barely finished the word ‘me’. “Yes."

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

[general-nerdy]

Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull NSFW Alphabet

I had a lot of fun getting these all down, and thank @sinfulwrites for being my editor haha! Go read her Asa NSFW alphabet. It's fantastic!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jesse couldn't care less about your comfort if you're laying in one of his coffins. He relishes in your discomfort. His camera gets a fantastic view of the tears streaming down your face, and your soiled body is a work of art. He'll go back and watch the footage again to see you squirm.

When you are someone he is closer to, Jesse is more of a gentleman. You are held in his massive tattooed arms, though you will be subjected to waggling eyebrows and suggestive, teasing messages about your time together. When you regain some energy you are free to use his elaborate bathroom, his multifunctional bidet and huge walk-in shower making it more than a pleasure to clean yourself. He will follow you in and watch. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He's not picky. Jesse can admire every part of you, though he has a weakness for thighs. Your face however is something he will watch intently. He loves to watch your expressions change through it all. 

Jesse loves every part of himself. He's great and he knows it. You don't need to tell him. 

After his incident at the market, he's much more sensitive about his face. But he took it like a champ after some therapeutic mental breakdowns and property damage. It's okay, he can pay to replace the mirror. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jesse has a bad habit of cumming inside. Why should he sacrifice his pleasure, after all? Does he not deserve it? He also loves to have you swallow his load, again watching your face as you do. Though if you're one of his victims he probably wouldn't risk putting his penis in your mouth. He doesn't want anything happening to Lil' Jesse. 

If you are a victim he might force your mouth open and cum inside, or just cum on your face. That makes a great phone background. Yes, he would do that. Your memory would live on in his home screen. At least until he finds another piggy. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Believe it or not, Jesse would love it if you played with his ass. If you topped or pegged him, even better. His late wife never indulged him. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jesse had quite a few partners, both men and women, before marrying his late wife. Even after the fact he had encounters outside of his marriage. So he's very much experienced. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Overtop of you with your legs in the air. That way he can see everything; his cock disappearing in and out of you, your body moving with him, and your face of course. His camera also captures more from there. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

When Jesse likes you he's quite the funny guy. He teases and plays with you in a humorous way. If you farted or queefed during sex he'd double over in his wheezing laughter. Jesse is here to have a good time. 

When you're a captive, he's brutal. He makes you look into his camera. He makes you look at yourself reflected in his mask, watching yourself be violated. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Jesse is completely bare, save for his eyebrows. After the incident at the market and his surgeries he doesn't even have those. He likes being hairless, and he's spent a lot of money to get laser removal done. Sliding into his satin sheets smooth as the day he was born is one of his great pleasures. 

He doesn't mind at all if you have hair, wherever it may be. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jesse's ability to take anything seriously is severely inhibited by what I'd call 'affluenza'. He has so much money he can do what he wants, when he wants. Sex is a fun time for him, sure, but most of the time that's just it; a fun thing to do. Unless you're someone he really, really cares about. Then he will make more of an effort to take things seriously and be more romantic. 

When he makes that effort, he goes all out. Expensive dinners. Trips to foreign countries on one of his private jets. Rose petals on the bed. New lingerie for you. He will spare no expense. You will be wined, dined, and dicked. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jesse loves to watch his tapes and jerk off. He basically has an addiction, but it's limited to his own recordings or live footage of you. Yes, he's always watching. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Filming: He's got a camera on his shoulder for a reason, and he saves every single tape. He makes backups too. 

Phone/Cyber/Video Sex: Jesse does all three. You're getting dick pics. He will ask for nudes and videos, even if he already has them. There is never enough in his collection. You will receive some in return. He will barrage you with dirty texts. He feels no shame. He doesn't know what it is. More than once he's FaceTimed you, only for you to open the call and see him with his dick out. It's a common occurrence. 

Mirrors: He has huge ones across the way from his bed, just so he can watch your face when you're in a position where he can't see it. Jesse also likes to make you look at your reflection, whether it brings you shame or pleasure.

Period Sex: Jesse does not fear Aunt Flo. Only cowards do. He'll eat you out too. He thinks it's fun to show you your blood all over him. 

Bondage: Keeping people trapped in his coffins watching them squirm is a huge turn-on. Jesse will get right up on the lid to watch through his camera screen. If he's riled enough he will grind against it. He will also use ropes to restrain those he's got his eye on. 

Public Sex: Jesse will shamelessly pull you away to bang. He'll reach under the table if you're at a restaurant. Is it a fancy one? Even better. His fingers will play with you as you try to order from the waiter. Sometimes he'll even reserve the place so you two can have your fun in peace. In the car? He'll unzip his fly, pull out his cock and gesture to it while he's driving. Or he'll just pull to the side of the road and throw you into the back seat of his Chrysler. Did someone see? Good, Jesse wants to show off. 

Necrophilia: IT'S TRUE. NO I WON'T CHANGE MY MIND. We all saw him lick Princess's corpse in the second movie. He was keeping the bodies all around. He humps coffins. Jesse will have his way with his victims just after killing them. The poor interns from his organization have to clean up the mess. It's not a great job, but it pays very well and the benefits are outstanding. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Jesse loves his mansion. He had it built to his own specifications, and his bedroom has a massive California king-size bed. He loves to show off himself and his affluence. Where else better to do it than there? His car is another favorite. Give him some road head or a handy and he's on cloud nine. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You exist. He exists. You have holes, he has a penis. That's really all Jesse needs. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Poop. He likes to be clean. Even psychopathic murderers have standards.

No vomit either. You can gag on his weiner, but please don't puke. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jesse loves receiving oral. He could sit there for ages and watch you suck his dick. It makes him feel like a king, which he is. 

If he likes you, he will more than happily attack you with oral. Being cute? Being a brat? Bent over? Spread those legs because he's going in. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jesse does not rush. He is slow and powerful. His size doesn't let him jackrabbit into you, but he doesn't need to. By the time he's done, you'll feel like you have no bones. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Of course! Jesse may be slow, but he is more than willing to whip out his cock and slip in and out. He knows just how to touch you, so making you cum quickly is easy. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Jesse fears nothing. He could buy off anyone if he got into trouble with you. He has public sex for a reason, and that reason is he doesn't give a single shit. He's willing to try most anything if you're down to clown. He's here to have a good time. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This man can go all night. No problem. He may need a break, but he'll pick right back up in no time. As long as you're willing he's ready. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Jesse has plenty, though not as many as other people he knows. He prefers quality over quantity. They're not competition. They're for enhancing the experience. He'll happily use them on you, and let you use them on him. He has a prostate massager that he loves. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jesse is actually not that much into teasing when he likes you. He'll do it playfully, but never to deny you pleasure. Though if you're being bratty he just might to teach you a lesson. He'd rather not wait to have his fun with you. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jesse can't speak. His vocal cords have suffered some kind of damage during his life and left him mute. The only noises he can make are raspy grunts and groans during sex. Though he is limited, Jesse is not shy about making these sounds when fucking you. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Jesse is good friends with Asa Emory, the Collector. The type of friends with benefits. Asa is more often than not the top, despite their size difference. Jesse doesn't mind at all. He finds it quite cute, but he'd never say that to Asa. 

He often helped to fund many of the Collectors endeavors. Jesse thought that Asa's traps were hilarious. 

Jesse is more than willing to have a threesome between you and the Collector, if Asa is feeling agreeable. He might even just sit and watch…

Jesse's late wife was a huge Karen. He hated every minute with her and dreaded becoming a father. 

If you do marry him, he actually is a doting husband. His late wife wasn't lying about that. 

He does not want children. Ever. He'd rather die. 

His aesthetic is very important to him. If there's something with skulls or skeletons, he wants it. Even better if it's chrome or silver. We all saw his cute little skull briefcase. He has cute skull slippers. Skeleton boxers. All of it. 

His late wife hated his aesthetic. She made him stop wearing a lot of it. Once she died Jesse had a field day putting back on all of his skull themed jewelry. The man has rings for days. 

Jesse has a difficult time going to places he considers low-brow or 'poor'. He was raised rich, so he was never exposed to such things. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Seven inches and uncircumcised.

Large low hanging balls. 

The tip of his dick is pierced with a Prince Albert. And yes, it has a silver skull on the end.

He named his penis Lil' Jesse. He will never stop calling it that. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jesse always wants you. All you have to do is look at him suggestively. Or just look at him. He'll ask if you're ready to bang. 

The epitome of "So we fuckin' or what?" 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jesse will fall asleep with you. He's not one to pass out as soon as he nuts. He's too proud for that. His ego couldn't handle the shame. 

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 31

My beloveds are here to send off Whumptober <3 It's been a truly incredible experience to not only stay on track with, but to actually complete. I still can't believe I did that. I'll be continuing some of what I started here, just give me a minute to rest my typing fingers <3

Content warnings for: mental health evaluation, mentions of suicide, and suicidal ideation.

Therapy

“Seriously?”

“Come on, Dec. Lay down, relax.”

Declan frowned and reluctantly reclined back on the couch, resting his head against the arm.

“On your back…”

“I could not give less of a shit, Hasan.”

“You can’t calm down when you look at me.” Hasan crossed their knees, settling a clipboard in their lap. “This is supposed to be a therapeutic environment.”

“Therapeutic my ass.”

“Yes, darling? Shall I give it a massage?”

“Shut up.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes.

“A spanking then, love?”

“Fuck off, Hasan!” He shot up and bared his teeth, but they ignored his discomfort.

“How often would you say you experience little or no pleasure in doing things?”

“Every single second I have to deal with your sorry self.”

Their clothes rustled and something clinked on the coffee table next to him. His eyes flicked over to see Hasan setting down their belt, the heavy buckle meeting glass.

“Tell the truth and I won’t use it today. Or anything else for that matter.” Well, his attention was piqued but he still leveled his gaze, glowering. “Now tell me again. How often do you experience little or no pleasure in doing things?”

“What kind of things?”

“Let’s say hobbies. Watching television, playing games, and so on.” They were clicking their pen in the silence.

“Probably half the time,” he mumbled.

“Would you say several days this past week, or more than half the days?”

“Picky much? The latter.”

“How often have you felt down, depressed, or hopeless?”

“It’s a little hard to separate my mental health from your influence.”

“Estimate, my dear. You’re stalling.”

He was, but his question didn’t come without merit either.

“Every day then.”

“Do you experience trouble falling asleep, staying asleep, or sleeping too much?”

“Sometimes. Depends how much you torture me.”

“Touché. Have you been experiencing tiredness or low energy?”

“Constantly.” The pen circled another number. “You know I’ve done this a million times before, right? I know I’m depressed.”

“You told me before that you were in remission.”

“Something like that, at some point. I’m not perfect.”

“I didn’t say you should be. I want to understand your state of mind, sweetheart. Have you had a poor appetite or been overeating?”

“Not really. Probably no.”

“Alright. And do you feel bad about yourself? That you’re a failure, or have let people down?” 

“No, Jesus, you just want me to talk about being miserable.”

“Declan.” They raised a brow, flicking the belt buckle. “Truth. Now.”

“...sometimes.”

“Interesting.”

“Don’t interesting me-!”

“Have you had trouble concentrating on activities?”

“Yeah, on weekdays. Always checking the goddamn time for some reason.”

“And how about speed? Are you moving so slowly or so erratically that others would have noticed?”

“That’s a question for you, isn’t it?”

“What answer would you expect?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“I would agree. And in the past week, have you had any thoughts of hurting yourself, or thoughts that you would be better off dead?”

“I think you hurt me enough for the both of us, Hasan.” Declan crossed his arms and turned away, staring into the cushions. “Circle the one and leave me alone.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Excuse you?”

“You know precisely what I’m asking.”

“No, asshole. No I don’t. But if you wanna pink slip me, then be my guest.”

“Just covering my bases.” Hasan stood, picking up their belt.

“Woah! You said you wouldn’t!” He shoved himself back into the couch, watching with wide eyes as they threaded it back through their belt loops.

“I did indeed.” They fastened it and picked up the clipboard, tucking it under their arm and tapping it again with the pen. “We’re going to keep that in check, whether you like it or not.”

[maddysmomposts]

08/04/23 here kitty kitty

I write as a way of venting. Usually on paper then once it’s all out it’s ripped to pieces. Idc if no one reads it - it’s therapeutic for me.

Two years ago this week, Hubs was invited to a Chicago Bears game by one of his brothers. No worries, even though I had plans because it was his first birthday since we got married. I’m used to my feelings being disregarded so no biggie.

Anyway……

I have always been terrified of covid. Life seems to have gone back to almost normal but for those of us that are severely immuno-compromised, the struggle is still very real.

Papa was going to decline the invite based on my fear alone but like a dumbass, I told him to go.

He promised three things:

1. To social distance

2. To wear his mask at all times and

3. To come straight home afterwards.

If I had known who was driving, I would have kept my mouth shut and let him decline the invite.

The game ended… one hour, two hours, five hours. No papa. Turns out, he was sitting in a bar full of cooties.

He finally showed up WITH COMPANY, and drunk. He came into the house to grab some beer and I told him to end his night. He knew that if he didn’t come home after the game, he’d have to find somewhere to stay for a couple of weeks. Not a problem if he chose to expose himself to getting sick.

I told him to ask his company to leave. He said “you do it.” And went outside. Seriously? Challenge accepted.

I went outside, didn’t even look at his company and said “end your night now, come inside.” This was an A&B conversation.

Then one of his brothers got stupid and started insulting me.

Because of my 30-years in customer service, I enjoy going off on people when I’m off the clock. It’s liberating. If dude thinks he somehow upset me, “nah bruh nothing you said got to me.”

Dude completely misunderstood my fear of covid, accused me of being “jealous of bitches.” As someone who has a mom, a wife, daughters. sisters and nieces - plus loves to walk around with a bible under his arm, I was surprised that he would use that word. It’s not in my vocabulary because I find it super disrespectful. My husband’s not a cheater. Stupid ass couldn’t be more wrong. Fear of death and jealousy are two very different things.

I hear he walked around telling people what he did, acting all smug and proud. He told me he knew every cop in town and would have me arrested. I said it then and say it again: “do it bitch, do it.”

I probably called him a bitch 100 times during his attack. It felt sooooo good!

The one thing I’m sure he hasn’t said to anyone was that at one point, he got up and came at me like he was going to hit me. This is when papa finally reacted and jumped up and got between us. WWJD, stupid ass?

He should have let him hit me. I promise he would have gone to jail that night.

Man I’ve never wished for a loser to hit me so much as I did that night.

I kept telling him to leave, to get tf off my porch and he actually told me he didn’t have to because his brother paid for this place. Lmao dude. I hold my own and then some.

I kept my mouth shut for a full year. Did I expect an apology? Nah losers like him don’t know the word.

He told me he was going to “make” papa leave me just like he made him leave his ex. He’s so full of himself, actually thinks he has that power.

I wonder if he ever looks around and notices the empty chair where papa once sat. I’m still waiting for him to fulfill his threat. I wonder if he’s realized who the real loser is? I haven’t lost anything, so there you go.

I’m not well. My dream is that one day soon, Maddy comes for me - I will bounce so quickly and won’t look back. I’m hoping that papa never forgets what his dumb loser ass brother did and that he keeps his distance. Karma is a MF and he’ll get his one day. Watch.

[softguarnere]

A World Without Color Is A World Without You

Eugene Roe x reader

A/N: What's up y'all?! @brassknucklespeirs and I have been talking about soulmate aus, and now they're living rent free in my brain. I had a wild day at school, and using those feeling to create angst was strangely therapeutic, I won't lie. I hope you enjoy this, and my requests are always open if you have something specific you would like to see! (As always, this is written for the fictional depictions from the show -- absolutely no disrespect to the real-life veterans!) 💕🕊���

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST! The usual HBOwar stuff: war, guns, injury, blood, language. I also didn't really proof read this, so take that for what it's worth.

"So is it like, a cultural thing?" George asks. In between his shivering, he gives you a sideways glance, watching you tense up as you continue staring straight ahead through the darkness, watching the line. He shrugs. "I've just always wondered."

"About what?"

He shrugs again. "Well, back in Toccoa, I kinda thought maybe you were just shy. But I know that's not true; you're pretty chatty after a few drinks. I remember reading somewhere once, before the war, maybe back in school, that in some cultures it's rude, or even taboo."

On your other side, Joe huffs. The cool air in front of him clouds up with what little warmth he can muster. "George, I'm sure if she wanted to talk about it, she woulda told ya by now."

"Yeah, Luz," you agree. "If I knew what the hell you were talking about, I probably could have answered you twelve different times."

The radioman knocks his shoulder against your own. "Awe, come on (Y/N). My brain is frozen -- gimme a break."

"Okay. I'll answer if you actually ask the question."

"Okay." Luz nods. For someone who was so eager to find answers a moment before, he seems unsure of himself when you give him permission to ask. He stops looking at you and trains his own eyes on the line, voice softening when he asks, "Why do you never look anyone in the eye?"

There it is.

Toye reaches behind you to smack Luz on the back of his helmet.

"Ow!"

"You can't just ask that!" Joe reprimands. "Besides, you could probably just figure it out from context."

Joe is right. It seems like most people should have figured it out by now. Maybe then you wouldn't have so many sweet-talking replacements sauntering up to you with calls of, "Hey, Shy Girl, you found your man yet, or are you playin' hard to get?" or "Baby, I bet I could be the one to make you see color."

Because that's the thing: your world has always been shades of black and white, and it will remain that way until you look into the eyes of your soulmate. The first color you ever see will be the color of their eyes, and then -- according to everything you've heard your friends and family describe -- the rest of the world will follow as a whole universe of color is revealed to you. But therein lies several problems for you.

Problem one: you didn't find your soulmate back at home before the war. Which, you initially thought, might be okay. Maybe you would meet them after. Or during, some of your more romantic-minded friends told you dreamily before you shipped out.

Which made problem two all too real to you: if you meet your soulmate and then they die, the world will go back to being black and white.

The realization had hit you like a punch in the gut. Everyone else seemed to think it was tragically romantic, but not you. You had always known the world as shades of plainness and shadow. How could you stand it, if you discovered the beauty of the world, only to then have it stripped away from you? And worse, how could you stand to lose the person that you loved -- that you were destined to be with? Something that was all too possible in the middle of a war.

So you made a decision. A hard one, but one that seemed necessary -- you wouldn't look a stranger in the eye again until after the war.

Under the blanket of night, huddled together with your friends for warmth, you tell them exactly that. No one can tell if the slight shake in your voice is from emotion or from the cold, and no one calls it into question. You've never told anyone before. You're not sure how they might react.

Joe pats your knee. He's not a man of words, but his action says it all.

"I'm sorry," Luz whispers. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's okay," you reassure him, trying to smile, more for yourself than for him. To lighten the mood, you decide to do what he would do if he weren't in an awkward position -- you crack a joke. "Why does it matter, Luz? You worried we might be soulmates?"

Taken off guard, he laughs. "I won't lie, (Y/N), the thought has occurred to me."

It had taken a lot of strength to tell them your secret. Now though, they know -- secrets rarely feel so heavy when there's someone who can help you carry them. Your burden reduced, you turn towards him in the darkness. "Well, let's find out."

"What?" Out of reflex, he turns to you.

Your eyes meet and . . .

Nothing. The world is still black and white.

"That answers that question," Luz says.

"Toye, you wanna find out if we're destined to be together?" You tease.

"Eh, why not." You blink owlishly at each other in the darkness, searching each others eyes for something that might not have been there before. Nothing happens, but neither of you breaks eye contact.

A smile pulls at the corner of Joe's mouth, and before you know it, the two of you are giggling at the idea of finding out that one of your oldest war-buddies might have been your soulmate all along without you realizing it. Who knows if it would have been funny anywhere but Bastogne -- the environmental pressures are starting to get to everyone -- but in that moment, it's the most hilarious thing in the world. Even George is shaking with laughter.

"Shhhh!" Only the sound of crunching snow rushing towards your fox hole can stop the joke. Compton leans down, his eyes never leaving the line in front of him as he hisses, "Keep it down! You wanna give away our position?"

"Sorry, Lieutenant," you giggle.

For all your trying, it's not until he's long gone that the three of you manage to catch your breath. Somehow, it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, however slightly. You can look your best friends in the eye. That's something.

You fall asleep between them, the world still black and white, but not quite so dismal as you once imagined your dull color scheme to be.

--

"I've been workin' on the railroad, all the livelong day," you sing along with the other men, your grin the widest it's been in a while. Finally out of the fox holes, finally haven taken Foy, finally moving on.

"I've been working on the railroad, just to pass the time away --"

You're just beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, things will start to look up for Easy Company when something zings by your ear. One of the men beside you falls to the ground, and suddenly, the world around you descends into chaos.

A few more men drop like flies. Others tumblr over each other like dominos, some of them trying to flatten themselves to the ground for cover while others trip over each other to duck behind one of the nearby buildings.

"Sniper!" someone calls out. A body slams into yours as you try to scramble away from the tank you had been sitting on. The force of their body against yours sends you stumbling. It's just enough to hold you back from safety, and you feel the hot metal rip through your thigh.

You cry out as you hit the ground. Around you, bullets still race to find new marks as the sniper's rifle peppers the air with the sound of rounds being fired. You're face down on the dirty snow. It's harder than it should be not to roll over and call out for help, but the image of Julian back in Bastogne enters your mind and you settle for clenching your right hand into a fist and shoving it over your mouth to muffle your cries as you wait for it to be over.

More gunshots. Some cheers. How long have you been on the ground? A few minutes? Hours?

Someone grabs you by the shoulder and flips you over. Only then do you gasp out in pain.

"(Y/L/N)! Where are you hit?" Sergeant Lipton demands.

"Thigh." You try to sit up, but the Sergeant holds you down as he calls out for a medic. "Are the others okay?"

"Shifty got the sniper," Lipton assures you with a weak smile.

"But what about the others who got hit?"

"Alright, where'd they get her?" Spina asks as he appears beside you. From your awkward angle on your back, you can see him grimace as he looks at your thigh, which is pulsing with white hot pain.

"Is it bad? Is it --" you have to stop and swallow before you can continue. "Did they get an artery?"

"Roe's got the morphine," Spina says, looking over his shoulder and calling for the Louisiana boy before glancing back down at you. "Just take it easy, (Y/N)."

You grit your teeth through a spark of pain. It's hot and bright -- probably what stars feel like as they burn out.

"Hey --" Lipton pats your cheek with his hand, trying to keep you grounded. "Stay with me, (Y/N). Roe's comin', okay? Hey, at least you didn't get shot in the ass like Perco, huh?"

"Mighta hurt less," you hiss.

"She got morphine?" A thick accent asks as Doc Roe appears above you. He glances down at your thigh and then at you. And then --

Something happens.

Roe must sense it too, because just as his eyes start to move back to your injury, he stops short. Something about his eyes . . . it's hard to describe. It's unlike anything you've ever seen before.

They're not black and white, you realize with a start. You gasp sharply, not sure if it's from pain or from the shock. Then, slowly, the world around you draws into focus in a way it never has before. The blacks and whites you've become so accustomed to fade away as color seeps in, like water paints bleeding onto a fresh sheet of paper, filling in the world in ways that you didn't even know was possible.

"Doc, are you gonna help her?!" Lipton asks as Roe falls to his knees beside you, still staring straight into your eyes. Neither of you take note of Spina cursing in confusion, grabbing Doc's bag and tearing through it for morphine and bandages.

"It's you," you gasp at the same time that Roe whispers, "I found you."

Lipton looks between the two of you in confusion. The minute it clicks, his jaw drops into a capital O. "Oh shit."

"Right --" Spina pats your leg and stands up as more people approach. " -- Didn't hit an artery, but she'll need to visit an aide station to get this cleaned up. I've done what I can."

Aide station?

"Wait, no!" You try to push yourself up, try to prove that you're fine. If you get taken to a hospital, it might take forever for them to let you out. And then how will you get back to Easy? Something could happen to Roe before you return.

You grasp the Cajun boy's hand as you're lifted onto the piece of wood that's serving as a crude stretcher. Over the rumbling of the approaching Jeep engine, you plead with him. "Don't let them take me, Doc. I'll be fine. I'm fine! I don't wanna go."

"You gotta," he says sadly. "Your leg . . ."

"I want to stay here," you insist. "Please. Please, Gene."

"I'll find you." He presses a kiss to the back of your hand as they load you into the Jeep. "I promise, we'll find each other again, okay? But you gotta go now, (Y/N)."

Your tightly knitted fingers unravel as the vehicle starts to move, unnoticing and uncaring of your feelings on the matter. For the first time since you got hit, you feel your eyes grow hot and watery. There's no use trying to hold back the tears that slip out as you're driven away from the boy who colored in your world.

From the boy who's your soulmate.

[biribaa]

Stray

🌸 Hello, I really liked the writing of momo x reader, thank you very much

🌸 I was also wondering if you can ask more than once and if you let me ask then could I ask for some momo consoling the reader since he feels very little and insecure about his relationship? and the reader tells him to leave her and go with a robot since it would be better for him?

🌸 female human reader or gn

🌸 if you see others you see something about momo and a human reader sorry 🌹

Momo just conforting reader <3

Scenario: You vent to Momo, telling him how you wanted the best for him, how you weren't enough for him because you're human.

I....I LOVE ANGST!!!11!!!!

It's like someone taking care of you after you acidentally hurted urself, it's like your lover putting a comfortable blanket on you when it's too cold, angst gives me such a good feeling <3

TW// Angst, breaking up(istg it has a good ending)

"...What...?"

You gritted your teeth and clenched your fists in anguish, you didn't want to, you really didn't want to repeat those words, those words that ran through your head for several weeks.

"...I just think... We should break up" You spoke the damn words, your voice cracking duo to the tears being held back so long "I just think you... deserve someone better than me, someone you really feel comfortable with, like a robot..."

You, with Momo, were sitting on the couch in the house you lived with him for so long, but today you wanted to feel disconnected from that place, disconnected from Momo, not because you want to, because it was for the good of Momo, the person you loved most during your entire adventure here.

You were so far away from Momo, so far away from him on the couch, normally you were so close to each other, but today it's so psychologically painful.

You were preventing any kind of eye contact with Momo so he wouldn't see how pathetic you looked, but the rest of your body didn't help much. Your foot tapped the floor impatiently while your fingers were digging into your arm, praying that this will be somehow therapeutic for you.

"...Are you serious?" Momo commented, you weren't seeing his screen, or any kind of movement, but you were desperate that he wasn't somehow angry.

Well, Momo was desperate too! He was horrible at consoling his own friends, not because he hates them, but because he just wasn't good with feeling, why they don't visit a therapist? Why did it have to be him? He's horrible at it!

What he do now? Say something philosophical? Hug you and not say anything? Accept this defeat?

Momo didn't stop to think that this could also have been his fault, because he was not very affectionate you probably thought he hates you, no no! It's all wrong! He doesn't hate you he swears in tears that he doesn't hate you!

He watched you in this inferiorly pathetic pose, if he was the reason that made you look like this, he would never forgive himself, he has to think of something to prove you the opposite, something something...

Your big, acidic emptiness in your chest was blessed by a hug of icy skin, you looked at Momo with hope in your eyes, his head was on your head, and his knees were propped up on the couch.

Ok, you know what, fuck it.

He is your boyfriend, he loves you more than anything in this world, he would do everything possible to make you happy, he is hesitant with affection, but that doesn't mean it wasn't possible for him to give you affection

"Momo...?"

"Who made you think that? Why wouldn't I like you? You know how I am, Y/N, I'm not an idiot, if I see that I don't like a person, I just don't talk to them anymore." Momo recited, squeezing the hug "Never, never say that again, say it to anyone else, even to me, but never say it to yourself"

No, you couldn't hold back anymore, you became a source of tears after Momo's words, you desperately pulled him closer to you and held him in a tight hug, just wanting to feel him close to you, you didn't care how cold or unrealistic his skin was, you want feel him, you want feel him next to you

Same goes for Momo, he just wants you to feel safe now, that everything is fine now, he didn't care how much he'll get wet because of your tears, he needs to make you okay, he loves you

"Shh shh... There there, Y/N... I'm here, okay? I love you..." He pressed his head over the top of yours, simulating a kiss.

[ilargizuri]

Introduction

Hello,

I am new to Tumblr. I am still not sure how everything works on this Site, but I will do my best to figure it all out. I came to this Site because I was tired of Twitter's character limit and even if that very rich Man Child will make it bigger, I won't start writing bigger messages than I do at the Moment.

I will continue to be on Twitter because I made some friends there which I don't want to lose.

But enough about that, more about me, I love to read, Books, Comics, in short everything that is written in a language that I can read, I read it. I don't take everything at Face value and I am most critical about nearly everything, my Grandma always said: Your Problem is that you think too much and worry about things you can't change.

My Favourite Authors are ... let's be chronological: Jane Austen, Jules Verne, Lyman Frank Baum, Arthur Conan Doyle, Erich Kästner, Astrid Lindgren, Llyod Alexander, Ursula K. Le Guin, Michael Ende, Bernard Cornwell, Terry Pratchett, George R.R. Martin, Cornelia Funke, Neil Gaiman, Kai Meyer and much more, these are just those who should be more prominent and therefore more well known. Or at least you can find them with a Wikipedia-Page. I didn't read every Book of these Authors, but some of their Works are my all-time-favourites which I always at some time reread.

I usually like it when Books have some tropes, but I really hate the Prophecy-Trope. At least when it makes sense in-universe, so that the Characters can interpret the Prophecy and act accordingly. So there are cases in Stories where Prophecies don't bother me, it would be a better Book without it in my opinion, but in General, I don't care that much about it.

I love to play the Sims 4, and I really love to build Houses. I don't think I have a specific Style, but I think I am a decent Builder. Sometimes I create Houses for Characters out of Books or Houses based on Books. For Example, I tried to build a Russian Dacha after I read Shadow and Bone. A Book series I don't like that much, giving the only PoV to what I would call a female Love Interest, instead of the male protagonist, just to make sure it could sell more Books to women was a problem during my read. At least it felt like that to me (personal Opinion! There is nothing wrong with that and if you have a different one, good for you), because I got the impression the Author became more and more frustrated with that female Character. In my Eyes that was confirmed after I read how she was portrayed during the last 2 Books in that Universe, holy moly that was a different Character. But If I was together with a Womanizer I would probably change like that too. To all those who want to scream at me, that the Male Protagonist changed because he loved his Female Love Interest, I recommend reading "A Game of Thrones" there is a female character who says:

"Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it can not change a Man's nature."

And if you do that as a Rule for your Antagonist, do it for your Hero as well, I hate inconsistencies where "Rules for thee, but not for me" is at play. Which happened in these Books more than once. But I like to watch how Authors evolve and change during their Careers and the Author became better since that Debut. So my advice for her would be: To kill that Character in the next Book, if there is one more. If a Character frustrates you get rid of it.

This leads me to my next point, I love to write myself. I am Nanowrimo-Participant and Winner for several years. I started writing because my Father died when I was 10 years old. So it started as a therapeutic measure, but it became a lot more over the years. I thought about publishing, but I made a bad choice and today I am not so sure anymore. But I have some WIP's of my Fanfiction on AO3, which I occasionally update, I mean, when you see that no one reads it, you can update it whenever you want. At the moment I work on 3 Original Novels at once, they are all in one World and because there are references to different Parts, I write them simultaneously. And on top of that I write 3 Fanfictions and plan one more.

So I think that is enough for an Introduction about me, if you have any questions, ask them, I try to answer, it would at least help to find out how this site works.

[babyjakes]

forever and a day | 45. new foods.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

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summary | a story in which america’s favorite captain gives a new life and family to a five-year-old girl who has suffered well beyond her years at the hands of hydra.

characters | dad!steve rogers, girl/willa rogers (original character)

warnings | AU similar enough to OU to include spoilers to many Marvel movies (Age of Ultron and beyond). action and fight scenes with violence and killing. injuries/mild gore. mature themes related to and semi-graphic depictions of child abuse/neglect, past CSA and CSM, and their aftermath (emaciation, wounds, scarring, etc). medical abuse and experimentation. ptsd/trauma symptoms in a child (developmental discrepancies, de-humanized behavior, detachment, extreme fears). medical treatment of CSM and other aftermath of abuse.trauma-informed therapeutic treatment of ECT. minor mentions of disordered eating. themes relating to abuse of power/authority and immoral interrogation tactics including SA (with brief depictions.) evil!Tony Stark.

[Steve]

“We’ll have to go get more groceries at some point, but I’m sure we can find something to whip up for now,” I tell Willa as I stand in front of the open refrigerator. The little girl nods shyly from her seat on the pearly white counter, peering in slightly as well. Before I brought her in, one of my many trips over here was to bring a small round of groceries. I didn’t grab anything specific for meals; I just knew it would probably be a good idea to have something on hand when we started out.

“Juice?” the small child asks, her usual question whenever mealtime comes around. I continue to scan my eyes over the options, not impressed with what I’m seeing.

“Well, remember how Bruce said we should start trying different foods?” I remind her. At this point in Willa’s recovery, the doctor has deemed it safe for us to start expanding her diet. While we’ve been trying to go slow, there’s a growing part of me that feels we should maybe start picking up the pace. She’s still incredibly skinny; Bruce weighed her the other day and the results nearly gave me a heart attack. The trouble is, it’s just been so hard on her, in so many ways. For one, her teeth and jaw aren’t used to chewing regularly, so eating tougher foods makes her mouth hurt. Additionally, several of the things she’s tried have been hard on her tummy, giving her agonizing stomachaches. Bruce says both of these things are normal, and that the only way to overcome them is to keep pushing through until the body normalizes the processes. Besides those physical challenges, it’s also quite emotionally taxing for Willa. ‘Juice’ has always been safe when Bruce and I have given it to her, but all of these new foods, she isn’t so sure about. And when they end up making her mouth or tummy hurt, she often ends up asking if she’s being punished, which absolutely breaks my heart.

Willa’s quiet at my question, causing me to glance up at her from the fridge. Her eyes have grown wide, her brow raised in subtle worry. Her bottom lip puffs out ever-so-slightly at me and I frown, disappointed to have frightened her. “I-… m-… p-please?” she asks carefully. My chest tightens in guilt.

“How about some- some eggs? I can cook us up some eggs,” I try to suggest, pulling out the carton and setting it on the counter. Willa watches me with wide eyes as I close the fridge and move over in front of the stove, getting to work on the food. “Eggs are nice and soft so they shouldn’t hurt your teeth,” I tell her as I crack them over a pan, turning on the burner. As the heat begins to spread across the surface, I take a whisk out from a drawer and break the yolks into the whites, blending them together. The little girl beside me stays completely silent, not taking her eyes off me for even a moment.

When the eggs have formed into a nice fluffy scramble, I kill the heat, moving the pan to a back burner. Reaching up into the cabinets overhead, I take two navy blue plates from the new set Bucky gifted us and set them out on the counter, dishing us up each some of the food. “Hmm, we should probably find some other stuff; this doesn’t really look like a meal,” I decide, returning to the fridge. “How about some strawberries? You like those in your juice, remember?”

“S'awberries,” Willa mumbles softly, which is probably the only confirmation I’m gonna get. I remove the plastic box from the fridge and grab a handful, rinsing them off in the sink before adding them to our plates. Just to make it easier for the kid, I find a knife in the silverware drawer and cut her berries into bite-sized pieces. Dropping the stems into the bin along with the eggshells, I return to the fridge, putting the eggs and strawberries back in their place. “How about some toast, too? I don’t think you’ve tried that yet.”

“Bread,” she says and points plainly. Chuckling at her softly, I nod as I take two slices from the bag, popping them into the toaster.

“Kind of. Crunchy bread. We cook it in this thing,” I explain, pointing at the contraption.

“Cook it. I-in there,” Willa repeats back. Before I can register what’s happening or intervene, she reaches her hand down into the bread-slot, only to yelp in pain, quickly pulling it out again.

“Oh- hey, careful!” I warn, just moments too late. Big tears well up in her eyes as I instinctively move towards her, causing her to flinch back. “Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you not to touch it. Is your hand okay; can I see it?” I ask gently.

“Ow,” she whimpers, trying her hardest to blink back her tears. She cradles her hand close to her chest, a few of her fingers flushing a harsh pink.

“I know doll, I’m sorry. Can I look at it? We can get you a bandaid, or some ice,” I offer, reaching out cautiously. Willa trembles as my hands near hers but doesn’t stop me as I take her little fingers in mine, assessing the damage. Luckily, it doesn’t look too bad at all. It probably just startled her more than anything, I’m guessing. “You’re okay, Willa-bug. See? No blood or anything. It’ll probably just sting for a little while, that’s all.”

“’m okay,” she repeats back, trying her best to act tough. “No blood, doesn’t hurt. I’m a- a b-big kid,” she tells me.

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow at her, attempting to lighten the mood as I release her hands from my own and turn my attention back to the toast that’s now popped up from the toaster. “Who taught you to say that?”

“Uncle Clint,” the girl says, almost causing me to drop the toast onto the floor as I transfer it to the plates. My eyes glance back over at her only to find her expression is completely serious, making this moment all the more precious.

“Uncle who?” I ask, grabbing us some silverware and carrying the plates over to the table.

“Uncle Clint,” she says again, hopping down from the counter and walking over to join me.

“He tell you to call him that?” I muse, already knowing the answer. As Willa nods, I only shake my head, unable to process the adorableness of the situation. I reach out and lift her up onto one of the chairs, taking a seat next to her in front of my own plate.

“He told me he’s the cool uncle. Gonna teach me p-poker and arch'ry and- and baseball.” I fight back a laugh as the child struggles to repeat all the things he must have told her. Oh, how I wish I could bottle up this moment and save it forever.

“Poker and archery and baseball, huh?” I ask, honestly impressed by how much Clint was able to get her to remember. “Well, that sounds very fun, sweetheart. I’m sure you and Uncle Clint will have a great time doing those things together.”

“What’s poker?” Willa asks innocently; at the poor girl’s question, I can’t help it, a huge smile forms on my face and I let out a chuckle at her cluelessness, causing her to frown. “And arch'ry, a-and baseball?” she adds timidly.

“Those are things for bigger kids to do,” I tell her. “I think Uncle Clint might’ve been getting a little ahead of himself. Let’s stick to games you like for now, okay? Like blocks and movies, yeah?” She nods, seeming content with this answer.

Now that our conversation has died down, both of our focuses settle onto the food in front of us, and to my dismay, out of the corner of my eye, I can see the little girl beginning to tremble. “How about we just try a few bites,” I propose, my voice barely above a whisper. “The strawberries and eggs shouldn’t be hard at all, and you don’t have to keep eating the toast if it’s too much, okay?”

Willa’s big green eyes rise up warily to meet mine, a familiar pang of guilt hitting me when I see they’re brimmed with tears. Before I can say anything to soothe or comfort the child, her shaking voice fills the air with the devastating words I know so well. “Please- I’ll be good, I-I’ll be better.”

“You are good. You’re so good, sweetie,” I murmur, hating how much fear this whole process evokes within her. “You’re not being punished, remember? Food is good for you; it’s gonna help you grow up big and strong. It’s okay, Willa. Just do what you can, okay? I’m not gonna force you to do anything.”

“Please,” she mutters weakly. Blinking, a single tear trickles down her cheek. Her gaze falls back over the plate of food in front of her and her bottom lip begins to wobble, only making me feel worse for putting her through this whole ordeal.

“Let’s just start with one bite, okay?” I suggest, taking my fork and breaking off a bite of my own egg. “I’ll take one with you.” She mirrors my actions, picking up her fork and grabbing a bite of her own. I raise the food to my mouth and she does the same, a noticeable look of relief crossing her face when she realizes that the food is indeed soft. “What do you think?” I ask her. “We can put some salt or pepper on there too, if you want.”

“’s good,” she says, her shaking dying down as she continues to chew. Once she’s swallowed, I move on to a strawberry, and she picks up hers with a fork, gingerly placing the bite into her mouth. This one seems to cause a little bit more discomfort, though she still makes it through just fine.

“Like juice,” she comments.

“Mhmm. Just like juice, that’s right, kiddo.”

Finally, we move on to the toast. I pick up my slice of bread and the girl copies me, eyeing it skeptically. “For this one, you just kind of take bites off as you go,” I explain, biting off the corner of my own slice.

After a few more moments of hesitation, Willa finally opens her mouth again, placing the corner of her toast in her mouth and biting down. As soon as her teeth break through the hard crust, she whimpers, the tears returning to her eyes as she drops the toast back down onto her plate.

“Hey- it’s okay,” I encourage her as I quickly chew my own bite and swallow. “You’re okay, Willa-bug, you’re doing just fine.” Slowly, she begins to chew the bite, squeezing her eyes shut in pain as she forces herself to continue. The fact that a single bite of toast elicits such a strong reaction from her fills me to the brim with worry, but I have to remind myself that this is going to be a long process. Up until now, she’s probably not had many things at all that were this tough in texture.

Willa continues to chew, and after several more agonizing seconds, she finally swallows, her eyes opening warily as her tears continue to fall. “Good job, sweetheart; you did so well,” I praise, hoping that my positive reinforcement might somehow make the pain worth it. She looks back over at me, her eyes pleading with me before she even opens her mouth.

“P-please,” she hiccups, “w-will be good, w-won’t ever be bad ag-gain.”

“Okay sweetheart, here- com'ere,” I croon, turning and opening up my arms to her. She flinches at the motion, her arms rising up in front of her to shield her body from me. My heart breaks at this reflex as I soften my expression, watching as the child slowly lowers her arms back down, realizing that I wasn’t moving to hit her. “Come on doll, I won’t hurt you,” I promise her. Willa stays still for several more moments. Eventually, though, she does make her way over to me, much to my relief, and I lift her swiftly up onto my lap, wrapping my arms around her warmly.

“P-please,” she begs again, her voice muffled slightly by my shirt as I begin to rub her back gently, wanting more than anything to ease her fears.

“Shhh sweetheart, shh-shh, it’s okay,” I soothe, brushing her hair back out of her face. “How about you just have your egg and your strawberries, okay? You did such a good job trying the toast, but I know it hurts your mouth; you don’t have to have any more of that for now. I’ll call Bruce later, too, and see if he might have any ideas to help make it not hurt so much.” Willa mumbles something in agreement into the fabric, and as I continue to hold her close, an idea pops into my brain. “Hey, why won’t we watch a movie after we eat?” This causes the little girl to lift her head up, her watery eyes meeting mine.

“Movie?” she asks.

“Yeah. We could see if Bucky’s around, if you want. Or we could call over and see if Peter and Thor-”

“M-movie, and- and… just us,” she stutters. It takes me a moment, but I fit together what she’s trying to say.

“Okay honey, sure. We can have just us, then. A movie just for us, sound good?”

“Movie just for us,” she repeats back, seeming pleased.

“Sounds good to me,” I tell her. “What kind of movie do you wanna watch?”

Without hesitation, she responds, “Ariel.” I smile, nodding at her. Ever since the first time Peter showed her The Little Mermaid, it’s been one of her favorites. “And the yellow fishy, with the b-blue stripes. And the little crab, too,” she adds, not remembering the names.

“Okay sweetheart,” I agree with a loving smile, leaning down to plant a kiss in her hair. “Ariel it is.”

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[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Sorry for your lost - Part I “I will grieve”.

Serie Masterlist here || Part II|| Read on AO3 

Summary: When your wife Natasha passes away in a car accident, a part of you dies with her. It takes a few months of mourning for your psychiatrist thinks the best alternative is for you to join a grief group. And there you meet Wanda Maximoff, and learn to live again.

Warnings: (+16) mentions of death, panic attacks and anxiety, grief, self sabotage, mentions of abusive family background, mutual attraction, explicit consent, therapeutic conversations about death, self-deprecation, healthy methods of coping with grief, possible triggers about anxiety, hurtful behaviors, domestic wanda.

Chapter warnings: Heavy angst, death.

Author’s notes:  Hello readers! I'm finally back to posting something, but I disappeared for a good reason, I was writing three new series. And here is the first of them. I really enjoyed this work and it's something I've been trying to write since I watched WandaVision, and only now I've managed to put it into words. I am not finished yet, but there is only one chapter left, so your reading will not be affected. Pay attention to the warnings, and good reading!

Tag list (let me know if you wanna be tagged) 

@mionemymind​ / @abimess​ / @stephanieromanoff​ / @yourtaletotell​ / @tomy5girls​ / @justagaypanicking​ / @thegayw1tch​

//-//

Chapter One - I’ll grieve.

You wished you could go back to sleep as soon as you opened your eyes. The sound of your alarm buzzed loudly throughout the room, and after putting it on snooze mode at least four times, you finally got annoyed enough to grab it and throw it across the room. But the sound continued.

Letting out a grumble of dissatisfaction, you pushed the comforter off you, and sat up in your bed. Your room was a mess, but you just skipped through the clothes on the floor to reach the phone, turning off the alarm through the new crack you made in the screen.

"Honey, are you up?" you heard your mother's distant voice calling you through the door, probably from the living room or the kitchen. "Don't forget your therapy today."

You sighed impatiently, running your hands through your hair. The damn group therapy. 

Grumbling lightly, you forced yourself to take a shower, not wanting "poor hygiene" to end up on your progress report card. 

A while later, when you were finished, you went into the kitchen. Your mother was using her laptop on the counter, and just waved at you.

"Are you going to take me?" You asked her with your hands in your pockets. Your mother took her eyes off the screen to evaluate the sweatshirt you were wearing, and you rolled your eyes at her disapproving expression. 

"You know, you could try driv-"

"Mom" You cut her off in earnest, your heart racing momentarily. You don't drive. An she knows. Your mother sighs, putting her hands up in a sign of surrender.

"It was just a suggestion dear." She retorts as she stands up, reaching for her car key on the key rack exiting the kitchen. "But I'm busy with the store, you'll need to take the subway next time."

"Thanks for the support." You grumble as you step out in front and your mother lets out a wry chuckle.

You frown and let out a dissatisfied exclamation as you step outside feeling the sun's rays on your face.

"You're not a vampire, cut the drama." Mocks your mother by pushing you lightly to get you out of the way. 

You grumble  as you walk to the car. And when you are sitting on the seat, your mother is starting the vehicle and she asks:

"Are you sure you're not going to eat anything?"

Looking out the window, you just mumble that you're not hungry, and she shakes her head in disapproval before you back the car up. You don't speak any more on the way.

//-//

Your mother dropped you off in the parking lot of a gymnasium where the therapy group would be meeting. You sighed as you got out, and thanked her for the ride and the money she gave you to eat, even though you probably weren't going to use.

Resisting the urge to run away, you forced your feet to walk toward the place.

There were a few people at the door, but you didn't smile at any of them, entering the place with your head down and your hands in your pockets. 

And then a woman greeted you, and put a little sticker with your name on your shirt when you gave her your papers. 

Then she signaled the way you should go, and you ended up on the gymnasium court, where there was a wheel of chairs, and a table with food and drink, and several people scattered around, who you thought were part of your therapy group. 

Sighing impatiently you made your way to the bleachers of the venue, hoping to be alone until the session started and you could leave.

Fortunately it wasn't long before the leader signaled for everyone to sit in the circle, and you sighed as you stood up. You ended up with one of the chairs on the far left opposite the therapist, which could be bad since he would see you clearly.

"Thank you very much for coming." Said the therapist smiling gently as his gaze roved over everyone in the circle. You kept your gaze on your shoes. He made a noise with his throat. "Who would like to start today?"

The silence lasted for a few seconds, but then someone was speaking. You forced yourself to come back to reality and pay attention.

"[...] and this is my fourth week around here." Said a woman in a leather jacket. You noticed the army lanyard around her neck. She was talking about an accident when you got distracted again. Lightly poking your eye with your finger, you tried to focus again, letting out a low sigh. And then the therapist was talking again.

"We have new faces today." He said and you felt your heart speed up. You absolutely did not want to talk in front of strangers. "Why don't you share with us, miss?"

You raised your gaze to meet that of the therapist, smiling gently at you. The rest of the group looked at you as well. Taking a deep breath, you began to wiggle your fingers on your leg.

"I don't... I've never been in a group." You say clumsily. "What should I say?"

"Whatever you wish to say." He answers with a smile. You swallow the urge to tell him you didn't want to talk at all. Realizing your lack of response, he is quick to add. "Why don't you tell us why you are here?."

You let out a dry laugh. 

"I really didn't have much choice." You retort wryly. The therapist looks slightly surprised, but makes no mention of interrupting you. You let out a sigh before clarifying. "My psychiatrist, she...she didn't approve of my social ratings. She wanted me to talk to other people. People who... went through the same things I did." You count staring at the floor. When you look up again, the group still waits for you to continue, and you sigh, running your hands through your hair. "I haven't... I... I haven't talked to other people outside of my family in six months. Not since..."

You move your head, sniffling slightly as you straighten your posture. The therapist clears his throat.

"You just need to share whatever you are ready to tell us." He says gently, you nod slightly feeling extremely vulnerable. "But remember that this is a safe space. There is nothing to fear here."

And then he is talking about methods of easing the guilt, and dealing with the pain and you were distracted again. You would like to go back to bed. It must have taken a while, but the session is finally over.

The group dispersed around the room, and you went toward the therapist's desk to have him sign your schedule. He smiled as you approached.

"Miss Y/N/L, I was happy to hear that you would be joining us today." He said greeting you with a handshake. You nodded, taking the paper from your pocket. He chuckled, but accepted it. "You know, I'd like you to try to have a partner in the group, it's recommended for cases like yours."

"What do you mean cases like me?" You ask snidely, but he doesn't care.

"Doctor Harkness gave me your chart." He explained as he signed the paper you gave him while you frowned. "Extreme Social Anxiety in the first few months of treatment. Tendency to complete isolation, introverted..."

"Yeah I know my problems, buddy." You interrupt him with irritation. "You don't have to list them for me."

The therapist gives a lopsided chuckle, and holds out the signed paper to you. But he adds with a serious look:

"I'm here to help you, Y/N." He says. "Don't forget that."

You don't respond and take the paper, turning toward the exit. 

//-//

Your week passes slowly and tortuously. Which is surprising because you barely get out of bed. And then it is group therapy day again, and you are making a new crack at your cell phone screen.

Your mother greets you with a pat on the back as you enter the kitchen, and she is walking past you toward her own room.

You know you have to take the subway today, and you are trying not to think about it too much. As you are walking out the door, your eyes pass quickly over your car key, and you think you have a flash of memory, but you shake your head quickly, pushing the thought away. And then you walk forward.

And you are late for the session, because you can't take the bus to the station, since your feet simply didn't obey you. But that's okay, you don't really care.

You weren't the only one who was late. When you went to enter the door, a red-haired woman bumped into you, also running to get in. She smiled slightly as she apologized, and you just made room for her to enter first.

"Sorry Stephen." She said to the therapist as soon as you two entered the gymnasium, "I had an emergency with the kids."

The man just shook his head with a smile, and waved for you both to sit down.

"And why were you late today, miss Y/L/N?" He asked you. You shrugged your shoulders.

"I didn't wanna come." You retorted and the group giggled, and the sudden sound startled you slightly, but you just sat with your arms crossed. 

"Do you want to try again?" He retorted with light humor in his voice. And you bit the inside of your cheeks. And then you looked down at the floor.

"I couldn't get on the bus." You confessed next. Stephen looked at you tenderly, though, and you didn't like the feeling of your chest heaving slightly.

"And why do you think that happened?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable. 

"I don't know. I... There were too many people." You said embarrassed. And then you started twiddling your fingers, feeling all eyes on you. "I just... I knew I'd have to say hello to the driver, and the conductor. And then I would pass strangers in the hallway, and one of them would sit next to me. And I just... I couldn't."

Stephen nodded slightly in agreement.

"It's okay, Y/N. " He stated. "No one is judging you here."

You let out a dry laugh, and Stephen blinks in surprise, which spurs you to explode.

"Everyone is judging me, Doc." You say through gritted teeth, swinging your leg. "It's as if I can hear the gears in people's brains forming opinions about me." You state with a sigh. "Like my mother for example. She...she...acts like I'm past the time of mourning." You explain with tears in your eyes. "Like there's a limit, and I'm extending her goodwill. Because it's been six months, and she doesn't want me to be sad anymore. But guess what? I don't know how to move on!" You state angrily. "I can't! If I don't miss her, what's left for me? If I don't... God, I can't do this."

And you stand up, wiping your tears away, and walk out of the gymnasium, heading for the restrooms. You feel your heart racing, and it's hard to breathe. 

As you rest your hands on the sink, your brain starts to wander back to the day of the accident again. You choke, because it feels like you're sinking again. You see the water rising through the metal of the car. Your hands on the steering wheel, and then on the seat belt. You shake your head, pushing the images away, and rush to turn on the faucet in front of you and pour the water on your face.

You take a deep breath, trying to stop the tears. And then there is someone entering.

"Are you okay?" Stephen asks and you nod lightly, ignoring the trembling in your hands as you stare at him through the reflection of the mirror. "I gave a break to the group, wouldn't you like to walk with me?"

"I'm not good company right now." You grumble but he smiles, nodding slightly as if to repeat the invitation. You take a deep breath before turning around.

You walk silently and slowly to the outside of the gymnasium, and then he is speaking again.

"You were very brave today."  He comments, and you let out a dry laugh. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I panicked today." You say. " It doesn't sound very brave to me."

Stephen smiles guiding you through the gymnasium entrance toward the parking lot.

"You talked about a trauma to a group of people." He says. "That takes a lot of courage, even if you don't believe it."

"I don't believe in anything." You grumble, but Stephen doesn't mind your hostility. He stays with his friendly posture.

"I would like you to accept my request from before." He said after a moment. "About a group partner."

You let out a sigh.

"I don't even know what that means." You retort with slight impatience as you reach the edge of the parking lot. You notice the garden a few feet ahead of you.

"It's like a therapy buddy." He explains with a smile. "We encourage socializing here. That's why Agatha recommended this group to you."

"Oh, of course you do. Agatha is a bitch." You wryly wipe your hands across your face. Stephen laughs lightly. "How does that work anyway? Do I have to hold someone's hand? Exchange friendship bracelets?"

"No, it's much better." He says with a chuckle. "You talk to that person. You exchange experiences with them. You learn to trust somebody else again."

"My god, it looks like a fucking Disney movie." You retort with irritation and Stephen lets out a laugh. And then you let out a sigh, shrugging your shoulders. "Okay, I'll do it. I have nothing to lose, and it seems that neither you nor Agatha will leave me alone if I don't agree."

"We want you to feel better. Don't take this as a punishment." He says, guiding you back to the gym. You nod slightly, thinking that it really does feel like punishment anyway.

//-//

You see Agatha the same week. Your appointments have been switched to monthly meetings instead of weeks as they were at the beginning of treatment, and while you appreciate the familiarity of seeing her, you can't help but feel irritated with her.

"Someone's grumpy." She comments as soon as you sit down on the couch in the room, to which you roll your eyes.

"You are always so very tender, Agatha." You mock as you cross your legs, hoping the time will pass soon.

Agatha laughs lightly, finishing tidying up a few things on her desk. And then she gets up and sits down in the armchair a few feet in front of the sofa where you are, carrying a small notebook in her hands.

"So, why don't you tell me how your your first two sessions in group therapy went?"

You let out a dry laugh.

"Like Stephen didn't tell you everything." You sneer and Agatha just smiles, waiting for you to speak. You let out an impatient sigh, before stating wryly. "It was amazing, doc. It only took two sessions for me to have a panic attack, so thank you for that."

"Why do you think that happened?"

You squeezed your eyes.

"I have no idea." You retorted. "I'm not the doctor here." Agatha laughs lightly, and then opens her notebook and starts writing something. You sigh impatiently. “Really, you're going to start that again?”

"If you don't talk, I write." She states simply, and you roll your eyes, shifting on the couch uncomfortably.

"Agatha, I just... I couldn't get on a bus, okay?" you tell her, and she closes her notebook to look at you attentively. You take a deep breath. "There were a lot of people. I don't mind walking anyway. It helps me think."

"You don't mind walking eight blocks?" She asks with a slight irony. "That's pretty athletic of you."

"It's weird that you know my address off the top of your head." You play lightly, and she just laughs, straightening her posture. 

"Why don't you just tell me what you want to tell me?"

"Why don't you ask me what you want to ask?"

Agatha blinks slightly in surprise, and then she shakes her head slightly, opening her notebook again. You sigh.

"Okay, sorry." You say, and she looks at you for a moment before closing the object again. I... I thought I was drowning again.”

"Are your nightmares back?" She asks seriously, and you deny it with your head.

"I feel too anxious to sleep." You tell. "And then I black out from exhaustion in the night or in the morning. I don't dream anymore."

"Have you been taking your medication?"

You sigh.

"Of course I have."  You say. "I don't... I'm having trouble keeping my mind still. Like the first few months, you know. Everything seems so noisy now."

Agatha nods slightly, becoming thoughtful for a few moments. 

"I know it may sound strange to hear that, but that means you're getting better." She declares and you frown in surprise, then let out a dry laugh.

"How is my peak anxiety a good thing?"

She opens the book again, but before you can ask what you said wrong, she is reading.

"The first day you were here, you said you felt like you were empty." She narrated and you swallowed dryly. "During your first two months, you continued to describe that you felt like an empty shell. And that you no longer had any dreams, thoughts, or opinions. Without your wife, you said you were no longer here."

You felt your eyes fill with water at the mention of her. But you swallowed your emotions. Agatha turned a page, and read for a few seconds, and then looked at you.

"With your history of anxiety, your mind was remarkably quiet after the passing of your wife." She says. "But now that you're on medication, and therapeutic treatment, plus you're socializing even superficially with the world again, you're starting to feel things again. That's progress."

You look away from her, nodding slightly, trying to believe her words, and trying not to be so terrified at the thought of learning to live again. Without Nat.

You choke slightly, holding back a sob, and then Agatha hands you a box of tissues, but you refuse with a nod, wiping away the tears that have slightly escaped.

"What do you want to talk about now?" She asks after a moment. You take a deep breath, still trying to calm yourself.

"Last week I took a cold bath." You count. "It was snowing."

Agatha blinks in surprise at the information and then lets out a giggle.

"You want me to write it in the book don't you?"

You laugh, wiping away the last of the insistent tears. You just hope Agatha could help you.

//-//

You hate coffee. But you barely slept last night, and now you need to stay awake during the group meeting, so instead of walking to the chair in the corner like you used to, you detour your way to the food and beverage table as soon as you arrive at the gym.

There are a few members around, but you don't look at them, just sidestepping as you extend your arm to the coffee bottle. You pour some, and as you touch the cup, you notice. It's cold.

"Hey sorry about that." Said a girl you thought was named Val or something, as soon as she saw you touching the cup. "We mixed up the shifts yesterday and nobody made new coffee."

You rolled your eyes, picking up the cup and throwing it in the trash. Then you forced a wry smile on the girl and walked outside. 

It was cold, but you are boiling with rage. It was just a damn cup of coffee, you thought as you closed your eyes and tried to reduce your anger. Just coffee. 

You stumbled with fright when Stephen called out to you.

"We'll get started in a minute." He said looking at you curiously. You just nodded, following him after a few seconds.

You bit the inside of your cheek when you noticed the same coffee girl as before, now sitting where you usually sat. The universe was testing you today. 

You just sighed, twiddling your fingers inside your pocket, and walked over to one of the free chairs.

After Stephen gave the briefing, he asked if everyone was all right, and the group lied in unison. You were almost asleep when he called your name.

"I would like to choose your partner today." He says and you feel your heart racing as you straighten your posture. "But I want to know if you have any preferences."

You blink in confusion, and roll your eyes.

"I don't know anyone here, but I'm sure they will all hate me equally, doc." You tried to joke, but Stephen only looked at you with concern.

"No one does or will hate you." He says and you swallow dryly, looking away as you mumble that it was just a joke. Stephen pauses momentarily before continuing. "You know that everyone here has their own experiences of loss and they are unique in their own way, even if they have similarities." He begins and you just wish he would speak soon who your partner is at once. "Usually we don't put new members together, but with the release of one of our members, the number ended up getting odd." He explains. "Anyway, I'm sure you and Mrs. Maximoff will get along very well together."

You frowned slightly at the whole explanation. Then you looked around the group, and realized that this Maximoff woman was the late redhead from the previous session who looked at you curiously. You looked away from her to Stephen.

"Thank you, doc." You said with a slight irony and Stephen just nodded smiling.

"Partners are grieving companions ladies." He says. "We will assess your progress at each session, and then switch partners once the necessary improvement has been achieved."

You grumbled in understanding, and looked away to your lap. When Stephen began to ask about the stories, your mind wandered to the departure time.

And when the session was over you wished you could go to sleep. But Stephen made a slight movement of his head in Maximoff's direction, and you understood that you should talk to her.

Ignoring the urge to show Stephen the middle finger, you just sighed as you got up from your chair and lazily walked over to the woman at the exit. She was talking to a man, and you were even more anxious to address not one, but two strangers.

"Hi." You greeted awkwardly, and both of them turned to you with mild curiosity. 

"Hey, you're Y/N, right?" Said the man with a smile as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bucky. James Barnes actually, but everyone calls me Bucky." He said and you shook his hand, smiling awkwardly. Then he quickly pointed at the woman.  "And this is Wanda Maximoff, your grief partner."

"Hi." Wanda said shyly as she offered her hand to greet you. You accepted as clumsily as she did.

"Sorry, I don't know how this works." You say. "Should we exchange numbers or something? Or is that just a therapy thing?"

Bucky gives a little chuckle.

"Oh believe me, they'll know if you're not making it work." He counters. "My first partner was Sam Wilson and we wanted to jump on each other's necks whenever we saw each other. And then Stephen asked us to move in together." He says and you blink in surprise. "We're married now, but that's not the point. I guess I'm getting off topic..."

"Bucky." Wanda interrupts with a smile, and he smiles half-heartedly as well. You frown, annoyed by Bucky's story. You didn't want to marry anyone. "I guess we'll make it work, I hope you don't mind having the company of two tiny restless creatures on our walks."

You look at her with confusion and then you understand, smiling shyly.

"No, it's okay." You say. "I like children."

"Really?" She asks in surprise.

You nod slightly. "Unlike adults, they tell the truth."

Wanda seemed to be thoughtful, but then Bucky lets out an exclamation.

"As group guide, I have to pass the to-do list to you ladies." He says pulling a small notebook from the back pocket of his pants. He pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to Wanda. "Partners need to develop these habits of socializing and coping with grief together. And yes, there is a test."

You sigh impatiently, tucking a loose string behind your ear. 

"That sounds fun." You mock lightly making them smile. 

"Anyway, good luck to you two." He says tenderly. "And Wanda, call me if you need help with Tommy. I know a good therapist."

You frown slightly, not understanding what he is referring to, but you prefer to stay out of matters that are none of your business. And then Bucky kisses Wanda on the cheek in farewell and waves to you smiling before leaving. You switch foot weights when you are alone with Wanda. Talking to other people is not exactly your strong suit these past few months.

"So..." You start clumsily when she turns to you. 

"So." She repeats equally embarrassed. You then clear your throat and rush to pull your cell phone out of your pocket and hand it to her.

"Give me your number." You say. "That way we can arrange...whatever this is." 

Wanda smiles weakly as she accepts the device, and you ignore the curious look when she notices the cracks in the screen. A moment later she hands the cell phone back to you.

"I gotta go." She says. "I need to pick up my kids from school."

You nod slightly and force a smile to say goodbye, and Wanda copies your movement before leaving.

You stare at your cell phone next, noticing the slight anxiety in your stomach as you read the contact "Wanda Maximoff" on the screen.

//-//

By the weekend, you are miserable. Just like the first few months.

You spilled some tea under your bed, and when you went to clean it up, you ended up taking the objects that were lying there. And then you found a crumpled piece of paper.

It was your farewell speech. The words you wrote down to speak on the day of the funeral. The paper you pulled out of your pocket when you got home from the ceremony and probably fell under the bed when you collapsed on the floor from crying so hard.

Suddenly your chest tightened and you couldn't breathe. But you didn't want your mother to worry, so you concentrated on remembering the exercises your therapist had taught you.

And when the room started to get too small, you left.

But because it was cold and rainy, you had just taken a hot shower and had decided to brew tea before you finished putting on a sweater, you had bent down to pick up your socks, and the liquid fell on the floor. 

You went outside without your shoes, and your mother let out a worried exclamation when she saw you standing outside, staring at nothing.

"Honey?" She asked walking out the door after seeing you through the kitchen window. "Honey, what is it?"

You didn't answer. Your face was wet. Your mother's hands wrapped around your shoulders, and she gently pushed you inside, worried that you would end up getting hypothermia.

"I'm fine." You gasped as she led you inside, but she just shook her head. "I'm fine."

"No, honey." She retorted making you frown. "You're not."

"Mom."

"Sit down." 

And then there were blankets around you, and socks on your feet. And your mother was in the kitchen, on the phone, but everything seemed stuffy. You began to be absent again. Thousands of memories flashing through your eyes.

An image of yourself on that living room floor, laughing while your girlfriend had her arms wrapped around you. Your mother was pouring a glass of wine for each of you, and you were happy to tell her about your engagement.

Then an image of you running across the room, trying to dodge the tickles your father tickled you while you laughed.

Then a puppy in your hands on the floor. You looked at it fondly, laughing at how cute it looked. 

Looking down, you saw a hand on your thigh. It was your wife's, the ring on her finger. She smiled at you. You were happy because that was the day you told your mother about the house purchase.

You gasped slightly when you felt someone's hand on your shoulder suddenly.

"I need you to tell me three things you can see." It was Agatha. God, you should have been out of reaction long enough for her to get here. Wiping away your tears, you took a deep breath, trying to reason straight.

"I... I..." You started, but your brain didn't seem to obey you. You took another deep breath. You could see the carpet, so you told her so.

"Two more." Agatha asked tenderly, her hand caressing your back from top to bottom. 

"The... table." You replied crying. "I can see the table."

"That's right, honey." She said. "Just one more now. Tell me what else?"

"My feet." You add breathlessly. "I can see my feet."

"Now breathe with me, okay?" She asks. "Like I taught you."

The exercises help you to calm down again. You apologize for scaring your mother, and for making Agatha drive to your house, but neither of them is upset with you. You feel exhausted, but the doctor wants to talk to you after she accepts the cup of coffee your mother offers her.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" She asks as you sit on the covered porch, fluffy pillows around you.

You lower your gaze to the floor, sniffling lightly.

"I found my grief speech." You count. "Under my bed. The next minute I was outside."

Agatha sighs.

"You ready to talk about the accident."

You raise your eyes quickly, frowning, because it wasn't a question.

"W-what?"

She takes a deep breath, crossing her legs.

"It's suffocating you." She clarifies. "You need to talk or these attacks will happen again."

"I-I don't..."

"It won't be today." She interrupts with a tender smile. "Tonight you need to sleep. But we won't prolong this any longer. You need to talk about it, even if it’s only to scream."

Clenching your jaw, you hold back your tears as Agatha takes one last look at you before getting up. She murmurs that she will see you on Monday, but you don't look at her.

//-//

You don't sleep well on Sunday. And it's definitely because you can't stop thinking about your appointment.

And it goes well for the first twenty minutes. Agatha doesn't pressure you, and agrees to hear about your week, without mentioning the incident on Thursday.

There is a pause after you have told her about the dog barking noise in the early morning and then you know it is time to speak up.

"I was driving." You say softly suddenly, ignoring the feeling that your throat wants to close up. Agatha has her hands folded in her lap as she listens to you. "She...she was sleeping in the passenger seat." You swallow dryly, trying to count and not get caught up in the memory again, your heart racing. Talking is almost like going back there. "I looked at her for a moment and I got distracted... and then... we just..."

You only realize that you are crying because tears fall on your hand. You blink, sniffling. Taking a deep breath, you continue.

"We fell into the water, and Nat...she just...I couldn't get her belt off." You gasp breathlessly. "The water just...kept coming up around us. And she looked at me, and... she just shook her head like she knew what was going to happen." You tell between sobs. Agatha's eyes water, but she doesn't interrupt. "I just...she pushed me. She pushed my hands away and she told me she would follow me. And god... my dumb brain believed her!" You confess angrily. "She told me she was right behind me! And I swam out and when I came up she wasn't with me."

You shut up, not being able to tell anymore through the sobs. You can't even see the office clearly because of the tears.

It takes a moment for you to speak again, your head down.

"When I swam back, the car was completely covered with water everywhere" You recount. "I...I was going to dive again.... I wanted to get her out of there. But the people who saw the accident jumped in after us. And they pulled me out of the water. And I kept thinking that if I hadn't been distracted, she...she would be...."

"No." Agatha interrupts by offering you a tissue. "Natasha had a stomach injury, don't you remember?" She counters and you gasp, the words echoing in your brain. "That's why you couldn't remove the belt."

And then you were remembering clearly now.

Soft music echoed in the car as you hummed the tune and drove to your friends' house. Your wife mumbled softly beside you, making you smile as you watched the sleeping figure. The red hair in front of her face.

"Hey sleepyhead." You called softly, looking away from the track for a moment. "We're almost there."

Nat muttered in agreement. You bit your lip, thinking she looked beautiful. And then you heard a noise, and a white light in the window. You barely had time to frown when the impact threw your car off the road.

Your body tensed immediately as you sat up, looking around with desperation. The car was sinking fast and you turned to Nat.

A wound on her forehead was bleeding, and she was clearly disoriented as you touched her hands. You hurried to unbuckle her belt, but it was jammed tightly in her waist, and you gasped in shock at the wound.

"N-no." You grumbled, trying to move the metal, but Nat gasped in pain, pushing your hands away. You could barely breathe in desperation. Your feet were freezing, because the water was already at your ankles. "Babe, move please. We have to get out."

Nat advanced toward you, taking off your belt. You tried to touch her, but she pushed your hands away again, intending to guide you out.

" Sweetheart, go! Open the door! " she commanded and you shook your head, the water on your knees. Nat forced a smile, the tears in her eyes made your stomach turn. "Don't worry love. I'm right behind you."

As you opened the door, the water moved all the way into the car, and you held your breath Nat repeated the words "I'm right behind you" one more time. And then you swam out.

When you reached the surface, you were alone.

Sobbing, you couldn't say anything else to Agatha, and she proceeded to stroke your back, trying to soothe you with words of affirmation.

"I need you to remember some things honey." She says tenderly. "You couldn't have helped Natasha. She got stuck. You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened." Agatha whispers to you, and you sob. "Remember the investigation, okay? The police said that the driver of the truck was drunk and hit your car after he fell asleep. It wasn't your fault." Agatha says trying to remind you. You gasp, countless memories flooding your head at once. "Say that for me, will you?" She asks and you gasp. "Tell me it wasn't your fault."

You sob, burying your face in your hands. It takes a moment, but you repeat the words.

"It wasn't my fault." You whisper breathlessly. "It...it wasn't my fault."

When you leave therapy that day, you feel different.

You think that it is the healing process that is beginning to work. You still have a long way to go, but you have the feeling that a weight has been lifted off your back, because you have started to believe your own words. You could not have saved Natasha.

There is still a deep sadness in you, but you still buy your favorite drink on the way home, and try to stay in the living room for a few hours before going to your room when you are inside.

[builder051]

Adverse Effects (ch.4 Who's calling what now? No one signed up for this.)

A chasing Ghosts story. Last chapter. I promise. It will come to an ending.

Warnings: The usual: college drinking, drug use, alcohol, flashbacks to war/bad childhood/etc., seizures, emeto, migraines, photosensitivity, threats (mild, like calling the cops on a party), mentions of hospitals/ambulances, petty crime, bad choices... That should cover the basics. This one is tamer than the previous chapter.

___________________

Steve puts his arm around James's shoulders and approaches the bouncer from the head of the VIP line.

"You paid ahead?" He looks uncomfortable in his fitted black jacket. The bouncer sticks his finger between his collar and his neck. His tie's definitely a clip on.

"Um, no," Steve says. "But we're just here to look for our little sister. She might've come in with a football player?"

The bouncer narrows his eyes. "You trying to say I don't check IDs? That I'm not so good at my job?"

"No, sir." Steve answers, putting his free hand up, with his palm open and his elbow locked at 90 degrees. "Not at all."

James wonders if Steve wants him to pipe up, but he doesn't have a lot of confidence in his ability to speak. Plus, he's interested in what Steve will say next.

"She has a fake." Steve feigns shame, sucking in his lip. "I've been trying to get it off her, get her to lay off the partying. It's not like her 21st is that far away."

Laughter makes easy punctuation. Steve knows good and well that Tasha's barely tipped 19, but his... attractiveness, James guesses? Steve's straight nose and perma-cheery personality, and everyone just assumes he's telling the truth. James has never had that power, and he's still in the dark as to how it works.

"Your little sister?" The bouncer looks pointedly at Steve, then moves his gaze to James, who probably resembles a shaggy-haired scarecrow with the fold of Steve's jacket behind his neck. They probably look more buddy-buddy than pair mated.

"So, you guys, like, brothers?"

Steve shifts and pulls out his wallet. "It's not that important. Here, I have my ID. We're both over 21."

"What's with him?" The bouncer gives James a severe look. He probably thinks he's already wasted, which, honestly, isn't a bad guess. "Why's he not talking?"

James lifts his chin an inch or so. He's going for neutral. Battle casual. The way you're meant to watch the slide show and the commanding officer giving the brief at the same time. Interested. Respectful. But not oogling. Not creepy. He hopes his clenched jaw isn't too obvious. That would be a good baseline, at least.

"Disabled vet, man." Steve uses his powers again. Informing. Reminding. Putting people in their place. But not in a pushy, rude, ego-trampling way.

Steve doesn't pull that card a lot. A little strategic, maybe, but he and James don't play the system as much as they probably could. Steve care is much better than public accessibility and the VA. But, bus seating, the movie theater exit row, idling the car in the fire lane... They are benefits, and, as much as James hates admitting it, they are beneficial to him. There is a fine line between getting what he needs and losing his identity to the system, though. And crossing over is one of James's greatest fears.

Right this moment, though, he'll take what he can get. An explanation is definitely called for, because otherwise, his presence tonight makes no sense.

If Steve passes for the worried brother, James is sure he looks like that one embarrassing friend, the big-guy-lightweight, the shower-not-grower who gets wasted early and winds up at the literal mercy of his friends, lest he wake up naked in somebody's front yard, clueless, apologetic, and unaware that this is a serial habit.

It's almost amusing-- James has no alcohol in his system. And no drugs. Well, except caffeine. The prescription medications in his bloodstream, fading rapidly to levels far lower than therapeutic, probably aren't providing much protection from the migraine about to crack over his head, or a seizure grabbing onto autopilot at any moment.

Being out at would-be-bedtime is not a smart idea. But recharging with his next doses of meds brings on immediate hibernation. He's stuck between hell and, well, hell. Fuck Tasha and this goddamn mission. Whether James is the ride-along or the brother, the football player or the treadmill fixer, America's bravest on honorable discharge, or just a guy losing his shit, it isn't important. Steve's already said so.

The bouncer is forcing a stalemate, though. That's the thing about Steve. He protects his own, but he doesn't fight back. He builds walls. Agrees to disagree

It's James that has a crusty edge, bringing them together as a balanced team. Couple. Whatever you want to call it. James can't always stop the sharpness in his tone, but it comes in quite useful when the server needs to really, leave the spilled coffee, don't ask if he's ok, and don't dial 911. James will have his panic attack in the bathroom, then throw some napkins on the spill, and slink out the back door. There's a reason he doesn't like eye contact.

He has to, sparingly, look into the bouncer's face, though. James sighs, willing all parts of his body and bodily fluids into their respective places, if only for the moment.

"Look," James says. "We're trying to help you do your job."

The bouncer seems around James's age. Maybe a little younger. A little heavier. Not so much life experienced etched in lines around his eyes. Or perhaps he's always had oily skin and resided in a humid climate. James would take him on, one to nothing, in just about any contest of strength. Darts. Dash-n-grab. Probably not Greco-Roman wrestling, though. Then the dude would probably just sit on him.

"Tasha's a turd. It's just, like, what she does." James makes the mistake of shrugging his flesh-set in silicone-set in metal shoulder. It only sets off a mild tingling, and he didn't really mean to do it; it was just that his other arm was busy keeping him upright by wedging between two of Steve's upper ribs. If he doesn't think about it, it shouldn't set off all the bells and whistles. And phantom limb pain, really? That's left him alone for, what, a year? Now is definitely not the time.

James bites down on his lip and his tongue a few times. He tries speaking again. "You know, like the big brother and the guy friend, or the dad friend, or whatever? Checking out the new boyfriend? To see if he's cool? Like, clean?" Perhaps he'll catch the bouncer on a more personal level?

But that just makes the guy look torn. He glances to his counterpart, who is turned away as he deals with the sluggish non-VIP line. Then he looks back to James and Steve, brows lowered.

James, despite the chaos in his head, knows perfectly what the bouncer is thinking. It's fair, and it's probably what he'd do in the reverse of the situation. It's most definitely what Steve would do.

"Well," the bouncer jerks his thumb over the velvet rope. "Go to that line and show your IDs--"

They don't have time for that. More specifically, James doesn't have the patience for that. And the quicker Steve vacates his stupid parking spot, the better.

James nabes his lip with his front teeth and splits it. He tastes blood, anyway, which is marginally better than bile, though it will look worse when it all inevitably comes up.

James knows what they have to do. It's not among the 27 thousand slapstick solutions he and Steve talked through earlier, during the mission planning session, but this is better. And it's going to work.

A snort of wry laughter escapes through James's nose as he carefully chooses his words. Or, as it be, silent stand-ins.

James nudges Steve in the armpit, then points his gaze to the iPhone protruding a centimeter or so from Steve's pocket. On the way of raising his head up, James twitches in the bouncer's direction. Then, using as little energy as possible, he locks eyes with Steve. Just long enough to ensure he catches and returns the smile, nod, and flash of a wink.

"What?" The bouncer asks loudly, flatly, and with a spit spray of matching intensity. "You--?"

"Well," Steve clears his throat. "We could do that. Wait in the other line." He pauses. "Or we could make a call and have you raided for having and serving underage customers."

The bouncer goes a bit pale. He adjusts the back of his hat. Tilts his clipboard just enough so they can see the pages upon it are completely blank.

Steve makes a fine line with his lips. "It's the truth, mam. We gotta, you know, do the right thing."

The bouncer swallows heavily. Taps his blank pages. Maybe inciting a tremor.

Now it's James's turn. "Or, you could let us in, grab the fucking rascal, and get out of here. Maybe we won't call the cops." James stops to take a breath. "Or your boss. Main number's on the website, right? Google Maps pin?"

"Uh--" The bouncer stutters. He's nodding, whether he's aware of it or not. People tend to agree with agressers when they pose plausible threats. It's... just something humans do. They have to be trained out of it. Plus one for the Army. And Steve's and Tasha's behaviors? Only to be expected.

"Um. Yeah?" The bouncer's voice comes out higher than it did previously. Maybe he's truly frightened. It doesn't matter. They've already closed the deal.

"Just go. Be fast. And don't go back out through this door!"

"Cool." Steve claps the bouncer on the shoulder. "Thanks. You're saving our lives."

The bouncer waves furiously at them, as if to blow them into the building and far away from him and his responsibilities. Like cops on patrol still puff up and yell "Get out of here!" at young bicyclists, even when they can recite the bylaws back, word-for-word, and explain that non-motor vehicle tickets cannot go on one's permanent record.

But nobody's exceeding the speed limit by coasting down concrete hills in the hood. That weird, neglected, unsupervised place that used to be the burbs until it got trashy and someone built new burbs, but nobody could afford to move there. It's not like anyone can afford to live here, either, in the flat neighborhoods that swallow the college a good three miles in every direction. No one bikes because it's too dangerous with the traffic, and permanent records actually are at stake, seeing as foster care and all claims of juvenile status are up and vanished. Those days of kiddie freedom are gone for good. And it sucks.

Something, though has James's attention. The thud of the bass from the dance floor? Nah, it's crappy drywall vibrating with crowd and speaker systems. Their apartment does the same thing. But it's rhythmic, synchronizing with something deep inside him. Not his auto-adjusting hearing aids. Something in his center, like his heartbeat. Except that's stupid, because vintage punk does not sustain one's most basic body systems.

It's like the air outside. It's weird. Distinctly noticeable. Almost...nostalgic? James feels as if he's been here. Like he's allowed to belong here. Maybe it's something to do with one of his past lives, rising to the surface just long enough to provide him with a whiff of familiarity before he's lost again in the overwhelming mess of tonight's activities. But... this place exists. And he could come back. With Steve. Maybe Tasha. As long as she drinks Diet Sprite and cherries.

"Ok, she's wearing purple, right?" Steve cups his hand around his mouth and leans in close to James's ear, but he still has to shout over the music and general noise.

"Yeah, like a lace thing..." James decides to spare the diatribe about trendy womens' wear and sheer tops and whether or not Tasha understands the idea of undergarments-- at all, let alone pieces appropriate to the occasion.

"Oh! I see her!" Steve points to a blurry conglomeration of people who eep dancing in and out of James's blind spot. The aura goes swimmingly with the disco ball, providing both eyes with an assault of silvery stars.

"Is Maria tall, or can she just walk better in tall shoes?" Steve stands on his toes and squints.

"No clue. Tash is great en pointe, but sucks at drag."

Steve laughs uproariously. "There has got to be a story behind that."

"Mm." James has to let go of Steve's shoulder. There's a massive increase in the pressure behind the bridge of his nose, and, somehow, logic tells him to rub hard with finger and thumb jammed into the corners of his eye sockets. James's hand is clammy. So is his face. The urge to throw up is coming on again. Pressure builds in his body. Then... he has no body. He just feels his head, with excruciating pain in his ears. His jaw. An ax cleaving his forehead--

James's foot is stuck atop the manhole cover. His toe strikes concrete. Again. Again. Why can't he lift his knee?

But then the joint breaks, and he can't support anything on that leg. There goes the hip, and with it, the other knee. James's hips are rocking. He can't control the direction of the momentum, though. That's all he needs, and then he can stand up.

Where the fuck is Steve? Why hasn't he put James back on his feet? There's a wisp of frustration, passing like a shooting star, before it all goes to hell.

James can't hear; his head buzzes with white noise so loud it's surely making blood ooze from his eardrums. He can't see. It's too bright and dark and painful all at the same time, and he can't tell if his eyes are open or closed. James struggles to recall if he has more senses, and bats out with his hand. He hits something. Hard but soft? Pants? If that's what they're called?

James must've grabbed and pulled, because the shadow of Steve bends and squats. "No, you can't have that." Steve removes James's grip from his ankle and offers his wrist instead. "Lie down. Come on. On your side."

Movement happens. James neither initiates it nor approves of it. He cares less about the weightlessness than he does about the spasms of his pylorus, but it's all lost a second later when James seems to have forgotten how to breathe.

But-- oh. Clicky sounds. Steve's watch against his teeth. At least James isn't choking anymore. But all it's good for is making a passage for expulsive vomit, which comes out all over James's face, and his shirt, and the floor.

He can do nothing to hold it down. Just as he can do nothing to stop his arms and legs and spine from twitching and spasming and sending shooting pains through his body every time a bone or joint makes contact with the solid ground.

"Buck?" Steve's hand is cool against James's cheek. Spiking a fever, giving everyone a good spare. James is an expert, even though he never does so on purpose.

Steve tries again. "You with me?"

James blinks. Makes the effort to part his lips. Pulls his fingers into his fist and tries to sign. James catches a glimpse of steve's forehead, a dash of his fine blonde hair, but, like a streak of sun between rain clouds, he can't hold on. One of James's eyes begins rolling again, and that just makes him sick.

James has tried telling Steve how the seizures feel; how they combine the symptoms of severe nausea, the pain of lying on a bed of nails, and a night of restless leg syndrome. But even that doesn't quite get to it. The episodes of uncontrollable and barely senseable body movements and misfires undo him, tear him apart, and not on the seams that are visible and easily mended. He'll recover. He'll be fine. It just...happens sometimes. Personally, James suspects the strobe. He reacts to that rare trigger, and sometimes mechanical devices detonate and events unfold beyond his control... Fuck DBT and the whole radical acceptance thing, but. Well. James doesn't care to flip another coin.

Steve's watch makes mechanical sounds. Not in James's mouth. On the floor. Steve's taken the band off his wrist, and now he glances at the time, all whilst guarding James's limp body in elbow plank. James hopes he's on his knees, even though Steve can probably do semi and full indefinitely, keeping them safely side by side.

"That's time," Steve says, a worried note in his voice. "Three minutes are up. I've got to, you know, med you and call a squad? That's the guidelines and stuff..."

James fights to get the cogs turning. Comprehension has landed. Response... he's working on it.

"God," James croaks. "No. Fuck, no." He coughs and tries to move his head. All that accomplishes is bringing on a retch and a series of tremors down his arm, which have almost certainly distracted anyone and everyone from hearing his answer.

"Hey, breathe," Steve reminds him.

James reluctantly takes the advice. He's barely come around to realizing he has a body, and that there is a world containing not only him, but also Steve. The crowd of curious bystanders remain in the ether.

"I don't think you're quite back yet." Steve speaks slowly and gently. He gives James a pat down, which only brings to light the fact that he's soaked.

"Did you even bring a wallet?" Steve pulls his hand out of James's back pocket. "Where are your meds?"

It takes a hiccup and a spasm, but James has an answer for that, too. "Car."

"Bucky, hey, I'm really sorry." Steve's practically the one shaking now. James can sense his anxiety. "The ER is down the street, but going to get the car is going to take way longer than--"

"No!" James isn't sure if he's meaning to be loud or forceful or just heard. He's not so bad off now. He can open his eyes without feeling like they're being burned with a laser now. It's not proof he can walk, or that his brain isn't still playing the old Nintendo Tanks game with itself, but it's an improvement.

James actually feels like, once somebody pulls him off the floor, he could puke a couple more times, maybe off somebody's back porch, then hustle a glass of water and a clean shirt from a buddy and take up the offer to sleep it off on the couch and devour a frozen waffle in the morning.

He's not in base housing with the other kids, though, enjoying their last few days before shipping out. James has not, nor will he ever be, a college kid riding the freedom of a dark lawn and a few hours yet till sunrise to wildly waste his time. Like...friends dunking each other in the fountain. He would totally dunk Steve in a fountain, Mr. Swimmer and all that stuff. But James isn't sure their university even has one...

What is he even doing? Why is his brain even considering this shit? Steve is the one talking sense here. James might think he knows himself, but what the hell, he's had a migraine and suspicious flashbacks all evening, so shutting up and going along with Steve is probably the better move.

"What the- Jamie? What? And you?" The last part comes with far too much accusation, but Tasha's late arrival is nothing but comically adorable.

"Sorry?" Steve says with hesitation. "We're kind of late with your...ride?"

"Huh?" Tasha understands subtlety, at least James thinks she does. She's just not good at applying it when it's not her idea to begin with. "But what happened? Tasha makes a move as if to kneel down, but with her unsteady shoes and all the puke on the floor, she winds up staying upright.

"Aw, the usual," James says hoarsely.

Steve starts talking at the same time. "We were going to pick you up. And go to... the..."

James coughs loudly again. Mostly on purpose.

"Right." Steve picks back up. "Now we have to go to the hospital, so you should go in the ambulance, and I'll go get the car." A frightened look passes his face. "If I still have a car..."

"A what about your car?" Tasha looks blankly at him.

"I might've... parked in a bad spot," Steve admits, without completely spilling the details of his mistake. "But, anyway," he moves on quickly, "You'll have to sign the consent for them to administer Versed, put him in the MRI, and put him under observation until, oh," Steve checks his watch, then bobs his head as he counts silently. "9:30 tomorrow morning?"

"I gotta stay up all night?" Tasha asks, tone verging on complainey.

"Well, were you planning to go to bed early tonight?" Steve's beaming, but his joke doesn't land.

"Fuck you." Tasha crosses her arms. The tiny triangles of her bra are, in fact, neon pink.

"Hospital pancakes are not that bad," Steve insists. He digs the car keys from his pocket. "And you are legally the next of kin."

Tasha has to pull out her claws a little, just to prove she can fight, despite her usual needy cute kitten act. She hates looking like she's capable of caretaking. Regarding herself, and everyone else.

Thing is, though, that's an act, too. She's seen James in and out of the hospital before, and she knows it turns out fine. She can be in charge of James. Take his prosthetic on and off. Shoot disgusting medicated gel into his gumline. It's nothing. And nothing like it was an hour earlier when there was imminent danger for a different member of the party.

"I know this isn't exactly like we planned for it to end," Steve says. "But I'm pretty sure we're clear of danger, uh, mostly, and all that's left is the phone call." He looks amongst them, probably to ascertain understanding, but Tasha's clearly lost, and James isn't ready to let laughter out of his throat, lest more bile come with it.

"I gotta scram before we call the cops on ourselves and I get a ticket for self-sabotage." Steve points toward the back door and it's glowing exit sign. Then he raises his brows to Tasha. "You want to do the honors? You do know the phone number, right?"

It's clearly another tease, but Steve deserves the finger Tasha shoots him after she starts scrolling through her phone and answers him with a terse ASL "yes."

"Cool. See you guys soon?" Steve gives a last look or assurance before starting at a clip to the back door. James wonders if his paranoia will end up as beneficiary or overkill.

Once Steve's out of sight, Tasha rolls her eyes and gives James a sideways smile. "What do you want? The ambulance and the gurney? The non-emergency police help desk? Or CrimeStoppers?"

[sadfruittheatre]

Name: Aneas

Age: Over 5000 (equivalent to a 15-year-old)

Gender: Nonbinary (he/they)

Species: Shinjin/Core Person (I lovingly call them fruitboys)

Height: 4’

Likes: gardening, sewing, cooking, romance novels, and corny jokes

Dislikes: himself, silence, people who are rude to/about his wife, aphids, and high shelves

Fears: fucking up his job and also that one day his plants will suddenly become sentient and start revealing everything he’s ever told them, or alternately start judging him or telling him they hate him

Personality: Aneas is generally very shy, reserved, and nervous. He doesn’t like to stand out, and he doesn’t even think he should. That said, he always tries to be amicable and kind, and if you get to know him, he’ll talk your ear off about the things he’s interested in. He’s a hopeless romantic and catches feelings easily— so easily, in fact, that he is already married (to someone his own age, don’t worry), and takes his duties as a husband very seriously.

However, he also struggles with a lot of internal darkness. He’s severely depressed, which can often manifest as anger, bitterness, and thoughts of violence. Said violent thoughts are especially likely to become violent actions if you upset his wife in any way, shape, or form. His self-esteem is incredibly low and he’s often prone to jealousy and projecting his own insecurities onto others. He hates this part of himself and trying to be a good person in spite of his darker impulses only adds to the imposter syndrome he already feels.

Background: Aneas is from Universe 5, one of the four universes (out of twelve) that isn’t some degree of a dumpster fire, and for the most part, has lived a pretty average life. He was an average kid, with average skills and an average amount of friends. And that was perfectly fine by him, until his friend Bragi suddenly had a lot less time to hang out thanks to all the special classes he was in. He was worried that this development would potentially spell out the end of their friend group, so he decided that he would try to study and train hard so he could bridge that gap between them.

However, not everyone is born with natural talent. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t catch up. He couldn’t even come close to catching up. The repeated failed efforts had done a number on his self-esteem, and in an unfortunate case of projection, he was sure his friend thought he was as stupid and useless as he did, so eventually, he just sort of gave up. Not just on this, but everything. He sort of just coasted by until one day, it was announced that there would be a lottery held to find the next West Kai.

Aneas entered his name into the drawing on a dare and lo and behold, it was the first time he’d won a drawing for anything. He was entirely too young and entirely too unqualified, but the lottery had spoken. And so, armed with some basic training from the other Kais, he made his new home on a tiny planet somewhere in the Other World where he would watch over his quadrant of the universe and try to figure out what in the hell he was doing.

His mental health was already bad enough, and none of this was helping much, but in a desperate attempt to keep himself from spiraling any further, he took up gardening. It took a lot of trial and error, but it proved to be something he was really good at. It wasn’t long before most of his little planet was filled with plants, all with their own names and personalities and meticulously interconnected lore. Was he going a little crazy? Probably. But talking to an audience that could never possibly judge him for his darkest thoughts wound up being incredibly therapeutic.

However, his life would change dramatically once again when he was more or less voluntold to be a parole officer for a high profile prisoner of the Time Patrol because no one else wanted to do it. Coulie, the apprentice of the Demon King’s sister, Towa, was someone with a lot of blood on her hands thanks to her incredibly dubious science experiments, and now she was at his front door. The initial encounter was tense and awkward, but they quickly found some common ground in their loneliness and talking about these more difficult feelings with the plants they worked with all day, and both of them sort of ended up forgetting why they had to meet like this to begin with.

After awhile, Coulie expressed the desire to stay with him once her parole was up, and so, being that they were already raising a beautiful plant named Eugene together, Aneas, sufferer of terminal Shoujo Bitch Disease, saw only one course of action: marriage. It was some wishful thinking that got entirely out of hand, but after a lot of miscommunication and one of Eugene’s leaves blowing in the air, Coulie reciprocated and the two were wed.

However, their peaceful wedded bliss can’t last forever, as their pasts tend to keep coming back to haunt them in various ways, from Aneas’s childhood friends, to Coulie’s former cohort and prince of the Demon Realm, Fu. Not to mention all the gods and demons alike who are more than a little baffled by U5’s baby West Kai marrying U7’s baby demon war criminal.

Will they ever know peace? Will it all come crashing down in divorce? Find out on the next episode of SAD FRUIT THEATRE!

[silversatoru]

birthdays don’t have to suck

fushiguro megumi x f!reader (elli)

synopsis: you get really sick on your birthday, but megumi makes sure that you still have a good day :))

t/w: fluff, reader is sick, vomiting, medicine (tylenol lol), some details pertain specifically to elli

wc: 2.2k

a/n: a small birthday present for the love of my life @megumifushi who never sleeps enough and is always sick,, i love u and i hope ur days not too bad <3

you stared into your dimly lit laptop, red eyes squinting at the black text that sped across the screen as your fingers scrambled against the keys. you weren’t even sure that what you were writing was comprehensible at this point, but your essay that was due tomorrow morning wasn’t gonna write itself. at this point it just needed to get done, concerns of quality were thrown out the window hours ago.

aside from the burning and stinging in your eyes, your entire body ached, and you were ridden with chills and goosebumps. seemed like a fever was coming on, but you didn’t have the time or capacity to care about that right now. you’d pop a few tylenol and crawl into bed in a couple hours, and everything would be better tomorrow.

what time was it anyway? it couldn’t possibly be that late yet, right? 

you glanced to the corner of the screen, eyes falling on a bright 3:56am that made your heart sink and your eyes widen. you had a terrible habit of losing track of time and staying up into ungodly hours of the night — a habit that your wonderful boyfriend was trying so terribly hard to break. 

you glanced to your left and took in his sleeping form, his lips parted ever so slightly as he took small breaths of air. he’d be disappointed and upset with you if he knew how horrid your sleep schedule had been lately, and he’d probably blame your chills and headaches on your lack of sleep as well — which in all fairness was probably pretty accurate. 

“i’ll just finish this up real quick and then i promise i’ll sleep, ‘kay gumi?” you spoke softly, running your fingers through his soft, spiky hair. 

he was undisturbable, his mind off somewhere in a dreamland that was quite the distance from your small bedroom. and that was probably for the better, because him nagging at you to go to sleep would be too distracting for you to get your work done. 

your hands moved rapidly against the keyboard for about another hour, words spilling onto the screen until you finally hit the page requirement for your paper. it was probably terrible, most likely had a few words spelled wrong, and honestly you were pretty certain you’d repeated yourself several times, but fuck it — submit. you were typically an excellent student, so one bad paper wouldn’t kill you, and you were too tired and achy to care right now. 

you got up and placed your laptop onto your desk, plugging it in and letting a heavy sigh fall from your lips as you made your way back over to the bed. the soft blankets were therapeutically warm on your chilly skin as you crawled in against megumi’s back, effectively turning him into the little spoon and pressing your nose to the back of his neck. thankfully, sleep found you shortly after, your eyes fluttering shut as you drifted off into a much needed slumber. 

babe 

wake up 

babe

you woke up to small finger pokes to your cheek from megumi, his face laced with concern as your vision finally focused on his features. he bent over and pressed his lips to your forehead, pausing there for a fraction of a second and then standing back up. 

“i think you have a fever. i noticed when i woke up and you felt like a fucking space heater,” he frowned, confirming your initial suspicions from last night, “i’ll go get some medicine”.

you groggily nodded your head, shivers coursing through your body and dotting your extremities with goosebumps. your condition had definitely deteriorated overnight, your eyes stinging and a horrible nausea creeping up your throat. 

by the time he returned with the medicine you had yourself propped up against the pillows, thick blankets pulled up to your chin in an attempt to minimize the icy feeling in your body. he handed two small tylenol tablets to you with a disappointed look on his face — a look that said: i’m gonna kick your ass for not getting enough sleep again. 

“i’ll let everyone know you’re not feeling well enough to go out tonight,” he hummed as he handed you a glass of water, your brain filling with thick fog as you tried to decipher why he would need to let anyone know you were sick. 

the look of pure confusion signaled to him that you had no idea what he was talking about, megumi shaking his head before he spoke up again, “it’s your birthday, dumbass, we were supposed to get food and stuff with yuuji, inumaki, and nobara and maki”. 

birthday 

oh 

forgetting about that was another habit you continued to succumb to every year.

“mm, shit,” you sighed after drinking back the pills, “i forgot”. 

“figured you would,” megumi clicked his tongue, “but i didn’t, because i’m a good boyfriend. can you drag yourself out to the kitchen? you should eat”.

“don’t think so,” you mumbled, attempting to disappear back under the blankets before he could coerce you to follow him outside of the bedroom. 

but megumi is impossibly even more stubborn than you are, wrapping his arms under your body and lifting you to his chest, “guess i’ll just have to carry you then”. 

“fine,” you let out a long groan — was it a bit dramatic? maybe. but in your defense you felt like you’d been hit with a train.

he peppered your face with kisses as he carried you out of the bedroom, lovingly setting you down on one of the high bar stools around your kitchen table. he instructed you to stay in the chair, abruptly returning to the bedroom to bring out a couple blankets to wrap around your shoulders. you were grateful for the extra heat, you body still shaking and shivering as the medications worked to cure your fever. 

megumi was a man of few words, preferring to display his love for you through acts of service than grand confessions, and this was very eminent when he wordlessly grabbed a couple pots and began cooking for you. you let your face fall onto your arms, resting your chin as you watched him silently shuffle between the stove and the pantry. the silence was comfortable, and you weren't going to complain about watching your muscular boyfriend walk around the kitchen in nothing but a pair of loose, plaid pajama pants. 

a few minutes later he was placing a steaming bowl of soup and a couple slices of baked bread in front of you, a savory scent flooding your nostrils. 

“red lentil,” he spoke as he handed you a spoon, “it’s your favorite, so you better eat it”. 

“yes, sir,” you gave him a small smile, dipping the cool metal into the hot liquid and scooping a spoonful into your mouth. 

“all of it”

“yes, megumi, i will try”

to no surprise, the soup went down pretty fucking horribly, your head hanging low over the toilet while megumi held your hair out of the way. your throat was practically raw by the time you were done heaving and vomiting up the meal, your eyes brimming with hot tears. 

megumi tied your hair up in a neat bun so he could step away, filling up a glass with water and carefully helping you to take small sips and rinse out your mouth. he was tedious with the clean up, washing your face and helping you brush your teeth — ensuring that you felt the best you could given the situation. he then scooped you back into his arms, carrying you back to bed and profusely apologizing for making you eat the soup — but he was just trying to make you feel better, he really was doing his best.

you were ready to add today to your long list of terrible birthdays, chalking it up as another failed attempt, but megumi was not about to let that happen. he knew you had a rough history with birthdays, but now that he was here? you’d have a bad birthday over his dead body. 

he scoured the back of your fridge for ginger ale, gatorade, jello, and whatever else he could find to make you the perfect sick-person platter. and he made sure he was logged into every streaming service that the two of you collectively owned, preparing netflix, hulu, and crunchy roll so that he could easily access every single one of your favorite shows and movies. and so you spent the majority of your day tucked safely against megumi’s chest, forcing down small sips of ginger ale and watching an assortment of tv. 

your phone rang at some point — a facetime call from all of your friends who had gotten together so they could all wish you a collective happy birthday. megumi stuck a singular candle into a cup of blue-raspberry jello and ignited it with a small flame; and then they all sang the most terrible rendition of “happy birthday” that you’d ever heard, yuuji’s voice a little louder and little more out-of-tune than everyone else's.

you mustered enough energy to blow out the flame, everyone cheering while megumi shoveled a scoop of the blue jelly into your mouth. you swallowed it with a smile, praying it stayed down while everyone sent you off with an assortment of “feel better!”, “we love you!”, and “wish you were here!”

your night got pretty quiet after that, you and megumi climbing back under the covers to watch a few more episodes of your new favorite anime. it wasn’t until well into the night that he finally asked you if he could give you the presents he’d gotten for you. reluctantly, you said yes. you hated receiving gifts (it was just one of the many reasons you hated your birthday) but you knew that megumi wasn’t going to take no for answer. 

he was obviously nervous, palms sweaty as he handed you a couple neatly wrapped packages in plain, solid colored paper. they were very megumi, perfect folds with not a single crease, the paper simple yet elegant and adorned with a singular bow on top. 

you hesitantly peeled the paper off the smaller of the two, revealing a tiny box that contained a classic looking silver locket. you felt your heart pinch in your chest as you clicked the locket open and revealed two small pictures of each of the two of you. you weren’t particularly sentimental, but on top of your lack of sleep and not feeling very well, the simple gift caused few tears to well up in your eyes. but he was quick to wipe them away, insisting that you had to open the second gift first, and that birthdays weren’t meant for crying. 

you followed his instructions, ripping open the second package and revealing a larger box that contained a series of envelopes. each one was decorated with tiny doodles of you and megumi, his demon dogs, hearts, etc. they were sickeningly cute, and you immediately reached for the first one before megumi reached out and stopped you. 

“they’re not for now; they’re for when i’m gone, you know, on missions and stuff,” he could barely even maintain eye contact, his eyes dipping low as yours filled back up with tears. 

despite your lack of energy and the fever that was starting to return, you showered him in hugs and kisses after that, thanking him over and over for the most perfect gifts, and for making your day as wonderful as it could have been. 

all things aside, you were coming around to the idea that birthday’s don’t have to suck. 

bonus: the first letter: 

to y/n:

i know im not great at telling you what i have to say through words, actually, i’m kind of really bad at it. but i thought writing these might be a nice way to try and get better? i’m not sure. anyway, i guess i’ll start by saying that you mean a lot to me, and i probably miss you a lot right now (even though ill be too afraid to reach out and say it). not sure how long i’ll be gone for at the time but it’s probably a few days at least. gonna work hard so i can hurry back to see you. 

i hope you’re sleeping enough, but i know you’re not. you never do, especially when i’m not there to yell at you. i hope you’re eating enough too. but you’re probably also not doing that. you’re like taking care of a stubborn child, you know that? but this is supposed to be a love letter so i’ll try to refrain from scolding you too much. but do try to take care of yourself. ill see you soon. 

megumi

[lin-nin]

Tribulation & Tenderness - Chapter 8

Ship: Main Technoblade x Reader, some Dream x Reader

Plot:  You're a princess in a Kingdom suffering a years long famine. In a   desperate attempt to help your people, you accept one simple offer:   Marriage to the crown prince of a neighboring kingdom. Anything to help your people survive. Surely it can't be too bad, can it?

Chapter List: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Disclaimer:   Cross-posted on Wattpad (discontinued) and Ao3. This is based off of everyone's CHARACTERS. I do not write fanfic based off the actual people.

--

Chapter 8: Introductions

< | Previous Chapter

At some point in the journey, you had opened the curtains to the carriage windows, peering outside of them curiously. You knew you were well beyond your territory now. All the lands that sprawled outside were Techno’s, small farms and towns whipping by as you went. You weren’t entirely sure exactly how long the two of you had been traveling, but you knew you were beyond ready to get out and stretch. Your legs were growing restless, and you were sure it showed in how you shifted constantly beneath your blanket.

“We’ll be there soon. The capital isn’t too far off now, those are the outlying villages there,” Techno spoke up, glancing from the book in his lap. He pointed out the window, your gaze following the direction. Beyond the window stood a clearly more populated town. It seemed to flourish well. At least from what you could see.

“Good. I’m tired of being in here,” You nearly whined, leaning back some. He chuckled in response, returning his attention back to his book. The two of you had lapsed into silence some time ago, but it was welcome. You took the time to watch the landscape roll by. Now, though, you were just ready to get to the castle. You knew it was definitely gonna be eventful, though you weren’t entirely sure how eventful. 

The scenery slowly morphed from the flourishing outer towns to that of the capital, buildings lining the cobbled streets. People were looking towards the carriage, clearly clamoring. Were they excited to see you? Or were they unhappy that it was you inside with Techno? You couldn’t gauge that from inside, and you weren’t sure you really wanted the answer. Not right now, at least. You sunk against the seat, closing your eyes and taking a slow breath. That similar nervousness was beginning to build in your stomach again.

“It won’t be too bad. They’re not scary.” Techno reassured you from his spot, closing his book and setting it aside. He glanced out of the window instead. You shifted, giving a small nod.

“It’s hard to not be nervous. You are the only person here I know,” you murmured. Your fingers curled into the blanket on your lap. Then they smoothed it over, repeating the motion several times. As if it were the most therapeutic thing there was right now. The castle was quickly coming into sight, and you nervously chewed on your lip. Was there anything about this place that wasn't intimidating?

As if to answer your question, the carriage lurched to a halt. No sooner than the carriage's stop, you could hear an almost overwhelming clamor outside of it. "Technoblade!" One voice had called out, clearly enunciating each syllable of his name. You turned to the aforem prince, raising an eyebrow.

Before he could even comment, a much louder voice was calling out, "Oi! Techno! Took you long enough to get here!" Were those both his brothers? He sighed, standing up to move towards the door.

"Might as well get it over with before they come in here themselves." He shook his head, opening the door and stepping down onto the stone beneath the carriage. He turned back towards the carriage and where you sat, holding out a hand to help you down. You had carefully moved the blanket away from your lap, moving towards the exit. Your hand was shaking, you realized, as you settled it into Techno’s. His fingers curled around your palm, grounding you slightly as you followed him down onto the path below. Once you had landed safely, his hand was withdrawing from yours. Much to your chagrin. 

Your attention was forced away from Techno, instead to the small gathering of people who had been clearly waiting. Four of them stood there, and you really wanted to shrink away from them. It didn’t help that two of them were tall. Just like Techno. Were those his brothers? There were certainly some similarities between them.

“How was your trip?” One of the men said. He wasn’t as tall as the others, but he was clearly older. Blonde hair was held in a loose ponytail, quite similar to how Techno wore his. Just without the braids. His blue eyes were framed by the faintest hint of bags. He seemed… nice. Whoever he was, Techno hadn’t told you of him. 

"It was fine. Philza, meet my fiancée," Techno motioned towards you. The man turned to you with a soft smile, offering his hand out for a shake. You very carefully took it, offering a soft smile.

"Lovely to meet you. I'm these boys's uncle." He let go of your hand as he spoke. At least he was relatively nice. It helped to soothe your nerves. Of course, it still didn't stop you from sticking to Techno’s side, almost literally. He was the most reassuring thing here.

"Those are my brothers," Techno grabbed your attention, pointing out the two tall ones.

"Wilbur," he identified one of them. He was the tallest of the group. If he had been closer, you undoubtedly would have had to crane your head back. He didn't have long hair, but it was instead kept short. Soft brown curls sat messily atop his head, a few trapped beneath a thin circlet. His brown eyes looked nothing short of tired. That seemed to be a theme among the family, but you didn't exactly question it. He raised his hand, waving at you.

"Pleasure." He inclined his head, and you could only blink. This was the man your parents assumed you would be marrying. He definitely held himself differently from Techno, so you could understand their rage.

"Nice to meet you, Wilbur." You were quick to greet, turning to look at the blonde one beside him. His hair was quite similar to Wilbur’s, just blonde instead of brunette. He bore quite the resemblance to Philza. Just younger and taller. Blue eyes looked at you excitedly, not nearly as exhausted looking as his family.

"Tommy." Techno gave Tommy a very pointed glare. Almost as if to tell him to behave.

"It's about time Techno got a wife," Tommy huffed. His voice was louder than Wilbur and Philza's. You had a feeling it could get louder if prompted. Heat rose to your cheeks at the statement, and you looked aside. You weren’t married to him yet.

"I'm Tubbo! Tommy's friend!" The shortest of the bunch greeted rather excitedly. He grinned at you, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. He seemed kind, even with the ends of his brown locks covering his brown eyes. Techno had been right. They didn't seem too bad, and all around seemed nice. Hopefully you were able to form a friendship with them over time.

"Schlatt has been in a fit about needing you to come talk to him when you came back. I told him you would be busy, but he didn’t care to listen,” Philza spoke up once more, causing Techno to give perhaps the most irritated sigh you had heard.

“I don’t care about him. What does he even want?” Techno put a hand between your shoulders, gingerly steering you forward towards the castle. He walked alongside Philza, keeping his hand steady. You found solace in the touch, not caring to move away. You didn’t exactly want to get lost here.

“Same thing he wanted the past couple of weeks. Complaints about the marriage arrangement. You know he’s determined that this is the worst decision ever. It’s not, but he really has himself convinced it is,” Philza explained to Techno. You couldn’t help but frown at that. You had no idea who this Schlatt was, but he sounded somewhat important. He didn’t seem to like the idea of you being here, either.

“Hey, Tubbo,” Tommy’s voice rang from behind you. You hadn’t even noticed the other three following. That wasn’t exactly surprising, though. 

“Yes, Tommy?”

“Have you ever tried telling your father to shut the fuck up?” You couldn’t help but snort at the words, head shaking. “Why’s he care who Techno marries?” There was a couple of seconds of silence following the questions.

“You know he’s kind of scary, Tommy. I’m the one who has to stay with him at the end of the day.” Tubbo sounded almost reluctant, and you peered over your shoulder to get a peek at him and the blonde.

“Remember what happened last time he spoke out, Tommy. We agreed that we wouldn’t have him do anything like that again,” Wilbur had spoken up, voice level and calm. He sounded like a voice of reason to the younger.

“I know, I just wish someone would shut him up. Maybe we should give Tubbo a room in the castle. Techno! Hey, Techno!” Tommy pondered out loud before calling to the man beside you. Quite loudly. That must have been what Techno meant when he said Tommy was obnoxious. You had tuned out of Techno and Philza’s conversation in favor of the one the other three had been having, but turned your attention to the men beside you. Especially since Tommy was relentlessly dragging them into this conversation instead.

Techno sighed, not even bothering to glance at his younger brother. He must be used to this. There was no telling how much this happened. “Yes, Tommy?”

“Could we give Tubbo a room here in the castle? So he doesn’t have to deal with shitty Schlatt?” Tubbo stammered as Tommy spoke, as if weakly protesting. He was largely ignored.

“I’m not king yet, Tommy. That isn’t my call. It probably won’t be for a while.” He reasoned, leading the blonde to frustratedly groan. 

“Father never sides with me. Surely you can put a word in for poor Tubbo here.” You hardly paid attention to the shifting scenery around you, only distractedly noting the warm toned walls and tile floors. A touch nicer than your own castle, but somehow that wasn’t a surprise. You were more fond of listening to the siblings bicker back and forth between each other instead.

“Depends. Does Tubbo want a room in the castle?” All attention shifted to the aforementioned male, who seemed to sweat under the pressure.

“I, uh… I mean, I’m not entirely opposed to it, no. It would be nice to get away from him…” Tubbo murmured in uncertainty. Techno nodded, pausing in the middle of the room they had entered. Subsequently, his hand fell away from your shoulders and you immediately missed the warmth of his hand there. It had been comforting. Sure, it wasn’t as intimidating now that you knew four other people at least liked you. Yet you also knew there was one person, if not more, that weren’t entirely fond of you. Or the idea of you. 

“Then I’ll speak to him about it. I’m sure we have a room to spare. Now, do you three intend to follow me? I would like to do a tour of the castle,” Techno turned to the three others. You glanced over towards Philza, who simply chuckled and shook his head.

“I’ll see you around, little one,” The older blonde said. He walked by you, gently patting your shoulder in reassurance as he walked up one of the sets of stairs winding around either side of the room. 

“I’m going, Nihachu wants to see me for something anyways.” Wilbur didn’t say much, instead opting to just walk away. That was fine with you, honestly. You briefly watched him go down a hall to the left of the stairs, wondering who Nihachu was. You’d probably meet them sooner or later. There were a lot of people to meet, but there was time for that.

“Oh, you hear that Tubbo? Techno wants to be alone with his woman-” Tommy had began loudly, causing Techno to groan.

“Tommy-”

“Let’s give him some privacy. Behave yourselves, you two! Don’t do anything Quackity would do!” Tommy was already leaving, dragging Tubbo alongside him. Techno sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. You really understood what he meant when he called Tommy obnoxious. 

“Ignore him. He’s an idiot. Let’s just go, shall we?” He turned towards you. You laughed a little, shaking your head.

“He’s certainly a character. They all are,” You couldn’t help smiling fondly though. You knew you would grow to like them. They had, momentarily, squashed all stress and worry you had felt. Techno’s hand returned to your shoulder, moving you along the way to finally start the proper tour of the castle. Without Tommy breathing down your shoulders.

Next Chapter | >

[thechanelmuse]

TW: rape

‘I May Destroy You,’ Michaela Coel’s gimlet-eyed exploration of trauma and its myriad ripple effects follows Arabella (Coel) — a funny, messy, sharp-as-hell London writer — after a dizzying night in which she’s drugged and raped by a stranger. At first, she dismisses the hazy memory as just an upsetting image in her head. Soon enough, though, Arabella reluctantly comes to understand it as the truth, and tries to work through that horrifying reality without coming apart. [...]

Not every part of Arabella has a direct line to Coel, but the series’ catalyzing experience, unfortunately, does. In 2016, Coel took a break from a marathon writing session for the second season of “Chewing Gum” to grab a drink with a friend, and was drugged and assaulted by a stranger. She’s been sifting through the emotional wreckage ever since to find some kind of clarity, if not peace. Now, with “I May Destroy You,” she’s doing it for all the world to see. “As a fellow android exploring what it means to be human,” says Coel’s friend Janelle Monáe, “watching Michaela be vulnerable on-screen as she walks in her truth gives me and so many the bravery to walk in ours.” [...]

Coel began writing “I May Destroy You” in February 2017, in between acting in TV projects like the “USS Callister” episode of “Black Mirror” and Netflix’s limited series “Black Earth Rising.” She took solo mountain trips and wrote draft after draft of what would eventually become “I May Destroy You,” spilling her stories and tangled guts onto the page, rearranging them into shapes she could better recognize. In August 2018, she spoke about her trauma publicly while delivering the Edinburgh International Television Festival’s James MacTaggart Memorial Lecture, a prestigious assignment the festival has otherwise bestowed on a cadre of white British television mainstays (as well as no fewer than three Murdochs). 

The majority of Coel’s speech, delivered to a room of the U.K.’s most powerful entertainment brokers, traced the constant racism and classism she endured on the way to that Edinburgh stage — a theme subtextually underlined by the fact that Coel was, and remains, the only Black woman to have that platform. She spoke about turning her solo play “Chewing Gum Dreams” into a “Chewing Gum” TV series (which aired 2015-17 on the U.K.’s Channel 4), a transformative time that taught her the technicalities of making television and confirmed just how disinclined certain white gatekeepers are to trust a poorer Black woman’s vision. Toward the end of the 50-minute lecture, Coel revealed her assault and elucidated the industry’s inability — or unwillingness — to handle such a human emergency when pages are due. As for her recovery, she said, “It’s been therapeutic to write about it, and actively twist a narrative of pain into something with more hope, and even humor.”

When it finally came time to translate it all to the screen, “I May Destroy You” was so close to her bruised heart that Coel took on the challenge of playing several roles throughout the series’ development: creator, writer, actor, producer, director. Netflix offered her a total fee of a cool $1 million to make and star in the show, but the proposed contract wouldn’t grant Coel even a tiny percentage of the rights. She hadn’t fully realized how much claiming legal proprietorship over her work mattered to her until the prospect of not being able to emerged, at which point it became crucial. 

Then, after some Googling, she realized that her CAA agents would also be profiting from the deal via the endangered practice of packaging. Stung and surprised, Coel walked away from both her agents and the offer. “I’m not anti-Netflix,” she’s quick to say now, “but I am pro-‘the creator, writer, director, actor should probably have a right.’” She’s hyper-aware of how much this project required of her, and how comparatively little granting her “a right” might cost a powerful network like Netflix. “That’s not quite fair, is it?” Coel muses. Creating the show, after all, took almost everything she had.

With the BBC, a million-dollar paycheck might not have been in the cards, but more important to Coel, she didn’t have to fight half as hard to claim ownership. (As a matter of industry course, it’s far more common for British studios to afford creators rights to their work than it is for American equivalents.) They struck a deal, and Coel got to work.[...]

“When you’re restricted,” she explains, “sometimes that’s where you find great things: in the lack of possibility.” She attributes this rather Zen approach to Hugo Blick, the “Black Earth Rising” showrunner who showed her the value of keeping a cool, empathetic head on set. Blick’s ability to step away from a gnarly situation for even 30 calming seconds is one that Coel has worked to hone for herself, especially while steering a series with such fraught ties to her history. No matter how sideways things might go, she never wants to forget just how much she loves the collaborative act of building a television show, wild complications and all. 

Read more

From Forbes:

I May Destroy You’s Michaela Coel Rejected Netflix’s $1 Million Offer In Favor Of The BBC Because Of Ownership

The creative, who stars as Arabella and wrote all 12 episodes, started pitching the programme in the spring of 2017 with one of her first ports of call being Netflix who picked up her prior series Chewing Gum.

Though Netflix offered a generous upfront fee of $1 million (£800,000), the sum had strings attached, including full rights ownership away from the creator, something Coel pushed back against. Coel recalls a moment during the interview where she is speaking with a Netflix development executive on the phone, asking if she could retain even a very small 0.5% of the copyright to her show.

“There was just silence on the phone. And she said, ‘It’s not how we do things here. Nobody does that, it’s not a big deal,’” Coel recollected. “I said, ‘If it’s not a big deal, then I’d really like to have 5 % of my rights,’” Coel added, stating that she even went down to 2%, and then 1% and even as a final compromise to 0.5%.

Coel remembers that the executive said she would have to run it passed her superiors, before adding, “‘Michaela? I just want you to know I’m really proud of you. You’re doing the right thing.'”

“I remember thinking, I’ve been going down rabbit holes in my head, like people thinking I’m paranoid, I’m acting sketchy, I’m killing off all my agents,” Coel says. “And then she said those words to me, and I finally realized — I’m not crazy. This is crazy.”

Coel discovered her agents, Creative Artists Agency (CAA) were set to make an undisclosed amount from the series if she took the deal with Netflix. She reveals that the agency pushed her to take the deal prior to her finding out and their subsequent dismissal as her U.S. representation.

Taking the project to British broadcaster the BBC later in 2017, Coel found the corporation to be supportive with her maintaining creative control even with the explicit depictions of sex, sexual assault and drug use. Plus, as the broadcaster had to adhere to terms of trade, Coel had no problem with retaining the rights also. The broadcaster also brought HBO to the table as another co-producer to help subsidise a portion of the budget.

Read more

This isn’t about just “knowing your worth;” it’s about knowing the business (your business) and never settling just to secure “something.” A million dollar offer, no copyright ownership and no creative control is beyond disrespectful. Learn the business in whatever field you’re in and stay acclimated with jargon and new, current and old practices. Know your shit. 

It’s like when people say “Get a lawyer” to handle negotiations and look over your paperwork. You pay a lawyer to do a job, but it does not mean you should be oblivious to aspects of law and contract jargon among other things because “that’s what they’re there to do.” You can’t say someone (sometimes lawyers included) screwed you over after you’ve signed the dotted line. They’re protecting and looking out for themselves. Commit to do the same for yourself.

[astaroth1357]

(Yes, I still have more requests but I need a creativity break. This has been in my drafts for a while so I share it with you now)

How to Comfort Your Demon Boyfriend

Have Some Sympathy for the Devil...

Demons are amoral beings by nature. This lack of natural empathy and ethical restraint can make them appear to be heartless, but nothing is farther from the truth. In fact, your beloved hellspawn can feel happiness and love just as well as you can but that also means they can experience sadness too... When this happens it’s only natural to want to cajole your lover back to high spirits, but this task can be easier said than done. For cases when your demon has taken up sorrow, our guide How to Comfort Your Demon Boyfriend is here to help! This volume will offer you some of the best advice on the market for how to bring your demon back to happiness as any lover would want to do. With our help, you should see that frown lift right off your partner’s face just like when they torment the beings left for eternal damnation, guaranteed!

Lucifer

Lucifer will not want to make his sorrow known to you at first. He prefers to present an image of power and composure which in his mind goes against the vulnerability sadness can bring. You will have to be mindful and watch out for changes in his behavior.

If he is: avoiding your presence, working even more than usual, being stricter on others, emotionally distant, isolating himself, or listening to an inordinate amount of classical music it may be time to intervene.

Engage Lucifer on this only when he is alone. This won’t be too difficult as he will likely be avoiding people anyway.

Approaching Lucifer on a matter this sensitive should be done with caution and great care. You have very little room for error. If you make a gaff or try to speak to him in a way he deems belittling, then he may shut you out further and then you’re back at square one.

Do you best to convey concern, compassion, and sincerity. In your mind you should not be speaking to the Avatar of Pride right now. You should be approaching someone very dear to you whom you can tell is hurting.

If Lucifer is not ready to speak, he will try to console you but give you no concrete answers for his behavior. This is normal, and a tad frustrating, but not a complete shutdown. You can wait for a time (at least overnight) and then try again.

Do not interrogate him. He may not feel comfortable divulging why he's upset just yet. Simply tell him what you’ve noticed about his behavior and express concern.

When Lucifer is finally ready to tell you what has him so gloomy, take care to listen intently. He may only admit this once. 

Once the information is out in the open, assess what can be done and what advice you can offer. Lucifer isn’t one to speak idly about his problems, he will likely be seeking some kind of actionable guidance more than a willing ear. Offer all suggestions empathetically, with the understanding that he values your opinion even if he doesn't take your advise.

A new plan of action will likely soothe him the most, but if he still appears to be troubled after your discussion you can offer him further relaxation options: tea, a hot bath, more classical music, pleasant conversation, etc. 

Now that he’s let you in, he shouldn’t begrudge your presence anymore so remain with him for as long as you feel is necessary. To some extent, Lucifer needs solitude to sort out his thoughts but he’s not the best at doing the same for his emotions. Remind him, gently, that some battles take two to win.

Mammon

If Mammon is upset, you’re probably going to know about it. Where Lucifer is reserved and secretive, Mammon is overt and transparent. He may not mean to be but it is what it is. He wears his heart on his sleeve.

Signs that Mammon may be in distress include: avoidance to particular topics, unconvincing denial, crying, clinginess, impulsivity, and, in extremes, desperation.

If Mammon is upset he will naturally gravitate to you for comfort. This certainly makes your task easier so long as you pick up on the signs quickly.

Physical closeness will do wonders for easing his mood. If you’re alone, I’d suggest holding him in some way but doing so in public may make him too embarrassed to actually enjoy your comfort. If you’re with others, allow him to hold you.

Get him talking. It won’t be very difficult, so just let him air out what the problem is. He may just need to complain about a bad day or some unfair treatment and that’s totally fine. Offer him a sympathetic ear.

After he’s done speaking, assess where his mood is now. If he still seems particularly gloomy, it may be the time to deploy other measures to bring him back to happiness.

Affection and humor are the best methods to use when dealing with a sad Mammon. Make a joke at the expense of whoever/whatever is troubling him then take the time to remind him of something positive about himself or your bond. He won’t accept these compliments verbally (but he won’t want you to stop them either).

If even this is not enough (and you’re feeling generous), you can offer to take him shopping or out to eat on your expense. Be warned that he will NEVER refuse this offer and you best have the funds to cover his (immense) expenses. Grimm can’t buy you happiness, but if you’re Mammon it comes very, very close.

Leviathan

Chances are if Levi is sad it’s due to an insecurity of some kind nagging at him. Like Mammon, he generally won’t be very subtle about it.

Look for these signs: melancholy, self-deprecation, envious statements, the phrase “It’s not fair!,” increased anime/game usage, crying, loss of appetite, lack of sleep, increased possessiveness.

Leviathan will periodically go through moods of self-doubt that will cause him to deflate and draw inward. He will not be able of pull himself out of these recurring regressions so it will be up to you to take notice of when he’s struggling.

If you see signs that he is falling victim to his thoughts, it's best to comfort him some before getting to the bottom of what’s wrong.

Find a way to hold him, if he’s currently playing a game then either wait for him to reach a stopping point or ask politely if he will pause so you can give him some affection. He will likely cling onto you in some way once he’s ready to speak. This is normal behavior, allow him to be as close as he needs and pat his head. He will find this soothing. 

Now gently ask him what has him so upset and assess the situation. Levi may have several insecurities but always remember that he also has many strengths. Downplay his weaknesses and bolster those strengths when necessary.

He may not appear to believe your compliments at first, but this initial denial is normal. DO NOT BE DISCOURAGED. Your words mean more to him than anyone else’s, even his own. There will be a point where he stops attempting to refute your claims, that is a sign that they have reached him.

With his self-esteem bolstered, seal the deal with more affection. Kisses, hugs, and other forms of intimacy are all acceptable as he is in sore need of all options. Monitoring Levi’s emotional wellbeing is not a task for the faint of heart, yet it can still be a rewarding experience to those who wish to love this awkward otaku.

Satan

Satan takes a little after Lucifer in that he won’t be very obvious when he’s upset, but even more so because he’s already very used to acting against what he may be feeling.

Signs that Satan is in need of comfort will be subtle, but not impossible to spot. Look for if: he’s reading at nearly all times or gravitating especially toward one particular topic (this will be in response to a problem he may be facing), irritability, impatience, melancholy, or he’s more quiet/withdrawn than usual.

It is best to approach Satan about this in solitude but you need not be in private.

There is little need to walk on eggshells when asking him about his mood. Simply present your concerns in an honest and compassionate manner. Chances are, he was only hiding his problems so not to trouble you. Being direct in telling him that he doesn’t burden you will likely get him to open up just fine.

Again, like Lucifer, he will probably be seeking a solution to what’s bothering him more than he will need to vent. It’s alright if you don’t have an answer for him right away, if he’s looking for one himself it may not be a very simple problem.

Offer your support and maybe help him brainstorm what sort of steps he can take. Knowing that you’ve noticed his emotional state and are behind him fully will reassure him greatly.

If this problem has him particularly downtrodden, offer him a good book or some sort of cat-related activity/item. This should perk him up considerably because the thing he loves second to only you, is cats.

Asmodeus

If Asmodeus is upset, you WILL know.

He is not subtle in the slightest so finding signs won’t be much of a challenge. If he is: crying, moping, acting uncharacteristically withdrawn, shying away from partying, buying excessive amounts of makeup/clothing/jewelry, etc. then he is likely in need of comfort.

Approach Asmo anywhere that you can find him and ask him why he what's wrong. There isn’t any need to hide his feelings from others, he’s very open about his emotions.

He will probably tell you immediately and may need to vent in the process. Listen patiently to what he has to say with a sympathetic ear. This is a therapeutic release for him and a very important step towards making him feel better.

Once he’s done, offer him physical comfort. A hug or kisses should suffice, but it can be taken farther to whatever level you are most comfortable with. He will appreciate any contact that’s offered regardless.

If time passes and he still seems unusually somber, offer to take him shopping or to go to a spa of some kind. This may not completely rid him of his sadness, but it will help bring him back to higher spirits. 

Asmodeus’ emotions run deep and can be very intense, both in highs and lows. Do not feel inadequate if it takes a few days to fully rid him of a bad mood. Just be there for him as best you can and he will love and be grateful to you for every minute of it, regardless.

Beelzebub

Beelzebub is not likely to voice his sadness, but it can still be picked up on pretty quickly if you know what to look for.

Look for these signs: he’s eating less/smaller portions than usual, unfinished plates, general looks of sorrow or unhappiness, exercising more/in excess of what's healthy, and gravitation towards comfort foods.

The first thing to note is there’s a chance that his sadness isn’t his own, but Belphegor’s just carrying over to him due their twin connection. It may be advantageous to check on Belphie before approaching Beel just in case. (For more on cheering up Belphegor, consult the next section).

If Belphie is fine, then go to Beel and gently ask him what’s wrong. Again, there is little need to beat around the bush here. Like Satan, he probably just didn’t want to trouble you.

The chances are that he’s upset about a family matter or he’s having nightmares again. If it’s a problem within the family, first ascertain if there’s an upset between him and Belphie. If the twins are having a spat, the best way to cheer him up would be to help resolve it.

For other family related issues, please seek out our supplementary material: On Demonic Family Relations & How to Resolve Demonic Family Squabbles

If he’s having nightmares, then you should consider monitoring what food he eats before bed and stay with him while he sleeps if you are not already. It will comfort him to have you close. The nightmares should pass eventually, but be there to give him love and support until they do. 

Beel may look big and intimidating, but he has the most heart of any demon out there. If he has gifted it to you, it’s only natural for you to feel distressed if he’s not acting like his usual self. Just remember that a downcast Beel is not the end of the world, nor something that can’t be righted with a bit of love and effort to reach out.

Belphegor

In truth, Belphegor is more prone than the rest to suffer from bouts of sadness regularly. There may not be an obvious cause for these dips in mood, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t things you can do to help.

Belphie is very hard to read at times so physical indicators of sadness won’t be easy to catch. It may take some added familiarity with him to know when he’s acting differently than usual. Stay patient, vigilant, and empathetic. You will pick up on it eventually.

Look for these signs: increased apathy, melancholy, excessive sleepiness (yes, even more sleepy somehow), irritability, lack of appetite, and general withdrawal from the world around him.

It may be best just to ask Belphie how he’s feeling on a somewhat regular basis, but be careful not to frame your questions as if they’re coming from a place of excessive worry. He won’t want to feel as if you pity him or find him to be overly fragile, this is just a part of his daily life after all.

Beel can also be used as an indicator of Belphie’s emotional state. If Beel is looking particularly sad, it might be good to check on his twin just in case.

If it’s not a good day for him, he may not tell you outright. You will need to read between the lines. Watch where his eyes go as he answers and how long it takes him to respond. If he refuses to look at you or takes a little longer than he should to say he's alright, he may be struggling even if he claims to be fine.

Thankfully, there are very easy ways to bring Belphie a bit of comfort. Offering to nap together or cuddle is by far the easiest method and he will rarely refuse the opportunity. You can also make plans to go some place with him and Beel. Spending time with his twin will significantly improve his mood, at least under most circumstances.

If he and Beel are not currently on speaking terms, this could be another reason he's upset. Helping to resolve the issue should bring him back to good spirits, so do so post-haste.

Belphegor is a melancholic individual on principle. Though you may want to see him be cheerful more often, to some extent that’s just not a part of his nature. Don’t blame yourself if you can’t seem to get him to appear happy most days, the chances are that just having you there is doing more for him than you could ever know. Just remember that when he says he loves you he does, in fact, mean it.