#And we don’t always realize we’ve moved on/what has passed us until it is so far gone it’s almost laughable

[novemberhaenys]

just finished bojack horseman for the first time…

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

This is a direct follow up to Story #387, Story #389, and Story #394. It is strongly advised that you read those stories first.

#400

“There he is!  Timothy Stone, get on up here!...  Welcome aboard!  Welcome to the Zelus.  I see you are impressed with my tiny tugboat.  Ha! Ha!  I love looking at reactions of new passengers.  You ever been on a yacht this big?

“It’s sixty-nine feet, and enough power to get us around the entire Bahamas and back here to West Palm Beach.  It has four staterooms and two crew quarters.  You get one of them.  Sorry, with the entire executive team here each of us will get our own stateroom. 

“Let me text Lloyd to take us out of the marina.  All of us have been here for some time.  No, don’t worry about it.  I told you to be here at three, and it’s five ‘til three.  No, we’ve been having fun with our new faggot we got tied up….

“You want a drink?...  I have this cognac that I was given in Vegas the other day by a potential client.  I haven’t tried it yet.

“Ahh we are moving.  We should be out of the marina in a few minutes.

“Here you go….  Cheers!  …Ahhh!  Smooth.  I’m not a fan of cognac, but this is pretty good.  It should be.  Courvoisier Mizunara is supposed to be one of the best out there.  On the shelves it’s worth $2,500.  But shit, I couldn’t tell that from a $100 bottle.  Bourbon is more my thing. 

“Growing up in Tennessee, my Uncle Jimmy used to make his own.  Everyone in a five-mile radius of his home had a bottle of his bourbon.  I used to help him out in his garage in the evening when his son went off to college.  Uncle Jimmy showed me everything, but we always wound-up drinking.  I was sixteen at the time.  I’d plow his ass at the end of the night.  After a few times, he didn’t even wait until we started drinking.  He had one of the best pieces of ass I ever had.

“His bourbon lives on with my cousin once my uncle passed.  I have a bottle of it here.  I may break it out sometime during this trip.  My cousin fucked it up when he went ran the company.  It’s definitely not as good as it was before.  Some boys just don’t have a mind for business.

“Speaking of boys in business, your son Michael is doing great.  From what Lloyd was telling me, he’s really taking to his new role as intern.  I know he finds it a challenge, but Lloyd, Ben, and Gary think he’s handling it better than anyone they have seen in a long time.  Apparently, he has a gift for adapting, kinda rolling with the punches.

“What I like about him—I met him this morning—is his ability to take directions without complaints.  That is such a difficult characteristic to find in boys these days.  Lloyd and Gary were indicating they want to keep him around after his initial internship.  I left him earlier working hard trying to impress me.

“…Oh you hear that cabin tone?  That’s Lloyd telling everyone that we’ve cleared the marina and are out at sea.  This is your first time on the Zelus.  When we are in open water, we strip naked.  All of us.

“I told you the other day when we were talking about promoting you to lead our European expansion, that we are a close group of men—of four gay men.  We share our conquests, our lusts, our dark needs with each other.  I trust these men like I would trust my brother, if not more.  We have been in countless gang bangs tearing up some faggot’s cunt.  I have seen their cocks and asses so much that it’s awkward to see them clothed.  The other two on board are faggots.  Naturally those two are going to be kept naked.

“So strip.  This is not an option.  You can jump overboard and swim back to shore if you would like.

“Good.

“You can leave them on the couch.  Ben’s boy will put them in your cabin.  If you go out on deck you can keep your sunglasses and baseball cap on.

“You have got to realize that the four of us have known each other for years.  Lloyd and I go back to our time in the Corps.  What connects us is our love for using and abusing faggots. 

“Right now, as I was saying there are two faggots on board.  One is Ben’s boy.  While Ben has taken him on as a partner of sorts, he’s still a faggot at heart.

“…I guess I should ask, do you know the difference between a gay man and a faggot?  A faggot is a gay man who has a need, an urge, a longing to submit to the whims of superior men.  The more humiliating, degrading, cruel the better.  Faggots live for the cum of its superiors.  It loves to degrade itself in order for the man to be elevated.  It needs the beatings, the piss, the bondage, the punishment to feel complete.

“I don’t know why you were hesitating about stripping.  You have a great body, average sized dick, nice long foreskin, and holy shit… Those balls are huge!  Let me hold on to them….

“Hey don’t hesitate.  We are all physical with each other as well.  Look, I’m standing here in front of you naked.  I already saw you check out my dick.  Yes, it’s very fat.  If you want to touch it, go right ahead.

“You know, as a man who says he bisexual, you certainly seem apprehensive….  Or is it the fact that I’m your boss telling you to take a hold of my cock.  I get it.  If you are going to be a part of this team, you are going to have to drop those pretenses.  When you walk around you should let those low hangers swing free and guide your every step.

“Let me check out your ass.  Hey, what can I say?  I’m an ass man.  I’m going to see it anyways, might as well be now.

“Solid and meaty, just as I would have guessed.  Nice and hairy.  Faggots seem to love licking a hairy crack.  You ever have your ass eaten out?...  There may be some ass eating ahead.

“Speaking of which, right now that faggot is down below.  It is tied down, blindfolded with a noise cancelling headset on, ass up.  The four of us have already bred it.  You will be up next.

“Your cock doesn’t seem like it wants to get hard….  Do you need something?  We have Viagra, Cialis, Levitra, Muse, Tri-mix.  Well, I need a shot of Tri-Mix.  After this morning’s big load, I don’t think I could get hard again until tomorrow.

“You ever do Tri-Mix?  I use it when I want to fuck for a long time.  It keeps me boned up for a few hours.  You want to try it?  After a few minutes have passed you will be rock, and I mean rock hard.

“If you are nervous, this being your first time with me on the Zelus, just do it.  Let me get it.  It’s kept cold.  Don’t worry, I have a doctor that gives me whatever I want.

“Just stand right there.  Don’t worry.  I’ve done this many times.  Yes it’s an injectable.  And it’s injected into the shaft.  Aww, don’t turn into a pussy on me.

“I brought two syringes.  Let me do it to myself.  Here watch….  It goes in, I plunge, and it comes out.  Like that.  It’s over quick.  Now a few tugs and I can already feel it working.  I’m not going to get completely rigid for about 15-20 minutes.

“Look, you say you are bisexual, but I’m thinking that you are making up the gay side of it because you want to impress us.  You want this promotion so fucking bad you are willing to fuck some faggot in front of us.  You wouldn’t be the first straight man to shoot up his cock to fuck fags.  There’s a whole term for it: gay-for-pay.

“You want to be part of this team, you are going to need to learn to love using faggots, that includes dumping a load into them.  To do that you need to get hard.  This injection will do that for you.

“Here feel my cock again.  Grab a hold of it….  Feel that?  It’s harder than a few minutes ago.  Here let me inject you.

“Come here.  Just look up.  On the count of three.  One!  See, it went in….  And now you are done.  Give it a few tugs and you will start to feel it.

“You’ll be hard for the rest of the night.  Lots of fucking in your future tonight. 

“When we had our conversation in Vegas, I told you that I was pissed off at your skimming the profits but was very intrigued at the process you used to do so.  It took some serious creativity to pull that off.  I was impressed.  The guys too.  We set this cruise out to a remote island in the Bahamas to get to know you—to get to know you as a fag fucker.  Besides, the shit we do… man, we wouldn’t take on anyone who had a shred of decency.

“Do you feel your cock getting larger?  I can see it growing.  Yeah, once we go downstairs into the media room that doubles as a dungeon, you will see the faggot cunt secured to the sling or fuck bench.  Your cock will slide into its cunt.  And it should be silky smooth.  Better than any woman’s pussy.

“We have been training this faggot for a couple of weeks.  Lloyd secured him about the time when you and I went to Vegas.  He was an easy target.  What you probably don’t realize being essentially straight is that there are faggots out there that will do just about anything to serve men like us—brutal men like us.  Lloyd has a good talent for reading a potential faggot.  He says things that just seems to work on getting that faggot to be collared.

“Once that happens then it’s only a matter of time that they submit to whatever we want to do to them.  And all it took was this.  See this little fob?  This is the tool we use.  Here, press the number one button.

“Do it again.  And again.  What you did, is you sent a shock to the faggot down below.  The collar we put on him is wired up, like a collar for a dog to get it to stop barking.  Once they feel that, total submission is almost immediate.  With this particular faggot, he turned into a whipping post for Ben and toilet paper for Gary in no time. 

“Where we keep the faggot is wired up for numerous cameras.  So we can see what the faggot is doing and send a shock from anywhere in the world.  I even sent one from Vegas when you were looking up some number from some report.

“Look at your cock.  It’s starting to get rigid.  Damn!  You are a grower! 

“You know, let’s go see the faggot.  The guys will be down there.  We are certainly far from shore so Lloyd will have the autopilot on.

“This way….  Doesn’t it feel right to be walking around buck naked?  Trust me you’ll get used to it, and soon enough you’ll be naked pretty much all the time.  If you need to piss and you don’t have a faggot nearby, just aim off the side and go.  The one thing you’ll learn is pissing with a hard-on will take some time, which is great for loading up a faggot’s toilet cunt.

“And here we are.  Before we go in, I want to point out that you can see the men are enjoying themselves.  In general, we casually use faggots’ holes.  It’s about pleasure and not so much about busting a nut, although busting a nut happens a lot.

“Look at how the men are enjoying what’s going on.  Ben is balls deep in his boy, while the boy is tongue fucking Gary’s shitter.  Lloyd is pile driving the faggot over on the fuck bench, stirring up the cum stew. 

“This is the life we created.  This is what you are coming into.  Let’s go in.

“Gentlemen!  I got Timothy here.  His cock has been shot up and he’s ready to fuck.

“Damn Tim!  You really are a grower.  I should have expected that when I saw your long foreskin.  Now only the tip shows.  Skin it back; I want to see how big your head is.

“Shit!  Do you ever clean that thing?  Look at that dick cheese….  Come here.  Stick your dickhead in the faggot’s mouth.  He’ll clean you off. 

“The faggot is blindfolded and has noise canceling headset under his hood.  He won’t know what to do until you use the handle on his hood to pull his head back.  Then just shove your dick in his mouth.  The faggot knows to clean off dick cheese; I’m sure Gary made sure of that. 

“There you go….  I see that smile.  Feels good, doesn’t it?  Better than any woman.  A well-trained faggot is better than anything a woman can do. 

“Well you got Gary and Ben to stop and watch you.

“Oh you see his welts.  Yeah, a well-trained faggot also takes a beating.  We punish faggot slaves appropriately, but they also are made to understand that sometimes the beatings are for our enjoyment.  Ben and Lloyd certainly like to have their fun.

“This faggot has been trained to do so much.  He’s going to fetch us a good price.  Yeah, we plan on selling him.  There are men around the world that pay top dollar for a well-trained faggot slave.

“Pull out.  I said pull out.  I told you that you will enjoy this.

“Lloyd, move the faggot to the sling.  I think Tim here is ready to fuck.

“While he’s doing that, care for another drink?  Or would you like a cigar?  No?  Ok.

“Boy.  Go upstairs and pour Tim here a glass of the Courvoisier Mizunara cognac.  The bottle should be sitting out.  Hell, bring the whole bottle down.

“That’ll help you adapt and sink into everything to come.  So have you ever been to a gang bang, or fucked a woman who has several loads in her?  The feeling on your cock is amazing.  Yes it’s sloppy, but it also feels silky smooth.

“That’s a sight, isn’t it?  That cunt has been trained to take cock after cock and still remain tight to give pleasure and loose enough to not cause your dick to struggle to fuck.

“Here’s your cognac.  Might as well down it.

“Now go on.  Step up.  Slide it in.  Trust me, this is going to be a fuck you will never forget. 

“…Good.  You ready? 

“There you go!  There’s the smile.  Now FUCK!

“Give that faggot what he deserves.  Slam into him.  Faggots were made to be fucked not made love to.

“Hell yes!  Look, we are all stroking our dicks for you.  You have no idea how hot this is….

“Guys, gather around.  You should see this up close.

“…Go for it!  Don’t hold back.  Breed the faggot. 

“FUCK YEAH!  FUCK!

“…You did it!  In record time!  Well done!  Don’t pull out yet.  Let the rest of your body calm down first.  Savor the feeling.  Savor the moment. 

“You did good.  Now, I need for you to pull out slowly.  The faggot is trained to clamp down.  Good.  Good!

“Look at that slime on your cock.  That’s all our juices.  How do you feel?  I know.  Words elude you?... Ha!

“Get on your knees….  You heard me.  I want you to look at this faggot’s cunt. 

“Gary, pull apart the fag’s cheeks.  Let’s really see that cunt hole.

“On your knees….  There you go.

“Ben.  Lloyd.  Now.

“…They move fast, don’t they?  You have the same shock collar on you as the faggot does.  Now pay attention.  This is a level one zap. 

“…Hurts like a motherfucker, right?  There are ten settings, and you had the weakest.  I don’t think another demonstration is needed.  Do you understand your situation?

“…Shut up.  I don’t want to hear your babble.  That was a ‘Yes Sir’/’No Sir’ question…. 

“OK.  You really thought you could skim money from us and be rewarded with a promotion?  Please!  You need some sort of punishment.  That begins with your lips kissing the faggot’s cunt lips.  Go on!  Lean in. 

“…That was level two….  There you go! 

“Now keep your mouth open.  The faggot may be wearing a noise cancelling headset, but we can speak to him.  He’s going to be told to shit some of his cunt slop into your mouth.  Do not swallow it.  Nod if you understand.  Good.

“Whew!  That was a messy fart!  Remember don’t swallow.  Now pull back.  Look up at us.  Show us the load.  Now gargle it.  Like mouthwash! 

“Two minutes ago, you were a man, but now you are a gargler of cum gobs.  Now don’t swallow.  Stop gargling.

“Get up and go share that in the faggot’s mouth.  Get up….  You know I hate having to repeat myself.  If I have to do it again, you will experience level three.  Now go and have a deep passionate kiss with the faggot.

“Hold his head and swap spit.  Pretend he’s a woman.  Hell, pretend it’s your son Michael’s mother.  I don’t care.

“Fuck yeah!  I didn’t realize that you are an excellent kisser.  Pull off.  There will be more kissing.  Get back to kneeling at the faggot’s cunt. 

“You are going to repeat the process exactly the same, except for the gargling.  You can skip that.  Any hesitation will be met with level three for triple the length.  You understand.  Just nod.

“Good.  Oh, I forgot to tell you one thing.  You need to hear it before you go back to eating another splatter fart out of your son’s ass….

“…Oh yeah!  The faggot here is your son Michael.  This is the internship we set him up with.  Oh yeah.  Your son was a faggot before us.  It was easy for us to pluck him.

“Now, remember level 3.  You are to do the exact same thing with the same level of passion.... I'm fucking serious.  Go!

“…Damn!  That was close.  A split second longer in hesitating and you would have been shocked.  Keep licking.  While you wait to receive your gift from your son’s cunt, Lloyd here is removing your son’s hood.  He still has his blindfold and headset on.  We will be removing those shortly.  You probably won’t recognize him initially because Ben had removed all this body hair even on his head.

“Did you hear that?  Gary just busted a nut watching you felch out our loads from your son’s cunt.

“Pull off when your mouth is full.  Good.  Now go French kiss your son. 

“Just like before.  Go on now….  Fuck yeah!

“This is so hot.

“Now go back to his cunt.  But this time remain standing.

“Stick  your slime covered cock back into your boy’s cunt.  And fuck him.  That Tri-mix I injected you with should keep you hard for a long time.  You’ve already fucked a load into him.  Now just fuck.

“You really should see yourself.  Oh wait, you can.  Look over at that TV.  Yes, we have been filming you.  See your face.  There’s panic, fear, guilt, regret, and even a little disgust.  All the good emotions.  And over on the TV to your right, you can see how your son became a faggot with each of us.  Oh yeah, he wasn’t coerced into being a faggot like you were.  No, he was totally into sperm burping and pole riding.  The fear you had that he might be gay turned out to be true in the most glorious way.

“DO NOT STOP FUCKING.

“And now, we get to see shame you have in him and in yourself, by taking the headset off first. 

“Faggot, it is imperative that you do not say a word.  If either you or the shithead fucking you say one word, you both will get shocked at level 3.  This includes screaming.  I want both of you to nod that you understand.

“Good.  Now Tim, remove the blindfold. 

“Look into your son’s eyes.  Let him see just how much your fuck up has cost him.  All this is because you had arrogance and ambition.  You tried to fuck us over, you tried to steal from us, and you believed that we would be ok with it and promote you as well?  Fuck that!

“Are you crying?  You are!...  Do not stop fucking your son.

“Faggots!  That was level 3.  Yes!  The both of you got shocked.  That’s how punishments will be going forward.  One fucks up, then both gets shocked.

“Now get back to fucking your son.

“Here’s the situation.  We still have about four hours to go.  And you have a hard on that will last another three to six.  You will be fucking him non-stop until we get to where we are going.  Until then, you will not say one word to each other.  Remember those shock collars we have padlocked on you were meant for barking dogs.  If you say one thing, the sensors will register sounds and you two will be shocked.  Also, that sling has a sensor that will monitor for movement.  If that movement stops or even slows down—say due to stopping fucking—you two will be shocked.  Tim, if your collar should go more than 6 feet away from your faggot son’s collar, you two will be shocked.  If any one of us bring up one of our video feeds and see that your cock is not inside your faggot son’s cunt, you two will be shocked.  I will free the faggot’s hands.  I want the two of you to enjoy playing with each other’s chest.  What can I say?  I’m a nice guy.

“That’s a lot of fucking between the two of you between now and when we reach the island.  But here’s one thing before we leave you both to go have dinner.  That island is a small private island, about two to three acres.  There’s a small dock and a metal shed to shield from the elements.  The owner of the island always has a box stocked with water bottles and something to eat.  Last time we sold a faggot there, they put in a hammock between two of the four trees on the island.

“Faggot, you will be left on the dock.  The island owners will send carriers to pick you up either tomorrow or the next day.  From there, they will arrange delivery to your new owners.

“Until then you are free to roam the small island.  Swim.  Whatever.  If you want to swim to the next island, it’s about 7 miles in open ocean, and that island is about ten times larger, but still uninhabited.

“So that’s the life your dad has caused you to have.  Look at him.  He’s a failure, and he knows it. 

“Well Tim.  While you cry, keep fucking your son.  This will be the last few hours with him.  What do you have to say?  Oh, let me turn off your noise sensor….

“…No we can’t simply forget all this.  You stole a lot of money from us, it needs to be paid.  We paid a lot in fuel to get us out here.  We paid for a pick up on the island.  They expect a faggot.  Now, if you want to switch places with your son, that can be arranged.

“You want to do that?  You want to be sold into sex slavery instead of your faggot son?...

“…Well fuck!  I wasn’t expecting that!  You didn’t waste any time in shaking your head no.

“Faggot, did you see how fast your dad just gave you up?  Shit! 

“These past weeks have been carefully planned.  Every word, every detail.  From the Vegas trip where we had our talk, to Lloyd convincing faggot here to sign up to be our intern, to the strip club dancer I paid to have sex with you so that a potential buyer could see you in action, to the tri-mix dose on hand, to the video feeds cued up, and to me handing the shock remote to dear old dad to get him to shock his son three times.  The one thing I was expecting you to do was the fatherly thing and offer to go instead of your son.

“Nope.  You chose to sacrifice your son.  Didn’t even think twice.  That’s fucking brutal.  Just when I think you can’t be more of a piece of shit, you surprise me.

“No YOU are going to be sold, not your faggot son.  Your new owner saw you fuck that stripper, and he wanted you.  He’s into hairy middle-aged straight men as his sex slaves.  He doesn’t want your hairless faggot son.

“So you are going to be sold.  But I wonder.  Hmm.  I’m going to contact your new owner and see if he’s interested in the pair of you two as a set.  Yeah, that is a great idea, to sell your son into slavery as well.  If you had just offered yourself up instead of your son, he would have been spared.  But no. 

“If you have anything to say, save it.  I just put your noise sensor back on.  Get back to fucking your son.

“Gentlemen let’s go have some dinner.  Ben, I see your boy is gone.  To start cooking I presume.  You are one step ahead, as always.  Let’s leave these two have some private time.  They have lots to talk about, too bad they can’t say anything.  Lloyd, I know you have been eying that cognac.  Go ahead and grab it.  It’s yours for all the hard work you put in.  Actually, you all did good.  I’m proud of you all.  That was fun.”

[hrtsdollie]

THE LETTER - M. STURNIOLO (matthew sturniolo x reader)

pt1

warnings; no use of y/n , none this is simply a letter from a grieving girl to her boyfriend who has passed , it’s super short though!

major warning; this is a super rough topic to write about, if you don’t like the idea of reading something where matt passes, then please do not continue reading. this is purely fiction, and in no way, shape, or form am i trying to spread misinformation and claim that matt is seriously dead. this is just a thought i had (about readers grieving process and sort of the reaction). if you don’t like it, don’t read it. if i receive hate from this, anons and comments will be turned off. - xoxo emmy.

dear matthew, 

the weeks following your death were worse than anything. media was awful. and normally when people got under my skin like this, you would help me. but now.. its the posts about you that were bothering me. you really can’t help me now. i never realized how insensitive this fanbase was. some comments and memorial videos are sweet, most are not. i miss you matt. i lay in your bed and i cry. i cry? is this what you would’ve wanted for me matty? to spend my days crying? i dont care, i miss you.

wails can be heard all throughout the our house. we’ve left boston. nick and chris and me. not you. i want to move down there. i want to visit you whenever i would like to. but your mom says you’ll always be with me. chris stays in nick’s room. his cover has been broken down and he’s starting the grieving process. im proud of him. i know nick  feels it too, but chris needs him.

our friends have all come to visit us. the fridge is stocked with casseroles and drinks that we probably won’t ever get to. nearly every surface is covered with flowers. your friends loved you more than anything. everyone did. but nobody is grieving like nick and chris and me. that’s all it is now. just nick and chris and me. the flowers and the food are too much. 

it’s almost like the house is aware of your absence. our bathroom flooded, chris nearly burned the kitchen down by using the toaster, and it’s like the ninth time i have slipped walking up the stairs. my sweet boy is gone, and all shit is hitting the fan. come back to me, matty. i love you.

your silk sheets still smell like you, along with every hoodie. your pink hershey shirt is worn by the pink bunny you had bought me for valentines day. i have all of the bunny stuffed animals gifted to me by you just sitting in your room. i miss when i was your bunny. i miss the feeling i got in my stomach the first time you called me that. i would do anything to hear it come from your mouth just once more. 

i feel guilty, like maybe it should’ve been me in the car. but your brothers have told me several times it wasn’t my fault. i can’t keep myself from holding some resentment towards nick and chris. what if it’d been them? i know that isn’t any better, but seeing them everyday hurts me so bad. it’s as if the ghost of you, my highschool sweetheart, simply floats through the halls, but it’s only your brothers. chris shaved his beard, he’d let it grow out after you died. he looks less like you do — well, did now. it hurts a little less, but it’ll never not hurt to see them, or at least that’s what marylou told me. 

i call marylou everyday. it’s nice to hear her voice. she’s hanging on and trying to work through this, at least from what i can tell. i think i’ve sent you too many voicemails these past few weeks because your inbox is full. maybe i wasn’t the only one who simply wanted to talk again. i feel bad sending you messages everyday. so that’s why im writing this for you. you deserve to have an update, you always were nosy. and so so sassy. i miss your “mattitude”. if you were here i would let you be sassy, and make stank faces at me all you want.

i hope all the pain you ever felt is gone now matty. and i hope this letter finds you well. i will continue to write this until i see you again. someday. not now, and not soon. but someday. 

love, bunny ᡣ𐭩 

divs by @/anitalenia

open to possibly writing pt3 on this one because i have an idea but that would be the last part! feedback is so heavily encouraged (be kind, i am just a girl 😓).

tags: @lypsiiii

[notsoattractivearenti]

Wherever You Are (Mason Mount x Reader)

Song Inspo: Wherever You Are - 5 Seconds of Summer (I recommend you to listen to the song while reading this fic!

Word Count: 1392

Warnings: Angst, maybe a little fluff

A/N: This is my first fic after I stopped writing for almost 7 years so apologies for possible crappy storyline and ending or any mistakes I might've not realized! Also this one is for my girls in Puli gc (I just found out some of us are also 5sos fans 🤭) – UPDATE: PART 2

“Mason! I got THE call! I got the job!!!” You said loudly as you were jumping up and down out of happiness like a little child. Mason’s eyes widened when he heard you and came running to you to give you a hug, then he picked you up, swung you around, and gave you a sweet and passionate kiss on the lips. “See!? I knew you’re going to get it Y/N! I’m so proud of you!” His excitement was crystal clear and you loved to see how he reacted. The day you’ve been waiting for has finally come. You got your dream job in your hands. You’ve always wanted to work in fashion industry. You went to college and earned a bachelor’s degree in Fashion, and you basically have prepared your life for this career. You’d applied to multiple companies and landed some interviews but you never got an offer call... Until today. But the thing is... You had to move to America. The company you’re going to work for is in New York City, and now that you’ve got accepted meaning you had to relocate there. You suddenly felt your mood shifted, you were incredibly happy before and now you weren’t sure what to feel anymore. Your boyfriend for 5 years is here in London, and obviously since he's a football player who is currently playing for Chelsea he has to stay in London. You now realized you have to talk about your relationship’s future with Mason because you two are about to live in two different countries, thousands miles apart.

You grabbed a chair, sat down quietly and tried to find the courage to have a (possibly) difficult conversation with Mason. “Mase, I think we need to talk.” “I know what you’re about to say,” he said as he sat down next to you then held both of your hands, “you know I love you so much and I know this job is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you absolutely deserve this more than anything in the world. I will always be yours no matter where you are, you have nothing to worry about.” “But are you sure? We’ve never done this long distance thing before. There’s going to be actual distance between us. We won’t see each other every day and also the 5-hour difference... Those things don’t sound easy to me at all.” You kept looking down because you were afraid you would start crying the second you saw his eyes. “It’s obviously won’t be easy Y/N, but don’t you think it’s worth to try? I don’t want to give up on us and I hope you don’t too.” You could hear his voice was breaking when he said it, and of course you didn’t want to give up as well. “Hey,” he said softly as he touched your cheeks and leaned down a bit “look at me. We’re gonna be okay. Nothing has to end, right?” You looked up, locked your eyes with him, let out a little smile and replied “You’re right. We’ll be just fine.” He kissed your forehead and your lips, and you heard him saying “We don’t have to say goodbye.”

---

Two weeks had passed and it was time for you to leave. You knew this day would come but you still didn’t feel ready. You spent most of these past 2 weeks with Mason; you both did everything you could together before you move away. You two were pretty much in denial about your relationship situation and just wanted to focus on spending more time together. Since most of your belongings had been packed and shipped to NYC a few days before, for today’s flight you only brought one backpack and 2 suitcases with you. Mason helped you packed your things and he was the one who drove you to the airport. On the way, you two acted like nothing big was happening; you had a fun little carpool karaoke and laughed at how horrible you both were when singing, told stupid jokes to one another and were talking about other things but you both were clearly trying to avoid anything about the future – your futures, separately. You finally arrived at the airport and Mason walked along with you until the front gate. “Well,” he said as he held your hands tight, “I guess it’s time for you to go M’Lady.” You laughed a little, tried to hold back your tears. “Yes, yes it is, M’Lord. I’m so glad you’re here, Mase. I uh, I... I’m sorry I have to leave.” You started breaking and before you know it your tears had fallen down, you could no longer pretend this wasn’t happening anymore. You saw how Mason’s big smile – which is and will always be your favourite smile in the entire world – just disappeared, now replaced by a frown, and you could tell he was trying so hard not to cry. “Y/N...” “Mason, I know you said we don’t have to say goodbye, but I don’t think I can do that. I love you...” you paused because you had to catch your breath from all the crying. “Y/N, please sto-“ “I really, really love you Mase. I don’t want to say goodbye, but it seems like the right thing to do. It is the only right thing to do, no matter how hard it may be but you and I both know it’s for the best...” You could feel how his hands were cold and trembling because he was still holding yours, then he let go and wiped his tears off his face. You saw his red, puffy eyes filled with tears, and it broke your heart even worse. He didn’t say a word for a minute as he was trying to calm himself down before saying anything. “Y/N, I’m not... I’m not ready to let you go. I’m not ready to let us go...” He took one deep breath before continuing, it was really hard for him to say what he felt at the moment. “You are the only girl I’ve ever loved, Y/N. You are the most special girl in the world and I don’t know if I will ever find another woman like you. But as much as I hate saying this, you’re right. It’s time to...” he paused then he bit his bottom lip “uh, to say... Goodbye.” You felt like you were so close to falling down on your knees when he said those words, you knew it was coming but you didn’t know how badly it would hurt you. “Maybe one day we’ll be together again, who knows?” you smiled a little when he said that. You and Mason then gave each other the longest and tightest hug, none of you wanted to let go. You both whispered to each other “I love you always”, he kissed the top of your head and released the hug after you heard the boarding call for your flight. You both wiped the tears off each other’s faces, then leaned in for one final kiss. “Okay,” as you fixed your backpack “I have to go now. Goodbye Mase...” as you waved at him. Still crying, he forced a smile and waved back at you. “Goodbye Y/N.”

---

It has been 3 months since you left London. You love your job so much and you’ve settled well in NYC. You obviously miss everyone in London but you wouldn’t change a thing. Well, maybe one thing... Since the last time you saw Mason you still couldn’t stop thinking about him. About the what ifs, should’ve beens, could’ve beens, everything. You couldn’t help but wondered: has he moved on? Or is he still waiting for you? You don’t know and you don’t want to know. Checking out his contact on your phone has become your before-bed routine. You wanted to call him to hear his voice, to tell him everything, to hear about his day like how it used to be. You really wanted to tell him how much you still love him but you don’t have the guts to. You’ve heard about how nothing lasts forever, yet your love for Mason is still strongly there within your heart. Every night, you would look at old photos of him on your phone and you always told yourself: “Mason, it will always be you... Wherever you are.”

[polyamorouspunk]

hii taking you up on your advice offer 😭 ur poly so maybe u have more experience with this than me, how would i break up with my longterm partner?

we’ve been dating for 2 years, it really has seemed perfect but lately idk its just felt wrong. we’ve kinda planned our lives around eachother and moving in together once we graduate, but i cant make myself want to kiss them or be romantic anymore, i dont want to respond to their texts, i get annoyed at them for no reason. they havent done anything wrong theyre wonderful its a “its not you its me” situation to a T.

all of our friends are mutual friends, but most of them were technically my friends first (all the people they used to hang out with sucked) so im scared if we break up they wont have anyone to talk to about it. i really dont want to hurt them.

i honestly might realize this is just me being dumb and all of this will pass and ill want to be with them still once it does, but since i have no clue how id break it off i feel so trapped. i want to know i have a way out if things dont get better, i want to stay with them because i truly changed my mind not because i didnt have a choice.

Not in a poly sense but just a “have had a few relationships” sense I guess I can offer advice.

So I’ve never actually broken up with anyone before, except for the last guy I was messing around with (Catboy) just because as much as I had sooo much feelings for him it was like the most unhealthy “relationship” for me. Like I finally realized like “oh I’m actually NOT better off seeing him, my mental health is ACTUALLY worse” because of his shenanigans.

However, I did have a long term partner who I dated for 6 years who we had plans to move in together and get married etc. same kind of deal, all their friends were my friends. And they dumped me, and yeah, it was really fucking hard even though I knew everyone was going to take my side. And the one person who didn’t I ended up not speaking to anymore because I was like if you’re not going to realize that I’m the only one whose going to keep talking to you because my ex doesn’t give a shit about keeping in contact with people, then that’s on you.

I was devestated. This was like 3 years ago at this point and pretty much right up until about this year I felt like I was somehow “living in the wrong timeline” and like my entire life’s trajectory had been pulled out from underneath me. Not from the breakup so much as them just deciding they never wanted to speak to me again, that I was bad for their mental health, etc. which I always told them if I’m ever bad for your mental health then break up with me, and I meant it and stand by that and their decision, but it still fucking hurt.

Like if that’s what they had to do that’s what they had to do. If that’s what you have to do then that’s what you have to do. While I am of course resentful to my ex, and I hope they get hit by a car or something sometimes, I do stand by their decision that if I wasn’t good for them then I’m happy they left me behind. I don’t know if other people are going to have that same view upon being dumped. I mean like I said I still hate them. But to say that they should have stayed with me for my sake is hypocritical.

Not only that, but an issue of intimacy was occurring between us during the lead-up to the breakup. And as soon as I wasn’t with them anymore and I was able to be with Catboy instead I got a taste of what I had been missing and GOD it felt so good. For the first time ever I felt like someone actually wanted to be intimate with me. It was an amazing feeling. My ex dumping me opened up the door for me to have things I was missing in that relationship. So it wasn’t all bad, for sure.

You have to do what you have to do for yourself. You come first. If you need to break up with your partner, or take space, or whatever, you just have to go for it if you really think it’s what’s best for you.

[makeitreal]

success story ♟

first thing first. this is my experience, and if you can resonate with it take it, if you don’t just don’t.

i manifested a text from my sp 🖤

context

all you guys have to know that we’ve been talking and then suddenly he told me that we shouldn’t been doing this (talking everyday) and that we should just move on, that this is the end.

i said okay and i cried so hard those two days. and then i puted my shit together. i started reading about law of assumption (i was a law of attraction team) and then i tried a little manifestation

so, after that i started reading and reading but not really putting in practice you know, not JUST DOING IT. like i’ve been wavering a lot like always “missing” something or doing something “wrong” —because all we know that’s impossible to fail unless you’re checking the 3d.

the point is took me three weeks FOCUSING in the GOD DAMN TEXT, because when i really PERSISTED only took me HOURS that the text came.

how i did it being stressed about the law

i was so over consumed about all the info, and all the day “trying”, like i was affirming but then checking the 3d. so i took a moment to myself and i went for a little drive alone like 1 am. there’s was nobody so i said “okay, let’s do this”

i stared affirming to see a red car, there’s wasn’t a soul and if a car passed, it was black or white. so i disciplined my mind that has to happen, that IT’S GOING TO HAPPEN. minutes later the goddamn red car came out, after that i did the same with blue cars and green, etc.

so, i realized that was easy and fast. let’s see with a text but a text of my friend that was sleeping. “she’s gonna woke up and the first thing in her mind will be texting me”. i started affirming… but also i started to checking the 3d, letting my ego mind telling me “you can’t”. i came home crying and when i calm down my friend “hey, are u sleeping” AFTER THAT, she told me that she was sleeping and she didn’t even notice it that she wrote me like, was the first thing in their mind.

i did it

i saw a video, and after that i repeat and persisted as hell. with every opposite thoughts i was like “mm noup, we’re already talking”, “why am i saying that if we are talking?” i said —i don’t care about the 3d, if it’s happening in my mind then it’s happening here— i did it until i fell asleep, and then i woke up seeing his prom list and i saw i wasn’t there and we started talking, it wasn’t like i expected 😅 because i didn’t decide the how, i just affirmed that we are talking no matter for what social media or the reason.

my advice

i just can say that, even when you have your desire, you have to keep persisting anyway. when i talked to him, my own insecurities started to appear and i pushed him away. i know i did it because everything that i started to think (not good things) happen.

that was my experience, doesn’t mean it has to happen to you; that’s why i’m telling you KEEP PERSISTING EVEN WHEN YOU HAVE YOUR SP. i still fighting with focusing in my desire and not checking the 3d. so if you are feeling over consumed, leave and go and manifest something that you think it’s “easy”—because nothing it’s easies or harder, big or small to manifest— to grow the trust in yourself 🖤

don’t be scared of pushing him away because they’re already with you, just keep persisting no matter what. all is about NOT checking the 3d you don’t have to believe or feel the affirmation, and persist until it happens

you can manifest without having a good self concept but helps a lot 🖤

[beethebisblog]

I had to watch the episode in short bursts, because people kept needing me for things.

I’m gonna ramble about everything that happened for each character but first I just want to say that I loved hearing more of Tricia’s singing voice this episode, she has been underutilized so far.

-Susan

At the beginning of the show, Susan was very quickly cast as the pretty but mean popular girl jealous that her ex-boyfriend moved on. Then slowly, they did this thing that I REALLY love, where they gave her more depth, more complexity, and more dimension. They have shown us perfect Susan who works hard to maintain the status quo and please her mother (who is encouraging unhealthy relationships with food and slutshaming her daughter, seriously Mrs. St Clair can suck a rock). And now they’ve shown us another level to Susan, acknowledging that rich white families will ALWAYS do whatever it takes to protect their reputations. Her mother holds this over her head, but it was clearly a very traumatic, very difficult thing for her to do in secret without the support of anyone. Sure her parents made it so that she could get the abortion, but based on how we’ve seen her mother treat her, we know Susan doesn’t get any real support and it makes her actions that much more heartbreaking. When she tries to stand up to her mother, and Olivia (who is neither right nor wrong in her reactions) doesn’t want to believe she’s changed, you can see that she accepts that. It isn’t until Olivia is a steps a little too over the line that she reveals the truth about what she witnessed. Susan is 16-17 and she’s hurt and she’s scared and she’s sad and I love her.

-Dot

I don’t have much to say on her, except that she really is a sweetheart who deserves better friends. Honestly, sometimes a pity date with the bad boy of the school is way better than sitting there alone while your friends all have dates. She’s so cute. Her poor nose and eye :(

-Hazel & Wally

Doing them together because they were together in all of their scenes. Hazel was giving Cinderella vibes. I appreciate the fact that while Wally doesn’t understand some of her Hazel-ness, he really seems genuinely interested in learning about her interests and getting her to at least attempt to enjoy his too. I loved their duet. I love that during the utter chaos that was the rest of the episode, they got to be in their little bubble where everyone pointed out that they are seemingly perfect for one another. I don’t normally trust media when it says stuff like that, but I actually really like them together.

-Nancy

I love her so so so much. It’s entirely relatable the way a crush can feel all consuming and irritating all at once. Her (and Cynthia’s) song was very much a highlight of the episode. I love that Nancy is just an all in type of person and she doesn’t really stop to hear a no for the answer. I do wish they would give her a little more depth. They’ve done a good job with Susan and Jane and Olivia and Richie and Buddy. All we really know about Nancy is that she is incredibly headstrong, a very talented seamstress/ designer, the daughter of the owners of the frosty palace who may or may not be an only child, a Buddhist who’s not a fan of reading, “scary” and although she hasn’t had much of a romantic life in the past, she has a big crush on Potato. Which is valid, because he‘s great. But still, I want to see a new dimension of Nancy with this new conflict within the Pink Ladies.

-Cynthia

She is in the “shit I am gay but no one can know, especially not the person who made me realize it’s true” phase where she fights it HARD. Compulsive heterosexuality hurts. She needs someone to talk to, before she implodes further. That moment with Lydia made me so so sad, but that’s just a real part of quiet culture for someone. Cynthia is hurting, and that doesn’t give her a free pass to hurt Shy Guy like she did, but I understand it. She’s gonna have to apologize bug time, when she comes around. Also, as always, I loved Ari’s part in the duet.

-Olivia

I’ve decided that if her and Richie are twins, she’s the older one for sure. The ages are so hazy, or at least their grade levels, and I’m kinda confused. So my head cannon is that she’s the older twin. Which would explain her protectiveness over the Pink Ladies, without factoring in the slightly homosexual overtures to hers and Jane’s friendship that is not present with the other PLs. Olivia hates Susan, and she does have reason for it. But that really doesn’t explain why she wouldn’t let Jane explain. Because people can change, and they can learn. But Olivia does NOT have forgive Susan, but she should’ve given her so-called best friend a chance to explain. No matter what Susan said, Olivia had NO right to do what she did. She knows what the school is like once they realize you are a “slut” and she knew that the consequences always land on the girl (does she not remember the extent of the conversation at Dot’s party??). Sorry that just made me so mad. And then to tell Richie what happened between Buddy and Jane :/Her moments with Gil were really sweet. But her going back to her abuser does not send a good message at all and I hope this is addressed before the season is over.

-Jane

She did the right thing not going with either guy to the dance. She was unsure of her feelings for either and did not want to lead them on or hurt them by choosing too soon, and that was a mature decision. Her budding friendship with Susan is interesting and kind of ironic. Her accidentally confirming Olivia and Mr. Daniels is unfortunate, but also something that would reasonably happen to me because I am bad at de-escalation techniques. Jane is very much people pleaser, even after everything, so it makes sense that she would sort of defend Susan. Her coming home to Olivia’s jacket already on her porch (which like, hello Flash because how did she get there before Jane) was almost the opposite of the scene where Olivia brings Jane’s jacket to her house. She did not even really register what Richie told her about Buddy and the election results (which like, how did he find out?)

-Richie

He is a good guy. He respects Jane’s space; he saw that Dot was devastated about her going dateless to the dance (which also sorta implies she’s never been if they previously had to have a date to register a ticket and she said her friends always had dates but not her). He was very kind to go with her, and go along with her quirks. Teenage jealously makes a person unsteady, and I am just glad someone told Jane the truth about Dick Aldridge.

-Buddy

I am still not his biggest fan, but man was he sad this episode. It seems like everyone is moving forward except him, which is expected when you realize most of your life is a lie. He needs a slap in the face and a hug.

-The others (Shy Guy, Potato, Mr. Daniels)

As for the rest: Potato remains one of my top guys; Shy Guy and Cynthia in the kitchen actually made me cringe because I know she feels nothing what he feels for her; and the predator needs to be imprisoned. I can’t believe he is trying to suck her back in :(

I need my girls back together. I need some proper communication to happen between Lydia and Cynthia.

Also episode 8 comes out the day before my birthday so I hope it’s a good one (they have not let me down so far).

[captainlilyuniverseworld]

5 Times Plus 1

“You are staring,” Lestat mused. 

“You’re reading,” Louis pointed out. 

“Vraiment?” Lestat looked at the book he held and put his hand on his chest feigning surprise. “Mon dieu! I had not noticed.” 

Louis rolled his eyes and threw a balled up piece of paper at him as Lestat laughed. 

“I just meant,” Louis leaned back in his seat. “In the short time we’ve known each other, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you read one. Considering all those books you own.” 

“It is a pass time I have yet to purge from my repertoire,” Lestat closed the book after marking his place. “Besides, you are busy doing whatever it is you are doing.” 

“Working, as some of us need to do,” Louis chuckled. “You could always go out with the others. I’m sure they’d enjoy your company.” 

“But then you would be in here alone,” Lestat crossed his legs. “Unless of course, you wish for me to go, in which case…” Lestat moved as if he were going to stand. 

“You don’t…you can stay, if you want,” Louis shrugged and tried to seem nonchalant. 

Lestat settled back on the couch and went back to his book as Louis continued reading over documents. Signing things. Most of it was for the house and his mother. Money he wanted to set aside for Grace and Levi’s children if they had any. 

Until finally he finished and stretched. He glanced over and saw Lestat had moved from the couch and now sat on the floor, with his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. He’d taken off his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves up, arm propped up on the couch as he kept reading. 

“What are you reading anyway?” Louis asked. 

“The book itself is a collection of 14th century poems. Currently, I’m reading the tale of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,” Lestat answered. 

“Interesting?” Louis asked. 

He stood up and laid down on the couch with his head resting on the pillow and his hands laced over his stomach. 

“Shall I read it to you?” Lestat asked with a hint of amusement. 

“Would you?” Louis asked. 

He wondered if he’d gone too far. Said the wrong thing when Lestat didn’t answer at first. The other man cleared his throat and Louis realized he was surprised. Caught off guard by a simple request. 

“Alright,” Lestat nodded a little. “It has been some time since I read aloud though, so I hope you forgive any mistakes. Shall I start at the beginning or…?”

“Wherever you are is fine,” Louis assured him. 

Lestat cleared his throat again and skimmed the page for his spot before starting to read. 

“Her face was a dim dream of shadowy light, like misty moonbeams on the fields of night, and in her sweet voice nature's sweetest tunes sang the glad song of twenty cloudless junes.”

Lestat paused. 

“Don’t stop, please,” Louis had his eyes closed and his head tilted towards Lestat. 

Something in the way Lestat read the story, or maybe it wasn’t even that, maybe it was Lestat’s voice himself, or even just Lestat. But the sounds outside the room, the sounds of the city seemed to fade away. 

Lestat found his place once more, this time reading with renewed vigor. “Beneath her dress a woman’s heart was beating, the rhythm of love’s eternal eloquence, and I confess to you, in confidence, though flowers have grown a thousand years above her, unseen, unknown, with all my soul, I love her.” 

Lestat looked at Louis as he read, the words seared into his mind. He reached out to touch the other man, his fingers nearly grazing his cheek. Until a loud crash broke whatever silence spell had been cast on the room and Louis pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly.

“Goddamnit, I swear something better be on fire or already burning for that kinda noise,” he hauled himself off the couch and grabbed the cane from the coat rack. 

The one with the blade hidden inside, Lestat noted. Louis was nearly halfway out the door, the yelling and cursing louder, when he turned back, his expression soft. 

“We’ll have to pick up some other time, maybe we could start from the beginning,” Louis told him. 

“I would like that,” Lestat smiled. 

Another loud crash and what sounded like glass breaking caught Louis’s attention once more. His voice louder than the others as he demanded what all the ruckus was. Lestat contemplated continuing, but instead, he closed the book not bothering to mark his spot. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50033239

[blue-bird17]

Forest Run - Chapter 1

Nevaeh was walking back from school when she realized that she went the wrong way, again. Damn it, I did it again, when will I finally realize that we don’t live in Whitefish, Montana anymore. Nevaeh and her mother had to move from Whitefish to Doylestown, Pennsylvania because of her mother’s job. I guess it’s nice that Mother’s boss paid for our move, but I still don’t know why we had to move in the first place. I mean, we were fine in Whitefish, and it's just a move from a small town to a small town. No. Difference. None. Not at all. Nevaeh thought as she navigated her way through the streets of this town. When she passed by an alleyway, her phone rang.

“Hello hunny, where could you be at this moment?” Mother asked politely.

Nevaeh replied with a simple response, “Oh, y’know, I got lost again. Almost home though.”

“Lost again?” Mother asked, tiredly, “We’ve lived here for almost two weeks, shouldn’t you be familiar with Doylestown about now?”

With no friends and no family, it was kind of hard for her to find her way around. “Sorry Mother, but no, I am still trying to learn the streets and stores around here.” Actually, Nevaeh hadn’t really cared about learning everything important around here. She hadn’t even tried to make friends. With so many tourists from around the United States going to see the Mercer Mile, it’s kind of hard to tell which person could be your new friend, or a new visitor—most of them are visitors. With that Nevaeh had given up on making new friends and started wishing that she’ll move back into Whitefish again with all her friends and family.

Deep in thought, Nevaeh didn’t hear her mother say for her to go around and start making friends, or for her to get a tour guide, until her mother started screaming at her over the phone. “ANSWER ME, NEVAEH, ARE YOU ALRIGHT!”

“Opps, sorry Mother, I just got lost in thought again. Now what was it that you were saying, heh.”

“Oh. My. Gods. You are making me get this gray hair on my head. Now, actually listen, okay?” Mother said loud and slowly, as if she was talking to a baby.

“Okay, got it.” Nevaeh replied in the same volume and tone.

“Good.” Mother said, out of her baby-talking voice, “Now, you should go and make some friends, then you can have them show you around.”

“Any other choices.” Nevaeh uttered, already bored.

“Excuse me. Watch your tone there, young lady. Anywho, you could also schedule an appointment for a tour guide, after all, you are always on your laptop and your phone. You can figure out everything from there.”

“... Why can’t I just stay at home, I only need to leave for groceries and school.”

“Excuse me? No, you are still just fourteen years old, you deserve a childhood. I barely got one. I still want you to have one, too.” Mother fiercely and gently said.

“I like to play video games, and I like to hang out with myself.”

“Nevaeh.” Mother announced using that voice of hers.

“Yes Mother.” Nevaeh said, her voice unwavering.

“Huh, it seems like you aren’t scared of that voice anymore… Too bad.” Mother said formally.

Yeah! I’m not scared no more, I stood up to her. HA! Somehow, through these thoughts, Nevaeh was able to keep her voice calm and collected, “I need to get off the phone now Mother, that way and can get home, I’m by this alleyway and it’s creeping me out. Ttly, bye Mom, love ya.”

“Excuse ME!” She practically screamed, “What did you just ca-”

Nevaeh hung up on her, ugh, that was so annoying, doesn’t she know that calling her ‘Mother’ all the time gets weird. Gods! ‘What did you just call me! I only go by Mother, and that’s it. Bullshit! I tell you, bullshit!

Nevaeh walked through the door hesitantly, wondering what man is going to be here today. “Hey, I’m home,” muttered Nevaeh, not wanting to go into the master bedroom so she wouldn’t have to see all the gross stuff her mother and the man she shares a bed with. I don’t know how she can bed a different man every single day. It’s simple. You find someone that’s in love with you and you're in love with them. It’s not that hard!

“Hello Honey.” Mother said walking out of the kitchen, “I was thinking we could go to the mall today, of course that is after you say sorry.” Mother was tall and slim, with light blue wings and nice black hair that went down to her breast. I wonder when I’m going to earn my wings. White wings are the weakest; able to fly in them, but that’s it; blue is okay to have; including two powers and being able to fly; gold is the best; five powers and able to fly; black is amazing, best in history, but it’s ancient, nobody has have it for 100,000 years, or somewhere around that; ten powers and able to fly. I want to have blue because I don’t want to be too powerful, Nevaeh thought to myself.

They were done shopping and looking around, Mother told Nevaeh to go home. “I have… Important business to take care of. Bye honey, love you, see you later.”

“Umm, okay? Bye? I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah…” She trailed off.

Around ten o’clock at night, Nevaeh started to worry, where could Mother be, it’s getting a little late.

She never knew her father, because she never had one. The only reason why she was here was because of her mom’s boyfriend back in high school. Somehow he bedded her without her agreeing to it. After that, she took a pregnancy test and, sadly, it was positive. She told her boyfriend, her parents, her sister too, but they all didn’t like it. Her boyfriend broke up with her; her parents disowned her; and her sister claimed they were not related. Mother had Nevaeh alone, and because it was all Nevaeh's fault, she never got angry at her. Mother only looked at the bright side and in this situation, Nevaeh was her only family. Now everyday she beds someone, Nevaeh knows she doesn’t like it, but Mother does so that way Nevaeh can say she finally had a dad; for Mother to finally call someone her husband; and for both of them to call someone else, other than them, family.

While Nevaeh was off in her head, worried about Mother, her phone rang. Somehow in her dazed form, she hit the answer button, not paying attention to whoever was talking. “Nevaeh, whatever you do, don’t come looking for me, don’t even go outside today or tomorrow! Okay?... Do you hear me, Nevaeh!”

At her name being screamed, she snapped back to reality. “Huh, you say something, Mother?”

“NEVAEH!” Screamed her mother, “You need to listen, okay?”

“Got it! Now what was it?”

“Don’t come outside, don’t come looking for me if you're worrying, okay?”

“Why?” Questioned Nevaeh.

“Uhh, I can’t tell you that.” Mother murmured.

“Oh, sure you can. Darling.” A voice purred in the background, “I’m sure your daughter would love to know what I’m about to do…”

“Ignore her and listen to me, okay? In the morning you will probably be taken to the police station. They will hopefully explain what’s going on, okay?”

“Okay.” Nevaeh said, her voice shaking. Damn, I sound like a little kid.

“But promise me something, Honey.”

“Huh?” Nevaeh said in a squeaky voice.

“Promise me that you’ll never lose your spirit, okay? Promise me that nobody will ever break you, promise me that you’ll never bed someone unless he is your true love.”

“That’s a lot of things to keep as a promise, what if I fail one of them?”

“Honey, you’re only fourteen years old, take a load off, if something is bad or you did wrong, I will show you signs. I will tell you what to fix, and how to do so, okay? You have nothing to worry about…” Mother said so calmly, as if she knew this was going to happen already, as if she knew… As if she put herself in this situation, to have an excuse to die, to escape this ugly world and everything in it. Or maybe it’s to see someone she dearly missed. “And,” She said in the quietest voice ever, so quiet that Nevaeh had to turn up the volume to high and still focus on her words to hear them, “If you ever get to see me when I’m dead, pry my hands open and take the necklace in my hand. It would be in my left hand, and when you have this, you will be protected.”

Right, Nevaeh thought, I don’t have any wings to shield myself from any danger that might come my way, damn, when are these wings supposed to come. There’s no way I’ll be wingless, there better not be. “Okay, what does it look like?” Nevaeh asked, while grabbing a piece of paper and a pen.

“An eye.” Mother now spoke loudly again, “It looks like an eye, with a black opal in the middle of it. Silver chain, and about the size of a newborn’s hand, maybe a little bit smaller. You may notice it will glow at times, the black will become this blue light, it will only glow in times when there is danger around you, or when you are in danger, it will save you from harm. When you get it, wear it forever, in other words, NEVER TAKE IT OFF! Okay?” 

“Yeah…” Nevaeh muttered in a tiny voice, still shocked of what’s going on at the moment.

“‘Kay… Know that I will always love you.” Now Nevaeh could hear her mother crying.

“Gods, this is taking so long, are you two done with your little talk, because I AM!” That mysterious voice yelled. It sounded like the person was laughing again.

Now Nevaeh started crying, “NO, DON’T LEAVE ME! PLEASE!” Nevaeh sobbed. “Please… Please… DON’T KILL HER YOU MONSTER!” She heard the noise that seemed like the whole universe was waiting for. Ka-blam! “No, No! NO! MOTHER!”

“You’ll be next, my Darling.” The person made that creepy laugh that sent Nevaeh’s blood running cold.

“No, I won’t, you will die before I do. Listen to me when I say this. You will die on the seventeenth of November, this year.” Wait! Who’s talking, it’s me saying this stuff, but it’s like someone else is controlling me. What’s happening!

That is when Nevaeh felt a stab in her back. Right after she said those words. Right through her entire spine, splintering pain went all through her.

Last thing she heard was: “Bye!” from that weird mysterious person, it sounded like the murderer stepped on the phone, and then did she blacked out.

1831 words :)

[wasntmeanttobe64]

“Are you telling other people about me?” I told her

“No.” She said.

“I feel like you are telling people about me, bonding over how much of a piece of shit I am.” I said.

“Keep thinking whatever you want.” She said.

“Do you still care about me?” I said.

“No, you’ve hurt me, and you don’t even acknowledge my pain, and now you’re telling me you love me?! You became a madman, you act pretentious. I don’t recognize you anymore. I’ve always thought you were one of the few people that didn’t think of me as a girl, but as a friend, and while I’m going through all this hurt from you from last year, how dare you come back to me and tell me you love me.”

“Fuck you.” I said.

“I don’t care. Goodbye.” She said.

She finally broke me, she finally realized, but I really did love her.

Why is the hurt and fault all mine. I’ve dealt with things the best way I knew how. I had to hurt her. I didn’t love her sexually, I loved her soul. I asked her to love me back, the girl and everything in her. I missed her a lot. But she thought I have always been too evil. She doesn’t care about me anymore.

So I sent her another text.

I don’t think she’s told anyone yet. She shouldn’t tell anyone about what we’ve done because everyone will know about us, and she’ll know that I have indeed gone mad.

My presence terrified her, but I had to impose it onto her, I was in love with her, and she said she loved me back.

I walked by where she lived, I looked at her until she looked at me.

What else did I know that I should’ve done.

She has to live her life thinking of me like that.

I signed up to her university to study literature.

Even if I hurt her, I was in love with her.

I took her to my car and locked the door.

I needed to talk to her again.

She pleaded to leave, she tried to scream to the people walking by, I had to shut her mouth.

There is no one like her, the way her lips are shaped over her heavy neck. She could never pay attention to things anyone said. But she could pay attention to mine.

I’ve never fell in love with someone as I did with her panicking body, I was in deep surrender to my chest, it felt like I could sink into it. My Mabeleen, I held her lips and head.

She kept resisting, she loved me, but because of a little miscommunication, she didn’t want to talk to me anymore, I wanted to show her that the person she doesn’t like anymore wasn’t me, she loves who I really am, I’m not a madman, I’m perfect for her, and I loved her, and she loved me so much, she told me, if I didn’t go and let my scatterbrain screw it up.

I had to remind her of me, and how we have fun when we talk, how we are otherworldly.

I knew that if I let her go, she would leave and all my old friends would know what I’ve become.

I held her neck with one arm and shut her mouth with the other.

I chocked her.

She looked at me, terrified, my princess loved me.

She gave up her resistance, she shook her arm and held my crotch. She looked at me, smiling.

She wanted me to stop and love her.

I kept choking her until she stopped moving.

At that moment, I don’t know what I’ve done. I’ve never felt so alive. My sweet lover loved me for who I am, at the last seconds of her life. I knew she would love me if she got the chance. I was chuckling, I could feel the happiness of all my past selves, I could conquer the world.

Her body laid dormetly on the other seat, my princess has finally become quiet. She was loving.

I’ve driven for a while. The highway was all mine, no cars were passing by, what time is it? How long has it been that I’ve committed the most lovely of crimes. I could finally notice the stars. And the coldness of the air at night. My eyes kept themselves open.

Quietly, I got my head out of my window, it was me and the world. The love of my life has loved me, the world was against us, it didn’t understand us. We were too special to communicate with words, words so clumsy, so empty, so unforgiving. But when our souls touch, when we talk with our eyes and death, we were truly in love. I could die and be happy. I loved her so much.

I started screaming.

“Look at this, look at me.” I pleaded hysterically.

I held her dormant head with one hand so she looks at the road.

The majestic night was dormant, like her, only my headlights to light the way. I felt alive, I was the only person alive.

I had to match the scenery.

I parked on a bridge.

And crying, happy.

We were in love, and my heart was requited, I had to keep my feelings for eternity. I took mabeleen’s love with me, and I ended my life, a life so full, so complete, so loving.

This person that tormented me, that haunted my thoughts and imaginations, loved all parts of me, was all mine.

[quittingfiction]

First, We Make the Beast Beautiful

Now, a strange thing happens when you realize that some gargantuan, all-looming issue you'd been fretting over no longer needs to be fixed. You take a deep, free breath, expand a little, release your grip and get on with better things. (3)

It's the most incredible relief to know that we're all wearing masks... and to see them slip on others. (6)

"We must suffer alone. But we can at least hold our arms to our similarly tortured, fractured, and above all else, anxious neighbors, as if to say, in the kindest way possible: 'I know...'" ... When you realize there's no guidebook, an opportunity suddenly presents itself. If no one knows what they're doing, if there's no "right" way to do life, then we can surely choose our own way. Yes? (6)

I can now tell you it was all anxiety. All of it. Just different flavors. (7)

I take off my mask and share my not-knowing. (11)

To be told that we have an illness that is not our "fault" relieves some of the doubt and uncertainty, and absolves us of the guilt we feel that we should be able to cope better. Which in itself turns down the anxiety dial. (22)

I am not my sickness; I have a condition that can wander all lonely and cloudlike into view from time to time. I (the whole me) can choose to sit back and witness the clouds, let them be, let them pass. Pfft. (23)

For some of us, it does get to the point where the bloody clouds take over the sky. There is nothing left but black clouds. It becomes medical. (23)

Take on board all the theories. But given no definitive causes, diagnoses or treatments have been found yet, why not see this as an opportunity? An opportunity to define anxiety as something other than a problem or disorder that has to be fixed as such. ... "Perhaps the problem, sometimes, is the notion that there's a problem." (25)

"... a diagnosis can be a safe place to plant things until you have the wisdom and learning to take you into deeper understanding." (26)

cruel irony #1: The curious nature of anxiety is such that it defies its own diagnosis and treatment. (27)

Anxious behavior is rewarded in our culture. (27)

Many of us deny we have a problem and keep going and going. (27)

Depression is stigmatized, anxiety is sanctified as propping up modern life, which ironically sees depression treated as a legitimate illness, and the anxious left in a cesspool of self-doubt and self-flagellation for not being better at coping with life. And so we buy each other Keep Calm and Carry On mugs as though that's something you can just do. (28)

It's a self-perpetuating pain—we use anxiety to fight our anxiety. (28)

Many of us with anxiety don't look like we've got a problem because outwardly we function ludicrously well. ... We are a picture of efficiency and energy, always on the move, always doing. ... Sure, we look busy, but mostly we're busy avoiding things. (30)

cruel irony #2: The more anxious we are, the more high-functioning we will make ourselves appear, which just encourages the world to lean on us more. (31)

cruel irony #3: The less you sleep, the more anxious you get, the less you sleep... and so on. (32)

Some of us, though, do not learn how to self-settle, or have a reason to unlearn this ability to trust later on down the track. ... We feel unsupported and unsafe and so we must remain hypervigilant. (33)

... this need to reflect quietly (to reacquaint ourselves with ourselves), without the distractions and obligations of our daylight selves, outweighs the benefits of sleep and so we subliminally make the call: think, not sleep. (34)

When I can't sleep now, I remind myself that it might just be about a need to reacquaint my self with my self.  (34)

I was running around with a hot potato with nowhere to drop it off. I got even more anxious when I became aware that no one else seemed to be feeling the same things. (38)

SIT ON A SMALL BENCH WITH YOURSELF (41)

It’s like we’re searching for a Something Else that makes us feel... what? Like we’ve landed, I suppose. And that things are all good on this patch. (44)

Anxiety is a disconnection with this Something Else. (44)

It’s this lack of connection and clarity that leaves us fretting and checking and spinning around in our heads and needing to compensate with irrational, painful behaviors, whether it be OCD, phobias or panic attacks. It’s this sense of missing... something... that leaves us feeling lonely and incomplete and fluttery. Something is not right. We haven’t landed. (45)

I’m really fretting that I’m not able to exist calmly, happily on my own, on my own bench. ... I’m really fretting that something is missing that should be making me feel supported, comforted, and assured that everything’s going to be okay. (45)

You want to find something, but you don’t know what to search for. In everyone there’s a continuous desire and expectation; deep inside, you still expect something better to happen. That is why you check your email many times a day. (46)

This is what else life naturals do: they see a flower. And find it beautiful. That’s it. They don’t wonder if they’re liking it enough, or if the whole experience is a waste because today they’re too stressed to appreciate lovely things like flowers. Nor do they fear that the flower won’t last. And they don’t try to draw on that Zen proverb about how a flower doesn’t try to bloom, it just blooms on its own. And then despair that they’re failing to do the same. They simply grasp the is-ness as a matter of course. (47)

Some might say this move marked the turning of a new leaf. I wouldn’t. They leaves have never stopped turning. (49)

These approaches are rooted in working with what “is” and easing our way into the life we want, gently, kindly. Instead of building a bridge (with happy-clappy language and unicorn emoticons) and getting over it, we make the most of the river we find ourselves in, even if it might be a little dank and overgrown with reeds at times. By doing so we may find happiness, among other different, rich emotions available to us. Happiness is a lovely by-product of the process. Not the (mostly unattainable) end goal. (52-53)

... the search for happiness is making anxiety worse because “the expectation of how happy you should be are so high, you always feel you are falling short.” ... our pursuit of happiness—including the recently fashionable route via mindfulness—is particularly privileged. (53)

Happiness is put forward as a choice, not as a matter of luck. Yet happiness derives from the Middle English word hap, meaning chance or good luck (thus “happenstance” or “perhaps”). We’ve twisted the meaning in recent times such that it’s now something we just have to work hard to get to the bottom of. As though it’s an endpoint that exists. We just have to sift through various options and decisions and choices. But, of course, getting to the bottom of options is anxiety-inducing. ... the more relentlessly we value and pursue happiness, the more likely we are to be depressed, anxious, and lonely. (53-54)

We can’t blame those of us with a highly sensitive amygdala for being anxious. (54)

... even our best attempts to avoid or combat or criticize our anxiety will only make it worse. Instead, self-compassion is the way forward. (55)

They acknowledge that it’s easier for self-flagellators like myself to activate compassion for another than it is to activate it for ourselves and conveniently supply studies that have found showing compassion for others will have the same comfort system activating response in the brain, this dampening the anxiety-riddled threat system. (56)

TALK TO A KID (56)

Tell them they can’t be blamed for feeling as they do, and that they won’t feel this way forever. (57)

WRITE A “NO BLOODY WONDER” LETTER TO YOUR ANXIETY (58)

Yes, yes, I know it feels like it’s too hard. But you deal with this every time we land here. Let’s just look back on it all for twenty-seven seconds. The shittiest days have always led somewhere. Haven’t they? (58)

“Bad habits... can’t be reversed or eliminated. It’s not how the brain works,” he explained. He drew a line on his notepad with his fountain pen. “This is a habit, a series of thoughts. They clump together to form a neural pathway and the more thoughts you add to this the thicker it gets.” He draws more lines over the top of the first. “You don’t delete a bad habit, you build a new, better one. You feed this new habit, over and over,” he tells me. He draws a new line, this time parallel to the first clump of lines, and thickens it with more and more strokes of his pen. The new thoughts clump, layer by layer, and eventually create a habit that is stronger than the old one. You build habits that trigger the comfort system, instead of the threat system. (59-60)

My new habit was getting the urge, and resisting it calmly. I visualized this in a calm, meditative state of self-hypnosis, the best state for drawing new lines. ... I reproduced the calm of the imagined scenario. I stayed. I stayed. I kept breathing. I was aware of the visceral urge to check. But I stayed. To see what happened. (60)

It wasn’t about changing myself. It was about creating ease and gentleness around who I was, which allowed me to make better choices. (60)

If you don’t use it, you lose it. This is why it is easier to form a new habit than maintain an old one. (61)

MAKE YOUR BED. EVERY DAY. (61)

“It’s easier to do something every day, without exceptions, than to do something ‘most days’... It sets us up for decision overload.” (62)

Franklin Roosevelt proclaimed there is nothing to fear but fear itself. I’m kind of saying the inverse. Don’t fear the fear. Instead, see it for what it is. You’re feeling anxious. You just are. No need to berate yourself for this; it will only make you more anxious. No need to think that things should be otherwise and that you’ve got it all wrong somehow. For this, too, will just make you more anxious. ... Do the anxiety. Then leave it there. This is our challenge. (63)

JUST SAY IT: “I’M ANXIOUS” (64)

DO CORE EXERCISES (64)

... the primary motor cortex linked to the axial body muscles (our core) is directly connected to the adrenal glands. (64)

... when you’re an anxious type, mediation is non-negotiable. (65)

You can be crap at meditation and it still works. (66)

It turns the volume down on the thoughts. (66)

You recite a mantra, faintly, in your head, for twenty minutes. That’s it. If your mind wanders, return to the mantra. Don’t worry about your breathing. Or your posture. Or your chakras. Return to the mantra. When thoughts bubble up, that’s cool. Actually, it’s better than cool. Thoughts are like little pockets of stress that your consciousness encounters as it descends into calm. ... thoughts are all part of this process. I’m not fighting myself. (67)

... it’s really the repeated gentle returning to a quietness that counts. It’s this sturdy vigilance, this steering toward stillness, that builds the relaxation response—or calm muscle—in your being. (68)

“It’s not really about what happens during the twenty minutes of meditation. It’s what happens after, out there in real life.” “Right. This changes things. So meditation is like a little forum for airing our grievances, purging the crap. So we can move on.” ... “You’re watering the root so you can enjoy the fruit ... keep watering, get the three stable. And then things will grow from there.” (68)

... the thing about meditation is that you always have it with you. You don’t have to rely on anyone or anything. You site. With yourself. And just meditate. (69)

Working from a low base reduces the expectation. All that matters is that I’m sitting with myself. (70)

STOP AND DROP (71)

... stop your head and drop into your heart. As I say, the thing about anxiety, it’s all head. So anything that gets us out of our heads is good. It works a different muscle. (71)

You only have to hold the feeling for a few seconds to “get it.” Try pausing your thinking for a minute and drawing your focus down into the space just behind your sternum. (72)

ROLL A SPONGE AROUND YOUR SKULL (73)

... absorbing, mopping up the little anxious pockets. (73)

DEEP BELLY BREATHING ALSO WORKS (73)

... deep, controlled breathing communicates to the body that everything is okay, which down regulates the stress response, slowing the heart rate, diverting blood back to the brain and the digestive system and promoting feelings of calm. (73)

Sitting upright or lying down, place your hands on your belly. Slowly breathe in, expanding your belly, to the count of five. Pause. Slowly breathe out to the count of six. Repeat for 10-20 minutes a day. (74)

HAVE A GRATITUDE RITUAL (AS LAME AS IT SOUNDS) (75)

The simple act of reflecting for a few minutes ... (4-15 minutes) on the good stuff in our lives creates a congruency between our goals and their fulfillment. This moment of recognition that things are gelling cooperatively makes you feel synchronicity and oneness with the flow of life. (76)

“Gratitude can have such a powerful impact on your life because it engages your brain in a virtuous cycle. Your brain only has so much power to focus its attention. It cannot easily focus on both positive and negative stimuli.” (76-77)

... the brain loves to fall for the confirmation bias—it looks for things that prove what it already believes to be true. “So once you start seeing things to be grateful for, your brain starts looking for more things to be grateful for.” And thusly we build all kinds of right muscles. (77)

JUST WALK (87)

To do this you have to walk reeeaaallllyy slowly. Which is the point. Because all focus is shifted to the “breathing-and-staying-upright” part of your brain, the anxiety takes a backseat. (88)

... when you activate one network you dampen or disrupt the other ... when you focus on the breath and the earth and the steps as a simple bodily sensation, you dampen the nosy, wandering storyline mechanism. ... walking eases anxiety because it provides the surging stress hormones with an outlet. We were programmed to offload the build-up of stress hormones after the initial stressor was activated. (89)

Studies show any movement, but particularly walking, will ease anxiety when we’re in the middle of a stress hormone surge. Indeed, the studies show that a mere 20–30 minute walk, five times a week, will make people less anxious, as effectively as antidepressants. Even better, the effect is immediate—serotonin, dopamine and endorphins all increase as soon as you start moving. (89)

...I’ll also advise against hardcore exercise if you’re anxious. Gentle and slow stuff is the best. (89)

Hiking gets us into nature...and multiple studies show that folks who live in green spaces have lower rates of mental health issues. It’s been suggested that getting away from city freneticness allows the prefrontal cortex to take a break. Accordingly, stress hormones, heart rate, and other markers back off. (91)

Hiking connects us to ourselves. A University of Michigan study found that because our senses evolved in nature, by getting back to it we connect more honestly with our sensory reactions. Which connects us with our true selves, and enhances a feeling of “oneness.” (91)

... awe-inspiring natural experiences release oxytocins—the hormones that make us feel warm and fuzzy and connected with others. (91)

... even getting out into nature for five minutes at a stretch is enough to give your self-esteem a substantial upgrade. And I know this: walking near water seemed to have the biggest effect. (92)

... a big part of contemporary unease comes from having so much of our life occurring at a speed that our bodies are not aligned with. (93)

HANDWRITE ON A NAPKIN SITTING AT A BAR (95)

It lowers the expectations. The point isn’t what you produce, it’s the writing out. And connecting with what you’re thinking or feeling. (95)

cruel irony #4: We yearn for something even if we don’t know what it looks like or if it actually exists. (98)

“If we crave to touch this Something Else, to know it, to be connected, why do we also flee from it, from out selves, into busy-ness and distraction and, well, all the things that make us anxious?” ... “Because there’s a silence and aloneness that accompanies a strong relationship with yourself. In that silence we see the truth of our existence and the shortness of life. And this is painful. Also, when we come in close, we become larger...and this requires change. We become more visible, and thus more open to being touched by life, and thus more likely to be hurt.” (100-101)

“A psychoneurosis must be understood, ultimately, as the suffering of a soul that has not discovered its meaning.” (103)

“I suppose that people who live with passion start out with an especially intense desire to complete themselves. We are the only animals who are naturally unfinished. We have to bring ourselves to fulfillment, to integration and to coherence.” (103)

I wished I wasn’t sane, I really did. When you’re sane you have to witness the whole bloody unraveling with your eyes wide open. (112)

Its because we’re going in the wrong direction. We;re grasping outward for satisfaction, sense of purpose, and for a solution to our unease. When we really need to be going inward, where the comfort lies. Wrong way! Go back! (118)

Every man rushes elsewhere into the future because no man has arrived at himself. -Michel de Montaigne (118)

When you have anxiety, you do learn to give up on all the perfectly Instagrammable notions of how life should be done. You just have to attend to survival sometimes. (120)

cruel irony #5: We rush to escape what makes us anxious, which makes us anxious, and so we rush some more. (121)

Fear is a primal physical response; anxiety is both this fear and the awareness of what it means. (122)

If anxiety surges forward, depression is a clinging to the past. (123)

If you are depressed you are living in the past. If you are anxious you are living in the future. If you are at peace you are living in the present. (123)

Depressed or anxious, it’s the unknown that we are more petrified of, so we grasp and cling to the certainty of what’s already happened or to the false security of micromanaging in our heads to what comes next. Or both. To this extent I think anxiety and depression are different expressions of the same thing—a severe discomfort with what we can’t grasp, what we can’t know. ... [S]ome researchers in this field, increasingly aware of the fundamental similarities between anxiety and depression, argue that both may be facet of a broader disorder. Other research has indicated that the same neurotransmitters play a role in causing both anxiety and depression. Some of us have depressed anxiety. Others have anxious depression. (123)

Some literature suggested depression is a natural coping mechanism deployed in such cases to stop us from self-combusting from anxiety that’s out of control. (124)

Depression and anxiety at the same time is being sucked into a hole, in the dark, but with all your nightmares chasing you, so you run around and around the bottom of the hole but never get away from anything. I have experienced both...sometimes anxiety can kick me out of depression. But then it’s like a yo-yo experience and I have trouble finding peace in the middle. They’re frenemies with me stuck in the middle. It’s sort of like one side of your brain begging you not to get out of bed with chains, meanwhile the other part of you barks like a military sergeant for not getting out of bed. Anxiety and depression make me feel as though I’m stuck in tar and can’t get out, even though my hear has so many dreams and aspirations. (125)

ASK YOURSELF, “WHAT’S THE PROBLEM?” (126)

“Ask yourself what ‘problem’ you have right now. Worries about the future or the past don’t exist either—they’re just narratives we create in the present. Practice asking yourself “what’s the problem?” often. See if you don’t start to feel the anxious cycle back away. See if those startled birds at sunset don’t begin to settle, softly, gently, at dusk. See if this gentleness is where you want to be. (126)

Real disasters are a cinch to the shit we make up in our heads. Actually, they’re a relief. When the future does arrive, we’re always okay. And I think my tendency to seek out risky experiences is about wanting to be reminded of this. (127)

“I noticed the industry is another system that tells you something is wrong with you and is about someone else giving you a ‘fix’ e.g. healing/happiness/peace/enlightenment as an end goal.” (128)

TRY A FLANERIE (133)

flanerie—a wandering walk (133)

I set my aims super low. My aim is simply to look at a few things, see what happens. You know, to enjoy staying close. (122)

HOW TO CHICK IN WITH YOUR INSIDE PEOPLE (134)

Just create the space with your Inside People and the rest will unfurl as it needs to. ... Try saying to yourself, as he does, “Are we good? Are we comfortable? Is this where we should be? Is it making sense?” “Don’t think or plan in this space, just check in” ... let stuff happen. ... it’s also important to listen to what your peeps have to tell you when you ask them how they are. It will probably be heard with a feeling, perhaps an expansiveness, a release. (135)

... anxiety tends to play out on the body (somatically) when we haven’t yet come to understand how and why our anxiety happens. This kind of panic attack happens when our thought trigger the ancient fight-or-flight mechanisms and we succumb to the response, believing something truly fearful is happening. In intellectual anxiety attacks ... we do the fight-or-flight response while simultaneously being able to understand what it’s about. Not that this helps, because our overawareness of how and why anxiety happens and thorough and genuine absorption in this feeds the spiral. (137)

cruel irony #6: The more banal the supposed trigger, the guiltier and more self-indulgent and pathetic we feel, this adding to the anxious spiral. (139)

She works to green versus red flags. A red flag tells her that she’s heading in the wrong direction, that she’s in the wrong mindset and needs to stop and get a grip. I work to black and white versus color. If something appears in my mind’s eye in black and white, it signals I’m being too rigid. (140)

I’m Wile E. Coyote who’s chased Roadrunner over the cliff edge, and I’m frantically treading thin air, trying to grasp at something to hang on to. But there’s nothing there. Just the abyss. And the more I gasp outward, the more frantic I get. And down I go. (142)

“They could not care less about the luxury of happiness. They just want to feel the absence of pain. To escape a mind on fire, where thoughts blaze...to be empty.” The only way he could escape his burning thoughts was to stop living. (144)

cruel irony #7: The anxious tend to seek solitude, yet we simultaneously crave connection. (145)

The very gist of why I jitter is the need to know I belong, I fit. (145)

cruel irony #8: We need easy-going people, but they can be our undoing. ... They can ride with our stuff. ... But they can also tend to flake, and not realize what a big deal their flakiness is for someone whom uncertainty can be their undoing. (145)

cruel irony #9: We cope with strangers better than our own mates when we’re anxious. I think this is because around loved ones we feel so bloody responsible and guilty and hyperaware of our inconsistencies and neurotic needs. It’s exhausting being that apologetic. (145)

cruel irony #10: We may come across as extroverted, but we have society anxiety. (146)

cruel irony #11: We can talk coherently and rationally about our anxiety, even joke about it, yet we freak out on a regular basis. (146)

Anxious thoughts, apparently, have more pull in the brain than knowledge thoughts, so sensible facts and data go out the window when we’re panicking. (146-147)

cruel irony #12: We seem doggedly set in our ways, but we have no idea what we want. ... We’re flimsily coping, albeit with a white-knuckled grip. (147)

cruel irony #13: We look strong and controlling. But we actually need others’ help more than most. (147)

cruel irony #14: We’re always thinking about everyone (and everything), but were so damn selfish. (148)

Rumination, then, feels like we’re doing something, at least. Anything is better than the nothingness of not knowing...and, I guess, ultimately, of having to sit quietly with ourselves. The doing, doing distracts us from the dread. (149)

... take charge when we’re not good. (150)

...leave open for a loved one to read...but only once you fully acknowledge that your anxiety is not their problem. (150)

Your patience and calmness will exist in such stark contrast to our funk that well start to feel silly and return to Earth. Our anxiety does pass. ... stay and be stable for us. (151)

My anxiety spiral lifted because a whole heap of firmness happened. A decision was made. There were sturdy details. (153)

... don’t confuse our need to control our environment with a need to control you. (154)

mediation ... it doesn’t work in an anxiety spiral or panic. ... Really, the only aim is to just come in a bit closer. In such frantic, spiraling moments, I find it’s best to come in closer via the body. The body is solid enough, but not too “out there.” It’s close enough. I find my cells take over from there. (155)

GET TOUCHED BY A SHOE ATTENDANT ... the off-beatness of doing something like this helps. No pressure, but don’t hesitate either if you find yourself needing to step very slightly to the left to break a spiral. A little bit of crazy might freshen things up. (155-156)

GET A THAI MASSAGE (156)

[coming closer into the body] a big fluffy makeup brush and stroke my hand or my face act of taking my hair down and then braiding it ... someone else braiding or brushing my hair Wiggling! ... I pretend that I’m physically pulling the anxiety out of my chest, pull it up and shake it out of my fingertips and slam it on the ground. I rock back and forth Counting steps helps me I read things forward and backward. I just imagine that other people don’t even care I wear earplugs to cocoon myself (157-158)

For us anxious folk the [fight-or-flight] switch is particularly sensitive, of course. (158)

[P]anic attacks are a misinterpretation of symptoms. We mistake anxious-like symptoms for actual anxiety, which sees us get anxious about being anxious. Which can blow out into a separate syndrome called anxiety sensitivity, or AS... (159)

ASK YOURSELF, “WHAT’S THE PROBLEM?” (AGAIN) (160)

I absolutely believe it helps to see anxiety as having a metapurpose beyond the arbitrary torture of our little souls. Pain is lessened when there is a point to it. ... “That’s all I want in life: for this pain to seem purposeful.” (164-165)

“He who has a why can endure any how.” (165)

STUDY SOME FRETTERS TO KNOW THYSELF (166)

... the correlation between creative contributions (artistic, political, entrepreneurial) and anxiety is well documented. (166)

“Something is always born of axcess: great art was born of great terrors, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them.” (167)

A LITTLE LIST OF KNOW-THYSELF-BETTER READS, BU NO MEANS COMPLETE The Road to Character — David Brooks Your Voice in My Head — Emma Forrest The Noonday Demon — Andrew Solomon The Fry Chronicles — Stephen Fry Monkey Mind — Daniel Smith Reasons to Stay Alive — Matt Haig My Age of Anxiety: Fear, Hope, Dread, and the Search for Peace of Mind — Scott Stossel The Bell Jar — Sylvia Plath An Unquiet Mind — Kay Redfield Jamison M Train — Patti Smith Book of Longing — Leonard Cohen (168)

Those who experience intense moods are predisposed to building possible worlds, as well as to taking risks and testing boundaries. He explains that in the past, manic depressives pushed humans forward with their deep insight and creative urges; they strengthened the gene pool by who bravely venturing out of the insular communities into uncharted territory. When they returned, they brought new skills that enhanced progress and survival. (169)

I believe with all my heart that just understanding the metapurpose of the anxious struggle helps to make it beautiful. Purposeful, creative, bold, rich, deep things are always beautiful. (170)

... acceptance, rather than transformation, is her endpoint ... (170)

I long ago abandoned the notion of a life without storms, or a world without dry and killing seasons. Life is too complicated, too constantly changing, to be anything but what it is. And I am, by nature, too mercurial to be anything but deeply wary of the grave unnaturalness involved in any attempt to exert too much control over essentially uncontrollable forces. There will always be propelling, disturbing elements, and they will be there until...the watch is taken from the wrist. It is, at the end of the day, the individual moments of restlessness, of bleakness, of strong persuasions and maddened enthusiasms, that inform one’s life, change the nature and direction of one’s work, and give final meaning and color to one’s loves and friendships. ... By accepting the storms and complications of her “individual moment” she’s able to find a personal purpose to her life. Her beast becomes beautiful. (170)

It can be a choice to view your individual moments with bemused compassion and intrigue. To find them cute and beautiful. I try to do this. While trying to not lose connection with my humility. (171)

I’d learned that at a biological level, anxiety is a lot like excitement. ... I often choose to interpret anxiety as excitement whenever I can. ... it’s easier to convince yourself to be excited than to bloody well just relax when you’re anxious (177, 179-180)

“The hero and the coward both feel the same thing, but the hero uses his fear...while the coward runs. It’s the same thing, fear, but it’s what you do with it that matters.” (179)

I’ve found that it’s only when you put the brakes on its forceful charge through your system that it leads to things like freak-outs or brain freezes. Let anxiety be and it will be less so. And quite possibly beautiful and exciting, too. (179)

“Why do we all expect to be happy? We all came out of our mothers crying. Pain is what we do. ... Happiness is generally impossible for longer than fifteen minutes. We are the descendants of creatures who, above all else, worried. ... Worry is our default position.” (184)

We humans are the only creatures on the planet who can’t sleep even when we need or want to. ... We are the only creatures with the capacity, nay, propensity—to ponder our inevitable deaths. (184-185)

“Choose discomfort over resentment. ... Anxiety is a sign we need to move and change our lives. ... You’ve got to just sit in it, sit in it, sit in it.” ... We can sit with it by talking to it. ... We can feel into the physical discomfort and find it interesting to observe. ... We can acknowledge what we’re doing. ... We can let ourselves be wrong. ... We can waste a bit of time. ... Let the time pass with seemingly nothing productive happening. ... And it might mean coming off medication. ... when we take drugs we don’t just medicate away anxiety, we medicate away our souls. (186-188)

We’d always rather be right than happy (except maybe Jesus). (187)

To sit in anxiety is to stay a little long. A little longer. A little longer. And to see what happens. We experiment with it, curiously. (188)

By nature they [Holocaust survivors] tended to not resist the pain and instead went inward to draw in this “inner life” when things got really bad. And this is precisely what saved them. (189)

Frankl also concluded that the purpose of life is to suffer. Actually, he went further. The purpose of life is to suffer well. By which he meant go down into pain, own it, and not run from it. To sit in it. And in the process find meaning. To be specific, Frankl maintained that finding the meaning of life is our ultimate purpose and suffering brings us to this purpose. (189)

He [David Brooks] proposed that delving produced the deeper happiness because human beings are driven to find and create meaning in their lives, and because we are social animals who want and need to connect with other people. (192)

The pursuit of happiness seems to me a really dangerous idea and has led to a contemporary disease in Western society, which is a fear of sadness...I’d like just for a year to have a moratorium on the word “happiness” and to replace is with the word “wholeness.” Ask yourself “is this contributing to my wholeness?” and if you’re having a bad day, it is. (192-192)

“Anyone who thinks they can heal without doing the work is missing the point.” (195)

When we’re in anxiety, particularly an anxiety spiral or panic attack, we must focus on coping. Once it’s abated, though, that’s when we have to do the work. We have to ask the questions. Plus, we have to build the resilience and courage and muscle with a whole lot of little right moves to ward off other further fires. ... “You’ve got to get in front of the fire, be prepared.” ... it’s only hard; not impossible. (197)

I’ve found that all I need to do is take the first step—commit, show up. And my path unfurls from there. ... Showing up provides me with enough forward flow to keep things moving. ... The low aim helped me to just show up. ... Simply show up. Start. Things will flow. (198-199)

“Nothing any good isn’t hard.” And yes, going out on your own and doing this kind of work takes time. But nothing any good happens overnight, either. (199)

Its gonna take a while. It’s normal to take a while. You’ve just gotta fight your way through. (201)

Being vulnerable is saying “I love you” first, it’s doing something where there are no guarantees. It’s being willing to invest in a relationship that may or may not work out. And it’s staying to tell your truth. When you do, it provides a glorious space for a love one—or a potential loved one—to step in and be their best person. (203)

GET YOUR GUTS GOOD Quit sugar. Just Eat Real Food (#JERF) . Eat 5-9 servings of vegetables and fruit in a day. Eat yogurt and fermented stuff. Take some supplements. (203-204)

So I phoned him immediately to find out why such banal decisions stall the anxious. He tells me it’s because we allow ourselves to be fooled into thinking they’re important decisions. ... “We automatically think if there are lots of options presented that a choice must really matter even if it doesn’t.” (207)

Of course modern life is one big cluttered drugstore shelf. Choice is sold to us as providing freedom. It empowers us, says the consumerist model. to define who we are. Which we know if just the most absurd thing ever. (208)

There’s a reason decisions bring us undone. First: biology. When faced with options, our two decision-making centers—the prehistoric limbic system (which makes impulsive choices) and the neocortex (which can look ahead to the future consequences of such choices)—are having a go-nowhere tug-of-war. If you’re anxious, your neocortex tends to be particularly fired up, so the tug-of-war is much more aggressive. ... the anxious tend to have decreased “neural inhibition,” a process that sees one nerve cell suppress activity in another, which is critical in our ability to sift through choices and make decisions. The worse the anxiety, the less neural inhibition we have. (209)

Anxiety is the awareness of the “impossibility of our possibilities.” (210)

Zerrissenheit: (noun) disunity, separateness, inner conflict; an internal fragmenting or “torn-to-pieces-hood” from toggling so many choices. (210)

Actually, I soon grasped what he meant by rendered choiceless and why this is such a glorious thing when it happens. I only had one choice available. To stay put. To give up fixing and meddling and grasping outward. (212)

“I’m trying to pare down decisions. I don’t want to make decisions about what I’m eating or wearing. Because I have too many other decisions to make.” (213)

“Happy successful entrepreneurs ritualize everything in their lives but their creative work.” (214)

... “dropping certainty anchors.” Drop as many as you can to hold you firmly so that you can flap about as creatively—or anxiously—as required ... and creatively productive—if we know we’re not going to fly away. (215)

...decision fatigue. They liken our decision-making abilities to flexing a muscle. With each decision we make, regardless of whether it’s big or small, we fatigue the muscle. (215)

HAVE A MORNING ROUTINE (216)

Having a morning routine is a certainty anchor with really sturdy stakes. (216)

Start off by letting go of the idea that you don’t have time. (217)

FLIP A COIN. GO ON. (221)

I flip a coin. But before I uncover it, I monitor my emotions to see what I’m hoping the result will be. There it is, my gut decision, peeking through my head clutter. This technique tricks you into thinking some divine intervention is going to make the decision and you switch to responding to the possible outcome. This switches off the decision-making muscle. (221)

Just. Decide. ... “If we’re actually debating the two covers, going back and forth,  then it means both are good options. Right? IF one was really bad, you’d know about it.” (221)

There is never a perfect decision. They become perfect when we make them. (222)

If a decision—about a thing or a person—feels 70 percent right, he just goes with it; 70 percent is enough. (222)

The studies show that when we decide to do something and it turns out badly, it mostly doesn’t haunt us down the track. We humans are master justifiers. Failing to act on a decision, however, will haunt us. The infinite possibilities of what might have been get us into all kinds of anxious messes. ... we might as well just decide. I share all of this mostly, to lessen the potency of one choice over another. If we’re investigated the options enough, it doesn’t matter. Moving up, up and away from the chaos of indecision does. (223)

cruel irony #15: I convince myself that controlling my life and aiming for perfection will cocoon me from anxiety. But it only causes more of the dreaded thing. (225)

“There a river that flows.” Some of us try to dam the river with piles of logs and other obstacles because we think the river should flow differently, by micromanaging our partners or blocking pain or by forcing a dinner that no one wants (they repeatedly cancel but we ignore the signs and keep rescheduling). When we do this, the pressure builds. And builds. The water (flow of life) banks up behind the obstruction, determined to continue its flow because, you know what? It kind of knows where it’s going. It’s ingrained in the groove of the valley, the gaps in the boulders, and it’s bigger than us. Way bigger and way more knowing. Eventually the flow wins out and Boof! our micromanaged pile of logs explodes from the force of the flow. Our stuff goes flying in all directions. It’s devastating. And then,...the river goes back to flowing as it was always going to. Before we came along and got in the way. I round my metaphor assignment off (cringefully) by advising the reader (poor Mrs. Cochrane) to perhaps try using the logs to build a comfortable little raft instead and to sit atop it and let the river carry them languidly down the river. (226)

FOLD FORWARD AND SURRENDER (227)

“The best way to beat a monster is to find a scarier one.” (230)

... recent science ... postulates that psychedelics may be good for sufferers of OCD. The drugs were shown the shut down the default mode of the brain and distrupt the repetitive and control-focused patterns of thought and behavior. “It may be that some brains could benefit from a little less order.” (231)

... these chilled, happy women “tilted” toward activities and commitments that they liked and found meaningful. Amid the chaos. They didn’t wait for the chaos and commitments to get under control. I love this idea. Tilting. It’s when you have so much to do and you could list it all out and try to prioritize. Or you could just in in the everythingness and lean toward stuff as it arises that just feels right. Tilting doesn’t involved holding up the hand and plonking a lump of logs in the flow. Nope. When you tilt, you grab a log that looks about right and jump on. (232-233)

Indian philosopher Guru Dev says the same: “Do the opposite of what you’d normally do.” Why? It injects freshness. The jolt of going against the grain gets you to look at things differently. ... treating it as an experiment. ... When you shake things up there is no such expectation [Perfect Moment Syndrome]. It’s so wrong it’s right. (233)

DO IT T THE WRONG TIME (234)

SLEEP AT THE OTHER END OF THE BED (234)

Picture a bunch of people loudly talking to you about everything you don’t want to hear—that’s how it feels in my head. Thoughts flood and for me paranoia sets in and I try to grasp on to at least one thought I can be rational about. [It’s] like there are a hundred things needing my immediate attention and knowing that I can’t attend to it al at once, including racing thoughts. Anxiety is like having new tabs opening very quickly [on your computer] one after another and not being able to close them or stop new ones from opening—but in your head. ... Anxiety feels like being the passenger of a race car driver while pleading to be let out. I close my eyes and take deep breaths at every endless turn. For me it’s like a boa constrictor around my body, getting tighter and tighter as more thoughts come into my head. Everything, all of life, is crammed into a tube of toothpaste while has a caked-over nozzle. “Like wanting to vomit but not having a mouth.” A very tangled-up spiderweb and all the web is mixed up with lots of emotions and tangled all together. The more I try to untangle these webs I get caught up in another web. (235-236)

... anxiety was “the feeling of having in the middle of my body a ball of wool that quickly winds itself up, its innumerable threads pulling from the surface of my body to itself.“ It’s impossible to know where all the knots start. Yet, we still try to find the original thread, somehow believing that once we find it, this one unifying explanation for everything, we can tug at it and have the ball unravel cleanly. We think the fix is linear like that. That one motivational philosophy or one successful relationship or one perfect job will straighten out the mess. But I put it to you that messy balls of wool don’t work like this. Nope Our filthy-mitted meddling and tugging only tighten the knots more. Instead, the only salve is to gently take the messy ball in both hands and tenderly loosen it, a bit at a time. The ball starts to unfurl and expand. It is still knotted, but not as tightly now. After a while a whole section unfurls. And then another. Then, after much careful tending, one end of the string floats loose. Maybe the rest of the ball fully unfurls. Maybe it doesn’t. But the point is, the whole bloody knotted mess is looser now. There’s more space. If you’re anxious, part of the healing journey is to create space.” ... Space implies gently unfurling. Time speaks to pressure. Most of cry out for more time, thinking that’s what we need (much like balance). But tell me when more time has helped anyone in a hot anxious mess? Time doesn’t release the pressure. Time doesn’t take the cap off the toothpaste. Time doesn’t loosen the knots. If we get time, we tend to just fill it with more thoughts. What we need is more space. (237-238)

... book out fifteen minutes either side of every one of her appointments. “I use it to reflect on what just happened,” she says. “It gives me the space to view what I need to do next.” (239)

I didn’t “use” the time. I just sat into the space. And fresh thoughts bubbled up from nothingness. (239)

FIND THE SPACE BETWEEN BREATHS (239)

SMILE WITH YOUR EYES (240)

Gently and softly. Perhaps notice the way it releases the muscles in your jaw and at your brow. ...this simple, brief action [smiling forcefully] stimulated the brain activity associated with positive emotions. (240-241)

If the smile is from a friend, it is equal to the feel-good brain stimulation of 200 chocolate bars; if it comes from a baby it equates to 2,000 bars! (241)

Modern Life does. Mostly, it’s frenetic and at a pace that’s not conducive to reflective thoughts. ... We don’t have time to adjust, to work out our priorities, and to reflect on whether what we’re doing when we’re running around madly is actually meaningful to us. ... We are “on” 24/7. Every gap is filled. ... Technology freed us up...to imprison us further. It’s created the imperative to go faster, to take on more ideas, and to juggle more. ... To stay on top of all the ideas and opportunities that Modern Life now affords us we have to keep multiple tabs open in our brains, which sees us toggle back and forth between tasks and commitments and thoughts. And all of it competes. And it clusters. (243-244)

When we had tantrums as kids, Mom would say we were overexcited. “Come on, a little less excitement,” she’d say. (245)

But self-mastery triumphs in this Modern Life of ours. So if we haven’t found happiness or calm or balance amidst it all—if we don’t cope—it’s because we’ve not tried hard enough. Because Modern Life dictates that there’s an answer out there...you just have to try harder to find it and master it. Of course it doesn’t exist. So we are set up to fail. (245)

“We have so much fucking stuff and so many opportunities that we don’t even know what to give a fuck about anymore.” (245)

All of it drives us outward, away from our true selves and from our yearning to know ourselves better. Plus, it drives us away from each other. Lack of community and belongingness is cited ... as the primary driver of anxiety today. (245)

... anxiety is not a disease. It’s not an unhealable disorder. It’s merely a symptom of having got a bit off balance. We don’t fix anxiety. It doesn’t need a fix. It just requires a little bit of rebalancing. (246)

HOW TO TAME YOUR VATA [flighty] I avoid con-con and fans. I back off from coffee when I’m fretty. If you’re asking if it’s bad, it might mean you feel that it quite possibly is. The routine bit is key. I eat heavier foods... I eat oil. I sit still for 5-10 minutes several times a day. O s tell friends I have to leave by 9pm when I’m out at night. I turn off social media on the weekend and after 8pm at night. ... keep my kidneys warm. I walk everywhere I can. I do yoga. I don’t go to The Shops. (249-251)

cruel irony #16: Distraction is the only thing that consoles us for our miseries and yet it itself the greatest of our miseries. (251)

... al of man’s problems come from his inability to sit quietly in a room alone. And to let nothing happen. (251)

I don’t think it’s bad to lean forward ... We’re human. We’re curious and we reach out. It no longer serves us, however, when we do it to run from something. (253)

... it’s a common mistake amongst hose wanting to get mindful with their angst to expect to achieve states of calm through mediation. “This is a form of grasping—s seeking to indulge in pleasant states and to avoid the unpleasant. ... “A wiser orientation would be to appreciate (and investigate) calm states when they do arise and to treat anxious ones with great kindness and respect. The radical encouragement of the practice is to sit with most disagreeable states for as long as they last. Sooner or later, they exhaust themselves of energy.” (253-254)

These [institutional and technological] boundaries created certainty anchors and reduced the number of decisions we had to make. They helped us keep on an even keel. But today there are few such boundaries. (255)

What we’re yet to work out is that we have to create the boundaries ourselves. This is the new barometer of success, wellness and happiness: How well an you create your own ways to shut down the distractions, reduce the toggling, stem the tide of frazzling data, carve out space in your week for reflection and stillness? (255)

BUILD YOUR OWN BOUNDARIES (256)

Check your emails twice a day only. Try the 10am Rule. ... [do] not “react to anything until 10am.” That is, first do the stuff that matters to you, rather than the knee-jerking out of the gates to the demands of others. Live somewhere slow. ..."Nothing makes me feel better—calmer. clearer, happier—than being in one place.” Have a Family Investment Bucket. Leave your phone at home. Get a room of your own. Try a Think Week. ... Focus on personal development. Create your own Sabbath. ... day of rest. Create a mercenary Out-of-Office notification. Don’t be Google. Just write less emails. Own less. (256-259)

Do the journey. Do the work. Do the little right moves. The crop comes. (260)

... anxiety widens personal space—we need more than the standard 8-16 inches that the average person requires to feel comfortable. (261)

Monachopsis: (noun) The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach—lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you’d be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home. (264)

I’d run out of places to run to. “You keep moving. But it hasn’t worked for you. The irritation has just followed you. The problem has to be healed and can only be done when it’s in front of you.” (265)

... sitting in discomfort isn’t just about lessening it’s impact through exposure. It can also bring about a very particular joy. (268)

With lower expectations there’s less imperative to make things perfect. We can release our grip. We are in life, in its flow. We’re sitting with ourselves. We let our a sigh. (269)

... “distress tolerance” ... entails working ... to remain in anxiety-provoking situations until your fear capacity becomes exhausted. Which it does. The problem is that if you’re anxious, you tend to flee (or fight or freeze) before you give the distress tolerance mechanism time to play out. (271)

You keep it casual, with few expectations, so you don’t have to extend yourself too far. But the point is to actively seek out the discomfort so that you can choose to sit in it and do the experiment. Because you’ve chosen to do it, you’re that but more empowered. Also remember, it’s just an experiment, to see what happens. Nothing more. You’re just going to see what happens. (271)

Sitting in grim is also a defiant two-fingered up your to your anxiety. I think this is great. For an added bonus, the practice simultaneously forces you to stop the grasping and come in close and to connect with where life is. The simplicity, the inevitability, the flow, the truth of life. (272-273)

What we resist persists. What we sit in eventually fades to a manageable and livable volume. (273)

GET WABI-SABI WITH IT (275)

We can practice finding beauty in imperfection. ... ruts are best broken with small moments in whimsy, not seismic changes in behavior. ... Counting men with mustaches ... “Leave the kids’ fingerprints on the wall.” ... Pick some weeds and play with them until you find a nicely discordant arrangement. Stick them in a jam jar. ... cook a “fridge surprise” ... Have a floor picnic in the middle of it all. And then just see what happens. (275)

I can be a good thing, too, to learn to sit in your own weirdness. (276)

I generally find that anxious people spend a lot of the lives trying to have fun doing stuff that other people find enjoyable. ... The point is to recognize that we do this—defer to others’ notions of fun. And that this is probably because we struggle with choice (how do you decide what your preference is amid all the things to do in the world?) And to then try to play around with finding stuff that floats your boat. And, no doubt, to then realize that your stuff could be a little weird or unique. (276)

... focused on acknowledging that I simply don’t like doing a lot f what other people like doing. And over time, I got more and more okay with, and less and less anxious about, this. (277)

MEDITATE IN GRIMNESS (277)

DON’T CHANGE HOTEL ROOMS (278)

What helps me? I tell myself to try one night in the first room, as an experiment, to see what happens. Again, the metapurpose of the “experiment” gives me focus. So, too, does the fact that I have an out-clause (I can always swap tomorrow night). When I wake up the next day having slept, I have the courage to do another night in the same room. (279)

SLEEP WITH YOUR PARTNER (279)

ACTIVELY PRACTICE MISSING OUT (280)

... once we see dying as an option, our minds will focus on finding proof that this is right, ignoring all the evidence that it’s a shockingly bad idea. ... if nothing matter, if I have no attachments, no commitments and nothing left in my life, I could just quietly disappear. I could self-annihilate. Why not? There was nothing to stop me, nothing I was responsible for. This felt light and liberating. Or—and now the feeling gets even lighter—I could choose to exist, anyway. From ground zero, I could opt back in. And I could do it freely, working form a blank slate without all my old stuff—no expectations as to how life “should” be lived, no false and unhealthy ideas about my worth (that I have to achieve to be loved), no attachment to possessions or money. I could be an interloper with no fixed address and just the clothes on my back. I could do life completely differently. (283-284)

Grace goes a little something like this... You descend. ... You go into pain. ... Then you open. ... “it is what it is” ... Next, you release your grip. ... Then something shifts. (287)

Grace doesn’t bring a party to town. It’s not happiness. It’s not a fleeting high. It’s a delicate, yet whole, gift that whispers in our ear, “Life has this one covered.” It tells us that things fit. That you fit. You can’t try to get it, you can’t earn it or deserve it. It just is. Jut as a flower doesn’t try to bloom. It just does. (288)

“Most people don’t come out healed; they come out different.” (288)

... post-traumatic growth ... up to 70 percent of people who went through the anxious ringer report positive psychological growth at the other end. We’re talking about a greater appreciation for life, a richer spiritual life and a connection to something greater than oneself, and a sense of personal strength. You could call it character. ... a certain trauma can shatter our worldviews, beliefs, and identities completely. ... The more we are shaken, the more our former selves and assumptions are blown apart and the fresher the growth. ... this kind of seismic implosion often leads to creativity. The space created by stepping into the “is-ness” of life invites innovation thought and exploration. (288-289)

“The thing about life, sweetheart, is this, when we leap into the unknown, we always land safely. We just do. We freefall for a bit.” She does a zooming thing with her hands. “But then, as we’re falling, we grow angel wings that carry us to our destination.” I can’t quite believe she’s introduced angels without apology, but I nod. “Life supports us; it always does. The problem is, we all want to go out and buy ourselves a set of angel wings first. Before we jump.” She nods at me to check I’m getting her drift. I am. “But, sweetheart, there’s no such thing as an angels wing shop.” There most certainly isn’t. You have to jump first. And, you see, that’s the other thing about grace. You have to let go first. In our culture, we want guarantees. When we can learn to make leaps without them, then, well, things really do start to look different. (292)

GET OLD (293)

I’ve arrived at an age where accepting this is “just my life” brings peace and, going through the motions of anxiety when it arises, strangely it helps. This too will pass. You fight it still, but it lessens over time. I followed the “rather path.” doing all the “right things” to keep anxiety at bay. But it didn’t work. After 20 years you let go. Having toddlers are good [sic]—they do the opposite. You have to let go and give in or you will be one of those people whose bodies collapse. (294)

... life and its hardships only make sense when you get old enough and you’re able to look back and join the dots. You have to have dots in your experience for the picture to take form. ... But only once you have enough dots. (294)

Jump first. ... If we’re serious about joining life—like really joining it and not sitting at odds with its flow and existing constantly in a state of dis-ease—we gotta have faith. (294-295)

Life is mysterious. Life is uncertain. We don’t know what’s going to happen. Along with taxes, and death, the only certainty in life is that we just don’t know. So we might as well join this inevitability. ... this is ultimate way to live a wholehearted life—to get cool with uncertainty. ... a necessary experience that allows us to “become free in relation to our nothingness.” (295)

“negative capability” ... having an ability to be okay with the uncertainty of life. (295)

What an aim. To sit comfortably in mystery without grasping outward. To sit. To stay. And see what happens. It’s freedom, right? ... it takes patience and sheer years on the planet. ... I beg you, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer. (296)

GO STRAIGHT TO COOL ... I go straight to being the person who is open and cool with not knowing. ... I found strength that is quite defining and satisfying. It meant my vulnerability was about being raw and exposed, but ultimately was something I steered and owned. (296)

... defines anxiety as resisting joining the unknown. (296)

... the journey we all need to do is the experiment with sitting in uncertainty. ... the ultimate endpoint, she writes, is growing up. The journey “offers no promise of happy endings.” Rather, the part of ourselves that keeps seeking security (when there isn’t any) and something to hold on to (when such a thing doesn’t exist) finally grows up. (297)

To see yourself—to see that you are part of a big, magnificent whole—you have to go to the depths. (298)

We get anxious if we feel we’re not connected with our true selves and what matters. Something is not right, something is missing, we don’t understand what life is all about, and this gnaws at us. (299)

We’re unsettled, we grasp and we grasp. (299)

... being in anxiety, by going down to the dark depths, we finally find the connection. (299)

That’s what anxiety does for us. It guides us home. And when we veer or we deviate from the truth, anxiety steps in and forcibly tell us “Wrong Way Go Back.” (299)

We can view anxiety as something to accept and live with. Sure, this is important. But I reckon we can make the beast more beautiful than that. I prefer to say (to quote Shai from one of the forums again) “anxiety is my superpower.” (300)

The journey has to be done on your own. ... if I want to let go, to truly let go and trust life, I first have to let go of the idea that someone else must hold me while I do it. No one else can tell me that life has this one. I have to do this for myself. (304)

... [he] identified ten factors that create resilience, among them having a moral compass or set of beliefs, faith and spirituality, an ability to leave your comfort zone and face your fear, having a sense of meaning in life and having a practice for overcoming challenges. ... it’s anxiety that leads us to these factors. Indeed, I’d say anxiety creates the resilience to thrive in this life. Anxiety is a beautiful thing. (305)

I don’t sit here healed. I sit here simply knowing I’m on a better journey. And this is not enough. This is everything. (305)

I am anxious often.But it’s kept in check if I don’t get anxious about being anxious. And while I’m learning more, understanding more, this is entirely possible. Yep, the journey is what matters most. It’s everything. (307)

[nastybuckybarnes]

All The King’s Men  -  Fourteen

Pairing: Alpha!King!Bucky X Omega!Reader

Summary: Your father always said that if it weren’t for your presentation, he’d think you were an Alpha. There’s a reason for that. Growing up in a world where Omegas are treated like garbage, you’ve fought for the respect that you have. Until you’re sold off to an old King desperate for a bride. But you will not lay down and present for your new husband. No, you will fight back.

Warnings: Angst, Dark Themes, Violence and Injury, ABO Dynamics (Scenting, Marking, Knotting, etc.) Fluff, 

Word Count: 3.3K

A/n: I really like this chapter!! We’ve got one more after this and then she’s done!! I’m gonna start my next little things soon, though, so don’t worry! I love you all and I hope you’re having an amazing day/night!

!!DO NOT COPY/TRANSLATE/REPOST MY WORK!!

SERIES MASTERLIST

~*~

“We have discovered my wife’s body, slain, in the woods,” he begins, his eyes cast down on the ground so that his councilmen don’t realize how truly feral he is.

They all bristle slightly at the mention of the Queen’s passing, but none of them even breathe a word for fear of angering the King.

“We know not who has caused this, nor why, but I have men scouring the woods for any trace of the traitors.” It takes a ridiculous amount of self-control to keep his eyes focused on the floor and not let them rise to look at his men.

“I shall travel with my men to Lothiella to honour the Queen, and to allow her parents to say their final goodbyes before we lay her to rest.”

He pauses, allowing his words to take root in their minds while also calming himself down.

You're not dead. You’re very much alive and, soon enough, you’ll be in his arms once more.

“I leave at dusk, and my kingdom will rest in your capable hands while I am away. I trust you to make wise decisions in my absence.”

In truth, he isn’t leaving the Kingdom in their hands. The Kingdom rests on the shoulders of Steve, who is remaining at the Palace to prevent an attack, along with a third of his army, and half the army of Lothiella.

Walking into battle with half the number he trained with isn’t something James is used to, but if that is what it takes to free you, he’s willing to do it.

The remainder of the day is spent preparing his men and himself for the battle that is to come.

A third of his army is spread throughout the village and the Palace, prepared to defend it to their last dying breath, while the rest are mounting their horses.

“You will lead us,” James says to Elden, nodding his respect toward the younger man.

Your brother bows his head in his own show of respect, then leads his mare down the gravel path toward the forest to the west.

They ride in silence for a long while, but as they approach, Elden speaks.

“I can access her through a small window on the north side of the fortress. If you hold the focus of the fight, I will be able to slip in and back out unnoticed.”

James nods his agreement, slowing his horse as a break in the forest comes into sight.

“You find her and you bring her to safety. If I am to fall in battle, we must ensure she survives. For the fate of the entire Kingdom.”

Elden nods sternly, “I will not fail.”

The two royals dismount their horses and walk to the edge of the woods, peering out beyond the trees and down the hill where the fortress lies.

There, as spoken, are the men. Not more than five hundred in number, which is double the amount currently with James.

“They prepare to march,” the King whispers, watching intently as men bustle about, trying to prepare themselves for the coming war.

“They won’t move until they have darkness again. Do you plan to attack in broad daylight?” Elden inquires.

“As soon as the men have rested and regained their strength, I will lead half of them down the hill. The fight will focus on us, so the rest will go around either side and attack when the time is right. We will have them surrounded, and you will be able to go in and out with ease.”

A new set of feet approach the men and they both look to the sound, watching as Natalia peers beyond the trees.

“Is that... Sharon?” She questions softly, her eyes on the blonde beta who is almost like a sister.

“Yes,” James nearly growls.

With a deep breath, he turns away from the fortress to address his men.

“I need archers in the trees, and people on watch. We rest, we eat, and then we fight.”

~*~

“Sir, I have news from Veronia!” A young man exclaims, riding in swiftly on horseback.

The man looks up at the rider, grateful to finally have a distraction from Lady Sharon and all her complaints.

“Yes, what is it?”

He dismounts his horse and approaches the pair.

“The King rides with his guard to Lothiella, the dead Queen in tow.”

Confusion colours all their faces as they exchange glances.

“The Queen remains here, imprisoned, as she should,” Sharon says, confused.

“Aye, I know. So who, then, is he bringing to Lothiella?” The rider asks.

“No one,” The man murmurs, his eyes flickering across the forest and then across his men.

“Someone within these walls is a terrible traitor,” his eyes slowly rise to the rider before him and he unsheathes his sword, following the young man as he takes slow steps back.

“I-I wouldn’t, sir! You know that!”

The older man grabs his collar and yanks him closer.

“Then you will have no issue finding who the traitor is and delivering me their head, will you?”

“N-no m’lord.”

He releases the boy and pushes him back a step, “good. That’s what I thought.”

He turns and storms off, Lady Sharon hot on his heels.

“Something is amiss,” he whispers, mostly to himself, but the broad hears.

“What? What could possibly be amiss? Even if the King is marching this way, we have more men than he could possibly have. We have more resources, and, above all else, we have you.” Her hands curve over his shoulders, caressing him gently, sensually, but he wants none of it.

What he wants is his revenge, served on a silver platter.

“Ready yourself for battle. We cannot wait until the full moon. We must march sooner.”

If it’s true, and the King has made for Lothiella, then that leaves his Kingdom unprotected. And what better time to take it than now? Perhaps he’ll even have an opportunity to enjoy the Queen before King James returns.

“Why march? Why not allow him to bring the fight to us? We have the stronghold, we know the land. He does not.”

“He is a King who knows every inch of his Kingdom. And, if he is to march, he will have the upper hand on the hill. We will be no match for it, regardless of our numbers. Now go. Leave me.”

With a scowl on her face, she does as commanded, leaving to prepare herself for battle.

He stands alone for a long while, a thousand thoughts playing out in his mind and oh, how he wishes she were here.

But if she were, none of this would be happening.

And that is why the King must die.

Why things must change.

Why an empire must fall.

~*~

“You have all followed me here today because you trust me... you believe in me... you believe me to be the King I am. A man who will lead you to victory and to greatness,” James begins, looking out across the sea of men before him.

“This is not a training exercise, nor is it a game. This is a war. One that will be won, not by words, nor by brute strength. It will be won by men! Fighting men who believe in the power and will of the Gods! Men who know better than to turn on their King! It will be won by you lot here! Men with wives, with children! Men who deserve this victory!”

The air is energized quickly as the men get more mentally prepared, inspired by the King’s words.

“I would give my life, protecting my Kingdom. And each of you has shown that you would do the same. And you will be heavily rewarded when we return home! Mount the heads of your enemies on your walls! Feast on the blood spilled from their bodies! Show them no mercy!” He shouts, unsheathing his sword and raising it up to the heavens.

“No mercy!” Swords all raise toward the sky, and James feels hope bloom in his chest as he turns to Elden.

“Start your way down now, but do not enter until you hear the battle start.”

The Prince nods his understanding, his mind focused solely on saving you, no matter the cost.

He could lose his own life and he would not care. As long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters to him.

With a last bow of respect, he slips away from the army and makes his way to the fortress, thanking his lucky stars when he gets to the side of the building without being spotted.

He presses himself against the cold stone exterior, his breath shallow as he waits for the sound of battle.

“Look there! An army!”

He hears the shout from a distance, and then comes the sound of men clamouring to prepare for battle.

“All men out front! Shields up!”

He recognizes that voice as one of the men from the King’s council, and knows then and there that now is his chance.

It’s now or never.

He drops to the ground and pries the bars of the window apart, then slides into the dungeon with grace, dropping to the floor with a soft thud.

“(Y/n)?!” He looks to the cell he remembers you being in, his heart dropping into his stomach when he sees you chained to the ceiling, your face lifeless and cold.

He rushes to you, grabbing a knife from his belt and slicing through the cloth around your wrists.

You tumble into him and he carefully lowers you to the ground, two fingers finding your neck, searching for a pulse.

“(Y/n), please. Please wake up,” he begs, tears threatening to stab at his eyes.

Your brows draw together right as he feels the steady thumping beneath his fingers.

Slowly, your eyes open, foggy at first, but after a few blinks everything clears up.

“Elden?” You ask in a whisper, confused at his presence.

“Yes. I’m here. I’m getting you out of here and returning you to Veronia.”

You push yourself to your knees then attack him in a tight hug, tears quickly flooding your eyes.

“You came back!” You cry, not even bothering to try and hide your true feelings.

He hugs you back tightly, nodding.

“Of course I did. Now come, we must leave, quickly.”

You nod and allow him to help you to your feet, stumbling slightly with every step you take.

Perhaps you should’ve eaten more of the gruel they offered. At least then you’d be able to defend yourself. But instead, here you are, relying on the strength of your brother to get you out of the fortress.

One of his arms stays secured tightly around your waist while the other holds his sword, prepared to slay anyone who gets in his path.

He leads you up a flight of stairs and through a dark corridor, then shoulders open a door into a great hall, only to have a sword pressed to his throat the moment he enters.

“I knew someone would try to free the whore. I half expected it to be the King and, I must say, I’m a little disappointed I won’t be able to slay him where he stands,” she muses, grinning wickedly at the two of you.

Elden slowly releases your waist then swipes his sword upward, knocking hers away from his throat.

He takes a defensive stance in front of you, his attention only half on the battle at hand as he tries with all his might to protect you.

Sharon sidesteps a blow and manages to knock your brother onto his back, swiftly kicking his sword away and rendering him helpless.

“Please, don't!” You try, stumbling forward a step.

“It’s a pity, really. You seem like a decent fellow. And now you must die for the stupidity of your sister.” She raises her sword and goes to strike, and you close your eyes tightly, refusing to witness the murder of your brother. Instead of hearing metal slicing through flesh, you hear the clash of a sword against another sword.

Natalia stands before Sharon, her sword blocking the Beta’s.

Elden scrambles back, grabbing his sword off the ground and rushing to your side again as the redhead and the blonde face off.

“You would fight me, your sister, for a man who cares more about some whore than he does his own people?” Sharon demands, glaring daggers into Natalia’s eyes.

She grinds her teeth together and shakes her head, “no. I would fight you to serve she who is my Queen.”

Elden takes that as his cue to leave, wrapping his warm around your waist and helping you through the great room as Nat keeps Sharon’s attention.

“I do not wish to kill you, sister,” the beta whispers.

Nat only chuckles softly. “You won’t get the chance.”

Their swords clashing is the last thing you hear before Elden gets you outside the fortress and into the fresh air.

You take deep breaths of it, having missed the feeling of the wind on your face, but your relief is short-lived.

Instead of the peace of nature, you’re greeted with a bloodbath.

And, right in the centre, are the two men who have caused you the most pain in your life, fighting each other to the death.

James fights with practiced skill, his age not slowing him like so many believed it would. If anything, it gives him more power than his opponent.

The soldiers around give them a wide berth, knowing that they are each other’s opponents, a kill meant solely for the other.

James swipes the traitor's knees and sends him to the ground, then presses the tip of his sword to the man’s chest.

He pants on the ground, blood dripping down his chin as he grins at the King.

“I understand why you took her the way you did, now,” he begins, ignoring the anger in the King’s eyes. “Why you forced her to submit. She looked so pretty, screaming and crying and begging me to stop. But I didn’t. Because she deserves to be treated like the filthy, worthless whore she is!” He spits the words -and a bit of blood- into James’ face, and the King is enraged.

A roar tears from his throat as his eyes burn brighter than the fiery pits of hell, any shred of humanity gone as his Alpha takes over completely.

He tosses his sword aside and pounces on the man, laying punch after painful punch to his face and neck and anywhere he can reach.

He doesn’t care if it isn’t honourable. He doesn’t care if it’s weak.

All that matters is punishing the man who hurt his Omega.

You watch in horror as your Alpha beats on the man who hurt you.

Dragging Elden through the battle, you move as quickly as you can toward them.

“Stop!” You shout, your voice stronger than you thought it would be.

It carries out on the wind, across the courtyard, and many men do, indeed, stop.

Your husband is one of them.

With his fist raised and ready to strike again, he stops, snapping his gaze to the source of your voice.

Everything seems to pause as you approach, pushing away from Elden to walk on your own, determination and anger fuelling you.

Your eyes sting and clouds cover the skies as the Gods mirror your wrath.

“I should do to you exactly what it is you did to me,” you hiss at the man on the ground, pulling a sword from a corpse as you pass it and approach him.

“I should beat you senseless,” you spit, the fire in your voice rivalling that in your husband's eyes.

“I should take you against your will, force you to do things you’d sooner die than do!” You stop before him, sword held tightly in your hand as you press it to his throat.

James rises silently and steps back, allowing you to do whatever it is you please to the man.

“I should strip from you your pride, your dignity! Steal your hope and your faith until you are nothing but a shell of who you once were! And then, when you are begging for a fate so kind as death, I will not grant it.”

You lean down slightly so that your face is closer to his and drop your voice to a whisper, your bottom lip quivering.

“But I will not. Because I am not like you.”

You toss the sword aside and rise to your full height again.

“You will answer for your crimes the way all criminals do. And you will die a pointless, senseless death. Without honour, without victory. Your name will not be breathed of in the history of this country, and your very existence will be erased. All this,” you motion around you, to the fighting that has ceased, “will have been for nothing.”

Fury gathers on the man’s face as you step back again, your husband nodding toward him.

“Bind him and bring him to the dungeon.”

Two men grab him and drag him out of your line of sight, but you can hear them treating him roughly.

Good, you think.

Your hands tremble slightly and the weight of everything that has happened slowly slips from your shoulders, only to be replaced by the familiar and welcome weight of your husband’s hands.

“Omega,” he whispers, turning you to face him.

You look up at him with wide tear-filled eyes and bury yourself in his chest.

He’s caught off guard for only a moment before wrapping you in a tight hug, squeezing you as if he’s trying to melt your body into his.

Tears rain down your face when you pull away to look up at him, and he immediately leans down to nuzzle against your bond mark.

He kisses and licks it, scenting you thoroughly and calming down the raging alpha within himself.

Once he’s satisfied that you smell of nothing but him, he pulls away slightly and gazes lovingly into your eyes, tears on his own cheeks.

“Omega,” he repeats, stroking your cheek gently.

You lean into his touch and reach up with hesitant fingers, tracing over his lips gingerly.

“Alpha,” you reply, lost in the feeling of having him again.

He shakes his head and brings his forehead down to rest against yours, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I thought... I thought I’d lost you forever,” he confesses.

You lean up to brush your lips against his, “I’m here, Alpha. You saved me.”

A growl rumbles in his chest and he wraps his arms around your frame again, needing to feel you against him.

You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady thumping of his heart as he addresses his men.

“Any man who wishes to fight against us may do so. But he will be killed, along with his family.”

Not a single man moves a muscle.

“That’s what I thought. Round up the traitors, bind them all. They will be tried when we return,” he says to Sam, his hands never leaving you.

“Go home, Your Majesty. Be with your Omega. We can handle this,” Elden says softly, stepping forward and placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

James bows his head in gratitude and nods his agreement, taking your hand and leading you away from the bloody field.

He helps you onto his horse then climbs on in front of you, waiting until your arms are wrapped around his waist before he begins the journey home.

Upon his horse, with your arms around him and your head pressed against his back, your inner omega finally feels peace.

[kodzuken]

this is gonna be kinda long and incomprehensible but hear me out: sth is really weird with buck, he is acting super ooc this season. first his relationship with taylor that seemed super weird in 5a but i brushed it off attributing it to me being negative abt it bc i don't like BT. but then with each passing episode he was acting weirder. he was once again focused on his own pain and making it abt himself. he tried to leave bc he felt unwanted. 1/3

2/2 then maddie left. and back in that episode when chim punched him and buck spent the entire episode telling chim how maddie just needs time and she's fine i didn't think much of it either. but now after boston, now that we know more? like buck is the caretaker. he loves his family. and maddie came to him, told him abt almost drowning jee and that she is leaving, she didn't tell him where and he just LET HER? he never would have before. 2/3

3/3 the buck we always knew would NEVER let maddie go if he suspected that it was THIS BAD. did he not even realize??? and then there is the cheating storyline. this was super ooc for the buck we know. and then the eddie thing? sth bad is happening to buck. i don't mean ooc in a 'this is bad writing' way. i think it's excellent writing. i think they're giving us subtle hints about how he is heading for sth Bad. i think once everyone else is "fixed" he is gonna go down. hard.

OKAY sorry i’ve been holding on to this since you sent it last night and i wanted to wait until i was off work so i could properly digest it and respond because i think you are actually the smartest anon that’s ever been in my inbox.

so my thing with buck is this: eddie hit the nail on the fucking head when he said in 504 “you’re the guy who likes to fix things”. he wasn’t just walking about buck’s relationship with maddie; he was stripping buck down to his very bones, the very root of his character -- beneath all of buck’s bravado, his flirting, his jokes and fun facts, he’s just a guy who wants to help, who wants to do the right thing, and most importantly, who wants to fix other people’s problems. it is of my personal opinion (but i’m right, actually) that buck wants to fix other people’s problems so he doesn’t have to fix his own. i could go on a mile long tangent about how buck compartmentalizes himself and his own issues (hello buck 1.0/2.0/3.0), and how everything we know about buck in canon goes to prove that he avoids dealing with his own problems by dealing with other people’s. he loves to be able to fix things, he hates when he can’t.

which brings us to season 5, and i think you’re literally so right, that buck is acting ooc, and it’s for a very good reason. as the audience, we’re SUPPOSED to be thinking, as my father said during 511, “what the fuck, buckley?”. we’re supposed to be wondering what’s going on in his head. and where with say, eddie, we very clearly know why he’s heading into the direction of a major breakdown, we don’t necessarily have that with buck. like obviously, we know he’s Been Through Shit (daniel, the shooting, the ladder truck, the tsunami, the blood clots, the lawsuit, jesus christ man), but we’ve also been made to believe that those things are things we’ve dealt with. personally i believe this is why dr. copeland was introduced in 4A -- to give viewers the impression that buck was dealing with his shit. but we very clearly see in season 5 that he hasn’t dealt with it, and with the huge fucking elephant in the room that is the shooting and the will, buck can’t deal with it.

so, he acts out of character. this is SO fucking pertinent to buck’s character, imo. he quite literally has a track record of making the wrong decision when he’s backed into a corner and doesn’t know what else to do; the lawsuit is a perfect example of this. so now, in season 5, we have a buck who has absolutely no direction as to how to move forward to healing, so he does what he does when he’s afraid -- he makes Decisions that aren’t necessarily the best for him in the long run. take taylor, for example -- he makes it clear that he’s tired of running after people, and yet he gets with taylor (not to MENTION everything that happens in past is prologue) anyway. he’s constantly making ooc decisions, and it isn’t bad writing. it’s fan-fucking-tastic writing, actually, because we’re slowly seeing buck break down in real time. this isn’t eddie clutching a back (with buck In The Room) because all of his trauma is hitting him at once; this is buck slowly but surely digging himself into a hole he won’t be able to get out of without serious help

and you’re right -- especially after everything that happened with doug, i don’t think buck normally would have let maddie go off by herself, especially if he feared she was in danger to herself. but this isn’t a buck who’s acting rationally; this isn’t a buck who’s head is on straight. this is a buck who’s grasping at the edge of a cliff, trying to hang on. this is a buck who can’t fix someone else’s problems, because his own are becoming suffocating.

so yeah, you’re right on the nose -- buck is going to put it away (hah) and help other people; he’s going to be there for maddie and chim, be there for eddie and chris, be there for bobby and may, and he’s not going to worry about himself. but as soon as he doesn’t have anything to fix, anything to focus on, the weight of everything is going to hit him at once, and he’s going to fucking break.

[cjsinkythoughts]

Right From Left

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 3085

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, Zemo being a punk, Bucky getting a little scary, some feelings, Sam being his fantastic, amazing, caring for everyone self

A/N: Here it is! At long last! I’ve been waiting for this episode and it was…holy fuck. I barely have words. And I can’t start or else I’ll be ranting for pages. Anyways, I know this Part is a little on the shorter side - not by much, but it still is - and it doesn’t even cover half the episode, but I’ve had a long day and I’m tired, so I’m going to sleep. I wanted to stop before Walker entered the picture too, because then I’m just gonna get more riled up and I’m working later. I’ll probably have another part out today, and then I’ll finish it tomorrow. Unless I can finish it today. I’ll try, but no promises.

Feel free to rant to me about the episode or the show, too, guys! My friends and I have been going back and forth about it for the past few hours. I’d love to hear your thoughts! I think that’s all for now.

As always, this isn’t beta’d so please excuse any mistakes! Thank you for reading, be kind to yourself and others, enjoy this part and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

!SPOILERS BELOW CUT!

You were avoiding him.

When you first got to Latvia, he had pulled you aside, eyes wide and pleading. “Doll, listen-”

“I really don’t think right now is the time to have the discussion we’re about to have.” Shaking your head, you avoided his gaze, your stomach twisting into knots. It was too much for you to handle; you couldn’t focus on the mission at hand and try to unravel the emotions that were making your gut flip like a gymnast. There were too many thoughts in your head, and you needed a clear mind.

“But-”

“Once this is all done, and our lives aren’t in danger. Once we’re back home, then we can talk, okay? Just…please. Not here. Not now.”

And he dropped it. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk about it. You just couldn’t. You had always been a ‘leave your baggage at the door’ type of person. Don’t mix work with personal. Not like you had much “personal” anyways when you first decided that was how it should be. And then your coworkers became family and your motto got a lot harder to follow. But you still followed it. And you would continue to follow it.

But that made you start avoiding him. Whether you meant to or not, everyone noticed, but no one said anything. Sam shot you a look when you didn’t offer to go with Bucky when he had to check something out. Zemo raised an eyebrow when he came back and, instead of immediately questioning him, you sat still on the couch, eyes glancing up briefly, before going back to playing with the strings of your hoodie.

You were paying attention to their conversation, especially when Karli Morgenthau was brought up, you just didn’t join in. Not even when Zemo mentioned the Avengers, eyeing you to see your reaction.

Honestly, you were tired, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Your shoulder hurt, your brain couldn’t process what the guys were talking about, and your heart couldn’t take any more hits.

It was something you’d been thinking about…you just thought it’d come after this mission.

“She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her…or she kills you.”

“Maybe you’re wrong Zemo. The Serum never corrupted Steve.”

For the first time since he first walked in, your eyes met Bucky’s. “Touche.” Zemo pointed at Bucky with a pastry around his finger. “But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?”

But you couldn’t wait until after this mission. Not when he was so connected to it. “I think I’m gonna go home.” You blurted out before Zemo and Bucky could argue further, Bucky slumping down onto the opposite side of the couch.

The moment the words left your lips, Sam and Bucky shot up, staring at you in disbelief.

“Wait, hold up. What? Now? We’re so close-”

“Why? Is it your arm? Is it hurting? You should’ve told us-”

“I’m just tired.” You cut in, shaking your head. “That’s all. I didn’t expect this to be drawn out this long when you called, Sammy.”

Bucky’s hand twitched as he hesitatingly scooted closer to you. “Doll, if this is because what happened on the jet-”

“It’s not, Buck.” You tried to give him a convincing smile, but you knew by the look in his eyes that he didn’t buy it for one second. You reached over to squeeze his hand, and when you pulled back, he held on tighter, a sigh escaping his lips as he stared down at your linked hands.

“Okay…if you wanna go home, we can get you home. Just…” His head turned back to you, a pleading pout on his features. “Just…stay. Another day. Please. You can keep avoiding me, I won’t even say another word to you if you don’t want. But stay. Just for one more day.”

Chewing on your cheek, you finally nodded slightly. “Okay. One more day.”

His eyes lit up, before his face fell again when you took your hand back and curled into the corner of the couch. “Let’s talk shop, boys.”

“Okay. So, from my understanding, Donya is like a pillar of the community, right?” Sam easily changed the topic back to the situation at hand, giving you a reassuring wink when you smiled at him gratefully. “So when I was a kid, my Tee Tee passed away.”

Bucky screwed his face up in confusion, straightening his head from where he had it leaned back. “Your - your Tee Tee?”

Sam gave him a look. “Yeah. My-my Tee Tee, yeah.”

Bucky looked at him weirdly. “Who is your Tee Tee?”

The exchange made you giggle a little bit, shaking your head. “Bucky’s a city boy from the 40’s, remember, Sammy?”

“Fine.” Sam rolled his eyes. “When I was a kid my aunt passed away.”

Bucky gave a slight huff, making you chuckle again. You stopped when he smiled over at you, but your grin didn’t leave your face. Even when they were the ones to give you a headache, your fellas were damn entertaining, that’s for sure.

With a sort-of plan in place - the gathering for Donya being no more than a theory, but the only idea you really had - you stretched out from your spot on the couch, twisting to crack your back. “Zemo.” The man stopped his rummaging through the cabinets and looked over his shoulder at you, an eyebrow raised. “Go put some clothes on. We’ve got work to do.”

He gave you an unimpressed look, opening his mouth, but Sam beat him to the punch. “Do as the lady says, man. You’re already walking on a tightrope after you shot Nagel!” Zemo waved dismissively at Sam’s exclamation, heading into a separate room to change out of his robe. “That guy is gonna drive me up the wall.”

“Don’t let him get to that pretty head of yours, Sammy.” You hummed, standing up, wincing slightly as you stretched your sore shoulder over your head.

You could tell Bucky wanted to say something, the way he snapped forwards, hands moving down his thigh like he was leaning over to reach for you, his eyes locked on your injured joint, but, just as he said earlier, he didn’t say a word. But the part that made you upset was…you didn’t stop him. You didn’t tell him it was okay for him to talk to you. You didn’t reassure him that you weren’t purposely trying to avoid him. You simply moved over to the kitchen to get something to drink.

It hurt worse than your shoulder, but you couldn’t handle it. Not then. Not with such an important part of the mission coming up. So you didn’t say anything. You just sipped your water, switching into tactic mode as your mind ran through the scenarios of what could possibly go down in the next 24 hours before you went home.

*************************

Walking under the arch, you couldn’t help but feel saddened as Zemo told you about what the courtyard used to look like. Thanos messed the world up so much more than you realized and, as much as you hated to admit it, the Avengers did have a part in it. Not that they - you - were in the wrong, necessarily. You truly believed you did what anyone in that situation, with the skills and abilities and knowledge the team had, would do what you did. Or tried to do.

“I’m gonna take a look around upstairs.” Sam stated, looking up at the upper stories of the building, before glancing at Bucky. “See what you can find out here. And keep an eye on him.”

“I’ll come with you.” You said, turning on your heel to follow Sam. The back of Bucky’s gloved hand brushed against yours, and instinctually you turned your palm to link your fingers and squeezing. You let go quickly once you realized what you were doing, nearly tripping up the stairs to get to Sam, not daring to wait for Bucky’s reaction.

“You’re an idiot.” He stated simply as soon as you met him at the top of the stairs.

“Can we focus on finding Donya right now, please?” You grumbled, moving forwards cautiously, peeking around the corner. You frowned when you saw two guys at the end of the hallway, looking back at you and Sam warily.

“You need to hear what he has to say, cher.”

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “I know I do. I know. But I can’t. Not right now. I’m just trying to get this over with first. I don’t want too many things on my plate. I might choke.” It already felt like you were drowning most nights.

He paused at your words, giving you a once over, before nodding. “Okay. I can respect that.”

“Thank you.” You told him earnestly. “Now let’s try to get something from these people.”

He nodded in agreement and you two continued forwards with your search. Room after room, people walked out before you could get anything from them, locking doors behind them. The Flag Smashers logo was everywhere, but you expected nothing less from a refugee camp that practically worshipped what they were doing.

Even when you did get a guy to talk to you, he immediately shut you down, leaving you and Sam dejected. The fact that the world had gotten so bad that these people couldn’t trust you and Sam - Avengers; people who used to be heroes and bring hope to others - it made your heart sink.

“C’mon, Y/N.”

“Are we wrong?”

He froze at your question, his lips pressing together. “About what, exactly?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I just…I guess I can’t tell right from left anymore. I always assumed that the Avengers were the good guys. That the actions we’ve taken in the past were us making the world a better place, but…Sokovia and Ultron. Germany and the whole civil war thing we had going on. The entire world and Thanos. We don’t truly ever win. Do we?”

“I can’t answer that for you.” Sam shook his head. “I can’t tell you what to believe or who to believe in. But I can tell you that we’ve made a difference. Steve, Nat, Tony…they made a difference.”

“But was it a good difference? Was it a change? There’s a difference between changing the world and just making it different, Sam.”

He blinked at you, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. And I don’t have that answer for you either. But they tried. They did what they thought was right. No matter if it was or not. And isn’t that all we can do? Try?”

His words made you think back to the conversation you had with Bucky once he learned about John Walker, which seemed so long ago. When you told him it wasn’t Sam’s fault. That he was just trying. That he did what he thought was right. 

And maybe he was wrong. But he made a decision. It was his decision. To do the right thing. And right then, not for the first time, you could see exactly what Steve saw in the man in front of you.

“You’re a good man, Sam.”

Sam grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulders and squeezing. “And you’re an incredible person, Y/N. Let’s go see if Bucky and the Baron got anything.”

You snickered at his mocking tone towards Zemo and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

*****************************

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like it one bit. So far, Zemo kept proving you wrong. Even when it seemed like he was about to jump ship, he came back. No matter how many opportunities he had to escape, he never did. And it was making you even more suspicious.

You stayed out of Bucky and Sam’s conversation, although you had to agree with Sam’s point, especially with the conversation you just had.

Your thoughts were running a thousand miles a minute, only to be interrupted by Zemo information about the funeral this afternoon. Guess a snake will always be a snake.

“And you, uh, didn’t think this was important information?” You questioned, eyes narrowed and brow pinched.

He shrugged. “You have it now, don’t you, princess?”

Bucky growled at the nickname, leaning back on the couch, threatening Zemo with the Dora Milaje.

You can’t remember a time you’ve ever been scared of Bucky. Maybe a little threatened and intimidated by the Winter Soldier, but never scared of Bucky. And when he stood up after Zemo mentioned leverage, you didn’t expect anything from it; maybe another choke hold or something. So the glass hitting the wall, the clench in his jaw as he spoke gruffly to the Baron, for a mere second, he kind of frightened you. Maybe it was all the emotions you’d been through the past few weeks or maybe it was the adrenaline that seemed to be pulsing through your veins 24/7 nowadays. Whatever it was, it made you flinch, bolting up as Sam did.

You left the room quickly, hearing Sam say something about making a call, hoping to calm your racing heart.

“Doll?” You sat up from the bed you were laying on, legs hanging off the edge. Bucky stood in the doorway, nervously shifting his feet. “I know I said I’d leave you alone, but…”

You gave the bed a pat next to you and he gladly accepted the invitation, padding over to sit besides you. “I don’t want you to leave me alone, Buck. You’re my best friend. I-I just need to take it one thing at a time right now.”

He nodded. “I get it. I wasn’t…I wasn’t coming in to talk to you about that. You said we’ll talk about it later, so we’ll talk about it later.”

“I appreciate that, Bucky.” You smiled at him, before frowning. “What did you wanna talk about then? Are you okay?”

“Did I…did I scare you?”

You blinked at his question, tilting your head. “What?”

Jerking his head to the doorway he explained, “just then. With Zemo. Your heart spiked.”

“No.” You answered immediately. You would never ever admit that he kind of did scare you. It was just for a second and you knew how his brain worked; he’d beat himself up over it, go over his actions for hours instead of getting the rest he so desperately needs and deserves. He didn’t need that on his conscience right now. “I wasn’t - I just…you startled me. I wasn’t expecting that reaction-”

“I didn’t like the way he talked to you.” He spat out, glaring at his hands in his lap. “And then the smug bastard thought he was gonna get away with holding back information like that and I just…I dunno.”

His hand came off his thigh, but he hesitated. Before he could put it down again, you slipped your hand under his, linking your fingers, running your thumb in circles against his palm. “Don’t let him get to you, Buck. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

A sigh left his lips and he nodded. “I know, I know. It’s just…hard. After everything he put me through - put us through - I…I just hate that he’s really our only option.”

You frowned, shifting on the bed to face him, one leg bending beneath you while the other still hung over. “Why are you so obsessed with catching these guys?”

“I wanna do something right.” He murmured, playing with your fingers. “I’ve done so much wrong…I just wanna do something right. And I feel...responsible for it, I guess. In a way. It’s Super Soldier Serum. I thought I was the only one after Steve…” He froze at the blonde’s mention, giving you a side-eyed glance. You nudged him, silently telling him to continue, that it was okay to talk about him. “And Sam’s right, you know. She’s just a kid. So…I dunno. I wanna help. I wanna do something right. And catching them would help. It’s right. Right?”

You nodded firmly. “I understand where they’re coming from. Karli’s just trying to help the world. But she’s doing it wrong. And that I know for absolute certainty. Which is good, I guess. I was talking to Sam early and I mentioned not knowing my right from my left recently. It’s good I know something, huh? And for you it should be easy telling your right from your left.” You joked, tracing the gold lines on his metal arm. “I guess you’re just gonna have to stay besides me to help me remember.”

Looking up, you found Bucky staring at you with something you recognized in his eyes, but didn’t want to name. “Three hours, forty two minutes and thirty one seconds.”

“What?”

“That’s how long I didn’t talk to you. It was too long.”

You sighed, ducking your head. “Bucky, I’m sorry-”

“I’m sorry. For anything and everything I’ve ever done wrong. I won’t mention the plane or anything we’ve talked about until you bring it up first. I promise. Just…just don’t ignore me anymore? I'm not sure I can handle it for much longer.��

You nodded, watching your fingertips dance along his scruffy jaw. “I won’t.” He caught your wrist, opening his mouth, before shaking his head and closing it. “What?”

He shook his head again. “Not until you bring it up.”

“We will talk, James. I promise.”

“You don’t have to explain. I get it. I really do. It’s okay. As long as we’re okay for right now, I can hold it in a bit longer.”

You nearly asked him what he was holding in, but you quickly shoved the question out of your mind, knowing it would take you down a conversation you couldn’t possibly have right then. “How long do you think we have?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Zemo just said that it’s this afternoon. Why?”

“I started reading The Great Gatsby on the plane. I’ve got it on my phone. It kinda reminds me of you. Do you-do you think we have time to read some? Only if you want, I mean. Like we used to do in Wakanda?”

He grinned and nodded, scooting up on the bed and flopping down into the pillows. You smiled back, following his lead. Once you were comfortable, your phone out with the chapter you were on, Bucky scooted closer, laying his head on your stomach, hugging your waist. 

“Is this okay?”

Your fingers found home in his hair and you nodded when he looked up at you for an answer. “Yeah. It’s perfect, Buckaroo.”

[marvelmaniac2000]

Shang Chi (SMUT) The Invisible Wound

Storyline: You’ve been training Shang Chi all night long and he was determined to master his skills in Ta Lo. You convince him to take a break so his body can rest. But some wounds are invisible to the naked eye.

Characters: Shang Chi x Reader

Viewer Discretion: unprotected sex and mild sexual language

You gently press the cold compact onto his eye. His body wasn’t beaten too badly, but you promised him that you wouldn’t hold back, and his eye showcased the brutality of the fight.

“Thanks” he replaced your hand and held the compact to his eye. The guest room was fairly dark with only a lamp showcasing any sight. There was one twin bed with a beautiful view of the river across the gate. You couldn’t help but feel remorseful considering his position in life. Time had passed and his outlook on his family had changed.

“I know you feel a lot of pressure on you with the ten rings and all but remember you don’t have to go through it alone” you conveyed.

“I know. I always have to be strong, regardless how I may feel” he looked at you with resentment in his eyes. “I rather know I did everything I could to honor my mother’s wishes.”

You stood in front of him while he sat on the edge of the bed. “Shang Chi look at me” you sternly snapped. “I’m sure whatever you decide to do, your mother would be proud. There’s no pressure here” you quietly spoke while looking toward the river. “Now get some sleep we can finish training tomorrow before your father arrives” you turned toward the door.

Shang Chi stood up from his bed and managed to catch your gentle hand before you walked away.

“Wait, why are you acting like this?” he said, confused. “We’ve been close friends since we were young, we practically did everything together. I know what I did was wrong but I’m sorry If you felt abandoned that night. I left you and my sister without ever coming back. But for you to just say get some rest? I would suspect it from my own sister, but not someone like you.” You turned around facing him with tears swelling a bit in your eyes,

“You know why they kept us so close? All that time spent growing up together? Because we were supposed to get married” you confessed. “ Your father had planned a marriage arrangement for us, but your mother protested that it was your right to choose who you loved. And she was right.” You wiped a tear and straightened your face. “I was going to tell you about it but your sister told me you were gone. So I’m sorry if I feel entitled to a teenage broken heart. You bitterly snatched your hand way, and stared coldly into his guilty face,

Shang Chi walked past you and gently closed his bedroom door and twisted the lock.

“Now what are you going to do lock---- your voice trailed off when you stared at Shang Chi slowly walking toward you while taking his shirt off. His broadened chest and toned muscles effortlessly flexed. You froze into place and your breath hitched when his physique was inches from yours. He looked down at your face with a predatory look and slowly licked and nibbled at your ear. You naturally gasped but liked the feeling of it. He stopped and grabbed your chin and pulled you in a kiss and devilishly nibbled at your bottom lip. You smirk realizing how playful he is. Shang Chi broke the kiss and leaned his head forward against yours.

“What I’m going to do is fix your broken heart” he seductively stated. You kiss him forcefully and wrap your fingers around the nap of his neck. Shang Chi deepens the kiss pulling you closer so his hand could roam free down your backside. You feel his hardened member through his pants and feel more excitement creep between your wet pussy. Shang Chi picks you up and gently lay you on the bed.

He climbs on top of you and begins to ravish your neck licking your sweet spot. You moan loudly and naturally wrap your legs around his waist.

“Seems like someone has been waiting for a very long time,” he smirked.

“Shut up” you say in a feverish haze.

He helped you take your gown off and ran his eyes around your body being careful to take mental pictures of your naked body. Without wasting a second he wrapped his lips around your sweet nipple and sucked it while playing with the other. You close your eyes and moan at the sensation. He switched to the other breast and gave it the same treatment. He stopped once your nipples got hard and lowered his fingers to rub over your panties.

“I want you to be super wet for me” he said before getting up to remove his pants. Shang Chi took his pants off but instead lowered himself between your legs. He opened your legs and ran his fingers in an up and down motion to build the friction between your clit. You moan and grab hold of the sheets besides you. Shang Chi watched you frantically fidget between his touch and stopped to slip your panties off. He placed his two fingers between your folds and smirked at how wet you were. He sucked the juices off his fingers and slowly licked the entrance of your pussy while holding your legs on his shoulders. He kept his eyes on you and you frowned your face in pleasure wanting more as he licked and sucked your clit repeatedly. His warm wet tongue began to your lick entrance and penetrated your opening giving you a different pleasure. You arch your back and grab hold onto Shang Chi’s hair to push his head further in. Your clit began to tighten as he sucked his lips around it. Your legs started to shake but just before you could get closer to a climax, he stopped and kissed the inside of your thigh before returning on top of you.

He grabbed around your thighs and pulled your body closure to his hips and pinned your hands above you. You looked in shock from the response of him pinning your wrists but looking into his eyes you became more turned on from his dominance. Shang Chi positioned his hardened member around your entrance and slowly pushed himself in enjoying the wet and warm of your pussy. You whimper from pleasure and naturally try to move your wrist but you couldn’t from the hold he has on your hands. He began to increase his pace and deepen his hardened member inside you to hit your g spot. You screamed out Shang Chi name and wrapped your legs around him. He let go of your wrists and placed them on the bed to balance himself. He nested his head between your shoulder and began leaving kisses while making each stroke deeper. You whimper in pleasure and curled your nails into his back. Your pussy tightens around his member from the knot tightening in your lower half. Shang Chi growled in pleasure, You whispered in his ear that you’re going to cum and he quickened his pace. The noise of skin slamming against each other filled the room. Shang Chi placed his fingers between your folds and rubbed your clit.

”Cum for me sweet girl” he lustfully planted in your ear. The sensation of your clit and him inside you sent you over the edge, and you quickly came with a silent moan. Shang Chi continued his pace until he came and clasped next to you out of breath. His chest was glistening in sweat and his hair was disheveled. You both look up and the ceiling dazed at what just happened. You turned your head to Shang Chi and looked at his eyes, “Round 2?” you ask hopefully. “I mean tomorrow is going to be a long day as well,” he smirked. And without hesitation you climb on top of him and smiled. “This time I’m in charge”

[cuttoothed]

Fic for day 3 of @jonmartinweek for the prompt "Healing & Recovery". We've all been saying jmart need a lot of therapy after the finale, so...yeah.

Disclaimer: I have never been to couple's therapy. I have done some reading on it, but this is not intended in any way to accurately reflect real world therapy practices. Please just assume that anything "off" is due to the way couple's therapy is practiced in AU-land (though of course feel free to let me know if you spot anything egregious).

*

“Why don’t you start,” Judith suggests, “By telling me about the incident?”

The two men on the sofa give her identical startled looks, as if she’s uncovered something incriminating. Martin seems to regain his composure first; he clears his throat, and his hand moves to cover Jon’s, unconsciously protective.

“Sorry, wh-what do you mean by “incident”?”

“For most couples who come to see me, there’s an...inciting incident,” Judith explains. “Something that makes them realize they could use some professional support to work through things. Of course any couple can benefit from seeing a therapist together on occasion, to deal with small issues before they become big ones. But, well, it’s the same way that everyone knows they should go for regular check ups with their GP rather than waiting until they actually get sick—it’s just not something most people get around to until they need it.”

She pauses to give them time to consider that, and after a moment Jon nods, looking mildly embarrassed.

“Right,” he says. “That’s, ah, I think that’s fair.”

“There are pretty strong extenuating circumstances, though,” Martin huffs defensively. “We didn’t exactly have the option for therapy in the a—wh-where we lived before.”

“It’s not intended as a criticism,” Judith tells him. “You’ve chosen to talk to a therapist, and that’s a big step—one that many people never take. You’re ahead of the curve, Martin.”

Martin looks mollified at that; he’s clearly a bit touchy about perceived criticisms of their relationship, and Judith doesn’t want to get him on the defensive. She gives them both an encouraging smile.

“So,” she says. “Is there an incident you’d like to talk about?”

The two of them look at each other expectantly, as if each is waiting for the other to start. After several long moments of silence, Jon raises his eyebrows meaningfully, and Martin sighs.

“Fine,” he says. “So, we, uh, we recently realized that our...garden was a-a bit of a mess. So we—Jon and I—we get together with our...housemates, to figure out what kind of flowers we should plant. Fuschias or—or hydrangeas. ”

He pauses to glance nervously at Jon, who gives him a reassuring nod, squeezing his hand.

Right, Judith thinks, This is probably not about flowers.

“We agree we all want fuschias,” Martin continues, “Except Jon—he wanted hydrangeas. But we took a vote, and it was fuschias.”

“Except of course most of our—our housemates weren’t there for that meeting,” Jon interjects, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yes, but we agreed we couldn’t wait to ask every single person,” Martin says sharply, back on the defensive. Jon’s brow furrows and his mouth opens as if to say something, but he changes his mind and shuts it again. Conflict aversion is one of the most common dysfunctions Judith sees in the couples she treats; very few people want to disagree with the person they love, and even fewer know how to have a constructive conflict. She makes a mental note of it for later.

“Go ahead, Martin,’ she suggests gently. Martin looks unhappy, but continues.

“So we agree to plant the fuschias the next day, but Jon—Jon sneaks out in the middle of the night and starts, uh, planting hydrangeas. Without telling anyone.”

Without telling me, Judith hears in his hurt tone. Jon’s arms are still folded, and he’s almost squirming in his seat with the effort to not interject; Judith decides it’s a good time to invite him into the story.

“Jon, why did you feel so strongly about the hydrangeas?”

“It’s—it wasn’t that I wanted hydrangeas, I just couldn’t a-accept the idea of—of fuchsias.”

“Couldn’t allow it, you mean,” Martin grumbles. Judith lets it pass and continues to focus on Jon.

“Why is that?”

“They, uh, they spread…” Jon waves his hands vaguely. “Their—their...roots? They would get into the, uh, the neighbors’ gardens, completely take over, destroy everything.”

“Potentially,” Martin insists. “There was no guarantee—”

“There was no reason they wouldn’t,” Jon snaps.

By now Judith is not only sure that this has nothing to do with gardening, but suspects that neither of these men has ever seen a fuchsia in their lives. It’s fine, though. This is far from the first time a client has invented a story out of whole cloth so they can work through something uncomfortable without actually describing it. And this is their first session; Judith hopes in the future they’ll trust her enough to give her the real story.

“Remember,” she tells them. “We’re not here to decide that someone was objectively right or wrong, we’re here to help you understand each other and improve your communication skills.”

“Right,” Martin mutters, unconvinced. Jon’s expression is distressed, but he continues.

“There was no other choice,” he says wearily. “The only other option was—was azaleas, and I know you didn’t want that, Martin.”

“Absolutely not.” Martin sounds horrified. “But hydrangeas, Jon? Do you really think that was a better option?”

“You have to see the difference.” Jon’s tone goes stiff and incredulous, as if he’s winding up for a lecture, and Judith decides to cut that off before it starts.

“So what I’m hearing,” she says, “Is that you both had very strong, conflicting opinions on this topic. And that’s okay—it’s okay for you to disagree, even on something important. You’re not always going to agree on what the right thing to do is. Often there is no single “right thing,” so it comes down to how the different choices make us feel.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good way to make a decision that affects the wh—a lot of people.” Jon clearly considers that his opinion on not-flowers was the objectively correct one. Judith smiles.

“People aren’t computers, Jon. Even the most logical minded person in the world is influenced by their feelings—about important issues, about other people. You’d be surprised at how much of our decision making is rooted in emotion; either how we anticipate the outcome of our decision will make us feel, or how we are feeling in the immediate moment of the choice.”

A spasm of something that might be grief or pain flashes across Jon’s face, and he leans unconsciously in Martin’s direction. Martin’s arm instantly goes around him, offering comfort without thought. It’s clear that these two love each other deeply, unquestioningly—and that’s also part of the problem. When someone you love thinks that you’re wrong about something that’s important to you, it can feel like a rejection of your entire self.

“I’d like to pause this discussion for now, and try a little exercise,” she says. Jon nods, sitting back up and disengaging from Martin’s embrace; Martin looks attentively at her, though his expression is unsure.

“One of the biggest challenges we face with people we love is recognizing that they are separate from us. I know—” she says, raising her hands to stop the objections she can already see forming on their lips. “Of course you know that you’re separate people. We all know that, rationally. But emotionally, it’s natural to see the people you’re close to as extensions of yourself—it’s an evolutionary impulse to aid group bonding. It happens with friends and family, and it’s an even stronger impulse between partners.

“We have to do a lot of work to truly internalize the idea that the people we love have their own inner emotional lives that drive their opinions and decisions. But once you are able to fully grasp that truth, it makes disagreeing with the person you love feel less emotionally fraught; it’s a powerful tool for navigating conflict constructively.”

Jon is frowning, but it’s in consideration rather than disapproval. Martin still looks skeptical, his body language defensive, though he doesn’t say anything. That’s probably the best she’s going to get for now, Judith thinks.

“So,” she says. “The exercise is this: I’d like each of you to take a few moments to think, and then tell the other person something about yourself. Not a fact, but something that you feel. And I would like you to listen without interrupting when your partner tells you their feeling. Can you each do that?”

“I, ah—” Jon’s frown deepens. “That’s...rather difficult to do on demand.”

“I know,” says Judith with sympathy. “That’s why I’m here, to support you both in doing the difficult things. If it was easy, you wouldn’t need a therapist to facilitate.”

“Right,” says Jon. “Okay.”

“Martin?”

“Fine,” he says, but his tone is reluctant. Judith gets it; vulnerability is hard enough in front of someone you love, never mind with a stranger in the room. It’s easier to pretend that it’s pointless, that you’re not really putting yourself out there to be hurt. She has the feeling that Martin is someone who would rather avoid being hurt, even if it means closing himself off.

“All right,” she says. “When you’re ready, Jon, would you mind going first? No rush, take all the time you need.” Hopefully, seeing Jon take the first step might help Martin get over some of his defensiveness.

“Oh,” he says, and for a few moments his expression devolves into one of intense concentration. Then he nods, turning towards Martin.

“Start with “I feel”,” Judith suggests.

“All right,” he says, breathless with nerves. “I, uh, I feel...responsible. For—well, for everything, basically. And for everyone. Bad things have happened to people, and it’s my fault, because I should have done something. Everything that happened, back there, it was all because of me.”

“It wasn’t you, Jon!” Martin protests. “Annabelle told us—”

Judith is about to remind him that he’s supposed to just be listening, but he cuts himself off first. Jon laughs, an ugly sound that’s more like a sob.

“And how is that supposed to help? Knowing that the—that they were using me my whole life, how does that absolve me of any responsibility for what I did? For the fact that I failed to do anything to stop them? I couldn’t even go through with the one thing that could have actually meant something, because—”

He clamps his mouth shut, his jaw locked tight; Martin looks down at his hands, his expression distraught.

“Because of me.”

“Martin—” Jon’s tone is wounded, and he reaches for Martin’s hand. Judith sees reflections of a shared pain in both their faces, though she doesn’t understand why; this would be a lot easier if they’d just tell her the truth.

But you didn’t get into this profession because it was easy, did you?

“Thank you for sharing that, Jon. I think there’s a lot more for us to explore there, but let’s give you a break and give Martin a chance to share, okay?”

Jon nods, clutching Martin’s hand in his. Martin gives a long, slow exhale.

“Righto,” he says with false, brittle cheer. “”I feel,” wasn’t it? Right. Jon, when you do something stupidly self-sacrificing for other people, I feel like everyone else is more important than me.”

Jon flinches.

“Martin,” Judith says, keeping her tone level. “Let’s keep the focus on what you feel, not on what causes you to feel that way, okay?”

“Right,” Martin mutters, and glances at Jon. “Okay. In that case, I feel...like I’m not important. Like the only thing I can really do is—is take care of you. And if I can’t even do that, then what bloody use am I? That’s it, I suppose.”

“Martin…” Jon says again, softly. His eyes are wet, and he’s clinging to Martin’s hand like a drowning man to a plank. Martin swallows hard and shakes his head, but he makes no move to extract his hand from Jon’s grip.

“Thank you, Martin,” Judith tells him. “I know that wasn’t easy to share, for either of you. But this is the kind of honesty that we need, in order to build strong communication. Let’s all take five minutes—if either of you want to take a bathroom break, or get some water—and then we can talk about where to go from here. All right?”

Martin disappears to the loo, while Jon wanders around the office, looking with polite interest at the shelves of books and ornaments. Judith writes a few notes for herself, to follow up in future sessions. She hopes there’ll be future sessions. Both of these men seem deeply hurt, traumatized by events that they’re just barely alluding to, and have clearly been struggling through as best they can with less than ideal coping mechanisms, trying—and likely failing—not to hurt each other in the process. They both need individual counselling as much as couples’ therapy—maybe more. She’s certainly going to recommend it..

They clearly love each other, though. And they want to make it work. If they’re willing to put the effort in, they have better than even odds in their favor.

Martin’s eyes are red-rimmed when he returns; he sits on the sofa as near as he can to Jon, who presses their shoulders together. Judith can’t help smiling at the sight.

“How long have the two of you been together?” she asks. She always asks new clients at the end of the first session, rather than at the beginning; that way she can get a feel for the relationship without preconceptions based on longevity. The two of them look at each other properly, for the first time since Martin came back in, and matching, sheepish smiles break out on both their faces after a moment.

“So it was three weeks in Scotland,” Martin begins, ticking it off on his fingers. “And then—how long?”

“Uhh, it’s...let’s say half a year, give or take?” Jon makes a face that says he’s really not all that sure.

“Right, and then we’ve been here nearly six months. So...about a year, all in all?”

“But we knew each other for over three years before that,” Jon insists earnestly.

“It sounds as if the two of you have been through a lot,” says Judith. “And not all of it gardening related?”

“No,” Jon says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Mostly not.”

“We barely scratched the surface today—and that’s normal. Relationships are complicated, and it takes a lot of time and hard work to build understanding and communication. But I promise you, it is worth all the effort. You both made a really strong start today—it takes courage to be that honest, even with your partner.”

The two of them give each other a long look, and the smile they trade is tentative, but genuine. They haven’t solved anything today, have only just begun to reveal their hurt and their insecurities; they have a long journey ahead to get to a truly honest, healthy place both for themselves and their relationship. Judith has a feeling they’ll persevere, though—that losing each other simply isn’t an option.

“So,” she says, “Should we make this a recurring appointment?”

Jon glances questioningly at Martin, who bites his lip and then nods firmly, taking Jon’s hand in his.

“Yeah,” Martin says. “We’ve done much harder things. We can do this.”

“Together?” says Jon, and Martin smiles.

“No matter what.”