#will delete later i am just mentally lying face down on the floor again

[thebirdandhersong]

.

[stwritings]

Funny Seeing You Here

Synopsis

Long time in-patient y/n was looking forward to her upcoming discharge date from the Hawkins Memorial Hospital. That is, until she became acquainted with an unlikely familiar face, Eddie Munson.

Author’s Note

This is a fix it fic following Stranger Things season 4, volume 2. In this fic, we’re going to forget the fact that the Duffer Brothers decided to delete Eddie from the series. :-) These events take place after the battle in the upside down. I’m also choosing to change the ending of season 4 by having the issue with the upside down resolved, therefore, Hawkins is not plagued by the massive earthquake that resulted in new portals being opened.

What To Expect

Slow burn, angst with a happy ending, fluff, smut in later chapters. ♡

Series Warnings

Mentions of mental health struggles, SMUT (in the later chapters, 18+ to read this story), angst with a happy ending, canon-typical violence.

Chapter 10

As she was barreling down the stairs not wanting to waste any more time, y/n’s mind was racing. She couldn’t believe how well that last interaction with Wayne had gone. All those worried thoughts and anxiety caused by lying when she could have been honest all along. It was a bit of a reality check for her. Maybe telling the truth wasn’t such a bad idea after all…

Upon arriving at their designated meet up spot, the smile she was already bearing grew twice as wide when Eddie met her gaze.

“You just love keeping me waiting, don’t you?” he teased.

“Oh man, how long have you been here?” she asked, concern now painted across her face.

“Not long, I’m just busting your balls. How was your day?” he asked leaning against the vending machine.

“Oh you know, same old.” Her responses were short, as she was still trying to catch her breathe from running down the stairwell.

“Not sure I do, is the 3rd floor any different than this one?” he asked.

“It’s pretty quiet, the maternity ward's up there.”

“You got a bundle of joy up there?” he asked whimsically.

Y/n froze. She knew he didn’t mean any offence by what he said, she was more so caught off guard by his question.

“Ah… I’m sorry that came out wrong. Let me try again; what brings you to this concrete box, slash prison?”

Y/n let out a soft chuckle, his dorkiness lightening the mood.

‘Now’s as good of a time as any.’ She thought. Remembering her previous interaction with Wayne eased her mind a little and gave her the confidence she was so desperately seeking to be honest with Eddie.

“I’m in a long-term patient care program, actually…” she trailed off, waiting for his reaction to assess whether she should continue speaking.

As he often did, Eddie was patiently listening, not wanting to interrupt. Despite being in one another’s brief presence these last few days, Eddie didn’t know much about her, and he was eager to learn.

Sensing y/n’s anxiety and reluctance to proceed, he chimed in. “Hence your extended knowledge of the menu here.”

She softly chuckled once more before a sigh escaped her lips. His lighthearted comment made her realize just how long she had been staying here. Too long.

“Yeah, gotta look out for newcomers, you’re welcome.”  She said, her head motioning towards the vending machine.

Eddie’s smile never faltered, it only varied in width. “Would you like to go for a walk?” he asked.

“Can you?” her face dropped the moment those words left her mouth.

“Can I walk? Yes, I can, thank you very much. If I get weak in the knees, I’ll be sure to let you know.” He teased.

“Oh god, I’m sorry that is NOT what I meant at all!” she began apologetically.

“I am equally hurt and offended. I will never recover from such disrespect.” He dramatically put his hand to his chest and stumbled back against the wall.

“Hey, don’t come crying to me when you pull a muscle, I’m a fast walker and have technically been walking longer than you have!” she said, leading them away from their initial spot.

“What? Aren’t we the same age?”

“Yes, but you’ve been in bed for almost a month now, so I have the upper hand.” she said, shooting him a mischievous grin.

“Not if I learned to walk before you did!”

“Do you have any evidence to back up these claims?” she challenged.

“No… I am tall though; Baby Eddie probably would have wanted to stretch out those legs and get to walking.”

“Eddie, that is not how that works!” she exclaimed, a laugh erupting from her chest.

“Do you have evidence to back up your claims???” he retorted with a fiery passion.

“Yeah, it’s this thing called Science; you might have heard of it.”

Eddie was smitten, he loved a good banter and it had been a while since he had met someone as witty as he was.

“There it is.” He began, nodding his head whilst looking up, appearing to have just solved a longstanding enigma.

“What?” she asked, slightly confused at his out of context response.

“The reason you graduated on time and I’m still working towards getting outta there.” He smiled shyly at her.

Y/n paused. Although she knew they were just teasing one another, the last thing she wanted to do was make him feel bad about still being in school.

“You know, you could have just been a very motivated baby.”

“A what now?” he asked with a puzzled look on his face.

“Maybe you were tired of crawling around. It’s hard on the knees, and an impractical way of getting around.”

“Spent a lot of time on your knees, y/n?” he said quizzically, raising an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?” She said, snapping up her head to look at him with narrow eyes.

“Oh, shit I’m so sorry, i-"

His sudden panic caused a laugh to erupt from her and she couldn’t hold her composure.

“I’m just messing with you, Eddie. You’re not the only one that can crack jokes.”

“You’re evil!!” he said, taking a step back, mouth agape, a smile slowly starting to form.

“Eh, I’ve been called worse.” She said shrugging her shoulders.

Silence fell as they both collected themselves from the burst of laughter that overcame them. They were doing laps around the 2nd floor as there weren’t many places to wander. It was once again a fairly quiet day with little visitors, which worked out in their favor. The noise reduction allowed for them to be more intimate with their conversations; not having to yell in order to hear one another.

“So, how long have you been in your program?” he asked, a warm smile and genuine curiosity displayed on his face.

“I’m not sure, really… It feels like forever, but if I had to guess, maybe 2 months. I’ve been in and out of the unit since I was 17 though.”

Silence. Y/n felt her palms begin to sweat as she waited anxiously for his response. Eddie wasn’t one to pry, especially if he sensed the person on the receiving end of his questions didn’t want to extrapolate, so he made sure to craft his response carefully.

“I get that, time gets lost when you’re stuck in a mindless routine.”

She had been staring at her shoes for most of their walk, but the minute he said that her eyes shot up at him; his words resonating with her everyday thoughts. This was the first time she had been so close to him, and the bright lights beaming from the ceilings made his features stand out. She noticed little details that had escaped her previously, like how perfectly symmetrical his facial features were and how slightly uneven his haircut was. Despite not fitting the beauty standard in Hawkins, he was objectively handsome. At least, she thought he was. An endearing smile crept up on her lips and she felt her cheeks become flushed.

Her sudden reaction and attentive stare made him blush as well, causing him to tug at the neckline of his shirt and clear his throat in an attempt to play it off. Y/n wasn’t sure of the reason, but the sight of his rosy cheeks made hers burn twice as bright. Turning away herself to gain composure, she glanced at a clock hanging on the wall, and boy was she glad she did. She was a few minutes shy of being late, time once again betraying her.

“Meeting you has made the routine a little less mindless though.” She began, involuntarily blushing once more as she gave him a timid smile.

“Only a little?” he said, once again playing up the dramatics. His hands fell to his knees, one hand shooting up to his chest a few seconds later.

“Those knees actin up? Can’t say I didn’t warn you” she said with a devilish smile on her face.

Eddie shot up from his crouched stance, amused but baffled at how quickly she thought on her feet.

“I do have to get back to my room though.” She stated, sorrow coating her tone.

“Want me to walk you up?” he offered.

“I’ll be okay, I have to run anyways so I’m not late, don’t want you to pull a muscle” she said smirking as she started towards the stairs.

“Hey, I am in my prime, stop treating me like I’m 90 years old!!”

She shot him one last smile before rushing back to meet Wayne, a feeling of warmth spreading from her face to her chest. Today was a good day.

_

Chapter 11

Let me know what you think & if you’re interested in being on my tag list ♡

Tag List: @motheraiya , @kik51199 , @munsontrash , @kaquaaqua , @munsonzzgfnzzgf , @haleighdriverriver , @thatlonelyalto , @ghoulsgraveyard , @braindelete , @sxpphicfxiry , @ladyapplejackdnd , @hellbaby237 , @grey-water-colors , @tubble-wubble , @moviefreak1205 , @piperd06 , @thegirlwhohides , @starryeyedkoko @thats-s0-ravenn , @piperd06 , @moviefreak1205 @tubble-wubble , @grey-water-colors , @xhorror-nerdx , @fandomsunited , @girlsvvish , @hellbaby237 , @eddieshands86

[gohyuck]

5+9+23 ? With Jaemin.

originally requested by @heyyyun ! my tumblr kept glitching so i copy/pasted your ask into my askbox lol.

based on this post

this was a fun combo of requests lol... and the freaky friday things definitely threw me for a loop. it got lowkey nsfw really fast, too, so there’s that. outright female reader

ft. a horny jeno lmfao

5) roommates

9) freaky friday

23) i thought you hated me but i just accidentally sent you a booty text and you accepted and i am seriously considering it

you aren’t living with jaemin because you want to.

it’s something you make very clear to any and everyone you know - jaemin is your roommate out of your necessity, not out of your choice. he was the first and only person to answer the desperate ad you’d placed in the newspaper when you’d realized you wouldn’t make rent without a roommate, and, before you could find any other option, you were stuck with him.

now, you refuse to be gotten wrong: it isn’t like he’s the worst roommate ever. he can cook, and he cleans up well enough, and he’s never made a late payment. hell, he’s even courteous and about as well-mannered as any guy in his early twenties can get, so you can’t really complain on that front. he’s nice to your friends and always lets you know before having company over, and he doesn’t hesitate to ask if you need anything before he goes shopping for himself. he isn’t a bad guy, by any means.

what he is is an incorrigible and unstoppable flirt.

for his part, he isn’t too thrilled with you either - ‘my little prude’ seems to be his favorite go to nickname for you as of late, and you’d be lying if it didn’t bother you. still, you suppose, you aren’t too gentle in calling him a manwhore to his face. he only ever laughs, seemingly delighted to wear the title like a badge.

even now, you can hear the girl in your living room giggling at something your roommate has said, his own voice just a little too low for you to hear from the confines of your bedroom. he’d texted you during lunch to tell you he’d have a date over, and you’d sent him back four successive eyeroll emojis. he’d taken your annoyance as a ‘yes, please eyefuck your newest fling for two hours while sitting on the couch i paid for’ and now you’re stuck, crosslegged on your bed with your laptop at half mast and one earphone in, other ear listening to jaemin turn his charisma up to the highest it can go for what will culminate in, at most, yet another one night stand that’ll have you wishing for soundproof walls.

you sigh as she laughs again, followed by jaemin saying something along the lines of ‘let me pour you some more’. there’s a faint clink of glasses and a sudden lowering of their voices, and you decide it’s best if you put your other earphone in.

some things aren’t worth the mental scarring.

it’s almost two hours later when you finish with the essay you’re working on, pull your earphones out of your ears and place the case gingerly on your nightstand, and shut your laptop down for the night. you can’t hear anything from out in the living room, and, surprisingly, there’s no unsavory sounds coming in from jaemin’s room down the hall, either. maybe they’ve already had their fun, you ponder.

she’ll slink out of your apartment in the morning, you guess. maybe you’ll be nice and offer her pancakes on her way out.

you grab your phone from where you’d thrown it haphazardly onto your bed earlier. there’s plenty of text messages lighting up your screen, most of which you ignore. one catches your eye immediately, though.

from: jeno ;)

i’ve been thinking about you.

his text has you quirking an eyebrow, but as you scroll up to find the picture that accompanies it, you take a sharp breath, your teeth sinking into your lower lip on impulse.

you’ve been fucking jeno for weeks, but even now the sight of his prominent bulge covered only by thin gray sweatpants has your mouth watering. the two of you are good friends - surprising, considering he’s jaemin’s best friend - and you know what you have will never amount to a real relationship. it’s the healthiest you can imagine a friends-with-benefits relationship to be, and you’re grateful for it.

and for the sex. god, are you grateful for the sex.

you rush to change out of the ratty old band shirt and boy shorts you’re wearing, opting to switch them out for a lace set you’d bought recently that you’ve been dying to show off. you clasp the bra easily before you pull on the matching light pink underwear.

as you settle in front of the floor length mirror that leans against your closet door, you can’t help but let your thoughts wander to jaemin. his little prude, huh? you laugh to yourself, wondering how he’d react if he knew you got dicked down semi-regularly by jeno. just because you aren’t as obvious as he is doesn’t mean you aren’t getting any.

you switch positions until you find a pose that’s just right, capturing your bitten bottom lip, the swell of your breasts, and how the lace hugs your hips. before you can second guess yourself, you snap a picture. 

if only jaemin could see you now.

you type out a short message - see something you like? maybe you should come over and look closer - and hit send, staring at your reflection for a bit longer before pushing yourself off the floor and back up onto your bed. it’s late, far too late for jeno to take you up on your offer, but it can’t hurt to ask. hell, maybe he’ll come over anyways. maybe you can make jaemin wish his walls were soundproof for once.

your phone vibrates in your hand, pulling you out of your thoughts of revenge against your roommate. you glance down, ready to respond cheekily to whatever jeno has said, and -

oh.

from: jaemin :/

fuck

yes

i wouldn’t mind, sweetheart. still, you could’ve asked in person. i’m only a door away, you know

your eyes widen in panic as you realize that, because you’d been thinking of jaemin earlier, you’d typed his name in and not jeno’s, resulting in you sending your honest-to-god nudes to your roommate. you rush to rectify your mistake, your fingers flying as you type a frantic response.

even as you hurry to tell him not to show up to your room naked, which you’re very afraid of him doing whether he has a girl over or not, a voice in the back of your mind can’t help but perk up.

i mean, jaemin is kind of hot, it says, actively laughing at your predicament. you wouldn’t mind being underneath him as he-

"shit!” you hiss out loud, acting as if swearing will distract you for your own thoughts. you press send, cursing the universe for causing your life to lead up to this moment as you do. 

to: jaemin :/

FUCK they weren’t meant for you 

please delete and pretend this never happened

+ don’t you have someone over????

his response comes quickly, and you brace yourself to read them. 

from: jaemin

lol PLEASE as if you have someone to sends nudes to

but yes i’ll delete :(

she left like an hour ago, not really my type

for the sake of your sanity you choose not to respond, only liking his message about deleting the picture you’d sent. you switch out your lace set for the clothes you’d had on earlier, not even bothering to respond to jeno as you’d meant to earlier. as you put your phone on charge and turn out your light for the night, you do your best to force yourself to sleep. 

hopefully, this whole ordeal will have blown over in the morning. 

♕ ♕ ♕

the first thing you notice when you wake up is how insanely bright the sun is. the white curtains on your window do nothing to stop the light from pouring into the room, and you - wait.

white curtains?

you look around, taking in the beat up ryan plushie on top of the bookshelf in the corner of the room and the gaming chair at the desk. as you become more and more awake, your setting makes itself obvious. 

once you realize it, you bolt upright, wondering what the hell you’re doing in jaemin’s room, especially when jaemin is nowhere to be found. you know you don’t sleepwalk, and you know for a fact that you’d fallen asleep in your own bed. 

it’s only as you swing your legs out of bed and happen to glance down at them that you realize what has happened.

before you can say anything, however, you hear a voice - your own voice exclaim a loud ‘what the hell?’ from down the hall. you rush out of your - jaemin’s - room, only to immediately run into what looks to be your own body.

“(name)?” it says, and you gulp before nodding.

“jaemin?”

♕ ♕ ♕

“look,” you say, pinching your - jaemin’s - nose bridge. “we’ve been arguing for like an hour, now. it’s obvious that neither of us know why this happened, so we might as well try to figure out what we can do to make it un-happen!”

“it’s because you sent me that nude,” he says, running a hand through his - your - hair. “the universe reset itself out of shock at seeing you do something remotely sexual.”

“if i was in my own body, i’d kick your ass right now,” you swear, pushing yourself up off of the dining table which you’d been leaning against. you take a threatening step towards jaemin. he laughs. 

“if i was in my own body, i’d... i’d probably be jerking off right now, to be honest. i miss my dick.”

you wince in disgust, staring down at his - your - face. “better not be to my picture.”

he shakes his - your - head at this, though not without raising his eyebrow at you. “i’m not a complete asshole - i deleted when you asked me to.”

“thank you,” you respond, not sure what else is to say. jaemin nods sagely before a grin starts spreading across his face.

“you know, maybe we have to recreate last night to fix it. do the same things, you know? who was the message meant for last night? maybe i’ll send them another one today.”

the thought of jaemin taking nudes of your body makes you feel dizzy in both bad and good ways. you realize he actually expects you to tell him, and you find yourself shaking your head no in response.

he quirks an eyebrow of yours. 

“what, don’t want me to know? it’s not like i’ll tell anyone, you know. i mean-”

“it’s not that,” you hurry to tell him, and he smirks at you in return. 

“no? then what is it?”

before you can respond, jaemin continues speaking, and you realize his question had been rhetorical. “oh, i know!” he says, sounding as if he’s had the realization of a lifetime. “you meant to send it to me, didn’t you? you just lied and got cold feet, after. i knew it! there’s no way you’re actually-”

in your haste to get jaemin to shut the hell up and your current inability to think straight, you cross the space between you two in one stride before pressing your mouth against his (or, you guess, his mouth against yours), desperate to get him to stop talking. your eyes are screwed shut anyways, so you don’t see his slide shut. 

the two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity before you pull away.  

“i’m so sorry-” you start, opening your eyes to peer sheepishly up at jaemin. 

wait. 

up?

you blink once, twice, before bursting out into laughter. jaemin, after overcoming his own befuddlement does the same. 

“oh my god, i can’t believe that fixed it,” you say once you get over the shock of being back in your own body. “holy shit.”

“i can’t believe any of that happened in the first place,” jaemin says, and you nod in agreement. a silence falls between the two of you almost immediately as you both try to figure out what to say to each other now. 

you glance around the room, searching for something to fixate your gaze on. you know jaemin is doing the same beside you. before you can say something embarrassing - you’re seriously considering patting him on the back and going ‘good work out there’ - jaemin rests his hands lightly against your waist, forcing you to meet his eyes with yours. 

“i kind of wish i’d experienced our kiss from inside my own body,” he says, and you search his face for an iota of a joke, something that says he’s messing with you. 

there’s none to be found. you reach a hand up to rest against the back of his neck and, before you know it, you’re cupping the back of his head and pulling his lips to yours once again, though this one is much more passionate than the last. his hands tighten their grips on your waist as he pulls you flush against him, and you tangle your fingers in his hair.

once you pull away, you can’t bring yourself to leave his grasp. instead, you ask him the question that’s burning on your mind. 

“do you want to see the lace set in person?”

your roommate nods, his excited actions directly contrasting his dark, hooded gaze. he lets you take his hand in yours, allowing you to drag him to your room. just as you shove open your bedroom door, however, jaemin speaks again. 

“out of curiosity, who was the picture meant for?”

you stare at him for one, two beats before sighing, wincing right after. he gazes back at you both steadily and expectantly, and you figure you may as well say it. 

“it ... it was meant for jeno.” 

"what?”

[imnotasuperhero]

I’ll be waiting (for when you love me again)

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Type: angsty fluff?

Summary: Natasha can’t accept the fact you decided to break up with her. Even if she understood your reasons. She knew there was much more in store for the both of you. Together.

Wordcount: 1178

A/N: @nowthisisliving27 requested for a happier continuation of this angsty fic, but like.. asking for help, @jumbojamba47 suggested I’ll be waiting by Adele and well.. this is the result. Lol. Let me know if you guys want a part 3! (:

A/N n2: Not sure this is the right ending I wanted, but after hiting a wall for so long, I decided to embrace it and share it before I deleted the whole thing. Lmao.

The last time Natasha saw you, it was one of the most painful moments she'd endured so far. The fact she had to let you go away so you could find yourself again, was paining her in indescribable ways. If she'd just paid more attention. If she'd just kept you close, showing you that she cared.

How could she be in peace, knowing she let you slip away? How could she be nice with herself, knowing that she contributed to your insecurities? Even if you reassured her over and over that it was your battle and you couldn't drag her down with you. But little did you know Natasha would go to the confines of Hell just to be with you. 

She could still feel the way you felt against her. The softness of your skin under her touch. The soft sighs you'd let out whenever she ran her nails against your upper arms in those lazy days when you got to be in your bed all day. Fully clothed or naked, but together.

It's been a month since you went on a vacation, ready to rediscover yourself and eager to use the pilled up permits to skip work.

A part of her was eager to see you, to witness your happiness as you told her all the things you did and all the places you've got to visit. She wanted nothing else than to see the shine in your eyes when you talked about what you enjoyed the most, the way you'd wrinkle your nose or frown when you talked about your less favorite parts. She wanted to be the one you ranted to. But the realistic part of her made her understand that she couldn't. She didn't have the right. At least, not until you allowed her to. And there was nothing she could do other than wait. As long as it took you.

Days turned into months. The only information she had about your wellbeing was because she decided to give in and use her spy skills on you. And she'd be lying if she didn't felt like a perv, following you around like a stalker. But if you weren't giving her updates, she must get them herself.

That's how the night found her on the rooftop of the building in front of yours. The binoculars on her hands showing you on your couch, probably watching the latest episode of your favorite TV show. Her heart squeezed when she spotted her old t-shirt covering your body, increasing the hope she was feeling inside. What would she give to have you in her arms again, cuddling and just basking in each other's warmth. She knew if -when- you were to have her again, she had to be better. She had to own the pleasure of calling you hers.

After what seemed hours later, she finally plopped down under the covers. But no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she tossed and rolled in bed, sleep wouldn't visit. Her mind still running wild with ideas to make it happen. God, she was so tempted to ask Tony to fund her so she could get one of those dumb planes to get the whole New York City to know she loved you.

Making her peace with the fact that it was too late now, she quickly changed into workout clothes and headed for the gym. Hopefully, she could nap after.

"You still here?" 

Bucky's voice took Natasha out of her reverie, making her stop mid-jab against the target. Looking at the gym's doors, she frowned at the super soldier walking over to her.

"I just came here," Natasha leaned her head in confusion.

"Nat, it's 10 am. JARVIS told me you've been here since dawn," he chuckled.

Looking around, she could see that in fact, the lights were off, and the sun was shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminating the whole room.

"Fuck," she's been here for 5 hours.

"What's wrong?" Bucky leaned against the press, blue eyes meeting green. And Natasha knew she couldn't lie to him. 

"I've been dating this person," Natasha paused licking her lips. Why was her mouth so dry so suddenly? "I- She saw us. When we were undercover." She couldn't help the questioning glaze anymore, so she moved her eyes to the blue sky outside. 

"We've been together for 7 months. We- I really love her, Bucks," she looked up when she felt a strong hand on her shoulder.

"Does she knows that?" 

"She does. I- Is not because we don't love each other," she sipped on her water. "I hid her," she confessed. "I hid her and I wasn't there for her and-"

"And you need to make your peace with it." Natasha could hear the laugh in his voice and she wanted to spar with him just to kick it off. "I won't pry and demand you to tell me everything. But I do ask of you to work it out. If you really love her, then don't let her go away."

Natasha mulled his words over and over, trying to come up with a plan. She needed to step her game up. You both were too good to end this way.

It wasn't until she saw you in the café -pure coincidence this time- that she finally made up her mind. She'll win you over and she'll shout at the top of her lungs that you were hers.

"Nat, hi." You smiled something painful and Natasha couldn't help the frown taking over her.

"Y/N, is nice to see you," she smiled honestly, hoping you could see it. "I-"

"You-"

You both cut each other mid-talk, laughing sheepishly.

"I'm sorry. You go first." Always the gentlewoman, Nat nodded for you to continue.

"Umm... I was wondering if you... maybe... Ugh, I'm such a mess," you laughed and Natasha couldn't help her jumping heart threatening to escape her chest.

"You might be a mess, but I wouldn't have it any other way." She high-fived herself mentally at the blushing of your cheeks. 'Smooth, dude' she smirked to herself.

"You're mean. I'm trying to be serious here," you pouted and Natasha was dying to kiss it away. But she knew better. 

"I'm sorry. I'll shut up now," she mimicked zipping her lips and your laugh filled her ears, making her wish she could hear your laugh for the rest of her life.

"Anywaaays," you rolled your eyes at her antics. "I was wondering if you wanted to sit with me? If you're free, I mean."

"I am free and I'd love to share this afternoon with you," she winked at you, repressing a laugh as you grumbled under your breath. "Go pick a table and I'll be there soon," she gestured to the back of the café as she walked towards the barista. 

She couldn't help the smile breaking her face at the outcome of this day. Maybe this wasn't the end, after all. And she was certain she'll make things different. This time, she'll be better for you.

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

Taglist: @marvelfansince08love @wannabe-fic-reader @natasha-danvers @rooskaya-yelena @sananabdliw @aaron-despair @username23345 @nate-the-dreamer @higherfurther-romanova

[thirteen-beaxhes]

Well This is Egg-celent (Tyrus One Shot)

Summary: TJ jokingly left a comment on Cyrus Goodman’s Tweet, and got an unexpected response.

Words: 4248

AO3 LINK IN REBLOG

~~~~~~~~~

“Hope you guys enjoyed this one! I loved the concept and had a blast making it with all my friends. I will see you all again, with another ridiculous to execute idea!” And the screen went black, the boxes of Youtube’s recommended videos popping up.

TJ laughed slightly at the end, using the back of his hoodie sleeve to wipe his nose, ignoring the tears streaming down his face. No stopping them clearly. But he was happy for the short break from his spiralling mind, for the brief respite.

Thank god for Cyrus Goodman’s films and videos, he thought to himself with a sigh, pushing his laptop back onto the bed which he had currently been lying on for two days straight. Amber had been walking in every now and then, desperately trying to get TJ to do something, anything, to try and not have him sink further into his emotions.

That worked about as well as one could imagine.

Drawing a shaky breath, TJ brushed off some of the cookie crumbs on his hoodie, accidentally kicking the empty ice cream carton off the bed. Oh well. He looked around his room to find it resembling the scene of a tornado hitting it. But he just couldn’t get himself to clean it. In that state, the chaos was comforting to him.

He picked up his phone, rubbing his stinging eyes as he opened Instagram. He clicked on the first Story, not even checking the name. He just wanted to let them play, giving some background noise as he just stared blankly at his screen. But, he jerked his head forward as soon as he heard that oh, so familiar voice.

Louis.

TJ gulped, his throat suddenly dry. He held his phone up with both his hands, peering at the screen, looking at the boy who had walked into his life a year ago and had stolen his heart, and who had left nothing but a stain on the carpet when he ran away with its broken pieces 3 days ago. He was at the bowling alley, hugging another boy TJ hadn’t seen before by the shoulders, laughing, his smile radiant. Having the time of his life.

Hoor-fucking-ray.

Tears filled up his eyes, as he immediately exited the stories, slamming his phone down onto the bed. He sniffed, unable to stop  some stray ones from falling, the drops staining his hoodie.

He just hadn’t been good enough for him, that was it, TJ thought to himself, picking up his phone again, very pointedly avoiding Instagram. That’s why he was able to move on so fast. That, and the circumstances of their actual break up.

TJ took a deep breath, opening Twitter to absent-mindedly scroll through his account. He made it a point to stick to his stan account, knowing that it was the only social media where he wasn’t following a certain someone. He let out a small breath every time he came across a meme, just trying to lose himself to the endless scrolling.

A few minutes later, a notification popped up with the tweeting of a bird. TJ narrowed his eyes, scrolling up and letting a small smile come up on his face.

@CyGoodman_ : i’m in an irrationally vengeful and havoc-wreaking mood now

TJ laughed quietly, shaking his head slightly at the tweet. He could just imagine Cyrus standing with a sledgehammer ready to total someone’s car. He focused more on the Cyrus part than the car, but no one needed to know that.

Maybe it was the mood he was in, or maybe TJ was just too tired. But soon enough, he found himself typing out a reply and posting it, before he was able to register what exactly he had just said.

@filmsaregoodman : haha great maybe you can help me egg my idiot ex’s house this weekend then

Why did he say that?! Cyrus was going to think he was so weird!! TJ thought to himself in a panic, taking short breaths as he clicked on the button to delete it, but he stopped himself.

He would never see it, given the flood of replies, he rationalised. Besides, he just saw someone ask him to meet them in an abandoned building with a pickaxe so he definitely didn’t have to worry about being too weird.

TJ just groaned, shutting off his phone and plugging it into his charger as he turned onto his side. He just needed to sleep and focus on trying and actually getting up the next day, he thought as he pulled the sheet over himself.

*

The beeping of his alarm drilled into TJ’s brain, and he groaned as he rolled over onto his back, pinching the bridge of his nose. Who invented the concept of time? TJ just wanted to have a kind word with them.

As he blindly reached for his phone, TJ was also hit with the unimaginable stench of his room, courtesy of him not having showered. He winced at that, making a mental note to go crazy on the deodorant. He opened his phone, clicking on the Twitter app. Nothing extraordinary seemed to have happened, but when TJ looked through his messages, his eyes caught a name and he yelped loudly, falling off his bed in an unceremonious crash.

“TJ!” Amber yelled, running into the room, holding a spatula. She saw TJ breathing heavy on the floor, muttering wildly to himself. She walked up to him and smacked him on the head with the spatula. “What happened?!”

“Why do you have a spatula?!” TJ asked incredulously, rubbing his head.

“Cuz I thought you were being attacked!”

“So a spatula was your best weapon? You were literally in the kitchen! With knives!”

“Well, I’m sorry if I grabbed the first weapon I could find! And we are getting off track!”

“Okay so,” TJ said loudly, before holding up his phone in excitement. “Cyrus Goodman DM’ed me!”

“What?!” Amber yelled excitedly, dropping the spatula on the floor as she jumped next to TJ. “What? How?”

TJ explained the Tweets from the previous night and then held his phone up to her, showing her the message. Amber pulled the phone to her, peering at the message in confusion.

“Hey! This is so weird and may seem stalkerish ahhhh but I saw your reply to my tweet so I wanted to ask: can I have your address?? I swear I won’t send a hitman to your house!” Amber read out, narrowing her eyes in confusion. “Well, that’s strange.”

“I know but, he messaged me!” TJ squealed, but soon he looked at her in confusion. “What do I say? What does he want my address for? Maybe he wants to send something? Oh my god, how do I look?”

Amber laughed, shaking her head as she got up, patting him on the shoulder. “I don’t know bro, you need to figure that out.” With that, she walked out of the room, yelling that she would be back from work late that day.

TJ sighed as Amber left, hiding his head in his hands.

He could draft a message to his favourite creator no problem, right?

Yeah, right.

*

Despite his five hundred mental breakdowns over trying to type a single word to Cyrus Goodman, the next couple days passed relatively normally. Amber finally managed to shove TJ out of bed, forcing him to go to work at the coffee shop where Marty was extremely concerned at his disappearance. Life returned to normal, and if TJ shied away from his phone and social media, and just smiled amicably at guys who tried to hit on him, no one said a word. The messages and tweets slipped out of his mind almost completely.

It was now Friday, and TJ groaned as Amber walked up to him, modelling yet another dress as she prepared for her date that night.

“You sure you’ll be okay at home?” Amber asked, concerned, as she looked at herself in the mirror.

“Yes Amber, I’ll be perfectly fine,” TJ said, laughing slightly.

“Okay,” she said, slightly unsure. But soon, she grabbed her handbag and left, flashing a small smile of nervousness before she left.

After she had gone, TJ slumped into the couch, grabbing the popcorn and ice cream he had abandoned as Amber asked him opinions on all her outfits for her date. He opened Netflix, hugging a pillow as he clicked play on ‘Always be my Maybe’, telling himself he was only watching for Keanu Reeves, not at all because he was lonely and rom-coms were his only shot at romance in his life.

He was more than halfway through the movie, and past the point of being civil as he ate, stuffing popcorn into his mouth as tears rolled down his cheeks. It wasn’t even that the movie was sad, but he was just having one of those movie nights. Suddenly, he heard a knock at the door. Narrowing his eyes, TJ brushed off some popcorn kernels, confused at who could it be. Not Amber, unless her date went bad.

Probably their neighbour about sugar, TJ sighed, as he pushed himself off the couch and rubbed his eyes as he shuffled to the door.

“Sorry mate, no sugar,” TJ said, before looking up and gasping.

Cyrus. Goodman.

What happened next, TJ wasn’t at all proud of. He screamed and slammed the door shut.

What the? How the? Why was Cyrus Goodman at his doorstep? TJ thought wildly, running a hand through his hair. He jerked his head up in shock.

He had just slammed the door on him!

TJ took a deep breath, keeping his eyes squeezed shut as he opened the door, with what he could only assume was a sheepish expression on his face.

“Hey,” Cyrus said softly, and TJ could’ve practically melted on the spot. “I thought for a second I had the wrong house or something,” he said, giving a small laugh that could’ve made angels sing. “Are you, Theo?”

“Y-Yeah,” TJ whispered, finally looking up, but immediately looking back down at his feet because oh my god Cyrus Goodman was standing at his doorstep. “Actually, TJ.”

“What?”

“Call me TJ. I just use Theo on Twitter so people don’t know who I am,” TJ said sheepishly, finally forcing himself to look at Cyrus.

He looked amazing, obviously. He was wearing a navy blue sweatshirt and dark jeans. But TJ furrowed his eyebrows when he looked down, noticing the three toilet paper rolls and three egg cartons tucked under Cyrus’ arm.

“Um, what’s that?” TJ asked, pointing at the questionable supplies. Cyrus looked confused, but looked down at his arm and understood.

“Oh! Yeah, I didn’t wanna bother you with the supplies, so I got them myself!” he said happily, pulling TJ out of the house by the hand. “Come on, we don’t have much time.”

“T-Time? For, for what?” TJ stammered out, unable to concentrate on anything other than the fact that he was practically holding Cyrus’ hand. Cyrus tilted his head to one side.

“To teach your ex a lesson,” Cyrus said simply, with a smile that teased I thought that was obvious.

A wave of realisation hit TJ, and he dropped his jaw open. “I was, I was joking.”

“Well, I’m not. Come on, it’ll make you not cry,” Cyrus said softly, reaching up to wipe away a tear that was on TJ’s cheek with his thumb. His hand lingered by TJ’s face, and god, if that was what it felt like to have your breath taken away, TJ never wanted to breath ever again.

Before he knew it, TJ was slipping on shoes and grabbing the keys out of the cat bowl he and Amber had stolen from their parents’ house when they moved out, shutting the door behind him as he followed Cyrus out the door.

Now that they were outside, walking on the streets, TJ was confronted by the fact that this was real. There he was, walking down the street with someone whose work he had admired for so long, who he may or may not think was breathtaking to look at, and they were walking with him to John’s house, to egg and TP it. Even dreams couldn’t come up with something this wild. But it was real, the chill in the night air, his visible breath in the air, everything was real.

“Let me hold something,” TJ said, trying to grab some of the things from Cyrus, but he moved away.

“No no, let me,” he said with a smile. “Least I could do.”

“Well, you’re doing more than you had to already. It’s all I could do.”

“Still. I wanna do this.”

TJ smiled, shaking his head slightly. He looked ahead, catching glimpses of Cyrus in his peripheral vision every now and then. He could also feel Cyrus looking at him every so often, and that made TJ’s cheeks flush, but if anyone noticed, he’d blame it on the cold.

Finally, after some minutes of silence and of Cyrus looking at him, TJ caved and turned to Cyrus. “What? Did I leave ice cream on my face?” he asked nervously, reaching up to wipe whatever it was away.

“No no,” Cyrus said, raising his eyebrows in amusement. “It’s just, I can’t imagine someone being stupid enough to let someone like you go.”

That comment was enough to turn TJ into a blushing mess, his heart doing the foxtrot in his chest. “I mean, I’m not that great.”

“That’s insane! We’ve exchanged like, 5 sentences, and I know that if you were with me, I’d never let you go.”

TJ choked, disguising it as a cough. What what what, did he say if TJ were with him. Hold the phone, he was dying. Tell Amber that he died as he lived, gay.

Cyrus just laughed quietly, bumping his shoulder with TJ’s. “Sorry, too much?”

“No no! Not at all,” TJ exclaimed, turning to look at him. “I just, no one’s said that before.”

“I can’t believe that,” Cyrus said, and TJ had to keep his eyes trained to the ground, knowing that hiss face was burning up.

They walked down the street in silence for some more time, before Cyrus looked at TJ.

“If you don’t mind telling me, why do you want to egg your ex’s house?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

TJ sighed, looking up at the sky, few stars visible in the sky. Fitting. “We’d been dating for 8 months, but I always felt like I was giving more than he ever was. And then I found out two weeks ago, that he was cheating on me,” he said quietly.

“That’s horrible TJ,” Cyrus said quietly. TJ just scoffed.

“Worst part, I knew that’s the kind of guy he was. And yet, I thought I could be the exception.”

“It’s not your fault,” Cyrus said comfortingly, placing a hand on TJ’s shoulder.

TJ just smiled appreciatively. He looked to his left and stopped, taking a deep breath.

“What is it?” Cyrus asked, stopping beside him.

‘We’re here,” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Well then,” Cyrus said, with a mischievous smile as he set down the cartons and pulled out two eggs. He handed one to TJ and kept one with himself. “On the count of three then.”

TJ smiled nervously up at Cyrus. “One.”

“Two,” Cyrus said with a smile, coming closer to TJ.

And with twin smiles, they looked at each other. “Three.”

*

“That was insane,” TJ said with a smile, running a hand through his hair, but realising too late that there was egg yolk on his fingers. “Ugh!”

Cyrus was laughing, doubled over. TJ looked over, unamused.

“Haha. Thanks Goodman.”

“Hey,” Cyrus said, holding his hands up. “Did it help or not?”

“Actually,” TJ said, looking away thoughtfully. “It did.”

“See? Vengeance tastes sweet.”

“More like tastes like an impending salmonella infestation.”

Cyrus rolled his eyes, shoving TJ in the shoulder. But then, his expression grew softer. “You sure you’re okay?”

And when TJ thought about it, he was surprised to find himself nodding. Cyrus let out a sigh of relief, looking at his watch.

“Well, 2 am is no time to go home but I’ll try my luck,” he said with a tired smile. “I had fun, TJ.” And with that, Cyrus began walking away, but TJ called out to him.

“Hey!” he said, running up slightly to him. “If you want, you can stay over at my place.”

Cyrus raised his eyebrows slightly, and TJ tried to explain himself nervously. “Well, it’s late. And it’s the least I could do after you came all this way.”

“I literally live across town, TJ,” Cyrus said with a giggle. “But okay, I’ll take you up on that offer. Thanks.”

With that, the two of them began walking back to TJ’s house, an unexpected tension in the air. But it wasn’t unwelcome. TJ and Cyrus constantly snuck glances at each other, both looking away as soon as the other caught them, cheeks pink. And it was pure coincidence if they were walking close enough to let their fingers brush against each other with every step.

They crept into the house quietly, TJ putting a finger to his lips.

“My sister is probably back from her date,” he whispered, and Cyrus nodded, and they made their way to TJ’s room, avoiding as many floorboard creaks as they could. When they got to the room, TJ wanted to throttle himself at the mess.

“I’m, I’m sorry about everything,” TJ muttered, trying to clear space. But Cyrus was deep in thought, looking around the room in awe at the posters and pictures, running his fingers along the spines of the books on TJ’s shelf.

“You like reading?” Cyrus asked softly, turning around as he took off his shoes.

TJ nodded. “Mostly history. You?”

“Space and reptiles,” he replied, sitting down beside TJ on the bed.

“Wow. Just two nerds sitting here together, huh?”

“Seems like it.”

There was a silence after that, both unsure of what to say. The soft orange light of the lamp in TJ’s room was making Cyrus’ face look warm and even more gorgeous than normal. TJ let his gaze flick down to Cyrus’ lips, but he pulled his eyes away, reminding himself that he did not need a relationship just then. Cyrus took a deep breath, hiding what looked like disappointment behind a soft smile.

“So, uh, I’ll take the floor?” TJ said, picking up his pillow. But Cyrus shook his head.

“No, I’ll take the floor, you sleep in your bed.”

“It’s fine, Cyrus.”

“No it’s not,” Cyrus said, grabbing TJ’s hand. “Okay, let’s just share the bed.”

TJ glanced at his bed, worried about size. But the atmosphere in the room was making his sleepy, so he just nodded his head, making the bed for the two of them.

Before they got into bed, TJ grabbed Cyrus’ elbow and pulled him to himself, wrapping him in a hug. Cyrus was surprised, but soon slipped his arms around TJ’s waist.

“Thank you for this,” TJ whispered into Cyrus’ ear, before pulling away and climbing into bed, Cyrus following him as his back faced TJ’s.

And when Amber walked into the room the next morning to find her brother sleepily cuddling the famous person who had messaged her brother, she almost screamed in shock, horror and joy. But then, she just smiled, and went to make breakfast.

*

TJ should have known. Some things were just too good to last. Even things like Cyrus Goodman.

Why had he been stupid enough to let himself fall again? Why couldn’t he learn his lesson?

He’d convinced himself Cyrus was different that Cyrus had seen who he was, and he loved him. He had convinced himself that they were meant to meet for a reason, because he was the one.

Well, another thing TJ Kippen was wrong about.

“Teej, please open the door,” Amber pleaded. “I’m worried about you.”

TJ sighed, pausing his loud rock music to open to door to Amber. Amber gasped when she saw his bedraggled appearance, immediately pulling him in for a hug. Even though he had spent the last 4 hours crying, that hug alone made TJ collapse into sobs, sinking to the floor as he pulled Amber down with him.

“I really thought, Amber,” TJ gasped, but Amber shushed his, placing her hand on the back of his head.

“You’ll be okay, I got you,” she whispered back to him, as she held onto TJ. After they pulled away, when TJ’s tears were just a silent stream, she narrowed her eyes. “What did he say?”

TJ just shook his head. “He just said, ‘This isn’t gonna work out. I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s me. I can’t explain.’ Bullshit.”

“That’s a lame excuse,” Amber huffed, pushing a strand of TJ’s hair back.

“I don’t know what to do Amber,” TJ said in a broken voice. “I thought we could make it. But, I shouldn’t trust anyone.”

“I’m so sorry Teej,” Amber said, leaning her head against TJ’s. “Do you want me to make you anything? I can get ice cream from Costco.”

“No,” TJ said, shaking his head and pushing himself off the floor. “I, I need to do something. But I need your help.”

“Okay?” Amber asked, confused.

“Could you get a carton of eggs for me?”

*

“Why are we doing this?” Amber said, hoding the carton of eggs as she and TJ sat in the cab to Cyrus’ apartment. “What, are we gonna egg his front door? Cuz I’m gonna do more than that.”

TJ shook his head, a small smile on his face as he got out of the cab. He took a deep breath and walked into the building, walking up the stairs to Cyrus’ apartment. The lights seemed to be out from downstairs, so he was probably out or asleep.

“Give me the eggs,” TJ said, and Amber handed him the carton, which he set down at the doorstep.

“Wait, what? We aren’t throwing them?” Amber whined, but TJ just looked up at her.

“Can you, give me a minute?” he asked quietly, and Amber nodded, walking down the stairs.

After she was gone, TJ pulled out a carefully penned note from his coat and placed it on the carton, knocking loudly on the door before walking away, squeezing his eyes shut as he left the building.

I couldn’t even find the energy to throw these at you. Because you were the last person I expected I’d need to do that to.

*

TJ called into work sick the next day, a fact Marty didn’t question much. He didn’t need to ask TJ to see that he was going through utter shit at the time. So, some time alone was what he needed. Even though Amber wasn’t completely ready to leave him alone, but TJ pushed her to accept the date her girlfriend had asked her on.

“I’ll be okay, Amber,” he had said, kissing her on the forehead. “Now go get your girl.”

The mood was perfect too, the rain beginning to pour in torrents. TJ curled up in his blanket, watching Love Island on television. At least some people’s love lives were worse than his. TJ was heavily immersed in the drama between the house members, when suddenly, he heard someone knocking on the door.

In this downpour? TJ thought to himself as he walked to the door and opened it. But when he saw who it was, he froze.

“Cyrus, are you crazy?! What are you doing here?” TJ asked in shock, taking in his appearance.

“I, I had to see you,” Cyrus said between pants, taking in deep breaths.

“Did you run here?”

Nodding, Cyrus took a step forward, but stayed outside. “TJ. I’m so, so sorry. I thought I had to protect you, but I, I made a mistake.”

“Don’t,” TJ cut him off, his voice breaking. “Don’t’ do that, Cyrus. I’m trying to move on.”

“Please, TJ,” Cyrus pleaded, grabbing onto TJ’s elbow. “Please just hear me out.”

TJ just sighed, and looked up at Cyrus, nodding.

“I love you, TJ. So, so much. And being with you has been the best thing to happen to me. And when we decided to go public, I was so happy that I could share my happiness with everyone,” Cyrus said with a sad smile. “But, I started seeing messages and posts with people hating on you, and insulting you, and I know you said it didn’t bother you, but I know it did. I could see it in your eyes. I thought if we weren’t together, it would stop, and you’d be okay.”

“Cyrus,” TJ said softly, squeezing his hand. “You don’t need to worry about that. Sure, it’ll take some getting used to, but in the end, I just wanted to be with you.”

“I just wanna be with you too,” Cyrus said softly, reaching up to brush TJ’s cheek with his thumb.

TJ smiled softly, before leaning in to capture Cyrus’ lips in his, tasting the rain without any care. Cyrus wrapped his arms around TJ’s waist as TJ cupped his cheeks. After they pulled away, TJ leaned his forehead against Cyrus’.

“I love you, TJ.”

“I love you too, Cyrus. And I hope you never give me a reason to egg your house.”

 ~~~~~~~~

This is fluff cuz i got peer pressure by @heart-eyes-kippen and @criminalambis​

[thexduchess-blog1]

Reflections.

Unattached

The whole unattached thing. As a general rule, with play-partners, FwB and fuckbuddys, I don’t get attached. It gets messy, boundaries are crossed and people catch feelings and it’s just, ugh. No.

There’s a thing I’ve been meaning to do, and that’s reflect on last years, and last weeks explosive, Krakatoa level eruptions that essentially convinced me that everyone is a lying cunt, and I can never properly trust anyone ever again because holy fuck, this is a belter.

Without going into ridiculously specific detail that would identify the piece of shit scumbag wanker, as much as I want to, I won’t.

Around 10/11 years ago I became friends with a guy, and at first we just fooled around but it eventually developed into a pretty serious and committed D/s relationship. Life got in the way occasionally but we always came back together and fell right back into place with each other. We saw each other 3 times a week, went away together, attended events together, and holy fuck the sex was amazing, but so were the lazy mornings, sending pictures to each other at work, goodnight phone calls and late nights getting high under the stars. We explored a lot together, found our limits and what we liked, and things we REALLY liked xD we found our roles and I still identify with those roles. He was my first Daddy, first ‘real’ Dom, I was his first baby, his sub. We helped each other through a hell of a lot. No, we weren’t exclusive, but there were periods where we were. For 10 years.

Last year, I got an email from a girl asking if I knew him. I messaged him and asked him who she was, and he confessed that that was his girlfriend. They’d been together the whole time, she was pregnant with his kid and he’d been lying the whole time, to me and her.

I had no idea she existed. Turns out he was a fucking brilliant liar.

She had caught him flirting with a girl at work, and went through his phone. Boom, all the emails, texts, pictures and phone calls between us. Photos of us together, intimate photos, explicit texts with times and dates. There was no escaping the fact he was lying. Obviously, I stopped it right then and there, explained everything to her, that I had no idea she existed, sent her screenshots of messages where he says he isn’t with anyone else, the whole shebang. I deleted and blocked every avenue of communication, apologised to her a million times.

And I shut down. Not only did I shut down, I vowed never to open up or trust anyone, I decided the best way to deal with it was to take copious amounts of cocaine & speed, various benzos and drink way, way too much over the course of about 6 weeks, self harming and starving myself out of fear, guilt and heartbreak. I was fighting, causing trouble and generally ruining my life, as I slept with all the wrong people and made all the wrong decisions. If I wasn’t in the pub, I was probably sleeping with someone, but no doubt I’d be back in the pub later.

Thing is I was still going to work through the day, owning the business allows you certain privileges, like being left the fuck alone. It wasn’t immediately obvious that I was destroying myself until my foreman came back from annual leave. He’s the same age as me, a really good friend, he’s picked me up, literally more than once. I probably don’t deserve his loyalty and kindness. He came into the office once the other boys had left, shut the door behind him and emptied my handbag across the desk in between us. Strips of pills, bags of powder and over an ounce of green came tumbling out, with grinder, mirror and old store card too.

I fought like fuck to get them back but I didn’t have a Catholic’s chance in Fountain against him. He burned everything except the green. Not before he locked me in my own office going fucking mental.

However, like the legend he is, he picked me up. I was at his sweating everything out and howling at the fucking moon because everything i’d blocked out with pills and powder came flooding in at once and I genuinely thought I was going to die if I cried anymore. I cried until I was sick and breathless, my body ached and my mind felt like it was being electrocuted. But Jai never left me. He put up with the anger, the hurt, the tears and the brief periods of laughter. He stayed with me while I ate, he held me as I shook in my sleep, he listened to every rant and sobbing monologue. I don’t think I’d have lasted much longer if he hadn’t pulled me out that hole. Either my mind or my body was going to snap under the pressure. He encouraged me to talk about what happened, and be explicit in how I felt.

I hadn’t done anything wrong. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have entertained him if I knew. This wasn’t my fault. But I still felt guilty that he’d cheated on her, ashamed that I was partly responsible for the apparent breakdown of a relationship, I was embarrassed when I thought about how intimate we were, empty that suddenly a huge part of my life had disappeared over night, broken and desperately sad that I didn’t have that connection anymore. And that was okay.

It fucking hurt. But it wasn’t my fault.

Eventually I got a grip, gave myself a shake and with Jai holding my hand I got up off the floor and opened the curtains again. Life continued on and slowly returned to normal. I quit playing within the kink community for a while, unable to trust anyone enough to submit or obey or whatever, I focused on work and keeping myself relatively sober.

Recently, my confidence is coming back. I’ve lost a bit of weight, my tits look amazing, my nails are finally growing, I look good in jersey dresses again, lol.

I came back to fet, I went to a social last month and met a couple old friends, M & I are seeing each other regularly again and life is generally ok.

But then I got an email last week. From Him. The Ex.

“...we’ve finished, can we talk?”

He told a convincing story about being separated since she found out, they’d moved into different houses, shared custody of the kid, he’d moved workplaces etc

I went out to meet him and we went to dinner. I didn’t drink. I asked him why he lied. He gave me an excuse that didn’t even nearly explain it, but was along the lines of wanting the best of both worlds. He apparently convinced me enough that he wasn’t with her anymore, even though I prodded and poked and asked a thousand questions to make sure I wasn’t being fucking lied to again. We went back to his place, sat outside and smoked, he told me how he felt, I told him how I felt. We ended up laughing and ended up in bed. Everything fell back into place, but I made it clear there was no attachment anymore, this was a one off and it wasn’t me forgiving him. To be honest, he’s a good ride. Sue me.

Except in the early hours, I noticed the faux fur of a hooded jacket poking out the cupboard under the stairs. I flipped out. I rang Leigh to pick me up and, while checking my emails in the morning, got hit with even more shit, so I went straight to my old dealers and bought far too much coke, alcohol and green.

I locked myself in my room, sent his girlfriend an email telling her everything, including screenshots of his email, put my phone on silent, and got smashed.

I embarrassed myself and other people, I nearly fucked up something I don’t want to fuck up, I pushed my body to the limit in a matter of hours because I knew I was going to feel everything again.

Jai to the rescue. Obviously I wasn’t at work, he knew I’d gone out for dinner the night before and put 2+2 together. Whisked away to safety again, and I sobered up pretty quickly.

As before, he forced me to face the things I was feeling and be honest about them. Then told me to clear things up with people and apologise, which I did.

Last time, I said I’d never trust or open myself to anyone, but sometimes things happen that make you realise it’s not that you can’t trust anyone, you just can’t trust them. I know that might be pretty obvious to a normal person but I’m not neurotypical.

I know I need to take the steps to be more social again, to be confident and know my worth, but in all honesty my confidence has been shattered.

I’m still me. I guess I’ve still got the same humour, I’m still cynical and pretty much a cunt, i’m still sugar sweet & sour as fuck, but I just don’t have that confidence anymore. Sure, I have moments, as you can tell. I still edit out imperfections though.

It’s funny how when the person who gave you that body confidence leaves, they take it with them.

I’m a little more shy, a little less likely to start a conversation, a hell of a lot more anxious, but I’m working on it. I’ve a little self esteem growing.

I can trust people, and if I’ve told you I trust you, know wholeheartedly that I do because you make me feel comfortable.

I just don’t get attached, simply because I don’t want hurt.

I’m sure someone will ease that fear eventually, and I’m looking forward to finding someone I can see a future D/s dynamic. Maybe they’re already lurking in my peripheral. I’m gonna stay positive. Life was shit for a while there, but it seems to be picking up a bit.

I am not defined by his actions.

I know my worth, and I’m worth more than being a dirty little secret.

[annievsullivan]

I tried to kill myself.

It was October 30th.

I woke up feeling like shit as usual. Every single part of my body was aching and my heart was in a battle between being overwhelmed with emotions and so empty that was almost suffocating.

I did nothing most of the day. I slept through the afternoon. Woke up and talked to my family about what I was feeling. I felt like they didn’t understand anything I was feeling at ALL but i forgave them. I listened and I understood why they were having that attitude. I told them I was going to work and I would try to get better.

Except I was lying.

I got ready for work. Put my uniform on, my hair up, got all the stuff I needed (my badge, keys, id card).

I also took three boxes of sleeping/calming pills and a box of pills similar to morphine. I added other ones but I was running late so that’s all I could gather.

I told my family that I was going to work and I would see them later.

As I got out of the house I picked up my phone (that I had already emptied so no one could form theories about my death) and wrote a message on facebook to my 10 year old sister that i loved her so so much and I was so proud of her. She never read that message. They deleted it so my sister wouldn’t know what I did.

I got downstairs to the locker area, grabbed a bottle from my locker and got in the bathroom.

I took the pills of the boxes and started taking them. 10 or so at a time.

I took 145 pills.

And then I waited. I sang some song that I was blasting through the speakers and thought about everything was about to end.

I felt so peaceful, so happy.

And then I made the fucking mistake of messaging someone because I suddenly felt lonely. I never thought he would do something about it. I told him I was calm and happy and was finally accomplishing what I wanted.

He somehow called my mom and warned her who in turn immediately called my job warning them and telling them to help me. I wasn’t fast enough.

They got me out of the bathroom as I was saying I was fine and was nothing wrong. I smiled as I reassured them. I thought I could pass as being totally normal.

But they new so I couldn’t.

And even if they didn’t know as I said I was fine for the last time I passed out and fell on the floor unconscious.

I can’t tell you what happened next because I could only hear voices. People calling my name. Then everything black. Then again voices. Black again. I remember opening my eyes a bit and seeing a familiar face. A friend of mine who’s a firefighter. It was not the first time she was helping me saving me.

I blacked out.

I woke up the next morning feeling disoriented not knowing where I was and what the hell happened. I was tied up to the bed. Like they usually do with people in mental hospitals. My wrists were tired and I was connected to so many things I didn’t even know what half of them did.

Then I remembered what happened.

I tried to kill myself. I failed and I was alive.

For the second (serious) time since I was sixteen I was in the hospital for trying to commit suicide. I almost died, I was in the resuscitation room. I almost did it.

But there I was, five or six in the morning, looking at the ceiling feeling a complete failure and too afraid to talk or to even think about what the hell was going on.

A nurse came up to me and told me something I don’t remember anymore. I asked him where I was, what time it was and why I was tied up.

I also remember asking him why couldn’t I get rid of the probe they put down my nose to completely wash the meds out of my stomach with charcoal.

Later in the morning they gave me another two shots of charcoal. It was this huge syringe. It felt so cold and uncomfortable down my stomach. And the probe made my throat hurt everytime I swallowed.

I felt invisible for so long. Watching everything go by at the hospital. Nurses and doctors around sick people who genuinely wanted to be alive and well while I just wanted to be dead. Why the fuck didn’t I die?

I’m out of the hospital now. I was given a new chance in life and I decided for the sake of my family’s sanity that I’m going to try to get healthy and happier. Living life step by step one day at a time.

Also, there’s one person who’s going to stay in my heart forever. I will never forget what he did for me. He literally saved my life. If it wasn’t for him I would be dead by now.

To be honest part of me is mad at him for doing it. I still think like I’m not made for life but who am I to decide it right now?

It’s a long way to recover. I don’t know if I’ll ever be happy but I’ll try.

And that I promise you.

[elsaclack]

This is really random but I saw a fic of yours about Amy being sick (I think the prompt was "Amy yells at the Vulture") but I can't find the full piece anywhere. Is it on AO3 anywhere? I love your writing and I completely understand if you just didn't want it out anymore. Just thought I'd ask! :)

i thought it was but i just went and searched my entire work history (including all 70+ chapters of those god-forsaken oneshot collections) and i couldn’t find it anywhere!! i guess i forgot to cross-post it back when i first wrote it, and it got lost when i deleted the original elsaclack. but i just scoured my docs list and found it buried in a random folder so i’ll repost it here and add it to the newest one-shot collection on ao3 :)

fun fact: this was written almost exactly 2 years ago!!! meaning that my writing skills have developed considerably since i actually wrote this. aka please don’t judge me if this seems like a sudden regression haha

also i wanna tag @phil-the-stone-art bc we actually developed the concept of The List together so she’s at least 35% responsible for this fic lmao

under the cut!

Amy Santiago does not get sick, thank you very much. She prides herself on her meticulous nightly hygienic rituals, on the cabinet full of multivitamins and minerals she takes on a daily basis in her bathroom, on the rigorous workout routine and diet she keeps herself on each week to maintain perfect health. She lives her life by a very tight plan (laid out in checklists and carefully organized in color-coded binders) that simply does not afford her any extra time to be sick.

Which is why, when she wakes up one Tuesday morning with a head stuffed full of cotton and violent shivers rolling down her spine, she gets up to start her usual routine in spite of the fact that she feels like she hasn’t actually slept in three weeks. Jake’s still snoring on the other side of the bed, another hour away from getting up to haphazardly dress in whatever flannel he can find lying on her bedroom floor that doesn’t smell too dirty, and he doesn’t even stir at the sound of her shuffling footsteps or running nose.

She drags herself into the bathroom, shuts the door, and flicks the lights on. Her reflection honestly makes her jump back an inch or two; she’s never seen her skin quite so pale, or bruises beneath her eyes quite so dark, or her lips quite so visibly dry and cracked. She reaches out to grip the edges of her sink and realizes that her arms and hands are trembling, and when she leans a bit more weight onto them she notes that her knees are quaking beneath her.

All in all, not a great start to the day.

She presses on, though, ignoring her running nose and congested head and general exhaustion. The shower helps a little, but not much.

When she shuts the water off, she hears Jake moving around in her bedroom, and her heart skips a beat. She hadn’t even realized she’d been in the shower that long. “Jake?” She calls as she wraps a towel around herself. Her voice is coarse and rough.

“Hey,” he knocks lightly at the door. “You okay?”

“Yeah - yeah, could you, um…there’s a binder out on the dining room table, should say something on the cover about that case I was working on last night -” she clears her throat and winces at the sharp pain that responds “- could you grab it and put it in my bag?”

“Sure,” he’s quiet for a moment and Amy’s left to gently rub at her temples with the heels of her hands. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound awful.”

“I’m…I’m fine.”

But she’s not. Her knees are still quaking and vertigo has suddenly set in and she’s swaying, reaching out to grab the tiled edge of her shower. Her hand slips against the wet surface and she falls forward, shoulder banging painfully into the tiles.

The door swings open and Jake bursts inside in a panic. “Ames? Oh my God!” She suddenly realizes that she’d sunk down to a crouching position upon falling. He kneels next to her, gently pulling her away from the shower and letting her lean heavily into him. Her head falls against his shoulder, forehead pressed to the crook of his neck, and she hears him tut. “You’re burning up, babe,” he says quietly.

“I’m fine,” her voice fails half-way through and she ends up finishing in an unconvincing whisper.

“You’re not going to work today,” he tells her.

“But -”

“You almost fainted just now, Amy. You’re staying home sick today.”

She tries to argue but he pulls her up off the ground, keeping his touch firm and steady should gravity leave her again, and her voice completely dies on the way out of the bathroom. He lets her whisper weak arguments as he steers her gently toward the bed, humming and nodding along as he pulls fresh sweatpants up her legs and eases one of his academy shirts over her head. He pushes back on her good shoulder with just enough force that she lays down and pulls the comforter up to her chin. Her eyelids flutter closed when he presses a kiss against her forehead.

“I’ll tell Captain Holt where you are,” he says quietly. His hand finds hers against the mattress, fingers twisting through hers. “Get some sleep, okay?”

She’s asleep before he even gets out the front door.

A few hours later she’s roused by the sound of her phone vibrating on her bedside table. Sunlight streams in through her window and she squints, disoriented, fumbling around with semi-numb fingers for her phone.

From: Jake PeraltaHow u feelin? Miss u at work. Charles says he’ll bring u goat soup later lol

It hurts to even swallow, and Amy has to work really hard to keep from whining at the splitting headache igniting behind her right eye.

To: Jake PeraltaFeel like garbage. I haev a headache. Im afraid to get out of bed for meds. Miss u too

She waits five minutes for him to respond, and when her phone remains motionless, she closes her eyes and lets it fall against her chest.

Precisely twenty minutes after that, she hears her front door open. It closes again and she hears footsteps crossing her living room and it only just hits her that someone is in her apartment when those footsteps cross the threshold of her bedroom.

“Hey, hey, don’t get out of bed,” Jake says soothingly. Amy falls back against her pillow from her struggling half-sitting up position as Jake drops a plastic grocery bag at the foot of her bed and perches on the edge of the mattress beside her. He replaces her phone back on her bedside table with one hand and smooths his other palm over her forehead (and she only just then realizes that she’s sweating) and grimaces. “You’re still burning up,” he says, running his fingers through her hair just above her forehead.

“I’m fine,” she whispers, and the words slip out between two wet coughs.

He frowns and gently scratches his short nails against her scalp. “I brought Advil,” he says, casting an absent glance over his shoulder at the bag he brought in, “and stuff to make soup. It’s the recipe for Nana’s matzoh ball soup.” She raises her eyebrows beneath his palm and he grins down at her. “Don’t tell Charles, but it’s literally the best soup you’ll ever have and it’ll cure your dumb cold in twenty minutes or less.”

“Promise?”

He leans down and pecks a kiss against her forehead. “Promise,” he says when he leans away. “I’m gonna go make some and bring it in here and you’ll be back on your feet before the end of the day. Peralta Guarantee.” He winks.

She sinks down into the mattress as much as she can when he stands up, opening her eyes only when he comes back in with two Advil tablets and a glass half-full of water. Within minutes she begins hearing pots and pans knock around in her kitchen, and through her cloudy mind she registers that her stomach is rumbling in irritation.

“Alright,” he announces from her doorway. Her eyes split open and he’s carefully balancing the soup bowl on top of her dresser. “I’ll help you sit up, don’t move.”

He pulls her up with one hand and waits until she’s sitting up steadily before hurriedly stacking her pillows up behind her. She breathes a sigh of relief when she leans back, not realizing just how much of a strain sitting up is until that moment. He hurries back to where the soup is still steaming and carefully brings it over to her, the tip of his tongue appearing at the corner of his mouth for how hard he has to concentrate on not spilling any.

He nestles it in her lap, and she smiles, because he looks so proud of himself and he’s really so adorable.

Jake stays with her until she finishes the whole bowl and then he takes her dishes from her and quickly rinses them out in her sink.

“I’ll be back after work to check on you and to finish cleaning that, okay?” He calls from her doorway.

She hums hoarsely and fades out of consciousness.

An hour later, Amy wakes up feeling half-human. Her head and throat still hurt and she still can’t breathe out of her nose, but her brain doesn’t feel quite so fried and her limbs don’t feel quite so weak anymore.

Jake was right - the soup really did help.

Not as much as Nyquil would, but…still.

She kicks the comforter off and moves to sit up, and her phone suddenly falls into her lap from her chest. She pauses, staring at it, trying to remember when it ended up back there. She has no new calls or texts, but when she unlocks the screen, there’s a new note pulled up.

Things i want t odo to jake in bed

Amy feels flames engulf her face that have absolutely nothing to do with her fever. The list has twelve items on it, each one raunchier and riddled with more spelling errors than the last, and by the time she gets to the end of the note she’s covering her face in embarrassment. She’s got just the vaguest memory of typing it (and it’s really more of a dream of a memory than anything else), but none of it will solidify into more than just faint snapshots in her head.

But the more she rereads it, the more heat begins building in her body - heat from the mental images, heat from the germs ravaging her body, heat from the thick comforter still draped over her legs.

She has got to go get some Nyquil.

Santiago Determination blazes through her as she drags herself out of bed, shoulders set and jaw clenched as she pulls one of Jake’s hoodies over her frame and slides her feet into her rarely-worn flip-flops. Part of her feels guilty, knowing that if Jake was the one home sick she’d insist on him texting her anything he needs so that he would stay in bed and recover faster, but she brushes it off as she grabs her purse.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?

She blames her scattered brain on the matzoh ball soup later. She blames her compromised detective skills and her lack of attention to detail and her general disorientation on the soup. Because under normal circumstances, no matter how sick she truly is, she would definitely have noticed the Vulture browsing the low aisles of the bodega around the corner from her house immediately upon walking through the front doors.

But as it is, she doesn’t, which means that he gets a visual on her before she’s even aware of being spotted.

She’s so busy perusing the medicine section toward the back that she doesn’t notice him stalking around the shelves, doesn’t feel him peeking around the Doctor Scholl’s cardboard display, doesn’t hear him mutter at a mother and daughter to get out of his way as he follows her ambling walk down the aisle. She isn’t aware of the danger until he’s basically on top of her.

“Yo, Santiago,” he says, his voice low and curdling. She winces and turns slowly, and he’s leaned against the shelves to her left, leering down at her. A handcart hangs between them; it’s full of at least thirty boxes of condoms, she realizes when she glances down. Her stomach shifts unpleasantly. “You look homeless.”

“Get out of the way,” she whispers hoarsely.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Peralta got you screaming so hard every night you lost your voice?”

Heat bursts through her cheeks and she glances back, meeting the scandalized look on that same mother’s face with an apologetic grimace. “Shut up.” She snaps as fiercely as she can.

He smirks, because her voice only comes in bursts. “Damn, you really let yourself go, didn’t you?” His eyes rove her body and she’s suddenly very keenly aware of the fact that she’s not wearing any underwear beneath her sweatpants. She can feel her face blossoming.

“Whatever.” She turns away quickly and digs her phone out of her purse, cursing when she hears the Vulture following her down the aisle. She dials Jake’s number quickly, and he answers after just two rings.

“Hey, is everything oka-”

“I need you go come to the bodega by my apartment,” she whispers. She can feel her hand trembling again and she curses whatever part of her thought it would be a good idea to do this on her own.

“Wait, what? Why are you -”

“I thought I could walk over here and get what I needed without you, but -” she winces at the sound of the Vulture’s laugh, loud and obnoxious behind her. “But I ran into someone and I need you to come save me.”

“Santiago, look - they do make extra-small condoms! Should I put a whole box in for you and Peralta or is that too many?”

She hears a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Is that the Vulture?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Do not faint.”

“I’m doing my best, but please hurry.”

Amy starts pacing up and down the aisles, doing her best to block the Vulture out. He trails along behind her, alternating between making lewd sexual innuendos about random items on the shelves they pass (“Everything’s a sex toy if you try hard enough,” while pointing out a plastic broom) and insulting her general appearance (“Y’know, you were much sexier before Peralta dragged you down to his level of ugliness. Just make sure your ass doesn’t get as fat as his”). It’s around the time they make it back to the medicine aisle that he turns to making fun of Jake himself.

“I still can’t believe you’re with that loser,” he laughs as Amy finally swipes a bottle of Nyquil off a lower shelf. She stands up slowly, gripping the shelves above her firmly, as a wave of vertigo hits her once again. “You’re hot as shit usually - not right now, obviously - I bet you could sleep with any guy you want.”

She clenches her jaw and tries to calculate how long it’s been since she hung up with Jake.

“I bet the sex is really boring, too,” the Vulture continues. “I bet it’s all missionary and full of, like, eye-contact and shit. I bet he tells you he loves you because you don’t make fun of his tiny weiner.”

“Okay, y’know what?” She snaps, and suddenly her voice is half back. “First of all, there’s nothing wrong with missionary if you do it right. Secondly, you’re full of crap if you really think eye-contact is boring. Third, you’re right, he does tell me he loves me, because he actually loves me, you sexist pig. And fourth, he’s not tiny.”

“Whatever. He’s a joke, just like you, and I bet the sex sucks and you’re both so bad at it that you can’t even tell that it sucks.”

She knows people are staring, but her brain just isn’t functioning right. She yanks her phone out of her purse and quickly scrolls over to her list. “Jake’s the best sex I’ve ever had, okay? In fact, he’s so good that I made a list!” She shoves her phone in his face and scrolls quickly, grinning in manic triumph at the dumbfounded look on his face. “I made a list of all the things I want to do with him because he’s so unbelievably good. You wish you were as good as him.”

He is, for once, speechless. Amy locks her phone and steps back, smug grin on her face. The Vulture’s eyes flicker to something over her shoulder and she sees the spark of recognition in his face; when she turns, she feels her stomach drop down to her toes.

Jake’s standing at the end of the aisle, looking just as dumbstruck as the Vulture. She gasps, and the sound comes out like a ragged squeak. His mouth is hanging open but his brows draw together at the sound.

“Ja- Jake,” she says hoarsely.

This seems to snap him out of his stupor. His mouth snaps closed and he immediately begins striding down the aisle toward her and there’s something new in his eyes - smug and barely-contained glee, maybe - when he throws his arm around her shoulders. “Hi, honey,” he says, laying a kiss against her temple and pulling the bottle of Nyquil from her grasp. “Let’s get you back in bed.”

“Yeah, well, you’re both a couple of losers!” The Vulture shouts after them. Jake twists around and flashes his middle finger at him and grins into Amy’s hair at the sound of his splutters. “I’m buying thirty-five boxes of condoms!”

“You’re amazing.” Jake murmurs once they’re outside of the store. “But next time, just call me instead of trying to go get stuff on your own. I really don’t mind doing it for you. That’s what boyfriends are for.”

She sinks into the passenger’s seat of his car and sighs in relief; her body is already aching from the exertion of just a lap around the bodega. She feels Jake slide in on the driver’s side, feels the engine roar to life beneath her and the air conditioner tickle across her face. The car lurches a little when he puts it in drive and then his free hand finds hers and interlaces their fingers.

“I’m sorry about…that.” She whispers once he’s pulled away from the curb.

“It’s fine, but I really mean it about calling me next time, okay? ‘Specially since you almost fainted this morning and everything, like, what would’ve happened if you’d fallen and hit your head and they took you to the hospital? They would’ve called Manny and it would’ve taken him three hours to get here and -”

“Wait, no, they’d call you,” she interrupts. “Manny’s not my emergency contact anymore. You are.”

He turns his head toward her and stares.

“I changed it two years ago, Peralta. Way before we started dating. I just figured, y’know, since you’re my partner and everything, you’d be able to get there the fastest. And, besides, that’s not even what I was talking about. I meant…the stuff I said to the Vulture. The list.”

“Oh,” he shrugs. “I don’t really care. The guy’s an ass. I could hear him yelling all the way from the front doors. Besides, you weren’t lying.”

He squeezes her hand a few times in quick succession and she snorts. “So you’re…not mad? About any of it?”

“I’m more curious than anything else. Do I get to look at the list, too? Or is that just between you and the Vulture?”

“I can’t stand you.”

She does let him see it once they’re back to her place. He reads each item carefully three times over without ever saying a word, and then stands and grabs his laptop and a notepad off of her dining room table. When she asks what he’s doing, he responds with a muttered “research” and then promptly tells her to finish her soup.

The night passes in a haze that has nothing to do with the cold or the soup or the medicine, and the next morning she wakes to the sounds of Jake’s congested voice explaining through chest-rumbling coughs that neither he nor Amy would be making it into work that day.

[truthofherdreams]

people can surprise you (or not)

Friday

also on ao3

Maria is the one on Nastya Watch when Anya wakes up the following day. She’s made herself at home already, sitting cross-legged at the dinner table with her laptop and graphic tablet in front of her. The strong aroma of coffee fills the room, and the last notes of a Panic! At The Disco song fade away, Paramore’s guitar riffs rising in the silence of the apartment.

“The emo playlist, really?” Anya asks as she makes her way to the kitchen so she can pour herself a cup of coffee. She adds two sugar and a drop of milk, head bobbing to the music. It reminds her of being a teenager, singing along to rock songs and dancing on her bed with Maria and Alexei, playing at who-would-be-the-more-dramatic. (Her, always her.)

“It’s still solid, stop complaining,” Maria replies, not looking away from her screen. She’s drawing a mermaid, and it’s probably part of the children’s book she’s been illustrating for weeks now.

“Am not,” Anya says as she comes back to the living room, and sit on a chair opposite Maria. She puts her feet on the chair, arms wrapped around her legs and chin on her knees. “You could have bought croissants, though.”

Maria takes one grape from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table and throws it at her. Anya catches her with her mouth, the grape exploding on her tongue before she swallows it around a proud grin, to which her sister only replies by rolling her eyes.

“The bakery is just next door, feel free to go whenever.”

Anya pokes her tongue out at her sister, before she looks down at her phone. Emails have been piling up since yesterday and it will take her hours to go through all of them – not that she has anything else to do. She can’t remember the last time she took that many days off work, but it would be lying to say she doesn’t deserve them. She’s been working so hard the past few years; she deserves a break, even if it comes with an almost mental breakdown and an identity crisis.

She’s in the middle of sending a requested to DisneyLand – lots of kids want to be in the happiest place on earth as their Wish, after all – when Maria’s phone blasts Alexei’s personalised ringtone.

“Yeah, baby bro? …Okay, wait. I’m putting you on speaker.” She moves the phone away from her face and presses here and then on her screen, before she adds, “Okay, you can speak now.”

“Nastya, what’s Dmitry’s surname?”

She frowns, both at the question and the hurried tone. “Sudayev. Why?”

“You need to check Twitter,” is all Alexei says instead of answering. “Now.”

The sisters frown at each other above the top of the laptop screen, before Maria pushes her graphic tablet and Anya stands up to walk around the table. By the time Anya stands behind her sister, both hands on the back of the chair, Maria has opened Twitter already. It’s her profession account, the one where she posts about her work and current projects, but it’s not the most important part right now.

Because Anya’s eyes are drawn to the Worldwide Trends list on the left of the page, and they widen when she reads through it.

BuzzClick is trending, and with it Dmitry Sudayev. Worldwide.

Maria’s mouth hovers over the name, before she pauses and looks up at her little sister. Anya is aware that she’s waiting for something, for some hint of approval that she can click and discover what is going on. But she just can’t stop staring at the screen, at the name. Just a bunch of letters aligned in one specific order, and yet her heart is in her throat, beating so fast that she’s afraid her breakfast will go out the wrong way. Maria is silent, and so is Alexei, and Anya is staring and staring and staring.

She isn’t sure if she offers Maria a nod, or a jerk of the head, or just that her entire body is trembling. But at some point she moves, and Maria clicks on the link, opens the floodgates, releases the kraken. And Anya, with her heart in her throat and cotton in her ears, and her damn fucking mind playing tricks on her, Anya leans closer to the screen so she can read.

The first tweet comes from the Huffington Post, of all places. ‘How one Frenchmen called out incel-friendly online magazine,’ reads the title. Next tweet is from a feminist organisation. The one after from a politician. Then another feminist, some angry dude, a smaller newspaper, a YouTuber, random person number one, random person number two. It goes on and on, and on, until Maria scrolls back up and clicks on the HuffPost article.

“Sudayev, who had been working for ClickBuzz for the past five years, posted the article early this morning,” Maria reads out loud for the both of them. “It stayed online for three hours before it was deleted – but not before people could screencap it and share it on social media. The article soon went viral and…”

Maria stops then, goes back to Twitter, finds the screencaps. It’s four of them in a row, sentences after sentences, paragraphs after paragraphs. The style is messy, all over the place – she pictures Dmitry sitting in front of his computer and typing angrily, or going at it on his phone, before hitting the ‘Publish’ button in a spur-of-the-moment fit of rage.

That raw, unguarded flood of emotions, she felt it too.

It’s hard, to come to terms with it, with the fact that Dmitry may be going through the same heartbreak she is. A small, angry part of her wants him to suffer, to feel so sorry for his crimes that he will come crawling back to her and beg for forgiveness. But, at the end of the day, that is not who Anya is. That is not what Anya wants. She just wants… she just thinks that Dmitry messed up, and is as broken as she feels, and probably was drunk when he wrote and posted this.

She thinks that he would never have said some of those things, sober, to her face.

Maria’s phone beeps twice loudly, startling Anya out of her reflexion. It’s another call, from Olga, and Maria is fast to merge the two conversations together so they can share a big Romanov conversation.

“Did you see it?” are Tatiana’s first words.

“Yeah, looking at it right now,” Maria replies.

“How’s Malenkaya holding up?”

“You’re on speaker,” Maria says, at the same time that Anya replies, “I’m fine.” But her voice is flat and small, and her eyes are still glued to the screen, and she isn’t even convincing herself. She doesn’t feel fine. Actually, she doesn’t know how she feels at all about all of this.

The Dmitry she knows – or, well, thought she knew – never would have done that in a manipulative way. Despite what some of those tweets are claiming, he didn’t do it to throw a pity party for himself, or for Anya to feel sorry for him. If Dmitry is half the man she thought he was, he meant every word he wrote. And perhaps that is the most terrifying part.

“So what are you going to do?” Olga asks, her voice so soft and gentle that Anya’s eyes start prickling.

“Well, she can’t exactly…”

“I think that’s quite romantic and…”

“She should just call him to see if…”

“...obviously manipulating her and…”

“...if he really means it, it could…”

“...benefit of the doubt and…”

“...doesn’t deserve her anyway, she’s too…”

“...but what about second chances and….”

“HOW ABOUT YOU ALL SHUT UP!” Hands in her hair, pulling a little, she is still staring at the screen and ignoring Maria’s wide eyes, enjoying the silence that settles over the phone. Not even Olga makes a comment about her language, which says a lot. “My love life isn’t some kind of democracy where you all have a say!”

A pause. Then, Alexei, “Well, more like an oligarchy because…”

“Oh shut your damn mouth, okay!”

Alexei may shut his mouth, but Maria’s jaw is on the floor. Olga weakly protests about not talking to her brother that way, not that Anya pays her any mind. She’s just focusing on breathing properly again, deep in, low out, so as to calm down the anger building inside her. She loves her siblings, she really does, but sometimes they forget about boundaries. Which would be fine any other day, but her mind is too much of a mess already for her to take into account everyone’s opinion on the matter.

“I’ll call you all back later,” Maria hastily says, before she hangs up despite her siblings’ protests.

The silence that follows is deafening.

It’s only when Anya goes to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water, only to struggle with opening the bottle, that she looks down at her hands. They are trembling so hard she can’t make them stop, even when she clasps them together. She closes her eyes and leans her forehead against the cold metal of the fridge’s door, willing her heart to stop beating so fast, her entire body to calm down.

Maria’s hand, warm and soothing, settles on her back and runs small circles against the fabric of her shirt. She doesn’t say anything at first, just lets her comforting presence do the job, and Anya has to admit it is effective. After the noise and mess of her siblings, some moments of peace with the other half of the Little Pair might be exactly what she needs right now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Maria asks softly.

Anya scoffs. “Is there anything to talk about? This doesn’t change anything.”

She isn’t so sure who she is trying to convince here but, as always, Maria isn’t fooled. She doesn’t say anything for a while, her lips pressed tightly, as if carefully pondering on her next words. Maria has never been the wiser of the lot, after all, especially not when it comes to relationship advices. She got her heart burnt too many times before meeting the love of her life, and yet she kept throwing herself back in the game every time. Anya has no idea how she did it.

“But he said you were the love of his life,” Maria finally says, her voice soft and careful. “That has to change some things.”

“You think I should forgive him?”

“No.” Simple. Final. “Because what he did is unforgivable, I stand with Tanya on this. But… But Nastya, you owe it to yourself to find some closure, don’t you think?”

It’s dangerous -- she is afraid of what might happen if she confronts Dmitry again, if she looks into his eyes only to find something she doesn’t want to see in them. Or does want to see. What then? Fall back into his arms, only to get burnt once more? Walk away from him anyway? She doesn’t know what she wants, what she needs, what she expects. Why does everything about all of this have to be so complicated, her mind at war with her heart?

“I don’t know…” she starts, before she pauses. Tongue darting out to lick her lips. Hand rubbing one of her eyes.

But perhaps not knowing is exactly why she needs to do that. Perhaps it will shed some light on the situation and allow her to make sense of everything that has happened since Wednesday night. And, like Maria said, it might help her get some closure, might make it easier for her to move on after this. So she sighs, and looks back at her sister.

“Yeah, okay.”

Maria smiles, soft and protective, before she takes out her phone and opens the maps app. “Let’s go to BuzzClick, then.”

[untoldtalesofasinner]

Oddly True

Flower-Gathering

 I left you in the morning,

And in the morning glow,

You walked a way beside me

To make me sad to go.

Do you know me in the gloaming,

Gaunt and dusty grey with roaming?

Are you dumb because you know me not,

Or dumb because you know?

 All for me? And not a question

For the faced Glowers gay

That could take me from beside you

For the ages of a day?

They are yours, and be the measure

Of their worth for you to treasure,

The measure of the little while

That I’ve been long away.

 R. Frost

  Its been four days since I have left my bed. Its been four days since a light has been on in the house. The metaphorical light has been dim to nonexistent for some time. I lay on my side watching the sun rise through the cracks of the blinds. My body aches, probably from being in bed for so long or from the tension of my stressed muscles refusal to sleep. The hours go by as the missed notifications and text messages continue to roll in. I make the first movement in hours which is turning my phone on do not disturb and delete all the apps I have notifications for then stare at the dark tv screen. Somehow the lull soothe me to sleep but it isn’t peaceful and dream free as hoped. I wake up to what feels like days later but its only been a couple hours. My body is hot and sticky, its also been four days since I’ve showered. The ache in my bones knocks and reminds me that the hot water might help. I drag myself from the bed and turn on one light. Progress.

The water is too hot but I let it burn my skin. Being naked and vulnerable in the shower makes the nakedness and vulnerability I feel on the inside much more prominent. Suddenly I want to get out of the shower but I am being held down by the thick steam. I manage to wash my hair and body but the pressure in my chest builds and I can’t breath. Shutting the water off before all the suds have been removed from my body, I yank the towel off the hook not even managing to wrap the whole thing around before pulling the bathroom door open. My breath comes in short huffs and I begin to shake. Firmly pressing my back to the wall I slide down to the floor hoping it gives me steadiness or maybe a sense of security. Minutes pass and I wrap my shaking arms around my knees, if I get small enough it will go away or hopefully I will disappear as a whole. Its not going to go away this time is it?

Water from my hair drips down my back its cold but it doesn’t feel cold. The vibration of my body has dulled but my hands still shake. An overwhelming urge to get out of this house, this state, this country fuck this skin takes over, not in waves but concrete, filling from my toes slowly to my head. I have to get out of this country. I keep running from state to state but that hasn’t provided any relief so far, well relief for long. I know I am running from my problems or whatever makes my body glued to the bed every morning and makes my eyes water every night but I can’t help it.

To Maddie: I need a no questions favor.

I’m happy I haven’t completely shut the world yet as my plan this morning was going to drown my phone instead of switching on a simple DND. How convenient technology has become.

From Maddie: Okay…..

To Maddie: I need you to go to my parents house get my passport and overnight it to me.

To Wanda: Where is my passport?

God, I knew when I was visiting recently I should’ve taken it. I have also brought it upon myself to enlist a middleman. I simply can’t ask my parents to send my passport so urgently. They believe that I am on day four of my new job and about to begin my long journey of going back to college. I mean part of it is still true just a very small part. To avoid any suspicion the middleman is required no longer preferred.

To Maddie: I’ll pay you

From Maddie: What is the overnight cut off?

To Maddie: I don’t know I just need it as soon as possible.

I begin to look forward to a long flight hoping I can sleep restless free or it just won’t seem that way with a plane full of restless passengers to drown me out.

From Maddie: The cut off is at 5PM and I have an appointment at 4:15PM. Does it have to be today?

I don’t reply.

My chest tightens and I rub my face in frustration. A dream is slipping away, no not a dream a salvation. Peeling myself from the floor to dress I stare into the closet at the multiple suitcases. I refuse to give up. I don’t want to spend the money and I don’t want to give into the never ending impression of my running from the world. But its too late I’ve made up my mind, perpetual disappointment seems to follow me anyways. If I can’t get my passport a whole wrench will be thrown to my plans. I don’t want to be limited to domestic, yuck. I play with the though of New York and scout another minion.

To Anthony: I need you to call me when you get out of school its important.

My phone rings and I almost miss it because of that damn dnd but I answer quickly trying to mental math the time zone difference.

“Are you out of school? I ask.

“No I just stepped out of class.” He says waiting for me to get to the point clear worry in his tone. Fuck.

“I need you to find my passport at home and overnight it to me.” I quickly blurt out. He’s quite.

“I asked your mom where she left it but I haven’t heard back and really need it as soon as possible. So if you could when you get home look for it and ship it to me I’ll pay for everything.” I add and wait patiently.

“Okay.” Is all he says after a long beat.

“Uh also don’t really mention anything, you know.” I say.

“Well I am going to have to ask mom where she put it and plus you already talked to her.” His voice is full of curiosity.

“Yeah, yeah its fine you are right. Thank you.” I say quickly and hang up.

One hour and forty three minutes later I am trapped again on the dreaded bed. I have picked my flight and Airbnb as well as scheduled my exam for tomorrow you know to soften the blow. I drag my hands over my face and my chest tightens. Everything hurts and its getting harder to breath again. I fall back at the end of the bed using an arm to cover my eyes from the tiniest of sun light that seeps in through the blinds.

To Anthony: Any luck?

Fourteen minutes later I drag my fingers through my hair. FUCK. I begin to pace around the room.

  I went outside today. The moment the sun hit me I immediately wanted to turn back around and go back inside. Yet several hours later back in my house my shoes are still on. Though I replied to a few messages and calls, saw the sun, and some lights are finally on I still can’t breath. My muscles still ache from trying to hold myself together all day. My passport arrives Saturday at 10AM which unfortunately leaves me over 24hrs to sit in darkness. Darkness that I know that will follow me thousands of miles but maybe it won’t suffocate me as much. There are moments that I catch myself concerned about my own behavior. Am I okay? Do I want to die? I go through the whole suicide questionnaire. Its not that I want to die I just sometime wish I never existed at all. This place is a comfortable one to be in and instead of fighting it I have fully succumbed. This is how its always going to be why continue to fight it and put a fake smile on. I fear I have put to many expectations on my get away and the guilt from lying is a faint background noise.

  didn’t even remember I stopped eating a couple days ago until the alcohol came back up. My chest doesn’t feel as tight but the ache is still there. This feeling doesn’t go away no matter how much I soak it in booze and drugs. I hoped that I would feel differently or feel something. You have no idea how much I hoped I would feel something different than this. God this must be what back sliding feels like. I guess you wouldn’t know since I am sure you haven’t read all the things I’ve written every time I have felt this way over the years. But for me defiantly back sliding. Oddly I am laughing at the thought, could be the booze or drugs.

Everyone loves the surface of me and maybe that’s my fault for keeping everyone at arms length. Its not that I don’t think that people wouldn’t love me this way, I’m just too scared to show people this side. You know that feeling when you’ve been in the sun too long and all the sunscreen you’ve put on hours ago is long gone? Your lips are dry and your eyes burn from the sun? For some damn reason that is the feeling I get when I wake up everyday. Then again I don’t do much of the regular human functions like eat or drink water at the right times. For some damn reason it has been less appealing as the days go by and I gag every time I force water or food down. I want it to stop. I don’t want this feeling to creep up upon me anymore. I mean for fuck sakes most of my life trauma is far behind be. I want it to stay far in the past and never again be tempted to fall into the comfortable black tar pit again. I may have describe it as a sweet thing before and it seems that way but it’s a sticky trap just like growing up is. Seems so great from a distance until you are days, months, years stuck into something you didn’t know how you got yourself into. But for some damn reason I can’t even scream for help anymore though you know I would never do such a thing.

This is not a new thing, it’s a new thing I’ve been more willingly to share. I keep pressing the send button on my true fucking feelings and its terrifying. The worst part is that I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about what everyone I send this to will think of me. I am worried that people are worried. God, when did I become such an empath. I am now realizing that when my mom was on her death bed and said to me that you are the most thoughtful person, she was right. She didn’t even know how right she would be. I wasn’t that thoughtful or what I thought was thoughtful at the time, I was loyal. As the years went by without her I have become the person she called at that moment though it wasn’t completely true yet, she knew I would turn out this way. I don’t care what people think of me, truly. I only care how they feel. I don’t want people to hurt for me. I’m not concerned with pity but more I whole heartedly don’t want them to feel pain. I’ve felt pain, true pain and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

My friends love me, the real me, no matter how much I keep distance or put up walls. I know they see through the cracks and still love me anyways. Maybe that could be why I am still around and can’t ever really give up. I know that though I am not perfect I am still loved. Why do I feel so alone still? They are there for me and I KNOW. I just can’t help but when I am surround by the people I love, I am happy but yet still feel so alone. Audrey Hepburn said I don’t want to be alone I just want to be left alone, or along the lines of some shit like that. Everyone left be to be alone when I needed it but then I pushed everyone further to the point where I became really alone.

Ignore my bouncing around because I am on a roll, okay? Maybe by the time I come back from wherever I go I’ll have it all figured out. HA I hope and I know you hope that for me too. My therapist awhile back said something to me that was oddly the biggest thing that stuck with me. Once I went through the whole background (if you’ve been to therapy you know what I mean) she said:

“You keep saying that people have it worse but you can’t forget to feel bad for yourself for the things you went through”

Fuck, right?

That’s why I am a little behind on everything, I am well aware. But now it’s a trait that is so fucking hard to break. I was never worried about comparing my life to someone else’s that had it better somehow comparing my life to people who had it worse has left me to not be sad, angry, confused or really any emotion for long. Even typing that reminds me that I used to only let myself cry on the bus ride home occasionally because for some reason being surrounded by people I didn’t know and know that wouldn’t bother me felt safe to feel. Majority of the time alcohol would be involved, duh, again not perfect. A few times I wouldn’t be able to gather myself together and everything I have literally ever felt, jeez my ancestors felt. Not to be dramatic but no joke that’s how it felt, a fucking tidal wave hitting me. I would call everyone I felt remotely comfortable to be slightly this person in front of, no one really experienced the full version except for Ashley. Its like how I feel now in a sense but with more emotion, I remember I couldn’t breath that’s what I would say over and over again to her. The difference is that I would cry then and right now I can’t, I feel nothing.

I’ve never done this before and reading the words back scare me but now that I have started I can’t stop. If this is the only insight a few have into my mind I am coming around to it, well getting there. I used to want to be a writer because I wanted one person to in the world to feel better that I wrote something that they related to. Long ago I stopped writing how I really felt because it became too hard. Not only is it hard to even admit but putting into words like this makes it more real. To be frank I wish I haven’t quit every job I’ve had in the last three months, I wish I didn’t need this beer I am drinking to be a little more honest, I wish I was in a different place then I am right now. You feel it too? Its not an unusual feeling. It’s my story though and don’t forget I was told to let me feel sorry for myself.

I don’t know if I am more afraid to go to sleep or wake up, lately its been a toss up. The dreams I have are so real I am unsure what real life is but then I remember and I can’t decided which I would rather live.

This is the most vulnerable I’ve ever been and I want to regret the things I say before they even come out, unfortunate for me I cannot stop the thoughts pouring from my head.

Right now I am scared to go to sleep. I am not desperately trying to catch my breath, which after six days is refreshing. I know I am going to wake up tomorrow feeling the way I have been regardless the bullshit I have put in my body.

Funny to think that I used to hide my writing from everyone, I still do in a sense. Who knows maybe I’ll be like Picasso and be appreciated long after I go.

 My chest hitches again but its not as hot and sticky as the other kind. Its fucking guilt. Taking another long sip of my espresso martini I try to shake the nerves. Probably not the best drink choice. I sit at a bar conveniently close to my gate at JFK the world literally continues to move around me. People pass by in a rush to another destination or maybe in a rush to be home. My phone rings and rings but I am not ready to confront my wrongs yet.

 Oddly refreshing that the first words out of my fathers mouth on that second dreaded call were “So what are you running from this time?” How did that guy get to know me so well. I’m silent for awhile reeling from the fact that he may actually know me after all and not ready to confront the truth he says so effortlessly out loud.

“I don’t know.” I let out in a long sigh.

“Yourself?” He questions quietly. I don’t reply. Forced to process words that I don’t let escape my mind let alone out of someone else’s lips. Would make sense why this running thing never seems to work for long.

“You know its going to follow you wherever you go, right?” He says matter of fact and it bothers me.

“Yeah, yeah I know.” I reply quickly hoping to bring this conversation to an end. After another dose of uncomfortable silence.

“It’s what I am good at dad, the only thing I’m good at. Running.” My voice is barley above a whisper not in fear of the words I’ve said but the fear of lingering ears.

 Fuck.

I sit on the floor outside of the gate as the people pass by in a slow march to board. Another wave of guilt washes over me. How could I think he would be upset with me? A part of me wishes that he was because it would have been easier to deal with than whatever the fuck I am left with now. Maybe I shouldn’t do this. The line gets smaller. Well, I’ve made it this far I’m getting on this flight.

 Of course I made a horrible decision. Justifiably in one of the most beautiful places but horrible nonetheless. I wake up fighting tears at thinking of all that has gone wrong and continues to go wrong. Was I stupid enough to think because I’m forcing a vacation I would get the refreshing feeling? Absolutely. Its 8:45AM in London as I sit in the Italian Gardens drinking an iced americano in 40 degree weather through a cardboard straw. No one to text, no one to call, no one to share a moment with. It feels like it should be peaceful as the freezing wind hits my face. Nothing but sounds of fountains gurgling and dogs at play in the park. Something still rumbles within, the peace feels far away though I am starring right at it. How do you begin to stop running from yourself when you can never escape it for a moment? I feel in some fucked up chemical biology that I will never stop running from myself until I feel the satisfaction of having a moment of peace from me. The sun hits my face and I’m hopeful for a brief moment, too soon the sun is back behind clouds and darkness rolls back in. Don’t you wish you that you could always feel the way you do when the sun hits your face? You tilt your chin up to get a better angle, take a deep breath and absorb the light. A calm comes over you that I couldn’t even attempt to explain, certainly worth harnessing or bottling for that matter.

I’d almost rather be alone completely than in a room full of people and feel alone. Drinking at 1PM seems more depressing with a hundred eyes on you. I mean it is Tuesday….and I am American. This is not a story I want to write anymore, it exhaust me.

You know how badly I just want to lock myself in my hotel room until its time to leave? Sadly enough to physically hurt when I walk the bends of the maze to leave my haven. The thing that gets me out isn’t “you aren’t home” or “take this opportunity to explore since you never know when you will be back”. People will say things like culture and finding yourself like they honestly know what they are talking about. I could be in some shitty run down motel on Pac highway and still feel the overwhelming need to barricade the door. The fact that I’m not seems to be the key in getting me out the door, even if it isn’t for very long.

I got a bit of pep in my step this morning. Could be that I’ve slid into a comfortable status now being here for a couple days. Could be that I’m leaving for Paris tomorrow. For now I’m going to just chalk it up to wearing my favorite nirvana shirt. My feet shake from the trains under me. I’m at some shitty café called Garfunkel’s and honestly I only came because of the name and now can’t stop playing America on a loop in my head while eating my undercooked eggs benedict. They do it better in the states I promise. London has given me an infatuation with guys that have one hoop earring, fuck I need to get to Paris quick.

Things will never be the same when I get back. Something about that makes me feel content though it’s a weighted mystery. London really is quite different when you aren’t underground.

In France they serve about a half pound of cheese just on the French onion soup. You won’t hear any complains from me. A part of me missies the UK but its not that I miss it whole heartedly but just miss familiarity. The moment the Eiffel Tower was within reach was the moment everything felt more real. I was a child again, arms rested on the window frame, eyes wide as the moon. Tears brimmed in happiness that didn’t last long enough. I wish my mom was here. I wish we got to experience this for the first time together. I wish she could of seen the things I’ve been able to see. Usually this isn’t much of a daily struggle but once you leave your bubble of hustle and bustle life continues to spin and continues to cycle the things that have been missing in front of your face. There was a time in my life when I wanted nothing more than to have the world continue to spin, funny how things change.

Though I’ve walked for miles and my feet ache Paris just makes me want to run like break out into full sprint and run. And not to run from anything for that matter, just to run. When I go out for dinner I get so distracted that I forget where I’m going and I keep walking. I want to breath this culture, I want to soak it in my bones and cleanse me. This is the culture I needed to set me free. As we drive further from the city I can’t help but feel a part of me is staying behind. Not exactly a piece of my soul but my heart. The most I smiled in months was in Paris and I wish I could forever be the person I was here.

[angelaxmontalbano]

i remember the entire day that it happened. i think about it so much that it leaves me uncomfortable. i remember that i had just gotten to work for my 5:00 shift at mighty quinn’s in my new honda civic that i had literally just driven off the lot. it was my first car. i was so excited. it was the beginning of summer and i had just gotten great marks on my GED test. i felt happy for maybe the first time in my life. i loved my job and my boyfriend and i had money to spend on things i wanted. i had friends and they wanted to celebrate with me. these are the last memories i have of feeling good, of feeling optimistic about the future, about life, about me. so, i had just gotten to work, and i checked my phone. i had a missed call from my grandmother, who lived with me and my dad in our apartment. my dad was in florida visiting his estranged wife, with whom me and my grandmother both had strained relations, to put it mildly. i was worried she may have needed something or that it was an emergency, so i called her right back. i remember asking her if she was okay, if she had fallen, because she had done that a few times. i remember her telling me to come home right away. i remember trying to explain to her that i had just gotten to work and i wouldn’t be home until much later, and asking her again if everything was okay. she wouldn’t tell me anything. she told me to put my manager on the phone. i remember the sharp pang of fear in my chest, but i didn’t know what i was afraid of yet. but i knew something was very wrong. i found my manager, sheila, and put her on the phone with my grandmother. i remember the way sheila looked at me, and exactly how she said it to me, and what she said. “go home, angela.” i was out of there so fast that i didn’t even take my apron off. or my work hat. i got in my car and i called daniel, my boyfriend at the time. and i told him about what was going on. and i remember his voice on the phone, nicely telling me that everything was probably okay and to just focus on driving. i remember telling him, “i think it’s about my dad.” i don’t know why, but i really felt it deep down that that’s what it was about. i felt sick to my stomach with dread. i told myself i was being anxious, overthinking. daniel tried to tell me everything was okay. i got to our apartment. i walked up the stairs. my grandmother was sitting on the arm of the couch by the kitchen, next to the landline phone. i remember everything that happens next like a reel of film in my mind playing over and over again. she looked at me with the saddest eyes i’ve ever seen in another person. i always will remember her voice, her face. her eyes when she said this to me. “angela. oh, angela. your father died.” i covered my mouth. i yelled at her. i told her she was a liar and kept asking her why she was lying to me. suddenly i realized that i couldn’t physically stand up. i looked around our apartment. at my dad’s clothes, his underwear, his watch on the table. his tv. his bags, the decorations, his sneakers. everything suddenly looked wrong. it didn’t feel like home anymore. every single item there was now just an item and belonged to nobody. in a second. within a minute of her telling me this, i stumbled out of the apartment. i fumbled down the stairs, holding the wall and grabbing at it to keep from falling down. i was screaming. neighbors from other apartments came out. i heard my grandmother’s voice from down the hall begging me to come back. i remember being in the stairwell, looking down at my apron covered in sweet potatoes. i looked up at the window. my vision was blurred. i couldn’t think. i was in a frozen state of disbelief where nothing could be processed. some lady who came out of her apartment kept asking me if i was okay. what was going on. i told her my father just died. i kept saying it. i remember she felt so bad that she disappeared into her apartment. i wandered back up the stairs after some time. i heard my grandmother talking to someone on the phone. i heard: “they found him slumped...” “i told him not to go running today, i told him. it was just too damn hot.” these mental images physically cut into my material body. they hurt. i told her to shut up. that word, slumped, haunted me. they found him slumped.... this strong, healthy, fit man that was my father, a man who went running more than once a day for over 40 years and could drop and do 250 push-ups on command. this man who took care of himself and taught me the value of it every day, who taught me how to play basketball, softball, baseball, and tennis. who wanted to be an athlete since childhood. this man who never smoked in his life, never abused his body. believed in integrity, in hard work, and thought laziness was evil. this wise, brilliant man who worked hard as a lawyer for so long, who was my best friend. the person who loved me for who i am. the only person. the only one who could pull me out of a mood. the only one who could get me to smile when i felt hysterical. my face lit up when this man entered a room. i loved this man more than i loved myself. he followed me as i drove in my own car to take my GED test only a few weeks prior just to make sure i got there safely. my best friend. THEY FOUND HIM SLUMPED. i suddenly realized something. my sister. my sister hadn’t found out yet. i called my sister, intending to tell her to come to the apartment right away. i remember calling her crying my eyes out, unable to compose myself in any way. she told me she was by the mall, on the highway. she asked me if everything was okay. my selfishness overcame me and i wanted her comfort and love so badly that i told her over the phone. i told her that daddy died. i will regret telling her that way for the rest of my life but i couldn’t even think straight. i was on the floor of the apartment. i couldn’t move. i kept my face down at the ground, trying to tell myself that i had to be here for my grandmother and my sister. daniel was on his way over, too. the neighbor lady from earlier came back and gave me a cupcake. i remember when my grandmother told me that they approximated his death to have occurred at around 12:15 in the afternoon. i went into my messages with my dad in my phone and saw a text i sent at 11:48 that morning that said: “hi daddy!!”. when i read those words, something sharp inside me started hurting. my heart felt like it was just bleeding. cut open and raw. the pain was never ending. he never replied to me. he never would again. i deleted the conversation without at all thinking about how priceless that would have been to me later. i deleted it because it made the hair on my skin rise. i remember going to the kitchen, looking around at all the things my dad had left behind. i opened the fridge and saw a reese’s peanut butter cup i bought for him a few days prior because it was his favorite candy. i thought about it rotting there and full of mold because it would never be eaten now. i wanted to just take a knife and cut my face open with it. 

that pang of fear that hit my chest when my grandmother and i talked over the phone, it’s still here in my chest. and bless her sweet, lovely soul, now my grandmother is dead too. and my beautiful sweet aunt vicki. that feeling of your heart being open and raw and bleeding forever, it’s still here. the pain and trauma of this still has me completely in its grasp. my whole family, completely gone. i can’t remember feeling anything but this fear, pain, and confusion anymore. i haven’t stopped feeling it since june 19, 2015. it’s december 17, 2019 now and i’m turning 24 in two days. 

most of the time i just wish i was with my dad, my grandmother, and my aunt vicki. most of the time that’s just where home seems to be now. wherever they are. in the ground somewhere. gone. there goes my heart. there goes my everything. i miss being me. i miss being angela and not having fear. i miss when i used to have friends and be happy and talk to people. i just want my life back but i know it’s all gone. tell me how you’re supposed to keep going on with this inside of you all day every day. tell me why no one understands how i feel and now everyone who’s left just feels sorry for me. people say they’re sorry all the time to you once something like this happens to you. they look at you like you’re some kind of orphan or disabled person. 

just. why? and where do i go now?

i don’t even want thursday to come. not if my daddy won’t be here to tell me happy birthday

[lyinginthedark]

Must-Read Larry Fics

It’s come to my attention that certain people I know have not read some of these, so I am compiling a list of my Must-Read Larry Fics for your reading pleasure.

1. Relief Next To Me by Dolce_Piccante 

AU. What happens when a baker and a graphic designer meet via a very specific Craigslist post? Fate, friendship, food, and maybe more.

2. Young & Beauitful by Velvetoscar

Louis, to his horror, attends an elitist university in which the name Zayn Malik means something, Niall Horan doesn't stop talking, there are pianos everywhere, and Harry Styles, only son of a drug-addled, clinically insane ex-rocker, has a perfect smile and empty eyes.

3. And Then A Bit by Infinitelymint 

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.

(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)

4. Nothing Else But Us Right Here by Supernope

Louis sighs and gives himself a mental pep talk as he smooths his jumper down over his hips. He can do this. He can resist the draw of Harry Styles, because he is a responsible, mature adult, and as much as he wants to tangle his fingers in that mess of hair and map those ridiculous tattoos with his tongue, he does not want to get his daughter’s favorite teacher fired.

5. Wild and Unruly by 100percentsassy and Gloria_andrews

Harry is a cowboy sitting on the biggest oil reservoir in Wyoming, and Louis is the paralegal assigned to pressure him into selling his land.

6. Led By Your Beating Heart by Missandrogyny 

Nick leans over. "Oh," he says, his voice smug. "Who is that?"

Harry just blinks at his phone. "Um," he manages to stammer out.

"Who's that, Harry?" Nick asks again, but this time he raises his eyebrows and smirks. Harry knows Nick is just teasing, and that he's not really looking for new Harry Styles gossip, but, um. He might have found something. Accidentally.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is another 'um'. He really needs to work on translating his thoughts into words. But then it probably wouldn't be any helpful right now, would it? His mind is as blank as a newly erased etch-a-sketch.

"Oh," Nick says again, this time gleefully, seemingly having picked up on Harry's distress. "Looks like we've got a story here! Are you going to call or delete her number?"

Her number. So Nick thinks it's a girl. Well, Harry can't blame him: 'Lou' is kind of an androgynous nickname. His stylist's name is Lou.

But this Lou, well, Louis, he's kind of, really, really not a girl. He's really pretty though, which, is something.

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

7. Have You Coming Back Again by Whoknows

It’s five o’clock in the morning. Louis has a lecture at half eight. He could be using this time to study or to do his readings or to go to the gym, but - well. He doesn’t have any exams coming up, he’s not going to his seminar today anyway and he hates the gym.

Instead he’s using this time to fuck with Harry Styles’ poor little brain.

Louis jogs across the street and jabs the key into the car door. It opens easily, not that he was expecting anything else. He copied the key for a reason, after all.

He’s got Harry’s schedule memorized, more because the guy keeps following him around than anything, so he doesn’t bother looking around before climbing behind the wheel and setting his bag on the passenger seat. It’s a Monday, which means that Harry doesn’t even get out of bed before noon unless he’s planning on harassing Louis.

8. Let Me Make A Thing Of Cream And Stars by Miss androgyny 

It doesn't explain why he's lying on the floor, with Harry Styles, of all people, planking on top of him.

As in, seventeenth most influential person in London, pop-star-turned-rock-star Harry Styles. The same Harry Styles who has had countless model girlfriends, left, right and centre. Also the same Harry Styles who has been the subject of Louis' wet dreams since he was about eighteen.

(Or: Louis is a Radio 1 DJ and Harry is a pop-star he interviews.)

9. Let’s Talk About Making Love by istajmaal 

That’s my name, baby, I’m Louis.” The voice on the phone inhales sharply, then says, “Gonna take my cock now, princess?”

Harry lets out a high-pitched mhmm and shudders as he pulls his fingers out of his hole, groping for the vibrator. “Nice to meet you,” he says, feeling a bit dizzy with how hard his untouched cock is.

Louis is just a simple phone sex line operator, but to Harry, he's Daddy.

10. Give Me Truths by Iwillpaingasongforlou

'Just like a little cat,' Louis thought later, as he drifted off to sleep. 'A little kitten with his claws sunk right into me.' It isn’t that terrible of a thought, after all. ............. Louis is a psychology student with a tattoo count as high as his genius IQ. Harry is in a (sort-of) relationship with a homophobic man and hates himself a little more every day. Things fall apart and Louis puts him back together.

Or, the one in which Louis falls in love with a fragile boy and tells him every beautiful truth in the world, as long as it makes him happy.

11. Put It All On Me by Loadedgun

"Yeah, yeah, give it to me, that's it, spread your legs a bit, there you go."

The camera follows Louis as he does. Maybe if the modelling thing doesn't work out, he could try the porn industry. Then again, he's a bit too stocky to be twinky and a bit too twinky to be anything else. He likes that about himself, though. Well, directors and photographers like that about him. He could pull off pretty and edgy, could do GQ in the morning and a perfume commercial in the afternoon. Right now he thinks he could pull off anything, because it's Harry fucking Styles directing him.

Or, a Top Model AU where Louis is accidentally there to make friends, not become Britain's Next Top Model. (Also Zayn is the supermodel host.)

12. Want You More Than A by Thecellardoor

Falling in love with your step-brother’s best friend is a disaster enough. When he happens to be the boy everyone loves and you’re a nerd who wears sweater vests and cries during rom-coms, it takes it to a whole new level.

13. Loving You Is Free by Littlelouishiccups

Louis is a workaholic record label CEO who hasn't been on a date in nearly a year. Niall and Liam make an account for him on a sugar dating website as a joke. And then Louis meets Harry.

14. Always Come Back To You by Whoknows

“I’ll do it,” Harry offers brightly. No one even blinks. “I’ll do it?”

Louis sighs irritably. “Shut up,” he orders, tossing a pillow in the general direction of Harry’s face. This is a terrible time for jokes, especially Harry’s lame, old people ones.

Not that it was an old people joke. Just that most of the time Harry’s jokes consist of knock-knocks or terrible puns. The type of jokes old people like, Louis’ pretty sure. His nan always finds them hilarious when Harry tells her one.

Harry bats the pillow out of the air without even blinking. “Be reasonable, Lou,” he says in his most reasonable voice.

Louis is perfectly reasonable, thank you very much, and he’s also frustrated and upset and tired and he really wants to punch something. Maybe he should have held on to that pillow a little longer.

“You’re not gonna fucking do it,” he snaps. “That’s the last thing I need.”

15. Speaking Of Marvels by Navigator and Quitter

AU. Louis is a nanny in suburban New Jersey, and the neighbors' son is home from college for the summer. It was supposed to be a fling.

---

Okay, this is getting long af so I’ll leave it there BUT THERE ARE SO MANY MORE!!! READ READ READ!! I MEAN IT!

[sweariwouldnt]

Larry, 13. Work your magic. :)

Here you go, love - something a bit silly and hopefully cheerful

13. Dealing with a particularly hot summer.

Louis definitely thought that trying to hold a largecooler, balance two ice creams and tryingto fumble a heavy front door open was a bit more work than he’d like on a regularday, not to mention in this heat. It’d been awfully hot in LA for a week nowbut today was the absolute worst. He could feel the ice cream starting to melt,wrappers dripping down water all over his hand.

“Haz?” Louis called out and closed the door behind him,entering the hall. He cursed as the too-warm air met him, obviously markingthat the air con hadn’t been magically fixed yet. His white vest was glued tohis back and the strands under his snapback were equally glued to his forehead.He missed his cold and grey motherland quite a lot right now.

“Haz?” he called out again, making his way to the kitchenand throwing his keys on to the kitchen isle. He sniffed his fingerssubconsciously; he absolutely hated the smell of metal from the keys.

As the house remained quiet, he emptied the contents ofthe cooler to the freezer and carried on through the double doors, leading totheir backyard. Or garden. He still wasn’t quite sure what to call it; therewas greenery and flowers but there was also a huge ass pool, surrounded by sunloungers, and a large gazebo under the shade of a few trees.

A gazebo which seemed to currently play host to hisboyfriend, plopped down on his stomach on a beige sun lounger, with his armshanging down over the sides and the back of his head towards Louis. Faint musicwas playing from Harry’s phone, on the side table next to an exotic lookingdrink.

“Fancy finding you here,” Louis pinched Harry’s bumthrough the bright blue swim shorts and sat down on the sun lounger next toHarry’s. He took off his snapback, throwing it to the floor and ran his fingersthrough his sweaty hair. Sticky.

Harry replied with a groan. “Too hot to move.”

“That’s what I mean,” Louis took a sip of the drink. “Ileft you in the pool, that’s why I’m surprised you found the energy to even dragyourself all the way here.”

“The pool’s in direct sunlight,” Harry mumbled and turnedhis face to Louis, opening his eyes and squinting. “Our next house has to havean inside pool, I’m not moving anywhere otherwise.”

“Even if I’d be in that house?”

“Even so.”

“Who’d go and get you ice cream then?”

Harry’s eyes lit up. Louis reached out to give the other,now rather soft ice cream, to Harry’s lazily lifted hand. “You forgot, didn’tyou?”

“My brain is melting away, Lou.” Harry’s arm remained upin the air, waving the cone a little. “Please?”

Louis put his own, already unwrapped, ice cream down toits lid and unwrapped Harry’s, passing it back. “You’re really lucky, you know.I go to such great lengths for you.”

“Pfft,” Harry gave a long lick to his ice cream, closinghis eyes in bliss. “You lost a bet, fair and square.”

“Yeah, maybe your brain isn’t the only one melting awayhere. Betting on who can stay under water the longest is a bit idiotic when the opponent has been filming underwaterscenes.”

“Well, at least you’re pretty,” Harry winked. “Thank you,though. This is heavenly.”

“I am nothing if not a trooper,” Louis agreed. “Bearingthrough putting on clothes, driving around in a boiling car, all thesestruggles just to get ice cream for you.”

“Oh please,” Harry chuckled. “Your car has an amazing aircon. You got to go hover around the frozen isle. Bet it was nice and chilly.”

Louis couldn’t argue with that. He finished munching downhis ice cream, convinced that it wasn’t just an illusion of he himself beingbigger; ice cream cones had definitely been larger in size when he’d been a kid.

“My teeth hurt watching you eat ice cream.”

“What?” Louis looked at Harry, who was looking at himwith that pondering look that could mean he was either thinking about the meaningof life or how to ensure no cats in the world would ever suffer. Or about howhis boyfriend eating ice cream made his teeth hurt, apparently.

“You bite it. You literally eat it. Teeth going down frozencream. It makes my teeth hurt.”

“Don’t look then.”

“But I can’t not look. Your mouth is sort of hypnotising.”

“So you’re telling me I have to change the way I enjoy myice cream? The way I’ve enjoyed ice creams for twenty odd years?”

“You don’t haveto, just saying it’d be considerate if you did.” Harry licked his ice creamwith long and slow licks, not breaking the eye contact.

“We can’t all eat our ice cream like we eat our cocks,Harold.”

Harry hummed and carried on licking his ice cream insilence. Louis laid back and closed his eyes. He could feel his insides cooldown a bit, thanks to the ice cream. Quieting down made his ears perk up to themusic in the air.

“What are we listening to?”

Harry, having just finished his ice cream, licked hisfingers. “A playlist I made while you were gone. I haven’t just been lazingoff, here.”

“Ah,” Louis nodded with his eyes still closed. “You dowork very much for your upkeeping, love. What playlist is this?”

“A playlist for hot days. With cold music.”

Louis opened one eye. “Cold music?” He found himselfquestioning if Harry was endearing or just off his rocker. He had beenquestioning that for quite a few years now.

“Uhm, it’s, like stuff that makes me think of cold things.”

Louis frowned, unsure. “So what, like Ice-T? Ice Cube?”  

Harry huffed. Louis clearly was a novice in understandingthe concept. “No, that’s hot music. Like that makes me want to get down anddirty and sweaty.”

“Love, you lost me. Please explain in detail what thefuck you’re on about.”

Harry turned to his side. “Björk. We’re listening toBjörk. I’m really, really hot, so I thought about what would be cool, andIceland is extra cool, like it’s a cool place and it’s also a chilly place, sothen I thought of how could I carry on thinking of Iceland, and then I rememberedthat Björk’s from Iceland, so I looked her music up and she’s got these songsthat are mainly instrumental, and it’s was like I’m flying over Iceland, andthere’s ice, and then I’m cool.”

As he finished his rambling, Harry looked warily toLouis. Sometimes, Harry’s mind went completely off on a tangent and he would bea bit embarrassed when explaining some of his thoughts to people, thinking they’dnot understand, make fun of him, but somehow with Louis, he trusted that Louiswould follow the tracks perfectly, understanding – and agreeing – completely.

Louis decided he was indeed endeared. “Good thinking,babe. I love your brain.” Harry beamed. “I’d get up and kiss you but it’s toohot to move.”

“I’d lick you all over if you were an ice cube.”

“But I’m sweaty. You love licking me when I’m sweaty.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“At least I’m your disgusting.”

Harry smiled and reached his hand out, offering it forLouis to hold, and he did. They were lying on sun loungers and holding hands inpeaceful silence, with Björk’s cold tunes playing in the air.

“Do you think it might be too hot to have sex?” Harry’svoice interrupted Louis’ calm.

He considered. “Yeah babe, I think it might be. Unless wedo it in the pool?”

Harry scrunched his face. “Eugh. Never again.”

Louis nodded. They did have a history of havingunsuccessful tried at pool sex, which were funny in hindsight, but largelydisappointing whilst happening. His thumb stroke Harry’s hand. “Have you lookedat the weather forecast?”

“It’ll be hot for a few more days. We can have sex in afew days, babe.”

Louis groaned and adjusted himself. “What’s even thepoint of having money to pay to get stuff done, when no one’s doing the stuff,we honestly might be better off with ustrying to fix the air con ourselves.”

“But we can’t fix shit, Lou.”

“And yet it still might be better,” Louis muttered underhis breath, making a mental note to watch a few DIY videos on YouTube latertonight.

“Stop it,” Harry’s stern voice interrupted his thoughts.  

“What?”

“I’m not letting you near our air con, no matter how manyDIY videos you watch and think you’ve suddenly become Bob the Builder.”

“I was thinking of no such thing,” Louis feignedindignant. “Please Harold. Have some faith.”

Harry rolled his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.“Fine. I’ll have all the faith in you. Faith that you’ll be a good boy who staysaway of anything with electricity, or water, or wires.”

“Deal.” Louis deleted his prior mental note.

Harry lift Louis’ hand to his lips, giving it a smallpeck and not letting go. “I’ll call the repair company again in a bit.”

They laid in a companionable silence for a bit longer,until Harry spoke up, stopping Louis from dozing off. “Hey, Lou?”

“Mm?”

“Wanna bet on something?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno.”

“Like if you are trying to bet me on something so you canmake me go get more ice cream for your royal hazness?”

Harry stuck his tongue out. “Maybe.”

Louis perked up to sit as he just remembered something. “Noneed, love.”

“Why? Will you go anyway?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “No. It’s just so happens that I actuallydid get a load of ice cream for us.”

Harry rose up as well. “What?”

“See,” Louis tapped his temple with a finger. “Not just apretty face, am I?”

“Where are they then?” Harry waved his hand. “You know Ihate refrozen ice cream, Lou, it’s gross and tastes like a freezer.”

“Well, love,” Louis booped Harry’s nose as he stood up,starting to peel his vest off, “I do know that. Hence I also bought a coolerand put the ice creams there, frozen, and then put them to our freezer, stillfrozen.” He rolled up his vest and swatted Harry’s hip. “Come on, weirdo. I’llshow you ice cream.”

“Will I scream, too?” Harry raised his eyebrows andfollowed suit, letting Louis pull him up and towards the house.

“Not only a pretty face,” Louis heard Harry mutter behindhim, “also a very pretty bum.”

Later that night, pool sex still wasn’t quite phenomenal,but it wasn’t one of their worst times.

[613526362]

Poodle or die

I’m sitting here, teaching a pediatric medical course right now, watching the videos along with the students, and I feel it coming on I feel the depression coming It’s crazy This journal was supposed to be the story of a burgeoning humanitarian struggling to get back to what he loved most - Africa Instead, it has turned into a tale of psychological self-discovery, a fight for survival against one’s own mind I fear the coming months are going to be a fight against money That’s typically when I do worst - when I’m worried about money And I’ll have to fight against money alone. I’m not sure if Nia left me or I left her, but it doesn’t matter. She never even pretended to care. My friends told me a girl who messages me back a day or two after I messaged her doesn’t care. But I didn’t listen. I took her to the $1,200 play she had always dreamed of seeing before she seems to have dropped me. That’s right, the financial problems will be my fault as always. I wasn’t trying to buy love, I was just trying to show how much I care and hoped someone might care back. Wrong, again. Yes I still think it’s cool I made a first-generation Ethiopian girl’s dreams come true, and yes the play was fucking amazing. Even though there were more black people on stage than in the entire crowd. And every seat was taken. I don’t think she appreciated me pointing that out. She doesn’t see the things I see. She’s never been to Africa. I would have taken her too, but maybe it would have been too late for her mind to understand anyways. At this point, she’s just another American. The chronic disease of being-an-American defines her now. Did I mention she didn’t text me back all day the day of the play, and I actually was trying to find someone to go in her place because I thought I was getting stood up? Did I mention it was literally past the time when I was supposed to pick her up - and I was about to go to a bus stop and offer strangers the ticket - when she finally called back? Maybe she’s seeing someone else. Fuck it, I’m getting a dog. I’m not sure if I even care if I can afford a dog. Every day I wish Maya would message me. But she never does. I want to talk to her so bad, but every time she messages me (about a month ago was the last time), I delete her number. Knowing what I want and knowing what’s right is something I might be getting slowly better at. The dog is what’s right now. I really will. I will kill myself in the darkest part of the winter, when business sales are low or I’m worried about the IRS or some girl has hurt me again, I WILL kill myself this winter, unless something changes. I could never blow my brains out with a dog who loves me in the other room. Never. The last two days I’ve been obsessing over researching the dog purchase. My dad is a veterinarian, so obviously he was my first stop. When presented in the context of, “This could be challenging, but women treat me like shit and women and children are way more expensive,” he was actually quite supportive. But only after suggesting, “How about no women or dogs. Maybe pet rock?” Pet 9mm Glock that expels a 1,500 feet per second steel projectile into my inner brain is the alternative. If he’d known that he wouldn’t have suggested the rock. I’ll be in Africa for a week in early October, so I’m hoping to bring him home right after I get back. I hate that the poor little bastard will have to live his first months in the fierce winter of The Big City. But shit, I have to live through those months too, and at least we’ll have each other. And once again, if I wait, I’m probably dead. This big business move I’m making, there is a good chance it will fail. In which case, once again, the only thing keeping me alive while fighting through bankruptcy battles and maybe dropping out of medical school, would be the dog. If I turn out to be a failure in everything and wrong about everything, well, the dog won’t give a shit. He’ll just want to play and cuddle. And if I actually finish school and move to east Africa, he can come too. No matter how hard, I’ll smuggle his ass in. My dad says if you shave a Labrador, the shedding isn’t too bad. Their coat is thick though, so a lab would struggle in some of the hotter areas of east Africa. What people don’t realize is that the Standard Poodle is the Navy SEAL of dogs. They don’t shed, so they leave no trace. They have thin skin and a long nose, which is good for hot climates, and they can grow their hair out for more warmth in a colder climate. They’re also light and agile, and can swim or run for long distances. Lastly, they’re always considered one of the smartest dog breeds. I hope I can keep up. Redacted Two days have passed I’m in bed now I woke up around noon, I think I worked from 7p to 7a last night On the way home, I started crying real bad That hasn’t happened in a while I don’t think I’ve cried while driving in years. It’s very rare I cry at all. I don’t know whether to describe the things I see at work anymore. I don’t know if I can. I just know the day after I always seem to wind up sitting around replaying things I saw the night before. At first I was upset they put me in triage. I hadn’t worked there in 7 months. I didn’t realize it would bring me so much closer to the horror of what’s going on out there. In triage, you hear all the stories. The shift started with a whimper. I had a middle aged black woman walk up to my triage desk with a suitcase and a four year old child. “I was told by the state that I can come here to seek shelter.” Wait what. I had absolutely no fucking clue what to say. All I knew was that she was at the wrong place. Charge nurse told me to call the city hotline. I did, and when the lady on the hotline asked to talk to the woman in need of shelter, I went into the waiting room, handed my $800 cell phone to her, and then left the room. God has taught me a lot over time. One thing I’ve learned is that I’m generally protected when taking risks to help people in need. Generally safe, that is. Safe from immediate adverse harm. Not safe from long term consequences though. After I got my phone back and some amount of time passed, I noticed she was gone. We had a number of those throughout the night, but the rest just wanted to sleep in the waiting room. One of them was a younger black woman, must have been in her late 20’s. She said she was homeless, and her torn clothing and disheveled grooming seemed to reinforce that statement. The only question she didn’t seem to answer was, “What do the voices say when you hear them.” She got a really terrifying look in her eye when I asked that. But she didn’t answer. Even when I asked twice more. When Dan left me in triage alone with her for a minute, my mood immediately changed. It was weird. I guess I have my guard up when I’m around other staff members. Immediately after he walked out of the room, I felt a kind of intimacy with her. I wish I could have held her. But she would never have wanted to hug me, and it wouldn’t have made her feel any better even if it had happened. She had asked me for a blanket, and I grabbed her one before she left. It wasn’t before she had left the room completely and gone back out to the waiting room that I noticed there was blood on the chair she had been sitting in. I figured it was probably from a patient before her, so I grabbed a wet wipe and cleaned it off. A minute later I was back up front in triage, and I noticed there was even more blood on another chair she had sat in before I had taken her to the back room for blood draw. In emergency medicine, we’re not supposed to assume anything, so I needed to figure out where she was bleeding from. Obviously it was probably menstrual, but I couldn’t assume that. If it was rectal bleeding, although extremely unlikely, it could be deadly. I went and searched for her in the waiting room, and I found her lying on the concrete floor with the blanket over her. She had made a little bed for herself, using a small piece of clothing as a pillow. “Are you bleeding?” No response. “Where are you bleeding from?” Then she blurted out, “On my period I guess.” I walked away. I decided to get her another blanket, and a blanket for the other homeless man trying to sleep on the waiting room. I walked to the blanket warmer in a nonsensical path, not allowing any of the employees to see me twice. I knew it was against policy to give people in the waiting room a blanket. Back when I worked in the ER at (redacted), I used to take tons of juice out to the waiting room and give it out to anyone who wanted some. They would have been furious had they caught me doing that. When I put the second blanket on her, I guess I had meant to kind of lay it over her, but since I was standing over her and hadn’t taken the time to lean down, it came out as more of a throw. The top of the blanket, still balled up, smacked her in the face. She didn’t move, or react at all. I wondered if she even knew what had just happened, and, if she did, what she thought of it. It didn’t matter though. Here was a young, black, penniless, filthy, schizophrenic, woman, lying, soaked, in her own menstrual blood, on a concrete floor, in a dilapidated hospital, in a devastated, ultra-violent, 100% Black neighborhood, three miles from Trump tower and its $60 cocktails. And I just aggressively hit her in the head with a blanked stained with blood from one of her young Black brothers shot to death on the same streets she sleeps in, gets raped in. I am sorry I hide this. People should hear it. I just spent six hours shopping for dog clothing online. I just mailed a $750 deposit for a pure bred standard poodle this morning. Because I can’t even hear it myself. I started fighting this war so long ago, and unlike those who never even cared to admit they have a role in this war, or that there’s even anything to fight, I have become affected more and more by the war and my identity in it. I am ultimately isolated and alienated, by my own mental illness, and the burden of the path that mental illness and the abuse I have suffered and witnessed has taken me down. And I come to the same conclusion I came to before my shift last night. I really need a fucking dog. Redacted I hated my mom, for so many years after high school. Simply for what she did to me. It’s crazy that I finally learned that my dad told her that he would leave her if she didn’t get mental help, and she refused to. That made perfect sense. I think the turning point, where I stopped blaming the person and started to feel compassion for what the disease did to the person, was my trip to Sand state. She had a guest bedroom and a guest bathroom in this house she’d been renting for a while. She’d tried to make everything perfect for me, had a clean towel in there and new toiletries if I needed them. When I went to take a shower that night, I turned on the water. Turned the nobs a bit. Waited. Turned them some more. And waited. Eventually, I figured out the hot water didn’t work in there. She had never had anyone stay with her. No one had actually ever used the guest bedroom, or bathroom. Redacted When I walked back to my bedroom from the bathroom, I glanced at the shelves and saw the toothbrush and toothpaste in the packaging on the top shelf. I’d bought them when I started the whole dating app thing. The one girl who had stayed over I guess was too drunk to use them. I offered in the morning if she wanted to shower and everything, but she just wanted to fuck more and then leave. I hoped that Nia would eventually use them. I’ll never know what was going on in that girl’s head. But I know God saved her a bullet by keeping her from wanting me. I think people like my mom and me (saying “my mom and me” is pure evidence of how much I’ve come to understand this year - I never would have said anything like that before), I think people like my mom and me need to live alone. Yes, when I was dancing violently to Juice Wrld a minute ago and then fell to the floor and spit on the floor, yes, I wouldn’t be able to act that way if I lived with someone else. And maybe keeping that bottled in wouldn’t even be bad for me. But still, it feels right to be alone. To flush all this out. It would just terrify and damage someone else. I wonder what my mom does when she’s alone. As kids, I just remember she would get depressed and watch TV for long, long periods of time. And then she would obsess herself with weird projects and work tirelessly on them. I just thought of something scary. I’m supposed to have bipolar II. But my mom got hospitalized. Did she have bipolar I? Ok I’m going to stop thinking about that and just finish this post the way I had planned to. I used to have all sorts of cool names I thought I could name my book. Now I’m thinking, “Living for Suicide: Meditations on Mental Illness, Sacrifice, and Being Alone” The title doesn’t even fucking mention Africa anymore Fuck I’m still going to accomplish something, right?