#i did this instead of working this morning because migraine still says no to anything that requires more than one brain cell

[10yrratiolover]

Some of my, oh so many, Ratio Headcannons

he knows a bunch of languages, all of which he can speak fluently

^ this includes Latin

cleans his rubber ducks VERY thoroughly to make sure they don't mold

he HATES getting sweaty, it's the only thing he doesn't like about hot baths and working out

has very strict morning and nightly routines, gets genuinely upset if they're disrupted

I think he and Argenti would have great philosophical debates about beauty (please hoyoverse please see my vision)

just straight up hates bright lights

^ prefers warm lighting over cold

I think his skin is naturally clear but he's definitely got some kind of skincare routine anyway

missed out on a lot of social opportunities during his teenage years due to his studies and such, don't think he would have had many friends (at least not his age)

big fan of parallel play, mostly because he gets caught up in his head so often, he's completely content doing different things in the same vicinity

he also uses Aventurine (or others) as a canvas of sorts to throw ideas and thoughts on, he'll start explaining something, and mid explanation he'll run into the answer, thank whoever he's talking to even though they didn't do anything, and hurry off to write it down

frequent bruises around his collar/bottom of his neck from his alabaster

migraine sufferer, me too stay strong king (actually I think this is canon?)

he VERY rarely cancels his classes, it could be flooded up to his doorknob and he'd send out an email to his students like "Today's lecture is still on."

^ this includes when he's sick or otherwise unwell, he could be barely standing upright and he'd still give his lecture

he can't listen to music with lyrics when doing anything because it distracts him (he'll start zoning in on the words and stop doing whatever else he was doing (did I word this right? idk it happens to me all the time))

he sometimes wears the alabaster at home if sensory issues are really bad that day

^ he verbally shuts down sometimes, which sucks bc he's got a lot to say but he typically just writes things down instead

does actually throw chalk at his students, not as hard as his in-battle attack obviously but his aim is always on point

^ his perfect aim also applies to literally anything he throws, his keys, his phone, if he wants to throw something somewhere it's getting there

sometimes completely submerges himself in the bath and just holds his breath for a bit to fully clear his head

^ he can hold his breath pretty long so he sits under there for a bit (freaked Aventurine out the first time he walked in on him doing it tho)

call me crazy but I think he'd be good with kids

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.3 (Daffodil) a2d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 3,060

Notes: Happy very late birthday to my dearest moot @thatgirlangelb! Thank you for always letting me babble away in your DMs <3 You give me so much motivation to write whenever we talk, I swear over half of BFP wouldn't be written without you. You're a magical and special human being and I hope life treats you so incredibly well <<<333

This chapter is on the shorter side, but it's longer than I was expecting it to be? That seems to be the trend for SG lmao. This one actually came out pretty smoothly and there weren't as many small edits as usual. Ofc I say that and then I'll come back in 4-8 business days and absolutely abhor it lmao. I tried to make it pretty obvious who Reader encountered in this chapter before the little reveal, but y'all'll have to lmk how I did. I tried to do it with actions instead of descriptions bc I'm rlly bad at describing body shapes.

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: She/Her Reader, allusions to past domestic violence?

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (Coming Soon <3)

Taylor spends all of the next morning bugging you about your soulmates.

It’s mostly friendly teasing, you know. A fanboy excited that you’re connected to his idols and a friend who wants you to feel more at ease in a difficult time.

It’s still annoying as hell.

Over breakfast, “Listen, I know men ain’t shit, but these ones have benefits! For me. Maybe give them a chance?”

While you brushed your teeth, “I’m all for independence! Feminism and all that. But they’ve got crazy money.”

Through the door while you were getting dressed, “They’re dancers! I’ve never met a dancer who didn’t know how to use their hips.”

Even as you were walking out the door for work, “They produce their own music, they might even write songs for you!”

You finally turn around to face him, the lucky bastard still in his pajamas since he was smart enough to get the day after the concert off from work. You place your hands on your hips and cock your head to stare him down.

Immediately he starts to stumble and sweat, your quirked eyebrow a hint to your waning patience.

“I-I just- I mean- I was just sayin’-”

You roll your eyes at him and quickly slug him in the shoulder. Ignoring his yelp of pain, you relieve him of his stuttering misery.

“Listen, I know you’re excited because I’m your Idol’s soulmate and whatnot, but I don’t even know them.” You chide him. “Besides, only Bangchan is for sure my soulmate right now. For all we know the other seven are completely unrelated.”

Taylor just gives you a flat look for that. Neither of you believed in coincidences very much, and you knew as well as he did who your remaining soulmates were.

“But you could know them,” Taylor counters, “Soulmates are a lifetime kinda thing.”

“Exactly why I don’t want to meet them right now!” You nod as if to agree with your own point, “We said we’d let fate do it’s thing and we’re gonna let it.”

Taylor opens his mouth to start bargaining with you again, so you cut him off before he could annoy you too much.

You and Taylor didn’t fight much. You’d quickly learned each other’s limits way back when you'd first moved in. Unfortunately for him, you'd woken up with a migraine this morning because of everything that had happened the night before.

He was lucky he still had a head.

“And anyway, what would I even do? Track down their hotel? Chase down their plane? Email JYPE? I’m sure they have fans claiming to be their soulmates all the time. Bangchan didn’t even seem to notice the bond forming, they’d probably file a restraining order.”

Taylor finally deflates at your argument. He’d know even better than you what kind of environment surrounded celebrities and their soulmates.

“I’m just saying,” He whines, “that you don’t have to run from them when you meet them.”

You feel your ears burn with embarrassment at the reminder of how you’d panicked last night.

After you’d dropped the Bangchan bomb on him and closed your door to get to bed, Taylor had thrown it right the way back open to interrogate you. You’d spent another hour explaining the whole harrowing tale before he’d finally let you go to bed.

It was a good thing your hours were as flexible as they were, you’d have been waking up seconds after you’d gone to sleep otherwise.

“I wasn’t gonna run!” You mutter petulantly. Taylor just raises a brow at you. You’re getting tired of how communicative his face is.

“I wasn’t!”

“If you run,” he smirks at you, eyes glinting meanly, “You owe me twenty bucks. If you don’t, I’ll owe you.”

You pout and protest, but end up shaking the devil’s hand anyways. Letting fate do it’s thing included not fleeing when you were confronted by it’s design.

You leave the house a grumpy mess, Taylor seeing you off with a blinding smile.

The rest of your day goes about as swimmingly as the start of it.

You’re already grumpy, irritated, and hurting. Your soul mark prickles at your side every now and again, as if annoyed at you for ignoring it.

You hope Bangchan isn’t experiencing the same thing, the poor guy deals with enough.

Work goes as smoothly as you always expect it to, which is not at all. There’s always some emergency to deal with, another fire to put out. Always started by someone higher than you on the corporate ladder so you can’t even yell at them.

The relief you feel when your lunch break rolls around could power a city.

You leave the building with haste, avoiding all of your coworkers as you went. It’d be a tragedy to be flagged down with more work at this exact moment.

You make your way out to mix with the crowds of L.A, letting the flow of people carry you to your destination a few blocks away: A quaint little coffee shop at the mouth of an alley.

It's quite possibly your favorite spot in the whole city. Decked out with a jungle of plants, walls crowded with framed art from a variety of local artists. The lighting was always warm and natural, large windows at the front making the tiny space feel so much larger than it was. You could even buy the pieces on display if you wanted, prices carefully stuck onto the frames.

Your point being, the vibes were immaculate.

You also swear they put something extra in their coffee. No other place carries you through your day in the same way.

When you enter your little midday safe-space, greeted by the charming bell above the door, you’re faced with a busier interior than you’re used to.

Usually at this time of day you can march right up to the counter to chat with the barista while they make whatever caffeinated atrocity your brain cooks up that day. Today, though, it seems like half the city’s population has decided to give your little spot a go.

You’d normally be happy for them. More business; more money and all that. But today the low din of chatter filling the air just scrapes across your brain like a rusted spoon. Your headache from this morning had only gotten worse throughout the day, and you wished you could just call it quits and go home.

Unfortunately for you, you have bills to pay and only so long of a lunch break. The walk here ate up enough of it for you to suck it up and join the line.

When you join the que you’re basically halfway out the door, practically plastered to the back of the man in front of you. He doesn't seem to pay you any mind, yapping away on his phone in quiet Korean.

You study the back of your new line neighbor with bored interest. Your eyes trace the slopes of his shoulders, drifting down to his waist, before moving back up to gaze at the back of his beanie’d head. You notice the straps of a mask around his ears and wonder how the person on the phone can hear him with his voice so muffled and low.

Apparently the person on the phone can’t hear him very well, because soon he’s raising his voice a bit more. It has you wondering if his tone is just naturally that soft, or if he’s just conscious of the space he’s in.

Soon enough you’re two people closer to the counter, halfway into the coffee shop now, and your line buddy has entered into a full blown argument with whoever he has on the phone.

He’s speaking way too quickly for your barely conversational Korean to keep up with- not that you’re trying very hard to- but you can guess from the keywords “Jagiya”, “Soulmate”, and “coffee” that it’s the usual lover’s quarrel.

From the sounds of it, it was a very “We’ve already talked about this” sort of conversation as well. Poor guy. You hope his soulmate and lover get cool with each other soon.

The conversation goes on as the two of you inch closer to the counter. You’re fully invested in the drama at this point, absorbing what little bits you can to rehash with Taylor later. Your own mini soap-opera.

After a bit more back and forth with what you assume is his partner, he begins resorting to some very creative threats to express his displeasure.

You wonder if this guy might be a bit too comfortable speaking a foreign language around English speakers, because if he didn’t sound so damn fond while he was doing it you might’ve needed to tip the police off to a potential murder. Via tissue, if your line neighbor had anything to say about it.

That sends you down a path of your own creative murder options, wondering what sort of other common items your murderous que friend might use. Stabbing their partner through with a straw, maybe? Perhaps a fork, if the straw proved too flimsy.

You can’t see his face from where you’re stood, but you’d bet it’s the face of someone who stabs. Just one of those “don’t mess with me, I can and will put whatever I’m holding through your nearest body part” type of looks. You can feel it in your bones.

You're shaken from your revery as the line moves forward and the potential murderer snaps at his phone for his partner (presumably) to put a "Lixu-yah" on the line. This sparks another argument, and though you can only hear one side of it, it seems that the desired "Lix" is unavailable. Bummer for stabby-guy.

You might be entertaining yourself too much with a stranger's conversation. You can’t feel too guilty about it though, this is the best mood you’ve been in all day. You’d entirely forgotten about your headache there for a minute. Laughter really does heal all ills, you suppose.

It's a bit of a relief when it becomes Stabby's turn and he hangs up with a grumbled declaration of love. If they were fine enough to say their 'love you's then they’d probably make it through whatever soulmate-related rough patch they were going through. You silently wish them luck.

When your stabby friend (who doesn’t know he’s your friend, but you’re endeared now) steps up to the counter it becomes very clear why he’d asked for a particular person to be handed the phone. You assume this “Lix” must have been an English-speaking friend of his, his own halting English giving him trouble with placing what seems to be a behemoth of an order.

He manages the first part of his order alright, a whopping five drinks already, when he finally reaches the limit of his English vocabulary and begins trying to describe what you think might be a shaken caramel macchiato with some extra bits.

He and the barista go back and forth for several moments, a mix of pantomiming, alternative words, and guesses from the poor flustered barista. You watch him grow more and more frustrated, though he remains very soft spoken and polite about it.

Finally, after another moment of watching them struggle, you can't take it anymore.

You gently tap the stranger on the shoulder, earning a startled little jump. He turns to you with weary eyes and you confirm that there’s a mask covering the lower half of his face. With his beanie pulled low over his eyes, you wouldn't have been able to even tell the color if you hadn't been just that bit shorter than him.

As it is, you get lost in deep pools of brown for a moment before you manage to collect yourself.

"Hi," You chirp in Korean, "Do you need help?"

The man seems to war with himself for a moment, clearly stuck between stranger danger and relief at hearing his native language. After a long moment he accepts your offer.

"Yes, please." He gestures back to the counter where the barista is also clearly relieved by your intervention. "I have a large group and they enjoy making my life difficult."

"No problem," You assure him, "where were you at in your order?"

He takes a moment to check a note app on his phone and begins to slowly relay the final 3 drinks in his 8-drink order. It takes some time, even with you translating, but the energy is a lot less frantic.

He's finally able to pay and you catch him give the name 'Lee' for the order. You wonder if it's his first or last name.

He thanks you for your help as he moves off to the side, and you just give him a small smile and a nod in return. You quickly order your own drink, waving off the barista when she also thanks you. This place was haven enough for you to owe them six times over, anyway.

You and Stabby Lee end up waiting next to each other by the pick-up counter. You feel a bit awkward, having entertained yourself with his private conversation, and end up idly rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet with nerves.

He must have realized you’d heard his entire conversation, right? You hoped not. As fun as it had been, you really hadn't meant to invade his privacy.

Besides, the only serious thing you’d heard was the soulmate thing! You defend yourself in your own thoughts, pursing your lips and nodding your head to your invisible argument. The rest of the argument had seemed to be about a vacation plan. The threats didn’t start until someone said “Zipline”.

You thought that was kinda valid. Heights weren't for everyone.

His name is called before yours, but just for one of the simpler drinks from his massive order. He takes a simple iced americano over to the table with the creams and sugars and begins to doctor it to his liking. Your name is called shortly after and you take your red-eye over to do the same.

The two of you quietly shake and stir your drinks for a moment before he speaks.

"Thank you again for your help," he says, "I really do appreciate it."

You're kind of enchanted by the softness of his voice, now that's directed at you. You’re becoming convinced that this really is just his usual tone. He's speaking normally, but you honestly feel like he's murmuring directly into your ear. He could be a hypnotist or something. An ASMR person, at least.

You wave away his gratirude as you pour unholy amounts of creamer into your drink. "No worries!" You dismiss, "I should be thanking you for the chance to practice my Korean."

"Your Korean is very good." He compliments quickly. You laugh a bit and shake you head.

"I doubt it's that good, I'm really put of practice. It's been a while."

"No, your pronunciation is great." He flashes you a bit of an eye smile to show his sincerity and you find yourself even more charmed by a perfect stranger.

You chuckle bashfully as he finishes up his drink, turning to lean against the table so you can continue to talk. You can't help the way your eyes are drawn to the way he moves, enchanted by the simple action.

"I'll make sure to brag about it everywhere." You assure him, earning yourself another eye smile and a soft chuckle.

Good heavens, you think you might be halfway in love.

"Please do."

Scratch that, you might be all the way in love.

You do your best to contain your smile and push down the blush on your cheeks. You don't think it works, if his amused gaze is anything to go by. It’s not your fault this random guy has rizz for days!

"Well, I gotta scoot." You finish turning your drink a pale tan and shoot him your best 'excusing myself from an ended conversation' smile. You're kind of sad you probably won't run into him again after this.

"I wish you good luck getting that monster order to wherever you're going." You say, shooting the pick up counter with it's growing mountain of beverages an amused look.

He huffs another little laugh and you swear your heart skips a beat. "Thanks, you take care." he offers you a tip of his cup and you tip yours right back.

You do your best to scootch past him in the tight space between the tables and the little counter, but don't quite manage not to bump him on your way. Your elbow meets his forearm and you apologize as you wiggle through.

You're already two steps out the door when the pain of flowers blooming across your right side registers in your brain.

Your face scrunches up and you let out a hiss of pain, the hand not holding your coffee automatically going down to press down where it hurts. Your eyes naturally follow it, and when you finally process what just happened your head snaps back up to the glass door. It's still swinging shut.

You meet eyes with your second soulmate behind the glass, his gaze just as wide and startled as yours.

For a moment, you’re lost again in the depths of his stare.

For a moment, you can almost smell something sweet and floral.

For a moment, you feel peace wash over you.

And then sunlight bounces off the swinging glass, breaking eye contact between the two of you. Spell broken, your soulmate moves, takes just a single step toward the door, and memories of shattered glass and echoing yells ricochet across your brain with all the power of a rocket engine.

You turn tail and book it.

By the time Minho exits the coffee shop, drink abandoned on the counter, you're already lost in the mid-day crowd. A glimpse of your bright blue sweater is the last thing he sees of you before you're gone.

He reaches behind himself to gingerly rub the sore parts of his back and pulls his phone from his pocket.

When you get home that evening, you slam a twenty down on the counter in front of Taylor and storm off to your room without a word.

Perma Tag list: @mbioooo0000

[morganbritton132]

I really love the EMTTS and every update is making my day, so thank you for being great!

I keep thinking about the shared calendar posts and have wanted to ask about it since the first post so long ago. I know it's been mentioned how annoying it is for Steve when it's not used in the way he hoped, but has there ever been a situation where it was really genuinely bad? Like, a lot of drama could've been avoided if it had been used properly? And did the kids and Eddie then feel bad about misusing it/start using it the way Steve intended? I know it drives me crazy when people intentionally ignore/misuse stuff like that that I set up. What's Steve's reaction? AHHH, so many questions!

Don't worry about answering, just do it whenever you have time and feel motivated :) Hope you have a lovely day/night!

It’s not that people don’t use the shared calendar. It’s just that they don’t use it in the way that Steve wants them to.

Like, for example, Lucas has no problem putting his work schedule into the calendar at the beginning of the month, but he never remembers to put when he picks up shifts. Robin will input her class schedule at the beginning of a semester but not her ever-changing office hours. Dustin uses the calendar frequently but he is always vague about what he’s doing (i.e. he puts ‘Moon’ instead of stargazing) and Mike blocks out time slows when he busy but never says what he’s doing.

Steve wants to know where everybody is at all times and what they’re doing. Is that a little unrealistic? Yes, and Steve can acknowledge that. But it’s still frustrating when he misses something because it was mentioned to him once and he forgot.

But also, Steve can’t drive.

He is very reliant on his friends and family. Especially because up to a couple years ago, Eddie still traveled quite a lot. Steve’s gotten better over the years at acknowledging that he needs help and asking for it, but it is a lot harder to inconvenience someone.

Steve doesn’t like Uber or any of the ride-sharing apps. It feels unsafe because he knows that there are moments where he loses time and he’s not quite in his head. There are times when he gets stuck in the fog or lost in a bad memory, and he knows that he can be reactionary. His friends know how to walk him out of that and he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt a stranger or get hurt, or get lost.

Steve carpools to school, but there have been times where that’s fallen through and he ends up feeling like he’s bothering someone because he didn’t know that they had plans already. Eddie was out of town once and Steve had a doctor’s appointment, but everybody he texted was busy so he just canceled it. He ran out of his migraine medication but turns out half their friends were at a concert so he dealt with the fallout alone.

It all kind of comes to a head one evening.

Steve is the person that plans most of their game nights and their get-togethers. They’re typically hosted at his and Eddie’s house and Steve puts a lot of effort into planning them. There’s a Saturday that no one has marked with anything, so he gets up that morning and plans a game night. He bakes and he cooks. He cleans the whole house and gets out their board games. He even sets the table for D&D even though he hardly ever plays with them.

Then Eddie tells him that he has a plane to catch. They talked about it the other day. Don’t you remember? And Dustin’s busy. He has a date. He literally told Steve about it. Mike and Will have had these plans for weeks and Max and El are at a spa. Lucas is visiting Erica in DC. He said he was going to last week, remember?

Robin is swamped with work and Nancy’s not even in town and apparently hasn’t been all week. She sent that text in the groupchat about it, remember?

And it’s frustrating.

Steve knows that it’s kinda dumb to plan a party and expect people to show up on the same day, but that’s how it’s always been, and it’s – it feels like he’s being called stupid when everybody keeps asking him if he remembers. He obviously didn’t.

All it takes is for Eddie to ask him what’s wrong for Steve to snap. He’s frustrated and he’s annoyed, and he’s a little mean about it because Eddie is the worst about using the calendar. He just says things and expects that Steve is going to remember them, and it feels like they’re making fun of him. It feels like he’s standing outside the room that they’re all in and they’re laughing at him because he doesn’t know how to get inside.

“And it’s going to get worse,” Steve says, blinking tears out of his eyes. “I’m just going to keep forgetting and everybody is going to move on, and it’s going to be like I’m not even a part of it anymore.”

“Baby, that’s never going to happen. I – We won’t let that happen. It’s just one mess up.”

“It’s already happening! You already do it.”

Eddie ends up missing his flight because he’s not going to leave Steve when he’s upset like this. He’s supposed to be working on the backing tracks for an album he’s producing, but there’s tomorrow or maybe the day after that. He does end up sending out a text to the other party members, letting them know that they’ve got to make an effort to use the calendar more. 

[imfinereallyy]

El puts her finger to her lips in a shush motion when Eddie walks through the apartment's front door.

“Hey, Ellie Bellie, what are you doing here?” Eddie whispers, toeing off his sneakers.

“Me and Steve were supposed to do makeovers at Dad's. But he did not come. He called, saying he did not feel good. So I came here instead.”

It’s then that Eddie notices a sleeping Steve on El’s lap. Her fingers delicately playing with his hair. The room is darker than usual, too—nothing but the warm table lamp and the silent tv to light up the room. Eddie’s shoulders slump in realization. “Migraine? That’s the third one this month.”

El nods pausing at a particular gnarl in Steve’s hair. Steve hums in his sleep as El works at it. “I worry about his head.”

“Me too, super girl. Thank you for coming; you didn’t have to.”

Although El’s vocabulary has improved massively over the years, she sometimes struggles to vocalize her feelings. Eddie can see it happening right now as her eyebrows furrow together. Her difficulties with emotions remind Eddie of Steve. He knows the two of them have been working on it together. “I knew you would be at work. And Robin is at school now. Too far to call. I wanted to help.”

Eddie walks over to the two of them, scoops up Steve’s legs, and settles on the couch as he lays Steve’s legs over his own. “You did, El. You’re a really good sister.”

El brightens up slightly. Her concern is still there, but a dimple at the side of her cheek makes an appearance. “Thank you Eddie.” El pauses for a moment before speaking again. “Will he be okay?”

Eddie’s heart seizes at the affection El has for Steve. Some days he thinks she might give Eddie and Robin a run for their money in the “who loves Steve most” department. Eddie doesn’t feel upset about it, though. They all give Steve the different kinds of love he deserves. Robin gives him the steady, unwavering, platonic love that doesn’t ask for anything in return. Eddie gives Steve the passionate, romantic, deep love that would do anything to make him smile.

And El? She gives Steve a familial kind of love. Gentle but firm. Her lovd for Steve makes one wonder if maybe they really do share a bloodline. Bound together by family.

So when El gets all worried, Eddie knows she comes from a good place. From the best of places. “Yea, El, he’ll be okay. Just a migraine. I think he’s getting a lot lately because the EMT training is a lot. I think some downtime with you, though, was the perfect cure.” He rubs her hair back and forth in a brotherly motion.

El sighs and puts her head on Eddie’s shoulder. They both watch the silent tv for a bit before El speaks again, “He was upset. Said he disappointed me. He did not. He is allowed to have bad days. Hop taught me that. I do not think he knows that this makes me happy. Spending time.” El looks down at Steve again, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“When he’s feeling better, maybe tell him that. Can’t really argue with him while he’s down.” Eddie giggles, trying to hide the wetness in his eyes.

Steve stirs below them for a moment before saying, “El? Eds?”

El shushes Steve, “Do not worry, we are here. Always here.” El rubs Steve’s temples, easing him back to close his eyes.

Eddie strokes Steve’s ankle, “Not going anywhere, Stevie. We got you.”

The three of them fall asleep on the couch, not waking until the sun dips in through the windows the next morning.

———

is this a series? It might be. Just can’t enough of el + Steve sibling dynamic, and you guys seem to enjoy it too :) here’s more Eddie and El interaction, but about their love for this boy. Also much softer, less funny. But I really liked the idea of this. Okay I’ll be quiet now.

[uvobreakmylegs]

With Greatest Care

Paku my queen❤️

Warnings: manipulation, isolation, mentions of death, brief mention of gore

Word count: 6.4k

A splitting headache in your skull was the first thing you were aware of when you awoke that morning, originating from your forehead and pulsating through your head. When you realized what was happening you groaned and buried your face into your pillow, like that would help in the slightest. This scenario wasn't uncommon, unfortunately.

Although it hadn't been happening quite as often recently, not even a year ago you were waking up to these sorts of migraines almost every other day. It usually meant that you needed to stay in bed for most of the morning as moving around too much would make you feel sick to your stomach and only make your miserable state even worse. As you had been through this many times by now, you knew that having a few painkillers and taking it slow in the morning, you’d be feeling better by afternoon at the latest.

But knowing that this would last for a few hours didn't make you feel any better in that moment. Especially since you and your girlfriend had plans today.

“Paku,” you moaned weakly, “I'm not feeling too....”

You trailed off as you pulled up from the pillow and found the spot next to you on the bed to be empty. Pakunoda was already up. You should have expected that. She got up early in general and would usually let you sleep in to a certain point.

You weren't excited to tell her about this. It brought back memories of when this had started, when you were only a few months into the relationship. So many days where you had woken up feeling like hell and poor Paku ended up being more like a caretaker than a girlfriend, and it made you feel bad that she would work so hard to take care of you and you weren't able to do anything in return.

As much as you felt you should get up so you could tell Paku about your condition, you stopped yourself. The last time this had happened and you went to tell her, you ended up getting up too fast and threw up on the sheets. Pakunoda needed to clean it up and you had never felt more like a burden than you did in that moment.

And as you checked the time, it was getting close to when Paku would come in and get you up if you hadn't done so yourself by then. Better to just wait for her to check on you instead of possibly making another mess that she'd be forced to take care of.

Just as expected, a few minutes went by and you heard the turn of the knob, the bedroom door swinging open and Paku saying your name as she checked if you were awake.

One glance over to her was all she needed to know what was going on.

“Oh no,” she said, “is it happening again?”

You weakly nodded.

“I'm sorry,” you said.

“Why are you apologizing?” Pakunoda asked.

She left the doorway, crossing over to the bed so she could sit next to you. Her hand went to your head and she began to stroke your hair.

“You can't help that you aren't well,” she added, “you'll get through this just like all the other times.”

“I hope so.”

Her hand was still on your head, still petting you. It didn't help with the headache in the slightest, but it helped to make you feel a little bit better.

“I feel like you end up taking care of me a lot,” you said.

“Well, that's part of the deal, isn't it? You don't feel well, so I take care of you. You'd do the same if I was in your position, right?”

“Yeah, but I've never seen you get sick or anything. I think you're the healthiest person I've ever met.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing,” said Paku.

“Because I feel bad that you're the one always taking care of me and I never do anything in return.”

Paku laughed a little at that.

“Now you're just being silly,” she said.

The hand stroking your hair stopped so she could rest it on your shoulder as she continued with “I'll get you a glass of water and some pain pills, and after that how about we see if you can stomach some breakfast.”

You nodded.

After giving you the pills that you washed down quickly, Pakunoda left the bedroom so she could whip up some breakfast for you.

You were able to eat half of it, and after that Paku insisted that you stay in bed and rest up.

Same as usual.

Not long after she left the bedroom, you noted that you could hear her voice. Was she talking to someone on the phone? That seemed most likely as you didn't hear any other voice aside from hers.

…. Was she complaining about you to someone?

You immediately wanted to slap yourself for thinking that. Paku wasn't like that. You knew that she cared about you and she wouldn't have stayed with you through everything if that wasn't the case.

Other people had talked about you behind your back. But Pakunoda wasn't like them.

Waiting for the painkillers to kick in, you tried to do as Paku had said and get some rest, but it would probably take a while before the aching in your head subsided enough to allow you to sleep. Until then, you were left to stare at the ceiling while you heard the sounds of movement coming from the other parts of the house.

Hearing Paku taking care of things around the house while you lay in bed brought back those feelings of uselessness. No, you couldn't help that you were sick, but no matter how much that point was brought up, you still felt badly for it.

And what made it worse was that you were planning on doing something with Paku today.

A cute looking restaurant had opened in the area recently, and after looking over their menu and the positive reviews, you wanted to take Paku there with you for a date, which she had happily agreed to. She had also made a request that the two of you stop by a makeup shop that she liked so she could get new lipstick, and since the makeup shop was close by to the new restaurant, it seemed like a good plan. The two of you were going to go out, get lunch, go look at makeup, possibly do a little more shopping and maybe get dessert after.

You'd been looking forward to that.

But now you were sick, so it was canceled.

And it once again reminded you of the things that had happened when you first started getting sick like this; a lot of canceled dates and days spent at home. Sometimes the two of you would watch movies or tv shows together if your headache was a bit more mild, usually resting your head on Paku's lap while you watched the screen. Little things like that made those days better, but you hated how sickly it made you feel.

Paku was so good to you, and all you'd been during that time was useless and sickly.

Please please please don't let that start again

Pakunoda got a sense of how you were feeling when she reentered the room to check on you, as she found you looking up at the ceiling with a depressed look on your face. She frowned when she saw you like that.

You looked over to her when she joined you on the bed, laying down next to you.

“Don't be so sad,” she told you, “we can go on our date another day.”

“It's not that – well, not just that.”

Pakunoda stayed quiet as you continued.

“I'm just scared it'll start up again,” you said, “I don't want to be in pain in the morning for no reason and spend hours at the hospital only to have the doctors tell me that it's 'probably' just stress.”

“That won't happen,” she reassured you, “this is just a one-off thing.”

“You're sure?” you asked.

“Positive.”

She reached over to pet your hair, her fingers going through the strands as she caressed you.

“.... Are you okay?” you asked.

Paku brushed some of the hair out of your face, her fingertips on your forehead as she replied with “what makes you ask?”

“You seem a bit sad,” you answered.

The edges of her lips turned upward in a small smile as she said “I don't think anyone can be all that happy when someone they care about isn't feeling well.”

“I need to hurry and get better, then,” you said, “I don't like it when you're sad.”

She chuckled a little before saying “just don't push yourself.”

Pakunoda moved in closer so she could wrap an arm around you, kissing your forehead before she told you to rest up. When exactly you fell back into sleep, you weren't sure, but you remembered that she was still laying next to you when you did.

A light shaking of your shoulder and a voice that softly called your name brought you out of sleep, and you found Pakunoda standing over you and dressed like she was going to go out.

“Something unexpected came up and I need to take care of some things. Will you be okay if I leave?” she asked.

You nodded.

“I'll be fine. Go do what you need to.”

“Alright. But before I leave, I want you to promise me something.”

“Yeah?”

“Promise me that you won't do anything stupid while I'm gone.”

“... What exactly counts as stupid in this situation?” you asked.

“Getting up and walking around when you're still feeling nauseous,” said Paku, “if you don't feel well, then I want you to take it easy. And definitely don't go outside.”

“I don't think I'm that sick, Paku,” you said.

“Do I need to remind you what happened last time?”

“.... No.”

“Then just promise that you won't push yourself and that you'll stay in.”

“Okay. I promise.”

Pakunoda smiled once you said that, and leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“I'll be back.”

You said your goodbyes as Paku left the bedroom, and a short while later you heard as she left through the front door, the lock clicking shut after her.

Your migraine didn't feel quite as intense as it had when you first woke up, but you were still very far from feeling like you were okay. Doing as Paku had said, you put your focus on getting rest in the hopes that the migraine would go away while you slept.

Do as Paku told you and take it easy so you can get better.

And pray to whatever god might be listening that the trend of having almost daily migraines doesn't start up again. You hoped that Paku was right in it being a one-off thing.

Despite how easy it was to lose yourself in your worries, you did get back to sleep for a bit, periodically waking up for brief moments while the pain in your head slowly lessened.

All you really remembered in those moments was that Paku didn't seem to be back yet, still out doing whatever errand of hers had popped up while you were still alone. After realizing that, you would drift off again, not taking note of anything else.

Except one thing.

In the midst of your dozing, you were vaguely aware of the doorbell ringing, and after a moment of silence, someone knocking at the door. Whoever was at the door definitely tried more than once to get someone to come open it, but you couldn't say how long it lasted before they gave up. With the haze that your mind was in during that instance, you were able to do little else besides acknowledge the fact that someone had rung the doorbell before you ended up drifting back into a longer and deeper sleep.

It was late afternoon when you woke up, judging by the color of the sky that you could see through the window.

You felt a lot better. The pain in your head was gone, and though you felt a bit dizzy when you sat up, other than that you were fine.

Figuring that it was probably safe for you to do, you got out of bed and headed to the kitchen just to stretch your legs as well as grab a glass of water. Pakunoda likely would've wanted you to stay in bed a bit longer if she was here. You remembered the promise you'd made, that you wouldn't push yourself. And you weren't. While you were moving at a slower pace, you still felt okay, so there was no way to say that this was you pushing yourself.

After setting the glass down, you walked about the house a bit, eager to move about after spending such a long time laying down. As you walked, you wondered when Paku would be back. Did she say what time it would be? …. No, she just said she'd be back. It felt safe to assume that she'd be back before evening, so most likely at some point soon. Unless something else came up, in which case you needed to check your phone in case you had any messages.

You were about to head back to the bedroom when you glanced at the front door as you passed by, and you remembered that moment when you'd been in bed and you thought you heard the doorbell. Had that actually happened, or did you just imagine it? Tough to say, but now you were distracted from your goal of getting your phone from the bedroom as you went for the door, curious to see if there was any sign of someone having been there earlier.

If someone really had been there, you couldn't tell, as when you opened the door just enough to poke your head out, the front steps that lead to the walkway looked just as they normally did.

Seeing that wasn't surprising in the slightest, and you weren't sure what exactly you'd been expecting.

You were going to shut the door and head back to the bedroom when you caught sight of one of your neighbors across the way heading out to his mailbox. When he pulled out a stack of letters, you looked to the one in front of your house. Paku hadn't gone out too early, but it seemed unlikely that the mail had been delivered before she left. The mail carrier had recently been delivering a lot later in the day than you were used to.

You found yourself going back into the bedroom, grabbing a hoodie and a long pair of pants so you didn't look as much of a mess when you went outside. It wasn't like you ever got anything too important in the mail aside from bills, the rest of it usually being junkmail. But you were feeling a lot better, and although it was minor, grabbing the mail was something you could do so Pakunoda had at least one less thing to worry about.

The fresh air was nice, you noted when you first stepped out, and although you walked a bit slower than you normally did, you managed to make it down to the mailbox without issue. As expected, all you found was junkmail, and as you closed the box back up, you looked at your surroundings briefly. The only person you could see was a man on the other side of the street who was getting out of a parked car; not a guy you knew, so presumably a guest of one of your neighbors. And as for them, none of your neighbors seemed to be out at the moment. Probably a good thing; you didn't know that you were in the mood for a conversation at the moment.

With your goal accomplished and nothing to keep you outside, you made your way back to the front door.

“Have you had time to think about what I told you?”

A man's voice called out from behind you, and instinct had you turning around. The man from the car was now approaching you. He was older, maybe in his fifties, if you were to guess. The unkempt beard was what stood out most about him, but as you looked closer at the suit he was wearing seemed a bit ratty. The color of the suit wasn't too appealing either.

Although considering the messy state of your hair and the fact that you were the one wearing a hoodie and a loose pair of pants over your sleeping clothes, you probably didn't have much of a leg to stand on when it came to judging other people's appearances.

He stopped when he reached you, and gave you a pointed look as he asked “well?”

… What?

“.... I'm sorry?” you asked, your confusion evident.

“What we talked about yesterday; have you thought on it?” he asked.

“Talked yesterday?” you repeated, even more confused as you continued with “sir, I've never spoken to you before.”

Now he was the one who looked confused.

“You're kidding me, right? We spoke for half an hour yesterday,” he said.

What?

“No.... No we didn't,” you said, shaking your head.

“We did,” he insisted. His eyebrows were furrowed, like he was starting to get frustrated.

Did you have the strength to be able to run back into the house if this guy got mad enough at you? And were you jumping way too far ahead and assuming the absolute worst about this guy? Maybe, but seeing as you'd never seen him before and didn't know anything about him, it might be better to err on the side of caution. You didn't want to end up injured or worse because you stupidly thought that some stranger wasn't a threat to you.

“I really don't think we did,” you replied, taking a small step back.

“I told you, we spoke for half an hour,” he said, taking a step forward as he continued “we talked about your girlfriend and the lies she's fed you. We also talked about how your family wants to see you again. They're going sick with worry over you and all they want is for you to come back home.”

You went quiet after he said that, things falling into place in your mind once he mentioned your family.

“.... Did they hire you to come here?” you asked.

“That's not important.”

“That's a 'yes',” you said, sighing after.

So this was what they were resorting to now, huh?

After a moment, you answered firmly “my family doesn't care about me. They haven't cared for a long time, and I doubt that's changed.”

“Goddammit, you said the same thing yesterday,” he said, “they're paying me to find you because they want you to come back! I told you, they're worried about you.”

“No, they're not. Those people aren't capable of compassion; all they do is use others. So if they want me back, all it means is that they want something from me,” you said, “and whatever it is that they want me for, I don't want any part of it. So go back and tell them to stop wasting their time. I don't need them and I don't want to see any of them again.”

He was looking at you in disbelief now.

“You said the same thing yesterday,” he said.

“I didn't speak to you yesterday,” you reiterated.

“You did,” he insisted.

Then he added “your family was right; the amount of control she has over you is terrifying.”

The implication that Paku was controlling you made you upset as you replied with a defensive “Pakunoda isn't controlling me. She hasn't done anything except give me a happier life.”

He scoffed then.

“That bitch really has you wrapped around her finger, huh.”

Anger swelled in your chest upon hearing him talk about Paku in that way.

You'd had enough.

“Leave,” you said.

“Let me show you something.”

“Whatever it is I don't want to see it. Go away.”

“So you're not even going to think about what I've said?”

“What's there to think about? You've harassed me, admitted to being paid by my asshole family to hunt me down, and now you've insulted my girlfriend. Say what you want about me, but don't talk about Paku like that,” you said.

“Just look at-”

“No! Get the fuck away from here and don't come back. I don't want to see you ever again,” you spat.

You turned and headed back to the house, ignoring everything else he said while he called for you to hear him out, locking the door after yourself before you leaned back against it, trying to steady your breathing and calm down.

Emotions were building in you with a strong desire to punch something in an effort to vent out some of your feelings.

Of all the things they were resorting to now, this? Hiring someone to find you? So what, you could go back to the unhappy life you'd had with them?

No doubt that guy had his head filled with stories about Paku that your family had told him, making her out to be some terrible person who was manipulating you. That was what they'd tried to make you believe, and had been a major factor in you cutting them off. That, and a pile of resentment over the years that had been building up slowly before the dam finally broke.

You weren't going back to them.

Placing the mail on a small table next to the door, you found that you felt incredibly tired again as the adrenaline from the encounter began to wear down. Although you had been feeling better, getting worked up like that hadn't done you any favors.

Once more making your way to the bedroom, you collapsed on the bed, managing to pull the sheets over yourself before you closed your eyes again.

She wasn't happy with you.

You could tell when you woke up next and found Pakunoda in the bedroom with you, frowning when she saw that you were awake. Once you saw that look on her face, you immediately felt guilt wash over you.

“You told me you would stay in bed,” she said, holding the junkmail you had collected earlier, proof that you had been up and about. It was clear that she was disappointed with you.

“I'm sorry,” you began, “I wasn't feeling as bad so I wanted to help out a little.”

“I understand that, but you also promised me that you wouldn't go out.”

….. Ah. That had been something she'd told you. And you had promised that you wouldn't do that.

You really managed to forget that?

“I'm sorry, Paku,” you said. You stayed quiet after, worried that if you said anything else it'd come off like you were trying to make excuses.

After a moment, she let out a soft sigh.

“I don't have it in me to stay upset with you,” she said, placing the mail on the end table as she continued with “at least nothing happened.”

The second she said that, you remembered the incident with the man from earlier. Seeing Paku being disappointed in you had caused you to not think of it immediately, but now that you had, you felt yourself tensing up.

You needed to tell her.

Pakunoda clearly noticed your reaction as she asked “what's wrong?”

“..... My family hired a guy to hunt me down and take me back to them,” you said.

She blinked at that.

It probably wasn't the best move to just blurt it out like that, and you explained “he came here and spoke to me when I was outside. I think he was trying to make me leave with him.”

“He was saying awful things about you,” you added.

Pakunoda looked even more unhappy than she had been when you first woke up, frowning as she sat down next to you and took your hand in hers.

“Start from the beginning. What happened?” she asked. Her voice was calm, and the feeling of her hand holding yours made you feel a little bit better.

“I went out to get the mail,” you began, “and when I was going back inside he came up to me. And – it was weird. He was acting like we'd talked before. He even said that we'd spoken to each other yesterday. But that didn't happen, and I told him that it didn't happen, but he kept saying that we did. Then he mentioned my family.”

“He admitted that your family had hired him?” Paku asked.

“Yeah. At first he said that it wasn't important, but he did eventually admit it,” you answered, “but he kept going on about how we had spoken yesterday, but I stopped talking to him when he insulted you. I told him not to come back but if he's being paid to harass us, I kinda doubt he'll listen to me.”

A terrifying thought came to mind, and you squeezed her hand as you asked “do you think he's a Hunter? If he is, he can get away with taking people by force, right? What if he takes me when you go out again? If that happens, what can-”

Pakunoda shushed you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as she held you close.

“If he was a Hunter, I don't think he would've bothered speaking with you first,” she began, “based off what you've said, it sounds like he's some sort of private investigator and he was trying to make you go back willingly. The amount of trouble he'd get into for kidnapping someone wouldn't be worth it, so don't worry about that.”

You nodded. As usual, she was much better at keeping a clear head on her shoulders.

“As for your family, while this is new for them, I can't say it's entirely unexpected,” she continued, “all we can do about them is hope they give up on you eventually.”

“.... Do you think he's told them where we live?” you asked.

“Possibly,” Paku said, “but the good thing about being in a completely different country is that it won't be so easy for them to show up unexpectedly. Not without spending a lot of jenny on air travel.”

“Yeah. But still, maybe we should think about moving in case they do decide to come here,” you said, “I don't want to see them screaming at you again.”

“I know. And I don't want them anywhere near you.”

She pulled away slightly, putting both of her hands on your upper arms and squeezing lightly to calm you further.

Paku continued with “we don't need to go with the nuclear option right away. We can keep an eye out for anyone who looks like they're watching us and deal with them if we run into them. And if your family does show up, they can't make you go back with them. You're allowed to make your own decisions. They can't make you do anything.”

Then she kissed you before she hugged you, saying “everything will be okay.”

Despite how uncertain you felt in that moment, you nodded as you hugged her back. The idea of possibly being confronted by them again was scary, but at least you knew Paku would be with you if that were to happen.

“I really am sorry, Paku,” you said after a moment, “I hate being a burden on you.”

“You aren't.”

Pakunoda pulled away, cupping your cheek with her hand as she smiled at you.

“Everything will be fine,” she said, “and we'll always be together, right?”

You smiled back as you said “right.”

Paku glanced over to the largely darkened skies that were visible through the bedroom windows.

“We should start on dinner. You haven't had anything to eat since this morning, right?” she asked.

The instant she mentioned that, you felt the emptiness in your stomach and you nodded.

“Should I still stay in here?” you asked.

“I don't see much point in that if you're feeling well enough to walk around,” she answered, “might as well have you keep me company while I make us something.”

With that, she led you off the bed and out of the room, holding your hand as the two of you made your way to the kitchen.

And when she sat you down at the table and she saw the way you smiled up at her, Pakunoda felt secure.

There was no need to use Memory Bomb on you today.

As she began to put dinner together, she released the memories she'd collected of what you'd told her, letting go of the conversation you'd had with the investigator instead of putting them into one of her bullets to shoot into your head.

She'd needed to do it yesterday to get rid of everything that the investigator had told you, causing you to awake with a headache that morning.

Just like you, she also hoped that pattern wouldn't start up again.

It had begun early on in your relationship, when Pakunoda had quickly seen how suspicious your family was of her and how they were trying to subtly push you towards breaking up with her out of fear for your safety that she had decided to take action. Pakunoda had decided that she didn't want to lose you, so when she was able to convince you to move in with her, she began the process of altering and removing your memories of your family.

She made a point to take her time with it, carefully sifting through every memory of yours before she would return it to you by way of a bullet, which caused you to forget the memories that had been returned intact and replaced by the ones she'd fabricated. To make you more reliant on her and more willing to cut off your family, she'd gotten rid of almost all of your happy memories with them and altering the negative ones so they were even more egregious in your mind; things that to you, were unforgivable, and that the only reason you were still in contact was because of familial obligation.

The whole process took a period of several months as she worked her way through your memories. And while the amount of time spent hadn't been ideal, it was far safer than to try and change all of the memories in your head at once. Doing that could have disastrous consequences if she messed up.

She knew from experience: Pakunoda had done an experiment once to see how much of a person's memory she could take, and how much she could destroy by sending those memories back into that person. Back when she'd just gotten to the point of perfecting her hatsu, she'd captured a man and tied him up while she interrogated him on every aspect of his life, getting every single detail she could.

Those memories were placed into a bullet with the use of Memory Bomb. Much to her surprise, the multiple years worth of memories were able to fit into a single bullet. When she fired that bullet into his skull, the shock of the impact was so great that the chair he was sitting in was forced backwards, causing him to fall.

There wasn't much left of him when she pulled him back up into a sitting position.

He barely remembered how to speak.

And when she released him into a nearby forest, he stumbled about, confused and not understanding his situation at all.

Before she'd taken his memories, he was someone with an expertise in the wildlife of the area, his memories telling her that he'd gone there to study a herd of carnivorous pigs. But he shambled his way past a pile of animal bones that had been cleaned of all meat, and his cries accompanied by the sounds of tearing flesh and breaking bones that she heard not long after were a clear indicator of what his fate ultimately was.

Pakunoda didn't want you to become like him as a result of her ability; she wanted you for you, not a husk that looked like you.

So a few times each week she would remove something, change a little bit, and then return it to you when she shot you. You would forget what she had left intact and only remember what she had changed. A side effect of this was the awful headaches you had when you came to in the morning that left you barely able to sit up. That had been a bit unexpected as none of the troupe had ever mentioned such a thing when she'd used her ability on them, but she welcomed it as it was something she could use to her advantage. Taking care of you without complaint, Pakunoda got you to fall in love with her even further.

Which in turn caused you to push your family further away.

At the end of it you were more than happy to move away with her and you cut ties with your family completely, something that would've been hard to convince you of near the beginning, but by that point you trusted her without question, and all you wanted was to live with her someplace where the two of you could be happy.

That had come under jeopardy yesterday.

She didn't anticipate that your family would give up on you, but after the efforts she'd made to cover her tracks, it was a bit annoying to have a private investigator manage to track you down.

And even worse, he'd managed to get you to question yourself as he'd shown you something that had confused you: a picture of you with your family at a graduation, something that had seemed far too detailed to have been fabricated, and it showed all of you smiling on what was clearly a happy day.

In your memory they hadn't bothered to show up.

Pakunoda had known immediately that something was wrong when she saw you after that meeting, and when she brushed a hand against your cheek as she asked you what was wrong, your mouth gave one answer while your memories gave her another. You lied to her, and she saw that not only were you questioning things, but you were considering talking again to the investigator.

Without hesitation she'd pulled out her gun and fired it at you, wiping your memories of that afternoon and catching you before you fell.

Today her plan had been to get rid of that man while you stayed at home to recover, having gotten the investigator's name after she called Shalnark to check what accounts your family was transferring money to. It was easy to find out where in the area he was staying at after checking his credit card history.

Take care of him while you slept so there was no chance of you running into him again; that was what Pakunoda had been hoping for. But instead of the investigator giving you a few days to think over what you'd seen like he told you he was going to do, he ended up going back to the house she shared with you. Something she had learned when she caught him on his way back to his motel room.

His tenacity had been frustrating, and after looking through the conversation you'd had from his perspective, she anticipated that she would once again need to remove your memories of that afternoon.

This time, however, you weren't as receptive to him. Clearly because of his insistence that the two of you had spoken prior. And when she looked through your mind as she asked her questions, she saw that there weren't any doubts in you: you trusted her and her alone.

No need to use her hatsu on you.

It was actually a relief to not do so. Even though you would quickly forget, she always remembered the sight of your shocked face every time she had placed the barrel of her revolver against your forehead: confusion, fear and sadness taking over you as all you knew in that moment was that your girlfriend was holding a gun to your head.

Tonight could be a peaceful one, and tomorrow there would be no need for you to awake with any awful migraine.

No need to fear the investigator coming back, either, as his body would likely be on the way to a garbage dump by now, and Shalnark had said he would take over his identity for a bit so it appeared that he was still alive so your family would be pointed in a different direction as to where you were currently living.

Even if the man's body resurfaced, most of the identifying features had been destroyed, so it was unlikely that anyone who found him would be able to give him his name back. Just another John Doe in a sea of unidentified bodies.

Pakunoda glanced from the cutting board to find that you were watching her.

You smiled when you made eye contact, and you asked “did everything go okay with the stuff you needed to take care of?”

“Yes. Everything's fine now,” she answered.

“Was it something that would've been bad?”

“If it had been left the way it was.”

You hummed, saying “I'm guessing it's work related since you're being pretty vague.”

Paku smiled at you, which seemed to confirm your suspicions.

“I won't ask anymore, then,” you said, “I'm glad it all worked out.”

“So am I.”

As she focused again on what she was doing, Pakunoda's mind went back to the investigator.

At the moment she was letting you keep those memories of him as it was a good way to reaffirm that you shouldn't have contact with your family, as everything he'd said to you this time had upset you greatly.

But if his body did resurface and your suspicions were somehow raised again, she'd remove them. While it took a physical toll on you, it was worth it to keep things peaceful.

She'd keep an eye out for now, and if something changed, she would know.

After all, there wasn't a single thought that went through your head that Pakunoda wasn't aware of.

[bullet-prooflove]

Sunglasses - Neron 'Creeper' Vargas x Reader

A companion piece to A Perfect Moment

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life @est1887 @mysoulisasunflower @drabbles-mc @alexxavicry @im-just-a-mississippi-girl

You still have his sunglasses; Neron realises that the next day when he’s preparing for a run up to Stockton. It’s a fourteen hour round trip and it’s a fucking bright outside, so bright it fucking stings his eyes when he steps outside of his house. The light sensitivity is one of the things that comes with recovery, the long-term cocaine usage has damaged his eyes, not enough for it to cause any real problems, just enough to give him a fucking migraine if he doesn’t shield them.

He thinks it may be too early to drop by the tattoo parlour but he swings by anyway just in case. The door sign says closed but he can tell you’re in, he can hear the music through the door when he raps his knuckles on the glass underneath the gold cursive writing.

The song is something by Lindsey Stirling, he wouldn’t expect anything less. You have that vibe. He’s thinking about the cover she did of Radioactive. The hair, the eye makeup, the energy. Your implement of choice a pencil instead of a violin.

You open the door with a smile that makes his heart rate increase, he swears it gets wider when you see it’s him. He can’t help but break into a grin because your sunniness is infectious. He doesn’t think you realise that you have this ability to put people at ease, it must serve you well with your clients.

The bell above the door jingles as he closes it behind him. It’s the first time he’s been in your shop and he finds himself drawn to the artwork on the walls, beautiful sweeping images with stunning flourishes, highlighted with colour. He thinks this is how you see the world, in shades of vibrancy. It’s a contrast with the sleek darkwood furniture. He runs his hand over the top of a sideboard, admiring the staining of the wood. It’s old, an antique he suspects, possibly an heirloom. He can almost feel the history thrumming through the piece.

You’re in the middle of setting up for your first client but you pause to watch him. There’s something about Neron, his mannerisms, his interest in the world around him, it makes him a joy to be around. He seems grounded, connected to the space around him, living each and every single moment. You admire a person like that, someone who knows exactly who he is and exists purely in the present.

“I’ve got some time if you want to get in the chair.” You tease him, jerking your head towards the seat.

He looks at it almost regretfully. There’s an intimacy when you tattoo someone’s skin, a connection that’s forged, it’s fleeting, a matter of hours but it’s there. The act itself, of committing a piece of someone’s soul onto their flesh is spiritual in a way. People tell you their darkest secrets in the chair, their woes, their happiness. It’s a confessional for those who don’t feel welcome in church.

“I wish, I could.”

He means it you can tell. He’s already a stunning collection of artwork, you know every tattoo has a story, it shows an aspect of your history and personality. You want to ask him about his, you want to trace over each and every piece and learn everything there is to know about Neron Vargas.

“Next time maybe.” You tell him before picking up his sunglasses from the counter you’d set them on. You’d worn them in this morning, a reminder of the man you had met yesterday, the one that made you lose track of the time, that made you laugh, that seemed to get exactly where you were coming from when you explained how you worked. “I’m guessing you came by for these.”

He looks at the sunglasses in your outstretched hand. He doesn’t want to take them; he wants them to be a gift but the truth is he needs them. They’re tailored for his particular type of problem, a similar one to what he thinks you’ve had too.

“My eyes.” He explains gesturing to his face. “I get light sensitive sometimes. It’s an aftereffect…”

He trails off before he can say the words. He’s upfront and honest about his addiction issues but he knows how people perceive it, he’s not a safe bet in the long term, at least that’s how his girlfriends have seen it in the past.

“…of substance abuse.” You finish for him, and he nods, averting his gaze to the ornate panelling of the reception desk. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment in your eyes, the pity, he knows he’s fucked this up with you.

“Seven years.” You say into the air between you. “I’ve been sober seven years.”

He tilts his head towards you, meeting your gaze. He doesn’t know what he expects to see because you’ve surprised him. You seem like you have your shit together, he assumed you always had.

“Alcohol.” You tell him. “I used to get so fucked up…”

You don’t finish the sentence and he gets it. It’s a bad place to go back to and he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to tell him anything. You don’t owe him anything for his disclosure.

“Cocaine.” He says, his hand rubbing over the back of his neck. “I’d have a drink, and then a line… Now I don’t do either.”

“Shit, well I guess the both of us are the boring ones at a party.” You say and he laughs because fuck if that isn’t true. He prefers to sit and play cards these days.

“I’d love to stick around.” He tells you earnestly, his sunglasses clasped in his hand. “Shoot the shit some more…”

“But you have stuff to do. I get it.”

And you do, you have a client turning up in thirty minutes and you still need to print off the design onto transfer paper. As much as you would love to prolong this conversation, you need to get moving too. You pluck one of your cards from the top of the reception desk and scribble something on the back before handing it to him.

“My private number.” You tell him. “In case you wanna shoot the shit again.”

He looks down at it and smiles, his thumb tracing over the numbers like they’re braille.

“I’m away in Stockton for a couple of days.” He tells you, tucking the card into the pocket of his kutte. “But I’d really like to see you again when I get back.”

“Send me a text or call me.” You say. “We’ll work something out.”

“Ok.” He says, his cheeks colouring just a little as he toys with his sunglasses.

It’s fucking adorable.

You watch through the window as he leaves, his thighs straddle that bike before he pulls out his phone and then your card, thumb sweeping over the touch screen.

Your cell chimes from behind you, you pick it up as you hear the roar of an engine outside before it fades off into the distance.

My number :) N x

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[fuck-customers]

kitchen swingman anon once again here to bitch about J2. J1 thankfully seems to be leaving soon and doesn’t otherwise play into this story so i will simply refer to him as J here.

in the sort of venue hub where i work there’s a couple places outside of the restaurant i work for that have concessions stands, but don’t have their own onsite kitchen. pretty much since i started working here i’ve been handling one of them by preparing hot foods on their time rather than my site’s, which just amounts to two pots of soup and some assorted hand pies and delivery from kitchen to concessions. not difficult to do. i have a system and a set of specific tools i’m supposed to use to keep it consistent. i’ve gotten it down to a science.

i’ve been trying to get my tools re-separated from the general kitchen tools because the line has been using the nice bain-marie pans for the concessions to cook in/hold sauce for dinner service, and what used to be nice and shiny and polished and clean-looking has gotten kind of charred because they put it right on the burner and crank up the flame and let it boil dry or don’t stir it enough. it’s not unfixable but it is annoying. i finally got a couple of them separated out and put aside with the rest of my concessions supplies, and explained to the chef that i’d be doing so, which he approved. so the soup supplies are already put aside and ready to grab for use in the section of the kitchen where i always do this specific prep.

chef sends me on a long break today (nearly two hours) because i’ve done all the other prep i need and i don’t need to do much of anything else until i’m on the other clock for concessions, says he’ll make sure the soups are ready and to just come back to bake off the pies. so i’m like, cool, can do, and go get a nice lunch.

i get back to the kitchen and J has apparently been tending the soups. so i thank him, and i start to arrange the bain-marie pans that i already have set aside, which are clean, and ready to use, and simply need to have the finished soup poured into them. i specify this because this man turns to me and says “bruh, i’ve got some getting washed”

and i start to say my piece and he cuts me off to protest that i “don’t need to do all that” and start arguing with me like i don’t know how to do my fucking job so i just snap at him that “I’m supposed to use these for the concessions, that’s why i set them over here this morning, so i don’t have to hunt for them or wait for them to be washed.” and instead of apologizing because he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about he acts like he wants to drop the topic because i’m the one being unreasonable for wanting to do things correctly, i guess.

on top of that he didn’t even cook the soups right. it’s a frozen concentrate that gets diluted in water. when i went to transfer from the cook pots to the bain-marie pans there was still a solid chunk of soup concentrate in both, meaning that it hadn’t been allowed to cook hot enough for long enough or hadn’t been stirred to allow the heat and liquid to work away at the ice a little more effectively. it was barely even to temp and had already been lowered to a simmer by the time i got back. fantastic!

i didn’t have the time or patience to say anything about it, because i needed to get everything transferred before concessions opened and we started dinner service, so i just ladled out what liquid i was able to and packed up the leftover because they made too fucking much of both. it takes two blocks to fill one bain-marie pot and if J was the one to prep it he almost certainly did that on top of whatever might have been saved to reuse from yesterday.

this is all on top of him blasting his music so loudly over bluetooth speaker that nobody can communicate even through shouting and i’m left with a migraine by the end of the night. i’m so fucking tired of this guy.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[jaybird-fanfics]

Villain Roommate |Chapter Fifteen|

To say the next few days were awkward was an understatement. You and Dabi didn't really talk to one another, much less look at each other. But it made sense to feel that kind of way, they had both done something they weren't proud of. It happened in front of each other too. They both witnessed something from one another that they didn't expect, it was a bit of a shock. What made it worse, is that you couldn't return to work until the building's damages was repaired. And after that explosion being blamed on the League, not to mention the corpses of two guards and a hero were found, Shigaraki insisted they lay low for a while.  

So, they were stuck with each other. Dabi had left a few times, but would always be back during the nights. Which was no problem to you, you could at least get some time alone at night when you would be asleep. It was your only relief from the awkward tension between the two. But this wouldn't last forever, one of them broke eventually, and they actually talked.

And surprisingly, it wad Dabi who made the first attempt. 

"You getting paid being here instead of at work?" It was...a weird question. But you answered him anyway. "Uh, yes actually. But it's not a lot. Why did you want to know?" Dabi pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. "Because I found this on your door this morning. You're probably not gonna like it." He hands the paper to you. You unfold it and reads, by the time you finished, your shocked and disgusted expression let Dabi know he was right. 

"They're raising my rent!?" You exclaimed. "I barely make enough to live here, and they're raising my rent!?" 

"What are you gonna do?" Dabi asks. You sigh raising a hand to your head, you could practically feel a migraine setting in. "I don't know. I can't afford this, I'll have to get another job. Or worse...I might actually have to accept my father's money." you thought back on what your father told you. About how you would make more money if you worked for a hero agency. And before you even had the chance to move into your home, your father offered to send money for you to live on. 

You refused, saying that you could take care of herself. And you could for a while, until today that is. Now what was you going to do? You didn't want to have your father pay your way into that fancy hero agency to do a job you would never be happy with. You couldn't be a hero. Your quirk was useful and plenty helpful, but becoming a hero or even a side kick, was just something you never wanted. 

Even as a kid, the hero lifestyle was one you never wanted to get involved with. You admired heroes sure, but unlike all the other kids, you never wanted to be one. If anything, you wanted to be a doctor. But, life didn't play out the way you thought it would. Turns out medical school isn't cheap, and like before, you wouldn't accept any favors. 

"You need cash? I can get you cash." Dabi tells you. You eye him suspiciously. "No stolen cash." You said sternly. "Does it really matter? You're in a bind right now, if I were you, I'd take what I could get." Said Dabi. You shook your head. "I will not pay my rent with stolen money." 

 Dabi shrugs. "Then I'm out of ideas." 

"Maybe I should just move. I like this place but, I can't stay here if this is how rent will be every month." You said with a sigh. "Why don't you just accept your dad's money?" Asked Dabi. "Seems like he wants to help you out." 

"I don't need anything from him. I can handle this myself." You crossed your arms. But in the back of your mind, you had your doubts. "Can you?" Dabi smirked. "You're at a loss for what to do right now." You glared at him. "If you're not going to help then just shut your mouth." 

"Hey I did try to help, my offer still stands." 

"No. Stolen. Money."

 Dabi rolled his eyes. "Whatever, hope you like sleeping in the streets." You grimace at the thought. You really did have no choice but to move. So, that's exactly what you did. That night, you scrolled and scrolled through different websites looking for a new home. It took hours but finally you found something. A small home with fairly cheap rent, just an hour away from your current home. You signed up for an application and a tour of the home before heading to bed.

She figured this would be a good thing. At least now the league wouldn't know where she lived...well, most of them didn't. 

You straightened your dress out as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You wanted to make sure you looked presentable for the tour, wanting to make a good impression on the landlord. It wasn't anything fancy, just a simple sundress. You walked out of your room and into the living room. Dabi was there on the couch, not paying much attention to you. He was tapping away at his phone when you walked in. 

"Not that I care much about your opinion, but how do I look?" You asked. Dabi turned his head to face you, his eyes widened slightly before returning to their normal state. "Same as always." He said before turning his attention back his phone. "I knew I shouldn't have asked." You muttered before walking to the front door. 

Dabi had actually calmed down about you leaving the house without him. Even if you did try to get help, he'd just drag you down with him. Though, you left without him once before, and to his surprise, you didn't do anything of the sort. Which, confused him tremendously. But he tried not to think about it too hard. It would only stress him out. "I'll be back in a few hours, don't cause trouble while I'm gone." You said before walking out. 

Dabi sighed heavily once he heard you leave, he thought about the dress you were wearing. "She should not have looked that good. The fuck is wrong with me? It's just a dress." Dabi had never really seen you in a dress before, it was mostly your work clothes or loungewear. His mind began to wonder the more he thought about it. How nice you looked in the dress. How it fit you perfectly. 

How it might look on the floor of your bedroom.

Dabi quickly sat up straight and put a hand to his head. "Fuck off." He said to no one but his own mind. This was something he had been doing often lately. Thinking about you in a less than appropriate way. He had come to the realization that he had a slight attraction towards you. And that pissed him off more than anything. 

You was whiny, uptight, and nagged his head off. And yet, you did have some good qualities about yourself. Like, you had a useful quirk, you were a decent cook, you were nice to look at, you...cared about him. You may not have liked it, but you did. And that made him even more pissed. He didn't need your pity. Nor did he want it. 

Attraction. That's all it was. He was staying in the same home as an attractive woman. That's what he kept reminding himself. 

Just simple attraction.

You made it to the house you were touring, and outside was a young woman around your own age. You approached and greeted her. "Hi, I'm Y/n. Are you the landlord?" The young woman nods with a kind smile. "Yep, sure am. The name's Fuyumi, nice to meet you. I assume you're here for the tour?" You nod your head. "I am. I'm in a bit of a sticky situation back where I live. My landlords decided to raise the rent out of nowhere, and I can't really afford it." You awkwardly laughed. Fuyumi chuckled. "That's understandable. Come on, I'll show you around." You followed Fuyumi inside. 

The house was even nicer on the inside. There were plenty of good qualities about the house, and even had a second bedroom. You figured you might turn that into a home office. But then you thought about Dabi. He had been complaining that the couch he slept gave him neck pain recently. You mentally sighed, guess that would be for him then.

Wait a minute.

Since when did you care about his comfort? All he's done was make you uncomfortable, so why should you care if-

"And that concludes our tour. Any questions?" Fuyumi asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. "Just one." You began. "If I had a...um, roommate, could they stay here too?"

"Of course! Good thing there's two bedrooms huh?" Fuyumi laughs. "So, what do you think of the place?" You turned your head around to look at the house one last time. With a smile, you answered. 

"I love it." 

Previous | Next

[freedpheonix]

If You Can't Beat 'em, Join 'em

The first time I spent the night at his dad's, it was when his dad was out of town camping. I had a migraine and he said he had something that would get rid of it. He told me it was like a Vicoden and instead of me swallowing it, he crushed it up because he said it would work faster. I sniffed it. It tool the pain away within a few minutes, I was so relieved and I felt a little good. I didn't realize it was 20mg of Oxycontin.

I had experimented in high school with a couple things but I never cared for them. I was the person at parties that pretended to be drunk because I didn't like drinking. My best friends were mostly "goody-goodies" so it wasn't a lifestyle I was around, hence my naiveté. I became curious the more I was around him. After giving me that small piece for my migraine, I started to wonder what it would be like to inject it. I barely mentioned my curiosity before he was eagerly loading up a spoon and rig with more Oxy. My gut said no but my curiosity said fuck it. I couldn't do it myself so he did it for me. The rush was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. Now I understood. I laid down in bed and felt like I was drifting on a cloud, slightly euphoric and weightless. I rode out the high for a little while and then I had a migraine. I threw up more than I've ever thrown up. My guts were a mess and even Imitrex wasn't touching the pain in my head. My body did NOT like that one bit. The bad outweighed the good and I vowed to not ever do that again.

Over time, I started to become more privy to his sneaky ways, I knew when he took too long in the bathroom he wasn't shitting. I knew when he said he was "going for a walk" that he was meeting his dealer down the street. I did my best to avoid conflict and not confront him but I hated that lifestyle and thought he could be better. We started fighting more and more about his drug use. He was on almost 150mg of Methadone at this point and he was still using. He started getting more into Benzodiazepines (Valium, Xanax, klonipin) because they made his high last longer but he got scarier with those. He'd forget he just took some and take more. He would go into a psychosis. One night I was telling him he already had too much and he threw me into the wall and spit in my face. I hit my head pretty hard. I curled up into a ball and cried myself to sleep. The next morning he was acting like nothing happened and couldn't understand why I was flinching when he got close. When I mentioned what he did, he had no recollection and did the same old apology, he was sorry, he'd never do it again, promised that was the last time he'd use those. He seemed so remorseful that I believed he wouldn't do that again.

But he did. The more we argued about his drug use, the worse it became. A shove here, a little punch in the arm there. Always followed by the same apologies and promises.

The longer we were together, the more lazy he got with hiding his infidelity. One day he was talking to other girls while he was sitting next to me. I asked who it was and he immediately got angry, defensive, and told me I was jealous and controlling and he's allowed to have friends. There I go again with the guilt, I didn't want to seem controlling or jealous. But later that day when he nodded out with his phone open, I decided to snoop. You know what they say, when you go looking in the shadows....

He had at LEAST 100 messages to random girls. A lot of them didn't even respond to his advances but some did and they'd sent nudes back and forth and apparently had met up a few times... Some of those times were when I was waiting at Nana's for him to show up and he was out with someone else. I felt disgusting. All I wanted to do was go home, I didn't want to be near him. It was like the floor came out from under my feet. I knew he had issues but add sex addict to the list... I confronted him, smashed his phone, and that was the first time he threw something at me. He raged and broke stuff, pushed me around, and smashed his own head into the wall and made a hole. It was crazy chaos. I just wanted to go home. He drove me home, the long car ride was mostly silent, except when he started nodding out at the wheel and I had to wake him up. He dropped me off and when he left I felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest. A lot of things changed that day.

I ended up moving in with my daughters grandparents again (I lived with them in high school) and enrolled in school for my CNA and CMA. He did his usual apology and started to put in more effort, so much effort that it was believable that he wouldn't cheat again. We got closer and things seemed great for a while. Then one day I was at the doctor's for birth control and SURPRISE. The pregnancy test was positive. I was NOT ready for that. We were in a better place but we didn't live together nor on our own. I made the choice to keep the baby and we moved in to his dad's together.

The more I got to know his dad, the more I realized he only was controlling because he wanted his son to act right. If his dad cared about you, he did everything he could for you. Things were really looking up, despite everything good I still had a constant, nagging anxious feeling. I just shoved it down and kept going..... Little did I know it was going to get much worse.

[cryptidsurveys]

Wednesday, August 14th, 2024.

Currently…

What all are you wearing? Black sweatpants, a dark blue t-shirt, and a dark gray hoodie.

Are your fingernails or toenails painted? What color/s? They aren't.

What is your hair like? It's short, brown, and kind of messy because I woke up not that long ago and haven't showered yet.

Are you eating anything? I'm not, but I just finished eating a bowl of oatmeal.

Drinking anything? Coffee with butter pecan creamer.

Are you doing anything besides this survey? Not really. Just trying to get Esther, one of my kitties, to curl up on my lap instead of walking all over my desk. :')

Does anything hurt or feel uncomfortable on you? My head hurts a bit. I'm hoping it won't evolve into a full-blown migraine until after I go see that movie with my mom. Mornings are usually "tolerable;" afternoons are when things tend to get awful.

What has been making you sad/angry/upset recently? People being jerks for no good reason! Diane was being needlessly grumpy toward Kristen on Monday, and it was really getting her down. Kristen was like, "Why do people have to be so mean?!" And like, seriously. Kristen is kind and hardworking, and there was absolutely no justification for Diane to treat her like that. Shortly after that incident, Diane and Pam were having a conversation outside of the door to ISO, and as Diane went to walk away, she looked into cattery and just shook her head. Kristen, River (new hire), and I were just like…what the actual eff. What did we do? Personally, I thought we did a great job that day, especially considering Kristen and River are new and I'm just a volunteer. We handled that afternoon very well and only made a couple of tiny, relatively inconsequential mistakes. If that was our "trial run," then the future of our little cattery group looks great. But nothing is ever good enough for Diane, lmao. River and I tried to console Kristen as best as we could, but I don't know if it helped much. It's one thing when she grumps at me - I've arrived at a place where I can brush it off and place the blame where it belongs - but Kristen isn't there yet and I don't want her to lose confidence in her capabilities just because someone is taking their own issues out on her.

Also, yesterday…hoo boy, that was a long, frustrating day. I was alone with Cassie, and she was just in such a bad mood the whole time. She was complaining and getting upset over every. single. tiny. thing, and it was getting to the point where I was seriously considering leaving because Y'ALL. I am just a volunteer. There's only so much shit I'm going to tolerate before it's like…yeah, I'm out. But I stayed. And I'm not sure if it was the "right" decision or not. On one hand, I want to learn how to endure situations beyond my comfort zone because obviously life isn't always going to be sunshine and rainbows; however, on the other hand, I felt like I was disrespecting myself by remaining in that situation without really being able to say or do anything about it. I guess that's something to explore in my next therapy appointment because I do feel like I've reached a point where I'm good at enduring shit, but not so good at knowing when to say enough is enough.

What has been making you happy/excited recently? Even though I clearly have my complaints about the animal shelter, it's still a predominantly positive experience and one I am excited to continue pursuing. Over the past five days, I was there for four full days and one half day (for a total of approximately 44 hrs), and my body handled it like a champ. As I have mentioned before, it's really just down to migraine frequency now. Otherwise, I totally think I could handle working there. The chaos and the kitties enrich me. ;D

Overall, I'm mostly just enjoying and appreciating how full my life has been lately. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed, like I can't possibly juggle everything, but I'm doing it. Sometimes things don't go to plan and I don't get as much accomplished as I wanted to, but I just try to give myself some grace. With continued practice, I will learn how to balance it all out.

What time is it? 7:02am.

Where are you? At home, in my bedroom.

What device are you using? A Dell desktop.

What do you think your parents are doing? My dad is downstairs in the family room/office, probably doing something on his computer. My mom is at her place, probably still sleeping.

What do you think your siblings are doing? I have no idea.

What do you think your significant other/crush is doing? N/a.

Are you wearing any makeup? What kinds? I'm not.

Are you feeling okay overall? Yeah. I really am. Like, mentally, I'm great. Physically, I'm a bit tired/headache-y, but that's…well, that's nothing new, lmao.

Is anyone in the room with you? Two of my three kitties.

What is your current favorite song/s or album/s? I don't have one atm.

What TV show/s are you in the middle of? None.

What book/s are you in the middle of? The third book in the Dune series. Every time I have to answer this question it just further exposes how little reading I've done lately. Which is to say, I haven't done any at all. ;D

Who is your celebrity crush? None.

What food have you been enjoying recently? Doughnuts. I brought some into the shelter last Friday because Cassie's last day was approaching (it's actually today), and Grandma Doughnut brought some in as well. She's the grandmother of Amy, who recently left. That meant we had a loooot of doughnuts, so I've had one a day for the past five days.

Are you tired? Yeah.

Are you in love? No.

Is your room messy? Not really. The bed is unmade, but that's about it.

What's the weather like outside? Sunny and calm. There was a rip-roaring storm while I was at the shelter yesterday, though. It rolled in around 3:30pm. I was in cattery with Cassie and the lights started doing this weird disco/rave alternate flickering type of thing. At first, we thought it was just cattery, but when we went out to the big room, it was happening there too. At that point it was still just sun showers, but it took like maybe 60 more seconds for the storm to really set in. A group of us just stood around the meeting table and watched for a bit. A volunteer was there pulling rotisserie chicken for the animals, so we were grabbing pieces of that, and I was just munching mine, staring blankly out the window like…this is how we die, huh? ;D It cleared up by closing time, so driving home was no problem; but when I turned the corner into my own neighborhood, there were branches down everywhere and it was obvious that what we experienced at the shelter was a pleasant drizzle compared to the destruction at home.

And lastly, what day of the week is it? Wednesday.

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

The great sleep experiment of 2024, 3.5 days -ish past "fuck it"

Well... 10 until 2 right?

Best sleep I ever got. Neighbours weren't blasting anything. Nothing was exploding, cat was quiet, didn't have any night terrors, paralysis or 'seizure like' symptoms.

I feel rested.

My night sleep shift is fucked though.

And I assure you I am approaching them both the exact same way.

The difference is my brain cooperates with getting sleepy at a consistent -ish time if I am sleeping during the day, but not at night.

I have slightly more caffeine in the mornings, so I tried having a bit more caffeine at night... no deal.

I have stuff I am supposed to be doing during the day, so in case this tied in to demand avoidance, I assigned myself a list of quiet tasks to do at nights... No dice.

I'm not taking melatonin during the day but I did try taking it at night. No bueno.

But I want to invite everyone here to imagine what it is like having a body/brain that does this while trying to maintain gainful employment, go to school, or even do light shift work.

Step one. Your first week of sleep after a massive non-sleeping crisis is great. Work is going fine.

Then you start to get insomnia at night or wake up constantly due to various kinds of sleep distress. You start getting really convincing nightmares and the feeling of being paralyzed or lifted with what should be distressing imagery often when you are about to wake up or when you are trying to sleep. But you still have to get up in the morning and go to work. Your lack of emotional reaction to the sleep imagery doesn't really change that it's nightmarish.

All day you get sleepiness spells that are nearly impossible to force yourself awake through, but you do and you get horrible splitting migraines from it. Employers don't like workers who are asleep on their feet -literally- or are in too much blinding pain to function. They tell you to "get some sleep" tonight.

You get home and you are exhausted, angry, but too exhausted to care, so you lay down and... Your brain won't sleep. Won't do it. You spend another week sleeping 2 hours a night at most and trying your hardest to fake being awake and not in pain during the day. You are already up to 8 extra strength advil daily, and the air quality in their building is giving you low-key asthma attacks, but never mind that.

They say shit to you like "HoPe YoU gOt GoOd SlEeP lAsT nIgHt :DDD XD"

And to your credit, you do not immediately choke them to death with your hands. This is hard for a human this sleep deprived.

You become progressively more sleep deprived and pretending not to be possibly actually insane from sleep deprivation through the week until the weekend when you can spend all your spare time sleeping all day. You curse your continued lack of ability to sleep at night unless it is sandwiched by sleeping all day on at least the front side. You do not have time to do chores or hobbies.

This carries on for long enough that you go to a doctor about it, because no sleeping pill you could buy in a store did anything and melatonin does almost nothing and makes your dreams really vivid. Abusing allergy meds or alcohol to any reasonable degree to sleep also doesn't work.

Anything to do with sleep or mood stabilizing your doctor can prescribe, your body seems to metabolize so quickly it mimics the symptoms of having crushed and snorted it, and you stop being able to sleep more than 2 hours a day no matter when you sleep. You have to stop taking the meds when you start to fear actual breaks with reality from a lack of sleep.

The more you bring this up to your doctor and the more the meds don't work, the more they treat you like you are irrational, drug seeking, etc, start telling you it must be stress related, or depression, and the more they start focusing on how you might be insane in some way, instead of addressing your escalating physical health problems [which existed before and after this, and are besides the point right now, but are numerous and distressing].

Between this, chronic bladder infections, and having to pee too much you are constantly being threatened with being fired by your manager and by HR. Your manager is trying to pressure you into working extra hours so the 'team' can have pizza day at the end of the week. You refuse overtime and no one likes you. You go home and your boyfriend still doesn't have his own job, still won't even do the dishes, hasn't cooked anything or done laundry, etc... is playing videogames where you left him. He's very convincingly depressed so you don't want to nag him about it, but even polite reminders to pitch in make him look despondent. He also won't go to a doctor. Your savings are slowly vanishing to feed both of you. You have 7+ other undiagnosed disabilities and work at a call center all day. If you bring this up in front of your friends they call you a nag and say he looks 'hen pecked'. You need better friends. You cannot argue reasonably to a doctor you aren't stressed, depressed, or anxious, but like... None of their meds or suggestions DO anything.

This keeps up for 2.5 years until they give you your 1 year pin, because for 2 years they just didn't bother fighting about the back-order and you didn't seem to care.

You get onto 4X10 shifts so that you have 3 days a week to sleep. You make it work. You have no savings left from before your 'husband/boyfriend' moved in, but your rent is paid and you have food. Your house is a mess and if anyone sees it or you bring it up, they ask you if your 'legs are broken' and refuse to hear that you work 10 hours a day and your boyfriend does nothing. You need better friends, but you are too sleep deprived to think or care.

Your 'boyfriend' finally gets into a school program to make up work and get his highschool diploma. It seems good for him. He makes friends. His friends either avoid you or are really rude to your face and later apologize that they were just jealous of your relationship???? He graduates and starts looking for work... He's looking for work... He's...

You start having very vivid half waking dreams about demons trying to possess and attack you and your 'boyfriend'. You do a few things that are half-way between a spell and some kind of meditation to get the dreams to stop. It works so you keep doing it. [I often forget this happened at all but forgive me I was very sleep deprived at the time] Everyone is side-eyeing you for being a "crazy nag" or whatever, despite that you never even raise your tone, but you can sleep a little bit here and there so you don't care much. You haven't had the energy to care about anything in years.

He gets a job for a hot minute before he's fired for being "too competent to work here"... And you learn you can get him to pitch in just a little with dishes if you remind him regularly that a clean kitchen means you can make apple pies.

You get a migraine that lasts literally over a month solid. The call center is still harassing you about how fired you are going to be. They never accepted any of the doctors notes you got about needing to pee so your bladder didn't tear or to keep you from having chronic bladder infections that were starting to impact your kidneys. You are still ignoring your 7+ other disabilities that are each on their own a reason you shouldn't be working, because you are too sleep deprived to realize there's a real problem here and everyone else in your life is happy to just act like all of this is your fault and on you to fix. You are angry and know they are wrong, but what the fuck are you going to do about it, you need to be at work in 10 minutes and you are the one paying rent.

After the first week of the solid migraine, and multiple threats that they will sue you if you don't either quit or come in for work, you quit. You quit because you know if you don't you will go to prison for murder. You know it -in your bones- that the next manager to get in your face is getting blitz attacked by the most mild mannered and quiet person they ever met in their lives, especially if it's that one who's a horrid cunt to you ever since finding out you were born in November because she hates 'Scorpios'. You are, by the way, no longer that mild-mannered person. This migraine that will keep you on the floor in tears for another 3 weeks is -in fact- them dying. You don't know that yet.

The hospital treats you like you are drug seeking and won't scan anything or do any tests. At least you don't have to work.

You are finally able to sleep. You sleep whenever you can and it is so so so fucking good. Sleep. sweet fuckign my love sleep. yes.

You have bills to pay and an unemployed 'boyfriend' but the reason he lives with you is so he doesn't have to live with his abusive uncle and grandmother. He won't stand up and be independent, so you don't have the heart to kick him out. He is by all accounts a sweet guy. You aren't sure he remembers your name, but as anyone around you will remind you, he's really depressed :( and looks really put-upon >:( . He gets annoyed with you for being loud in public or any time you seem a bit manic, and won't say shit when his family members or your friends start saying how all this is your responsibility to fix. He doesn't have conversations with you where he doesn't shut down and just keep saying "yeah babe"... You try to tell him he might be gay or asexual or just not like you personally because he doesn't seem romantically or sexually interested in you at all, but he's insistent on being in this relationship anyway. At least he isn't ever pressuring you for attention or sex, so you let it lay.

You have bills to pay and no savings. You had thousands in savings from your first food service job, but they are gone now.

You go to welfare and you explain all the problems and how they won't let you have the EI you paid into because technically they forced you into quitting. You look really pathetic and earnest and are only 22 -ish, so the nice lady there lets you on while you 'wait to be approved for disability' which will take over 10 years, but at least doesn't make you job search in that time due to your sun allergy. Now your rent and bills are *mostly* covered and you get about 200/mo for food. :)

Your 'husbands' father gets clean, he was always the nice parent, his mom is on appropriate pain management now too, he won't have to live with his abusive shitty uncle and raving asshole grandmother. You kick him out because living with you only makes him miserable about the world and himself 24/7 and he won't leave or talk to you about it. All he does is nod and quietly go. All your mutual friends now see you as the bad guy except the ones who are -very actively- trying to convince you to fuck them.

Without him there you are no longer getting enough from welfare to afford rent and have to move in with the first of a long chain of abusive ex's kicking off your adult life of cycles of abuse and having to move again and lose all your friends on repeat.

Being unemployed and able to sleep, you start to figure out that missing sleep was only ONE of MANY reasons you are exhausted all day long and you will spend the next 10+ years peeling back the curtain of each one to find that the brick wall behind it all is CFS. I mean it's 50 other things but also under it all is still the CFS.

Now the only pressure to sleep at night is being able to make doctors appointments, do groceries and have a 'social life' [?]. It continues to be equally impossible and equally untreatable. You lose friends sometimes just over the fact that you can't predict when you are going to be awake or fall asleep. The only people who maintain social relationships with you are the guys trying to convince you to fuck them.

You get relatively good at manipulating your sleep problems to let you sleep between 4 and 16 hours around being as productive as anyone could ever expect you to be, while you are left to take care of any household you move into. Because everyone else refuses to clean or handle repairs or calls to the landlord more timely than you can as a VERY disabled person. You are hyper-competent as they come though so you handle it and that's why people keep you around.

Then Corona sweeps over the world.

Now there are certain times of day where virus levels are going to be at their lowest and thus most safe-adjacent. Your life might depend on only going to businesses right at opening before the viral load in the air reaches in infectious threshold. You are in your 30's now, btw.

You have been sleeping so 'good' if irregularly for so many years you keep forgetting the HELL that opens up and swallows you when you try to force yourself onto a regular schedule.

You are 36. You have forgotten what -school- was like, or how by the end of it you were sleeping less than 2 hours a night and punching plaster walls in the basement where you could only hurt your own fist because a doctor -you snuck out of school to go see- tried to put you on the WRONG medication [you had to sneak out because your step mother wouldn't let you see a doctor, and once you had prescriptions you new nickname was 'pill popper' to her]. You have never even genuinely threatened violence to another person in your entire life.... BTW.

You have forgotten about the night terrors, and the worst of the 'seizure-like' symptoms that you are sure is actually seizures but your doctor won't concede to because it doesn't respond to the pills they get paid to prescribe for that, and the 'narcolepsy-like' symptoms that your doctor won't diagnose you about for the same reasons... "if it was that it would respond to this treatment at least a little :)"... You have forgotten about the 'spiders' that swim in the corner of your vision when you are awake too long, and mostly about how when you are kept awake too long you start hearing people calling your name like your parents used to from the floor above your head... You mostly forget all of that.

And you see and read study after study about how good and important and NECESSARY regular sleep is to your very survival... And you think "maybe it wasn't that bad or that hard to be on a regular schedule"...

And then you make some stupid decision, stupid the likes of "I haven't been depressed/had dandruff in YEARS why am I still on this stupid medication for it ha ha :)"...

And you try to force yourself onto a regular sleep schedule, at night and everything. Like an idiot.

You act surprised when the insomnia, night terrors, waking and falling asleep hallucinations all come back, and when the narcolepsy and seizure "like" symptoms start escalating again.

"But regular sleep is so good for you and 'necessary for your sanity and survival' no one is a sPeCiAl ExCePtIoN sWeAtY XD you must not be trying hard enough"

... And then you fumble the love of your life in what could have been a sex dream, when you could have made love to him, and had it feel real, when he 'rescued' you from a night terror/sleep paralysis thing... because you were too tired and scared to think straight.

T~T [come back I am so sorry]

And then your neighbours who make complaints to the landlord about the sounds of you cleaning your apartment, and run the hot water whenever you try to shower, start blasting dance music from 7 till midnight on random nights and setting off small explosives beside the one window you have that you can open for fresh air that happens to be next to your bed, up until fucking 12 midnight.

The fuck

And you have -for the record- still not murdered anyone about it.

You haven't even done a violence or a threat.

Last you checked you are 'the bad guy' and also 'failing on purpose' but you haven't actually physically hurt or threatened anyone yet...

But yeah, I like slept great from 10-2 today and Pumpkin was so good and polite the whole time.

I started blending up the gravy food he likes because he just kept licking off all the gravy and leaving the meat chunks and wouldn't touch the pate, and then screaming at me all hours because he was hungry but didn't want his kibble... So spoiled.

But like, ask me how I feel, tonight when I can't sleep, about the sentiment "It should be legal to feed people who set off illegal fireworks next to your bed at night when you are sleep deprived to your cat to keep him quiet." [This is a joke, my willingness to maim people is reserved for anyone trying to put their dick in me against my will]

Maybe if I complain about it enough the universe will want to make me look like a lair and hand me regular sleep like I was capable of it all along.

Idk, but for science reasons I will keep trying, keep documenting the problems, and keep complaining, in hopes that maybe medical professionals might see this, take it seriously and understand yet another way in which afab patients are commonly horridly neglected, under diagnosed, and under served. I genuinely have been told by doctors that the sleeping pills don't work on me because I am not "trying hard enough"... sir?

I literally have tried every meditation and way of drugging myself to sleep that I can legally get a hold of and literally have to fight demons to stay on a sleep schedule... Like have you MET the desperation of a sleep deprived person just trying to get a night of sleep!?!?!?!?!?!? but okay.

This has to be a diagnosable condition that they just haven't fully grasped yet, mostly due to not believing their patients. I cannot be the only one. I am not -in fact- under the impression I am a special snowflake.

But if you have ever wondered why i seem to be on here at completely random times that are constantly shifting... This is why.

I say "ooh I am going to stay up" and then I vanish, this is why.

I say "T~T it is my beddy-by timey" and then I am on here for 12 hours straight, this is why.

The problem is that you cannot physically force yourself unconscious without repeated head injury, and there's only so much you can force yourself awake when your body really wants to be asleep, so there's really only so much I can do.

Sleep is something most people just -do- automatically at regular intervals without having to interrogate it, so it's really alienating to them to try to imagine their brain simply not working that way. To them it is akin to breathing, so they have no empathy, no ability to imagine a life, for a person who doesn't have the neurological hard-wiring to breathe automatically. To most people it is just such an automatic function that they imagine you have to be doing something to fight it in order to have it not work right. They imagine you must bee staying up late to do hobbies semi intentionally, or be having caffeine irresponsibly, or or or...

"sOmEbOdY wOlD hAvE nOtIcEd By NoW iF tHiS wAs NaTuRaL tO yOu!!11" say my doctors... Because my mother's observations that she couldn't keep me awake to eat properly or get me to sleep at night mean nothing to them.

I'm fine. I slept fine today and I am in a good mood and I am well rested.

I just... even if you ignore the 7-10 other disabilities that I have managed to get diagnosed by now, this ALONE would have kept me from staying employed and makes societal expectations antithetical to my existence, and my doctors can't or won't even diagnose it or give it a name. My official diagnosis for disability had to focus on the migraines I get by forcing myself awake.

I am pretty sure this is actually a complicated sleep disorder overlapping with my chemical sensitivity and autoimmune shit and not simple "chronic migraine" but whatever

I just want the general public to understand that some people have to live with shit like this, and how maybe it stacks with other problems -like sexism- to make your life a living hell with literal demons and everything.

But I can't help but feel I am one of the lucky ones who doesn't have full on hallucinations when I am awake and out of bed, and doesn't hear voices until hour 20 of no sleep [which is pretty normal actually].

I can solve most of these problems entirely by just sleeping on a random schedule, and sleeping a bit extra, and I can't help but wonder if the reason I am not diagnosed is that other people with this condition, whatever it actually is, are on drugs to keep them awake/asleep, and then more drugs to combat the resulting hallucinations and pain, and then have their autonomy taken away to try to force them onto a regular sleeping schedule under the assumption that regular sleep will help them instead of being what is causing all their problems in the first place.

Is this yet another instance of "Well turns out you have another semi-common disorder but your symptoms are so unique for that condition that we can't treat it and you actually aren't suffering badly enough for us to think any treatment or intervention is necessary." like so many of my existing diagnosed conditions.

Zero professional curiosity about what underlying condition or mutation is causing all of this or all of it to be so "uniquely expressed" btw...

The bottom line is that if I don't have to work and can sleep when I need to all these symptoms either disappear or are mild enough I can ignore them.

I just wonder how many people are being denied that autonomy and self-management under the societal drive to force them into living like 'normal' people. If I was forced by doctors into drugging myself into both sleeping and being awake and that resulted in actively hallucinating, would they just diagnose me with a psychotic disorder, take away my autonomy and call it a day? Is doctors not taking me seriously when I describe my symptoms the only thing that saved me from that? How many other people would benefit from less pressure to conform to 'normal' and thus be able to live 80% more 'normal' lives?

How much research have we put into sleeping and waking disorders? or disorders that come with seizures or hallucinations or disruptions in sleeping and waking states? How much of it wasn't plagued with denying the patient their autonomy, the ability to seek outside help, their basic rights and their humanity?

I know they all have a higher comorbidity with autism. I know that, but how well do we understand the relationship between neurology, sleep cycles and abnormal sleep/wake events? I am convinced it is not very well.

Also like... When I try to tell people that even though I don't regularly experience hallucinations, or night terrors or sleep paralysis etc... I still have plenty good occasion to understand what they are talking about on some level, because it has happened to me before... or when I compare hallucinating to a waking dream-like state in my own experiences... THIS is why. Every time I talk to someone else who gets sleep paralysis or hallucinates mildly, or has narcolepsy... They take one look at the fact they haven't seen me experience a symptom in the time they have known me, and the fact that I am unmedicated, and don't seem distressed about it, and they decide I am making it up. Every time. Right before they decide I must be a horrible person who would make up being able to relate to what they are saying just for social approval or some shit they should know I don't care about. Like the reason why I experience these things but am not distressed by them is because I manage my symptoms well and at no point have ever thought any of it was 'real', not because these things don't happen to me sometimes. And yes, the only thing between me and experiencing these things to a point of absolute distress, is the fact that I don't work and can sleep when I need to. I'm not out here trying to tell them how to manage themselves I am out here just nodding and saying 'yeah I know that can suck, this is my experience of it, it sucks.'

That is also why I am letting half my sleep schedule shift to a daytime slot. The point of this is to test the water and see where it goes, yes, but not to have a sleep deprivation induced episode that ruins my life or gets me on the news. Everyone in the world slowly goes insane if they don't get enough sleep. We know that. I am not about to do that to myself in the name of only sleeping at "appropriate hours U.U" and that's kind of the whole point of contention I have always had with the world.

Everyone is under the impression that if I'd -just- force myself awake during the day, I'd be tired enough to sleep at "appropriate times XD" and won't believe me when I tell them just how much it doesn't work like that.

I am going to keep trying to sleep at night, and keep documenting how that goes for me, but like... I can tell you from my lived experiences that the chances of my body ever "getting used" to sleeping at night for 8 hours is uh... Pretty much zero. hasn't happened in 36 years under any circumstances, so...

I think some people are just genetically programmed to be the "night watch" I think this is healthy human variance, and I think we do everyone with that hard-wiring a systemic abuse by acting like it's an aberration that needs to be fixed.

[technecat]

Uh, buckle up, it's a long one.

I got an upper endoscopy today. That's the one where they stick a camera down your throat and look at your esophagus and stomach and you have to do a full fast (not even water) beforehand. I can't tell you much about the procedure part because I was so exhausted that at the first hint of sedation, I was OUT. What I can tell you is how badly I messed up preparing for this thing that went perfectly, smoothly, 100% fine.

I have Anxiety. I like to give it the capital A out of respect, but also because it's part of GAD, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, which is my official diagnosis. Those of you with GAD probably know why I'm specifying, but those without are probably confused at why I'm specifically mentioning GAD instead of just anxiety. Pack in because we're talking about brain feelings and emotions for a sec.

So, GAD is a funky thing because it basically amounts to: A Low Level of Anxiety All The Time: But No Reason, Just Because. It's just like having a layer of anxiety on everything all the time, no triggers required (but things are still triggering! Trust me!). I take medication for it and have been for the past 20 years. It helps a lot! I live a pretty low-anxiety life with meds and the tools I've gained from therapy over the years. If I may toot my own dang horn, I am pretty good at handing my anxiety.

What I'm not good at handling is unknown experiences. I like to have trial runs of things. I like to practice. I also like to know as much as possible about a thing before I try doing it, so that I can have some modicum of control over my emotions and actions when I do it. Now, this isn't to say that I am not extremely adaptable to new situations because- whew- I can adapt to anything as a new normal in about a day, no problem. I'm great at mentally placing myself in a new situation ahead of time and getting comfy.

Which is why the sheer amount of anxiety that I endured in the 24 hours before my procedure was strange. I had already read up on the procedure, talked over the phone with the nurses, and planned out my preparation phase. I was not worried about it going poorly and I was only slightly concerned about being uncomfortable. "Normal people" amounts of anxiety over a new thing. NBD. Really, I wasn't nervous about the medical procedure at all.

What I was nervous about was...the fact that I should be feeling nervous about the procedure. And here's where GAD really gets ya'. The only anxiety trigger was that I was feeling too calm about the whole thing. And again, anxiety folks probably get me here, but it's freaking wild to realize that you are anxious because you feel like you have to be, and not because you have a reason to be. Like my brain was kicking me for slacking on my fight or flight.

Yesterday, the day before the procedure, was a fairly normal Monday for me. Back to classes, back to reminding students that it's not time to relax yet because our final project starts next week, trying to get them to critique each other's work even though it was Senior Skip Day (no one warned me) so a quarter of my students were gone. I was busy with grading and planning out next week, so I didn't really have a chance to think about being nervous for more than a few minutes. I even talked to a coworker at lunch who'd had the same procedure and walked away unscathed and unable to remember any of it.

By the end of the school day though, I could feel it setting in. I was getting a pretty bad migraine (unusual for me on a Monday; my chronic migraines are on a Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday cycle right now) so I guessed it was probably stress and went home right away to lie down.

I did not get back out of bed until this morning. My migraine attack got so bad I was nauseated most of the evening, which really isn't what you want when you can only eat solid food until 8 PM that night, but my brain and my stomach were fighting each other tooth and nail for no reason so I managed a few bits of a tortilla with cream cheese in it, some pear-apple sauce, and 4 oz of oat milk with a little protein mix in it. I topped it all off with a liquid antacid right at 8 so my efforts would not go to waste, and then was only allowed water until midnight.

A little aside here to say that I don't eat a lot but I take small meals quite often. I generally do: liquid breakfast, second breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner, and sometimes another snack/light dessert if I can squeeze it in. I'm not able to eat solid food in general before 7am or after 8pm. All of this is a result of having a very fast metabolism and what I'd always been told was borderline hypoglycemia (low blood sugar). I always wake up extremely hungry and thirsty and sometimes even dizzy and cranky and can rarely wait more than an hour to have breakfast. If you're following along, you might guess what my next big problem was.

It's now 10 PM the night before and I have sipped a bit of water and taken my normal medication, but nothing else. I've been lying in bed reading WebToons for about 5 hours. Normally, I would already be asleep as I get up at 7 for work, but my appointment wasn't until 8:45 the next day so I decided- bear with me reader, I'm sorry, hindsight is 20/20- I decided to stay up as late as possible so I could force myself to sleep in until the last moment and not have to deal with feeling hungry.

I should count myself extremely lucky that I have had the great fortune in life to have forgotten that hunger makes it hard to sleep. I went to bed at midnight out of sheer exhaustion and woke up...at 7am when my alarm went off. I managed to fall back to sleep until the 7:30 "you're about to be late, leave now" alarm went off and my brain said OK, it's Tuesday let's go. I could not fall back to sleep and what sleep I had was not quality (you never get really good quality sleep from exhausting your brain into it).

So now I'm: hungry, dehydrated, about 3 hours underslept, and extremely, extremely tired and sore from the migraine I had the night before. (Another small aside: the last phase of a migraine attack is the postdrome a.k.a the hangover phase. It feels exactly like a bad hangover and mine usually last around 12-48 hours.)

I am so pissed off and exhausted I have tears in my eyes. I have royally screwed this whole thing up for myself already and it was only partially my fault (partially just bad migraine luck) which made me even angrier. It took me 10 minutes to get dressed because my postdrome brain fog + drowsiness + hunger meant I couldn't focus on anything, let alone finding clothes to put on my body. I kept snapping in and out of being nervous and being too tired to be nervous.

The 20 minutes in the waiting room is absolute torture on my migraine-fried brain. They have a morning news station on the TV that is blasting political attack ads and local news. It switches to a morning talk show with a lady who screams every word she says. Someone nearby is letting their kid play an iPad game with the volume all the way up. I have literally curled up on a chair shielding my eyes from the florescent lighting. My partner is there with me, but he can't do anything to help my brain stop being a stupid baby. I can't sleep because I can hear every damn noise and conversation in the room and see the lights through my eyelids. I was, as they say, extremely overstimulated.

When they call my name I hear it but my body refuses to move. My husband shakes me but it's still impossible for about 10 seconds. I mentally note that my blood sugar must be extremely low-- while simultaneously my partner mentions to the nurse that my blood sugar is low. I have trouble standing and have to lean on him until they get me a wheelchair. They take my blood sugar and it's fine. "It's actually very good! It's 93", chirps the nurse. I don't know what that number means because, like it mentioned, I was only ever diagnosed with borderline hypoglycemia and just always assumed my blood sugar was the problem.

The rest of the stay was uneventful. Like I said at the beginning, everything went smoothly, I don't remember anything from the actual procedure beyond being hooked up to an IV and told to lie on my side. I very briefly spoke with the doctor who apologized that I had a headache from my migraine and when I told him I was used to it he frowned and said, "I don't like that you have gotten used to it". Me neither, bud. But what I remember saying aloud was "it's fine, I'm fine".

I woke up back in the room I started in with my husband sitting in the same place and the nurses popping in and telling me to rest as long as I needed, but also I was good to go whenever "and eat soft foods for a while". I don't remember getting home, only that I had a smoothie and took a 4 hour nap immediately. I am hungry but otherwise unfazed.

Except...the blood sugar thing is still bugging me. And it was bugging me the whole time I was lying in the bed trying to let the IV do its job and chill me out. If it's not my blood sugar dropping that causes me to be so sluggish in the morning, or cease functioning properly if I don't eat every 2 hours (4 maximum) then what the heck have I been dealing with for 20 years?

I've only been diagnosed with chronic migraine since 2019 and they only started being chronic in my 30s; before that, attacks just happened occasionally. I had them misdiagnosed them as food poisoning and sinusitis several times. (If you get sinus headaches a lot, look into seeing an ENT and Neurologist, you might be surprised. And yes, migraine attacks can cause nasal congestion!) So, migraine doesn't seem like the long-term answer even if it may have been the reason why I had issues today. So I guess once we figure out what's wrong with my stomach, I'll need to go to the doctor again and figure out what's wrong with...whatever is wrong with me.

Anyway, I don't have a fun way to wrap up this story, I just wanted to share it with y'all.

[danilovesivars]

Sometimes, Quiet is Violent

See, Mommy is still finding Twenty One Pilots lyrics. It was so accurate on Wednesday. Daddy went back to the office for the first time since we took you to the hospital. Wednesdays were always Mommy and Charlie days since Riley was at school and Daddy was at work. For a stretch we would go to the studio for a music class after we’d drop Riley off to school. It was right over your nap time though so you only ever half participated. You would be most interested when you had a chance to use an instrument. You weren’t really all that interested in the singing. When we weren’t in music class we were snuggling for your morning nap. So this Wednesday was sooooo hard. For starters the last Wednesday Daddy went to work was the day we took you to the hospital so the harsh reminders and vivid memories of the beginning of the end hurt so painfully for all of us. Then there was the quiet after Riley went into school. “Sometimes quiet is violent”  it hit before I even left the school parking lot. I walked Riley to the door instead of the kiss and ride. Then I got back in the car and looked into the mirror and saw your empty seat and broke down into tears. I finally got it together to drive home. When I got home though I just sat there in the car and cried. Then I got out but I couldn’t get into the house. I found myself bracing on the car. When I finally got in I fell to the floor screaming. Screaming for you. Like if I called you loud enough and painfully enough you would just reappear. Then I started screaming at God. Begging for an answer to the question why? I ate breakfast and watched TV. Miss Kelly said I could come to her house but I had such a bad migraine (the crying didn’t help it) so I couldn’t drive down there and I just went to bed. I hate everything so much these days. The quiet was awful. Thoughts began to swirl around in my brain. Tyler Joseph says:  “I hate this car that I'm driving, there's no hiding for me I'm forced to deal with what I feel There is no distraction to mask what is real”  These words screamed to me. Your sister and I got drums. Nothing too expensive. I learned that Long and McQuades sells used ones and I needed something to hit and to make noise and you loved doing that with your drums or pots and pans so we headed down there last Saturday to check things out. I’ve followed along with some online lessons and so I played along to Car Radio by Twenty One Pilots on Wednesday.  I can’t play the actual drum line that Josh plays because it’s way too complicated still for my new skill level but I kept a satisfying rhythm. I need to call around for lessons. I think I might see if I can do that on my Wednesdays.  We went to the studio for Riley’s musical theatre class that day too. It was hard so I hung out in the store with Miss Amanda away from the crowd. Did you know they are grieving you too? Why does that feel strangely comforting? I mean our family is grieving but so many of our friends are too. It makes it feel less lonely. They’ve been playing a little game hiding little treasures around for the kids to find to try to cheer everyone up. Tiny babies, rocking horses and duckies. Riley loved it and wanted to find more babies. Miss Amanda has been working on a special project idea to keep your memory alive. Something to remember your “untapped potential” as Daddy described it. We like it. But it hasn’t been shared yet so I won’t say anything more here about it. But it meant a lot.  Maybe the answer to why will come. I keep thinking back to Father Dave saying that 2 weeks before Easter you entered into your own passion like the Passion of Christ and leaving us on Easter Monday. It wasn’t fair that Christ had to suffer for us and it won’t be fair that you had to suffer for whatever purpose but there has to be a purpose right? Faith is a weird thing right now. There’s anger, there’s doubt there’s, begging and pleading and praying and thanking. I don’t know. I hate all of this.  ----------------------- Car Radio - Twenty One Pilots (your sister has always liked this song too but for the drums I think) I ponder of something great My lungs will fill and then deflate They fill with fire, exhale desire, I know it’s dire my time today.                *Why do I think of you in the hospital?* I have these thoughts so often  I ought to replace that slot with what I once bought ‘cause somebody stole my car radio and now I just sit in silence. Sometimes quiet is violent I find it hard to hide my pride is no longer inside It’s on my sleeve, my skin will scream reminding me of who I killed inside my dream I hate this car that I’m driving there’s no hiding for me I’m forced to deal with what I feel, There is not distraction to mask what is real  I could pull the steering wheel. I have these thoughts so often I ought to replace that slot with what I once bought ‘cause somebody stole my car radio and now I just sit in silence. I ponder of something terrifying, ‘cause this time there’s no sound to hide behind, I find over the course of our human existence  one thing consists of consistence, and it’s that we’re all battling fear, Oh dear, I don’t know if we know why we’re here oh my, too deep, please stop thinking I liked it better when my car had sound There are things we can do but from the things that work there are only two and from the two that we choose to do Peace will win and fear will loose There’s faith and then there’s sleep We need to pick one please because faith is to be awake  and to be awake is for us to think and for us to think is to be alive and I will try with every rhyme to come across like I am dying to let you know you need to try to think I have these thoughts so often I ought to replace that slot with what I once bought Cause somebody stole my car radio and now I just sit in silence. (super cool emotional sounding bridge/breakdown here) And now I just sit in silence And now I just sit in silence And now I just sit And now I just sit in silence And now I just sit in silence And now I just sit in silence And now I just sit........ I ponder of something great My lungs will fill and then deflate They fill with fire, exhale desire I know it's dire, my time today I have these thoughts so often, I ought To replace that slot with what I once bought 'Cause somebody stole my car radio And now I just sit in silence

[retrogradedreaming]

18 from the "ways to say I love you" meme for 06 and 22 (Firebreak) 😶

Ahhh sorry it's taking me so long to get through these, I haven't really been able to write since last week but I am trying!!! (And Kase, I know you're probably more patient in general because we live together but still) I have NO idea how good this is because I've barely written them before but I tried!!

18.  “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”

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Foster knows where the Director keeps the whiskey. She’s snuck into this office enough times and stolen enough things from the expensive mahogany desk that she knows her way around it—maybe even better than the Director herself.

But tonight isn’t about escaping. Tonight, 22 is back in his bed, coughing so much that no one is getting any sleep, no matter how hard he tries to muffle them into his flat pillow. Salazar already snapped at him twice, even though everyone knows that won’t make him stop. Maybe it’s that this illness is so unfamiliar to them all—sure, all of them have had middle of the night coughing fits, but it’s rare that they happen because of the flu rather than a collapsed lung. Foster is almost more scared for her friend now than she would be if his body were rejecting his lungs altogether. At least she knows what happens then.

Medical had sent him back to the huge room where all of the operatives sleep, claiming that after a week in quarantine, he’s no longer contagious. But he sounds contagious, and he looks like shit, and Foster isn’t convinced that the Medical staff really know how to handle ailments like this. At fifteen, she’s seen them fuck up too many times to trust them with something so simple.

Which is why she’s now in the Director’s office in the middle of the night, taking matters into her own hands. The Director’s office isn’t as big as the training rooms or the sleeping bay, but it’s still enormous for just one person. At the back, there’s a shelf with several packages of cookies, all but one open, and the crumbs littering the Director’s desk say that the operatives aren’t the only ones who eat them. A filing cabinet sits in the opposite corner behind the desk, and Foster knows that the bottom drawer holds things that have nothing to do with the Director’s paperwork.

But that isn’t where the whiskey lives.

Foster knows by now how to apply the right amount of pressure to the desk drawer to make it pop open without breaking it (she’s made that mistake before). Inside is a collection of snacks and knick knacks, but Foster digs for the panel beneath it all, lifting it to reveal the glass bottle half full of amber liquid laid on its side.

She pulls it out and sets it on the desk where she’s laid out the rest of the ingredients. She’s pretty sure she got them all, based on how she saw the Director make this last winter. And anything is better than letting 22 suffer.

She managed to steal a glass from the kitchen along with the lemon, honey, and cinnamon. She’ll get the water on the way back, from one of the water fountains. As she sets it and her ingredients on the Director’s desk, preparing to make her concoction, she realizes she’s run into a problem. While she knows what goes into the drink, she has no idea how much of anything to put in.

It doesn’t matter, she decides in the end. She’ll figure it out.

She uncaps the whiskey and pours it into the glass until it’s about half full. Then, she tears the lemon in half and squeezes it into the glass. The honey is a bit more difficult, owing to the fact that she forgot to steal a spoon, and she doesn’t have time to rummage through the Director’s desk to find another. So she tips the jar, partway full with partially crystallized honey, on its side, waiting for the sticky substance to creep close enough to the opening that she can scoop it out with her fingers. She licks them afterward, savoring the intense sweetness on her tongue as she stirs the mixture with a cinnamon stick.

Distant footsteps reach her ears from down the hall, which means her time is just about up. She knows the security route by now, and she’ll have about five minutes after the guard passes by the door to get herself from the Director’s office back to the sleeping quarters. The timing doesn’t worry her, but she still has to clean up, rubbing away all the lemon juice that missed the glass and mopping up a few drops of spilled whiskey with her sleeve.

She shoves the bottle back into the secret compartment and jams the panel down over it before cramming the remaining ingredients into her pockets, just in case she needs them again later. Before she leaves the office, she leans over the glass to smell it, making a face when the sour bitterness sits at the back of her sinuses.

But last year, the Director had said this helped, and Foster would give 22 her own lungs if they were any less shitty than his. If a gross drink would help him, then she would make sure he fucking drank it.

On her way back, she stops at one of the water fountains to fill the glass the rest of the way. It doesn’t help the smell, and Foster doesn’t dare sample the drink herself. She doesn’t want to have to lie to 22, to tell him it doesn’t taste that bad if she knows it does.

As she slips back into the big room with all their cots lined up, she hears him cough again, a horrible, barking sound that feels like it lasts forever as Foster makes her way across the tile. Soft snores drift from Ayres’s cot—he’s the only one who could possibly sleep through this—along with rustling from Salazar’s, no doubt to make a point rather than to get comfortable. And finally, Foster reaches 22, across from her own bed, huddled beneath the blanket like the room is any colder than it ever is. When she touches his skin, it feels hot, and he jumps as if he hadn’t heard her coming.

“Hey, it’s just me,” she whispers, crouching down beside the bed. “I brought you something.”

22 opens his eyes, and they’re glassy even in the dark. His breathing sounds ragged and shallow, and Foster once again curses the Medical staff for not fixing him. But at least she can keep an eye on him herself now.

He doesn’t say anything, so Foster raises the glass in front of his face. “Here,” she says, offering it to him. “Drink this. You’ll feel better.”

22 pushes himself up into a sitting position, muffling a few more coughs into his sleeve. Foster moves to sit on the mattress beside him and hands him the drink. She’s grateful he can’t smell right now because if he could, he wouldn’t take the first sip.

When he does, he looks like he might spit it right back into the glass. “This is gross,” he rasps with a grimace.

“Yeah, it’s like medicine,” Foster says. “I saw the Director drink it before when she was sick. Just try it.”

“I don’t want it,” 22 says, holding the glass out for Foster to take. She pushes it back toward him.

“No way,” she says. “You have to drink it if you wanna get better.”

22 gives her another skeptical look, but he’s too feverish and exhausted to argue. Instead, he tips the glass back, brow furrowing through another series of swallows until he has to stop to cough again. By the time it’s gone, he looks like he might be sick.

“What was that?” he asks, and Foster is pleased when his voice comes out a little stronger.

“A hot toddy,” she proclaims, taking the glass back to hide under her cot until she can return it to the kitchens. “Did it help?”

“It wasn’t even hot,” he grumbles, burrowing back beneath his blanket with a shiver that ripples through the mattress so that Foster feels it, too. But he doesn’t cough again, and in the time it takes Foster to walk to her own bed, retrieve her blanket, and drape it over him, he’s fallen asleep.

Before she retreats to her own blanketless mattress, Foster whispers, “Not you. Not me.”

[whiskeynwriting]

My Best Friend’s Dad - C1: Nice to Meet You

Dave York x Female Reader

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Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) domestic arguments, mentions of infidelity, mentions of separation and divorce, some reader descriptions, a very flirtatious Dave  

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A/N: ahdfdbigbksd I’m so excited about this series AHHH I hope you guys like it as much as I do!!

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It feels weird, not having her here. They’ve only ever lived in one house, one place storing every single childhood memory until one day, they were old enough to leave. Dave wasn’t ready for that, many parents aren’t. But thankfully, she still comes home, still actually lives here. She just wasn’t here as much as she usually was anymore, always out with friends or staying on campus for the week. It breaks his heart to be away from his little girl so much, but his pride outweighs anything else when it comes to his daughters. He’s proud of her for moving up in the world, proud of her for working as hard as she did to get to where she is now. The only feelings he’ll allow himself to show today are those; pride and happiness, only those.

“Dave?!”

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, running a hand over his face before shouting back, “What?!”

He then hears flurry of footsteps march down the stairs, loud as elephants but from only a single woman. She shoves the guest room door open, stomping inside and holding out a pair of socks.

“Are you fucking serious?! Again?!”

He stares at her, then the socks, and once again back to her. He shrugs.

“Sorry,” he returns blandly, turning back toward the mirror to finish buttoning up his shirt. “Must’ve forgot.”

“Forgot?!” she nearly shrieks.

“Can you be quiet?” he seethes, narrowing his eyes at her. “Alice is home, you know.

“I am so sick of picking up after you!” Carol hollers, ignoring his words completely as she throws the socks at his chest.

Dave stares at his wife incredulously. “Really? All of this because I forgot to pick up a pair of socks? Wanna tell me what this is really about?” he prods, knowing something as small as this could never get her this upset.

“You really don’t know? You haven’t done the yard in months, haven’t filled up the SUV’s gas tank in more than a week, and have left me to help Alice with her homework every night!”

“Carol, I was gone, remember? How am I supposed to do all of that when I’m out of the country?” he counters, shooting her a stern look.

“Right,” she rolls her eyes. “Your business trip.”

At this point, Dave doesn’t even fight back. Anything will set her off if he keeps arguing with her, he knows that. For weeks now, Carol had been interrogating him on where he’d been and why. And not the normal ‘where are you off to?’ ‘what will you be doing for work?’. She’s been accusing him of using their money, accusing him of seeing other women; the list goes on and on.

This all started when Carol saw the plane tickets Dave purchased for a business trip about nine months ago. She saw on their bank records that he had purchased two tickets, instead of one. When she confronted him about it, he told her he was flying out with a work associate, a woman named Liz. She accused him of cheating, even going so far as to say he had a double life. Which, he did, but not in that way.

“Did you go see Liz again?” she continues, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. We’ve been working on the same case for months.”

The case they’d been on was actually the hardest he’d had in months, if not years. They had multiple targets with a variety of bank accounts, names, and witnesses attached to each one. He didn’t expect it to be so hard, and it frustrated him to have his buttons pushed this often; and adding Carol’s complaints to the mix didn’t make anything better.

Dave’s head starts to pound; he didn’t get much sleep last night, his many worries keeping him up into the early morning. And now, dealing with this fight has caused a migraine to settle in.

“Carol, can we do this some other time? This is giving me a headache.”

“Oh, wow. Sorry speaking with your wife gives you headaches!” she snaps, spinning to stomp out of the room.

Whatever, he thinks, lightly shaking his head. At least she left.

There were a handful of universities that had asked Molly to join their programs, but lucky for her family, she chose the one closest to home. It made the commute easy, not just for her but for everyone. Soon enough, Alice will even be able to drive out and see her sister on her own.

“You excited to see her?” Dave asks, glancing up to see the reflection of his youngest in the rearview mirror.

“Hell yes!” Alice exclaims, smiling brightly. “She hasn’t been home for more than a week; it better be worth it. If she’s gone for that long and still sucks, I’m gonna be pissed.” She jokes, giggling at her dad’s smirk in the mirror.

“Language! Please!” Carol huffs out, fixing her hair in the mirror beneath the sun visor. “I’m sure she’ll be great, isn’t that right Dave?”

Dave cringes at the sound of his name spoken in that tone, stern and annoyed and overall unpleasant. So far, they’d been keeping their separation a secret from the kids, not wanting to bring it up to them until things were made official. And calling him Dave in front of them instead of honey or sweetie like she used to do, just made things worse. She couldn’t even fake a smile for them, couldn’t even put on a brave face for her kids.

“Oh, I forgot. Molly said she’s bringing a friend home tonight.” Carol then says, applying a bit of lip liner as she speaks.

“Who?” Alice asks before Dave has a chance to.

“One of her teammates; the one whose house she’s been staying at.”

“When did she tell you this?” Dave asks, furrowing his brow. Molly didn’t tell him this.

“Last night.”

Dave internally sighs. It makes him feel awful when he’s left out of his family’s loop. With Carol, he couldn’t give a damn, but when it came to his girls, he wanted to know everything going on in their lives. He always wanted to be involved. But the older they got, the more they tended to prefer their mom.

He tries to not let his frustration get to him as he drives, squeezing out his tension on the steering wheel. He thinks of Molly and how happy she’ll be to see them. She’s been working hard for this, it’s all she’s ever done. Well, this and gymnastics. She’s an incredible flyer; he’s beyond excited to see the skills she’s learned over these past few weeks. So, he pushes everything else aside and forces a smile on his face. Pride and happiness, nothing else.

With one last look in the mirror, you sigh, rolling your eyes and choosing to walk away. Game days weren’t as fun as they used to be. You’d already had so many under your belt, it just felt like a routine now. Like a chore to get over with rather than an event to enjoy. And there were more reasons to this, of course; reasons you’d rather not get into.

“Hey! Is my bow on right?”

You smile, reaching up to fix the shining blue bow atop your younger teammate’s head. “There you go. You look beautiful, Molly.”

“You really think so?” Molly shines beneath your praise, her already pink-brushed cheeks deepening in their tone. “I’ve never done any kind of makeup like this before. I wasn’t sure how it would turn out.”

“It looks great! Couldn’t have done it better myself.” You return, giving her an excited smile. “You ready?”

She eagerly nods. “I’m so excited! Are you still coming over tonight?”

“Free food?” you ask, placing your hands on your hips with an amused look. “I can’t say no to that.”

Molly had invited you over to her family’s house a few days ago, wanting you to meet them and for them to meet you. The bond the two of you created was quick and warm, like long-lost sisters finally reuniting. She was a few years younger than you, almost five, to be exact, but that didn’t really matter to either of you. You got along, sharing many commonalities in your separate but quickly mixing lives.

Originally, you met in a psychology class. You shared the same lecture and lab, too. When she sat beside you, she saw your cheer hoodie, immediately asking you if you were on the team. Her enthusiasm for the sport made you smile, a feeling you personally hadn’t felt in a while.

“Will you spend the night? You’re more than welcome to!”

You let your uncertain emotions show, thinking to yourself before eventually shrugging.

“I honestly don’t know, Goof. Maybe I’ll figure it out after the game.”

Molly grins at the nickname, something you’d given her very early on, at her first practice, as a matter of fact. For a rookie, she was surprisingly good and surprisingly funny. She didn’t try to kiss any of the older girl’s asses, she truly was just herself. She was also quite accident-prone. And whenever she fell, she let out a laugh that made everyone on the field crack a grin. It was so boisterous and spirited, it reminded you of Mickey Mouse’s dog, Goofy. After a few days of watching her tumble around on the mats, the name was reduced to Goof. And it stuck.

“Okay, just let me know.” she says, giving you another happy grin before turning on her heels and skipping off.

You’re thinking you’ll say no, but you don’t want to ruin her pre-game spirit. Sharing a meal with her family was one thing, but spending the night? Being around your own family made your skin crawl, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to be around someone else’s. That was the beauty of living on your own, peace and fucking quiet.

Although, you don’t get that while you’re here. Before you know it, a flurry of newbies are joining your side, singing songs of both worry and excitement into your ears. You put on a brave face and tell them what they want to hear, reassuring them of the fun that is soon to be.

You wish you had someone like you as a friend. Not to boast or anything, but you’re pretty much the shit. So many people rely on you, it’s no wonder you’re one of the captains of this team. The people around you may as well be daughters to you, but no other bond compared to the one you currently share with Molly. You’d only known her for about a month, but she’d been staying with you for the past week. Every night was more fun than the last, and for once, company felt… nice. And that was new for you.

The drive is short, and he’s able to find a parking space not far from the football field’s gates. When they step out, he feels a sudden rumble in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten breakfast today; it hadn’t even crossed his mind. He had begun trying to eat in the mornings more often these past few months, but it was still something he was getting used to. It’s strange, in that way, because it used to be his nature state. Dave always loved breakfast; it was his favorite meal of the day. But Carol, on the other hand, didn’t. And as they became closer, their marriage lasting longer, he fell into the same routine as her, no longer enjoying that part of the day as thoroughly as he used to.

“I’m gonna grab a bite to eat,” he says, hand stuffing its way into his pocket to retrieve their three tickets. He gives Carol two. “You guys can go find your seats and I’ll meet you in a minute.”

Still angry from their argument nearly one hour ago, Carol snatches the tickets out of his hand, giving him a stern frown before turning to her daughter with a loving smile. Dave just rolls his eyes, turning to walk in the opposite direction of his family.

He’d only been to the stadium once before when accompanying Molly on her campus tour, but he remembers enough to be able to know where to go. He quickly finds a concession stand, paying for a hotdog and a medium coke, along with a snickers bar for Alice, her favorite. He wishes he had some real food to eat instead of this cheap, greasy meal. Before his and Carol’s union began, he would wake up extra early in order to cook breakfast, the process of preparing it all nearly half the fun. He also liked the calm of the morning, the peacefulness he found by himself. Now, he can’t even grab a snack without a snotty look.

Dave’s life was so goddamn busy, and that business only doubled when he got married. He was constantly surrounded by people and hiding his job from Carol was so much harder than it looked. She wasn’t the naïve, suburban housewife she had originally looked. She wasn’t an accepting or exciting partner, either. Carol fell somewhere in between, somewhere Dave never wanted to be. She pissed and moaned about the things he thought all mothers should do, complained about daily tasks and never accepted any way but her own. At first, he’d ignored it. He was gone enough to, anyway. Years flew by without her analyzing his job, accepting it for the explanation he gave and nothing more. But when she found those plane tickets he had purchased, the entire structure of their marriage went to shit. It’s funny, he thinks, that she had gotten so mad over that. So mad over something that was the simple truth of a work trip with a colleague. How would she react if she found out what he really did?

While he waits for the random college kid to get his order together, he leans against the counter, glancing around. He twiddles with his thumbs, taking in a deep breath to help clear his head. Dark eyes scan the various posters floating around the main hall, fliers for Greek life, Astronomy Club, and volunteer tutoring making up the majority. He then sees the locker rooms off to his left, the ones for both girls and boys, a simple drinking fountain sitting between the doors.

“I know,” you giggle, pushing past the black door, that brave face still holding strong. “But you’ll be fine! Trust me, it’s just game day jitters.”

You reason with your teammate, giving her the reassurance she needs to follow through with the routine. There are only five more minutes before you have to be on the field, stretching and warming up before the game begins. But you decided to head out early, your hair and makeup being done much sooner than you had expected. You could also use the extra practice; being on two teams didn’t make things any easier.

Dave hears your laugh, his brow quirking up at the happy noise. His eyes follow the sound, watching as you step out past the door. Something stirs in his stomach when he sees you, a flutter in his chest. Your smile is bright, your hair dark and touching the small of your back, even with your half-up hairdo. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen such long hair.

The younger girl follows your lead, intent on making it to the field early, too. And you’re about to walk out of the last set of double-doors when you feel a set of eyes on you. It’s a peculiar feeling, like something is asking you to look to your left. And when you do, you see him.

Deep, chocolate brown eyes connect with your own unsuspecting orbs. You’d think catching a man staring at you in your cheer uniform would make them look away, but for some strange reason, this one doesn’t. You’d never seen this man before, and he’s certainly never seen you. And when he acknowledges you returning his gaze, he raises his brows, a slight smile forming on his lips. Oh.

You can tell he’s older, but not in an unappealing way. If you’re being honest, the sight of him alone is more pleasurable than half the guys you’d met on campus. But when you feel yourself begin to grin, your ego overcomes you. You quicky replace your bashful expression, exchanging it for a slight frown and narrowing of your neatly done eyebrows. Does this guy really think he can make you blush? You’re better than that.

Dave’s eyes widen a bit in response, his own brows raising further on his head as he watches you walk away, quickly strutting through the double doors. A cheerleader being a brat? He thinks to himself, who could have guessed?

“You didn’t get me anything?” Carol asks, watching him as he sits beside Alice, handing her the Snickers bar he bought.  

“They didn’t have any diet pop.” he simply retorts, keeping his eyes on the field.

He doesn’t mean to, but he finds you, bringing the straw to his lips as you begin to stretch. Your blue uniform looks good on you, fitting nicely around your bust and hips. The color also goes along with the color of your hair quite well. He grins to himself thinking back to your snotty look, clearly masking your flattered feelings when seeing his stare. Something about that intrigues him.

Suddenly, that same peculiar feeling returns, just as you’re beginning to layout for your stretches. It causes you to look up, your eyes immediately staring into the stands. He’s there again. But this time, it’s Dave’s turn to looks away.

Stop staring at her like a goddamn pervert, he internally curses himself, but he almost can’t help it. You smile at his sudden bashfulness, your eyes glued to him until his own return. You’d never been interested in older men before, but something about him excites you.

“Hey look! There she is!” Alice exclaims, tugging on Dave’s elbow.

He shakes his head a bit, blinking a few times as he comes out of your strange trace. His smile grows when he sees his daughter, trotting out onto the field as the rest of your team begin warm-ups. At first, the set is simple, a few arm stretches here, a few push-ups there, but when you begin stretching your thighs, Dave about loses his mind.

It’s easy for him to see that you’re leading these stretches now, placed in the center and giving everyone a demonstration of what to do. Your shoes have been kicked off, socks gliding against fake grass now allowing you to slide down more easily. Dropping into your right split, you lean forward to help another teammate settle into their position. Dave can just barely see the curves of your breasts spilling out over your top, his eyes peaking down the valley between the incredibly soft looking mounds.

Dave made sure to arrive early to the game in order to get good seats, wanting to make sure Molly could see them, and vice versa. But when he and his family sat down on the third row, he certainly didn’t expect to see this.

“A little wider,” you say, helping Stefanie open her legs. “It’ll take some practice, but it should look like this when you go down.”

Plush lips part when you slide down into your middle splits, core resting directly on the ground with your legs spread out on either side. You bend forward, placing your forearms on the faux grass in front of you as you glance around the circle, seeing who needs help and who can already do it.

Jesus, he thinks to himself, your cleavage now on full display. You’re easily a size C at least, and he does everything he can not to gawk at the sight. You’re facing the family section as you continue leading the routine. Every tiny move creates a small sway on your plumpest parts, the curves of your ass also visible in your bent-over form. He can see your tight skirt as it begins to ride up, revealing to any watching eye the smooth skin that lies beneath.

She’s just some college girl, why are you reacting so much? Dave can’t seem to wrap his head around it; something about you is just so incredibly alluring. He’s quietly thanking God no one can hear his thoughts while he continues to stare, subtly glancing to his sides to make sure no one (specifically Carol) sees.

When the game begins, he draws his attention back to his daughter, watching as she’s thrown into the air alongside the field. Carol gasps in fright at every basket toss, but Dave just laughs. He’s watched her work for this since she was little, and it’s clear she’s enjoyed every step along the way. Molly smiles wide as she balances on top of the three base’s hands, lifting a knee and raising her arms for extra balance as she’s hoisted into the air.

“That’s too much makeup.” Carol annoyingly points out.

“Carol, she’s doing great!” Dave replies, not even bothering to acknowledge her negative remark.

No parent, especially a father, wants to see their daughter grow up too quick. And more often than not, makeup successfully achieved that trick. But it’s cheer; Molly has always worn makeup for cheer.

“I wish I could do that.” Alice mumbles, watching as you perform a back handspring on the sidelines.

Dave follows his youngest’s gaze, eyes landing on you as he watches you move. His eyes widen at your stamina and agility, now fully impressing him with your display of expertise. He’s never seen someone do that in person. And while you continue to flip, Dave can’t help but look at the enthused look on your face when you land your last trick. Not only are you pretty, but you are also great at what you do. You seem strong, too, strong enough to hold up other girls and strong enough to fling your body through the air. The routine seems basic, but you make it so much more than that. You look like you’re having fun, like you’ve been doing this all your life.

He thinks he’ll finally get a break from seeing you move when halftime hits, but he’s wrong. To his surprise, you join the pom team on the field, too. This routine is much more elaborate, much more dynamic and has music to go along with it as well. You’re shorter, starting in the front and moving along with the rest of your group. Because of your experience, you’re able to bring out more excitement from the team, able to perform more tumbling tricks than one would usually do in a dance routine.

Shifting slightly in his seat on the bench, Dave tries to readjust himself. He doesn’t want to be too obvious and use his hand but is more than aware of his quickly rising tent. With a few more gulps, his coke is gone, along with the last distraction he has as his phone also suddenly dies.

Your second routine starts coming to a close after a few minutes of dynamic dance, your group now walking toward the stands and away from centerfield. Being involved in this sort of choreography meant you had to make yourself stand out, and a great way to do that was to add a little extra flare. For many years, you’d been coached on your performance face, on your smiles and expressions and on how to add in a little bit of sass. It also helped you gain favor with the judges during competitions, too. Something you always added to the end of your routines was a wink.

When you turn, your heart drops. The coincidence is uncanny. Your eyes fall directly on Dave’s as you end your routine with a pose, muscle memory incorporating your signature wink. The ecstatic thump in your throat grows to new heights when you see him lean forward, a wide grin growing on his face. He’s got you. This time, you don’t have a chance to form a frowned expression or disgruntled look. He sees your bashfulness beneath his attention, it’s written all over your face.

Your teammates bring you back to reality when the music ends, pulling you up with them as they celebrate their successful performance. As you begin following them off the field, you pause, your chest still heaving as you subtly turn your head back toward Dave. You want to see if he’s still looking at you. And, when you find out he is, you decide to be bold and send him another wink, this one much more purposeful. Your already jelly-like legs nearly go limp when he sends one back.

Lucky for you, your cheer coaches are more understanding than most. After halftime, they usually give you a break, knowing that you’d be more tired than the other girls due to your performance on Pom. Night has set, bringing a chilly breeze along with it. You grab a pair of sweats, changing into a simple, black sports bra as you relax. The inner halls are most likely empty, everyone having returned to their seats when halftime was over, so you decide to go for a short walk and grab another bottle of water.  

“Hey! Could you bring me back one, too?” Stefanie asks, stopping you briefly on your way out.

“Sure,” you grin, giving her a smile.

While walking down the halls, you can’t help but think back to your routine. You’re happy with it, sure, but you point out more flaws than anything else. But when you’d gotten off the field, no one said anything to you. Nothing good, nothing bad. Everyone’s attention was focused on others in the group, what they did well and what they could do better. Though, it’s no secret to you as to why you were excluded from such praise. With the years you’ve spent on the team and the time you’ve put into your work, your team accepted nothing but excellence from you. But even when you deliver, you don’t get the praise you once did. No one appreciates the effort you seem to put in anymore, and while the bar of excellence is a great one to be at, it doesn’t mean you don’t like having support. It was something that always bothered you, having begun at the beginning of your sophomore year. Your coaches told you that you were a leader, and when everyone sees you as the example, no one thinks of your flaws. No one really sees you as human anymore. No one thinks of the possibility of you struggling, of you feeling alone or at fault. No one reaches out to you, and no one is there for you.

“Could I have two bottles of water, please?”

“Sure,” Jason nods, remaining behind the concession stand’s counter before his eyes shift to your left. “And for you, sir?”

You hadn’t realized anyone else was there with you, and when you turn to your left to see who it is, you freeze.

“A medium coke,” Dave says, handing him the money. “Thanks.”

Your eyes dart forward, your whole body almost jolting in the process. Dave chuckles beside you, having noticed your reaction.

Dave had rounded the corner, stepping into the hall, and seeing you right as you approached the booth. The edges of his lips curled, seeing you in your sweatpants and bra. So much skin, he thinks to himself.

“Don’t worry,” he sighs with a small chuckle, casually glancing around the empty hallway. “I don’t bite.”

Oh wow, you think, inhaling a small and shaky breath. His voice. You giggle lightly, nodding before turning to him with an amused smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He replies, returning your grin. “I liked your routine.”

“Oh,” you respond, not expecting to hear that from him. “Thanks, we’ve been working on it for months. The whole summer, actually.”

“Yeah, looked like it.” he nods, glancing down at the ground before adding, “I liked the ending, too.”

It’s not like you’ll ever see this girl again. What’s the worst that could happen?

Your eyes widen at his remark, now rising to meet his once again. His smirk has grown, now entirely playful and not even a foot from your face. You hadn’t realized he was so close; was he always this close? You’re so caught up in your own thoughts that you don’t even realize that Jason comes back until he speaks.

“Here you go,” he says, handing your alluring stranger his coke.

“Thanks,” Dave says, not breaking eye contact with you.

He takes the drink from the employee’s hand, glancing over at him when Jason holds out a few coins.

“Keep the change.” he says, turning to leave, but not before flashing you a wink.

“Do you know where she’ll come out?” Carol asks, eyes scanning the crowd to see if Molly was already out of the locker rooms.

Knowing his daughter and her exhaustingly long routines, her being out this early was incredibly unlikely. The game ended about five minutes ago, so they’ll probably have to wait a while for her to come out.

“Probably from the locker rooms,” Dave says, weaving his way through the crowd. “They’re over here.”

Dave stays ahead of his family, trying to walk off his awkward boner. A woman hadn’t made him feel this way in years, probably more than a decade, in fact. He feels like a kid, feels stupid for letting himself get carried away by your small ounce of attention. But, in truth, that small bit of attention was enough to make his body and mind run wild.

“What’re we thinking for dinner tonight?”

“I don’t know, maybe we can let Molly pick.” Dave offers, leaning back against the wall with his hands resting in his front pockets.

“Good idea!” Carol returns, allowing Dave one moment of peace as she finally agrees with something he’s said.

His eyes dart over to the booth he’d bought his snacks at, now currently being packed away. Your two simple pieces of attire outlined the curves of your body so nicely when he saw you, too nicely for his eyes. He felt hungry, scanning you, his pulse quickening in his chest. The dip of your lower back accentuated the curve of your ass, the hem of your sweatpants hugging your hips. The lightly toned muscles in your stomach made him want to lick and bite against your skin, made him want to run his palms just a little higher over the hills of your chest. Your sports bra hugged your tits together in a way that made Dave ache. Maybe, somehow, he will get the chance to see you again. After all, you are on his daughter’s team.

“I don’t know hun, I’m not sure about tonight.”

He hears your voice again, his brows quirking up with intrigue. You’re next to Molly, walking out of the locker rooms in nothing but a pair of sweats and a black sports bra, the exact outfit he saw you in before. With your bag slung over your shoulder, you follow Molly to her small family standing off to the side.

You stay behind her as she weaves her way through the crowd, holding onto your bag before stopping when you get to her small clan. With a smile on your face, you step out from behind her, standing at her side.

It almost happens in slow-motion, the actual event of your realization. You were always in this sort of blissed-out state after a game, after the adrenaline rush of performing with your friends. But you’re pulled out of that happy haze when you see his face, your breath catching in your throat and feet halting in their tracks.

No way.

“Hey mom!” Molly grins, throwing her arms around Carol before doing the same with Alice. Lucky for you, she doesn’t see your frozen state.

He’s married?

Dave’s own insides tighten with nerves as he comes to the same realization. But like usual, he plays it off like a champ.

“Hey hun,” Dave eventually says, walking forward to give his eldest daughter a hug. “You did great out there!”

“Thanks,” Molly blushes, face still flush with the adrenaline of her first performance. “I want you guys to meet someone!”

She then turns to you, frowning at how far away you seem. She waves you closer, introducing you by name.

Oh god, you think to yourself, taking a breath as you finally step over.

“She’s the one I’ve been staying with most nights; she lives halfway between campus and our house!”

“Oh, well that’s great!” Carol says, opening her arms and stepping forward for a hug. “I’m glad we finally know who our little girl’s been staying with!”

Your face reddens at her mother’s words, accepting her hug with a small laugh. “I’m glad I could give her somewhere safe to stay.” You return, stepping back from her and unintentionally cutting the embrace short.  

Carol’s smile doesn’t fade as she begins motioning towards her family. “You can call me Carol, sweetie. This is Alice, Molly’s younger sister.”

“Hey,” Alice smiles, and you return her friendly expression.

“And this is Molly’s dad, Dave.”

He’s thankful she didn’t introduce him as her husband, the word itself making him cringe regardless of your presence. Dave then takes a step forward, his right hand slipping out from his front pocket. You look to his outstretched arm, eyes quickly meeting his before you take his hand into your own. The slide of his skin on your palm sends a small spark through your veins, an intense nervousness crawling up from inside you. The squeeze of his larger hand around yours only forces these feelings to grow, his warmth radiating across your skin as your stomach flutters with butterflies. Nonetheless, you shake his hand, offering him a soft smile as you do.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s, it’s nice to meet you, too.” You stammer out, giving him a small nod.

Looking at him in this moment, your skin touching his with your bodies not too far away, makes you feel woozy on your feet. He’s so handsome, his chest and shoulders broad, his posture confident and strong. How the hell could someone’s dad be so fucking hot?  

Something about your voice makes him smile, your small hand fitting so nicely within his that it makes him not want to let go. He takes the opportunity to sweep his thumb over the top of your hand, a simple and light gesture though it makes your pulse quicken all the same. However, Molly’s continued enthusiasm snaps both of you back to reality, subsequently interrupting the intense focus you have on one another.

“She’s taught me so much; I don’t think I would’ve gotten a spot on the team if she didn’t help.” Molly lovingly rests her head on her shoulder, and you lean over, too, resting your own head atop hers with a loving smile.

“Oh!” Molly continues, head shooting up. “She’s also on Pom!”

“Oh yeah, I saw that.” Dave chimes in, his face suddenly running hot right as the words slip out.

You give him an intrigued smirk, tilting your head. When the two of you had spoken about your routine after halftime, you’d assumed he meant the one for cheer. This is the first time he’s ever seen this team, and there were a multitude of girls on the sidelines performing. It’s unlikely he had remembered them all enough to notice them outside of cheer. It makes you think he’d paid special attention to you throughout the game, enough to notice you even when in another uniform and hairstyle.

Stop it. He’s married.

You internally scold yourself, halting your flirtatious thoughts.  

Dave clears his throat, awkwardness making the air around him thick. “It was… good.” He manages out, quickly turning to his daughter. “You guys did really good.”

“Would you want to come home for dinner tonight, honey? Your pick.” Her mom then says, giving her daughter an excited smile, clearly happy to have her home again.

“I’d love to! I feel like I haven’t seen you guys in forever.” She grins, nodding happily. “Can we get Chinese food?!”

“Chinese food?” her father laughs. “You just performed; you might want to eat something a little healthier than that.”

“Oh, come on,” Molly whines, “It’s my favorite!”

“You can have whatever you want,” Carol laughs, suddenly turning to address you. “Would you like to come over for dinner? You could even spend the night if you want, honey.”

“Oh, r – really?”

You know Molly invited you earlier, but having her mom invite you makes it much harder to say no. Even with Dave waiting beside her for your response.

“Of course! Molly’s been staying at your home so often, let us return the favor!”

Is this really happening? What’re the fucking odds that you, of all people, would be invited to dinner tonight?

Dave’s internal world runs wild, but on the outside, he keeps his cool. He’s trained for things like this. It’s easy for him to hide his emotions, or… so he thinks.

“I’d really love to, but I have a few tests coming up that I should study for.” It’s a blatant lie, but you speak it like it’s the truth. “Maybe another time.”

“Aw, are you sure?” Molly protests, pouting at you.

You give her an amused grin, nodding in agreement to your original statement.

“Yeah, I need to make sure I pass. This is my last year, can’t have any classes slip through the cracks.” You explain to her, trying to talk your way out of their friendly invite.

It’s not necessarily her dad that’s making you uncomfortable, it’s just the situation itself. You can’t believe that he’s her dad. Of all people, he has to be her dad?

“But hey, we don’t live that far away from each other. I’m sure I’ll be over soon.” You did still want to make it over to their house sometime, just after you’ve… collected yourself.

It really is best that you didn’t come home with them. Unbeknownst to you, the girl, and Dave, Carol had a storm brewing. They barely made it past the front door before she started complaining.

“The next time you go do something nice for your family, maybe remember that your wife is a part of it.”

Dave and the girls turn toward Carol, their faces twisted in confusion as she slams her purse down on the counter.

“What are you talking about?”

“Is it really that hard to get me something to eat, too?” she snaps in response, causing Dave to huff out in annoyance.

“Girls, go upstairs.” He calmly says, “Text me your orders, I’ll go get the food soon.”

Molly and Alice can feel the tension in the air. This isn’t a normal occurrence for them. Usually, Dave was able to keep Carol’s temper under wraps, but this was the first time she’d ever had an outburst in front of the girls like this.

“Is… everything okay?” Molly asks warily, turning and slowly heading for the stairs.

“Everything’s fine,” Dave reassures her, forcing a fake smile onto his face. “Just a long day.”

Carol scoffs, rolling her eyes. Dave’s sharp glare is now aimed in her direction, marching over to join her in the kitchen as soon as the girls are upstairs.

“So,” he sighs, standing on the opposite end of the island and placing his palms flat on the stone surface below. “What is it this time?”

“Don’t act dumb. I saw the way you were staring at those girls?”

“What?”

“It’s like you couldn’t keep your eyes off them!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Molly’s cheer team!” she all but screams.

“Jesus Christ, can I not go anywhere without you accusing me of this? Carol, you’ve never, ever, found solid proof of me cheating. You want to know why? Because I don’t.”

This is true. Tonight is the first night he’s ever even flirted with another woman since his marriage to Carol so many years ago. Even when they fought, he knew he had an obligation to be faithful to his wife, as every husband should. But he is no longer her husband; he doesn’t feel guilt for what he did. And while Dave can be many things, disloyal is not one of them.

“I don’t need proof. I can see it in your eyes.”

“See what?”

“That you don’t want me anymore.”

Dave’s fingers curl into fists as he inhales slowly, closing his eyes before releasing a breath.

“Carol, we’ve talked about this. You’re right, I don’t want this anymore. That’s why we’re separating.”

His eyes find Carol’s watery ones, her face contorted with sadness and pain.

“You can’t act like you didn’t have a major part in this. This isn’t just me; you know.”

“Maybe if you paid a little more attention to me then I wouldn’t have been so suspicious in the first place!”

“Dear god, I’m not doing this!” he responds, finally beginning to lose his temper with her. “We could talk about the what ifs and things we could have done different all day, but at the end of the day, this is our situation. I don’t want to deal with this anymore, Carol. I don’t deserve it, the girls don’t deserve it, you don’t deserve it. It’s time to face the music.”

With that he turns, shaking his head and running a hand over his face as he makes his way to the guest bedroom. He pulls out his phone, seeing his daughters’ texts. Before climbing the stairs to his room, he calls out to Carol.

“Text me what you want. I’ll go get the food after I order it.”  

She doesn’t respond, and he doesn’t expect her to. With a few broad steps. He’s on the second floor. His room is the first of the doors and on the left side of the hall. He makes sure to be quiet, still attempting to keep his and Carol’s separation a secret for the time being.

He huffs out a sigh, sitting down on the edge of his bed before making a quick call for their order. But he has about fifteen minutes before he can leave to pick it up, and he needs a distraction. He’s so pent-up he’s starting to get a headache. He wonders how easy it would be to find a picture of you on his phone.

Within minutes, he’s on your Facebook page, scrolling through your photos. He feels a bit like a creep, but he doesn’t really care. It’s public information anyway and looking at your face makes his stress melt away. You’re pretty, and not the type of pretty that would land you some fake modeling contract for an Instagram page. You’re really pretty, something about the color of your eyes and the shape of your nose and that damn smile on your face that just gets him going.

“Would ya look at that…” he mumbles, chuckling to himself.

He comes across a picture of you at a shooting range, firing a pistol at a target a few yards out. The longer he scrolls, the more he finds out that you are not entirely what you seem. He discovers that you’re from a military family, both your dad and brother having successfully acquired the title of Marine. You used to take a kick-boxing class and had a boyfriend a couple years back.

Interesting, he thinks, a strange sense of yearning quickly blooming inside him. Something close to what he’d call possessive.

Deep within him, inside the part of him that still longs for excitement and passion in life, he hopes he sees you again. Something about you seems kind, trusting. With everything Molly has said about you, you seem to be a great influence on her, as well.

Then, he stumbles across a picture of you in your bathing suit, apparently taken last weekend. He smirks. He’s looking forward to seeing you again.

Detailed Chapter Summary

During Molly York's first semester in college, she's received excellent grades, joined the cheer team, and her father, Dave, couldn't be more proud. She's also managed to make some new friends, one standing out in particular - you.

The first time he sees you is on the sidelines while going to one of Molly's games, and you distract him for the entirety of the match. During halftime, you run into each other at a concession stand, flirting a bit. Of course, you're the friend Molly chooses to bring home afterwards, and this is when you realize Dave is her dad.

He isn't sure if it's because of his failing marriage or just how stunningly beautiful you are, but you occupy his mind for the rest of the night. So much so, that he finds your social media accounts, going through your photos. Something about you excites him.

Chapter Two: Unknown Territory

General Taglist: @anaaaispunk @dihra-vesa @sweetangel0069 @coaaster @pepascalhoe @evyiione @bport76 @tanzthompson @littlemisspascal @mswarriorbabe80 @just-here-for-the-moment @nagassia @phnyx @woomen23 @hotchlover @balekanemohafe @misscampacyn @practicalghost @pedrostories @xxxroxsxxx @thatpinkshirt @weepingsoulstranger @hauntedmama @atjoyfilms

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My Best Friend’s Dad Taglist: @phnyx @woomen23 @hotchlover @balekanemohafe @thewilddingleberries @amirra88 @misscampacyn @almaascencio @nagassia @pedrostories @xxxroxsxxx @singular-itae @thatpinkshirt @weepingsoulstranger @hauntedmama @anaaaispunk @punkerthanpascal @1andthesame @atjoyfilms

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

OFF WITH YOUR HEAD

PART 2 OF HEADS WILL ROLL

SYNOPSIS: Whenever school is in session, Eren will just keep finding new places to corner you.

PAIRING: BULLY! EREN x FEM! READER

DEDICATED TO: you guys, always you guys.

WARNINGS: unedited, slight dubcon, groping, degradation, bullying,

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

Gooooood Morning Paradis Birds! Remember to give a big round of applause to the football team for clutching the victory against reigning champion Marley High! We stay undefeated thanks to our excellent and hardworking team. Special shoutout to Captain Eren Yeager for guiding the team to another flawless victory-

You're half-heartedly paying attention to class, sleepily listening to the school announcements over the speaker until the mention of his name douses you like a shock of ice-cold water.

You can't catch the rest of the announcement because your class erupts into cheer, enthusiastically clapping their hands for the boy of the hour.

The only one not joining is you.

Eren's smile is brighter than 100 kilowatts. In the back of your mind, you wonder where he learned to smile like that. When his emotions became so practiced.

Mr.Berner tries to calm the kids down, especially Sasha who bangs on her desks and howls, creating even more hype and ruckus. The class, now in a chattier mode, excitedly breaks into little conversations.

"Man, thank god. That school is so pretentious, I'm glad we finally have something over them."

"Jeez, I know our team was good, but it's this good-?"

"-Bro, year of XXXX is stacked as fuck. It's literally never been this stacked before. We have a whole team of prodigies, it's insane-especially Eren. "

"Yepp. My dad went to Paradis too and he said shit like this never happened during his time. The academic comps were one thing, but these footballs wins? We're being put on the fucking map."

The announcements are still going on, but it's hard to hear over the noise. You're only able to catch the tail end, a useless tidbit about the word of the day.

pre·mo·ni·tion a strong feeling that something is about to happen, especially something unpleasant. Here is an example: "She had a premonition of imminent disaster" Have a good day folks, hope it's free of any premonitions!

Overhearing the unceasing praise of the boy who pinched your thighs until they bruise blue and purple was a little painful-but you were used to it. After all, he's putting Paradis on the map. Whatever the fuck that means.

While you didn't love sharing this class with him, he was seated far across the room and surrounded by a gaggle of friends. You might as well have been invisible, the way he did not acknowledge you. Maybe you should treat it as a small mercy.

Unwittingly, your eyelids grow heavy. You're sitting in the back of the class, no one would notice if you took a little nap right? Assured by the fact no one will notice, you lower your head into your folded arms and let your thoughts float.

You dream of vaguely nothing but shadows of smiles, tufts of dark hair, and the smell of the wind at sea until a noise confined to the shape of your name breaks the harmony.

"[y/n?]"

"[y/n?]"

You startle awake with pairs of eyes piercing their gazes at you. Swallowing thickly, you apologize to Mr.Berner who looks worried. He's a good teacher, and one of your favorites.

"I'm sorry Mr.Berner. I had a migraine so I laid my head down." You lie smoothly, with more grace than you knew you were capable of. Course, you could have just said you were taking an unprompted nap, but that would disappoint your lovely teacher.

He sighs, "Guess that can't be helped then. Go to the nurse ok?"

Bingo. The nurse was an understanding lady, she'd let you sleep the rest of the period off. You nod, and start to gather your materials, relieved the class' attention on you was beginning to dwindle.

"Wait, Mr.Berner, let me take her. What if she gets disoriented and falls in the hall?"

Fuuuuck. You should have known. You should have expected this because attached to the request dripping with faux concern was none other than the precious jewel of the kingdom. Eren's intrusion makes your peers perk up again at the scene unfolding in front of them.

You smile, lips tightly pressed, "I'll be fine. I don't want to distract anyone from the lesson and it's a short walk-

"It's still potentially dangerous.", Your teacher interrupts, pinching the bridge of the nose, "And while I'm completely surprised by Eren's sudden streak of altruism, he's right. Something could happen. He'll take you there safely."

A very convenient streak of altruism, all right. You think it over in your head, yeah the nurses' office is right down the hall, and once you're there, he'll leave. Sure, he'll taunt you but you can handle a few minutes worth of cruelty.

It's awkward getting up, and walking in front of the class while Eren props the door open like a gentleman. You know what a sharp contrast it must look like, you and him, you cowering into yourself, not meeting any eyes while he stands tall and confident.

"Do you have everything?" His tone is one of reassurance, and for the barest of the moments, feels too familiar. You know he's not being genuine right now, and for the first time, you question if he was genuine back then.

"You can hold onto my arm if you're too dizzy to walk." He says as you guys slip out of the classroom, purposefully a little too loudly. You hear coos from girls and a stray "She's so lucky!"

He must have heard it too, because he lowers his head to whisper into your ear, "Yeah, very lucky, aren't you?" Wisps of dark hair tickle your cheeks. You see the glint of tiny silver hoops and wonder when he had gotten his ears pierced. The illusion breaks and the performative charming prince's reassuring smile is replaced by a sneer.

"Didn't know you could lie like that, by the way. Some good girl you are if you're trying to ditch class like this." Fingers dig deep into your waist as he drags you along the empty hallway that seems to stretch on for miles.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, "How did you know I was lying?"

Viridian eyes narrow, "I've seen you get migraines before." There's a knock on your heart. As if realizing he was talking about something far away ago, a vindictive edge laces into words pouring out of his mouth, "I bet you wanted this to happen, didn't you? Wanted to get us all alone."

He's trying to get a rise out of you, that much is obvious. So you ignore him to the best of your ability.

...which quickly proved to be futile, as you suddenly find your arm pinned to your back, and your front facing the nearest walls.

"I asked you a fucking question bitch." He's practically growling, "Fucking answer me."

If there was a world record for the shortest temper, best believe Eren Yeager will have collected that accolade too. He's getting too worked up, and you could definitely feel his harness poking the back on your ass, as he grinds into you.

You manage to crane your neck, wanting to have your face shoved into the wall, and then venomously spit out, "You're not looking for answers. You just want me to repeat whatever you think is true."

This position brings back flashbacks to the library when he caged you in against the bookshelves, and like then, he spins you around to face him quite abruptly.

His smile is full of sharp teeth, "No. I know I'm right."

You don't respond. He moves in closer, his breath fanning on your earlobes. Your body can't help but let an involuntary shudder, and you close your eyes, not wanting to see his pleased grin or the way the fluorescent light makes his hoops gleam like silver bullets.

One calloused finger flicks your nipple, "Do you want to know why I'm right?"

At your lack of response, the dark-haired boy rolls your nipple in between his fingers before pinching it painfully, eliciting a small whimper out of your fuckable lips. "N-no", you answer finally. You're wearing your thinnest bra because of the seasonal heat, and you can't help but regret that decision right now. The fact he's only paying attention to one of your nipples is driving you insane. Not that you want it, but you're so fucking sensitive right now. You struggle in his hold, causing him to hold you tighter, and by now his nails were probably embedded into your skin.

He chuckles at your honesty, rewarding you with a thick stripe of his tongue over the collared shirt of your uniform making you gasp. Did he just-, over your shirt too-, you look down and see a very visible wet spot.

Taking advantage of your distracted state, a eager hand snakes under your skirt until it settles in the middle of your panties. He licks your earlobe before speaking, his voice like ice under your heels.

"You were so fucking wet that day in the library while saying you hated me the entire time," he pauses as his fingers scissor you through your panties, as if to drive the message home, "About as wet as you are right now."

There's a wet spot there too, also caused by him. You crush your eyes shut, "Eren...please just take me to the nurse." You're not even struggling anymore, holding onto him out of your own accord, worried that if you don't hold onto anything-you'd fall on your knees.

The very headache you lied about having seemed not so non-existent after all.

Eren hooks his arms under the plush of your thighs, "Yeah. Of course, that's what I came to do, right?"

*

You had hoped you'd be granted a reprieve in the nurses' office but you'd forgotten that luck was never really in your favor. Because while you guys had entered the squeaky-clean office, the nurse was nowhere in sight.

Instead, a note sat on her desk in unassuming frilly cursive that Eren read with glee.

Sorry students! Minor emergency to take care of, and I'll be back by the middle of the next period. If you're badly hurt, see Mr.Ackerman in room 203. If not, just sit tight! Feel free to take up the beds.

Thank you,

Ms.Ral

Eren had turned to you with shining green eyes, "Since no one's here, I guess I'll have to keep you company. Don't want you to hurt yourself."

There was something claustrophobic about how Eren stood in front of the door as if to signify to get out of here, you had to get through him.

"Maybe I can get Mr.Ackerman..."

Eren's sudden bout of laughter makes you wince and retreat inside of yourself, "For what? A fake headache? You really wanna inconvenience him like that? Mr.Ackerman?"

You take slow steps backward until the back of your knees hit the school bed, making you stumble as you clumsily take a seat. Eren's been marching forward with every retreating step you took, and it's no surprise when he pushes you down the bed, strong hands on the side of your head, while his muscular legs force your thighs apart so he can settle himself in between.

"We have some time to kill, you know." Strands of dark hair fall into his eyes, and without thinking, you reach upwards to brush them aside.

He grips your wrist before you make it that far, nearly gritting out a "What are you doing?"

You just stare, not really knowing why that was your impulse either. Finally, you mouth out, "I want you to leave Eren."

The grip on your wrist is tighter than ever, and you very well know that you're going to have new finger-shaped bruises before the old ones even finish healing.

"And I want to stay." He punctuates each word slowly, and all you can think is how being pinned to a bed is much less painful than having the hard surface of wood digging onto your back.

You're fully aware of the heat in your core, and having Eren on top of you doesn't make this it any easier because fuck, he is attractive. Maddeningly so. And maybe you want him to go away so bad because you're afraid that if his fingers are caught inside of you, you'll thank him for it.

As if reading your mind, he lets go of your wrist (making a mental note of your sluggish movements and slipping resistance) and massages your warm hole from your panties.

"Eren please" You grit out. He merely chuckles, "What are you asking for, whore?"

You could feel tears threatening to fall. This was so embarrassing. Did you want this? Yes, yes. yes, yes. You were so wet right now and had enough of the teasing.

He alternated his kneading from slow and soft to fast and rough, and you couldn't help but let out the prettiest little moans Eren's ever heard. Since you lose all pretenses of resistance, his other hand roughly brushes against your hardened nipples, straining against the fabric of your shirt.

Okay, he decided. He's going to make you beg.

"Beg." It's announced like a command, and while you hear it, you don't really register it because your hips are busy chasing the heat, and it's all too much of an utter disappointment when his long thin fingers leave.

"I said beg slut."

"Eren, please, please. I need you so bad." You're blubbering and you don't care. You just want his pretty fingers to shove aside your panties and rub against your folds. You think back to the library, how wet you were, how the stupid fucking phone call from his coach interrupted him pumping his fingers inside of you. And you didn't know if you were happy or mad he left. But now, all you crave is the blissful wave of pleasure- the very pleasure he's been denying you.

Eren looks down at you, green eyes scrutinizing. After a long while of what it seems to be him just staring, he wipes his fingers on your skirt, brushes back his hair with a wayward hand.

"Looks like I should head back to class. See you later."

Too numb to say anything, you watch him leave with a smirk on his face. When you're sure he's walked away, you curl into yourself and cry.