#one of his favorites is calling long memory “dementia”

[rwby-redux]

You keep saying you want to talk about Oz, Oscar, etc. but can't because they're spoilery. What if I say pleeeeeaaaase? :P

You’re twisting my arm, anon. D:

There’s a lot I want to say about Ozma and his hosts—in particular, how the curse works and how magic affects them—but those topics are strictly off-limits for now. They would give away major spoilers for the Relics, the gods, certain locations in the story, and important details about other characters.

But since you asked so nicely…

King Ozark was the last monarch of Vale, and Ozpin’s immediate predecessor. While opinions of him nowadays are generally favorable, he was a fairly controversial figure for his time. In life, he was an exceptional fighter (and that’s saying something, considering he’s from a culture of dyed-in-the-wool warriors). Even before the Great War kicked off, he was a source of irritation for Mistral, largely because he went out of his way to hide slaves that managed to escape Anima and flee to Eastern Sanus. He would feign ignorance whenever Mistrali diplomats travelled to the capital and demanded that he return their lost property. Apparently, he delighted in watching them fume when the best he could offer was a shrug. Ozark was also a bit of a playboy, to the endless dismay of his advisors, who regularly harped on him to get hitched and sire heirs. (Historians like to joke that dissolving the Valin monarchy was Ozark’s way of getting out of marriage.) His fabled sword—the one he carried into battle—was allegedly lost during the Great War, as no records of its whereabouts exist in the present day. Both collectors and anthropologists occasionally make the dangerous trek out to the Vacuose deserts in search of it.

Ozpin is Beacon’s Academy’s third headmaster, and currently its oldest, having held the position for over forty years. In the present-day, Ozpin is in his sixties. Like in the canon, he’s widely regarded as a prodigy.

Oscar is from the town of Ameneurosis, an important agricultural settlement between the City of Mistral and the seaport Etesia. The chalk grassland makes the area ideal for farming sheep, rabbits, and takin (the latter of which is a common mount). Oscar and his aunt (along with his neighbors) breed takin as familiars for Huntsmen. His parents died when he was six, and he’s been raised by his aunt ever since.

Ozma is the only one who I’m hesitant to talk about. I will say that his relationship with Oscar is a bit tumultuous in the beginning—there’s an incident early on that puts them both in immediate danger, and leaves Oscar with little in the way of choice regarding his circumstances. While Oscar understands that none of this is necessarily Ozma’s fault, that doesn’t stop him from being low-key resentful. (Oscar in the Redux is somewhat sassier than his canon counterpart, and he regularly tests Ozma’s patience.) Trust is something that the two of them gradually build, hindered by the fact that Ozma withholds rather important information, and Oscar sometimes doesn’t listen to him out of sheer pettiness.

-

Edit: I caved. If you want to know a little more about how the curse works, proceed.

[swan-of-sunrise]

Let It Out, and Let It In

Summary: Spiraling under the immeasurable weight of his trauma, Steve desperately seeks out the company of his girlfriend and, after experiencing a panic attack in her presence, unexpectedly finds himself opening up to her about his mental health.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Disclaimer for a detailed depiction of a panic attack and a frank discussion about Steve Rogers’ trauma

A/N: Hi guys! I've been an MCU/Steve Rogers fan for damn near a decade now, and it hasn't escaped my notice that Steve's trauma has a tendency of being overlooked and overshadowed. So today, we'll be getting a glimpse of his ongoing mental health struggles (I promise you it's not all angst!) Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!

Let It Out, and Let It In September 2015 The Home of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Sam Wilson, Washington D.C. (Superhero Snapshots Masterlist)

“Should’ve called ahead, Rogers,” Steve chastised himself under his breath as he knocked three times on (Y/N)’s front door. He shoved the hood of his sweatshirt off his head and roughly combed his fingers through his hair, the poor attempt to straighten up his appearance for his girlfriend doing very little to distract from his spiraling mental state.

Like many, Steve didn’t exactly have fond memories of high school. While everyone around him seemed to struggle a little as they transitioned from awkward adolescence to mature adulthood, he always felt as though he was one massive step behind them without any hope of catching up. One aspect of high school he did appreciate, though – apart from his friendship with Bucky and his beloved art – were his English courses; he devoured each of the novels, plays and poems that they were assigned to read and thoroughly enjoyed writing themes that analyzed their deeper meanings. One of his favorite books had been The Great Gatsby and even eighty years later, he could still recall the telling exchange that Jay Gatsby shared with Nick Carraway towards the beginning of their friendship: ‘You see, I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad thing that happened to me.’

The brief line of Gatsby’s dialogue managed to stick with Steve long after he’d finished reading the book, initially because he couldn’t imagine how one’s life could become so lonely but eventually, because he’d come to understand Gatsby’s words all too well; he suffered the loss of his mother and Bucky, went into the ice in 1945 and woke up to find that nearly seventy years had passed him by, grappled with the losses of all his fellow Howling Commandos and helplessly watched as the last personified tie to his past slowly succumbed to dementia. Like Gatsby, Steve preferred the company of strangers; they made it easier for him to ignore the crippling loneliness because they never bothered to try and get to know the traumatized twenty-seven-year-old man behind the red, white and blue shield.

Things began to change for him not long after the Battle of New York. He befriended Natasha, one of his fellow Avengers, and she tried her best to acclimate him to his new life; maybe it was a result of all she’d suffered at the hands of the Red Room or because she was just incredibly adept at reading people, but Nat knew that he was struggling and in her own unique way, she did everything she could to be there for him. He met Sam and (Y/N), leaving his apartment for his usual morning run around the National Mall wearing a serious scowl but departing for his S.H.I.E.L.D. mission afterwards with a truly happy smile on his face; Sam soon became one of his best friends, the VA trauma counselor understanding his difficulties with adjusting to his new life but never treating him differently because of them, and he found himself falling in love with (Y/N), the historical-fiction novelist bursting into his life like sunshine on a cloudy day and making him feel truly seen for who he was instead of the larger-than-life mantle he carried. And with the help of (Y/N), Sam and Nat, he grew closer to his fellow Avengers, even finding himself beginning to view them as his family and accepting the fact that he wasn’t alone anymore.

But while Steve had slowly grown to love and appreciate his new life, there were still some days when the reality of his situation would weigh heavily on his mind and it was only a matter of time before he’d break down into a full-blown panic attack; he did his best to hide his struggles from his girlfriend and friends, not wanting to hurt their feelings or make them feel that they weren’t enough for him, but it was becoming harder and harder for him to pretend that everything was all right. It was one of those awful days that saw Steve impulsively asking Nat to land the Quinjet at Joint Base Andrews on their way home from a mission in Argentina; the assassin did as he asked without question, but he could feel her concerned gaze following him as he walked down the ramp and marched across the airstrip alone. Ignoring the mounting pressure in his chest, he elected to do what he’d often do before the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and take a walk through the streets of D.C., following in Jay Gatsby’s footsteps and surrounding himself with strangers to avoid addressing the memories of his old life that were clawing their way to the forefront of his mind.

With the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low over his face and his hands shoved into its pockets, Steve trudged down North Capitol Street with his eyes downcast, prolonging his return to his dark and impersonal apartment and the panic attack that would inevitably follow. Dusk had already fallen and downtown, the city’s nightlife was beginning to ramp up; restaurants were packed with families visiting the historic city and cheerful groups of friends pulled one another into the bars and nightclubs, while couples walked arm-in-arm and took in the glimmering lights that illuminated the city’s imposing monuments. It wasn’t until Steve walked past a bookstore and caught sight of (Y/N)’s debut novel, For Queen and Country, proudly displayed in the window that he felt his mind beginning to clear and a small smile tug on his lips. In that instant, Steve was engulfed by an overwhelming need to see his girlfriend and he continued walking down the street at an increased pace, spurred on by the sunshine that might succeed in breaking through the bleak isolation he found himself consumed by.

Steve forced himself out of his musings just as the door swung open to reveal (Y/N); he was pleased to see that she was dressed for a comfortable night in, with a well-loved Lauryn Hill concert t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, but it was evident by the white strip adhered to her nose and the hair towel balanced on her head that he’d interrupted her evening. “Steve!” (Y/N), unaware of the guilt he was experiencing for interrupting her relaxing evening, smiled broadly and opened her door wider. “I’ve really got to stop listening to Sam; that lying Birdbrain told me you guys wouldn’t be back from Argentina until tomorrow.”

“The mission wrapped up a lot quicker than we’d initially anticipated, so Sam’s off the hook fir lying this time,” Steve replied with a small smile as he shoved his fidgeting hands into his pockets. “I, um, I’m really sorry that I didn’t call or text you before coming over, but I was on my way home and I…anyway, I can leave if I’m intruding-”

“Don’t be silly, you’re not intruding!” Standing the side, (Y/N) allowed him to step through the doorway and closed the door before turning to give him a sheepish smile. “After spending all day going over my book’s first draft with Greg, I treated myself to a bubble bath and I may or may not have fallen asleep in the tub; I woke up in lukewarm water and my fingers were all pruney, but it was a damn good nap.”

“You’ve been working hard on your novel, sunshine; if anyone deserves a little rest and relaxation, it’s you.” Steve slipped off his sneakers and neatly placed them near the entryway table, straightening and chuckling when his girlfriend launched herself into his arms and nuzzled her face against his chest. “Did you miss me?”

(Y/N) nodded and tightened her arms around his waist. “I always miss you whenever you’re away on a mission, sweetheart.”

Steve’s heart melted and before he knew it, one of his arms was holding her close while his hand was guiding her face upwards so that his lips could meet hers; their kiss was slow yet passionate, with each of them doing all they could to savor their rare moment of peace, but his initial reason for visiting the historical-fiction novelist made its presence known in his mind and saw him give her one last kiss before pulling away with a forced smile. “Me too, baby. I just…I really needed to see you.”

(Y/N)’s head tilted to the side as her (Y/E/C) eyes studied him but to his surprise and overwhelming gratitude, she didn’t ask him what was wrong or if he was all right. Instead, she took both of his hands in hers and playfully swung their arms while giving him a coy smile. “I was about to try my luck at cooking dinner and since my culinary skills aren’t exactly up to par, I could really use the assistance of a big, strong Avenger. Do you know if any of them are brave enough to accept this dangerous mission?”

“I think I’m up for the challenge, ma’am,” Steve impishly replied and his overstated authoritative tone made (Y/N) giggle as she led him into the kitchen to prepare dinner. “Can I, um, ask what’s on your nose?”

“Oh, it’s for unclogging oil and dead skin cells from pores! It’s a little gross to remove but at the same time, kind of satisfying. Did you want to try one out for yourself?”

“…Sure, why not?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While helping his girlfriend cook dinner wasn’t quite as dangerous of a task as she’d made it out to be, Steve certainly had his hands full with making sure she didn’t over-season or burn anything in her eagerness to prove her minimal culinary skills; most importantly, however, cooking alongside (Y/N) helped to take his mind off the incapacitating loneliness that drove him to her doorstep in the first place. They sat at the dining room table to enjoy their chicken parmigiana with angel hair pasta and broccoli and (Y/N) even brought out a pricier bottle of red wine to enjoy with their food, a gift she claimed was sent by Tony and Pepper to congratulate her for winning the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Historical Fiction. Steve listened to (Y/N) talk about the last-minute touches being placed on what would soon be her second published novel with rapt attention, voicing his amazement when she revealed which of her favorite authors would be joining her at an upcoming writing convention and chuckling as she told him about the playful argument she’d gotten into with her publisher about certain spelling choices in her draft.

After they finished their meal, they cleaned up the sizable mess they’d made in the kitchen, with Steve washing the dirty dishes and (Y/N) drying and putting them away; they fell into a comfortable silence while they worked, and he found himself focusing on her soft humming as he deliberated over whether or not to open up to her about the complex emotions he was fighting to control. He loved his girlfriend with all his heart, but it was because of his love for her that he hesitated to fully open up and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why: he was not only afraid that he’d hurt her feelings if he told her that he still struggled to acclimate to the twenty-first century, but he was also afraid that the truth would only serve to drive her away. The memory-wiping device from that Will Smith alien movie Tony made me watch could solve all of my problems in the blink of an eye, he sullenly thought with a sideways glance at a blissfully unaware (Y/N) putting away their dishes, you can’t miss something that you don’t have any memories of.

With the kitchen scrubbed clean and the comforting sound of a light rainfall outside echoing throughout the cozy home, Steve and (Y/N) took to the couch to watch some television. The historical-fiction novelist dissolved into a fit of giggles after applying a cleansing strip to Steve’s nose and he happily indulged her by posing for the selfie she all but begged for his permission to take. After she took several pictures and disposed of their cleansing strips, he pulled her into his arms and soundly kissed her, finding that the dark cloud that hung over him was slowly but surely dispersing the longer she kissed him back.

“Do you feel like watching a movie?” (Y/N) breathlessly asked after they’d finally separated for air. A knowing smile was beginning to spread across her face as she realized they’d moved positions during their impromptu make-out session; the historical-fiction novelist was lying flat on her back while he held himself above her and as he deviously grinned down at her, she twirled her fingers around his sweatshirt’s drawstrings and shrugged offhandedly. “Not that I have any problem with continuing our current activities, of course-”

“Neither do I.”

His girlfriend’s smirk widened at his hasty reply. “But TCM’s been airing a really good screwball comedy marathon all day, and I was thinking that we could give it a watch. I guarantee that my world-famous Milk Duds-and-popcorn concoction pairs excellently with a glass of top shelf red wine and 1935’s Top Hat, so how ‘bout it?”

Steve’s smile instantly dropped at her otherwise innocuous statement. His lungs began to restrict, his vision blurred and it was as though someone had suddenly flipped a switch inside of his hippocampus; all at once, jarring flashes of cloudy memories flooded his mind and overtook his vision.

Bucky dragging Steve along on another double date and insisting that this one would be different than the other failed dates he’d arranged…his throat constricting as his date scowled at the sight of him…sitting in a darkened theater beside the highly displeased woman and throwing his best friend an envious look as he smoothly draped an arm over his smitten date’s shoulders…trying his damndest to enjoy the hit Astaire & Rogers musical-comedy so that his night wouldn’t be so miserable…

“Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

Fists tightening in anger when he saw a furious-looking man dragging his date up the aisle while she begged him to calm down…staggering to his feet in the alleyway behind the theater and throwing another punch at the laughing man, only for him to easily dodge and shove him against the nearby dumpster…fighting to catch his breath as he crumpled to the grimy ground and panicking when he recognized the tell-tale signs of an oncoming asthma attack…frantically grabbing at his pockets in search of his asthma cigarettes, fully conscious of Bucky’s shouting and his date’s frightened scream but unable to stop the black dots from invading his vision…

“You’re having a panic attack, Steve, so I need you to take a deep breath. Can you do that for me? C’mon, sweetheart, just breathe.”

Bucky’s hand colliding with his bruised cheek and stunning him back to consciousness long enough for his best friend to practically shove a lit asthma cigarette between his lips…inhaling the smoke and clutching his ribs as his body was wracked with a violent coughing fit…calling out for his mother the moment he regained his breath, only to break down into heaving sobs when he remembered that she’d been gone for nearly six months…

“Steve, look at me.” The sudden feel of his fingers pressed against a soft warmth finally forced Steve’s eyes open; although he was crouched in the corner of his girlfriend’s living room instead of a dingy alleyway behind Bay Ridge’s Alpine Cinema, his chest was still heaving under the strain of regaining his breath and his entire body was trembling. He focused on the blurry figure and realized in a flash of fear that it was (Y/N) kneeling on the floor before him, looking calm and composed as she held his hand against the side of her neck and gently spoke to him. “Take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, like this.” The historical-fiction novelist completed the breathing exercise and nodded in approval when he shakily copied her. “That’s it, you’re doing so well, sweetheart. What are three things you can see?”

“You,” Steve automatically replied, making his girlfriend smile as his eyes darted around in search of two more items. “Sam’s bowl of wine corks…the lamp that you found at that estate sale a couple of weeks ago.”

“Good, good, but don’t forget to keep on breathing. What’re three things you can hear?”

He took another deep breath and released it before answering. “The rain falling on the rooftop above us…the refrigerator’s ice-maker refilling itself…the ticking of the clock in the entryway.”

(Y/N)’s eyes searched his and he spotted the flicker of trepidation that briefly flashed across them while she studied his features. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart. Now, can you touch three things for me and tell me what you feel?”

��Y-Yeah…” Steve swallowed thickly, his stiff fingers slowly flexing against the skin of his girlfriend’s neck as he focused on all he could feel. “Your pulse. It’s strong and steady. I can feel the warmth of the blood flowing through your veins.” Emboldened by her encouraging nod, he brought his other hand up to rest flat against his chest and stretched out his fingers along the material of his sweatshirt. “My sweatshirt’s soft, and my fingers catch on its embroidered logo…” He lowered his hand to touch the living room’s hardwood floor and winced at the unpleasant sensation. “The floor’s cold. All I can think about is the moment I crashed the Valkyrie into the ice.”

The historical-fiction novelist raised her arms but suddenly halted her movements. “Are you up for a hug right now?” Instead of answering, Steve wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a tight embrace; he buried his face in her neck and squeezed his eyes shut as her arms draped around his shoulders, savoring the weight of her warm body pressed against his and practically preening when her fingers rhythmically carded through his hair. “You can talk to me, Steve. Whatever it is you have to get off your chest, I’ll listen.” He could feel her press a kiss onto his hair. “And if you want to just sit here and enjoy the silence, then I’ll be more than happy to oblige you. I…I don’t want you to be afraid of letting me in; you deserve to feel safe enough to express yourself, sweetheart, no matter what.”

Steve didn’t know how long they sat there in silence before he rested his chin on her shoulder and stared unseeingly at her cozy living room as he finally found his voice. “The first thing that people told me after coming out of the ice was how lucky I was. They told me that surviving the crash and the ice was a blessing in disguise and that I’d have a shot at living a better life – and they were all so damn pleased with themselves as they were saying it, too, like they could claim that they did their one good deed for the day by convincing Captain America that he was better off in the 21st century – and none of ‘em could understand why I wasn’t as happy as the rest of the world was. Fury arranged for me to see a therapist, but I stopped going after the first appointment because I could see that it’d be more of the same ‘be grateful for what you’ve been given’ shit; there was no one I felt that I could talk to, and then after Loki and the Battle of New York happened…well, most everyone stopped trying to get to know me after that. The lack of any genuine companionship meant it was easier for me to hide and even numb my feelings, but when I found myself bonding with you and Nat and Sam, I…I started to become afraid of driving you all away.”

Steve pulled back far enough to meet (Y/N)’s eyes, only realizing he’d started to cry when her hands delicately cradled his face and her thumbs brushed his drying tear tracks away. “Were you afraid of how we’d react if you admitted that you still think about your old life?” There was no hint of judgement in her expression or hostility in her eyes, only patience and consideration, and Steve found himself silently appreciating his girlfriend’s kindhearted nature as he nodded. “Sweetheart, I want you to listen to me very carefully: depriving yourself of emotions is to deprive yourself of humanity. You’re human, Steve, and you’re allowed to feel however you feel. The people who love you love you for who you are and while I can’t speak for Sam or Nat, I want you to know that I’ll never, ever ask you to repress your emotions for my sake.”

“(Y/N)…” Steve softly started as one of his hands moved to caress her cheek. “No matter what, I’m always gonna have these memories of my life without you in my head. I have no way of knowing when or even if I’ll be settled into my new life. Doesn’t that…doesn’t that bother you?”

His girlfriend smiled patiently and shook her head before countering his question with one of her own. “If our roles were reversed and I was the one who’d come out of the ice instead, would you still love and accept me for who I am?”

“Of course I would, sunshine,” Steve replied with conviction.

“Then believe me when I say that I’ll always love and accept you, sweetheart, no matter what.” With tears beginning to well in her own eyes, (Y/N) leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto his forehead. “Please, please believe me.”

Steve’s heart nearly broke at the desperation that laced her plea and he hurriedly nodded. “I believe you, baby.” He gently coaxed her to look up and into his eyes; the unabashed love that he saw emanating from her tear-filled eyes melted something deep within him, encouraging him to rest his forehead against hers and brush the pad of his thumb along her flushed cheek. “I believe you.” They stayed there for an undetermined amount of time, with their arms wrapped around one another and their eyes closed while they relished the warmth of one another’s embrace and listened to the steady patter of rain outside. When Steve felt his heartbeat slow to its usual pace and his limbs stop their trembling, he trailed his hand down from his girlfriend’s cheek to rest against her chest, in the space directly over her heart; he wasn’t sure why, but the steady beating of her heart against his palm was soothing to him. “Thank you for helping me through all of that; if I’d gone through it alone, I’d still be spiraling right about now.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, about how often do you go through a panic attack?”

Opening his eyes, Steve considered her question for several moments as he took in the consideration that was written across her face. “A couple of times a month,” He replied with a wistful smile. “They started right after I came out of the ice, but they’ve been happening a little more frequently lately.”

(Y/N) offered him a sympathetic smile. “You know, I may not be a Certified Kick-Ass Counselor like Sam is but if I learned anything from working with him down at the VA, it’s that acknowledging your feelings can be a great first step towards healing.” He hummed thoughtfully and took in her words as her fingers smoothed down his rumpled hair. “When you start to feel another panic attack coming on, you can always give me a call and I’ll do whatever I can to help you through it, okay? You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I’m not sure how it’ll live up to this…” Steve’s arms wound back around the historical-fiction novelist’s waist and pulled her in close with a content smile on his face. “But I promise you I will.” The familiar jingle of their local ten o’clock news sounded throughout the living room, causing him to give his girlfriend an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, we’re probably missing that screwball comedy marathon you wanted to watch, aren’t we?”

“It’s okay, I’ll just head down to Barnes & Noble one of these days and buy the Blu-Rays. Besides, I think that now’s the perfect time to introduce you to one of favorite comfort movies, but only if you’re up for it.”

Steve, touched by the consideration she was continuously showing for him and his mental health, swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and pressed a chaste kiss onto her lips, pulling back after a moment with a playful grin. “I’m up for anything, so long as it’s with my best girl…and her world-famous Milk Duds-and-popcorn concoction, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” (Y/N) readily agreed as she fought the smirk of amusement that was threatening to spread across her face; after extricating herself from his embrace, she hopped to her feet and offered him her hand, lacing her fingers around his once he stood and leading him into the kitchen as she continued. “We’ll make my not-so-secret recipe, pop open another bottle of pricey wine, and then we’ll be all set to watch 1978’s Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band!”

“That’s the Beatles, right? So, does that mean the movie’s about the album?”

“…You’ll see.”

Needless to say, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was one of the strangest movies Steve had ever seen, but it was also one of the most entertaining movie-watching experiences he’d ever had; he chuckled at all of the corny yet earnest moments, watched in admiration as his girlfriend sang along to each and every one of the Beatles songs that played and even caught himself tearing up at the few emotional moments, all while indulging in some delicious popcorn and wine. Steve’s arms were holding (Y/N) close while they lounged across the couch and it was then, as the historical-fiction novelist in his arms sang her heart out to the film’s absurd yet catchy version of ‘Get Back,’ that he realized he felt more grounded in reality than he’d felt in a long, long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, Steve was returning to his room in the Avengers Facility after a long intelligence briefing with the rest of the team when he spotted a box sitting in front of his suite’s locked door. I don’t remember ordering anything online, he thought to himself as he cautiously picked up the box and brought it inside; their mail was regularly scanned and checked for explosives and biological weapons upon arrival and while Steve was fond of bidding on used vinyl records on Ebay, he hadn’t logged into his account since well before his mission in Argentina.

“Please don’t be another ‘Over The Hill’ shirt from Tony,” He sighed under his breath, setting the package down onto his bed and retrieving his pocket knife from his dresser drawer.

Steve carefully sliced through the packing tape and pushed open the cardboard flaps, his head tilting to the side when his eyes landed on a misshapen bundle of bubble wrap inside. His interest piqued, he unfurled the piece of bubble wrap and his brows rose in surprise when a large stuffed black and white cow tumbled out onto his comforter; a small card was attached to the sky-blue bow around the stuffed animal’s neck, and he wasted no time in detaching it and reading its brief contents.

Sweetheart,

Meet Buttercup the Cow! I did a little research and found out that weighted stuffed animals can help reduce feelings of anxiety and even ground someone who’s experiencing a panic attack; whenever you begin to feel yourself spiraling or getting lost in your memories, hold Buttercup and imagine that I’m right there with you, giving you the biggest hug imaginable.

With all my love,

Your Sunshine

Steve’s eyes prickled with unshed tears as he placed the heartfelt note down on his dresser, right beside the framed sketch he’d drawn of his beautiful girlfriend long before they began to date. He picked up the stuffed cow and tested its weight in his hands before hugging it tight to his chest; he could already feel his shoulders relaxing and when he nuzzled his cheek against the soft fabric, he realized that the clever historical-fiction novelist had sprayed some of her perfume – Design by Paul Sebastian – onto the stuffed cow. Breathing in the familiar notes of tuberose and jasmine, Steve briefly closed his eyes as he smiled to himself and thought about how much he loved his girlfriend and her kind heart.

A brilliant idea suddenly came to Steve’s mind and after setting Buttercup down on his pillow, he pulled a jacket on, tucked his wallet into his back pocket and scooped up his motorcycle’s keys, hurrying out of his suite and down the hall to the common room; Sam was in the middle of making a sandwich while Wanda and Vision sat together on the sofa debating their favorite sitcoms, the counselor looking up from his half-made meal and flashing him a welcoming smile. “Hey, man, we’re gonna do a little team bonding and watch Modern Family while we eat lunch; you want a sandwich or a wrap?”

“Thanks for the offer, Sam, but I’ve gotta go run an errand,” Steve replied with an apologetic look and twirled his keys around his finger. “Do you happen to know where the nearest Barnes & Noble is?”

“Um, I think there’s one up in Kingston…?”

“1200 Ulster Avenue.” They both looked over at their android teammate as he nonchalantly continued. “According to all available data, the store sees low to moderate business around this time, and the traffic appears to be light.”

An impressed Steve gave him an appreciative nod. “Thanks, Vis.”

Their exchange caught Wanda’s attention, causing her to look up from her box set of DVD’s and arch a curious brow. “You usually detest going out on errands. Is everything all right?”

“Yep, I’ve just got some Blu-Rays I need to buy.” He flashed his befuddled teammates a grin as he brusquely headed out of the common room. “I’ll see you guys later!”

As he jogged down the steps and crossed their private parking lot towards his motorcycle, the cell phone in his pocket chimed; he swung his leg over and sat as he pulled his phone out to check his text messages, chuckling to himself after reading his friend’s brief message.

Sam: If you show up at Booksmart’s doorstep with a box set of old Cary Grant flicks, she just might ask you to marry her on the spot ����

Glancing up towards the floor-to-ceiling window in the common room and spotting an amused Sam watching him, Steve grinned and gave the counselor a teasing salute before revving up the engine and taking off. I can’t think of a better outcome than that, he thought to himself as he sped down the road, a truly happy smile spreading across her face at the mental image of someday marrying the love of his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: And there we have it! I promise, the next one-shot will be a little happier and although I haven't decided which movie/show I wanna tackle next, I'm sure that little series will be happier too! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5 

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist 

Stumblin’ In Book II: “Age of Ultron” Masterlist

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[grimfurbybitch]

A non exhaustive list of shit my mom's biological dad and his wife have said/done to her. Tw Abuse

So in no particular order

Claimed that when my mom was 5 she begged him to marry his wife, saying "how long are string that good christian woman along" and "when are you gonna make an honest woman out of her" I repeat she was no older than 5

FOUR HOURS after his wife of 44 years died he called to tell my mother that he wasn't planning on dating again but he was getting eyed up at church (this was the same phone call we found out she died)

On the same day he tried to unload her stuff on us (still tries to get his ex-wife to take her clogs)

His wife was hospitalized multiple times for overdose because he let her pick her dose after claiming multiple times that she had dementia

Dropped his wife in the hospital parking lot and then dropped her again when he got home, but because she's obese he had to get paramedics to help move her into the house

While talking about family stories his wife said "remember when you used to get your but whopped?" And laughed, my mom did not find those memories fun

My grandfather recently went on a date with a woman and she moved right after

Said he wasn't dating right after this

My grandfather hits on my mom's friends constantly

Told my mom his ex-wife (her mom) was looking good and fit (unprompted)

My grandfather Told my parents that his wife gets so constipated he has to "reach up and dig it out of there"

When my uncle was a boy he looked through her wallet and found a picture of my grandfather naked and erect, when he asked her why she kept it in her wallet she said "it excites her"

While driving to work she saw my uncle (teen at the time) hanging out with his friends and stopped to ask for a kiss when my uncle didn't give her one she got out of the car without putting it in park and it crashed into a house

A pelican has shat directly on his wife's face (my mother's favorite memory)

My grandfather calls at least once a month to claim he's dying (unfortunately he's not)

His wife was super into the price is right, so when my mom was 6-7 and they were filming in San Antonio she took them but they didn't want kids, so she left my mom in the car while they filmed

My grandfather never had a pet that he couldn't eat when he got bored

They spilled food on my mother and she got a second degree burn, when she cried about it they threatened to beat her to "give her something to cry about"

Then they had her sit in the ocean water to help make it feel better (the salt water did not make her second degree burns feel better)

During my great grandmother's funeral my grandfather gave me a taxidermized crow (unprompted)

His wife caught my other uncle having sex with his girlfriend and asked "are you planning to marry this woman?" Before praying (without leaving)

His wife would open the door in nothing but her underwear

Grandfather would have my mom help balance his check book so she could see how much she cost him in child support (it was 100$)

My grandfather liked a picture on my mom's Facebook from two years ago at 3 Am using his wife's account, she had been dead a year (I repeat my mom woke up to see her dead abusive step mother liking one of her posts)

During a trip to the cost his wife didn't want to walk to use the bathrooms at the trailer park they were staying at so they had a porta potty that my mom had to empty out (my mom says she can still hear the sloshing of the urine)

His wife used to serve canned spinach because my mom didn't like it, when my mom ate it and asked for seconds she never served it again

He casually told my grandma while they were still married that her grandpa died while he was eating (she had just gotten home from work)

My grandfather repoed my grandma's car because she was divorcing him

Has put my mom in five separate group chats (my mom activity ignores all of them)

Emailed my mom pictures of his wife in the casket even after she told him she didn't want to see them (I looked, she looked awful, so no change)

This is just the tip of the iceberg, who knows why we never visit him (my moms soul leaves her body when he calls)

[therapy-familiar-reports]

REPORT #Q@&$ DATE: !& | ! | In the œth Year of the ߧrd Cycle REPORTER: Loch | Mimi (familiar) CLIENT: Aidan Corcoran (wizard)

NOTE:

Starting this year, the Department of Familiar-Wizard Relations is requiring working familiars and all of their wizard partners to document their work for historical records. The records will be sealed. All of the following information in this report will remain confidential until records are made public at the beginning of the next Cycle. This report and any other reports made by the Familiar Therapeutic Service Agency, due to its status as a healing center and thus subject to the Healing Privacy Act, will be handled with even further care to ensure absolute confidentiality. If a client would like to request for their records to be destroyed, they should contact their Agency liaison.

TW: Memory loss, dementia, wizard death, pet death

BEGIN ENTRY:

Today, Earl told me I had to write down a report for each of my clients due to a new law from the Department. When I asked him how the report should be formatted and written, he responded with, “Eh? I don’t quite know — write whatever comes to your mind, I guess.” 

So, here I am. Writing whatever I want with these gross opposable thumbs. 

Yes, you read right, gross! Taking forms with opposable thumbs is my least favorite. It makes me feel all squirmy inside, ya know? Alas… I digress. This report is about my most recent client and Pact companion, Aidan Corcoran.

I started working with Aidan two years ago, in the &@th Year of this Cycle. Aidan’s long-time cat, Mimi, had passed away that year. As a 90-year-old wizard with some memory and cognitive problems, Aidan was struggling to adjust to the loss. His daughter Cynthia recommended a therapy familiar. Aidan said he would give it a try. They reached out to my Agency and after a few scheduled visits, it was determined that I would be a good fit for Aidan. Cats are, after all, one of my favorite forms to adopt.

My Pact with Aidan was established, and I came to live with him in the Zochek neighborhood. It was a quiet area, right along the shore of Loch Realtra. He lived in a little brownstone townhouse with a bright red door and a creaky front porch. The porch was clogged with potted plants of all kinds that made me feel like I was walking through the great forests of Murk again when I passed under their shade. Aidan was a passionate amateur botanist, you see.

“Mimi, did you know that most tree species are not even related to each other? They’re entirely different plants who just evolved into the same structure in order to survive,” He once told me while he was pruning the olive tree in his small backyard.

I loved it when he told me those random botanical facts— even when he repeated the same ones.

Now, for you future readers, yes, he called me by the same name as his old cat. This was part of our agreement. Some familiars will choose their own name and stick to it, but I love having multiple names. When I make a Pact with another being, I let them choose a name for me that marks the beginning of our unique relationship. I carry every name I am given with me. I am Mimi, I am Harold, I am Diamond, and I am many more. My Agency coworkers, though, mostly call me Loch because that was the first name I was given when I started working here. But that’s a whole other report… back to Aidan.

Aidan was a stocky and short fellow with a big personality. He was lively, loud, and always quick with a string of curses when he accidentally knocked something over. Such occurrences were common. Aidan confided to me that he had been clumsy since he was a boy. The only difference now was that his magic wasn’t quick enough anymore to fix his missteps. To make up for it, he had replaced the convenience of telekinesis with “just as magical” words, he often joked. As a familiar in a Pact, I could have drawn on our combined pool of magic to catch the objects, but Aidan was adamant that I didn’t.

“Don’t do that now,” He said to me after I had caught a glass that he had elbowed off the kitchen counter, “I can very well take care of my own messes, thank you very much.”

He was stubborn in that old man way which I never quite understood, but I respected his wishes. Too many times had I seen my elderly clients be denied their fully deserved autonomy. I just made sure I was there to watch as his shaky hands grabbed the broom and swept up the shards of glass.

…Damn Earl! I’m not even sure what else I should write down for this report. I could theoretically write absolutely everything down about Aidan, but I fear that this report would be far too long. Perhaps, then, I should speak of his standard routine.

Aidan spent most of his days with his hands in the dirt or around a cup of tea as he watched birds and people fly by his front porch. He loved to read in the mornings. Many nights, he listened to the Bards of Ole runewave station on his old magic stone, singing along loudly and mostly off-key. He would tell me all about how this song was the one he would often hear playing on the stones in his hometown’s alchemy store and how that song was the one he played on his lute for Cynthia’s first birthday.

Cynthia, of course, was all grown up now. She lived just down the street with her two partners. She came over every day to check in and spend time with her dad. Sometimes, her partners came, too. These full family visits often turned into a rousing game of Parcheesi. Cynthia was extremely competitive, and it was clear that she got it from Aidan. Curses were hurled across the board and laughter would fill the air as Cynthia’s partners chuckled at the intensity with which Aidan and Cynthia played. By the time the game was over, whether Aidan had won or lost, he would always have a big, languorous smile across his face — his eyes soft with weariness and joy.

Of course, there were hard moments, too. He would frequently get confused, asking when Cynthia was coming home from school or when he needed to be at the office (he had been retired for nearly 3 decades). Sometimes, he got sad because he knew he couldn’t remember all the details.

“I know you’re Mimi but not really Mimi,” He would say, frowning at me. 

I sat with him through each of those moments. Sometimes, all I had to do was jump into his lap, rest my head against his chest, and purr. Other times, when I felt it was necessary, I would speak with him to remind him of details, to reassure him that Cynthia was safe in her own home and would be coming by tomorrow. Only a couple of times did I have to call Cynthia to help support.

The days continued much like this for two years. Quiet mornings, lively afternoons, and cool nights curled up beside Aidan’s pillow as he muttered softly in his sleep.

One of the most striking things about Aidan, I will say, was the way he could fill your heart with just a few, simple words. Maybe it was the old bard in him. Maybe it was wisdom gained through his many years. Or maybe it was his dislike of fancy, suffocated words. However it may be… in moments of quiet, when it was just me and him and it felt like the rest of the world was frozen, he would turn to me and smile.

“Mimi… you make me feel like a million gold coins.”

Yesterday, Aidan died. Peacefully, in his sleep. 

I felt the magical bonds of our Pact dissolve and return to the Murk.

I think I will take a break from work for a while.

~END ENTRY~

[sylvidoptera]

The tiny fae sat atop the neck of the ancient snapper, holding on to his bag of parchment and writing instruments. He let his mind drift for the walk, knowing that the habit of countless years would take the larger dragon's feet exactly where they needed to go. Muscle memory was a wonderful thing.

The mental memory, however, was slippery and you always took it for granted until it was gone.

As they reached the tablet in the middle of the clearing, Scribbles could feel his great-great-grandmother perk up. The sight of the polished rocks she'd called her desk for ages would always draw her out of the slightly disconnected place she spent the majority of her time these days. His own spirits brightened instantly and he grinned with anticipation.

While Tomo puttered around her desk setting up everything just so, Scribbles fluttered to the two sides of the path that came through the trees. Most of the locals knew that the famous researcher was now struggling with dementia and would treat her accordingly; but sometimes strangers would come through and laugh at "the daft old lady" who handed out coins for simple answers over and over.

As the fae put the second sign up, its block letters reading "PLEASE BE KIND", he heard himself called back. "Scribbles! Everything is ready! You need to be in place if you're to get any work done with me today!" Tomo's voice was affectionate and filled with the same eagerness that had driven her to learn everything she could when she was younger.

"Yes, Grandmother! I was just putting up the 'open' signs for our sources."

"Good boy! Hopefully we'll get someone who knows what they're talking about today. I swear, some people just are woefully ignorant. But that's alright! We can teach. Everyone likes to learn, right?"

Smiling a little bit sadly, Scribbles nodded. "Of course." He set up his parchment, inkwell, and quills and prepared for what the day might bring. "We can only hope that everyone today will learn something valuable."

As the day wore on, Tomo never lost her enthusiasm. Whether the answers were wrong or right, she learned something (again) or the dragon who gave the wrong answer was able to have a new fact to take home. Every silly little drawing, recipe, or imaginary prose Scribbles wrote down was met with a gently amused patience and joy that her grandson was so talented and creative.

Those who were in the know would quietly drop their coins back into the basket hidden in the bushes next to the tablet. Tomo was endlessly generous, because she didn't remember that she no longer was a highly-paid scholar. Everyone in the area was so proud and so fond, they would simply make sure that she would never run out of coins… for Tomo insisted on paying for correct answers. Her pride and generosity would allow nothing else.

At the end of the day, Scribbles packed up his equipment and looked at the slowly fading light in his beloved grandmother's eyes. "The sun is going down, Tomo. Time to head home. After all, brains need rest to be able to process all this information."

"Right you are! You're such a good apprentice. If you're lucky, my desk may be yours someday. But not for a long time. There's still so much left to learn." Tomo looked over the clearing one last time before Scribbles climbed up on her back. With a deep sigh that was full of contentment - and a hint of unconscious sadness - the ancient dragon let her mind slip into the twilight she'd been fighting as her body carried her home.

Scribbles looked down at the head that held the most beautiful mind he'd ever known. No matter how many times the fog took her away, he would work hard to bring her out into the light. If that meant spending every day like today, so be it.

Wiping away a tear and sitting up straighter, Scribbles smiled as Tomo started gently rambling a story from her childhood. It was one of his favorites. The little dragon pushed away any shadows from his thoughts and enjoyed the rhythm of the familiar words.

Tomorrow was another day… and there were always questions to ask and answers to give. For what was life without learning and love?

[respawningsober]

Celebrating my son's first birthday yesterday was a profound moment, spent in the comfort of our home with my lady. Despite the rainy weather, his infectious smile and playful demeanor filled the day with joy. My son's presence has transformed me in ways I never anticipated, reshaping my understanding of love and commitment. It was also the one year mark of my sobriety.

The moment my lady went into labor served as a catalyst for change. I was drinking that night. Honestly, I was drinking most nights. Alcohol had been my love for a long long time and I've been in a toxic relationship with it since I was around 12, sadly. When she went into labor, I was a good halfway drunk and decided I needed to sober up immediately and stay that way. It called my mother to memory.

My mother is a can of worms I'm not sure I'm ready to dive into yet, but she's relevant to this story so I have to include her. My mom died after a long battle with dementia and various health problems. She was sick for many, many years and alcohol was a crutch to get over it as well as any other problems I had. A lot of things I simply don't remember because I was blasted out of my mind on booze or anything I could get my hands on. I remember some of the night she died, though. I remember my dad and a couple friends in the living room and all of us were drinking and watching TV (not mom, obviously).

My mother was surprisingly lucid that night. Knowing who all of us were and what was going on. She was in good spirits listening to all of us reminiscing and chattering nonsense. She elected to go lay down and watch TV in her bedroom after a good dinner dad and I worked on. She told Dad to hang out with us and that she loved us all and retired to her room to watch her constant reruns of Law and Order. That didn't change when she fell ill, I think she always loved the crime shows and true crime stories. I probably got that from her. Dad checked on her constantly as we drank in the living room and had our little get together.

After she fell asleep, the night gets blurry for me. I don't remember anything about it. One of my friends left and one elected to stay. Him and I call each other Majestic. He's in recovery now himself and he's still one of my favorite people. He tearfully told me everything that happened the next day. I was passed out, unconscious. I was unconscious for my dad discovering my mom had passed in the night. I was unconscious for him waking and retrieving my sister and her having a sobbing meltdown. I was unconscious for the EMTs recovering her body. I knew nothing about anything until I woke up. My dad sitting alone in a dark living room in mom's favorite chair. He stared at an unpowered television and nursed a beer. He told me that mom was gone. He told me everything I had missed but he didn't talk about his feelings, or if he was okay. We didn't discuss much that night. Majestic was still asleep in my floor and would catch me up on the specifics when he awoke.

I was passed out when my mother's passing unfolded, a fact that haunts me to this day. The guilt of not being present for my family during such a pivotal moment weighs heavily on my conscience.

I hate myself that I wasn't there. I regret that I couldn't at least have suffered with everyone else I hate that I couldn't have held my sister while she cried. I hate that my dad suffered most of that night alone and stuck in his own head. I know, realistically, that I couldn't have changed anything. I know I couldn't have changed the outcome or had any effect on how it hurt everyone there. It still bothers me to this day. Not just one occurence, but dozens and hundreds. So many moments in time simply lost in a fog of alcoholism because I was incapable of dealing with my life.

It all came flooding back when my lady went into labor. I poured out the rest of the alcohol in the house and simply never looked back. I refused to not be completely present for my son. I wasn't going to hide in the sweet blackness of being drunk. I haven't drank since that night, which served as a wake up call to WANT to remember. To be in the moment. And for my son to not have to put up with a lot that I did. So far so good.

One day at a time.

[scottwojahn]

The White Sweater

My cell phone buzzed today with a text message announcing that my dad’s Rx was ready for pickup. “Type stop to cancel”, it politely mentioned, as if the only reason to do so would be my annoyance at notification overload. I suppose I should let them know he’s gone. Best to wait until my next trip in for groceries to tell them that Karl will not be needing anything further from the pharmacy? Or would a call suffice?

A few days ago, after a circuitous route through too many voicemail prompts, I finally reached a woman in customer service at Spectrum and explained I needed to cancel my elderly father’s cable tv service and landline phone. Reading from her script, she walked me through some prompts and offers aimed at keeping me from my goal, finally asking, “Has he moved to another place? We could transfer his account”. I said gently, “Yes, he moved….he moved to heaven”. She dropped the script from there, and was quite kind going forward. We worked it out.

I have found in my car and my nightstand drawer and on my library table, hospital release reports, receipts, and medical reminders - all important records - now unnecessary, irrelevant, moot. They serve no purpose but to remind us of a difficult few months. Tossing them in a wastebasket felt like a kind of betrayal.

Even the weather seems to have given up since he’s gone. Mother nature has howled in angst, with biting winter winds and harsh, mocking temperatures. This morning registered 8 degrees F. It’s as if Karl’s spirit itself was a finger in the dyke, holding forth for all of us against her impassive, fierce discipline.

Joan Didion wrote beautifully of the mild insanities that can follow in the wake of losing a loved one. In The Year of Magical Thinking (Knopf, 2005) she describes removing her husband’s items from their closet, but holding on to a pair of nice shoes because he might still need them. My experience is less dramatic, but the myriad questions of what is a keepsake is daunting. As if the world doesn’t yet appreciate what I know; that Karl Wojahn’s Oregon State University sweater might fit me someday and I’d proudly wear it out somewhere fun. Or that there’s value in the monogrammed brown faux leather jewelry case which holds his fifties-era tie clasps and jade cufflinks from Hong Kong, or his beautiful Navy service pin.

In the last year, as my father slipped into the confusion of dementia, there was little thought paid to the long term, the legacy. We were focused on the day to day. He stopped wanting to go out for breakfast to his favorite pancake house. He quit reading. Eventually he even stopped telling stories from his childhood, a quiver of twenty or so colorful reminders of how far he’d come, from a house with no indoor plumbing on the destitute plains of Eastern Montana, to a college graduate with a bright future and enough funds to buy his own convertible. 

A friend observed that none of us will be remembered personally by more than two generations that follow. It’s unrealistic to expect my father’s life and memory to be shared by more than a few who knew him. He lived to be 97, after all. But perhaps the sight of his early 50s white knit sweater with the OSU beaver logo will open up a beautiful conversation someday, if I can ever fit into it.

[feminist-space]

"Do’s and Don’ts of communication and dementia

You can’t control memory loss – only your reaction to it.

For people with dementia, their disability is memory loss. Asking them to remember is like asking a blind person to see. (Common questions like “Did you take your pills?” or “What did you do today?” are the equivalent of asking them to remember something.) A loss of this magnitude reduces the capacity to reason. Expecting them to be reasonable or to accept your conclusion is unrealistic. Don’t correct, contradict, blame or insist. Reminders are rarely kind. They tell a person how disabled they are – over and over again.

People living with dementia say and do normal things for someone with memory impairment. If they were deliberately trying to exasperate you, they would have a different diagnosis. Forgive them…always. For example, your wife isn’t purposely hiding your favorite pair of shoes. She thinks she’s protecting them by putting them in a safe place…and then forgets.

Here are some basic Do’s when it comes to communication with someone with dementia:

-Give short, one sentence explanations.

-Allow plenty of time for comprehension, and then triple it.

-Repeat instructions or sentences exactly the same way.

-Avoid insistence. Try again later.

-Agree with them or distract them to a different subject or activity.

-Accept the blame when something’s wrong (even if it’s fantasy).

-Leave the room, if necessary, to avoid confrontations.

-Respond to the feelings rather than the words.

-Be patient and cheerful and reassuring. Do go with the flow.

-Practice 100% forgiveness. Memory loss progresses daily.

Here are some Don’ts:

-Don’t reason.

-Don’t argue.

-Don’t confront.

-Don’t remind them they forget.

-Don’t question recent memory.

-Don’t take it personally.

We’ve put together some specific examples of good and bad communication below, keeping these do’s and don’ts in mind.

“What doctor’s appointment? There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Don’t: (reason) “You’ve been seeing the doctor every three months for the last two years. It’s written on the calendar and I told you about it yesterday and this morning.”

DO: (short explanation) “It’s just a regular checkup.”

(accept blame) “I’m sorry if I forgot to tell you.”

“I didn’t write this check for $500. Someone at the bank is forging my signature.”

Don’t: (argue) “What? Don’t be silly! The bank wouldn’t be forging your signature.”

DO: (respond to feelings) “That’s a scary thought.”

(reassure) “I’ll make sure they don’t do that.”

(distract) “Would you help me fold the towels?”

“Nobody’s going to make decisions for me. You can go now…and don’t come back!”

Don’t: (confront) “I’m not going anywhere and you can’t remember enough to make your own decisions.”

DO: (accept blame or respond to feelings) “I’m sorry this is a tough time.”

(reassure) “I love you and we’re going to get through this together.”

(distract) “You know what? Don has a new job. He’s really excited about it.”

“Joe hasn’t called for a long time. I hope he’s okay.”

Don’t: (remind) “Joe called yesterday and you talked with him for 15 minutes.”

DO: (reassure) “You really like talking with him don’t you?”

(distract) “Let’s call him when we get back from our walk.”

“Hello, Mary. I see you’ve brought a friend with you.”

Don’t: (question memory) “Hi Mom. You remember Eric, don’t you? What did you do today?”

DO: (short explanation) “Hi Mom. You look wonderful! This is Eric. We work together.”

“Who are you? Where’s my husband?”

Don’t: (take it personally) “What do you mean – who’s your husband?” I am!”

DO: (go with the flow, reassure) “He’ll be here for dinner.”

(distract) “How about some milk and cookies?… Would you like chocolate chip or oatmeal?”

“I’m going to the store for a newspaper.”

Don’t: (repeat differently) “Please put your shoes on.”…You’ll need to put your shoes on.”

DO: (repeat exactly) “Please put your shoes on.”… “Please put your shoes on.”

“I don’t want to eat this! I hate chicken.”

Don’t: (respond negatively) “You just told me you wanted chicken. I’m not making you anything else, so you better eat it!”

Do: (accept blame) “I’m so sorry, I forgot. I was in such a rush that it slipped my mind.

(respond positively) Let me see what else we have available.” Leave the room and try again.

Need support? We’re here to help! Speak with one of our dementia experts by calling 858.492.4400 or emailing info@alzsd.org."

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Old Wild Whims of Fancy

ow. ow ow ow why did i sign up for an angst cardddd????? This is ‘memory loss’ for @thewitcherbog bingo event. i hurt myself.

pairing: romantic jask/priscilla, best friends geralt and jask

warnings: memory loss, dementia/Alzheimer's, Geralt comforts Jaskier in his last days as he declines, MCD- major character death and i mean it (also unbettaed)

__________________________

The letter Geralt had received from Priscilla was heartbreaking. The idea of Jaskier losing his memory and not remembering the partner he’d adored so much for so long, even before meeting Geralt, made Geralt absolutely ache for his best friend. But seeing him was much worse. 

It had only been a year… right? Maybe two? Geralt coudln’t be sure. He’d never been great with time and he’d always had Jaskier there to help him keep track… But looking at his friend now was like looking at a completely different person. A cousin maybe. Certainly not the bright vibrant bard he knew. 

Priscilla had told him Jaskier had asked for him. Asked for ‘that witcher bloke I wrote a song about’ with a cheeky grin. That song was going on sixty years old now and the look on Priscilla’s face said that she was already grieving the loss of the love of her life. 

Geralt only nodded and swallowed hard and knelt down next to Jaskier where he sat in a plush chair surrounded by books. Other than looking rather older and a touch too frail for Geralt’s memory, he looked peaceful; just a professor’s brain at work plowing through his favorite books. But Geralt noticed all the titles all too quickly. They were Jaskier’s favorites that he’d talked about over the years, and one or two that he’d written himself.

“Geralt! Hello dear witcher! You look well!”

Choosing to ignore how his friend’s voice wobbled so much more than it should have, Geralt forced a smile and answered like he always would, “And you look pompous as ever. How was your winter Jaskier?” 

A wily grin spread over Jaskier’s face as he wiggled his eyebrows, “I think I’ve finally won my dear Priscilla’s heart for good. But I can bore you with the details later. I’ve recently found this book about you-” he held the book up and wiggled it slightly, but Geralt saw Priscilla had scratched out the authors name on the cover, and he assumed on the inside pages as well, “-and this bloke seems to think you, Mr. Cantankerous-And-Broody, are actually rather forthcoming with details. That, or he made a shitload of it up.”

“Probably half horseshit,” Geralt quipped, trying to keep the wavering out of his own voice as he recalled the adventure they had shared that Jaskier had turned into that book. 

“Makes me wonder if you’ve collected another bard?” Jaskier played it as a tease, but Geralt knew he was probably hurt by his own writing. That story in particular had been one of Jaskier’s favorites, what he called ‘a turning point in our relationship, dear witcher’. 

“Only a straggler with too much vigor and wild whims of fancy.” Geralt forced his words out over the lump forming in his throat. That’s exactly what he’d thought of Jaskier in the beginning, now he was one of the most important people in Geralt’s life. And he knew he’d stay and watch him waste away as his mind slowly left him, even if he had to introduce himself every time he walked into the room. He couldn’t leave his best friend in the world alone in his last days, “I could never replace you, Jaskier. Not ever.” 

“Now, now. Didn’t you say that emotions are for drunks and those with time and money to spare? Lets save the dramatics for the tavern,” Jaskier teased, setting a far too frail hand on Geralt’s shoulder, “Tell me how this fool got it wrong.” 

And so he did.

Geralt told him every detail he could recall from their twenty-some year old adventure, pulling some from the book in Jaskier’s hands on memory, and some from the first draft he’d thrown back at his friend with an eye roll at how dramatic he’d made it all sound. 

He did the same thing every day until Jaskier passed. He had to introduce himself a few times near the end, and for a while that would jog Jaskier’s memory enough to talk like old friends.

But the last few weeks, Geralt would introduce himself and Jaskier would stare at him with a little wonder, but no recognition in his eyes. After the first day this happened where Geralt had to leave and go for a long tear soaked ride, he started asking Jaskier’s help. He would kneel at Jaskier’s side and ask for his esteemed bardic talents to repair a witcher’s reputation. Jaskier would get excited and though he couldn’t form full sentences he would indicate for Geralt to tell his tale. And Geralt would tell him everything.

They spent hours by the fire, Geralt telling story after story of their adventures, of how this delightful and vibrant young bard had changed his life and helped him become a man worthy of the family he had now. 

Jaskier’s last day, Geralt spoke of the time they met. How foolishly endearing this bard had seemed, how innocent yet devious, and how wise beyond his years. Geralt left Jaskier and Priscilla’s cottage that day knowing he’d never see his best friend again. But it had been worth all the pain to give back to Jaskier some of the comfort he’d always given to Geralt.

[moonysteaa]

Mandy & Augustus Pettigrew

Mandy was a pure-blood Ravenclaw, Augustus was a muggle-born Hufflepuff

They met in Hogwarts but the first time they actually talked was in year 5

Pandora Lovegood introduced them to each other (since she was good friends with both of them and in the same house as Mandy)

They started dating after Mandy straight up asked Augustus to go to Hogsmeade with her and he (obviously) agreed because it was Mandy!!!!

Mandy had never been self conscious about her weight or looks, she loved herself no matter what people were saying about her. She knew some of her fellow students were talking behind her back but she had a lot of supporters (friends and family) so she never worried about stuff like that

She had honey blond curly hair which reached to her shoulders and bounced with every movement, rosy cheeks and brown eyes

She seemed like a sweet naive girl which fooled most people into underestimating her. But she wasn’t someone to mess with: Mandy had perfect grades and was a literal genius. She knew what she wanted and was admired by students and teachers

After finishing school Mandy worked as a spell inventor while also raising Peter. She loved her job and life with her happy little family

Augustus worked as a florist, and just as Mandy he loved his job, especially because his wife would visit him everyday, buy her favorite flowers (yellow primroses) and spend some time with him

Sadly Augustus didn’t do too well at his job so he got fired. It was a big shock and he missed it a lot. Their daily tradition of Mandy getting a bouquet of flowers didn’t stop there though!

They got married in August (because Mandy thought it was funny) although Augustus was more of a spring person but as long as Mandy was happy he didn’t mind

Mandy was the only one allowed to call him “Gus”

Peter and his parents baked cookies every christmas while listening to loud christmas music

Mandy enjoys red wine but gets drunk SO easily (Augustus secretly thinks it’s cute to see his wife overly excited)

Dresses with pockets + Mandy = pure joy

Augustus and Peter had a really special bond, he was so proud of his son seeing him leave for hogwarts every single year

Unfortunately Peter’s dad died at a pretty young age from cancer, Peter was only 16 at that time. He felt like he had just lost a part of himself

Mandy couldn’t grieve, it just felt too unreal. How could he leave her so suddenly? It was a hard time for both of them

She was still trying to cope with her husband’s death when she got her own diagnosis: Dementia

And if that wasn’t enough, Peter betrayed his friends, his 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺

But the dementia took her thoughts and memories so she simply forgot. She talked about her husband and her lovely son and asked when they would visit her again

And that was the dramatic end of the lives of Mrs & Mr Pettigrew

[blessednereid]

First Line Tryouts

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Mentions/Warnings: Implied Smut, making out, cursing, eating/food mentions, mentions dead bodies, slasher film mention, dementia mention, slight domesticality(?)

Word Count: <4,200

A/N: This took so long im so sorry, tried to sum up the events of ep 1, while adding some isaac moments! Enjoy! LMK If I need to add anymore tw’s or cw’s.

Taglist: @rogershoe Dm me to be added to the taglist. 

~---~---~---~---~

There was a week left until your second semester began. Isaac was determined to thank you for everything you had done for him since he told you about his dad. 

He enlisted Stiles and a reluctant Lydia to help him with the planning. Isaac was going to make a picnic basket with your favorite foods. After that, Stiles would drive him to Lookout Point, and Lydia would take you there right after he gave her the go-ahead to let her know it was ok to leave. 

Lydia would take you to the mall so that Isaac could prepare the picnic basket. He had bought assorted fruits, a platter of ham and cheese pinwheels, passion-fruit fruit champagne, your favorite desserts, and your favorite chips. He packed a picnic blanket as well as two smaller ones so that you both could lay under the stars and watch them dance. 

After everything was packed, Stiles drove him to the point in the woods, and two miles away from his destination, he called Lydia and gave her the signal. 

When he reached the peak, before he could do anything, Stiles scolded him.

"Hey scarf," he barked. Isaac turned his head.

"Don't try anything with my sister tonight, alright? You may not be in the house, but I will still be watching everything?"

Isaac paused. "Aren't you going back to Scott's house?" 

"I have eyes everywhere, Lahey," he stated simply before waltzing away.

~---~---~---~---~

When you arrived, Isaac had everything set up, the picnic cloth was laid down on a flat chunk, the colorful plastic champagne glasses he had bought were carefully placed down on top of the plates, 

When you arrived, Isaac had already laid everything out. The picnic blanket was spread out on a flat chunk of land, and the ceramic plates sat on top of it. There was a bundle of spoons and forks, knives, and colorful plastic champagne glasses for the both of you. 

"I-saac, haha," you chuckled.

He bowed. "Good evening, madame. How can I serve you today?" He walked over to you and led you to the setting. 

"Isaac, you didn't have to do all this, you know?" 

"I know, but you've done so much for me recently, and I wanted to thank you."

You looked at him fondly, and he stared back at you before breaking away to grab the fruit. He fed you a strawberry, and after that, you both took turns tossing berries into the air and trying to catch them. 

~---~---~---~---~

After you both were done eating, Isaac packed all the remaining food (which was a lot) into the basket and tossed you a cover. He pulled you closer to him once you were wrapped in the blanket and laid down to watch the stars with his favorite person in the world. 

"That's Orion's belt, right there," you thought out loud. 

"That's the big dipper then," 

"How do you know so many constellations?" Isaac questioned, and you frowned. 

"I- uh…" 

"What's wrong?" He looked at you with worry.

"It was something me and my mom did before she died. She would go out to the woods with me—" you paused."—and she would show me where all the stars were. Stiles was never interested. My obsession with finding the stars became so big she decided to get me a telescope and a big book of all the constellations." 

"Oh, so I'm guessing it's a touchy subject?" 

You laughed. "It's a subject that brings up memories. To be honest, I haven't tried stargazing since my mom's death. This was nice." 

"You never told me much about your mom…" 

"And you never told me about yours," you hit back. 

"Touché." 

You went first. "Before everything, my mom was…in all aspects… perfect. Every day when we came home from school, she would have lunch ready, even if we already ate, just some chips and cookies on the table for Stiles and me." 

You smiled. "Mom would take us outside to the backyard and play soccer with us, us two against her. I think she would go easy on us." 

"When she got diagnosed, she started becoming less… tolerant of us. She would yell for the tiniest things,  and they didn't hurt me as much because Dad would always remind us that she didn't mean it, but I guess it always hurt Stiles more—"

"How do you mean?" Isaac asked.

"He was always a mommy's boy. One night we went to visit her at the hospital, I went to the vending machine to get snacks for Stiles and me, and he was gone. When he came back, he was crying nonstop. I kept trying to get him to tell me what was wrong, but he wouldn't tell me.  The next day it was like he just forgot about it." 

You both sat there in silence for a while longer. 

"My mom…. My mom was always working. She had her own business making soaps and perfumes and stuff like that." 

"She would always ask—" he gulped. "—she would ask my brother and me to help her with her orders. We would always make a mess, so after we were done, she made bubble baths for us." He giggled at the memory. "When she died, I guess we all changed a bit." 

"I got a little shier, Camden got more impulsive, Dad just lost his filter. He put more effort into making sure we were disciplined." He saw your eyes squint. "He didn't hit us back then. He just had stricter rules." 

You pulled him closer to your chest, and you guys just stayed there, looking at the stars, and feeling, even more, closer to each other than before.

You broke the silence.

"Isaac…" 

"Yes, Y/N?"

"I love you…" 

He leaned down to your face and pecked your lips.

"I love you too," he smiled.

~---~---~---~---~

"Y/n!" Isaac was trying to wake you up. You had fallen asleep watching Nightmare on Elm Street. You had been desensitized to all the blood and gore because you and stiles would always stay up late and watch slasher films. This was when your dad worked extra shifts at the Sheriff's station, and your mom was at the hospital.

"N/n, Wake up!" 

He grabbed your ringing phone and pulled it up to your ear, despite knowing he would face your wrath for doing that later on. Stiles had just called you for the 4th time that night, and you weren't waking up.

When you still wouldn't wake up, he did the only thing he could think of, as illogical as it was. He laid down flat on his back and rolled over, pushing you off the bed. You woke with a start. 

"ISAAC, WHAT THE HELL!!"

"Stiles has called you 4 times in 5 minutes, and you told me to wake you up whenever someone calls you…" He fake-pouted. 

Your expression softened because you couldn't resist his cobalt eyes, but you were still angry. You answered the phone and shouted at Stiles to release your frustration. 

"Stiles, what the hell, you're across the hall. Did you really have to call?"

"Hurry up and get ready, Dad just went out, and we need to go get Scott."

"Why do we have to follow dad? It's his job."

"Someone found a dead body, but half of it is missing,"

"Ok, I'm coming," You said while putting on your jeans. 

"Oh, and leave the golden retriever."

"His name is Isaac, not 'golden retriever,' Stiles!" you scolded. 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, hurry up!"

You finished putting on Isaac's hoodie and turned to face him. 

"I gotta go, love."

He pouted. "Why can't I go with you?"

You went to give him a hug. "We should go with the least amount of people possible., so we don't get caught…" you lied. 

"Is Scott going?" He was always able to tell when you were lying. He knew all your tells and your poker face before you were even dating. 

"Fine, It's Stiles."

"So, I realized. Do I really look like a golden retriever?"

You shrugged and said in a pitchy voice, "An adorable golden retriever?" 

He sighed. 

"Be safe, and come back before midnight, please? I don't wanna go to sleep without you…"

"Nervous for tomorrow?"

"It's the start of first-line tryouts. I really wanna make it this year,"

"I'm sure that you'll make it Isaac, you are one of the most hand-eye coordinated people I know, and at every game, I will be there to cheer you guys on!"

 He smiled at your statement and kissed you. 

"Be sa—"

"Y/N, Hurry up!" Stiles shouted from downstairs. 

~---~---~---~---~

You stayed in the car while Stiles was getting Scott, silently cursing him for not allowing Isaac to come but going to get Scott. 

Scott and Stiles got out of the house and piled into the car. 

"Next time you wanna leave the 'golden retriever,' Stiles, we're also leaving the poodle," you angrily intoned.

Scott took up an offended expression. "Poodle?"

"Would you rather chihuahua?"

"Nevermind..."

"No, we're not leaving Scott. He's my best friend," Stiles said defensively.

"Oh yeah? Isaac is my boyfriend, yet he couldn't come!" 

"My car, my choice of guests."

"Fuck off, Miechyvslaw!"

~---~---~---~---~

"We're seriously doing this?"

"Obviously," you stated simply.

He started driving the car, and they headed to the woods where the search party for the body and the other half of it would be located. 

"You're the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town," Stiles said.

"I was trying to get a good night's sleep before practice tomorrow."

"Right, cause sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort," Stiles sassed.

"No, because I'm playing this year. In fact, I'm making the first line."

"Hey, that's the spirit. Everyone should have a dream, even a pathetically unrealistic one."

You interrupted their bickering. "Just out of curiosity, do either of you know what half of the body we're even looking for?"

"Uhhh-" Stiles stuttered.

"And uh- what if whoever killed the body is still out there," Scott questioned.

"Also, something I did not think about."

"It's comforting to know that you've planned this out with your usual attention to detail," Scott stated. 

Stiles and Scott continued bickering, but soon, you saw a flashlight.

"Shit! Hide!" you warned, but Stiles kept going. You leaped forward, trying to grab his shirt and pull him back, but your dad caught you.

"Hang on. Hang on. These two delinquents belong to me."

Stiles sighed. 

"I told you to hide, you brat!" you whispered to him.

"Daaaaad!" He enunciated. "How are you doing?"

"So, do you, uh, listen into all my phone calls?"

"Not the boring ones," Stiles said. 

"So, where's your usual partner in crime?"

"Wh-who Scott? Scott's home, he said before continuing to ramble.

Your dad had called out for Scott, and when he didn't respond, dragged you and Stiles back to the Jeep. 

~---~---~---~---~

You went back to your room once you got to the house and found Isaac asleep on the bed.

"Izzie!" You grabbed a plush pillow from beside him and whacked him softly with it. 

You went home that night, not knowing where Scott was or what had happened to him while worrying about what Melissa would do to you if Scott got bitten by a coyote and she found out you lured him out there.

He stirred but didn't wake. You groaned and moved beside him.

"Isaac?" you shrilled. "Isaac, you were supposed to wait for me to come back!!"

You shook his body left and right until he woke up groggily.

"N/n?"

He fully opened his eyes and groaned at the comfort that it was you.

"You scared me!" he complained.

You began shuffling towards him and running your hands down his covered pectorals. "Aww… what can I do to make you feel better?"

"Anything?" he said before sucking in a breath.

"Anything, baby," You nodded. 

He pulled you onto his lap and started kissing you passionately, your lips meshing together. He trailed his lips from yours to your cheekbones, then to your jawline, nibbling slightly. You moved your hips forcefully against his, and he brought one hand down to your waist.

"Hey, is this ok?"

You nodded vehemently. 

He pushed your hips back and forth along his while leaving dark red marks towards the base of your neck and your collarbone. He sucked a hickey onto a pulse point, making you let out a moan, which you tried muffling by pressing your lips together. 

He brought his hands to the hem of your shirt and tugged slightly before looking up at you. You replaced his hands and pulled your shirt off of your torso. 

He placed open-mouthed kisses onto the tops of your breasts, causing you to throw your head back in delight. He brought his hand back to the small of your back and shuffled you forwards on his lap. 

He turned you over onto your back and continued to kiss from your chest up. He stood on his knees in front of you and pulled his shirt off of his body. He placed one more brief kiss on your lips before gripping your thighs and lowering down your body.

~---~---~---~---~

Stiles drove you, Isaac, and Scott to school the next day. When you got out of the car, Scott and Stiles were talking about a bite that Scott had gotten when he went to the woods, but he assured you that you wouldn't face Melissa's wrath. 

When you saw Lydia amongst the crowd, you dragged Isaac all the way to her. Lydia had never liked Isaac, feeling like her best friend could do much better than someone who wouldn't even talk to her(you) for extensive periods of time. 

"Hey Lyds!" you said with Isaac's face buried in your neck. He was not fond of Lydia either, not that she had done anything, but he had picked up on her apathy towards him and just decided he would do the same. 

"Hey Y/N! Isaac." You all walked into the building and headed for your respective classes. 

~---~---~---~---~

You had English first, and the teacher was rambling about the dead body found in the woods. 

A familiar faced walked into the room, and you almost squealed. It was your godsister, Allison Argent. You knew that her family was moving to  Beacon Hills, but you hadn't known when they would be arriving. 

Chris Argent, Allison's dad, was your mother's best friend in high school. When she gave birth to you and Stiles, she made Chris your godfather.

You quietly clapped your hands at her appearance. She smiled at you before taking the seat diagonally across from you and right behind Scott. You noticed how when he turned around to give her a pencil, he looked highly flustered. 

Before you could point this out and tease him about it, your teacher began to talk about the novel you were reading as a class.

~---~---~---~---~

When you got out of class, you decided to introduce Lydia to Allison. 

When you both approached Allison, she squealed and ran to give you a hug, almost causing you to stumble. You hugged her back for a good five seconds before letting her go. 

"That jacket is absolutely killer! Where'd you get it?" Lydia asked the brunette.

"My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco."

"And, you are my new best friend!" Lydia said before greeting her boyfriend, Jackson, who had come up behind her. 

"Hey? What about me? Already replacing me with my godsister?" you asked before you felt two slender arms wrap around your waist.

"Never!" Lydia smiled. "We can all be friends." 

You could hear a girl talking about Lydia or Allison or both, and you decided you would defend your friends. 

You walked over to where she was talking to Stiles and Scott.

"Hey, what's going on over here?"

"Oh, Audrey here was asking what Allison did to already be hanging out with your exclusive clique."

"Uh, nothing? She's just Allison." You said, looking at Scott and Stiles but directing it towards Aubrey. You then turned on your heels and walked away.

You had found that your friends had told Allison about the upcoming party and were just about to head to the lacrosse practice for the day.

~---~---~---~---~

You gave Isaac a good luck kiss before he went out to the field, and Lydia looked at you weirdly.

"What is it?" you asked, rolling your eyes.

"Nothing, Nothing."

"Why do you have such a problem with my boyfriend?"

She turned to look at you. "I don't know, maybe it's because you caught feelings when he hadn't said a single word to you for a week and didn't for another week after you first kissed him"

"It could be that when you asked him out and actually confessed your feelings, he waited a week to give you a response and made you think that he was rejecting you, which made you cry?"  

You rubbed your temples. "Lydia, I explained all this to you. He's a shy guy. He just doesn't talk much to people, and he thought I was playing a joke on him."

She shook her head. "Mark my words, Y/N, he's going to end up breaking your heart, and when he does, I'll be left to pick up the pieces."

You groaned. "Allison, does Isaac look like someone who would hurt me?"

"No? He looks like… He looks like a golden retriever!"

The three of you burst out laughing, and Lydia promised to try and be tolerant of Isaac.

Suddenly, it was Scott's turn to try guarding the goal. He allowed the first shot through before finding his footing and blocking the rest of the throws. 

"Who is that?" Your godsister asked. 

"Hmm… I'm not sure who he is," Lydia said questioningly.

You scoffed. "That is Scott McCall. Stiles' best friend. Why?"

"He's in our English class. He seems like he's pretty good," she said sagely.

She changed the subject. "Speaking of Stiles, how is he? I haven't talked to him since I got back."

"He's-" you tried answering but stopped short. "Wooh! Go, Isaac!"

He smiled at you before going to shoot lacrosse balls at the goalie.

On the final day of tryouts, you and Isaac had done stretches, though he didn't know why, and they had run laps around the field before practice had started.

The coach started talking to the players, and you, Lydia, and Allison sat in the stands. By the time practice was over, Scott had made the first line, but Stiles and Isaac didn't. To cheer them up, you had taken them to their favorite to-go restaurant and bought dessert for them.

~---~---~---~---~

It was a Friday night. You were particularly sad, not only because Isaac couldn't go with you, but because Isaac had his weekly dinner with his dad today. So, he wouldn't even be there when you fell asleep. 

Scott and Stiles had gotten into a fight earlier, so he wasn't going to the party. This left Jackson to drive you, who was taking Lydia to the party. This didn't make you too happy, seeing as how Jackson was a self-entitled bastard who got his status from his family and isn't grateful for any of it. 

You didn't understand how Lydia had decided it would be a good idea to date him. But, you knew that the same way she couldn't change your mind about Isaac, she wouldn't change your mind about Jackson. 

You wore a pink satin body-con dress that reached your mid-thigh. Isaac had picked it out for you when he realized he wouldn't have been able to attend the party. He was ok with it being as short because he knew all the guys there would remember what happened to Garrett Ferrero after he started hitting on you at a party. He had to get nose surgery because Isaac had broken it, and his nose swelled up so large, he didn't come to school until it shrunk.

You paired it with opaque tights with fishnets on top and a pair of red, 3-inch, cut-out heels. As for makeup, you had outlined your lips with a black lip liner and smeared a cherry red lipstick over it. You applied minimal foundation and went for a nude eyeshadow look. 

When you stepped out of the bathroom in your outfit, Isaac nearly went feral. He lightly kissed the expanse of your neck, knowing you would kill him if he messed up your makeup, and he ended up backing you both into a wall. 

You had to swat him away after a few seconds of this affair because you had to leave soon, and so did he, albeit reluctantly. You put a black jean jacket on top of your outfit before heading downstairs. 

He left your house a few minutes before you did, but just before you left, Stiles pulled you aside.

"Hey, Y/N, just watch out for Scott today, and especially Allison." Stiles was overprotective of both of you. Before Allison and her family began moving around, she was like a sister to both of you. You three did almost everything together. 

"Stiles, what's going on?"

He sighed. "Ok, this is going to be hard to explain, but you have to go. So I'm going to give you the brief version right now and explain later."

You nodded, beckoning him to continue. 

"The night Scott got bit by that 'coyote'... it wasn't a coyote. It was a wolf, and wolf hairs were reported on the autopsy of the dead body. Scott has been experiencing heightened senses, and he's been stronger. Y/N, he hasn't needed his inhaler all week."

Your eyes widened. You didn't know what to say.

"So… you think he's a werewolf."

"Better to be safe and absurd than sorry and sad. Tonight's a full moon, and he just wouldn't cancel that date. Just look out for them, you know?"

You bobbed your head up and down vigorously. 

You left the house, and outside were Jackson and Lydia, in the front seat of his Porsche. It was a nice ride but a bit overly embellished for someone who only just got his license.

 ~---~---~---~---~

Later at the party, you had last seen Allison and Scott as they were dancing. You were dancing with your friend, Marya Cullen. She was a freshman, so she didn't really know most of your other friends. You had met her through your job at Forever 21, and you instantly clicked. 

She was really drunk, so you called another one of her friends and asked them to take her home. Marya had given her friends a list of the people allowed to drive her home if this happened. 

It was just as you were putting Marya in the backseat, you saw Scott walking away from her, dazed. While that happened, a mysterious guy who looked much older than you were approaching Allison. 

"Hey, I'm her friend. I got it, thanks!" 

You walked with Allison back to her house after grabbing all your belongings and immersed in conversation, mostly about how weird Stiles was being. Stiles was driving in his Jeep when he saw you coming from Allison's house. You got into the Jeep, and you both went home. 

When you got there, you changed into your pajamas and laid down onto the surface of a cold bed. You grabbed your thickest pillow and pulled it into your arms, trying to create some semblance of a feeling of Isaac laying down with you.

~---~---~---~---~

You awoke to bright sunlight and a buzzing phone by your head. Isaac had been calling you to ask you to let him in the house. You realized it was high time that he gets a key to the front door. 

You went downstairs to greet your boyfriend, and you noticed that he had brought Starbucks. You almost caused him to fall to the floor had he not caught you in time. He set you on the floor and kissed your lips before heading to the kitchen.

He had gotten your regular order, as well as your favorite drink, and he had gotten his order as well. 

You guys say down to just eat and relax.

He took a sip of his iced coffee before saying anything.

"My dad wants me to work at the graveyard," he said, pensive.

You choked on your food. "What?" 

"Well, he said he's cutting off my allowance." 

"So he said I can either earn it by working at the graveyard or stay broke." 

"That's fine, darling?" 

"I know, but I still want to get a job to save so once I turn 18, I can move out. And, he is willing to let me choose my own hours, or really just give me hours that don't interfere with lacrosse practice."

You gave him a solemn look and whined. "But that means we won't have as much cuddle time?" 

"He shouldn't even be in your room," your dad said, approaching you from behind.

"Hi, dad."

"Good morning, Mr. Stilinsk—"

"Isaac," your dad interjected. "It's fine. You can call me Noah." 

Isaac smiled. 

-------fin--------

[hongnanglen-arina]

Forget me not | Hong Joshua

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Joshua x fem reader

Warnings: sick!reader, dementia

Words: 3k

A/N: Hey there! So here it is, my first angsty fic on here. I’m currently going through this myself but writing it down helped me cope with it a bit. Of course having to deal with this syndrome/disease is anything but romantic or nice but i tried to make it less bad if you know what i mean... anyways, i really hope you don’t have to deal with this in rl. Please be healthy!! Love you ♡

Tagged: @love-dreams​ @seokcalibur​ 

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━ ⋅𖥔⋅

The first time Joshua knew that something was off was at your birthday party 5 years ago. When you talked too fast, often times you mixed up the names especially the similar ones. You nearly forgot the cake in the oven. Luckily your cousin noticed it. During the party, he thought you were just too excited or too stressed because you wanted it to be perfect. You’ve always been like this.

But when you were alone in the kitchen after everyone had left, you asked him about the special occasion of the party. You couldn’t remember it was your birthday.

He had laughed and thought it was a joke. But it wasn’t. 

The questions increased, more and more random reactions happened until he couldn’t leave you alone anymore. 

Once he was at a market with you. It was a lovely saturday afternoon. You two enjoyed those short getaways a lot. You would randomly choose a place up to 3 hours away from your home and would drive there, spent the day or even the whole weekend there and would go back happily as if you had a little vacation. That day you had decided to split up so he could secretly get the little bouquet of roses for you before joining you at the grocery store to help with the bags. The bouquet was placed securely on the backseat of your car when he stepped into the grocery store, looking for you. The store wasn’t too big so he was sure that it wouldn’t take long to find you. No sign of you at the fruit corner, the pastries, alcohol nor the snacks corner. He just couldn’t find you. He even asked the workers to call your name through the speakers because he started to get worried. 5 minutes passed. 10. 15. Still no sign. He didn’t want to bother the busy workers a second time so he made his way back to your rented apartment for the weekend. Maybe you wanted to start preparing dinner because you’ve been always like this. You never wanted to get help if it wasn’t really necessary. This was one of the reasons you two would get into an argument but those never lasted for long. 

When Joshua got into the car and drove down the street in the direction of your apartment, he saw you sitting at the bus stop, crying. He immediately stopped the car and ran to you, he thought his heart had stopped beating the second he saw in what kind of state you were.

“Y/n, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He tried his best to speak in a calming tone but it was very difficult. Joshua didn’t know what was wrong. What happened. What he missed out on. He was mad at himself that he left you alone, no matter what the reason for your tears was.

Your eyes lightened up a bit when you recognized him beside you on the bench, looking down at his hands which were holding yours, thumbs rubbing soothingly over your cold skin.

“I’m such a bad mother! I forgot to prepare dinner for our kids! I have to go back and cook. They must be hungry and waiting!”

It wasn’t what Joshua was expecting to hear. 

Especially because your two children were already living in other cities for work and university. He didn’t understand right away. Again, he thought you made a joke but when his eyes met your glossy ones and he tried to find the right words.

“Love, they aren’t with us anymore. You don’t have to prepare dinner for them.”

This was the wrong choice of words. You started to cry uncontrollably, worse than before. Because you thought they had passed away.

Later on he learned that he had to “play along”. That this would resolve almost every situation with people who were suffering with this syndrome.

The other time you just wanted to throw away the trash. It was just right outside the apartment complex so he thought it would be okay. The big bins were just beside the entrance, in a separate place only residents could enter since the gatekeeper was always around. You didn’t have to go that far, it was still the same building. But what was a task for 10 minutes maximum under normal circumstances became a horrible memory for Joshua and probably you too. 

Because you got lost somewhere between leaving and closing the apartment door and the moment Joshua found you. In the hospital.

Until now, he didn’t know what exactly happened on that day. But you got hit by a car when you crossed the street at a red light he was told. Even after asking the gatekeeper, he couldn’t help you because after seeing you, he got a call and didn’t pay attention where you were going after exchanging greetings.

Joshua’s fingers slightly touched your knee, the scars from the accident still evident. He was mad at himself. He thought moving to this place would help you recover and made you happier. In some aspects it did. Living on the 23rd floor with a breathtaking view over the Hangang river and all the nice lights once it got dark outside was something you two had always dreamt of. Being able to take a walk at the park next to the building and having some slice of nature around was exactly what you two wanted in this huge city. Always joked about growing old and admiring the view together. 

He never thought it would become like this.

He didn’t know why God had chosen you.

He used to believe that everything happened for a reason. That you would only get good things if you do good.

He was raised to believe in God. 

But after everything, it was difficult.

He even caught himself hating God for making you suffer like this.

He just couldn’t help it.

“It’s cold.” Your words pulled Joshua back to reality and he quickly got up to get your favorite blanket. The fuzzy fabric that you fell in love with when you were at an amusement park together a month before you got married. You always took great care to everything and everyone around you so it was no surprise to him that the blanket still looked exactly like it did when he won it for you. Although it hasn’t gotten the same care anymore after you weren’t able to do chores by yourself again. Joshua asked you what your secret was in maintaining it but as much as he tried, he just wasn’t as talented as you. 

He wrapped you in your blanket and made sure that you felt warm and cozy before walking over to the open kitchen area to prepare tea. Your favorite organic herbal infusion. 

While he was waiting for the water to boil, is eyes traveled to the side and to the wall which was decorated by different photos. Every single one holding a deep meaning.

A selfie taken on a ferries wheel. The moment he confessed his feelings for you. He planned everything to the smallest detail and wanted it to be romantic. Throughout the evening you asked him several times why he was carrying a bigger backpack. The reason was a bouquet of red roses. That day he wasn’t fully himself because he was too nervous but it still worked out. He succeeded. Joshua smiled at the memory.

Beside that was a photo from your wedding. The beautiful dress that you wore was something he had never seen. He was speechless and had to swallow down the tears. He couldn’t believe that he was the lucky guy marrying this ethereal woman in front of him. In this photo your eyes were a little puffy and nose slightly red because you couldn’t help but to cry through half of the ceremony. He could still hear your whines when his best friend asked for a photo. The smile remained on Joshua’s lips while remembering the moment.

Then photos of your children. The first born, then your second 3 years later. Time really passed by too fast because now they weren’t living with you anymore. In fact, your first born would become a father himself in a couple of months. 

Joshua looked over to you, the smile changing to a painful expression. He wasn’t sure if you would understand who it is when your son would come over with his baby. 

Once the tea was ready, he put everything on a small tray with some fruits and walked back to you.

You were still at your favorite spot. At the table in the dining room which was right in front of a huge window, allowing you to have a beautiful view on the Hangang river and the Paldang bridge. Joshua would catch you smile from time to time, sometimes even getting an answer from you why you were smiling. When there wasn't a smile on your lips, your eyes would be watery as if you had remembered something sad. Every time he would ask you and often times he would be surprised what the cause was. The fact he would randomly learn new things about your past even after knowing you for over 40 years now was surprising to him. But the doctor once told him that those things could also be dreams or wishes that you would mix up with reality. Sadly it was common.

He helped you with the tea, blew over it and held the cup while you took a sip. Every time you would thank him but without saying his name. It was painful but he tried to hold his smile.

“They look like the flowers we have in our garden. They are so beautiful. My mother loves them. Me too.”

Joshua turned around to a painting on the wall. A painting of small flowers, little blue petals with white and yellow centers. Forget-me-nots. 

You painted it after getting the diagnosis. At that time, it wasn’t this severe. You were still able to do everything by yourself although you stopped from time to time because you weren’t able to remember what you wanted or why you were doing something. But the both of you were scared of the future.

It wouldn’t just go away after some time like a flu. There was nothing you could do, no antidote. Just medication which would temporarily improve the symptoms, distracting you from the real process. You knew that one day it would become so bad that you may hurt him.

The reason you painted the flowers was because you wanted to break up with him. You wanted a divorce. Not because you stopped loving him, it was because you loved him. You hated to ask for help. You hated to bother people, especially him. People who meant the world to you. You wanted him to live his life without you as a burden because dementia meant you would need help until the very end.

You wanted to give him the painting as a gift, like a symbol of your time together. That you were thankful for everything and hoped he would keep all the good memories in his heart. You didn’t want him to hate you and you really hoped he would understand. If not now, then later. The divorce would give him the freedom he deserved. He shouldn’t see you miserably and take care of you when you can’t recognize him anymore.

That was the biggest fight you two had. 

Joshua was more than hurt of the decision you had made alone. But he wasn’t the only one in pain and he saw it in the way you were shaking as you tried to explain everything. He knew that something was wrong with you some weeks prior to your fight where the bomb dropped. You didn’t eat normally, you denied his ideas for a night out, you didn’t smile as much as you used to. You just avoided his love and wanted to be alone more and more.

In the end he convinced you to stay. Joshua told you that he swore to care for you until his last breath. To be there for you in good but also in bad times. He would be understanding if the syndrome would mess with your brain or body again. It was his purpose to be there for you. He loved you. Just as much as you needed him, he needed you as well. Even if that meant to be in the situation he was in right now.

"You really sing so beautifully. You should become a singer!"

That's what you would say every day after he played the guitar or sang his favorite song for you. And his reply would be the same as well, every day.

"Believe me or not but I was a famous singer once.”

And you would always giggle and think that he made a joke. But it wasn’t.

Joshua was 2 years older than you but then again, healthy. Unlike you who was suffering from dementia. 

He knew you didn't do it on purpose but it always hurt him so much, he had no word to describe the pain. Knowing you weren't able to remember all the happy moments you two went through made his heart ache. No matter how often he told you about your adventures, your experiences and life lessons, you would forget about it right after. But he still did it again and again. At least he had a lot to tell you about and somehow it was a way of not forgetting it himself. Some kind of therapy for himself. But often times he struggled because he couldn't remember it clearly and it was always a lonely feeling as you couldn't help or correct him.

Joshua checked the secure on the wheels of your wheelchair, making sure it wouldn’t move. He slowly got up to his feet to turn on the heater on the other side of the room. It was getting cold inside and the tea was gone already.

When he first heard about dementia, he thought it was losing memory only. But as he educated himself more and more, he learned that it could also mean the loss of mobility and the loss of speech. 

Luckily the latter hasn’t happened yet and he prayed it would stay that way. 

That was one of the reasons he believed in God again.

He felt selfish but he had nowhere to go. No place to let everything out.

When he prayed to God again, he felt bad and pathetic at first but it gave him the strength he needed.

He prayed that you wouldn’t be in too much pain.

He mentioned his gratitude for still being with you.

He was thankful for the chance to be a good husband to you.

Absentmindedly, his fingers found his cross necklace. You weren’t in a good state and of course everything could be better without dementia but being there for each other must be the life lesson here. Even without a marriage, being with the person you love and supporting each other was one of the most important things in life. He didn’t know how it would be, if the tables were switched between the two of you. Maybe that was why Joshua understood your idea of the divorce although he decided against it. If he would have to choose again, his decision would be the same. 

He didn’t want a life without you.

After turning on the heater, he joined you again.

He was watching you smile with tears in your eyes.

He asked you what was wrong but you didn't react, instead your gaze was fixated on something outside the window. He wanted to help. He wanted to turn back time but he couldn't. His wish was impossible to become true. 

Joshua reached forward, grabbing two clementines from the tray he had brought earlier and started peeling them for you. You two used to do it for the other when everything was still okay. Before the drastic change had started. Now you've never done it for him again but it would never stop him from doing it for you.

Carefully taking your hand and placing the peeled fruits in it, you made a surprised noise, giving him a soft smile.

"How do you know I like them? Say, what's your name?"

He tried to smile back. The same question he would hear every day.

Leaning forward, he gently rubbed your arm through the blanket. "My name is Joshua." ...and I'm your husband, he added in his thoughts.

You pulled out your arm from under the blanket and carefully touched his hair, letting the fingertips graze his cheeks until he grabbed your hand and kept your hand like this, leaning in your palm and closing his eyes for a second before placing your hand back down in your lap. You still wore his bracelet. The one he made for you with pastel colored beads. 

Every day you would ask where you got it from but Joshua made sure to tell you about it every time he heard this question. At least you two would always have topics to talk about, he always told himself.

“You are so kind to me.” 

Your soft voice made him look up to you and then he saw it in your eyes. He saw that deep down you haven't completely forgotten about him and that was all he needed. That was what kept him going, day after day. You were and will always be the love of his life after all.

And that would never change. Never.

[ahedderick]

Old books

   Conversation with a family member with dementia is just WILD. There is no telling, ever what he will or will not remember. Even the rule about recent memory being null and older memories still being accessible is really just a “guideline.” I don’t want to talk about anything that will a) get him started on a political rant  b) make him upset that he can’t remember it c) make him think up more shit for my to-do list.

   Last night I mentioned his favorite book, a Russion novel called One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by A. Solzhenitsyn. He gave my son a copy of this book for his thirteenth birthday, and told him it would ‘guide him in becoming a man.’ I personally have very little taste for grimdark stories, but we set about reading it aloud together. It was better than I thought it would be, and my son got way more into it than I expected. To this day, when we’re working outside in the cold (and miserable) we remind ourselves that it’s better than laying block in winter in Siberia.

   Unfortunately, when I mentioned it to my father he had no memory of it. He read it long ago and was absorbed enough in it to consider it his favorite-ever book, so I thought sure he’d remember it at least a little. When I tried to explain it to him he scribbled down a little note which he will lose to himself to look it up later. I went to his bookshelf and found his copy of it. “I’ll have to read that!” he exclaimed. Ok, I thought, I hope you enjoy it for the first time again. However that works. 

[gingersnappe-9]

Quisiera: Growing Pains (2)

Javier Peña / F!Reader; Post Narcos

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1.9K words

Summary: You have a lot on your mind. You never expected Javi to be one of them. But that's nothing a good soak can't fix, right?

Warnings: mention of loss of parent & degenerative diseases, minor depictions of sexual thoughts, minor profanity

A/N: because I'm a major dork, and no one asked, I created the floor plan for the reader's house and my friend @followwhereshegoes designed it in Sims for me. The photos are at the end of the chapter. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Your hair blew in the wind as you drove your work-beaten Ford F-250 home. Papers from a long day of checking up on animals and livestock fluttered beneath your now empty thermos for coffee. Your head bobbed with the familiar bumps and turns of the road as you drove home. The ride wasn’t unlike it had been any other day, but as you pulled into your driveway and peaked to the left and you knew he would be there. You had known for a few weeks now that Javi had been back. On a courtesy visit for Don Jesús -- Javi’s dad -- he had mentioned his son might be returning to Texas soon. That had to have been roughly two, maybe three months ago?

You never thought you would see him again. The kid who always thought he knew best. The one who was so sure of himself and that the world was his oyster. You weren’t surprised that he didn’t recognize you though. That was Javi you grew up with. This Javier was different. It was plain to see that he carried a weight with him. Knowing the things he knew, holding on to whatever he’d done in the back of his mind now and forever. He wasn’t the bright and shiny version of Javi you once knew, but he was still as golden as ever.

As you hopped out of the car and twirled the keys on your finger, you were beyond satisfied at your decision to postpone your reunion with Javi. Crossing the threshold of your house you recalled how panicked he looked. The quick flashes of “oh shit” in his eyes before he masked his uncertainty with precision and a charming smile. To others, he played it off fine, but you knew Javi before he was Agent Peña. You’d practically grown up with him so you were privy to those subtle tells.

Javi’s abuelos moved to be closer to their son and his family. His grandparents and your parents met in English class after they moved to America and the families stayed close ever since. Javi’s family was from Mexico, and yours came from Colombia. Each of your tíos and tías helped watch and raise you and your primos. While most of your blood relatives were still in Colombia, you loved your found family here in the States. All of the birthdays spent in one another’s backyards with copious amounts of candy that came pouring out of piñatas. Big Christmas gatherings with mountains of food like ponche, pozole verde, and dulcitos like your favorite manjar blanco. Above all, you remember the laughter.

You laughed so much as a child. Someone could look at you in such a way and you would have burst out into a fit of giggles and happy squeals. It was a bittersweet thing to recall. Things were just… different now. You grew up. Life changed, you certainly had.

This was the home your parents had built not too long after they came to America. You still felt like a little kid playing house sometimes. Being the sole occupant felt strange after the years you spent growing up with the place bursting with laughter, people, and above all love. But life changed. Your mother had died of a heart attack the year before you finished vet school. Ten years back, your father was diagnosed with early onset dementia and it was left to you to make the hard decision of placing him in a nursing home. You couldn’t care for him with the hours you worked at the clinic, and you didn’t think your heart could bear seeing the man you admired slowly fade away. It made you feel awful to admit, but there was only so much a heart could take. It could’ve been different if you still had your mamá, but it was just you.

Your body hitched a bit as you bent over to pull the dirt caked boots off your feet. Growing up is fun, they said. They never mentioned anything about rapid onset aches and pains once you passed thirty. You loved being a vet, you loved taking care of horses and all manner of livestock; being there for the folks who relied on you, but man alive was it taxing on the body.

As you padded your way into the study just to the left of the front door, you dropped the excess paperwork and lunch pale on your desk; your boots onto the old mat so as to not spread anymore dirt in the house. Trying your best to properly file away your paperwork, billing receipts and lists of future visits, you found your mind wandering back to Javier.

The wonderful way his bone structure had sharpened with age. Yeah he was a good looking teenage boy -- a bit on the thin side, but strong in body and mind -- but this version of Javi was a stud. His skin was naturally tanner than some, but it was even more bronzed by the sun from his time down in Colombia. A man with strong looking hands that wrapped the circumference of the tumbler glass filled with neat whiskey meanwhile yours could only manage to get around halfway. You were extremely annoyed at how he could pull off a damn mustache without looking like a creep. Finding that you were spending far too much time thinking about Javier Peña rather than getting your ass ready for bed, you set off on your nightly routine.

Pushing yourself up and out of the desk chair was more tiresome than you would have liked to admit, but not impossible. You then opened the door that led into your bedroom. It still felt a bit weird to call it your bedroom after all this time.

You had redecorated the place to your tastes. The main bedroom now had a beautiful four post bed with pleated gossamer drapes around the posts. The warm wood bureau and doors matched the deep trim of the window sills and frames throughout the house. You removed your everyday jewelry and placed them in the little wooden dishes you had bought in Colombia the last time you visited. You had just turned twenty two then, and didn’t care to remember how old you were now. Admiring the fine artistry of the delicately carved lines and lacquered scenery of a village always brought back fine memories, summers spent in a home away from home. Peeling off your work clothes proved a bit more challenging now that your muscles and bones had started to stiffen from the wear of the workday. You walked into your bathroom as naked as the day you were born, a small perk of having moved into the main bedroom since it had an ensuite bathroom.

After the long day, a shower just didn’t seem like it was going to cut it. You pivoted to the left and began to draw a steaming hot bath. A few drops of essential oil were splashed into the piping hot water. Your abuelita did always say, “Medicina cuando la necesita, pero los remedios naturales siempre son los mejores.”

Medicine when you need it, but natural remedies are always best.

Once the tub was filled as high as it could go and still accommodate your body, the taps were shut off, and you slipped into the warm bliss. The water worked its magic while you turned on a small radio that sat on the windowsill. It was tuned in to some station based in Mexico that always played música rancheras. You were a self-proclaimed “old soul” and loved your parents' generational music. It was a not-so-guilty-pleasure for you. Even when you were younger, some of the other kids made fun of you for not liking the more modern music. But your mom always reassured you it was because you were un romántico. A romantic.

The soulful melodies and elegant guitar echoed through the steam from the bath as your aches and pains were softly pulled from your bones. The sky outside the window was a dusty pink muddled with orange. The heat from the bath was wonderful. Your mind wandered ever farther as you sunk deeper into relaxation. Tonight was one of those evenings you imagined someone else in the tub with you, it was one of the reasons you’d thrown in a couple extra bucks when you redid the bathroom. You imagined leaning against their chest, them running their hands up and down the inner part of your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you wanted their touch the most.

Big and strong hands. Ones that weren’t afraid to leave an imprint, a reminder of their presence. Your cheeks flushed at the thought of them gently pressing and squeezing into your thighs, chest, and hips. The fantasy completed itself when you put a face to this mystery man.

Warm brown eyes, a well-defined jaw, somewhat pouty lips that practically begged you to kiss them with a fucking mustache of all things. You imagined the sound of his voice right next to your ear, whispering dirty things while he continued to paw at your body with confidence. The fresh recall of your most recent conversation made the day dream seem all the more real. It was intimate, enticing. You hadn't had any real boyfriend in a while and with the luscious way the water lapped over your skin, you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together unconsciously as his conjured words echoed in your mind.

You feel so soft, Armorsita. Do you like when I touch you here, baby? Oh, you do. I can tell. Mi dama. Tell me. Tell me how much you like it, how much you love being mine. Let me have you, all of you. Let me show you just how much I love touching you right…

Your mind snapped back when your head slipped from its perch on the back of the tub. The room felt steamier than it had before even as the water temperature had dipped to lukewarm.

Was I really just fantasizing about Javier Peña of all people?

It was official then. You needed to get into bed and sleep off whatever delusions these were and come back to reality.

Fully washed and dried, you finished your routine by lathering yourself in your favorite lavender body lotion. Your body felt much better without the thin layer of Texas dust smothering your skin. Something different, however, clouded your mind, or rather, someone. It was a bit alarming how easily Javier permeated your idle thoughts. The encounter suddenly became very clear.

Why did you say goodnight as sultry as you did? Was that even sultry? Why do I keep thinking about it being “sultry”?

Your mind recalled the brief moment your lips touched his cheek. It wasn’t unlike any other time you kissed a friend goodbye. You’d been doing it forever. It was how you said goodbye. You knew that, and so did he. So why did it carve out its own special place in your mind? Why were the sensations so clear and vidid? Why did you so badly want to do it again and again without pause?

Of course your mind would fixate on the person who had just recently come back into your life. It was only natural. Humans are designed to notice differences. It’s a survival technique. To pay attention to possible threats. And you had yet to make up your mind if you considered this version of Javier Peña a friend or foe.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @betti-book @mcueveryday @athalien

[rosethornewrites]

The reblog about Native spirits reminded me of the times when I learned not to fuck with the paranormal. I’m at least somewhat sensitive, and I’ve learned to close off.

First: When I was 12-13 and at a church youth retreat for my Confirmation class (yeah, grew up Christian), for some reason someone brought out a Ouija board. At one point I was using it with our pastor (I don’t know how this happened), and a spirit told me she was my ancestor, gave her name, and said she was from Sweden. I disregarded this until a couple years ago when I was working on our family tree. My great-great grandfather’s wife shared her name, and was from Sweden. The pastor would have had no way of knowing this back in the early 90s.

Second: Same night, the girls who liked to bully me got me to use it with them. I saw an opportunity to play a prank, and I moved the planchette to tell them they would die getting hit by a car. The next day, they came to me pale and shaking, and asked if I’d moved the planchette. They’d gone to a gas station for snacks down the road and had nearly been hit by a car. I have no idea if it’s anything other than a correlation, but I would never touch a Oujia board ever again.

Third: In high school, a friend of mine who lived near a forest preserve noticed that all the deer came out of the forest reserve at night. You could walk right toward them and they would refuse to go back in. So we did what stupid kids do: we went into the forest. We were about 200 meters in when a weird ball of mist coalesced on the path about 50 meters ahead, then came toward us. We booked it.

Fourth: In college, on break, another friend and I decided we’d go to a place well known as a mob dumping ground because it was rumored to have ghosts. This was my last time fucking with the paranormal, because something followed me home. I was driving straight, and an air freshener I had wedged in the passenger side visor to keep the broken light switch off somehow became unwedged and flew across the car to hit me in the shoulder, hard. Again, as I was driving on a straight road. I was staying with another friend at the time, and her cats went nuts the moment I came home. She wound up reading the Bible aloud to get it to leave.

Fifth: After my dad died, he visited me in dreams, talking about things that had just happened. At one point, before the memorial, I heard his slippers shuffling in the hallway when I was half-asleep. Once he came to my dream all excited, but my alarm went off before he could talk to me. It turned out a player had been traded from my favorite baseball team to his, totally something he’d call to gloat about, so I knew why he’d come to my dream right away.

I learned to be closed off, and one of the last times I opened was when my mom took me to the location where my father passed away, to see if he was there. He wasn’t. He still sometimes visits me in dreams, but it’s pretty rare anymore.

When my grandmother died in 2019 to dementia, my mom and I were racing to the nursing home to be with her when she passed. We parked, and suddenly I had a feeling we were too late. Didn’t tell my mom, and we hurried in. Her phone rang with the news before we reached her room. Afterward, while end of life issues were being dealt with, I sat outside the room with her body, and I let myself open, and she came to me. She was worried about the family, and rightly so since there was a lot of strife over end of life care and one of my family members is still angry and blaming folks that she died. But I told her we would be okay, and Grandpa (he died before I was born) had been waiting an awfully long time to dance with her again, and she should go join him. And I felt her leave. (I actually freaked out one of my family members, too, when one of them was all “I can feel her spirit right above us,” and I said, “Actually, she’s standing next to Aunt J.”)

This is something I don’t talk about a whole lot, mostly because people get weird about it, but it’s my truth. I don’t go looking for spirits, and I certainly don’t do anything stupid that would draw their attention to me or upset them. We may not understand the paranormal, but it’s always good to be respectful of it regardless.

I hate most ghost hunting shows, since they largely stir things up in ways that could be dangerous to folks beyond them.

[kung-fu-headcanons]

any hc about po with dementia

or if crane finds that po is depressed/suicidal (prane is cool too)

This is yet another ask I stalled on cuz I wanted to write a short skit for the dementia part I hate laziness (but tbh it's probably cuz I'm not a part of this fandom anymore still tho) either way am sorry for the really long wait anon 😣 *cutely ignores the "or" and does both prompts*

Dementia!Po

Typically develops due to old age/failing health, but in this case, it would make a little bit more sense for it to be a result of a bad head injury.

Fights can get rough, especially when you're dealing with a more powerful enemy, so, the enemy was fighting dirty, and did not show any mercy to Po.

The fight that is happening, would resemble the one that happened in s2ep7-8 of legends of awesomeness (if you don't know what I'm talking about, you're gonna have to look it up, I would rather not spoil in case someone who hasn't seen it is reading this)

I guess, because of his chi, he recovers a bit faster than a regular kung fu master, but he's still in bad shape

He's quite confused and disoriented, in which Shifu and the Five dismiss as a result of having engaged in a hard battle, not yet knowing the severity of the situation yet

They do recognize that he hit his head really hard, and take him back, and have a medical professional come over to check on him

As time passes, Po first starts to forget what he's talking about, and often stutters trying to remember what he was saying

Then he starts to forget how to do kung fu, and all the valuable things he has learned as Dragon Warrior

Then he starts to forget everything that's led up to him being in the Jade Palace.. is that the name? He's losing his memories.

The hardest part, is not forgetting about himself (last stage), but forgetting the people around him. His friends and family, he can't place a name to them, and it's like, he knows, but doesn't have the knowledge of them.

The gang tries to help him remember, by reminding him of his signature moves, giving him his favorite foods, even having him let the day off and have him do the things he likes, but it's not working

Even when they remind him of who they are, and what he'd call them if he was, well, himself, Po doesn't know who the people talking to him are.

For example, Monkey would tell him, "Hey.. remember me? Monkey? Your best pal? We'd pull pranks on the others a lot..." and his heart sinks when Po just looks back at him, with confused and dull eyes, he doesn't remember.

This is even worse than if he had died during the fight. At least they don't have to watch him lose somebody they knew so we'll, become someone they don't know at all.

It's frustrating for Po himself too, because, in the early stages, he knew that he recognizes, but he just.. he just cant.

Depressed/Suicidal!Po

Po isn't too good at hiding his feelings, especially if he's really feeling it hard, so it's kind of a stick out to the others something is up with him.

If I ever said anything otherwise about that uhmm no I didn't (I'm glad I'm watching Legends of Awesomeness and eventually paws of destiny because I had seriously forgotten people's character...)

A lot of the signs that Po is showing of depression, Crane notices easily, since he's struggling a little with some mental problems as well

He isn't sure if he wants to confront him about it or not, because he's nervous Po might get mad at him for getting involved in his business, after some thought, he decides, it doesn't hurt to ask...

It's night time, and Crane goes to Po's room to ask what is up with him.

Po gives him a look, and he's like, ".......what are you talking about?" He's not unhappy that Crane asked, he's scared that somebody knows about it, like, uhm, what, he'd been hiding it quite well but it got through?

Crane freaks, dang it, should have known this would happen, he rapidly starts to apologize he's like "aaah I'm sorry I'll leave, I didn't mean to bother you, I won't tell anybody I promise I wont-"

Po sighs, shakes his head, he can trust Crane.. he lets him in his room, and takes a deep breath, and says to him, "Okay, I'll tell you, but promise you won't tell Shifu or the others...?" And Crane promises, he will keep it a secret.

So Po tells Crane how he's been feeling lately, and some of the stuff he says, hits Crane directly in the heart, because he knows exactly how he feels. This is not about him, however, this is about Po.

Crane tries his best to comfort Po, and give him advice, worried that he might have accidentally said something that would make Po feel even worse

Well, Po is just happy to have somebody listen to him, and he's glad that Crane is here to talk to him about it, and didn't ridicule him about it (which is why he was scared at first, he thought he would get made fun of)

He thanks Crane for his time, Crane lets him know, he's not alone in this, there's always someone to help.

If Po is feeling suicidal, he probably had cut himself a little, and it'll take more than some talk for Crane to help Po feel better, and some extra steps to let him know, he's not alone, and people care.

I don't ship Prane (tbh I'm not really that huge of a shipper anymore, ships are cool and all but I prefer individual character content) but for the people that do here's some stuff for you guys

Crane immediately notices something is wrong, and wants to talk to him, worried.

Po's thoughts mainly include, what if Crane doesn't actually love me, and he only dates me cuz he feels sorry for me, he's feeling rather insecure as well as depressed and suicidal.

He thinks that he's being a waste of Crane's time, he should go date somebody else that's actually worth it.

Crane emphasizes the fact, he loves him, and him only, pulls him into an embrace, maybe a kiss as well, he has nothing to worry about.

He loves him for the way he is, and there's nothing he needs to change about himself.