#he’s also constantly leaving his phone at home. i’m like JOHN. it’s a mobile.

[guiltypleasurefandomface]

5+1 - phonebook edition

This was inspired by this post so thank you to @stesichoreanpalinode and @a-froger-epic for the inspiration!

TW for mentioning Freddie’s death!

1) Brian’s dashing between his room and the shower because they’re running late and Roger’s decided it’s best they put the food order in to pick up on their way rather than go in and wait for it to be freshly made whilst they’re there. Roger knocks on the door and shouts to be heared over the noise of the shower.

Roger: What’s the number for the chinese place? Brian: It’s uh, look for the menu, it’ll be on the phone table Roger: I did, there’s no chinese menus there Brian: Oh. It’ll be in my phonebook then! My one, I mean Roger: The green book? Brian: That’s the one Roger: Alright! Roger: Brian, why am I in your phonebook as Roger Mitch Baker? Brian: Why were you snooping? Roger: Wanted to see if you had any interesting numbers in there. Brian: Did you call the chinese place? Roger: Yeah. It’ll ready by the time we get there

2) The hepatitus crisis. The nurses have said it might be best to “get the family around”.

Miami: We need to call Brian’s parents Roger: They haven’t really talked much... you know Miami: I know. Do you want me to call them? Roger: ... No. I’ll do it. Freddie: I can do it darling. You can stay with Brian and I’ll- Roger: No. I know where his phone book is.

Brian: Mum said you called them. Roger: Yeah. Was that the right thing to do? Brian: Yeah... Thak you. Roger: You’d do it for me. Brian: ... Roger: ... I saw I’m now just plain Rog in your phone book Brian: What have I told you about snooping?

~

3) They got to number 1 and survived a broken lift, and now they have loads of people who want to talk to them. They’ve been given cards of various music industry people, some journalists who seem like the good ones in the job to share their love of music, not the gutter press constantly implying Freddie’s on his way out of the band and Roger’s too beautiful to actually be a drummer... Brian makes use of their night in to transfer some of the cards he has in his pocket in to his phonebook, so he doesn’t lose any of the numbers he wants to keep.

Roger: Who’s Mike Hall? Brian: The guitar engineer from Guildford. Roger: Hm. Why are you writing his number down? Freddie: Jealous, Roggie? Roger gives Freddie the finger. Brian: He wanted to talk about Red. He wants to improve his own home made guitar. Roger: Hm. Roger snatches the notebook. Brian: Give it back, you child. Roger: Roger and Dom? Am I seriously in your phonebook as Roger and Dom? Brian: You do live together, Rog. Roger: Well yeah but you don’t call Dom... do you? Brian: Yes, Rog, we regularly complain about you every saturday morning. Give it back Roger: Yeah but, you don’t really do you? Roger hands the phone book back. Brian: Of course not. I’ve got enough problems, I don’t need Chrissie thinking I’m having some sort of phone affair with your girlfriend Roger: ... Well that’s not what I meant but thanks. Fine.

~~

4) Roger marries and then divorces Dom. Brian finalises his divorce to Chrissie. Brian takes the time to clear out his phone book, it is after all falling to pieces and old and not all numbers are relevant anymore.

By the time he gets to the T’s, he’s gone a bit stir crazy. He’d already written down Freddie in his book as God Messenger Freddie and Jim and cats (+J+J+P+J etc).

He writes down The Best Little Drummer Boy in England +Mobile - +Car Phone -

A few months later when he needs to look up the number of a plumber, he’s put on hold and gets bored whilst waiting so flicks through his phone book. He finds the word “little” crossed out and “looking” written just above it in familiar handwriting, in red pen. And... he can’t bring himself to not agree with that. He laughs and nods and closes the phone book.

~~

5) Roger has a new wife. A whole new house. Brian had both of these things too, now he just has the house. He had a whole new divorce after a whole new affair, and he supposes he’s only got himself to blame. But, he also has a new phone book so... no that’s just as bleak.

He couldn’t bare to not include Freddie in it so his information is copied over, John’s, Crystal’s, most of the other Roadie’s because more memorial shows are planned. Chrissie’s, Chrissie’s mum’s too. A lot of numbers over the last few years were put in where there was space, 4 of them Roger at the holiday homes, with no attention to alphabetical order, so he tries to correct that as he goes along.

He goes back to the T’s for Roger’s name and number. He doesn’t think too much of pang in his chest when he writes “Roger and Debbie”.

He vows this to be the last time he ever writes in any of Roger’s new numbers in a bloody phone book. It was ridiculous how often he’d had to do it over the years. If Roger gets a new phone, or a new house, or a new wife, then Roger would just have to find some way to answer the phone at the number Brian has in his phone book, or Roger will have to be the one to ring Brian.

~

+1

Roger and Adam are in the kitchen of the penthouse suite, it’s breakfast time and it’s their day off. Adam is eating a fruit salad, Roger has an empty plate in front of him and he’s glaring at his iPhone.

Roger: There’s something wrong with this bloody thing, again. Adam, smirking: You know, they make these special phones now, for er, the older market. Roger: Shut it you. Adam: Big buttons. Roger: It just won’t ring out. Adam: Even a little button on the back to call your emergency contact, incase you’ve fallen and you can’t get up. Roger: We can fire you Adam: You Couuuulllld... But you won’t.. Roger: Brian! You’re the apple fan boy, whats up with this fucking thing? Brian comes out of his room, loose tshirt, loose pyjama pants, bed head with curls that are still flat on one side from sleeping on them. Brian: What fucking thing? Adam: This sounds like a conversation not fit for my ears... Roger: You can either be a help or a hindrance, which one do you want to choose? Adam: I think hindrance. I like the sound of that word Roger: Brian, what’s wrong with my phone Brian, sitting down and getting an apple from the fruit bowl: I don’t know, Rog, what is wrong with your phone? Roger: It won’t let me ring anyone Brian: Let me see. Roger gives him his phone Brian: Hm.... Brian pokes around the phone. Brian: Strange. The settings are all off, I don’t know. Did you piss off Apple somehow? Roger: Probably. Do I need to send it back? Brian: Let me play with it a bit. Do you want to borrow mine? Roger: If that’s alright. I just want to text the kids good morning. You know. Dad stuff. Brian takes out his phone and passes it to Roger. Brian: Here you go. Roger: Thanks, love.

Brian resets the phone a few times, messes with the settings, frowns at it, leaves it on the table to do it’s thing whilst he eats a healthy breakfast, following his apple with some peanut butter on toast, but eventually the signals back up, the phone’s on data and, with no way of knowing what was wrong with it, the phone was now fixed.

Brian picked up the phone and rung his own phone. The phone in Roger’s hand rings out, and the little screen changes to a picture of Brian and Roger together, with the name “Mr Husband” written over it. Adam: That is still so cute. It’s so 7th Grade but it’s cute. Roger answers the phone: You fixed it then? Brian, on Roger’s phone: Yes Roger: Okay. Thank you. Brian: You’re welcome, love. Roger: I’m going to hang up now Brian laughs: Okay. Roger hangs up and Brian hands back Roger’s phone back to Roger, and Roger hands Brian’s phone back to Brian. Adam: You know, I almost miss the fit Roger would pitch everytime he saw his name was Santa Claus in your phone. Roger: Oh, I can pitch a fit over anything if you’d like me to Brian: It’s true, he would. Let me tell you the fit he almost pitched when he saw me write Rog and Dom in my phonebook. I never did figure out what that was about... Adam didn’t answer, but his sudden coughing fit did sort of sound the word “territory issues”.

[guanin]

Mrs. Hudson: Sherlock’s Chosen Mummy

An essay examining Sherlock's relationship to Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock has a mother, but isn’t close to her. He doesn’t seem to call or visit her often. He agrees with Mrs. Hudson in TSOT when she says that his mother “has a lot to answer” for (although she’s referring to Sherlock’s expectation of never having to bother about his own tea). He does his best to ignore his parents when they visit London in TEH. He doesn’t seem to want to spend time with his mother in general. Yet not only does he live one floor above Mrs. Hudson in her building, but he welcomes her taking care of him and is affectionate with her. Mrs. Hudson, in turn, makes him tea and food, and cleans up after him while fussing over his messy habits, just like a mother would. She has no chldren, and we aren’t given any indication on whether she ever wanted them, but she certainly enjoys treating Sherlock as if he were her own. Living Situation We know little of Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock’s relationship previous to ASIP. “A few years ago”, Sherlock ensured that her husband would be executed for drug crimes in Florida. So they’ve known each other for a good amount of time. Sherlock is in need of a flatmate to help cover the rent of his flat, implying that he’s a relatively new tenant there. However, not terribly new, since his flat is fully lived in, with no packing boxes in sight and his usual mess, which shows that he’s been there long enough to get comfortable. Adding to the list of things we don’t know is his living situation before this, as well as how long Mrs. Hudson has been living in the building. There is no telling when she could have bought it in the first place. It might have been part of the property she owned alongside her husband, or be a recent acquisition. She is giving Sherlock a special discount on his rent in a part of London that is particularly expensive. This, along with the way that she acts toward him, indicates that she’s fond of Sherlock. That’s a lot of money she’s saying “no” to by providing this discount. Of course, gratitude over his aid in getting rid of her criminal husband has a part to play, but living with Sherlock isn’t an easy endeavor, and there’s no need for this gratitude to extend to offering him a really nice flat in central London. This offer could have come upon Sherlock mentioning to her that he was looking for a flat. If she had been in the building for a while, the former tenants of 221B could have been moving out at the same time. Or, if she’s new to the building, she might have offered Sherlock the flat straightaway. Sherlock might have been in need of a flat at the time or he might have simply preferred to live in 221B. Reasons for the latter could be its location, the space, the rent even despite needing to find a flatmate to cover it, or the particular landlady he was renting from. Or all four. He certainly likes the space, and the central location, apart from being a nice neighborhood, is ideal for someone who is constantly running all over London. But it is apparent that he’s as fond of Mrs. Hudson as she is of him, and likes it when she takes care of him. We can only speculate as to what their relationship was like before this, but we know that they kept in touch for years and that Mrs. Hudson liked him enough to offer him a premium discounted flat. This suggests more than a passing acquaintance. Even with all these unknowns, we can deduce that these two like living together and wouldn’t have begun doing so without a genuine enjoyment of each other’s company. The two certainly spend enough time together to prove this. Mrs. Hudson is a frequent visitor to his flat, and Sherlock is comfortable enough in hers to casually grab food from her fridge in ASIB. Mrs. Hudson providing him with meals, as well as tiding up his flat, is another frequent occurrence. Sherlock also makes a point of celebrating Christmas with her. In ASIB, he and John hold a Christmas party at their flat with Mrs. Hudson in attendance, during which he plays a Christmas carol on his violin, to her delight. It is unknown who had the idea to have the party, but it is notable that there is no mention of Sherlock visiting his parents over the season. When he calls Mycroft, his brother protests, “We’re not going to have Christmas phone calls, now are we?”. Not only does the Holmes family not get together for Christmas. They don’t even call. But Sherlock does celebrate with Mrs.Hudson. Not only that, but it’s the one day when he endeavors to be on his best behavior towards her. Mrs. Hudson says, “It’s the one day of the year when the boys have to be nice to me.” Now, we do see John being nice to her very often, but Sherlock is his usual, brash, petulant self with her a lot, as with everyone else. We aren’t given any indication of him making an exception in this behavior for anyone except for this instance, with Mrs. Hudson, so it’s very indicative of his love for her, even if it’s only for one day a year. Caretaking While introducing John to the flat, Mrs. Hudson grabs a used teacup from a table in the sitting room and takes it to the kitchen. We learn in season 3 that she brings up Sherlock tea every morning, therefore this cup is from tea that she herself supplied him with. It is possible that this practice began after Sherlock’s return in season 3, but it is far likelier that they fell back into all their old patterns of behavior after the reunion, so it’s a fair assumption that this is already occurring at the beginning of the show. She fusses over the state of the kitchen, saying, “Sherlock, the mess you’ve made” in a chiding tone, very much like a mother disapproving of their child’s messy room. While Sherlock and John are talking, we hear the clinking of dishes in the background. It carries on for a bit, which can only mean that Mrs. Hudson is cleaning up. Hardly typical landlady behavior. She does it automatically and without comment, suggesting that this is a normal occurrence, like with the tea. Her protest a few moments later, “I’m your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper” when Sherlock asks her to prepare him food for later sounds a little worn, like she’s said it before, and she probably has. Quite a few times, even, not that he ever listens, and she’s used to him not listening. She doesn’t protest again after he says, “Something cold will do,” just looks resigned. The chances are high that she did have some food waiting for him when he got home. Everything about this interaction feels like a routine, both speaking familiar lines. The child is demanding food from their parent, who is exasperated at their child not being willing to get it for themselves. The parent also chastizes their child for their messy habits, which the child is unwilling to fix. Yet the parent continues to indulge their child’s bad habits. These behaviors, on both their parts, continue through the series. In ASIB, we see Mrs. Hudson tiding in the flat again. She picks up a discarded mug and bottle of milk and takes them into the kitchen, complaining to herself about the mess. Later on, she brings Sherlock breakfast. She tidies up again at another day in the same episode. In TRF, Sherlock questions her about what she has cleaned in the flat in the last week, indicating that her cleaning up goes beyond the kitchen. As Sherlock’s landlady and not his housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson is under no obligation to tidy up his flat or make him tea or food, yet she does these things. Why? Since it’s not a duty, the only option is that she likes it. Mrs. Hudson enjoys taking care of Sherlock. After John moves in, she extends this maternal care towards him, as well, which is reciprocated. Demonstrations of Affection Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock are very physically affectionate with each other. This is an activity that we rarely see Sherlock engaging in generally. The only people we see him hug are Mrs. Hudson, John, and Lestrade. In the case of Lestrade, when he comes back from the dead, he simply stands, arms at his sides, allowing Lestrade to hug him. John hugs him at the wedding. It is only with Mrs. Hudson that we see Sherlock hug someone multiple times, and this in an enthusiastic fashion. The first instance we see of the two of them hugging is when Sherlock introduces John to her and the flat on Baker Street. The second occurs just a bit later, as Sherlock is dashing off to the serial suicide case. When Mrs. Hudson notices that both Sherlock and John are going, Sherlock steps toward her, expressing his excitement over the case and grabs her by the shoulders and kisses her on the cheek with a loud “mwah” sound. Sherlock touches her again during and after she is held hostage in ASIB. While she is being held at gunpoint, he touches her wrist as he examines her injuries and torn clothes. After he headbutts her attacker, incapacitating him, he crouches in front of her to assure her that she’s alright now, and gently touches her cheek, only turning away once she reassures him that she's okay. Later on, in Mrs. Hudson's flat, he stands next to her and places his hand on her shoulder and tugs her to him. She leans against him, smiling while placing her hand on his, the gesture and her expression filled with affection. During this interaction, it is revealed that she snuck away the mobile phone that her attackers were seeking to take from Sherlock, as he has deduced, responding to John’s question about the phone’s whereabouts with, “Safest place I know.” He trusts Mrs. Hudson implicitly. In a further show of fondness and comfort, he balks at John’s insistence that she take a break from Baker Street, using her to ability hide the phone while being attacked as proof that she’s a most capable and resourceful person whose presence near him is imperative not only to his own well-being, but that of the nation’s. “Mrs. Hudson, leave Baker Street?” he says, appalled by the very notion. “England would fall.” It is then that he holds her to him, his actions and his words a reassurance and declaration of how much he values her and her place in his life. Protectiveness The entirety of this incident provides the strongest evidence of Sherlock’s affection towards Mrs. Hudson. As soon as Sherlock becomes aware that Mrs. Hudson has been attacked, his face twists with rage. He is quick to go to up to 221B, where she is being held hostage by three men, the ringleader holding a gun to her head. Sherlock persuades the ringleader to dismiss his two men so that they are alone. He notices that the ringleader struck Mrs. Hudson in the face earlier, which incites his anger even further. He is quick to gain the upper hand, headbutting and knocking out the ringleader, and rushes to Mrs. Hudson to make sure that she’s alright, filled with concern. He waits with her, holding the ringleader hostage until John arrives to tend to her downstairs. Then he throws her attacker out the window. The man is subdued and tied up, no threat anymore. Sherlock’s action is motivated purely by revenge. That man hurt and frightened Mrs. Hudson, and so he must pay dearly. His protectiveness isn’t one-sided. Earlier in the episode, she reprimands Mycroft for putting Sherlock at risk. “It’s a disgrace,” she says, “sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes.” This statement is swiftly followed by another protective action from Sherlock’s part. Mycroft tells Mrs. Hudson to shut up. Sherlock immediately shouts his name, a furious expression on his face, compelling him to apologize. Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson share a bond that goes far beyond a tenant-landlady relationship. They have both happily chosen to live with the other, and love and care for each other, expressing this through their easy domesticity and by engaging in typical parent-child behaviors. Sherlock may not call Mrs. Hudson “mummy” and Mrs. Hudson may not call him “son”, but it is so clear that this what they truly mean to each other.

[life-love-and-alcohol]

Don’t throw this dog a bone (Victuuri one-shot)

yet another fic no one asked for...I have a request to answer and this is all I can bring myself to write (for the lovely anon who requested fluff+makkachin...this may kind of suit your needs...but I promise to do something better and more specific for you within these days!)

MORE UNDER THE CUT

(if you are on mobile, here’s the ao3 link)

Yuuri let the waiter guide him through the restaurant, taking in the fancy decorations and marveling at every small detail. He didn't even bother to consider the tables inside, since it was a beautiful Friday night and they were right next to the shore. So he timidly pointed at a little table for two outside on the patio, surrounded by the hum of the river and people's light chattering.

 He hanged his coat on the backrest and sat down, telling the waiter he was waiting for someone else when he was offered to see the menu, and thanking him for his gentleness as he watched him leave to attend other tables.

 Taking a look at his watch, he made sure he had arrived on time. In fact, he had arrived a bit early. His nerves and his excitement were to blame, to be honest. It had been ages since he had had a proper date, and no matter how many times he reached to loosen the knot on his tie, it would still feel way too tight.

 The waiter came back to leave a little basket with bread and butter in front of him. Should he take a bite? No he shouldn't, he was on a diet. The candle seemed to be too close to the basket, so he moved in just in case. In reality, he just needed to move his hands and release some tension. He sighed, drumming his fingers on the table, and taking in the sight of the busy restaurant as a distraction.

 The place looked fairly expensive, elegant, and for a moment he wondered if he had enough money to pay. He had made sure to grab more than usual just in case it was too fancy, but he hadn't count on the fairy lights, the wonderful view of the river and the refined crockery staring holes into his wallet.

 He felt a drop of sweat running down his forehead, and he slyly took a napkin to wipe it as he stared at his reflection on the window next to him. His hair was still on point, slicked back with gel, but he fixed it a little more obsessively. That lilac shirt looked good on him, at least that's what Phichit had said when he pushed him out of the apartment that night. "You look great!" he had reassured him, with quite a hard pat on the back "You'll leave him breathless!". Yuuri doubted he would give his date an asthma attack, but he really wanted to cause a good impression.

 After all, the man had never seen him outside the office, outside his overly-stressed, sweaty persona, with that dull working outfit and the glasses. This was his chance, the chance to prove him he had a life outside the paperwork and his desk.

 Maybe, it was also the time to prove it to himself, too.

 Just when he was about to take a culprit hand to the bread basket, he felt something touching his feet and turned to see a brown dog sniffing his shoes. He smiled, wanting to pet the curly head, but a loud whistle coming from another table interrupted them.

 "Makka, come here" the poodle immediately responded to the call, walking towards a table where a young man sat alone "Don't bother other people"

 Yuuri wanted to say that it was ok, that he really liked dogs, but then he realized he didn't want his date to arrive and find him all covered in fur.

 The man stared at him funnily, arching a brow, and Yuuri looked away. There weren't many people around, just a group of girls that seemed to be celebrating a birthday, some elderly couples, and the man with the dog. Of course there weren't families with kids, it wasn't a family restaurant. And the place was way too quiet for someone who ate constantly at McDonalds.

 He checked the time again, his feet beginning to tap involuntarily as he saw it was nine o'clock already. His date should be about to arrive.

 He was happy, very hopeful about that night. Not only because he had been drooling over his co-worker for months already, but also because it had been ages since the last time he had been out of his house for some reason other than his job. If he wasn't in the office, he was at home, studying. Phichit insisted it wasn't healthy, and that he was going to start putting on weight again if he didn't move. But he wasn't eating much, either. He wasn't really hungry when he came back from work, and the only lunches he had were the ones in the lies he told Phichit.

 He didn't like lying to him, he was his best friend, not to say the only one, and he was worried about him. But he already had enough with his complaints about his social life to add even more drama about his lack of appetite, and he didn't want him to worry. Phichit had a life of his own, after all. And he had to take care of it.

 As he watched the group of friends singing happy birthday on a distant table, he couldn't help but remember his parents' gift when he turned twenty.

 He and Phichit had been considering leaving their small, humble town in the search for better opportunities, but paying for the stay in a larger city until he got a proper job in there was a huge amount of money. And his parents had surprised him by saving and gifting him every penny to their name, and he was finally able to move out.

 He smiled, remembering the moment, staring at one of the elderly couples at the distant tables.

 He missed his parents. And his sister. And his dog. He missed his family like crazy. As well as his hometown, the people he used to know, the streets he used to walk… From one day to another, he was suddenly miles away and all he had been able to take with him was his best friend. Which he was extremely thankful for, since Phichit was his anchor to sanity.

 But still, he hadn't been ready to give his back to the life he had been so used to. And, unlike Phichit, he wasn't very good at dealing with changes.

 “Sir, do you want to see the menu yet?”

 “Oh, no, sorry. I’ll wait a little longer”

 “Alright, sir”

 He took a hand to the basket, taking a small piece of bread. Just a little wouldn’t do any harm. The waiter turned to take the order of the man with the dog, and Yuuri tried to read his lips out of mere boredom but he had never been good at it. What he did read, though, was the title of the novel between his hands. Stoner, by John Williams, it read. He didn’t know the book, but he found himself wondering what it was about.

 He felt his phone buzzing in his pocket and he almost jumps off his chair. With rapid, desperate fingers he checked his notifications, but he turned off the screen and left it aside on the table as he saw it was just Phichit. He breathed in, trying to soothe his ridiculous nerves, and sitting down properly and elegantly against the backrest.

 His friend just probably wanted to check on him, to know if he was having a good time. Mainly because he cared, but also because he was unhealthily nosy. It had been him who convinced him of asking his co-worker out on a date, after all. Being as shy as he was, all he used to do was rant to his floormate about this really kind, handsome man who worked in the stall next to his own.

 He took another piece of bread, this time, a bit larger. He couldn’t help it, he was getting hungry. And nerves had always been quite a big enemy for his diet. The dog from the other table stared at the food in his hands, and he would have shared him some, but it was not his dog, and that would have been impolite. The owner continued reading his novel, drinking some wine he hadn’t even noticed when it arrived, seeming fairly concentrated. He looked up for a second to check on his pet, but his eyes caught Yuuri’s as he did and he smiled politely, whistling again to call his dog back towards his side.

 Yuuri couldn’t quite stop staring at the poodle, mainly since it kind of reminded him to his own pet back at home. Just like the money for him to move out, it had been a birthday present. Only that that had been many years ago, back when he was still a child.

 And, unlike moving out, he had never regretted Vicchan.

 He looked at his phone, wanting to check if there were any messages from his date as regards his delay. He knew he had put the device on vibrate and that he should have felt it buzz if that were the case, yet he couldn’t help but checking just in case. The digital clock marked it was already  twenty past nine, and the only notification he had was that message from Phichit from a while ago.

 The man of the nice dog was getting his food served, some meat and a colorful salad, for what Yuuri could see. That made him even hungrier, so he reached for another piece of bread. This time, he even put some butter onto it. The waiter approached him once again, and Yuuri repeated his speech lawfully.

 Should he text his date? He thought he should maybe wait a while longer, but people in the tables nearby were beginning to look at him funnily. Including the man of the dog who didn’t look that concentrated in his novel anymore.

 He opted for a discreet “I’m on a table outside, look for me there” text, so that he didn’t feel like was hurrying him or anything. He didn’t want to be annoying, but he had already emptied half of the bread basket.

 Having nothing else to do, he chose to read Phichit’s message. It was a simple “Good luck” with many thumbs ups and heart emojis, but Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to smile at the sight. Instead, he set his eyes on the door. Just like he did at the office every day when he arrived early, waiting for the man to come in.

 His watch marked five to ten when the waiter approached him once again, and Yuuri simply shook his head this time and he understood.

 The man of the dog had already finished his meal, and he had given the left outs to his dog. The poodle was happily chewing on a bone, way too distracted to become a distraction, and Yuuri didn’t know what to do anymore.

 He looked at his watch again, as if he hadn't checked the time just one minute ago, and he couldn't read the numbers. His pulse was trembling. Had he got bad the time of the meeting? The address? Paranoia made its way crawling down his skin, drawing goosebumps, making his spit taste acid. Suddenly, everyone around looked just like him. The elderly couples, the waiters, the people passing by the shore. Everyone was so frustratingly similar. Being the eyes, the smile, that something...they all looked alike, and they all got his heart to race.

 He tried to chew on a piece of bread, just to do something with all the energy, the radiation of nerves, his anticipation breaking like atoms and overwhelming him with adrenaline.

 He felt every eye in the room was on him, observing, making assumptions. Assumptions he had already made, but he yet had to acknowledge. The whispers made it even worse, from the girls of the birthday and the man with the dog, pitying him, not understanding the situation at all. No, they didn't understand. They didn't know his date would arrive at any second. He was just late. That was all.

 He swallowed and fished for his phone again. This time, he called. He was going to prove them, prove himself, that the plan was still on march. That the candle on the table still had some few minutes of light, and he still had faith. On him, and on himself.

 The phone rung, and rung, and rung. Yuuri's heart was beating to its beat. Slow, long and infuriating. Suspenseful, dragging the curse of every note, making it eternal.

 "Leave your message after the tone…”

 "Uhm, hi. It's me, Yuuri. I...I've been waiting for about an hour and...yeah. Sorry to bother, I just..." Come, please. He wanted to say. People are staring at me, I'm running out of bread, and just like the candle of the centerpiece, the waiter's patience is melting "Could you..."

 He cut the message, embarrassed, dropping the phone in his pocket and resting his head in his palm. He sounded pathetic, and he didn't want the guy’s pity. It was already enough with the restaurant's, the man of the dog looking at him like he may throw him a leftover bone.

 He thought about Phichit, about how excited he had been when he told him about the date. He thought about the day, how excited he had been, how he had planned what clothes to wear and what perfume to use, pouring all his hopes into the night. And he thought about his parents, the only request they had made when they saw him leave: "no matter what you do, please be happy"

 There were tickles in his stomach, crumbles, of bread and badly digested disillusion. He had to cover his face when he started crying, but his shoulders were shaking, and he knew the people around him could see him. He sunk his face, feeling the factual burn of his throat as he tried to keep himself from sobbing. But the tears just wouldn’t stop falling and his lungs demanded him air, causing him to whimper, and drawing even more eyes on him.

 He was embarrassed, so embarrassed, so tired of fucking everything up, his every hope going to hell after he kept failing and failing, always making a fool of himself. He must have looked so stupid, all dressed up and nervous and smiling, with that damn lilac shirt he had spent hours choosing. For what? For being stood up? For being mortified and made fun of?

 He didn’t want to go back to his apartment. No when he knew Phichit would be there, still so hype and happy, as oblivious as Yuuri himself had been. He didn’t want to pop his bubble, not just yet. He would let him enjoy it a little longer.

 The waiter didn’t even approach him again to leave the menu, and Yuuri continued to sob, silent and alone, hoping he would run out of tears.

 “Uhm, excuse me” He peeked his face from behind his hand, covering his nose, knowing it was runny “Are you ok?”

 The man of the dog looked at him from his own table, novel closed and eyes full of pity, speaking with the gentleness one would talk to a child.

 “Do I look like I’m ok?”

 He knew he was being rude, but he was in no mood to deal with other’s sorry. He already felt too sorry for himself.

 “Do you need something to drink? Do you want some wine?”

 Yuuri looked up, wanting to deny the offer. But as he tried to voice a no, he felt the rests of bread still stuffed in his throat.

 He nodded, since he knew he needed a drink to push it down, and help him digest the anguish still clogging his chest. The man of the dog poured the remaining beverage into his glass and set it on his own table, pushing the chair across him slightly with his foot, as if telling him to sit down.

 As Yuuri stood up he noticed the rest of the customers had already left, much to his relief, and for a second he wondered what time it was but he didn’t want to stare at his watch. Instead, he sat in front of the only remaining witness for his misery, and gulped down half cup of wine in one blow.

 “Easy there, you don’t want to choke” The man smiled at him. Forcedly, Yuuri could tell “Are you ok with that? Do you want me to order some water?”

 He shook his head, looking away. The dog came to him wiggling his tail happily, so oblivious to the happenings, and rested its head on top of his lap. He petted him, gently, and his fur was just as soft as he had imagined. As he remembered Vicchan’s was.

 "Look, about what happened...” Yuuri  flinched at the words. As if he had been physically intruded. “I don't know who you were waiting for, but...I’m sure they have a good reason"

 "He didn't answer my phone calls" He sobbed "I think his reason is clear enough, he's not interested"

 "Was it a date?" the man asked, and Yuuri nodded grumpily, as if it were obvious "Don't worry, dates come and go! You deserve someone better, there's no need to be sad for just a..."

 "It's not just the damn date" Yuuri cried, grabbing his head with frustration. He hadn't meant to sound ungrateful, and he only noticed he did so when he saw the surprise on the other's face "I’m sorry, I just…everything's been hell for me lately. It's been a bad year"

 The man quieted, looking downwards for a second, realizing he had maybe pressed too far. Yuuri rubbed his eyes, still sore and swollen, and took a deep breath in the hope of easing the post-crying headache. He felt so weak, so feeble, like the minimum weight could wreck him down. And he knew it showed, he knew he must have looked so childish and pathetic right then, petting his dog and crying his eyes out, softer than he had ever been.

 “It’s ok, we all have bad times. It’s normal to be sad” The man said, face solemn and serious, eyes still soft with sorry “What’s your name?”

 Yuuri looked up and sniffed, clearing his voice a bit before he trusted himself to speak again.

 “Yuuri”

 “I’m Viktor” He introduced himself, then he pointed at the poodle “And that’s Makkachin”

 “It’s a really nice dog”

 “Isn’t he?” He smiled, trying to pick up Yuuri’s stare with his own “He seems to like you”

 That wasn’t big news. Unlike people, dogs always seemed to really like Yuuri. And Yuuri liked them a lot, too.

 “I guess he does” He sighed, trying to clean the stuffed air inside his mind and clear his thoughts. Makkachin had been a good cable to guide him back to his senses, but he needed to acknowledge the kindness of his owner, the actual human who had put up with his pitiful crying, and who had friendly offered his help “I…I’m…” He tried, only then remembering that humans were not dogs and that they could look so cute all of a sudden when they listened to him and smiled “thank you…for the wine”

 “It’s ok, I think it wouldn’t have been a good idea to empty the bottle myself, anyways” He said, and he seemed so amused by the way Yuuri snorted in response “Plus, I think that you needed it more”

 The short laugh seemed to lose up his soul a little, making his chest feel lax and lighter, like stretching a cramped muscle.

 “Ugh, you must think I’m so wretched” He said, more humorous than expected, as he tried to rub the rests of grief out from his face.

 “Hey, at least you had a date. You are talking with the man who was eating at a fancy restaurant alone on a Friday night”

 “Uhm, rude. Makkachin was here the whole time”

 Viktor laughed, and Yuuri felt the sound echo through himself, bubbly and tickly, uplifting.

 “You get the point” He said, leaning forwards and crossing his arms on the table “We are both lonesome”

 “Yeah…” Yuuri averted his eyes, mirth washing off all of a sudden, as he stared back at his coat still hanging from the other chair “I don’t want to bother you though, thank you very much for your kindness and everything, but I think I should…”

 “No no, stay!” Before he could fully stand up Viktor stopped him, grinning gently; hiding what had sounded like a plea “You are not a bother at all, please. At least finish your wine”

 The truth was Yuuri didn’t want to leave, either. He still didn’t feel ready to face Phichit and tell him the story, and he didn’t feel ready to face his apartment, the scattered clothes in his room and the mess in the bathroom, that had watched him leave so happily just some hours ago. But he didn’t want to abuse from that man’s compassion, either. Maybe he just wanted to spend a relaxing evening alone with some wine, a good book and his dog. Comforting a crying basket case surely wasn’t part of his Friday night’s agenda.

 Yet, as he began to drink from his glass once again, it was in slow, tiny sips.

 “Are you feeling better?” Viktor asked, just before the silence began to feel uncomfortable.

 Yuuri hummed in agreement, licking his lips reddened by wine.

 “I’m not exactly delighted” He grimaced, moving his head to the side “But I think I’m ok…maybe I need some vacation, go back to my hometown for a while”

 “Oh? Where are you from?”

 “Hasetsu”

 “Oh! What a surprise…so you are not a city boy, then” Viktor said, arching Yuuri’s brow in confusion “I should have thought so”

 “What do you mean?”

 “Well…everyone here seems to be in such a hurry all the time, so worried with work and so full of themselves. You seem like a humble guy, tranquil and good-heartened”

 Yuuri blinked, unsure of what to say. To be honest, that was actually the reason he felt he didn’t fit in the city, at all.

 “Don’t you think you are making many assumptions?” He mocked, just to avoid the intrusion of having been read so thoroughly “I could be a meanie for all you know”

 Viktor chuckled, lidding his eyes.

 “Nah, the smile gives you away. You are a good person” He said, resting his chin on his palm “Besides, wat kind of douche uses the word meanie, anyways?”  

 Yuuri pouted, hiding a grin and looking away, distracting himself with Makkachin again.

 “What about you?” He asked “Were you born here?”

 “Born and raised”

 “So you are a city boy, then?” He teased, stealing his words from before and using them against him. All that crying had gotten him a little light-headed, and words slipped easily from lips moistened by alcohol.

 Viktor seemed shocked by the question, like it had taken him by surprise.

 “A really unpleased one, yes” He said, and now it was Yuuri’s turn to be surprised “You see, the thing about city boys is that we don’t like being city boys. We like to think we are oh so special and different for hating the city, but hating the city may or may not be a part of being a city boy”

 Yuuri outlined a furrowed, puzzled smile.

 “Are you being poetic or delirious?”

 “We are very poetic, you see” He smirked, playing with him, and with a stain of wine that had spilled on the table “We are birds in steel cages”

 Yuuri chuckled, wetting his lips on the glass, not wanting to empty it.

 “You don’t sound like a city boy” He said “My friend Phichit, my roommate, he loves it here. He moves around so easily…that’s a true city boy”

 “Was he born here?”

 “Oh, no. He came with me all the way from Hasetsu. We kept saying we would move to the city together ever since we were kids…but I guess he got luckier than me. He got used to it so quickly.”

 He could feel his mood beginning to deflate again, but he wasn’t even disappointed. His humor was balancing on a tightrope as thin floss, and he was abusing from his luck.

 “Did you come here for a job?”

 “To study, actually” He shrugged “But I need to pay rent so I got a job at an office. No important task, I just check for mistakes in some documents before they are delivered”

 “Oh, I see. And what do you study?”

 “Language arts” He said, and the other looked fairly intrigued about it. But just when he was about to return the question, the waiter walked right beside them, and Viktor stopped him before he left into the restaurant again.

 “Would you like to ask for the bill, sir?” He looked at them suspiciously, narrowing his eyes, not really sure of what was going on or why they were sitting together.

 “It depends…Yuuri, would you like to order something?”

 Yuuri froze, unready for the offer. So before the lack of words, he instinctively made time to gather his thoughts with the stupidest of questions.

 “Me?”

 Viktor laughed.

 “Yes, you. All you ate was bread…wouldn’t you like some dessert? I pay”

 “Oh, no…you don’t have to! I couldn’t…”

 “Nonsense” He turned to the waiter “Bring us some chocolate ice cream, please”

 “What? No! It’s not necessary! Don’t…”

 The waiter stood still, unamused, probably thinking they didn’t pay him enough for this.

 “Aww, come on! Ice cream is good for heartache!”

 “Ok…but we’ll split the bill!” Yuuri insisted, looking at the waiter apologetically.

 “Deal”

 “We don’t serve ice cream” The waiter announced.

 “For real??” Viktor said, looking genuinely disillusioned “Well…bring my bill then, please”

 “Alright sir”

 The man left, clearly annoyed, and Yuuri sulked childishly, drumming his fingers on the table and looking at the other with puppy dog eyes.

 “So…no ice cream?” He joked, smiling cheekily.

 “Well…we could have some ice cream…” Viktor trailed off, leaning forwards and way too close “If you would like to go on a date with me, someday”

 Yuuri deadpanned, his humorous mood smashing into pieces and reveling a much colder expression instead.

 “On a date?” He almost bit his tongue, remembering his co-working saying the same thing as he asked him out that same morning.

 “Yeah! We could grab some ice cream together one of these days, I know a really great ice cream shop that has the craziest flavors.  I could take you”

 Yet, Yuuri wasn’t convinced. He tried to pet Makkachin, to relieve his tension through his fur, but the dog was soundly asleep at his feet already, away from his reach.  Away from his reach…just like his owner.

 “Don’t…” He tried to say, gritting his teeth, feeling anguish coming back to bite him right in the pit of his stomach “Don’t ask me on a date out of pity, please”

 Viktor blinked in surprise, opening his mouth so say something but closing it immediately after, and Yuuri sucked his lips inwards in shame. He didn’t want to sound rude or anything, but he was not in the mood for another disenchantment.

 However, as he stood up and his gaze fell to the ground, there was suddenly a strong hand stroking his arm, grabbing him in place.

 “Pity??” Viktor said, forcing their eyes together “The only pity I feel is for the guy who lost the chance to date you”

Aaaaa should I continue this? Is it worth it?

[deathishauntedbyhumans]

Tied Up In Knots

Fuck. Server had a technical error because omegle SUCKS. If this was you, hmu!

Sherlock’s working on a case, and gets himself a little... tied up. Literally. (Contrary to what it seems, this is totally sfw.) 

Stranger: When will you be home? There's a bit of a situation. SH

You: Well, depending on the situation, it might be later than I was planning. JW

Stranger: What sort of situation would make you come back sooner than you were planning? SH

You: What sort of situation is currently in place? JW

Stranger: I am moderately incapacitated. SH

You: Meaning...? JW

Stranger: That my wrists are currently bound to a headboard. SH

Stranger: I assure you that this was for the sole purpose of research. SH

You: ...right. Do I dare ask what you were researching? JW

Stranger: I was testing a theory on a woman's alibi. She and her husband were engaging in... Certain bedroom activities, involving her being bound to the bed, when an assailant broke into the home and murdered her husband, she claims. I had a theory that she was able to free herself, commit the attack, and retie herself. SH I was wrong. SH

You: Obviously. I could have told you as much. JW Christ, I sound like you. JW I've got another patient, and then I'll be home. You can entertain yourself with your phone until then. JW

Stranger: They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. SH How long will you be? It took me forty minutes alone to worm my phone from my pocket to my hand, so you can understand that I've been like this for a while. If you were ever in need of help, I'd be at your side in an instant. SH

You: Right. Whatever you want to believe. JW [slight delay] Fine, fine. I'm headed home now. I got someone to take my last patient, although she's not happy about it. JW You do realise that I'm constantly dropping everything when you get in situations like this, don't you? JW

Stranger: Don't act like you don't enjoy an excuse to leave your absolutely boring job. Especially if it involves me. SH

You: Don't act so cocky. I could always turn around and go back to work. JW

Stranger: I'm simply stating facts, John. No need to get upset. SH But I'd rather you not do that. In exchange for your help, I will grant you one (1) favor. Though it cannot include me moving any body parts from anywhere in the flat. They are where they are for specific reasons. SH

You: No, you're being cocky. I know you too well for that. JW Hm, a favour? Huh. Not a bad deal. JW Alright. I untie you, you have to eat. Proper meals. For at least a month. Including when you're on cases. JW

Stranger: Facts- simply facts. And that's boring and far too inconvenient. One favor can't span over an entire month, John. You'll have to choose something. SH

You: Damn you. Fine. Do I have to choose this instant? JW

Stranger: Yes, as I feel like it might be in my best interest to not allow you time to stew over this. SH

You: You're probably right. JW I'm just around the corner. I'll tell you the favour once I've untied you. JW

Stranger: I usually am. And fantastic. If I stop replying, that means I've dropped my phone and I can't pick it back up. SH Also, I'm in your room. Not mine. SH

You: Any particular reason? JW

Stranger: Your headboard was far more similar to the one at the crime scene than mine, so I had to use it. SH Your bed is actually quite comfortable too. SH

You: Arse. Remind me to burn my sheets. JW I'll be up in a few. JW

Stranger: It was for the sake of proving a woman's innocence, John- that hardly makes me an arse. Are you really that appalled by the thought of me being in your bed? I'm a little offended. SH

You: I'm only kidding, Sherlock. JW It sounds more like you were trying to prove her guilty and failed, than trying to prove her innocence. JW

Stranger: Good. I am no longer offended. SH And alright, fine. Maybe I was, but I was only trying to prove the truth. SH

You: Thank goodness for that. JW You would just prefer the truth to be more complicated than it is, sometimes. JW

Stranger: You can't blame me for wanting to explore all possible avenues. SH And you have to admit that that'd be an absolutely delicious case. Cracking an alibi like that would be extremely satisfying. SH

You: Depositing his mobile in his pocket without responding, John snorted and shook his head. Honestly, leave it to Sherlock to get himself into this sort of a /situation/ with no fail safe to get him out of it. Or... perhaps that was wrong. /John/ was his fail safe, as much as he protested otherwise. Ridiculous man. The thought was tinged with fondness, though. How could it not be? Sherlock was... brilliant. He was brilliant in all the ways John wasn't, and an idiot to boot in a lot of things that John actually understood. Or could claim to understand, anyways. He walked the stairs to his bedroom, very firmly /not thinking/ about the ridiculous idiot tied to his bedpost. TIED to his BEDPOST. Really, Sherlock was making secretly fancying him incredibly difficult, all things considered. Arse. He pushed his door open without any warning to Sherlock, settling his features into a disapproving frown even before it had swung all the way in.

Stranger: The sudden silence of his phone left a small frown on Sherlock's face. A few more texts requesting that John reply were sent, but the sound of the front door opening left Sherlock happily abandoning his attempts to get a response. John's familiar gait ascending the stairs allowed Sherlock to finally drop the cellphone he had been clutching so carefully and settle back against the pillows he had propped up beside himself. "John!" Sherlock greeted, unable to keep the uncharacteristic cheerfulness and relief out of his tone when his flatmate entered the room. "I was afraid you'd make good on your threat and return to work." Of course Sherlock didn't actually believe that John would abandon him, but even Sherlock Holmes wasn't exactly sure what to say when one needed help getting untied from the bed of the man he was absolutely enthralled with.

You: At least Sherlock was clothed. He'd had a nasty feeling that the man would've tried to emulate the crime scene as accurately as possible, and if he'd walked in to see /that/, John could make absolutely no promise to control himself. "I considered it," he stated dryly after letting out another faintly amused snort. He /was/ more amused than anything, but he had to be responsible about this, right? After all, if Sherlock was going to get himself into trouble like this, someone had to be responsible enough to look after him. "But I couldn't just leave you hanging." Grinning to himself at his own rather clever pun --if he did say so himself-- John tugged off his coat and laid it over a chair, laying his shoes on the floor underneath it. Then, he turned to Sherlock, moving to the side of the bed to examine his wrists. "How the hell did you manage to knot these?" he asked, slightly incredulous. The knots were more than good quality; they were absolutely fantastic. He'd seen --and used-- his own fair share, and these were bloody top-notch quality.

Stranger: "As I said before, I know for a fact that you find me far more entertaining than your job at the clinic. Really, I'm surprised you aren't thanking me for an excuse to leave it early," Sherlock drawled in response with a small smile. Though John's obviously self indulgent pun did earn an eye roll from the consulting detective. When John began to take his sweet time removing his jacket and his shoes, Sherlock did his best not to let his impatience show. As soon as Sherlock caught himself squirming against John's sheet, he stilled himself. However, when John finally approached the bed, it took all of Sherlock's willpower to keep from squirming due to other reasons besides impatience. "I didn't," Sherlock explained. "I hired a homeless man to do it for me. He was supposed to wait an hour and come untie me if I couldn't free myself, I even invited him to help himself to the kitchen, but he left. I intend to get my money back." Sherlock glowered slightly before giving a small, futile tug at the ropes, as if emphasizing their sturdiness. "He did quite a job of tying these knots though, didn't he?"

You: "They're too well-done," John said immediately, gaze still sharp and judgmental on the rope. "I'm surprised he didn't cut off more circulation to your wrists." Despite the protestations, he was glad he'd come home when he had. "If you wanted it done properly, you should have asked someone who knew what they were doing." He set about the knots, deftly undoing them. They were common enough that it wasn't difficult for him in the slightest, though he couldn't help the spark of annoyance that Sherlock had asked some homeless bloke to tie him up like this. Annoyance and jealousy, though he was doing his best to quell the latter until he could deal with it by himself. Later. He had the knots undone in less than a minute. With hands that were much gentler than his tone had been, he took a hold of Sherlock's wrists, rubbing them gently and lowering them from the bedpost slowly, giving him the time to readjust to the feeling of blood coursing through his extremities again that he figured Sherlock wouldn't realise he needed to give himself.

[wickedangel276]

12/20/18

Christmas is almost here, not ready! I haven’t wrapped even ONE gift! I have to get on it. Especially the gifts for some friends, they are having a Christmas party Saturday, so they have to be wrapped by then. I hope they like what we got them. I wish I could buy gifts for a few other friends, but only able to exchange gifts with a limited number of people. Finances.....difficult times. 

We have a few Christmas plans this year. Cloyie’s Christmas party on Saturday, she’s making a big dinner with ham and turkey. Then we’re exchanging gifts. Then on New years, we’re having a Christmas dinner, have a huge turkey. And I guess we will open gift Christmas eve, since we have plans to spend Christmas day with family. 

I’ve been waking up early again. Not super early. Like 8-9am. I feel better when i’m up early. I have a lot to do today, and I really need to get motivated!!! I need to wrap gifts, for one. Also, the kitchen and dining room are full of “stuff”. Mostly groceries. We have the tiniest kitchen, very few cupboards. I need to organize the cupboards, and a lot of this stuff is going to have to go downstairs in the basement pantry area. Hate putting food down there, though. I wish we had a good size kitchen, average number of cupboards and maybe a pantry on the main level. I so wish. 

We have been trying to get a mortgage to buy a home. Mark and Nathan were trying together. Neither of them have good credit, so it turned out to be a huge disappointment. The ONLY option we have, is to come up with $20,000 down payment to buy a mobile home and land. I may try a gofundme, but I highly doubt we will get any help. I tried when I had a serious medical issue, one family member donated, which I am grateful for. But no other donations on Gofundme. I’d give anything to have our own home again. No worries that the landlord will sell and kick us out, etc.. It keeps my anxiety up a bit. I just want to be able to relax and feel at ease, feel like I have roots somewhere. No more moving. If you pray, please say a prayer for us, that something will work for us and we can buy a home. 

I hope we got enough gifts for Sierra, we tried. I seen a survey online, people saying they buy like 50 gifts per child. HOW? Unless these people are shopping at Dollar Tree..or are wealthy. But where would you put all the new stuff? Unless you get rid of all the old toys, etc..

Sierra outgrew her 10/12 clothes SO fast. She hardly wore them! Crazy how fast that growth spurt happened. We’ve bought several 14/16s and my sweet cousin is giving me a bunch of 14/16s for her, that her daughter grew out of. So, I should be able to go through her drawers and closet and get rid of her 10/12s. I’m hoping to be able to sell them for a little bit, we really need all the extra money we can get. If we were doing better, i’d give them all away. But unfortunately, we need to get a little money back from them. Hate it. I hope one day, our finances will be different, and we can give back more than we do now.

Speaking of finances. I want to go back to school for psychology/counseling, really badly. But I worry that going to school would be a waste of time. I have several medical issues, one of the most difficult is Bipolar. I have a very difficult time staying focused on anything, staying on track. With anything, even every day tasks. I’m constantly trying to get into routines, and I am only able to do that to a small extent. I have a very difficult time trying to keep a job. I start out happy and enthusiastic, then something shifts. I’ll go into a depression and shut down or go manic and can’t focus, lose my routines and can’t handle it. I feel broken. I feel ashamed that I can’t work. I will try to apply for disability again, soon. I know it’s not a lot of money (The total a married couple can make it $1200 a month, he makes $750 now) - but it’s something. Anything helps. I was SO happy when I was working. I never held a job for very long, but this was the one I held the longest, a few months. I worked at Taco Johns, when I was 19. I rented a small house, lived alone. The independence was amazing. I was so happy. A nice, clean home to myself. lol Uggh, it sucks to have the problems that I have, the mental (Bipolar, PTSD, general anxiety disorder) and the physical (diabetes, hypothroidism, heart disease, pcos, b12 deficiency, vit d deficiency, carpal tunnel syndrome, ibs, a clotting disorder, huge ovarian cyst, hernias, and I feel like i’m leaving something out).

I think I may be hypomanic right now. I’m really chatty and my mind is racing. I just came out of an odd depressive episode. I prefer manic/hypomanic over depression. I wonder why the call it hypomanic... It’s a lighter form of mania, hypo makes me think it’s opposite of manic. With the thyroid, hyperthyroid is over active and hypthyroid is under active. So, hypomanic seems weird to me. I’ve never been full manic, I don’t think... Full mania often includes delusions, hallucinations, etc.. Never had either of those, thankfully. 

My Mom has delusions.....the thought of ever dealing with delusions makes me feel physically ill. Her delusions ruined a large portion of my childhood. She felt that she had an “alien family”, would tell stories about them. Their names, what the looked like. Drew pictures of them. Thought they were sending messages to her. Talked about being on the space ship. She would get into very heated arguments with anyone that doubted her. Often, my Dad or brother. She would get it in her head that people have done things they haven’t done and get really pissed off at them. I remember when I was maybe 12 or 13, my best friend at the time was helping me clean my room. Later, my pet frog died. My Mom got it in her head that my friend sprayed the frog with cleaner to kill it........banned her from coming over and me from being friends with her for quite a while. There we other things I won’t discuss, that she felt happened to her. Then, when she was younger, she told me about one time she had a bat (I think it was a bat?), standing over my brother Neil when he was a child, felt someone wanted her to kill him, then she snapped out of it. Another time, when I was a child, she and my Dad and I were staying at Circus Circus hotel in Reno Nevada.. The middle of the night, she felt someone told her to take the lamp and break out the window and jump. She didn’t do it, but that was scary to hear about when you’re 6 years old. I was told all sorts of crap as a small child that I shouldn’t have heard about until I got older. 

I’ve blogged before about my childhood. It wasn’t ALL bad. I have a few good memories. Times when noone was fighting, everyone was happy. Sometimes we’d play croquet. Watch a movie together. Talk about memories or random things and have a good laugh. Occasionally play monopoly or a card game. I just wish those things happened more than the bad things, you know? I miss the good times. I miss having my family together.. Dad, Mom, both brothers. I only have one brother left now, and we are not as close as i’d like. He doesn’t have long distance, so I get that he can’t call often, but he had a cell phone for a while and he could have called me. I’m the only one to call. Sadly, I don’t call often. It’s hard for me sometimes, to talk to him. Because it’s always the same stuff. Everytime I talk to him, I hope to hear of some progress he’s made. Get a job, or see a doctor and apply for disability. Something! But he does nothing to improve his life. He lived on Mom’s money until she died and now he’s living off my aunt’s money. WHAT is he going to do when she dies or simply stops supporting him? I fear he will come to me wanting a place to live and money for his beer and cigarettes. That will be a difficult but strong no. I can’t have anyone else living here anyway. But aside from that, I remember what it was like to live with him and my family. Always negative. Messy. Love to argue. Stick his nose in my business (He did this with Sierra last time he visited). I remember times he put holes in walls, as a kid he’d get mad and pull his fist back with an F-ed up look on his face like he was going to punch me. No F-ing way!!! I love him, I want to best for him, but I can’t do it. If it makes me a bad person, i’m sorry. My therapist advised me to distance myself from him at least until he gets his shit together. Too much stress on me. He doesn’t give a crap about me anyway. I’ve invited him over so many times. I also asked him to give me away at my wedding, close to the time of the wedding he claimed his car was giving him trouble and he could make it. At least two people offered to bring him, one offered to let him borrow her car, and nope....obviously didn’t want to be there. That hurt. He later mentioned not wanting to leave his cats alone. Yeah. 

I still had a good wedding. Best friends and some family. I had my cousin Alissa, on my Mom side in the wedding, so glad she was part of my special day. :) And then my uncle Robert and his wife showed up during the reception, and I was SO happy to see them!! Having Robert there was the closest thing to having my Dad there. He’s his brother, and reminds me of him in some ways. 

Uggh, I don’t wanna wrap these gifts!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! lol

[theliterateape]

When Crowdfunding Resembles Opportunism or The Greed in Your Ask is Getting Obvious

By Don Hall

I most recently joined the World of Crowdfunding with my new Patreon Campaign. I’m torn as, in general, I’ve seen far too many of these efforts resemble either a corrupt civil servant trying to raise money for bail or legal fees, someone desperately using it as a replacement for medical insurance or Ian Belknap using GoFundMe to help pay for an office space so he doesn’t have to deal with his kids at home while churning out pedantic screeds on Faceborg. 

Go ahead and Google “crowdfunding abuse” and the list is long and ugly.

When Angela Vela asked me to perform a piece about Greed for her monthly show The Seven Deadly Sins, crowdfunding abuse was my target.

Dear Roger –

I know I haven’t been in touch for a while and I apologize right off the bat for not reaching out to you when you got your new job three years ago or when you got married two years ago or when you and your wife had that baby last year. Obviously, you were in my thoughts but I never took the time to connect after college. My bad, bro.

Remember the time when we both got so drunk that we ended up streaking in the Dillons parking lot? LMAO! I barely do. Thanks for bailing us both out, right?

Anyways, I’m writing to you now because I’m kind of in a bind. I wrote some bad checks about two months ago—I totally thought I had them covered but the places cashed the checks before the date I put on them—I thought you couldn’t do that but apparently you can—and the bank is totally fucking me over. Thank god I’m living with my mom, right?

Seriously, is there any chance I could borrow, like, $450 for a while until I get this all straightened out? I’m good for it, bro.

If it is, here’s my Paypal account or you can just send it directly through Chase Pay.

Thanks.

Yo, Rog!!

Long time, no see, right? How’s the wife and kid? I hope great!

The reason I’m writing is to first, apologize for not getting you that $400 back yet. I know it’s been a couple years but things have been moving really fast around here and I’m thinking you’ll thank me once you see how I spent the money I owe you. If you think of it as an investment into something amazing, I’m sure of it.

I moved out of my mom’s house into her garage (I pay rent so it’s not like charity or anything) and decided that I was going to go into a brand new field. Yes, my degree in Contemporary Greek Philosophy is valuable to me but is not what a sustainable career is made of, right?  So I looked out into the world in search of my calling, right? And it hit me right in the jaw—social media. I spend a huge amount of my time writing funny things on Facebook and Twitter, why not parlay that into a full-time career? So...

I’m in Chicago now, and I’m going to take classes at the famed Second City Training Center. You know, the place that spawned the careers of Bill Murray, Stephen Colbert, that guy from the “Sledgehammer” TV show and the voice of Homer Simpson? I figure that a degree from such an esteemed comedic institution is bound to bolster my street cred with companies looking for clever and sarcastic social media responses so I’m currently enrolled.

Here’s the thing: the $400 I owe you went to pay for some of my first eight weeks but once I get my degree and a job writing the Funny Ha-Ha, I’ll pay you back with interest. OR...

Below is a link to my new Kickstarter Campaign to raise the money to pay for all 15 levels of Second City training. I only need to raise $22,000 for this and after all those levels, I’m pretty much guaranteed a spot on SNL which would be even better than writing for Facebook. LOL! Winky emoji.

Any amount is acceptable and you know I’m good for it. A donation of $500 will get you an autographed photo and front row seats at a live taping of SNL!

Thanks!

Dear Roger –

After Second City level 7 and my continued work at Boston Market, I wanted to die every single day of my life and it took me several years to realize it was because of the environment I was in. So, I picked the next best place: San Francisco, which is close to my dad, since we’ve never gotten to have much of a relationship and I like the weather up here. I found a job (I was hired the same day as my interview, in fact) and I put a bunch of debt on a shiny new credit card to afford the move.

I got the job thinking I was all set to write those funny quips on the company’s social media (I mean, I did have seven levels at the world famous Second City, right?) but I was told I’d have to work in support for an entire year before I would be able to move to a different department. A whole year answering calls and talking to customers just for the hope that someday I’d be able to make memes and Twitter jokes. But that’s neither here nor there. Let’s get back to the situation at hand, shall we?

So here I am, 27-years-old, balancing all sorts of debt and trying to pave a life for myself that doesn’t involve crying in the bathtub every week. Every single one of my coworkers is struggling. They’re taking side jobs, they’re living at home. One of them started a GoFundMe because she couldn’t pay her rent. She ended up leaving the company and moving east, somewhere the minimum wage could double as a living wage. Another wrote on those neat whiteboards we’ve got on every floor begging for help because he was bound to be homeless in two weeks. Fortunately, someone helped him out. At least, I think they did. I actually haven’t seen him in the past few months. Do you think he’s okay? Another guy who got hired, and ultimately let go, was undoubtedly homeless. He brought a big bag with him and stocked up on all those snacks they make sure are on every floor. 

I haven’t bought groceries since I started this job. Not because I’m lazy, but because I got this ten pound bag of rice before I moved here and my meals at home (including the one I’m having as I write this) consist, by and large, of that. Because I can’t afford to buy groceries.

Will you pay my phone bill for me? I just got a text from T-Mobile telling me my bill is due. 

Look, I’ll make you a deal. You don’t have to pay my phone bill. I’ll just disconnect my phone. And I’ll disconnect my home internet, too, even though it’s the only way I can do work for my freelance gig that I haven’t been able to do since I moved here because I’m constantly too stressed to focus on anything but going to sleep as soon as I’m not at work. 

If you could help me out, my PayPal is paypal.me/jimmyzee, my Venmo is jimmyzee (no hyphen). Square Cash is cash.me/$JimZee.

Thanks, bro.

Rogerio!!

You've been so generous in the past and I'm trying to raise money to get a plane ticket and funds for the final auditions for the 2016 season of American Idol.

I went to Disney World a few years ago and did the American Idol experience attraction at MGM. I auditioned and got on the show. They do 5 shows per day where an audience picks the winner of 3 performers. At the end of the day, they have a big show where the 5 winners compete for a Dream Ticket. 

The Dream Ticket is a pass to get to the front of the American Idol Audition Line. I performed and won the small show during the day, then won the final show at the end of the day, getting me the Dream Ticket. They don't expire and you can use them at any auditions. I thought I had lost it, but in a stroke of luck (and possibly fate), I just found it in my files at home.

This could be my last chance to do it and I can't live my life wondering,"What if?" I have this amazing opportunity and hoprfully, with your help, I can live my dream and live life to the very fullest!

Thank you for the chance!!

Hey Everyone!

As many of you know, I am a HUGE fan of ULTRA Music Festival in MIAMI. This will be my 14th year attending and marks my 2nd year moderating the Facebook group. I admittedly have put in TOO MANY hours running the group, making sure it is free from spam and trolls. It has been a lot of fun but it has also stolen a ton of my time. I am hoping that some of the friendships I've made will inspire people to be generous and help me make this trip possible.

Normally March is an abundant month for me but this year I am financially "running on fumes." I have spent the last 2.5 months recovering from a broken ankle, which has kept me from working. In this time I have used up all my reserve cash and now with my trip to Florida right around the corner my credit card bills are looming. I will use this money to pay for the flight, ticket, lodging and food for during the trip. It would be the best birthday present if I got a great response.

I will be eternally grateful to everyone who helps out and would LOVE to meet up with you and take some photos at the festival. Thank you so much for your support. <3

–Jimmy Zee

Roger –

I know why you haven’t returned any of my recent texts or direct messages. You don’t believe that I’m actually sick and I guess I don’t blame you. I can assure you, the cancer is real and I don’t have anyone else to turn to. I need $4,500 to help fund a trip to St. John where there is a shaman there who they say can pray the cancer out of me. Outside shot but I’m also told that when your prognosis is this bad, you gotta bucket list that shit, right?

I know I have no right to even ask but, in case you find it in your heart to help an old (31 years is now OLD!) college buddy out, my GoFundMe profile is linked below.

Jim