#so angry today I can barely function

[sebstanaddict]

Bucky Barnes : Domestic Menace

A Day in The Life of Congressman Bucky Barnes

A/N : Ever wonder what a domestic life with Bucky is like? Well.. celebrating again the upcoming release of Thunderbolts, and inspired by the trailer, I have come up with another one shot featuring Congressman Bucky Barnes. This time doing nothing but domestic stuff which should be boring but when it comes to Bucky Barnes, it becomes hilarious and entertaining XD 

Warning : nothing.. just some physical and possibly slightly emotional pain for Bucky but in an entirely different way XD

Word count : 2.4k

Read more Bucky Barnes and Sebastian Stan one shots here.

Check out my master list here for more Bucky and Sebastian stories.

---

Bucky Barnes : Domestic Menace

A Day in the Life of Congressman Bucky Barnes  

If you had told James Buchanan Barnes, a hundred-something ex-assassin, part-time Avenger, and full-time national security risk, that he’d one day be a congressman, he probably would've laughed in your face.

Or grunted. He did a lot of grunting back then.

But life has a funny way of handing you things you didn’t ask for - like responsibility, public office, or a very aggressive HOA newsletter from your new neighborhood.

He’d left the world of espionage behind. No more secret missions. No more assassinations. Just town halls, angry emails about potholes, and neighborhood kids who asked if he knew Captain America like he was a Pokemon card.

Sundays, at least, were his.

Just a chill, domestic Sunday. No suits. No voters. No one watching

And so, it started like any other Sunday.

The sun was out. The birds were singing. Somewhere in the neighborhood, someone was mowing their lawn entirely too early, probably in the hopes of being assassinated by an ex-assassin turned congressman with a hangover and a questionable moral compass.

Bucky Barnes groaned, his face still buried in a pillow. He could already tell this day was going to be too long for someone who hadn’t even opened both eyes yet.

His bare feet found the floor reluctantly. He shuffled to the bathroom like Frankenstein’s monster after leg day, scratched the side of his scruffy jaw, and glanced in the mirror.

Hair? Chaotic.  

Eyes? Bloodshot.  

Metal arm? Making a weird clicking sound he chose to ignore.  

Mental state? Debatable.

He blinked at his reflection. “Okay,” he muttered. “We’re gonna be a functional adult today.”

—

Step 1: Coffee. Or Die.

The coffee machine in his kitchen sat smug and futuristic on the counter, mocking him with its glowing buttons and unnecessary levels of digital sass. It looked like it had been designed by Tony Stark just to spite him.

“How hard could this be?” he asked aloud, hitting a button labeled Brew Now.

The machine beeped angrily. He jabbed another. Something hissed. A nozzle moved. He jumped back like it had tried to bite him.

After a long moment of blinking lights and robotic whirring, coffee actually came out. Real, brown, hot coffee.

He took a cautious sip.

Promptly scalded his entire tongue.

He glared into the mug like it had betrayed him on a molecular level. “Okay. We’re awake now.”

—

Step 2: Yoga for Idiots and Former Killers

In theory, yoga sounded relaxing. Stretching. Deep breathing. Serenity. All things a war hero in Congress desperately needed.

He rolled out a mat in the living room, started a video titled “Gentle Beginner Yoga for Stiff People and the Chronically Tense”, and tried to copy the perky instructor who chirped things like “Open your heart to the universe!”

Bucky tried to open his heart. Ended up pulling his shoulder.

The “Happy Baby” pose made him feel like a cursed beetle. His legs wobbled. His arm thunked. He ended up on his back, blinking at the ceiling, wondering how far one had to spiral before they pulled a hamstring during child’s pose.

“This is fine,” he grunted. “I fought Thanos. I can handle this.”

The video chirped, “Breathe through the discomfort!”

“Lady, I’ve been doing that since 1943.”

—

Step 3: Laundry (a Shakespearean Tragedy in Three Cycles)

Laundry was next. That seemed safe.

He grabbed every piece of clothing in his hamper - dark socks, white shirts, that suspiciously patriotic boxer brief Sam had gifted him “for morale,” and one very expensive, very soft wool sweater - and shoved it all into the machine.

He paused.

Stared at a red hoodie sitting on top of the pile like a ticking time bomb.

“Whatever,” he muttered, and threw it in.

He hunted for detergent and found a bottle labeled “Lemon Shine Ultra Dish Foam.”

He squinted. “Soap is soap,” he declared with unwarranted confidence, and dumped it in.

The washer started. He walked away.

Five minutes later, bubbles were spilling out like the machine had rabies.

He stood in the hallway, staring at the soapy tide rising slowly across his floor. “This is how I die. Drowned in lemon-scented shame.”

But the true horror hadn’t revealed itself yet.

When the cycle ended, he opened the washer door and immediately knew he had done something irreversible.

Everything was pink.

Bright, shameful, Valentine’s-Day pink.

White shirts? Pink.

Socks? Pink.

Underwear? Flamingo-core.

And his sweater - 

He held it up slowly. It had shrunk to a size that might fit a squirrel. Maybe. If the squirrel was shredded.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no…”

He tugged it over his head anyway.

It clung to his torso like it had personal beef with him, squeezing his ribs like a blood pressure cuff and revealing just enough skin to make him uncomfortable.

He peeled it off with a grunt and hurled it into a corner.

“That’s what I get for trying to self-care.”

—

Step 4: Cleaning With Unchecked Enthusiasm

Bucky turned on his playlist - heavy on Springsteen and vaguely dramatic film scores - and committed to the one task he could do: cleaning.

Wearing only his underpants, socks, white tank top and a white button down shirt unbuttoned (which he told himself was for comfort and not for showing off), he glided across the floor like a low-budget version of Tom Cruise in Risky Business.

He vacuumed under the couch. Under the dining table. He vacuumed with vengeance.

Then came the showstopper: he lifted the fridge.

Straight up.

With one arm.

Just to stare down the dust bunnies living in the shadows like they owed him rent.

“You mess with the best,” he growled, sucking them into the vacuum. “You get evicted.”

He flexed his vibranium arm with all the subtlety of a gym bro in an empty mirror.

Then immediately regretted it.

Maybe I should livestream this,” he thought. “Get that TikTok clout. Congressman Cleans.”

He made a note to never say “clout” again.

—

Step 5: Hot Wings (and Crimes Against Cotton)

Feeling like a domestic king, he decided to reward himself with lunch: hot wings. Because nothing said victory like buffalo sauce and burned tastebuds.

He still had the white shirt on.

He still didn’t change.

He should’ve changed.

He didn’t.

The sauce splattered like an abstract painting. One wing launched a projectile that landed squarely on his chest. The bright orange stain bloomed like a nuclear accident.

And somehow - somehow - there was sauce in his vibranium arm. Inside the joints.

He lifted it. It squelched.

“Absolutely not.”

Without hesitation, he removed the arm and marched it to the dishwasher.

“Wash cycle. Heavy duty. Go.”

He closed the door. Pressed start.

The arm clanked ominously.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

—

Step 6: The Lasagna Gamble

Realizing he was still hungry and now armless, Bucky dug a frozen lasagna from the depths of the freezer and shoved it into the oven with all the subtlety of a man abandoning a bad decision.

Timer set. Seemed safe.

He turned away.

—

Step 7: Cleaning Up Buffalo Carnage (One-Handed Edition)

He turned to face the scene of the crime. Hot wing sauce had claimed the kitchen like it was staking territory - on the counter, the walls, the floor, the cabinet handle, somehow the window, and of course, what remained of his dignity.

One arm down, he grabbed a sponge.

Which promptly slipped out of his hand and flopped onto the floor like a resigned fish.

He stared at it. “You’re not better than me.”

He bent to pick it up. Accidentally knocked over the bottle of hot sauce.

More splatter. Bright, blazing orange.

“Okay,” he muttered, digging in. “Let’s do this.”

He managed to smear the sauce around impressively with the sponge, trying to be strategic, but one-armed cleaning meant everything took three times as long and resulted in at least one drawer being opened with his teeth.

A paper towel got stuck to his elbow. The sponge flipped out of his grip and landed in the sink. He knocked a cup over trying to catch it.

He stopped, panting. Glared at the disaster zone.

“This is my villain origin story,” he mumbled, shaking hot sauce off his wrist.

---

Step 8: The Bathroom Adventure - Starring Only One Arm and a Dream

Still stubborn, still sweaty, and somehow still optimistic, Bucky moved to the bathroom.

“How bad can it be?” he muttered as he opened the door.

Answer: very bad. The kind of bad that deserved its own horror movie score. There was a layer of dust on the vent thick enough to support agriculture, ancient toothpaste fossils encrusting the sink, and something suspicious happening behind the toilet that he refused to acknowledge on a spiritual level.

He picked up the mirror spray with his flesh hand like a functional adult - and then immediately knocked it against the faucet. It ricocheted into the sink, bounced off the bowl, and exploded its soapy guts all over his one clean sock.

“Okay. That’s fine. We adapt. We evolve.”

He grabbed a rag and, for reasons known only to the ghosts of his 1940s upbringing, started scrubbing the counter with his forearm while still holding the rag in his hand like a sandwich. It worked, kind of, but mostly just made it look like he was slow-dancing with the vanity.

Then came the mopping.

This should’ve been simple. He had a working hand. He could’ve just… held the mop.

But no. No. He tucked the handle under his arm like he was about to joust a medieval toilet and went at it with the intensity of a man avenging a fallen comrade.

Predictably, he stepped on a puddle he forgot was there, both feet went out from under him like a cartoon, and he slammed his knee on the side of the tub with a thud that shook the shampoo bottles.

He laid there on the tile, staring at the vent he still hadn’t cleaned, one sock soggy, dignity leaking out like grout water.

“This is fine,” he muttered. “I’m thriving.”

---

Step 9: Reunited (And It Feels So Clean)

The dishwasher beeped.

He rose from the bathroom floor like a man reborn.

“Finally,” he muttered, limping into the kitchen.

The dishwasher door creaked open, releasing a warm, lemon-scented fog. His vibranium arm sat inside, sparkling, still slightly steamy, and gleaming like the sword of a freshly bathed knight.

He picked it up, shook off the moisture, and clicked it back into place with a satisfying click.

The fingers flexed and he rotated his arm just because it looked cool.

Bucky grinned. “Let’s finish what we started.”

He looked around at the chaos.

“…After I sit down for like… five minutes.”

 —

Step 9.5: Collapse Dramatically and Pretend You're Not Crying

Arm reattached. Victory claimed. Lemon scent lingering faintly in the air like a trophy.

Bucky stood in the middle of his kitchen, chest heaving from mild exertion and emotional damage. The world was quiet - too quiet - except for the occasional drip of sauce from somewhere behind the toaster.

He slowly backed out of the kitchen, arms at his sides like a war survivor, and fell backwards onto the couch like he’d just taken a sniper shot to the soul.

The cushions let out a whumph. He laid there, staring blankly at the ceiling.

His body ached. His shirt was ruined. His bathroom smelled like cleaning chemicals and defeat. His laundry had undergone a pink renaissance. His only clean sock was still soggy from the sink.

The vibranium arm twitched in agreement.

He sighed so hard it moved the curtain.

“I used to be feared,” he whispered to the ceiling. “Now I fear mop handles.”

He laid there for a while. Long enough to question everything.

Then his eyes tracked up… to the ceiling fan.

A new enemy revealed.

“…Right,” he muttered, sitting up with the resolve of a man preparing for battle. “You’re next.”

---

Step 10: Gravity is a Liar (The Ceiling Fan Incident)

The ceiling fan.. was dusty.

And just out of reach.

He didn’t have a step stool.

So he jumped.

Repeatedly.

Bucky Barnes, ex-Winter Soldier, Avenger, current Congressman, was doing vertical leaps in his living room swatting at a ceiling fan with a sock.

It went as expected. He whacked it once, twice, dust exploded everywhere like a mushroom cloud, falling on the carpet and floor he just vacuumed and he fell back on his ass, coughing.

“Cleaning is violence” He muttered.

—

Step 11: Irony (and Actual Irons)

Remembering he had a press conference tomorrow, Bucky grabbed his last clean shirt and started ironing.

He plugged in the iron. Set up the board. Gave the shirt a hopeful pat. Glided the iron over with his vibranium hand - straight onto his flesh fingers.

“SON OF A - !”

He screamed, dropped the iron, hopped around the kitchen. Waved his hand like that would somehow help.

Then - 

Ding dong.

The door creaked open.

There stood his neighbor from 3B. Gorgeous. Leggings. Holding a container.

“Hi,” she said. “Sorry to bother - could I borrow some sugar?”

Bucky froze.

Burned fingers. Sauce-stained shirt. The iron - still on - resting peacefully on the shirt he’d just been ironing.

They both turned toward it.

It now had a massive, smoking hole.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

Then - 

BEEP.

The oven.

“OH NO.”

He dashed to the kitchen, opened the oven, and was hit with the combined scent of cremated lasagna and shame.

Smoke filled the air. The shirt was ruined. His dignity evaporated.

He stood there, singed, covered in dust and sauce, with lasagna that could be used as a weapon.

It was time to surrender.

---

Bucky: Hey Sam

Sam: Hey Bucky

What did you set on fire

Bucky: Why is that your first question

Sam: Because it’s you

And it’s Sunday

And I feel it in my soul

Bucky: Okay well

I may have overcooked a lasagna

Destroyed a shirt

Turned my underwear pink

Burned my fingers

And also the laundry room is… foamy

Sam: …how foamy

Bucky: Picture a rabid dishwasher with dreams of expansion

Sam: my God

Bucky: Also I put my arm in the dishwasher

Sam: WHAT

Bucky: There was sauce

Inside the elbow joint

I panicked

Sam: You are a federal official

Bucky: A federal official with buffalo-scented prosthetics

Sam: I’m ordering you a pizza

And possibly an adult supervisor

Bucky: Make it pepperoni

And tell the delivery guy not to judge me

Sam: No promises

---

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was a normal Sunday in the life of Congressman Bucky Barnes.

Public figure. War hero.  

Domestic menace.

[slyfpy-head]

Lachesis

part 2 - part 3

Chishiya × f!reader

Lachesis (n.) the inescapable tether of fate that weaves lives together through threads of choices both made and endured.

This was not in his plan. He thought he would just go looting, who would have thought he would meet her again? Although he had thought about the reunion, it was not in this place, this fucked up place.

a/n: updates will definitely be delayed, I only write when I'm in the mood, so it will take me a while to update each chapter. English is NOT my first language!

"This hardly qualifies as robbery." 

The houses around here are already deserted, and there are no more laws in this place. What he needs most right now is something functional to create his weapons.

Chishiya crouched down, one knee pressing against the cold floor, his fingers rifling through the scattered contents of the repair kit. The objects clattered softly under his touch—wires, screws, drills, hammer, ratchet, and—

click

—that sound.

Right, he forgot to be aware of his surroundings...

Before he could react, a voice sliced through the stillness behind him. Sounded steady, no sign of panicking, but a trace of nerves seeped through.

Keeping it together, perhaps. Just barely. 

"Cleaning up a corpse right in my house wasn’t on my to-do list today. Hands where I can see ‘em."

A woman.

No—worse than any woman.

... At least she's giving him a chance to back away. Not a total maniac.

Running wasn’t his first option. Gradually, he lifted his hands and straightened up. He could sense the gun pointing at his back, even though she wasn't pressing it against him.

He remained calm, speaking in a manner that matched her level of composure, but he was genuinely calm, and she? Even if her tone didn’t betray any fear, there was still a trace of unease.

"Didn’t think anyone would stick around their home in a hellhole like this. Guess I was wrong?"

Silence.

He smirked. Exactly as he’d expected—the hitch in her breath when recognition struck.

"What’s wrong?" he teased, tone dripping with smug amusement. "No warm welcome for an old friend? Not even a hello?" 

He lowered his hands, turning just enough to glance over his shoulder. "A little rude, don’t you think?"

Then he faced her fully, a composed look on his face.

“Y/N.”

And then, there was you.

Of course, it's you.

Fuck, it's truly you.

Why here? Why now?

In this shattered, forsaken place, of all places.

You, an old friend—no—his first love.

The girl he'd once called his own—his childhood sweetheart. The one whose smiles he’d cherished, whose challenges he’d helped her overcome, whose innocence he’d vowed to protect.

And yet, he was the one who had betrayed you, turning your life upside down, and leaving you in a standstill.

Your voice cracked—softer now, stripped of its earlier edge.

“Shuntaro…?" 

His chest tightened.

You were taken aback by the sight of the man standing before you, confused, angry with a tangled mess of emotions.

Why was he here?

Why now, after all this time?

...

Why did the universe keep throwing you back together when all you wanted was to forget?

Your eyes traced the changes in him: the sharper angles of his face, the leaner frame, the way time had hardened him. But some things never changed: those eyes, that smirk, the way he looked at you like he already knew every thought in your head.

Everything feels like a dream.

Or a nightmare.

"Have you forgotten what I look like," he mused, his tone light yet probing, "or are you just staring?"

The question hung in the air, a challenge, a tease, a fragile bridge spanning the chasm between you.

An unseen force seemed to draw Chishiya nearer to you, compelling him to reach out, to seek your presence, to feel your warmth, to reassure himself that you were truly standing in front of him. Yet, he refrained from doing so, at least for the moment.

He took a step, then another, each movement deliberate, measured, diminishing the space between you, slowly rekindling the connection that had somewhat faded.

The gun gradually lowered in your grasp, watching as he drew nearer.

Your thoughts, sharp with hostility just moments before, now wavered, clouded by the realization that the intruder in your home was not any stranger. The hood of the white jacket that covered his hair had hidden his identity, but the voice—that voice—had given him away.

"I... no..." you murmured, the words trailing into silence.

Your gaze held a mixture of shock and guarded wariness, but you didn't step back, your body relaxing ever so slightly as the tension shifted. There was something in his voice, something familiar, that tugged at you, drawing you back to a time when the world had been simpler, and the love had been pure.

But that was before everything fell apart.

Before he turned you down.

Before he left.

Now, here you were, standing in the ruins of a world that had moved on without the two of you.

And yet, the connection between you two remained, a thread frayed but unbroken.

The silence between you felt heavy, like a physical weight pressing against your chest. Chishiya’s eyes locked onto yours, a mix of defiance and vulnerability swirling in their depths. The air seemed to thicken with unspoken words, the past and present colliding in a way that left you breathless.

He shifted his focus from you, scanning the house that you claimed as yours.

"So... your home, you said?"

“You were literally about to swipe something two seconds ago,” you snapped, a bit sharper than you meant to, brushing off his question. “Spill it.”

“Technically, yes, but I doubt anyone would stay here..." he conceded with a shrug, all mock innocence. "My apologies...?"

"If you hadn't spoken up, I might have pulled the trigger."

"But you didn't, correct? Should I consider myself lucky?"

He tilted his head, watching you.

"Or is it because you recognized my voice?" A pause, deliberate. "You still remember it, don’t you?"

Your jaw clenched.

God, you wanted to punch him.

That smug, nothing-touches-me look—like the past between you was nothing, like he hadn’t shattered you.

The bastard.

The one you swore you’d never forgive.

...And the one you still, stupidly, couldn’t stop thinking about.

Fuck this.

Fuck him.

Silence stretched between you, thick with memories.

You remembered the last time you'd seen him. The way he'd looked at you then—not with regret, but with that same damn calm acceptance like your pain was just another variable in whatever equation he was solving in that brilliant, twisted mind of his.

"You came back to this city without telling me? That's a bit sad.”

"I don't need to inform you about anything."

Chishiya tilted his head, considering you with that same old, familiar scrutiny. "Do you own this house here, or were you just claiming a whole house as if it were your own?"

"It's mine."

"Is it?" Another step forward. Your pulse jumped. "Funny. Last I checked, you hated being alone."

A low blow.

Your fingers tightened around the gun. "People change."

"Do they?" His eyes flickered over you.

Enough for small talk.

"You look good," he said suddenly, his voice softer now.

The words hit you like a physical blow.

"Don't," you warned.

"Don't what?"

"Don't pretend you care."

Something flickered in his eyes—too fast to name—before his mask slid back into place. "Who says I'm pretending?"

You barked out a laugh. "You left us on our own, Chishiya. You made your choice."

His last name.

You changed the way you address him.

"And you're still angry about it."

"I'm not—" You cut yourself off, teeth gritted. He was doing it again. Distracting you. Playing you. Getting under your skin like no one else ever could.

The gun in your hand felt suddenly heavy. You should have shot him. Should have put a bullet between those mocking eyes the second you recognized him. But your finger hadn't moved.

Pathetic.

And god, those eyes were the same.

Dark, calculating, with that infuriating glint of amusement that always made you want to slap him or kiss him, depending on the day.

Right now, you were leaning toward the former.

Right now, he’s too close to you, close enough that if you reached out, you could—

No.

You stepped back, putting space between you. "Get out, or I'll-"

He didn't move. "Or what? You'll shoot me?" A challenge.

You raised the gun. "Try me."

He stepped closer. "You won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do." with another step, the barrel pressed against his sternum. Your breath hitched. "Because if you were going to shoot me, you'd have done it the moment I turned around."

You swallowed hard. The moment hung suspended, fragile as a spiderweb.

Then you lowered the gun.

"Take what you need and go," you said, turning away before he could see the crack in your armor.

Chishiya watched you as you backed away from him. The space between the two of you yawned suddenly, vast and uncrossable.

Silence settled like ash.

Chishiya watched you for a long moment before crouching again, retrieving the few items he’d come for, shoving it into his jacket.

At the doorway, he paused.

"Be seeing you."

"Don't count on it."

A smirk. A shrug. Then he was gone.

The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is deafening.

You exhale sharply, fingers tightening around the gun before you finally let it drop to your side. Your pulse thrums in your throat, a relentless drumbeat of frustration and something else—something you refuse to name.

Alone again, you ran your trembling hand over your hair.

Chishiya Shuntaro.

Even now, just the thought of his name sends a jolt through you.

You didn't watch him leave.

Didn't need to.

You'd always been able to feel his absence like a phantom limb.

And the worst part?

1. Some part of you was already counting the minutes until he'd find his way back, letting fate bring you both back together again.

2. You hoped he’d stay.

＿＿＿

© 27/03/2025 [ @slyfpy-head ]

[malk1ns]

march 1 vs bruins, 3-2 loss

lotta angry penguins out on the ice today in that one, huh? wowie.

this postgame puts this project over 100k. dang. thanks for coming along with me!

Zhenya narrows his eyes across the weight room where Sid is grunting through a set of bench presses.

There was no skate before today’s game, but the gym session is still mandatory even if most of the guys are phoning it in a little, half-heartedly racking weights and getting in a few reps before they pause to chat.

Not Sid. He’s pouring sweat, mechanically running through his sets like they don’t have a game in just a few hours, adding more weight than Zhenya remembers as his usual but still lifting it like it’s nothing, biceps straining and forearms veiny.

He’s hiding something.

Sid came back from Four Nations doing his best to pretend that his left arm wasn’t practically paralyzed, and he’s been spending pregames and most intermissions holed up with the trainers, getting wrapped and re-wrapped and injected with all sorts of shit to numb the pain and get him through games. He won’t hear a word of sitting any more out, but Zhenya’s seen the toll it’s taking on him.

Not today. Today, he’s going through his exercises like his elbow never was hurt in the first place. Not a wince, not a poorly-hidden grimace, nothing.

Whatever they gave Sid this morning, Zhenya wants it. His knee is better, but it aches when he skates for too long, and it’s making ominous creaking noises every morning when he gets out of bed.

Sid’s been cagey all morning, but Zhenya’s going to track him down and force it out of him. All hockey teams are secretive about their less-than-legit methods of keeping their players on ice no matter how injured they are, but Zhenya’s not used to being shut out of a new miracle cure. Is he not as deserving as Sidney Crosby of pain relief and enhanced performance?

The doctors and trainers are a dead end, they’re used to Zhenya by now and won’t give him anything. The weak link, as always, is Sid himself.

Zhenya times his approach perfectly; Sid’s in the middle of carefully lowering the bar back onto the rack when Zhenya plants himself between Sid and the rest of the room. If Sid tried to slither away now, it would be noticeable enough to cause a stir.

“Hi, Sid,” Zhenya says sweetly, baring his teeth in a smile. “Look good. Elbow better?”

Sid sits up and rolls his shoulders back, eyeing Zhenya warily. There’s a droplet of sweat making its way down from his hairline. Zhenya’s eyes trace it all the way to Sid’s cheekbone before he gets a response.

“Lots better, thanks,” Sid finally says, shaking out his left arm a little. It’s for show; Zhenya’s not an idiot, and it rankles that after all this time Sid thinks he’ll be fooled by something like that. “I figured I should get a pump in before we play, you know, get the blood flowing.” He swings his legs over so he’s sitting sideways on the bench. “That all? Because I was gonna find Ned, give him a little pep talk.”

“What they give you?” Zhenya says, furious suddenly—with the evasion, with the way Sid won’t meet his eyes. “Shot, maybe, or pill? Why you get and nobody else?”

He’s raised his voice enough that guys are starting to look at them, and Sid’s face goes hard and unpleasant before he gets to his feet, grabs Zhenya by the shirt, and hauls him out of the weight room.

Zhenya starts to protest, but Sid hisses not here at him, and the promise of an answer makes Zhenya pliant as Sid drags them down the hallway and into one of the video rooms the team never uses anymore.

“Fuck, you’re annoying,” Sid complains, slamming the door shut and whirling on Zhenya, crossing his arms over his chest. Zhenya frowns at him—he could have sworn Sid’s shoulders weren’t this big on Thursday. Is there some new fast-acting steroid he’s testing out?

He’s so busy thinking through the implications of a shot that can give you that much more visible, functional muscle in under four hours that he must have misheard what Sid said. “Sorry, huh?”

Sid narrows his eyes. “I said, I’m in a time loop,” he snaps, dropping his arms to his sides. “I’ve been in here for…six weeks now, when I wake up tomorrow. Today, again. Whatever. It’s been today 41 times as of this morning.”

“Shit,” Zhenya says blankly, sitting down in one of the chairs and abruptly remembering why they don’t use this room anymore when a spring jabs him unceremoniously in the ass. “Sid, Jesus, how this happen?”

“I don’t know!” Sid says, throwing his hands in the air. “Obviously, like, if I knew why I was here I’d just…take care of it, end this damn thing. Do you really think I’m doing this by choice?” His voice cracks.

“Sorry,” Zhenya mutters, guilt lurching through his gut. All he could see this morning was Sid’s perfectly-functioning elbow seemingly mocking Zhenya’s achy knee, but now that he’s looking closely Sid looks frayed around the edges, exhausted and tense. He’s got black circles under his eyes, and he can’t stand still.

Sid’s usually so calm on game days, a soothing presence in the arena that settles everyone down no matter how nervy they are. Seeing him like this is unsettling. Zhenya wants to bundle him into his car and drive them to the safety of his house set back in the woods until they figure this out.

Time loops are vanishingly rare, at least the ones publicly talked about are. The people who stumble out of them are usually fundamentally altered somehow—traumatized even, in some cases. It’s not as simple as waking up on the same day over and over, as if that in and of itself isn’t a total mindfuck—if you’re in a time loop, time doesn’t stop for you. Whatever happens to you on a given day stays with you when you wake up the next morning, weeks and months and in some gruesome cases decades piling onto your body and mind until you figure out how to break free.

Sid’s only been in for six weeks. Not long enough for significant changes, not really, but certainly long enough for him to have visibly bulked up if was taking his stress out on the weight machines. Zhenya can see razor burn on his face from where he must have been shaving every day to try and maintain his stubble.

“Okay,” Zhenya says, getting to his feet. “You tell to me before? You tell to anyone?”

“No,” Sid says, shoulders slumping a little. He looks like he’d been expecting a fight, or maybe like he’d have to spend more time arguing his case—as if Zhenya can’t tell when Sid’s trying to lie to him by now. “I thought about it, but…I think I know what I’m supposed to do, and it’s not anything anyone can help me with. I just…haven’t figured out how.”

Zhenya presses his lips together. “Stupid. Maybe it’s big pain for tell every day new again, but you should be tell me first thing, like, call me before we leave house. Shouldn’t be doing alone, even if you’re think I can’t help.” Sid’s probably wrong about that, Zhenya adds to himself. Sid always thinks he has to do everything alone, that he has to shoulder the burden of an entire team—an entire league—all by himself. 

“Maybe,” Sid mutters, slumping back against the wall. He looks so exhausted. Zhenya wonders how sleeping words in a loop—does Sid wake up feeling refreshed for a few seconds before it all comes crashing down, or does the reset happen when he’s only gotten a few hours? “Well, you know now. We’ll see how happy you are when I wake you up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to read you in.”

“Not have to, because we fix today,” Zhenya says, injecting his voice with as much confidence as he can. “What you think you need to do?”

Sid sighs heavily. “I have to figure out how to get us a win today,” he says, voice dire. “I’ve tried everything, G, I really have. I’ve even called and said I was sick and needed to be scratched just to shake stuff up and still no. I called my mom, god, she thought I was dying or something. Basically anything that can happen in a hockey game, I’ve watched it happen.” His eyes go dark and distant for a minute, and Zhenya doesn’t want to know what he’s reliving, what he’s seen. Hockey is a lot more dangerous than any of them like to think too long about.

Shaking his head, Sid meets Zhenya’s eyes. “Basically anything that can happen I’ve seen,” he repeats, “and not a single time have I been able to pull a win off in this one. There was one where I thought maybe…it was a ten-round shootout, but even then we fell short.” He sighs, looking down at his hands. “I don’t know what else to do,” he admits. “I’m so tired. My entire body aches, so badly. The gym helps, you know how a good workout makes you kind of forget how you’re feeling, but…I can’t do this for much longer.”

That’s the other danger of a time loop, the one nobody likes to talk about too loudly.

Zhenya isn't going to let that happen.

“Well, you enjoy last time today,” he says, clapping Sid’s shoulder. “We get win, you go to bed tonight, still have to play tomorrow but this time it’s Leafs, okay, still bad, but different. Yes?”

“Sure,” Sid mutters, but Zhenya can tell that he’s feeling better. It really was stupid of him to not say anything; six weeks is too long to be totally alone.

Sid leaves to hunt down Ned for whatever ghoulish pep talk he has in mind, and Zhenya makes his way to the lounge, head spinning.

He doesn’t know a single person who’s looped. There was an experimental vaccine back when Zhenya was a child, something that claimed to block a person’s ability to fall into one—when he’d disclosed it to the Penguins’ medical staff for the first time they had exchanged horrified looks, but nobody in Zhenya’s entire city that got the shot has looped.

Zhenya wants to help Sid. Is determined to, really. But now that he’s alone and thinking about it, he doesn’t know what to do. All he can do is control his own play, make sure he’s giving it his all out there and give the team the best chance to win.

That will have to be enough. He won’t let them fail Sid again.

—

They come agonizingly close. 

Close isn’t good enough, though, and Zhenya shatters his stick in the hallway back to the locker room after the final buzzer sounds.

“Easy, big guy,” Rusty says, skirting his stall with an odd look. “It’s one game, eh, save it for tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Zhenya mutters, plucking at his skates and swearing as his trembling fingers fumble at the sodden, ice-cold laces. 

From across the room, Sid barks out a bitter laugh, one he cuts off quickly. Zhenya keeps his head ducked down.

Four points last game and not a thing to show when Sid actually needed him. He doesn’t think he can meet Sid’s eyes.

He settles some in the shower, thinking through what’s next. Maybe Sid was wrong. It’s still so early in the day, after all, and who knows what Sid’s been doing post-game this whole time—maybe there’s something else he’s missing because he got fixated on winning this game. He’ll just go to Sid’s after the game and they’ll keep trying, and if they can’t get it tonight, he’ll make Sid promise to call him first thing tomorrow and explain it right away.

The logistics make his head spin. He doesn’t fully understand how it’s possible that Sid could pick up the phone to call him tomorrow—today again—and Zhenya won’t remember a thing, but Sid will. It should be impossible.

All the more reason to work as hard as possible to fix it tonight.

Sid dawdles in the room like usual, but Zhenya’s lurking at the door must get his attention, because finally he packs away his stuff and gets to his feet, patting Ricky on the shoulder as he makes his way to Zhenya’s side.

“We tried, eh?” he says as they walk to the garage. Zhenya doesn’t like how defeated he sounds. “That was a new score at least—before this one it’s been the same for a few days. Maybe it means things are moving in the right direction.” He doesn’t sound like he believes a word he’s saying.

“I come home with you,” Zhenya says, and Sid snaps his head to look at him, eyebrows nearly up to his hairline. “Well, first I stop at my house, get freezer pelmeni. You need real food, not shit from meal service. We eat, you feel better, we think about maybe it’s something that’s not game, we try stuff.”

“You’ll let me have some of the freezer pelmeni?” Sid asks, and he sounds so pathetically grateful that Zhenya’s heart breaks a little.

“You get all freezer pelmeni,” he promises recklessly—there are several pounds stuffed in his kitchen freezer, and more down in the basement ice box, but Zhenya will give it all up if it makes Sid smile in a real way. “Want good vodka too? I bring.”

Sid’s eyes crinkle a little. “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Either way, I’m playing a game tomorrow, so…better not.”

“Right,” Zhenya mutters, calculating how much sour cream he’ll need to bring. Sid only has Greek yogurt at his house, and that won’t work. “Okay, I go get food, then come over. You change code yet?” Sid changes his gate code every Saturday out of what Zhenya used to call paranoia but after the break-in earlier this fall is starting to think is maybe just good sense.

Sid hesitates. “I didn’t for a while, I wasn’t sure if it…but it felt weird not to, so yeah, I actually just changed it yesterday. Um, it’s 073186.”

It takes Zhenya a second, but— “My birthday!” he says, charmed. “Sid, so sweet. I remember for sure, maybe you keep for a while.”

“Maybe I will,” Sid says, looking at Zhenya for a shade too long before shaking his head. “See you in a bit.”

Zhenya watches the way Sid clambers into his car, the slowness in his movements. He really is reaching the end of what he’s physically capable of. They have to figure this out tonight.

He stuffs Sid full of his mama’s cooking first. Sid protests the full-fat sour cream, but when Zhenya ignores him in favor of dolloping several spoonfuls onto his plate he stops arguing. Zhenya watches until Sid’s had his entire first serving and is helping himself to more before he relaxes. He might not have been able to win Sid this game, but he can at least feed him properly.

After dinner, they talk. Zhenya prods at Sid about unreturned phone calls, events he might have forgotten to attend, anything that could be hanging over his head that might be the key to all of this. 

Sid gets prickly at the implication he’s forgotten anything, of course, but Zhenya keeps pushing until Sid relents and walks them both through everything he did the day before he started looping. Try as he might, Zhenya can’t find a single thing that Sid forgot, a single transgression that would be egregious enough to tip him into this nightmare.

Once they run out of things to say, they fall silent, sprawled out on Sid’s big couch. Zhenya thinks about Sid spending the last six weeks alone in here, watching the clock tick by and waiting for the day to end, falling asleep hoping that he’d figured it out only to wake up the next day and have to do it all over again, and his throat gets thick and his eyes prickle with tears.

“Oh, G,” Sid says, and Zhenya scrubs furiously at his face. This isn’t about him, he shouldn’t be making Sid give him comfort. “No, c’mon, it’s not that bad, I mean…” The sofa cushion Zhenya’s occupying dips as Sid scoots closer until they’re pressed together. “It sucks, yeah, but now I’ve got you, right? I can…like you said, I can call you and tell you, and I’ll have you all day, and maybe we really will figure it out. Just having someone else know…you were right. It was dumb of me to not talk to you right away.”

Overcome with emotion, Zhenay wraps his arms around Sid’s shoulders and hauls him close, ignoring Sid’s protests. He can’t stand it—Sid doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve living through this shit, not after everything he’s already sacrificed his whole life

“Not fair,” he whispers into Sid’s hair. “Sid, so sorry, I want to fix so bad for you. It’s not fair.”

Sid squirms in his arms a little, pulling back so he can look at Zhenya. “No, it’s not,” he agrees. “It hasn’t been all bad, though. I mean, the loss sucked. But otherwise today’s been pretty great. And it’ll be okay if I do all this again tomorrow with you.” He hesitates for a minute, eyes flickering over Zhenya’s face. “I guess there’s one thing I haven’t been honest about,” he admits, and Zhenya’s heart leaps. “It won’t…I mean, it’s been years. If the loop was from that, it should have happened way before now. But, well.” He leans forward and brushes a kiss over Zhenya’s mouth, dry and soft and over before Zhenya can even properly react. “You won’t remember this tomorrow,” he says quietly, cupping Zhenya’s chin, “and I’m sorry I didn’t ask first. But it’s not like I’d ever tell you this for real, and maybe that makes me a coward, but I may as well tell you once even if it doesn’t stick, eh?”

Zhenya touches his lips. Sid’s mouth on his had been so brief, but he feels like his whole face is buzzing. He doesn’t know what to say.

Sid smiles sadly at him. “It’s okay,” he says, correctly interpreting Zhenya’s stunned silence. “I’m not expecting anything. Don’t worry about it, eh, you’ll wake up tomorrow and it won’t have ever happened for you. I guess maybe I thought…” He shakes his head and gets to his feet. “I’m going to go to bed,” he says, glancing at the clock. “I know it’s early, but I’m so tired. Game day tomorrow, after all.” He waits for a minute longer, but when Zhenya still doesn’t speak, he purses his lips. “You can take a guest room if you want. You know where everything is.”

Zhenya listens to Sid’s heavy footsteps. It’s not until Sid’s bedroom door shuts that he feels like he can move again.

There are things that you don’t think about when you’re a pro athlete, feelings you’re not allowed to have. It’s part of the sacrifice to make it this far—damage to your body, and denial of your self. Zhenya did the math on that years ago, weighed his options and made his choices with clear eyes.

He’s never been good at tucking away his emotions long-term though, not like Sid is. Zhenya wears his heart on his sleeve, always has. It makes him a better hockey player, but it also leaves him more susceptible to heartbreak and far too aware of feelings he’d be better off shoving down and ignoring.

Zhenya always thought Sid was bad at lying, or at least bad at lying to him. It turns out that Sid’s been holding in a secret for…fuck, he’d said years, years he’s kept this from Zhenya, and Zhenya had no idea.

He’s not sure he would have been brave enough to do anything if he’d found out any earlier. Now, though?

He drives home in a daze. Staying at Sid’s house doesn’t feel right, not like this. He had a momentary fit of insanity where he considered crawling into Sid’s bed, wrapping his arms around him and letting Sid’s loop suck him in too, but he’s pretty sure that’s not possible, and if it was it wouldn’t help anything anyway.

I have to remember, he chants to himself as he gets ready for bed. I have to remember. I have to remember. I have to remember.

He falls asleep mumbling to himself.

—

When his alarm goes off the next morning, it takes Zhenya a minute to blink sleep out of his eyes.

His eyes fly open. He remembers. 

The display on his phone reads MARCH 2. Heart in his throat, Zhenya pulls up Sid’s contact and hits call.

Sid’s phone barely rings once before he answers. “G?” he says, voice raspy like he spent the night crying. “Is it really tomorrow?”

“It’s tomorrow,” Zhenya whispers down the line, clutching the phone to his ear. “Sid, it’s tomorrow. And I remember.”

[victorbutnotreally]

I DON'T KNOW -KIM SEUNGMIN X MALE READER

warnings: major character death, mentions of car accident, suicide, self-harm, mentions of coma, swearing, implied depression.

11-8-23

It's been two days since Seungmin got into a car crash. I couldn't bring myself to write the first two days, I barely left the hospital room. God, it hurts so much to see him like that..I can't do this. But he'll get better. I know that. He's not weak…he isn't. We still have that show to watch. I have uncanny counter on my watchlist and I'm not gonna watch it without him.

12-8-23

I'm gonna rip off this page and show it to you, Seung. You're so precious to me. I'll always be there for you. I know you know that already, but I wanted to say it anyway. I almost lost you. You looked so peaceful in that coma, but I was so distraught. I didn't know if you'd wake up…you know I hate not knowing things. I didn't know if you could hear me, or feel anything. I didn't know anything, Min…anything. Future me is gonna be so happy when you wake up. But just know that I believed in you since day 1. I knew you'd wake up. There's no way you wouldn't.

14-8-23

I'm losing hope. He isn't getting any better. Nothing's changing. But I think he'll be fine. He'll probably be fine. I don't know what I'll do without him. He's been by my side since we were babies and I don't know if I'll be able to function properly without him. But…everything's going to be fine. Everything will be okay.

15-8-23

Why isn't he waking up? I'm angry at everything. The world, that drunk bastard who hit my best friend's car, myself for some reason. I know there's no way I could've prevented this, but if I had driven him, maybe, just maybe, none of this would've happened. I don't even believe in God, but why did he let that happen? How could god let such a beautiful soul suffer? He's only 23. He's my everything, and the universe is taking him away from me.

16-8-23

I would've done anything to be in his place, to take away the pain he must be feeling. I wish it was just an organ that had something wrong with it, so I could save him. I'm praying to whatever God there is, just so he could at least let me know he's still there. Just for him to move an eyelid. He doesn't deserve this. He never did and he never will. But I'll stay by his side. I promise.

20-8-23

How is it going, future me? I haven't done anything these past few days, but you already know that. I can't get out of bed and I can't bring myself to eat. But you have to do better, okay? Min could wake up any day and I know he wouldn't want to see me like this. I feel so useless…I don't even know if he can hear me. I've been talking to him, hoping he could hear me, since the day of his accident. But I can't go there anymore…I want to, but I can't see him like that. I can't see him looking like he's dead.

22-8-23

Writing in this goddamn book is the only thing keeping me sane. I still have the entry I need to show Seungmin. I have to show him that myself if when he wakes up. I'm so ashamed of myself… I cut myself just so I could feel something. I can hear his fucking voice in my head calling me an idiot and telling me to stop. But I wanted to feel something. I'm sorry, Seungmin. I know I said I wouldn't do it again all those years back, but I just had to.

23-8-23

Seungmin loved these kinds of dates. 23-8-23..sounds pretty cool. I don't have anything to write, but the date reminded me of him.

24-8-23

I went to the hospital today. It's been a few days since I visited, and I thought he'd be better. But he looked worse, if that was possible. He looked so pale and so fragile. But hey, I look worse too, and I'm alive here. Is that the right word? I don't know. I told him I was sorry for breaking my promise and cutting myself. I kissed his cheek. He doesn't really like kisses, but I know he does. Idiot. I really hoped he'd feel that kiss and wake up to swat my hand away or something.

25-8-23

He's gone. he's dead. my best friend is dead. my Seungmin is dead. why should i live . how could you seungmin? he wouldnt want me to cry so fucking much over him but i don't know if i can even keep living at this rate. i don't know. i don't know and i hate it so much

26-8-23

would i be horrible for not attending his funeral? i can't go and see him dead. he once joked about wanting me to show up to his funeral in cartoon clothes. and i told him that i'd die first. that was kind of my biggest wish, to die before him.

27-8-23

we love him so much. i could see the members trying to keep it together, especially chan hyung… some of them were just broken. they looked as dead as he did. i couldn't bear to look at his family. i wanted to be a good friend. go and comfort them. or something. but i couldn't. should i just end it all? follow that dumbass everywhere like i said i would? at the time, i only meant that damn roller coaster i was scared of, but i'd really follow him everywhere.

28-8-23

i visited his grave. i never thought i'd visit his grave. never. but i wanted to apologize again. for everything.

29-8-23

i can hear his voice in my ears sometimes and i hate it so much. i miss him. i'm scared that the voice would fade.

2-9-23

i can't remember his scent. i have his perfume, but i can't remember what he smelled like. i don't know. i don't know what to do.

3-9-23

i always used to write dates like 3/9/23. one day, i saw his notebook and it he wrote it with dashes in between. it looked so pretty to me, so neat. everything reminds me of him. i didn't know that losing someone would make me sound so cliche. is this me trying to be funny? was that a joke? i let out a huff of air. seungmin would've rolled his eyes for sure.

4-9-23

i can hear his voice fade. i don't want to be alive when it's gone. i don't know how i made it this long. everything hurts. maybe it'll get better. apparently everything gets better. but even if it does, even if i recover, seungmin would still not be there to make fun of me or hug me. i won't get to see his smile in real life again.

5-9-23

its a rainy night. stars and raindrops. is it him? telling me he's okay? but i'm not okay.

BREAKING NEWS: MN LN OF STRAY KIDS FOUND DEAD

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 10 - I can’t think straight

Warnings: therapy talk of dissociation, red room discussion, talk of forced birth/pregnancy (but not described or graphic)

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha talks to the therapist who reveals secrets of their own.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

Olivia waits.

She itches the scar on her elbow absentmindedly.

She feels her guard go up as Natasha enters; the woman still handcuffed as they go through the rigmarole of uncuffing her and then sitting in silence.

Natasha doesn’t look at her.

Sharp eyes stare straight ahead.

They both know what’s coming.

“What do you want?” she opens, knowing the question will provoke her.

They’ve been at this for weeks.

It doesn’t always start like this. Sometimes it’s making sure Natasha’s not so dissociated that she can function through the day and the time in between.

Sometimes it’s touching on small things she’s said in debrief.

Provoking her, it’s not the point of the exercise.

The woman is barely holding it together, anyone who looks closely enough can see it.

They just have to want to.

No one in Shield has Natasha’s best interests in mind.

All they want is her information; her intelligence.

Olivia knows how it feels to be a defector.

The world is against her.

Natasha has to want to choose something for herself.

She knows this.

She wants Natasha to make a choice, any choice for herself.

The difficulty is that she has a lifetime of being told her voice doesn’t matter.

Natasha looks down at her hands, no words coming.

Olivia waits.

The dissociation that comes with asking hard, self reflecting questions is written on Natasha’s face.

She knows how it is; not being able to think straight.

She wonders how much to push today, how much to disclose and what to focus on.

With no answer forthcoming, she side steps.

“If I were to ask you, how you are, what would you say?”

Eyes look away, glancing at the time.

“Fine.”

The answer is curt.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

Natasha shifts in her seat.

“And if I were to ask you to pretend to be me, and tell me how you seem, what would you say?”

Natasha is quiet.

“I don’t know.”

Olivia pauses.

Natasha watches her closely.

“Do you ever get tired, of battling the old you? The you that’s still stuck in the Red Room, controlled by someone else?”

Natasha looks taken aback, defensive and angry at the statement but Olivia continues anyway.

“I can see it, I see how hard you’re fighting, neither the old you or this version of yourself succeeding; I can see how exhausted you are.”

The room is so quiet.

Natasha’s eyes are intent, breathing shallowly, waiting the next blow of words.

“You made the decisions to put yourself here. So answer me.”

The next words are punctuated.

“What do you want?”

Natasha feels that she could say something profound, something about wanting to live or to be able to take back her life.

But she can’t decide that yet.

She hasn’t decided that yet.

Life has a funny way of deciding things for her and she sits passive on the wave.

Natasha glances up.

Eyes locking onto the scar on her arm, so many things fit into place.

“How did you get out?”

Olivia smiles.

She’d wondered if Natasha knew and how long it would take her to ask.

She straightens her arm.

The mark of her first kill, still present even after all these years. She dug in too hard with her knife, the self loathing in that moment providing a mark for life.

“For every breakdown, there’s a breakthrough. I would like to say that it was easy. That I did it myself, but we both know that’s a lie. People died to get me out. I wasn’t sure if it was what I wanted but I couldn’t dishonour their sacrifice. For a long time, I looked like you do now. Scared and tired. Like the world just needs to stop, to get your bearings.”

Olivia takes a sip of her water, aware of the eyes that watch her every movement now, that analyse her being.

“But it does get better.”

She looks at Natasha, her gaze fierce until Natasha cannot hold the intensity.

Fingers clench and release and Olivia models a breath.

“I can tell you the story, but first,” she pauses.

“Tell me something you want.”

“I want to know how Maria knew my birthday,” she whispers, looking up and expecting the woman to be laughing at her.

The conversation that had occurred all those months ago, still plays in Natasha’s mind. The insinuation that someone knew more about herself than she did, made nights sleepless and haunting. She hated Maria for it, and Shield in turn.

The hatred had abated somewhat, but still simmered under the surface.

After all they had given her, she wanted something for it; even though she had no rights to ask.

Olivia looks at her seriously, there’s no hint of a laugh or a smile.

“Good Natasha. That’s good.”

And the praise feels like a calming balm, honeyed words that rip into her.

Natasha pushes the feelings aside, and stares expectantly at her, wanting the story she’d promised.

Olivia glances at the time.

“Olivia was not always my name, I was not what you see now.”

“I was on a mission to Salta. Argentina is everything you expect it to be, beautiful and if you know the underworld, dangerous.”

Like all widows, Olivia knows how to tell a story.

Natasha reflects on it momentarily before getting lost in the thoughts and feelings of the words that emanate.

She wonders if they all know how, because of the necessity of stories in the Red Room, or because it was the only way to pass the time.

She redirects her attention, back to the present and not to the image of the girls in her dormitory sitting hands cuffed on their beds telling ghost stories about the monsters in the basement that would eat little girls.

“It was my first mission without handlers, and I got captured.”

Natasha’s heart sinks.

“I escaped, of course, a filed down spoon slices throats just as easily as a knife if you know how to use it. But,”

Olivia sighs, “they didn’t believe that I didn’t give anything up. In those days, the Red Room was still a secret, Russia’s own little experimental trojan, to get captured was tantamount to death. But all the money they invested in me. They couldn’t kill me. I was … retired.”

The memory of the pain of hot irons on the soles of her feet makes her swallow.

“After everything; they didn’t trust me. So they had another use for me. Widows, when retired, were forced to have children, to start the next generations of Widows. This was, of course, before they realised that women and girls were more easily trafficked than spending money on maternal health care, if they wanted them to live.”

Olivia frowns, knowing she’s speaking too much.

“Salta taught me two things. One; the way I was raised was not normal. It should be obvious, but sometimes stating that out loud helped, and two, I didn’t want to be that person; I didn’t want to be their killer and certainly not… that.”

The implications of reproductive coercion was something Olivia had nightmares about. Even after all these years.

“So, I found a way out. I killed and maimed to do it. I lived in limbo, until I found someone who I could trust, and they bought me here.”

She takes a breath and looks at Natasha.

It’s simplistic.

Natasha hates her for not telling her the whole story.

The growing pangs of hunger for information just starting to take seeds as she realises the implications of Olivia being a Black Widow.

The things she could ask, the answers she could get.

Breathing stops as her mind moves a thousand miles a minute.

What does she want?

She wants to know more. She wants a real answer to her question.

Natasha feels herself lean back, unaware that her posture had leaned forward to hear all the information.

“I’ll answer your questions Natasha, but don’t ask me about this again.”

There’s a pause.

“I agreed to be your psychiatrist because of shared life experience, but I understand that if this blurs lines. If you do not want me to be your therapist, you can tell Clint, and he’ll sort out another for you.”

Olivia’s pragmatics takes Natasha a minute to sort through.

It’s the contrary of what she’s saying. If anyone understands her here, it’s the woman sitting in front of her.

The room’s silence does not feel uncomfortable.

“Maria knows your birthday because Shield has a dossier on you.”

Natasha knows this, she’d deduced it herself.

“The information they have is from a bug I’d placed in the systems of the red room. There’s a dossier on all the girls. The bug is dead now, the information outdated, but perhaps, if we can get you cleared, you can give us updates on some of the other girls.”

Natasha eyes widen.

Her chest constricts as she thinks of Yelena.

In that one moment, she pushes the thought away, the pain hitting her chest and making her even more breathless.

She’s dead.

She couldn’t survive the atrocities of the red room, nor would she have wanted her too.

She nods, remembering to breathe.

“Yes,” she replies slowly, “I want that.”

Olivia writes something on a post it note.

“What else?”

Natasha is truthful in her reply, wondering what it will cost her.

“I want to help.”

.

Fury stares; his face unreadable.

“She was going to find out eventually,” Olivia argues.

“By giving her a purpose, you’re helping her become something more than an informant, you’re helping her to become someone who could, in theory, become your greatest asset.”

Angrily, she continues.

“It’s not just about purpose, yes, she has purpose for you, whilst she’s feeding you information, but what happens when that information runs out? What then? Are you just going to let her rot in a cell? Even you can see the waste in that.”

Olivia calms herself, resets and looks him in his eye.

“What do you foresee happening? What does Thompson or the World Security Council see happening? You brought her here because Barton couldn’t kill her and saw promise of a defector that could do more for us than just die. You agreed to let her live and use Shield resources because of the abundance of information - she’s held up her end - and at cost to her, do you know just how much?”

Olivia is angry, Fury starts talking but she’s not done.

“You don’t know, you can’t know, just how hard she must have fought to reveal information. Words like that in the Red Room… to speak so freely… she would have been tortured; I think she expects to be, probably still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Olivia waits and Fury raises an eyebrow.

“Are you done?” he asks, voice low.

“I knew she would find out eventually, or that you would tell her. I think we all knew. I don’t disagree with you, the timelines though, are not ideal.”

He looks at her in thought.

“Design a mission for her. One that will give us our answers of if she has truly defected or not. Design it so there is no doubt that she is on our side. Then, and only then can we start training her like one of our own, trusting her, like we trust you.”

The words hold meaning.

Shield has never fully trusted her.

She laughs in derision but nods anyway.

A plan forms in her mind.

She thinks she knows what Natasha wants, she wants a reason to keep fighting. A reason to keep going that doesn’t leave her empty when she’s done.

Barton had started all this.

“Fine, but Barton is allowed to go with her.”

The manipulation starts slow, slow enough that she knows Fury won’t catch it until he’s deep in her web. He’ll hate her for it, but she can’t find it within herself to care.

Shield is not the safe place she knew.

She leans back on the chair, and Fury nods curtly.

“Fine.”

Olivia sits for a moment before standing.

“Don’t fail,” he tells her as she walks out the door.

“We never do,” replies the Widow, lost in her own thoughts.

.

(Did you catch it before this fic? Little reveals. Little secrets. <3 as always comments and likes/reblogs are <3)

[steviewashere]

Misplaced Emotion

Rating: General CW: None Apply To This One! Tags: Established Relationship, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, And Gets One, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Emotionally Hurt Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Cuddling, Arguing, Making Up, Hurt/Comfort

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is being able to say your sorry and mean it."

💕—————💕

Robin’s leaving for college this morning, Eddie knows this. He said his goodbyes yesterday. But Steve is saying his goodbyes today.

What this means, though, is that he needs to be prepared for Steve to come home. He knows already that he’s going to be an emotional mess. Will probably have some things that need to be said. Will probably put his sadness in the wrong place. Eddie’s well aware of how Steve functions in his emotions; it’s not always the prettiest thing to behold. It’s going to be a chilling September afternoon.

Though, when Steve does walk through their apartment, he’s oddly silent. Barely makes a noise with taking his jacket off or stacking his shoes on the rack. Doesn’t puff or groan or growl, like Eddie thought he would. No, he just slides into the living room with a completely glazed-over sheen to his face, limbs tense and awkward as he moves around the coffee table, completely silent when he sits down.

Eddie hesitates, “How’d it go, sweetheart?”

Steve doesn’t look over at him. His eyes set on his hands. Fingers picking at one another. He chews on his lips and shrugs. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” he states. His voice is far away and quiet. Almost lost in the air between them. He collapses back into the couch, moving to tuck himself into a little ball on his side, head pillowed on the arm of the sofa.

“Hm,” Eddie hums. “Y’know, you got back earlier than I thought you would. Thought that she didn’t have to leave until four?” He looks at his watch very briefly. “It’s only two,” he points out.

“Eds,” Steve sighs. “I just said I don’t want to talk about it. Need…Silence, I think.” His eyes are so far away, Eddie nearly fears the distance they’ve travelled to. What happened, he wants to ask, but knows better than to attempt it.

Though, “Are you sure, Stevie? I can turn on a movie or something or maybe make—“

“Eddie!” Steve snaps. Eddie startles in his cushion, face immediately souring at Steve’s tone. He crosses his arms over his chest, broadening his shoulders in the face of Steve’s sharp glare. There’s some clearance in his eyes now. Eddie’s not very pleased with how they’re on him, though. “I don’t want to talk! Just—I just need some time to think!”

“What—Steve,” Eddie growls. If Steve’s going to be pissy, then Eddie can shoot it right back. “Why are you getting angry at me? I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay! This isn’t how you are normally and—“

Instead of listening anymore, Steve abruptly shifts on the couch. Sitting up ramrod straight. Face away from Eddie. Huffing as he stands up. And then he leaves the room entirely, shuffling down the hallway. He slams their bedroom door hard enough that it ricochets the wall behind Eddie.

On any other day, Eddie would dignify Steve’s anger by letting him have his space. But this isn’t a normal day. And this isn’t how Steve even voices his anger, usually. Typically, he’s the type to immediately go sit in their room, contemplating what happened, only reappearing some time later to explain what’s going on in his head. This isn’t him. And something is wrong. And Eddie knows it.

He goes to the farthest door in the hallway. Shuffling absently in front of it, raising a hand to land on the doorknob. And that’s when he hears Steve…crying. Nothing soft or sniffling or quiet, which is typical Steve behavior. No, this is almost wailing. It’s clawing out of him, nails raised at his tender skin, breaking through with blood and bones. The kind that sounds like it hurts to even travel through his throat.

Eddie opens the door. Gently, softly as to not bring attention to himself. He sidelines the bed completely, instead crossing into their attached bathroom. It’s odd to pretend that he’s using the bathroom, just to make sure he doesn’t upset Steve anymore.

But also, if he’s honest with himself, he’s sort of feeling like a massive piece of shit. On one hand, for pushing and prodding at information that Steve doesn’t have or won’t give. And on the other, for not taking care of Steve when he needed it. Why couldn’t I just shut up, he begs to wonder. Because that’s part of it, right? He pissed Steve off by not silencing his yapping. Always one to aggravate the dragon.

When he goes back into their room, he settles tensely on the edge of their mattress. Strips out of his pants, turns on the bedside lamp, sets his alarm for a few hours later, and settles on top as if going to sleep. Steve’s next to him still. Whimpering into his palm. Laying on his side, curled into himself, hands tucked under his chin. He jostles the bed with every small sob that escapes him, but he attempts to bite it back. As if he doesn’t want Eddie to hear. Which, that’s pretty usual for him, but it still makes Eddie ache in a terribly painful way.

He shuts his eyes and breathes deeply, feigning to pretend. Just imagine the room silent and dark. That he’s actually tired and wants to take a nap. Miraculously, it works. He drifts off, still aching and yearning to soothe Steve, still listening in on the cries and the sniffles and the gross wet coughs. But he falls asleep.

The next time Eddie wakes, it’s to his alarm blaring on the table. He clumsily reaches out a hand and silences it. Groaning, running a hand down his face, grimacing at the drool on his fingertips. He’s rolled onto his side at one point and shifts onto his back once more. But as soon as his bleary eyes focus on the space around him, he yelps, freaked out.

Above him, staring at him with the saddest eyes in the world, is Steve. His face is swollen and his eyes are wet, bloodshot, absolutely devastating. Steve’s breath is stuttering hot and cold over Eddie’s face. There are tear tracks sizzled into his skin. A shiny spot of snot at the edge of his nostril. Like he just finished crying.

“Christ,” Eddie breathes. “Hi, baby. Scared me.” He wrestles one of his hands from under the comforter, running it up the length of Steve’s spine, resting his fingers at the nape of his neck, and toys with his hair. “Give a guy a warn—“

“I’m sorry,” Steve cries out. He hiccups a sigh and coughs on the sob at the end of his breath. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Eddie whispers. He carefully sits up, hand still in place, Steve moves with him. His other palm goes to Steve’s left bicep, squeezing with subtle soothe. “Hey, honey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“But I was so mean and awful and I didn’t—“ Steve coughs again, gagging with it. His breath shudders in his chest. Face going splotchy red all over again. “—I didn’t—I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.”

Eddie tentatively wraps his arms around Steve, tugging him into his chest, cushioning his head under his chin. Steve turns into his shirt, sobbing loud and jagged right where his heart is. It hurts, hurts, hurts. He shushes the best he can, fingers splayed over his warm back, running in soothing stripes up and down his spine. “I know, baby. It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it,” he assures. Because that’s true. Steve acted on impulse, matching where his emotion was already high strung and set. “I’m sorry, too,” Eddie whispers, “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Steve only cries harder at that.

They sway lightly from side to side. Eddie’s torso is cramping from his twisted position and knows with how cramped up Steve is, he isn’t faring any better. But still, they rock and sway. He hums and takes deep breaths, just so that Steve has something to follow, to come back to from however far away he is.

And when Steve only hiccups, his little breaths short and forced from his nose, does Eddie stop moving them. “You with me again, sweetheart?” He asks.

A nod against his chest. The silence stretching between them, sans Steve’s breathing. Eddie briefly wonders if this is it. If this is the only thing he’s going to get out of Steve. And knows, that though it’s not the best thing in the world, he’ll take barely anything over nothing.

But then, “She left already,” Steve mutters.

Eddie hums in question.

In tentative, slow movements, Steve pulls away from him. His head is tilted down. Hair hanging limp in his face. Eddie brings a palm to his hairline, guiding it back to the crest of his skull, holding his hand there. It’s weight hot and grounding against Steve’s scalp. With the hair out of the way, Eddie can see the sad, yet contemplative look on Steve’s face.

“Robin,” Steve murmurs, “she left for college already. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“What?” Eddie squeaks. Because that can’t be true.

Steve nods solemnly. “Yeah,” he whispers, “hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“Why didn’t she say she was leaving early? That’s—“ Eddie huffs, now is not the time for him to angry. “I’m sorry, love bug.”

“Drove all the way out there at the ass crack of dawn. Got to her house just in time, or so I thought. But when I knocked on her door?” He asks rhetorically. Eddie nods, though he doesn’t think Steve actually sees him. Steve huffs. “Her mom answered. Saying that Robin already left. Said that she had to leave early to make it to her flight.” He shrugs. “Nothing I can do about it now.”

Eddie brings his other palm up and rests it on the side of Steve’s face, cupping his jaw, thumb sweeping over his soft cheek. Steve nuzzles into the hold, eyes closing, sighing from his nose. A stray tear drips down onto the tip of Eddie’s thumb. He wants to crumble at the sight.

“She’ll call,” he tells Steve. “She’ll apologize and find a way to make it up to you.”

“What if—“ Steve chews on his lip. His voice is raspy with emotion when he speaks again. “—What if she just got tired of me?”

Eddie squishes Steve’s cheek, holding him steadfast. “No way,” he rushes to say. Heated with it. “No, Steve, she didn’t. Baby, she was a sobbing mess yesterday about how much she’s going to miss you. All it was was poor planning, that’s all.” He pets Steve’s hair again, smoothing it flatter to his head, tickling his ear with the dry skin of his palm. “That’s all it was, baby. She loves you so much. She’ll call, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, small.

“Yes, Steve,” he assures. “She has our phone number. Robin will call.”

Steve nods in Eddie’s hold. He’s practically boneless, exhausted. He swallows hard. “I really am sorry about how I acted,” he murmurs, “that wasn’t fair of me to put the target on you.”

“Forgiven,” Eddie whispers. He pulls Steve back in, tucking him safely and securely into his body heat. Melding them together. “I love you too much to be angry about something like that. You’re okay.”

With that, Steve shakes again in his embrace. Wetting the skin on Eddie’s neck. He swallows and tilts his eyes to the ceiling. He’ll cry later, now is not the time. He holds to Steve tighter. Doesn’t want to let him go again.

💕—————💕

[thatbxolivia]

summary- daddy!vader x little!reader vader has a bad pain day and little!reader just wants to help :(

without any hesitation, he told you no. that was just his thing, you guessed.

no, you can’t be that way. you’re too little.

no, you can’t do that. you’re too little.

no, you can’t help me. you’re too little.

all of these phrases usually brought you comfort. his acknowledgement of your headspace was validating and usually made you feel more secure. today was different. today, he was almost in too much pain. so much he could barely function. he tried to hide it, but you were regressed, not stupid. anyone could see the distress he was in.

“daddy, please let me help you.” you pleaded, not wanting him hurt. you didn’t mind helping, so why did he mind so much?

“no, it’s my job to take care of you, not the other way around.” he spoke through the mask, unable to take it off. he sat in his throne, and you stood beside him. you couldn’t even sit in his lap without hurting him. he tried to hide it, but again, you weren’t stupid.

“that’s not true. it’s both of our jobs to take care of each other.” you said, kneeling on the ground and resting your head very lightly on his knee. “i can help, too… i’m not helpless, daddy. let me help you.”

“i know you’re not helpless,” he sighed. “i would never think so little of you.”

“then let me do my part.”

“i’m supposed to be the one who cares for you-“

“no, i said we take care of each other. so sometimes that means i help you when you can’t help yourself. just let me, please.” you begged, giving him puppy dog eyes.

“this conversation is over, little one.” he told you, getting up. you could tell it hurt him but he refused to make a single sound. it broke your heart as he walked by you. he turned around and held his hand out. “please, come with me.”

“i can’t stand to see you hurt.” you said, crying. you stayed on the floor, kneeling, and looking at the now empty throne. he should be sitting. resting. taking it slow. he never gives himself the same grace he extends to you and it’s always upset you. but today, this was something fierce. you were angry. “stop hiding from me! at the end of the day, you’re not just my ‘daddy’. you’re my partner and i’m here to help you, so fucking let me help you!” you yelled. he looked down and sighed, turning his hands into fists.

“he says it’s weak.” was all daddy spoke. he didn’t need to name anyone, you knew it was the emperor.

“he’s the one who’s weak!” you shouted, earning an immediate “shush” from your daddy.

“quiet! do you want the entire empire thinking you’re against us?!” he questioned.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered. “but having the strength to recognize when your body needs a rest is anything but weak. he’s wrong.” you finished. “please let me help you. you’re in the dark right now and i can bring you back into the light.”

“you are the light.” he said.

“please rest.” you said, moved by his words and hoping you were getting close to convincing him. he turned to you and sighed again, accepting defeat. you already had convinced him.

“i don’t know how.” he admitted.

“you can use your bacta tank.” you suggested.

“i hate not being needed-“

“i need you more than ever. i know you need me as much as i need you. i’m not going anywhere, like you always say.” you reassured him. “daddy, please go to the tank. i don’t like seeing you in pain, if it were me, you’d demand i rest. why don’t you get the same grace?” you asked, speaking aloud your earlier thoughts.

“i don’t know.” he admitted. you’d expected a snide remark or maybe a quip about how he was your daddy and you were just a baby. but no, the truth was, he didn’t know.

“we can talk more about it later.” you said, picking up on the fact he did not want to speak now. you picked up the tablet and typed on it, sending in service droids to help him with the bath. “right now, you need rest.” you said as you set the tablet back down.

“my love?”

“yes?”

“will… you wait with me?”

“i’d love to, daddy.” you smiled. you walked back with him as the droids followed, hovering behind you.

as you entered the room where his tank was, you were reminded of the last time you were in here. when you had been taken and daddy came to rescue you. you had been seriously injured and he’d put you in his tank, waiting by you for seven hours as you healed. you’d happily do the same now for him.

in the distance, your daddy was already getting ready. you gasped in horror as the machines ripped off the limbs and tore off his suit and you finally heard him cry out in pain.

“stop! stop!!!” you cried out, the droids responding and shutting down.

“they have to finish.” he said, legs still attached and grunting in pain.

“like that?! make them more gentle!” you suggested and he shook his head, smiling sadly at you.

“the emperor has them locked. i can’t change anything.” he said. “resume.” the droids powered back up and began roughly taking off the legs, his pained noises continuing. you grunted and kicked the floor, this was so unfair. you heard his cries stop and just heavy breathing for a few moments. you turned around as they put an oxygen mask on him, lifting him to put him in the tank. as he entered, you felt something prodding around in your mind.

him.

can you feel me?

“daddy?”

you don’t have to speak.

you nodded and sat on the floor, by where his feet would be, and sighed, pressing your head on the cool glass. the droids made their exit and you were left with the controls of the tank. you began crying, thinking unfair he always had to be in pain.

please don’t cry.

“i can’t not cry, daddy. i’m so sad.” you said, opting to speak. you sniffled and wiped at your tears, trying to toughen up, but it wasn’t working.

you’d sit here as long as he needed you to. you’d do anything for him. he gets to have his grand moments where he confesses his love for you and all the things he’d do to keep you safe and the truth was, you’d do the same and more for him. so, that’s why you felt so helpless that he was in pain, and his only option was a bacta tank, breathing through water with a mask like he was some kind of sea creature on display. it wasn’t fair.

calm your mind, little one.

“daddy, it’s hard. everything is so unfair!” you cried. you could feel his pain and sadness and it was overwhelming.

i don’t want to hide from you anymore. this is the reality. if you don’t want it, i’ll understand.

“i want it if it means i keep you, daddy.” you whined. “i’ll take whatever comes with you.” you said.

you are the only light in my life.

the words rang in your head and you knew the importance of them, especially coming from him.

“as you are in mine.” you whispered, calming down. “i’ll stay with you forever.”

[joelalorian]

Tides of Desire - Chapter Three: The Cut of One's Jib

Pairing: Yacht Captain!Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Summary: TLOU no outbreak AU. Joel Miller is a luxury yacht captain running charters in the Caribbean. You join the crew as a deckhand and unexpectedly complicate Joel's peaceful existence. Basically the TLOU bunch on a Below Deck yacht.

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, adventure, alcohol, injuries, fluff, angst, smut (eventual), slowish burn. Reader is a badass. Smallish age gap (reader is 32 or so, Joel is 40). Additional warnings will be posted with each chapter as needed. No use of y/n.

Series masterlist

Chapter Three: The Cut of One's Jib

Daylight barely made it through the porthole to pierce your eyelids, aggravating the fucking epic hangover you were sporting. Every part of your body ached, but none more so than your head. There must have been several angry little men with jackhammers battering away at your brain, it was the only explanation for the level of pain being inflicted.

Dreading the very thought of getting out of bed, you slunk onto the floor, legs already unable to perform their function. You needed sustenance asap, and no light breakfast would suffice. You needed a full, greasy spread and about a gallon of diet coke to take off the edge of this wretched hangover.

What was it you said to Joel that first day aboard the yacht? You liked to make sure your hangovers were worth it?

Yeah, that was a fucking lie. You had lots of fun last night, but not enough to justify a Stage 5 Hangover like this – what the hell?

It had to be the fucking shots. They were always enough to ruin a fine night out.

Food. No more thinking, you needed food before your aching brain could process much of anything.

Stumbling out of the cabin in rumpled pajamas, hair a wild mess around your head, you headed straight for the fridge in the crew mess and grabbed two cans of Diet Coke, two eggs, bacon, and cheese. Next, you grabbed a large bagel from the bread box, and proceeded to fry up the eggs and bacon. In record time, you were seated at the table devouring your greasy breakfast sandwich – an American staple as far as you were concerned – with a heavy sigh.

Your mouth was full, a bit of grease dripping down your chin, when Joel entered, his eyes raking over you with a furrowed brow. Too hungover to feel embarrassed, you merely nodded your head at him and kept eating.

“Fun night, I take it?” His tone was more clipped than usual while he turned to get a pot of coffee going. He preferred the pot rather than the Keurig, you noticed early on. Something about freshly grinding his own beans and letting the coffee percolate, he told you during a prior conversation.

“Mmhmm,” you replied around another mouthful of food. You swallowed, followed by a large gulp of soda from the can. “Listen, about your offer to guide me – how and when would you like to do this?”

Turning back to you, Joel assessed the view before him, dark eyes cataloguing your current hot mess state. “Well, you’re clearly in no shape to start anythin’ today. I’ll talk to Tommy later – once we pull lines on the next charter, you’ll come up to the bridge to steer us out of the marina. Good?”

Eyes widening, you nodded. “Er, yeah, that sounds spectacular. Thanks, Joel.”

His eyes softened slightly though he remained a tad standoffish compared to prior interactions. You weren’t sure why he was acting that way, but you also did not have the mental capacity to worry about it too much. The food and soda merely took the edge off the massive headache. You needed a shit ton of water and several more hours of sleep.

“Well, I’m heading back to bed to sleep this shit off,” you informed Joel as you grabbed a couple bottles of water and shuffled back to your cabin. He watched you go, face shadowed with a frown.

…………………………….

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Tommy’s eyebrows shot upwards at his brother’s tone. It was almost accusatory and left him bewildered. The events of the night before flashed through his mind trying to recall whatever he’d supposedly done to annoy Joel. Aside from getting quite drunk and dancing, mostly with you, he couldn’t think of anything. Unless… wait, was that it?

It was a routine on the yacht for the Millers to gather for breakfast as a family on their off day prior to each new charter and the three of them sat on the flybridge while the rest of the crew relaxed elsewhere. That morning, breakfast was rife with abnormal tension from Joel and Tommy’s hangover had him in a mood. Sarah merely sat watching the two of them with curiosity.

“I did, actually. Not sure why that annoys you though, brother.”

“Hmph,” Joel grunted in return, turning his attention back to the eggs Tess was kind enough to make him.

“You really gonna take that tone with me and not even tell me why?” Tommy growled in annoyance, matching dark eyes clashing as they glared at each other across the table.

“Oh, for the love of…” Sarah sighed, her fork clattering against the empty plate before her. “You two are ridiculous. You know you’re supposed to be grown men yet you both act like sullen little boys fighting over the same toy.”

“’Xcuse you?” Joel muttered, matching Tommy’s sputtered utterance of, “Rude.”

Scooping her fork up, Sarah used it to point at her father, her eyes meeting those of her uncle. “He has a… thing… for England and you were practically all over her last night.”

The scowl returned to Joel’s face – fucking hell, was he really that obvious? – and Tommy’s eyebrows popped up to nearly meet his hairline. “Well, shit,” he sighed at the realization that Joel had the hots for someone, finally. Sucked that it was the same woman he, too, found extremely attractive.

“Yeah, so maybe the two of you could keep it in your pants until the season’s over? She doesn’t need you both perving over her while she’s trying to do her job.” Sarah was only half-serious, having already picked up on the way you react to her father, which was entirely different to how you reacted to Tommy. You clearly had the hots for Joel as well and she thought you would make a nice couple. Knowing her dad as she did, though, Sarah knew that he wouldn’t do anything about it while on the yacht.

“For fuck’s sake, can we put an end to this conversation?” Joel stood, the words coming out of his mouth with a hint of mortification mixed with his obvious annoyance. Before either Sarah or Tommy could respond, he was gone.

Turning back to her uncle, Sarah looked at him pleadingly. “Maybe just chill this season, yeah?” He knew at once that she wanted him to back off from flirting or making a move on you and Tommy agreed. He wasn’t looking for a relationship anyway – seasonal or otherwise – just a bit of fun that he could find elsewhere. Joel was the relationship guy, when he allowed himself the indulgence, and you deserved that kind of treatment.

……………………………………………

Joel’s voice was a deep rumble over the radio calling for Sarah, Tess, and Tommy to meet on the bridge for the preference sheet meeting the next day. It was time for the rundown on the next charter.

“Our next charter is a bachelorette party.” Joel passed out copies of the preference sheets, the announcement drawing groans from Sarah and Tess and a gleeful grin from Tommy. “Eight women in their thirties – I need you to be on your best behavior, Tommy.”

“Why you gotta call me out like that, Joel?” the younger Miller brother grumbled, feathers ruffled.

“Gimme a break, Tommy. We all know you’re a sucker for bachelorette parties and you know the rules on charter.” Joel’s voice was firm, not willing to budge on the rule against fraternization with guests, no matter how attractive and willing they might be.

“Yeah, well, fifty bucks says at least one of them tries to get in the captain’s pants,” Tommy fired back earning himself a piercing glare from his brother.

Focused back on discussing the preference sheets, the department heads reviewed the primary guest’s requests – beach excursion with a barbecue lunch, water activities, a tour of the historic streets of San Juan, and, on the final night, a male review featuring the male crew, including the captain.

The contrast between Tommy’s glee and Joel’s distaste at the final request was comical, Sarah and Tess easily gave in to laughter at their expense. The blazing burn of the glare aimed at them from Joel did little to temper their amusement.

“Zip it already,” Joel grumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he sat back in his seat. “Tess, why don’t you run through their food preferences for us.”

The requests amounted to typical yachting delicacies, but Tess knew that a group like this would consume a fuck ton of alcohol and the culinary cravings would likely shift to requests for fried or comfort foods. After making a few notes, Joel called the meeting to an end. The crew spent the rest of the day readying the boat.

The following morning started out with an unexpected squall – high winds and rain battered the marina for a few hours, leaving Joel to stress over the weather radar, hoping for a break in the storm in time for the arrival of the charter guests. If it didn’t, they would be stuck in the marina far longer than he’d prefer and it would affect his ability to have you steer the boat out to sea.

Joel found himself waffling back and forth between excitement to work closer with you and fear of getting too close – he still thought the offer to help you was his dumbest idea yet, but the thought of calling it off left him feeling hollow.

The squall blew through just in time for the guests to unload from their taxi, the ground still wet beneath their high heels. The women were already boisterous, screeches and girlish laughter piercing Joel’s ears as he and the crew lined up to greet them on the aft deck. The co-primaries were the maid of honor, a stunning brunette with impossibly long legs and a touch too much makeup, and the bachelorette herself, a tanned blonde with the prettiest ringlet curls adorning her head.

The women’s attention was instantly piqued at the sight of Joel and Tommy as the two most attractive of the crew, their eyes raking over them with hunger.

“Welcome aboard the Radiance, ladies,” Joel greeted the group once they all had flutes of champagne in hand. “Sarah will give you a tour and take you to your cabins. Please let any of us know if you need anything.”

“Would you join us for dinner this evening, Captain?” the maid of honor, Jessica, questioned before following Sarah to the upper decks, her slender hand sliding down his tanned bicep and forearm. The action left a trail of gooseflesh in its wake and Joel’s lips thinned prior to forcing a closed-mouth smile.

“It would be my honor,” he rasped, subtly stepping back from the woman. Joel’s eyes caught yours in a wide-eyed gaze as he realized you witnessed the interaction. You were gone before he could assess your expression.

………………..

You and Ellie worked the lines on the stern, listening to Tommy call out instructions over the radio as the engines spurred to life. You loved the burn in your shoulders and arms from hauling the lines in, it was an excellent workout. Once they were secured, Ellie turned to you.

“So, this is gonna be an interesting charter.” You grunted in agreement, already uninterested in watching a group of women throw themselves at Joel and Tommy. Before you could add anything of substance to the conversation, Joel radioed, requesting your presence on the bridge.

It was time to have your first lesson with Joel. Ellie’s face lit up, teasing you as you left.

Hands trembling with nervous energy, you made your way up to the bridge. Joel stood at the controls, still clad in his dress whites, the material hugging his broad build, and feet bare. You noticed that Joel loved to walk around the yacht shoeless. You weren’t a foot person, often finding them gross, but even you had to admit that Joel had nice feet – they were large, with long toes, and he clearly took care of them.

Your name was breathed into the room, drawing your attention to the fact that you stood there just staring at the man for however long. “Hi Cap,” you greeted with a bashful smile gracing your lips.

“You ready for your first lesson in being a Captain?” Joel waved you over, stepping aside to allow you to stand in front of the wheel. Instructing you on where to place your hands, he began pointing out the sight lines and various meters and equipment to keep an eye on while the yacht traveled out of the marina.

His deep voice was like velvet washing over you as you absorbed everything like a sponge. Despite your clear attraction and nervous energy, working with Joel felt natural, like you’d done it for years. He was a knowledgeable and patient teacher, and you soaked up his instruction and praise. Once the yacht was out in the open water, the pair of you watched the horizon.

“Thank you for this,” you gestured with your left hand across the bridge, the underside of your wrist catching Joel’s attention. His large hand gently grasped your hand, turning it palm up, and a long, thick finger traced over the pattern of the beautiful compass rose tattoo on your wrist. A delightful chill swept over you leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

“Beautiful,” Joel whispered, his dark gaze caught yours, his large hand still delicately grasping your smaller one. “I never noticed it before. Does it have meaning to you?”

You nodded dazedly, the warmth of his touch against your skin a distraction to clear thinking. “It’s an homage to my grandfather representing our combined love for the sea and it keeps me pointed in the right direction on my adventures.”

“Very fitting.” His voice rumbled from his chest and your hand fell from his grip. Clearing his throat, Joel made idle conversation, wanting you to linger on the bridge a little longer until you had to return to your duties. “Where do you call homebase when you’re not yachting?”

“It varies, I move around a lot, but right now I have an apartment on the gulf coast of Florida. How about you?”

“Sarah, Tommy, and I all live in Austin, Texas during our downtime. I’ve owned a house there since Sarah was born,” Joel explained.

“Is that near the water? Sorry, I don’t know Texas well.” You couldn’t imagine him living too far from sea.

“We have some rivers and lakes nearby, but it’s several hours away from the Gulf. We thought about moving to the coast, but there’s just something about Austin that I don’t want to leave.” Joel’s eyes softened further, likely recalling years of happy memories from back home.

You nodded, a tender smile on your lips. “It must be a nice feeling to have a connection to one place like that. I’ve never known that having shuffled around so much, even when my parents were alive. I guess the closest I’ve come was my grandfather’s cottage in England.”

“Do you have any siblings?” Joel asked suddenly and you shook your head. “No, I’m all alone in this world. I’m an only child and lost my parents about ten years ago, only a few years after my grandfather. They were both only children as well, our family was very small.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighed, thick arms pulling you into a tight hug with your head tucked against his chest. Your arms slid around his waist of their own accord. The hug was warm with just the right amount of pressure – a niggling thought squirmed its way through your mind that hugs from Joel were the closest you’ve ever come to a feeling like ‘home’. The pair of you stood like that for interminable minutes, neither willing to let go, until Tommy called your name over the radio startling you from the peaceful moment.

Feeling vulnerable, you blurted a rushed goodbye and fled back to your duties. Your thoughts remained on Joel the rest of the day as the attraction grew the more time you spent with him.

Joel was in the same boat, pardon the pun, feeling the attraction grow as he learned more and more about you, each new bit of information making him curiouser still. His mind was pre-occupied with thoughts of you later that evening while dressing for dinner with the charter guests. It was something he was not the least bit looking forward to, but he could not turn down a dinner request.

The women were already seated at an elegantly decorated table on the flybridge – he made a mental note to commend Sarah and the other stews on their table décor – when he sidled up, dressed in his black uniform. Joel could feel all eyes on him, it felt like he was a piece of meat as he settled at the head of the table.

“Evening ladies,” he greeted, elbows perched on the table and hands clasped. Joel geared himself up as best he could, but these women were an unknown quantity having been drinking all day. He anticipated this dinner would be… annoying. Joel already sorted out a safe word with Sarah as a signal for her to call him away for some made up emergency if things got out of hand.

Almost immediately, the tipsy women began flirting, fluttering their eyelashes and staring with glassy doe eyes at him. The woman nearest him immediately squeezed his bicep without regard to his discomfort. “Do you work out, Captain?”

Joel grunted out a no, stating that yachting and staying active on the water was often a workout in itself.

“I bet it is,” Jessica, the maid of honor, chimed in from across the table, eyeing him with that hungry gaze again. Yep, he was definitely a piece of meat. “Tell me, Captain, are you single?”

Knowing that question was bound to pop up, Joel groaned internally. He briefly considered lying as thoughts of you flashed through his mind, but he settled for the truth in the end. “Yes. I don’t really have time for dating right now.”

“You’re still a man with needs that have to be satisfied,” Jessica purred, the rest of the table letting out collective sighs and giggles.

Good lord, Joel thought, this woman was downright predatory. “Sure, yeah.” The first course finally arrived, and Joel met his daughter’s eyes with a pleading look, silently begging her to get him out of this awkwardness.

The incorrigible maid of honor barely waited for the stews to place the plates down before continuing her pursuit of him. “Tell me, do you ever satisfy those needs with charter guests?”

You happened to step out on the flybridge at that moment, gasping with the impertinence of the question. Joel’s eyes shot to yours, wide and mortified. Your gazes remained locked as he replied with a sharp, “No. I don’t partake in nor tolerate that kind of impropriety on my boat.”

Sarah caught the safe word – impropriety – at once and stepped up to her dad’s side, bending to whisper in his ear. “Jesus Christ, dad. Let’s get you out of here before they rip off your uniform and have you for dinner.”

Joel’s face remained stoic as he nodded, gaze finally breaking from yours and turned to those seated at the table. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, there’s an urgent matter I must deal with on the bridge.”

Shot from his seat like a rocket, Joel stormed past you, waves of anger and embarrassment washing over him. What a fucking disaster.

……………………….

The charter got progressively worse for Joel – Tommy, too – as the women binged on alcohol all day and flirted outrageously with the handsome brothers. Tommy was more tolerant of it, dancing flirtatiously along the edge, giving just enough sass back to keep them entertained without ever crossing the line. On the other hand, Joel had more than enough of the harpies after that first night and did not respond to their efforts beyond valiant attempts at polite, tight-lipped smiles. He kept to himself as much as possible the entire week, trying his best to avoid further embarrassing interactions.

It was all for naught. The maid of honor was relentless, going so far as trying to bribe Ellie into showing her where the captain’s quarters were late one night while she was on anchor watch. You were horrified on Joel’s behalf when Ellie told you the following morning. You were surprised the lecherous woman hadn’t explored the whole ship to hunt him down.

Sarah and her team were running ragged, constantly ‘on’ trying to keep the women entertained enough to distract them from harassing her father further.

Somehow, you all made it to the final night of the charter – the night the guests requested the male review. In all her infinite wisdom – before she realized quite how horrid these guests would be – Sarah ordered special uniforms for the men to wear for the review. They were basically Speedos patterned in the flag of the state or country each man was from. The women on the crew were lost in hysterical laughter when you informed them that your Australian ex-boyfriend always called them ‘budgie smugglers’. That became the crew’s new name for the small strips of fabric and the look on the faces of Bill and Joel when they were shown what they’d have to wear was something you’d never forget.

“What the fuck is this?” Bill barked gruffly, the scrap of fabric dangling from his pointer finger. His bearded face was marred with clear disdain. “I am not wearing this in front of guests. Or at all, for that matter.”

“Oh, come on, Bill!” Frank chided; his handsome face lit up with glee. Along with Sammy and Tommy, he was far too entertained by the idea of parading around in the tiny swimwear. “It’s all in good fun and will get us a good tip.”

While Frank continued his efforts to persuade Bill to participate, Joel’s eyes were shooting daggers at his daughter. “Sarah, baby girl, you can’t be serious with this shit,” he murmured. “I can’t wear this and only this in front of these women. They’ll eat me alive!”

As much as you would love to see Joel in a budgie smuggler, you were inclined to agree with him that he could not possibly wear one in front of these women, especially when you all knew they would be several sheets to the wind at that point.

Tommy, however, disagreed. “If I have to wear one, then so do you, brother. Man up, Joel.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But I promise, Dad, you will only be in front of them long enough for one song,” Sarah added, “then you can go back to hiding.”

Knowing he couldn’t make his crew do it if he wasn’t also willing – he was a collaborative leader, after all – Joel relented, grumbling under his breath the whole time. On the other hand, Bill adamantly refused to give in and even went so far as to tell Joel to fire him for insubordination. Of course, Joel would never, not for such a ridiculous cause, so he let the gruff man off the hook.

After a decadent dinner of pan-seared monkfish, sea scallops, and a bunch of other delicious-looking food you had no idea how to pronounce, the women were practically vibrating in their seats awaiting the show. The wine flowed along with the hooting and hollering for the male crew to come out once the table was cleared.

With Bill taking anchor watch, the rest of you were allowed to attend the show for the fun of it. You and Ellie stood off to the side with Emmy and Talia while Sarah played the MC. The men didn’t allow any of you to see them in their outfits before the show, so your mouth dropped open in authentic surprise when they each burst through the door to the flybridge, chests bare and bronzed, cocks secured in their budgie smugglers.

Tommy volunteered to be first, always willing to show off in front of the ladies. Your eyes widened at the size of him in the small bit of fabric. He was definitely above average, a thin happy trail leading down his toned stomach, and all of the guests noticed. Frank, Connor, and Sammy followed, each putting on a little show as they danced onto the deck. You were quite impressed with Frank’s moves.

To no one’s surprise, Joel emerged last, posture stiff and unyielding, bare feet practically stomping onto the flybridge. The sight of so much of him bare before your eyes caused your stomach to flip. Broad, tanned chest sparsely peppered with hair. Tummy slightly soft. Arms and legs thick with sinewy muscle. His budgie smuggler was patterned with the Texas state flag, just like Tommy’s, the lone star distorted with the sheer size of the bulge beneath the material. He was fucking huge, putting all of the other men on the boat to shame. Your eyes drank him in, pink tongue darting out to moisten your lips, your heartbeat staccato in your chest, your thighs clenched.

Joel’s scowl was etched in stone until his darting eyes met and held yours. Your reaction to him was visceral and he drank it in, using it to power through the awful experience. There was no doubt in his mind now, you were definitely attracted to him, and his confidence soared. The catcalls from the guests became background noise as he held your gaze, body moving without thought to the beat of the song playing through the speakers.

The song ended, the jeers of the guests the only sound left filling the night air.

“Take it off, Captain! Let us see that thing you’re working with!” the maid of honor exclaimed, practically salivating over the gorgeous man. Her body was already out of her seat trying to get to Joel, a desperate, feral gleam in her eyes.

You could read his lips as his heated gaze broke from yours, that sinful mouth forming the words ‘oh shit’ as the insane woman’s fingertips closed in on his bare chest. With panic in those soulful dark eyes, Joel turned sharply and fled to the safety of his quarters.

………………………………….

It was a relief to everyone when the bachelorette party charter finally departed for destination unknown. That was the strangest charter you ever experienced; the women were downright desperate for the Miller brothers, particularly Joel.

A mix of concern and lust for Joel plagued you all night, leaving you feeling dirty and no better than the women who objectified him the entirety of their charter. Your mind would not let go of the picture it snapped of him standing nervous yet proud in nothing but the budgie smugglers, looking like temptation incarnate. It flashed across your eyelids every time you closed your eyes. It played on repeat in your dreams. It haunted you in the shower in the morning and you caved to the unyielding throb in your core, fingers dipping to strum at your clit until the pressure snapped, teeth piercing your bottom lip nearly hard enough to break the skin in the effort to suppress your moans.

Flaming heat flooded your skin as the shame washed over you, the cold water flowing from the showerhead doing little to temper the burn. How could you face him after this? You really were no better than those desperate women.

You were quiet and atypically reserved as you joined Connor, Ellie, and Tommy in docking the boat, silently following Tommy’s callouts over the radio and nodding to Connor to respond when needed. You avoided gazes while hefting the guests’ luggage off the yacht. You hid at the tail end when the crew lined up, as far from Joel as you could possibly get on the aft deck. Forced smiles and false well wishes sounded down the line as the women thanked the crew, fawning over Tommy and Joel one last time, the maid of honor bold enough to slip her number into Joel’s pocket despite his scowl and complete rebuttal of her advances.

First to return to the deck crew duties, you missed seeing Joel discard the slip of paper in the nearest bin. The next couple of hours were spent sweating out your frustrations as you scrubbed and hosed down every inch of the decks. Once again, you were mentally and physically exhausted by the time Joel called for the tip meeting.

The crew was especially chatty when they gathered in the main salon, conversation about the outrageous charter guests flowing. You remained quiet, sunk down in the plush leather cushions in the corner of the sectional.

Ever observant, Sarah leant over from her spot next you, concern marring her smooth skin. “You okay? You seem… off.” Her voice was little more than breath in the air, not wanting to draw attention, though Tess’s observant eyes were surveying you from her spot. The older woman quirked a brow, silently asking the same question.

How could you explain to Sarah the thoughts you’ve had about her father? You couldn’t and guilt pulsed through you once more. You couldn’t even explain to yourself why this was affecting you so much, how could you even try to make it make sense to someone else?

“I’m alright, love. Just need to sleep for a week, I think.” That was the best you could offer in terms of a response. It was the truth anyway – a deep sleep without any dreams plaguing you was exactly what you needed.

Sarah looked like she wanted to pry, not entirely convinced that was all that bothered you, but Joel entered the salon and called the room to order.

Cheeks already flaming, Joel cleared his throat a few times. “This was obviously a challenging charter and I want to thank you all for the way you handled yourselves. You represented Radiance well despite the circumstances.” His right hand came up to rub at the back of his neck. “They, uh, left us a pretty good tip…”

He broke down the numbers and personally passed out everyone’s share, his deep brown eyes lingering on you when he stopped in front of you last. He longed to see your beautiful eyes meet his gaze now that it was clear to him you were equally attracted to him as he was to you, but you kept your chin tipped down, looking only at the pile of bills held out toward you.

“Thanks,” you muttered after too long a beat, eyes finally flashing upward to meet his for the briefest moment before looking away.

The resulting heavy sigh from Joel as he stepped away caught you off guard. Fuck, why were you making things so awkward?

“Provided your duties have been completed, you’re all free until Monday mid-day,” Joel called over his shoulder, departing for the bridge.

“Cocktails anyone?” Tommy asked, ready to blow off some steam. The rest of the crew seemed interested, even Bill and Frank, but you declined, opting for a shower and a long nap instead.

The afternoon hours passed in peaceful slumber, the soft tones of instrumental music playing through the earbuds you popped in before drifting off. You never budged when Tess came in to get ready that evening – the crew was going out for dinner and drinks to blow off steam.

“Hey, hun,” Tess murmured with a gentle nudge to your shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

You rolled over with a little grumble, the earbuds slipping from your ears. “No, thanks. I just need a night in to relax. I can’t take another hangover like last week. Have fun without me!”

Tess nodded, knowing that would be your answer. “Thought so. I left you some dinner in the fridge to heat up. Make sure you eat, okay?”

You could hear the crew down the hall, already ramped up from day drinking. You knew you made the right decision when you didn’t feel an ounce of FOMO as they left.

The nap having refreshed body and soul, your mood was lighter when you rose, changing into a bikini for a dip in the hot tub. Padding through the crew mess with a towel slung over your shoulder, you grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir and a glass before heading to the flybridge.

The boat was silent, gently swaying in its slip, and it felt like you had the entire thing to yourself. The sun dipped lower toward the horizon as you connected your phone to the sound system, selecting more instrumental music to play before you climbed into the bubbling water of the hot tub. A contented sigh slipped from your lips; head tilted back to rest against the padding with eyes closed. Stretching out, the jets soothed your aching muscles after five straight days of laborious work.

“May I join you?”

Your eyes shot open at the simple, soft request. Joel stood before you in just a pair of board shorts, bottle of wine and stemmed glass in hand – he clearly had the same idea as you.

Your eyes raked over his bare chest and arms before realizing you needed to respond. “Of course,” you breathed.

One corner of Joel’s mouth quirked up. “Do you want me to open this?” he asked holding up the bottle of wine.

“Y-yes, please,” you stuttered, quickly clearing your throat.

It was like a scene out of one of your dreams, watching Joel pour the wine and perch the glasses on the rim of the hot tub before climbing in. He sat a respectful distance from you, but he was just so broad and tall that it felt like he was everywhere. Your legs brushed against one another as they stretched out before you.

Joel’s gaze was heated as he stared at you, the burn of it like a laser on your skin. You sipped at the wine, wracking your mind for something to say. You were so overwhelmed with your attraction to the man, and you had no idea how or what to do about it.

“That was some charter, huh?” You immediately cringed internally. For fucks sake, that was the best you came up with. Pathetic.

The resulting chuckle that boomed from his chest soothed you. “It was certainly something, sweetheart. I’m glad to be done with those women.”

Your insides were melting, not from the heat of the hot tub, but from him calling you sweetheart. “Yeah, they were intense and, dare I say, rather… desperate and obnoxious.”

“Agreed,” Joel rumbled, the skin of his neck flushing. “I, uh, it was really embarrassin’ the way they were actin’. I never wanted to jump overboard in my life until this charter.”

The pair of you shared a few laughs at the charter guests’ expense before moving on to other topics. You talked about any- and everything under the sun, the flow of it easy and natural between you. The guilt and misgivings from earlier were long gone, easily explained away as being overtired and overwrought.

A second bottle of wine was opened after the sunset and the stars started to sparkle in the night sky. With each glass, you and Joel moved closer to each other until you were sitting right next to one another, bodies touching from shoulder to knee as the water bubbled around you.

“I shouldn’t say this, not while we still have more of the season left before us than behind us, but… I, uh, really like you… getting to know you, I mean… though I like how beautiful you are, too.” Joel seemed as surprised by his admission as you were, but you flashed him a dazzling smile.

“I feel the same way, Joel.” The words fell from your lush lips without effort or regret.

[sweetbunpura]

Angst Anon here, back on my bullshit and coming in hot!

Today, I have a little song lyric prompt for you to do with what you will 😌

Enjoy~

Everyone may have their vision,

Of sin and holy living.

Oh, but I found religion

In my lover's arms.

I've worked to fill their coffers

And I did so prim and proper.

Yet they curse my name as Devil's Charm

So let it all burn down.

Let it all burn down.

(Song: When It All Burns Down - Chad Bault)

Bruh, how is it that Rollo is kinda fun to write for?

Rollo had received news of what had happened as he was leaving his class with Malleus annoyingly tailing him. The billowing smoke was hard to ignore in the distance, but a student coming up and uttering the words...

"Ramshackle is on fire!"

Made Rollo's stomach drop to the floor. He had no attachment to the building, it was just something that could shelter him for the time being. But there was someone in there he had grown attached to and learned to love. He takes off in the direction of the burning building, ignoring Malleus cries for him to return so he could teleport them. When Rollo arrives, he sees Grim pulling Yuu out of the fire. The little feline has soot on him and debris as he frantic pats out the flames on her body.

"H-hench-human! We're out!" Grim's eyes are filled with tears as he shakes her. "Wake up! Please, wake up!"

Yuu's eyes are closed, her hair is singed, there's debris and soot all over her body. The spots Grim patted out have painted her light brown skin an angry red. Rollo throws his bag aside and picks her up. He's trying to fight down the panic in his voice, not only for himself but for Grim.

"We need to take her to the infirmary." Rollo pauses as Grim climbs on his shoulder.

He turns to leave and is met with Malleus standing there, his green eyes are flicking from him to the flames and back to him. Rollo doesn't know how long Yuu has been out or how much smoke she inhaled, but the longer he lingers out here the more she loses her chance of survival. The infirmary is on the other end of the school, so Rollo swallows down his pride and dislike of Malleus to ask one simple question.

"She needs help. Will you take us to the physicians office?"

Malleus wastes no time and teleports them there. Rollo hands Yuu over to Chestnut with some degree of hesitation as the hybrid beastman gets to work immediately on her. Once the fire is put out back at Ramshackle, rumors start spreading on how it happened. The students speculate that someone hated Rollo enough to burn the place down, that Rollo himself set it on fire, but none of that is concrete. Crowley, to no one's surprise, is more worried about the building than Yuu.

The aftermath leaves Rollo and Grim homeless, before anyone can offer a place in their dorm, Malleus steps forward and offers a room in Diasomnia. The pair of them take it and while Yuu recovers, Rollo works to find out how this happened. He's stopped in the hall by the Ignihyde vice, one he recognizes as the person Yuu calls when something goes wrong in Ramshackle.

"The stove was busted. Yuu called me about it and I was set to fix it, but..." Lancaster Stevens stares down at him. "Crowley knew about this, but I couldn't get him to order a new part, so I had to do it. The same goes with Yuu trying to tell him to replace anything broken in there, he hasn't done that once for her."

Gas mostly odorless and invisible, it can fill a room or a building very quickly. All it would take is a single flick of anything that runs an electrical circuit or flames to ruin everything. And Crowley knew and yet still condemned him and Yuu to a barely functioning building. Yuu struggles for scraps when it comes to Ramshackle and that ridiculous headmaster hardly pays her enough to live on. He remembers hearing the large argument she had with him over the decreased pay since Rollo was forced to be housed there.

Swallowing thickly and hiding his gritting teeth behind his handkerchief, he bids Lancaster farewell and heads towards Crowley's office. He slams open the door, causing the fae to jump.

"M-Mr. Flamme!" Crowley adjusts his mask. "What do I owe the matter of your angry arrival?"

"You knew." Rollo approaches his desk. "You knew the stove was broken and that's what caused the fire. You willingly allowed Ramshackle to burn to the ground."

"See here, Mr. Flamme. I have been a kind headmaster by allowing you and the prefect to stay here. It's her responsibility to take care of what was handed to her, since she is the dorm leader."

"She's eighteen!" He snarls, his face darkening. "She has no ID. No way to get money, outside from the scraps you give us. She handles everything you shove at her, overblots and any other problems. And all she asks in return is help fixing the appliances and a way to go home."

"Watch your tone with me or you will have no where else to go."

Normally, Rollo would've respected the authority enough to back down and leave. Inside, the flame of anger licked at his heart and he thought of Yuu. Someone who didn't have to treat him with kindness, someone who could've treated him like others at the school, someone who sat with him as he talked about his brother, someone who charmed his heart and made him feel alive for the first time in years. He would burn it all down for her in a second.

Rollo backed away from Crowley's desk.

"Glad we have an understanding-"

"O crimson flower, scorch my soul and guide me." He muttered the incantation as flames started to envelope him.

Dark Fire.

[starryficsfinishwen]

“If I don't finish this paperwork right now, I will yeet myself off of Babylonia.”

“Hell yeah! And I'm going with ya!”

You believed there were only two braincells left in the beefy, red-haired man's head. But right now, they were fighting for third place, alongside your own overworked ones.

“Noctis,” You giggled, placing your pen and crumpled paper on the table, “I wholeheartedly appreciate the support. But I'd rather you stay so you can at least inform Celica about my whereabouts.”

“No,” Noctis hummed, “I can't do that. I can tag along so that you wouldn't be alone drifting in space.”

Sitting across you, meaty arms crossed, Noctis waited patiently. Although, you felt guilty, the man who had been staying with you for several hours. You had him shooed away earlier, yet, as hard as the chest plate he has, he still came back. Noctis' stubbornness was a charm that made you feel for him in the first place. At the same time, it was also his Achilles' heel. But that's another story for today.

“You know,” you cleared your throat, “You don't always have to stay here...”

“Commandant, here you go again,” Sighing with a pout on his scarred face, Noctis groaned, “I said I'm perfectly fine being here. Don't worry!”

“I'm worried that you'd get bored.”

“No problemo,” he shrugged, grinning, “Cerberus is free from any maintenance or missions.”

The idea of Vera and her angry tone that reminded of a mother, looking for the man who was the embodiment of chaos, made you reel back. You leaned to the table, hand supporting your chin, “I suppose that's the case. But what if Vera comes? Won't you be scared?”

“Of who? Vera? Hah! As if,” Noctis started laughing (at this point, your heart skipped a beat, tummy bursting with little butterflies fluttering), “It's fine. Really. She won't be looking for me.”

“Besides,” he quickly added, “What if you do jump out of Babylonia. You'd end up wandering in space alone!”

Sometimes, you wonder if you should tone down your humor. Yet, you still indulged in his fantasies.

“Ah,” you feigned a gasp, “What if I dive into the Earth like a meteor and fall?”

“I'd follow you, then!”

“But we'll be broke there!”

“Like you said, we can always go back to the bar,” Noctis' eyes started shimmering, “or-or, we can be travelling merchants! Exchange all the broken parts of a corrupted so we can get some money!”

Ah, stupid, yet ambitious dreams. It made you question if Noctis' braincells were still intact, or simply, they were busy doing something else.

“I mean,” quickly, Noctis spoke before you could, “They're not bad ideas. But don't you think Babylonia's facilities are better than being in a soaking hot desert?”

And you decided to go with it. “Hmm, true...”

“If the paperworks are your problem, then why don't we yeet that one off of Babylonia instead?”

And face Celica's wrath? Probably not. You contemplated a witty remark, but Noctis went quiet. Looking at him, his maroon eyes were trained to you.

“I may not know a lot of those technicalities,” his voice suddenly goes soft, his eyes a shimmer of an unknown emotion that you've never seen before from him, “but...if there is anything, anything that I can do, let me know.”

Oh? This was new. For a buffy, "violence-is-the-answer" kind of man, this was surprising to you, that your mouth went agape, seemingly unable to let your hand function to pick up the papers on the table. Noticing your reaction, Noctis shook his head, the raucous expression back on his face.

“B-but if it's writing the documents, then, hell no!”

You blinked. And blinked again. And an intrusive thought came to you. You raised your hand, so slightly, beckoning him to approach you. He followed, seemingly like a puppy. Once he was beside you, you turned to him and stood up. Although your height was at a disadvantage (you barely reached his broad shoulders), you stared so deeply into his maroon eyes. The distance, in which you've noticed was closer now— the heat bouncing off of each other, him looking down to meet you.

“Noctis?” you quietly called out.

“Co...commandant?”

“Will you” you breathed, so softly, “...will you let me touch your titties?”

Silence. And then, you busted out laughing. With a puzzled, yet amused look on his face, you couldn't help but break into another fit of laughter.

“Ah-haha!” you wiped a few tears coming out of your eyes, “S-sorry, Noctis, I was just joking-”

“-Go ahead!”

Another silence. Based on his clueless expression, mixed with joy, you thought this man probably misheard you.

“I- what?”

“You wanted to touch my titties, right?” Beaming, he spoke with a hint of excitement, “Go ahead!”

Suddenly, you weren't so such if your choices in life were right. That, or braincells were in the same grade as Noctis'. After a careful debate with yourself, you reached out anyway, hand now on one of his titties pecs. Squeezing it so gently, you realized an epiphany.

“Commandant, I thought you exercised,” Noctis asked, seemingly unsatisfied with your actions, “squeeze them harder!”

So you do. Squeezing them like a stress ball. Noctis, still unsatisfied, took your free hand and placed it in the other titties pecs. Somehow, you started to squeeze both of them. All the stress from earlier started to melt away— the paperwork, the fatigue, your caffeine addiction— as your braincells decided to merge with Noctis', all fighting for the last place.

“See!” You and Noctis laughed, decided to mush your face into his cushioned chest, “I knew I could help!”

“Thank you,” you were, genuine and true, “I didn't know that this was therapeutic.”

Except you've always wanted to do this for a long time. Seeing the genuine joy on your face, you failed to notice Noctis' expression softening. Although mechanical, his heart skipped faster, and you recognized that.

“...but you know,” he muttered, “living on Earth doesn't seem half bad.”

He thought you didn't know, but you caught him whispering, “...as long as it's with you.”

Fuck work. Living on Earth didn't seem to feel bad, indeed. Temporarily stopping, you tugged him by his dogtag, a soft, quick kiss to the side of his jaw and cheek. A mirrored pink blush on both of your faces.

“I'll hold on to it.”

a.n. - there is actually a planned story for all the husbandos of PGR. I wanted to just find out about Noctis and his story. look where this brainrot got me LMAO I now realize I wanna,,,mash my face onto his titties

p.s. - also new theme for me yeeey

[horny4hetfield]

Rockies Christmas - Day 12

Warnings:  Hospital release, Marvel Universe inferred, Shameless Product Placement, Homecoming, fluff

Guide: CBF = Cali’s Boyfriend / CGF = Castor’s Girlfriend / MBF = Marcella’s Boyfriend {I didn’t want to give them names}

I feel James untangle himself from me.  I help get him turned around and sitting on the bed.  He stretches.  I rub his lower back.  “Uuhngg.  That feels good.”  I rub his back a little more.  “I gotta piss.”  For some reason his bluntness about bodily functions doesn’t upset me.  Other men, I would have been slapping their arms or going on about that isn’t what should be said around a lady.  The very thought of James saying something like I gotta take a leak just doesn’t work.  Giggling to myself, I swing my legs to the edge of the bed.  James comes out of the bathroom.  He walks over to me and stands between my knees.  His hands run down my back, then back up and cups my face.  He kisses me.  There’s passion in it, but he’s holding back because of where we are.  I wrap my hands around his waist.  Pulling back from the kiss, James tucks my head under his chin and hugs me closer.  My nose is pressed up against his chest.  He’s smelt better, but he’s not that bad.  Yet.  “I suppose I need a shower” he huffs.

“You’re ok for another day.  No longer” I look up at him a grin plastered on my face.

“I can make that work!” as he kisses me again. 

“While you are vertical, I’m going to put more arnica on you.”  He nods, stretching.  I gently apply more oil to his bruises.  They are looking ugly.  Most are dark purple, some are going greenish-dark yellow.  “Do they hurt?”

“Not as bad.  My knee is still angry.”  He flexes and straightens his knee.

The doctor walks in.  “You’re vertical.”

“Barely” James grins.

The doctor starts going over James.  Makes James move his arms, legs and twist his head.  “Are you sure you’re not part X-man?”  James’ eyebrows knit together.

“I think he is part Wolverine” I grin up at James.

“You should still be lying flat on your back in agony.”  Pointing at James, “Even with your high pain tolerance.  What happened to you was pretty serious and yet here you are standing.”

“I’ve always healed quickly.”

As I cap the arnica oil, nodding, “Wolverine.”  I smile up at him.

“I am going to release you, only because I know you have someone who will keep you in check” the doctor points at me.  “But if anything feels or looks wonky, call me.”  He hands me a card with a number written on it.  “That’s my personal number.  Any time day or night.”

I nod, “Thank you doctor.”  I put the card with my phone.

“Alright then.  I’ll go do the discharge papers.  It will take a bit for those to process.”  He shakes James’ hand, “You’re going to been fine.  You will look a little shaggy for a time.”

“Thanks Doc!” James smiles.  “I’ll make sure that my number is on the paperwork.  If you ever want to go to a show, let me know.”

With a knowing look, “Show?  Are you in some kind of band or something?” the doctor almost laughs.

Nodding, “Something like that!” James laughs. 

As he walks to the door, “Not really my kind of music, but I might take my kids.”

“I’ll put you on the guest list for the whole package” James smiles.  As the door closes behind the doctor, James stretches.  He looks at the bed.

“Sit in the chair” I tell him.  I can see that he’s sore from being on his back in the crappy bed for so long.  Nodding he moves to the big ugly recliner.  He’s barely in it before standing again.  Rubbing his butt, “The bed is softer.”  I smile at him.  I adjust the bed so that the back is all the way up.  He sits and leans against the upright head of the bed.

I can hear them down the hallway before they barge into the door.  “Kids are here” I grin.  James smiles back me. 

“Hey Dad!” was the chorus.

Castor grabs his dad’s arm, “When are they letting you out?”

“Today.”

There’s a chorus of yays and woohoos.  “Then you’ll want these” Cali hands me a backpack.  Opening it, there’s clean clothes in it for both me and James. 

“Thank you!”  I dash into the bathroom and quickly put the clothes on.  Laughing to myself, I have to remove the tags off them first.  I exit the bathroom and hand the bag to James.  I hold it a moment giving him a look of do you want help.

He kisses my forehead, “I got this” he tells me quietly.

“I hope you don’t mind, I used the change from lunch to get those” Cali looks with concern at me.

“I don’t mind at all” I re-assure her.  James comes out of the bathroom wearing a pair of loose pants, a sweater.  And sandals.

“Sorry about the shoes Dad, I couldn’t remember your shoe size” Castor grins shyly at his mirror image.

“It’s one smaller than yours” James cocks an eyebrow at his son.

CGF smacks Castor’s bicep, “Told you!”

James gives her a thumbs up, “Keep it up!”

The nurse comes in with James’ release paperwork but has to go over his vitals one more time.  I step into the hallway with my phone.

“Eagle Airport Choppers”

“Hi.  This is Kira.”

“How’s James?”

I recognize the pilot’s voice, “He’s being released today.”

“That is excellent news!  I’m guessing that you’ll need a lift back to collect his big ass truck?”

Laughing, “Yes please!”

“One question: Why did you drive his precious truck?”

“Because I couldn’t put seven into my Shelby.”

“That’s your car?”  The shock in his voice is very evident.

“Yes, the Shelby is mine.”

“That’s a nice car.  I’ve seen it around over the summer.”

“Thank you.”

“So, when will James be released?”

“He’s getting the release paperwork now.”

“I’ll get the big bird in the air in about 10 minutes then.”

“We’ll need to get him fed and then check out of the hotel first.”

I hear the smile on the other end, “Give me a call when you get breakfast.  By the time you guys are done and get to the airport, I’ll be landing.”

“Thank you.  For everything.”

“You are most welcome.  I’ll see you in a bit.”  The call ends.

I return to the room as the nurse is handing James his paperwork.  James immediately hands it to me.  “I’ll just lose it” he says to the nurse.  I just nod.

“The car service will be downstairs in five minutes” Marcella says to the room.

CGF and Cali start gathering up the personal items that have become scattered all over the room.  I drop my phone and James’ paperwork into my big purple bag and shoulder it up.  James stands and pulls me to his left side.  I wrap my arm around his waist.  Castor walks on his Dad’s right side.  The two boyfriends walk behind.  In the elevator, Marcella starts digging into her purse.  Handing James a pair of sunglasses, “You’re going to want these, Dad.”

“How many?”

“About eight in front.”

CGF speaks up, “We’ve been sneaking in through the service entrance.”

“That’s where the van will be this time” Marcella says.

We exit the elevator in the basement.  The kids lead the way through the maze to the service entrance.  Creatively tucked in behind the linen service delivery truck sits the car service van.  Cali, CBF, Marcella, MBF and CGF all pile into the back rows.  I step in and turn offering a hand to James.  Castor is standing behind his Dad, a hand on his back.  James climbs in and sits next to me.  Castor takes the front passenger seat.  James grabs my hand.  I pull the sunglasses off to see his eyes.  He wraps his arm around my shoulders and sighs.

“Where to?”

“Jake, where do you suggest for breakfast?” MBF asks.

James leans his head back, “Black Bear Diner.”

Jake – the driver – looks in the rearview mirror, “I was going to suggest the Black Bear!” he grins.  After getting onto the major roads, “I’m glad that you are doing well, Mr. Hetfield.”

“Please.  James.”

Castor punches Jake’s arm, “Told you.”

Grinning, James nods “Thank you.  Jake, right?”  The driver nods.  “Thank you for taking care of my kids.”

“It’s been a pleasure.”

“I think we should check out of the hotel first” I speak up.

“Then the hotel first.”  Jake makes a turn. 

A few minutes later, the van pulls up to the hotel portico.  I hand James the sunglasses.  There are no photographers there as we quickly make our way to the elevator.  Once in the suite, James is quick to head to the bathroom.  I was surprised that the room is fairly clean.  The random jacket or shopping bag are scattered around the main room, but otherwise it is tidy.  The kids gather up their things from the rooms they’d claimed.  I check the room I’d slept in one night.  I move into the bathroom to do a check as James is washing up.  He pulls me to him, kissing me gently yet passionately.  “I have missed kissing you.”

I run my hands up his back, “I have missed being kissed by you.”  Our lips meet again.  I hear a throat being cleared.

We pull apart, looking at each other.  James lowers his head to my ear, “Later” as he lifts a knee gently between my legs.  I sigh into his chest.  Arms wrapped around each other, we leave the bathroom.  Cali is standing there with a look on her face.  “What?” James cocks a look at his daughter.  She just shakes her head walking back into the main room.

MBF has collected all the room keys and hands them to me in the elevator.  I nod my thanks.  As the kids get the bags and James into the van, I check us out.

“I do hope that you had a pleasant stay Mrs. Hetfield.”

“I’m not Mrs. Hetfield.”  The young man behind the desk blushes.  “I’m Kira Mooreland.”  He looks at me.  “The girlfriend.”  He blushes even more.  “The room was perfect.”

Clearing his throat, “Well, I do hope that you’ll stay with us again soon.”  He hands me the portfolio.  “Everything is taken care of.”

“Thank you” I smile at him.  Then I quickly join the others in the van.

It’s not a long drive to the Diner.  As Jake pulls into the parking lot, “Jake, join us for breakfast” James says.

“I’m not supp…”

“I insist.”

“I’ll park right here then.”  Jake chuckles as he pulls the van into a handicap spot.  He opens the glove box and hangs an ADA placard on the rearview mirror.  “I’m not supposed to use this.  It belongs to my mom.”

I pat his shoulder, “Well, son.  You are an excellent driver.”  Everyone chuckles as we pile out.  Castor and MBF make sure that James exits the van without being obvious about it.  I just smile and wrap an arm around James’ waist as we walk into the restaurant.

With nine of us, we are given a table in the back of the diner.  James sits me to his left side, resting his hand on my thigh.  I place a quick call to the helicopter pilot.  After placing our order, the conversation moves to the shopping that the kids had done.  Evidently, they’d hit up every mall in Denver.  Cali said that she’d found some cute maternity clothes, which Marcella heartly agrees with.  Castor and MBF talk about the music store they’d found and some of the CDs that they’d gotten.  James indicates that he’d love to hear them. 

It takes three servers to bring out our order.  Once everything is sorted, the table falls silent.  When he isn’t cutting his steak, James’ left-hand rests on my thigh.  As plates empty and tummies fill up, the conversation picks back up.  It shocks the boys that I actually like to watch football games.  And that I know – some – stats.  I sit watching James interact with his kids.  I also notice that Cali was apparently able to keep her meal down.  I just raise my eyebrows at her, looking between her plate and her eyes.  She just nods happily gently rubbing her growing belly.  CBF rests his hand on the growing bump, their fingers intertwining.  My phone pings.  The pilot is about 20 minutes out from landing at the airport.  I reply with a thumb’s up emoji.

“Ok.  That’s the pilot.  He’s about 20 minutes out” I inform the table.

“I need to hit up the bathroom” MBF declares. 

“Good idea” James says standing up slowly.  “Got a little stiff sitting” he reassures my look of concern.

Castor pats his Dad’s back, “C’mon Grandpa” grinning.

Wrapping an arm around his sons’ shoulders, “Just wait man.  Just wait” James chuckles.

The girls also head to the ladies room.  I pay the bill – leaving a good-sized tip, Jake goes out to get the van started and then I head to the bathroom.

After we all pile back into the van, Jake points the van north.  I lean into James’ bicep.  His hand gently squeezes my thigh.  Once at the airport, the pilot gets us through the gate and to the chopper.

“James, glad to see you up.  Jacobs said you looked bad.”

“I have looked better” James says pulling down his sunglasses.

“Ouch.”

“It always looks worse before it gets better” MBF chimes in.  The guys all nod.

“Ok then.  I hate to separate you two, but I want Kira in the right seat.”  Seeing the look on James’ face, “Short legs.”

“Ahh.  See?  Your short little legs do pay off every now and again.”  He pats my butt before he climbs into the chopper.

I climb in as the kids and all the various bags are situated in the back.  Once airborne, I feel fingers on my right elbow.  Seeing the tattoos, I reach back, and James’ hand engulfs mine.  It’s an awkward position to sit in the chopper with my right arm squished between the seat and the chassis.  But I don’t care.  James is coming home alive.  In one piece.  Fully functioning.  He doesn’t let go until just before the chopper comes in for a landing.  His truck is parked outside the hanger.  Shiny.  Obviously freshly washed.

“Hey, you didn’t have to wash it” I tell the pilot collecting the key fob from him.

“My kids wanted some pocket money” he shrugs.

“I remember doing that” Castor sighs walking to the vehicle.

“Me too” chorus both girls.

James goes to get in the driver’s side.  “Uh huh.  Other side” as I walk up to the vehicle.

“I’m fine” he complains.

“Dad, she’s actually a really good driver” Castor comes to my defense.  “She got us here in like 25 minutes.”  Or so he thought. 

James gives me a look. 

“I’ll pay the ticket on the truck.  You pay the ticket for the Shelby.”

James snickers a laugh, “Deal.”  He kisses my forehead.  I climb in the driver’s seat, the kids all squish into the back seat, girlfriends on boyfriends laps.  James climbs in the passenger seat.  He picks up his helmet from the floor.  He runs his fingers over the gaping gash in it. 

“Hey Dad.”

“Yes son.”

“Glad you’re home.”

Putting the helmet back on the floor, “Me too.”  Again, James’ left hand drops to my thigh.

I wave bye to the pilot and point the big ass truck toward home.  With the kids all squished into the back and no emergency looming, I obey the speed limit.  I pull the rig into the driveway and park it by the front door.  James gives me a look.  “Will you guys please shift the snowmobiles?” I ask, hitting the button on the garage door remote.  James nods as he sees that the machines are all parked in the space where the truck should go.  I look at him.  “Didn’t want to tempt those pesky squirrels to take one for a joy ride.”  A goofy grin spreads across his face.  He slides out the passenger door once the machines are moved and I put the truck into the garage.  James has gone in the house.  The kids all help to grab the bags from the back of the truck. 

I find James in the kitchen with a Severed Lime can in his hand.  “I needed that” he grins.  I can hear the kids throughout the house, chatting, laughing.  I push James towards our room.  “What?”

“Shower.”

His lets out a huge sigh, his eyes rolling some, “Yes please.”  He takes my hand as he starts walking toward our bedroom.

“Wait.”  I quickly find my purple bag and pull out the arnica oil bottle.  Holding it up as I walk back to James, I smile at him.

“I’m no Wolverine” he kisses my hair.  “You are Nurse Nightingale.”

I take his hand walking backward a couple of steps, “Perhaps it’s a combination.”

“Perhaps.”

As we get into our bathroom, starting the water in the shower we both help pull the clothes off the other.  He tugs me into the stall under the stream.  I reach up and wet his hair.  His hands are resting on the small of my back, just above my ass.  I shampoo his hair using my nails to scrub his scalp.  He sighs heavily.  I saturate his hair with conditioner as he begins to wet my hair in the hot water.  He pulls my head into his chest as he washes my hair.  I wrap one arm around his waist, the other presses on his upper back.  After putting the conditioner in my hair, I grab the scrubbie and load it with shower gel.  I detangle myself from him and turn him toward the shower wall.  He leans his crossed arms on the wall, his head resting on his forearms.  I give his back a good run over with the scrubbie.  He sighs deeply.  I do one arm and pit at a time, then one leg at a time.  Leaning into his back, I reach around and use the scrubbie on his chest and belly.  Pulling some of the soapy bubbles out of the scrubbie, I wash his butt.  Grabbing more bubbles, I reach a little deeper between his legs washing his testicles and penis.  I am careful to not arouse him.  Just wash.  I send the scrubbie over my own body quickly before rinsing and hanging it on the faucet handle.  Using my hands, I rinse his body.  Urging him to stand up, I rinse his hair.  He grabs my left wrist holding me while he turns in my arms.  He tilts my head back and rinses my hair.  His fingers wrap around the back of my neck holding me while his lips find mine.  My hands run up his back holding him close to my body.  Our kiss lingers.  It’s slow.  It’s deliberate.  It hints at the passions we will get to when he can move.  He finally stands up, his hands playing in my wet hair and over my shoulders.  His eyes search mine.  “I am so lucky to have you” he lifts my left-hand kissing both ring and finger.  “I hope that …”  I press my fingers to his lips silencing him.

I pull his left hand up and kiss the tattoo on the back of his hand, “Have I said this to you yet?”  He shakes his head.  “Then you are still working on it.”  I kiss his hand again.  “And after this little adventure” I cock a smile at him, “You have taken a step backward.  Not a big step.”  He pulls me into another kiss. 

His smile lights up his face and eyes.  “Then I will work even harder.”  He kisses my hair, turns off the water and gently letting go of me, reaches for towels.  I rub more arnica oil into the worst colored areas on his torso.

After putting on clean clothes, we walk down the stairs into the living room.  The kids are sprawled on the sofas.  Cali points to the table, “We got the mail.  Castor and CBF set out the cans.  Is this a recycle week?”  James shakes his head.  “And Marcella watered the tree.” 

“That’ll work.  Thanks” I grin.

Cocking one eyebrow up, James looks at the young people, “When did you kids become adults?”  I duck as they all throw pillows at their dad.  James laughs and tosses the pillows back.

“Let’s watch another episode!” Marcella says.  There’s agreement all around.  Getting into the media room, we all stake out our previous claims on the sofa structure.  As the system powers on there’s a pinging noise in the sound system.  Castor grabs the control pad and up pops a screen with Lars and Jess in one square, Kirk in another and Rob with Chloe leaning over his shoulder in another.

“James!” Lars almost yells.  “You need to adjust your camera.  There’s black and blue all over your face.”

“Yeah, it’s all over me” James sits up and lifts his shirt.

All on the screen flinch.  “That has to hurt” Rob says.

“It’s getting better.”

“Mind if I use that idea for next Halloween?” Kirk smiles.

“What?  Mangled Lead Singer?” James laughs.

“Naw!  He rocked so hard he bruised himself” Kirk grins crookedly.

“I like Mangled Lead Singer” CBF snorts.

“If that’s what you look like, what does your snowmobile look like?” Lars asks

“It’s kinda mangled” Castor speaks up.  “As far as I know, it’s still out in that field.”

“Reminds me, I need to get with Jacobs about lifting that out.”

“Right to the junk yard” MBF speaks up.

“That bad?” Lars asks.

“His helmet is split almost in two” I speak up.

There’s silence for a moment.  “But let’s talk the good news.  Cali, the others don’t know yet” Lars is grinning widely.

Cali blushes, she’s rubbing her belly again, “I’m making Dad a Grandpa.”

Kirk, Rob and Chloe erupt in cheers.  “How are you feeling sweetie?” Jess asks.

“Better.  I can actually eat now.”

“Morning sickness that bad?”

The media room choruses “Yes.”

“Have you played yet?” Kirk asks.

“Man, I just got home.  Give me minute!” James chuckles.  “How was you guyses holiday?”

“Compared to yours, dull.” Kirk deadpans.  There’s some giggling. 

The kids talk about their gifts and their adventures in Denver.  Chloe and Cali get into a discussion about pottery.  Lars very obviously yawns.  A pillow smacks him.  There’s more giggling.  Castor asks Lars and Rob about their boys’ bands with the answers being lots of touring coming up in the spring.

“Well, we’re gonna let you guys go now” Lars says.  “James, glad you are alive and at home.”

“Me too buddy.”  I see the look on James’ face of compassion towards the small Dane.  “Happy New Year!” James says.  The rest of us all say it at the same time.  There’s more giggling.

Kirk and Rob exit the call, Lars looks into the camera, “I’ll call you next week James.  I have some ideas cooking” as he points to his head.

“I look forward to it.”  The call ends.

The room is silent a moment, then Castor starts tapping on the control pad, “Where did we leave off?”

Three episodes of Stranger Things later James announces, “I gotta piss.”

Everyone departs the media room for either a bathroom or the kitchen.  Cali and Marcella kick everyone out of the kitchen – including me – saying they got it.  Fifteen minutes later they are yelling for the boys to come help.  They all return with plates.  Each plate has a pulled pork sandwich with mashed potatoes and green beans.  Napkins, silverware and Liquid Death cans are passed around.  MBF starts the next episode. 

James yawns when that episode ends.  “Kids, I’m sorry but I’m toast.”

“Completely understand”   “No worries Dad”   “Glad you’re home Dad”   “Hope you get a good night’s sleep in your own bed”   all come at once.

James slides off the sofa, turns to grab his plate.  “Leave that Dad.  We’ll get it” Cali smiles, rubbing her belly.

“Thanks Cali.”  He takes my hand, “Night kids.”

Almost in unison “Night Dad.”

“Good night everyone.  And thanks for all your help” I grin at the kids.  Cali stands and gives me a hug.

James is waiting for me by the door.  We wrap arms around each other and walk to our bedroom.  As he’s brushing his teeth, I put more arnica on him.  Then quickly brush mine.  James is already in bed.  He holds up the covers for me.  I slide between them only to have James snake an arm around me and pull me close.  “I have missed you” he whispers. 

I kiss his arm, “I have missed you.”

Moments later, we are both snoring softly.

[watchingspnagain]

Rewatching Abandon All Hope

Welcome to “If the Female Character Has Agency In Her Own Death, Does It Still Count as Fridging?: A Supernatural Rewatch Blog” with Lor and Mace!

Up today, s5e10: Abandon All Hope.

Cas tracks down Crowley, and Sam and Dean then go to confront him, hoping to retrieve the Colt. Crowley hands over the Colt on his own, telling the boys he wants Luci dead because he suspects that Luci will kill all the demons. He tells them where to find Luci, and after an evening at Bobby’s, Sam, Dean, Cas, Jo, and Ellen head to Carthage, Missouri, to go devil hunting. Things go awry immediately—the town is deserted, except for dozens of Reapers, who Cas claims only gather in such numbers when a mass death is in the offing. Meg arrives, taunts her some Winchesters, summons some hell hounds, and sends the boys and co. running. Jo gets big maimed, and with Dean consulting with Bobby over a short-wave radio and barely keeping it together, Jo convinces everyone that they need to build a bomb in the hardware store they’re sheltering in and let her stay to blow it up so the others can escape the hell hounds and continue looking for Luci. We get kind of a great and painful death scene for Jo and Ellen, who can’t stand to leave Jo to die on her own, and Sam and Dean take off to find Luci. And find him, they do, and Sam shoots him. The end. Ha! YOU THOUGHT. The Colt can’t kill the devil, silly. Oops. Cas swoops the boys back to Bobby’s, and they all have A Moment over Jo and Ellen.

Below is a log of our real-time reactions as we watched. Remember that there may be spoilers for any part of SPN’s 15-season run here. Note also that the nature of our conversation is adult and thus it may contain adult language and themes.

 [and we begin:]

Mace:

CROWLEY YAAASSSS

Lor:

YAAAAAAAAAS

Lor:

I always forget he doesn't have a beard at the start

Mace:

he is so adorable

Mace:

AND THAT VOICE

Lor:

YES

Mace:

oooh peeping Cas, eh?

Lor:

awwww Cas hiding behind his pillar

Lor:

LOLOLOLOL

Mace:

“its…going…down"

Mace:

HUGGY BEAR

Mace:

OMG

"it's going... down"

Lor:

HUGGY BEAR

Lor:

DEAN

Lor:

"took you long enough" I love him

Mace:

YAS

Lor:

um. Becky told them and she read it in Chuck's book. How's that rumors, Crowley, my love?

Mace:

“you’re functioning…morons"

Mace:

HAHAHAHA

Lor:

"yeah, you're functioning... morons" LOLOLOLOLOL

Mace:

CROWLEY just standing there when Sam tries to shoot him

Mace:

OMG HE’S AMAZING

YAAAAAAS

Mace:

“HOW ABOUT YOU DONT MISS OKAY?! MORONS!"

Mace:

I. LOVE. HIM.

Lor:

I love when he gets all angry

Mace:

YES

Lor:

omg Cas

Lor:

he's adorable

Mace:

YES

Mace:

and Ellen is an idiot for thinking she could drink him under the table

Lor:

"thank you again for your continued support"

Lor:

RIGHT?

Mace:

“since when have we ever done anything smart"

Lor:

"since when have we ever done anything smart"

Lor:

YES

Dean. No.

Lor:

right?

Lor:

I mean, among other things, Cas is RIGHT THERE

Mace:

There’s a perfectly good angel just over there, idiot

Mace:

HAHAHAHA OMG

Lor:

LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

Mace:

But Jo. sleeping with a hot dude on your own terms is not losing self-respect.

Lor:

the look Dean gives Cas. you could try again, hon

Lor:

RIGHT?

Mace:

YES

Lor:

you stick those flip phones out the car windows, boys, you stick em out good

Mace:

HAHAHA

“of course I have" CAAAAAAAS

Mace:

YAS

Lor:

well spotted, Ellen

Mace:

CREEPY AS HELL

Mace:

SNORK

Lor:

YES

Lor:

she annoys me SO HARD

Mace:

AGREED

Mace:

this is what you get when dudebros try to write a strong woman character

Lor:

YYYEP

Lor:

"I came alone" aw Cas

Lor:

"I'm told you came here in an automobile"

Lor:

"slow. confining" hAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA

“what a peculiar thing you are” Gay, Lucifer. The proper term is gay.

Mace:

HAHAHAHA

Lor:

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YES

Mace:

Oh sweet Dean. That scared face

Lor:

ooooof Dean's face when he realizes it's hellhounds

Lor:

YES

Mace:

YES

Lor:

hellhounds on your trail, boy

Mace:

oh. look out, jo.

Lor:

oh. no. jo. do not get ripped to shreds. oh no

Mace:

should have slept with the hottie hunter when you had the chance, girl.

Lor:

LOL

the best part of this is how it affects Dean and as much I don't care about Jo I HATE that they killed off a female character for the effect it would have on one of the heroes and IT WORKS

Mace:

yeah

Lor:

god this scene bt Bobby and Dean

Mace:

YES

Mace:

“the devil’s in the details, Dean"

Lor:

YES

Lor:

"I've died several times myself"

Mace:

HA

Mace:

poor Dean. he is FRAYED

Lor:

RIGHT?

Lor:

he is so close to falling apart

Mace:

HE IS

Lor:

I could hold him together

Mace:

uhhuh. such a sacrificer, you

Lor:

that's me. always ready to take one for the team

Mace:

indeed

Lor:

god his FACE

Mace:

YES

Lor:

when he gets out of this situation, I will be speaking to him about leaving the “rather” out of the phrase "sooner rather than later"

Mace:

HA

Mace:

DEAN. Her innards are outards. She doesn’t feel like macking right now.

Lor:

RIGHT?

I wish they had left it at the forehead kiss

Mace:

right?!

Mace:

I’m not an Ellen fan either, but I do like the dynamic here of not leaving her daughter but choosing to die with her

Lor:

also that he hadn't tried to sleep with her earlier. it feels out of character (unless he was just looking for comfort and that's the only way he knows how to try to find any. but still. it's Jo. he's not into her)

Lor:

YES

Mace:

(yep)

Mace:

(I’m convinced that these occasional eps in which Dean acts un-Dean-like are all written by the same person)

Lor:

(yeah I wouldn't be surprised)

Mace:

UGH. the fact that Ellen has to experience Jo dying first. GAH

Lor:

RIGHT?

and that it was her refusal to leave her that made this work. bc Jo died before she could have set the bomb off

Mace:

YES

Mace:

they both can’t really believe it would be that easy and you can see it in their faces

Lor:

I love the faces like even they don't believe at first that it was that easy

Lor:

LOLOLOLOL

Mace:

YES

Lor:

ooof Sammy

Mace:

yeah

Mace:

huh. a little Dark Side dialogue there, guys

Lor:

ha!

Mace:

cloud-hopping pansies is such a good insult

Lor:

YES

he just stone-cold throws her over the holy fire and uses her as a bridge daaaaang

Mace:

he can be such a badass when he needs

Lor:

YAAAAAAS

Mace:

why take the commemorative photo if you’re just gonna burn it?

Lor:

i was JUST thinking that!

Mace:

such drama queens

Lor:

...maybe he's afraid their spriits could latch onto it and not move on?

Mace:

huh

Mace:

I’m sticking with drama queens as the reason

Lor:

or maybe someone just thought it was be a cool shot and they needed a bit of business bc otherwise SDandB and just standing there like dopes

Lor:

YES

Mace:

snork

 

[after the episode ended:]

Lor:

so I was just grabbing this convo to dump in a word doc for the post and I was looking at some of our reactions to Cas and Luci talking to each other and I had a thought (I feel like this ought to be obvious but). The behaviours in Cas that read like autism are CAS behaviours, not angel behaviours. none of the other angels are like him. he's the only socially awkward bean who doesn't get sarcasm and takes things literally. that's HIM

Mace:

Oooh, yep, that’s right

[askdoppelgangerandjeff]

Introduction.

Hello everyone! this is my ask blog for my creepypasta oc Doppelganger (or Orson, depending on who you ask). They were created in October 2020 and have been built up on many times since then. Jeff the Kill will be supervising all asks

asking rules: https://www.tumblr.com/askdoppelgangerandjeff/776932532391444480/ask-doppelg%C3%A4nger-and-jeff?source=share

some fun facts about Doppelganger:

-they are amab, but do not collectively use male pronouns

-speaking of pronouns, they'll switch between first person and referring to themselves as multiple people instead of one (ex: "we don't want breakfast today" "Our decision is final, leave us alone now")

-Their damaged eye is still functional, though barely.

-They do not usually enjoy killing, but under the slendermans influence, you don't have much of a choice, do you? They manage well enough, gets the job done as well as they can

-15 years old

-They get along quite well with Toby!! They have almost a sibling like relationship due to bonding from their trauma with the shitty people in their life

-Their mood is always unpredictable. This will be explained in their backstory! The crps are always wary of approaching them because they don't know if they'll snap, be friendly, or go completely unresponsive

-They are so very attached to their blue sweater, whether they be wearing it or just having it near when their wearing something else. Toby spends a ridiculous amount of time coaxing them to let him wash it every week

-They hate the smell of beer due to their abuser being a alcoholic. They also hate hearing angry screaming for the same reason. They tend to get snappy and sometimes extremely defensive around it.

-They heart horses. This is just a reference to their first design being very much inspired by the cupcakes creepypasta with the whole taxidermy pegasus wing stuff

-before they ended up as a creepypasta, they wanted to go to an animation school and work as a animator. They have since given up on that dream

-They don't particularly like the sight of skeletons

-honestly quite neat compared to the rest of the crps. Then again, were comparing it to the rest of the crps. that's not a high bar to pass

-They would totally be at home in a McDonald's playplace just saying, they love smushing themselves into a small corner isolated from everyone else and what is a McDonald's playplace full of? small corners isolated from everyone else!! Something about sitting by yourself in a corner of a McDonald's placeplay away from the noisy children a floor above you though.....

-Kind of guy to wear boots a lot tbh. I don't think I've drawn them in any other shoes but boots. Yeah I don't think they wear anything but boots actually. It's either boots or no shoes just socks

backstory link: https://www.tumblr.com/askdoppelgangerandjeff/776835358348443648/doppelgangers?source=share

Well, that's it, hope you all like them as much as I do !!

art:

[secretgarden02]

A Familiar Face

I messed up the formatting so time to repost this-

Anyways, a little one-shot fanfic inspired from this drawing done by @leviadraws. Sorry it took me one year delay, had to find some motivation first since I don't really want to half-ass this (and apologies for misspelled grammars and errors as well, english ain't my first language lmao)

Shoutout to "Memories" song by Conan Gray because that song is so Kinjo-core

It has been a month since Kinjo's absent from his work ever since Teruya's whole funeral.

Rei is still showing up like usual, taking over his position for a meanwhile. But ever since Teruya's death, Rei has not been the same like before- in fact, she's completely changed.

She's more stoic and barely shows her emotions. Even when she's frustrated or angry, she mostly just brush it off rather than showing a clear sign that she's frustrated such as sighing or pinching her forehead. She will mostly just stared at the paper works and documents in her hands before she then move on. The Kisaragi foundation still functions normally, but slowly it deteriorate to worse with how Rei acts and Kinjo's absent makes it even worse. No one can convince Rei to visit his house to check how he's doing, and even when Midori and Keisuke gave Kinjo a visit, he didn't even open the door for them.

Kinjo has been inside his home all day ever since Teruya's funeral. Teruya's death was devastating enough for him, but he tried to put on a facade that he's doing fine- until Rei later on confronted him about it and it broke him since then. Maybe Rei is right, he has been using Teruya's- no, even his friends' death excuse to keep him going so he can fight the 'despair', to his own satisfaction. He never think about his own friends desires. He can't even still move on from the betrayal he felt from losing his dearest friend- Yuki Maeda. He knows it all too well that he was just a fake person during that whole killing game, but to think that he trusted him a lot and get attached to him, it both frustrated and saddens him greatly. Even seeing the real Yuki Maeda back in that killing game simulation, he can't even hold himself back from wanting him back even though the other doesn't know about him at all. How pathetic of him.

Usually when he's absent from his workplace, Kinjo would still do his works in his home, even if he's sick. But now in his current state, he's barely touching his paperwork. A rare sight for someone who's usually workaholic. All he's doing now is just laying on bed and sleeping all day. Sometimes he would get out of bed to cook something in kitchen so he won't die from starvation, but that's only it. Afterwards, he will just go to bed and stares at the ceiling or the window, falling asleep later on. But now, it's getting more harder and harder to sleep immediately. He would sometimes ended up not sleeping at all and stayed up all day. Like today, he's rubbing his eyes, cursing himself for not being able to sleep. Maybe he reached his limit. He stares out at the window, as the sound of waves crashes onto the beach gently near his residents. From far, a bridge street that was previously destroyed by mysterious cause from the incident last month was already fixed to normal. He wonders….

The chances are very slim, but he's desperate at this point. Besides, he need a fresh air after staying inside for a month now.

"Ah…."

Kinjo arrived at the bridge, with his full uniform on as usual. He's staring at the sight before him- pretty much nothing but empty streets as the waves gently swaying beneath the bridge. The man sigh, as he proceed to sit on the sideways of the street and slump his back. What was he hoping for? Of course they will never show up. They're being wanted by the Kisaragi foundation, so of course they will never show themself to let alone the leader of the foundation. Besides, they never know about him at all in first place. Kinjo let out a tired sigh as he chuckles, putting his hand at his right eye. "What am I even doing…? Some kind of police officer I am…. Letting my subordinates die in hands of them…."

"Are you done mourning now?"

A voice spoke up all of sudden, in fact it's a pretty familiar voice to him.

Upon hearing that voice, his other hand reaches out for the gun from his pocket and points it upward to the figure that standing beside him, as his expression immediately grows sour.

The other figure that standing beside him just looks down on him, it was Sora- no, not exactly Sora. It's Yuki now, in Sora's body after the whole circumstances that happened with his real body. The grey-haired figure doesn't look scared at all with the gun being pointed at them. Their expression remains unimpressed.

"I don't want to see you, get out of my sight." "You know that you're suck at lying, right?" "Piss off, I will shoot this gun at you. You bear that man's fortune luck, hence you're a criminal now." "That's an absurd logic of yours. Besides, I haven't done anything that obstruct the laws yet. And I don't even want this kind of blessing in first place." Yuki sighs as he rolled his eyes.

Kinjo still held his gun at the other regardless, though his hand is slightly trembling with his finger being hesitant to pull the trigger. "Even with different body, you still bear that familiar face."

"I told you before, I'm not him." Yuki looks unamused with Kinjo's remark. "… I know." Kinjo let out a sigh, he looks pretty saddened when Yuki replied that as he put down the gun beside him. "You really need to get over it, I heard from your friends that you've been absent for a month from your workplace. Is that what police officers supposed to do?"

Kinjo glares at the other figure. "You don't have the rights to talk to me like that." "Hey, I'm just saying." Yuki replied immediately. "You said that you want to get rid of the Despair right? Then you better do your job properly. Your group might eventually get disbanded if you keep chasing your old friends." Yuki sighs again as he wears his hood over his head. He wasn't planning to be a sudden therapist in first place, he just happened to pass by and then all of sudden he found Kinjo just slumping his back on the street sideways. He have mixed feelings over him, but he wasn't planning to just let him laying down on the streets with the despair group is still after him.

"Well I'm overstaying my welcome here, I'll leave you alone now. Oh, and do inform me if you managed to catch sir Syobai and Iroha. But don't kill them, alright? I need to discuss some thing with them. Don't worry, it's not anything that will break the law." Yuki waves at him as he began to walk away.

"Wait-!" Kinjo shouts as he was about to reach over Yuki's hand. But he was too slow, as Yuki is already gone in the blink of an eye. Kinjo was pretty much surprised with how fast Yuki disappeared, but he decided to not question it and sighs. His last words lingered on his mind for a good while before he takes a deep breath and slowly stood up, picking up the gun beside him.

He stares at the gun on his hand, and slowly look over to the ocean scenery in front of him. He rubs his eyes, getting rid of the remaining tears that was there earlier.

"… I'm going to find him, no matter what."

[pos-syscourse]

Saturday Songs!

Runs in the Family by Amanda Palmer

TW for discussions of trauma, SH, and unhealthy coping mechanisms, both from the song and in the discussion below. Today's Saturday Songs post is a little more aggressive than normal, and definitely more serious. I still think it's very important for many of you to hear, however. It's a lot less positive, so be warned; I wouldn't read this if you aren't ready for some anger and direct callout tonight.

I've always heard this song as being about DID, or at least, about my specific trauma experiences that led to me developing DID.

So many people in syscourse are individuals with severe trauma. DID systems, OSDD systems, traumatized endogenic systems -- and so many people that making a list is redundant and foolish, and so much overlap, does it matter? We are fucked up.

For as long as I can remember, I have been traumatized. I carry it with me, unable to get rid of it, because my family has hurt me. And I will always carry that. Even with all of my therapy, even with all of my supports and hard work, I will be forever changed, and I will carry the mark of that forever.

The body keeps the score, right?

And it's always been harder with mental illness, these things that hide themselves in me. I can't run from them, but everyone looks at me and they can't see it. It's not written anywhere on me, and some days, I've been so hurt that I've resented that. That I've wanted to hurt myself to make it visible, make it known that I am not well.

And I hate to admit that sometimes, even to myself, but especially to anyone else, because I've been taught to hide. My disorder has been taught to hide. And I just want to run away, like the song says; I want to run and not face any of it, run from the problems these things have caused.

I have hurt people. And I want to just blame my family, blame my trauma, blame it and scream it and burn it all down.

But I can't. This disorder -- this trauma -- is inside of me.

... My therapist said one day, "Trauma is a mess someone else made, but that you have to clean up. And it isn't nice, and it isn't pretty, but it'll stay there until you clean it up."

It's not fair, what's been done to me. It's not fair, what's been done to you. But you cannot run away from it. You have to clean it up. And yes, you will always carry that with you. It's like a stain on the carpet; you can clean it up, you can make it spotless, but you'll always be able to think back to a time when it wasn't spotless, when it was a mess.

And you'll be angry.

And that's a you problem, because you are the one who had to clean it up. And it wasn't fair! And it's cruel and shouldn't have happened!

But if you don't clean it up, it'll stay on the floor, be in the way, and make you angrier and angrier with no direction to put it in... other than on others.

So many people in syscourse are running. When I started syscoursing, I used it as an escape from my current abusive situation. And it felt good. It felt familiar. It was high intensity, high emotion, and I felt right at home, like I was doing something good by getting so mad that I could barely function. And that was a form of me running, because I didn't have to clean the mess. I could just push the anger about the mess onto other people.

So many in syscourse are denying responsibility. "I'm anti-endo because endogenic systems traumatized me." "I'm pro-endo because anti-endos traumatized me." "It was my alter." "I'm traumatized, I reacted poorly, criticizing me is harassing a traumatized person."

You always will be. You will never not be traumatized.

But you can clean that mess. You can heal. You can grow. You'll still be traumatized, but you can help your reactions.

But you cannot help your reactions by running from the problem.

Don't listen to the laws you've heard, you've grown up with, you've made... Don't listen to that voice in your head that tells you, "You're safer if you run." Don't listen to that voice in your head that tells you, "If you acknowledge you made a mistake, you'll be hurt more, you didn't make a mistake because mistakes aren't allowed." These are the laws that told you to run.

Clean it up. Carry it with you, as you will, but clean it up.

Stop pushing it onto everyone else.

[detentiontrack]

i really hope this doesnt seem rude and i’m sorry if it is, but how are u so functional with all ur trauma? u seem to be doing fine, and i can barely function and ur trauma is a lot worse than mine. i feel like a failure.

Hi honey, it seems like you’re going through a rough time. Thank you for sharing this with me and trusting me with this. You are NOT a failure.

The first thing I want to say, is that comparing traumas is always a bad idea. No one’s trauma is worse than anyone else’s. We operate with the lens of what WE’VE experienced. Your 6/10 pain might be someone else’s 10/10 pain. That doesn’t mean they’re suffering more, it just means that you have different perceptions and reactions to things.

Second, social media is a highlight reel. I don’t post every single trigger or maladaptive coping mechanism on tumblr. I’m not completely functional, I’m just getting better at coping. Up until 2023, I couldn’t hear christmas music without having a 3 hour long flashback/panic attack. I always go into a depressive episode around my birthdays. I can’t wear certain clothes. I carry weapons with me at all times just in case someone tries to hurt me again. I sometimes still have flashbacks and can’t get out of bed some days. It may seem like I’m fully functional, but I’m not perfect.

Third, for a WHILE, I couldn’t function whatsoever. The abuse ended the day before my 13th birthday, and for years, I was so ANGRY. I had no healthy relationships. I had multiple addictions and bad coping mechanisms, I was hospitalized for mental health 4 separate times as a result of the trauma symptoms. I developed an entire dissociative disorder because that’s how my brain chose to cope. After the anger faded, I was depressed and sad for another several years. I’m 19 now, and I was able to pull myself out of this constant loop through intense therapy and medication. I see my therapist 2-3 times a week and I take 5 medications to manage my trauma symptoms and the disorders that formed because of trauma. I definitely still have bad days, but it took me a really long time to get where I am today. Just because you’re struggling right now, doesn’t mean you’ll be struggling forever. There is always hope and recovery is always possible. Things can ALWAYS get better.

My DMs and inbox are always open if you need some support. You are strong and brave and you will feel better someday 💓