#vision therapy for lazy eye

[lazyeyetreatment]

Vision therapy for lazy eye involves a series of tailored exercises and activities designed to strengthen the weaker eye and improve visual coordination. These programs target the root cause of lazy eye by training the brain to use both eyes effectively. Over time, patients can achieve better depth perception, improved visual acuity, and enhanced overall eye function. Vision therapy offers a non-invasive, long-term solution to correct lazy eye in individuals of all ages.

[rajkaran-12345]

The Role of Vision Rehabilitation in Enhancing Quality of Life

Visual impairment can impact multiple aspects of life, from learning and cognitive development to day-to-day functioning. Visual impairment rehabilitation plays a vital role in helping individuals regain visual skills and improve their overall quality of life. Rehabilitation focuses on retraining the brain to better process visual information, often benefiting individuals with conditions like visual dyslexia and those recovering from brain injuries. Specialized approaches like neuro-optometric rehabilitation therapy can restore visual functionality and improve coordination and spatial awareness.

One key approach in vision rehabilitation is neuro-optometric vision rehabilitation. This therapy aims to improve the brain’s ability to interpret visual stimuli by focusing on retraining neural pathways. Often utilized in conjunction with other therapies, neuro vision therapy is particularly beneficial for individuals suffering from traumatic brain injuries or neurological conditions that affect visual processing.

In children, vision therapy for learning disabilities can be transformative. Many learning disabilities, such as dyslexia, are exacerbated by undiagnosed vision issues. By incorporating techniques from developmental optometry, therapists work to improve visual processing skills, which, in turn, support better academic performance. In fact, vision therapy for dyslexia has shown significant results, helping children overcome difficulties in reading and writing.

At specialized centers like the center for visual rehabilitation, professionals employ comprehensive assessments and tailored therapy programs to meet the unique needs of each patient. The impact of these programs extends beyond the classroom, influencing every aspect of a child’s development, including hand-eye coordination and cognitive development.

Parents often seek out a developmental optometrist pediatric specialist when they notice developmental delays or visual processing issues in their children. A pediatric developmental optometrist can assess and diagnose visual impairments early on, providing targeted interventions that enhance the child’s ability to process visual information. Early diagnosis and intervention are key to minimizing the long-term effects of visual impairments.

Neuro-optometric rehabilitation isn’t limited to children. Adults experiencing visual difficulties due to stroke, concussion, or traumatic brain injuries also benefit from neuro-optometric vision therapy. Rehabilitation focuses on improving peripheral vision, depth perception, and overall visual coordination, helping individuals regain their independence. By engaging in regular sessions at a vision rehab center, patients can gradually restore their visual capabilities.

In conclusion, vision rehabilitation offers a transformative solution for individuals struggling with visual impairments. Whether it’s addressing learning disabilities, recovering from a brain injury, or managing visual dyslexia, vision therapy paves the way for improved quality of life. Centers dedicated to visual rehabilitation provide a comprehensive, supportive environment where individuals can regain their visual skills and thrive. 

[cowardlycowboys]

gonna bash my brains in fuck my stupid baka life GOODNIGHT NEW YORK

[caringvisiontherapy]

Revitalize Your Vision: Effective Eye Exercises for Lazy Eye

Lazy eye, or amblyopia, affects both children and adults, impairing visual acuity and depth perception. While traditionally treated with corrective lenses or patches, incorporating targeted eye exercises can significantly improve vision and enhance overall eye health. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore a variety of proven eye exercises designed to stimulate the lazy eye and promote visual development. Whether you're seeking options for yourself or a loved one, these exercises, in conjunction with professional guidance from CaringVisionTherapy.com, can pave the way for a brighter, clearer future.

Eye exercises for lazy eye occurs when one eye is weaker than the other, leading to a lack of coordination between the brain and the affected eye. This condition typically develops during childhood but can persist into adulthood if left untreated. Factors such as strabismus (crossed eyes), significant differences in refractive errors between the eyes, or deprivation of vision in one eye due to conditions like cataracts can contribute to the development of lazy eye.

Website :- https://justpaste.it/e8obt

[phantomwithbreakfast]

FORBIDDEN LOVE

DP phanfic story.

Teaser chapter 09. Hehe.

You can read the story on FanFiction.net—not finished—currently working on chapter 09! Not posted online yet.

———————

Summary:

Pitch Pearl

Genre: Angst — Hurt/Comfort — Romance

TW: Bullying and Harassment — Violence — Emotional Distress — Strong Language)

Rate: T (But maybe it is M)

—

Spoiler loading…

Phantom shot through the sky, his form a blur against the night as the wind whipped around him, cool and refreshing. He could feel it tugging at his hair, swirling through his loose posture as he zigzagged through the open air, darting in and out of view. Each dip and dive filled him with a thrill he hadn’t felt in ages, a rush of pure excitement.

With a burst of speed, he popped back into view right in front of Valerie, stopping so suddenly that her eyes widened, her body tensing as she jerked back just a fraction. He caught the quick flicker of surprise in her face, and it made him chuckle, a low, mischievous sound that echoed through the quiet night. He floated backward slowly, his smirk widening, crossing his arms against his chest as he tilted his body in a relaxed, almost lazy posture. His legs stretched out in front of him, one foot casually crossing over the other as he drifted back, sticking his tongue out at her like a kid daring her to react.

Valerie’s eyes narrowed, but before she could anything, Phantom was on the move again. He shot forward with a laugh, his form shimmering as he phased right through her, that he could feel the chill radiating off her gear. As he passed, he glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of her stunned expression as she spun around, trying to follow his movement.

The laughter bubbled up in his chest, light and joyful, as he soared upward, leaving her behind once more, his body twisting and looping through the air like he was part of the night itself. Every movement was effortless, his limbs loose, his posture fluid, as he relished the freedom of the moment.

———————

Maybe I still change this chapter up a bit, I don’t know yet.

And with that, I drew this one. To get the vision of that specific moment, you know?

And oh geez. Now I have the time again to practice at drawing, what feels like ancient ages ago, I think my own style might change (of course it does), ‘cause I’m searching back for my own style lol. Nothing is perfect, nothing ever will be perfect. Go with the flow, yes!

You have no idea how much I missed drawing Danny! It’s really therapy for me, and that includes the writing too.

And oh. First time I drew Valerie. That was quite fun (the tech suit!).

———————

Made in ProCreate.

DP copyright/rights, belongs to Nickelodeon.

[anika-ann]

Seven Minutes (S.R.) - pt.2

Type: TWO-SHOT, independent, canon-ish, part 1 here

Pairining: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 10 900 cause I have no chill

Summary:

You weren't obliged to go to that party, but you went anyway. You even had fun.

Until you and Steve were left to pick up the pieces after your seven minutes in a closet together, so graceful having been pushed into it by Tony's stupid idea, Loki's magic and a game of chance where there might be more losers than winners.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, NSFW, (unprotected sex, fingering, glimpses of size kink and praise kink, soft hints of D/s, mirrors, possessiveness;cumplay, overstimulation and edging if you squint really hard), alcohol, a drop of angst, language (a lot), STEVE (he is a warning in this one)

A/N: written for @jtargaryen18 and her Halloween challenge. Prompt in the final notes. I toyed with it so much that it might have been cheating 😅 dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕

Part 2: Seven Minutes in Heaven

“Secrets are the prisons we make for ourselves.”

― Joe Hill, Locke & Key, Vol. 6: Alpha & Omega

The party had died down; or as Tony said, only the fittest had survived.

Sam, Bucky and Rhodey had challenged Natasha, Maria and Helen to a lazy game of beer pong. Bruce was still asleep. Thor and Vision started some sort of a special game of pool, wordlessly watched by Wanda and Steve, while Thor and Loki argued in hushed voices about what only gods knew – literally. Tony got some genius idea despite – or thanks to – the killer levels of alcohol in his blood and sneaked off into the corner of the room, working with holograms of graphs and other simulations graciously supervised by Pepper.

Needless to say, the spacious room still looked every bit a warzone in an autumn aesthetic. And yet. It still looked better than your heart; a wasteland.

You avoided Steve ever since you stumbled out of the stupid closet, from which he oh-so-kindly helped you, supporting your weight before you could faceplant on the floor – and he graced you with a sweet even if a little shaky smile as he did so. God, you hated him for it. You hated you could still feel the heat of his skin, taste his breath on yours, an echo of the reality of the closet; what more, the memory of his skin on your bare body, lips mapping every inch of you, teasing touches and thick fingers, dark gaze as he made you his in every way possible… this memory of your fantasy was somehow fading, as if it wasn’t even yours.

And it wasn’t; because Steve himself was never yours to have. Fantasies like these were futile.

The loneliness in your chest despite being surrounded by friends hit you harder than ever; and you should have known better. You could blame Loki and Tony and Steve, even yourself for your past shortcomings, but the trigger for your mood was all on you. You shouldn’t have been drinking. You knew you often toed the thin line between a cheery drunk and a miserable drunk. Tonight, it seemed you very much tripped and stepped over the line by a mile.

You nursed a bowl of candy, staring at the repetitive sequence of scary images projected on the wall. The only person you’d be willing to join was Tony; but the reasonable thing to do would be retreat to your room and sleep it off. You even felt sleepy; except your brain was wide awake at the same time. Body exhausted, brain hazy but alert, eyes burning with tears born not only from your loneliness, but also from being awake for too long. You were never going to another of Tony’s stupid parties ever again. You’d promise to never drink again, but your job sometimes required dumbing your mind in a way therapy never could.

The skeletons on the wall blended into a graveyard again; the image was almost soothing. Peaceful. A pile of bones that couldn’t hurt anymore a blessing. And you really should go to sleep, because your thoughts were getting morb-

The yelp erupting from your throat was pitiful – but thankfully drowned in the hooting from the beer pong table. You nearly jumped out of your skin as you found Loki suddenly sitting next to you on the couch, the corners of his lips now twitching in amusement.

Jesus.

“Don’t sneak up on me!” you complained, your body suddenly very awake too. Jerk. “Jesus, Loki!”

“I believe you Midgardians say that if one becomes easily startled, it is because they have impure thoughts or intentions,” he hummed, but had enough decency to control his smirk a bit. Still a jerk. “What is it, søster? You appear upset.”

Anger and humiliation flared up in your achy chest since it was him of all people pointing that out. As if it wasn’t his stupid magic that created the closet in the first place, feeding your misery further. You shot him a glare.

“And you are to blame. Piss off, Loki.”

He retreated a bit, showing off his bare hands as to tell you he meant to harm, a slight pout to his lips.

“Now now. There is no need to get hostile, is it? I simply noticed you were… rather isolated and the party did not please you anymore, nor did the company. I came here as a concerned friend.”

You sighed, eyes roaming his face; he appeared genuine. He might be a god of mischief, but he had proven a friend on numerous occasions indeed. An annoying sibling, if you willed; there was a reason why he called you a sister.

“Don’t you always…” you murmured, sighing again and working hard to try and smile. “Sorry, bror, I am not in a festive mood nor in a friendly indeed. You do not indeed deserve my hostility… much.”

His eyes flashed with understanding, a smile spreading on his lips as he tilted his head, inquisitive.

“Has something happened during the seven minutes with your precious Captain?”

To protest was an instinct at this point. “He isn’t m-“

“Yes, he is, but that is not the point,” Loki interrupted you, rolling his eyes theatrically before his gaze bored into yours, the blue of his eyes almost burning. “What did you see, søster?”

It hit you like a train – the realization that should have hit you long moments ago. God, you were an idiot. Such an idiot, trusting, naïve, too good-hearted idiot, who-

You slapped Loki’s bicep hard – or tried to, your hand passing through the illusion of his body he had created, your hand only meeting the cushions. Of fucking course; he wasn’t even here. He was a trickster, after all. Case on damn fucking point-

Your face burned almost as much as the tears of anger in your eyes – anger and embarrassment. God, he hadn’t- he couldn’t have possibly--- had he seen?

“You did do something to the closet, didn’t you? I defended you when Steve suggested it, you know! Did you make up the damn illusion I saw? You fu-“

Loki’s hand, materializing as his whole body now, caught your hand when you tried to hit him again, his long fingers gentle as they wrapped around your wrist. If you had any more energy, you’d fight his hold and send him to the floor in one of the fancy moves Natasha had taught you. But you didn’t; too weak. To stunned.

The asshole.

“I did not make up any illusion nor did I see what you saw, my little Midgardian,” Loki responded calmly, for once appearing sincere – and unless you imagined it, there was a shade of regret in his expression too.

He’d better be telling the truth about not seeing at least – but how could believe a word he said? He tricked you. Like a trickster. Gods, you needed to retake your IQ test if he had got you so easily.

“I simply offered clarity to everyone who walked into that closet… incidentally, it was only you and him,” he added.

“Clarity?” you echoed, an unamused erupting from your throat as you yanked your hand free. “I don’t think so, Loki. Whatever it is you did was a damn low blow. So do take it personal when I tell you to piss off – wherever your actual body actually is--- or one of your bodies or whatever.”

You rose to your feet, determined to leave him – and this whole cursed party – behind and sleep for a week.

He caught your hand again, stopping you; you shot him a murderous glare, gritting your teeth as you failed to keep your tears at bay, a few rolling down your cheeks – a mix of of humiliation, anger and bewilderment, because were you really crying? Christ, you were never drinking again.

Loki’s gaze softened at the pitiful sight you had to make; he gently tugged at your hand, so watching you so kindly and pleadingly that he might have as well tugged directly at your heartstrings.

Gods, why did you have such a glutton for punishment and pain? Why were you such a sucker for redemption? Why were you so weak to give people and gods the chance to apologize just so they could feel better about themselves?

You sat down with another sigh, willing to give Loki one more minute to explain himself and say sorry – but not more. You blinked in surprise when he frowned, slowly raised his free hand, his fingertips brushing the tears from your cheeks away.

“I am sorry to upset you,søster. But you should slow down in jumping to conclusions,” he said, making you already regret your decision; he wasn’t apologizing. Of course he wasn’t. Men. You wrenched your hand free again. You were out of here this very- “Ah-ah. Here it is again. I am sorry. But… what is that figurative expression you Midgardians have? Say, what do you hide in a closet, søster?”

Clothes, usually, you thought, annoyed. Clothes, unless it’s empty and you’re lucid-dreaming about enthusiastically getting railed by one of your closest friends. You had a distant feeling this was not the answer the trickster was looking for.

“Loki, I’m tired, drunk and miserable,” you said matter-of-factly. “I really don’t want to play any more of your games and I think you had done enough, so I’d appreciate if you-”

“Skeletons, søster. Secrets,” he whispered conspiratorially, a slow smirk spreading on his face. “Dark, dark secrets you do not share with anyone else, those you do not dare to share. In that closet… the darkest one concerning the person you were in there with came out.”

Your shoulders sagged, annoyance biting at your gut. Loki was saying these things as if he just revealed to you the secrets of the universe and not a well-known fact.

“Gee, thanks. I knew about that ‘secret’ already.”

Loki’s right eyebrow arched as he smiled deviously.

“Did you, now? Did you know your Captain’s best-kept secret?” he pried, eyes sparkling with the mischief worthy of the god he was, confusing you in the process.

You were too lost to his mysterious message to correct him again – that Steve was not yours. Loki knew and apparently, he knew that that was exactly part of the problem. Hell, that was the whole problem at the moment, but-

“Huh?”

Loki’s other brow arched as well at the bewildered sound you let out, his gaze measuring you from head to toe with distaste almost as if you insulted him by not praising him for his supposed brilliance.

You didn’t feel bad for it – you had no energy for that. And his ego could use a little blow.

“…you truly are exceptionally drunk if you get slow like this, my dear Lady Speedy,”he emphasized, shaking his head like a disappointed parent – or older brother. “You did not see your secret. What kind of lousy trick would that be?! You already know your secrets, they are in your head! That is why they are yours! No, no, no,” he lamented, shaking his index finger before he pointed it at you, his proud grin widening. “You, my little Midgardian søster, stepped into the Captain’s head. You saw his secret. And he saw yours. Do we understand now?”

All blood drained from your face, annoyance replaced by a mask of pure horror that seized you the moment Loki finally explained. You stared at him blankly, mind suddenly completely sober and whirling. You were fucked. You were utterly, utterly fucked, because if Steve saw your secret, he knew. He knew you wanted him; he knew how you wanted him and how much. He knew what you craved him to do to you.

“Loki, this isn’t funny,” you heard yourself say, almost soundlessly. He tilted his head, that irritating grin still present as he looked right back at you, waiting for you to process the bullshit he was trying to feed you. “This is a very, very bad joke.”

Please tell me it IS a joke, you added mentally, only to be very disappointed.

“That it would be, but it is not, for I am not joking,” he retorted, expectant.

Expectant of what? Of praise? A thank you? For putting you into this insanely vulnerable position, for basically stripping you bare and revealing—

Your mind came to a screeching halt as another realization finally slammed into you like a freight train.

“Holy shit.”

Loki straightened in his seat, his grin now almost maniacal – and so goddamn smug.

You saw Steve’s secret. You saw Steve’s fantasy. Taking you over and over in front of a mirror, all the praise, sweet nicknames and affection he showered you with in your vision – that was him. He wanted you too. These weren’t only your desires, these were his.

But that was impossible. Steve didn’t--- he wasn’t- he would have said something. He would have acted differently. You would have known. This, whatever Loki was saying, couldn’t be true, Steve would have asked you out again if he wanted to, he’d-

Except he wouldn’t. Because unlike many men, Steve understood the meaning of the word no. If you rejected his initial advance two years ago, he had no reason to try again, because he would respect your choice.

You could kiss him for that. Or smack him. It that were true.

The hope rising in your chest was a dangerous thing. Hope was the thing with feathers; it would fly you high so the fall lasted longer and the landing hurt more once it dropped you out of the sky. If you allowed yourself to hope that the absolutely wonderful gorgeous human being Steve was was still interested in you romantically…

Instinctively, you glanced the direction of the pool table, hoping to see a hint of Loki telling the truth – and worried Steve might hear your conversation due to his enhanced senses – but Steve was no longer there. Swiftly scanning the room, you found out he was no longer there at all. It seemed he was the only one having made the sane decision of going to sleep.

You gulped as your gaze focused the trickster again, still afraid to believe even for a minute this could be real.

“Loki…”

“Now. You know his and he knows yours… the question is, are you willing to act on it? Are you willing to admit what is it that you want out loud now when he already knows anyway… even if he does not, for I entrusted the power of the closet only to you so far?”

You swallowed loudly, heart hammering in your chest wild. Were you? Willing to admit it out loud? That was one insane risk to take. One you weren’t sure was worth the consequences.

“Loki, if you are lying-“

“Bleh, I am not!” the Asgardian spitted out, offended. “What could I possibly gain from that?!”

“Fun?” you suggested automatically, because that was what he was all about, wasn’t it? That was why he created the insane magical closet in the first place.

Could Steve really still like you? Like like you? Now you were back to being thirteen indeed-

“Your idea of my idea of fun is rather strange. Go talk to your Captain. Or… communicate your thoughts in whichever way you prefer.”

You felt your already hot face burn at his suggestion. As much as you’d like to do that, the thought of even confronting Steve was scary – it would be much easier to be sure you wouldn’t mess up your perfectly good friendship, a friendship you cherished. Alas, you only had Loki’s words to go on. You could imagine more reliable sources, but none of them you’d dare to approach either.

“Oh shut your face, bror. If this is another idiotic prank, if you are lying, I’m going to tell Bruce to smash you—no, I’m going smash you myself, reduce you to the size of atom. Without breaking a sweat,” you promised him as you rose to your feet and you meant it.

If you were going to find Steve now – and you were, because there was not a universe in which you would simply fall sleep after what Loki did and told you – and if you were going to mess up, if Loki was truly just toying with your heart, you’d make sure he’d suffer for it.

“So feisty,”Loki praised, eyes lit up. “The Captain will like that, I am certain.”

Oh you were sure he would; Steve liked a drive in a person. He’d like it if you were brave enough not only to find him now, but also tell him how you felt. The idea was so damn intangible even as you had thought of it thousands of times, so terrifying that you just might go to bed and stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night instead because you could not take that risk.

“Loki… this is a personal thing. And if I go and fuck up what Steve and I have-”

“You mean two years of fruitless pining-“ he interrupted you again.

“-based on your bullshit, I---”

You felt tears in your eyes again – and god, you were truly never ever drinking again, even as you felt very, very sober now – and the God’s mischievous eyes softened once more.

“I shall never repeat it again, but I grew quite fond of you, my little Midgardian. Despite what the over-righteous Captain believes, I have no intention to hurt you,” he assured you kindly.

“…I will still smite you if you’re wrong.”

His grin returned. “Looking forward to it, my Lady Speedy. And you’re welcome!”

“Don’t push it, Loki.”

As expected, your brief surge of bravery ran out by the time you stood in front of Steve’s door. Your hand shook as you raised it to knock, counting to three. Then, you simply did it – better to get it over with, right? With what you learned from Loki, awkwardness was about sneak between you and Steve anyway. At least you would know.

That wasn’t a terrifying thought as all, was it?

Steve appeared in the doorway, already in pyjama pants and a white t-shirt, looking at you as if he wasn’t sure whether he dreamed you up or not. His special nickname for you slipped from his lips, surprised and questioning.

You felt like an idiot; you probably looked like one too, your outfit in a pitiful state as well as your make-up, but here you were about to have one of the most important conversations in your life. An agent for the Avengers Initiative, supposedly one of the strongest and most capable people of the planet; yet, you felt like a teenager about to confess to your first-ever crush.

“Can I… can I come in?” you pipped up nervously, wondering whether your heart could actually jump out of your chest – and guessing that yes, it could, when Steve smiled automatically, stepping back to let you into his room.

“Are you alright?”

No, you wanted to say, your sweaty palms twitching to curl into fists briefly, because of course he would ask that. Beautiful, infinitely good man. Sweet and caring. Golden boy. Golden boy who wanted to fuck you in front of the mirror and watch.

You shook off the last thought as your stomach fluttered, coming to a stop in the middle of the room, trying to ignore the large inviting bed and spinning on your heels to face Steve instead.

“Yeah. No. I mean,” you stuttered, shaking your head. “I… Loki, he--- he said something.”

There was no mistaking the flash of cold steel in Steve’s eyes, the way his relaxed body straightened and stiffened, shoulders squaring at the mention of the God. He really didn’t like him, did he? After the emotional turmoil of tonight, you couldn’t say you blamed him.

“What did he say?”

“He said… you--- this is so stupid, I can’t even--- did you have, uhm, did you have a certain… vision? A dream maybe? When we were in that closet?”

Your face was set aflame at believing he had, that he had the kind of vision you assumed; a vision that would make most people blush. And Steve did blush a bit, discomfort clear in his face.

“I--- maybe,” he admitted reluctantly, earning a raised brow. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes. Did Loki…” His gaze found yours again, searching – and worried. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite decipher too, something you weren’t sure if you wanted to understand. “Did he tell you--?”

You shook your head.

“No. If you’re asking whether he told me what you dreamed about, then no.” Because he didn’t have to. I just know. If Loki wasn’t lying, that was. “But I… I had a vision as well. And Loki, he… told me what it meant. He said--- he said-“

You gulped, a dull weight in your chest as Steve observed you with silent wonder and a mixture of emotions you couldn’t hope to understand. Patience. Concern. Apprehension. Affection? Definitely confusion.

This was absurd. What were you even doing here? It was utter non-sense. Loki was just pulling your leg, that was what he did, a friend or a bror or not, he just decided to have some extra fun during Halloween and make it his personal April Fool’s Day. You were but the victim of his over-the-board prank-

You chuckled at your idiocy, shaking your head and stalking to the door.

“You know what? Forget this. This is so stupid, I can’t believe I fell for that-“

A gentle hand, the gentlest touch, stopped you in your tracks, disappearing as quick as it appeared on your wrist.

Reluctantly, you turned back to Steve again, truly loving him and hating him at the same time when his tone softened as if you hadn’t brought up Loki, his personal thorn in side, at all.

“Hey now. This, whatever it is, is clearly making you upset. Upset enough to knock on my door at three a.m.,” he noted, hand twitching towards you again – but not touching.

That was what he would have normally done – comfort you by touch. A warm hand on yours; the warmest hug. Touch was Steve’s love language for friends and no doubt lovers alike. But he didn’t. Because you had said no – you had pushed him anyway, you had pulled back in the closet. You had broken him; you had broken you two already.

Damn Loki and damn his stupid jokes and painfully unhelpful interventions. You already hurt Steve and now you were here, at three damn a.m. indeed, robbing him off his well-deserved sleep on top of everything.

God, what a farce.

“I’m sorry-“

“That’s not the point, you know the door is always open for you,” Steve interrupted you, eyes roaming your face with determination now. He was on a mission. He had noticed your body language, whatever it was trying to say. He noticed your hesitance. He read you like a book and he was going to read it through to the last chapter to get to the bottom of things. You were in trouble; there was no going back now. “What did Loki say? I saw you two earlier, he--- did he make you upset?”

Your heart seared, your lips parting on instinct.

While spoken on a normal volume, the question was a battle cry. If you said yes, Steve would release the wrath of Gods – of an angel, a guardian angel and a warrior – on Loki. It didn’t matter Loki was the god, the entity from another planet. He would tremble in front of the anger of a righteous man defending you.

“No! I mean--- no. He just…” you stumbled over your words again, shaking your head and taking a deep breath. You closed your eyes, because otherwise you’d never get it out, not with the way your throat felt so tight you could barely breathe, let alone speak the bare truth. “He said that what we saw in that closet was each other’s secret. Something we secretly want. Supposedly, I saw yours… and you… you saw mine.”

Your voice trailed off into a shy whisper, but you had no doubt Steve heard your words clear as day. The silent shock settling on the room told you as much. Hands curling into fists, nails digging into your palms, you squeezed your eyes shut tight, before you gathered enough courage to open them and look at Steve’s reaction.

But Steve wasn’t looking at you, much to your relief and frustration. He was staring over your shoulder, the smile on his lips absent, appearing just a little broken. You dug your nails further into your skin, not daring to even breathe in until Steve released a wavering breath of his own.

His voice was quiet as he spoke, so very soft and warm, a note of gentle wistfulness. “I’m not sure I can believe that, Shines.”

You nodded, licking your lips and bracing yourself. Now or never. No take-backs.

“I’m not sure either… but that depends. What do you want, Steve?”

“I…” he sighed, finally meeting your gaze, an unreadable open book. He observed you carefully for a moment as you tried to stand tall, stand your ground and pretend you didn’t feel like it was shaking under your feet. Like you wouldn’t feel like the Earth was splitting beneath you if his answer would be anything else than you were hoping for. “I want you, Shines. But I don’t see how that’s a secret.”

Fresh tears sprang from your eyes; but this time happy ones, the shock and relief and joy finding release.

You had hoped. You had prayed on your way in here. You wished upon the stars. And yet nothing prepared you for the reality of Steve saying this. You were certain your heart was about to explode any second, your pulse thundering in your head. He really said ‘you’.

A small part of you wanted to remark that if Loki was right about everything and you had indeed saw what was in Steve’s head, there were a few secretive details that Steve had failed to mention, but you kept your mouth shut, because that was not the point.

He wanted you. He truly wanted you. He still… you still had a chance. More than a chance, apparently.

“Oh,” you let out quietly and oh so wittily, probably making your IQ scores appear like a joke again, but this time, you didn’t give a damn. You smiled weakly at Steve who stared at you expectantly and resigned at once. “Good. Because I want you too.”

A single deep breath. Eyes full of wonder, soft confusion lacing his voice. Reluctant hope, as reluctant as your own had been. “But you said no.”

You nodded, lowering your gaze and smiling tightly on the floor as you wiped away the few tears.

“I--- I was still new and you were… you were this idol of all things good, intimidating and untouchable. I mean, in many ways, you still are, but I was just crushing on you so hard even if I barely just met you. The longer I knew you, the more it… changed into something much deeper than a crush, but when you asked me out back then, I just… panicked. And I wanted to take that answer back later, but I was scared it was too late. And the longer it got… the harder and more awkward it felt to ask you if you were still interested in me, if you’d want to be more than friends after all this time, especially since you dated someone else in between.”

A few beats of silence followed your confession, words hanging in the air.

“That was never a good idea,” Steve admitted lowly, causing you to look up to his now sheepish face. “I thought I was ready for someone else, but I wasn’t. My mind was still on you. And still is, which really shouldn’t come as a surprise to you or me,” he noted, lips curling up in a smile that would make your heart beat faster hadn’t it been already racing like mad. “You’re beautiful and brilliant. You could do anything you’d put your mind to and would still stay humble enough about it. You’re capable, you’re passionate, you’re kind. You make the world a better place… and you take my breath away. You always have.”

You stood frozen, momentarily stunned.

It seemed when Steve went for something, he went all the way. You knew that about him already; and still. His declaration took you by surprise. A pleasant one, much like two years ago; but this time, you knew better. You were ready. Or at least ready enough.

At three a.m. after a damn Halloween party, you were ready to accept you and him felt the same.Steve liked you. Liked you a lot more than a friend, if his words were sincere and you would never doubt they were anything less.

The world was a beautiful place and you adored Loki’s shenanigans.

“Well…” you said as you stepped closer, basking in Steve’s soft gaze set firmly on your face, hopeful and incredulous. “I think you are pretty damn brilliant, handsome and overall amazing too, so that works out well… and I guess maybe we should do something about that.”

“I guess,” he echoed, his smile slowly widening when you took another step. He reached out this time and took your hand, enveloping it in his larger one.

It was just holding hands, it should not have such an effect on you, but Christ, you could die a happy woman right there. Especially when Steve carefully lifted your joined hands, dropping a kiss to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours. When you smiled wide at the tender gesture, Steve’s gaze lit up with a familiar and yet so different spark. “You think I’m intimidating?”

A surprised chuckle erupted from your throat, the tension you hadn’t been quite aware of melting from your shoulders. You could smack him – now he was a cheeky fella, wasn’t he?

“That’s what you took from me pouring my heart out? Really, Steve? Wow. Just wow.”

He laughed as well as he erased the last distance between you so you stood chest to chest, hand moving to cradle your face instead and angle it up, his eyes full of wonder still as if he couldn’t believe this was happening. Humour and absolute delight blended into one in his expression; you imagined yours most have looked the same.

“Well, I kinda poured mine out too to make it even. But I’m just a guy, doll. My ego needs a good rub every once in a while.”

You couldn’t help it. You snickered at his choice of words. A good rub, huh?

“Just your ego?”

Something flashed in Steve’s eyes, his smile earning a wicked edge that had your stomach flutter; or perhaps that was just his strong arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush to his front, your palms catching against his chest. So warm. Warm and wide and real, and it was yours to touch.

“Aren’t you a cheeky little thing…” he mused.

“You know it. What you’re gonna do about it, Captain?”

His gaze roamed your face, searching for an answer to the unspoken and yet completely clear question. He found it in the challenge written in your smartass grin, his lips soon gravitating towards yours, suddenly close enough you could feel his breath on your own. His voice dropped but to a whisper.

“Depends… what would you let me do, Shines?”

Anything. Everything. All at once. Forever.

You licked your lips, painfully aware of the firmness of Steve’s body against yours, so pliant to accommodate his strength. “I’m pretty flexible.”

The corners of his lips twitched at the double entendre.

“Is that right, sweetheart? Let’s see how you like what have in mind then…”

A lot. The answer was a lot. You loved it the very second his lips touched yours at last, causing you to shudder and melt into his embrace. The kiss was even more tender than you imagined; gentle lips moulding into yours, thumb stroking over your cheekbone softer than silk. Lingering and brushing yours even as he released you to do something as mundane as breathing.

“I like it so far,” you muttered, eyes closed to absorb all the sensations enveloping you. The warmth, the masculine scent, the faint taste of mint tooth paste and Steve, the thundering heart under your palms, the hot skin as your hand slid up Steve’s throat to his nape, the soft strands of his hair as you pulled him to another kiss. “What else do you have in mind?”

He hummed against your lips, smiling, hand angling your head to kiss you deeper, parting your lips with ease, so naturally as if it was always meant to be. And perhaps it was; kissing him was two years due. The thought of a lost time had your fingers flex against the material of his t-shirt, squeezing his nape; his chest rumbled with a silent groan, arm tightening around your waist, heat pooling at your stomach.

You knew this groan. You knew the feeling of hardness building against your belly and you knew exactly what it meant; and you wanted it. You wanted it real this time and there nothing in the world that would make you resist Steve inching you walk backwards one small step after another as his mouth dominated yours, his hand moving to your hip to steer you the direction of the bed.

Or you thought so until his arm softened the impact of your back against a wall, your eyes snapping open with a gasp. Your gaze met Steve’s just as his fingers tangled in your hair, eyes roaming your face attentively, taking in every detail of your flushed face and already swollen lips. You feasted your eyes too, hand instinctively moving from his chest to his bicep, nearly whining at feeling the power humming underneath.

He could take you. He could take you in whichever way he wanted and you’d simply have to hold on and survive it, because even with your fancy moves and normally sharp brain, you were no match for his strength. But you didn’t need to be; you didn’t want to be. You were actually perfectly fine with Steve making love to you tender or fucking you against the wall all the way across the room from the no doubt comfortable bed.

“What else is there?” you heard yourself ask breathily, rewarded with Steve’s gaze darkening, his hips pressing against yours, palm sliding from your cheek to your throat, thumb caressing the soft skin.

He was trying to kill you. He was, there was no other reason to show off those large paws of his in comparison to your body, no reason to remind you he could crush you without much effort.

He petted the sensitive skin lovingly, licking his lips as another shudder ran down your spine, his middle finger inching under the shoulder strap of your dress.

“Can I?”

You only panted as he already hooked his finger under it and sent it sliding down while still being able to touch your throat, the hoarseness of his voice awaking the heat inside you having been sleeping ever since your dream encounter in the closet.

“Y-yes,” you whispered, hoping he’d understand that that consent applied to everything. Everything he wanted he was free to do. You needed him to do it.

He must have understood. He must have, because when his lips locked with yours, the heat behind the kiss was otherworldly, his body caging yours against the wall in the most toe-curling way.

It was like a switch flipped inside him, because it finally dawned to him. He had seen you fantasy; the filth he had experienced came from you and he could take full advantage of that. That previously frightening thought that Steve knew now, knew how you wanted him and how much, was apparently exactly what he needed to see; that you wanted him. All of him. No filter.

You mewled when his fingers tugged at your hair with the slightest pressure, guiding you to expose the column of your throat for his mouth to explore and nip at, his other hand squeezing your hips and following the curve of your ass appreciatively. Your already damp panties turned completely useless by now and in the very back of your mind, you realized that with Steve’s slightly enhanced senses, he could probably smell how riled up you still were from your imaginary closet experience. You could be embarrassed about that; but when his hand brushed up the back of your bare thigh over your hip under the hem of your dress, stroking over the lace of your panties at the apex of your thighs, you decided you were beyond caring.

Especially when you could feel his muscled shift with the minuscule movement of his fingers tracing the hem of your underwear, so close to where your core screamed for his touch and attention.

“So, doll…” he whispered to your skin, groaning minutely when you grabbed at his nape and pulled his mouth to ours, feeling it was way too long since you tasted them. He didn’t seem bothered at all, his fingertips brushing oh so lightly against your heat at last, a barely-there brief touch gone too fast. “I saw your dirty secret, is that right?”

Alright, he needed to stop talking and teasing you and get to work before you could spontaneously combust. Your only satisfaction was the fact that he too was far from indifferent to what was happening, his hardness pressing against your thigh.

So why wasn’t he doing something about it?

“Doll?” he hummed against your lips, expecting you to answer, clearly.

“Y-yeah? I guess?”

“Hm…”

You cried a discontent noise when his hands untangled from your hair and disappeared form under the skirt of your dress, long fingers curling around your wrist, one and then the other, soothing your disagreement with a filthy kiss.

Next thing you knew, your hands were pinned to the wall by your head, carefully, but firmly, Steve’s body pressing against the rest of you; his lips released yours just in time for you to let out a gasp as startled as pleased.

Your heart turned into one of a hummingbird when you realized your predicament fully.

Trapped against the wall by Steve’s large body towering above you, hands locked in a grip unmoveable upon you testing it. Caged. Utterly helpless. Dominated. The surge of need into your belly was so acute your brain turned into a blank screen with static noise for a moment.

Steve was playing out your fantasy. He was replaying what he must have seen. He was giving you exactly what you wanted and you were not about to protest; less so when your heart felt like giving out when his teeth grazed your pulse point, your knees bucking a bit, a silent mewl escaping you and that loveable bastard smiled with absolute glee against your skin.

“Love the sounds you’re making, doll. Love how your body responds to me.”

“You’re playing dirty,” you whined, not quite complaining, but still causing Steve to look up. The glee you had assumed was most definitely in his smirk and hungry gaze.

You swallowed loudly, gaze trailing up his bulging bicep when his hands manipulated yours above your head, one hand easily gripping both of yours.

“You want me to stop?” he asked, long fingers running over your bare arm indulgingly slow, over the swell of your breast, over your waist, until they slipped under your skirt again, following the hem of your panties to the junction of your thighs and pushed it aside at last, feeling the pool of slick in your underwear. His voice grew huskier as he spoke again. “Fuck. Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I won’t,” he promised, latching onto your mouth as his thick finger slipped into your heat at last, causing you to moan at the blissful intrusion.

He pumped his finger a few times before he added another, the soft stretch sending hot pleasure through your veins, having you chase the feeling in the limited space he made for his hand between your bodies, trying to rock into his hand as he set a maddeningly slow pace.

“Steve, ple-ase-”

The plea melted into a gasp when he curled his fingers, finding your most sensitive spot, your hips jerking forward as the ripple of pleasure he elicited.

“There she is…” he murmured smugly, swallowing your noise of complaint when he pulled his fingers out right then, spreading your slick all over your lower lips and circled your clit only to neglect it right after.

Empty and strung tight at once, you tried to move and chase the much-needed friction, only for Steve’s hips to pin you in place again, palm spawled over your ass.

You wanted to shoot him the dirtiest look for denying you, but all you managed was a soft accusation in your hooded eyes as his still wet fingers tipped your chin up, his intent gaze dark and hungry.

“God, you’re perfect, doll,” he rasped, thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “You have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

You had no time to be embarrassed; not when the words from your dream echoed in your head – except it was not a dream. This was all Steve – his fantasy, his reality too. He liked to watch. He liked to tell you were beautiful. He clearly liked your fantasy too – to have you in his arms, at his mercy.

You wanted to pull him for another kiss, to guide his hand – his cock for god’s sake – where you needed him so much you could barely stand it at this point, but the thrill of the not being able to, not being allowed to, felt almost as good. He was breathing heavy too, yes, but otherwise, holding you down posed no challenge for him, not even with one hand, the other sprawling over your hip again. Your core clenched at the casual display strength, a tiny noise escaping you against your will.

And bless that it did. Steve’s fuck it was the most beautiful song you had ever heard, because it was the sound of breaking.

So fast he battled the speed of light, his hand was back, tearing away the soaked fabric of your panties, mouth stealing the blissful moan from your lips, body letting just an inch of space for you to arch into his touch when his fingers slid right back into your heat, pumping and assaulting your g-spot, this time with his thumb pressing against your clit. Small rhythmic circles, dextrous fingers filling you up over and over and he had you chanting his name as you clenched on his fingers hard, warm release overtaking your body, muscles spasming, your vision blurring for a moment.

And Steve didn’t stop. The back of your head hit the wall with a silent protest as his fingers continued to fill you over and over again, mouth latched onto your neck and sucking a bruise, grasp on your hands firm and you struggled against the hold no longer sure if you wanted to stop him or keep his hand exactly where it was, because despite the overwhelming sensation and overstimulation, your body screamed at you to take it and enjoy the flames licking at your insides, so painfully delicious.

You clamped on his fingers again with a wordless cry, gasping for air as your eyes snapped open, meeting Steve’s impossibly blown pupils drinking in the sight of you overtaken by utter bliss. The wet squelch filling the room was pure filth as you soaked his hand, but you had no capacity to feel ashamed, you body buzzing with adrenalin and white-hot pleasure, Steve’s gaze making you feel like the eighth wonder of the world.

The second he released your shaky hands you were on him, holding onto his shoulder and pulling him in for a bruising kiss, his talented fingers slowing down to bring you down from your high. Once he let you get your fill, his kiss softened, short pecks to your lips, to your cheek, to you closed eyelids.

“You okay, Shines? Was that too much?”

You shook your head with a breathless laugh, the action of checking that you were alright familiar, matching the faint memory of seeing the images of his desires. Fuck you so good you’d forget your own name, but in a very respectful and caring way. It had Steve written all over it, alright. You should have known.

His forehead rested against your sweaty one, his nose nudging yours, his body more holding you up rather than restricting your movements now.

“I’m gonna need words, Shines.”

“Yeah,” you whispered obediently, pecking his lips for a good measure.

His hungry eyes sparkled with mischief as they met yours, beautifully red lips curling up in a smirk and causing your racing heart to stumble.

“Good… because I don’t think that’s how the fantasy ended…”

You yelped when his hands slipped under your ass without a single warming and lifted you with ease, your own hands gripping at his shoulders, legs, while rather jelly-like from your mind-blowing orgasms still, wrapping around his waist on instinct. You felt his hardness press against your core, hard planes of muscle without as much minute tremble under your weight as you stared at him, excitement stirring in your belly anew. With laughable ease, one of his arms shifted so he could use his other hand on you as he pleased.

You bit down the squeal ripping from your lips, but not quite successfully. He was carrying you. On one hand. And he didn’t even break a sweat yet.

“Better?” he asked smugly and it shouldn’t be attractive, you hated arrogance, but goddamnit cocky Steve seemed the hottest thing ever at the moment. Even when he was still fully clothed and your dress was loosely hanging over your bra, skirt ruffled up. Christ, his shoulders were so wide-

“I don’t think I can survive better…” you admitted, gulping, but letting your hands roam his exquisite body and gods you could come again just from touching all the delicious power you knew were locked in that body. “But I wanna try.”

Steve’s grin was the thing from your filthiest dreams; and his cock pressing against your core, the annoying fabric of his sweatpants in the way, was too.

“Atta girl…” he praised, hand curling around your nape to pull you in for a kiss that had barely any resemblance to the one he graced you with to bring you down, oh no. He licked into your mouth with indulgence, taking what was already his. “You’re gonna be so good for me, aren’t you? Take everything I give you?”

“Yes.”  

“Let me fill you up, again and again until I’ve had enough? Until you’re so completely mine that all you can think of is my name and the way it feels to come on my cock? You’re gonna let me do that, sweetheart?” he whispered to your ear, sin dripping from every carefully spoken syllable. He pulled at your dress, revealing your bra and groaning when he palmed your breast over the thin material, your own hands sliding down his chest and finally under his t-shirt to feel the heat of his skin.

So good. Gods, he felt so good.

“Yes. Wanna feel you. All of you.”

Steve rutted into you and you grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and tugged, wordlessly begging him to reveal your playground. He chuckled, pulling at his t-shirt himself to help you, quick to hum a promise to your lips that had your core clench around the painful emptiness.

“Oh you’ll feel me, Shines. I’ll make sure you’ll feel me for days. That what you want?”

One palm sprawled over his chest, the other laid over his abs, you weren’t sure you could answer beyond an absent nod. Steve did not find that satisfactory.

The nips of his teeth combined with the rumble in his ribcage had you release something between a mewl and a gasp, his abdomen shaking with a silent laugher.

“Oh that was a pretty noise. Can’t wait to hear more of it.”

“Steve, please, just-“

He heard out your plea at last, kissing you, free hand going to the laces of his sweats, undoing it way too slowly. Impatient, you knocked his hand away and did it yourself, feeling Steve’s lips curl in a grin against yours.

“Do you need me so much, doll? Need me to make you mine?”

You barely had time to breathe a yes and shove his pants down, hand wrapping around his thick length, drawing a breathy sound of pleasure from him and an unnecessary confession of the obvious.

“Yeah, need you too.”

He allowed you barely a few seconds of pumping his cock before he coaxed your hand away, the head of cock nudging your slit, quickly coated in your slick. His groan was delicious to hear, your hips bucking on instinct.

Yeah, need you too. You did this to him.

“Fuck, Shines, you’ll feel like Heaven.”

It was inappropriate. Completely and entirely inappropriate but you chuckled, a cheeky retort about seven minutes dying on your tongue when Steve entered you, a little too fast and straight to the hilt before he gave you time to adjust to his impressive size and grith. The stretch was a lot; a lot more than his already thick fingers, but you had never known you could be filled so well and it could feel just this good.

He was made for you, he had to be. Or maybe you were made for him.

Little droplets of sweat pearled on his forehead, gaze firm on yours, dark and amused at once as he slowly retreated and pushed inside you again, your lips dropping open because you had been wrong; he stretched you further and a shy glance down told you he still had a way to go.

“I could hear that pun before you said it, doll. You’re thinking too much,” he husked, setting a pace and pushing just a bit further and further with each thrust, hand sprawling over your lower back to angle you to his liking – for you to take him even deeper. The burn and fulness felt impossible, but Steve’s intent gaze on your face was even more so. “Let’s fix that.”

“I thought you liked me brilliant?” you hummed as if you didn’t feel your toes curl in pleasure, your hands grasping at his shoulders, at his arms, anywhere to keep him closer, closer…

Wind knocked out of you with ne sharp thrust, you finally took all of him; your lips parted with silent oh god, eyes slipping shut as the sensation of utter fullness. Distantly, you could feel his gaze on you, drinking in the sight; the artist in him admiring the visual, no matter how plain you thought you had to look.

“I do, Shines… but now I need you to think about one and one thing only.”

There was no space for words after that. Once he had you, he set a punishing pace, claiming your lips as much as your silky heat, overwhelming all of your senses all over again. The onslaught of sensation – his warmth, his strength, his musky scent, his lips, his grip on you, the fast but deep drags of his girth against your walls, stretching you to your limits – it was all too much, too much when his fingers sneaked between your bodies and ripped the dress away to give the much-needed attention to your clit.

“Steve-“

“That’s it…” he spoke against your mouth, teeth grazing your lower lip even as his pace never faltered, building you towards the skies again, “you really are perfect, Shines, gripping me so tight. So perfect and mine, aren’t you?”

“Yours… yours… yours,” you promised with every thrust until you couldn’t, your lips falling limp, your nails digging into Steve’s back when you came with another shout of his name.

And soon, he followed, whispered praises and mine over and over as he made you exactly that. Thoroughly his. Keeping you close even when he pulled out, keeping you close when his spent drippled out of you and he simply gathered in on his fingers, pushing it right back, dark gaze never leaving yours, your stomach making wild somersaults.

Mine. So completely mine. Aren’t you, Shines?

You were. Completely his, deeply sated and utterly exhausted. You were grateful he carried you to bed, because your legs were beyond functioning; as he laid you down, you couldn’t see the clock and you thanked heavens for that, because the time had had to tipped over from too late to too early. But you couldn’t care less. Not when Steve’s fingers caressed every inch of bare skin of your body they could reach, the rags of your clothes in a messy pile by the door a proud reminder of how exactly he had got it off.

And got you off.

You mentally snorted at the bad pun, another one you didn’t have a chance to share since Steve had been too determined to stop you from thinking returning to your mind.

“Steve?” you smiled lazily as he was lying next to you, propped up at his elbow, smiling down at you softly ��� so softly in contrast to how he had railed you into oblivion. Lovingly, of course.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I think this was what we should call Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

He groaned, falling on his back and drawing a full belly laughter from you, throwing his arm over his face as if he couldn’t bear to look at someone who made such a terrible joke. With effort, you propped on your elbow then, looking at the gorgeous length of his body for a change, cheeks hurting from grinning so wide. He was a work of art; Michelangelo’s David had nothing on him. Superb balance of size and function in every muscle, every tendon, as hard as stone when needed and carved into perfection. Alive and warm under your gaze and touch, its utter superiority proven by countless missions and work-out you had witnessed. It wasn’t just how large his body was, the contrast of the width of his shoulders to his waist, the lines of his abs with soft treasure trail; it was the knowledge of what his body could do. What that brilliant mind behind those sweet blues could come up, the kind heart humming contentedly under your palm now. You had met enough dumb jocks in your line of work, big almost as Steve, handsome too; but they could never compare.

He moved his arm when your fingers walked down his sternum, heading for the treasure trail; his cerulean eyes observed with a mixture of mischief and warmth, wide awake despite the ungodly hour. You stopped, fingers hovering just above his skin, the heat it radiated tickling your fingertips.

It didn’t escape you – it was literally hard to miss that – that Steve clearly hadn’t had enough. You didn’t ask why, whether it was the serum or something else, but you knew you didn’t want to leave him unsatisfied.

You had promised, hadn’t you, even if it was in the heat of the moment. Until he had his fill, he said? You could take it.

Leaning down to kiss him, you were welcomed by the sweet taste of his smile; your wandering hand continued your path at last, wrapping around his still very hard length. He didn’t protest, only reached out to pull you closer, practically lying on top of him.

The kiss was lazy; half-hearted desire, reluctance and indulgence at once. Steve tangled his fingers in your hair, pushing it out of the way, caressing your cheek.

“You sure you can take more, sweetheart?”

You nodded without a second thought, a wordless ‘yeah’ whispered straight into his mouth, a slight twist of your hand causing him to groan.

Steve might be caring to a fault, but he was only a man – as he had said. Who was he to refuse your offering? He sat up and pulled you to his lap with ease, your body obedient and pliant, a gasp elicited from your throat when his lips moved to suck on your nipple, your fingers gripping on his hair.

“Steve…”

“Did I mention you were perfect?” he muttered into your soft flesh, kneading your ass and your breast.

You had never felt so utterly adored; body, mind and soul. How could you be anything else than his when this was what it was like?

“Once or twice. You’re not too bad yourself, Cap-tain,” you stuttered when he pinched your other nipple for the cheekiness, a breathy giggle escaping you.

He released your nipple with a wet pop, gaze having turned hungry again.

“Good. Turn around, sweetheart.”

You looked at him slightly confused, but obeyed. You’d do anything, even kneel in front of him, the prospect of him taking you from behind like this stirring something deep inside you. You glanced over your shoulder as he positioned himself behind you, a glorious god prepared to claim the sacrifice of those who worshipped him; and god, would you do exactly that.

He grasped at your chin softly, capturing your lips with his, his hardness nudging the globes of your ass; and released your lips all too soon, fingers pushing at your jaw to look forward.

Heat flooded your body, teeth sinking into your lower lip. Kneeling on the bed, completely bare and exposed, you were facing the mirror.

His fantasy. His turn.

“That okay?” Steve asks, voice husky as his lips attached to the flesh above your collarbone, his arm sneaking around your waist and pulling you to his front. He was hidden from your sight for most part, a true shame; you were on full display.

For you. For him.

You gulped, gaze set firmly on his face in the mirror, not daring to stray it elsewhere even as you could see his eyes appreciating his view.

“I… I think so?”

His smile was warm, a little boyish and entirely devious. You sunk into it as much as you sunk into his firm body, his fingers tweaking your nipple, drawing your gaze to the movement of instinct. Heat spread in your insides at the sight of his large hand over you, barely an edge of shame nudging your consciousness. Filthy. Vain. Wrong. Thrilling.

“Good… ‘cause I think we can do better than seven minutes,” Steve hummed with a trace of humour in his voice, free hand sliding between your thighs to tease you and make sure you were ready for him still – or again. When he spread your lips for the head of his cock, you instinctively bucked into his hand, gaze flickering to the sinful image. “In fact… I wonder how long you can last until you’re begging me…”

He pushed into you in one swift movement, strong hand keeping you in place, the tendons on his forearm dancing, a breathless oh falling from your lips.

“…to stop. Look at yourself, sweetheart. Look at us.”

Almost in a haze, like a new dream on its own, you did. With the strangest and most tickling glee, your gaze trailed from where you and Steve were one between your spread thighs, over his arm draped over you, his hand spreading softly over your throat to keep you looking straight into the mirror, lips attached to your temple curled in a smile.

“Your mind is way more filthier than I thought,” you managed to say before he started thrusting into you, his smile earning a wicked edge as he nuzzled your hair.

“Shh… that’s my best-kept secret. You’re not gonna tell anyone, are you, doll?”

Powerful. Adored. Desired.

His.

The next words rolled off your tongue before you could think twice, Steve’s hypnotic gaze on your body enough of an encouragement.

“Keep my mouth busy and I won’t--- oh god.”

The fingers of his left hand circled your clit, sending an almost painful pleasure through your veins, while his right hand angled your head to capture your lips indeed.

“Now who’s filthy,” he murmured, pressing his thumb against your mouth, dark pupils blown wide as you sucked on it obediently. He pushed into you so deep at the action you thought you’d feel him in your throat and you finally understood the expression of la petit mort. The feeling of bliss washing over you was so strong it could kill you and yet you’d never felt more alive. “Fuck, Shines, you’re gonna be the death of me. But first… let me show you how beautiful you look when I make you mine.”

And he did. Oh, he did.

And he’d stand by his promise that you’d feel it for days too, you were sure of it, even if only time would tell.

The sun was already rising and peeking through the blinds when you finally laid your head on the pillow to sleep at last. Successful revels Thor would say, you thought lazily.

You walked the fine line between consciousness and dreams, cradled to Steve’s chest, closer than you ever thought you could be. Idly, you let your mind wander; despite the absolutely mind-blowing sex that only probably happened to a person once in a lifetime, you couldn’t but believe that this wasn’t a one-time thing. No, Steve didn’t do one-night stands, he even said so; his mind was on your for quite some time. This was but a start and you loved the idea of that. Not just because of the promise or experiencing this again, the pleasure still flowing through your body as an echo of what had been almost too much bliss to bear, but because of love.

You had been more than a little in love with him for almost two years – and you couldn’t wait to fall harder. Because besides being a sight to behold, Steve’s arms provided comfort, safety and sincere affection. You didn’t have to be scared of that fall, because they’d catch you. You didn’t have to fear for your heart if you gave it to him, because you knew Steve Rogers to his core; he’d cherish the gift and guard it with his life.

And he’d deserve it too, your whole heart. He deserved to be loved deeply and unconditionally; and on occasion, filthily.

With a sleepy hum, he nuzzled into your neck almost as if he could hear your thoughts and approved of them, pressing a soft kiss there. You drifted off to sleep with a little sappy but entirely adoring smile.

“You did something to the bottle, didn’t you? Some fancy physics trick?” Bucky said, more an announcement than a question, just before he decided to finally follow Steve’s and your example, ready to retreat to sleep – most of the group did anyway.

Tony was a picture of genuine innocence for once at the accusation. “Me? Please. How would I even do that?”

“I dunno. Magnets? Electric pulse? Flying invisible bot? What do I know…”

A nearby chuckle caught both Tony’s and Bucky’s attention, their suddenly knowing gazes finding Loki with his arms crossed over his chest. They didn’t bother to pretend to be irritated, even as at any other time, they would have been. For once, they were just grateful; Friday had silently informed them that the agent known as Speedy had been last seen outside Steve’s suite and wasn’t seen leaving for at least an hour.

If the two clueless dumbasses figured their shit out at last, Loki’s mischievous involvement was worth it.

“Oh no, I cannot possibly take the credit for that part.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “What part can you take the credit for?”

“You could not handle the truth, Sergeant,” Loki smirked, causing Bucky to roll his eyes. “But not the bottle. I swear. I admit that I wanted to – but I did not have to.”

“So you want me to believe that after two years of Steve and Speedy needing to pull their head out of their asses and at least half of us trying to talk some sense into one or the other, a stupid game an even stupider coincidence finally did it for them. Really?”

Tony nodded, watching Loki with searching gaze. “Yeah, I’m with Buckaroo on this o-“

The sudden soft dragging sound and a clink drew the gazes of all three men. The bottle, having spun a bit, came to a slow stop under their watchful eye.

“Dammit, Loki-“

The trickster raised his hands in defence, chuckling again. “I did not do anything!”

“Yeah, right-“

The bottle shifted again, this time spinning fast – and stopped abruptly at once.

“But-“ Bucky froze mid-sentence. Then, his head snapped in the direction the bottle was pointing now. His eyes found the young redhead witch, walking out of the room hand-in-hand with Vision. As Tony followed Bucky’s line of sight, his mouth fell slightly agape.

Loki only smirked harder. “I must say, it is always a pleasure to say this: I told you so.”

“No way,” Tony breathed out, incredulous.

“Stark, give that girl a raise,” Bucky muttered, shocked as well; but completely sincere in his request. Bless magic. Bless that girl for pushing the idiot of his friend into what Bucky couldn’t convince him to do for months.

Wanda only smiled at them over her shoulder and walked out of the door with a silent ‘good night’.

Steve Rogers masterlist 

Complete masterlist

The prompt was Only when you and your significant other are locked in the closet for 7 minutes, you’re transported somewhere else. and well. Yeah. I transported them into each other’s head – specifically, into their filthy fantasy. I am not even sorry anymore for that cheat if it is a cheat🫡 Though I am a little sorry for the length because this was supposed to be a one shot (story of my life).

Well, this was a LONG ride. I hope you enjoyed it 🤭

Let me know if did and if you can🥰

Thank you for reading!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for breaking up with my boyfriend?

I (32F) broke up with my boyfriend Jack (30M) a few months ago over a couple Issues I've been dealing with: I found out I have a degenerative issue with my eyes and will be going blind, and his dad hates me for being as he quotes "fat, uneducated, and bad with jobs". Note: I am infact obese, I do not have a college degree, and had lost my job 3 times in a row in 6mos before I hit the stable job I'm at now, due to mental breakdowns at work.

Jack has lived with his parents his whole life, and revers them greatly. However I can tell he's going through the same thing I did with my parents- Where they prioritized him getting good grades over his mental health, he constantly apologizes and thinks I will hate and abandon him over very simple things, he rather delve in games than face his problems, because he thinks he is comfortable when it's very much making him feel worse.

I cut contact with my parents 3 years ago for these exact same reasons- They were overbearing, abusive, and without another way to say it: extremely catholic. Because I was financially dependent on them and didn't know any better, I thought I could live with them as an adult because of how expensive housing is where we live.

Eventually I had to start getting therapy because I would have meltdowns so often in school, and found out it was the way that my parents treated me when I was younger, and that I have AuDHD- something my parents denied as me being too stupid and lazy to do anything after high school.I got on medication and though my ADHD improved, i had to continue therapy due to my Autism now having more time to focus and overwhelm me and having to learn to unmask. I've been told my personality did a 180 over this from peers that hadn't seen me pre-pandemic, but I'm happier now, and eventually found a way to move away from my parents and living with my Uncle instead, who instead of belittling me is encouraging my therapy.

I am explaining this, because Jack does the same things I do- he's almost the exact same as I was with my parentls. He has constant meltdowns and spirals, he thinks he's worthless because of the way his Mom and Dad treats him, yet he keeps putting his parents on a pedestal. It's because we seemed to grow up in the same kinds of environment that we bonded and eventually started dating last year.

Us openly dating did not last long, though, because when he introduced me to his parents they immedietely did not like me. They did not like that I wanted to help with dinner, or refuse eating chicken, because Jack is severely allergic to it. They also did not like that I wanted to clean the table and kept sidelooking at me whever we talked.

Because of this simple lunch, for months, they pressured him to break up with me but he wouldn't. He said he loves me as I am, and his parents are just stupid. We even had to start keeping the relationship secret, because his parents would harass him for coming to just pick me up, or meet me at a tennis court so we would play a game or two. His parents can track him through his car, so they always knew where he was.

I told him what I had to do to leave my parents house, but he said it's too hard to do that. My Uncle was sympathetic about this and even discussed with him to move into our house, but he refused that too.

Last month, I went to a vision doctor due to headaches and blurrier than usual vision, and found out that I would be losing my eyesight due to something going on within my eyes. Its extremely stressful for me, and dealing with that, and the constant harassment from Jacks parents, I got very tired. it was getting to the point where he couldnt go out without his parents yelling at him about me for something, we only hung out for once day per month. I didn't want to give them something else to yell about me at him, and I felt it would ease his stress because they would stop bothering him. And, though it seems weird, I hoped it make him uncomfortable enough to do something for himself. So I ended up breaking up with him.

It has really hurt to do this to him- He's someone I love dearly, and he's taken it way harder than I thought. He won't listen to me, But. He does listen to his friends- it's how he asked me out, and at least try out therapy, his friends hyped him up about it so he did it. I feel if his friends help him realize what he needs to do, he'll be more inclined to help himself than me just telling him. And if not, his friends are still there to back him up than me staying near him and having his parents harass him about it.

His friends are mad at me though, and told me I should have just put up with his parents, because in the end I am in love with him and that I actually made the whole situation worse, because he has loss motivation. Even though I am still talking to him and still there for him alongside his friends- I just make myself scarce so his parents don't know we talk. Am I the asshole?

What are these acronyms?

[uraverageimp]

Ok, so uhm, finally finished!

I got lazy with the design lmao- (and also got too lazy to finish the rest of the chain)

I'm proud of the eyes tho, so pritti!! :3 ♡♡☆

ok anyways-

So In this AU, Adam was a fallen Angel (was fallen before exterminations exists) bc ????? I don't know the reason, this was just a poorly thought of AU that came to me like a vision when I was tired, barely awake and sleep deprived at 3AM. Idk abt that but I'm sure I'll come up with a good reason maybe in about 4 months or so- anyways, back on track.

After his fall from grace, he gets desperate to get back on his feet, so he makes a deal with this woman who let's call B (cuz she's a bitc-) and B owns a talent agency and Adam is pretty good with the guitar so she offers to be his manager in exchange for his soul (I think that's how it works? Idrk and Idrc abt logistics, this is just a silly AU I made) and Adam accepts her offer and starts working as a singer/guitarist in a band with 3 other dudes called "__". (I'm trying to come up with a clever name but nothing seems to be going on in this mind of mine. Pls help)

He gets popular and is pretty much well known. He sleeps around a lot (he has extreme hypersexuality) has a terrible alcohol, cigarette and drug addiction, is depressed, has severe anxiety and PTSD, abandonment issues, dependent, trauma, etc... all those good character ingredients that makes them much more flavorful.

His relationship with B is an open one but B can get very possessive at times. B has sharp nails, she would sometimes grab Adam very hard that it scratches him and during sex would scratch him that results to him bleeding.. a lot.. everywhere- (he has many scars from B and SH). During fights, B would always bring up the fact that if it weren't for her, taking him in, giving him a job. He would still have been on the streets and/or dead by now (which is true) so Adam's basically powerless and indebted to her. And ig that's all that i could think of saying for now, I'm pretty sure i had a lot more to say but I think i lost it somewhere.. I swear I just put it here... ah- anyways-

Conclusion: B is a gaslighting, manipulative, lying narcissistic bitch.

And Adam has 10+ mental illnesses/issues and a shit load of trauma that not even therapy can fix

TL;DR: Adam is a rockstar and is in a deal he can't escape. He's also in an abusive relationship with the woman holding his soul/his manager. :3 (He also has a shit ton of trauma)

Uhm I'm very bad at explaining so sorry if you don't understand it much 😭

Also, sorry if the color coding is annoying, i got carried away TT _ TT

[jhscdood]

i woke up in a Bad Headspace today and imma use by blog to vent about it like it's livejournal circa 2004.

tw for discussion of medical stuff

- I hate xmas. I'm jewish but my dad is not and the pressure to have An Perfect Xmas every year and the disappointment every year just grosses me out now. Not even going to talk about american xtian hegemony but there's some of that in there too.

- Today i began to suspect that the awesome new migraine med that actually stops my weather-induced migraines might also be interfering with the efficiacy of my prediabetes meds. or maybe im wrong and im Just That Fucking Exhausted.

- Spouse spent all last week recovering from a severe medication allergy and hives on 70% of his body. and steroids Do Not Agree with him so it was just. a wild time. terrifying af. stood over him with an EpiPen basically the entire time.

- 3 days before The Hives, i scratched my cornea while pruning bushes and that right there is a pain i do not ever want to revisit. had to go to the optometrist and get The Goo.

- 2 days before Cornea i had my first Botox For Migraine treatment. 31 injections to the face, neck and shoulders. it stung but it was over in like 4 minutes. takes 3 sessions to start kicking in. sessions are 12 weeks apart. so i guess we'll find out in August if it's working.

- day before Botox i had an ENT appointment and he stuck a camera up my nose and then diagnosed me with a weird vocal cord paralysis thing so now i have to go back to speech therapy for the first time in 26 years.

- Week before that, saw my neurologist and she diagnosed me with a weird intermittent lazy eye / motion lag thingamawhatsis so now i have to go to an ophthalmologist AND vision therapy.

- That week I also saw my PCP and explained to her about the intermittent abdominal pain I've been having since like 2021. She took me seriously!!! Which is good!!! But now i am scheduled for baby's first colonoscopy. And i have to keep a food journal, which i HATE because food is STUPID.

- All of the above all happened this month btw. December 1-23.

- My final appt in November was yet another ultrasound of my former left tit because there is an oil cyst at the site of my top surgery and they are VERY SURE it is a benign oil cyst but the rules require them to poke it every few months for 2-3 years.

- Before that I had a 48 hour ambulatory EEG which was the itchiest i have ever been in my LIFE. That same week our basement stairs collapsed and a contractor had to come rebuild them (up! to! code!). That same week i also went to the dentist to get my crown fitted.

- I think my MIL was in the hospital that same week, too. so that's a thing that's been going on the whole time since then.

- I spent most of October deathly ill with food poisoning thst was originally misdiagnosed as viral. I ended up with a CT scan and colitis. and, eventually, cipro. it was the sickest i have ever been in my adult life. i would rather have mono again. i fantasized about those cholera beds with the hole in the center so you didnt have to get up to have your horrid dysentery. nightmare.

- The day before that hit i had ONE golden day where i felt good and had energy. we went to temple and i got glomped by about 10 different people. my 80 year old bestie kept finding me to hug me again. Rabbi hugged me super hard.

- Before that was a root canal, and before that was a tooth infection that took 2 rounds of antibiotics to kill, and before that was the original cavity filling that started it all. the dentist kindly comped me the $172 for the filling against the $3,800 bill for the root canal + crown.

- Before that? IDEK man. I have lost track. Somewhere in there i got diagnosed with insulin resistance which explained my HORRENDOUSLY TERRIBLE fatigue and cloudiness and waking up starving every 3 hours. The meds they gave me changed that literally overnight. it was a miracle. which is why im freaking out about the new migraine med possibly counteracting that. i spent the entirety of last summer in a fog. several of my very good friends visited and all i could do was nap on them. i couldnt go anywhere or do anything. it was a nightmare. i don't want to go back to that. but also i don't want to have a migraine every time the wind blows. but i would rather have a migraine 50% of the time than be back to that fatigue fogged state 100% of the time. nope nope nope.

- and amongst all of this, still having the seizures. they were going down for a while but the last week or so has been 1-2 per day. so. another checkmark in the "gee do you think you're stressed?" column.

- it is going on 10pm and I'm tired so i very likely have accidentally omitted several other things. to be fair to me, there's Quite A Bit to remember.

- so if youre wondering why i havent updated my latest fic, its partly bc i am TIRED and partly bc if i gave jason even a third of the health bullshit i have dealt with the past few months, it would absolutely defy belief. TWO kinds of eye problems AND a speech problem AND food poisoning AND dentistry?? surely no one in the world has to deal with that much!

sigh. anyway. thanks for listening. i promise i am stressed out of my GOURD but, shockingly, have not slid into any sort of depressive space. mostly im just annoyed. i spent today watching dinosaur documentaries and reorganizing my craft supplies.

tomorrow will be better. today just sucked.

[rajkaran-12345]

Comprehensive Lazy Eye Treatment for Adults

Comprehensive Lazy Eye Treatment for Adults

At Alpha Vision Therapy, we understand the impact that lazy eye, or amblyopia, can have on adults. While this condition is often associated with children, it can persist into adulthood, affecting daily activities and overall quality of life. Our specialized lazy eye treatment for adults combines innovative techniques with personalized care to help improve visual function.

What is Lazy Eye?

Lazy eye occurs when one eye does not develop proper vision during childhood. This can result in poor depth perception and difficulty focusing. Although typically diagnosed in younger patients, many adults continue to experience its effects, often leading to frustration and reduced quality of life.

Tailored Eye Therapy

Our eye therapy programs are designed to address the unique needs of adult patients. We use a combination of visual exercises and therapies aimed at strengthening the weaker eye and improving coordination between both eyes. Each treatment plan is customized to ensure optimal results based on individual assessments.

Vision Therapy for Lazy Eye

Our vision therapy for lazy eye includes exercises that can be done both in-clinic and at home, promoting consistent improvement. This non-invasive approach allows adults to regain control over their visual capabilities without the need for surgery.

Treatment for Double Vision

In addition to lazy eye, many adults experience double vision as a result of misalignment or other underlying issues. At Alpha Vision Therapy, we provide effective strategies and exercises designed to reduce or eliminate double vision, helping patients achieve clearer, single vision.

Why Choose Alpha Vision Therapy?

Our experienced team is committed to delivering the highest standard of care for all our patients. With a focus on evidence-based practices and personalized therapy, we empower adults to reclaim their visual potential. Whether you're struggling with lazy eye or double vision, our supportive environment fosters improvement and confidence.

If you're ready to take the first step toward better vision, explore our comprehensive treatments for lazy eye and double vision at Alpha Vision Therapy. Your journey to clearer vision starts here!

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Can I be real for a second?

I’ve gone back and forth in my head about whether or not to post about this very real side of me online or not. There’s nothing shameful about being disabled, but I don’t want to be known as my disability, either. I don’t want that to be my identity.

But I’m hoping to post some of my writing tomorrow for Six Sentence Sunday. Post something I’ve written, albeit just a small bit, online where anyone can see it. It will be the first time I’ve done so since the car accident three years ago. And the truth is, the terrible truth is, my writing is what hurts the most.

Stories have always been a part of my life. They have always been my motivation, why I slogged through everything else - my reason for existing. I wrote novels and hoped to publish, and I fell in love with the writing community and made it my home. I volunteered and organized events. I created an extremely successful and fulfilling teen writing club where I taught creative writing. I was in love with stories, and writing them. I have never not been in love with stories.

(Before I was a writer I was an artist. I’m not going to go into that part of my life in detail, but it was just as heavily affected.)

At the beginning of 2020 I was in a car accident. The driver at fault was pulling out of a bar parking lot in the middle of the day. Make of that what you will. The accident he caused left me with more than a few issues, but for this post I’m focusing on the vision impairment.

Because of COVID, I wasn’t able to seek any diagnosis or treatment until June. I didn’t even begin physical therapy until August. Due to a myriad of issues and unfortunate reasons, I couldn’t complete my treatment. That meant a year and a half of work and struggle went down the drain.

This continues to affect me in many ways. Sometimes it’s things that you might expect - I can’t read Tumblr, or books, most days. Some limitations are less obvious, like how I’m afraid to ask questions (e.g. “what kind of car did Fiona drive?”) because the resources to find the answers myself are out there. Why don’t I just google it? Or reference that amazing spreadsheet someone did? Why am I asking other people to do the work for me? Am I just lazy?

People don’t mean to judge (and I’m sure there are plenty who don’t). But my issues aren’t apparent, so they won’t know unless I take the time to explain it. Able-eyed people should be able to find these simple answers. Just look in the book.

So I don’t ask. Or I apologize a lot for asking. Because it’s just too hard to explain why I need such basic help. (And sadly, some people still don’t believe me and treat me as thought I’m making excuses.)

I lost most of my friends simply for being unable to chat online, particularly during lockdown. I kept three people in my life - the three people willing to break with their comfort zones and talk to me on the phone instead of via text or chat. Those people probably saved my life. I know everyone went through isolation issues in 2020. But I went through them unable to even use a computer or read a book.

Since I’m typing this, you can guess that I’ve recovered somewhat, or made some accommodations that help. Yes. I have. Both of those. But I still have more bad days than good. Typing too long, or playing a phone game, surfing Tumblr - anything done for too long can break my eyes and send me back into total isolation for days.

I was a really good writer. I would regularly write 10-20k every weekend, and I wrote well. I wrote great stuff. (Rough drafts are always rough drafts, but I felt good about what I wrote.) I would sink into a character and go for hours.

Here’s the part that’s relevant to me now: I can’t do that anymore. I can’t write for hours, I can’t take the time to slip into character. I’m doing really well if I can pound out a speedy 1k in 30 minutes and have it not break my eyes. (It usually breaks my eyes.)

If you’re a writer, though - or any kind of creative - you know that the need doesn’t just go away.

(I have tried to record notes on my phone, but I just cannot dictate writing fiction. Only my fingers know how to speak well, and in character. And no, I’m not going to learn braille. It would not be helpful.)

So I’m going to try to write. It’s going to suck, because the things I did to write well before are things I can’t do anymore. I will cry. And then I will wait a week or however long it takes for my eyes to chill the fuck out, and I’ll try again.

(I’ve also started treatment again, just this month. I have to start at square one again, which means it will get worse before it gets better. It will take time, and money - lots of both. Like years. But I can’t give up.)

Anyway. This is why I chose the Simon Snow fandom to try again, for the first time in forever. Because that’s the story, and those are the characters, and these are the people. I know it. So. Hi.

[artsycloudysleepy]

posted a UTMV fic on AO3!! :D

(first time ever sharing, pls be nice; i am very sensitive to criticism and am going through a writing block rn! but if anyone has tips for using ao3 lmk! ty)

[edit: my link seems to be weird in some situations, and on a phone linked me to someone else's fanfic? so make sure the fic is titled 'Bleh' and is by me before you assume it's the correct one. sorry]

tumblr version below cut! TW for autophobia, implied/referenced abuse, minor hallucinations (not harmful).

..............................................................................................................................

“…nt that he comes to us.”

Cross slowly stirs awake.

“mm. gonna ‘afta talk ‘bout this ‘n therapy.”

That’s Horr-Horr. He’s nice.

“yup. ain't healthy fer him. and ya've seen how little he- oh. he's awake.”

Dusty. He’s also nice. He sounds surprised.

“stars, we wake him up? whoops.”

“heh. g'mornin’, cross.”

Cross mumbles incoherently in response, curling into a ball under the warm covers. He feels so fuzzy. Really light-headed, come to think of it.

“’s ‘e overheatin’?”

“probs.” Dust’s hand, likely, presses against Cross’ forehead.

It’s so cold. He whines in a broken, hoarse voice, and there’s a coo as the hand trails to his neck and collarbone. Cross buries his head quickly into it as he squirms uncomfortably.

“spiking.”

“oh stars. get ‘im outta there.”

Cross gasps as the hand slides to the nape of his neck and another under his pelvis, kicking weakly and sorely croaking out a complaint whilst he’s lifted out from under the warmth of the covers.

Are they abandoning him? That's what it feels like.

He'll be left alone again.

To rot.

To-

“shh… shh… it‘s okay.” Dust’s soothing, and Cross realises quite how sweaty he feels. He cries a little, hoarse sobs wracking his body in tiny shakes. “get the boss already.”

There’s quick footsteps, then silence. All that breaks it is Cross’ broken cries, and Dust’s occasional murmurs of reassurances that fleet quickly from Cross’ muddled, distressed mind.

Then, there’s underwater footsteps, Cross beginning to see stingrays and shoals of fish swimming in the water in his vision. Some movement, then freezing fabric underneath his palms and spine and skull and feet makes him flail weakly.

“-icine. Ideally something to combat hallucinations.”

“on it!”

There’s a shift of magic that Cross feels overstimulated by, but before it registers fully, there’s a sudden shockwave of calm that resounds in his bones, louder than his fears but quieter than the magic previously.

He weakly looks up. Nightmare is sat by him, in his bed. Cross takes a moment to realise he’s lying down, whereas Nightmare is sitting, and he can’t be lazing-

“-Cross, chiquito, you’re not lazy.” the Guardian cuts his rambling mouth off with a gentle hush. “You’re just emotional and tired, and far too delirious for you to realise what you’re saying.”

Sobs stopping almost instantly, Cross goes quiet, staring up at his dad. He thinks he keeps that thought quiet, too. Maybe.

Above, Nightmare smiles gently, forgivingly, at him. “Hello, little one. Son. Do you think you’re a bit confused?”

Cross nods, wet eyes getting wetter as they slowly blink for a little longer. He feels so disoriented, and so scared, but so sleepy, as if a gentle weight is tied around his waist. It doesn’t hurt; it like he’s sinking into the bed, and the mattress is moving and rising as he slowly descends into it, genuinely wrapping around him and making Nightmare smaller and smaller.

That's right.

He won't abandon him.

He's safe.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” the Guardian quietly murmurs, lower and softer with every moment of groggy lull Cross endures, and stroking his skull with a phalange or eleven. “You’re hallucinating very vividly. Like you’re already asleep, despite your best efforts to stay aware. I would feel more happy if you just let your eyes close as that happens.”

Cross find himself failing to complain when a tentacle drapes over his forehead, instead relaxing into the drowsy, dizzy feeling overcoming him. Still, he’s trying to watch the others and what they do, ensure he’ll be safe, but he’s so tired…

His eyes are barely able to crack open to watch Horror and Dust and Nightmare and focus on what they're fidgeting with or whispering or doing in general, so it takes him a few moments to realise with what little he can see that Killer isn't there. Has he gone to get something (he probably hasn't abandoned him, right)? Wait, did Nightmare mention medicine..?

His memories are too muffled to tell. Like his delirium has a muzzle on it. Like the pretty cyan ribbons of magic sparkling in his fading peripheral are glittering and distracting his gliding thoughts. It's oddly soothing, though a part of him is still on edge, as always.

That'll never change.

[Sp.] “Cross, dear, sweetheart,” Nightmare murmurs lovingly, drawing his wandering attention back to him with a lilt of his voice and a guiding phalange against his chin tilting his eyes back to his glowing, soothing one, “no one minds you having a nap. It will take, what, ten minutes? Not too long with those pretty eyes closed to the sparkling sky. The white moon’s orbit, the white Sun’s rigidity, the lilac and pink and white and black planets encircling you over and over as the stars start to drizzle down.”

As ever, Cross is obedient. His eyes close on instinct, disgusting code telling him obeying is right. XGaster always-

"Dear, he isn't here. Don't you fret so much, okay?"

And just like that, the anxiety melts away.

"Hm... That's more like it. We'll work on that when you're feeling a little more perky, okay?"

The voice almost has a parental tone. But it's not like his creator's. It's not disappointed or dangerous, like he'll hit him if he's imperfect. It's calming, authoritative in a way that's soothing to his frayed nerves and worried edges because he knows how to act. He knows how to respond to orders and superiors. And this time, he won't be hurt no matter how badly he screws it up.

"You can stand down, soldier."

But he still wants to be useful. If someone abandons him again, he... He doesn't know if he'll be found again.

He won't ever be happy like this again.

"Sleep, Cross."

Cross weakly tries to hold on, digs – curls – twitches, maybe, his phalanges, but the stars are calling to him sleepily. His name, his identity, kind hands and warmth gently guiding him back to the starlit sky, the homely galaxy, the colours that are so natural to him that don’t blare in his face like sirens every time he’s introduced a new tint and shade and tone. And the stars twinkle hypnotically, inviting him to drown in them, not to think of anything but their beauty.

The hands are warm, careful, freeing him of weight and responsibility as quiet commands to release coax his own to instead weakly hold them. He’s mesmerised, numb and tingly and soothed while the voices and the stars lilt onto him lowly.

“Don’t you resist it, dear,” the most prominent star whispers in low, lulling Spanish. “it’s a waste of energy. You just rest for now. It doesn’t matter what you thought you wanted, all that matters is that you need to have this rest. Never mind any chaos outside, you just focus on counting all these stars. You focus on losing yourself here, forgetting what you felt like you wanted to do, like working and fighting and ignoring your fever for days and days, and instead just realising how nice it feels to give in and up.”

For ten minutes.

For ten hours.

It’s all the same anyway.

And as the world he was previously tethered to by a heavy and cutting rope drops from him, and leaves him blissfully carefree in the void of absence, he doesn’t particularly mind. The slow breaths probably mean nothing, seeing as his previous discomfort is absent like his reality. His thoughts are free-flowing, like ink from a pot that spilled over.

Maybe that means he’s free, for the while.

[drsoniamaheshwari]

How is squint eye diagnosed?

The diagnosis of squint eye, also known as strabismus, typically involves a comprehensive eye examination performed by an ophthalmologist or a pediatric ophthalmologist. Here is an overview of the diagnostic process for squint eye:

Medical History: The eye specialist will begin by taking a detailed medical history, including any family history of eye conditions, previous eye surgeries, or other relevant medical information.

Visual Acuity Testing: Visual acuity tests, such as the Snellen chart or age-appropriate visual acuity tests for children, are conducted to measure how well each eye can see individually. This helps determine if there are any underlying refractive errors (nearsightedness, farsightedness, or astigmatism).

Cover-Uncover Test: The cover-uncover test is a simple yet important assessment. The patient is asked to focus on an object, and one eye is covered while the other is observed. The uncovered eye's movement is noted. If one eye shifts to re-establish fixation when it is uncovered, it can indicate a misalignment or strabismus.

Alternate Cover Test: This test is similar to the cover-uncover test but involves alternating the cover between the eyes. It helps the eye specialist assess the extent and direction of the eye misalignment.

Ocular Motility Examination: The patient's ability to move their eyes in different directions is evaluated to check for any limitations or restrictions in eye movement. This assessment helps determine which eye muscles may be affected.

Refraction: Refraction testing is performed to determine the need for eyeglasses or contact lenses. Correcting refractive errors can sometimes help improve eye alignment.

Pupil Examination: The size and reaction of the pupils to light are examined to assess pupillary function and rule out certain neurological conditions.

Dilated Eye Examination: In some cases, the ophthalmologist may use eye drops to dilate the pupils, allowing for a more detailed examination of the inside of the eye, including the retina and optic nerve.

Assessment of Eye Alignment: The specialist will assess the alignment of the eyes both at near and distance fixation, looking for signs of misalignment in different gaze directions.

Specialized Testing: Additional tests, such as the use of prisms or special imaging techniques like the Hirschberg test or corneal light reflex test, may be used to quantify the degree of misalignment.

Evaluation of Binocular Vision: Binocular vision assessments determine how well the eyes work together and their ability to perceive depth and three-dimensional images. Tests like the stereoacuity test may be conducted.

Based on the results of these assessments, the eye specialist can diagnose the type and severity of squint eye and develop an appropriate treatment plan. Early diagnosis and intervention are essential, especially in children, as untreated strabismus can lead to amblyopia (lazy eye) and vision problems. Treatment options may include eyeglasses, vision therapy, patching, or surgery, depending on the individual's age, the cause of the strabismus, and the extent of eye misalignment.

Now you can reach our Dr. Sonia Maheshwari , Eye Specialist in Vidyavihar practicing at Clear Sight Eye care and Laser Center.

[oddlysweet]

Joga Bonito

            From the age of four, I played what we in the states foolishly refer to as soccer.  Of course I played basketball and baseball like everyone else, to keep me out the streets and gangs as my well-meaning parents put it.  Soccer was different, I loved it, and it loved me back. My early coaches would refer to me as a little Maradona, based on the way I danced with the ball.  Little did I know then how similar our reasons for pursuing higher competition were.  I had no limits and nothing but confidence.  There was a year in my early youth where I missed out on a whole seasons due to yet another uprooting and move to a new area, and it was the most miserable of my young life yet.  When I tried out, I noticed a new phenomenon, tiredness.  I finally learned what catching my breath meant.  Usually the fastest in any group, I still dominated but I learned to work harder to maintain my position.

            I didn’t know then that it was my therapy, my meditation, but was certain it was my raison d’etre.  When on the field, I ceased to be a confused brown kid surrounded by others who weren’t nice to me, or the negative, problematic black sheep of the family; I was a body attached to feet, an indispensable limb of a singular unit.  Starting out in the forefront, as the crux of the offense, I collected goals like they were nothing, but as time went on, life and it’s cruelties weighed heavier on me, and my personality and demeanor off the field crept onto my sacred place.  I lost whatever boisterous exuberance and happy-go-lucky common in children and became more reserved and unsure; as a result, I manifested performance anxiety and could hardly follow through anymore. It was like the impotence one feels when throwing a punch in their dreams.

            My coaches took notice and put me in defense.  I had no complaints, I resigned myself to my innate laziness and inability to play midfield and run throughout the whole length of the turf, never seeming to get a break.  I remember one tournament hundreds of miles from home where my parents were extremely disappointed in my play and told me they wasted their weekend, and I would never earn my scholarships as I was.  I was crushed.  This was my game, my fun, and my identity; I had no ulterior motives, and unbeknownst to me, I depended on my dissociative more than anything else.  They had perverted my treasure. 

I was well aware of their disgusting tendencies to compare my brother and I to my three pairs of cousins nearby, one especially gifted boy, already in the Olympic Development Program.  A couple years later driving back from a game, my father asked me if I had masturbated beforehand, as I had played terribly in his untalented and inexperienced opinion. This is the same man who autopsied his 6 & 8 year old sons’ puppy in front of them mere minutes after it took its last pained breath, if that gives you an idea of the lack of tact in this stunted man-child. 

In high school, I was the most notorious stoner on campus, all while having never touched a drug.  Although I did not understand it, I was carrying immense social anxieties, and after a lifetime of avoiding eye contact, I wandered the halls gazing at the floor or horizons, eliciting many a whisper and pointed finger, “look at how high he is.”  I would later discover that I had the drunken eyes that the Mawlana would sometimes mention in his poetry.  That almost brag-worthy trait didn’t stop my parents from drug testing me regularly from ninth grade on—never mind the pharmaceuticals they forced me on at the same age.  Anytime friends invited me to get high with them or people cared enough to engage me on the subject, my answer was the same, “My life is soccer.”

Around that time, I found exactly where I belonged on the field, sweeping.  I had no patience to constantly mark people, set plays or not.  I had eagle vision, and for as long as I could remember, I always knew where each person was, friend or foe, without needing to look up.  I understood the game better than anyone and at my usual home at half-field, was always reacting and mirroring what was taking place up ahead.  When the flow switched and the counterattack was on, I supported my defenders and should they have failed, everyone in our bleachers could rest assured that I would take care of it; my slide-tackles were something to behold.  So dependable was my work ethic and unmatched speed, that my coach referred to me as the “Wall.” I was finally growing into my own.

The varsity high school team before me won the championship, and after a mediocre junior year, my senior year was going to be different.  My only competition was a kid a year younger, who played on the coach’s club team, and was the de facto captain & sweeper.  Fate decided to throw me a bone, and during our first preseason friendly, he tore his ACL on a dryfire kick.  I was back in my element now.  I led the team to many shut outs, and soon everyone on my high school team learned why my club team gave me the nickname.  We were tied for first for most of the season.  The other team at the top was a private school home to a dozen of former and current teammates in the offseason, one of my closest childhood friends who played my opposite, and the fastest striker in the state who played on a national level. There was no doubt the latter two would go on to play NCAA division one next year.

I had been getting locked up all throughout high school, and what I missed most steaming with fury and rage at my incarceration was my inability to run with a ball.  Each time, I lost more of my enthusiasm for life.  One doesn’t get released until they play their game, which usually means taking their pills and expressing conformation with their brainwashed half-baked agenda—but I guess it was better than juvie.  The last time I 5150’d it got upgraded to a two week hold that I got out of a week later but the damage was done.�� We had lost one game in my absence and I was put on anti-psychotic as well as an anti-convulsant on top of the ill-advised SSRI’s.  When I was finally out, all I cared about was getting to settle the score with my Palestinian counterpart; as our last match was a draw, I was determined to show the world who was the better sweeper.

The game was intense and charged with emotion from the first whistle.  I didn’t know it but I had gotten big, and each time I went up against someone for a header, he usually went down, to the incessant cries for a foul call from the opposing bleachers.  Keep in mind that I grew up half the other side.  I labored, carpooled, commiserated, and celebrated with these boys for half my life; already I felt betrayed. By some incredible luck, we managed to get one over on them.  In the second half, we held our own.  There was a one very close moment where I slid to clear in the penalty box but the abysmal condition of grass and it’s bumps caused the ball to hop completely over my foot and gave the appearance of a bad tackle when I took my friend out.  The stands were in an uproar and his father was calling for a red card.

In all my years and hundreds upon hundreds of matches, including a couple dozen where I officiated, I had never seen a more useless referee.  The opposing junior varsity team was also watching on their side, right next to their bench talking shit to us every chance they got.  Thankfully my goalie handled business and he never held it against me; we had an almost psychic connection and could wordlessly communicate our next moves.  Even if I wasn’t torn playing against those who I would fight alongside in the State Cup in just another month, I was a seventeen-year-old coming off another unnecessary and traumatizing trip to the psych ward, fresh off an egregious prescription, and messed up on Effexor.  The complete lack of consideration for someone they had come to depend on help carry their sons to glory 8 months of the year was beyond my comprehension.  I hated what they were doing, and the clueless twats on JV who couldn’t possibly understand what was transpiring were especially deserving of swift kicks in the face. 

At some point the other side started to get desperate; bolstered by the ineffectiveness of the lame duck’s authority to facilitate a fair and safe game.  They saw their all but guaranteed championship season in jeopardy for perhaps the very first time.  They became shameless with their fouls, playing extremely dirty, to the point I worried for the safety of some of my smaller defenders.  Perhaps 15 minutes into the second half, there was an obnoxiously blatant foul committed against my right, a wiry freshman, and out of desperation I yelled, “REF! Blow your Goddamned whistle!!!” The JV team loved this and mocked me instantly.  I was so close to running up and kicking in their faces until I heard the little bitch’s voice who thought he was funny.  Instead I took the briefest of deep breaths, and considered kicking the ball at them but settled for flipping them off.

Unfortunately for me, the assistant ref on the side closest to us was not one who was familiar with me, he hadn’t watched me play for years, and I like to think he was a little bit racist.  He called the center to his side and they shared a few words.  The most pathetic excuse for an authority I’d encountered thus far came up to me with a red card drawn, only my second in 13 years, and said, “He told me you gave me a two fingered salute, you are ejected.” First of all, what kind of cum stain would put it like that?!? I tried to protest but it was useless.  The parents of my childhood friends cheered and stood for the decision.  In the next 25 minutes, John and his team scored 4 goals on my 10-man team.  I had no words.  I just juggled for the remainder, not knowing what to do with the boiling blood in my vessels.

I had never in my life felt so low, disappointed or furious with myself.  My friend took me aside and hugged me afterwards, sensing how much more I lost than just a game, but I had no love left for my former teammates; if I was white and had access, it would have been one of those mass shooting moments and all of them would have become orphans—to give you an idea what coming off pills teenagers should never be in the first place is like. I missed the next two games, which didn’t really matter as they were non-issues and barely felt deserving enough to play in the last one of the season;I let everyone down, and pissed away a future I was dreaming of since I was four…in one instant.  I would later find out there were college scouts out that game.  We ended the season in more humble placings, and miraculously still qualified for the playoffs as the last seed, though we didn’t realize until it was too late and the spot was given to the next. 

April came and it was time for the State Cup, but I worried myself sick into a 103 degree fever for the whole weekend.  That was it. My only consistent friend throughout a life of dropping everything and moving to a new place, my crutch, my only solace was done with.  Every few years my feet would touch a ball and I’d remember what joys it would bring me, but also the bitter taste in my mouth. I like to say I dance for no one, but when I’m with the ball, its hard to describe it as anything other than dancing.  So I settle for freestyling and dribbling the hills of San Francisco to Dolores Park in hopes of getting a circle together, find a momentary hit of dopamine & nostalgia and wordlessly make friends every once in a while. 

I’ve had a lot of time to stew on this moment.  These memories of deep regret dominate in prevalence and intensity for me.  Perhaps all these attempts at writing are about stuck moments I can’t get out of, where I left pieces of myself behind, but it does help me pull on a thread.  When you think about it, politics and sports are exactly the same.  One side has to lose for the other to win yes, but there’s also the question of fanaticism and polarity.  I believe if it doesn’t pertain to natural laws of say Physics, the concept does not exist in nature. Polarity is completely of human construction, and exists, to perpetuate the schisms by which our masters maintain control over the infinite masses of us ordinary folk. 

The binary model is beyond useless and irrelevant; it caters to the least enlightened of us—which turns out to be the majority—to make things simple.  Yes or no, black or white, haves and have nots.  Almost nothing of any substance worth discussing can be reduced to such red or blue pill answer.  The culture war that ensues in this shit hole is a perfect symptom of that.  We are sheep and quite pathetic to let things reach the state it has. The individual is weak and getting weaker.  It is no surprise that a mob of weak individuals devolves into a Charles Manson wet dream. 

Anyone who considers themselves intelligent, educated, righteous, sensitive, godly or aware, and proceeds to draw lines in the sand, to limit, to distinguish and differentiate between their fellow man, missed the point. That is my fundamental problem with conservatism, but in this sentiment lies the truth.  We are all one, after the games over, you’re still going to have to see your former enemy on the field at the store shopping for groceries for their family.

Everyone to my knowledge is human, and that means we are flawed, fraught with inconsistencies and contradictions, always evolving and growing into a hopefully more perfect being—not by being right more often or gaining more of an audience, but by being able to understand those most who might seem the most different from oneself, on a deeper level. Therein lies another lie, that we are different.  Of course we differ, like no two fingerprints are the same, we should find great relief in the fact that we are not a trillion identical cells with the same form and function, doomed to take part in and repeat the same eternity.  Our varying grooves and kinks and traumas and varieties make this place worthy of living, but far too often does the individual sacrifice what makes them truly unique for the sake of comfort and safety and security. 

Just like the loss of quality is unavoidable when scaling up in today’s paradigm, so to is the beauty of the human being when joining a club, religion, party and so on. Yes there is strength in numbers but at what cost.  Go to any group of people with common values on any particular subject or aspect of being and it will take you only seconds to find a point of contention on an unrelated aspect of how their group identifies.  Life is infinite and ever expansive, to draw a box to maintain some semblance cohesion or illusion of control is akin to constructing a mandala in the middle of a tornado.  Belief is one of the strongest emotions and concepts to an individual, and to quantify, commodify, contrive and wrap it up into a nice sound byte or slogan to go viral is a great disservice to the progress of our species.  We have far too much potential to continue to allow the same talking points to be recirculated decade after decade, to participate in the same foolish and futile notions that limit the spirit and cripple the mind.

If more people were acquainted with the god inside—which in my humble opinion is just a typo for good—then this place would be a far more welcoming place to participate in.  Those that understand these simple truths of the world, unfortunately let the grand diversion that is our reality consume them and keep them downtrodden; they end up leaving before their happily ever after—which is the greatest tragedy of all.  The rest of people, maintain the status quo, to the chagrin of the powers that be.  What good Nazis most of us would make.  People—specifically trippers, used to tell me that I was already there, that I didn’t need to drop LSD.  I understand that, but I refuse to accept that my foolish grand villain scenario of dosing the world is the only solution to peace and understanding. 

None of us are born evil.  With very few exceptions, empathy is innate in every child, and it is only through growing up a little too fast, a little too cold, and without careful guidance that we end up learning to do without it, dimming its brilliant light and snuffing out it’s flames.  It’s scary and vulnerable to resign oneself to the fact that we are all children trying our best but, to proceed in any other manner, does great disservice to all those before us, those yet to come, and one’s own quality of life and spirit.  Love your soul first, in all likelihood, everyone’s favorite trillionaire-to-be will invent some way to shed the flesh and then what will be left with? Find some better friends, better role models, better aspirations, and virtues.  Do not accept things as they are, because any child, with their fading wisdom of the cosmic intelligence will tell you things are not as they ought to be.  To quote one of my favorite minds, “--some kind of terrible mistake had been made…”

[midnightprelude]

Major Arcana: Chariot

Written by @oftachancer and I for the @30daysofdorian event!

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next

CW: conversion therapy (aftermath); successful blood magic ritual; recovering from trauma

The wine was sweet on his tongue, lingering still, hands sliding down his back as laughter rolled lazily around the room. A kind of echo. The sound of water. 

“So this is what happens when I take a swim,” Rilienus was chuckling, wet steps closing in. 

Lips on Dorian’s shoulder, following the curve of his spine down towards his hip. “Tell your proctor we’re studying,” a low, amused voice rumbled. Jules. Palm on the back of Dorian’s thigh, sliding-

Dorian turned to stare at him wide eyed, jerking away out of reflex. “Stop touching me like that,” he hissed at Abrexis, wincing as something cold coiled in his stomach. “Rilienus-“

“I’m here,” that familiar voice murmured. “It’s a memory, Dorian. Yours.”

Only the Rilienus in the memory only flopped onto an shaded chaise, still dripping from the pool, watching them with lazy amusement. “Anatomy? On a Saturday?” He rested his chin on a pillow, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You’re such studious fellows.”

Jules was grinning, nipping along Dorian’s skin. Sighing. “You don’t want to study?”

“You did call me a proctor.” Rilienus dampened his lips, his gaze traveling over them. “I’ll watch. At least until someone needs an extra hand.”

He remembered Rilienus and Jules, but not- This was his memory? Baking under the sun, Jules’ hand sliding closer to his-

Dorian’s vision snapped, his stomach suddenly roiling. He felt as though he was going to be ill.

“Ril, what is-“ He clutched helplessly at his middle, his eyes starting to burn. “Out. Out. I can’t-“

Rilienus took his hand, drawing him out, leaving the three figures behind as though part of a motive tapestry or a play. “Can you bear it from the outside?” he asked quietly.

Dorian heard his own voice moaning, laughing, as he lifted his hips to-

He shuddered, pressing his wrists against his eyes as a searing pain erupted behind his temples. Rilienus’ hand was steady on his shoulder as he retched onto the ornate rug. 

And then the room was silent, save the sounds of their breaths. Dorian peered up at him, his vision still blurring.

“My memory?” He asked, his voice a throaty croak.

“Yes. Ours. One of many.” Rilienus squeezed his shoulder, something soft and sad shining in his eyes. “We spent several pleasant weekends here. It… was a fond memory, I thought.”

“Was it?” Dorian asked, hugging himself on the floor. “I don’t- I didn’t seem unhappy. I- The spell?”

Rilienus nodded slowly, soothing hands on his back. “I think so. Because this… You love this. The play. The pageantry. Pretty men with very lean calves.” He sank down beside Dorian, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “It’s part of you, this love, as much as anything else.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Dorian whispered. “Not at all.”

“What does it feel like?” Rilienus asked him softly, his gaze slipping back to the figures in the sunlight. 

“Like I’m being split in two,” Dorian mumbled, turning away. “Like my entire body is revolting.”

“Dorian.” Rilienus carefully ran his fingers through Dorian’s hair. “That’s the spell. That isn’t you.”

“The spell to make me- To change me.” Dorian met his gaze. “Why?”

Beside him. Before them. This man in two times. One relaxed and young and tossing grapes at a scene that made Dorian’s stomach turn. The other exhausted beside him, his cheek tipped to Dorian’s shoulder. “You know why. You know who.” Rilienus embraced him. “I’m sorry, love.”

He didn’t, though. Dorian bit his lip. “It isn’t your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Rilienus murmured. “We managed to be happy for a very long time. If I hadn’t-“ He breathed deeply, in and out. “Jules was the last to see you, you know? Before you were gone. I didn’t find out until he’d returned from Antiva.”

“…what do you mean?”

“I don’t know where it is,” Rilienus said, meeting his eyes. “That memory. It’s behind a wall. He said you were with him. Here.” He nodded towards the room. “That people came and there was a fight. They took you. His father sent him to Antiva. Do you remember any of it?”

“No. I don’t- The same place from this memory,” Dorian repeated slowly. “I was- You weren’t there?”

“I was going to be. Isobel was having a fit and I told you to go on without me. You’d been burning your candle from both ends and the middle and with the wedding and Felix, I thought- I thought some time with Jules would be the thing to-“ He closed his eyes. “I let you go. I’ve let you go a dozen times. You’ve always come back.”

“Rilienus, it isn’t your fault.” Dorian held him, resting his chin on Rilienus’ shoulder. “The pools. Where are they?”

“Their summer house. The crimson roof. Outside of Minrathous, by the Valarian hot springs.”

“Abrexis’?”

“Of course. The place is practically a haven for our ilk. You can’t remember it at all? The hedge maze? The mirror on the ceiling in the gold room?”

Dorian shook his head, frowning. “It’s as though I’ve never been there. I… couldn’t even point to it on a map.”

“What about here?” Rilienus asked, taking Dorian’s hand carefully and guiding it to his chest. “Can you remember here?”

“This room?”

Rilienus guided his fingers past the rumpled fold of his robe until Dorian touched his chest, curls of coarse hair under his fingertips. Lean muscle and sweat. “Here.”

“…you?”

Rilienus held his gaze, solemn, and brushed his lips just to the side of Dorian’s. “Me. And you.”

“Us, what?”

A cracked exhale. Bruised lids closing over moss pools. “…Together, Dorian. Can you remember us, together?”

“Of course I remember us together. We were about to be married. You were designing our suits.”

Rilienus shook his head, leading Dorian’s hand down his chest, the cloth falling off his shoulder. “You routed Ceres Antilles in the debates and you were flushed with wine and winning and you pinned me to a wall in the Alexius gallery. Do you remember?” 

Dorian closed his eyes, searching, then met Rilienus’ again with a frown. “I don’t remember. How did I pin you?”

He eased onto his back, drawing Dorian along with him, and placed Dorian’s hands on each of his shoulders. “Your lips were red with merlot and you smelled like fresh grass and rain. You said, ‘Space is simple. You’re next.’ And you were smiling and all I wanted was for you to kiss me. And then you did.” He touched Dorian’s lips gently. “And you never stopped.”

“I want to wake up,” Dorian whispered, dipping his chin to brush their lips together again. “Will you help me?”

“I’m trying, my love. I’ve been trying.”

He nodded, closing his eyes tightly shut, pressing his cheek to Rilienus’ chest. “I know you are. I know. I’m trying, too.”