#they just make me uncomfortable . even in reblogging

[cheynovak]

Complicated

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character     

Summary: Y/N, a young personal assistant to Soldier Boy (Ben) and Crimson Countess, is caught in a whirlwind of events that shatter her sense of stability. After accidentally witnessing an intimate moment between Ben, Crimson, and another woman, she’s left shaken and unsure how to process it. The following day, Crimson casually invites her to join them, which only adds to Y/N's confusion.

Warnings: 18+ drugs, mentioning herogasm, mentioning casual hook ups, ...

English is not my first language 

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

part 3/?

Crimson had left during the night. I heard the door click shut softly behind her, but the quiet didn’t last long. Ben followed her out, and I could hear their hushed voices from down the hall. They were arguing, though they were trying to keep it low. I strained to catch the words, my heart pounding in my chest as I listened.

“This wasn’t the promise,” Crimson hissed, her voice sharp and accusing.

Ben’s response was quieter, but I could still make out his words. “She needed more than you to enjoy it,” he said, his tone dismissive, as if it were obvious.

I lay there, pretending to sleep, every muscle tense. When I heard Ben come back, I kept my breathing slow and steady, not wanting to face him—or the reality of what had happened. He didn’t try to hold me, didn’t even touch me. I didn’t expect him to. After all, that wasn’t what this had been about, was it?

In the morning, I slipped out before he woke up, sneaking through the penthouse as quietly as I could. My clothes were wrinkled, my hair a mess, but I didn’t care. I just needed to get out of there. I rushed to the restroom on my work floor, splashing cold water on my face, trying to fix my hair, make up and clothes from the day before. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and the memories of the night before hit me all at once.

I felt dirty.

The morning dragged on, and I tried to focus on work, but every now and then, flashes of last night crept into my thoughts—Ben’s hands on me, Crimson’s touch, the way it all made me feel both powerful and ashamed at the same time. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had crossed a line I couldn’t come back from.

During a meeting later that morning, I noticed Ben glancing at me. His eyes lingered, and I could feel the heat of his gaze, but I refused to meet it. I ignored him, forcing myself to stay focused on the discussion around me, even as my mind kept drifting back to the night before.

After the meeting, Ben showed up at my office. He leaned against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on me, and for a moment, I felt the tension in the room settle into something more dangerous.

"Hey," he said casually, stepping in. "You okay?"

I brushed it off, barely meeting his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine," I replied, focusing on some papers that suddenly seemed so important.

He walked further in, his footsteps slow, deliberate. "You left pretty early this morning."

"I had work to do," I said quickly, which wasn’t entirely a lie. But I knew he wasn’t buying it.

Ben studied me for a moment, then added, "You know, it’s clear we shouldn’t talk about what happened last night." His voice was calm, but there was an unspoken warning beneath the surface.

I nodded, feeling a surge of fear rise up. I didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to relive any of it, especially with him. When he noticed how uncomfortable I was, he turned away, but that only made my nerves worse. The fear clawed at me, and before I could stop myself, the words slipped out.

"I’m not going to get fired, am I?"

He laughed—an easy, almost amused sound—and turned to face me again. "No. Why would you think that?"

"Because I don’t want to do that again," I blurted out, my voice quieter than I intended. There was no way to hide the unease in my tone.

Ben shrugged, his expression unchanged. "I figured."

He leaned back slightly, arms crossing over his chest. "Are you and Countess okay?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could reconsider. The argument from the night before still echoed in my head, and it gnawed at me.

"Why wouldn’t we be?" he replied, his eyes narrowing.

"I, uh, heard you two fighting last night," I admitted, my voice hesitant.

He stopped, his eyes flicking toward the door before he closed it with a soft click. The air in the room shifted as he walked over to my desk, sitting down on the edge, towering over me as I stayed frozen in my chair.

"She and I have an agreement," he said, voice low but steady. "She doesn’t want me messing around… so we invite people to join us. To keep things... fun" He paused, watching my reaction carefully. "But what we did last night… that wasn’t something I’m supposed to do. She doesn’t want me ... Well let's just say I can watch and play a little, but not go all the way. Oh and definitely no kissing."

"But you did it anyway?" I couldn’t help but ask, the words coming out faster than I intended.

Ben leaned closer, his expression unbothered, almost smug. "You liked me better" he said, his tone free of shame, as if what we did was just another casual affair.

I didn’t know how to respond. There was no judgment in his voice, no hesitation. He was utterly unapologetic, and in that moment, I realized how different this world was—the one I’d been drawn into without fully understanding it.

The problem was, I didn’t know if I could ever go back.

--

The next few days blurred together, a haze of work and exhaustion. My mind was constantly on edge as I searched for a new apartment, but no matter how many listings I called, nothing worked out. I even tried to use Vought as a reference, hoping my steady job might convince someone to take me on, but it seemed like I was out of luck.

I ended up staying at work, picking up a few clothes and necessities from the apartment I had shared with Kevin, not ready to face him again. Nights were spent on the couch in my office, the quiet halls of Vought my only refuge. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than going back to a place that reminded me of betrayal.

Today, I was late to lunch again. I liked it that way, sitting alone in the cafeteria with no one around to ask questions. The quiet gave me time to think—or at least try to. But before I could fully sink into the comfort of solitude, Ben dropped into the seat beside me.

He had been gone for a week on a mission, and to be honest, I didn’t miss him. Or, at least, I told myself I didn’t miss the awkwardness I felt whenever he was around.

"Hey," he said casually, his voice breaking the silence.

I glanced at him, trying not to show how uncomfortable I still felt around him. "Hey," I muttered, looking back down at my food.

"Some agency from an immobilian company called Vought," he started, his voice calm but curious. "They asked for a reference."

My face turned bright red. He knew.

I sighed, unable to avoid the truth any longer. "Yeah, I… I’ve been looking for a place to stay." I kept my eyes on my plate, feeling embarrassed. "I’ve been sleeping in my office."

Ben didn’t say anything at first, just stared at me, clearly weighing his next move. When I finally glanced up, he had a look on his face I couldn’t quite read. I half expected him to tease me, maybe make some offhand comment, but instead, he just watched me carefully, his usual cockiness tempered.

"You’re staying at Vought?" he asked, not quite surprised, but more intrigued.

I nodded. "Yeah. Haven’t had any luck finding a place yet." I let out a small laugh, but it sounded bitter even to my own ears. "It’s not like I have a lot of options."

Ben leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he considered this. "You should’ve told me," he said after a moment, his tone less teasing and more genuine.

I shrugged. "Didn’t think it was my boss his problem."

"Follow me," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I had no choice but to follow him, the weight of the last few days pressing down on me. We walked out of Vought’s building, and Ben told the driver where to go before slipping into the backseat beside me. I didn’t ask questions, just sat there in silence as we drove through the city. After what felt like an eternity, we pulled up to a tall, gleaming building in the heart of town.

We took the elevator all the way to the top floor, my mind racing as I tried to figure out what was happening. When the doors slid open, Ben stepped out first and unlocked the door with a key. I followed, stepping into what could only be described as a massive, luxury penthouse. The space was enormous—floor-to-ceiling windows, sleek furniture, and a view that stretched out over the city below.

I stood there, turning in a full circle to take it all in. It was like something out of a movie, and I felt completely out of place. As I turned back to Ben, he threw something at me. I caught it instinctively—a key.

Confusion hit me like a wave.

"Until you find something," he said, his tone casual, as if this was no big deal. "You can stay here."

"Oh, no, I couldn’t take this," I stammered, holding the key out like it burned in my hand.

But Ben didn’t stop. He walked toward me slowly, his tall frame cutting an intimidating figure as he closed the distance between us. His green eyes had darkened, the intensity of his gaze making my breath catch in my throat.

His hand reached up, fingers brushing against my cheek in a way that sent a shiver down my spine. "Just… let me be your company when you need it," he murmured, his voice low and filled with promise.

I knew exactly what he meant. My heart pounded in my chest, and I could barely find my voice. "But… Crimson?" I stammered, the words barely making it out.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against mine, just enough to send sparks through me. "Our secret," he whispered, his voice dripping with seduction.

For a moment, everything hung in the balance. My mind screamed at me to pull away, but my body, traitorous as it was, stayed rooted in place. I could feel the weight of his offer, the unspoken promise that came with it.

I nodded, feeling as though I must have been under some kind of spell. The rational part of me screamed that I would never agree to something like this���never—but the reality I had once clung to felt so distant now. Maybe I had been too nice, too good, too naive to see what the world was really like.

And who better to teach me than Soldier Boy?

His lips hovered just above mine, tantalizingly close, but never quite touching. It felt like a test, a slow burn of control and temptation. My heart hammered in my chest, the air between us charged with an intensity I hadn’t known before.

“You'll have no other men… or women, in here without my permission.” he said softly, his voice a low growl that seemed to wrap around me.

I swallowed hard and agreed, nodding again. “No one at work or in the world can know what we do here.”

"I promise" I whispered, sealing the agreement with the weight of my words.

He smiled then, a dangerous curve of his lips that sent a chill down my spine. Ben had me in the palm of his hand, and I had willingly given myself over. There was no going back now.

My hand instinctively moved to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair—it was softer than I expected. The sensation sent a surge of heat through me, a dangerous thrill that made me feel even more out of control. I leaned in closer, my voice barely a whisper as I asked, "Any other rules?"

His eyes darkened, the playful glint fading into something more dangerous, more serious. "Don’t start something you can’t finish," he warned, his voice low and laced with challenge.

Before I could process his words, he bit down on my lower lip, the sharpness making me gasp, the shock of it electrifying. But just as quickly, he soothed the bite with a kiss—hot, insistent, and unapologetically claiming. The tension between us snapped, and my body fell against his as though drawn by a magnet, completely giving in to the pull.

Every part of me ached with want, with the need to forget everything that came before this moment. Ben's kiss was rough, possessive, and I matched his intensity, letting him guide me into the unknown.

He pulled back, his eyes still locked on mine as if measuring how far I was willing to go. "Do you have anything to add?" he asked, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

I took a breath, my heart still racing from everything that had just happened. "I don’t like to share," I said, my voice firmer than I expected.

His brow lifted, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. "Well…" he started, clearly ready to argue, but I cut him off before he could go any further.

"Crimson is your girl, and I don’t need to know how many other girls you give penthouses to." The words came out sharper than I intended, but I held his gaze. His smirk widened, but I pushed on. "But I just… I don’t want to share like we did before. Or need to hear what you did with anyone else, whoever they are."

He paused for a moment, his smirk softening as he considered what I’d said. Finally, he gave me a slow nod, his eyes never leaving mine. "Noted."

It felt like a small victory, but I knew deep down, dealing with Ben wouldn’t be as simple as that. Still, for now, he had agreed. And maybe that was enough.

"Now," I whispered, pulling him closer again, feeling the heat between us flare up. "Show me the bedroom?"

Without hesitation, he grinned, then lifted me effortlessly over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. I let out a surprised laugh, the world spinning as he carried me across the penthouse with the same confidence he carried everything else. And that was how all of this started.

--

It’s been 10 months now, and I still stay at the penthouse. What started as a temporary fix had become something else entirely. Ben came to visit more and more, each time teaching me new things—things I never imagined doing with Kevin, things I never even knew were possible. He was like a storm I couldn’t resist, sweeping me up in his intensity.

It felt good, so good that whenever Ben was around, I didn’t think about Kevin at all. Ben was like a constant distraction, keeping me in this world where everything else faded away. It was different, dangerous, but it numbed the ache that still lingered from the betrayal I hadn’t fully processed.

Every time Ben touched me, every time we crossed another line, I found myself slipping further into this new reality, one where I wasn’t the same person anymore. And the strangest part? I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back.

We sat on the couch, our naked bodies tangled together in a comfortable warmth. The room was filled with a soft haze, the remnants of our earlier passion lingering in the air. Ben leaned back, taking a deep drag from a blunt before passing it to me.

"I won't be here tomorrow," he said, the casual tone in his voice contrasting sharply with the weight of his words.

"Why not?" I asked, presuming it was just another mission.

But he stayed quiet, and my curiosity piqued. I looked up at him, eyebrows furrowing. "What?" I pressed again, needing an answer.

"Herogasm," he finally muttered, the word hanging between us like a dark cloud.

"Ah," was all I managed to say, the reality of his words sinking in. The infamous event was notorious in the world of Supes—an extravagant, chaotic affair that involved a lot more than just drinks and socializing. I felt a mix of emotions swirl in my chest: curiosity, apprehension, and a hint of something else.

I searched his eyes for reassurance. I didn’t want to think about the wildness that would ensue, the potential dangers lurking around every corner.

He nodded slowly, but there was a seriousness in his gaze that made my heart race. "You could join, or... take care of yourself while I'm gone," he replied, his voice steady.

I took a drag from the blunt he had passed me, letting the smoke fill my lungs, trying to calm the rising anxiety. "You know I don’t like to share," I reminded him, the words coming out softer than I intended.

"I know, you won't have to, there are a lot of, you know, other men..." he said, his expression softening as he brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. I looked at him, brows frowning "Your right...." he whispered. "Never mind, I'll take care of you later on, I promise."

And with that, I was left with the uneasy feeling that this wasn’t just a simple goodbye. Filled with an emotion I never though he would give me...

Jealousy.

--

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@livingdeadblondequeen @ladysparkles78 @yvonneeeee @whimsyfinny @deangirl96 @spxideyver @lmg14

[delicatebarness]

The Barnes-Rogers Family Adventures | Auntie Nat to the rescue! #006

Summary: It's that time of the month, and it's only Auntie Nat that can help,

Warnings: This post and series are safe for work (SFW) regressions. Nothing explicit. However, please be aware that the rest of my blog is NOT. NSFW accounts are welcome to read and reblog, but please keep all comments SFW out of consideration for other littles.

Word Count: 732

Series Masterlist

A/N: I've had this idea for months and I finally got around to bringing this family back. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Tags: @sapphirebarnes | Let me know if you want to be tagged specifically for this series.

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602

An uncomfortable, dull ache adorned your lower abdomen when you woke you. Stirring in your bed, curling up into a ball against the sheets, you realize that your period has started. You tried to ignore the discomfort and quietly approach the bathroom– you wanted to handle it yourself without drawing too much attention.

As the morning progressed, the cramps grew worse and made it difficult to hide the pain. Wincing, you tried to stay distracted with toys, but even Peter was noticing something wasn’t right.

“Are you okay?” Pete asked, he pointed to your arms clutching around your stomach, concern etched in his features. 

“I’m fine,” you mumbled.

Worried, Peter made it his mission to find either Steve or Bucky. “Papa? Daddy? I think something’s wrong with Tiny,” he said, taking Steve’s hand and leading him back to where you were sitting. 

Steve knelt beside you, a large hand reaching out to rub your back, his brow furrowed with concern. “Sweetie? Are you okay? Do you need anything?” 

Shaking your head, you didn’t want to explain. “I’m o-okay, Papa.” 

“Are you sure, baby?” Bucky asked, exchanging a worried glance with Steve. “You don’t look so good.” 

Tears began to fill your eyes, the pain becoming too much to bear. “My tummy hurts,” you finally admitted, quietly.

“Do we need to take you to the doctor?” Steve asked, his heart aching to see you in pain.

“No, it's just–” you sniffled, shaking your head. “It’s my period,” you whispered, heat rushing to your cheeks.

Bucky’s face dawned with understanding, and he gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, “It’s okay, Baby. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Should we call Auntie Nat? We can see if she’s free to come over.” 

Relieved at the thought of having Natasha here, you nodded. “Yes, please.” 

Within the hour, Natasha brought a comforting presence. She entered the living room to find you curled up on the couch, holding your stomach, and the two men looking on worriedly. 

“Hey there, sweets,” Nat softly said, sitting down beside you. “I hear you’re not feeling well.” 

The tears threatened to spill down your cheeks as you looked up at Nat, nodding toward her. “It hurts, Auntie Nat.” 

With a warm smile, Nat pulled a small bag out of her purse. “Don’t worry, I’ve got some things that will make it all better. Come on, let’s get you more comfortable.” 

Natasha held a heating pad against your stomach and helped you with some pain relief medication. In her bag, she also brought some snacks, sweet and salty. She gently stroked your hair while sitting beside you, and she spoke in a soothing voice– helping to distract you from the pain.

Watching gratefully from the kitchen, Steve and Bucky share a knowing look. You were in good hands, better hands than they could provide at this time. After preparing a light lunch, they brought it over to you and Nat.

“Thank you, Nat,” Steve said, his tone sincere as he handed her a cup of coffee.

“Anytime,” she replied, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’m always here for my favorite little.” 

“Hey!” Peter shouted from the floor, where he was lying while watching the television. He sent an exaggerated pout toward Nat, crossing his arms over his chest. “What about me?” 

Natasha’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “You know you’re my favorite big little,” she teased, giving him a playful wink, and taking a sip of coffee.

As the day went by, your cramps eased and you felt better knowing you had people around you who cared about you. Aunt Nat stayed for the majority of the day, keeping you company until you felt more like yourself again.

And, by the time you were tucked into bed, you felt much better. “Thank you, Papa. Thank you, Daddy.” you softly spoke, fighting back a yawn. “Thank you for calling Auntie Nat.” 

“Of course, Baby,” Bucky said, placing a gentle kiss against your forehead. “We’re always here for you, no matter what.” 

Nodding, Steve took your small hand in his, placing kisses against your knuckles. “And, you can always tell us anything, okay? We love you.” 

With a sleepy nod, you smiled. “I love you too.” 

You felt grateful for your family. And, as you drifted off to sleep, you knew no matter what they would always be there to support you.

--

Series Masterlist

[rouge-the-bat]

wait like... do some ppl actually check all the blogs of people that interact with them? to vet out all the ones they dont want around? bc if so that sounds. exhausting?? how do people have time for that??

[bogunicorn]

ruminating on the current neil gaiman stuff, cw transphobia, talk about rape/assault

"believe all victims" doesn't mean "blindly believe every story of victimization when there are some clear indications that there's some serious bullshit going on." i think some people reacting to this shit with gaiman are, strangely, being a little too... not optimistic, but not being realistic about the sorts of shit that conservative/right wing publications will do to push their agenda. they don't need to be accurate, empathetic, or correct. they don't even need to commit to or prove or stand behind what they publish. they just need to shove something into the public conversation that suits their agenda and gets the big reaction, and then if they need to do so later for legal reasons, they'll post a quiet retraction that nobody will read and won't ultimately matter

these people are incredibly predatory, and will happily seek out people with legitimate grievance to encourage them to frame their experiences in a way that fits their agenda. with gaiman (and tennant and sheen, for that matter) clearly being a TERF target for being vocally supportive of trans people, it feels relevant to bring up joanne here. joanne has legitimate trauma. she was raped by a man. she has PTSD and her fear of men is something that's real and deserves sensitivity -- but her relationship with TERFs has morphed that legitimate grievance into "the existence of trans women is rape" and a whole host of other wild shit. and i do think she believes all that! i do think her fear of trans women, her absolute conviction that all trans women are deceivers and their every action is predatory, is very real. and i don't think she started out that way, that fear and distortion of reality was the clear and obvious result of being radicalized by TERFs who flattered her, supported her when she felt isolated, and validated all of her fears so well that when they wanted to give her new ones, she readily adopted them

that's to say that i don't put any fucking stock in the right-wing outlets or the podcast that the gaiman accusations happened on, and i don't put it past them to dig into legit grievances -- that the relationships were volatile and emotional, or that he had them while married and wouldn't leave his wife, or that they ended in messy ways, as possible examples -- and poke and prod and revisit the details until the stories conveniently fit into the perspective they want

which they then (supposedly) sat on for months until dropping the podcast episode like a tactical nuke right when david tennant and michael sheen are actively beefing with the conservatives over their pet issue and taking down gaiman's reputation would muddy the conversation and make it easier than ever to turn it into their classic "trans people and their supporters are predators" routine

i'm saying this serves the TERF agenda too well for me to take anything at face value here

[dimonds456]

Reminder:

If I find out that any of you are proshippers, or "darkfic" supporters, or MAPs, or whatever little cutesy names y'all are calling yourselves now, YOU ARE BEING BLOCKED ON-SIGHT.

I love me some darkfic. That's great. I also love not harassing people over shipping. Cool. But DO NOT ship children with adults. I'm not going to harass you over it; I'm simply going to evict you off my property immediately.

And if you don't know what I'm talking about? Ask me. DM me. I'll tell you. If you haven't heard of darkfic in this context, you're probably fine.

You all know who you are.

This is your final warning. GET OUT.

[jacksprostate]

this will be unpopular probably but idk i've been called slurs a time or two and it's personally uncomfortable to see... obviously do as you please in general but when interacting with me or my posts i'd really prefer if yall didn't casually use fag, etc in place of gay and stuff 👍

[neilroost]

What’s going on that’s making you have to tell people to read your pin? Are people like that not respecting your pin and interacting with you or something? I’m just kind of curious

lots of tcc fans r following me i dunno where they're coming from ahahahaaa 🔥🔥🔥🔥 im generally pretty strict about my ban list so it just sorta bugs me a bit

[korattata]

.

[prisonpodcast]

.

[anotherpapercut]

people acting like there isn't still very much an active stigma against cannibas and cannibas users is going to be my joker origin story

when i go to the doctor they still put cannibas use under the tab "substance abuse". not even just substance use. it is fully assumed that people who use cannabis, even as a prescription medication, are abusing it. just because you're friends with a couple of dumbass stoners doesn't mean that we've abandoned the idea as a culture that weed is a bad and scary and dangerous and highly addictive drug that will ruin your life if you use it once

[politemagic]

sometimes i feel like i love a little too easily. not in the romantic sense, but just in general. the threshold to attain my love is incredibly low, i have a heart that's primed for love. i love my partner. i love my parents. i love my best friend. i love the friends i haven't spoken to in ages. i love my co-worker who brought her dog into the office on christmas eve even though she was off because she wanted to make me smile. i love the employee at dunkin who remembers my coffee order. i love the greeter at our local walmart who wears bright pink butterfly clips in her hair. i love the girl in the car next to me enthusiastically pointing at my dog to her friend in the passenger seat. i love random the tumblr user who reblogs my post with funny or kind tags. i love the mutual whom i hardly ever actually speak to but we tag each other in tag games/send asks/etc. i believe humans are inherently lovable.

i have been loved too well in my life to not love others, and while sometimes that love can be taken advantage of, at the end of the day the saying is true: it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. so i'll continue to love as i feel it, to express that love even if sometimes it isn't reciprocated, because i think it's beautiful thing to love other people, even if only in little bits.

[tariah23]

This trend of 90’s babies going around bragging about how “you really can’t even TELL that I’m actually 30 lol. I still look like a teenager 😌. Even younger than actual teenagers-“ has been so weird man. This obsession with youth and even the competitive nature that a lot of these people have with literal kids is very strange and it’s only getting worse. It sucks since most adults who do look younger than their age are usually treated like children and are not taken as seriously as they would if they looked older. It’s not a good feeling at all :(.

[solunecito]

Sometimes the special interest and/or hyperfixation can be SO bad that instead of (re)posting/blogging about it too much you come to the point of not wanting to interact with it until you gain some courage, and that courage means, putting in a picture, like going through a forest of both stinging and exciting feelings, where your brain chemicals are on the surface and receptive AF. No one but you fully understands how much that thing has affected you in a deeply emotional level.

Interacting with it doesn't mean happy chemicals anymore, it can be overwhelming and overstimulating, sensitive to the thoughts of other human beings about it, sensitive to the point where you can actually rage over your intense love/hate relationship with it... Yet you also feel obligated towards it, like you've got to show in some way how much into that thing you are, but the moment that flourishes it breaks into an explosion and you receive surprised and shocked reactions from others, even uncomfortable, at the idea that you are incredibly and passionately into something while consciously not wanting to engage much with it...

[take-my-up-votes]

.

[hawnks]

[some-teeth-in-a-trench-coat]

Do you ever consider doing something nice, going out of your way to help out or just brighten the day of someone you know, but then you remember you never do that, and suddenly you feel awkward, what if they ask why you're suddenly doing such a thing, what's the occasion, are you trying to bribe them, and then you just don't do it, continuing to establish a patterns where you never do that thing so that every time you consider it, you feel they would see it as some grand gesture, something out of the ordinary that gets more attention than you feel you deserve? A cycle of inaction and fear of being seen leaving the apathetic role you built for yourself back when you were someone who wanted play it. You want to be someone else, you want to grow past the expectations you've given others for yourself, but you don't want anyone to notice the change. Why do you recoil at the mere thought of contradicting someone's expectation, even in a positive way? What are you afraid of?