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j-ungkooky · 3 years

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Temptation (Taehyung)

Ceo Au! Suggestive smut (he’s crouched under ur desk and :)) (smut will be in future chapters) Angst (later) 3181 Words Chapter 1.

“Good morning.” Taehyung simply greeted before disappearing into his office.

It was enough to get all the women in the lobby immediately shooting each other knowing glances because not only was Taehyung the company’s CEO, but he was a very handsome one at that too. His polite demeanour and respectful nature only contributed to his desirability. Due to everyone’s unanimous acknowledgement of Taehyung’s appeal, there seemed to always be some sort of competition for his attention. Whether it was to drop something off for him in his office or offer him leftover donuts, his deep voice thanking you followed by his infectious smile was all worth it. Taehyung being new to the company only made the competition over him more fierce. He had taken over the position from a now old and retired gentleman and because he had no idea what the personality of each individual in the office was truly like, it was all fair game.

She definitely would’ve been lying if she said she didn’t have some sort of crush on Taehyung but it was all physical and surface level. He was her boss after all and she only saw him for a few minutes each day. They’ve barely exchanged more than a handful of words to each other in the month of his takeover.

“Jesus...did you see his arms? They’re suffocating in that button up.” Jisoo, her colleague commented.

“You’re drooling,” she teased, “besides, you should be worrying about your meeting today and not about whether or not blood is circulating through his arms.”

Jisoo scoffed and pushed herself off of the reception desk.

“Don’t remind me,” Jisoo groaned, “it doesn’t help that Taehyung’s going to be sitting in for that meeting too. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get through anything without puking.”

The two of them continued to talk and catch each other up on what they did over the weekend before Jisoo eventually had to go back to her desk. She watched as her colleague walked away and felt a twinge of jealousy within herself. For someone like Jisoo to get nervous despite being pretty, charismatic and the office favourite was a slap to her self esteem. Jisoo also held a high position within the HR department while she was just a measly receptionist. She definitely wasn’t going to stay in this position forever but the job paid well and would suffice for now.

As the clock inched closer to everyone’s starting time, the lobby began clearing up as people went to their respected department. After a few minutes, she was left alone to man the front all by herself. She stared at the closed office doors surrounding her and felt another pang of envy in her heart knowing that people behind those doors were doing far more important work than her. Her days consisted of sorting through mail, sending emails, transferring calls and light house duties. She tried to convince herself that it wasn’t all bad because at least she could surf the internet whenever she wanted without anyone monitoring her. Her eyes traveled towards Taehyung’s door and she wondered how he was adjusting to everything before an email notification needed her attention.

With it being Monday and the meeting Jisoo was talking about earlier being held today, it was quite busy. She usually had an hour of free time before her lunch break but the emails had been nonstop. People kept revising their forms and asking her to print out multiple copies of the revised papers to the point where the printer just stopped working altogether for a scary moment. With it being so busy, she decided to stay at her desk for lunch today. She was buried so deep in her computer work that Taehyung’s presence had gone unnoticed. He needed a break from staring at his screen all day and decided to go explore the office. In the month that Taehyung transferred over, he had no time to go around introducing himself or making himself familiar with the space. His decision to finally become accustomed to his environment brought him in front of her desk. The unusually loud crinkling from the untouched candy jar she left out for everyone broke her focus. She looked up to see her boss struggling with how small the jar was.

“Do...do you need help?” she finally asked.

Up close, Taehyung’s visuals had her feeling shy and flustered like a high school girl sitting next to their crush. Taehyung seemed just as surprised to hear her voice as his movements came to a halt and he pulled his hand out of the candy jar sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he apologized while rubbing the back of his neck, “I realized I must’ve looked really stupid.”

She waved his doubts away and took the jar from him. She tried her very best to seem unfazed and collected but the red tint in her cheeks and her inability to stop smiling so wide probably gave her away.

“The um...” Taehyung cleared his throat before continuing, “the watermelon flavour please.”

After a few seconds of sifting through the numerous options, she found the one he wanted. Taehyung opened his hand and she almost laughed at how tiny the candy looked in his gigantic palm. Her amusement didn’t stop at his physicality but shifted towards his entire personality. When she first met Taehyung, she was beyond intimidated. She couldn’t look at him for too long without feeling like he was looking right through her. Taehyung carried himself with an air of confidence and always had an answer for everyone, as expected of a competent CEO. She wasn’t nervous around him because he was scary but because his presence was so large and full while she was so small compared to him. But having him stand before her enjoying a piece of watermelon flavoured candy with an innocent smile on his face was just so...unexpected.

“Is this your lunch break?” Taehyung asked noticing her untouched sandwich sitting beside her keyboard.

She looked where he was and let out a forced laugh at her pathetic set up.

“Yeah I didn’t have time to properly take a break today.” she explained.

The reason she was eating at her desk suddenly occurred to her and her eyes traveled over to her inbox which was now at double digits. With only an hour before the big meeting today, she was already behind despite only talking to Taehyung for five minutes.

“Sorry Taehyung I have to get back to work,” she sighed running a hand through her hair, “is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked looking at him for a quick second before going back to her monitor.

Taehyung watched as she worked and wondered if this was the kind of work culture he wanted to uphold. He didn’t like that she didn’t take a break and was going unnoticed for her extra work. Perhaps he’d talk to HR and accounting later to avoid situations like this from happening again. Taehyung drummed his fingers against his her desk and sucked his teeth.

“Nope, nothing else you can do for me!” he smiled, “Thank you for your hard work but please make sure to take a proper break next time. I’m going to the coffee room to take a breather myself.”

She looked up to thank him out of courtesy and he surprised her by thanking her once more and using her name. He grabbed a few more pieces of candy before going on his way.

“Hey Taehyung!” she called, leaning over her desk.

He turned his head with a raised brow.

“If you’re still going to the break room, it’s the other way.” she informed him.

Taehyung turned around on his heel and began walking hastily in the correct direction with bashful smile on his face.

“What an interesting guy.” she thought while laughing to herself.

________________________________________________

The hour leading up to the big meeting didn’t get any easier as her inbox continued to flood with people requesting numerous things from her. She was finally able to breathe when the meeting started and people stopped demanding her assistance. Jisoo had come up earlier asking for words of encouragement before Taehyung emerged from his office. She watched in awe at how effortless Jisoo made it look cracking jokes with Taehyung and drawing out deep belly laughs from him. She cringed at how awkward she must’ve been with Taehyung earlier and refused to look at him when he walked by; not that he would’ve noticed anyway as Jisoo had his full attention. She made an early new years resolution to be more like her follow coworker in the coming year.

Despite the craziness earlier, she was already bored browsing through the same pages for the past 40 minutes. The meeting seemed to be going well as no one left the boardroom to ask her to do anything. With her sanity hanging onto Pinterest boards, she welcomed the delivery man with a gigantic smile and lively greeting.

“Big one today.” the delivery man commented while slapping the stacks of boxes on his trolley.

She took a look around her desk to see if there was any available space to put the packages but to no avail.

“You can just leave them there.” she said and began rolling up her sleeves.

“You sure?” the man asked, “these are quite heavy.”

She reassured him by telling him that she deals with deliveries every Monday and that this was no different to prior ones. She bid the delivery man farewell as he disappeared through the elevator doors with the same concerned face that never left during their entire interaction.

"Finally something to do.” she thought and with that, began working on the boxes.

Taehyung struggled to keep his eyes open during the meeting. He opted to rest his chin on his hand and pretend to take notes when in reality, his eyes were closed and he was drawing random shapes in his notepad. From the moment he received emails outlining what the meeting entailed, he knew it meant absolutely nothing to him. He didn’t actually know why he agreed to be a part of it but he was definitely regretting his decision to do so. Taehyung had a long list of tasks to fulfill especially since he was only a month onboard this company and this meeting was wasting his time. Wanting to make a good impression on his employees, Taehyung tried really hard to pay attention but he simply could not trick himself into caring as the minutes ticked by. He racked his brain on ways to escape and took a deep breath before pursuing his liberation. Taehyung looked at his apple watch and feigned surprise at a non-existent message on it.

“Everyone, I apologize for leaving so suddenly but there is an issue I have to attend.” he announced while getting up from his seat.

He uttered a few more apologies before leaving the boardroom and closing the door. It wasn’t until he was out in the hallway by himself that he suddenly felt incredibly foolish over how easy it was to leave. He sat in that godforsaken room for almost an hour thinking of ways to flee and that was all it took. Pinching the bridge of his nose and inhaling a sharp breath, Taehyung made his way back to his office.

“Holy shit! What is in here?!” she groaned struggling to lift more boxes from within the delivery boxes.

In the span of an hour, she was still working on one of the four boxes delivered. Perhaps she should’ve listened to the delivery man earlier but her pride got in the way. It didn’t help that the skirt she was wearing today was a lot shorter than her usual choices but all her work clothes were currently in the wash as she simply could not be bothered to do laundry over the weekend. Every time she lifted something up, she had to immediately place the item somewhere so she could pull her skirt down or she’d accidentally flash the office.

She attempted to set one box down on her desk and winced when it slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor with a heavy thud. She waited a few seconds to see if anyone came out to figure out what the noise was and breathed a sigh of relief when the office remained undisturbed.

“Better than aimlessly scrolling through Instagram.” she thought before bending over to pick up anything that fell out.

“Do you need help?” a familiar voice called out.

She jumped in her shoes and proceeded to drop everything from her arms. She snapped her body up to see who it was and surprising her again for the second time today, Taehyung was standing in front of her desk with a curious look on his face.

“I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that,” he apologized profusely as he made his way behind her desk, “please let me help you!”

It took her a beat to register her appearance and she quickly pulled down her skirt that was riding up way too close to her crotch. She smoothed her hair before attempting to stop Taehyung from doing anything.

“No, no don’t worry!” she laughed as he held up the items out of her reach.

“If you want it then you have to grow a whole foot taller.” he teased.

“You have a meeting to go back to.” she reminded him to which he scrunched his face in disapproval.

Just as she was slowly convincing Taehyung to go back, his face turned from playfulness to dread when the boardroom door opened.

“Let me ask Taehyung to join the meeting again.” a colleague’s voice could be heard before their footsteps approached the lobby.

She was about to tell Taehyung that he was needed when he ducked under her already cramped desk and put a finger to his lips as his eyes pleaded for her to keep quiet. Before she could process what was happening, Jin, her coworker appeared.

“Hey! Is Taehyung around?” Jin asked as he marvelled at all the boxes spread out in the lobby.

She stood still trying to calm her nerves. On one hand, she was fighting against the biggest laughing fit of her life and on the other, Taehyung her boss, expected her to cover for him as he cowered under her desk.

“He is...” she glanced down at Taehyung who was now shaking his head and making a cutting motion with his hand, “I-I haven’t seen him actually! Is he not in the meeting?”

Jin cocked a brow and leaned over her desk trying to see what she was looking at.

“Is everything okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.” he laughed.

She forced a smile and shook her head, “Oh yeah I’m fine! My computer’s been acting up all day and it’s getting a little worrisome with everything going on.”

Taehyung was impressed by how quick she was on her feet and slowly breathed a sigh of relief until he heard Jin offer to come around and take a look at her computer for her. This whole situation was already absolutely ridiculous and humiliating until she sat down on her chair to click a few keys and feign relief that her computer was magically working again. The issue was no longer the fact that Taehyung was hiding from his employees but that he was contorted under her desk that was way too small for his large frame, now with her cunt inches away from his face.

“Well now that you’re here anyways, I was hoping you could help me with some paper work and scheduling.” Jin said.

“S-sure.” she managed to answer despite her throat drying up and the adrenaline slowly making its way through her veins.

She could feel every time Taehyung breathed because his exhales would land right against her inner thigh and when he sighed, she could feel it right against her sex. Her thong provided little to no protection against any sensation caused by him. She tried to clamp her thighs together but her knees would hit Taehyung’s face in the process causing her to open her legs again as a reflex and there was no more room for Taehyung to back up against.

“Are you okay?” Jin asked.

She could only nod as a response; she did not trust her voice to come out stable and natural. The battle she was fighting up there was mutually shared by Taehyung underneath. His brain was going a million miles a minute as he tried to figure out how to talk to her after this. How was he going to make this all alright and normal? He could offer her a raise and an extra week of paid vacation? Maybe he could fire her but he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he did that. Taehyung was beating himself up for putting her in a situation like this and began to mentally prep for a lawsuit. While trying to figure out a solution, Taehyung forgot that he was just a man with a simple brain and another mental battle was underway as he tried very hard to avoid gazing somewhere he really shouldn’t. As she kept squirming, her skirt kept rising and Taehyung couldn’t help but steal a glance at the growing wetness appearing on her undergarment. The growing arousal within Taehyung’s pants made him feel more cramped and with his legs were beginning to fall asleep, he began to pray to any god out there for some sort of divine intervention.

“Fuck fuck fuck...oh my fucking god,” he chanted in his head, “Jin shut the fuck up already.”

A gasp escaping from her lips followed by her suddenly jolting startled Jin and he gave her an odd look. Taehyung had completely lost feeling in both of his feet and he fell over grabbing onto her thighs for support. His hands felt so warm against her skin and their sheer size grabbed a lot more area than anticipated. Taehyung fought back a groan when the bottom of her skirt had flipped over and her entire lower region was in full view.

“Hey Jin, is it okay if we do this over email? I’m suddenly not feeling so well.” she was able to muster out.

It didn’t take a doctor to know something was wrong from her complexion turning completely pale.

“Yeah I think you should go home for the rest of the day. You really don’t look well,” Jin acknowledged with furrowed brows, “I’ll just catch Taehyung up with the meeting myself.”

The minute she heard the boardroom doors close, she pushed her chair back so forcefully that it crashed into the wall behind her. She got up and immediately pulled her skirt down and made a beeline towards the washroom without saying a single word to Taehyung. Taehyung on the other hand stayed fixed under her desk with his eyes bulged and his mouth ajar. There was absolutely no positive outcome for what he had caused.

#bts smut #taehyung smut #bts scenarios #bts oneshot #taehyung oneshot #bts #bangtan #bts ceo

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anthonyed · 4 years

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Finding Bucky : stevetony for @stonyweek day 1, universe:mcu (Ao3)

They win the battle. They lose the tesseract.

“I was having a heart attack,” Tony points out when Fury glares. “What’s his excuse?”

Captain America stands, head hung and silent, he looks far away from this world, stripped off of his title and for the first time, he looks like a Steve Rogers.

Tony pointedly looks away, something coiling akin to guilt in his gut and he chases that away. “What’s the plan?” He asks Fury.

“For you people? Nothing,” Fury spits. “SHIELD will handle this from now on. You can help with the clean up.”

“Not a janitor,” Tony takes his leave, marching out of the office and he soothes at the loud slam of the door at his departure.

He taps away an assuring text to Pepper and Rhodey each, steps into the elevator blindly and right before the door closes, someone catches him by his shoulder and he startles so badly that his chest aches, reminding him of how fresh the attack was.

“Mr Stark,” Rogers starts, looking harried yet sounding composed. “I need to look at the surveillance footage.”

“I thought we did. Six times and they’re still running it somewhere in here for SHIELD cretins to catch what we didn’t. So you can go join them.” Tony rattles off dryly, rubbing his chest with one hand while he jabs the button for lobby with the other.

Rogers doesn’t bother, making it clear that he’s only in here because he wanted to corner Tony. “Do you have another copy?” He asks, glancing at the shifting numbers as the elevator moves and he turns to Tony urgently, “The other me. He said something and I -,” he pauses, blue eyes bright and searching and Tony tries hard not to blink, as surprised as he is by this new information.

“You said he was taunting you.”

Rogers looks sick for a second, jaw working tightly and he mutters low, “I may not have told everything.”

Tony blinks. Well, will you look at that, “Captain America; the paradigm of virtue. Did you just admit to lying?”

The elevator pings. Tony steps out, the prickling in his chest now a growing burning sensation, travelling from gut up to his mouth and he swallows with a shudder.

“Are you coming or not?” He glances over his shoulder. Rogers barely hides his surprise before he follows.

Tony’s body demands medical attention and vasodilators with an extended leave from physical duty but the six years old Captain America fan in his head is thriving from this attention. He might as well risk another attack if he could be of use for Cap.

“You sure about this?” Steve asks, two months after the New York battle. He desperately needs a stylist, Tony keeps telling him. But the man is stubborn and irrationally fond of dull checkered shirts that make Tony run in the other direction.

Maybe that’s why I wear them, Steve had shrugged casually, when Tony asked him about it and that’s when it properly cemented in Tony’s brain that Steve Rogers is not that much of a stick in the mud. Guy can joke too, apart from looking like the pinnacle of perfection. Not Fair.

Two months later, they’re what Tony begrudgingly (and Steve, with fond exasperation) admits are friends and that’s that.

“I don’t trust them.” Tony murmurs, tapping away at codes, infiltrating yet another layer of security in the SHIELD’s dark system. That’s what he dubs it based on its unusuality and how discretely it was hidden. At least, before Tony spotted the layers and started digging.

“What does that have to do with Bucky?” Steve asks from where he’s sat on the couch, flicking the top end of his New York Times to look at Tony.

Tony minimises the window and pulls out another, zooms it out and crooks a finger at Steve, calling him in.

“Look at this,” he says, pointing at the virtual webs of connection he’d spun out of all the datas he’d gathered. “All these people. I know SHIELD is not squeaky clean but some of their connections are concerning. This one,” he jabs at Senator Stern.

“Tried to take away my suit two years ago. Wanted to make it government property to ensure safety. Personally, I think the government gives shit about people’s safety so I dug up and found he’s had a standing appointment with Obadiah Stane before his passing. Had a few before and one of it was about the secret project Stane had brewing in SI’s basement; trying to replicate the Iron Man armour. They fixed a deal under the table. No government overlooking it.” Tony sinks back in his chair, arms across his chest and surprise flicks across his face when Steve holds out a water bottle for him.

“Thanks,” he says dubiously, screwing open the cap. Steve grunts distractedly, eyes dancing across the screen, studying all the details. He waits until Tony’s done drinking to ask, “What’s that?” He points at a different folder, on a different window. Tony sits up, holding out the bottle which Steve silently accepts and he taps on that folder. “An algorithm,” he states.

“For what?”

“That,” Tony leans back, taking in the list for the umpteenth time. “I’m still trying to figure out.”

He follows pages as Steve scrolls down, stopping at the end and he takes a step back, standing next to Tony. “All the Avengers are in there.”

“As well as a disturbing number of children.”

Six months after the New York Battle, Tony gets a call from Fury which he promptly dismisses. And another and another and - “Mute.”

He asks Jarvis for his email folder and finds a bunch from [email protected]. He clicks on the latest one and it’s a clipped paragraph demanding him to consider a proposition. He clicks on the attached folder and it’s the Hellicarrier’s engineering plan with its flight system replaced by what looks like a resized repulsor tech. Tony stares at it for a minute before exiting.

“Tell Happy I’m on my way, J.”

He brings it up to Steve, over fish chips in the heart of London and he regrets their pick.

“Should have known to not trust the brochure,” he sighs, giving up on the fries that are too limp to be saved.

“I’m hungry,” Steve mumbles, shoveling another forkful of the equally limp fillet and Tony makes a face at that. “Had worse,” Steve grins.

“Not on my watch,” Tony grumbles.

“So what did you say?” Steve asks, leaning back in his chair once he’s done demolishing both of their orders.

“To what?” Tony hums, scrolling up his inbox and shooting a quick reply to Pepper.

There’s a part of him that shrivels when he thinks about her while sitting with Steve, across the ocean. It’s been like that lately. Ever since she walked in on them playing FIFA one evening and quietly reminded Tony that it was supposed to be their date night before she turned away, leaving Tony hugging a pillow to sleep.

“To Hill.” Steve says, “Come on, let’s go.” he catches Tony by his elbow and pulls him towards the exit, Tony’s coat is already in one hand as he holds the door open with the other.

“We haven’t paid,” Tony tells him, louder when the outside air hits and his voice gets drowned by London traffic.

The door snaps close with a jingle and Steve hops down onto the pavement with a grin, “I did,” he tugs urgently.

“Slow down, eager beaver. She’s not running away. In fact, I don’t think she physic-,”

“Please don’t complete that sentence.” Steve warns lightly.

Tony shuts up, puts up his hands in apology and chuckles when Steve shakes his head.

It’s barely a walk to their destination. Steve stops by at one of the fruit stalls to buy some apples and oranges and,

“Blueberries?”

“They’re yours. You didn’t eat your lunch,” Steve hands the box to him, and a bottle of water. “Wash them first.”

Tony wrinkles his nose, “The hassle… I much prefer bananas,” he sniffs, pouring the water over the berries and he shakes them a little.

“C’mere,” Steve snags them. He holds out the other fruits wordlessly and Tony takes them, watching him march towards the vendor again and for the love of God, he purchases bananas just because Tony asked.

“You’re scary,” Tony tells him when Steve demands he finishes both blueberries and a banana before their journey ends.

Peggy Carter is lucid. Sometimes, not so. But she recognizes Tony and twists his ear for missing her birthday.

“I was busy pulling out your Steve,” Tony lies. He doesn’t say he was flying a nuke into the space and almost died from a heart attack that day.

She forgives him for Steve. He leaves them be for an hour and a half before Steve peeks out of the door and says she’s asking for him.

“Your father and I founded SHIELD,” she tells them, wrinkled hand in Steve’s careful grasp and she looks adrift as she recalls. “Colonel Phillips was in it because the government needed an insight and what was better than the entire military.”

Tony suspects Steve must have brought up their private little investigation, and he’s miffed, but he nods along.

“We made a lot of adjustments along the way. A lot of compromises,” and she pauses, placing another hand over Steve’s. “Some of them, you wouldn’t approve, but Howard had his reasons.”

Tony’s breath stutters. Starks seem to fuck up through the history. “It must be the gene,” he mutters blithely.

Peggy turns to look at him and she blinks. Something shifts in her eyes and the next second, she’s slapping him hard across the face.

“Ow,” Tony cries.

Steve splutters their names, grabbing onto Peggy’s hands and he asks concernedly if Tony’s okay.

“Tough smack right there, Auntie,” Tony grins.

“Steve Rogers dedicated his mind, his body, his life to the SSR and to this country. Not to your bank account.” Peggy snarls, her shaky voice breaking in anger even as she holds composed under Steve’s hands.

Tony stares at her, unblinking. “Peggy?” he calls faintly, blood sizzling up his veins, and he clenches his fists, sitting straight in his chair. “Peggy, it’s me. Tony.”

But Peggy Carter is lost. Somewhere between old memories and contained anger, and she sniffles, “I will not let you replicate the serum.”

No. He sends to Hill.

No. He receives from Pepper when he asks if she wants to go on an impromptu vacation with him.

No. He tells her when she asks if he’ll ever put down the armour.

No, he tells her when she asks if he wants to have a kid one day.

“White picket fence is a fairytale, babe. Howard fucked me over seven ways to hell. I wouldn’t be a good father or a husband.”

“You have potential,” she murmurs, brushing his hair back, manicured nails scraping soothingly over his scalp and Tony sighs. He leans back into her and she secures her hold around him. “I love you, you know that?” She asks softly.

“Love you too,” he breathes, sinking into the mattress and the pillow and he’s so warm and safe, he’s tipping out of consciousness.

“I know,” she says, one arm around Tony’s midriff tightening before it loosens. “It’s not working is it?”

Tony stops breathing. Pepper’s fingers don’t, sticking to their rhythm and she’s so strong, she’s lending her strength for him. She presses a kiss over his head and she tells him gently, “We’re not working.”

“We want different things,” Tony works his mouth. Sleep lost to nerves and the cruel ache in his heart.

She says, “I want a kid, or two. I want a family. I want to settle down when I’m forty.”

“I want to save the world,” says Tony.

Tony stares at the text, Saturday morning bright as the Sun beams from over the adjacent building. Rays spilling in rainbows over the white tiles of his living room as he sits gloomily at the dining table.

Did you find out?

He discards his half-written reply, taps back, eyes catching Fury’s 21 unreplied texts and voice messages and he ignores them all.

“Call Rhodey.”

The dial tone goes; on and on and on and -

“Hello?”

“Can you come over?”

A short pause, and then, “I’m not in the States, Tony.”

Tony taps twice over the table; two fingers up and down and up and down, a little over the edge and he says, “They were murdered.”

“Who?”

“Howard.” Tony stops. “Mom and him. They were murdered. It wasn’t a car crash.”

There’s a beat of silence down the line. Longer than before. Strenuous and Tony can hear when Rhodey pulls in a breath.

“How did you find out?”

Long story is, he started looking into super serum replication. Found the connection between Peggy’s accusation and his dear old father and Tony latched onto until the report ended at Howard Stark’s successful experimentation in 1991. He dug deeper and he recovered filth.

Short story is, “I hacked into SHIELD’s server.”

There’s an exasperated sigh on the other end but Rhodey doesn’t follow through. “I’m sorry,” he says instead. There’s a slight hesitation and he adds, “I’ll be over next weekend.”

“You don’t have to,” Tony says. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are.”

The truth is, Tony cannot hold it in until next weekend.

He calls Steve.

“How did you find him?” Steve asks, half in awe, half in agony.

“Easy,” Tony says, pulling out the file JARVIS has picked up for him. “When you dig at the right spot, you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

He takes a step back and watches every flicker of emotions that flit across Steve’s face; from relief to horror to determination.

“They brainwashed him,” Tony briefs, “Electric shocks to meddle with his memories and they groomed him to be their weapon.”

“He doesn’t look a year old,” Steve sounds faint, sick to his bone, and he shakes minutely when he reaches to touch the image. “I went back. I swear. I went back.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. He is. Truthfully, he is. But it’s largely polluted by his boiling rage. The need for retribution.

He grips onto the logical part of his brain and he turns away. Dum-E nudges his elbow, holding out a wrench and Tony is not working on anything that needs it but he grabs it for the desperate need to ground himself. Channel all the vengeance into the metal and he’ll fling it later; hard and swift and it’ll break all of his glass panels and he’ll be satisfied for a bit.

“How did you find him?” Steve asks, rough edged and unaware.

“I was looking for my parents’ murderer,” Tony tells him.

There’s a period between Steve’s departure and Rhodey’s arrival that Tony feels slightly unhinged. Prone to stupidity more than usual and he refuses to call Pepper because she deserves better.

They just parted, he knows she loves him, and he knows he loves her. But he’s too fragile for her. If she touches him, he’ll shatter and she’ll break her skin and bones trying to hold him. He told Steve to leave - “I need some time to digest this” - and he waits for Rhodey to arrive to get drunk on whiskey, rum and too much skittles.

They puke rainbow the next morning.

“I’m never doing this,” Rhodey swears, but he’d broken that over ten times going steady. Tony grunts at him and wipes his face. They have brunch in front of the TV and Tony grunts from his hangover headache, “I think I have feelings for Steve.”

Rhodey chokes on orange juice, spits it all over the coffee table and Tony groans in disgust. “Exactly,” Rhodey says. “You’re emoting what I feel.”

He piles plies over plies of tissues over the spill and turns to Tony. “You’re serious.”

“Don’t,” Tony says. He doesn’t know where he’s going with that. He sighs. “I guess.”

Rhodey chews on his cronut thoughtfully and makes a face. He switches the cronut with a strawberry sprinkled donut and asks, “Does he know?”

“No!” Tony seizes, his own big bite of the chocolate sprinkled suddenly dry and lumpy in his esophagus. He swallows painfully and shrugs, “I don’t know? I didn’t tell him.”

“Are you going to?” Rhodey asks, not missing a beat.

“I don’t know,” Tony snaps. “What is this? Make Tony feel bad Sunday?”

Rhodey flicks a sprinkle at his face. “You brought it up first,” he says, facing back the TV, and he switches the channel. “I was trying to enjoy my hangover donuts in peace and you ruined it.”

Tony grumbles something under his breath but otherwise he lets it go.

“Let me know if I have to give a shovel talk,” Rhodey says conversationally, stepping into his War Machine armour.

Tony punches his fists into his pants’ pockets and leans against the rail, “Not happening,” he tells him.

“Don’t drink without me.” The helmet closes, the eye slits come to life.

Tony grins at him. “I thought it’s not happening again.”

“It’s not,” comes the mechanical voice. Rhodey takes a step closer and ruffles his hair with a gauntleted hand.

Tony swats at it, hurting himself more than the other and he hisses, glaring at the mechanically cackling Rhodey.

“Take care.” Rhodey says before he shoots up into the night sky, like a blinding star, growing further and further out of reach and Tony whispers a thank you after him.

Two days later, someone disengaged JARVIS and tried to break in.

“They must have found out about my SHIELD servers’ break ins,” Tony groans, scrubbing his face as he paces.

JARVIS had sent out a help signal to Steve’s phone before he was shut down. Tony was awake during the attempt so he managed to not only stop it but garner evidence in the process as well.

“Do not come,” he tells Steve over the phone. “They don’t know your involvement. Let’s keep it that way.”

Thirty minutes later, Steve’s in the elevator.

“Let him in,” Tony permits weakly. The door opens, and Steve walks in, calm and composed. His eyes however are a whirlwind of storms brewing up an apocalypse.

They study Tony from head to toe and all over until satisfied, and he nods, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Tony exhales, turning towards the kitchen. “There’s no need for you to come.” He fetches a glass and fills it with water, holding it out for Steve. Once taken, he fetches another and repeats the process, draining the content in a second. Steve offers his for taking and Tony chugs that down too.

“How are you?” Steve asks.

Tony leaves the glasses in the sink and moves to the living room. “I’m fine. Startled. But, fine.” He insists. “Are you staying over?” There’s a lilt to his question, an accidental giveaway; hopeful.

“Yes,” Steve says. Period. No place for arguments and it’s definite. I’m staying. Whether or not you like it.

Tony glances at him over a shoulder, “You know where your room is. I’ve got some work to do, I’ll be in the shop.”

Steve follows him instead. Sits on the couch and reads a book while Tony does his work. When the Sun comes up, he excuses himself to freshen up and make breakfast. When he returns, Tony’s face down on the couch, drooling into Steve’s jacket.

Steve stays.

“I’m not running a free bed-and-breakfast,” Tony tells him on day seven.

“Nope,” Steve agrees. “It’s bed, breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks,” he crunches pointedly on the Cheetos. Tony glares at him.

The alarm blares. The lights shut down. JARVIS is unreachable again. Tony’s insides clamp down painfully and he shoves the sickening feel away to retrieve him.

Before he could move, he’s shoved down hard behind the couch and something shatters in the near distance. Once, twice and then several times.

He grappled for Steve but couldn’t find him. He tries not to worry about JARVIS, confident he’ll find his own way back but -

“Steve,” he hisses into the darkness, temporarily blinded and he’s shivering from fright. His entire core is shut down; from electricity to the armour’s response signal. He feels as naked and vulnerable as he was in that cave in Afghanistan but this time, it’s in his own home.

“Steve?” he calls again, crawling blindly. Something breaks the window and lands next to him and hits his toe. Barely a time to react, and he’s flung across the room and he only remembers a clean thud to his skull before he blacks out.

He wakes up with JARVIS’s name on the tip of his tongue and an irritating beeping sound surrounding him. He swats at it. Someone catches his hand.

“He’s fine,” They say. It’s Steve. “Natasha fixed him.”

Tony probably scrapes his throat trying to swallow dryly and rasps out, “He doesn’t need fixing.”

“Of course,” Steve hums, holding out a glass of water and Tony struggles to take; hand shaking like a leaf. He curses and Steve stands, tipping the glass closer to his mouth, placing the end of the straw in between his lips and he casually confesses, “I thought I’d lost you,” while Tony sips.

“Thought I killed you with my own hand.”

“There was,” Tony pauses to cough, “A grenade,” he finishes exhaustedly.

“I threw you across the room,” Steve informs in that same disconnected voice. Tony catches his free hand and gives it a squeeze, albeit weakly. Steve’s hand starts to shake.

“How long?” Tony asks.

“Two days,” Steve exhales, his head falls, forehead hits the edge of the bed and there’s a shiver that wrecks through his spine as he holds onto Tony’s hand through it. “Fuck,” he swears airily.

Tony shifts a little so he could card his other fingers through Steve’s hair and pets him idly.

“It’s him, wasn’t it?” He asks.

Steve nods, “We caught him.”

Turns out, Fury had Tony tracked without his consent and Natasha was strategically there to shoot Bucky Barnes in the abdomen. Two bullets through and through; both in the right hypogastric region and Steve got there just in time to knock him unconscious.

“Sorry, I don’t really know where to keep him,” Steve says abashedly, explaining why Bucky Barnes is now in the tower in Hulk’s containment, being treated by Bruce and Helen Cho.

“Where else would he go?” Tony shrugs, adjusting the strap holding his broken left arm for the nth time. When he looks up, Steve’s staring at him with some skin to bewilderment and fondness. He doesn’t know where he falls in between those two emotions so he huffs disgruntledly and tugs again at the strap. “I hate this.”

“Leave it be,” Steve’s voice is soft, his fingers gentle when they pry away Tony’s. “I know what you’re doing,” he tells him.

“What?” Tony scoffs.

Steve’s eyes are a brilliant shade of blue and they stay fixed on his as he fixes the strap, Tony’s collar and he says, “Sometimes when I look at you, what I feel shows and everytime you catch that instance, you look away. You change topics or you do something absurd to burst the moment. Either you choose to pretend that you don’t know how I feel for you or you don’t feel the same so you’re trying to be polite for my sake.”

Tony’s throat runs dry. This time, he can’t look away. Try as he might, his breath catches and his heart stutters. “The former,” he confirms shamefully.

Steve’s hand over his chest stills, plastered over his breastbone, fingers tickling the edge of his collar and he asks, “Why?”

“Because I’m terrified of the idea that if I tell you how I feel, you will reject me.” Tony pauses. And then, because he’s got nothing else to lose, he adds, “There’s also the fact that you deserve so much better than me.”

Steve swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing along his throat and Tony glances at it distractedly, promptly snapping back to the sea of blue; now bleeding black, inside out.

“What if I want you?” Steve licks his lips.

Tony follows that motion, eyes zeroing in on there. Longing and lust all melting into something warm and thick and he rasps, “Then you have me.”

“This is so not how I imagined it.” Tony pulls away. He wastes two seconds glaring at his useless left arm and goes back in.

Steve’s chuckle breaks into a gasp when Tony yanks at his hair hard, nips at his lips, licks into his mouth and kisses him stupid.

“This is so not how I imagined it.” he groans.

“How’d you imagined it?” Steve asks, pressing the elevator button up and he turns to face Tony. “Do you imagine making out with me often?” There’s a leer to his smile, hidden behind mischief and pure Steve-ness and Tony leans in to taste it. “I imagine doing a lot of things to you, Rogers. Kissing is just the tip of the iceberg.”

They step out of the observation room; Barnes still drugged up to the gills until his bullet wounds heal and Bruce kindly let Tony know that his penthouse is destroyed while Steve winced.

Tony enters the elevator and he’s lost for a second before Steve follows in and presses the button to his guest suite. He takes Tony’s uninjured hand and kisses the inside of his wrist. “In your imaginations,” he asks, still not letting up and Tony snorts at him. But Steve persists, “Am I getting fucked or are you?” He’s a little flushed in the cheeks and that’s all there is to give away his abashment.

Tony hums, deliberately stalling. “How about I show you?” he offers impishly.

Steve stares him down, full Captain mode, sending shivers down his spine. “You’re not doing any strenuous activities until you heal.”

Tony stares him back, “Pretty sure, sucking your cock doesn’t fall in strenuous activities. Or laying there, letting you fuck me,” he taps at his chin thoughtfully. “Although, riding you would probably have to wait.”

Steve shudders. The elevator door splits open and Tony steps out.

Steve wasn’t kidding about the celibacy. Tony looks at him gravely and declares, “I am injured and horny and you are making this especially difficult for me.”

He receives a soft shirt to his face and a towering Steve who orders, “Stay still,” while he methodically helps Tony out of the arm sling and his t-shirt and into a new one. “I’m not doing your pants,” he draws the line.

Ten minutes later, Tony climbs onto the bed and shuffles closer to Steve. “I’m holding you accountable for this,” he points at his half-erection. Steve rolls his eyes and coaxes him into a prone position; tucks his broken arm safely out of the way and Tony’s body snuggly into his curves. There’s a hard line pressing into Tony’s ass cleft and he digs his fingers into Tony’s hip when Tony tries to rub up.

“Stop,” he warns, lips brushing over Tony’s nape. Breath hot and wet and something clench and shiver in Tony’s chest. “Once you’re healed, I’ll fuck you so hard you forget your name so, be patient. For now.”

“Fucking tease.” Tony growls into his pillow. Steve’s thumb over the arch of his hip bone rubs a circle and he nips at Tony’s lobe, “I know.”

There’s a war coming on; it’s somewhere near the horizon and Tony can almost taste it on his tongue, his bones ache from the revelations. There’s a prisoner of war two floors below who needs more than regular healing. Upstairs, his penthouse is in crumbles but that’s for next morning. Along with the calls he has to make to Pepper and Rhodey to elaborate what short-sentenced assurance Steve has given them when he was out of it.

For now, he’s right where he wants to be and he savours the feel; grabs onto Steve’s arm around his chest, sinks closer into his hold and he falls asleep to the pulse of Steve’s heartbeats.

#stony #stevetony #mine #Stony Week 2020

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megamikethomson · 4 years

Text

Australia v india: boxing day take a look at, day 3 - as it took place

stumps on day three - india fifty four-5 (lead by way of 346) jonathan howcroft

all sport is abnormal on some degree, however cricket is greater odd than maximum, a truth borne out all through an amazing day’s play in melbourne. Following days of ponderous action on a dull surface the boxing day take a look at exploded into existence with 15 wickets falling in three madcap classes. Jasprit bumrah become the superstar of the primary , obliterating australia’s first innings with figures of 6/33. Inside that there had been multiple sizzling deliveries (if you haven’t seen his slower ball to shaun marsh yet you must rectify that immediately) but within the main he profited from some other show of terrible nice australian batting. No person in a green helmet passed 22 regardless of little considerable difference within the pitch. A lead of 289 runs turned into no longer sufficient to persuade virat kohli to implement the follow on early in the very last session, and at 28-0 in india’s 2nd innings his side have been gambolling away with out a care within the world. However then out of nowhere five wickets fell in a flash, 4 to pat cummins, three of them catches behind square on the leg-facet, two of them - che pujara and kohli - in near equal style within the identical over. It became chaotic and compelling. Even as this useless cat jump lifted spirits in bay 13 it's far not going to have any impact on the overall result. India will be bowled out or declare sooner or later day after today, leaving them at least a day to take ten australian wickets, or locate themselves at the receiving quit of a file run-chase, which seems not likely given the proof of nowadays. Discover what occurs right here with adam, geoff and that i. Till then, thank you on your organization. Jasprit bumrah and virat kohli have fun india’s strong position inside the boxing day check. Photo: asanka brendon ratnayake/ap

up to date at 2. 23am est

2. 00am est02:00

“hello jonathan,” hello gopal sankaranarayanan. “i find it splendid for kohli to pick to bat once more whilst even ponting said it'd be hard to get 20 aussie wickets and win the match after india’s slow batting rate. , it would had been ideal to take the new ball and get a few wickets via near of play. Plus, an innings defeat would have a demoralising effect at the hosts. If australia pull off an not likely win after this, kohli will have to hand in his captaincy. I gravely doubt dhoni might have executed this.”

1. 58am est01:58

twenty seventh over: india fifty four-five (agarwal 28, pant 6) josh hazlewood bowls the very last over of the day and it begins with bouncer after bouncer at pant. The left-hander nearly gloves the primary, evades the second one, then shovels the 0. 33 to the quality-leg boundary. The period is fuller thereafter with pant nurdling a single into the on-side and agarwal on the crease for a leg-bye. A preposterous day of test cricket comes to a close. 1. 54am est01:54

26th over: india 48-five (agarwal 28, pant 1) lots of chat from tim paine to rishabh pant at some stage in this lyon over. Count on to peer plenty of stories about it on social media in a be counted of seconds. Something about encouraging the huge-hitter to enroll in the hobart hurricanes, babysitting, and other examples of banter. “liquid gold,” in step with james brayshaw. It nearly has the desired impact too. Pant blocks five lyon deliveries but launching at the final, squirting a mistimed power into the offside. 1. 49am est01:49

twenty fifth over: india forty seven-five (agarwal 28, pant 0) hazlewood has eased into his paintings after a disappointing start, and a degree of his self belief is more than one well-directed brief balls that agarwal does well to live to tell the tale. He evades the primary then wears the second on his gloves, prompting a visit from the physio.

1. 45am est01:forty five

twenty fourth over: india 47-five (agarwal 28, pant zero) lyon remains wicketless however he has been the accomplice bowler for both cummins and hazlewood, building pressure, maintaining india on their toes with a spell of very clever off-spin. 1. 42am est01:42

twenty third over: india forty four-5 (agarwal 25, pant zero) this match maintains to profession into absurd territory. Meanwhile here are two reviews without judgement:

“as i pay attention to shane warne doing his statement, i’m getting a actual feel of why the person became one of the all-time greats to play the sport,” emails sankaran krishna. “his optimism is relentless, his intuition is to assault - assault and attack, and it’s frankly fantastic to listen the man simply consider that the aussies can nevertheless win this one. What’s extra, his damn optimism truly instills fear within the opponent. Actually pretty tremendous,”

cummins is changed via hazlewood and the change works nearly without delay. Just brief of a great duration outside off stump - standard hazlewood areas - and rohit can’t face up to an ambitious cut shot regardless of the ball cramping him up. The final results is a wholesome area that shaun marsh clutches to his chest at first slip. What a day. Updated at 1. 44am est

1. 34am est01:34

twenty second over: india 44-four (agarwal 25, rohit 5) lyon has now perhaps overtaken cummins as australia’s finest risk. He’s flighting the ball menacingly into the footmarks outdoor rohit’s off stump and scary a series of uncomfortable inner edges and lbw appeals. Bannerman-watch replace from ian forth: “agarwal is behind at the bannerman duckworth-lewis. When india get to 50, his par bd-l is 34.”

1. 31am est01:31

twenty first over: india 43-four (agarwal 25, rohit 4) a rare boundary for india, agarwal using tender arms to manual cummins to third-guy off a thick outside edge. Seven overs or half an hour closing in this ridiculous day. 1. 27am est01:27

twentieth over: india 37-4 (agarwal 19, rohit 4) lyon has performed the wingman function for cummins and yet again he continues india on their toes with a teasing over. 1. 24am est01:24

19th over: india 35-four (agarwal 18, rohit three) cummins maintains to charge in, mixing up his lengths, the quick balls maintaining india’s batsmen at the crease, the fuller ones concentrated on the pads. Agarwal survives a loud lbw call, which is ideal news for fanatics of bannerman-watch. 1. 18am est01:18

18th over: india 34-four (agarwal 18, rohit 2) panic is spreading like a fever around the indian team. You wouldn’t think that they had a 326 run lead. The latest display of mayhem is a close to run out, agarwal making his ground following rohit’s annoying call however he would have perished with an immediate hit. 1. 15am est01:15

seventeenth over: india 33-four (agarwal 18, rohit 1) fantastic amusement. After the attrition of days one and day 3 has brought in spades. 1. 13am est01:thirteen

sixteen. 2 over: india 33-four (agarwal 18, rohit 1) no hat-trick for cummins, however he wasn’t a ways off! Once more it’s an ordinary delivery on an indian batsman’s hip however this time rohit middles it past the dive of harris at leg gully. Some thing bizarre has gripped the mcg in the last few minutes. Updated at 1. 20am est

1. 11am est01:eleven wicket! Rahane c paine b cummins 1 (india 32-4)

whaaaaaaaattttttt!!!??? Cummins is on a hat-trick! Dross ball, leaking down the leg-facet, but rahane plays an ungainly sort-of-pull that consequences in a glove in the back of the wicket that paine gobbles up without problems. The mcg is bouncing. It’s not game on although, is it? 1. 08am est01:08

sixteenth over: india 32-3 (agarwal 18, rahane 1) this flurry of wickets may not depend a wonderful deal inside the context of the healthy, but they're simply praise for pat cummins who has bowled beautifully all series, especially in the first innings here where he toiled largely in vain. 1. 05am est01:05 wicket! Kohli c harris b cummins 0 (india 28-3)

what is going on!!? Cummins has kohli for a duck, in precisely the equal fashion as he disregarded pujara. That is bizarre. India’s most fulfilling batsmen perishing inside the same over, each flicking harmless deliveries directly to the unconventionally located fielder at the back of square on the leg side. Barmy. Up to date at 1. 07am est

12. 58am est00:fifty eight wicket! Pujara c harris b cummins 0 (india 28-2)

the comeback keeps! Cummins once more, this time sending down a unprecedented fuller transport that pujara shovels to the ready harris at shortish backward square leg. Up to date at 12. 59am est

12. 55am est00:fifty five

14th over: india 28-1 (agarwal 15, pujara 0) lyon is bowling properly however with out a praise, coming close to inducing a bat-pad danger from agarwal and additionally pinning him at the lower back foot lbw. Brilliant maiden over. Olly’s returned with some chirp. “i don’t suggest to dominate lawsuits but i will’t sleep so am following the motion. I desired to ask whether or not the aussie government are able to deter the local seagulls due to the proliferation of ducks?”. Photographs fired. 12. 53am est00:fifty three

13th over: india 28-1 (agarwal 15, pujara zero) “it stays an abiding mystery that australia can be inside the maximum parlous state either aspect of an ashes down below and england in superb form, however, for the six weeks of the ashes aussie bowlers who've been undeserving or unselectable for five or ten years hit unparalleled veins of form (harris, cummins, johnson) even as international elegance poms (pietersen, trott, trescothick, vaughan, flintoff, thorpe, jones, gough, stokes, swann, prior etc and many others) find novel and/or ridiculous strategies to render themselves

12. 52am est00:fifty two wicket! Vihari c khawaja b cummins 13 (india 28-1)

cummins adopts a brief-ball approach to vihari and in the end it can pay dividends, the indian opener failing to address a much from unplayable transport with the ball kissing the shoulder of the bat and looping to khawaja inside the gully. Updated at 12. 56am est

12. 47am est00:forty seven

12th over: india 28-zero (vihari thirteen, agarwal 15) ooh, agarwal receives away with one, scooping an unsightly slog just over short midwicket regardless of aiming to ship the ball wristily through the covers. Lyon australia’s maximum dangerous bowler so far. 12. 44am est00:44

eleventh over: india 26-0 (vihari 12, agarwal 14) the mcg has completed a excellent process of ridding the area of seagulls (specially compared to aami park over the road which is infested with the aid of the blighters on a nightly basis) but one interrupts complaints at some stage in pat cummins’ first over of the innings. Yeah, we’ve reached that factor inside the match in which avian hobby is more exciting than the cricket. India lead by using 318 with ten second wickets in hand. 12. 39am est00:39

10th over: india 24-zero (vihari eleven, agarwal 13) every other unremarkable hazlewood over sees the rating develop by way of one run. 17 overs left today, eighty mins final wherein to bowl them. Olly, an england fan, is licking his lips at australia’s travails on the mcg. “at the same time as numerous us are off work for some days can we release some sort of collective attempt to invent a time device in order that we are able to pass back (or is it ahead) and play the ashes now rather than remaining 12 months. India are top, top magnificence however playing this bunch of regular aussies i suppose we'd keep away from a whitewash.” i do enjoy how splendidly english the optimism is - heading off a whitewash being the summit of ambition. 12. 35am est00:35

ninth over: india 23-zero (vihari 10, agarwal thirteen) lyon’s promising opening over did not go disregarded through agarwal who welcomes the australian spinner’s 2d effort by means of lofting a force over mid-on for 4. The sector is at once shuffled to a greater protecting formation and agarwal lifeless bats the remainder of the over. 12. 31am est00:31

8th over: india 19-zero (vihari 10, agarwal 9) hazlewood has tightened his line from outdoor off to stump-to-stump. It’s a miles more productive method, mainly with the abnormal one keeping low and forcing anxious protecting jabs. 12. 27am est00:27

seventh over: india 19-0 (vihari 10, agarwal nine) lyon is invited to discover how stiff his bowling action is following his workload of previous days, and he responds superbly, finding prodigious leap and no little flip, befuddling each openers in a promising over. 12. 24am est00:24

sixth over: india 18-0 (vihari nine, agarwal 9) simply the single from a recurring hazlewood over.

“jonathan,” sure, paul blundell? “a) could we simply drop alyssa healy and meg lanning within the top order and notice how we cross? B) why is all and sundry abruptly obsessed with the aid of maxwell? Will we simply want every other shaun marsh to hate?”. On factor a, i wouldn’t endorse that approach, but i might suggest as a state all and sundry focussing more attention at the girls’s sport so that the mood of depression is rebalanced. The wbbl that’s on right now, for example, has been tremendous to look at. The latest women’s global t20 became fantastic. As for b, talking handiest for myself, i think maxwell has a expertise ceiling better than most of his friends and while he’s been given the possibility to recognition on red ball cricket within the past he has delivered. Given guide and a clean role i think he could be a successful take a look at cricketer. Unluckily his cost in white ball cricket has continually disrupted his first-class recreation, an impediment genuinely now not helped by being messed around with the aid of a sequence of selectors and coaches. 12. 19am est00:19

fifth over: india 17-zero (vihari eight, agarwal nine) starc does hit his straps at the least once this over, testing agarwal with a tidy bouncer. Round that the information isn’t so good. Vihari nudging three off his hip, agarwal four off his pads. 12. 15am est00:15

4th over: india 10-zero (vihari 5, agarwal 5) no alarms but for india with each openers searching confident at the crease and australia struggling to put the ball in the right areas constantly. That is a dispiriting little session for the aussie quicks. 12. 11am est00:eleven

third over: india 8-0 (vihari four, agarwal four) starc shifts across the wicket and is straight away extra threatening angling the ball into vihari’s frame. Maiden over. 12. 07am est00:07

second over: india 8-0 (vihari 4, agarwal 4) hazlewood’s radar is likewise skewiff in his beginning over and he also is going for 4, this one much a greater appealing attempt with agarwal striding to fulfill the pitch of the ball and lightly stroking an elegant boundary through greater cover. I without a doubt hope now not.

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childrenofhypnos · 7 years

Text

Chapter 25: Mr. God of War

Joel reported back two days later that his location for practicing gateways was free and clear, but the moment he texted Emery, she also got a call from Grandpa Al.

“The Ward reviewer has arrived,” he said. “Bring Wesley with you and come see me.”

As the governing body of the North American arm of the Hypnos State, the Ward was required to review every Hypnos education facility under its watch. Once a year, a reviewer was sent out to examine the campus, interview students, faculty, and staff, and sit in on classes. Once a year, Fenhallow received a high rating and a commendation from the State for continued excellence. Their reports were released into public record to show everyone outside the State how their protectors’ educations were proceeding.

The reviewers were usually tight-lipped executive types from the non-dreamhunter divisions of the Ward. They were always trained in proper procedure, but they were always from different departments, like they’d been volunteered for the job.

When Emery and Wes got to Grandpa Al’s office, Emery thought for a moment that she had the wrong room. Grandpa Al was there, sitting behind his desk, with the window where it always was and his tea cabinet behind him, and Grandma Juno’s famous powder-blue teacup resting next to his nameplate. But there was another man in the room with him, dark-skinned, barrel-chested, and bare-armed even in the cold depths of a northern October. A silver-and-gold tattoo of a handaxe lined each forearm, the axe heads curving against his biceps and triceps. He was perched on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, huge frame heaving with laughter.

Emery could sense dreamkiller all over him, like a stench.

“Oh no,” Wes said under his breath.

“Come in.” Grandpa Al motioned them into the room. The big man wiped his eyes as his laughter quieted. He slid off the desk and stood to his full height, a little taller than Wes.

“Westerman!” He threw an arm around Wes’s neck and pulled him in for a quick embrace. His voice rattled Emery’s bones; until then, she’d thought Wes’s voice was deep. “I heard you’ve been getting yourself into trouble.”

“Hi, Uncle Ares,” Wes grunted into a large armpit.

“Emery,” Grandpa Al said, motioning toward their guest, “This is Ares Montgomery, the reviewer from the Ward. You’ll be showing him around campus. I had David send you his requests for his rooms and what he’d like to see.”

“I’m pretty easy, don’t worry.” Ares released Wes. He paused, picked at Wes’s hair a bit, looking unimpressed. “You need a haircut, boy. Your momma would be sick. I’ll give you one while I’m here. I’m great with hair.”

Ares himself had only the barest of black stubble across his head.

“Yeah,” Wes said.

“Ares works in the higher echelons of the North American Ward,” Grandpa Al continued, “so it’s very important we make a good impression.”

“You’re gonna make them think I’m lying about being easy, Al.”

Grandpa Al smiled. “I wouldn’t want Em to think it’s not a challenge.”

Emery said nothing. This was Grandpa Al’s nice-to-visitors voice. When he glanced at her, there was a hesitation, a searching, in his gaze. He was still hiding something. He was still looking for something in her. He still knew she’d lied.

To get away from that gaze, she brought up her email on her phone and found a message from Receptionist David with an itinerary and a list of requests for the room.

“We’ll need a little while to get all this ready,” she said.

“Take your time,” Ares said. “I have a few things to check into in the city.”

Grandpa Al glanced again at Emery and smiling encouragingly. For a moment she wondered if he knew she’d been in the library, and if he knew what she’d been searching for. He did have eyes all over campus, after all…but they’d been careful not to let anyone near them, not to speak too loudly, and they all knew how important it was not to tell anyone else.

Then he looked away again, and her insides uncoiled, and she grabbed Wes and hurried out of the room.

Emery had only given Ares's list a cursory glance in Grandpa Al's office; when they actually got down to trying to fill the requests, Ares was not entirely as easy as he'd advertised.

The bed was to be made up with hospital corners, curtains were to be taken off all the windows in the room and stored "where they would not be seen," and all furniture was to be removed except for the bed and the writing desk. The list specifically stated that the writing desk's chair was also to be removed. He also wanted a minifridge, four wall mirrors--one for each wall--and a throw rug that would cover most of the floor, all of which to Emery made the "remove the furniture" request seem a little silly.

Emery glared at the list as they got started. "Cucumber water. He wants a minifridge filled with cucumber water?"

Wes shrugged. "It's good for you."

"And why did he need the bed made up? He's not going to sleep in it! Why didn't that get removed, too?"

Ares was staying in August House, the building used for faculty, staff, and guest housing on the west side of campus. They moved the furniture out of the room first. It was only a few chairs and an old armoire, and they shoved them into the unused room next door. The curtains came down too, and got stuffed inside the old armoire. Emery had a rug in her own room that they hauled across campus. It wasn’t wide enough to fill the floor, but by that point she didn’t really care. To acquire the minifridge and its cucumber water, she had to enlist Joel’s help; his schmoozing with the cafeteria members procured a loaned minifridge from their break room and a pitcher of cucumber water they tucked inside once the fridge was hooked up.

Ares wandered in as soon as the fridge door closed.

“Very nice,” he said, looking around. “And timely! But it looks like I took up most of your morning. Why don’t we get lunch? It’s on me.”

It was all on Fenhallow, really, because they didn’t pay for their meals. Students and staff could check in to the food lines in the Crossing’s atrium three times a day for food, and as the reviewer, Ares was going to be handed whatever he wanted. As they entered the Crossing, the lunch crowds parted for them, watching Ares pass with scared reverence. They didn’t have to know he was the reviewer; his presence filled the room without a title.

The tattoos helped. Emery glanced at them every chance she got; the lines of silver and gold glinted in the fluorescent lights, drawing her eye. Most dreamkillers wore their weapons as jewelry or additions to their clothes, like the dreamhunter students did. Emery hadn’t even known they could be carried around as tattoos.

Tattoos. So cool.

“What do you kids do for fun around here?” Ares said as they sat at a table near the fountain with their food. He had a surprisingly small amount of food on his plate for such a big person—just a banana and a cup of yogurt—and Emery tried to remember if the other dreamkillers she knew are so little. She rarely saw Grandpa Al eat, and she’d never even thought about her parents doing regular human things. They were parents.

Emery started in on her salad, pretending it was ice cream, and said, “You know. Play soccer. Get chased by urban legends. Normal stuff.”

“I heard about the Fox. Urban legends like those are tough to handle even for a dreamkiller. They require a little finesse.”

“Well, you know…” Emery settled her elbow on the table and her chin on her fist. Lettuce threatened to fall from the tines of her fork. “Finesse is my middle name.”

“No it’s not.” Edgar appeared from nowhere, sliding into the seat between Emery and Wes, with nothing on his lunch tray but a bowl full of pudding. “It’s Morrigan.”

Wes made a noise that might have been amusement. “Morrigan?”

Emery scowled. “Shut up. It’s some Irish goddess thing, my dad wanted it.” Then she flicked Edgar’s ear. “Where’d you come from?”

“Algebra,” he said.

“Hi there,” Ares said. “You must be Edgar.”

Edgar looked up slowly, eyes wide and face flushed, like he’d just realized Emery and Wes weren’t alone. Even sitting down on the other side of the table, Ares dwarfed him. He stared at Ares with his pudding bowl held close to his chest.

“Yes, this is Edgar,” Emery said when it was clear Edgar wasn’t going to respond.

“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you two before,” Ares said, “though I have met your parents. Zoya and Liam.” He shook his head with a good-natured slurp of yogurt. “And people think I’m scary.”

“We’re pretty impressive,” Emery said, deadpan.

Ares laughed. “That sense of humor you definitely got from your dad. Biggest smartass I’ve ever met. You’d never guess it by looking at him.” He looked between the two of them. Edgar was still staring back, cradling his pudding bowl. “The State’s still pretty interested in you, little guy. And you, too, Emery—in both of you. This has been generations in the making, down from your great-grandparents. The leaders of the Hypnos State think you might mean a whole new future for dreamhunting. One where we don’t have to worry about the Insanity Prime and doppelgängers.”

All the muscles in Emery’s back knotted up. She forced herself to chew and swallow.

Wes cleared his throat and said, “I think that might still be a few generations away, Uncle Ares.”

“Sure, sure,” Ares said, still smiling. “But damn, it’s nice to wonder.”

Ares left them after lunch, citing a message he’d received on his cuff from the Hypnos Center down the street, and returned half an hour into their weapons class.

Class started off with several of their classmates spouting the rumors that had already begun popping up across campus: that the reviewer was a grade-A certified dreamkilling badass, a man who could behead his enemies with a single punch before he drank the blood from their gaping throats, who made the Dream itself tremble in fear. Isaiah and Sam Howard spent ten minutes pretending to reenact Ares’s dreamhunting exploits, despite having no idea who Ares was. They only stopped when Marcia blew threw the gym doors and snapped at them to get to their training posts.

Emery had switched to the moving targets in the shooting range by the time the rippling pressure of the Dream swept over Hothram Hall, the feeling of an approaching dreamkiller. The class shuddered, lowering weapons. Marcia’s quick sweeping glare sent them into action again, but with less vigor than before.

The gym doors opened. For a moment Ares stood there, framed by the doorway, looking serious and gigantic. The class stopped again and stared. Marcia started walking toward him.

Then the widest, happiest smile broke over Ares’s face, and he threw his massive arms out to the sides and yelled, “MARSHMALLOW!”

Marcia collided with him. He picked her up and swung her around. Emery had never thought of Marcia as a “pick her up and swing her around” kind of person, but here it was, happening—and Marcia was smiling when Ares set her back on her feet.

“Everyone over here,” Marcia called. The students left their posts and made their way to the far end of the track. With that smile on his face, Ares really did look more like an enormous teddy bear than a grade-A certified dreamkilling badass. When everyone was gathered around, faces shiny with sweat and weapons tucked away or leaned on for support, Marcia knocked on Ares’s barrel chest with one fist. “This is my father, Ares Montgomery. He’s a weapons expert, and part of Argos for the North American Ward.”

Argos? Emery glanced at Wes, who was looking right back at her. Grandpa Al had only said Ares worked in the higher echelons of the Ward, not that he was in a special sector—and not that he worked for nightmares-kill-her-now Hypnos State intelligence agency Argos.

Ares Montgomery was part of the Hypnos State’s CIA.

“Ares, like the god of war?” This was Veronica Lash, leaning on the staff of her naginata near the back of the group.

“That’s Mr. God of War to you,” Ares said, and though his voice rumbled like thunder, he was still smiling. Marcia, fists planted on her hips, beamed with vicious pride. She looked like a slightly smaller version of him, with lighter skin and freckles and that bright orange hair.

“Are those really your weapons?” called Sam Howard, coming out of his brother’s shadow for the first time that day. He motioned to Ares’s arms with one of his two daggers.

Ares gripped his right forearm over the handle of the tattooed axe. When he lifted his hand, the handle came with it. A soft murmur of appreciation rose from the class. Even with the new sense of unease tightening at the base of her spine, Emery couldn’t help but be impressed. The axe emerged from Ares’s skin fully formed, like he was pulling it from a pool of water; the skin it left behind was smooth and unblemished. He swung the axe twice in the air to let the blade sing, then dipped it back into his arm. The tattoo rippled back into place along his muscles.

“When you’re dreamkillers,” he said, “these are the kinds of things you’ll be able to accomplish. I’ll be touring your campus and classes until the end of the week, and I hope to see you all working hard to be your best.”

“Back to stations,” Marcia snapped. “You’ve got a Ward official watching you. Act like it.”

The class dispersed.

“Emery, could I speak to you for a moment?” Ares said.

Emery glanced at Wes. He hesitated until Marcia waved him off.

“I didn’t get a chance to speak to you alone yet,” Ares said. “I wanted to get it out of the way.”

Emery was one of the few students whose weapon training didn’t make her sweat much, but she could feel it gathering under her clothes.

Ares laughed. “Relax! You look like I’m gonna cut your head off! You’re not in trouble. I want to ask you some questions.”

He couldn’t know about the doppelgänger. She barely knew about the doppelgänger.

She shifted feet. “About what? The Sandman?”

“Right on the money.”

“Is that part of the review?”

“No—I’m here for that, but I was also sent to investigate the Sandman’s activities, as they were rather concerning to the State. I read the reports of your missions, but I’d like to hear your experiences first hand. It’s not that I don’t believe your reports, I just prefer to hear the story myself, if I can. Makes it easier for me to separate myth from fact. You can start from the first night you were assigned the mission.”

Emery looked around. “Right now?”

Ares rolled his shoulders, settling in. “Right now.”

She glanced back at Wes before she began. He was watching them from the training dummies, but looked away quickly. Would Ares ask him for the same story later? What if their accounts didn’t match up?

She explained everything she could remember, careful to leave out any mention of doppelgängers or Klaus following her. They had been careful to keep any of those details from their mission reports, too, and that gave her hope that they could keep their stories straight without collaborating first. She finished with Klaus’s appearance on campus.

Ares nodded through the whole thing, expression never changing. “And you and Wes went to speak to the Sandman after his capture, didn’t you?”

Emery’s heart skipped a beat. Beside Ares, Marcia shifted out of her stance and said uncomfortably, “We all know his name. You don’t have to keep calling him that.”

Ares regarded her for a long moment, then said to Emery, “Why did you want to speak to Mr. Warwick?”

“We—we thought, since he came back to campus to help cure my poisoning, he might answer our questions. We wanted him to explain why he was stealing sand from the labs on campus.”

Ares made a noise. “Did he?”

“Yes. He said he’s addicted to it. It helps keep him awake.”

Another noise. Emery couldn’t tell if he was approving what she was telling him or shrugging it off as nonsense. She kept her face very still, afraid the slightest twitch of a muscle would give away the second layer of the story and the fear that had sat, twisted in the pit of her gut, since she saw that picture of her doppelgänger.

If he knew about it—and if anyone would have means to know, it would be an agent of Argos—the Ward would have already served Emery her termination papers.

“Interesting,” Ares said at last, and the tension blew out of Emery like air from a leaking balloon. “I don’t doubt that claim, but he may have had ulterior motives for that sand as well. I’ll be speaking to the S—to Mr. Warwick while I’m here to see what I can learn about his activities. If you remember anything he might have said or done that seemed suspicious, I’ll be here.”

He turned to Marcia, grabbed her around the neck, and pulled her over to kiss the top of her head. “Dinner’s on me tonight,” he said. Then he marched toward Wes’s station, calling out, “Westerman! Knock that thing’s head off, I want to see what that nonsense hammer can do.”

Emery and Marcia were left alone.

“I’ve always wondered what we could call you,” Emery said, shaky. “Like Marshy, or whatever. I should have thought of ‘Marshmallow’.”

To Emer’s suprise, Marcia didn’t even bat an eyelash. Like her father’s appearance had corked her rage. She kept her voice low. “If you for a second think he believed you, you’re stupider than I thought. He won’t press you here because it’s public and he knows you’ve been through a lot recently, but there’s a reason the dean assigned him to you and Wes.”

“So they know there’s more to this?”

“The definitely suspect there was more to what Klaus was doing, yes. They may not know exactly what, but they don’t call in Argos members for drug addiction cases. Either they think Klaus was stealing sand to make some kind of city-wide sleeping bomb, or they think he was up to something else.

“But look—there’s a reason they send my dad specifically. He used to interrogate dreamseekers on their activities in the Dream. Trying to interrogate a dreamseeker is like trying to punch through a concrete wall.”

“Your dad does look like someone who could punch through a concrete wall.”

“Watch what you say around him,” Marcia said. “If they find out you knew about your doppelgänger and didn’t report it, they’ll find out I was the one who told you to hide it. And if they find out Klaus was involved, they’ll sentence him to dream death. He’s already teetering on the edge of that sentencing anyway. So keep your mouth shut.”

All the clever sarcasm in the world couldn’t quell the upset in Emery’s stomach. She felt like a a very small mouse hiding in a field inhabited by very large predators, and one wrong move would turn them all in her direction.

(Next time on The Children of Hypnos —> sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss)

#children of hypnos #eliza and her monsters #nightmare hunters #francesca zappia #reading #books #free #wattpad #dreams #nightmares #made you up #ya #ya lit #fantasy

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fqtoxicity · 5 years

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New Post has been published on My Quin Story

New Post has been published on http://www.myquinstory.info/chronic-floxing-and-toxic-positivity/

Chronic Floxing and Toxic Positivity

Recently a fellow chronically floxed person posted a very apropos link on Facebook. The link was to a page from our friends over at Health Rising, Finding Answers to ME/CFS and FM. The article was entitled “Just Be Positive!” Toxic Positivity, ME/CFS and Fibromyalgia. It is well written and frankly, speaks volumes. After I read it, it prompted me to write a quick article that focuses a bit more from the Chronic FQAD persepctive.

Let me throw in the caveat that if you are newly floxed, let’s say two years or less, it’s probably best that you pass this article over, especially if you are in a bad space emotionally. Seriously.

Every few days I get a new contact from a floxie that has been suffering chronically for several years, some of them decades. As a matter of fact, that demographic is the predominant visitor that comes to my website and hangs around.

When the situation arises and I have the opportunity for additional interaction with some of these individuals a common thread of frustration emerges. I find that many of them are looking for validation for their negative feelings. They are often angry, frustrated, depressed, remorseful, full of regret and often just plain pissed off. These emotions are the spectrum of feelings that are commonly felt in those who are long term or chronic sufferers.

Hope, The Caveat

Before you wonder where I am going with this, let me throw in the caveat that, there is no denying that hope is powerful and necessary. For me, over the last twelve years, I don’t know how many times the only thing I could do was just hold on to a very fragile thread of hope while experiencing very dark times. I have faced death three times at the hands of the FQ’s (1,2,3) over the last several years, so I know…all I can say is that, I know.

Having said that, it is interesting to note that very rarely, if ever, do I get industrial strength level of frustration from a newly floxed person. To them, they are still coming to grips with shock and awe of a new reality and frankly, although they are justifiably upset, have not had the time to process the deeper, PTSD level, hard core range of emotions that comes with long term chronicity.

For a long-term chronic sufferer, this is where things get a bit blurry.

It seems that for each chronic sufferer there is a fine line between validation, true hope, and those commonly seen sanitized stories or messages that border on toxic positivity. Many times, people, especially those who are not veterans to the depth or length of suffering that the FQ’s can cause, have difficulty understanding this level of frustration. They make the mistake of thinking that you can make long term sufferers be positive or they just dismiss the long term sufferer as bitter. Let me try to unpack this a bit.

Although I wish everyone would heal from an adverse event to the FQ’s, the truth is that many don’t, and stats I have collected unfortunately show this. It is not a popular message, just bluntly true, and yet another reason why these horrific pharmaceuticals shouldn’t be handed out like candy.

Visitor and poll demographics that I have collected show that there are so many who took a hit from the FQ’s, then believing to be healed walked away; Some announce recovery and even others claiming to have ‘figured out’ the healing process. Then, in an unfortunate twist of events, something goes wrong and they return. The time span varies from months to years. Either way, the dark realization sets in that many of the recovery stories that we hear were/are inaccurate, very inaccurate. They unfortunately don’t reflect the true reality.

The gravity of the situation is that for a lot of individuals, late effects, or delayed adverse events resulting in long term chronicity is more of a reality. Dealing with the emotions that come along with this living hell is tough to say the least, and that is one of my main points.

Well Meaning But Misdirected Advice

Although I don’t visit the various floxed groups on social media like I used to, when I did visit, I would see examples or forms toxic positivity directed at chronic sufferers on occasion. It usually went something like this, a long term floxed person would make a comment about the soul wrenching heartache they have felt while enduring years of setbacks and, frankly, insurmountable emotional and physical pain. Instead of receiving validation for these emotions, the well-meaning positive ‘fairies’ would swoop in with advice. These were usually folks low seniority so to speak. Examples of these well-meaning advice tropes are:

Positive thoughts to generate positive realities, (“Just ell yourself you are going to feel better.”)…yeah? ah, no.

Treatment advice, (“I have found the reason for floxing! All you need to do is start taking magnesium!”)….The veteran floxie has heard it all, so it better be good, real good. To be blunt, if the advice giver has been floxed less than six months they better keep their pie-hole shut about telling others what to do, lest things get real violent. I don’t care if you are an M.D. or have a PhD in biology. Seriously, in the last twelve and a half years I have heard it all.

Dismissive statements or caveats, (“Not all floxies are this bad,” or “She had a particularly bad reaction…”)…These statements just frost my cookies. It is usually done to blunt the negative effects of expressing valid negative emotions. In other words, an attempt to keep the really messy scary stuff hidden away, out of sight. Guess what? Floxing is really scary and messy. Hiding the reality doesn’t make it go away.

Now don’t get me wrong, most of these are offered up by well meaning individuals. Unfortunately, they can’t even comprehend the head-space the recipient is in.

Email From A Chronic Floxie

This led me to a search for an email that I received last fall while I was reeling from the symptoms of a CSF leak. Unfortunately I did not respond to her at the time but I did read the email. I usually read all emails I receive. Anyway, she spoke with such candor to this topic that I re-contacted her and got permission to reprint a few excerpts from her email (I changed her name of course).

Lynn, a former nurse and now a chronically floxed individual candidly shared her feelings in her email:

“I never realized how evil these drugs were. I was used to seeing side effects from medication at work, but this was a whole new level of understanding. When I first became floxed I gravitated to stories of healing. As a matter of fact, I was scared and went out of my way to avoid listening to those who had been battling FQAD for a long time. Shameful to say, I even complained when I thought someone was being too negative.”

She goes on, “I ate healthy, avoided all prescriptions and shunned negative emotions. I even paid money to a high-priced naturopath who claimed to have treated floxed people before. After several months I started healing, and after several more months, I felt good enough to go back to work. I proclaimed myself recovered and walked away, chalking it up as a bad nightmare. Then the unthinkable happened, after a year the symptoms came roaring back. I could never figure out what I did to trigger their return, if anything. I really don’t believe I did anything.”

“When I reluctantly came back searching for more answers my whole perspective had changed. I realized that my previous dismissive behavior before was motivated out of fear. Worse yet, being an RN I thought I had it figured out, that somehow I was more knowledgeable than most. I didn’t realize that my behavior was having the opposite effect on those who were really suffering. I viewed those who were really suffering as a minority. Even worse, to the outside world and other medical personnel I was sending the wrong message. I was telling them that the FQ’s weren’t really all that bad. I was sending the message that they could be beaten, if you just really tried.”

One poignant aspect of Lynne’s email, and it is something that I deal with all the time. She wondered how many people don’t even realize their long term problems are the result of taking an FQ? Even those folks who knew they had an initial adverse event, but then thought they healed. The numbers are probably staggering.

Emotions

Lynne bravely went on and with candor detailed her psychological battle dealing with the negative emotions, including depression, anxiety and anger. Emotions that weren’t as prevalent her first time around. She, like many, has been battling FQAD for several years now and is receiving regular counseling for PTSD-like symptoms.

It is unfortunate that I receive variants on this type of email on occasion from those who didn’t get better, from those whose recovery didn’t proceed like expected, or from those who were thrust back into this hellish reality after a perceived escape.

You get the idea.

For many, they become unable to express their emotions and the sense of isolation becomes unbearable, which just compounds the problem.

People do feel isolated because of what this damn drug has done to their bodies and the collateral affect it has had on your homes, jobs, marriages, relationships, and families.

I once heard someone said that true empathy is getting down in the hole with the suffering person, instead of shouting positive messages from the edge. Boy, can I relate to that!

So, if you are down in that hole, let me assure you that you are not alone.

You are not alone in your grief or anger. You are not alone in your sorrow or despair. I have walked a similar path, and so have many more. Please know that you have friends in this battle and it’s healthy, natural and necessary to feel the negative emotions brought on by being disabled by these drugs.

For me, I have learned to cope with these issues through my faith and focusing on the blessings that I have in my life. Even then it is still hard and some days, really hard.

One thing you won’t get from me is false promises. I won’t blow smoke at you and promise you that it’s going to get better. I won’t lie to you like that.

But I can tell you somethings that I know to be true. First, despite your disability, you still have self-worth. And secondly, something that I have learned and seen over the last twelve years; You will become stronger in your weakness.

This I know. I can’t fully explain it, but I have seen it time and time again. The human spirit and the will to survive still amazes me to this day.

Just know….you are not alone.

This website makes use of licensed stock photography and graphics. All photography is for illustrative purposes only and all persons depicted are models.

#Anxiety #Delayed Adverse Events #Depression #Emotions #Hope #Philosophical #Psychological

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reviewape-blog · 5 years

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Most people have many of these around their home anyway. Surprise your lover tonight with a naughty new bedroom game to spice up your relationship. Make your sex life sizzle … Remember, there’s absolutely no risk. Your order is discreetly and securely processed through ClickBank which provides excellent customer service. This is truly a risk free offer to enhance your relationship with more sexy fun. P.S. Neurobic Sex is an idea that has come from recent research into mind and body science. It turns out great sex actually improves your brain and keeps you healthy. When you engage your senses (vision, smell, taste, touch and hearing) and emotions in unusual, unexpected or novel combinations, you create new neural connections. You also stimulate production of brain nutrients that keeps your mind agile and healthy. Neurobic exercises can actually help you think, feel and look younger. Remember seeing how your acquaintances and friends transformed almost overnight when they started having regular sex in a new relationship. They almost seemed to glow with joy and happiness. Try having more great sex for yourself and see if it works for you. According to the research, for a neurobic exercise to be effective, you must: Your brain is your most important sex organ – keep it fit and healthy with creative sex. Playing couples games together will help engage all your senses and emotions in pleasure. If you’re new to sex games and feel Frisky Foreplay may be too advanced or kinky for you, check out 100 Great Sex Games for Couples from Michael Webb. These sexy games are much more suited to romantic couples who are looking for tamer, soft core sex play. When you finish with them, come back and give Frisky Foreplay a try. It’s still cheaper than other games that come in a box because there’s no shipping costs.You can download and play Frisky Foreplay in just a few minutes. Click here to get Frisky Foreplay Games for Couples at discounted price while it’s still available… All orders are protected by SSL encryption – the highest industry standard for online security from trusted vendors. Frisky Foreplay Games for Couples is backed with a 60 Day No Questions Asked Money Back Guarantee. If within the first 60 days of receipt you are not satisfied with Wake Up Lean™, you can request a refund by sending an email to the address given inside the product and we will immediately refund your entire purchase price, with no questions asked. - ReviewApe - https://www.reviewape.com/?p=5294

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