#TRIGGER WARNING : ABUSE

[jonsawilldanceanon]

The Kingsguard

[damianstarastrology]

neptune and pluto influence

Neptune on the ascendent can denote a natural, unconscious influence over others. similar to someone with Pluto influence (pluto conjunct ascendent/midheaven/1h/10h), the person with neptune influence (neptune conjunct ascendent/midheaven + in 1h/10h) makes a memorable impact on those around them, the difference is the Pluto individual is on some level aware of the ways in which they influence those around them, the Neptune person does this unintentionally and subconsciously. the Plutonian person has control over how others view them, over their public image, this is what makes them so powerful. the Neptunian person however can easily be viewed as weak -- plutonians, even when they are most hated, are viewed as a threat. the Neptune person gets underestimated and sabotaged. both the plutonian and Neptune person are subject to rumors, gossip, and ridicule.

people with pluto/neptune conjunct the ascendent/midheaven are often sexualized by others. when the ascendent/first house is involved, they are denoted as sex objects, and with pluto involved, the person is subject to being shamed for their sexuality, oftentimes being labeled derogatorily.

both the pluto and neptune person have many admirers. people with pluto in conjunction to the midheaven or scorpio ruling the tenth house/scorpio midheaven (capricorn/aquarius rising depending on the degree of your rising) are prone to having stalkers. Neptune's admirers are hidden in plain sight -- with neptune conjunct ascendent opposing the descendent, the neptune persons close friendships tend to blur the lines between friendship and romance. people may opt to keep their attraction toward the neptune person to themselves because the Neptune person feels inaccessible or unattainable.

people with Neptune influence (neptune in first house/conjunct ascendent) have many copy cats. Marilyn Monroe had this placement and there is currently a woman living in her old house who dresses exactly like her. often with Neptune conjunct ascendent, opposite descendent, or neptune in the first house, people you interact with will react negatively to or put you down for your qualities, and then later adopt those same qualities as if it were their own. the neptune persons energy is so contagious and infectious that it is easy for those with low self esteem to adopt their traits as their own.

Neptune and Pluto have much to do with legacy. neptune people are remembered more fondly after their death. Marilyn Monroe had neptune in the first house and Elvis Presley had neptune closely conjunct his midheaven -- both celebrities were subject to public ridicule, media gossip and rumors during their lifetimes, however public opinion shifted after their deaths, remembering them as icons and being framed in a more positive light.

plutonians are remembered and talked about long after their death on both extremes of the love and hate spectrum. the pluto oppositions to Elvis Presley's second house stellium, which includes his sun trining his neptune conjunct his midheaven, were activated in recent years while pluto has been transiting his second house -- the biopic bombed at the box office because of negative media attentions surrounded resurfaced accounts of Presleys pedophilia and grooming.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4042

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

5. Jiggly Soufflé Cake

Steve

“I should be in there,” Bucky says again, making Steve roll his eyes.

They’re sitting next to each other, out in the waiting room at the Center. It’s been over an hour, but Steve remembers how the intake worker had told them that Mary’s evaluation wouldn’t be short. Already, he’s read through half the crappy magazine selection. He lets the edge of an outdated issue of Dominant Monthly flop down to his lap. “Babe …”

“It’s taking too long. What if they’re harassing her or—”

“You know that’s not true. The people here are good. You’re just trying to control everything,” he reminds Bucky.

“If I was in there I could—”

“Get in the way. She needs to feel like she can express herself.”

“What if she’s not honest? What if Linda’s not asking her the right—”

“Buck, stop,” Steve says, injecting some command into his voice. Bucky might be the Dom, but Steve can put his foot down with his husband when needed. “The therapist knows what she’s doing. All the people here do. This is what they do.”

They’re at the Center for Designated Peoples, the place where people like Bucky go for … well, anything related to their dominance or submission needs. That’s all Steve really knows. He knows that Bucky has been in and out of CDPs since he was a kid. “It took almost a week to get her this appointment, alright? You want to mess that up?”

Bucky grumbles. “No.”

“Good. Cause they don’t need you in there, interfering in her assessment. So sit tight.”

Bucky shuts up after that, satisfying Steve that he’s made his point.

“Well, what do you think?” Bucky eventually says, when another ten minutes have passed and the door to the therapist’s office is still closed. “Of her?”

Steve glances over. “You mean in general?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Steve can tell when Bucky’s being defensive. “You like her,” he says. “And not just cause of her lemon tarts.” He’d seen him looking at weighted blankets on Amazon, yesterday. “Admit it,” he prods, nudging Bucky’s shoe with his. “You can tell me how you feel. Why d’you need me to qualify it for you, first?

“Because I’m married to you, not her,” Bucky snaps. “Jesus, Rogers. Never met a man with less self-preservation instincts than you.”

“Mmhm. Aand?”

“... Okay I’m drawn to her,” Bucky says. “But I can’t tell how much of that is instinct and how much is normal people stuff.”

“‘Normal people stuff’,” Steve echoes, amused.

“I want to know what you think of her.” Bucky kicks his shoe back. “Tell me.”

“I like her too,” Steve concedes. “It’s not just you.” He can see as Bucky’s shoulders relaxing a little bit, knows that his opinion matters to his husband. “She’s different. Plain, but …” Steve searches for the right word. ‘Cute’ doesn’t seem right. She’s too prickly for that and too old besides. She’s a woman, not a girl, and he’s not just trying to describe her physical appearance. “I don’t know,” he says. “Editorial?”

“Editorial?” Bucky scowls. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I dunno, just, not off the rack. Different.” Bucky snatches the magazine out of his lap and chucks it back to the coffee table. Steve rolls his eyes. “Wish she wasn’t so defensive, though. And I wish we could’ve met her … you know, like on a date or at the gym or something.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah.”

“She grows on you,” Steve decides. Like an angry, stray cat. That’s dirty and scraggy a little.

“She’s pretty,” Bucky offers, but the words fall flat. They can both see that she’s attractive, that isn’t news. Bucky and Steve are attractive people themselves. They aren’t hurting for opportunities to be with attractive women (or men), if they want to. And it’s been a while since they invited another person into their bed. But …

“I haven’t been with a woman since my twenties,” Steve mumbles, thinking about it. He glances at Bucky. “You have.”

They both know Bucky was dating women casually when he met Steve, years ago. “Yeah,” he says simply.

“You ever miss ‘em? Women?” Steve kind of does sometimes. He likes how soft they are; the contrast. It had taken him a couple of dates and a few glasses of wine, back when they’d first gotten together, to admit to Bucky that he was bi. Steve had told him that, and then Bucky had disclosed his designation status. “We used to talk about the whole poly thing a lot more.”

“Hm, yeah I guess.” Bucky shrugs and reaches to take his hand. Steve gives it a squeeze. “I dunno babe. Kind of hard to think about anybody else when I’ve got you around.” He gives him a lecherous look that makes Steve glad they’re the only ones in the waiting room. “Your hot body’s been enough to keep my attention.” His eyes drag up and down Steve, mentally undressing him.

Steve feels heat creep up his neck and he chuckles, pushing Bucky’s hand away. “Stoppit. Jerk. I’m a person.”

“Punk,” Buck smirks. “You like it.”

“Shuddup. Not here. God, you’re such a creep.” They’re both grinning—probably like complete, horny letches—when the door to the therapist’s office opens.

The professionally dressed woman offers them a friendly smile. “Bucky, Steve.”

“Hey Linda,” Bucky greets.

“How’d it go, Doctor?” Steve asks, not on as informal terms with the CDP staff as his husband is. “Is she …”

“Mary is fine. Would you like to come in and talk with us?”

Bucky is immediately standing from his chair. “Yep.”

Steve has to refrain from rolling his eyes. He grabs Bucky’s wrist. “Hang on now, Buck. Maybe she doesn’t want us in there. We should try and give her choices where we can.”

Doctor Linda surprises him by saying, “Actually, Mary says she’s fine with discussing this all together.”

Bucky shoots him a smug look and tugs his wrist back. “See?”

This time Steve does roll his eyes, but he nods at Linda and gets up to follow her back into the office.

Bucky

Bucky can recall very clearly the first time he’d been told he had a mental illness. He’d been ten, had been sent to the school shrink for misbehavior. He remembers how his mom had come in, harried about being called off from work when her kid wasn’t even sick. Bucky had felt bad about that, had felt like he’d done something wrong (well, he had scrubbed Trixie Wallace’s face into a mud puddle at recess).

But still, even at ten years old he’d been smart enough to know that this meeting with his mom and the counselor was more serious than another simple admonition or in-school suspension.

Long story short, His mom wound up reacting with something like embarrassment, and Bucky had wound up internalizing that for a long time, feeling like his “condition” was something to be kept private and not discussed.

Now, he sits in Linda’s office and makes sure to exude an air of calm and acceptance. He doesn’t want Mary to be embarrassed about this like he was. It helps that times have changed a bit since Bucky was a kid, and he knows this particular Center very well. They do good work with the designated community. Bucky knows that no one here is going to announce to Mary that she’s a deviant.

Mary’s sitting in her own chair, separate from where Bucky and Steve share the couch. Even though Bucky’s instinct is to tell her to come sit with them, he holds back. He knows that the seating arrangement is likely purposeful on Linda’s part. He tries to remember Steve’s words about giving Mary choices where they can. Domination may be what she needs, but too much of a good thing, administered too fast, can still be harmful.

“High needs,” Steve is saying, echoing what Linda’s just told them. “... So, she’s like Bucky, but submissive?”

“Yes,” Linda confirms. “We did the assessment twice, and both times Mary tested at the far end of the spectrum.”

“Fantastic,” Mary mutters.

“We’ve been discussing what this might mean for her care plan, going forward. Mary has several other issues that I believe tie into her unfulfilled needs as a submissive.”

“I don’t understand how it went undiagnosed for so long,” Bucky says, feeling vaguely upset about it. “Doc?”

She shrugs. “Mary’s from a part of the country where mental health awareness isn’t so advanced. They didn’t test in the public school system where she grew up.” Mary makes a quiet noise of discontent and Linda adds, “So we’ve been talking about the physiology of it, the role of neurotransmitters and how important it is for her to be dropped regularly. And we’ve discussed what that might look like, different options she has.”

“Options?”

Here, Linda hesitates. “Well … Mary has expressed an interest in taking advantage of the Center’s social programs.”

“No,” Bucky says right away. “Absolutely not.”

“She said you do it,” Mary counters, and when Bucky looks over he finds her glaring at him. “Apparently, I don’t need you after all. I can just come here and hook up with any old body.”

“I’m your legal guardian right now,” Bucky reminds her. “And the clubs are for people who know what they’re doing. It’s too unstructured for you. You need more stability than that.”

Mary scoffs and crosses her arms, but Dr. Linda is already nodding in agreement. “I think Bucky’s right, Mary,” she says gently. “A reliable, dominant partner and regular drops in a safe space are what you need right now.”

“Why can’t you just write me a prescription or something?” Mary complains. “You said it was a brain chemistry thing, so why not?”

Linda looks uncomfortable as she explains, “Medication is usually only considered as a last ditch treatment option … and with your substance use disorder and other issues I'd rather not —”

“I am not an alcoholic!”

“No meds,” Bucky says, hating that idea. “Come on, Mary. You don’t want to be drugged up, do you?”

She glares at him. “You just want to control me.”

He fights very, very hard not to roll his eyes. “Yeah,” he quips. “That’s kind of the whole point.”

Mary groans and slumps back into the cushions of her chair, looking put out. “This sucks.”

“It’s manageable,” Linda reminds gently.

"I don't want to be this way," she mumbles. "'High needs'. It's embarrassing."

“It's no different than needing air, or food or sleep,” Steve supplies. “You guys just have this extra thing.”

Mary makes a face, probably at being lumped into the ‘you guys’ category with Bucky. “So, what’s the plan then?” she asks mulishly, crossing her arms. “We go back to your place and you break out the whips and chains?”

Bucky barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. “Oh, honey. I promise there aren’t any chains.” He winks at her. “I prefer leather.”

Mary

After the therapist, it gets a little easier to be around Steve and Bucky. Mary’s still quick to anger, thinking about the situation that she's managed to get herself into, but there are some ameliorating factors to the situation.

Having an official diagnosis—no matter how much she doesn’t want this diagnosis—is at least a starting point. Mary doesn’t have to keep exhausting herself, arguing with Bucky that she’s not a sub. She is. That’s that.

And when he takes it upon himself to speak with Mary’s boss about her situation (effectively getting him to unfire her for the multiple days of work she’s missed) some more of Mary’s contempt for Bucky slips away.

“Thank you,” she says quietly once they leave the café, her next shift already scheduled for that upcoming Monday. “ I … this job, it means a lot to me.”

“I know.” Bucky says simply, though Mary can see the self-satisfaction in his posture. He takes her hand as they walk together down the sidewalk, and to Mary it feels like some sort of test, like he’s waiting for her to pull away.

So she forces herself to curl her fingers around his and keep holding his hand.

Again, she can practically feel the reaction coming off of him. He’s pleased with her. Mary’s cheeks flush from the domineering squeeze he gives her hand from time to time as they walk, and she’s grateful that she can blame it on the day’s chilly air.

Doctor Linda had explained everything, of course, when Mary went in for the assessment. The testing hadn’t been what she was expecting, hadn’t been embarrassing or invasive. And, perhaps most disappointing of all, it hadn’t been predictable. Mary hadn’t felt like she knew which way to fake her responses, to get the test to declare her mentally fit. So she’d answered honestly. 

And where had that gotten her? Lumped into the same group of deviants as James Bucky Barnes. “High needs”—God it sounds awful.

“It’s not necessarily sexual,” Linda tells her at her second appointment. “Or, well … it doesn’t have to be, at least. There are ways around it, if you really need an asexual dynamic.”

Mary nods along, but inside she thinks about the last time Bucky scolded her or praised her or held her hand on the sidewalk. She thinks about when he’d put his hand on her throat and applied pressure. Thinking about those things doesn’t make her feel asexual at all.

The first time Bucky doms her in a coordinated manner, she’s actually unaware of what he’s doing at first. It’s one of Mary’s  three days off and she’s terribly bored, researching how to make grapefruit soda caviar and wondering if there’s a gym nearby that she could join. She hasn’t exercised in weeks, and honestly, if there’s even the slightest chance that she’s going to wind up being naked in front of Bucky or Steve (or, oh god, both of them), then she really feels like she needs to work out.

Scratching fingernails over the skin of her lower stomach, she googles nearby gyms, finds one that looks decent, and tells Steve that she’s headed out to go join. She’s tying one sneaker when Steve objects.

“Oh but wait,” he says. “Um, Bucky’s going to be home soon. And I think he uh, I think he had plans. … For us.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. She likes Steve—thinks he’s kind of a big, beefy sweetheart, actually—but sometimes his devotion to Bucky and what Bucky wants is annoying. “Fine, you stay here and tell him where I went. I’ve got to get out of this apartment.” And out from under you and your bossy husband’s constant supervision. “Got to … I dunno, burn off some steam.”

Bucky’s timing is impeccable. He comes through the door just as she’s bending over to lace up her other sneaker. His arms are full of plastic grocery bags, which he dumps onto the kitchen counter with fanfare. "Honey, I'm home."

“What happened to using the reusable bags?” Steve drawls, earning an eye roll from Bucky.

“Forgot 'em.”

“Mmhm.”

“Shut up.” Bucky’s grinning at his husband, until he catches sight of Mary crouched in her gym clothes. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks her.

“None of your business,” she snips, standing back up and heading for the front door.

“Stop right there, Princess.”

Oh. Well that’s a new one. Mary turns back around with what she’s sure is an incredulous look. “‘Princess’?”

Bucky smiles warmly and drags her over to inspect the groceries that are in the bags. She’s quick to catalog: eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. “What?” she asks, looking up at him. “You think I’m going to cook for you?”

“Oh I know you’re going to cook for me,” he says calmly, taking dry goods out of one of the bags and arranging them in the pantry. “Bake, in fact.”

Mary might stare a little, maybe with her lips parted. She feels equal parts annoyed and intrigued by his audacity. Something vaguely squirmy and warm stirs in her. She's planning on throwing some haughty quip back at him, maybe casually threatening poisoning, but somehow what comes out of her mouth is a subservient, “Well … what do you want me to make?”

He turns back around with bright eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you can come up with something,” he practically purrs. He gets right up in her space and says, “Something … delectable.”

Mary has to avert her gaze and turn away. She says a quick prayer that he hadn’t been close enough to hear the little hitch in her breath, then tries to focus her attention on cataloging the ingredients the jerk has brought her. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk …

Hadn’t she … hadn’t she been going out somewhere? Oh yeah, right. The gym.

She squeaks when Bucky claps a cheerful hand on her shoulder and gives her a squeeze. “Good girl,” he simpers, then walks over to the couch and flops down next to Steve, giving him a kiss hello. They proceed to chat with each other and chat about their days like Mary isn’t standing less than twenty feet away in the kitchen.

She suddenly feels like some 1950’s housewife. … One with damp panties, now that Bucky’s called her that right in her ear. Christ. Had Steve heard? She glances back over to them, but they’re not looking her way. Mary flushes and looks back down at the countertop. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. She tries to think if she has everything she might need for soufflé cakes.

“How can something so plain be so good?” Steve wonders at the dinner table, where he’s squinting closely at his third helping of dessert like he can glean answers from it. “And what is it?”

“Satisfying,” Bucky says sagely. “That’s the secret.”

“The secret is buttermilk. And it’s cake, Steve. Just eat it.”

“How’re those dishes coming, Doll?” Bucky calls back, shooting her a sly look from over his shoulder. Mary resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him and dunks her hands back into the soapy sink water. 

Steve pokes the jiggly cake with his fork. “What are yooou?” 

By the time they’re finished with dinner and dessert (and dishes), she’s figured it out. All the pet names, the casual touches and the confident demands? Bucky’s trying to dominate her. She thinks about calling him out on it, but promptly forgets to do that when they go into the living room to watch a movie and Bucky firmly suggests that she make herself comfortable on the floor instead of the couch. At his and Steve’s feet.

Forget about damp panties, she just hopes it doesn’t start to show through her leggings.

Asexual dynamic her ass.

Mary had only held onto the illusion that the guys were gay gay for about two whole days, before it became very apparent that they actually like women, too. Steve’s comments alone about Daenerys while watching Game of Thrones are enough to broadcast that he swings both ways.

So that takes it from regrettable to just plain insulting when, as time goes by, Bucky doesn’t initiate anything sexual with her. He keeps doing his whole Dom thing, aided and abetted by Steve, and almost always in ways that take Mary off guard. He’s never mean, never does any of the intimidating things she’d imagined a dom would do to a submissive. 

And Mary won’t admit it, but she’s starting to look forward to when Bucky gets home from work at the end of the day. She spends more time than she’ll ever admit planning out something new to make for dessert, all the while anticipating the beginning of Bucky’s early evening commands and how they elicit those first tendrils of effervescent, pink fizz giddiness. 

It’s the later commands—the ones that come after dinner and during tv time, that tend to bring on the warm, sunken bathwater feelings. Marys pretty sure that Steve is a bit of a voyeur, because he seems fascinated by it all, watching every night as Bucky bosses her around, sometimes even joining in his own small ways, by petting her hair or telling her she’s sweet, or something like that.

Every evening, they play this strange game. And every evening Bucky and Steve each give her a kiss on the cheek and send her dazed little self off to bed, the two of them retiring to their own room. In the beginning, being left alone to go to bed is nice. She ignores the arousal between her legs in favor of floating in her syrupy sea of sweet feelings. Going to bed in subspace gives her the most solid sleep she’s ever had in her life. But after another week of it, and then another, the arousal starts to linger a little more at bedtime. She starts to fantasize about what it would be like to keep things going, to take Steve’s hand at the end of the night and let him guide her into his and Bucky’s bedroom, rather than her own; be held between their two big bodies while they whisper more sweet things to her and touch her in new places …

Maybe Steve and Bucky really do just want this to be platonic, she thinks, as another week of the same goes by and her dreams are getting dirtier by the minute. She’d surreptitiously stuffed her vibrator into a bag when they’d gone back to her apartment to retrieve her belongings, but she’s been too afraid to use it when Steve and Bucky are right across the hallway in their room, mortified to think that they might hear the buzzing and know what she’s doing.

Best not to add fuel to the fire, she thinks, when she ignores how increasingly horny she’s becoming and forces herself to lie still and count sheep and not fantasize about the two insanely hot, not-gay-gay men in the next room. They’re still a happily married couple, she tells herself. They’ve got no interest in her as of yet, and she’ll just be making herself into a homewrecker if she pushes for more.

… Or maybe they’re just not attracted to her that way, she eventually starts to think. Steve and Bucky are both in amazing shape, and they’re very good looking. They probably see her as like … maybe a solid five—with makeup and a blowout. 

She gets a little down in the dumps about it, realizing that all the heavy drinking and crap diet of this past year and a half has taken its toll on her, and she’s just not physically their type. She convinces Bucky to start adding salmon to the grocery list, she researches the pros and cons of lip filler, and starts whitening her teeth with one of those nasty little gel kits.

She stands in front of her bathroom mirror each night and scrutinizes her naked body, dragging her nails absentmindedly against the skin of her lower stomach and cataloging everything that’s not as good as it could be. She considers the scars on her hip that have no new slices added to the roster, wonders if Bucky ever wound up telling Steve about how … how awful they are …

“Night, Mary!” Steve chirps from across the hall, making her inhale and flinch in surprise.

“N-night!” she calls back through the wall, feeling the pleasant effects of that night’s drop fading away faster than she’d like.

Maybe she should just be happy that she’s getting at least this much attention from them, that things have improved a little and she at least isn’t drinking herself into a stupor each night anymore. That’s a positive, even if she is still left pining after them like a fool every night. Steve and Bucky are okay guys, but they probably just don’t want anything more than this from her. They’re helping her because she shares this mental illness with Bucky, and that’s super nice of them, but it doesn’t mean they have to be attracted to her, too. Mary’s not entitled to anything.

She joins a 24 hour gym and takes to binge exercising in the middle of the night to push away the uncertainty.

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Square O2: therapy session

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square I1: enemies to lovers

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Square B5: Love triangle

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Square B3: Inconvenient attraction

[sad-scarred-sassy]

“Do you love him?” The question would play in her mind while holding her husband’s hand.

“Do you love him?” It would plague her thoughts while weakly smiling at him when he “gifted” her yet another piece of land she had no use for.

“Do you love him?” She would ask herself while making love to him, mumbling his name in the throes of passion.

“Do you love him?” When she would catch him picking up their baby, smiling down at him.

“Do you love him?” When crimes against females in the Hewn City escalated to inconceivable heights, and she begged him to let her try to help until he finally gave in.

“Do you love him?” When he yet again disrespected her sisters, and she had to try to talk some sense into him.

“Do you love him?” When she caught herself getting swayed by his words again.

Do you love him?

________________

“I went to Spring” She blurted out in the middle of their quiet dinner.

Rhys’ temper was usually controlled and calculated. Usually.

He dropped the silver fork onto the plate and the sound echoed through the empty halls of their home, violently breaking the sepulchral silence of their too big of a mansion. Even bigger and lonelier now that Elain had left.

His violet eyes studied her, other than the small tick on his perfect eyebrows, his face gave nothing away.

He picked up his glass of wine and looked at it before taking a sip. Feyre had decided to tell him, not because she felt guilty, even though she did, but because she wanted things to be better. She was tired of living a half life, she was tired of hearing the same old thing.

“All I do is for you and our son”

“I already told you why I made the decisions I made, do you think I’m a monster? Is that it?”

“What else do I have to give so that you finally see all I do is because I love you?”

She realized with no little amount of dread, that if she wanted him to finally speak frankly to her, then she would also have to do that. She would tell him, show him through her mind if she had to, but for the love of all that was right, she needed him to talk to her like she was a person, like he actually respected her.

She placed her fork and knife on the table, raised her napkin to her mouth, then took her glass of wine, one of the best wines in the Night Court, and drank. All the while Rhys’ eyes were fixed on her, no words coming from him still.

“Well?” He finally asked. “What could you possibly have to do in the Spring Court, may I ask?”

“I went to see Tamlin” She said as a matter of fact.

Rhys gave a short laugh, his eyes roving her face like a cat fixed on its prey. “Is this a pattern for you, Feyre darling? Did my time with you run out so you need to go back to the spare? Send me a raven when his time is up again so I can pick you up” He threw the napkin he had on his lap and stood up from the table, death and shadows emanating from him, engulfing him as he began to leave.

“I did not go there for that” She stood as well. He swirled and began striding towards her.

“Oh really?”

“Yes. I went there because I needed answers. Answers you were not giving me” She stood tall as he reached her, cold darkness engulfing her, daring her to succumb to him. She refused.

“How cute. Did you get your blessed answers from the Spring imbecile? Did he satisfy you, my love?” His eyes were vicious, almost feral. She had seen Rhys mad before, but never like this.

“He was honest with me” She said, not flinching at his dark energy.

“Oh?” He cocked his head, eyes digging into hers. “Is that a way of suggesting I haven’t been?” Already she felt the strain of trying to read him, the mental labour of having to analyze everything he said, to be on the lookout for hidden ways he could be trying to sway her.

“You know you haven’t Rhys” She fisted her hands, nails digging into the pads of her palm painfully. “Stop treating me like I’m stupid” She felt her jaw tremble slightly.

“When have I treated you like that, Feyre?” He snapped. “When I made you High Lady?” A sneer appeared on his face. “When I trusted you with the wellbeing of my court?”

“You’re doing it again!” She raged. “Stop shoving that on my face. I did not ask to be High Lady! I did not ask for any of this!”

“Oh but you did. You begged me to save you, you were so grateful when I did, you thrived in your power. Now you resent me for giving you what you asked for?”

“You- you made me want these things” She said more weakly. She had thought about this, why did it sound stupid coming out of her mouth now?

“I did no such thing” He lowered his voice. “You’re not stupid, Feyre. You know I did no such thing” He ran his hands through his short hair.

“Why did you go to him?” He looked at her now, devastation in his eyes. She felt the unstoppable urge to reassure him, to promise him it wasn’t what he thought it was. Something in her gut stopped her.

“I just needed to hear him out” She conceded.

“Why?” He asked again. “Is this life not enough for you?” He craddled her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. She saw her mate, the sadness and despair in his eyes, but somehow something was missing. “Am I not enough? Are we not enough?” He looked up for a second, towards the baby sleeping in his room.

“Why didn’t you give me the choice, Rhys?” She felt the tears forming around her eyes.

“I always gave you-“

“You didn’t tell me I would die” She choked.

He let go of her and turned to pinch the bridge of his nose. “This again, Feyre. We already discussed this to exhaustion”

“You never told me the truth” She was full on crying, arms around herself, shaking.

“What truth? What truth do you want? Huh?” He turned to her again. “Do you think I wanted you dead?”

“You wanted the child more than anything” She said. “I could have shifted but you didn’t give me the choice!”

“If you are not remembering correctly, I would have died with you! How would I want that?”

“It isn’t beyond you to put yourself at risk over your own objectives” She snapped. Something in his eyes shifted.

“Is that what you think of me?” He frowned, looking at her like she was a monster he had never noticed before. “Is that why you ran away to Spring in the middle of the night the first chance you had?”

His eyes were set on her, knowing.

That was it, in his eyes she had seen his sadness, his anger, his despair. Only one thing had been missing—surprise, shock. Looking at him then, the realization hit her like a slap in the face.

“You knew” She said softly, almost to herself. There was a flicker in his star flecked eyes. “You knew” she repeated, more strongly.

And just like that, Rhys’ whole expression changed in a second, a cold gaze falling on its place, one she had only seen directed at members of the Court of Nightmares, the one he had called his mask. She felt a chill run up her spine.

“I did” He admitted.

“H-how?” She stuttered.

“Azriel followed you that night, to his cottage” He glanced at his arm, picking at a speck of dust on his otherwise impeccable suit. “I had him watch you, since you weren’t trusting me inside your mind anymore”

She was so shocked she couldn’t even cry anymore. She only stared at him, agape.

He sighed. “You wanted me to speak frankly, didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t you do anything?” She found herself asking.

“There was nothing to be done, my darling” He frowned his brows slightly. “All you needed was a bit more work to distract you from your escapades, since our own child wouldn’t do it”

Another blow to her world. “The Hewn City crimes” She snapped her eyes back towards him in disgust.

“Now before you jump to conclusions, no, I didn’t somehow orchestrate the crimes just for my lovely wife to have something to fixate on instead of galavanting in an enemy court with her ex” He looked down his nose at her. He smiled at her, a demonic smile. “The crimes are a natural occurrence I just made you aware of them”

She searched his face, but could not find the male she thought she loved anywhere.

“Who are you?” She croaked.

“I’m your mate, I’m your equal”

“We are nothing alike” Her fists trembled.

“Oh, but we are, Feyre darling” He placed his finger on her chin and lifted her face. “Go, run to your ruined golden prince, tell him all the oh-so-awful things your evil mate has ever done to you, then come back to me and keep on enjoying the grand life I gave you”

“I will leave you” Her voice cracked.

“Be my guest” He said, a cold energy emanated from him, blasting the door of the mansion open. Her breath trembled.

He stared at her, waiting. Waiting for something they both knew would not come.

“You won’t” He said so softly, so confidently. “Stop deluding yourself thinking you had no part in the consequences of your life. You chose me” He said sharply, his cold breath hitting her face harshly. “You knew who I was, you always knew. You love me. I gave you everything” His fingers dug onto her chin, violet eyes still pinned on hers, as if trying to get inside her mind and control her thoughts. She wondered now if he had ever dared to do that.

With a sickening, oily feeling, she realized he was right. He had given her everything, while destroying everything she had been, reducing her to this adherence to his life, his world.

“Do you love me?” She asked him at last, silent tears streaming down her face.

His face was impassive for a moment, staring at her. He breathed a soft laugh through his nose.

“Did you ask him the same question?” He let go of her face.

“Answer me”

“He probably said he does, didn’t he?” He laughed humorlessly. “Of course that pathetic fuck would still be crawling for you, even after you dragged him through the mud”

“Answer the fucking question Rhys!” She felt the fire inside of her roar, the flames on the candles and chimneys lifting as she shouted at him.

“Of course I love you, is it not fucking obvious, Feyre?” He roared back. “You wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t!”

The room was quiet except for their raging breaths. Rhysand had finally showed her what he truly was, she had wanted him to, so why did she feel even more trapped and lonely than before?

“You’re right I won’t leave you” She swiped her wet cheeks, in an attempt to regain the last scraps of dignity she had left. “I won’t ever leave you” She slumped her shoulders.

“No, you won’t” He said, sounding defeated as well.

She left him standing there that night, feeling how her whole world crumbled beneath her feet. She spent the next weeks crying herself to sleep, until she didn’t have any more crying inside of her. She let him hold her still, even if part of her could not stand it, she needed the comfort.

So she stayed, and she faced her reality, and she accepted it. Accepted him and his cruel love. He was right, they were mates, they were equal, even if she didn’t feel it most of the time. It was all she had left, even if a small part of her still wanted her to fight, to riot. She focused on the good.

On the feel of his hand when she held it.

On the heat of his touch when he pleasured her.

On the work that he had allowed her to lose herself in.

On the sound of her baby’s laugh when he held him.

On the warmth of the family she had chosen.

She told herself it was enough until it was.

She did not go to Spring again.

———————————-

Read the previous parts on AO3

[hottopicwithcrispyfingers]

Yknow, I've seen a few posts talking about how attractive Astarion's stare is, but I've thought about it as I've played the game, and what if this little head tilt thing-

That he does, isn't just because he is habitually seductive, but also because he's used to averting his gaze? I haven't beat the game yet, so I don't know everything, but what I do know about Cazador Szarr is that he enjoys having absolute power over people. I'd imagine he wouldn't stand for his spawn to look at his face, or look him in the eye, unless he told them to (let's be honest, probably as a way to gloat about something), and would probably take it as a challenge or insubordination if they did and would punish them for it.

Again, I haven't beat the game, so this is all just theory

I've also noticed that the more you encourage him to make his own decisions, especially about his body, and the more confidence he gains, the more he lifts his chin and actually looks at you, and that he tilts his head more when in a situation that makes him uncomfortable (like propositioning him with the drow twins, or when the drow [can't remember her name] in Moonrise Towers wants him to bite her, or even when you encounter the gur hunting astarion in the swamp)

[random-introverted-blog]

His Star - His Queen [Longfic of Across Stars and Time] - Chapter Index

Yes, a full story, not a Part 2. There was just no way in my head I could cram all of this into a Part 2 and justify it to myself. You will get your fill of Ascended vs Spawn fighting over Tav, with plenty of plot twists.

My editing/photoshop skills are barely passable you get what you get and you don't get upset

Summary: When Ascendant Astarion intercepts you and Your Astarion on your way to murder Cazador, he steals you away to his world. Where your other self has perished, and it doesn’t take you long to see why. He makes it clear you will rule at his side, his obedient, loyal queen. And he will “train” you until you comply.

But not all is lost. Already in pursuit with the aid of a mysterious Elven man and woman, your vampire spawn was coming to the rescue. Without you, his newfound freedom from Cazador was hollow. You were more than a treasure. You were his star. And he was yours. You’d done more for him than you would likely ever realize. You saved him from himself. Now it was his turn to save you.

His Star.

His Queen.

Whichever one will you be?

Link to AO3 page here

Chapter 1 [Originally a One Shot] - Across Stars and Time

Chapter 2 (more of a prologue) - You Beckoned the Stars and they Beckoned Back

Chapter 3 - Tithes To The King

Chapter 4 - What Was / What Is / What Will Be

Chapter 5 - A Lesson in Submission

Chapter 6 ‐ Your Eyes–My Mirror

Chapter 7 - Impromptu Rendezvous

Chapter 8 - Changes

Chapter 9 - Think Twice

Chapter 10 - Hunted / A Heart of Darkness and Shadow

Chapter 11 - [Drafting/Outlining]

A friendly heads up that if you're actively reading here on Tumblr, or are from AO3 and following/checking for updates, to bookmark or save the link to this post. I use it like an order tracker and will update/edit it to keep you up to date on where progress on the next chapter is

Warnings/Advisories: Violence, a ruthless, sadistic joker level tyrant, ascended astarion will do a lot of questionable/noncon/straight up wrong things because he believes he has to "teach you" and "show you sense", references to prior suicide, references to prior SA, implied SA, suicidal ideation (did your past self leave a spare disintegrate scroll behind for you to use too?), this will be less "scary violent smack you around" Ascended Astarion and more a twisted, creepy, "cute little princess, thinking you can say no" soft yandere

Hope this lives up to the high expectations. I'm posting it now because I'm an impatient undercooked, plain with no syrup pancake

[crimsonsoulpower]

Hindi is my mother tongue and it's great I get to see a brown vampire in a kind of mainstream TV show that has such a passionate fanbase and critical acclaim.

That being said, people got to stop calling Arun (अरुण) his slave name. It's not that, it's something his parents named him.

But also I do not get people saying he has happy memories attached to it. The show has a habit of making people worse than they are in books so they changed the plot point to make it that his parents sold him to slavery. So yeah, he was likely called that name in the brothel. Same place where the abuse was so severe that's what he thinks his birth name is. I get people wanting positive happy connotations with it but that's not the story they told us on TV. I cannot picture him having any happy attachment to something he isn't even sure is his name because of the horrid abuse he suffered.

In short, it's NOT a slave name but also please stop insisting he has happy attachments/memories to it when the show hasn't shown any.

[w2hazbin]

There is a world of difference between Valentino and Crimson's methods of abuse

I think it is weird they get compared and I would like to offer my two cents.

Yes, they both slap their victim but there is a world of difference.

NO, I DON'T THINK ONE IS BETTER OR WORSE THEN THE OTHER, THAT'S NOT WHAT THIS IS ABOUT.

Crim is all about having a sense of control, he treats Moxxie like he is a child he is disciplining (as an abusive parent). He slaps him once after asking him to come over to him to show his dominance. It makes sense that he would prefer to make a slap as an act of humiliation and then threaten Moxxie with his men since he in his two appearances let his goons do the heavy lifting and doesn't get involved besides shouting orders. It gives him a feeling of control, like he is the king of his castle.

Valentino however is a paranoid asshole and very much gets his hands dirty, assaulting people when he please or is in a fit of rage. When he loses his temper because he thinks Angel is challenging his authority by having Charlie "fight his battles for him", he not only slaps Angel but also push him around and hurts him. Not just because he is furious or to show his dominance but also because it provides him sadistic pleasure.

[gorentaya]

いただきます Itadakimasu ( Thank you for the food / I humbly receive )

[zoeykallus]

Hey! This is a bit much, so there is a trigger warning for the rest of this.

I had someone that I thought was a friend 'out' me in front of a bunch of guys. We had been on the topic of sex and my 'friend', knowing I have a history with SA and r*pe, made an offhand comment about:

'Well, you started early in your childhood. I personally think 5 years old is a little young, but what do I know?'

I guess she was trying to look cool in front of the guys? Or make herself look better? I've cut off the friend, but the looks I got from the guys in that group make me sick.

Regardless, I was wondering how you think the Batch (+Gregor and Fives, if you think it would fit?) would react to someone saying something like this to their friends or partner when the Batcher didn't know about it. Or, at least someone making fun of their friend or partners SA/r*pe trauma in a public setting like this.

I know that this is a lot, so please don't feel pressured to do this at all! If you need to delete this, it is 1000% fine. I do want to say that I'm good, and things are okay now, just so you don't worry about that. I love you, I love your work, and thank you for all that you do! Good luck, best wishes, and much love!

- 🪼

Aloha!

First off, I'm sorry you made this experience, not only the violation, this breach of your physical (as well as mental) integrity, but also this thoughtless and unreflective, rude behavior of your former friend.

Ooof. I thought about this one for a very long time, keeping it in my drafts for even longer. Opening the file, thinking for a moment, and closing it again. I have long thought about whether I can and want to write something about it. But these are the wrong questions. This is more about whether I should. Finally, I have decided to go into the subject, hoping to be able to provide some comfort.

The HCs are relatively short and to the point, at least that was my goal. I didn't want to go into too much depth, especially since I wanted to include all the characters you asked for and leave out too many triggers.

The focus is mostly, almost only, on the guys' reaction to mentioned friend.

I'm glad to read that you are in a good/safe place now! Thanks for letting me know 💜

The Bad Batch/Fives HCs x Reader - Outrageous And Thoughtless

Trigger Warnings: Mention Of Abuse/ SA/Hurt/Mention Of Traumatic Events/Strong Language/(18+)

Situation:

In the presence of your partner, a friend makes a remark regarding your past and reveals sexual abuse you were subjected to in the past. Something that your batcher does not know yet.

Hunter

At first, he can't quite grasp what he has just heard. Immediately afterward, his keen senses perceive how the situation overtakes you, panics you and makes you feel insecure. He frowns in annoyance and turns to your friend who has been talking so thoughtlessly. "Will you please back off!!! That was very inappropriate!" Your heart races, plagued by memories and above all the fear that Hunter now sees you in a different light, you stand there rooted to the spot, all muscles tense. Adrenaline is produced in your body, as in a fight or flight situation. Hunter approaches you, taking your hand carefully, tenderly. "Take a deep breath," he says softly, "And exhale again." As your acquaintance is about to speak up again, Hunter interrupts with a sharp look. His expression clearly says that silence is the best option now. Your hand trembles in his, and Hunter pulls back with you, away from everyone else present. He looks at you, quietly, gently. He smiles tentatively.

"It's all good. You're safe with me. You know that, right?" You nod, of course you know you are safe with him, and you are very grateful for that. "Good," he says contentedly, "You don't have to explain anything to me. Everything is okay. Take a breath first. You can talk to me anytime you want, but you don't have to." You take a shaky breath and nod again. "Thank you," you say softly. Hunter kisses your temple tenderly. "There's no need to thank me. That you are safe and secure with me is a given."

Echo

His eyes widen. Echo stares at your friend and grits his teeth. His gaze wanders to you and he sees the anger and panic bubbling under your surface. His hand clenches into a fist. He would like to break your friend's nose, but he pulls himself together as best he can. "How dare you say something so insensitive, so thoughtless?" Your friend looks at him in surprise. As they are about to answer, however, Echo raises his hand to interrupt your friend. "Don't bother. I don't expect a meaningful answer from someone with so little subtlety," he says, growling. Your friend looks at you, smiling, trying to salvage the situation more poorly than good, but Echo puts himself between the two of you, his anger almost palpable. "I think the evening is over, you should leave now," he says harshly.

His tone doesn't tolerate any backtalk, and no one dares to contradict him. His shoulders are tense, you can see it in his posture. When you are alone, a part of you does not dare to look him in the eye. You have the uneasy feeling that everything is different now, that Echo perceives you differently. But Echo's feelings for you don't shrink in any way, he has the same sincere respect as before, and you won't lose his affection anytime soon. "Look at me," he says softly. As your eyes meet, he smiles and says, "I hope you'll forgive my outburst, my interfering. What came out of your friend's mouth was incredibly tactless." You swallow, nod, finally daring to take a breath. Echo spreads his arms wide, and you automatically lean into his embrace, grateful for his closeness, protection and understanding.

Wrecker

He has just turned over the grill when he hears the words. His brothers are also all sitting at the table, with you and a friend you brought along. It has suddenly become very quiet, only the sizzle of the grill can be heard. Wrecker spins around the huge tongs in his hand. He blinks, within seconds he is torn between worry, anger and confusion. Worry and anger prevail and the handle of the tongs creaks under his hardening grip. He looks directly at your friend and says, "Why do you expose her like that in public? That's not something you do with a friend." Your friend, who doesn't really think much and just wanted to stand out among the men, realizes that the attempt is about to backfire. "That's a good question," growls Crosshair, who moves the toothpick back and forth between his lips with a piercing look. That's the first sentence he says tonight. You sit silently in between. For a moment, you toy with the idea of forcing a laugh or running away, doing something to take away this feeling of exposure. But you feel heavy as lead, as if you were stuck on the camping chair.

Hunter says quietly but clearly to your guest, "It's best if you leave now." Wrecker has put the barbecue tongs in Echo's hand and comes over to you, somberly eyeing your friend as they nervously make their way out of the way, hastily avoiding his gaze. Wrecker sits down in the chair next to you, grasping your hand tenderly. "What would you like to do now, dear?" he asks gently. You look at him questioningly. "What?" "Do you want to talk? Do you want to be alone? Should we just keep enjoying the evening?" he asks. You take a deep breath. "Can we pretend that didn't happen just now?" you ask quietly. As if on cue, movement comes into the round. Tech gets up and starts setting the table, Echo continues to tend to the grill, Hunter hands out drinks, Crosshair gets a deck of cards from the Marauder, and Wrecker stays with you. He acts normal, he doesn't press you, he doesn't ask questions, but he stays close to you just in case you still need a hug or a listening ear. Neither he nor his brothers will ever bring up the subject again, but if you want to talk, you can count on Wrecker.

Tech

He's very direct himself sometimes, but what he just heard is way off the mark. Tech is sitting next to you and your friend is sitting across from you. He lifts his eyes from the cup he was looking into earlier, lost in thought, and looks at the person sitting across from you. "That was very inappropriate," he says, frowning critically. He can't for the life of him imagine what could tempt a person, a friend at that, to abuse your trust like this. He is sure that you told this person these things in confidence, because he himself knew nothing about it until now. Since you neither deny that the statement is true nor do anything else in this way, he assumes that there must be some form of truth in it. "Why? It's not a lie. I thought you knew about it," the friend says promptly. Tech can feel you tensing up next to him, he can guess how uncomfortable you are with all of this, even though no words are crossing your lips at the moment. "No, I didn't. And even if I had known, that's not a subject you just bring up casually. It's a traumatic subject, and the way you deal with it is very inconsiderate."

You finally say quietly, "Maybe we should postpone this meeting and back off." Tech looks at you, his expression softening. He nods at you and takes your hand as you both stand up. Your friend tries to persuade you to stay, but Tech says, "I don't think we'll be doing this again," and gently but firmly pulls you with him. On the way home, he says, "I have to say I'm surprised. I thought you were good friends." "I thought so too." Tech says, "You need to pick your friends better." His hand gently squeezes yours as he asks, "Are you okay?" "I'm confused" you admit, "And I'm scared". He stops and looks at you. "Of what?" "Of you seeing me differently now," you admit. He shakes his head, softly stroking your face, "You're still the same person, the person I love. Nothing about that has changed. What I've come to know and love about you is still there, no one can just take that away from you."

Crosshair

He's so perplexed, the toothpick he was chewing on before falls out of his mouth. Crosshair stares at your friend, who thinks they're being particularly funny or whatever. Then his gaze moves to you, and he sees how you seem to be getting smaller and smaller, because your colleague keeps talking. "Shut up," he finally snaps, giving the blabbermouth a sharp look. All is quiet, Crosshair's somber expression seems to unnerve your friend. "'Say, are you shitting me?' How do you come to talk such private things entrusted to you like that, as if you were telling a joke? Did they drop you on your head too many times when you were a kid? Or bathed you too hot?" Your friend just stares dumbly at Crosshair, wide-eyed. This reaction is probably unexpected. The Sniper growls as he pulls a fresh toothpick from his belt and puts it between his lips, "You better get out of here before I get the idea of hurting you."

Everything about this situation has surprised you so much and thrown you off course, that you simply remain silent and observe the situation as if you didn't even belong to it. Only when your friend is gone and Crosshair addresses you do you awaken from your rigidity. He says, "We're not inviting that person again. Only over my dead body." You nod and say quietly, "Okay." He frowns worriedly as he sees your strange expression. "I have to say a few things I understand better now, though. Like your reticence when we first met, your jumpiness at every touch" You absolutely don't want to talk about it, you just want to forget that Crosshair knows about it now. As if he reads your mind, he says, "We don't invite that person anymore and this never happened". You nod and breathe such a sigh of relief that he notices it too. "Hey Kitten, but just so you know if you want to talk, we can do that, okay?" Again you nod, grateful for his understanding, grateful that he has once again acted as your shield as he so often does.

Fives

His gaze jumps back and forth between you and your friend. His muscles tense and he almost feels a bit sick, from anger, but above all from concern for you. He can see from your reaction that unfortunately it wasn't just a very tasteless joke. There are a few of his brothers present, and he can roughly imagine how exposed you must feel right now. So his first reaction is to remove you from the crowd. Fives grabs your hand and pulls you with him. "We have to go now," he says with a grin to the crowd and says goodbye. He gives your friend a very sharp, admonishing look as they attempt to follow you, though. "Just stay away," he hisses at them, on the verge of lashing out, he just barely holds back. "Fives... I," you start, but break off again. You don't know what to say to him at all. "It's okay, you don't have to explain anything to me," he says softly and walks with you out of the bar into the open. He takes one last look to make sure you weren't followed, especially by your so-called friend, then calls a cab for you.

"Fives?" you ask him as you sit together in the back of the cab. "Yeah?" You gulp and ask, "Now that you know about it....," but break off again. "What's up with that? Do you want to talk about it?" he gently prods. You shake your head, "Not really. Not now anyway." Fives nods and says, "Then we don't have to talk about it either, sweetie. Relax, you'll talk to me when you feel ready. And if that's never the case, for whatever reason, then I have no problem with that either" "You're the best," you say with relief, leaning into the arm he puts around you. "I know"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

I decided to not tag anyone, just in case.

[clownrecess]

If you don’t mind I have a few questions for you, if you’re uncomfortable answering for any reason you can ignore this. I read that you have been to ABA before but I would like to hear about your experiences in more detail. I am writing a story with a character that gets sent to ABA around the age of 2 and it becomes one of their major traumas. You mentioned being forced into over stimulating situations. What were they like? How long did you have to stay in them? How did you cope with them?  What kinds of things did you have to do? How did these things affect you? I’m sorry if this is a lot of questions. Have some frogs for your troubles.

First off, thank you for the amazon milk frogs!!! Did you know they have blue bones?? AND guess why they have blue bones? Because their blood is copper based, rather than iron based! Interesting stuff! Amazon Milk Frogs are probably my favorite frog. /pos

Now for the other stuff.

I was regularly told to make decisions of which place I would go (both of which were overstimulating and scary places), and when I couldn't decide I was yelled at. A frequent phrase used for this was "That's not the right answer!". I was yelled at repeatedly until I would make a choice. In this example, the choice I chose was the park (specifically a park that I had a lot of anxiety around due to high quantities of people walking, baseball games being played there, etc.). I stayed there in an excessively anxious state for about five minutes, and I then asked the "therapist" if I could leave the park yet, to which he told me no. I stayed another few minutes, and then asked again if I could leave, this time he said "No, we aren't leaving!", I was quite literally about to have a panic attack so I just got angry and said "Well I am!" and then began to leave the park, and he followed me. He began talking about how we would need to do this again, and how I was being rude. My panic attack eventually evolved into a meltdown in which I repeatedly hit myself, bit myself, and ran into the street. He let me. When we arrived back at my house he laughed about how he "Sees it all the time.", and how it would "Stop when we stop entertaining that kind of behavior.". He went to go talk to someone and write stuff down, so I went and hid in my closet. Eventually he sent a different "therapist" up into my room who invaded my space inside the closet, and she told me that she is "Sorry you had a bad day, we will try again tomorrow. Bye.".

There was no way for me to cope. There was no way for me to calm down. I ran into the actual street and they didn't care because apparently they "see it all the time".

To make matters worse, I originally was extremely fond of these people, especially the man. He would play chess with me all the time, which I loved. Chess was my special interest at the time, and he was great at it, so he helped me improve. I trusted him. There wasn't even a build up into the abusive part, just one day he stopped being nice all of a sudden. It confused and scared me deeply.

[orqheuss]

well anyways fuck wilbur soot ig

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 5461

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

9. Honey-mascarpone crêpes

A.N. : Disappeared by my staff troll without notice or reason other than that she abuses her privileges at the company. Complaint email sent, and it's back up now.

Bucky

Once Steve talks him off the cliff of domspace (not the good kind), Bucky's able to calm down and see things more rationally.

First off, he stops being mad at Mary. He has to remember that she's going through right now what he went through as a kid. She's dealing with the loss of her freedom, shifting self-perception, horribly unbalanced (probably) neurotransmitters, and the complete—if temporary—restructuring of her life. Sure, she's bratting, but subs brat as a coping mechanism, and Bucky knows he needs to be a good dom for her, not an overreacting hothead. He can do that. He can totally do that.

(Having Steve around certainly helps, though.)

Mary is clearly surprised when he gets home from work and doesn't immediately set in to scolding her. But Steve was right: they have to wait to get a discipline plan in place. Mary might have a good sense of what'll piss Bucky off, but they've never explicitly sat down and defined the rules, their roles, or the consequences for misbehavior.

So Bucky just acts neutrally that evening and they eat dinner together and relax in front of the tv until bedtime. Mary seems to expect him to do something, punish her somehow. The thing is, he should. It's what's good and healthy for her. Bucky knows submissives very well, is very attuned to them, so he's sure that Mary's actually aching for a little correction by the time he and Steve calmly bid her goodnight and head off to their own bedroom. Bucky wishes he could give her what she needs, but he consoles himself with the fact that soon he'll be able to.

The next morning, Steve and Mary are both quiet. Bucky doesn't think too much about it. When he gets out to the kitchen, Steve informs him that they have an appointment at the Center that evening, and Mary pushes a plate of crêpes at him without meeting his eyes and then turns away.

"What's this?" Bucky asks, picking up his fork and prodding at the—frankly, delicious-looking—pile of folded cakes. He takes a bite and his eyes slip closed momentarily as he forces himself not to moan. When he opens his eyes again, Mary's watching him from over by the sink, biting her lip.

"Stop biting your lip," he says.

She stops.

Bucky gets that nice, warmth-after-whiskey rush in his chest at the obedience. He gets to work in cutting off another bite of the crêpes. "Are these an apology?" he asks, eyebrow arched at her. "For your behavior yesterday?" He puts the bite of crêpe in his mouth and chews, smug about the fact that she's flushing in embarrassment.

"They're crêpes," she mumbles. "With mascarpone and honey."

"Hmm." Bucky nods along and chews, enjoying the flavors while he maintains solid eye contact with her. After he pauses to swallow, he says, "Apology crêpes, then. Good girl. Apology accepted."

She doesn't say anything back to that, just gets pink in the face at the 'good girl' and whirls around to face the sink and do dishes.

Bucky smirks in satisfaction, then meets Steve's eyes. His husband looks deep in thought, but when Bucky prompts him with a questioning look, Steve just shakes his head and smiles avoidantly. "I already ate mine," he says, then pushes off from the counter. "I'm gonna go grab a shower."

Shrugging, Bucky goes back to eating his apology crêpes. "These are really good, Mare," he says. Over by the sink, he sees her head bob in a little nod. "You okay, Honey?"

She nods again, using the sprayer to rinse a dish. "Do we really have to go?" she complains, almost shyly and in a way that makes Bucky think that maybe his apology crêpes are actually 'please don't take me to go get a blood test' crêpes. "I hate needles."

"Don't be a baby," Bucky chides. "It's one poke and you're done. It's for your own good."

"Ugh."

Steve

On the day after the blood test, Steve glances sideways at his husband to gauge his reaction to the news they’ve just been given. Bucky’s frowning lightly, almost looks like his feelings are hurt. “Babe ...” Steve says softly.

“I don’t understand,” Bucky says, addressing Linda, who’s sitting in the chair across from them, who’s got them alone in her office while Mary is off at some sort of class. This is Bucky and Steve’s time now, to discuss the care of their charge, and Linda’s just told them the results of Mary’s bloodwork. Bucky continues to frown as if insulted. “I’ve been bringing her down every night. Every night. How can that not have made a difference?”

Linda shakes her head. “It has made a difference, but her levels aren’t near what they should be at this point.”

“Levels?” Steve asks.

“Dopamine,”

“Serotonin,” 

Linda’s mouth quirks at her and Bucky having spoken over each other. “Both,” she says. “Along with oxytocin. They’re called the ‘happy hormones.’ When people like Bucky or Mary go without treatment, they have an imbalance of them. The further on the spectrum they are, the worse the imbalance tends to be.” She looks back down to her clipboard, which holds Mary’s test results. “She’s not in what I’d call the danger zone anymore, but we should definitely discuss options for how to help improve these levels.” Linda looks up, blinking expectantly at them through her glasses. “So? What all have you been doing during your scenes?”

Bucky tells her, laying out the general gist of what they do during the evenings in their apartment. But when he stops talking, Linda still looks expectant. “So ... there hasn’t been any sex play?”

Steve feels his cheeks heat at the term. He glances over at Bucky, who’s shaking his head. 

“She hasn’t initiated, and I haven't wanted to scare her off or make her feel like she has to. They’re always going on about subs’ sexual autonomy these days, you know?”

Linda sighs and uses a finger to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Bucky, that’s admirable, really. But you of all people should know it’s unrealistic.”

“Is it?” Steve asks. Bucky puts a hand on his knee in what feels like a patronizing, 'The adults are speaking, Honey,' and Linda says,

“Sexual domination or submission isn’t necessary for anyone on the spectrum, but it is the most efficient way to get the job done.” She looks at Bucky with a little bit of reproach in her gaze, if Steve is reading her right. “She’d probably have to be dropped three or more times a day, if sex play wasn’t involved.” She looks back and forth between the two of them. “Are you and Steve no longer comfortable with sex outside of your marriage? Because if that’s the case then I really do have to recommend that you allow Mary to attend our socials, so that she can find a partner. Either that or we can schedule her for visits with one of our ProDoms.”

“No,” Bucky says, wasp-quick. “I don’t want her with strangers.”

Steve nods, though he feels like a cad for agreeing.

Linda purses her lips. “Well obviously it’s not the best option, but if the two of you aren’t willing to—”

“We are!” Steve blurts, maybe a little too loudly. He winces and reigns himself in. “Sorry, I just mean …”

Bucky’s metal hand covers his on the couch cushion. “We’re willing to make it sexual,” he says. “But we just don’t know how to … approach it with her, I guess.” Then he adds, “I’ve kissed her. Once. And that went over well. She seems receptive to Steve too.”

Linda nods, writing something down on her clipboard. “That’s good, good. Okay. Well with that in mind, when Mary has her session with me this evening I’ll administer some tests to help her map out what might be most useful for her to go down during sex play.”

Steve fights back a wince. He really wishes Dr. Linda wouldn’t call it that. “Make sure she knows we’re not pressuring her, okay?” he says.

“Of course not,” Linda says. “We’re just presenting all the options.”

Mary

The Center for Designated People is housed in a building in Queens, and it’s made up of a lot of glazed brown brick from the 80’s. 

This is the first time Mary’s been anywhere other than Linda’s office or the waiting area immediately outside of it. Come to find, there’s a bit more to the CDP than just therapists’ offices. There are classrooms and conference rooms, and a big social area with game tables and couches and a carpeted amphitheater that reminds her of the student union building back in college.

She’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to be doing with herself. Everybody else seems to be mingling, comfortable in a way that she herself isn’t. Today’s the second day in a row that she’s had to show up at the CDP, and yesterday kind of left a bad taste in her mouth about it.

Yesterday, they drew her blood to test for neurochemicals. To make sure that she’s getting better, whatever that means. Mary hates needles and she’d resented the hell out of Bucky and Steve when they basically bossed her all the way down to the lab for the draw. 

“It’s for your own good.” 

God, she's tired of hearing that phrase. Everybody, especially Bucky, seems to think that they know what is for her “own good.” Personally, she thinks that Bucky just gets a thrill out saying the words. She thinks he gets off on it.

(… Never mind that something deep in her belly clenches whenever she hears him say it.)

The results of her tests are back, and they’re “not great” according to Linda—Linda, who’s holed herself up in the office with Bucky and Steve, whilst banishing Mary to a rec room full of other submissives.

They’re having some sort of low key party. Linda had called it a “social.” Bucky didn’t want her to go at first, until he heard that there would only be submissives at the party, no dominants. He’s so possessive, jeez.

There are maybe thirty other people in the room, talking in small groups, looking like they all know each other and are friends. There’s a tv and a foosball table and a bunch of little couches in squared off areas. A couple of people are sitting in the amphitheater playing boardgames, and there’s a table set up with snack foods and a punch bowl. It could almost be any normal social gathering, the only giveaway being that more than a few of the people present are wearing collars.

Like: openly and obviously, as if the collars are just another accessory to their outfits. Mary’s got a feeling that the collars are worn to make a statement, though she can’t for the life of her understand why someone would want to advertise that they’re like this.

She avoids the other people and goes over to the food, picking out a few things to nibble on. She tries to make herself seem busy by focusing on some pamphlets she’d picked up in the lobby outside Linda’s office. There’s one that has a serene picture of three river rocks stacked in a reflective pool of water, and the title reads, “Embracing Submission.” Mary rolls her eyes and tosses it aside.

She pulls out the pocket copy of the DSM V that Linda had reluctantly handed over (“It’s very clinical language. Don’t read too much into it.”), and searches out the section on Submissive Personality Disorder.

Personality disorders (PD) are a class of mental disorders characterized by enduring maladaptive patterns of behavior, cognition, and inner experience, exhibited across many contexts and deviating from those accepted by the individual's culture. These patterns develop early, are inflexible, and are associated with significant distress or disability. Cluster C (anxious or fearful disorders): Avoidant Personality Disorder, Obsessive-compulsive Personality Disorder, Dominant Personality Disorder, Submissive Personality Disorder. Submissive Personality Disorder (SPD) is a personality disorder that is characterized by a pervasive psychological dependence on and deference towards other people; especially to those who are oriented towards a dominant personality, or “Dominant Personality Disorder” (DPD). SPD is a long-term condition[1] in which people depend on others to meet their emotional and physical needs, with only a minority achieving normal levels of independence. SPD is a Cluster C personality disorder[2], characterized by excessive fear and anxiety. Typically beginning in early adolescence, it is present in a variety of contexts and is associated with inadequate functioning. Symptoms can include anything from extreme passivity, devastation, or helplessness when relationships end, to avoidance of responsibilities and severe submission. Manifestations may include: Cognitive: a perception of oneself as powerless and ineffectual, coupled with the belief that other people are comparatively powerful and potent. Motivational: a desire to obtain and maintain relationships with protectors and caregivers. Behavioral: a pattern of relationship-facilitating behavior designed to strengthen interpersonal ties and minimize the possibility of abandonment and rejection. Emotional: fear of abandonment, fear of rejection, and anxiety regarding evaluation by figures of authority.[8] Diagnostic Criteria: A diagnosis of Submissive Personality Disorder is indicated when five or more of the following criteria are met:

🟣Has difficulty making everyday decisions without an excessive amount of advice and reassurance from a Dom. 🟣Needs a Dom to assume responsibility for most major areas of their life. 🟣Has difficulty expressing disagreement with others because of fear of loss of support or approval. 🟣Has difficulty initiating projects or doing things on their own (because of a lack of self confidence in judgment or abilities rather than a lack of motivation or energy). 🟣Goes to excessive lengths to obtain nurturance and support from Doms, to the point of volunteering to do things that are unpleasant. 🟣Feels uncomfortable or helpless when alone because of exaggerated fears of being unable to care for themselves. 🟣Urgently seeks another relationship as a source of care and support when a close relationship ends. 🟣Is unrealistically preoccupied with fears of being left to take care of themselves.[11] *As of December, 1998, the additional criteria of neurochemical imbalance has been added by the American Psychiatric Association.

Christ. 

Mary’s not stupid, she can see where she fits into some (maybe most) of those categories. And nearly every line makes her want to throw the book across the room. She doesn’t like the picture it paints of someone like her, not at all. For lack of a better word, it's pathetic. So she pulls out her phone and looks up the Wikipedia page instead.

The World Health Organization (WHO) has isolated nine defining emotional and social attributes of those suffering from Submissive Personality Disorder (SPD):

🟣Tends to become attached quickly and/or intensely, developing feelings and expectations that are not warranted by the history or context of the relationship. 🟣Due to a tendency to be ingratiating and submissive, is likely to enter into relationships in which they are emotionally or physically abused, or “dominated.” 🟣Tends to feel ashamed, inadequate, and depressed. Is highly suggestible. 🟣Reacts to force or dominance from others with periods of mild derealization, or “submissive fugue.” 🟣Engages in passive-aggressive reactions to social interaction. 🟣Has difficulty acknowledging and expressing anger, struggles to get their own needs and goals met. 🟣Has an inability to soothe or comfort themself when distressed, they require involvement of a Dom to help regulate their emotions.[10] 🟣Displays a marked positive reaction to physical touch and affection, especially to the neck and head.

Well. That’s not exactly an easy pill to swallow. Mary fits almost every one of those qualities, if she’s really being honest with herself. But reading about it all clinical like that leaves a sour feeling in her stomach. Dr. Linda was right: she shouldn’t have read up on it. She shoves her phone back in her bag and returns to the refreshments table. She’s just finished ladling out a cup of punch for herself when a wry voice says,

“Careful. Last few socials, that’s gotten spiked.”

Mary turns. The voice belongs to a young woman. Maybe Mary’s own age, or a bit younger. She’s got that Seattle hipster look, with long dark hair crammed under a beanie, wide rimmed glasses, and an overlarge sweater with holes in the sleeves. She’s giving Mary a friendly look, though. “You’re new.” She states it, doesn’t ask, then holds out her hand. “I’m Darcy.”

Mary shakes her hand, pulling back as soon as can be considered polite. “Hi. Mary.”

Darcy smiles. She looks over her shoulder at the room full of people, then turns back with an apologetic expression. “Don't worry. It can be weird when you’re new. But it’s pretty easy to make friends around here.”

Mary tries not to make a face at the way Darcy talks about it—like this is some sort of club that she’s expected to join. “This is, um … I’m just waiting here while my friends see a therapist.”

Darcy boldly takes the punch glass right out of Mary's hand and sips from it. She looks thoughtful for a second, then nods and hands the cup back. “Yep, it’s fine,” she says. “Usually Scott’s the culprit, I think. And he’s not here today, so.”

Mary blinks down at the cup, wondering who Scott is. “Um …”

“So what brought you in?” Darcy asks. “TDO, or just curious?”

“TD-what?”

“Oh, you know: cops, the psych ward, all that good stuff.” She waves her hand, like this is a common thing and not something to balk at, like half the room’s occupants have gone through cops and psych wards.

Mary’s eyes flick back around at a few of the people nearby. Maybe they have, she thinks. Hell, it’s not like Mary herself wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed less than a month ago. The only reason a visit to the psych ward didn’t happen to her was because Bucky and Steve stepped in to help. She frowns as she thinks about how differently it could’ve gone.

“Sorry,” Darcy says, looking sheepish. “That’s kinda heavy, I guess. I tend to just say things.”

“No, you’re okay.”

“I saw you over here making friends with the vegetables and thought I’d butt in,” she says. She leans over and grabs a celery stick, dips it liberally in what looks like ranch dressing, before stuffing it in her mouth.

Mary wonders if it’s her own way of shutting herself up. “Really, it’s fine. I didn’t have anybody to talk to. I don’t mind.” She tries to offer a smile that doesn’t come across as forced or strained, but isn’t sure she manages. Wasn’t there a time when she had friends? It feels like a lifetime ago. In a weak attempt to seem receptive, she lifts her punch glass and takes a big sip, smiling over the rim.

Darcy tips her head. “Come on. Let’s grab some of the good chairs before they’re all gone.” They settle into a pair of very worn but very comfortable chairs, and Mary resists the urge to tuck her legs up underneath herself. Darcy, however, leans back and props her feet on the coffee table like she’s right at home . “So I take it you’re a TDO, then,” she says.

“I don’t know what that stands for.”

“Temporary detainment order. When they haul you off and force treatment.”

“Oh.” Mary squirms, hating to remember that night and how embarrassing she’d been. In front of Bucky, Steve, even the cop. Ugh, it’s so cringe. “Erm, yeah,” she mutters. “Basically.”

Darcy nods along, unfazed. “Yeah I went through all that, too. Couple’a years ago. It was fucked. Trust me, I did not want to be here at first. The courts made me come. Sent me with a social worker to make sure I didn't skip out, the whole nine yards.” She makes a face that looks just like how Mary feels when thinking about her own night in the ER. “God, it was so cringe.”

Mary stiffens at hearing her own thoughts reflected almost word for word. “But now?” she asks, eyes flicking down to the collar Darcy’s got on. “You still come here?”

“Oh yeah! This place is the shit. I love it.” Darcy grins and thumbs over her shoulder at the area where the foosball table is. “Tall lanky guy, taking it way too seriously? That’s Ian. He’s my sister wife.”

Mary nearly chokes on her punch. “Your what?”

“He and I share the same Dom.”

Mary blinks, working that one out in her head. “So … you’re a throuple?” Is that a usual thing with these people? she wonders. (… Could she be in a throuple with Bucky and Steve?)

“No, Ian’s my boyfriend. But he’s a sub too, so we come here to get services from Thor.”

Mary’s eyebrows rise. “Thor?”

“Yeah I know. Weird name, right? He looks it, too. You should see him. He’s this huge blond guy, accent. I think he’s actually from Norway. Or something. Wherever the Vikings were from.”

“So you …” Mary tries to parse out what she wants to ask. “You pay to have sex with him?”

Darcy pauses and looks at her strangely. “No,” she says slowly. “Insurance covers it. He just Doms us. You know, like helps us with our weekly drops? There’s no sex.” She laughs. “Dude. Only, like, extreme cases need that.”

Mary knows she’s blushing now. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.” She bites her lip and tentatively asks, “But you said you see him weekly?”

“Yeah. Once a week. Usually Fridays.”

“... But like, at home? You don’t have other stuff?”

Darcy frowns. “What other stuff?”

“Like … like dropping,” Mary whispers, like it’s a bad word. “You’re saying you only do that once a week?”

“Yeah, usually. I mean unless we’ve got some really stressful shit going on. Like, when it was my finals week? I booked Thor three times that week.” She huffs like that’s a preposterous amount of times. “But other than that, yeah, once usually tides us over. That’s pretty standard.”

Mary squirms uncomfortably as she thinks about the nightly ritual she has with Bucky and Steve. “Oh.” She says quietly, because what else is she supposed to say? She wishes she could leave to go process this, maybe ask Linda about it. Because what Darcy’s just said does not match up with her own experiences, and it’s kind of jarring—no, scratch that, it’s definitely jarring. Sure, theoretically Mary already knew that she’d been labeled as a “high needs” submissive, but she hadn’t realized how different it was. Other subs only need to get dropped once a week? And according to Darcy, there’s not ever sex involved? Dr. Linda keeps insisting that Mary needs a sexual dynamic.

‘Only extreme cases need that’—Darcy’s words ring in her ears, making her super self-conscious. She’s extreme. She must be. How embarrassing.

“Hey, you okay?” Darcy tilts her head in concern. “What’d I say?”

“N-nothing,” Mary hurries to compose herself. “I was just thinking, that’s all. I’m still so new to all of this.” She tries to think of something to say to change the topic. “Ahm, so … Thor. He’s like a therapist, then? Here at the center?”

“He’s a ProDom,” Darcy corrects. “Which is kinda like a therapist I guess, but not like the actual shrinks they have here. The Pros get paid to help us with our drops. And highs,” she adds belatedly. “The ProSubs do that, I mean.”

Mary blinks at the idea that there are also professional submissive services for dominants. Has Bucky ever …?

“And they teach classes here too. Ohmygosh!” Darcy’s face lights up and Mary instinctively shrinks back at the enthusiasm. “You should totally sign up for some.”

“Classes?” Mary says, sure that her tone is showing how much she doesn’t want to do that.

“Yeah! Oh my gosh it is the best way to meet people, and the classes are actually pretty fun. It’s how I met Ian. And they definitely saved my ass back when I was new. Hey, I’ll help you pick some out!”

Mary flounders, not wanting to be insulting but also really, really not into the idea of coming back to the CDP any more than Bucky forces her to. “Um I’m kinda busy with …”

“Mare.”

She inhales sharply at the sound of Bucky’s voice. She turns around in her seat and she sees him and Steve coming over. Her shoulders sag with relief. Saved by the bell. “Hey guys,” she chirps, sitting up straighter. Is it time to go?” She starts to get up from her seat and shoot an apology Darcy’s way. “Hey, it’s been nice meeting you but I guess I have to—”

“Are these your Doms?” Darcy asks, looking wide eyed at Steve and Bucky. “Wow.” The look on her face might as well read: hubba hubba. “Um. Well done, girl.”

Mary huffs. “I didn’t pick them.”

Before Darcy can respond to that, Bucky’s coming closer (and Steve by extension because—living in each other’s skin, and whatnot). Bucky looks pleased. “Making friends?” he asks Mary.

What is she supposed to say? ‘Not if I can help it’? She shrugs in answer. Darcy, unfortunately, presses the issue of the classes to Bucky.

“I told her she should sign up for some.”

“Really, I don’t think—”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Bucky says, cutting Mary off. He glances to Steve, who shrugs like a big dummy. “I don’t know what they offer these days,” Bucky says. “It’s been a hot minute since I took a class here. What do they have for subs?” He’s asking Darcy, who unfortunately is very helpful and replies,

“I’m coteaching one this winter! It’s a four week course on recognizing Drop. Knowing the signs of deprivation to look for, self care, that kind of thing.”

“Really,” Mary tries again. “I don’t need to—”

“Mary,” Bucky says, and his voice has changed to that calm, firm register that he uses when he’s being really serious about controlling her. His “Dom” voice. That’s what Steve calls it. Mary swallows at the way he's looking at her now. He puts his hand on her shoulder, and it’s not the metal one but the simple presence of it there still feels like a hundred pounds. “I want you to go to the class with Darcy. You’ll learn a lot.”

“I don’t want to,” she snaps quietly. “I have work.”

“Your boss knows about your condition,” he says, infuriatingly calm.

“Yeah, because you told him!” Talk about mortifying.

Bucky’s fingers squeeze her shoulder lightly. “Hush. If the classes interfere with work, you can get your shift changed for that day.”

“They’re evening classes. On Wednesdays,” Darcy supplies.

“Perfect! She never works evenings.” Bucky releases Mary’s shoulder and nods like this makes it final. “My email’s in the database,” he tells Darcy. “Barnes. B-A-R-N-E-S. Can you email me the info?”

“Sure!” Darcy looks thrilled. She shoots Mary a saucy wink. “Thor’s the co-teacher, so you’ll get to meet him. We use him as our practice Dom.”

“Huh?” Mary says, just as Bucky says,

“Thor?” and tenses up by her side. “The Pro?”

Darcy grins, oblivious to Bucky’s stiffening posture. “Yeah! He’s who we practice with. Kind of like in a self-defense class how there’s the big guy you practice kicking in the nuts and whatnot? Thor’s our guy. Except we don't, you know, kick him in the nuts or anything. He drops us. For practice.”

Bucky’s entire attitude has changed since the mention of Thor being involved. Mary watches his expression darken and she delights a little bit in the opportunity to rile him up. “… Yeah,” she says slowly, as if the idea is now coming around on her. “Yeah I think I will go to the classes.” She peeks up at Bucky and sees him pressing his lips into a tight line. Mary grins. “Thanks Darcy. Email Bucky the info and I’ll be there. Should be fun! Can’t wait to meet Thor.”

Darcy nods and smiles brilliantly and bids them all goodbye, and then Mary walks out of the room with Steve and Bucky by her side. She feels smug, and is just waiting for Bucky to start complaining.

“Babe …” Steve says quietly, speaking to Bucky. He takes Bucky’s hand in his as they walk, and Mary watches the two of them have one of their freaky weird silent conversations. It ends when Bucky gives an unhappy grunt, but whatever matter they’d discussed (herself, Mary assumes), seems settled. 

“You can take the class,” Bucky says, sounding none too happy about it.

Mary smirks haughtily. “I thought you wanted me to in the first place?”

Bucky says nothing. Mary remains smug.

She stops being smug when it’s her turn in Linda’s office, and she’s just been told the results of her bloodwork.

“So … I have to?” she says, voice tiny. “With them?”

“Bucky and Steve? No, not necessarily,” Linda says, sitting up straighter. “Who you have sex with is your choice, Mary. You have options.”

Mary glances back at the door, as if Bucky’s on the other side with his ear pressed up against the crack. She wouldn’t put it past him. “Can’t we just keep doing it the way we have been?” she asks. She thinks about how Darcy had made a weird face and said that 'only the extreme cases' needed sexual domination.

Linda looks almost pained as she admits, “I’d have to recommend you be admitted to an inpatient program then, if sex play was absolutely off the table. Multiple drops per day would be required to—”

“What?!” Mary groans, grabbing her hair and yanking it a little as she runs her fingers back through it. Multiple drops per day? What a joke. She’d be a drooling, submissive zombie! “No way! I can't do that!” She wouldn't be able to keep her job if she had to do that. She wouldn’t be able to bake, or work out. She’d have no life!

“We hardly ever institutionalize people like that anymore,” Linda assures her. “And I promise I won’t recommend it if you can find a drop partner with whom you’re comfortable.”

“To fuck,” Mary grumps, being crass on purpose.

“Mary ...” Linda looks sorrowfully at her. “Really, this isn’t the norm. People like you usually test into the system early and grow up with much better care plans in place. Like Bucky did. This is really an unfortunate convergence of circumstances. We only want what’s best for—”

“I want drugs,” Mary says, blurting it out because she’s feeling icy panic at the way Linda had thrown out the word 'institutionalization'. Jesus Christ. “That’ll make me better, right?”

Linda downright cringes. “The medications we have available for this still come with a lot of side effects. I’m not going to prescribe those for you yet.”

"Well what are the side effects?”

Linda sighs as if Mary is the biggest pest. “Let’s at least have you take the assessment I told you about, okay?”

“Ugh. Fine.” A test can’t hurt, at least, Mary thinks. Linda looks pleased.

“Good. The SSITA is the first step. We’ll get you evaluated and go from there, okay?” She pushes the clipboard of papers on the coffee table over to her.

When Mary looks down, she reads the title page: Submissive Sexual Interests and Tendencies Assessment. “That’s … that’s personal,” she whispers, feeling her whole body heat. She shakes her head, already hating the idea.

“The results will be completely confidential. I won’t ever see your answers and neither will Bucky or Steve,” Linda promises, knowing by now that such a thing would humiliate Mary. “So there’s no reason not to answer honestly. A panel of staff who don’t know you and will never meet you evaluate the answers and send recommendations. That’s all.”

Mary picks the clipboard up with shaking hands. It holds a packet of papers with a pen tucked in at the clip. She bites her lip and nods. “Okay.” She takes the pen out and gets started.

It takes her about forty minutes to complete the assessment. It’s formatted into a bunch of statements with “strongly agree” all the way to “strongly disagree.” Checking the circles honestly has her blushing a bit some of the time, but Mary reassures herself with what Linda had said about the test’s anonymity. There are short answer questions at the end that have her gritting her teeth, but she’s honest, God help her. “Okay,” she says when she’s finished, handing the packet back over.

Linda briskly slips it into a manilla envelope and seals it. That’s reassuring, too. Mary takes a deep breath. “So, I don’t know who I’ll … ya know,” she makes a face, “do it with. Darcy said there are Professionals here? ProDoms?”

“Oh you met Darcy? She’s a wonderful girl. Very involved here. Yes we have our staff of ProDoms of course. But um,” Linda tilts her head. “What about Bucky?”

Mary looks down at her lap, thinking about the kiss they’d had. It’d been … Mary’s not sure she’s ever felt so unmoored by just a kiss. “He’s married,” she says quietly. “To Steve.” She thinks about her midnight conversation with Steve.

Linda is silent for a moment, and then she says carefully, “Mary ... Bucky and Steve have talked to me about this. During their sessions with me.”

“They have?”

“They’ve both expressed positive feelings about the possibility of a sexual relationship with you.”

Mary just about swallows her own tongue at that one. “Positive feelings?” What the hell does that mean? Has Bucky told Dr. Linda about the kiss? Has he told Steve?

Should she tell Steve? She’d hate to be the reason to break up a good marriage. ... But then again, Dr. Linda just said 'positive feelings'. Maybe that means that Steve and Bucky do want more.

Linda smiles encouragingly and puts the sealed assessment on her desk. “Yep. I suggest you talk with them about it.”

Mary sighs. Easier said than done.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

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[pearl484-blog]

My issue with Senti-Adrien

One of the reasons I don't like the senti-adrien theory is because I feel it takes away an important element of the environment he's grown up in: that pervasive feeling that it's wrong to not be okay with something, that it's wrong to disobey.

In the culture I've grown up in, Doublespeak is used A LOT. You are NEVER supposed to insult someone or have an impolite conversation with them. You can't express discomfort, and I always seem to find myself in disgreements where if I leave to cool down, that's not the right option.

Everyone -especially the women who face more social stigma- is likely going to get into a situation that they CAN'T leave. They don't know how, and they may not even have the tools to recognize that they WANT TO. That it's not healthy. After all, if someone hasn't done something OBVIOUSLY WRONG, you can't be impolite. Even if you're uncomfortable.

Of course, then it becomes a slow boil, the things you have to not react to (and sometimes even pretend you enjoy) become worse and worse, but never so much worse than the last time you didn't react.

In the end, a lot of people don't understand why you would be near people who make you feel uncomfortable. Why you can't stand up for yourself. Why you treat people who treat you like shit kindly.

Adrien could've been a girl and depicted this. A high class girl constantly under the spotlight for her father's fame could easily be pressured to be a sweetheart, a good girl, and everyone could see "oh, well, she's a girl. Of course she'd be taken advantage of eventually. An abusive father? Well, I'm not surprised."

But Adrien’s a guy who is under the same social pressures as a girl in a believable way. He's not expected to be abused in that way. He's a guy. Guys "can't be emotionally abused/not know this is wrong". Except, yes, they can. Anyone of any gender can be abused by anyone of any other gender, and a guy may show traditionally female signs of abuse and grooming as abused to the traditionally masculine agression and acting out.

First off, Adrien is a model. He's used to being constantly objectified. His body is literally posed for everyone to stare at as his job. He's also a teen model, and almost certainly has had to release private details of his life for strangers to obsess over in an environment that says this is normal. This is good.

He can't complain because much like girls here, it would ruin his reputation as a nice guy, so he's defaulted to a very normal coping skill in these parts. Rationalization. See, it's easier to keep your temper if you can excuse others behavoirs as perfectly reasonable to yourself. And with enough practice, ANYTHING can be reasonable. Combine that with the classic downplay, a classic of everyone in these parts -for the sake of politeness of course, and your reality is normal, bearable, not worth complaining about.

But it obfuscates mistreatment to outsiders. Outsiders who haven't internalized "this is okay. This is normal. This is expected". As Adrien interacts more and more with these outsiders, and they realize what Adrien does not, what he cannot, they become concerned.

And Chat? Chat Noir offers hope. Chat is proof that Adrien, without those social pressures, CAN stand up for himself, and he can do it while still being kind and empathetic and considerate. Chat is proof that deep down, Adrien would thrive outside of those pressures.

Yet, without Plagg, without his ring or an escape, he cant. He can't think of a way to do that since his reputation is on the line. It's enormous, that desire to make people think you're good, that you're not a trouble maker, that you're useful to them. Adrien, I feel, portrays that well.

It is a completely invisible, omnipresent force that outsiders cannot understand. You dont even understand how much of an effect it has on you until you're away from it.

The senti-monster theory makes that force one you LITERALLY cannot disobey. Now, some may argue that makes it work as a metaphor, but no. I think the fact that you CLEARLY have no choice, as seen by an outsider is to its detriment. Yes, being in that situation makes you feel like you have no choice, but to an outsider?

It looks like you do, you're just not taking it. It looks like you're too weak, or indecisive, or stupid to do the obvious thing and realize you're in an abusive situation and leave. There’s nothing an outsider can blame your "flaws" on, no excuse, and under the amount of pressure, nothing that you can say that would justify you be so weak/stupid/indecisive. Because unless you've been outside that culture in a way that let you realize what it did to you, all you can think is that it was just you.

[deltaswapjevil]

Underfell Frisk, Flowey, Asriel, and Chara

The trauma children!

Trigger warning for suicide and abuse

Frisk is the human you play as. Quite simple. They bonked their head on a stick on the fall down luckily they're good with first aid. They're a friendly child despite all the shit they went through. Their birth parents were abusive and the trauma rendered them mute with minor PTSD. They were put in an orphanage but escaped and went to commit suicide by diving into Mount Ebott but by a miracle they survived and saw it as a sign from God that they have a mission and after meeting Flowey who presented himself as a fallen angel they set on a quest to heal the wounds of an underground torn apart by the death of a child and the failure of a king.

Long ago monsterkind was ruled by Asgore and Toriel and their son Asriel and later their adopted child Chara Chara was the adopted child of the Dreemurs their past is something they are holding me at knife point not to discuss so don't ask. They are Asriel's only real friend. Things were rough even with the Dreemurs Toriel and Asgore were always bickering and it usually ended with Toriel sleeping outside the castle. Asgore wasn't cold hearted but incredibly stressed because the underground was in great peril and everyone was turning for him for help. He still cared about his family but put his kingdom first. He loved Asriel dearly and tried to make Asriel a better king than he ever was but he never did care much for Chara He believed Chara was a bad omen. He didn't trust humans after they betrayed his kind so long ago and neither did the rest of monsterkind One day monsters stormed the capital demanding Asgore kill and harvest Chara's soulIn a moment of weakness....he killed his own child. Toriel lashed out at him and he in a fit of rage and confusion snapped off her horn and banished her. Asriel horrified by this took Chara's soul and ran away to the surface but was not welcomed by humans who killed him brutally That was day Asgore lost everything And it was all his fault. That was the moment that broke Asgore and would lead to the downfall of his kingdom. A while later the scientist Alphys, who began to slowly descend into madness after learning the truth of what happened to Gaster, Toriel, and Chara at the hands of Asgore, extracted determination from the souls of dead humans to imbue life onto a flower. Not just any flower. But the first flower to grow from pollen brought from the surface from Asriel And so Asriel was reborn as Flowey He only has one goal: escape. However he doesn't remember anything about how he died Just that he was once a prince. He accompanies you in every route of the game acting as a guide, mentor, and bodyguard In the genocide route he adopts the motto "Kill or be killed" and through the players bad influence becomes like the Flowey from Undertale In the neutral route he betrays you. Not Frisk He actually cares for Frisk But YOU the player. He knows that once you escape you'll just reset again. Take away your happy ending Take away his happy ending Take away everyone's happy ending So he turns into Omega Flowey (who resembles a biblically accurate Angel) to fight the player specifically and try and save everyone In a way he's the true hero of the game. In the pacifist route it's mostly the same except after seeing your friends he has hope that you won't reset, that you'll give everyone the happy ending he's been hoping for and he absorbs the souls and all of monsters to destroy the barrier and save everyone....until he becomes Asriel....He suddenly remembers the events of his death and realizes the underground isn't worth saving....No one isSo he sets out to put this world out of its misery. But through the power of friendship you convince him that there is still hope and that your dreams are able to come true and he destroys the barrier.....And everyone lived happily ever after......until you betray them all..... because well.....there's other endings to get....you just have to see every possibility......you're never content even with everyone happy.....and so you reset again. Just to see what would happen if you.....i don't know...Killed everyone? =)

[nothing0fnothing]

I have this really horrible thing that's been circling my mind all week and if I don't write it out and post it I'm going to cry to my girlfriend about it and I don't want her to know so you're welcome tumblr, for this horrible triggering story.

I rarely see people from my past these days by choice, but when I do they sometimes notice that I'm round and pudgy and make some comments about my weight and how I was a super gym rat when I was 15 and 16. I got really in shape then and started feeling really healthy and good about my body. And I just say I got busy or times change or whatever.

My girlfriend knows this too, and the story I told her is that my mum put me on the 800 calorie diet again and I couldn't maintain the energy to go to the gym anymore. And that's not entirely untrue, but the real reason I stopped going to the gym and I started not caring about my body was my step dad.

I didn't remember everything back then, and I still don't now, but around the time I started really liking how I looked and really liking myself so did my step dad. He got really invested in my health journey, which was the most invested in a hobby of mine he'd been since I was 8 years old.

He started giving me gym tips and encouraging me to go more often than I had the energy to, getting really pushy and really condescending and verbally short with me if I didn't want to go on a day he wanted me to. He started to like me again and start buying me games and consoles and stuff again like he did with my brother.

And then he started commenting about my body. About how good I'd look in a size 10, about how good the clothes would look on me, about how he thought I needed to keep some fat and not get too skinny like my mom. I started skipping more and more gym days and the comments went from being about how lazy I was to how it was a shame I was throwing all the progress I'd made on my body away.

I started feeling really uncomfy whenever he'd mention the gym or my eating habits or anything related to it because I knew under it was the type of opinion on my body I really didn't want to hear from my step dad.

And then one day, basically off the cuff alongside all the other weird comments he had started routinely making, he said to me "you know, when girls are big they look older than they are. When you're a normal size you look their age or younger."

And I didn't know why but my stomach turned. I felt so sick I was put off my food, and I am never put off my food. He thought I was doing it for him and started to congratulate me for turning food down. I swallowed it all down and felt worse for it.

I just knew in that moment for as long as I lived in a house with him I didn't want to be young or thin or hot looking. I started buying clothes in the biggest size they had, I started wearing my makeup harsh and dark, and I stopped going to the gym and started secret eating in the kitchen at night.

I watched my weight climb up again and I felt disheartened and disgusted that I let all that investment in my health go. My mum stopped paying attention to me like she did, which was heartbreaking. I dieted and lost weight with her because it was how we bonded. I wasn't her diet buddy anymore, and our relationship went stale like I knew it would. As broken up I was about my mum losing interest in me though, knowing that my stepdad had too felt like a boulder lifted off my chest, like I could breathe again.