#This session made me so ill so fucking ill im sick on the floor in denial. Martyn what was that ending THE CURSES NOOOO AAAA

[ghosted-jazz]

Caught ya slipping!

[otptings]

Oops

Idol; Mark

Genre; Smut

Warnings; slight exhibitionism, raw sex, nipple sucking, blow jobs, head (f receiving), choking, daddy kink (mentioned once), praise kink (implied)

Synopsis; You spill water down your shirt, accidentally making it see through and flustering your poor fwb, Mark

requested by anon I hope it is too your liking, thank you for requesting it means a lot to meet is 3 am where I am so I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes ill edit it in the morning

Fuck. Looking down at my top I saw that it was absolutely soaked in water. Playfully glaring at Jisung I saw him look at me with an apologetic smile, the least he can do considering he made me spill most of my water bottle all over myself. Standing up I walked to Mark's dorm room. Looking around for a hoodie to through on over it I was interrupted by the door shutting. Glancing over my shoulder I saw Mark standing in front of it, his face a pale red.

"Are you okay?" Sighing I nodded my head before turning around to show him the full damage.

"Yea, my shirt is just absolutely soaked though. I'm borrowing a hoodie."

"Shouldn't you take the shirt off?" Raising my eyebrow I watched as Mark started to stumble over his words. Giving him a once over I realized that his eyes kept getting drawn to my chest. Looking down I saw that my lacy pink bra was completely on display.

"I mean it like you might get sick dude. Not that I want you to take your shirt off, not that that's a bad thing dude I just want you to be comfortable." Walking over to Mark I pressed myself fully against his chest, forcing him to lean back into the door.

"Do you like what you see?" At my words, Mark swallowed hard not knowing what to say. Smirking I leaned off of him and quickly pulled my shirt off of my head, throwing it behind me.

"If you wanted to see me without my shirt you only had to ask." Mark's mouth dropped open upon seeing me, we've been dating for a couple months but we haven't done anything more than make out due to the boys always being around.

Putting my hand under his shirt I rubbed down his chest, feeling his abs. Mark's breathing slowly started getting faster the lower I went. By the time I got to his belt I thought that he would pass out, his face almost completely red and him letting his awkward laugh. Undoing his belt, I quickly pulled his pants down, leaving his boxers in the way.

Rubbing along his cock I could feel that we was already fully hard just by my little bit of teasing. Looking up at him I rubbed my face against his cock, hearing his breath catch, whether at the sensation or the visual. Mouthing over his cock through his boxers, causing him to let out breathy moans, quiet enough so that the boys wouldn't hear us.

Pulling away I saw the wet spot at the tip, that I had purposefully avoided, was bigger. Playing with the elastic of his boxers I looked up at him again, seeing his head through back against the door. Tugging his boxer's down I felt myself get wetter at the sight of his cock.

He wasn't too big, but he was a perfect size with a curve to is. The tip was a light pink due to all of the teasing, and a precum was leaking from the tip. Not taking any more time to tease I wrapped my mouth around the tip, causing his first moan of the night.

Slowly going down I looked up at him through my eyelashes, surprised to see him looking back at me. I felt his dick twitch in my mouth, before I pulled back off. Licking all around the tip I flicked my tongue over the bundle of nerves under the head, causing him to let out a louder moan than the first.

"Sh you don't want the boys to hear us do you?" Quickly shaking his head Mark bit his lip. Turning my attention back to putting it down my throat, making my nose touch the little bit of stubble at the base of his cock. Moving my hand down I softly grabbed his balls, rolling them and lightly squeezing them as I sucked him off. His moans got increasingly louder the more I did.

Taking turns from sucking on the tip, to licking over his ball sack making him into a moaning mess. I felt his dick twitch again, along with a particularly loud moan and pulled off causing him to let out a little cry.

"I don't want you to come until youre in me? Okay?" Standing up I pulled Mark towards his heads, telling him to sit on it. Quickly taking off my shorts I straddled his thighs, leaning in to kiss him.

Our make out sessions normally were calm. Our lips move smoothly against each other, sometimes when it got more intense they would move faster. They were nothing like this kiss.

This kiss was full of list, him sucking my lower lip into his mouth causing me to moan. Licking into each other's mouth, feeling our tongues glide over each other, constantly fighting for dominance.

Suddenly Mark flipped our position so that I was on my back and he was in between my legs. Pulling away from the kiss, Mark pulled my bra. Placing both of his hands on my breasts, he slowly started to play with them, rolling his thumbs over my nipples until they were hard. Leaning down he placed my left nipple in his mouth, sucking on it hard causing me to let a moan at the sensation. His warm tongue swirled around my nipple, while his other hand continued to play with the other one, pinching and twisting it. Switching his attention to the other one I whined at my pussy getting neglected, I could feel the way my underwear was sticking to my soaked cunt.

"Ma-Mark please." I tried to speak but it ended up being a high pitched whine. Looking up at me I swear if I wasn't already horny I would've been soaked.

Mark looked at me with almost pitch black eyes, blown out pupils. He looked as if he wanted to eat alive, and I wouldn't put it past him. I felt a little like prey just waiting to be devoured.

"You were so vocal before what happened?" He sucked a bruise on both of my breasts before moving his kisses down my body. Stopping when he reached my underwear, glancing up at me again before he took them off and tossed them. I felt exposed by the way that he was looking pussy that I knew was dripping at all of the foreplay he had already done. "You look so pretty. Why haven't we done this before?"

Before I could answer Mark licked a wide strip up my pussy, before flicking my clit with his tongue. I felt my mind going fuzzy at the intense pressure in my stomach. Reaching my hand down I ran my finger's through Mark's hair, trying to catch my breath from the intense way he was eating me. I felt him slip in two fingers, and my mind truly went blank. I tried to warn him before I came but the way that his fingers were massaging my g spot, and rubbing against my walls all I could do was release a moan before cumming.

Pulling Mark licked his lips, before letting a growl leave his mouth. I've never seen Mark look more feral than he did in that moment. Coming back up he smashed our lips together, shoving his tongue back into my mouth. I could taste my essence, and moaned into his. I hadn't even realized that he had taken his boxers off until I felt his cock pushing into my entrance.

Separating our lips I watched as he pushed into me, bottoming out in one fast thrust. Biting my lip I felt a little bit of discomfort because of the stretch but the pleasure from the foreplay helped.

"You can move." Mark lifted my chin up forcing me to look in his eyes as he slowly thrust out of me. Biting my lip I tried to hold back my moans, finally remembering that the boys were in the other room. But Mark had different plans.

Without warning Mark started thrusting into me quickly, his hips meeting mine causing the sound of my wetness, and skin on skin to echo throughout the room. His thrusts were powerful that if it weren't for him holding me in place I would've been up by the head board.

"You don't know how I long I've been waiting for this baby." His hand went from my chin, to holding my cheek rubbing his thumb across it. The moment becoming more intimate.

"You're so gorgeous, I wish you could see how you look right now. So needy. Your pussy is sucking me in, you're so tight." Leaning down so he was beside my ear, I could feel his breath hitting my neck. Felt myself squeeze around him when he let out a groan directly beside my ear.

"You're doing so good for me. So pretty, my pretty girl. All mine." His thrusts slowed but never lost any of their power.

"All mine, your pussy is mine. Your heart is mine, all of you." His words combined with how he was thrusting into me, caused my eyes to roll back. I felt a shiver through my body, I never thought sex with Mark would be this good.

Sitting up Mark grabbed my thighs, pushing them further back. Leaning forward he started his fast thrusts again, grinding against me when his dick was bottomed out. I felt my orgasm coming again faster than before. The way his dick was massaging my walls, and the sensitivity from the previous orgasm. Sliding my hand down I rubbed my clit in time with his thrusts.

"Daddy I-im cumming." I didn't even realize what I let slip, until Mark's thrust got impossibly faster. He pushed my legs farther back, causing his dick to hit deeper.

"Cum for me." After two more thrusts I felt my thighs start to shake, as my orgasm hit. A couple more thrusts, and then Mark pulled out, jerking himself quickly before cumming on my stomach.

Closing my eyes I took a deep breath, opening them when I felt something warm and wet against my stomach. Opening them I saw that Mark was cleaning me up with a wash rag. Tossing the wash rag on the floor Mark slid into bed with me, tugging a clean blanket over us. Pulling me into his chest, I felt myself instantly pass out.

-

Little did I know the Dreamies had left for their dorm, after hearing the first moan. Jaehyun, Johnny, Taeyong, and Yuta had come back to the 10th floor, and had actually heard the whole thing.

Johnny and Jaehyun were proud of him.

Yuta was turned on.

Taeyong was disappointed in everybody, and questions his life.

[sorryimanon]

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki x fem!Reader, Izuku Midoriya x NB!Reader

Warnings: some angst, FLUFF, and our boys being the best boys.

In which they comfort you after a rough day or week

A/N: im sorry if Izukus section is shorter than Bakugou’s. trying to practice writing other characters. enjoy!

Saturday's are reserved strictly by the majority of the girls from class 1-A, leaving the guys to hibernate inside their dorms as they allow the commencement of girls night. You've never rain checked nor rejected the idea of spending  quality time with your friends, considering all the tribe's and trepidation's everyone has endured together during their time at the academy. It's nice to just strip away the stress and dip your toes in pure relaxation.

Unfortunately, you woke up with a bad case of cloudy thoughts. For the past week you've been carrying the weight of dread, causing your mood to drastically change throughout the day. You'd be having a civil conversation with someone one minute and then the next minute you're completely irritated by their presence. You've tried to balance it out and fix it overnight with the regimes you researched on the internet. A new sleeping schedule, healthier diet, yoga, and even went to the extreme of writing in a journal. It was all so cut throat and prestigious, nothing close to your liking. Katsuki made fun of you for it one day when he snuck into your room and read the many inscriptions in your journal entries.

"This stuff reminds of Deku. Always shoving his nose in that stupid notebook of his," he didn't care much to hear your refutes about Izuku. "Anyways, what's with all this depressing shit you are writing? You don't really feel this way do you?"

You didn't give him a definite answer that day. Only a curt "no" and he resumed rambling about his day like nothing happened, having you listening with his voice like white noise going in one ear and out the other.

And that's how it went on throughout the duration of the prior week before Saturday.

Inside the confinement of your dorm, you made the rational decision to sleep in instead of attending classes. The chilling thoughts kept you up all night, never once allowing sleep to take full throttle. You tossed and turned around on your bed, unable to shut off your brain. So when you woke up in the peak of late afternoon, you weren't surprised to see the unread messages on your phone. All of them were from your explosive boyfriend.

King Explosion🤍: Oi you running late? Mr.Sleepy head is taking roll call

King Explosion🤍: y/n where tf r u?

King Explosion🤍: fine don't answer me ig

King Explosion🤍: are you at least coming down for lunch? i made curry last night and imma make you finish it

King Explosion🤍: fking hurry before dunce face eats it

King Explosion🤍: nvm he ate it 😐

Katsuki never intended for the message to be funny. He's probably blowing actual steams of smoke through his nostrils and ears while chasing kamanari amongst the halls. The comical imagery made you laugh harder. At least he made you crack a smile. You haven't shown any emotions let alone a hint of enthusiasm for tonight.

Maybe it'd be best to sit this one out.

"Hey, we're missing a person! Where's my y/n?" Mina asked after scanning the group of girls huddled around on the carpeted floor.

Momo shifted uncomfortably on the cushioned pillow she stole from the couch. "Y/N said she wasn't feeling too well to join us for tonight. Something about food poisoning and throwing up every hour."

In unison all the girls gasped, along with a concerned 'ribbit' from Tsuyu.

"Well I hope she gets to feeling better. I wouldn't want her to endure such sickness for much longer," Tsuyu croaked out.

Everyone in the circle agreed and promised to pay a visit later in the night to check on you.

On the fourth floor, Katsuki stared blankly at his phone, hands shaking due to the repressed anger he's been holding. Each of the messages he sent previously were all left on read, including the one he sent an hour ago asking if he could have a cuddle session with you before girls night. Yes, even an ill tempered guy such as him enjoys sappy shit like cuddling. After pacing back and forth in his room for a solid 5 minutes, he was now dead set on confronting you in front of your friends.

Katsuki made a beeline for the elevator and aggressively pressed the 1st floor button repeatedly in hopes it'll make the process go quicker. He reached the commons area in precision time, overhearing the girls giggle after someone suggested playing truth or dare. He towered over Uraraka's figure, casting a demonic shadow version of himself in the circle. Hagakure shrieked and clung onto Jirou.

"Where's y/n you extras?" He demanded, voice deafening the brunette under him.

"She didn't come tonight. She's in her dorm room sick," Jirou explained to him as she tried pry the invisible girl off her arm.

"Like hell she's sick!" Katsuki spun around quickly and retreated back to the elevator, mumbling obscenities under his breath. "She's going to pay for being so careless and irresponsible."

The commons room fell silent once the explosive blonde disappeared behind the doors of the elevator, all eyes searching each other in complete shock. Uraraka was the first to speak out of the small group.

“Should we warn y/n that Bakugou is coming for her?”

Jirou averted her gaze to the direction bakugou left off from, a ghost of a smirk spreading on her face.

“Nah. Knowing y/n, she can handle the asshole on her own.”

King Explosion🤍: can i come over? i wanna cuddle, i miss u

The text message kept flashing behind your eyes every-time you closed them - a sad image of Katsuki waiting impatiently for you to reply back with a heart or one of those unusual memes he unapologetically adores. You knew he’d be furious, no doubt about it, but you rationalized your decision and concluded it would be best to avoid your boyfriend like the plague till this undesired feeling dissipates. Katsuki doesn’t do well with people being emotional, let alone handle his own emotions for god’s sake.

Your own thoughts were interrupted by someone raping the outside of your door. The continuous knocks made your head spin, a painful sting ghosting back and forth between your eyes. Remembering back to an hour ago, you messaged one of the girls that you weren’t going to make it to tonight’s session. Surely they respected your wishes and continued on with their hangout? But you forgot about the one person who’s persistent and stubborn like a cat.

“I know you’re in there y/n! You may have fooled your idiotic friends with a lie, but you keep on forgetting you’re terrible at lying!” Katsuki hollers against the wood of the door, not once being considerate of those living above her.

He’s right. You’re absolutely horrible at making up excuses for yourself. Dating someone as intuitive as him will be the death of you.

“If there’s something going can you at least let me in? You can’t ignore me forever y/n.”

Again, he’s right.

You slipped out from the comfort of your bed and padded towards the door, mentally preparing for the blonde to scold you once he enters your room. What you weren’t prepared for was the tears swelling up in the ducts of his vermillion eyes - his hands clenched tightly into fists as he looked down at you. Your breathing hitched when his arm outstretched to rest on the door frame to keep his trembling body steady.

“What the hell y/n? Why the fuck have you been ignoring me?! Did I do something wrong?!” He asked, not caring about his current appearance.

You grab ahold of his other arm and absentmindedly started rubbing it affectionately, trying to coax him into calming down. “Katsuki no! You didn’t do anything wrong! Why would you think that?”

“Because dumbass, you’ve been distant this past week,” he paused, choking on his words. “Are...are you breaking up with me?”

Your eyes shot up instantly at his horrifying assumption. “Katsuki, if I tell you the truth, will you promise not to make things worse for me?”

He tilted his head in confusion, but nodded once you led him into your messy bedroom. Once inside, your boyfriend plopped down on your bed, watching intently as you anxiously bit down on your nails - a nervous habit you picked up at the beginning of the school year.

“I’ve been feeling weird lately. Ever since the beginning of last week. I don’t know how to describe it but, my brain is constantly feeding into my already negative state. Telling me things I know aren’t true but I’ve convinced myself they are. Almost as if a grey cloud is hovering above me,” tears were already starting to pour down your cheeks. “I just...I just feel so miserable and lonely and useless and irritated and- I’m so sorry for ignoring you. You probably want nothing to do with me after this!”

You manage to turn away from the sight of the blonde during your speech, ashamed of pouring out your emotions onto a person who disregards other peoples emotions and constitutes them as a quote on quote “pussy”.

From behind, you can hear faint shuffling nearing your already shaken up figure. A pair of muscular arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a wall that could only be described as his own chiseled chest, doing the same as you did moments ago with his arm - lulling you to calm down a notch before he stared speaking.

“If you been feeling this way, why lie when I asked you a few days ago after reading your journal?”

“I know how you are, Katsuki. You get very uncomfortable when people talk about their feelings. So, why should I be any different?”

Your boyfriend suddenly maneuvers you around in the circle of his arms, shifting to where you’re now making direct eye contact with him. His gaze intense and unwavering.

“Because you’re my girlfriend? I don’t give a rats ass about any of these extras. When it comes to you, I’d make an exception for. I made that promise to myself when we first started seeing each other. So don’t think for a second that I’ll disregard your true feelings, dumbass.” He stepped a couple of inches backwards, ankles eventually hitting the bottom of your bed - making him fall and dragging you along with him. You landed on top of him, head still buried in the depths of his hard chest. The vibrations of his chuckle shook your whole body. Katsuki gently titled your head to be leveled with his, a red tint of blush painting his pallid cheeks.

“I’m being serious though. Don’t be afraid to come to me when things get tough, okay? I love you too much to see you like this.”

Next thing you knew your boyfriend stole your breath away by meshing his plump lips onto yours, hands snaking their way into your hair and carefully massaging it. By all means, you let him have his way with you by kissing the sadness away, tears puddling together cheek on cheek.

He let go eventually, pecking a quick chaste kiss on the side of your mouth before hauling you further into the bed. You settled on letting him spoon you, knowing how much he likes the feeling of your backside pressed against him, and the fruity aroma of your hair infiltrating his senses.

“I promise Katsuki,” you said after some time during the cuddle session.

He shifted in his spot, head placed firmly in the crook of your neck. “Promise what?”

“That I’ll come to you when these thoughts return again. I should trust you by now, and I need to not let these emotions ruin everything in my life. I love you that much.

Your confession swelled the very last evidence of Katsuki being a human being, his heart.

He smiled weakly to himself and nuzzled more into your shoulder, brushing his warm lips against the tender skin. “You better, dumbass.”

-

Today was just so exhausting, and the big fat 'D-‘ written in red ink on your final report was the icing on the cake. To make things even worse, Aizawa reminded the whole class before the exam that this was to determine wether or not if you'll be joining the training camp that'll commence the following winter break.

Hopefully this was one of your teacher's terrible deception tactics into making everyone do their absolute best, go plus ultra even. But to your dismay, he was indeed very serious of the matter this time.

It wasn't your fault, not entirely. You stayed up all night listening to another one of your boyfriends rambles, the conversation lasting till 2 am. Izuku grew worrisome and anxious ever since his encounter with a gruesome villain, thus resulting in him to pour his emotions out onto you. Poor baby kept mentioning the safety of All Might and you.

Solemnly, you left class and trailed back to your dorm room, wanting to ignore the jovial atmosphere inside the cramped room as everyone traded and talked about their scores.

Izuku noticed you leaving abruptly and got up from his desk to follow you behind, bidding a quick goodbye to his friends.

Your room was dark and dramatically colder than usual, a trickle of light threatening to pour in from the cascading sunset. You laid down on your stomach with one of your pillows propped on your head, in hopes to shield away anyone from seeing your ugly-crying face.

Too late because Izuku was already standing outside your dorm room, swaying back and forth on his feet while biting down harshly on his lip. He can hear your soft cries seeping through the door. He doesn't know why he's hesitating, he's your boyfriend after all.

Moments later you hear the acute sounds of someone knocking on your door, followed by the soft spoken voice of your green haired boyfriend.

"Baby? Can I come in? I-If that's okay with you I m-mean! It's alright if you need some space but you left class so early I figured something happened to you and I got really worried because you always wait for Iida and uraraka to walk us back to the dorms as a group and maybe it had something to do with what I was telling you last night-."

You crack the door just a smidge before fully opening it, revealing your bloodshot eyes and tear stained shirt to him. His breathing hitched once his eyes fixated on your disheveled state. 

"Can you comfort me? I need you right now Izuku," your voice cracked a little, throat still tight after the crying session.

His strong, lean arms wrapped around your body momentarily, encasing you into a bear hug. Hugs from Izuku were amazing, no exceptions. He placed a quick peck on the crown of your forehead.

"C'mon, let's get inside and snuggle. How does that sound?" he asked as he unwrapped himself and took your trembling hand, leading you back inside the dimly lit room.

Izuku laid you gently down on your side once reaching the bed, crawling alongside with you before  draping the covers over the both of you. His familiar hands snake around your waist and nudges you to roll over. You obliged and shifted your body to face his, sparkly green eyes staring straight at you.

"Tell me, what's wrong baby? Does it have to do with the recent exam?" his thumb started tracing delicate lines on your hips, your uniform long gone and now replaced with comfortable clothes instead.

"I failed Izuku...I did so terrible on the written exam. I kept falling in and out of sleep during the test that I didn't have time to finish the middle portion of it," you exhaled a shaky breath. "Who knows what'll happen on the practical. I'll probably fail that too...I'm such a failure compared to everyone."

Izuku grabbed the tender flesh of your cheeks and directed your vision to level with his. He looked angry and concerned.

"Don't say that y/n! You're not a failure! That exam doesn't determine wether or not if you're good enough to be a hero. I've seen you in action hun, and I know for a fact that you're possibly the most strongest person I've met in my lifetime! You're ambitious, smart, determined, and so freaking beautiful." He then kissed you tenderly on the lips, his eyes closing slightly due to the contact.

"So...freaking...beautiful." He whispers against your mouth.

His sentimental words were enough for you to push back the negativity and simply enjoy the intimate moment.

Izuku lifted his head away from your face to rest it against your temple. "You're going to do great things, okay? One failing grade isn't going to be the end of the world. Trust me sweetheart, I've had my fair share in failures during our time here in Yuuei. But look at me now, still standing."

You nuzzled more into his chest, tickling his chin with your hair. Faintly, you can hear the pitter patter of his heart beat bursting through his rib cage.

"Would you love me even if I was a horrendous looking-failure?" you were clearly teasing him, but sometimes Izuku became dense when it came to that.

"Y/n! W-Why would you ask that! Of course I would you dummy! I'd love you no matter what."

This time you return the favor and kiss him, knowing how to easily fluster him in seconds. He whimpers into your mouth at the sudden contact and cups your jawline affectionately.

The two of you stayed like that till the moon shone through the balcony curtains, illuminating your skin in a dusty glow.

Lips bruised and swollen red, you laid lifelessly in his arms, letting him wove his scarred fingers through your hair. Izuku would occasionally stop to peck your lips, then resumes his attention back to your hair.

"I'm sorry by the way. I shouldn't have kept you up last night before the exam. I'm such a horrible boyfriend..." he admitted suddenly.

"Yes. Yes you are."

He gasped and stopped his movements altogether, obviously taken aback by your blunt words.

You giggled and said, "Kidding. You're the best boyfriend. Apology accepted.”

After hearing that, Izuku shoved himself onto your chest and let out muffled cry. "D-Don't scare me like that. Almost made me have a heart a-attack!"

[megastarstrike]

Playing Detective

@saioumaexchange gift for recipient #77, who asked for “ a hanahaki disease fanfic! like shuichi or kokichi has the disease. or pregame kokichi and shuichi or both????” I was your pinchhitter and im not too familiar with pregame so i just chose to go with hanahaki. hope you enjoy your gift!

CW: kind of graphic imagery? not really but i thought it was worth noting

Kokichi Ouma was not stupid. Sure, there was that one time he bumped straight into a pole after one too many all-nighters, last year when he got sick and refused to visit the nurse until he collapsed in the middle of class, or a few months ago when he was helping Angie with art and accidentally drank out of the paint cup, but he definitely wasn’t stupid.

But after watching his close friend run to the bathroom, he couldn’t help but feel as if he was missing something.

Kokichi stared at the chair in front of him where Shuuichi once sat, twirling the straw in his drink absentmindedly. They had been studying together (and by studying, he meant talking while having books out) when Shuuichi suddenly shot up from his chair and darted to the bathroom without a word. How urgent was his issue if he didn’t so much as excuse himself from the table?

Moments later, Shuuichi returned to his seat and offered him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

“Wow, do you really think my face is so ugly you had to vomit?” Kokichi said. Tears welled in his eyes. “You’re so mean, Shuuichi! I thought you loved me!”

“I-I didn’t—”

Kokichi dropped his act when Shuuichi burst into a round of coughs. All he could do was bite his tongue and hold the other’s hand, hoping that his presence would be reassurance enough.

Once the coughs stopped, Shuuichi spoke again with his lips pursed and brows furrowed into a painful expression. “I must be getting sick. Don’t worry about me.”

It felt like a lie, but it clearly wasn’t. Was it a half-truth? Or was it not a truth at all?

“Nishishi! I would never worry about you,” Kokichi laughed.

“Ah… right.” He averted his eyes and lowered his head to scan through the textbook in his hands, not noticing that the book was upside-down.

“... You know that was a lie, right?”

Shuuichi gave him a tight smile. “Don’t worry about it, Kokichi.”

Yet Kokichi worried.

*

All the tissues in the classroom had run out despite it not being flu season. People shot Shuuichi pitiful looks. Sounds of retching in the bathroom weren’t uncommon. Everything was suspicious, but perhaps the most suspicious was Shuuichi running out of the classroom with no warning and the teacher letting him do so.

Kokichi frowned.

Shuuichi never missed class if he could help it. If he suddenly ran out of the classroom without even letting the teacher know first, something must be seriously wrong.

He nudged the person to his right. “Pst, Miu, you think Shuuichi’s skipping class?”

Much to his delight, Miu didn’t care enough about the class to ignore someone talking to her. “You really think that weak ass emo has the guts to skip class? You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Then what else do you propose, Miss I-Forgot-My-Invention-To-An-Invention-Fair?”

“Okay, that was one time. Also, where do you think all that vomiting is from, the fucking sky?”

“That was two times and you know it.”

“Ouma, Iruma, please pay attention,” the teacher called, bringing their conversation to a close (though they would continue to kick each other under the table until class ended).

If that wasn’t confirmation that Shuuichi was sick, Kokichi didn’t know what was. Vomiting meant the sickness must be serious, and the sheer amount of tissues he went through meant the symptoms were frequent. He didn’t have any medical training other than two health classes he was forced to take in junior high, but he didn’t need any to know that this illness was taking a toll on his friend.

So Kokichi made preparations.

*

“So you’re telling me you want me to distract Shuuichi while you lockpick and investigate his room, violate his privacy, and find who knows what in there?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Maybe Rantarou wasn’t the right person to assist him in morally gray activities, but he was the only person who Kokichi trusted could keep his mouth shut and trusted him back.

“You can’t just, you know, ask Shuuichi what’s wrong?” Rantarou asked.

Kokichi scoffed. “You really think Shuuichi’s gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Right, good point.” He hummed and tapped his fingers against the wall. “I’ll do it, but if Shuuichi asks me what’s going on, I’m answering honestly.”

“Don’t worry, he’s already used to me snooping around his stuff.”

“For your sake, I hope so.”

And that was the end of that conversation.

*

Shuuichi paused. “Kokichi’s totally going through my room right now, isn’t he?”

Rantarou hesitated but eventually sighed and crossed his arms. “Yeah, sorry for not telling you sooner. Just thought it would be for the greater good.”

“It’s fine. He won’t find anything anyway.”

“... You expected this, didn’t you?”

Shuuichi shot him a weak smile before bursting into another round of coughs.

*

Lockpicking wasn’t the hard part. Kokichi had been doing that since he knew what a lock was. The hard part was Shuuichi being a clever bastard and cleaning his room in anticipation for the inevitable.

Looks like Shuuichi’s learned something from me, Kokichi mused as he shut the door behind him.

The floor, while usually riddled with loose papers and pencils, was cleaner than Kokichi thought a floor could ever be. The blankets on the bed were set in an almost robotic neatness, and the desk was cleared of everything. If Kokichi didn’t know better, he would have assumed the room was abandoned.

But Kokichi had another trick up his sleeve. He unzipped the backpack slumped next to the desk, only to see normal books and school supplies.

His heart fluttered. Shuuichi really knew him well.

Kokichi looked down into the empty trash can nearby and frowned. Trash was only taken out once a week on Sundays. As conscious of himself as he was, there was no way Shuuichi could make it through more than a few days without so much of a tissue in the trash can. So where else would he hide it?

Under the bed. Of course, he would cram it under the bed.

Kokichi took a deep breath, preparing himself to find anything before lifting the mattress the slightest bit.

The smell of dry blood and traces of vomit smacked his nose immediately. Flattened tissue boxes were scattered underneath the bed in a pile of bloodied tissues and flowers. It felt as if he had walked straight into a dumping ground for a hospital, only the dumping ground would be much less disgusting than what was under the bed.

Despite all his instincts screaming at him to set the mattress back down and run away from the horrid smell and sight, Kokichi reached under the bed and took out the cleanest flower he spotted. He turned it over in his hand, frowning at the traces of blood and a faint hint of vomit on the petals.

The original petal color appeared to be a dark purple. Petals were bunched up in the middle and slowly decreased in frequency as it reached the outer edges of the flower. A short, green stem protruded from the flower, though it wasn’t tall enough for him to hold it by the stem.

Judging by the blood and vomit still present on the flower and Shuuichi’s frequent bathroom trips, he had most likely been throwing them up. But why would he be throwing up flowers? What kind of medical condition would warrant that?

As much as he wanted to solve everything without explicit outside help, there was no way Kokichi could identify the flower or the condition online without giving personal information to someone he didn’t trust.

So he stuffed the flower inside his scarf, made a mental note to wash his clothes soon, and left the room as he had found it.

*

“When are you gonna tell him?”

Shuuichi blinked, caught off guard by the question. He turned towards the concerned face and gave her a smile, though it didn’t seem to ease any of her worries. “Don’t worry about it, Kaede. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“Everything will be even finer if you just tell him what’s up with you.”

He had to admit that was true. But just because it was true didn’t mean he had to follow it.

“I’m sure he can figure it out on his own,” Shuuichi said. His smile grew warmer. “He’s one of the smartest people I know, after all.”

Kaede frowned. “You’re just avoiding having to have the talk, aren’t you?”

“... Maybe.”

*

Kokichi slammed the plastic bag containing the flower onto the table in front of him, and he was suddenly grateful he hadn’t decided to procrastinate his hygiene. “What’s this flower?”

The girl sitting across from him gave him an exasperated sigh. “Kokichi, you’re my friend, but you can’t just interrupt my anime binge sessions. I planned this session out weeks ahead of time.”

“Aw, pwease, Tsumugi? Pwease help your wittle buddy out,” Kokichi whined, summoning tears to his eyes.

“Oh my god. Never speak like that again.”

“Only if you help me out.”

“Fine, fine.” Tsumugi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before picking up the bag, investigating every detail. Her face brightened. “Oh, this looks like a purple carnation! There was this one anime where—”

“Booooring. You know a medical condition where people throw up flowers?”

Her eyes drooped. “Oh. That’s more depressing. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Yeah, sure. Can’t be any worse than what Miu says every day.”

“Hanahaki disease.”

Kokichi furrowed his eyebrows and frowned. “Hanahaki disease? Isn’t that only in fiction?”

“It’s typically portrayed in fiction because it’s rare in real life,” Tsumugi said, “The victim needs to hold a strong love for someone they seemingly don’t have a chance with. But the strong love needs to be as intense as the belief that their love is unrequited, and that’s the part that gets the majority of the population. Symptoms are coughing, vomiting flowers, stuff like that. The flowers tend to represent who the victim loves.” Her gaze turned sharp. “Are you suggesting there’s someone at our school with hanahaki disease?”

“Pfff, what? No way,” Kokichi said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head. “Can’t a man be curious?”

She poked his cheek. “It’s plain to see you suspect someone of having hanahaki. Is it Shuuichi?”

“... Maybe.”

“It totally is. I’ve noticed it, too.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Someone as boring as me can observe people without being suspicious,” Tsumugi said. Her gaze fell on the flower. “Purple carnations mean capriciousness. I’m certain you can take it from there.”

Kokichi bit his thumb, deep in thought. It was scary how much Tsumugi knew about the situation, but he had already suspected she knew something; She was the person he went to for help, after all. If everything she said was true, that would mean Shuuichi loved somebody enough to contract hanahaki disease. But who could that person be?

Tsumugi frowned. “Oh my god. Don’t tell me you still don’t know who it is.”

“Yeah, I totally know who it is. Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s when I worry most. But fine. Tell me who it is.”

“It’s definitely… I lied. I have no clue who it is.”

She sighed and rested her elbows on the table separating them. “Think about it. The flowers are purple, and they match a specific kind of dark purple that matches the hair color of somebody in our class. There’s only a few people in our class who match the definition of capricious, only one that prides himself on being that. You’ve been playing detective for long enough.”

Kokichi analyzed the clues one by one before it clicked. “Wait… you’re telling me that Shuuichi likes me? So I was the one hurting him all this time?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it that—”

“I can’t believe that bastard didn’t even tell me I was hurting him. He didn’t even tell me he had this disease! Why would—”

Tsumugi grabbed his sleeve. “Stop right there. You’re not one to jump to conclusions, and you’re not gonna jump to one now. Who are you, Kaito?”

Kokichi stopped, his face blanking.

Her voice softened. “I know you’re worried about Shuuichi, but you need to calm down before you confront him, or you could send him into a panic. Make a plan first. You like making plans, right?”

He nodded.

“Then make a plan, think about it, and then go confront him. It’s plain to see you care about him a lot. Don’t mess this up.” She smiled and patted his shoulder. “Now get out of my room. I still have anime to watch.”

Even though all the strength had left his body, Kokichi mustered up a smile and saluted her. “Aye, aye, captain. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

*

It was two days later when Kokichi finished planning and moved onto the execution.

“Thanks for bringing me out here,” Shuuichi said, looking up at the blue skies ahead of them. “I really needed to get out for a while.”

Kokichi turned back around to him with his arms folded behind his head. “Of course, you do. How long have you been cooped up in your room?”

He laughed, but his voice was devoid of humor.

They walked into the courtyard and took a seat on a bench, chatting as they watched the water fountain stream endlessly. Birds chirped in the background, and to Kokichi’s relief, no students were nearby. The grass beneath their feet was wet with dew from the rain yesterday. It was the perfect atmosphere to put Shuuichi at ease.

Step one completed.

Kokichi licked his lips, steeling himself for a conversation he wasn’t prepared to have. “Hey, Shuuichi, you mind explaining something to me?”

Shuuichi tensed. “Wh-What do you need?”

Step two completed.

Kokichi’s voice caught in his throat. His mouth moved, but no words could come out. So he pulled the bag containing the flower out from his scarf and held it out to him. His gaze moved up to meet his eyes, and his voice fell to a whisper. “What is this?”

“I-I…” Shuuichi’s eyes darted from the flower to Kokichi and back to the flower. His fists clenched and unclenched, and his breath grew unsteady.

Then Kokichi’s plan fell apart when Shuuichi began to cry.

“I-I’m sorry!” Shuuichi sobbed, holding his face in his hands, “I’m so sorry!”

Shit. What was he supposed to do?

Kokichi scooted closer to him and held onto his wrists, prying his hands away from his face. “Shuuichi…”

“I knew you would figure it out. I just didn’t want to tell you myself because I’m a coward.”

“Shuuichi, no—”

“You shouldn’t be comforting me, you should hate me for—for keeping this from you for so long.”

“So how long have you been keeping this from me?”

Shuuichi took a deep, shaky breath and dared to meet his eyes. “Um… a month?”

“A month?”

“Yes. Then it just got worse and worse from there. L-Like I said, I’m really sorry for not telling you. I should’ve just told you from the beginning, but…”

Kokichi reached up to wipe a stray tear on Shuuichi’s face. “Shuuichi, it’s okay. It’s really okay.”

“No, it’s—”

“These flowers are for me, right?”

Shuuichi gulped and nodded.

“Then if I say it’s fine, then it’s fine.” Kokichi gave him a gentle smile and flicked the top of his head. “I thought you would be smart enough to know that. That’s one of the reasons I fell for you, after all.”

Shuuichi’s breath hitched, and his eyes widened. “Wait… you like me? You’re not lying?”

“Jeez, you really have that little faith in me? Would I lie about something like that?”

“Yes.”

“Ouch.”

“But… you’re not lying now, are you?”

Kokichi rolled his eyes. “I literally tell you that I love you, I broke into your room to figure out what was wrong with you, and I’m here now. Take a wild guess, Shuuichi.”

“To be fair, you do that every day.”

Kokichi raised an eyebrow.

“Oh… Oh!” Shuuichi laughed. “How did I not see that until now? God, I’m stupid. I’m so, so stupid.”

“But I still love you anyway,” Kokichi purred, wrapping Shuuichi into an embrace. “I love you, Shuu-i-chi~”

“Y-You really mean that? You really mean that. Oh my god, you love me.” He backed out of the hug, sniffing and wiping the tears away from his eyes.

“Aw, are you crying?”

“I—” Shuuichi doubled over, coughing and hacking as bloodied flowers spilled out onto the sidewalk. The pile grew larger with each cough, seemingly endless until a pitiful final petal floated down.

Kokichi wrinkled his nose at the pile. “Really? That’s how much you love me? That’s a shame.”

“H-Hey, it hurt.”

“I know, I’m just joking.” He stood up from the bench and held a hand out. “Now that we’re boyfriends, we should go prank the nurse!”

Shuuichi’s face reddened at the title, but his lips curled up into a smile. “Is this your way of getting me to go to the nurse?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Shuuichi took the hand and stood up, though he only held it tighter when they began walking. He planted a kiss on the side of Kokichi’s head. “I’m glad you’re my boyfriend.”

Kokichi froze before jumping into action and swatting his face away from his head. “Ew, gross! At least wash your mouth out before kissing me. You didn’t even clean up that mess you left back there.”

“... Oh, I didn’t—”

“Let’s go to the nurse first. I don’t want to look at that again.”

Shuuichi turned around to glance at the pile of blood and flowers then turned back to Kokichi with a smile. “Me neither.”

[a-pretty-nerd]

It Feels so wrong, but SO RIGHT: Part 5

Rodrick Heffley x reader story

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long. I have been lazy with my entries latley, and its only because of person events going on in my life. I apologize. I have been getting so many requests for more Rodrick, specifically more of this story, and I am happy to! As always, enjoy, and don’t be afraid to make requests! ❤

Warning: Angst, jealousy, makeup sex, etc.

P.S. This posted early, and then when I tried to finish it, it deleted. Fml.

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It was an average day for you at this point, sitting with Rodrick ar lunch. Enjoying your homemade meal you made for yourself eariler that day. Often times sharing a few things with Rodrick, who adored your cooking by the way. You were no kitchen wizard, but then again, Rodrick was easy to please. Not only that, but Rodrick adored you to death. Sometimes you would catch him staring at you from across the classroom, or even while he was sitting right next to you. You couldn’t help but blush, and smile.

On this day in particular, a friday, you were seated, with Rodrick’s head laying in your lap. He was chatting with his friends, now your friends, the other band members. You exited the conversation for a moment, only to look up for a moment. Walking across the cafeteria, a familiar silhouette clicked across the tile. Those heels, deafening, that walk, nauseating, that body, threatening. You tensed up, you watched her as she walked by. For a brief moment those piercing blue eyes stared into yours. Blue like the ocean, or perhaps a large lake. Either way, they could drown you. She glared at you for a moment before flicking her golden hair and walking off. Heather Hills was the most retched being you had ever laid eyes on. From the beginning, she hated your guts, and you hated hers in return. Memories of a little Y/N crying in the playground, alone, and scared, were all because of her. She was a down right bitch, and yet the world seemed to adore her. Even Rodrick, had once had a crush on her. The thought of Heather and your Rodrick made you ill. Perhaps you could live without him, but the idea that he would ever choose her over you, was soul crushing.

“What do you think babe?” Rodrick’s voice pierced your train of thought.

“What?” You looked down at him, while he gazed up at you.

“Party tonight, at David’s. You up for it?” He gave a smile, and raised his brow.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Sounds fun.”

“Its gonna be bangin’ his parents are out for the whole week, and we are gonna raaaaage!” On of the band members shouted with glee. You laughed, and tried to kick your previous thoughts to the back of your brain. The rest of the day went on as usual, and sure enough the final bell rung and you left the school with Rodrick. You walked hand in hand into the parking lot, he looked over and watched you. You were quieter than usual, you were deep in thought.

“You okay?” He asked, giving your hand a small squeeze.

“Oh, yeah Im fine. What time is that party again?

“Around 6, I think. Ill pick you up around then, is thag cool?”

“Yeah, yeah that works fine.” You were still having a hard time shaking these thoughts from your head, you were off today. Rodrick looked around for a moment, and then back to you, concerned.

“You sure you’re okay”

“Yes, Rodrick, I’m okay. I promise.”

“Okay, just checking.” He kissed you on the cheek and let of your hand as he walked away. “I’ll see you later hot stuff!”

“See ya!”

You got home, you did your homework, the usual. All while still in a thought provoked haze. You looked up at the clock, 5:30. Shit. You only had half an hour to get ready. You couldn’t exactly go in your usual get up, which was mostly wore purley to please your parents. You had to be trim and relativley proper. You had to be the smart girl, the girl with good grades. Rodrick, however, brought out this other side of you. You squirmed for a moment, just thinking about your first time with Rodrick, the first of many. You stood, and went to get ready when a loud knock on your bedroom door shook you from your state of mind.

“C-Come in!” You stuttered. Your mother stepped in.

“Dinners ready.”

“Oh um, I’m not feeling very well. I know it’s early, but I don’t want to risk it.” Your mother nodded, appearing to be fooled by your lie.

“Gonna see the boy again?” She gave a smile. You tried to lie again but she was too quick. “Alright, just be safe. I’ll tell your father you’re, ‘sick’. Have fun. Use protection!”

“Mom!” And with that she left you to your own devises. Half an hour went by fast, and before you knew it, you got the text from Rodrick that he was out front. You had to rush out of your window, and sneak across your lawn to his van.

“Hey cutie!” He leaned over and gave you a kiss before starting the car, and driving away. “You feeling better?”

“What?”

“Earlier, you seemed off.”

“I told you, I was fine then, Im fine now.”

“Okay, okay! I was just asking.” The rest of the car ride was filled with music, and a joke here and there. Something about it helped settle everything going on in your mind. It put all your worries aside. When you arrived at the party, hand in hand, Rodrick was loudly greeted by some friends. You chatted along side your extrovert boyfriend, all while holding his hand as if he were a security blanket. Some time passed, things were going great. Even better when Rodrick pulled you onto the dance floor, and started goofing around. He had this incredibly way of making you laugh. You regreted never giving him a chance before the whole tutoring thing.

“I’m gonna grab a drink, do you want anything!?” You had to yell over the music.

“Sure!” So you turned towards the kitchen to fill a red cup. You had just taken one in hand when you heard it. That sound. The familiar click clack of those retched heels. You snapped to attention, her figure stood, leaning against a wall with her friend. Acting too cool, and utterly bored with the whole situation. You tried to ignore her, filling your cups with drinks. You turned to go back to Rodrick, but when you looked up, as if by some evil sorcery she was there. Talking to Rodrick. She didn’t even like Rodrick, you knew that much, what the hell was she doing…flirting with him?

“Hey! Aren’t you that guys from that band?” Her voice was like nails against chalk board.

“Uh, Löded Diaper. Yeah, we played at your birthday party last year. Don’t you, remember?” He was clearly nervously, and visibly blushing. He had even stuck a hand behind his head and was leaning against a wall.

“Oh my god! Thats right! You played my favorite song!” She leaned in closer, reached out with her bright pink claws and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Yknow, I never got to repay you for that.” She purred. Rodrick nodded, nervous, and shifted away. He arm sliding off of him.

“I mean-” Rodrick stopped mid sentence, the loud crashing sound shook him from his train of thought. He watched you storm off up the stairs of the house having dropped your drinks. His heart sunk, he had been in a similar situation with you before. He cursed Heather for this again. “Y/N, wait!” He yelled after you. He searched for you, but you were too fast. You had hidden in what you could assume was a family room. There were others there, but it was empty enough to sulk. You sat down on the empty couch, and hid your face in your hands. That bitch, how could you be so stupid? Rodrick has had a crush on her since god knows when, and you actually thought you had a chance of-

“Hey, Y/N. You okay?” You heard a boy’s voice ask. You looked up to see a familiar face sit down next to you. A fellow classmate. Someone you were acquaintances with at most.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You lied, again.

“Is it that Rodrick guy?”

“What?”

“Look Y/N. If that guy isn’t treating you right, it wouldn’t surprise me.” You were just so confused. “You deserve better, you can do better.” He placed a hand on your knee. You stared at him wide eyed, hoping he would get the hint and leave. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here for you.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Rodrick’s voice rang in your ears. He stood above the two of you, and swatted the boy’s hand away from your knee. “Get out of here, creep.” He pulled the guy up, and shoved him gently to the side. The boy gave this begrudgingly fustrated look, and leaned in.

“If you need anything-”

“Fuck off!” You shouted at him, and he scattered like a roach. Rodrick sat.

“Are you okay? Is this about Heather, because!”

“Of course it’s about Heather! Why wouldn’t it be? She was all over you!”

“Im sorry Y/N, she came on to me.”

“I know she did! That’s why Im pissed, you know how I feel about her. And you, you’ve had a crush on her for forever! I mean, what chance do I have if that bimbo is throwing herself at you?”

“Okay, yeah. I used to have a crush on her, but that before you. Look, I may not be the smartest guy, but I’ve made up my mind. You are my girlfriend, and I love you. I don’t want anybody else.” You watched his face, he was dead serious.“

"I love you Rodrick.” You smiled, and he kissed you. A tender kiss while he held you close. A kiss that was deepened by Rodrick pulling you closer, and closer until you were practically in his lap. Your hands ran through his hair as his hands ran up and down your sides. A full on, make out session broke out. Pretty soon Rodrick’s tounge was wondering your mouth, and his hands were proudly placed on your ass. They squeezed and needed affectionately as he leaned forward to continue the kiss. Before you knew it, Rodrick’s erection was bulging through his jeans, needy, he rubbed you against it. Swaying your hips back and forth. If it wasn’t for you, he would have probably fucked you right then and there. You got off his lap, and with a small whimper he looked at you with that lust filled gaze. He stood, and pulled you out of the room, and down the hall to some random room he found. Luckily, there was no other couple. Rodrick quickly shut the door behind him, and shed his shirt and other clothes before taking off yours. The rest was a blur as you layed down on the bed, and spread your legs for him.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He whispered between heated kisses. He lined himseld up, and pushed into you. You gasped as his cock started to thrust in and out, in and out. Slowly, until Rodrick became more and more needy, and started slamming his cock in you. He held your hips, and when you arched you back in pleasure, he went wild. He left hickeys and kisses all over your body. As if marking you as his own. He grunted, and huffed as you moaned loudly with pleasure corsing through you. You came with ease, as you normally did with Rodrick, who moaned loudly when he felt you convulse around him. He drove in as deep as he could, hitting against your cervix. His thrusts quickly becoming erratic, and unstable. He was losing his mind with you, and he hunched over your body, kissing your deeply as the two of you came. You felt his cum flood you, and you moaned. The two of you had to take a moment, panting. He kissed your neck and affectionately and moaned your named. You quickly realized exactly where you were, and you bounced into action. Throwing your clothes on before the two of you were caught. Rodrick did as he was ordered.

“Hurry up! I don’t wanna get caught.” You said in a hushed tone. He gave you this content little smile, and once completely clothed, kissed your cheek as you left the room to continue the party.

“Hey! Where were you two?” A friend cried in excitement.

“We got lost.” Rodrick lied, and the rest of the night went off without a hitch. All the while, you had to walk, and talk while you felt Rodrick’s pervious load slowly fall out of you and into your panties. The feeling of it, sent a shiver down your spine, and if you were honest, turned you on a little more than it should have.

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Ahhh! It feels good to be back! Sorry I’ve been away for so long! As always, I am now accepting for requests, as backed up as they may be! ❤

[lassieposting]

valduggery for the ship ask game? (p.s. your links/navigation bar isn't working).

thank you! i’ve fussed with the theme now so hopefully it’s working? and i’ve added new tags/fandoms/ships pages to make it easier for people who want to send me ships for stuff like this.

who hogs the duvet: val. she likes to wrap herself up like a burrito when she sleeps. sharing a bed is weird for both of them tbh. val’s used to being able to spread out as much as she likes and skul’s used to either sleeping out in the open with the dead men or meditating in an armchair. Both of them have nightmares. Both of them keep really unsociable sleeping hours because work comes first, and both of them find it difficult to settle. a lot of the time skul will doze off on the couch, fully-dressed, and val will have to wake him up to take him to bed. but it works out well - val likes being wrapped up in the quilt, and skul hates being held down by anything, so he doesn’t usually mind when she steals it. 

who texts/rings to check how their day is going: skul, especially before she moves in. he’ll ring her when she’s at home with her folks to see what she’s up to, get updates, whatever. they’re very rarely apart, so they don’t function very well without each other. 

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts: val. when china installed the facade she got him a hairbrush. which he still doesn’t often use. 

who gets up first in the morning: pre-resurrection, skul. his meditation cycle is shorter than val’s sleep cycle, so he usually wakes up a few hours before she does and makes her breakfast, picks out a suit, does some paperwork or something until she gets out of bed. post-resurrection, he crashes and burns. val winds up getting up first and making coffee, because the smell will coax him out from under the quilt

who suggests new things in bed: val’s still relatively inexperienced when they get together. she slept with fletcher, but they were both clueless virgins at the time, so it wasn’t especially impressive. she slept with caelan, but he was far more interested in how it felt for -him- to be with her than how it felt for her to be with him. so teaching her the majority of the fun stuff gets left to skulduggery. she’ll suggest things she saw on the internet, or things she just wants to try, but a lot of the time it’s him who brings up suggestions.

who cries at movies: val. skul is too desensitized by this point to cry at anything, really. the only time she ever sees him cry is when he’s in pain and it’s like, an automatic physical reaction. everyone will get watery eyes if punched in the face, it’s just a thing. and she very rarely cries at films - only ones where the dog dies. i am legend ruined her. skul came home from the off-license to find her on the floor with her arms flung around xena’s neck, bawling like a baby. 

who gives unprompted massages: i think most people would say skul here, but im gonna go with val. skul can feel phantom sensations as a skeleton, so presumably if he can feel pain (which comes from nerve endings, which he doesn’t have) then he can enjoy a back rub (which involves muscles, which he doesn’t have). he’s stressed one day because a superior chewed him out for something and val just puts her hands on his shoulders and starts rubbing his shoulder blades with her thumbs and like. no one’s touched him like that in centuries? he just goes fucking. limp. leans into it. once she realises how much he likes it, she does it more often.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick: skul. because val won’t stand for it any other way. she’s very demanding when she’s ill. 

who gets jealous easiest: romantically, val. she hates other girls flirting with skulduggery. or getting too close to skulduggery. or touching skulduggery. it all drives her up the wall. and he knows it, and he finds it endearing and amusing. he’s completely unruffled by people flirting with her - he’s too old, now, to really be threatened like that. he knows how much she loves him. but he’s more likely to get jealous over people she’s close to. he’s been irrationally jealous of her family on a couple occasions. he’s sometimes jealous of tanith. she’s all he’s got, he’s possessive over her. but he keeps his mouth shut about it. 

who has the most embarrassing taste in music: skulduggery. he stopped liking music so much after the tail end of the thirties.

who collects something unusual: skulduggery. he has a whole room to house his hat collection, iirc

who takes the longest to get ready: skul, especially when he had to cycle through facades to find a hot one. his whole getting-ready-to-go-out-routine can take like, an hour. even when they’re going somewhere nice and she puts makeup and heels on, she still usually has to wait a half-hour or so for him. 

who is the most tidy and organised: skulduggery. he’s military. val’s room usually looks like a bomb went off and it stresses him.

who gets most excited about the holidays: val. skul hasn’t celebrated anything in hundreds of years. but she insists on decorating on the 1st december every year, plays terrible christmas songs, insists on a big meal (usually held at ghastly and tanith’s house, since valduggery as a unit Cannot Cook). at halloween she tries to drag him out of the house to trick or treat, or makes him answer the door to the little kids who come past in costumes. she used to buy him an easter egg every year, even when he was a skeleton and couldn’t eat it, purely for the benefit of then being able to steal it and eat it herself.

who is the big spoon/little spoon: they kind of switch, depending on who needs comforting at the time. if skul has a nightmare, val will kind of wake up enough to roll over and pull him down with his head on her shoulder, and pet his hair until he goes back to sleep. if val’s had a bad day, she’ll cuddle into him and let him look after her. skul is usually big spoon if they’re just chilling on the couch.

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports: val. training sessions are a nightmare.

who starts the most arguments: val, hands down. skulduggery is from an era where the home was the woman’s realm. he’s 100% in charge at work, and val defers to him bc he’s the more experienced fighter, the accomplished tactician, but his general home-life attitude is “yes, dear”. it’s been a long time since he had a woman in his life telling him off and telling him what to do, but he learns pretty quickly to bite his tongue whenever val starts on him. that said, he’ll tease her for his own amusement, so he doesn’t help himself.

who suggests that they buy a pet: nobody suggests it. he turns up to pick her up and bring her home from meek ridge, and she introduces him to xena. he’s horrified. at no point was he informed that she had a dog. 

what couple traditions they have: they spend his birthday together every year. she hasn’t spend a new years eve with her family since she was thirteen. she lets the reflection out, meets him by the pier, gives him his birthday present and then they drive into dublin to watch the fireworks together. once they become a thing, val insists on the new years kiss as well. 

what tv shows they watch together: whatever val wants to watch. skulduggery isn’t a big fan of television and doesn’t have anything he’s especially invested in. he’ll sit with val when she watches something, but he’s horrible to watch shows with. he talks constantly. tells her how unrealistic or badly-acted a plot point or scene is. she’s threatened to remove his jaw so she can watch game of thrones in peace more than once.

what other couple they hang out with: ghanith. tanith and val love it. ghastly and skulduggery agree they see far too much of one another these days.

how they spend time together as a couple: research lmao. they used to have actual research sleepovers where val would help him out until she fell asleep on his couch, but now they usually end up either sprawled out on the sofa together with val on top and her head on his chest, watching an old movie, or she like. teaches him games on the xbox. val is determined to drag skulduggery kicking and screaming into the 21st century

who made the first move: val. skulduggery would never have said anything if she hadn’t come onto him first. 

who brings flowers home: skulduggery. he’s an old romantic. there’s always a little message in the bouquets in flower language. val has no idea, because she doesn’t know there is a flower language. she’s usually just ‘oh these are cute, thanks’ and then drops them in a vase and forgets about them until they die and he throws them out. she’s not romantic at all

who is the best cook: val, because skul cannot cook for shit, but they both suck tbh. val lives off processed oven food. she’s slim and toned bc the amount of exercise she does vastly outweighs the amount of calories she eats, not because her diet is especially healthy. they fight constantly over who has to make the food and god help val when skul gets it into his head to make her breakfast in bed

[samanthasroberts]

Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship

Id call it time traveling. Most of the time I didnt know I was doing it until I was already in too deep. It didnt matter the day of the week or the time, or who I was with. I was just as capable of bending time alone, as I was with a handful of friends.

There was no such thing as one or two or three drinks. Just like a two headed giraffe didnt exist, neither did grabbing a couple of drinks. Its that simple. I really cant explain it any other way. My average was a drink every fifteen minutes. I never thought about that. I didnt brag about it or work towards it or talk about it, my rhythm just happened. The drink was in my hand and I drank it. I didnt think of slowing down or having an empty hand.

Id start somewhere- at an apartment or at dinner or a happy hour or on a date and Id arm myself with whatever I was in the mood for. There were the regular players: Jack Daniels and diet coke, chardonnay, Redbull and vodka, Blue Moon and those few years in my early 20s where I thought the only two drinks on the planet was a Sex On The Beach and Cosmo. Drink menus were for amateurs.

Never red wine though. It stained my teeth and lips, Id explain when asked, and respond with my quirky I only drink it alone and in the dark answer. Theyd always laugh.

For a long time the only shot I tossed back was Patron XO. Lemon drops and Kamikazes were too collegiate for me. I was smart enough to know that I always got sick after Whiskey. That was my kryptonite. It didnt stop me from drinking it again (and again), just in case getting sick was a one time thing. Spoiler alert: it wasnt.

So that was me, always, from the first time I got drunk during a party at 16 years old to my four day New Years Eve bender at age 30. But lets not call it a bender, or else my parents will worry. It was celebrating a new year with friends. It was a vacation and a belated birthday. It was me letting present, in the moment Diana take the wheel for a few days.

By the time YOLO was on T-shirts I had carpe diem booze down to a science.

It was all so normal and always OK: competing with friends how many guys we can make out with in one night (one of my favorite games), bouncing around speakeasys in the East Village, sneaking into the high end member only clubs in the Meatpacking District, 4am pancakes at a diner then going home with the cutest guy there, leaving without paying your tab, putting your drinks on a strangers tab, hooking up with your friends crush, sleeping with a guy who has a girlfriend (what, he had an accent, ok?), telling work you have a doctors appointment when you need an extra hour of sleep, telling work youre sick when youre too hungover to get out of bed, napping in the bathroom stall at work when you realize you went to work still drunk.

Theres wasnt a problem with any of this. I could go to six bars in a night and only remember two of them (seetime traveling). Others had different, less poetic names for it- like graying out or even more ominous, going black out. But lets not talk about that. Those words are scary.

It all just made so much sense to me. I had a desperate thirst for life, for new experiences and stories that were only mine and drinking was my very own special key to open that door. I dont remember being trained but I knew this truth: that I needed to drink- to have fun, to meet a guy, to de-stress, to celebrate, after a bad day, after a good day, when its more than 50 degrees out, when its under 15 degrees, because its Monday.

Its dramatic sounding, I know, but when I was drinking, like really in the middle of a good run, I was untouchable. My thoughts evened out and worries were left at the coat check. I was charming and funny. I was weightless and sexy. Nothing could ground me.

I wasnt stupid. I knew what was happening. There wasnt a river in Egypt. The biggest part was the after, when Morning Diana gradually and reluctantly pixelated back into place ready to droop down into the exorcist-like hangover.

When I was in college my hangover cure was strawberries and chocolate milk. After I received my diploma I graduated to well-done bacon, coffee, Mimosas. Water never entered the equation.

Sometime in my mid-twenties while I was gripping on to my spinning couch, I googled hangover and depression and was so relieved when I read the phrase emotional hangover. I immediately felt better seeing the feeling I felt printed on my screen. It was a relief: I wasnt alone in this feeling and it had a name. Urban Dictionary knows about it so it must be OK. Ill finish my bacon and chocolate milkshake and be just ducky.

The recovery time was always different- sometimes I could slide out of bed and be partially human the next day and other times I needed a day alone to stew in a mental playback of the night before. During those days the biggest challenge was the trek from my bedroom to couch. No matter how I recouped I never thought it was bad. I thought my friends were doing it too.

Country songs and Van Wilder confirmed for me that getting drunk and hangovers were a part of life. I never raised my hand to question it. So, about the men. I bet you thought it was hard to find a man with all this time zig zagging and space jumping but it wasnt. Lets go back ten years again and Ill tell you about all the threesomes I had. It was me, the guy, and alcohol.

It was how I flirted, played, connected, and bonded with men, always. If the boyfriend had a bad day wed start downing drinks in the hopes that hed open up and talk to me. To flirt with the new cute coworker Id suggest we play beer after work. Hed find it charming and cute and wed drunkenly made out in the corner of the bar after swapping 1st pet names and office gossip. I had a fling with a British banker off and on for 3 years and when wed meet late night hed pour us shots of tequila first. It was our thing. Our inside joke with Don Julio.We didnt know each others last names but we shared an appreciation for top shelf tequila at 3am before having sex. Im a romantic, I know.

My favorite three words when I was with a guy were Want another round?

During each encounter, each date, I wouldnt feel satisfied until I heard those words. He could shout it or whisper it in my ear, either way I wanted those words. It meant: he liked me, hes having a good time, and he wanted to keep spending time with me. He didnt want the night to end. It meant intimacy, it meant hand holding and flirty eyes and of course, sex.

I could count the number of times I had sober sex on one hand. I didnt enjoy it. To avoid it, Id explain that I simply didnt like morning sex. Most of the time Id be too hungover to move from a fetal position so it wasnt pursued for long on his end anyway. Hooking up drunk was sexy and fun. We could let our inhibitions go and really connect. Fun was had by all. I wasnt worried about any of it.

Theres unfortunately worse parts. Im not going to tell them to you though. Mostly because my mother may read this. But also because I was once told that you dont need to go all the way to the bottom floor in order to get off the elevator. So lets baby step off the lift, shall we?

I was in one of my first sessions with my new therapist when she told me I repeated the word untouchable a lot and made me explain why I thought that was a good word. (See all of the above for my response). Valentines Day was two weeks away and I was mentally preparing to be single again during my least favorite holiday of the year.

I wasnt too worried though because Id participate in my friends annual BOVD- Black Out Valentines Day. The year before included colorful fish bowls and sushi till 2am. Problem solved. I was talking but realizing more and more how much she looked like Lily Tomlin when she put a piece paper down in front of me. It was a wordy contract with bullet points in the middle and a blank line next to my name at the bottom.

I was supposed to go a week without drinking. Thats a lie. I could drink. But only three glasses of beer or wine, two different nights. If I broke the contract I had to give $100 to her. Lily was crazy. How was this legal? I couldnt do this. Fact. I shouldnt have even been there. I wanted to deal with this but apparently not by actually dealing with it. I argued with her and left the session with the unsigned document squished to the bottom of my purse. That night I didnt sleep and express ordered Alan Carrs Easy Way to Control Alcohol. Problem solved. I went out drinking all week. And I drank like no one was watching.

Then I signed the contract. And then when week one ended, I signed the next contract. Was it easy? Fuck no. Did I have to write some checks to my therapist? Yes. Did I cry? Did I rant? Did my hands and mind twitch and turn during dinners with friends as I stared at my 1 drink for the night? Hell to the yes. Most nights all I could think about was my hand stammering under the table and how much I wanted and needed another drink.

I thought of the contract and Lilys annoying face staring down at me. I thought of how I felt when I was hungover. I thought of the fuzzy nights. I thought of the fuzzy years. I cried a lot. I stayed in and watched Netflix even more. I watched Vampire Diaries starting at season 1, many times. In therapy I compared my drunk self to being a vampire with no soul. There are many different points of view on vampire rule and regulations but most of them agree that the creatures of the night have no soul. Stick with me here. In Vampire Diaries the rule of thumb is that vampires can turn this soul switch off and on. When its on they feel everything, when its off they feel nothing and become untouchable. Follow me now? The easy way to live is to keep the switch off. I did that, over and over again. I was tired of it and wanted to be in the world of the living again. I didnt decide this overnight. It took months, a lot more episodes of Vampire Diaries and most of 2015. Something weird happened around the same time I switched to watching new episodes of Arrow that wouldve really pissed off my 23 year old Cosmo drinking self- I stopped enjoying drinking.

By November I was completely sober and joined a boxing ring. I could get up in the morning and exercise. I didnt need to sign a contract anymore. I sober dated. I sober celebrated friends birthdays. I sober had a fun Thursday night. I went to AA meetings sometimes and spent most of the meeting listening and nodding my head. I was funny and smart and friendly during the day and I was funny and smart and friendly at night. I added to my own life and stopped letting drinking take away from it. I started a social group. I started a book club. I started.

Sometime between the last crippling snow storm of last year and planning my 31st birthday, I stopped wanting to go to Edit Undo. I re-entered my own life. I went through those years and theyre a part of me for worse or worser. I went through it before knowing there was another side. I hit my rock bottoms (yes, there was more than one). Im still learning how to talk about it- what I want to say about it and to who. But the further I get from the person I was then, the more I like who Im turning into now. But letting go of her seemed like an impossible ask that the tiny tired voice deep inside me was begging for.

If I stopped drinking Id lose all of me, not just a part. I was terrified as if I was going to lose a limb or my hearing. My life would be filled withwhat? Id have no buoy or security blanket or man behind the curtain. Id be dry, unfilled, just curved edges and rims. The thought paralyzed me.

Now, Im at this other side. Im still learning what this other side is like and who I am in it. But I do know this- Im more now than I was before. Im more me and more strong and more present. I feel more and I listen to me more.

Days are now broken up between feeling this raw, strength of life and connection to people and namastes and really fantastic Im part of the universe and not from vibes to a total, giant uncertainty and instability, and anger and exhaustion. I never knew I could get tired of feelings. Weve moved in together, you see. We wake up together and go to bed together and they insist on forming an invisible fanny pack around my waist during the day. Hello intimacy, party of two. Theyre normally the big spoon. My thoughts continue from one moment to the next and connect without taking breaks. I had years and years of turning myself on and off and more off and now I just want to be on.

I wish I could say that when I wake up sober now, Im not depressed anymore or lonely, my friends became better friends, I became the perfect best friend, sister and daughter, and my love life came together Prince Charming Cinderella style. But becoming more sober didnt mean everything clicked into place, it just means I see the pieces more clearly and I dont hide from the messy parts.

So now whatdo I become resentful and guilty and depressed thinking about the years I spent avoiding intimacy and feelings and honesty and fuck, concrete memories? Do I think those years dont count? Do I blame my bad habits on the constant excess of New York City? Do I blame the alcoholic-like attributes that run in my blood line? Do I blame my friends? Or the work hard play hard Don Draper industry I work in? Do I blame shitty men boys?

Yes, to all of the above. I point the finger at all of them and then back at me, and then at them and back at me. Lily says hi.

Ive had men yell at me, not being able to grasp the idea of my moderated drinking habits, insisting that Im just pretending I dont drink because I wanted them to buy me drinks. I dont get it either. No means no guys. My friendships have changed, my god have my friendships changed. One friend who pre-games with a bottle of wine (a standard respectable approach I once followed), on multiple occasions, dumped her wine into my water when she realized I wasnt drunk like she was. Yeah, I dont spend time with her anymore.

I went sixty days without drinking before I decided to drink again. For me it was like breaking up with a boyfriend and then meeting up again two months later. Never a good idea. Youll never want to be just friends who catch every up every now and then. I drank Vueve Clicquot and it didnt make the night better but it didnt make it worse. I didnt gray out. I didnt break down. That night isnt fuzzy. I could wake up in the morning.

Theres been other times when I drank recently and couldnt move far from the couch. Those times are a quick, slap in the face of what not to do. But old feelings and doubts still come flooding back in. Will I always want another drink? Why cant I just stay sober? Why does everyone make it look so easy? Is my therapist actually Lily Tomlin?

Deep down I know the majority of my problems start and stop with alcohol. Drinking will always be a part of my life whether Im drinking or not. Itd be easier to figure out if I wasnt both the variable and constant in this little conundrum of mine.

Today, I stare all the feels in the face, and make sure they know the last sixteen years matter but the last thirteen months matter even more. Im not her anymore, Im a different, more me now.

Im not 100% sober and I dont know if I ever will be. One day, maybe sooner rather than later, I could decide to sign up for a sober lifestyle again. But right now, I cant imagine midnight on New Years Eve without a champagne toast. I can do without five toasts but one still feels OK to me. So yeahmy relationship with drinking? We file it under Its complicated.

The good news is, Ive learned how to unwind on a Friday night without the trifecta of a bottle of wine, pizza and Netflix. My secret is just pizza and Netflix.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/13/getting-sober-redefining-my-longest-relationship/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/11/13/getting-sober-redefining-my-longest-relationship/

[adambstingus]

Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship

Id call it time traveling. Most of the time I didnt know I was doing it until I was already in too deep. It didnt matter the day of the week or the time, or who I was with. I was just as capable of bending time alone, as I was with a handful of friends.

There was no such thing as one or two or three drinks. Just like a two headed giraffe didnt exist, neither did grabbing a couple of drinks. Its that simple. I really cant explain it any other way. My average was a drink every fifteen minutes. I never thought about that. I didnt brag about it or work towards it or talk about it, my rhythm just happened. The drink was in my hand and I drank it. I didnt think of slowing down or having an empty hand.

Id start somewhere- at an apartment or at dinner or a happy hour or on a date and Id arm myself with whatever I was in the mood for. There were the regular players: Jack Daniels and diet coke, chardonnay, Redbull and vodka, Blue Moon and those few years in my early 20s where I thought the only two drinks on the planet was a Sex On The Beach and Cosmo. Drink menus were for amateurs.

Never red wine though. It stained my teeth and lips, Id explain when asked, and respond with my quirky I only drink it alone and in the dark answer. Theyd always laugh.

For a long time the only shot I tossed back was Patron XO. Lemon drops and Kamikazes were too collegiate for me. I was smart enough to know that I always got sick after Whiskey. That was my kryptonite. It didnt stop me from drinking it again (and again), just in case getting sick was a one time thing. Spoiler alert: it wasnt.

So that was me, always, from the first time I got drunk during a party at 16 years old to my four day New Years Eve bender at age 30. But lets not call it a bender, or else my parents will worry. It was celebrating a new year with friends. It was a vacation and a belated birthday. It was me letting present, in the moment Diana take the wheel for a few days.

By the time YOLO was on T-shirts I had carpe diem booze down to a science.

It was all so normal and always OK: competing with friends how many guys we can make out with in one night (one of my favorite games), bouncing around speakeasys in the East Village, sneaking into the high end member only clubs in the Meatpacking District, 4am pancakes at a diner then going home with the cutest guy there, leaving without paying your tab, putting your drinks on a strangers tab, hooking up with your friends crush, sleeping with a guy who has a girlfriend (what, he had an accent, ok?), telling work you have a doctors appointment when you need an extra hour of sleep, telling work youre sick when youre too hungover to get out of bed, napping in the bathroom stall at work when you realize you went to work still drunk.

Theres wasnt a problem with any of this. I could go to six bars in a night and only remember two of them (seetime traveling). Others had different, less poetic names for it- like graying out or even more ominous, going black out. But lets not talk about that. Those words are scary.

It all just made so much sense to me. I had a desperate thirst for life, for new experiences and stories that were only mine and drinking was my very own special key to open that door. I dont remember being trained but I knew this truth: that I needed to drink- to have fun, to meet a guy, to de-stress, to celebrate, after a bad day, after a good day, when its more than 50 degrees out, when its under 15 degrees, because its Monday.

Its dramatic sounding, I know, but when I was drinking, like really in the middle of a good run, I was untouchable. My thoughts evened out and worries were left at the coat check. I was charming and funny. I was weightless and sexy. Nothing could ground me.

I wasnt stupid. I knew what was happening. There wasnt a river in Egypt. The biggest part was the after, when Morning Diana gradually and reluctantly pixelated back into place ready to droop down into the exorcist-like hangover.

When I was in college my hangover cure was strawberries and chocolate milk. After I received my diploma I graduated to well-done bacon, coffee, Mimosas. Water never entered the equation.

Sometime in my mid-twenties while I was gripping on to my spinning couch, I googled hangover and depression and was so relieved when I read the phrase emotional hangover. I immediately felt better seeing the feeling I felt printed on my screen. It was a relief: I wasnt alone in this feeling and it had a name. Urban Dictionary knows about it so it must be OK. Ill finish my bacon and chocolate milkshake and be just ducky.

The recovery time was always different- sometimes I could slide out of bed and be partially human the next day and other times I needed a day alone to stew in a mental playback of the night before. During those days the biggest challenge was the trek from my bedroom to couch. No matter how I recouped I never thought it was bad. I thought my friends were doing it too.

Country songs and Van Wilder confirmed for me that getting drunk and hangovers were a part of life. I never raised my hand to question it. So, about the men. I bet you thought it was hard to find a man with all this time zig zagging and space jumping but it wasnt. Lets go back ten years again and Ill tell you about all the threesomes I had. It was me, the guy, and alcohol.

It was how I flirted, played, connected, and bonded with men, always. If the boyfriend had a bad day wed start downing drinks in the hopes that hed open up and talk to me. To flirt with the new cute coworker Id suggest we play beer after work. Hed find it charming and cute and wed drunkenly made out in the corner of the bar after swapping 1st pet names and office gossip. I had a fling with a British banker off and on for 3 years and when wed meet late night hed pour us shots of tequila first. It was our thing. Our inside joke with Don Julio.We didnt know each others last names but we shared an appreciation for top shelf tequila at 3am before having sex. Im a romantic, I know.

My favorite three words when I was with a guy were Want another round?

During each encounter, each date, I wouldnt feel satisfied until I heard those words. He could shout it or whisper it in my ear, either way I wanted those words. It meant: he liked me, hes having a good time, and he wanted to keep spending time with me. He didnt want the night to end. It meant intimacy, it meant hand holding and flirty eyes and of course, sex.

I could count the number of times I had sober sex on one hand. I didnt enjoy it. To avoid it, Id explain that I simply didnt like morning sex. Most of the time Id be too hungover to move from a fetal position so it wasnt pursued for long on his end anyway. Hooking up drunk was sexy and fun. We could let our inhibitions go and really connect. Fun was had by all. I wasnt worried about any of it.

Theres unfortunately worse parts. Im not going to tell them to you though. Mostly because my mother may read this. But also because I was once told that you dont need to go all the way to the bottom floor in order to get off the elevator. So lets baby step off the lift, shall we?

I was in one of my first sessions with my new therapist when she told me I repeated the word untouchable a lot and made me explain why I thought that was a good word. (See all of the above for my response). Valentines Day was two weeks away and I was mentally preparing to be single again during my least favorite holiday of the year.

I wasnt too worried though because Id participate in my friends annual BOVD- Black Out Valentines Day. The year before included colorful fish bowls and sushi till 2am. Problem solved. I was talking but realizing more and more how much she looked like Lily Tomlin when she put a piece paper down in front of me. It was a wordy contract with bullet points in the middle and a blank line next to my name at the bottom.

I was supposed to go a week without drinking. Thats a lie. I could drink. But only three glasses of beer or wine, two different nights. If I broke the contract I had to give $100 to her. Lily was crazy. How was this legal? I couldnt do this. Fact. I shouldnt have even been there. I wanted to deal with this but apparently not by actually dealing with it. I argued with her and left the session with the unsigned document squished to the bottom of my purse. That night I didnt sleep and express ordered Alan Carrs Easy Way to Control Alcohol. Problem solved. I went out drinking all week. And I drank like no one was watching.

Then I signed the contract. And then when week one ended, I signed the next contract. Was it easy? Fuck no. Did I have to write some checks to my therapist? Yes. Did I cry? Did I rant? Did my hands and mind twitch and turn during dinners with friends as I stared at my 1 drink for the night? Hell to the yes. Most nights all I could think about was my hand stammering under the table and how much I wanted and needed another drink.

I thought of the contract and Lilys annoying face staring down at me. I thought of how I felt when I was hungover. I thought of the fuzzy nights. I thought of the fuzzy years. I cried a lot. I stayed in and watched Netflix even more. I watched Vampire Diaries starting at season 1, many times. In therapy I compared my drunk self to being a vampire with no soul. There are many different points of view on vampire rule and regulations but most of them agree that the creatures of the night have no soul. Stick with me here. In Vampire Diaries the rule of thumb is that vampires can turn this soul switch off and on. When its on they feel everything, when its off they feel nothing and become untouchable. Follow me now? The easy way to live is to keep the switch off. I did that, over and over again. I was tired of it and wanted to be in the world of the living again. I didnt decide this overnight. It took months, a lot more episodes of Vampire Diaries and most of 2015. Something weird happened around the same time I switched to watching new episodes of Arrow that wouldve really pissed off my 23 year old Cosmo drinking self- I stopped enjoying drinking.

By November I was completely sober and joined a boxing ring. I could get up in the morning and exercise. I didnt need to sign a contract anymore. I sober dated. I sober celebrated friends birthdays. I sober had a fun Thursday night. I went to AA meetings sometimes and spent most of the meeting listening and nodding my head. I was funny and smart and friendly during the day and I was funny and smart and friendly at night. I added to my own life and stopped letting drinking take away from it. I started a social group. I started a book club. I started.

Sometime between the last crippling snow storm of last year and planning my 31st birthday, I stopped wanting to go to Edit Undo. I re-entered my own life. I went through those years and theyre a part of me for worse or worser. I went through it before knowing there was another side. I hit my rock bottoms (yes, there was more than one). Im still learning how to talk about it- what I want to say about it and to who. But the further I get from the person I was then, the more I like who Im turning into now. But letting go of her seemed like an impossible ask that the tiny tired voice deep inside me was begging for.

If I stopped drinking Id lose all of me, not just a part. I was terrified as if I was going to lose a limb or my hearing. My life would be filled withwhat? Id have no buoy or security blanket or man behind the curtain. Id be dry, unfilled, just curved edges and rims. The thought paralyzed me.

Now, Im at this other side. Im still learning what this other side is like and who I am in it. But I do know this- Im more now than I was before. Im more me and more strong and more present. I feel more and I listen to me more.

Days are now broken up between feeling this raw, strength of life and connection to people and namastes and really fantastic Im part of the universe and not from vibes to a total, giant uncertainty and instability, and anger and exhaustion. I never knew I could get tired of feelings. Weve moved in together, you see. We wake up together and go to bed together and they insist on forming an invisible fanny pack around my waist during the day. Hello intimacy, party of two. Theyre normally the big spoon. My thoughts continue from one moment to the next and connect without taking breaks. I had years and years of turning myself on and off and more off and now I just want to be on.

I wish I could say that when I wake up sober now, Im not depressed anymore or lonely, my friends became better friends, I became the perfect best friend, sister and daughter, and my love life came together Prince Charming Cinderella style. But becoming more sober didnt mean everything clicked into place, it just means I see the pieces more clearly and I dont hide from the messy parts.

So now whatdo I become resentful and guilty and depressed thinking about the years I spent avoiding intimacy and feelings and honesty and fuck, concrete memories? Do I think those years dont count? Do I blame my bad habits on the constant excess of New York City? Do I blame the alcoholic-like attributes that run in my blood line? Do I blame my friends? Or the work hard play hard Don Draper industry I work in? Do I blame shitty men boys?

Yes, to all of the above. I point the finger at all of them and then back at me, and then at them and back at me. Lily says hi.

Ive had men yell at me, not being able to grasp the idea of my moderated drinking habits, insisting that Im just pretending I dont drink because I wanted them to buy me drinks. I dont get it either. No means no guys. My friendships have changed, my god have my friendships changed. One friend who pre-games with a bottle of wine (a standard respectable approach I once followed), on multiple occasions, dumped her wine into my water when she realized I wasnt drunk like she was. Yeah, I dont spend time with her anymore.

I went sixty days without drinking before I decided to drink again. For me it was like breaking up with a boyfriend and then meeting up again two months later. Never a good idea. Youll never want to be just friends who catch every up every now and then. I drank Vueve Clicquot and it didnt make the night better but it didnt make it worse. I didnt gray out. I didnt break down. That night isnt fuzzy. I could wake up in the morning.

Theres been other times when I drank recently and couldnt move far from the couch. Those times are a quick, slap in the face of what not to do. But old feelings and doubts still come flooding back in. Will I always want another drink? Why cant I just stay sober? Why does everyone make it look so easy? Is my therapist actually Lily Tomlin?

Deep down I know the majority of my problems start and stop with alcohol. Drinking will always be a part of my life whether Im drinking or not. Itd be easier to figure out if I wasnt both the variable and constant in this little conundrum of mine.

Today, I stare all the feels in the face, and make sure they know the last sixteen years matter but the last thirteen months matter even more. Im not her anymore, Im a different, more me now.

Im not 100% sober and I dont know if I ever will be. One day, maybe sooner rather than later, I could decide to sign up for a sober lifestyle again. But right now, I cant imagine midnight on New Years Eve without a champagne toast. I can do without five toasts but one still feels OK to me. So yeahmy relationship with drinking? We file it under Its complicated.

The good news is, Ive learned how to unwind on a Friday night without the trifecta of a bottle of wine, pizza and Netflix. My secret is just pizza and Netflix.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/13/getting-sober-redefining-my-longest-relationship/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/167431371812

[allofbeercom]

Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship

Id call it time traveling. Most of the time I didnt know I was doing it until I was already in too deep. It didnt matter the day of the week or the time, or who I was with. I was just as capable of bending time alone, as I was with a handful of friends.

There was no such thing as one or two or three drinks. Just like a two headed giraffe didnt exist, neither did grabbing a couple of drinks. Its that simple. I really cant explain it any other way. My average was a drink every fifteen minutes. I never thought about that. I didnt brag about it or work towards it or talk about it, my rhythm just happened. The drink was in my hand and I drank it. I didnt think of slowing down or having an empty hand.

Id start somewhere- at an apartment or at dinner or a happy hour or on a date and Id arm myself with whatever I was in the mood for. There were the regular players: Jack Daniels and diet coke, chardonnay, Redbull and vodka, Blue Moon and those few years in my early 20s where I thought the only two drinks on the planet was a Sex On The Beach and Cosmo. Drink menus were for amateurs.

Never red wine though. It stained my teeth and lips, Id explain when asked, and respond with my quirky I only drink it alone and in the dark answer. Theyd always laugh.

For a long time the only shot I tossed back was Patron XO. Lemon drops and Kamikazes were too collegiate for me. I was smart enough to know that I always got sick after Whiskey. That was my kryptonite. It didnt stop me from drinking it again (and again), just in case getting sick was a one time thing. Spoiler alert: it wasnt.

So that was me, always, from the first time I got drunk during a party at 16 years old to my four day New Years Eve bender at age 30. But lets not call it a bender, or else my parents will worry. It was celebrating a new year with friends. It was a vacation and a belated birthday. It was me letting present, in the moment Diana take the wheel for a few days.

By the time YOLO was on T-shirts I had carpe diem booze down to a science.

It was all so normal and always OK: competing with friends how many guys we can make out with in one night (one of my favorite games), bouncing around speakeasys in the East Village, sneaking into the high end member only clubs in the Meatpacking District, 4am pancakes at a diner then going home with the cutest guy there, leaving without paying your tab, putting your drinks on a strangers tab, hooking up with your friends crush, sleeping with a guy who has a girlfriend (what, he had an accent, ok?), telling work you have a doctors appointment when you need an extra hour of sleep, telling work youre sick when youre too hungover to get out of bed, napping in the bathroom stall at work when you realize you went to work still drunk.

Theres wasnt a problem with any of this. I could go to six bars in a night and only remember two of them (seetime traveling). Others had different, less poetic names for it- like graying out or even more ominous, going black out. But lets not talk about that. Those words are scary.

It all just made so much sense to me. I had a desperate thirst for life, for new experiences and stories that were only mine and drinking was my very own special key to open that door. I dont remember being trained but I knew this truth: that I needed to drink- to have fun, to meet a guy, to de-stress, to celebrate, after a bad day, after a good day, when its more than 50 degrees out, when its under 15 degrees, because its Monday.

Its dramatic sounding, I know, but when I was drinking, like really in the middle of a good run, I was untouchable. My thoughts evened out and worries were left at the coat check. I was charming and funny. I was weightless and sexy. Nothing could ground me.

I wasnt stupid. I knew what was happening. There wasnt a river in Egypt. The biggest part was the after, when Morning Diana gradually and reluctantly pixelated back into place ready to droop down into the exorcist-like hangover.

When I was in college my hangover cure was strawberries and chocolate milk. After I received my diploma I graduated to well-done bacon, coffee, Mimosas. Water never entered the equation.

Sometime in my mid-twenties while I was gripping on to my spinning couch, I googled hangover and depression and was so relieved when I read the phrase emotional hangover. I immediately felt better seeing the feeling I felt printed on my screen. It was a relief: I wasnt alone in this feeling and it had a name. Urban Dictionary knows about it so it must be OK. Ill finish my bacon and chocolate milkshake and be just ducky.

The recovery time was always different- sometimes I could slide out of bed and be partially human the next day and other times I needed a day alone to stew in a mental playback of the night before. During those days the biggest challenge was the trek from my bedroom to couch. No matter how I recouped I never thought it was bad. I thought my friends were doing it too.

Country songs and Van Wilder confirmed for me that getting drunk and hangovers were a part of life. I never raised my hand to question it. So, about the men. I bet you thought it was hard to find a man with all this time zig zagging and space jumping but it wasnt. Lets go back ten years again and Ill tell you about all the threesomes I had. It was me, the guy, and alcohol.

It was how I flirted, played, connected, and bonded with men, always. If the boyfriend had a bad day wed start downing drinks in the hopes that hed open up and talk to me. To flirt with the new cute coworker Id suggest we play beer after work. Hed find it charming and cute and wed drunkenly made out in the corner of the bar after swapping 1st pet names and office gossip. I had a fling with a British banker off and on for 3 years and when wed meet late night hed pour us shots of tequila first. It was our thing. Our inside joke with Don Julio.We didnt know each others last names but we shared an appreciation for top shelf tequila at 3am before having sex. Im a romantic, I know.

My favorite three words when I was with a guy were Want another round?

During each encounter, each date, I wouldnt feel satisfied until I heard those words. He could shout it or whisper it in my ear, either way I wanted those words. It meant: he liked me, hes having a good time, and he wanted to keep spending time with me. He didnt want the night to end. It meant intimacy, it meant hand holding and flirty eyes and of course, sex.

I could count the number of times I had sober sex on one hand. I didnt enjoy it. To avoid it, Id explain that I simply didnt like morning sex. Most of the time Id be too hungover to move from a fetal position so it wasnt pursued for long on his end anyway. Hooking up drunk was sexy and fun. We could let our inhibitions go and really connect. Fun was had by all. I wasnt worried about any of it.

Theres unfortunately worse parts. Im not going to tell them to you though. Mostly because my mother may read this. But also because I was once told that you dont need to go all the way to the bottom floor in order to get off the elevator. So lets baby step off the lift, shall we?

I was in one of my first sessions with my new therapist when she told me I repeated the word untouchable a lot and made me explain why I thought that was a good word. (See all of the above for my response). Valentines Day was two weeks away and I was mentally preparing to be single again during my least favorite holiday of the year.

I wasnt too worried though because Id participate in my friends annual BOVD- Black Out Valentines Day. The year before included colorful fish bowls and sushi till 2am. Problem solved. I was talking but realizing more and more how much she looked like Lily Tomlin when she put a piece paper down in front of me. It was a wordy contract with bullet points in the middle and a blank line next to my name at the bottom.

I was supposed to go a week without drinking. Thats a lie. I could drink. But only three glasses of beer or wine, two different nights. If I broke the contract I had to give $100 to her. Lily was crazy. How was this legal? I couldnt do this. Fact. I shouldnt have even been there. I wanted to deal with this but apparently not by actually dealing with it. I argued with her and left the session with the unsigned document squished to the bottom of my purse. That night I didnt sleep and express ordered Alan Carrs Easy Way to Control Alcohol. Problem solved. I went out drinking all week. And I drank like no one was watching.

Then I signed the contract. And then when week one ended, I signed the next contract. Was it easy? Fuck no. Did I have to write some checks to my therapist? Yes. Did I cry? Did I rant? Did my hands and mind twitch and turn during dinners with friends as I stared at my 1 drink for the night? Hell to the yes. Most nights all I could think about was my hand stammering under the table and how much I wanted and needed another drink.

I thought of the contract and Lilys annoying face staring down at me. I thought of how I felt when I was hungover. I thought of the fuzzy nights. I thought of the fuzzy years. I cried a lot. I stayed in and watched Netflix even more. I watched Vampire Diaries starting at season 1, many times. In therapy I compared my drunk self to being a vampire with no soul. There are many different points of view on vampire rule and regulations but most of them agree that the creatures of the night have no soul. Stick with me here. In Vampire Diaries the rule of thumb is that vampires can turn this soul switch off and on. When its on they feel everything, when its off they feel nothing and become untouchable. Follow me now? The easy way to live is to keep the switch off. I did that, over and over again. I was tired of it and wanted to be in the world of the living again. I didnt decide this overnight. It took months, a lot more episodes of Vampire Diaries and most of 2015. Something weird happened around the same time I switched to watching new episodes of Arrow that wouldve really pissed off my 23 year old Cosmo drinking self- I stopped enjoying drinking.

By November I was completely sober and joined a boxing ring. I could get up in the morning and exercise. I didnt need to sign a contract anymore. I sober dated. I sober celebrated friends birthdays. I sober had a fun Thursday night. I went to AA meetings sometimes and spent most of the meeting listening and nodding my head. I was funny and smart and friendly during the day and I was funny and smart and friendly at night. I added to my own life and stopped letting drinking take away from it. I started a social group. I started a book club. I started.

Sometime between the last crippling snow storm of last year and planning my 31st birthday, I stopped wanting to go to Edit Undo. I re-entered my own life. I went through those years and theyre a part of me for worse or worser. I went through it before knowing there was another side. I hit my rock bottoms (yes, there was more than one). Im still learning how to talk about it- what I want to say about it and to who. But the further I get from the person I was then, the more I like who Im turning into now. But letting go of her seemed like an impossible ask that the tiny tired voice deep inside me was begging for.

If I stopped drinking Id lose all of me, not just a part. I was terrified as if I was going to lose a limb or my hearing. My life would be filled withwhat? Id have no buoy or security blanket or man behind the curtain. Id be dry, unfilled, just curved edges and rims. The thought paralyzed me.

Now, Im at this other side. Im still learning what this other side is like and who I am in it. But I do know this- Im more now than I was before. Im more me and more strong and more present. I feel more and I listen to me more.

Days are now broken up between feeling this raw, strength of life and connection to people and namastes and really fantastic Im part of the universe and not from vibes to a total, giant uncertainty and instability, and anger and exhaustion. I never knew I could get tired of feelings. Weve moved in together, you see. We wake up together and go to bed together and they insist on forming an invisible fanny pack around my waist during the day. Hello intimacy, party of two. Theyre normally the big spoon. My thoughts continue from one moment to the next and connect without taking breaks. I had years and years of turning myself on and off and more off and now I just want to be on.

I wish I could say that when I wake up sober now, Im not depressed anymore or lonely, my friends became better friends, I became the perfect best friend, sister and daughter, and my love life came together Prince Charming Cinderella style. But becoming more sober didnt mean everything clicked into place, it just means I see the pieces more clearly and I dont hide from the messy parts.

So now whatdo I become resentful and guilty and depressed thinking about the years I spent avoiding intimacy and feelings and honesty and fuck, concrete memories? Do I think those years dont count? Do I blame my bad habits on the constant excess of New York City? Do I blame the alcoholic-like attributes that run in my blood line? Do I blame my friends? Or the work hard play hard Don Draper industry I work in? Do I blame shitty men boys?

Yes, to all of the above. I point the finger at all of them and then back at me, and then at them and back at me. Lily says hi.

Ive had men yell at me, not being able to grasp the idea of my moderated drinking habits, insisting that Im just pretending I dont drink because I wanted them to buy me drinks. I dont get it either. No means no guys. My friendships have changed, my god have my friendships changed. One friend who pre-games with a bottle of wine (a standard respectable approach I once followed), on multiple occasions, dumped her wine into my water when she realized I wasnt drunk like she was. Yeah, I dont spend time with her anymore.

I went sixty days without drinking before I decided to drink again. For me it was like breaking up with a boyfriend and then meeting up again two months later. Never a good idea. Youll never want to be just friends who catch every up every now and then. I drank Vueve Clicquot and it didnt make the night better but it didnt make it worse. I didnt gray out. I didnt break down. That night isnt fuzzy. I could wake up in the morning.

Theres been other times when I drank recently and couldnt move far from the couch. Those times are a quick, slap in the face of what not to do. But old feelings and doubts still come flooding back in. Will I always want another drink? Why cant I just stay sober? Why does everyone make it look so easy? Is my therapist actually Lily Tomlin?

Deep down I know the majority of my problems start and stop with alcohol. Drinking will always be a part of my life whether Im drinking or not. Itd be easier to figure out if I wasnt both the variable and constant in this little conundrum of mine.

Today, I stare all the feels in the face, and make sure they know the last sixteen years matter but the last thirteen months matter even more. Im not her anymore, Im a different, more me now.

Im not 100% sober and I dont know if I ever will be. One day, maybe sooner rather than later, I could decide to sign up for a sober lifestyle again. But right now, I cant imagine midnight on New Years Eve without a champagne toast. I can do without five toasts but one still feels OK to me. So yeahmy relationship with drinking? We file it under Its complicated.

The good news is, Ive learned how to unwind on a Friday night without the trifecta of a bottle of wine, pizza and Netflix. My secret is just pizza and Netflix.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/13/getting-sober-redefining-my-longest-relationship/

[viralhottopics]

Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship

Id call it time traveling. Most of the time I didnt know I was doing it until I was already in too deep. It didnt matter the day of the week or the time, or who I was with. I was just as capable of bending time alone, as I was with a handful of friends.

There was no such thing as one or two or three drinks. Just like a two headed giraffe didnt exist, neither did grabbing a couple of drinks. Its that simple. I really cant explain it any other way. My average was a drink every fifteen minutes. I never thought about that. I didnt brag about it or work towards it or talk about it, my rhythm just happened. The drink was in my hand and I drank it. I didnt think of slowing down or having an empty hand.

Id start somewhere- at an apartment or at dinner or a happy hour or on a date and Id arm myself with whatever I was in the mood for. There were the regular players: Jack Daniels and diet coke, chardonnay, Redbull and vodka, Blue Moon and those few years in my early 20s where I thought the only two drinks on the planet was a Sex On The Beach and Cosmo. Drink menus were for amateurs.

Never red wine though. It stained my teeth and lips, Id explain when asked, and respond with my quirky I only drink it alone and in the dark answer. Theyd always laugh.

For a long time the only shot I tossed back was Patron XO. Lemon drops and Kamikazes were too collegiate for me. I was smart enough to know that I always got sick after Whiskey. That was my kryptonite. It didnt stop me from drinking it again (and again), just in case getting sick was a one time thing. Spoiler alert: it wasnt.

So that was me, always, from the first time I got drunk during a party at 16 years old to my four day New Years Eve bender at age 30. But lets not call it a bender, or else my parents will worry. It was celebrating a new year with friends. It was a vacation and a belated birthday. It was me letting present, in the moment Diana take the wheel for a few days.

By the time YOLO was on T-shirts I had carpe diem booze down to a science.

It was all so normal and always OK: competing with friends how many guys we can make out with in one night (one of my favorite games), bouncing around speakeasys in the East Village, sneaking into the high end member only clubs in the Meatpacking District, 4am pancakes at a diner then going home with the cutest guy there, leaving without paying your tab, putting your drinks on a strangers tab, hooking up with your friends crush, sleeping with a guy who has a girlfriend (what, he had an accent, ok?), telling work you have a doctors appointment when you need an extra hour of sleep, telling work youre sick when youre too hungover to get out of bed, napping in the bathroom stall at work when you realize you went to work still drunk.

Theres wasnt a problem with any of this. I could go to six bars in a night and only remember two of them (seetime traveling). Others had different, less poetic names for it- like graying out or even more ominous, going black out. But lets not talk about that. Those words are scary.

It all just made so much sense to me. I had a desperate thirst for life, for new experiences and stories that were only mine and drinking was my very own special key to open that door. I dont remember being trained but I knew this truth: that I needed to drink- to have fun, to meet a guy, to de-stress, to celebrate, after a bad day, after a good day, when its more than 50 degrees out, when its under 15 degrees, because its Monday.

Its dramatic sounding, I know, but when I was drinking, like really in the middle of a good run, I was untouchable. My thoughts evened out and worries were left at the coat check. I was charming and funny. I was weightless and sexy. Nothing could ground me.

I wasnt stupid. I knew what was happening. There wasnt a river in Egypt. The biggest part was the after, when Morning Diana gradually and reluctantly pixelated back into place ready to droop down into the exorcist-like hangover.

When I was in college my hangover cure was strawberries and chocolate milk. After I received my diploma I graduated to well-done bacon, coffee, Mimosas. Water never entered the equation.

Sometime in my mid-twenties while I was gripping on to my spinning couch, I googled hangover and depression and was so relieved when I read the phrase emotional hangover. I immediately felt better seeing the feeling I felt printed on my screen. It was a relief: I wasnt alone in this feeling and it had a name. Urban Dictionary knows about it so it must be OK. Ill finish my bacon and chocolate milkshake and be just ducky.

The recovery time was always different- sometimes I could slide out of bed and be partially human the next day and other times I needed a day alone to stew in a mental playback of the night before. During those days the biggest challenge was the trek from my bedroom to couch. No matter how I recouped I never thought it was bad. I thought my friends were doing it too.

Country songs and Van Wilder confirmed for me that getting drunk and hangovers were a part of life. I never raised my hand to question it. So, about the men. I bet you thought it was hard to find a man with all this time zig zagging and space jumping but it wasnt. Lets go back ten years again and Ill tell you about all the threesomes I had. It was me, the guy, and alcohol.

It was how I flirted, played, connected, and bonded with men, always. If the boyfriend had a bad day wed start downing drinks in the hopes that hed open up and talk to me. To flirt with the new cute coworker Id suggest we play beer after work. Hed find it charming and cute and wed drunkenly made out in the corner of the bar after swapping 1st pet names and office gossip. I had a fling with a British banker off and on for 3 years and when wed meet late night hed pour us shots of tequila first. It was our thing. Our inside joke with Don Julio.We didnt know each others last names but we shared an appreciation for top shelf tequila at 3am before having sex. Im a romantic, I know.

My favorite three words when I was with a guy were Want another round?

During each encounter, each date, I wouldnt feel satisfied until I heard those words. He could shout it or whisper it in my ear, either way I wanted those words. It meant: he liked me, hes having a good time, and he wanted to keep spending time with me. He didnt want the night to end. It meant intimacy, it meant hand holding and flirty eyes and of course, sex.

I could count the number of times I had sober sex on one hand. I didnt enjoy it. To avoid it, Id explain that I simply didnt like morning sex. Most of the time Id be too hungover to move from a fetal position so it wasnt pursued for long on his end anyway. Hooking up drunk was sexy and fun. We could let our inhibitions go and really connect. Fun was had by all. I wasnt worried about any of it.

Theres unfortunately worse parts. Im not going to tell them to you though. Mostly because my mother may read this. But also because I was once told that you dont need to go all the way to the bottom floor in order to get off the elevator. So lets baby step off the lift, shall we?

I was in one of my first sessions with my new therapist when she told me I repeated the word untouchable a lot and made me explain why I thought that was a good word. (See all of the above for my response). Valentines Day was two weeks away and I was mentally preparing to be single again during my least favorite holiday of the year.

I wasnt too worried though because Id participate in my friends annual BOVD- Black Out Valentines Day. The year before included colorful fish bowls and sushi till 2am. Problem solved. I was talking but realizing more and more how much she looked like Lily Tomlin when she put a piece paper down in front of me. It was a wordy contract with bullet points in the middle and a blank line next to my name at the bottom.

I was supposed to go a week without drinking. Thats a lie. I could drink. But only three glasses of beer or wine, two different nights. If I broke the contract I had to give $100 to her. Lily was crazy. How was this legal? I couldnt do this. Fact. I shouldnt have even been there. I wanted to deal with this but apparently not by actually dealing with it. I argued with her and left the session with the unsigned document squished to the bottom of my purse. That night I didnt sleep and express ordered Alan Carrs Easy Way to Control Alcohol. Problem solved. I went out drinking all week. And I drank like no one was watching.

Then I signed the contract. And then when week one ended, I signed the next contract. Was it easy? Fuck no. Did I have to write some checks to my therapist? Yes. Did I cry? Did I rant? Did my hands and mind twitch and turn during dinners with friends as I stared at my 1 drink for the night? Hell to the yes. Most nights all I could think about was my hand stammering under the table and how much I wanted and needed another drink.

I thought of the contract and Lilys annoying face staring down at me. I thought of how I felt when I was hungover. I thought of the fuzzy nights. I thought of the fuzzy years. I cried a lot. I stayed in and watched Netflix even more. I watched Vampire Diaries starting at season 1, many times. In therapy I compared my drunk self to being a vampire with no soul. There are many different points of view on vampire rule and regulations but most of them agree that the creatures of the night have no soul. Stick with me here. In Vampire Diaries the rule of thumb is that vampires can turn this soul switch off and on. When its on they feel everything, when its off they feel nothing and become untouchable. Follow me now? The easy way to live is to keep the switch off. I did that, over and over again. I was tired of it and wanted to be in the world of the living again. I didnt decide this overnight. It took months, a lot more episodes of Vampire Diaries and most of 2015. Something weird happened around the same time I switched to watching new episodes of Arrow that wouldve really pissed off my 23 year old Cosmo drinking self- I stopped enjoying drinking.

By November I was completely sober and joined a boxing ring. I could get up in the morning and exercise. I didnt need to sign a contract anymore. I sober dated. I sober celebrated friends birthdays. I sober had a fun Thursday night. I went to AA meetings sometimes and spent most of the meeting listening and nodding my head. I was funny and smart and friendly during the day and I was funny and smart and friendly at night. I added to my own life and stopped letting drinking take away from it. I started a social group. I started a book club. I started.

Sometime between the last crippling snow storm of last year and planning my 31st birthday, I stopped wanting to go to Edit Undo. I re-entered my own life. I went through those years and theyre a part of me for worse or worser. I went through it before knowing there was another side. I hit my rock bottoms (yes, there was more than one). Im still learning how to talk about it- what I want to say about it and to who. But the further I get from the person I was then, the more I like who Im turning into now. But letting go of her seemed like an impossible ask that the tiny tired voice deep inside me was begging for.

If I stopped drinking Id lose all of me, not just a part. I was terrified as if I was going to lose a limb or my hearing. My life would be filled withwhat? Id have no buoy or security blanket or man behind the curtain. Id be dry, unfilled, just curved edges and rims. The thought paralyzed me.

Now, Im at this other side. Im still learning what this other side is like and who I am in it. But I do know this- Im more now than I was before. Im more me and more strong and more present. I feel more and I listen to me more.

Days are now broken up between feeling this raw, strength of life and connection to people and namastes and really fantastic Im part of the universe and not from vibes to a total, giant uncertainty and instability, and anger and exhaustion. I never knew I could get tired of feelings. Weve moved in together, you see. We wake up together and go to bed together and they insist on forming an invisible fanny pack around my waist during the day. Hello intimacy, party of two. Theyre normally the big spoon. My thoughts continue from one moment to the next and connect without taking breaks. I had years and years of turning myself on and off and more off and now I just want to be on.

I wish I could say that when I wake up sober now, Im not depressed anymore or lonely, my friends became better friends, I became the perfect best friend, sister and daughter, and my love life came together Prince Charming Cinderella style. But becoming more sober didnt mean everything clicked into place, it just means I see the pieces more clearly and I dont hide from the messy parts.

So now whatdo I become resentful and guilty and depressed thinking about the years I spent avoiding intimacy and feelings and honesty and fuck, concrete memories? Do I think those years dont count? Do I blame my bad habits on the constant excess of New York City? Do I blame the alcoholic-like attributes that run in my blood line? Do I blame my friends? Or the work hard play hard Don Draper industry I work in? Do I blame shitty men boys?

Yes, to all of the above. I point the finger at all of them and then back at me, and then at them and back at me. Lily says hi.

Ive had men yell at me, not being able to grasp the idea of my moderated drinking habits, insisting that Im just pretending I dont drink because I wanted them to buy me drinks. I dont get it either. No means no guys. My friendships have changed, my god have my friendships changed. One friend who pre-games with a bottle of wine (a standard respectable approach I once followed), on multiple occasions, dumped her wine into my water when she realized I wasnt drunk like she was. Yeah, I dont spend time with her anymore.

I went sixty days without drinking before I decided to drink again. For me it was like breaking up with a boyfriend and then meeting up again two months later. Never a good idea. Youll never want to be just friends who catch every up every now and then. I drank Vueve Clicquot and it didnt make the night better but it didnt make it worse. I didnt gray out. I didnt break down. That night isnt fuzzy. I could wake up in the morning.

Theres been other times when I drank recently and couldnt move far from the couch. Those times are a quick, slap in the face of what not to do. But old feelings and doubts still come flooding back in. Will I always want another drink? Why cant I just stay sober? Why does everyone make it look so easy? Is my therapist actually Lily Tomlin?

Deep down I know the majority of my problems start and stop with alcohol. Drinking will always be a part of my life whether Im drinking or not. Itd be easier to figure out if I wasnt both the variable and constant in this little conundrum of mine.

Today, I stare all the feels in the face, and make sure they know the last sixteen years matter but the last thirteen months matter even more. Im not her anymore, Im a different, more me now.

Im not 100% sober and I dont know if I ever will be. One day, maybe sooner rather than later, I could decide to sign up for a sober lifestyle again. But right now, I cant imagine midnight on New Years Eve without a champagne toast. I can do without five toasts but one still feels OK to me. So yeahmy relationship with drinking? We file it under Its complicated.

The good news is, Ive learned how to unwind on a Friday night without the trifecta of a bottle of wine, pizza and Netflix. My secret is just pizza and Netflix.

Read more: http://ift.tt/2iTRz6N

from Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship