#i think i dropped my brain somewhere recently because it's feeling pretty broken but drawing this was very therapeutic for me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dreamsmp-au-ideas · 3 years

Text

Guess it’s good brother dream brain rot time now that we’ve pretty much canonized phoenix Tommy in it. I must now do my proper due diligence. Adding in my two cents and furthering the spread of my brand, phoenix Tommy.

When Tommy is a little tiny thing Phil does everything in his power to try and keep it quiet that Tommy isn’t a regular avian hybrid, but a phoenix. Things like phoenixes, dragons, or other mythical avians are extremely rare mutations that happen seemingly without any reason but will often reoccur within the same bloodline more often than not.

Phil is something mythical. Maybe a dragon, maybe a griffin, maybe even something a little less well known like the zhenniao, yatagarasu, or alicanto. Either way he’s something mythical, it runs in his blood. It ends up running in Tommy’s too. Phil is one of the few mythological avians who doesn’t hide his features because people are usually far too fearful of both him an Technoblade to do anything. Unfortunately, what people weren’t scared of was the idea of trying to kidnap a child.

There were attempts to steal away Wilbur when he was little. Before he started presenting and turned out to be just your regular avian. There were fewer attempts when it came to Tommy. There was unfortunately one attempt that ended up being successful, he was stolen from the cradle and subsequently lost in a skirmish when Techno and Phil caught up to the man who took Tommy.

Dream found baby Tommy floating along in the river, figured the kid was probably abandoned since he’d heard of orphaned children being floated down rivers and never seen again, and subsequently took Tommy in.

Everything was fine and okay for a couple years and Tommy was quickly accepted into the family. Unfortunately when Tommy turned five his traits started to come in and he nearly burned down the house. The family didn’t want to abandon Tommy but realizing he was a mythical avian was a problem to say the least. So Dream, having recently become an active admin, gathered up his things and left with Tommy. He didn’t blame his family for their worries but he wasn’t going to abandon his little brother either. Not when he’d found Tommy. Not when he’d been the one to practically raise Tommy.

Dream and Tommy were very distrustful of strangers still for obvious reasons and Tommy was pretty much stuck wearing the mask in order to protect himself, but Dream did what he could. Dream didn’t originally wear a mask actually, he decided they should match as a way to make Tommy feel bad for always having to wear the mask when he didn’t want to. He found private places that were safe where Tommy could practice flying and stretch his wings since Dream was super concerned early on about them atrophying and never being able to properly carry Tommy. Sure, it was too dangerous for Tommy to actively go flying often, but Dream didn’t want to accidentally ruin Tommy’s chances of ever being able to fly. The most important facet of their relationship is that he wanted to protect Tommy but never cage him.

When Dream first took control of the Dream SMP it was originally so he could make it a safe space for himself and Tommy, only allowing his few friends who knew about Tommy and what he was to join, like Sapnap and George who have a super good relationship with both Dream and Tommy in this au. Dream is still super jumpy and protective of Tommy and Tommy trusts people a lot less, but Tommy also acts as something of an ambassador in Dream’s interpersonal relationships, keeping Dream from becoming too jumpy and letting them decay. Similarly Dream taught Tommy to be a lot more cautious of strangers and this Tommy is a heck of a lot stronger having grown up with a pvp legend like Dream.

When other people started joining it was still a controlled enough environment that while cautious, Dream let Tommy “play” for lack of a better word. Three canon lives is a rule everywhere that everyone has to abide by, regardless of what admin you’re living under. The admin doesn’t get to decide what’s canon either, it’s something seemingly up to chance. Or maybe the gods. No one knows what makes being pushed off a cliff by your mortal enemy so different from falling off one by your own stupidity, but some people theorize it’s the intention of the action.

Obviously this isn’t a rule that applies to Tommy. They both know it, him and Dream. And here’s the thing. Some legends say that there are no draw backs to a phoenix dying. Others say that too many deaths too quickly will slowly harm the phoenix. Both of these are false. A phoenix needs deaths. Canon deaths. The same way that kids needs to be tossed in the air and spun around to help develop their brains as really little kids, a phoenix needs to die repeatedly for their brains and bodies to properly mature fully and in a healthy manner. It’s an actual necessity for them to die, in fact, too few canon deaths run the risk of a phoenix getting sick and dying permanently.

So when new people join the Dream SMP, Dream doesn’t hesitate letting Tommy side against him. It’s an unspoken rule between them. Good brother Dream goes pretty similar to canon up until Pogtopia actually. Dream doesn’t hesitate to take those two canon lives and Tommy intentionally misses during their duel. He ends up with way more canon deaths than just two, and he keeps secret what they are from the rest of the SMP, saying the two times Dream killed him were the canon two. Each time he dies his magic gets a little stronger, his feathers taking on an even glossier coat. He still gets pissed at Eret after the betrayal because everyone else doesn’t have unlimited canon lives, but Dream shushes and reassures him that if anyone does die permanently then he’ll help Tommy bring them back.

Phoenixes are creatures tied to the frayed and broken bridge that crosses life and death. Just like they can’t die and have dominance over flames, another power of the phoenixes is that they’re uniquely skilled when it comes to necromancy. Real necromancy. Not the human equivalent that brings back soulless husks with a tendency for destruction and malevolence. A phoenix is the only creature that can bring a soul back from the dead in tact. Tommy knows this by merit of instinct, and did it only once before for the sake of Dream. Regular people know this by merit of books like the one Schlatt tries to trade Dream.

So Dream and Tommy mostly put on an act while the war is happening but then act all buddy buddy and like actual brothers off the battle fields which confuses everyone (besides the already aware George and Sapnap) and mildly upsets Wilbur, but everyone just kinda gets used to it.

Until Pogtopia. Because we need some kind of conflict I’m giving Schlatt a very special role. Schlatt was a hybrid who got captured by poachers as a child and sold into the hybrid slave trade. He was one of the lucky few who turned the tables and managed to earn his freedom, ultimately turning towards being a poacher himself. Schlatt comes to L'manberg and becomes president with the intention of selling every hybrid in the country, in the Dream SMP as a whole, to his traders. The reason he chose the Dream SMP specifically? Well, wouldn’t you know it, he’s heard rumors that apparently there’s a phoenix hiding around somewhere. Not to mention the Dream SMP is absolutely loaded with hybrids because of Dream’s rather public policy about hybrid tolerance (he isn’t a hybrid, but he knows the affect being a hybrid has had on Sapnap and he still fears for Tommy so he tries to make somewhere that maybe one day Tommy can be open about what he is.)

Schlatt can’t immediately tell it’s Tommy who’s the phoenix because Tommy himself is an even rarer variation of phoenix called a soul flame phoenix, which is why his eyes and wings are a soul fire blue. Schlatt came in expecting crimson and our boy is out here with wings that look like the place where the sky meets the sea. Schlatt even dismisses Tommy initially and starts investigating some of the people who look human or avians with orange and yellow feathers. This is also why Phil can’t immediately recognize Tommy when he joins the SMP. While he can hide them with magic, Tommy usually has his wings on display since the Dream SMP is designed to be a safe space for hybrids. This Dream doesn’t have a ban on flying (he thought about it, maybe setting aside specific areas where winged hybrids could exercise, but it was quickly scrapped via Tommy repeatedly throwing himself off cliffs and then remembering he wasn’t supposed to be flying, immediately letting himself drop and die. Some of those ‘accidents’ were even canon and Dream just gave up on the rule.)

For this AU, I imagine that Dream would be a bit more in tune with people and empathetic so he’d probably call in Techno and Phil for help when he sees Wilbur starting to take a dive. Both out of worry for his own younger brother who’s sticking by Wilbur and consideration for the fact Wilbur himself took something of an older brother role. Sure he was a little jealous, but he understand well enough that everyone who meets Tommy either falls into one of two categories. They hate the kid and want him dead or they want to be his older sibling who’d burn down the world if he asked them to. George and Sapnap can both attest to the fact there are only two types of people in this world when it comes to Tommy and people usually start as the first before slowly becoming the second.

So Techno and Phil show up early which is really good because Schlatt finally reveals his true intentions and neither Techno nor Phil are very chill with them. I dunno how the reveal will go between them and Tommy yet. I don’t even know for Good Brother Dream if we’re having Techno be a family friend or older brother so hard to say.

Anyway, I think that’d probably be where the main plot kinda starts to kick off so I’ll stop there for now. If I go for too much longer I’ll just end up wanting to write it…

#dream smp #dream smp au #good brother dream au #philza #ph1lza #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #dream #dreamwastaken #sapnap #georgenotfound #jschlatt #technoblade #submission #snapdragon & firefly

161 notes · View notes

kaitycole · 3 years

Text

dopamine and epinephrine, just don’t mix

Summary: Kuroo thinks back on his relationship with Y/N. How will those memories hold up to reality?

Pairing: Kuroo x fem!reader, Bokuto x fem!reader (platonic)

Word Count: 5351

Warnings: Angst. Toxic behaviors. Cheating allegations. Adult language.

A/N: A special thank you to @twilightwrites for this prompt.

Side note: I know the drinking age in Japan is 20, I realized as I was writing the last paragraph of this that I messed up, so we are just gonna let it slide because my head hurts lol

September – 2013

“Kuroo-san, do you understand what I’ve just explained?” He just nods, the meaning of the words is known, it’s just the weight of them that just hasn’t hit him yet. It not until he’s walking across campus, his feet dragging against the sidewalk, that the weight of his advisor’s words land on his shoulders.

You failed to maintain proper grades to continue not just in this department, but in this university. Your enrollment has been terminated.

Kuroo shakes his head, how exactly would he explain this to his grandmother? She was so proud of him for getting into university in the first place. He really was great at disappointing those he cared for lately.

* * The sidewalks are busier than he’s used to, he was always in class at this time and he ends up brushing against a few people as he maneuvers his way to the nearest convenience store. The dinging of the welcome bell draws him from the jumble of thoughts he was having. The cool air from the refrigerated unit, grabbing several cans of lemon flavored chūhai. It was cheap, didn’t taste all that great, but he didn’t care.

There are three empty cans piled next to his foot, his hand tightens around the fourth one, it caves under his fingertips. The blend of alcohol on an empty stomach has Kuroo on the verge of tipsiness.

He hears a soft laugh and feels himself stiffen when he sees (h/c) hair as his mind blanks. It’s been almost a year since he’s seen her, a flash of the malice words exchanged and the sound the door made as it was slammed crosses his mind.

Suddenly he’s self-conscious of how he looks, quickly running his fingers through his unruly hair (not that that would help) and scrabbles to pick the cans up and cram them into his bag. He doesn’t fully hear the name, but enough to know it wasn’t her, making him feel a bit ridiculous.

Dopamine: hormone and neurotransmitter that's an important part of your brain's reward system; associated with happiness and pleasure.

June – 2010

“Can you tell me where Ko-chan is?”

Kuroo turned to see an unfamiliar face staring back up at him. She tucked a stray piece of her (h/c) hair behind her ear, nervously biting her bottom lip, and Kuroo instantly thought she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. So much, that instead of answering her, he just stood there, staring.

“Bokuto-san is this way, L/N-san.” Akaashi said as he walked up behind her.

She smiled at Kuroo, apologizing for bothering him before following Akaashi over to where the rowdy ace of Fukurōdani was. Once Bokuto’s eyes fell onto the girl, he ran towards her, wrapping her into a tight hug, thanking her repeatedly for bringing his extra gym bag all the way to the training camp.

Kuroo waited until Bokuto was alone before he made his way over, trying to figure out how to work in his question. “Bokuto, who is that?” Bo looked over to Akaashi who was talking to this mystery girl before looking back at Kuroo with a sloppy grin on his face. “Why? Interested?”

Kuroo felt his head getting fuzzy, like when he held it over the edge of his bed for too long, “I was…uhm…just wondering.”

“That’s Y/N. We grew up together, but in fifth grade she moved away, just recently moved back.”

That explained why Kuroo didn’t know her even though her and Bo came off extremely close.

��She’s single.”

Kuroo felt his face start to burn, embarrassment covering it as he tried to speak, but all that came out were broken parts of a sentence. “Oh, well…I don’t…bother…just…yeah.”

** Y/N was standing in the doorway of the gym, watching as Bokuto hit down each practice set Akaashi sent his way, he truly had gotten even more powerful since they were children. She rubbed her hands against her arms, trying to warm up, she tensed when she felt a slight bit of weight on her shoulders.

She turned around to see a messy raven-haired boy standing behind her, his oversized red jacket draped over her shoulders. “Rooster boy!”

“Huh?” Kuroo raised an eyebrow, unsure of how to really respond.

“Ko-chan told me to call you that.” She smiled up innocently at Kuroo and he felt himself get weak in the knees.

He mumbled something to the effect of ‘horned owl bastard’ underneath his breath which seemed to make her laugh just a little bit. He ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about the state of his hair.

She turned back around, eyes wide in awe as Bokuto slammed another ball onto the other side of the court, Kuroo couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like if she looked at him like that, but blocking wasn’t as flashy as spikes were and he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. He turned around on his heel, getting ready to head back to where the rest of his team is.

“Are you trying to play hard to get?” “Huh?” He looked back at her, she had spun around, a devilish smirk on her smirk.

“You gave me your jacket even though you only have a t-shirt on, but you don’t tell me your name or ask if I want go somewhere to talk.”

“Oh, I thought you wanted to watch Bo play, I…uh…didn’t want to bother you.”

She slipped her arms into his jacket, zipping it up, “nah, I can see Bo play at school.”

“Did you want to go talk somewhere?” “I don’t go places with strangers.” She tilted her head, giving him a knowing look.

He shook his head, “I’m Kuroo Tetsurō, nice to meet you…?” “L/N F/N. Likewise Tetsu-chan!” She grabbed his hand, “c’mon, let’s go!”

He felt the blood rush to his cheeks as his feet moved on their own, following this mystery girl and he already knew that he was gonna have his hands full, not that he really cared.

* * December – 2010

“Y/N?”

The two of them were in Kuroo’s room, something they did often on the weekends, sometimes working on school work, other times just enjoying each other’s company. She’s flipping through a magazine, her chin rested on her palms as she looked over her shoulder at the middle blocker, a smile on her face. Kuroo was leaning against his headboard and couldn’t help but forget what he was about to say.

“Tetsu-chan?”

“Are you a carbon sample?” He smirked when she gave him a puzzled look, “because I want to date you.” Her face lit up as she pushed herself up, sitting up while crossing her legs as she faced Kuroo. “Oh! Oh! Oh! I have one too!” She clapped her hands in excitement, “you look sweeter than 3.14!”

He laughed before he shook his head, “no, Y/N, I’m asking you out.”

“You’re asking me out using a science pun?” His face went completely red, cheek burned as he rubbed the back of his head. “…yeah.”

“You’re such a dork!” She started laughing, falling over to the side as her giggles filled the now empty room. When she finally composed her, wiping the tears that had fallen down her cheeks, she smiled up at him, “but I guess that means you’re my dork.” “That a yes?” Kuroo held his breath, worried that she was about to reject him because looking back on it, it was kinda lame, even for him.

She crawled up to Kuroo side, leaning into it as he wrapped his arm around her waist, “it’s a proton positive?”

* * September – 2013

Kuroo staggers up the stairs, thankful that he only lives on the second floor of his apartment building. He drops his bag near the door while he kicks off his shoes as he makes his way to the closet in his room.

The apartment is pretty bare for someone to be living there. The furniture that’s there is just what’s needed, the bare minimum through the apartment. A bed and night stand in the bedroom, couch and TV in the living room area and the only reason he had a TV stand was because Kenma almost had a heart attack when he saw Kuroo had it sitting on the floor.

Y/N was supposed to decorate it, that had been their deal when the subject of moving in together came up. The plan was to get an apartment between the universities they had planned to attend and she could decorate it however she wanted, all Kuroo cared about was getting to come home to her. But it was obvious that day never happened, they didn’t even make it searching for apartments together before things fell apart and Kuroo picked an apartment closest to his school.

He’s rummaging through the bedroom closet before pulling out an old tin box, the kind that trading cards come in. Wiping off the thin layer of dust that has accumulated on the top, he slowly opens it, a flood of emotions washes over him.

* * March – 2011

“Y/N seems really happy.” Bo said, the three of them had all met up to see a movie that recently released.

Kuroo was happy that his girlfriend and best friend were also close, it made things a lot easier and he didn’t have to worry about them getting along, even if they had technically known each other longer. “I hope she is, I’d do anything for her.”

“What are you two whispering about?” She snuck up behind them, popcorn in hand, placing her chin on Kuroo’s shoulder.

“Guy stuff.”

“Laaame!” She shook her head, walking towards the theatre where their movie was playing, “we’re gonna miss the trailers!”

** “Where to next?” She looked between the boys, eager to keep their night going.

“I should probably head back, I don’t want to worry my grandparents.” Kuroo glanced at the time on his phone, he knew the movie might run late but he didn’t think they’d be out this late. He felt bad as he watched her face drop, clearly not the answer she was expecting.

“Yeah, it is getting a bit late.” Bokuto agreed with a slight shrug.

Y/N dragged her feet along the sidewalk, her shoulder dropped which caused both boys to share a look.

“Is this about what we talked about earlier?” Bokuto asked, pulling her into a side hug.

Kuroo looked between them, curiosity filling him as he tries to think if she told him anything that was bothering her, but he can’t. “What did you two talk about?” She shook her head, “it’s nothing.” She looked up at him, giving him a small straight smile.

Part of him wanted to ask her again, to get her to open up and talk to him about it because it was bothering her then it bothers him, but he didn’t. He tried to find comfort in the fact that at least she could tell Bo about it, at least she had someone, but it still hurt that that someone wasn’t him.

* * May – 2011

It had bothered Kuroo for weeks now that it seemed Y/N was confiding more and more into Bokuto that she was him. He was her boyfriend, he was the one she should be going to, right? Then why was she continuously going to their friend?

His irritation started to splinter into other aspects of his life, tests that he should’ve passed he didn’t, blocks he should’ve made he missed, but the boiling point came when Fukurōdani played Nekoma and she came decked out in Fukurōdani colors, cheerfully talking to Bo and his team. He knew it shouldn’t bug him like it was, she attended that school, but what still pissed him off were the comments he heard as they walked by the team.

Comments from other team members and what seemed like potential classmates of theirs repeatedly saying different variations of how cute her and Bo looked together, what a great couple they’d make and the way that she would hang onto Bo’s side.

The game was long, Kuroo spend half the game lost in his anger and the other half moving on auto-pilot as his body seemed to move on its own. Somehow Nekoma ended up winning, but that didn’t change the way he felt as he practically stormed off the court towards the locker room. He understood how important Bo was to her, that they were best friends and had been for longer than he knew either of them, but that didn’t alleviate the anger that radiated off of his shoulders nor did it stop him from slamming the doors he walked through.

“Tetsu-chan!”

He didn’t stop, just continued to walk down the hallway and toward the main entrance, acting as though he’s the only one there.

“Tetsu-chan!” She reached out, pulling his duffle bag’s strap back towards her.

He refused to turn around, having a feeling that he’d lash out and he didn’t want to do that. He needed space, time to cool down, he didn’t want to give her the ultimatum of him or Bo and he had a feeling if he opened his mouth, that’s what he’d say.

She looked at his back, unsure of why he was so upset, his team had just won, shouldn’t he be more excited? “For someone who just won, you’re acting like emo Bo.”

Kuroo’s eye twitched, just hearing her compare him to Bo so effortlessly was painful and caused his thoughts to spiral. Did she want to be with him? Would she rather be with Bo? He clenched his fist, hating the way he felt and hating himself more for feeling that way. He hated the ugly jealousy that wrapped around his chest, weaving around his lung, making it harder to breathe as it tightened. He yanked his bag strap away from her, leaving her standing there as he stormed out.

** A few weeks went by and communication between Kuroo and Y/N was awkward and basic, simple “hello’s” and “yeah, you?” filled most of their exchanges. It all came down to Bo inviting both of them over to his place and essentially locking them in his room, forcing them to talk to each other.

“Tetsu-chan.” She bit down on her lip, tears filled her eyes, the reality of how distant they had grown weighed down the atmosphere, “are we breaking up?” “What?” His head snapped up, finally looking her. He didn’t want to break-up, he wasn’t even mad anymore, he just didn’t know how to get back to where they were. It felt weird to just try to just back in as if nothing had ever happened.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as if creating a wall between them, an attempt to brace herself from the pain that seemed to be coming. She tried her hardest to keep her lip from quivering. “’Cause this is a very shitty way of doing that. You could’ve just called.”

He wasn’t sure what was going on, she didn’t look like she wanted to break up, but she sounded like she was ready for one. What sense did that make? The room almost felt hostile, “so I look like the guy that’d break up over the phone, is that what you think of me?” “Did I say that? No. But it’d be better than dumping me in Bo’s room!”

“I didn’t say I wanted to break up!”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

“You hurt my feelings!” Kuroo voice raised a bit louder than it had been, both of them pausing in their spot. The tension immediately disappeared and she slowly walked up to him, an adorable pout on her face.

She threw her arms around him, sobbing into his chest, “I’m so sorry!” “It’s fine, it’s stupid anyways.” He rubbed circles on her back, pulling her in closer to him.

She protested, claiming anything that bothered him couldn’t be stupid and demanded that he tell her and he did. That he knew it was rather silly to be jealous of her supporting her school, but it made him wonder if she was embarrassed to say she was with him. That he knew it was important for her to have friends and he was glad Bo was one, but she wanted her to see him as someone she could go to in the same she could to Bo because as lame as it sounded, he didn’t like feeling like the odd man out.

She reassured him that it was nothing like that and told him that she saw where he was coming from. She told him that if the roles had been reversed, she would’ve definitely felt the same way that he had and that they both needed to work on their communication skills because they both agreed neither of them wanted what they had to end.

They walked out of the room together, holding hands and Bo looked excited to see they worked things out, wrapping them both in a huge hug. Kuroo thought he felt confident in what she said to him, but then he saw how she seemed to just naturally gravitate towards Bo even when he was there and that sinking feeling he had weeks ago at their game came back, this time plowing into him like a wrecking ball.

* * September – 2013

Kuroo accidentally kicks the box as he staggers to stand up, the memories proving to be a bit too much for him. But something in him made him want to see the task through, to see everything that he was holding on to, but to do that he needed alcohol.

His phone starts to vibrate in his pocket, he takes it out immediately pressing the button on the side to silence it then presses it again to send it to voice mail. Kuroo knows who it is, it’s the only person who would be calling him: Kenma.

He opens the fridge, pulling out what few cans of beer he has before shuffling back to his room, flopping down in the stop that’s still warm from him sitting there just moments ago. He puts his phone on floor near him, glancing at the screen as it lights up from a text notification.

Kenma: Missed Call (4) Text Message (15)

Technically he had no reason to avoid his best friend, but he didn’t feel like he deserved Kenma’s kindness because all he had done lately was mess things up. He didn’t want Kenma to tell him everyone messes up and he can fix things since he knew that it was too late to do any of that now.

He pulls out a small pile of printed photographs, some printed out on the mini polaroid paper from the camera she wanted for her birthday. She was his first serious relationship, between school and volleyball he never really gave dating much thought, but it was different with her. She kept him on his toes, made him want to be better, he really could see a future with her, but he screwed it up and now all he had were these pictures.

Pictures that ranged from dates to study sessions, from volleyball games to random adventures through Tokyo. Looking at them made him wonder if she kept the matching ones? Did she have a box too?

A bit of beer splatters when he cracks open the tab and he frantically wiped the picture across his thigh, drying it but smearing the liquid across the photo. He wanted to believe that he tried hard enough to make things work, that he gave it his all, but when he thought back to that night, her words told him differently.

Epinephrine: surges at panic/emergency; provokes stress response— brings out arousal of extreme emotions like fear and anger.

January— 2012

“It’s really not that big of a deal!” She said for the fourth time within the last five minutes, but Kuroo wasn’t listening.

“It is!” He shook his head, pacing her bedroom, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to control what he said if he sat down, he needed to walk this anger out of him.

“He was the first person I saw, Tetsu.” She really didn’t mean anything by telling Bokuto she had been accepted into her top two choices for college, he literally happened to be the first person she saw after getting the news. They’d been dating for two years and he still got jealous when it came to Bo and she wasn’t sure why.

“You just don’t get it.” He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to even out his breathing, he really didn’t want to fight with her.

“You’re right, I don’t. I don’t get why my boyfriend gets so upset when I tell my best friend things.”

“Because you told him first! I should know first!”

She snorted, “this is stupid. I mean honestly you sound like a child.”

“A child, nice.” He grabbed his jacket from her desk chair, shoving passed her as he walked down the hall before slipping on his shoes and going right out the front door.

She followed him, yelling at him to stop, yanking on his arm when she finally catches up. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there as she repeatedly apologized, tightly wrapping her arms around his torso.

“I don’t know why I get so jealous.” He sounded defeated and he was, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t place why he felt so threatened by Bo. Maybe it was because he knew her longer, knew parts of her that he didn’t or maybe it’s because deep down he just didn’t feel like he deserved her.

“I know.” She buried her face into his chest, still hugging him. She believed that he didn’t know why he felt that way, but she was still tired of dealing with it, regardless of how much she loved him.

* * April – 2012

It was the weird time between graduation and university getting ready to start, Y/N was over at Kuroo’s, his room now filled with boxes. Things didn’t bounce back to normal the way it did before when she thought they were breaking up, after their latest fight things were kinda awkward. They still hung out, but it was mostly just them sitting in the same room both engaged in something alone.

Kuroo looked over when he heard her giggle, raising an eyebrow before humming.

“Yukie sent the group chat some pictures from graduation.” She handed her phone to him, scooting a bit closer so they could look together.

Most of them were harmless, to be fair they were all harmless, but Kuroo started to question them as they went through them. There were ones of Y/N with Yukie and Kaori and some with various team members. Then they got to ones with Bo and both of them stiffened, neither had mentioned him unless they had to since their last fight. There were ones with Bo hanging on an unamused looking Akaashi, but the one that Kuroo hated was one of Bo next to Y/N, his hand “too low” on her hip for his liking.

He pushed himself off his bed, trying to calm down, but he knew this time he wouldn’t be able to.

“Tetsu, it was just a picture.”

He made an annoyed sound, something between a scoff and a laugh, as he shook his head. “He didn’t have to put his hand on your hip like that.”

She rolled her eyes, “it’s just a stupid pose. Everyone does it!” She flipped through the pictures, zooming in on Yukie’s arm that was wrapped around her waist, “see! Look! Her arm is around me, that make you mad too?” “It’d be different if you weren’t practically begging Bo to fuck you!”

The words hung heavy between them, for Kuroo it was a weight of his shoulders to get the words out but for Y/N, it knocked the wind out of her lungs. They were supposed to look at apartments today, find one to live in together while going to college, but a fight like this wasn’t in the plans. At least not for her, she was hoping that they could mend things and start over since they’d be moving away from Bo.

“W-w-what?” Her face was scrunched up in disbelief, the words still not being fully processed.

“I mean the way you flaunt yourself in front of him in that skirt!”

“Skirt?” Her face went deadpan, “you mean my fucking school uniform?”

28 months, they’d been together for over two years and she couldn’t he said that to her, couldn’t believe that he felt that way. Tears started to fill her eyes, for months she walked on pins and needles, carefully edited her words around him and now she had to hear the person she loved the most say the worse kind of words to her.

“You know what I mean! Don’t twist my words!”

“I’m not and I can’t believe you!” She wiped the tears from her face aggressively, “I have done nothing to cause you to feel this way!”

“I’m just making it up? It’s just in my head?” “YES! Bo is our best friend. Friends, that’s all we have ever been!” She started to look around the room, trying to find the sweatshirt she brought with her, she couldn’t have this fight again.

“Friends don’t act like you two do.”

“Boyfriends don’t act like you do!” She took three steps towards Kuroo to grab her sweatshirt before she turned and walked towards his door. She hesitated, thinking Kuroo would call out to her, but he doesn’t, instead he just let her leave.

* * July – 2012

They didn’t get a shared apartment like they had planned to. Kuroo stayed in Tokyo while YN moved to Kyoto, choosing a completely different university than she originally intended. For most of their first semester in university they barely spoke at all, neither really making it a point to reach out. Ironically, if it wasn’t Bokuto they wouldn’t have known how the other was doing, how the other was dealing with the upgrade from high school to college.

Then Bokuto mentioned a Fukurōdani vs Nekoma game, invited both of them and both eagerly accepted. Which lead to a very awkward game, each sitting on the opposite side of Bokuto, who was far too busy cheering on his old team to notice. Bokuto ran off after the game, Akaashi had called, leaving the two to awkwardly walk home.

They get close to her house, both lingering on the sidewalk, kicking imaginary rocks to act as if they had something keeping them outside.

“Y/N, I’m –“

“I think we should break up.”

“Y/N, I –”

“No. I don’t want to hear any excuses anymore. I tried so hard to make this work, but what you said to me hurt Kuroo, it really hurt.”

Kuroo. When was the last time she called him that?

“I never did anything to make you think those things, I wouldn’t do that. I really did love you, but I can’t keep doing this. It’s not healthy.”

* * September – 2013

It had been over a year and he stilled kicked himself for not saying anything to her that night, for letting her walk away without even trying to hold onto their relationship. But that night he discovered that everything he thought about them was a lie. He thought that he had been trying to keep them together, that he had been trying his hardest to be a good boyfriend, but he was the one who tore them apart. He was the one who got it in his head that she was acting a way that he knew she wasn’t, he knew that Bo was just her friend and what made it even worse was after their break-up, Bo and Akaashi announced their relationship.

Not only did he lose his girlfriend, the only girl he’d ever loved, but she eventually told Akaashi what happened and when Bo found out, he was livid. Even Akaashi hadn’t seem Bo as mad as he was when he called and told off Kuroo for ever thinking that about him and Y/N. Maybe all of this was what he deserved, he had been truly awful as a boyfriend and a friend, but even with that awareness, he still missed her. Still wanted her back, wanted to truly be able to fix things with her because he knew he could be better given one more chance.

* * October – 2013

Being back at home isn’t as bad as Kuroo built it up in his head to be. His grandparents weren’t thrilled that he wasn’t going to finish up this semester, but he promised them after some time, after he could clear his head, he would go back.

He picked up a part-time job at a convenient shop, just needing something to force him out of his thoughts because somehow being back at home was even worse than being alone in his apartment. Even though he knew she was hours away, it didn’t stop him from almost breaking his neck to see if every girl passing with (h/c) was her. He hadn’t seen her up close since their breakup, so he didn’t know if she had long, short, buzzed hair, hell he didn’t even know if she had colored it differently.

“You didn’t forget my (favorite flavor) tea, did you?”

Kuroo stops in the middle of ringing up a customer at the sound of a familiar voice. Over the last year and a half, he swore he had heard it several times, but this time he is positive that it’s her. He looks up just in time to see her smiling at someone that the aisle is preventing him from seeing and he feels his heart thump into his chest.

He wants to step away from the register, to tell them to just give him a moment, that’s all he needs with her to try to get her to just hear him out, but there’s a pretty long line and she disappears deeper into the store.

“Kuroo?”

He looks up from ringing up the few items that were placed on the counter and it was her. Her in person, not in his dreams or random memories that flooded his mind when was alone. He wanted to ask her to wait for him, to give him just a few minutes to talk to him, but the person next to her wrapped his arm around her and his heart sank.

“Are you on break from school?” She tilts her head to the side.

“Just thought I’d take some time off, clear my head.” He told them the total price, the mystery man handing him the amount. “What about you?” She clears her throat, shifting a bit awkwardly which isn’t missed on either man. “Bo invited us to celebrate him signing to a pro team.” “Ah. So this is…” The man quickly introduces himself, Kuroo doesn’t bother to catch his name, but the title he gives himself sticks in his mind: boyfriend. He wants to be mad, how could she just move on like that? How could she just forget everything they had and start over with this…guy?

“We should get going, Y/N.”

“It was nice seeing you.” She gives him a small polite smile, taking the man’s hand as they walked out of the store. But she pauses before going through the door and for a brief moment Kuroo holds his breath, hoping she’ll tell him she wants to talk. She doesn’t, instead she shakes her head with a small laugh and follows her boyfriend outside.

That’s the moment Kuroo realizes that he no longer has a place in her life to go back to, that no matter how hard and tightly he holds onto the memories they made, he would never get her back. And that realization shook Kuroo to his core.

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

Interested in more? --> Masterlist

#haikyuu!!#hq kuroo #kuroo tetsurō #kuroo x reader #kuroo x female reader #kuroo angst #hq angst #tw angst #tw toxic behavior #tw cheating allegations #tw mentions of cheating #tw adult language #tw cussing #tw: anger #kuroo tetsuro x reader #platonic bokuto x reader #hq bokuto x reader #bokuto x reader are friends

131 notes · View notes

stayextrafrosty · 3 years

Text

I’m Not Usually Spiteful but Here We Are

Summary: Alex and Michael are good at sex. They were always on the same page about that. How to deal with Mr. Jones on the other hand? Not so much. But maybe sex can fix that too. Not Forrest Long Friendly. Not Maria DeLuca friendly.

A/N: A gift for @prouvaireafterdark because I always see her mentioning that not enough authors write cock warming in this fandom. And I’m inclined to agree. So I gave my best shot at it. 😊

Warnings: Shameless smut, Dom/sub elements, top Alex, bottom Michael, implied switching for both, cock-warming, orgasm delay/denial, angsty in the beginning but it’s resolved pretty quickly

Title is both me talking and how I with Alex would think sometimes.

Read on AO3 // Masterlist

“I swear to fucking god, Guerin! Why do you treat me like some kind of broken toy,” Alex screamed at him. Michael ran his fingers though his hair, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“I just don’t think you should be involved with an insane alien on the loose who could be stronger than all of us!” The table separating them was the only thing keeping Alex from strangling Michael. It was always like this recently. Whenever they needed to any sort of mission, he would shut him down.

Ever since Michael had walked out in the middle of his song, he’d been keeping a distance. Forrest has been great. The most caring guy he’d ever dated. But something was just off. Forrest was too gentle with him.

While he appreciated the consideration he had, sometimes he just wished for some action. They rarely went out to do things than involved running anymore. They had yet to return to the paintball range. Forrest was careful with his prosthetic which was fine. But he seemed to think he couldn’t do things because of it.

And now Michael was here. Telling him that he didn’t want Alex to help because it’s not ‘safe.’

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” His fingers gripped the edge of the table. Too bad it was attached to the floor or he might have flung it across the room.

“Why? Is it so hard to believe that I’m trying to protect you?”

“Quite frankly, yes! You abandoned me for my best friend!”

A pin could have dropped and it would have deafened them. Michaels eyes closed as he took a deep breath. Alex regretted saying anything. Even if it was true.

“You have no idea how much I’m going to regret that,” he said calmly.

“Regret? Really? You intentionally said things to hurt me, Michael.” Alex watched as he pushed away from the table, straightened his back and walked to the other side standing behind Alex.

He wasn’t going to turn around. There had to be a barrier. Michaels breathing tickled the back of his neck, triggering goosebumps up and down his arms. He cursed himself. After all these years and all the pain, he still couldn’t stop his body’s reaction to him.

“Alex. There is nothing I regret more than saying those things to you. I was scared. And I know it sounds like an excuse. But if you truly resent me for that, please tell me.” Alex turned to face him slowly.

“I’m with Forrest.” The pain that crossed Michael’s face was brief. If Alex didn’t know him as well as he did, he might have missed it.

“And I want to you be safe for him. So you aren’t coming on this mission.”

Alex snapped.

He grabbed fistfuls of Michael’s flannel, shoving him back and flipping them so he was the one against the table. Michael blinked in surprise

“I am not as week as you two seem to think I am. I will not break,” he threatened. Michael’s eyes flicked over his face eyebrows drawing together.

“You’re not weak Alex. Far from it. But you don’t have to be strong all the time. That’s all I want for you. To have a place where you don’t have to be strong.” Alex’s grip loosened on his shirt, trying to ignore the buttons that had come undone. His hands shook.

“Then why do you keep leaving,” he mumbled, averting his eyes. He focused instead on a spot on his neck. A spot he wanted to press his mouth against since the last time he had him. “You’re the only one I have ever been able to feel that way with.”

Michael didn’t say anything for moment. His hands came up to cover Alex’s, rubbing his thumb over his hand and wrist slowly. He inched forward a bit more, their legs pressed together.

“Do you want someone else to be in control?” He shook his head, meeting Michael’s intense stare. He wouldn’t look away. Damn him.

Alex hardly registered what he was doing as he pressed his mouth to Michael’s. It didn’t last long before he jumped back, realizing what he had done. He muttered out an apology, releasing his shirt, planning to run away.

Michael grabbed him, yanking him back against his chest. He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved when his arms wrapped around him, one hand tangling in his hair. Alex wrapped his arms around him in return. Just a hug. His pulse spiked as Michael pressed his mouth against his neck.

“Not enough,” he felt him mumble. He dragged his mouth up to his jaw, letting the tip of his tongue touch only slightly. Alex couldn’t stop the roll of his hips or the way his head fell backward, giving him full access to whatever he wanted.

Michael nipped at his jaw gently before pulling back and meeting his eyes again. ‘Not enough’ was a hell of an understatement. Alex kissed him again, loving the low groan that escaped Michael’s lips. He released his grip on the back of his shirt to finish undoing the buttons on the front, shoving it off his shoulders.

It was thrown somewhere behind him but he couldn’t care less as Michaels hands moved from their place to tug at his own shirt. His brain screamed at him that this was a bad idea. Maybe the worst he’s ever had. But stopping was out of the question.

It felt too fucking good.

Their lips detached for only a second as his shirt was pushed over his head and tossed to the side. Michael’s hands were all over him, leaving his skin burning wherever he touched. His hips rolled again, pulling another moan from Michael. He felt him grin before he pulled back.

“You’re so easily excited… are you pent up?” Alex refused to answer, opting for kissing him again. He laughed but didn’t deny him, digging his finger into his hips, massaging them.

Truth is, he was pent up. He and Forrest hadn’t been having sex recently. Alex hadn’t been into it. He was never… rough enough.

He was jerked out of his thoughts by Michael cupping him through his jeans that were quickly becoming too tight. He let out a whimper, and Michael took the chance to lick into his mouth. Alex dragged his fingers over his torso to the belt buckle.

They broke away from each other, panting, as he tugged the belt loose, immediately working on the button of his jeans.

“Fuck Manes, just tell me,” he stilled Alex’s hands, “Tell me you need me as much as I need you.” He looked into Michael’s eyes, both of them breathing each other in. The smell of rain wrapped around him like a bed he never wanted to leave.

“I need you, Michael. I think I’ve needed you since the day I met you.” Michael kissed him again, gentle and slow. Making his heart race so loud he was sure Michael could hear it.

His hands ran up his arms, letting him resume his task of undoing the button on his jeans. His nails scratched over his arms and shoulders, making Alex shiver. He pushed his jeans down along with his underwear and wrapped a hand around him. Michaels hips jerked forward and a low moan slipped out of his mouth.

Alex jerked him off slowly, much to the dismay of Michael, he noticed. His head fell to his shoulder, little moans escaping with every slight squeeze of his hand. This didn’t stop him from undressing Alex further. The button on his own jeans popped open and he was tugging him down his legs.

Michael stopped his hand again before falling to his knees in front of him. His cock jumped at the anticipation. There was no hesitation as he wrapped his mouth around him. He groaned loudly, leaning froward to grip the edges of the table.

The heat and wetness of his mouth had him closer to the edge than he wanted to be. Michael moaned around him and the vibrations made his hips thrust froward, forcing him to the back of his throat. He didn’t even gag as he held him there, before pushing his hips back slightly then sinking down again.

“Michael… If you keep… I’m gunna…” He pleaded. His hips moved almost of their own accord, fucking into his mouth. He released the table with one hand to tangle it in the beautiful curls, pulling gently. Michael moaned around him again.

His orgasm crashed into him. His hips stuttered in their movements and he held Michael in place. His name tumbled from his mouth over and over again. Alex’s legs felt weak, his grip on Michael’s hair released.

Michael stood slowly, careful to no throw him off balance. His arms wrapped around his waist and he pressed his mouth to Alex’s. He whimpered at the taste of himself on his tongue. Michael’s still dripping cock poked at his abs, rubbing ever so slightly. He grabbed in and started stroking slowly.

“Futon,” Alex mumbled. They had moved it in here when Alex and Kyle had started spending nights working late. It was nice if they were too tired to drive home. But now it was needed for a completely different reason.

Michael nodded, pulling back. He took the hand that was wrapped around him, instead placing it on his shoulders. He raised an eyebrow as he wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Hold on to me,” Michael said. He hardly had time to register before he was being lifted into his arms. Alex swore he could feel the tingling of the telekinesis but he was too embarrassed to say anything. The heat in his face made him positive his cheeks were red.

Michael set him down gently, leaning over him before attaching his mouth to his neck, sucking a bruise into the junction near his collarbone. Alex moaned at the attention. He wanted to return these feelings to Michael but he was preoccupied with driving him absolutely crazy. He cold feel himself getting hard again.

Once he was satisfied with the mark, he kissed down his chest and stomach making his back arch. Alex froze when his hands found the edge of the prosthetic. He noticed and stopped immediately, looking up at him, waiting for further instruction.

Alex took a breath and sat up, pulling Michael with him, pressing light kisses to his lips. This was Michael. He wasn’t worried about the possibility of this turning him off. He knew that he loved—Wait.

Michael resumed his movements but slowly, tugging his jeans over the plastic and metal, careful to not pull too hard. His shoes came off along with the jeans and his heard pounded as he was completely bare before Michael. His fingers ran over the edge of the prosthetic again.

“Can I take this off,” he asked hesitantly. Alex couldn’t bring himself to speak. He trusted him. He just nodded. A small smile snuck out as he first kissed his thigh and left a trail to his knee. Warmth and affection rolled through Alex.

Love. This is love. He loves Michael Guerin. Present tense. He knew it as he sang that song to him but he never said the word.

Michael’s fingers were precise and careful. The pressure released as he pulled it off gently, setting it to the side, then rolling the sock off as well. He kissed the areas as they became exposed and his heart pounded.

“Michael,” he choked out. He looked up at him, eyes soft and needy. Alex grabbed his face, hauling him back up to crush his mouth to his again. A soft groan caught in his throat, making Alex grin. It was his turn to service.

He couldn’t move as quickly without his leg but it was enough. Using a move he learned in basic, he flipped them over, sitting on Michael’s hips. The rough texture of his jeans against his half-hard cock made him roll his hips, earning another groan from the man below him.

“You’re wearing far too many clothes for this to be fair.” Alex took his time undressing him, nipping along every area of exposed skin as he rolled his jeans down. He kicked his boots off, helping Alex as much as he could.

With both of them naked, it was like nothing had changed. Their hands running over the other as though they had never stopped. Muscles tensed and relaxed, remembering this dance well.

Michael’s fingers found their way to Alex’s ass, squeezing and teasing at the entrance. He shuddered at the feeling, pressing back against those damn fingers.

“You want these inside you baby? Or maybe something else,” Michael mumbled against his neck and shoulder. His cock was fully hard again. He did want Michael inside him. But he wanted to drive Michael crazy just like he did for him. Alex grabbed his hands pinning them above his head.

“Later. I believe it my turn to play with you,” he said, low and threatening. He felt his cock jump at the suggestion. He kissed his neck, loving the way his body responded to him. He released his hands as he moved down, only pinning them again when Michael tried to touch him.

He shook his head and smirked as Michael groaned at being denied. Alex moved over him in what he knew was a torturously slow pace, especially for Michael. His hips were rolling, searching for friction before he even got down to his hips.

His scent was so much stronger here, understandably so. Here and his neck, as though he wore cologne. But it was all Michael and he could get high on him alone. He looked up at him through his eyelashes as he kissed the head of his cock.

“Alex, are you trying to kill me,” he half joked.

“Just drive you crazy a little. Let’s call it payback for all the times you would show up with a half open shirt, a cocky grin, or jeans that were noticeably too tight. Or at least they were after you looked me up and down.” His head fell back as he moaned. Alex took the head into his mouth but didn’t linger long.

“How could I not get horny when you look so damn good all the time?”

He smiled then proceeded to drag his tongue over his length and towards his hole. Michael’s legs fell open further, granting him more access. His hips rolled as he prodded at his entrance, forcing Alex to hold his hips down, earning another tortured groan.

“Behave,” he scolded. Michael’s breath came out in ragged gasps as he massaged the area with his tongue, occasionally nipping. His hands grabbed at the fabric of the futon.

“Fuck, Alex. I’m gunna come if you keep that up,” he warned. Alex stopped immediately, grabbing the base of his cock.

“Don’t you dare.” His back arched, but he held his hips steady.

He resumed his efforts without waiting for a response. When he was confident he wouldn’t come, he moved his hand to his mouth. He sucked on his fingers briefly before pushing one into his ass slowly

Michael cursed, obviously wanting to move but doing his best to stay still for him. Alex smiled, hooking his finger, looking for the spot he knew would earn him another moan.

He didn’t disappoint when he pressed against his prostate. Michael’s hips betrayed him, though he decided to let it go in favor of pressing the spot again. His cock jumped as he searched for friction he wouldn’t find.

He pulled his finger out only to go back in with a second, working him open. Alex smiled as he gave up any attempts at being quiet, moaning and groaning every time he pushed his fingers in.

“Fuck, please Alex. I need to come,” he pleaded. He thought for a moment, pulling his fingers out. He crawled up so he was face to face with Michael. He leaned in as though to kiss him but stopped short.

“No,” he whispered.

Grabbing the base of his cock again, he shoved three fingers inside massaging the muscles. His own need was becoming distracting. He wanted to be in him. Needed to be in him. He pulled away and Michael whined.

“You ready babe? Remember, no coming until I say so,” He said, pressing the head of his cock against his hole. He spit in his hand, coating his cock. He pressed forward slowly, groaning at how tightly he was being squeezed.

“Fuck, loosen up babe, or I’ll never get it in,” he teased. Michael glared at him but with no real malice.

“Who’s fault is that for bringing me so close to the edge,” he accused. Alex smirked and pushed again, gripping his hips for leverage. Michael’s eyes glazed over as he tried to relax. His body shook from overstimulation.

He thrusted in and out slowly, moving deeper each time. Eventually he was fully settled. He rolled his hips slightly but otherwise didn’t move. Michael panted, clenching and unclenching his fists in the fabric.

“Alex, move,” he pleaded.

“Oh, but I’m quite comfortable like this. Feeling every time your body clenches around me. Being so ready,” he taunted, leaning forward to press kisses to his chest. He met his eyes turning serious. “But if you want me to stop. I will.” Michael shook his head immediately.

“God no don’t stop. I just need so much more.” Alex smiled, rolling his hips only once. He cursed, eyes pleading. He watched as Michael tried not to squirm. He ran his hands over his chest, dragging his nails through the hair, earning a shiver and a squeeze from the muscles surrounding him. Alex groaned but kept his hips still.

“You want to come right? Go ahead.” His eyes widened at the permission. He tried moving but Alex held him steady. His cock twitched. He watched Alex as he moved his hand to grab it, checking if it was allowed. His fingers had just wrapped around himself when a loud buzzing made them both jump. It rang twice before an idea popped into Alex’s head.

“Get that for me please.” Michael blinked.

“But—”

“Now. Before it stops.” Soon the phone was floating over to them. Alex plucked it out of the air. Noting that this was Michael’s phone.

Maria’s name flashed on the screen. He had never considered himself petty before but maybe it was time to change that. He pressed the answer button, never moving from his place inside Michael.

“So you finally answered me?” he could hear the sadness in her voice. He almost felt bad.

“Not exactly, Maria.” Michaels eyes widened and he began to move away but a look from Alex made him freeze. He mouthed the word stay.

“Alex? Where’s Michael?” She sounded truly surprised though he didn’t know why. He looked down at the man below him, cock leaking over his abs.

“He’s preoccupied. Thinks he’s onto something. Really full of himself.” He didn’t think Maria caught the emphasis on the word but he definitely did.

“Alex,” Michael whimpered quietly. Alex lifted a finger to his lips, shushing him.

“Right well. Can you tell him to call me back or pass a message?”

He started squirming. One hand was not enough to keep him still. He moved his free hand to cover Michael’s mouth before smirking at him.

He finally pulled his hips back and thrust them forward roughly. He did it again and again, his moans getting louder behind his hand.

“Look. Just tell him that I’m sorry and I miss seeing him around. And I know that—”

“Maria. I love him. And asking me to pass along ‘I miss you’ messages is arguably cruel. I doubt he wants to hear it anyway.” He ended the call before she could respond, tossing the phone to the side.

Michael let out a long moan when he removed his hand from his face. Alex let his hips snap forward, fucking him like he knew he wanted. His name fell from his lips and Alex grabbed his cock jerking him off.

“Fuck! Gunna… come…” His back arched from the futon, ribbons of white painting his chest.

He didn’t let up even after he watched his cock empty itself. Instead he pulled him up and on top of him, refusing to come again until Michael did too. His legs shook from the over stimulation.

“Alex, take it out. I can’t take it,” he begged.

“I bet you have one more in you. I still need to finish,” he said, biting his shoulder. He held him down on his cock, though if he really wanted off he could easily remove himself.

Michael grabbed his face, kissing him passionately. Then he started moving his hips again. Up and down and his mouth dropped open, Michael taking the opportunity to lick into his mouth again.

“You’re so good baby. So fucking good. Your ass squeezes me just right.” A shudder ran through his lover’s body. He could feel his cock hardening again. He angled his hips slightly, so every time he came down it would run against his prostate.

“Alex, I love you,” Michael panted out. He looked up at him immediately, unable to stop the smiled that broke out on his face. Their lips met again, Alex’s hands on his hips, guiding him.

“I love you so much, Michael.” Their hips lost the rhythm as they both sped towards the edge. Michael bounced on him hard and fast, taking him all the way every time. Alex moaned and his upward thrusts were faltering.

He crashed over the edge like the first time with what felt like no warning. He gripped Michael’s hips, holding him down as he thrusted once, twice, and a third time right into his prostate. A string of curses left his mouth as he reached his own climax. It ran down his shaft and between the two of them.

Michael continued moving, but slowly, milking him for all he had. He twitched inside him, his mind beginning to clear. Their lips met softly, exchanging wet but sweet kisses. He ran his hands through the beautiful curls, laughing when he got caught in some tangles.

“Believe me when I say I’m going to get you back for that,” Michael warned as he nuzzled into his neck, breathing him in.

“Did you not like it,” he questioned nervously?

“Oh I liked it. Far too much,” he answered nipping at him gently. “I just remember you saying ‘later’ to my offer earlier. And I plan to collect.” Alex laughed as he kissed his neck and up his jaw.

“We need to talk about this,” he said, pushing him back slightly. He was afraid he would ruin the comfortable bubble they had built around themselves. But when he met Michael’s eyes, there was no indication of that at all. In fact, he was just smiling. More pure than Alex had seen in so long.

“We will. Because I just want to be clear. I love you Alex. And no one is going to take you away from me again.” He thought he felt a tear slip from his eye but Michael brushed it away. All he could do was nod.

They cuddled on the crappy futon, both eventually drifting off into a light nap. Alex was the one who woke to the sound of the door to the bunker opening. He jerked out of Michael’s arms, because as much as he wanted to just lay there, someone (probably Kyle) was going to get an eye full.

#malex fanfiction #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #michael guerin/alex manes #roswell new mexico #roswell new mexico fic #gift

28 notes · View notes

cloudyreflections · 5 years

Text

Heartaches, and headaches - Steve Harrington x fem!reader

A/N: I don’t know shit about concussions and neither does Steve on this so bear with me on this imagine lmao

Summary: Steve’s heart hurts, but so does your head.

The music seemed to be louder at the moment Steve stepped out of the bathroom of Tina’s halloween party. His vision was blurry because of the tears that were threatening to come out, and he felt like his lungs were burning for oxygen, something that was lacking in the smoke, sweat and booze enviroment that he was breathing inside the house. Drunk and sticky bodies were bumping against him while he tried to get passed by the crowd of teenagers partying.

Reaching the doorknob of the entrance door felt like a relief, and Steve knew that if he didn’t get out of that house quickly he would pass out. Anger and sadness from the recent events made him open the door roughly, unfortunately knocking someone’s head in the process.

“What the hell, Harrington?!” The girl complained loudly, clutching at her forehead in pain. Her hard gaze met his teary one, softening a bit at the sight of his red eyes just to look the other way immediately.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Steve asked the girl, grabbing her by the shoulders, trying to get a look at the bump. She removed her hand from her forehead, realising that she had blood on her palm. Steve started to freak out.

“Are you seriously asking me that?” The girl said angrily, clutching her wound once again and closing her eyes at the pain.

“Can you stop being a bitch at me for one second in your life, (Y/N)? Let me take you to the doctor.” Steve tried to take a look at the wound once more.

“Don’t be so dramatic Harrington, I’m okay.” (Y/N) said while she started to look for some kind of tissues inside the pockets of her coat.

“That doesn’t look okay, let me take you to the hospital so they can see it.” The brown haired boy said, still freaking out at the sight of so much blood.

“I said I’m fine, Harring-” She stopped midsentence when her vision got foggy and the floor beneath her started to feel as if it was moving, making her loose her balance.

“Hey, hey, hey, (Y/L/N)! That’s it you’re coming with me.” Steve said while he took her arm and drafted it over his shoulder helping her come down the stairs of the porch so he could take her to his car.

“Why did you open the door so fucking harshly, Harrington?” She mumbled incoherently, pressing the wound so it wouldn’t hurt that much.

Steve ignored her comment while he took out his keys and opened the passenger’s seat door, helping the girl get in.

“Fuck!” (Y/N) whined loudly, her face contorting in pain when accidentally Steve made her bump her forehead against the car while trying to get her inside.

“Shit, shit, sorry, I’m sorry!” He apologized panicking, grabbing her head more carefully this time, and sitting her inside the car.

“Yeah, yeah. Just give me some tissues, goddammit.” She grumbled, tiredly. Steve opened the compartment of the car, taking out some tissues.

“Here, there you go. Hey, hey! Don’t fall asleep, (Y/L/N)!” He shouted at her while shaking her shoulders when he saw her closing her eyes.

“Stop yelling, you douche. I heard you.” (Y/N) groaned, pushing his hands off her shoulders.

Steve put her seatbelt on, and then closed the door, cursing out loud while he started walking to the driver’s seat.

He started the car as fast as he could, checking on the girl all the time, I mean, he couldn’t have her dying inside his car. Fuck, what has he gotten himself into?!

(Y/N) had her head resting against the cold window, a tissue pressing against the wound, semi-conscious and semi-drunk, looking outside.

“Hey Harrington,” She mumbled, while drawing smiley faces in the foggy glass.

“Yeah?” He looked at her briefly, and then started paying attention to the road ahead. His palms were clammy against the steering wheel, nervously speeding up to get to the hospital quickly.

“Did you hit me really fucking hard, or did I really saw you crying back at the party?” (Y/N) asked confused, and moving to get more comfortable in the seat.

Steve gripped the wheel harder, and inhaled sharply, clearly uncomfortable. He knew that she was not thinking clearly right now. All this panicking made him somehow put the sad recent events in the back of his head, and her question brought them back to his consciousness.

Ruffling his hair with one hand, he decided to ignore her question. And luckily for both of them, they were one block away from the hospital.

The nurses cleaned (Y/N)’s wound, made a few stitches and then gave her some medicine for the pain. After all of this, they told Steve to try to keep her awake just in case, and that she should put some ice on the wound.

Helping her get in the car this time wasn’t so difficult as the first time, considering she was a little bit more awake now. Still, she didn’t cooperate.

The drive was pretty much silent for most of the time, except from Steve’s consisting scolding at (Y/N) to not get her head out of the window.

“Are you taking me to my house, Harrington? Because I don’t have my keys.” (Y/N) broke the silence inside the car, while she realised she had left her purse back in Jonathan’s car.

“We’re actually going to my house, you never told me your address, (Y/N).” Steve looked at her, eyebrows rising when he saw her covering her mouth. “Are you okay?”

“I think I need to throw up.” She complained starting to undo her seatbealt.

“Please not inside the car, please!” Steve started panicking for the 10th time on this night, looking for somewhere to stop the car at.

“Then stop the car right here, you fucking asshole!” She yelled at him, feeling a new wave of nausea come all over her again.

“Okay, okay!” He stopped the car abruptly, and when he turned his head, (Y/N) was already out of the car, throwing up beside the road.

Steve rubbed his palms all over his face, dropping his forehead against the steering wheel. After a few minutes and hits from Steve’s forehead against the wheel, they were back on their way to Steve’s house once again.

Steve helped the girl out of the car ignoring her complains about him being “a big haired douche” and something about him having “a typical douchey house”.

Once they were inside his house, he sat her down on the couch and brought her a frozen bag of peas and water, just to find her almost falling asleep.

“Wow, wow, (Y/L/N) wake up, you have to stay awake for tonight.”

“What?! All night?! I’m so fucking tired.” She protested, rubbing her eyes and snatching the bag of peas from his hand.

He plopped himself tiredly next to her on the couch.

“Well, you’re not the only one.” He said, his voice muffled by his palms rubbing his face.

(Y/N) groaned, throwing her head back, exhausted.

“Well, Harrington, you might aswell entertain me at least.” The girl sighed, focusing on keeping her eyes open.

Steve sighed aswell, sitting on the couch.

“What do you want me to tell you?” He asked, looking at her.

Silence filled the room. The sound of their steady breathings was the only thing that they could hear for a few moments.

“Do you want to talk about what happened back at the party?” She asked quietly, hoping that he would not kick her ass out of his house for asking about it.

For another minute they stayed in silence, both staring at the ceiling. And when she opened her mouth to apologize, Steve finally talked.

“Nancy…” He stopped midsentence to sigh while he ruffled his hair. “Nancy and I- we- we broke up. Well actually, she broke up with me.” Steve laughed bitterly while he remembered the scene. He didn’t understand why he was telling herthis, especially Steve didn’t understand why she was asking him about it. I mean, if somebody asked him who hated him the most, he would have definitely answered with your name.

(Y/N) sat straighter, and put the bag of peas down with fingers that were beginning to grow numb from the cold.

“Oh,” She replied, not knowing what to say. “I- I’m sorry that she broke up with you, and wow, in a party, that- that’s fucked up.” She almost facepalmed herself at how stupid that sounded.

Steve looked at her. “Are you for real, (Y/L/N)?” He smirked at her attempt of comforting him.

“God, I’m sorry,” She laughed, embarrased. “I never know what to say in these type of situations and-”

“It’s okay, (Y/N), really. You not knowing how to comfort me, well, that’s the least of my problems tonight.” He laughed softly and she joined him.

“Well, it looks like we both experienced physical pain tonight.” (Y/N) said between laughs, throwing her head back to look at the ceiling again.

Steve furrowed his eyebrows, and gazed at her amused.

“What do you mean?” He asked confused.

“I actually read somewhere that being broken hearted activates brain regions usually associated with processing physical pain. In other words, a broken heart really does hurt.” She commented recalling the information she once read. “Like when you hit me with a door right in the face, but I think that was karma actually, from that time I punched you on the nose last year.” She giggled, now looking at Steve who was recalling that time while laughing.

“Ouch, I remember that. It hurted for weeks after! But the difference is that I actually deserved that punch, for being a big haired douche” Steve said while clutching the bridge of his nose laughing, faking pain. (Y/N) started laughing harder, feeling tears prickling her eyes.

“Yeah, you were a dick, Harrington.” She said almost out of breath, drying her tears. Regaining composture once again, she rubbed her sore neck and then her forehead.

“Does it still hurt?” Steve asked, looking at her, concerned.

“Just a little bit.” (Y/N) said genuinely while she rubbed her face tiredly. She runned her fingers through her hair, and sighed dramatically dropping both of her hands in her shoulders. After a few seconds of silence where (Y/N) thought about what to say next, she looked at him softly “Does it still hurt?”

His breath hitched at the question, knowing exactly what she meant. He stared at her for a while.

Starting from her lips, which were almost parted, and looked so soft, and God, how did he never notice how soft her lips looked? He then moved his gaze to her cheeks, noticing the many small freckles that adorned them; then her eyes, wide open, that were looking at him so concernedly, and- and for the first time while looking at them he felt like a ton of bricks just stricked him right on the face, hard.

Steve smiled softly at her, and finally lowered his gaze to stare at his hands, “No, not that much now”

Hawkins, Indiana, 1984.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things s2 #stranger things #stranger things s3

332 notes · View notes

cockbiteproductions · 5 years

Note

primed to scream PRIMES! PRIMES! PRIMES!!

f i just typed the answer to most of these questions and chrome crashed so christ i have to fucking retype all these but much condensed because i am lazy.

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

chocolate bars. but only milk. my mom buys exclusively Very Dark Chocolate though so i usually just stare at those and Wish.

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

well bubblegum or cotton candy flavored stuff neither they both taste nauseating. if we’re talking about the actual stuff then bubblegum because i can pop it. this actually reminded me i have gum in the pantry from the beginning of the semester i havent even opened yet so now my roommates have you to thank for popping noises the next hr or so

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

soda bottles because i dont like to drink soda quickly and so i want to close it and not let the carbon dioxide escape. soda cans a close second because it’s satisfying to open the tab.

7. earbuds or headphones?

wired earbuds because headphones are too big and clunky and you cant easily lay on your side with headphones on. but if my next pair of earbuds break within a month i might consider Switching because ive had 3 break on me in the past month and half and im at my wits end with earbuds.

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

i dont eat much for breakfast cause i want to sleep in until the last possible moment and i get stomachaches when i eat a lot in the morning but ill eat a piece of bread and yogurt maybe.

13. lanyard or key ring?

key ring but that’s just because i havent used a lanyard before. i think i would like a lanyard. im constantly looking for my keys in bags.

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

this pair of black sandals that i have tan lines on my feet from how much ive worn them

19. sleeping position?

ill sleep however... i like sleeping on my left side. on my stomach with my head to the right. on my back with my arms crossover my chest to keep warm. at the end of the bed with my head where my feet should be. i dont move at all when i sleep so freshman year when i had a lofted bed i think my roommate was a bit concerned in the beginning when i refused a bedrail because she thought i might fall. i never fell which was nice.

23. strange habits?

oh man idk i probably have a lot of those but nothing i can think about right now when im being put on the spot.

in elementary school i used to refuse to step on the yellow tiles at school.

29. best way to bond with you?

talk to me about the stuff i love!!!! and watch the stuff i love with me!!!! i am always down to [whatever the rabb.it replacement is these days] stuff with people and just generally both yell at each other and be passionate about stuff. currently what im passionate about is the stuff im screaming over at @winstonbillions so talk to me about that stuff!! please. i am always 3 seconds from screaming about ANY of that stuff.

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

idk about outfits to kick ass and take names but i have outfits where i get my ass kicked and name taken aka what i wear to exams. which is my tower of pimps shirt which ive deemed lucky. is it lucky in any way? no, but i’m hoping if i wear it enough to exams it might.

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

duffel bag. suitcases are so large and unwieldily. that reminds me i have a suitcase of winter clothes in my trunk i need to take out.

41. last person you texted?

as in actual texts on my phone? that would be my dad. asking him if i should drop my class im failing.

as for the last person i instant messaged, that would be one of my mutuals through my musical theater sideblog im currently yelling at about [musical theater related interest]. im not kidding guys talk to me about the stuff i post about on @winstonbillions PLEASE

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

2 months ago i would have said hoodie but im kinda becoming a cardigan kind of person now. theyre just Soft and and Long and Casual and i love them. hoodies are too hard to take off.

47. favorite type of cheese?

mild cheddar, american, and mozzarella. i actually only Recently started cataloging cheeses in my brain to their actual names so for my entire life i was like i just like cheese even though there are certain ones i hate like swiss and blue cheese.

53. what is the current state of your hands?

a bit cold and a bit tired from typing all the answers to all these asks tbh. but other than that good. i just cut my nails because they were atrociously long.

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

“worm” or “fuck” or “no!” according to my roommate

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

oh my ogdokh oym ogdos sd fdospohm to mo edf ucmign fugod mfyo uacant just ask me this im going to absolutely die

in absolutely no order, all from completely from memory, and favorite for a variety of different reasons

“fuck you, math man. if you’re such a genius why can’t you count to loyalty” - mafee in 4x11 lamster billions

“captain, he think, and feels that much more powerful” - luminousbeings in you don’t have to (say yes) the star trek fic

“more than you know, i understand wanting to walk away from the jedi”“i know.” - anakin skywalker and ahsoka tano in 5x12 the wrong jedi star wars the clone wars

“i won’t leave you, not this time.” “then you will die” - ahsoka tano and darth vader in 2x12 twilight of the apprentice star wars rebels

“there is nothing so pure as a man on a mission. when faced with the fire, never quivers or runs. there is nothing so noble as sticking together, for lonely is the life lead when sticking to its guns." - narrator in bloodsong of love by joe iconis

“now i’ve got myself a name and i’m ready to risk it with a battle cry disguised as a sing-along” - never heard nothing by joe iconis

“i’m frickin done with being the loser, the wuss, the underdog. being the misfit, the old school analog. being the oddball, the weakling freak. the failure, the sucker, the please-don’t-speak. oh i can’t hardly wait for the moment when i’m not the loser the geek or whatever, ever again” - jeremy heere in be more chill by joe iconis

“i’m tired of being the person that everyone thinks that i am” - various in be more chill by joe iconis

“q is for quantitative, baby!” - winston in 4x12 extreme sandbox billions

“the cheering is just as important as the song” - lisa and ms. werring in the black suits by joe iconis

“first, best destiny” - spock in star trek ii wrath of khan

“be proud of your place in the cosmos. it is small, and yet it is. how unlikely. how fantastic, and stupid. and excellent.” - cecil in welcome to night vale old oak doors part b

“are we living a life that is safe from harm? of course not. we never are. the questions is are we living a life that is worth the harm?” - cecil in welcome to night vale parade day

“as I turned and my eyes beheld you, i displayed emotion. i beg forgiveness.” - spock somewhere in star trek tos

“the sky collapsed without a sound. these broken pieces hit the ground. the rain fell down around me and i drowned, but i will save you.” - part of me from dear evan hansen

“this is, after all, the story of how i died” - epsilon in the rvb13 trailer

“and while the law has many punishments for the atrocities we inflict on others, there are no punishments for the terrors we inflict on ourselves.” - the director in the s6 finale of red vs blue

that was in no way an exhaustive list but all i could think of at the moment

67. good luck charms?

not really any tbh. i try to wear my tower of pimps shirt whenever i take an exam but that’s about it.

71. least favorite pattern?

what does this even fucking mean?????? i will say the observer design pattern in programming because i don’t understand it well despite having used it twice now.

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

oh god idk why are all these questions getting harder. nothing i can think of at the moment.

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

i say school id tentatively, but neither of them looks great. my school id photo was a selfie.

83. writing or drawing?

writing. i wish to GOD i could draw and i probably could if i put in the amount of time i need to to learn how to draw but im a lazy bastard. but i’m not that great at writing either as i’ve found out. everything is way too short and out of character and too venty and i am weird about letting people i know read what i write (sorry @ all the people who keep asking me to let them read my writing. it’s not that great you’re not missing out at all and i hate the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known) and i abandon ideas literal minutes after getting them.

89. who would you put before everyone else?

what the fuck kind of question is this?????? i GUESS the answer should be me but uh i am not even putting myself before myself as i am procrastinating on a shitload of homework with this. i guess my “close” friends. they’re pretty chill. but generally ill do anything for anyone all you have to do is ask.

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

4, my own, my home landline, my dad’s cell, and my dad’s work.

#not rt #teresa answers stuff #long post #jesus christ sorry for the infodump #Anonymous

5 notes · View notes

nyadere · 5 years

Text

Reposting this bc the link got messed up when I changed URLs!!

My all time favorite Destiel fics, in no particular order. (More to be added over time) {last updated 10/08/2019}

Too Much TV Will Rot Your Brain by EndlessRain Rating: G Words: 7397 Summary: “Angel?” John asked. He had been in Heaven for a pretty long time, and had been hunting even longer, and he never had heard of angels actually existing.

“Oh for God’s sake,” Ellen said, “That’s your kid’s boyfriend!”

Notes: A short, sweet fic with mostly humor and a bit of angst mixed in. – How (thanks to Gabriel) Dean and Castiel (accidentally) raised each other (and Sam). by Vera Rating: E Words: 69693 Summary: In which, Gabriel meddles with the time line and Castiel becomes Dean’s angel rather sooner than intended.

Notes: This is a must-read, the writing is perfect and the idea is also perfect. Throwing Castiel into the boy’s lives from the start and the dynamic it brings is such an interesting take on the story.

–

Destiel, Actually by Bloodism Rating: E Words: 15973 Summary: Picture your typical rom-com cliché. Now picture Dean stuck in that rom-com cliché. With Castiel. Because that’s what happening to him - a crazy whirlwind of your typical-and-not-so-typical cliché’s. He’s playing the main lead in all of them and Castiel’s his counterpart. Of course, the culprit is obvious. Gabe’s enjoying himself too much, lying back on his favourite cloud with a tub of salted popcorn.

It was about time someone kicked the two knuckleheads into gear.

“And… ACTION!”

Notes: Funny & light-hearted, featuring everyone’s favorite trickster.

–

Angel’s Wild by LimonadeGaby, riseofthefallenone Rating: E Words: 389271 Summary: But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels.

Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right?

That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

Notes: Another must-read. This fic is a huge, long and a bit of a slow-burn but its so worth it. One of the first destiel fics I fell in love with, an immersive AU with fanart included.

–

Things Dean Winchester Loves by tuesday Rating: M Words: 3623 Summary: Castiel makes a list, Sam gives good advice, and Dean takes a while to catch on.

–

In the Shadow of your Wings by Enochian Things Rating: M Words: 57268 Summary: Dean drains his bottle of beer, sets it on the table and gets up, heading for the kitchen. Maybe to fetch another, maybe to leave. But Castiel doesn’t want him to go, doesn’t want to leave this conversation unfinished; he remembers his regret of just a few hours ago, that Dean had never known how he loved him.

“Wait,” he says and gets to his feet as Dean passes by. They’re standing close – close enough that Castiel can feel the heat of Dean’s body, the vibrancy of his soul brushing against his grace. “Dean, I have to tell you something…”

Set after the S11 finale.

Notes: another long, slow-burn. The buildup in this fic is fantastic, dealing with a jealous and in-denial Dean while poor Cas is dealing with his own feelings. This fic is so in-character I can see it happening in the actual show.

– Everything Comes Back To You by VioletHaze Rating: E Words: 32970 Summary: Dean knew better. Of course he did. But Cas seemed so charmed by the antique-filled bed and breakfast that Dean went along with it when the proprietor mistook them for a couple. Telling himself it gave them a strategic advantage to be so close to the crime scene, he agreed to the weekend special she offered them. When the case ended up being a bust, they stuck around anyhow because hey, the second night was free…

Notes: I love love loveeee this fic. Canon!verse with fake/pretend relationship. Dean in denial with mutual pining? Yes please. – Sam Winchester Sees the Light (And Dean’s Awkward Boner Face) by YamiTami Rating: G Words: 2447 Summary: Castiel is falling and he has to start doing human things to save energy. That means eating for sustenance, sleeping, and learning how to use a washing machine. This leads to a revelation.

Shamelessly inspired by a gifset of Misha putting a shirt on.

–

The Mirror by cloudyjenn Rating: M Words: 24568 Summary: When Dean touches a strange mirror, he’s whisked away to one alternate reality after another and it doesn’t take him long to realize the universe is trying to tell him something.

Notes: This. fic. is. amazing. I love reading about AU versions of the boys and this one has plenty of variety. Cute with a bit of angst mixed in.

–

In Your Sweet Little Bungalow by annodominique Rating: E Words: 13680 Summary: All things considered, Castiel has a house. All things considered, Castiel has a life. Without Dean.

It has been seven years since Sam died, seven years since Dean left Castiel, broken and human, and disconnected from humanity. Cas had to cope on his own somewhere along the way. He chose a little town of Oregon to settle in.

Seven years, and Dean shows up at his door on a chilly February night, saying the stupidest set of words to ever be said to Castiel’s face.

“I was–just passing by the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by…to see you.”

And Cas doesn’t know what to do.

Notes: This fic is so angsty but so worth it.

–

When the Bough Breaks by captainshakespear, deanisthesun Rating: M Words: 73963 Summary: Years after the Darkness has been defeated, Dean and Cas are living the apple pie life in small-town Kansas. They don’t hunt anymore, and would like to keep it that way, but some young hunters knocking at their door have different plans.

Dean, Cas and Sam reluctantly agree to help out, but what ought to be a simple case becomes way more complicated and dangerous than they counted on. And when the hunt starts to invade the normal lives they’ve carved out for themselves and their kids, Dean and Cas begin to wonder if escaping the hunting life altogether might have been wishful thinking.

–

Home is Where by ChasingRabbits Rating: E Words: 15170 Summary: Casual vagrant Dean Winchester blows into Palo Alto to check on his little brother. What is meant to be a quick visit ends up drawing out when he meets and accidentally ends up clicking with Sam’s strange, grad student roommate Castiel.

Notes: non-canon verse AU where Cas has Asperger’s and is Sam’s roommate, this fic is very cute.

–

Out of the Deep by riseofthefallenone Rating: E Words: 488608 Summary: Stay away from the light-beds. Stay in the deep.

It is the first thing hatchlings are taught the moment their fans unfurl and they can swim without their parents to buoy them along. It is the first rule, the first law. It is the beginning of every boogey-monster bedtime story told when they settle against the cliffs to sleep.

Castiel should have listened better.

Notes: I cannot express how much I love this fic. Another huge AU with copious amounts of fanart and detail. Slow-burn, Merfolk AU. I will admit I was hesitant to read this at first as I don’t usually like mermaid/merfolk AUs but this story is so beautifully written and the attention to detail is amazing. Riseofthefallenone never ceases to amaze me.

–

Going Postal by captainbarnes Rating: Not Rated Words: 6799 Summary: Castiel,

Hi. My name’s Dean, just Dean — that’s all you’re getting out of me.

I don’t really know what else to say, I’m not good at this and I really don’t want to talk much. But it’s for a grade, and I’m already flunking English, so I guess I don’t have a choice.

Your name is weird as fuck.

— Dean

Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak became pen pals because of a school assignment, and they tried not to get attached to one another. They really did. Sort of. Barely.

–

King of the Road by loversantiquities Rating: E Words: 15890 Summary: Contracted out by the local police in Moriarty, New Mexico, Dean is sent to investigate the happenings around a church outside of town, the Angel-worshiping congregation reportedly flocking to the location in recent days. As it turns out, though, instead of snake charmers or devil worshipers, Dean finds an Angel crucified to the cross, said Angel unreasonably snarky despite being tied up against his will.

Turning over Castiel to the authorities, though, doesn’t work in Dean’s favor. With nowhere to go and Heaven having abandoned him, Dean agrees to haul Castiel across the country on two conditions–he doesn’t smoke in the car, and he doesn’t rob convenience stores in broad daylight.

God, Dean might actually kill him before this is over.

–

Rock of Ages by winter_of_our_Discontent Rating: T Words: 7430 Summary: It starts because they need a rock. Not, of course, just any rock, but apparently this particular critter needs an Aztec-style obsidian-and-jade dagger right through its human-teeth-and-eyeball-eating heart to actually kill it.

In which Cas gets a ring, and Dean (finally) gets a clue.

–

So There It Is, I’ve Said It All by PorcupineGirl Rating: G Words: 3898 Summary: “Why, do you have something you need to say to me that you don’t think I’ll like?”

I think I’m in love with you.

“Yeah. I guess so.“

–

Receipts by surlybobbies Rating: T Words: 1391 Summary: He’s about to put the receipt down, no harm done, when something about it catches his eye. Pen ink, on the back. He flips it around and reads:

With Dean. He shared his pie with me. His smile was radiant.

Dean stares. Reads it again. Nothing’s changed.

What? -

The Fourth Wall by entanglednow

Rating: T-E (this is a series so different parts have different ratings) Words: 40,339 Summary: (There’s not an exact summary for the whole thing since its a series of 15 different works but basically the boys discover fanfiction about themselves and things get wild) I can’t believe I didn’t add this one before but its one of my all time favorites! I’ve read it multiple times because its just that good. Lighthearted and funny. This series also includes Samifer which I’m a big fan of (but if you’re not into that each part is appropriately tagged so you can skip over it).

Someone Who’s Feeling For Me by ellispark Rating: M Words: 45,876 Summary: Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight. Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away. Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked. Notes: Lots of pining, supportive Sam, angst with a happy ending, the good shit.�� - Everyone is Trying to Get to the Bar by Balder12 Rating: E Words: 8,111 Summary: Dean still has enemies in Heaven. True!form Castiel to the rescue!

Notes: I love true!form cas fics and this one is written beautifully, the ending seemed a little rushed to me but other than that I really enjoyed this fic.

As You Pass Through Me by wannaliveindeansdimples Rating: E Words: 30,548 Summary: Cas has lived in this house all his life... and since his untimely death. The last thing he wants is a new roommate, but it seems he's getting one anyway.

Notes: a wonderful non-canonverse AU with ghost!Cas....but there’s a twist! This fic is incredibly cute and entertaining and makes me smile everytime I read it. There’s a little bit of what could be considered dub-con in a few chapters but before said chapters the author usually has a note at the beginning.

#Destiel #Destiel fic rec #Destiel fanfiction #deancas #destiel fic recs #supernatural #spn

6 notes · View notes

belleterrecountryclub · 5 years

Text

Can Meditation Make You A Better Golfer?

An experiment with three golfers revealed the practice can make a difference. Just not the one you might expect

By Sam Weinman

few months ago Golf Digest set out to answer a question almost as old as the game itself: does alcohol make you play better, or worse? The experiment and resulting video with three too-eager participants, was illuminating, comical, and fairly conclusive: a little bit of “swing oil” has some residual benefits owing to a decrease in tension and inhibition. Too much, however, leads to deteriorating focus and coordination, and then you just stop caring about advancing the ball at all. A subsequent experiment with marijuana yielded similar results: some weed might take the edge off and loosen up your swing, but anything more than a little becomes counterproductive.

That brings us to our recent experiment exploring the effects of meditation, structured like the first two, but also plenty unique. Here, too, we submitted three golfers of varying playing ability to a series of golf tests while interspersing the influence of an outside element—beers and tokes became 15 minutes of meditation. The difference is that while meditation does induce some immediate physiological effects and boasts several long-term health benefits, we’re still talking about a rather nuanced exercise that is difficult to quantify. And if you really wanted to measure it well, best to do it over a few months instead of a couple of hours. Still, a few hours is what we started with one day this summer, and I, along with colleagues Keely Levins and Ben Walton, was selected as one of three golfers who would spend the day hitting golf shots and meditating to see what type of difference we’d see. Although Keely and Ben had limited experience with meditation, I’d recently begun dabbling in no small part because mindfulness, as it’s also known, has been hailed as perhaps the best way to temper the freneticism of our modern lives. And no doubt I was a worthy candidate: a digital editor who spends his days tethered to one electronic device or another, a father of two high-energy boys, and someone who can overthink everything from family dynamics to what club to hit off the tee. As I said in the video, I first told my wife that I thought meditation would help because, “I run pretty hot during the day.” “No,” she corrected me. “You run hot all the time.”

So in terms of how a few minutes of meditation a day can calm the mind and harness focus, I was already sold. What I hadn’t explored, and what we sought to discover that day, was how it might affect one’s performance on the golf course. Plus, we saw it as an opportunity to debunk misconceptions about meditation — what exactly it is, what you do, and why it might mesh well with the mental and emotional demands of golf.

The day was broken into segments of three different golf challenges—driving for distance, approach shot accuracy, and putting—followed by brief sessions with meditation teacher Jonni Pollard. Pollard is the founder of a meditation app, 1 Giant Mind, and a personal mentor to a roster of clients that includes corporate executives and professional golfers. With a clean-shaven head, an Australian accent, and an affable manner, he spent the day convincing us of the ways meditation can not only help us think clearer on the golf course, but at work and home as well.

Among Pollard’s central arguments is that for all our technological progress, the human body has remained virtually unchanged from man’s earliest days fending off regular physical threats, which is why we process stress the same whether it’s an unpleasant email or a bear attack. This disconnect between how we live now, and the biological constraints of our bodies and brains, can explain why we often feel scattered so much of the time, and why even the mundane stresses of everyday life can elicit profound physical reactions.

“This is the little glitch in our system,” Pollard said. “We are entrenched in a dysfunctional state of defensive living because the way we’re living now is so far removed from how we’ve biologically evolved.”

What does this have to do with our ability to hit a drive in the fairway? Plenty, actually, because the same forces that leave us feeling frequently disjointed also factor into our performance on the course.

Almost every golfer has to negotiate the chasm between the shots he’s capable of producing, and the those he actually hits. We’re too quick, we’re too distracted, we’re worried about the pond on the left—when the result falls short of our potential, it often emanates from somewhere between the ears. By contrast think about the time you mindlessly hit a shot on the range and it soars perfectly off the clubface; or when you rake in a conceded putt from afar without even trying, and it rolls straight into the hole. It’s precisely because you “weren’t thinking” that it worked out so well.

This, Pollard said, this is where meditation can make a difference.

“What it does is it hits factory restart and restores our natural capability,” Pollard said. “Our natural capability is there and we need to allow it to be there, so what is the thing that’s inhibiting it? From my perspective it’s the hyper stimulation of the thinking mind.”

“The conversations I like to have when talking about meditation is one, it’s really wonderful to alleviate short term the symptoms of stress,” Pollard says. “But also it creates the internal infrastructure for us to be able to become resilient in this life, rather than feel like life is taxing you.”

Beyond technical improvement, what we really detected was an underlying sense of calm, noteworthy on what could have been a stressful day. Although Keely played college golf, Ben and I were not used to the strain of having every shot measured so precisely. Throw a handful of cameras and a crew of about 10 into the equation, and under normal circumstances I’d question if I could even draw the club back. But after each session with Pollard we began to mind the attention less, and distractions subsided. “It became easier to be over the shot,” said Keely. “I had this odd sense of detachment to where it was going, like I didn’t want to look at the result. Not every shot was great, but there was some freedom and ease in not feeling painfully invested in how straight my drives were flying.”

This is what Pollard means when he describes the “infrastructure” meditation helps construct. Scientific studies of meditation have shown that the practice strengthens the pre-frontal cortex portion of the brain responsible for concentration, focus and problem solving while shrinking the amygdala section that triggers our panicky “fight or flight” response. So even though I didn’t hit the ball markedly better that day, the ingredients were all there to do so—I was more focused, less fatigued, not nearly as wrapped up in the shot I just hit or the one still to come.

And therein lies the real breakthrough, because golf is nothing if not an opportunity for self-sabotage. You start a round poorly, you stress over wanting to play better. You start out playing well, you wonder how long it will last. Pollard and other meditation experts like to say that the practice improves “present moment awareness,” which is a variation of the old golf cliche of “taking it one shot at a time.” Roll your eyes if you must, but think about how much easier the game would be if your mind were free of competing narratives and you just played.

Our Max Adler played a round of golf last year with Sadghuru Jaggi Vasudev, a spiritual leader with millions of followers and a surprising affection for golf. Adler attended one of the guru’s workshops to better understand how Eastern practices like meditation can translate to athletic performance. Sadghuru, too, emphasized the value of getting out of your head.

“People trip on their own minds,” Sadghuru said. “They need to create a little distance between what they think and what they do.” So, to get back to the original question: Does meditation help you become a better golfer? The short answer is yes. The longer answer might be encapsulated by an experience from a few weeks after our session with Pollard, when I developed a wicked case of the shanks.

For about 10 days in the heart of the golf season, I had a hard time hitting an iron or wedge without the ball screaming off the hosel right into some unspeakable place. Golfers who’ve experienced the dynamic know no more maddening affliction, and in the grips of it, I couldn’t hit a simple 30-yard pitch without panicking. Then I recalled an exercise we learned with Pollard for right before address. We’d stand behind the ball, place both hands on the grip of the club, and take in a deep breath before proceeding. For an entire round, I did this over every shot —a mini-meditation session that attempted Pollard’s version of “factory restart.” My head clearer, my breath slower, the panic receded, and solid contact soon returned.

So if you’re asking, no, I don’t think you can measure the efficacy of mediation by saying it will drop this number of strokes from your score. But what I have noticed is that it can work to flush out our worst instincts—both on the course and everywhere else. I, for one, need all the help I can get.

Source: golfdigest.com

The post Can Meditation Make You A Better Golfer? appeared first on Belle Terre.

1 note · View note

starlessskies94 · 6 years

Text

The Nurse (Negan/BlakeAU) Part 14

MASTERLIST

Negan kicked at the empty boxes by his feet, chestnut eyes searching the overturned shop floor surrounding him. The pair had left the farmhouse early that same morning; not wanting to stay in one place for too long.

A few stops here and there to search for supplies had taken up most of their morning, but every place they tried always seemed to be ransacked leaving nothing left. Dusting off the dirtied counter-tops, Negan rummaged through the drawers before slamming them shut when he found them empty.

“I got nothing doll, place is picked clean.”

She hummed in agreement stepping out from the storeroom, located at the back of the store.

“Yeah looks that way. Maybe we could try that gas station down the road?”

“Worth a shot Peaches but I wouldn’t hold your breath on finding anything salvageable.”

The blonde huffed in frustration; throwing leftover empty tin cans across the room, the loud metallic clang echoing in the heavy silence.

“Well we need to find something! We’re running out of food.”

“I told you, I was sorry about that.”

Shaking her head, Blake lowered herself to the floor. Her back leaning against the empty store shelf, Negan took it upon himself to take a seat beside her. Still feeling rather guilty despite her encouraging him to eat, to make up for the sustenance he’d lost in the weeks they’d been apart. She tilted her head against his shoulder breathing out a quiet sigh.

“And I told you that you don’t have to apologize. I’m glad you’re eating again Negan you need the strength it’s just...”

“Go on say it...”

“Did you really have to eat my rations too?”

His chest rumbled with a dark chuckle; brown eyes falling to her face as he fought back a sly smirk.

“In my defense I only ate what you didn’t finish...”

“When did I ever say I was finished?”

She groaned and stood abruptly; storming over to the counter, opening and slamming the drawers closed. The ex-saviour was a little taken back by this, rising to his feet to join her, standing on the opposite side, perching his elbows on the dusty surface and watching her intently.

“Is this our first fight Peaches?”

She scowled at him as she continued searching, for what Negan had no idea; knowing full well that the blonde knew he had already checked that area. His best bet was that she was merely trying to keep busy; a poor attempt at hiding her budding frustration of finding nothing yet again.

It’d been the same in every other place they tried, but after years of the world going to hell it wasn’t a surprise that most places would be picked clean of supplies. However even armed with that knowledge he could tell that it was chipping away at her optimism.

“This is not a fight, it’s simply a discussion between...friends.”

“Well that’s a damn shame.” He said as he slid round the counter, his arm slowly snaking around her waist and pulling her closer.

“Because if we were having a fight, I’d be really looking forward to the making out.”

“You mean making up?”

A wolf-life grin grew on his lips, leaning closer towards her till they were just a breath way. His voice low and dangerous.

“You make up in the right way sweetheart, it’s pretty much the same thing.”

Blake cocked her head to the side, her face so close to Negan’s she could feel his breath caressing her cheeks. A coy smile dancing across her lips as she slowly pulled away, watching the torment in the man’s eyes as he let out growled huff of disappointment. They’d been playing this game for days now… one tempting the other but never actually crossing the line. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed when the ex-savior hadn’t kissed her when she broken him out from his cell. There had always been something drawing her to him from the first day she’d stepped foot into that basement. The electric in the air whenever they were close. The tingling she’d feel in her stomach and flutter in her heart whenever they touched. Sometimes it was hard to ignore and she often wondered if he ever experienced the same when he was with her.

The spell was broken by the sudden growls and snarls coming from the back exit door. Both quickly rushing to arm themselves, Blake taking firm grip of her gun while Negan unexpectedly appeared from the behind the counter with a baseball bat in his hands. The walker hissed as it stumbled towards Blake, reaching out with its decomposing claws to tear at her flesh, the ex-savior rushing ahead with a strong swing smashing the dead man’s skull, the body slumping to the floor with a dull thud.

Negan swung the bat back through the air before letting it hang loosely in his hand. He smirked leaning back on his heels whistling in appreciation of his work as he turned back to face her, for a moment he looked like the old Negan…the man everyone was so afraid of, the one she’d never gotten to know. But she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“Damn I have missed this shit...”

“You having fun there?”

She stood with crossed arms taking in the scene before her, the amusement in Negan’s eyes evident in the way he glanced at the fresh bloodstains on the bat.

“Doll, you spend time cooped up for as long as I have; you learn to appreciate the little things.”

“And that apparently includes bashing in the brains of a walker right?”

“Man’s gotta take his fun where he can find it Peaches.”

“Hmmm. Come on, bat man we need to keep moving.”

“Seriously?”

He arched a brow at her; waiting for a few seconds before the penny finally dropped and she realized what she’d said.

“What...oh right that’s actually kinda funny.”

He followed her out of the store, bat rested on his shoulder, clearly having a hard time letting old habits die. But there was something about the way he changed holding the damn thing. The spring in his step, the new burst of confidence in his demeanor. The cocky grin that never left his lips as he strolled up beside the blonde.

“So…does that mean you’re my budding little sidekick then?”

She snorted out a condescending scoff at his words, stopping in her tracks and pointing a sharp finger into his chest.

“Please we both know if anyone’s the sidekick here it’s you... after all I’m the one that did the rescuing.”

“That you did... you know I never got a chance to thank you for that Peaches. And I’d be more than happy to show my appreciation.”

There it was again, the electric. Blake could feel it building as her heart raced the closer he got. Her chest rising and falling through a slow shaken breath. His free hand inching its way around her waist again tugging her so close their bodies barely brushing against each other. She purred deeply at the tantalizing closeness; the tickle of his breath against her lips. But as her eyes drifted over his shoulder, she sharply pulled away at the sight of an oncoming hoard.

Her breath catching in her throat as Negan turned and saw them too. His grip on the bat tightening, once again placing himself between her and the dead.

“Come on Peaches…let’s get outta here before those dead pricks catch up.”

She said nothing as she followed him to car, taking her place in the driver’s seat. Quickly pulling away and leaving the walkers behind. The ride was silent for the most part, Blake keeping her eyes on the road while Negan taking it upon himself to take the time to clean the bat he’d taken new ownership of.

She stole a few side glances as she drove, the ex-savior fully enthralled in what he was doing.

“So I take it you’re keeping the bat then?”

“Why not? It’s quieter than a gun…just as effective. I mean this one has nothing on my old girl Lucille but it’s a close second.”

Lucille. Why did that name sound familiar? She knew she remembered it from somewhere. Her body chilling from the blurred untouched memories hidden deep within her mind.

Lucille…Lucille…

It was then the memory surfaced. Her heart stopped, hands turning white against the wheel as her grip tightened. Her breaths short and shallow. The memories crashing her head and heart all at once as she remembered. She remembered everything and it made her feel sick to her stomach.

Oh god…please…no!

I recently received some hate about this story, I understand that everyone is entitled to their opinion but to be honest it has shaken my confidence and this story’s likability...I really hope that people don’t find it boring or think that Negan is too out of character because I am enjoying writing it and hope people enjoy reading too...A huge thank you and massive hug to @neganandblake for sticking up for me I really appreciate it! Us girls gotta stick together!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#NeganandblakeAU #neganandblake #ThenurseAU #neganedit #walking dead negan #writing

24 notes · View notes

allyinthekeyofx · 7 years

Text

Love is a quiet voice 3/4

CHAPTER ONE - HERE

CHAPTER TWO - HERE

CHAPTER THREE

Just for a moment I expect Scully to argue with me, to tell me to get the hell out of her apartment; to stop being such a presumptuous fuck and there’s actually a part of me that hopes she does. Because it will at least give me some kind of evidence that she hasn’t given up completely; that her spirit is still in there somewhere fighting to get out; even though it will speak to emotion, raw emotion that she keeps so tightly drawn inside her; because after all, emotion equals weakness; or at least in her book it does.

And briefly, her eyes flash across at me and she shifts slightly, as though she is about to take a step forwards, to take control and regain her territory, igniting a fire that for a mere moment in time returns her to me; the woman who fights, not the watered down version who seems to be dying even more from the apathy than the actual tumour living inside her. Because she’s fine isn’t she? Always fine. Because fine is good and fine is safe even though fine is a million miles away from what she actually is.

But then she just stops. Literally just stops and that brief moment of animation is gone, replaced with a tired resignation that makes my stomach clench involuntarily as I realise once again as I have realised on innumerable occasions that she is dying; that she is withdrawing from me in degrees but this time I also gain a tiny measure of clarity – that by denying me access she is protecting me as much as she is protecting herself, because maybe, just maybe, losing her will hurt me less if she can just make me hate her a little before she leaves.

“Scully...”

But she holds up a hand before passing it briefly over her eyes. Oh Christ, the headache. The fucking headache. The reason I brought her home in the first place and which, in my self-absorption I’d actually forgotten about. And right then I feel like the biggest shit in the universe because I’m playing mind games with her when she is in pain; instead of trying to alleviate it, to help her, to offer comfort, I am mentally dissecting her internal rationale.

It’s a fine moment for me and one to add to all the other fine moments I’ve amassed over the years.

She is swaying ever so slightly on her feet, almost imperceptible but now I’ve actually taken the time to open my eyes and truly notice, it’s obvious that, while not dizzy exactly, she is clearly feeling a little unsteady; a combination probably of the pain, the exhaustion and most likely the medication taken on top of a lack of real food. She has dropped probably around fifteen pounds in weight during the recent punishing bout of chemo and radiotherapy and with no one around to encourage her to eat; to find something she actually wants to eat, I’m guessing that she probably doesn’t eat. It’s not something I’d really considered before. And as always I just don’t know what to do; getting her here was the easy part but I find myself paralysed in front of her, waiting for a verbal cue from her that I know isn’t going to materialise while at the same time wanting so badly to offer her something, anything, that my hands are literally clenched in to fists at my side.

I am painfully aware that I don’t know how to help her; that I am so emotionally stunted that because I can’t break this down in to digestible chunks of cause and effect, can’t categorise her in to neatly transcribed behavioural profile, can’t rationalise what is happening to her, that in fact, I am failing her on every level imaginable because even if she won’t let me in I should at least be able to vocalise something to offer her a tiny shred of comfort.

Maybe she sees me struggling, I don’t know. But she drops her eyes down to the floor, avoiding me again, embarrassed almost.

“I need to lie down Mulder. Stay or go. Whatever.”

And that’s when I hear it. The slight inflection in her voice that tells me she wants me to stay. That even if she can’t bring herself to admit it, the subconscious desire not to be alone outweighs the conscious one to keep hiding. She has given me a choice when of course there is no choice to make.

XXXX

I am smart enough- just- to give her the space I know she needs, that she is drained both emotionally and physically and as she retreats to the bedroom I know that putting that physical barrier between us is actually the right thing to do for both of us at the moment. She knows I’m here and I know she knows I’m here and for the moment that’s enough to offer us both a measure of comfort; so after wandering in to the kitchen to make myself a coffee, using the strong Columbian blend she keeps in just for me, I return to the living room and just sit, warming my hands around the mug as I sip the burning liquid.

I don’t switch the TV on; in fact I don’t really do anything because Scully’s apartment has always had an effect on me that I’ve never really been able to fathom despite the amount of times I’ve been here. It calms my mind, allows me to just empty myself of the myriad of thoughts that usually jostle for position inside my brain, a brain that hardly ever switches off. But when I’m here, surrounded by the essence that is my partner, I always find myself quieting. Maybe it’s the decor I don’t know; and while I’m not exactly blessed with creativity when it comes to interior furnishings even I can recognise the care, love and meaning that Scully has poured in to every room of this place. From the personal and sometimes quirky nick-nacks that grace every surface of the honeyed antique wood furniture to the many different lamps that mean the lighting can be adjusted to perfectly mirror the mood of the moment. Even now, even as sick as she is, her home is spotless, tidy and ordered which now I think of it, describes Scully herself pretty well. My apartment on the other hand is a cluttered mess most of the time; a haphazard collection of thrown-together possessions that don’t really mean anything much to me. I’m not one for material comforts and my living space is barely even functional and certainly I could never classify it as a home. I use Scully for that. She has become my home; my safe place, a place that can always be relied upon to offer a sense of peace in my often chaotic life. She is the blanket I wrap around myself against the bitter chill of life, my centre, my touchstone who grounds me when no one else can and I know that had she not walked in to my life, I would have pressed the self-destruct button long ago. Hell, even since I met her my finger has hovered dangerously close to it on occasion, but she has always been there to pull me back from the brink. And even though I try not to, I can’t help but wonder who will care enough to pull me back when she’s gone.

It’s a sobering thought and I push it right out of my mind because thinking about the potentials doesn’t ever change the inevitable and I need to stop thinking about the ‘what ifs’ all the time.

Half an hour has passed since Scully removed herself to the bedroom and I decide that maybe now would be an appropriate time to check on her, that enough breathing space has been afforded that she probably won’t throw something at me and tell me to get the hell out.

My fears though are groundless because in actuality, the first thing I see when I softly crack the door open and peer round the jamb is my partner, facing away from me, curled up atop the bed, just about as small as she can get in a horribly tense foetal position, one hand pressed to her forehead, the other clutching the edge of the pillowcase. I know without looking that her knuckles are white and I know without seeing her face that she is crying. The sight of her quite literally freezes me to the spot because I had honestly expected her to be sleeping, not trembling like this in the midst of pain and fear and I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know what to fucking do to make this better for her. My every instinct says to go to her, but I hold back for just a heartbeat because she is clearly in a world of hurt and I’m terrified that my presence might make it worse. And then I hear it, the word so muffled, so broken that it is almost inaudible; but this is Scully and I think I could hear her whispering my name in a room full of people all talking at once; in fact I know I could.

“Mulder”

And I am across the room in an instant, falling to my knees on the hardwood floor so that I am almost on a level with her position on top of the bed, no longer second guessing myself as I let my instinct take over, covering the hand that is clutching at the pillowcase with mine and feeling as she transfers the pressure of her fingers from the cotton covering to my own skin. The other hand I gently cup around her jaw, carefully caressing the side of her face with my thumb, ever conscious of not hurting her more than she is hurting.

“I’m here.” I whisper, wiping some of the wetness away with my thumb, smoothing the damp hair away from where it has fallen on to her face.

Her eyes are bloodshot, her pupils huge and her chest is rising and falling far too rapidly as the pain renders her incapable of drawing adequate breath. She is certainly panicking at this point and while I’m in no way a medical professional, I know all about the crippling effects of hyperventilation. Enough nights where I have literally bolted upright feeling the vice across my chest, delivered by whatever nightmare chose to pay me a nocturnal visit, squeezing the breath from me, have taught me well. But in all the years I have known her, never have I seen her like this. Her eyes have locked with mine, frightened and intense, their delicate colour now darkened almost to navy. Those beautiful eyes that I have lost myself in more times that I can even count.

“It....hurts”

“I know. I know it hurts but first you have to get your breathing under control okay?”

And I have no clue as to whether I’m doing the right thing or not, but I perch on the bed anyway, still maintaining as much contact with her as I can, manipulating her until she is half on my lap, her upper body pressed close to my chest, head tucked beneath my chin as I stroke her hair in a rhythmic motion that I hope will calm her, speaking soft words of reassurance, words that just somehow happen; words from my heart I guess.

“I know I haven’t been there for you in the way that maybe I have wanted to be and I suspect you are afraid to ask more of me that you think I am able to give. But I am your friend and I can’t keep allowing you to protect me at the expense of yourself, of your health and of our partnership because no matter where you are I will always follow you if only you will let me in.”

I am rewarded as she relaxes slightly, just the merest softening of her body against mine and I press my lips to the crown of her head, her hair still soft and fragrant despite all that has been taken from her and somehow, I find a release for words that have been quietly clamouring to be heard for so long.

“Because no matter what life has thrown at us, will throw at us or how difficult things might get, we can survive each day if we keep sight of each other, because we have proved that over and over again; and right now you just need to breath; just breathe with me Scully and trust that you can survive this one moment in time because I’m right here to keep hold of us both.”

My words have taken a sort of lilting cadence, whispered softly, so softly, reminding me of the night I held her as she almost disintegrated in my arms when Penny Northern died. It seems like a lifetime ago, but now, as then, my words have the desired effect and I blink back the tears as she finally takes a deep shuddering breath, pressing herself deeper in to me as I tighten my arms around her. She won’t look at me. I don’t expect her to and I think on some level, I feel her hesitant entreaty before I hear it.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Continued chapter 4

@science-mulder you didn’t have to wait long!

#love is a quiet voice #my fic #cancer arc

119 notes · View notes

chenowethgolf · 5 years

Text

Can meditation make you a better golfer? Yes . . . eventually

By Sam Weinman

An experiment with three golfers revealed the practice can make a difference. Just not the one you might expect.

A few months ago Golf Digest set out to answer a question almost as old as the game itself: does alcohol make you play better, or worse? The experiment and resulting video with three too-eager participants, was illuminating, comical, and fairly conclusive: a little bit of “swing oil” has some residual benefits owing to a decrease in tension and inhibition. Too much, however, leads to deteriorating focus and coordination, and then you just stop caring about advancing the ball at all.

A subsequent experiment with marijuana yielded similar results: some weed might take the edge off and loosen up your swing, but anything more than a little becomes counterproductive. That brings us to our recent experiment exploring the effects of meditation, structured like the first two, but also plenty unique. Here, too, we submitted three golfers of varying playing ability to a series of golf tests while interspersing the influence of an outside element–beers and tokes became 15 minutes of meditation. The difference is that while meditation does induce some immediate physiological effects and boasts several long-term health benefits, we’re still talking about a rather nuanced exercise that is difficult to quantify. And if you really wanted to measure it well, best to do it over a few months instead of a couple of hours.

Still, a few hours is what we started with one day this summer, and I, along with colleagues Keely Levins and Ben Walton, was selected as one of three golfers who would spend the day hitting golf shots and meditating to see what type of difference we’d see. Although Keely and Ben had limited experience with meditation, I’d recently begun dabbling in no small part because mindfulness, as it’s also known, has been hailed as perhaps the best way to temper the freneticism of our modern lives. And no doubt I was a worthy candidate: a digital editor who spends his days tethered to one electronic device or another, a father of two high-energy boys, and someone who can overthink everything from family dynamics to what club to hit off the tee. As I said in the video, I first told my wife that I thought meditation would help because, “I run pretty hot during the day.”

“No,” she corrected me. “You run hot all the time.”

The day was broken into segments of three different golf challenges–driving for distance, approach shot accuracy, and putting–followed by brief sessions with meditation teacher Jonni Pollard. Pollard is the founder of a meditation app, 1 Giant Mind, and a personal mentor to a roster of clients that includes corporate executives and professional golfers. With a clean-shaven head, an Australian accent, and an affable manner, he spent the day convincing us of the ways meditation can not only help us think clearer on the golf course, but at work and home as well.

Almost every golfer has to negotiate the chasm between the shots he’s capable of producing, and the those he actually hits. We’re too quick, we’re too distracted, we’re worried about the pond on the left–when the result falls short of our potential, it often emanates from somewhere between the ears. By contrast think about the time you mindlessly hit a shot on the range and it soars perfectly off the clubface; or when you rake in a conceded putt from afar without even trying, and it rolls straight into the hole. It’s precisely because you “weren’t thinking” that it worked out so well.

This, Pollard said, this is where meditation can make a difference.

This is what Pollard means when he describes the “infrastructure” meditation helps construct. Scientific studies of meditation have shown that the practice strengthens the pre-frontal cortex portion of the brain responsible for concentration, focus and problem solving while shrinking the amygdala section that triggers our panicky “fight or flight” response. So even though I didn’t hit the ball markedly better that day, the ingredients were all there to do so–I was more focused, less fatigued, not nearly as wrapped up in the shot I just hit or the one still to come.

“People trip on their own minds,” Sadghuru said. “They need to create a little distance between what they think and what they do.”

So, to get back to the original question: Does meditation help you become a better golfer? The short answer is yes. The longer answer might be encapsulated by an experience from a few weeks after our session with Pollard, when I developed a wicked case of the shanks.

For about 10 days in the heart of the golf season, I had a hard time hitting an iron or wedge without the ball screaming off the hosel right into some unspeakable place. Golfers who’ve experienced the dynamic know no more maddening affliction, and in the grips of it, I couldn’t hit a simple 30-yard pitch without panicking. Then I recalled an exercise we learned with Pollard for right before address. We’d stand behind the ball, place both hands on the grip of the club, and take in a deep breath before proceeding. For an entire round, I did this over every shot –a mini-meditation session that attempted Pollard’s version of “factory restart.” My head clearer, my breath slower, the panic receded, and solid contact soon returned.

So if you’re asking, no, I don’t think you can measure the efficacy of mediation by saying it will drop this number of strokes from your score. But what I have noticed is that it can work to flush out our worst instincts–both on the course and everywhere else. I, for one, need all the help I can get.

Original Source: GolfDigest

The post Can meditation make you a better golfer? Yes . . . eventually appeared first on Chenoweth Golf Course.

0 notes

thebathgolfclub · 5 years

Text

Can meditation make you a better golfer? Yes . . . eventually

Source: GolfDigest By Sam Weinman Accompanying video: Click here

An experiment with three golfers revealed the practice can make a difference. Just not the one you might expect

A subsequent experiment with marijuana yielded similar results: some weed might take the edge off and loosen up your swing, but anything more than a little becomes counterproductive.

“No,” she corrected me. “You run hot all the time.” So in terms of how a few minutes of meditation a day can calm the mind and harness focus, I was already sold. What I hadn’t explored, and what we sought to discover that day, was how it might affect one’s performance on the golf course. Plus, we saw it as an opportunity to debunk misconceptions about meditation — what exactly it is, what you do, and why it might mesh well with the mental and emotional demands of golf. The day was broken into segments of three different golf challenges–driving for distance, approach shot accuracy, and putting–followed by brief sessions with meditation teacher Jonni Pollard. Pollard is the founder of a meditation app, 1 Giant Mind, and a personal mentor to a roster of clients that includes corporate executives and professional golfers. With a clean-shaven head, an Australian accent, and an affable manner, he spent the day convincing us of the ways meditation can not only help us think clearer on the golf course, but at work and home as well.

Almost every golfer has to negotiate the chasm between the shots he’s capable of producing, and the those he actually hits. We’re too quick, we’re too distracted, we’re worried about the pond on the left–when the result falls short of our potential, it often emanates from somewhere between the ears. By contrast think about the time you mindlessly hit a shot on the range and it soars perfectly off the clubface; or when you rake in a conceded putt from afar without even trying, and it rolls straight into the hole. It’s precisely because you “weren’t thinking” that it worked out so well.

This, Pollard said, this is where meditation can make a difference. “What it does is it hits factory restart and restores our natural capability,” Pollard said. “Our natural capability is there and we need to allow it to be there, so what is the thing that’s inhibiting it? From my perspective it’s the hyper stimulation of the thinking mind.”

Which is not to say that each meditation session sets you on a path to a truer golf swing. Not exactly at least. As the afternoon unfolded, my driver carry improved, but my approach shots were looser, and my putting stayed about the same. To think of meditation as some type of performance enhancer in deep-breathing form is to misinterpret the underlying machinations at work. As Pollard said, when you meditate for 20 minutes, focusing on your breath or a mantra and allowing outside elements to recede into the background, it’s similar to doing a set of bench presses at the gym. The act itself may make you stronger, but it’s really repetition and time that allows the effects to take hold “The conversations I like to have when talking about meditation is one, it’s really wonderful to alleviate short term the symptoms of stress,” Pollard says. “But also it creates the internal infrastructure for us to be able to become resilient in this life, rather than feel like life is taxing you.” Beyond technical improvement, what we really detected was an underlying sense of calm, noteworthy on what could have been a stressful day. Although Keely played college golf, Ben and I were not used to the strain of having every shot measured so precisely. Throw a handful of cameras and a crew of about 10 into the equation, and under normal circumstances I’d question if I could even draw the club back. But after each session with Pollard we began to mind the attention less, and distractions subsided.

“It became easier to be over the shot,” said Keely. “I had this odd sense of detachment to where it was going, like I didn’t want to look at the result. Not every shot was great, but there was some freedom and ease in not feeling painfully invested in how straight my drives were flying.” This is what Pollard means when he describes the “infrastructure” meditation helps construct. Scientific studies of meditation have shown that the practice strengthens the pre-frontal cortex portion of the brain responsible for concentration, focus and problem solving while shrinking the amygdala section that triggers our panicky “fight or flight” response. So even though I didn’t hit the ball markedly better that day, the ingredients were all there to do so–I was more focused, less fatigued, not nearly as wrapped up in the shot I just hit or the one still to come. And therein lies the real breakthrough, because golf is nothing if not an opportunity for self-sabotage. You start a round poorly, you stress over wanting to play better. You start out playing well, you wonder how long it will last. Pollard and other meditation experts like to say that the practice improves “present moment awareness,” which is a variation of the old golf cliche of “taking it one shot at a time.” Roll your eyes if you must, but think about how much easier the game would be if your mind were free of competing narratives and you just played.

For about 10 days in the heart of the golf season, I had a hard time hitting an iron or wedge without the ball screaming off the hosel right into some unspeakable place. Golfers who’ve experienced the dynamic know no more maddening affliction, and in the grips of it, I couldn’t hit a simple 30-yard pitch without panicking. Then I recalled an exercise we learned with Pollard for right before address. We’d stand behind the ball, place both hands on the grip of the club, and take in a deep breath before proceeding. For an entire round, I did this over every shot –a mini-meditation session that attempted Pollard’s version of “factory restart.” My head clearer, my breath slower, the panic receded, and solid contact soon returned.

So if you’re asking, no, I don’t think you can measure the efficacy of mediation by saying it will drop this number of strokes from your score. But what I have noticed is that it can work to flush out our worst instincts–both on the course and everywhere else. I, for one, need all the help I can get.

Link to article: Cick here LInk to video: Click here

The post Can meditation make you a better golfer? Yes . . . eventually appeared first on The Bath Golf Club.

0 notes

sherwoodforestgolf · 5 years

Text

Can Meditation Make You A Better Golfer?

An experiment with three golfers revealed the practice can make a difference. Just not the one you might expect

By Sam Weinman

This, Pollard said, this is where meditation can make a difference.

Source: golfdigest.com

The post Can Meditation Make You A Better Golfer? appeared first on Sherwood Forest.

0 notes

turnberrycountryclub · 5 years

Text

Can Meditation Make You A Better Golfer?

An experiment with three golfers revealed the practice can make a difference. Just not the one you might expect

By Sam Weinman

This, Pollard said, this is where meditation can make a difference.

Source: golfdigest.com

The post Can Meditation Make You A Better Golfer? appeared first on Turnberry Country Club.

0 notes

hailridge · 5 years

Text

Can Meditation Make You A Better Golfer?

An experiment with three golfers revealed the practice can make a difference. Just not the one you might expect

By Sam Weinman

A subsequent experiment with marijuana yielded similar results: some weed might take the edge off and loosen up your swing, but anything more than a little becomes counterproductive.

“No,” she corrected me. “You run hot all the time.”

This, Pollard said, this is where meditation can make a difference.

“People trip on their own minds,” Sadghuru said. “They need to create a little distance between what they think and what they do.”

Source: golfdigest.com

The post Can Meditation Make You A Better Golfer? appeared first on Hail Ridge Golf Course.

0 notes

noblesvilleparks · 5 years

Text

Can Meditation Make You A Better Golfer?

An experiment with three golfers revealed the practice can make a difference. Just not the one you might expect

By Sam Weinman

This, Pollard said, this is where meditation can make a difference.

Source: golfdigest.com

The post Can Meditation Make You A Better Golfer? appeared first on Fox Prairie Golf Course & Forest Park Golf Course.

0 notes