#but nope! i get a debilitating fear. one that’s making it hard for me to sleep rn

[userkoo]

existing with a phobia is hell on earth and i am truly sorry to anyone who has to live with one :/

[my-ocdemons]

Okay this is my second time typing this BC I accidentally posted to my main.

...

This is hard to write because my OCD makes me type things over and over again so pardon and typos or nonsensical rambling.

My OCD started quite young (5-7), when I was fearful of contaminating the house with germs from object, animals and people. This resulted in excessive hand washing. My parents didn't notice at this time and it was livable.

My OCD got much worse during highschool though and my parents noticed, especially when the washing instensified. I started to wash everything, my books, my computer, my bed, my pens, my clothes (and not the normal way the paper towels and water way). This continued at a stagnant severity until covid and and the following lockdown.

Initially I thought it was great. My washing was finally justified. I could avoid all the major triggers for my OCD by staying inside. I was enjoying myself. Until eventually I couldnt step over cracks one day. It was a ritual that was present all throughout lockdown, but got much worse eventually. When it was less about object contaminating things, but my thoughts.

Soon I couldnt cross any doorway without going back and forth for an hour and i couldn't cross the front door at all so my parents had to carry me ಠ⁠︵⁠ಠ . At this point I was zooming with my first therapist who did nothing really other than zoom me every fortnight and mansplain anxiety to me.

So, switched her out and got another one.

By the time of my first appointment with my second therapist covid restrictions were easing up. I though she was cool because she had a therapy cat and I'm a sucker for lil bundles of fluff. But she put me on meds, which wouldn't have been an issue if she had have actually done some work with me on top of that, instead, everytime I went to her she simply said to wait for the meds to kick in and it would be marvellous if there was a little tablet that would take this away from me but alas, nope. Stayed with her and then I was sent to headspace (side note: headspace did nothing themselves, like completely useless) who redirected me to NECAHMS. Then I met the first good therapist I've had, Dr Vader, she actually seemed to care when I told her what was going on, by this time I had gotten over a few of my rituals myself, but with her support I could actually leave my own house without being carried.

Now, you may be wondering why I have dubbed her Dr Vader, well, it's because like most father's she left me. She got a new role in the office and couldn't keep seeing me. I felt a bit shoved aside but oh well, what can you do. Then I got directed to my current therapist who is lovely. We've done some actual talking, she helped me understand my OCD and also wants to bring my parents in to be better supports. I've learned to think of my OCD in a new way and it's still debilitating, but there's hope now.

Sometimes... I lied... Alot of the time a get sad knowing that this will never truly be gone, but at least it might be manageable...

Who knows.

[queenofcats17]

Wanted to do a follow up to this story.

Eternal Stream belongs to me, @liliflower137, and @lady-lampblack.

The G-man replacement idea is not mine. I won’t tag them because the subject matter makes them uncomfortable.

Warning, this does kind of have some abusive undertones

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Choosing the Benrey had been a mistake. 

The fact that he’d had to hold the Benrey down to tame the rat’s nest that was his hair and shave him should have told him exactly how this was going to go. 

But he’d convinced himself that he could make this work. He’d convinced himself that he could shape the Benrey into a proper replacement. 

He came to regret this decision.

First of all, the Benrey refused to let go of his engagement ring. The other man had actually bitten him when he’d tried to take it away. The Benrey still possessed some shapeshifting capabilities and had shapeshifted fangs in order to defend his ring.

Second, the Benrey was absolutely awful at being mysterious. While his debilitating social anxiety could be used to maintain a mysterious front, it was only when he was given time to prepare and rehearse what he had to say. When the Benrey was caught off-guard he became soft-spoken and awkward, shifting back into his natural “gamer” speech.

Yes, the Benrey could always pause time to compose himself, but his control over his powers was still poor and more often than not the Benrey ended up tiring himself out and being forced to retreat as he was unable to complete his mission with the necessary amount of mystery.

The Benrey also got bored and distracted easily, and had a hard time focusing on the tasks he was given. He’d forget his task and need to be reminded of what he was supposed to be doing quite often, which was beyond irritating. 

And that wasn’t even counting the Benrey’s issues with being left alone.

All in all, choosing the Benrey had been a mistake. He saw that now. 

Best to just drop him off and let his family deal with him.

He could find another replacement. 

.

Chester had been holding B’s hand the whole way back to the house where they apparently lived. 

B didn’t notice anything except for that single fact. 

Chester was holding his hand. 

He felt all warm and fuzzy inside and he didn’t care what the reason for it might be. He never wanted this moment to end. He was tempted to pause time just to enjoy the moment, but he didn’t want to get tired out again.

“We never stopped looking for you, you know.”

“Huh?” 

B snapped back to reality at the sound of Chester’s voice. Chester was looking back at him. His smile was soft and tender, making B’s heart skip a beat. 

“We never stopped looking for you,” Chester repeated, squeezing B’s hand. 

“Really?” 

“Really,” Chester nodded, rubbing his thumb over B’s hand. 

“Oh, uh, I mean...Thanks,” B mumbled, feeling his face get warm.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Chester laughed, squeezing B’s hand. “I love you. I’m always going to try and find you.”

B let out a small squeak, his face getting even warmer. He dipped his head, trying to look anywhere but at Chester’s face, which was still radiating so much love and warmth.

“Right, sorry.” Chester laughed again, the sound a bit softer this time. “I’m probably overwhelming you a little.”

“No, uh, it’s fine,” B tried to compose himself. “‘S fine. ‘Sall good. Just...” He trails off, biting his lip. “‘S nice hearing...hearing you say that. Makes me...Makes me feel all warm.”

Chester’s eyes widened slightly before the surprise gave way to a tender loving look that probably would have made B blush even more if he hadn’t been furiously avoiding looking at Chester’s face.

“I’m glad,” Chester said softly. 

They continued the rest of the way to the house in silence. For once, B didn’t mind the quiet. 

His relationship with silence was...a complicated one. On one hand, there were times that he found the lack of noise comforting. But more often than not...More often than not the silence filled him with dread. 

B had spent a lot of alone. His supervisor would often leave him alone for long periods of time, which never ended well. Whenever B was left by himself, he got...He wasn’t sure what the best word for it would be. A sense of terror the likes of which he’d never experienced washed over him as well as a visceral need to know that there were other people out there.

He’d torn apart the void dimension he was left in more than once due to this terror. His supervisor had tried to leave him with what B could only describe as NPC’s but...that had gone even worse. 

But this silence wasn’t the sort he was used to in the void. This silence came from being comfortable enough with another person that you didn’t feel the need to fill every moment with noise. He felt...safe.

He quickly became so lost in holding Chester’s hand again that he didn’t notice when they arrived at the house. At least not until he ended up literally running into Chester. 

“We’re here,” Chester said, gesturing to the house before them.

It was small and a bit shabby, but seeing it made B feel immediately at ease. Like he was coming home. 

Likely because he was.

“C’mon, let’s get you into something more comfortable,” Chester grinned as he led B up the steps.

“Sounds good.” B couldn’t help but grin back. 

Entering the house made him want to cry, but in a good way. Walking through the door, he was overcome with a feeling of safety and joy. He started to cry a little, overwhelmed by the feelings. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling this way.

“Are you okay?” Chester asked, putting a hand on B’s shoulder. 

B all but melted into his chest. “‘M just really happy. Feels....Feels right. Feels...safe.”

Chester’s expression softened and he wrapped his arms around B. 

“I’m glad,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to B’s head. A moment later, though, he drew back, spluttering. “What the- Is that hair gel?”

“Huh?” B looked up at Chester, still crying a bit. “Oh, uh, yeah. Boss said I had to look professional.”

“You look ridiculous,” Chester shook his head, smiling fondly as he ruffled B’s hair. 

B instinctively leaned into his touch. It felt so good to have someone run their fingers over his scalp. He almost started purring. He was pretty disappointed when Chester finally removed his hand.

“There we go,” he said. “There’s the soft head I fell in love with.”

B’s face felt warm all over again and he ducked his head, starting to fiddle with his tie. 

“Oh, right. That’s...probably kind of weird.” Chester laughed nervously, smile faltering. “You don’t remember me and all.”

“’S fine,” B mumbled. “Was...Was good. You’re, uh, you’re a big cool.”

Chester laughed softly. “Let me go get you some clothes, alright? We can get you out of that suit.”

“Thanks.” B watched him shyly as Chester moved to a different room. 

“Hey! Hey Chester!” A voice came from that same room. “I heard someone talking! Who’d you bring back?”

B frowned. The voice sounded familiar, much like everything else in the house felt familiar. But something about it also made him...afraid. Slowly, he approached the room, poking his head in.

Chester was rummaging in the drawers of a dresser on one side of the room, right next to a bed. A blue sweatshirt was already laid out on the bed, along a pair of sweatpants. Strangely, there didn’t look to be anyone else in the room. So where had that voice come from?

“Give me a minute,” Chester said. “I’ll explain soon.”

“But I wanna know!” The voice whined. It sounded like it was coming from the monitor on the desk shoved in the corner. It also sounded a lot like B himself.

“Issat computer talking?” B asked, unable to stop himself. 

“Holy shit! Is that Benrey?” Looking closer, there was a Sim on screen. For some reason, B couldn’t help but be reminded of a Half Life 1 soldier. 

“Why’s the Sim talking?” B pointed at the computer. 

“Why’re you asking that?” The Sim frowned. “Why’re you acting like you don’t know who I am?” 

“He got his mind wiped,” Chester explained to the Sim. “B, this is Forzen. He’s...kind of my son? Or, well, our son.”

“Uh...Nice to meet you?” B said slowly. “My name’s B? Agent B? Or, uh, that’s, uh, that’s what my superior always called me.”

“Agent B?” Forzen perked up. “Like Agent P? Like Perry the Platypus? Is Benrey Perry the Platypus?”

Chester immediately had to stifle a snort, clearly fighting back laughter as he leaned on the dresser. 

“I mean...I could be,” B replied, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Don’t encourage him!” Chester said, losing his battle and beginning to laugh.

“Nope, too late.” B’s smile widened. “I’m a platypus now.”

In his computer, Forzen was chanting “Benrey the Platypus” over and over.

“Go get changed,” Chester snorted, shoving a set of clothes into B’s arms. 

B couldn’t help but giggle as he was sent into the bathroom. For the first time in a long time he felt...light. He wasn’t weighed down by fear or anxiety. He was...happy. Actually happy. 

He hugged the clothes to his chest, giggling and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He had the strongest urge to start flapping his arms. His superior had always said it was unprofessional, but he didn’t care. He set the clothes on the toilet and began to jump around, flapping his arms. He was flooded with relief and joy and a feeling that he was finally safe. 

He did this for a few minutes before growing tired.

Alright. Now he’d change. 

He started to eagerly fumble with the buttons to get the suit off. He’d always liked the way he felt in it, but only for short periods of time. When he wore it for too long it started feeling stuff and uncomfortable. And the clothes Chester had picked out felt so soft. 

He paused when he was taking off his gloves, staring down at the ring on his finger. Now that he was home...Maybe he could take it off? Before he’d been so afraid he’d lose it that he’d refused to take it off for anything. Which meant it could probably use a cleaning. He bit his lip, worrying with it a bit. It would be fine. No one would take it now. He could take it off. 

It still took him a good few minutes, standing there in his underwear with his shirt half undone, before he finally got up the courage to take it off. He instinctively braced, ready for it to be snatched away. But it wasn’t. It remained in his hand. It seemed so much smaller when it was off. 

He started to turn it over, finally able to inspect it without worrying about his superior snatching it while his guard was down. There seemed to be an engraving on the inside that he’d never noticed before. He had to squint a bit to be able to read it. 

No tragedy could ever come between us. I will forever be here for you. -CM

Tears began to well up in his eyes as he was once more overcome with joy and relief. Sniffling, he slipped the ring back on, quickly putting on the clothes Chester had provided and leaving the bathroom.

He found Chester talking to Forzen in the bedroom and immediately threw himself onto Chester in a hug. Chester was clearly surprised, but didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around B. 

“You feeling more comfortable?” He asked softly. 

“Mm-hm...” B nodded, closing his eyes and breathing in Chester’s smell. He felt so safe here, being held by Chester.

It was good to be home.

[captain-magicalkitty]

Weird Day

I had a plan for my weekend. I wanted to indulge my little introvert ass by doing very little except one appointment for the nail salon. Fate laughs at our plans. I get a call at about noon from my friend Jenn. She says she needs help. She describes the following. An old friend of hers has a very elderly woman as a housemate. Essentially her house that he moved into to assist her. She referred to him as her nephew. As she has become debilitated and demented, he has cared for her, essentially acting as her family. He had to go away briefly and asked Jenn to come in during the day to care for her, make sure she eats, bathes, etc. She has been ambulatory with a walker but is incontinent. Jenn tells me this briefly and I am thinking I may have to deal with a death. Nope. She describes a code brown, the lady has had a huge amount of poop. She won’t get out of bed so Jenn can shower her or move to be cleaned. I cancel my appointment and go over and find that this poor thing really needs help. Jenn is not medically trained. I have 40 years as a nurse. I cleaned her up in the bed. She’s breathing poorly and has minor bed sores and swollen feet. I had a discussion with the caregiver over the phone but ended up calling 911. He seems well intentioned but obviously has been out of his depth. So this poor little thing went to the local hospital. As an outsider, I was not given any additional information afterward except that the nurse who called me from the hospital looking for additional context said I ‘made a good call’, letting me know the decision to call was appropriate. I had to. My conscience would have made it necessary even if my license did not.

The point of this exercise is, I get why someone wants an elderly loved one to be cared for at home. I get that with disorientation the institutional rigidity is not good for patients with dementia. But please do the following:

1. Keep the living space clean and uncluttered. This home was dirty and hard to move in. Keep excess food to a minimum to avoid spoilage and vermin.

2. Keep health information, ID, insurance info, etc handy for any alternate caregiver. We had none of that. If there are medications in use, please have them stored where caregivers can access them but the dementia sufferer cannot.

3. Do not rely on someone who cannot do an overnight stay with a very disoriented elder. They can fall, wander off, injure themselves in so many ways.

4. Get professional help. Consult the person’s primary medical provider about a social work and home care evaluation. This woman needed a visiting nurse and home heath aide combo. In the case of this lady, medicare would have been a resource. NY, where I live, has a program to pay a loved one to care for someone in their home if they take the requisite instruction.

5. Be aware that changes may be so gradual that the person closest may not see them for the decline they represent. Evaluation by an outside professional is sometimes needful.

6. Even with the best of intentions, people may not be doing the best thing for extremely elderly relations. Don’t be so invested in your original plan to help that you cannot change that plan as needed. And don’t be so convinced that you know best if a professional questions your plan.

I didn’t enjoy what happened today. I hated that I had to remove this 95 year old woman from a home she had loved and cared for in her time and which now was so filthy her younger self would not have recognized it. I hated that I had to put her emergently into the hands of strangers because it was the only way I could assure myself she would have her physical needs at least met.

Please think carefully about your elderly family, whether related by blood or heart, and have clear plans in place they can agree to in advance. And, no matter how young you are, have some idea of how you wish to live when you reach an advanced age. I sincerely wish we didn’t live in a society where we all live in such separate little boxes. The nuclear family is a poor model. The older model of interconnected generations living in the same house or close proximity is kinder to it’s youngest and oldest members. I will be lighting a candle tonight for this lady and hoping she is comforted and not too fearful. She deserves her comfort and I am sorry I had to disrupt her emotional space to address her physical needs. In a perfect world, one should not be sacrificed for the other.

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Forty-Two, “Music To My Ears”

*Gif is not mine*

Clickable Links:

- *NEW* Becky Magazine Cover from an O.C. Tag Challenge

- Masterlist feat. all chapters and Character Surveys

- Inspo tag

- Hecky Playlist

- Read on Wattpad

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: None

Music Inspo: All My Love by George Ezra (click to listen)

                                      SNEAKYYYYYY PEEK

It all feels surreal and so quickly, seeing him there dressed to the nines in another handsome suit. He’s back, and he’s all mine. I don’t quite know how we’re going to do this whole thing, but I can’t fucking wait. I’m unsure of how different it will be at the firm and as his mentee, but I know we’ll make it work. After the last few years of shit we’ve went through, this seems like a piece of cake, or so I hope.

“Morning,” I almost whisper, wishing I was threading my arms around his middle right now and not standing across the room. Instead, they sit flat against my front, hands clasped at my waist. His shiny brunette curls tickle his temples when he looks up fast and over to me, the light of a thousand suns filling his face.

“And so, when a person meets the half that is his very own, then something wonderful happens: the two are struck from their senses by love, by a sense of belonging to one another, and by desire, and they don't want to be separated from one another, not even for a moment.”

― Plato, The Symposium

+

My first attempt is measly, but by the second time, I get it open despite my wildly trembling fingers. The sigh I had been coaxing to remain inside of my lungs finds its way out at last when the door clicks! into the hinges. The blissed out smile I can’t remember being without sticks to my lips as my back graces the door. Somehow, the air inside here smells even sweeter as the fireworks still ignite within my chest. 

I’m only brought back to the present when I hear somebody clear their throat. Opening my eyes, I find Skye waiting on the couch with her knees brought to her chest. 

“So?! That was a long fucking time to be standing out in the hallway just talking, Rebecca Holte!” Skye exclaims with an eagerness filling her cheeks with crimson. 

All that escapes my lips is the happiest laugh I’ve felt my insides flourish in as long as I can remember. Her eyebrows raise with a question posed to me, and I answer it with a mere nod that causes her to shoot out of her seat and over to me. 

“Ree, finally!” she almost screams, and I echo it with my eternal laugh, relaxing into her arms. 

“Yeah . . finally it’s all coming together.”

I have just enough time to recount the details of the event to her in all of its glory. As if on cue, my ‘You’ve Got A Friend In Me’ ringtone begins to sing from my pocket. 

“Ooooo, is that him already?! You better answer it, Ree!” Skye exclaims with eagerness to her voice. The blush finds its way back to my cheeks as I escape with a cheek kiss from her, my feet soon padding down the hallway. 

“Wow, you actually mean it when you said you would call.”

“Why, o’ ‘course I meant it, bug. I always keep me promises,” Harry hums in return, just the sound of his voice launching my heart into somersaults. 

“I see that . . thank you,” I mumble, closing my door behind me softly, in order to deter Skye from eavesdropping anymore than she already is. 

“Can I say sumthin’ weird?” he murmurs, voice sounding far away almost. I blame that discrepancy on his phone paired to his car by Bluetooth, making him feel all the more far away from me. 

“Sure, I like weird. I mean, I like you.”

“Wow, good flirtin’ there, Ms. Hotshot. ‘m really feelin’ all tha love,” Harry titters until it wanders into a soft sigh. He clears his throat and a nervous laugh follows, pulling me to attention. 

“Oh, why thank you . . But, go ahead. What is it, Harry?” I return, falling onto the messy covers of my bed, exiled outfits littering the surface. 

“I already miss you, bug. Hasn’t even been ten minutes and I bloody miss you,” he confesses gently, a sad giggle adorning his words, echoing those that sit within my heart. 

“You’re not the only one, Harry. I miss you too. If we’re gonna be honest with each other, I missed you so much last week, and even more those seven months we didn’t talk, and-” I reveal into my phone, and then into his ears. The anxiousness falls away at my confession, one I’ve been coaxing to remain within my own ears for far too long. I had hinted at it and said it with my lips, but it feels so freeing to finally let the words loose to the world. To him.

My Harry. 

“Tha year afta ya quit . . I know. I missed you like hell durin’ all o’ those times too, it tore me up bein’ away from you,” he continues, pulling the words from my mouth where they leave to inform his ears. “And I want us t’ be honest with each otha, Becks . . Always.”

“I thought I’d never stop missing you during all of those times. And now, here we are,” I say, an ironic and yet happy laugh filling his ears. 

“Yes, here we are, bug. Togetha . . ‘s ‘bout fookin’ time,” he giggles, and like he always has been able to do, he pulls one from my lips with the help of his contagious happiness. “So, back t’ happier things . . Erm, what’re ya doin’ on Sunday?” 

“Eh, probably just watching FRIENDS in my pajamas.” 

“Mmm, I admit that sounds like a ratha wondaful Sunday. Why dontcha come ova t’ mine and watch FRIENDS in yer jammies with me? ‘ll even put on me jammies too,” Harry suggests, further proving that this can actually get better. I didn’t think that was possible.

No, I did not after that incredible first kiss, and second, and third. 

“That sounds amazing, Harry. I’d love to see you in your ‘jammies.’”

“Yers too, bug. ‘d like t’ make dinna fer you, as well,” he continues, knocking me off of my feet once again. 

“Aww. That would be so awesome, Harry! Hey, can you make your chicken pot pie? That pic you sent me from the last time you made it looked so yummy.”

“‘Course, ‘d love t’ make it fer you,” he giggles, the tell tale sounds of traffic accompanying his words. I hear a train toot its horn in the distance, and the rhythmic clicking of his indicator. 

“Okay, great, and I’ll bring dessert.”

“Sounds great, bug. I can’t wait, Sunday can’t come fast enuff,” Harry says, the purring of his engine filling the background. 

“I couldn’t agree more.”

His adorable laugh graces my ears, somehow being too long since the last time I had heard it, “How does 5 sound?” 

“It sounds like a date,” I chirp happily, wondering for the hundredth time if the words that are coming out of my mouth are indeed real. 

Real, they are, sister, the demon living inside the walls of my skull chimes. 

Where ever did you run off to? I reply. 

I’ve been here the whole time, mate, just watching and waiting. I’m usually not big on love, but holy shit, are you two adorable. Go on, now. You’re interrupting my entertainment. 

You stop interrupting! the angel groans back. 

“Hey, ‘m s’posed t’ say that part ‘coz ‘s my date! I said ‘d get tha second date,” Harry pouts from my ear, and I wonder if I’ll ever stop laughing. The better question is if I’ll ever stop smiling. I don’t know the answer to that one, and I think I’m okay not knowing. 

I wonder if I’ll ever stop loving him, and to that question, I already know the answer.

“Oh, sorry,” I chuckle hard now, fueled further by the sound of his clucking tongue, muttering a sarcastic ‘fer God’s sake, Becks.’ “Let’s start over.”

“‘Kay . . How does 5 sound?” he snickers, feigning composure in his voice when it’s needed most. 

“I’ll be there!” 

“Great, it sounds like a date then,” he titters, and soon our laughs mingle together, forming a duet. 

I thought my favorite song in the entire world was his laugh, but now, I think I may be wrong.

+

Surrealness blankets my body like a cloak, invisible, and yet all around me, as I stand in front of that door. The handle of the cloth bag digs into the crook of my elbow while the cold seeps in through my coat. I only grow colder when my fist raises once more, but it falls with a defeated sigh. Fear joins the other emotions fighting for the stage inside of me, and it nearly debilitates me with every second that passes. 

At last, my fist meets the muted scarlet red surface of his front door. A faint ‘c’min!’ sounds from the other side, causing my heart to gallop quicker inside me. A shaky exhale drops from my lips just before I swing the door open, and am met with the comforting smells of home cooking. I see him before he sees me, and the sight itself takes away the anxiety I’ve felt all day for this moment. For tonight. You’d think I’d have been more nervous for the first date than the second date. Nope, here I am nervous as can be standing in the doorway of his home, a bundle of nerves. 

Harry couldn’t look more adorable, or handsome, kneading his bottom lip while steam wafts along his face. Adjusting the yellow tea towel strewn over his shoulder, he closes a cookbook before his eyes dart over to me. His lips injected with golden sunshine reach his ears and the dazzle returns to his eyes dripping with green. 

“Hey, bug,” he hums, setting down the towel on the counter. The concoction of onions, herbs, and chicken tickles my nose while my heart races just at the sight of him. It does a few dances at the memory of our last date, and just how it ended. 

“Hi, Harry. It smells incredible in here,” I say, greeting him. After closing the door, I toe off my shoes to sit on the mat by the door. 

“Thanks, babe. Dinna’s all ready, I jus’ took tha pot pie out a few minutes ago,” he grins, coming to a stop in front of me with that sunshiney smile. The cover of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Rumors’ album dons his cream shirt in black and white. His long legs and bum tempt my thoughts in the form-fitting black joggers he wears. 

“Hey, you’re not wearing pajamas like you said,” I tease when he pulls me into a hug, feigning annoyance when that’s something I could never feel in this moment. 

“Neitha are you, li’l one. I can’t wear bloody jammies on a second date, ‘s far too soon. I still gotta make a good first impression,” Harry replies, the joking words brushing against my temple. Laughing, a shiver courses across my body but soon disappears once his arms settle to hold me against him. 

“I think that’s pretty far gone, that first impression thing,” I counter playfully, hesitantly removing my face from the crook of his neck to find his playful eyes waiting for me. 

“Doesn’t hurt t’ try, bug,” he giggles, and no matter how much I adore the sound, I can’t stand it any longer and steal it away with my lips. A similar giggle of my own is muffled against his lips that taste like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. They taste like him, I realize silently and happily. 

Our happy sounds mingle together while his lips mold against mine. They grow especially when he struggles to remove the bag from the crook of my arm, belatedly setting it down on the floor, allowing me to wrap both arms around him. The point of my nose dances across his prickly cheek when I pull away just slightly to surround his top lip with my own. The feeling of his prickly upper lip surprises my own, and leads my hand to caress his cheek. Smattering of vanilla sticks to his skin in spots while his warm breaths brush against my skin. The thrumming of my heart grows when I feel the lukewarm metal of his rings against my lower back, and then wandering in my hair. 

The feeling of his pillowy, soft lips are a thing of the past when he pulls away with a titter against mine. A soft question tumbles from my lips but he doesn’t answer it, instead pressing a whispery peck to my lips that still crave his. 

“Missed you,” he rasps, my skin igniting with sparks when his soft thumb pulls my bottom lip down, only to spring back. 

“I missed you more,” I argue and his cherry lips fall into disbelief. 

“Hey, that’s my line!” he exclaims, and I only laugh, realizing the trick I pulled. His happy song soon ghosts over my face, trailing behind his nose that draws a line against my cheek. “My Becks,” he coos in a whisper, ending his sentence with a punctuating kiss to my temple. 

“Harry . . My Harry,” I echo, accentuated by my hand running through his hair that is especially curly today. 

“‘m all yers, babe, have been fer longer than ya know,” he agrees aloud, escaping to the crook of my neck where his lips leave whispers below my ear and up my neck. 

The words themselves make my heart swell with what else other than love. It finds its way past my lips in a happy chuckle against his hair, and in another kiss pressed to his sunshine lips once he’s looking at me again. 

The temptation of one-upping him escalates within me, but I resist, unable to make a joke in this second. No, not after what he just said and the echoing words bubbling up inside of me. 

“I never could be anything but yours, Harry, it’s always been that way,” I smile, welcoming the truth and reality laced throughout my voice. The words resound in my heart louder, spreading throughout my body as I observe them fill his ears. A glow claims his eyes and then his lips, the dimples in his cheeks threatening to never leave. 

“You’ll neva know jus’ how happy ya make me, Becks, and how much ‘s magnified jus’ in tha last few days, bug. Yer me favourite person all ova again,” Harry mumbles in between blissed out smiles, one I haven’t had the pleasure to meet yet in all of our times together. No, I don’t think so. Spoiled, I am. “Let’s go eat dinna, bug. We can kiss mo’ later,” he rasps against my cheek, stealing one more kiss from my grinning lips. I nod, listening to his breathy laugh that I missed more than I realized while he was gone. 

My hand falls into his naturally, and he gives it a firm squeeze. Here he is, back with me, and he’s everything I’ve always wanted. This, is everything. 

“You’ve always been my everything, you just didn’t know it. Sometimes, I forgot it too,” I confess in a mere whisper, words interrupted soon by his. I only wish I had the courage that he does to speak them, loud and proudly. 

“What was that?” he mumbles, leading me over to the oval shaped wooden table on the other side of the kitchen island. 

“Nothing.”

“No, I heard ya say sumthin’, jus’ couldn’t make it out,” Harry insists, coming to a halt at one of the chairs. Luminescent moonlight trickles in from the almost closed drapes on the sliding deck doors opposite of us. Shaking my head nervously, a dominant blush attacks his teasing cheeks. “Ya gotta tell me, bug.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything!” I joke, and a high-pitched scoff adorns his lips quickly. A giggle spills from my mouth to greet the air when he yanks me into his arms, fingertips assaulting my sensitive ribs. 

“Becks! Stop playin’ hard t’ get, li’l one. We’re past that now,” he exclaims, feigning authority, but I can hear the affability shining in his deep voice. Laughs explode from my lips until they slowly die away, finding safety where I always do, hiding my face in the crook of his warm neck. 

“Or are we?” I titter against the pulsing, freckled skin. My lips shake louder when another offended scoff greets the air, feeding my laughter only more. 

“No, we aren’t, ya brat,” he pouts, and any worries I had are dispelled when his nose tickles my hairline. “Now, why can’t ya tell me what ya said? I wantcha t’ know ya can tell me anythin’ in tha world, Becks . . Promise.” 

“It’s kinda scary to say,” I admit, wondering about these lengths I’ve suddenly gone to that he somehow jumped within moments. He soothes the worries with his long fingers doting stripes up and down my back. 

“Ya can tell me scary stuff too, bug. Anythin’ at all. Could neva be mad at you when ya make me so bloomin’ happy without hardly doin’ a thing.”

A breathy laugh graces my lips now, muffled by the place where his neck and his broad shoulder meet. He remains silent, and the only sound I hear is that of his rhythmic breathing that does wonders for relaxing me in this crazed moment. His lips feathery against the top of my head do it for me, unraveling the ribbon that tied my not-so-secret together. 

“You’ve always been my everything, Harry . . you just didn’t know it, but I did,” I admit, taking my time enunciating every word into the confines of him. 

“‘ve always wondered, Becks, think it was coz ya’ve been me everythin’ longa than I can rememba,” he comments, taking my breath away with little to no effort, something he’s entirely too good at as of recently. “Thank you, babe,” he finishes adamantly, moving away and in the process, drawing my eyes upwards and towards his captivating greens. 

“Thank you, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“‘ve wanted it mo’,” he giggles, and I ruffle a hand through his hair to mess it up. 

“Stop it with the one-upping! You ruined the sentiment, Styles,” I exclaim, mouth falling into an exaggerated pout. His laugh disappears quickly, soon brushing my ears when it’s his turn to dive into my neck. ‘Sorrys’ meet my ears and are soon reciprocated with ‘okays’ and a squeeze from my arms around his middle. 

“But I do mean it, Becks. It wasn’t love at first sight really, but bloody hell, ya sure roped me in fast when ya wouldn’t take me shit. Ya became me best friend befo’ I knew it was happenin.’ I knew ya were sumthin’ different altogetha, I jus’ realized it too late,” Harry confesses softly below my ear, and for the first time since noticing those sad songs on his phone, sorrow wrenches at my heart. I had forgotten what it had felt like, the seeds of our relationship finally growing within my heart that’s been filled to the brim with happiness all of a sudden. “You neva once stopped bein’ me everythin’, Rebecca Ann Holte . . I neva wantcha t’ fo’get that . . ‘m sorry if I eva made ya feel othawise . . ‘m so bloody mad ‘bout you, and I can finally tell ya all ‘bout it.”

The right words escape me, like they so often do, a quality he luckily doesn’t possess, especially after everything he just said. Instead, I leave my hiding place wrapped up in safety, and press at the back of his neck until my lips are against his. 

“Mad ‘bout me as well, are we?” Harry asks, the question dancing across my lips in between kisses. 

A joke sits on my lips, ready to fire, while the shocks of caramel glow in his sage irises. Multitudes of feelings consume my words and pump me full of happiness, all thanks to the face I finally get to melt at the sight of. The face I finally get to call all mine, and cover with kisses too. I don’t know which is better.

“More and more every day,” I admit at last, letting the reaction unfold on his face framed by dark facial hair. No longer is it just stubble, and the realization excites me, leading me to wonder what he’ll look like with a proper beard. 

Quickly, the anticipation grows and then settles, resting assured that I'll get to be there to see it happen. I’ll get to see so much of his life happen, and get to share mine with him as he stands at my side.

“Couldn’t have said it betta meself,” Harry grins, planting one last kiss on the very tip of my nose. “Let’s go have some dinna and watch FRIENDS, Boops.”

+

“Ya really can’t disappoint me when it comes t’ baked goods, y’know that? Oh, and if they’re chocolate, that too. Yer really settin’ tha bar high here, Becks.”

“Why do you make that sound like a bad thing?” I say, turning my palm up in question that dissolves with the same happy sound that surrounds his lips. 

Shrugging his shoulders, another bite of the chocolatey bread passes his rosebud lips. The sounds I make only grow louder at the fake crying expression claiming his face, “Means ya gotta keep bakin’ me stuff, and bloody hell, mo’ o’ this chocolate banana bread, please. Two o’ me favourite things in one right here.”

“You can keep the loaf, Harry. I have another at home.”

“Oh, so when I run outta mine, I can jus’ come ova t’ yers and help finish that one off then?” he questions, licking streaks of chocolate from his thumb.

My God, you’re such a fucking tease, Harry.

Chill it, would you?

Who? Him or you? the demon chuckles

Fuck, probably both.

“Sure,” I respond, eyes following his long figure that leaves my side to wander to the kitchen. “You can come over anytime you want . . How does Tuesday night sound? I’ll make you dinner, and there will be more chocolate banana bread for you.”

“And mo’ watchin’ FRIENDS in our not so jammies with wine and loads o’ blankets?” he hums from the kitchen, the sloshing of a liquid into a glass following his words. 

“Yeah, of course.”

“Good, ‘ssa date then,” Harry chimes, returning to the sofa to slip underneath the multicolored quilt I’m tucked underneath. “A third date.”

“Whiskey now too? I thought you liked the wine,” I laugh, confused after my eyes had danced over to him where he sips from an old-fashioned glass. 

“I do, but ‘s not strong enough. Plus, ‘s yer Rebecca wine that I didn’t wanna drink all up.”

“What are you talking about, Harry?” I chuckle, scooting closer to him after he mumbles something I can’t hear.

“‘m nervous ‘round you,” he says again, louder this time before the amber liquid passes his lips once more. His eyes remain staring forward at the television where Monica and Rachel argue in the apartment. 

“You are too?” I wonder aloud, ever so softly, but there’s just enough volume in my voice to pull his eyes over to me. A nod fulfills his words while one corner of his mouth lifts slightly, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Surprise, surprise. “Why are you nervous? You’ve been so much fun all night, and the food was wonderful.”

“Why d’ya think? New relationship jitters - I don’t wanna mess anythin’ up,” he confesses shyly with a short smile overflowing with conflict. 

A ‘hey’ plummets from my lips without permission as I scooch closer to him, closing the distance until there’s no more steps I can take. My arm winds around his bicep, my other hooking my finger under his chin to get him to look at me. 

“You’re not going to mess anything up, that’s my job,” I tell him adamantly, pleased at the sound of his smallest of laughs. “I’m nervous too, like all of the time. I don’t want to screw this up either, but I’ve spent so many years wanting this with you - to be sitting on your sofa together at your house watching FRIENDS laughing together, and getting to kiss you, that I’m not just going to sit here and let it get the best of me. You shouldn’t either, Harry,” I tell him, my hand finding its way to him unsurprisingly. 

He leans into my hand that caresses his cheek, the pad of my thumb moving back and forth over his abrasive stubble. A ‘but’ jumps from his lips, but I don’t let any others follow when I place my lips on top of his. 

“Ya always know what t’ say, dontcha, bug?” Harry coos, flitting his eyes to mine under the shelter of his dense eyelashes.

“I thought you had that claimed, not me. That’s something you have to teach me. I swear, you have a way with words.”

“Dunno whatcha yer talkin’ ‘bout, love,” he tuts, shaking his head as he pulls me against his side, arm winding around my shoulder. 

“Look at that, you got the first ‘arm around the shoulder.’”

“No duh I did, ‘s tha man’s job,” he jokes, voice contorting into a deeper one that leaks with humor. My head heavy with dreams falls to his shoulder, and my hand strays to his chest. 

His hand brushes against my cheek, yanking my attention away from the show and to his patient eyes. He winks at me, followed by dipping down to press a kiss to the top of my head. 

“Alright?” I pose to him, taking a page from his book. 

“Can’t rememba tha last time I felt this ‘alright,’” he answers, the smile trickling into his eyes. “And you, bug?”

“I’m more than alright,” I comment, letting my eyes fall shut when he bumps his forehead against mine affectionately. A content sigh of mine, the first in a long time, tickles his chest as he falls back against the cushions. His fingernails leave zings of electricity among my arm underneath the fabric of my jumper, and soon they shoot across my head when his chin comes to rest there. 

“Which one ‘s this ‘gain?” he hums from above me, the words rumbling through his chest. The thum...thum of his heart resumes underneath my ear, and I feel as if I could fall asleep right here and now. 

“The One with the Candy Hearts,” I answer after pressing a button on the remote, hearing an ‘mmmm’ from his lips. 

“Could eat you up like a candy heart, yer so bloody cute,” he titters with words pointed at me, and I echo his happy sound. “Fook, it feels so good t’ finally get t’ say all tha cheesy flirtin’ rubbish I want t’ ya, Becks.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” I murmur chuckling, words soon stolen away by a yawn that ends with a smile when he scatters kisses along my cheek. 

“Don’t fall asleep now, bug. I might jus’ continue watchin’ tha rest o’ tha episode without you, like a certain sumbody I know,” Harry jests playfully, the most perfect sound igniting sparks across my cheek where his words land. “‘m kiddin. If ya need some shut-eye ‘s okay, ‘ll tell ya what happened when ya wake up, bug. I wouldn’t leave me favourite person out like that, not eeva.”

“Thanks,” I giggle, allowing my hand to stray to a chestnut ringlet that tickles his forehead. It draws his attention to my touch, and next, I find his green eyes with my own. “Harry, I have a request.”

“Ya, li’l one?” he hums in response, quirking an eyebrow in accompaniment. 

“After the episode is done, can we listen to some of your old records and paint each other’s nails?” I pose, the nerves peaking through in my voice. The approval pulls his lips up towards his cheeks once again, and I truly don’t think I could ever get sick of that smile.

Never, ever. 

“‘d love that, Becks. ‘ll hafta play some o’ me favourites fer ya.”

Sometimes, like in this very moment, I can’t remember there ever being a time when you stopped being my favorite person. There certainly were times, but they seem like other realities now, especially now that I know there’s no possibility that it could ever stop being you, Harry. It has always been you, and it will continue to always be you.

My Harry.

+

The sight in front of me still manages to baffle me, and it throws me for a further loop when I press my lips to her temple. She lets me, with the smallest of smiles gracing her blush lips. At times, it all feels like I’m in one of my dreams, until I realize that I indeed am living one of them. 

It’s about fucking time. 

Chandler and Joey bicker about something on the telly, but try as I might, I can’t get myself to focus on it. I didn’t miss a beat during the last episode, but now with the whiskey and wine coursing through me, the fear has fallen away. Her skin is warm against my lips, and the vanilla-orange blossom scent that she’s drenched in surrounds me. The easiest of smiles finds its way to my lips once again, and grows larger as I let my forehead meet her head.

“You’re supposed to be watching,” she whispers from below me, a soft amusement carrying her words. Opening my eyes, I find her long eyelashes flutter. Her scent trickles away when she moves her head, looking up at me curiously. The hint of a smile that’s been stuck to her lips ignites once again, keeping the fire alive within my heart. 

“What? ‘m good at multitaskin’,” I insist, knowing by now that we both can tell when the other is lying. 

“No, you aren’t. That’s why you get so little done on the days you bring your guitar to work,” Becks responds, widening her eyes a little at me to emphasize her words. 

“Rude,” I remark, but it’s stolen away by giggles. Hers and mine, and it might be the best sound I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing. 

As the seconds tick on, I keep wondering when I’m going to wake up and the dream will be over. When I close the small distance between us, catching her lips with my own, I hope I never have to wake up. They’re like honey against my own, sweet and golden. The taste of her fills me and for what must be the tenth time now, her top lip tastes better than I could have ever imagined. It fits between my own like a jigsaw piece, affirming my notions I’ve had about this girl for years on end. 

Her decadent giggle grazes my ears when her ocean blue eyes fill my own again. I can’t help but join her, taking part in all of these things with her. I’m beside myself with how so goddamn right they feel. The smile that my lips haven’t been without for days now is mirrored on her own, the very pair that I’m still amazed I just got to kiss. The lips I’ve been dying to kiss for the last two, incredibly long, years. 

“What are you thinking about, thumbing at your lip like that?” she wonders aloud, my very favourite voice in this entire world. Cocking her head to the side, she stares up at me. The warmth inside of me spreads amongst my limbs, tingling at the end of my fingers where one of her dark curls wraps around it. Too much like the way she’s had me wrapped around hers ever since that very first day I called her ‘Becks.’

It was history after that, they say. 

“Jus’ rememba’d an old friend I ran into tha otha day. ‘s a story you’d like,” I respond, enjoying the way the light catches the dark and light flecks of blue in her irises. The Holte Blue Eyes, they appear to be, and I can’t stop myself from thinking what a child of mine would look like with those blue eyes. 

“Who’s that?” she smiles, tipping her head to rest on my arm wound around her shoulder. The pads of my fingers explore her back, drawing shapes over her too adorable olive green knitted jumper. 

“Alcott- Professor Alcott,” I answer, observing the connection echoing in her eyes. Nodding, her blues remain perked up at me. I can’t think of a better sight in this whole universe, and it brings happiness to my lips like she can do without hardly trying. “That day I ran into you at tha market, I saw him there right afta. I guess it was a good day fer run-ins with old friends.”

My subsequent out of place laugh pulls her natural eyebrows together in question, one that she soon vocalizes, “What’s so funny, Harry?” 

“‘s not so much funny as jus’ . . I dunno, ratha perfect,” I answer, and the happiness spilling from her lips is accompanied by a raise of her eyebrows. “When I saw him afta I spoke t’ yer class that one day, tha first time ‘d seen ya in almost a year . . I erm, asked him ‘bout you. I had no bloody idea ya were goin’ back t’ finish yer LLB, and so I was full o’ questions afta seein’ you in his class. He had all good things t’ say ‘bout you, big surprise, and there was this one thing he said that I never forgot ‘bout.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” Becks says, almost on the edge of her seat at the revelation of my story. “Harry,” she giggles when I take too long to respond.

It doesn’t have anything to do with reluctance, but more so because of how fucked I am right now losing myself in her eyes. Those blues, my God. The thought continues to unravel, and my smile fills out at its discovery.

I really do hope that my children get to have those blue eyes of hers one day, they’re the most gorgeous color I’ve ever seen. 

“Sorry . . He said sumthin’ ‘bout you comin’ back t’ work at me firm once ya graduated. ‘Circle of Life,’ he called it, so it was funny when I ran into him at tha market. I was beside meself with glee gettin’ t’ tell him that you did indeed come back t’ work with me. He was happy t’ hear it and ‘s very proud o’ you, as am I,” I share, and the confession plants the dimple into her left cheek.

After all of this time, I think I’ve figured it out. I can only find it there when the happiness engulfs her, surprising her with its intensity, letting the dimple out of hiding. 

“And did you tell him?” she ponders, now getting all shy on me by averting her eyes. I don’t think I have much to complain about, seeing how she’s tracing the outline of a tattoo on my forearm. A ‘what’ whispers from my lips as the curl relaxes around my finger, and my hand wanders to her cheek, pulling her back to me. “That you had a crush on me?”

“I did, ya, but I don’t think that’s how I phrased it,” I chuckle, finding the redness in her cheeks that also sit in mine. “Don’t think ‘d call it that, would you?”

Her answer is sufficed by a shrug of her shoulders, and quickly I’m losing my lips in the brown freckles scattered across her neck. My name flies from hers in a titter as my arms surround her. 

“Hmmm?” I hum against her skin, finding the hollow below her ear with my eager lips.

“No, I guess I wouldn’t call it that, either,” she laughs, the words vibrating beneath my lips. Letting my eyes fall closed, I lean into her and feel her curl up against me. “It’s far more than that,” Becks says softly, carding a hand through my curls. Bringing me forth, I move away from her to find those ocean deep eyes sitting on me. An honor, indeed.

Bloody hell, what a fucking honor it would be if my children had that twinkle in their eye and that song in their laugh, too. As well as that one little cheek dimple, just like Becks.

I don’t even care at this point how carried away I’m getting.

“Sure ‘s, bug,” I murmur, my surroundings soon cloaked in darkness when her lips find mine. Her hair falls through my fingers like buttery taffy when it finds the back of her head. Her lips taste like strawberries and sunshine, and not even because of the wine. Specks of chocolate hide in them, surprising me with their sweetness, just like she keeps doing to me.

I may never get over how sweet my little bug is, and that’s just fine with me, because I finally have all of the time I want to get used to it. Although I’m unsure if it will ever be enough, I know that Becky undoubtedly is.

A laugh sputters from her lips, bringing an end to our kiss.

“What’re you laughin’ ‘bout, Rebecca?” I snicker, nudging my nose against hers, stealing another peck from her candy coated lips.

“First, you saying my name like that, and secondly, keep playing with my hair,” is all she says, joined by her head falling to my chest. The disappointment at the absence of her lips is short when I’m again amazed by how effortlessly she gets me going with her head on my chest.

“Why ‘s that funny?” I ask, keeping my word and letting her satiny waves run through my fingers. Glancing away, I find her eyes flutter closed against the fabric of my shirt. The weight of her on my front feels comforting, and so does this entire thing. It’s just comforting the mere fact of her being here with me, and in my arms.

I still have a hard time believing my eyes.

“You’ll see.”

A question knits my brows together as I giggle, combing my hand through the front of her hair until I reach its end moments later, sorting out the snarls. Her breathing begins to slow and her body stills against mine.

“Becks, dontch’u fall asleep on me, bug. Our episode isn’t ova quite yet,” I snicker. The champagne bubbles that have filled my insides over the last few weeks climb higher and higher when her lips mirror the action.

“I will if you keep playing with my hair.”

“Ah, so ‘ve found yer weakness, have I?” I reply, looking down and placing my puckered lips on the crown of her head.

“Mmmhmm, it’s always been able to lull me to sleep, and relax me. My dad always did it when I was little.”

“Noted,” I murmur against her hair, letting my cheek fall to rest atop her head. My arms sing when they embrace her, welcoming the familiarity they find.

“Doesn’t help that yer a proper li’l heater too, yer makin’ me wanna fall asleep now too, bug. ‘s only six-thirty,” I yawn, my eyelids growing heavy as she snuggles into me. 

“Then take a little cat nap with me, Harry,” Becks yawns, burrowing deeper into the hollow of my neck. “I’ll keep you warm.”

“‘Kay, ‘ll just shut me eyes . . fer a few minutes,” I drawl, knowing that the slow rise of her chest on mine will soon take me away into dreamland.

I don’t know what I could possibly dream about that’s better than this, though. Perhaps little dark haired babies with her blue eyes and dimples set into their cheeks, sat upon her lap.

Oh, please.

+

A feeling that I had hoped and dreamed years for, sticks with each step I take the next morning after getting off onto Seventeen. I haven’t been able to kick the smile that arrived on my lips the moment I parked my car, and my cheeks have only grown more tired since then. 

Like every other morning, he’s nowhere to be found. Missing in action. Although I sat at his side with his arm around me until nine o’clock last night, my heart aches for him worse than any other morning at work. 

I spend no time dropping off my own messenger bag in my office, along with my lunch and thermos of coffee. My heart speeds up its racing when I slip into his office searching for him to no avail.

I’m ready to throw in the towel until I remember his not so hiding place from last time, and once again, there I find him with a stack of papers in his hands. A smile winds its way up my lips at the sight of him pressing his lips together, creating comical popping noises. 

It all feels surreal and so quickly, seeing him there dressed to the nines in another handsome suit. He’s back, and he’s all mine. I don’t quite know how we’re going to do this whole thing, but I can’t fucking wait. I’m unsure of how different it will be at the firm and as his mentee, but I know we’ll make it work.

After the last few years of shit we’ve went through, this seems like a piece of cake, or so I hope. 

“Morning,” I almost whisper, wishing I was threading my arms around his middle right now and not standing across the room. Instead, they sit flat against my front, hands clasped at my waist. His shiny brunette curls tickle his temples when he looks up fast and over to me, the light of a thousand suns filling his face. 

“G’mornin’, bug. What’re ya doin’ all tha way ova there, huh, why’re you bein’ a stranger?” Harry grins, waving a hand over to me while the large copier makes whirring noises, taking his document away. 

A nervous laugh tumbles from me as I take slow steps over to him, unsure if the smile climbing his cheeks at the mere sight of me is true. 

I wonder if seeing is believing. 

“C’mere, ya slow poke,” he titters, holding out an arm towards me. Finally, my heart begins to slow down. It only truly does once my cheek touches his shoulder and our arms settle around the other. “Mornin’, my Becks. Sumbody looks tired, I see. ‘m sorry I kept ya up last night with our texts.” 

“It’s okay,” I yawn, tipping my head towards his eyes that await mine. “I had lots of fun talking to you about all sorts of things after I got home.”

“So did I, bug, so did I,” he agrees, leaving a whispery kiss on my forehead with his lips that smell of coconut chapstick. Hmm, I wonder if they taste like coconut too, and the budding thought stirs up a craving I’ve had for his lips since I woke this morning. “Don’t be fallin’ asleep on me t’day, tho’. We have work t’ do.”

“Hey, you stole my line!” I giggle, staring up at him through my lashes doused in a few extra coats of mascara. 

“Seems we’re even then,” he grins with a cheeky wink, earning a nod from me. The dimples remain in his cheeks marked by the stubble that I’m coming to like more and more, a sure surprise to me. “Ya look gorgeous once again, bug. There’s jus’ sumthin’ ‘bout ya in yer lawyer getup that gets me goin’,” he chuckles, the last few words muffled against my cheek. A blush rises on my own and I move ever so slowly until his lips are a breath away from mine. 

“Now you know how I’ve felt all of these years,” I admit breathlessly, the mere sight of him stripping the breath from my lungs. 

“Do I now, li’l one?” he teases, brushing the back of his finger against my cheek. His cheeks soon match mine with a warm pink that fills my eyes before he envelopes my lips with his own, finally. They’re smooth and pillowy against mine, and within moments, I taste the coconut chapstick coating them. 

The notifying bleep! of the copier nudges at my ears, but the sound of a voice outside the door pulls me away from his lips. A glint sits in his eyes when I find the courage to meet them before turning around. I’ve put only a few feet in between us when I hear the click! of the door opening, and Rose’s sing-song voice. 

“Are we hiding from our job in the copier room, again? If you’re doing it, then it must be okay for me to do it too,” she jokes, her fiery waves tickling the jade fabric of her long sleeved blouse. 

“Hey, don’t be puttin' words in me mouth,” Harry scoffs. With a new glossy black folder I found on the supply shelf, I turn around to find Rose rolling her eyes at him. 

“I don’t know how you do it spending every minute of every work day with him. Four hours, give or take, a week spent with him is enough for me,” she sighs jokingly, her words wrapped up with a wink. An amused smile curls at the edge of my lips as I face her, nervously tapping the folder against my thigh. 

“I don’t know how I do it sometimes, either,” I sigh, throwing up my hands in a shrug. 

“Hey, would you two stop gangin’ up on me? Bloody hell, ‘m yer boss,” Harry exclaims in utter disbelief, but by now I hardly have to listen for the tell tale signs of sarcasm in his caramel voice. I know that they’re already there.

“Oooo, I’m so scared,” Rose whines, yanking a laugh from my lips as she dunks a hand into the open box of pens on a shelf. “I swear, Myles nicks all of the good pens when they come in, it’s no fair.” 

“Maybe you could trade him some for your Styles and Lawson coffee mug,” I suggest with another laugh bubbling within my voice, soon joined by Rose’s loud laugh.

“Good one, Becky,” she chuckles, her long gold earrings dancing with her movements. “Have I told you yet that I’m glad you hired her again?” she poses to Harry with a smile. When I follow her eyes, I’m rewarded with Harry’s glimmering pair. No longer is a smirk waiting in them for me, but something else entirely, and it’s that very sparkle he let loose for me just a couple days ago. 

“I think ya have, once or twice,” he hums softly. “Can’t blame ya tho’, she’s a riot, alright. Pretty happy meself fer bringin’ her back.”

Oh, Harry, the things you can do to me with just a few words. And I know that you’re well aware of just that. 

“Those mugs, though. I don’t know, Myles must have ordered a hundred of them when the firm was born, because I get one every year for Christmas without fail,” Rose mutters, taking apart the empty pen box before tossing it in the recycling bin. 

“Don’t look at me, I tell him tha very same things - that they’re cheesy, tha font isn’t even right, and that we need t’ order new ones if he’s so keen on givin’ ‘em out,” Harry argues, holding his hands up in defense. 

“Yeah, keep talking, Harry. As if you’re not drinking out of one this very second with that shit-eating grin on your face,” she responds, and a laugh sputters from my lips without my approval. Harry’s eyes cast over to me and he shakes his head at me with narrowed eyes, over his onyx colored mug. It’s all for show, and soon he’s winking at me. 

“Good luck with spending forty hours a week with this one. I think you’re stuck with him, you poor thing,” she remarks, clucking her tongue as she slaps the pen against her palm rhythmically. 

“Yeah,” I huff, dragging my eyes over to Harry with a smile absent from my face. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it either, I’m stuck with him for a few years at least.”

“You better get out while you still can!” she jests with faux wariness injected into her voice. Laughing, she slips out through the door as my eyes fall to the floor. I try to hide the amused sounds escaping my lips, but I find them growing louder as his footsteps sound in my ears. 

“So, yer ‘stuck with me,’ are ya now?” Harry rasps from behind me. I nearly rise off the floor when his fingers dance along my sides, eliciting surprised shrieks into the air. 

“Harry!” I exclaim, goosebumps forming along my neck when his breathy laughs coast over the skin. “Yeah, I guess I am.” 

“‘m ratha happy ya are, y’know.”

“So am I. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I respond, spinning around to find his smirking lips once more. Unlike his, mine slowly plummet and too soon, I find his doing the same. 

“Neitha would I, bug, but . . how come ya don’t sound too sure o’ that?”

“I am, I don’t know what you mean,” I say, sheepishly. Not helping my case, my eyes fall to his hands. The typical rings don most of his long fingers dotted with dark hairs. I mingle my own with his by lacing ours together. 

“Y’know, ‘ve been able t’ tell when yer lyin’ fer years now, ya don’t have me fooled. You look away and don’t say much when yer lyin,’ they’re yer poker ‘tells’ . . .  Now, what’s tha matta, Becks?” he hums gently. A breath catches in my chest when the callused tip of his finger ghosts along my cheek, replacing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Becks?” he asks once more, and I hear it. I recognize it, because it’s the very emotion threatening to consume the happiness that’s been drenching my insides.

Fear. 

“How are we going to do this, Harry?” I question, finally lifting my eyes to his. “I don’t want this to sound bad, because I want this more than anything, so please don’t be upset. I-,” I try to explain, but he doesn’t give me the chance to continue. Unlike all of those times he stepped on my toes when I first met him, he’s doing a fine job of wishing those away with none other than his lips. 

His velvety aegean blazer is satiny beneath my fingertips when I gather the front of it into my palms, pulling him closer. I feel his smirk against my lips, but all too soon it’s not long enough and he’s pulling away. His dimples fill my eyes and next, those shiny green eyes consume my sight. 

“Jus’ like this, like we’ve been doin’. Behind closed doors, my love,” he mumbles, sealing the words with a soft peck. Those very two words send shivers down my spine, and zings of electricity right to my heart. “I wanna show ya off here, believe me I do, but at work I think ‘s betta if we keep it professional in front o’ e’rybody else,” he explains, and the second the horses leave the gates, I’m nodding along with him. A relieved sigh blankets the air in front of me when I’m graced with the knowledge that he too agrees. “I know it blows and it’ll be hard, but ‘s fer tha best, Becks. Outside o’ work and behind closed doors tho’, anythin’s game . . . Alright?”

“Yeah, I’m more than alright. I was thinking the same thing . . I’m here to be your mentee and to learn from you so I can one day, hopefully, be even half as good of a lawyer as you . . Dating you is just a bonus.”

Scarlet engulfs his golden skin while my favorite song in the entire universe tickles my ears, “I couldn’t agree mo’, li’l one. We got some fun in store fer us, that’s fer sure,” he rasps, pulling me against his front, and there, I melt like I did for the very first time, all those years ago.

I hold onto him tightly, never wanting to let him go. 

No, never again, will I. There’s nothing in this world that could ever take him away from me again, I won’t let it. 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #297

“crushed, damned, and broken; lost, sick, and left unspoken.”

When was the last time you did clay work/pottery? Not since high school when I made an anatomically correct heart. Do you like art, hate it or just not mind it? I adore it. Is crime a big problem in your area? Oh yes. What's the scariest story/urban legend/creepypasta etc you heard? Maaaan, as a cryptic fanatic, that's hard. Maybe the Rake. What personality trait does nearly everyone in your family seem to have? We're some resilient motherfuckers. What is your favorite soda? Well, it's technically strawberry Sunkist, but I do NOT let myself have it because I will fucking chug it and binge on them if available to me. So, I just consider Mountain Dew Voltage my fave. When you're on the beach, do you throw beached sea creatures back? I've never even seen a beached animal. I would, though. Have you ever thrown food at someone? Yeah, small food fights as a kid or joking with a friend. Have you ever been to a bonfire? Yeah. Do you like orangutans? I love them; such fascinating, enchanting animals that act more human than people half the time. When you see a bug flipped on his back, what do you do? It depends on what it is, but I usually try to help it. Is cereal good? Yeah, I love cereal. Do you like spaghetti? Love it. It was my favorite food as a kid. Is there any kind of weapon in your bedroom? No. Do you like snow globes? I love 'em! Be honest, did Fifty Shades of Grey arouse you in any way? I didn't read it and never will. What does your sibling(s) call you? "Britt" or "(little/big) sister." Do you have any close friends that are the opposite sex that your significant other dislikes? N/A Do you honestly believe everything happens for a reason? Why or why not? Nope, because I want you to explain to me why a child dies of cancer. Why the 11-year-old was raped and forced to bear the child. Why a partner is beaten to death by their s/o, etc. etc. Things just... happen. Do you believe in reincarnation? Why or why not? No, mostly; I DO kinda wonder about it, I just find it unlikely. It would be kinda poetic, though: being given the chance to experience so many unique things. But, I kinda want a conclusion to my mortal life. The Hunger Games or The Maze Runner? I read the first HG and loved it; I started the latter novel while I was in the psych hospital for a while, but I never finished it or got that far in. It did sound pretty good, though. Has anyone you’ve known claimed to be psychic? Well, they believe(d) in tarot readings; does that count? Idk. Did/do you believe them? I wouldn't. Is anything annoying you right now? "Annoyed" is a fucking understatement when it comes to what transpired at the capitol a few days back. Have you ever been ice-skating? No. Does the sound of rain at night help you sleep? It can, depending on how heavy it is. Have you ever seen an albino person, in person? Albino, no, but I knew a guy and his sister in high school who had vitiligo. Have you ever worn a pair of scrubs? Yeah, at the ER and hospital. Have you ever walked into a massive cobweb? I don't believe so. What would you say is your strongest felt emotion right now? Rage. I'm not over "the event." I'm just tired of humanity. Are you talking to anyone at the moment? No. Do you have trust issues? Oh yes. Have you ever found an arrow head? No. Who is with you? My mom's home. What can you not stop thinking about? *points upwards* Then there's Jason because PTSD, that's very normal. Do you forgive easily? I forgive very easily, honestly. In what part of your life so far, have you learned the most about yourself? 2017, when recovery began. I think... or maybe 2018, idk. I've truly come to discover myself quite a lot the past few years. Have you ever been in a fist fight? No. Are your ears pierced? Yeah: my earlobes twice, and then my right tragus has a stud. I want to get my others back... I had to take them all out in the psych hospital, and a lot of my piercings closed up. The only one I don't wanna re-do is my anti-tragus, because mine was *always* inflammed and aggravated. What did you last say out loud? "Okay" to Mom. What are you waiting on? Right now, an opportunity to go to the parlor I'm getting my tat tidied up at to get a price range on it. They just need to be open while we're out of the house. Do you tell people when they get on your nerves? Not really. Are your feelings hurt easily? Yep. What's the most expensive piece of clothing you have? Did you buy it yourself? I dunno... I very rarely get new clothes, nevermind expensive ones. Who is your closest platonic friend of the opposite sex? His nickname is Girt. He's been my best male friend since high school; we even hang out sometimes, but it's been a long while. How do you think your first relationship shaped who you are as a partner now? As a partner, it taught me to not fall head over heels and love more realistically and in a healthy fashion. I don't put my faith solely into them, but myself, too. I also accept "forever" is not always true just because they promise it. Who is your favorite protagonist of the same sex? Oh god, this is hard. I suppose maybe Tyrande Whisperwind from WoW. I love her dedication to her people and that her story has become more interesting in her finally "breaking." I could list so, so many "faves," tbh. Were you popular in high school? What was your reputation like? No; I was just the average teen. Have you always known your sexual orientation or did something happen to make you realize it? Somethings happened. There were a lot of hints building up before I even began to consider the possibility, but a daydream solidified it as fact. What was the hardest part of your last break up? Realizing I still wasn't "ready" or "fit" for a successful relationship. What brought you out of the hardest period in your life? As strange as it sounds, my suicide attempt put it into action. I was obviously hospitalized for a while, and then I was brought into a month-long partial hospitalization program that has a fucking genius psychiatrist, and I also had daily therapy as long as school days during the week. It was the intense help I needed. What's your favorite kind of smiley face? (: Does anybody know your deepest darkest secret? My old therapist and maybe my mom; I can't remember if I told her. Did you ever watch Rugrats? (the babies) I LOVED that show! I even had two of the video games. What about Hey Arnold? Ugh, I hated it, but I think my little sister did, or we just watched it if we couldn't find anything else. Do you like pep rallies? NO. NO. NO. My teachers always understood that they really stoked my anxiety and allowed me to opt out of going. I'd just stay in the classroom and read or something. Have you ever had pneumonia? No. What do you feel about surgeries? Do they worry you? I fear anesthesia awareness, but not to a debilitating degree or anything that makes me panic beforehand or anything like that. Do you play Minecraft? if so, feelings about servers? Never have, and not interested. Do you read creepypastas? Nah. Do you think vlogging in public is scary? It seems awkward as FUCK to me. Even alone. Have you been to an escape room? Was it a success? No. What social class would you say you're in? I think we're actually near the poverty line (or were, idk anymore, Mom slipped it before), so definitely lower. Have you ever recorded a cover of a song? No. How do you feel about guns? They scare me. What's the most traumatizing event that ever happened to you? A very abrupt and poorly-executed breakup while being madly in love to the point of obsession with the person. Are you faint to the sight of blood? No. Do you like spicy food? Yes. Do you have good dreams or nightmares more? Well, considering I was woken up by myself shrieking my lungs out this morning, guess. It seemed for a little bit that my nightmares were chilling out, but I guess not. When was the last time someone insulted you? What was the insult? Does my mother telling me I'm saying too many "f-bombs" count? I dunno otherwise. What’s your second favorite color? Maroon. Do you ever wish you lived in a different country? Hey Canada, mind adopting me? Who’s the last person you “pounded” fists with? Ha, I think my nephew. Have you ever been involved in an affair? No. Wait, maybe? Does the Joel thing count? We never even physically met each other, we were just being idiot kids flirting over text messages. You be the judge, ig. How many times a week do you speak to your boss? I don’t have a job. What do you want for your birthday? Just donate to my tattoo fund lmao. Having to get my laptop fixed fucked up my plans yet again... Have you ever been to a masquerade? No. Is there anybody you think is hot over the age of 40? A handful, yeah. Who in your phone has a heart after their name? Just Sara does. Anything you’re avoiding? Always. After breaking up, what’s the worst? Letting go if you're the one who still has feelings. Does your sibling have a significant other? I don't know if my brother does, or the half-sister I've never met. Another sister is engaged, and two are married. Nicole is single, though. She's smart as hell about who she dates; she's probably pickier than me. Do you use Skype? Just to talk with Sara. Are you a fan of acrylic nails? I wouldn't wear them, but they look fine on some people. Except when they're square shaped. Name one happy song that describes you better than any other. "Get Up" by Mother Mother comes to me first. Name one sad/mellow song that describes you better than any other. Haha I connect with a lot of sad songs and would honestly rather not dig through 'em right now. What is your most used pick up line? None, they're all awful. Do you like the taste of alcohol? Noooooo no no. The only alcoholic drinks I like are very weak and sweet. What kinds of food make you sick? So this probably sounds so stupid, but "fancy" foods, like stuff with a lot of ingredients my body isn't used to, I guess. My stomach is very finicky with foods, so it's easy to make this list.

[moonprincess92]

Congrats on your follower milestone my dear! You certainly deserve it 😘 For the rebelcaptain prompts, how about fake dating in a modern au?

IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE :D 

Thank you so much Jen!!! (and I hope you like havin a laff bc I apparently went straight up comedy/fluff for this hahahahhahahaha) 

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck.

That bitch washeading her way and unless she did something stat, Jyn Erso may as well kissher miserable excuse for a life goodbye. She probably (100%) should not have had that second wine earlier, but her day hadrather called for it and naturally, it was hard to resist when you had good-for-nothing best friends in the background yelling over the pounding ofthe bass, “So you got fired! Fucking drink, bitch, and you’ll forget all aboutit!”

“Until I wake uptomorrow with no job,” Jyn had pointed out earlier that evening.

“Tomorrow’stomorrow, this is now!” Bodhi had called out to her, before naturally gettingdistracted by his newest piece of ‘mancake’ (who was admittedly kind of hot atleast this time, in a Californian surfer dude kind of way).

Hence the reasonshe was now well on her way to Trolleyed Town, when JUST HER GODDAMN LUCK,Queen McFuck Your Boyfriend showed up.

Somewhere up there(or down there? She was casting a bit of judgement now) The Big G himself wassplitting a rib laughing at her.

“Quick!” sheslammed her glass down and turned to the first person she could see – a kind ofscruffy, yet not-un-handsome dark-haired bloke sat on the barstool next to her.“We have to do something!”

The bloke ignoredher completely.

“WHY AM I DOOMEDTO DIE OF PURE HUMILIATION?”

“I’m sorry–? Areyou talking to me?” the bloke finally turned.

“Finally! I amgraced with His Majesty’s presence!” Jyn would have curtseyed, if she weren’talready sat down on her own bar stool and too worried about her balance shouldshe get off. “I literally have less than 30 seconds before McBitch shows herface and I’m not at the point of literally running away yet, so you have tohelp me!”

“McBitch?”

“KEEP THE FUCK UP,she slept with my boyfriend!” Jyn yelled.

High and Mighty ScruffyBoi crinkled his nose as he glanced around in confusion. Maia (otherwise known as ‘McBitch’) had almost certainly spotted her at this point,if the little wave was anything to go by. Damn her and her perfectlystraightened hair, deep tan and baby blues that she swore could rope in demonsif she truly put her talents to work. Not that Maia had ever lifted a manicuredfinger for herself in her entire life. Scruffy Boi was eyeing herappreciatively, so Jyn groaned and tugged on his shoulder.

“Do not be takenin by the hotness,” she insisted. “She will roast your insides and eat youalive.”

“How could youstill be alive if she’s already roasted your insides?”

“SCRUFFY BOI, KEEPUP,” she cried. “I cannot let her win!”

“Well, what thehell do you want me to do about it?” Scruffy Boi asked, eyes slightly unfocusedas if this constant back and forth conversion was whooshing straight over hishead, along with her dignity and self-respect, particularly in the wake of whatshe was about to say next. Did she have much choice?

She was alreadyregretting it.

“I want you tokiss me.”

No, she trulydidn’t wake up this morning thinking that she was going to end up here. Believeit or not, but Jyn Erso usually lived a very quiet life! She lived alone, sheloved tea and snuggly blankets and occasionally entertained the odd guest(which basically just meant Bodhi coming over and eating out her entirefridge).  She had done the crazy shitalready. She wasn’t 16 and on the streets anymore, drinking until 5am andsleeping with Scott Melshi (now THERE was a mistake). Nopity nope, she was aself-confessed grandma now, and she was totally ok with that! She only wantedwhat everyone else in their late 20s wanted: a stable job and living withoutthe debilitating fear that she was going to die alone and in debt.

Of course McBitchhad to move in.

She honestlywasn’t quite sure what had come over her in asking this very random, verybewildered (albiet very cute) guy to kiss her, but what could she say, she wason a roll here. She knew it sounded ridiculous, even as the words were comingout of her mouth, but she hadn’t stopped them. She knew that she didn’t live ina romance novel like that line seemed to have apparently walked straight outof. In fact, Jyn was 100% certain that he was about two seconds away fromtelling her to fuck off, which would be fair. Honestly, since it was years agoJyn wasn’t really pissed about the whole ‘being cheated on’ thing anymore, itwas more the fact that McBitch seemed to think they were still BFFs for someunholy reason (did ‘you slept with myboyfriend and I hate you’ mean nothing?) so she would honestly just takewhat she could get.

Scruffy boistarted laughing. He was shaking his head and as he drained the last of hisdrink and Jyn sighed in exasperation.

“Fine, go on then.Laugh it up, mate,” she said. “My life is now a sham, thanks to you! I hope yourealise–”

Somewhere inbetween his laughing and her complaining, she had apparently failed to realisethat he had slipped off his bar stool and now stood in front of her. In fact,she didn’t realise anything at all until he was cutting off her words, kissingher with the kind of passion that can only come from third drinks and latehours.

Well, holy shit.

The bar stool shesat on gave her the added height she needed to comfortably reach his lips, and JesusChrist, what a pair of lips they were. She always liked to think that she’dbeen not just kissed, but Kissed™ at least a fair few times throughout herlife, but apparently she was wrong. Scott Melshi had been an opening act. ScruffyBoi was where it was at and she didn’t think, she only felt with a kind ofblind ohmygodohmygodohmygod panic.Where was fucking Bodhi when she was the one finally being the wild one for achange? Scruffy Boi gripped her hips in a way that made her stomach flip andshe separated her knees, drawing him in, dragging him closer –

“Oh my god, Jyn!Haven’t seen you in forever – have I caught you at a bad time?”

Bitch, you can very well see that this is afucking bad time!

Jyn pulled away invery un-fake irritation. She kept an arm slung around Scruffy Boi’s shouldersand she turned to face McBitch. “Oh, Maia. You could not have turned up at aworse time. How’s it going, girl?”

“Oh, so great,thanks for asking,” Maia simpered

“Was there anything you actually wanted? ‘cause I’m kind of busy…”

She felt Scruffy Boi’s lips pressed firmly to her neck, travelling theskin there and quite honestly, it was making it very difficult to think. He wasapparently taking her request to heart and Jyn noticed Maia’s eyes narrowingslightly as she watched. Time to milkthis. “Hey, babe,” she nudged Scruffy’s Boi’s head with her own, making himglance up. “This is Maia, we knew each other back in the day.”

“Oh hey, Cassian,”he introduced himself. He pressed closer to Jyn, occupying her space with hishands at her hips. “I’m the boyfriend.”

Yeah, you are.

“I didn’t evenknow you were dating again!” Maia said in false happiness.

“Yes, this isCASSIAN, my BOYFRIEND,” Jyn practically yelled. Quite frankly, her quota tohold inane conversations had been used up and she made a point to turning backto Scruffy Boi (wait, Cassian, of coursethe guy’s name is Cassian, you never could choose a Peter or a John could you?).She didn’t give him any warning when she kissed him this time, but she hoped togod that he’d just roll with it and he did. They were probably way toooverly-enthusiastic, but there was just enough tongue to make her stomach churnand she found her hands snaking up around his neck, into his hair.

It took severalminutes for Maia to finally get the hint and trill, “Um, byeeeee then!” beforeflouncing off through the club.

Jyn hastily pulledback from him, praying that her face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“Oh good god, thank you,” she breathed with relief.

“I – shit – Imean,” he laughed nervously, stepping back out of her arms. “No problem.”

“I didn’t even say– my name’s Jyn.”

“Cassian,” hereiterated for her. Bizarrely, he held out a hand for her to shake and she tookit. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

“I feel like I’mkind of owed an explanation for… well, whatever all that was,” Cassian pulledback to wave his hand in the general direction that Maia had gone off to. “Idon’t know… did you want a drink or something?”

It only took herabout five seconds to make the decision.

“Sounds great.”

[hotelsweet]

DARCE I FINALLY THOUGHT OF THE PROMPT I WANTED TO REQUEST FROM U!! literally,,,,,literally anything with the protective jake dynamic from maximum security,,,,i would cry so many tears,,,,i WILL cry so many tears,,,bless ur soul thank u in advance i love u dearly

on this week’s episode of Em Wants Me Dead,,,,

in all honesty I rewrote this a few times because I wanted to be completely certain I was hitting that protectiveness right but dear God this prompt came for my soul

anyway HERE

Amy shifts over in her cell bed, wishing to hell she couldrip this stupid fake baby bump off and sleep in an actual, comfortable bed. Sheneeds sleep, desperately, but all she can think about is Maura, and Figgis, andJake.

Jake.

The way he’d triedto protect her. The way he’dadmitted he couldn’t be here while she wassurrounded by these women.

It’s notthe first time she’s seen him protective, not byfar- but it’s perhaps only the secondtime she’s seen him act upon it. Thefirst time was years ago, not long into her job at the nine-nine. It’s perhaps one of her first memoriesof them as real friends, real partners. Warmth spills into her system at thethought of it.

It’sstrange, in a way, she thinks, the fondness this memory elicits- the first timeAmy knew that Jake Peralta would always have her back just so happened tocoincide with one of the saddest days of her life.

Shifting her head against a thin pillow, Amy lets her minddrift, finding the moment and replaying it, in every little detail, letting itlull her to sleep.

 ***

 “Y’okay?”

It’s thisvoice, amongst a sea of others, that catches Amy’sattention. Her eyes rise from her computer screen, and it’s like she comes back to life,snapping out of a daydream; suddenly, she’sstarkly aware of how dry her eyes feel, from staring absently at her screen,and of the concerned expression with which Jake examines her.

“Yeah, uh,” she clears her throat, “yeah. I’m fine.”

“Sure? Y’know, it’s almost the end of the day anyway, I don’t mind taking you home if you’re not feelin’ it.” Jake saysit simply, like it’s nothing, but she knows it’s a favour, a pity-offer.

“That’s nice,” shereplies genuinely, “but I’m really okay. Just tired.”

“Sure. Hey, I think there’s some takeout in the break room, ifyou’re hungry.”

“Oh, okay,” she says quietly, smiling gratefullyover at him.

She clears her throat again, attempting to expel thattightness in her chest, and stands up, deciding a snack and some cold water tothe face     will wake her up a little-she’s still got work to do, and she’s not packing up any time soon.

As she moves, she subconsciously feels herself avoidingeyes. The whole squad’s beenwatching her, and she knows it. Just this morning, her grandfather passed away-and she would have been able to keep it secret, were it not for the fact thatGina had answered the phone this morning, apparently expecting one of Amy’s “nerdfriends” and instead being greetedwith her tearful mother.

It’s notlike she minds things like this interfering with her work day- in fact, she’s more distracted by the devastationaching through her mind and her body, like a numbness just waiting to build up intotears. It’s just the fact that everyoneknows, and everyone’s treading on eggshells around her.She’s barely worked here a year, justabout falling into a rhythm with everyone, and now, just because she’s not quite close enough with anyoneyet, it’s fallen into awkwardness.Even Jake, the biggest pain in her ass since she picked up this job, is beingunbearably kind.

Quickly, she heads for the break room, sighing to herself inrelief at the slight stretch in her legs from standing up and moving around, apleasant contrast to what must have been at leastfifteen minutes sat in silence.

Once she’s inthe breakroom, she finds herself exhaling deeply, finally out of sight fromeveryone else. On the table are a few boxes; some tacos, some chips, somefries- it’s bland, but it’ll do, she thinks, picking at itmindlessly.

It’ssoothing, filling her up quickly.

Right up until, that is, a piercing shout comes from thebullpen.

“HEY!”

It’s Rosa’s voice, but it’s too loud, too much of a warning.

Before she really knows what she’s doing, Amy’s feetare carrying her into the bullpen. It’s aperp, and he’s running- straight towardsher. Rosa’s on the ground next to herdesk, grabbing her shin and breathing hard through gritted teeth. She’s been hurt.

“Amy!” Rosa yells, and at once, Amy snaps back to life. With notime to grab her gun, she’sthrowing herself towards the burly man headed towards her, aiming to debilitatehim with perfect procedure- but he’s twosteps ahead of her, latching onto her wrist and spinning her round so she’s in front of him, held tightly infront of him with her arm behind his back.

“Let me walk and I won’t grab her gun,” he says casually, as if he’s done this a thousand times before.Come to think of it, Amy realises, he probably has. Her mind buzzes, her heartpounding in her chest, immediately thinking about what to do next. Knock himout? Make a move? Stay still?

The entire room is at a complete standstill- Rosa, Charles,and Terry all have their guns pointed at him, which only makes Amy feel sick;while those guns are pointed at him, they’repointed at her, too.

Her eyes scam the bullpen for Jake, but he’s out of his desk, nowhere to be seen.Great. Probably gone for a pee, entirely clueless.

She tightens a little, trying to pull away, but he onlygrabs her tighter, causing her to grimace a little. What a day- losing a familymember, experiencing her most awkward, sad, and slow day at work yet, and beingused as a meat-shield by a runaway perp.

“You’ve got five,” hesays calmly- his voice reverberates against Amy’s back,almost making her shiver. “Four,three, two- unf”

He’s cutoff as he drops to the floor.

Amy spins round to see Jake, holding the guy’s hand behind his back, keeping himagainst the floor with his foot. The whole room seems to breathe a sigh ofrelief; Rosa, though she clearly shouldn’t bewalking, heads straight towards them, and soon enough Terry’s moving over too. Jake, however,remains entirely focused on Amy, his expression still, and tense, and worried,entirely fixated among the chaos of the room.

Terry’smuttering something to the perp about CCTV, and the charges he’s just added for himself byassaulting a cop. Rosa’shissing curses under her breath. Charles is explaining the entire situation toMcGinley, who apparently missed the whole thing.

To Amy, it’s allan even thicker blur, stood watching it all happen, and directly in the middleof it all is Jake, his voice repeating over and over again at her.

“Amy.” His voice is quiet, but he’s allshe really hears.

“I’m fine, thank you for… for…” she says dismissively, moving awayfrom the centre of the bullpen, her head pounding. Air. She needs air.

Faster than she anticipated, she’s outside, sinking against the wall to her knees. Thelate-Autumn Brooklyn evening whispers a brief shiver down her spine, and herarm aches gently from where

His voice catches up with her, but she’s already lost herself, anxietythrumming painfully in her mind, pushing her until she’s curling up, her head dropping into her hands.

“Amy.” He’sbeside her, crouched down, his hand on her arm. “Did hehurt you?”

“I don’t-”

“Did he hurt you?” Jake’s voiceis firm, far more protective than she’s everheard him before. It has her a little taken aback, just for a moment. She feelsherself starting to focus again, the fear slipping away, and she looks up athim. His face is almost angry, brow furrowed, to the point where it almostworries her. She’s never seen him like this.

“No, I’m fine.”

“I could’ve punched him,” Jake mutters resentfully, rollinghis eyes. “I can’t believe it was you… andwith the day you’ve had, too”

“Has that happened before?”

“Yeah. Although, in my fouryears on the force, I’ve onlyseen two other runners.”

“Idiots,” she says quietly, pressing the backof her wrist against her eye. “Y’know, I could have dealt with that bymyself. I was about to go for his stomach with my elbow.” She knows she’s beingstubborn, but she’d rather die than look weak.

“Yeah, I know, are youkidding?” Jake says, smiling in thatway he always does towards her defensiveness. Any other day, she’d find it annoying. Right now, thenormality of it is so perfect it almost makes her cry. “I acted on instinct. Something about seeing you like thatmade me move, without thinking. Eh, I don’t know.”

“Probably a pretty stupidmove,” Amy grins, and he laughs alittle.

“Next time I’ll let you fight your corner.”

“Thanks.”

Jake laughs.

“No,” she interjects, “I meanthank you for helping me.”

“Don’t be stupid, anyone would have done it for their partner,for their friend.”

She smiles over at him for a moment. They don’t move, the noise of Brooklyn trafficfilling the silence between them.

“I think I need to go home,” she says quietly.

“Let me take you.”

“No, it’s fine, really.”

“Amy,” he looks at her simply, “I’m not letting you go home alone. You’ve lost someone important and justbeen attacked.”

“I wasn’t attacked,” she mutters. Jake doesn’t reply, just looking at her,eyebrows raised. “Okay, fine,” she gives in. “I need to get my stuff.” She stands up and brushes herselfdown, inwardly praying she’s notsat in anything gross.

“Nope, I’m being a good friend now, this is it,this is my duty-” he jumps in, and before shecan object he’s running back into theprecinct.

Within minutes, he’s backby her side, leading her to his car, chatting about some candy store downtownthat sells the exact brand of Mexican gummy bears he likes, and it’s dark outside, and cold, and all sheneeds to do is sit in his passenger seat and listen.

And when she starts to cry, silently, letting this awful dayescape her, and he apologises, she knows it’s notfor his stories about candy. It’s forthis absolute bitch of a world.

In the darkness, she finds herself leaning across her seatinto his arms, and crying, for lord only knows how long, in a feat that neitherof them will mention for months.

He’s warm,and still, and accepting. Calm. Ready to be there for her, just as he’d been in the bullpen.

And though it’s along while before she’lladmit it, it’s the safest she’s ever felt.  

Safest she’ll everfeel.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Binary Star (V)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jaebum / Mark

Rating: PG

Word Count: 4,579

Summary: “In some cases, these close binary systems can exchange mass, which may bring their evolution to stages that single stars cannot attain.”

You and Jaebum have been dating forever when Mark Tuan shows up in your classroom. You’ve always been against change - a bit debilitating, being a writer - but for some reason this new kid has you thinking there might be an upside to chaos.

It only takes a few minutes before Mark texts back.

Hey?

He sounds confused and you don’t blame him. The two of you rarely text on weekends.

What are you doing tomorrow? Something crazy?

Maybe. Why? Want to join?

After staring at your phone for a long second, you lower your fingers. Fighting every natural instinct in your body to respond.

Yes.

The next morning you’re standing by the front door, sipping coffee and struggling to stay awake. It’s early. Too early to be up but Mark told you he’d meet you at 6:00 am. You laughed when he said this, thinking he was joking until Mark face-timed you to assure he was not.

“But why,” you groaned, flopping onto your pillows. You had already taken off your makeup for the night, but found you didn’t care. Mark never gave the impression that he cared what you looked like anyways. “Why on earth do we need to leave so early?”

Mark merely laughed. “The early bird catches the worm, Y/N.”

“Don’t care.”

“Early to bed and early to rise.”

“I can’t even respond to that idiom, because I don’t know it.”

“Get in on the ground floor.”

“Contextually, I’m not sure that makes sense.”

Mark continued to laugh. “Sure it does. It’s all relative.”

You squinted at him through your screen. “I’m too tired to argue. Hear that?” you demanded, pushing yourself up on your elbows. “I’m tired. And here you are, saying we should leave at 6:00 am.”

Mark just grinned. “You don’t have to come.”

“No, no,” you sighted, flopping down again. “Now I’m curious. Now I need to know exactly what Mark Tuan does on these weird weekend days.”

“Weird weekend days?” Mark frowned. “That’s it, you’re uninvited.”

“Uh-huh. Right.” You stuck out your tongue. “See you at 6:00 AM.”

He laughed, waving. “Bye, Y/N. See you then.”

This is what you’re doing now. Waiting for Mark to come get you, coffee in hand and frown planted firmly on your face. You’re dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, since Mark told you to dress comfortably. Rather than reassure you though, this just made you worried. Where could you possibly be going that would require you dress comfortably?’

Mark pulls up to your house at 5:57 am.

You see him through the window and throw your purse over your shoulder. Scribbling a quick note to your mom to tell her that you’ve left. You told her last night you were hanging with a friend today – something which surprised her since she knows you’re not exactly a morning person. When you informed her the instigator was neither Jaebum nor Maddie though, she was downright floored.

You’re curious to see what hanging out with Mark is like. Hanging out alone. Unsupervised. Your eyes dart to your phone, stomach tightening as you remember you haven’t yet told Jaebum. You shouldn’t have to, you argue with yourself. Jaebum doesn’t tell you every time he hangs out with a friend.

But then the other part of yourself answers that Mark isn’t just a friend, he’s a boy. A boy whom Jaebum doesn’t like. The thought of him doing something similar to you twists your heart. If Jaebum met a random girl and decided to spend the day with her – it’d drive you crazy.

At least you tried to tell him. When you had gathered yourself together enough to enter your house last night, it was well past 10:00 pm. After talking briefly with your mom and brother, you went straight. Texting Jaebum on the way to ask how the rest of his night went.

Y/N: Hey, babe!  Congratulations, again :) just wanted to check and see how the boys are taking the news! [10:18 PM]

Forty-two minutes later, Jaebum responded.

Jaebum: Thanks babe the boys are out of their mind, as am I – AN ALBUM!!! [11:00 PM]

Laughing, you rolled over in bed to text back.

Y/N: I kind of wanted to talk about something – have a few minutes to call me? [11:02 PM]

After another twenty minutes, you glanced at the clock. Struggling to keep your eyes open by this point.

Jaebum: Can we talk about it tomorrow? Ah, sorry! It’s just so hard to hear right now [11:22 PM]

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, frown firmly in place. 

Y/N: Sure, that’s fine [11:25 PM]

He didn’t text you back. You lay awake for longer than you meant, rereading all your last texts. Each one is purposeful. Asking when or where to meet. Did you or did you not do this? Have you or have you not heard? There’s nothing anecdotal there. Nothing silly, funny or cute. The two of you used to talk about everything.

You two used to stay up late discussing music and writing. Sharing your pasts and future, deliberating when they’d hopefully intersect. You wanted to know Jaebum’s dreams, hopes, ambitions and he always wanted to know yours. Now that his dreams are coming true though, you wonder if you’re still a part of them. If you’re even still one of them. This was when you turned over in your bed. Burrowing deeper into your covers and somehow managing to fall asleep.

If Jaebum doesn’t have time to talk, you suppose he just won’t know.

Mark pulls into your driveway when the world is still dark, headlights flashing once as he nears your house. As you slide into the passenger seat of his car, you pull your baseball cap lower and Mark starts to laugh. 

“What?” you frown, turning to face him. “What is it?”

“You look so unhappy,” he grins, placing the car in reverse. “I had no idea you were so morning adverse.”

“Being happy about my unhappiness doesn’t bode well for your personal character, Tuan.”

“I’m not happy.”

You peek sideways. “Then what’s the smile for?”

Mark wipes his face blank. “I’m serious as death. Speaking of which,” he muses, turning on his blinker. “Do you have a will?”

“What?” You almost spill your coffee and when Mark starts to laugh, you realize he’s joking. “Nice,” you glare, taking a half-sip. “Really. What are we doing today?”

“You’ll see,” he nods, turning up the radio.

It’s a local station you’ve always liked and you press the down button on your window, allowing a breeze to enter the car. It blows your hair and leaning back in your seat, you shut your eyes. Music fills the space, mixing with the sounds of the passing freeway. Mark is silent, though not in a bad way.

You almost fall asleep like that. Almost, except you can’t because Mark is the one beside you. Mark is the one in the driver’s seat and you can’t help but think about the person who isn’t here.

Jaebum hasn’t texted you. It was the first thing you checked this morning and even now your phone remains silent.

After a long while, you feel the car start to slow. Opening one eye, you see you’re pulling off the highway. It’s nowhere you recognize, so you sit up straighter to scan the horizon. The sun is just beginning to rise, its rays golden on the slopes of the hills and countryside. “Where are we?” you ask, twisting in your seat.

Mark shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Hm,” you say, placing your coffee in his cup holder. “So this is the truth of Mark Tuan? You drive into the countryside, return saying you’ve done all these crazy things.” You gasp, turning from the window. “It’s all fake! I knew it, you’re too good to be true.”

Mark’s eyes widen. “I, uh,” he stutters, somehow nervous. He’s saved from having to say more than this by pulling onto the beat-up, dusty road. “We’re here.”

Glancing forward, you watch the countryside pass by. “Where is here, though – oh, shit.” As the car turns a bend, you read the sign. 

Skydiving Skyline. 

“No,” you breathe, leaning forward. “No, no, nope. No way, absolutely not.”

Laughing, Mark turns into a parking lot. “You said you wanted to do something crazy.”

You stare wide-eyed up at the sign. “Yes,” you agree. “But eating twelve peanut butter cups before lunchtime is crazy. Jumping out of a moving airplane is insane.”

“Well, jumping out of a not moving airplane sounds dull.” Mark parks the car, grinning while unbuckling his seat belt. “Come on Y/N,” he teases. “Where is your sense of adventure?”

“I have none.” Shaking your head, you finally look at him. “Oddly enough, I just realized I’m okay with that fact.”

Mark pushes open the car door. “Are you?” Looking back, he cocks an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to do something crazy. Something out of the ordinary.”

You swallow. You did say that and you do want that. It’s just that being here, faced with the giant sign and very real possibility of falling from an airplane – your fear is greater than anticipated. It’s too real, your palms sweating against trembling legs. Then you straighten. Just because something is hard doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.

Slowly, you push open your door.

“That’s it,” Mark cheers, pumping a first in the air. “Step one is leaving the car. You’re doing great!” Turning on his heel, Mark starts to walk across the lawn.

You follow, catching up at the door to the small, low-lying building. It’s made of brick and wood, nondescript compared to the neon sign out front. When Mark pushes open the door, a bell rings and a cat darts across the rug.

“Mark,” you hiss, leaning in. “I can’t do this.”

Mark looks at you and whatever he sees must convince him something is wrong because he glances at the receptionist. “Just a minute,” he says politely, smiling and grabbing your elbow. Mark brings you to a corner of the room. “Y/N,” he says, gaze steady. “You don’t have to do this. Don’t have to, but I think you should because I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Yeah?” Your gaze moves to the photos over his head. Tons of people poised in mid-air, strapped to the chest of their diving instructor. They’re all doing the thumbs up sign, laughing and grinning ear to ear. They do look as though they’re having fun. “It does… seem exciting,” you admit.

Mark smiles. “Right? I’m not arrogant though, I won’t assume I know what’s best for you. So tell me – do you want to go skydiving with me?”

He asks this so casually, so normally, you almost laugh but something about Mark’s expression stops you. “I want to,” you nod. “Yes.”

Mark drops his hand from your elbows. “Great,” he grins, looking over your shoulder. “We’re ready!”

The woman waves you forward. “First time?” she asks, handing you a bunch of paperwork. “Not to worry. Skydiving is completely safe. All our instructors and jump masters are licensed by USPA and have the highest ratings awarded. We’ve been doing this for over fifty years and have never had a single harmful incident.”

Nodding, your grip tightens on the paper. “Okay,” you say, voice sounding meek. “Great.”

You wander over to the bench, flipping through paper after paper. Liability waiver, release form, so many things to sign. It’s a good thing you’re an early birthday because otherwise you would have needed your mother to co-sign along with you. Mark is discussing something with the woman, gesturing and frowning. Steeling yourself, you grip the pen. Mark has done this before, you reason – so can you. Slowly, you start to sign the forms.

Mark has already signed his when you reach the counter; you recognize the scrawl on the dotted lines. “All done?” he asks, scanning your papers.

“Yep,” you nod, handing them to the woman behind the counter.

“Excellent!” She says, stepping away from the desk. “The women’s changing room is over there,” she informs, walking down the hall and pointing with her pen, “with the male counterpart over there. Here are your flying clothes.” She reaches behind a partition to grab bundles and thrust them in your arms. “Your helmets will be given outside. Leave all personal belongings in a locker – there are keys and locks to use. Take your time and go to the bathroom, since there’s not one in the air.” With that she leaves, smiling brightly and pushing her way outside.

“Okay.” Mark shrugs, turning. His footsteps echo in an otherwise empty hall. “See you out there!”

“See you out there,” you mumble, pushing open the closer women’s door.

Your heart pounds as you change, a fact you try to push aside. It’s easier to take things one step at a time. Right now you’re just getting dressed. Next you’ll go outside. That’s not so bad, that’s not scary. After that, you’ll just take a plane ride. Completely normal – people ride in planes every day.

Then you’ll just… jump. Your hands freeze on your laces, panic setting in. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath and telling yourself you’re being silly. Fifty years and they’ve had no harmful incidents – why would you be the first?

You can do this.

That’s the mantra you keep repeating as the suit is pulled on. Once ready, you shove your purse in your locker and spare another glance at your phone. It’s nearly 8:00 am and still no message from Jaebum. Your frown widens placing the phone on silent. Shoving it inside your bag and locking the door.

Outside the sun has fully risen. You squint into the sky, placing one hand over your eyes. “Over here, Y/N!” Mark calls.

Spotting him beneath the building’s overhang, you head in that direction. Mark is dressed in his flight suit, hair casually ruffled in the breeze. He’s holding his helmet beneath one arm, talking intently to the flight instructor though he looks up when you arrive.

“You look great,” he says, stepping aside to make room for you.

Moving forward, you’re suddenly very glad it’s Mark here. He’s such a steady presence – everything about him is quiet, purposeful. It’s calming to be near him, a fact which makes little sense given everything about Mark is larger than life. He acts crazily, lives every day to the fullest and yet you never feel as confident as when you’re with him. Rather than weighing you down, Mark’s success boosts you up.

The instructor begins to talk, explaining how the afternoon’s flight will go. He explains the jump with the help of another instructor, illustrating proper safety and procedures. Mark stands beside you the entire time, nodding at each word. He’s remarkably calm, something which eases your fear.

Earlier than you’re ready for, you’re walked over to the tarmac. The plane you’ll be riding is small – tinier than you thought it would be. When you reach the door you hesitate, peering into the backseat.

“Something wrong?” Mark leans around you.

“It’s so small,” you groan. “I only thought about how scary the jump would be – I didn’t think about this.”

Mark laughs, nudging you in the side. “Come on. It won’t be so bad – I’ll sit next to you.”

At this, you nod. Climbing on board and scooting aside. The instructors enter as well, settling into the hold as the pilot starts the engine. You and Mark sit on the bench, barely enough room to sit comfortably. As the plane sputters to life, you feel Mark tense.

Looking over, you notice his eyes are closed. Actually, he looks slightly green. “What’s wrong?” you ask him, full of concern. Mark opens his eyes to stare through the plastic covering of his helmet.

After opening his mouth, Mark rather abruptly shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“What?” It’s hard to hear him over the noise of the engines. “What did you say?”

Mark just smiles, shaking his head no.

You fall back in defeat, shoulder grazing Mark’s. As you also squeeze your eyes shut, you consider the possibility that you could die. It’s morbid, sure – but it suddenly seems very selfish that you decided to do this at all. What would your mom do if you were gone? What would Robbie do, with the loss of both his father and sister? Eyes springing open, you almost jerk forward to ask to leave – but notice you’re already in the air.

“Shit,” you hiss, falling backwards. Heart pounding as you watch the ground fall further and further away

On the bench, Mark’s hand finds yours. You look over only to find him staring straight ahead. “I’ve never done this before,” he admits, teeth gritted.

“You what?”

The corner of Mark’s mouth twitches. “I always chickened out.”

“You were scared?” You’re unsure why, but your heart is slowing.

Mark nods. “Terrified,” he confesses, the word quiet.

You open your mouth, unsure what to say when the plane suddenly hits an air pocket. You fall sideways, almost landing in Mark’s lap. Mark steadies you with both hands and just like that, the moment is broken.

The instructors stand, moving towards the middle of the plane. “Okay,” one yells, straining to be heard over the sound of the engines. “We’re about five minutes away from the jumping spot. Time to get ready.”

Nodding, you stand. Mark does as well, allowing himself to be strapped into the man behind him. Mark wriggles his eyebrows while it’s happening and you laugh. At least you know even in the middle of a potentially life threatening situation, Mark’s sense of humor would remain intact. Or maybe it’s just that the two of you are delirious. This could also be the case.

The most terrifying part of skydiving is right before you fall. Hovering at the edge of the airplane, nothing below you but air and what seems to be certain death. Mark offers to go first but you quickly tell him no. He looks surprised when you say this but nods, stepping away from the door. “Are you sure?” he asks, gaze assessing.

Hands tightening on the straps, you nod. “I’m sure. If I die, make sure the flowers are white peonies. Those are my favorite. Also, skip the baby slideshow – so tacky.”

Mark snorts. “You’re not going to die.”

“Oh, really?”

“Nah,” Mark grins. “If you did, I’d totally fail History class. Without you, who would I copy from?”

Momentarily distracted, your head whips around. “I knew you cheated on that test!” It’s hard to see with the man strapped to your back, who braces his arms on either side of the plane. You turn back, glancing out the plane. The ground is very far below – way farther than it seems in films or movies. You grit your teeth. “That’s it,” you declare, ignoring Mark’s laughter behind you. “Let’s go. I have to get back on the ground so I can kick Mark Tuan’s ass.”

The guy behind you laughs, glancing at Mark. “See you down there,” he grins. “Your girlfriend is going to kick your ass.”

“Oh, she’s not my –”

The guy jumps.

Your scream is caught in your throat, fear so great it overpowers your vocal abilities. You can’t help it – you shut your eyes. Cinching them closed while your stomach heaves. Even though you can’t see, you know you’re falling. Can feel it in the way your stomach falls to your feet, know it by the rush of terror in your blood.

From somewhere above, Mark yells and you assume that he has also jumped. Slowly – you open one eye.

You almost shut it. The entire world is at your feet but instead of looking away, you force yourself to open your other eye. Somehow the rush of air is less terrifying now. The ground hurtles towards you but it’s still so far. Far enough for you to see the curve of the earth above the horizon. The sun is at your back, lighting the landscape before you.

“Oh,” you breathe, eyes wide. Just a blink changes the entire world. Rushing even closer, carrying you farther. You let out a tiny, experimental whoop. Seeing how it sounds. You let out another, this one louder.

“YES!” comes Mark’s voice from above and you glance upwards, watching him spiral closer.

Your instructor must do something to slow down your fall because every second brings Mark closer. You laugh when he’s in shouting distance, watching the g-forces stretch his face. “MARK!” you yell, waving. “THIS IS WILD!”

He’s laughing too, a giant grin on his face. “I KNOW, Y/N! LOOOOK!”

“MARK!” you yell.

“WHAT?”

“I’M NOT AFRAID, MARK!”

Mark stares right at you, despite the chaos. “ME EITHER.”

Then your instructor opens your parachute. You yelp, turning into giggles as you’re yanked suddenly backwards. The landing is smoother than you thought it would be. You’re in the middle of a field, collapsed between the legs of your instructor. Mark lands not long after you do.

As soon as you’re unclipped, you jump to your feet. Stumbling slightly as your legs wobble beneath you. Then you’re running, nearly crashing into Mark when you reach him. “MARK!” you yell, grabbing his waist.

“WE’RE NOT IN THE AIR ANYMORE,” Mark yells back. “WE DON’T HAVE TO YELL!”

“Right,” you laugh, adopting a more normal tone. The rush of the wind is still in your ears though, the wildness of freefall. “I just – THAT WAS AMAZING.”

Mark can’t stop laughing, eyes crinkling as he catches his breath. “I know, that was – ah. Thanks,” he says, nodding.

“What for?” You drop your arms, letting them fall to your sides.

Mark shrugs, pulling his helmet from his head. The two of you start to walk towards the building. Your instructors are busy clearing the field behind you. “I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to do that for years,” Mark admits. Purposefully not looking in your direction. “Thanks for giving me that.”

Staring up at the sky, you don’t know what to say. “Then thanks too,” you say, looking over. Mark’s gaze is warm. “I wouldn’t have even thought about doing something like this before.”

“Before?” Mark asks, tone hesitant.

“Before,” you nod, looking across the field. “Before meeting you.”

The ride home is quiet, a different sort of silence than before. This is satisfaction, the highest form of contentment. Words would just ruin the moment because the two of you jumped from an airplane today. You almost laugh at the thought. The feeling was incredible – a crazy mix of nerves and the exaltation of being invincible.

You’ve never felt invincible before.

Turning your head, you look at Mark. His hair waves in the breeze, coming in through rolled-down windows. “What?” he asks, catching you looking.

“Nothing,” you grin. Looking down as you pull your phone from your purse. You called your mom from the changing room to say you were skydiving and she was understandably nervous. She made you promise to text her once you were on solid ground. Mid-text, your fingers freeze on the keyboard. Heart hammering as you hover hesitantly over the screen.

“What’s wrong?” Mark looks sideways. 

You swallow, not wanting to look at him. Your mind is too preoccupied by what’s on your phone – or rather, what’s not on your phone. Its late afternoon, 4:37 pm. Nearly a whole day has passed and you have zero missed calls. Zero texts. Zero Facebook messages, zero Twitter mentions. Not a smoke signal from Jaebum.  

Stomach clenching, you rather abruptly shove your phone into your purse. “Nothing’s wrong.” Your voice sounds dull for the first time since skydiving. “Everything’s fine.”

Mark continues to drive, wisely deciding not to push you. He keeps glancing over though, quietly assessing. He can see that everything isn’t fine. Of course it isn’t, your boyfriend of four years apparently just doesn’t care what you do anymore. Where you are. Who you’re with.

You swallow, trying not to admit how much that hurts.

Upon reaching your house, Mark parks in your driveway. He doesn’t turn off the car just yet, fiddling with the keys of his keychain. At last he clears his throat, turning to face you. The sun is just starting to set and the light plays over his features, softening his expression.

“Y/N.” Mark’s voice is clear. “Where does Jaebum think you are?”

You blink back at him. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I haven’t talked to Jaebum since last night.”

“Right.” A small furrow appears over Mark’s eyes. “Last night when you texted me. Wasn’t that your anniversary, Y/N? Why would you text me then?”

Rather than respond, you look back out the window. Fingers playing with the material of your jeans. “I – I don’t know.”

“Look.” Mark exhales. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Jaebum and clearly, you don’t want to talk about it. You should know though, that I like you.”

Your body freezes, though you continue to look out the window. You can’t look at him, since your words are stuck in your throat. Mouth dry, pulse pounding. Mark likes you?

“I like you,” he repeats, as though wanting to hear it out loud again.

Finally, you look at him.

Mark looks nervous. “I like you as more than just my friend,” he confesses. “I can’t pretend that I don’t anymore. I tried to keep away from you Y/N, tried to be respectful. Tried because I know Jaebum is a good guy and that he loves you. But Y/N,” Mark sounds oddly hesitant. “This isn’t fair.”

“What’s not fair?” you ask, voice small. “Tell me… what isn’t fair?”

“You’re lying to Jaebum,” Mark watches your reaction. “You didn’t tell him you were with me.”

“He didn’t… he didn’t let me tell him,” you say, the words faltering.

Mark raises his eyebrows. “And that’s it? You couldn’t send him a text?”

Whatever you were about to say suddenly seems insignificant. “Okay,” you say, still staring at him. “So I didn’t tell him. What does it matter?”

Mark leans forward, fingers unwrapping from around his key chain. “We talk daily, Y/N. We joke around, we have fun.”

“I have fun with all my friends,” you counter as he presses closer.

“Right.” Mark seems to choose his next words carefully. “Do you look at all your friends the way you look at me, though?” 

You’re about to say yes, about to say of course and your eyes flash leaning forward. Mark is crazy. He’s delusional, this is nonsense – you should leave now and make him suffer in silence. 

But then you see that his eyes are soft, almost caramel in sunlight. His gaze is intense but not demanding – no, Mark would never be demanding. His fingertips move slowly from the console to find yours, weaving gently with your hand.

You stare at his hand wrapped in yours, heart hammering in your chest. That’s when you realize. No, you don’t look at all your friends like this. You don’t hold hands like this. Don’t feel like this with your friends because your friends don’t make you feel excited and scared and nervous all at once. They don’t make you want to yell and scream and laugh, for no reason at all.

The only other person who makes you like this is Jaebum.

Realizing this, you pull your fingers free from Mark’s. Quickly turning to face the side. “I have to go,” you say, tripping over the words.

Mark’s expression is unreadable and slowly, he nods. “Okay,” he says.

Your hand trembles opening the car door. Shoving it aside to scramble to your feet. “I – bye,” you manage, barely getting the word past your lips.

You don’t look back at him entering your house. Don’t look as you slam the door shut behind you. You take the stairs two at a time, rushing into your room and throwing your purse on your bed. When you do this, your phone falls from your inner pocket. There’s a small, green box on your screen.

Jaebum texted back.

[Master List]

Author’s Note: Part VI is now up as well! 

Playlist: She Said, Sundara Karma; Wona, Mumford & Sons, Baaba Maal; Wild Heart, Bleachers; Dreaming, Smallpools; Unbreakable, Jamie Scott

[fabulouslyaverage]

My Battle with Postpartum Depression

This post has been nine months in the making. While I didn’t intend to share my actual thoughts throughout the last several months here on the blog, I think it’s necessary to get an “as-it-happens” account of what dealing with depression really is. At the end of the day, I hope to let the mother/woman that is feeling completely underwater know that you are not alone in this. While it might seem that way, I promise you that there are others feeling just a low, and down and out, as you are. 

Trust me when I say that this blog post is more for me than it is for you. This post is a touchstone for me to look back on and realize I made it out of the fog, not unscathed, but out with a new level of respect and love for myself. If you decide to read on (warning: long post ahead), I want you to be aware that these are different passages I’d written to myself since February when I finally came to terms with the fact that there was something really wrong with me. I plan on writing a follow up post with how I’m doing now, which isn’t necessarily rainbows and butterflies by any means, but definitely in a much better place. And this “better place” is a recent development. So the fact that I may fall into that deep, dark place again is possible, yet I’m more hopeful than I’ve been in a long time.  Thanks for stopping by and reading about the most vulnerable season of my life.

—— 

“Postpartum depression is debilitating. When I get submerged in grief and fear, it paralyzes me dead my tracks. I can be in the middle of a workday completely overwhelmed and unable to react to anything that’s given to me. Sometimes it just grows too much to bear. That feeling when you are in the brink of tears, you are consumed in that feeling at all times. And that fogs up your mind and freezes up your emotions and you can’t fully function. It’s like a bad workday plus feeling like a failure as a mother, as a wife, as a child plus feeling disoriented in your self all rolled up into a ball clinging right in the essence of your soul. How can someone be fully present when there is so much pent up grief and anxiety? It’s like you’re a shell of a former version of yourself. And that’s who you’re grieving. The person you’ve lost along this journey. I’m not ready to fight for my life - I don’t think I deserved to be valued at my job, for quality time with my kids, for alone time with my husband - I didn’t think I deserved anything good. Even within the happy times I still feel a dark cloud over me, not allowing me to truly enjoy the blessings in my life. I deserve nothing.”

“I’ve tried to keep a brave face with a nice happy smile and a grateful heart but it’s hard to pretended. In addition to the hysteria I feel inside, the pretending is exhausting and draining. Which makes sense why I’m isolating myself from those I love. The constant feeling of drowning is overwhelming. I know I am blessed beyond compare but I can’t seem to find a place where I can revel in all my blessings. I have in-laws that are willing to help us at all times, a job, a supportive and loving husband, two healthy beautiful children, my health, and a life that I should be completely and utterly thankful for yet I can’t seem to find the silver lining to get me from being completely miserable to even having a tinge of happiness. I feel like my emotions are going haywire at all times and controlling them takes so much power and I just want to give up.”

“The extremes are the worst. One second I’m happy as a clam and certain I’ve finally made it through to the other side of this depression and the next I’m at such a low point I don’t think I’ll ever get better. From my highest highs to my lowest lows, postpartum depression has drained me to my core and has ripped apart my emotions at their most rawest form, it’s debilitating.”

“Today my therapist told me that I’m a highly functioning depressed person. I compartmentalize very well, i.e. I’m excellent at pushing away feeling into some far and away box in my head and letting it stew there until the next big drama, or better yet, forever. She once mentioned she was curious to see how I dealt with loss. I’d told her I’ve lost people in my life, in different forms, and told her that I’d processed the loss as best I could. Meaning I registered the loss and went about my day as if nothing traumatic happened. That’s how I deal with problems. And that’s what makes depression the hardest problem I’ve ever had to face because I can’t just wish it away and poof it’s gone forever. Nope, this sucker keeps sticking around. Even on days I’m convinced I feel all better and I beat it, I feel that dark cloud in the back of my mind reassuring me that I’m still broken, that none of this “happy” will last, that it’s all an illusion I’m playing for myself. And so I give in, isolate myself and try my hardest to lock away this depression in one of those lost boxes somewhere in my head for just enough time to get me through the meeting, or through the dinner with friends, or through playing outside with my kids. The cloud is always there, just waiting till I let my guard down to remind me I’m not really happy.”

——

I wrestled with the title of this post but finally settled down on the word battle because that’s exactly what I’m going through - a daily battle to keep it together, to not let my inner pessimist win over my once optimistic heart. 

Again, thank you for taking a peek into my soul during the most traumatic months of my life. As I mentioned before, I do plan on whipping together a few follow on thoughts to this post and a check in on what life is like on the other side of the dark tunnel. I am not fully out of the storm but the rain doesn’t quite sting as much as it once did. I’ve found some semblance of peace or a more steady balance, if you will, and I’d like to reassure those that are still fighting the good fight that there is calm even in the middle of it all. So with that I’m signing off. 

——

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[samdukewieland]

Stuck Inside Media Diary Week 8

Something that’s been nice about going back through Mad Men has been re-reading/re-visiting old Sepinwall recaps on the episodes. I read him religiously throughout high school and college, amongst others, but have since drifted from the recap on shows, for no good reason. Probably because there’s generally a podcast I can just listen to rather than read something (jock at heart-sorry ¯\_(ツ)_/¯). This supposed to be a lesson in “go back and experience stuff from your high school years?” man, I don’t know; the venn diagram of things I did in high school and the things I do now is not small (or is it not big? What’s the best way to convey a lot of similarities with a venn diagram, size-wise). 

Sunday, May 10 (Mother’s Day)

The Third Man, Reed 1949

I was not super digging this while I was watching, it was late when I started watching it and it’s not slow exactly, but I was real curious how egg-zacktly Orson Wells was going to fit into the picture. Mysteries! I tells ya. Anyway, I’ve been stewing in it and realized, “huh, I think I actually like this movie quite a bit.” I think the Britishness, while not in your face, was secretly chipping away at my brain, already war-torn by tiredhead and then having a second wave of dry, British storytelling. Pretty good li’l picture (you could say that about movies in the 40′s-this isn’t uncommon).

Top Chef, Season 17 episode 4

This was done in an attempt to help my mom catch back up with Top Chef, which somewhat moved the needle, but I don’t think an episode (on her end) has been watched since. Mother’s Day: ruined.

Mad Men, “Tea Leaves”

My mom also watched this one with me, only because she just happened to be in the room. Her biggest hurdle with this show and her refusal to watch it is based solely on the fact that phones are ringing “all the time” and that “no one ever answers them.” Hard to refute it. She seemed mildly entertained by this episode, considering she had close to zero context for what was going on, thought that it was Ginsburg’s debut episode played some part into that. Pretty disorienting episode to be thrown into, what with the whole....Fat Betty thing (I was going to say “elephant in the room of Betty” but that just seemed cruel and trying too hard to try and be clever. An interesting, though ultimately aimless direction to take Betty this season and everyone involved kind of knows it.

The Last Dance, Parts 7 & 8

That this was the penultimate week of new Jordan doc created an unusual energy around the episodes, which were exciting in their own right as they went over his father’s murder, his baseball career and returning to basketball. But the thing that induced the most goosebumps was the “cliffhanger” (I am a moron) showdown between the Bulls and Pacers. 

Monday, May 11

Icarus, Fogel 2017 [as of now this is available on Netflix]

Kinda nice going into a documentary knowing hints of what it’s about and trying to figure out when it transitions to being about “X” but then you slowly realize you misremembered that information your friend Tommy told you and are surprised that it becomes about the Russian state (very possible I am misusing that term; just trying to sound smarter than I actually am). I don’t watch or know enough about documentaries to confidently state what’s a good one and what’s a great one-I think this one received some kind of critical backlash after it won Best Documentary, which happens. There’s definitely an intellectual superiority to saying you think less of a documentary that either wins that award or a lot of people like (in this case, both!). It’s engaging and accessible (another thing snobs hate) and has a misdirect that doesn’t blind side you; I don’t even care about the Olympics, but I felt sucked in.

Monty Python: Almost The Truth (Lawyers Cut), “The Much Funnier Second Episode - The Parrot Sketch - Flying Circus Included”

This one had more focus on the influence Flying Circus had on writers/comedians who were watching it at the time as kids (primarily). Lotta dudes. I can not stress how there are few things less appealing than hearing Russell Brand describing why Monty Python was funny (this was very much made in 2009).

Mad Men, “Mystery Date”

Some more Sopranos karaoke, though constructed a little bit better this time. This is also the episode that decides to flesh out Dawn (Don’s secretary, a joke that is never not funny) a little bit more, however Mad Men only does this when there’s “something to be said” about being black, which didn’t look great in 2012 and *flips through pages of notes* nope, still doesn’t look good here either. I suppose an argument you could bring up that is awfully flimsy is that they didn’t want to paint themselves into a Nikki and Paulo situation, in terms of never actually caring about digging deeper into Dawn’s story. I dunno man, I’m not trying to cast stones here.

Tuesday, May 12

The Taking Of Pelham One, Two, Three, Sargent 1974

What a white whale this movie’s been for me and brother, it feels good to have finally caught it. It’s insanely cool to go into a movie not knowing that it’s the 1974 version of Inside Man with a little bit of Dog Day Afternoon spliced in (pre-DDA mind you). This movie is packed with so many sarcastic assholes all working together in the same place, I loved it! I loved this movie! Cataloged in my brain as a Stop-Down-And-Watch if it’s on cable. However, my biggest gripe here is that Walter Matthau’s character is named “Zach,” a name that has never once been mistook for Walter Matthau’s; like there’s no way that they had Matthau casted before they came up with his name.

Mad Men, “Signal 30″

Beginning of the end of having any remote kind of sympathy for Pete Campbell. Hitting on high schoolers and shit. He wants so badly to be what he considers to be the best version of himself and will never be there.

Parks And Recreation, “The Set-Up”

Don’t know what it was about this particular viewing, but it landed better than it ever has this time around. Usually when I watch it, Arnett is so distracting and a much different energy than the show has created, but I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as hard watching this one as I did on this Tuesday morning. 

Wednesday, May 13

California Split, Altman 1974 [as of now this is available on Prime]

Hell yeh. Another movie I’ve been trying to see for a couple of years now, but feels nearly impossible to come across or find (note: to be fair, I have never checked to rent digitally, because I just don’t do that really ever, feels weird I don’t know why) and I found out on Tuesday night that it was put on Amazon Prime almost unceremoniously. I am by no means a gambler, so I have no idea if this is a good gambling movie, but it’s an incredible relationship and addiction movie. My introduction to Elliott Gould was Ocean’s Eleven where he is the opposite and still the same as the characters he played in the 70′s. The man has a debilitating incapacity to be effortlessly cool, even in a movie that he co-stars in with George Segal. I loved this movie.

Mad Men, “Far Away Places”, “At The Codfish Bowl”, “Lady Lazurus”

A great highlight of Don realizing he’s made a huge mistake marrying a 26-year-old. A great highlight of Roger Sterling is great with kids (and their grandmothers!). A great highlight of “Tomorrow Never Knows” fucking rules and uh, maybe wondering if Alexis Bledel is good? (certainly Rory Gilmore is good and it might’ve just been a “choice” to play this character so wooden, especially with what we know comes later on in the season)

Thursday, May 14

Cape Fear, Scorsese 1991

Apparently Spielberg was supposed to do this originally, but thought it was too violent and threw it over to Marty to get Schindler’s back from him (imagine trading those properties amongst yer friends-incredible). What’s real strange here is that he did’t give this to De Palma (I guess because it would’ve been in the wake of Bonfire), but it doesn’t really matter because Marty just goes and makes his version of a De Palma movie. It’s weird! However, when I wasn’t thinking about all of those things and being amazed at how much overt gore there was (overt for a Scorsese movie), I was shocked at the music I associate most with Sidewhow Bob (hold for Gilbert & Sullivan) is actually Max Cady’s music; like I knew that it was just Cape Fear but I had no idea it was just Cape Fear. 

Mad Men, “Dark Shadows”

Can’t go a season without a Don is actually Dick Whitman story/episode. That’s about it.

Friday, May 15

Becoming Mike Nichols, McGarth 2016 [as of now this is available on HBO]

This saved me a lot of time in the long run, should I ever read that new(ish) biography on Mike Nichols. It’s a pretty cut and dry interview focused purely on the prologue of Mike Nichols’s career, that’s a lot more interesting if you’re a theatre kid who doesn’t despise theatre kids (you know the type). Honestly, I was most engaged once Jack O’Brien pivoted towards his directing career outside of the theatre. Also gonna expose my ass here and say I didn’t realize Elaine May was that Elaine May-might’ve been a better interview if it was between two people who’re on equal level rather than a guy trying to kiss Mike Nichols’s and a bunch of theatre kids’ asses.

Mad Men, “Christmas Waltz”

This episode only exists to help punctuate how awful the next episode is, but damn if it’s not weirdly great. The Paul/Harry reunion was such a weird reunion, but only because it reminds you of how much time has passed since the beginning of this show (1960) to when it takes place now (1966); the total shift in aesthetic and thinking is massive, but it never feels shoehorned in.

Top Chef, Season 17 episode 9

Colicchio is pretty adamant about not having past challenges affect the decision of the current week’s choice in terms of sending someone home, but Melissa probably should’ve gone home this week if that were the case. They obviously weren’t going to after kicking Kevin off last week and Malarkey making the least offensive dish of the bottom 3. Melissa’s a front runner, same as Kevin was and you can’t have a competition where Malarkey is on but two frontrunners are kicked off back-to-back weeks (even if it was Kevin falling on his sword). Love Lee Anne, been with her since season 1 and hate to see her go, but she’s bigger than Top Chef-this is a loss that doesn’t make me think less of her.

Saturday, May 16

Notes On An American Film Director At Work, Mekas 2008 [as of now this is available on Vimeo]

I don’t know what to call this, honestly. It’s a videos of Martin Scorsese directing The Departed and it’s kind of fascinating. There are no sit down interviews, but snippets of conversations that you’re just thrown into the middle of. It could be that I just love him so much, but it was reaffirming to see that he (appears to be) is like a genuinely nice person. I don’t read about behind the scenes/making of’s, but I don’t really think he’s got any kind of reputation for being some kind of tyrant on set and this proves it (if he needs that proof for any kind of reason). It is one of those things though where watching actors, uh, act feels kina silly-apologies to Leo DiCaprio.

Mad Men, “The Other Woman”, “Commissions And Fees”, “The Phantom” [season 5 finale], “The Doorway” [season 6 premier], “Collaborators”

An incredibly harrowing stretch of episodes for Mad Men, maybe the best set-up for a finale the show has. The awfulness of the position they thrust Joan into and that Don is the only clear objector to this, be it that he only cares enough about the company is heartbreaking. Christina Hendricks wears so much disappointment and contempt on her face so well and that what happens is sandwiched between those interactions with Don is incredible. And awful. As is Lane’s suicide in the office (I still remember watching this episode for the first time when it aired and it’s as depressing now all these years later as it was back then; Lane and Bodie are probably my top-2 most upsetting television deaths that come to mind). Though it all seems worth it, despite how depressing it might be, for that scene between Peggy and Don where she resigns, an incredible parallel to Megan’s. I’m glad it wasn’t, but if they wanted to series wrap on Peggy there, they could’ve and it would’ve felt so incredibly earned, which you can see through both of those characters trying their hardest to choke down tears through a conversation smothered in so much understood in the unsaid. Now welcome, Bob Benson! (for the life of me, I can’t figure out if they introduce Bob like this intentionally, because it’s so fucking funny in how out of synch it is with everything else going on in the show)

Apocalypse Now, Coppola 1979 [as of now this is available on HBO]

It was either during my sophomore or junior year of high school when I became absolutely enamored with trying to watch this movie. I had built it up to such great heights in my head for whatever reason (I was very concerned with appearing knowledgeable about things like “important movies” and that this didn’t win best picture whatever year it was nominated fueled that fire even more ((I was also very concerned with being outraged over something like this)). I vaguely remember squeezing it in on a school night, but didn’t try and sneak it upstairs to my room to watch, like I tried to get this almost 3½ hour movie in under a reasonable bed time for a high schooler (I definitely didn’t have one, but I remember getting kind of dirty looks around the house if I was still hanging out past 10:30). So it was basically self-inflicted homework at that point, so I remember saying that I liked it, but I don’t know if I honestly believed it. And then that just gets all shaken up in your dumb high school brain that’s already trying it’s best to be super contrarian that you start believing that Apocalypse Now maybe sucks or at the very least isn’t as good as Hearts Of Darkness (a movie you won’t see for another 8 years). I had not watched this movie in its entirety since high school, and I knew all the big beats going into re-watching this, but it might as well have been that I had never seen it before. Man. I was a dumb as hell high schooler. This movie is electric and looks beautiful and I’m so glad that I never watched it all before this and decided to revisit it and I’m now furious at myself for letting the opportunity pass to not see it in theatres when it was remastered last year. 

The Adventures Of Tintin, Spielberg 2011 [as of now this is available on Netflix]

I was reading the oral history of Fury Road earlier that day and it got me really jonsing to watch Fury Road. For my mental health’s sake, I decided to not double feature Apocalypse Now and Fury Road, but rather Apocalypse Now and The Adventures Of Tintin. People of a certain generation really hate this movie and I kind of get it, but this movie rules. There’s maybe two sequences in it that I’d feel unashamed for putting up in the Spielberg Hall Of Fame.

[invisiblenotbroken]

Darwin Has Some Explaining To Do: Endometriosis and Hysterectomy {A Chronic Illness Podcast}

 What is your disorder? *

Endometriosis

At what age did your disorder become a daily issue? *

22

Who were you before your illness became debilitating? *

I had so much more energy

What would you do if you were not dealing with your invisible illness? *

I think I would have been more engaged in the world around me

What would you like people to know about your daily life? *

Post-hysterectomy it is so much better than before. I did normal daily life before, but it was hard some days especially when I was dealing with neuropathy

What would make living and moving in the world easier for you? *

No pain!

Do you have any life hacks? *

I had some hacks for dealing with pain like meds and stretches and resting in a dark room

What kind of support do you get from family or friends? *

People to talk to mainly and help from my husband when I wasn’t always up to tasks/child issues

Have you ever had someone not believe you have an invisible illness because of your appearance? *

No, because I didn’t really tell people about it, so no one knew

Has this been a positive or negative experience? *

Positive now that it’s resolved. Very negative before

How has your invisible illness affected your relationships? *

It stresses things occasionally when I am feeling pain and low energy so often at home

Is there anything you are afraid to tell even the people closest to you? *

Nope!

Does the fact that your disease is invisible change how healthcare professionals treat you? *

Yes. I had to push HARD for a hysterectomy with multiple doctors.

What is your best coping mechanism? *

Reading, coloring, spending time alone

What are you the most fearful of and hopeful for in the future? *

No fears. Hopeful for more energy to engage in life and not feel like everything is too overwhelming to accomplish

What is your favorite swear word?

Fuckers (applicable in 2017 in particular)

Is there anything you *don't* want to talk about? Is there a subject we should avoid during the interview? *

Nope! Everything is fair game:)

What is the hardest and/or best lesson your condition has taught you?

To advocate hard for yourself. Don’t stop pushing for answers and action from doctors.

[indoafrikanqueen-blog]

Heartbreak (Part I)

I wrote a little piece of prose on this the other day. At that time I thought the worst of it would be the gut wrenching feeling on the inside that something has been unfairly taken away from you. That you would just suffer with pangs of intense pain every now and then, and you would be more or less functional, and it would proceed like this for a few months until you calibrate to normal, slowly. I was wrong. Yesterday afternoon a wave of emotional exhaustion, so large that it drowned me, hit me. It's frustrating. I wish I could say I knew why it was so intense. I wish I understood the psyche more. It makes no sense in my rational mind that the removal of one person from my life could have such dire consequences. Especially because I am happy with the decision, especially because I was finding it hard to breathe in the relationship and this ending should be like a coming up for air. Nope. It's not. Today, I literally can't move. Every part of my body feels like lead. I can't think. Haven't been able to for weeks now, since it happened. It's guilt inducing skipping work, but even basic tasks like making food or a cup of tea have become impossible. Today holding up a book is too heavy. Literally. I can't carry the book, and thank God for my computer, because all I need to do to use it is move my fingers to get it to work, which is about as much as I can do without collapsing. Not that there is anything to do on it. Social media sucks the life out of me. All I can ingest right now is poetry. Everyone else looking in seems to realise that this is normal. It certainly doesn't fucking feel like it. It feels lonely and isolating. It feels like an extended purgatory. I can't watch stuff to distract because it is all too mind numbing, and there is inevitably some kind of romantic undercurrent. I am selective about music too. Fuck all these indie artists with their hopeful lyrics, and fuck Sufjan Stevens for romanticising heartbreak. No Sufjan, it doesn't work like thank. Praise the lord for Kendrick on Fear pleading with God to let him know why he has to suffer, then for the line that is the closest thing to any kind of  sad redemption one can expect in this shit show: "If I could smoke fear away, I'd roll that mothafucka up." Hallelujah bitch, I'll be rolling up as soon as I can.

This is heartbreak. It is debilitating and alienating, for no other reason than it is a lone road to travel. And it fucking sucks.