#Took me an hour and a half in my bed past my bedtime.

[the-white-soul]

You can't tell me humans haven't taken more than 7 lives for as long as they roamed the earth. That puts it into perspective. Even then, I should clarify one of those humans wasn't killed even by monsters. Your child. Chara killed themself. Chara killed themself because they hated humans. They're "violent, selfish, and ignorant" creatures. That's what Chara said. I know not all humans are like that because my three best friends are humans. But whatever the heck you and the people around Chara did to them, you sure as hell made them think that way! So they killed themself specifically so the monster you killed could take their soul and get revenge.

So that monster holding their body you killed? If he really was violent, he would and could have wiped out EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU without a second thought. *Flowey glares at the town in front of him with hate. With hate for them, and with hate for Asriel.* You saw what really happened. He didn't do anything even as you tortured him, even though it was your own human child's wishes against their own race. Isn't that pathetic? *Flowey laughs weakly to himself, and his expression softens. He glances at Toriel for a moment before averting his eyes again immediately.*

I know none of you believe me.

...

Just listen to the others, okay?

*Flowey burrows away. (he'll be back with something next ask so don't end the speech too soon after Clover's response.)*

(Random Person 1) "You know, screw you all. I'm with the monsters. You all should go to hell. We are hate. Chara died by their hand."

(Mom) "There's no proof to that. What's your name anyway."

(Random Person 1) "My name is John, and I was in the same class as Chara. I know you are all just saying that because you can't take accountability. We all know the real reason Chara left. I saw how they looked when they got anything below 90%. Those excuses you bring, try to make an excuse for a whip across the face!!!"

(Mom) "Liar!"

(John) "I say we don't dishonor these monsters who's with me!!!"

Dead silence for 4 seconds

(Mom) "I just realized the evil flower has all the police."

(Toriel) "Please, I'm not worth it. I should've listened to Asgore."

Kara walked up

(Kara) "Everyone calm down for a moment. I have a few words. I know Chara meant a lot to some of you, but I must ask, when did the war start?"

(Mom) "It was all when two kids were playing tag. One kid was running and accidentally got stabbed by some pointy rocks and died. The monster then absorbed the soul and made a powerful being that could do anything. It took a while, but we killed them. You've got to remember the real reason we do this isn't just for Chara or Clover. They're just people wrapped in this. If one monster, for any reason, wants to kill a human, succeeds, and becomes evil, there's no stopping it. That's what we're afraid of. There are only a million monsters. Millions don't matter to me when there are billions at stake. We thought we could trap you underground, but we can't. We'll have to kill you instead. Say your final words and get out of here."

(Kara) "I will let Buttercup speak after me. Ahem You all have no way to deal with your lives. After you want to kill monsters, who's next? Violence will come one day to all that are different. Why do we do it, though? Look at Toriel. She's just a Mom. She doesn't mean to harm anyone who doesn't wrong her. Papyrus is one of the best guys I've ever met. He will become friends with everyone. We can't all say that monsters are different than humans. They have goals and more love than most others. The truth is, we all are the same. Some of us are terrible, others are good. It's not right that Chara hated humanity. People are born, and they live. That's it. One day, I want to walk up to a child and a monster sitting on the sidewalk, eating ice cream and telling stories. For those two to be friends just like Asriel and Chara were. Think of all the lonely kids who you could help make friends. If I can see the day that monster and human kids love each other, that'll be enough for me."

[lesenbyan]

yanno, for a show that seemed to always be running when i was growing up (disclaimer; I did not grow up with the channel; I only had access when visiting my mom's parents if they were even in the same state) Danny Phantom really is a short show, huh?

[zg0nuwa]

Hey, hope you're fine...and i see that you're another fan for Miguel (we are) can you write the father day with his daughter and the reader as his wife please:(?....(i just hate my daddy issues)

★ best dad ever ! ⎯⎯

i don't think you understand how much power you just gave me with this (i had like half of this written already but tumblr crashed and i was one step away from going into my joker era)

miguel o'hara x wife!reader

warnings ; angsty fluff, i tried experimenting with the spanish but i feel like i failed miserably, lowercase intended, i'm not a spanish speaker so you're free to correct me on the spanish.

miguels work schedule was very unstable. there were times when he would be gone for the whole day and then there were times when he could spend most of the day at home. you understood, for the most part, he had the multiverse on his shoulders no matter how hard you wished for him to have a much less dangerous job. of course not everyone knew why he sometimes had to disappear for long periods of time.

and one of them was your daughter. all she knew was that " daddy does very important things and he has to go but he will always come back ".

this year, fathers day rolled up on a sunday which meant not only your daughter was home but also you. for your husband it was a little more complicated. he woke up in the middle of the night to a notification from lyla about another anomaly going nuts in the wrong universe. you loved the ai but in this particular moment you wanted to explode her with your mind.

" i'll be back before sunset, i promise " with that and a kiss on your forehead he left through the portal in your bedroom.

the next time you woke up that day was because of your daughter. she climbed onto your bed and started to shake you lightly with her small hands.

" mom? where’s daddy? " you opened your eyes to gabi hovering above you with her favorite plush animal pressed close to her chest. she had this disappointed expression on her small face. you knew it was because of miguel being gone. she planned this whole day for him, you even helped her organize everything.

" i’m sorry sweetheart… daddy had to go to work. " you pulled her in so her head was under your chin. she clung to you like a small koala bear as you played with her thick brown hair. definitely his genes.

" but, he promised he'll be back before your bedtime sooo, we can still make something special. what do you say about that? "

after a small argument about who gets the cooking part of preparations, which obviously ended with you being responsible for it, you and gabi got to work. as you were looking through your old mexican cuisine recipe book [ that you definitely didn’t bought only for miguel to feel more at home during meals ] you saw your dughter holding a box of artsy stuff.

" cariño, ¿qué estás haciendo allí? "

" making daddy a poster! it's going to say 'el mejor papa de todos'! " you couldn't help the big smile from appearing on your face. you knew how much time miguel put into teaching gabi spanish and it always warmed your heart when they sat down at the dining table and simply talked in spanish, your husband making little corrections in pronounciation or grammar from time to time. but no matter what he always looked as if he had hearts in his eyes.

★

you knew miguels work schedule was unstable and sometimes took him out of the house for a whole day, and you understood. but gabi not so much. so here you are, 10:48 pm on the clock and no sign of your husband. you spent the past two hours comforting her and promising her that it wasn't miguels fault and that he loved her. finally at around 11 pm she fell asleep in her bed. you turned off the cat shaped nightlamp and as quietly as possible closed the door to her room.

with a heavy sigh you went back to the kitchen to start cleaning everything up. while puting away food into the fridge you heard a specific glitching sound and you already knew who showed up home.

" you're late. " you weren't really mad at him , it was just tiring sometimes.

" i know, i'm sorry love... it's just - things got a little out of control. " you didn’t look at him and his first thought was to come behind you and hug your waist hoping it would make you feel even a little bit better. “ was there something that i forgot about today? is that why you’re angry? “

" i’m not angry, but your daughter is. she planned the whole fathers day for you. "

" ay, coño… " he sounded defeated, tired, and disappointed in himself. you pulled yourself away from him and came up to the poster gabi made, its was rolled in a tube to not spoil anything before the big reveal. you handed it to miguel with a tiny smile on your face. he was a bit confused for a second but he got the memo and rolled out the paper to it’s full extent. you could see the tears forming on his waterline as he chuckled. probably because of the spelling mistake made by gabi that you didn’t have the heart to point out.

" me and gabi made a deal for you, you have take us to the zoo tomorrow, and she demands that you let her piggyback the entire time to repay for your sins. "

" i guess there’s no other option. " he said with a smile.

cariño, ¿qué estás haciendo allí? - honey, what are you doing there?

el mejor papa de todos - the greatest dad ever

ay, coño - oh, fuck

[lux-scriptum]

Elliot Vampire Au Part 6

Itty Bitty scene today :3

Previous Part

Owen was kind enough to get Elliot settled before he left. He even texted Cyrus for the spell to enchant Elliot’s windows so he didn’t have to stress while trying to sleep later.

While Owen helped himself to the herbs in Elliot’s kitchen for the spell, Elliot shot his friend Ben at quick text apologizing for vanishing for over twenty-four hours. He didn’t get a response, but that made sense. When he checked the time, it was barely past four in the morning.

“Hey.” Owen tapped Elliot’s wrist to get his attention.

“That was fast.” Elliot left his phone on his coffee table. He leaned into the hug Owen offered with a small sigh. There was infinite comfort in the warmth of Owen’s arms around him.

Owen pressed a kiss to Elliot’s hair. “I’ll be back tonight. If I haven’t figured out how to to track down some blood for you, you can feed on me again, okay?”

Elliot nodded reluctantly against Owen’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” he promised. “I’m just tired. It’ll be nice to sleep in my own bed.”

“I’m sure,” Owen tugged on a curl teasingly. “With your bajillion thread count sheets and your goose feather pillows.”

Elliot gave him a little shove. “You like my sheets and pillows when you stay over,” he puffed haughtily.

Owen just laughed, tugging him back in for a hug. “I like you.” But he was heading for the door anyway.

It was still dark enough that Elliot could walk him down to his car, as if it was a normal night, and Owen had just popped over for a movie and maybe something… more. Like they had countless times before. But when Elliot made it back inside and shut the door behind him, he pressed his forehead against it. Blindly, he reached for the deadbolt. And then the chain for good measure.

Almost mechanically, Elliot went through his bedtime routine. He ignored how the bruising under his eyes was worse than usual. He ignored how his hands shook as he changed into whatever pajamas he found first.

He couldn't ignore how the moment he hit the bed he started to sob. It was quiet at first, but quickly escalated into hysterical gasps as he fought for control. He’d been told before his impulsive and flippant nature would get him into trouble one day, but he hadn’t thought one ill advised hookup would lead to this.

Sometime while his tears slowed, he realized he was thirsty. Made sense. He was unsure how long he’d been crying. He heaved a hiccuping sigh an shuffled to the kitchen. Halfway through his glass of water he realized it wasn’t that kind of thirst. The shock of it found him on the kitchen floor with a fresh wave of hysteria that took a good half hour to overcome.

In the end he dragged himself to bed again. He flipped his pillow so he wasn’t laying on the damp spot his previous crying session. When sleep was a long time coming, despite how exhausted he was, he grabbed his phone to find Ben had, in fact, texted him back.

Elliot couldn't bring himself to tell Ben over the phone, so he shot off a few reassuring replies and then asked Ben to come over - he glanced at the clock - that night. Ben’s reply was enthusiastic. This didn’t make Elliot feel any better, but he set his phone face down and curled tighter. This whole situation was a nightmare, but one he knew wouldn’t go away when he woke up.

`

Ask to be added or removed from the tag list! @mecharose @incandescent-creativity @fragmentedink @idreamonpaper @cwritesfiction @firesidefantasy

[scarisd3ad]

Scarisd3ad’s Halloween writing challenge | day thirteen

Prompt - first Halloween as a family

Pairing - Joel miller x fem!reader

Masterlist

[warning] - fluff, reader is not Sarah’s bio mom

When I first met Joel Miller three years ago, I definitely did not imagine myself in this position. I was 19 years old, going into my second semester of freshman year, and Joel lived upstairs with his high school sweetheart, Diana. I had a crush on Joel, but I knew it’d never, ever happen. And then last year, when Diana announced her pregnancy, I really knew I’d never happen.

But now, an entire year later, I’m basically caring for Diana’s baby as if she were mine. Sarah was born three months ago, just two weeks before Diana left town for good.

Now Sarah was three months old, and I’ve been there every step of the way, from late-night feedings to mid-day blowouts. That’s why I’m here tonight at Sarah and Joel’s new place. It was a few blocks from my apartment complex, a 2-bedroom house. It was Sarah’s first Halloween, and I wouldn’t want to miss it for the world. Joel didn’t have many plans, as Sarah was three months old, and her bedtime was 6 p.m. most days. So the plan was to hand out candy until Sarah got fussy and then watch a few movies after Sarah was in bed.

I parked my car on the side of the street and walked up to his house with my bag slung over my shoulder. It contained two bags of candy, a few movies, and a ladybug costume my mom had handmade for Sarah. On the front porch sat a small pumpkin with Sarah's handprints in bright pink paint, which we had done a few weekends back.

My fist pounds against the hardwood door a few times before Joel opens the door. Sarah's strapped to his torso with one of those baby slings. "hey," I smile as I walk into his house. "how's she been doon' today? I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner. My sister needed me to babysit her kids for a half hour," he waved me off, muttering about how "it's fine" as we walked into the kitchen. "she's missed you. I can tell; been fussy all day. Haven't you?" He said as he undid the baby carrier and gently passed her into my arms.

"You have?" I Coo'd as I cradled her in my arms. I practically lived here; most nights, I crashed on the sofas and cared for Sarah during the night so Joel could sleep before waking up at 5 am. I'd then drop her off at daycare at 7 before heading off to my own job. My friends said I was stupid for doing all this for a man I wasn't even dating; I know if I was in Joel's position, I'd need all the help I could take.

-

It took about 45 minutes of handing out candy for Sarah to get tired, so we left the candy bowl outside and headed inside to get Sarah ready for bed. Joel gives Sarah a bath, and then we get her to bed, which she didn't even fuss about; she just knocked out as soon as her head hit that crib mattress.

We're now sitting on Joel's couch, with Friday the 13th playing on the TV. But we're not even paying attention; it's just background noise for our conversation. "I don't know how to say this…" he whispers as he chuckles. My head cocks to the side as he continues to talk. "With Di, we just kissed at a party, and boom, we were together. " My heart began to beat out of my chest. I've dreamed of something like this happening to me my entire life, but now that it's happening, I felt like I was going to pass out.

"I just really appreciate you doin' all this shit for Sarah and I., and I-I think I'm fuckin in love with you." my eyes widened as he said the word love. I didn't ever think anyone could love me; I always dreamt of it, but I never thought anyone could love me, of all people. I lunge forward, pressing my lips against his. I never thought I could fall in love so fast. Yeah, I knew Joel, and I thought he was cute. But I've gotten to know Joel over the past 3 months. I got to fall in love with every aspect about him. When I pull away, he chases my lips. I placed my hand on his chest to stop him as I giggled. "You're in love with me?"

"Girl, I've been in love with you since I met you."

[restwellsoon]

Hi there hey hello, I’m here for your event. Ya girl has been fighting a cold since Friday night and feels like crap so please bear with me – i have no fucks to give with punctuation rn. It’s a miracle you’re getting periods at the end of the sentences and any capital letters are because these were drafted in word and it was done automatically. Please stand by for three no pressure take as long as you need requests for your cute and fun event.

May I please have a sweet catnap with Jason Todd and Aphrodite? Thank you and please drink water and stay safe and take care of yourself and take breaks as needed ily

Not me forgetting to post this from my drafts 🙃Thanks for your patience, Onyx, and for all the lovely things you sent in for this event!

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Prompt: Aphrodite | I've been searching all my life for something that I won’t regret. Could it be that you're the one I'm looking for?

while you were sleeping

Gotham’s city glow hit all the right places that Jason’s shadow couldn’t hide, casting the curves of your eyes, your nose, your cheeks, your lips in neon. The occasional siren and zooming cars faded as he listened to each of your breaths, every exhale slowing as you fell into a deeper sleep. He used to stay up for hours past the sun and past the moon in anxious torment over the angel in his bed. 

No.

Angel wasn’t the right word. A deity or simply some kind of divine? No, that wasn’t it either.

You rolled over, your leg hitching over his slightly. The sheets rolled and crumpled with you. When you settled, your breath of content was his. 

Jason knew the word. 

His heart.

It was true. Your breath was his as was your rhythm, and the pace you set was steadfast and quiet. It was something true that he could keep in tune.

He used to pace anxiously as you slept in bed, counting down the hours and minutes when you would wake. Years of constant vigilance made it difficult to still of his own accord. If he laid in bed, he could hear the raucous tempo of his thoughts. They blended in with the city noise–the siren, the cars, and on bad nights, the crying, the screams, the gun shots.

His heart used to fall into a discordant rhythm as if something was trying to crawl out of his chest.

It was horrifying, really, and he’d seen some shit.

But like that, you’d strike a chord with your sleep-laced song. It was a hymn, a hum, a request. 

“Come back to bed.”

On the reverb, he’d follow your command. The heart wants what it wants, after all.

It took him a while–weeks, days, months. Some nights would be good, and Jason would stay in bed all night. Other nights were bad. Those were the nights when patrol was better than sitting with worries of a future that might not ever come. 

But still, he came whenever you asked.

Your bedtime routine was practically a military march, and eventually he fell into your cadence. You had one half of the bed but also his half too. Jason didn’t mind the closeness. His heart could keep up and match your chords until one day your song became his.

Jason didn’t pace as much, if even at all. He laid in bed on your angel cloud, his heart your heart, your song his song, and his love was yours to take.

Like most nights now, his eyes weighed down until they shut, and in the darkness, he drew you closer. His heart stirred from around his chest until finally you both were asleep.

A Token of Sleep | event / Jason Todd's Masterlist / Rest's Main M.list

[lenfantdeverone]

Crush me like a flower

TW: child abuse, child neglect, alcoholism, drug addiction, domestic violence, self harm, Jeff being consumed by grief to the point of hurting himself and his children

************

One before going to sleep.

Long, skinny fingers reaching deep inside the night table, under his neatly folded socks and underwear. It had been a secret habit of his for a couple of months now, yet no one knew about it. Good thing that, as the eldest, he never had to share a room. Scott preferred to keep it a secret, despite it only doing marvels for his so far. He knew his father and immediate brothers would not be willing to understand. They all had so much to deal with, he could handle his bedtime routine on his own.

One before going to sleep, accompanied with a fresh glass of water.

Scott exhaled, feeling full and calm. The first time, the effect had been almost immediate. Lately, though, it took at least half an hour before he would finally collapse onto his pillow. It gave him just enough time to snuggle a bit into his littlest brothers’ room to kiss them goodnight.

In the past months, Scott had learned how to walk through the corridors at night. On his tip toes, slightly holding his breathe, brushing lightly past the walls. He felt like a ghost, and as long as he kept quiet, he had the whole house to himself. Cracking the door open, he smiled softly at the sight of his baby brothers. Little Alan was still sleeping in his tiny toddler bed, while Gordon had been just recently upgraded to a big boy bed (adorned with tons of sharks, dolphins and whales plushies nevertheless). It was well past their bedtime, and the two kids were sleeping soundly. Scott didn’t want to wake them up, yet he couldn’t help himself, he just couldn’t. He floated next to Gordon first, softly kissing his little temple goodnight. The little blondie didn’t seem to notice, curled up a ball and hugging his favorite giant shark plushie tightly. Scott tip toed his way to Alan’s little bed, gentle fingers carefully stoking his baby’s chubby cheeks. He had to fight his deep, primordial instinct to cradle the four years old angel as if he was a newborn yet again, as if nothing bad ever happened. Scott softly kissed Alan’s temple, lingering a moment to feel the little kid’s warmth. Alan’s tiny nose twirled a bit and he groaned a bit, fingers tightly holding the hem of his comfort red blanket.

“I love you…” Scott hummed lovingly; his voice as thin as a whisper. “My baby…”

After a couple of minutes, the one before going to sleep always made him dizzy. He could take it, the prize of a decent night of sleeps was worth it. Scott couldn’t afford to stumble through the corridors though, so he had to take a deep breathe and just rush to his bed as fast as he could. One foot after the other, right and left right and left right and left and suddenly he stepped onto his own toes and he stumbled a bit.

“Did you see father tonight?” a thin voice spoke through the room right next to his.

Ignoring the question, the eldest simply smiled. “Go to sleep, Johnny. Tomorrow, you have school.” Scott didn’t know if he had imagined his brother’s worried expression or not.

***

Two before heading inside dad’s office.

Just to keep his mind clear, and his hands steady. Scott hated how is body reacted to the sight of his father’s pain, he hated feeling vulnerable when his hero needed him the most. After their mother’s death, Jeff had been a grief filled time bomb. Every wrong movement in the man’s presence could trigger him. Scott had to be calm, he had to focus and not let panic take a hold of him. He made the novice mistake of crying many times, but the pills helped him and after a while he was over it. Scott felt mature and strong enough to support his father.

Two, shallowed dry, right before knocking on dad’s door.

Jeff never answered or straight up acknowledged him, but Scott made his way into the office anyways. He had a broom and scoop in his hand, and a couple of plastic bags in the other. The room smelled as foul as always, the pungent smell of alcohol assaulting the teenager. Watching his father only half-conscious, bent over the desk, a half empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, hurt Scott like a punch in the guts. He started cleaning the floor, picking up the shreds of glass of exploded empty bottles, carefully not to miss any. His father developed the terrible habit of walking around with no shoes on, sometimes even with little to no clothes on, too out of it to even notice. Scott was frustrated, and embarrassed, and angry, but the last thing he wanted was for his beloved father to get hurt even more.

The floor was safe enough to walk on barefoot after a good half an hour of scooping and picking, and Scott decided to focus on his father’s messy desk. There were what he guessed were important documents spread everywhere, some irreparably stained with liquors and drool, but Scott didn’t feel comfortable throwing out anything. He tried to sort the papers out on the desk, biting his tongue as he fought the urge to throw up whenever his hands landed on a particularly fresh and foul stain.

Papers sorted, Scott sighed heavily, carefully checking on his father who had been groaning and scoffing the whole time. He should have checked on him sooner, the teen scolded himself, yet he couldn’t help but feel nervous whenever his dad was too drunk to even acknowledge him. Scott assured himself that Jeff was breathing just fine, and he decided to let him be, placing an empty garbage bin next to him in case the man needed to vomit. Sighing heavily, Scott carefully took the half empty bottle from his father’s hand, but as soon as he did so a strong, ruthless hand grabbed his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Jeff asked, his voice sore and terrifyingly dark.

Scott flinched, his wrist twisting in pain, crushed between his father’s powerful fingers. Whenever Jeff drank too much, he would somehow get a thousand times stronger. The man’s breathe smelt horribly sour, and the teen almost gagged in disgust.

“You’ve had enough for today, don’t you think?” Scott tried to explain, just for his father to forcefully yank him against the desk in a smooth and swift maneuver, core memory of his time in the military.

“Mind your business.” Jeff took his bottle back, mercilessly shoving his son on the ground. It hurt, when his father got violent with him. Especially because, when it happened, Jeff was too out of it to realize that the boy he was hurting was just a skinny teen, and his son nonetheless.

Scott picked himself up, looking down in shame. His father took a deep, violent sip, collapsing on the desk again, barely conscious enough to scream at his son to get out.

***

Three after his father developed the habit of hitting.

It helped with the pain, both emotionally and physically. When incredibly drunk, Jeff slapped and punched whatever happened to be in his reach. And when there was nothing left to hurt, he would hurt himself: punching his own guts and legs, ripping his own hair out, scratching his own face, slamming his own head against the wall. Scott happened to stumble upon his bloodied, unconscious father one time, and it hurt too much. The pain exploding in his heart at the sight of his broken father was too much to handle. Scott swore he would protect his dad, his hero, from his own destructive instinct. The next time Jeff turned to punch his own guts, Scott got in the way and he took the punch on the back of his head. It hurt, his ears were ringing and his eyes were filled with tears, and it had fortunately been enough for his father to get it together and stop.

But then it happened again.

No beating hurt as much as the fear of losing his father.

A punch on Monday. A slap on Tuesday. And even more in the next days. Again.

And again, and again and again.

Three, because the bruises on his jaw hurt too much and Scott couldn’t focus on anything else.

“This needs to stop.” Virgil hissed; his teeth clenched painfully. He had been the one massaging his big brother’s pain away, carefully and delicately smearing pain ointment on Scott’s fresh bruises. “Now.”

“Dad needs time.” Scott flinched a bit, a particularly colorful bruise on his cheekbone aching like hell under Virgil’s gentle touch. “He’s suffering, Virgil. He doesn’t enjoy this either.”

“And that gives him the right to hurt you?” Virgil’s tone was deep and severe.

“He doesn’t want to hurt me.” Scott sighed; his headache was killing him. “He can’t help it. The loss was too much for him to handle…”

“What about you? What about us?” Virgil snapped. “We’ve all lost our mom too, but we held it together. You held it together, and you’re always finding excuses for all of us. Why is dad the only one who’s allowed to lose his shit? Why do you have to take it all on yourself, for everyone’s sake?”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be.” Scott answered firmly, hands shaking slightly despite having his stomach filled with pills which should help him with that.

“We need to give dad a reality check, he’s already hurt you enough.” Virgil’s warm hands went immediately to cup his brother’s, thumbs gently caressing his bruised wrists.

“I can take it.”

“What if dad totally loses it? What if he hurts me next? Or John, or Gordon, or Alan?”

Scott felt bile rising up his throat at the mere idea, and he shallowed hard.

“You’re talking nonsense. He could never.” the eldest was sure about it.

“He’s already hurting you, what’s stopping him from- “

“I am.” Scott cut his little brother, his insides twisting in pain. “I am stopping him. I can take it, it’s my role, and dad knows it too. He wouldn’t hurt you guys. You’re his babies.”

“You’re his son as much as all of us.” Virgil couldn’t understand why Scott thought so little of himself. His big brother was his hero, his anchor, he was the strongest and most selfless person in the world. Virgil adored him, and he couldn’t take the defeated look in Scott’s face.

“If I don’t help him, who will?”

“Scott, turning yourself into a punchbag won’t help anyone.”

“Shaming dad won’t help him either. Let him heal… I can take it; I can take anything for him.” Scott assured him, his deep, blue eyes glimmering with pride and firmness. Virgil really hoped his brother would be selfish for once, he really hoped his hero would give up. But Scott never gave up, he never let anyone down but himself. Virgil loved and hated that part of him.

“I can’t take it anymore, though.” Virgil shook his dead in defiance. He too had to save Scott from his own destructive tendencies. “If I see one more bruise on you, I’m calling the authorities.” This said, he rushed to his room, leaving the eldest on the floor dumbfounded.

“Don’t you dare...!” Scott hissed, the pain in his head spreading through his spine and legs. Why were the pills not helping? He had to keep his family together, he had to. Or else, he had nothing. “Virgil? Virgil...!”

***

Four in the morning, because he couldn’t fall asleep the previous night.

Long, skinny fingers reaching deep inside the night table, under his neatly folded socks and underwear. His headache only got worse, his brain was melting. The pounding in his ears only got more intense and painful by the hour, it felt like his skull was a hollow drum. It hurt so much. Scott counted the pills in his hands. Four. One, two… One, two, three, four… five? One, two, three, four. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. No. One… two… three… four… four. Five? Scott couldn’t focus his eyes, counting was impossible.

Four in the morning, and he almost threw up because his sore throat couldn’t take them all dry.

Scott dragged himself downstairs, stumbling on his own steps. The teen had to hold onto the handrail desperately, or else he would have surely rolled down a whole flight of stairs, and he really didn’t need that. He didn’t need more bruises, especially after Virgil’s ultimatum.

The house was empty and silent at that hour in the morning, as Scott usually woke up first to prepare breakfast for everyone. Struggling to keep his posture straight, he dragged himself to the kitchen, reach out for the coffee machine. He needed the biggest, strongest, blackest, sourest coffee jar the world had ever seen. And he needed it fast.

Scott sipped on the coffee without even waiting for it to cool down. It burned his tongue, but Scott barely felt it. His brain took the caffeine punch worse than usual, and his head began to spin uncontrollably. His heart was pounding fast, it was hard to breathe. Did he take his pills already? Sure he had. Had he? The world was spinning. His muscles felt as soft as butter. Did he take his pills? Usually it was the first thing he did in the morning. His body didn’t feel right. Scott reached inside the pocked of his pajamas and he found a couple of pills. So he didn’t take his pills, right? That’s why he was feeling sick. Scott showed more pills down his throat, drowning them with boiling coffee.

For a brief moment, it worked. Scott hands were not shaking anymore, his vision worked just enough for him to grab a pan and start cooking eggs for his whole family. He just couldn’t let his baby brothers go to school on an empty stomach, and he really hoped his father would join them and eat at least something. Scott struggled to hold the spatula, hands dangerously close to the burning hot pan as he desperately tried to scramble the eggs. The crackling sound of boiling oil was torturing Scott’s aching head, but he gritted his teeth and kept cooking. He had to hold himself upright, shaking hands on the kitchen counter, but he swore he was feeling better already.

“Morning, son.” Jeff, on the other hand, was feeling uncomfortably sober. The emptiness in his stomach was really bothering him, and the painful sight of his bruised eldest child cooking for him hit him way too hard. The man kept his distance, not really sure of how to approach his kid as a sober, guilty man. “Do you need help?”

Scott barely heard his father’s voice, and for a moment he thought he had just imagined it, in a desperate attempt to comfort the ache consuming him. Scott stumbled back suddenly, losing his balance.

“Hey… hey..!” Jeff managed to secure his son between his arms, bile raising up his throat. He didn’t think he was worth of holding his baby like that after causing so much pain, but he was the only one who could help him, and Scott was barely standing on his own feet. “Scott, are you..?” Jeff bit his lips, he wasn’t brave enough to ask that. Of course his child wasn’t ok. And he was the one at fault for that.

“Dad..?” Scott’s eyes were unfocused, and Jeff’s heart skipped a bit. “Morn’n dad… Was… mak’n eggs…”

Scott’s eyes rolled back all of a sudden, his muscles limp and weak, melting in his father’s arms as if he was made of wax. Jeff cried out, desperate, holding his son’s unconscious body with shaky hands. He would never forget the pure hatred in his two middle kids when they rushed downstairs, immediately calling an ambulance and ripping their beloved brother from their father’s guilty grasp.

[actuallyadhd]

Hi, I wonder if you have any recommendations on sleeping schedules, I always fall asleep way too late (4am) so I end up waking up past noon, it’s a mess for holding a job and being a “functional adult” in general.

I’ve had this issue my whole life, even as a young kid I would struggle with mornings, but now I have to pay rent so I’m running out of options.

Also, any tip about getting to places on time would be super appreciated.

Thanks for all the info <3

Sent September 28, 2023

Sleep can be really hard. I don't usually go to bed until the wee hours myself, but I blame that on menopause more than anything else, since it wasn't a thing before.

When I had trouble with sleep as a young adult, it was usually because I'd gotten hyperfocused on something and forgot that sleep is good.

What I've found is that having a really basic bedtime routine can help a lot, and I try to follow the same sequence of events regardless of what time I finally start heading to bed. This helps remind my brain and my body that sleep is good, and makes it more likely to happen.

You might have to play around a bit to find what works best for you, but mine is as follows:

Realize I'm sleepy

Feed my guinea pigs

Use the bathroom

Change into pyjamas

Do some puzzles (e.g., Sudoku) until I'm falling asleep while trying to solve them

Some people read until they're falling asleep, but I can't read before bed because I hyperfocus on words and will stay up all night reading.

If you really can't figure out a way to get yourself to bed earlier, look for work that will fit into your sleep schedule. Things like night security, convenience store staff, etc. could work really well for you.

Being on time for things is hard, and different strategies work for different people.

When I was struggling most with being on time, I tried all the things everyone says to do: I had a designated spot to keep things like my keys and my wallet, I set alarms, etc. But I was still late.

Eventually, I figured out that it doesn't matter how ready I am, when I need to leave I will putter around for a while before actually walking out the door. There's always "just one more thing" that I "need" to do before I go. I timed myself, and I was puttering for an hour every time.

So I figured out what time I needed to leave in order to arrive on time (I was living in Calgary, Alberta, at the time, and it took about half an hour to drive anywhere I needed to be), and then I added an hour on to that and adjusted my alarms. I had one go off an hour before I needed to be on my way, and another go off when I needed to be in the car.

Another thing that really helped was having someone message me or call me when I should be on my way, particularly if I was giving them a ride.

These days, most of my things are with friends. I message or text them when I'm leaving, since that tells them when to expect me (I live in the country and am half an hour from the city). This helps deal with frustration and lets them know that I do, in fact, value their time. I'm not late because I don't care, I'm late because time isn't real.

Followers, do you have any thoughts on these issues? How do you deal with matters of sleep and timeliness?

-J

[kidney9-9]

Not Today - Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Masterlist

-

You came back to the gym after staring blankly at your wall while laying down, three hours later. Certainly not the best time to be cleaning, since it was in the middle of the night (while you were supposed to be asleep).

You spent those three hours thinking about the two interactions you’ve had so far. And you’ve come to the conclusion that you might be some sort of an idiot, and he probably thinks you are too, which makes you feel a bit grumpy when you think about it.

You don’t want him to see you as an idiot. You’d like him to think of you as just, well… hopefully he would never think of you and never say anything to you because then you’d get over this weird crush feeling.

You could physically feel the crush too – it was miserable and reminded you of middle school all over again. It was called a “crush” for a reason, you were going to be crushed into a tiny little ball of bad feelings and you’d end up crying and listening to depressing albums while Aya tries to cheer you up with hugs and ice cream.

All you have said to this man, this beautiful and lovely looking person, is “Excuse me.” And you have already imagined about half a dozen scenarios with him, replacing your imaginary boyfriend from a show you loved with him.

After cleaning the two gyms, you arrive back to your floor around 4AM, way past your bedtime. You fell asleep without taking a shower or preparing for bed. Your dreams centered around him, and in the morning, your head throbbed whenever you imagined talking to him.

-

You got up about three hours later with rings under your eyes, reminding you of your dumb mistake last night. You groaned as you got up, feeling the crick in your bones rattle through your body and you shake off the feeling as you walked towards the bathroom to shower.

You tried your best to look presentable this morning but you could barely cover up all the darkness under your eyes and the red in your eyes. You kind of looked like a badass when you were in your robe, but in your janitor uniform, you look like a sad and tired worm.

Yes, that’s right, a worm.

You felt like you could be a worm right now, with how lovely the ground looks. Oh, you’d kill for a nap right now, as you dragged yourself through the hallways of the familiar campus.

Everyone was in classes right now, so it was the best time to clean the bathrooms and the cafeteria. You knew the cafeteria would be clean and spotless, but you offered to help them out in there as often as possible.

You cleaned the assembly rooms earlier today, after hearing from Nezu that he would like to give an announcement and a speech tomorrow to every class. You made sure the stage smelled like the products that Nezu loved to smell, which specifically was always floor cleaner and air freshener.

-

As you walked into the nearest bathroom, you ran into one of the kids, to where you fell back onto the ground roughly and the kid stared over you with a snarl on his lips.

“You idiot, watch where you’re going.” He spat out, and instantly you rolled your eyes at him, remembering who it was from the sports event – Bakugou Katsuki, the one who made you clean up so many explosions. There were charred marks on every wall in each gym because of him. You had to order a special cleaning chemical for it.

“Sorry, kid.” You responded, wondering if he would move so you could get up. It was a bit awkward, laying back with a kid screaming down at you, in your face.

“Why are you going into the men’s restroom? Huh? Are you a pervert? Fucking creep.” He continued, not moving an inch from his position. You felt your face form into disgust at his accusation.

“I’m a janitor – cleaning bathrooms is what I do.” You explained, casually twiddling your fingers as you waited even longer for him to move.

“So, you go into the bathroom I’m using? Screw you. Waste of my fucking time.” He cast back, anger still dancing in his eyes and it took everything in you not to start awkwardly laughing.

“Uh, sure thing. Hope you have a good day then. Goodbye!” You try to get him to leave, but he’s stuck there, growling at you like he’s some kind of animal. You finally let out a snort, which he instantly screamed at.

“What are you laughing about, stinky?”

You laughed even more at the nickname, since you were the complete opposite of stinky – at least that’s what you knew your quirk to be. It was a lame useless quirk but you could affect the way you smell or at least the area around you smell. You always chose to smell like something that reminded you of the beach.

“I’m laughing at nothing! Or – well, I’m laughing at myself, sure, that’s better, right?” You stumbled out in between laughs. He twitched with more anger, about to unleash some more ugly words at you as he stood over your body but he was interrupted.

“If I had known you were bothering our staff, I would have came earlier to drag you back to class.”

You stilled, feeling stunned as you slowly moved your neck to glance up to the other person towering over you. Aizawa, of course he was here. Bakugou was in his class right now it seemed.

You couldn’t say anything as the two bickered (or more like Bakugou shouted at him and Aizawa glared at the boy). You felt like you’d interrupt something important since Aizawa started to speak to him about respect.

“I don’t need to respect this dumb janitor, she ran into me. She should have been looking where she was going.” Bakugou argued back and you barely held back another laugh as he insulted you again.

The two of them looked down at you. Aizawa seemed to have recognized you but his expression was unreadable and Bakugou had calmed down a bit but he was still pretty irritated.

“Just leave our janitor alone, she is stressed enough.” Aizawa finally concluded the argument between them and Bakugou sighed and sent you a mean glare once again. You felt heat rush to your cheeks as this was Aizawa’s first time talking about you and he was concerned about your stress levels.

Well, this is not good, you thought. You would be daydreaming about this all day now and be distracted enough to not do your work. Even now, you weren’t doing your work and somehow it was because he was involved!

You let out a huff of air to yourself, irritated you let it continue so far, but you knew you couldn’t stop yourself from having a crush.

Instead of talking to them, you gave them a nervous grin and shouted, “Excuse me!” And you sat up, knocking into Bakugou once again and ran out of the bathroom and down the hallway.

Aizawa and Bakugou stared at your figure as you ran off and Bakugou was the only one to speak up of you, “Damn janitor hit me again.”

[angelst4re]

Bby u have been carrying Jamie tumblr for so long 💖🥰 I just want to say I love all your stories and I appreciate the time you spent on them <3 but also a request, you come home from work and see dadJamie playing a game with your son but it’s passed his bed time 🤭 Ily take care of yourself darling

hi my love!! thank you so so so much <33 i just found this in my drafts... i think i was supposed to post it at the weekend but i must have forgotten about it... so i'm posting it now :)

Five More Minutes- Dad!Jamie x Reader

summary: you come home late from work expecting your son to in bed...

warnings: none! :)

notes: happy birthday to my beloved jace!! <3 i wanted to post the jace fic in my drafts today but i still haven't finished it yet :(

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You shut your car door, lifting your work bag over your shoulder and your keys jangle as you try to pick out the house key on the way to the front door. You hadn’t planned on getting home so late, especially as now it was past Charlie’s bedtime. All day you had thought about coming home to him and Jamie, it was your first day back at work in quite a while so you were glad Jamie had the day off so he could take care of Charlie.

As you opened the door you heard the sound of giggling coming from the living room. It was Charlie?! You slip off your shoes, take your coat off and hang your bag up before going to inspect the scene, he should have been in bed an hour ago!

As you poke your head into the living room, you notice Jamie and Charlie were lying on their bellies on the floor, a puzzle box by Jamie’s side.

“Oh look,” Jamie began, picking out a piece and handing it to Charlie, “I think this goes there!” He points to a gap and Charlie thinks for a moment before placing the piece down.

“It does!” He grinned, a wide toothy smile, looking up at his dad, but then he happened to spot you standing by the door, “mummy’s home!”

Charlie pushed himself up and ran over to you, wrapping his arms around your legs before you bent down to his level, wrapping your arms around him.

“Hello, darling. Have you had a good day?” You asked, to which he nodded his head.

“Me and daddy went to the park and we played on the swings, then we had pizza for dinner and then we- we’re doing a puzzle! Mummy, look!” Charlie took your hand in his and lead you over to where Jamie was still lying, his head tilted as he smiled up at you before standing up.

“Hello darling, I’ve missed you. How was your first day back?” Jamie asked, kissing your cheek.

“It was okay, I’m still thinking about leaving, though. Our new boss is-“

“Mummy look!” Charlie pointed at the puzzle again.

It was a Harry Potter puzzle that Sam had gotten Charlie for Christmas, and when he opened it on Christmas day you could tell Jamie was desperate to do it with him.

“Wow! How long has this taken you?” You ask, giving Jamie the slightest side eye, trying to hint that it was past Charlie’s bedtime!

“Five hours!” Charlie exaggerated, holding up five fingers, to which you chuckled as Jamie corrected him.

“No, love, it’s been 2 hours,” he says with a smile before turning to you and whispering, “five more minutes?”

And how could you say no?

Charlie was already lying on the floor again, looking for the next piece, so you nodded your head in response.

“Let him finish the puzzle, it’s not like he has school tomorrow.” You said, kissing Jamie’s cheek. “I’m going to get changed out of my work clothes then I’ll come and join in, sweetheart.” You said to Charlie, and he nodded his head with a wide smile.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It had taken another hour and a half to complete the puzzle, and by the end you noticed Charlie had fallen asleep sitting on Jamie’s lap, his back against his chest.

“Awh I don’t want to move him,” Jamie frowned. Ever since Charlie was born, which was almost 4 years ago, Jamie had always been worried about waking him when he slept, but you assured him that Charlie would sleep through anything, and he did.

“C’mon, let’s get him into bed.” You said, standing up from the floor and stretching your arms.

Jamie carried Charlie up to his room and was careful not to wake him up by turning on any lights, so he moved carefully as to not fall over. Holding Charlie in one arm, Jamie pulled back the blankets on his bed with the other before setting him down and tucking him in.

“Sweet dreams, little man.” He whispered, placing a kiss on his forehead before pulling up his bedroom door and making his way towards your room.

“Remember when I told you I was pregnant, you told me you were worried you wouldn’t be a good dad…” You said as Jamie took off his t-shirt, getting ready for bed.

“Of course, I still think that now.” He said with a chuckle before getting into bed bedside you.

“Well I think Charlie couldn’t have a better father, you’re an amazing daddy to him.” You said with a soft smile.

“What are you trying to say, sweetheart?” Jamie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing!” You quickly replied, as it was true, you had no other intention than to tell him he was a great dad, but you could tell he had something else on his mind, “why? What were you thinking?”

“Oh, nothing.” Jamie said, and although you weren’t looking at him as he had turned over to switch the lamp off, you could tell he was smirking, “good night, my love.”

“Good night, darling.”

[late-nite-scholar]

Aug 16 (Day 5)-Crown/Gentle

Being Emperor isn’t easy. In fact, in some ways, it kind of sucks. Part of a Martin Lives AU. Prompts by @tes-summer-fest  

Nord HoK x Martin Septim 

Warnings- pregnancy

Wordcount- ~1300

***

It was much later than he’d hoped when Martin climbed the stairs up to the Emperor’s Suite, grumbling a little at how many damned stairs were in this tower. It was too late to read Gemille her bedtime story; she’d have been put to bed a good two hours ago now. There were few things he hated more than the way this damned crown took him away from little things like reading to his daughter and tucking her in. 

Once inside the doors of the royal suite and having shut out the rest of the world, he dropped the tall, square-shouldered walk of the Emperor. Ironically, this grand and overly-sumptuous apartment was one of the few places he could just be Martin for a little while. He closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. 

Gentle arms encircled him, a kiss planted on his cheek as a soft voice asked, “How did it go, love?”

“Longer than it should have. But we’ve got the dispute sorted out. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come see the new Blades taking their oaths. I really wanted to be there.”

“I know. Baurus and I handled things, don’t worry. I’m still technically a Blade myself, among all the other titles. I’m a good substitute for the Emperor when needed.”

He turned, reaching up to take her face in his hands. “Aethelfrid! Don’t say that about yourself! You are, among your other titles, Empress of Tamriel. You’re not a substitute, you’re just as important as I am. Considering how we got here, I’d say you’re more important than I am!”

She grinned. “Yeah, but you’re the Septim. Either way, it went very well. Gemille tried to stay up and wait for you, but she had a long day. She barely made it half an hour past bedtime. Come see what she got today.”

They crept over to the door leading into the nursery. Their daughter lay curled up around something wooden, her orange hair a riot around her. As she shifted, Martin got a look at what she held. 

“Is that a wooden sword?” he whispered in disbelief. 

“It is!”

“She’s three!”

“That’s probably when I got my first training sword,” Aethelfrid shrugged. “She won’t do proper lessons just yet, but she can have it and maybe we can do a few small techniques like proper grip. She’s very excited to show you.”

His face softened into a smile again, “She’s so much like you.”

“She’s more like you than you think.”

***

Once they’d come away from the nursery door, Aethelfrid took Martin’s hand and led him to another door, behind which the large bath waited. It was all prepared, enchantments keeping the water warm and inviting. As Aethelfrid pushed the robe off of his shoulders, he took off his crown, frowning at it. 

“I hate this thing,” he muttered. 

“I know, love. But we don’t need it right now.” 

He put it down on a small table, feeling the weight of it fall away. For a little while, it could. It was these few, precious moments that got him through the day, that made the weight of the crown bearable. He sighed again. 

“I didn’t even ask you how you’re feeling. I’m sorry, my heart.” He rubbed his face with the heel of his hand. 

She was still undoing and pulling off his clothes, and he reached out to the hem of her long tunic, beneath which her stomach had begun to get round again. She giggled. 

“I’m doing just fine. Feeling good. This feels as though it’ll be another strong, Septim child.” She pulled the tunic over her head. “It’s good it’s starting to show. Some of the nobles have been very pissy that we didn’t just have babies back to back to back. I think they just want to keep me busy and out of Council meetings.”

As they settled into the tub together, Aethelfrid’s strong, deft fingers began to message water and soap through Martin’s hair. He leaned back, savoring the feeling. 

“Can I tell you something, my dear?” he asked. 

“Of course.” She planted a kiss on his forehead. 

“I�� I wish we could disappear somewhere. Live quiet lives, just you and me and the children. Maybe somewhere near the mountains.” He’d fallen in love with the mountains during their time at Cloud Ruler Temple. “But there’s still so much to be done, even with all the progress we’ve made.” 

Her fingers stopped scrubbing for the briefest second. “I wish we could, too. My family is from Morthal, and it's not too far from there that you could find a little spot in the mountains. Or east closer to Dawnstar. It’s about as far away from everything as you can get.”     

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Let’s retire there. Once the rebuilding’s done and we get everything back on its feet, let’s retire to Skyrim.” 

“Deal.” 

Martin helped Aethelfrid unbraid and wash her hair next. He ran a gentle comb through the flame-orange waves, wondering if their second child would also inherit this color. They made many grand plans as he worked; discussing the house they’d build and where. 

“I’d love a garden,” Martin admitted. “I had one at the chantry in Kvatch. I miss it.” Kvatch was being rebuilt, but even if a new garden was planted, he wouldn’t have the chance to do more than maybe see it. 

“I need a training yard. We also need a library.”

“Of course. And enough room for our family. You said you wanted a big one.”

“I do. It’s a Nord thing. We always have big families.”

Well, I will build the house myself to your exact measurements.”

***

Once they’d bathed, they settled down for a late-night supper. More pressing realities took over the conversation; an envoy from Mournhold arriving in two days’ time, a gala planned for the day after that. The trading guild had a petition about a contract to Hammerfell, and builders in the city wanted to meet about their progress. There was also a feast day coming up quickly, and they’d have to find the ceremonial robes to wear to the temple that day.  

It seemed never-ending, but Aethelfrid was as firm in her commitment as he, and it was less daunting with both of them facing it together. After all, they’d faced down the forces of The Dead Lands and its ruler together. Once you’ve done something like that, the mundane jobs of contracts and noble posturing seemed much less intimidating.

After dinner, they retired to their bed with a book each. Snuggling up, they did a little reading, before returning their attention to the other. 

“I’m sorry for being so grouchy,” Martin kissed his wife’s cheek softly. 

“You have a lot on your plate, love. We both do. It’s not easy. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“I really wish we could retire to the mountains.”

“We will. We’ll get things back on track and retire to Bruma. Or Morthal, or wherever you want. Falkreath is very pretty and has less snow.” 

“They’re not going to let us just leave like that.”

“When the time comes, we’ll leave before they realize. You have no idea the hidden places and trails and things I found running around doing Hero of Kvatch stuff. I mean it.”

“I would never doubt you on that. And, I hope we can take you up on it.”

“We will. I promise you that.”

***

It took Martin a long time to fall asleep that night. It seemed so impossible! That he could truly leave behind this crown and the weight it carried. But Aethelfrid had done the impossible before. Many times, in fact. He had no doubt she could do so again. One day, he told himself, once we’ve got things back in order. 

When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of a little farm with a garden and a gaggle of flame-haired children. 

[dragoon811]

I have had a shitty week. Can someone manifest me some good vibes?

Sunday started nice. Monday was a holiday (Family Day) so I got some extra weekend. I was looking forward to it - then Elder Child crawled into my bed just past midnight with a fever.

Monday she stopped eating after lunch (two bites of banana), but was drinking water.

Stayed home Tuesday to help her combat the fever. Wednesday morning she had no fever so my daycare lady was able to take her and I went to work. She kept me updated etc all day.

My gut didn’t like how much she was sleeping so after work I decided to take Elder Child to the children’s hospital. Convinced my husband to pack me a bag, thinking they’d throw Tylenol at us and we’d sit in the waiting room for 8 hours to be told it’s an ear infection/sinus infection…. But I got home to her and her fever returned. (And my period started. JOY.)

Loaded her into the stroller, threw myself in, and off we went! Waited in line at triage.

Triage called us, we weighed her, we talked. And I said I was concerned because she hadn’t eaten, the fever was back, my sister was diabetic and I was starting to worry because when she was sleeping I couldn’t rouse her easily, and her breath smelled and basically asked them to check her blood sugar.

So they did. (This was NOT an enjoyable experience for Elder Child.) it was at 2 - new to how Canadians measure shit, I’m really glad the little screen added in red: “CRITICAL LOW”.

The nurse made a phone call and stressed, surprised, that Elder Child was alert.

Upon the second attempt at a reading because it was low, Elder Child was more prepared. She kicked, she fought, she puked all over herself, and bolted for the emerge doors.

Ok. Skip a second test. (Note: I did not pack spare clothes.)

We were taken right back to a room in the emergency wing. Unsettling.

Then a flurry of people - a lady trying to help Elder Child adjust and calm down. Nurses. Doctors asking questions. (Another note - I have not slept well in 2 weeks, am hearing impaired, and now overwhelmed and scared. Not a good combo.)

Gave Elder Child a nasal spray to calm her (this resulted in another bolting for freedom, also thwarted), another blood check….and once the spray started to work, we tried to prep her for an IV/blood draw.

This was ALSO strongly disliked. More holding her down. I did a lot of crying.

We went through the symptoms - tummy hurting, drinking some water but hadn’t peed in like 6-7 hours, fever, sleeping constantly, not eating. Ended up doing ultrasound, X-ray. Ten bottles of blood (and she FREAKED). Finally got her to pee. Yes, she peed on me.

Refused food. Refused popsicles. Refused juice. Started IV - first sugar bolus. Then hydration. We named the IV robot Frank. Elder Child, loopy from the spray, patted it and told it it was doing a good job. Also, during our walk to ultrasound, said she was Frank’s pet puppy and he was taking her for a walk, see her leash? ����

Spent the night. (Another note: my daycare kept her sister until bedtime. And we arranged to take her as soon as she woke up because we cannot trust my husband with her care.) Lots more holding her down and blood checks.

Also please note: Elder Dragoon wails and screams when distressed. She was very distressed. I felt really sorry for the staff because I couldn’t calm her.

In the morning she managed to eat a bit! Yay! Tried to disconnect the iv - sugar went down. Hooked her back up. Spent the day trying to get her to drink 100ml of apple juice.

Ended up discharged at almost 4pm - diagnosis: fever, causing hypoglycemia. Apparently kids don’t have as much stores as adults and the fever was burning through what she DID have.

So I spent today waking her every 4 hours and getting her to eat or drink. It took her an hour to drink half a juice box. But by dinner today she was improved and actually had food. And accepted popsicles.

Still have to get her eating or drinking again in about 20min. Then set the timer back.

I just want a full REM cycle of sleep. I am SO fucking tired.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Ritchie Herron

Published: Sep 9, 2023

Swaying side to side, I’ve finally conceded that it’s time to go to bed. In the blur of my tired eyes, a pixelated clock signals it’s about to hit 2:50 a.m. The day’s been quite a long one, I’m exhausted and have been kept awake by both my mind and body. Pains of the past I’d rather not be reminded of, but are forced through via a body that has certainly not forgotten. Pain aside, the anguish is enough to keep me awake.

No matter, perhaps tomorrow will be a better day.

Slamming ungracefully onto the double bed, as is routine, both BB and Harley come for a bedtime cuddle, making it difficult not to feel at least joyous by their presence. I’m tired enough that I’ll drift off in seconds. I hope I don’t dream tonight.

Laying on my right side, I can’t hear a thing as I’m completely deaf in that ear, not even the buzzing of multiple alarms set on my phone. Barely half awake, I’m growing increasingly aware that the back of my head is cold and damp as if I’d just jumped out of a pool. Just slightly, I lift my head to swap out the pillow for a fresher one next to me. The heaviness of the pillow is made apparent when I throw it down the side of my bed, weighted like a sponge absorbing water. The night sweats come and go, it doesn’t matter if I stop taking hormones, or take hormones.

A furry glove has been gently prodding my half-awake face for the last twenty minutes. He’s growing impatient, it’s way past breakfast time. With a soothing and loud purr, the gentle taps on my face end, as Harley ever so slightly unsheathes his claws, probing my face with tiny needles. Now I’m fully awake.

The discomfort that started at the back of my wet head, from sweating all through the night, is complimented by the sensation that my spine was crushed. I’m in agony, the back pain started about three months after surgery. Perhaps it’s related? Perhaps not, it doesn’t matter at this point.

As if automated, I begin shedding the pillowcases and duvet covers in preparation to be washed. Harley’s head is bunting my lower back, as he reminds me of my duty to feed him. After doing so, I pluck a fresh towel, throw it over the glass barrier, and turn on the shower. Feeling quite nauseous, it was only the cats that had breakfast, I simply can’t in the morning. The saliva that’s lining my mouth is signalling to me that I probably will throw up. Starring down the toilet bowl, I take deep breaths, doing what I can to prevent being sick with a dry throat. It’s like my body is reacting to being poisoned, and it’s doing what it can to expel it.

Stepping into the shower, I begin scrubbing my face. My fingertips scan over patches of facial hair, beneath the lip, nose, and some on the chin and cheek, as if I was reading a brail message encoded on my face. It’s been a few days since I’ve shaved those random areas, which got worse when I took testosterone in 2022. The sheer volume of facial hair removal sessions, electrolysis and laser, means that it won’t grow back properly, at least not for now. Turning off the shower, I wrap the towel around my body, hiding the breasts and lack of male genitalia as I walk back towards my room. Navigating disorganised drawers, I catch a glimpse of my naked body from the large cupboard mirror. It’s curvy in a way that it shouldn’t be, and not quite in proportion either, like a crushed hourglass. My eyes scan downwards, and as soon as they meet my lower torso, the examination stops. It’s too early in the morning to think about this shit.

In the kitchen, I’ve carved out a little office space, where I’ve worked solidly at home for the last three years. Lockdown was a nightmare, I know, but not for me. I get so much more done working in my own space, away from the noise and bright lights of the office. After an hour of going through my morning work routine, I’m pulled out of focus by a sharp sting, which normally happens after sitting down for an hour or so. It’s my pelvic region. It’s worse than usual, some days are better than others, but today is one of the bad ones.

Normally the warmth of the shower in the morning, is enough to relax the urethral passage, making using the toilet a little bit easier, but again, not today. I’ve been sitting on the toilet for about five minutes, and nothing is coming out, though not for the lack of trying. I begin psyching myself up, almost preparing the muscles to open, knowing that the final push will sting a bit.

A dribble begins. Okay, we’re in business. Do the pelvic exercises like the nurse told you and relax your bottom half, whilst slowly breathing outwards. The tiny stream slightly increases in velocity, allowing for a short-lived burst to emerge, before turning itself off like a tap. Inpatient at the sudden stoppage, I forcibly press the muscles trying to squeeze out the final drops, but that too isn’t enough. It still hasn’t stopped though, it’s just coming slowly. Again, as I was taught, I began rocking back and forth, side to side, attempting to empty any lingering urine. I’m confident enough to stand up, whilst holding some toilet tissue on the area, knowing more dribble will occur.

Upon returning to my desk, only thirty minutes pass before the sensation of a full bladder hits me again, and I go back and repeat the routine. By mid-day, I’ve done this several times, and no matter how careful I am, the dribble never seems to end and my underwear needs changing already.

Finally, the workday is over, but I still haven’t eaten. Instead, I’ve been drinking water and coffee all day, it’s the only thing I can keep down without bringing it back up. Far too tired to even think about cooking, I’ll go have a nap and see where it takes me. Like a magnet, I’m pulled towards my bed and collapse in tiredness. I’m probably going to ruin my sleeping pattern if I don’t set an alarm, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not going anywhere and I’ve got nowhere to be.

The three-hour nap I’ve just stormed through is brought to another sweaty end. Though it had nothing to do with night sweats this time, but the terrors that come with dreaming. Can I call it dreaming? They’re not quite nightmares, though they’re far from pleasant, I don’t think I’ve ever had a nice dream in my life, at least one I can remember anyway. The setting is always the same. A house that looks like it’s about to be condemned, water is leaking from the ceilings, and the wood slats on the windows are hanging off broken hinges, searching for cats and finding corpses.

That dream’s the very least distressing, there are about half a dozen that play on repeat. Some are graphic, some aren’t, and some have very clear symbology. But others are utterly confusing, such as the dream where I’m just screaming at myself not to go, but the screams are aching my throat as no matter how hard I press to create a sound, it’s muted, and the person I’m screaming at is myself during transition.

Around 7:00 p.m., a welcome needle mitten saves me from the chain of dreams. I’m not annoyed at him this time, I’m grateful for the reminder, that the dream was a dream, and nothing more.

More alert now, my hand searches down my body on its own accord. The long muted sex drive, dampened by years of SSRi’s, hormones and surgery flickers like a star, but it’s still there, it’s just dim. Not being able to do anything without lubricants, I begin thinking about searching out a fresh tube, but by the time I’ve got up, the moments passed, only to be swapped for a sense of dissatisfaction and frustration. Standing to leave the bed, I suddenly remember my reality. Even the disturbing dreams were better than what I’ve just awoken to.

Fuck this, I need a cig. Should have given up ages ago, but what does it matter now, really? What health, what future? What am I preserving myself for? Listen, I’m not about to roll over and die or give up, I just see the issues stacking up, getting worse as I get older, more complicated. Back inside the house, it’s now approaching 8:00 p.m. Every game I try to play, or any movie or TV show I begin to watch doesn’t last more than a few minutes, before becoming bored and frustrated. Another cigarette perhaps? Fuck it, why not? I’m not doing anything else.

Damn it. Why does everything feel so unnecessarily difficult again? I just want to pack this up and forget about it, but I can’t. I’m swaying side to side in the hopes that motion will take me forward, but I’m stuck right here, with these thoughts. What am I waking up for?

My mind’s running away from me again, I don’t feel any satisfaction from the recently inhaled smoke. Perhaps an evening walk will do it? Not far, but enough to maybe tire myself out. Let’s go. It’s dark enough that I can get away with a baggy hoody, no need to bind or anything like that. The chest growth is quite apparent, especially with clothes my size, which is why I opt for two or three sizes bigger.

There’s a great deal of beauty in the world, and I like being part of it. Walking through forests, hearing the crashes of waves on long, empty Northumbrian beaches. But I can’t go far or do as I used to. Exercise generally is out of the question, it angers my scar area into a red rage of inflammation. Wherever I go, I have to think about the limitations, that really, no one my age who was healthy, should ever be thinking about. The level of medical care required to sustain my ongoing issues is nothing short of geriatric. All the physical issues aside, they all pale in comparison to the angst, betrayal and grief I hold for myself. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t sit and wallow in misery all day every day, that’s boring and tiring. Trans-age is valid because I feel a thousand fucking years old.

Daylight hours are becoming noticeably shorter at this time of year. Just a few weeks ago, going out at precisely the same time would be met with beaming sunshine, but now it’s more or less dark. I’m not straying too far, knowing if I push it more than a couple of miles I’ll be paying for it for days.

Less than a quarter of a mile away from home, I’m walking down a familiar long path, which seemingly changes with the seasons. Now it was starting to be littered with recently discarded leaves, carpeting the path in a slippery-like surface. I’m almost holding my arms out like I’m walking a tightrope, as the grip on my trainers is making the lack of friction even more severe.

Navigating the minefield of slippery leaves, I’ve neglected my surroundings, something I normally never do. With a natural disposition of being hyper-aware, I’m normally quite observant of others, but not this evening. I’ve arrived at a point where I can’t just turn around without making it look that way. The group of young lads, probably in their late teens or early twenties are partially blocking the pathway ahead of me. One is on a BMX bike, swaying it back and forth between his legs. The cover of darkness is betrayed by a freshly changed bulb in the street light, which is emitting an almost day-like level of light around the group. Their conversation has stopped dead in the water as I approach.

The ear-over headphones I’m wearing aren’t playing any music. As soon as I realised the group was present, I feigned changing tracks, but instead paused to listen, just in case. They’re silent, they say nothing as I pass by, spotlighted by the streetlight. A small sense of relief hits me before I hear:

“Faggot.” Did I hear that right? Don’t look. Look ahead, pretend you’re listening to music. Several slow-motion paces later, my heart feels like it’s beating in my head, the pulse is strong as if the headphones are playing a heavy bass track. Are they following? I raise my eye to the corner, to not turn my head to see if the shadows of the streetlight have moved. They haven’t. Keep walking.

Now I feel like a coward, it’s almost like being back at school, with the other guys knowing I can’t do anything about their insults and put-downs. But I’m a grown man in his 30’s, who should be able to handle himself, it’s disarming, emasculating and annoying. I’ll not be walking that way for a while.

Home now, the adrenaline rush is showing signs of receding. It’s not every day that happens, but it’s happening more than I anticipated. Especially workmen in white vans, and they’re always in threes. Ever notice that? Anyway, piercings and earrings don’t help, but I’ll take the risk, I like the look. Fuck them. Suddenly, I’ve remembered what I ran away from, to begin with, how men especially treat those they see as soft easy targets. Another cigarette is lined on my lips, loaded and ready to damage my health. The fourth one in less than two hours. Fuck it, what does it matter? No wait, I’ve been down this line of thought already, just smoke the damn thing already.

A sharp pain comes out of nowhere. Scrunching my face in discomfort and breathing through the ache, I concluded that it was most certainly an injury sustained from trying not to slip and walking faster after the earlier incident. Man, it feels like something is dislodged inside, it’s not, it just feels that way. So I go to the bathroom and use the topical cream, allowing me to ‘inspect myself’. It’s like it’s itching, but probably the early signs of inflammation. The only way to get some relief is to lay flat, but I’m not tired or ready for bed yet.

The temptation to mindlessly scroll on social media hasn’t quite left me, but I’m trying. Having recently removed the apps from my phone, I’ve come to realise it was just another distraction. There’s no healing to be had listening to narratives about how mutilated you are, ruined even, or worse; some sort of cartoonish demon that is responsible for the collapse of society. I’m tired. It’s all so exhausting. And I don’t need it. I live with the reminders and will do so until the day I die.

By around 11:00 pm, I still couldn’t focus, so I began chatting to others like me, others who went through transition, some happy in it, some not. Those the most harmed by this, who are resigned to ruin and regret; I’d never dream of lying to them, to tell them it’ll get better. It won’t, this is forever. Our challenge is not temporary, it’s permanent, and that permeance was lost on us in the haze of transition.

The grief of those around me reminds me of my own. It gets worse the younger they are, those few, yet vital years spent as an adult made a hell of a difference. No wonder some of them return to their trans identity. We never dreamed we would end up here, but here we are. We have traded a promise of a life and community, for what we had before; loss and confusion. The fear of ‘going back’ is aligned to this thought, because what we’re going back to are problems we never faced to begin with.

In some ways, we were always ruined, even before we manifested that onto our bodies. So, what now? Would you like a pep talk? Do you want to reassure me that it’s difficult, but it’ll get better? Nah, you don’t want that, and I don’t want to hear you make promises you can’t keep, Let’s do something else instead. Let’s be realistic.

From the rubble of ruin, I’m doing the only thing that I can, and slowly rebuilding my life through recovery. After all, there’s still blood in my body, air in my lungs, and a fury within my heart that burns bright. I’m far from defeated, but I am tired.

The digital clock is alerting me once more, that it’s nearly 3:00 a.m. I should get to bed.

Perhaps tomorrow will be a better day.

==

Genderists, if they acknowledge this at all, will say that Ritchie only has himself to blame. You know, because "people know who they are," their "gender" is unquestionable, and they never get it wrong.

He no longer has testicles or a penis, so no longer produces normal male levels of testosterone. If he was to take exogenous testosterone, he would grow in-grown hair inside his neo-vagina, inside a hole that he has to keep forcing open, because his body keeps trying to close it over. But without testosterone, his body remains in a weird quasi-feminine yet sexless state.

This is the gory reality hidden behind the happy brand name of "gender affirming care."

[malulls]

Under the mistletoe

Manorian Christmas one shot

The world through the windows seemed to have been painted in white. Snow had begun to fall at dawn, and now covered Rifthold completely. Manon sighed, making the glass in front of her blurry.

The queen had arrived just before the storm, and the weather was already unbearable. Even being more resistant to the cold than any mortal she didn't want to go outside now. Manon's bare toes curved on the cold stone floor. The chambers separated for her were directly connected to the ones she was in, so she hadn't bothered to put anything on or change the clothes she had worn to sleep, all she had done was braid her hair.

Which turned out not to be a good decision, as the fire in the hearth was low and not warming the room enough. Manon curled her finger around a silver string hanging from the window frame, trying to ignore the cold. The place, like the rest of the castle, was covered in Yule decorations, with ornaments and candles scattered all over the furniture.

No one would fail to recognize the way even that small room was a display of Adarlan's riches. It looked beautiful, though she didn't think it was worth so many hours of work. The sound of footsteps, followed by a turning knob, reached her ears before the door suddenly opened, causing her to turn to face the king standing in the doorway.

— Is that my shirt?

Dorian looked at her with his head slightly bowed, wearing only gray sleep pants and a few gold rings on his left hand. His dark hair was messy, as if he had just got up. He was handsome.

Manon almost rolled her eyes at the thought. And at the smirk on his face. Stupid male arrogance. The witch crossed her arms.

— I didn't notice what I was wearing when I went to sleep. Do not think it has anything to do with you.

His smile narrowed a little, and he raised his eyebrows.

— You didn't come to see me yesterday.

When the witch had arrived — with her clothes half-frozen and her muscles completely sore — she would have rather collapsed on the bed with him. But she knew that if she had done that she would want to talk to Dorian, probably take off his clothes as well, so she had preferred to stay in her own rooms — which she almost never used.

— It was late when I arrived. I'm sure it was past your bedtime.

He tilted his head back and laughed at her answer, and that lightness, which had only appeared after the war, only made him more handsome. Dorian took a step toward her, and Manon quickly moved out of his reach. He always seemed to forget that he wasn't the only one who could be annoying.

The queen turned away and stopped at the door to the dining room, on the soft carpet instead of the icy floor. He didn't roll his eyes, nor did he tease her back as she had expected. Dorian smiled, looking almost content as he began to walk closer to her. He was not looking at Manon, but at something above her.

The queen followed the direction of his gaze. There was a small ornament in a garland on the door, a mistletoe, hanging right above her. The king was no longer looking up when Manon looked back at him to ask what was so interesting about the plant. He held her face and surprised her with a kiss.

She widened her eyes and raised her eyebrows for a second before kissing Dorian back. It wasn't the kind of kiss that had them both ripping each other's clothes off in seconds. This one was almost amused, as if he was claiming victory for catching her by surprise. Dorian pulled away faster than she expected, leaving her breathless.

— It's a Yule tradition. Two people must kiss if they are under a mistletoe.

She frowned at the explanation. He still had his hands on her cheeks.

— That doesn't make any sense. —He shrugged, as if to say that he did not create the rules. — Was that just an excuse to kiss me?

— Do I need one?

She didn't even try to argue, and that seemed to make his smile grow wider. They both knew he didn't need it. He began to draw circles with his thumb on her skin.

— I missed you.

Manon looked away. She always tensed up when Dorian said that sort of thing. Not because she didn't like it, but because she mostly didn't know how to respond. She couldn't say what she was feeling so easily. A bitter taste spread in her mouth. It must be the result of spending a hundred years being forced to act as if she felt nothing but hate. As if he had heard her thoughts, he pulled the conversation back to teasing.

— I know you miss me too, witchling. Don't waste your time trying to pretend otherwise.

— I wouldn't be so sure, princeling. — She let the same smile reach her face, though she was pretty sure it was much more thankful than sarcastic.

— I notice, you know. When you lay with me while I'm reading. You are wearing my clothes. — She rolled her eyes, and he poked the tip of her nose in response. — Don't think that I don't know this is what you mean when you do these things. I don't need a dramatic declaration.

She didn't pull away when he put his arms around her. He always, even when the two of them barely knew each other, seemed to easily understand what she was feeling. Even when the rest of the people thought she didn't feel anything. That could be annoying sometimes, but it was a relief when it was hard for the her to even accept that she was feeling something, so showing it could be worse.

She wouldn't have minded staying there longer, if the icy morning breeze hadn't started to come in through the gaps in the window.

— It's cold.

Immediately, the flames in the fireplace rose and his magic enveloped them both in a comfortable warmth. Indeed, everyone should have the luck to have a king with pure magic as a lover.

— Good thing I have the most beautiful queen in the world to warm my bed, then.

— You're the one warming my bed.

He pulled away, but not far enough to let go of her waist. Dorian pointed to the room behind the half-opened door.

— The bed is mine.

She raised an eyebrow.

— Is it ?

Manon turned away before he could see she was smiling. The witch started to walk toward the room, but didn't even make it past the doorway before Dorian grabbed her hand and turned her around again. He was pointing upwards with a grin in his face.

There was another mistletoe in the door frame.

— How many damn decorations-

He interrupted Manon with another kiss. This time, neither of them pulled away.

Inspired by this perfect fanart by @mellendraws

[alexandramanthey]

You try your best to stay up to greet Namjoon when he comes home. Work-life balance has been a struggle for you both this week. Friday night rolls around, and you’re determined to see your man beyond the early morning hours exchanging good mornings before you both start your days. Starting a new book seems the best way to stay up, but when an old lady at heart’s bedtime is 8pm, and your man doesn’t plan to get home till almost midnight. Does your willpower to stay up win or claim defeat as your bedtime ticks further away?

Warnings: All the fluff possible

*Disclaimer: New writer, but open to feedback!

Thank you @mochilatae​ for beta reading and being inspirations to even do this! Love to both of you!

“I can’t remember a more exciting Gold Rush than we saw today --- congrats, Rosenblum family; you certainly earned your place in history.” Louise gestured to the plaque on the western wall of the ballroom, where winners of the annual obstacle course competition held on the last day of summer merited a spot of honor. “I just wish you hadn’t had to push the Freiedmans into Lake Winetka to clinch your victory.” (Friedland 3)

The words on your page got progressively smaller as your eyes grew heavy, blurred vision making the words hard to distinguish. You’d just started a new book, to keep yourself awake ‘till Joon got home and to get a head start on your yearly reading list. The clock read 10:30 pm, a solid two and half hours past your usual bedtime. You and Namjoon had conflicting schedules over the past week, with your classes starting and his work needing more attention; you both were grateful to at least say good morning to each other. Tonight was a Friday night, and you were determined to see your boyfriend for more than an hour in the morning. Starting a new book was the surefire way to keep your attention till he came home. A text came in around six pm saying he should be home by midnight and to not wait up. Namjoon knew you were an ‘early to bed, early to rise’ woman, in bed by eight and awake by four with a cup of coffee and book in hand. 

You’d started this book just at eight, usually, you were a voracious reader and able to get through at least a quarter of a 300-page book in an hour. However, a couple hours in and you’re just three pages in, trying to keep your eyes open between paragraphs. You felt yourself doze off again, book slumping out of your grasp onto the bed, losing your place. Time lost all of its meaning as sleep took over. So much so that you were just falling deeper into sleep when you could have sworn you heard the sound of the front door opening. Really you should have been more alert to a potential stranger, but a sleep-captured brain was blissfully ignorant of potential dangers. Maybe you were just in the foreground of a dream and didn’t realize it. Regardless, succumbing to sleep was the winner.

________________________________________________________________

The touch of a hand brushing against yours, gently pulling the book away from what was left of your grasp, was just enough to stir your subconscious awake. Enough to sense the real world from the sleep world. Your body just barely stirred, murmuring a noise to let whomever it was known you were aware of them. 

“It’s just me, finally home.” Namjoon’s voice came through as a whisper, close to your ear, his lips pressing to your cheek after he spoke. 

“You worked late…” you mumbled, your face still turning into your pillow, muting and muffling anything close to coherent. “Actually, I got off a little early, it’s only eleven thirty baby. I’m surprised you stayed up this late, way past someone’s bedtime.” you could hear the grin in his voice as he gently chastised your faux elderly lady ways. 

“Also, what have we discussed about you staying up late to read? Am I going to have a cranky kitten on my hands tomorrow?” his soft chuckle following the continued chastising. His hand found its way to your shoulder, rubbing briefly, pressing another kiss to your cheek before pressing himself off to get himself ready for bed. He let your mumbled noises suffice for an answer, for now, you tried to make a no sound but realistically sounded like a feisty kitten. 

You see-sawed between awareness and dozed off, trying to stay present to enjoy your boyfriend's company, but the warmth of sleep kept calling you back like a siren. 

“How was your day?” your sleep-saturated voice just about reached Namjoon in the bathroom, just able to make out your question. 

“Oh you know how it goes, too many cooks in the kitchen, and you over-salt the soup. A lot of ideas, some good, some not, all think they're the right one.” You chuckled to yourself, trying to make out his words through the sounds of a toothbrush and foamy toothpaste.

 A quick run of water and gargling lasting maybe a minute, and he shuffles his way from the bathroom to his side of the bed. You expected him to get right in, but instead, you roll over to hear him chuckle, curious of what could be amusing at eleven thirty at night. Your eyes just barely prying open, his silhouette discernable beyond your sleepy gaze. 

“What’s funny?” you whisper. 

“You couldn’t read under the covers, could you? Tell me did you stay up intentionally or was this at least an accident?” he speculated, feet shuffling around the bed to your side. You felt one arm slide underneath your thighs, lifting them enough to pull the blanket out from under you. Laying your legs down, tucking you in laying the blanket over your shoulders, and pressing it just under your side. 

“It was an intentional accident… I just wanted to see you. We’ve been so busy, and I’ve missed you. I thought if I started a new book it would keep me awake till you got home…” your voice drifted between audible and whispers, trying to stay awake but the current of sleep kept pulling you under. 

Namjoon just chuckled and grinned to himself, of course, you would use reading as a means to stay awake. Something most people used to quiet their brains before sleep.

 “Only my girl would do that. You know you didn't have to stay awake, we're both off tomorrow it’s Saturday.” his voice moved as he made his way back to his side of the bed. 

You felt the covers lift on his side as he climbed into bed and reached his arm around you keeping the covers over you both. His arm wrapped around you laying on your side, pulling you into him easily. His hand moved up to the back of your head, nudging you to rest it on his chest. Then his hand moved to your top thigh, guiding it just over his hips, moving both arms to wrap around your back and middle, holding you snug to him. He knew you’d hold him like a koala in sleep eventually, and decided to reward your effort of staying awake by making you comfortable the way you liked best. 

“I wasn’t done reading,” you mumble into his chest, little effort if any were made to move away. You felt his lips form a grin as they pressed to your forehead. 

“Your book will be there in the morning, and you can tell me all about it then too.” he kept his voice soft, seeing you’d fallen back asleep. He lightly stroked your side, feeling your breath slow and even out. As he drifted into his own sleep, he thought of how his kitten would need a reminder in neglecting their own well-being and needs, for the contentment of another.

Work Cited

Friedland, Elyssa. Last Summer at the Golden Hotel. Berkley, 2021.

[izorazone]

the curse of the wife beater

a satire huening kai horror story because im insane

It was way past my bedtime. I knew that because my alarm went off hours ago. Despite this fact, I scrolled through my Pinterest mindlessly. My eyes tiredly glazed over the array of random Asian men the algorithm had recommended to me. I was just about to turn my phone off when something caught my eye...

A picture of Huening Kai. I mean, I had seen pictures of him before but... that tank top he wore made me laugh. "Wife beater" is what my friend Gloria called them. Someone as cute as him wearing something like that? Pfft...

I peeked at the clock, 11:21PM. It was getting late. I quickly saved the picture to my gallery and went to sleep, silently giggling to myself at the image.

I remember tossing in my sleep, I could hear Kai whisper in my ear. "You think it's funny? Wait to see what I have in store for you." I knew I was dreaming, but I swear I could feel his warm breath on my ear and his weight shift on my right side as he crawled into my bed to torment me.

I couldn't sleep, I didn't want to deal with this stupid dream anymore.

Sooner or later, the sound of my blaring Talk that Talk alarm filled my ears. I jolted up, rubbing my tiredness out of my eyes. I didn't want to go to school but I knew what I had to do. I ended up getting ready for school, nearly falling asleep about three times in the process. I quickly grabbed a container of yogurt and ate it quickly, tossing the container into the trash. I slipped on my shoes and left out of the door, beginning my on-foot trudge to my least favorite place on Earth. My backpack felt a dozen times heavier and my shoes felt tight.

When I was close to the building I swear I saw Kai across the street, staring dead into my eyes. But when I blinked, he was gone. Man, I should've taken melatonin. I walked into the building and shoved everything into my locker. I was already late and I couldn't waste any more time with my hallucinations. I grabbed my book and went to class.

I sat in my usual seat, next to Gloria. Soon, the teacher came in. "Good morning class!" I was already half asleep. "We have a new student today!" My head jolted up like the Black Mamba when it senses it's newest meal. Just when I thought my day was going bad enough.

A boy walked in..I have to be hallucinating.

Kai, that same wife beater that haunted my dreams on full display. I felt sick. "He's so cute!" Gloria practically squealed. "Are you kidding? He... I had a nightmare about him. And he's a Korean celebrity!"

I gasped awake, seeing we were in the middle of a lesson. It was just a dream. "What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?" Gloria asked, looking up from her workbook. She was already getting on my nerves.

"Yeah... It was stupid." I daydreamed throughout the rest of the lesson. Gloria said that she was gonna give me the homework answers so it didn't matter.

The school day went by fast, memories of the night before and my hallucinations disturbing me. When I went to the bathroom during the passing period, I saw him in the mirror behind me. At lunch, I was afraid to eat because I thought he had poisoned me. All of this was because of a random image I thought was funny.

I went back home, collapsing onto the couch. "Why is this happening? Am I going crazy?" I cried to myself silently. I took out my phone and went to my gallery, deciding to rid myself of this curse. All I saw was the same image, over and over again. I dropped my phone, the screen turning into a green web of cracks.

I screamed, panting heavily. "Honey, what's wrong?" My mom walked into the living room, a concerned expression on her face. "I've been hallucinating so bad today, Mom!" I yelped, grabbing onto her work scrubs since she was a nurse.

She allowed me to skip school for the rest of the week, but she sent me to a therapist. After hearing about my issue, the therapist suggested that I go to a mental health facility.

The facility blamed it on my phone usage. When I got locked in the room I looked down at the socks they gave me. Why have I been cursed? I thought.

I looked up. "You thought you could get rid of me that easily? Pathetic."

I cried for the last time.

SHOUTOUT TO MY BEST FRIEND @c0sm1c-f3l1n3 AND THE VOICES IN MY HEAD. (This isn't supposed to be well written it's just meant to be silly and stupid think 2013 Wattpad)