#Christ. I need to go back to therapy. I need a hint. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

certifiedcodbabygirl · 1 month

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Simon Riley who realizes how much he fucked up and that maybe therapy isn't such a bad idea

AN: Lil bit longer than usual, but it's been on my mind

Art credit to SubsurfaceChaos on Twitter

Something was off with him all day. It wasn't too noticeable until he began distancing himself, getting irritated at being around anyone. You confronted him, simply trying to see if you could help or maybe provide comfort, and fuck did that backfire.

He was sitting in the living room watching whatever was on the channel, but it's not like he was paying attention to it. Thoughts and feelings of the deployment he just came back from a few days ago build up, irritation filling him like water in a bathtub. He doesn't usually have flashbacks or anything like that, the military would discharge him if he had PTSD, but some days he thinks too much.

He didn't even notice you coming in until you were sitting next to him. He snaps out of his thoughts just to meet your soft eyes. You sat on the other end of the couch, not wanting to crowd him too much while he's like this.

"What." He deadpans, voice devoid of all emotion.

Yeah something's definitely up.

"What's wrong, Si? Somethin' been messing with you today?" You ask gently, not wanting to come off as if you're accusing him.

He gives you and irritated look, suggesting you drop it, "Nothin', 'm fine"

You're not stupid. He tends to need a little push in order to open up.

"I know you're not", tone still soft, "I'm not trying to irritate you or anything, I ju-"

"Well you certainly got an affinity for it" He snaps, "Drop it"

You inhale, trying to not take his words personally, "Si, I'm your girlfriend, it's kinda my job to check in with you"

The bathtub overflows.

"You can't listen, can you? I said drop it, fuckin' 'ell" He stands up from the couch and walks to the kitchen, trying to create distance.

"Simon I'm just trying to help, I'm not here to make things harder for you" You try to reason with him, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You follow him into the kitchen but still give him space. He doesn't say anything back, a small part of him knowing you're right but the larger part won't connect to that. Pouring a class of orange juice, he keeps his back to you.

"Si-"

"Can you shut up for once?! Can you? I said bloody drop it. It's not up for discussion!" He sets the cup on the counter with a thud and snaps at you, "You're always fuckin' naggin' at me, clearly not takin' a bloody hint. Jesus Christ"

That shuts you up. The lump in your throat intensifies, tears beginning to form in your eyes. He's never yelled at you like that before. Sure, he's had bursts of irritation during arguments, but he's worked hard to make sure he never treats you how you don't deserve.

"Why are you yelling at me? All I'm doing is trying to be there for you" You ask quietly, voice not really allowing you to speak louder. a couple tears fall down your face, and your nose begins to get stuffed up. You try to quietly sniffle but he still hears it. He hangs his head down and groans quietly.

"Now you're fuckin' cryin'. Great."

Not wanting to be around him much longer, you turn to leave, "Come find me when you're calmer", Your voice betrays you and cracks a little.

You walk away and go upstairs to your shared bedroom. Once you close the door, the crying begins. His words cut through you like a knife, a deep pressure-like hurt seeping through your chest. Sobs rack your body yet you still try to be quiet, not wanting him to hear. You know he's gonna snap out of it and fuckin hate himself for what he did. You know he loves you, and if he were in his right mind he would have never uttered a single degrading word to you.

You slip into bed and lay there, crying. You guessed he would be up anytime soon and the smell of him on the pillows was both comforting and hurtful.

Downstairs though, Simon was fucking fuming. Seeing you go up the stairs, lip quivering, evaporated every bit of him anger. He groans loudly and throws an arm over his eyes.

'How fuckin' stupid can you be? How the fuck can you speak to her like that?'

He removes his arm and leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. You've stuck through with him since the moment you meet. Never once judged his off stand-ish behavior and learned to find ways to work with him. He cherished you so wholly, feeling what he thought he never would. You came into his life and slowly broke down his walls, allowing you to see him apart from his exterior.

He thought he was going to lose you. Sure, you had arguments before, but he had never purposefully tried to hurt you. Knowing that he did made his stomach churn, nausea kicking in. 2 years of the best relationship (not that there were very many before you) all to be broken down, at least what he thought, because he was pissed off.

'Maybe I should fuckin' go to therapy.'

Let's be honest, he could use it. He tried to go through it before but just quit due to how uncomfortable it made him. He figured he was on his own, all before you, and there was no one to deal with his bullshit besides him. Now he has someone who he cares about so much that it doesn't matter if he's uncomfortable. He'd rather be uncomfortable than never be with you again.

He gathers the balls to go upstairs and carefully opens the door. He's met with the sight of you curled up, your sniffles being the only sound in the room.

"Go away" You call out, although not too loudly. Your voice is wobbly and stuffy.

He'd think it was adorable, had he not been the one to cause it. He walks to the opposite side of the bed and gets in, spooning you. He kisses your hair so gently it would give you butterflies if you weren't so upset.

"I'm so sorry, love. I haven't a clue why I did that to you and you didn't deserve a single lick of it." He feels the small burn in his nose as he starts tearing up a little, "I promise it'll never happen again"

You sniffle as more tears fall, the pain sticking to you despite his words.

"I wasn't trying to piss you off" You whisper.

"I know baby, it wasn't you. I promise it wasn't. Could never be that mad at you" He says softly, a tear falling. He grips you a little bit tighter and kisses the back of your neck, trying to bring comfort to both of you.

"Then why did you yell at me? I've never heard you like that before."

He sighs, "Been thinkin' 'bout what happened while I was gone and it came out at you. 'M gonna go back to therapy 'n try to fix what ever the hell is wrong with me" He kisses your neck again, " 'M gonna do better, gonna be better"

He's not stupid, he knows his words aren't gonna go away overnight. He knows how much you love him, even if he doesn't understand it, and knows hearing that from him hurts more than it would anyone else. He knows you're gonna be affected by them for a bit and he's prepared to fix it. Anything for his love.

You turn around so you're both still on your sides but you're cuddled into his chest. Wasting no time, not even hesitating, he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight. He lets out a sigh of relief, knowing this is your way of accepting his apology. He softly kisses your forehead and cheek, whispering how much he loves you and how it's gonna be better.

He knows he can't run from his issues anymore and for once he's ready to face them.

#call of duty modern warfare #cod x reader #ghost cod #simon riley #cod simon riley #cod ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x reader hurt/ comfort #cod hurt/comfort #ghost x reader hurt/ comfort #cod angst #simon riley x reader angst #ghost cod angst

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autisticlancemcclain · 8 months

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pt one

———

Hunk’s phone rings. Loudly. Since he is the pinnacle of grace and benevolence, he spares one hand, eyes still trained firmly on the other hand pressing a screwdriver onto a delicate wire joint to hold it steady, to blindly pat about on his workbench until it closes around the device. He jabs a finger on the screen until the ringing ceases.

“Yah,” he says, not bothering with hellos. He’s busy.

“Handle your person,” Shiro hisses, then immediately hangs up.

Hunk snorts. Someone’s nap was disturbed.

He turns back to his project, sighing as he wraps it up. He doesn’t have long. If he can just solder this last wire, get that last connection in, it’ll be way easier to —

Lance kicks open his door, walking in screaming.

“Hello,” Hunk greets idly. And largely sarcastically, he will admit. Lance continues his wordless yell, vocalizing at the very top of his lungs, muffled only when he throws himself on Hunk’s bed and buries himself in Hunk’s pillow. “Shiro tells me you’re terrorizing people.”

“His skull is fucking solid!” Lance screeches.

Hunk does not need to ask to whom Lance is referring. He does, however, pause what he’s doing immediately, spinning around slowly in his chair with his fingertips pressed together like every eighties cartoon villain. His smile can only really be described as gleeful. Perhaps diabolical if he stretches.

He is entirely unapologetic.

“And what happened this time,” Hunk questions, adopting his very best therapy voice. It must work, because Lance shoots up, face bright candy red, wicked snarl pulling on his lips. When he speaks again his voice is carefully controlled and dripping with rage.

“It is beyond hinting, Kealoha. I have practically laid myself at his feet and begged him to ravish me, and he still does not get it. I am going to fucking wring his neck.”

Hunk hums thoughtfully. “Well, that is probably what it’s going to take.” At Lance’s raised eyebrow, he rushes to clarify — “Throwing yourself at his feet, I mean. Don’t strangle him. At least not before I can see it.”

Lance groans loudly. This time when he flops back on Hunk’s mattress he is more miserable than rageful, like a scolded chihuahua. Hunk considers telling him that and then remembers that he’s quite fond of his limbs where they are.

“I know he likes me,” Lance grumbles. “He’s just a dumbass. Like, yesterday he had to go into a healing pod because I did those leg stretches in front of him and he walked into the wall and broke his nose. And last week he said I smelled good and no straight people say stupid shit like that. And when I flirted with that princess on our last mission I was lowkey worried he was gonna jump her, or something. He went all big bad Galra growly and everything.”

Hunk inclines his head. “This is true.”

It is true. Well, he didn’t know the broken nose thing — although that’s hilarious and he will be sharing that information with the class when prudent — and he hasn’t witnessed many of the specific brands of Keith and Lance dumbassery, since they spend so much time on their own, but he, like, has eyes. Keith wants Lance so bad it’s actually embarrassing. Hunk’s not one to generally agree with Lance, since it’s his God-given right to humble him at any opportunity, but that boy is oblivious unlike any other. He understands that Keith is emotionally stunted due to the ordeal of being orphaned, and to Keith he leaves his highest sympathies, but also Jesus Christ, dude. How many times are you going to be wrought with jealousy before you go oh, duh, I might be in love with this goober.

Maybe Shiro hasn’t had the talk with him yet. Hunk makes a mental note to follow up.

“—it’s just that I don’t understand,” Lance laments.

Hunk blinks back to the conversation, where Lance has clearly taken it upon himself to wax poetic and inspire woe upon himself once more.

Hunk stills. An idea wiggles its delightful little way through his brain. He holds up his phone, pointed at Lance’s prone and desolate form.

God, he loves his brain. He loves meddling. He loves love and life, basically.

“I just,” Lance sighs, and to his endless credit he sounds genuinely torn-up, for all his melodrama. “I wish I could just tell him, I guess. In some way. I wish I could get it through his fool head that he is loved by me particularly in such a way that I want to hold hands and kiss and generally be nuisances of the affectionate kind. You know, romance.”

Hunk hums with great understanding. “I see. And say you were not plagued with chronic anxiety and an unfortunate tendency to glow in your face region if someone so much as insinuates in any capacity that they care about you — what would you say to this paramour of yours?”

Lance tilts his head consideringly. His eyes are big and brown and pouty, like a scorned puppy. It’s adorable, in a pathetic kind of way. Hunk cannot help but pat him delicately on the knee.

“I suppose,” he huffs, “that I would just say it outright. Keith Kogane, you magnanimous dumbass, would it kill you to ask me out like a man. Something like that.”

“You could also ask him out like a man,” Hunk points out.

“Choke and die,” Lance responds, predictably. Hunk pays him again.

Hunk stops the recording and tucks his phone back in his pocket. He will decide how to handle the situation shortly.

…After he makes several copies and distributes them to the team. Obviously. Hunk’s excellent advice and matchmaking skills isn’t free, after all.

Lance whines again. “Why is my life so sick and twisted.”

Hunk chooses against reminding Lance that they are in the very beginning of the process of dismantling the worst tyranny the universe has ever seen, and of all the things in his life to be sick and twisted his dweeby romance is probably not one of them. Because that would be a huge buzzkill, obviously. Instead he delicately and a touch condescendingly pats Lance on the head. Lance leans into the touch, because he is a massive sweetheart and dork and nerd, and Hunk can’t help but smile widely.

“All will work out,” he says ominously. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Blah,” Lance says.

Hunk smiles wider.

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chelseeebe · 2 years

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complex.

wanted to write something sad abt steve n this was what just came out, it’s only short and i wrote it in like an hour but it had to come out.

complex - katie gregson-macleod was heavy inspiration for this.

the breakup hadn’t been the nicest of breakups, in fact it had ended rather suddenly after you’d had enough of sweeping his shit under the rug.

although you’d tried to be steve’s friend after the breakup, it was showing itself to be far too heartbreaking. having to watch him flirt with every moderately attractive woman that give him a modicum of attention was just cruel.

see, the problem with steve was that he was incapable of opening up to you. you’d heard vague stories about government labs and russian spies and you knew that steve was somehow involved, but whenever you’d question him about it, he’d brush you off. say it didn’t matter now.

but it did. it very clearly did. to you, it was obvious that steve needed therapy, or to even just speak to you about what was going on up there. but he wouldn’t, instead he’d block it all out with partying. choosing getting wasted over opening up.

and you were there to pick up the pieces, every, single, time. like the time when he got so hammered, he’d punched his dad in the face and got thrown out of his house. or perhaps the time when he’d had the bright idea to drive to your house after a party, crashing into the ditch just outside of your estate.

you were always there, taking him in, speaking to his insurance, hell, you even calmed his dad down enough to let him move back in.

but, that wasn’t enough. if you were going to be the maid to steve’s problems, you needed to at least know why he was acting like this. even just a hint of an explanation to his behaviour would have helped rationalise everything in your head.

the thing was, it’s not like steve didn’t talk about it. he spoke about it with his friends, the group of children he’d somehow accumulated over the years. and he spoke about it with nancy.

‘babe, you just.. you wouldn’t get it. and nancy, nancy was there, she went through everything i ever did, it’s just easier.. and i wanna protect you, you don’t need to hear about all that shit.’ he’d justify his actions to you.

and it worked, for about six months. but you were sick of it, sick of having to collect him, absolutely belligerent, from some high school party. sick of having to just smile and nod when he’d tell you he was going to see nancy. sick of having to clean up whatever mess he’d made the night before. it was fucking exhausting.

so, the day after one of steve’s worst performances, where he’d got far too wasted and decided to go missing for hours on end. you decided you were done, you couldn’t deal with it anymore.

‘steve.. steve! wake up!’ you nudged him awake, he was sprawled over your couch, his usual sleeping place when he’d come in drunk.

he groans, a hand shooting to cover his eyes, ‘christ, just give me five more minutes, i feel like shit.’

‘no, steve. i’m done. you need to get the fuck off of my couch and go somewhere else. i’m done.’ you stand above him, arms crossed over your midriff.

that had woke him up, ‘what? what do you mean? baby, i’m-i’m sorry, i just drank too much, you know how it is,’ he’s sat up now, running a hand through his messy hair.

‘yeah, well i’m sick of it steve. you need to get out of my house, find someone else to baby you because i’m not anymore.’ you gather his shoes, which he’d kicked off rather aggressively last night, and drop them in front of him.

‘are you serious? you’re breaking up with me?’ he looks up at you.

you refuse to meet his eyes, knowing that all he had to do was bat those eyelids and he could have you wrapped around his little finger once more.

‘yes, steve. that’s what done means. i’m done with you, i’m done with your bullshit and i’m done being the one running around cleaning up your mess.’

that last part wasn’t technically true, as you did now have to clean up the mess he’d made in your living room the night previous.

‘what the fuck? what the fuck?! you’re breaking up with me because i like to go out? you’re pathetic.’ he spits back at you, slipping his shoes on his feet.

suddenly, you’d felt brave enough to meet his gaze, until he stood up and immediately towered over you. it’s not that you were scared of him, but he had the height advantage over you and god knows he could be very intimidating.

choosing to just nod at his choice words, you had nothing left to say to the boy. anything you ever could have said to him was redundant, he didn’t want to hear it so he wouldn’t have.

you handed him his jacket and walked over to open your glossy front door.

this was the point it had actually clicked in his head that this wasn’t just another fight about his drinking habits, this was it.

‘i’m sorry, i didn’t mean that.. give me another chance and i swear i’ll get better, stop going out so much..’ he’d walked over to the door, practically begging you to change your mind.

‘goodbye steve. see you around, maybe.’ and with that you give him a slight push out of the door and shut it behind him with a slam.

you’d heard through your group of mutual friends that steve was now more out of control than ever. and it hurt. your heart twisted with every tale of his antics, knowing that he was now on his own to deal with the mess.

you had tried to salvage some kind of friendship with him, but it was useless. he wasn’t interested in ever being your friend.

through all of this though, steve had somehow found another girl to fall back on. another girl to take advantage of.

at robins birthday party, you’d tried to speak to him again. just a pleasant ‘hello, how are you?’ hoping to at least gauge how he was doing.

you were met with a stale faced glare from his new toy, it was apparent that he’d only told her about the bad parts of your relationship, choosing to skip the countless times you’d saved his ass from drowning.

‘i’m great, thanks.’ he snapped back.

yeah, you look it.

he looked terrible, his eyes were tired, his usually perfectly styled hair messy and overgrown. you debate quipping back but bite your tongue, there was no point in ruining robins birthday over arguing with your ex.

instead you chose to do what you had done for the entirety of yours and his relationship, smiled and ignored it.

he was no longer your problem. you were free, free from his pain, it was now his to try and decipher.

and eventually, you’d get over him. you’d stop loving the absolute mess of a man.

but he wasn’t sure that he’d ever stop loving you. the regret of losing the one person who had genuinely loved and cared for him played too heavy in his mind.

#steve harrington angst #steve harrington x you #steve stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things x you #steve harrington sad #mean!steve harrington

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rf-times · 11 months

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I need some advice. I recently was broken up with and I'm reeling from it. We met when i was 19 and he was 32 and we ended up hooking up 6 years ago. He didn't tell me until after we hooked up that he had a wife which started a crazy feud, but he eventually divorced his wife and convinced me to be in a relationship with him. The relationship was pretty rocky at first because he was very emotionally abusive. Like he would constantly reprimand me for doing the wrong thing and saying the wrong thing and would lecture me for hours and not let me sleep until I agreed with him. I used to live with him sometimes because my mom got evicted and i couldn't hold down a stable job because I had an untreated learning disability and he would pick fights with me every day when I would say/ do the wrong thing and sometimes he would even kick me out.

While he did all this its v confusing bc he was also very good to me at the same time?? He helped me out when I was evicted and let me live rent free with him. He helped me get my diagnosis and helped me look for a job. He helped me get over some of my insecurities and would urge me to go to therapy and helped me get my driver's license. The last 2 years he started becoming more spiritual and became a lot nicer to me (He would still reprimand me but not as often) and urged me to do yoga and meditation. He started getting serious and during that time he was throwing ideas around of leaving everything behind and going to a yoga center etc. I was so drained atp from the constant mistreatment and feeling like I wasn't a priority so I went outside the relationship to explore my options. i met a guy that I was going to meet for dinner and just talk to, but I was drugged and assaulted. I felt so guilty that I told my boyfriend and he broke up with me. This was a year ago. Since then, we've been on and off because he would come back but couldn't commit because he couldnt trust me. Early this year he moved to a different state and he reached out to me to ask if I wanted to visit him out there in the summer. I was cautious but I agreed because I missed him. We started calling and texting every day and he started hinting that he wanted a relationship with me again. I started catching feelings again and was grateful for the opportunity to make things right because I fucked up. I bought the plane tickets and two days after I bought them he told me that he was getting women flirting with him out there and that he wanted to explore his options. I was so upset and I asked him why we couldnt work things out, he told me he still couldnt trust me after what happened. He told me it's best if I get a refund on the tix and just stay home. I felt so crushed, I felt like I was lead on and I feel so ashamed and guilty over what I did. The worst part is I felt like I ruined everything and it's my fault that the relationship ended the way it did. What do I do???? I have no friends and no one to talk to.

Jesus Christ, he's nearly twice your age, he constantly criticised you, kept you dependent on him for housing and threatened to make you homeless, blamed you when you were assaulted, and has essentially isolated you from your friends and family and then led you on that you would get back together on. You haven't done anything wrong. He sounds like bad news giving you bread crumbs to keep you under his thumb. You didn't ruin a thing. Wishing you health, friends and happiness. Focus on your career, try to find more friends and focus on yourself. He will only keep you down.

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the-tangle-web · 2 years

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You Deserve Better.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Stark shouted. A hiss followed.

Stark left through the open door, storming out, rubbing his wrist, “Fine! Fine! I’m leaving!” His wrist was bruised black and purple as the man muttered in pain.

Bruce was leaning against a table, taking a slow sip from his coffee mug, watching the millionaire storm off. He let out a short scoff and shook his head, brows furrowed.

—

How was it Anthony’s fault? He was just trying to do his homework in the meeting room before Stark came striding in and trying to give him a pep talk on becoming a fully fledged Avenger on one condition, he takes classes lead by Bruce Banner on anger management. Like that was going to fucking work. It’s like Stark thinks he trying to join the Avengers, how delusional can he get?!

Of course, the only way for Anthony to give him a hint was to grip at his wrist, threaten to bite him and break the meeting table for the eighth time. How much more will he have to do to get some alone time to do homework.

He half assed most of it, tried on some, and called it a day. From there, he curled himself on the couch, tucking his knees under his chin and scrolling through his phone. However, he wasn’t alone. The TV was playing in the background and on the same couch was someone he knew pretty well.

Jennifer Walters is Bruce Banner’s cousin. She’s a lawyer and even had to represent him once at Nick Fury’s request. She was pissed off at him at first, reasonably so, he didn’t like her that much either, but after awhile she started to catch on that Anthony hasn’t been given the resources he should be given. She visits often because Bruce is her cousin and well, the TV is lit. Anthony didn’t mind her. If anything, he trusted her way more than anyone else in this tower. How do you explain it… she’s like that cool aunt that lets you eat as much candy as you want when your parents are away.

Jennifer didn’t mind Anthony either. All she saw was some troubled kid who needs therapy but can’t receive it because of some stupid ass guy in an eye patch and an annoying millionaire set on trying to “fix” him. She herself had trouble with her powers, still does. Though it’s not the same, she can sympathize with being given something you didn’t want. Jen was sitting on the couch, criss cross apple sauce, in her lap was a small bowl of M&M’s as she watched some random show on TV. It was comfortable silence, the two didn’t bother each other much. Though, there are some days when Anthony knows when Jen is in the building and activity wanders to find her and just sit in the same room as her. She doesn’t ask questions unless he speaks first and well- just lets him stay.

It’s nice. Anthony liked her, she understood, somewhat. Everyone else was to quick to talk, she wasn’t.

The teen thought for a moment, staring blankly at his phone. Then, he took a short breath and spoke, still staring at his phone, “How’ve you been- after- well… everything,”

Jen’s chewing slowed as she thought, brows furrowed. Her lips scrunched up and lifted to the side. She swallowed before answering, “Well, Todd is in jail-“

“Thank fucking god-“

“I got my job back-“

“As you should-“

“Aaaaaand Luke is my tailor again, by the way and no more creepy guys-“ she said with an eye roll, shoving some more chocolate into her mouth.

Anthony hummed, reaching into the bowl to steal some m&m’s to eat. Jen, whilst still looking at the TV, pulled down the arm rest on the couch and set the bowl of chocolate onto it in between the two of them. The teen leaned on the armrest, finding himself looking up and watching what the other was watching. He titled his head,

“What show is this?”

Jen hummed, glancing over at him and waving a finger, using her other hand to shove more chocolate into her mouth before chewing, swallowing, and answering, “Great British Bake Off,” she said, “good shit,”

Anthony faked a scowl, earning a snirk from the other,

Jen rolled her eyes, “Cmon, it’s fun! I know you like this show,”

The teen scoffed, “You’ll never find me alone watching this shit,”

The other rolled her eyes and shrugged, “Whatever you say,”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Anthony looking down at his lap for a short while. He thought…

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he muttered, “you deserve better,”

Jen looked over to him, her face solemn. She pursed her lips into a smile. She nudged the teen with her elbow, making him look up to catch her gaze,

“You do too.”

#the tangle web #anthony rossi #spider oc #writing #67889 Jennifer Walters #67889 she-hulk #tw swearing

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stellar-waves · 2 months

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staring down the sun [27] *

⏯ chapter index

⚠ warnings: suggestive sexual themes

. . .

back into the arms that care

. . .

Connor started feeling antsy a little over a week into his recovery, and rightfully so. It wasn’t so much the decrease in physical activity or being stuck at the church; it was more because he wasn’t used to being taken care of. He’d been so used to taking care of everyone else, always knowing when someone really truly needed help, so being forced into a submissive state was incredibly aggravating.

But there was an upside to the whole situation…

Elena kneels behind him as he sits on the edge of the bed. She carefully lifts his right arm, stretching his side slowly before lowering his elbow. Connor smiles to himself, still thinking about how she had offered to do a little physical therapy with him. She reasoned that she had a similar injury a few years ago, but deep down it felt like she just wanted to be close to him…she just couldn’t say it.

“You know, you never told me why you and Murphy tattooed each other’s backs,” she mentions lightly.

Feeling her eyes on his bare back suddenly makes him feel self-conscious…another feeling he’s not used to. But he chuckles as he feels his muscles strain with the repeated stretch. “I don’t know. Suppose it was something to do to pass the time on the sheep farm, keep our hands busy whenever we felt the itch to return to…this. Don’t think we really thought that much about it.”

“So how did you decide who’d get the face and who’d get the…oh fucking Christ.”

“Lord’s name, lass!” Connor snaps with a laugh, but he winces almost instantly in pain.

Elena places her other hand on his left shoulder, her hair tickling his skin as she leans around to glare at him. “Don’t tell me you fucking flipped a coin!”

All he can do is smile, that mischievous MacManus smile, and Elena rolls her eyes, mumbling another blasphemous exclamation under her breath. That one, though, he lets go.

As the stretching resumes, Connor breathes deeply, inhaling her scent of eucalyptus and sea salt. “I’m not used to this, ye know.”

“What?”

He exhales slowly. “Letting someone else take care of me.”

“No kidding,” she laughs.

He smirks, raising his eyebrows at the memory that rushes back into his brain. “Right. We’ve talked about this before, yeah?”

“We have.” Elena draws in a slow breath herself, and Connor feels her hand twitch against his shoulder. “I think I’m starting to understand it now.”

“What’s that?”

“Why you take care of everyone else.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, somehow still afraid of Elena getting in his head. “Someone has to do it,” he states with tender confidence.

She remains quiet, though, and Connor’s curiosity piques, wanting to know whatever revelation Elena’s had.

And clearly, she can read his mind. “Because you might lose them. And you want to do whatever you can to keep that from happening.”

Fuck. Elena has finally done it…she finally cracked the code to Connor’s sub-conscience. She figured out something about him that he didn’t really understand himself, honestly. Until now.

He can’t help but smile, feeling a bit of relief even as she extends his arm higher, stretching his side more. “Ye might be on to something there, Elena.”

She slides off the bed and moves to stand in front of Connor. He lifts his arms straight forward out of routine, and she presses down on them while he stiffens his muscles to prevent his arms from lowering under the force. After a few rounds, Elena places her hands on her hips in satisfaction. But her lips twist with a hint of despair. “I haven’t had someone to lose in so long that I forgot what that feels like…to take care of someone like that.”

Connor rubs his palms on his jeans as he presses his lips together solemnly. “Aye. We’ve talked about that before, too.” Her mouth widens into a nervous grin, a small laugh huffing out from her chest as her eyes are still tinted with sadness. Connor’s eyes crease into a smile, his voice soft as he says, “Yer not alone anymore, remember?”

Elena’s smile falls slightly, fading from innocent complacency into soft yearning. Connor slowly moves to hold her hips, and her hands rest on his forearms as he pulls her closer. His eyes remain locked with hers as her hands slide up his arms to rest on either side of his neck. The pads of her thumbs brush his jawline, rubbing against the growing scruff of facial hair as she subtly bites her lip.

He senses her hesitance, like she’s still worried he could break at any moment. Or worse, like she’s still not sure how they feel for each other.

Connor slips his hands up her jeans, curling them under the hem of her t-shirt and touching his fingers against her skin. Elena leans her head back, closing her eyes as she inhales deeply while Connor caresses her waist. She lowers her chin again, her green eyes dark against her wide pupils. He pulls her closer, pressing his lips against her bared stomach as she lowers her head more, her fingers tangling into his hair at the nape of his neck.

Elena arches her back as Connor holds her face with his tattooed hand, gently pulling her to brush his lips against hers. His kiss is more tender this time, less urgent, yet still passionate. He feels each and every single moment from before slowly burn between them, every could-have and should-have now simply having.

Her legs curl up on either side of him as he shifts back on the bed, guiding her hips as she straddles his lap gently. She holds his face with both hands as they kiss, his tongue finding the salt of her skin so familiar. He likes that feeling, so much, that he knows how she tastes.

She pulls back, her features torn between desire and concern. He can tell she’s still afraid of hurting him, but Connor smiles as he strokes her cheek with his thumb. He wants to say something, tell her it’s okay, and tell her everything he’s feeling…but words don’t feel enough. He captures her lips again and shifts their bodies together, laying her on the bed.

As he props himself up on his left side, he keeps his right hand cupped perfectly against her jaw while their tongues continue dancing around each other. He’s strangely aware enough that he doesn’t want to completely cover her with his body, like it’d be a move of dominance if he did. And that’s the last thing he wants to be—dominant over Elena. All he wants is to be with her, for this moment to last forever.

Connor feels his erection grow inside his jeans as Elena reaches around his back, careful not to touch his injured side as she clutches his shoulder blade. She pulls him closer, tighter, and he lets his broad chest press harder against her body. The muscles in his abdomen strain more, but with the good kind of pain, the pain he wants to feel just to be close to her.

He breaks their kiss to look at her, softly running his fingers across her forehead, brushing her hair out of her face. And Elena’s jade-green eyes stare deep into his soul.

Hopefully, they’ve locked the door, as Connor doesn’t even want to risk pulling away from her. And hopefully, God will understand committing a sin inside a church…because it’s her.

“Connor…” she exhales his name against his mouth. He pulls back again, watching her catch her breath, when he hears another voice call his name beyond the door.

His eyes lock with Elena’s, and she starts giggling while he lets out an exasperated sigh. He presses his forehead against hers as he chuckles, too, mumbling a few curse words under his breath.

“Connor?” the voice calls again, confirming it’s Murphy.

As they sit up, Connor brushes Elena’s hair back off her shoulder. “Well then,” he starts, unsure of what else to say that could remedy the situation.

“Time’s up,” she teases lightly, though he can see the disappointment in her eyes, in the way her cheeks are still flushed.

A modest knock on the door interrupts, with Murphy’s voice on the other side. “Conn?”

He finally tears his eyes away from her, and he can’t hide the annoyance in his tone as he calls back. “Yeah?”

“Is Elena still in there with ye?”

He slips on his t-shirt and moves toward the door, looking over his shoulder at Elena with a smile. “Aye, she is.” He shakes his head, laughing quietly as Elena stands up, adjusting her shirt. “Fucker learned his lesson apparently,” Connor whispers to her, and she promptly slaps his shoulder with the back of her hand as she stifles a grin.

As the door opens, Murphy doesn’t move; he just stands there with a grim look on his face. “I’m sorry, it’s just that…something’s happened.”

. . .

⏮ [26]

[28] ⏭

#boondock saints fanfic #connor macmanus x oc #the boondock saints #boondock saints #connor macmanus #murphy macmanus #fanfic #fanart #illustrated moments #staring down the sun

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lilkumquat27 · 2 months

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Just a comedic one shot from my fanfic novel, ‘Arkham’ that I had waaaay too much fun with! Here’s the link to the story!

[Just a rundown, story follows Dr. Harleen Quinzel (Harley Quinn) who is running a clinical trial to cure some of the most dangerous in Arkham. It’s set in Matt Reeve’s universe. In this one shot, she’s taking a different route from group therapy after some devastating events in the last chapter and needs a laugh! Here are Jay (Joker), Edward (Riddler), Lazlo (Prof. Pyg), and Coralline (myOC Corrosa) all enjoying a game and things get a little raunchy and there is swearing. So be advised.]

One Shot from Chapter 9: Sticky Notes

‘It’s time for some laughs.’

Dr. Quinzel sat to the chair and waited for all the patients to come through. Jay was first, of course. Then following Edward, Coralline, and Lazlo.

“Hey guys, welcome back!” Dr. Quinzel said in an over-the-top chirp.

“Jeez…” Coralline irked as she uncomfortably sat down.

Jay smiled, “You’re in a good mood, doctor.”

“Hello, Ms. Quinzel! Your smile always resonates the sun rays of spring!” Lazlo greeted, loudly aristocratic.

“I’m in a good mood, because today, we’re gonna play!” She snatched her booklet of sticky notes excitedly, “The Sticky Head Game!”

Edward was always so quiet but looked along the disturbed faces of the others, (sans Lazlo, of course) visibly confused as they were.

Jay made a high-pitch titter, “the what?”

“The Sticky Head Game, Joseph. Keep up.” Lazlo scolded.

Jay breathed out, sniggering softly like he was on the brink of anger but desperately holding it back, “For the last time, Pyg. It’s Jay. JAY.”

“Of course, Joseph.”

Dr. Quinzel continued, “Okay, so, the way we play, something is written on a sticky note by someone in the group, then they will stick it to someone’s forehead, and we all need to give guesses of what the thing is, but the one with the sticky note on their forehead has to say the answer. It’s a great group building game!”

Coralline chuckled, “Oh my God, I know this game…”

“You do?” Dr. Quinzel asked.

“Yeah, I used to play it with my friends. You can’t give obvious hints. It’s kinda like charades but the person with the note on their forehead needs to guess, we all have to help them figure it out.”

Dr. Quinzel praised, “That’s right! Now everyone takes a note,” she began handing out sticky notes and felt markers, “do not let anyone see your sticky till it is your turn. It can be an animal, a person, an action, be creative! Try to keep it one word.”

Edward asked shyly, “We just hold onto it until…”

“Until it’s your turn! When it’s your turn, you will stick it to the forehead next to you. Don’t let them see it!” Dr. Quinzel couldn’t contain her giddiness, “Alright! I’ll go first. Jay, your up.”

She came up to Jay who looked down in discomfort as Dr. Quinzel stuck the purple note to his head and sat back down.

It said on the note, ‘Warden Javier Santos’

Coralline sat up in her chair with her finger wagging excitedly, “Oh! An asshole!”

Dr. Quinzel couldn’t contain her laughter as the guards at the doors were furrowing their brows.

Jay pointed to himself, “Is it me? Is it my name?”

“No!”

Edward tried to stifle a laugh at the last answer, “Authoritative. We see him every once in a while, in HRS.”

Jay spat, “Bolton!”

“No!” Coralline laughed.

“He is fond of tailor-made suits. He has gorgeous brown eyes!” Lazlo exclaimed, making Coralline grimace.

“The Warden!”

“Yes!” The four said simultaneously.

Jay took the sticky from his forehead and chuckled, “I should have had it at asshole.” He looked back to the guards and shrugged.

After the laughing died down, Lazlo instructed, “Alright, Joseph. Your turn.”

“Jay!”

“Just put the sticky on his head, for Christ’s sakes.” Coralline hissed.

“Okay! Okay!” Jay giggled as he got up and pressed his sticky into Edward’s forehead— who briefly removed his glasses and swept his hair for Jay.

The note said clearly, ‘Gasoline.’

Dr. Quinzel hummed, “You use it… it’s like… a necessity.”

Coralline interrupted with her finger raised, “America was built on it!”

Edward guessed (his voice a bit louder than usual), “Lies!”

Jay leaned his head back and cracked a laugh.

Coralline said through a smile, “No, no, you’re right but you’re wrong.”

“It tastes much better than it smells!” Lazlo chimed.

Coralline irked, “Ugh! The fuck, man.”

Edward waved his hands to his front and said, “Okay, okay. One at a time, go.”

Jay said, “Okay. I got a riddle for you, Eddie. Can be found underwater, turned to liquid to power. But when it meets a spark, it makes one hell of a fire!”

Edward blurted the answer before Jay was even finished, “Gasoline!”

Jay clapped happily with Dr. Quinzel as Edward took the sticker off his forehead.

“That’s bullshit, you basically gave him the answer!” Coralline whined.

Quinzel scolded, “Now, Coralline… swearing and respect. Come on.”

“No, he did,” said Edward light-heartedly, “That riddle was so obvious.”

Jay pointed to him with his thumb, looking aghast, “Take a load a’ this guy. Riddle lecturer.”

“Alright, alright. Moving along. Edward, you wanna stick your note to Lazlo?”

Edward nervously sat up and approached Lazlo, a large man but smiling like a child. Edward was jittery, and the room fell quiet.

Jay egged him on, “Don’t be nervous, Ed. Just imagine you’re taping up Mitchell.”

Dr. Quinzel flagged that comment, “Hey! Hey! Jay, not cool.”

Edward shook as he stuck it to Lazlo’s forehead, who smiled up at him.

“You remind me of my Garret. Such a shy little critter,” crooned Lazlo up at Edward, “Such gentle features you have, Nashton. Take off your glasses for me.” Edward quickly retreated back to his seat in visible discomfort. Coralline had her eyes closed as she silently laughed in her throat.

“So creepy,” she giggled.

Jay said aloud, “Hey, keep it in your pants, Valentin. He don’t play for your team.”

They observed the next note earnestly. ‘Whale”

Edward said uneasily like he wasn’t sure he should be saying it, “They… live in the ocean.”

Lazlo gasped, “The vampire squid!”

Jay blurted, “It’s a mammal, not a cephalopod!”

Lazlo said quietly to Coralline, “They are quite magnificent.”

Dr. Quinzel chimed, “Some of them travel together, some don’t. They are huge!”

“They can’t breathe in water, but they live in the sea!”

“They sing!”

“Oh my God, how hasn’t he gotten it yet. They are a mammal in the sea!”

Lazlo blurted, “A dolphin!”

“They are almost as huge as you, Pyg.” Jay teased, causing Coralline to wheeze in laughter.

The timer ran out and Lazlo plucked it from his forehead to read the answer. He looked up from the note and to Jay, “Huge as me? Are you fucked?!” He spat it jokingly.

The others in the circle were pooling in laughter. Even Edward was giggling into his hands as he held his glasses in between his fingers.

Lazlo stuck the note on his chest to continue the jest, “I expected better from you, Joseph.”

Jay exaggerated with his hands and in a shrill voice, “It’s not Joseph! It’s Jay! Or Joker! Or Daddy Mac! Please!”

“Calm down, Joseph.” Lazlo preened up.

Edward was in fits of suppressed giggles, but he weakly squeaked from his fingers, “He’s still calling him Joseph.”

Coralline’s face was so red it could have been mistaken for a tomato. Her eyes were starting to swell in tears against the heights of laughter she hadn’t spurt in years. Her stomach ached, her cheeks were sore, the turmoil of Crane wasn’t even considered. Dr. Quinzel was laughing herself, but seeing Coralline and the others enjoying the game to such multitudes was the cherry on top. The game was a success, and her anger for the system and Crane’s malice wasn’t a choke on her enjoyment. Even the guards were lightly tittering at the doors to hear it all transpire.

As the ab-pulsing laughter dwindled, Coralline and Edward wiped their tears, and Jay and Lazlo quit their jibes, Dr. Quinzel said to Lazlo, “Okay, Lazlo. Coralline gets a turn now, let’s see what you got.”

Lazlo was very content to stand and gently press the sticky note to Coralline’s forehead. She folded her black hair behind her ears to help him out.

As Lazlo stepped away from Coralline, Jay buckled into his high-pitch cackles. Edward tried not to laugh but did spurt a raspberry from his mouth before clasping his hand over it. Quinzel chastised but even she was laughing, “Lazlo! Come on!”

“I am a plastic surgeon! This is very appropriate!” Lazlo declared proudly.

On Coralline’s head it was written in bold black, ‘Dick.’

Coralline squalled, “What?! Is it gross? Like sex or something?”

Jay tittered, “Or something, yeah.”

Lazlo pointed his finger with his head held high, “It is… an appendage.”

Edward sighed with a smile, “I don’t know if I want to participate on this one…”

Jay giggled, “What goes in dry and hard, but comes out wet and soft?”

Coralline had enough of the male jibes and took the sticker off her head. She read it with a glare, but then her face lighting up in an ebullient grin, “You asshole!” She slapped the note on Lazlo’s forehead who didn’t phase by it. If anything, he welcomed it.

He said in a flamboyant voice, “Come on, girl, dick for you, dick for me!”

The room was a gaggle of giggles, wheezing, and cackles. Dr. Quinzel wiped her tears from behind her lenses, shaking her head. The game was a hit. Everyone was laughing and smiling ear-to-ear. Four exceptionally dangerous and anti-social people were showing a side of them she hadn’t seen or thought existed. What was a room of high expectations with such dangerous criminals, was now a group of adults enjoying simple fun with sticky notes and jibes. No expectations or rigorous therapy, just themselves.

#batman #matt reeves #dc joker #harley quinn #edward nashton #the riddler #professor pyg #oneshot #comedy #dc villains

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gud-soup · 2 years

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Bun in the oven

Fluff! Nanami Kento x reader

a/n: Here's the little present I'm giving y'all because we all should go to therapy, but can't afford it. And it was HIGHLY OBVIOUS that we needed it from the convo on my previous post. I've missed this man SO. DAMN. MUCH. I just wanna shove my face on his big tiddies uggghh.... quite sad that I haven't wrote anything yet about him (actually I've noted SO MANY stories in my drafts about him, yet here I am, not giving af)

intro: A clueless bread lover, who just needs some rest

➳Masterlist

"Kentooo come here please!" You screamed from the kitchen "What is it honey?"

"Look!"

"Christ, you scared me, why did you do that?" Nanami asked sighing, he rushed, worried that something bad happened, when it was one of your silly stuff again

"What?"

"Why is there bread still wrapped in plastic in the oven?"

"Who are you?" You asked stepping back

"What? Y/n? Are you alright?" Nanami replied worried again

"You're not him, what did you do to my husband? He'd never simply say that it's bread, he would specify the type, smell, taste, and tell curious anecdotes and what combination with other food and drink would make an excellent meal. So... where is he? What did you do to him?" You asked dramatically, lightly smaking his arms at your last words

"Y/n, Y/n, relax, it's me, why did you put a bun in the oven?"

"What?"

"Why did you put a bun in the oven?"

"I don't know, you tell me! If there's anyone who needs to give an explanation here, it must be you" you giggled, hoping he’ll get the hint

"What? Y/n what's wrong with you today? I wasn't the one who put it in the oven, so it must be you! We're the only ones who live in this apartment!"

"Put what in the oven?" You dumbly asked, believing that at this point he’ll get it

"A bun! Y/n! You were the one who called me here because there's a bun in the oven, and I'm not understanding this ridiculous situation, what did you call me for?" Nanami replied exhausted

"Clearly, for what's in the oven" you said with a “duh” look

"Wha- Y/N! You're seriously making me impatient here! I see what's in the oven, but I'm not understanding what do you want me to do about it!" Your husband was slowly getting impatient, he didn’t want to start a fight with you. Work was already enough and he wasn’t willing to pull out all of his stress against you, at least not this way

"Kento, darling, look at me, take a deep breath, calm down, now, could you please repeat slowly what's in the oven?" You calmly said hugging him and looking at him with adoring eyes. This was it. He’ll finally understand

"Y/n, sweet angel, love of my life, listen, I'm sorry if I've lost my temper for such a FUCKING ABSURD SITUATION, but, I don't want to fight against some silly bread, so I'd go back to my reading, if you don't mind" Nanami quickly kissed your forehead sighing again, leaving the room while ruffling his hair, thinking at how ridiculous domestic life was with you sometimes.

"But Kento-" you mumbled trying to call him again

"No, Y/n, please, it's enough, I'll go and make some tea, and maybe use a few of those buns for some sweet snack" Kento stopped you before you could say more, eyes tired as never before

"But the bun, the oven..." you whispered pointing at the food

"Darling, please, I'm tired, and you should take some rest, also, please stop hanging out with Gojo so often, it's having terrible side effects on you" he said quickly hugging you while holding the tea

"Oh, a-alright, I guess, thought, it could be a good idea..." you tried to explain

"I'll be in the living room if you need me" he said kissing you again leaving the room with the mug you gifted him and a softer look on his face

*2 HOURS LATER*

"OH MY FUCKING GOD Y/N! A FUCKING BUN IN THE OVEN?! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO TELL ME LIKE THAT THAT YOU'RE PREGNANT, WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Note to reader: he's aggressive reaction immediately changed as soon as he found you munching a couple of buns with a confused puppy look as he kissed you pationately, only similar to the one of your wedding, swinging you around and lifting you up, not ready to let you go. He wanted to hold his entire world forever and stop the time just to taste this sweet moment you were sharing, and maybe, just maybe, he also didn’t want you to see him crying, again.

That’s all! This was a little something, veeeerrryyy short. Now that I think about it, I want to write so much more about him as I’m still not over him!

Let me know if it was alright!

See ya ✌🏽

Byeeeee

-P

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ragingpancake · 3 years

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The Drought

A/N: Hello again! So, trying to get back into the swing of things so I searched for some fic prompts and came across this one! Prompt at the end. Feel free to drop prompts into my ask! I'd love to write more! Here’s what’s frustrating: out of the entire Atlantis expedition, approximately three quarters of them are ATA gene carriers, all thanks to Carson’s finely tuned gene therapy. Awesome. Great. They now have an entire plethora of people to pick from for ‘light bulb duty’ down in the ancient labs, but the problem is, while there are plenty of people to choose from now, Atlantis and her ancient tech just refuses to work for anyone as well as she works for John fucking Sheppard. It’s infuriating, honestly, but Rodney supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, Captain Kirk has managed to practically sleep his way across the Pegasus Galaxy and if Atlantis was a person, of course she would be a she, so of course she would line up with the rest of hussies and--. Hmph. Maybe it’s John that’s the hussy. Lieutenant Colonel Hussy. Okay, that’s almost funny.

“What are we doin’ here again?” Sheppard asks in that nasally, whiny voice he has and it brings Rodney back to the present where they’re currently testing out what very well could be the galaxy’s version of a blood sugar monitor but it only wants to work with John. “I want you to put your finger under the little…. Thing there and think it on,” Rodney says, like it’s the most self-explanatory thing in the world. The duhis left unsaid but it’s there, hanging in the air. He’s also trying very hard not to think about where else he might like Sheppard to put his finger and-- “Why?” It’s infuriating, not only that John Sheppard is the only one that Atlantis responds so easily to, but that he doesn’t even seem to care. Rodney can feel the tips of his ears go red at the annoyance, but there’s that almost smug smile that touches Sheppard’s lips and God, he’s so annoying. And handsome. And smart (not as smart as Rodney of course, but then--) Right. Ancient tech. “It’s not working,” John intones and Rodney frowns down at the tablet. “Well, you aren’t trying hard enough.” “Trying hard enough at what? I’m doing exactly what you said, Rodney.” “Think harder then.” “Can’t we just try something else? Somethin’ cool?” And John honest to God whines and Christ, why is this Rodney’s life? “I just need you to think it on, Colonel,” Rodney snips mostly because they’ve been down here in this lab for the last hour or so and it’s just a couple of them and for the last fifty eight minutes and thirty two seconds, Rodney has been acutely aware of just how close Sheppard is sitting to where he’s working and he just wants to be done. John sighs and screws his eyes shut for all of three seconds before he opens one slowly, glancing down at the machine. Nothing. “I don’t wanna say I toldja so, but--.” “Not another word,” Rodney huffs and he drops the tablet onto the table, lifting a hand to massage his temples. He’s over this. He’s really, really over this and when he glances up at Sheppard to dismiss him, he’s slightly embarrassed to find the Colonel already looking at him, an unreadable look on his face. “I guess that’s it then,” he says, and he sounds annoyed. “We’re done for the day.” “Well, I guess I’ll see ya later then,” John says, standing from his stool and waving lazily at the crew before he slouches out of the lab, Rodney looking after him as he does. It takes all of two seconds before Zelenka speaks up. “Ahem,” he says, feigning clearing his throat. “Perhaps you would like it if I got you a glass of water?” “Not near the ancient tech,” Rodney answers automatically before he realizes exactly what Radek said. “What?” “Clearly, you are incredibly thirsty.” It’s not just Rodney’s ears that go pink this time, but his cheeks burn too. “I have no idea—” “Oh please,” Radek smirks. “The tech works just as well for any other gene carrier here on Atlantis, you know that. We all know you just pretend it doesn’t to give you an excuse to get Sheppard down here and ogle him for an hour.” “First of all, there is no ogling anyone here and second of all, you knowthe city responds best to him! We can’t all be natural gene carriers with the stupid hair and that stupid slouch and--.” “Relax, Rodney,” Radek says and he’s still teasing but maybe there’s something else there too. “For what it is worth, Miko, Simpson and myself believe that the Colonel is just as… parched.” “Wait, wait, wait, you’re saying—No, no. You’re wrong. It’s not possible.” Radek shrugs. “If you say so.” He’s content to let it go and go back to work, and Rodney thinks it really sucks that Zelenka would put such a thought in his head and then just goes back to pretending he hasn’t completely melted Rodney’s brain. Well, what the hell is he supposed to do about this now?

He gives it a few days, lets himself ruminate on it and he’s still pretty certain that Radek is full of it. But then they’re back to the labs, Sheppard back on lightbulb duty, except this time they’re alone and Rodney cannot… well, he can’t quite look away from the Colonel, no matter how hard he tries. Not even when the blood sugar monitor turns on at the slightest thought from Sheppard and--. “Rodney? Something on your mind, pal?” “No,” Rodney answers, perhaps just a little too quickly, eyes snapping down to the tablet in his hand as he catalogs the response the tech is giving John. “Why?” Because he can’t leave well enough alone. “IS there something on yourmind?” John’s response is just as defensive, an emphatic no, and Rodney knewthat Radek was full of shit, that little--. There’s a shrill alarm that sounds for a fraction of a second before the sprinklersthat Rodney didn’t even know existed come on, immediately soaking them both. John curses and stands up from the stool quickly and Rodney very nearly slips in an attempt to get the tablet out of the water, only managing to keep from busting his ass when John reaches for him and suddenly, they’re standing there so close and--. Thirsty. Yes, perhaps he is. “Sheppard, I--.” He doesn’t get a chance to say what he is when John leans forward and crushes their lips together and oh. Oh. This is… this is nice. He relaxes against it, perhaps leaning into it a bit more than he means to and it seems to continue for an eternity before John finally, perhaps reluctantly, pulls away. “Didn’t think you’d ever get with the program, Rodney,” John mutters and he looks a little embarrassed but a lot proud of himself and--. “Sorry it took so long to get the tech workin’,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and Rodney realizes he should probably figure out how to turn the sprinklers off, but he’s a little dumbstruck right now, to be frank. “I was hopin’ that if we had to try again, no one else would be here so I could--. Well. So I could see if you were maybe just as dehydrated as I am.” Sonofabitch. Zelenka was right. “Absolutely bone dry.” “Well,” Sheppard says, and there’s a hint of an almost devious smile touching his lips. “Let’s see what we can do about quenching that, huh?” Definitely Lieutenant Colonel Hussy. But this time, Rodney’s more than okay with it.

Your prompt: Person B staring admiringly at Person A from across the room. A friend whispers into Person B's ear: 'Why are you so thirsty?'

#sga fic #mcshep #ship: mcshep #rodney mckay #john shepprd #atlantis ships it #prompt fic #stargate atlantis #sga #first kiss #pining john #oblivious rodney

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theshedding · 3 years

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Lil Nas X: Country Music, Christianity & Reclaiming HELL

I don’t typically bother myself to follow what Lil Nas X is doing from day to day, or even month to month but I do know that his “Old Town Road” hit became one of the biggest selling/streamed records in Country Music Business history (by a Black Country & Queer artist). “Black” is key because for 75+ years Country music has unsuspiciously evolved into a solidly White-identified genre (despite mixed and Indian & Black roots). Regrettably, Country music is also widely known for anti-black, misogynoir, reliably homophobic (Trans isn’t really a conversation yet), Christian and Hard Right sentiments on the political spectrum. Some other day I will venture into more; there is a whole analysis dying to be done on this exclusive practice in the music industry with its implications on ‘access’ to equity and opportunity for both Black/POC’s and Whites artists/songwriters alike. More commentary on this rigid homogeneous field is needed and how it prohibits certain talent(s) for the sake of perpetuating homogeneity (e.g. “social determinants” of diversity & viable artistic careers). I’ll refrain from discussing that fully here, though suffice it to say that for those reasons X’s “Old Town Road” was monumental and vindicating.

As for Lil Nas X, I’m not particularly a big fan of his music; but I see him, what he’s doing, his impact on music + culture and I celebrate him using these moments to affirm his Black, Queer self, and lifting up others. Believe it or not, even in the 2020′s, being “out” in the music business is still a costly choice. As an artist it remains much easier to just “play straight”. And despite appearances, the business (particularly Country) has been dragged kicking and screaming into developing, promoting and advancing openly-affirming LGBTQ 🏳️‍🌈 artists in the board room or on-stage. Though things are ‘better’ we have not yet arrived at a place of equity or opportunity for queer artists; for the road of music biz history is littered with stunted careers, bodies and limitations on artists who had no option but to follow conventional ways, fail or never be heard of in the first place. With few exceptions, record labels, radio and press/media have successfully used fear, intimidation, innuendo and coercion to dilute, downplay or erase any hint of queer identity from its performers. This was true even for obvious talents like Little Richard.

(Note: I’m particularly speaking of artists in this regard, not so much the hairstylists, make-up artists, PA’s, etc.)

_____

Which is why...in regard to Lil Nas X, whether you like, hate or love his music, the young brother is a trailblazer. His very existence protests (at least) decades of inequity, oppression and erasure. X aptly critiques a Neo-Christian Fascist Heteropatriarchy; not just in American society but throughout the Music Business and with Black people. That is no small deal. His unapologetic outness holds a mirror up to Christianity at-large, as an institution, theology and practice. The problem is they just don’t like what they see in that mirror.

In actuality, “Call Me By Your Name”, Lil Nas X’s new video, is a twist on classic mythology and religious memes that are less reprehensible or vulgar than the Biblical narratives most of us grew up on vís-a-vís indoctrinating smiles of Sunday school teachers and family prior to the “age of reason”. Think about the narratives blithely describing Satan’s friendly wager with God regarding Job (42:1-6); the horrific “prophecies” in St. John’s Book of Revelation (i.e. skies will rain fire, angels will spit swords, mankind will be forced to retreat into caves for shelter, and we will be harassed by at least three terrifying dragons and beasts. Angels will sound seven trumpets of warning, and later on, seven plagues will be dumped on the world), or Jesus’s own clarifying words of violent intent in Matthew (re: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” 10:34). Whether literal or metaphor, these age old stories pale in comparison to a three minute allegorical rap video. Conservatives: say what you will, I’m pretty confident X doesn’t take himself as seriously as “The true and living God” from the book of Job.

A little known fact as it is, people have debunked the story and evolution of Satan and already offered compelling research showing [he] is more of a literary device than an actual entity or “spirit” (Spoiler: In the Bible, Satan does not take shape as an actual “bad” person until the New Testament). In fact, modern Christianity’s impression of the “Devil” is shaped by conflating Hellenized mythology with a literary tradition rooted in Dante’s Inferno and accompanying spooks and superstitions going back thousands of years. Whether Catholic, Protestant, Mormon, Scientologist, Atheist or Agnostic, we’ve spent a lifetime with these predominant icons and clichés. (Resource: Prof. Bart D. Erhman, “Heaven & Hell”).

So Here’s THE PROBLEM: The current level of fear and outrage is:

(1) Unjust, imposing and irrational.

(2) Disproportionate when taken into account a lifetime of harmful Christian propaganda, anti-gay preaching and political advocacy.

(3) Historically inaccurate concerning the existence of “Hell” and who should be scared of going there.

Think I’m overreacting?

Examples:

Institutionalized Homophobia (rhetoric + policy)

Anti-Gay Ministers In Life And Death: Bishop Eddie Long And Rev. Bernice King

Black, gay and Christian, Marylanders struggle with Conflicts

Harlem pastor: 'Obama has released the homo demons on the black man'

Joel Olsteen: Homosexuality is “Not God’s Best”

Bishop Brandon Porter: Gays “Perverted & Lost...The Church of God in Christ Convocation appears like a ‘coming out party’ for members of the gay community.”

Kim Burrell: “That perverted homosexual spirit is a spirit of delusion & confusion and has deceived many men & women, and it has caused a strain on the body of Christ”

Falwell Suggests Gays to Blame for 9-11 Attacks

Pope Francis Blames The Devil For Sexual Abuse By Catholic Church

Pope Francis: Gay People Not Welcome in Clergy

Pope Francis Blames The Devil For Sexual Abuse By Catholic Church

The Pope and Gay People: Nothing’s Changed

The Catholic church silently lobbied against a suicide prevention hotline in the US because it included LGBT resources

Mormon church prohibits Children of LGBT parents to be baptized

Catholic Charity Ends Adoptions Rather Than Place Kid With Same-Sex Couple

I Was a Religious Zealot That Hurt People-Coming Out as Gay: A Former Conversion Therapy Leader Is Apologizing to the LGBTQ Community

The above short list chronicles a consistent, literal, demonization of LGBTQ people, contempt for their gender presentation, objectification of their bodies/sexuality and a coordinated pollution of media and culture over the last 50+ years by clergy since integration and Civil Rights legislation. Basically terrorism. Popes, Bishops, Pastors, Evangelists, Politicians, Television hosts, US Presidents, Camp Leaders, Teachers, Singers & Entertainers, Coaches, Athletes and Christians of all types all around the world have confused and confounded these issues, suppressed dissent, and confidently lied about LGBT people-including fellow Queer Christians with impunity for generations (i.e. “thou shall not bear false witness against they neighbor” Ex. 23:1-3). Christian majority viewpoints about “laws” and “nature” have run the table in discussions about LGBTQ people in society-so much that we collectively must first consider their religious views in all discussions and the specter of Christian approval -at best or Christian condescension -at worst. That is Christian (and straight) privilege. People are tired of this undue deference to religious opinions.

That is what is so deliciously bothersome about Lil Nas X being loud, proud and “in your face” about his sexuality. If for just a moment, he not only disrupts the American hetero-patriarchy but specifically the Black hetero-patriarchy, the so-called “Black Church Industrial Complex”, Neo-Christian Fascism and a mostly uneducated (and/or miseducated) public concerning Ancient Near East and European history, superstitions-and (by extension) White Supremacy. To round up: people are losing their minds because the victim decided to speak out against his victimizer.

Additionally, on some level I believe people are mad at him being just twenty years old, out and FREE as a self-assured, affirming & affirmed QUEER Black male entertainer with money and fame in the PRIME of his life. We’ve never, or rarely, seen that before in a Black man in the music business and popular culture. But that’s just too bad for them. With my own eyes I’ve watched straight people, friends, Christians, enjoy their sexuality from their elementary youth to adolescence, up and through college and later marriages, often times independently of their spouses (repeatedly). Meanwhile Queer/Gay/SGL/LGBTQ people are expected to put their lives on hold while the ‘blessed’ straight people run around exploring premarital/post-marital/extra-marital sex, love and affection, unbound & un-convicted by their “sin” or God...only to proudly rebrand themselves later in life as a good, moral “wholesome Christian” via the ‘sacred’ institution of marriage with no questions asked.

Inequality defined.

For Lil Nas X, everything about the society we've created for him in the last 100+ years (re: links above) has explicitly been designed for his life not to be his own. According to these and other Christians (see above), his identity is essentially supposed to be an endless rat fuck of internal confusion, suicide-ideation, depression, long-suffering, faux masculinity, heterosexism, groveling towards heaven, respectability politics, failed prayer and supplication to a heteronormative earthly and celestial hierarchy unbothered in affording LGBT people like him a healthy, sane human development. It’s almost as if the Conservative establishment (Black included) needs Lil Nas X to be like others before him: “private”, mysteriously single, suicidal, suspiciously straight or worse, dead of HIV/AIDS ...anything but driving down the street enjoying his youth as a Black Queer artist and man. So they mad about that?

Well those days are over.

-Rogiérs is a writer, international recording artist, performer and indie label manager with 25+ years in the music industry. He also directs Black Nonbelievers of DC, a non-profit org affiliated with the AHA supporting Black skeptics, Atheists, Agnostics & Humanists. He holds a B.A. in Music Business & Mgmt and a M.A. in Global Entertainment & Music Business from Berklee College of Music and Berklee Valencia, Spain. www.FibbyMusic.net Twitter/IG: @Rogiers1

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

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You Don’t Understand- Prompt Fill

Jon has a rough time after being absent for 6 months.

Write as a prompt fill gotten through A03

CW fainting, victim blaming, withdrawal/starvation symptoms (from statements) (I am a bit vague about which it is more like because I couldn't choose, so a bit of both), trust issues, very brief Peter Lukas mention, brief mention of someone being touched while unconscious (nonsexual and very brief mention), and cw for some very mixed feelings about Georgie. I understand her, and I don't hate her, but I don't really like her either so please don't get mad at me for how she is written I am trying to do her justice and I get why she does the things she does, but I don't have to like her for it.

Thanks for reading hope you enjoy! I have a few more bingo prompts to post, but only one more to write! Feel free to stick it in my inbox and if no one does, well you will just have to put up with whatever whim strikes me this weekend when I will write it for a backlog! Card by the wonderful @celosiaa

It’s been six months. How has it been six months?

Jon isn’t sure how he is supposed to think about that time. Is it all supposed to feel like a dream, that one moment he’s blowing up, the next he’s awake?

It doesn’t feel like that.

But he also wasn’t really there for six months, was he?

He sighs deeply to himself. It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

He’s alive.

He’s fine.

Martin and Tim are sharing a flat, apparently. And that’s good. He thinks? Maybe?

They keep telling him there is room for him, but he isn’t sure he can believe that…. Not after everything with Tim. He wants to believe it… But… what if Martin doesn’t want him there. He thought maybe they had a moment before the Unknowing, but did they?

Jon’s not good with…. Feelings. With people.

Not to mention he’s been Gone. With a capital G and a flatline of a heartrate.

Even if he and Martin could possibly have… Could possibly have had something. Of some unknowable sort. That he couldn’t have hoped to put a word to for fear that it would crumble around him. But he’s been gone and Tim hasn’t been and they seem close now.

And maybe Tim is trying again with him? But how can he be sure? When everything is confusing and out of sync with what he thought of time.

Not to mention the deep hunger that is more than hunger. Deeper in his gut, and harder to ignore. Followed by a fog of confusion and the sense that his skin is too tight, that the world is the wrong temperature, and that everything is tilted ever so slightly, making it impossible to keep his balance.

Reading statements helps, but… Basira… but Georgie. The disappointed glares they send his way when he skulks off to read one in hopes of feeling like his limbs are his again…. That he isn’t being slowly set on fire or slowly frozen. The world skirting by him with a vengeful glee leaving him to rot in his own misery on the shelf in the stacks he’s been calling home recently.

Martin wasn’t there when he woke up…. Working for the ever elusive Peter Lukas. Tim wasn’t there… Martin later telling him he’d been afraid of scaring him. Which Jon couldn’t escape the worry that, in actuality, it was Martin worrying that Tim would scare Jon… or hurt him. Which Jon could tell was the more valid of the worries. Or he thinks it is? How is he supposed to be certain. How can he trust anyone? How is he supposed to trust anyone when Basira gives him such calculating stares, when Melanie glares metaphorical and literal daggers at him, when Georgie has been ignoring his texts (and her harsh words upon his waking). When Martin is working for a literal monster. When Daisy is gone… and Jon doesn’t know how to feel. He wants Basira to be happy, but he feels safer without her. And he doesn’t know how to feel about anything but he is sick and hungry and cold and hollow.

There is no one.

Georgie doesn’t understand.

He runs into her once, picking Melanie up for therapy. After…. An unwise abrupt and shady surgery.

He is in the breakroom. Baffled that Martin is still making him tea when he hardly sees him around. Even more baffled when Tim makes him another cup.

What does it all mean?

(Not to mention his confusion at the green hair… that had been a shock.

When he texted Martin about it, he said to ask Tim, and included an emoji that Jon couldn’t parse out. Weren’t emojis supposed to be easier to read than actual faces? It was maybe resigned? Or maybe regretful?

Regretful of what? Is he ashamed of something? Is he regretful that he opened a text from Jon, that Jon turned down the request to move in? It isn’t that Jon wanted to turn it down.

But it sounds too good to be true? When everyone avoids him at work… Well Tim doesn’t, but Jon is scared of being alone with Tim. He is scared of this kindness and how long it might last.)

So he’s in the breakroom.

Trying to steady himself the less monstrous and terrifying way.

And Georgie is there.

Jon shrinks back on himself. Still hoping the mug of tea will make his hands steadier, make him less cold, less shaky, less miserable. But he’s having difficulty holding it with one shaky hand, white knuckling his cane with the other. Trying not to let it tremble as much as the rest of him, propping himself up when black spots start eating at his vision. Not in the POTS sort of way… but in the same way that has been since America. Since that first hint of fear that maybe… maybe he’s not human, that he is reliant on some horrifying eldritch god of knowledge.

This is the price of him waking up.

And it chews him up from the inside when, in his panic, he tries to limit his consumption hoping that it will turn him back. Hoping that he still has a chance to win back the people he cares about, but fighting the fear that this is the only way to save them all.

He doesn’t know what to do. Being undead doesn’t come with a manual.

And there is no chance that Georgie will take this any better than she did when she kept telling him to quit… to just stop.

He’s trying!

It’s been a few days since his last statement, and the world swims before his eyes whenever he stands. Worse than it ever has. He’s woken up on the floor more times in the few weeks he’s been alive again than in the long and confusing months leading up to his diagnosis.

Which was after Georgie… which… means she hasn’t seen him like this. Not when he was living with her because he has been managing, or so he thought, but hell maybe the Eye had a hand in that.

And oh Shit, she is looking at him now.

What does he do if she wants to talk? She hasn’t responded to any of his texts, or late night calls when he’s been too afraid to call anyone else and she always felt safe. Even when they were fighting. But she hasn’t been there for him. No one has, of late. Except the people who are trying and Jon is too confused to know what to do so he does nothing and an all-consuming guilt joins in with that Hunger. That sickness eating him from the inside with every word he doesn’t consume.

“Hi Jon.”

He can’t say anything. He’s been standing too long, but seeing her there, he is frozen. Fight or Flight breaking down to freeze. Has he always been such a coward?

Yes.

Yes he has. A miserable coward since he was a child. Getting into trouble trying to try to prove to himself that he isn’t.

Christ he’s dizzy. But she’s still talking.

“Jon, you really oughtn’t be here. You don’t look well. Shouldn’t you still be resting? That long in hospital should have you in need of some physical therapy. Are you pushing yourself too hard?”

Jon bites down on the urge to snap at her. Or start crying. Or simply pass out and not have to deal with this conversation at all. “I need to be here,” he says quietly. Afraid that expelling too much air will knock him over.

“And why is that? Really Jon, I swear… Melanie says you haven’t been eating , or sleeping, but she sees you here at all hours. Why? What is this all for? It’s just a job, I don’t care if there are Monsters or whatever. You see this? This is why I can’t deal with you right now! Not to mention what you did to Melanie. What the hell, Jon? You say you’re trying to save the world, but maybe you can’t? Maybe you need to save yourself before you can do anything else.”

Jon just wants to get away before he goes down, and by this point he knows that is inevitable. Maybe get to his office, and open a statement first. Maybe that will help, or maybe it will make him feel better once he comes around. He should put down his tea. He doesn’t want the mug to break if he can’t make it. He’ll set it on the table on the way out, or wait until he’s in the bullpen and put it down and take a seat and hope that helps. He tries to edge around her, staring at the floor. Careful not to say anything that could compel. Just wanting to get out. “Have work to do… sorry.”

“No you don’t! Look at yourself, Jon! Work can wait!”

Jon just wants to leave. He wishes it could! He does. He wants nothing more than to take a vacation. To move in with Martin and Tim and have a life. A home. Safety. Normalcy. And Argument over who finished the milk and who has to do the shopping and not about how best to not die at the hands of Fear Gods, and how best to not serve them. “Please, Georgie you don’t understand…”

He backs away. Fuck he’s dizzy.

“No, Jon I don’t. Explain. What am I missing. Why do you have to do this? Why do you insist on working yourself into your grave? It’s already basically killed you. Maybe some of us don’t want to see you do that again?”

“I… I… I need a Statement….” Well so much for getting away. He’s not even going to make it to a chair or the floor on his own. “Hold this, I’m… I think I’m going to faint now.” He holds his cane out to her.

She takes it confused.

Jon doesn’t remember hitting the floor.

When he comes around, his head is pounding.

Georgie is touching him. He is on his side, and he is being yelled at. He can’t make out the words yet… all just in a haze of pain and confusion and feeling like utter shit. He tries to bat her hands away but he can’t and so he just lays there. Hoping some feeling comes back to his limbs soon. Or that Georgie will just get bored and leave him there.

But then Martin is there. And Tim.

And Martin is shooing Georgie out of his personal space. “He doesn’t like being touched while he’s out.”

Well… correct.

“What the hell just happened?” Georgie.

“Well… it happens sometimes. Did he say anything?” Martin again.

“Something about needing Statement?”

“Tim, could you grab him a Statement?”

“Sure thing, back in a mo.” Tim. More earnest than Jon has heard him in a long time. Tim helping him? If he wasn’t already on the floor, he might have fainted again at that.

“What, you’re just going to go along with it? Let him work himself to death? Look at him! He isn’t well! …I don’t know why I am arguing this. He’s an adult and if he is going to do that, I don’t need to be a part of this. It isn’t my job to baby sit him.” Georgie shoves his cane at Martin, who doesn’t freeze. In fact, as far as Jon can tell through half lidded eyes, Martin looks angry.

“Look. I know we don’t know each other well. But do you really think so poorly of Jon… of me? I don’t know what he’s told you… but he needs those Statements to live. I don’t know if it’s ….a food… or… or an addiction. But … he doesn’t do well without them. And… And Elias was feeding them to him when he wasn’t here. And Jon told me how you didn’t want them in the flat, but he got sick in America. Really really sick, and … and Elias found him there and fed him another one. He didn’t know until then. But… you have to know we can’t quit. And we aren’t sure if Jon can live without these. And it is a far from ideal situation… but we are working on it. You don’t have to like it. Or talk to Jon, although you should. You aren’t enabling him, he needs a support system. And he’s just too thick to see that Tim and I are here from him, and everyone else is giving him the cold shoulder… so I don’t blame him for being too thick to notice! Not to mention, my new position has made interacting with him during work hours… difficult, but I can’t blame him for not wanting to move in yet, although I hope he will. And you! The only person not in this mess who he trusts, ignores him. Blames him! Maybe you should try listening? I get it… you can’t deal with him right now. Fine. I get it. Do what you have to. You don’t have to look after him at your own expense. But don’t be cruel. …Oh good. Tim, thanks. When he comes around, a Statement and some tea will set him right.” Martin smiles at Tim (a smile that makes Jon jealous) and gives Georgie a cool look.

“Marto, I think he’s been awake for most of that.” Tim is crouched by him.

“Haven’t been eavesdropping, promise. Just… just getting my bearings. I’m fine. I’ll be up soon.” Jon’s voice is rough. Misery, unshed tears, exhaustion. Take your pick.

“It’s okay, buddy. We’ll get you fixed up and then you can have a proper rest. Offer of the flat share is still open, okay?” Tim hovers, ready to help him sit when he’s ready.

Jon… doesn’t know what to say. After hearing Martin defend him… Maybe… Maybe he can start working on trusting Tim again. Tim… is, after all, working on trusting him too.

Georgie looks down at him. He can’t read her expression. She looks at him for a long moment.

The gaze isn’t uncomfortable by itself. But Jon feels exposed on the floor. Small and helpless and weak as well as supernaturally hungry, that not at all helped by his “surprise nap.”

He tries to avoid meeting her eyes.

“I’m… sorry I didn’t listen. I… still can’t do this with you right now. But… I’m sorry. I can’t be your friend now, but… let me know if you want some pictures of the Admiral ever, okay?” And she leaves. Off to bring Melanie to her appointment.

Leaving Jon with Martin and Tim.

Who bring him to his sad excuse for a bed, tuck him in with a statement and a cup of tea and tell him to call if he needs anything. And Jon thinks, maybe he will reconsider their offer.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #georgie barker #tim stoker #martin blackwood #timothy stoker #cw fainting #cw victim blaming #cw statement hunger #tma fic #my words #my fic #my writing #my art

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ocalaghan · 3 years

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I finished watching House. Much to think about. Much to process.

I first saw House a couple of years ago when my mum was watching it, so I would catch episodes here and there with her, but I decided to watch it properly from the beginning a couple of months ago.

I don't even know where to start. That finale was insane. I honestly found it... a little anti-climactic? Which sounds crazy given the fact that House FAKED HIS OWN DEATH but there was just so much I would've liked to see happen that didn't.

Like... let's start with when he went into psychiatric care. He got clean. He was happier. He was definitely a better person. Still very much House but just... nicer. A little bit more thoughtful. He had a goal to be less depressed. I enjoyed that version of him a lot and then it felt like that character development was all for naught when he quit therapy and just regressed back to what he was before. When Cuddy broke up with him (for very fair reasons), it seemed like he lost sight of the fact he was getting better for himself, and not for anyone else, and just packed it in. I found that quite disappointing.

Side-note - House and Cuddy as a couple! They really played the long game on that enemies-to-lovers trope there. I guess they were never true enemies per se but... Jesus Christ. At the start I couldn't have pictured that becoming a thing at all but when the show started dropping hints it was going to, it grew on me. Hugh and Lisa played the parts so well. And tbh, the fact that they weren't endgame is kind of annoying. Like, that romance was sooooooo slow-burn. To go through ALL OF THAT and not have them unite at the end was saddening. I think it could've only worked if House's character development had improved back to immediate-post-psych-care House though. It wouldn't have been right to have them get back together after he literally crashed his car into her home. She has a kid to think about too. It just bummed me out that she was gone in season eight and never to be seen again, only mentioned fleetingly. I wanted to know she was doing well, and I definitely would've loved to see her in the finale and have she and House reconcile somehow. Not romantically, just... have House sincerely apologise to her. Something. ANYTHING. A CRUMB, PLEASE. But wherever Lisa and her daughter are, hopefully they are happy and maybe with that handsome guy she met.

I'm not gonna lie, I was really hoping for a Chase/Cameron reunion in the finale. More than just them sitting next to each other at the funeral. I wanted them to be endgame. I was hoping after a couple of years apart that Cameron might be able to try again with Chase but obviously we see her with an anonymous partner and child... a little bummed but the series left it at a positive personal note for them both. Cameron had a family, Chase was no longer squandering his potential. So I will just envision them as good friends. :')

Actually kind of surprised they didn't pair Chase with Adams cos it felt like it was going that way sometimes but I am glad about that, it would've felt out of place and rushed. A shame we didn't really see much personal development for the likes of Adams, Park, and Foreman in general though. I like to think Park stays with whoever Patrick Stump's character's name was lol. Foreman was a real ass throughout the first several seasons and I just did not like him much. After he took Cuddy's job when she left, though, I did like him more. It would've been nice to see him paired off with someone but I really enjoyed his final scene, where he finds House's ID card hidden in his office. Was super fitting for House to leave Foreman a clue that he was actually still alive. Taub was someone else I didn't really like but surprisingly after he finally divorced his wife, he did grow on me. He was also occasionally quite funny, he provided some much-needed comedy relief. I liked him very much as a dad. Too funny that he got two women pregnant with daughters named Sophie and Sophia. I liked his final scene, he just looked far more content rather than the long face he wore for 90% of the show.

Thirteen, my destructive bi queen... sad we did not see much of her in the final season but I am so glad she is happy and also had her endgame relationship with a woman?! Pleasantly surprised. Disappointing we didn't really see that relationship but I suppose we rarely see much of any of their relationships, so I can't be overly bitter about that.

I can't believe they did Wilson so dirty by giving him cancer. Married three times, best relationship of his life ended because she fucking DIED IN HIS ARMS, wanted children but never got them... and they give him FIVE MONTHS TO LIVE. I love Wilson, I am so very hurt. It was weirdly fitting though, and they wrote it in such a way that I can't actually be too mad about it? He's gonna get to live out the remainder of his life doing all the things he wanted to do (bar finally settling down and having kids, I guess...) with his best friend so I can't say I'm that disappointed by it, but still. Damn.

I suppose the point of the ending is that you can envision for yourself what House goes on to do after Wilson's dead. He faked his own death so he could completely reinvent his life so however he does that is anyone's guess.

I really liked that Stacy was one of House's most prominent hallucinations in the burning building, especially when she said, "We are not the only two people who could love you," referring to herself and Cuddy. And House envisioned Dominika but quickly pushed the thought away. I don't think he could go back to Dominika now because she thinks he's dead and I doubt he would want to jeopardise her status in the country, but I like to think that "Stacy's" words mean he will find someone to fall in love with because it was so obviously something he wanted deep down.

I also just want to note I know there are people who ship House/Wilson and that there's even seemingly evidence of them caring for each other in a somewhat romantic way and honestly I vibe with it. Like I find it wild they just dropped random apparently gay hints in but it was never developed on so I'm just gonna ignore it here. I don't think House would've legit revealed feelings for Wilson in those five months but... maybe I'm wrong. He was a very broken man.

But also, if he doesn't go and visit his mother and let her know he isn't dead, I will kill him for real myself. DON'T DO THAT TO YOUR LOVELY MOM.

Don't think there's a whole lot more to say. One other thing is that I thought there was going to be a final resolution on who House's real father is, but that was never solved.

Wild show. Not my favourite medical drama by any stretch, but it was a good watch.

#house #house md #gregory house #lisa cuddy #house x cuddy

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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WIJ Prompt: Choice

(Features @untilthepainstarts‘s Graham, who was due for a win, I think)

CW: Trauma response, dissoci@tion, PTSD/flashback, referenced noncon, noncon touching (in a flashback), dehumanization, conditioning

The @whumpmasinjuly prompt for Day 9 is Choice, and this is for that promp!

Tagging Danny’s people: @slytherynjolras, @whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @spiffythespook, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @swordkallya, @astrobly, @slaintetowhump

Graham was cooking breakfast, humming to himself along with some shit pop song on the radio, wearing just a pair of soft pajama pants he’d hauled on as he rolled out of bed - for once, for once, he was up before Danny Michaelson was and Graham Pierce had decided he was going to make the most of the moment and cook Danny a decent breakfast.

Lev had already come and gone, the swiftest kiss to Graham’s cheek on his way out the door. The love of Graham’s life had had a whole string of good days, while Danny was visiting, and the easy settling of a hand on Graham’s shoulder, brush of lips against his stubbled cheek, the soft I love you on his way out the door... all of it had Graham feeling pretty fucking good.

It was just he and Danny this morning - Lev was going to something-something-museum-something with a friend of his, no calls except for emergencies, although Graham checked the GPS app that connected their phones, just now and then.

Just a reminder that he knew where Lev was, that his Lev-blip was settled firmly on his radar, safe and sound where he belonged.

Graham had cooked up a couple of sausages, getting a bit of animal fat in the pan, and tossed in eggs to fry as he heard the first stirrings from the bedroom. Danny was all long limbs between them last night, between them in every possible way, and Graham grinned to himself. It’d been a good night, although all things considered, he was a bit sad Nate couldn’t make this trip.

Nate was like him, in a lot of ways that Danny and Lev weren’t. It’d been nice, to get on so well with someone else who spent as much time watching as he did.

Graham had just cracked the eggs into the pan when Danny came out into the kitchen, shuffling in his pajama, scarred torso and arms more on display than they normally were. Usually Danny never let himself be seen shirtless with any light on, or with the sun through the blinds like it came in now, giving everything a pretty golden hue.

“Mornin’, Danny,” Graham said cheerfully, picking up a knife to cut up a bit of melon, the chef’s knife slipping through the pale orange flesh and gray-green skin with ease.

Danny mumbled something that sounded like -ed.

“Hm?” Graham turned, and found the point of the chef’s knife pressing lightly, just barely, against Danny’s torso where he stood suddenly too close for comfort. “... Danny?”

He knew before Danny moved again that he wasn’t talking to Danny at all.

“My name is Red,” Danny whispered, and dropped to his knees with a thunk that made Graham wince as they hit the tile floor in the kitchen, tilting his head back to meet Graham’s eyes - and fuck, the sickening emptiness in the warm blue, it was an emptiness that Graham had seen too many times - as he slowly leaned forward until his throat touched the blade. “I belong to you.”

Graham’s breath hitched, caught in his throat.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said, each word falling out in a nervous rush. His hair was mussed up from sleeping still, the red lines cut into his face a little faded in the golden light of morning. Graham pulled the knife back, but with a little less finesse than he’d like and winced when he saw blood well up, just a bit, where he’d pricked the skin by accident. “I shouldn’t... shouldn’t have, um, have slept in. I’m sorry, I can be good-”

“Danny, no-”

“My name is Red,” Danny said again, more insistently. A kid trying to pass a test, Graham thought, his heart pounding as he set the knife carefully down next to the half-cut melon on the cutting board.

Lev had been gone for less than an hour and already the morning had gone to hell without him here. Graham’s eyes drifted to his cell phone... he could call Lev, get him back here to help - but Lev had been looking forward to this museum thing for months. And it wasn’t really an emergency, was it? Not yet. Not if he could pull Danny out of it.

“Right. Sorry-... uh, Red.” The name felt all wrong on his tongue, it made him think of when they’d first traded names, he and Lev, and Graham had stood by while Lev looked Danny up and saw all the news reports, realized that Lev’s online therapy buddy was actually kind of some local celebrity in his part of the States for what he’d survived, and Lev had said, softly, I’m so glad I never made the news.

“When you’re bad,” Danny said, sitting back on his heels, looking up at Graham with eyes that saw someone else entirely, frightened and wanting only to placate whatever he saw in Graham’s face, in his eyes, “You say you’re sorry and you get hurt so you won’t do it again. Pl-please... please h-hurt me. So I won’t, um, won’t sleep in again-”

“Jesus,” Graham muttered, and Danny flinched back. “No, no, you’re okay, it’s okay, uh, Red. You’re not in trouble. I’m... I’m not going to hurt you.”

He’d expected relief, maybe, or some kind of awful gratitude for mercy, or some shit like that. Instead, Danny’s eyes welled up with terrified tears and he slumped forward. “N-no, please, I have to-... I can learn, right here, you don’t, um, you don’t need to put me down there, I don’t want to go in the dark-”

There are worse things than pain. Graham knew that well enough, didn’t he? After what he and Lev and Niels had lived through, he knew that sure as he knew anything on earth. There are worse things than simple pain.

And whatever ‘down there’ meant, whatever the ‘dark’ was, Danny was more scared of that than he was of the idea of being hurt.

He thought of the phone again. He could pick it up, call Lev, and get someone here who probably knew what to do better than he did.

Or... he could make a different choice.

Graham swallowed, took a deep breath, and then said quietly, “Stand up, Red.”

“No, please, no no no,” Danny whimpered, and leaned forwards, nuzzling into the front of Graham’s pajama pants, almost desperately gripping onto the fabric with his fingers. Graham’s stomach lurched a the hint of pleasure he still felt even through the horror of the moment. Fuck, what kind of monster could car more about the pleasure than how fucking awful this is.

He knew what kind of monster, though, did he? He’d known a goddamn monster pretty fucking well before he’d ever known that was what Martin was.

“Please, I can be good, I’ll try harder-”

“No.” Graham kept his voice firm only through sheer willpower. “I said stand up, Red.”

With a shaky exhale, a hiccuped sob, Danny pushed himself slowly to his feet, hunched shoulders. He was smaller than any man his size had any right to be, always working to take up as little space in a room as he could.

Graham leaned over without taking his eyes off Danny’s face to turn off the stove before the eggs burned, then put a hand to either side of Danny’s face. “We’re going to go sit outside in the patio chairs, all right, Red?”

“P-Patio chairs...?” Some kind of foggy confusion made its over Danny’s - Red’s - face. The scarred-up redhead couldn’t bring himself to argue, but Graham knew he was looking at someone who wasn’t in this place and time, who didn’t know why Abraham Denner would be asking him anything, let alone to go out on furniture that didn’t exist in the space Danny currently existed in.

“That’s what I said. Now come.”

Graham felt like shit scraped off a shoe, but when he took Danny’s hand, the tall man gripped on and allowed himself to be led. Graham ignored his own hunger pangs, still strong even despite the horror he was working through, and made his way to the sliding glass door, pushing it open to let a bright ray of sun inside that had both of them blinking and wincing.

Danny’s hand might have tightened in his, just a little, as the warm Australian spring air hit his always-chilled skin. There might have been a bit less fog in his eyes.

Graham was willing to bet his morning on it - and he didn’t look back at the cell phone, at his way out of this, as he settled Danny into a chair and sat himself down next to him.

Danny sat, trembling, staring uncertainly out at the brilliant blue sky.

“Wh-when you’re bad, you say you’re, um, you’re sorry-”

“Which you did, love,” Graham said, gently, and watched Danny shiver and curl into himself.

“I don’t... I don’t want to go in the smokehouse, Abraham-”

Jesus fucking Christ. The what now-

“You don’t have to, Danny-”

Danny closed his eyes and let out a soft, broken sob. “I don’t-... never think about before, there is no life before Abraham, I know-... I know my rules, I’m sorry, I know them, my name is Red and I belong to Abraham Denner, I’m a good dog, I can be-... I can be a good dog for you, just let me try, um, try harder-”

Graham had to get him to stop or he was going to lose his shit right here and now, too, let Lev come home to the both of them absolutely fucked. “Sorry. Red. You said you were sorry. I know you know the rules, I know you’re-... fuck. I know you’re, um, a... fuck, fuck fuck fuck, a good... dog. Just be quiet now.”

Danny’s mouth shut with a snap.

“Listen. You said you were sorry. So now we’re sitting out here, in the light.”

“In...” Danny licked at his lips. “In... in the light,” he repeated, almost plaintively. “Not... the dark?”

“Not the dark,” Graham confirmed, and took Danny’s hand again. “You’re not a bad dog, Red.”

Danny’s whole body shook with a shudder and he nodded, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Thank you for saying I’m not a bad dog, Abraham,” He whispered. “S-Say thank you for every gift you are given and every breath is a gift Abraham is choosing to give you-”

“There you go. Good, um... good boy.”

He was going to be fucking sick all over the patio if he had to say it again.

They sat there for a while - a few minutes, half an hour, who knew - before Danny’s eyes closed, stayed that way. A few minutes more. Graham waited it out, pulled on all the patience he had. He had to hope he’d picked the right option, not calling Lev, hoping light would chase away what had made Danny scared of the dark.

Danny’s eyes flickered back open again, warmly blue, and he turned his head slowly to look at Graham, blinking a little, surprised. “Graham,” He said, as if testing the name, not sure it would fit. “Graham, why are we... did I-...” He looked away, frowning. “Did I lose...”

“A bit of time, yeah,” Graham said, gently. “But that’s all right. Here you are, now, yeah?”

“I’m so sorry,” Danny said, his cheeks bright red, burning with shame.

Graham had had about e-fucking-nough of the men in his life feeling shame like this over things they’d never had a choice but to suffer. He squeezed Danny’s hand, gave him a smile, and when he pulled lightly, Danny stood up and the tall man folded himself onto Graham’s lap like a child, let Graham put his arms around him and hold him.

“Don’t be sorry,” He said, keeping his voice low. Danny’s head leaned slowly against his, the short, wavy red hair mixing with Graham’s longer blond. “But hey, look at that, got you out of it, didn’t I? First time without Lev.”

Danny huffed laughter next to him, soundless and uncertain, but there. “You, um, you’re right.”

“So let’s call it a good day, starting now, yeah, love?”

"Right. A, um. A good day. Starting now.”

A good day as soon as Graham could rinse his own mouth out with mouthwash until saying good boy and bad dog had been cleaned to nothing but mint and emptiness.

But fuck it, he wasn’t going to let himself dwell, not with Danny in his arms, willing to lean into him, to be touched, back to being Danny again.

No, Graham Pierce didn’t get a lot of wins, when it came to the men who loved him. He’d take every victory, no matter how slight, with all the thankfulness he had to give.

#wijday9 #prompt: choice #whump #trauma recovery #trauma recovery whump #conditioned whumpee #dehumanization #pet whump #dissociation tw #flashback tw #ptsd tw #referenced noncon #noncon touching #daniel michaelson's story

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regular-lord-reckoner · 3 years

Text

i apologize in advance because this is probably going to be a lot but i just need to get some stuff out of my brain and hopefully be able to feel a little more at peace

so...okay, to start with we got a new dog today

should be a great thing, right? but i just...i really don’t think it’s a good idea

for one thing, it’s a very young pup, he’s only 7 weeks old. for another (and this is the biggest point) i had no idea this was even happening until it was already a done deal, i got no say in the matter

and i keep being told well, that’s not a problem because it’s not like i have to take care of him but like...of course i am. how would i fucking not?

my mom works a lot and spend a good portion of the week at work and even though i’m here most of the time i‘m usually upstairs

the primary caretaker of this dog is supposed to be my father but like...so seriously how is that going to go when the man spends a good portion of the day sleeping? who’s supposed to be letting this dog go outside to go to the bathroom or making sure he’s not into something?

and like, i don��t mean to be indelicate by any means, but my dad’s old. he’s not going to suddenly get better at this point in his life, in fact it’s only going to get worse from here and i feel like it’s already started

not too long ago he completely burned a pot and nearly burned down the kitchen because he forgot he was making beans on the stove top

any more it seems like if he starts a load of laundry he just...forgets it and i have to come behind him and stick them in the dryer or sometimes just rewash them altogether because they’ve started to smell sour

there’s just a lot of stuff like that where you can tell he started doing something but went to go check on something else or just wandered off and forgot about it completely

i’m genuinely worried about his memory starting to go and we think...giving him a living creature that depends on him for survival was a good idea? i’m sorry, i just don’t see it and that means i’ll have to pick up the slack and like. okay, i’ll do it for this poor little dog that also had no say in this but needs someone to take care of him but jesus fucking christ i just wish someone had bothered to run this by me first so i could at least mentally prepare for this

mind you too i’m already taking care of two cats that also aren’t mine and were brought here without me knowing anything about it and that was also a “well, it’s not your responsibility so don’t worry about it” kind of thing and well...here we are.

and i’m already trying to help out around here more as it is because like, no shit, i appreciate getting to stay here i really do so i don’t mind but honestly a lot of what i end up doing isn’t even my own stuff, y’know?

i’m taking care of myself but i’m also trying to go behind two other people and keep things clean and make things easier for everyone else and i don’t even get a courtesy like, “hey, big new responsibility dropping, get ready for it”? i dunno

and i’ve expressed all of this and just nothing. nobody gives a shit.

and so like okay, fine fair enough you know i’d been feeling anyway like i’m really ready to just...have my own place. again, i appreciate getting to stay here and genuinely have no fucking idea how i’d afford to live on my own but i’m starting to think i just need to bite the bullet and either get a second job or see about some other potential ways to make money

the only thing about that is...there’s a big part of me that’s like, “what’s the point? how long do you think you’ll get to even have your own life anyway?”

because again like...my dad’s old. his health, although not as bad as it has been in the past couple of years is still not going to do a miraculous turn around and like...especially if his mind is starting to go what are my options, realistically?

i go off and start my own life and will just have to give it up to come back here to help take care of him

and i know you’re probably thinking, “well no, you don’t have to do that,” but don’t i?

i’m just going to make my mom deal with that all by herself? there’s no other kids but me who will help. other family might but it’s not really fair to put that on them either and on top of that because we really hit the jackpot with relatives i can’t even begin to tell you how many vultures are going to come out of the woodworks when they get even a hint that things are going bad (hell, that already started when he was going through cancer treatments during this pandemic no less and family were messaging him wanting to know if they could come and visit like...absolutely not, what the fuck are you thinking??)

and i love my mom but she doesn’t take the greatest care of herself and i don’t really want to get into it but she’s definitely started to worry me with her drinking lately.

i feel like i can’t leave here. i feel like everything will fall apart if i do and that when shit really does hit the fan i need to be here so...why bother to leave?

i want to, but can i?

i don’t feel like my life is even mine at this point

they’re not bad people, i can’t justify doing my own thing and telling them to kick rocks, especially after all they’ve done for me but at the same time i just don’t want to be stuck here forever

i just feel really, really trapped

and i know when people say that everyone gets nervous because uh-oh, that’s suicide talk!! but that’s the fucked thing too is that’s part of what feels especially suffocating

that’s not an option for me. not unless i want to hurt them as badly as possible and i don’t.

and you’d think it’s be maybe a relief to not have that as an option anymore, that oughta steer things in a more positive direction just naturally but instead it just kind of feels like someone’s trapped me in a room that’s slowly filling with water and there are no exit doors or vents or any possible means of escape so i just have to either sit here and slowly wait to drown or do what feels impossible and find some way to make all the water leave and build a better room

and obviously i should be talking about all of this with y’know, an actual therapist but that’s still proving really difficult at the moment

i made a new list of potential ones i just haven’t been able to reach out to any just yet and it definitely doesn’t help that every time i start to gear up to do it it seems like i get online and see a bunch of posts that are like, “honestly, therapy is a scam and not at all worth it and you’re stupid if you think it actually helps anyone, it’s likely to just traumatize you more and you can never trust a therapist!!” and i’m just like oh, okay then

because that’s the thing of it too like i need to talk to somebody, right? but clearly the shit i need to talk about is heavy and despite my trapped predicament like...i need to talk about these dark thoughts but is that going to get me hospitalized? is that going to fuck up my life even more?

and on top that, yeah dude, already having trust issues and being damn near incapable of letting new people into my life at all already doesn’t bode well in trying to find a person i can talk to about with all of this shit but i love the constant reminder that even getting to that point is likely going to be painful and could possibly just make shit that much worse!!!

i also just can’t stop thinking about the one therapist i did reach out to and that interaction alone has made me feel shitty enough. initially i tried to just take it in stride and figured it just wasn’t a good fit but now i’m convinced that’s how it’s going to go when i reach out to anyone else.

i’ll be made to feel like i’m stupid for needing someone to talk to because according to her “my clients have friends if they just want someone to talk to, y’know?” hahahaha no, i don’t but sure, go on!

like ma’am, no disrespect, i’m sure your methods work for someone, somewhere but i don’t think getting more sleep and walking more is going to fix the problem and on that subject...i don’t have friends

i have a friend and that’s about it

when i say i have trouble letting people into my life i really mean it

and yeah, maybe i’m just being a big baby about it all and i just need to like...try to make that happen anyway but i’m also at this point where it’s like...how?

actually how?

at my age?? finding friends??

on top of that just...i’ve been through my share of toxic friendships and although i’d like to think i’ve learned a lot since then and would hopefully never find myself in any again you never really know until you get into it, right? and just the thought of it, of putting myself out there, opening up, being vulnerable and just...letting people into my life only to possibly go through more shit it just sounds exhausting and terrifying.

i know it’s what i need to do, i know i can’t just close myself off from the world and essentially cease to exist while still being here but it just feels so fucking overwhelming and then on top of that like i said before, is there even a point?

because it kind of seems like i’m going to be needed here indefinitely and so is that just my life then? i’m just a loser who never leaves her hometown, never moves out, never has a life of her own or expands her circle to include more people because she just has to stay here and watch over things and take care of everyone and all the added responsibilities they keep bringing into this house without even running it by me first?

it feels like it and maybe it doesn’t have to be but it feels like it

and it just feels really, really suffocating

and hopeless

and maybe it’s not really, maybe i’m missing something here but i feel like i can see down the road for many, many miles and it doesn’t look promising

and i feel selfish and horrible for even saying all of this because it sounds like i’m just pissed off i have to take care of things and it’s really not that

i genuinely don’t mind helping out and maintaining a space and i don’t even really mind cleaning all that much, it can be a good stress relief i’ve found but it’s just this overwhelming feeling i have of like...this is my life. this is all it’s ever going to be.

i’m going to sit here and watch everyone else go on and live their lives, have lots of friends and romance and really just experience life and i’m just going to be sitting here left in the dust at home chasing after pets and trying to keep everything from falling apart until the bottom does inevitably fall out so i can be here to pick up the pieces just like i did last time

and i mean if that’s the case then i’ll make peace with it, i just wish it could be different i guess. if nothing else, i wish i didn’t have this urge to change things or to have a different life because it just doesn’t feel possible right now. feels very much like if i step away even for a second that everything’s going to go wrong and i’ll be partially to blame because if i had been here maybe things would be different

then again, the last time something tragic happened and i lost someone i loved very much i was here and it didn’t make a damn difference so maybe my presence isn’t as important as i think but i guess that’s part of it too like...that happened on my watch and if something else bad happens when i’m not here... i’m barely living with the first shit, i don’t know if i could handle the second

idk. this is really stupid i think but it’s been in my head for a while now and with this new dog thing i’m just kind of at my breaking point with it so here you go, void.

hopefully i’ll be able to talk myself into getting a therapist anyway even though i’m scared to death because i know i shouldn’t be putting this here but right now i just feel incredibly stuck and i’m not sure what to do or where to go

#just need to get some thoughts out #this is a little heavy so no obligation to read

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kenzieam · 3 years

Text

Touch

Rating: M

Warnings: Major Angst, heartache, some language

Word Count: 3595

Tags: @jewels2876 @moonbeambucky @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @iammarylastar @captstefanbrandt @badassbaker @pinknerdpanda @oliviastan17 @mizzzpink

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

As time runs out, Lev remembers her first encounters with Bucky, and how the touch-starved, damaged man became just as important to her as she is to him.

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

HEADS UP..... MAJOR ANGST AHEAD, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. i DON’T EVEN KNOW WHY I WRITE THIS SHIT, IT JUST MAKES ME CRY.

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

Shit, I’m cold.

But at least it doesn’t hurt anymore.

I don’t know how long I’ve been trapped down here; things have gotten hazy.

It’s been a while though; I can’t hear half as many people screaming for help as before.

I’ve had time to figure out what happened at least, with nothing else to do but lay here, slowly suffocating.

My day, I think it’s fair to say, has gone spectacularly to shit.

I think it was an explosion that made the building collapse, but things were happening so goddamn fast I can’t say for sure.

Either way, I’m here, trapped, and I’m pretty sure I’m dying.

Figures, Bucky didn’t want me to go to this convention. If I live through this, I’ll never hear the end of it; Bucky hates being apart from me, because I’m not enhanced like he is, he thinks I’m fragile.

And to be honest, I’m feeling pretty goddamn fragile right now.

My back is arched, bowed backwards to where I could almost grab my ass with the arm that’s twisted back behind my head; my fingers are in the perfect place to scratch any itch I might have between my shoulder blades, but an itch is the least of my problems right now.

I can’t feel my legs.

I don’t know if it’s the fact that a large section of concrete wall is pinning me from the hips down, or if its something more sinister and permanent, a broken back perhaps. Either way, I can’t see my legs or feel them. Maybe they’re not even there anymore.

Would Bucky still love me if I were broken? No longer whole?

I think he would, he knows what it’s like to be incomplete. So many times, after we’ve made love, he’ll hold me and tell me how much he loves me, how I complete him, make him feel whole for the first time in nearly a century.

It’s a heady sensation, to know someone as powerful and legendary as James Barnes loves you.

I never expected to find someone like him, to feel the things he makes me feel.

It breaks my heart that it’s probably all going to end today, with me trapped, alone, in my proverbial coffin.

Was it only three and a half years ago I heard Tony Stark was hiring and me, fresh out of school with the ink on my doctorate of Physical Therapy not yet dry, decided on a whim to apply?

I never expected a call from the man himself, never expected to be given such a huge opportunity so early in my burgeoning career.

But Tony had a plan. People get hurt all the time, secretaries with carpel tunnel, agents with bruises and bumps, Avengers with broken bones earned on their newest mission, it only made sense to bring in a full time PT to the medical labs in the Avengers Complex, and Tony wanted someone fresh and new, someone without any bad habits to break as he put it, which is ironic when you consider all the bad habits Stark himself has.

I’m still working on refining his damn posture in front of the computer, but I think it’s a losing battle.

My job was soon revealed, to help after Bruce and Helen had worked their magic, regain range of motion, stretch and massage damaged muscles, ensure the team ran at their peak.

While my job originally was supposed to include the entire Complex, it soon became obvious that all my attention would need to be devoted to the team of superheroes themselves and, after a few months of commuting to and from my small studio in the city, I gave into Stark’s less than subtle hints and moved directly into the Complex myself, becoming a round-the-clock, on-call-all-the-time member of the team.

My first interactions with Bucky were minimal, a shadow lurking behind the much more gregarious Captain America himself. I didn’t take it personally because, from what I could see and had heard, the former assassin stayed as far away from everyone that he possibly could.

But he ended up being half dragged to me by Steve himself a few months into my job, due to a lingering pain in the juncture of his shoulder from a recent injury; or more accurately, from a recent injury on the training mats that merely brought back the pain Bucky had apparently been struggling with off and on ever since HYDRA attached his first bionic arm.

The big man didn’t want to be there, I could tell and only his loyalty and commitment to his oldest friend kept his ass on the table as I examined the puffy, angry red scar tissue, his body rigid beneath my exploratory touch.

I knew enough of his past to realize that Bucky’s aversion to me was part of, if not wholly, due to the rough and cruel way HYDRA had treated him, when every contact meant hurt and degradation, but it still affected me. What had he lived through that had taught him that even simple touch meant pain? And how, with the very nature of my work involving discomfort, did I help him?

“Can you rotate your arm?” I ask quietly. When he hesitates, I continue. “I need to feel the joint when you move it.”

He nods silently, accepting the fact that my hands need to stay on him, press in lightly while he rotates his shoulder and, most likely, increase the pain he already feels.

I fall silent, close me eyes to help concentrate as he complies. “Again, please.”

I finger a particular point, deep in the joint and Bucky flinches, swallowing a low groan. I instantly feel horrible, for surely, to make Bucky react at all the pain I just caused must have been extraordinary, but it gives me something to focus on.

I pull away, trying to ignore the way his skin makes my fingers tingle; must be related to his serum-enhancement, my mind studiously ignoring the fact that touching Steve doesn’t illicit the same sensation and offer him a smile.

“I think a lot of that discomfort can be managed with massage, relaxing and sorting out the muscles involved. I’d prefer to try that, rather than jumping into more invasive therapies right away.”

I wait for his response, glancing at Steve when it appears for a beat that Bucky hasn’t even heard me but then it hits me.

Massage.

Continuous touch, continuous pain while he will be forced to lay immobile, tolerating it soundlessly.

Pretty much Bucky’s worst nightmare.

Shit.

Steve shifts his weight, clears his throat. He’s obviously torn between answering for his friend and letting Bucky decide, although it’s clear he expects Barnes to reject the proposal, to push on grimly through the ache and potentially damage his body more.

“Okay.” His voice is so low I almost don’t hear him.

“I’m sorry?” I lean closer, frowning with concentration. Fuck, for so huge and imposing a man, the guy can make himself practically invisible, even right beside you.

“Okay,” he repeats, barely raising his voice. “We’ll try.”

“I’ll do my best,” I feel compelled to reassure him, barely stopping myself from resting my hand on his shoulder, pulling back at the last second when I remember that that would probably be the last thing to calm the man. “To make it as tolerable, as pain-free as possible.”

Bucky nods but doesn’t answer.

“Want to start now?” Steve asks carefully, glancing between me and Bucky. I don’t know what Bucky will say, but I’ve probably filled his quota of contact today.

A silent head shake, his lank brown hair swinging, a quick but interesting glance up at my face. Is he concerned about my reaction?

“Tomorrow?” I ask gently. At his nod I continue, running through my schedule in my head and I know these two usually go running in the morning, hitting the gym after and then grabbing something to eat. “How about after lunch?”

“Okay.” Christ, the man’s voice is so quiet and soft, it doesn’t fit with his appearance. He looks like a beast, huge and muscular, danger radiating out of every pore. Its so much easier to visualize him as the cruel assassin The Winter Soldier than as a traumatized prisoner of war. That is, until you look in his eyes; then the muscles, the bulk and silent intimidating air all fall apart.

The concrete around me creaks, the rubble threatening to shift, and I hold my breath. It’s getting harder to breathe but I don’t know if that’s because of the way my torso is twisted, or just a general lack of fresh oxygen. I can’t see any daylight anywhere, of feel any type of air movement, but I also can’t move any part of myself around to look. For all I know, there could be a way out of this mess directly behind me, but I’m pinned.

How long has it been? I think I greyed out for a minute there, remembering one of my first meaningful encounters with Bucky, the first time he answered me, agreed to try massage therapy for his shoulder. The trust he showed wasn’t lost on me.

The building groans, as if its in pain too and I fight a rising panic. The voices I could hear around me have gotten less and less, the faint screams for help devolving into wordless, animal cries of agony before cutting off altogether and I wonder if anyone is even still alive. Is there any type of rescue effort yet? Has there been some kind of terrorist act that’s holding up my salvation?

Have they told Bucky?

The convention was a couple of thousand miles away from the Compound, even with the quinjet Bucky and I were hours apart.

Is he out there right now? Digging for me?

My mind wanders again as a fresh stab of agony shoot through my torso, ending curiously at my hips.

I look up at the soft knock at my office door and smile.

“Hello, James.”

His eyes meet mine, just for the barest heartbeat before dropping. “Bucky,” he murmurs.

“Bucky.” I agree, my smile widening at his soft, endearing air. I want to just gather him up and give him a hug, show him that there is love and gentleness in the world and he deserves it too; although, to be honest, I’d just look like a koala hanging off him, God, he’s beefy.

He follows me soundlessly through the Physio department, to the room I’ve set up strictly for massage therapy. I put myself through school moonlighting as a masseuse, and that was one of Tony’s first requests, that I set up shop again. It seems some days that half of my job is just massage, but I’m not complaining; I enjoyed it in school and it’s just as amiable now.

I gesture to the table, draped with clean sheets. “I’m just going to work on your back and shoulders, so you just need to take your shirt off, if you want to remove your pants too, that’s fine. Lay face down and there’s a sheet to put over yourself when you’re ready. I’ll be right back.”

He nods again but there’s a tension in his body now. Is it because he’s going to be showing his arm, the angry scars that surround it? I’ve seen it before, but it seems to be an enduring shame with him, and I make a note not to draw attention to it.

“Are you ready?” I knock softly and ask through the door, hear his quiet confirmation. I turn the lights lower as I enter, explaining as I do. “I’m just turning the lights down a bit.” I busy myself at the small table covered in different types of massage oil. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t relax under full lighting.” He mumbles some sort of agreement, head lowered into the u-shaped cushion. He’s laying face down, like I requested, but he’s anything but relaxed. Fists clenched tight, breathing quickly, he’s not letting go, not yet. “I can play some music if you want?”

“Okay.”

I pause, then speak. “Bucky? We can hold off; you seem a little tense-”

“No.” He lifts his head to look at me. “I’ll lay still, I promise. Just go ahead…. I won’t react, I can take it.”

I shake my head, that’s not the point. “No, Bucky. That’s not how it works here.”

He lifts his head again after dropping it during his statement about laying still, frowning thoughtfully, if a little suspiciously.

“You don’t have to just lay here and ‘take it’. This is for you, if you get uncomfortable, if you want me to stop, you say so and we’ll take a break. I don’t want you to just lay here and endure the pain. If it hurts, tell me; if you start to get overwhelmed, tell me. The last thing I want is to make this another bad experience for you.”

He pauses then, forehead furrowing slightly. From what I’ve gathered regarding his past, free choice wasn’t something ever offered to him, HYDRA would just order him to lay stay and endure whatever torture or torment they were performing.

That shit doesn’t fly here.

“You are in charge.” I squat at the head of the table to meet his eyes, wanting him to really hear me. “I will not do anything to you that you don’t consent to. I can’t guarantee it won’t hurt, but I will only do want you allow me to, okay?”

Something flickers through his eyes, something soft and vulnerable and I get the feeling that he will lay here for me through the worst pain, if only because I gave him the control to, something he’s never been given before.

“Okay,” he replies quietly.

“I’m not going to lie, the harder I work, the more it hurts initially, the quicker the pain will be over.”

He nods and I think he’s relieved that someone is taking the time and consideration to include him in what’s going to be done to his own body.

“But we go at your speed, okay?”

“Okay.”

I stand again, reach over and turn on my playlist, a compilation of soft, bluesy swamp rock and acoustic melodies and begin.

I’m getting tired.

Is it dark outside too?

Will I ever see the sky again?

I can’t think that way, I can’t give up. Not on myself, not on Bucky.

He will come for me; I just have to hold on until then.

My mind continues to wander, trying to distract itself from the growing lassitude in my body. The weariness, the lethargy scares me, I wish I could still feel the pain, at least I’d know I’m still here, existing, even with the agony.

I remember the way our relationship progressed, slow and cautious, tentative.

Slowly his body would turn from iron to relaxed muscles beneath my touch, slowly there would be anticipation, maybe even eagerness in his eyes when he’d walk into the department, rather than grim resignation.

Once he fell asleep on me, facedown on the massage table and I let him nap, leaving the music and lights low, the door cracked, waiting for him to wake as I went about with other duties, finally seeing him emerge looked a little shamefaced, smiling tentatively in apology as I worked with Sam on a range of motion exercise for his recently injured knee.

That seemed to be the final barrier.

After that, I was one of the few people Bucky actually chose to seek out, a rare and exclusive club.

It was easy to love him.

For even as I seemed to be a source of comfort and contentment for him, he too was my bastion of strength, my rock.

If he could wake up each morning and push on, then anything I encountered in life was conquerable too.

“Baby.” He groans, lips brushing my ear.

His powerful body moves above me, inside me, bringing me to heights of pleasure I’ve never felt before.

It’s our first-time making love together, and in some ways, it’s like its truly the first time for both of us.

He’s so gentle and tender, careful with how he handles me, like I’m precious glass in his large, powerful hands.

He cradles me as he thrusts, holding me close to him, whimpers faintly and its that sound of pure vulnerable surrender that pushes me over the edge. He follows, groaning my name into my hair as his body shudders. I feel him pulse inside me, the most peaceful feeling of rightness suffusing my limbs.

Right here.

This is where I’m meant to be.

This is the point my entire life has been leading to.

He collapses beside me, breathing heavily and I roll to the side, resting my arm across his heaving chest. The faint flinch he always had, that he still has with most other people, is gone. He trusts me completely and it’s a gift I will never waste.

His eyes lock with mine, searching, somehow dark with desire and light with joy at the same time. His body is ready again, hard and straining, serum-enhanced and close to insatiable.

I roll to straddle him, his eyes following me. His hands reach up and I clasp them, twine our fingers together, press against them as I sink down onto his cock, watch his eyes roll back in his head with ecstasy. I roll my hips, encouraged by the sounds my movements draw from him, the low groans and grunts, moans and hums of pleasure.

“Fuck-” he curses and my heart dances.

My body is hungry, wanting more, and I increase my pace, chasing another release.

His eyes open, lock on mine once again and we stay connected like that, both in gaze and in body. I watch the emotions shine there, in his supernaturally blue depths, see the vulnerability there, something akin to awe, as if he has trouble believing he’d ever be this way again, open and honest and bare with someone else, trusting them in so many ways.

“Bucky-” my voice drops into a whine as my peak hits, my eyes closing.

“No.” He orders and my eyes snap open. “Let me see you, baby. Let me watch you.”

Our eyes lock again as I give in and then he’s coming too, thrusting up into me one last time, eyes burning into mine, the expression in them driving me into another, simultaneous orgasm, which infinity loops back into Bucky, his body shuddering as my walls milk him, drawing his seed hungrily, and I realize that there’s few things I’d rather be in this world right now, than joined so viscerally with him like this.

The only thing that would make this better would be if his seed takes root inside me and I’m able to give him a child, a second chance, an opportunity for unconditional love.

I cough, wince at the pain that flares in my chest, taste copper in my mouth.

It won’t be long now, I feel the truth in my bones and, while it breaks my heart, I still fight it.

I need to see Bucky, even if its for the last time.

I’ll miss our life together, the way he always sought me out, wherever I was.

Touch-starved as he was, for nearly a century, once Bucky learned he could trust me, began to touch me whenever he could.

An arm around me from behind, lips on my neck. Tight hugs for no reason, seeming to recharge at our connection. Waking tangled up with the huge cuddle-bug, barely knowing where I ended, and he began.

And the way he’d cling to me on the couch, even if others were there too, uncaring about what they thought. Curled against me like a child, head buried in my neck, almost purring under my touch as I ran my hands along his back and shoulders, like stroking and taming a large beast, soaking in the touch-love like parched earth and water.

After almost a century of starving, he was hungry for connection now, for my touch.

I hate that I’ll be taking that from him.

Slight sounds I’ve been hearing sporadically for a while now but not really able to make out become faint rustles nearby, a muffled call.

The rubble creaks, threatens to shift and, after a fraught pause, the rustling continues.

“Lev?!” I hear someone call, faint and blurry, but the way the word cuts tells me they’re screaming.

I try to answer but can only croak.

The weight on my body is almost too much now, the exhaustion pulling me further and further down. My belly feels heavy and a faint part of me muses that I’m probably bleeding internally, probably have been since I came to in this horrible, choking blackness.

Would Bucky still love me if I were broken? No longer whole?

I know the answer.

Yes.

I loved Bucky before he was whole, when he was broken.

A giant rat is nearby, scratching, then the cutting scream again, closer and cracking with strain. I recognize it finally, Bucky’s voice, breaking with anxiety, snapping under the stress. His throat will be sore for days.

I imagine him tunneling through the rubble by hand, shaking off other’s hands that try to stop him, tell him it’s too late and there’s no way I can still be alive.

But I know he won’t stop, not until he can touch me again.

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes drama #bucky and lev #bucky and levi

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