#er that is to say i have brain fog again lol

[mewguca]

Trick or Treat!

little slugcat is so cute...i hope you have a good halloween

[carolineasweet-blog]

Sometimes I feel like my heart might burst. Often I feel it is bursting - with emotions, with anxiety, definitely a heart attack. 

I think about being a woman and what that means. When I was growing up, it meant that I had ‘big, wild emotions that can’t be contained and are not suited to work in business.’

That makes me angry. 

Mostly because I believed it. 

When I was cheated on by my first boyfriend in high school, I remember thinking “How cool would it be if I forgave him?” and I did. Mostly because I had already fallen out of love with him, if I actually ever was, so I didn’t care. When my second boyfriend cheated on me, I was devastated, inconsolable, but I showed it to no one because how lame would it be to be a weak woman hurt by a cheating man? Stereotypical. Weak. 

So I swallowed it. I swallowed every emotion - sadness, anger, pain. It’s so unbecoming of a woman to be angry, right? And it’s so expected to be sad - cry over a man and eat ice cream. Instead, I ate myself. I silently suffered all the while becoming cool. 

Sometimes, I still don’t know if I actually like things or if I like the aesthetics of it. 

The truth is, I have big emotions, wild ones. 

“Stop whining,” I can hear my parents and siblings say in my head. “Caroline, you’re whining again!” I thought I was expressing myself, but they must be right. 

A therapist recently told me I had “right-sized reactions” to situations. I thought so! I shared that with my sister and her husband. “That therapist really knows her audience,” my sister said as her husband laughed. “So you think I’m overdramatic,” I wanted to say. But I ate it instead.

Being overdramatic is so unbecoming of a woman, don’t you think?

But I feel like my heart is going to burst. Almost daily. I might have a heart attack if I eat anymore. 

I was poisoned by a health food company in June of last year. It sounds insane, but I don’t know a simpler way to put it. A frozen smoothie and health foods delivery company unveiled a new, whole food, vegan protein substitute. I tried it and ended up in the ER twice with what they said was fatty liver disease - insanely high liver enzyme levels. 

“Did you used to be obese? Are you an alcoholic?” Neither is true, but when I said it must be the food product I ate, the (male) doctor said, “not likely.” 

It was. 

And I’m angry. 

After my body healed (two full months later), I wanted to go back to normal - to pretend it never happened. It’s easy once the physical symptoms are gone. I can walk without getting winded, even workout, and my stomach doesn’t cramp, I don’t have the brain fog - so I am healed, right? People would ask me about it, and I would think “how silly, it’s over!” 

But it wasn’t. A month ago, I had to face the fact that I am still, secretly, angry...At the fucking company that refuses to admit any wrongdoing or pay my thousands of dollars in medical bills.... at myself because I’m anxious over every single fucking piece of food I eat, and any time I feel tired or have a slight stomach ache, I am riddled with anxiety that it could be something worse... and at the world because it’s told me if I eat healthy, I will be healthy and that I need fixing, and that I am not thin enough and that and that and that and that... The anger runs deep in my body and in my mind, but heaven forbid out loud.

I’m afraid people will roll their eyes if I tell them I am still upset, that it still affects me, the way they rolled their eyes when I was still physically sick. I’m making much too big a deal out of it. 

It’s a wonder of the 500+ people who’ve been afflicted, it’s mostly women in their late 20s/30s, some social influencers at that, and there’s a lack of follow up or interest in the case. Never read the comments, right, but tough to when the schadenfreude of internet trolls is all over this with “LOL influencers” (women). And worse yet, when my response is, ‘but some of us are normal people too!’ Yuck. Internalized that right up. 

It’s a wonder that of the 500+ people who’ve been afflicted, the two loudest voices on the internet forums are men. One, a husband of a victim and two, a marathon runner who’s lived his life absolutely perfectly and purely, so how could this happen to him? How could this happen, indeed, Tim. 

I’ve never run a marathon. I don’t intend to. And I don’t always make healthy choices, but here I am too. And don’t I deserve to be angry?

I don’t want to eat anymore. Poisoned food or otherwise. I don’t want to swallow these big emotions. 

It’s no wonder I wanted to become an actor. Big emotions are heralded; It’s a safe space to be irrational. Hell, I’d win an academy award for it. Those fictional women are safe, tucked away in movies and studied as characters. Big, angry, loud, respected, safe. I want to be safe too. Until then, I’ll be perfect. 

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 14: No Call No Show

Characters: Shane Benton (OFC), various other original supporting/secondary characters

Summary: We find out where Shane went Monday after work and exactly why she hasn’t been responding to any attempts at communication…and unfortunately, she’s not just taking some “me time.”

Want to reminisce about when this was just a happy little fluffy romance? Return to chapters past, or look at my other smutty drabbles here!

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings:  SHANE FIGHTS BACK, BUT DEFINITELY GETS HER ASS KICKED, SO FAIR WARNING, IT’S VIOLENT. Language, mature themes, emotional abuse, mention of narcotics (morphine), vomiting, foreshadowing and mention of potential future violent/non-con/dub-con activities, but if those acts occur, they will not be portrayed on the page, but rather between chapter or section breaks, so don’t worry. Also, I use the “R” word, but not to discuss non-con, but rather to add an educational note about why one should yell “fire” when one is being assaulted. Basically no Sy material whatsoever, but he’s mentioned, so I’m tagging it as such! Shane being somewhat blasé about her mortality. I really don’t want to trigger anyone, so please read with caution or wait until you emotionally are ready to deal with our girl going through the shit.

Author’s Note: Really REALLY nervous about this one. This is not the resolution you are looking for, my friends. In fact, it’s not a resolution, at all. Lol. I foresee many people disliking this chapter for some reason or another. That’s actually okay. It’s not a chapter you’re meant to “like” per se. I don’t “like” it. I’m prepared for it to get very few notes, and I’m positioning it anyway. I think it’s some of my better writing, but I hated putting Shane through the ringer like this. It’s just one of those chapters you “get through.” And honestly, if you truly didn’t like it please give me feedback so I can improve and tweak. {For reasons other than “My beebeeeeee!” or “never mention anything less than consensual ever again kthxbye” because a) of all, MY beebee too, and b) of all, that’s what warnings are for and why they should be read.} That being said, I hope it at least tides you over until the next chapter. At least you know where she is…not that THAT’S a big relief under the circumstances! Lol!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags: 

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland (apparently deactivated, idk what’s up with that)

@speakerforthedead0

@tumblnewby

@suavechops

@radkesgirl83

@wheretheriversrunintothesea

@heartfelt-pen

@auds24

@geekycanuck 

@lunarstarknight

@wilma-g 

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Previously, in Virginia…

"Shane left work Monday and hasn't been back since. No one has seen her. Apart from you, I presume. "

"I haven't seen her in about a week and a half. I'm training out of state for a job. I've been away from my phone since Monday, and I just got back to it now."

"She isn't…with you? I assumed…"

"Well, you know what they say, Susan. I'm coming back early if I can manage it. See if I can do something to help find her."

Three days earlier, in Missouri…

Shane blinked her eyes open to little avail. She couldn't tell where she was, other than what seemed to be the back seat of a fairly new-model large vehicle, like a Suburban or a Tahoe. She thought it was new because the new car smell was still overpowering the nicotine and tobacco odor of at least one of its occupants. She could also smell the sickly sweet stench of artificial cherry permeating the cabin. The source must be very close to her nose as she lay there helplessly restrained while the vehicle jostled down the road. The smell reminded her of the horrible liquid pain reliever her mother would give her as a child when she had a fever or leg pains. She had taken enough of it then to make her averse to most cherry flavorings as an adult. She wanted to retch.

She could also make out the faint glow of a dashboard lit with LED lights, brighter and softer than those of older models. But she soon had to shut her eyes again. Her head was throbbing and her memories were fuzzy. She remembered very little of Monday…was it still Monday? But she was trying to think, despite the pounding of many drums in her cranium where a brain should be.

She remembered staying at work late to finish notes. She remembered heading home…and she remembered forgetting her phone at her desk and deciding to turn around to get it…when suddenly she was surrounded by vehicles and unable to move without having an accident. Had she known the circumstances then, she would have tried to muscle through. The horrific events came flooding back in traumatic flashes like lightning, or the pulse of passing streetlights in an unfamiliar city.

She remembered…

The glass by her left ear shattered. A hooded, hulking figure reached in through the new opening, fumbling for the handle to open the door. She'd had the presence of mind to fight back there. To punch at the probing extremity. But the extremity hit back, landing a solid smack against her left cheek, stunning her for long enough that the cruel apparition found the unlock button, pressed it, and opened the door. She didn't go quietly. She fought like the hellcat her mother always told her to be. Her foot found the odd solar plexus and groin before enough dark nemeses arrived to overpower her. They dragged her away from her car and out onto the pavement of the church parking lot she'd used to turn around. She did not make it easy for them. She kicked and punched and tried to twist out of their grips like vices. She yelled "fire" as she was taught as a young woman, not knowing the men's intentions, but certain they weren't kind, and knowing that yelling "rape" was not always effective at summoning help. Either way, it didn't matter. She could have shouted anything. No one was near enough, or cared enough, to come to her aid. As soon as her soft hands hit the gritty pavement, though, the violence intensified. She lost count of how many times she got kicked in the back, stomach, ribs. One asshole even kicked her in the tit. She'd find out who that was and he'd find himself in a special brand of pain…if she ever got out of this alive. She heard them calling her awful names that she was sure she hadn't earned, and especially not from these guys. About six of them, she thought. She hardly knew six guys. She certainly didn't know six guys that would want her roughed up like this. She heard one of the men start to say "Come on, guys, we better save some for--" and with that, she blacked out to the tune of the distinct "thunk" of a wooden baseball bat making contact with the back of her head.

She wanted to forget…for it to be a terrible nightmare…to wake up.

But she was awake. This was a waking nightmare. The cold leather on her cheek was made colder by the harsh air conditioning blowing toward her from above and below. She shivered from the chill and from the terror she was trying to suppress. Where were they taking her? For what purpose? And for whom were they leaving parts un-bruised…though it didn't feel like it.

She finally felt them slowing, heard a turn signal clicking, the courtesy of which she applauded despite her position in the active abduction taking place, and felt the gentle displacement of her body toward the driver side, knocking her head into the door. A right turn. Not that it would matter too much, but at least when she escaped, and she made herself think "when" and not "if," she would know which direction to turn to get back to town.

The blow to the head had left her sensitive to light and sound. As she was yanked from the back seat, all she could see was the glow of a dusk to dawn light above them. Normally a soft, guiding light, this one just as well have been the sun itself the way it stung her tender eyes. She squinted against it, thankful as she never would have thought to be, when a shroud was placed over her throbbing head. She could still hear the power coursing through the bulb and fixture, though. Normally a dull hum, in the state she was in, it was as loud as accidentally switching your TV to the snow channel at full volume.

"Bring 'er inside." She heard an unfamiliar male voice say.

Two strong, ruthless hands grabbed her by the armpits, causing her to cry out in pain. Such a tender place to bear weight, and why even big strong Sy hated crutches…Sy. Would she ever see him again?

"Shut up, bitch, or we'll knock you out again." She believed them, and being fairly certain she had at least a mild  concussion, she wasn't sure what a second blow of an indeterminate velocity might do to her brain. She dealt with the stabbing pain as the men dragged her across what sounded like gravel, then grass, then something hard and smooth, maybe the slabs of an old, sunken, and somewhat uneven footpath. Soon, she felt the pain of her knees hitting what she assumed were porch steps. One, two, three of them. She was trying to concentrate through the fog now setting in, and maintain consciousness. Paying attention to the sensations, she told herself, was not only helpful for that task, it might help her escape. Remember the scents, too, she reminded herself. She tried to shake off the nauseating cherry and cigarette stench from her olfactory glands and take note of the bouquet around her.

Burnt leaves…gasoline…engine grease…the tang of sappy, just cut firewood…straw…manure…this seemed to be a farm. With a barn nearby…perhaps with horses. She loved horses. If she could find a gentle horse in the night…escape might be easier than she'd anticipated.

Entering the house was a noisy affair. There was a metallic keening from the spring of an aluminum screen door. She imagined it had one of those big swirly cross beams like her grandma's used to have that she always though was supposed to resemble a butterfly. A heavier, wooden door creaked open as the three figures muddled their way in, and the floorboards protested, as well, at the weight of her captors. So, she thought, not only a farm house, but an old farm house.

"Where do you want her?" the man on her left asked into what she only knew as the void, so far.

"Take her to the cellar. I've got things set up down there." a familiar voice chuckled and growled. How did she know the voice? Was he a patient? She couldn't think of anyone she'd treated that would want her abducted and brutalized.

"You got it, E." Ugh, for some reason it bothered her when guys referred to each other by their first initials. Girls, no big deal. But bros…there was something so thoroughly douchey and…familiar about it all…

"Hold on." the man called "E" said, and she heard footfalls approaching her. As he got closer, she smelled…patchouli and incense…and the sea…and it brought back a rush of pain from past trauma followed by literal pain from his punch to her gut. She hadn't been expecting it. Obviously. The wind had been taken out of her. Literally and figuratively. She did know this man…all too well.

"We've got some catching up to do, sweetheart." the pet name dripped like venomous honey from the tongue of the snake before her.

"Elliot." it wasn't a question. She coughed the name out like a pill that had gone down sideways.

Her escorts continued their transportation of her prone body to its destination…she didn't want to think FINAL destination, but the more she learned about her situation, the more she worried that she wouldn't make it out alive.

They had to get creative in carrying her down the narrow staircase to the cellar. They argued for a moment about who would take the top half and who would go backwards.

"How about the one who takes my top half goes forward and the bottom half goes backward?" These idiots. Where did Elliott find clowns like this who needed to be told by their prisoner the best way to sort out their domestic dispute.

She thought she felt them shrug, and silently take her advice as she felt herself being lowered down the stairs, feet first, panic threatening to overtake her restrained limbs.

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, they stood her up to remove her shroud, and cut the zip ties from around her ankles and wrists. She then noticed a small cell that reminded her of the ones in the sheriff's offices in some westerns she'd seen. She started to freak out, anticipating her future in that horrid place.

"Guys, please. No. Please don't do this. I don't know what Elliott's told you about me, but I'm a good person. I don't deserve this. I have a job and friends and a family who will worry sick about me. I am begging you to let me go. Please!"

"You're wasting your breath, lady." one of the men said, gruffly.

"PLEASE!" she appealed, desperate to get through. "Don't you guys have wives or girlfriends? Mothers, sisters, aunts, or female cousins? What if a woman you cared about was in this situ---" and before she could finish the question, one of the men punched her for what felt like the thousandth time tonight. She fell to her knees, vomiting. And the world went black again.

~~~~~~~

There were no windows. There was no clock. There was just a small twin mattress in one corner of the cell, and a bedside commode in the other. As accommodations went, it was hardly a Hilton, but it could have been worse. It was all lit by a 60-watt bulb in one of those hanging fixtures her dad had always called a trouble light situated on a hook on the side of one of the exposed joists outside the cell. He'd had a similar one for the longest time. He and mom will be worried sick before long, if they aren't already, she thought. The light was aptly named for these circumstances she was in. Trouble. A heap of it. And no idea of how to get out of it.

And honestly, no idea why Elliott would want her here. How he could do such a monstrous thing as having her kidnapped. How he came to live in this place when he never worked a day in his life. She was so confused. She hoped at the very least, he'd give her answers before he murdered her, if that was his plan.

She had woken up on her side, almost her stomach, with her right cheek on the scratchy surface of the bare mattress. Whoever put her to bed had been wise to position her like this given the likelihood that she might puke again. She noticed a small bucket, presumably for that purpose, next to the mattress. There was a caseless pillow next to her head, but she hadn't found that comfort during her nap of…she couldn't tell how long. Not that it mattered. The more she slept, the less time she'd have to process this horror movie she was currently living out.

She heard the door open at the top of the stairs and Elliott shout at one of his flunkies, "What do you MEAN you didn't get her phone?" a pause while indistinct words came from said flunky across the room, or maybe the house. "Well, find it. Tear that piece of shit Explorer apart if you have to. I want that phone." She took exception to her sweet little Norah getting called a piece of shit. That was her Millennium Falcon. And yes, she'd gotten flack for naming her Norah the Explorer, but she didn't care.

Elliott stomped down the stairs, grinning the most infuriatingly happy grin she'd ever seen on him. She wanted to maul him. To tear those stupid eyes out of their sockets with her own fingernails. But she controlled her anger and resisted even acknowledging his greeting of "Hey, sweetheart."

She ignored him.

"It's good to see you."

Silence.

"I missed you."

She stared right through him.

"I heard you and that meat head soldier broke up."

She scowled at him.

"There she is. There's my girl."

"I'm not your girl, Elliott, and I haven't been in years. Why am I here?" She broke. She couldn't take it.

"We'll get to that why soon enough. First, let's talk about why you and Cap'n Crunch are no longer breakfasting together? Soggy cereal? Limp toast? Was he letting you leave the table unsatisfied?"

"As if you ever satisfied me when we were together." She spat back, calling Elliott out on his notorious selfishness in all aspects of life and relationships.

"I've changed."

"Bullshit." she rolled her eyes.

"It's true!" he insisted. "I can give you references."

"I honestly don't give a shit. We're not together. Sy and I are. Happily. And you better let me go soon. He was expecting me at his place after work. He's probably out looking for me right now." she lied. It was worth a shot.

"Now it's my turn to call bullshit, because I know that isn't true." He looked at her with that patronizing stare he had.

"You don't know shit, Elliott."

"I know that your boy took off over a week ago for Virginia and hasn't come back, at least not the way he left. I believe he's supposed to be gone at least a few weeks. Maybe a couple of months. He wasn't sure at last report."

She was literally willing him to burst into flames before her. Her gaze revealed her hand.

"Told ya. You think you're the only one with connections at the fort? I've got me a sweet little sergeant who works in ATC over there. She can out-squat anyone else on base…and let me tell you, it shows." he lifted his eyebrow, lasciviously.

"You disgust me."

"Why? You never seemed to mind my…sexy imagination." he winked at her.

"No, I'm happy that you're getting it good on the regular from an ass that won't quit. But come on. You clearly only got with this girl because you thought it would give you the upper hand against me."

"Well, that's very self-absorbed thinking."

"Really, Elliott? Do you see where we are right now?" they looked around at the dank cellar and he shrugged, unable to deny or rebut. "And this woman. Does she know about this little scheme?"

He gave her one of his more evil grins. "Who do you think kicked you in the tit?" Okay…she was new levels of pissed off now.

"Why…the actual FUCK am I here, Elliott!?"

"Well, Shane, you embarrassed me with that little stunt at the bar a few weeks ago. You thought you were hot shit, parading your sasquatch of a boyfriend around in front of me, in my town, humiliating me as all of my friends watched. And then that dickhead sucker punched me in the parking lot. I shoulda pressed charges. But him being a veteran, I knew how that woulda gone in this town. I didn't have a snowball's chance. So I waited. And I planned. And I was patient. And I watched for my moment. And it finally came. I've been watching you leave work every night for the past week, and you're always with someone, or headed somewhere else, or going straight home. Last night…last night I knew was the night when you didn't leave until after 7. You were the last one out, and I knew that it had to be then. The plan, not that you need to know, is to plaster your social media with humiliating photos, piss off everyone that you love, including your precious Sy, and alienate everyone you've ever cared about until you're miserable and alone."

Shane was crying now. She thought she might be sick again. She reached for the bucket. The delusion of this man thinking that anyone in that bar besides maybe the ones that were there with him that night gave a shit about him. Thinking that the town was his. He was a nobody there. He hadn't grown up there, he didn't work there, he didn't participate in community events. He was kidding himself if he thought anyone cared enough about him that he should feel shame over her relationship with Sy, especially five years after their relationship with each other had ended.

"How's that for a 'why,' sweetheart?" he boasted.

"It's making my ask myself a lot of questions. Like why I ever agreed to go out with you all those years ago. Why I didn't see the signs that you were a psychopath sooner. And why I put up with your terrorism for so long thinking you'd ever really change. I can't believe I ever slept with you, you absolute barbarian." and she heaved into the bucket, non-productively. She hadn't eaten since lunch, and that had to be well over twelve hours ago.

"Well, ya did. And ya can't change the past. But I'm about to take your future into my hands. As soon as we find your phone, we're gonna have us a ball, little girl."

"You honestly think I'll cooperate with any of that?"

"You won't have a choice." he held up a little glass vial. "Morphine. A tiny dose of this stuff, and you'll do anything I tell ya."

"Please. Just let me go now, and I won't press charges. I won't go to the cops, at all. I'll call in to work with a headache, or something and you can live your life with Sergeant Squats and we can leave each other alone."

"A good offer, but I need to get something out of this. I need my pride back."

"And you're gonna get that by dragging me through the mud online from my own Facebook account? Is that really the way you wanna do this? When you could just show me what a great life you've built for yourself. This is a great place here, it seems, I mean, I only smelled it, and felt how big it was while I was getting dragged around the place. But, Elliott, if you had just told me about all this, I would have been happy for you!"

"This place is Sasha's."

"Oh." she grasped for something, anything to make him see how insane he was being without saying the words. "Well, I'd still have been happy for you finding an established woman with a great job. Why couldn't you have just written me a letter telling me that? An email! Something."

"This is how it's getting done, Shane. Because this is the only way that truly ruins your life in the process. Because at the end of all of this, the backlash is going to be too much for you, and you're not going to be able to handle this life anymore…"

"No. Elliott, no."

"Yes. You're gonna take one last hit of the morphine and drive that shitty Ford right into the lake."

"You used to care about art. About beauty. You used to be sensitive. You used to have a soul. What happened, Elliott? What happened to your humanity?" Shane asked, crying, in mourning for the man he used to be. The one that she used to care for.

"I fell in love. And she broke my heart. And nothing has been the same."

"Elliott, I didn't mean to…"

"Oh, fuck, not you, don't be stupid. No, Kara. I met her right after you kicked me out, and SHE broke my heart." he  turned and started up the stairs, pausing to look over his shoulder and say, "I'll be back when I have your phone. And I'll bring friends." before he ascended, shutting the door firmly behind him.

She had never been so relieved to NOT have her phone in her life. Hopefully, her coworkers had it safe and sound, and locked up at work.

Up Next: Chapter 15-Recon

[weightlosswilly]

Journal: 1/2/2021

Weight: 156.2 lbs

Today I’m eating this slice of ‘za, and a bottle of Grigio. Still recovering from covid, I’ve got 3 days left before I get to leave quarantine. I wish it didn’t have to come so soon tbh. Just been sleeping like 12-14 hours a day lately due to the overwhelming fatigue/exhaustion, but I have so much more I need to get done (I just moved, lots of stuff at home to unpack and get sorted out). I have fallen so far behind at work that I don’t even want to think about it. I’ve been working from home, but have had horrible brain fog. This virus is just making me so fucking tired. But I’m getting better.

A few days ago (4 days after testing positive) I was working (from home) at like 9pm and realized I couldn’t breathe right. Told myself it would be better in the morning, and finally managed to fall asleep around 3am and get a couple hours rest. It was worse when I woke up. It felt like my lungs were being constricted and squeezed, or like I was breathing through a tiny straw. My lungs ached for air and alarm bells were going off in my head like “NEED AIR NOW” but no matter how hard or how deeply I tried to breathe, it didn’t help. I was completely panicking; I was crying uncontrollably. I needed air so bad. I called the doctor 4 times lol. I told them I thought the anxiety that not being able to breathe was causing was making it worse (my blood-oxygen level wasn’t at dangerous levels), but they said they couldn’t help with that (it was my primary care doctor). They prescribed a Z-pack and an inhaler to help open my lungs and tried to get me to go to the ER, then eventually just made me promise to go if it doesn’t get better (all the hospitals here have been beyond full for a while due to covid, the ER is fucking packed. Their oxygen supply is running out and I doubt they would be able to help right now, other than just give me a massive bill). My boyfriend brought me some of his lorazapam, thank God. It helped, and I could get some sleep... I was running on a total of like 5 hours of sleep for the past 3 days. I just had so much work to do, and the covid/fever brain fog was making me work so much slower, so I barely had time to sleep and then the anxiety from not being able to breathe was keeping me from sleeping the few hours that I could.

But right now, after a few days of rest, I can breathe. And holy shit, I am so fucking thankful. I don’t have a fever, either. I still can’t smell or taste, but I know that’ll come back soon.

When my boyfriend brought me lorazapam while I was panicking, and I took it and was started to feel better, he started talking about how he was horny. He didn’t push me (I was so sick lol) but I felt a bit bad that he’s been having to take care of me like this, so we got into it a bit. He was giving me a massage, and I was laying on my stomach, naked. He told me to roll over and I just... couldn’t. I’m so fucking fat, y’all. I can’t let him see how bad it is. I put a shirt on and told him I was just more comfortable like that, and he tried to reassure me that he still thinks I’m sexy. It’s so embarrassing. That I can’t even let him see me.

I guess like they say: new year, new me. I just need to be skinny again. Need to feel like myself again. Need to give a shit about myself again. I remember when I used to be under 100 lbs... I almost never ate anything and everyone made comments about me, but I felt good about it. I’m 156.2, so first I’ll just buckle down and lose 36.2 and I’m sure I’ll feel better then, and be able to wear some of my old clothes that I’ve gotten too big for!

Wish me luck, today and tomorrow and the next one will be great, I swear it.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Forty-One: Dreaming Again ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uzumaki Naruto ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

“Sasuke...oi, Sasukeee...wake up!”

Jolting a bit, the teen freezes for a moment, lost in a fog between dreaming and reality. He’s...where is he?

Snickering and turned around backwards to look at him, Naruto has a foxy grin on his face. “Class is over, sleepyhead! Y’gonna grab your stuff and go home, or just spend the night here and be first to class in the morning?”

Sitting fully upright with a quiet groan, the Uchiha rubs a hand over his face. When did he fall asleep…? Last thing he remembers, they were right in the middle of last period, and then…

“Come on, man! I wanna hit up the store on the way home and blow some of my allowance on some junk food!”

“...you’re gonna turn into a soda and a bag of chips one of these days,” Sasuke then manages to retort, now fully conscious. Weird...he was dreaming so vividly, and now it’s just...gone. Something about a...a sword...and fire? Gah, he can’t remember…!

“Sasuke!”

“I’m coming!”

Once he’s got all he needs for his homework load, Sasuke shoulders his backpack and starts walking beside his self-titled best friend. The pair only live a few blocks apart, so it’s tradition more than anything that they take every walk to and from school together. The blond lives with his godfather, who’s apparently some kind of author…? In all honesty, Sasuke’s never paid that much attention.

They make a quick pit stop at a corner convenience store, Naruto stocking up on all manner of unhealthy drinks and snacks. Sasuke doesn’t know how he does it without gaining weight or breaking out all the time. As freshmen they’re still in their gangly stages, but lately Naruto’s hit a bit of a growth spurt. He supposes he can blame that for his friend’s inability to build fat. All the calories are going into his height.

“You want anything?”

“I’m good.”

“What, really? C’mon, just get something!”

“I’ve got stuff at home! Just...hurry up and get your crap so we can leave!”

It’s only once they head out, Naruto guzzling down a cola that he seems to notice Sasuke looking lost in thought. “Hey - what’s eatin’ ya?”

“Huh? Nothing.”

“Man, you’ve been acting really weird lately,” the blond retorts, squinting. “You’re, like...a top student, but now you keep falling asleep in class! And when you’re not asleep, you’re all...spacey! Like you’re a million miles away! Sure there’s nothing on your mind?”

The question earns a sigh. Something on his mind...well, sort of. But is it really on his mind if he can’t remember it? “...I keep having these really weird dreams.”

“About what?”

“I dunno...I can’t remember any of them. Just weird bits and pieces. But I feel all disappointed when I wake up.”

After a pause, Naruto gets a sly look, elbowing his friend. “Not dreaming about a girl, are ya?”

“What? No! All I could remember today was something about fire, and a sword, and…” It’s all so blurry, and just out of reach…!

“Fire...and swords...sounds pretty epic!”

“I guess? I can’t remember, and it’s driving me crazy! I do the same thing at night...maybe that’s why I’m so tired. Whatever I’m dreaming about is too vivid, and I’m not resting.”

“No idea - I dunno anything about dreams and sleep and stuff,” Naruto replies, sipping his drink again. “...maybe you should see a doc-”

“No, I don’t wanna go to a doctor. It’s just a dream.”

“But you can’t sleep! Heck, I can even see dark circles under your eyes, man!”

That earns a scowl. “I’m fine. I’ll take something to sleep tonight and be right as rain.”

Blond brows wilt, clearly not convinced...but Naruto doesn’t argue any further.

They part ways at the proper intersection, Naruto heading north as Sasuke turns west. As per usual, he finds his aunt still at work, cousin and brother both moved out to attend university classes. Grabbing a glass of water and a random snack from a cupboard, he buries himself into his room, and digs into his homework.

The only break he takes is one for dinner when his aunt gets home, general chit chat about their days filling the obvious absence of the other half of their patchwork family. At least it’ll be Spring break soon, and Itachi and Shisui will be home.

After the meal is done and dishes washed, he goes to finish up his assignments before browsing the internet blandly. But once he starts to get tired, he takes a melatonin from his aunt’s medicine hoard, brushes his teeth, and collapses into bed.

At first...nothing. He just passes into an imageless oblivion.

But the next thing he knows, sunlight finds its way to his face, furrowing his brow before squinting open eyes.

...he’s back.

Staying still, Sasuke tries to memorize everything around him. It’s like he’s in some kind of...park? A few kids run around throwing little paper...somethings at each other, adults standing around to gossip.

Looking to himself, that’s when things start to get weird. His outfit is...well, it’s nothing he’d actually wear. Baggy pants, weird sandals, and a shirt that’s half open and far looser than he’d like.

And there, on his hip! It’s a sword!

Gripping the hilt with a glove-clad hand, he marvels at it for a moment before looking around again. No one seems concerned in the least that he’s armed with a freaking sword.

...okay, he’s gotta look around.

Getting up, Sasuke watches his surroundings carefully. All around him are just...people, but their fashion sense is weird. And almost every person he sees has a strange metal plate on their head, with a...a leaf on it? A swirl? Something. And some, like him, are visibly armed. Be it with swords, or little daggers, or...he doesn’t even know what.

And no one seems concerned but him.

“S...Sasuke?”

Jolting as his name’s called, he looks over and sees a vaguely familiar face: the first time he can recall that happening. It’s a girl from his class - Hinata, something?

She jogs up to him, expression harried. “Are - are you -? That is, um...do you know where we are?”

...wait...is she lost, too? He leans back a bit, clearly unnerved. Is this just his brain conjuring something, or...or is she actually conscious in this, too? “...not a clue. I just...fell asleep, and woke up here.”

“That’s what I did! I’ve been doing this for weeks, and it’s s-starting to drive me crazy! I thought I was the only one...but...how would we both…?”

“No idea, but even if this isn’t real, you’re the only person who’s tried talking to me yet.”

“And you’re the only person who’s replied to me. Have you seen anyone else we know…?”

“No, not yet. So,” he cuts in, trying to change the subject. “You have the same dreams…? I’m not crazy?”

Hinata nods. “I do, but...I only remember vague i-impressions after. It’s like...trying to keep water in my hands. It just drains out, and there’s only a few drops left on my skin at the end…”

“Exactly! Something is...going on. What is this place? I look like a samurai or something!”

“I’d say more like a ninja, right? Samurai have all that...a-armor.” She gestures to her own figure.

“Well whatever I am - or, am supposed to be - why do I keep dreaming it? Er, we, I mean.”

“I don’t know...but maybe we’ll remember now! Since we saw each other…?”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

“Sasuke! Sasuke, wake up - you’re going to be late!”

Jolting awake with a start, Sasuke sits up, wide-eyed as his aunt stands over him. “...wha…?”

“I have to get going, but you’d better get out of bed before you miss your first class!”

He waves her away, burying his face in his hands. He has to remember...he has to…! He’d had a sword again...weird headbands...and that girl, Hinata! She said he looked like a -?

Crap, he’s gonna be late!

Sprinting down the road with an apple in his teeth, Sasuke meets a concerned-looking Naruto, who simply falls into step. “Oi, wait up!”

Sasuke, however, doesn’t slow down. Not until they reach the school with a few minutes to spare. Absentmindedly munching his makeshift breakfast, he cranes over the crowds, trying to spot her.

“What the heck’s gotten into you this morning?” Naruto tries to ask, only to be ignored.

She has to be here somewhere...she has to remember, too!

...there!

Talking to a few other boys in their year, she smiles softly, clutching a book to her chest. Even from here, he can tell she looks exhausted. Not sure if he should call to her - that would earn him a lot of stares - Sasuke instead balks as she glances to him.

Her expression alights with recognition, mouth opening to speak -!

And then the bell rings.

“Come on, Sasuke! We’re gonna be late!”

Glancing back as Naruto tugs his arm, Sasuke looks forward and meets her eyes again. Her face clearly shows disappointed understanding - there’s no time.

...he’ll have to find her later.

Maybe then they’ll find out what’s going on!

     Late, guh OTL Guess who's got major chronic tooth / jaw pain the last few days that makes concentrating SUPER hard? This loser!      This prompt was...not very inspiring. While I do like this trope, and I'd like to expand on it...I just don't have the time ^^; At least not tonight. Maybe someday, lol - I say as I throw it onto a growing mountain of maybe-somedays.      Anywho, that's all for tonight! One of these days I'll start doing these before 2 am again...someday...lots of somedays tonight lol - but regardless, thanks for reading!

[louandhazaf]

Louis and Putine

I nearly fell off my chair when I saw this. LOL. Please accept my profuse apologizes for how long this has taken me to write.

I’m going to choose: 

Kissing…to distract. and I’m also going to make it a Tomlinshaw because it’s been a minute since I’ve written one and also because I have exactly zero idea how to do Louis/Poutine as a crack fic… uh… because I don’t know how to do crack fics. Anyway, without any further ado, drumroll please……..

“Nick, my feet are going to fall off,” Louis whines for the fourth time in five minutes.

“It’s around here somewhere,” Nick mutters, staring at the open Google Maps app lighting up his face. 

They arrived in Montreal later than they had planned, due to a minor car-searching snafu at the border caused by Nick apparently trying to smuggle an entire produce section out of Vermont.

Unfortunately, that small (er, ridiculously long) bump in the road meant that they missed their anniversary dinner reservation. It also meant their airbnb host was unavailable to hand off the keys at the appointed time so they had to wait for them to arrive. Which would be fine, in theory but Louis had long passed feeling peckish and was now practically feral. And, Louis didn’t have so much as an apple to tide him over as his hanger slowly got the best of him… because Nick’s slip up meant they were all confiscated.

“Nicholas,” Louis snaps. “I swear on all things holy that if you don’t pick a goddamn restaurant in the next three seconds I’m going to leave you.”

“If you don’t want to spend our anniversary together than leave. I deserve better.” Nick pops a hip, eyebrows raised in a challenge, before he looks back down at his phone, muttering. His head snaps back up to look Louis in the eye and he adds. “This is supposed to be the best poutine in the city and if we can’t dine at Toqué! then you better believe I’m getting you the next best thing.”

“Dine” Louis scoffs, mocking Nick. “You should consider yourself lucky that I’ve stuck around this long.”

Nick rotates his phone in his hand, looks up in confusion across the street, then back at Louis. “It’s right here, your highness,” he says, pointing to a neon monstrosity. “You can stop being an ass and come have a nice dinner with me or you can find your own dinner.”

At this point he’s coming close to eating his own shoe, but poutine will do. 

Spinning on his heel, Nick waits at the crosswalk. Louis follows. Because he really is quite hungry, as much as he needs a break from Nick after the extended car ride.

They get settled in their booth, and Nick orders for them both–something Louis normally finds charming in an old-fashioned, stupid, sort of way. But this time it sets off another flair of annoyance. 

Nick plasters on his fakest smile when the waitress walks away. “Not exactly plan A, but this isn’t too bad.” The whole ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ thing normally works. 

But not tonight.

“It’s shit, Nick.” It’s louder and more biting than Louis truly intends, and Nick rears back. 

Instead of coming back with another cutting barb, Nick clenches his jaw. He’s been so much better at relaxing his jaw–where he carries stress–and his headaches have mostly disappeared. Louis waits another moment. But Nick’s resolute, staring out the window, unblinking. 

The noise of the restaurant, glasses clinking and loud belly laughs and the group of co-eds cheering for the Habs playing on TV mounted on the corner, washes over Louis as he and Nick sit in silence.

When the waitress returns with their drinks, Nick gives her an easy smile, then avoids Louis’ eyes as he drinks half his pint in one go. 

“Easy,” Louis says, softly. 

Nick’s jaw clenches again, the bone pushing out against his skin. He looks up at the TV then, keeps his eyes locked on the screen, even though he’s never watched a minute of hockey before.

And Louis knows he’s been a little shit. It’s not like it’s brand new information that he acts out when frustrated; Nick’s been with him for five years, and now, officially, married for one. Nick’s not expecting an apology, Louis knows that. It’s well documented between the two, Louis’ complete inability to admit when he’s wrong, or has crossed the line. Louis’ working on it. He is. He just… it’s easier, sliding back into their old patterns. Letting time pass, letting them cool off, until they tentatively, gently, return to their normal. 

But it’s their anniversary. And Nick really did plan this whole thing for them and it’s probably not entirely Nick’s fault that they were caught up at the border. Louis’ even willing to admit–to himself–that had he actually packed the night before, like Nick suggested, and not waited until after they were supposed to have already left to figure out what he wanted to wear all weekend, that the trip probably would’ve gone a little, a lot, smoother. 

Louis wants to smooth his thumb over the stubble covering Nick’s sharp jawline. But Nick’s across the table and still not looking in Louis’ direction and Louis’ not sure how to close this gap between them, tonight. He picks at his napkin.

The waitress gets another bright smile from Nick as she slides the bowls of fries covered in gravy and blobs of… cheese? in front of them. Louis pokes at it with his fork. 

“Cheese curds,” Nick says, reading Louis’ mind. 

“What the fuck are cheese curds?”

Nick blinks twice, then rolls his eyes and digs in. 

Louis honestly hadn’t meant it that way–accusatory and grossed out. He has no idea what cheese curds are or why they’re on top of fries and gravy.

But it’s got to be better than shoe leather, so he shoves a heaping bite into his mouth.

It’s salty and has a bit of spice and the cheese curds have a spring to them which contrasts with the softness of the fries and the whole thing is fucking delicious. 

A few bites in, and he’s already feeling better, his mind’s hunger-fog clears, the anger disappears, he sits up straighter and has another bite. Nick’s still hunched over, head down, and won’t raise his eyes to meet Louis’. 

It’s his fault Nick’s not enjoying this meal he had so looked forward to, and as the rest of his brain and emotions go back to status quo, the guilt eats at him. 

He kicks Nick gently, without a fully formed plan. Nick looks up, confused. Louis smiles, and the one Nick returns is half-hearted at best. He might be shit at apologies and acting like a grown-ass man, but he is pretty good at making Nick laugh.

He reaches across the table and rubs at Nick’s fist around his near-empty pint glass. Nick looks up again, and Louis gives a forkful of poutine a lip-smacking kiss. “It’s delicious,” Louis says, before shoving it in his mouth. 

“Told ‘ya.” There’s a bare hint of a smile there, and it’s possible Louis can salvage the night. 

Now that he’s got Nick’s attention back, he really lays into it, over-exaggeratedly making out with another forkful, eyes closed, tongue wagging, until he hears a snort of laughter. Then he eats it, and picks up another forkful to repeat the process, until he gets a peal of laughter. 

After he swallows the last bite he can possibly eat, he licks his lips again, then has a few sips of his beer to wash down the saltiness. He inhales deeply, slowly exhales, then takes Nick’s hands in his, across the table.

“Thank you, dinner was amazing.”

Nick nods, a sheepish smile on his face, and his cheeks flushed. 

“Nick,” Louis says, then bites his lip as he tells himself just to say it. “I’m sorry I was such a dickhead today and ruined our anniversary.”

Nick tilts his head and through his giant smile he lets out a huge burst of laughter. “Holy shit. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“You absolutely deserve better but since for some reason I’m the lucky fuck you ended up choosing, I’m going to do better by you. I promise. I’ve got the rest of our lives to prove it to you.”

Nick squeezed Louis’ hands. “I’m looking forward to it.”

[send me a ship and a number, I’ll write a kiss]

[writingschauung]

Montague Arnett: Day 2 Complex Rules

Complexes, in the simplest words, are existential limitations that reflect the psychological worldview of their afflicted. As such, understanding the Complex innately leads to a greater understanding of the character themselves. As the central character of the novel, Montague has perhaps the most complex Complex of them all. Montague's highly dependent personality manifests itself in a fiery passion that drives him to show his inherent, unassisted worth. At his core, his deep fear of loneliness makes him incapable of accepting any form of abandonment, either physical or emotional. His Complex plays on this fear and makes his twisted weltanschauung literal- ensuring that he will never experience loneliness by making him not consciously exist in moments of solitude. In this way, the Complex is a defense against his greatest fear, but swung too far into the other direction. To truly come to terms with his Complex would be to balance the fear of loneliness with his overly clingy nature.

 Montague's Complex manifests itself in a variety of ways over the course of the narrative, though always following the same essential rules. The trigger for his nonexistence is always solitude, though whether he is aware of an unseen perceiver or not is irrelevant. Complexes may be inherently tied to the mind of the afflicted, but also affect and are affected by the minds of others through a subconscious symbiotic social connection. Montague is also consciously aware of the existence of his Complex, and the fear of its symptoms are as debilitating as the symptoms themselves. Regardless if he were to come to any emotional harm from standing alone in a room for a few minutes, Montague will pathologically avoid such situations. Nonexistence is not discomforting for him, as his conscious thoughts simply cease, then resume upon renewed observation, rather like the pause button on a remote. His subconscious brain continues to function though, beating blood, breathing air, and unless caught in a precarious pose, maintaining balance as well. His body will continue to function even if left unconscious for an extended amount of time, rather like a coma, only facing failure in the face of starvation and dehydration.

 The exact semantics of what constitutes "observation" is the most fascinating facet of his Complex's operation, both to characters within the story, such as the constantly curious Tamara, and also to myself, because I honestly have no clue. The variety of situations which test the parameters of the condition make for fascinating thought experiments (a sentiment also shared by Tamara, who is willing to turn my thought experiments into literal experiments, no matter how demeaning). Not all 5 senses trigger existence for Montague. 

Sight obviously does, but also contains many caveats which will be explored in more detail. 

Sound can trigger existence, but its lack of continuous nature makes it extremely unreliable. Though if he enters an empty room shouting and is heard, he will exist, it only takes the pause between words or a gasp of breath to undo the observation. 

Smell is entirely unreliable as well. Not only are humans barely incapable of distinguishing by smell, not many smells are "inherent" to a person. A strong perfume Montague wears is NOT Montague himself, while body odor is the result of bacteria living on his skin. Without an essential smell, Montague is unobservable even to a person with a particularly keen nose. 

Touch and physical contact are extremely reliable forms of observation, though they also have caveats. While touching through clothing does trigger existence, touching the clothing without touching Montague himself does not. Similarly, what is being touched must be presently connected to his corporeal form. For example, grasping cut hair does not equal touching Montague himself. 

Finally, Taste……… unfortunately counts on a technicality. While drinking blood or sweat or other bodily excretions is entirely ineffective, making physical contact via licking, say…… his foot (what'd you think I was going to say?) TECHNICALLY counts as observance due to the rules regarding touch. Not that this will ever practically come up in any shape or form during the narrative because none of my characters are that nasty (though Tamara still insists on testing it just to make sure.)

 Of course, even with these rules in place, there is still many specific situations where the parameters can be challenged, especially regarding the seemingly straightforward rules of "sight". So here's a quick Q and A running through as many as possible!

 Does he stop existing when the observer is blinking? (yes, but only momentarily, barely enough for him to recognize). 

If you don't see him directly but out of the corner of your eye, does he exist? (yes again! Even if just in close proximity to him, he will continue to exist as long as you don't specifically turn your back on him).

How well do you have to see him- I.E fogged up glasses or long distances? (It ultimately depends if you are able to still distinguish who he is. If he's merely a shadow of a something in your vision, that is not enough). 

What about if he's fully concealed, as if under a blanket, but you can still see his outline without seeing him directly? (No. Seeing a "human shape" still leaves doubt to whether it could be a mannequin of something of the sort.). 

What about if he is in clothes that fully conceal the body, such as a mascot costume or a fursuit? (This one's tough because he's still recognizably human, but he himself is not visible, just the costume. I may have erred on the sight of this answer because imagining him being stuffed into a fursuit as a form of torture is just too funny).

What if the observation is through a mirror? (yep! 100%).

What if it's through a livestream video? (this one's tough again because it's a continual form of observation, but is he being observed or just pixels that resemble him? Is the idea of Montague enough to communicate his existence? Unsure bout this one actually)

What if it's through a video that was recorded remotely than watched later? (Probably not. It’s a lil bit complicated because if it did work, he could exist at any time just as long as he filmed himself and someone in the entire of the future watched it at some point. On the other hand, if it doesn't work, then this allows him to be observed while not being observed- a paradoxical statement that undermines the absolute nature of the Complex). 

Questions over! 

So yeah, Montague's Complex is very compl…icated. But the thought experiment is one of the most appealing parts of the character, and writing the novel as a whole. If anyone has any more questions about how Montague's complex would react in a specific situation, I'd love to hear it! It'd actually help a lot, just so I have answers to any hypothetical questions future dude-bro fans want to try and trip me up with to prove their intellectual superiority. 

Tomorrow i will explain beyond the mechanics of how Montague's complex works and, how it affects the way he lives his life in drastic ways.

Oh yeaah and before i forget: heres my a list of tagged people (not going to do it every day lol, this one’s just a reminder)

@taz-writes

@create-and-procrastinate

@randomness-n-fandomness

@lady-redshield-writes

[xxphoenixdownxx]

MVY for the writing meme!

V:If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

Er… a lot of the fics I read are unfinished does it count if I want to finish it for them? And I don’t mean because I’m impatient, but because I know that they must be busy with real life and such and I want to help them…

In all honesty though? I don’t know lol. The completed fics I have read were written so perfectly that a sequel or a prequel doesn’t need to be written or are already in the works.

Am I overthinking this? lol sorry, I couldn’t answer it an instead just rambled :(

Y:A character you want to protect.

Ah, Ali beat you to this one, unfortunately (you can find the answer here), the short story is Gladnis though lol. However for my third person to protect would be Cor. (Again someone else who doesn’t need protecting as he is after all immortal). Cor, bless him, does not get paid enough (or at all, I’m sure Iggy says he hasn’t seen a penny, so I’m thinking that maybe they don’t actually get paid… alas I digress) anyway as I was saying, cor doesn’t get paid nearly enough to put up with all the shit he has to go through and the poor man just needs some love *coughClaruscough* so yeah that’s why I’d protect him.

M:Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

(I answered this last because it got worded and I wanted to put some stuff under a cut to keep it tidy.)

*Glances at the countless WiPs she has on the back burner*I shared a Papa!Cor one I’m working on a while back for a different ask (here) but let me see if I can find a Gladnis one that I haven’t already told you about… hmmm… BoardingSchool!AU… Reincarnation!AU… casual sex with a masked stranger that just happens to be Gladio, only they’ve never met and now get stuck escorting the prince to Altissia all whilst dealing with the fact they had casual sex…. oooh no I know!!!! Let me tell you about Fugitive!Iggy.

So Iggy is a wanted protestor, he’s always sparking debates and talks, protesting and standing up to the crown and this sparks riots in his followers. He also always speaks the truth, the information he has, crown secrets and he’s spilling them to the public. The crown is fed up and wants to arrest Ignis. So they send Gladio and a team to find him… only Gladio falls helpless head over heads and decides to defect and join Iggy’s cause, at first it’s in secret and Gladio becomes a mole. Alerting Ignis to whenever he might be in danger. They do however finally get caught, but instead of deporting Iggy or even arresting him, Iggy manages to talk his way into becoming the Princes Advisor. (AKA it’s a very vague plotline that needs major work but I really wanted to write Iggy as a Fugitive, and also as a badass lol) Here’s a snippet:

“How did you find me?” his accent is lighter somehow, almost as if he was strengthening it for the masses. His hair was down a pair of glasses perched on the edge of his nose. At first glance, he looked to be a completely different person.

“Big crowds, small isolated fights. Only you can rile up people with just words,” Gladio has the sense to feel that coming into this alley was a bad idea.

“Hmm, that’s not a bad reputation to have,” his tone is light, almost teasing and it distracts Gladio enough that he doesn’t realise that the other man is walking towards him. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”

Gladio swallows and quickly glances around. When he looks back, Ignis is a mere three paces away from him. “Why are you…” he takes a step back, his heels hit the wall and he realises he’s trapped.

“I’m the one asking the questions here,” Ignis closes the gap, a hand on the wall beside Gladio’s head, but Gladio didn’t want to move, not when there was a gorgeous man almost pinning him to the wall, close enough to kiss.

“Your friend…”

“Cousin.”

Right, the blonde kid with a penchant for chocobos was his cousin. That was in the file, he should have known that. “Cousin,” he corrected. “Said you wanted to see me. I’m here.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Gladio tried to clear the fog from his mind, what had he asked? “Why didn’t you turn me in? You are Crownsguard sent to arrest me, yet instead, you helped me to escape. Why?”

“I was captivated by you,” the truth and Gladio felt his cheeks heat up in a blush

Ignis smirked and leaned in closer as if going to whisper something in his ear, instead he darted his tongue out and licked up Gladio’s jaw.If it weren’t for the wall holding him up, Gladio’s legs probably would have given out at the contact.

“Ig, we have to go,” it was his cousin. Prompto and he sounded nervous. If Gladio had been in any right frame of mind, he would have thought it was his team being sent to look for him. Instead, he found his features rearranging to one of disappointment, sad that Ignis would have to leave.

Ignis smiled and Gladio’s heart soared at that little smile that had been reserved just for him.

“Well, you know where to find me,” and with that Ignis leaned in and placed a kiss on Gladio’s lips.

Gladio froze eyes wide, but before his brain could catch up with his mouth Ignis had left, him and his cousin disappearing down the alleyway.

Shit, Gladio thought, bringing his hand up to his lips as he tried to capture the feeling of those lips on his. Double shit, I’m in way too deep now.

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

On a post about Mom being in the hospital

omegadalek said: (Hugs)

Thanks. That meant a lot at a point I was totally freaking out!

I haven’t updated about it because I’ve had a bunch of technical difficulties keeping me from making new posts, but I wanted to let everyone know Mom came home yesterday and she’s fine. Well, she does have an infection that triggered the sodium levels taking a dive, but the antibiotics should deal with that. Mentally and (generally) physically she’s back to normal!

I have a lot I wanted to say about the last few days...

Not having anyone else to even ask “what do you think” is terrible. Feeling responsible for the life of someone you love who suddenly goes to someone who can’t speak two coherent sentences in a row is terrible. Having that person refusing to admit anything is wrong and fighting you as you try to help them is terrible. Having the person in trouble be your Mom is terrible. Basically, it was all pretty terrible.

There were adventures in snow driving to get to the hospital (BTW it was 7F when I got there, 47F when I left late in the afternoon as the thaw finally hit fast). The snow was still shin deep on the driveway, so digging was involved. The worst moment was either getting stuck half on and half off the highway because of the snowploe ridge or skidding on a completely iced over bridge. I got her there before dawn along that 10mile drive that quite sensibly had most people off the roads still. I turns out I have a knack for driving on ice and snow. Who knew!

There was the nightmare of dealing with doctors and nurses and trying to get them to listen to me. There was an assumption made because of her unkempt state (hell, I was wearing clothes I’d worn for that last week too! 36-44F indoor temps make personal hygene less urgent) that I was some sort of neglectful gaurdian of a senile (geez, she is anything but!) old lady and maybe I needed help to take care of her. Or to be reported to someone.

Speaking of nightmares, there was a bit with a catheter that had my PTSD kick in. Worse, they dismissed her saying they were hurting her, but the idiots ignored the fact I had ears and heard them outside discussing blood on the catheter and the damage they could have done to her.

The salt I had given her did save her neck, reluctantly confirmed when I FINALLY got the damn doctor to understand I gave it to her. “Oh, well maybe that’s why she has the symptoms but the sodium level isn’t lower.” I don’t think he ever got it was 3 spoonfuls, not just “a little” Yes, her sodium was still low but not probably anywhere as low as it had been, and foggy as she was mentally she was improving post condiment drugging (do NOT try this at home. Most people do not need to guzzle salt, not even her!)

There was excitement in the ER with one man screaming he was being held hostage. And another a cop wanted to be involuntarily committed, the hosptial didn’t, and both citing “covering their own ass” as an excuse.

Several nurses grumbled about how far they have to drive to get botox, and a male doctor (joking he didn’t want to get in trouble because of sexual harrassment, but....) saying with rolled eyes  “Girls!” 

Leaving Mom at the hospital was horrible. I had to get back to feed the animals (I hadn’t fed anyone in the morning and it was about to get dark again) but I did NOT like leaving her with a still scambled brain among people Ibdod NOT trust. Worse, this week is the anniversary of thinking Pop was just going to the ER for a few hours and instead he never came home (unless you consider the box of ashes Pop) A part of me was terrified this was the beginning of something terrible.

To be honest, I was making plans in my head of how to get her out of that hospital, even if it meant going to my brother’s. 

I was a wreck. All churned up with a mess of worries, fears, guilt and anger. Take my natural inclination to blame myself, deep concern for the only person in the world that loves me, my crushing phobia of health care professionals and PTSD over my own trauma at the hands of people in the field, an echo of the beginning of Pop’s death and a tendency to feel rage if someone is mistreated...well, the day was a nightmare for me.

I learned the physical effects of such emotions. A splitting headache, doubled up holding my stomach, feeling like a truck was parked on my chest, my whole body all aches and pains, feeling so weak it was like moving in slow motion even as my heart raced...needless to say I really couldn’t sleep. 

It got worse and worse until the moment I stepped into the hospital room and saw Mom. She was in a hospital gown, sitting in a chair and hooked up to an IV of antibiotics BUT she looked great! Her eyes were clear and bright and when she spoke there was no hint of a mentao fog at all. She was her. Astoundingly in that instant all my own physical manifestations disappeared. Weirdest damn thing. 

You have no idea how relieved I was. No, not relief, JOY. Having her brain back to normal means everything. To watch someone disappear and reappear so suddenly is stunning! There is always a hint of fear that this time she won’t be okay.

Hilarious fact: despite her low sodium problem and the fact it was a doctor in that very hospital that gave her the medical directions a couple years ago, they still wanted to tell her to drink plenty of liquids and have a low sodium diet. We pointed out why that would be fool hardy for her and, to her credit, the woman telling her agreed it should be ignored. 

They also told her to avoid fried foods, which we don’t eat. I know, we are freaks. When we said no problem, we don’t eat them, they didn’t believe us and got all lecturey! Look, whether we eat the stuff or not, everybody gets that eating lots of it is a bad idea. Not being believed was galling though. So what did Mom do on the way home after we ran a bunch of errands? Order fried food because they had pissed her off! LOL

Like I said, Mom’s home and back to herself in every way. And I am so very, very glad!