#my therapist and i discussed this exact thing today

[kalinara]

Oddly, I find myself inspired to talk about Scott/Emma today.

I want to disclaim first that I actually really do enjoy the Scott/Emma ship. I think, at their best, they were amazingly good for each other. I think she was the partner he needed at a time when he needed to be harder and more ruthless, less yielding, for the sake of the survival of their people. I think he helped her remember the good person that she;s always been capable of being, despite her anger, rage and pain, and made her want to be that person again.

But I will never not be frustrated by so many aspects of how the relationship began. And I'm going to get into them below the cut.

(Content warning: I'm going to discuss violation, victim-blaming, and sexual assault/rape.)

So, let me talk about my first frustration:

I will never be able to stop my knee jerk reaction whenever I see someone, in character or out, call it a "psychic affair", when it goddamn well wasn't.

(New X-Men #131)

What it was, was a case of therapeutic abuse. He went to her FOR THERAPY. The "affair" was conducted in the course of therapeutic sessions. This isn't just malpractice, something that, were Emma a real person in the real world, would cost her her license.

In the State of New York, real world, what Emma's doing is a prosecutable crime. Because a patient, in the course of therapy, has diminished capacity to consent.

And look, it's not that I think this is a deal-breaker to their future relationship. The X-Men are fucked up. We all know that. But it is irksome to me that, to this day, this is referred to as an "affair", and not a single character has ever pointed out that Scott was not actually a consenting equal partner here, but a victim.

(In retrospect, maybe THIS is the first initial sign that Hank McCoy was slowly drifting to the dark side, because I cannot imagine a man like DOCTOR Henry McCoy, of this era and before, not being seriously aware of and passionate about the ethical responsibilities that a doctor has to his patients.)

It's probably fair to note the Doyleist elements. It is possible that the writer/artist team never intended this to be as violating and victimizing as it is. But I am skeptical of this. You can't tell me that the people who wrote and drew THIS SEQUENCE:

(New X-Men #128)

did not know they were writing Emma as a sexual predator here.

(I have seen folks bring up the "defense" that Scott was a fucking idiot to go to her for help, as though that in any way excuses her actions. Surprise! Someone who has been recently traumatized does not make wise decisions! That is entirely shocking! It's almost like he might not be in a position to consent to a sexual relationship with someone claiming to act as a therapist!)

--

You know what's even more frustrating though? The shit Scott gets for the actual START of their relationship.

You remember how it goes? Jean's dead. Scott is at her grave, mourning. Emma goes to him with an offer - a relationship and a co-leader position at the school. He accepts and there's that infamous making out at the grave scene.

It's awful! It's completely understandable that this turns off a lot of folk both readers and in character.

Except that's NOT what initially happened.

THIS is the scene as it initially, actually happened:

(New X-Men #151)

So yeah, THIS is what actually happens. Emma makes her offer. Scott says no. He leaves.

But THEN we get a whole storyline with future bad things happening, and well, apparently someone gets the idea that there's one really good way to avoid all of that mess happening.

So in New X-Men #154, we get this:

And the same scene again:

The exact same scene. Same place, same dialogue, same time.

But what's Scott's response:

It's really hard not to read this as anything but Scott having his "No" literally rewritten to a "Yes" by a future version of his own wife.

And here's the thing, this isn't a meaningless action. Scott takes a LOT of shit from a LOT of his friends and family for this decision. Not just taking up with Emma so early after Jean's death, but also where it happens. THIS IS JEAN'S GRAVE after all.

Rachel, his DAUGHTER, is furious. She basically disowns him outright, switching to her mother's surname and costume. It isn't until the End of Greys (meanspirited bullshit of a story worthy of another rant someday), and their shared grief, that they're able to reconcile.

Hank, probably the closest friend he has at this time, is utterly disgusted. And so many others have similar reactions.

Look, it can be frustrating to read and talk about X-Factor because, in my opinion, so much of Scott's choices are mischaracterized and taken out of context. But at least those are CHOICES that he actually made.

This wasn't a choice! This was an incredibly fucked up act of spousal rape by proxy committed by a hypothetical future version of Jean, where all of the negative consequences fell on the victim's head. Both victims, really, because Emma was not a willing participant in the violation of her new partner.

And what makes it so much more frustrating is that this will never be addressed. There is, I think, a very slight chance that one day an actual, ethical therapist or Doctor might hear the story of the affair and point out "actually, no, that was actually something terrible that happened to you."

But no one is ever going to learn the truth here. Why would it even come up? Scott and Emma have been longer as exes (Krakoa polyamory possibilities aside) than they've been together. Jean isn't the same Jean, she's as innocent of this as young Hank is of any of Hank Prime's crimes.

So this will never get addressed, ever, and I will seethe eternally at yet another example of unjust treatment toward my favorite character. And I can't even be mad at the people involved this time (unlike AvX!) because he DID what they're mad at him about.

It's just he DIDN'T initially, and it's so frustrating.

--

Again, i don't intend this rant to reflect on Scott and Emma as a pairing on the whole. As I said above, I think, on the whole, the two have been very good for each other. I like the weird whatever-it-is they had going on in Krakoa.

(I could have done without that X-Men Blue storyline where she tries to psychically force baby Cyclops INTO adult Cyclops, but that's a rant for another day. I was really glad to see her back as a proper anti-heroine in Rosenberg's run later.)

I just hate that these darker parts of their origin have never been satisfactorily addressed and it will always bother me.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: (Follow up to post 698753602168242176) Hello there! 23m INFJ here. I'd first like to say that I'm extremely grateful for your patience with my previous asks. The insight you provided into my stack–particularly around the theme of having a lack of integrity–has given me much to think about over these (almost two!) years. I want to ask for your insight on a roadblock I've encountered multiple times in the therapy I've been receiving over the past year.

In almost every single session, I come fully prepared: I rehearse a list of 'problem topics' to discuss with my therapist in-session, and try to mine as much insight as I can from them before I discuss. My therapist prefers an unstructured kind of approach, allowing me to form what the sessions look like, and I have preferred having a 'route' of scenarios that link together with common themes, just to ensure that I am effectively using my therapy time.

One issue I've ran into is that we often finish discussion of these topics with plenty of time to spare, leaving me a little lost for words. I believe I am a person who is good at improvising conversation, but in these moments in therapy I run into a complete standstill: my mind draws blank, I have zero perception of what has bothered me, and I am unable to produce anything 'meaningful' for our sessions.

A couple of times, I have asked my therapist: "Do you have any questions for me?" With which he always asks me the same questions: "Why are you here today? What do you need help with? What bothers you right now, in your day-to-day life?" These questions always, always catch me off-guard and I'm unable to answer. I have an extremely poor perception of myself, and usually feel nothing on a day-to-day basis. I try to explain this as best as I can to my therapist, to which he says he understands, but cannot help me if I am not providing a source of conflict/pain/discomfort to work with. This often leaves me extremely upset and frustrated, like I'm a lost cause or incapable of receiving help.

In recent sessions I've tried to be more freeform and less structured, and it does feel like it's helping. However, I do still have this fear that I'm approaching things completely wrong, like it's impossible for anyone to help me if I'm not even sure what I need help for. This lack of self-awareness is nauseating and I don't know how to fix it.

------------------------

Therapy isn't a performance or competition. It's not a place to get judged or judge yourself. It's not a test or exam that you have to prepare the right answers to pass. It's also not an exact science of rules to follow to the letter. Ideally, therapy is a safe space for you to explore freely and gradually raise self-awareness as you discover more about yourself.

Some aspects of the therapeutic process upset you and you stewed about them alone, perhaps because you are in the habit of keeping a tight leash on yourself and can't proceed unless you feel more in control of things. Many Js have a tendency to manage anxiety by imposing structure or control. In the real world, this tendency easily becomes a deeply ingrained habit because you regularly get rewarded for "having it together" or "being on top of things". However, in the therapy world, one of the main goals is to let feelings/emotions rise up and come out freely so that you can explore what they really mean. Therefore, the habit of being too controlled/controlling can work against you in therapy if it basically creates a dam that prevents the deeper parts of your psyche from flowing out.

This might be why approaching sessions in a less structured way is helpful, as you release yourself from the compulsion to control. It allows you to discover important things that you didn't realize needed to be explored. Instead of going off alone to stew about whatever upset you, why not express your feelings as they happen in real-time? Why ask me about it rather than the therapist? Whatever it is you need to happen or want to do, either allow it or communicate about it honestly. E.g. If you don't know what else to say and it starts to make you anxious, communicate your anxiety to the therapist. If the therapist asks questions that catch you off-guard or make you feel bad, then explore the negative feelings right then and there.

In my last response, I said: "If you are indeed INFJ, to get back on the right type development path requires you to confront and resolve the deeper emotional problems that have been festering." This means emotional intelligence is a key factor in your personal growth. It's important that you learn to welcome and embrace feelings/emotions as they come and process them as they exist in the present, rather than ruminating on them after the fact. This also ties in with the issue of integrity; it's hard to maintain integrity when you're not in touch with yourself and listening carefully to your emotional needs.

The habit of keeping feelings/emotions at bay or tightly under control is usually indicative of an underlying fear of them. As long as you fear looking within (or keep trying to obscure what's really happening because you don't like what you see/feel), therapy is going to seem slowgoing. Perhaps you think therapy should be revealing certain truths to you, but, actually, you should be the one revealing the truths. The therapist is only there to reflect your truths back to you with greater clarity. While the therapist has a genuine desire to help, it is an important part of their training to never work harder than the client. They only work with what you give them, so, if it seems as though there's not much happening, it's because you haven't revealed enough of yourself.

This brings us to the most important point of what's really stopping you from revealing yourself. You seem to have an issue with being self-critical. Self-critical people can't stand to look at themselves and they assume others will judge them similarly, which leads to feeling anxious or unsafe in social situations. Many people cope by getting into the habit of hiding all the aspects of themselves that are deemed "ugly" or "undesirable", which often includes all the negative feelings and emotions they don't want to experience. In the end, all that is visible is the mask they've chosen.

Until you can approach yourself with more kindness and compassion, the safety of hiding or obscuring the truth of yourself will always be too tempting. Perhaps self-compassion and self-expression are issues you can work on in therapy. Allow yourself to be human and "imperfect" and drop the facade of control, and then you might find that you have a lot more material to work with.

[findingmypeace]

Well I pretty much fucked myself over.

Long story short: The Talk happened yesterday at IOP. Basically, this is not working so it's time to discuss what happens next. Today I had a training for work so I missed iop and I am supposed to return tomorrow.

Honestly, I'm done. They want me to come back tomorrow because I haven't officially been discharged so A) 'm supposed to be there anyway and B) they want to discuss my options for where we go from here. This has been a 10 month battle and I'm just done. There have been obstacles every step of the way. I just can't fight anymore. I'm so exhausted.

Plus there really isn't any other option. Again, I'm just done. I have no interest in continuing to fight. I don't think I will be seeing my outpatient therapist and dietitian anymore either. The exact amount it costs to see them per month is $920. That's with me being on the lowest tier of their sliding scale. Add my rent and just those two things (rent and therapist/dietitian) are more than half of my monthly income.

So I'm done with all of it.

I just don't give a shit anymore.

[priestoctober99]

PONOS

Sometimes I wonder if my work ethic makes me one of a Greek god. Ponos in fact.

Or maybe I could just be a narcissist and think of myself above others when they don’t meet my expectations. I’ve been in therapy for 8 months now and haven’t been diagnosed as a narcissist but I’ll be damned if I don’t feel like one sometimes.

How come I expect everybody I work with to put in the exact amount of work as I do to get the same results. Why is it that I get so disappointed and annoyed when my expectations don’t go the way it should be. In fact I think right about now that’s the biggest obstacle in me managing my anger! ( which I have done a good job at lately.)

For instance, today at work, Monday, our busiest day of the week, we are already short staffed and an older woman wants to leave to go home early. Why are you telling me this as soon as I come through the door to clock in? Why are you leaving early on our busiest day? Why didn’t you text me this so I could have some sort of mental preparation. And you could say “Now Priest! Did you let her know to let you know that if things come up for her to contact you?” No. No I did not and I know that’s the rational thing but damn it let me be mad! This is my page! You’ve seen me at all my other emotion! Let me be upset for once!

I absolutely hate last minute changes. It drives me crazy. But maybe I’m still working on lowering my expectations and not getting upset about things I can’t control or not actually happening to begin with. Everybody has a movie of the future in their heads, an idea of how the future will go if we plan it. But things don’t always happen that way so why does it hurt so badly when it doesn’t, why does it absolutely piss me off that people can’t be on the same level as me sometimes.

I exhale as I type this next part.

It’s because we all have something going on and I need to work on being more understanding and not as controlling over everybody. I love being head honcho so much that shit makes me exhausted. I’m not saying I’m gonna start lowering my expectations for people…..but I am lowkey gonna start doing that. NOT NEGATIVELY…..just for my own wellbeing. But how does one do this without not thinking they’re better than others? Something I’ll have to discuss with Tiffany, my therapist. That’s her name.

Lately I feel as if I’ve been making a string of negative posts on here and for that I apologize, I’ll shake sum into happiness here soon but as of right now I’m doing my best.

Drumming is going good, I’m learning how to produce. I’ll still in therapy. Caught up now? Good. Have a good day and remember the world doesn’t revolve around you. ( even tho it’s so sweet when it feels like it does.)

[ma222dd4t4563214]

Trigger Warning: Discussing Suicidality

Been listening to a podcast while doing my nails, and I just want to share my thoughts about it. They were talking about how people tell suicidal people to 'keep the hope up' but hope is not an emotion you feel, Hope is a calculation. Hope is a roadmap and a sense of agency. You need a way, and you need a how. And agency is what you can control, it is reflecting back on yourself, instead of saying I will feel good if I get an A+ it should be I will study today for 2 hours and that is what I will do, they can give me a B, a C, but they can't affect the efforts I have put and I did that so my future self can have that relaxation that I didn't start studying at the last minute like usual. A simpler example is if you don't feel like doing the dishes, but you think that you don't want to wake up to that smelly kitchen so you get up and do it regardless of what you feel because tomorrow you will wake up to a more satisfying picture and that is one more thing to not worry about! kinda way . Another point in the podcast was Protesting against suicide is protesting against being impulsive.

They said 60% of people when they commit they do it within the first 5 minutes of thinking about it, impulsively

And like usually those people do so and they already keep their method under their bed or in their basement, and they should get rid of that definitely, but they must do it on their own. if you take it away from them without their permission that is when the anxiety starts going up for them, it is a comfort for them to have it. But for example, if I get rid of the pills that I have on my own, there will be an instant relief and this optimistic look forward to life view.

. My therapist has been advising me to take medication pills in this period so I can keep myself safe, but the podcast also were talking about how this is a wrong approach to help suicidal people, because Numbing the negativity is not the solution, the solution is rewiring your brain to increase positive thinking.

So, agency over one's life, control being impulsive, internal worth, and don't focus on reducing the negative but focus on increasing the positive. - - - - - - - Good thing is before I listen to this podcast I realized that I am impulsive in some ways and I was working on that so I can be healthier within a relationship. I do plan my "hope" so I am good on that maybe that is why I am a positive person most of the time but not when my brain spirals into suicidal thoughts. I do struggle with internal worth THE MOST THO!! <- And I will continue on that with my therapist the next session because I am so lost on this exact point... I am proud of so many things but I always feel like I can do better and that just makes me feel worse about my achievements of my goals.

[keefwho]

September 15 - 2024 Sunday

10:28pm

6.5/10

This morning I felt stressed at first because my routine every Sunday seems to take sooo long and there is always stuff I want to do. But I twisted it so I could enjoy the time I had to spend on my morning routine since I can't take my time on weekdays. So I took my sweet time in the shower and figuring out what to make for breakfast. DS wanted to call while she packed which was welcome, morning hangouts are rare and I cherish them. I was in the middle of making stew using ramen noodles which turned out exactly how I intended. It was hardier than I thought though so it filled me up even beyond lunch. We watched 102 Dalmatians today which wasn't great and I had a lot of internet problems. The actor that plays Cruella still slayed the role though. Then I was take a break to make cookies for lunch with DS but her mom drafted her for yardwork. The cookies came out good and I learned just how exact the water measurement has to be. I almost ruined the batter. Cookies for lunch wasn't the best idea but I did it. They aren't terribly unhealthy at least, mostly just flour and sugar. For awhile I was letting my room scan software do it's thing while I watched XQC on my phone. Eventually I felt like something must be wrong so I aborted the process and intend to manually continue it overnight with different parameters. I got to play Cities Skylines for a little bit so that was nice. DS called in the middle of that and she made another attempt at beating Hades. I had to leave right at the end for my therapy appointment which was inconveniently timed since we were going to do VR together. My therapist seemed tired or stressed about something but I didn't get a chance to ask. It was an okay session, nothing too crazy was discussed. I got a 5pm scheduled for next time which is a great time. After that I joined DS so we could spend a little VR time together but we didn't have much time or a plan. It was still nice. Before bed we finished up hades.

[generationlosscorkboard]

Okay I have time to do some minor analysis on this:

First thing I immediately noticed, the year! If any of you read my Showfall Theory then you'll remember that I was flitting between the year being 1980s/90s or 2024, based on two different things.

This, at least, rules out the 2024 (mostly. It was just from a close up of the pin board anyways, posted on the BTS twitter)

I find the XX very interesting too! If you know anything about (generally) Sci-fi stories using XX as the last two digits of a year is a common Trope for getting away with not having an exact year for the events of something, but what interests me most is that this particular XX year is in the past, somewhere in the 20th century. So, according to this all, the events of (or, at least, of Gen 0) is in the past, and now we're looking back at it (Just like in 1984-).

so, funky.

Furthermore, the date currently matches today's date (or, well. Ranboo's current date. Our timezones are quite different.) This suggests that the entries are likely going to come out on the days they were "written", in the past. (Ala a certain Daily Gothic Horror.) So, that's fun, and look out for that in future!

Okokok now I will actually discuss the text:

So. Our character, who is currently unnamed and so obviously that means I have Naming Privileges! I'll just call them Chronos for now, from Chronicles (because Zero is already taken here)

Anyways Chronos has been recommended to "get something to categorise [their] thoughts" by an unknown helper. This unknown helper, could be a therapist, and friend, but whoever they are, they're in that sorta grey area of "I know what you say could maybe help, but I also think your advice is stupid."

Furthermore, the details on what the "thoughts" are about are unclear. Could be about something we already know about (Showfall) or it could be something more. I believe I've previously mentioned that I think we're moving on from Gen one stuff like Showfall, so whatever the source of these thoughts are, I think it's either something bigger that Showfall, (perhaps the GIC's I mentioned in that theory) or maybe its some discovery that has shocked Chronos. Could be both, of course. We still have a lot to hear from them. One think I'm pretty sure of it's this is about the Lostfield incident. Whatever that may be.

The one thing I do know for sure is that the medium being used to record this, whether it's just paper, in a journal of sorts, or even on tape (come onnn...it would be thematic, no?) isn't going to be thrown away, if we expect to get anything more from our guy Chronos.

Side note: the bleep for what I assume is a swear is so unconventional. Normally people bleep with four x's, or stars, or gibberish. The fact that Chronos uses Two X's is very interesting, especially when given the fact we've already seen the two X's in the year. I could just be grasping at straws, but hey, I wouldnt be a theory blog if I didn't make use of everything given to me :P

-> Boo! You've got an update

[ id - a tweet from Generation Loss: "Connecting... @/TheChronicle0" - end id ]

[fckwritersblock]

More Than Therapy

Bucky x black!reader

Warning: sooooo there is smut ahead. Okay like, not complete filth but it’s there! Who even knows what this is, but enjoy it!

Pic below from post by @afriendlyblackhottie

(Unedited.)

“Look, I’m not saying that she’s not a great therapist, I’m just think that she’s not your style.”

Bucky didn’t hide his eye roll.

For the past 2 weeks, Sam had been trying to convince him he needed a second option. Ever since he had his own encounter with Bucky’s therapist, which consisted of being forcefully included in one of their sessions, he could see it wasn’t really helping Bucky at all. Not that Sam was an expert or anything, he just knew his.....friend.

“Alright Sam, fine.” Bucky sighed tossing the wrench to the side. “So what. I kick my therapist to curb, then what? You got some kind of recommendation or something?”

Sam just smirked before turning and making his way off the boat.

“Actually I do.”

Now here Bucky was, waiting on another person to come and try to break down all his walls and get in his head and help him with through his ‘issues’.

“Waste of time.” He mumbled to his self.

However, when she walked in the door, that thought quickly left.

“I’m Y/n.”

“James”

“It’s nice to meet you James.”

For the first time in a very long time Bucky felt comfortable almost immediately. The conversation didn’t feel forced, he didn’t feel pressured, it was just easy. Y/n didn’t push and pry. She simply let him answer the way he want and what he wanted. She let him sort of control the conversation. It was refreshing.

From then on, he saw her twice a week. Their first two weeks together was just them getting to know one another. Establishing trust on Buckys end. He appreciated that for once the woman so much pressure for him to be OK so soon. Finally, after about a month or so, they were doing a little exercises here and there to work through his trauma. The first assignment, it was actually pretty similar to the last psychiatrist he had seen. To get out and make at least one friend. Find an activity or something that he enjoys.

“So have you been getting out like we discussed?”

“Yeah I’ve gone out.” He nodded carelessly with a grin as he sat across the table from her.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “To places besides the bar.”

“Yes.”

“Liar.” She said and it was her turn to grin as she held her hand out.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, handing over his phone. Bucky watched her click a few buttons knowing she was checking his contacts. This was like Deja vu.

“You have the same amount of numbers in your phone as last week Barnes.”

“Not true Doc, I have you.” He smiled sheepishly.

“I hardly count Barnes.” A small smile graced her face nonetheless.

She was quiet for a moment and he took that opportunity to study her. In deep thought. Y/n had a tell. She’d bite the corner of her bottom lip on the right side every time she was trying to figure something out. Usually before she came up with his homework before the next session.

“I have a thought but you’re not gonna like it.” She began after while.

“Lay it on Doc.”

“I don’t feel like you are actively trying to be a part of society. What you’ve been doing, trying to right your wrongs of the other guy...” she drifted for a moment. “It’s futile. You don’t need to do that. That-“

Y/n paused taking a deep breath.

“That’s not you.” She spoke softly.

“But that is me! I am winter soldier!” He yelled on his feet quickly.

Anger. He was familiar with the feeling. Angry was something he just couldn’t seem to stop feeling. Even if he didn’t show it, it was like he was angry all the time. However feeling it with her was unfamiliar. And he could feel the inner turmoil of him taking his frustrations out on her as he tried to push that anger back down.

“Were.” Y/n stated with finality, voice strong. “You were the winter Solider. And that wasn’t you. That’s just a couple of dark chapters in the book of your life. That’s it.

“You don’t know m-“

“But that is not you.” She repeated a little louder commanding forcing him to look her dead in the eyes. “That’s not who you are, James. And while I may not have known you pre-hydra, or during, but I’m knowing you now. And that’s just not you.”

Y/n leaned back in her chair.

“I know that here, Bucky.” She grinned a little placing her hand over her heart and tapped twice. “And deep down, so do you.”

“. You, James Buchanan Barnes, you are not the bad guy.

The anger he had been feeling had subsided and I was replaced with something that was completely unfamiliar to him. Something he longed for couldn’t quite the grass. Something that he didn’t even realize was in within his reach until noon.. The feeling, regardless of how unfamiliar it was with something Bucky didn’t think he wanted to go away.

The silence between them was comfortable. Y/n could tell that he was processing her words. It was a good thing, she could because he was no longer good tense and his stance was relaxed instead of defensive.

“You know what? We’re finished for today. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She declared.

“What?” Bucky snapped out of his tranced and frowned. “Doc, come on. I shouldn’t be seeing you til Thursday.”

“Yeah tomorrow,” she nodded with a smile. “I want to try something different.”

The next day but he showed up at their usual time, 11 AM. When he stopped at a reception to ask for Dr. Y/n they informed him she was out for the day. He frowned and turned to leave only to find her approaching him from the elevator.

“Hey! You ready to go?” Y/n offered a gentle smile.

“I thought we were-“ he asked went fo point back toward her office but she stopped him.

“We are. We’re just doing things differently today.” She informed him, before nodding her head toward the elevator. “Let’s go.”

Their day together was eventful to say the least. Their first stop was her favorite coffee spot. It was actually a little hole in the wall called Hippies Brew in the downtown area. A cool modern place full of friendly and eccentric individuals. It was comfortable. Homey. It wasnt one she’d typically recommend clients, but she would recommend it to friends. After that they were too the aquarium followed by the park where they sat on a park bench for lunch. Lunch being tacos from the El Gordo’s taco truck parked near by. Well a lot of the time at the park or spit in silence, it was still comfortable as a people watched together. While Bucky hated to admit it, this is the first time he really just felt at peace. There was no one looking over him with some unrealistic expectation of him to be Steve, and become so hero he wasn’t. There was no pressure to get his shit together right then and there. He was just simply allowed to be Bucky. Unapologetically.

“Walk with me?” He asked.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, surprised he initiated doing something together, but agreed with a smile.

Soon enough they easily fell into conversation of as they began to walk the lake.

Before they knew it, the sun was beginning to set. Their time together lasted longer than Y/n planned but either was it was nice. She enjoyed today, as did he. Bucky’s offered to walk her back to her car, savoring their last few moments together.

“Are you sure I can’t give you a ride home?” Y/n asked as they got closer to her car in the now empty lot.

“Yeah, Doc, lm sure.” He smiled back at her, her smile and laugh being infectious. “I like walking. It gives me time to think. it’s peaceful. Kind of like today.”

Y/n’s smile widened at his confession. So her idea did work. He was making progress.

“ That’s what you deserve James peace. I can’t promise every day is gonna be like this.” She turned away approaching the driver side door. “I mean, it is life there are going to be some bad days. But you do deserve some peace. Some happiness.

She turned to see that he was a lot closer than she thought saying that he was preparing to open the door for her. She swallowed, suddenly feel in the air around them shift. As she ran her tongue over her lips, Bucky’s eyes zeroed in on the action.

“You just have to let yourself have it.” She said softly.

It was in that exact moment where James decided he was going to do just that; let himself have happiness. And without thinking, he leaned forward and connected his lips with her.

He pulled away almost as soon as it happened eyes wide.

“James…” y/n finger tips traced her lips as she stared at him.

“I am, i, I don’t know-“ Bucky stuttered.

He went to take a step back but was stopped. This time it was her who initiated the kiss.

What started off as gentle, turned into her fisting a handful of his shirt put him closer with his hands wrapped around her waist. The heat that washed over them both, was like a moth to a flame. The passion poured into the kiss from both ends quickly consuming them both. The two fighting for a dominance, it wasn’t until they both harshly pushed against her car setting the alarm off that they snapped out of it.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry wh-“ Y/n’s eyes were wide as she looked around anxiously.

Bucky could sense her panicking.

“y/n-“

“ I am so sorry. That was highly inappropriate of me-“

“Breathe for me doll-“ he reached for her but she pulled her hand away shaking her head vigorously.

“I can’t, we can’t, I have never.” She took a deep breath, her next words still coming out shaky. “I’m so sorry. To take a vantage of you like that-“

“I was the one who-“ he attempted once more to no avail.

“I have to go. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” She rushed out, flinging her door open and getting in the car.

All Bucky could do was watch as she wasted no time peeling out of the parking lot.

That was the last he had seen or heard of her. It had been almost two weeks and she had canceled both his weekly sessions and hadn’t answered any of his calls or returned any of the messages he left both at the office and on her cell phone.

And boy, was he stressed about it.

He had never felt that kind of passion before. To be honest it was something he didn’t think he was capable of feeling. He had been consumed by anger for so long, he wanted to cling onto whatever else, anything else. Bucky would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t feel the chemistry between them. He came to the conclusion he’d been falling for her for a while, and was clearly in denial until that day they spent the day together. It’s not like he was trying to fall for his therapist. But now that he had...Ge had to at least try. Make sure what he was feeling wasn’t one sided.That spark. It was a feeling, a high he had never felt. One he knew he’d forever be chasing and he wanted it again and again and again. So when the third week approached he decided to take matters into his own hands.

A knock her door tore her away from Grey’s Anatomy.

“Coming!”

Pulling her dress down, she went and answered the door.

“Bucky.” She said his name breathlessly.

“Y/n.” He breathed out, happy to be in her presence even though it hurt slightly to hear her suddenly calling him Bucky.

He quite liked when she called him James. He liked the way she said his name.

“What are you-, how.” She tried to control her breathing. “You can’t be here.”

“I need you,” he signed. “To hear me out.”

“Bucky-“

“James.” He corrected her. “Look, I know this totally inappropriate but I-“

James paused taking in her appearance, noticing the purple bruising around her lower right eye above her cheekbone.

“Who?” He questioned through gritted teeth.

“Huh?”

He huffed pushing past her and moving in and around the apartment as if someone would come out and confess. He turned toward her a wild look in his eye.

“Give me. A name, Y/n.”

“James....” she signed.

While he knew she was talking seeing as her lips were moving, It was like he could hear her but he wasn’t hearing her. Bucky couldn’t focus on anything other than a bruise on the side of Y/n’s beautiful face. It had been along time since Bucky had thought of actually hurting somebody, save for John Walker last week which was another story entirely, whoever did this to her face though, he wanted to hurt them bad and he was going to enjoy it. His eyes traveled down toward her lips and he still couldn’t hear her. All he could hear was his fist repeated smashing into said individuals face. Over, and over, over-

“James!”

The sound of her voice finally resonated and he finally focused on her words.

“Come back to me James.” Her voice was gently. Inviting.

Everything he noticed both her hands on the side of his face, her thumb rubbing soothingly.

“It’s fine.” She said slowly removing her hands away as she explained. “There’s no need to hunt anyone down. Just a regular 50150 patient and things got out of hand. It happens.”

“No one should touch you.” He stated with seriousness.

Y/n stared at him for a moment, the right side of her lip pulled between her teeth, eyes pooling with something he hadn’t seen in her before. She shrugged nonchalantly.

“I kind of like it when you touch me.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper but he heard her loud and clear.

Just like before, it started off with light kisses, which soon turned into a bit of teasing, a little lip nipping, before things got extremely heated. Both his shirt had been discarded while the straps of her dress were pulled down revealing her black Savage Fenty bra. They had somehow moved from the living room to the kitchen island. Bucky stood between her legs one hand tangled in her braids while her hands held the sides of her face, gently caressing the stubble. Her legs were wrapped around his middles as she began grinding her hips into him. He pulled her closer, the both of them on a high from the friction. Bucky’s metal hand traveled up her bare back giving her goosebumps. They broke apart for air and as soon as Y/n had enough oxygen in her lungs, she went back to licking, kissing and sucking on his neck.

"Shit, Y/n.” Bucky unconsciously tilted his head back giving her better access, his hands palming her ass as his hips bucked into her.

"James." Y/n pulled back panting, lips swollen. " I want you. Now."

Bucky made quick work of removing her panties that coated in her juices , and in return y/n quickly unbuckled his pants using her feet to aid her in pushing them down.

“Shit.” He groaned immediately as she whimpered slightly at the feel of him sliding into her.

Her arms were wound around his neck while his hand gripped the top of her ass to keep her in place as he begin to slowly thrust in and out of her.

Bucky was on a high. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this level of intimacy. Euphoria. He was sure this feeling should be illegal.

The way she were wrapped around him, he knew if he didn’t take it semi slow he wasn’t going to last.

“James,” she moaned, clawing at his back, walls clenching.

He wasn’t sure what sounded sweeter; her moaning or his name leaving her lips.

“Doll?” He responded, kissing the at the base of her neck.

I’m clos-“ Y/n sucked in a breath of air. “Right there.”

“There?” He asked spreading her ass cheeks apart so he could go deeper.

“Yes! Right there!”

It was a bit sloppy from there as Bucky shifted for a better angle. Her ass halfway off the table as he picked up the pace bit her her closer to the edge. He was bouncing her up and down on his shaft effortlessly. Her arms wrapped right around his neck, kiss sloppy as she bit her lip to keep her moans at bay.

“No,” he breathed out, reaching up with one hand forcing her to kissing him, her moans filling his mouth instead. “I want to hear you.”

“James, I’m-“

“I know.”

The sight of Y/n coming undone before him was a glorious one . He couldn’t wait to make her cum again.

Once she came down from her orgasm, she placed her lips back on his, tightening her legs around him once more. He shifted their position a bit and begin again when suddenly the front door opened and in walked Sam.

“Oh shit!” Bucky pulled out of her and struggled to pull up his pants and turned to shield her half naked frame.

“Sam!” Y/n squealed pulling her dress up to her chest as best she could.

“What in the entire fuck!” Sam screamed while covering his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Y/n yelled.

“You told me toy were off!”

“I’m am off!”

“Well I thought I’d bring you dinner! I didn’t know id find this!” Sam said exasperatedly.

Y/n and Bucky were decent informing Sam he no longer had to cover his eyes. Immediately he pointed an accusatory finger at Bucky.

“You! What the fuck did I tell you about my sister?”

Bucky stared at him confused.

“You said not to flirt with your sister.” He repeated Sam’s words. “Sarah’s not..”

He then turned toward Y/n, things finally clicking.

“You’re Sam’s sister.” Bucky concluded.

“Baby sister.” Sam. added.

“I’m grown as hell Samuel!” Y/n fussed.

“Really bruh, my baby sister?!”

“Well how i suppose to know you only refer to her as baby!”

“Once again! I’m grown as fuck-“ she stopped hearing the front door creek open again.

“Who’s that?!” The woman’s eyes were wide with horror as she whispered.

“The boys!” Sam exclaimed in a whisper.

“Why didn’t you say they were here-“ she began frantically washing her hands.

“I’m sorry I was a little fuckin preoccupied with the fact my sister is fucking an assassin-

“Former assassin!” Bucky corrected.

“Hey TT!” Sarah’s boys greeted simultaneously with smiles as they bent the corner.

“Hey my babies!” Y/n instantly put a smile on her face pulling them each into her arms.

“Hey Bucky!” Cass waved

“Hey Bucky!” AJ addressed the solider as well before turning back toward his brother, “Cass , come on.”

“Wait let me put the pizza on the counter-“

“No!” The three adults exclaimed together.

“No boo, I’ll take it.” Y/n smiled again at her nephew taking the pizza.

“why don’t yall go in the living room and get the game set up?” Sam suggested.

“Yes! Let’s take the pizza in there while they bleach the kitchen?” Y/n hinted at the men while telling the kids to follow her.

“Oh yeah! TT, Uncle Sam got us two new video games!”,AJ informed her. “He also said we can watch a scary movie tonight since moms not here.

“Yeah! Andddd, he said we can door dash ice cream!” Cass added as the two kids followed their aunt into the living room.

Though he was silent, throughout the entire interaction but he couldn’t help but want you living room interact with the two kids. Back in the day, if you would’ve asked him if he believed in love at first site he would’ve said no. But he was pretty sure he was in love with Y/n already.

Once out of sight, Bucky took that opportunity to speak after a beat.

“Have I ever told you I’m glad you treat your nephew’s so well, Sam?” He asked after clearing his throat.

Sam sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Bucky turned to him with a huge grin on his face.

“Cuz I’m gonna give you another one.”

Slowly Sam began to laugh, albeit one full of sarcasm, Bucky joined in sincerely. They laughed together for a moment before Sam ceased, his face expressionless.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah Sam?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

[13uswntimagines]

Works Like a Charm (USWNT x Baby!Reader)

Request: reader with the team where r falls asleep any and everywhere and on everyone? just super cute friendship and stuff

Authors’s note: Special thanks to @literaryhedgehog​ cause without her this would not have happened! I hope you enjoy and totally feel free to hit me up with comments and questions or if you just wanna say Hi!

You were the baby of the team, and being the baby came with very special privileges. The team knew of your sleeping issues, and the various methods you and your therapist had implemented (including scheduling yourself to avoid all blue light sources for hours before bed and sleeping with a stuffed animal (the famed stuffed Triceratops, Roary) each night,) to help fall asleep and stay asleep at night. But it had only been a week since you had actually looked for help, so it was too early to expect results, as you told them (and yourself) repeatedly. 

More often than not you found yourself sitting on a couch, Roary cuddled close to your chest, watching the rerun of whatever game had been on, desperately waiting for your brain to turn off so you could sleep. That was the exact scene Ashlyn had stumbled upon. She glanced at the clock, wincing at the bold 2:15 that blinked back at her as she rubbed her eyes. 

“What are you doing awake kid? Thought you weren’t supposed to do blue light after 9?” She asked softly, plopping down beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulder. You shrugged, leaning further into her side. You closed your eyes, burying your head into her warm arm.

“I literally laid awake for three hours. I tried not to focus on anything, or to focus on breathing, but I kept replaying the game in my head. So I thought I would watch it, see if rewatching the ending would help my thoughts, Idk, end too?” You moved so that your head was on her lap and you looked up at her. “Did anything I just said make sense out of my head?”

She nodded sadly down at you, her hands, stroking your hair slowly. You closed your eyes again, enjoying the feeling. You always wanted to be a cat when you were little. Your thoughts became slightly fuzzier, interrupted slightly when Ashlyn spoke. 

“Don’t fall asleep here kid. Ali will kill us both if we sleep on the couch,” The blond keeper 

“Just a few more minutes please?” You asked softly, cracking your eyes open. 

“Alright. Just a few,” she nodded. 

Coincidentally that’s exactly where Ali would find you the next morning. Cuddled into Ashlyn's stomach, snoring softly. From that moment, it became a team rule. It didn’t matter where you slept, as long as you were sleeping. 

*****

You were never going to live this down. Emily took a stealthy photo of you slumped against Alex’s arm, the climax of Black Panther’s fight taking place in the background. Kelley guarded your other side like a pitbull, just daring anyone to try and mess with you. 

“How did you get her to fall asleep Alex? She was so hyped up when we got here!” Emily said way too loudly, shrinking slightly when the veterans shushed her. 

“I literally just wrapped my arms around her while Kelley braided with her hair,” Alex whispered, glancing down to see that you weren’t moving before she continued, “she kept moving too much for Kelley to get the braid straight, so I just held her still like I do with my niece for family pictures. Once she stopped struggling, it was instant.” 

“Works like a charm every time. Who knew the world’s most feared striker could be turned into a puppy with some cuddles and pets?”  Megan laughed softly. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s hilarious. Now shush and watch the movie,” Kelley said, flicking Megan playfully. More softly she added, “you’ll wake her.”

That shut the group up quickly. No one wanted to get in trouble for interrupting the little amount of sleep you got. 

****

You were sitting next to Alyssa on the bench during practice, bouncing your leg you waited for your turn to run. It had been a stressful week. Everyone was preparing for the first real game of the season and even the usual pre-practice locker room chat had been tenser than usual. 

Stress usually meant one thing for you. No sleep. It was like your brain had a death wish and just wanted to make itself more miserable. The dark circles didn’t go unnoticed by your teammates, hence why you had been regulated to the bench with the keeper when you weren’t running drills. 

Alyssa started humming absentmindedly. You looked over at her. She was biting the edge of her lip, watching Becky run drills. She stopped and looked over, seemingly realizing that she was making noise. 

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

“No, it’s really pretty! Please don’t stop on my account,” You said smiling and looking back towards the team as Alyssa started singing under her breath. “MmmhummmM, mmmhummM, So this is love. So this is what makes life Divine.” 

You swayed to the tune, closing your eyes, once. You opened them again, more slowly. Then you felt yourself blink twice more, more slowly this time. It took slightly more effort to open them again. You stared hard at the field, not noticing Alyssa scootch closer to you on the bench. Then you blinked again. 

 “Alright Naeher, you’re up,” AD called jogging over to the bench from where the rest of the keepers were practicing. She stopped short at the glare Alyssa sent her way. 

“Don’t think I’m going to be practicing PK’s today,” She said softly, gesturing to you with her free arm. The other arm was wrapped around you, keeping you from falling off the bench like you had almost done when you fell asleep. AD smiled, but then ran back to the group, unwilling to disturb you either. 

Maybe the pitch wasn’t the best place to fall asleep, but with the soft looks the team was sending you, they all knew it wouldn’t be the last time. Your health was important and they would help however they could. 

*****

It was like a rule on the bus. One didn’t fall asleep unless they wanted to get mustaches drawn on their face, or their cleats stolen. The bus ride to the practice field was long and supposed to be a time for team bonding, though it almost always ended up with Alex and Kelley sharing earbuds to listen to Hosier or Haley Kiyoko, Krashlyn watching some weird reality show, Megan Christen and Tobin discussing Re-ink stuff and the youngins causing havoc on the back, while Becky and Alyssa did their crosswords and Carli watched the road, trying not to get car sick. 

You and Sam had seats across the aisle from each other but would sit next to each other on trips like these, playing hangman or Super Mario bros on switch. Today was one of those days where you slid across the aisle, pen in hand, looking for entertainment to keep the boredom away. 

“That’s not fair. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is not an acceptable word to describe winning the World Cup,” Sam snorted, shaking her head as you finished the hangman. 

“You’re one to talk. Last time you gave me “jazzy” as a word to describe how it would feel to meet Mia Hamm. You realize that J and Z are like, some of the least commonly used letters in the alphabet?” You exclaimed, your hands waving wildly as you tried to prove your point. 

“It was a response to the fact that you picked a word that doesn’t exist,” Sam rolled her eyes. 

“Wacknut is totally a word,” you huffed crossing your arms. 

“You know what ducky, I think,”  Sam paused, covering her mouth as a giant yawn split her face, “You’re a wacknut.” She finished, exhaling and wiping a tear from one of her eyes. 

“Stop that, I didn’t sleep last night,” you said, yawning unintentionally yourself.

“Told you not to watch that last episode of Game of Thrones,” Sam said, stretching her arms slightly in front of her. 

“You were right, it was a terrible ending, and a disgrace to television, but I had to know” You mumbled, your voice growing soft, and trailing off towards the end.  

“I know, we were all let down by that one,” Sam said, leaning her head on top of yours, comfortingly. “I should take my own advice more often, 6 hours of sleep is just not enough.”

“Hmm, I know why they call you the tower of power, you’re soooo warm,” You nuzzled into her shoulder, her heartbeat soothing you. 

“Did anyone ever tell you the story of how I got that name?” Sam asked, stifling another yawn.

“No,” you echoed her yawn. 

“Good, they never tell it right. Once upon a time, there was a badass named me. The end.”

“Hmm,”

****

“So I know that we’re never supposed to wake Y/N up unless there’s an emergency, but we have practice and there aren’t any rules pertaining to Sammy,” Emily said too loudly, staring at where you were cuddled into Sam’s chest. The bus had stopped a few minutes ago and had slowly unloaded. 

“Yeah, they’re kind of impossible to separate without waking both of them up,” Lindsey nodded, showing Alex a picture she had gotten from above you. Not only was Sam’s head on you, the two of you were holding hands in your sleep, and your other hand was tangled on the end of her shirt like your dreaming mind had mistaken it for a blanket and tried to pull it up. 

“I have no problem carrying ducky, but I’m not tall enough to get Sam too,” Kelley said, scratching her head. 

Behind them, Dawn walked back onto the bus. “What’s the holdup people? We have a practice to get to! I’m not defending you to Vlatko if you’re late again Sonnett.”

You jumped at the noise, jostling Sam awake too. You blinked at the woman, eyes wide and suddenly alert, searching for danger. “What happened!” 

“Whoa, slow down killer. You fell asleep on Sam and she fell asleep on you,” Emily smirked as your cheeks turned blood red. 

“We just arrived to practice. You’re not late yet,” Lindsey said, punching Sam lightly in the shoulder and turning to grab her bag. “You’re lucky Sam that you had a sleeping meep meep to protect you, otherwise you totally would have been pranked for napping on the bus. 

“There’s no way in hell that meep meep fell asleep before our favorite tower of power.” Emily bantered back, shoving Lindsey off of the bus. 

“We better go,” You said softly, playing with the hand that was still intertwined with Sams. 

“Yeah, probably. Remind me to sleep with you again sometime. That was the best nap I had in ages,” Sam said absentmindedly stretching her neck to each side. Your eyes went wide. Then she froze, realizing what she had said. “Wait. That came out wrong.”

“It’s fine Sammie, I know what you meant, and I’d love that,” you bumped her shoulder with yours, then grabbed your bag. “Race you to the pitch!” 

Sam shook her head as if to clear it as you launched yourself off the bus. Then she grabbed her bag and followed you, sprinting to try and catch up. 

 Yep, the team would do everything they could to make sure their little meep meep got the best sleep she could. 

[misslilli]

You guys are incredible, thank you so much ❤️ I don't want this story to ever end 😂

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 28 - Miss Undercover

[ FM ]

Don’t judge me, but I’ve become a creature of habit when it comes to frequenting coffee shops at the exact same time on the exact same day for the third time in a row now. When I hear the door open, I turn my head to see a small figure coming in, in black leggings and black boots, the hood of a black sweater pulled down low to obscure her face. I don’t need that one strand of red hair poking out to know who it is.

Stopping to stand before me, she hisses quietly. “Face forward. And whatever you do, don’t say my name!” Obviously, she doesn’t need to see who’s standing before her, either.

Maybe it’s the new boots I ordered from Land’s End.

I’m thoroughly confused by now but I do as I’m told, whispering out of the corner of my mouth. “Hey Eminem, what the heck are you doing?” With her head down, I have to strain my ears to hear her speaking out of the hood.

“I’m incognito this week. Parents. Talks about report cards. Don’t want to be harassed.” Not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves, I stifle my laugh and order our drinks at the counter.

While we wait, some woman sidles up to us. “Miss Scully, is that you?”

With reflexes I’m quite proud of, I pull Miss Undercover into me to hide her face and the strand of hair from the woman’s eyes.

“Nope, not her. Just my girlfriend, she’s shy. She just had a bad case of the measles, you know, worst on the face, awful scarring… Bye now!” Balancing the paper tray with both cups in one hand, I lead Scully outside.

Once we’re safe, she steps away with a shove to my chest, glaring at me from under her hood, but I can see the smile tugging on her lips.

“Measles on my face, Mulder? You couldn’t come up with a better cover story?”

“Hey, I just saved your butt, a little gratitude for the Knight in shining armor?” I look down at the paper tray I’m holding to see that they haven’t put any names on our cups this time. “Aaaw man, they forgot our names this time. And I had such good names picked out!”

Scully takes a pen out of her purse and scribbles something on both of our cups, grinning. “There.”

I turn the cup over to read what she has scribbled and my eyebrows shoot up.

“Moose, Scully? I’m not sure if I should be offended at that.” I grab her wrist to turn her cup over as well. “And Squirrel? You’re a very strange woman…”

Laughing, she shrugs, pushes the hood off her head and we start walking, recounting our days this week so far. It sheds some light on her strange get-up, because it’s the last week before Christmas break and the parents come in to discuss the current status of their children’s report cards. And they seem to harass the teachers outside of school for a bit of a heads up of what to expect.

“You’re a pretty decent undercover agent, have you ever thought of joining the Bureau - you already have the perfect outfit!” She laughs and shakes her head.

“I’m sure they’d be so embarrassed by my love of rainbow colored outfits, they’d stick me in the basement to hide me away. And you’d be stuck having to check up on me, that I haven’t died from neglect down there for being the FBI’s Most Unwanted.”

“You’d be head of the Bureau in no time, we’re nothing but a bunch of little kids playing pretend, always misbehaving in some way or another, just like in school!”

“I’d give everyone who solves a case a golden stickers they can trade in to reach into the treasure box of sweets and pencils and mini-erasers.” The mental image of grown-up, tough as nails, Special Agents carrying guns with their own little star reward system is hilarious.

“I’m sure the solve-rate will go through the roof with those incentives!”

I’m a little sad we’ve reached our parting junction once again, I’m having such a good time just talking and bantering back and forth. It gives me a sense of calm, unlike the past few months when I’d spend my days obsessing over when I’m going to see her again. Now I know, it’s Tuesday afternoon after school. I hope it becomes a standing tradition.

We hug our semi-friendly half-hug goodbye and she gives me a little wave on top of it, before turning to walk back home.

“I’ll see you around, Moose!”

“You bet, Squirrel!”

—————

[ DS ]

I get home that day with a sense of calm I haven’t felt in a long time. The preparations of the Christmas celebrations have given me a much welcomed distraction and slowly, as the first flakes of snow fell, the ache inside my chest begins to let up.

Just like the snow settling inside a shaken snowglobe, I begin to see a little more clearly.

Countless sessions with both my therapist and my friends have been spent facing the demons of my past relationships and while it’s been a pretty bumpy ride, I feel like I’ve come a long way since that afternoon in the gym.

The girls are out grocery shopping, so I settle down on the couch with my e-book reader, diving into the world of The Seven Sisters, a series of books I’ve been enjoying for the past few years.

I get so lost in the adventures of one sister in Australia, I’m startled at the noise the girls makes when they get home from the store. Putting my Kindle aside to help them with the groceries, they pull me into their excited conversation about the upcoming field trip to the Chocolate Factory.

Once that topic has been exhausted, we move on to the Christmas party at The Cabby Shack. “Hey D, have you picked an outfit for the Christmas party yet?”

“I did, I’m wearing my favorite Christmas sweater, you know the one with Rudolph on the front and the red pompom for his nose.”

We’ve made it a tradition to wear our most cringey sweaters for this party and they’re always a big hit with the crowd.

“I’m glad we’re going this year after all. I thought you’d be much too sad to come but you seem to be doing better, D. Am I right?” Nodding, I give her a smile.

“Yeah I am. I feel like I’ve come out the other side, finally. In a big part thanks to you guys!”

“Ya, we’re pretty awesome, right girls?”

The casual meet-ups with Mulder, which are not as casual as they might seem, is the first thing I haven’t shared with the girls in as long as I can remember. And I won’t share my plans for the Christmas party with them either.

They’re my little secret to keep.

[krreader]

tears of gold | the aftermath.

pairing: min yoongi x reader fandom: bts warnings: anxiety ; depression genre: angst ; fluff word count: 3.3k+  previous: x

summary: if yoongi had a super power, it would be to turn back time and undo his past mistakes. 

a/n: tumblr, you better not do me dirty again, let ME POST THIS NOW.

This started out as a very normal day on tour.

Yoongi got woken up by his alarm at 6 in the morning, turning it off with a heavy sigh before lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling through the darkness of the room. As always, his first thoughts were about his daughter, hoping that she was doing okay, that she was healthy and happy. Then his thoughts drifted to you, hoping that you were better off now that you were away from him.

It's been two years since Hoseok had told him that he had spotted you out on the streets with his child and back then, he had done everything he could to track you down, only to find out from one of your old friends that you had decided to move out of the country.

And he didn't know where to.

Two years of the never ending wondering where you were, sadness about the what-could-have-been, disappointment in himself, all the while pretending he was still the same bubbly Suga that fans loved so much.

One of those days, he wouldn't be able to put on the facade anymore.

Finally, he slipped out of bed and under the shower, getting ready within ten minutes, before joining the others for breakfast.

He got himself a plate, sat down and continued his morning like he always did, his thoughts slowly managing to focus on the performance today.

Until Namjoon said something that made him freeze, a cold shiver running down his spine, because he hadn’t expected to hear that name being said out loud ever again.

“What the hell?” he turned the flyer in his hand around, his eyes widening, before reading what was on it: “Join (Y/N) (Y/L/N) for the reading of her bestseller that captivated the hearts of millions.”

It got very quiet for a moment, everyone that was sitting at the table stopped eating and now stared at Namjoon, but he stared at Yoongi.

“I thought (Y/N) was in management?”

“The (Y/N)? Yoongi hyung's ex girlfriend?”

“She's an author now?”

“She moved here?”

Question after question was being thrown around a moment later, but Yoongi couldn't do anything other than stare at your smiling face printed on the flyer.

You looked so happy, your eyes literally sparkling and your posture screaming nothing but confidence.

Had it really only been three years? Because looking at you on that flyer now made it seem like it’s been over twenty..

Hoseok was the first to clear his throat, knowing more than the others did, “Doesn't really matter, right? They broke up, I don't think that it's any of our business.”

Even if they were all curious, a look at Yoongi, whose head was hanging so low that nobody could see his face through his long strands of hair, was enough for them all to return to eating quietly.

No matter how long it's been, he was clearly still struggling, they all knew that. They had tried to help, had done everything in their power, but at one point, there was nothing left to do for them. None of them could truly help.

Nevertheless, Namjoon left the flyer on the table as he and the others got up to go back to their rooms to get their things before they had to leave for the venue and Yoongi couldn't help but to reach for it and stare at it for a long time, his fingertips running over your printed face.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered to himself.

And once again, he got reminded of just how much he missed you. Your face, your touch, your lips against his. Everything about you, he missed, yearned for.

So even though it was a bad idea for both parties and his mental health, he made the decision to go there, hoping that he’d get to see a glimpse of his daughter from afar.

The room filled up within the first ten minutes until there was absolutely no seat left.

You truly hadn't expected so many to turn up, but looking at the crowd of so many clutching your book to their chests with a happy and excited smile on their face made you once again realize of just how good of an idea it had been to write down your struggles and thoughts, knowing that so many could relate and connect with you like that.

“Are you ready?” your agent placed her hand on your lower back, “They're all waiting for you.”

“I'm nervous,” you admitted.

“That's normal. But you'll do great. Just read the passages that we've talked about, don't think too much about it.”

And while you and your agent discussed some final things before you’d go on stage, Yoongi managed to sneak in and stand at the very back, his eyes immediately scanning the room in hopes of seeing a little girl, but there was none.

Just.. fans.

You had fans now.

A part of him was so proud of you, of what you had achieved after everything that he had put you through. But that other part hated him for that exact reason.

“Please welcome (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

Your name made him snap out of his thoughts, his breath getting stuck in his throat when you stepped out on that stage and he swore that for a moment, the world stopped spinning. He couldn't hear the claps and screams anymore, it was as if everything blurred except for you on that stage, smiling so happily and carefree, even if you seemed a little nervous.

You looked gorgeous.

Your hair had grown a little, but it suited you so well. You wore a blue dress, one of his favorite colors on you, with black heels that he loved so much. And like when he saw you on that flyer, all the feelings for you that had never vanished came crashing back down and all he could think about was: ‘I love you so much.. even after all this time.’

“Uh, thank you all for coming here, I really didn't expect so many of you to show up,” you chuckled nervously and sat down, grabbing your book from the floor, “If you read my book – which I assume you did, since you showed up here today – then you know how much it means to me. Sharing it with the world and reaching so many of you that have been or are in the same boat as I used to be in... if I was able to help even one of you with it, then I've achieved everything I wanted.”

Another round of claps echoed through the room, Yoongi's eyebrows furrowing as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Maybe he should have read up on what the book was about.

Probably would have been a good idea.

Because he really wasn't prepared for what he heard once you started reading.

“I used to think that my live was perfect. Perfect job, perfect friends, perfect family, perfect partner. There was not a single thing in my life that I had wanted to change at the time. I was living in a bubble with nothing but happiness and bliss. A bubble that I wasn't prepared to burst.. ever. But that's what happened when the pregnancy test showed two lines. That day, time stopped for a very long time. I truly thought that my life was over when these two lines appeared. It's not that I wasn't well off financially, or that I had parents who would disapprove. It's just that I wasn't ready to be a mother yet. The thought of taking care of something so precious and raising them to be the best possible version of themselves, that was something that scared the living shit out of me. It paralyzed me to the point where when I walked out of the bathroom that day, I was just the shell of my former happy self. I knew I had to tell my partner right away, was expecting him to put his arm around my shoulder and tell me that everything would be alright. That he'd be with me and that we'd raise this child together, that no matter what, I wouldn't be alone in this,” you stopped for a moment to gulp down hard, then you looked up at the crowd with tears in your eyes, “But I was.”

The more you read, the weaker Yoongi's legs became.

This was about him.

“I gave him an ultimatum that one day. That if he didn't want the child now that he'd never get another chance at being a father again. Even if I wasn't ready for the baby, I never would have abandoned it. But he did. He abandoned her before she was even born. He walked out that day and I was completely alone.”

When the world started spinning around Yoongi, he took a step back until he hit the cold window, trying to regain control over his body and emotions.

“The following weeks were the worst of my life. I didn't feel alive anymore, despite the life inside of me growing. I didn't feel anything, gave up on crying eventually, stopped eating and just didn't function properly anymore. Anxiety and depression consumed me, I was feeling worthless and unloved and nothing could fix it. No matter what I did, no matter who tried to help me. That continued on until I went for my first ultrasound appointment,” despite the tear that rolled out of your eye, you smiled, “I've never heard anything more beautiful than that sound. The heartbeat of my child. Beating so strong and loudly, despite me taking so little care of myself. I sobbed my eyes out that day, kept apologizing to the screen, to my baby and made a promise that day to take better care of myself to take care of the baby. The baby, that was so strong, even when I couldn't be. But I wanted to be. I wanted to be strong for her and so I made a decision that day. I became the mother that I wanted my child to have. A strong one. I changed my number and I moved, I started a new life, far away from the man that promised me the world but threw me away the moment that his idea of the future got destroyed. I was done crying over someone that treated me like trash, that treated my child – our child – like trash. So I regained control over my life again, saw a therapist to talk about my issues and by the time that my daughter was born, I could hold her in my arms with the happiest of smiles and say: I love you and I'm so glad you're in this world. I’m so glad that I get to call you my daughter.”

At that point, Yoongi was silently crying, biting down so hard on his lip as to not make a sound and alert anyone of what was going on that it started to bleed.

“I raised my daughter on my own and I couldn't be prouder of who she is today. This beautiful bundle of pure joy and happiness that loves with all her heart. I did that. I didn't need her father and she didn't either. Him leaving us was so hard at first, but it made me so strong, it made our bond so strong. But I guess, if I could say one thing to him now..-”

Yoongi hadn’t expected you to spot him in that moment, but maybe you had seen him from the very beginning and had only waited until now to acknowledge him.

You weren’t surprised to see him here, you had heard that BTS was in town and since he had tried to contact you for so long after your break-up, you had assumed that he'd come by.

But you were still composed, were smiling at him, very softly, actually. Something that he hadn’t expected, “I forgive you.”

When you closed your book and signaled the crowd that the reading was over, everyone got up and clapped, but you still stared at Yoongi.

You meant what you said.

You were done being angry and disappointed. You had grown as a person and had decided that you'd rather spend your days surrounding yourself with things and people that made you happy, than hold a grudge over people from the past, that including Yoongi.

People started to line up after the reading was done for the signing of your books that came afterwards. Many of the ones that came told you just how much your book had helped them on their journeys, knowing that they weren't alone and that this feeling of hopelessness would go away once they realized they were so strong and just how much stronger they could be for their child.

It took a while, but eventually, the room started to clear, until there was only one more person, still standing at the same exact spot as before.

“Uh.. do you want me to..-?” your agent asked, but you shook your head.

“It’s alright. I will see at the office tomorrow.”

She hesitated for a moment, but then she nodded and walked away. Whoever this person was, the way you looked at him made her believe that you two had a lot to discuss.

You took a few deep breaths to prepare yourself for what was coming, then you got up and walked over to him, smiling as softly as before, “It's been a few years, hasn't it?”

“Three years, two months and one week,” he said without having to think twice about it. He remembered when he made the biggest mistake of his life.

He would forever remember that day.

You watched him for a moment, cocking your head to the side, before your smile dropped, “I wish I could say you look good, but.. you don’t, Yoongi.”

“You do,” Yoongi nodded, “You always did.”

You brushed over your dress, almost lovingly, before you said: “Thank you.”

Yoongi had so many questions and so many things to say and ask, but the most pressing thing was: “Is.. she here?”

“No. She's with my mother.”

His shoulders dropped in disappointment, “Ah.. I see.”

You knew that he regretted his decision, despite never having read his messages since you had blocked his number soon after the break-up and then having gotten another number altogether. But your friends had told you about how often he stopped by their places in hopes of you being there or them telling him about you and your daughter.

“I've worked very hard for the last years, Yoongi. To raise my child, but also to become the woman that I am today. I've grown. And I've.. been thinking a lot. What I said before, about me forgiving you. I mean that.”

“Why, though?” it’s not like he deserved it.

“Because even after everything that happened between us... you gave me the most beautiful gift I could have asked for. And if I had to go through all that pain again, just to hold her in my arms eventually, I would.”

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head, pressing his eyes shut before more tears could escape them, “I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

“Don’t be,” you put your hand on his shoulder and waited for him to look at you, before you said: “I’m happy now, Yoongi. We both are. What’s done is done and there’s nothing we can do to change it.”

You didn’t say anything else after that, just gave him one last smile before disappearing.

At first he thought about running after you, but you had forgiven him and that is much more than he deserved. He couldn’t really ask for anything else, could he?

But someone else? Maybe.

Two days later, Yoongi was packing up his suitcase, ready to fly back to Seoul to return to his daily routine, when someone entered his hotel room.

“Hey hyung,” Namjoon smiled a little, “You got a second?”

“Almost ready,” Yoongi said in a small voice.

“Yeah, about that,” Namjoon opened up his suitcase again when Yoongi had closed it and pressed something into his hands, making sure he was holding whatever it was tightly, “Why don't you take a few more days off to relax? I think this city would do you some good.”

And with a wink, he left, Yoongi spotting Hoseok leaning against the doorframe, smiling encouragingly at Yoongi 

He didn't know what he meant. It was only when he unfolded the piece of paper that his legs gave in and he had to sit down for a moment.

“Namjoon?” your eyes widened, a huge smile spreading on your lips as you embraced him without thinking twice, “What are you doing here? And Hoseok too? You guys!”

“Hoseok hyung told me.. well.. everything. We wanted to hear your story and wanted to apologize for everything. If we had known sooner, maybe we could have helped.”

“No, don't blame yourselves. Yoongi is his own person, he made that decision himself.”

“That.. is actually another thing that we wanted to talk to you about,” Hoseok sighed heavily, “We would never ask you to give him another chance, not after everything. But.. would it be too much to ask you to let him meet her? Just... once?”

That question caught you off-guard, Namjoon quickly adding: “You can say no if you're uncomfortable with it, of course!”

It was something that you had thought about a lot over the course of the last years. Would it be so bad if he met her? Just once? Or if you sent him a picture of her, at least? If not for his sake, then for hers? You were raising her on your own and you didn’t need a man to help you, but the older she got, the more questions she had about why she didn’t have a dad.

If he really had changed..-

You were quiet for a long time, before saying: “I promised myself I would never let him see her when he walked out that day. But the older I get and the older she gets, the more I think about it... if it really were so bad if he met her just once.. if maybe they could have a relationship, even when we couldn't.”

“It's your decision just how far you want this to go, we're just asking you for letting him meet her once.. just to see her face, so he doesn't have to imagine it anymore.”

With the piece of paper in which your address was scribbled on clutched tightly in his hand, Yoongi pressed the doorbell with a shaking hand, his breathing uneven and his legs wobbly.

He didn't know what to expect. Three hours ago, he hadn't expected any of this to happen, so now he wasn't able to wrap his mind around it that it was actually happening. That he would meet the girl that was on his mind constantly for the last three years.

Once again, he was face to face with you, the one he called the love of his life once.

And a moment later a little girl squeezed herself through your legs, looking at him with the same eyes that he found himself looking at when he looked in the mirror, only a lot more alive and happier.

“Hello, mister. I'm Dae!” she introduced herself without hesitation and a beaming smile.

Yoongi couldn't help but let out a happy laugh, all the tension easing for a moment.

What would happen after today? Only time could tell. But for today, you would let them have this. And maybe you did this as much for him as you did for yourself.

To finally find real closure to all this.

[shxxtingstarss]

therapy no. 29

today's session was quite good, which is probably the reason why my therapist decided to overdraw the time by almost 15 minutes.

We started the session by talking about my GP, she was supposed to prescribe me my emergency meds (my old antipsychotics in a really low dose so it makes me sleep), which she did, but she had some questions for my therapist about it because she isn't familiar with that medication and the low dose is not very usual. So my therapist has to write a short letter to my GP, explaining why I need that medication and what we're doing in therapy - in that context (thinking out loud about what he should write) I think he tried to praise my efforts in therapy indirectly - he said he'd write down that I cooperate very well and try very hard to have success in therapy, that we're doing depthpsychology oriented psychotherapy, and that I would need the medication for my (nightly) panic attacks, strong overexcitement/overwhelmedness etc. so that I could just go to sleep.

After that was done, we talked about how my week went and that I tried to not be in touch with my emotions at all because when I was, they were usually really overwhelming ...I just realized in this exact moment that this is the reason why my mood-diary-app is almost empty when I look at some days of the past week. lol, could've gotten that one earlier. Anyways, we then got to the topic of F and my problems and discussions and my personal boundaries (and how they're being ignored...again). At the beginning of the session I mentioned how confused I was about the fact that the panic attacks, that wake me up from sleep, came back on tuesday morning, right after the evening when F told me he had decided that he wanted to try to start over with our relationship/partnership and I was genuinely happy and relieved, but a few hours later doubts had filled my head again and I woke up with a really bad feeling in my stomach (+diarrhea from the anxiety), crippling fear, shaky hands, trouble breathing... all the horror coming back (only in a smaller version than a few weeks ago). Well now it all makes sense, because there are a few things that feed those doubts and insecurities...

namely I found three levels of problems, the problematic way of how our conflicts were going on in the last weeks / how we were talking to each other (or..not), the way F doesn't seem to care about my boundaries in situations where it would be quite important to respect them, and a lot of (relationship-) work in general that is ahead of us and will be very hard.

Because I talked about the problematic conflicts/discussions, I finally managed to also talk about the central conflict of the last few weeks: F installing dating apps less then three days after we kinda-broke-up (it took us a week to be sure, but he already installed dating apps in the first days of that week in order to meet guys so he could finally gather experience with guys too) and F meeting people in the last few weeks while we were still figuring things out and how that made me crazy, well not crazy, but it made me feel hurt and worthless at first, later I felt threatened by the thought of him being (romantically) interested in other people while I'm still waiting for him (or at least waiting for him to decide whether or not he wants to try 'us' again) and had panic attack after panic attack when he went out with that guy from another town (he drove there over one hour which made it rly worse for me). I almost didn't want to tell my therapist how that topic made me feel, that I felt worthless and that I actually didn't think it was ok of F to do that while we were still figuring things out (that second thing is something I thought all the time but I didn't say that out loud, my therapist asked me if that was the big thing behind all that and the boundary of me that was crossed at that point), I was so ashamed of my feelings and wasn't even sure if I was allowed to feel that way. During today's session I found out that a lot of my judgement of my feelings and thoughts about this topic might have something to do with how F reacted to them: read more here

So, for example, because he asked me why I couldn't be more "chill" about all that, I wasn't sure anymore if I was allowed to feel the way I felt, and tried to re-evaluate my feelings and thoughts by talking about that topic to other people and see how they would react. But they reacted very individually, some were even more upset than me, others were not very upset at all, but they said they understood why I felt that way. Well, in the end I didn't come to any conclusion because the re-evaluation ended in a 50:50 - kinda way.

We got a bit more into that topic of me thinking about if I'm allowed to feel the way I feel, and that I was scared of being judged for the way I feel about this topic and felt really ashamed of how I feel about it (so ashamed that I first couldn't even tell my therapist how I felt about the situation when he asked me that... I explained why I didn't want to tell him and managed to tell him a few minutes later) which ended in me feeling quite overwhelmed with all the stuff I told him today and all the stuff that was waiting for me outside that safe room I was in.

I felt very deeply understood by my therapist today and very safe with him even though the topic was very complicated and stressful for me. He ended the session with stating that maybe it is good to have a focus on a topic like that, my boundaries, because I am very self-aware/reflecting person, and am thinking a lot about my actions and feelings and thoughts all the time, it can be good to really focus on something this big so we could maybe have a great impact on all the other problematic and difficult topics too.

[luninosity]

*wanders by* Look what I worked on today...

Warnings for…NOT actual self-harm, but Jason spotting a scar on one of Colby’s hands, a scar he doesn’t know the story of, and briefly considering that possibility. (The actual story is much more of a cooking-related accident!) Plus general warnings for brief mention of Colby’s Awful Exes and family, & related emotional abuse.

#

“How’s this?” Jason waited, fingers resting over Colby’s hands in his. The hotel room wrapped comfort around them; it’d begun as nondescript, but had welcomed Colby’s rainbow cascade of scarves and Jason’s tidy unpacking. It was their home now, for these next two weeks of filming on location. “Helping?”

 “Very much helping, thank you.” Colby obediently didn’t move, holding both hands out. They were sitting on the bed, having changed into pajama pants and t-shirts—Colby’d borrowed one of Jason’s shirts, too large but in a cuddly flattering way—and the day had been long. They’d been filming into the evening, because Jill had wanted the specific light, dwindling away as Colby’s young and brilliant magician character got imprisoned and bound by iron and tortured, refusing to give up and lead the villains to Jason’s hero.

 The chains and cuffs had been fake, of course. Hollywood movie-making magic. A vast leap from real iron.

 But that didn’t mean they were soft or forgiving. They’d had hard edges, angled in spots, heavy, with no real padding. He’d had to struggle against them. He’d had to kneel while the villains shoved his hands to the floor and—cautiously, weight judged for performance—stepped upon them, pretending to shatter bones. The floor, and the impact, hadn’t been soft either.

 The bruises and scrapes and cuts were all too real. Colby winced as Jason spread healing salve across a tender spot. “Ow. Sorry, sorry, I know you’re being careful, I’m not complaining.”

 “Tell me if it’s hurting too much.” He tapped a finger over the back of Colby’s wrist. “And don’t apologize for it. Are you sure you don’t want me to get the medical people to check you out?”

 “They did, right after. I know you know; you were there. It’s fine, it’s not—ow—serious. It’ll heal.”

 “Might need some wrapping, though.” Jason eyed the bruises, the nicks. They shuffled purple and red across Colby’s skin, shame-faced. He didn’t like them existing, though he knew they weren’t anyone’s fault. “Just for tonight, to keep all this on. Not too tight.”

 “Whatever you think works best,” Colby agreed. “You’d know better than I would, as far as stunts and injuries. Ow, oh, drat, that one hurts a bit more.”

 That one was probably the worst, Jason judged: scraped raw, layers exposed, across Colby’s left wrist. The edge of that cuff had been both rough and sharp. And obviously his touch hadn’t been careful enough. “Shit. Sorry. Love you. Is the numbing part working, at all? It’s supposed to be helping.”

 “Oh yes,” Colby said, obligingly. “It’s already better. Thank you for doing this.”

 Jason sighed.

 “It’s true,” Colby protested. “I honestly do feel better. I’d tell you if not.” Hair tumbling to his shoulders in loose dark waves—not a wig, but extensions, left in for fantastical mystical effect—he was elfin and pretty and earnest, wearing Jason’s too-large shirt, eyes huge and blue and searching Jason’s face.

 “I know you would. But I also want to know if it’s not helping enough, okay?”

 “Yes,” Colby said meekly. “I’ll say so if it’s not working, I promise.”

 “Okay, then. Just checking.” He tried to make his touch as gentle as possible. He tried to be as soothing as he could: a protective bulk, not a threatening one. Hands offering care, not more harm. Weight and breadth positioned harmlessly on the bed, no demands.

 He knew Colby trusted him. He felt a small glow of pride that Colby did: enough to admit to being in pain, to wanting care. He loved Colby and would care for Colby with all his heart, all his strength, all his soul; not a question, not ever.

 He still hated seeing Colby in pain. Always had, always would.

 That’d be true for anyone he loved, of course. He’d had some discussions with their therapist about that, about grief and loss and Charlie and Jason’s own desperate need to save people, to be strong. He knew that about himself. But it was worse, it was the worst it could be, when the person in pain was Colby.

 Colby was the other half of his heart. The brightest piece of his life, the piece that’d dived in and reminded him how to swim and that he liked baking, the piece that’d made him laugh and drawn him into whimsical chattering conversations about wizards and dragons and romance and coffee. The piece that liked pink shirts with sequins on the sleeves, and anchovies on pizza, and history and stories and words that could steal an audience’s breath away.

 And Colby had been hurt before, so very badly, for so very long. Inside and out, physical and emotional bruises, day after day. Jason hadn’t been there then, hadn’t known him for the worst of it. But he knew now, at least as much as anyone could, after the fact.

 He’d seen Colby flinch from an unexpected touch, get wide-eyed at a large body hugging too tightly at a convention, and—the scariest of all—go silent and someplace else, someplace not present, at a drift of familiar cologne and a flash-flood of memory in the air. He knew what Colby had told him, which was enough to make Jason carefully store up a lot of emotions and then go down to the gym and beat the hell out of a punching bag for long enough to get his reactions under control.

 He knew about Colby’s family, too. The layers of those bruises—not physical, but emotional, a slow brutal evisceration of Colby’s sense of self and self-worth—went back decades. They were working on it; their therapist said that Jason being here, not leaving, not making Colby earn any crumb of affection, was the exact best thing he could do. Jason hoped so.

 He wished he could do more. He wished he could fight all of Colby’s demons. Like his character in this film, raising a sword. Lifting a shield. Fighting for a cause.

 He knew Colby’s hands pretty well, by now. He knew the way those slim graceful fingers felt in his, on his body—in his body, and oh that was always fun, Colby teasing him open and stroking him and pressing inside him. He knew Colby’s gestures on and off camera, the weight and shape of his palms, the backs of his hands, the old scars from period-piece swordfighting lessons and some small-scale stunt work, comedy pratfalls and in-role clumsiness. He knew about the short jagged line on the outside of Colby’s little finger on the right hand, from hopping a fence while filming a scene for that high-school coming-of-age comedy.

 He knew he didn’t know every smallest detail—he didn’t have a photographic memory—but he had a decent idea of Colby’s hands, he thought.

 Which was why his fingers slowed and came to a stop, as they felt something—as his gaze landed on something—that he didn’t recognize.

 Thin. White. Just above the heel of Colby’s left hand, across his palm. Long-healed—no texture at all, only noticeable if someone was paying extremely close attention, but enough to’ve left a line. Liam, Jason thought first, with a shock of anger like scarlet blood—but no, this was older than a handful of years, older than any injuries at Colby’s ex’s hands. Clearly so.

 Colby hadn’t seemed to notice—he’d been looking at Jason’s other hand, which had scooped up more salve—but he noticed the pause now. His eyes came up to find Jason’s, huge and flower-blue.

 Jason turned Colby’s hand more upward. Touched the line, very very lightly. His fingers shook.

 “Oh,” Colby said, soft with love, wry in the way of someone realizing, “no, it’s not what you’re thinking, and don’t say you weren’t thinking of at least two possibilities. It’s not either of those. I, er…well, I was about eleven years old and I’d been trying to prepare dinner for myself and I had absolutely nonexistent knife skills with regard to chopping carrots. And my father’s chef kept his knives very sharp.”

 “You were making dinner…for yourself?” He touched Colby’s palm again, traced the scar above the heel. It had plainly been a clean cut, straight, but deep enough to leave a mark once healed.

 Colby did that familiar nose-scrunch at him, the one that meant you won’t like this story. “You won’t like this story. But it wasn’t that bad.”

 “Tell me? If you want,” he amended. Not an order, not a demand. The freckle near Colby’s collarbone winked at him, playing peek-a-boo with the loose neck of Jason’s shirt.

 “Oh, of course. It’s hardly a secret.” Colby wiggled salve-smeared fingers at him. “So we were living in Paris then—Dad having been appointed as an ambassador and all, you know…”

 The storied instrument of his voice became, for an instant, more American than anything else, on the word Dad; Howard Kent personified the type of United States politician who embodied privilege, money, and self-interest above everything, including his marriage and his son.

 “…and my parents, being, er, my parents, did tend to do things like go on holiday without remembering that I existed, which meant the staff also generally forgot I existed, or took their cues from my parents, or assumed someone else had made some arrangements somewhere. So I was eleven and a bit, and I’d got used to making sandwiches and things, but I thought perhaps I’d try to cook, because I was trying to learn, you know, so I wouldn’t have to bother anyone.”

 Jason opened his mouth. Shut it.

 Colby lifted both eyebrows, inviting and amused. “Yes, go on, say it.”

 “You know everything I’m gonna say.”

 “I do. It’s all right; I’ve got you now.” Colby leaned against him, on the bed: easy contact, unremarkable, except for how it was remarkable, it was a marvel, given everything Jason knew.

 He wanted to cry for the boy Colby’d been, precocious and shy and so very alone.

 He held Colby’s hand. “I’m here. I’m always here. I’ll chop all your carrots if you need me to.”

 “You would, if I asked, wouldn’t you? Well, in any case, I managed to slice my hand open, as you might expect under the circumstances, and then I very nearly passed out from the sheer shock of it, and then after a few minutes I pulled myself together and found a first-aid kit and tried to patch it up, though it didn’t work terribly well because I was trying to do it one-handed.”

 “Jesus, Colby.” He could’ve demanded, why didn’t you call someone, a member of the security team, the household staff, a doctor, an emergency number, your parents? He didn’t.

 He knew why Colby wouldn’t. Not causing a fuss, not giving anyone a reason to disapprove or to not want him, not believing anyone would come or answer or care…

  His heart cracked open and bled more. Like younger Colby, huddled on a kitchen floor with a first-aid kit. “What happened?”

[galaxywhump]

Never Alone

[Masterlist]

Timeline: set after Thorns

cw: discussion of death - murder and suicide, slavery whump, forced relationship, creepy/intimate and possessive whumper, noncon touching and kissing, swearing, alcohol, referenced alcohol abuse, gaslighting, begging, brainwashing, conditioning, hand gagging, creepy comfort, hopelessness, food mention.

~~~

On SV-240 even waking up has become a statement of I don’t want this, I don’t want to be here, I’m going to get out of here, a fight to keep the heart and mind free of the pleasant feelings of waking up well-rested. 

Above all, Wren dreads the day when he wakes up happy.

Today is, to his relief, far from that day.

He groans and squeezes his eyes shut when light explodes under his eyelids, and his ears ring from the slightest movement when he curls up further and hides his head between his shoulders.

“Sweetheart?”

“Fuuuck, leave me alone”, he mumbles, Daniel’s voice grating on his ears even more than usual.

“Hangover, huh?”

“Take a wild fucking guess.”

“Told you”, Daniel says in a playfully scolding manner, taking away all the weight of what had happened the day before.

“Please?”

He needs it. Just once he wants to ruin himself, drink until all he feels is the burn of alcohol and he wakes up the next day in the familiar pain of a hangover. Just once he wants to regain the worst part of himself.

So he begs.

“But we’ve taken such good care of your problem, sweetheart. Do you really want to ruin it now?”

“N-not ruin.” You never let me drink anyway, asshole, let alone too much. “Just this one time. Please, I… I need some more. Just tonight.”

“You’re going to regret it tomorrow”, and Wren’s first thought is torture, punishment for daring to ask for something that ridiculous, and he finds himself thinking that more alcohol would still be worth it.

“I know.”

And then, for once, Daniel agrees - unusual, Wren notes bitterly, given that the request wasn’t benefitting him in any way.

“Do you want to get up?”

“No.”

He just wants to stay here, sleep the day away like he would on Earth, alone - even though he knows that the last part is impossible. The first two alone would still be nice, though.

Daniel lays one hand on Wren’s shoulder, and this time he succeeds at opening his eyes to look at him, immediately paying the price of a sharp pain flashing through his head before giving way to dull throbbing.

“See, this is exactly what I wanted to avoid”, Daniel sighs, moving his hand up and down Wren’s arm. “Now you’re out for half a day at least.”

“It’s not like I had any plans anyway”, Wren mutters, averting his gaze.

“That doesn’t mean you should sabotage yourself like that, sweetheart.”

“What, are you playing my therapist now? Leave me alone.”

Daniel sighs again - it’s a heavy sigh that makes Wren’s blood boil, worried, as if Daniel cared about anything and anyone other than himself.

“I’ll bring you breakfast. And water. It should help a bit.”

Wren nods and follows Daniel with his gaze as he gets up from the bed and leaves the room; once he’s alone he fixes his gaze on the wall, trying to fight down thoughts that fill him with unease.

It’s more than he’s even gotten. On Earth he was always alone, left to deal with hangovers on his own. There was never anyone to take care of him, or even just call to check on him, to care.

He just wishes it was anyone but Daniel being kind to him, being by his side, kissing him, waking up before him and bringing him breakfast, saying the three words he’s not sure he even remembers ever hearing before.

He just wishes he had any point of reference. Anyone to have given him all the firsts.

Maybe that was the point, one of the factors that made his price so high. He was a blank canvas with insecurities and issues for Daniel to take advantage of. He had made himself that way, an easy target, not missed by anyone-

Stop. It doesn’t matter.

My name is Wren Rackham. I was kidnapped. I’ve been here for… over a year. I’m still fighting. I’m not broken.

And I’m never going to be.

Daniel comes back, carrying a tray - and Wren can’t help but wonder if it’s the exact same one he once was made to hold up - careful not to drop it, giving Wren a gentle smile that he doesn’t return.

Sitting up makes every muscle in his body protest - he hasn’t had a hangover that bad in years; he supposes that was to be expected after forcible quitting.

“There you go. Need anything else?”

“Yes, I need you to leave me alone.”

Daniel raises his eyebrows as he hands Wren the tray, and shakes his head.

“No need to be so rude, you know. But I’ll blame it on the hangover, and we can move on, alright?”

Wren glares at him briefly, and doesn’t comment further when Daniel sits down on the bed instead of leaving. Doesn’t matter. He’s through despairing every time his requests go unheard… or at least when those requests are this minor.

Being left alone isn’t minor. I’m just giving it up.

Doesn’t. Matter.

Once he’s done with eating, now taking his time drinking the water he was given, reveling in the feeling of no longer being completely parched, Daniel moves closer to him, and there’s touch, as always, a hand on his shoulder, the other brushing his hair away from his forehead, and it’s yet another thing Wren should be disgusted by but isn’t. It’s too frequent for him to care every single time. 

Brainwashing. It’s brainwashing. I should fight it.

“Feeling better, sweetheart?”

He gives a tentative nod in response, focusing on the thoughts, trying to rationalize with them.

I know it’s brainwashing. And as long as I know that… I should be okay. I’m fighting. And that’s what matters.

“I just want you to know that I’m always here”, Daniel says, and Wren shivers, hoping that that will be blamed on the hangover too. “Whenever you have a bad day, like today. I’m here to make it better.”

“You’re failing”, Wren mutters, and Daniel laughs, hiding his face in Wren’s neck, sending another shiver of disgust and fear radiating from the spot, which only gets stronger when Daniel wraps one arm around him, and, just like so many times before, he’s trapped by the casual contact. He flinches away from the touch, but the hold just gets tighter, keeping him in place with a silent threat even when Daniel laughs again.

“You’re hilarious, sweetheart.” 

A moment of silence, stillness, interrupted only by the clink of the glass as Wren sets it on the nightstand and crosses his arms, staring straight ahead. 

“But I’ve been thinking…”, Daniel starts again, amusement fading from his voice, and Wren uses a tiny opening to snark:

“Tragic.”

That doesn’t get a laugh. Daniel exhales into his neck before pulling back, to plant a brief kiss on Wren’s cheek.

“We have so many years together ahead of us”, he whispers, and Wren’s heart pounds with enough force to cause pain, “but… I’ve been thinking about the day when I can’t take care of you anymore. When I’m too old, too weak.”

He’s been thinking about that day too - the day when, if everything else had failed, if escape had proven impossible and all he can do is wait, he finally gains the upper hand.

It’s been at the back of his mind for a while now. Not plan B nor C, closer to plan Z, really, but it has been a small source of hope nonetheless, and - which he now realizes was a mistake - he believed that Daniel wasn’t thinking that far ahead.

“I’m trying not to think about it. What matters is the here and now.” Wren flinches under another kiss. “But I don’t want you to be on your own when I’m gone. I don’t want you to be left all alone on this planet, sweetheart.”

Wren closes his eyes and swallows heavily, his heart knocking against his ribs, its beating echoing in his hungover mind, his entire body frozen in horror and anticipation, it’s too much, too much, he wants to be alone today, he wants to be alone in all those years.

“So when that day comes”, the words finally come, one after another seeping into Wren’s ears, fueling his panic, and his breath hitches when Daniel’s fingers, feather-light, brush over his neck. “I’ll make it quick.”

The words click, the world stops, and Wren is falling.

“Painless”, Daniel continues, his every word careful, solemn. “And then, sweetheart, when you’re gone - and only when I’m sure you are - I’ll join you.”

“No.” Wren’s voice is choked, bordering on a sob, the word carrying all that’s tearing him apart, and Daniel pulls him closer, brushing through his hair with his fingers in a crude caricature of comfort.

“Shh. No need to be scared. It will take years before we’ll have to do it, so try not to worry about it, okay?”

“You’re- you’re fucking insane-”

Daniel covers Wren’s mouth with his hand, muffling his words which turn into a whimper, despair taking over the weak attempt at a snark.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know it’s unexpected, but you’ll get used to that thought eventually, I promise.”

And Wren closes his eyes and sobs, overwhelmed, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, I’m going to escape long before that, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t argue, can’t rationalize the two nightmarish thoughts.

That of spending decades upon decades more in this hell - and that of never, ever escaping it, bound to Daniel until death.

Having his life taken from him once again, this time in the most literal sense.

 Next

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[wienerbarnes]

The Undercover Mission (1/3)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 1,984

Warnings: Lowkey angst👀

A/N: lollllll don't hate me

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

Bucky stands outside your door for fourteen minutes before you open it. He never knocked, he hadn’t built up that courage yet.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. told me you were standing outside.” You inform him, confused as to why he hadn’t knocked, but deciding not to question it. Yet.

You look cute, even if you’re just in jeans and one of his shirts. He’s looking at you and he already hates himself for what he’s about to do; for what he has to do.

You’re rambling, but it’s good rambling; means you had a good day. You’re telling him about how you went to the shooting range today and did really well and how you’re going to try a new recipe for dinner tonight. But he has a feeling he won’t be staying long.

He already feels the lump growing in his throat when he walks up to you, slipping his arms around your waist, and kisses you where you stand, silencing your words. One last kiss. One last time to feel how your body feels in his arms.

“What’s going on with you?” You ask after pulling away, gentle smile on your lips.

He hesitates for what feels like hours, “We… we need to break up… I want to break up.”

“...What?”

Your smile has dropped. You pull away from him completely, taking a step back. You’re slow in your movements, as though waiting for him to tell you he’s just kidding. But he doesn’t. And he’s not going to.

“Bucky, what the fuck are you talking about?” His eyes water at your question.

“Why are you crying?! I should be fucking crying, why are you doing this to me?!”

Bucky doesn’t have a response for you, so he stutters on his words until you take the reins and yell at him; he deserves it, after all.

“Everything was fine, we were fucking fine this morning, what the fuck happened?! Say something!” You yell, tears finally coming to your own eyes as what he said to you finally sets in. You step back towards him to hit and smack at his chest, and he takes it all, lets you hit him as hard as you can.

“I-” He’s crying now.

“Is it somebody else?” You ask, begging for some kind of explanation.

“Yes!” Bucky snaps, finally finding his words and taking any excuse he can get.

But it was probably the worst one he could pick. Your face drops, tears sliding slowly down your cheeks. It’s like watching someone let the air out of a balloon; he watches as all of the emotion drains from your face until he just sees nothing.

You look like how you looked when he first met you in prison. Numb.

“Okay.” Is all you say before turning around and walking towards your kitchen sink.

“Babe- “

“Don’t call me that.”

“But-”

You grab the closest thing to you, a mug drying on the counter, and chuck it at him as hard as you can. Bucky, of course, dodges it and it shatters against the wall behind him.

“Get out!” You yell.

Bucky takes one last good look at you before stepping back out into the hallway, closing your door behind him. He waits until he reaches the elevator to break down. And he breaks down. He sobs and sobs and sobs in that elevator, to the point where he has to drop to one knee from the pain he feels in his chest after doing that to you.

He feels sick by the time he’s done sobbing, but he knows he’s not done crying for the night. He steps out of the elevator onto his own floor, sniffling every once in a while, trying to keep quiet enough until he can make it to his room. There’s someone else in the hallway, though.

Sam watches his best friend, cheeks wet and face red. He slowly opens the door to his own room and leaves it open; a silent invitation.

One that Bucky takes.

He takes a seat on the couch Sam has in his room and he feels like he’s at his therapist’s. Sam doesn’t say anything, going about his own nightly routine, making a cup of tea to relax his mind and body before bed, letting Bucky compose himself before telling him what’s wrong.

“Did Fury tell you about the mission?” Bucky finally asks him, voice rough and nasally.

“Briefly. The undercover one?”

“Yup.” Bucky confirms, popping the ‘p’.

“Couldn’t have any ties to… her.” Bucky gets out, not even being able to get your name past his lips.

“So, you had to dump her?”

Bucky pauses. Technically, no one was supposed to know about your relationship. The two of you tried your hardest to keep it as quiet as possible. But Bucky guesses they weren’t so good at hiding it in the first place, after all.

“Yeah. It was either cut the ties or she gets taken off the team indefinitely. And I couldn’t do that to her; she’s been doing so well; on missions, with her powers,” Bucky lists. “She’s happy.”

“Well, now she’s not.” Sam corrects.

Bucky glares at him, but Sam continues, “How is she involved, anyway? Why cut ties?”

“...The target is her father.”

…

Bucky hadn’t shown up to the last eight briefings. That’s about two months of no missions. That’s a long time for Bucky. But you refuse to figure out why. You refuse to ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. where he is, or what he’s doing. You’re lucky that Sam and Sharon don’t bring it up around you.

But it’s been a long two months. You haven’t slept well, your voices are back, and it’s affecting your job. Your powers are haywire; never showing anything wrong, but just showing you shit that isn’t important. Instead of looking for missing people or suspected killers, your powers show you a minor car accident in Manhattan, or a couple fighting in a restaurant.

There’s no way Sam hasn’t noticed. But, there’s also no way Bucky didn’t tell him what happened. So, you’re grateful that Sam is pretending to be ignorant.

You know you’re being unhealthy about this. You know you should talk to someone, find better coping mechanisms other than crying, not sleeping, and contemplating shaving your head in the middle of the night. But you don’t want to; you only want him. You don’t care if it makes you desperate.

You realize now, in this briefing where you’re not paying attention to a single thing Sam is saying, that you just want closure. You want to know why. The two of you were fine. There was no fighting. Bucky only had eyes for you, and you for him. He loved you, that you were absolutely certain of that. So why the sudden breakup, and why the sudden interest in someone else?

It doesn’t make sense.

Before you know it, the briefing is over, and you remain in your seat while everyone else files out, like always. Except you notice Sharon follow with them. You glance to the front of the room to Sam, but he’s looking down at a file in his hand. Not the file he was discussing during the briefing, a different one, a blue folder.

You don’t know what’s in them, but the tan folders are the regular missions that involve everyone, and the blue folders are the ones that usually concern Sam, Bucky, Sharon, and recently you. Blue is usually bad. But why did Sharon leave?

The door shuts and it’s just you and Sam in the room.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., cut all video and audio recordings in the room starting sixteen seconds ago.”

“Clearance level 1 or 2 necessary for that, Captain.”

“Clearance level 2; Wilson, Samuel T.”

“Thank you, Captain. All recording has been paused.”

Reminds of you of when you first got here.

“Agent, did you know that your father is alive?”

You stare at him from your seat in the middle of the room. You can’t say that was what you were expecting. You were expecting a talk about Bucky, a talk about your less than average performance lately, a talk about your powers. But your father?

“I... don’t even know my father.” You admit. Is your father here?

Sam looks at you, seemingly waiting for some insight, as though he doesn’t know what’s going on with your father, either.

“My father was a Marine like I was. He was deployed when I was born and stayed deployed when my parents got divorced. And when my mom died he gave custody to my grandparents; I never saw him again, why? What’s going on?” You inform him, the fact that your father is alive and is somehow currently involved in the Avengers’ radar finally connecting to your brain.

“Sam, why did you stop all of the recordings?” You ask when he has no response.

“Because you’re not supposed to know, but I don’t like leaving my teammates in the dark.” Sam finally explains to you.

“That doesn’t tell me what my father has to do with all of this. Is he here? Did he do something?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know. And if I find out, I can’t tell you. You’re not even supposed to know anything about the case because of the familial relation.”

“So there’s a case?”

Shit. Sam is slipping.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. resume all recordings.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Wait, but -”

“That’s enough, Agent 51. If you don’t see anything with your powers, you’re free to go. I have work to do.” Sam commands, Captain’s voice returning.

You huff before standing and making your way back to your room.

Except when you get to the elevator, you change your mind.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., is Gunnery Sergeant Tyler Camm still alive?”

“Yes, Agent. Gunnery Sergeant Camm is currently 55 years of age, residing in -”

“Okay, okay. Is he here in the building?”

A pause from the A.I., as though she knows she shouldn’t tell you, but hasn’t been given orders not to.

“Yes, Agent.”

“Where.”

“Interrogation Room Two, Agent.”

“Take me there.”

And the elevator descends.

You assume that Fury and Sam didn’t think you’d go investigating, and that’s why they didn’t put any restrictions on the case regarding your father. But you’re still trying to be careful.

No one has said anything, because you assume they pity you after your breakup, but you know it’s been noticeable the change in your powers and performance on missions. You haven’t been doing well. The last thing you need is to be caught interfering with an investigation.

You had tried looking into your father when you joined the Navy; you figured someone there knew who he was. But you were scared of the answer. Scared of this exact thing happening; finding out he was alive the whole time and he just didn’t want you.

The interrogation floor is eerily quiet. You know there’s arguments and begging and yelling happening behind each of the doors, but it’s all soundproof.

You approach the second room and peek into see a man in uniform sitting across from Sharon. Your father.

Why is he here? Is he being asked to help in a case? Is he being questioned? Is he a suspect?

You go to the door next to the room labeled with a large number two, the observation room that stands opposite to the two-way glass. You turn the knob quietly but it doesn’t budge. Locked. You close your eyes in a quiet sigh before turning back around.

This is a sign, you idiot. Get out of here before you’re caught and they flame your ass.

For once, the voices are right. You make your way back to the elevator. One way or another, you’re going to figure out what’s going on here.

[thetomorrowshow]

Slower Than Words Ch. 24

First  -  Previous  -  Next

I’ve been waiting for this one :)

cw: bad parenting, arguing, intense anger

~

“Hey, Lo? Do you have a minute?”

Logan’s eyes followed Patton as he went directly to his room, barely flashing a ‘hello’ at him. Then he returned his attention to a strangely nervous Remus. “Of course. What do you need to discuss?”

He almost invited Remus to sit on the couch with him, but he knew the man would decline. Instead, he stood, watching Remus hop from one foot to the other.

“Well,” Remus began after a moment’s hesitation, “this could sorta come as a surprise. But . . . I found them.” A small smile appeared on his face, immediately washed out by apprehension.

Logan smiled gently. “I would guess that by ‘them’, you mean your family. In that case, congratulations.” He stuck his hand out, and after a moment, Remus shook it. “I assume that is why all of your possessions have gone from being strewn about the living room to being contained in a trash bag?”

Remus’s teeth flashed in another quick smile as he nodded. “Yeah. Haven’t really been subtle, huh?”

Logan had been planning for this eventuality for quite some time, and had not been at all taken by surprise. Instead, he dropped the car key that Remus had just given him after returning home back into Remus’s hand. “I want it back, of course, preferably before the end of the month.”

Remus looked down at the keys, then to Logan, then back at his hand. Logan chuckled.

“Naw, I—how will you get to work?”

“I’ve already made arrangements, don’t worry about me.” And he had. One of his jobs was within walking distance, and a coworker had offered to carpool for his other job. He nodded at Remus. “I take it you’ve already quit?”

Remus ran a hand along his slack jaw, still staring at the key in his hand. “Y-yeah. Gave ‘em my letter two weeks ago. You sure?” he asked, almost as an afterthought.

“Of course I am,” Logan waved him off. “You need it more than I do right now. Find them.”

Remus laughed, almost shrill. “Thanks, thank you . . . so much, Lo. Not just for this. For everything.”

Logan inclined his head. “Thank you, too. For bringing my son back to me. Consider us, er, even,” he said. “Will you be leaving immediately?”

Remus didn’t say anything for half a minute, before nodding. “No reason not to, huh? Guess I’ll just . . . say bye to Pat and be on my way.”

Logan sat back down, content to let Remus pack his things into the car and exchange a private farewell with Patton. Thinking of Patton, Logan shifted uncomfortably. He could wait until Remus left to confront his son. Unfortunately, Patton may already have an idea of what was to come. If he had sought out his notebook, it would have not been found under his bed.

Finally, Remus was out the door, with a little wave and a spring in his step. It was time to speak to Patton.

-

Patton rubbed his face tiredly as he followed Father to the cramped kitchen. He really didn’t know what this was about, but he could guess. Now that Remus was leaving, he didn’t see how it was possible to continue with therapy. His weekly appointments would probably become monthly, then he would only still be in contact with the physical therapist in order to continue getting back to full strength. Today, for instance: it was around midday, and he had only had a therapy appointment and he was already exhausted. He’d been about to take a nap when Remus came to say goodbye.

Remus had promised to video chat with him, but Patton didn’t know how much help that would be with voice lessons. Up until now, he’d frequently been able to rest his hand on Remus’s throat and mouth to really understand how it was supposed to feel when he spoke. And with Father’s laptop not having a very good camera, it wasn’t very likely that he would be able to continue speaking lessons at all.

Not that he wasn’t happy for Remus! Patton was as excited as he could be that Remus was going to find his real family. He understood that. And he was sad that Remus was leaving, but not because it meant he was going to be stuck in this terrible apartment for even longer. He was going to miss him as a friend. He was going to miss teaching him sign, laughing at his jokes, his big smile when Patton managed to say a word correctly.

Losing Remus was losing his only friend. He’d already lost his love. Now it was just him and Father, in this tiny house that he could never leave. It was worse than the Haven, because at least then he could go outside. Now he was stuck in this acrid-smelling, too-small apartment. And without his best friend.

“Patton, I need to speak with you,” Father signed. Patton resisted throwing out something snarky and kept his hands by his sides.

“Earlier today, I was cleaning, and I happened to find this.” From the silverware drawer, Father pulled--

Oh no. Oh no. His notebook.

Patton tried not to let his sudden panic show in his face, but could feel his hands fidgeting. He shoved them in the pockets of Virgil’s jacket. This was fine. There was nothing wrong with learning to talk, or writing jokes. Maybe he’d been a bit frustrated in some of his journal entries, but that was normal. Everyone got frustrated sometimes. Father would understand.

“Son, I was not happy with what I found,” Father told him, and Patton’s heart sank. He fell into a chair, knowing exactly what it was. Sure, there was nothing wrong with learning to speak. For everyone else.

“You seem to have been teaching yourself how to speak audibly,” Father continued. “While I admire the effort and your willingness to learn, I have to tell you how disappointed I am. Learning something that could endanger you and this family behind my back? That is not something I will tolerate.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Patton asked cautiously. This was going a little better than he’d thought it would—Father hadn’t outright told him to stop yet.

“What is wrong is it is dangerous. Learning to speak and lip-read may seem appealing, but once others discover your talents, they will want to take you away. I am putting a stop to it right now.”

There it was. Patton felt tears well up in his eyes, but he wasn’t sad. He was angry. The fire that had been simmering in the bottom of his belly rose to his throat, and with stilted movements, he asked, “Who do you think is going to take me away?”

Father was losing his composure as well. He tugged at his own hair for a moment, hands spasming, before answering, “Anyone. They’ll take you away from me, and study you, or make you work, or hurt you. They won’t let you see the light of day ever again. I can’t let that happen! Not again!”

“Well, it kind of feels like you already did.” Patton’s hands moved furiously. Did he really want to say this? “I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re doing the exact same thing that they did.”

“No, I’m not.” Father reached out, but pulled himself back at the last moment. “I-I’m keeping you safe. You’re only a child.”

“Dad, I’m twenty-two!” The anger burst over the surface. Patton shoved back from the table and stood, chest heaving with adrenaline. The leg of the chair scraped against his calf as it fell to the floor. “I’m an adult! I finally got out of that godforsaken cult, and all you do is keep me trapped in this horrible apartment! I know what danger is, I lived through it. I nearly died in that place, starving to death as nobody opened the door. Well guess what? I’m starving again. I’m starving for sunlight, for open space, for the love of my life!”

“Patton—”

“I’m not finished!” Patton kicked the overturned chair, then the table leg, unable to feel the pain it surely brought. “You’re actually worse than them! You know why?”

Logan was crying, a single tear rolling down his cheek. The pain in his eyes only served to fuel Patton’s rant.

“Because Virgil’s out here!” Logan flinched, and Patton kicked the wall, leaving a dent. “Virgil’s out, somewhere, and I could find him, but you won’t let me out! We don’t have any money, but you won’t let me work! There’s nothing to do, but all you do is bring me more and more books that I don’t want! And you know what? I’m done!”

“Son, please—”

“No. I almost died back there. So you got me out. I’m dying here, so I’m getting myself out.”

Patton kicked the wall one last time, then picked up his notebook from the table, resisting the urge to throw it at Logan.

“Wait!”

He looked at his father, who was pressed against the cabinets. He was shaking, eyes wide with hurt and fear. Hastily, he signed, “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere is better than here.” By the look on Logan’s face, that sentence had come out close enough. He nodded curtly at his father, then stalked out of the kitchen, then out of the apartment, only pausing to grab his thin winter coat.

The door slammed shut behind him, and Logan fell to his knees.

-

Remus swung the door shut and threw the scraper to the floor of the car, feeling far too tired for not even having left yet. It didn’t normally get too cold around here, especially not now that it was March, but apparently a cold front had moved in overnight or something and it had been lightly snowing all day. He hadn’t thought it was enough to freeze the windshield--he’d just barely gotten back from taking Patton to therapy, after all—yet here he was, switching on the defrost and scraping off the windows.

He was just about ready to pull out, even had his hand on the gear, when the side door of the apartment complex burst open.

Patton came hurrying out, walking so quickly that Remus would think he was trying to escape a crab that kept snipping at his heels. The kid didn’t even give him a second glance as he walked in front of the car. Remus’s jaw dropped as his head turned to follow him—across the sidewalk, into the parking lot, then right up beside the car.

Patton yanked open the passenger side door with surprising strength, then threw himself into the seat and slammed it behind him. His face was red and wet, Remus noticed, as he roughly drew his sleeve across his face. Then Patton turned to him.

“I’m going with you,” he signed, his movements quick and short. Remus picked his jaw up off the floor and quirked an eyebrow.

“And daddy’s okay with that?” he asked aloud, signing along. Patton rolled his eyes and turned away.

“No.”

Remus shrugged. “Ooookay then!” He made to get out of the car, but Patton grabbed his arm.

“Please—don’t tell him. He’ll make me stay.”

Remus looked up at the building, then back at Patton. He looked like he’d really gone through it, poor kid. And he’d been trying to tell Logan for months that he needed to loosen up, let Patton explore the Outside a bit.

“First place with a phone we hit out of town, I’m calling him,” Remus compromised. Patton nodded, pulling the zippered edges of his two jackets closer around him. Remus hadn’t noticed previously, but now he saw the blue notebook laying on his lap. He reached over and tapped it lightly. “Get some practice in.”

Patton nodded, awkwardly pulling his seatbelt one-handed while he flipped it open with the other hand. Remus gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then shifted the gear.

He was on his way home. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he muttered something that Patton, his nose already buried in his notebook, had no way of seeing.

“Hope you like Sharon.”

~

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