#and feel a ton of repressed feelings bubbling to the surface

[godsfavoritescientist]

you’ll always be my favorite ghost - Big God, by Florence + The Machine

[Image description: Lineless digital painting of Ford kneeling in front of the stone statue of Bill, hugging it and crying. He is in the woods, surrounded by birch trees, with beams yellow light streaming down from the treetops. The grass around Ford is shaded to be reminiscent of the shape of the portal.]

[doks-aux]

Thing is, Henry is in love with Will, too. Just because there are a host of reasons he's able to be more outwardly normal about it (actually having a happy marriage, being further to the middle of the Kinsey scale, tons of willful repression and denial, and subconsciously being assured of Will's feelings for him in return) does not mean he is not down horrendous. If left for too long with this own thoughts, things can and will get weird.

Any time Will demonstrates how much trust he places in Henry, Henry's head fucking spins. It makes him feel so important, so strong, like he wants to build a tower around Will to keep the world away. It frightens him if he dwells on it, so he very much does not, goes out of his way to project every appearance of the opposite, but it's there, and if Will leans on him even a little, it bubbles to the surface. Oh, yes, Papa Bear will protect his little bunny and all his secrets, don't you worry.

[tigertofu]

Trevor would laugh as well and say of course he was right; he knew Michael better than anyone else did, after all. And, caught up in the truth of this statement, Michael would agree, and he’d reach out to place a friendly hand on Trevor’s shoulder. There’d be a beat of awkward silence, both of them equally surprised by this small display of affection. And Michael, his mind scrambled by the heat he’d been baking under all day every day for the past week, would let his hand trail down Trevor’s arm. He’d let his fingers loosely interlock with Trevor’s, the way Patricia’s did when they went on their walks together. He’d give his calloused hand a firm, quick squeeze. 

Michael opened his eyes. A heat separate from the one the sun was pouring down on him had suddenly appeared. This heat seemed to be radiating from somewhere inside him, deep within his chest. It pricked at his heart and, suddenly dizzy, Michael leaned forward in his chair and buried his face in his hands.

Fuckin’ A. The sun was making him sick. Or maybe Patricia’s Stockholm Syndrome was so intense and odd that it’d morphed into some sort of never-before-seen contagious disease that had infected Michael.

i swear i wasnt ignoring this ask i just completely forgot i got it and just now re-saw it cuz i got another ask abt smth else 😭😭😭 guessing this is in response to the thingy i posted saying i'd give a lil commentary type moment on 500 words of a fic ive written,, thank u for sending this in i was hoping someone would ask me abt this fic so here we go !!!

ive written a shit ton abt trevor pining for michael and rlly wanted to change it up to the opposite so thats where i was coming from when i wrote this fic. now i kinda dont see michael as someone to *pine* over anyone really. personally my fav flavor of trikey is the kind that isnt very overt; sure trevor wears his heart on his sleeve but michael is a lot more complicated. hes got some extremely complex, difficult feelings and theyre all buried deep inside himself in a place hed rather not visit. so when i went into writing this fic i was kinda thinking like... whats a situation that would make those feelings surface?

decided to use the sandy shores trailer husbands arc. michael's out of his element. hes got a lotta stress over a ton of shit. hes miserable. hes confined in a small space with trevor for an extended period of time. hes witnessing trevor and patricia be all sweet together and tho he thinks its ridiculous and kinda gross, he cant help but get a little affected by seeing this softer side of t. so difficult feelings start to bubble up and with nothing better to do, michael faces them (kinda).

he allows himself this cute little daydream moment of him and trevor but then that urge to make excuses, to repress and tell himself that these feelings arent real, he's just being irrational, rears its head. so he makes excuses for himself. its just heat sickness, its just him going crazy, its patricia's stockholm syndrome wearing off on him, etc etc etc.....

mike lies a lot, especially to himself.

[bakusquad-assemble]

The Conference room

Genre: enemies to “lovers”, but they’re both emotionally stunted and don’t know how to express themselves.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x bratty fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ content, unprotected sex, slight exhibitionism, degradation, hate sex, Bakugou catching feelings

Word count: 4.7k

Description: Reader is a pro-hero tasked with working with her worst nightmare; Bakugou Katsuki. The two of them have never seen eye to eye, making it impossible to get anything accomplished. But when Bakugou jumps at her from across the table, things take an unexpected turn.

A/N: had an idea and ran with it! I’m a total sucker for enemies to lovers so I had to indulge! While this can be read as a one shot, I also wouldn’t be opposed to making it a series? Lemme know what you guys think! This is my first time writing anything like this, so please be kind.



“God, you’re insufferable, you know that?” You rolled your eyes, falling back into your chair with an exasperated huff. There were a few things that you didn’t enjoy about being a Pro hero, like the long hours and the lack of privacy, but this absolutely took the cake.

Bakugou Katsuki, or Dynamight as he was known to the public, sat in front of you clad in simple business attire with the nastiest scowl plastered on his dumb face. The two of your agencies had found themselves working together due to an influx in connected crime, and it had been the absolute worst thing you had ever experienced. The two of you had never seen eye to eye in the best of times, constantly teasing and bickering whenever you were in each other's presence, but having to work side by side with the explosive hero was like pulling teeth without any numbing agent. The two of you just didn’t mesh well together, constantly fighting for dominance of the situation, and it made for a very tense working environment for everyone involved. You were currently in the middle of coming up with an infiltration plan for a big villain hide-out, and Bakugou kept fighting you at every turn. He shot down every single one of your ideas, but had not yet made one himself. He was infuriating, and you wanted nothing more than to just walk out of the conference room and never speak to him again. You knew that was impossible though. People's lives were at stake and you weren’t selfish enough to let your discomfort affect your hero work.

Bakugou clicked his tongue at you, only adding to your frustration.

“You’re one to fucking talk!” He snarled in your direction, his hands balled into fists on top of the white marble table placed between you two.

“You haven’t come up with one usuable fucking plan all day!” His words were like venom, corroding your patience with every syllable. He had to be joking.

“Do you really have your head shoved so far up your own ass?” You started, the prominent look of detest written on your features.

“If my ideas are such shit, i'd like to see you come up with a better one! Or is that outside your levels of expertise? Does that brain of yours even have a rational mode or is it all just explosions and violence.” You could see his eyebrow twitching in anger at your words, and for some reason that excited you beyond belief. You loved getting under his skin, giving him a taste of his own medicine. It was cathartic in a way, watching him squirm.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” He spat viciously from across the table, his fists banging on the surface like an overgrown toddler throwing a tantrum. This time it was you clicking your tongue.

“I rest my case. I should have known working with you was going to be nothing but hell. Some pro hero you are, can’t even make a simple infiltration plan without throwing a fit.” Bakugou growled loudly, and you couldn’t help but akin his behavior to that of a feral animal.

“Will you shut the fuck up!” He seethed, but you were unfazed. You simply leaned back in your seat with an excited grin, crossing your arms over your chest as you did so. You weren't sure why arguing with the explosive man gave you such a rush of adrenaline, but you needed more. It was as if his words of resentment were a highly addictive drug, and you were itching for your next fix.

“Aww what's wrong, can’t handle a little bit of criticism?” Your confidence rang through the air like gun fire, piercing and tearing at Bakugou's skin. He was heated, you could tell by the way his pale skin flushed and how the faint smell of caramel assaulted your senses as he let off a few pops of his quirk in his fists. If you hadn’t known the man in front of you, perhaps you would have been intimidated by his crude actions, but you knew Bakugou would never lay a hand on you. No matter how heated your arguments got.

This certainly wasn’t the first time you had argued like this, it happened to be a recurring theme for the both of you whenever you were in the same room, but today something felt different. The tension laid heavy between you two, tangible, but it was laced with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint; A warmth pooling in your stomach.

“I said shut the hell up!” He screamed, standing up from his chair in a huff. You had pushed him too far, letting your teasing nature get the better of you as it had been known to do. Yet, instead of dropping it, moving on with your work, you persisted. You poked the bear once more, but this time in a way that surprised even you. You locked eyes with his piercing crimson ones, rising from your chair with formidable authority. Your chin tilting up ever so slightly as you spoke, letting the warmth in your stomach take over.

“Why don’t you come over here and make me, Dynamight”

Bakugou froze, and you couldn’t help but smirk victoriously. You knew the teasing tone would be enough to fluster him, to shut him down and win the argument so you could get back to working in silence. What you weren’t expecting was the way his breath caught in his throat, or the fervent blush that crept up his neck and consumed his features. And you certainly were not expecting the way your face reciprocated immediately upon sight. The palpable tension consuming the two of you, and the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. It was not the feeling of complete and utter disdain that always lingered there, but instead something far worse. The warmth that had been bubbling in your lower abdomen was now yelling at you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if that feeling had always been there, simply lurking under the guise of hatred. Your eyes took in his features with a new glazed expression, subconsciously nibbling at your lower lip as you did so. The way you could see his heart hammer in his chest made you question if he was feeling the same sensation you currently were.

Your mind didn’t have much time to process that thought however, because within an instant Bakugou was throwing himself at you from across the table. His mouth on yours in seconds and his hands gripped at the back of your head to hold you tightly into the kiss, as if trying to relish in a fleeting moment. It was like a shock wave of intensity took over you, throwing all caution to the wind, and you found yourself kissing back with unexpected heat before you even had time to think. He slammed your smaller frame against the cold concrete of the office wall and you couldn't control the small yelp that slipped into his mouth. He had no idea why he was doing this. Why did your words have such an impact on him? Whatever had possessed him in the moment seemed to have taken hold of you as well. He wasn’t expecting you to kiss back with such fervor, in fact, he was fully convinced he was going to earn himself a solid punch to the mouth. But that wasn’t the case, and it made him question if those flirtatious and subtle sexual nuances had always littered your vocabulary, or if it had been a heat of the moment thing for you as well. One thing he knew for certain was that he had always found you enticing. The way you quipped back at him with ease, moving through his words as if you were bullet proof. His insults never penetrating your perfect complexion. And the way you would smirk at him, it was intoxicating. The way you knew just how to get under his skin. He hated it, and even though he’d hate to admit it, he loved it so much more.

His rough and calloused hands kept a firm grip on you, finally getting a chance to enjoy that perfect frame up close and personal. Your hands tangled up in his ash blonde locks, pulling at them roughly and putting space between your mouths so that your lips were just barely hovering above his lower one. Even still he could feel the delicious grin that overtook your features at the involuntary whimper that escaped his lips from the lack of contact. It wasn’t long before he was pulling against you to initiate the kiss again, and you did nothing to stop him, allowing him to dive back in and devour those sweet and supple bruised lips of yours once more. God, how he had always wanted this. He let his pelvis grind into yours, his hand finding its home on your hip to pull you in closer, forcing a moan to creep its way out of your throat. He wasn’t sure what had come over him; repression, pent up sexual tension, pure feral instinct, but he just couldn’t control himself. Especially not when such a lewd and sweet sounding moan cascaded from your lips like that. He had to have you now.

The faint noise of the lock clicking behind him rang in his ears like one of his explosions, and he found his head whipping in this direction of the noise as if expecting to see someone witnessing something they weren’t supposed to. Instead he saw the faint golden glow of your quirk, and upon rounding his eyes back to you, saw everything that he needed to know written on your features. You had locked it over his shoulders using your psychokinetic quirk. He chuckled darkly above your lips, before swooping back in hungrily, taking your actions as a nonverbal cue to continue. You couldn’t get enough of his taste. The sickly-sweet sensation taking over your senses, and by the way he kissed you, you could only guess you were just as intoxicating to him. Your hips moved on their own accord, desperate to feel his hard cock rubbing against you through the slack of his pants, but you could feel the resistance from the blondes firm grip on your hips. You needed more of him, wanted to get rid of this disgusting heat inside of you. You knew he noticed how much you ached for him too, you could sense it in the way his ego grew in his chest with every movement. He was always so perceptive, and you hated that about him. How dare he be able to control you like this. Have this domineering hold around you that you most certainly did not allow in your daily life. You never took his shit. Never put up with his bitching. Yet here you were, horny and writhing in his grasp, desperate for his twitching cock to fill you up.

“What’s the matter, princess?” His husky voice cut through the room. The teasing nickname you detested grating at your senses and finding a new feeling bubbling up deep inside your abdomen. God, you fucking hated him.

“Don’t have anything else to fucking say?” He ground his hips against yours again, eliciting the same noise of wanting to come crashing around the two of you. You tried your best to suppress it this time, not wanting to give him the sheer satisfaction of knowing just how much he had you under his spell right now, but the noise forced its way out as a high pitched whimper. You felt the way his cock twitched against your heat, only adding to your sheer desire. Your head fell back against the wall as you bit harshly at your lip. How could you be so weak for this man that not even ten minutes ago you absolutely despised with everything in your being. He took that as an answer.

“Did I finally find a fucking way to shut you up, dumbass?” He whispered into your ear, the soft wetness overtaking your senses and filling you with pure adrenaline. His hand gripped at the hair on the back of your head like you had done to his only moments before, exposing your neck so that he could trail rough kisses down to your collarbone. Biting and nipping at the soft skin.

“If you want my cock so bad, beg for it. “ It was like a light switch had gone off in your brain at that very moment. You couldn’t let him win, Let him talk to you like this. No matter how much it made your juices pool in your panties like some kind of whore in heat, you couldn’t let him embarrass you like this.

“In your dreams, you fucking pervert.” you spat viciously, a salacious smile biting at your features. Bakugou's head rounded to meet your eyes, an interested smirk over taking his features.

“Huh? What did you say to me?” The venom was tangible, but it did nothing to deter you from spitting back again. This time the smirk on your lips growing into a confident one, even through your ragged pants of need.

“I said...in your fucking dreams. “ putting emphasis on each word He growled into your skin, vibrating your body with his raw and feral rage.

“You fuckin’ brat.”

You knew you had just signed your death warrant but you didn’t care, in fact, it only aroused you more. You needed to feel him inside of you. You needed the release. It was as if the room was spinning and the only thing that was keeping you grounded was the aching between your legs. The desperate need to feel something. You felt his grip grow tighter on you and before you knew it your face was pressed up against the cold wall in an instant. Bakugou's hand laid on the back of your head, gripping at your hair and pushing your face against the concrete, the other tightly locked on your hip, keeping your soaking cunt up against the hard bulge in his pants. You felt your body buck against it subconsciously, sending another shockwave of pleasure pulsing through your body, and his.

“You’re gonna pay for that.” He hissed into your ear. The hand that laid in your hair coiled itself around your neck, squeezing ever so slightly as he brought your head closer to his. You let out a slight gasp, but still a smirk laid ever present on your face.

“Good.”

His free hand made quick work of your soaking panties, pushing them to the side under the hem of your pencil skirt. One of his thick digits slipping against your wet folds before situating itself inside without much warning. Even with just his finger you felt so full. The warmth from his hand radiating inside of you and only aiding in your pleasure. Bakugou couldn’t help the noises that escaped his mouth as he worked your pussy with his fingers. The way your walls clamped around them and left them completely soaked only made his need for you grow.

“God, youre so fucking wet for me.” His breathing was erratic, greedy. He had been overcome with lust that he was barely registering what he was saying. Normally situations like this would absolutely fluster Bakugou, or just straight up never happen. Bakugou was always so focused on his hero work that hookups were few and far between, and certainly never quite this passionate. A quick fuck with no return call and that was it. There was just something about you that made his head spin. You were always a challenge, never backing down no matter how brutal his berating and instead firing back at him with such confidence that it caught him off guard more often than not. Sure, it was so infuriating, but he had a thing for strong women. So everytime you spit back with that ungodly sexy smirk of yours, the fire in Bakugou only grew. He never thought he’d see you like this though, never imagining that he would be able to make that pretty little mouth of yours moan out for him, but he had certainly spent countless nights alone with his hand gripped around himself at the very thought. He quickly added another finger as he pounded them into you, causing you to gasp out in pleasure.

“ Yeah, you like that? You little slut.” You shut your eyes tightly, feeling the embarrassment overtake you as your head nodded against his hand like the greedy slut you were. Normally you would never accept words like that to come out of a man's mouth toward you, but there was just something about the way Bakugou said them that had you reeling with anticipation.

He curled his fingers inside of you, toying with your sensitive spot ever so slightly. Did you really think a simple nod was going to satiate his need for praise? He was going to tease you until he got what he wanted.

“What was that?” He smirked against the skin of your neck, nibbling roughly at the sensitive skin. You felt your body jerk against him, sending his fingers deeper into you. You bit your lip hard to suppress the moan that overtook you.

“Just fuck me already, Katsuki! ” you whimpered, his first name feeling foreign in your mouth. You were growing impatient, and even though your words came out as a command, you knew deep down it was desperation. The embarrassment rampantly flooded through your body, turning you a deep shade of pink, but you pushed through it. You couldn’t keep letting him play with you like you were some toy, you had to take what you wanted any way you could. You needed to cum, and you certainly weren’t going to do it on his fingers, no matter how good they felt. You needed the real thing.

“I can’t take it anymore, just fuck me!” You reluctantly begged, trying to look anywhere but at the man behind you. You could feel the shock rush through Bakugou's body at your words, clearly taken aback for a second at your bluntness and hearing his name spill from your lips like that. A wave of determination flooded through his system. He was going to make you scream his name so everyone in the office could hear it, even from the confines of the soundproof meeting room. He quickly let go of you to fiddle with his belt buckle, but you didn’t dare move to look at him. Instead you found solace in rubbing your thighs together. The friction keeping you high, keeping you blind to what was really happening. To the fact that you had just begged Bakugou Katsuki, the biggest piece of shit you have ever met, to fuck you.

You felt the tip of his cock trace your sweet hole for a second, and you braced yourself for agony. You thought he was going to relentlessly tease you, break you, find some way to have you squirming in his grasp and begging again, but instead the feeling of him bottoming out in you quickly overtook all of your senses. He was surprised he had even lasted this long in the foreplay if he was honest. He needed you, needed to feel the way you felt around him. He had fantasized about this for years, what it would feel like to finally have you in such a compromising position, but he was in no way ready for the sheer bliss your walls brought him. You had him reeling. He grunted aggressively against your skin, not moving inside of you as if to take in this sensation. Who knew when it would happen again, or If it would happen again.

“Fuckkk” he whined, and somehow his words alone had you aching for more. If you thought his finger had you feeling full, it was no match for the size of his cock. You couldn’t help but rock back onto him, rotating your hips in a way that had the both of you moaning.

“Katsuki” His name dripped from your lips again like the words sweetest song. There was something about the way you said his first name that had him teetering on the edge. It was so sweet, like honey trickling down the curves of your lips, begging to be savoured, and like hell he was going to deny himself that sweetness. Even if he knew he would probably never get the chance to taste it again. He wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to pound you into oblivion. He pulled back for a second, his dick sliding out of your entrance and leaving you with a longing and empty feeling after being so full only a second ago. Your eyes widened, about to whimper out in distress at the loss, until the fullness came back to you forcefully. The roughness of his thrust sending your body bumping into the wall in front of you and causing a loud moan to escape your lips. Your hand quickly shot up to your mouth, covering it quickly in the hopes that no one had heard you. You felt Bakugou snicker in your ear, pulling your hand roughly away from its place over your mouth, his hot breath panting heavily onto your skin.

“Let them hear you. Let them hear so they know who you belong to.” He spat out in between thrusts, head clearly spinning from the pure ecstasy you brought him.

“You wish.” you hissed, sending your ass into him to meet his thrusts. Bakugou grit his teeth in pleasure, cursing out under his breath. You were definitely right about that. You were the one person Bakugou knew he would never be able to truly control, but honestly, he didn’t want to. You were a force to be reckoned with, and an absolute powerhouse of a Pro Hero, and he admired you. Just as you did him, in your own little way.

Bakugou brought his open palm down onto your exposed ass with a grin, the pain of his warm hand mixing with the pure ecstasy of his cock and eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head, spinning from the sensation. Bakugou found himself groaning with every thrust, unable to force them down. You just felt too good, too addicting, and he needed more; needed to cum. His hand gripped at the back of your hair, pulling your head to the side so that his face was flush up against yours, his mouth inches from your ear. The sound of his erratic breathing and raw grunts of pleasure filled your senses immediately, making the warmth in your stomach bubble with excitement. You weren’t going to last much longer like this.

“Fuck” Your voice came out in a choked whimper, laced with blatant wanton lust.

“Like that, don’t stop.” You commanded, and Bakugou groaned in response. The grip on your hair tightened ever so slightly and you felt his teeth snarl against your ear, nipping at the exposed skin. He could tell you were close by the way your walls clamped around him, making it almost impossible to hold out any longer.

“Yeah” He panted in agreement, his thrusts becoming more unpredictable as he felt himself getting closer to the edge. It didn’t take much before you completely came undone around Bakugou. It was as if your body was floating weightlessly in space, a beautiful expanse of stars and colors blurring your vision, before gravity was quickly pulling you back down to earth abruptly, leaving your legs trembling from the impact.

Your hands subconsciously gripped Bakugou's, savoring in his warmth as you rode out your high around his thrusts, your head spinning with pure ecstasy and adrenaline. Bakugou buried his face into the crook of your neck, as if to hide the flush that had spread across his face from nonexistent eyes. Watching your body tense and shake around him had to be the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen in his life, and that was exactly what sent him over the edge.

“F-Fuck” His voice quivered against your skin and you felt his grip grow tighter on your hips, pulling you back into his pelvis to burry himself deeper within you. If you weren’t currently trembling from your own climax, perhaps you would’ve stopped Bakugou from coating your insides, but in the moment you didn’t seem to care. You felt your walls clamp down around him once more, desperately taking everything in without any fear of the consequences it might hold. Bakugou didn’t pull away from you, instead leaving his body flushed up against yours as the two of you attempted to regain your composure.

The room was silent, aside from the panting that still hung close to your ear. The primal lust that had just engulfed the two of you was quickly replaced with confusion, and the room was suddenly too silent. Bakugou pulled away from you at last, and his warmth that had enveloped you just two seconds ago now completely dissipated. You weren’t sure why, but you missed it immediately. It just felt so right, brought you so much comfort, and that very thought alone scared you. You quickly pulled yourself off the wall and rounded to look at the blonde man behind you as he fixed himself up. His face seemed to mimic yours, and you weren’t sure whether or not that was a good or a bad thing, but for the moment it brought you solace. You let out a shaky sigh before straightening the hem of your skirt against your reddened thighs. You could feel his eyes on you, like lasers burning your skin. You quirked an eyebrow up at him, trying your best to muster a smirk while your fingers worked tirelessly at untangling your hair that Bakugou had made a mess of.

Bakugou felt his voice rise in his throat as his eyes finally met with yours once more, he had so many questions; what was that all about? What does this mean for us? Can I take you out for dinner? but all of those questions died in his throat before they made it to his lips. The shake of your head deterring him from letting them out. You didn’t want him to say something he was going to regret, something stupid you say after the high of an orgasm. You weren’t sure what exactly that would’ve been, but you liked it better this way.

“Don’t, your stupid voice is what got us into this mess in the first place.” You tried your best to keep your voice even, calm, as if none of this had shaken you to your core. As if he wasn’t still lingering inside of you. As if you felt absolutely nothing from that encounter. Just another meaningless hook up, that was all. Or at least that was what you tried to tell yourself. You watched as Bakugou’s eyebrows furrowed, as they did whenever you spoke, but this time it felt off. Laced with something different. It would take you a while to pinpoint that exact feeling, but it would come to you nonetheless. When you were alone in your bed late at night, thinking about the way his eyes glistened, and his body tried to stay steady. Hurt.

You moved towards the tall blonde with a false sense of confidence, though to the unsuspecting eye you never faltered. Your delicate hand moving up to the tall blondes cheek and patting it roughly. The curves of your lips forming into that smirk that Bakugou loved detested so much.

“Leave the planning to me, I don’t really need your help anyway.” Your eyes locked with his for a moment, before you felt the need to break away. To slam the cover shut on those feelings that threatened to spill over the top of Pandora’s box. You sauntered past his form nonchalantly, your hips moving in a hypnotizing form that had Bakugou unable to peel his eyes away.

“Just remember...” You started, turning your head to look at him from over your shoulder.

“Meetings in the conference room are confidential.” And with a wink, you quickly turned the handle of the door and made your exit, needing to get away as quickly as possibly so that you could breathe once again. Bakugou still stood at the center of the room, confused and finally at a loss for words. He had no idea how any of that had just happened, or why he felt a heavy pang in his chest as he watched you leave the room seemingly unfazed. But there was one thing he knew for certain, one thing he was determined to do now more than ever; he was going to make you his.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 2.2K~

Summary: A series of shorts detailing what might’ve happened in the moments after I Am My Monster, told from six different points of view.

Greg apparently had a LOT on his mind, because this was supposed to be short and instead it’s over 2000 words, ahah. Final chapter!

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

Chapter warning: Allusions to past non-canon character suicide.

____

Chapter 6: Greg

Hours pass.

Bismuth makes quick and quiet work of replacing the cracked slider door in Steven’s room while he sleeps, and secures a thick tarp over the open front of the house to keep the coastal breeze somewhat at bay until she can finish her repairs to the windows and siding. She warns that might take a day or two. Garnet, meanwhile, busies herself the rest of the afternoon and evening fielding all of the Diamonds’ frazzled calls, and reassuring them of the boy’s current stability. Pooling their knowledge, Dr. Maheswaran and Peridot make sure to confirm that. Beyond some minor scarring, neither his organic or Gem half seems to exhibit any serious physical health conditions in consequence of what happened today, news which works to ever so slightly lift the air of the household. With no other concrete tasks to complete, Pearl, Amethyst, Lapis, Connie, and Greg all rotate between sweeping debris off the floor, wandering the beach to mentally recuperate, and dutifully sitting at Steven’s side as he rests. It may not sound like a lot, but alas the level of emotional labor demanded by such a situation is immense.

All in all, the sun’s long since dipped below the horizon by the time Greg finally collapses onto the mattress laid out in the back of his van, craving if but a moment of privacy and respite from all the chaos. It’s been... an insufferably long day, to put it lightly. Busy. Tons of cleaning, and intercepting nosy neighbors, and bedside monitoring...

He offered to take the first night shift watching Steven a few minutes ago, but Pearl must’ve noticed the dark circles creeping ever wider under his eyes, because she proceeded to gently overturn his offer and remind him of humanity’s daily sleep requirement. And she’s right, of course. He can’t stay up as long as he used to in his twenties anymore. Plus, he probably deserves some time to himself after everything that’s transpired. There’s plenty of Gems left in the house who can keep watch, after all. Steven will be fine for a few hours. Surely nothing else can happen when he’s asleep, right?

 Right??

Exhaustedly slumping against the side wall, Greg offers a glassy, vacant stare at the contacts list of his phone, roughly wiping the damp from his cheeks with his other hand as his thumb hovers over one of the numbers. Does he dare drag someone else into this whole situation? Surely the kinder solution would be to refrain from widening the circle any more, from letting anyone else learn about today’s harrowing events. And yet if he fails to find a proper outlet for the raw emotions all of this has violently hauled to the surface, he fears he just may suffer a mental break himself, repressed memories bursting like a vicious flood through the dam he desperately tried to seal them behind all those years back. Much of this is just... far too familiar.

His phone slips right through his trembling hands as the cruel reality of what he witnessed today finally begins to carve its indelible presence in his mind. A strained sob leaking from between his tightly pursed lips, he buries his head between his knees, clutching at the worn bottom hem of his jean shorts like an infant to a parent’s finger. Small. Vulnerable.

Helpless.

His son... oh stars, his only son, he—

He can’t talk about any of this to the Gems; they wouldn’t wholly grasp the uniquely human nature of his concerns. And he doesn’t feel comfortable discussing these matters with Dr. Maheswaran, especially not after the stern words she dealt to him back at the hospital. He’s burdened her enough already, by this point. No, there’s only one fellow human he feels close enough with to engage in this sort of conversation.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he reaches for the phone he dropped on the mattress. Turns it on. Nervously clamps down on his bottom lip as he selects his cousin’s contact and dials.

The passing heartbeats slamming against his ribs are almost nauseating in their needy clamor as he waits, his calloused fingers tapping against the thick rubber of his phone case. Andy’s never been a particularly tech savvy guy, so honestly, it’s well within reason he might not even carry his phone on his person to answer. And that’d be fine, really. In fact, he might even prefer it, since he’s still not confident he’s emotionally prepared to discuss any of this at this precise moment, anyways. But just as he’s beginning to undergo mental preparations for what on Earth he might leave as a voicemail message, his older family member finally picks up.

“Greg?” Andy’s gravelly voice rings through, sounding somewhat tinny through their connection. “Hey, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? How’s the ol’ Universe family unit doin’?”

“Not great, honestly,” he narrowly manages in response, his throat constricting tight. “That’s kinda why I’m calling, if you have the time to listen?”

“Heh. I’m a drifter, you know I ain’t got no schedule. Carry on.”

“Well... geeze, how do I put this. There was, uh... a bit of an incident today. With Steven.”

“An incident?” his cousin questions, marked worry immediately painting his tone. “The kid okay??”

He falls silent for a few seconds upon this question, threading his hyperactive digits through the split ends in his hair on automatic, a stress-induced habit. “Unclear,” he says, a slight quiver making itself intimately known in his words. “I mean, physically, at the moment, yes, but—“

He cuts off once more. It suddenly occurs to him that little of today’s events would make sense to Andy without providing the appropriate context. Or, at least, what little context he’s capable of giving as a father. It’s still terrifying to admit the truth to himself— that he doesn’t possess the full story. That he hasn’t been paying close enough attention. That, in many ways, he willfully blinded himself to all the troubling events transpiring around his son throughout the years, foolishly believing that if he didn’t involve himself... that if he simply stayed out of the Gems’ hair... everything would go to plan, and Steven would finally receive the training he needed. He didn’t expect things would grow so complicated.

He didn’t expect that his teenage son would have to march into battle carrying nothing but his wits and a shield time and time again.

With a weary sigh and a quick apology, to which Andy brushes off, Greg begins to weave a verbal picture of everything that’s transpired across the last few days. First, the hospital call. Rushing home from tour, only to find his son giant and flushed pink, literally filling an entire room with the sheer volume of his trauma. The shattered x-ray in his chart, hinting towards hidden hurts that— before all this— even Steven seemingly hadn’t processed or quantified. Then, the road trip. The unwanted reminders of his childhood. That blasted CD. His expression sobers as he describes the fateful argument they had on the road home, one which lead to his son accidentally breaking the steering wheel and flipping the van. Next... his disappearance. No texts for four whole days, which is so unlike him. He was worried sick. And the next time he saw him, he was eight feet tall, glowing, and painfully manic in behavior, with each new sentence spilling from his mouth revealing an even more heartbreaking picture of the sort of poor mental state he’d spiraled into. It was nothing short of a father’s worst nightmare, propelled into horrifying, vivid reality.

Nothing in this corner of the galaxy could’ve prepared him for the primal surge of terror and anguish he was engulfed within when that nightmare distorted and transformed even further.  

His only son... colossal and coated in thick scales and spines, sclera black as night... roughly clawing at this unfamiliar form, smashing his skull against the cliffside, roaring with an inner pain so primal that the sound now haunts the depths of his very soul—

“I- you remember what happened with cousin Jo, back when we were young?” Greg says softly once he’s caught Andy up with the details of situation, his voice frail and unsteady, the tone of a man helplessly marooned amidst his anxieties. “Before she was sent to that mental rehab place? Well, I’m... with the addition of Gem magic, it almost felt like that. I mean, h-he’s fine for now, we have him resting, but... but I’m just so scared he won’t come out of this, like her, a-a-and that one day he’ll—“

A mewling sob bubbles up in his throat, swiftly severing that train of thought. N-no. No, he refuses to even utter that horrible idea out loud! After all, a world without Steven in it isn’t worth envisioning.

Andy’s eventual response— albeit tinged with a justified shade of awkwardness, given the emotionally charged nature of this conversation— is filled with genuine compassion, and for that he’s dearly thankful.

“Aw, hell... Greg, I’m- I’m so sorry. I, uh- I could fly over, if any of ya’ need me? For emotional support, or whatever?”

Upon this kind offer, he inhales deep to steady his breath, and wipes away dewy beads of moisture from the corner of his eyes, desperately hoping that he can mitigate the pitiful wavering of his voice over the phone. He’s gotta fight to reliably keep some form of composure in front of other people, damnit. His kid can’t have his dad breaking down around him too, of course.

“No, you’ve got places to be,” he replies evenly, pressing his thumb and pointer against one of his aching temples. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You ain’t asking,” he retorts, the eye-roll evident in his tone. “I’m offering. Listen- family takes care of family, y’hear? And I’m only about a day’s flight away, anyways. It’s really the least I could do.”

He sighs. Absentmindedly tugs at a thick strand of his hair. Offers a long, contemplative stare at the rickety age-worn handle affixed to the inside of the van’s back doors. Truth be told— ignoring his deep-seated guilt at dragging Andy into all this to begin with— he’d love having another family member around to embrace, especially a human one who can more deeply understand the crux of his anxieties about this delicate situation. But in the end, he shouldn’t be prioritizing his own feelings and comfort. He’s not the one in crisis, his son is.

Desperately hoping he’s making the right choice, Greg flexes his fingers, and acquiesces to the offer, on one condition: only if Steven consents to having visitors, once he’s awake.

Andy hums in approval. “Understood. Don’t wanna overload the poor guy with any surprise visits, or whatever.”

“Yeah. The last thing I want to do is push him too hard, too fast.”

He pauses, braving waves of parental grief to spend a moment to reflect on Steven’s emotional progression over the past few months... a stray negative comment here, an unusually forlorn mannerism there... All of them events that, in isolation, wouldn’t point to anything more than your standard ‘teenage angst,’ but when observed in strong, unceasing patterns, begin to reveal deeply harrowing truths about the state of an individual’s self-image. How did he never notice? Why wasn’t he there to catch him in his fall?

“I think he hates himself,” he says quietly, his voice hitching up at the end. “He didn’t say so directly, but- but I can sense it. And I don’t know how to help him, I-I... I don’t know if I can.”

“Nonsense,” his cousin scoffs, “‘course ya’ know what to do! What does any good father worth their salt give their sons?”

Unable to evade the momentary temptation of feeling miserable and sorry for himself, he slumps back against the wall, giving a weak shrug that his current audience would never see.

“I dunno, maybe a stable, safe childhood? Not growing up poor as dirt in a van?”

“No, you numbskull,” Andy immediately cuts back, “you love on ‘em and support ‘em just as much as you always have! Y’ show him that you’re always gonna be there for him, and that he can trust you with anything.”

“But I haven’t always been there for him,” he exclaims petulantly. “That’s the whole problem! That’s one of the reasons he ended up like this.”

“Greg,” he says, his voice softer this time. “Listen to me, ain’t nobody perfect, okay? We’ve all made our mistakes with people. Me? More than most. But what we can’t do is let those mistakes cloud what’s happening right now. Y’know, that’s one of the hard lessons I’ve had to learn over the past two years, that you can’t always make things about you. Because right now, it’s about him. He’s dealin’ with some hard feelings, and he needs all of our help. So, let’s help him. Together. We’ll start with one foot in front of us, and we can take it from there. All right?”

Closing his weary, exhausted eyes and pressing his thumb firm against his still-aching temple, Greg Universe gives a long sigh and finally concedes to the reality that— just as he’s not solely responsible for the decline of his son’s mental state— no man should be an island when it comes to the task of supporting one’s journey towards recovery. As with everything, the extended Universe family unit will face the future together, hand-in-hand. Step-by-step.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I think that’s do-able.”

[atmilliways]

16 Murderface & Pickles; 19 Nathan & Toki! 🖤

I’ll probably write the Nathan and Toki one too, eventually, but for now here is some Pickleface for the prompt “defending each other.” This is set during Goingdownklok and, uh, probably the porniest thing I have ever written. 

Trans Pickles, Murderface’s internalized body issues, first time blow job, Pina Colada flavored lube because Pickles was drunk when he ordered it and thought he was asking Alexa for more drinks. 

If anyone can think of other tags that should be on this, or if it should be marked Explicit rather than just Mature, please let me know. I’ll reblog with the Ao3 link in a sec. 

~

This Might Just Stick

It had been hours. Maybe everybody had forgotten by now. . . . No, no one was going to forget that he’d tried to tackle and hump Toki in front of everybody. 

But he was getting hungry. . . . But what if he ran into any of his bandmates?

Murderface lurked in his quarters until the necessity of avoiding starvation drove him out and skulking towards the mess hall. By the time he arrived and saw from the hatch that someone was already in there, the lure of dinner was stronger than his shame. Maybe Pickles wouldn’t notice him. 

“Hey,” Pickles mumbled in greeting almost immediately. The drummer was presiding over a large plate piled high with iced cinnamon buns, glumly holding a half eaten one in his hand. 

“Uh . . . hey,” Murderface replied. Maybe if he kept walking the conversation would end there.

“I got shot down by Abigail,” Pickles continued, sounding positively morose. 

Murderface slowed, curious in spite of himself. He glanced towards the counter where a hooded servant waited to take his order, but hesitated. This was his chance to let the whole embarrassing incident start getting glossed over until no one ever brought it up again or even remembered it had ever happened. “. . . Schoundsch rough, pal.”

“I mean, I got all dressed up an’ everything, and nothin’.” With a sigh, Pickles took a bite of his cinnamon bun. He continued while chewing, “I figured she must be at least as hard up as the rest of us, y’know? Nope! Turns out, she thought to bring a vibrator!”

A vibrator. Huh. Now there was a thought. Murderface automatically pictured a naked female form, legs spread wantonly, a buzzing wand sinking into—

Well, this had been a mistake. He should’ve just kept walking and taken his food back to his room. Instead, before the sudden tent in his shorts had a chance to become too obvious, Murderface drifted casually over to Pickles’ table. It was one of those picnic style set-ups, except the benches weren’t bolted down, so there was a screech as he pulled it out to sit across from him. 

“Schuper rough! Schorry to hear that, pal. Hey, uh, mind if I eat one of thesche cshinnamon rollsch?” He didn’t wait for a reply, grabbing one and shoving half of it in his mouth. Maybe sugar and something to chew on would provide enough distraction to will his libido back to manageable levels. 

“Go ahead.” Pickles gave a deep sigh. “I thought I’d feel better if I had some rock n’ roll cinnamon buns, but I guess I’m not drunk enough for that yet.”

“Schorry man,” Murderface said again. “I don’t know why Nathan wasch scho bitchy about you going for her, it’sch not like we all wouldn’t hit that if we could.” He gulped down the second half of his cinnamon bun and reached for another. 

“I know, right?!” Pickles said, nodding. “And hey, for what it’s worth, I get why you went after Toki, too. I mean, your approach did lack some zazz, but I’m pretty sure we were all thinkin’ the same thing.”

They’d all taken part in mocking him after the incident, Pickles included, but Murderface still appreciated the small token of solidarity. His fingers already had a coating of sticky white icing on them which he was trying not to notice; the sight sent reflexive twinges of pain running up from his jerking-off wrist. But the mechanical motion of chewing and the fact that he was a born stress-eater just like his grandma made the texture of the bun richer, the nuance of spices more compelling, the fresh-out-of-the-oven warmth more soothing . . . so there was that. And anyway, he’d come here in the first place because he was hungry. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of bringin’ something,” Pickles continued, drifting back to his original train of thought. “I mean, I have tons of shit at home! But did I bring any of it? No, ‘cause Charles didn’t tell us about the no ladies thing until we’d already got here. I kinda want to break into her room and just use it, who fuckin’ cares if she catches me. Maybe she’ll see something she likes!”

“You could do that,” Murderface managed to say with his mouth full. God, he was lucky that Pickles was dressed in his usual black shirt and loose jeans, nothing tight or revealing like Toki, because all this talk about vibrators was really getting him going. Just the idea of turning the toy on and moving it teasingly against a stiff dick (he didn’t know what Pickles’ looked like so naturally he pictured his own)—

He stifled a whimper with yet another cinnamon roll. The pile on the plate was shrinking at an alarming rate. 

“Hey.” Pickles looked at him with wide eyes, a strange glint in them. “You could come with me. Come on, dood, let’s do it. Let’s break into her room!”

“I. . . . I don’t know, Picklesch. . . .”

“No, in case she doesn’t catch me! We can both—there’s ways we can both use it at the same time, no waitin’!”

Heat rising to his face, Murderface shook his head and reached for the cup on the table to wash the latest mouthful of sticky, sugary bun down. He grabbed it and gulped from it—ah yes, straight vodka. The Pickles special. “I’m, uh, not going to do that with you, Picklesch.”

“Why naht?” Pickles all but whined. “Come on, we’re all in the same boat here. Literally. What’s Toki got that I ain’t got?”

Murderface’s first instinct, which he insta-repressed, was to say An ass. But on further reflection, that wasn’t exactly true, was it? While Toki’s toned rear end looked great in those shrunken pink shorts, Pickles had slightly more of a bubble butt, better for grabbing a handful and really, unf—

And now he was thinking about Pickles’ ass. Great. Super. That was totally helping with the boner that wouldn’t quit. Murderface wanted to bury his head in his hands, but they were too sticky for that so he crammed another half a cinnamon bun in his mouth instead. He was, distantly, starting to feel rather full. 

“Look, I’m juscht not doing it!” he burst out, bringing one fist down on the table so hard it rattled the now empty cup and nearly empty plate. “Chrischt, you guysch were ragging on me earlier for the whole Toki thing, and now you’re, what? Trying to jump on my dick?! Uh-uh, I don’t think scho!”

Pickles put both of his hands up. “Dood, calm down! Flag on the play, okie? I’m naht trying anything!” He paused, then grinned sheepishly. “Alright, I am. But look, I’m askin’ first, so . . . there’s that. And hey, no strings attached, I promise. It’s just, you got rejected, and, and I got rejected. . . . I jest think we can help each other out, y’know? It doesn’t have to be that big a deal.”

Murderface narrowed his eyes. “It’sch a very big deal, Picklesch.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Pickles replied, leaning forward conspiratorially and dropping into a throaty whisper. “Dood, we could do it right here, nobody’d know. We’ve got this place to ourselves, all we gotta do is have the Klokateers shut things down for a while so we don’t get interrupted. And I could get you off first—fuck, I’ve been thinkin’ about going down on somebody ever since Abigail told me how she keeps from going crazy down here! Please?” Under the table, a sneakered foot bumped and rubbed suggestively up Murderface’s shin, making him shiver. “I’ll treat ya real nice.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a chick,” Murderface grumbled. 

“‘Kay.” Pickles smirked. “I’ll suck you off and make you come so hard you’ll be cross-eyed into next week.”

Biting his lip to stifle a groan, Murderface considered. 

. . . He picked up the last cinnamon bun and crammed it into his mouth, still considering. 

There were two options here. Option one: he could say fuck you, yell at the hood at the counter to send food to his quarters, and storm out with an angry boner to go hump his bedframe or some pillows or something until his meal arrived. His stomach was pretty full (he shifted slightly on the bench and let out a soft, cinnamon-scented burp in between chewing) but he knew how his body reacted to stress and depression, and knew he could eat again in maybe an hour. He’d need at least the next pants size up by the time they got back to the surface. Story of his fucking life. 

Or, option two: take Pickles’ offer. It wasn’t like it was any less gay for Pickles to offer than it was for him to accept, so they were both implicated here. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and he’d already passed desperate a few stops back. 

“Scho, it’sch come to thisch.” Murderface swallowed the last of his mouthful and sighed. He looked at the empty plate instead of his bandmate, because the longer he entertained the idea of actually doing this the more confining his shorts felt. “If you make fun of me for thisch I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Right back at ya, dood. So . . . is theat a yes?” 

“. . . . Yesch,” he whispered, and—he couldn’t help it—palmed himself through his shorts despite his sticky hand and the twinge of pain from his still-tender wrist. 

As soon as he said the word, Pickles leapt up, knocking his bench over with a clatter, and spun to yell towards the mess kitchen: “Hey, guys! Take a break for like, an hour or something! Lock it up and get outta here!!”

“Yes sire,” someone called back, and the confirmation was quickly echoed by the clangs and bangs of cookware being put in order for the coming downtime. 

An hour, Murderface thought, twitching in stunned anticipation. He fingered the button on his shorts but didn’t unbutton it until the shutter over the counter window had been pulled down and one of the hoods ran to close the mess hall hatch for them from the outside—their servants were nothing if not efficient. 

He could’ve done without his full stomach forcing the zipper all the way down as soon as he unbuttoned, but hey, pobody’s nerfect. Now that he was committed to doing this he was practically vibrating to get started, spreading his legs as wide as he could. 

“Scho, uh. . . . How are we doing thisch? Should I turn around or schomething?”

“No, stay right there.” Pickles grabbed at a random dreadlock and used it to tie the rest back.Then he winked and ducked under the table. 

“Oh fuck,” Murderface whispered, and leaned back to get a partial view of Pickles kneeling in front of him. 

With a mischievous grin, the drummer slipped his fingers up the legs of Murderface’s shorts, teasing the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. “It’s sexier if you don’t look, dood.”

“Right, okay. Schure.” He sat forward again hastily and his lip as he felt Pickles’ hands move to his stomach, palms warm through his t-shirt and against the sliver of exposed skin peeking out at the bottom, and then—

“Ow,” Pickles muttered. 

Murderface looked down, hoping against hope that he hadn’t somehow fucked this up already. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my wrists, dood. I can’t . . . ugh.”

“Can’t what?” Murderface pressed. He felt bitter disappointment already welling up like bile in the back of his throat, and honestly if Pickles ditched him at this point he probably would throw up out of pure disgust and disappointment with himself for fucking up such a wonderful opportunity by being so utterly repugnant. 

Pickles groaned. “Fuck. Look, there’s no good way to say this, but you gotta hold yer stomach up outta the way. My wrists won’t bend that way right now and it’s kinda . . . blockin’ stuff.”

Murderface felt his face heat up to approximately one hundred degrees, but when he didn’t immediately reply Pickles gripped at his thighs and whined impatiently. With that encouragement, he slid his hands under his belly and hefted it up. At another wordless whine, he stood slightly so Pickles could tug them down to his ankles and plopped his bare ass back down on the warm metal bench. 

“Thanks for freeballing, dood,” Pickles commented, and Murderface felt delicious chills from the drummer’s breath ghosting over his eager cock. “Saves valuable seconds in a sex emergency.”

He couldn’t see through the table, but Pickles sounded downright hungry for it. Just imagining the guy staring intently at him under there, maybe licking his lips, maybe already touching himself through his jeans in anticipation—

Then Pickles shocked him by enveloping him all at once, tongue sliding down the underside of his cock and lips closing possessively around the base as the head hit the back of Pickles’ throat and holy fucking shit. Murderface moaned so loud that he was worried the entire submarine could hear, but it wasn’t like his hands were free to stifle himself. He’d hold his fat belly out of the way for a million years without complaint if it meant being enveloped like this. Hands grabbed at his ass and tried to drag him forward greedily as Pickles began to bob expertly up and down his length with the perfect amount of suction, going from nose-buried-in-pubes to kissing-the-already-leaking-tip and back again, repeat and repeat and repeat, with an eagerness that Murderface had never once experienced before and zero hint of gag reflex. It was all Murderface could do to sit still and keep holding himself, biting his lip for dear life to keep his ragged breathing from turning into the breathy moans of the thoroughly fucked. 

Goddamn, this was going to ruin him for groupie blowjobs, wasn’t it? Fucking Pickles and his oral fixation, and his warm, wet, tight, talented mouth. 

It had been way, way too long, and Murderface was so hard up that he came embarrassingly quickly. He didn’t even have time to give a warning, but Pickles seemed to know. One hand stopped fondling his ass long enough to fondle his balls instead, massaging encouragingly as they tightened and tightened and—

Murderface couldn’t contain the wordless gush of sound that accompanied his orgasm, milked out of him without complaint as he bent over the table. 

His face was all but touching the empty, sticky plate before him when he finally managed to open his eyes again. “Fuck,” he breathed shakily. “Pickles. . . . That wasch. . . . Fuck, I don’t think I can schtand.”

“Push the bench back, then,” Pickles said urgently. Whatever he was doing down there, Murderface could hear shuffling and felt bare skin bumping against his hairy legs.”Cahm ahn, dood!”

It made him grin lazily to realize that Pickles’ accent must get stronger when he was horny, just like it did when he was super pissed or super wasted. He obliged, scooting the bench with a brief screech of metal scraping metal, and Pickles popped out from under the table like Jack out of his box. Murderface was half expecting him to sit on the table edge in front of him so he could return the favor, but instead the smaller man settled in his naked lap. 

Apparently Pickles had been shedding layers under the table, because he was equally naked from the waist down and grinding eagerly, wetly against the bassist’s middle, pushing his vest further open and his t-shirt further up. He grabbed Murderface by the hair and rammed their mouths together, eagerly licking his way in, the taste of spend on his tongue mingling quickly with the sweetness of cinnamon bun icing still on Murderface’s. 

There was something very unexpected about this that Murderface was too dazed and into it to quite pinpoint, but holy shit what Pickles was doing felt amazing. Like, fucking against his stomach? Which was kind of weird, but the force and desperation of it was blowing him away. 

Pickles whined in his mouth as though all this wasn’t enough, as though he wanted, needed more. His legs wrapped around Murderface and crossed at the ankles for leverage to grind even harder. Automatically, Murderface reached to support him—one hand splayed against the freckled back and another on his ass, where the muscles were already trembling with effort and eagerness for the building climax. 

And he was so wet. Had the guy come once already just from sucking him off? Murderface felt briefly lightheaded at the thought. Felt his spent cock twitch too, for all that he was still recovering from the number Pickles had done on him already.

Really . . . really wet. Not exactly leaking-dick wet. Not that Murderface had a lot of experience identifying that sort of thing rubbing on him, but still. 

. . . Huh. 

Pickles was still kissing and clutching at him, and Murderface was drowning in this unprecedented desire for this stupid body he’d always kind of hated. But Pickles didn’t seem to mind, did he? Really made it feel like he wouldn't have offered this to just anyone. 

A moment later Pickles shuddered, going rigid and squeezing him tight before relaxing completely, Murderface’s arms around him the only thing keeping him from falling back against the mess hall table. 

“Woo-oo,” Pickles mumbled, eyes unfocused and heavy-lidded. He patted the arm supporting his back. “That was fucking great, man. Ten outta ten, would ride again.” His tongue peeked out and wetted his kiss-redden lips. “Was it good for you?”

“Huh?” Murderface blinked, shook himself a little. He’d been staring intently at the tip of Pickles’ tongue. “Yeah! Yeah, that wasch. . . . I, we could do that again schometime. If you want.”

Pickles patted his arm again, eyes drifting shut. “Mmm, yeah, that album ain’t getting finished any time soon. . . .”

“Uh, Picklesch? Can I ashk you a perschional queschtion?”

“Heh, you just came down my throat, dood, Pretty sure personal questions are fair game.”

Murderface glanced uncertainly down between them, but with their lower halves still pressed together all he could really see was a bright red trail of hair leading downward and his own belly button. “Is there a. . . . Do you have. . . . Are you okay down there?”

Pickles laughed. “I’m more’n fine, dood, I’m great.” Then he cracked an eye open to study the other man’s face, one double-pierced eyebrow slowly rising. “What?” He followed where Murderface’s eyes were aimed. “. . . Don’t tell me ya never fucked a trans dood before.”

“I’ve never fucked any dudesch before,” Murderface retorted defensively. “And schince when are you transch?!”

“Dood, everybody knows. I thought you knew!” 

“Well I didn’t! No one tellsch me anything,” he whined, and in the strange clarity of his relaxed, post-orgasm state was entirely aware that the not being told part bothered him more than the trans part. Not that he knew much about what being trans meant, but . . . probably better to google it later than ask while they were still sitting junk to junk. He reached down to self-consciously tug his t-shirt down and felt wetness on his fingertips. After a moment’s hesitation, he brought his hand up to his nose and sniffed. “. . . Why doesch thisch schmell like pina colada?”

“It’s lube,” Pickles said with a chuckle. “I always keep it—” he absently patted at his own ass, then snorted “—in my pants, under the table. Back pocket. I don’t gaht a lahtta ‘natural lubrication’ so, y’know. Always be prepared or whatever. . . . I dunno, I was never a boy scout.” Stretching, he sat up and leaned in, resting his arms languidly over Murderface’s shoulders. Noses about an inch apart, he stared probingly into his eyes. “You weirded out?”

“Uh . . . no, I guescch not,” Murderface mumbled, going cross-eyed trying to return the stare. 

He felt . . . okay, actually. Wasn’t having sex with a bandmate supposed to feel like a mistake? Wasn’t he supposed to be having some sort of crisis right now? Because he’d definitely just had sex with a guy—he’d known Pickles for years, he was definitely a dude, trying think of him as anything else just didn’t compute. 

Pickles darted forward and gave him a wet snack on the nose, then pulled back with a pleased smirk. “Cool. ‘Cause we’ve got about, uh. . . .” He looked for a clock, finding one once he’d twisted almost all the way around—which just made Murderface think, Bendy, and then his brain fizzled a little at the possibilities. “About forty-five minutes left before anyone comes back. Whaddaya say we get some drinks and fuck some more? I’ve got a couple months of fantasies I still wanna try out.”

“Fa, fantasies?” Murderface stammered as the drummer slid off his lap (oh sweet friction) and bounded over to the counter to rustle up some bottles. His eyes were glued to that pale, freckled ass. “About me?”

“Yeah,” Pickles called. Regrettably, he and his ass had ducked out of sight for a moment. “I mean, fer pretty much everyone down here who has a face, to be honest.”

Oh, Murderface thought with a sigh.

“But hey!” Grinning, Pickles popped back into sight with a fifth of Irish whiskey held triumphantly in each upstretched hand. “Ta be honest, I’m glad this happened with you, dood. The ones with you in ‘em were my favorites.”

Murderface brightened immediately. “Really?” It almost didn’t even matter if that was true, he just appreciated Pickles going out of his way to say it. “Like  . . . like what?”

“Well, what we just did, fer one.” 

This had all happened because of curiosity (and a background level of horniness that defied physics and shit); Murderface saw now reason to change things up now. He asked, even as he drank in the sight of Pickles sauntering back towards him half naked, whatever secrets were hidden between his legs obscured by a thick forest of bright red pubes, “What elsche?” The words came out sounding breathless, and his cock was already stiffening again. 

After all, he’d come here in the first place because he was hungry. 

Smirking, Pickles came back around, moved the empty cinnamon bun plate down the table, and hopped up to take its place, legs spread. He handed Murderface one of the whiskey bottles, cracked open his own, and in between drinking and wantonly touching himself started listing every last, filthy little detail of things they could do to each other. 

It was going to be a very good rest of the hour. 

[hillnerd]

ptsd/c-ptsd,  therapy & writing

(This is written by someone with CPTSD - I am not a mental health expert, and am just writing from my own experience! )

So a lot of writers want to incorporate PTSD and C-PTSD into their fiction. Sometimes people get it super right- other times I’m left cringing. I wrote this to help writers know more about it, then it also ended up being something I sent to a friend with PTSD as it got into it so she’d know more what the therapy process is like. 

So! What’s it like to have PTSD? PTSD therapy vs regular therapy-How are they different? How are they the same? What does PTSD therapy consist of?

Trigger warning:

I will be describing therapy, talk of other disorders like anxiety and depression, and might use some 'you' talk - example 'once you've gone through this, then you start to feel better.' This will also skim over child abuse, suicidal ideation mentions and trauma in general- Read w/ caution if you are sensitive to this

general overview to PTSD and C-PTSD

I am diagnosed with PTSD, but it's actually C-PTSD*

C-PTSD or Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder differs from PTSD in that it's more for people who have had chronic environments of trauma/abuse for years - and is currently proposed to have a certain symptoms not listed under PTSD symptoms. 

Much of these symptoms have more to do with how one relates to other people, their self perception, and generally their learned behaviors in order to protect themselves long-term. PTSD is more about a specific event, of series of events that occurred in quick succession.

Despite the lack of official diagnosis, therapists treat people for CPTSD all the time- they just use a lot of the same tools they would for PTSD.

Not everyone who experiences trauma or battles develops PTSD, but there are factors that make you more inclined to develop it.

What is PTSD like?

There are many ways that people manifest PTSD/CPTSD symptoms.They are easy enough to google and be familiar with, but what's it ACTUALLY like for me.

a hair-trigger startle instinct I have had a few times where my husband is up at night, and I didn’t realize he was in the room- then I see the outline and start screaming- and can’t stop for like 2 minutes- then the crying settles in for 30 minutes. My traumas had nothing to do with strangers in the night. I just have a super intense startle instinct that sends my whole body into panic mode sometimes.

Hyper-vigilance- trying to control everything around you to keep you safe, and being super on edge keeping an eye out for how things will fall apart. Making sure things are locked, being extra wary of people, wanting to not have your back to people, perking up at every little noise etc.

issues sleeping- insomnia, light sleeping, & nightmares-   Sometimes reliving a memory, or just having intense dreams that leave you exhausted the next day you can barely function. This ties in with hyper-vigilance a lot- so falling asleep and staying asleep can be hard.

Depression and anxiety- pretty self explanatory- but it's common to experience these, and for pills to not necessarily be that helpful without the therapy. Sometimes anxious self destructive thoughts and memories start haunting you and making you freeze up or panic, feel like you’re going to die/be left alone by everyone etc. Sometimes emotional abuse from your past starts coming up and haunting you and you feel all your selfworth leaving your body leaving behind nothing but the want to sleep all day/cut yourself off from people - at times this can turn to suicidal ideation and other really dangerous behaviors and thoughts.

Sudden mood switches/panic responses usually a trigger for these switches is something associated with your trauma- but basically when something associated with our trauma suddenly comes up sometimes it causes us to start having feelings and emotions that feel out of whack for the situation at hand. 

Example: When I was a five I was beaten and locked on a sunny porch of a 2 story building with a sliding door.  Once my husband blocked me on the way to the door so I wouldn’t accidentally walk into some freshly painted furniture on the other side of the sliding door. I immediately panicked and angrily screamed at him to’ let me GO! fuck you!!! when he’s the gentlest man in the world and has never ever been anything but kind and wonderful with me. Then after the rage wore off I was like crying and so sorry.

I’m usually not an ‘angry reaction’ person- I’m usually a freeze/cry type- but yeah.Sometime people get panicked in crowded places, or if they feel someone is mad at them, or if they feel trapped, or if they feel like they’re being abandoned.

Sometimes I’ll get super manic and impatient/snappish if there’s not a plan on what we’re doing at a crowded place (really it’s because I want an escape plan/safe place I know we can always go to- and feel vulnerable when it’s a lot of people standing around without a plan and feel like I’ll get lost/abducted)

intrusive negative thoughts 

It’ll be the darkest weirdest repeating thoughts that you associate with emotional upset.  In ptsd treatment there is a lot of going through the events and rethinking your conclusions you’ve taken away from them. It’s simplified a lot in shows to a simple ‘it’s not your fault’- which, yeah, that’s the crux of it- but the actual work of it is super intense, exhausting, and so much more in depth.  

unhealthy coping mechanisms so a lot of people with ptsd will find ways to cope to help them fill an emotional void, or to cover up feelings etc. There are tons of ways people do this. Some will do extreme things like drugs, risky behaviors, drinking a lot etc Example: They experience a ‘violent retraumatizing’ moment like a pet getting killed in front of them- then later to cope have casual sex and drink too much in order to numb their emotions and not think about them.

A lot of ‘avoidance’ and ‘overdependence’ can be a part of ptsd. Like you might avoid certain things like the plague, or constrastingly might start using people or things or substances or food like an emotional crutch/security blanket instead of coping in a healthier way or learning to be independent.

Self protective steps you take might be super over the top, or self-destructive and borderline suicidal. 

Sometimes trying to repress all your emotions and not express them is something you do to protect yourself. 

This can be all over the map really- there are hundreds of examples!

triggering moments of your ‘Stuck points’

Stuck points are thoughts that keep us from recovering. Stuck points are concise statements that reflect a thought – not a feeling, behavior, or event. 

Example of stuck points:  'If I let other people get close to me, I'll get hurt again', 'I am useless.' 'I'm broken', 'I can't trust anyone in authority', 'People will reject me if they get to know me/see me at my worst’ ‘I’m a monster.’ ‘I’m worthless’ 

These can come up and you won’t even realize it at first. You’ll have something super innocuous happen and all of a sudden you’re on the verge of a breakdown, angry and/or panicking for seemingly no reason. 

These intense emotions will hit you and don’t feel like there’s any thoughts connected to them- there ARE thoughts behind it of course, but it takes a bit of deconstructing to figure it out though and realize ‘ooooh, there’s the thought train that was bubbling under the surface! I didn’t realize because thinking through my emotional processes was something I wasn’t allowed to do during my trauma- so now I don’t know how to instinctively do that even a little.’

Examples in fiction 

Harry Potter in Order of the Phoenix where he is yelling at the drop of a hat when he feels abandoned/rejected by everyone. His reactions are so CLEARLY PTSD related to me.  Actually, I think he has CPTSD and it just got to a tipping point due to the traumas he experienced in the graveyard.

Hunger Games Books  Probably the best portrayal of PTSD, of books I’ve read, is Hunger Games. The movies glazed over it a bit- but the books? Oh man, they nail it so hard.

HP and Hunger Games both have protagonists who are great portrayals of ptsd. The anger, the disassociation, the depression, the nightmares, the inability to identify with humans at times, the self protective steps that are unhealthy, the coping mechanism of avoidance etc.

Disassociating

People describe this in tons of different ways, but personally I think of it like body/brain numbness. All of a sudden it’s like a blankness comes over you, almost like that hazy way of daydreaming, only instead of daydreams it’s nothing but a buzzing blankness with maybe like slight almost invisible undercurrent of panic. It’s like the body is paralyzed, and you can’t act or think or do anything but stare or numbly move a bit- it almost feels like your soul just left your body for a bit and you’ve been consumed by a white room of emptiness. Not a black void- it’s not being lost in darkness- it’s like being lost in the light, if that makes sense? Like think of a blank why void like in The Matrix where the whiteness goes on forever. 

Flashbacks

In tv shows they often show it like it's a hallucination or something. Flashbacks are typically shown as a person basically becoming delirious and having visual and audio hallucinations, then perhaps even becoming violent to those around them because they literally see something different than what is real.

Again, this is my experience- but flashbacks have never worked like that for me. I more disassociate, and then all the emotions of that memory hit me, and in my brain I’m able to see bits and pieces of what happened back then, or even the whole thing- it’s like a SUPER intense memory/daydream/nightmare just settles in there for a bit- and you feel all the full emotions of it for a bit- can suddenly feel the sensations of it too at times-but at NO point am I actively moving about in a real room around people getting them confused with the past and lashing out at the hallucinations.

 I’m just sitting there, or crying there- and if someone in the room with me were to talk to me they might have to get my attention because I'm deep in that daydream/flashback- but I’d hear them and see them once I realize I’m spacing out. The most outburst I’d have would be to not want anyone to touch me- or get super startled from someone touching me then pushing them away from me. That’s very different than the crazy shit they show on TV and movies sometimes.

BAD EXAMPLE: One particular one that still makes me mad is when that had Owen from Grey’s Anatomy sees a fan- then get ‘triggered into a ptsd episode’ where he is unblinkingly choking out Cristina as she begs him to stop for a long time. Like…. It’s one thing for someone to be startled and have their instinct be to strike out- that’s a very different thing from what they portrayed. If they wanted to show him as ptsd dangerous- which is worrisome to me as people with mental health are stigmatized enough- but if they wanted to- it would have made much more sense for her to startle him somehow and for him to just blindly strike out before he realizes it. With combat training, he could very well have instincts that aren’t safe when he’s over sensitized and startled.

What are the main treatments for PTSD?

Cognitive Processing Therapy  (CPT)

CPT is the main treatment for PTSD. It is highly structured, and the majority of it is writing and worksheets. There is a LOT of writing and talking out about your trauma, writing and talking about how you process it, and analyzing it.

Beyond the traumatic memories, there is also noticing the behaviors you have that are related to your trauma and how they come out in every day scenarios. This leads to:

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT)

This is not about processing past events, but about processing current behaviors/reactions and trying to slowly change those behaviors over time so that they are healthier reactions/coping mechanism in place.

Exposure therapy- Reliving memories

For PTSD some people do a lot of reliving the trauma memories by describing them in detail, every tiny detail they can think of- and basically reliving them, but then trying to reroute the emotional response to them. 

Some people are SO repressed that this is a very difficult thing for them to access- both remembering the memory, but also knowing what their emotions were/are. These memories of trauma aren't always easy to remember/re-feel/access and that can be frustrating.

I personally am REALLY GOOD at reliving memories- in fact I'm so good that we have been avoiding it for a bit because i go straight into flashback mode way too easy (more on flashbacks and how they work later)

There are ways of doing this that are more than just revising the memory through talk therapy, that I haven't done and would require research on your part:

virtual reality to revisit the place

watching videos or listening to recordings of the event and talking it through

exposure therapy that's more about getting used to sounds/smells/words that are triggering

The main point though is to process the emotions tied to that event and not make your brain default to that flight/fight/freeze mode when triggering things happen.

IMPORTANT TOOLS FOR THERAPY

If a person hasn't had much therapy, CPT/CBT has a lot of learning for that person, and a LOT of trying to identify emotions and really feel them, so one can process them.

Grounding techniques/exercises-

techniques used to sooth/calm a person when activated- there are like thousands of these guys out there- I think everyone is a bit familiar with them- like breathing exercises in yoga? Basically it's a way of regrouping and centering yourself- 'grounding' you in reality, instead of letting your brain go off on a tangent/emotional rollercoaster.

It's basically any way you can snap your thinking out of your anxious thoughts and concentrate on something until your re-calibrate and are calmer.

Personally the breathing techniques make me freak out- so I don't use those. :P Ones I find helpful are ones like 'Name every color you can see.' or 'go through the alphabet and letter by letter name an animal that starts with that letter.' and 'hold an ice cube in your hand and concentrate fully on every sensation you're feeling.'example  example

-CBT and CPT WORKSHEETS

god, SO many worksheets.

Here are some helpful links

https://positivepsychologyprogram.com/cbt-cognitive-behavioral-therapy-techniques-worksheets/  --- This page covers cognitive distortions really well, and has some helpful resources and worksheets.

https://trailstowellness.org/resources   This page has a lot of great worksheets for trauma.

https://www.psychologytools.com/professional/problems/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/- unfortunately you cannot access the documents here without paying- BUT you can read what the docs are, and how they will be used in a therapy setting- so can use that as a launch point for what sort of worksheets/phrases to google.

I specifically worked from  Cognitive Processing Therapy for PTSD: A Comprehensive Manual a lot.

What is the structure of PTSD therapy?

First session

The first thing I had to do was fill out a questionnaire (PTSD test , cptsd questionnaire) to make sure she thought the treatment was appropriate. We talked about this a bit, what symptoms I had, talked over examples of it. I'm comfortable with therapy so this wasn't so bad for me, but I can see this being very difficult for people who aren't as comfortable in this setting and would need to be walked through it more and have more questions as they might not have a lot of self-awareness. We discussed goals, what could be achieved, and generally what it would be like. We went over the first worksheet and I was given homework of figuring out what my stuck points are.

Sessions after that

Each session we begin with typical therapy for a bit 'how was the last week? Were there any events I should know about?' Then we go over the worksheet I filled out, and analyze it, talk about examples, or apply it to trauma memories.

What is trauma therapy LIKE?

I always try to have the next day or so as free as possible after therapy, because afterwards I am wiped out, exhausted, and sometimes super triggered and crying afterwards.

The analogy I like to use is cleaning out a closet you keep hoarding stuff in:

Your house is your life, your brain is a closet, and PTSD/trauma is a messy hoarders type hidden away in the closet. When the door to this closet is closed you can almost pretend there isn't a mess there at all. Y ou close the door by being in denial, not thinking about your trauma, not acknowledging or processing it. You just keep stuffing the trauma into the closet.

But the longer you let the closet stay like that, the worse the situation gets. Soon that closet door keeps busting open and all sorts of crap falls out when you don't want it to. Freakouts, hypervigilance, meltdowns etc. The crap in the closet starts to multiply.

Ever seen Hoarders or Marie Kondo? You know how people are crying over t-shirts and crap and the house looks WORSE for a while? That's trauma therapy.

In therapy you have to open the closet door, take out ALL the crap you've been hoarding in the closet, process it, organize it, and then put things in order again. Every single box of trauma needs to be looked at then put away- The goal is to  throw out the intense intrusive emotions tied to the junk. You have to keep your memories- but you don't have to keep holding on to the behaviors they've formed, the turbulent emotions, and the intensity of it all. During therapy at first it's fine. Kondo is walking you through it and it's all just fine and dandy- then you are faced with this HOARD of CRAP you have to work through- and it's SO overwhelming. My anxiety and depression got way worse for a while. Like, I was on EDGE and having nightmares and it was horrible. But then once you've processed the memories, and start actively applying what you've learned and start using grounding techniques more and more- things do get easier.

I am not fixed. I am not cured. I will have to continue to work through stuff- It's that whole 'healing is a not a straight line' thing. Like, there are times I regress and I hate it. :P But it's gotten a lot better.

IF YOU GUYS HAVE ANY QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS I’M HAPPY TO HELP.

I figure this can be an ok resource for people who don’t know much about ptsd except what it says on like webmd (which isn’t that accessible to me) and want to write about it (or want to just know more about it)

( *C-PTSD has not been considered an official different disorder from PTSD for all that long. In fact, one technically can't be medically diagnosed with CPTSD in america yet. PTSD is diagnosable and has been considered an official disorder for decades, but C-PTSD has not been named a disorder of its own yet in the official guidebook of psychological disorders in the US (DSM). I think they might have JUST recognized it in the UK guidebook (ICD). I know it was proposed for the 11th addition.)

[gytech]

Apathy of a Broken Heart

This is to @theflagshiparkos , you wanted Hurt and Comfort with romance, and Hurt and Comfort is a bad subject since I love silly and funny. Haha. But this had been an idea that I never got to try out before, and it turned out great! I hope you enjoy it. :)

Special thanks to my friend @unashamed-shipper for proofreading correcting errors.

———-

Sorry, Natsu, mom is calling me. I gotta go!” Wendy said with a slight frown before she reached for the power button and turned off their Skype chat. The familiar sound of the connection ending filled Natsu’s ears for a moment before it came back to the white background and various message bubbles of their conversations.

Natsu gave a small sigh before reaching forward to close his laptop. He was clad in his normal school uniform for the day, with the exception of his scarf. He looked around his room, and dry chuckle left his mouth for a moment.

Their parents always encouraged them to pursue their own hobbies, and unlike his sister whose room had been full of ocarinas and tailoring supplies and books on medicine, Natsu’s was full of small things. He had a small collection of games he loved, a small shelf for cooking books, and a small rack for medals that he had earned from when he did boxing.

These were things he had prided himself in doing, and despite these achievements, things still didn’t get better for him. He did everything he was told, she did everything she was told.

And yet things still didn’t work out…

Giving a sigh, Natsu grabbed his bag and departed without saying a word.

———

“Hey Lucy, wanna head to the arcade tonight?”

Lucy sighed and shook her head gently before looking up at what seemed like the fifth guy this week to ask her out. Ever since she transferred to this school she had been the subject of someone’s conversation because of her looks, and the uniform didn’t help people’s reaction to her. Every other day a guy would try and score with the ‘bombshell of a babe’.

Giving a sigh, she put on a small smile before shaking her head. “No thank you. I have plans tonight.”

Thankfully this man had taken her declination well and simply gave a nod before walking away. Lucy had always been able to take the polite ones much better, plus it meant she didn’t have to use her Lucy kick that she had to use on the ones who got aggressive or groped her.

“Another broken heart,” Lisanna giggled as she ate her salad in front of Lucy. Her blue eyes were sparkling slightly from the amusement. “I have to say, it’s great to have you in this school, it means fewer guys but on me.”

Lucy sighed heavily before she went back to eating her sandwich with an unamused expression. “I’m so glad to be of help.”

“You could be better with the sarcasm.”

Lucy’s eyes widened as she looked to her left to see a familiar boy, and he happened to be her classmate alongside Lisanna. Though he usually wore a smile, her heart sunk slightly when she noticed the scowl that was implanted on his face.

“Oh um, hey Natsu,” she said, her brown eyes curiously glanced at him. She then scooted to the side a little bit before she continued her train of thought. “Are you having lunch with us today?”

“Nah, I kind of want peace and quiet for once in my life,” he said with a small sigh before he turned around and began to walk towards the hallway.

Silence fell between the two young women, and the only sounds that were made were never-ending chatter that echoed through the classroom. Lucy turned from Natsu and looked at her half-eaten lunch and thought to herself.

Normally Natsu was talkative and would ramble about the newest recipes he had cooked. Or he would talk about his upcoming fight or even just invade Lucy and Lisanna with personal questions. But today he had just been quiet, and actually focusing on his school work.

“Hey Lisanna, do you have any idea what’s wrong with Natsu?” Lucy asked with a small frown. “I know I haven’t been in the school for long, but I’ve never seen him like that.”

Lisanna shook her head before she rested her head on her palm. “Not that I can think of. He hasn’t told me about any of his issues as of late.”

Lisanna’s blue eyes looked down at her salad, her fork playing with green leaves as she continued to speak. “His dad is well off as a businessman, and his mom is a doctor. They divorced about a year ago, and so his mom and sister now live a few hours away.”

Lucy’s eyes widened slightly before she took a small nibble from her sandwich. “Do you think that might be what is upsetting him?”

Lisanna gave a shrug. “It’s possible. I’ve never heard him grieve over it, to be honest. But Natsu has never been the type to talk about his issues unless it’s with his fists.”

Lucy gave a small nod before taking a bite from her meal. Her mind thinking about how to help Natsu out…

_______

“Ughhh, Who the heck is it?” Natsu grumbled as he walked toward his front door. All he wanted to do was cook some udon and just go lay down in his bed. He had the apartment to himself all weekend for Pete’s sake.

“Look I don’t want-“

Natsu’s words were cut off at the sight of the blonde beauty before him. The golden hair that was normally tied up was flowing freely, and she had her normal heart-shaped earrings on. Her school uniform was replaced with a white strapless top with a black pleated mini skirt. To top off the whole thing was black thigh high stocking with black shoes.

What was even more strange was the two large pizzas that she had in her hands.

Natsu’s eyes looked at Lucy with shock before he gave small sigh and he put his hands in his pockets. “Hey Lucy, what’re you doing here? Did you need something?”

The young girl gave a small smile before shaking her hair, her long locks swaying gently alongside her movements. “Nope, I’m just here for our date.”

“Date?”

“Yup! Everyone has been annoying me about going on dates with them, and I think it keeps people at bay if I dated you.” Lucy said with a small smile as she stepped inside before he could even stop her. “You should feel honored!”

As she made her way to the living room, Natsu simply looked at her with disbelief before he gave a sigh. He knew it would be pointless to argue against her.

“Well, I guess a free meal is always good,” he mumbled to himself before following her.

—————

Hours went by as the two ate pizza and watched anime, occasionally the two would discuss the show and throw in a snarky comment. But other than that, they were silent.

Lucy smiled as they continued onto season two. So far it was going well, she had asked Lisanna about what kind of clothing would be good for the date, so she picked something cute yet flattering. It also helped that Natsu hadn’t argued with her idea to have this date to begin with, and it seemed to be working too! He was starting to be his usual self again…

“Man that, that Ling sounds exactly like you,” Lucy observed with a small giggle, her hand reaching forward to get another slice.

“No way! I’m way cooler than that guy!” Natsu shot back with a small laugh.

“I don’t know, you both have a ton of ambition–not to mention you both eat like horses. I think it’s a good fit,” Lucy said, her giggling not ceasing.

Natsu simply laughed before looking down at the pizzas boxes, and for a brief moment, Lucy caught a glimpse of sadness wash over his face. Her heart sunk at the sight. It seemed like distracting him from his sorrows wouldn’t be enough–Lucy knew that far too well when it came to the bad relationship she had with her father. No, Natsu needed to talk about this if he was going to move forward.

“Hey Natsu,” Lucy began, reaching for the remote to turn off the television. Her voice, soft and gentle. “Are you doing okay? Lisanna told me about your parents.”

Natsu’s head shot up, and his once slouched posture became stiff and straight at Lucy’s question. His eyes were wide with surprise and he subconsciously clenched his hand. She couldn’t tell if he was actually shocked, or if he was feigning his surprised expression. But either way, she continued.

“She told how your dad and mom split up about a year ago, and how your mom and sister now live far away,” she said, her gaze not leaving. She then scooted towards the pink haired teen and she gently laid a hand on top of his. “Has it been bugging you today?”

“What makes you say that?” Natsu answered hoarsely.

“Because you’re not being yourself is why. You’re usually energetic, you love to prank me and Lisanna any chance you have, and today you’ve done none of those things. I know that’s not a coincidence Natsu,” Lucy countered, her brown eyes glossing over with concern. She squeezed his hand gently before bringing it to rest on her leg.

“I’m fine Lucy, okay? I’ve just had a bad day.” Natsu insisted with a sigh, his tone becoming more unamused as he tried to tug his hand free. “I just want to continue the show and relax.”

“That’s not going to solve this Natsu,” Lucy scolded him. “That kind of pain doesn’t go away with distractions and stubbornness. It goes away by talking.”

Natsu glared at her, his own eyes glossing over. He grunted and once again tried to pry his hand from Lucy’s iron grip, only have it remain in place.

Lucy’s heart was beating rapidly as she watched him try his best to keep his composure and force all his pain back down where it was locked up. It, in turn, hurt her, and she felt a tear run down her cheek.

At the same time, the same thing happened to him. Followed by another year, and another. The dam had broken, and the repressed emotions finally surfaced.

And it broke her heart to see it.

“Natsu,” Lucy softly spoke. “At times like these, I don’t think men have to hold back.

Natsu looked down at their hands before she buried his head into her chest. A depressed wail escaping his lips as he finally began to cry.

For a minute Lucy gently brought her hands to cradle his head. A few silent tears of her own dripped down her cheeks and landed into his messy hair. The sound of Natsu’s sobbing filled her ears as Natsu poured out his grief that he had repressed for a year.

“I just want them together!” he exclaimed in frustration, his voice cracking as he spoke. “I want my family back! I miss it! I miss talking to Wendy as she made things or played music! I miss mom and dad trying out my meals! I miss family night where we would just play video games and watch movies! I just want it back! Is that too much to ask? I used to know what I wanted to do in life! And now that they’re divorced, I can’t see anything but this…all of this damn pain!”

His reached for her top and scrunched part of the white fabric in his hand as he continued. “How can someone be together for 10 years…and then just not love them anymore?”

He then pulled away, his body trembling before he stared into Lucy’s eyes. “Why…why did they split up?”

Lucy wiped her tears away. She needed to be strong for Natsu. He needed a friend who could help him through this. She gave a sigh and once again held his hand with her own. “I don’t know Natsu…I don’t have the answer to that. I can’t do anything that can fix it…but…I want you to know that this isn’t the end of the world…you can still do the things you want to. I know it hurts but…it’ll get better….”

She then gave a sad smile. “I know it will….”

Natsu closed his eyes tightly again as a few more tears fell. His body trembled, his breath was fast and shallow, and he squeezed her hand tightly. He then pulled Lucy into a hug.

Lucy embraced Natsu, her arms wrapping around his back and she could feel how warm he was. Natsu continued to shiver as he cried for a while longer and finally, he pulled away.

His eyes were bloodshot, and his face had a depressed expression. But, after some effort, Lucy saw him turn his frown into a trembling smile.

“Th-thanks Lucy…Thanks for being here.”

“It was no prob-“

Before she could continue, his hand grabbed her top once again and he pulled her into a kiss.

Lucy’s eyes widened as they shared their breath with each other, and for a moment, her sympathy and sorrow for her friend disappeared. All that was in front of her was him.

And she had the feeling it was the same for him.

After a minute they pulled out, both panting slightly as they caught their breath.

A blush came to Lucy’s face and she looked to the side with a pout. “That was cheap, stealing a girl’s first kiss so suddenly like that….”

Natsu gave a nervous laugh as he whipped the tears from his face. “Haha, I know you liked it.”

He then gave a smile. A real, genuine smile.

“Thanks, Lucy. I needed that.”

“No problem,” she replied, her blush deepening as she fixed her top, which had became wrinkled and stained with his tears. It had also ridden up a bit to tease her stomach.

He gave a small laugh before he grabbed the remote and turned the television back on. He went back to Netflix and they once again resumed their show. “By the way. There’s no way you’re leaving my house this weekend. So if you want to hang out with Lisanna, call her up and tell her to come over!”

She gave a pout. “That’s not fair! What if I had plans this weekend?“

“Then cancel them!”

“It’s not polite to assume what other people are going to do with their time you know.” She fake scolded, crossing her arms and turning back to watch Fullmetal Alchemist.

Natsu laughed. “It’s not polite to steal a girl’s first kiss–but you didn’t mind that either.”

Lucy’s heart fluttered for a moment before she laid her head on his shoulder. All of that was true. Deep down she enjoyed that kiss–he had taken away her first date too.

She closed her eyes and smiled.

She had a feeling she would have a lot of firsts with him.

[mimichristopher]

2018

This year was not what I expected it to be at all but I mean that in the best way possible and I’m so grateful for how things have turned out. I thought this would be the year of new beginnings but it was actually the year of endings. A chapter is ending and I’m entering a new phase in life but before I begin the new cycle I had to die to my former self.  

I’ve been on a quest to try to find myself my entire life but it really intensified over the past 6 years. I’ve gone through many different phases, cycled through many different partners and friendships so I could hold them up as a mirror and get a peak at myself. In the past I would try to become someone else and add things to my ego so I could have a solid sense of self but that strategy wasn’t working for me. I got so fed up I moved to the west coast. Probably the most radical change I have ever made in my entire life. For once I was completely on my own and in solitude I was finally able to find what I have been seeking my entire life.

I thought that I would move out here and begin a full time job and get in the flow of work life but the universe had other plans for me. It told me to pause. I had minimal responsibilities and the freedom to do whatever I wanted with my time. At first of course I was just going out a ton and partying, relaxing at the beach, going on dates and reveling in hedonism but eventually (after a few eye opening experiences) I found yoga/meditation, became more spiritual, spent more alone time in nature, and my priorities shifted. I realized that Pasadena had become my rehabilitation center and I was learning how to heal myself from past trauma. Before I begin this new chapter in life I have to get rid of the old baggage. I was able to dive deep into my subconscious and get a proper look at what I was carrying with me. Everything I had been repressing came bubbling to the surface in order to get released. In order to find myself I actually had to kill my ego. I had to strip myself of all my earthly attachments and let go of all definitions of self. I went through a spiritual awakening, had this super mystical experience that is hard for me to put into words but I definitely have found God and it has changed my life. I feel like I have stepped into a different reality. It was scary at first. I went through some really dark times and truly felt like I was losing my mind or having a mental breakdown but once I got through the initial shock, life got so much better. I feel like I met myself for the first time. I saw my soul and it is BEAUTIFUL.

2018 has been the most transformative year of my life. I’ve learned how to surrender to a Higher Power, how to go with the flow of the universe and work with divine timing. I don’t resist what is, I accept. I embrace change and endings because I know it’s just the universe making space for something better. I see the lesson in painful experiences and I don’t see myself as a victim. I allow myself to feel all my feelings and express them so I can release them. I’m less judgmental of myself and others, I feel more compassionate, more forgiving, less superficial, less fearful and more confident and powerful than I have ever felt in my entire life.

I wanted to know what I was put on this planet to do and set some long term goals. I wanted to know what my core needs/values were and what I truly want out of a relationship/friendship. I wanted to understand the true nature of the universe, my history, and where I come from. Although I’m still figuring things out I was able to finally receive some answers. The reflection in the mirror is not as blurry as it used to be and I feel more whole. Before this, I was living in a dissociative haze. I never want to lose ever myself again. I am fully committed to being the most authentic version of myself from here on out.

I’ve let go of a lot of friendships this year but the people who are meant to stay are the ones who love me unconditionally, period. I can set boundaries for myself and expect others to respect them. I almost feel like I was subconsciously testing my loved ones, seeing who would stick around. I know it must have been frustrating but in order to find myself I had to cut myself off from the world while I figured things out. In 2019 I hope to incorporate others in my journey along with me. I have the habit of either becoming completely enmeshed in other people or I shut them out so I am learning how to find balance and create more healthy bonds.

Sometimes you have to sift through what you don’t want in order to find what you do want. I always end up where I’m supposed to be, no matter how long it takes me to get there. I made a lot of mistakes but the knowledge from this experience has been priceless. So excited to start fresh next year. I’m excited to lay down some roots in 2019, meet new people, move to a different part of Los Angeles (closer to the beach), start my first big girl job, and go back to school! I embrace responsibility and commitment after having this time off. Now I feel like I have a choice in my destiny and I’m not just following what my parents want or what other people expect from me. Things are settling down, I have control and I no longer feel compelled to rebel against structure. I am so fucking lucky and I feel so blessed to be alive right now.