#some things are true and the rest is blown off proportion

[eruverse]

I’m actually rather passionate at matching H*talia characters with their irl counterparts/nation dynamic. One reason I get pissed off abt Ivan portrayal is sincerely bc what I see in fandom is NOT what I observe personally. Again, I alrd know why that is. I’m wholly neutral to downright Russophilic it actually draws attention from ppl who know me in Discord etc etc

[wisteria-blooms]

sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader) (9/??)

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST AT THE BOTTOM! (Let me know if you'd like to be added or if I've missed you!) A/N: "I'll try to update every 2 weeks." Uh - sorry. This is only edited once so I apologize for any mistakes. I thought it was better to get this out and keep things moving than holding onto it forever! Hope you enjoy. (:

WARNING: Y/N starts to get horny. Short descriptors of sexual situations. Minors DNI!

CHAPTER 9: As the days go on, Charlie's presence arouses some very... interesting thoughts within you. One night, his actions towards another man makes you question his feelings for you. And if that wasn't complicated enough, you get an urgent message from Molly. (6.2k words)

CHAPTER 9: THE PASSENGER SEAT

“This is exactly why I said not to apparate into the apartment!” You shrieked as you shut the bathroom door so hard it nearly flung off its hinges.

Or so you thought. The amount of force you used wasn’t quite sufficient so the door decided to spring back to you like a boomerang. When you realized it wasn’t going to shut, you chucked out a spare towel as a distraction.

“Have you considered maybe,”—Charlie, who’d just apparated into the apartment, ducked to avoid the towel—“closing the door for privacy?”

You took the opportunity to shut the door. “I needed to vent the air out,” you retorted, your voice muffled by the barrier. 

“Sure you did,” Charlie responded, his voice seeping through the small crack below.

“I will vent it into your room, Charlie,” you threatened. “And you’re not going to like it when your room feels like a rainforest.”

“How would you know I don’t like the heat?”

You choked. 

 “Look on the bright side, (Y/N),” Charlie reminded. “You weren’t naked.”

“May as well have been,” you grumbled as you slipped into your room, the humid air sticking to your form as you walked. 

“I’ve seen you in much less,” was Charlie’s response. Barely there, but your ears always perked up for whatever he said. 

You stilled in front of your closet, your face tingling. ”That was one time.”

The day you accidentally walked out in a slip dress in front of Charlie was permanently burned in your mind. So, you’d taken to wearing more in the living room so Charlie couldn’t poke fun of your state of (un)dress. Living with him was proving to be quite habit-changing indeed.

You walked back out in a t-shirt and sweatpants, leaving no more than a couple inches of skin exposed. You were amused to find Charlie on the sofa, tinkering with an artifact. You crossed your arms and drummed your fingers on your deltoid. “Now, will you promise to stop apparating into the apartment?”

“No promises,” Charlie said languidly as he reclined back on the couch, spreading his legs out and continuing to scrape some rust off the artifact with his nail. His fingers were so long—and it was then that you’d lost the ability to speak, the tortuous vision in front of you forcing your mouth agape. 

You ripped your eyes away, pivoted towards the kitchen, and inhaled deeply through your nostrils. You couldn’t, shouldn’t, really, really, shouldn’t be imagining what was laying in-between his limbs. But faster than you could control your impulses, your imagination went off to the races: what did it look like? If the laws of proportion held true and if Charlie’s appendage was anything like his body, it would surely rest thick and heavy in your hands. Maybe it would be red and freckled like him.

You saw a brief image kneeling in front of Charlie, knees digging into the marble floor, your hands wrapped around his cock, mouth parting to accommodate his girth, his pupils blown wide, his blue eyes fluttering close, his head thrown back as his hands remained tangled in your hand, “good girl”—

Holy. Shit.

It was one thing to dream about it in the privacy of your bedroom, but doing it in front of Charlie seemed invasive, and you were absolutely fucked if he had mind-reading abilities of any sort. Given how everything came to him with ease, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was watching your thoughts like a film reel. Red in the face, you went into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of cold water and slammed a scoop full of ice cubes into your cup. You chugged. Not effective. You needed another shower and preferably at a temperature that was below freezing this time. 

Your heart rate persisted its course of flying through the roof. What was this? You either needed to scrub your mind clean of all the Madame Millicent you’d consumed the past couple weeks or just plain get your priorities straight. You abhorred when Fred spread his legs on the sofa or on a public bench. You told him straight to his face that it looked—and was—improper, and it took space from others, especially on the tram or a bench. So why was it that when Charlie did it, you instead wanted to jump his bones?

“(Y/N),” Charlie called out.

“Yes?” You turned slowly, fingers maintaining a death grip on your glass. Here it came: his confession of his mind-reading abilities. 

“Come here.”

You felt as if someone had punched your windpipe. Cracked it into little pieces. How cruel of him to predisposition you to respiratory disease at the tender age of 23. 

You shuffled slowly towards him, a cold sweat prickling your skin because of what he was going to say or do. 

“Sit,” he commanded.

“Where?” You blurted. 

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Here, of course.” He patted to the cushion to his left and you immediately complied. 

“You’re acting funny,” he observed, cocking his head.

“Really?” You questioned. “I don’t think so.”

His lips lifted into a curious smile. You leaned forward to set your water down on the table, grateful that it allowed you to break eye contact with Charlie— a much-needed moment of respite. 

“See this?” Charlie placed the artifact, which you now discovered was a fossil, in your hands. A current of electricity ran through your fingers, each inch of skin blooming with the intensity of a thousand fireworks. And as if that wasn’t enough touch, he swung his left arm around you before finding your hand again. You shuddered when his larger, callused hands covered yours completely. 

Hands. Hands and fingers in your hair, simultaneously pulling your strands and forcing your head down on his cock.

You shuffled your position on the couch, trying to mitigate the growing heat in between your legs. 

Charlie’s thumb brought you back to reality, guiding yours over a ridge on the fossil and onto the ribs of whatever creature had been buried in sediment and imprinted upon the rock. “Bill brought it back from Egypt for me. It’s a Nundu, or at least what they’re known as now, from over five thousand years ago. Evolved a lot since. Pretty neat, don’t you reckon?”

“Yes.”

Charlie pouted. “I thought you’d be more interested.”

“I am!” you said, squinting your eyes and leaning closer to inspect every speck of bone in the fossil.

“I’ve been told you quite enjoy magical creatures.”

You paused. “By who?”

Charlie leaned in, hovering a mere two inches from your face, and teased, “Can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“I was sworn to secrecy lest I be cursed by the fury of a thousand Whizbangs.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Fred? George? Both?”

Charlie leaned back onto the sofa again and grinned. “Maybe.”

Your pulse quickened. “What did they say?”

“Nothing more than the fact you took the elective together,” Charlie said. “I just thought it was unlike you. Why’s that got you all worked up, hm?”

You rubbed the back of the fossil, asking yourself the same question. What did it matter if Charlie learned about the fact that you’d basically flunked Care of Magical Creatures? You’d only taken the class because Fred and George insisted you should stick together, but your fear of the same creatures took precedence and the rest was history. 

“You know how Fred is,” you responded with a strained smile. “He’s always twisting things around to make me look bad.”

But maybe Charlie was telling the truth. If he’d known about your abysmal grade, he’d probably be teasing you ruthlessly right now instead of nodding along with you and saying something like: “He’d never be able to make you look bad in my eyes, (Y/N).”

Heat smattered against your cheeks as your lips parted. There was no part of you that wasn’t molten now.  Perfect, you’d transitioned from a hormonal imbalance to menopause. Charlie Weasley has proven himself terrible for your health, but here you sat, listening ardently to everything he had to say about Nundus.

On Thursday, you walked into the outpatient wing of St. Mungos. Charlie had left the previous day for Hogwarts, leaving you some peace of mind without his presence. And as luck would have it, Healer Tousignant was going to provide you a cure for your issues. She was excellent, wasn’t she? Despite this, you remained unsure. Deep in some compartment of your brain, you wondered how your friends would react if they found out. You’d receive the run-of-the-mill treatment by the twins (“Oh good, you’re finally sleeping with someone? Wait! It’s just a bit suspicious that it’s all happening now, isn’t it?”).

But Charlie? He was a wildcard. You imagined him finding a sleeve of pills in the living room. Would he think you responsible, or would he think you did this out of necessity because you were sleeping with someone else? Which again, posed the question: what did it matter what he thought? Truthfully, you knew. You were far too tangled up in your growing affections for him to not care about what he thought. 

The secretary brought you back to reality and place: the office of Healer Tousignant. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m here for my appointment with Healer Tousignant.”

“Your name, please.”

“(Y/N) Malfoy.”

The receptionist nodded, tapped her quill twice against an appointment scheduler, the light thwacks resonating with your beating heart. She pursed her lips and scrunched her nose. Her glasses shifted downwards as she looked at some blotting ink that was appearing on the paper.

“It seems Healer Tousignant has just been called into the gynaecology and obstetrics department for emergency coverage,” the receptionist said.

“Alright,” you breathed out. You had to thank some higher powers for letting you off so easily. “I can come back another day.”

You were halfway out the door when her voice stopped you in your tracks. ”Of course not,” the receptionist said with a wave of her hand. “It won’t be long. Head to the east wing, fifth floor up, until you find room 5-E. She’ll see her before her lunch break.”

“Are you certain? I’m happy to come back another day if she’s handling an emergency.”

“Absolutely,” she responded with confidence. “You shouldn’t be waiting for more than 15 minutes. Healer Tousignant is very experienced and efficient with deliveries. I hope the change in location isn’t an inconvenience, but you should be otherwise accommodated.”

Plans foiled and any chance of escape thwarted, you dragged your feet to the east wing and took the stairs to prolong the inevitable. When you pushed the last door open, you were almost blinded by sunlight. This section of the hospital was adorned with glass windows and as a result, was lush with natural light. Blooming plants lined the sterile-clean hallways.

Nurses in lavender smocks and perfectly-slicked back hair strolled past you, some pushing carts with meals, others pushing carts with sterilized tools.

You gazed into the smoky windows of a waiting room. Your eyes landed on a pair of expectant mothers chattering excitedly to each other. Unknowingly, you smiled. Their excitement was contagious. Your eyes then trailed to a couple walking out the doors. The female was heavily pregnant and was being supported by her loving, adoring partner—

Her partner being Bill Weasley.

Panicked, you backtracked your steps and turned the nearest corner. You scrambled for safety under the cover of an oversized plant. In any other circumstance, you would’ve loved to exchange formalities, but something told you that you sauntering around the Obstetrics and Gynaecology Wing at St. Mungo’s wouldn’t be a good look, especially after Charlie’s erroneous proclamation about your sex life last week (and you hoped it hadn’t spread much around that little circle of women). So, you pressed your back against the light green wall, trying to shrink yourself so no part of you would jut out. 

Bill and Fleur, thankfully, didn’t even turn around as they walked, much more enraptured by each other than anyone else. You cautiously peered out into the hall to catch the last of their retreating figures. Down the last bit of the hall, Bill cradled Fleur like she was the most precious, delicate, fragile and only thing in the world, even though she’d proven she was as tough as nails. His chin rested on the top of head as they walked hand-in-hand. Thoughts of having lunch with Bill clouded your head, and the maturity and stability he exuded by simply inviting you. Unknowingly, you bit your lip. As Bill and Fleur disappeared, your heart thumped in some mess of emotions you couldn’t discern.

When you were certain the expecting parents were out of sight, you followed the directions to Tousignant’s office. You gave the door two solid raps. 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Charlie asked from the kitchen island as he effortlessly uncorked a bottle of wine. It was late Friday evening, and Charlie had gotten back from the train station with a bottle of red wine and groceries in one hand, and his briefcase in another. “Another tea party?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you responded. You walked into the pantry, looking for some more ingredients to throw together for your impromptu dinner. Charlie didn’t tell you he was coming back on an empty stomach and you thought he’d have taken care of his dinner himself. You were more than happy to have him here, but the miscommunication led to him dramatically proclaiming he was going to die of hunger at your doorstop. 

He was obviously joking because he’d purchased some groceries on the way home.

“Come to a concert with me tomorrow,” Charlie suggested seamlessly as he retrieved two wine glasses from the highest shelf. “I was supposed to go with Bill. We’ve been planning this for years, but Fleur’s due any day now and he won’t leave her side.”

“What kind of concert?” You asked, tossing him a bulb of garlic.

He caught it without missing a beat and responded, “Rock concert.”

“Oh.”

“In muggle London.”

“Ah.”

Charlie chuckled as he switched gears and poured you a glass of Merlot. “It’s not scary, (Y/N), it’s just rock music.”

“I’m not scared,” you retorted, accepting the glass and swirling it around. “I just haven’t been to a concert in ages.”

That was a lie. You’d been to plenty with Fred and George over the years, but going to a concert with Charlie where you might be pressed up to him for three hours was an entirely different concept. Was it a date he was proposing? Or were you just the most convenient thing around to try to fit the tall, lanky gap that was his brother Bill because Charlie didn’t want to go alone?

You drew in a deep breath, furrowing your brows. And then you said something Charlie wasn’t expecting.

“Say you’re sorry first.”

A look, a perfect cross of amusement and surprise, graced Charlie’s face, and he paused midway through crushing a garlic clove under his knife. “What for?”

You let the attractive bass notes of his question float past your ears. “For waltzing in here and telling me I didn’t have a sufficient meal prepared. And implying my culinary skills were insufficient.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Charlie said, a touch more quietly than how he usually spoke. He set his knife down and walked over to you, his height quickly casting a growing shadow over your head. “I figured for hanging out with Fred and George so much, you’d be the queen regnant of taking jabs.”

You pouted at Charlie, trying to take advantage of his apologetic state. This was a dangerous line you were toeing, but you were feeling courageous tonight. “I’m well-aware cooking isn’t my strong suit. It’s been made known to me all my life. I’m trying my best to work on it, but to be put down like that…”

“Hey, hey,” Charlie consoled as he placed two firm hands on your shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“The damage’s done, Charlie,” you whispered, looking down to conceal a laugh, “I’m—my confidence is crushed.”

You waited for his clever retort. What you weren’t expecting was for him to use the same hands that rested on your shoulders to pull you closer, until your forehead thwacked against his hard chest. The very same pair of hands glided back to your scapula, cornering you in and making escape impossible. He had you locked in his sturdy and very hard arms. You had no choice but to get lost in all six-feet something of him.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said, his voice rumbling from his chest and vibrating through your body like you were a conductor to his current. With your cheek splayed against his body, it was impossible to think straight. “I don’t think I’ve told you how much I appreciate you letting me stay here when I need. It’s miles above any other accommodation. You don’t need to have anything ready for me, ever. I’d be fine if you kicked me out to sleep on sofa and kept my room for yourself.”

You were about to burst. It was overwhelming: his words, his warmth, and his sudden earnestness. He was acting like everything you imagined someone like, oh, you know, his brother, Bill Weasley to be. But in the midst of it all, when the situation became lucid, you panicked. What were you supposed to do in Charlie’s arms? Nestle in and show him how lovesick you were, or pull away and give him the impression you were uncomfortable in his presence and didn’t like him that way? The latter wasn’t true, but you didn’t want to spill your unformed feelings to him. 

“It’s alright,” you said, trying to look up at him but only getting a glimpse of his chin. You decided on the most diplomatic solution. Still in his arms, you agreed. “I’ll go to the concert with you.”

It wasn’t like you were going to say no, anyway. You just wanted to make Charlie work for it.

”Perfect,” he said, voice husky in your ears. “That’s my girl.”

If he kept this up, you were going to devour Charlie for dinner. 

Before heading out to muggle London Saturday evening, Charlie suggested you have a drink at the pub. You tried very hard not to let your face show what your brain was thinking when he stepped out of his room in a corduroy jacket, tossed over a shirt, that perfectly skimmed his muscular body. He left his hair tousled and curly. 

In the descending lift, you asked him where exactly the bar was. He refused to answer and instead, led you there, the silence between you only broken by him humming a tune. 

“This is where Bill and I usually go,” Charlie finally said. You’d almost flown past the entrance until Charlie pulled you back by the arm. The tavern was tucked away on a cul-de-sac, completely hidden from the bustling shopping streets. 

Charlie, playing the part of a true gentleman, opened the door and whisked you in. You walked down a short flight of the stairs until the bar came into view. Charlie ducked the low ceilings the whole way down. The space was warm, orange-hued from the wood and lighting, and ridiculously cramped. Or cozy, whichever term fit it better. The bartender—a stout man in his late sixties with a white beard—was chatting with two other men of similar ages. The guests were perched on the barstools, leaving only one of the three seats available. 

“Well, look at who it is!” The bartender exclaimed, his accent tinged slightly Scottish. His proclamation prompted his patrons to look your way.

“Charlie!” one of the patrons spoke. “Finally decided to come home?”

“Who’s the lassie?” The bartender asked. 

You supposed he meant you. “(Y/N) Malfoy,” you greeted.

“I’m Don, owner.” He shook your hand. “This is Henry, and Bruce.” The two men gave you a wave which you returned. Then, Don looked at Charlie and asked, “Where’s Bill?

“At home, with his wife,” Charlie answered.

Don grinned at looked at you. “I like her, much easier on the eyes than Bill.”

You gave a polite smile.

“Sit.” Charlie gestured to the open seat.

“What about you?” You asked.

“I can stand.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“Charlie, where are your manners?” Don barked. “Get (Y/N) a drink.” Charlie quickly moved forward, head almost hitting the ceiling, to pull a glass from the shelf. The way Charlie obeyed Don so quickly led you to think that Don was a parental figure to him. 

“Your reflexes aren’t what they used to be, I’ll get it myself,” Don grumbled. He pulled out five shot glasses. His mouth twisted into a mischievous smile. “Getting old or something?”

“Something like that,” Charlie agreed. “I’m not the same exuberant boy you knew.”

Henry hid his words behind a generous cough. “Aren’t we all blessed by that?”

Don poured you a hefty amount of whiskey and slid the shot glass over to you.

“Loosen up, lassie. It’ll do you some good. Especially if you have to deal with him the whole night.”

You nodded. You clinked your glasses with the four other men and threw back the whiskey. A smidgeon of tears welled up in your eyes as the substance burned your throat.

Don and his friends downed the drink like it was water. ”It’s harsh, but it’ll get you where you need to go.” Then, he peered over at Charlie. “So, what’s keeping Bill at home?” He questioned.

Charlie set his glass down right by yours, “His wife is pregnant, due any day now.”

Don let out a low whistle. “Last I saw Bill, he’d just graduated. Still had his robes when he stopped by the bar to say goodbye before heading to Egypt. Now, he’s got a kid on the way? About time for you too, don’t you think?”

“I’d rather raise dragons,” Charlie said off-handedly. “They’re much more interesting, and less needy.”

“What about you?” Don asked, tilting his head towards you. 

You stopped trying to gnaw the bitter taste of alcohol off your mouth when you realized Don was asking your opinion on child-rearing. “I, uhm,” you stammered. “I don’t think I’m particularly good at raising either.”

“That’s no good,” Don said.

Your face fell momentarily.

“I’m only joking,” Don clarified with a hearty laugh. “What else are you having tonight?”

Charlie pressed closer until his warm chest was flush against your back. The chain around his neck swooped by your line of vision and tickled your skin, forcing some heat to your cheeks. “A pint of Guinness.”

“I wasn’t asking you!” Don shouted gruffly as he pulled a glass. “You should know better to wait your turn, lass.”

Don slid the glass towards you.

“Don’t worry about me,” Charlie brushed off. “I’m going to sit here and enjoy watching her drink this.”

You leaned back, neck falling into place in the crook of Charlie’s shoulders, the metal of his necklace lightly digging into your skin, as you whispered to him, “Why did you order me this?”

He tilted his head down, angling his blue eyes straight into yours. “Because I’ve been told you hate it.”

“Are you stalking me or something, Charlie Weasley?”

“It’s mainly for my entertainment,” Charlie whispered. “Let me break you in,” he said in a much louder voice as he leaned forward. He grabbed the pint and took a swig. Instead of setting it back down, he held it out in front of you. “Your turn.”

You stared at where his lips touched the glass previously. Hesitantly, you took the glass into your possession and sampled a feeble sip of it before making a face which you tried to conceal from Don.

“How is it?” Don asked.

“You have an excellent pour,” you praised. Technically, that part was true. “Do you have a tab started for us?”

Don raised an eyebrow. “Everything here is on the house,” he explained. “I don’t make any money, anyway. My financials are in the negatives. I’ve been retired 10 years. I just come here to have a drink without being scolded by my wife.”

You let out a quick laugh, but cut yourself off, thinking it was rude to have a laugh at Don’s finances.

“You should fancy a laugh at his expense. That’s what we all come here for,” Bruce added. 

A warm sensation filled your body. You felt like a part of the family, and you’d only met these men fifteen minutes ago. 

“How do you know Charlie?” You asked when you felt brave enough.

“Tell her,” Charlie dared, his chest firmly pressed against your back as he picked up your glass again. 

Don coughed. “When this troublemaker was barely sixteen and Bill not much older, they stumbled into my bar. I had a right mind to tell them to get out, but they pleaded with me into letting them stay. I was stupid enough to cave in and serve them a touch of alcohol, whatever was left in the barrel.” Don’s forehead crinkled. “Promise me this stays between me and you, and not the Licencing Wizengamot?”

You nodded quickly. “Of co—”

”Actually, (Y/N)’s father works for the Ministry,” Charlie said. “Surely, you made the connection. Lucius Malfoy?”

“Well, fuck me!” Don said, playfully slapping his dish towel on the counter. “Good thing I’m retired.”

“I assure you”—you stretched a hand forward on the table—“My lips are sealed. I can’t say the same about him.” You pointed back to Charlie. 

Charlie simply looked down at you with amusement.

After Don told you to be on your way, you left his bar gaily, promising to be back. Presently, your boots slapped the concrete floor as you ascended the steps up to the venue with Charlie. When you entered the complex, he stopped by a standing table where the end of the queue for refreshments started.

“One more drink for the show,” Charlie suggested. “I’ll be back. Another pint for you, queen regnant?”

You nodded, watching as he effortlessly glided through the sea of people. His ginger curls stood out like a sore thumb in the crowd. 

“(Y/N)? (Y/N) Malfoy?” A voice rung out on the other side of your head. You pivoted to look to your left. 

A tall, lithe man was approaching to where you stood in wait. He looked about your age and wore his blonde hair slicked back. His bright green eyes, ringed with a line of hazel around his pupils, caught yours immediately. The plastic cup of beer he held seemed dwarfed in comparison to the size of his hand. 

“Alex,” he introduced, extending his hand. “I’m a friend of Draco’s at the country club.” He leaned forward slightly, his pointer finger extended towards you as stabilized the plastic cup with his other fingers. Just a touch of hesitation marred his voice. “He is your brother, correct?” 

Alex gave the impression of regality with his high cheekbones and poised stance. Unlike everyone else who was dressed down in jeans and a tee, he favoured a black blazer over a white shirt, trousers, and a silver watch to decorate his wrist. For all you knew, he descended from Danish royalty, and you didn’t mind curtsying. 

“Yes,” you responded. Your face flushed with curiosity, wondering why Alex found it necessary to greet you. 

”Well, fancy seeing you here.”

“A dramatic shift in scenery from the golf course and resort,” you jested. 

Alex chuckled. “Absolutely less stuffy.”

”What brings you here? You asked. 

You watched as his throat caught, trying to latch onto an answer. As you waited, you thought it was downright puzzling why your parents never tried to introduce you to Alex. He seemed far more down-to-earth than the egotistical brutes for sons that your father seemed to favour. Maybe if you’d met him earlier, you wouldn’t have had to dig yourself into this infinite hole of lies.

He shifted his weight from side-to-side, but gave no other tells of being nervous. 

“A night out with my mates,” Alex explained. “They reckon I need to get out more after my,” he paused, a nervous smile appearing for the slightest of moments, “my girlfriend broke up with me.”

Your mouth rounded quickly as you wondered who’d dump someone like Alex. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear,” you offered your condolences. 

“It’s alright,” he said. “She would’ve hated coming here, anyway. I don’t mind muggle music; it’s quite good. You seem to fancy it, if you’re here.”

“Oh, I’m—”

You froze midway through your sentence when you felt a feather touch of a hand at your hip bone. Gentle enough not to startle you but hard enough to make its presence known. Panic set in quickly and you whipped around, ready to confront whoever deemed it was acceptable to lay a hand on you.

“You—!” you started. 

You were captured by the cloudy, deeper blue eyes of Charlie. You stopped yourself. His hand was still wrapped around you, lingering at your hip with no intention of letting go. You wouldn’t have minded if it stayed there, if you were being honest with yourself.

“Got you a drink,” Charlie said, handing you a cup of beer with his other hand. You gingerly accepted it. His lips were pressed in a tight line, leaving no trace of the usual playful Charlie you’d come to know. 

Alex was silent. Your eyes darted between the two men. Alex and Charlie were similar heights, but Charlie appeared bigger in stature due to his broad shoulders and muscle tone. Formalities would’ve called for you to introduce them to each other, but there was some strange, palpable tension in the air that you reckoned it was better they remained a mystery to each other.

“Let’s get a move on, (Y/N),” Charlie suggested with a flicker of a smile, his hand moving upwards to give your waist a squeeze. You had to will every inch of your being not to scream; you hadn’t prepared for such intimate touches outside your house or in view of people your age. The men at the pub were a different story. “Don’t want to miss the opener.”

“Wait, (Y/N),” Alex called out before Charlie could whisk you away. “Will you be at the Christmas luncheon?” He asked.

“Yes, of course,” you responded.

“Excellent. I’ll see you there.” He affirmed with a smile, before he returned to a group of friends waiting for him. You snuck a glance; his friends’ faces struck you as familiar.

“Who was that?” Charlie’s eyes danced playfully, his usual disposition crawling back from the void he’d stuffed in a few seconds ago.

“A friend from the country club.”

“Sounds fancy,” he mused. “Are you close?”

“Not really,” you said. “He seems to know Draco, so we must run in the same circles. You can imagine how I feel about that.”

“I can imagine,” Charlie said. He led you to the entrance of where you were seated. 

In the darkness and between ear-splitting guitar riffs, you glanced over at Charlie when he wasn’t looking. You wondered why he’d dragged you away from Alex so quickly. There was ample time for the opener, and his intimate touches were as befuddling. They were, as you thought, done in the privacy in your home or when you needed to convince someone of your relationship. Perhaps you were overthinking it. Yes, you definitely were. You recalled when Charlie was overly flirtatious with Cecile, and you were certain he meant nothing of it. 

After the show, you filed out with all the other attendees. Your entire body buzzed. You were about to ask Charlie as to how you were getting home, but he was the first to breach the topic. 

“Can’t apparate in such a state,” lectured Charlie. He guided you out of the venue and down a back alley. 

“Who’s picking us up here?” you asked, pulling your coat closer to fend out the gnarly bites of wind that swept through the area.

“My most trusted driver,” Charlie responded confidently. “It seems he’s just running a minute late.”

Charlie looked down at his watch and tutted twice. That was when the wind picked up dramatically and you hid your face behind Charlie’s shoulder to block it out. Through one cracked open eye, you saw it. A purple vehicle had squeezed through the narrowest gap of the alleyway and then re-expanded to just fit without scraping the sides.

The passenger doors opened.

“Hi, Stan,” Charlie said. 

Stan shut the engine off, removed his hat and bowed. ”Shupike. Stan Shupike, at your service.”

“Good evening,” you greeted.

“Evening, ma’am,” Stan responded.

Stan leaned against his seat to give you room to board. Charlie followed behind you. To your amusement, there was no one else on the bus. All the beds were empty and decked out with fresh sheets and puffed pillows, and the privacy curtains drawn back.

You whipped around to face Charlie. ”How were you able to charter a whole bus?”  

“Stan has been my driver for years. There’s usually a spare bus at the station.”

“Wouldn’t ever trust Bill or Charlie to operate a vehicle or anything after the nights I’ve seen ‘em have,” Stan grunted from the front. “What’s the address again?”

“27 Primrose Gardens.”

“I’ll take you there if they’ll let my janky bus through those pretty, manicured gardens,” Stan said with a chuckle. The doors shut with a light swish. “Ne’er dropped anyone off there since I started.”

You sat down on a bed and held onto the pole for dear life, watching nervously from behind the curtain as Stan shifted gears. Charlie picked up on your nervousness and shuffled closer. 

“Hey,” Charlie said. “I got you.” With that, he looped an arm firmly around you waist, acting like a human seatbelt. His large hand rested on the top of your thigh, fingers gently grazing the fabric of your tights.

You tilted your head. “Thanks?”

“That sounds more like a question than a statement.”

“I do question when you choose to be kind.”

A chuckle escaped his lips. “What does that mean?”

You fell over onto him and onto the bed when Stan took a particularly sharp right turn.

Flustered, you tried getting up. 

“Stay where you are,” Charlie said. “Stan says lying down is the safest, at least according to his driver’s manual.”

“Oh, really?” You asked with incredulity.

“It makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?” Charlie lied down as well. “The worst that could happen is that you roll onto someone else. I’d prefer that to kissing the cold floor with my teeth any day.”

Now that you thought about it, it did seem less frightening, being horizontal. The shocks of Stan’s driving seemed to absorb in the mattress. You supposed you hadn’t heard of any horrific injuries on the Knight Bus, so you were inclined to believe this was for the better. You cautiously descended fully on the bed. 

Charlie looked at you with one blue eye, the other half his face sunken in the pillow. “Did you have a good time?” He asked. 

“Of course I did,” you said. You shimmied around to get comfortable and to let your hands splay out on the on sheets in front of you.

“Do you foresee any more concerts in the future?”

“That’s a possibility.”

“Commit to it. Bill will be out of commission for another eleven years.”

“So, I’m your partner-in-crime for the next eleven years?”

Charlie extended his pinky finger to you. ”Lock it in, (Y/N).”

You hooked your pinky over his and shook on it, but you were barely paying attention to that. There were so many other sights to behold at this angle: the slight slant of strong nose, the quirk of his mouth as he looked back at you, the soft tufts of hair that were basically begging for your hands to comb through, and the glow of sun-kissed skin that seemed unfadable. 

“I figured you’d freckle easily,” you said. Without a second thought, you unlatched your pinkies in favour of skimming your pointer finger over a spot on his face. “But your freckles seem to have coalesced into a tan.”

“They’re relentless, very strong-willed,” Charlie agreed. His eyes were heavy, hooded, and his voice was growing thick and raspy with sleep. “They’re not going anywhere, especially not months under the beating sun.”

As your fingers continued to pad his cheek, Charlie’s hand hovered over a wayward strand of hair that’d fallen over your face. He brushed it back and tucked it behind your ear where it belonged. You smiled at the gesture. You watched his eyelashes flutter over his eyes and a peaceful grin, devoid of its usual cockiness, stretch across his face. He was content to be here like this, with you, with your hand on his cheek and his on yours, you surmised.

You studied the gap between your faces—lips, in particular—and wondered if he was thinking what you were thinking: would this gap be better off closed?

Suddenly, the bus screeched to a halt. The resulting inertia threw you off the bed and onto the floor.

“Ow!” You exclaimed, holding the tender point of your elbow that you’d landed on.

“What’s going on, Stan?” Charlie asked calmly, clearly used to these disruptions. You rubbed your elbow, face contorted in discomfort. Charlie lifted you up with ease and back onto the bed. 

“Owl near killed itself flying into my window ‘ere,” Stan explained. Near was right. The owl was still flying, pecking petulantly at Stan’s window with a parchment in its mouth.

Stan opened the door and let the owl fly in. It hurriedly found Charlie.

“Mum’s owl,” he said as he unfurled the parchment. You watched nervously as his eyes moved left to right.

“Stan.” Charlie’s voice was serious. “Turn the car around to St. Mungos.”

>> NEXT CHAPTER

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

@badgerqueen07 @superduckmilkshake @k-k-merlin @kisskittenn @pluiesdefleurs@lilianelena39 @bathwater101 @evilunicorns4minions @noah-uhhh-what @earth-to-lottie @kissingyourgrl @sihtricswife @adalia-jaycee @anuttellaa @weasley-clan @morks-watermelon @nobodysbabydoll @annoyingbean630 @bathwater101

[think4fkinonce]

"Diet culture is largely rooted in racism and pseudoscience. On a large scale, we need to stop perpetuating it. Nobody owes you thinness. Doctors need to look into fat patients' ailments without suggesting weight loss every time. Diets fail 95% of the time; there are other methods that are more effective for managing illnesses. Larger people need better accomodations in public. "

This. All this. This I agree with.

"There are no good and bad foods."

Well, there's some value to this. All foods provide energy but some are more nutrient dense than others. Some are easier to overdo. Sometimes you need certain foods at the right time. People shouldn't feel guilt or obligation over their food choices. But let's not pretend that different foods make you feel differently. If I "overdo" broccoli, I might feel a bit queasy. If I "overdo" cupcakes, I feel queasy, weak and get a headache. Sugar gets more blame than necessary but some have a better tolerance for it than others.

"If you decide you personally want to lose some weight, you're just fatphobic and hate fat people because you don't want to look like us. It couldn't have anything to do with how your body feels. It's the capitalism in your subconscious."

Nope. This is where I stop agreeing with you. Capitalism has twisted our views but people should still do what they think is best for themselves. "All bodies are different" doesn't exclusively mean some people are fat and some are skinny. It also means that all bodies have similar but different needs and that the people living in them will likely have a better grasp of how certain things will make them feel.

Carrying less weight usually does feel better. It's less stress on the heart. Less energy is burned. Most people know this to be true (and you can't just pretend it's not true because you say it's "anti-fat"). The problem is, restriction and burning off more calories than you consume is also stressful on the body, especially if done abruptly. Another thing, and this is the big one, your body isn't just going to heal itself. It does to a degree but if you're not eating and resting right, it's going to impede that process. We're not all perfect at doing what's right for it but if we pay attention, we can figure out what helps and what doesn't. It's very individual. You need to decide what's worthwhile to do. Not others who aren't informed on your very personal needs.

If feeling worse consistently coincidences with weight gain, maybe you should pay attention to that. Don't learn just intuitive eating, be intuitive of how certain things make you feel as a whole because ALL of it affects you. Maybe losing a few pounds is okay if you think it'll be less stressful on your heart. But if you find yourself miserable in the process, maybe it's not right. It's not so black and white.

What you should be focused on is how capitalism takes advantage of this lack of nuance. It comes from the top. If they can convince you of the limited mindset "weight loss = always good; magic bullet for health", they could sell you just about anything.

Fatphobia has been around MUCH longer than these companies. There are reasons and believe it or not, some of it isn't complete bullshit. Y'know, a nugget of truth wrapped in lies and all that jazz. It's been blown wayyyyyy out of proportion over the years.

Blaming fatphobia on your aunt's diet talk is the equivalent of blaming pollution on normal people for using plastic straws instead of those nasty paper ones that rot in your drink while big companies use the ocean as its dumping grounds. I said what I said. The common denominator is capitalism. Pure fucking greed.

[singaporesainz]

I totally agree on the fact that checo hate is often blown out of proportion. If you break down the checo hate, it comes to 3 things, sexism, cheating and underperforming.

1) he has apologised for his sexist comments, and, as far as i am aware, has not made similar comments since. I think we can reasonably assume that he has since learned and grown. Moreover, other well-loved drivers like jenson button (loml my no. 1 babygirl) have said sexist things and also apologised and it's fine for them but not checo. Seb has also said some pretty questionable things about the grid girls

2) this one is fair, cheating should recieve zero tolerance. But then what about the other drivers who have cheating rumours get pushed under the rug? Carlos, off the top of my head and probably more (i'm not saying these rumours are true, just that they exist and apparently are fine for carlos)

3) again, valid reason to hate him, but it is a bit much. Same with lance actually. It can't be easy with max as a teammate, the team so clearly favour max, and have fans call for your seat to be given away to a guy who doesn't seem to get flack from fans for underperforming

I'm not saying that checo is a saint, and people are entitled to their opinions, but it is my opinion that checo (and lance but that's another story) are getting so much unnecessary vitriol and i have never seen someone else question if it is too much. Anyways, lets not uphold these men on a pedestal and look to them to be a moral compass. Sorry for the essay

i think hating/having distaste for a driver is one thing. and a normal thing. i don't anyone is expected to like or be indifferent to every driver. and like. lord knows i don't like nico and constantly wish for his downfall, but you don't see me running in the streets telling him and his supporters to off themselves or something vile like that. these kids are weird asf for acting that way on social media.

but yeah people who just love to bring up the past is sooo weird. like move on with the rest of the world, ya know?? and if it bothers you so much, then just ignore him and move on with your life?? i will never understand people who make it their life's mission to just be hateful. must be a miserable existence

[theinfinitedivides]

I thought I was seeing things when I first saw the oneus news today. They aren't my ults nor was ravn my bias (keonhee hello) but my friend loves him and I've had to console her all day.

Regardless of if it's true or not, or half true half a lie, it's B A D and I can't really see anything other than him leaving.

At first it read so much like Lucas' situation last year in NCT for me so I was a bit unsure, but there seems to be far more evidence. Also, I'm not one to discredit someone making such serious accusations. It should be taken seriously.

I don't really know how to feel. I was meant to see them live and I do like their music a lot and enjoyed his voice, and now it just feels... empty?

Not to mention it makes me scared. It may sound selfish (because it partially very much is), but it makes me wonder what other group is next. If there's anything else that someone I look up to has done that goes along these lines. It makes me feel sick. It makes me want to tune off anyone I may enjoy watching or listening to.

It just makes me wonder what else is secretly tainted and I HATE that. I really hope this situation is resolved and taken seriously by the company and that he leaves. And to anyone who loved ravn or oneus, I hope you're doing as well as you can right now 💕

i completely understand, tbh—i starting following oneus during their pre-debut days and then really got into them after their official debut in mid January of 2019, which was a really rough period for me since i had just lost my aunt a few weeks prior at the beginning of the month. i think my relationship with them was more of a comfort group than an ult, in a sense? even if after this news i do decide to continue listening to them (which, depending on what RBW decides to do, is still an option) that's the category they'd stay in, although i'm not sure how much comfort they'll offer.

i was also hesitant to talk about it here bc it did feel like the Lucas situation (which still has some contradictory points in my opinion/much less evidence for the case), but as soon as i saw the OP talk about how he gaslighted her and mentioned wanting to kill his ex-girlfriend i knew i had to speak up. on the writeblr side of Tumblr i've been gaslighted and threatened by several users over the years (all of whom i have blocked and reported), so ik how terrifying that can be in my own life. no one should have to go through that, especially at the hands of someone who claims to love them/wants to marry them in the future.

my Spotify library has been..... in limbo, during the last few hours, and i haven't touched a single song from them. it sucks, and it's not fair to the rest of the members, but this isn't like with Woojin or Wonho where we had circumstantial evidence (which was shaky at best and eventually proved to be downright false in both cases), or with Hanbin, where the evidence we did have was greatly blown out of proportion and the actual crime was much milder than we thought. this is a detailed list of allegations with electronic trails, and he has had his hands in most of the group's work. Blood Moon, which earned them several awards, opens the album with a prequel track—an absolutely gorgeous piece and some of their best work to date—where he raps through a lot of the lines with Leedo. i don't know if i'll be able to separate the art from this part of the artist, and frankly i don't want to think about that rn when everything is so fresh.

pls know, however, that you are completely valid in being worried about other groups—not a day goes by where there's a new scandal in the industry and i don't immediately think of some of my own biases, and i wonder if getting into k-pop was worth it. but you do not deserve to have your happiness taken away from you bc of things that have not happened yet (and may never happen) to people that you enjoy listening to.

at the time i'm answering this RBW has put out a statement saying that they're investigating the charges and taking them seriously, but they won't be commenting on anything else until the internal investigation is finished. even if he is proven innocent (which is looking to be more and more unlikely) he's pretty much ruined his career, damaged those of his fellow members, and ended years long friendships with other 4th generation idols. (CyA from onewe [oneus' sister band] privating all of the tracks they produced together and unfollowing him on SoundCloud is a pretty clear sign in my book that this is as bad, if not worse, as we think it is—they've been friends for years, and him taking this step [after most likely trying to confirm the details himself] means both bands are on very shaky ground.) i don't want oneus to disband—not when everything is finally starting to look up for them—but i want people to be held accountable for what they've done. if him leaving is equivalent to that, then let him leave. let him leave, and let the others live in peace. let them come to terms with this, and figure out what they want to do next. let them be able, in the future, to stand on their own two feet, so that fans can hear about oneus and think of their music and their accomplishments. not this.

[tirsynni]

Okay, mild fandom rant time, because I keep seeing this in the Resident Evil fandom, and the only thing I can think of due to the lack of real basis is that people just prefer enemies-to-lovers or that it’s a beloved trope in the fanon.

The bit where Chris Redfield and Leon Kennedy hate each other. Wtf. Where does this come from? Why is it so popular?

We have two -- two -- moments of actual tension between the two in the entire series, and that is it. Wtf.

1) Where the pair meet in RE6. At first, they don’t know who the other one is and that is the only time you see them physically fight. You see them draw guns on each other and hold them on each other even when they recognize each other, Here’s the thing: there’s nothing in the world that could convince me they were ever going to harm the other when they recognized each other. The guns up acted as a barrier as they argued their points. At this time, they were both seriously fucked up but were calming down and talking and I think would have reached a conclusion if fake-Ada had interfered.

2) When Chris and Rebecca interrupted Leon’s vacation/private breakdown in Vendetta.The two argued angrily with each other and were clearly pissed by the other’s inability to see their point. The closest it came to physical was when Chris tried to stop Leon from drinking some more.

Now here’s why I don’t think any of that lends to the antagonistic relationship a lot of fans think they have.

In RE6, despite seeming to be on opposite sides regarding the Ada affair, despite having their guns drawn on each other, they were talking. For the first time in the entire game, Chris seemed semi-calm regarding his teams’ death after a couple moments of talking with Leon. He was actually talking to Leon about this when every other time he just snarled and grew angry. We’ll never know for sure, but I’m confident that, if fake-Ada hadn’t interfered, Chris would have gone with Leon’s argument. He was calming down, he was checking Leon’s conviction. Most importantly, when fake-Ada ran, he quickly agreed with Leon that he would try to bring Ada in alive.

At that time, Chris had been incredibly messed up. He had been beyond poor Piers’s control. He has been angry, aggressive, violent. Yet it took one meeting with Leon to remind him who he was and what he wanted. It was after Leon stopped him and told him that he trusted that he would do the right thing that Chris stopped focusing on revenge and started focusing on doing the right thing. He change his goal, worked hard to be a good partner for Piers, and when he was face-to-face with the person responsible for killing his team, he tried to bring her in.

As for Leon? No one would blame the man for having major trust issues at this point, but he doesn’t hesitate to tell Helena that he trusts Chris. Despite literally just seeing Chris planning to murder Ada, he was confident that Chris would do the right thing and try to bring her in alive. When he said he believed in Chris, everything indicated he sincerely meant it.

Okay, onto Vendetta. I’ve ranted about that scene before, but I believe much of the scene with Leon drinking and the pair arguing has been blown out of proportion. Here’s what is canon: both men had just undergone something traumatizing. Both were reacting to that in that scene. Leon’s choice: going on vacation and drinking. Maybe not the healthiest response but done in a reasonable fashion: off the job, in a safe, out-of-the-way location, literally on a vacation. The fact that he’s merrily day-drinking shows that he wasn’t doing well mentally in that scene. As for Chris? He’s furious, frustrated, emotionally compromised, who the fuck thought it was a good idea to arm him and send him on his merry way? Leon was licking his wounds in true Leon Kennedy fashion by not addressing it and Chris was licking his wounds in true Chris Redfield fashion by aggressively going after his problems and trying to blow them up.

So were they fighting? Absolutely! Was that the last time they fought in the entire movie? Yep! They were both in a rough spot and failing to communicate with the other, but when push came to shove, they clicked. It took no effort after that for them to get on the same page. They worked together smoothly and trusted each other implicitly.

In the rare times we see the pair together in canon, that is the main point with them. They trust each other. Leon states it clearly in 6 and it is shown repeatedly. They trust each other not only in a fight but to have their backs and to make the right decisions. Even after fighting, they show no grudges toward each other. They get on the same page and go forward.

If someone wants to write tension between the pair, it would be remarkably easy. RE6 is a great example of how radically different they each approach their problems. Leon’s game started with his needing to kill a good friend. He is clearly fucked up about it. It’s the first time since RE2 that we see him hesitate to kill a BOW. He is in tears. He is devastated. He screams Adam’s name when he shoots. And then? He doesn’t say another word about it for the rest of the game. Helena repeatedly mentions her sister: after apologizing to Adam’s corpse, Leon doesn’t say his name again for the rest of the game. In RE6 and Vendetta, Chris charges after his problem. He goes for revenge. He wants the bad guy’s head on a pike. In Vendetta, we see Leon literally hide away and drink. They have incredibly different responses to emotional trauma. That could be an amazing source of tension between the pair instead of some strange antagonism.

Hell, I would love to see that possible tension be addressed, but regarding just general antagonism between the two? No. I don’t see it.

[bokutobaes]

inarizaki boys when you have a bad day

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆-with: atsumu, suna, kita

☆-!warnings!: swearing, parental issues, parents fighting, (there’s nothing physically violent), illness like the flu

☆-a/n: yall these are longgg LOL sorry

☆- author: lu <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆ atsumu:

-his baby had a bad day :((

-just kidding he didn’t notice at first I’m so sorry nzjsjjsj

-your lockers are nearby so he’s usually waiting for you there first thing in the morning

-you woke up today with a headache and you were just really tired from studying last night :/

-you wanted to suck it up because it was your own fault for leaving the studying until the night before the test you had

-anyways, you were walking up to your locker lowkey trying to avoid eye contact with him

-“hi tsumu :)” u fricken liar with that fake smile

-“morning babe!” atsumu pulled u in for a back hug “i have to get to class kinda early for a test review so i’ll see you at lunch”

-and with that he was pecking your cheek and leaving

-“okay.. kind of good” you thought.. you didn’t wanna worry him or anything so you headed to you first class, math

-hell literally broke loose.. you forgot your pencil case and had to ask like 4 people until you got one which was embarrassing

-AND THEN the teacher called on you for an answer that you didn’t know like the universe

was against you or something

-“uhh... ummm i don’t know..” headass😩

-the class after that was slightly less dehumanizing but it was also japanese class.. the class you had a test in that you just barely studied for

-you did the test and lost braincells, blood sweat and tears LOL

-“okay class these will be graded by lunchtime so please come by to collect your scores before your next class”

-ogey :/ anyways u went to ur next class and before u knew it, it was lunch time.

-a text from atsumu made your phone vibrate while on your way to get your test scores

-“hey babe im actually gonna eat lunch with samu we’re practicing a bit at lunch”

-oh :) ok :) that’s fine :) not like u :) desperately:) need a hug :) right now :)

-“oh okay babe” you text back

-whatever u don’t need him independent queen

-that’s your mindset.. until you get those test scores

-it’s a literal fail .. did not pass the test.. ok..

-“y/n san, these test scores were not your usual best. I’m slightly disappointed, if there’s anything going on please let me know”

-“thank you sensei. i’ll do better next time.

-at this point you were just tying not to cry so you took your test and shouldered your bag and walked to a bench outside for some fresh air.

-right.. you didn’t bring lunch today

-so now you were hungry, tired, defeated, disappointed and lonely :,(

-the last class of your day went by quickly probably because you were zoned out the whole time

-the end of the day came and you were at your locker when your guardian texted you

-“Y/n, you had that test today right? I’m expecting to see the grade when your back home. Didn’t have time to make food tonight so find something to eat on your way home.”

-oh that test ? lol hahaha the one that you failed?! yeah that one haha lol lollll

-so with that, you started your walk home

-“y/n!!”

-fuck. atsumu.

-if you saw him now you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold in your tears and you really didn’t want to cry

-so your solution? pretend you didn’t hear him and walk faster lmfaokdhdh

-but atsumu, being.. well atsumu, decided to just full speed sprint towards you to put his shoulder around you

-“i literally know you heard me. i missed you today sorry about lun- why are you crying ?!!?”

-“bad day” you choked out before a shuddering gasp wracked your chest

-atsumu didn’t say anything he just wrapped you in a tight hug, petting you hair while you cried into his chest

-“its okay babe.. “ :(

-“you wanna come over? we can get food and cuddle”

-you nodded your head taking a shaky breath

-his hand reached out and wiped your tears, brushed your hair behind your ear and kissed your forehead like it was natural to him.

-and so you walked together hand in hand to atsumu’s house where you ate samu’s leftover onigiri and vented to atsumu about the day while you cuddled

-he also gave you a hoodie :,)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆ suna:

-“living is a chore :|” you thought as the alarm rang through your room ruining your peaceful sleep

-it was raining outside and your mind went back to last night, the screaming match your parents had

-normally you’d be used to it but it felt like they were starting to take the anger they had for each other out on you now

-you tried not to but you started thinking about all the things your mom had yelled to you through the closed door of your bedroom

-“your just like your father. you’re selfish, lazy and all you do is run around with that little boyfriend of yours! what about your family?! you think your better then us? why don’t you move out then since your so good at being independent?!”

-everything she said was always completely blown out of proportion, she lied all the time. it’s exhausting for you

-you started getting ready for school, you wanted to see suna and your friends and laugh and just forget last night even happened

-when you got to school suna was there at your locker scrolling lazily through his phone

-you smiled, genuinely as he looked up and greeted you with a smirk

-“nice hair.”

-“wha-“ you started and then smacked his arm when you realized that your baby hairs were out of sorts “shutup” you scowled

-“good morning” suna hugged you

-“good morning”

-now you were off to class, it always went by too fast, you thought. school was always done in the blink of an eye

-“what’re you doing at lunch?” your friend tapped your shoulder and whispered to you

-“mmm nothing probably why?”

-“let’s eat on the roof today! yui told me there’s gonna be a rainbow cuz it stopped raining.”

-“okay” you smiled

-now at lunch with your friends you ate the bento you had packed before. the rainbow was there and it was beautiful

-you were having fun just laughing with your friends and texting suna while he sent terrible photos of atsumu. things were good, you had forgotten about your mom

-until the end of the day came and you had to go back home

-as usual suna was at his locker waiting so that you could walk home together

-after crossing the street you and suna were at a bike path, trees surrounding the fences

-it was a comfortable silence until...

-“what’s wrong?”

-suna asking took you by surprise, you didn’t think you were acting any different. were you?

-“what are you talking about”

-“you look sad, you did this morning too but then you were fine the rest of the day so I didn’t say anything. but, you look sad again now”

-“oh..”

-so suna just saw right through you

-“ um.. i’m okay.. it’s just ..” you laughed dryly “i don’t really want to go home”

-“did something happen?”

-“yeah.. my parents were fighting, it turned into this whole thing.” you felt a lump in your throat start to form “i don’t really wanna talk about it”

-“okay. you should just come over then, right?”

-“can i?”

-“you literally don’t even have to ask me anymore y/n” suna grabbed your hand and led the way

-when you got there suna hopped on his couch and started putting on something from netflix

-“my parents aren’t home, my sister has a dance thing today” he grabbed a blanket and you sat down, putting your head in his lap

-suna put on a comedy show, of course he would

-he played with your hair while you watched and after an episode or two, he asked

-“do you want to talk about it now?”

-and so you did, you told him what happened last night and what your mom said. your plan was to not cry but that failed miserably

-suna listened intently, he told you the truth, he said that what she said wasn’t true, he told you you could sleepover whenever you needed to.

-kissed you and wrapped you back in the blanket

-“i love you, you know that right? always.”

-he always knew what to say and you loved him for that

-“i love you too, suna”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭ .・.

☆ kita:

-kita knew, first thing he noticed when he saw you that you weren’t okay

-you woke up with a terrible headache, aching body and stomachache

-so this is it? this is hell? ok.

-but the test.. you had a test today. fortunately you had actually studied for weeks because you knew it was important

-mentally? you were ready for that test. physically? you had the spanish influenza

-so you weighed the options and decided you would go to school, take the test and then come back home after.

-the problem with that was that kita would in fact lecture you on all the reasons you should not have come to school

-he was right of course, but you still decided that you would need to avoid him for today

-spoiler alert it did not work

-your test was your third class of the day so you only had to get through 2 classes and you’d leave at lunch perfectly avoiding kita

-this was what you thought while you were at your locker until you closed it and walked directly into kitas chest

-“wow”

-“good morning y/n-chan”

-“morning kita! i have to go or I’ll be late!”

-you ran😭 and you almost got away too but kita grabbed your arm and pulled you to one side of the hallway

-he felt your forehead and both cheeks

-“you have a fever y/n”

-“no I don’t I’m just hot from walking to school”

-he said 😐

-you signed and rested your head on his chest letting your arms dangle

-“why did you come? you look sick”

-“thanks. I have a test.”

-“how do you feel?”

-you told him your symptoms but also that you were leaving right after the test and you could pull through

-he really didn’t want you to overwork yourself but he knew you were set on taking the test

-so he let you go and he made you promise to text him between classes and let him know if you felt any worse

-and off you went

-honestly, you were fine up until halfway through your second class.. then you started feeling really cold and tired even kind of nauseous

-then in the third class your test was put onto your desk and before you knew it your teacher was saying “begin”

-okay. you can do this you thought to yourself. the test was easy enough with how much you studied, you thought about every answer and you tried to finish quick

-but then it was like time cut itself in half and the bell for lunch was ringing

-you weren’t even done the test yet

-“y/n you can stay in here until your done but i expect you to have it finished soon”

-one question left

-you don’t even remember what you ended up putting before you were up and giving the paper to your teacher

-kita was right there when you left the classroom

-“hey ..hey.. y/n”

-you could barely hear him you just flopped into his arms

-“okay I’m taking you home.. “

-“but..”

-“shh let’s go”

-you don’t remember getting there but then you were in your bed smothered in pillows and blankets

-kita came in

-“what time is it?”

-he looked at his phone “half past 4”

-“4?!” you jolted up “did you even go back to school?” “kita?!”

-he smiled at you “no but it’s okay y/n it was only one day. i wanted to take care of you

-you noticed he had a steaming cup of something in his hands

-“what’s that” you asked

-“its tea, but it’s special tea :)”

-“what do you mean” you laughed

-“my grandma showed me how to make it, it’s gonna make you feel a lot better”

-he’s so cute...

-“kita... you didn’t have to do all this”

-“i wanted to” he sits beside you and hands you the tea

-literally tasted like heaven

-“mmmmm oh my god”

-kita laughed and kissed you on the cheek before joining you in the bed

-you cuddled and watched movies on your laptop until you fell asleep, comfortable in your boyfriends arms

[omniscientwreck]

Some of the best things to come out of me and my roommate's high school AU conversation:

- Caleb is a quiet nerd who spends most of high school denying party invitations to study, he's taking AP classes and doing university prep constantly

- Beau skipped from grade 4 to 6, she's the student who's involved in so many things nobody has any idea when she sleeps

- Veth is the single meanest person in the school except for to Caleb and this nerd Yeza who she met because they were lab partners in AP chemistry

- Mollymauk has been at the school for forever, he's failed every single class not because he isn't smart but just because he can't be in the right place at the right time. When he has English he's hanging out in the band room but when he has art he's in History class.

- Essek Thelyss plays clarinet and oboe. He listens to Baroque music and is incredibly pretentious about the superiority of both JS and CPE Bach to any Romantic era composer. He also likes New Wave. He does have a secret playlist on Spotify full of Carly Rae Jepsen, Lady Gaga, and Brittney Spears.

- Fjord is on the football team and nobody knows why, least of all him. He tries out for the school musical as a joke in the 11th grade and finds out he's actually really good at singing and enjoys it.

- Caduceus Clay graduated a few years ago but he comes back to visit teachers and the Nein who he made friends with often. If an adult is ever needed the Nein call him and he's always there within 5 minutes

- Yasha had a rough time with puberty and went through a phase where she was very angry and reclusive and alienated herself from her previous friends. Now that she's found the Nein she's more outgoing and the sweetest person you'll ever meet. She walks absolutely everywhere and somehow always arrives before everyone else.

- Jester Lavorre is everyone's friend it doesn't matter who you are she probably knows your name and at least one thing about you. She's the stereotypical art student who seems to be friends with the art teacher but it's not at all inappropriate. She's a master of bathroom graffiti and even though everyone knows it's her she's never been caught.

- When they talk about the dangers of weed in health class the teacher is going through slang terms for it, one of which is Uk'otoa which becomes a meme with the class.

- Nobody has ever seen Mollymauk Tealeaf arrive to a party. When the energy shifts from 'nobody is drunk and everyone's a little awkward' to 'we've had a couple drinks and everyone is having a great time' you'll know he's there. You just turn around and he'll wave at you from another conversation he's having.

- When Caleb finally does start going to parties you can almost always find him arguing with Yussa over some matter of academia. It ends with them in the backyard doing dangerous magical stunts and getting hurt. Essek sometimes tries to referee but often gets sucked into the showboating.

- Whenever there's a bake sale Yasha and Jester collaborate on dozens of different desserts and they always sell out immediately.

- Beauregard plays auxillary percussion in band because playing only one instrument isn't enough for her brain.

- Mollymauk can technically drive and he does frequently, his car is always inches from a breakdown and he frequently gets distracted. Fjord is a great driver and owns a truck for no discernable reason. If Caleb ends up driving he usually dissociates into the middle distance, not dangerous just not as fun.

- Pumat Sol is the shops teacher that everybody loves. Kids will take shops specifically to hang out with him and make cool shit.

- Beauregard frequently gets in trouble for calling teachers fascists in class and Essek always agrees with her.

- If Beau and Essek are in an English class together they will often overtake the class with an argument. Essek reading into gay subtext, Beau reading into capitalism critique subtext, and Caleb trying to explain why they're both right. The Great Gatsby was a nightmare.

- Beau and Yasha spend ages flirting before finally making out at a party at which neither are drunk. They then go on to found the queer students club and are elected prom queens.

- One time Caleb expresses mild interest in learning a woodwind instruments and joining band. Essek adjusts his schedule to be five minutes late leaving class in case Caleb ever takes him up on his offer to teach him.

- Fjord and Veth are ruthlessly cruel to each other and anyone who doesn't know them would think they hated each other. However, there's a theatre kid named Marius Lepual who they both despise and frequently team up against.

- Molly and Essek run the school's rumor mill. They do a good job of telling Jester or Beth exactly the right tidbit of information to have things blown wildly out of proportion. By the end of any given week there are 5 different versions of the same rumor spreading and nobody knows what's true.

- Jester decides the group chat names.

- One time Yussa and Caleb end up making out at a party when Essek isn't there. He gets jealous and doesn't speak with either of them for two weeks.

- Jester's parents are the ones who will buy the alcohol as long as they promise to drink at home or call them if anything goes wrong.

- Astrid and Eadwulf have been Caleb's friends from middle school. They abruptly transfer to a different school across the city during grade 11 and Caleb is eventually adopted by Jester and Veth and inducted to the Nein after Jester dances with him at a school dance because he's sitting all by himself.

- Molly's catchphrase is 'i have a guy' and he can get anything. Your car ran out of gas at 3am and no stations are open? He'll be there in 15 minutes with a jerry can. You need a paper for 12th grade English on Catcher in the Rye? Give him a day.

- Mario Kart tournaments always devolve into Veth and one other member. Controllers have been thrown and friendships nearly ruined over blue shells.

- The year the Nein graduate the staff are so worried about their senior prank that they nearly cancel class. The prank doesn't happen and they're lulled into a false sense of security until the next fall when they retroactively pull off the most elaborate prank in the schools history.

- When the rest of the Nein are in the 11th grade Molly just fucks off for a year. None of them know where he went, they keep receiving oddly nondescript postcards telling them he's fine and having a blast. When he returns the next summer all he says when they ask where he was is "don't worry about it"

[dreamescapeswriting]

BTS Reaction || He Accidentally Hurts You [Request] [TW]

A/N: I Do not condone the hitting of a partner unless you know it’s play fighting but please know that there are mentions of slapping and hitting BY ACCIDENT within this reaction post. Love you All. Stay Safe.

PS: If there are some spelling errors I’m sorry, I wrote these while I was sitting in A&E with my mum lmao (Everythings chill she just had an xray)

Seokjin:

The fight all started over something so microscopic that it didn't even need to be a fight but it was being blown out of proportion. You'd gone out shopping with Jin, and Jimin for an upcoming event when you decided to go for lunch, everything was fine right up until the moment you had to pay. You wanted to treat them both so you took out your own card getting ready to pay when Jin decided to rush before you and do it. Something that would happen quite a lot but it was what he said when you got back to your shared apartment that bothered you and started the fight.

"I know how much you struggle with money." Those eight little words that made you feel like your heart had stopped, you and Jin didn't fight a lot but when you did it was always about money. He saw it as his right to pay for everything when you were out and about and maybe it was because of how he was brought up or he was just stuck in his ways but it annoyed you.

"I can pay for whatever I want, I work for a living I have a good job." You told him as you went to get changed thinking the subject would be dropped but it only continued and now you were standing in the bedroom yelling about how you didn't need his money,

"I looked after myself before you came along." You told him and he scoffed at you,

"Barely, you got kicked out of four apartments because of late payments." You hadn't even told him about them meaning he'd done a background check on you or had someone find out more about you.

"How did you know about them?" He fell silent and turned away from you not wanting to get into it but you wanted answers,

"Jin?" You questioned getting closer to him but he wasn't paying attention and turned around too fast catching your cheek with his hand and it connected making a loud slapping sound.

"Shit." You yelled stumbling backwards and sitting on the edge of your bed as you held your cheek, Jin was in front of you in a second holding your face and trying to see if you were okay,

"I'm so sorry! I didn't know- I wasn't- I-"

"Jin," You warned as he tripped over his words trying to talk to you, he frowned and turned your face towards the light. You had a giant red mark where his hand had come into contact with your skin, he began swearing in Korean as he studied your face before going to look for a cold flannel.

"Don't you dare say it's fine." He warned as he walked back into the bedroom and laid the wet cloth across your skin, you stared at him and he was tearing up it was the last thing Jin ever wanted to do.

"It was an accident Jin, I understand." He shook his head at you dramatically which made you giggle softly,

"You should be mad, you should make me sleep on the sofa." He told you as he held the cloth to your cheek but you could never do that to him, you placed your hand over the top of his and he relaxed a little more.

"I was too close, you didn't know. It was an accident." He groaned as you were being so understanding it was one of the many things he loved about you, you always tried to look on the brighter side of things rather than dealing with the negative.

"You sure you're okay?" He questioned you and you nodded at him,

"Positive." You whispered snuggling your face against the cloth and his hands trying to make him relax, you knew what he was like he would think about nothing but this for weeks to come.

"I love you." You whispered leaning up and giving him a kiss,

"Love you too." He kissed you back.

Yoongi:

"Fuck sake! You could have done anything but that was too much!" He yelled at you for what felt like the 100th time that day, you'd gone out together that morning for a breakfast date and the waitress was flirting with him. At first, it didn't really bother you because people would flirt with Yoongi all of the time but this time it annoyed you, whenever she would come over to the table she'd flirt with him and ignore you and it got to the point where it felt as though he was flirting back. Though it was something Yoongi would never do to you because he loved you a lot,

"She was flirting with you, what was I supposed to do?!" You yelled back at him, you'd been in the fight all day and it was starting to get late. All you wanted to do was go to sleep but he kept bringing up that ''accidentally'' pouring a glass of water over someone was wrong,

"Yoongi let's just go to bed, I'm tired." You told him but he didn't care, he was mid-rant and continued yelling at you, at that point you weren't even paying attention to the words he was saying. You'd been fighting all day about something that seemed so insignificant now but Yoongi wasn't going to drop it, he never could. He always knew how to hold a grudge but you didn't see why he was busy defending the waitress.

"I'm going to bed." You mumbled getting up from the sofa and walking past him, you'd just gotten to the door when his hand clasped around your wrist to stop you from moving, something he did a lot but this time it was tight.

"Yoongi?" You questioned but he began yelling again,

"We have to talk about this, you can't walk away just because you don't want to." He yelled at you but you were too busy trying to get his grasp off your wrist, it was starting to hurt and it was like he hadn't noticed that every time he yelled his grip would tighten on you.

"You're hurting me." You whimpered and that was all it took, the fight ended and he pulled you close to his body rubbing your wrist in a soothing motion and checking it over as you sat on the floor together.

"I'll get you some ice for it." He rushed off leaving you alone for a couple of seconds before returning with ice in a ziplock back and a tea towel to wrap it around.

"Yoongi it's fine." You told him as you moved your wrist around but it wasn't about that to Yoongi it was about the fact that he'd just hurt you,

"No it's not, I hurt you." He mumbled as he iced your wrist that wasn't even hurting anymore.

"You didn't mean to." You whispered and he let out a sniffle so you knew he was crying about it so you took his face in your hands and made him look at you.

"Yoongi, I'm fine, it's fine. It was an accident." He nodded at you and he pulled you into his arm looking at the small red mark where his hand had been. Your head rested on his shoulder and he kissed your nose,

"Can we go up to bed now? I'm tired." You whispered to him and he nodded letting you get up from his lap and walk up the stair first while he put the ice away.

When he came up the stairs you were laid in the bed in one of his basketball shirts and waiting for him to cuddle you to sleep, he smiled softly at you and went to get ready for bed happy that you weren't going to hold it again him and you weren't, you knew it was a genuine accident.

Hoseok:

"You don't even get it do you?!" He yelled as you walked through the front door of your apartment, you and Hoseok had gone out for a drink and you ended up dancing together but someone else came to dance with you. You were too busy having fun to notice that it wasn't Hoseok until you turned around to see Hoseok wasn't there anymore but was being pulled out of the club for punching the guy in the face.

"Hobi, I didn't know it wasn't you. I didn't even hear you hit him!" You yelled back at him, he'd been scolding you like you were some teenager that had snuck out in the night.

"He was all over you." He grumbled pushing past you angrily as he wanted to calm down but felt like he couldn't,

"His hands touching you and you just let it happen." You watched as he walked into the kitchen to get himself a drink of water to calm down with but you following him wanting him to face you and talk to you.

"You trust me though right? You trust me that I didn't know it wasn't you?" He shrugged your shoulders and you felt your heart shatter,

"You don't trust me?" He turned towards the sink ignoring your question and drinking from the glass in his hand,

"Hobi?" You questioned but he continued to ignore you,

"If you don't trust me then what's the point in us being together?! I trust you to be halfway across the world surrounded by beautiful women and yet-" You didn't get to to finish your sentence because the glass he was drinking from was thrown at the wall behind you smashing and sending glass shards around the floor and into the back of your leg. You didn't even notice that he'd hurt you until he was on the floor in front of you and trying to stop some blood trickling down your leg.

"Oh shit." You giggled because of the alcohol and sat on the kitchen chair but Hobi was rushing over to the sink and getting the first aid kit you kept under there.

"Hobi, it's nothing." You told him as you saw the tiniest cut on the back of your leg,

"It's not nothing, you're fucking bleeding." He was mad at himself for being able to throw something even in your direction, he didn't mean to but every emotion he had was heightened because of the drinks he'd been having all night,

"Hobi, I've done worse when I've been shaving." It was true, the cut was so microscopic it was nothing compared to leg shaving accidents you had one a week.

"I hurt you." He was crying now and you dropped onto the floor in front of him and cupped his face in your hands,

"We're both drunk, or tipsy. It was an accident and it doesn't hurt." You tried to tell him but he was never going to forgive himself as easily as you'd forgiven him.

"It's not an excuse Y/n, I could have seriously hurt you."

"But you didn't." You pleaded but he was moving away from you, you watched as he got the blankets and pillows out from storage and began putting them on the sofa.

"I'll sleep down here tonight," You raised an eyebrow at him,

"We don't fit on the sofa together, we tried remember?" He stared at you and shook his head,

"No, you're going upstairs."

"No I'm not. I won't sleep without you." You folded your arms across your chest and he stared at you, he knew how stubborn you were when it came to these types of things.

"Fine, but I won't cuddle you will." He said as he put the blankets back into storage,

"You will." You called out as you walked up the staircase to your bedroom.

Namjoon:

It felt like Namjoon had only just gotten back and now he was leaving again, you didn't want to spend the last day you had together fighting but that's exactly what was happening. He was standing in the bedroom trying to pack up his suitcase when you questioned him about when you'd see him again, an innocent enough question but he was stressed out enough without you questioning him more about something he didn't have the answers to,

"I don't know." He mumbled as he folded up clothes and put them into the huge suitcase, it was one that you'd had painted for him. It was a black suitcase with his album art on the front and back.

"Okay, well can I call you when you get to the hotel?" He groaned at you and you looked at the floor, you didn't want to annoy him but you wanted to know when you could talk to him again.

"Fuck I don't know Y/n! Will you just back off?!" He yelled and you stepped away from him going over to the desk in the room and going to study instead of getting on his nerves.

"Why do you have to go on so much?" He asked and you stared at him, you hadn't spoke since the last question and yet he kept talking, it was as if he wanted to start a fight.

"I was just asking when I'd seen you again, I feel like I haven't seen you much."

"You know how it was going to be when we first started dating." He mumbled to you and you nodded in agreement, you were over it now and you thought he was too.

"Do you want me to cook tonight or shall I order something?" The next thing you knew Koya was thrown in your direction and he hit you in the eye. He swore in Korean and sprinted to be in front of you, you held your hand over your eye and he slowly moved it away wanting to see if he'd hurt you,

"I can't open my eye." You groaned as he sat you down on the chair behind you and then left, he came back with a wet cloth and held it over your eye.

"I can't believe I just did that-"

"It was an accident, you're just clumsy." You giggled but he shook his head at you, you weren't supposed to just forgive him like this, you were supposed to get mad at him.

"But I hurt you," You took the cloth from your eye and opened it looking at him with a smile,

"It's fine. He probably just scratched it, it's okay." But your eye was already turning red and Namjoon felt terrible,

"He slipped from my hand, I just got annoyed...I've been stressed in the studio-" You kissed him to shut him up,

"Don't worry about it, take out it is though. I don't want to cook and you definitely aren't cooking for me." He stared up at you as you smiled down at him and he wondered how he ended up with someone so understanding,

"Joonie?" You called out and he was snapped from his daydream.

"Can we get pizza? Or do you fancy something else?" You questioned and he stared at you,

"We can have whatever you want, my treat." You nodded and went on the hunt for a menu while he continued packing up his bag.

Jimin:

Everyone knew how Jimin got when he was drunk, he was like a child who'd had too much sugar and was always jumping around the place which is why you were the sober one of the group that night. Namjoon helped you drag Jimin into your apartment and put him to bed where he promptly passed out,

"Thanks, Joon." You said as you looked up at him he sent you a smile and nodded, you and Namjoon had been friends for years, long before you and Jimin began dating and it was nice to have him as a friend still.

"Anytime," He told you bending down and wrapping his arms around you, as he left you noticed Jimin was awake and staring at you from the bed.

"You hug everyone like that?" He asked in a dramatic tone, he got out of the bed and looked out of the window to make sure Namjoon was gone.

"He's a friend Jimin, your friend." You reminded him but he didn't seem to care in his drunken state,

"Do you hug all of them like that?"

"Like what?" You questioned at what he was implying and he slurred over his words,

"Like you're long lost lovers." You raised an eyebrow at him and he nodded at you,

"That's what I thought!" He yelled and you shook your head at him walking away since he was acting like a child with you.

"Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you." He ordered grabbing your wrist and turning you around but he spun you around a little too quickly and you fell back into the wardrobe door hitting your back and crying out in pain. As soon as he heard your cry he sobered up and dropped to his knees in front of you,

"You okay?!" He panicked and you nodded at him and he reached to touch your back rubbing it gently and earning a hiss from you,

"You're not okay, you’re hurt.” He said in a rush as he realised just how hard he made you hit your back against the wooden door.

“Jimin, it was just a shock.” He helped you to your feet and you began walking towards the bed where he sat you down and lifted up the back of your shirt to see if there was any kind of mark from it,

“I’m such an idiot.” He grumbled but you pushed him to lay down so you could lay down beside him, it didn’t hurt you were just in shock from the impact and the door had brusied you the tiniest amount.

“You’re my idiot.” You whispered to him and he sighed at how easily you forgave him.

Taehyung:  

It didn’t take a genius to know that Taehyung was upset and mad about something but he wasn’t talking to you so you couldn’t determine what it was, he’d been like this all day. Whenever you’d ask him a question he would pass it off and ignore you or he would grumble something in reply and not explain anything.

“You have to talk to me sooner or later, we live together.” You reminded him but he kept his eyes locked on his screen as he type away at something, you were slowly starting to get more and more annoyed at him as time went on.

“Taehyung talk to me.” You pouted as you poked his cheek only for him to erupt into a rage,

“Why don’t you go and talk to Jin since he’s your best friend!” He yelled moving away from you on the sofa and going over to the kitchen, you stared at him wondering what he could have meant by that when it hit you.

“Tae, it was just a joke.” Jin had made a passing comment that morning about how close you and he were after spending the day cooking the day before but Taehyung didn’t like it.

“You’ve always found him better than me.” You rolled your eyes at how childish he was acting and that was all it took, he began yelling at you and you started yelling back, neither of you meant what you were yelling but it was just something that happened.

“Fuck off Tae! It was a passing comment, I love you not Jin.” But Taehyung brought up about the fact that Jin was your bias before you started dating and he kept talking about how much he knew you really wanted to be with Jin instead.

“Because you know I’m right, don’t you?” His hand swung backwards as he went to turn away from you and it came into contact with your cheek, the sound silenced the fight and both Tae and you stood there in shock. Your hand slowly went to your cheek and he panicked rushing over to you and checking you were okay,

“I didn’t mean to baby I’m sorry.” He forced you to look at him and you smiled softly at him, it didn’t hurt at all it was just the shock of him hitting you at all,

“It was an accident, I just swung out my arm and caught you.” He looked as though he was about to burst into tears so you shook your head at him reassuring him that you were fine and it was nothing but a little shock,

“I will never hit you again, ever.” He promised as he pulled your head against your chest rubbing the small of your back and kissing the top of your head over and over again.

“I’ll cook tonight, or we can order in. I’ll make this up to you.” You pushed him away when you felt a wet droplet roll down your back.

“Baby, it’s okay. I’m fine I promise.” He kissed you over and over again on the lips and he shook his head at you, he wasn’t going to let himself get away with it he felt terrible but you kissed him back and he relaxed a little more.

Jungkook:

Jungkook had been playing video games all morning and you were getting bored, it was supposed to be your anniversary and he’d clearly forgotten all about it which made you upset but you didn’t mind. You knew how busy he was and that this time was his break away from work and he didn’t need you weighing him down about it more so you forgot about it. Trying to push on with your day when you heard him screaming at the monitor, you looked up from the book you were reading.

“Stupid fucking game.” He grumbled before starting up another match and ignoring your looks from across the room, you were going back into the book when you heard him yelling again.

“Keep it down Kookie.” You giggled but he wasn’t in the mood, he turned to look at you and scoffed.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and get me something to eat.” You stared at him from across the room book in your hand and your eyebrow cocked up to the side.

“Excuse me?” You questioned and he went back to ignoring you and concentrating on the game proceeding to yell about dying so much before you finally had enough and turned off the console.

“What the fuck?!” He yelled at you rushing to his feet and staring at you,

“What did you say to me?!” You questioned about before and he shook his head at how childish you were bing with him.

“I said to make me something to eat,” Then you began yelling back and forth at one another, you didn’t fight often which is why whenever you did eventually end up in a fight it was nothing but yelling and screaming before you finally both calmed down and talked about your problems instead of yelling about them.

“You’re such a child.” You yelled at him and he went to yell something back while flinging his arms in the air but the controller he was holding slipped from his hands and in your direction, hitting your wrist and making you curse loudly.

“Fuck Kook!” You yelled dropping your book and staring at the now red mark where the controller had hit you,

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” He yelled out, he’d calmed down from the fight and he rushed to your side turning your wrist over to make sure he hadn’t broken it or bruised you but it looked like it was just going to be red for a couple of hours,

“I didn’t mean to it just slipped” He told you as you held your wrist in your hand trying to ignore the throbbing pain that was coming from it.

“It’s fine,” You whispered back to him and he pulled you gently over to the sofa, both of you sitting there and talking about the problem, he was holding your hand the entire time and gently running his hands over your wrist in a soothing way to stop it from hurting so much.

Tagline: 

@yoongisdumplingcheeks @snowy-meowl @lynnthevirgo @kpopfanfictionhoes @yourguessisasgoodasminemate @btsiguess-kpop @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @rjsmochii @callingmyangel

[willwriteforhugs]

the boy in the bookstore (part two)

in which you meet a suspiciously handsome boy in your favorite bookstore- but are not cultured enough to know his true identity.

part one 

ateez scenario 

yeosang x (fem) reader

word count: 1k

g: fluff, angst if you’re a sensitive bitch

warnings: none for this part! 

a/n: thank you so much for the positive reception on my recent posts! i hope you continue to enjoy them :) also, if you haven’t read part one, it is linked at the top of this post. make sure you read that one first! (p.s. merry christmas to those who celebrate!)

part two

a week has passed since you'd met yeosang. though the meeting had been brief, you catch yourself thinking about it quite a bit. at some point during the week, you had realized how little he had said. you had talked about yourself the whole damn time.

whatever, you think. i'll probably never see him again anyways.

but, as stories tend to go, this is not to be.

the date is november 20th, and you finally have a day off. no class, no work, nothing. you can't help but feel this is deserved. you work your ass off almost every day, so this break is very much needed. you spend your morning in bed, lazily watching tv shows and drinking iced coffee. around noon, you force yourself out of bed.

you dress yourself casually to run a few errands.

1- grocery store. you need cereal and fruit.

2- the office supply shop. your work's office is out of staples, and you'd drawn the short straw.

3- the bookshop. you told yourself you were going because you'd missed mrs. seon last time, but in reality, there is someone else you're also hoping to see.

the bookshop was quiet, as always. you don't plan on purchasing anything, though a few things catch your eye. ten minutes pass, and you finally see mrs. seon.

"oh- mrs. seon! hello!"

the small old woman does a full 180, her face lighting up. "oh, y/n! oh dear, it's been too long."

you nod in agreement, accepting her tight embrace. "i know. my fault." you pause. "i did visit last week, but you weren't in, so."

the woman grins and clicks her tongue. "oh yes, i knew you'd been here."

you falter at that. "what do you mean?"

her smile doesn't break. "well, lately there's been a handsome young man asking around for a girl who could only be you."

your mind goes blank. what did she say?

mrs. seon nods. "yes. he says his name is yeosang, and the girl he seeks is called y/n. so yes, has to be you." she clucks her tongue again. "i can't blame the boy, either. you are such a beautiful girl." she gives an adorable attempt at a wink.

your heart skips a beat. yeosang had been here? looking for... for you? yeosang, this boy who had seemed so cold and distant? this was not adding up...

the old woman chuckles, clearly reading your face. "he's in the back, y/n-ah. go have fun, or do whatever qualifies as flirting for you young people." and with that, she turned and walked away.

a beat passes, and suddenly your feet are moving. you're heading back to where this started. (involuntarily. you seem to have no control over your body.) as you round the final corner, you hesitate. are you getting ahead of yourself? has this been blown out of proportion? what if-

"hey." you snap back to reality, and there he is. he looks different today- almost like he tried harder. his birthmark is no longer visible, and his lips are tinted a blush pink. his lips....

"hey." he says again. this time, you meet his eyes.

"hello, yeosang." you say in a whisper. "i heard you were looking for me."

his body shifts slightly, angling himself towards you. a blush creeps up his neck, and he must feel it, because he moves his hands to his jaw.

you're blushing too, but you step further into the room. after a moment, he begins to speak.

"listen, i know this feels weird, but i really enjoyed that conversation we had last week. it probably looks like i'm stalking you, but i'd really just like to hear you talk. more. i guess." he coughs. "you know."

you spare a smile. "okaaay," a thought occurs to you. "i'll make you a deal." you say.

he raises an eyebrow, silently telling you to continue.

"i'll let you listen to me talk if you do the same. i wanna hear about you."

he pauses. "i guess i can do that."

you nod your head, then use it to gesture to the front of the store. "let's go, then."

"wait, now? like a date?"

"hey, i never said anything about a date. that was your doing. you didn't have to make it weird." at this, the boy flushes and rolls his eyes, but follows you out of the room anyway.

you don't leave the bookshop, but you find yourself sitting on the far end of the store, snuggled into one of the age-old yellow armchairs that sit by the fireplace. yeosang sits across from you, legs apart, with his elbows resting on his knees, and his chin resting on his hand. his gaze is intense and calculating, and you instantly feel self-conscious.

"so," he starts. "what were you wanting to do? play 20 questions, or something?"

"well, no. but now that you've suggested it, i'm changing my answer to yes. you wanna go first?"

he leans back, tilting his head to one side. "i guess. you said you were a student. what do you study?"

"journalism."

he nods, looking slightly impressed. then he gestures towards you, indicating that it was your turn. the quickness of this exchange surprises you, but you like it. yeosang seems to be a "no-bullshit" kind of guy... straight to the point and back. you appreciate that.

"okay....when and where were you born?"

"that's two questions, so i'm only answering the first. june 1999."

you make a face. of course he's that type of game player.

he continues talking. "so i get that you're in uni, but do you work as well?"

"yes, i work at a publishing firm. only as a secretary, though. so what do you do?"

for the first time, yeosang falters. "uh, i work in music. producing and stuff." he says vaguely, avoiding your gaze.

"oh, really? funny, considering that i was almost an idol...that's really cool, though."

for the next thirty minutes, this conversation continues. questions like "what's your favorite food?" (yeosang's is fried chicken and yours is kimchi stew) and "do you like to dance?" (yeosang says yes and you say no) are tossed around, but neither you nor your counterpart ask the questions that your hearts want to.

edit: part three is up now. thank you for reading!!

[phroyd]

One of our Great Comedians leaves us this day! Rest In Peace, Jackie! - Phroyd

Jackie Mason, whose staccato, arm-waving delivery and thick Yiddish accent kept the borscht belt style of comedy alive long after the Catskills resorts had shut their doors, and whose career reached new heights in the 1980s with a series of one-man shows on Broadway, died on Saturday in Manhattan. He was 93.His death, at Mount Sinai Hospital, was confirmed by the lawyer Raoul Felder, a longtime friend.Mr. Mason regarded the world around him as a nonstop assault on common sense and an affront to his sense of dignity. Gesturing frantically, his forefinger jabbing the air, he would invite the audience to share his sense of disbelief and inhabit his very thin skin, if only for an hour.“I used to be so self-conscious,” he once said, “that when I attended a football game, every time the players went into a huddle, I thought they were talking about me.” Recalling his early struggles as a comic, he said, “I had to sell furniture to make a living — my own.”The idea of music in elevators sent him into a tirade: “I live on the first floor; how much music can I hear by the time I get there? The guy on the 28th floor, let him pay for it.”

The humor was punchy, down-to-earth and emphatically Jewish: His last one-man show in New York, in 2008, was titled “The Ultimate Jew.” A former rabbi from a long line of rabbis, Mr. Mason made comic capital as a Jew feeling his way — sometimes nervously, sometimes pugnaciously — through a perplexing gentile world.“Every time I see a contradiction or hypocrisy in somebody’s behavior,” he once told The Wall Street Journal, “I think of the Talmud and build the joke from there.” Describing his comic style to The New York Times in 1988, he said, “My humor — it’s a man in a conversation, pointing things out to you.”“He’s not better than you, he’s just another guy,” he added. “I see life with love — I’m your brother up there — but if I see you make a fool out of yourself, I owe it to you to point that out to you.”He was born Yacov Moshe Maza in Sheboygan, Wis., on June 9, 1928, to immigrants from Belarus. (Some sources give the year as 1931.) When he was 5, his father, Eli, an Orthodox rabbi, and his mother, Bella (Gitlin) Maza, moved the family to the Lower East Side of Manhattan, where Yacov discovered that his path in life had already been determined. Not only his father, but his grandfather, great-grandfather and great-great-grandfathers had all been rabbis. His three older brothers became rabbis, and his two younger sisters married rabbis. “It was unheard-of to think of anything else,” Mr. Mason said. “But I knew, from the time I’m 12, I had to plot to get out of this, because this is not my calling.”

After earning a degree from City College, he completed his rabbinical studies at Yeshiva University and was ordained. In a state of mounting misery, he tended to congregations in Weldon, N.C., and Latrobe, Pa., unhappy in his profession but unwilling to disappoint his father.Hedging his bets, he had begun working summers in the Catskills, where he wrote comic monologues and appeared onstage at every opportunity. This, he decided, was his true calling, and after his father’s death in 1959 he felt free to pursue it in earnest, with a new name.He struggled at first, playing the Catskills and, with little success, obscure clubs in New York and Miami. Plagued by guilt, he underwent psychoanalysis, which did not solve his problems but did provide him with good comic material.Nevertheless, he found it hard to break into the nightclub circuit in New York — in part, he claimed, because his act made Jewish audiences uncomfortable. “My accent reminds them of a background they’re trying to forget,” he said.

While performing at a Los Angeles nightclub in 1960, he caught the attention of his fellow comedian Jan Murray, who recommended him to the television personality Steve Allen. Two appearances in two weeks on “The Steve Allen Show” led to bookings at the Copacabana and the Blue Angel in New York.Mr. Mason’s career was off and running. He became a regular on the top television variety shows, recorded two albums for the Verve label — “I Am the Greatest Comedian in the World Only Nobody Knows It Yet” and “I Want to Leave You With the Words of a Great Comedian” — and wrote a book, “My Son the Candidate.”

After dozens of appearances on “The Ed Sullivan Show,” Mr. Mason encountered disaster on Oct. 18, 1964. A speech by President Lyndon B. Johnson pre-empted the program, which resumed as Mr. Mason was halfway through his act. Onstage but out of camera range, Sullivan indicated with two fingers, then one, how many minutes Mr. Mason had left, distracting the audience. Mr. Mason, annoyed, responded by holding up his own fingers to the audience, saying, “Here’s a finger for you, and a finger for you, and a finger for you.”Sullivan, convinced that one of those fingers was an obscene gesture, canceled Mr. Mason’s six-show contract and refused to pay him for the performance. Mr. Mason sued, and won.The two later reconciled, but the damage was done. Club owners and booking agents now regarded him, he said, as “crude and unpredictable.”

“People started to think I was some kind of sick maniac,” Mr. Mason told Look. “It took 20 years to overcome what happened in that one minute.”His career went into a slump, punctuated by bizarre instances of bad luck. In Las Vegas in 1966, after he made a few ill-considered remarks about Frank Sinatra’s recent marriage to the much younger Mia Farrow (“Frank soaks his dentures and Mia brushes her braces,” one joke went), an unidentified gunman fired a .22 pistol into his hotel room.A play he starred in and wrote (with Mike Mortman), “A Teaspoon Every Four Hours,” went through a record-breaking 97 preview performances on Broadway before opening on June 14, 1969, to terrible reviews. It closed after one night, taking with it his $100,000 investment.He also invested in “The Stoolie” (1972), a film in which he played a con man and improbable Romeo. It also failed, taking even more of his money. Roles in sitcoms and films eluded him, although he did make the most of small parts in Mel Brooks’s “History of the World: Part I” (1981) — he was “Jew No. 1” in the Spanish Inquisition sequence — and “The Jerk” (1979), in which he played the gas-station owner who employs Steve Martin.Rebuffed, Mr. Mason set about rebuilding his career with guest appearances on television. His new manager, Jyll Rosenfeld, convinced that the old borscht belt comics were ripe for a comeback, encouraged him to bring his act to the theater as a one-man show.

After attracting celebrity audiences in Los Angeles, that show, “The World According to Me!,” opened on Broadway in December 1986 and ran for two years. It earned Mr. Mason a special Tony Award in 1987, as well as an Emmy for writing after HBO aired an abridged version in 1988.

“I didn’t think it would work,” Mr. Mason said. “But people, when they come into a theater, see you in a whole new light. It’s like taking a picture from a kitchen and hanging it in a museum.”In 1991 Mr. Mason married Ms. Rosenfeld, who survives him. He is also survived by a daughter, the comedian Sheba Mason, from a relationship with Ginger Reiter in the 1970s and ’80s.“The World According to Me!” generated a series of sequels — “Politically Incorrect,” “Love Thy Neighbor,” “Prune Danish” and others — which carried Mr. Mason through the 1990s and into the new millennium.He published an autobiography, “Jackie, Oy!” (written with Ken Gross), in 1988. He also found a new sideline as an opinionated political commentator on talk radio. In the 2016 presidential campaign, he was one of the few well-known entertainers to support Donald J. Trump.Mr. Mason’s forays into political commentary caused him trouble. He was reported to have used a Yiddish word considered to be a racial slur in talking about David N. Dinkins, the Black mayoral candidate, at a Plaza Hotel luncheon in 1989. Mr. Mason was a campaigner for Mr. Dinkins’s opponent, Rudolph W. Giuliani. Mr. Giuliani said the incident had been blown out of proportion but nevertheless dismissed Mr. Mason from the campaign. Mr. Mason at first refused to apologize but did so later.

He drew attention for using the same word regarding President Barack Obama during a performance in 2009.Appearances on the cartoon series “The Simpsons,” as the voice of Rabbi Hyman Krustofski, the father of Krusty the Clown, confirmed his newfound status, and earned him a second Emmy. Not even the 1988 bomb “Caddyshack II,” in which he was a last-minute replacement for Rodney Dangerfield, or the ill-fated “Chicken Soup,” a 1989 sitcom co-starring Lynn Redgrave that died quickly, could slow his improbable transformation from borscht belt relic into hot property.“I’ve been doing this for a hundred thousand years, but it’s like I was born last Thursday,” Mr. Mason once said of his career turnaround. “They see me as today’s comedian. Thank God I stunk for such a long time and was invisible, so I could be discovered.”

Michael Levenson contributed reporting.

Phroyd

[hisakata-resutomoshibi]

So I got to thinking too deeply about origin stories the other day. I wrote this in a frenzy in one day so cut me some slack you guyss~ lol

(here you go @katzkinder @mrskeletondarkness )

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been four days since my last confession." He murmured, eyes fixed on the green velvet drapery only half discernible in the dim lighting filling the claustrophobic confessional box. "I once more lost my temper. It was just a small child but he was lingering in the outer hall and I knew him well. He is Alexander and on kitchen duty this week."

"And what did you do?" The soft voice from beyond the altar asked.

"I lashed out. I do believe he may have cried." There was no response to this but a lingering sigh and he grimaced. "There are more, of course. I was prideful of my position and my duty to oversee the facility in the absence of Father Antonio. I have overslept once and missed the Holy Hour."

"Unbecoming of a deacon."

He bit his lip, fingers curling tightly into his palms. "Yes, Father."

"This is something that I seem to see a pattern of." The voice had grown lighter and almost joking. "Are you perhaps not a morning person?"

"Not at all." He muttered sourly.

"See that that be something you work on."

"Yes, Father." He began sifting through the recent memories for something more inconsequential, struggling to see past the irritation he felt at the call out and finally settled on the most interesting. "I witnessed a marriage the other day. They seemed quite happy."

"And the sin?" The voice lilted up in amusement.

"I took the top most layer of the wedding cake."

There was a desperately concealed snort and then a clearing of the throat and he did his best to hold back a smile. "I think that is enough, don't you? Is it not time for your infirmary rounds?"

"Yes, Father. Ah- this is all I can remember. I am sorry for these and all my sins.” He intoned dutifully, making to stand and dust the loose crushed velvet from his robes.

"For penance you will help the boy Alexander in the kitchens when you have completed your other duties." A pause and then, "And no bread at dinner for the week."

Scowling unseen in the dark, he nodded. "Yes, Father."

"Your Act of Contrition."

Taking a deep breath, he settled back onto the stiff wooden bench and let his mind drift as the familiar words flooded forth. "My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart, in choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned-"

The infirmary that he chose most to visit lay at the edges of the city and he often found himself wondering if it was the walk through the crowded, busy streets, or the lack of elderly patients at that particular institute that he liked about it. It was difficult to say really and bore no real worth in contemplating beyond relishing in the somewhat fresh air that blew in from the smaller subdivisions and off the ever renewing water of the fountains so recently restored.

"You're here again." 

Her voice was gentle and welcoming, clearly biased in her delight at the sight of him, and he struggled to hold back a smile.

"Of course. It is an almost daily occurrence."

"That it is." She smiled, ushering him in and down the hall. "I'm afraid most are sleeping at the moment and not much in need of such a friendly face."

"Then I shall do the rounds with you."

She once more smiled brightly and nodded, turning to gather her jacket. "Please do!"

Their conversations were always varied and pleasant, and he found her to be a relaxing presence; all at once joyful and demure, and yet suggestively combative and interesting. It was of course, he mused somewhat guiltily, a plus when the sun hit her endless golden hair and flashed, star bright, against the darker colors of her dress.

It was something that he was always mocked for. But then, he decided, watching her laugh cheerfully with one of her patients, worth it. 

"They say there was a werewolf spotted not far from here!" Matteo exclaimed, dropping his plate down on the table. It clattered and threatened to spill and he chuckled self consciously.

"Do not be an idiot." He murmured testily, pulling his own plate farther away to protect it from the splattering of gravy off Matteo's. "They will say anything to keep a head up in notoriety."

"You're always so dour and pragmatic!"

"I am not, I am merely-"

"Yeah, yeah! A deacon of the church, bent on becoming pope." Matteo laughed, stabbing his spoon into the lukewarm potatoes they were being served. 

Blowing out a harsh breath, he glared over at his friend. "Don't say things like that!"

"Well it's true, isn't it?"

"You once again demonstrate your enormously empty head."

Matteo only laughed once more, and he looked away again, down into the dregs of his cup and wondered if it were possible. Was it something that he could dare to dream of being worthy of? "Superstitious fancy." He muttered, not expecting an answer.

"You know, Faaver Antonehio claims is all twue." Matteo slurred, mouth full of bread. "He says thas why-" He paused and swallowed loudly, earning another glare. "He says that's why the city shuts down after dark. That and vampires." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Folly." He scoffed. "Vampires are no more real than ghosts."

"Then what do you think we're so armed against?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You have demonstrated quite a lack of faith."

He spun around, long gown fanning out and creating a rustling against the stone flooring in the otherwise total hush of the hall. "Father!"

"Calm down." Antonio chuckled. "I do not mean in your studies, but in your disbelief in what I'm sure you have been hearing murmurs of in the streets."

Wracking his brain, he could only come up with one common theme, and he struggled to keep his mouth from dropping open. "Do you mean the vampires and werewolves?"

"Exactly that." Glancing up and down the hall, Antonio stepped closer, his candle threatening to go out in the sudden rush of air between them as he approached. "For no other reason than your safety, please try to keep in mind that rumors are all based on something."

Without pausing to think that perhaps he was throwing his friend to the dogs, he snorted. "So all that ilk that Matteo spouts is not just nonsense but true?"

"More so than even he seems to ascribe it, yes." Antonio answered. He hesitated and then placed a hand on his shoulder, resting heavy and warm in the chilly hall. "You have duties in the morning so try to keep your head, alright? And do not let it affect your sleep. But remember this, you are destined for far more than you see before you now."

The innocuous statement seemed more confusing than reassuring and so he merely nodded. "Yes, Father."

Later, as he lay in bed, staring unflinchingly at the dark cavernous ceiling of his room where the moon, long since risen, was casting shadows into the corners, he couldn't help but picture a large wolf running through the streets and found himself hard pressed not to laugh. What a bunch of ridiculous lies. It was all just childish dreams and jokes blown out of proportion by the uneducated masses. And though it may very well be his duty to love and protect those very people, that did not mean he had to fall prey to their hysteria.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was best to focus on the news he had received. Best to not look at the telltale red that was occasionally splattered across his pillows and sheets in the morning. No, it would do no good and so he shoved it far back and to the graveyard of his mind. He would not think of it. Instead he would relish in the knowledge that he would seem to not only be progressing to priesthood but to a place in the College.

He had been warned, months ago now, by Father Antonio, that there were changes in the air, but never would he have dared to imagine something like this.

"Handpicked." He murmured, watching his reflection in the water basin. He was looking impossibly paler and thinner, his already sharp jaw now razor like, and his eyes, such a lively green, now clouded. "For life."

It was a melancholy thing to hear of a death, but he could see past that and to it's natural place in the order of life. It was simply the way of things. That was true in the most dire of situations and it was true now. Splashing a hand through the water, he let out a breath of relief when his image faded into the ripples and he stepped away to begin his morning routine.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned." He covered a soft cough with a stomp of his foot on the hardwood. "It has been three days since my last confession and I have fallen prey to pride and fear." There was no immediate response and so he continued. "I have lost not faith but trust, and I fear death."

"There is nothing to fear in death."

"No. But early dea-" He cut himself off, wondering how to parse the emotions that were tying him in knots so frequently now. So much so as to be distracting, leading to forgetfulness, spite, impatience. "I wish penance to renew my trust in God."

Faced with the city at dusk, he suddenly couldn't remember the last time he had ventured beyond the halls past midday. It was a colder evening and the wind bit into the hollows of his ribs and forced shivers across his skin. Tugging the cloak tighter around his shoulders, he hurried forward, long legs carrying him past the familiar sights now so strange in the twilight.

The place he had been sent, a seemingly unnoteworthy apothecary, was not far and it wasn't until he was in sight, breath labored and mind fixed on the sign over the doorway, that he first saw the shadow at the edges of the street. It hadn't appeared to have been following him, indeed, it seemed not to notice him at all. But when a second figure lunged forward from the open ended alley and sank a flashing blade into the first's chest, he couldn't stop the strangled sound of surprise from ripping free of his throat and into the night.

It was a mistake.

Both men, for he could see now that they were men, turned to him and he sank back a step. Mind blank in astonishment, he did not at first notice when the second advanced from the dark of the side street and towards him. It was foolishness to think that the glow of his robes would deter the man in any way but he still, for the first moment, held out hope. He just couldn't imagine dying in a place like this.

"Hey!" The first shouted and he for a moment found space in his crowded mind to marvel at the fact that the man was still standing, much less shouting so loudly.

"What are you-" His words were cut off by the fist that connected with the side of his head, and seeing stars, he stumbled back until his calves met a small wooden cart parked nearby. His temper flared, burning away the inky constellations in his mind and he frowned darkly. "You should not have done that."

"Ah man." The first man moaned tiredly. "What do you think you're doing hitting a priest?"

"You should not be hitting any one." He grit, resisting raising a shaking hand to his temple which throbbed more richly with each gust of chill night air.

"Yeah, that's true." The first sighed, leaning languidly back against the building, blood steadily gathering at his feet. "But I think it matters a little less if it's me."

"Shut your fool mouth!" He roared, eyes widening in yet more dread when he felt his own blood gathering in the crevices of his teeth and escaping the confines of his mouth. 

"Hey, you ok?" The man asked, pushing away from the wall, his hair catching the street light and flashing like snow. "You look kind of peaky."

"I'm fine!" He spit, biting down on not just his tongue but the overwhelming, overlapping, paralyzing fear that grew suddenly up from that long buried place, watered with the blood that had, until now, seemed to have been staying where it was supposed to. 

"You have quite a temper there, Father." The man sighed, having finally reached them. He glanced at the second figure who, in seeming disbelief, had not moved since the beginning of their conversation. "I'm tellin' you. It's better if he has his way with me. After all, what do I care?"

"You want to die?!" He exclaimed, livid in both dismay and amazement.

"No." The figure muttered, reaching out now, lightning fast and wrapping an arm around the second's throat. "But even if I did, it's not like I can."

"What in the world do you-" He broke off, watching in incredulity as, with each movement of the mans arms, more blood gushed free and ran like a waterfall down his legs to the cobblestones; he did not seem concerned by this and with what could only be seen as inhuman strength, lifted the second figure over his head and tossed him, light as a child, across the street and into a rubbish pile. The impact rendered the second figure unconscious and the man now turned his ruby gaze back.

"You should probably get home or whatever. Take a long nap."

"Your- eyes are-"

"Red?" The man interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, well I am a vampire."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was growing harder and harder to ignore, he admitted, as he crept down the deserted hall in search of Matteo. Indeed, most nights now, he found it difficult to sleep for the chills and chest pain. He could feel it digging ever deeper, sinking it's unknown fingers into his lungs and muscles and wracking him with aches and shivers and now even an inability to eat. He was thinner than ever, as Matteo liked to remind him, joking that a strong wind might be enough to loose his feet from the floor and sweep him away and to Heaven. And it would have been an annoying enough joke on its own but for the twinge of real worry he could discern in Matteo's eyes whenever he was looked at too closely or accidentally let out a cough that had been punching at the back of his throat for the last hour.

It should have been nothing. He was a man of God. He was pious and good and atoned. It should have been nothing.

But it wasn't.

There had been no answers for him in the dead of night, or the light of dawn. or in the long watches of desperation every Mass. 

Slamming an already bruised fist against the nearest archway, he winced when the hollowed bones in his hand creaked. Rubbing at the spot, he bit his lip, and tried to ignore the panic that fluttered so like children’s breath at his heart. It would do no good. It would only increase the pain. It would only bring on another of his fits.

Knowing that vampires were real, assuming that he hadn't hallucinated the entirety of the event a couple weeks, wasn't making anything easier. His faith, already on shaking legs, was threatening to topple completely when faced with the truth of such creatures, the Damned, lurking in the night, in the city, and free to prey on those they chose. And if they truly existed, then what did that mean for Matteo's claim of werewolves?

He couldn't afford to wait any longer.

He was about to give up for the night, winded and miserable, when he turned a corner and almost ran head first into Matteo himself. He stumbled back, barely catching himself on his weakened ankles and shrugged off the concerned hand Matteo put forth.

"What are you doing out so late at night, my friend?" Matteo asked, the faux cavalier tone to his voice grating against already raw and bloodied nerves.

"Looking for you." He hissed. Grabbing a handful of the others robes, he gave as mighty of a pull as he could, one so diminished from his usual that he almost broke down in tears. "We need to talk."

"About what?" Matteo whispered cautiously. "Do you feel like you-"

"Not about me." He panted. "About the damn vampires."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was probably the time to go and see Father Antonio, he thought detachedly; there was no coming morning for him. And he would go too, he insisted, argued vehemently to himself, if only he could get up.

"Do you want another drink of water?" The voice next to him asked softly and he turned his head, neck muscles protesting violently. 

The figure there was blurry at best, but he thought he could make out blonde waves. Unsure if he had given a response or not, he blinked, willing the vision to clear. If nothing else, what a sight to be his last.

"Is he-" Matteo's high alto drifted over from the doorway and the blonde blur shook its head.

"Please come in." The soft one answered.

A shaking hand wrapped around one of his, seeming miles away, and Matteo's face slowly materialized. His freckles looked more pronounced than ever and it took him far too long to understand it was the unnatural pallor of Matteo's face that made them so.

"How are you, my friend?"

Summoning every ounce of life left in his body, he scoffed, the sound weak and wet in the otherwise complete silence. "You- demonstrate- your empty head-edness."

A trembling smile wound over Matteo's lips and his grip tightened just a fraction. "What would I be otherwise?"

A priest, he thought sullenly, enviously. It had been his future, his goal and meaning in existence. Now, Matteo would see that Ordainment alone. Perhaps he would even earn his spot in the college, one that he had not even had chance to sit in on. 

There were no answers anywhere.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When next his eyes opened his vision had cleared, was in fact crystal sharp and bright despite the obvious glow of the moon beyond the windows, windows that he did not recognize. Suspiciously, he cast it about the room and recoiled in shock when he met a gaze he had never seen before.

"Feeling better, aren't we?" The stranger asked cheerfully. "Tell me! How is your head? Your lungs? Quite a toll it took on you there! I'm surprised you held on as long as you did. Naught but mush in your chest by the end!"

"What are you talking about?" He demanded, eyes flying wide at the restoration of his deep tenor. It was something that he had not heard in the last month of suffering and wavering delirium and it's sudden reappearance was startling at best and terrifying at worst.

The man grinned, wide and unfettered. "Welcome to your new life!" He stepped back, out of his immediate line of sight, and spread long arms. "How do you feel, be honest."

"I-" He cut off, scowling blackly and sitting up, once more stunned by the ease with which this small motion, before next to impossible, was now accomplished. "Who are you? Where am I?"

"I've already told you." The man tutted. "Doubt Doubt. That is your name now."

"My-" His gaze flew to the small mirror over the sink that was inset into the wall. In it stared back a mad version of his face. Returned were his delicate, high cheekbones and attractively curved forehead, leading back into shining ravens feathers for hair, but his eyes... gone was the green of a spring rain and in place was a sparkling. cold ruby flame. "My name is-" He trailed off distractedly, realizing that he could not seem to remember it. All his memories were intact, strong and full of conviction, even the dread soaked ones of the last few weeks, but this, his name, he couldn't seem to-

"Not any more." The man smiled. "You are Doubt Doubt. Of Envy."

The mention of the sin, one of the last complete, coherent memories that he possessed, knocked the wind from his newly restored lungs and he bolted up, lithe and sure on his feet once more. "Impossible! Where am I?"

"Your friend really should have warned you." The man murmured, looking for all the world as though he were full of pity. "But then, it's entirely possible he did. Many don't seem to remember those last few days."

Without thought, he crossed the room in six staccato steps, his hands already winding around the throat of the man, this tormentor sent to punish his for his dying sacrilege. But even when his fingers, strong now, stronger than ever they were before, dug into his flesh, the man only continued to watch him calmly. Finally, after several moments of blinding rage he forced his grip to go slack, hands falling away from the mans neck, shoulders, back to his own sides, hanging limply.

"You have quite a temper." The man laughed and instantly another memory was summoned to the forefront of his mind. One of a pale, lackluster youth in worn clothing, with a mortal wound in his chest, tossing a grown man twenty feet; a young man with the same burning blood in his eyes.

"Vampire." He murmured, the words falling free in numb disbelief.

"That's right." The man agreed brightly. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was with both fear and hope that Doubt Doubt stopped just before the first step of the ancient stairs that led up to the entrance, a path he had so oft taken without a second thought. But there in lay salvation, or at the very least, an end to this treacherous half life, this stain upon his humanity. Tugging the hood low over his face, making sure that nothing but his thin lips could be seen, he took a step and then another. He was unsure if it was relief or disappointment he felt when, in stepping through the doorway and into the gold gilded opulence, he did not burst into flames or finally fall dead to the floor.

It had been months, long enough that he was sure that even were he recognizable, no one would have the time to think twice. As long as he steered clear of the back quarters, kept to the crowded main halls and rooms, it was going to be fine, there was no one that-

"Oh my god." A voice breathed and Doubt Doubt spun on his heel, anguish pooling in his stomach. "You-" Matteo broke off, wide brown eyes suddenly flooding. "I thought he had spoken lies."

"Who?" Doubt Doubt demanded harshly, forgetting his plan and allowing his feet to follow the pull towards the other.

"T-that man." He stuttered, taking his own step back in response to every one of Doubt Doubt's forward. "He told me that you-"

"That I what?" He insisted, now towering over the smaller man.

He could see the moment that Matteo saw the red of his eyes for his face, already pale in shock, drained further, until he was almost a bleached parchment. "Your-"

"Come with me." Doubt Doubt interrupted swiftly, grabbing Matteo's arm and  dragging him as quickly as he could without drawing attention towards the so familiar halls that led to his room.

The door, as he had hoped, was unlocked and, in pushing it open, he felt a rush of regret wash over him. He should not have come back here. Not when he had for so long agonized over his plan already. Matteo, now following willingly enough, was hovering in the doorway and at Doubt Doubt's sharp look, swallowed a gasp and darted the rest of the way in. He, whether out of habit or a lack of self preservation, pulled the door closed behind him and then they stood, silently studying the other in the swirling dust motes filling the room.

Matteo, as always, was the first to speak; his voice weak and hollow in the gloom. "He said he could help you."

"Who?"

"I saw..." His eyes darted to the window, now shuttered, and back. "I met a boy in the square. He was the one you told me about. I thought nothing of it until I saw his eyes." His gaze fluttered briefly up to Doubt Doubt's before falling back away. "You were right."

"Of course I was." Doubt Doubt muttered flatly.

"When you- you died." Matteo sucked in an unsteady breath, his vision once more clouding over with tears. "My friend, my dear one, you were dead and I- I think I-"

"You lost your mind." Doubt Doubt accused, fingers clenched beneath his sleeves, where they could not be seen.

"I could not stand to see you like that. I heard, you know. Father Antonio does not keep secrets as well as he thinks. I kept thinking, thinking that if I could only do something you would be able to, to join the College and-"

"I can do no such thing as I am." He snarled, stepping forward and whipping back the hood, letting his hair fall free, eyes flashing in the muted sunlight. 

Matteo's expression grew fearful and awe struck in equal parts as he looked up into Doubt Doubt's face. "God, what have I done?" He whimpered, hands clasping in desperation between them. "That man, he said that he could change it, reverse your death or- God, forgive me. Please. Forgive me."

"I will forgive when you have done something about this." Doubt Doubt whispered, tone dripping in venomous hate. "Find a way to end this suffering or you will only be destined to join me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned." Doubt Doubt began, foot tapping fretfully against the worn wood of the confessional. "It has been eighteen months since my last confession. I have been consumed with hate and vitriol. I am no longer a man of God."

"Everyone is a child of the lord." The voice beyond the veil was elderly and breathy and Doubt Doubt found himself wondering suddenly how easy it would be to frighten such a man to death.

"Every one, you say?"

"Yes, of course. All of mankind is held in his loving arms."

"I am no man."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Surely, Matteo would have passed by now, Doubt Doubt mused, watching the water in the hold of the ship slosh worryingly. It had been more than a century. Men were not meant to live so long. And so it was that, feeling his sanity degrade further every day, he decided that it best he leave his beloved city. For what was it now but a painful prison? It was no more his city than the ticket he had used to board this ship had been.

Glancing down, he wondered if the tailor he had contracted had found the request strange. Most likely it was not every day that he was instructed to create a bastard priest's robes. Now in jet black, Doubt Doubt was confident that he would not be questioned or accosted, and the drape, the heavy fall of the fabric was, despite the passing years, still a comfort. There was no ornamentation, no rosary or trim; those were things from the past, things that were no longer in his grasp, and the memories it summoned had been far too much. Each new election, each new pope and passing of priests and bishops had left him bereft and sinking further beneath the black waves of his own destruction; Doubt Doubt had realized he had to leave, because he could not die.

The veil he wore now had been a gift oddly enough. A strange girl with sparkling green eyes had given it to him on the street one late evening. Wandering alone past the river, Doubt Doubt had stumbled, hurriedly pulling his hood and thick cotton scarf back up and over in fear when he had noticed the girl and her mother near the water's edge. She had seen though, he could tell by her knowing look, and when, after a brief word to her mother, she turned her steps towards him, he considered running. It would be easy to outrun one so small; he could outrun anything in the world now, after all.

"That looks uncomfortable." She said solemnly when they were within earshot of each other. Holding out her small hand, she presented a thin, delicately made silk veil. "Take this."

Doubt Doubt stared down at the offering in stupefaction and it was only when she huffed impatiently and waved the veil around a bit that he was jolted back into active thought. "I do not need it."

"But you look like you would like it. You'll breathe easier." She insisted, and without warning, crossed the rest of the distance between them and plopped the soft material into his hand, which had reached out of its own accord in habit. "Please take it, Father."

Biting his lip deeply, enough to bring a flash of copper to his tongue, Doubt Doubt curled his fingers over the veil and let all he could think to say fill the void. "I never made it that far."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had become habit to speak lowly, it was far easier to hide his teeth that way. Or at least that's what he told himself. It was more likely that than, though trapped in a never aging body, he was somehow still growing old in mind. Mumbling and hiding and denying were just so much easier. And when one spent his time making little bottled ships, an infuriating hobby that he had picked up from Matteo, one did not really need to speak.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The church in this new city was small, but then, all seemed small in the face of the Vatican, he mused, standing in the street and staring up at the dome. It would accomplish nothing, bring nothing but regret and anger, but he still could seem to stop himself from ascending the stairs and gliding into the atrium. Sister like wall sconces and décor greeted him and he breathed a soft sigh. Letting his fingers trail over the statues lining the alcoves, he worked his way towards the altar and paused, staring up at the swirling scrollwork of the inner bannisters.

"Good day!" A voice called cheerfully, and Doubt Doubt started, his gaze flying to the back of the room. There stood what he could only think was the resident priest, and instantly his heart sank. "Don't worry, you're always welcome!" He added seeing the twist of Doubt Doubt's lips.

"I do not belong here." He said softly, voice carrying in the quiet of the air.

"All belong!" The priest exclaimed, still smiling. "And you have that look. The call of God, it speaks to you."

"I have not heard that voice in years." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was like a long forgotten dream but try as he might, Doubt Doubt could not place his finger on the memory. It sat, hovering at the edges of his mind, winking in and out of sight in frustrating patterns. Something about her long, blonde hair pulled at his empty heart and drew him in, filled him with a sense of ease and happiness that he had not known in lifetimes. She felt like an unfamiliar homecoming.

She was so, so hard to resist.

And so, when she came to him, found him in that dark basement, biding his endless time and pretending not to exist, he did not think twice, did not stop to question why she wanted him. Only rejoiced shallowly in what little feeling he could summon that there was still some reason for his continued presence on this cursed plain, some meaning in his cruel existence.

And now it was too late. She was standing before him, bereft and broken, mad from the hole in her heart, and they were contracted and he had only two options. Both were unthinkable and once more he was left with the clarity of vision that he had never seemed to possess in the moment. Someone, a man he once knew, had joked that his hot head was the reason he had made it to deacon. "You're just too stubborn and scary when angry to say no to!" He had always laughed and Doubt Doubt spent a moment admiring the clarity with which he could recall such words. But what had been his name? 

"You have to." She slurred, leaning forward and draping herself over his shoulders. "You're mine and I say and so you have to."

He remained silent, hoping that she would grow bored and lose interest, but he had no such luck and her anger was too strong, her hate too powerful. 

"You will." She demanded, pulling out a kitchen knife, one that looked pilfered from the family's heritage collection, if he had to hazard a guess. "Use this, it will be so easy. He is so small~" She thrust the knife into his hand and barely looked when, in sliding the blade through her own, she sliced open her lily white palm. "Tomorrow is someone's birthday and I must make a cake. You can think of how you want to do it and then we'll have two reasons for cake!" She used the bloodied hand to swipe back her wild hair, falling in clumps over her forehead and Doubt Doubt almost couldn't resist the urge to jump up and pull her hand away, saving that beautiful color from the sin of her blood. "Figure it out, or I will." 

He was small, though not as small as the one he had come to find, and Doubt Doubt only just saw him in the doorway of the little ones room. Standing there, staring openly into Doubt Doubt's eyes, he seemed to feel no fear, though the flash of the knife was visible in the setting sun's flames through the window. Yes, he had always been an odd one. Doubt Doubt had only talked with him several times, just enough to place his face and name in the great tide of those that resided behind the walls of the mansion he now haunted. Mikuni was his name, yes and he was her son; that much was obvious as he possessed the same silken cornflower hair. 

Neither said anything and, in a fit of determination, Doubt Doubt turned from the doorway, tucking the knife away. He had not intended to use it but between his worried distraction and the siren call of the contract he had found it repeatedly in his hand over the course of the last few hours. 

Mikuni watched him go, he could feel that razor sharp gaze piercing his back, and only when he had once more hidden himself away in the basement, tucked into the darkest corner he could find, the heat of the boiler a comfort to his chilly scales, could he finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Surely, she would not be able to find him here. And without his poisonous presence perhaps she could regain her mind, find once more her love and soul that he had so come to enjoy. The connection sang, even within the limited confines of the building but she was not truly thinking, had not been for months, and so he hoped she would not be able to follow it's call.

When hours later the sound of footsteps roused him from his fugue like doze, fear cramped his lungs, shooting ice into his already frozen veins. How had she-

But the figure that stopped in front of his hiding place was not hers, and he relaxed somewhat. No, it was the boys. Mikuni's. And it was with a piqued interest and vague sense of dread that he wondered how this one could find him when even his own master could not.

"I have a proposal for you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adjusting the veil, he approached the cold stone steps that he had spent a lifetime treading up and down and now had not seen in decades. The sun was wasting away behind the promenade and yet people still lingered, modern attire and garish colors at odds with the old world design of the building. Jeje took a deep breath and swept up the staircase, attempting to keep his heart rate and back even. There was after all, nothing to fear. He had entered before, many times, in hopes of destruction and atonement, in desperation, and in rage. It was not absolution he sought now, but the simple peace of truth.

The high, arched ceilings, as beautiful as ever, rose above his head and he sighed, feeling that old cloak, once so comfortable and now only a gaudy costume, fall back over his shoulders. It had been his duty, his only desire- a dream no longer within his grasp. All around him, the scrolling designs, checkered framework of paintings, carved bannisters, and painstakingly carved statuaries reflected back the memories he had carefully piled over with dirt in the past hundred years of existence. Flooding back in such a wave they were incomprehensible and he almost lost his step. It was only when he noticed a set of curious eyes on him that he regained his composure and, straightening the shoulders of the priest robes he had donned so fretfully that morning, strode on. They fit just as well, as they should, as he had not changed, and in the ensuing observations he noted the vague curiosity replaced by an awed sort of respect. So it seemed he still looked the part.

Wasting time that he did not have, knowing Mikuni was holed up at their hotel room, most assuredly watching the clock in begrudging silence and counting the minutes, he trailed along the many familiar winding passages and elaborate stairwells, admiring the filter and fall of the sun, like solid beams, from the windows and across the dizzying tile floors. It was all so equally unchanged, he thought in amazement.

Pulling the freshly cleaned fabric left to right, the light petering out as he did so, Jeje sat on the loving, sturdy bench and waited. The sounds of rustling could be heard on the other side and then a polite cough. With a stranglehold on his bewildered emotions, he cleared his throat and began, "Bless me Father, for I have sinned." He hesitated. "It has been eighty-nine years since my last confession." The priest on the other side, whoever he may be, to his credit, managed to tamp down on his noise of shock, no doubt confounded by the voice he was hearing. Supposedly that of an as of that moment at least hundred year old man, it was still as silken and low as the deepest of chime bells. "I have committed the gravest of sins. An accomplishment for my already dark soul."

"God will forgive al-"

"Not this." Jeje interrupted, pushing past the ingrained, resurfacing habits of deference. "Not any more. I have corrupted the young and innocent. I have sullied his family home and life. Ruined it as surely as I am ruined. First through his mother and now through, most detestably, him. She was loving and warm, the love of his life, and because of me she fell into a deep madness. She wanted the worst of things. And now she is dead."

There was a heavy pause, the priest- no, the mortal man- on the other side, pulling in a deep breath, as though in preparation. "Was it an accident?"

"No, Father. It was murder."

[blu-joons]

You Walk Out From An Argument ~ Min Yoongi

The two of you had never experienced an argument like it, you could barely recall half of the things that were said. You came home, a little bit later than usual, and it was safe to say that Yoongi was not impressed. Straight away he was in front of you, accusing you of all sorts, of course you were on the defensive, all you had done was work a little later in the office.

Names were thrown, insults were hurled, and plenty of tears were shed on your part, you’d never seen him like this, he failed to listen to the things you said, making your voice louder creating a hellish shouting match between the two of you in the middle of the kitchen.

“I’m fed up of your selfish behaviour,” were the last words you remembered him saying, it was the last straw you had before you grabbed your car keys and phone from the worktop, stepping past him and walking out to your car, desperate to leave the situation.

He called your name, but you didn’t listen, your mind was made up that it was best to walk away from the situation. Eventually, the two of you would come around, things would figure out as they usually did, but this time around, time was needed for you both.

With little place else to go, you drove to Namjoon’s, he was the best person in this situation, talking you through and helping calm you down. It was getting late, as you knocked on his door, he was incredibly surprised to see you stood before him.

“I don’t suppose I could stay here with you tonight,” you whispered, smiling weakly up at him.

“Yeah, come in, you can’t stay out here.”

You walked into his home, following him into the living room, sitting down on one of his two sofas. “We had a bit of an argument, and I think we just need some time away.”

“I understand,” he replied, “I’m sure whatever it was that the two of you argued about it will be fine in a couple of days, you’re right to give some time between the two of you.”

You sat and you told him everything, about the things that he had said, and the things you had said, describing how out of proportion everything had blown into. Namjoon was disappointed, but he understood that no relationship was ever going to be perfect.

“Knowing Yoongi, he’ll regret this, he always feels bad after arguments,” he comforted.

If anyone knew Yoongi, it was Namjoon, and you knew he was right. The two of you had experienced plenty of small arguments, they were usually so pointless and resolved straight away, but this time was unlike anything the two of you had experienced before.

“I just don’t know what happened, all the times he’s come home late from work and I’ve had to understand, but the one time I do it he gets jealous and accuses me of cheating on him. I don’t like the double standards Namjoon, it’s unfair on me when I was just doing my job.

He nodded, smiling weakly, sympathising with you. “He’s just very protective of the things that are important to you, it shows that he cares.”

“If he cared though he wouldn’t have insulted me,” you challenged, shrugging your shoulders.

You spent the rest of the evening talking with Namjoon before he set up the spare bedroom in his house for you to lay in. Sleep that night was a no go, the argument the two of you had had continued to replay in your mind, thinking of all the things you could have done differently.

You woke the next morning finding Namjoon in the kitchen making a cup of coffee, he smiled as he spotted you, nodding inwards to the leaving room, following behind him. As you walked in, you found another figure sat on the sofa, looking up at you with tired eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

Namjoon walked around you, placing the two mugs on the coffee table, one was clearly for you, and the other for Yoongi who sat. You had no idea that Namjoon had got in contact with him through the night, knocking some sense into him to make things right.

“I’m going to go upstairs and give the two of you some time to talk, trust me, it’s what the two of you need right now.”

Before either of you could argue, he made his way upstairs, giving you space, and an opportunity to talk after both sleeping on the events of the previous night.

“Look, I don’t want to say that I’m not annoyed that you came home from work late, because I am, but I handled last night the complete wrong way, the things I said were uncalled for and unnecessary, so I want to apologise for being so horrible to you.”

“You basically accused me of cheating, do you have any idea how I felt?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I was just mad, let my emotions get the better of me, there was no need for me to be so insulting towards you.”

He moved off the sofa he sat on, sitting beside you, there was still a small bit of distance between you both, a tremendous amount of animosity.

“I just want you to come home Y/N so I can make things up to you, I’ve been horrible, but I couldn’t bear being in that bed by myself last night. I’ve done a lot of thinking, and now I know how wrong I was, it’s going to take time, I know that it will.”

“You hurt me a lot Yoongi,” you reminded him.

“I know I did, trust me, Namjoon made sure I knew how harsh I was,” he lightly chuckled, but stopped when he saw the blank expression on your face. “I promise that I will make things right, I want to do the right thing and have you home. I know you’d never cheat on me.”

You stared across at him, watching his weak eyes, he clearly had had little sleep like you had, it was the first argument the two of you had ever fallen asleep on, and even though you thought you’d cope, the realisation is, that you couldn’t.

“You have no idea how much you hurt me, all the times you come home from work, I make you dinner and take care of you, but when I come home from work I get accused of cheating, the one time I had a difficult day of work and I come home to be faced with accusations and insults because you couldn’t keep your insecurities together and trust me.”

“I just got scared that something would happen,” he whispered, “it was the first time I’ve ever come home without you around and it panicked me. I was jealous, and insecure, instantly I thought the worst because that’s all I’ve ever known. I forget sometimes to see the good in people, and I know how incredible you truly are.”

“I’m here with you Yoongi, I don’t want anyone else,” you assured.

He nodded, resting his hand over the top of yours, squeezing it lightly. “I know you are, and that’s part of the problem, I think true love is good to be true, yet every day you’re proving otherwise to me. I don’t know how to cope sometimes with everything, but I’ve learnt that rather than push you away, I need to let you in, and try to talk to you.”

“I would have told you the truth Yoongi, I had a few emails to respond to, I didn’t even speak to anyone,” you clarified, “you have to start learning to trust me more.”

“I know, and I will,” he assured you, smiling softly. “So, will you come home with me? Come back to where you belong.”

You nodded, “I will, but don’t expect everything to go back to how it was straight away.”

“I won’t, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

---

Masterlist

[hearteyesemergency]

Buck And Eddie Get Fake Married

Request: Can you write something for #5? “This is where we kiss, right?” Like with oblivious Buck?

A/N: Okay so a fake wedding au? You didn’t ask for it, but it’s what I’m giving you, sorry. I don’t know why y’all put up with me. I hope you like it!

Summary: A previous patient drops by the station to thank 118 one last time, and to see her two favourite firefighters get married, regardless of whether they’re actually together or not, and it might just be a little too much for Eddie’s pining heart.

Warnings: Um? Pushy elderly lady? And extensive mentions of feelings of anxiety.

It was just a week earlier when the team had been called to the home of an elderly woman, who managed to get herself stuck in the rails of her staircase as she used it for balance. She was kind, and stayed in good spirts as they worked around her, careful not to damage her fragile skin any further.

She was one of the good calls. The ones where they left knowing they made a difference, and that the person they had helped was genuinely grateful. It was a surprise to see her visit the station with her daughter, but she was adamant on one more favour from the team before she let them go.

“Before I die, I want to see my two favourite firefighters get married.”

At first, when the elderly lady looked in their direction, Eddie was confused, but once he understood, he scrambled to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Oh, we aren’t together,” Buck denied casually with an easy laugh,

“Bullshit.”

The team jumped. Hearing a sweet, elderly woman swear like that was a whole emotion in itself.

“I’ve seen you two around town with your son, he’s adorable,”

“Thanks,” Buck smiled,

“But we aren’t together,” Eddie reaffirmed,

“Come now, I’m sure you two could give a Good Samaritan her last wish,” Chimney pushed.

Eddie was sure he could throw up. Did everyone have to keep implying he and Buck were together? He had been dealing with his increased fondness towards the other man in his own time, he really didn’t need the team thrusting them together. What if Buck didn’t feel the same way? Eddie was sure the ground would swallow him whole if he had to go through that.

“Let’s do it!” Hen clapped,

“No, no, no, not here! Somewhere bright! And beautiful,”

“There’s a park right down the road,”

Eddie glared at her.

How was he supposed to keep his feelings at bay and figure out what they all mean if he is going to marry Buck within the half hour. Why did they have to put him on the spot like this. He can’t fake marry the man he is potentially in love with, he might as well just tear his heart out and let the truck roll over it.

“Perfect! Bobby can officiate it and we will be the witnesses,” Chimney clapped,

“We can do it on the truck... bring some good publicity to the station,”

“Uh, are we all forgetting what happened the last time we did that?” Eddie tried,

“You’re not going to deny an old lady her dying wish are you?” The woman blinked at Eddie expectantly.

By now, Buck was also stiff beside him, the entire thing had been blown way out of proportion. They were getting married, although fake, in a very public place in a very realistic way. Eddie dared at peak at Buck, who looked back at him. He was shocked, but it was in Buck’s nature to quickly adapt, and Eddie knew that he’d get on board with the idea if someone said even one more time that it was a good idea.

“I’ll buy the beers,” Chimney bargained,

“Ready to get married, husband,” Buck slapped Eddie on the shoulder.

Everything inside him tingled at that. Husband. Off of Buck’s tongue. It was too much, Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if he fainted and fell right off the top of the fire truck later on. Still, he put one foot in front of the other, and while unwilling, we climbed into the truck anyway.

His hands sweat the entire way there. Eddie must have run them down his trousers a thousand times. The worst part, Buck had become far more comfortable and friendly with the woman on the drive. He was completely calm about the whole thing now. And Eddie didn’t want to say he was jealous, but... when she put her hand on his arm and he smiled back at her... he was jealous.

Why the fuck couldn’t that have been him?

Eddie was a little relieved when they arrived. It was a pretty quiet day at the park, or so it looked. A crew of firefighters with a truck always drew a crowd in a few short minutes. It took some time to get angles and the set up right, and then there they were, just the two of them on the truck, about to be wed.

Bobby stood with the rest of the team on the ground, surrounded by the spectators when he began. He cursed everyone who had encouraged them to hold hands like a real couple during the ‘ceremony.’ It gave Eddie’s brain too much to process.

How could he focus on Bobby’s voice when Buck’s hands were right there in his? His head felt stuffy, and he was actually a little worried he made pass out. The entire thing flew by, and before he knew it, they’d reached the most important part of the ceremony.

“I now pronounce you, husband and husband,”

“This is where we kiss, right?”

“Usually,” Eddie nodded,

“Do we actually have to do that?”

“Well! Kiss!” Chimney egged them on.

The boys looked at each other as the crowd on the ground below them all began to cheer.

Someone had it out for Eddie, he was sure. This may very well be the death of him.

Buck looked at him and shrugged, and before Eddie could protest anymore, Buck had a hand on his waist, another on his cheek, and their lips were pressed together.

Eddie was shocked for a split second, then all he could comprehend was Bucks lips on his, and how he really, really didn’t want it to end. So, he kissed back. Maybe a little too eagerly, but Buck wasn’t pulling back either.

Both of Bucks hands rested on his cheeks now, and Eddie couldn’t help but reach up and hold them, he figured that was safest. If he had his way, his hands would be all over Buck, but that wasn’t exactly park nor audience friendly. Though, Eddie was pretty sure he could get used to Buck’s big hands holding him still to kiss him.

He was weak under Buck, ready to give him whatever he wanted.

Buck tugged on his belt, pulling them closer, and Eddie couldn’t resist wrapping his arms around Buck’s neck, letting the kiss deepen.

“It’s a children’s park!” Athena’s voice broke through their moment, “please don’t make me arrest you for-“

Eddie gasped as he sprung back, completely out of Buck’s hold, leaving the other firefighter stunned, hands still frozen in the position they’d been in on Eddie’s waist seconds earlier.

He could hear the crowd below them cheering, but it was like an outer body experience. Like they weren’t really there. Buck still hadn’t moved, and Eddie’s head was rapidly telling him to abort mission. It went too far, it was too much.

Now he had screwed everything up. Screwed up everything for Christopher. He cursed himself as he made his way to the edge, ready for his feet to be on solid ground where he could run and run and run until he collapsed in a pile of self pity. He wasn’t ready to face Buck’s rejection yet.

“Eds. Eddie!”

Eddie was sure he was about to just throw himself over the edge rather than climb down safely, but Buck caught him just in time, and now there they were again. Still stuck atop a fire truck, collapsed almost on top each other, Buck the only thing keeping Eddie from ungracefully going over the edge.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, I- we’ll forget it, yeah? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to fuck it up,”

“You didn’t fuck it up.”

And if only Buck knew just how true that was.

“It’s fine. It’s fine, it’s just...” Eddie couldn’t find the words to say,

“This can’t change anything,”

“For Christopher,”

“For Christopher!” Buck agreed, “...but I mean... If you liked it, maybe...”

“Maybe what?” Eddie pushed,

“Maybe we could try it again some time... maybe not with a bunch of strangers staring at us, because I really don’t even want to go down there and face it once, let alone again,”

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,”

“Wait, really?”

A weight fell off Eddie’s shoulders, and he laughed. Real and loud.

“Yes, really... but like, after we talk, because I’m not ready to-“

“Yeah, no, totally agreed,” Buck nodded, “we have the rest of our lives, right?”

Eddie could’ve slapped Buck. Did he have to say cute shit right now? Did they not just agree to put their feelings to the side until they talk about it? Eddie was pretty sure the first chance they get alone was in fact not going to be filled with a single word at all, probably a lot of lip work, but no talking. But could anyone blame him when Buck looked like... that.

[rebelrecovery]

Book Notes:

This one is one of the better quit lit books I’ve read - Belle writes with blunt honesty, and I love the way she envisions the alcoholic voice in her head as a big bad wolf rather than a wine witch.  

Below are the parts that were most helpful for me... 

I thought, I can’t start drinking now, there isn’t enough. Not enough for what? To fade out. To be numb. Because despite what I may have said, I never wanted one glass of wine with dinner. I wanted three glasses. What’s the point in one glass? And despite what I may have said, I never drank because I liked the taste. [...] I drank to get fuzzy. I wanted to be slightly numb, to take the edge off. I spent a lot of time taking the edge off and then trying to maintain the edge taken off, but I usually ran into problems of sobering up too quickly, or drinking too much. There was no magic formula for edge-off-ness. I tried to find it. I tried having beer before wine, I tried eating first, I tried drinking on an empty stomach. There may have been a four-minute window of edge-off-ness and then I spent the rest of the night trying to find the four-minute window again.

I never want to do this again. I never want to wake up in the middle of the night both wishing I was dead and hoping I’m not dying. Let me not vomit, please, and I promise I will cut back on the drinking. I never want to feel this bad, feel so hopeless, alone, scared, dark. I am definitely drinking too much. I should face that. I should stop drinking for a week, take a break. I’ll start tomorrow. After the work party. After vacation. Next week. After the birthday. The first of the month. On a Monday. I promise. 

I had tried to stop drinking plenty of times on my own, but never managed to quit for more than a couple of days. Usually I’d declare my sobriety in the morning and then open a bottle of wine by 6 p.m. that same night. Then I’d quit again the next morning. No wine for one day. For two days. Then the voice would start. Is it time yet? You can drink now. Celebrate sobriety with a glass or two. You’ve done well. You are going to break this non-drinking stretch anyway, so you might as well drink now. Drink tonight and quit later. What about now. Is it time to drink yet? Fuck it, I’m going to drink, this is ridiculous. I’ve already quit for a week. Let’s celebrate sobriety with some alcohol.

If alcohol was in the house, it spoke to me, then I drank it. Even if I didn’t really enjoy it. I was drinking because it was the thing I did. No enjoyment. No taste. No feeling except for exhaustion. Like a hammer banging on my head. Did you ever try buying a case of wine, thinking that if it was around all the time you’d feel less compulsive about it, and drink less? Ha. Really. Who was I kidding? With a case of wine in the house, I drank more. Of course I did. We never had a wine collection or a wine rack or a wine cellar or a liquor cabinet either. Alcohol didn’t last long enough to be collected or displayed or shared.]

I had lots of drinking rules and guidelines for myself, and over time, bit by bit, I broke all of my rules. I’m only going to drink on special occasions or when socializing. Only on weekends.” But of course, you and I both know that only drinking on weekends is tricky. Because what about Sunday night? Is Sunday part of the weekend? What about Thursday? Maybe the weekend is four days long. Maybe it is, in fact, most of the week. Controlled drinking is not very successful—you know this already because you’ve tried it. If we have to control our drinking, it means that our natural, default tendency is to have one, and then another, and then another. Any plan we make is very difficult, if not impossible, to adhere to. You tried moderation. You did. You maybe didn’t call it moderation. You tried making rules for yourself. When you realized that you were drinking more than you wanted to, before you ever saw this book, you did things like alternating every second glass with water, or switching from hard stuff to beer, or trying to skip days. You tried to drink only on weekends, or only have one, or only . . . or only . . . or only.

Normal drinkers measure their alcohol consumption like I measure my corn on the cob consumption—which is to say, not at all. Just like I have days without corn, normal drinkers have plenty of days without alcohol but they’re not keeping track. I don’t pay attention to whether you are getting more corn than me, and a normal drinker fills up glasses around her without worrying about who’s getting how much. And yes, it’s true that corn on the cob is my favourite of all summer things to eat, but I have never planned days around when I can eat it. I have never gone out at 11 p.m. to get more corn. I’ve never worried about running out of corn.

A ‘bottom’ in the sober world describes the point where you quit drinking. If you have a ‘high bottom’ then you quit when your problems were smaller. Poor concentration, missed deadlines, an inability to take advantage of new opportunities, procrastination, crappy sleep, many days of feeling ill. A ‘low bottom’ is where the micro problems have grown into larger holes, and might include health, relationship, money, or legal issues. My high bottom looks like this: drink with dinner, and after, plan to drink less, continue to drink the same amount, try to quit for a month and manage nine days, start again, not keep my promises to myself. Wonder what the hell is wrong with me. Suffer with crappy sleep, extra pounds, wasted money.

If alcohol is an elevator that only goes down, the goal is to step off, not to ride down any more. Stop drinking now. Start feeling better now. I stepped off early. But I’m not naive. I know where that elevator was going. If I stopped ‘before there was a problem’ then I was fucking lucky, plain and simple. Because even stopping where I did, it was hard to do. Really hard.

The “Drink Now” voice, which I call Wolfie, will say anything to get us to drink. Nothing is off-limits. Wolfie hits below the belt. Wolfie talks smack. Wolfie with a megaphone said to me: You’ve had a long, crazy day. Have a drink. You’ll just have one. It will take the edge off. You have blown this whole thing out of proportion. You need to cut back, not quit. A hundred fucking days? You’ll never make it anyway. 

I knew I had a very loud Wolfie “Drink Now” voice in my head that insisted that a glass of wine with dinner was normal. I also knew that there was another very quiet, very tiny mouse-like voice, that said: You have to stop. You know what this internal conflict is like. 

I felt moderately stable until something happened, like if I got frustrated, or mad, or sad, or bored, or if something good happened and I had to celebrate. I had completely maladaptive coping strategies. I didn’t have the skills to try anything else to feel better because—duh—I’d been using wine as my only coping mechanism. I’d overused wine as a feel-better tool for so long that I literally couldn’t remember one single thing I could do instead to ease my mood.

Booze isn’t a solution to a problem. It’s a very temporary pause button (manhole cover) with horrendous consequences. It’d be like turning to heroin. It isn’t the right solution for the problem. It gets between me and my life, between me and you, between me and serving, between me and fun. It affects my weight, my sleep, my enthusiasm. It blunts, fills, numbs, fills time, expands into the space allowed. Adds nothing, feels bad, sad, argumentative, irritated. Isn’t the real me. My life has so much MORE good stuff in it when the wine is gone. There’s nothing to escape from, it isn’t bad here, there’s joy and beauty and ease here. Don’t need to ‘go’ anywhere else. 

The voice that is YOU, when you’re 50 days sober, says “I know sometimes I feel like drinking but I’m not going to because I don’t want to have a new Day 1. I’ve done enough drinking in my past. I know that Day 1 is rotten.” The voice that is YOU says: “I want something different and better and I don’t know what that is yet, but I know I want to try this sober thing.” We end up in a place where even if bad shit happens, we do NOT think about drinking.

Picture booze like a Big Wolf With Black Eyes, he represents the voice in your head. Now you have to very calmly starve the wolf. Or better yet, you have to dehydrate him by not giving him anything to drink. At first he’ll be mad at you. “Where’s my drink?” You’ll say: I have all this free time now. I can’t talk to you, Wolfie. I’m running, baking, singing, reading, cleaning, spending time with my kids. I’m paying my taxes, cleaning off my desk, enjoying the weather. The wolf will taunt you. “Everyone else is drinking, why can’t you?” You’ll say: Sorry, Wolfie, can’t hear you. I’m too busy cranking up the volume on my new iPad that I bought with all the money I’ve saved.” The wolf will nearly be dehydrated. He’ll try a few more last-chance, desperate attempts. “You’re broken,” he’ll snarl. “You bitch, you can’t be fixed, you’ll always be a fuck-up, you suck at this, you might as well quit now.” And you’ll say: You want to fight? I’ll win. I’ve got so much more energy now that I’m sleeping through the night. I can outrun you Wolfie. I’m light on my feet now. I’ve got so much more spunk, clearer thinking. I’m planning to take over the world, Wolfie, me and my clear-headed genius. What is that? Sorry I can’t quite hear you. Your voice is so quiet, Wolfie. Are you nearly dehydrated? You’re going to dry up and turn to dust. Puts palm of hand up to lips and blows across the surface. Dust disperses, Wolfie is specks of grey in the air. And then gone.

Being sober is a relief. Quitting drinking is like putting down a backpack of rocks that you’ve been carrying around for a long time. It’s like a deep breath that fills your lungs. Being sober is feeling proud of yourself. Being sober is easier than drinking. Too much of our brain space is used trying to manage alcohol consumption. The “Drink Now” voice is exhausting. All of that time we spend planning to drink—thinking about drinking, wondering how much alcohol there is, trying to figure out how we’re going to get out of that work obligation because we’re hungover—all of that can stop. You have been drowning out who you really are. Literally. Banging yourself on the head with a bottle or two of wine. That’s not you. The real you is in there. Drinking is a way of hiding from who you really are. I can honestly say that being a non-drinker is unicorns and parades compared to drinking.

There is a point in each day when you will most feel like drinking. I call this the witching hours. Typically it’s around dinner time; for me it was 6:00 p.m. to 8:30 p.m. If you were to plot the duration of the witching hours on a graph, the period of time gets predictably shorter and less intense each day. Having a replacement drink is a good idea. Your brain is used to having something to drink at this time of day, so you can plan a lovely replacement drink. I have found that bitter drinks deal with cravings better than sweet drinks.

We are so used to using alcohol as our only treat, that we need to learn new treats. You can have bubble bath, trashy magazines, flowers, oven mitts, bad TV from Netflix, time alone, cheap earrings, or savoury pancakes. Perhaps you’ll plan to have steak every Friday for the first six weeks. And if you don’t eat steak, then substitute salmon or sushi or marinated tofu in that category. You spent money drinking, so you can invest some of those Wolfie dollars to support your sobriety. Here are some examples of things I’ve treated myself to: fuzzy blankets, silver jewelry, deluxe candles, essential oils, chocolate croissants, lovely beads, thrift shopping, craft supplies, gourmet ground coffee, a gorgeous teacup, a bouquet of flowers, a potted basil plant. The largest was a countertop dishwasher. The trick is to either find something that you want but don’t need, or to splurge on a more deluxe version of something you were going to buy anyway. Like shampoo or lipstick. I have always struggled with confidence and my inner critic is a real bitch. The concept of self-care is relatively new to me and these gifts remind me to treat myself kindly.

One of the reasons we drink is in search of an ‘off’ switch: to quiet our brains, to escape responsibilities, to have ‘me’ time. If there are coping strategies that are adaptive (make things better) versus maladaptive (make things worse), then drinking is maladaptive. While it may be an off-switch, it creates many other problems at the same time. 

We are not taught, explicitly, how to deal with uncomfortable feelings, or how to self-soothe. So we reach for available tools, however malformed. Did your parents ever sit you down and have a conversation with you about what you can do if you feel overwhelmed, exhausted, irritated, freaked out, lonely, or depressed? Did they give you strategies and tools to help you with Changing the Channel in Your Head? No. Mine neither. Did they model for you how they dealt with disappointment, their feelings of not fitting in, or how they coped with the occasional overwhelming sense of dread? If they did model for you, was it with something other than cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, or a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken? Did your parents have ‘self-care’ time where they made it clear that they needed to recharge batteries, to unwind. Did they lock themselves in the tub with big mounds of lavender bubble bath and candles? Did your father go for a run when he was feeling stressed, or to delineate the mark between ‘work’ and ‘home’ and did he tell you he was doing this, explicitly, so that you could learn to do the same? No? 

in your first months sober, you will get a crash course in adaptive self-care strategies, whether you want it or not. One of the most important things you will do is learn to strategically avoid ‘overwhelm’—I use this word as a noun, it’s a thing on the horizon, like fog. Your life is like a video game. You can see potential bombs, things advancing, that could blow up and throw you off course. Your job is to navigate them. You don’t walk right into a bomb and hope for the best. You don’t test yourself by repeatedly doing difficult or stressful things. Instead, you ask someone to carpool, you decline social activities, and you simplify meals. Your job is to reduce overwhelm. All around you, there are lists of things to do and when you first quit drinking you are going to take it easy. When you first quit drinking, you are going to remember that being overwhelmed is our number one trigger. You will instead do less. Learn to be slothful. Embrace the art of underachieving.

Here are my top three tools for overwhelm: exercise, tub, and bed. I probably use exercise four times a week, specifically to help with my mood. I’m in the tub anytime I’m feeling antsy, or as my reward at the end of a day of catering. And as far as sleep is concerned, I have been known to go to bed at 7:30 p.m. in early sobriety, because I had no other way of dealing with life. I knew I didn’t want to drink, and I had no idea what else to do except ‘hide’.

When we are drinking, we use alcohol to fix everything—or so we think—and we don’t develop any other self-soothing, comforting, or change-the-channel tools. Turns out—who knew—there are at least 578 other ways to shift how you feel. There are things you’ve done before, perhaps by accident, things that once you remember them, and try them, you think “OK, good, I feel better.” Like when you change the sheets on the bed you feel better. And when you have a nap you feel better. And when you snuggle on the couch with a fluffy blanket and braid your cats’ tails together you feel better. Especially if you add hot chocolate. A change of location works. If you’re at home, go out. If you’re out, go home :) If you’re alone, get with some people. If you’re overwhelmed in a group, hide in the bathroom and read sober blogs on your phone. Yes, really.

I made a list of the ways to change my state. It had 30+ things on it. They included: listen to loud music, play guitar, sing, talk on the phone, write a letter longhand, take a bath with candles, light candles anywhere in the house, clean my desk, clean anything, go for a run, make tea, plan meals, test a recipe, read a magazine, brainstorm with clients, design a new logo, read light fiction, read self-help, make a puzzle, go for a walk, take pictures, go swimming, watch a good movie, go to a concert, go to see a movie at the theatre with popcorn, listen to podcasts, do volunteer work, find an audience and do some kind of public speaking, write in my journal, play cards, explore a new part of the city, go to the art gallery, the museum, write a restaurant review.

If you’re an introvert, or if you’re a non-joiner like I am, then asking for any kind of support or encouragement seems hard. But here’s the truth. The simple act of reaching out might make you feel weak, but it’s actually a sign of strength.

When Wolfie says that being sober sucks and that it’s too much to give up, you can remind him that you are also giving up the following: •  feeling like death in the morning •  waking at 3 a.m. with guilt and dread and horror •  vomiting •  spending dumb money (like money spent in bars, expensive bottles of wine in restaurants, buying rounds for people, impulse shopping online) •  emailing and texting random people •  hooking up with random people •  falling down •  hiding bottles •  arguing with your partner •  alternating stores so they don’t get to know you •  cringing when it’s time to take out the recycling. 

And here are a few of the things that you can focus on instead, the things you GET by being sober: •  you sleep through the night •  your skin looks great •  your health improves •  your marriage improves •  your kids talk to you again •  your family will now take your calls after 6 p.m. •  you can drive the car in the evening •  you have the beginnings of a hobby •  you can read a book and remember it •  you can watch a movie and stay awake for it •  you can actually cook the food in your fridge instead of eating popcorn for dinner •  you lift your head, look around, and feel like things are ‘possible’ •  you feel proud of yourself. 

Keep a short journal of your own, particularly for the first 60 days. By keeping a daily record you can see the grass grow. And you can more clearly identify that some periods of time are shitty but that they don’t last, and they’re followed swiftly by easier days. You can start your journal with this entry. Start with a list of 10 things: 1. The way I drink has affected my ___ 2. And my ___ 3. And my ___ 4. It’s caused problems with ___ 5. And ___ 6. It’s made me feel ___ especially when ___ 7. I nearly had a disaster when ___ 8. And this was just about a disaster too: ___ 9. I’m tired of waking up feeling like ___ 10. People who will be relieved that I am sober:  ___

It’s entirely possible to have sober fun, of course it is :) Those of us who are longer-term sober have plenty of fun. There’s nothing better than waking up without a hangover, without regret, without shame. There’s nothing better than being on a beach and being sober and watching a sunset. There’s nothing better than coming home at the end of a long night, or dancing until 4 a.m., knowing that you had a fabulous time, that you rocked it all without a drink. To think that you need alcohol to have fun is Wolfie talking. You were fun when you were 12 years old. You’ve had hilarious pee-your-pants laughing with your best friend and it didn’t involve alcohol. Wolfie tells you that kind of shit to encourage you to drink, but it’s not true. Can you dance sober? Turns out you can. Who knew.

If you are in prelapse, then you will want to do things right away that might make you feel better. Even if you have to try things mechanically, one after the other. You’ll say “I got enough sleep that didn’t work, had a nap that didn’t work, went for a run that didn’t work.” Then you go on to the next thing. You have a treat, that didn’t work. You watch bad TV, that didn’t work. You read blogs, write in your journal, comment on blogs, listen to audios, email somebody, reach out, go to a meeting, listen to something inspirational—you go through the toolkit. And here’s something that will seem obvious when I say it: If the first tool doesn’t work, it does not mean that the whole thing is hopeless. It means that you go on to the next tool. 

You are more likely to be successful if you: •  Reach out for support. It’s hard. Do it anyway. •  Sign up to have a sober penpal. Email your penpal every day. •  Share real stuff, don’t exaggerate, and don’t leave things out. Be truly honest with at least one person in your life about your booze stuff. •  Reach out instead of drink, cry instead of drink, walk instead, email me frustrated instead (the people who don’t email are more likely to get alone in their head with Wolfie who will always say that drinking is a good idea). •  Remember that successful treaters do MUCH better. It’s shocking how much better they do. Once you figure out the self-care treat thing, you’ll find this whole sober experience to be much easier. If you resist treats, don’t understand them, don’t think they apply to you, then I worry about you (see below). •  Get enough support, load on a lot to begin and then ease off as time goes by and you feel stable. Be cautious. Don’t fuck with sober momentum. •  Tell on Wolfie—share when you’re having weird thoughts, externalize the voice, tell on your inner addict. •  Read stuff that supports you and turn away from what doesn’t. You don’t read about moderation, you don’t read blogs that get under your skin, you turn away from people who repeatedly relapse if that makes you feel wobbly. •  Protect your sobriety, avoid situations and people that may trigger you. Your sobriety is a like a little chick that can easily get squished in traffic.

Write in a journal every day for your first 30 days sober, no matter what (can be private, or anonymous on a blog, doesn’t matter).

Read sober blogs at least one hour a day, every day.

Rethink your evening routine

Have a bath/shower every evening, early, so that it sets the mood for the rest of the night.

Plan and purchase replacement drinks that you can have during the witching hours. Bitter is better.

Schedule something to coincide with Wolfie time

Get yourself daily treats for the first two weeks, and then something every two days thereafter.

Get as much sleep as humanly possible. Take naps. You will need a lot more sleep than you anticipate.

Go to bed every time you feel crappy, when you feel you’re about to drink, or when you are agitated and need a time-out. Bed is a good, safe place to hide.

Sober first. If you push yourself too hard, and load on too many goals at once, Wolfie comes in with “this is all too hard.”

Pretend, for a while, that you’re sick, that you have the flu, that you need to take good care of you—very, very good care.

Try to do some kind of physical exercise every day, even if it’s only for 10 minutes

Rent/stream new TV shows and movies as your sober treats, that you can watch only if sober.

Give up any ideas of a clean and tidy house for now.

Please know that crying is totally normal, required, and necessary.

Take pictures of things that you’re grateful for now that you’re sober. It can be simple things like a good cup of coffee, the view from the window, your girls playing dress-up. You can do a sober photo project.

Avoid overwhelm as much as possible. In fact, strive for “underwhelm” and engage in some truly slothful behaviours. It’s OK to be in your jammies watching a show on your iPad. You’re sober. Sometimes bed-snuggle time is required.

Pet your cat, dog, or horse. You know already that this makes you feel better.

Listen to sober audio and podcasts. Find specific topics or episodes that resonate with you. Listen to them on repeat.

Accept that sober motivation is like deodorant: it needs to be reapplied every day. Stop feeling like you should be able to do this if you ‘try harder’. You will need to ‘try different’.

Ask for help.

Accept help.

Ask for and listen to advice from other successfully sober people.

See irritating people as people with struggles. We were irritating too. We were dealing with stuff that other people couldn’t see. Drop your shoulders and see that woman as lonely, or hurt, or needy. She’s not trying intentionally to make you crazy.

Share the nonsensical things that Wolfie tells you—share with another sober person who will truly ‘get it’. Be shocked and then amused that we all hear virtually the same thing.

Find some small activities to do in the evenings to help occupy the empty time. It doesn’t take long for regular life to flow back into the spaces that alcohol consumed, but to begin it’s helpful to have some projects. Decluttering is helpful. It’s cleaning up, from the outside in.

Have something you can wear, some special piece of jewelry, that reminds you that you’re sober and that you’re special. Rub the jewelry. Bestow it with super powers.

Find ONE person that you can be 100% honest with about your drinking, about your thinking, your worries, your struggles, your excitement, and your joy. That might be a counsellor, sober mentor, a coach, sponsor, or a sober friend. You should have at least ONE person who truly gets what it’s like to be you.

Accept that the first time you do everything, it’s going to be a little weird.

When you are facing a shitty hard thing, or a weirdly tempting event (like a staff party), then plan a sober treat you’ll have AFTER you’re home again, safe and sober. Don’t skip this step. Wolfie likes to come in with “where’s my reward” after we do something hard. So you want to remember to have these treats pre-planned.

Be pretty darn proud of yourself.

You have to celebrate your successes. No one is coming in to do this for you. It’s you. It’s up to you.

Walk out of your office, cross the street, have a cry, get a take-out coffee and a pastry, call it a sober treat, email me that you’re doing OK, and then go back to work. Even if you remove yourself ‘briefly’ from whatever situation is making you feel crazy, you can give yourself some time to settle and feel better.

Find tools that work and keep using them. Don’t drift from your sober supports. You know how people stop taking their blood pressure medication as soon as they feel better? Whatever you’re doing is working, so keep doing it. 

Know that Wolfie wants to get us alone in our head, where he can say: “Drinking seems like a good idea. You can probably have one.” Resist this kind of wolfie-solo-nonsense-manipulation by reaching out, telling on your inner addict. Wolfie is a bully and hates it when we share.

What you’re doing is for YOU. Your partner is on their own road. You can do what’s best for you.

[contre-qui]

Book 24 of 2020: Stiff

Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach

**TRIGGER WARNING: This book is about cadavers. My review will mention cadavers (dead human bodies, specifically those donated to science) and their uses/disposal.**

Once again (because 'tis the season for these types of reviews), this was a book I read for class. In this case, I read this one for my cadaver dissection class because we had to have something to do after we went online for the last two weeks of the semester, and cadaver dissection is... not something we can do at home.

It's the reason we say "pork" and "beef" instead of "pig" and "cow." Dissection and surgical instruction, like meat-eating, require a carefully maintained set of illusions and denial.

I've heard a lot of positive responses to Stiff, and I won't say I didn't enjoy it, but I definitely had some major concerns about the book that I'll get into momentarily. Stiff is a nonfiction book by journalist Mary Roach that discusses the various uses and after-lives of donated to bodies. Essentially, she attempts to answer questions about what happens when you 'donate your body to science.' Science is a big world, and donated cadavers are used for so many things. In addition to modern cadaver uses, Roach goes into some of the twisted history of cadaver usage. I don't want to mention the things Roach discusses just because learning those uses is half the fun of reading the book. Overall, it was an interesting and informative book.

I know some people in my class were turned off by the tone, however, which I do understand. Roach takes a very humorous approach to these discussions and uses a lighthearted, humorous tone. For some people, this tone felt disrespectful and rubbed them the wrong way. At first, the humor did make me somewhat uncomfortable. I think, however, that the tone is sort of designed to make you uncomfortable because the book is challenging the Western discomfort with death and the dead. Though I adjusted to the tone, there were a few moments when I felt Roach pushed the humor too far. There were some places when it felt inappropriate and disrespectful to me, as well.

My other concern was a huge instance of blatant racism. I know people are going to argue with me because this book was published in 2003, but that just isn't an excuse. Full stop. There was a particular section which discussed a news story circulating around the time Roach wrote the book that concerned an alleged case of a crematorium worker in China cutting of pieces of bodies to be used in his brother's restaurant next door. The story itself, while strange, is not the issue because yes, it was published and circulated widely. This would have been a great place to talk about accusations like this throughout history and how the historical consumption of human body parts for medicinal purposes in China and other East Asian countries has been misunderstood and blown out of proportion. But no. Instead, Roach chose to travel to China to confront the crematorium owner with this story and ask her (through a translator) if the story of her employee was true. The crematorium owner was so offended that the translator Roach was using would not translate her response beyond telling Roach that the story was untrue and she was extremely offended by the accusation. Roach wasn't even chagrined by this, and in fact laughed hysterically about offending this woman once she returned to her car. Not only was the entire story extremely disrespectful and frankly ridiculous, but Roach treated the entire section about medicinal human consumption in China with an air of superiority and blatant racism. I was truly disgusted by the way she handled that story and and that section of the book, and it left a sour taste in my mouth for the rest of the book. I wouldn't feel right writing a review without disclosing that instance because I think it ruined the book for me.

I really enjoyed learning so many new things, and I thought the way she approached the book was interesting. Roach included both cadaver uses, the history of cadaver usage, and some new (at the time) technology emerging on the market for body handling after death. The history was interesting, and I liked that she seemed to do research and talk to a lot of people in the field. I think my other big issue, however, was that Roach has no actual skin in the game - for lack of a better term. She doesn't work with cadavers. I would have preferred to read a book like this written by someone who actually works with cadavers and has the respect for them and their work that Roach seemed to lack. While the humor was intentional, I just felt she didn't balance the humor and respect that most of her interviewees did. Roach even mentioned that some of the people she talked to and visited were uncomfortable with her presence. And Roach still wrote about their work and included these interactions. It just just feels like bad journalism. Interesting content; partially good execution; but ruined with superiority, disrespect, and racism.

Trigger warnings for descriptions of dead bodies/death, graphic descriptions of body decomposition, descriptions of surgery, major racism, generally graphic descriptions of cadavers and cadaver usage, descriptions of car crashes, descriptions of crucifixion, etc. I would say that if dead bodies or death or medical scenes are a 'no' for you, then maybe just avoid this one altogether. Because the whole book is about cadavers, I don't think I could provide a comprehensive list of triggers, so read at your own risk.

My final opinion: Interesting content, but ruined with racism and disrespect.