#I know that's something for sure because I wasn't on my Adderall at that moment (makes my heart beat a bit faster)

[zipquips]

.

[blondiest]

good luck for the wip meme :3

hehehe thank you for the ask!! this one is matthalle in. to no one's fucking surprise. the universe of it's you and me, that's my whole world. because idk when ill finish this one im just gonna post most of what i have lol

Matt knows she's lucky to be alive.

She felt the blood seeping from her body, pooling on the pavement beneath her, felt the tight pain bloom in her chest whenever she tried to breathe, felt herself slipping from consciousness and thought— so this is it.

The doctors and nurses keep reminding her how lucky she is. She doesn't begrudge them that— they've taken good fucking care of her they've and been terribly patient with her piss-poor Japanese, her mediocre skills worsened by fatigue and all the drugs they have her on. Some of those drugs she's pretty sure they're not supposed to have— she wasn't allowed to bring Adderall into the country, so she'd be surprised if oxy was considered totally kosher— but she doesn't mention it. She appreciates not being in immense amounts of pain, and besides, her last comment on the laws here was met with a shower of bullets.

Come on, since when were the Japanese allowed to carry such big guns?

It's Matt's suspicion that she has Near's team to thank for her reduced suffering, and for the fact that she hasn't been dragged off to jail. Another thing she's fucking lucky for— luck, luck, more luck. Except after a few days of sitting alone in a cold, weird-smelling room, discomfort and isolation start to wear on her. Even the good shit only goes so far when it comes to managing pain, and she's got a good five gunshot wounds and a collapsed lung, and she's alone all day except when she has to shower, which is the one time she *wants* to be alone, and fuck, it gets harder and harder to stay grateful and not grouchy.

During the five days she spends in the hospital, Matt's irritability builds to something of a fever pitch. She gets exactly one visitor on day three, and it isn't even Mello or Near; it's one of Near's agents, a beefy blonde man who comes bearing a care package and gives his name as Rester. She jokingly asks if she can bum a cig, and he stiffly tells her he doesn't think smoking with a collapsed lung is wise. All further efforts at sparkling banter are promptly abandoned.

By the time she's finally deemed stable enough to discharge, Matt is itching to leave. The doctors take out her IV, give her instructions on how to proceed with her recovery, stick her in a wheelchair and tell her to wait. Her ride is meant to arrive soon, she's told.

So Matt waits. She waits ten, twenty, forty minutes, getting more and more pissed-off as the time ticks by. When the door to her room finally opens after almost an hour of waiting, she's full-on glowering, but the expression is instantaneously wiped out when she sees the woman in the doorway.

“You’re not the guy from before,” Matt blurts.

The woman smiles thinly, stepping forward and stooping slightly to offer her hand to Matt, who thankfully has the presence of mind to shake said hand instead of pressing her lips to the woman's knuckles like a fucking weirdo.

“Halle,” she says. “Forgive me for being late. Traffic was a mess.”

Matt had frankly already forgiven her the moment she walked through the door, and would forgive her in the span of a few seconds even if Halle reared back and kicked her in the stomach right now.

“Don't worry about it,” Matt manages. “I’m Matt.”

[neallo]

Fem slash halle x matt and og halle x matt give me life 😻😻😻😻😻😻

this is literally so old at this point but i'm clearing out my inbox so i will toss another excerpt in here :3 this takes place in the same universe as it's you and me, that's my whole world.

--

Matt knows she's lucky to be alive.

She felt the blood seeping from her body, pooling on the pavement beneath her, felt the tight pain bloom in her chest whenever she tried to breathe, felt herself slipping from consciousness and thought— so this is it.

The doctors and nurses keep reminding her how lucky she is. She doesn't begrudge them that— they've taken good fucking care of her they've and been terribly patient with her piss-poor Japanese, her mediocre skills worsened by fatigue and all the drugs they have her on. Some of those drugs she's pretty sure they're not supposed to have— she wasn't allowed to bring Adderall into the country, so she'd be surprised if oxy was considered totally kosher— but she doesn't mention it. She appreciates not being in immense amounts of pain, and besides, her last comment on the laws here was met with a shower of bullets.

Come on, since when were the Japanese allowed to carry such big guns?

Those would've been some stupid last words.

It's Matt's suspicion that she has Near's team to thank for her reduced suffering, and for the fact that she hasn't been dragged off to jail. Another thing she's fucking lucky for— luck, luck, more luck.

Except after a few days of sitting alone in a cold, weird-smelling room, discomfort and isolation start to wear on her. Even the good shit only goes so far when it comes to managing pain, and she's got a good five gunshot wounds and a collapsed lung, and she's alone all day except when she has to shower, which is the one time she wants to be alone, and fuck, it gets harder and harder to stay grateful and not grouchy.

During the five days she spends in the hospital, Matt's irritability builds to something of a fever pitch. She gets exactly one visitor on day three, and it isn't even Mello or Near; it's one of Near's agents, a beefy blonde man who comes bearing a care package and gives his name as Rester. She jokingly asks if she can bum a cig, and he stiffly tells her he doesn't think smoking with a collapsed lung is wise. All further efforts at sparkling banter are promptly abandoned.

The doctors take out her IV, give her some paperwork, some instructions on how to proceed with her recovery, stick her in a wheelchair and then tell her to wait, since her ride should arrive soon. So she waits ten, twenty, forty minutes, getting more and more annoyed as the time ticks by and thinking of what sort of clever snippy comment to make when Rester finally arrives to collect her.

When the door to her room finally opens after almost an hour of waiting, Matt is ready to just glower at the guy, but the bitchy expression is wiped out by one of surprise, because—

“You’re not the guy from before,” she blurts stupidly.

The woman in the doorway smiles thinly, stepping forward and stooping slightly to offer her hand to Matt, who thankfully has the presence of mind to shake said hand instead of pressing her lips to the woman's knuckles like a fucking weirdo.

“Halle,” she says. “Forgive me for being late. Traffic was a mess.”

Matt had frankly already forgiven her the moment she walked through the door, and would forgive her in the span of a few seconds even if Halle reared back and kicked her in the stomach right now.

[nolanhollogay]

 “why are you staring at me?” “you’re pretty…” + edgar!!!

<3 jjedgar gang! c'mon pre-canon pre-relationship notflirting!

+

Edgar was sitting in one of the pews, the yellowbrown wood hard and more than familiar against his back, trying to finish his math homework. In an ideal world he would be in the comfort of his bedroom where he had access to his computer and his Adderall, but his abuelo was told to watch over him and Abuelo basically lived in the church's back office, so here he was.

At least he wasn't alone.

JJ Maybank, the church's latest hire and a friend of Edgar's neighbor Pope – was a friend of a friend considered an acquaintance? – was across from him, fixing the loose panel on the stage. Abuelo had tripped on it during last Sunday's morning service and was trying to avoid another embarrassing moment. JJ was something of a handyman apparently, and Abuelo called him every other day to fix some miniscule thing. It was nice to have someone he knew around, even if they didn't talk much.

Except, JJ wasn't fixing the panel because he was burning holes in the side of Edgar's head.

Edgar turned to face him and he turned away, glancing at the hammer in front of him. "Why are you staring at me?"

"You're pretty..." JJ said, still not looking at him.

"What?"

JJ shook his head. "Nothing. Uh, do you want help with your homework?"

"You wanna help me with my homework?" Then, "No, wait, go back. Did you just call me pretty?"

Edgar had been "out" for about a year now, telling his mom, who told his Tía Rosa, who told everyone she knew. So basically the entirety of The Cut knew he was gay, and probably even some of Figure 8. But he didn't know any other gay people, except Mikey Caswell and he was pretty sure they'd never even had a conversation.

JJ set the hammer down, officially giving up on pretending to do his job. He turned to Edgar, blue eyes setting his insides on fire. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

"I–" Edgar didn't know how to explain himself. He didn't know the best way to say "I didn't know you thought guys could be pretty, let alone I could be pretty" or "I don't really think of myself as a person, so I never considered the fact that people could look at me and see someone nice to look at" without weirding JJ out. "I don't know. I just am, I guess."

JJ rested his chin on his knee, still staring into Edgar's soul. The room felt charged with electricity as they maintained eye contact. "Well, you shouldn't be. You look like," He waved his hand in Edgar's general direction, "that."

"Like what?"

JJ tilted his head, as if he couldn't understand why Edgar was so confused. "Like.." The tips of his ears went pink. "Like, when the sun hits you, you turn gold. And you have those big brown eyes, and a pretty smile. You know what you look like."

A giddy laugh burst from Edgar's mouth. He thought he had a pretty smile? "Thank you, um–"

From his office, Abuelo called, "No parece que ninguno de ustedes esté haciendo ningún trabajo.." snapping Edgar back to reality. "Dile que no le pago para que flirtee contigo."

Edgar flushed, his cheeks going warm. "I– My grandpa said we have to get back to work."

JJ nodded, sending him a nervous sort of smile. They watched each other for a long moment, before JJ winked, breaking the spell.

Edgar didn't get any homework done for the rest of the night.

[ducknotinarow]

[2012 FootClan AU, FTM Casey and Shredder]

"It's Casey..."

His voice was soft at first, but he actually spoke up, something rare for him to do when Karai wasn't around to back him up. But Casey was tired of being misgendered by his father, that anger he was known for sparking, fingers curled into fists as he dared to speak back,

"I said, my name is Casey an' yer know that - I'm yer son, not yer daughter!"

| Muse interaction

Shredder strolled up toward his throne aggravated under the metal helm he wore. Unsure what was the most annoying issue and matter to handle right now. With that news about a ninja star begin found branded with an all to familiar symbol he knew. Saki had learned that he didn't finish the job in the end all those years ago. He should have made for sure that Yoshi perished in that fire. Because somehow that rat, was not only still alive but also keeping his own wrenched clan around. His men were turning into mutants left and right thanks to some unknown substance created the apparent alien life running around the city! His city that he had a hand in all dealings over. But these so called Kraang. It was putting a bit of a damp into his operations. Getting in the way of his main motive right now. His focus and resources were all pouring into one thing. Finding Yoshi.

Well they should be all focused on this one mission.

Taking his seat as he narrows his eyes towards the door waiting for Eve to walk through the doors. His eldest daughter of three, and apparently his daughter with the most outlandish train of thoughts here. He found the silver bottle by chance simply labeled as testosterone. How many times has he had to have this conversation with her? This was starting to become nothing more then a distraction. Doors opened as Eve was escorted by a few of his foot soldiers. She looked ridiculous with how she been dressing herself these days. As if the layering of her clothes was going to some how hide the truth. How she presented herself even. If it weren't for needing to up hold his image to his ninja he might make his thought far more known.

Instead, he simply closed his eyes as he waved a hand to dismiss his ninja. There was no need for them, waiting for the doors to close before he breathed out the annoyance he could only feel. Holding up the small silve jar in his hand. "What is this?" He more demands then asks, but his daughter seems to ignore the command she is being given here. Frocing his hand to grip the small bottle tigther in his hand. Slamming his hand down on to the arm of his chair demanding his daughters attention on him.

"Evealyn answer when I speak to you" He never had to raise his voice ordering his children even pit of acts of defiance seemed to get them to snap back into line.

"It's Casey..."

"What?" He didn't even jave a moment to think it over before he answered his disdain shoild be easy to pick up on how he said it though. He couldn't understand why this was getting worse. Why she even had this idiotic idea in her head. She was born a girl she doesn't just suddenly change this! "Evealyn." He sigh his disappointment just oozing over every letter of her name as he look back to the bottle in his hand.

Where did she even get this from?

"I said, my name is Casey an' yer know that - I'm yer son, not yer daughter!"

Sakis's attention snapped back to her. "Here, I was simply dispointed in my daughter's pour choices. But it seems I am to mourn my daughters death here tonight."

Saki moved to stand up now after he hardly stated as such. "Because that is the only way I am seeing a loss of my daughter here! Now, enough of this nonesense!" He raises his tone now as he holds out the small silver offending bottle of drugs. "Going behind my back and buying this? Do you even know if this is safe, Evealyn! This could just be a cheap knockoff! Did you even stop to think how it would react with the adderall you already take?" He poses here to his daughter, but she's not given much chance to speak anyway. "No, of course, didn't! It's likely already affecting and negating what you need, the more important thing here for!" He contuines to scold. "Now answer me, Evealyn!"

"I said, my name is Casey an' yer know that - I'm yer son, not yer daughter!"

Saki narrowed his eyes onto his daughter at the bold display of defiance being shown before him. Eve could sometimes when Karai was around be just as strongheaded as Karai was. But alone? Eve seemed dless likely which was the aim of the goal to achieve. Put an end to thi at last.

"I have no son." He stated coldly as he clouded eyes fell on to Eve before him. "I wouldn't even attempt to consider such a mockary" tossing the bottle down on the floor. As it rolled down towards his daughter. "To ever be a son of mine. Your lucky I haven't decided it means you wouldn't be a daughter of mine either!"

Saki nearly spits as he speaks out towards them. "I brought in a daughter name Evealyn into my home, my family. Instead of leaving you in the hell hole." As is Eve owned him to be his daughter for this one thing alone. "I gave you a home for you and your sister you fought so hard to keep safe." He's happy to remind her of. "I fed clothed and gave you both of you a roof." He contuines to lay out to what he sees is his clearly confused child here. "If you are not my daughter then I guess you are no mkre than a common foot spider of my clan."

Meaning less, the foot spilders all abandoned their identities unneeded when it came to severing under the heel of their clan leader. Their 'father' so to speak as they all looked to him from guidance and more. "And you know what I do to my ninja when they step out of line?" It was a faint vague threat, as the blades from his gauntlet slid out as he raised his arm to display them. But, the fact he hadn't stepped closer meant Eve had a chance to back down.

"Now stop woth this foolishness its nothing mkre then a distraction Evealyn. You know what we're doing here. You were ment to be scouting for any signs of the Hamato Clan not messing around with your deliousions!" He let the blades slide back as he turned his back on to her.

"Now get out I don't want to hear anymore about this. If you were to ever be accepted as my son? You would be such a disappointment to me now."

[icarusredwings]

For the lovely person in the tags <3 You get it. @banneriscarried

It's 8 am. Here recently, it was normal for Logan to be up before either of his room mates, the second the sun shown in on his face from the couch was the moment he was up and he couldn't sleep until Althea was asleep too.

Maybe it was the way he was raised. Maybe it was the fact he's been used as a soldier as far back as he could remember (ironically seeing as he didn't take orders) but if you payed attention, you always noticed him near that old woman. Like a grandson worried about his grannies health. Fetching her medicine, water, refusing to get her coke bag, giving her the newer pillow to sit on, etc. This was all mindlessy done, might I add. He seeked no validation nor reward, because at the end of the day, he did what was right, not out of morals (these were far proven to be broken for him) rather then what was kind. It was as simple as bringing her the plate that Wade prepared for them during dinner to passing her the remote when she reached her hand to feel around for it.

At 10, he had shrugged off the fact he still wasn't up, having made Althea and him cereal for breakfast. Oh, well. It was like Wade to skip the first meal. Something about making him nauseated?

But now, at noon, his eyes lingered more and more on the doorway that led to the single bedroom, staring off as he mentally waved a hand. Bah. Wade would get up when he wanted. Besides. It wasn't THAT late, nor was it a big deal. And he DID just get back from that job only yesterday.

Quickly, noon became 3:30 as he now was standing a little longer by the hallway than he should when getting himself a drink, subconsciously grabbing two. Blinking, he shook his head, bringing a soda to the woman who didn't need to see to hear his heavy steps and corresponding grunts of thought.

"I wouldn't if I were you."

"Huh? Wouldn't what?"

"Don't play coy with me, boy. You know what."

Tilting his head, he thought for a second, not sure what she meant by that.

"He gets grumpy." She says as suddenly he understands.

"Oh.. No I just-"

"You've hesitated by that corridor 4 times already."

"How would you know that?"

"Im blind, Not deaf."

"And?" He scoffed.

"And! You're loud as hell!" She told him, reminding him that the floor always creaked a certain way depending on who was walking around.

"Mmh..." Getting up, he began to take his drink to the room.

"That's what I thought." She mumbled. Al might have been a coke addict but she wasn't stupid.

With each step he took, he could smell weird things, something he wasn't quite sure of. He could smell the sweat, fear and something he couldn't quite pin point. A scent he ussually just marked as 'Wade' in his mental files but now it was much stronger. A lot stronger.

"Wade?" He asked, softly knocking. Waitng a moment, he opened the door when there was no awnser. There, in the bed, was the man curled up in an old T and fluffy jammie pants that he had cut into shorts after the bottoms were "ruined by not-my-blood", Shivering. Shaking. Sweating. Twitching in some bits of his body.

For a moment, he took in the sight, trying to assess the situation, setting the can on the dresser. ".. Wade?" He asked, firstly checking his arms. Or at least tried. The instant they were touched, he flinched and pulled them close to his chest, still shivering. Glancing over, The AC was completely off but it did look like he had kicked off his blanket.

"Wade." He said a third time, trying to turn him over only for the man to practically jump.

"W-what!?" He snapped, though the end trailed off more into a whimper. There was that smell again. The fear. The sweat. He was soaking the sheet. He couldn't get sick.. could he?

"..Are you okay?"

"Does it look like im okay?"

"...Wade...Are you withdrawling?" He was just checking off the boxes of possibilities. Actually, a bit of heroin might do him some good. Or Adderall. Though they were bassically the same thing.

"What?! Go away! Just.. leave me alone."

Without even grabbing for the blanket, he turned over, hugging himself tight, curling into a ball. Cold.

"Do you want your- Ah ew-" he gruted, trying to pick up the blanket, discovering that the reason he pushed it off was because he vomited on it. Now he was really worried.

"Do you want a drink? I brought you a coke.. erm- the drink. N-not the drug."

(Joke stolen from @monkepenguin )

But he was already passed out again.

"Wade??"

He was completely unconscious. Just like that. But how so quickly? Maybe he was sick?? Perhaps some asshole coughed on him on that mission? No- they were borderline immune to all of that. You had to have specially modified diseases for them, and he doubted he'd ever come home knowingly with a disease knowing how high risk Al was.

Sighing, He came to the closet, getting out a spare blanket and some sweat pants. But wait- should he put sweat pants on him if he was already sweating to death?

Seeing how hard he was shaking made him frown. He looked miserable. Whatever was going on, He didn't like it. And whatever that smell was (that wasn't vomit) stunk in this room, particularly the closer he stepped towards him. What was it?

Maybe it was the illness? Ah, well. If it really was an illness, he needed to sweat it out, but he needed to keep the room sterile.

"Alright, bub. Don't get any ideas. This is strictly for medical reasons. Got it?" He muttered. When there were no jokes about rectal exams or sexy nurses, he took this as an 'Uhh do what ever you want, I'm super dead', moving to put the pants on over top of the shorts.

Immediately, he tried to kick him, and hard from the looks of it, watching how quickly he backed up and the look he gave him was sheer confusion and irratation mixed with terror, as if his mind wasn't functioning enough to tell who he was.

Logan of all people knew how it was to be woken when your brain wasn't - or couldn't - process what was going on. A lot of people have gotten stabbed for touching him while sleeping, so he took no offense to this what so ever.

Watching him proceed to curl up agaisnt the corner of the bed and the wall made him swallow, a string tugging his heart. Ohh.... this was bad. Really bad.

"Get the hell off of me!! I already said leave me alone!"

Tossing the blanket on top of him, a small mumble of 'Ill fucking stab you. I will..' came from under it, but was slower and distorted as if he was sleep talking. Was this a bad nightmare? They've never been this bad before. Not that he's seen anyway.

Leaving the drink, he brought the puke blanket to the dirty hamper, making his way to Al.

"You said he gets grumpy. That's not grumpy. That's a cranky toddler who hasn't slept in 3 days, and he's sweating himself to death."

"I told you."

"So whats wrong with him?"

"Same thing that has been wrong with him since I've known him."

"Which is?? These are not mental symptoms. They're physical."

"Oh sweet boy. What do you think chemotherapy and radiation do to you? You can't honestly think he was born this batshit insane do you?"

"...but I thought." If it wasn't for his patches, Logan would forget that he was stage 4. He didn't show it. Barley at all.

"It's still killing him. Just about as slowly as time is killing me, though."

"But he regenerates.."

"And how much of a toll do you think that takes on him, hm? See you don't get it. You're nice, young, and healthy."

"I'm older than you." He muttered quietly but understood her point. Maybe that's why they got along so well. Because Wade had similar issues to an older person. Either that or he thought she was funny. Perhaps that was the only reason he litsened to her.

"So what do I do?" He asked, not sure how this stuff worked.

"Nothing. Just wait. Even if you found a cure for cancer, he'd still die." She mumbled, petting the sleeping dog in her lap.

"There's got to be something I can do. Anything?" The frustration in his voice made her smile.

"You can make him happy until that son of a bitch death finally comes to collect his dues." She whispered, in a serious yet calming tone that made Logan want to hit her for making him feel emotions he didn't understand.

Hearing him huff and walk off, She petted the dog. "I don't know why you make that idiot so happy, but you better wait until after I die because i'm not litsening to that poor boy cry his eyes out when you're gone. Got it?" Al whispered as the dog wagged its tail, waking up just enough to lick her hand.

I wish I could say the same was going as easy for Logan, who has turned on the AC (after googling that Cancer patiants should probably be kept in cold rooms, but kept warm) and now was crawled into the bed too, pulling him close.

"Let go!" He started but was held until he clonked out again a good 7 seconds later, the resisting and pushing of his chest soon becoming the place for him to rest his drooly head on. It didn't take much for Wade to process 2 things. That A. This man had some awesome tits. And B. These tits were warm. And as a cold person with little ability to retain his own body heat at the moment from the rapid level of dying and regenerating cells within his body, heat was good.

So here he was. At 4:15 pm on a Tuesday. Cuddled up with a man who was both dying and agonizingly surviving, letting him nuzzle himself as close and as deep into his neck that he possibly could, going as far as putting his cold hands under his tank top.

"Aye, watch it, bub. Cancer or not, I'll still kick your ass."

The tiny scoff of a chuckle that came from him was enough for the big manly mans act to drop, a small smile coming to his scruffy face as he held him, the warmth helping him come back to the living world and sleep soundly, instead of shaking.

It wasn't until 8: 37 pm that night when Wade was finally conscious again, now teasing him.

"I can't believe you just let me grope you for 4 hours! I should get violently ill more often!"

"Shut up! Next time, I'll just let you freeze!"

"Oh suuree pal. As if you weren't totally snoring too."

"You were asleep! How would you know?!"

"Oh please, I wasn't asleep that whole time."

"Why you-!"

"Ah ah ah!" He says, putting up his arms. "Cancer!"

"Don't care!" He grumbled, slapping him upside the head, a soft, embaressed blush over his cheeks. God.. this man would be the death of him.. and honestly? That might not be that bad..

"Ow!"

Thinking about Logan getting really worried when Wade's (metaphorical) mask comes off and he's not the guy dancing on the bar, making boob jokes and kicking people in the face but rather the one with his face in the toilet at the club, promising he's okay while still struggling with the side effects that come with cancer.

"No no, really its fine! Go on, go have fun ill be out in a second!"

And being the emotionally closed off manly man that Logan is, doesn't press about it but still waits outside by the door, not letting people in the bathroom, ending up causing a bar fight because hed rather get punched in the jaw then let someone see Wade like that and embaress him.

Thinking about him coming home with groceries and finding him dead asleep on the couch, but the kind of sleep that looks like it was taken by force rather than comfy. The kind where you pass out because your body has had enough and just coming to check on him every couple of minutes before eventually sitting next to him and just waits until he wakes up.

Al can't see. But she's had a smug look on her face ever since Logan has walked in the door because she can hear him walking back and forth to go check on her room mate.

"You're really worried about him, ain't you?"

"What?"

"He's fine, you know. He does that. Go on. Go do what ever it was you angry men do."

But he doesn't go. He stays put. Like a loyal dog at his owners death bed, hoping if he stares enough, he'll get better. Eventually, he falls asleep too And Al is going to tease them both about this for the next month. She took photos to prove it.

Soon enough, it evolves into him picking up tasks so that Wade can rest but refuses to tell him why. He doesn't want to embarrass him and make it feel like a big deal.

"Alright. Well, I'm gonna go walk mary puppins. You want anything from the bodega?"

"No.. actually.. could I walk her? I can take her. Being in this apartment is killing me."

"What need to get your steps in or something?"

"Something like that."

"Ah I get it. Wild cat needs to prowl. Well alright. But dont be taking our baby to any skanks house! Shes too innocent!"

[history-and-consciousness]

I was probably asking or assuming too much to hang promises on something that wasn't mine, in hindsight

MIL had let me borrow the xterra freely in the past, but I should have made absolutely certain she was ok with it in this case. R tells me MIL didn't want to be so long without a vehicle. When I had been borrowing it in the past, only a few hours would pass on two consecutive days of the week where there was not a car in the yard she could take if she had to get her boyfriend to the hospital immediately. A risk she could live with, as opposed to me having more or less a reservation on the car in the event I needed it for the breakfast or afternoon shift. I was being greedy to take that for granted.

So I was a little more upset than I ought to have been about the car, but I think it just manifested in me waiting so long to call my boss to update her. Certainly, it added weight to the tangled everything, but I don't perceive the freshly unroadworthy xterra as being the foremost driver behind my behavior.

I suppose now may be a prudent time to mention that I was freshly medicated on adderall. 20mg when I wake up, 10mg later on in the day was what I had gone up to by this point. Ironically enough, I believe my prescription had been adjusted to the extended release version by this point but by some stupid bureaucratic fucking dispute between the pharmacy's supplier and my particular insurance I hadn't been able to fulfill the script. So I was getting a burst dose of a medication known to agitate. I'm not attempting to excuse myself, but maybe offer some explanation?

I feel the need to minimize hard details for the sake of privacy for some reason? It feels like gossiping if I talk about exact events. "Spilling the tea" as is the phrase down here.

Let me establish upfront: MIL (who is now D) has, despite some bad history with me, opened her house to R and I when we had literally no where else to go and asks for not a whole lot more than help when she needs it. D has gotten better since we last lived together. Nothing at all like the last time we lived together. She made an effort to change for the better and let go of the past and has shown us incredible generosity. So I'm trying it too. To change for the better and let go of the past. I try to give her grace, because she's giving me a lot of grace. We can both be difficult people (mirth.)

I'm aware that we all talk shit about "oh I'm gonna beat the fuck out of hypothetical" or "I'm gonna kill fictional" and so on. Hell, I was doing plenty of that alongside MIL's boyfriend when I saw the xterra. We all vent like that. D, as R has to remind me, tends to exaggerate hard (or lie) when she's having moments where she feels powerless and without control. Knowing her history, I can understand that. I don't like it, but I could take it less personally. Recent events were heavy on my mind.

So D says she did something very foolish (way the fuck more complex than mere homicide). I'm the first to clue in as to what she's alluding to and its implications. What I'm pretty sure I was trying to do was establish a common understanding of scope? I was trying to talk about it with her, at a basic level. And she kept refusing to engage with me. Told me to keep my voice down when I got a bit loud, not to talk about this with anyone.

I went into the backyard to call my own mother for the first time in who the fuck knows how long. It's not that bad, we text back and forth and she even visits sometimes, but there's always that...trope? Stereotype? "When's the last time you called your mother?" So the first thing my mother ever hears when I finally initiate a phone call, let alone a conversation: "Hi, got 10 minutes?" I rant about the situation, both the car and foolish thing. R joined the conversation, it became productive. R and I decide to get out of the house for a bit.

So at this point, we've pretty much established that foolish thing was most likely a fabrication, D's version of "I'm gonna invert his ribcage" except it was plausible and had severe consequences if true. Consequences I really wanted to address. After addressing them with my mother and talking through the everything, I go inside and the first thing D asks me is "were you talking to your mother?"

I affirm that I was. D proceeds to get sour at me and walk out of the room. Before I leave, or maybe it was after we got back I don't really remember, I hear from R that D is upset with me. What confuses me is that she's upset with me for snitching as if there was absolutely no way her alleged actions could splash back on all of us. Whatever, we separate and move on.

It's past my bedtime

[centuriantalevevo]

Eyo so-

Since I have ADHD and Mysta has ADHD it's self projecting time!!!

Mysta Rias and Reader with ADHD

Mysta wasn't surprised when you told him- actually the entirety of Luxiem- Shoto already knew.

Mysta just had a feeling... Something was definitely off about you unlike the others- like him!

Everyone got an answer one way while you got the same answer doing it a whole different way- like how did you even get that?! Only Mysta can truly understand that feeling-

He wasn't too good at catching himself when he went of track but he was good at catching you straying away from the original subject.

It's why he felt so comfortable just talking around you. With a lot of people, I always tried to stay overly conscious about what he was saying, he didn't wanna stray away into 5 subjects at once and throw everyone off... that happened a lot. No one was able to keep up- but with you, he could go through 5 subjects in 1 minute and you could keep up the ENTIRE time, even going ahead of him.

It mostly was brought up when Luca asked.

"Oh, ya! I have ADHD!"

"Oh shit, really? Mysta does too I think," Vox comments, "For some reason I had a hunch you were neurodivergent in some way..." Mysta said

But with that came the struggles. But struggles both of you could relate to, so it didn't feel as lonely.

Both of you had a tendency to talk over others on accident. The impulsivity that comes with ADHD causes this. Yeah, yeah, neurotypical people do this too, but not nearly as much. For ADHD, it can affect personal relationships, just like any other symptom of ADHD.

Both of you have a small ass attention span, and you commend Mysta for people able to play the whole game of The Quarry, or Minecraft for even 5 minutes on his own. You loved games with puzzles and stuff, like Madison since it was horror... but you had a small amount of patience and even less for focus so for finding the damn green safe passcode, you opted for looking it up on Google over actually finding it-

You and Mysta help each other with getting work done- usually it seems like Mysta's the one doing the reminding. Hell sometimes he'll stream while you're in VC with him since you were doing something like homework. If he heard what sounded like you going off track, he was instantly nudging you back to your work until you got it done. You did the same for him. If he had some shit to do but was procrastinating, you'd push him back on track.

Hyperactive episodes are wild when you got 2 people with ADHD in the room-

You two will rage at the faking disorder cringe compilations for HOURS... you two will MALD over people who fake ADHD so much Jesus christ-

"NO- IF YOUR GIRLFRIEND HAS ADHD I'M MORE THAN 110% SURE SHE WON'T GET HYPER ON COFFEE!!" "Yeah!!"

"THAT'S WHY SHIT LIKE ADDERALL AND VYVANSE CALM US DOWN BUT MAKES ANYONE WHO DOESNT HAVE ADHD HYper- I physically can not get a sugar rush- I've never had a sugar rush in my life!!" "Exactly! Caffeine doesn't do shit to us... like if she were to have something similar to ADHD then you mean ADD... because people with ADD get hyper from shit like Adderall. It has the opposite affect on people without ADHD!" "That's why it's so addicting too!"

Mysta would gladly listen to you ramble about your hyperfixations, obviously jumping in with a comment here or there.

You'd do the same, and if you both shared the same hyperfixation at that moment? Oh boy... silence doesn't exist-

You're both patient with each other.

You know you have to get work done but Mysta won't shut the fuck up about something, you get his attention and gently remind him you need to get something done before the hyperfocus wears off- he understands and fucks off to do something else for a little bit until you're done. If you're rambling off about whatever the fuck, the does the same.

"I'm sorry but I gotta get this done! I'll talk to you and listen in a little okay? I love you!~"

But oh jesus christ what is a clean room honestly-

Organization? What??

Organizer? I hardly even know 'er-

Both of your rooms are a death trap.

Who's is worse? We don't know. We can't tell. We're too afraid to get close to either person's room door.

But sometimes you band together with that hyperfocus mentality currently affecting you and get y'all's rooms cleaned one by one...

But it ain't staying like that for long...

It's fucked up in a week max

Usually in 2 days it's back to the way it was. Honestly what was the point? We don't know- but "Hey! I found my Miku pop figure I was looking for!!"

With impulsivity comes great spending habits lmao-

Between the two you MIGHT be better-

If you exclude thr 100 dollars you spent using Christmas to get Xiao when you lost his 50/50 to Diluc

But you are bad about spending small amounts of money on the stupidest shut you find online or in somewhere like Walmart or Target-

Only like 4 dollars but still-

You when to Walmart with the intent on getting groceries but came back with toys that you for distracted by, 2 gallons of Milo's Sweet Tea (or unsweetened if you're uncultured- fuck unsweet tea, this post was made by the sweet tea gang-), candy, some random ass kids art supplies, the kids gummy vitamins, and more random candy you got at the check out counter... as well as McDonald's.

"(Y/n) that's... that's not groceries.." "technically it IS groceries!-" "not the ones we needed though! You can nOT be trusted!" "YoU CAN'T EITHER-"

Y'all spent the next like 3 hours playing with Legos and shit bro-

Mysta on his way to try and clean his room but ended up finding some old pictures and stuff he forgot about.. you walked in and ended up joining him.

Please anything but the actual task I have to do-

When you have conversations and go from topic A to topic 10 in 5 minutes people ask how and then proceed to be amazed at how you do mental gymnastics all the way from how the conversation began to how it finished flawlessly and Mysta's just there like "yep... sounds about right"

How do you even remember what our conversation what about?!-

.... ssshhhh... don't question the ways of the neurodivergents...

ADHD isn't fun, but it can be more bearable when someone who can relate is around to talk about it and you help each other through it.

[frodothefair]

Reblog ICYMI and meta under the cut! Do not click if you don't want spoilers.

@from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras

Mr. Nisilë: So Nisilë, what was your favorite thing in the chapter?

Me: Two things. One is "It seemed he had inherited Fang’s constant presence from Théoden along with everything else: his chambers, his crown, his bed, and his clothing." I don't know, I just think it's the most poignant thing. He didn't just inherit the throne and the crown, he inherited Théoden's whole life. Is there any point to replacing everything, when the kingdom is already resource-strapped? Probably not. But what does this do for the grieving process? Does it make it easier? Does it make it harder? We don't know. Perhaps both.

Also, the concept of a "pidgin mix of Westron and Rohanese." Because that's exactly what happens when you're learning a language, and ask native speakers to practice it with you. You're not always going to immediately know how to say something, and during an emotional moment, you might not take the time to figure out how to say it, so you slip back into the other language. And the native speakers also -- they'll slip into your common tongue if they think you don't understand -- or are likely to not understand. And you?

Mr. Nisilë: Well, I like that you introduced a new character's viewpoint.

Me: But that's nothing new. I've done that plenty of times in Flowers of Mordor -- I was constantly switching back and forth between Frodo and Mari, and even doing a little Sam here and there.

Mr. Nisilë: Well, yes, but Frodo and Marigold were both these shy misfits with their own respective problems and are looking for love and validation, whereas Éomer is an entirely new type of character. Like, what do we know about this guy? He took out two Mûmakil and he is the king, and the only thing he really did wrong was get impulsively married.

Me: He's got problems too. He has imposter syndrome -- that's a pretty common fanon take.

Mr. Nisilë: I'd think most newly minted kings would have at least some imposter syndrome; that's not necessarily unique. But the way you present him is unique. Like, we get his POV and the first thing we see is him being a little weird and constantly getting up in the middle of meetings. I just thought that was a pretty neat take.

Me: Well, I'm glad you liked that, but I have to quibble a bit. First of all, I'm sure he's not constantly getting up in the middle of meetings. He probably waits for a logical break in the action. Although, I guess, he is the king, so if he gets up and leaves, I suppose the meeting is automatically over. But I digress.

Second, of all, he's not weird. Maybe he just has ADHD.

Mr. Nisilë: How do you figure?

Me: Ok, hear me out. I don't know if he does, and it wasn't my intention to make it a major part of his character, but it's certainly not-incompatible with canon.

First of all, as you well know many people with ADHD are very accomplished. However, they also tend to do best in jobs that are social and active, and it is a fairly common story that their ADHD doesn't cause as many problems until they're forced to do rote desk work and sit through a bunch of meetings.

Now, my version of Éomer did a lot of acting out as an adolescent, which could be trauma compounded by ADHD-related impulsivity. Impulsivity certainly doesn't help externalizing behaviors.

Then, as an adult he got married quickly because he fell in love and because he could. This, again, could be impulsivity coupled with romantic inexperience.

Finally, for many years he was a professional soldier, and the military provides nearly constant physical activity, socialization, and external structure -- all "natural" ways of managing ADHD. Also, the constant fear of death provides a steady supply of adrenaline, which can act as a natural form of adderall -- not a good form, mind you, but nonetheless a form. However, when he becomes king, and the war ends, he is relegated to sitting a lot, having long conversations, and sorting through mountains of paperwork. He readily admits that he is "not suited to desk work," and without his secretary Éothain, he would likely be lost. Sitting through meetings continues to be a penance, which is why he keeps getting up to "stretch his legs" and paces as a nervous habit. Which may be just as well, to be honest. Sitting is the new smoking, as they say, and I'd rather have Éomer live a long and healthy life.

꧁ Chapter 5 - Friends ꧂

READ ON AO3┃READ FROM THE BEGINNING

SUMMARY : Lothíriel of Dol Amroth marries Éomer King of Rohan, but she despises her new home, with its unfamiliar landscape and customs. She seeks to escape the only way she knows how, but when her plans go awry, she finds healing and love in a place she never expected.

CHAPTER SUMMARY : As Lothíriel reckons with her anger, she sees Éomer King, and her predicament, in a new light.

PAIRING : Éomer / Lothíriel RATING : M┃WORD COUNT : 6.4 k chapter, 29 k total THEMES : arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, angst, whump, mental illness WARNINGS : suicide, violence, medical procedures A/N : May I offer you an Éothíriel in these hard times? (The hard times being the US presidential election?) Also, if you've ever wondered why Éomer King reeks, this chapter might provide an answer.

PREVIEW :

But even so, she wanted to do it, so she did it.

She pushed her elbow against his, and he glanced up as she leaned in closer, her shoulder against his arm.

“Well, my lord,” she said, and proffered a sheepish smile, “I must say, I do not hate you. I never have. Anger is one thing, but I do not confound the two. So as long as you give me no cause to hate you, I accept your charge. If the King of Rohan smells like the excrement of steeds, then I shall tell the King of Rohan exactly what he smells like.”

TAGS : @emmanuellececchi @konartiste @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @dilettantefeminist @celeluwhenfics Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

[ahsana]

Rehab ~ Dean Winchester

Chapter 1 - The Party

Summary: Gwendolyn Anderson is in her early twenties. For most people that age, they're in college or just starting to find their way. For her, she lost the person closest to her in the universe and she has to find a way to pick up the pieces because everything as she knows it as about to change. After a few events that are less than coincidental, the only thing that seems to make sense anymore is a man with green eyes and a twelve step program.

Pairing: AU!Gabriel Novak x OC!Gwen, AU!Dean Winchester x OC!Gwen & possible other variations. Stay tuned to find out ;)

Word Count: 2038

Chapter Warning: Just like every other chapter in this book so far, there will be detailed drug use, mentions of drugs, paraphernalia, mentions of death and other very sensitive topics. If this could trigger you or set you off in any way possible, I urge you not to read it. If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, please reach out and get help. You are not alone. Always keep fighting.

Even when things were okay, I still never feared death. I've been on the edge many times; never quite falling off, but never quite holding on either.

A lot of people say overdosing was their rock bottom. It wasn't for me. Heroin is a strong word, and sometimes it even shocks me when I say it. Weird, right?

In health class as a teenager, I saw the pictures of drug addicted people and made a pact with myself in my head that I'd never become one of those people and here I am. I guess I should explain how I got here, though.

« FLASHBACK »

Why did I snort that line? My nose burns, my brain hurts, and my whole body feels like it's buzzing. I'm not exactly sure where the cocaine came from or why exactly I did it but I know that I have to get out of here and fast.

Parties aren't usually my scene, but I figured since it was my last day as a teenager I might as well indulge. My surroundings aren't familiar, just some college frat party that I knew of because I attend school here, but other than that I really have no idea where I am or how I got here.

I'm searching for the exit, pushing past sweaty bodies and other young adults who reek of alcohol and marijuana. I gave up hope halfway through the search because it feels almost as if though it's impossible, so when my eyes land on the staircase in front of me I sigh gratefully.

The door at the end of the hallway is propped open slightly; a large rock wedged between so it couldn't close. The loud music was causing my ears to ring so I walked as quickly as I could and became elated when I realized the door at the end of the hallway leading to outside, giving me a chance to get some fresh air.

I push the door open and realize it's heavier than I first assumed, so I try and let it close behind me gently so it doesn't knock rock out of place. I inhale deeply and look around, only to be met with the fact that I'm on the roof somehow.

"Wow," I mutter, and make my way towards the edge of the building; my shoes making the gravel of the rooftop crunch along the way. I peered over the ledge, and for a second considered flying.

Worse case scenario, I land flat on the pavement, ultimately dying in the process or I make it to the rooftop across the way. I step onto the ledge, squat and then sit; dangling my legs over the side of the building.

My heart is pounding a hundred miles a minute, and all of a sudden tears start streaming down my face.

"I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend," I gasp out of shock because I didn't realize that I wasn't alone up here—and also because a random man is singing to me. I turn my head to face the mystery man and am pleasantly surprised. "You could cut ties with all the lies, that you've been living in," He continues, and I recognize the song and join in with him.

“And if you do not want to see me again, I would understaaaand. I would understaaand," We both sing in unison, and the stranger lets out a fit of giggles which makes me laugh in return.

"So Miss, how are you on this lovely night?" He questions.

"You aren't even going to ask me my name?" I inquire with a grin.

"Nope, don't need to." I nod in response, pretending to understand why.

“I'm doing well, by the way." I add.

"That's amazing.. or.. would be, if you were telling the truth." I cock my brow up, and he quickly adds, "I mean you wouldn't be sitting on the ledge for nothing, right?"

I shake my head in disagreement. "That's where you've got it wrong, sir."

"Sir? Do I really look that old?" He jokes.

"No, but I'm not sure what to call you since we don't need to know each other's names." The stranger sits beside me and lets his legs dangle over the building as well. I take a closer look at his features that are illuminated by the street lights below and I am captivated.

The ridge of his nose, the length of his lashes and his eyes—Wow, his eyes. It's dark, but I can tell that they're brown with a swirl of honey and it reminds me of a Hershey's bar.

"So, did you find what you were looking for?" He asks, and I shake my head no for the second time. "Well then what are you doing?" I shrug. "You're not very talkative, are you?" He asks, seeming genuinely curious.

"I am, but I'm not sure what to say. I'm at a party, drunk and high off coke, sitting with a stranger on the edge of the roof; trying to come up with something I could tell you but I'm at a loss for words here." The man gives me a goofy grin in return.

"Well. We'll probably never see each other again, so why don't you tell me your biggest secret?" I laugh out loud.

"Sir, I've known you for mere minutes and you want me to do something like that? Strange." I mumble in awe.

"I'm not from around here, so I couldn't possibly hold it against you in any way."

"Why did you come here then?" I ask.

"Free booze."

"Interesting. Here—I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." I whisper cheekily to him and he nods his head, agreeing.

"Sure. Okay. Let's start," he thinks for a moment, "My guilty pleasure is Lazy Town, the kids show."

"Ha! That's an awful secret, shame on you!" I reply but laughing while doing so.

"Fine, fine. Um, when I was seventeen I slept with my best mate's girlfriend. He still doesn't know." He whispers guiltily.

"Wow, that's pretty deep. Are they still together?" He nods.

"Been together for eight years, married for three—with two kids."

I chuckle, "How do you know you aren't the baby daddy?"

"Timeline doesn't add up—trust me, I did the calculations as soon as she told everyone she was pregnant the summer after we graduated high school," He trailed off but then turned his head towards me, "Your turn."

I gulp, and try and think of something.

"Um... Well, I might as well go all out then. My parents are both government officials. Amelia and Doug Anderson?" I throw the names out to see if he recognizes them.

"Holy shit," He marvels. "You're Gwendolyn Anderson. I should have recognized you as soon as I seen you! You and your parents are all over TV." I sigh.

"Yeah. But call me Gwen, I hate it when people call me Gwendolyn. Anyways—That's not exactly my secret." I look towards him and he motions for me to continue.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this but.. here we go. My entire life, I've felt like the weight of the world has been on my shoulders. Ever since I was a kid my parents have been pushing me to be the best in every category there has been or ever will be. My senior year of high school was the worst, obviously because of the impending doom of getting into the best college and working on getting scholarship offers; meanwhile keeping all A's, playing volleyball and volunteering."

I continued, glancing back now and then to see if he was still paying attention and he was alert the entire time. "It got to the point where.. I needed some extra help. Adderall was basically my scapegoat and how I functioned for the entire year. My parents were so busy being wrapped up in their own lives and pushing me to my limit that they never discovered I lost myself along the way. Now I'm in college, and I'm still trying to find my way back to a happy medium. But when I looked down at the ground, I realized that for some reason it doesn't even matter anymore."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"Have you ever gotten to the point where you feel like you're just numb? Everything is grey scale and there's no color at all? I'm just going through the motions. There's no highs or lows; only this weird middle ground. I thought coming to this party tonight and getting trashed would make me feel better but it didn't change anything." He nods, knowingly. I can tell he understands. He rests his left hand on top of my right one and somehow it felt like my body couldn't get any hotter.

I should be scared, uncomfortable even. I just met this guy and don't even know his name but I'm letting him touch me like we've been friends all our lives. A sudden thought makes me speak up.

"You know, it's not really fair that you get to know my name and I don't know yours." He chuckles.

“It's Gabriel." I smile because it's very fitting. He looks like a Gabriel.

"That's a beautiful name."

He laughs, "Beautiful? More like average. Your name is beautiful."

"I wholeheartedly disagree. I have a grandma name, at least yours fits your age no matter how old you are." He smiles. We sit in silence, his hand still resting on top of mine and I take another look down at the ground.

"How long do you think it would take to reach the ground?" I ask as if he'd actually know the answer.

"For a suicidal person? Too long. For a person just looking for some answers, too fast."

“How do you know which is which?" Gabriel lets out a grunt and laughs.

"Well, do you want to die?" He asks, raising his voice but continues smiling; which is oddly contagious.

"I don't think I'd ever do anything to speed up the process, so ultimately no. Probably not."

"I guess there's an answer then." Gabriel replies.

"An answer?"

"Yeah, the one of many you're looking for. I won't have them all, though."

"B-But I thought you were an all-knowing wizard!" I gasp out sarcastically.

"No, no. But... I maybe might have one.. just for now,"

I raise my eyebrow again and ask, "What might that be?" Gabriel reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny baggie with pills inside of it.

"You might like these," he whispers gently.

"Ah, man. I don't know--"

“I'm sure drugs weren't the first thing you thought of, but maybe they'll help you forget until tomorrow." I sigh and stick my hand out apprehensively.

"What are they?" I question.

"Percocet. Strongest prescription." I nod, remember hearing some of my peers talking about it previously this week. I swallow two of them without a second thought.

« FLASHBACK OVER »

I look down at the person who brought me into this mess, and his face is quickly turning a light shade of blue.

"Gabe, God, You fucking idiot! I told you not to do that much!" I shout and dial 911 as quickly as possible.

The next thing I know, I'm sitting on the front porch steps of his apartment as they're carrying him away on a stretcher. My best friend is dead, and I can officially say I'm terrified.

[lovers-in-a-dangerous-spacetime]

Dear John,

The more the days go by, the more we talk, the more that I miss you. I had no intention of stirring up old feelings, and in a sense, I suppose I haven't... because these feelings aren't the same I used to harbor.

No, the feelings I find bubbling in my chest with more frequency these days are something new, something unsettling. I recognize you for the type of person you are, and I see the situation for what it is... and yet? I'm still willing to play your game. In part because I've sat beside you on the couch as you played it with others, and in part because I thoroughly enjoy casting the rules to the wind and living life to it's fullest... but if I'm really honest with myself, it's because I've come to recognize so many of your traits within myself. The last few years have come with so much growth, and it's been interesting to see so much of you within myself. I truly enjoy having you in my life, even if it brings a little chaos with it...

Except that I've been done with that, the chaos and drama, for a long while now John, and I need to keep me head on straight. Even around you. Especially around you.

I may be writing after damn near an entire bottle of champagne to myself, and yet I know myself well enough to know that I would never in a million years degrade myself for you (nor any other man) ever again. I sold my soul for the promise of love time and time again, and it did nothing but hurt everyone within my reach.

You want to know the mortifying, god's honest truth John? I think about you every day, or damn near it. Every day for the last 7 years you have managed to cross my mind. Sure it wasn't always in a positive light, seeing as your attempt(s) on my life left their own kind of mark, and yet you've been with me so often over the last years.

I keep waiting for the moment that people talk about, the moment of letting go, and no longer caring. I wonder sometimes if there is something wrong with me, some reason why we're rapidly approaching 7 years apart and I still can't help but feel heartbroken that I can't afford a plane ticket down South in time to see a movie with you for your birthday.

I'm still waiting for the day when I no longer miss you. I have moments of peace, maybe even the occasional whole day of peace from the thought of you...

....

Alcohol makes me sentimental and whimsical. I reminisce about better days and warm fuzzy feelings, and none of it is untrue. It stands to be said however, that not all of the Neural Parliament feels this way, however.

There are parts of me that are unwilling to forgive certain acts on both sides of the marriage, no matter how...

...As my dearest friend J says, "Fuck me sideways with a wooden spoon!" The sentiment stands and is felt strongly at this moment. Well, not literally. God damn it. The alcohol has loosened the knots on the bag that contains the very last of my fucks to give. My job is dead in the water, I'm two thousand miles from nearly everyone I love, my marriage is dead weight I can't bring myself to cut, and I'm currently in about week 3 of Adderall withdrawal so everything is extra grey and bleak.

I don't think that I could ever manage a traditional relationship with you again after all that's happened, and yet I also know deep within myself that I will never, ever stop loving you. I don't even care that my talking like this usually makes you tuck tail and run, you're just going to have to suck it up buttercup. I love you, your whole entire selfish, aloof, distant, strawberry blonde self. Don't like it? Feel free to go fuck yourself. 🖤

Sincerely, (and a touch tipsily)

Your Elinore.