#because i was pmsing last week and that is a terrible time for me and i end up being kind of passively suicidal ig | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marvelslut16 · 3 years

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The one with two Pietro’s

Pairing: Pietro x reader, Wandavision!Pietro (Peter Maximoff) x reader FORCED

Synopsis: you find yourself in Westview living with Wanda, Vision, the boys, and your boyfriend Pietro. But happens when you start to remember your Pietro and figure out what Wanda’s doing to you and everyone else?

Word count: 1.4k+

Warnings: Swearing I think. Angst. Fluff if you squint. Mind control. Forced relationship. Briefly mentions the idea of a forced magical pregnancy. Bullet wounds. Death. Grief I suppose. Mentions pmsing. The over use of italics. Kinda feel like I make Wanda a psychotic asshole. SPOILERS FOR WANDAVISION!

A/N: This was so much fun to write! Probably the darkest thing I’ve ever written, if you can really call it dark. Writing for Wandavision was a fun little challenge. Takes place in the 90′s so my title is a reference to friends, and so is a tv show character I use in the one shot. Pretend Evan Peters’ hair isn’t that blonde cause I will always see him with the silver he has in xmen and wrote him as such.

"Vision, that's not my Pietro," you mutter in horror to your friend as the two of you stand in the kitchen.

You’re not quite sure what makes you say it, but you’re glad you do when you glance at the new Pietro in the living room, he's been playing video games with Tommy and Billy for close to an hour now. He's sweet and funny, but he's just not your Pietro.

"I'm afraid not, (Y/N)," Vision's voice is sullen, but he's glad you're not in on Wanda's mind games. Unless you are, and this is just another way for Wanda to mess with him. He’s not quite sure what’s happening, but he knows from what you’ve reminisced in passing to him about Pietro on nights when Wanda isn’t in the room, that that’s not the Pietro you know and love.

"Oh my god," you murmur, hand coming to your mouth as little bits and pieces of memories race through your head. The genuine pain, horror, and sadness that cross your face make it obvious to Vision you're being manipulated like everyone else, even if you are Wanda's oldest friend. "My Pietro, he had an accent."

Your knees buckle when you hear his native accent saying his catchphrase in your head, 'you didn't see that coming.' Vision rushes to your side to help you stand more firmly.

"His face was longer, hair a white blonde not silver, his body more toned, and he had gorgeous blue eyes- bluest eyes I've ever seen," you grip onto Vision's arms as you imagine moments with your Pietro.

You grew up in the cell beside his and Wanda's, immediately forming a sisterly connection with her at a young age while Pietro hated you. He would tease you, pull on your pigtails, and steal some of your food on the off chance you three were eating outside of your cells. Over the years the teasing turned to flirting, and your dislike for him turned into a huge crush.

One night-a night you can normally remember with full clarity- after Hydra fell and before Ultron, the two of you were out on a walk, much to Pietro's chagrin. You were telling him about this new book that you were reading and how the characters annoyed you so because they were obviously in love but wouldn't admit it. Pietro zoomed in front of you, causing you to smack into his chest and almost fall to the ground, you would have if not for Pietro's arms wrapping around your waist and bringing you close to his toned chest.

The wind was blowing his hair into his eyes ever so slightly, so without thinking you reached up to move it out of his face and away from his eye. The small act of tenderness that you had displayed caused Pietro to give into his desires, he leaned in and his wind chapped lips descended onto yours. You melted into the kiss, clinging tightly to his biceps to ground you. One of his hands slipped down from your waist to squeeze your ass, the other wrapped more tightly around your waist and kept you anchored to him.

"I love you, Printesa, I have since we were kids," he admits when you pull apart for air, leaning his forehead on yours.

"I love you too, Quicksilver," you use the superhero nickname he gave himself when you were twelve. He grins before attaching his lips to yours once more, it was an unforgettable kiss that filled you with warmth and hope for your future.

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Vision's voice brings you back to reality, or whatever this is.

"No," your voice cracks as you remember the last kiss Pietro planted on your lips, right before he protected Clint. The memory that still haunts your dreams, seeing him with all those bullet holes and knowing there was nothing you could do to save him. "What kind of person forgets the love of their life? I'm a terrible person Vis!"

"No you aren't (Y/N)," the sincerity in Vision's voice makes you really believe him. "Wanda's doing this, she didn't want you to remember."

You gasp as another memory floods your mind. You had agreed to go on a road trip with Wanda after being resurrected from Bruce's snap and defeating Thanos. You both wanted a break, or so you thought.

Wanda had stopped right when you had passed the entrance into Westview, she claimed to be checking her directions when you asked why she had stopped in the middle of nowhere. And no matter how weird it was that she chose to stop at the border to the town and not at a gas station, you believed your best friend and sister in law because she had no reason to lie to you.

A moment later her eyes and hands were glowing red as she touched your temple. She pushed all your memories behind a wall in your brain, then filled your head with memories of a happy life with her and Vision in Westview.

She did it again when 'Pietro' showed up on your guy’s doorstep, this time filling your head with memories of him. Memories of a different first kiss, but an eerily similar first date to the one you and your Pietro had. It makes sense to you now, you and Pietro had never told Wanda the real story of your first kiss, instead telling her you had it weeks later on your first date. You had tried to keep your relationship a secret for a little because you didn't want to make it awkward for Wanda if it didn't work out.

Another thing she didn't add was your engagement and subsequent marriage to her brother. In this reality you and 'Pietro' are just dating. You have to assume that it's because it happened weeks before the battle against Ultron and she doesn't want to remember anything that close to her brother's death.

The thing about the new Pietro is that he seems to rub Wanda the wrong way, something your Pietro never did. He makes comments that you know yours would never, and Wanda always tenses up near him. This Pietro likes to show you off more than yours did, which is saying a lot because your’s used to cling to your side, praise you, and show you off in town when girls would flirt with him. Every time this Pietro kisses you it doesn’t feel right, it’s nowhere near the earth shattering kisses that you had somehow managed to remember from the deep parts of your brain.

"My ring," you shudder in horror when you realize the diamond ring that your Pietro stole from the jeweler in Sokovia is no longer sitting delicately on your left ring finger like it was before entering Westview. You hastily search your body for your most prized possession, sighing in relief when you find it hanging from a simple silver chain around your neck.

"(Y/N)," Vision says gently, resting a hand on your shoulder, it’s one of the few times he doesn’t know what to say.

"He's dead," you cry, knees buckling under your weight again. This time you catch yourself on the kitchen table, before sinking in the seat to your right.

"Who's dead?" Wanda appears in the doorway out of nowhere. She has an innocent, concerned expression on her face, but the tilt of her head tells you she'll come take your memories away again if you slip up in the slightest.

"Dr. Drake Ramoray on Days Of Our Lives, the soap opera I was watching this afternoon when you and the boys were out. He fell down the elevator shaft, and I'm apparently taking it harder than I thought I would. I must be pmsing or something."

"Or maybe you're pregnant," there's a red glint in her eyes that scares you to no end.

"Oh," you swallow the lump in your throat, and hold back the bile rising up your throat from anxiety. "I don't think so, I'm not ready to be a mother yet."

"It would be so fun though," 'Pietro' zooms behind your seat, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek. "Little mini me's and you's running around the house with Billy and Tommy."

"I think two super human children are enough for the house right now," you let out an uncomfortable giggle. You and Vision side eye each other, both very aware that you'll probably be as pregnant as Wanda was a few days ago within the week.

#pietro x reader #pietro x you #pietro x y/n #pietro imagine #pietro one shot #pietro maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #marvel #marvel one shot #marvel imagine #wandavision #wandavision spoilers #wandavision imagine #quicksilver #quicksilver x reader #marvel fanfiction #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff one shot #pietro maximoff fanfiction

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joontier · 4 years

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mercedes midnight runs | drabble

synopsis: ur thirsting over jk driving you around in a mercedes

pairings: jungkook x reader

rating: R

genre: smut, angst | warnings: pwp basically (the thirst is real and unquenchable) with lidol angst ; swearing ; degradation ; car sex (pls dont do this while driving fjlaksas)

word count: 2.1k

g/n: this is the first installment for my ‘between the lines’ collection! ackkk ive been wanting to do this for so long because ive always thirsted over the boys driving and imagining jk driving his mercedes around seoul is just,,,,, eye ---- btw, this is heavily unedited nhnghgnhgn i just had to share the thirst with yall real quick

between the lines navi. | navi. | m.list

You’ve already planned out a quiet night to yourself tonight to rest and get your mind off of things, but all of a sudden, just as you were about to settle in bed, Jungkook sends you a text, telling you to get ready in half an hour because he’s going to pick you up and take you out somewhere.

It isn't new news anymore that he’s texting you at this hour because he’s only permitted to go out after his schedules, which usually also end late at night. Superstar problems, can’t relate.

Well, that and because your relationship with him warrants these types of late night meet-ups. It’s that type of arrangement you’d never thought you’d agree to, but eventually, learned to cope with. Your phone pings - a new message.

[🕺] 12:45AM

im out front

When you exit your apartment, you see an unfamiliar silver car parked in front of the building, you back up the stairs, wary of who might be inside the mysterious vehicle. The window rolls down halfway, and you see Jungkook takes a peek through the small space.

Going back down the steps, you quickly climb inside the vehicle. “New car?”

“Yeah, you like it?”

You hum in agreement, tracing a hand along the sleek design of the dashboard. “It’s very...you,” you remark, in awe at how this new Benz fits Jungkook so well. “C’mere,” Jungkook tugs at your elbow, closing the distance between the two of you. “Fuck, you don’t know how much I missed you.” He presses his lightly chapped lips against yours, nipping gently at your bottom lip. Abruptly, you pull away, worried.

“Kook...what if someone sees?”

“I got the windows tinted. I got this car for us.” His words resonate throughout the car, and you're afraid he might hear your heart thudding strongly in your chest. You choose to ignore the implications of his words, focusing on his presence and not your treacherous thoughts.

You give him a chaste kiss on his cheek in reply, sending a smile in his direction. You hope he doesn't see your real emotions swimming in your eyes. “Where are we escaping off to tonight?” Internally cringing at your careless choice of words, you take off your hoodie and place it at the backseat, along with your purse, all the while giving him a generous display of your cleavage as a distraction.

Jungkook’s tongue darts out to moisten his lips. “I’m having second thoughts now, if we should really leave or not,” he says, unabashedly staring at your chest, eyeing your nipples, pert against the fabric of your low-cut top. “No bra?”

“You told me you’d be here in twenty minutes, so I had to hurry….”

“Wearing a bra takes you twenty minutes now?” Jungkook snorts, shaking his head at your lame excuse.

“Yup, especially when all I could think about is having you take them off. So be grateful, because I’m doing you a favor.” You give him a wink, giggling when he huffs and starts the car. You’ve outwitted him once more. Silently, deep within the recesses of your brain, you wish you had the same amount of control you had over your words with your heart, especially when you’re around Jungkook.

Connecting your phone to the car’s music player via bluetooth, you scroll through your recents and pick on your favorite playlist when you’re with Jungkook. ‘Sexy Can I’ by Ray J and Yung Berg comes first on shuffle.

“That sounds like a very promising playlist.”

Your conversation slowly lulls into silence, the two of you seated there quietly as you feel the enhanced bass reverberate throughout the new car. Leaning against the headrest, you glimpse at the man beside you, studying his features.

Sometimes you find it funny how never in a million years did you even dream of being this close to the Euphoria crooner. If it wasn’t for your cousin Eunkyung - an idol who debuted the same year as Jungkook did, who’s likewise a very good friend of the latter, then you don't think you would even come close to breathing the same air as the global sensation beside you.

Judging by the movement of Jungkook’s lips, you reckon he’s been speaking to you for the last five minutes, but you definitely have not processed a single word from him, for all you care. You couldn't blame yourself though, and Jungkook is certainly the one who is to take responsibility for your momentary preoccupation.

“You okay babe?”

“Mhmmhm”

If you were going to be completely honest, you were far from okay. Besides the many thoughts swirling inside your head, your trusty menstrual cycle tracker app is telling you that you’re bound to welcome your monthly visitor in a week - which means you’re PMSing - which further means you’re only in one certain state of mind - you’re insatiably horny.

Unfortunately for you, Jungkook is absolutely no help at all. Not when he constantly looks like sex personified - muscular thighs, veiny arms, the whole package. Plus, there’s something about Jungkook behind the wheel that’s ultimately driving you crazy.

A major part of it is your hormones for sure, but then again, even your hormones are thirsting over Jungkook driving, veiny forearms on display as he grips the wheel, or the way he backs up with only one hand on the steering wheel, or the way he sometimes keep a hand on your thigh as he drives. The formula is clear: Jeon Jungkook will be the cause of your insanity.

Jungkook pulls up the sleeves of his Carhartt sweater, revealing his nearing full-sleeve-tattooed right arm. The sight instantly makes you water, or wetter. Whichever the case may be.

You hadn’t seen him in a week, busy working on his mixtape, amongst other stuff. And you miss him terribly, sex with him included. As desperate and slutty that sounds, Jungkook is that type of person that leaves you wanting, yearning for more.

“What’s going on then?”

“If this is about Eunkyung…you know we already talked about that…”

“I don’t wanna talk about that, Jungkook.”

“What’s wrong then?”

You don’t answer, just silently watching the muscles on his forearm ripple as he pulls on the hand brake when you get to an intersection. You gulp, looking away as you push your thighs together, hoping that somehow the friction will help the desire pooling between your legs. The action doesn't go unnoticed by Jungkook, whose eyes instantly darken, now all too aware of your state.

“Tell me what’s wrong baby girl.”

Your resolve nearly breaks at the pet name, looking out the window to avoid his gaze. The light turns green again, and as he continues to drive, he rests a hand on your exposed thigh, strategically placing it just in the middle, the action gentle, yet enough to add fuel to your frustration.

His tattooed fingers gingerly trace patterns on your bare thigh. Fuck Jungkook and his thing for skirts. You weren't one to complain about his sexual fantasies though, not when wearing the skirts he buys for you gets you a good fucking afterwards.

You stay quiet in your seat, not giving the satisfaction that Jungkook gets knowing that he’s getting you all riled up. Two can play at this game.

Gingerly, you place a hand on top of his, gently guiding his hand north towards your core. The man driving beside you lets out a cough, sitting up straighter. Keeping his hand sliding up until he’s fully cupping your core, Jungkook chokes on thin air as he realizes you’re not wearing panties either.

“Let me guess, wearing underwear is too mainstream?”

Shrugging, you spread your legs wider, guiding his fingers to slide against your already glistening folds. A shot of electricity runs through your spine. “Fuck, baby girl, you’ll be the death of me,” Jungkook growls, taking a sharp intake of breath as he teases you, shallowly dipping a digit through your wet cunt.

“You’re fucking soaked. You seem to enjoy the thought, princess. Christening my car seats like the slut that you are?” He drawls, this time fully pushing a finger in as you get to another stoplight.

“Jungkook, don’t tease me like that baby.” Biting your lip to stop the moan that’s threatening to spill, your own hand reaches out to grab at Jungkook crotch. He hisses at the sensation. You smirk to yourself. Seems like you’re not the only one who’s greatly affected.

Encouraged by Jungkook’s reaction, you slip a hand through the waistband of his sweats, taking hold of his already hard cock. “And you’re surprised I don’t wear underwear? Bit rich coming from you now isn’t it?”

“Better watch your mouth and stop teasing me, baby girl. You might just get punished for that.”

“And what if I want to get punished?”

Jungkook huffs, pulling out his finger as the light turns orange. He brings his slick-covered finger to your lips, “Suck,” he orders. You oblige, sucking on his slender digit and swirling a tongue around it.

“You’re in for a fucking treat, naughty girl.”

It’s green again. With a sigh, Jungkook gets back to driving, this time religiously looking for a discreet place to stop over so he can fuck you properly. He finally finds a filling station, now driving with newly found urgency.

He parks in one secluded corner of the station, with just a singular parking space separating you from a parked truck, the driver snoring away happily.

The tension is thick in the air, inevitably making you feel hot even with the air conditioning on full blast. With no words needed to get the message across, you both unbuckle your seatbelts hastily, finding each other in a heated kiss shortly after.

Making another grab at Jungkook’s dick - outlining against the confines of his Puma sweats, you urge him to pull them down to his thighs so you can have a taste of your alleged ‘treat’. Likewise, he orders you to lift your skirt up, giving him easier access to have you writing on his fingers alone.

Scooting closer, you bend over the center console, taking Jungkook’s length in your hands. You place a tentative kiss on the tip before diving in, taking his cock inside your mouth. Jungkook lets out a guttural groan at the sensation, taking your hair into his hands, forming a makeshift ponytail on your head.

“You’re so fucking hot, you know that right?” His head throws back as you take him to the hilt, the tip hitting the back of your throat. At his compliment, you swallow and as you watch Jungkook visibly shudder, you give yourself a mental pat on the back.

As you continue to bob up and down Jungkook’s length, your hand travels between your legs, fingers easily finding your nether bud. With Jungkook starting to buck his hips upwards, helping you with your task, you quicken the pace of the fingers toying with your clit. You’re so close, but you’re doubtful you’ll even get to orgasm, considering your perched precariously over the console - definitely an uncomfortable position for you to orgasm in.

Jungkook senses your discomfort and tells you to sit down, and you’ll both do this together. As soon as you get seated, you scoot closer to the middle, when Jungkook’s hand extends to return its attention to your dripping cunt. You give Jungkook’s erection stands tall, likewise calling for attention. Heeding to its silent call, you wrap your fingers around his shaft, stroking his length languidly.

For a full minute, you both stay like that, trying to get each other to orgasm. Jungkook’s breathing gets labored by the second - the tell-tale signs he’s getting close. As your hand momentarily leaves his dick to massage his balls, his phone blares, startling you both out of your wits.

Letting out an annoyed huff, he grabs the phone and switches mute button down then thrusting the device somewhere on the dashboard. Pretending as if nothing happened, you continue your handjob until Jungkook can’t take it any longer, pulling you up from your seat and telling you to come and sit on his lap.

As soon as Jungkook pushes his seat back, you crawl over to his side, unceremoniously sitting on his lap, gyrating your hips as you slide your wet folds against the muscular expanse of his thigh. You’re almost there, Jungkook taking your breasts in his hands for more stimulation - that is until his phone vibrates loudly against the surface of the dashboard.

“You should probably get that,” you pull away, retreating to your seat: cockblocked for the second time. You check the dashboard for his phone, and get a glimpse of the caller’s ID on his screen. Eunkyung.

You place the device into Jungkook’s hands yourself.

“It’s your girlfriend calling.”

#bts smut #bangtanhq #btsguild #ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #btsgoldnet #btsghostie #ksmutclub #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts drabbles

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zoryany · 4 years

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Starry Gets Personal

hello, friends and followers! this blog is primarily for fandom, writing, and the odd miscellaneous sort of post, and I don’t get super personal here very often, but recent events have spurred me to open up about a couple aspects of my mental health, specifically my experiences as someone who has been diagnosed with both Borderline Personality Disorder and Bipolar II.

I will go into a bit more detail, below the cut, because this is very personal and I know not everybody wants to read a big long post about mental health, but my tl;dr version is basically that... my mental illnesses have caused me to do and say some pretty awful shit. they’ve caused me to make some decisions that I absolutely regret. and these things that I’ve said and done have had very real and very harmful consequences for myself and others. but I am a person who is capable of growth. of recognizing when I might be slipping up. and sometimes things go sour anyways. but I do not wish to be defined by my mental illness. nobody should be.

now, if you wish to keep scrolling, by all means, I hope your day is wonderful. if you’re interested in some more details, click on... potential cw for discussion of self-harm, suicidality, abuse and substance use (all fairly mild, no explicit details)

now, I’m not interested in publicly airing dirty laundry. there are certain boundaries I will not cross in the telling of this tale. I have permission to share things about myself, but I have no interest in smearing anyone else, so details will be omitted or altered where possible, and vague when not.

I’ve had some difficulties with friendships before. some have been because of petty, young girl “pal” bullying, some because we’ve just fallen out of touch, and some because there’s a perception that I’ve somehow changed. it can take me some time to open up and be more vulnerable with people. while I try to be open, I’m much more likely to offer up a shoulder to cry on than to ask for one myself. then, as I get more comfortable with people, I will ask for a bit more support. and often, all I really need is a bit of reassurance, a sign that there is care, and I’m pretty good at self-soothing from there. I can have incredibly violent mood swings, at times, but they die down fairly easily, as is common in borderline. in addition, I have never self-harmed. I have never been actively suicidal, beyond the odd time of “wow, not existing right now would be really rad, wouldn’t it?” I am incredibly lucky, in this regard, because the statistics regarding borderline, bipolar, self-harm, hospitalization and suicide are incredibly grim. but that is not me, and because I am taking medication and regularly seeing my therapist, I am actively making sure it will never be me.

in addition to BPD and bipolar, I have ADHD. these things combined mean rejection and abandonment sting real bad. to the point of a straight up meltdown / tantrum bad. and I am willing to call some of my episodes meltdowns or tantrums. this is not true for all people with these conditions, but for me, that’s kinda what it feels like. these intense feelings just need to flare up and burn themselves out for a bit and then I’m usually fine within a few minutes, hours or, in the most extreme cases, days. these emotional episodes are not always related to abandonment or rejection, but they can be, and they can lead to some pretty nasty things. I can dissociate. I can enter a state where I genuinely don’t recognize what I’m saying. and I like to compare them to fire that has been inadvertently fueled far more than expected. the fire cannot help that it flares. it cannot help that it lashed out and was stronger than anyone meant it to be. that does not heal the burns it caused, though.

earlier this year, I had a pretty... rough falling out with a friend. for the duration of our friendship, both my borderline and bipolar were undiagnosed. I had received a depression diagnosis before and borderline was suspected at a couple of points, but neither diagnosis was confirmed or treated until after the friendship ended. while I was able to make do when things were generally good, the lack of a diagnosis or treatment for either borderline or bipolar made things extremely difficult when things got bad.

the two of us were online friends for nearly two years, and we had gotten really close. spoke every day, hung out most nights, shared a lot of very personal things with one another. it felt really good to have that kind of connection with someone. because it felt so good in these early stages, and because I was undiagnosed at the time, the friendship developed into one that didn’t really have clear boundaries.

it is important in a relationship with a person who has BPD to establish boundaries. I have been determined to be much more careful about these boundaries since receiving my diagnosis, because I cannot place that responsibility solely on the other person in any sort of relationship. I have also seen the consequences of carrying forth with a relationship that does not have boundaries, and I do not wish to subject myself or anyone else to that level of pain.

now, again, I will not go into a great level of detail, but I would like to discuss the last week or so of this friendship.

I began to feel that this friend was pulling away from me. I also just so happened to be PMSing, which can amplify symptoms of my mental illnesses. this friend wished to take a bit of a break. I have never had a friend who has actively asked for a break before. it felt like confirmation that they were pulling away. I did not react well. I cannot recall all of the details. I dissociated through a lot of it. but I do remember that I said some horrendous things both over text chat and voice call. things that were manipulative. things that were abusive. I lashed out, I hurt, sought to make my pain felt, was angry...

these things really hurt this former friend. so much so that they did end up leading to them calling it quits. they no longer felt safe in the relationship. that led to even more lashing out on my end, even more hurt, and it was all around unpleasant, to put it mildly. there is a very real pain that can spring up with BPD, and it doesn’t always isolate itself to the person who has the disorder.

I have not spoken to this friend since we called it quits. one week later, to the day, I saw a psychiatrist and received my diagnoses: Borderline Personality Disorder, Bipolar II, ADHD and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I am taking medication. I am seeing a therapist. I have grown as a person since this experience and gained new tools to handle extreme emotional situations.

there are still times when impulsivity will flare up and I’ll spend more money than I should on things I don’t need or over-indulge in substances at a gathering. there are still times when my emotions get the best of me. I still occasionally fall into hypomanic episodes and become someone who may not quite be myself. these are things that have placed strain on me, my family and my friends. but I am working on them. continually.

I do not think that people with mental illness, disorders or disabilities should be exempt from critique of their actions. I know that my actions have consequences, and I have seen them multiple times. what I refuse to believe, however, is that I am a fundamentally terrible, awful, abusive person because of these actions. coming to terms with my diagnoses and my symptoms has been a journey, and while I do regret a lot of things I have done or said over the years and wish I could change countless outcomes, all I can do is to continue to press forward and strive to be the best me I can be.

thank you for making it this far. I hope that if any of this resonated with you, whether you share a diagnosis with me or have other similar experiences, then you may feel some level of reassurance. and I hope you all understand me just a little bit better. all love to you!

Starry

#starry things #I feel it's important to be open about mental health #so I'm going to share this #and I understand if this is a bit heavy #i just wanted to share my story #borderline personality disorder #bipolar #bipolar ii #adhd #bpd #mental health #mental health things #mental illness #personal

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kelleyish · 5 years

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Time has been moving oddly lately. On the one hand it feels like it’s going so fast; it’s Friday night and this week just flew by. In other respects it’s going so slowly - the wait for Avengers Endgame feels like it’s taking forever, and I just want to press the fast forward button on my weight loss.

I think I might be PMSing at the moment, but it’s hard to tell because my cycle is so irregular. I can tell I haven’t needed to pee nearly as much the last few days, but I’m not really drinking any less, so I must be retaining water. Nothing has changed with my diet, so it’s not that. I guess it’s a good thing I have another 10 days before my next weigh-in to get rid of it.

I had a particularly brutal dream last night in the Chip-broke-up-with-me oeuvre. I get them a lot more frequently than I’d like, where I dream Chip has broken up with me and I spend the dream trying to figure out why or get him back. I don’t remember the particulars anymore but this one left me feeling shitty for at least an hour after I woke up. And of course, when I wake up and the relief that it was just a dream washes over me - Chip doesn’t hate me! He hasn’t broken up with me! - it’s quickly replaced by realizing it’s because he’s actually dead. Thanks for that, brain.

I went to the gym for the first time in a week today. My dad and I had been on a MWF schedule, but last weekend his sciatica began acting up and we decided to take Monday and Wednesday off. I was worried I’d made him do something that had really messed him up, but by Wednesday he was pretty much back to normal, thankfully.

Since we go to the gym during the day it’s not terribly crowded, so there’s not a ton of other people to look at. Today though there was a guy I hadn’t seen before and boy was he something to look at. If I could design a guy from scratch he’d be pretty damn close - tallish and muscular but not overly bulky. He was doing like mid-air planks and shit...I had to make sure not to look at him too much, because I didn’t want to get caught. The optics of my very fat 40-something self being noticed thirsting over a hot 25 year old dude...I think I would die of an embarrassment aneurism.

#my own posts #weight loss #keto #cancer sucks

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babyconnectingworld · 4 years

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Can weaning your baby cause maternal depression?

A year into nursing my third son, I went to feed him for the millionth time and the strangest thing happened: I was overcome with the almost nauseatingly strong urge to not. I knew it was time to begin the weaning process, just as I’d done before with my other two babies. It took a few weeks to fully wean him, using the same gradual approach I’d taken with his big brothers, all around the 14-month mark. I expected a smooth transition into toddlerhood and looked forward to a life without another human attached to me. But the onslaught of physical and emotional changes that soon followed was overwhelming and all-consuming. I developed seemingly random symptoms I’d never experienced before: debilitating headaches, mood swings, sadness, anxiety and lethargy—it felt like PMS with a side of the flu. It was more intense than the first months of pregnancy had been. After some passive attempts to google my symptoms and find someone who could relate online, I realized I was dealing with one of the least discussed but more difficult parts of postpartum life: an intense reaction to weaning. I can describe it only as the “weaning fog.” My always reliable social media mom groups, and even some deeper research, produced little advice and very few articles on the weaning fog. Of course, I found information on the basics of weaning: preventing engorgement and finding alternative ways to continue bonding with the baby. But this wasn’t what I was experiencing. I took pregnancy tests (negative), visited my doctor (“It’s a phase”) and talked to other moms (huge variety of experiences). I was frustrated and I needed to know why I was feeling like garbage. My husband and I now refer to what happened to me as the “dark side” of weaning. Let’s start with the facts: Research does not, technically, show that postpartum depression or anxiety surges at this time. But that’s because mothers aren’t specifically screened for depression during weaning, as it’s usually a temporary phase and everyone weans at different times—it could be three months postpartum or three years postpartum. High-quality research simply does not exist yet. However, plenty of women report feeling the effects of the hormonal changes that occur during weaning. Reproductive psychiatrist Alexandra Sacks, author of What No One Tells You: A Guide to Your Emotions from Pregnancy to Motherhood and the host of the Motherhood Sessions podcast, explains it this way: “Some women are more sensitive to hormonal shifts than others; some have more dramatic mood changes around periods, during pregnancy, postpartum and around weaning, but these are individual sensitivities—so some people feel better, and some feel worse.” Others don’t notice any mood changes at all. A decline in oxytocin, the bonding hormone stimulated by breastfeeding, may lead to some women feeling low, says Sacks. She also explains that some women feel better after weaning if they had found breastfeeding to be stressful or disruptive to their own sleep (which may increase stress hormones). When you stop breastfeeding, prolactin (the milk-production hormone) drops off, estrogen shoots back up, and all of it sent me into a PMSing, semi-permanent state of terribleness. Verinder Sharma, a professor of psychiatry with a cross appointment to the Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology at the University of Western Ontario, confirms that the prolactin decrease is the issue, but it’s not the whole story: What matters is how the prolactin affects other changes in the brain and results in depression—or even mania. Sharma says to look for a “clustering of symptoms.” Some women may experience comparatively simple hormone changes with weaning, while others might be plunged into a full-blown postpartum depression. I sure had a cluster of symptoms, but I didn’t feel they were depression-like. It felt more physical for me. “We make a distinction between symptoms and syndromes,” says Sharma. For women, all “reproductive events” related to hormonal changes—this can include pregnancy and postpartum, as well as monthly PMS, menopause, and when you’re getting your period for the very first time—increase the risk of psychiatric problems, he says. For example, bipolar disorder mania is extremely affected by hormonal changes—one in three women with bipolar disorder will experience an onset within a year of starting puberty or getting their first period. It’s also the mental disorder most exacerbated by childbirth, according to Sharma.

How to stop breastfeedingIn the 18th century, doctors and psychiatrists did, in fact, distinguish between postpartum disorders and the “lactational period,” but in contemporary studies, they haven’t done this. Sharma says we are still evaluating men and women too similarly and that a paradigm shift needs to take place for us to more holistically consider a woman’s hormones in relation to her mental health. “That change should reflect the heightened risk around the time of reproductive events,” including during weaning, says Sharma. Due to the lack of research in this area, Sharma says there are no concrete numbers on how many women experience depression or other mental disorders during weaning. He thinks screenings for mood disorders during weaning should be as commonplace as mental health assessments during the early postpartum period. Ideally, doctors should be considering and connecting potential changes at each major hormonal shift in a woman’s life. While my so-called weaning fog was nothing like bipolar mania, I’m certain it was affected by the soup of hormones flowing from my pituitary gland and swirling throughout my body. In addition to this hormonal chaos—or maybe because of it—I was also feeling a little sad that breastfeeding was over, while simultaneously feeling glad that we had stopped. After nursing three babies, I felt a sense of nostalgia and freedom at the same time. It’s that classic push-pull feeling of parenthood: Looking forward yet yearning for the past, too. Mourning the breastfeeding period and feeling a sense of grief or loss is common. Catie Agave*, a 36-year-old mom in Toronto, felt it intensely, since she knew she was most likely going to have only one child. “The journey was ending for us, so that brought on sadness as well,” she says. While she weaned her three-year-old gradually, she started to feel foggy within two weeks of completely weaning. “I wasn’t prepared for the change,” she says. “I didn’t feel like myself. I was more exhausted even though he was finally sleeping more. By week three or four, I had a lack of interest in daily activities, which is difficult when you have a child of that age.” She kept her feelings to herself at first, and then did some googling, but she found very few research-based articles and a lack of support, even in her usual go-tos: her Facebook mom groups and breastfeeding forums. “Nobody talks about it.” “There are a lot of people talking about postpartum depression,” she says. “And reading their symptoms, I thought, yeah, this is what I have—this is depression. But nobody ever said you can have postpartum depression from weaning, too. I was very sad, and it lasted for a long time. I couldn’t find anyone else going through that,” she says. “It was a scary experience.” Agave says she was hesitant to talk to her doctor because she assumed postpartum depression (PPD) was for moms of infants, not moms of toddlers or preschoolers, and she worried she’d be judged for her choice to practise extended breastfeeding. She credits her sister with encouraging her to see a doctor, in spite of her fears. “The doctor was supportive and mentioned postpartum depression can happen up until three years,” she says. Sacks is working to popularize the term “matrescence,” originally coined by an anthropologist in the 1970s, as a better way to describe and fully capture the ongoing transitions of motherhood over time, even if your baby is now growing into a toddler. “It’s a helpful framing of new motherhood as a developmental phase, like ‘adolescence’—it’s not a coincidence that the words sound similar,” she says. “Both matrescence and adolescence describe shifts that are challenging because they involve changes in so many parts of life, ranging from the physical, hormonal, social, emotional and all the rest.” Adolescence is a gradual process—it isn’t instant in the way motherhood can be divided into pre-baby and post-baby life. But we need to be forgiving of ourselves, and to acknowledge that it might take time to adjust to all the shifts and challenges happening at once. Your body, your brain chemistry and your identity are all changing. Whether it’s a few months after birth or three years later, women shouldn’t feel ashamed if they experience the weaning fog, like me, or true depression symptoms, like Agave. We all have our own recovery period. Sacks encourages moms to remember that the end of breastfeeding doesn’t mean your baby needs you any less. Agave, who had struggled with anxiety in the past—but never depression—was ultimately referred to a treatment program where she improved through cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT). She was relieved to know CBT was an option, in addition to taking prescription medications, such as antidepressants. (She was prescribed an SNRI but chose to focus on CBT treatment instead.) “Eventually, my hormones regulated and the feeling of depression significantly decreased, but to this day, the anxiety piece is still there. I think a lot of it is the stress of being a mom.” Around the time I was preparing to pursue professional help, my own symptoms eased up, around two months after they began. I found myself reflecting back on the previous two months, asking, “What just happened?” It had felt like the flu, mixed with mild depression, combined with all those yo-yo-ing feelings about my relationship with my baby. I felt so thankful to feel “normal,” or like myself, again. Batya Grundland, a family physician with an emphasis in obstetrics and women’s health in Toronto, and the former head of maternal care at Women’s College Hospital Family Practice, says gradual versus cold-turkey weaning can play a part in the intensity of hormonal changes. She believes weaning is unlikely to be the sole cause; rather, it’s a complex puzzle with multiple additional factors happening all at once. “The tricky thing is that it would be hard to associate symptoms only with weaning,” she says. For many mothers, reductions to the nursing schedule often coincide with a return to full-time or part-time work. Some women will also experience the return of their period, with ovulation and menstrual cycles beginning to regulate again during the same time frame. “It could make sense that describe feeling pregnant. With the prolactin and estrogen changes, you could feel a whole bunch of things,” says Grundland. Not only are hormones changing drastically during this phase, but women may also be spending long days away from their babies, weaning by necessity (or attempting to pump at work), juggling full-time employment, adjusting to the work/daycare dash, not sleeping enough at night and forgetting to take care of themselves in all of this. “Moms are so busy—they need to be reminded that self-care is important, and we need to figure out ways to better support mothers,” says Sacks. She nudges parents to ask themselves how much they’ve slept and when they ate their last real meal. Do you have time to simply go to the bathroom and brush your teeth alone? Have you had time to yourself not engaged in childcare? Sacks says moms need to reconnect to who they are outside of parenting—like seeing friends, spending time with a romantic partner or pursuing non-child-related interests. “If you cut out the majority of activities that were essential to your routine before having a baby, you may feel disconnected from your identity.” Both Sacks and Grundland also recommend seeking help if temporary feelings of sadness become long-term or interfere with daily activities, but they agree that some sadness can be normal for some individuals. Most women can expect to feel physical and emotional changes for about four to six weeks, says Grundland. My journey through the weaning fog, and my version of self-care during the recovery period, meant seeking out meals with multiple food groups, a simple thing that had fallen off the priority list when I was caring for a colicky baby and keeping my other two toddlers alive and happy. I distinctly recall a three-course lunch I bought for myself, including a rack of ribs, that reminded me how to enjoy other things again, as a separate human from my baby. I had forgotten that I needed to eat real food, too. The end of breastfeeding doesn’t mean your baby needs you any less, emotionally, says Sacks. It’s like every other bittersweet aspect of parenting: “You feel a sense of longing when you see clothes your child no longer fits into, but you’re happy they’re growing. A baby is able to eat foods, but the ‘baby phase’ is now behind you. You can want two things at once.” I wanted to be the selfless, amazing super mom, but to also feel zero guilt treating myself to that rack of ribs—alone—instead of nursing a baby for the fourth time that day. I wanted to feel even-keeled and clear-headed again, yet still bond with my baby in the ways breastfeeding had magically provided. In the end, the months-long weaning fog was just another example of the bizarre and unexpected, yet temporary, phases in my first few years of motherhood. Read the full article

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thank-your-lucky-stars · 7 years

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don’t read this if you’re avoiding negativity because i haven’t even started writing this yet and I can tell you now it is going to get U G L Y

I just finished watching last nights episodes on my lunch break (I just skipped all the Pierce/Rhona/Vanessa scenes because I had limited time and just YAWN) and I genuinely do not understand how people could enjoy those Robron scenes????? I’m not saying anyone is wrong I’m just utterly jealous of you??? Like every time I felt myself feeling something there was this voice screaming in my head, telling me it’s all bullshit, and I really felt myself feeling something that I never expected or wanted to feel ever again and I don’t even want to say it because I feel ashamed and I think people will hate me

Because I just need to keep reminding myself that this isn’t actually our Robron. This isn’t actualy our Robert. He’s been so fucking screwed over and it makes me want to cry because I never ever ever wanted there to be a time where I looked at him and felt.....anger. resentment. yeah, I said it. I started to pull faces at stuff he said. When he was telling Aaron that everything would be “perfect” or whatever he said, I actually felt disgusted.

And then I tell myself NO. don’t be angry at Robert; be angry at Emmerdale. be angry at Iain and the writers or whoever decided this whole disgusting mess was acceptable.

I am REPULSED. It was all plotty and gross. When Aaron punched Robert, a part of me was just PRAYING that Bex had actually told him the truth.

and don’t even get me started on the whole “OMGGGZZZZZZ BEX HAD A WEE SO SHE MUST BE PREGNANT!1!!!!” thing I mean what the actual fuck????

and Bex taking the test in the pub I mean Vic doesn’t even fucking live in the pub??????????

I wanted to throw up whenever Bex was on the screen????? There is no way Bex would be having symptoms of pregnancy after three weeks I mean lMAO I know tests can tell you when you are that early but women only generally have tests that early on if they’re trying for a baby???????

and her all crying like “oh no poor me” like what the fuck, are we supposed to feel sorry for her??? fuck off Emmerdale, seriously. she is repulsive.

Everything is fucking gross and I’m so fucking angry and you know what I’m most bitter about?? ASHLEY. Because in amongst all this hideousness there is Ashley and Laurel and Gabby and Arthur and Sandy and the scenes with Marlon and Gabby at Ashley’s bedside were beautiful and how.....just how do they fit alongside the rest of the rubbish???

I just.....I’ve already said that I’m PMSing badly and I was already feeling emotional and angry so okay I accept that maybe my feelings are heightened right now, or maybe I’m just seeing everything in the truest, purest form and can see crystal clear what a fucking mess this show I have loved for YEARS is right now.

and Aaron?????? he’s home and all I could feel was sadness????? and even him talking about what he went through was overshadowed by the fact that Robert was feeling guilty??? like we’re supposed to think “oh god Robert is going to be feeling terrible” when it’s like NO. FUCK THAT SHIT. WE SHOULD BE THINKING ABOUT AARON AND AARON ALONE.

I am fucking PISSED OFF at how badly Emmerdale have dropped the ball on this. This storyline should have and could have been amazing but instead they had a few really disgustingly traumatic episodes of Aaron suffering hell in prison and then barely mention it again for weeks, just so we could have this tacky and cheap and nasty baby storyline with a character nobody likes or cares about??????

I am LIVID. I’m not going to pretend that I still feel the same because I don’t. Emmerdale have fucking torn Robron away from me, have caked them in crap and rubbish and made something that was so beautiful and unique just feel so......cold. alien. I feel sadness. I felt sad when watching their scenes. All I can see is the big black cloud hanging over their head. Robert’s lies. knowing Aaron will get badly hurt A G A I N.

fucking G R O S S. I am more disgusted than I have been in a LONG TIME.

This probably sounds dramatic as fuck but I’m just so sad and angry that my ship has been reduced to this.

I am genuinely so so jealous of anyone that feels positive, anyone that still feels the same about Robron as they did before. I envy you so so much. My heart is literally broken. Every time I think I can’t get more disappointed, here I am.

#mine #negativity #this isn't nice #at all #so please don't read if you're going to be offended by this #i'm not trying to make anyone feel bad or not feel positive (if you are)#i am just so hurt by this disgusting storyline and i need to get it out #i am so sad :(#like legit heartbroken

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caphasamericasass · 7 years

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The Tin Man and the Viper

Bucky Barnes x OC

Sucky Summary: AU Post Civil War Steve Rogers returns from Wakanda with a partially repaired Bucky Barnes to the reconstructed Avengers Tower. Excited to introduce his first best friend to his BFF of the 21st century (OC), he’s shocked to discover that a deep change has occurred in her from when they were last united. Bucky’s never been one for puzzles but finds some solace in her silence in a new world that’s spinning out of their control.

Word Count: 1.9+

Characters: Steve, Bucky, Pietro, Wanda (mentioned), OC

Warnings: None Yet

Bucky’s POV

“Wait until you meet her Buck, she’s so much like her old man it’s uncanny,” Steve says as he drags me through Avenger’s Tower looking for her. “She’s quiet around strangers, I’ll tell you right now, but once she warms up to you…well I think you’ll really appreciate her sense of humor.”

I nod absentmindedly from Steve’s side, thinking about the picture on of his wall of himself and her, decked out in Brooklyn and LA Dodgers outfits. Steve said that she had bought them the outfits, hers the modern version, and taken them to the LA Dodgers vs. New York Mets game for his birthday shortly before the accords. Her long dark hair had been tucked behind her ears, with golden eyes sparkling underneath her LA cap worn backwards. She looked taller, Steve’s arm wrapped around her ribs, and she held a firecracker popsicle in her fingers. Steve smiled widely whereas she, closed lipped and demure, but happy. When trouble began stirring, she was called away for emergency business with the X-Men and disappeared, assumed to be in hiding when war broke out and in the aftermath. Steve brought her up often while I recovered in Wakanda, however I can’t help but wonder why she wouldn’t have fought by his side in war if they’d been so close. I don’t blame her for not protecting me, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering. Her grandfather Jacques Dernier was no coward.

“Pietro!” Steve calls upon spotting the silver haired speedster leaving the gym. He waves at us and pauses as we approach him.

“Hey Piet, this is Bucky. Buck, you re-met his sister Wanda at breakfast.” I nod at Steve as Pietro looks on warily but forcing a small smile. “Have you seen Stella around lately? I sort of expected to see you two attached at the hip,” Steve says.

Pietro swallows a gulp of water from his plastic bottle thickly. “We are not uh—well we are not really together anymore. We do not talk.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows, the surprise and confusion evident on his face. “Tony said she’d just gotten back a few weeks ago, how’d you manage to screw up that quickly?”

“Is that all Stark said about her? She is different now. Something changed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Perhaps she will talk to you. Your friend,” Pietro tips his bottle in my direction, “he seems to be the silent, brooding type. Perhaps that is more her speed now,” he says, growing more agitated as he speaks. I scoff impolitely, but the kid’s being just as rude. “I do not know what to do with her anymore,” he says lowly before turning back away from the gym.

“Wait—“ Steve tries to recapture his attention but it was too late and we watch as wisps for silvery blue energy lay in Pietro’s wake. “Well that was weird. He probably just did something stupid that made her mad. Remember how bad I was with girls back in the day? He’s like that, but completely unapologetic.” Steve says reaching to rub the back of his head. “She’s a bit like Peggy in the way that she’d probably shoot at him if he made her jealous or something too.” I raise an eyebrow at Steve in response, thinking she sure sounds like a real gem. As if he can read my mind he tries to reassure me, “you’ll love her, I promise. We’ve just gotta get ahold of her…”

We spend the rest of the late morning and midday roving around the facilities looking for Stella high and low. You know how he gets when he’s all determined. Steve checked all of her regular spots ranging from her bedroom to the research center when he decided we should grab a late lunch in the main kitchen. The Wakandan psychologist that I worked most closely with had stressed to Steve how important developing and keeping with a scheduled routine would be before getting me ready for the field again and since then he’s been a mother fucking hen. We’d slept a few hours after arriving back at the compound in the dead of the night before getting an early start in the gym. Then we went to the private kitchen that the Avengers shared for breakfast before embarking on their private search mission. Steve considered taking me to the public cafeteria now, but decided that I might appreciate a less populated area after all of the introductions and reintroductions I’d been forced into today. Not that I had been terribly social, I can acknowledge that I’d merely hung back behind Steve and nodded along absentmindedly with the conversations that he participated in.

That’s how we’ve finally stumbled across Stella, preparing something on the stove with her back towards the entrance of kitchen. Pietro’s sitting at the kitchen’s central island with a glass of water in his hands watching her intently instead of eating the meal plated before him. Guess the brat didn’t bother sending Steve the message that he’d found her. His blue eyes are dark and so focused that he only looked up as Steve cleared his throat, catching both of their attentions. Steve grinns largely when two blank yellow eyes train on him. “Long time no see, kid!”

I observe the girl from over the back of Steve’s shoulder. Pretty as the picture, that was for sure. But unlike the picture, Stella looks empty as hell. Her eyes are cold and distant the moment they set on Steve, but change gears nearly mechanically, glimmering with a new sense of familiarity. She smiles the same closed, pink lipped smile from the picture, but it fades when she looks over Steve and caught sight of me. She knitts her brown brows tightly and bit her cheek in pensively. Steve looks shocked, like he’d expected her to run majestically into her arms or somethin’, and maybe he had but that sure wasn’t what was he was getting today. He stirrs briefly in the silence before stepping aside and gesturing at me, “this is Bucky Barnes. The mythical man your grandfather once coined so affectionately ‘The Fallen Glorious Bastard’.” He chuckles awkwardly; he’d mentioned some of the things that had been said about me after the fall, probably in some attempt to make me feel like some kinda martyr instead of mass murdered. Instead of nodding, I stare at her staring at me. I bet she unnerved a lot of men this way, but two can play that game. Stoicism is my Winter Soldier specialty.

“Jesus Christ, Estella,” the fast kid groans. “You are really going to do this to the Captain as well?”

She shoots him a nasty, glowering glare instantly, then turns back to the stove spooning what looks like ramen from the pot into a bowl she grabbed from nearby.

“Stella?” Steve asks quietly. He gets no response. Stella moves to put the pot in the sink, then takes a spoon out from random drawer. She moves to the fridge and stares in it for about fifteen seconds like she’s trying to decide if she’s thirsty as well but shuts it without taking anything out.

Picking the bowl back up she moves like she’s going to walk pass us and leave Steve confused and pathetically devastated but before she can take a step Pietro is up and standing before her with his back towards us grabbing at her shoulders with both hands. “Estella!” he shouts angrily, and desperately I might add.

Before Steve can intervene I see the change in her eyes. The disgust she wears for the Sokovian flickers, and I can see the fear before drops the bowl, noodles going everywhere. Pietro swears letting go of her and she moves to cover her face before still silently bolting from the room. Steve makes to catch her but I pull him back. “I don’t think she wants to talk to any of us,” I mutter, not particularly in the mood to deal with a woman who must be seriously PMSing.

Steve adheres to my words but whips around angrily towards the boy who is pitifully staring at the shattered red ceramic on the floor. “What did you do to her, Maximoff?”

“Nothing! I did not do anything! Ask Tony, ask Wanda, ask anyone and if they tell the truth it will be nothing!”

“Wanda didn’t mention anything a breakfast,” Steve says.

“She does not like to talk about it. This silent treatment that Estella is giving us all makes her sad.”

“She just came back like this, and no one bothered to find out what’s actually going on with her?” Steve questions.

I shift uncomfortably in the doorway. It’s my curiosity that keeps my feet planted and not going back to my room although that I know this discussion isn’t any of my business and I definitely don’t wanna get anymore involved in this.

Pietro sighs. “That is not completely true. The first week she was fine, it was as if nothing had changed at all. She worked with Stark in his lab, went shopping with Wanda, we did what he normally used to do…she even helped Rhodey in his physical therapy. Then the second week rolls around and she became ah—more reserved. Refuses projects that Stark requests her assistance with, withdraws from my sister, becomes distant with me, but it is only a little bit and Wanda says that I should not worry too much, that she is most likely readjusting to life after the accords. The accords and Civil War that she will not talk about by the way. Even my sister has forgiven me for siding with Stark, but I do not know what side Estella would have taken had she been here. She would not speak about her absence aside from asking when you would return—I think she only rejoined the Avengers because you were coming back. But by the third week she has snapped. We were in the bedroom and everything was fine. We are undressing each other, it is normal-“ at this Steve is seethingly glaring daggers but Pietro quickly notices and stresses again that it wasn’t his fault. “It is normal and mutual, I swear! And then all of the sudden she is shoving me off of her and screaming. It happens so quickly that not even I could catch it. I jump back alert and search the room for an intruder or someone in the window or something but she begins to throw things from her nightstand—books, the alarm clock, and she reaches for the lamp and I realize it is me she is screaming at. I get so panicked that all of the English sounds so muddled and I cannot understand why she is screaming and covering her eyes so I run from the room in only my boxers to find Wanda. By the time I arrive back with her, Stella has locked her door and will not respond. We ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. if she is okay and if she is alone and F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirms these things but that Stella will not respond. And Estella has never made a sound since then,” Pietro finishes. Poor jerk, I think. He looks like he could start bawlin his eyes out at any moment and maybe he’s slept as much as I have in the last few weeks.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Steve finally says.

“That’s one thing that hasn’t gone and changed in the last 75 years, punk. Women don’t ever make any good sense,” I say quietly.

“Not Stella,” Steve replies. “Stella has always made sense to me.”

PART TWO

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #fan fiction #writing #bucky barnes x oc #pietro maximoff #captain america #civil war #oc

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mylifemydiary · 4 years

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Rough Day

August 27, 2020

I think a year ago we were packing. To move here for 10 months. Last we heard we would be here until April now, and even then my husband was talking about maybe taking a job down here for a year and then transferring back to Texas. I’m looking forward to seeing my son and mom and grandma in a couple of weeks. He is turning 19. NINETEEN! Time flies.

Today was a rough day with the baby. And myself. I’m pmsing so I’m retaining water and wanting to snack more. Ive been doing sooo good. Down 5 pounds. But weighing myself this morning and realizing I’ve gained a pound made me sad. The baby didn’t nap today. Well I finally got him to sleep at 3 only to have him wake up 45 minutes later inconsolably crying his little eyes out. He didn’t even have his little eyes OPEN. Didnt want the pacifier. Just wanted to cry. I finally got him to calm down by holding him on the couch.

My business I feel might be getting stale, which gives me anxiety. I’ve been trying all the stops to get new customers and offer sales. Maybe I’m throwing too much at people at once? Patience has never been my strong suit. It’s not going badly, but I’m coming to the end of the wave I was riding and realizing if I don’t do more to keep it going I won’t be riding that wave anymore. The person I was going to ask to join has had a couple of life changing events and I don’t feel right asking her now. I need fresh meat. All my friends who have tried it and love it are going to buy all they need very soon. Probably already have. And then I’ll be stuck in a lull. I also have developed an addiction for a certain MLM clothing company which has proven to be quite toxic to me. I’m spending all my earnings and then some on clothes. I like them, but I’m not completely convinced if I love them because they are so me or they are the most me they have available. That makes sense to me. Screw you if you don’t get it.

I guess I’m also just riding the pms waves. I’ll be happy one minute, then sad, then overwhelmed. Then hungry. And then sad that I’m hungry because I was doing so well. I haven’t had ice cream in 2 weeks almost. That is huge. We were eating ice cream 3-4 times a week. I haven’t had sweets either and oddly enough, until recently, haven’t craved them. I think that is a small victory in itself. My back is killing me as I type this. Damn back and my terrible posture.

I just want to post EVERYONE PLEASE TRY MY PRODUCT AND KEEP BUYING IT AND THEN JOIN ME SO I MAKE MONIES. I know people will love it if they try it, but getting them to try it without sounding desperate is something I still need to manage. I can’t help but overuse my exclamation points, and that itself has a desperation to it. Like Im smiling but also very sweaty and breathing hard.

At least that’s what it feels like to me.

Im sure everything will be fine and I won’t go bankrupt because I’m buying too many clothes but every time I get more packages instead of being excited I’m starting to cringe at the lack of space in my closet. Did I really need 10 dresses? probably not. Are they in there? they are now. Do I even leave the house anymore? no, but I will someday, right? RIGHT?! I’m not confined to these apartment walls forever. I will live again. Someday. And while I’m out there I’m going to sell you some nails.

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arrogvnces · 4 years

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the week after the disastrous samsung event was perhaps the most miserable one he’d spent in seoul, so far. his days consisted of half-forgotten hours as he worked akin to a zombie, going through the motions without much thought about anything else. he was no longer on speaking terms with luna, either, which meant he wasn’t on speaking terms with elijah. they were a package deal, after all. as much as he wished he had someone to talk to, he knew it wasn’t up to him make amends. after all, she’d been the one to scold him the saturday morning after, her usual sarcasm and hurtful quips hitting a little close to home for him to laugh it off. congratulations on being such a jerk, you’ve just managed to make theodore look like the perfect guy for her, in comparison. i wouldn’t want to be with someone with a tongue like yours. he’d stormed off, throwing the boxing gloves away after an intense workout that had done nothing to calm his nerves. he hadn’t needed to be told how much of a screw up he was. that was common knowledge

as much as he tried to excuse his behavior, he knew there was nothing that could justify what he’d said. had he meant it, to some extent? yes, absolutely. but he’d behaved almost as if he didn’t want her back, lying about some imaginary girl, throwing precious memories on her face as if they were dirty. he’d gone home after puking his guts out and had only woken up to the sound of the doorbell ringing. which he’d answered. because he’d still been angry despite the guilt and needed some way to calm down. sora had walked away wobbling, promising it was the last time they did something like this. it had sounded like a lie.

now, it’s sunday, and he lays on his couch staring up at the ceiling. outside, the snow falls heavily, trapping him inside with no chance for entertainment. simon is back in new haven, having been bullied into giving his education another try. and his other two friends? fuck them. he scowls at nothing, irritation building his chest. he’s been on the edge a lot, lately. it feels like a prelude to something terrible to come, like punching calvin in public over and over again. some part of him actually misses the bastard, and all the chances he gave sinclair to express his rage. how far has he fallen?

he’s so preoccupied with his own jumbled thoughts, that it takes him a good five minutes before he hears the incessant bell ringing downstairs. with a curious frown, he walks to the panel next to the door, the camera showing him the two most unexpected visitors. on the screen, emily and tristan park stare at him, shivering from the bitter cold. his finger hesitates, pressing against the wall instead with his mouth agape.

“hellooo,” his younger brother complains, covered in snowflakes. “we’re freezing our fucking asses off here, asshole.” his strong american accent has gotten deeper, a man’s voice speaking to him instead of the usual squeaky child tone. sinclair sighs, pressing the unlock button and he watches as the duo makes their way inside. he barely has time to process their presence in his apartment, when tristan comes flying up the staircase, appearing first without their mother. he only takes a few steps in sinclair’s direction, and already he can tell they’re the same height. how long has it even been since he last saw him? no matter how hard he tries to remember, he comes up blank. it must’ve been far too long.

“i need to take a shower, like asap,” tristan walks past him inside, dripping all over his floor. surprise is replaced by annoyance, his pristine hardwood floor being dirtied by this impolite teenager. the elevator dings, his mother walking out with deep eye bags, a sigh falling from her lips. she kisses both of his cheeks, before discarding her heels at the entrance.

“sinclair, could you show your brother to the bathroom?” she asks, in place of a verbal greeting. “he had the marvelous idea of walking all the way here, under this storm. for no valid reason.” tristan rolls his eyes, undressing of his massive padded jacket and materializing more snow out of nowhere. sinclair holds back a curse.

“go down the hall, it’s the third door on your left,” he says, and tristan barely acknowledges it with a nod before barrelling down the hallway. he stares at his back for a second too long, wondering who this grown-up child even is. behind him, his mother sits on his sofa, crossing her legs and sinking her face into her open palms. “nice of you to tell me you were coming,” he huffs, sitting opposite to her. she doesn’t straighten up, only frees her mouth as her eyes continue covered

“and give you a chance to make up an excuse not to see us? i wasn’t born yesterday.” he hears the showerhead being turned on, the sudden change in his surroundings giving him whiplash. what happened to spending the day staring at the ceiling? “don’t mind your brother, he’s going through a phase.”

“you brought a hormonal teenager to my house just for the kicks, then? to see me wipe this dark snow off of my floor?”

that does it, as emily heaves another sigh, pressing her back into the leather and erecting her neck at its full height. she pins him with a raise of her eyebrows, but instead of instilling the usual intimidation he's felt since early childhood, the irritation only grows bigger. what did i do wrong, again?

“i heard a lot of feedback about that samsung event, with henrietta,” she says, tapping her long nails on the back of her iphone. “you did a good job. people said you were both charming, polite and convivial. some mentioned you were a bit stiff in the beginning, but they attributed it to this being your first official outing as a couple. overall, they were pleased.” he waits for the but because there is always a but with his mother. “my assistants, however, told a story just a tad bit different.

“you mean your spies,” he corrects, and she rolls her eyes.

“they mentioned your outing was short, ending after you left for the bathroom. one of them followed you and reported to hear vomiting noises from inside. the other followed henrietta and reported her sobbing on the stairs of the four seasons. you can guess how worrying that is for me to hear.” he freezes, at the thought of henrietta in tears. the guilt that goes in and out of sleep wakes up, threatening to swallow him whole. his face must show his agony, as emily leans forward, a strange look in her eyes. “what happened, sinclair?”

everything and nothing, he wants to say. your son is an asshole, with a temper much like his father. he hurts and pushes away the people he loves because you never taught him any better. you were never there to teach him to be better. but he doesn’t say any of that out loud, choosing to mask his hurt with blatant lies.

“i ate something foul and got sick,” he answers, not even bothering to sell it. “henri must’ve been pmsing, i don’t know. we had an argument and decided to go home separately. it happens.”

her brows dip, the unknown emotion in her face transforming into offense. “do you think i’m stupid?”

“i don’t know, are you?”

she stands up in a flash, glaring at him. “i am your mother, show me some respect.”

it’s his turn to frown, though he doesn’t bother with the theatrics, sinking deeper into the couch. “since when? because for the better part of the last twenty years your only act as a mother was to transfer me to multiple boarding schools across the world. where did this sudden maternal instinct come from?”

“just because you don’t know how to appreciate the things i did for you, doesn’t meant they never happened,” she retorts, and he stares at the ground, still stuck on henrietta and sobbing. “i’m asking you to tell me what happened so that i can help you fix it, sinclair.”

“i don’t need your help,” he chuckles, humorlessly. “i asked for your help multiple times in my childhood, to no avail. it’s too late now. i know how to fix my own shit, without a mother --- or a father, for the matter. so stop pretending to care, when you never did.” he’s never spoken to her like this. he never would have, a year ago. but he’s changed. she’s changed. she feels solid, real. human. like someone he can hurt, just as much as she hurt him. he waits for her inevitable reply, for the harsh words she knows to spit as well as he does. but nothing comes. when he looks up, her eyes are filled to the brim with tears, chin trembling. he shivers.

emily park falls back down to the couch, muffling the sound of her sobs with her son’s fluffy pillows. all he can do is blink, and try to will this nightmare away. the showerhead in the back grows louder, tristan having probably discovered the massage option. the silence grows heavy. he has no idea what to say --- thankfully, she speaks before he’s forced to say anything.

“i know it’s hard to believe that i could suddenly decide to change,” she mutters, in between shaky breaths. “that someone could wake up one day and realize the damage she’s done all around her. but the morning after your brother was expulsed from his school, i. . . i realized that if i was unhappy, despite all the money and power and success. . . then my children must be miserable. you know, i was so certain i was helping you by giving you away to other people. that there was no way i could make myself into a good mother, good enough for you, that the best thing for me to do was entrust my children to people who could do a much better job than me, or leonard.” there is a pause, as sinclair tries to hold on to something from the puking of words. “i didn’t realize all you really needed was me. just me.”

“tristan was expulsed? for what?” he questions, stupidly. it feels like the easiest thing to say. people like them --- like the parks, huangs and lees --- weren’t expulsed. no matter how many rules they broke, a simple donation could make it all go away.

emily laughs, in disbelief. “drug dealing, can you believe? a bunch of kids were caught with cocaine, and they gave his name as the supplier. it was already the tenth infraction at this school only.” his eyes widen, choking on air as the information sinks in. his little brother, who’d been a child the last time they saw each other, was now a teenage drug dealer for rich kids.

“why is he here, then? shouldn’t dad be locking him in his room until he’s eighteen?”

“i was hoping you could help,” she corrects him, sniffing her tears back inside. “help him, i mean. i think he could learn a lot from you.”

“you’re out of luck, i’ve never done drugs i can’t help your little fiend of a son,” sinclair comments, earning himself another sigh.

“i know i will never win mother of the year, but why do you always have to be like that?”

“like what?”

“hateful.” the word hangs in between them, the perfect description of sinclair coming from the mouth of his own mother. he’d laugh, if he wasn’t exhausted from the critics. if he is such a terrible person, why bother with him at all? “you have done so much in so little time. you are so smart, so full of potential, you could be the best in anything you put your mind to. but you keep ruining it by being so full of spikes. no one can get close without you trying to hurt them.”

“try growing up with emily and leonard park,” he counters, the same spikes coming out. “he’d remind me every day i would never reach him as if i wanted to compete with my father. you’d tune out my existence on a good day, and scold me for childish mistakes on the worst ones. outside of that, i was nothing but the ultra-rich kid teachers had to coddle and soothe if they wanted to keep their jobs, refusing to hold me accountable for any shit i pulled. of course i’m mean and hateful. that’s the only way anyone hears me.” he’s nearly shouting by the end of his speech, a vein popping in his neck as he wraps his fist around one of the pillows. the water stops falling. emily’s eyes fill up with tears once more, and he wants to yell at her to stop crying. she doesn’t get to cry. she hurt him. she made him like this. she made him into someone who would willingly wound henri. she. . . is nothing but another piece in a game of chess where leonard is queen.

the door to the bathroom unlocks, and wet feet slap against the floor, making sinclair’s jaw clench tight. tristan appears in the corner, wrapped in a white robe, hair combed to the side like a movie star. he falls onto the couch next to emily, legs spread apart. sinclair senses a headache incoming.

“sooo, she told you what happened, yet?” his brother asks, tone light and playful.

“first of all,” sinclair starts, throwing a pillow right at his face. “close your legs, this isn’t your house.” --- tristan spreads them even wider --- “second of all, yes, she did mention you tried to get a bunch of high school kids addicted to cocaine. what an ingenious idea, care to share how you came up with something so incredibly wise?”

“i’m sorry, why is the guy who lost us the company being all sarcastic instead of kneeling and begging for forgiveness?” tristan exclaims, earning a glare for emily that he promptly ignores. he’s somehow worse than sinclair.

“i like how you say us as if you would have ever even touched a brick of park corp. be glad he hasn’t taken you out of the inheritance after this little criminal stunt. yet.” their mother stands up, much less violently than the first time, dragging her feet to his kitchen. he observes as she attempts to find what he assumes is alcohol, only to settle for the half-pint of orange juice in his fridge.

“you think you’re so much better than me and ren because you’re older,” tristan continues, his face taking an ugly turn. sinclair notices how young he still is, despite the broad shoulders and considerable height. he resembles leonard the most, without the wrinkles and with baby cheeks. “but i wouldn’t have lost my birthright like you did. if i’d been born first, i would’ve shown dad how much of an asset i could be to his company, instead of skipping around with my girlfriend like a pussy-whipped idiot.”

“aw, are you mad you can’t get a girlfriend?” sinclair teases, though he’s bordering on taking this conversation seriously. but not just yet. “i'm sorry, you’d be much more attractive to teen girls if you weren’t such a crackhead, believe me.”

“you’re such a fucking asshole,” he blows up, standing much like his mother did a few minutes ago, neck reddening. “why don’t you ask me why i did it, huh? why don’t you ask your little brother why he would even deal drugs, as if he ever needed money? why don’t you call, sinclair? we haven’t talked in five years. you don’t know shit about me or my life, and yet you sit there judging me. go to hell.”

no one speaks, their mother bracing herself against the counter in the back. she looks ten years older. she thought she’d had it hard, with her firstborn. it’s been made clear, that while sinclair is cruel, his attacks are specific. tristan, however, is a ticking time bomb ready to destroy anything and everything. sinclair reels in his own anger, focusing on his tomato-skinned sibling. “why did you do it?”

“you don’t care.”

“maybe not, but you want to tell me. so, tell me.”

tristan breathes in and out, fists still clenched. droplets of water falling onto the floor where he stands. “i just wanted everyone to come home. i thought if i did something so disastrous, he’d have no choice but to return and yell at me and. . . and be my father.” his dark eyes, leonard’s eyes, shining with unshed tears. “but you know what he did? sent mom a text with a new school in luzern who would take me in. that’s it. nothing less, nothing more. no talks of ruined reputation, of disappointment, no nothing. it was like i didn’t matter.”

“you don’t,” sinclair says, simple and true. his mother’s neck snaps up, trying to catch his attention, but he’s still regarding tristan, who frowns.

“what?” a single word, filled with unimaginable hurt.

“you don’t matter to him, tristan. he doesn’t give a single fuck about you.” his little brother’s face scrunches in pain, letting the tears flow out unabashedly. sinclair wishes he had this much courage to cry in front of others. “he doesn’t care about me either. or ren. or mom. the only person that matters to leonard park is leonard park.”

he’s sobbing, burying his face in his hands, choking on his own spit. emily tries to come forward, but it’s awkward. her steps are hesitant, her arms try to grab at tristan’s shoulder but it’s all too slow. she doesn’t know how to comfort him. still, the fact that she even tries, fills sinclair with a strange feeling. his brother stomps, hard, breaking the moment.

“then, what now?” he cries, the gravel in his voice shaking the foundations of his older brother’s apparent calmness. “he doesn’t care, mom doesn’t care, you don’t care! do i have to kill myself for you guys to finally come back home? to finally look at me?” emily gasps, this time something stronger propelling her forward as she back hugs tristan. he nearly immediately pushes her away, choosing to fixate instead on sinclair, as if he holds the answer to every question. as they stare at one another, he understands why their mother brought tristan here. why she thought sinclair would help him. he’s lonely. he’s rejected. his own family has made him feel like nothing, to the point he built all these spikes around him. somehow, he knows emily wasn’t just referring to him when she called him hateful. every park child is hateful. he hasn’t seen ren in a long while, but his sister must be on her way to meet the same fate as her brothers. the urge to break the cycle beats in his chest like a thousand drums. there is no more turning back the clock for him, but maybe, they still have a chance.

“i don’t know,” he says, honestly. “i moved across the world to try and get dad’s attention. i ruined my relationship with the woman i love for him,” --- at that, his mother shakes her head, understanding --- “i’m still desperately grasping at straws to try and make him notice me. but i am miserable, tristan. every day i wake up wondering why am i still alive. some days it’s easier because i was lucky to find people who make me want to live, but other days. . . i am so lonely i can’t breathe around the silence. my obsession with his love got me here. trust me, when i say it’s not worth it. no money, no company, no amount of power is worth chasing a heartless man’s love.” he feels his own words in his ribcage, trying to make their way into his heart. listen to yourself. make it right. he doesn’t know if he has the strength, just yet.

“i don’t know how to stop,” his brother mutters, sitting down, knees glued together. emily sits down with him, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder. he flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“look around you,” sinclair answers, gulping hard. “if mom didn’t care, she wouldn’t be this patient with your rude ass. if i didn’t care, i would’ve kicked you out as soon as you began dirtying my house.” if luna didn’t care, she wouldn’t have gotten up at six am to spar with you. if elijah didn’t care, he wouldn’t make up lies about not bothering with the extra work you brought him. if henri didn’t care, she wouldn’t have left in tears at your accusations. “we’re not good at showing love, and we’re even worse at receiving it. doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

later, after another dose of crying, tristan decides to sleep in the guest room, exhausted from the long flight to seoul. as the night falls early, barely four in the afternoon, sinclair finds himself perched on a stool, his mother boiling soup on the stove. it’s a strange sight, but he’s too emotionally exhausted to make another mean remark about how she never cooked him a homemade meal. he knows she’s trying. it’s sudden, it’s unexpected, he doesn’t know how long it will last --- but she’s trying. she notices him staring, a half-smile on her lips.

“tell me how to make it right, with you,” she whispers, and he sees the woman she might’ve become if her youth hadn’t been stolen by his father. if her dreams hadn’t been obscured by his success. “tell me that it’s not too late, that i can still be your mother.”

he ponders over her words, eyes glued to the red liquid bubbling at the surface. a strong scent fills the room, of onions and meat, and he thinks that if home has a smell, it must be this. “make things right with him,” he replies, pulling out his phone. “bring him and ren home. keep them close to you. remind them that you do care, every day. that’s how you can make it up to me.” he finally looks at his messages, where twelve new texts from luna, elijah and simon welcome him. he smiles at the screen, a weight lifting off his shoulders. “i don’t think it’s ever too late for anything.”

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