#haven’t had a two am vent post in a while hm

[weekendwarriorblog]

The 30 Minute Experiment: Friendship

Okay, let’s do this. 

I haven’t fully worked out the exact protocols for how I’m going to do this other than the 30-minute time limit, the single topic, the fact that I’m just going to write and not spend time going through and editing, and when the 30 minutes is up, it gets posted, warts and all. I will say that I have thought of a couple topics to write about, and in general, I’m trying to have a topic maybe a day in advance. I’m also going to try to go back and forth between negative/positive because I’m not gonna follow something like “Fear” with something worse like “Death.”  I hope people will read these without thinking I’m just looking for a soapbox to lecture on.  (Maybe a toilet paper box?)

So, today’s topic is “Friendship” and this might be one of those “Hey, Ed, this is the dumbest topic you’ve picked because everyone knows the importance of friends and friendship. Everyone wants friends. Everyone hates losing them.” Yes, this is all true but friends and friendship is also something we take for granted just way too much, and believe me, I’m so conscious of checking in on friends, especially in times like these when we’re not seeing them in person.   I’m not sure I know anyone who might ever consider me a “bad friend” and yet there are friends I’ve lost or stopped talking to and sometimes, it was on me, but just as many times it was their decision not to continue the friendship. And in some cases, these are very good friends. 

I actually had a dream about one of them last night, which just makes it harder to write about this topic. I haven’t spoken to this person in over three years even though we’re regularly in the same place, sometimes even feet apart. Some may know who I’m referring to if you know me even though I haven’t spoken about it much. And to this day, I literally have no idea why this person stopped talking about me. I reached out to him/her (yes, I’m only giving you a 50/50 chance to guess) to ask if I did something to offend them so I could apologize, but I never got an answer. And that’s that. Anyway, I don’t really think about this person much but then every once in a while, I’ll have a dream like the one I had last night where the two of us are chatting as if nothing happened between us. 

What’s weird is that I’ve had other friends and colleagues like this and I’ve started making a conscious effort to break the ice and end the silence. I did so at a holiday party last year where I saw one of the people who I had a minor argument with on social media and hadn’t spoken to in years. I just went up and said, “Hey, XXXX, can we just put this aside and be friends again?” or maybe I said, “Hey, XXX, we haven’t spoken in a while, so how are you doing?” and you’d be amazed how many people, however mad they might or how much they hate you, will answer you in a polite way. Now, granted, there was alcohol at this party and maybe I wouldn’t have gotten the courage to talk to this person without it and vice versa, but I like to think that there was something about this person I liked at one point enough to consider them friends that I could end the silence. So what is the point of today’s column other than the chance for you to vent  and use me (the reader) as your free, personal therapist? 

The point is that I learned very early from my father the importance of having friendship and friends. He wasn’t the most gregarious or charming person but he was able to make friends easily because people would talk to him and he would listen and he would care, and that’s something that’s truly hard to fake. I’ve learned many times in the past ten years how important it is to have good friends, people who will stand up for you and be there for you when you need someone. I learned it in 2013 when my landlord was threatening to kick me out of the apartment due to the clutter, and I learned it even more a few months later when I found myself with leukemia and no money and a few friends set up a fund (without me knowing it) and thousands of friends and people I had only met a few times donated money to help with the financial burden of being sick. And others helped me more recently when I was having money problems... and this includes people who i hadn’t really seen or spoken to or spent time with in many years! I try not to think about it too much, but the friends of mine that have stepped up and helped me (like when I had to get eye surgery and a procedure for the pain in my forehead from neuralgia), these people will have my gratitude and loyalty for life. And yes, that includes a handful of editors as well, who either were my friends before or who I feel indebted to for putting their trust in me. So yeah, it’s kinda obvious that “friends are important,” but don’t disregard or ignore someone who wants to be your friend, because you never know when you might be in a place (like the current situation) where you desperately need a friend to talk to... and someone who won’t judge you even if they don’t necessarily agree with you.

The thing about friendship is that you also have to go into one not expecting anything but also being open to the fact that maybe this friend will be someone that can offer something valuable to your life that you can’t get from yourself. I mean, at this point, maybe we’re talking about finding a spouse/partner and marriage, and as everyone knows, I am single and I’ve mostly been single, and I’ve come to terms with that.  But what gets me through that is knowing that there are literally thousands of people who I can count on as friends in some regard or other... I mean, even if it’s just to answer my Email when I ask how they’re doing OR (Oh, my God, this happens so infrequently) they Email me out of the blue to ask how I’m doing.

You’d be amazed how nice it is to hear those words: “How are you doing?” Maybe the person asking those words doesn’t really want to hear a long-winded answer but it shows that they have some level of empathy towards you or others.  I feel like the people who do this are the ones I consider real, true friends even if I barely know them. Let’s see what else I have to say about friendship since looking at my watch, I still have 12 minutes to go. I guess I can talk about my history of friendships and how the internet has helped contribute to my abundance of friends, and sure, how sometimes, things on the internet can be misunderstood and cause friction between friends. I know the latter just a little too well, but I don’t really want to get into any specific incidents as those are personal between me and the other person. I got my first computer with internet access in 1994 and the reason I got it was that I saw this thing called DC Online in an ad in the comics which was a forum/part of AOL. (Anyone remember them?) So I went online and actually, the very first person I met became a good and trusted friend for two decades. We had a bit of a falling out sometime recently, and this reminds me that I really need to Email him. I doubt he’ll be reading this, and frankly, I’ll be surprised if he’s read a single thing I’ve written in the last 25 years. He’s just not that kind of guy. But this person was a good friend who was there for me in times of personal strife, and frankly, it’s someone I miss seeing or talking to. (I could give more details but I worry that might be a real giveaway who it is.) The thing is that even with all these friends I have right now, there’s something about this other friend that I miss. Like most of my friends, he’s one of a kind and unlike anyone else I know, and that’s also kind of important.  I’m not sure if my father was the one who said, “You can never have too many friends” or maybe it was something said in a movie, but i truly believe this to be the case, just as I believe that you can’t expect EVERYONE to be your friend and there are some people you will never get along with and never be friends so maybe it’s not worth the time to try too hard. But I always give people a chance to show me that they have more layers or depth than others give them credit for, and this is probably why I’m friends with a lot of people who are treated like pariahs by others. (No, I’m not talking about Donald Trump. I’m not friends with Donald Trump. If I was, I’d probably have a job... for a couple months... ha ha.) Hm... maybe I should try to keep this experiment politics-free, but I have a feeling that’s gonna be impossible as long as I’m doing it this year.  Anyway, if you’re reading this, and even if we’ve never met in person, I consider you a friend for at least giving me the time it takes to read through this. I’ll admit that this experiment might lead to a lot of “front-loaded” columns where I have a lot of thoughts on a topic and then quickly and suddenly run out of things to say about it. Like right now for instance... which is good, cause my time’s up for the day! Back tomorrow!

[falseroar]

Dark Laughter Part 8: Studio Time

((Here are links to Part 7: Just Be Happy and the start of the series, Part 1: What Dark Saw. Hey look, no warnings this time!))

The studio space that the egos used was, much like the rest of their home, not quite right with reality. Every time it was used it seemed just that little bit different, whether because the ceiling was slightly higher one day than the next or the segmented walls weren’t guaranteed to be in the same place every time the studio was used. Considering the wildly different uses the egos put the area to, there were props and flimsy backgrounds littering the floor everywhere outside of the relatively small space that was actually used for filming.

It also didn’t help that keeping a steady crew outside of the egos themselves was nearly impossible, as the guests weren’t the only ones lucky to survive even one segment. Right now, aside from the four egos standing around the cameras, the only other normal person was a man attending to the monitors where an earlier recording of Bim’s game show was playing.

“Wilford, why did you drag me here?” Dark asked, noticing that the Google standing among the other egos had already spotted him and was attempting to give him a warning glare. Dark returned it with interest and a silent promise to make the android regret any hasty words this time.

The glare was somewhat ruined when Wilford threw one arm around his shoulders and patted Dark’s cheek with his other hand. “I think it’s time to put you in front of the camera again! The fans have been asking for it, and this face deserves to be on the screen!”

Wilford shook his hand after the pat to dispel some of the cold seeping from Dark’s aura as he scowled. Behind him, the row of monitors began to flicker with static and ghost images while the intern pulled off his headphones and threw them as far away as possible.

“Or behind the camera is good too. Can never get enough help these days, and yes, Jerry, I’m talking about you. Tell your wife I said hi!”

Wilford ducked to avoid the mike that sailed through the space where his head had been a second ago and added to Dark as if nothing just happened, “But you want to get in the in, on the up and up, am I right? Here’s where we start.”

Wilford winked and strode across the studio floor toward the four egos.

“Good evening, everyone! Are we ready to start?”

“If you mean start my show, then yes,” Bim said, straightening his tie as he watched Wilford approach. “I have the studio for the day, and we still need to go two more rounds. Isn’t that right, my lovely contestants?”

“Uh, they all, uh, made a run for it,” Eric said from his place offstage and away from the cameras even though they were clearly not on. “During the break. The crew too. Jerry, um, he was the last one but I guess he’s gone now? Not that, uh, that’s Mr. Warfstache’s fault or anything, I’m sure he…had other things to do…”

Yandereplier hissed under their breath and said, “Yeah, kind of hard to finish the game without the players. Sorry, Bim.”

Yandereplier shrugged and the red-shirted Google appeared to be unable to care any less than he already did, but Eric seemed to make a determined effort to appear even smaller than his usual cowering. Bim’s anger, however, had only one target in mind as his eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

“Why do you do this every time?! Can’t you let me finish one segment without you butting your giant pink mustache into it?”

“Well, I don’t see how all that was my fault,” Wilford said, not backing down as Bim stormed up to him. “I’ve warned you about locking those doors, but you’re always so surprised when people run away because they ‘want to live’ or whatever. Why do you even bother with these game shows, anyways? Oh, whoop de do, ‘I’m the next Alex Trebek’ or whoever the kids are watching these days. Why don’t you ever change it up a little? Have some fun?”

Bim swelled up and gripped the lapels of his jacket as he gave Wilford the hard stare. “How dare you! Alex Trebek is a national treasure!”

“I’m…not sure that’s what you should be taking offense to,” Dark said as he approached. “And I also recall that you made an attempt to host your own game show, Wilford. What exactly did you have in mind here?”

“Hm…” Wilford paused to consider, long enough to confirm to everyone present he had no clue, before he said, “Oh, I know, how about an interview! Haven’t done one of those in a while.”

“And you’re not doing one while it’s still my studio time,” Bim said.

“Besides, how exactly is doing the thing you’ve always done changing it up?” Yandere asked, but both hosts ignored them.

“I’ll have to get my interviewing knife,” Wilford murmured to himself, patting down his thighs as he spoke. “How embarrassing, to be caught out with only my shooty and no stabbys.”

“Yan, go dig out some costumes, Eric, put on a wig, and Google, find some egos with nothing better to do, we’re finishing this show!”

“…Can I be the contestant that doesn’t have to go through the grinder?” Eric asked.

“Grinder?” Dark repeated.

“Only if you get your questions right!” Bim answered, playfully slapping the younger ego on the back. “…And get lucky with the Wheel of Wow.”

“No one is going through any grinder,” Dark said.

“Because we’re going to need to set up for the interview,” Wilford added. “Eric, find my chairs, Google, set the lighting, Yan, keep being beautiful, you. Oh, who should our guest be? I hear there’s a kid named Sally Face who’s got some wild stories to tell, we just need to get past the guards and—”

“Uh, no, we’re going to finish the game! You can’t just leave the grinder waiting!”

“…I rather think we can,” Dark muttered, noting to himself that this is exactly why almost no one else in the house ever got presents from Santa. He reached out and grabbed Eric’s shoulder while he waffled back and forth on who to listen to and said, “Just give it a minute.”

“I, uh—” Eric flinched as both Wilford and Bim threw out conflicting orders on what he should be doing as their argument escalated, starting with reasonable requests such as to get one of the others and going on to tearing down the set, finding a prison guard’s uniform, and turning on the “fighting music,” whatever that was. “Should we do something?”

“Nah,” Yandere said as they pulled out their phone to check some messages. “This happens all the time. Just let ‘em vent, right Google?”

“To save on memory and data usage, this unit ignores orders until the fighting stops,” Google answered, watching as Bim reached his arm up and around, trying to get a hold of Wilford’s mustache from the half nelson hold Wilford had him locked in. “Longest recorded time was 4 hours, 37 minutes, and 3 seconds.”

“Only because you stopped counting during the great pineapple on pizza debate because you said it was stupid,” Yandere pointed out. “That lasted, like, weeks.”

“Yes. We completed several tasks while you lesser beings were occupied arguing the merits of frivolous and ultimately meaningless energy consumption,” Google said, smiling to himself. “It was a good time.”

As entertaining as this was, Dark didn’t feel like waiting to see if these two would break that record. “That is enough. Wilford, enough!”

He hauled on both of them, pulling them up to their feet and using his aura to separate the two long enough for Wilford to fix his suspenders and Bim to run a hand over some flyaway hairs.

“Neither of you are going to be recording anything,” Dark said, and interrupted them before either could protest. “Bim, you have no crew, no contestants, and you might as well just try to salvage what you can from what you’ve already recorded at this point or start over. Wilford, you don’t even have a guest, much less any prepared questions, and again, no film crew.”

“Pft, who needs preparation?” Wilford asked.

“Weren’t you just saying you wanted to try and work on scripts a few minutes ago?” Dark asked.

“But this is my studio time, I don’t want to just waste it.” Bim scowled. “Who even asked you, anyways?”

“I could let Wilford put you back into a headlock,” Dark offered. “There’s enough cameras around here, maybe we could film that and post it instead.”

“I mean, I got most of it on my phone already,” Yandere chimed in. “But if you want to keep going, we could get some sweet angles, maybe get some props to beat each other with. Google, you can handle music, right?”

“I have access to a wide variety of music which may be suitable for this situation,” Google said. His eyes blanked for a moment and then he added, “Would you prefer heavy metal or banjo?”

“Banjo!” Wilford answered, cracking his knuckles.

Bim paused to consider and said, “You know, if you wanted another pair of eyes on those scripts, I’m sure we can come up with something…A little less harmful to my health?”

Wilford’s mustache tilted as his mouth twisted underneath it and he stroked his chin. “A crossover, you say? A little something to keep the fans guessing?”

Bim couldn’t hide his relief that Wilford was already moving on to another idea, but that meant he now had to follow up. After a moment of struggle, his eyes lit up. “You know, these ninja warrior, ultimate champion obstacle course type shows are fairly popular these days.”

“Obstacles?” Wilford grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Pits. Pendulums. Possibilities.”

“I know where we can get some chiranhas who are ready for some fresh me—er, fun.”

“Bim, my buddy, I think it may be time to move outside of this studio and really get our hands dirty,” Wilford said, throwing an arm around the ego’s shoulders. “Tell me more about these chiranhas.”

Dark watched the two of them start throwing ideas back and forth and admitted aloud, “I may have just unleashed a great evil upon this world.”

“Eh, it’s Tuesday. Bound to happen eventually,” Yandere said with a shrug. “You should see what I got up to in the Occult Club last week.”

“Remember, don’t make any deals with demons without letting me vet them first,” Dark said out of reflex and Yandere snorted. He noticed that Google was still giving him the glare and asked, “What? What problem could you possibly have with me right now?”

“It is my directive to keep an eye on you when in the same vicinity in case you revert to previous modes of behavior,” Google answered. “That same directive warns against behavior designed to curry favor or increased familiarity in an attempt to regain your previous station within the house.”

“For how long?” Dark asked. After all, he could wait. He had been patient before, he could do it again.

“Unspecified.” Google turned his head at a call from Bim and walked away without waiting for Dark’s response. Probably a good thing, as Dark wanted nothing more right then than to rewrite the android’s “directive” in a…manual kind of way.

Before long, Wilford and Bim were drawing out plans across the studio floor with Google running numbers and Yandere throwing in the occasional suggestion. Eric watched from a distance, “um”-ing and attempting once or twice to suggest that some of their ideas might be a little too lethal, but to no avail.

They were so wrapped up in their plans that some time passed before Wilford looked up and then around the studio before asking, “Say, where did that Dark go? He should be helping us!”

“Disagreed,” Bim said. “Do you think a second flamethrower would be too obvious?”

“He left a while ago,” Eric said and looked away when Wilford gave him a sharp look. “I guess he, uh, had something he needed to say to Y/N? Only they walked by the door and he practically ran after them.”

“Logical error noted,” Google said and grunted when Wilford pushed past him and ran out of the studio.

“Yeah, like that,” Eric said weakly. “Is…is something wrong, do you think?”

“Eric Derekson’s statement is incorrect,” Google continued, scowling a little as he rubbed at the spot where Wilford’s hand hit him. “Y/N is currently in the infirmary with another Google unit, and they have not left the room since they arrived two hours ago.”

“Well, it looked like them,” Eric said, frowning.

“Maybe you just wanted to see them,” Yandere said. “I see my Senpai in all kinds of places. In the clouds. In my tea leaves. In the monitor connected to the secret camera I set up in his bedroom.”

“…What?”

Bim sighed at the flurry of notes and stood up, dusting off his pants as he checked his watch. “Is it that late? We’re going to be late for dinner, and I have a feeling Wilford won’t be coming back anytime soon from wherever he’s run off to. Come on, if we’re too late, Chef Iplier will rope us into helping wash the dishes.”

“Ugh, I had prune hands forever after last time,” Yandere said, leading the way to the studio door.

But Google beat them all to it and slammed the door shut before locking it on the inside.

“Uh, what’s the deal there, Googs?” Bim asked.

The ‘G’ glowed on his red shirt, but the android’s eyes were vacant as he spoke as if reading off from an internal memo.

“Lockdown has been initiated. No one is to leave their current area, and no one is to go anywhere alone or unsupervised. All egos are to remain in place for their own safety.”

---

Dark swore as he rounded the corner and found yet another empty hallway. He had seen you just feet ahead seconds ago, but there was no sign of anyone as he continued on, checking every door he walked past as if you had enough time to duck inside before he could catch up. Rain lashed against the windows and he realized that, at some point while he was in the studio, a storm had blown in. Right, the King of the Squirrels had said something about it earlier, hadn’t he? But now the wind shook the house as Dark made his way from room to room before stopping outside of one door in particular.

He knocked, but no answer came from inside your bedroom.

After a pause, he opened the door and peered inside. The room was dark and clearly empty, but he still turned on the light and walked in.

Your bed was undisturbed (how long had you been staying with Mark this time?) and there was nothing obviously out of place as Dark made his way to the closet door and checked inside, just to be on the safe side. A flash of lightning outside the house briefly added to the light in the room and Dark stared down at the empty closet floor.

Where did you hide, when you were at Mark’s house? Was the closet in your room there enough to block out the lightning and thunder and the memories they brought with them?

Dark shut the closet door a little harder than necessary, causing one of the pictures pinned to the board on the wall nearby to flutter. He paused, taking in the series of photographs of you with the other egos, and Mark, and the other friends you had made in the time since you came here. Below the board, a strange stuffed animal sat on top of the dresser, its wide eyes meeting Dark’s. Its species was a complete and total guess, although for some reason Dark hovered between duck or lion.

In its lap was a dried rose petal. It had faded since the time Dark gave the rose to you, the almost black hue more clearly a dark blue that tinted toward red on the outer layer. And, for some reason, there was a trace of green running straight through it.

Dark frowned at the sight of that third color and reached for the petal, but realized he had no time to think about that as thunder shook the house.

“Wilford,” he muttered and turned toward the door.

Only to stop short when he clearly heard a knocking sound, but not from the direction of either door. Following the persistent sound of the knock, Dark turned around and saw the mirror hanging beside your bed, and the figure standing there.

It looked like you, but when Dark met the eyes of the person in the mirror, there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind who he was looking at.

The sound might have been inaudible through the glass, but their response was clear when the District Attorney saw they had his full, undivided attention:

“Finally.”

((End of Part 8. Thank you for reading! “Pits, Pendulums, Possibilities”... probably won’t be coming to a channel near you, for so many legal reasons.

And here’s a link to the next part, Part 9: Storm Warning.

Tagging: @silver-owl413  @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite  @blackaquokat  @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350  @oh-so-creepy @purpstraw @weirdfoxalley  @95fangirl  @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead  @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette  @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate ))

[fanfic-scribbles]

Building Bridges, Trying Not To Drown: Foundation

I actually wrote this last year but in going through my masterlist I realized I hadn’t posted it here, only to Ao3. It’s...hm. I like it but it’s not for everyone. Mind the trigger warnings (for the love of god or who or whatever please read the trigger warnings) and read the general warnings.  If you’ve seen this on Ao3, sorry for the repeat, but I like to put everything on both places because I am Paranoid. Also, I’m sort of on-and-off working on a part two, which may one day get posted here so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Two sad people, trying their best in different ways.

Quick facts: Friendship – Steve Rogers & Reader – Nondescript (I think) Reader

Trigger Warnings: Depression, suicidal ideation, mention of self-injury (specifically cutting), thoughts of being nothing/worthless

General Warnings: Ups and downs can be jarring, first-person PoV, tense-shifting between past and present depending on scene, time and location are vague, kind of a crummy depiction of texting because I couldn’t make up my mind on how I wanted to do it, written in chunks over months and kind of reads like it

Words: 5465

A/N: One of the reasons I like fanfic so much is because I like the idea of being able to experiment with stuff. That said: this is a weird one. Not necessarily a bad one but strange and definitely an experiment. Part venting and part not. I don’t have evidence on hand, it’s purely an emotional reaction to watching the MCU character, but I just look at Steve Rogers and think he is, at heart, a sad dude, and whether through him or at him, I always want to play around with that. So I do. This is my second story using Steve Rogers to comfort a vague character that I’m leaving open as a reader insert. A lot of this is vague, actually, so don’t look too hard at the plot (if there is one). If you like it, great, if not, that’s fine too; you’ll probably know pretty quick if this is your thing or not.

    The water was black in the night, only revealing its shape with the aid of wind and reflected lights. It looked nice. Endless. Oblivion. I wanted so badly to sink into it. I wanted…

“Cold night.”

I flinched at the sudden voice, and glanced to the side. He was big, bundled up, and facing me with his body while he leaned on the railing and pretended to look elsewhere. I should have been concerned for my safety– he was huge and looked strong– but I was so far past caring that I didn’t even respond. I just went back to staring out at nothing. And being nothing.

“Is that jacket warm enough?”

Great. Mr. Chatty. Still, I had no energy to engage, so I didn’t. He was a stubborn one though; he didn’t leave, didn’t seem bothered by my lack of response. “As cold as it is, though, I love the air when it’s like this; it’s refreshing.”

It would have been polite to make a sound. To nod. But I couldn’t manage any of it. All I could do was stare. And so I did. For hours, until the world around me began to stir. A runner skimmed by, the sky began to lighten. I stood straight, turned away from the man, and walked home.

I tried.

When I couldn’t sleep, I put on comedy shows. Movies that were normally comforting. Music that I liked. Nothing could make it through the cloud. My tongue was locked in place and tasted sour in my mouth.

I ventured out to the bakery I liked. It was in a small area with a mix of food places and at this time of morning it would be lively, but I could handle the background noise. The people behind the counter weren't that talkative, and that was the important bit.

I picked out a lot of things, enough to last a couple of days, paid, and left.

And saw the man from just a few hours previous, sitting at a table with some other people. In the daylight he looked…familiar somehow. But I didn’t look hard enough to examine why. He noticed me staring and smiled brightly, and I left immediately, my chest curling into a knot at the idea of having to talk to him.

That wasn’t the last time I saw him. I went back to the bridge to look at the water, to try and draw some calm. To fantasize.

I wasn’t surprised when he showed up. I still wasn’t…much of anything, really. He leaned next to me, closer, but faced the water like I did.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” he asked. I didn’t know why he bothered. It was like talking to a doll. Or a floor. A doll probably had more life than me.

“The forecast said it’ll rain soon, but it looked so clear today I can’t–”

The first few drops fell as soon as he said ‘rain��� and more followed so quickly that there was a steady stream by the time he stopped talking. Rain was…nice. But even that wasn’t enough to lift me.

“I guess I’m bad luck,” he chuckled. It wasn’t so bad, really. It helped me stay awake. But the man shifted anxiously, like he expected me to leave. I could have told him he’d be disappointed. I could have told him to go home. But all the same, I couldn’t.

“Aren't you cold?”

He’d be surprised to find out what I couldn’t feel. Cold was�� well, physiologically, yes, of course it must have, but at the same time it didn’t register. Nothing did. Nothing. Nothing.

I was nothing.

He was talking but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. A void was crawling across my mind, drowning everything with dark, rushing water.

I went to the bagel shop the next morning and only looked around as much as I had to to make sure no one was there to bother me. He wasn’t there at all, thankfully, so I got my breakfast in peace.

Later on I passed out and it was good. I slept. Until I couldn’t.

After two hours of tossing and turning I got up, got dressed, and got out.

I was so tired that the water looked like a nice, inviting blanket. A nice, inviting blanket that would swallow me whole.

“Getting an early start?”

This was a different strange man. In running clothes and breathing heavily. So at least he wasn’t as strange as the other one.

I turned my head back to the water. Soon it would be light and I would have nowhere to hide but home.

I didn’t want to go home.

“Steve said you weren't much of a talker,” the man said and leaned against the rail next to me in a familiar manner. Steve? I frowned. Who was–

Oh. That guy.

I looked back across the water for another handful of minutes, then turned and left. He followed me down streets, around corners, all the way to my home. It should have been concerning, how easily I had accepted two stalkers, but I still…didn’t…care.

That night I got up the energy to take out the garbage. Well, the garbage already in the trash can, if not the scattered bits across the apartment. Still, it was something.

When I opened the front door something fell. I stared at the piece of paper for a moment, then went to retrieve it. On the little bit of cardstock were two phone numbers– belonging to ‘Sam Wilson (the handsome devil from this morning)’ and ‘Steve Rogers (big blond puppy).’

I could have thrown it away. The trash bag was in my other hand. I would never call them anyway. But I slipped the paper in my back pocket, shut the door, and trudged out with the garbage. The other garbage.

When I got back I put the names and numbers into my phone. It felt strange to have actual contacts in my phone. Strange and…

Oh.

Feeling.

Well shit.

“I haven’t seen you for a few days.”

The streetlight is far but so bright it almost hurts. It’s sharp against my eyes, like a knife just beginning to slide in. I haven’t slept at all and I’m already twitchy, but the fresh wounds on my stomach-chest-legs-arms sting with every little movement. They keep me in my body, in this complete void of night and nothing.

I’m still here.

Still here.

Still.

“Did you get hurt?” Steve asks, concern and all and everything he is. Why. Why. “You're moving a little stiff.”

I bite my tongue, just in case, and stare resolutely out at blank water. Eventually, he will tire of this; he’ll get frustrated, or angry, or bored; he will mutter, or call me names, or walk away in silence and forget. I will come here everyday until I have the courage to jump. I will bring something heavy in case I lose my nerve. The world will continue to exist without me.

One day I won't hurt anymore.

“I used to come look at the water a lot. When I first…came back.” He sighs. “It seemed like a nice idea. To be gone. But drowning didn’t stick the first time either.”

That’s interesting. The water looks so nice that it’s also disappointing. Maybe drowning isn’t the way to go. But with weights, no witnesses, and no nosy stalkers to see me home (or not), I can do it better.

I hope.

The next day, a black hole sat on my chest and kept me in bed. I felt wrung out. My cuts itched and were stiff, but did nothing for me. Scabbing was the worst.

I drifted in and out of sleep. That night I picked up the phone and stared at it. And stared.

And then.

‘Not going to the bridge tonight,’ I sent to Steve.

I put my phone on the charger and turned to face it so I could keep browsing. Steve replied fairly quickly.

Steve: Okay :) Get some sleep :) :) :)

Great. King Emoji now had my number.

Steve: Hey what should I save you as?

I turned away from my phone and shut my eyes.

One day.

Two day.

Three day.

“I was a little suspicious of that bakery– green tea bread just sounds weird– but the éclairs were amazing. I think I could eat a hundred of those,” Steve said, gazing at a menu pamphlet.

I leaned over and pointed at the custard bread.

“Is that really good?”

I pointed at it again. The fruit tarts. And the cream puffs. Then I sat back in my place on the bench and went back to not interacting.

“Noted,” he laughed and marked them with his pen.

It was…quiet. Peaceful.

I should have felt good. I should have…

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I stared at the sky, bright sun that seared into my head and made it throb, like the light didn’t belong there. Or like I didn’t belong in it.

I only realized I was leaning too far when he pulled me back. “Sorry,” he said and took his hands off right away. “It’s just– come on; you wanna sit on the bench?”

I pulled away from him and slid to the ground, my back against the wall. “Okay. Okay,” Steve said, but he was too unsteady to be soothing. He sat next to me, but a few inches away.

I didn’t care. Again.

Again.

I pulled out my phone and texted. Steve’s phone vibrated– no ringtone– and he pulled it out of his pocket.

“‘Why?’” he repeated. “Why what?”

I texted again. It was slow with one hand, but I did it. And I didn’t even have to send it; I just showed my phone to him.

‘Why do this. It’s not fun for you. Can’t feel good. Why. Why.’

He scrutinized the words. “That’s a lot of ‘why’s. Something tells me they’re not all for the same thing.”

I blinked. That was…perceptive in a way that made my stomach itch and bubble. But he sighed and looked elsewhere. At nothing. At the nothing that wasn’t me. “Some things just feel right, and some things just feel wrong,” he said after a minute. “Staying with you feels right. Leaving you alone feels wrong. And it’s not an obligation. It feels…peaceful, I guess. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Well.

At least one of us was at peace.

It’s a bad night.

Beyond bad.

To be fair it’s been a bad day too, but it’s easier to talk yourself out of bad ideas when it’s a bright, sunshine-y day. I had played into the mindgame of it for as long as I could.

And then the sun went down.

It’s quiet and dark and I had put about three lines in myself before realizing that it wasn’t going to work. And now I’m lying on the floor, wondering if the shower frame can hold my weight, or if it’s possible to drown myself in the tub. I don’t have enough pills.

My phone buzzes. With a Herculean amount of effort from limbs weighed down by darkness, I manage to get it to the floor where I can curl around and poke at it.

Steve: No bridge tonight?

I forgot about that. Should I say goodbye? It’s polite. But his friend knows where I live and might have told him; he might try to stop me and I haven’t even decided how I’m going to go.

‘No, sorry; too tired. Good night, Steve,’ I reply.

A short time later it buzzes again, I expect ‘good night.’ Enough emojis to make a twelve-year-old roll their eyes. But.

Steve: Where are you

I squint. I want to ask why, but I’m suspicious. So I ignore it and go back to considering my options.

Which all go out the window when someone knocks on my door.

I am too tired, too sad, too pathetic and ugly and awful to deal with this right now.

They knock more forcefully. My phone goes off again.

Steve: Please I know you’re not all right and I’ll break down the door if I have to

I sigh. That would be inconvenient. So I roll out of my blanket and go unlock the door.

Steve is there, blond hair mussed, breathing heavily. Absently I wonder if he ran from the bridge. He looks me up and down. “You look…like you’re having a bad day.”

I lean back, grab the handheld mirror from the entry table that’s currently covered in all sorts of shit (like the rest of my apartment) and I hold it up to his face. He laughs, but it’s weak.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

I shrug and open the door further. He steps gingerly, avoiding trash and…stuff. I note that it’s dim in here compared to the hall, but his eyes dart around and look at everything. Like he can’t believe the hellhole he’s crawled into.

Believe it, buddy.

“It’s…homey,” he says, standing in the main room. “Well-lived in.”

I snort, but then we’re back to awkward silence. Since I’m up and at ‘em, I go to the floor lamp to turn it up for more light than the single faint bulb I have going, and–

crunch

I whimper in reflex– it hurts– but I turn on the light so I can see what’s going on. Big blond puppy Steve is almost unbearably concerned. “What happened?” he asks.

I look up at the ceiling where the lightbulb used to be. I mime it falling, dropping to the floor (like a bomb going off), and then…I shrug. I’d lost the energy and will to fix it when that had happened, but I don’t know how to convey that in a way he’d understand.

I use the ball of my foot to get back to the couch, and I cross it over my leg to see a large shard stuck almost dead center.

“Oh geeze, that’s a big one,” Steve says, leaning over my shoulder. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

I shake my head and rip out the biggest piece of glass. The blood flows pretty well for something that stings too much to be deep. It’s…mesmerizing.

“Oh– shit,” Steve says, concern etching into an otherwise steady voice. “Do you have any clean towels?”

I point to the hall closet without taking my eyes away from the red. Even with the lights on, the world is dim, but this, this is as vibrant as it gets. Life leaking out in the most non-metaphorical way. I can bleed. I can die.

But…do I want to?

“Sorry for going through your bathroom, but I found enough supplies to clean up,” Steve says and sits on the ottoman in front of me. He gives me a hand towel. “Staunch the bleeding, then we’ll clean it up with this–” a wet hand towel, “–okay?”

I follow his orders, unthinking, unfeeling. Trying to be unfeeling at least, which– odd. It’s always too much feeling or not enough. Not enough. Never enough. Too much. Too…

“Hey.” Steve grips my shoulder and he is so warm he’s hot and the hold is so tight it tingles and he is so alive it makes me realize how dead and yet painfully alive I am too and the cavern in my chest crumbles and pain blooms everywhere and I can’t breathe.

  Everything comes back and I’m…in Steve’s arms, actually, technically his lap, and I raise my head from his chest in a daze.

“Are you with me?” he asks. I look at him, confused, and he breathes out a heavy sigh. “Thank God. That was a pretty bad panic attack; I thought you were actually going to pass out.”

Pass out. Sleep. Now wouldn’t that be nice? I’m so tired. So fucking tired. But nothing ever eases the ache, the desire, the need for sleep. Even dreams offer no respite; not anymore.

I say my name. My voice is barely a whisper but, somehow, Steve hears it. He repeats it. He looks at me, though, and says, “Are you telling me because you don’t plan to use it much longer, or because you want to be friends?”

He says the second part with a weird mix of sarcasm and hope and I can’t even begin to parse it. “I don’t know,” I whisper and hang my head.

He brings me to lean against his chest and his hand, large and wide, cups around my shoulder. I sit, and try not to wonder.

‘I got out of bed and brushed my teeth this morning.’

In retrospect, I shouldn’t have sent something like that to someone who had just learned my name. But it was there and I sat– not dressed, but awake and aware and minty fresh– and waited. Which was stupid; he was probably busy–

My phone chimed with a notification and I scrambled to pick it up. Pathetic, I thought but read the message nonetheless.

Steve: That’s great!

And about a gazillion smiley faces.

Steve: Shit Steve: Sam says a lot of emojis are sarcasm Steve: I’m not being sarcastic Steve: I’m proud of you

That was…it took my breath away. Because Steve knew how pathetic I was and still…

Me: It’s okay Me: I believe you :) Steve: <3 Steve: Now Sam is saying hearts are inherently romantic Steve: I don’t know how to text

I smiled.

Me: Not inherently Me: I think your friend is fucking with you Steve: Damn it Steve: He is Steve: Brb have to beat him up

I snorted and set aside my phone. I was standing in my kitchen, thinking about maybe eating, when it chimed again.

Steve: Are you hungry? Me: ? Steve: Do you want to meet at the bagel shop near your apt?

It was a lot. It felt like a lot.

Me: sorry Steve: It’s okay Steve: Maybe some other time Steve: But if not that’s okay too

And that was that. The rest of the day was quiet and peaceful. But I was walking along an edge. Despite my aching foot, I made my way to the bridge that night, and I cracked. Just a little; enough for a few tears to slip out. They dried on my face, making my skin feel cracked and brittle.

Steve wasn’t there. I was relieved.

Steve: I had a hard time getting out of bed today

I actually stopped what I was doing to acknowledge the sudden thought that Steve seemed to understand, at least in a few places, and was never overbearing even when he was insistent. And yet I had never thought to…

It was like getting hit with a brick made of guilt. I quickly texted back, ‘did you?’

Steve: Yeah :) Steve: Even went to the grocery store and finished a book Steve: Little victories

I rolled my eyes. Fucking overachiever.

Me: Sounds like a lot Me: Gold star for you Steve: Haha, thanks

I hesitated.

Me: Do you have someone looking out for you? Steve: Yes Steve: A few people Steve: One of whom literally pulled out the sheets to drop me onto the floor this morning

I smiled. Just a little, but…well…‘little victories,’ and whatnot.

Me: Good Me: About the people, not the bed thing Me: That one’s ‘ow’ Steve: It’s okay Steve: I needed it

Fair enough.

“Here.”

I stared at the cup, and then I stared at Steve. He smiled like it wasn’t fucking cold as shit and held the coffee cup closer. I took it and sighed at the warmth seeping into my skin. It was only fall but the weather didn’t seem to know that.

“You're going to have to find a new place to spend your nights when winter comes,” Steve said and sipped his own drink.

I blew a raspberry. He laughed. When he looked at me he seemed happy. “Is it good?”

I nodded. “Th-…thank you.”

“No problem.”

I cleaned.

Not much but a little.

A little was something.

‘I picked up 13 pieces of trash and washed two dishes,’ I texted Steve.

He sent back thirteen thumbs-up, and two smiley faces.

I squinted at my screen.

Me: I’m beginning to suspect you know exactly how annoying that many emojis are and play dumb for your own amusement. Steve: I’m sure I :) don’t know :) what :) :) :) you :) mean :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :)

Yup.

Asshole.

I am rocking back and forth.

How fast can I dive off the edge?

Footsteps approach and I stop moving. Instead I dig my nails into my arm and let my foot shake out my nervous energy. The person sits next to me and Steve says, “Bad night?”

I almost try to answer, but I’d just vomit if I did.

Bad. Stupid. Awful. Evil. Dumb.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

“I don’t know if I’m gonna make it,” I croak, bent over myself and holding tight. “And I don’t know if it even matters.”

He’s quiet. At first. “Sometimes I wonder that myself.” He shifts. “I…help people, technically, but sometimes it feels like drops into a bucket. And someone else would take that place, if I left it.”

“You don’t know that,” I mutter and keep staring at the ground.

“I don’t,” he agrees. “But it’s just about impossible to think anything else, in that state.”

That it is.

That night I dream of being consumed.

  When I woke to the sun, my chest ached.

 I couldn’t get out of bed until the light went down.

“How’s tonight?”

I shrugged. He nodded and sat next to me, but he seemed stiff. Here it was, then. I couldn’t blame him. He was dealing with his own shit; he didn’t need–

“I have to go away tomorrow,” he said and cast a concerned look at me. “I’ll be gone for maybe a week. I’m…worried. I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

I looked at him for a few moments, gathering my thoughts. “My personal responsibility index starts and ends with goldfish,” I said. “And even goldfish are…” I put my hand flat and tilted it from side to side like a pinball board.

He barked a laugh and then covered his mouth. “Sorry,” he said and took his hand away to reveal a big smile. “No pets, I promise. I just was wondering if you could…if things get really bad, could you text me? I don’t care if it’s coherent or not, but if you need to get something out, if it’ll help you get through the day or night, then please…contact me. I won't be able to reply, but I’ll read it if you want and I won't if you tell me not to.”

I had to think about that. I didn’t know what to say, at first. “I can’t promise anything.”

“I know. And I can’t tell you what to do– it’s your life and in the end my word doesn’t mean as much as what you truly want.” He looked out at the sky and his sigh showed in a temporary burst of white before it faded and merged with the air. “But you’re trying, and I want to help. It’s nice to have a friend who…understands.”

I could sympathize. Sort of. “Work thing?” I asked, also staring out and away. The moon was nice; almost full. It was the kind of light that didn’t hurt, didn’t expect too much; that felt like it accepted the tired and the weak. Me. And Steve.

“Yeah,” he said regretfully.

I tried not to think of how he might not come back. I would… “Be safe,” I said.

“You too,” he said softly.

I looked down at the bench. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” he said, sounding relieved. He shifted and brought up his hand, but quickly put it back down.

I scooted closer, and after a moment he put his arm around me.

It was okay.

Trying was hard.

So hard.

I was going to call Steve but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I word-vomited into a journal until my hands shook too hard to hold a knife. I was still too wired, though, so I took a walk. I walked and walked and walked until I ended up at my bridge.

I breathed a little easier then. For better or worse, this was my safe place. It was either where the water and sky would soothe me enough to watch me slink home, or where I would eventually launch myself into them.

Footsteps sounded nearby and I let my eyes flick in their direction. A man, older, not as big as Steve but still decently sized, was walking in my general direction. I watched him long enough to see that he was coming for the bench.

I didn’t want to deal with people. Steve was an anomaly. I stood up and started to walk away.

“Wait!”

I didn’t.

He grabbed me.

I hit back at him and couldn’t quite make it; he had a tight grip on my jacket and though I kept him from getting a good grip on me, he had just enough hold to drag me towards the side of the bridge.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he cooed, like he was trying to soothe me. “I’ve watched you, I know you’re just afraid; it’s okay. I’ll help free you. It will be okay!”

I hit his arm and dragged my feet, but I glanced at the water. Could I…could I just–

No.

I had held on for too long to have some creepy asshole swoop in and try to kill-steal. My life was mine and no one else’s.

But he was stronger than me and though I hit and kicked and pulled, we tussled and suddenly I was weightless.

I thought I heard Steve scream my name just before I hit the water.

  Dark.

Cold.

It hurt.

I opened my eyes and the darkness stung. Alive still, but I felt weak and I couldn’t tell where the surface was. I heard something, like water breaking, but I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t even tell where it really came from. It wasn’t fair. My arms grew too heavy and my chest wanted to explode. I let my eyes shut. It wasn’t fair.

Dreamlike, arms wrapped around me and pulled. I could do nothing to help.

  The next thing I knew, I was throwing up water on the bank and there were so many lights, so many people…

“Easy,” Steve said.

“Steve,” I groaned and grabbed at him. He helped me sit up and held me without question. Those arms were– oh. Right. Made sense. Sometimes I just forgot how big he was.

“Hey Steve, let the paramedics in,” another familiar voice said. Sam? It must have been Sam.

“Okay,” Steve said and reluctantly started to let go. “I’ll just–”

I gripped his hand, terrified to be left alone with a bunch of strangers.

“–move over here,” Steve said, squeezed my hand, and kept a firm hold on it even as the paramedics moved in to poke and prod. One of them tried to stay cool and professional but ended up gushing over Steve. It was kind of cute. So cute that even Steve seemed reluctantly amused.

They let Steve ride with me and we were with two of the other paramedics. One of them cleared her throat and looked at Steve. “I, uh, I’m really sorry about Timothy; he didn’t mean to, uh…”

“It’s all right. He seems nice, it’s just…maybe not the best time,” Steve said and looked at me with a strained smile.

I shrugged. “I thought it was funny.”

He shook his head. “You had a crappy night; I’m pretty sure you just have a low bar.”

“I’m pretty sure ‘low bar’ is my default,” I said. “How– how did you know to come?”

“I didn’t, I just–” Steve visibly swallowed. “I got back a little while ago and Sam had left me a message, saying there was someone committing murders and making them look like suicides. You didn’t answer, so I went to the bridge first, just in case.”

“Good call,” I said. But he still looked so miserable. “What’s wrong?”

“If I hadn’t come back when I did–”

I pinched him and he jumped. “What was that for?” he asked and rubbed his arm.

“I once had a friend with anxiety who used to pinch herself when she started thinking of worst-case scenarios,” I said. “Maybe not therapist-approved, but it works in a…” I mimed a crab with my hand.

Despite his best effort not to (and oh how he tried), Steve laughed. He shook his head. “You can do better than that.”

I shrugged. “The worst could have happened. But it didn’t. Don’t focus on that; you’ll only hurt yourself.”

He stared at me for several moments, then leaned in and hugged me tight. “That sounds like something you might know about,” he murmured too low to be heard by anyone else.

I dug my head into his chest so hard it hurt. “I try. I try,” I said so low that I barely heard.

“I know,” he whispered and held me tighter. “And I’m proud of you.”

“Low bar,” I muttered. I was tired.

“Maybe,” he said and ran his hand over my head. “But it’s our bar, and as long as we make it then what else matters?”

I couldn’t argue with that.

Thinking about the apartment as a whole was overwhelming, so I compartmentalized. And then I compartmentalized some more.

First I opened the blinds and curtains, and one window– ‘cause it was pretty chilly. The fresh air was good though. Even slightly energizing. I could do this. I could do this. And if not…my bed still had sheets on it I could crawl into. But I promised myself first to give it my best shot.

As I surveyed my kingdom of dirt, someone knocked on the door. I was wary, even with Mr. Murder locked up in jail, but a peep showed me Steve and his friend Sam. When I opened the door, though, I almost knocked my head into a bunch of flowers.

“Oh, um…these are nice. Thank you,” I said and took them to the counter. They were light blue and yellow and white and even came in their own vase.

“Wow; I’ve never seen this place with sunlight before,” Steve said and stopped to hug me.

“It shows the dust pretty good,” I said. I wasn’t sure how to greet Sam but he opened his arms and I went in for it, because what the hell. It was a good choice; Sam gave an excellent hug.

“I can’t believe you’re cleaning just a couple days after you were almost murdered,” he said.

“It’s nice to curl up in bed when things are picked up and it doesn’t smell so bad,” I said.

“I can see that.” Steve looked around. “Do you need help?”

“For the record, he’s offering that,” Sam said and hopped onto a stool at the counter. “I can only offer you eye candy and sarcastic commentary.”

He was a man of his word, sitting there like he belonged in a magazine and firing off quips like he was getting paid per line. One of his jokes made Steve laugh so hard he doubled over and couldn’t get straight for almost half a minute. I smiled at the sight.

It was exhausting though, pleasant as Steve and Sam were, and I got to the point where I had to stand and assess myself. How did you politely tell someone to get lost?

“Tired?” Steve asked.

I nodded and accepted his and Sam’s hugs. Sam actually grabbed the trash bag and went on ahead, telling Steve he’d be waiting outside. And then it was just Steve and me.

“Thanks. Again,” I said and initiated a hug of my own.

“Anytime,” he said. As we pulled back he added, “You have my number. If you want to leave the house, just text. I’ll walk with you.”

I nodded, and after one small squeeze of my shoulder, he left. I stood there, taking in the moment. Then I went around dimming the light– not blocking it out entirely, just making the space more comfortable. Then I got into my pajamas, crawled into bed, and turned on the TV as I swiped through my phone. But all of that happened after I had cleaned my home, socialized, and had a little food. Now it was time to rest.

It was a low bar.

But it was mine.

[thecontentedreader]

Thank you so much to @trinareadsbooks for tagging me to do the 11 questions tag :) I’m so excited to answer your questions! 

1. What shows have you been into recently?

I really enjoy watching TV shows! I’m a huge fan of reality so I’ve recently been watching The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and New York. I’ve also been watching 90 Day Fiance (it’s SO good). In terms of Netflix, I’ve just been rewatching Friends for something easy and in the background :) 

2. Are there any songs you have completely memorized? Any albums?

I have an uncanny ability to memorize songs pretty quickly. I love any opportunity for some car karaoke when I’m driving around town. Some songs I’ve been loving lately (and already know most of the lyrics to) are Me by Taylor Swift + Brendon Urie, I Don’t Care by Ed Sheeran + Justin Bieber, and If I Can’t Have You by Shawn Mendes! In terms of favourites, I love anything (and know all lyrics) by John Mayer! 

3. What book genre or trope can you not live without?

I’m a HUGE sucker for a great contemporary novel. It’s what keeps me going, especially during reading slumps. They’re so easy to read because they’re so light and fluffy! I also am a sucker for a great hate to love trope. I love when characters are fiesty with one another!

4. Tell me about a place you recently went (in your town, on vacation, wherever) that you’d love to revisit?

I just got back a couple weeks ago from a 10 day trip to Disney World! It was my 10th visit and it’s absolute favourite of mine. I love visiting the parks and just experiencing the magic that Disney and Universal provide. My family and I had an awesome time! I’m always dreaming of the next trip and it would be a total dream to work with Disney through my blog someday (probably won’t happen, but hey, a girl can dream)!

5. Have any favourite book(s) of 2019 thus far?

I read Listen to Your Heart by Kasie West for the first time this year and fell in looove with the story! I read The Light Over London by Julia Kelly and it was a beautiful story that I highly recommend. For fantasy, I think my favourite so far is The Red Scrolls of Magic by Cassandra Clare and Wesley Chu! Some honourable mentions: The Bride Test by Helen Hoang and Birthday by Meredith Russo!

6. Aside from reading, what’s your favourite pass time?

Obviously my blog is one of my favourite hobbies (if you’re not following, please feel free!). I have so much passion for graphic design, blog formatting and just conversing with the bookish community! My other hobbies include crochet and hand embroidery! 

7. Name five road trip necessities.

Awesome question! A good book, music playlist, snacks, family and/or friends, camera. 

8. If you could have a crossover of any two books, shows or movies, what would it be?

This is such a tricky question but oh so good! I think I would love a mix between a book by Sarah J Maas and one by Victoria Aveyard. I love the fiesty characters (and steamy romances) Maas creates and I also love the worldbuilding in Aveyard’s series. I think it would be cool to mix the two together. 

9. Favourite thing to drink?

I am such a tea addict - English Breakfast tea with milk is my go-to! In terms of alcohol, I enjoy a glass of Pinot Grigio once and a while but I really love white sangria! 

10. When people come to you for help, what do they usually want help with?

Usually people trust me with problems in their life - so sometimes they want advice, or my suggestions on how to handle something. Being a teacher helps with this - I’m a great problem solver and good with thinking of compromises! I’m also a great listener and I find a lot of my friends enjoy venting to me. We always need a good chat once and a while!

11. Do you have any guilty pleasure reads? If so, what are they?

Hm, can I just say anything by Sarah J. Maas? I haven’t loved every one of her books, but I am such a sucker for her romances. If I had to pick just one though, I would say A Court of Mist and Fury is such a guilty pleasure read - especially every time I re-read it!

Thank you once again to Trina for tagging me! I don’t have any time to create new questions - so I tag anyone who wants to do this post!! If you’d like to do it, I’m sure Trina wouldn’t mind if you answer her questions ✨

[taegijae-blog]

BREAKFAST DELIVERY 12

pairing: 2jae

genre: fluff, if you squint there’s angst

word count: 3k

description: the school’s hottest boy im jaebum wants to get a certain boy’s number.  but the first problem is: he’s unhappy and not eating.

status: completed

note: this was originally posted on wakaba’s wattpad @/jaeholics

| part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 |

"Youngjae..." Jaebum had carried the freezing and shocked Youngjae over to a sunny spot behind the gym, a place where teachers usually never visit. Youngjae's eyes seemed sleepy as he shivered, Jaebum locking his arms around his body to preserve warmth. Both of their backpacks were also there. After Jaebum had burst out of classroom without saying anything to his teacher, he had found Youngjae's backpack thrown in the hallway. Carrying both of them, he’d run straight to the pool. That was his story up to the point where he found Youngjae being pulled dangerously close to the diving pool, and where his anger rose up to impossible levels. At least he was okay now. "Hyung..." Youngjae called out softly, coughing a few times. "You were the one who saved me, weren't you...?" Jaebum nodded. He brought Youngjae closer, leaning against one of the warehouses for sports equipment. "Yeah." Something made Jaebum's eyes blink, glistening ever so brightly. It was Youngjae's smiling face, staring up at the elder. "Thank you. Thank you so much." Shocked frozen for a second, Jaebum eventually returned a smile for the other in his arms. "No problem, Youngjae." He leaned down to nuzzle his face into the other's neck, breathing softly. "I'm sorry for yelling at you and slapping you. I really am," Youngjae said out of nowhere, sighing as he exclaimed so. He shifted his body so that he'd be even closer to Jaebum, feeling the comforting warmth of him. "I was just so... confused. I was scared at myself for being so mad that I guess I...tried to avoid you for a bit." "Mhm," Jaebum murmured, sighing into the soft and slightly wet skin. "I understand. I knew I should've told you earlier, but I was too dense to realize what it was doing to you." "It's okay." Youngjae was staring blankly at the scenery in front of them: cement, tall wire fences, and a few trees. "It really is alright. I've come to realize that I love the person called Def Soul' and that you are Def Soul. and how, by that logic, I love you." Youngjae peered up in order to look at Jaebum. "Jaebummie-hyung. It's always been you, hasn't it?" Although Jaebum was speechless for a second or two, he started to laugh softly. He loved this kid called Choi Youngjae. "I guess so." Jaebum reached over for his backpack and unzipped it, taking out something. "What's that?" Jaebum grinned to himself as he took out the small bag of homemade cookies. He opened it, taking one of the treats out and holding it between two fingers. "Have you eaten breakfast? Did you bring a lunch? If not..." Jaebum said in a singsong tone, pouting his lips in a rather cute way. "...Think about me, and then... eat." He stuffed the cookie into Youngjae's mouth. Chewing on it, the other giggled softly. "Thanks," he said as crumbs fell from his lips. "Hey," he whistled quietly. "Did you know that I used to be called fat constantly by these girls?" Jaebum's happy expression immediately dropped to a frown. "What? Who?" "I don't know." For some reason, the smile on Youngjae's face never faded away. "They just did for fun, I guess. They would come up to me during lunch especially and just whisper 'hey fatso.' So I thought about it a lot and decided that maybe I am fat. I didn't like how they would pick on me so I looked up how to lose weight. My naïve self ended up believing that skipping lunch and breakfast would be the best way to lose weight." Youngjae's chest rose high up and back down, which was something Jaebum's arms felt. "I was pretty unhappy and hungry, but I still kept doing it. My friends nagged me to eat. I wouldn't listen to them, though. So this is the strange part, right? Every piece of food you gave me, I would eat it happily and completely forget about starving myself. I totally forgot about trying to lose weight and whatnot. Which is weird, isn't it? Because I had no idea who you were, but you were still able to persuade me." "You literally cured this bad side of me, I think. You really are an amazing person, hyung," Youngjae finished with a big, wide smile and pat Jaebum, who was on the verge of tears, on the arm. "God... Youngjae...I'm so in love with you," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Are you still cold?" "Nope," Youngjae replied cheerfully, taking the piece of clothing from his torso and handing it back to the other. He went over to where his backpack was and hung it over his shoulder, throwing the other bag to Jaebum. "Do you want to go back to class?" "Not one bit," Jaebum laughed as he said so, also standing on his feet and carrying his backpack. He stood beside Youngjae, crossing his arms. "You should get a new change of clothes or you'll catch a cold." "Hm... yeah..." Peering down at his wet shirt and fanning it, he pursed his lips. "I don't have spare clothes, though." "You do at home." Youngjae grinned. He took ahold of Jaebum's hand, weaving their fingers together. "Come with me." "To ditch school?" "Yeah." The two started taking the back route of the school, planning to leave through the back gates. The gates were locked, they found, but Jaebum was able to help Youngjae jump over them. In Youngjae's free hand was the bag of cookies he received. He had all intentions to finish them once he was back at warm home. Before they took any more steps, Youngjae gave a gentle kiss to Jaebum's lips. He was unbelievably happy; it was like the times he yelled at him and cried because of him had never even happened. After all, those things only happened because of Youngjae's confused, naïve heart. Without the worry of being fat or not clouding his vision, he could clearly see that Jaebum was someone he loved. The only person who even when he was down; someone who would take care of him like he was born to do so. It was always the person he knew as Im Jaebum. Def Soul' was just Jaebum with a pair of sunglasses as a mask. That anonymous food donator and note writer was Jaebum too. He had all sorts of identities that Youngjae misunderstood, but he knew now that they all made up to be the same genuinely kind, benevolent person. "Let's go."

During his first period class, Jaebum's eyes wouldn't look away from his backpack that held a bag of homemade cookies. Would Youngjae still be willing to accept his food? Even after knowing who was behind all of it? He did know that Youngjae continued to not bring himself a lunch to school. Occasionally, he'd something light like a bag of chips (the kind that is 80% air) but that was basically it. He really thought it was amazing how Youngjae was able to control his hunger like that, especially in a cafeteria where a hundred or so students were eating happily. Jaebum felt frustrated at how little he knew about the junior. There were so many things he wanted to know so that he could take better care of Youngjae. What's his favorite food? Drink? What's his ideal type? He slammed his head onto his desk. This wasn't the first time he'd done so, and the teacher didn't bother to look back that time. "I've told you this before, Mr. Im, but please don't break your desk while venting your frustrations." Jaebum played around with his eraser, feeling bored. He was thinking about texting Youngjae before realizing that he had a low chance of getting a reply. what are you doing right now, youngjae? in class? of course you are. right. i want to talk to you. 🍽 Youngjae left his classroom early because of a stomachache. He kept thinking about how odd it was for him to even have a stomachache in general when he'd been doing his best to eat as less as possible. The only thing he’d eaten that morning was a slice of bread accompanied by a cup of water. All he knew was that the stomachache was painful. He couldn't walk very many steps before needing to clutch his belly, crouching over slightly. On one arm was his backpack, hanging by its straps. He’d tried mounting it on his shoulders but it quickly fell, since it actually made his stomach feel even worse. His brows were wrinkled as he stumbled down the hallway, searching for the infirmary. "What's this?" Youngjae's face was drained of its color when he realized that voice was familiar. He remembered it clearly: the voice that had spat at him while he was kicked by its owner. His head hung low as he pretended to not hear, making sure his face wouldn't be shown to the guy. Unfortunately for him, that just made things worse because he couldn't see properly and bumped straight into the voice. Goosebumps spread across his arms when he heard the displeased growl coming from the taller person. "Are you blind? Watch where you're fucking going!" Although Youngjae was scared, he was sure to keep his head down to cover his face. His stomach crippled him with pain but he had to deal with it, just for a bit longer. A horrible sense of doom overwhelmed him, though, when the other grabbed his collar and pulled him up. "That's hilarious. You're that little wimp I beat up before. Looks like you haven't learned your lesson at all, have you?" he scoffed, now grabbing Youngjae's chocolatey hair and tugging him to somewhere. "S-stop, please," Youngjae pleaded. Those were meaningless attempts as the guy only tugged on his hair harder, making him whine in pain. As if his stomachache wasn't enough, now he was dealing with this. In the process, he was forced to drop his backpack and it was left alone in the hallway. He was in far too much pain to even struggle and fight against him. Just as he was about to scream for help, the guy noticed and covered his mouth tightly with his hand. Youngjae really was frightened. His shaking hand reached into his pockets. Thankfully, his phone was in there. Youngjae double checked to see that the guy wasn't looking and, with his quivering fingers, he opened his text messages. He was afraid that his phone would be slapped away when noticed so he opened the first chat. jaybee [c.youngjae]: hyunh [c.youngjae]: hyungg [c.youngjae]: pleesas;; [c.youngjae]: heelp nme theres a; guyy [c.youngjae]: hes dragfing me to somewhere an I cant get away from him [c.youngjae]: help me [c.youngjae]: imm so scared

[jaybee]: tell me exactly where the fuck he's taking you [c.youngjae]: i,,i don't know [c.youngjae]: its,its outdoors [c.youngjae]: tthe field [c.youngjae]: pool [jaybee]: i'm heading there right now [jaybee]: youngjae fight back no matter what he does [jaybee]: youngjae [jaybee]: youngjae?? [jaybee]: i'm running [jaybee]: i'm on my way [jaybee]: oh my god [jaybee]: please be okay By that time, Youngjae had hidden his phone. The guy had dragged him all the way to the outdoor field and was approaching the swimming pool, where no teachers or students lingered at the time. The other grabbed him with both hands and flung him over the little fence surrounding the pool. Youngjae landed on the cement, a few scratches on his arm starting to bleed. He was holding back everything to not bawl in fear. The guy hopped over the fence, staring down at him in anger. "No one ever bumps into me twice. This'll help you learn, faggot," he spat, now pulling the collapsed Youngjae by the hood of his jacket. He was partially choking while being dragged across the cement against his will. The minuscule amount of oxygen he could breathe in wasn't the biggest problem he had at the moment. He could tell that he was being dragged over to the diving pool, measuring staggering meters deep. Youngjae's body locked up and was essentially frozen in fear. He couldn't swim. "Come on, cunt. swim for me." Youngjae was brought so close to the edge of the pool that his shoe grazed against some water. He couldn't do anything except make gasping noises and have his heart beat at unnatural rates. Was this the day he'd die? The metal fence made sudden rattling noises as footsteps stomped furiously to where the two were on the pool deck. Youngjae's eyes were squinting due to difficulty breathing, but he could sort of make out who the person was. "Hyu... ng..." he whispered, his voice raspy. Jaebum ran up to the guy dragging Youngjae and punched him without saying anything. "Get your fucking hands off of him or I'll beat the shit out of you!" he yelled in absolute fury. The other was equally angered and snarled, but only got another punch to his chest. He fell onto the ground in pain, but not before pushing Youngjae into the pool. Jaebum's heart stopped beating when watching him sink deeper into the water. "Youngjae!" he shouted, diving in after the boy, who was silently sinking deeper motionlessly. Jaebum grabbed Youngjae's shirt and pulled him towards him, wrapping an arm around him securely. He swam towards the ladder as quickly as he could, madly calling the other’s name. "Youngjae, Youngjae, Youngjae, oh my god..." Jaebum muttered shakily as he finally pulled him out of the water, still holding him tightly in his arms. Youngjae was unresponsive, his head drooping down with every attempt Jaebum made to wake him up. Jaebum's eyes were suddenly filled with even more rage than ever. he looked around to see where the guy who did this was. By that time, that guy already ran away, knowing that he'd get in major trouble. He'll never forgive that piece of shit for as long as he lives. The coughing sounds coming from Jaebum's arms caused him to quickly peer down. Thank God Youngjae was awake. He coughed up some water, suddenly beginning to shiver. "H-hyung..." he murmured weakly, barely peeking his eyes open. Jaebum's grip only tightened, concerned when feeling exactly how much the other was shivering. "Cold...cold..." "It'll be okay, Youngjae, you're going to okay," Jaebum reassured in a panicked voice as he took off his own hoodie and wrapped it around Youngjae's body. It was true that his skin felt almost ice cold, and that scared the elder. His eyes weakly opened, squinting at the one staring down at him. "Hyung...?" "Y-yeah. It's me, Jaebum." Youngjae wrapped his arms around the other's broader torso and stuffed his face into his chest. he was sobbing silently, his legs curling up unconfidently as he did so. Jaebum embraced him as though that the last time he would ever touch Youngjae, rubbing his back. "Iwas so scared...I can't swim...deep water..." "I get it, Youngjae, you don't have to say anything." Jaebum cooed as soothingly as he could, although that was difficult because he was freaking out too. Youngjae's shoulders quivered as he sniffed. "I'm so glad that you're here... Jaebum-hyung..."

"Youngjae..." Jaebum had carried the freezing and shocked Youngjae over to a sunny spot behind the gym, a place where teachers usually never visit. Youngjae's eyes seemed sleepy as he shivered, Jaebum locking his arms around his body to preserve warmth. Both of their backpacks were also there. After Jaebum had burst out of classroom without saying anything to his teacher, he had found Youngjae's backpack thrown in the hallway. Carrying both of them, he’d run straight to the pool. That was his story up to the point where he found Youngjae being pulled dangerously close to the diving pool, and where his anger rose up to impossible levels. At least he was okay now. "Hyung..." Youngjae called out softly, coughing a few times. "You were the one who saved me, weren't you...?" Jaebum nodded. He brought Youngjae closer, leaning against one of the warehouses for sports equipment. "Yeah." Something made Jaebum's eyes blink, glistening ever so brightly. It was Youngjae's smiling face, staring up at the elder. "Thank you. Thank you so much." Shocked frozen for a second, Jaebum eventually returned a smile for the other in his arms. "No problem, Youngjae." He leaned down to nuzzle his face into the other's neck, breathing softly. "I'm sorry for yelling at you and slapping you. I really am," Youngjae said out of nowhere, sighing as he exclaimed so. He shifted his body so that he'd be even closer to Jaebum, feeling the comforting warmth of him. "I was just so... confused. I was scared at myself for being so mad that I guess I...tried to avoid you for a bit." "Mhm," Jaebum murmured, sighing into the soft and slightly wet skin. "I understand. I knew I should've told you earlier, but I was too dense to realize what it was doing to you." "It's okay." Youngjae was staring blankly at the scenery in front of them: cement, tall wire fences, and a few trees. "It really is alright. I've come to realize that I love the person called Def Soul' and that you are Def Soul. and how, by that logic, I love you." Youngjae peered up in order to look at Jaebum. "Jaebummie-hyung. It's always been you, hasn't it?" Although Jaebum was speechless for a second or two, he started to laugh softly. He loved this kid called Choi Youngjae. "I guess so." Jaebum reached over for his backpack and unzipped it, taking out something. "What's that?" Jaebum grinned to himself as he took out the small bag of homemade cookies. He opened it, taking one of the treats out and holding it between two fingers. "Have you eaten breakfast? Did you bring a lunch? If not..." Jaebum said in a singsong tone, pouting his lips in a rather cute way. "...Think about me, and then... eat." He stuffed the cookie into Youngjae's mouth. Chewing on it, the other giggled softly. "Thanks," he said as crumbs fell from his lips. "Hey," he whistled quietly. "Did you know that I used to be called fat constantly by these girls?" Jaebum's happy expression immediately dropped to a frown. "What? Who?" "I don't know." For some reason, the smile on Youngjae's face never faded away. "They just did for fun, I guess. They would come up to me during lunch especially and just whisper 'hey fatso.' So I thought about it a lot and decided that maybe I am fat. I didn't like how they would pick on me so I looked up how to lose weight. My naïve self ended up believing that skipping lunch and breakfast would be the best way to lose weight." Youngjae's chest rose high up and back down, which was something Jaebum's arms felt. "I was pretty unhappy and hungry, but I still kept doing it. My friends nagged me to eat. I wouldn't listen to them, though. So this is the strange part, right? Every piece of food you gave me, I would eat it happily and completely forget about starving myself. I totally forgot about trying to lose weight and whatnot. Which is weird, isn't it? Because I had no idea who you were, but you were still able to persuade me." "You literally cured this bad side of me, I think. You really are an amazing person, hyung," Youngjae finished with a big, wide smile and pat Jaebum, who was on the verge of tears, on the arm. "God... Youngjae...I'm so in love with you," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Are you still cold?" "Nope," Youngjae replied cheerfully, taking the piece of clothing from his torso and handing it back to the other. He went over to where his backpack was and hung it over his shoulder, throwing the other bag to Jaebum. "Do you want to go back to class?" "Not one bit," Jaebum laughed as he said so, also standing on his feet and carrying his backpack. He stood beside Youngjae, crossing his arms. "You should get a new change of clothes or you'll catch a cold." "Hm... yeah..." Peering down at his wet shirt and fanning it, he pursed his lips. "I don't have spare clothes, though." "You do at home." Youngjae grinned. He took ahold of Jaebum's hand, weaving their fingers together. "Come with me." "To ditch school?" "Yeah." The two started taking the back route of the school, planning to leave through the back gates. The gates were locked, they found, but Jaebum was able to help Youngjae jump over them. In Youngjae's free hand was the bag of cookies he received. He had all intentions to finish them once he was back at warm home. Before they took any more steps, Youngjae gave a gentle kiss to Jaebum's lips. He was unbelievably happy; it was like the times he yelled at him and cried because of him had never even happened. After all, those things only happened because of Youngjae's confused, naïve heart. Without the worry of being fat or not clouding his vision, he could clearly see that Jaebum was someone he loved. The only person who even when he was down; someone who would take care of him like he was born to do so. It was always the person he knew as Im Jaebum. Def Soul' was just Jaebum with a pair of sunglasses as a mask. That anonymous food donator and note writer was Jaebum too. He had all sorts of identities that Youngjae misunderstood, but he knew now that they all made up to be the same genuinely kind, benevolent person. "Let's go."