#and she recommended light therapy lamp

[coolnonsenseworld]

Samurai and Ninja in crappy pics because December here is under a constant cloud and I just want y'all to see them all golden and cute without learning how to take aesthetic pictures 🥴 💙❤️😆🥰

linktr.ee/Mezzy

[softevnstan]

³.⍭ 𝐈𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 - PART II.

pairing. bucky barnes x gender netural!reader

summary. you couldn't believe the name that graced the file on your desk for your new patient. james 'bucky' barnes. you'd heard of him - even studied some of his history during college for psychology classes. never would you have imagined he'd be sent to your office, looking for help.

a.n. you guys responded really well for part one so i wanted to work on part two. no beta, we die like men. i have no fully formed plan with this so i apologize if i got anyone's hopes up. see part one here (make sure you read that first, otherwise, parts of this won't make sense). i also hate using 'y/n', but i don't know how not to, so i heavily recommend the 'InteractiveFics' chrome extension - it'll automatically correct 'Y/N' to the name of your choosing (and can replace other terms)

w.c. 3.6k

tags. depression mention, suicide mention, ptsd mention, therapy, recovering!bucky barnes, patient x therapist (as a whole for the series), not 100% accurate therapy - based on my own perspective and experiences.

‘What am I doing here?’ Bucky's mind played like a broken record, brain scouring for any reason to excuse himself from this appointment altogether.

Was it too late to slip out of the room? Surely not - the secretary was one of the four people (including himself) that sat in the same gray room, and she didn't seem to be paying too much mind hunched over her desk in a seek-and-find book.

The waiting room was dark - lacking any real windows in the area given it was part of a larger building that housed the offices. Bucky had taken the stairs up to the second floor after stepping into the building and searched the stretched hall for your office number and silver nameplate on the walls. Upon finally finding it, Bucky couldn't help but see it as a blessing and a curse. No more wandering aimlessly with the inkling of tension that'd begun to grow with the anxiety of someone approaching him to potentially redirect him. But it also meant he was now another excuse short for skipping this referral appointment entirely.

When stepping in, the atmosphere wasn't near as comforting as he'd been hoping. The space was dark and dimly lit by the glow of orange lamps; chairs sat neatly along the wall with a coffee table, scattered with magazines that had been flipped through countlessly since they'd been there. There was a rounded desk to the left of entering the room where an older woman sat, glasses sitting on the end of her nose and the signs of aging prevalent in her graying hair. Along the back wall, there are several doors; Individual offices, Bucky's brain supplied.

There were shelves of books and an overwhelming amount of fake plants in the room. The closest window that Bucky could scour out immediately was a narrow, rectangular one. Lone by itself given the layout of the office building not allowing for it. Hardly any natural light seeped into the room. If the actual offices with the therapists were as gloomy as this, Bucky would have better luck abandoning all hope right then and excusing himself. Save him another uncomfortable experience in the mental health field.

Working with Raynor wasn't exactly what Bucky needed as a first experience in therapy. Before the 70 years that he'd spent under HYDRA's thumb, there were no resources like this at home. Mental Health hardly existed as a concept - no awareness of the rippling effects of war or aid for the soldiers that would return traumatized and self-loathing. Hell, men beat their wives back then like property. That was even without the PSTD and fragile masculinity slammed on top.

Not his father, thank a god that Bucky isn't sure he even believes in anymore.

Christina was rough around the edges. A former officer in the military, one would think she may be perfect for the job in regard to Bucky's emotional baggage and the weight he carries. She wasn't. That was something Bucky only began to learn months later with Sam's help; That while Dr. Raynor was not a bad woman, she was not what Bucky had needed to begin opening up to people. The clipped energy that filled a room when sharing a space with Christina made it near impossible to relax fully; When Bucky was being a little difficult on his bad days (yes, he can admit he's difficult), instead of approaching him with patience, Raynor would combat his comments with her own condescending ones. It felt more like a weekly brawl where he had something to prove rather than a safe space to begin the healing process.

It was like ripping open a healing wound, wondering why it wouldn't improve, and being confused when it worsens under brutal treatment.

Dr. Raynor was not what Bucky needed, simply put.

But the one that woman did right with all certainty was to at least aid in redirecting Bucky to someone that can help him produce better results.

That's what landed him there. In the waiting room of your office with an appointment at 3:15 p.m.

Your praise was sung of being someone who was more approachable and positive, albeit not naively so. When Bucky was peering at reviews and your background check - comforting his own paranoia - he'd seen nothing but kind things said. How patient you were. How compassionate; How you make your patients feel heard and understood. How you provide the tools to create a proper support system and show people how to live again. Bucky tries not to get his hopes up for things, but he was certainly beginning to spark hope when he was able to look more into your reviews. It made him want to try again rather than give up.

But sitting in that dim-lit office, he's not sure how confident he is in that statement anymore. Bucky's left leg bounces in an anxious fidget. His shoulders are tight, arms folded over his chest in a closed-off stance while he sits back in one of the empty chairs of the waiting room. To anyone else, Bucky probably looks angry at the world - it's just him hiding his nerves. Never an intentional expression worn, it's simply become a default to wrinkle his forehead and wear a tired face.

Bucky could still leave. The heavy door that he'd pushed open to get in taunts him from where he sits.

And it's right as he's weighing out the consequences of bailing on this idea altogether that the sound of a door opening grabs his attention. Head turning in the direction of the noise, tired eyes squinting slightly for a brief moment when light pours into the room. A woman in roughly her thirties steps out of the first door lining the back wall, followed by you. Bucky is only certain of that fact because he recognizes your face from the LinkedIn profile you have.

"Thank you again for coming in, Greta, I'm looking forward to hearing about your daughter's Bat Mitzvah; tell her happy birthday for me." you tell the woman that's begun her leave.

"Of course, I hope your next session goes well," beams a woman, assumedly 'Greta'.

Bucky sucks his bottom lip in, worrying the skin between his teeth before sighing out through his nose. Attempting to take a steadying breath to appease his nerves when--

"Mr. Barnes?" your voice prompts.

Running away isn't a choice anymore. Not realistically.

So Bucky drops his arms and feels the taut muscles in his shoulders before trying to force them to settle. Rolling broad muscle under his leather coat before pressing off the armrests of the wooden chair with gloved hands to get up. His eyes remain averted from your face, but he crosses the room to you nevertheless.

"It's nice to meet you, James, if you'd please step in here with me," you hold the door open for Bucky; Allowing him to step into the relatively small space.

But it's not suffocating, he notices.

It's actually a stark contrast to the heavy waiting room he'd just been sitting in for the past 10 minutes or so. The light of day pours in from the tall, wide window on the back wall of the room. In the brief space where the window doesn't occupy the wall, there's a bookcase sat with countless psychology books. A soft-looking loveseat is pressed against the wall to Bucky's right, and across from that is a matching single chair with an end table. On the table sits a lamp, a box of tissues, and what appears to be a selection of colorful fidget toys. The walls are hogged by large framed photos; some of paintings, some of hyper-realistic photos or art. The floor is a deep gray-brown carpet, the walls painted a soft eggshell. Plants sit on the shelf in front of the window, drinking in the sun; He spots a Wandering Jew, two cactuses (both different breeds), and a succulent perched comfortably.

"Have a seat," your voice interrupts the way Bucky studies the room, and promptly he moves to the loveseat. Lowering himself into it, it's significantly more comfortable than the chair he was just sitting in. Still, Bucky sits stiffly. Uncomfortable; refraining from letting his back touch the couch and posture coming across as closed up without him even realizing it.

Like a mantra, belittling thoughts play on a broken loop through his head.

This isn't going to work. It's going to end badly. I'm going to be seen as a monster all the same. I'm a bad person, I don't deserve this. Other people deserve it more. I'm wasting everyone's time.

The thoughts spiral heavier and heavier for Bucky, even as you close the door; successfully sectioning him and you off from the rest of the world. His jaw sets as you move to sit across from him.

Bucky silently wishes the moment would end before it's even begun.

He wants to go back to his apartment, even if it makes him just as miserable.

“So, Mr. Barnes, from what I’m understanding, you'd like to make me your primary therapist and discontinue working with Doctor Raynor?”

Bucky wants to heal. You see it in him. The first step is admitting you have an issue; that there is something wrong. Not that Bucky is wrong, but his headspace surely is a defunct mess; The task ahead of you in untangling said mess is daunting, but Bucky is worthy of it. He deserves it. Even if he doesn't realize that yet.

He deserves to have someone who's willing to help him understand and put the pieces back together. Not simply throw their hands up the first time that Bucky struggles and leave him to fend for himself - this man was done far too much fending by himself.

It's clear by the silence followed by the words, 'That’s all I’ll ever ask of you', that Bucky isn't sure what to say. Rather than allowing the quiet to eat at him, you continue the conversation. Save him from the anxiety he might be feeling in being unable to muster a reply.

"So, Bucky - Can I call you 'Bucky'?" You ask, sure to keep a warm and approachable composure. Bucky's comfort is your priority; If he feels unwelcomed, he won't come back.

A stiff nod comes from the man across you. He still struggles to meet your gaze; Eventually, you'll both work on that, but for now, you don't mind. Let him take things at his own pace.

"So, Bucky," you reiterate, leaning back in your armchair and crossing your legs at the ankle. Your shoulders ease and you relax into your seat. "How about we start by getting to know you a little bit; Where you'd like to work first and what some of your immediate issues are, in your opinion."

Bucky's teeth clench - you can tell because his jaw flexes and it pulls on your heartstrings for a moment. His shoulders look so tight, his body so stiff. Chiseled features are hard, and his face doesn't seem nearly as full as you'd seen in museums and textbooks while growing up and learning American History. Dare you even say he almost looks sunken in, with dark rings around his eyes and sadness in gray hues.

You wonder how he sleeps at night - if he even does. If he eats the way he should. It's heartbreaking to see a man carved into such a husk.

"Raynor was working with me to make amends," Bucky starts, and surely that doesn't mean what you think it does-- "To make things right for what I did as the Winter Soldier, as a condition of my pardon."

"There's nothing to make right, Bucky." You answer almost immediately; your blood feeling hot for half a moment. You saw history unfold right before you, living in New York. Hearing the chaos of HYDRA overtaking SHIELD in 2014, that Boy Wonder 'Bucky Barnes' was still alive. Many things were kept from the public, as much as they could be, but one thing was for certain. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together could see that Bucky was another victim of HYDRA's. Not the catalyst for the carnage. An unwilling piece of the puzzle.

You have to stop yourself from becoming too expressive, though. Despite the quickness of your words, you maintain an evenness to them. "Now, I won't pretend to know what's happened with it all; That's something for us to talk about with time. But I can promise you right now, Bucky, that I am not Dr. Raynor. And while we can revise the conditions of your pardon, you won't be trying to fix mistakes you didn't make. We're here to help you."

Another break of silence, and Bucky has begun to fidget with his hands. Kneading them together in his lap; your own gaze flickering briefly to watch the leather rub on leather.

"I... I don't know what to say," Bucky speaks, his voice soft and timid. Unmatching the hardness of his face.

A small crease forms between his brows, eyes downcast but briefly lifting to peer at you.

"You don't have to know what to say right now," you gently tell him. "I know you may not agree with my perspective on things right now, but please hear me when I tell you that I'm not here to judge you. You're a survivor, Bucky."

A soft huff comes from him - lip curling into a crooked grin that's humorless. Bucky shakes his head right after, and the expression falls. You watch curiously.

"I'm sorry, it's... Everyone seems to either look at me like the pariah or like a victim." Bucky explains, and for a moment, your lips form a soft smile. You lean forward, shifting your position once more to lean in a little closer to Bucky's space without outright intruding on it.

"You're a survivor," you reiterate. Making sure he hears it. "And there is no shame in being a survivor - I'm a survivor and don't consider it derogatory, it's exactly what I am."

Bucky's brow knits up slightly and his attention is on you fully. Arguably the longest so far since he's been in this room with you. He looks as though he's searching for something and the answer is somehow embedded in you, and deep down, you want to give him whatever it is he's searching for.

You're a survivor, too. It's what made you good at your job. Being able to empathize to a degree with the individuals that come to you; To be able to share your own experiences and show the person sitting in front of you that they are not alone. People like to feel heard and understood. And sometimes the best way to for that is to sit with someone who's been through something similar.

Though you certainly didn't have experience as a prisoner of war who was genetically engineered...

His pink lips part as though he wants to speak, but whatever words were that die on Bucky's tongue when his mouth clamps shut and he finally averts his attention. You follow his gaze briefly to find him looking out the window parallel to him on his right. The light peeked in through the sheer curtains and lit the side of his face partially. You wonder if the sunlight makes him warm at all.

"Do you want me to draw the curtains for you, Bucky?" You offer, wondering if perhaps it's distracting to him.

Bucky shakes his head. "I'm not used to this." "Can you explain what 'this' is?" You ask, gently prompting him in hopes he keeps talking. "I, uhm..." His voice trails - clearly searching for the words. "You're... Calm. I don't entirely know how to explain it. We haven't been talking that long but I was, uh, intimidated to meet you. My precious therapy experiences haven't been the best..." It's the most he's said in a single sitting, you're impressed.

"And that's alright - sometimes not every therapist works out. Many people struggle to understand that therapy is not a 'one size fits all' matter. Sometimes we have to feel out situations and feel out people. If you decide at any point you're no longer comfortable speaking with me, I understand and will be more than happy to help you find another therapist that can specialize in your concerns." Always deliberate as to not call Bucky's situation 'problems' or 'what's wrong'. The last thing you'd want is for him to feel as though he is the root problem in his life. He's not.

"Thank you," the man murmurs softly, and you can tell it's another moment he's unsure what to say. Even the words feel as though it took quite a deal of effort to muster from Bucky. That's okay - sometimes people need to warm up. You're not surprised in the least that Bucky isn't an open book, you wouldn't be if you went through even half of what he did.

"...I'll tell you what," You begin, Bucky's attention drawing right back to you rather than the world outside the glass. "How about we start small, you and I, okay? We don't have to touch anything heavy yet, we can start simple."

"Simple?" Bucky echoes.

"Mhm," a confident nod from you, "I hope I don't sound rude at all, but I can tell you're someone who's carrying a whole lot more than they let on."

That earns a skeptical look from Bucky. You wonder in a brief moment where you potentially lost him when he answers that question for you:

"I'm sure you can." The response comes out almost irritated. No elaboration.

For a moment your mind scrambles, wondering, before it clicks. Still, you encourage Bucky to use his words. "What do you mean?"

A long sigh comes through his nose. "Oh, c'mon," he tries, but you simply look expectantly. Bucky needs to communicate, if they have no form of communication, they have nothing. "Y'know, everyone seems to know about me. Everything with HYDRA..." His expression is progressively hardening; He's lumping you with everyone else. You see it. Even if Bucky doesn't realize what he's doing, he's trying to build that wall again. Brick himself out and separate himself.

"No," You reply, "I only know what you want to share with me, Bucky. I didn't follow your story as it was happening - though I'd be lying if I said I was entirely clueless. Whatever I knew prior to meeting you today, though, doesn't matter. I want to know you. Not what everyone else's perception of you, is. Consider us strangers."

Then, as if to prove your point, you shift forward even more in your seat. Uncrossing your legs and sitting them flat on the floor as you offer your right hand out.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Bucky, I'm Dr. Y/N." Maybe the notion seems silly - and it is, honestly. You've both been talking this long.

Bucky is a little taken aback by the gesture; Blinking at you cluelessly for a moment before he huffs again. This time, his half-hearted grin doesn't look so bitter when he offers his right hand out tentatively. A ginger shake, as though he's scared he's going to break you, and the leather of his glove is warm against your palm.

While he doesn't verbally reciprocate the gesture, his expression speaks for him. A conversation without words.

It's clear that it's a bit more comforting to Bucky. For a brief moment he seemed as though he was ready to leave without coming back, but with quick thinking, you're relieved to have reeled him in once more.

"Anything about you outside of this room means nothing to me," you promise. "It's up to you how much you share. No one else."

Bucky's smile pulls just a tad bit wider, and you consider it a victory.

"We'll start simple," You repeat, pulling your hand from his to pick up the notepad on the table beside you. Flipping to a clean page and clicking your pen - you don't miss the way Bucky looks at you almost worriedly. As if you've picked up a weapon when in reality it's a pen and paper.

"I'd like you to find a nice journal that you like. One that you won't be afraid to write in, and one that you'll feel comfortable using. Next week when we see each other, I'd like you to bring it with you." You effortlessly speak while your pen scrawls away on the small lines sheet in front of you - your handwriting reads out on the paper, 'BRING A NOTEBOOK THAT YOU'RE COMFORTABLE WITH USING :)'

You tear the paper from the metal rings that bind it and pass it over to Bucky. He takes it wordlessly, looking at the piece of paper in his hands.

"That's it...?" Bucky ponders aloud. "That's it." Another gentle smile you wear. "Journaling is an extremely useful tool for going through our feelings and helping us take a step back and breathe. It can help us avoid dramatizing situations unintentionally, and it can help us develop a sense of mindfulness and gratitude. You don't need to write anything in it just yet, but if you'd like to decorate it, I won't stop you. Whatever makes you feel comfortable to begin writing in it."

"...Dr. Raynor didn't have me keep a journal," the soldier murmurs. "I'm not Dr. Raynor." you answer simply.

Your first session with Bucky seems to go well on all accounts. Sure there were a few brief tense moments, but you like to hope he'll return. At the end of the day, that's Bucky's decision. If he chooses to continue with you as his therapist, though, you want to help him in any way he can.

He doesn't know it yet, but you're determined. By the end of your time together, you want to have helped Bucky obtain a new perspective and help him live. Not simply survive.

After he leaves your office, you make sure to fill your schedule in for the same time next week.

[afreendmz]

Complete Hair and Skin Care Solution in Andheri- Dermatech Clinic

DermaTech Clinic is a popular hair transplant and skin clinic located in Andheri, Mumbai. The clinic offers a wide range of services including hair transplant, skin treatments, laser hair removal, acne treatment, anti-aging treatments, and more.

DermaTech Clinic is a Skin Laser and Cosmetic Surgery centre, located in Andheri West, Mumbai. We are the leading laser skin care clinic in India that offers a complete range of cosmetic treatments and products. Our advanced technology enables us to deliver high-quality, safe and effective procedures using advanced equipment.

Hair Transplant in Andheri offers advanced and reputable hair transplant services in mumbai.

 Here are some advantages of hair transplant procedures:

1. Permanent Solution: Hair transplants offer a long-term and often permanent solution to hair loss. Transplanted hair retains its characteristics and continues to grow naturally.

2. Natural Appearance: Skilled surgeons can create a natural-looking result by carefully designing the hairline and strategically placing grafts, ensuring that the transplanted hair blends seamlessly with the existing hair.

3. Improved Self-Esteem: Restoring a full head of hair can significantly boost confidence and self-esteem. Many individuals experience a positive impact on their overall well-being after a successful hair transplant.

4. Low Maintenance:Transplanted hair requires minimal maintenance, as it can be washed, cut, and styled like natural hair. There's no need for special shampoos or treatments once the healing process is complete.

5. No Ongoing Expenses: Unlike some temporary solutions, such as medications or topical treatments, a hair transplant is a one-time investment. There are no ongoing expenses for maintaining the transplanted hair.

Hair transplant surgery Andheri is a cosmetic procedure designed to address hair loss and restore natural hair growth. The two primary techniques used are Follicular Unit Transplantation (FUT) and Follicular Unit Extraction (FUE).

Hair transplant surgery in Andheri is known for its ability to provide a permanent solution, with natural-looking results. Success depends on factors such as the surgeon's skill, the quality of donor hair, and proper post-operative care. Consultation with a qualified professional is crucial for assessing individual suitability and expectations.

Dr Prajali Sawant is a cosmetologist and Trichologist by profession.She has learned the craft of beautifying people and she believes that the science of applying cosmetology is by treating skin and hair at the holistic levels, by using the most advanced modern therapies and machines. She has treated skin externally, but sometimes one needs to go that extra mile. Our team is also dedicated to strengthening your inner core by giving you a diet regimen which will enhance the quality of your skin.. she is skin specialist in andheri west.

They can provide personalized recommendations, prescribe appropriate medications, and offer treatments to address your unique skin needs. Regular skin check-ups with a dermatologist are also essential for early detection of skin conditions, including potential signs of skin cancer.

Finding a dermatologist in Andheri is a wise step for addressing various skin, hair, and nail concerns. 

Dermatologists employ a variety of diagnostic tools and treatments to address a wide range of skin, hair, and nail conditions. Here are common tools and treatments used by dermatologists:

Diagnostic Tools:

1. Skin Examination:Dermatologists visually inspect the skin to identify abnormalities, moles, rashes, or other issues.

  2. Biopsy:A small tissue sample is taken and examined under a microscope to diagnose skin conditions or detect skin cancer.

3. Patch Testing: Used to identify allergic contact dermatitis by applying small amounts of potential allergens to the skin.

4. Wood's Lamp Examination:An ultraviolet light is used to diagnose fungal or bacterial infections on the skin.

Common Dermatological Treatments:

1. Topical Medications:Dermatologists often prescribe creams, ointments, or lotions to treat various skin conditions such as acne, eczema, or psoriasis.

2. Oral Medications: In some cases, oral medications like antibiotics, antifungals, or oral contraceptives may be prescribed.

3.Cryotherapy: The use of liquid nitrogen to freeze and remove skin growths, warts, or precancerous lesions.

4. Laser Therapy: Lasers are used for various skin conditions, including hair removal, tattoo removal, and treatment of vascular lesions.

5. Chemical Peels: Application of a chemical solution to the skin to exfoliate and improve its appearance, commonly used for acne, sun damage, and fine lines.

It's important to note that the specific tools and treatments used by a dermatologist depend on the individual's condition, diagnosis, and the dermatologist's area of expertise. If you have specific concerns or conditions, consulting with a qualified dermatologist is recommended to determine the most suitable course of action for your skin health.

 A skin clinic in Andheri is a specialized healthcare facility that focuses on the diagnosis, treatment, and management of various skin, hair, and nail conditions. These clinics are staffed by dermatologists, skincare professionals, and support staff who work together to provide comprehensive dermatological care. Services offered by skin clinics may include:

1. Dermatological Consultations: Professional assessments of skin conditions, including acne, eczema, psoriasis, and more.

2. Diagnostic Procedures: Utilization of tools such as biopsies, patch testing, and imaging for accurate diagnosis.

3. Medical Treatments: Prescription of topical or oral medications to address dermatological issues like infections, inflammatory conditions, or autoimmune disorders.

4. Cosmetic Dermatology: Procedures for aesthetic enhancements, such as Botox, dermal fillers, chemical peels, and laser treatments for skin rejuvenation.

5. Surgical Procedures: Removal of skin lesions, moles, or tumors through surgical interventions.

6. Hair and Scalp Treatments:Diagnosis and management of hair loss, dandruff, and other scalp conditions.

7. Acne Treatments: Comprehensive plans to manage and treat acne, including topical therapies and in-office procedures.

8. Skin Cancer Screenings:Regular screenings and assessments to detect and manage skin cancers, including melanoma.

9. Laser Therapy:Treatment of various skin concerns, including hair removal, pigmentation issues, and vascular lesions.

10. Dermatological Procedures: Microdermabrasion, cryotherapy, and other procedures to improve skin texture and appearance.

[iowagreys]

Phone alarm clock

#Phone alarm clock full#

But setting it on your nightstand and using it in the morning can provide the same kind of energizing benefits. The Aura Daylight Therapy Lamp is not an alarm clock, so you can’t set it to come on at a specific time and wake you up with an audio cue. Light Settings: 25 / 310 Lux | Bluetooth: No | Radio: FM | APP Enabled: No She tried out the breathing exercises (the light brightens and dims to prompt calming breaths) and used the sunset simulation to fall asleep, noting that it was a “worthwhile investment” as part of a relaxing bedtime routine. Our reviewer thought the bedtime features were just as good. You can customize both the color and level of brightness. Like other high-end wake-up lights, it simulates a sunrise starting with a deep red light that gradually brightens. Our tests found the light to be extremely effective, and it naturally woke up our reviewer right before the alarm audio started to play. The HF3650/60 has several different features for both falling asleep and waking up. It also has USB and AUX ports on the back so you can charge your phone or play music through the device’s built-in speakers-our reviewer Rebecca noted that the audio quality was “superb” and great for listening to the radio. The design is large but sleek and looks good on a nightstand. But the high price tags gets you an uncompromising wake-up light with plenty of extra perks and features. The Philips HF3650/60 Wake-Up Light is one of the more expensive models out there. Philips Somneo HF3650/60 Sleep and Wake-Up Light Therapy Lamp Review Light Settings: 20 / 300 Lux | Bluetooth: No | Radio: FM | APP Enabled: No She particularly liked how the light gradually brightens and then stays on when you hit snooze, allowing for an overall gentler wake-up experience. Rebecca tried out the SmartSleep as both an alarm clock and a bedside lamp and confirms that the higher brightness levels are great for reading. But the design is sleek, and once the device is set up, it’s easy to use. At night, the sunset feature dims the light from white back to dark red to help you fall asleep.Īs our reviewer Rebecca Isaacs notes, the HF3520 is pretty bulky at 9.9 x 4.6 x 9.2 inches and 3.6 pounds, and it will definitely crowd a small nightstand. You can also set two different alarms and toggle between them with the push of a button. The Philips HF3520 simulates a gradual sunrise to help your body wake up naturally, combining red-to-white light with nature sounds, music, or the radio. This device is fully functional as both an alarm and a bedside lamp, and unique features such as pleasant wake-up sounds, dual alarms, and a bedtime “sunset” setting make it our favorite model on the market. The Philips HF3520 SmartSleep Wake-Up Light is a relatively pricey alarm clock, but it performed so well in our testing that we had to make it first on the list. Philips HF3520 Light Therapy Alarm Clock Review If you’re interested in incorporating smart home gadgets such as lights and speakers into your morning routine, we also recommend checking out our smart home device reviews. We’ve tested out several wake-up light alarm clocks and compiled a list of our favorites below. As an added bonus, many of these alarm clock lights can double as a bedside reading lamp or mood light. By the time the alarm comes on, your body is ready to wake up and there’s a light on beside your bed.

#Phone alarm clock full#

Most wake-up lights take 20 or 30 minutes to reach full brightness and some even simulate the red-to-white colors of a sunrise. They can also be a great antidote to dark winter mornings. These devices use a combination of gradually-brightening light and sound to cue your body’s natural wake-up response, resulting in a more relaxed (and less groggy) morning. If you want a gentler start to your day, consider using a wake-up light alarm clock. And if you wake up before the sun rises or don’t get much natural light in your bedroom, it can be even more disorienting to be startled awake in a fully dark room. Traditional alarm clocks can be an effective but harsh way to wake up in the morning.

[hopelessly-me]

Winterhawk in a haunted house

Hehehehe. Okay so- I didn't know what flavor of haunted house you wanted- like paranormal or jump scare. But I went with paranormal. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Winterhawk, rated T. Mostly silly and goofy but probably contains a swear word or twelve. 1868 words.

“Spooky spooky spooky,” Clint muttered as he climbed the stairs inside the old Victorian house, using his flashlight to check the floor below them, half expecting someone to be standing there ominously. Just the thought of it raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Clint,” Bucky said, half annoyed from the sounds of it. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“Yeah, I used to not believe in aliens too,” Clint said as Bucky reached the top floor and looked either way before turning right. “And then I met gods and had an alien try to makeout with me, and then Venom did makeout with me.”

“Not sure those things correlate, doll,” Bucky said gently as he opened a door and peeked into a room. “Oh hey look, it’s you,” Bucky said brightly before he flashed a light into the room, illuminating a few dozen dolls. “You’re my doll, and these are some dead person’s dolls.” Clint glowered at Bucky, not amused. “Come on. Six hours and we can go.”

“I really don’t see why I have to be punished for you losing a bet with Sam,” Clint grumbled, leaving that room and hoping that was the only room with those porcelain abominations in it.

“Yeah, I thought that was implied in the whole ‘til death do us part’ part of our marriage contract,” Bucky replied, closing the door after Clint. “I have to deal with your stupid shit, so you are stuck doing my stupid shit. Forever.”

“Charming. Romantic even. Ten out of ten recommend,” Clint rambled on.

Everything about this house screams demon in the basement. The furniture was old and covered in fabric which was under inches of dust. The shades on the lamps were at least from the fifties, cobwebs in the shades and gleaming off the metallic bases, shimmering in the dim light. The floorboards creaked under even the slightest amount of pressure.

It was spooky and Clint hated spooky. It was right up there with magic, might even be tied for first place. He could handle fake haunted houses- he had done them when he was in the circus, learned how to pickpocket that way even. But places that were rumored to be haunted? Yeah- that’s where Clint threw in the towel.

“Spooky spooky spooky,” Clint whispered as he followed behind Bucky as they toured the house, Bucky holding a camcorder like the old man he was. But was Clint going to comment on it? No. Because that old man was the only thing between him and whatever creature from hell lived in the basement. If push came to shove, Clint was fairly certain he would sacrifice Bucky and take off running. That might result in a divorce but… Clint had been divorced before, right? He could handle being divorced.

“Clint.”

“Leave me alone,” Clint sang as he peered into a bathroom. Back in the day, Clint had a feeling this bathroom was glorious- the tub alone was so deep he was pretty sure he could properly soak in it. Now- it was lackluster at best. Clint closed the door and caught a glimpse of Bucky as he went to go back downstairs.

“Why do you believe in ghosts anyway?” Bucky asked as they walked into the kitchen. The kitchen from hell. The murder room. It looked like a murder room.

“Agnes from the circus,” Clint answered.

“She was a con.”

“Oh, she was definitely a con when it came to reading people, but she wasn’t a con when it came to a lot of other things,” Clint answered. “She’s the one who taught me not to whistle in the woods, and to leave weird things found in the woods alone.” Bucky reached to pick something up and Clint slapped his hand. “No.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Bucky said, turning around, camera coming closer to Clint. “Tell everyone how much fun you are having, sunshine.”

Clint narrowed his eyes. “I would rather drink bleach than stay in here overnight.”

“Clint.”

“I mean, yay, look at me, having so much fun,” Clint said in a monotone voice. Bucky rolled his eyes. “Just so we are clear, if Mothman climbs out of the basement, I am shoving you down the stairs and running for it.”

“You know what? If Mothman comes out from that basement, you don’t even have to push me,” Bucky said with far too much confidence for Clint’s taste. “I will gladly stand between you and a Lunar moth.” Bucky turned around and walked. “How about this? Why don’t we talk about something else to get your mind off of whatever Agnes traumatized you with.”

“Yeah, sure- let’s make that attempt,” Clint said.

“Since I am forced to do this as punishment… why don’t we gossip about the others?” Bucky asked. “Like… did you know Sam actually owns more Avengers merch than he admits to?”

“... he what?” Clint asked.

“Yep. I raided his apartment one day when he was gone because I was going to set up a prank and I looked in his closet. He has a Captain America teddy bear,” Bucky said.

“You’re lying.”

“Swear on my mother’s grave,” Bucky said. “He has Cap bear, and a Iron Man figurine.”

For what it was worth, Bucky was very good at distracting Clint from their situation. Clint was into the gossip, whether it was Bucky telling him things or Clint sharing what he knew, careful to skirt over anything about Natasha because he didn’t have a death wish. And when they weren’t gossiping, they were talking about needing to go for a grocery run and needing to buy new pet beds because Lucky had decided the beds were stuffed animals. Which then turned into needing to send Lucky to Kate and America’s for a bit so they could take a vacation. Clint wanted a beach vacation- any excuse to lay under the sun was his favorite thing. Bucky wanted to go tour historical sites, which Clint knew he would cave to because he liked seeing the wonder in Bucky’s eyes when he toured sites he had only heard about or seen on television. Scratch that- he was a sucker for anything that Bucky did. Since when did he become a sap?

They finally settled down and were sitting in the living room, both of them wordlessly agreeing that sitting on the furniture wasn’t an option so they cuddled up in a corner. Bucky had set up a lantern so they could see what was around them, and they used their sleeping bags under their legs to prop them up better. Clint reached over and held Bucky’s hand and fiddled with his wedding ring, smiling as it gleamed. Bucky took care of that ring like he did his arm. He was constantly cleaning it, checking to make sure it was perfect. Clint was currently on replacement ring number three- which averaged to one ring per year so he was taking that as a win.

The conversation fell and Clint snuggled up, resting his head against Bucky’s shoulder. He was exhausted, unable to sleep the night before. Clint went to close his eyes, maybe take a nap, and that’s when he heard it- a creak on the floor above them. He tightened his hold on Bucky’s hand and looked up.

“Its an old house,” Bucky reminded Clint. “And it’s windy out. Creaks are going to happen.”

Clint nodded and settled in again. Bucky was right- houses settled and creaks, and the wind was howling outside occasionally. But then the creak happened again before he heard what sounded like a boot step, followed by another step, and another. And they had toured that house, twice, top to bottom, minus the basement because Clint outright refused, and there was nowhere anyone could have hidden that they wouldn’t have seen. They were trained, for goodness sake- if there was a place to hide, they would have checked it.

The creaking ended at the top of the stairs and Clint and Bucky both leaned over to peer up the stairs. “Someone probably snuck in here and is trying to mess with us. Probably Natasha.”

“Probably my sleep paralysis demon catching up to me,” Clint muttered.

Bucky turned his head to look at Clint. “I understood that reference and I worry about you.” Bucky got up. “I’m going to go check.”

“You’re kidding me, right? I know you have watched horror movies. That never ends well,” Clint insisted.

“I love you but you need to start taking therapy seriously,” Bucky said, grabbing his flashlight and heading towards the stairs.

“As if you are one to talk. How many knives you got on you?” Clint retorted. “Not that you can stab a ghost to death.” Bucky waved him off and stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked up, slowly moving his flashlight to get a better image. Clint half-assed crawled over a few places to take a peek for himself.

“Well, I don’t get to stab a ghost because there is no such thing as-” Bucky began to say before there was a noise from the kitchen. Bucky frowned and turned his flashlight. “... definitely Natasha. She uses windows.”

“Hey! Hey! You can’t just leave me here,” Clint said, scrambling to get us. “Again. Horror movies. Respect the horror movies.” Bucky just waved him off and disappeared into the kitchen. “... dammit.” Clint snatched his flashlight on his way to the kitchen to follow Bucky. “Listen, I know you think it’s dumb but I really think- Buck?”

Bucky was staring at the floor, his head tilted to the side. Clint walked over to him and looked at a knife that was on the floor. Clint’s eyes traveled from the knife over the cabinets, every single one of them open.

“You alright?” Clint asked.

“It… just came flying out,” Bucky said. He reached out and waved his hand around before he picked up the knife, using his flashlight to inspect it. “But there’s no string attached.” Clint leaned over Bucky and looked at the knife as well, frowning.

“Spooky.”

A noise caught their attention and they both looked over at the basement door. It sounded like someone coming up the stairs, heavy footsteps and creaking boards. Clint slowly started to stand up, ready to run at a moment’s notice.

But just as quickly as all the noises came, everything seemed to stop. Clint hadn’t realized he was gripping onto the back of Bucky’s shirt, slowly letting it go and smoothing it out. Bucky was starting to lose his tension, his muscles starting to relax it seemed.

“So… that was weird,” Bucky commented. “Should we go-”

“You will have to drag my corpse to that basement if you want me to go with you,” Clint said. “I want to go find a corner, I want to take my hearing aids out, and I want to sleep. Or try to sleep.”

Bucky turned and smiled, reaching a hand up to hold Clint’s face. “I promise that if I see Mothman or… whatever… I will wake you up and let you have the headstart.”

Clint smiled a little and leaned down and kissed him. “My hero,” he murmured against Bucky’s lips.

[masjestickingdom]

FRIENDS (Part 2)

Pairing: NCT Jaehyun x reader

Genre: Angst, slight fluff

Summary: After returning to Korea to work for one of the biggest entertainment companies, SM Entertainment, memories of your life in your home country before you left for university flood your mind. Swallowing the past behind you, you decide to be professional and face the people you haven’t seen in a while--including the boy whose name you dared not think of for the past five years.

Note: What was originally supposed to be a oneshot turned into a two-part series. I’m so glad that a lot of you enjoyed the first one and reached out to me to request a second part, so here it is! Oh, and if you haven’t read the first part, go read it here.

_______________________________________________________________________

    Under the light the street lamp posts provided him, the youthful boy ran towards the run-down store under the bridge. He didn’t know why he was heading for the closed store, but his legs had a mind of their own. He ran and ran until he heard a voice.

    “Jaehyun!” it called.

    Suddenly, his legs weren’t mindlessly running on their own. It was as if the sweet voice that called his name controlled his legs because he found himself slowing down, looking around his bleak surroundings. The store was old and the bridge seemed ancient with vines traveling down it. The ground was concrete, but it had a few cracks. This seemingly desolate place had no meaning to Jaehyun, yet there he was, searching for the owner of the voice that called his name.

    “Jaehyun!” it said again.

    Before he could take another second to turn around, a pair of hands, rather slim and somewhat fragile, covered his eyes, blocking his vision. An unknowing smile appeared on his face while his hands, trembling with happiness, reached out to touch the soft hands.

    “Guess who?” it spoke with great excitement.

    Hearing the familiar voice up close, a brighter smile tugged his lips upward. As the owner of the faceless voice, which belonged to a girl, gently removed her hands from his face, she finally revealed herself. With one of her hands holding onto his right wrist, the girl appeared in Jaehyun’s view, the wind blowing past her face, causing her hair to cover half of her face. She smiled at him endearingly, and the sound of her laughter carried along the cold wind. She led him closer and closer to the store, but they never reached it. Jaehyun, however, got a clearer view of the sign on the store and when he did, the girl’s smile wasn’t a bright smile anymore. It was bittersweet. “Pain” were the letters written out on the sign in red ink.

    “It’s a pain spending time with you,” the boy heard his voice echo, but it didn’t come out of his mouth. Somewhere in the mystifying darkness, behind the legs of the bridge, the voice boomed, “It’s a pain.” In an instant, the floor rumbled and the bridge above his head began crumbling into pieces. “It’s a pain,” the voice repeated, causing more and more disruption. The girl, unlike him, stood still and watched his frightened face, continuing to smile the same way she was.

    “Y/N,” escaped the awoken boy, drenched in sweat. With wide eyes, he frantically scanned his setting, searching for the girl in his dream--nightmare, rather. When he realized that he was in his room, which he shared with fellow groupmate Jungwoo, his eyes contracted and his breathing slowly stabled. Uttering a breath of relief, Jaehyun checked the time on his phone, and his eyes quickly dilated again as soon as he saw that it was two in the morning. He groaned and tried to fall back asleep, but no matter how many times he twisted and turned, he was wide awake.

    And it was all because of a girl he hadn’t seen in five years.

...

    For you, summer was the worst season of all: the sun stared into your soul until you broke down in slimy sweat; in the afternoon, the sun blew hot air against your body, causing your clothes to absorb the revolting sweat; at night, even when the sun set, it managed to influence the moon to blow steamy air at your face. For those reasons, you liked mornings the best. You didn’t care if it was hot then because you rarely left the house in the morning anyway. You got to sleep in late with blinds shielding you from the sunlight. You got to wake up late and peacefully watch the shadows of the tall trees outside dance to their normal routine, swinging back and forth behind the blinds. It was wonderful, really. Of course, you realized that wonderful things were momentary because after getting a job at your older sister’s company, you had to wake up at half past six in the morning and be at your cubicle by eight. However, it didn’t matter that you had to deal with the awful mornings outside of the mini apartment you shared with your sister; you were on a plane to Korea.

    It had been five years since you were in your home country. After getting your bachelor’s degree in Communications and Psychology earlier than your peers, you studied furiously to the point you felt dead instead to obtain your master’s degree in Psychology in a year. Fortunately, you got a paid internship at your sister’s company, a therapy-based workplace, until your sister recommended you for an open job position in Korea. More specifically, SM Entertainment was looking for a full-time, SM-focused therapist. It was funny how things worked out, but you couldn’t pass on the amazing opportunity. As an employed therapist, you would be helping the company’s artists become healthier in a psychological aspect.

    To Korea, accompanying you was your college friend Bora and her two-year old daughter Eunkyung. Eunkyung was the most adorable toddler you had come across, given you didn’t encounter many kids in your life. Like her mom, she was a jokester, and she loved tugging your hair whenever she could. It became a bad habit. A really bad one.

    You were on the plane, sitting at the window seat, while Eunkyung was situated in the middle (thankfully because it was a vacant seat) and Bora in the aisle. Eunkyung started pulling your long hair towards her body, giggling, but she soon retracted her hand when her mom scolded her.

    “She didn’t get any sleep last night,” Bora lectured gently. “The last thing we want is to wake her up.”

    “Why?” Eunkyung asked innocently, tilting her head upwards at her mom.

    “Why can’t we wake her up? Your poor auntie was up trying to find us someone who would let us stay at their house, and once we land, she has to go straight to work.”

    Yes, you were a poor thing, but you were a poor lucky thing because after five short years of dedication to studying, you landed on this golden opportunity. That’s why when you woke up at the shaking plane, ready to land, instead of getting cranky and groaning like you would have normally done, you gratefully closed your eyes again and enjoyed the last few minutes of laziness.

    In a blink of an eye, you were somehow seated in the shotgun of your friend’s van, heading to your new workplace.

    “You wouldn’t believe the look on Y/N’s face when her mom told her she couldn’t stay at their place,” Bora spoke, sitting in the back seat with Eunkyung on her lap.

    “Y/N? Getting mad? I would like to see that,” your friend Hyunwoo said jokingly.

    “Thanks for letting us stay over the last minute,” you said, brushing off his comment. “My mom’s not usually the type to back out like this, but she apparently had a big fight with my dad, and the tension won’t serve any good to Eunkyung.”

    Hyunwoo simply shrugged. “I’m glad to have the company. Ever since my roommate moved out, I’ve been feeling kind of lonely.”

    As he gradually stopped the car at a red light, you took the moment to look out the window on your right, and you immediately spotted a dome-looking venue. It was flocked with decorations, mostly banners of people’s faces you couldn’t make out, but when the car pulled forward, the wind blew past the banners, straightening them out in a certain way. The only thing you got the chance to see was the bottom part of the nearest banner that read “NCT 127”.

    An unsettling feeling sat in your stomach. It was weird. You heard about NCT 127 from your friends back in college, but it was weird to see their faces plastered on banners in your home country.

    You ignored the lump in your throat as you set your eyes on the road.

    ...

    Six months passed, and you loved your job. With the exception of a certain friend, you met practically everyone from the company. It was certainly an exciting job to talk to celebrities, so every so often you had to remind yourself that they were humans too to calm your beating heart. You also had a routine down. Every morning, you would leave Hyunwoo’s place on an empty stomach, but you would be greeted by the sweet pastries fresh from the oven of the first floor cafe in the building. Every afternoon, you would stay in your office like a loner and eat chips for lunch. Every evening, you would enjoy the view of the falling sun from your desk. It wasn’t until the last night of June that your routine was disrupted.

    Your last session that night ended at ten, and you were more than ready to go home. Well, that was until you heard a knock on your door. That knock gave you the impression that you would be there longer than you wanted.

    As you struggled to switch from your heels to sneakers behind your desk, you yelled, “Come in.”

    Just as you managed to slide the heels of your feet into your cushioned sneakers, the door swung open. You rose from the ground, pushing your uselessly uncomfortable heels under your desk with your toes, and when you looked to see who was at the door, your breath hitched.

    It was him, your former best friend, the guy who pushed you away. He was soaked from the summer rain and had bloodshot eyes. His hair was a mess, and it appeared to you that he was out of breath because his chest rapidly rose up and down. It was the first time you had seen him in five years, and that was how he presented himself to you, unannounced.

    “Jaehyun, what...?”

    You found your feet taking you to Jaehyun step by step. Your eyes studied his, worry evident in yours. You wanted to comfort him, to hug him as hard as you could for all the years you couldn’t, but something inside of you screamed at you to stop. There weren’t any cameras installed in your office. In fact, your office was one of the rare areas in the building that didn’t have CCTVs for the sake of privacy and efficacy of your delicate work, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fling your arms around on the drenched boy. You couldn’t... but he did: as soon as you were a few feet away from him, he suddenly advanced towards you and engulfed you in a tight hug.

    “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice unbelievably shaking. “I’ve missed you.”

    At those simple words, an overwhelming wave of emotions washed over you. Despite the coldness provided by his wet clothes, your heart felt warm. After five years of nothing, no voice nor touch, he had finally reached out to you, and that was all you needed.

    “I was a jerk and an idiot,” he said, tightening his grip around your waist. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away, but I did.”

    His body was trembling while yours was stable. Your hands were by your sides, but you slowly raised them, secured them around his body, and patted his back the way he used to do to yours whenever you were uncontrollably sobbing after a sad movie. To your surprise, it seemed as though your actions caused the opposite effect because another wave of tears stained your back.

    “Shh,” you said, rubbing your hands on his back in circular motions.

    He buried his wet face in your neck and choked out, “I’m sorry.”

    “I heard you,” you whispered, slightly rocking him back and forth.

    After what seemed like a short minute (when in reality it was five), Jaehyun finally loosened his grip, and you pulled away, gripping the side of his arms. The two of you stared off into each other’s eyes and let the silence overtake the room. His eyes were full of sorrow and regret, and all that clouded your mind was how tired and worn out he looked. You were the first to offer a smile.

    “You should go back to your dorm and dry off,” you told him in a soft voice. “Otherwise, you’re gonna catch a cold.”

    With droplets of water dripping from the tips of his tousled hair, he shook his head.

    “I need to tell you why I did what I did.”

    Your smile faltered noticeably, your stomach twisting into knots. You were beyond nervous to hear his reason for pushing you away. Were you really annoying? Did his friends secretly think you were annoying? Whatever it was, Jaehyun had no hint of tenseness nor anxiety; he was ready to tell you.

    “I had a crush on you.”

    There and then, the world stopped: your analog clock stopped ticking; your phone, which was on silent mode, stopped ringing; the whispering drops of the rain outside stopped talking. To you, the only sound that was loud and clear was your rapidly beating heart.

    “When you came over for Chuseok dinner, when you told my parents that we were like twins, I-” Jaehyun stopped in mid-sentence, biting his lower lip in embarrassment, but you patiently waited for him. “I was frustrated at how you thought of me as a brother and a platonic friend rather than something more..” Before he continued, he rested his hands on your shoulders and stared dead straight into your eyes. “When I said it was a pain spending time with you, I meant that it was painful for me to contain my feelings around you because you didn’t look at me in the same way. I’m sorry that I lashed out. ”

    You let your hands hang onto his elbows as you barely audibly said, “Thanks for telling me.”

    The intense, yet soft look in Jaehyun’s eyes was the same gaze he gave you the day he yelled at you. It was then, you realized, that he was still in pain.

    “What is it?” you asked, your curious eyes searching his for clues.

    The now anxious boy let out a shaky breath, his eyes leaving yours. You took your hands and lifted his chin slightly upward, forcing his eyes to land back on yours.

    “You can tell me,” you encouraged.

    And before you knew it, Jaehyun was blurting out the words “I’m still in love with you”.

    .

    .

    .

    That was the quietness that filled the room. That was also the blank state your mind was in. You didn’t know what to think. You loved him, yes, but you loved him platonically. How could he, your childhood friend, still be in love with you after all those years? You couldn’t take your eyes off of the loving but painful expression in his eyes.

    For the first time in a long time, Jaehyun let out a chuckle, earning him a confused stare.

    “I know how you feel about me, and unlike my former self, I’m okay with it.” After a moment of silence, a gentle smile grew on his lips. ”I’ll wait for you.”

    Cue the waterworks and the hug. This time, it was Jaehyun rubbing your back.

    “I’m not gonna go anywhere,” he said quite confidently. “So when you’re ready--whether it be rejection or welcome--I’ll be here.”

    “Except when you go on tour and stuff,” you murmured, to which the both of you laughed.

    Fortunately for you, Jaehyun did wait. When you confessed your feelings to him, a year had already gone by since he promised he would wait. To him, your best friend and now lover, you were worth the wait.

_______________________________________________________________________

Additional Announcement: Thanks for waiting to read this second part! I hope that it was “worth the wait”. Anyway, this may be the only post for the month of August due to SAT season. I will make no promises to make an update this month, so please hang in there! And for any of you taking the August SAT too, good luck! If you aren’t taking it, please send your thoughts and prayers to those who are. We really need all the hope we can get.

[stylesluxx]

cold? chilling? freezing? (VI) – s.rogers

[warnings: fury getting shot but that’s it I think]

summary: in which y/n is an assassin turned lover | part five | part seven

word count: 1,758

masterlist

You didn't go straight back to the apartment after you visited the Smithsonian. You remembered it was your night to cook so you spent the afternoon in the grocery store.

You never had to cook until you lived with the super-soldier. You loved takeout but he complained about it after a week. Something about wanting a real home-cooked meal. He cooked for the first month before you ended up getting food poisoning because honestly, he's horrible at cooking. Then you tried to take over and come to find out you too were a horrible chef.

So, every Saturday night you and Steve went to cooking classes and tried to get a hang of it. You started to buy pots and pans and baking sheets. You wouldn't say you were Gordan Ramsey or anything but you were 10 times better of a cook than you were two years ago.

When you got back to the apartment, Steve had just opened the door to the building and smiled when he spotted you. He reached and held the door so it wouldn't close on you before shutting it softly behind you. You looked at the stairs in front of you and sighed before beginning the journey up.

"How was the rest of your afternoon, Captain?" You asked as he took the bags from your hands.

"It was... enlightening. I met with Sam, the guy from the park. He has a support group for veterans," Steve nodded thoughtfully.

"Maybe you should attend that as well. The missions might start to become a bit much after a while. And it'll help you adapt better," You suggested and looked up at him as we walked beside you.

"And what about you?"

"I, uh, Director Fury has already set me up with the therapist. Agent Romanoff recommended it and I respect her advice. We're more similar than I originally thought," You hesitantly spoke, not wanting to divulge too much. "Did you see Miss Carter today?"

"Yeah, I did."

"And how was that?"

"It was good. She thinks I put too much pressure on myself."

"I agree with her, one hundred percent."

"I feel like you've been attacking me ever since you walked in the building," He teased with a light smile on his face, making you laugh.

"Well, get your shit together Rogers," You smiled at him and walked up the last step.

You spotted the blonde woman opening her door and you turned back to give Steve a wink.

"Good evening," You greeted her with a smile and wave.

She was on the phone and had a laundry basket in her hand as she tried to open to door to her apartment. She gave you and Steve smiles before finishing up her phone call and turning to you and Steve.

"My aunt, she's kind of an insomniac," She waved her phone before tossing it in the basket.

It was silent for a moment before you decided to speak up and help Steve out.

"Hey, if you want, you're welcome to use our machine. Might be cheaper than the one in the basement and you won't have to walk up and down all those stairs," You suggested. "And while it dries you and my friend here can maybe go out for coffee."

Steve looked back at you wide-eyed and full of shock before turning back to the blonde with a chivalrous smile.

"Thank you, but I already have a load in downstairs, and uh you really don't want my scrubs in your machine. I just finished a rotation in the infectious disease ward, so..." She softly declined, making you scratch the back of your head awkwardly.

"Well, I'll keep my distance," Steve played off the rejection with a light chuckle.

"Hopefully, not too far," She said slyly before turning to walk downstairs. She quickly turned back around as you got the keys out of your backpack. "Oh, and I think you left your stereo on."

"Oh, thank you," Steve said and turned to look at you once she walked away. At that instant, you both heard the 40s music playing for the record player.

"First of all, it seems like she's kinda into you," You started as you stuck the key in the lock. "And secondly, I didn't leave the stereo on. Didn't even touch it."

"You stay here with the groceries. I'll come open the door when the coast is clear," Steve said and set the bags down beside you and quietly retreated down the steps.

Two years ago you would've walked in with the keys in between your knuckles. You don't know why you listened to Steve, he wasn't necessarily Captain right now and you weren't on a mission. But you listened to him. Your gut told you to listen and to trust him.

You waited for all about five minutes before the front door opened and Steve had his shield in his hand. You surveyed him for any injuries before letting the keys fall from your knuckles. You walked in and set the groceries down on the kitchen counter.

You followed him to the living room and leaned against the wall, your arms crossed over your chest.

"I don't remember giving you a key," You said to Fury as he sat comfortably in your favorite chair.

You liked to sit there during the day while reading a book. You get to see Steve as soon as he walks in and he sees you instantly as well. It was a nice way to start the afternoon.

"You really think I'd need one?" He asked, sitting up. "My wife kicked me out."

"Didn't know you were married," Steve spoke up.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me."

"I know, Nick. That's the problem."

Steve walked over and turned the overhead light on and we both got a good look at the man in front of us. He was bloodied and bruised, an unusual sight.

Fury put up a hand to still us and reached up and turned the lamp that was next to him off.

He typed in his phone before showing us. It read "EARS EVERYWHERE." I looked over at Steve before walking a few steps closer to him.

"I'm sorry I had to do this but I have no place else to crash."

Steve looked around the room, trying to spot anything out of place or abnormal.

Fury typed on his phone again before showing us a new message, "SHIELD COMPROMISED."

"Who else knows about your wife?" You asked and watched Fury stand up, holding his side.

"Just us three," He said and showed us the phone with the exactly same words. "My friends."

"Is that what we are?" Steve asked hostilely.

"That's up to you," Fury said before screaming in pain and buckling to his knees.

Steve dragged his body from the living room to the kitchen and you pulled out your gun from its place in your holster.

You heard Fury cough out "don't trust anyone" as soon as the front door was kicked down and revealed the blonde "nurse" with a gun in her hand.

"Captain Rogers? Agent Y/L/N? I'm Agent 13 of S.H.I.E.L.D. Special Service," She said calmly. "I was assigned to protect you."

You looked back at Steve and gave him a look before turning back to her.

"On whose order?" Steve asked.

"His," She said and got on her knees to check Fury's pulse.

Steve looked at her dumbfounded but you couldn't believe you were right about her.

She spoke into her walkie talkie and you turned to look in the direction the previous bullets came from.

"Tell him I'm in pursuit," Steve said. He walked backward to get a head start before running and jumping through two windows to chase the shooter.

Sharon gave you an address to where Fury would be taken. Some hospital in the middle of the city which made you look at her weird. Fury was way too private to be taken care of at a public facility but you went along with it.

You ran downstairs and to Steve's bike where you knew he'd meet you. You put the gun back and grabbed his helmet (though it was really yours because he never used it). You put it on and secured it as you saw him running to you.He got on the bike and you followed his lead, wrapping your arms around his waist. He wasted no time speeding off when you told him the address.

—

"Tell me about the shooter," You asked of Steve so you could distract yourself from your boss laying on the operation table.

"He's fast. Strong. Had a metal arm."

Maria Hill walked next to you and looked at Fury.

"Ballistics?" You questioned.

"Three slugs, no rifling. Completely untraceable," She answered.

"Soviet-made."

"Yeah," She said shocked and looked over at you before turning back to the operation table.

You watched emotionless as the doctors and nurses tried to revive Fury but to no avail. Emotionless only because you weren't in the room by yourself. You didn't know Fury too well, no one did, but he (and Romanoff) helped you believe that therapy was a valid option and it was okay to go.

Steve was the first to walk out and then Agent Hill. You stood there for a moment to ensure you were completely alone before letting a small tear fall. You let it hit your Iron Man shirt before you wiped the wetness off your cheek and walked out of the room.

You spotted Steve not too far away and looked over at him. You walked over slowly and watched his eyes take you in, looking for any sign of distress. He found the wet spot on your shirt and gave you a sad smile.

"It'll be alright, Y/N," He assured you while looking right in your eyes, relaxing you.

You nodded, "I know, Captain."

"Cap, Y/L/N, they want you back at S.H.I.E.L.D.," You heard Agent Rumlow's voice disturb the moment.

"Yeah give us a second," Steve nodded.

"They want you now."

"Okay," Steve nodded again, this time with more force.

Rumlow walked off and you followed behind him while Steve stayed back. It seemed like he was having trouble with the vending machine but you ignored it and listened to the radios the S.T.R.I.K.E. team had. They wanted to question you and Steve.

The ride to headquarters was quiet. You rested your head on Steve's shoulder and his arm was wrapped around yours, holding onto you tight.

[AN: so this series is gonna be longer than I originally planned but not too much longer. and I’m super sorry this too so long to post, it was my birthday week so I was super busy. I think I’m putting this on hiatus; I don’t feel motivated to write it anymore]

[tags: @thisartemisnevermisses​ @thatoneperson5000​ @capstopavenger​]

[stricken-with-clairvoyancy]

Prinxiety fic recs

Hey everyone, I know isolation is difficult, and a good majority of the fandom use fics as an escape mechanism, so hopefully some people can get a kick out of some of these. As my blog title suggests, I mostly just consume prinxiety content, so this list is for any prinxiety stans out there. Feel free to add on with your own fics or recs, regardless of ship! All fics are completed unless stated otherwise, to avoid giving anyone WIPlash. :)

First up, literally anything by the Queen of Prinxiety (and stunning writing in general) @coconut-cluster. Hers was one of the first blogs who’s writing I got really invested in, and her writing is like the equivalent of snuggling into a warm blanket in the sunshine. It’s good stuff y’all. Writing masterlist If you’re overwhelmed by how many incredible stories she’s written though, I gotchu fam, here are some of my favourites to get you started: Sciamachy, My dreams made music in the night, Snowball fight

Powerless by @impatentpending . One of the best stories I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading, better than most published literature I daresay. Seriously it’s just,,, so good!!! If you haven’t read it yet I highly recommend you do. You’ve got morally grey villains, you’ve got wit, you’ve got a hoverbike named Brendon Urie. It’s an all round good time, except when, you know, it’s angsty.

The To Love And Be Loved series by @virgilsjourney It’s so soft!!! So light and sweet and comforting!!! You’ve got hurt/comfort (heavy on the comfort) with a large helping of mutual pining, and it’s the perfect fic if you need a pick-me-up after a long day.

Butterflies by @creativenostalgiastuff . I live for techie Virgil and this fic does not disappoint. Incredibly cute, Roman gets the validation he deserves, 10/10.

My true love gave to me by @lovelylogans Honestly my favourite oneshot of all time, I giggle the whole way through when reading this. The sheer magnitude of their mutual pining,,, incredible. Genuinely this fic is so wonderful and funny and lighthearted and sweet and hhhhhhhhhh. Looking at her masterlist I’ve also come to realise that she’s written a lot of my favourites, so I’ll just link that here! :)

Wet blanket , Life of the party and Social grace by @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors. A tad angsty, but so worth the read, and they more than make up for any potential hurt with the gratuitous fluff. Hella soft, superb writing. On another note, if you haven’t already, you should absolutely read their jaw-droppingly amazing series Love and other fairytales. Romantic lamp and a heck tonne of cool worldbuilding, gripping plot and fae galore, prepare to become thoroughly invested.

A dragon’s tail by @theeternalspace . This one had me on the edge of my seat you guys, it’s so gripping you’ll wanna stay up all night reading it. You’ve got prince!Virgil, you’ve got knight!Roman, you’ve got Dragon!Logan. Need I say more?

The most adorable Parents!Prinxiety headcanons you ever did read, by the incredible @thelowlysatsuma , with a tooth-rottingly sweet fic to go with it by @watchoutforthefanfics . You WILL get cavities and you WILL sob at the soft domesticity of it all.

@shakesqueer-writes is lowkey a Prinxiety GOD so I’m just gonna link you to their whole entire masterlist of masterpieces.

The phenomenal It’s only logical by @tinysidestrashcaptain . This one is incomplete, but it’s honestly so perfectly written that it’s going on here anyway. I can only dream of achieving Virgil’s level of sass in this fic, an absolute icon. It’s a flower shop au AND a coffee shop au babyyy.

I can only assume from the remarkable quality of the writing that Keep him safe by @whatwashernameagain gets recommended a lot, as it RIGHTLY DESERVES. This fic is also incomplete, but so worth waiting for, each new chapter is a sucker punch of emotions and the character development is second to none. I’d definitely heed the trigger warnings on this one though, it does handle (very well and realistically) some darker themes. There’s also a raccoon named Cat and I love her.

A get-together and getting together by @hickory-dickory-doc-k Fake! dating! Fake! Dating! Fake! Dating! Fak- Ok but for real though guys this one is so gosh darn cute I dropped everything on Christmas day to rush upstairs and read it when the last chapter came out and I was grinning so much lemme tell you. I’ve read a lot of fake dating aus in my time and this one honestly takes the cake.

(I’d never) want once from the cherry tree written by @ace-corvid with gorgeous art to go with it by @blank-ace . YouTuber au!!! Virgil gets to be the chaotic conspiracy guy we know he secretly longs to be, and Roman gets the adoring fanbase he deserves. The humour is also on point. I mean, Deceit’s name in Virgil’s contacts is Snake fursona man, and honestly if that doesn’t sell it, I don’t know what will.

Of trying and towers by @parsnipit . An oldie but a classic, this story is phenomenal. It’s got action! It’s got magical curses! It’s got so many dragons! It’s got highkey terrified but also kinda badass Virgil! It’s so good you guys, the plot and the family bonding and hhhhhhh dragons are so cool.

Destined by @rosesisupposes . Oooooh this one has such a fun premise. Virgil’s a sage (kind of like a seer) and is just kinda vibing with the humans until sh*t goes down, ft sass, flirting, pun-based bakeries, and a coffee machine named Gilda. It’s great. I love it.

Long live by @meginoi . It’s!!! Essentially a really cool princess diaries au!!! How rad is that? Virgil is pretty much permanently stressed, but Pat and Lo are supportive bros and he ;) has ;) Roman ;) there ;) to ;) help.

Falling (falling) by @basically-i-write-shit . Don’t let their url fool you this fic is honestly so gripping, I stayed up way into morning bingeing it. Be warned though, it does handle some pretty dark topics, so heed the trigger warnings. ft. single dad Virgil and babysitter Roman!

Inks and tallies by @skittlesun . Tattoo 👏 artist 👏 Roman 👏 Frick 👏 Yeah 👏 Also by the same author, the amazing fic The betting pool is an absolute delight. Flirting galore. Go read it pls.

Late night, long night by @crowleyspraisekink . Virgil’s in a tank top and Roman is Gay Panic tm. Adorable, superb, 10/10.

A curse is a dream your heart makes by @romansleftshoulderpad This oneshot is a long boi but my god you will enjoy every single second of it. Roman gets cursed by the Dragon witch to act out classic Disney movies with Virgil, and it’s honestly so entrancing. Phenomenal writing.

Queen of fluff @not-so-innocent-bi-sander has so much adorable fics that I’m gonna link their whole masterlist because you deserve to treat yourself to their writing, and I’m also gonna add some quick links to my faves here because I love them: The reunion, Romance in the air…port, Guitar lessons. The first fic of theirs I read is the series The view from here, and it was so heartwarmingly sweet that it helped distract me from some pretty bad cramps, so I highly recommend you go check that out if you need a cute pick me up. It’s incomplete, but it’s mostly fluff and ongoing, so you won’t be left on any cliffhangers.

Thespian by @random-snippets is a heart-wrenchingly sweet hurt/comfort fic that I wholeheartedly recommend. Roman puts on a play in the imagination but neglects to tell Virgil that his character straight up dies at the end, and Virgil is understandably distraught. It’s ok though, Virgil gets love and hugs! Also just check out their masterlist because their writing is absolutely sensational, especially their pining!Virgil LAMP fics.

Through different eyes by @stars-and-rose . Roman’s a warlock who’s been ‘kidnapping’ Patton in an endearing attempt to get the handsome knight’s ;) attention. Super cute and a fun read, honestly it’s adorable.

@today-only-happens-once is another phenomenal writer who’s masterlist I’m also gonna link because they’re all! So! Good!!! Here’s some of my faves: Exposure therapy ft Ace!Roman, Acoustic, Always

A hero’s rescue by @stillebesat . Villain!Roman and Hero!Virgil ft a healthy dose of hurt/comfort and a a really cool premise. I go back and re-read this one a lot!

Welcome to the neighbourhood by @lefaystrent is incomplete, but it’s so goddamn hysterical that it’s going on here anyway. Their comedic genius is astounding. Some more of my favourites of theirs include: Roamin’ nights, Flutter and fall, Rewrite

Blink and you’ll miss it and waterspout by @greenninjagal-blog are both lovely reads which I highly recommend. Seriously guys their writing is amazing, go check them out.

Sweet dreams and Petals red as blood by @candied-peach are both gorgeously written and I absolutely adore them, 10/10.

[nothingeverlost]

Fic: Thunderstorms and Pancakes (Baby Steps Verse)

We had a pretty big storm last week that gave me this plot bunny.  Takes place about a week after Bae comes home to visit.

II

“I should be going.”  He’d been to dinner every night since Bae had come home, at Belle’s insistence.  Since it was Saturday he’d been at the house since lunch, sharing a picnic in the back yard with his son and Emma, Belle and Ruby.  Trevelyn worried that it was too much, but when he’d tried to beg off dinner the night before Belle had reminded him that Emma was only around for another day, and Bae would have to go to New York in a week.  

“It’s still raining pretty hard, are you sure that’s a good idea?”  Belle never mentioned his cane or the limp that was evident, and he never offered any information.  He could see her glance at his leg, though, before frowning at the window.  It had been raining for more than an hour, the summer shower a surprise.

“I’m sure it will let up soon.”  At that moment the windows lit up and a roll of thunder made the house shake.

“I don’t think so, dad.  Remember what happened when I was ten and old man Hubbard drove in a storm like this?  He was lucky to get out of the car before it ended up in the river.”

“Fortunately I don’t pass any rivers on the way home.”  After another flash of lightning the lights flickered.  The rain, rather than receding, seemed to pound harder against the glass.

“I think you should stay in the guest room tonight, Trev.  We’ll all sleep better knowing that you’re not out in this.”  Belle collected the dessert dishes.  Ruby was already sleeping, the baby monitor on the table where Belle could watch her.  Bae and Emma nodded in agreement.

“I don’t want to be an imposition.”  Bae mentioned Hubbard, but Trev remembered another night drive fifteen years ago that had ended in weeks of hospitalization, months of therapy and surgeries, and a cane he still hated with a passion.  He hated how much his knee ached in the rain too.  Staying inside had more than one advantage, but he didn’t want to make Belle do any more work.  It would be strange to sleep in his house again as well.

“You couldn’t be more of an imposition than Bae, and she puts up with him.”  Emma leaned over, hitting Bae’s shoulder with her own.  Their chairs were only inches apart; they liked to touch.  Bae rolled his eyes but leaned into the touch as well.

“I insist.”  Belle briefly squeezed Trev’s shoulder as she returned to the table.  “I think you might still have some things in the back of the closet.  If not Bae probably has something you can borrow to sleep in.”

He did end up needing to borrow a pair of sweatpants, though Belle found him a long forgotten t-shirt that had clearly been a present from Bae.  It declared him to be the ‘world’s okayest dad.’  Trev shook his head when he saw it, but Belle had been amused.  

“Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer the master bedroom?  The bed is bigger.”  Belle made the same offer she’d made already.  

“The guess room is fine.”  A full sized bed was plenty for him.  He tried not to think about any reasons why he might need a larger bed.  None of his thoughts involved being alone, so they were best not considered at all.  Especially when the only person he’d fantasized about recently was standing in front of him.  The fact that the master room had been a space he’d shared with Milah for so long didn’t even occur to him.  “Besides Ruby would be confused if she came looking for you.”

“Ruby would be delighted if she found her ‘Good’ when she came looking for me.  She’s going to be so excited tomorrow when she realizes you’re here for breakfast.”

Gold nodded, holding the t-shirt to his chest.  He couldn’t shake the image of lying in bed with Belle, an arm draped casually over her waist.  Not doing anything, just lying with her and sharing space when Ruby came in for breakfast.  It was a daydream that left him rattled; he never had moments like that in Bae’s childhood.  It wasn’t his brain replicating a memory, but a completely separate dream.  “I should go to bed.”

“Sweet dreams, Trev.  You know where almost everything is, but if you have any questions you know where to find me.”

Unfortunately he knew all too well where to find her, not that he would breach the doorway that had been his own for so many years.  “Thank you.”

“Hey dad, these should work.  They have a drawstring, which I thought might help since you’re skinny.”  Bae came out of his bedroom with the promised sweatpants.  Behind him Emma leaned in the doorway of the bedroom that had been Bae’s since he was three weeks old and Milah had declared she couldn’t sleep with a baby in the master bedroom.  While he knew that Bae and Emma were sharing a room it was still a little startling to see it with his own eyes.  It didn’t bother him, but it was another reminder that his son was grown up.  He was so proud of his boy, but some part of him would always miss the child he had been.

“Your dad has a little restraint around desserts, unlike some people I know,” Emma teased.

“Hey, I inherited my love of cake from him.  He had a piece too.  But I bet he’s still in the habit of skipping meals.  Tea does not count as breakfast.”  Behind Gold he heard a snort, and turned to find Belle covering her mouth.  She shrugged, but he could tell she was amused to find that she wasn’t the only one to scold him for having tea alone in the morning.

“Yeah, like no one saw you sneak that second piece in the kitchen.”  Emma rolled her eyes before vanishing into the bedroom.  Gold was pretty certain he heard Bae mutter something about working off the calories.  He didn’t want to ask for clarification.  Fortunately the guest bedroom didn’t share a room with his son’s bedroom.

“I’ll just take this and-” he gestured at the door to the room that was just past Belle’s own.

“Sleep well, Trev.”  Belle’s smile seemed to ensure he’d have either sweet dreams or troubled sleep.

“Goodnight Belle.”  He was used to speaking to her over the phone and wishing her a good night, or speaking to her from the end of the hall at the bed and breakfast.  Somehow the hallway of his home - her home now - seemed more intimate.

“Goodnight!” A duel shout came from behind the closed door of Bae’s room as he headed for the guest room door.

II

He couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it was being back in the house that held so many memories, or perhaps it was knowing that only a wall separated him from the bedroom where Belle was sleeping.  Either way he spent an hour staring wide eyed at the ceiling before giving up and getting out of bed.  If he remembered correctly there was still a bottle of whiskey in the library.  Unless Belle had a taste for it, which he doubted, it should still be there.  A wee dram might help him fall asleep.  Carefully he walked down the hall, avoiding the squeaky floorboard near Bae’s room.  Since he didn’t carry his cane he had to use the handrail on the stairs.  To his surprise there was a light on in the library.

“Belle?”  She sat at the desk, the only light coming from the lamp in the upper corner of the desk and the glow of the laptop monitor.  The clock on the wall told him it was a little after midnight.

“End of the month reports have to be finished tomorrow.  I’m almost done.”  She leaned back in the chair, taking off a pair of glasses he rarely saw her wearing.  “Employees need paychecks and the quarterly taxes are due.”

“You don’t have a payroll person for that?”

“Granny always did it herself.  I remember sitting next to her at the kitchen table, working on homework while she was working on it.  There were always cookies.  I guess it makes me feel closer to her.”  Belle stretched, leaning back farther in the chail.  The bottom of her pajama top rose just enough to see a narrow strip of skin.  “I should probably look into a service, but I only think of it at midnight when I’m struggling to get it done.”

“I can ask my bookkeeper if she can take on someone new.  I believe she does payroll.”  Belle had enough to do, managing two businesses and raising a two year old.  She didn’t need to stay up late with paperwork.  He would make sure Ariel could take her, even if he had to pay to make it happen.

“You don’t need to-” Belle stopped mid sentence, shaking her head.  “No, that’s silly.  I know I need help and as usual you have just the answer I need.  Thank you, Trev.  I would appreciate the recommendation.”

“I’ll make a call tomorrow.”

“Thank you.  Now what can I do for you?  You didn’t come down here to talk about payroll and taxes.”

“I was planning on having a drink, actually.”  The scotch was exactly there he left it.  A few years additional aging would only improve the flavor.

“May I join you?”

“Really?”  He’d seen her drink wine, and could imagine her with a daiquiri in hand.

“Sure.  I’m almost done with my work and it would help me unwind.  I even have my own glass.”  Grinning she picked up a plastic tumbler with a cartoon on it, one of Ruby’s.  “If you don’t mind sharing, of course.”

“I don’t mind.”  She sat at his desk in his library, though he’d cleared enough bookshelves off to allow her some space for her collection.  The bed she slept in was his.  There was a great deal they shared already, a drink hardly seemed like anything in comparison.  Yet as he placed the glass he’d brought from the kitchen next to the plastic cup and added the liquor to each it felt strangely intimate.  Perhaps it was the late hour.

“Should we toast something?”  Belle took hold of her glass, but a moment later almost dropped it when a lightning strike lit up the room.

“Belle?”

“I don’t like lightning very much.”  She took a sip of her drink, making a face that told him she didn’t appreciate the taste.  It didn’t stop her from taking a second sip.

“My father told a story when I was a lad about a selkie looking for his lost love in a thunderstorm.  She was human and they had fallen in love when he had rescued her from a shipwreck, but her people had come for her and taken her back to their land.  Whenever lightning fills the sky you know he’s still looking for her.”  His father hadn’t been worth much, but he had been able to spin a story.  As a child it had entertained him.  As he’d gotten older ‘story’ had just been another word for a lie.

“My mother told me that angels were bowling.  It didn’t scare me when I was a kid.” He couldn’t see into the plastic cup but guessed it was mostly gone after she took another sip.  When he held up the bottle she nodded and he refilled her glass.  She started into the depths of the glass as if it was something more than plastic with unicorns on it.  Knowing what it was like to get lost in thoughts he didn’t say anything.  It was a few minutes before she spoke.  “There was a thunderstorm the night my mother died.  She would always come into my room when there was a storm to check on me and ask me who was winning the bowling game.  I waited but…”

“I’m sorry, Belle.”  Her voice wavered and she didn’t seem able to continue.  He remembered her mentioning moving to America after her mother’s death.  She’d been too young to lose a mother, as well as a father not long after.  

“Ruby doesn’t mind a storm, and I don’t want her to think they’re scary.  I suppose I should have a story for her.”  Belle looked over her shoulder, as if waiting to catch the next clap of thunder.

“You could tell her about the angels bowling.”  He could almost picture her as a girl of Ruby’s age, asking for a story.  She probably wasn’t quite as demanding as Ruby could be, but just as hard to deny.

“I think I like your story better.  Maybe you could tell me the whole thing sometime?”  Perhaps it was the fact that the thunder hadn’t rumbled again, or the fact that she was almost done with her second pour of whiskey, but she seemed more relaxed.  

“If you like.”  For a moment he could almost hear an echo of his father’s voice.  And his own, as he tucked in a little boy that was now a grown man.

“Not tonight, though.  I think I need to go to sleep.”  She drained the last of her glass and closed up her laptop.  “You know how early Ruby likes to get up.”

“I’ll walk with you.”  She wasn’t wearing those ridiculous high heels she wore often when she was out, but he still worried about her balance, especially since she’d fallen only a few days earlier.  Not that his balance was much better, and he hadn’t even finished his drink.

“I’m glad you stayed tonight, Trev.  I would have worried about you driving in this.”  They made it up the stairs, though there were one or two false starts.  His leg was unsteady without his cane and Belle’s focus was less than perfect.

“I wouldn’t want to make you worry.”  He understood her worry even better now then he had a few hours ago.  “Sleep well, Belle.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Bae said something about pancakes.”  Belle smiled sleepy at him as she stood in the doorway of the bedroom.  The walls that had been white when it was his room were a pale blue now.  It was a color that suited her.

“Unless he learned something in Italy I assume that means he’s volunteered me for breakfast duty.”  Saturday morning breakfasts had been a tradition of theirs for most of Bae’s childhood.  Milah had liked to sleep in, so it had usually been the two of them.  It would be nice to cook for his boy again.  And to cook breakfast for Belle for the first time.

“We’ll make him wash the dishes,” Belle said with a grin and a wink before she closed the door behind her.  Gold walked on to his room, closing the door behind him.  He was no less awake then he had been, but his mind felt more focused.  He took out the notepad he always carried with him and a pen, and started to write the story of a selkie in love.  It wasn’t the type of story he usually wrote, but it was a familiar tale and flowed quickly.  Perhaps he’d talk to Bae about doing up a few illustrations.  It would make a nice gift for Belle. And Ruby, of course.

II

The sound of howling woke him.  Looking at his clock he realized that it was a little before eight.  It took him a moment later to realize that the noise was a little girl declaring that she was awake.  Since he didn’t hear any other noises he hurried from his bed to the room across the hall.  Perhaps he would be able to let Belle sleep a little longer, she could do with a lie in.

“I’m looking for a little girl to help me make some pancakes, but all I hear is a wolf.”  He stood in the doorway to Ruby’s room, where she stood up on her bed.  It was a tiny thing no full sized person could possibly lay down on.  Gold knew that the mattress had been part of Ruby’s bed before the move.

“Good, my good, my good.”  Ruby’s cries of delight were slightly quieter than her howls, but not by much.  Gold looked across the hall at Belle’s still closed door.

“You’ll have to be quiet if you want to make pancakes,” he cautioned.

“Ruby be quiet.  Shhh shhh shh.”  She held one chubby finger up to her mouth to demonstrate.  Gold couldn’t help but smile.  

“That’s what I like to see in a sous chef.”  He held out a hand and she was quick to respond, jumping off her bed with a level of disregard of safety that would worry him if her bed was more than a foot from the floor.  In moments her small hand was in his.  Her other hand touched his sweatpants.

“Good go night night?” she asked.

“Yes, I slept here.”  He was glad she didn’t ask any more questions as they walked down the hall past Belle and Bae’s rooms.  When they got downstairs she was quickly distracted by cracking eggs and mixing with spoons, and didn’t ask any questions about why he’d spent the night.

“So Bae wasn’t lying about the pancakes.”  Emma was the first person to come downstairs, heading straight for the coffee pot.  It seemed that she liked her morning caffeine as much as Belle and his son.  Ruby hadn’t been patient enough for him to make his usual tea.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this.  Hopefully they’re edible,” he said with a shrug.  He hadn’t spent more than a few minutes alone with Emma.  She seemed nice enough, and certainly being around her made Bae happy, but it always took him time to get used to people.  To call his social circle limited would be generous.

“I remember the first time my dad tried making pancakes for me.  They were black on one side and raw in the middle but I ate them.”  Emma took a mug from the cabinet and poured herself a cup of coffee, adding some of the flavored creamer Belle always had in the fridge.

“Was your mom usually the one that made the pancakes?” He asked, only half paying attention.  Ruby was sitting on the edge of the counter and half of his focus was on making sure she didn’t decide at any moment to try jumping.

“Nah, she’s a teacher so mornings were not a leisure time for her.  She’d already left for work that day, I think.  I’d only been with them for a couple of weeks and David was kind of going overboard on trying to fit in as many ‘normal’ kid things as he could.  He still can’t make a decent pancake but he was a great softball coach.”  Emma settled at one of the stools on the side of the counter, both hands wrapped around her mug.

“You’re adopted.”  For a moment all of his focus was on her, and he could see a look in her eyes that he recognized from his own years in foster care.  He hadn’t seen it before.  

“My mom likes to say that we were always a family, it just took us time to find each other.  She’s big on fairy tales.  Sometimes I think she forgets that I lived anywhere before them.”  Emma took a sip of her coffee.  “I hope you don’t mind, but Bae mentioned that you were in the system too.”

“Yeah.”  He didn’t remember his mother.  Malcolm had been interested in him as long as he was young and cute and a good distraction while he worked his cons, but once he’d gotten too older he’d become less useful and asked too many questions.  He’d spent most of his time in group homes until Penny and Flo had taken him in just before his sixteenth birthday.  They had taken their role as foster parents very seriously; the home he now rented to Belle had been theirs, left to him in their will.

“Belle reminds me of my mom a little.  Ruby’s a lucky kid.”

“She is.”  He remembered how nervous Belle had been in the beginning.  She had worried about Ruby’s happiness and what was best for the baby, but had never said a word about her own plans changing so completely.  

“Ruby lucky,” the little girl agreed, waving around a spoon and flinging pancake batter everywhere.  “Ruby want pancake.”

“Soon,”  Gold promised, glad of the distraction.  “We have to cook them first.”

“Ruby want m’Belle.”

“Belle is sleeping.”  He knew how rare it was for Belle to be able to sleep in.

“Bae’s sleeping too, but he doesn’t need to be.  How about we go get him up, Rubes?  Want to help me?”  Emma downed the rest of her coffee and reached for the girl who eagerly jumped at her.  Emma settled her on her hip.  “Figured this breakfast thing might go smoother without the pancake batter flying everywhere and Bae will sleep ‘til noon if we leave him alone.”

“Thank you.”  He would be less worried about the griddle without Ruby being so close, and he might even be able to make himself that cup of tea.  For a moment when she turned to walk away Gold’s heart skipped a beat.  Someday, whether it was with Emma or someone else, Bae would have a child of his own.  A family that, he hoped, would visit him.  He hadn’t thought much of grandchildren before.  For so long his family had simply been himself and Bae.  It seemed to be growing.

“Do I smell pancakes?”  He expected Bae and Emma to come into the kitchen, but a few minutes later it was Belle that appeared, wrapped in a robe but wearing the same sea green pajamas underneath that she had worn the night before.  “And coffee too?  Bless you.”

“Emma made the coffee.”  He looked down at his pancakes more intently then necessary, checking to see if they needed to be turned.  He’d lived down the hall from her for almost a year and a half and had seen her early in the morning and late at night.  Somehow, though, seeing her barefoot in the kitchen with her hair clearly tousled from sleep felt almost too intimate.  It was too easy to think about the fact that she had been in a warm bed only minutes ago.  His bed, though he hadn’t slept in it for years.  “Everyone else should be down soon and we can eat.”

“Have I mentioned yet how glad I am you stayed?”  She padded through the kitchen towards the coffee maker, her bare feet not making a sound.  After she poured herself a mug she came to stand next to him, close enough to touch if he leaned to the side just a little.  He didn’t.  

“I…”

“Anyone looking for a tickle monster?  Because I caught one.”  Bae came into the kitchen with a laugh, holding an upside down Ruby insisting that she wasn’t a monster.  Emma followed immediately behind declaring that Bae had earned whatever he’d gotten and that a tickling from a two year old was way better than a pitcher of ice water. The sudden chaos only settled down when everyone sat at the table and whatever he had been about the say to Belle was long forgotten.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #315

“can’t breathe to scream  /  suffocating in this dream  /  long way down”

Who was your first big crush? I would probably say this guy in high school named Sebastian. We sat beside each other in Art, and I definitely liked him a lot. Man, my freshman-sophomore years honestly involved a handful of crushes before Jason popped into the picture and I lost all romantic interest in everyone else. Where was the first place you drove after you got your license? N/A Is it a blue sky outside right now? No. All North Carolina has known for weeks on end now is rain. We've had very rare sunny days, but for the most part, it's just gray and gross. Was your last breakup a bad one? Nah, I'd say it ended maturely and with a mutual understanding of "why." When was the last time you were surprised, in a pleasant way? Hell if I know. Is there an ice-cream flavor that you strongly dislike? Which one? Yeah, like strawberry. What was the last sitcom you watched? No clue. ^ Do you have a favorite character in that sitcom? Why is that character your favorite? N/A What does the last group you joined on Facebook concern? I am 90% sure it was this group I joined that is literally just about cute yet dangerous animals lmao, mostly reptiles and invertebrates. "Misunderstood biteybois and where to befriemd them" or some stupid shit like that. Has there been a spider in your house at any time recently? Not that I've seen, no. Do you like wearing make-up? Not at all. I only like wearing it for pictures and then taking that shit off. ^ If so, how old were you when you first started to wear it? I started consistently wearing it my freshman year of high school. Then some time later I just showed up one day without any, shocked all my friends, and then only wore it when I felt like it. What foods are you craving lately, if any? Nothing, really. What were some of your favorite foods as a child? Chicken nuggets of course, as well as spaghetti, peanut butter sandwiches, just the typical stuff that kids tend to enjoy. When you were younger, did you ever have a friend that your parents hated? No. Have you ever talked in your sleep before? That's very normal for me, especially now that I have nightmares like every goddamn night. What was the last song you heard, that reminded you of someone? Well, not a real someone, but "The Ordinary World" by the Hit House is 110% one of Fetch's soon-to-be themes. What has brought you joy today? Nothing brought me "joy," really. When was the last time you won a prize in a raffle? What was it? I actually recently won an art rafle on deviantART hosted by a truly amazing artist, like I thought I had no chance, and she's going to be drawing Moondust!!!! :'''') What is the next non-essential item that you intend to buy for yourself? I'm still paying the bulk of my tattoo in May. Is there anywhere in your town/city that's rumored to be haunted? Oh, I'm sure. When you were younger, did you ever think that a certain place was haunted? Bitch I still do lmao. What were your school meals like? Did you enjoy them? This really depended on the menu for the day. My school lunches were nowhere near as bad as some people make theirs sound, but most things still weren't great. I think school pizzas are the most notoriously bad. What kind of granola bar did you eat most recently? I had a cashew bar earlier today. Do you have any books on your shelf that you've read multiple times? I never reread books. What did your last post on social media concern? That I personally wrote, something regarding subtle racism still being racism, pretty much. How do you feel about people using graphic images as a scare tactic to promote their beliefs? (i.e.: PETA, abortion…) I have mixed feelings on this. Like sometimes seeing the brutal side of certain things is definitely useful in opening someone's mind to things they don't want to see/think about, but then there's that, too: it can just be so invasive and unexpected, and thus very upsetting and even scarring. I'd say I'm most for the "appropriate" social media route: using censorship that the viewer can decide whether or not to remove. But you obviously can't do that in like, a public protest with a sign, so idk. Which is harder for you: writing creatively or academically? Honestly, both are pretty easy for me. I enjoy writing creatively far more, though. Do you think gender neutral bathrooms are a good idea? I think it's fine to have them as an option. When was the last time you voluntarily went outside of your comfort zone? Just talking about stuff in group therapy recently. Would you ever use a dating site that costs money, like Match.com or eHarmony? Have you known anyone who had good experience with such sites? No, and yes. Do you think it’s fair that people are able to make a reasonable salary and live comfortable lives just by making YouTube videos? Yes? It takes charisma and talent in some area (humor, education, etc.) as well as consistency for it to be a reliable career, and just consider how often you hear about creators burning out. That happens for a reason. Entertainment is a valid job category and should not be seen as an unfair joke. Whether you’re in college or not, do you become fearful about whether or not you’ll find a good job? Story of my life. What is something you can only understand if you've experienced it first hand? Deep heartbreak. Do you think it's a double standard that a woman can hit a man and expect to get away with it, but if a man hits a woman it's assault? Obviously. Abuse knows no gender, and hitting another person is just that. I do, however, believe in self-defense, also regardless of gender. In terms of a wedding, put these things in order from what would be MOST important to be perfect, to LEAST important... Engagement ring, dress, hair, venue, ceremony, food, pictures, decorations, honeymoon. This requires too much thinking, haha... but I do know the quality of my honeymoon would be most important to me, given that that's personal time with my new spouse and not a public celebration. I feel like what goes on behind closed doors is more important and heartfelt than how you act publicly. Do you have a go-to small talk conversation topic? Probably video games or music, idk. Define "small talk." Does anyone owe you money? Do you owe anyone money? (Besides credit cards) Mom does. She just a few days ago had to borrow $100 for rent. If someone was going to buy you any practical gift (anything except a house or car), what would you choose? It'd be dope as fuck if someone could pay for Venus' next terrarium, but that's a big purchase that I'd have a hard time accepting. How many people do you know with the same first name as you? At least one, but her name is spelled differently. What in your opinion is the best love song ever written? I'm not sure, but I can tell you that "When It's Love" by Van Halen has always been high on the list for me. Was your mother married when she had you? No, actually. I thought she was until my most recent bday, I think. It was just part of a conversation. How old was the first person you kissed? He was a few months into 18. The first person you were in a relationship with, do you still care about them? Of course, he's a sweet guy. We don't talk or anything, but that doesn't mean I don't care about him. Has anyone ever sang to you? Yes. So, what if you married the last person you kissed? That'd be pretty rad. What are you listening to at the moment? "Long Way Down" from the The Evil Within soundtrack. It's funny, like I've loved the game for many years, but I'm now in a serious semi-obsession phase after watching another let's play of it. Have you read the The Hunger Games trilogy? I only read the first book. I loved it, but just never continued. What is your boss’ (or school prinicpal’s) name? N/A Who is the person you dislike the most? That I personally know, probably a former best friend, oddly enough. Do you text your parents often? If Mom's not home, it's not unusual for us to text. I don't text my dad much because he's not a fan of texting. Do you watch YouTube videos often? Pretty much always. Do you know anyone with celiac disease? Sara, my aunt, and my cousin. Those are the ones I know of, anyway. Do you currently have any alarms set? No. How many cars can fit in your driveway? Barely even two. If someone else is here, they usually just park where the road meets the sidewalk of the cul-de-sac. Do you have the ashes of a family member or a pet? Of my dog Teddy, yes. Have you ever been involved in a car crash? Yes, as a kid. Do you prefer flash or no flash on a camera? Definitely no flash. It's more natural, and especially with people, it obviously prevents red eye. How often do you use hashtags? Just about never. Have you ever had whiplash before? No. Have you ever given another person or an animal a bath before? Pets, yes. I could never bathe another human. Is there a birdbath in your yard? No. Weirdest place you’ve ever had a cramp? Nowhere weird, I think... How many lamps are in the room you’re in? How many are actually turned on? Technically three, if you count my snake's heat lamp. Right now that's the only light that's on. Are there any activities you enjoy doing, but can only do for a short amount of time before you get bored or tired of them? Yeah, reading comes to mind first. Is there anything coming out soon (books, albums, movies, video games) that you're looking forward to? I'm not up-to-date on this stuff at all, not even video games. What is something someone recommended to you that you disliked/hated? I know Girt's recommended me music I haven't been a fan of. We like the same general stuff, but there are specific sub-genres we differ in opinion about. Can you unwrap a Starburst in your mouth? ... There are people who do this to even know in the first place??? What is the last thing you ate? Popcorn. Who is your favorite person to spend time with? Sara. Do you know how to grill a steak? I don't know how to cook, period. Do you have a large dog? We don't have a dog currently, but Mom is looking for one pretty intently. We don't know the size it'll end up being. Do you like walking places? Absolutely not. I can't walk far at all without my legs starting to scream at me because leading such a sedentary lifestyle led to muscle atrophy in my legs. It's incredibly embarrassing. Are you a fan of bands most people don’t know of? That's not uncommon for me. Have you ever sent an X-Rated picture to someone? No. Do you think your voice is higher or lower than average? It's deeper than the average woman's. Do you have a pool? No, but I really, really want one... Given how easily I sweat, I would love to use swimming to strengthen my legs. I could also stop the very moment I feel I need to; it in general sounds like something I could quite easily do. How many times have you been on a plane? Ummm including the trips going back, at least six times. Favorite ice cream flavor? Oh my gooooood, if you haven't tried Ben & Jerry's "phish food"... fucking try that shit. It is innnnnncredible. Do you have a TikTok? Nope. Do you enjoy driving? Fuck no I don't. Your favorite store as a teen? Hot Topic was and still is my fave, ha. Favorite YouTuber? There's this one called Markiplier that I think's pretty cool. How many online accounts do you have? A LOT. My whole life is essentially on the computer, so... .-. Do you tend to always be in some sort of drama? Quite the opposite. Do you collect quarters from every state? No. When was the last time your living room furniture was rearranged? Not since we moved into this place. When you were little did you like watching Cartoon Network, Disney or Nickelodeon more? Disney probably topped Nickelodeon. I didn't watch much CN. Who was the last person to kiss you on the cheek? Either my niece or nephew when saying bye. Have you ever seen a magic show? Yes, as a kid. I even had a magician for my bday once. When was the last time you vomited and why? It's been a year or so. It would've been a side effect of starting a certain med that I didn't stay on because it so consistently made me sick. Where do you usually sit when you eat dinner? Either in my bed (I know) or at the dinner table if Nicole is here to eat with us. What time do you usually go to sleep at night? It's typically around 7:30-8:30, occasionally a bit later. I can't believe as a teen, it was my "rule" that I couldn't go to sleep before 10:30 because it was "too early." Nowadays, I can barely imagine regularly staying up that late. Do you avoid using public restrooms? As best as I can. I've seen some nasty shit. What’s your favorite type of cookie? Chocolate chip. How basic.

[erintoknow]

hanging from the window

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

You promised Ortega you would try this whole ‘therapy’ thing. But now that it’s time, you’d rather chew tinfoil. [In the Shadows]

[Read on AO3]

Why did you agree to this?

One moment of weakness compounded by another. Ortega doesn’t even know a tenth of what’s going on with you and yet she always knows just when to capitalize on it.

“I can’t believe they let you out of – of the hospital already.” Side-eyeing Ortega, the two of you walk down the street. “I bet you’re wrapped up like a goddamn mummy under those clothes.”

She’s carrying herself better than you expected. Her favorite electric blue sports jacket hangs around her waist, exposing her flannel top. Bruises barely visible, a patchwork of darker hues against her skin. The colors contrasting against the stark white of bandages peeking out from underneath.

Ortega was always quick to get back on her feet back in the day, wasn’t she? You think you should feel relieved but you aren’t. The sooner Ortega is back into active duty, the sooner she’s throwing herself into danger again.

“Thinking about what’s under my clothes, huh?” Ortega smirks at you, skin wrinkling around her eyes. “Eres un poco pervertido?”

You bite your lip, heat flushing your face. “F–f–fuck you!” You hastily step away from her as Ortega snickers. Narrow your eyes and cross your arms. “Don’t be so… so–so–so full of yourself, old woman. How are you even walking?”

“Hey – I’m not old.” The response is curt. Good. At least you can still get under her skin somehow. “And;” she winks at you, “that’s a secret.”

“A secret.” You sigh. “I bet they just k–kicked you out for making passes at–at–at all the doctors.”

Ortega cackles, then winces with a sharp intake of breath. “Ow! Don’t make me laugh that hard.” Her smug face beams over at you. “You know me so well, Ariadne.”

“W–whatever.”

“You ready to talk about it yet?”

You stare straight ahead, keep walking. Just know she’s looking at you.

‘Ready to talk’ she asks, like it was somebody’s cat that died. Not – not you kissing her. In that elevator. Fresh out of dragging her off her hospital bed. Madness laced with desperation with an undercurrent of guilt.

“Ariadne?”

“I – I don’t know.” You admit, the air escaping your lungs. “I–I–I’m still…”

“Processing.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Ortega’s voice is soft, barely audible against the city noise. “How’ve you been otherwise? Hanging in there?”

“H–h–how have I been? I - I am - It’s fine.” You lie. “I – I’m not the, uh, the one that needs a month more of bedrest.”

Ortega’s response is immediate and self-assured. “This is more important.”

“No it’s not.” You roll your eyes. “Can’t f–f–fucking believe I let you talk me into this.” You pull ahead of her. Don’t want to see her stupid face – her stupid bruised, still healing face – creased in worry for the – the thing responsible for it. A dull throbbing ache still vibrates through your legs with each step. Sore muscles still burning. Might have pulled a few things. Mementos of the fiasco at the Gala. Ones you can’t dare let show around Ortega.

“Ari, it’s going to be okay. This is going to help, I promise.” Can hear her quicken her pace to keep up with you. A hand catches your shoulder and you freeze, stock-still and ridge. “I know it’s scary.”

“I’m not scared!”

“Uh-huh.” Ortega steps around you, into your field of vision. “Trust me. Okay?” When you don’t respond, don’t take the hand she holds out to you, she sighs. “Just… at least give it a try. For me?”

You close your eyes. After everything you’ve done, don’t you… owe her something? “F–fine.” You relent. Take her hand. Let her drag you onwards towards your doom.

You’re not sure what you expected for a therapist’s dungeon. Some kind of marble temple with jail bars on the windows, maybe. Not… “This looks like somebody’s house.”

“Private practice.” Ortega offers, as if that explains anything. “She specializes in helping, well, you know.” Ortega shrugs, smiles at you in some fashion you can only assume is meant to be reassuring.

“Oh.” You answer. No, you don’t know.

Specializes in what?

In what Ortega?

Goddamnit.

“Is this… who you see?”

“Oh uh,” She avoids looking at you. “No, The guy I see is in a different part of the city. But Dr. Finch is pretty well recommended. And…”

“You thought it was better we didn’t – um. Share therapists.”

“Yeah.”

What is she afraid of? That’ll you read the guy’s mind? Find out some secret of hers? That’s – you almost laugh. Still…

“Okay. Um…” You chew your cheek. Don’t want to step forward. Caught between the threshold and Ortega’s side.

“I’ll wait out here. We can get something for lunch, maybe, when you’re done?” Ortega looks like she’s about to hug you so you quickly step away. Towards the door.

“Okay.” You manage get out. “You... you–you–you better still be here!”

“Hey,” She smiles at you, “You know me.”

Oh god.

–––

The woman before you holds out a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Ariadne.” Dr. Finch is… not exactly what you expected. No lab coat. No cold distance. She’s a short woman, roughly middle-age at your best guess. With a grey cardigan over a light blue blouse and a pair of glasses adorning her face that match the emerald ear studs.

You keep your hands to yourself. Shrinking into the oversized seat you were offered.

Dr. Finch lets her hand drop, a smile still on her face. “Is it alright with you, if I take notes? It helps me remember, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

It’s a little late for that. And It’s not like it matters. It’s never mattered what you said before.

You don’t say that, however. Shrug your shoulders, avoid looking in her direction as she sits down. Can pick up a note of concern and then she sets her notebook aside. “We’ll revisit the notes question later then.”

Huh.

What’s her game here?

“Are there any questions you have for me? Anything I can do to help you be more comfortable?”

Don’t answer her right away, instead glance towards the lamp hanging from the ceiling. Suppose you could ask… It’d be a simple enough test. Put a hand towards your sunglasses. “Um. Can you… make it darker? S–sorry.”

“That’s no problem at all.” She reaches over to a dial on the wall. As she turns, the light grows dimmer, until it’s barely on at all. “Is that any better?”

“That’s… thanks.” What is this lady’s deal? God. Why are you here? This is crazy. Worse than that, this is dangerous.

“So, I know we talked briefly on the phone,” Very briefly. “But I want to start by reminding you that this is completely confidential. Nothing you say here leaves this room.”

You frown. “Unless you think I’m a danger. To – to somebody.”

“Or yourself, that’s true. Only in cases where immediate intervention is called for.”

Cross your arms, don’t meet her eyes, don’t let her win. “Hrm.”

“Your confidentiality is important to me. It’s not the kind of decision that’s made lightly.”

And who gets to decide that?

“Why don’t we start, then? What do you want to talk about today?”

You blink, frowning. That’s… not how your interrogations have typically started.

“This is your time, Ariadne. You get to set the pace.”

Oh god it’s like she can – but no, she’s not a telepath. There’s no way. You’d notice something like that. Right? Right??

Dr. Finch’s smile doesn’t falter. “Maybe start with something about yourself? What you like to do, something you’ve learned today. It can be anything.”

You shrink back into the seat. “I… I don’t know. Um…” You’ve waited out interrogators before. You can do it again. Standard practice. You are a trained professional. She’s what? Some lady with a degree? Big deal.

Dr. Finch sits back in her chair. Smiles politely every time you glance in her direction.

She stays quiet.

You grit your teeth.

Fuck.

You glance down, studying your shoes. They’re old for sneakers at this point. Starting to peel apart at the seams. Like you, you suppose. Maybe it’s time to start putting more work in your appearance. If only to keep from ending up in more rooms like this one.

Still she’s not saying anything else, jesus christ. Can skim her thoughts. She’s curious. Comparing your behaviour – fuck, are you kidding, even doing this is giving her something to analyze you with, fuck this sucks.

“Look, I... “ You bite back the words in your throat. “I d–don’t know what you want. I’m only here because I promised Ortega.”

“The only thing I want to do is to give you a space to talk, Ariadne.”

“B–bullshit.” You spit back. “You don’t – you don’t care. You’re paid to care.”

“I know this can be scary, Ariadne. But I hope you’ll give me the chance to prove that I do care.” She pauses, purses her lips in thought. “This isn’t your first time with a therapist, is it?”

Shit. How–?

You grit your teeth, hissing out air. “No.”

“Those other times weren’t very pleasant, were they?”

Fucking hell.

You avoid looking at her. “No.”

“I’m sorry that happened. You deserve better than that.” Do you? “And I’m proud of you for being brave enough to still come see me.”

“Don’t – don’t patronize me.” You hiss at her, pulling your legs up onto the couch to press against your chest. “There’s… there’s nothing brave about being forced to come here.”

“Ariadne, no one’s making you be here. You can end the session and leave whenever you want.”

That gets your attention again, you jerk your head up studying her face. Nothing contradicting her thoughts.

“This is your space. It’s only helpful as long as you want to be here.” She catches your eye, tilts her head with a smile. “I can’t make you stay.”

You chew your lip. “F–fine. Then… I’m done.”

“Okay.”

You stare at her. “Serious?”

“I’m serious.” She doesn’t seem to be lying. Doesn’t seem to be trying to trick you. It’s… weird.

Stretch out your legs, stand up. Still watching her watching you. She doesn’t move to stop you. Doesn’t even raise a hand. You frown. What is her deal? What the hell is this?

“W–what about - um… What about Ortega?” She’s the only reason you’re here to begin with. Why are you even subjecting yourself to this whole farce. Because she thinks you need help – thinks Ariadne needs help.

Dr. Finch shakes her head. “This is completely voluntary. She can’t make you do something you don’t want to do.”

“Hah.” Clearly she hasn’t actually met Julia Ortega.

Standing there, you feel frozen in amber, or caught between mirrors.

You sit back down, cough, clear your throat. “This is… it's, um, just a trial. Okay?”

Dr. Finch nods. “That’s all I ask.”

You frown at that. Let your eyes search the room as the silence settles back over between the two of you. “Did… Ortega tell you anything? About... “ You break off your sentence, can’t finish it.

“I’d rather hear it from you.”

“Oh.” Don’t know what to make of that. “Why?”

“Your friend may have pressured you to come here, but you chose to sit back down for a reason. Am I wrong?”

“I…” The words catch in your throat and your mind blanks. You shut your eyes, shake your head. Fingers dig into your legs. “Maybe?” Your voice cracks. “I don’t – how can, um, can anyone ever just… talk about this? I don’t know how.”

Dr. Finch’s voice is quiet and yet it cuts across the room, “You’ve already started.”

“Don’t – don’t give me that bullshit.” You groan, pressing a hand to your face. “I – I don’t even – I mean. Why is she still trying to help me?”

“She?”

“You know who!” The hand migrates up to your hair, pulling at the curls. “Ortega.”

Dr. Finch stays quiet. Waiting you out?

It’s pointless. This whole thing is pointless. Ortega has no fucking idea what kind of monster kissed her. Thinking about it now makes your skin crawl. “God I – fuck, I’m so stupid.” Strands of hair come loose in your hand, a single white hair presents itself for inspection. “Or she is. Or – or – or both, fuck.”

When it becomes apparent you aren’t going to continue, Dr. Finch shifts in her seat Concern radiating off her. “What makes you say that?”

Fucking hell.

You bite your lip, hard enough to hurt. Throat tight, choking out the words. Shake your head as they refuse to come. How can anyone be expected to understand?

–––

“Hola.” Ortega raises a hand to catch your attention as you step back out onto the street.

You finish putting your sunglasses back on and wave back to her. “Hola.” Your voice feels weak, throat still hurting. Your return wave is similarly weak and half-hearted. Still need to steel yourself to face the world again.

“So… how was she?”

You huff, look away from the anxious expression on her face. “She’s… okay. I – I guess.” You shrug. You still feel raw, exposed. Liable to collapse.

“See? I knew you’d like her.” You glance back at her as she claps a hand across your back. Her smile is broad and infectious.

You try to hide your own smile, push her hand away with a scowl. “Y–yeah well. I’m not cured yet. So…”

“Nothing happens overnight. You’ll get there Ari. I believe in you.” She sounds like she means it. The idiot. If she – if she had any idea. If she even suspected. She wouldn’t be saying that. You frown, pulling away. Ortega follows after, not quite willing to let you go yet. “I promised you lunch, right? Are you still up for it?”

“I…” You sigh, mirror her smile back. “I’m sorry, I think I uh, I need to call it a day.”

“Ari.” The concern in her voice is enough to make you wince. “At least let me get you something to take home with you, okay? I owe you.”

You want to shut that down. To make it clear she doesn’t owe you anything. Not after what you’ve done, or are continuing to do. But you don’t have the energy to fight her right now. It’s too seductive a lie to pretend she actually cares. If buying you lunch makes her happy, then fine. Nobody says you have to actually eat it.

“F–fine.” You sigh. “Um… thanks, Ortega.”

[bapyess1r]

Amphetamine

Chapter 1

Talia’s POV

A tall, dark figure stood at the backdoor entrance. “What the hell are you doin’?!” the voice said followed by the click of a pistol. I can honestly say I wanted to cry.

“Shit! I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” I was shaking, not sure whether to put the book back or try and clean up the mess I made.

“You didn’t mean to snoop through my shit?” he questioned, stepping forward into the light. He was a handsome older man with a well defined build. And I mean really well built. He had a bandage wrapped around his right arm and butterfly stitches on his prominent forehead. He looked as if he’d seen some shit. Why else would he be waving a pistol around? Just then, Marcel and the band had come to my rescue.

“Sammy stop!” I could hear Jules yell as Marcel forced his way between the two of us, his hands up in surrender. I clutched the book to my chest tightly, tearing up a little bit.

“Hey hey hey chill man! Relax! She’s with us! She’s that new vocalist I wrote you about!” He pleaded calmly as the man hit the lights and stared at my horrified face for a moment. The tension in his face eased up and with a relieved sigh he put the safety on his pistol, walking over to the island in the kitchen area.

“Shit.” he huffed, probably from getting all worked up. Marcel patted my shoulder to console me a bit and walked somewhere to grab a broom and some towels. “Sorry, sister! In my line of work, you can’t uh… ever be too careful.” He pulled a cigarette and placed it between his shapely lips before flicking a silver engraved lighter, tossing it and the pistol on the counter carelessly.

“HOW FUCKING DANGEROUS IS TREASURE HUNTING?!” I snapped suddenly, shoving the book into his broad chest rather roughly. He scoffed and turned to look after me.

“I’m so s- Hey! I said I’m sorry!” he called after me, but I was already out the door. Fiercely walking down the street, my hands were shaking, fiddling about my jacket and pants for my own cigarette and lighter. Each breath was heavy and just a little bit shaky. I almost died. I almost got shot. As I reached the community docks, I still couldn’t believe it.

“Fuckin’ A. More therapy….” I commented aggressively, crossing my arms in front of me to shield myself from the cold winds coming in off of the salty waves. I tried my best to focus on the moon and forget what just happened for my own sanity. I thought about why I came here as the laps of the water coaxed my mind into the void.

 I moved from New York, a failed performer. Not music, but dance. Ballet and Contemporary as a major. I went to school for it. Trained under the best of the best. Graduated even… I tried looking for a job and nobody would take me. Even with my recommendations. I began to feel depressed about it and suddenly didn’t want to try anymore. I moved in with my Godfather and Godmother under the conditions that I would help watch their kids and get a job as a dance teacher. So here I was in the sunshine state. The kids cheered me up for the first few weeks, teaching became my second joy. But I still felt an emptiness… my Godfather encouraged me to  practice music again after hearing me be emo in my room, my electric guitar through my speaker on low quality sound and soft as I sang a thing I wrote. He introduced me to Marcel. He was about average height, handsome as hell, smooth cocoa skin, and a smile that blinded like a million watts. The wrinkles near his eyes gave away that he might’ve been a tad older than me (26). He was 35. Marcel brought me to the rest of the band. Jules on keys was a skinny Courtney Love looking girl with green eyes. She was also 30. The only one closer to my age was their drummer Louie. He rocked a buzz cut and Jason Vorhees tee almost every day. He was 29. The only one who was missing was their guitar player. He was the eldest of the members and currently away for business. After they told me about him, I never questioned it again. I actually forgot he was a thing until tonight…

“Excuse me.” said a familiar voice, pulling me from my thoughts almost immediately. When I looked behind me, there he was. That man again. Subconsciously, I took a step back and he held his hands up to show himself harmless. At that moment, my cigarette had unbeknownst to me burned down to my finger and burned my fingers. I dropped it with a hiss as it tapped itself out on the concrete. “You okay?” he asked. Eyeing him, I crossed my arms again.

“I’m fine.” I said. The winds began to blow a little harder and I shivered, turning to look back out to the water. That’s when I felt heavy denim fabric cover my shoulders. I looked at him just as he backed away. It was a few minutes before I could say anything. “Thank you…”

“Not a problem. Listen… back inside I… I really am sorry.” He said. As I listened to his apology, I detected a Boston accent. If I hadn’t met him the way I did, I’d almost call it adorable. “It’s uh… It’s been a trip. I didn’t expect much adventure in this job and I was absolutely mistaken.” I took a long and suspenseful deep breath before speaking with remote interest.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Too much to tell over a smoke.” He said with a coy smirk. I gave a brief smile as I lit another cigarette. “Sam Drake.” he stuck a large rough hand out for me to shake. “Guitar and Lead Vocals.”

“Talia Aaron. Guitar and Vocals.” I said proudly, giving him a strong handshake. He raised a thick brow and scratched the stubble on his chin.

“Seems we’re at an impasse, doll.”

“Not exactly. I think we’re meant to tag team these vocals. I can hold down some rhythm while singing, you play lead, you hold down rhythm while you sing, I can hold my own on a solo if need be.”

“Woah woah woah,” he chuckled deeply. “How do I know you can even sing?”

“How do I know you can even sing?” I said, letting the smoke fall out of my mouth with a smirk. Sam pursed his lips and nodded, smoke leaving his nose then mouth as he spoke.

“Touche.” he began fiddling with the lighter between his fingers. “Well I hope you don’t mind me taking this weekend’s show from ya. It’s been a while and you haven’t heard the full band yet.” He said slickly. I turned to look at him. I mean really look at him this time. He had a rugged charm about his face. Weathered by age but still like fine wine. He was a bit beaten and bruised at the moment but I could tell it exhilarated him. I also noticed the tattoo on his neck of the four birds flocking in a circle, shone by the street lamp that finally decided to come on. His brown v neck clung to every muscle of his upper body just right. His long thick brown hair pushed back off of his chiseled face. There was something slightly youthful about him when he smiled and I felt a slow burn across my cheeks. Taking another drag of my cigarette, I nodded slowly.

“I’d love to see you play.” The words came out much flirtier than intended and it was kind of embarrassing. With a nervous chuckle, I kicked some gravel around with my heeled boots as he towered over me, staring into my eyes with a playful smile. I looked at him from beneath my false lashes and bit the inside of my cheek, turning my head to avoid giving him the satisfaction that he was totally working on me. I shook my head and put out my cigarette, shedding myself of the heavy denim jacket he’d given me. “You’d better get to practicing. You’re a little late to the party.” I cooed, opening the gate and walking briskly to my Godfather’s.

Sam’s POV

I watched her as she walked away with probably the most perfect ass I had seen in a long time. And I’ve seen plenty, believe me. I smirked as a faint feeling of lust arose in my chest. I turned back to face the ocean and took a breath of that fresh salty air before polluting it once more with another cigarette. I pulled out my phone and dialed Victor Sullivan to let him know I had touched down safely in Florida. Then I called Nathan to tell him I was home for a while. We talked about the trip and he just listened and fanboyed with me as I spoke. Then he hit me with it. “So I know you slept with somebody. You always find somebody.” he chuckled.

“Ouch, little brother!” I feigned my feelings hurt with a chuckle. “I’ll have you know I am a respectable gentleman.”

“Save the lies for the job, Sam.” Nathan laughed. It warmed my heart to hear him being healthy and happy and safe out of harm's way for once.

“How’s my niece?” I asked. Cassie: absolutely precious, such a sweetheart.

“She asked about you just before bed actually. I’m sure she’ll be glad to know that you’re back safe and sound.” he responded. I hung my head feeling a tad bit guilty.

“Eh… for now anyways.” I said taking a drag.

“What- you got another job already?!” he sounded surprised honestly. As much as I complained about my joints and my back hurting lately.

“Not yet, little brother. I’m home for now…” I told him, suddenly thinking about the new girl with a faint smile. “I plan on recovering for a couple months… I’ll see about a job then after I’m all healed up.” I tossed my cigarette into the ocean and headed home.

“Alright then.” he said. Suddenly, I could hear Elena calling him in the background in a harsh tone.

“Sheesh… She sounds pissed- what’d you do?” I chuckled.

“Not the laundry. Gotta go! Take care, Sam.”

“Be good, little brother.” I said before I heard the line drop on his end.

I hung up as I arrived at my garage still filled with my boneheaded bandmates. “What the hell are ya still doin’ here?! It’s so late!” I chuckled, arms open wide to what felt like my second family .

“We missed you!” Jules squealed, getting up to hug me. I cooed as I embraced her small frame and accepted the glass of whiskey handed to me by my good friend Marcel.

“So…” he began.

“What?” I asked absolutely cluelessly as I sipped on the Tennessee whisky.

“Talia?” Marcel was grinning from ear to ear. Clearly more excited about her than I was. Hell I didn’t know the girl. But my face betrayed me with a slick smirk and an almost perverse chuckle. “Fire, right?!”

“I mean yeah! She’s a good lookin’ girl! A bit on the young side… I haven’t heard her sing yet so I can’t determine just yet.” I said, trying not to make a fool of myself with the slight school boy feeling I got by just thinking about her.

The four of us spent the night drinking and talking until the sunrise. And as much as I loved them, all I wanted was a hot shower and a long nap in my own bed under my own roof so eventually I had to kick em out. Walking back into my home, I looked around, finally settling in and getting used to being home again. I kicked off my boots and let my limbs hang off the couch. Every muscle, bone, and joint in my body began to scream at me. “Ugh…. I hate to say it but…. I’m definitely getting too old for this.” I groaned as the alcohol began to send me off to sleep.

[myhockeyworld87]

Nervous Regrets - Tyler Seguin - Part 5

Requested: No

Word Count: 2838

Warning: Not really anything, maybe cursing at this point I think I at least use one swear word in if not more..haha

POV: Tyler

Notes: The next couple pieces are a bit fluffy. Currently working on Part 7, Part 6 will be up later this week. Also interested in maybe working on another piece, if anyone has any recommendations.

You were going to be a dad; it was the first thought that popped into your head as you opened your eyes. Though why that surprised you, you can’t be certain; as it was the last one you had before you fell asleep. What had transpired last evening was like something out of a movie. Never in a million years had you expected (Y/N) to tell you she was pregnant! That she loved you, you hoped; that you should go to hell was more likely. But never that she was carrying your baby.

It was crazy how when you heard the news; all the doubts you had about being a good father, good husband had just vanished out the window. When she uttered those words all you could think about was; is she ok, is the baby ok, only their well-being mattered. In that moment you realized that your passion for hockey waned in comparison to your need to protect them, care for them, and most of all love them. If you could have only known this three months ago. There was no changing the past now; you needed to work towards the future, a future with (Y/N) and your unborn child.

 That meant getting your ass out of bed, going to morning skate and start playing like you deserved the eight-year contract you just signed. With renewed hope, you hauled yourself to the kitchen to feed the dogs and yourself. Making yourself a healthy breakfast you caught yourself singing along to the radio playing in the background. It was the first time in months you’d actually felt alive.

 Entering the arena, a tad late, you bolted onto the ice; whizzing around getting your skating legs underneath you. The drills that had only just days ago seem mundane and useless, now skated with renewed precision. Working with your line; passes were crisper, shots perfectly placed. Taking aim at the net, you brought your stick back, cracking the puck and letting it soar past Bishop, into the net. God it felt good. “That a boy, Seggy,” Monty finally being able to cheer you on. The hour flew by, faster than when you were five-years-old; thinking it had only been ten minutes. You were last off the ice, taking a few extra practice shots before heading into the locker room. By the time you entered most of your teammates had left, a few lingered; but you sensed Jamie stayed on purpose.

 Once everyone else had taken leave Jamie finally came up to you. “So, I take it things went well last night?” He had known you were going to the charity event in hopes to see (Y/N). While he didn’t entirely approve of your methods, he was rooting for the two of you to reconcile.

 “I wouldn’t put it that way exactly. But we’re making progress.”

 “Wanna talk about it?” Needing to rehash some of last night, you nodded. Staff still milled around, and it was not a discussion that you needed everyone hearing. “I’ve gotta drop this shit off at my house then I’ll be over.” People didn’t give Jamie enough credit; he was an excellent captain, always knowing what his fellow teammates needed, always handling things with digression.

Packing up you headed back to your place; the short ride giving you time to re-evaluate. Jamie pulled in almost immediately behind you. Making coffee you began to recount your night. “I put her through hell Chubbs. You have no idea.”

 “I’m sure things haven’t been easy for her.”

 “That’s putting it mildly. The beginning of the night was an all-out battle. She doesn’t trust me, and I can’t blame her.” You described all the details of what transpired to Jamie, how she didn’t sleep for days, got dismissed from work, and finally how depression had overtaken her. There was just one last thing to mention; tiny as it might be in form, it was probably the biggest aspect of the night. “All that shit I put her through, but that wasn’t the worst thing. And, not that it’s a bad thing. Shit, I don’t even know how to say it. Or even if I should be.” Vaguely wondering who all (Y/N) had already told.

 “Segs I’m not going to say anything to anyone if that’s what you’re worried about. And trust me I’m not going to look at (Y/N) any differently.”

 “Well she’s gonna look differently.” Jamie just stared at you, your comment not making any sense at all. You had a feeling it was the look you had given when (Y/N) had said ‘we’re gone,’ last night. “She’s pregnant man, with my baby.” The possessiveness in you making you add that last part.

 “Fuck are you serious?”

 “Yeah, I was fucking stunned. And then of course I did the most stupid thing possible and asked if it was mine.”

 “Jesus, Tyler! You know that woman loves you. She would never cheat on you.” The fact that he just called you Tyler made you again realize how badly you’d screwed up last night.

 “Well it wouldn’t have been cheating, we weren’t together.” Jamie just shook his head at the stupidity of your statement. You’d tried to lessen the blow for yourself, by justifying your questioning. It rang hollow even to your ears. “You’re right I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking then. Anyway, she’s like fifteen weeks along. I would’ve thought she’d be showing by then or something.”

 “Usually happens around like twelve or sixteen weeks on a first pregnancy. Everyone’s different though” Your quizzical expression had him following up that statement. “What, my sister just had a baby, I know some shit.”

 “Well then you’re gonna teach me. I came home last night and ordered a bunch of books on Amazon.” Admittedly you might have gotten carried away downloading them all; there was, Dad’s Guide to Pregnancy for Dummies, Pregnancy: Put Yourself in her Shoes, We’re Pregnant, and Everything You Wanted To Know About Pregnancy But Were Too Afraid or Embarrassed to Ask. It was a little overwhelming, but you needed to prepare yourself. “I’m kind of at a loss on where to start.”

 Clapping you on the back, giving your shoulder a squeeze; Jamie encouraged you. “You’re gonna do great Seggy. I know my brother-in-law felt the same way, and now he’s a pro with my niece.”

 “Yeah, I hope I even get the chance. I need to get all this shit with (Y/N) figured out before the baby comes. Any ideas on how I can make that happen?”

 “Hmmm, I don’t know man. It needs to be big though. Like fucking fall on your knees beg for forgiveness type of shit.”

 “Thanks Captain Obvious. I know that already. I’ve already got flowers being delivered to her office on Monday, since I have no clue where she’s living at the moment.”

 “You need a god damn flower wall, not just a bouquet.” Jamie was right, you needed to think bigger. Something that said ‘I love you, I’m never leaving you, as well as I’ll never fucking cheat on you again, not even in a million years. That you couldn’t really buy a gift like that at the nearest mall, wasn’t lost on you. It needed to be something that showed her you were working towards your future together; moving on from past mistakes.

  Then like a light switch turning on a lamp; it hit you. “I got it!” excitement sounding in your voice. “A few weeks ago the realtor called. That house I’ve always wanted was coming on the market. (Y/N) and I have ridden past it a million times. We talked about buying it one day or building something like it. It has the perfect backyard for the dogs and kids. I’m gonna buy it, and give it to her. That is if it’s still for sale.” Getting the call weeks ago, you had dismissed the idea. That was your dream home, the place where you wanted to make your life with (Y/N); without her, at the time you just couldn’t even see contemplating it. Now, it was the perfect plan to show her where you wanted your lives to go.

 “I don’t know Segs. That seems a little….extreme.” You wouldn’t let Jamie’s reluctance sway you. “I was thinking more along the lines of like, couples’ therapy.”

 Flashing Jamie, a distasteful look, you grabbed your phone dialing the realtor’s number. A few quick questions and you set up a time tomorrow evening to view the home with (Y/N). Hanging up you gave Chubbs a pleased look. “This is gonna work man. I just feel it.”

 Continuing to shake his head at your strategy, Jamie got up to leave. “Look, I’m gonna head home and grab a nap before the game tonight. Just give it a little more thought before you follow this through. Would you Seggy?”

 “You just don’t get the beauty of it yet, Chubbs. Just wait you’ll see. I’ll talk to you tonight.” Walking him to the door, you glanced at your watch; (Y/N) should’ve called by now. Wordlessly you sent up a quick prayer that she wouldn’t back out. Throwing yourself on the couch, you watched time slowly tick by minute by painstaking minute. You let your mind drift to a time in the near future; you and (Y/N) walking into your new home, carrying a small little bundle in a car carrier. (Y/N) looked gorgeous as always, glancing down at the carrier you checked in on your new born; trying to determine if it was a boy or a girl. The ring on your phone brought you back from your imaginings. (Y/N)’s face appeared on the screen and you smiled to your empty living room.

 “Hey, babe.” It was an easy term of endearment that fell off your lips, after all the time the two of you had spent together.

 “Hey Ty. How was your morning skate?”

 This easy routine conversation felt like a million that you’d had before with her; one that you would have every time you were on the road. It was nice to feel some normalcy again. “Really great. I feel like tonight is going to be a good night for me, ya know.” You meant all those words, after practice you just had a renewed sense about the game.

 “That’s great Tyler. I’m glad you’re feeling better about hockey at least.”

 “I’m feeling better about a lot of things.” Unsaid words hung in the air. There was a long pause, as if she didn’t know what to say next and so to fill the void you added. “You wouldn’t want to come tonight, would you?”

 “Ummmm…I….Ummm…”you frowned knowing the answer she was trying to spit out; your brain already trying to work on a response. “I just don’t think I’d feel comfortable doing that yet Ty.”

 “Yeah sure, I completely understand. Plus, it’ll be noisy and loud, probably not good for the baby.” She laughed at that; the sound, music to your ears.

 “I think the baby can probably handle it, it’s got a lot surrounding it in there.”

 “Oh well, yeah…you’re probably right. Are you feeling ok today?” You hadn’t had a chance to discuss all the particulars with her; however, you’d read quickly last night that most morning sickness is over in the second trimester, which is where (Y/N) was at right now.

 “Yeah, baby and I are having a good morning.” You could almost hear the smile in her voice.

 “That’s great hun. You know we haven’t talked a lot about things, I mean where the baby’s concerned. I realized that when I was talking to Jamie.”

 Screaming into the phone at you, she yelled, “You told Jamie I’m pregnant!?!”

 Clearly this was another obvious mistake on your part; this was not the direction you wanted the conversation to go. You’d had enough screaming and yelling last night. “Um…Yeah. I didn’t think it’s that big of deal. I mean your friends know right?”

 “No Tyler, I haven’t fucking told a sole.” This said in a much softer voice. You hadn’t really given any real credence to her not telling anyone; automatically assuming her friends had this knowledge. After all they were the ones who had taken her to the doctor’s office in the first place.

 “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just thought…well since they took you and all.” It was yet another apology you were having to make to her.

 “No…It’s fine. I should’ve said something last night. I’m sorry I yelled.” Her regret at least showed you were making some headway.

 “Babe, why haven’t you told anyone?” It was a small question and one you wanted answered. Waking up this morning you were bubbling with excitement about the news, wanting to share it. That she had kept this secret from all those she loved for three weeks, was almost unfathomable.

 A long pause prefaced her answer. “I…Ummm…I don’t know Ty. I’m scared.” The last part barely a whisper.

 You knew that giving birth could be a scary time for a woman; hell, you had a feeling that when the time came, you would never know fear like you would in that moment. Already the baby and (Y/N) meant so much to you, and you hadn’t even known for twenty-four hours. Reassuring her, you spoke. “I know it can be scary hun, but we’ll get through this, together.”

 “I think that’s what I’m scared about Ty, the together part. Like I just don’t know.” Couldn’t she realize the life the three of you would have; correction six with the dogs. It would be almost out of a storybook. Lazy summer Sundays at the lake, where you’re laying in the grass, the baby between you. Taking them home after a victory. Hell, you’d already had a crystal-clear image of more kids to come. Knowing your sins of the past, weren’t quite forgiven yet, wasn’t an obstacle you would let get in the way of all that.

 “(Y/N), I know we have a long road ahead of us, but you’ve got to know; no got to believe, we are going to get through this. I promise you.” It was a promise you would continue to make, until she knew it deep in her bones.

 “I wish I could be as certain as you.”

 “We’ll get there, babe. You’ll see.” Silence ensued after that comment, but it wasn’t a bad thing. Your arms ached wanting to hold this woman in them right now and just reassure her. After a moment, you steered the conversation elsewhere. “So, I was kind of hoping that maybe tomorrow after work we could spend some time together. I’ve got something I need to show you.”

 Grateful for the change, she answered, “Really, what’s that?”

 “Oh no, you’re not going to ruin the surprise. You’ve just got to wait and see. So, can I pick you up about seven?”

Finally relenting with a, “Yeah, sure. I’ll text you my new address.”

 It was a step you didn’t think she would take, that she did, had your heart soaring. “Excellent!”

 “Oh, I forgot to tell you. The appointment on Tuesday is at four in the afternoon. Did you want to meet me there or go together?”

 Was this really a question, you could only imagine the stares, you would receive walking in to an OB/GYN office by yourself. “Honestly, I’d feel a bit weird walking in there by myself. Could I pick you up at the office or wherever you’re going to be and we’ll go together?”

 The light chuckle she gave, told you she already knew your reply. “I had a feeling. And yes, I’ll probably be at work; so, if you wouldn’t mind coming there, that would be great.” Plans made for the next few days, your adrenaline was pumping; knowing that you’d get to see her two days in a row. “I should probably let you get a nap; you’ve got a big game.”

 Frowning, time was always too short with her. You longed for those days when she would be around constantly; sharing naps with you. Sighing, you knew that time would come soon enough. “Yeah, I probably should. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven, maybe we could grab something to eat too. Gotta keep you two healthy.” It was also an ulterior motive to be around her longer.

 “Sounds good. Have a good game Ty.”

 “Thanks, babe. I love you.” The last part automatically coming out of your mouth, but the words were always true. Silently you willed her to say them back.

 “Me too.” It wasn’t exactly the response you were looking for, but then again, she didn’t hang up on you either. Laying the phone down on the table; you focused on what tomorrow would bring, closing your eyes, dreaming of all the possibilities that your future held with (Y/N) by your side.

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Hurts to be Human (Bucky X Reader)

Okay, so I have nonstop been listening to P!nk’s new album and highly recommend it to everyone - it is what inspired this story. I couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so here it is! Thanks to @songforhema for helping my crazy ass out XD

Summary: Bucky and you had struggled for a while, maintaining a less than healthy relationship before finally deciding that maybe simply wanting someone isn’t enough anymore. So what happens when time passes, people change, but feelings never leave? (Bucky and Reader eventually get back together!)

Warnings: Angst, soft Bucky (bits here and there starting off, but more will come up in future chapters!), heart ache, slow love, cussing. This story has Reader and Bucky working through trauma, so there will be references to anxiety attacks, nightmares, etc. If it’s more than referenced in a particular chapter, I will let you know in that chapter.

Prologue

Everything felt heavy, weighed down by the tension in the small living room. It was as if the very air itself was anchored to the ground rather than allowed to roam freely. A fog of anger, turmoil, and regret created this stench of bitterness as the two stared each other down. Both wanted the other to take the first step, to crack under the pressure of the other.

Both were impossibly stubborn.

“Enough.” His voice came out low, a growl that made Y/N clench her jaw, biting back a snarky remark. Stalking towards her, his steel-blue eyes and metal arm glinting in the low lighting coming from the kitchen. Instinctively, Y/N took a step back, wanting to keep her distance. He stopped, his scowl wavering when he noticed the flash of fear in her e/c eyes and the way she reached for the knife strapped to her thigh. Again. Blinking slowly, he ran a hand through his hair, his flesh hand fisting around the roots and tugging as he tried to clear his head and distract himself from a now natural occurrence.

Again — they stood in their home, fighting.

Again — neither one wanted to back down.

Again — cutting each other where it hurt and using weaknesses against one another.

Nothing was changing and he was as much to blame as she was.

“Y/N,” he breathed, closing his eyes. Releasing his hair, he focused his gaze on her, piercing through her soul. “What are we doing?”

Her shoulders sank. It was as if the air was pinning her down, forcing her to stay within the confines of the room. “I —“ Her voice dropped as she released her weaponry. “I don’t know anymore.” Taking a shaky breath, she gestured to everything around them. The room was…a mess. The lamp was knocked over, shattered on the floor. The coffee table was flipped over and the end table now had a broken leg and was lying on its side. The couch was a mess, its pillows all over the room and one was currently threatening to knock over their tv. “Jesus, Buck,” she murmured, eyes staring keenly at the mess. “I don’t know.”

Bucky felt his blood run cold. This was never what he wanted. They were supposed to be there for each other, help each other become whole again. It felt like they had taken steps back, hurting one another rather than being what was supposed to be a support system. He wished he could go back to a year ago when everything was still good, or even two months ago when he could have stopped this from taking a turn for the worst. His nightmares had come back. Her anxiety attacks were occurring more and more every day. They’d stopped going to therapy for their shit, instead simply confiding in each other and watching Netflix as a form of coping.

Any progress they made had shattered these past months.

“It needs to stop.”

“No shit.” She laughed. It was pained, a way to mask her real emotions. A year ago he would have tickled her, forcing her to smile for real, laugh like there was no tomorrow. Now? He couldn’t bring himself to ask about her real feelings. No one in that room wanted to face the music.

“I can’t — I can’t even remember what we were fighting about, Y/N.” His voice was soft. He couldn’t bring himself to voice the only option it seemed they had left. Every part of his being wanted this to work. He needed this to work, but he couldn’t say it. Not unless the woman standing across from him felt the same. “Any suggestions?”

“We…” She looked up at him, blue eyes meeting e/c. Their eyes shimmered mutually. She knew he wouldn’t be the one to take that next step. Bucky was loyal, dedicated. If there was a hope or possibility of making something work, Bucky would take the option. He wanted a life, something good and happy, and she couldn’t deny him that. He deserved someone immeasurable. It felt like she had broken him, taken all his progress and crushed it in her hands, watching him crumble. Why couldn’t I have stopped this sooner? She couldn’t voice what she wanted, that she wanted to make this work because she was just as broken as he. If she voiced what she wanted, then he’d stay.

And they’d kill each other.

“We need to end this.”

“The argument?” He hated how needy he sounded, how desperate. Bucky hoped that was what she meant, but he knew better. She meant —

“Us.”

There it was. Almost a year of friendship followed by a year of a relationship was coming to a screeching halt. It felt like a car accident except, rather than watching it, he was locked in the car with no way to change course.  Bitterly, he grumbled, “Makes sense.”

Her heart twisted. It felt like he���d reached inside her chest and was squeezing her heart with that metal hand. Part of her wanted him to fight, beg that they work this out, but that was selfish. She couldn’t do it. Not to him. Clearing her throat, she stepped around him and whispered, “I should go.”

“Y/N —“

“You and Sam are going on that mission tomorrow.” Oh yeah, that’s where the fight came from. Their missions. It seemed like for the umpteenth time that their argument went astray and they rather took jabs at one another. He didn’t want her going on one alone like she’d been selected even though he could come and go whenever he pleased. She called it a ‘double standard’ and ‘sexist’. “By the time you get back, my stuff will be gone.”

His words caught in his throat, wrapping around his windpipe and squeezing with a vice-like grip. There was no arguing, no beating this. They had fucked each other over, royally. All he could do was watch you walk out the door, closing the door with the smallest ‘click’ he’d ever heard. He stood in the empty, destroyed apartment, only just realizing the weight of their actions and arguments. His legs gave out and he fell to the floor, unable to wrap his brain around what had happened. So much had changed in such a short period. Still, he could remember when she first spent the night, giggling and running through the apartment as he pursued her. Still, he recalled when he’d asked her to move in and her way of saying yes was having sex on the kitchen counter…against the wall…on the couch…and the floor. Everything about the place screamed Y/N now that she had left and now when he got back, the only thing that would be left were memories.

God, he needed to talk to Sam about getting a new place.

Chapter One - Time Heals All Wound? I Call Bullshit.

[dopescotlandwarrior]

West Bound

Claire Beauchamp is leaving Boston and moving her surgical practice and horses to Arizona. Jamie Fraser is a world-class champion who leads Claire back to a passion she gave up when the wrong man said I love you. Trouble finds Claire in the cut-throat, competitive sport of the equestrian but she has Jamie, Angus, and Rupert behind her.

AO3

Ch-2   Ch-3   Ch-4   Ch-5   Ch-6   Ch-7   Ch-8 

Chapter One

Driving across the country alone can be daunting, especially if you are a young woman alone, pulling two horses. When Claire decided to escape Boston and move out west she planned meticulously, analyzed her vehicle and trailer options, and found the most suitable barn once she arrived. She sold her brownstone fully furnished. The only possessions going with her were her clothes, tack, and horses. She also purchased a new cowboy hat and a new pair of sexy sunglasses. She looked at her tight jeans and western shirt, put her hat and glasses on, and decided by the time she reached Arizona they would feel like a second skin. She still had trouble walking in anything less than a three-inch heel but that would come with practice.

Yesterday she turned the keys of her surgical practice over to the new owners without a second thought. Same with closing on her home last week for a cool 1.8 million cash. There was no sentimental pull or sadness. She felt utterly detached from her home of twenty-five years. Whatever made her feel so cold inside she hoped would be cured in Arizona. The last item on her list was to load the horses and get on the road. It was four o’clock in the morning.

Claire carried her grooming and wrapping bucket into the first stall and was greeted with a horse hug from Fred. She paused and hugged him coo’ing about their adventure. Fifteen minutes later she got the same hug from Ginger and got busy brushing, braiding, and wrapping tail and legs. “Don’t you two look fancy!” She led Fred to the trailer and walked him up the ramp and snapped him in. He was overjoyed at the heap of hay in the feeder and started eating. Next came Ginger up the ramp, a little more nervous but Claire was gentle and reassuring. With everything stowed Claire pulled out of the stables for the last time.

She loved this truck, a full-sized Ram with a matching trailer. The luxury interior package included ergonomic seats, blue tooth in the steering wheel, navigation, rear video, interior trailer video, and a bunch of stuff she had not found yet. All on voice command. “Change to interior video.” Claire watched Fred and Ginger munch on their breakfast. “You guys look happy. Here we go.”

She would drive for twelve hours stopping for 30 minutes to let the horses out at mid-day. She had reservations for each night at a B&B that also rented stalls and came recommended by her equestrian association for safety. Fred and Ginger were very special horses that were trained for therapy. Chosen for their docile and loving nature they were among the first group of horses trained at the equestrian therapeutics Institute. “And I’m taking them to Arizona,” she said with a giggle.

Claire had romanticized the first sunrise of her new life seeing the light coming up on a sleeping city as she barreled down the freeway. Reality is sometimes disappointing as commuters swarmed her on all four sides making her head whip between her mirrors and the video trying to negotiate each lane change. She saw her exit coming up fast and had two death-defying lanes to cross and no friendly commuters to allow her to move over. She was covered in sweat but made the exit and took a deep calming breath. “Holy shit.”

The drive became much easier once she was out of commuter traffic. She set the cruise control, popped in a CD and opened her window. “interior video,” all she saw was horse teeth as Ginger was tasting the little camera above her head. “What a goofball.”

Claire gripped the steering wheel when she pulled into the B&B. She was so tired she almost fell out of the truck when the door opened. She hurried to register and get the horses out of the trailer. It was a beautiful property with ample outdoor lighting. The owners offered her use of the arena and Claire was grateful. Once both were inside she closed the gate and clapped her hands sending them both speeding, bucking, and snorting around the large arena. Claire laughed at the high tails and swinging heads, pure horse happiness after a long stressful day. Ginger loped up to her and spread frothy goobers down her face. “Ew, Jesus Ginger!”

Once Fred and Ginger were safe in their stalls with food and water Claire got to her room, grabbed a robe and towel and headed for a hot shower. The soap smelled heavenly, the water was soft and Claire started to relax. Then the lights went out and the water turned ice cold. She shrieked trying to find the faucets in the dark to turn the water off. Groping for the towel, then her robe, then the door handle. She saw little emergency lights along the hall. Thank God she thought as she shivered down the hall looking for her room. She bumped into the manager in the hall and he used a flashlight to help her find her room. He pointed to a battery-operated light on the desk and she had enough light to find the bed. Fatigue pulled her to a blissfully dreamless sleep. At three o’clock in the morning, the power came back on and her room lit up with multiple lamps. She turned them off quickly and jumped back in bed squeezing her eyes shut and waiting. “Damn it! I really need a few more hours,” she whined.

The safety locks snapped down on the trailer doors, horses were brushed and re-wrapped and the Dodge roared to life. Claire was tired but anxious to put another two states behind her. She had one hour of unimpeded travel before the swarms of commuters came from all directions. Traffic slowed to a crawl for ten miles and finally opened up for normal speeds. She set the cruise, turned up the music, opened her window and felt the first pang of…what? Loneliness, sadness, loss, yearning? She couldn’t decide so she turned the music up louder, checked the video, and pushed the petal. Why not? She never had a speeding ticket in her twenty-five years. She was due. She set the cruise at 75 and sang to the music. She felt absolutely wicked speeding down the highway and hadn’t noticed the speed limit postings were 75 MPH.

Another B&B, another early rise to load the horses and another long highway stretched before her. She saw the signs to Phoenix on the fourth day and let out a whoop! Followed by Fred kicking the trailer sides in protest. She turned the interior video on and blew kisses to her favorite couple. “We are almost home you guys!”

Mid-afternoon she followed the exit to Mesa and headed East. Traffic was light and she looked at the buildings along the highway. She wondered if she would travel this highway a lot in the future. She flew through Mesa and finally saw her exit to Ironwood Drive. Her navigation turned her North for seven miles. She was so ready to put the horses up in their new home and then find a hotel for the night. This was the only night she didn’t prebook because she could easily find lodging for herself. She decided to find something with a huge bathtub and a full room service menu. She couldn’t wait.

She drove into the foothills and gasped at the sight in the rearview mirror. The valley floor spread out beneath her and she wondered what that must look like at night. There was desert all around her, exotic and beautiful. Tall Saguaro cactus loomed above her showing two and three arms raised in greeting she thought. Her heart was pounding as she turned into Fraser Equestrian. The place took her breath away and she stopped to just look at the multiple paddocks and pastures, deep green against the desert brown. New foals were sticking close to their mothers, and horses in the adjoining pen straining to see and smell. She pulled up the long drive and pulled next to the main barn. It was white with forest green trim and she counted twenty stall doors along one side with horses peering out half doors to look at her. It was glorious and a fitting home for Fred and Ginger.

“Good afternoon!” Claire turned to see two men walking toward her. They offered their hand to her and she shook them smiling.

“I am Claire Beauchamp, I have rented two stalls for my guys here.” They looked at the two rumps in the trailer and smiled.

“I’m Rupert and this is Angus. C’mon lets see where Jaime has put ya.” Claire followed. She spoke to Jaime Fraser on the phone from Boston and thought him friendly but a bit aloof. The bur from these two men sounded like him, so they were probably from the same area of Scotland. They walked the length of the barn without finding Jaime. The large board near the office had her name on two stalls where she was escorted.

“No, this is not what we agreed to! I rented two stalls that had doors to the outside, not interior stalls, and they have to be together.” Claire was overtired and getting upset. She wanted to be friendly but she just didn’t have it in her. Rupert suggested putting the horses up for the night and Jaime would figure it out tomorrow. Claire was too tired to argue and went to fetch Fred and Ginger from the trailer. Rupert watched her walk away with interest. He whistled low, appreciating the tight jeans, long legs, and champion ass.

“Can I help ye lass?” Claire gratefully accepted Rupert’s offer to lead Ginger to her stall.

“We can feed them tonight, what do they get?” Claire eased Fred down the ramp.

“They both get two flakes and a scoop of grain” she called. Rupert walked in a zigzag and noticed Ginger’s nose stayed three inches from his right shoulder. “Yer a good lassie, aye?”

When Claire walked Fred into his stall there was already grain and hay waiting for him. She leaned against him and dropped her head on his back. He moved into her and waited like he would with a child or challenged adult.

“I love you, Fred.”

Claire pulled out of the equestrian center and asked Siri for the closest hotel. The fourth motel Siri directed her to was as run down and frightening as the first three. Her fatigue was mounting and she did not know what to do. It was late and she just couldn’t drive anymore. She headed back to the center and curled up in the corner of Fred’s stall with a blanket. The wood chips smelled new and she was out in seconds. She dreamed of dancing with him in his shiny shoes and impeccable suit. He expertly twirled her around the dance floor. She felt graceful and adored, with her skirt flowed up her legs as he spun her.

“Hey!”

Claire’s head snapped up and she saw Fred startle at the loud noise. She tried to focus at the man coming into Fred’s stall.

“C’mon lass, this is no place to sleep, for a human anyway. Are ye doctor Beauchamp?”

Claire shook her head and blinked hard. Too many nights with little sleep made her groggy and weak. She stood up holding her blanket in front of her. She looked like a scared little girl and her first step pitched her forward landing in strong warm arms. She looked up at the face attached to those arms. “Wow,” came as a whisper followed by her hand clamped tight against her mouth.

“I, I’m sorry, yes I’m Dr. Beauchamp and this is Fred who is my horse and I couldn’t find a suitable hotel and Fred said I could bunk with him tonight.” Her last sentence was an effort to speak and she looked back at the corner she slept in and started moving toward it. Those annoying arms stopped her and she looked at him sharply.

“Alright lass, ye sleepin on my couch tonight.” He pulled her along and closed the stall taking her blanket. He stopped to make a note on the board and Claire sunk into a corner and closed her eyes. She was asleep before he turned around.

“Wait just a second lass, ye canna sleep there either.” He pulled Claire to her feet among strong protests and guided her out of the barn and into his golf cart.

“I’ll have ye wrapped and snug in two minutes Dr. Beauchamp.” He drove toward the house and felt her head come down on his shoulder. She was unconscious and Jaime chuckled.

“You musta left Boston with the devil chasin ye lass.” The house was set away from the center on a beautiful lawn of green grass with lights along the tiered walkway. He lifted Claire against his chest and carried her into the house. He pulled the blanket up to her chin and she snuggled down into it. “Thank you, mister, um, mister.” Jaime smiled at her. Noticing her long black hair tangled into her fingers he pulled her hand away and gently pulled the hair out.

“Well then, you’re a beautiful girl doctor Beauchamp, alone in the Arizona desert. What has someone done to make ye run so far?” Jaime estimated her sleep deprivation would keep her down at least until he woke up with the dawn. He climbed the wide circular staircase pulling off his shirt as he walked into his bathroom. He stripped the rest of the way and turned the knobs that shot warm water out of three heads. He stood still and let the hot water release his muscles and back. He thought about that beautiful face asleep on his couch. A doctor from Boston. He was very intrigued. He slipped into sweats and a t-shirt and stood at the railing of his upstairs loft looking down at her. He eventually dropped his body into his king-sized bed and barely threw the quilt up before he passed out.

Claire’s eyes popped open at five o’clock in the morning. Her surroundings confused her at first and then she remembered the owner catching her asleep in Fred’s stall. “I am an idiot,” she said quietly. She folded the extra blanket and pulled out a note pad from her purse to say thank you. Then she crept quietly to the door to slip out but the open door tripped the alarm bells which were loud enough to wake the dead, and Fraser, who flew down the stairs and punched in the code for quiet.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ! I am so sorry Mr. Fraser, I didn’t think, I didn’t want, …” Claire hoped she would evaporate in her misery but she was still there. She just looked down and shook her head.

Jaime took the opportunity to notice her long legs, long arms, and long hair, then looked up to her eyes as she lifted her head. He was stuck and staring at the most gorgeous eyes he had ever seen. They were the color of good whiskey and rimmed with dark brown making them look beautiful and exotic. He recovered quickly and tried to make Claire feel better.

“Tis fine lass had to get up now anyway. Would you like some coffee before you leave?” Take the coffee, please, he thought. I like lookin at ye and yer too rattled to drive.

“Another time perhaps, I’m sorry about the alarm and thank you for the rescue last night. Goodbye, Mr. Fraser.”

Jaime chuckled, at the slamming door. He watched her run for the barn and admired the backside of her not seen before. Her application to rent two stalls described her horses as therapeutic and gave impressive training credentials. It would be a pleasant change to have a nice lady doctor with docile horses for a change. He was sick of the cut-throat competition equestrians inspired, including his girlfriend. He picked up his cell phone. “Laoghaire my darlin where ye been? Ye have a show this weekend and ye horse needs some work. Call me.” He dropped the phone thinking about his blonde lass with cherry cheeks and a body to stop a mack truck. Put her in a tight riding jacket and the judges soon forget why they were there. It’s a good thing, she hasn’t been able to ride out of a paper bag lately.

[elenaescribe]

People Like Me

I open my eyes. There’s a slim glimmer of light forming a halo along my lashes. My heart is beating fast against my chest, echoing in my throat as I feel it pulsating there too. The white walls of my bedroom sway from side to side like the movement of a boat. I clutch my pajama bottoms and realize my entire body is drenched in cold sweat.

“Mama!” The words shoot out from my mouth.

No response. Crawling to the edge of my mattress, I check the time on my phone: 10:15 a.m. “She’s probably at a meeting,” Logic concludes in my mind. I flip to my back and cover my face with a pillow. A thick rope makes its way up my spine and ties itself around my diaphragm. The oxygen is forced out. It feels cold against my muscles and I instantly recognize what’s strangling me.

“You’re all alone,” the anxiety hisses through my consciousness. The rope tightens even more. “No one even cares if you get out of bed.”

I grunt loudly and throw my pillow to the side.

***

Turning back seven years, it’s 2012. I’m a scowling fourteen-year-old waiting outside a therapist’s office for my parents to come out. They’re figuring out what happens next, how they can tame their hurricane child. I’ve grown into the habit of skipping meals, skipping school and sitting in an empty bathtub for most of my day. With the spikes of corn holders, I’ve scratched the skin on my ribcage until there’s a faint sight of blood. There’s been numerous visits to a nutritionist, a sweet older woman with short hair who tries to convince me to eat. There’s also been endless therapy sessions. I feel wonderful under the attention of a variety of people.

A door opens and my psychologist steps into the waiting room. She’s beautiful with clear eyes and long blonde hair. There’s a warm grin on her face as she waves my parents goodbye. I notice my mother fidgeting with her keychain and my father staring at the floor with his eyebrows furrowed together. They approach me and tell me we have to go.

“So?” I ask as we walk down the cold hospital hallway.

“She knows a place where you can get the help you need…” My mom struggles to reply.

“A place?”

“Yeah, for people like you.” My dad explains.  

I stop walking and stare at them with a raised eyebrow. They halt and turn around.

“People with the same diagnosis.” He corrects himself.

“What’s my diagnosis?”

“Don’t worry,” My mom delicately smiles. “It’s… not very important.”

***

Using my right hand, I tug at a string dangling from the side of my window. The blackout curtain slowly lifts and uncovers the darkness swallowing my room. I stretch out the sheets on my bed and sit carefully on top of them. Looking forward, I can see my red water bottle filled all the way to the top and a cluster of books spread out on a wooden desk. I sit cross legged with a straight back and my palms on top of my knees. The only way to loosen the knot around my torso is by practicing some EFT- a technique where you apply pressure to different points around your body while reciting affirmations.

I begin by gently tapping on the karate chop point, a spot on the side of your hand below the pinky finger.

“Even though I feel anxiety and it makes my stomach hurt, I completely love and accept myself.”

I repeat this three times while pressing the same point on both hands. Afterwards, I tap on the crown of my head while deeply inhaling.

“This anxiety…” I exhale. “This anxiety that hurts in my stomach.”

I say this two more times. In a swift movement, my fingertips start pressing against the inner corners of my brow bones. Words keep flowing from my mouth like a stream of water. I tap of the temples of my head, beneath my eyes, above my upper lip, on my chin, my chest and under my arm pits. Not once have I stopped talking. Softly, I bump my wrists together and finish the exercise. My lungs expand with fresh air and contract as they expel insecurity, a huge wave rushing down to the tips of my toes.The rope around my diaphragm is no longer suffocating me.

***

My mother drives up a narrow driveway to an old building. It’s a small, perfectly geometric wooden doll house. We knock on the door and are greeted by a man with very dark circles under his eyes. He leads us to what seems like a living room and asks us to wait. I look around and take note of the furniture: everything is in a slightly different shade of beige. The lamps look vintage and expensive, the tables neatly polished. Then, there’s a comforting smell of coffee and cookies. For a moment, it feels like we’ve entered the most boring edition of a Home Goods catalog. The stillness of this home, the synchronized sounds of footsteps going up and down stairs, plants an eerie feeling in my stomach. This is the place my therapist recommended.

The guy with shadowy eyes comes back and signals us to follow him with his large hand. He takes us to a woman sitting behind a large brown mass- her desk, apparently. She peers across at my mother and I with a stiff smile across her face. Her hair is a deep chocolate color that blatantly contrasts her pale skin.

“Welcome to DBT,” A dull voice says. “I understand it’s your first time here.”

“Yes.” My mother answers.

“You’ll love it. Allow me to explain our program to you.”

The monotonous lady tells us that DBT is a type of therapy designed for people like me. It consists of two sessions a week: one with the psychologist they assign you and the other with a small group of teenagers. Everyone must attend group therapy with a parent- the same one each time.

“The patient and their guardian will have separate homework to do each week.”

Patients also get extra homework at their one-on-one sessions. DBT’s program is divided into four modules lasting three months each. Every week we’ll learn and practice a different skill of mindfulness. She guarantees that within a year of therapy, I will have made a complete recovery.

“That sounds great,” My mom asserts. “When can she begin?”

The woman gives us some papers and asks us to fill them out. When we’re done, she sets her piercing eyes on me and mentions another form. This one is only for me and without my signature, they can’t let me into their organization. Reading the page she hands me over, I realize they’re asking for my full consent. DBT needs to be know that I’ll cooperate, that I’ll agree to any treatment they decide is right. They also ask for my confidentiality- nobody can know about the details of their procedures. With a worried sigh, I glance at my mother. She pats my back and encourages me to sign.

***

Comfortable with the decreased levels of anxiety, I shuffle over to the short bookshelf next to my desk. On top of it are some transparent containers of jewelry, a Magic 8 Ball, a tiny sculpture of a monkey I painted a few years ago and a pill case. My mom gave me the rectangular case when I was almost thirteen years old and already a regular consumer of antidepressants. She was worried I’d forget to take my medication and thought a storage bin would keep me organized… which it did. Now the box is so old, so worn out, the edges look jagged and dark.  Half of it is blue and holds the p.m. tablets, the other is yellow and for the a.m. ones.

I open the lid marked “MON am” and turn the case upside down. Three small pills land on the palm of my hand. The central focus of my medication is treating my epilepsy. For that, I take Epival- a long, banana colored pill that smells sweet like candy. Then come my mood stabilizers: Xanax XR for the demonic anxiety and Cymbalta to treat my depression. Returning to my bed, I grab the water bottle and swallow the bunch.

***

It’s around one in the morning and I’m sitting up in my parents’ bed. My father is gone on a business trip and my mother is long asleep. She lets me stay with her because I’m terrified of being alone at night, especially since I started believing somebody was trying to murder me. This began after I thought I had seen a grey figure with a bright mask outside my window. Whispers swirled in my ears and I decided to sleep only during daytime. Every night, I would watch movies on my mom’s laptop and browse through “pro-anorexia” blogs on Tumblr.

Hunched over in bed, I decide to look up a movie a friend had recommended a few weeks ago: Girl, Interrupted. The film starts off by introducing us to the protagonist, Susanna Kaysen, a high school graduate uninterested in following society’s demands. Hypnotized by Winona Ryder’s beauty, I willingly continue watching. Soon enough, Kaysen is institutionalized after an attempted suicide. She meets a handful of unique characters at the hospital, including the out-of-control Lisa. Susanna is immediately drawn to her, the same way I’d been drawn to various toxic friendships.

Halfway through the film, it comes to my attention how much I truly relate to her. We both self-harm, write to survive, have incredibly awful psychiatrists, are victims of sexual abuse and have been hospitalized for suicidal thoughts. Her impulsive and reckless behavior resonates deep within me.

“Mama.” I nudge my mother, trying to wake her up.

“What?” She groans, opening an eye.

“Do I have Borderline Personality Disorder?”

There’s a small silence.

“Yes,” She reaches out for my hand. “You do.”

“Oh…”

I put my earphones back on and continue watching the movie, seeing myself in every corner of every shot of that big hospital.