#and it would basically exhaust me for a solid 12 hours

[darkwood-sleddog]

People in my life: you should try therapy!!

Me: that sounds exhausting though.

[lifewithoutmeds]

January 21, 2023

hellooooo tumblr.

things are going ok. spent most of the day with lorena, and it was great! last tuesday i got word that there was a dog at the burbank shelter that they thought would benefit from fostering, so after work i went with lorena, and picked up Kiwi, a 5-year old siberian husky, from the burbank animal shelter.

so far she’s been pretty great. she snapped at me once when i got near her food/bed, she lunges at small dogs, and had one pee accident, but other than that, she’s been great. it’s been kinda nice having another presence in the condo, and also nice to think that this is a better environment for her than the shelter, so it’s been good. lorena also is great with kiwi and loves having her around and is doing more than her share of taking her out, and training her.

quick recap of the last week or so.

last weekend: mirna’s baby’s bday BCD tofu house with anjali pho and kimchi pancakes with lana and friends scandinavian exhibit at LACMA and lunch with rhiannon

it was a solid weekend and i was exhausted afterward, and i think i either napped for a few hours or slept that night for like 12 hours, but i recall thinking i must’ve been rather exhausted from the weekend.

it felt nice i guess to change up the scenery and see new/different parts of town and new/different people. 

tuesday - thursday i worked, and wednesday i came home a bit earlier to WFH because i was anxious about kiwi being home alone without supervision (lorena had been watching her/walking her but went to her aunt’s house at 1) and so instead of getting off at 5ish, i got off at 3ish so i could be around/observe her.

since then i’ve gotten a doggy cam and have observed that she mostly just lies around or chews her rawhide/bone when she’s not out and about on her walks with us.

wednesday i also got randomly and suddenly sick, though with what it’s still hard to tell. it felt like a suddenly onset cold, but taking allertec has made most if not all of the symptoms subside, so it could just be a random case of severe allergies (hopefully not to kiwi).

this weekend has been pretty great.

friday i had a doctor’s appointment in the morning, and then i got an oil change, then came home and checked up on lorena and kiwi, then went out again at lunch to ozawa with lana and jenny unni for lana’s promotion celebration. afterward i drove jenny unni back to koreatown and then stopped by pac city bank to sign my new CD account thing, then stopped at the local korean bakery for snacks before heading back. was able to hang out with kiwi and lorena for a bit before she headed out to work.

saturday (today) has been good so far. took kiwi out on a 50 minute hike in the morning while lorena slept, then came back, read a bit, napped, and then we had breakfast together and decided to try kiwi out at the atwater flea market, but upon seeing her overstimulated and lunging at small dogs and realizing that there were too many small dogs at the market for us to reasonably deal with, just took her on a walk around the neighborhood before heading back. i dropped lorena off at the mall so she could buy some work basics from Zara and i came back home and made some coffee, then picked her up and introduced her to King Taco, where we had tacos and sopes. she expressed a few times how much she was enjoying the day and we joked that as her friend, i’d love for her to skip out on work and hang out all day, but that as her financial advisor, i must advise her to keep working. she’s currently taking a nap while kiwi is tearing up her bone, and i feel fairly calm and at peace. it’s been a good day.

it kind of makes me wonder though. i’m not in a relationship, but i wonder if this is all i want. occasional companionship, a person to walk the dog with, a person to go to the flea market with, a person to bring a pastry home to. am i settling? or do i just get comfortable when there’s no chase? i don’t feel as if i’m playing second fiddle, in fact i know i’m not first, and i probably only hung out with her today because i saw via ig stories that reyna is at disneyland with her mom, but that doesn’t make me feel less than, or secondary, if anything, it makes me feel almost ... comforted knowing how little i need. i feel less anxious, less needy, less attached. i’m ok with this, and i’m ok with that. 

today was a good day. i was out with a good friend, had good walks with a good dog, ate some good food, and even had time to read and journal. i could see how some might think this was boring, but it was one of those “nothing days” that i’ve grown to appreciate, because i know that these are days that might be easy to forget, but nice to remember.

[warmblanketwhump]

sick day

A coughs roughly, bracing themselves against the aisle after another fit of hacking left them gasping for breath.

It hadn’t been that bad this morning. They’d woken with a scratchy throat, achy limbs, and a tickle in their nose, but nothing unmanageable. Besides – they needed the money. Badly. Living alone was expensive, but they didn’t know anyone else in the city, and they were barely keeping their head above the water as it was.

So they’d thrown on an extra sweater, ignored the chill deep within their bones, and headed out to work.

4 hours into a 12 hour shift, A would have welcomed the sweet embrace of death. Or any embrace at all - something to stop the shakes in their limbs or still the spinning world.

As if by divine intervention, a hand reaches out and gently clasps their shoulder. “Hey, are you feeling alright?”

B had never seen anyone that sick still standing. Pale. Forehead slick with sweat. Shaky hands. Wearing one too many layers in the stuffy, crowded air of the grocery store.

A had only been working at the store for a couple months. but B couldn’t recall a time when A wasn’t working, morning or night. And it showed - in the dark smudges under their eyes, and the way they leaned heavily against the boxes of spaghetti they’d been trying to stock. Another round of coughs sent them reeling, and B rushes to their side and grabs their shoulder. “Hey, are you feeling alright?” A jumps, startled at the touch, and B drops their hand instantly.

“I’m...I’ll be fine,” A rasps, wiping their nose with their sleeve. They cross their arms, trying to hide the shiver that hunches their shoulders and rattles their teeth.

“A, you look like death warmed over. At the very least, you’re going to decrease pasta sales by a factor of 10 because you coughed all over them.” B smiles ruefully, but it doesn’t reach their eyes.

A tries to laugh at the joke, but a wave of dizziness swirls their vision, and they weakly grab at the shelf. Instead, they feel another body catch them – B’s solid, warm body which gently steadies them in a sort of hug.

“Easy there,” says B as A gasps for air, clasping weakly at B’s waist as B rubbed their back. In a matter of minutes, A is whisked back to their boss, and after a tense conversation in hushed whispers (of which A hears nothing) they’re out on the snowy streets, in B’s warm car, headed home. “There’s no way you’re working today, bud”, B says, slowly navigating the route to A’s apartment as A protests that they’re fine, to tell their boss they’ll come back to finish their shift after a quick nap.

As they help A navigate the creaking stairs of their cold, damp apartment building, B’s heart twists - no wonder A’s so sick if they’ve been living in a place like this in a winter this harsh.

They enter A’s dark, freezing apartment, and B gently deposits them on the threadbare couch and drapes a nearby blanket around their shoulders.

“Thank you...you didn’t have to bring me–” Another round of coughs cuts A’s rasping voice short, and they tug the blanket tighter around themselves and shiver helplessly. 

B frowns and gently feels A’s forehead (burning up) and slips their hand down to A’s neck to check their lymph nodes (definitely swollen). A draft from the window sets A’s teeth chattering, and B scans the sparsely furnished apartment, searching for another blanket. Eventually, they settle for shedding their own jacket and wrapping that around A, too.

“A, it’s freezing in here. Where’s your thermostat?”

“Won’t matter - it doesn’t work most days.” They cough again, longer this time. B rushes to A’s side, placing a hesitant hand between their shoulder blades and rubbing slow, deliberate circles until A finally catches their breath. A leans back and closes their eyes, breathing heavily, a single tear tracking down their cheek. B can tell that they’re exhausted, and their heart cracks at A’s huddled form.

B chews their lip, worried. The last thing they want to do is insult A, but staying alone in this awful apartment will only make them sicker. Their mind pops to their own warm, cozy apartment, their fully stocked medicine cabinet - and to the extra room, recently vacated by their roommate who had just taken a new job in another city.

You haven’t even known them that long, warns the rational side of their brain. Why should you worry yourself over them?

But even though B doesn’t know A well, they like them - the two of them made a good team, and although A was quiet, they had a fun sense of humor and seemed to genuinely care for those around them, always helping where they could, always quick with a compliment, a kind word, or a smile for someone else. 

And B knew how terrible it was to be sick alone. Two springs ago, they’d caught a bad cold - and nothing could truly capture the miserable feeling of dragging yourself out of bed, feverish, half alive, desperately hoping that someone would stop by and check in on you. Finally, B takes a deep breath.

Just ask. If they say no, you leave. That’s it.

“Say, um...look. I don’t want to be - you know, creepy or anything,” B stutters as A turns to meet their eyes. “It’s just...well, my shift is basically over by now, and I was just going to go home after this anyways, and I know your heating’s out so if you wanted to come hang out where it’s warmer until it’s fixed or something, you can. And I’ve got medicine and stuff at my place too, and my roommate just moved out so it’s just me and it wouldn’t be any trouble. If you want.” B let it all out in a single breath, hoping that they hadn’t sounded as awkward as they felt.

---------------------------

A’s eyes well up with tears, and they inhale a shaky breath that has nothing to do with their coughing fits. They had no reason to expect such kindness from someone who barely knew them, what they’d been through, how hard they’d been fighting, how long they’d been alone without anyone who cared.

They knew what B was really asking. B knew damn well that A’s heating wasn’t coming back on any time soon. They knew B likely suspected that A had spent the last few winter nights shivering themselves to sleep, and that this embarrassing, freezing apartment was all they could afford on their own, even after all those extra shifts.

And yet B still gave them the dignity of asking.

If you want. And they did.

“I’d like that.” A says quietly, voice rough from coughing.

B smiles, relief evident in their eyes. “Good. Let’s get you ready, then.”

10 minutes later, they head back down the stairs, B holding them steady and gently rubbing A’s arms to get some warmth into their still-feverish body. And despite feeling absolutely drained, A smiles. Maybe things would be okay after all.

[chickenmcfly1]

Marty with superpowers headcannons?

(Again, I have no idea how the science behind any of this would work so just bear with me)

So the exposure to plutonium without cell rejuvenation gives him superpowers. Marty can briefly manipulate time by freezing and speeding up time around him, and he can manipulate space by phasing in and out through solid material

basically since his powers came from the DeLorean and interaction between radiation and the flux capacitor, Marty basically becomes a weak human flux capacitor and can manipulate space and time(sketchy science is sketchy)

He discovers them about a week after part three ends because his body finally transitions out of survival mode.

Through the trilogy, Marty is running on like 12 total hours of sleep, 1 meal, no water, 4 head injuries, 3 of which are traumatic brain injuries he doesn’t really accidentally draw on said powers. He’s weak, pretty injured, and exhausted, and his body’s probably focused on healing and staying upright, not manipulating space and time (also I always forget that by definition and time spend unconscious, Marty sustained three traumatic brain injuries in the span of 18 days? That’s gonna be fun for his family doctor to deal with at his next wellness checkup)

After he returns to lone pine 1885, Marty hasn’t really been sleeping bc he’s plagued by near constant nightmares and he’s been super on edge and anxious so he hasn’t really been eating and he’s overwhelmed and exhausted and just crashes in bed one day. And his body is like “oh we’re finally resting! we feel better! Let’s check out these new body functions!” (Again, This is not how bodies work but just humor me)

Then, the next morning, Marty wakes up under the bed? And Marty knows he’s a weird sleeper and he kinda just assumes he thrashed and moved around in his sleep and fell off of the bed, but that’s not possible bc he’s in the exact position he was on top of the bed. There’s also this heavy plastic keyboard case next to him, blocking the only side of the bed he could’ve rolled under from. Otherwise he would’ve had to roll over his guitar, fallen off of the bed, and rolled back under?

But Marty is 100% not in the mood to deal with any more strangeness and weird situations. He’s already overwhelmed and confused, he misses Doc so much it physically hurts, and he’s got real gigs lined up through the holidays and he really doesn’t have the mental energy for this so he just kinda ignores it and goes to school

But strange things keep happening? In math, when he knocks his calculator off of his desk during a test, panicking about how embarrassing it’s going to be when it hits the ground and makes and noise, making everyone turn around and look at him, the calculator just slows down, almost ceasing it’s free fall until Marty grabs it? And the few people who were turning around to look at Marty also have stopped, heads turned halfway to Marty before jerking back to their tests?

The worst one is when he’s on his way home, about to get on his skateboard. Instead for getting on, though, his foot goes through his skateboard. And just when Marty thinks that ordeal is over, his hand goes through the bumper of a car he tries to grab, sending Marty spiraling into the street. As cars zip past him and Marty’s in the middle of an intersection, thinking about how Doc was right and this little car surfing habit of his is gonna end him up in the hospital, the cars around him suddenly stop and seem to freeze then move in slow motion, just long enough for Marty to get to safety before continuing to speed down the streets as if nothing ever happened

Marty continues his commute home, feeling absolutely sick to his stomach, because there’s really one reason he could be passing through solid objects. He’s fading from existence. And that doesn’t explain the other weird stuff, but Marty’s way too worked up to consider the little details. The only thought running through is head is that there’s absolutely no way this can be happening again because this was supposed to be done it was all supposed to be better now

He goes home to get his truck, barely concealing his near-hyperventilating from Biff who always seems to be waxing one of their cars, and his dad who’s sitting on the porch, and drives to Doc’s. The lab is obviously empty, but being here makes him feel a little safer, and a little more clear headed.

He doesn’t eat or sleep that night and that puts his body back into survival mode, so his powers calm down again and Marty is beyond confused but just chalks all that up to exhaustion induced hallucinations? Which is a little scary because Marty is absolutely sure that all of that happen, and he’s really hoping he’s not going insane, but he’d rather be insane than fading from existence because option b means he messed up the time stream and that means that a bunch of other people potentially in danger and Marty’s already bucking under the guilt of 1985 A, he doesn’t need this too.

Obviously Marty has not been the same since time travel, but Jennifer notices he seems extra off as of late, so after school that day, she drags him to her house and asks her to tell her everything. And he knows he shouldn’t, but Doc’s not here and desperately needs to talk to someone and Jennifer is always so grounded and level headed and he needs that right now.

After 18 days of trauma chaos and Marty’s new affliction is described, Jennifer, who is a huge comic book and science fiction nerd, tells him in the most cheerful but matter of fact voice that he obviously has superpowers!

Marty just gives her his signature look of wide eyed, panicked confusion

Jennifer reassures him and tells him to leave a note for Doc where Doc left the DeLorean for him and ‘55 Doc. Marty likes that idea, but he’s still not entirely sure about the whole superpowers thing. So Jennifer tells him to attempt doing those things on purpose, and sure enough, all the things Jennifer makes fall off of her desk chair, including herself (which is the scariest trust fall of Marty’s life) slow just long enough for Marty to right them. Similarly his hands and legs pass through objects. Jennifer suggests he try to phase through the wall to see how strong his powers are, but Marty has a horrifying image of him stuck between Jennifer’s bedroom and closet wall forever, and he decides he’s not trying that own without Doc.

After a few trial runs, a very excited Jennifer’s going on about all the good things he could do the community with these powers and all the cool things he could do, but Marty’s anxious and overwhelmed and just wants to lay low. So he has powers, doesn’t mean he has to use them. Besides, Marty doesn’t know how to explain to Jennifer that after all the ‘good’ he did in 1985A and other timelines, the best way for Marty to serve the community is to probably stay far far far away from where he can mess anything up. Jennifer is, of course very understanding and she accompanies him to leave a letter for Doc

That night, Marty’s scared awake by a sudden rap on his window and wakes up to see Doc? And after Marty’s fight of flight response calms and his heartbeats slows enough for him to function, he just kind of sits there, convinced this is a dream and any second now, Doc will open up his lab coat, revealing bullet wounds and collapse and Marty will have to watch again. But then Doc calls his name and tells him he got his letter. And Marty is overwhelmed with joy and after flinging open the window and tackling Doc with a hug and then giving Clara and the boys another one, they go to the lab and figure everything out

Marty does, indeed, have superpowers. He’s basically a mini flux capacitor and Doc is over the moon thrilled, then panics and checks Marty over to make sure he’s still fine and healthy and that there are no negative side effects, then goes back to being thrilled

Idk what direction I wanna take this in? Whether Marty is just a normal person doing normal person things who just happens to have superpowers or if he and Doc get another crazy adventure, this time, involving superpowers, but yeah. If anyone wants to add on and take this in a direction, pls do bc I have no idea what comes next, lol.

[kashi-prompts]

Flowers For A Shinobi

Chapter 12: A Sprig of Lavender

Word Count: 3,097

Pairing: Kakashi x OFC

Previous Chapter ❀  Archive of Our Own Link  ❀  

A/N: As I said, the fluff was coming. Original art at the end.

6 Months Later

The relentless heat of the mid-day sun coupled with the heavily induced exercise regiment assigned to her that day seemed to be responsible for the halo of sweat around Ayame's body. Her chest heaved to catch her breath as she leaned against the sturdy body of an oak tree. 

"C'mon, Ayame-chan! Let's go!" Might Guy encouraged her, his steady jog lapping around the tree she leaned against. "Two more miles!"

"I can't do it," she breathed, clutching the collar of her soaked shirt. 

"14 miles is my morning routine!" Guy's smile glistened as he beamed at her, sweat dripping down his temple like rainwater. "Let's go! Before Kakashi assigns you 100 push-ups as well!" 

Ayame sighed heavily, the curve of her back weighing her down as she leaned against the tree. Her stomach churned with nausea from the constant stream of blood pumping at high volume through her body. 

"Ayame-chan!" Guy called from down the hill, his legs pumping with such a velocity, Ayame could have sworn he was floating over the summer grass. Inhaling slowly, she continued down the mountain to follow the bobbing head of black hair through the field. 

Upon reaching the training grounds, Ayame was surprised to see Kakashi missing from the scenery. The white-haired jonin was always there upon her arrival. Generally, on Tuesdays, a different sensei would train her, cycling through the other jonin in the village so that she could get a better feel of how others utilize their strengths. The chaos of training with Might Guy always left her exhausted but earned her the confidence that she had pushed herself. 

As the calendar had flipped all the way from spring to late summer, Ayame had worked nearly every day with Kakashi. His prior questionably smitten behavior was exchanged with a stern, pressing instructor. It was almost as though the seemingly mutual tiny flame formed between the two of them had dissipated. Almost. 

Kakashi made it very clear from the beginning that he would not be taking it easy on his new student. From the first day she had arrived on the bridge, he had provided her with a rather large box of scrolls and books to read as her first assignment. Then he made her carry them to the training grounds to read them every day.

It certainly wasn't enough to just read the material provided to her, so instead, while Kakashi was on a rather long mission, he appointed a man named Irkua to tutor her for two weeks personally. As the early spring rain had fallen relentlessly outside a dark and dreary classroom, she learned a significantly accelerated version of the very basics of what the children at the academy were learning. 

Handseals, weaponry, and types of jutsu had been next. Surprisingly, even herself, she had found that she was considerably skilled at the crafts she was learning. Might Guy had taught her taijutsu, while Kakashi specialized in ninjutsu and a rather pretty jonin named Kurenai explained genjutsu to her. 

Again, learning things was never enough for Kakashi. He insisted she experience things as well, moving on to confining her in a genjutsu for twelve hours until she successfully released herself. And even then, he made her do it again to prove she was capable. 

When the subject of an academy examination was brought up, Ayame was eager to complete it. In early spring, the assessment was administered to her and a dozen small children, who fit more comfortably in the desks provided than she did. When Iruka had informed her privately the following day that she had passed, her enthusiasm for succeeding could barely be contained. 

She had hugged Iruka and thanked him, running through the streets to the bridge where she would meet Kakashi every morning for training. Upon his arrival, the hug she had given him had barely been enough to thank him for the new Konoha headband she wore, realizing that she now had a rank in the shinobi system. A child's rank, but a rank. 

"Great job - but this is just the beginning," his crescent eye smiled at her, patting her on the shoulder once she had released his neck from a tight hug. If she hadn't looked right away, she would have missed the blush that crept up his cheekbones from under his mask. The realization had caused her own cheeks to flush. 

Despite the moments where their mutual pining arose, she tried not to resent him for the times he made her do things over until it was just right as the recent months had passed. He continuously pushed her to the point of exhaustion on more than one occasion, only to remind her that she would experience this on missions as well. Even so, he would always ensure she made it back home safely. 

Now, as she jogged into the grassy plain, she looked around for the turf of silver hair that usually sat perched in a tree, a book in hand, waiting for her. A frown creased her lips as she tried to catch her breath. Perhaps he had been called on a mission, she thought. 

A forceful hand slapped her between her shoulder blades, startling her as she was pushed forward a step. 

"Great job today," Guy praised, his meaty chest breathing heavily, "we made better time than last month!" 

"Thank you, Guy-sensei," Ayame smiled wearily, giving a thankful nod. 

"I'll be going now!" He told her quickly, waving as he ran off. Ayame stood in the field, puzzled by his sudden departure. Usually, he would stick around, telling stories of missions and tips that she didn't always ask for, but appreciated nonetheless. 

The muffled sound of a sandaled foot-shaped creating an imprint in the grass near her perked her ears. She listened carefully, walking towards the edge of the clearing and lifting her fingers in a cross formation. Coarse, short breaths uttered from her mouth as she then reached for a kunai in her side bag, the act still foreign to her yet oddly comforting. Could someone have known she would be here? Was someone here to ambush her? 

The sweeping, bracing sound of two metal weapons clashing against each other filled the field as Ayame spun her body around to meet two mismatched eyes. Surprised by his sudden appearance, she blinked at Kakashi in wonder before realizing what was happening. He purposely was ambushing her. 

He swept his leg under her, her lungs breathing in the heady fragrance of adrenaline while she dodged his continuous maneuvers. Her chest felt tight, and her body exhausted from the run, but she still managed to block his attacks. 

"You could have at least given me a few minutes to catch my breath," she managed, ducking as his arm punched the air above her head. 

"Enemies wouldn't allow you to catch your breath," Kakashi told her sternly, his eye glowing brightly through the shadows of the trees around them. She had only seen his Sharingan twice before. The first being on their mission together, and the second was when she had merely asked him. 

"What's under there?" She had asked one afternoon, peering over the academy scrolls she was required to read. He had lifted his head from his book, surprised by her abrupt question. 

"It's called a Sharingan," he had explained to her. "I'll teach you about it some other day." 

She had waited a few moments, watching his profile as he turned his head back into his book. The perfect curve of his nose that twitched nervously when she was near seemed to draw her in. 

"Need something?" He had asked, not looking up. She blushed, realizing he had caught her staring. 

"Can I see what it looks like?" 

Annoyed or surprised, he turned his head to look at her, hesitating before lifting a thumb to push his forehead protector up. The sight of the glowing red eye was just as jarring then as it was now. 

"Push harder," he urged her, pushing the kunai against hers. She launched forward, the unnerving sound of scraping metal on metal permeated her ears. She gritted her teeth in determination. 

Behind him, her shadow clone entered from the edge of the field where she had left her, her hands forming different signs in her memory bank to produce four sharp petals from the ground. Each spun through the air to catch Kakashi's shirt, tearing it at his shoulder as he avoided the three others. While he jumped through the air to evade her petaled blades, the real Ayame sunk to the ground with her hands splayed across the grass. In seconds, the grass beneath him turned to moss. 

As his sandaled foot slipped on the silky moss, he quickly attempted to steady himself as she launched her body forward, pushing him back onto the ground with a loud thump. With her legs on each side of his chest, she quickly placed her blade under his neck. She smiled as her chest rose and fell, smirking at the famed copy ninja that laid below her with his hands next to his head. Two strings of ivy erupted from the ground to seal him to the earth. 

"Ok, you win," he said breathlessly, a chuckle rising from his throat. Ayame smiled, sweat dripping from her temple as she tipped the blade to his chin. Her legs quivered against his ribs from the adrenaline and exertion. She could feel the heat of his body beneath her, the sheer warmth exuding from his skin that penetrated her bare thighs. His eyebrows lessened, lowering down his forehead as his gaze grew quiet. Her hand dropped to his rising chest, exhausted, still clutching the kunai. 

Behind her, she felt the cool touch of a blade on the side of her neck, and her body went rigid. Turning, she looked up to see Kakashi's soft smile above her. Under her legs, his solid figure disappeared with a puff of smoke, her eyes blinking at him in exasperation. 

"You almost had me," Kakashi smiled at her, setting the blade down to his side. Ayame sighed, sinking her bottom further to the ground between her bent legs.

"Don't be too quick to celebrate," he reminded her, sitting on the ground beside her. "One of the first things you should already know is always to be aware of your surroundings, whether you think the battle is finished or not. You did good with that shadow clone, but you should have also seen mine." 

"I understand," she nodded, twiddling her fingers over the blade of her weapon. As her heart rate finally began to steady at an average pace, she sighed heavily and leaned back into the grassy plain. Carefully, her sensei did the same, reaching in his back pocket for his book as she closed her eyes, rethinking what she could have done differently—perhaps having two shadow clones? One to serve as a lookout and one to tap in during battle? 

Her stomach constricted, angry with herself for being distracted at the last moment. She had him there, tied up. If it weren't for his shadow clone - and the way he had looked at her - then maybe she would have heard the real Kakashi behind her. Such a simple move, really. She should have been more aware. 

"Just be more aware next time," she heard him say beside her as if reading her thoughts. Her head turned, looking over at him as the golden hour sun cast a halo of yellow around them—a triangle of light under his eye and little dips of dark gray in his hair. She hated how attracted she was to him. She had pushed it down, determined to see him as her teacher and nothing more. If possible, they could be friends, but that was the extent she was willing to go for him. The thought of something more stirred a fire in her belly.

"I know," she agreed, nodding her head as she turned to look up at the sky. Puffs of clouds traveled quickly through the orange and purple sky, like an oil painting, but more refined. She thought again of the sparring match as she observed his slender fingers dance restlessly over the cover of the book he held. 

"How many times have you read that book?" she asked abruptly, catching a glimpse of the tattered spine and bent pages. His thumb held his page as his eyes continued to skim the words. She noticed that he hadn't turned the page in some time. 

"A few," he responded casually, his other arm bent behind his head for comfort. 

"Is it good?" Ayame laughed, realizing it was certainly more than "a few" times. 

"I would say so," Kakashi shrugged, smirking at her laughter. 

"Could I read it?" 

Kakashi chuckled quietly, his smile beneath his mask evident from the shadows the sun created behind him. "If you want, I could let you borrow it. But only briefly." 

"I would like that," she smiled, "I know it can be pretty raunchy." 

Kakashi closed his book quickly and looked over at her, seemingly taken aback by her response while his index finger held his page. 

Ayame felt a giggle rise in her throat at his expression and apparent loss of words. "I mean, it's not like I've never read a romance book before."  

"It's more than romance," he commented quickly, waving the tabbed book at her. Her eyes caught sight of how tattered it truly was. She wondered fleetingly why he was so invested in reading this book. Perhaps it was a method of distraction. 

"You don't use bookmarks, do you?" she questioned, her eyes still on the book that now laid on his chest. 

"I just rely on folding the pages," he said, watching her as she clasped her hands together in a familiar jutsu. Beside her, a small lavender sprig rose from the earth, its purple petals off-color in the setting sun. Carefully, she picked it from the ground and twirled it between her thumb and index finger. 

"Here," she smiled softly at him, "as a bookmark. It smells nice too. Lavender helps keep you calm." 

Kakashi looked over at her, his eyes dancing between the sprig of lavender and the affectionate gaze she offered him. She didn't mean to look at him the way she did, but something twisted within her that she couldn't stop. Everything he had done for her whirled in her mind. The last seven months that they had known each other and all of their interactions. She simply felt grateful for him.

He reached over and delicately took the sprig from her hand, brushing his fingers against hers, whether on accident or purposely, she wasn't sure. She was certain, however, of the beam of sunlight that hit his neck, illuminating a pulse that seemed to be beating rather quickly. 

"Thank you," Kakashi responded quietly. She looked at him, and he looked at her. Both unsure of what to do, but both quite certain of what they wanted to do. Ayame could feel the blood pumping in her ears, a wave of heat ricocheting off her spine to every nerve ending in her body. Her skin tingled where he had grazed it, the feeling of a calloused fingertip touching hers, wondering what it would be like to feel more of them. 

Suddenly the distance between them wasn't so far. The tickle of the grass on her cheek barely noticeable as she leaned closer. His single black eye stared directly into hers, flickering down to her lips in a way that made her stomach somersault. 

She had been the one to lean forward, to press her lips against his and soak in his intoxicating scent of sweat and cedar. The electric shock that twisted through her body as she felt him exhale in relief against her lips, the fabric between them muting the heat his breath gave off. All she could hear was their blended heavy sighs.

Her bones rattled with satisfaction, feeling the months of yearning peel away from her. She lifted her hand, gently clutching his jacket as his hand came to rest on her jawbone. Her whole body tingled at the heat of his palm. She felt his fingertips curl into her braid, pulling her against him over the grassy field. She felt delirious as he tenderly moved his lips against hers. 

She could have stayed there for days. To feel the mingling satisfaction of his body near hers and the exhilarating sensation of that damned mask against her mouth. He was near her for only seconds, not nearly long enough, and yet - 

"Ayame-san?" a feminine voice called out from the outskirts of the training ground. Without hesitation, they both pulled away, furiously blushing. Her ears rung from the interaction, and her body shook from the thrill. 

"Ayame-san?" It was that pink-haired kunoichi nurse that had helped her in the hospital. 

"Hello, Sakura," Kakashi greeted, delicately placing the sprig of lavender in his book. His face was purposely shielded from the kunoichi's sight, yet when Ayame peeked over, she could see the very tops of his cheeks were tinged rose. 

"Oh, Kakashi-sensei," Sakura smiled, waving happily at him. She looked between the two, both clearly flustered but trying desperately to hide it. Ayame looked up at the girl, realizing this must have been one of his previous students that now trains under Lady Tsunade to be a medic. He had spoken of them a few times, all fondly. But she had wondered fleetingly if it bothered him that they had moved on to other training endeavors. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but-" 

"You're not interrupting anything," The pinkette's sensei quickly responded, standing to his feet. Ayame followed suit, casually brushing the dirt from her clothing. 

Sakura nodded, pursing her lips to hide a smile, "Right. Well, I am here for Ayame-san. If you don't mind, Lady Tsunade would like to speak with her. It's rather urgent, or else it could have waited." 

"The Hokage would like to speak with me?" Ayame reiterated, surprised. 

"Yes," Sakura nodded, "I'll explain more on the way there. But we have to hurry." 

"Right," Ayame nodded, her eyebrows focused again as she tried to sweep away the interaction that had just happened. 

She began to follow Sakura, her pink hair bobbing as she ran back towards the village. Ayame turned, lifting her hand to wave goodbye only to find him facing away from her, nervously scratching his head as he looked out towards the setting sun. 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

A/N: Original art by the talented Caro on Twitter! It was originally a different flower but I changed it

I hope you stuck this far and I hope you like it so far! Feedback is always appreciated <3 Thank you so much for reading! 

[tripleaxeldiaz]

maybe one day i’ll fly next to you

chapter 5/8

read on ao3

start from the beginning

The Final is a big deal. Even more so this year since it’s the last international competition before the Olympics — the last chance to show the world that you’re worthy of their attention come February. Buck’s been to five of the last eight Finals, and usually all the extra attention from press and fans, even during non-Olympic seasons, make him giddy with excitement, adrenaline pumping through him for almost a solid week before he actually competes.

This time, however, it’s been a week of feeling like he’s going to throw up any second.

It’s not because he’s doing bad at practices — in fact, he’s feeling better than ever, even got to work out his shaky landing on his quad flip that’s been haunting him for weeks. Ice looks the same no matter where you are, so it’s easy for him to get lost in the two hours he’s out there and forget everything and everyone else around him while he works.

When he steps off the ice, though, he’s thrust right back into a world where everyone is keeping an eye on him, watching him to see if he’ll live up to the expectations of being one of the best US skaters a top Olympic hopeful, or if he’ll crumble under the pressure of trying to be the best but always falling a little bit short, especially since the last Games. He’s always viewed it as a redemption — overcoming his injury and clawing his way back to the top — but he can’t control how outsiders view it, has no idea if they feel the same way or have counted him out all together. ESPN can do as many pieces on him as they want, but they can’t guarantee that people are still rooting for him. He’s sure people are talking about him, but he’s steered clear of social media knowing that even if there are nice things about him floating around, it’ll still make him feel worse, crushed by more and more expectations that he’s still not sure he’s going to live up to.

He misses when all that attention would make him feel like he was invincible. 

The biggest thing keeping him sane — despite the 6,000 miles between LA and Turin — is Eddie. They’d seen each other plenty before Buck left, Eddie still coming to the rink every day for PT and light workouts so he could stay in shape while he recovered. It was good, it was normal, even if Eddie wasn’t skating. 

But the night before his flight to Italy, the prospect of being at one of the most important competitions of the season, of his life, without most of his other teammates had hit him hard once again, sucking all the air out of his lungs and making the room spin. 

He called Eddie without even thinking and barely heard him say “Hello?” before he was spilling everything, letting out all the fears and worries he had been trying to keep under control since Bobby told him he was going to the Final. Despite being caught very off guard at 12:30 in the morning, Eddie had listened to it all — really listened, Buck could tell even over the phone. He sympathized with his fears and doubts and didn’t try to downplay them with empty platitudes. And somehow, in those frantic moments, to be heard like that was enough. Enough for the worries in Buck’s head to quiet down and retreat back into the shadows, enough for him to finally be able to breathe. They kept talking afterwards, the smooth timbre of Eddie’s voice making his eyes feel heavier and heavier, until they close and open again to sunlight filtering into his room, his phone on the pillow next to him with a disconnected call and a text that says You’re going to be amazing. Call me whenever you need me.

Buck didn’t think he’d take Eddie up on that, but he’s called him every day since he arrived and every time, no matter what time it is, Eddie picks up and listens to him.

On the last day of practice before short programs, dread settles heavy in Buck’s stomach and doesn’t get any lighter as the day wears on. He skates at the practice rink until his fingers feel numb with cold, and works out after even longer, blasting music in his headphones so he’s not alone with his thoughts for too long. He’s exhausted when he gets back to his room, the quiet that’s become so unfamiliar mixing with the dread and weighing down Buck’s entire body, feeling like it’s trying to push him straight down into the earth. Sinking onto the bed, he dials Eddie’s number.

Five rings, and no answer. He tries again. Nothing.

He tosses his phone to the side and sighs. The dread had lightened ever so slightly at the mere prospect of getting to talk to Eddie, but now it’s back in full force. If he lays here for too long, he’s worried he might melt right into the bedspread.

There’s a knock at the door, and takes every ounce of mental and physical strength he has to get him up. He has a brief, delusional thought that maybe the person on the other side of the door is the same one who didn’t answer his phone, but it’s quickly squashed when there’s another knock, followed by a voice that’s definitely not Eddie’s.

“Buck? I know you’re in there, and I can get my hands on a master key if you don’t let me in right now.”

Hen. 

He opens the door quickly, because he thinks she’s bluffing, but there’s also a very real chance that she’s not. He stands at his full height, pushing back against the dread, and plasters on a smile. “Don’t tell me you have notes 12 hours before the competition starts?”

She looks him up and down, looks through him it seems, judging by the way he suddenly wants to curl in on himself, hide whatever it is she’s looking for. She finds it, he guesses, because she nods decisively and pushes into his room. She grabs his still packed skating bag from the foot of the bed and tosses him his jacket as she goes back into the hallway.

“Come on,” she calls over her shoulder. “We’re going for a drive.”

It takes a minute for Buck’s brain to catch up with everything, but when it does, he hustles to meet her at the elevators. They make their way to the parking lot next to the hotel, where Hen unlocks the Fiat Bobby had rented for the week to get them around. “Bobby’s cool with you taking the car?”

She shrugs. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”

“So I’m basically being kidnapped right now.”

“You would’ve stayed in your room if you really didn’t want to come.”

He smiles a real smile at that — she knows him too well.

Turin is beautiful at night. The city bustles with energy as people mill around, window shopping and filling up tables outside of cafes despite the early December chill. Christmas decorations have already been hung in windows and strung over rooftops, thousands of lights washing the streets in twinkling colors. Buck lets his eyes relax as he stares out the window, losing himself in the colors that pass by, hoping they’ll burn the heaviness right out of him. They stop outside the Palavela, standing out in its shadowy height among the brightness, decked out in ISU flags in anticipation for the start of competition tomorrow. Hen turns off the car and gets out, walking into the shadows of the arena and almost disappearing before Buck catches up. They make their way to the service entrance at the back of the building, where Hen pulls a key out of her coat pocket and unlocks the door.

Buck’s jaw drops. “I believed you about the hotel, but how did you get a key to this place?”

“A lot of people owe me a lot of favors,” she says, leading the way through the back hallways. 

It occurs to Buck that he doesn’t even know why they’re here, didn’t bother to ask, but regardless, he follows her deeper into the belly of the building. Hallways twist and turn as they follow them seemingly at random, until they finally make it to a set of double doors. Hen pushes them open, and Buck has a moment of panic when he sees what’s on the other side.

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the main rink the day before a competition?”

Hen rolls her eyes and walks inside. “You’re not getting married, Buck. And we’re not just here for the ice.” She keeps moving, up into the stands and further up the stairs to the mid-level walkway. It’s a former Olympic venue, so there’s thousands and thousands of seats, and the reminder that in a few short hours, they’ll be filled with people waiting to see Buck thrive or fail spectacularly weighs him down even more, coming down on his shoulders and threatening to make him stumble. He does stumble when he runs into Hen, who’s stopped dead center of the walkway, eyes warm and bright as she nods towards the other side of the rink.

Tears swim into his vision, but not because of shot nerves or worry this time (though those may be contributing to how quickly this is making him emotional).

Fans bring posters to events all the time — beautiful, handmade posters emblazoned with flags and encouraging quotes, showing their love for their favorite skaters and teams. They’re made of cardboard or printed on fabric, but are usually small, hard to see unless you’re watching on TV or very close to the boards. Sometimes, though — with special permission from the venue, usually — they go big, creating huge tarps that get hung up on the banisters surrounding the seats and stay there all week, loudly cheering for their favorites even when they may not be in the stands.

Which is exactly what Buck comes face to face with — two banners hung across part of the middle banister, covering at least 15 seats. One has a picture of him from Autumn Classic, smiling with his gold medal, with “Go Buck Go!” in big block letters over his head, all on a deep red background and surrounded by golden fireworks. The other — the one that really takes his breath away — is a collage of pictures from his programs over the years, some of his more memorable spins and poses emblazoned across the dark blue fabric. His final pose from his short this season, reaching toward the crowd and looking off into the distance, is featured most prominently, with an ornate script next to it that reads “Evan Buckley: Future Olympic Champion”.

He grips the railing a little tighter to keep himself steady, feels Hen’s hand rubbing up and down his back.

“How—” he starts, voice a little raw.

“Bobby and I saw them when we came by earlier to get our credentials. We think someone hung them up after the short dance today so they’d be ready for tomorrow.”

“Wow,” is all Buck can manage. He’s seen his face on plenty of posters, but never like this, never something that he could see from anywhere in the arena, loudly proclaiming that there are fans in his corner, people beyond himself and his sister that see him at the top of the Olympic podium. He knows they're out there, rationally, when he’s not riddled with nerves and self doubt, but still. It’s nice to be reminded. And what a reminder this is.

“I know it’s been a rough week for you,” Hen says quietly, hand still on his back. “But just...take this in. Let it push you through the next few months. They’re rooting for you, Buck. We all are. You’ve got to keep rooting for yourself too.”

As usual, she’s right — Buck went into this season as his own biggest fan, with one goal in mind that felt like it had been slipping farther and farther away with every fall and every less than perfect score. That drive to win gold becoming more and more desperate as the weeks wore on — like if he didn’t get back to where he should be, where he needed to be, he might not survive. But he has people — his team, his family, and fans like this — who are still envisioning that success for him, who believe in him no matter what. Who will still be in his corner even if he doesn’t make it to the top. Who he wants to prove right for believing in him.

Hen pats his back one last time and heads back down the stairs. Buck lingers a little longer, taking in every detail of the banners that he can, since he won’t be able to appreciate them properly tomorrow. He sneaks a few pictures on his phone, quickly shooting them off to Maddie and Eddie. It doesn’t feel like bragging — they’re at the very top of the list of people that have constantly pulled him up when he falls down the hardest. He knows they’ll appreciate this for him, just like Hen did. They’ll understand how much this means to him.

As he follows Hen’s path down the stairs, the heaviness he had convinced himself was etched into his bones feels like it stays behind, making it easier to breathe, easier to be.

Hen’s next to the boards holding his skates out to him. “You’ve got like 30 minutes — skate it out. I’ll stand watch by the door.” He takes them and sets them on the bench before enveloping her in a hug, rocking back and forth as she laughs into his shoulder. She ruffles his hair and pats his cheek before going to her post.

He feels at peace on the ice, finally. The cold isn’t harsh, it’s invigorating. The fluorescent lights aren’t too bright, they’re comforting, lighting up the grooves and divots of the ice, showing all the paths Buck can follow. A couple of laps gets his blood pumping, roaring in his ears and blocking out everything else. He starts with some easy steps — rockers and three turns, over and over like he did in skating lessons when he was a kid, losing himself in the repetition. When he feels good, really good, he goes for a quad flip, confidence flowing into every stroke as he gets in position. He takes off, and he feels light again — right again — like he’s flying, not falling, not sinking.

Figuratively and literally rising.

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s two missed calls from Eddie when he gets back to his room, and still riding the high of his good mood, he FaceTimes him. 

“Wow, I really missed that smile,” Eddie says when the call connects, and Buck rolls his eyes, not even bothering to hide the blush he can feel warm his cheeks. Eddie must have just gotten back from PT — his hair is falling in swoops over his forehead, damp with sweat, his tank top sticking to what little Buck can see of his chest. His blush gets a couple of shades darker, he’s sure, as he tries not to let his eyes linger anywhere for too long.

Buck flops onto the bed on his back, holding his phone in front of his face. “I had a pretty good night,” he says with feigned nonchalance.

“Seeing banners of your giant face already proclaiming you the next gold medalist will do that to you.” Buck laughs and Eddie laughs with him, the sound like pure happiness, burning out the very last of the dread that had been following him since he arrived. It stops quickly when Eddie sits down on his couch and hisses, wincing as he shuffles to get comfortable. 

“Rough day with Lena?” He saw her every day for two months straight once upon a time, he knows how hard she can push.

“Rough couple of days.”

“Are you feeling better, at least? Do the doctors think it’s healing okay?”

“I have a check-up tomorrow, but it’s fine. Just sore.” He finally settles but he still looks like he’s in pain. Buck wants to press, wants to know every detail of his last few days — what exercises he’s done, when the pain really got worse, if he’s resting enough. But this isn’t his injury, and everyone heals differently. And he trusts Eddie, trusts him to know how to take care of himself like he promised he would.

“Anyway,” Eddie says lightly, clearly trying to change the subject. Buck lets him. “I’m sure this good night will make for a good day tomorrow, too. You feel ready?”

“I do,” Buck answers. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that he actually means it. 

“Good. I know you’ll be great. And you’ll have my sleep deprived text commentary to look forward to when you finish.”

Buck winces. “I’m not gonna be skating until like 4AM your time, you really don’t—”

“I really do. I really want to. And there’s not a whole lot you can do to stop me.” Eddie flashes his crowd-charming smile and Buck feels like he’s melting into the mattress again. He tries for a snappy comeback, anything to keep Eddie talking, but he cuts himself off with a yawn, the exhaustion from the week seeming to catch up with him all at once.

Eddie’s smile gets a little softer. “Go to sleep, Buck. I’m gonna take a nap too so I make sure I wake up on time.”

“Okay, okay. Goodnight Eds.”

“Goodnight. Knock ‘em dead tomorrow.”

After they hang up, Buck gives himself a minute, just a minute, to really bask in that, in Eddie’s active support of him from halfway across the world. It’s one thing to have your teammates watch your programs from the stands, but to find competitions on TV, if they’re being shown at all? To figure out time zones and wake up at ungodly hours just to watch you skate live? It may not seem like much, but it’s everything to Buck. He’s only gotten this kind of commitment from one other person in his life — even his parents stopped keeping up once he started competing abroad more. And it’s different with Maddie — they’ve been on this road together for almost two decades, so intertwined with each other’s successes and failures that they’re hard to differentiate sometimes. Sure, Eddie’s been a part of his life for years now too, but as competition, an obstacle he kept trying and failing to overcome. It’s different now that they’re...whatever they are. Friends. Almost something else. 

For the second time tonight, Buck’s reminded of how grateful he is to have another solid, supportive presence in his corner. The last lingering bits of heaviness and loneliness evaporate from within him, and he knows this weekend will be good for him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Second place.

Second place is fine. Second place is great, actually. Second place is enough to show the USFSA that he’s still a contender, that he can still keep up with the best of the best despite a rocky first half of the season.

But second place is not first place. Even if it’s only six points away.

Overall, Buck is happy with his performance. He was clean on his step sequences, attacked every jump, and didn’t fall once. And six points behind the skater from Japan that everyone considers Eddie’s biggest international rival, his biggest threat against his potential Olympic gold, would make most other people ecstatic.

He’s not most other people, though. This past week has reignited the fire in his belly and it’s burning brighter than it has in a while. The medal ceremony, the interviews, the gala, everything flashes by because all he can think about is getting back to work, changing transitions and tweaking spins until even the smallest gap between him and any other skater is erased. Until he knows his programs are undoubtedly gold medal worthy.

It’s refreshing — a relief — to be back in this headspace, being pushed forward by obstacles and less-than-perfection instead of dragged into spiraling sadness.

He almost loses it a couple of times, especially when he decides to take an innocent peek at Twitter to see what fans had to say about the Final, the words “overscored” and “inconsistent” swimming in front of him until they don’t mean anything anymore, just leave doubt lingering, trying to find the home in Buck’s brain that it had just vacated. In those moments, he goes back to his messages and rereads the live texts he’d gotten all weekend, and one in particular that makes his heart skip two beats every time he sees it: 

[from: Eddie] I think you make everyone fall a little bit in love with you every time you skate

Eddie sent it in the middle of his free skate, in the middle of dozens of other compliments and criticism of other skaters, and Buck’s sure he was half awake when he sent it, but it fills him with something he doesn’t quite have a name for. Something that makes all of the harsh words and doubts disappear, because none of those matter when Eddie is here telling him that he’s good, that he deserves all of his scores and praises. That he’s loved, no matter how often he may forget.

Another fire is burning in him, a little above the one in his gut, but it’s pushing him just as hard to prove his worth. 

~~~~~~~~~

There’s four weeks left until Nationals, and Eddie still isn’t better. 

Buck can tell he’s getting frustrated too — the tension in his shoulders gets tighter and tighter, the set of his mouth harder and harder each day he comes to the rink still wearing his air cast, only able to work in the gym and with Lena, far away from the ice and the excited chatter of preparing for the second half of the season. Buck tries to be there, a shoulder to lean on, someone to listen, but he also knows how Eddie operates — he’ll slap on a smile and say he’s fine until he’s really not, until he cracks from the inside out and finally explodes with everything he’s been holding in so he keeps up this air of perfection he’s made for himself. Buck used to think it was annoying, that perfect facade, but now he knows it’s more defensive than anything, Eddie just trying to protect himself from the world and maybe from himself.

Buck doesn’t take it personally anymore, and he’s going to do his damned best to be there to keep the cracks from spreading.

It’s after 10pm when he walks into the gym, still breathing heavily from practice, his muscles burning from overuse and the need to be stretched. He was certain he was alone, so he just about jumps out of his skin when he sees someone lying on the padded floor in front of the mirrors. When he gets closer, his blood runs cold for an entirely different reason.

It’s Eddie.

Buck’s first thought is to call for an ambulance, because why else would Eddie be lying on the floor if he hadn’t hurt himself again? But as he gets closer still, Buck thinks this might be intentional. He’s on his back, headphones on, eyes closed, rhythmically tapping his hands to whatever song he’s listening to on his stomach. As Buck's shadow passes over his face, he opens his eyes and blinks at him for a minute before giving a half-hearted smile and closing his eyes again. He looks sadder, somehow, than he has in the past weeks, dark circles under his eyes and none of the golden glow that seems to follow him wherever he goes (though that may be coming just from Buck’s own imagination anyway).

Buck’s not really sure what to do here, how to fix whatever it is that’s making Eddie feel so bad.

So he lays down right next to him and waits.

The headphones come off after 10 minutes, and Eddie doesn’t open his eyes for another five. When he does, he looks over to Buck, and rather than something supportive or sweet or literally anything else, he says the first dumb thing that comes to his head:

“Are we meditating?”

But he gets an actual smile out of it from Eddie, so he takes it as a win. 

Eddie scrubs his hands over his face. “Trying to, I think.” He turns onto his side, facing Buck, and Buck turns to mirror him. He can tell Eddie is searching for his words, the right phrasing to get his point across, and he’s willing to wait as long as he needs to for Eddie to share. 

Finally, he takes a long, steadying breath. “My doctor said I might not be able to skate until the end of January, which means I might miss Nats, which means I might not—” he gestures vaguely at that, like he expects Buck to know what his silence means. Buck knows exactly what he means, and it makes him ache for Eddie, makes him reach out and squeeze his wrist when his eyes start to shine, thumb tracing over his pulse point trying to soothe him. “I’ve worked my ass off for weeks now to get better, and it still might not be good enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck says quietly. “I know it sucks. More than anything.”

Eddie goes quiet again, eyes drifting to where Buck is still holding his wrist. He pulls away for just a second before slotting their fingers together properly and gently squeezing. Like always, Buck marvels at how right it feels, to be holding Eddie’s hand.

“Did you know they’ve been saying I’m the favorite to win gold for three years now? Not to brag, but—” he says quickly, eyes wide. Buck chuckles because he knows — knows now — that Eddie doesn’t have an arrogant bone in his body. He squeezes his hand back and waits for him to keep going. “It’s all I can think about. Every time I fuck up a level or finish off podium, it just stays with me, makes me feel like I’m about to crash and burn and everyone is going to be disappointed in me because I’m not actually as good as they think.” Eddie’s trembling, squeezing his hand tighter to try and stop it. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I tricked everyone into believing in me, and this stupid busted ankle is—”

“Hey, hey, no,” Buck says, pulling them up to sitting and cupping Eddie’s face in his hands as his tears threaten to spill over, slipping through the cracks. “You don’t deserve this, Eddie, no one deserves to be injured. Believe me, I know what it’s like to put all of your worth into this, and I still do it, but...you’re worth so much more than just your skating. To the fans, to the team. To me.” Eddie’s eyes drift away from his, trying to find an escape, but Buck holds firm until they drift back. “You are good. Not just a good skater, but a good person. You’ll always have that, gold medals or not. And if no one else believes in you, I do.”

Eddie stares at him, looking dumbstruck, and he’s quiet for so long that Buck worries he went too far, bared himself a little too much. He’s about to backtrack, save both of them whatever awkwardness might come, but Eddie surges forward before he can and kisses him so fiercely he swears the earth stands still.

He pushes away just as quickly, eyes wide in panic. “Shit, Buck, I’m sorry, I know we—” but Buck cuts him off, kissing him slow and deep, hands tangling into Eddie’s hair trying to pull him as close as possible. Eddie’s everywhere, his taste, his smell, his touch, and when he feels Eddie’s smile against his mouth, a smile that he put there, he feels like flying.

It finally clicks for Buck that he doesn’t have to — doesn’t want to — compartmentalize his life so much anymore. Skating and Eddie make him happier than pretty much anything. Why shouldn’t he have both?

They break apart slowly and rest their foreheads together. Buck ended up in Eddie’s lap at some point, and from here he can’t see anything but Eddie, gets lost in the curve of his cheekbones and the pout of his lips, and mentally smacks himself for thinking it was really better not having all of this. Eddie is in his corner, always, and he wants to be in Eddie’s too. Wants him to know he’s there, to remember even at his lowest points that he’s not alone, ever.

Eddie finally opens his eyes and smiles at Buck, soft but absolutely breathtaking. He squeezes his arms a little tighter around Buck’s waist, and Buck is more than happy to get as close as he can, would crawl into Eddie’s chest and stay there forever if he could.

“What are you thinking?” Eddie asks quietly.

Buck’s thinking a lot of things, or at least he was, but now that he’s focused on honey brown eyes so full of affection he could drown in them, his only real thought is Eddie Eddie Eddie.

“I think we’re stupid,” he says after a minute, and Eddie’s laugh echos around the empty gym.

“We’re stupid?”

“Okay, I’m stupid. But I think I want to fix that.”

“Oh really?”

“I think I want to be here for you, for everything.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I think I want to remind you how amazing you are whenever I can.”

“Buck—”

“I think I want to convince you of how incredible you are whenever you stop believing it.”

Eddie’s eyes are shining again, but his smile could also put the sun to shame.

“And I think I really, really want to keep kissing you.”

Eddie shakes his head, smile getting bigger and somehow pulling Buck even closer. “I think we can make that happen,” he whispers. 

He kisses him again, and Buck is soaring.

[vydante]

Restart | 12

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Avengers x Male! Reader (romantically: multiple)

A/N: Missed y'all. I don't think I'm officially off of my hiatus, but I somehow managed to pull a chapter out of my ass after months of radio silence. I really did back myself into a corner with the last chapter, but hey, this is my story and I get to pace it however I want.

Sorry if things are worded weirdly, I'm writing them but they're going through one ear and out the other when it comes to comprehending what I actually wrote. No one will remember what happened, but that's okay. God, I really need a beta-reader... Anyways. Love y'all. XOXO.

Also, sorry if any of the formattings seems off. HTML doesn't really translate well over certain sites. (Tumblr, Quotev, Wattpad, and AO3 are now my main places for posting my works. Anywhere else, that's not me nor was it permitted by me.)

If you want a recap: You're in the process of jumpstarting Project Renaissance after realizing that you've just been doing basically nothing ever since you woke up in your old body. You've also taken to making video logs to report down your progress, and in the last chapter (that was in the POV of multiple video logs), it ended on a cliffhanger with Barnes being discovered and moved to a safe house.

This chapter takes place roughly after the last one. 

If you're currently binge reading this story, this recap is only because last chapter was updated... Roughly more than 7 months before this chapter. So. Yeah. :D

Oh, and let's pretend that either A. Barnes doesn't have a tracking chip in his arm OR B. he did, but you got it out during the whole rescue-escapade. That's my bad, I straight up forgot about that possibility until I was like, close to 4000 words deep into this chapter. Now we're at roughly 8k+... Hehe. Whoops.

_______

You're not gonna call Barnes, Bucky.

There's a personal touch to the nickname that bothers you. How awful it sounds in your ears, to call the former husk of a man a name he no longer recognizes. There's history to that name, both on writing and in memory, though only in sparsity. Plus, it'll be difficult for you to associate Bucky to Barnes. A man with an identity to a man without.

So after the whole debacle of getting him out of the mini-Hulk playbox and into decent dry clothing, when he asks what his name is, you quietly debated to yourself what to tell him.

"... Your name is James Buchanan Barnes," you'd eventually reply.

He doesn't comment on the resignation in your tone, but you're confident that he certainly noticed it- surely, the ticks of being the Winter Soldier was still there, no matter how disoriented he must be. But whether courtesy was something that he hadn't forgotten whilst his brain was refried over and over like leftover KFC wings or he was simply too exhausted to ask, you didn't care.

Granted, for a man who should have a lot of questions on his mind, he's definitely proven himself to be a man of very few words.

An hour goes by, and in the midst of you trying your best to build a solid standing between the two of you, he's said so few words that you could probably count all of them on both of your hands.

If it weren't for the nods of affirmation, you'd think that his averted gaze from you would have meant that he wasn't paying attention at all, but honestly, you knew better than to judge him for that if he actually wasn't actually listening in the first place.

Hell, he could tear up the walls to the high heavens and you still wouldn't hold him against it, so you were just thankful that he was so docile, for someone who could snap your neck if he felt so inclined.

Though, as it turns out confusion and disorientation wasn't the actual reason why he was being so docile, you belatedly realize as you're stood in front of a blank-faced Barnes. You're in the middle of trying to give him a basic tour around the house when he quietly interrupted your monologuing.

"Mission parameters," you echoed his words, though mainly to yourself. He nods, and for once meets your eyes. There's neither confidence nor surrender in his eyes, and that makes your stomach churn. Chances are, he probably saw nothing wrong with asking such a thing.

"You want me to give you- mission parameters. Like- like your handlers would?" You laughed incredulously, but the humor was replaced with subdued hysterical horror.

You were aware of what they were. Aware of the types of hunts his Handlers- bastards- would sick him out on. Aware of what he did without a second thought. You saw those files, if only briefly. That was more than enough for you to see the type of expectations that came alongside "mission parameters".

He nods as if you were stating the obvious.

God.

You opened and closed your mouth, and for a split second, once you got past the horror of being asked to tell him what to do, a subtle realization crawled up your spine. In the midst of your impromptu introduction and briefing, you never really made a distinction as to what role you were supposed to play in all of this.

So it shouldn't be a surprise for Barnes to assume that you're his new- what? Handler? Caretaker? After all, as far as you can assume, that's probably all he knows; all he was conditioned to grow accustomed to, to expect his every move to be dictated by some outsider with no care to the wants or needs that Barnes has.

(Hell, if you were to make a reach right now, maybe Barnes thinks he doesn't have wants or needs. That he shouldn't.)

(In the background, a part of you simmer in silence.)

With your jaw clenched, you make an effort to make your voice as even as can be when you ask him, "You don't need mission parameters, Barnes. You're your own free man. You can- can make decisions on your own. You don't need me to tell you what you need to do."

Pray as you might, there's something about realizing that you said the wrong thing right after saying said words that make you wonder what you did to anger the higher powers that be to put yourself in the situation you're in right now.

Barnes doesn't say anything, but his eyes says it all. Confusion. Realization. Grief. Detachment. His metal hand clenches, and you're man enough to admit that it made your heart stutter in fear.

"I...", he mutters, "... don't understand."

You swallowed.

This...

This is gonna be tough.

_______

It's difficult to explain what self-autonomy and freedom meant to a man who is only capable of remembering being chained and held on a leash like a rabid dog.

Thankfully, it was your winter break, so you had a manageable excuse for being away from "home" for a few days, but you only had so long to try and establish to Barnes that you're not going to be able to be there with him as often as you are now (and even then, the time frame was too small to even make any sense of attachment).

You knew for sure you couldn't always be there for Barnes, so one thing was certain: he had to meet DAHLIA. And thankfully, since the whole safe house was yours, not even your father knew that DAHLIA, your own A.I., would be uploaded into the houses' built-in hardware.

(While the hardware was built with the intention of housing J.A.R.V.I.S. there as a standard, he ended up "moving out" the moment that the house became yours. Something about "not intruding on a teenager's privacy", but you're more than thankful for Tony's afterthought, even if you did end up taking slight advantage of his consideration.)

And surprisingly enough, Barnes wasn't really bothered by the concept of DAHLIA as much as you had initially expected. Of course, he didn't really talk to her, but it wasn't like he talked much in the first place.

(On a side note, it looks like DAHLIA seems to like the house, all things considered... So there's that.)

(The original DAHLIA was never installed here, instead she ended up "living" in a retirement house of sorts in a wooded area of New York. She never said anything about the house, so it's... Kind of endearing, to see that she actually might prefer this house instead. And mildly insulting, considering you personally decorated the other house.)

You ended up spending nearly the whole night trying to establish even the most basic of guidelines: use the bathroom whenever he needed to (you initially said phrased it as "wanted", but he promptly cut you off saying "The Asset does not have wants," which, rude, but also sad); whatever is in the kitchen is available for him to eat whenever, where ever; basic hygiene; and the most important one- if he had any questions, his first source would be you. And on the off-chance that you're not available, DAHLIA is always online and ready to help.

He gave a tentative nod, but you're somehow not confident that he might have interpreted it wrong. You're hoping he doesn't do anything to prove you right.

"Alright. So. Any questions?"

He stares at you for a beat too long before shaking his head.

He's still giving non-verbal answers for the most part, but it's better than nothing. You internally sighed and motioned him to follow you deeper into the safe house.

Considering that it was already pretty late by the time you managed to beat those guidelines into his head (maybe that should be worded better, but you never claimed to be a lyricist; it is what it is), he might be just as tired as you are from how long the day has been.

(Granted, this dude has been "asleep" for who knows how long, but it's the thought that counts.)

"You know where I'm taking you to?" you asked, not really expecting an answer from him.

"No," he responds from behind you. Color you surprised.

You turned into the hallway and stepped up to an unassuming door. You opened it to reveal an equally unassuming bedroom. Muted colors, modern design; it reeked Pepper's doing, knowing that Tony isn't as decoratively-inclined as she is.

Hah, bet she didn't expect that instead of housing you or your dad, it'll go to a super-solder that wasn't Steve instead.

(Not that Steve would ever have a reason to step foot in here, but in this line of work, you'd be stupid to be 100% sure about something.)

You motioned him to come into the room and tilted your head to the bed.

"This is your bedroom, pretty much where you'll be sleeping. There's a bathroom right over there," you motioned to the door adjacent to the entrance door, "and I'll be in the room right next to yours."

Barnes takes a second to process it all, and with a quick scan of the room with calculating eyes, he nods. You absentmindedly scratched the back of your neck.

"I mean, there's plenty of rooms here so if you don't like this one, just let me know and we'll probably move you to another room-" you rambled, secretly trying to get a move on so you'd finally get some shut-eye.

(What? You're not perfect, sleep is heavily slept on in this day and age. Hah.)

(God, you're definitely going to hell.)

"-and you know how to use a toilet, right?"

The raised eyebrow pointed at you definitely proves that that was a pretty stupid question, but hey, you can't take any chances. You shrugged, a tired smirk threatening to form on your lips.

"Well then. Can I leave it to you to settle down for the night, or...?" you left it open-ended.

He didn't say anything in response, only stared at the bed in front of him. There was a pregnant pause, but he nodded at you. There was a strange tilt to his eyes, but you didn't bother to think further into it as you were just thankful that you could finally rest.

"Well then, good night Barnes. I'll come by tomorrow morning and we'll continue to, er," you thought about it, "work, on your situation."

You made a swift exit out of his room and immediately into "your" room, which was literally right next to his. You immediately discarded your clothes and with a brisk shower and teeth brushing, you promptly dropped straight onto the bed with an audible grunt, wet hair soaking straight into the pillow.

Pulling the plush duvet to cover your body, you reached for your phone to check for any messages you might have gotten.

(3 from Tony; he asked where you were. You told him that you're staying at a safe house and that you needed a small break. It wasn't wrong, but definitely an omission of truth. A few days would be fine, right?)

(2 from Rhodey; it's a picture of a Goodwill's, and there's a silhouette in a nearby window of some guy. "This you?" he asks. "No ❤️," you sent back.)

(63 is from the group chat that the Avengers are in- ah, make that 64 and counting. It's just a bunch of nonsense from what you can gather, but you briefly scrolled through it anyways.)

Turning your phone off, you smushed your face into the pillow and sighed, a terrible knot forming at the pit of your stomach. With an open ear, you tried to hear any noise that could come from Barnes' room, but considering that the walls were reinforced and he was already quiet as it is, all you could hear was the AC running in the background.

"DAHLIA," you huffed, eyes drooping, "keep an eye on him, wake me up if anything happens."

"Got it," her voice echoes from the ceiling speakers.

You quietly tucked yourself in bed. As the exhaustion finally started settling in your body, the last thought that lingered in your head was "Man, I hope nothing bad happens tomorrow," before you drifted right off to dreamless slumber.

_______

The next day was, to say the least, a little disconcerting, but a bigger improvement to be sure.

Right after waking up, you begrudgingly put on some daytime appropriate clothes and stepped out into the hallway. You knocked on the door that was right next to yours, and gingerly opened it when you didn't hear much of a response.

"Good morning," you tentatively greeted. Barnes was sitting at the foot of the bed when you knocked on his door. He mumbled back a greeting and stands up to your eye level.

His clothes are still the same from last night, and judging by the clean state of his bed, he either woke up earlier than you expected or he was sat like that the whole night.

You're not too keen on finding out which was the case, but you had to.

"Sleep well?"

You stepped out of the doorway and motioned him to follow you. Briefly glancing down at your phone to see just a few messages waiting for you, you opted to ignore them for now.

"I slept."

He quietly stated from behind you. He avoided saying if he slept well or not, but at least the damn Terminator slept. You mentally deflated a little; the bar was set so low for him, you're not too sure who it's more insulting to- you or him.

(Of course, it's to him, that shouldn't be a question. Your feelings don't matter.)

"We're gonna have to wing this a little, but uh, here's the general gist of what's gonna happen."

Stepping into the kitchen, you're taken aback to last night as he tentatively stands across from you from the kitchen island. Really, you'd opt to go to the living room, but you both radiate too much nervous energy to really sit.

You opened the refrigerator and sighed when all that greeted you was water and non-perishables. Right. You just got here, it's not like there's gonna be freshly stocked food in here 24/7.

"DAHLIA, order some fresh food and get it delivered today. Charge it on my debit," you mumbled quietly.

DAHLIA doesn't say anything, but the refrigerator lights flicker a familiar green hue that keys you in that she heard you. You raised an impressed eyebrow; what an unnecessary feature for a refrigerator to have. You closed the door and turned around to face Barnes.

"I'm here to serve as, say, a guide for," you gestured to him, "your... rehabilitation, of sorts."

"For now, I can't really offer any... Professional help, on a technical level. I'm not- that's not my area of expertise. I'm an engineer at heart," actually, you really liked other things more than being an engineer, but your fate of becoming the CEO of SI was sealed the moment you decided to live with your dad, "so we're going to have to make a compromise on that."

You shook your head.

"If you were anyone else, I'd point you to a shrink," Barnes gives you a confused stare.

"Therapist," you clarified. He nods.

"But quite frankly," Zemo's face flashes in your memory, "I don't trust anyone to properly... Well, I don't trust anyone when it comes to the mental health of you, and the Avengers too, of course."

Pausing mid-rant, you raised an eyebrow at him.

"You... do know who the Avengers are, right?"

He nods and begins to rattle off a pre-scripted monologue. His eyes are blank as he started speaking.

"A group of top priority, compromised of highly skilled individuals, enhanced or otherwise specified. Threat priority ranges from 5 to 9. As of now, 6 active-duty members and 1 reserve member. The Asset is to not engage under any circumstance and reveal-"

"Alright alright, I get it- that's," you're a little offended that you're considered a "reserve member", but that's not technically wrong, "That's a lot to unpack there, but yeah. You- whew, you definitely know who the- we are."

(You've gotten into the habit of distancing yourself from the Avengers the moment that you had become CEO. You're still working on that, but the word "we" still feels wrong on your tongue.)

There's a little more life that came back to Barnes' eyes after you had snapped him out of it, and it's a bit surreal knowing that Barnes just kinda... runs on autopilot when prompted. The image of Barnes being strapped down in a chair and forced to learn and recite those kinds of things by heart is both horrifying and a little funny.

(Do you think they had a set curriculum he had to learn by?)

"So yeah. The Avengers gotta be careful when lookin' for shrinks, and so do you. There's just too many factors that go into gettin' a personal therapist. So for now," you shrugged, "you're stuck with me."

"What are they?"

"Hm?"

"The factors."

You shrugged.

"Well, for starters, you're- you were, HYDRA's prisoner," the muscle around his jaw visibly clenches when you mentioned HYDRA, but you powered through, "so they'll definitely be interested in getting their fight dog back. They're good at blending in and good at getting their musty little fingers into every nook and cranny. I wouldn't put it past them to have one of their agents go undercover as a therapist for hire. So that's one factor: trying to discern who is and isn't HYDRA."

You raised a finger.

"Then there's the fact that because you're such a... shall we say, top priority, er, asset," that word runs bitter on your tongue, "even if your shrink isn't HYDRA, they'll definitely be targeted by HYDRA if it ever came to light that they have a direct link to you. So there's reason number two: loose ends, and the risks that come with it."

You raised another finger. By now, Barnes has a hard but contemplative curl to his lips.

"And then not to mention how unique your case it. Barnes, you've been a POW for decades. Your brain- no offense buddy, but from what I can tell, it's been fried to hell and back. I don't even have to do any fancy brain scans to know. And that's not even including all the other stuff they probably did to you, only God knows."

You shook your head.

"There's too much at risk for you to get proper therapy right now. But. It's not impossible."

You think back to Shuri, and how she and the other Wakandan scientists were successful in both removing the trigger words and rehabilitating Barnes.

Well, you're not sure about the last part, since you never interacted with the Barnes of your time, but you'd assume that they did help with his subsequent mental health. You wouldn't really put it past them- T'Challa was a nice guy, from your limited interactions with him way into the future, and Shuri was buzzing with ideas and energy. If T'Challa's sympathy for Barnes wasn't enough, then Shuri's crave to help and experiment would supplement the balance plenty. Vice versa, too.

So yeah, future-Barnes' mental health was most likely addressed during his time in Wakanda. And it was almost guaranteed to have been a success.

So you're still gonna hold a torch for the possibility that Barnes' can come out of this as a relatively well-adjusted guy.

Not to mention B.A.R.F. As far as you know, the R&D team assigned to that was still progressing smoothly, but the only downside to that was that it wasn't going to be until a few more years before it's "perfected".

You were never really involved in any way with B.A.R.F. since you were both prepping for SI and finishing college. Your dad was definitely more involved in it than you were, but it's not like you could ask him to pull a few year's worths of experimentation and knowledge out of his ass and exponentially boost the rate of B.A.R.F.'s progress, so.

Helen Cho suddenly sprang to mind, but you quickly threw away that thought. Your- well, Barnes'- issue was neurological, Cho was all about cell regeneration and is a geneticist. So unless somehow the issue crosses over with Cho's line of work, she wasn't a possibility either. There was also Strange, but as far as you've heard the man was pretty... abrasive, even as a wizard. Hard to get a hold of, and very... Hard-headed.

Well, all of that was second hand since it came from Tony, but still. Maybe you could pull Tony in for some clout, but that'll just make him suspicious. God, maybe you shouldn't have kept the whole "I'm actually from the future" spiel a secret, otherwise you wouldn't have to be doing all this crap alone.

Oh well. In for a penny, out for a pound.

You sighed, already feeling the dull thump against your skull starting to form.

"So what now?" Barnes asks. He's less tentative than he was last night, but still soft-spoken when he talks.

"Well, you're stuck with me, bud. I'll do my best to get you prepped for the actual rehabilitation, but honestly, that might take a little longer than you'd expect. So, we'll just- well."

You eyed the outfit he was donning, which was literally your clothes- so it was a few sizes too small for him. He doesn't really seem bothered by it, and if it weren't for the fact that he's sort of proved himself to be neglectful of voicing his own preferences, you'd be a little more inclined to appreciate the view of one very, very beefy super-soldier.

But alas.

Life never really works in your favor, so.

"We'll need to get a few essential things out of the way. Food is already on its way, I assume you aren't allergic to anything?"

He pauses, and there goes that familiar glaze forming over his eyes. You sigh, knowing that he was probably searching through his mental "data-bases" for any allergies, but thankfully it's not long as he blinks back into attention.

"None."

"Yeah, I could'a figured, what with your super-soldier serum."

(You're pretty sure that also makes him immune to cancer, but maybe that's just you glorifying it.)

"So: the food situation is cleared. Now, we need to get you some new clothes because, uh, those don't look very comfortable."

"Comfort does not matter. I am adequately dressed."

You snorted. Maybe it's better that you don't tell Barnes that he's wearing a Sharknado tee and some sweats that have "Eat this!" printed on his behind.

(And maybe it's better that you didn't remember that yes, these are indeed still your clothes.)

"Comfort does matter, my guy. DAHLIA, take some quick measurements."

The kitchen light dims and brightens, shining lime green into the kitchen. It lingers and turns back into that white-blue that sometimes makes your eyes burn when you've been up for too late into the night.

"Seargent Barnes' measurements are now on file. You two want to see the available catalog?"

Right where the kitchen island was, a panel opens up to reveal a hologram of a bunch of articles of clothing, all of which has been adjusted to Barnes' size- or an approximate at least, since there's some that's labeled X or XL.

"Barnes? You got anything you want to do right now or...?"

You gestured to the hologram in front of you.

His face contorts a little, not too noticeable at a quick glance. He doesn't look uncomfortable per se, but judging by the downwards curl of his lips, he's definitely not excited to see the hologram.

You flicked your wrist and it disappeared just as quick as it appeared. Strangely enough, his expression doesn't loosen up as his eyes flicker upwards to yours.

"Hey, that's okay. If it's the hologram, that's no biggie, we'll just move over to the, uh, TV in the next room over. C'mon."

You jerked your head and motioned him to follow you. His face laxes and he walks behind you without a word.

_______

You two ended up getting a lot done all things considered.

Barnes seemed pretty bothered by how many clothing choices there are, but when you asked if he wanted you to just curate a list for him, he easily relented. He was hovering over you the whole time, but you weren't too bothered by it as you were too busy browsing for him.

You went from site to site searching for clothes that screamed "The Winter Soldier", but all that was coming up was clothes in fifty shades of black and with no pizzaz. You did pass by a few Avengers-related merch (especially yours), but he said nothing when you added two or three into your cart, so he probably doesn't care. You did show him a lot of clothes that you thought would fit him, and he nodded to pretty much all of them.

By the time you were done looking for clothes, the doorbell had rung.

("That was quick," you reminisced. DAHLIA was quick to respond.

"It came from a nearby Walmart."

"Huh.")

Barnes' head jerked as his eyes were trained on the entrance door. You patted his arm, and his eyes glance at you.

"Relax, it's just the food. DAHLIA ordered some groceries earlier."

You stood up to go answer the door, and Barnes followed suit. You raised an eyebrow at him, but he doesn't really seem like he's gonna back down anytime soon.

"You know... You can follow behind, but you're gonna have to be in the shadows or something 'cuz, you know... Just- if someone's still at the door, don't let them see you okay?"

He nods, almost mechanically so, and you turned around and walked to the entrance door.

Opening the door, you were greeted with a few big boxes. You raised an eyebrow and glanced out through the door; there are no cars nearby, and DAHLIA whispers in your ear that the clearing's safe- not a single life signature anywhere.

"Barnes, the coast's clear," you called out, already reaching down to grab one of the boxes. You grunt, adjusting your grip before you lifted and turned around.

Barnes, having already popped out of whatever dark corner he was in, is already a few feet behind you.

"Hey, you don't mind helping me bring in those boxes, will you?"

You were already walking past him, but you barely caught the briefest flash of furrowed eyebrows before you saw him walk over to the door. You mentally shrugged, but placed the box in the kitchen and went back over to the door to get the other one.

By the time you were done setting down the box, Barnes had already closed the door and was standing under the arch connecting the kitchen to the main hallway.

You motioned him over, and he complied.

"What is inside?"

You're almost proud that you didn't jump. He doesn't talk much, but when he does it always startles you.

"Groceries, but I don't know what specifically. DAHLIA chose all of it. And by the looks of it, she chose a lot. So. You're gonna help me unpack and we'll probably- well, I'll probably make some food. You can help if you want."

Your back was turned to him, and you started unloading the boxes and their contents. Barnes doesn't move for a hot moment, but he squats down next to you and starts unwrapping the smaller boxes that were inside it.

"You don't mind if I put on some music, right?"

You glanced at him.

"I... don't. Mind," he mumbles, tentatively glancing back at you. You gave him a brief thumbs up and turned your attention back to

"DAHLIA, play something chill. Low volume."

_______

Pretty much, the whole day consisted of unpacking all of the groceries that had been delivered. You ended up pausing, having gotten tired of being awake without food in your stomach, and made some food for the two of you.

You tried conversing with him, trying to get him to at least feel more comfortable, and it... kinda worked. There are a few touchy subjects that he doesn't really seem to like talking about (he doesn't really vocalize his discomfort, but his flinches, no matter how minute they were, spoke louder than words). HYDRA, obviously. Anything revolving the Avengers put him off as well, among other things.

Really, most of the eating consisted of small talk and eating noises, but at least some of the tension in his shoulders had lessened by the time that you two needed to get back to unpacking. Hell, by the time that was done, Barnes' clothes had arrived.

(Oh, the benefits of being insanely rich. Say it with me kids: Thank you, Tony!)

You're usually a little apprehensive about buying clothes online, but color you surprised when not only did all of them fit; Barnes didn't have a single problem with any of them.

"You like 'em?"

You whistled when Barnes came out of his bathroom, now back in your clothes that you had given him originally. He tried all of them on, and you ended up buying him so many clothes that a lot of time had passed by the time he was done. You just sat on his bed, slowly collecting all of the clothes and ripping off the tags, damned if he didn't like one of them; you'll just take it instead.

"They're adequate," he nodded. In his hand were the folded clothes (A camo tee and dark sweatpants), and he set them onto his bed with the other folded clothes.

"Did any of 'em uncomfortable? Too tight, any of the fabric feels wrong...?"

You left the question open-ended as you helped him dump it into a laundry bin. He doesn't respond right away as if he didn't hear you. His eyes flicker over to yours.

"... No. They- I..." the muscle under his eye spasms, "I liked them..."

You grinned, "Glad to hear that, guess we got lucky that none of these was a dud, huh?"

The ghost of a smile that was on his lips appeared briefly, but it was gone just as fast as it had appeared.

Really, that had basically been the peak of the day before things had started to mellow out a little bit. But that was okay, you took whatever it was that Barnes gave, and if it was just the smallest smile you've ever seen on a man, then so be it.

Afterward, the day somehow managed to blend together and pass along like an exhale. Not much happened, since you couldn't really- well, offer anything that could scientifically and medically help him. So you opted to just- try to get him up to date as much as possible.

Honestly, by the time that you had gotten through the first three decades (starting when he was born), it was already pretty late into the night.

(He had a lot of questions, and you really didn't blame him. Hell, most of the more personal information really came from DAHLIA, because as much as you sympathized with the man, you really didn't care to learn about his whole entire biography.

But, at least you answered most of the history related questions. If you had to go through a few history college classes back when you were in college, then you'll be damned if you didn't at least make an effort to learn and internalize them.)

Barnes didn't really show any signs of exhaustion if the casual leg bouncing wasn't enough, but you sure were pooped.

(What? Unlike your dad (and most of the Avengers) you actually had a normal internal clock. For the most part, anyway.)

"Well, as much as I liked talking about prehistoric times," you sounded sarcastic, but you actually did like it, "I gotta sleep, I don't run on super-soldier energy like you do bub."

You stood up, stretched, and saw that Barnes was now standing up as well.

"Should I...?"

Raising an eyebrow, you huffed in good nature, "Go to sleep? Yeah, probably. We're not done with the History101 crash course, and we'll probably be talking about other things tomorrow as well," especially about the fact that you're not gonna be at the safe house often soon, "so we both need the energy for that. So, go clean up and get some Z's, yeah?"

"Oh."

He looked a little lost but followed you back into your shared hallway. Stopping in your doorway, you turned your head to glance at Barnes.

"Good night, Barnes," you nodded, not waiting for a response as you headed into your room. It was quiet and almost inaudible, but you still heard it with your ears before you had closed the door shut.

"... Good night."

You stood in your room, a sudden wave of both exhaustion and dread flooding your body. You shook it off though; it was just the nervous jitters hitting you at an inopportune time.

But really, you trusted your guts almost as much as you trusted Tony.

So as you brushed your teeth and did your business in the bathroom, you tried to quell the anxiety that was building up in your chest.

"DAHLIA, keep an eye on him."

"Gotcha, doll."

You sighed, dropped onto your bed, and hoped that whatever it was that might happen, you'd be prepared for it.

_______

And lo and behold, it didn't even have to be the next morning before shit all hit the fan when DAHLIA wakes you up in the middle of the night (3 A.M., to be specific).

"-oll, wake up! Barnes is having a panic attack!"

It takes half a second to process the fear in DAHLIA's voice. It takes another to process her words.

Fuck.

Scrambling immediately out the bed, you thanked whatever higher being there is that you were sleeping with at least some sweatpants on as you booked it straight to your door and right through Barnes'.

(Maybe you should have joined the football team, because that would have been one wicked tackle. Ha, yeah right, you know nothing about football.)

The lights were on, most likely DAHLIA's doing, and his bedsheets were clearly mussed up. He's nowhere to be seen, so your eyes jump to the joined bathroom door, and lo and behold, there was light bleeding through the cracks.

You quickly approached the door and opened it, throwing away the worry that he might have been absolutely naked.

The good news was that he wasn't nude.

The bad news was that he was hunched over on the ground, right in front of the bathroom counter, and he's gripping his head so tightly you would have thought his skull would have caved in.

Terror shoots down your spine like a lightning bolt, and you immediately rushed to the curled over Barnes, adrenaline rushing through you as a million thoughts ran through your head.

"Barnes!"

He doesn't appear to hear you, groaning and panting as he further curled in on himself. His muscles spasm, hard, and you're at a loss at what to do. He's sickly pale, and the sheen on his skin makes you want to vomit. His panting is shallow, and if you weren't sure if the glint that shone in your eyes was the reflection off of the marble floors or a puddle of saliva coming from Barnes.

You're not sure if touching him right now is a good thing, but you'll be damned if he wasn't your responsibility now. You reach out to him, wrapping one arm around his hunched back and the other trying to pry at his wrists.

(Would you have touched him, if you didn't have the reassurance that DAHLIA has your back?)

(Shut up.)

Maybe you were tensing up for him to go all "Winter Soldier" mode on you, but he's the one that tenses, even more, when you touched him. Thankfully, he doesn't resist your pull as his arm is limp the moment you tried to pull it back, but it doesn't change the fact that he's shaking, badly, and your mind is frozen in limbo.

"DAHLIA, what-"

You're at a loss for words, but DAHLIA, sweet DAHLIA already knows what you were about to ask.

"Sergeant Barnes was displaying elevated levels of anxiety, however, it did not seem to warrant any mentions. I thought-"

She cuts herself off, almost as if she was worried that she had made a wrong call. You swallowed, knowing that despite being a baby A.I., she's never done wrong by you- both in the future and now.

"You thought what?"

You try to rub Barnes' back as if he was a dog that had needed soothing. He groans, but you're not sure if you should interpret that as a hurt groan or a relieved one. You paused and moved your hand away, hovering it just inches away from his back, and his breath hitches.

Your hand dropped onto his back once again, and you could feel the muscles on his muscles spasm a little; his whimpers aren't as loud and painful (though, they're still more than worrying).

So, on the very small bright side, back rubs don't seem to be hurting him either. It's a small win, but a win for sure.

"You- my visuals were clear in the conclusion that you saw it. His discomfort. Your body language and expression acknowledged it but you refrained from addressing it. I- acted under the assumption that it was all under control..."

Something in your mind pauses for a pregnant second before your eyes widened.

"What?"

DAHLIA doesn't even get the chance to reply as Barnes jerks his hands away from yours and pulls at his scalp again. You lurched forward.

"Hey! No!"

You bit back a growl as you grabbed his wrists once again. You yank them back down to his sides as his body jolts, a sob ripping through him. You placed a hand on his chest and tried to boost him back up so he'll have his back against the bathtub that's behind him.

He offers little to no resistance as his back makes contact with the bathtub, but he's slumped into himself. He pulls his knees forward and curls his head into them. For a super-soldier, it's almost cute how hard he's trying to take up as little space as possible if it weren't for the fact that your heart was absolutely breaking at the sight of him.

"Oh, Barnes..."

In shuddered breaths, he mumbles something incoherent.

"...-an't, I- I- I-.... -can't..."

He shakes his head, jolting as if someone had shocked him. You rubbed his arm, glancing down at what you can now confirm to be a puddle of saliva, and then over to the trash can right next to the toilet. You're not too sure if you should get it just in case he decides to vomit, but you're ready to lunge for it the moment Barnes shows any signs of gagging.

"DAHLIA," you spoke at a lower volume, "what- when was he, um, uncomfortable."

"Two nights ago, roughly 22:00, when you told Sargeant Barnes that he was his own free man. Yesterday morning, 08:00, when you asked if he wanted to do anything prior to browsing the available clothing catalog. Right after, he was also discomforted by the catalog, before you offered to buy clothes for him. At-"

"That's- that's enough," you breathlessly muttered. DAHLIA doesn't say anything else, but the air has suddenly become heavier than you remembered.

Your head was almost dizzy with not only how many instances Barnes had been anxious in such a short time, but also at how you remembered each and every instance with startling clarity.

Barnes was anxious at the idea of freedom, but you put it off and opted to just give him a nickel tour of the house.

Barnes was anxious when you asked if he wanted to do anything before looking at clothes, but looked too relieved when you brushed over it.

Barnes was anxious at the idea of shopping for fucking clothes but was okay after you took over for him.

The taste of stomach acid burned your tongue, as yesterday's dinner threaten to rise at the implication of all of this.

"DAHLIA," you mumbled, "the- the rest of those instances- do they..."

You trained your eyes on Barnes.

"Do they all- follow the same... The same- pattern?"

DAHLIA was always in tune with you, even after the time jump.

"... Yes," she lamented.

"God..."

Now, you're not sure who that trash can would be really for; you or Barnes.

"Barnes..."

You murmured quietly. He flinches, and his shaking hasn't gotten any better.

"What- what was it? Was it- was it all too much? God, I'm so sorry, it probably was, wasn't it? I should have- fuck, I should have taken it more slowly, I-"

Barnes shakes his head, stopping you in your rambling. You blinked rapidly.

"Then- was it..." you paused, "... Was it the choices?"

It's almost expected that he doesn't answer you straight away, but he nodded anyway.

"I... It was- it was too much- I couldn't- I don't know- I-"

His breath shuddered with each word as if it hurt him to just even speak right now. You shushed him, ignoring the intrusive thought that it was akin to shushing an animal.

"Hey, hey, it's- it's okay. You'll be okay."

It's not much, what you're saying to him, and it's no surprise that they didn't do much anyway.

Honestly, you didn't know what to say at this point. There didn't even seem to be any phrasing in the known English language that would be able to comfort a man with as much baggage on his shoulders as Barnes, and briefly, just briefly, you wished that you were literally anywhere in the world, but here.

You tried thinking about anything that came from your (albeit limited) interactions with him between the past days that would help ground him, before something jolts you from deep within.

("What are my mission parameters," Barnes asked from behind you.

You paused.

"Mission parameters?")

You didn't even realize that you had said that out loud, but Barnes had tensed up even more before you could even take it back. He held his breath, audibly swallowing.

("You don't need mission parameters, Barnes. You're your own free man. You can- can make decisions on your own. You don't need me to tell you what you need to do.")

("I... Don't understand...")

You spoke on impulse.

"You... You need them, don't you? Mission parameters."

Immediately, you regretted even speaking up just as those words left your mouth.

While every fiber in your being hoped that it wasn't true, there was a small inkling in your head that already knew the answer to your question. It was the only thing that was barely even logical enough to make sense.

His apprehension of making a choice.

How uncomfortable in his own skin he always appeared, despite it even being just a few days.

How relieved he always looks, when the choice was already made for him.

His body tenses underneath your hand, but it's the slight bob of his head that makes your stomach drop. You thought- what a fool you were- you thought he'd be okay without being ordered around, but that was nothing but wishful thinking.

(What was the saying? It's hard to teach an old dog a new trick, was it?)

(Yeah.)

Looking at how only a few days of what you had originally thought was Barnes' newfound freedom turned out to be much more of a nightmare for Barnes, it might just be better for the both of you to push aside your comfortability and start making an honest-to-God investment into Barnes' recovery, even if that means that you had to take a step backward.

A very, very risky step backward.

It was a shot in the dark, but it was the only thing that you could place your bets on for now.

You just hoped that your aim wouldn't fail you now.

"Okay, well... How about this, Barnes, here's your main- your main mission, okay? Become a free man. Hey, no, look at me," you swiveled his head so he could look at you. His eyes were panicked, crazed, and irredeemably sad, but you had to make sure nothing crossed through your face so he'd know that everything will be okay. Your grip on both sides of his face was firm as you pleaded with him.

"Your only 'mission' right now? Breathe," ironically, his breath hitched, "If not for your own sake, then for mine."

You swallowed, heart stuttering as you looked into his glassy eyes.

"Please," you let your desperate prayer lingered in the air.

Maybe it was being given a task to accomplish after days of trying to figure out what to do with his supposed new "freedom", or it was how non-labor intensive and just... simple, his new mission parameter was, but it was almost instantaneous how all of the tension in his body dissipated into thin air.

Witnessing the moment of mercy upon grief through Barnes, no matter how brief or temporary it may be, was almost cathartic.

Almost.

(Perhaps you shouldn't be looking for absolution vicariously. But you were never really a good person, were you?)

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A/N: I've read a lot of WinterIron fics. While I have read a lot of interpretations about how Barnes would have reacted when he was freshly freed from HYDRA, this is how I choose to interpret it- one that would best fit the story for now. Next chapter, since I couldn't fit it in this chapter, is a special, but it is very much important and related to the story, and Barnes as a character. If you're familiar with some WinterIron tropes, this won't be too foreign of an idea. Not too sure about other ships/ stories, but. Ah, I'm rambling. Anyways, see you next year lol.

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Masterlist 

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Tagged: @unsolvetheheckoutofit @tonystanktheirondad @ludwigvonbaethoven @rspctot7 (if you’re not @/ fabledxmystery, so sorry for the mistag! LMK if it’s not you) @tolkoskott @klanceiscannon14 @deos-life (grr it won’t let me tag you) @kp1183 (kperla1183) @xyuriko-akamine (akabaneyuriko) @kettnerjanea​ @soldier-42 @daybreakmistakes @spnfanboy777 @crash-zite @jm-cy

[looking4mybambi]

Alright soo ik bdsm/dominant & submissive relationships have so many gender roles that differ from couple to couple, and how each person partakes in that role as individuals in a relationship are different.

As people we all like different things as well and we all SHOULD know what we like as individuals and in a real COMMITTED goal oriented unbreakable successful dom/sub relationship each person knows everything that their person likes and should naturally forget about knowing his or her own likes because each of you got that on lock and can please there person without them telling you when its needed and how to do it or what they are in the mood for..

I am a dominant. But for me I'm a bit different from most . Growing up as a kid very familiar with poverty, I didn't have very many friends so what attention I got was being laughed at for having such bug feet being so young plus I was the tallest in my class up till the end of middleschool, I had long lanky arms a good bit of baby fat (as ma use to call it) and long legs with goofy ass knees so I hated shorts because back in elementary where the bullying started, I may be wrong about this but I don't think Walmart could carry any and1 basket ball shorts that covered my knees nor could we afford It honestly. The kids would call me things like "jolly green giant, sasquach, big dumb (especially if I had to read out loud.. I'm not a good out loud reader) big retard or just tard.. that line of name-calling cease to exist come my 5th and 6th grade years.. mind u I spent an extra year in 4th grade soo I was just adding more fule t on the fire for my later years.

My mother, a single mom of 2 terrorists that worked her hardest to make sure we had what we needed and by doing so came overtime hours after working solid 12s 5 nights a week so she now worked 7 12s a week to get her ot in and be home in the morning to feed us and get us off to school so she can relax and sleep. Like any exhausted human, if there's something that can help you feel good enough to work 7 days a week and be able to parent with the bare minimum sleep, I think most would consider the option heavly. And then addiction..... sooo yeah more hell in school. Long story short .. I got tortured in school. It subsided in the last 2 years before I quit my jr year. But anywho my friends consisted of band in 5-6 grade football and wrestling in 7-8 -9-10 (injuries wrecked my entire school also didn't help my popularity non. And lastly jrotc my freshman year in high school. And a ton of females did band and jrotc (basically a free period lol) so I got tight with females in school while the dudes bullied the fuck out of me... I learned how to be a gorls best friend, do hair, nails, make up. Whatever I needed to learn I did... then sports was where I learned that most men are pigs weather its in a locker room. Or at home she another huge plus and can relate to females. I learned how to gossip and and learned any and all kinds of things girls like from fat free foods to why yell what those socks that look kinda like jon boats or canoes yaknow the shortest socks and adult human could even wear def entirely to short to even be related to ankle socks and how do yall keep them things on your feet while in shoes?!?! Some welfare witchcraft type shit goin on there ima throw that out there 🤣 hell my moms almost died one day she asked me how her hair looked after she curled the sides of her hair on either cheek but she curled both sides to the insides of her cheeks and I told her teacher try curling them out it would look better and she was stunned that I knew what I was talking about . Long story short I took so much time knowing whT makes yell tick, physically, mentally, stomachally ;p, definitely sexually.

Sooo on to this i watched ole ma get beet on by men my whole life and when I tried to fight em off her ( almost every fight that got physical between my mom and a man) there i was right i. The middle of the action knot knowing what the fuck ima do next i was only 11 so I took moms beating more than once.

I've been beaten on by females, alot... yea big ole me.. absolutely refuses to hit back. and ill die that way.

All these events me me the dominant that I am today... I'm strong and I will fight even if I don't want to. I am a protector. My person will feel safe, I can't take fear away ofcorse but I promise she won't be fearful of me.

I take care of my person idc what she ASKS of me ill do it. My rules are simple.

1.) Don't fuckin lie to me.

2.) Don't fucking cheat on me.

3.) Fuckin communicate

4.) DONT FUCKIN BREAK RULE ONE!

Lol I wear my heart on my sleeve and am a very passionate dom. I love giving my person attention and I love to cuddle up to movies, I'm even a hopeless romantic sometimes and I cook I love cooking honestly.

Im also into all sorts of shit forced play, cnc role play and love me a good brat that likes to play hard to get ;)

Most importantly im a dominant that builds his relationship off honesty, respect, compromise and the glue that most dominant men now phase completely out...

LOVE!❤

Now lady's can I ask a very simple question.. well this if me telling whoever will read it about the kind of man I am ofcorse with a recent pic of me (earlier today) to show that im not a terrible looking man.. soo why am I single?

All this is 1000% honest I absolutely DO NOT LIE. I will not play any sort of spin games with anyone. Lol hope someone enjoys

[willowwisk]

Heyy, you said it's ok to give you prompts?

Can you write a destiel fake/pretend relationship maybe? (Any setting works except HS please) You don't have to, of course.

And could you add me to the taglist?

Thank you, have a good day/night!!

AHH! yes of course!  the fic is below the cut. its an au where dean needs to bring a date home for new years.

God. Damn. his father. that son of a bitch. All last year he dragged dean to bring a girl home for the holidays. all week it was “ooh dean, maybe you'll have a girl next year, ooh dean, when re we gonna get to see your girlfriend” what a tool.

but this year he finally stopped and thought. what if he DID bring someone home. stopped the annoying passive aggressive comments? easy. but who could he convince to fake date him?

that was where he hit a wall. No, really. he ran into the wall in the hallway of his dorm. shit. he needs to learn to think AND walk.

“What the fuck was that noise?” he heard from deep inside their studio dorm. “CAS!” he yelled, opening the plywood-esk door. “you’re a genius! I could just kiss you!” dean shrieked, hugging Cas. he would have no problem getting Castiel to relent to his idiotic plan.

“what, dean?” Castiel asked, slightly confused. “ok, so you know that Ryan Reynolds movie?” dean asked, knowing that cas would have no problem remembering every Reynolds movie to exist ever, the man was a wet dream.

“you are going to have to be more specific dean” cas added, becoming a little frustrated. “Sandra Bullock. Alaska.” Dean said. 

“OH, you mean the Proposal? we watched it last month, right? We saw Ryan’s ass?” Cas realized. dean laughed. leave it to cas to remember that. but yea. that's the one. 

once he explained to cas his little predicament and promised him he wasn't going to make him go to Alaska in December, they were packing their bags.

“WOAH cas if you put that in your bag I swear to god,” dean yelled, looking into cas’ duffle bag. the man was folding a Las Vegas raiders hoodie, and dean would not stand for that. 

“what the fuck dean, you know this is my favorite sweatshirt!” he said in his gravelly, back off voice. Cas really had no idea did he. “Cas, you realize we are going to Kansas, right? that's chiefs’ country. if you wear a raiders hoodie anywhere NEAR Kansas, they will shoot you point blank! not to mention my father,” dean said, trailing off.

Dean handed Cas a spare chiefs hoodie from their shared mini closet. “here wear this, I'm your size and you will get a better reaction from the entire state.

cas was shaking his head but he begrudgingly put it in his bag.

and soon enough, they were off! the plane ride was a little turbulent, so of course dean thought he was going to die the entire time. 

when they finally got on the ground, John, Mary and Sam where all there to greet him. Now, dean had told his family he was bringing home a date, but he didn’t specify the gender. they all knew he was bi; he was 20 and a sophomore in college, he was not planning on staying in the closet forever. However, his father elected to ignore that.

he was super excited to see Sam. when he was home for fall break, sam was sick in the hospital with the flu, and he was never really around the whole week. now he was better, and seemingly even taller.

 “whats up bitch!” dean called out, giving him an epic noogie. “Deeeeaaaannnnnn! You’re such a jerk!” sam said, only giving dean more gusto.

“Dean! Sam! Quit it. We are in public.” John said, rearing his ugly head and ruining the fun. “Yes Sir.” The boys said in unison, making cas cringe.

“Dean, who is this young man?” Mary asked, gesturing towards cas and breaking the awkward silence that comes after you yell at your 20-year-old son.

Dean tool a deep breath, looked at Cas and told them that he was his boyfriend. Sam shook his hand, Mary said, “oh, alright! Hop in the car and we can head home” and john said, well, predictably, nothing. He just got in the car and drove home.

When they pulled up at Deans childhood home, it looked exactly as it did when he comes every year. Nothing seems to have changed except Sam’s room since dean was born. “dean, can you take yours and Castiels bags to your room?” mary asked, unlocking the door. Dean had already assured cas that he had had bunk beds in his room since he was 12, and that there was no need to worry about sharing one bed.

Until he walked into his room. If you could even call it that anymore. His black walls? They were now a light shade of baby blue. His music posters? Gone. Replaced by Ikea paintings of bridges and shit. And the worst part, instead of his bunk beds tucked into a corner of the room, there was one big queen-sized bed.

Dean threw the bags onto the bed and yelled “MOOOOOOM!!!!” downstairs he could hear a quiet exchange and a “shit!” before he heard his mom running up the stairs. She had a lot of explaining to do.

After explaining why his room had been butchered and replaced by that Martha Stewart crap, everyone was exhausted. Their flight had come in at 10pm, ad they lived an hour from the airport.

Cas was in the bed, and dean was on a blanket on the floor. Ouch. But that’s when all hell broke loose.

There was a sputter, sputter, CLANK across the house in the wee hours of the night. Everyone was asleep except dean, and he KNEW that sound. The fucking heater had gone out. On December 22nd. In Kansas. F U C K.

Dean lay shivering on the floor, when cas screamed in his sleep. Now dean felt extra bad. He was used to cas’s  tears and whimpers in the night, since they were roommates, but he knew that straight up screams were really bad. Cas had nightmares and PTSD, like, bad. He grew up in an abusive household, and being the youngest sibling of 8, he was everyone’s favorite punching bag.

Dean knew the nightmares circled around that, but he never knew details. After waking cas a lot in his freshman year, dean finally learned that if you wake him up, its really hard for him to go  back to sleep, so cas told him to just let him ride them out.

In the middle of deans thought, cas screamed again, mixed with a chocked back sob. “no, don’t hurt him- no! NO! don’t hurt dean no no no no!!” cas whimpered.

At this point, dean was planning intervention. This seemed way worse than normal, it felt more like a PTSD dream than a normal nightmare. He needed to get cas awake, and now.

Dean hopped up onto the bed and grabbed cas’ face in his hands. “cas buddy, wake up, your safe, I’m here. CAS” dean yelps, trying to wake his friend up.

All of the sudden, cas’ eyes pop open, and! He begins to have a panic attack. But that’s fine. Dean knows panic attacks. They follow their 5 things you can touch, smell, and see procedure, and by the last touch, cas has almost calmed all the way down.

“Cas, what is the fifth solid thing you can touch?” dean asks, praying that cas has calmed down.

Cas reached out and touched deans almost frozen lips. He points at dean.  Cas then notices how cold dean is. He points at dean and puts his arms up in a ‘shivering’ gesture. Ok. So cas is going to be nonverbal tonight. Good to know. That one will be hard to explain.\

Its was also important to mention that cas had autism. He was a confusing little gay disaster that dean was somehow incredibly dependent on.

Cas had lifted his blankets and was gesturing that dean come and get in the bed, to warm up.

Dean was reluctant, but he was just so cold. So he relented.

“I hope you know im getting out as soon as the heat turns back on.” Dean said, crawling into bed.

He pressed his back to castiel's chest, effectively becoming the little spoon. Maybe this fake dating thing wouldn’t be so bad.

They had lost so many hours last night, that when the door opened in the morning, they were still asleep. “boys” mary said in a quiet voice.

This jolted dean awake, who was famously a very light sleeper, only to discover he and cas were even more entwined than before. He was now facing cas, and they were basically hugging horizontally.

“the heater is out ma” dean whispered, trying to not wake cas.

“dean, the heater came back on not two hours after it went out”

 oh my god this was so fun to write, sorry i went off of your prompt a little, i really was afraid it was going to turn into a 100k fic lol and i write wherever the plot bunny takes me.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Insomnia

Request: can you do a peter parker one where it’s him and tony’s daughter (she’s not an avenger) and just cute things like he catches her with his mask on or tony finds out they’re having sex and stuff

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

If anyone would like, I can create a Peter Parker x Reader Taglist. Tell me if you’d be interested in joining it! Or if you’d like to be added to my Forever Taglist. Or any Taglist, really!

Enjoy!

Being a Stark comes with a lot of perks. There’s the money, the influence, the brains, the technology... so basically everything.

Unfortunately, everything also includes insomnia.

It’s 3 a.m. and you’re still awake, though that may be because you’ve been on Instagram for the past four hours (yes, it’s a little pathetic, but guess what? Another thing you’ve gotten from your father is the mental issues so sometimes you need a little me time). But you would have put your phone down if you were starting to get tired. Besides, while some nights you’re able to fall asleep if you stay still enough for long enough, other nights you’re too restless to fall asleep quick enough and other times your brain simply refuses to turn off.

It’s easier to distract yourself with the memes.

Your boyfriend, Peter Parker, lets out a soft snore next to you and you freeze for a second. Thankfully he’s such a deep sleeper that your restlessness doesn’t usually bother him. Not that Tony would be happy to figure out how many nights you two spend together, but come on, you’re nineteen and can make your own decisions. It’s not like he behaved any better when he was your age.

You’d been surprised Peter was such a light sleeper considering his Peter-tingle, but as he reminds you over and over again (just like he reminds you not to call it the Peter-tingle but his spider sense) it only works for threats and apparently he’s decided you’re not a threat.

He really is gorgeous. You roll over and pillow your arm under your head, looking at him sleep with a small smile on your face. His floppy curls are definitely your favorite aspect of his appearance. But then again, his jawline is pretty great. And so are his cute brown eyes—when they’re open, of course. And even when they’re closed you can see how thick and long they are, resting on his cheeks.

There’s not really a way for you to pick a favorite feature of Peter’s. He’s just so perfect.

You reach out, fingers hovering over his cheekbones, before retracting your hand and huffing, rolling onto your back. Even though his Peter-tingle might not alert him to you being awake, touching him might still wake him and he hasn’t been sleeping like he should recently. He’s got so much college work and that on top of his patrols exhausts him. Whenever he’s in his bed he’s so tired he falls asleep instantly. It’s a quality you both admire and resent a little bit.

Before college, during the summer, Peter would stay awake until you were asleep on the nights you slept at a normal time. When you sleep you don’t move around and he can spoon you. Unfortunately, if you’re still trying to sleep you move around quite a bit, trying to find the perfect position, and it’s uncomfortable for him to be holding you as you toss and turn every few minutes. So, for the past few—you frown. How long has it been? Days? Weeks? Months? You haven’t been able to hold him and Peter hasn’t been able to hold you, at least while sleeping.

Muttering curses under your breath, you sit up and ease off the bed, watching Peter anxiously for the faintest sign that he’s woken. You don’t want to be the reason Spider-man can’t go on patrol because he’s too tired. You don’t want to be the reason Peter sleeps instead of going to his nine a.m. class. Most of all, you don’t want to be the reason Peter Parker gives up on his life because he’s too tired.

Your right ankle cracks when you take the first step and you wince, craning your neck to see if Peter’s awake. He doesn’t appear to be and you tiptoe out of the room with relief, completely unaware that Peter has been awake since your first sigh of annoyance.

He sits up, rubbing his eyes, when the door closes, and stares after you, a sleepy pout puckering his lips.

You know where everything is in the compound. You live here, after all. Therefore, lights are unnecessary as you pace down hallway after hallway, too far inside the building for windows to let in moonlight to assist in your endeavor. Nevertheless, you find yourself in front of the workshop in the end.

You’re not an Avenger. Much as you’d like to be one, you weren’t specially trained and you don’t have superpowers. You’ve never had the right temperament for it, anyway; quick flashes of temper would more often than not land you in more trouble than you’d like and your inexperience could render you useless when it comes to more complicated, sometimes inhumane, situations. Not that you’re useless in a fight; you can hold your own, ever since Nat took you away for that week-long ‘girl’s retreat’. Tony hadn’t liked it, but it was necessary.

He still thinks of you as his child and you haven’t been a child for a very long time, unfortunately.

Speaking of Tony; he, too, is in the workshop, sipping a cup of coffee. His hair is a mess. The brightness inside makes you squint. “Hey, Y/N,” he greets. “What, are you turning in? What time is it, 10?” He checks his watch without waiting for your response and tilts his head when he sees that it is exactly 3:12 in the morning. “I guess I got a little caught up in my work, huh?” He brandishes the wrench in his hand and sets it on the table. “What about you? Spiderling keeping you awake?” He winks.

You grimace. “Gross, Dad. You’re not supposed to talk about that stuff with me.”

Tony nods. “Yeah, I felt ridiculous just saying it. But I’ve gotta keep up with the times, you know? I’m still a cool kid.” He huffs a small laugh again. “Besides, I’d rather it’s Spiderling than anyone else, really.”

“No, I just... couldn’t sleep.” You raise one shoulder, voice light. “But you should get to bed. You have work in the morning. I can sleep in.”

“You really should try to stay on a better schedule,” your dad reminds you. The brief moment of conventional parenting doesn’t surprise you, but it is uncommon. Your dad always was the cool parent. Not that you had an uncool parent, after all; it was always just you and Tony.

Until Pepper. You like Pepper. She’s nice but strict—probably the epitome of the ‘uncool’ parent. But you’re already enough of an adult that she doesn’t mess with your life too much.

“I know,” you say heavily, kissing his temple and shutting down his project behind his back. “I’ll try, Dad. Good night.”

“Good night, honey.” Tony stands up and exits the workshop, leaving you alone in the quiet, too bright room.

You sigh again. Maybe you’re nocturnal and that’s why you never can fall asleep at the right time. “Hey, FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Ms. Stark?”

“Could you pull up designs for Spider-man’s next upgrade?”

“Certainly.”

The computer in front of you lights up and a 3D rendering of Peter’s next suit rotates once. You’re not an Avenger, but you can make their suits. It’s easy enough. It’s nice to be able to help out, anyway. And you’re never going to let Peter live down that he accidentally called his dick the ‘ol’ webshooter’ when, flustered, he told you it was a little tight in the crotch area.

Absently, you pick up one of the many masks Peter has gone through. It’s lying on the table next to the computer, the eyes shattered from a collision with a street sign. Without even thinking, you slip it over your own head. The material melds to the bone structure of your face, so comfortable you don’t notice but if it was made of anything else you’d feel suffocated.

“Why are you still awake?”

You jump and turn. Peter stands in front of you shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, curls tousled and—stop, you mentally berate yourself. You can’t afford to get too excited right now because you know Peter won’t refuse you and he has class tomorrow.

Peter’s lips twitch when you pull the mask off your head hastily. “Why are you awake?” you accuse. “You have class tomorrow morning. Go back to sleep. I’ll be there in a few.”

Peter’s hands slip around your waist. You aren’t taken completely unawares; he’s headstrong and sometimes telling him to do something can make him want to do it even less. “The bed’s too cold without you.”

You sigh. “Oh, did I wake you up? I’m sorry. If you want, we can start to sleep in separate rooms again—”

“What? No!”

“—just on the nights you have stuff to do in the morning, because God knows I’ll keep you awake most nights anyway—”

“I have stuff to do every day, and—wait, most nights?”

“I’ve just been busy recently, Pete,” you mutter, relaxing into his hold and resting the side of your face against his warm, solid chest. “Can’t always turn the Stark brain off.”

Peter huffs a little bit. “Between you and Mr. Stark I’ve definitely got my hands full, huh?”

“Maybe when I become president I’ll convert the U.S. so that we’re nocturnal,” you suggest, giggling a bit. Peter plants a kiss on the top of your head.

“I’m sure you will. Now, come on,” he wheedles, “let’s go to bed.”

“Just a few more minutes—” you try, pushing away from his embrace, but unfortunately your boyfriend is a superhuman and doesn’t even budge. Instead, he keeps you caged in his arms and walks backwards, letting your legs drag behind your body.

“No,” Peter says firmly. He drags you all the way out of the room, turns off the light, and shuts the door before finally letting you go. “Now are you going to walk with me or do I have to carry you?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

He grins down at you. “You love me, though.”

“Do I?” you tease. Peter’s lips press against yours, a gentle peck, and he pulls back and rubs his left eye.

“You need sleep,” he reminds you. “So do I. Come on.” And then he starts down the hallway, pulling you along. And maybe you yawn. Either way, he ends up as the big spoon and you don’t even toss and turn all that much.

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shackled - Ch 11

Summary: After nearly ten years, Sam Winchester calls Miriam Bard to collect on a life debt. Unfortunately for Miriam, Sam leaves out a few important details.

WARNINGS CHANGE EACH CHAPTER, PLEASE CHECK EACH TIME. 

Warning: Slightly more than show level violence, implied loss of family, grieving, depression, spiraling, cursing, Demon!Dean, emotional manipulation, mind fuckery, psychological manipulation, questioning one’s sanity, emotional exhaustion, depression, blood,  mental/emotional/psychological abuse, consuming blood, mental anguish, cliffhanger.

Word Count: 1409

Author’s Note: @cracksinthewalls​​ . Babe. You’re my editing rock. Thank you to @thoughtslikeaminefield​ for eternal encouragement and @fangirlxwritesx67​ for forever flails. Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In case you missed it: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 ItMightHAveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 11

“Miriam.”

Sam’s voice was low, gentle, and she swam slowly towards it through a sea of welcome darkness.

“You don’t have to wake up yet. I’m going to give Dean his next dose and call Cas to check in. I’ll wake you up to switch out when I’m done.”

“Nrrrphh...should...go with you…”

He chuckled as he squeezed and released her hand. 

“I’ll be quick, I promise. Rest; you need it. I’ll wake you as soon as I get back.”

“Mmmph.”

Sam, however, was not what Miriam woke to. A low, urgent siren cut through the cushioned layers of Miriam’s sleep like a buzz saw through cotton. She was awake in an instant, rolling off the bed with reflexes born of experience, and she’d located her gun before her eyes were even fully open. A red light alternately dimmed and brightened in time with the buzzer.

Miriam assumed something had gone terribly wrong, and this was some sort of warning system built into the bunker. While she didn’t know exactly what had happened, she was pretty sure she knew the basics.

Dean was out, and Sam was far from in control of the situation.

Failure or not, however, she was first and foremost a hunter. She choked down her rising panic and forced herself to think. First: stay or go?

If she stayed in her room, there was literally nowhere to hide. The door was heavy but was also made of wood, not metal, so it could be broken down or penetrated by something with enough strength.

Like a demon, she thought. And though Dean didn’t actually know where her room was, since he could hear her when she was asleep, she had to assume he knew she was nearby. She didn’t know Dean would come after her specifically, but she also had no reason to expect that he wouldn’t. 

Miriam grabbed her flask of holy water, tucked it into the waistband of her leggings. She slipped through the door, padding down the hallway on bare feet, gun at the ready, and made a quick check in the doorway of the dungeon. The cuffs dangled uselessly from the arm of the chair, the ropes in loose coils on the floor. No Sam or Dean.

Shit. Where do I even start?

The bunker was huge. She knew her way to the kitchen, the bathroom, the dungeon, and the exit. She’d seen some extra weapons in the library, but as she didn’t know if any of those were even as effective against a demon as her gun, she couldn’t count on them.

On the other hand, she thought, more weapons were better than fewer. Anything to slow Dean down and give Sam time to get him back in the cuffs.

She crept towards the entrance to the bunker, her gun aimed and leading the way. Her heart raced as her adrenaline spiked, but she forced her legs to move smoothly, her arms to stay steady. She wasn't going to let Sam down again; all she had to do was find Dean and slow him down.

Surely she could do that.

After a minute that felt like hours, Miriam stood with her back against the wall, working up the nerve to turn the corner. The entrance with its huge map table was just through the open doorway on her left. If she remembered correctly, she simply had to make another left and the library was on the other side of a conference table. A few quick steps, ten or fifteen seconds at most, and she would be at the weapons. 

The trouble was, she couldn’t make her feet move. She’d been fine up til now; terrified, but functional. But the closer she’d gotten to this doorway, the more her fear increased until she was frozen, feeling as though she’d plunged into a pool of ice water.

Then she heard him over the blaring of the alarm.

“Sammy! You’re just making this worse for yourself, man! Oh, by the way, you can, uh...blame yourself for me gettin’ loose.” 

Dean’s voice carried clearly across the room, and she could feel him getting closer. He sounded much better than he had the last time she'd seen him, and his tone was casual, amused.

“All that blood you pumped into me to make me human, well…” He paused, laughing to himself, and Miriam’s knees almost buckled. She closed her eyes, bit her lip, and for the first time in so long, prayed for help.

Dean spoke again.

“The less demon I was, the less the cuffs worked. And that devil’s trap—well, I just walked right across it. It smarted. But still…”

Dean trailed off, and over the buzz of the alarm, Miriam heard a metallic scraping noise and then nothing. She tightened her jaw, drawing on every reserve of courage she had left, and spun to her left, turning and aiming where she’d last heard Dean.

Before she could fire, a hammer smashed down on her outstretched wrists. Pain exploded up her arms, her gun went flying from fingers which no longer responded, and she sucked in a ragged, agonized breath. A hand clamped over her mouth before she could choke out the scream, and she was jerked backward off her feet. 

She crashed against the wall with a bone-rattling thud, her head bouncing off the hard surface. Tasting blood, she slid to the floor, dazed, black spots popping in her vision. Before she could pull in a breath, much less react, she was yanked up into a sitting position and propped against the wall.

“Heya, sweetheart. Have a good nap? I missed you.”

Dean’s face swam into view, green eyes bright with pleasure. She moaned as he leaned down, letting some of his weight push on her ruined wrists. He ran his nose up the side of her face, breathing in and sighing almost regretfully. When she turned away from him, he jerked her face back to his with a disapproving growl.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, little girl.”

She was ashamed of the tears streaming from her eyes, but she was paralyzed with shock, only just hanging on to consciousness. He glared hungrily at her, his expression stern, then lunged forward suddenly. His tongue pressed into the split on her lip where her teeth had cut through. He sucked hard at the wound, and an anguished wail clawed its way up from her gut. He hummed deep in his throat, enamored of her agony as he leaned harder on her wrists. 

She tried to lift her hands, shove him away, but the wave of pain that shot up her arms sent her head spinning as spots swam across her darkening vision.

“I could spend all night eating you up, Miri, but Daddy’s got a playdate with little Sammy. You and I will have to reschedule.” 

Dean rose, rolling his neck and stretching his shoulders. He moved to leave, and she was finally able to draw a full breath without gasping. Before she could even begin to struggle to her feet, he turned back, and the smile on his face froze her blood solid.

“On second thought, wait right here for me, sweetheart. I promised you some flaying, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word. I’ll be right back for you.”

Then his boot slammed down on her kneecap, and Miriam’s world erupted in an inferno of ripping, crushing agony before disintegrating into black.

…

“You look worried, fellas.”

Sam and Castiel glanced at each other, then back at Dean, neither sure if they could trust the transition. Sure, the black in his eyes had dissolved, but still…

Sam flicked his flask of holy water, liberally splashing Dean’s face. All three men collectively breathed easier when they realized his skin remained unblemished and whole. Sam’s face almost crumpled with relief, and he gave his brother a shaky, genuine smile.

“Welcome back, Dean.”

Dean’s face flickered from shock to relief to concern so fast Sam almost couldn’t keep up. Then Dean spoke, and Sam’s blood ran cold.

“Why isn’t Miriam with you? Did neither of you find her?”

“No, I was trying to lead you away from her, and-” Sam broke off as horror washed over his brother's face. “Dean, what did you do?”

“Cas, get back to the library now! Find Miriam, she-” The angel disappeared, and Dean strained against the ropes.

“Sam, get me loose, now!”

...

Chapter 12 (conclusion)

[chibimyumi]

Dear @lunitamoon​​,

First of all, I am sorry it took so long to get to you, but thank you very much for your sweet compliments! The day you sent the ask was great, and so is today. I hope your life is good to you too.

But now without further ado, your question.

Uchikawa Reo

I think Reo is a very good actor. My first opinion of him when I saw him in Noah’s Ark Circus 2016 was that he has a lot of talent. Some of these talents were not polished yet, (his singing being one example, but given his young age I couldn’t possibly blame him), while other talents were already polished to a sparkling gem. When people talk about Reo, it is usually “cuteee, so tiny!!!” or compliments of the like. His looks make people shove his remarkableness as an actor under these irrelevant external qualities. That is a shame, so please allow me to highlight a few things that are remarkable about this boy.

Character interpretation and understanding

I think Reo understood the character of O!Ciel very well and he was able to deliver many of the nuances even his first time in the role. When hastily interpreted, O!Ciel’s character runs the risk of being taken for nothing but cranky, sulky and haughty. Reo however, even at the age of 12 managed to see that these three obvious traits have a much deeper root: ‘doneness’. O!Ciel is done with his butler’s sauciness, done with people around him imposing their opinions on him, done with the world. Uchikawa Reo managed to capture this fatigue quite well.

In the scene where Soma is altogether a bit too clingy, I think many would think O!Ciel would push the prince away or slap him away. Reo however, did not. He was trying to pull away Soma’s hands, but he never showed antagonism. Just doneness. Regardless of whether O!Ciel does or doesn’t see Soma as his ‘big brother figure’ and ‘friend’, he does care about him. Even when Reo-bocchan said: “I’m exhausted because of you,” there was no callousness in his voice; just irritation.

Reo managed to find a beautiful middle ground between ‘warm’ and ‘cold’ for O!Ciel, and that is exactly what I believe our Trash Baby Lord is. That is a lot more nuance in character study than I could possibly expect from most actors, let alone a 12 year old one.

Another example of Reo’s great understanding of his role is in the scene where he questions his butler whether he would be able to bring them to Baron Kelvin’s manor within an hour. Here he raised an eyebrow as he spoke. This raised eyebrow is very significant.

In the post ‘That Butler, Punchable‘, I discussed in detail how Sebastyun is constantly being very snarky at his master, presumably so because he did not consider the boy worthy of his full respect. In the scene of this example however, O!Ciel has earned the demon’s full respect, and he knows it.

Raising an eyebrow, O!Ciel shows that he has reestablished dominance as master, and that intellectually he is on the same playing field as the demon. He knows what he is doing, and unsurprisingly, the question asked was thusly phrased as a rhetorical one. Hence I did not translate this line as: “can you?” but instead as “you can, right?” Through this nuance, Reo-bocchan shows a great level of confidence and his grasp over the case.

Something else remarkable about 12-year-old Reo is his body-language. In the showdown between him and Baron Kelvin, Reo knew very well how to deliver his actions and the tension of the scene to even the people in the furthest back of the theatre. He takes his time to carry out every movement with meaningful decisiveness. One powerful kick. Re-assume stance. Walk behind his victim. Trap him under his foot. Point the gun at him. Had Reo just kicked Kelvin and stood on him in one consecutive movement, then the impact would have been broken.

I am not sure whether this was intentional, but before Reo pointed the gun at Kelvin, the hand that held the weapon was relaxed, which meant it would not attract attention away from his footwork. Only when the footwork was finished did Reo reveal his gun again from underneath his cape, effectively re-shifting attention back to the weapon when that should be the central focus again.  In theatre where audiences don’t view the production through edited and selected footage, it is vital that actors know where they should draw attention to, and reversely, where not to. Reo did well.

Reo’s natural flair for comedy is also noteworthy. O!Ciel’s character’s funniness is mostly his insane cuteness and inability to can at times; not because he has funny remarks to make. Trying too hard to be funny is a big theatre/movie sin, but Reo is luckily no sinner

As demonstrated above, Reo has an excellent understanding of his role and is careful in maintaining it even when the musical calls for comedy. Reo employed a very advanced technique of achieving comedy; namely discrepant solemness. He does not loosen up or start monkeying around; instead he maintains his usual up-tightness while tricking Aberline into saying his own name wrong. The brilliancy in this scene was not just Reo’s ability to employ this advanced comedy technique, but also that the nature of this skit was perfectly in character for this insidious, manipulative brat.

In Tango on the Campania Reo filled most of the ‘space for growth’ he still had in the previous musical. Even though Reo’s body language on stage was already great in Noah’s Ark Circus, he did have the tendency to stand idle when the scene’s focus was not on him. In the latest musical however, Reo would not forget to also act when he was in the background.

His singing also largely improved, and was able to prolong his notes as well as transitioning between the notes. He still had trouble hitting the highest of notes, but his voice would no longer die off mid-way in its ascending.

Fukuzaki Nayuta

I think Nayuta is a great actor too, and personally a seemingly very underrated gem. In the first run of the Lycoris that Blazes the Earth (2014) Nayuta was admittedly not the best actor ever seen in theatre history. However, he did up the game for Ciel actors even at the time. Acting style is more preference-bound, but undeniably Nayuta’s singing was more solid than any past Ciel performer before him. Despite him having outclassed past Ciels’ singing, Nayuta received a lot of hate from fans, most amounting to: “I can’t watch this, he is too ugly.” (Yes, very constructive, very legit. Ughum. The Kurofandom never fails to remind me how so many are here just for the pretttiiiiiiessss >_>)

In 2015, Nayuta’s voice was actively dropping, sending him in a constant swing between up-and-down. I don’t have experience with a dropping voice, but I heard from everyone who did that it is incredibly hard to control your voice in speaking, let alone singing. And yet, though his voice was rough at all times, Nayuta did manage to hit all the tones. I find that very impressive. I think technique-wise, Nayuta is the strongest singer among all Ciel stage-actors so far. I haven’t heard his singing after his voice-change was complete, but I can imagine him having become a very good singer now. His capacity for control over his voice is superb, after all.

Nayuta’s acting is very subtle but convincing. When Nayuta-bocchan was in his cage, he even added some little movements of the hand that would not be in people’s usual expectations given the situation. To me, this little quirk seemed to convey how despite already having hit rock bottom, the last straw had only fallen just now. This boy is not just scared and desperate, he is murderously angry and resolute.

Nayuta’s subtle and yet convincing body-language can be seen throughout the musical. To demonstrate what I mean by ‘convincing’, I wish to point at Tango on the Campania. Compare Nayuta’s shaking to the headbanging of the stand-in for O!Ciel... Nope. (This actress is not a child, so I can be harsher.)

Again, Nayuta’s acting is subtle, but it does mean it is easily missed, especially in a live theatre. (’Overacting’ is obviously a thing (see demonstration 1 above ⇈), but to the people who initially criticised Furukawa for “moving around too much”, that’s the theatre medium for you. Theatre was not made to be recorded and viewed in close proximity. Moving any less will basically be invisible in a theatre (see my analysis of Tamaki’s performance as Snake).)

Enough side-tracked, back to Nayuta. In the scene where Nayuta-bocchan just woke up, he performed the panic dying down slowly expertly. We can tell that the shaking and heavy breathing really got the better of him, but that the boy was actively trying not to show his butler.  This was probably not visible live, but we have footage of it, so let us savour the panic-dying-down for what it is.

Though I might go as far as to say Nayuta might be better suited as a film-actor than theatre-actor, what was not missed on live audiences was this iconic scene below ⇊ when it finally dawned in O!Ciel that he had been chasing the wrong tail all along.

The atmosphere he created was incredibly tense, and we could practically hear the gears grinding and suddenly coming to a shocking halt. Bravo. It is ultimately for this scene that I think Nayuta would make a phenomenal stage-actor with just a BIT more stage-oriented instructions from the director.

Another scene that also conveyed the tension excellently was when O!Ciel was putting up with the Viscount. Nayuta knew better than put on an insulting high-pitched voice in parody of “a girl’s voice”, instead he minded the intonation of speaking and subtler mannerisms girls are socialised to perform.

When the Viscount really got way too close, Sasaki’s acting was incredibly flamboyant and loud, and yet it never threatened to overshadow Nayuta’s performance. Nayuta knows very well how to keep people’s attention on him even when he doesn’t have lines to say. When the Viscount turned Nayuta-bocchan around, the boy’s facial expression spoke voluuuumes.

Sakamoto, Nishii and Tanaka

I don’t have footage of them, and I am not going to get them legally or illegally, so I will include no visual examples of them in this post.

I don’t want to be harsh on children, they all did their best I believe, but do allow me to say that I am not very enthusiastic about their performances.

Sakamoto’s performance of Ciel was not very memorable, but I think it mostly has something to do with his part in the script just not being memorable at all. To sum up; Ciel in ‘Friendship’ received some guests from Japan, played chess, and stared wide shifty-eyed until the case solved itself. Sakamoto’s singing was decent, though. I wish they capitalised more on that.

Nishii... I think many people were initially especially enthusiastic about him because he did not “look like Vincent Phantomhive”. He did his best, I could tell he had fun in the performance, but whatever acting-talent he might have, the musical never gave him any chance to shine. That musical gave his character ZERO nuance. Nishii’s singing was very unpolished, and in the mere 3 weeks of audition time, there was also no time to get it polished. But then again, the same goes for the singing of most of that cast.

Tanaka... I could tell he did his best, but perhaps he was doing his best not to f*ck up a bit too hard. The songs in this musical were rather challenging, and Tanaka always seemed very tense as he was trying to chase the notes. It was like he was desperately clinging to his spot within a safety-zone, which ultimately meant he didn’t explore any potentials outside the range of monotony. When it comes to acting, it also seemed like cranky outbursts were the only emotion he dared touch upon.

So that was that! Thanks for reading!

[divine-noire]

Mononucleosis Awareness Post

So I caught Mono participating in Hot Girl Summer™ (jk jk lmao) but I did get Mono, and this shit is not a fucking joke. If you feel like you might have it, please go to the doctor. Over the past 4 weeks, I have been going through literal medical hell from complications. I’m gonna list the symptoms I’ve had and if you feel like you might have it, go get looked at. I thought Mono was something only horny ass teens got in high school playing spin the bottle, I’m 26 (27 next month) and was NOT expecting this shit at all.

Fatigue

My first symptom that something was wrong was fatigue. This is not normal, everyday fatigue. This is actually waking up and feeling like the world is ending when you take your first step, fatigue. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. While driving, I put my emergency break on at red lights because I was afraid I would fall asleep while at the standstill. At work, if there were no calls, my head was down (luckily, my boss is only here twice a week so I could get away with this). At home, I was in bed by 6PM and when you do sleep, it’s immediate. There is no gradual lulling off to sleep. It’s face-meet-pillow-meet-morning-alarm type of sleep. But I was still tired no matter how much I slept so I started using No Doze to counteract the effects. At first, it was fine, but even then, I still had the underlying fatigue. It got so bad, I drove over a friend’s house in Greenbelt, MD which is about an hour and a half away with rush hour traffic, using every bit of energy I had in my body to get to her, because she said she would take care of me, which she did. But by the time I pulled up to her house, I basically almost fell out of the driver side door when she opened it for me. That is not an exaggeration, that is the level of exhaustion I felt from just driving that far without sleeping. We thought I had the flu or something flu-like, so she gave me fluids and alot of Day & NightQuil. It made the symptoms lessen, but it never made them go away.

Sore Throat

At the beginning, my throat merely felt scratchy. This lasted for about 3 days, before I knew it, my voice was gone and my throat was in so much pain I gave up talking. The pain is not akin to Strep Throat, if you’ve had that before. It is actually worse. My throat was swollen as a symptom of the virus, but it graduated into its own infection of severe Tonsillitis. It was so severe that I actually began having trouble swallowing from the amount of swelling that it caused. I had to receive a steroid injection in my butt to counteract the swelling and start methylprednisone (which wasn’t strong enough and I had to go back for regular prednisone 20mg). I couldn’t eat anything without pain, so I stuck to drinking a lot of fluids and ice water. Ice water became my guardian angel because my throat was in a constant state of burning pain. I also grew exodus on the back of my throat, past my tonsils, as a result of the infection in my throat, and had to gargle salt water like crazy everyday to get them out. The exodus hurts, it is hard and feels like cement on the back of your throat and it makes the Tonsillitis 10x worse than it already is. I didn’t have a voice at all for 12 days, I had to use a dry erase board for all interactions (it’s quicker than typing on my phone.) 

Nausea

Now my case may be different because the doctors keep telling me my nausea shouldn’t have gone on as long as it did and that I need to go see a Gastroenterologist ASAP but that’s a different story for a different post. Nausea was my worst and most persistent symptom to date. The kind of nausea you may feel will be persistent. I woke up nauseous to the point of my mouth salivating as though I were about to vomit everyday for about 2-2.5 weeks. This never settled. There was never a time my mouth was not salivating, I had to begin keeping paper cups at my desk to spit the residual saliva into throughout the day because it never subsided. One day, I had a salad for lunch from Panera even though I wasn’t hungry, I knew I should try to eat something. (By this time, my throat had made some progress and I could swallow some whole things.) I immediately regretted that decision when I lay in bed at midnight holding my stomach like the world was ending. I was so nauseous that I couldn’t get myself together enough to even get out of bed. The thing that makes the nausea symptom so bad (for me) is that it never made be actually vomit, it just created the sensation of needing to. Eventually, I broke down and stuck a straw down my throat just to alleviate the symptom a bit and threw up the salad, and it didn’t even look like it’d been digested properly. That made the nausea go away for the night, and after that I gave up eating anything solid hoping that would prevent any future nausea, spoiler alert: I was wrong. My salivating mouth picked up right where it left off, it was as though all I went through the night before didn’t even matter. My stomach was empty and still nauseated. That night, the nausea was so bad that I just knew something was off and I drove myself to the ER (Note: I drive myself to the ER that is less than 10-minutes away all the time to save money on an ambulance, if you feel you are not safe to drive, dial 911, it is better to just pay the ambulance than cause an accident and make your situation worse than it already is.). When I got there, I was beyond exhausted, nauseous, dizzy, I just felt like I was dying. The doctor brought me back, took my vitals, asked the usual questions. I told him about the nausea, the Mono diagnosis, he said he wanted me to get a temporary room while he ran some tests. I got a room and a nurse came in and gave me a shot of Zofran for the nausea that did absolutely nothing. It was so bad that when he came back in, I asked for Ipecac or a straw to induce vomiting again. Alarmed, he said they wanted to avoid me vomiting and gave me an additional shot of Zofran. That helped that time, but I still just felt overall terrible. The doctor came in later and told me my potassium levels were extremely low, explaining the extreme fatigue and dizziness, that my liver was swollen from the Mono, and that the nausea was alarming and he would be admitting me for treatment. I was shocked that this virus had done such a number on me. My throat had even worsened and was now even more swollen and painful than it was before (I hadn’t gotten the 20mg prednisone script yet.). I spent 2 days with an IV in my arm, eating mushy foods and sleeping in the hospital. I had to take off work because I was in no shape to even drive there, let alone get anything done. After the 2 days went by, I actually felt back to my normal self! I was so fucking happy to exist and not feel like dying after weeks of wanting to that I went home and started cleaning my room. I had let it get atrocious from not feeling well or feeling like doing anything besides sleeping. Shortly after I began, the fatigue kicked in, the only symptom to never leave, and I sat my ass down and watched Rick & Morty with Sebastia and went to sleep instead, which was probably the safer bet. Fast forward 8 nausea-free days, and guess what’s back??? It’s tolerable now, but still an extreme nuisance. I get my Zofran prescription and it does didly fucking squat to alleviate the nausea. I call the Urgent Care that diagnosed me and ask if there’s anything stronger for nausea and they tell me all the stronger shit will have me bedbound and loopy. Bills gotta get paid so we can’t have that. So that night, in a moment of nauseous desperation, I took double the dosage of the Zofran to alleviate the discomfort. Now, I understand I shouldn’t have done this, but I was DESPERATE and afterward, I felt great. It was the first time the medicine had done wtf the doctors said it would do and the way it was supposed to: quick, fast and in a motherfucking sprint. So I stupidly called the Urgent Care to ask them about the nausea medicine again (I have such a good relationship with this UC for some reason, probably because I hate my primary.) and told them what I’d done the night before and that I was now out of nausea meds and needed a refill before it came back, which was all true. Jessica, the nurse I always saw, was alarmed and spoke to the doctor on duty there, and told them about what I did. Then they cut me off and said to go ask my Primary for the refill because I’ve been utilizing them way too much (long story short). But she also said that I shouldn’t need that much Zofran and something else is going on and I need to be seen by a Gastro. That $40 co-pay appointment is still pending. Andddd I’ve been nausea-free for about a week now, but as I type this, my mouth just began salivating so it looks like I’m gonna be dealing with that again soon. Fuck.

Dizziness

My dizziness didn’t come full force until about 4 days ago (Week 4). I was out at a shopping center getting groceries and while I was parking at a nearby Dunkin Donuts, the world legit started slanting. I felt like I’d been drugged all of a sudden. My skin felt cold and clammy, everything felt out of focus and I immediately needed to lie down. Luckily, it came right after I’d put my car in park and had the opportunity to put my seat back and do so. I waited about 10 minutes maybe, and then I felt ok enough to get out and go get some food because I thought I was just hungry because I hadn’t eaten yet. Even standing in line and waiting for the food afterward was difficult. I had to sit down or else I’d fall down. I got back in my car and ate and laid down again, went back to the store to get eggs I forgot to grab before, and on the walk back to my car almost walked into another parked car. Of course, people saw and probably thought I was drunk or something. I was embarrassed but didn’t have the motor skills energy to explain the situation of feeling like I was in 2 bodies at once. This symptom has come and gone as it pleases, but luckily after a good 2-hour nap that day when I got home, I felt alot better. 

Poor Appetite

While battling this virus, I have lost 10 pounds and still counting in the past 4 weeks. While it’s great to fit into clothes I was once too thick to get past my thighs, it is not the way I wanted to lose the weight. In the beginning, I always felt full no matter what, which made me not want to eat, combined with the nausea, it made eating something I just wasn’t in the mood to ever do. This went on for weeks, which caused the weight loss. I learned later that my swollen liver pressing against my stomach is what caused the sensation of fullness, hence, not ever feeling like I should eat. Now, my appetite has returned, and I’ve been eating nothing but starchy, fatty nonsense my diet never would’ve allowed before I got sick. And even with all the newfound calories I’ve been non-stop digesting (seriously guys, pizza 5 days straight, bread bowls, bacon egg and cheese croissants, cheesecake, donuts...) I’m still shedding pounds. My Gold’s Gym Membership is gathering dust because I can’t go workout with my body still always in fatigue-mode and it’s probably just not kosher to do with this kind of virus. My mom said I should celebrate for now until it becomes a cause for concern later, but I think I should probably be concerned now since the earlier you find something out the better health-wise. I lowkey did some research and think I might have Hepatitis-C from the virus, which is curable, but sucks all the same if I’m right. I inherited my mother’s extremely poor immune system, so I really wouldn’t be surprised. I’ll post before and after photos of my weight loss separately, don’t want Tumblr turning me into the Face of Mono™ because of this post. 

Swollen Lymph Nodes

This was one of the lesser symptoms that went away by week 2-2.5. They are definitely sensitive and noticeable. I found that icing them alleviated a lot of the discomfort and made it tolerable, but overall, these were the least of my worries.

If you experience any of these symptoms or think you may have Mono, definitely get yourself checked out. They can do a rapid test at any Urgent Care or ER and let you know during your visit if you have it. This shit is not a joke. I’m still dealing with the symptoms right now and have no inclination of when they will be gone. The literature says anywhere from a few weeks to a year, I’m praying for the initial option but I have no way of knowing for sure. I say all this to say, pay attention to and know your body, guys. You only get one. 

[dropshears24]

Just How To Bring Back Collagen In The Face.

The Spider Web Facelift Treatment By Dr Ash Dutta.

Content

Does Botox Harm?

Hifu Body As Well As Face Contouring In Lymm.

Hifu: High Intensity Focused Ultrasound.

Hifu Treatment For Skin Tightening Up.

Anybody from the age of 30 wishing to stop aging and also address certain great lines, wrinkles and drooping of the skin. A chilly gel is put on the skin as well as Ultrasound power is provided deep in the dermis, where it damages the cells which in turn activates the skins all-natural recovery process. New collagen and also elastin are created which enhances the structure that holds the skin. Ultrasound energy is delivered deep in the dermis, where it harms the cells which in turn activates the skins all-natural recovery procedure.

Destroying Cancer Cells with Non-surgical Ultrasound Treatment - Imaging Technology News

Destroying Cancer Cells with Non-surgical Ultrasound Treatment.

Posted: Mon, 02 Nov 2020 08:00:00 GMT [source]

The majority of people tolerate the treatment well while the power is being delivered. HIFU therapy is suitable for many clients over the age of 30 showing noticeable indicators of aging. Signs of aging include creases, thinner, drooping skin with raised pore size. I have actually been going to see Sandra for different therapies for a couple of years currently.

Does Botox Harm?

Hifu is quick becoming one of the most desired treatments as it needs no cuts to the skin, no anaesthetic and you can go back to normal life instantly, without any tell-tale indicators or ill results. If you would love to chat with your skincare needs or discover more concerning any of our treatments, just complete the type below and also we'll communicate to book your consultation. Please stay clear of any type of warm treatments or massage therapies on the area for 5-7 days after your therapy. Do not put on any type of offset the first 24-hour after your therapy. Individuals most likely 30+ whose skin on face or neck had actually come to be lax as well as desires to lift as well as tighten. HIFU boosts the deep layers which support the skin creating a lifted, solid appearance and also stimulates the manufacturing of additional collagen.

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As many of our patients are self-funded, we have made sure that HIFU is priced as affordably as possible, at a total cost of £13,000 for treatment, medication, and aftercare.

Through the regeneration of collagen, it gets rid of wrinkles as the skin becomes firm & thick. The purpose is to target warmth at various depths in the skin to elevate the regional temperature level to get to 65' C, to boost collagen manufacturing & lift the fibres. HIFU triggers discrete thermal coagulation points while leaving bordering cells undamaged. Instantly after therapy, the skin is most likely to show up red for a few hrs, some customers experience slight swelling and inflammation for up to a week after therapy. The areas can be relaxed with ice packs if needed, additional recommendations will be offered during the examination and in the aftercare documents. HIFU therapy takes minutes, during therapy it prevails to experience some pain as well as a prickling sensation depending upon the intensity of the ultrasound.

Hifu Body And Also Face Contouring In Lymm.

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you can find more information on workflow rules on spireaesthetics crm's help pages here. ='border: grey dotted 1px;padding: 13px;'>

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Dr. Roach: Active surveillance is today’s approach to some prostate cancer.

Posted: Fri, 07 Aug 2020 07:00:00 GMT [source]

We recommend that you be at least three decades old to also see take advantage of the therapy. Anybody experiencing reduced eyebrows, jowls, sagging skin on the neck, lines on the face as well as breast are all ideal candidates for this treatment. https://southampton.spireaesthetics.co.uk/hifu/ to figure out is to reserve an assessment and we will advise if you appropriate. If you do not want to go under the blade as well as would love to look youthful in one of the most natural means possible after that this is the alternative for you. This innovation development in anti-ageing is the only FDA accepted therapy with the details intent of decreasing wrinkles and lines. All the above considered I would very advise any of the charm treatments offered at Ace Looks to everybody. Although I need to date only had laser hair removal therapies right here, Sue is full of knowledge on the majority of aspects of charm treatments as well as has actually provided me excellent recommendations on various other beauty issues I have actually had.

Hifu: High Intensity Focused Ultrasound.

As with any kind of medical procedure, there is the opportunity for various other uncommon effects, which your professional will certainly evaluate with you. A single treatment boosts the skin's metabolic procedures to regrow skin cells, collagen as well as elastin. The Doublo is a medical grade facial therapy system which utilizes ultrasonic energy to create resilient lead to a solitary therapy. Now the current hi-tech Oriental skin treatment innovation is arriving in the UK. The treatment appropriates for anybody that has actually got to a certain age as well as has light to modest skin laxity.

Collagen restoration Facelift "/>

The skin's laxity, tone and also appearance can all be affected by the natural aging procedure in addition to factors such as ecological damage and way of living choices. The exhaustion of collagen, elastin, bone and cells loss can bring about face sagging, dewlaps and an extra square facial look as the skin begins to relocate southwards. A great candidate has mild to moderate skin laxity where the skin begins to really feel and also look less firm. Naturally, the most effective means to discover if you're a good candidate is to phone for a telephone consultation. The skin might show up flushed at first, but the inflammation should disappear within a few hours. Some clients experience minor swelling, tingling or tenderness to the touch, but these are temporary in nature.

Those with more skin laxity might require more sessions overall to see results. Pepper mint Beauty salon is pleased to provide 3D HIFU Facial Treatments, the basic, non-invasive way to enhance Facial lifting and firm. Enhancement can be seen over a training course of therapy, in most cases within around 4 to 8 weeks. This relies on the area treated and your body's individual response time.

I've just recently launched a program of fractional skin resurfacing and also can not tell just how happy I am. Sandra is as constantly, honest and in advance, establishes assumptions well as well as i trust fund her unconditionally. I have actually been utilizing this area for a number of months now, and it's superb. This treatment is considered to be a lunch time treatment without any downtime. You be slightly red as well as a little flushed which disappears in a few hours. You are not appropriate if you have severe ageing as well as sagging of the skin, in this case surgical treatment would be suggested.

The typical reduction of the treatment area after just one solitary session is usually 2 - 4cm. you ought to expect to have between one-- three therapies with a maintenance session once every 12-- 18 months to assist fight the aging procedure. Individuals who have mid to light skin laxity are best suited to HIFU therapies.

[zurilux]

Vent session 4/26/20

A couple things. First, the not so serious. 

I’ve been living with my parents for a little over a year now since the second year of my boyfriend’s ST program basically makes it impossible to work while doing the program. We decided to move our in with our parents to save money (especially since there’s no way I could support us and our two dogs on my own.) My parents are fine. They’re not perfect but they’re fine. I’ve realized as I’ve gotten older though just how different I am from a lot of my family. My parents are definitely products of their time. They dont believe in therapy. I go to therapy. I’ve gone to therapy since I was a freshman in college (When I could go without them paying for it/knowing about it) I’ve recently started Trauma counseling, trying EMDR to process past traumas and maybe stop some of my more toxic/ bad habits and the cycle of abuse. (my current relationship isn’t abusive but I’m scared that I may make it toxic because thats really all i’ve known or if it fails I’ll go back to the cycle)  

I myself have had quite a few traumatic events happen in my life. In the last few years I’ve become pretty open about my mental health, hoping that it might help others (so no one will feel the way I felt, like I was alone etc) I think a lot of my family would benefit from therapy, as now that I am so open, sometimes my family will share their stories. My parents, like I said don’t believe in therapy, and now they also believe they are too old to be fixed. Especially my mom. Which, for me, is really saddening. My mom, when overwhelmed, will hit herself in the head. Which can make it hard to talk to her about anything serious because she also takes a lot of things super personally (and I cant blame her for that. I’m sensitive AF) and it sucks that she feels she, or her inner peace, is worth it at this point. I’ve found a lot of my family just doesn’t really seem to want to better themselves and would rather just say “This is how I am, take it or leave it” 

It’s exhausting to be around people who are in that sort of mindset when you’re working very hard to be better. Trying to be happy, get my anxiety/depression/PTSD under control, process traumas....

Also. some of my traumas happened in the house, or when I was teen living here. SO, sometimes just being in this house is a struggle. Being back in this room where my ex-wife tried to kick me out and pushed me to a breaking point. Being in this room where I found out my ex-wife kissed someone else while they were deployed and decided they didnt want to be with me anymore. Being in this house where I broke down shattered, screaming and crying for the world to stop spinning, and my ex-wife yelled at me, belittled me, harassed me so much over the phone I had to get my parents involved so she wouldnt speak to me again. In this house where I had to hide so much of myself, had to pretend so many things didnt happen....Its really hard being here. especially in this time of super stress, being in Quarantine and a Pandemic due to COVID-19. 

and to add on top of that, my mother has started trying to inch me out. My grandma is supposed to move in when I move out. I guess my grandma is hounding her, so in turn, she’s hounding me. Even after I have explained that COVID has messed with my boyfriends program, and my planned summer vacation. Originally he was supposed to be done in June, and we had a FL trip planned in Sept, so we’d move out after our FL trip, to save money, and hopefully not stress the dogs out. (moving to a new place and then all of a sudden your parents are gone for 8 days might be a little much for our pups). Depending on when he started, and how much money I saved, and if my coworker would be moving in with us we could possibly move in August, gives the dogs a month to adjust to their new surroundings before we would move. BUT, now....he may have to do a summer term, to make up for the lack of ST time in ORs at different hospitals, which means he wouldn’t start working in June, he may, depending on how they do their summer term, not be done with his program till July or August...and obviously he needs to work, for at least a month or two before we could move. also, we don’t know if we’ll be able to travel to FL in September, THere isnt really a point in going if Disneyworld and Universal aren’t open/fully functioning. soooo....a lot is up in the air. The added stress of my mom constantly asking when I’ll be moving out is not helping my stress level at all. It’s irking me more than I thought. I didn’t want to admit quite how much it bothers me. oi. 

Secondly, 

probably a month ago now...or a couple weeks I’m not sure (time is hard right now ya’ll) our dogs started fighting. Very suddenly. We’ve had Carbon since September 2018. Frank (Jake’s dog) and Carbon have never fought till this point. I’m not sure what changed because they both have lived with me (Frank and one of Jake’s parents’ dog dont get along, so he had to live with me) the entire time I’ve lived at my parents house...It seemed like we were making progress, we were able to have them out in the same room without any trouble for a few days recently. (previously we had been crating one, and switching them out about every 4 hours if we were both home) They do fine on walks together. they seemed to be doing okay, but then another fight happened a day or two ago...Jake’s suggestion is to remain living separate. I’ll move in with my co-worker, he’ll either move out on his own or with a roommate with Frank. 

to backtrack, Carbon is a almost 2 year old pit/lab mix. He was a rescue, I got him when he was 5 months old. He’s fairly mellow for his age, but he is 2, he’s young and playful. Frank is a 6/7 year old potato dog (he’s short, a little long and has a round/barrelesque body, supposedly a chihuahua, pug, staffy mix. He isn’t fat either, its solid mass. He’s older and grumpy. so maybe he just snapped at Carbon’s youthful shenanigans.  They both are very much daddy’s boys. they may have fought over his attention (now that they see him more, he has been basically quarantining at my house ) it’s kind of impossible to know. 

I don’t like the idea of living apart. I’m needy. Plus, for a majority of our relationship we have lived together already. Jake is not only my boyfriend but also my bestfriend. I’m very physically affectionate, and Jake kind of sucks at texting...Also, I’m worried that our schedules wont line up. I work M-Thurs 6:30 am to 5pm. his ST schedule could have him working 12 hour days, he could have to work on my days off. having him spend the night once a week is not enough for me, if I can help it, most of this year that’s all I’ve been getting and its been awful (Quarantine has changed that but, thats special circumstances) We already were only supposed to live apart while he was finishing his program, and now we may need to live apart another year...or more...for the rest of Frank’s life, unless Carbon passes suddenly I guess...thats a long time. I get that he doesnt want to crate them “forever” if we lived together. and if we wanted to go on a trip, we’d need specific people to help us, to be sure no fights ensued or whatever, if someone gets bit...it’s over. I understand that...it might not be fair to “crate and rotate” them for however long we need to and neither of us is giving up their dog....I thought maybe if we could get a big enough space maybe it wouldnt be so bad. we could kind of section them off away from each other...(this past year its been me and the 2 dogs in like maaaaaybe 500sq ft) but finding that might be difficult in our price range...especially since we’ll be renting and probably moving to Portland (which is expensive) it’s causing a lot of stress for me...my anxiety is causing me to overthink. Like. is this somehow a sign that we shouldnt be together? He and I got together before i was even officially divorced (granted he was supposed to just be a confidence boost, not actually a legit relationship..but we fucked up and fell in love) and he has broken up with twice over our three years...the second time really wasnt necessary because he was trying to take care of me, to not cause me to be miserable during his second year of school when he knew I wouldnt be able to see him much and that I am needy, but we ended up doing what I had suggested...which is what we are doing now..being together but living apart. sigh. I don’t know. It’s a lot going on right now. I’m not a fan....everything is super stressful as is...and now all this too...oi oi oi. sigh. it’ll work out somehow...right?

[nettheworldonfire]

Bottle v.s. Boob

Breast is Best is our little girl's motto. In fact, if she were old enough, Olive would probably have the bumper sticker. This is why weaning my 6.5 month old, before her body or mine is ready, is a pretty devastating feat. Let me start by saying, I think formula is amazing. I have no qualms with those who choose to formula feed for their or their baby's best interest. Formula has everything a baby needs, built right in, and has the convenience of being able to be given by ANYONE (in theory). I went back to work at 3 months postpartum with Charlie. I was never able to keep up with a demanding pumping schedule, and slowly, my supply decreased, making Charlie exclusively formula fed by 8 months. Knowing I was headed back to work and that this might happen, we got him used to the bottle right away. We made sure he would take formula and everything went very smoothly. This time was different. Knowing I would be home with Olive for a year, I didn’t NEED to bottle feed. Still, I would obviously appreciate a break, or need one to write my dissertation, so we tried the bottle here and there. She would take an ounce on occasion, but often spit that up quickly, and sometimes violently refused, allowing milk to pool in her mouth and causing her to gag/choke.

Finding out that I have about 2 weeks to wean Olive may be the worst part (thus far) of this entire ordeal. Nutritionally, I think we can get her to eat what she needs to. She eats a lot of healthy solids. Fruit and vegetable purees and small pieces of fruit like pineapple, avocado, watermelon, and banana. She's eating eggs, yogurt, a little rice, noodles, and puffed rice snacks. There are plenty of other things I know she can and will enjoy eating - and I have been doing some research on high fat and high calorie foods. We've already started adding formula to yogurt and puree mixes, and she doesn't seem to mind. I can use it as the water in macaroni and cheese, or syringe it in her if absolutely needed. Plus, the pediatrician believes that with the types and amount of solids she eats, as long as we keep her calorie intake high enough (and not let her stuff her face with puffs and teething crackers) she should be fine. The issue is that Olive uses nursing as a sleep aid. When she's tired, that's all she can think about - the mom-nip. She is violently opposed to any other form of nipple entering her mouth, won't take a pacifier, and gets more and more frustrated. She does eventually calm with rocking and bouncing and singing, and will fall asleep in less than 20 minutes. She does not self-soothe and I have no interest in letting her "cry it out" - especially considering what is going on right now. Overnight, Olive cluster-feeds. I know this is more about comfort than hunger, but it works for us. She basically goes right back to sleep, making my life easier and not waking Owen and Charlie, and she's content. She pretty much sleeps for 10-12 hours most nights like this (waking to feed and drifting back to sleep). It isn’t perfect, but it works for us.

Once I realized this would have to soon end, I started keeping track of things. On Tuesday night, she woke up to feed five times. On Wednesday night, when I actively tried to change the routine, she woke four times and one of those times I rocked her to sleep instead of nursing. Last night, she woke up twice and I managed to only nurse her once. This involved one 4:30 a.m. fiasco, but it was manageable. Between the sleep deprivation of this sort of thing and being sick though, I am exhausted. And she generally seems less happy, which makes my heart heavy. This isn't the first time my body has failed me, but it is the first time my body is failing someone I love, and that is hard.

Aside from the emotional turbulence this is causing for everyone in the house, I also have the horrible awareness that stopping nursing will bring back the postpartum period hemorrhage that I so dread. (And I apologize if that was too much information, but want you to be aware this will not be the last time I do that in this blog - so the decision to be grossed out is yours).

Yesterday, I saw the amazing Louisa at the Breastfeeding Resource Center. This organization was a godsend when I was having challenges nursing Charlie as a newborn and I went back with Olive just for a refresher. When I emailed them to ask for tips or help with weaning, they again stepped up to the plate and were kind and informative, making me feel like I had a team of knowledgeable ladies in my corner (I know, I have hundreds out there ready and willing to advise and help, but this resource has just been incredible). That being said, there wasn't much "success" at this appointment. Olive wouldn't take the MAM bottle for them (I purchased one at their request to bring along to appointment). We've now tried the Enfamil disposable nipples (Charlie loved these), Tommy Tippee (Close to Nature), Spectra, the Mamijumi (some minor success), and the Honey Bear sippy cup that the doctor suggested, also. She’s also tried a variety of sippy and straw-style toddler cups. Nothing seems to be quite perfect, but we are going to keep trying. The BRC also gave me a nipple shield, typically used on a break to help a baby who struggles to latch to mom’s nipple. Several people mentioned that this may ease the transition from breast to bottle - so I would like to try (and it saved me the few dollars I was going to spend. Good thing too, because I am spending like $500 trying to find a bottle or pacifier or anything to soothe this little lady). The one thing that Lousia suggested which may be a game changer is birth control. She said many women take it to help reduce their supply. That may really make life a lot better. I HATE pumping. And to pump just to throw away my poisonous milk (that my daughter wants so badly but can't have) would just be torture. And how long will it take for me to naturally dry up? Plus - she could potentially nurse for comfort still if my body isn't dispensing anything into her mouth. I will obviously follow up with my OBGYN about the birth control and lactation question - but the BFC seemed to think this was an option. It could even help with a gradual decrease and therefore, a more natural wean.

I had always planned to look into medication for anxiety and moodiness after I was done having babies and breastfeeding, so I spoke with my primary about that this week. I've been struggling for a few years but didn't want to start anything I would have to stop during pregnancy or nursing, so I held off. I suppose this is a little bit of a silver lining. I am going to start Lexapro to combat some of the anxiety that is obviously getting worse with this looming shitstorm. I took Lexapro for a few months in 2010 when I had a little mental health struggle about six months after my dad passed away. I didn't love it. While I do think it did what I was hoping it would do (which was to help me break a weird cycle of crying/depression), it made me very, very tired (like needed to pull over to sleep during a 30 minute drive home from work tired), and I weaned off of the drug within a few months. I was lucky to not need it again. In 2012, before my Whipple I had HORRIBLE anxiety and a few attacks for which I was prescribed Xanax to help calm me (just a few days before the procedure). That definitely worked, but I felt under the influence at work, and probably shouldn't have been driving - so that wasn't ideal either. We will see how Lexapro does this time around and if I don't see much of a change - I may be asking you all for your favorites. My doctor is starting me on a very, very low dose to try to avoid the exhaustion, and we will go from there. Think happy thoughts.

In other news, after getting booted to Thursday for my biopsy, I got the automated call reminding me of my Monday appointment today. So I tried to speak with a real human and couldn't get ahold of anyone to check. It would be nice to know if I am having a procedure on Monday before Monday (for childcare, my mental health, planning, etc.) so if you have any idea on how to get this information (hospital is Nazareth) then please share!

On Monday, I have to call the OBGYN, the pediatrician, and Penn (to schedule my second opinion, for after the biopsy results are in).

* Dark side: Denying your baby a basic necessity is totally depressing.

* Bright side: When Olive is weaned, I am going to get so freaking drunk, you just watch.

* Next steps:

2/20/20 at 9:00 am - Liver biopsy under sedation (or is it 2/17/20 at 11:00 a.m., who knows)

3/2/20 at 10:15 am - Oncology appt. with Dr. Rose

* Inappropriate, but totally relevant, GIF -