#i wrote this. while i was sitting in the bathtub after a panic attack. so. you can see where im coming from | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rosethornewrites · 4 years ago

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Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 16

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Chronic Pain, Biting, Conversations, Self-Sacrifice, POV Third Person, POV Lan WangJi

Summary: The Jiang siblings visit the Burial Mounds. Feels are had.

Warning: Involves bugs as food. For Notes, see end.

AO3 link

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

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Lan Wangji is unsurprised, and somewhat relieved, when Wen Qing takes one look at Wei Ying upon their return to the Burial Mounds and tells him to go take a nap with A-Yuan.

His husband had already been swaying dangerously in the Yiling market when they had bought supplies, and had tried to insist Jiang Yanli ride in the cart while he walk, though he had quickly been overruled when Wen Ning, of all people, pointed out they could both ride comfortably if someone had a qiankun pouch for their purchases. Jiang Wanyin had pulled one from his sleeve, one that seemed oddly full, and Wen Ning helped place their purchases in it.

“Get in the damn cart, moron,” the Jiang sect leader said when Wei Ying hesitated.

“A-Xian, come ride with me,” Jiang Yanli coaxed, taking his arm and steering him to it herself.

Wei Ying was exhausted enough to fall asleep on her shoulder, despite the bumpy ride, on the way back, A-Yuan snuggled in his sister��s arms. He doesn’t look particularly refreshed when they have to wake him.

Despite his exhaustion, Wei Ying still tries to argue against a nap, eying his siblings, clearly considering their visit more important than his health. Lan Wangji finds his disregard for his own well-being concerning, but is well aware it isn’t unusual, just something they need to break him of.

“I told them,” he says. “In town. I bet they have questions, and—”

“I can answer their questions, Wei Wuxian!” she cuts in. “I performed the surgery, after all. You’re delegating the task to me and going to take a nap before I bring out the needles—don’t think I won’t knock you out.”

The mention of her needles clearly cows him, but he still seems hesitant.

“It’s our turn to take care of things,” Jiang Wanyin says, not looking at him. “You’ve done enough, Wei Wuxian.”

“More than enough,” Jiang Yanli murmurs, and reaches forward to pull him into a gentle hug. “Let us take care of our A-Xian, hm?”

Wei Ying seems frozen for a moment in the embrace, but relaxes into it. Lan Wangji can see him tremble as he hugs her back, and he knows, for the moment, they’ve won. It’s a small triumph, but at this point he’ll take it.

“Okay, shijie,” he says finally. “Xianxian will take a nap with Yuanyuan.”

She lets him go and pats his cheek in a way that reminds Lan Wangji of his mother when he was very young.

A-Yuan insists on giving his guma a hug before he lets Wei Ying take his hand and lead him toward the cave.

“Go with him,” Wen Qing insists, to his surprise.

It must show somehow, because she sighs.

“I told you when you came: you take care of him. That’s your job. I’ll take care of this—I wrote Jiang-guniang, after all.”

Lan Wangji nods, privately relieved his presence isn’t required for this conversation. He bows to each of them before leaving, including Wen Qing as a thank you even though it makes her huff in embarrassment.

As he takes longer strides to catch up with Wei Ying, he can hear Jiang Yanli speak to Wen Qing in a sweet voice that is likely terrifying up close in how it utterly fails to hide her ferocious protectiveness of her beloved adoptive brother—he mentally wishes Wen Qing luck.

He picks up A-Yuan and gets a startled glance from Wei Ying, who is not quite to the point of barely standing, but close enough that Lan Wangji wraps his free arm around him to steady him as they make their way to the cave.

A-Yuan babbles sleepily about having a new aunt and uncle, having been largely unaffected by the tension in town, and before long they’re both tucked in. Wei Ying doesn’t bother removing his boots, so Lan Wangji does it for him.

Before he can rise, Wei Ying reaches out for him, his eyes half-lidded as he’s already being pulled toward sleep, in what Lan Wangji recognizes as a plea for him to stay, to sit on the bed and let him be close as he sleeps. After the stress of the afternoon on his husband, he is happy to oblige, happy Wei Ying would ask, even silently, for his support.

“I will stay,” he tells him, settling beside him on the bed, letting Wei Ying tuck close and use his thigh as a pillow.

Not to be left out, A-Yuan clambers over them and settles curled between them against Wei Ying’s stomach, his face pressed into the front of his robe as he falls asleep. Lan Wangji draws the blanket up over both of them.

He has used the table near the bed both as a desk and to play the guqin, so it is no trouble to carefully stack the papers next to the bed and slide the inkstone back so he can pull out Wangji.

Wei Ying lets out a soft sigh, the tension leaving his body, as he starts ‘WuJi.’ The song has been a comfort to his husband, he knows, when he himself failed to be, and he hopes to soon work on a new song, something that will capture the joy he finds in their marriage. The circumstances in which they and the people Wei Ying rescued live are less than ideal, and he wishes he could take him from this place of darkness and the memories of the horror he still cannot speak of, but they are together, and that is much preferable to being alone in the Cloud Recesses.

Before long, Wei Ying is asleep, and he segues into songs of cleansing and healing. Without a golden core, without Wen Qing’s needles, the latter has little impact—but little isn’t none, and he is still recovering. Every little bit helps, and after the stress of the day, he helps the only way he can, aside from serving as Wei Ying’s pillow.

He loses himself in the music, coming close to a meditative state as he plays. Time passes like sand through fingers before he hears hesitant steps enter the cave.

Lan Wangji pauses in his playing, recognizing two sets of footsteps, one the shuffling gait of Wen Ning, and the other softer. He is unsurprised when Jiang Yanli is the second set.

He is also unsurprised to see her face wet with tears.

Wen Ning offers her a short bow, then hefts the bathtub from their alcove as he does daily, kindly bringing fresh water and herbs for Wei Ying to use at night. He nods to him in thanks.

Jiang Yanli returns Wen Ning’s bow, and his esteem of her rises—many failed to give that respect to him in life, and more would likely refuse to now that he is a corpse, spiritual conscious or not. But Wei Ying’s sister recognizes him as he is: family.

Though the reverberation of the strings has ceased, the motion of stilling them is a comfort to Lan Wangji as he waits for her to speak. She watches her brother sleep for a while.

“Wen-guniang… She said he’s in pain,” she finally says.

Lan Wangji nods to confirm.

“That he’s been in pain since— since the war, and we didn’t…”

More tears spill down her cheeks, and he knows if Wei Ying were awake he would spring to comfort her.

“He hid it,” he tells her softly. “You could not have known.”

She makes a sound that is almost pained.

“I raised him. I knew something was wrong, and I didn’t—“

Jiang Yanli presses her fist against her mouth.

“I led him to believe I disdained him and wished for him to be punished,” Lan Wangji says.

His failure to communicate had led to the strain of their relationship, to the point where Wei Ying had questioned whether he was still his zhiji, and he will forever regret letting him walk away into the darkness and rain even after that. He empathizes with her completely.

She is silent for a while before she nods.

“Wen-guniang has an idea,” she says. “She said Zewu-Jun pointed out that there is a life debt among our generation. The six of us, A-Xuan, and Nie Huaisang. An auspicious eight. Swearing brotherhood… It could protect A-Xian, and the people here.”

Xiongzhang had hinted at it, and Lan Wangji is glad Wen Qing is furthering the possibility.

“It would tie together the four sects, and the remnants of the Dafan Wen,” he adds, thinking aloud.

“A-Cheng pointed out that the lotus blossom has eight petals,” she says, smiling wistfully. “He and A-Xian used to talk about being the Twin Prides of Yunmeng. It seems almost like a sign.”

Lan Wangji is struck silent at the idea; the eight auspicious signs are almost sacred, and the imagery would be iconic. The imagery was prevalent at temples—the eternal wheel of life, the endless knot, the conch, the parasol, the lotus…

The noble eightfold path, an expansion of the threefold way.

Almost implying an expansion of the Venerated Triad, and associating Wei Ying with the noble path regardless of his cultivation.

“Apt,” he says when he finally finds his voice.

“I’ll talk to A-Xuan,” she says, her voice distant. “I know he and A-Xian didn’t get off on the right foot, but he knows I love my didi.”

“Xiongzhang is bringing Chifeng-Zun and Nie Huaisang to see the settlement after your wedding,” Lan Wangji tells her. “I am certain Wen Qing will broach the topic of a sworn brotherhood with them then.”

Jiang Yanli sways slightly, and he panics for a moment; if he needs to move to catch her, it will jostle and wake Wei Ying, and he needs the rest. But she steadies herself, and he is able to gesture to a chair instead, and she takes a seat.

“Hanguang-Jun, since you are my brother’s husband, I wondered if I might call you A-Zhan.”

The request to use his birth name surprises him—xiongzhang had only requested to call Wei Ying by his courtesy name—but she seems earnest about wanting to welcome him to the family.

“Of course. May I call you… A-Li?”

A smile blossoms across her face, and she nods, looking pleased.

Then Wei Ying murmurs in his sleep and their attention snaps to him. Lan Wangji strokes his hair gently, letting his fingers brush his scalp in a way he knows soothes him. He settles almost instantly, but he doesn’t stop his ministrations.

Jiang Yanli, when he next looks up, is watching with a bittersweet look on her face.

“I used to do that for him,” she says softly, “when he had nightmares. Until he started hiding them.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to say, so only nods. He understands her sense of helplessness, knowing Wei Ying is adept at hiding his pain, would still be hiding it if not for having pulled his wrist away a second too late.

“I wish he was coming to my wedding,” she confesses, her voice breaking. “He belongs there. But they’d try to kill him.”

He cannot disagree with either statement. Wei Ying should be there, as one of her last remaining family members, even if he did not share her blood, but it would never be permitted. Not now. Not until the plan xiongzhang implied to Wen Qing is put into motion.

But by then she will be married, the wedding over, and Wei Ying will not have been permitted to attend.

“You have done what you can to include him,” he tells her, hoping to soothe her. “He did not expect this much.”

It seems to have the opposite effect, tears lining her cheeks again.

“He never expects anything of us,” she whispers. “Mother made him feel undeserving, like he should feel grateful for any scrap. I try not to hate her for it, but…”

Lan Wangji can understand how she feels, has seen the marks from Zidian on Wei Ying, still healing when he gave his core to his brother, something he has probably hidden from his sister even through everything. And he knows Wei Ying feels he deserves those marks, believing the fall of Lotus Pier to be of his doing. The emotional damage goes far deeper.

“We can only assure him he deserves more,” he says after a moment. “And be sure to give it to him.”

He has been trying to do so, but it never feels like enough to make up for abandoning him at Qiongqi Path, for failing to join him on the righteous path, even if it is the single-plank one, for making his zhiji believe he reviled him. He understands how Jiang Yanli feels—though perhaps she feels it more deeply, or at least differently, as the person who basically raised him.

Footsteps approach from the cave entrance, Wen Ning with the tub filled with fresh water, something he has insisted upon doing since it was purchased. At some point during each day, he cleans and fills it, even preparing a fresh sachet of herbs to help Wei Ying recover. Truthfully, even with Lan Wangji’s arm strength he doubts he could lift it as easily as the fierce corpse is able, and he is grateful for his thoughtfulness.

“Than—thank you for waiting, Jiang-guniang,” he says after setting it down. “Popo is waiting to help us in the k-kitchen with preparing dinner.”

Jiang Yanli favors him with a smile.

“Thank you, Wen-gongzi.”

“Ah, you c-can just call me Wen Ning,” he says, looking flustered as he often does when people offer respect to him.

“Then you must call me Jiang Yanli.”

Wen Ning looks like he might protest, but she turns to Lan Wangji before he can, dipping into a proper and respectful bow.

“A-Zhan, thank you for taking care of A-Xian. It is…”

Her voice cracks, emotions nearly overcoming her again. It takes her a moment to recover.

“It is a relief to know someone else is here for him when I cannot be. I entrust him to your care.”

The formality, Lan Wangji realizes, is her approval of their union. Warmth spreads through him at her acceptance.

“However,” she says, a slight smile on her face that is also somehow fierce. “I think you will agree with me that A-Xian deserves a real wedding, at Lotus Pier, as soon as it is possible.”

The image of Wei Ying sitting on a bed in Nightless City in his red underrobes, the joy of his waking mixing with the wish they were wedding robes… that Jiang Yanli wants to ensure they receive that, that their union can be celebrated, if belatedly, in the way Wei Ying deserves to be honored.

“Yes,” he says softly. “I agree.”

She nods, clearly pleased.

“It will happen, A-Zhan; I’ll make sure of it.”

Lan Wangji has absolutely no doubt she will.

She leaves with Wen Ning, and he remembers her intention to cool the soup Wei Ying so loves for the settlement. It will be a welcome meal for them all.

Though he could resume playing, Lan Wangji opts to sink into a meditative state instead, waiting. He doesn’t need to wait long, as footsteps that are almost stomps approach and enter the cave.

He is ready to stare at Jiang Wanyin disapprovingly, but the steps hesitate, becoming uncertain, on the way to the alcove.

“He’s still resting,” Lan Wangji says before he can speak.

Jiang Wanyin’s face does something strange, going soft for a moment as he gazes at his brother and nephew, the top of A-Yuan’s head just visible poking out from beneath the blanket. Then his expression shutters.

“He needs the rest, then?” he asks.

“Mn. He is recovering. He also was giving most of his food to A-Yuan before I arrived. He is finally eating properly.”

The muscles in the Jiang sect leader’s jaw clench, working as though he’s stopping himself from saying something—or, more likely, yelling.

“He always gives too much,” Jiang Wanyin says finally.

Lan Wangji nods; he agrees with that assessment.

“I want to bring him back to Lotus Pier.”

The announcement is unexpected, and he reconsiders his assessment of the man.

“He will not leave these people.”

“I know that. The Wens too, of course.”

“They do not wish to be known as Wens,” Lan Wangji tells him, and watches Wei Ying sleep for a moment to be certain he won’t hear before continuing. “I believe they hope to take on Wei as a family name. They have not broached the subject with Wei Ying yet.”

Jiang Wanyin sits heavily in the chair his sister vacated, sighing.

“He’ll do that thing. Where he belittles himself,” he says, his voice rough. “It’s like he believes all the awful things a-niang said about him.”

Because he does believe them, Lan Wangji is well aware. His anger at a dead woman is unbecoming, but it will likely never fade. She trained Wei Ying to see himself as worthless, as a charity case, when he was one of the best cultivators of their generation. Even without his core, he was still inventing tools to help the cultivation world that slanders and wishes him dead.

“Not that I’m much better. He’s my brother and I fucking abandoned him,” Jiang Wanyin mutters. “And I accused him of abandoning me, on top of it. When—when he left a big piece of himself with me to protect me.”

It occurs to Lan Wangji that perhaps both Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli suffered their own childhood traumas associated with bad parenting, that this is perhaps just a variation of that which has led Wei Ying down his path of self-destruction through giving too much, through not valuing himself. His own troubled upbringing led him to value his clan and the Lan rules over his zhiji, to believe his identity must be tied up in being a perceived paragon of Lan virtue above all else. Theirs led to Wei Ying’s isolation as well.

“You had no way of knowing,” he says. “Now that you know, you are trying to help him.”

What they do now does not absolve them of their wrongs, but it is a start.

Jiang Wanyin’s jaw clenches again, then releases when he sighs.

“I can’t undo the shitty stuff I said to him. You’ll come to Lotus Pier with him, right?”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says, surprised that’s in question. “He’s my husband.”

He receives a nod in response.

“He’ll need bigger quarters, then, for you and A-Yuan. I could give him a-niang’s old quarters, but I don’t know if he’d want to live where she did. He deserves them as my head disciple, so maybe if I remodel them…”

Jiang Wanyin seems to be thinking out loud.

“Wei Ying is still your head disciple?” he asks, having not realized.

“Yeah,” Jiang Wanyin says, then grimaces. “I never took him off the register. Kicking him out was for show, because he insisted. He never stopped being head disciple, but he probably doesn’t realize that.”

He likely doesn’t, knowing Wei Ying. Wei Ying, who still believes himself responsible for the fall of Lotus Pier, for the deaths that were a part of it. Even being head disciple, there will be much he cannot do, lacking a golden core.

“I can help with his duties,” Lan Wangji offers impulsively.

Jiang Wanyin blinks at him, startled, then smiles in a way that makes him look painfully young.

“Appreciated. He’ll… Well, he’ll need help with some of it. At least until Wen Qing figures out a way to help him.”

Lan Wangji realizes the Jiang sect leader is still hoping there’s a solution, that Wei Ying will again achieve the impossible.

“She’s going to make a list of things she’ll need to get started,” Jiang Wanyin continues. “And I’ll work to get ahold of them.”

A-Yuan stirs before Lan Wangji can reply.

“Loud,” he murmurs. “A-Die sleeping, shhhh.”

He wriggles his way out from under the blanket, somehow managing not to disturb Wei Ying as he does, then crawls off the bed.

“Jiang-shushu loud.”

His voice is pitched in an almost theatrical whisper, and Jiang Wanyin snorts in amusement.

“Okay,” he whispers back, also theatrical. “Let’s leave your a-die to sleep and go find guma, then.”

A-Yuan glances back at Wei Ying, then at Lan Wangji, who nods encouragingly. Then he turns back to Jiang Wanyin and holds his arms up expectantly.

Jiang Wanyin stands, pulling A-Yuan into his arms as he does.

“I’ll watch the kid. It looks like everyone else is busy right now.”

Lan Wangji simply nods in response. A-Yuan chatters softly to his uncle as they make their way out of the cave, leaving him alone with Wei Ying.

Jiang Wanyin’s absence is a relief. He finds it difficult still not to resent him for his choice to abandon Wei Ying, for the fact that Wei Ying’s core now rests within him, even for his desperate hope that his brother will somehow heal enough to form a new one. In far too many ways, it’s not enough, just as anything Lan Wangji does now cannot make up for his own failures.

He reminds him of Wei Ying’s mortality, as unfair as that may be.

Resentment will help nothing, may even be exacerbated now by the Burial Mounds, so Lan Wangji works to focus instead on the sensation of Wei Ying’s hair against his fingers, the weight of his head on his thigh, his soft breaths, and he is eventually able to fall into a sort of meditation until Wen Qing comes to fetch them.

“Jiang-zongzhu set up the tablets for the adoption rites, so we can start with those,” she tells Wei Ying once he’s awake.

Wei Ying stares at her blearily for a moment.

“Adopting A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji prompts gently.

Wen Qing gives him a disapproving look.

“He’s very excited, and your siblings can serve as witnesses.”

“Right. Sorry. Been a long day,” Wei Ying murmurs, then glances at Lan Wangji. “It’s still today, right?”

Lan Wangji brushes a lock of hair back from his face.

“Mm. You slept only a few hours.”

Wei Ying melts into his touch, and he leans forward to brush his lips against his forehead. Wen Qing clears her throat and drops a bundle on the bed.

“Your sister also made Jiang-zongzhu go back into town and buy nice clothing for you and A-Yuan for the adoption rites.”

She indicates the bundle.

“So hurry up and get changed. She cooked up a feast, and everyone’s hungry. I think she’s determined to give you a proper wedding banquet.”

Wen Qing, ever brusque, turns on her heel and leaves before either of them can respond.

Wei Ying opens the bundle on the bed, blinking at the high quality clothing. The fabric, at a glance, looks black, but has threadwork in a deep blue and purple. It sends a message from Jiang Wanyin: Wei Ying is of the Jiang sect still. A red underrobe, new zhong yi, a red silk hair ribbon embroidered with little pink lotuses, and even new boots complete the package.

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng… How can I wear these?”

“You were not removed from the sect registry. He insists you are still his head disciple.

“Oh,” Wei Ying breathes, taking a heavy seat on the bed, clearly overwhelmed.

Lan Wangji wonders if he should tell Wei Ying the rest—that Jiang Wanyin intends to bring everyone at Burial Mounds to Lotus Pier permanently when it is feasible. But he will leave that to the Jiang sect leader.

Instead he opens his qiankun pouch and pulls out the light blue robes he arrived wearing, which he hasn’t worn in days. If dinner is in part for them, he should dress appropriately, as well.

Changing takes little time, though Lan Wangji has Wei Ying sit for his hair to be combed and put back in its crown, as it came loose as he slept.

The entire settlement is waiting for them in the hall when they enter, and though only Wen Qing has seen an official adoption rite, she demurs from describing it.

“It was Wen Zhuliu’s, so it feels like bad luck to copy it,” she says when pressed.

None of them argue.

“We should have seen an adoption rite,” Jiang Wanyin mutters.

Wei Ying seems not to have heard, focused on A-Yuan. He takes the child’s hand and leads him to the space where someone has set up an altar with his parents’ tablets, complete with sticks of incense and food offerings: three cups holding tea, water, and Jifu’s fruit wine, plates with small stacks of oranges and sweets. A fire burns in a small brazier in front of the altar, a stack of joss paper set nearby.

For a moment, Wei Ying is completely silent, looking at the altar as though struck.

Jiang Yanli breaks the silence.

“You’ve never been able to venerate them,” she murmurs.

Lan Wangji understands suddenly: there was no place set for Wei Ying’s parents’ tablets at Lotus Pier, and so his husband has never been able to properly pay them respects—cruel, given their bodies were never found to begin with.

“Thank you, shijie.”

His voice is heavy with emotion, and he kneels and gestures to A-Yuan to do the same.

Wei Ying keeps it simple, first apologizing for being unable to do his filial duty for them, kowtowing before them. A-Yuan copies him dutifully, and this receives smiles from the others.

“A-Die, a-niang, I want to introduce my son to you, Wei Yuan. He may not share my blood, but he is your sunzi. I ask you to help me protect and guide him, if you are able. This one will do a better job honoring you in the future.”

He murmurs something to A-Yuan, who bows as best he can.

“Wei Yuan greets yeye and nainai. A-Yuan will burn joss and incense and clean your altar. A-Yuan promises to be filial.”

They light the incense using the brazier, then burn joss together, letting the paper fall into the flame piece by piece.

Lan Wangji longs to join them, to thank Wei Ying’s parents for bringing him into the world, and Wei Ying turns to him as though hearing those thoughts. When his husband gestures, he steps forward to take his place kneeling beside him.

“A-Die, a-niang, I also want to introduce you to my husband,” Wei Ying says, blushing as though they’ve not been wed over a week. “We completed our bows, but not before your tablets.”

They bow together, three times again.

“Fuqin, muqin, thank you for Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, bowing one last time alone. “I promise to honor him, and to protect him and Wei Yuan.”

They burn the remaining joss together, as a family, before standing.

Jiang Yanli rushes forward to hug Wei Ying, who pulls Lan Wangji and A-Yuan into it. There’s a warmth to it that he isn’t used to, his own family reserved, and it surprises him as much as xiongzhang’s hug did.

“Ah, I have a new didi and an adorable zizhi!” she says happily, then pulls at their arms as she releases them from the embrace. “We prepared a nice meal to celebrate, come!”

The tables are covered in dishes, the serving bowls and platters clearly heated by talismans to keep the food at an ideal temperature.

“The guests of honor fill their plates first,” popo says insistently, clicking her tongue when Wei Ying gestures for her to go ahead. “A-Xian is still too thin!”

Wei Ying startles at the affectionate address and she smiles and pats his arm.

Lan Wangji steps forward first, recognizing the futility of refusing popo’s demand. There is a bowl with chili sauce on the table, likely Wei Ying’s favorite kind. The dishes range from the familiar—the lotus root and pork rib soup he was introduced to earlier in a huge tureen, braised pork belly with mushrooms and bok choy, tea eggs, fried radish cakes, baozi, cucumber salad, sautéed dock root and millet with Sichuan peppercorns that would make his mouth numb—to the unfamiliar. He recognizes noodles cooked with what looks like water spinach and shaved carrot, mixed with, upon closer look, crisp-fried silkworm pupae.

He doesn’t realize Wei Ying is beside him until he makes an intrigued noise.

“Where did we get those? Shijie, did you bring them?”

“A-Ning found a copse of mulberry a few nights ago,” Wen Qing tells them. “He brought the silkworm cocoons to the aunties to unwind so we can sell the silk. He harvested the berries, too.”

“We—we cooked them with d-dessert,” Wen Ning adds.

Though he is aware that silkworm pupae are commonly sold at market when silk is harvested, Lan Wangji has never had occasion to try them. Despite the fact that silk is harvested by the GusuLan weavers and used in robes for the clan, the production is kept out of the Cloud Recesses because the cocoons are boiled to extract the intact silk, killing the pupae in the process, and killing any creature, even an insect, is prohibited within the bounds of the Cloud Recesses. Presumably the pupae are sold in Caiyi, but meat is not a staple in his home.

But he was raised not to be a picky eater, and insects are a viable source of protein, something sorely needed by the people living here. Wei Ying seems content to serve himself and A-Yuan a large helping, so Lan Wangji does the same, placing a wide variety of dishes on his own plate to sample, but avoiding the chili sauce for the sake of his palate.

“I put in fewer peppercorns than I usually do,” Jiang Yanli murmurs to him. “I know you like milder dishes.”

He nods his thanks, and lets her press a bowl of soup into his free hand.

She follows him with two more to place before Wei Ying and A-Yuan, then pinches her brother’s cheek as though he’s a child.

“Eat the whole plate, Xianxian, and then you’ll get dessert.”

He is quietly pleased when Wei Ying plays along with a bright smile.

“But what if Xianxian wants more?”

She leans forward and kisses his brow like a mother might.

“Xianxian can have as much as he wants. Popo and Wen Ning helped me cook plenty. And dessert is mulberry millet pudding sweetened with honey, so I know you’ll like it.”

Then she turns to A-Yuan and favors him with the same treatment.

“You too. Eat plenty so you can grow big and strong.”

“A-Die plants me with the radishes so I will!” A-Yuan says proudly, and those within earshot laugh.

Jiang Yanli’s laughter is not unlike the gentle ringing of the bells the Jiang sect wears at their belts. She turns to him, patting his shoulder affectionately.

“A-Zhan as well. Your strength is important. More than three bowls if you want.”

The reference to the rules of the Cloud Recesses is nostalgic, but not in a painful way. It is more a reminder that he will now uphold the rules as he sees fit, now that his home is Wei Ying.

They are surrounded by familiar chatter, the smell of food of a more quality fare than any at the Burial Mounds have had in some time, and the warmth of family.

He hopes this can be the sort of happiness that awaits them for some time.

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

In my culture, generally we don’t eat insects/bugs and often find it intrinsically disgusting. I’ve never eaten insects/bugs. However, my biases are not applicable to the culture I am writing into. My understanding from friends is that there are many insects and arachnids commonly eaten in China. A close friend of mine has eaten ant eggs, grasshoppers, and other insects. Another has mentioned tacos that involve insects as a common ingredient in Mexico. In China, markets often have fried scorpions on a stick, grasshoppers, and many other insects as street food for purchase.

Given life on the Burial Mounds involves a lot of scraping by, I’d imagine some of their meals involve insects, which culturally wouldn’t be unusual. Likely if there were insects in the Burial Mounds, eating them helped Wei Wuxian survive them. They’d be an important source of protein.

While silkworm pupae are often fried in peanut oil and eaten on skewers or like nuts, from my research, my friend believed the dish I concocted in here was believable. (I also researched what the taste and texture is, but decided not to include it.) She also said the dessert of mulberry millet pudding is something eaten in southern China, which I didn’t know—I just knew it sounded like it’d be delicious.

In terms of the millet, meta discussions of MDZS have involved the fact that millet was likely more common (and less expensive) than rice at rough time of the setting, so I included that.

My friend was kind enough to read for cultural sensitivity regarding the auspicious eight, adoption rites, and ancestor veneration, so I hope they read well. This is a chapter I was particularly worried about because of the cultural aspects, and I hope it reads well.

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my-sterion · 4 years ago

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Nightmare

Another drabble, because apparently that’s all me and my limited attention span can come up with. Anyway, this is totally self indulgent emotional hurt/comfort that I wrote a few weeks back. Reading it back just now I didn’t hate it, so why not throw it out here!

Words: 1001

TW for panic attacks and light emeto, it’s just mentioned and not graphic though.

Kenny is no stranger to nightmares. He’s had them for a long time, every once in a while and sometimes more often than that. Some of them were worse than others, but no matter how bad it got, he could always handle it. Nightmares, as terrifying as they were, paled in comparison to the memories they stemmed from, the ones he actually had to live through without the relieving luxury of waking up afterwards.

But, as he soon realised, just because he’s been through worse before didn’t mean the bad thing happening now wasn’t as sucky.

The sad truth of the situation is that Kenny can’t even say what the dream is about when he shrieks upright and all but falls out of bed with a stifled cry clamping its way out of his throat. It’s not one bad thing, not some straight storyline- just a crushing wave of snippetts, emotions and memories he didn’t even know existed.

As his body hits the suddenly cold floor, it still feels like someone has their hands around his throat; slowly tightening their grip until no air is reaching his lungs anymore. Desperately trying, Kenny wheezes, one breath coming in more rapidly than the next. In the distance he hears someone calling his name, but it’s no use.

He’s already too far gone into his panic.

With adrenaline fueled determination, Kenny scrambles to his feet and a rush of nausea washes over him immediately. Taking another short inhale, he clamps one hand over his mouth and stumbles forward. Somehow, he finds his way to the bathroom; kneeling down in front of the toilet just in time before he can’t stop the string of bitter bile in the back of his mouth.

Moments pass while Kenny is bent over the uncomfortably cool porcelain; retching, coughing and gasping for air at the same time, but he can’t tell how many. Seconds? Minutes? Everything feels strangely delirious and detached, almost as if he’s watching the scene from outside a window. A part deep in his scattered mind isn’t sure he’s not still dreaming.

Then there is a warm hand, steadily drawing gentle strokes up and down his spine. With all the little strength he has left, Kenny forces himself to focus on that sensation, to let it draw him back into reality. Slowly but surely the fog around his head fades away, leaving him feeling drained and depleted.

When the ringing in his ears dies down there’s a careful voice right next to him.

“You’re okay… you’re fine..”

It’s a repetitive murmur, but it helps to calm the waves inside his mind just a little bit. Rather than the words, he’s comforted by that soft, familiar tone, reminding him that he’s not fighting alone anymore.

His whole body is still shaking as Kenny finally manages to bring his breathing to an acceptable speed and carefully pushes himself away from the toilet he’d been hugging. Before he can lean against the bathtub behind him, two firm arms catch his shoulders and lead him into his boyfriend's chest. Only when the fabric of Craig’s shirt meets his face, Kenny realizes that it’s immediately stained wet with his own tears.

At that, there’s a hot ball of embarrassment building up inside him. Now that the initial panic has worn off for the most part, every other emotion that had been dulled before creeps back into his conscience- for example the guilt of waking the other up in the middle of the night. And because of what? A nightmare, like a little, helpless kid.

“Sorry…” he hoarsely rasps against Craig’s body, not yet trusting his voice to elaborate further.

In response he gets a somewhat disgruntled, dismissive huff which endearingly contradicts the affectionate fingers that are carding through his hair

“Don’t. It’s not your fault.”

Objectively, Kenny has some counterarguments, but doesn’t voice them. He’s so tired, exhausted to the point where simply existing seems like too much of a challenge and all he can do is shakily exhale and close his eyes. Not a second passes though and already the impressions of his nightmare come rolling back.

Whimpering, he jerks up again. A fresh wave of tears well up, this time accompanied by a string of hacking sobs that are too persistent to push down. Before he’s able to do anything about it, he’s crying into the comfort of Craig’s shirt and almost immediately is enveloped by the other's arms in a sturdy embrace.

It’s a rare thing, him crying. Committing yourself to such vulnerability, letting your emotions run free; it all counts as too real, too terrifying for him to fall into. Even around Craig, who he can confidently title as someone he truly trusts, he can’t often let go of his composure fully. Only in moments like these, raw and stripped off every last restraint, the veil falls.

With another gasp, Kenny presses his face closer into the warmth of his boyfriend’s shoulder until he’s enveloped by nothing but his blissfully familiar scent. One of Craig’s hands moves up to the nape of his neck to steady him and though he doesn’t say anything, there’s desperation radiating off him like waves.

They sit like that for what feels like a small eternity. As cold and uncomfortable the bathroom tiles are, there’s nothing in Kenny’s power he could do to stop his outburst, not until every emotion has drained out of him and he feels completely empty.

Only then, finally his breath evens out, the tears stop flowing and not long after that Craig carefully shifts under him, nudging him to his feet.

His legs are still shaky, but the arm that is wrapped around him never leaves his waist and it reminds him once again that he isn’t alone anymore.

“Better now?” Craig mumbles into his ear while they slowly trot back to their bedroom.

And despite everything, a warm feeling pools in Kenny’s gut at that. Through his utter exhaustion he manages a small but genuine smile.

“Better.”

#crenny #fanfiction #crenny fanfiction #south park #h/c

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pixiegrl · 4 years ago

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Am I Pretty?

Part 18 of Lingeriesos:

Luke’s having a hard time adjusting to being home from Australia.

I need to preface this by saying it's a very body image heavy piece. Ages ago, @lifewasradical suggested a prompt based on "Am I Pretty?" By The Maine and I wrote this when I was not in a good headspace personally. Alot of Luke's feeling are how I feel and it's not representative of everyone. Just as a general warning. I'm not sure what else to say here other than I hope people enjoy reading it, even if it's more angst than normal. There’s also talk of eating disorders and panic attacks.

On ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28643556

Luke’s having a panic attack in his bathroom. He’s a grown man and he shouldn’t be, but here he is. Luke has felt off-kilter all morning, feels too big and too loud, like he’s taking up all the space in their house without meaning to. He’d woken up just feeling wrong in his own body, attempted to go downstairs for breakfast and found that the thought of food made him nauseous. He tried to eat breakfast this morning, but he’d almost lost it, looking at the omelet Ashton made, hands shaking, brain telling him that he doesn’t need to eat, not when he feels like this, not when his body just feels wrong. He couldn’t stomach eating anything, kept gagging just thinking about food. He’d gotten into an argument with Ashton about it, snapping when Ashton had told him to eat something. It had turned into some stupid fight about Luke’s habits and Ashton’s need to be in control and had ended in Luke grabbing his coffee mug and storming back to their bedroom. It’s mid-morning now and Luke feels shaky and hungry, but his brain isn’t cooperating with him, stuck on an anxiety loop about his fight with Ashton that he’s only made worse by going into the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror.

Luke made the stupid decision to get on the scale they have in the bathroom (he’s not even sure why they have one) and he’s freaking out because he saw the number. Granted, Luke doesn’t feel any different. His body looks the same, his clothing fits the same, he feels fine, but the scale’s told Luke that he’s gained some weight. Luke also logically knows that it’s the holiday season and he’s been home in LA more and also in Australia, so his diet’s been off and he shouldn’t be freaking out about it, but he is. He’s standing in his bathroom freaking out because his brain doesn’t know how to handle things, anxiety taking over, trapping him in it’s cycle. It’s not even a lot of weight, but it’s enough that Luke’s spiraling a bit, hyper aware of it now, sitting on the bathroom floor trying to remind himself to breathe, scared that if he stands up and sees himself in the mirror he’ll start really panicking.

It’s stupid that Luke’s brain is like this. It’s been like this since he was young, right when they had started getting famous, pushed more into the public eye. He’s always felt so scrutinized, everyone’s focus on him and how he looked, how he acted. It had gotten worse when he’d suddenly gotten taller, broader, looking more like he does now. He’s always felt pressure to look a certain way, act a certain way, be a certain way. He’s always been hyper aware of how he looks, the image he’s portraying. It’s gotten a little better recently, the freedom of being able to express himself with makeup, jewelry, lingerie and dresses, Ashton’s constant love and support, putting him more at ease, making him more comfortable with his body.

Luke’s been in Australia for a few weeks though, unable to do any of those things. He’s enjoyed being home, getting to do wedding plans, spending time with his family and Ashton’s family. He knows he’s been on edge for awhile, taken out of his routine, and making the stupid decision to get on the scale was really just the tipping point. Luke takes a seat on the floor, back to the tub, knowing that if he stands any longer, staring at himself in the mirror, he’s going to end up on his knees throwing up like he did when he was a teenager, stressed and anxious.

Luke takes a few shallow breaths, trying to count to ten, feeling the cold of the bathtub at his back, trying to ground himself before he slips too far. He knows this is really just one part of the whole problem too. Having to wear nothing but his more masculine clothing back home with his parents has put him into a strange headspace. Even when he’s on tour, Luke still has some freedom in what he wears off stage, what he puts on under his clothing. He doesn’t get that when he goes to see his parents.

Luke put on his favorite part of panties this morning, soft pink cotton with little stars on them, after wearing nothing but his boxer briefs during the trip, and all he can focus on is how big he feels. He feels too large, too masculine, too much to be wearing them now. He feels itchy and uncomfortable, stretched too thin, out of place. Luke hates feeling like this, not feeling at home in his body. It sucks because he’s gotten comfortable over the last few months wearing his dresses and skirts and lingerie in public, painting his face and being free, being himself when he’s out doing things. He’s just gotten comfortable being able to express himself outside of his home and now he’s back to where he was ages ago, feeling like even the panties are too much, not right on his already large frame.

Luke’s trying to will himself not to cry, shoulders shaking slightly, head against the lip of the tub, when he hears Ashton calling his name. Luke doesn’t trust himself to answer, still hoping that he can hold it together long enough that by the time Ashton finds him, he’ll be okay. Ashton’s voice gets closer, until Luke can hear him outside the bathroom door, knocking on it lightly. Luke takes a couple deep breaths, shoulders shaking slightly with the effort of it.

“Luke, are you in there?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, startled by how broken he sounds.

“Do you want me to come in?” Ashton asks, tentative. It’s something they started back when Luke was living with Ashton the first time around, when the world was too much and he was close to breaking. Ashton put the choice into Luke’s hands, not asking Luke if he could come in, but asking Luke what he wanted. Giving Luke the power to decide how much or how little he wanted Ashton involved. Luke has never once turned Ashton away, desperately needs Ashton as his rock, his grounding presence, but Luke’s always been grateful for the choice Ashton gives him every time.

Luke considers it now, turning Ashton away. He doesn’t want Ashton to see him like this, but the thought of being without Ashton makes his chest tight and his throat close up. Luke just wants someone to hold him. Luke lets out a strangled sound, managing a choked out yes when Ashton asks the question again, concern and alarm clear in his voice. Ashton pushes the door open, making a sad noise in his throat when he sees Luke on the floor, kneeling down and wrapping Luke up in his arms, holding him close while Luke wraps his arms around Ashton, tears suddenly coming, streaming down his face.

“Oh sweetheart,” Ashton says, pushing Luke’s curls back and kissing his temple. Luke hiccups, sniffling around his tears. He lets Luke keep crying, body shaking as Luke tries to regain control of himself. Eventually he runs out of tears, sniffling slightly. Luke feels a little more aware of himself, but the out of body experience is still there, the feeling of it being not quite right hanging over him.

“Do you want to talk about it or do you want to cry about it and let me hold you?” Ashton asks, when Luke’s hiccups have calmed down.

“I don’t know. I just...I woke up feeling wrong and overwhelmed and I can’t breathe now. I can’t stop thinking about how I look, how I feel. My brain won’t stop telling me I’m too big, too much, that I’m a burden and a bother and I just want to stop feeling like this,” Luke says, pressing his face into Ashton’s shoulder, letting Ashton run his hands through his curls.

“Why do you feel like this? You haven’t talked about this since the first lingerie set you bought.”

“We went home. We stopped touring and we stayed home and I got comfortable. I got comfortable going out in public in dresses and skirts and wearing the lingerie under my clothing and no one caring. We go out to restaurants and local places and no one bats an eye, no one thinks I’m Luke Hemmings in a dress, they just see me. And then we went home and I just...I felt like I had to put myself back in a box for my parents. I’m just uncomfortable in my own body now, like everything I’m doing is wrong. I didn’t feel right back home, but it’s like being in that mindset for a few weeks has just made me feel out of place here now. And I made the stupid choice to get on the scale and now I just don’t feel right Ash and I hate it and I hate that I’m crying about this,” Luke rushes out in one breath. He feels Ashton’s hand pause, hears Ashton hum quietly, before he starts his movement again.

“Luke, you’ve never too much, you’re never a burden. I know it’s hard for you to understand that when your brain doesn’t want you to, but I love you. You can never be too much for me. You’re beautiful and wonderful.”

“Even when I’m like this?”

“Like what?”

“Miserable. Angsty. I can’t get out of my head and I feel so itchy in my own skin and I only feel comfortable sitting here in my underwear, but now I can’t even think of it as my underwear because I couldn’t wear it for weeks. I just...I wish I was different. I wish I didn’t feel like this. I wish I was comfortable in my body, I wish I could be a better partner, I wish I was just...better.”

“Luke, I don’t want you any other way. This is you, this is who you are. All your good parts and bad parts, the perfect bits and all of the flaws you see in yourself. They make you who you are. They make you beautiful. And you love me, even when I’m locking myself away for hours or when I’m depressed, when I was binge drinking all the time and when you had to handle me getting sober. That’s what being in love is, all the good parts and the bad parts and the in between parts,” Ashton says. He tilts Luke’s head up, smoothing back a curl and pressing a soft kiss to Luke’s forehead. Luke sighs, leaning into it, closing his eyes. He still feels itchy and stretched to thin, but it feels nice, knowing Ashton’s here for him, that Ashton loves him.

“Promise?”

“I promise. I love you, all of you.”

Luke nods, leaning into Ashton, matching his breathing to Ashton’s until he feels calmer, more centered.

Eventually, he feels Ashton shift, straightening his legs out, Luke shifts too, tilting his head up to look at Ashton.

“Thank you.”

“I love you, Luke. You’re welcome. Now, do you want food? Water? Cuddles?”

“Can we have a snack in bed? Watch a movie?”

“Of course darling,” Ashton says, smiling softly, pressing a kiss to Luke’s forehead pulling him to his feet, leading him back to bed. Luke gets comfortable while Ashton goes back downstairs, getting popcorn and water, letting Luke set up something for them to watch. Luke gets under the covers, curling up, grabbing Petunia when she ventures into the bedroom and cuddling with her until Ashton gets in. He curls up at Luke’s side, letting Luke put his head in his lap, playing with Luke’s curls. Luke still doesn’t feel quite right, still feels stretched too thin, but he feels better now, softer. Knowing that Ashton loves him, cares for him, even when Luke’s being irrational and scared and unhappy, makes Luke feel better. It reminds Luke that this is what love feels like. This is what their love feels like.

#5 seconds of summer #lashton #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #body image tw #weight tw #references to alchoholism #alcohol tw #its a slightly more angst piece than i normally do for this series #projection was strong #my writing #eating disorder tw #panic attack #lingerie Luke #lingerie sos

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charming-oddities · 4 years ago

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I Got A Creepy Letter From The Person Who Used To Live In My House, And I Can’t Help But Wonder If What They Wrote Is True

I am so thankful that summer is finally here, but this morning I was kind of surprised when I looked at the calendar and saw that it was already May. April flew by, but thankfully it took the last of the chilly weather with it.

As I put my daughter down for her nap, I start to cover her up with an old baby blanket that my grandmother had made for me when I was a baby. Something about those hand-stitched roses lining the edges of the fabric feel like home, reminding me of summers of my childhood spent sitting on her living room floor, watching her hands work magic with that thread and needle. I quickly decide against using the blanket on my daughter as I wipe a bead of sweat off of my own temple with the back of my hand. Instead, I fold the blanket neatly and hang it over the railing at the foot of her crib. I turn and pull one of my grandmother’s old wall decorations out of the box on the floor and reach up to hang it on the nail on the wall across from where my daughter is now sleeping. I pull the newly-hung curtains to the side to allow a fresh summer breeze to come in through the window, carrying the scent of the former resident’s rose bushes in with it. While doing this, I notice the mail lady coming up the sidewalk. I tiptoe out of my daughter’s room and run to the door to greet her on the porch.

“You’ve got something for me?” I ask, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice.

“Yes Ma’am.” She says, handing me a plain-looking envelope.

I accidentally snatch the envelope out of her hand and then apologize immediately. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little excited. This is the first piece of mail that I’ve received at this new address. I just moved in a couple of days ago.”

The mail lady smiles patiently. “I understand. Have a nice day.” She turns and walks toward the next house.

Feeling like a little kid opening their first present on Christmas morning, I start to tear open the envelope but stop as I notice that my address is scrawled in unfamiliar handwriting on the front. This excites me, even more, when I realize that my very first piece of mail might actually be a handwritten letter.

The “We Just Got A Letter” tune from Blue’s Clues pops into my head as I sit down and tear the rest of the envelope off, to reveal a few pieces of notebook paper covered front to back with small handwriting in blue ink. Anxiously, I begin to read:

Hello,

You don’t know me. Perhaps this is silly, but I feel an obligation to you that I write this. I’ve been thinking of you a lot for the past couple weeks, and there are some things that I think you need to know. If I were you, I would want to know.

I shift uncomfortably on the cement step of my front porch.

I used to live in your house. I grew up there, from 1993 until December of 2010. I drive by your house often, seeing as I take the main road to get to where I need to go. I suppose in a typical situation when a person drives by an old place from their past, their automatic instinct would be to turn their head and take a quick glance at the site where they spent so much of their childhood growing up. Well, that’s certainly not the case with me. When I drive past 17201, my eyes don’t flinch from the road in front of me. However, on the few occasions when I force myself to glance at the house, I immediately feel something staring back at me, every single time. It’s as if the home has a pair of eyes of its own, and they recognize me, too.

Like I said, there are some things that you need to know.

“Who would write such a thing,” I wonder. “And why would they want to make me feel uncomfortable here?”

In 1990, when my parents and sister (who was roughly a year old at the time) first started moving their stuff into the house, my mom noticed that crucifixes were hanging above every window and doorway inside. In a way, she found comfort in seeing them. My mother said that they made her feel safe, but my dad thought they were a little weird. Within the first few months of them living there, my mom noticed that one by one, the crosses started to disappear. She assumed that it was my dad who had been taking them down discretely because they had been making him uncomfortable. She thought it was sweet of my father to sort of take his time doing it like he was trying to be nice about it and ease the crosses away from her one at a time, so she wouldn’t be offended by their sudden absence.

One day, after the crosses had all been removed, my dad asked her where she had put them because he had favored one particular cross that had been hanging above the window in their bedroom. Of course, this upset my mother because she thought he was teasing her. Once she realized that he wasn’t, they actually searched the house for the crosses, thinking some of them might have just fallen off the wall and landed on a bed or behind the couch or something. They never did find them.

Without realizing it, I look away from the letter and walk to my car to grab my pack of cigarettes from the glove compartment. I place one between my lips with shaking fingers. Why are my fingers trembling?

After I was born, my sister and I shared the master bedroom. There would be nights when our mom would carry us to bed after we had fallen asleep on the couch and the phone would ring, or something would distract her, and she would leave the room. A few moments later, she would remember that she had forgotten to tuck us in, or that she hadn’t covered us up at all. She would return to our bedroom and stop in the doorway, confused to see that the blankets were already covering us, neatly tucked in under and around us while we were sound asleep.

My mother viewed whatever might have been in that house as harmless, or even protective, until a few years later when my sister would cry inconsolably until our mom would let us sleep in the living room. My sister would always say how she felt ill in our room like there was something bad in there. Growing up, we would spend our summers and weekends sleeping on the couch rather than in our own beds. When I was 7, my mom said she woke up in the middle of the night because she heard one of us crying and call out for her from our bedroom. Still half asleep, she got up and went into our bedroom and turned on the light, only to give herself a mini panic attack at the sight of an empty room, before remembering that my sister and I were actually on the other side of the country in Oregon visiting our uncle at that time.

We were always seeing and hearing strange things in that house. When any of us would sit in the recliner in the living room and watch TV, we would often see tall, dark shadow figures in the hallway, out of the corner of our eye. Eventually, we all just stopped sitting in that chair and started sitting on the couch or the floor so we couldn’t see into the hallway. There was a day when we were cooking dinner, and my dad just barged into the kitchen, demanding to know if any of us had just been in the hallway. We all just kind of looked at him like he was crazy, and he explained that he had just seen someone walk down the hallway and into our bedroom. He was worried that someone had broken in and been hiding in the house. Of course, neither he nor his baseball bat found anyone upon further investigation.

Whenever our cousins or friends would sleepover, we would all take turns between sleeping on the couches or on the living room floor. Our guests who were sleeping on the floor would often wake us up, scared because they heard weird noises in the basement under them. A lot of strange things happened in that basement. At one point, our cousin moved in with us, making a room down there. During his second week of staying there, he was awoken by the sound of humming and rustling bags. He started talking to my mom, assuming that the noises he was hearing were just her going through bags of dirty clothes and doing the laundry. When she didn’t respond, he got up and walked to the other side of the basement to the washing machine, only to discover that he was alone in the basement. When I was in middle school, I remember heading into the basement to toss some dirty clothes into a basket by the washer. When I got to the stairs, I froze. I looked up just in time to see the head and shoulder of a dark figure peek out from behind the furnace in the middle of the basement. Naturally, I dropped my clothes and ran like hell. From that day until the day that we moved out, I refused to go into that basement. My mom was often afraid to go in the basement alone, so she would make my dad go with her.

This strange phenomenon continued into my high school years. During my junior year of high school, I used to wake up at 5 in the morning, an hour before everyone else in the house so I could have the bathroom to myself to get ready for school. While doing this, I would usually listen to music through my headphones to help wake myself up. One particular morning when I was getting ready in front of the mirror, I started hearing a strange background noise that I knew wasn’t part of the music. I took my headphones out to see where the noise was coming from. At first, I thought the toilet was overflowing, but then I pulled back the shower curtain and discovered that the faucet in the bathtub had been turned on full pressure. Everyone else was asleep, and the knobs in the bathtub were really hard to turn. I struggled to turn the knob with both hands to shut the water off. By the time I finished applying my mascara that morning, I had convinced myself that it never happened. I mean, if whatever had the strength to turn on the old faucet in the bathtub, what else did it have the strength to do? Luckily, we didn’t live in that house long enough to find out. A couple months later, a week after my 17th birthday, we moved out.

I apologize for the length of this letter, but I assure you that this is just a brief summary of all of the strange things that have happened there in that house. At this point, you probably think that I am crazy. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe there is a reason why you read this letter to the very end. Maybe you have experienced some unexplainable things for yourself. Well, I am here to assure you that it wasn’t all in your head. Anything that you have seen or felt was very real. I also wanted to write you this letter because I have heard that the reconstruction or redecoration of any building can often trigger the activity of whatever might still be residing within it. Just know that you are not alone.

Please be careful.

I will continue to pray for you.

After reading the letter, I continue to sit on the front porch step. I stare at the traffic on the road in front of me and watch as the cars go back and forth in a hypnotic manner. I look at the pile of cigarette butts on the sidewalk in front of me and laugh out loud. I haven’t smoked this many cigarettes at one time since I was 18 years old. I am reluctant to admit that the letter definitely had me going there for a minute, but the person who took the time to write something so long and ridiculous to a stranger must have been bored, not to mention crazy. Too bad I don’t believe in that stuff.

I laugh again as I get up and go into the house to grab a water out of the fridge. I crumple up the letter and toss it into the trash can under the kitchen sink. Just as I head to the living room to sit on the couch, I hear my daughter giggling in her room. How is she awake already? I grunt, then head to check in on her. In her doorway, I freeze.

In her crib, I find my daughter laughing, cozily tucked in under my grandmother’s blanket, and pointing at the wall on the other side of the room. I turn my head and look. The wall is bare.

Where did my grandmother’s crucifix go? _______________________________ (C) Gina Clingan 2018 Originally published on Thought Catalog

#Gina Clingan #Horror #Creepy #Scary story #creepypasta

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bloommelon · 5 years ago

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Everything Is Blue

WARNINGS: severe angst, suicidal themes, suggestive sexual content, eventual suicide, mental illnesses, eventual character death, unhappy ending, suicidal content, graphic suicide

A/N: please don't read if you're depressed, this is a very sad story but im proud of it because I actually finished something for ONCE. NONE of this is based on real life, it's all fiction. Jaehyun just fit my idea of this character, and I hope no one gets the wrong idea that I tried to glamorize suicide. And also, I do not feel suicidal and I am not depressed because of writing this, i simply got this idea while thinking I should try and write angst. On another note, I hope whoever reads this likes it or at least it makes you feel some type of emotion. Thank you. *i did not proofread at all btw*

Song: Colors by Halsey

✖✖✖✖

August 3rd

Jaehyun and I sat in a field of Nemophila by the river, the sun shining and clouds floating above us eating strawberries and our laughter filling the hot summer air. Jaehyun had taken me to the museum to see his favorite painting an hour beforehand, telling me it reminded him of me. It was a simple painting, blue sky with fluffy white clouds on a sunny day. I'd almost stayed home that day, not wanting to go anywhere due to a flurry of sudden panic attacks that week. "When you're feeling anxious, come here and call me and I'll come as quick as I can." At that moment, I'd been filled with happiness due to Jaehyun's caring nature but I should have been the one making sure he had somewhere to go when he was upset, but his feelings of sadness weren't noticeable back then. Giving him a hug wasn't enough to stop the pain he felt daily just from living. Laughter hurt, and so did seeing me smile making guilt rush through him at the fact that I brought him some happiness, but not enough for him to change his mind.

September 19th

Jaehyun wrote poetry about clouds and sunshine and the color blue. He would have painted himself blue if it was socially exceptable. Most of the poems he let me read brought tears to my eyes, ruining my mascara. He always wiped the mascara off, then he'd kiss all my tears away telling me that's how poetry should make me feel. I told him many times how intense it felt, the emotions brought out by the poems he wrote and he'd stare at me and say" that's how i feel about you." Intense. Wildly. Airy. Bright and warm like sunshine shining down through clouds. Most people tell you to write when you're feeling blue to get whatever you're feeling out of your system so that you can feel yellow and bright again,but he still wished for the sun to poison him. He wished for dehydration and shock to take him away instead of writing useless poems.

October 13th

Friday the thirteenth. Bad omens were shown, I just didn't recognize them. I look back now and something had been off about Jaehyun that day. His smile wasn't the same. It was crooked in a way that it was almost a frown, but to outsiders it passed as a normal expression of happiness. He painted sometimes just like writing, and his paintings left me feeling blue just like the blue sky in august, like the painting in the museum, like the color of the walls in his room. It wasnt even a sad painting-he'd painted a red rose in a field of baby blue eyes by a river at night. It wasn't even sad, but when i touched the paper after it dried, I just wanted to cry. He'd held me telling me about the meaning behind it. "It's supposed to make you appreciate things and people that are different, but still appreciate the normal things and people too. No one should be left out. That everyone and everything is more than meets the eye, you just have to look deeper." The way he talked made me want to cry, and he could sense something was wrong, but the fact that I couldn't look deeper to notice his sadness made me tell him everything was fine. I pretended I was fine and I pretended he was fine, so that in the moment, I could feel like everything was fine when nothing about that day was fine. That night he'd went home and cried himself to sleep, and he'd almost done something heartwrenching but I couldn't ask him a simple 'are you okay?'. He would have lied anyways, but maybe if i would have pushed him to answer he wouldn't have cried alone that night or almost took a razor to his skin.

November 7th

Jaehyun and I would sit in my room for hours in comfortable silence, him drawing while i read books. He'd been noticeably upset on this day. To the point where I kept asking him what was wrong and was everything okay. He started rambling about death and blood to the point where fear bubbled up inside of me, spilling out into the world and when he noticed I was terrified, he had cried and apologized repeatedly. He'd thrown his drawing pad in the middle of all of this, it getting lost behind my bed. I'd held him for hours after that, hoping he would feel better and calm down. It worked on the outside, and I foolishly believed I'd helped him on the inside as well. He wasn't okay, and the way he had talked about blood and death so freely spoke volumes about what he thought of daily. If only I'd tried to look deeper. Most of us take what we see on the outside and assume that there's nothing more to see and we should look away as to not disturb the normalcy of the world.

December 25th

Christmas day was snowy and beautiful, the sun fighting it's way through the clouds to shine down on everything to try and melt the snow, but the snow was relentless and the roads icy. The gifts didnt matter that day as everyone was together and that made Jaehyun filled to the brim with happiness, which mattered a lot more. That night we lay together wrapped in nothing but the warmest blue blanket we could find, the snow falling against the window and the christmas lights above us in my room shining down us painting our faces in green and red. He was happy, but that didn't mean the pain had suddnely disappeared and that family made the bad thoughts run away, he was just hiding them. That night he whispered how much he loved me , lips against my temple. He told me I was the only gift he needed. He didnt know that he was the only gift I needed, and that him staying could have been so much better. Maybe that's selfish. On Christmas some people expect everything they want to be given but give nothing to others. That year, I was sadly part of the people who expect and was given everything I wanted but I gave nothing.

February 14th

Jaehyun's birthday. I had thrown him a surprise party that he loved, wearing a blue dress with pink hearts on it since it was also Valentine's day. Once he opened his gifts, which was a copy of the painting with the clouds on a sunny day that he absolutely adored and a necklace with my name on it in the shape of a cloud. His dimples stayed out all day, like I wish they would have stayed for life. As a Valentine's gift he gave me a blue rose and a painting of me by the river sitting in the field of Nemophila. That night I ended up in only his blue flannel with marks of his love on my skin the next morning,his whispers of "i love you more than anything" ingrained in my thoughts forever. I'd told him the same, but it didnt count as much since he said it first, and knowing now that that wasn't enough for him to stay breaks my heart all over again.

March 2nd

We spent the day walking around despite him being vocal of not feeling like getting out of bed, and he was a bit angry with me until I got him laughing by singing embarrassing 80's songs and dancing awkwardly. We both danced until we got tired, our legs exhausted and breathing was a difficult feat. I told him that he didn't deserve to be sad and he told me "i deserve whatever the world throws at me" which made me worry about him for weeks. I didnt tell him that, although maybe I should have. I just didn't want to make him feel bad when i started having panic attacks again because of it. He didn't know and didn't mean to, he just was in so much pain.

April 20th

He'd cooked for me on this day, telling me he felt a lot better. He appeared completely calm and peaceful like how some people get after doing things they love. Which he was good at cooking and enjoyed it, so I was extremely happy. He hadn't cooked in months-not like this. He was also baking. He wouldn't let me go in his kitchen. "It's a surprise, darling. Just be patient" Although he acted normal enough, whatever normal means, i sensed sadness coming from his being. After we ate, I felt nauseous. He turned into a concerning boyfriend rather than a happy one which made me upset since I knew he was keeping his sadness a secret. While he went to clean the kitchen after throwing a blanket on my cold body, I felt even more nauseous and after contemplating on whether or not to run to the bathroom my body decided for me. Vomiting isn't something anyone is fond of, and Jaehyun was even more concerned when he found me lying on the floor against the bathtub. He threw all the food away after that and blamed himself for me getting sick, though It was just a case of me eating way too much. Once in his bed, he kept apologizing and ended up crying but I held him and told him everything was okay. He didn't tell me that every small thing affected him so horribly it'd leave him wishing he'd never been born. He didn't know that those small things were things he couldn't help, but his brain told him that he ruined everything.

May 27th

Sitting in the field of Baby blue eyes with him felt different this time. More peaceful. We laid down side by side watching the clouds, he always said he wanted to float in the clouds but not anything about how he wanted to be buried like the roots of the nemophila we laid on. He didn't tell me he didnt want to grow anymore, not by himself and not with me-not with anyone. Instead he told me how much he loved me, that he'd die for me and told me it all day. He wouldn't let his hands off of me, never letting go of my hand or arm or hips. He wouldn't let go. He asked me to stay the night and keot me in his arms until I had to work the next day, getting upset when I left. He didn't tell me I'd only have a week or two left of this. Left of being in love, left of seeing his pretty smile and those dimples he was known for showing almost all the time. He didn't tell me he was looking for reasons to stay, trying so hard not to give up.

June 16th

When I'd woken up, a feeling of dread left me near tears all day. I hadn't seen Jaehyun in three days and it'd gotten late in the day without a word from him which was unusual. I pushed the uncomfortable feeling to the side until I'd decided to leave to go see him after calling him and texting him repeatedly. While walking out the door I remembered that day when he'd terified me with that talk of blood and death and him throwing his drawing pad. Worry filled my being, making me feel sick as I pushed my bed onto the side to find his blue drawing pad.

Tears stream down my face at the drawing I found. In my hands was the reason for all his weird behavior,all his guilt and all of his pain. He wanted to die. My Jaehyun wanted to disappear from this world forever. I throw the drawing pad in a random direction and run. I call all of our friends and his family, wanting to know if they had seen him. None of them had. I didn't want it to be true.

My legs carried me to the field of baby blue eyes by the streaming river, the sun shining down so brightly and the clouds reminding me of the painting Jaehyun loved so much.

My legs were already cramping but I pushed through that pain to find the love of my life laying in a field of nemophila, his wrists slit so terribly blood is all you could see. Flowing from his wrists to drip onto the plants under him, it was so red and gory I stopped breathing, running over to him to begin screaming while on the phone with one of his best friends. Johnny knew something was wrong, his voice got further away as he told Mark to call someone. To call 911, to get help.

In Jaehyun's hand was a a razor blade and I grabbed it, throwing the wretched thing far from us. I kept shaking him and screaming at him to get up. Nothing worked. Around his neck was the cloud necklace, and despite the horror I could see, he looked extremely peaceful, his eyes shut permanently. My Jaehyun was gone, and he'd died where he loved, but he'd felt so unloved to come to this place.

I'd never enjoy bright sunny days or museums again. I couldn't, not when I couldn't see Jaehyun's dimples or hold his warm hand. As much as he wanted to burn, he'd left the world cold. The sun still shined so brightly down on us as if nothing had ever happened in this place.

🌹

#angst #jung jaehyun #jaehyun angst #nct angst #jung jaehyun angst #sadness #possibly very triggering #bmwriting #bloommelonwrites

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placesthatchangedpeople · 4 years ago

Text

Montana Academy testimony

This testimony was found on Reddit. All rights go to the author.

I’m not going to go into the hell that was SUWS Carolina [wilderness], as that is a whole different can of worms, and the boarding school was far more sinister. I arrived at Montana Academy a few weeks after turning 17. I was absolutely terrified after what I had been through spending 9 weeks living in the woods, but I was at least happy that I could use a toilet and sleep in a bed. [To get rid of any confusion later on, I was born male. At this point in my life I was still living as a boy, and trying very hard to convince myself I wanted to stay that way.] When I got to campus I was greeted by my team leaders and paraded through the lunch room as the entire student body looked at me [as all new students are]. I’m still convinced this is a power play devised by the creators of the school to subtly break your guard down. I said goodbye to my mom, grandmother, and my uncle, and began the worst period of my life.

So the Staff of our team was our team leader Dave, and boy, Dave was a piece of shit. He was the type of guy who would get a shit eating grin whenever he could punish you. You could fucking tell he got a semi off of it, and we would all talk about how much we hated him behind his back. I remember the ear to ear smile he got on his face as my eyes welled up with tears when he told me I couldn’t spend Christmas away from the ranch with my mom, because I was short by one signature on my checklist. That’s Dave in a nutshell. The weekend team leader was Sam and I think he was even worse, because he had the amazing ability to make you feel safe and loved one week, and then emotionally beat you to a pulp the next. For instance... There was one weekend where Sam and I had a long emotional talk where I opened up to him about how much my dad meant to me and how I would give anything to have him back. He gave me the biggest hug and told me he was here for me. The week after was rough and I was so excited to talk to him again, but when his shift started, he sat down and immediately screamed at me in front of everybody for not sitting down fast enough at the table, and put me on privilege freeze for a week. This would happen all the time. It was like he got off on building up our trust and hopes and then he would have a bad week at home and treat us like absolute shit.

I started with every intention of bettering myself. I had fully subscribed to the belief that I was broken as a result of “immaturity”, and the Founder of M.A.'s book was so fond of claiming. Despite coming from a broken home, childhood neglect, death of a parent, sexual abuse, trauma etc, it was MY fault that I ended up at M.A. I was ready to do my part. Unfortunately I wasn’t perfect as the staff expected me to be. I tried my ass off to do chores to the militaristic standards that they upheld, but I often fell short. Perhaps I missed a nearly microscopic hair in a bathtub. Sometimes, my sheets were a little crooked. And for each little transgression there was a severe consequence. If you made more than one mistake on your chores within a week, you could kiss all of your privileges goodbye. No phone call to your mom. No movie night. This may not seem like a big deal, but when you’re locked in an environment where you have maybe one tiny thing to look forward to a week, losing it because of something that is often not your fault is the most heart wrenching feeling in the world. Sometimes the punishments would go beyond cruel and just become abusive. About 5 weeks into my stay, I made the grave mistake of telling my team leader Dave that I had finished my assignment because I was having a really horrible day and just wanted to continue reading my book. Unfortunately he decided to double check. When he found out I wasn’t being honest, he assigned me to my first drudgery. That weekend I spent 6 hours outside in 20 degree weather scraping ice off of every single pathway on the entire ranch campus. I asked once if I could stop because my hands were rubbed raw and starting to bleed, and my weekend team leader Sam refused. I shouldn’t have lied, he insisted. By the end of the night, my hands were covered in blisters and I had learned my place. At this point I was broken, or so I thought. I didn’t know it could get worse.

As for therapy… My 1st therapist was useless. She was liable to cry about tragedies that had occurred during her own life. Ironically she was as cold as ice when it came to my issues. When it came to the issue of me being sexually assaulted in the 1st grade, she breezed right past it, and moved on to other issues. When I told her that I had always wished I had been been born a girl, she didn’t seem to give the slightest semblance of a fuck. When I would bring up the death of my father, or my mother’s alcoholism, she would go into how her brother died and start crying, and the next thing I knew I would be awkwardly wondering if I should console her. The biggest breakthrough in our therapy was when she came to the confident conclusion that the root of all my issues was that I was… wait for it… ADDICTED TO VIDEO GAMES… Every therapy session turned into her trying to convince me that I never wanted to play video games again, despite the fact I was drinking heavily and using substances before entering wilderness. After I finally promised her I would never touch another game again, we finally moved on to trying to process the loss of my father, and even that was a useless endeavor.

Group therapy was a clusterfuck. I don’t exactly know a better way to describe it than to call it “conflict therapy”. Seeing as how the entire M.A. operation was based around punishing students for their mistakes it was only natural to pit them against each other. The students of M.A. were each separated into 7 teams of roughly 10 students each. I spent 90% of my time with my team. They were your my friends, but I can guarantee they knew me fucking biblically. During group, it was common for one student on the team to be singled out and for every other student on the team to just fucking lay into them. It happened to everybody. We were all encouraged to tell on each other if we witnessed any rules being broken. I couldn’t trust my best friends with a secret at M.A. because the consequences were so dire. One tiny mistake could land me there for an extra year. Imagine the fucking paranoia that this causes. I was ALWAYS being watched. I began to question every single thing that I did. I began to believe the punishments I was being given were because I was useless, and because I couldn’t do anything right. After about a year I was 100% fucking brainwashed. I because some kind of M.A. Drone and I genuinely believed that I needed them to survive. It was like I was in a fucking cult, and if they had fucking cyanide in the punch I wouldn’t be writing this right now.

I think this next part was the most fucked up. This was the point where my red-pollyped festering cunt of a therapist decided to use me as an example, to teach a fucking seminar. My team was planning a father-son weekend trip. Doesn’t that sound lovely? Well, problem is, my dad’s fucking brain drowned in its own blood and so he’s in a box in my mom’s closet, so I can’t exactly take that out to Bowman lake with the boys. Luckily for me my therapist called me in and informed me that I was allowed to spend a weekend with my Uncle [who I love very much]. I was so happy, I was jumping for joy! A few weeks pass, and the father-son weekend is getting closer. My therapist calls me back in and tells me to sit down, and then informs me that she actually thinks it would be great for my “therapy” if I went with my team on the trip... I begged her to let me spend the weekend with my uncle, but she said it would also be good for the team’s therapy. So that weekend we all went to the lake. It was a really wonderful experience for everybody except for me. For the entire weekend I was alone. Some of my friends and their dads spent some time with me but I honestly wanted to be alone. Being the only kid without a fucking dad on a father-son trip is fucking humiliating beyond words. The worst part was on the last night of the weekend where the therapist held a group therapy session and the whole fucking thing was centered around me and my fucking dead dad, and all the issues that come with having a dead dad. My therapist had some really great and sensitive questions prepared... “Do you miss your dad?” “Do you feel guilty about anything?” “Why do you feel like it was your fault?” “Do you think your dad would be proud of you?” “Do you wish your dad was here?” “How did you deal with your mom falling apart?” “How do you feel that your mom is drinking again?” and the therapist just keeps pushing me and pushing me and pushing me until I’m inconsolable, and having a panic attack, and I just want her to shut the fuck up. I felt so broken, humiliated, and violated. How fucking dare this bitch of a therapist come at me with all of this heavy shit in front of people I've never met, when all she ever wants to talk about in our sessions is how much I like video games. They don’t care in these fucking places. They wanted to give these stupid fucking dads something powerful to witness so they could write a fucking Facebook post about the amazing work that's being done at MA. May they rot in hell.

Medical malpractice was also Rampant. While at M.A. I was struggling with weight and eating issues. My team “suggested” that I run a half marathon because our new team leader liked to run and they love to fucking push even the smallest beliefs and hobbies on their students. The shoes I was training in had literally no insoles. I asked for new shoes and was told to write a proposal. I wrote one and was never responded to by the treatment team [big fucking surprise]. After weeks of training we finally ran the half marathon. Halfway through, I felt a shooting pain in my foot. I told my team leader as he was not too far ahead. He didn’t give me much of a choice but to finish. For the next 6-8 weeks I asked the nurse every day if I could please go to the doctor as my foot was killing me, and nobody ever did anything about it. Finally after asking over what must have been 50 times, they agreed to let me go into town to get an x-ray. The x-ray found that I had snapped the middle metatarsal bone in my foot clean in half. So not only did M.A. make me run 6 miles with a broken foot, they made me do hard fucking labor on it for 6-8 weeks before allowing medical treatment. Care for Transgender students was disgustingly ignorant and based on lies and misinformation. Despite trying to come out as trans to my 1st M.A. therapist, it was just ignored. I tried multiple times to bring it up, but I’m now certain that my therapist didn’t know what a trans person was, and so she just thought it would be easier to switch the subject. When I moved on to the Sky House [the halfway house portion of the program] I said fuck it and just fully came out. This was met with backlash from the therapy team. Since I was at the Sky house now I had a new therapist and he had a lot of info about transitioning. Unfortunately, all of the info was fucking wrong, and he filled my head with misinformation, lies, and half-truths, in an attempt to make it sound like starting hormones was harder than getting a fucking doctorate from Harvard.

After Finally graduating M.A. I had been brainwashed into believing that getting a script for hormones was like a quest for the holy grail. I had no idea how fucking easy it actually was. I tried to live a normal life. I moved in with my aunt and uncle for a little while until I went off to college. I stayed sober for a few months, but as soon as I got to the university, things started fucking unraveling fast. I realized that I had been horribly abused and that the “therapy” I had been undergoing was nothing more than expensive babysitting. I fucking lost it I started drinking and taking any substance I could. I failed out of my school and moved back home. I drifted around for 3 years drinking, and being a disgusting and terrible person. I had to figure it all out on my own. I fucked with drugs I never should have and fell in with people I had no business being with. I drank too much, and made many regrettable decisions. But I still figured my fucking life out. I figured out that I needed to fucking get it together. I made a goal. I needed to transition. That was problem A. I got sober, went to my Nana [my hero] and found a therapist and within 2 weeks I was on hormones and began my transition, and by pure luck, I found love. It’s been a little over 4 years since I’ve gotten sober and things are far from perfect. I have severe PTSD from going to that hell of a school. I still dream about it multiple nights a week, and wake up in a fucking panic. I never leave the goddamn house because I start to panic, and I have serious trouble holding a job, so instead I work from home as a camgirl, inserting large objects into me for money. I’m lucky though that I now have my girlfriend to help me through it. Without her, I don’t know what I would do most days. Also, its really fucking great to not have to be a goddamn boy anymore. If anyone else had a similar experience [and I know others have] you’re not alone, and good luck.

#Montana Academy #Montana #brainwashing #medical malpractice

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here-i-acquit-myself · 5 years ago

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Longest, rambling post of my life. But I have hope that if I write it all down, I can somehow move past it, and then maybe my art, writing, friendships, and relationships won’t suffer anymore.

Some things you should know before I even start:

- I have ALWAYS been poly. I have been in poly relationships since I was 19 (I am almost 27). It hasn’t been easy, I’ve learned a lot and made a lot of mistakes, but I’ve never hidden it from anyone. At this time in my life, two years or so ago, I had two live-in partners and we were a triad. I had been with one partner for seven years, I had been with the other about three. When the subject of this narrative (Louis) and I got together, they were ALSO dating someone else. They had a girlfriend. I had met their girlfriend, I knew they were together and I was fine with it (of course).

- Louis and I are multiple, which some of you probably know what that means without me having to explain it and some of you are probably like ????? the fuck. It’s something I don’t really want to talk about because I don’t feel like defending my head, but if I can boil it down to bare bones for the sake of the narrative, just know that it means both of us come with handfuls of extra people and they have relationships with each other as well.

- Obligatory - there are two sides to every story, this is just mine. I handled a lot of things badly in this situation, but I still need to let these feelings out. I need to feel heard because one thing about Louis is our mutuals will never, ever see some of these things about them. Everyone loves them and thinks they’re a bright spot of sunshine. Which is fine. But it would be nice to be believed after so much public suffering and humiliation.

The Narrative:

I met Louis three (almost four) years ago because we worked the same job. We were friends. I thought they were so cool and just really wanted them to like me. I also had a crush on another coworker (Armand), and the three of us were friends.

About two years ago, Louis invited Armand and I over for dinner and a movie. Louis’ house is very small and only has a bedroom, a kitchen, and a bathroom. So we were sitting in the bedroom, on the bed, watching movies. I was extremely nervous because I had such a crush on both of them. (To my knowledge, at the time, Louis was in a monogamous relationship and I respected that, I never made a move). It was getting really late, and after what felt like hours of my working up the nerve, I finally summoned enough courage to hold Armand’s hand. It got better - he WANTED to hold my hand. I was overjoyed, even more so when he leaned over to give me a kiss. Louis was absolutely livid. He got up and left the room, left the house. I wasn’t quite sure why he was upset (maybe he didn’t want us kissing in his room?) Armand went out to talk to him but he wasn’t feeling incredibly communicative. We all ended up sleeping in the same bed anyway, hoping in the morning he would tell us what was wrong. We all had work the next day.

We were all VERY close at this point, so it was unusual for us not to speak at work. Louis did not say a WORD. He did not speak to us at all. He looked like he was going to cry the entire time. Armand and I could not get him to say a word to either of us.

I know this is a whole lot of set-up, but it really sets the tone for the entire relationship.

It comes out at the end of the day that Louis was upset because HE had a crush on ME. And when I kissed Armand it felt like the ultimate betrayal. We all talked about it and it eventually boiled down to, why does it have to be this way? Why don’t I date both of them? I really liked both of them. Armand had very strong feelings for Louis. Louis had strong feelings for me. Armand and I had already expressed our feelings for each other. It seemed like a seamless transition.

And we were all happy! For like, I don’t know, two weeks? Louis started asserting his boundaries. He did not want Armand and I to hold hands while we were all out in public together. He wanted us to keep PDA to a minimum altogether. It started involving the headspace (where X from his headspace did not want X from my headspace to be in a relationship with anyone Armand had). (And, as an extra note, my headspace is full of poly people as well. I have NEVER taken kindly to anyone trying to enforce monogamy on them). Armand and I tried to work around everything, but just a couple months into the relationship it was all too much. With Louis breaking down almost every time I visited him, saying it hurt too much, he could not stand my relationship with Armand, etc. I ended up breaking down and breaking up with Armand, I could not take the pressure, and Louis’ struggles with the relationship and his rules and his breakdowns were haunting me even in bed. It absolutely sucked the joy out of dates and overnights. And in hindsight, I fucked up pretty badly with this one.

After Armand and I broke up, my relationship with Louis drastically changed, and I mean, everything was good for a while. My relationship with my now-husband got back on the rails and started greatly improving (we had been on the rocks for a while), although my relationship with my then-wife was starting to decline (it’s oversimplifying a lot but I’m trying to stay focused on the key points). Louis and my husband (James) started dating each other as well. I was like, this is perfect! The three of us had an intense relationship, and it got very domestic very quickly. We even started talking about everyone moving in together. Even though things were far from perfect, they were just perfect enough that the weird rules and limitations that were still in place seemed like reasonable limits that I was just overreacting to.

This is all glossing over a very important undercurrent: the idea that his mental health was more important than anyone else’s. HIS needs were special, HE needed more consideration, HE deserved special treatment because he has BPD. (Note: he talks about his BPD like I have never known another goddamn person in this world with BPD. I have known several people, including my mother, and none of them act like he does). So in his mind, sure there were rules but there were always to be exceptions at his discretion, because he HAD to be the exception, goddamn it.

And then it just all went hideously South. I am not privy to all of the details of what went wrong (or if I’ve been told the details I have absolutely lost them in the vacuum of my “HIDE ALL OF THAT BAD THINGS” brain), but Louis and James broke up. It was a big time, messy breakup. Now I’m torn between the two houses. I’m spending almost every other night with Louis.

And the breakdowns just get more and more frequent. He can’t STAND that I’m still with James. He doesn’t understand how I could be with someone who hurt him so much (and James doesn’t understand how I could be with someone who hurt him so much, either). He’s cutting again, threatening suicide again. There are countless times when I’m called to his house in the middle of the night, breaking through his door and into his bathroom because he has swallowed a bunch of pills, or because he is trying to cut himself open in his bathtub. There were numerous times where I was calming him down, bandaging him up, taking him to bed. This became like, a weekly occurrence.

And things became bad at work, too. He was ALWAYS blowing up at me at work I work retail, so I would be on the register and he would be blowing up my phone. He would get mad at me if I did not read and reply to his messages, and usually when I did that, I just got so upset that I would cry. I cried in front of customers. I had to excuse myself from the register to go cry behind the building. Sometimes, I would start my shift with him saying “I’m done. It’s over. (RE: We are breaking up)” so I would go through my whole shift with this “we are broken up” argument, although he would still be texting me, berating me, and then by the end of my shift he doesn’t want to break up with me, he needs me, he’s having a panic attack, he’s going to hurt himself. And there were a few times I got fed up and tried to end it myself, but I ALWAYS caved because I thought he was going to hurt himself.

I was just never, never enough. I spent so much time trying to be a good partner and give everyone my attention like 100% of the time I neglected my art, my writing - he was jealous of people I made art or wrote for that I wasn’t even with. I had made a lot of strides with my own mental health but I was having immense breakdowns because I could not take it.

He did not want James and I to get married. He said he would break up with me if we did, even though it made financial / practical sense. (He acknowledged that it did, too, he just did not want it to happen).

(SIDE STORY: James and I are (legally) married. We have not had a ceremony yet because of -gestures to entire narrative-. My then-wife (Claire) and I had a wedding ceremony years ago but never made it legal. During THAT ceremony, our at the time mutual girlfriend attended the wedding and was very supportive of us and our special day. With Louis, I never asked for that kind of involvement, I never asked him to do anything that made him uncomfortable as far as even acknowledging my marriage to James - in the past Louis and I had even talked about having a ceremony of our own, because I believe in celebrating love and flaunting my partners and parties, of course. I did not really even ask for his support or blessing, it’s just I had had such a positive experience with multiple partners supporting each other in the past that this just like - blew my mind out of the water).

I think the last straw was one night, Louis broke a special mug to use the glass to cut himself. He wanted to kill himself. I went to his house in the middle of the night, I don’t drive so James had to wake up our son and drive me there. James drove home, I calmed Louis down, put him to bed, confiscated the glass so he could not hurt himself again and put it all in a bowl. So I’m standing on the porch, in the cold, shivering and barely verbal with a bowl full of broken, bloody glass - taking an Uber home in the middle of the night.

It was like that for a while, stuck in a loop of “we are breaking up - now things are okay - no, things are bad again, we are breaking up - things are back to being okay”. I think the last straw was when he broke up with me on New Year’s Eve. I told him “if you break up with me, that’s it, we are broken up. I’m not doing this anymore”. And it was over. For a little while.

But we still worked together, and feelings were still very raw. I still felt responsible for his mental health. He spent a while avoiding me, he would not talk to me, when he did start talking to me again it was evident that we still had feelings for each other, but maybe he knew I still felt responsible. He would still tell me when he was cutting, when he felt like killing himself. Work was hell for a little while and I felt even more isolated than before. All of my coworkers think he’s great and I knew none of them would believe me if I tried to confide in even one of them what he was putting me through.

I kept trying to distance myself from him and from the things he was doing and saying. One day he called out of work and said he was going to stay home and kill himself instead. I ended up neglecting my shift to call the police and have them show up at his house to do a wellness check. (NOTE: I do not trust police and was very conflicted about calling them at all, but there wasn’t a lot I could do and he said he had swallowed a whole bottle of pills). After they left he was mad at me.

Glossing over a lot - but we did not stay broken up long. We got back together only a few months ago. It was an even more difficult, strained relationship this time around (although I’m not saying that no part of it was good, I mean, we genuinely had some good times and some wonderful aspects of the relationship. It just, as always, gets buried underneath the shit. I really LOVE this man, okay, we have something special, but he rakes my mental health over the coals again and again). Because of his (now non-existent) relationship with James, everything that had been bad before was getting amplified. At this point in my life, Claire and I had ended our relationship and become just friends. James and I were together, and I had another long-distance partner (William) who I had dated in the past and recently we had come back together.

Well, okay, Louis does not really like either William or James. He also does not like it when I casually flirt or send nudes to other people (which I have done my whole life, and have made clear I do, no one comes into a relationship with me ignorant of the fact that I am still in my ho phase and I enjoy recreational flirting and nude exchanges). He wants my nudes to be special for him, he says that knowing other people have seen my boobs makes him sad.

At this point, it does not matter if we are having a bad night or a good one. We could be cuddling and watching a show and he will just turn to me and tell me that he will be sad when we break up, but we are going to have to break up, because he can’t live like this. I would ask him why we are still together if he wants to break up, and he’s like, he doesn’t WANT to, he just knows we will. (That fucks with me? Understandably, I feel). He becomes more and more insistent that James and I break up. Louis wants to be my one special partner and wants everyone else to be a casual side piece. (Even though, EVEN THOUGH, he has cried to me many times about feeling insignificant, about feeling like a side piece, about feeling like a mistress - which I have absolutely paid attention to and tried to remedy at eVERY TURN by giving him way more than I think was fair to my other partners).

Our relationship recently came to a head (again). I have been given the opportunity to move to my hometown (a few hours away) for Cosmetology school. In the beginning, I was not sure of where i was going to be, if I was going alone, or what was going to happen. Louis said he did not think our relationship would survive if I brought James with me. Because my experience talking to him about things as they develop has always been bad (and because our state is in lockdown, I have not been able to see him) I didn’t communicate my plans very well as they developed, and when he heard that James, the baby, and I were all moving together that was kind of it. He asked me “What are you going to do to prevent a breakup?” and I just kind of lost my shit. I was done, so completely done, and exhausted. So I broke it off and haven’t really been texting him. Because if I text him, I get nauseous, and I haven’t been able to sleep in weeks. I’m like, running on four hours of sleep at best most days. His boys will reach out to mine, because he knows my boys are weak and brokenhearted and they will talk even if I won’t. And then he has the audacity to text me, “X is upset at being neglected, but I’ve stopped caring tbh”. And I just feel so fucking godawful all the time. He won’t hesitate to tell me he is cutting, he is going to kill himself, he is drinking all of the time and he won’t stay sober.

I have told him, multiple times, that I need an equal partner. I need a partner who will support me as much as he expects to be supported. He has told me flat out “I can’t do that”.

I am ready to leave this city. There is a lot I did not even talk about, but these are, I guess, the major points I replay over and over in my head when I can’t sleep at night. Maybe I am my own worst enemy for perpetuating the cycle. I know there are a lot of points in the past where I could have brought my foot down and maybe stopped it from getting worse, but I’ve felt stuck, I still feel stuck. And I’m always going to feel responsible. Of course, this is all the bad stuff, it doesn’t really talk about all of the GOOD stuff we have. There is lots of good stuff. But I don’t think the good stuff can hold up against all of the messy, toxic shit. I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong?

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mezzomercury · 6 years ago

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I Was Born to Love You (Rami Malek x Reader)

A/N: Just a one-shot I wrote for @ramibaby a while ago.

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre: Fluff, Mild Angst

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol, Panic/Anxiety Attack

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

After a very long awards season and the overwhelming amount of success your boyfriend Rami had, things were finally starting to go back to normal, or at least as normal as they could be. Occasionally, the two of you would be spotted by fans, had selfies requested, or simply received compliments and congratulatory remarks by strangers, but you were still going to work, going grocery shopping, and other tasks that seemed relatively mundane compared to the life you had two weeks ago. Rami was back filming Mr. Robot and since you both lived in New York City, you could still see him everyday and carry on as a regular couple.

Unfortunately, this newfound attention and scrutiny would sometimes get to you and make you feel uncomfortable. Although Rami was used to public exposure and criticisms, you were still getting accustomed to dating someone who was now considered an A-List actor. While some fans were positive towards you, there were always a few who made you feel insecure. Now and then you would receive dirty looks from young women on the subway who saw you and Rami together. You could sometimes hear them say things like, “She doesn’t deserve him” or “What does he see in her? She’s not even a celebrity. What does she even do?” and while you tried to ignore it, some comments really cut you to the core. Even some of your co-workers would talk about you when you were still in earshot of them, commenting on your Oscar dress or how you kept nervously holding his hand when you two walked the red carpet. You couldn’t even escape this type of scrutiny at your own workplace, somewhere, up until recently, that you could remain a regular person and keep your privacy. Now, everything was out in the open, it seems, and you couldn’t control what people knew about you.

Days and days of this unnecessary stress went by, and it started to make you feel exhausted. You had difficulty trying to take care of yourself while Rami was filming, and you barely ate or slept, and only left your apartment to go to work or when it was absolutely necessary. Luckily, the cast and crew of Mr. Robot had an official day off from filming tomorrow, so Rami vowed that he would be yours for the entire day. “We’ll do whatever you want, baby. Just the two of us. Nothing is more important to me than you are.” he told you earlier today before he left the apartment. He was getting suspicious that all of this new fame was taking a toll on you both physically and mentally, but you hadn’t yet confessed it to him, as you were afraid your anxieties would pass onto him. He had enough on his plate already and you didn’t want to be a burden on him.

The day slowly passed, and you found yourself alone in your apartment at around 7pm, pouring yourself a glass of white wine and re-watching your favorite show on Netflix, although you weren’t paying complete attention to it. Rami wouldn’t be home until late, as he had a night shoot near Coney Island, and it would take him a while to get home after that had finished. Time seemed to pass in an utterly slow manner, but the bottle of pinot grigio that you had stored in the refrigerator seemed to have the opposite effect, as you drank all of it in less than two hours out of sheer boredom. While you were on your final glass, in a moment of self-deprecation and curiosity, you pulled out your laptop and typed in your name on Google search. Images and random articles about your relationship with Rami immediately popped up, and you slowly analyzed as many as you could without your head hurting, as you were moderately tipsy from drinking on an empty stomach. Tears involuntarily started streaming from your eyes as you read mini articles on tabloid websites with hurtful headlines like, “Y/N: Rami’s newest publicity stunt?” or “Don’t worry, Rami Malek lovers, he won’t be taken for long.” You even found yourself reading hurtful comments on your Instagram photos that you didn’t dare to look at until now. Finally, your brain had enough and you felt like something inside you snapped, as you rolled off the couch and started bawling while curled up in a fetal position. You felt so helpless and defeated, and to top it all off, your head was simultaneously spinning and aching.

That’s how Rami found you when he came home not too long after your outburst. He didn’t even lock the door behind him or put down his things when he walked in, for he saw you on the floor and immediately ran to you, kneeling to the floor, scooping you up into his arms and rocking you back and forth like a baby. You barely registered him coming in until you felt his warm touch and the gentle kisses he left on your forehead. You whimpered softly at the intimate contact between the two of you, and he responded by whispering in your ear, “I’m right here, baby doll. I’ve got you now.” He pulled back a wisp of your hair and winced when he saw a small bruise on your temple, undoubtedly caused from you falling and hitting your head when you rolled off the couch. You were too anxious and beside yourself to even process when it happened. You didn’t even feel the pain at first because you were hurting so much on the inside. Rami kissed the bruise as gently as he could before taking one of the throw blankets you tossed aside earlier and wrapped you in it, then picking you up and sitting on the couch with you in his arms, still rocking you and peppering your face with tiny kisses.

You tried to speak. You tried to explain what happened, but it took extra effort to breathe and form a coherent sentence, for every time you tried to inhale and speak, you felt these small but uncomfortable hiccup sensations in your chest. Rami noticed how difficult it was and quickly intervened, “Babe, remember those breathing exercises.” and started counting to five as you slowly inhaled and exhaled accordingly, with him starting to synchronize his breaths with yours once you started getting the hang of it. A few minutes passed, and when you were breathing normally, he stopped and waited patiently for you to say something, all while holding your hand and looking intently into your eyes.

“I-I’m starting to think…...I’m not good enough for you.” you slowly muttered, which caused Rami’s facial expression to rapidly change and his eyes to widen with even more concern. “Hey hey hey hey, what makes you think that?” he responded, trying not to upset you more, therefore compensating by pulling you into a tight hug and rubbing your back. When you began to answer him, he pulled back and looked intently at you again, but still keeping the physical contact by cupping your face with his hands. “I’ve heard people talk, and what if they’re right? What if I’m not enough for you? Hell, I’m not even someone of any importance.” you replied, to which his eyes softened and you thought he might start weeping himself. There was a moment of silence before Rami looked back at your and continued holding your face, brushing away your tears with both his thumbs, and softly confessed to you, “Y/N L/N, you are the love of my life. Everything I am, everything I have, is yours, now and forever. I cannot imagine a life without you. I want us to settle down, get married, have children that take after their beautiful mother. I want to grow old with you and want to be with you until my heart stops beating. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. They don’t see you the way that I do. I love you with every single beat of my heart, and that’s all that matters.”

You were so overwhelmed in a very joyful way that you felt like bursting into tears again, but Rami interrupted your reaction by placing a soft kiss on your lips that increased to something extremely passionate, but still gentle, within seconds. You never experienced someone kissing you like this before, and it was the type of kiss that made your head spin, though completely unrelated from the wine you consumed and the bruise from hitting your head. When he regrettably broke this moment, he rested your forehead against yours and smiled as you sighed contently. “And guess what?” he questioned you in a playful manner, to which you replied with the obvious “What?”. “My day off has already started,” he continued, “so I’m all yours for the next….umm….thirty hours or so. What say we do the first thing that was on our list of plans?” You chuckled and nodded, starting to get excited for what that plan was.

Before you knew it, Rami pulled you up to your feet and checking that you were stable enough to stand on your own. “But first, you need some water. I can’t have the woman of my dreams dying from dehydration, now can I?” he joked before running to the kitchen and coming back with a tall glass of water. He gently guided the glass to your lips and watched carefully as you drank, feeling the cold liquid quench your thirst and made the throbbing in your head feel slightly less. When you finished, he took the glass and put it down on the coffee table, then scooping you up into his arms bridal style, which made you yelp and giggle, as he carried you to the bathroom. Once there, Rami set you down again and turned on the water in the bathtub, running his hand under the faucet to make sure that the water was warm enough before adding a small bit of lavender bubble bath soap to the tub once there was a substantial amount of water needed. You started slowly removing your clothes, that is until Rami stopped you and whispered, “Allow me.” before you gave him your consent and he started to gradually undress you. Almost any other man would see this as the perfect opportunity to ravish your body right then and there, but this was Rami Malek. He was kind and caring, and knew that you were too sensitive to even think of anything like that right now. You were his main priority, and the thought of anything more sexual happening in this moment didn’t even occur to him in the slightest.

Once Rami got you into the bathtub, he undressed and stepped in to join you, placing himself behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist while kissing your neck. Your whole body started to relax at the combination of the warm water, his soft touch, and the sound of him gently humming into your ear. You leaned back into him as he began to sensually wash every part of your body and covering it with the bubbles that seemed to endlessly multiply, being careful not to spill any on the bathroom floor. There was almost complete silence around you, save for the water splashing around the tub and Rami’s deep hums that seemed to vibrate throughout your body. You accidentally let out a moan as he started to massage the scalp of your hair with shampoo, which caused him to grin and kiss your cheek as he kept running his fingers through your hair. “Are you sure you have the entire day off tomorrow? It sounds too good to be true.” you suddenly asked him, which earned you a chuckle and another kiss to your neck. “It’s true, honey. You can thank SAG-AFTRA and their union regulations for that.” he cheekily replied as he returned to massaging your head, “I’ll do anything you want. Just add it to our list.” You grinned and playfully splashed him in response and making him laugh and pulling you closer.

“Rami, will you always love me?”

“Y/N, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. It would be a crime not to always love you.”

#rami malek imagine #rami malek #rami malek x reader #rami malek fic #rami malek fluff #alcohol tw #panic attack tw #micaela's fics #my stuff

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dynamic-instability · 5 years ago

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In one of my classes we have to write weekly personal narratives about an experience with illness. This week, mine turned into this. It’s probably too personal, and too... immediate?? to turn in to a professor without cutting out a lot of stuff, but not too personal to post online I guess lol

_____________________________

It’s November again.

In 2009 the lights were too bright. Mid-October one morning I woke up to my dad turning on my lights and it was like having to look into the sun while posing for a photo—my eyes wouldn’t stay open, if I forced them to, they couldn’t stay pointed in one direction, they spasmed and hurt. When the light was dimmed, I still saw double. That morning, I showered in the dark, and I remember being scared. They gave me eyedrops that paralyzed my accommodative muscles. In November my pupils were giant discs and I wore reading glasses over sunglasses to look at the computer, and when it was all said and done, the lights were still too bright, and I still saw double.

In 2011 I was tired. There’s fatigue and then there’s fatigue, I learned that Fall. In May of that year I had pulled two all-nighters in a week, and that was the only other time I’d felt this kind of tired, a sensation in about the 30th hour of the second time where it’s like my brain itched. I once saw someone else online describe it as “nausea, but in your head and eyes instead of in your throat and stomach” and that’s the closest anyone else has come to describing it. By November this was happening more and more often. I remember laying down in the corner of the room during a break of Citywide choir and thinking what the hell is wrong with me? I got a cold the next week, and I thought that maybe that was all it was. It wasn’t.

In 2013 I went to the ER for the fifth time in three months of college, and when I wanted to leave before waiting another couple of hours to eventually see a doctor who would tell me once again that they couldn’t do anything to help me, the woman from student life who was there to drive me back to campus made me call my parents on speaker phone and get their permission to leave before she would turn on the car. I had missed more chemistry labs than I could afford to miss without failing, passed out in a voice lesson, was asked by the director to drop out of choir because watching me was distraction when I looked like I was in pain, and if I passed out it would have ruined the concert for everyone. I remember leaving calculus in the mornings mid-class to go to the bathroom and lay on the floor and cry. I remember not being able to lift my hand off the mattress of my dorm room bed. I withdrew from half of my classes on the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, and took the Spring semester off.

In 2014 I had made a promise to myself that I would come back to college full time for that Fall semester just to see if I could do it, and then if I couldn’t I would drop out for good. There was one week where I thought that might be happening. Mid-November. The girls in my dorm had made a fort in the lounge out of sheets and blankets and colorful scarves and I remember laying on the couch through the green-filtered light and feeling the world spin and thinking oh god I still can’t do this. The door opened with a rush of cold air and my friends came in with food for me, since I’d been too sick to go to dinner. They sat with me and helped me with chemistry, offered to type up a paper if I dictated it, told jokes and made me laugh. I took an incomplete in one class, but I passed everything else, just barely scraped through, and came back in January.

In 2015 I just wanted to sleep. I passed out in an elevator and heard familiar voices, concerned voices, as I came to, and I stayed there laying motionless for another minute longer, because as long as I wasn’t awake I didn’t have to keep pushing. I wrote whole pages of completely unreadable ochem notes because my hand wasn’t working any better than my brain, and woke up on the floor and was wheeled out on a stretcher crying. It was dark all the time. My cane slipped on wet leaves and I felt my wrist crunch and there it was, one too many missed organic chemistry labs. I couldn’t stand for an entire choir rehearsal because breathing to sing made me lightheaded. I slept for 16 hours a day. The week before Thanksgiving, I called my mother to tell her I had decided to take another hardship withdrawal, and she sighed. I had applied to transfer schools during my much more optimistic Spring semester and Summer, and the week I left was also the week I found out I’d been accepted.

And so okay now it’s 2019, and it’s October and now November again, semester plan again, dark again. My reading is piling up again, feeling overwhelmed again, laying on my kitchen floor again. But here’s the thing—my health is… fine? Midterm week I didn’t sleep, and yes I passed out twice, but no ER. For the past 18 months, I can count on one hand the number of mornings I’ve been unable to get out of bed because of fatigue. My heart still pounds too hard but my head doesn’t swim every time I sit up. I walk the streets of New York City like mobility has never been a problem. I always take the stairs. My brain doesn’t itch until it’s been 30 hours no sleep.

I couldn’t go to class last week. I lay on the floor of my kitchen and stared up at the ceiling and tried to get up, tried to type out an email to my professors, and I couldn’t do it. I was not too tired. I was not too weak. I was not in pain. I could not move. I try to write and try to write and try to write and the words don’t come. I eat instant oatmeal at 9 PM because I haven’t been to the store in a month. I have lost nearly 15 pounds since moving to New York. I clean the stove for two and a half hours but can’t bring myself to take the dead spider off the side of the bathtub. I check the door lock one-two-three times, pace the floor, sit back down. I do not read Austerlitz. I write a Canvas post for Self and Other but it’s nonsense. I do not write a Canvas post for Accounts of Self. I do not write a Canvas post for Applied Writing. I write a Canvas post for Illness and Disability and somehow forget to post it, the one thing I’ve actually done, because I’m too busy feeling sick at everything I haven’t. I shadow a doctor for the clinical witnessing assignment and everything is fine but when I try to write it up I have a panic attack that leaves me sobbing on my couch and the assignment nine days late and counting. It takes me eight hours to write two pages. I watch 18 hours of YouTube video essays discussing drama about creators I don’t even watch and play a stupid game on my phone for an entire weekend until I’ve spent $25+ in a labyrinth of microtransations and every time I close my eyes I see the moving dots.

In November of 2015 I had three overdue essays for Global Literature, and two more due in the next two weeks. More than half were on books I had not read. My pre-lab wasn’t done for organic chemistry, and I wondered for a moment, if I pretended to pass out, if that would be easier. I stayed up until 4 AM laying on my floor and listening to Hamilton. I was sick, that much is true, but when I felt okay I still sat at my computer and could not bring myself to write.

In 2011 I had so many unfinished assignments for my college-level English class that I resigned myself to failing and I went to school the morning of the final class, but I hid in the stairwell by the choir room until I heard the bell, and I never went back to that class.

2009 was the year my dad stopped being able to yell at me for not doing my homework, because no one, including me, could tell whether it was actually my eyes stopping me.

In 2008 I wrote 6 essays in the 5 days of Thanksgiving break because I had not done any work for Intro to Lit all semester. I pulled it off, somehow, even aced the class because of an unusually lenient late work policy, but what I most remember is the sick feeling of dread as I lay on the floor in the living room staring up at the Christmas tree and feeling invisible sand slip through an invisible hourglass and a vice tightening in my chest.

In 2006 I stayed up almost all night writing a paper and crying my eyes out because I couldn’t find the words to explain to anyone why it had been so impossible for me to get the work done, that I wasn’t being lazy or distracted, I just couldn’t do it. I wasn’t necessarily reading YA novels or watching TV or IMing my friends instead of working, I could sit and stare at a blank word document for 6 hours straight and still it would not get done. Everyone talked about potential, talked about how smart I was, but a gradebook that is half 100’s and half 0’s still averages out to an F. No one, including me, could explain the discrepancy. The logic of that simple math was not lost on me, the knowledge that turning in half-finished or not very good work was mathematically better than not doing it, but that didn’t mean I could do it. Words failed me when I tried to explain the illogic of my particular suffering.

I didn’t hear the term executive dysfunction until I was in my 20s. In retrospect I was tentatively told at 16 that I had “probably some ADHD and OCD”, but that psychiatrist was someone I’d been sent to by a neurologist because he thought she could fix my eyes, and when she said she couldn’t, I stopped making appointments. After I got sick, physically sick, the lines blurred between what was causing what, to the point where even I have no idea. Two of the Novembers missing here are ones I spent at CC, on the block plan where I only took one class at a time. My physical health arguably improved a little after transferring in January of 2016, but mostly it didn’t, not until Spring of 2018 at least. And you can see that evidence in dropped blocks, concussions from passing out onto hard surfaces, a couple of incompletes taken when viral illnesses (or concussions) compounded my other problems. What the block plan changed was the way things pile up, lessened the struggle of constant task switching between classes. (Admittedly, I also had fewer papers when taking mostly science classes. Writing takes much more energy, and it’s much harder to convince myself it doesn’t have to be perfect to be worth submitting.) At CC nothing ever really reached the level of catastrophe. Some of that is purely the ability to drop a single block, meaning when it was my physical health that was the problem, I didn’t lose a whole semester, just one class, then reset. But I should have realized sooner that the block plan wouldn’t account for the level of improvement if my physical health had really been the only barrier.

So we’re back to now. Grad school. November again. Dark again. Semester plan again. Too much writing again. Crushing dread again. Dysfunction again. Panic attack in the middle of the night increasingly elaborate organizing rituals scream of the subway tracks in my mind can’t stop can’t start can’t breathe can’t move burnout again. This time without the explanation of chronic fatigue to fall back on.

I have my tricks, have actually learned somewhat to cope in the past 18 years. Schedules help, break tasks into pieces that are as small as possible. Mindfulness meditation. Forgive yourself when it’s not perfect. Get started with something easy, set a timer for 20 minutes and only work for those 20 minutes and then let yourself stop if you want to (and surprisingly often, you won’t want to, sometimes that momentum is all it takes). If you work better in the night, work in the night, who cares what society says your sleep schedule should be. When switching tasks, physically get up and move to a different location. Allow yourself to procrastinate on work with other work if that’s what you have to do. Delete the stupid games from your phone. One or two missed assignments are not actually the end of the world, if you let yourself view it as piling up, you won’t be able to get anything done, so if you absolutely have to, just move through and move on.

It’s not a catastrophe, this November. It’s a fight, but it’s not a catastrophe. I read Austerlitz and forgive myself for skimming it. I write a Canvas post and forgive myself when it’s only 500 words and doesn’t make complete sense. I read Toni Morrison and Édouard Louis and classmates’ discussion posts about Deaf culture and identity and remember why this matters in the first place, that it’s not just a series of assignments to overwhelm me, it’s a series of interesting complicated exhausting important thoughts and questions. I get it done. Some of it. Most of it. I let myself sleep. I breathe. I remember to be grateful because I can get out of bed in the mornings and take the stairs. I am okay.

#chronic illness #executive dysfunction #chronic fatigue #College and chronic illness #personal lol

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katiebug445 · 6 years ago

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Bath Time Part 2

Oh shit, there’s a sequel now, thanks to the suggestion of @tea--is-not-leaf-juice who I promised I’d tag if I wrote more. Again, this deals with mental illness and anxiety, so read at your own risk <3 Now, onto the fic!

“Give me a head’s up next time, and maybe I’ll do it, too, in solidarity.” That’s what Armin had said to him. As far as he could tell, the blond meant it, too. “I’ll do it, too.” Jean hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since that day, though neither of them had mentioned it again after they hung up.

Armin had come over the next day, and they hung out for almost the entire afternoon. Jean had an apology on the tip of his tongue all day, but couldn’t bring himself to actually say it; as embarrassed as he was over what happened, he was even more embarrassed by the idea of bringing it all up again so soon after it happened. So, even though he desperately felt the need to say something, he kept his mouth shut and tried to continue on as normal.

After the incident with the bathtub, his anxiety ebbed away for the next few weeks. Jean had nearly convinced himself that what happened was just a fluke, and things weren’t really as bad as he made them out to be. Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong with him after all, and he was just being dramatic.

Yeah, that’s what it was. He was doing it all for attention.

Wait, what?

There’s nothing wrong with you, a thought popped up. There never has been. All your problem is, is that you want attention and you don’t care where it comes from. You can’t handle not being the center of things all the time. Oh. Oh, that made sense. Jean felt his heart sink a little and the okay mood that he’d found himself in that morning finally dissipated, and he was left feeling upset and heavy with the weight of this new revelation. All you want is Armin’s attention. It’s pathetic that you have to go this far to get it. He doesn’t like you, he just feels sorry for you. Jean closed his eyes and let out a long breath, trying to stave off the impending panic. You’re pathetic.

Of course he was, he thought. Everything he’d done in the last six months was pathetic. He’d done nothing but put burden after burden on all of his friends’ shoulders, make them worry about him, make his mother worry about him, and for what? Attention? He couldn’t believe himself.

Jean could only imagine how dumb he looked in front of Armin that day on the other boy’s porch. He must have been able to see right through him. Jean could feel his legs shaking a little when he walked, but he tried not to pay too much mind to it. He didn’t want to give into the impulse anymore if he could help it. He didn’t want to seem pathetic anymore.

For the rest of the semester, he put on the best face he could to his friends, convincing them that he was fine, and that what happened had just been a fluke and nothing more.

He wasn’t sure if anybody actually bought it, but he was sticking to his story no matter what happened.

At the very end of the semester is when everything fell to shit again. It was late, and Jean was laying in his bed, reading a book, when the familiar prickling at the base of his skull started up again. He tried to ignore it, trying to put more focus onto his reading, until his hands began to shake and his breathing became a bit more labored. He set his book down and pulled his phone out of his pocket, fingers shaking while he unlocked it. He didn’t know what to do, so be began opening and closing apps, trying to distract his mind before he went into a full blown panic attack.

Why is this happening again? He wondered. I thought I was over this. When it became apparent that wasn’t gonna work, he forced himself to breathe like Armin had tried getting him to do all those months ago. Jean inhaled as deeply as he could, trying to focus his mind on how big of a breath he took, and counted to five. Then he exhaled. It took a few times, but he did notice a bit of a difference in how bad he shook. He was right.

When he felt a bit calmer, Jean laid back in his bed, trying to figure out what triggered his sudden panic. He couldn’t think of anything in particular, just that he was reading, and then there it was, crashing over him like a wave. It unnerved him a lot to think there wasn’t any particular reason for it, that it just happened. How was that even possible to panic over nothing like this?

He still felt off when he woke up the next morning. It was a Saturday, and he had the house to himself for awhile, so why not? He text Armin when he got out of bed, just as a good morning for the blond to reply to whenever he woke up. Jean made himself some breakfast and did a few small things around the kitchen while he waited for the other boy to get back to him. An hour later, Armin did.

Armin Arlert Morning! You’re up a bit early for you today.

Jean Kirstein Yeah, I had a little trouble getting to sleep last night. Still didn’t feel right this morning.

Armin Arlert What happened?

Jean Kirstein Panic attack, I guess.

Armin Arlert Jean, I’m so sorry. Are you okay now?

Jean Kirstein I still feel off, but I’m better than I was last night. I’m considering a bath soon…

Armin Arlert It might do you good to relax a little!

Jean Kirstein Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.

It seemed like Armin forgot about what he said the last time, and Jean didn’t exactly want to be the one to remind him about it. His face was scarlet as he began typing out the message, and erased it three times before finally giving up completely and just sitting at the table with his head in his hands. You’re a fucking pervert. He thought to himself. And he was. How could he actually expect Armin to drop everything he had planned today to hang out with him on a Facetime call because he was anxious, but also expect him to do this with him, too? He was glad Armin couldn’t see him right now, because he could only imagine that he looked like he was about to burst into flame.

Three little dots appeared, disappeared, and then appeared again as Armin typed, but Jean couldn’t bring himself to look at the screen. Eventually, he heard the sound of a text coming through, but he just ignored it for the time being. Ten minutes later, another one came through. Then another. And another. Jean gave it a few more minutes so he could wallow in his embarrassment, then finally decided to look at them.

Armin Arlert Give me about twenty minutes and then I’ll be free for the rest of the day, if you still want company. :) Oh, God, that sounds really bad now that I think about it. You probably forgot about that by now, so just forget what I said!!!! Have a good time and I’ll be here if you need anything. Jean? I’m sorry. Please forget I mentioned that. Fuck. I’m really sorry.

Jean couldn’t help but be a little scandalized for a brief second, because he wasn’t aware that Armin knew that word, but once that wore off, then he had to figure out how to reply without seeming too overly eager.

Jean Kirstein I won’t complain if you’re up for it. If it’s not too weird for you, I mean. Please don’t worry about it if it’s weird. Don’t be sorry, okay? Also, where did you learn that word?

Armin Arlert It would be weird, but maybe not in a bad way? It’s up to you, though. Jean, my grandpa is a war vet. Do you honestly think he’s never slipped up and used it on occasion when I was young?

Jean Kirstein I’ll call you in fifteen?

Armin Arlert Sounds good!

Fuck! Now he had to go through with it. Jean felt white-hot heat pouring into every inch of his body as he tried to calm himself down, now beginning to panic because of what he was doing. Quickly, he got everything together and rushed it to the bathroom, having to take a second and try to talk himself out of what was happening in between. Maybe he could lie and say his phone wasn’t working when the time came. Yeah, that would work. His phone had problems all the time anyways, what would one lie hurt?

So why was he already filling the bath and out of his pants? Why was he taking his shirt off? Wait, why was he in the bathtub?! This wasn’t part of the plan! Jean poured a generous amount of bubble soap into the water this time, trying to make sure that he didn’t have any, er, slip ups this time, and checked the time. He had about a minute left to talk himself out. It wasn’t too late. He could just say that he couldn’t do it, but thanks for the offer, and go on about his day and--

The phone rang. Jean stared at it in complete terror as it gently vibrated and got closer to the edge of the toilet lid. Decision time, asshole! He thought to himself, letting out a panicked breath. What could he do? Chances were, Armin was already set up on his end, and cancelling now would just be rude. But it would also be a lot less awkward, too. Dammit! Finally, he slid the call button and accepted it, leaving his phone facing the ceiling for a moment while he got over his shock. Face completely red and heart beating in his ears, Jean just sat frozen in shock, eyes wide and on his phone, it then sinking in what he was doing.

“Jean?” Came Armin’s voice from the other end.

“H-Hey, Armin, gimme a sec. I don’t know how to set this up.” Jean gulped, unable to bring himself to look at the screen. There was still a chance Armin hadn’t actually gone through with it, he could be in his room hanging out, and fully clothed, and not naked sitting in a tub. Jean slung water off of his hands and propped his phone up where he could see, and oh, no, there was Armin, bubbles up to his chest, his blond hair pulled back in a small ponytail, and his shoulders bare but shining with water. Oh, god, he was never going to get that image out of his head!

“Hi.” Armin grinned, settling against the back of the tub.

“Hi…”

“You look really red, is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jean promised, willing himself not to be so flustered. “Everything’s fine. H-How are you?”

“I should be asking you that. What happened last night?”

With a moment’s hesitation, Jean swallowed, unsure how to even describe it. “I… don’t know. I was reading, and then all the sudden, I was shaking, and I couldn’t breathe, and… It’s been awhile since I’ve felt like that.”

Armin nodded, giving him a sympathetic look while he thought of what to say. “What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing. I was reading.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, but the words on the page.”

Armin said nothing for a moment, and Jean knew he was thinking that over, trying to come up with some kind of solution to the problem. He genuinely wanted to help, and Jean appreciated that. Armin was a pure soul in the way that no matter what, he wanted to do his part to help others. It was because of that, Jean didn’t entirely mind opening up to him. “What’s been on your mind the last few days?”

Scratch that, he minded a lot. “Uh… Nothin’ important.”

“Talk to me.”

Jean swallowed again, feeling a bit of anxiousness creeping up on him again. He’s gonna hate you for this. A voice whispered to him. He’s gonna think you’re dumb. With another second’s pause, he finally said, “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. About… dumb stuff. It’s just really dumb.”

“Nothing you say is dumb.” Armin promised, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Damn him. Jean thought, feeling heat rush to his face again. “I just… I don’t…” Jean squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a sharp breath, and kicked himself for wanting to admit what was going on in his head. He didn’t want to tell Armin what he’d been thinking lately, because it made him feel stupid for thinking it. You’re pathetic, the voice said again. “Armin, what if there’s nothing wrong with me? What if all of this is just…”

“Jean,” the blond said calmly, sitting up and getting a little closer to his phone. “I was diagnosed with anxiety when I was ten years old. I have had enough panic attacks in my life to know that what I have is a real thing. And based off of what you’ve described to me, and what I’ve seen you go through, I think it’s very safe to say you have it, too.”

“But what if I’m just… I don’t know, doing it for attention?”

“You’re not making it up. Jean, I saw you the day at my house. You’d have to be a pretty damn good actor to fake that. And besides, who’s attention would you be after to go to these lengths?”

Jean could feel embarrassment wash over him like a flood. Of course he felt better knowing that he’d been validated and that what he was going through was a real thing, but actually admitting his worries to his friend, even one like Armin, was a bit too… personal. Especially the part about attention. And Armin’s follow up to it. He felt like his entire body was on fire as he hesitated, but he knew he had to give his friend an answer, fast. “Yours.”

“Jean,” Armin started, reaching out of the tub and grabbing his phone. He held it close to his face, making sure Jean could see him up close and personal, and smiled. “There’s better and easier ways for you to get it than this.”

“Like?”

“I’ll tell you after you finish talking. There’s more on your mind than that, I can tell.”

Fuck. He had him there. Jean propped one arm up on the side of his tub, and shrugged, not knowing what else to say. “It’s all dumb. I tell myself that I’m lying, and that I’m alright. I tell myself that you’re only my friend because you feel sorry for me, or that you think I’m pathetic, I tell myself all kinds of shit like that. And… it sucks. A lot.”

Armin shifted a little, the sound of water sloshing gently around him the only thing Jean could hear for a second. “Would I be sitting here on FaceTime with you, in my tub, if I just felt bad for you?”

“No?”

“You’re damn right, no.” Armin said, trying not to smile. “Like it or not, Jean, you’re one of my best friends and I genuinely care about you and how you’re doing. I want to help you if I can. If you want me to?” He paused for a moment, and the other boy nodded. “Okay. Cool. Then I promise to do what I can to make sure you don’t feel like this anymore.”

Jean really, really did not deserve Armin, and he knew it. The other boy was too good for him, and the last thing he wanted was to make things harder for him. On the other hand, though, he knew he could use the blond’s help trying to get a handle on this stuff, and if Armin was willing to help… “Thank you, Armin. Really. You’re… kinda awesome.”

“I got that from you.” he replied. “You’re really starting to rub off on me, I think.”

Things fell silent for a moment, and Jean took the opportunity to really get a look at the bit of Armin that he could see through the camera. He really liked how the other boy looked with his hair pulled back; it made it a lot easier to see his eyes, and the shape of his jaw, and his soft, slightly pink cheeks. Jean also got the chance to see a bit of his neck, and a wild thought popped into his head about leaving a kiss there. Oh, fuck.

Not to mention, the “rub off” comment. Man, Armin was gonna kill him one of these days. “Uhh, earlier you mentioned something about other ways to get your attention. What did you mean by that?”

With a bit of a smirk, Armin stretched his arm out a little, and Jean could hear one of his joints crack - painfully - before he brought it back in. “Well, since it’s a nice day, after we finish up here, you could come over and watch one of the ocean documentaries I’ve been saving? I also have a few things still saved from Shark Week? Or, you could go with me when the new Avengers movie comes out?”

“I - I can do all of that.” Jean said, his voice cracking a little. “I’d be down for sharks today, I kinda dig sharks.” he added in a mutter, his cheeks pink.

Armin’s eyes lit up at that, and a grin split his face. “Awesome! I’ll get things ready here soon, and then we can--” the phone slipped out of Armin’s hand, and fell right into the water and hit the bottom with a loud thunk. Before the call ended, Jean caught a quick glimpse of Armin’s panicked face, and caught the beginnings of a “FU--” before the screen went black and he was cut off.

Jean sat there for a moment, staring at the screen, before a startled laugh worked its way out of his mouth, and he decided to get out. He knew a tiny bit about electronics, and he figured Armin might need his help if he had any hope of getting his phone to work again. He dried himself off and got dressed and was about to leave a note for his mom when his phone dinged with the tone he set up for his social media.

OceanLover113 My phone fell in the water and I’ve got it trying to dry out now. I’m kinda freaking. Can you come over?

Jean tapped out an affirmative, wrote his note, and locked the door behind him.

#jearmin #Katie's writing #jean x armin #jean has a very good and very bad time at the same time #poor dumb bastard

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writtenwinchester · 7 years ago

Text

War - Pt. 2

Masterlist | Send In Requests | Buy Me A Coffee

Warnings: Suicide, depression, pissed off reader, Sam and Dean being asshole of brothers, swearing.

Word count: 2,374

Part 1

Okay so ya’ll wanted this so badly so I wrote it ASAP and here it is!

Glancing down at his phone as soon as it started ringing. Y/n’s name popping up at the screen as he shook his head, choosing to ignore his little sister’s call and tossing his phone in the back like it was useless until he heard her voice.

“Hey Dean, it’s your least favourite sister.” Rolling his eyes as he grumbled, at the current moment, she really was. She was silent for a moment, before taking in a deep breath she continued on. “I’m sorry.. It’s my fault, I know I’m a disappointment. I get that you hate me, and it’s okay, don’t worry. I hate me too. But you won’t have to worry about me anymore, okay? Take care of Sammy for me, just like you always do. Because he’s more important than anyone else, right?” Never in a million years has Dean Winchester ever heard his sister sound so vulnerable. And taking care of Sam? What was all this about? He already took care of both Sam and her. And him being more important? Sure, sometimes Dean needed brother to brother time because Sam was the only guy, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love his baby sister. “I love you Dean. No matter what. I’m sorry for everything.” And with that she hung up, hearing a small click as Dean furrowed his eyebrows. Confused at the voicemail she had just left. “Dammit Y/n.” Turning the car around, Dean started heading back to the bunker hoping to find her there.

“Y/n!” He yelled, walking into the bunker straight to her room and opening the door. “Listen, I-“ He stopped. She wasn’t even there. Maybe she was with Sam? Quickly walking down the hall, the door flung open, revealing Sam leaning on the doorway as he sighed. “Is she with you?” “No.” “Dammit! Where is she?” “She’s at the motel in town, I tracked her phone as soon as I got her voicemail.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “You got one too?” He nodded. “Show me.” Both of the hunters walked out to the library, Sam placing his phone on the table on speaker with her message.

“Hey Sammy..” It was silence until she sniffed and continued. “I’m sorry for everything.. You getting hurt because of me, it’s all my fault. I’m not worth it, I don’t know why you did it. Thank you for being my big brother, even when you weren’t there for me when I needed you, you were still my big brother. And I could never hate you. I’m sorry. I love you.” Sam’s eyes were glistening with tears as he furrowed his eyebrows, looking up to his older brother with concern. “What’s she talking about?” “I don’t know.” “Maybe she ran away?” “I don’t know Sammy. But we sure as hell are gonna find out.” “Alright.” Both men got up as Dean shook his head. “You’re staying here.” “Dean, she’s my sister too. I deserve just as much as you to go find her.” A sigh fell from Dean’s lips as he gave in. “Fine, but it’s your funeral.” He grumbled, turning to leave him in the room as he rushed to the steps and outside with Sam following behind. “She’s probably fine Dean.” “She better be.”

Both brothers quickly exited the Impala, rushing to the front entrance of the small Motel. “Hey, we’re looking for a girl? About, yea’ high?” Dean said, holding up his hand to around your height. “She’s our sister, E/c eyes, H/c hair, wearing a red flannel maybe?” Sam butted in, wanting desperately to find his little sister in hopes nothing bad has happened to her yet as the man raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, came in just about twenty five minutes ago, room twelve.” Dean ran off, leaving Sam to smile and mutter a quick ‘thank you’ to the man before rushing off along side him.

Both of them came to a halt, room twelve directly in front of them as Dean gently rapped his knuckles against the wooden door. “Y/n? Sweetheart you in there?” There was no response as Dean shrugged, looking up at Sam who had furrowed eyebrows. “Let me try.” He said, pushing his brother out of the way who dramatically threw his arms up in the air. “Y/n, it’s me, Sam.” Again, Sam also knocked on the door. With no response once more, Sam backed up. “Screw this.” Dean muttered, kicking at the door as it fell off its hinges to the floor. Both hunters rushed into the room, gun in hand as they skimmed the empty room. “Y/n?” “Dean..” Sam whispered, continuing to stare into the bathroom as Dean walked over. “What is it?” There. Laying in the bathtub was their baby sister.

“Y/n?..” He mumbled, quickly rushing over and picking her up out of the tub as he shook her limp body. “Y/n!” Tears were forming in his eyes as Sam ran his hand through his hair. “Sammy call an ambulance..” “Dean-“ “I said call an ambulance dammit!” Sam didn’t protest anymore, leaving the room and quickly calling for an ambulance like his brother requested. “Y/n sweetheart open those pretty eyes of yours for me..” He whispered, clutching her body close to his chest with tears starting to slowly run down his face as sirens were heard in the distance. Glancing around the room, looking for the cause of whatever happened. His eyes landing on a small prescription bottle of painkillers as Sam came rushing into the bathroom. “They’re here, c’mon.” Dean quickly stood up, lifting his sister in the process and rushing outside while medics swarmed them, taking her away as he started to panic, reaching out to try and hold her again until a female medic came in front of him. “Sir, sir. Please calm down. Can you tell me what the cause of this was?” There was no reply. He was too lost to speak, too broken to function. But yet, he managed to force the words off his lips. “Suicide.”

You were instantly rushed to the hospital, being sent to the emergency room right away while both brothers waited in the waiting room for any response of your health.

“It’s all my fault..” “Dean, it wasn’t your fault. We’ll talk to Y/n when she wakes up…” “I yelled at her Sammy. I told her she only slowed us down.. What kind of a brother does that make me?” “Punishing yourself isn’t going to get us anywhere Dean, Y/n wouldn’t want that.. If anything, it was both of our faults. We didn’t watch or pay attention to her like we should have.” After that, both brother’s sat in silence. Both weren’t ones for praying, but hell, did they pray.

“Winchester?” Both Sam and Dean’s heads looked up from where they were, instantly rushing over to the nurse. “How is she?” Sam asked, furrowing his eyebrows as Dean nodded while the nurse pursed her lips. “She’s in critical condition, we were able to revive her just in time, you boys are lucky you got to her in time.” “R-Revive her?” “As in.. She died?” The nurse nodded. “Died. Yes. She’s just in a coma right now, doctor doesn’t know when she’ll wake up, but he says to give her some time.” Can we see her?” “Of course.” She nodded, walking down the hallway with them trailing behind her as she came to a stop. “This is her room, be very cautious please.” Both of them nodded, with a smile the nurse opened the door for them. Seeing as the two brothers slowly stepped into the room, their breaths hitching in their throats at the sight. IV’s attacked to you, tubes down your throat as well as a heart monitor. “T-Thank you.” Sam mumbled, glancing back at the nurse who nodded. “Take your time.” She replied, closing the door quietly.

Dean dragged a chair over to beside her, gently taking her hand in his as he gently gave it a squeeze and kissed her knuckles. “Hey princess.” Sam followed after, sitting on the other side as he took her other hand. “Your big brother’s are here for you Y/n.”

Days went by, weeks went by. Just two an a half weeks, and Sam and Dean even dare to ever leave your side. Sam would sit there, reading to you. And Dean would talk about your favourite Tv show, and how how the nurses and doctors were and how he wished you could be there to see them yourself. “You know, it’s getting kinda boring without you around sweetheart. I mean, Sammy’s great and all. But, you know.” Dean chuckled bitterly, giving off a sad smile as he brushed the hair out of your face. Sam came walking back into the room, two cups of coffee in hand as he handed one to his older brother. “Anything yet?” He sighed shaking his head and taking the cup. “No, nothing.” “She’ll come around Dean, she’s strong.” “Yeah but that’s not the point Sam, we failed her. Not just to be there for her, but as her brothers.” Mid conversation, your eyes twitched, hearing the voice of Dean, was relieving. But, where was Sam? Forcing yourself to slowly open your eyes, you started at your two bickering brothers as you went to speak. Only for the breathing tube down your throat causing you to choke on it and gasp for air catching the attention of your two brothers. “Hey, Hey, Y/n, just calm down, relax. I promise you’ll be fine..” “We need some help in here!” Dean yelled, having a nurse run into the room and remove the tube from your throat, allowing air to fill your lungs as you sighed with relief. “Thank you..” You croaked, voice still hoarse from days without anything to drink. “Here,” Sam mumbled, grabbing a cup full of water and placing it to your lips as you wrapped your hands around the plastic and downed every last bit. Nodding your head for another thanks, your brothers stared at you with furrowed eyebrows and concern. “Y/n why- what happened?” Swallowing a small lump in your throat, you gazed down at your hands. Tears filling your eyes as Sam reached out to hold your hand. “Hey, it’s okay we’re not mad.. Just..” “Scared..” Dean muttered. “Yeah, scared. Just like Dean said. We’re scared for you.” Glancing up at your brothers you bit your bottom lip, enough to probably make it bleed. “Why would you care?” Dean furrowed his eyebrows “What- What do you mean ‘why would you care?’ You’re family, we love and care about you.” “Is that the only reason? Because I’m just your useless little sister?” Tears started slowly running down your face as Sam stood up sitting at the edge of your bed. “Hey.. No, who told you that?” “Nobody had to tell me for it to be obvious..” You mumbled softly, glancing back down at your hands just wanting to numb out the pain. “ “Listen, Y/n I know I’ve been kinda of a dick lately-“ “Lately? Dean you’re never there.” “What’re you talking about?” Busted. A sigh fell from your lips as you closed your eyes. “Y/n answer me.” Well, here goes nothing. “I just don’t feel wanted from the both of you, It’s always Sam and Dean, or Dean and Sam. You don’t let me on hunts, you don't attend things I invite you too. You even skipped my birthday to go hunting.” Both boys mentally hit themselves. Did they actually forget their baby sister’s birthday? “This isn’t even the first time you’ve done it so don’t apologize.. And every time I ask for one thing I get blown off like I don’t matter, or interrupted in a conversation like I wasn’t even there and I’m so fucking tired of it!” By now, tears were streaming down your face, you were tired of it all. Of being treated like you were just a doll to be taken off the shelf when needed. “I listen to your problems all the time, that you two bet I don’t even have any myself. I light myself on fire for you and you just watch me burn like I was meant too. Well I’m not, okay? You think you know me so well that you can’t tell the difference if I’m happy or sad because I’m always wearing a mask just to make the two of you happy. And I’m tired, I’m done and I’m giving up. I can’t do this anymore..”

By now, the room was silent. Your brothers staring at you like you just revealed you were dying. And mentally, you were.

“Sweetheart I’m so sorry.. W-We never knew..” “Of course you didn’t.. You never asked.” Sam licked his lips and hung his head, it was as if someone had just kicked a puppy.

“Y/n I know there’s a war going on in your head..” He mumbled, gently reaching out to hold your hand. “And we’ve all been there, I promise. And I’m sorry Dean and I couldn’t have been there when the war started for you, but we’re here now, okay?” Dean nodded grabbing onto your other hand tightly. “Sammy’s right, I mean. We’ve been terrible brothers, we’ve failed you in every way possible. But let us make it up to you, let us in. Tell us what’s going on, and that war in your head that Sammy was talking about? We’ll help you. Because you’re our little sister, and we care about you so much sweetheart, and so far you’ve done an amazing job taking care of yourself.” Tears fell down into your lap as you slowly glanced up at them. Tears glazing their eyes as a small sad smile appeared on Sam’s face. “We’ll face this war together, okay?” Licking your lips, you slowly nodded your head. For the first time, you had two brothers who loved and wanted you. For the first time, you could speak your mind and not have to worry about it.

For the first time, you weren’t alone in this war. This war in your mind, isn’t everlasting. No. Because all wars, must come to an end.

~Tag List~

@unicorndreamer1622 @attackonjackson @raylin19 @fangirl-moment-x @are-you-sure-its-me-you-see @superimpala1967 @percussiongirl2017 @bee-wrecker @wonderxland00

@winchesters-favorite-girl I know you didn’t ask to be tagged but I feel like you would wanted to be?

__________________________

A/N: Thank you all so much for the comments and encouragement, I’m glad all of you wanted a part two, here it is :)

Canadian Hotline - 1-800-668-6868

American Hotline - 800-273-8255

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deathbyfics · 7 years ago

Text

Love for the Final XO

I didn’t want to lose these or leave them to rot in my inbox or not acknowledge them or delete them. I want to keep these forever because they’ve truly meant the world to me and I love each and every one. You guys have really shown me such love and support and I can’t express how grateful I am.

So this is just going to be a massive post of responses I got from the final. No URLS will be posted.

Thank you thank you thank you! xx

Hi! I've just finished the last chapter and it really moved me. I loved every second of Hide and XO and, let me tell you, you wrote a perfect end. I'm aware that you struggled while you were working on the fic and I saw it reflected in it. I really hope you listen to your own words and keep going on despite whatever happens in your life. Keep being positive and keep doing whatever makes you happy. Once again, thank you so much for writing such a beautiful story and congratulations on it. Lots of love from Spain ❤️

Oh my goodness, the final chapter is up. I've grown up with this fic. It helped me come to terms with and embrace my sexuality. I...just need a moment before I jump in. Thank you for everything.

I stop reading fanfics about one direction a long time ago but for some reason I always kept up with yours. I think it was they way it had them in it but it wasn’t solely about the band and it was way more realistic then an other story i have ever read them. It was truly an amazing and beautiful story thank you for continuing to write it all these years , I’ll truly miss it.

I cried throughout for Avery, Harry & their families, a bittersweet ending for a couple who had faced all that life had thrown at them with such strength, togetherness & love. They really were there for it all. Madeline's wedding was beautiful & the letter from Avery was perfect, but my god you really got me with the letter to Harry. I've loved, cried & laughed over this past 4 years sharing in their story, thank you so much Bee it's been one hell of a journey & I've enjoyed every single part❤️

I've been reading Hide since it first started and you would update every Friday. At that time I was so unhappy with my life and the situation I was in and Hide was one of the only things that I looked forward to each week. 4 years later I've much happier with my life but I've still always looked forward to all your Hide updates. You wrote an amazing story that inspired me and helped my confidence at a time when I desperately needed it. Hide is so much more than 'fanfic' to me, it will always Stick with me and I will always remember it as one of my favourite pieces of writing I've ever read. The last part was heartbreaking but fitting and you should be so proud of the world you created with Hide Bee. Xx

Oh my gosh you ruined me. But in the best way possible, I think? You are truly talented. Keep writing, my love. Congrats on closing this beautiful chapter of your life. I wish you nothing but the best. Thank you for it all. Even though I've been continuously bawling for 2+ hours. I think I'll be crying for a long time.

Words are hard to come by for me but I just want to THANK YOU for all the hours and all the days (and years) of dedication you've put into Hide. I loved every second of it, it's been a wild ride and the ending was super hard and emotional (I was in tears, actually fucking tears) but I feel like it was the perfect ending to their story. SO THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. I will never forget their story, never, ever.

Bee, I just want to thank you with all my heart for creating Hide. I've learned so much from it since I started reading it in my first year of uni. I identified so much with Avery's insecurities, realized that I needed to work on my self-love, and have been working and growing since. I'm so grateful that I've been able to read this beautiful story you've written. Thank you thank you thank you. I don't doubt that you'll accomplish your dreams as a writer from this. i wish you all the best <3

I am sitting here in TEARS reading the last part of this. It's so beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing this piece of art with us. It truly as been an amazing ride and I'm so touched with the story. The end of an era!!!

Wow... Where to start? I'm sobbing in tge bathtub here. That was amazing and beautiful and sad and perfect. You were one of the first authors I ever read like 5 years ago when I first got into this fandom. I rec hide to anyone who will listen and even those who won't. Avery and Harry were so real. You made them come alive and gave them real world problems. I love their kids and their life. This was an amazing perfect ending. Tears and all. Thank you.

Literally sobbing. I can't say I loved it bc I don't think anyone could love reading about someone dying. Especially someone who they've grown to love as a character. However, it was beautifully written and a beautiful ending to a love story that was bigger then anyone. I can appreciate the way you wanted it to end, and there's nothing I can do to change it. But thank you for bringing Harry and Avery to us. The fact that it made me physically sad means you've done your job as a writer. All the❤️

Okay I just finished it and I had a serious panic attack just now. It definitely wasn't compeltely from reading it (I had one this morning too) so don't feel bad but it triggered me and I couldn't catch my breath there for a bit. Now that I'm calmer HOLY SHIT BEE! What a beautiful story. I can't believe I've been here since you started it, before that even. The Harry that you've created is almost exactly like how I imagine he is in real life so good job on that! I think Avery has the best character development in the story. She's real and struggles with self love just like the rest of us but she learns to love herself and be confident. I still remember the feeling I'd get when you'd upload a new chapter. I would get all excited and I would read it in one sitting (thats like 2 hours). Today I felt different when I saw that you finished it. I knew it was going to be the end and I didn't want to be sad. I think that even though the ending has really gotten to me, I understand why I understand why you ended it like that. You are real and this story is real and so you weren't going to end it all happily ever after. Avery got her happy ending in a twisted way and this story IS and always has been Avery's story. Seriously, thank you so much for sharing their world with us. And thank you for seeing your vision through instead of changing things to please other people. Please give us a heads up before you remove it once and for all cause I'd really like to reread it again.

The fact I started reading Hide three years ago and how much has changed since then is crazy to think about, but all I can say that you have created something so so beautiful. I've been sobbing for the last few hours, more than I've ever cried from any published fiction. Thank you for creating Harry & Avery. For describing a love so fierce and powerful that inspires me to settle for nothing less. Thank you thank you thank you.

the ending was so beautiful, i took my time reading carefully to soak it all up. and i haven’t stopped crying since, thank you so much for giving us this 💖

I'm full on crying. I couldn't finish reading it because it literally hurt so much but you're such an amazing writer!

i haven't been able to stop crying oh my god that was intense. YOU MY FRIEND ARE SO GIFTED IN WRITING

you actual cold hearted bitch (i'm just kidding i love you so much) how dare you

I'm halfway reading through the last chapter and I literally cannot finish it. I'm an emotional wreck as I type this to you. My eyes are all puffy and my nose is running. I needed a break before I continue reading but I just wanted to say I love how beautiful you made Harry and Avery. From the beginning of Hide, I never thought I'd see them as an unconditionally loving couple. Also, bee this fanfic has helped me open up to my being honest with my feelings and to being affectionate. Thank you.

We're just gonna act like I wasn't crying my eyes out the entire time. That being said it was so beautifully written like all of your work is.

It's hard to form into words how sentimental I feel toward Harry and Avery. Hide feels like more than a fic to me, I guess. I've followed them for as long as I can remember, I would get so excited seeing you post a new chapter each week. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You created a beautiful story and I will be forever attached to Havery. Xx

I just finished "Summer" and i'm a mess and have no words. I just wanna thank you for such a beautiful story and wish you very good luck in life, Bee. And i sincerely hope you get to, one day, write a book because you can fucking write!! xx

I have been following this blog now for a little over two years now and I have never, ever felt so many emotions in one story in my whole life. No book, no fan fiction, nothing has ever come close to this before. As a young, aspiring writer I want to say thank you. Thank you for sharing your work with people. Thank you for creating such developed, mature and realistic characters. Thank you for making a fictional character be an inspirational and empowering woman who I admire. Hide has been the best piece of writing that I have ever read not just from a fanfic standpoint but from a romance story. So bravo, Hide was really, truly incredible work. Really well done with everything. I admire you and hope that you will continue writing more in the future, I will be first in line at any book signings. Well done and thank you again, Bee. x

Bee, I wasn't ready. Was not prepared in the least. I cried the entire time, literally felt like I was going through it with them. I'll miss Harry and Avery so much. I was reading back on your old blog when you were updating each chapter. I want to say the story was only maybe 10 chapters in when I found it and have been with it ever since. My fav story/characters of all time. You are so talented and I'm so happy I got to come along on this journey. Thank you! xoxo

I'm a blubbering mess. Bee, words don't do that final chapter justice. It was perfect. I've been an avid follower and reader of your fics since the good ole' days of your Can't Do Better series. When you first started Hide, I instantly fell in love with Harry and Avery's story and would find myself yearning for Sunday to come around so I could read the latest chapter. Knowing that I was about to read the last ever installment of Harry and Avery's journey, my emotions/expectations were all over the place however your writing once again blew me away and exceeded every expectation I didn't even know I had. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Please continue to write, you truly have an amazing gift. Congratulations on finally finishing XO!!! It truly is an end of an era...excuse me while I cry my eyes out a bit more haha xx

How. How. How could you do this to me? I swear I haven't stopped crying. This is just heartbreaking ... your writing is absolutely beautiful. My mom died 12 years ago and left me and my two brothers and I related to Maddie so so much BecaSe I got married 2 years ago. And my dad is my hero so watching him go through that and now reading this has brought back so many memories that are just heartbreaking but that remind me that time heals all wounds.Thank you for this even if my eyes are swollen🙈

That felt so real? I feel like Im in this thing and im experiencing it for real? I hadnt even noticed that everything was blurred and my cheeks were wet. You're so so talented and I truly needed a moment of silence to just tell myself that I was reading fiction. I love literature but I have never had this feeling before, I dont quite know what to call it. It enough to say that you are incredible, and your writing ability is outstanding.

THANK YOU. THANK YOU. THANK YOU. I have been keeping up with Hide/XO since I was a senior in high school (four years ago). I even canceled plans with the my friends because I knew you posting that night. But I don't think I have ever cared more about fictional characters in my entire life. Harry and Avery were the most emotional, vulnerable, accepting, flawed, provocative, loving characters I have ever encountered and it's all because of your genius mind.Thanks again for sharing them with us❤️

I've been here through it all Bee. The only thing I can think to say after reading what is probably the most beautiful thing I have ever read, is thank you. I don't remember the last time I've cried while reading a story, but I promise I ugly cried from beginning to end. You are so, so talented. We didn't deserve this kindness, this kindness of you sharing your works with us, but I'm so thankful you did. We loved Harry and Avery and we LOVE YOU. So thank you Bee. Thank you thank you thank you

Hii so I've never written in before but I just felt like I absolutely had to pop in and thank you. If you'd told me when I started this fic that four years later I'd still be checking into your tumblr daily to see if I would get another small window into Harry and Averys life I would have told you to fuck off and yet here I am. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for sharing this story and for creating a love story and characters so realistic I feel as if I actually know them. Xx

oh my god i was literally ugly crying while reading it bee you broke my fucking heart it was so beautiful

I saw that preview and knew. I just fucking knew. It's 11:41 pst and I am bawling my eyes out!! I have been with you and this story for years and to see it end is so so heartbreaking. But GOD Harry and Avery's is so beautiful and pure. Thank you thank you thank you for sharing this with us. I'm still crying and I'll probably be crying for a long time.

Oh my goodness 😭😭 my mother is a breast cancer survivor. We got so lucky with her process and reading how it could have gone for us was surreal. I was in tears the entire time. Your writing is beautiful, I have fallen in love with Avery and Harry and they have taught me so much. I read your Hide posts the moment they used to come out on Friday nights and XO has never disappointed. Thank you Bee. I know it wasn't always easy for you but I appreciate every post. I will miss this story so much!

To be honest I had to take breaks in between the reading because wow ! I cried and got emotional and I absolutely love the way you wrote this one

That was literally the most depressing thing I've ever read in my entire life, damn you and your amazing writing omg

This is undoubtedly the most beautiful love story ever written. Thank you for giving us all this wonderful gift, even if I haven't stopped crying since I began reading this last part. A million times thank you.

Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. I have a certain attachment to Hide and that was a beautiful way of finishing it off. Well done, Bee. Thank you

I am here in the dark BAWLING MY EYES OUT!! 😭😭😭 Girl, I haven't cried this much since the first time I saw the notebook. I loved Hide so much. It's so much more than just fanfiction tbh. This was amazing writing, thank you so much.

I have no words other then thank you for the gift you have given me. This story touched me in so many ways that I can't even explain to you but it is hands down the best damn fic I read in my life ( and trust me it's already a long one). Heartbroking ending, went back to Hide at least 5 times in the past year and a half and will be going back to many more. Except I might not go to the ending again. Amazing. Wish you the best in life

You've put us through one hell of a ride with XO/Hide and its been fucking incredible, to say the least. I've never cried more reading a story before. Harry and Avery are forever immortal in my eyes and i'll reread their love story for as long as I possibly can. This story has changed me as a person and I can't thank you enough. Although i'm incredibly sad it has come to an end ill always love it. Havery's story means the world to me and bless you for being the creative writing legend you are xo

Hide/XO (really the entirety of "Death by Styles") has literally meant the world to me these past few years. It's what I read and re read over and over again when I've needed an escape and what's kept me believing in love and fate and happiness. It may sound silly, me talking about this story like i've got some sort of attachment to it, but I do and i've loved every second of it. I've cried, laughed, and loved because of this story and I thank you for that Bee. Thank you. XO

I aspire to write a story as well as Hide/XO one day. I've read a lot of romance novels, Hide is by far my favorite. I had a feeling when you posted the warning for us to get tissues that the ending would be that way. I cried from start to finish. It was heart breaking, beautiful, and amazing. Thank you for writing such a beautiful love story. I'm glad I was able to be "here for it all." Xx

That was heartbreakingly beautiful. Thank you. Thank you so much for always making me feel with your writing.

its taken me 2 hours and 15 minutes to read that chapter. oh my god. i have never cried so much, ever. thank you for making hide, it truly is the best fanfic EVER. you are a beautiful writer. that chapter was amazing, but it was emotionally traumatising and i don't think i will ever be over it. i have been reading hide for years, so thank you for sticking with it and making it beautiful from start to end♡♡♡

Thats a chaptet that im never going to be able to re-read, but it was a beautiful, heartaching and overwhelming end to this amazing world that you created with Avery and Harry. Its been 40 minutes that i read it and im still tearing up thinking about it. Thank you so much for sharing this amazing love with us and, though it was a bitter sweet goodbye, it was filled with everything that made Avery and Harry. Its been a pleasure Bee.

I have no words except thank you. Thank you for writing a beautiful story and thank you for giving it a beautiful ending (even if it did rip my heart out). I cried so much that I had to stop at some points so I could wipe my eyes to read. You are a very talented writer and I am so thankful that you shared your gift.

Just wanted to thank you for writing Hide. I've been here from the beginning and I've absolutely loved it. I cried and cried during the last chapter, I feel a real loss. But it's been lovely and you're a fantastic writer. Thank you for sharing your gift with us <3

I followed you when you had just finished up CDB. Have been here with hide since the beginning. I think I started following in high school. I'm finishing up college soon! It's been a wild ride. So dope of you to share this story with us.

I cried the entire time reading this chapter. Even the smutty scenes. HOLY SHIT. Bravo!

Jesus, that was possibly the most heartbreaking thing I've ever read. Part of me is so mad that this is their end. Like, they were meant to have it all. I was crying through the whole piece bc I knew that not only was this the end of Avery and Harry but it was THE END of Avery and Harry. I'm just so sad for them. It was a brilliant piece of writing and I can only imagine how you felt writing it. I shall miss them very much. Thank you for giving them to us ❤️

I am heartbroken absolutely heartbroken. I am actually crying. You are phenomenal your writing is literally making me cry. I have been following you since you started writing Hide and I've loved watching you grow as a person through it and I feel I've grown up through the time this fic was written and became an adult. So it's really interesting to read this as an adult when I first started reading this as a teenager. Wow a complete round of applause to you. You wrote Harry and Avery so perfectly

I've been reading your story for 2 years already? When I found out you had a dry run I tried my best to send you positive messages. You not updating was never an issue then I saw your note that you're finally ending Harry and Avery's story and I don't know what to feel, but one thing is for sure I want to say thank you for everything. All the emotions you've made us feel as your readers I'll always love your stories! I'll even name my daughter Avery! Here for it all? Always. Thank you.

Your the only writer I've come across where you write Harry as I see Harry and it makes your stories that much more better, believable and relatable. I hope you work through your writing dilemmas because your talent shouldn't go to waste.

I just wanted to say I love your writing, and you are so talented. I had a really tough school year and between a lot of school work and friend troubles and it was really rough. Your writing has always been such a bright spot and a great distraction. I hope you feel better and know that so many people (who've never even met you) love you and care about you. Sending hugs from Boston❤️❤️❤️.

The entire time I was reading Hide, I could help but think "Harry would definitely do that" or "That is such a Harry thing". Even though I don't personally know Harry, your Harry in Hide reminds me of real Harry more than other fanfics I have read. He is goofy, carefree, sweet and an all around good person with his sarcasm and dry sense of humour. Well done. I supposed this comes from observing him for 7 year.

I would just like to say how much I love your writing and it will always hold a special place in my heart. I loved reading harry and averys beautiful story. And although it's fictional I feel as if I truly know them and I'm proud of how far they've come. It's bittersweet that their story is coming to an end as well as your time writing fanfiction. I hope in the future you continue to write, even if just for yourself, because you truly have a gift and your characters have such depth My friend and I came across your fics a few years ago and truly fell in love with your stories. We actually started telling each other "here for it all" and it became a special saying that had a deep love and meaning behind. My friend actually got it as tattoo. I'm not as daring but those words,your words, mean a lot as well as your stories. It has been an honor and privilege to read your writing. All the best to you. Excited for the last bit of havery's story. Here for it all ❤️

You are 1D of a fanfiction. Your work is the best fanfic I have read hands down. With all due respect to other amazing writers on here, you are in a completely different category. Your story about harry and avery feels real and raw and every single time I read it( and trust me I read it over and over again), it's like getting to know them and their story all over again. It's a perfection for me as a reader. So thank you

It's so bittersweet because I followed Hide since the beginning when you still had your old blog. I absolutely loved the new shot and the entire XO Series. Although I'll miss Harry & Avery, you've more than done their story justice. You should be really proud Bee! I know you've had ups and downs with this fandom but thank you for finishing Hide and thank you for everything else xxx

I never have the right words to express how your writing makes me feel. I can't even tell you the exact number of times I read Hide series. The warmth, the kindness, the rawness and realness in your writing is beyond words. I don't even know ATM if those are real words. You render me spachless and for that I thank you. This is supposed to be just a fanfic but you made it into something real and very touching. Cheers love and once again thank you for sharing your amazing writing

I’ve been trying to figure out what to say since finishing Hide. The problem is, words can’t explain what you’ve done. My mom passed away from breast cancer when she was 44. Far too young to have experienced that, while all of Hide has been incredible. The way you chose to end their story was fantastic. It was real. The way harry was written in the last part reminded me so fully of my dad and how he felt after losing his wife and having to raise kids on his own, a life he loved but did not expect. You did Avery and Harry so much justice and the way I feel about this story and how you’ve written it is inexplicable. Thank you. And you better publish something some day, the world deserves to see you’re writing. I hope you had fun last night (I was there too!) it was incredible. God bless that beautiful boy and his ability to bring out the best in people. Keep doin you, Bee! Xo

I just wanted to tell you how much the story you have created means to me. I have been in love with the idea of Avery and Harry for such a long time, I can't even remember for how long. I loved coming to your tumblr to see new chapter, I loved that you have showed me that true love can really exist, I loved everything about it. It isn't just a fanfiction about Harry, it's an amazing story that can easly be published and I'm sure it would have been a bestseller. I don't remember how I found your tumblr, but I can't describe how happy it made me. As I'm writing this I'm sobbing uncontrollably. The last shot was just too much. It felt like I was really saying goodbye to Avery. It was a sad, but a perfect ending to an amazing story, that I probably would re-read 100 times more. Thank you for creating Hide, Thank you for everything.

I am crying so much. I can't, it was beautiful. I didn't expect it but it just made me want a love like theirs, I know it's fiction but that's the love you made them have, is/was gorgeous. You did amazing with this story 👏🏻

Thank you so much for sharing Harry's and Avery's story. I'm in tears while typing this message. I almost couldn't finish because that would mean the end. It's been more and more difficult to find stories and books that I can be 100% invested in. Your story has made me feel every emotion under the sun and I can't thank you enough for this experience. Everything was beautifully written from start to finish. I've been following your blog for quite some time now and know you've struggled writing their story so thank you again for not giving up on them and yourself. You really are a fantastic writer. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Hello! I've been a long time ghost reader but I just finished the last installment of Harry and Avery. I just...it's been a while since I've cried from a story. The whole story has taken me on such a roller coaster but I loved every second of it. Being able to be apart of their development and growth, both individually and together, has been a privilege. The way you write them is incredible and I'm in such awe of you. There aren't enough words to describe how in love I am with Hide, XO, and the last 4 seasons (if I'm missing any installments i'm sorry). Your other stories...oh don't even get me started on your shorter fics cause I won't shut up about em!

I have never sobbed harder in my lifeI really want to hate you. I want to hate you so badly. But this was amazing and perfect and incredible. I'm wholly heartbroken.

I haven't stopped crying and this is all your fault haha I'm a sophomore in college and I first started reading this my sophomore year of high school. Some of my friends know of this story. You won't believe me if I say this but I always felt like Avery would die young...? She lived too much and so fast. She had this larger than life love and this grand and luxurious life and compared to how her life was before it's a huge contrast. She lived a life that is very respectful as well. I'm just sad because the way you ended this hurts a lot. I guess deep down I knew it wasn't going to be a fairly tale ending for these two but that is what you gave them and I respect you for it. I wonder if you cried as well during this because This must have been a very emotional journey for you. Thank you once again for sharing this with us. My favorite love story will be these two. Warm hugs and kisses to you dear

Not going to lie, I was upset at first when I read you were killing off Avery because I love her so. But, it was perfect. I'm still ugly crying. Thank you! I don't think I can say it enough. I may need to go and read it again for the 12th time. And that's not exaggeration. Love these two and this story!

Hey Bee! Just wanted to say thank you for Hide and XO. I discovered your writing at a not so great time in my life. And for a long time, it was what I looked forward to every week. Harry and Avery hold a special place in my heart. It might sound weird, but I sometimes think of naming my nonexistent daughter Avery cause the name reminds me of good times. I've never cried so much during a fanfic as I did the last part of XO. It was absolutely beautiful. Thank you for writing it. I know it wasn't always easy, and I appreciate every word you put into it. Thank you.

jesus christ i sobbed the entire way through that ending, it was a beautiful story and a perfect way to complete something you worked so hard on. thanks for sharing such a wonderful story 😊

wowowow I have never cried so much while reading a fic. the entire series has been incredibly amazing and beautifully written. thank you so so much for continuing the story through all these years and every up and down. here for it all💜💜

#hide fic #xo:series #havery #feedback

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dadvans · 8 years ago

Text

TOP FIVE THINGS MASTERPOST (2/3)

Christophe Giacometti’s boyfriend proposes to him in the kiss and cry. Yuuri is about to go on, is looking up at the big screen saying, “how embarrassing! I would hate someone making such a public spectacle of a private moment.” Victor spends Yuuri’s entire free skate canceling the series of ice dancers and crowd participants and camera guys he had hired for a very public proposal that it is NOT HAPPENING.

The entire restaurant erupts with applause when the table next to theirs announces their proposal, an engagement ring presented to a bride in a glass of champagne. Yuuri says, “I can’t imagine such a tacky and cliched proposal. Can you really not think of something more personal and romantic than what movies have shown you?” When the waiter comes around with their ‘complimentary’ glasses of champagne, Victor double-fists them both, swallowing hard around a 10k diamond ring. “I was very thirsty,” he says, signaling for another round, choking a little. “So, so thirsty.”

Realizing how flawed his Public Display of Affection technique was, Victor decides to have a more private engagement. He hides the ring on Makkachin’s harness and has a five-course dinner catered at home, courtesy of him not knowing how to make anything except for protein shakes and scrambled eggs on toast. Except that’s the day that between Victor getting flowers and Victor picking up his new Soon-To-Be-Ravished Engagement suit, Yuuri takes Makkachin to the groomers and comes back excited to show off a clean-cut dog minus one engagement ring. (“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the groomer says the next day, flashing a suspicious gold ring they were not wearing the day before with a flip of their hand. “I didn’t find anything.”)

Yuuri meanwhile realizes what Victor’s game plan has been the entire time, and feeling awful, decides to ask for his hand in marriage in a public display of affection. They’re seeing a hockey match as a family with Yurio, and Yuuri lets the event staff know ahead of time he would like to propose to Victor on the overhead screen. The venue tries and fails—the kiss cam lands on Yuuri and Yurio when Victor is getting more drinks. Yurio sees his moment and Goes For It ™.

They don’t expect it to go like this: Yuuri on the couch getting a foot rub, face lolling to the side. “Marry me,” he says, and he means nothing by it, but everything at the same time, and Victor kisses his big toe and says, “I do.”

It’s a home birth. They’ve got fucking mood tapes made, they have candles, they have a pool in their living room, they have comforting smells. Yuuri is ready.

Yuuri is NOT ready, but he pretends he is ready. The comforting smells are not comforting and Victor opens all the windows and he is in so much pain and Yuuri really hates this??? But Victor Does Not Know. All Victor knows it that Yuuri has a well-organized birthing kit, full of things like ziplock bags he’s written PLACENTA on in his neat, English handwriting, and a cheap shower curtain to line the bathing tub covered in orange and blue squids. He calls the neighbors about the loud noises and when the baby doesn’t come, but the contractions are shitty, he lets Victor practically break his hand as they walk in circles around their small concrete backyard in New York.

Yuuri calls the midwife and Yuuri makes green tea with brown rice and Yuuri sweeps the floor approximately twenty-nine times and Yuuri pours him glass after glass of water and sits with him on the edge of the bathtub while he tries and fails to pee and cuts him thin slices of watermelon and wipes his sweaty hair back and traces his fingers through Victor’s scalp.

Yuuri’s face is there. It’s the only face Victor needs to see. There’s a midwife and an apprentice and Makkachin (and waiting out in a car trying to manage his own panic attack, Yuri Plisetsky) there too, but as far as Victor’s world is concerned it’s Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri as he pushes and breathes and shifts and breathes and cries and breathes, and Yuuri is there, and he’s beautiful.

Yuuri is so good at positive reinforcement and telling Victor that he did a good job, even though they’re both crying, and he’s so good at holding the baby and looking at the baby and saying, “baby,” with vocal chords capable of making noise, and Yuuri is so good at being tender and wonderful and himself and pressing kisses to Victor’s sweaty temple and cutting the chord and laying next to him and saying, “way to go, papa, looks like we just won gold.”

When he had to tell Victor that Air Bud wasn’t a documentary

When he has to tell Victor that Ronald McDonald isn’t a real person, and definitely not a politician or someone who sacrificed his own life for America.

No, he never took a giant robot to school. No, that was—it’s just in a lot of cartoons, Victor. Giant robots aren’t a thing in Japan. No, we have a defense force, we do not have an army of giant robots.

No, Victor, potato vodka is not a vegetable, please stop arguing with me, this is the seventh time.

Victor is devastated when they move to Venice Beach after retiring to find out that rollerblading and fishnet shirts are No Longer A Thing. Also, that Pauly Shore is no longer relevant. Victor watches Encino Man seven times that weekend and refuses to go outside.

MAN, i couldn’t answer this one, and i’ll tell you why: even though you wrote “’typically’ masculine,” it just suggests so much and so little. this is a hard hunger to feed. when i read this, it seems like someone wants to cement one identity as ‘more masculine’ and another as ‘more feminine’. it also completely disregards that the idea of ‘masculinity’ is not constant through different cultures, and what ‘masculine’ in russia and ‘masculine’ in japan may not, and is not cohesive with the western idea of masculine. i tried to answer this initially anyway, but it just made me too uncomfortable. yuuri and victor are men, but they shouldn’t be regulated by that, and they also shouldn’t have to live out expectations beyond that. i don’t feel comfortable defining that. does that make sense? i hope this doesn’t bum you out, but for multiple reasons, i couldn’t answer this one.

The entire sequence of Yuuri’s breakdown in the parking lot, his free skate, to the kiss in episode seven. I love Georgi’s FS music when they’re recovering from seeing each other raw and walking toward the rink, I love Yuuri’s recognition of Victor as an imperfect human and imperfect coach, I love the monologue while he skates, I LOVE him attempting the quad flip for the first time. The kiss was the first part I had seen of the anime, and it convinced me to watch the show, because I’m so tired of queerbating, but!! When i saw it within the series, the emotions that built up to it completely wrecked me. I still get emotional watching it.

I have watched the airport scene from the end of episode 9 probably just as much as I’ve watched the kiss. The way Victor says, “it would be nice if you never retired.” Fucks me up!!! Just fucks me up.

Any second that Christophe Giacometti is on screen. I love him. I love him so much.

The entire first nine episodes with the new eyes of the episode ten reveal. Coupled with the last ten seconds of episode ten. “BEEEEE MAAAAAAI COOOOOOCHI”

The fucking pairs skate, fucking end me, jesus fucking christ.

HONORABLE MENTIONS: when they hug during the flashback over Yuuri getting that 4F score, when they kiss rings, touch hands, touch each other, whenever Victor gets in Yuuri’s space that no one else is allowed to occupy but Victor can with ease, the aggressive hugging sequence in episode nine, just like, the entire fucking series, leave me alone.

Yuri doesn’t give a shovel talk, but he does suggest he and Yuuri kill Victor with a shovel so they can be together forever.

Yakov wants to tell Yuuri to be good to Vitya, but after the incident at the Rostelecom Cup, he realizes that Victor probably needs the shovel talk a lot more than Yuuri. Yuuri doesn’t skate past Yakov’s criticisms sing-songing “I can’t he-e-a-a-r y-o-o-o-u,” and he doesn’t invite the entire st. petersburg philharmonic to compose from the stands while he works on his new routine, and in the end yakov’s shovel talk is more like, “if you ever need help burying his body, it would please me greatly to help.”

Georgi tries to give Yuuri the shovel talk, because Georgi understands Real Pain, and it’s what he would have wanted when his heart was broken, but then Yuuri looks away and grabs at the inside of his elbow shyly and says, “I heard what you went through with Anya, I can only imagine how that felt, so I understand—“ and Georgi is crying Yuuri suddenly and holding him.

“I didn’t think he had a heart to break before he met you,” Mila admits as they watch Victor practicing his jumps. He’s been able to add another half rotation to his triple axel, but his knees have been hurting him lately, and in turn it hurts to watch how determined he can be when he really wants something and has no way of hiding from it. “But he does, even if he’s better at hiding how he feels about you than he does about his sport. You break his heart, I break your legs.”

Victor’s always been Lilia’s favorite student from Yakov, and she’s always had a working rivalry with Minako, so any time Victor shows up in less than perfect form, when he and Yuuri aren’t looking at each other with the usual tenderness in the mornings, she sees no problem in pulling Yuuri aside and making him do hundreds on a reformer until he’s throwing up. It’s more effective than any shovel talk.

#yuri on ice #victuuri #headcanons #victor nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #five things #replies #mpreg #credit to wortwood for so many of the bad marriage proposals and for making me laugh so hard i cry in the kitchen

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greeneyedsarcasm · 8 years ago

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Bawson Fic - NYE

Warning: Ginny experiences a panic attack in this fic and I’ve written it based off of personal experience. I’m not an expert on panic attacks and just wrote about it based on how mine are like.

Also, this is my first fic I have ever written and all mistakes are mine because english was my least favorite subject.

Ginny isn’t quite sure why she agreed to attend Noah’s business partners’ New Year’s Eve party, but here she is. She should have known better. She should have known that being around this many people, especially people she did not know, would lead to an uncomfortable evening for her.

In reality, she knew why she agreed to come. The only other option was to go to the party that Evelyn was throwing, and if she had gone to the Sanders’, the chances of running into Mike Lawson were pretty much a sure thing. It had been awkward between her and the catcher ever since that night at Boardner’s and to be honest, she did not want to see him with his age appropriate ex-wife hanging off of his arm. Call her petty, call her jealous, call her childish, Ginny Baker did not care.

Now, however, she was stuck at a party with a bunch of people she did not know and the one person she did know had disappeared. The minute she and Noah had stepped foot into the party, he had been pulled away to meet an investor and told her that he would meet back up with her later. The ballroom that the party was being thrown in was huge, but hundreds of people were in attendance and it felt as if she was stuck in a room with walls that were starting to close in. She was being jostled by women in beautiful gowns and men in tuxes and knew that a panic attack was inevitable.

Ginny could feel herself starting to sweat, could feel her skin getting tighter and her breaths were coming out in short bursts. She frantically looked around for an area with less people but could not find anywhere. As soon as she saw a waiter walk by, she grabbed him gently by the arm and asked, “Where can I go to get some fresh air?” She must have looked spooked because the waiter gently led her through the crowds and towards a balcony that thankfully looked empty. As soon as the balcony doors shut behind her, she slumped on the ground behind a giant potted plant. She pulled her knees up to her chest, leaned her head forward and took in deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. After ten minutes of just breathing she felt calmer, and her ability to think came back with the ability to breathe.

She pulled her phone out (thank god for dresses with pockets), and looked at the time. 9:18. “I can’t do this. What the hell was I thinking?” Ginny muttered as she thought of a way to excuse her from this hellish night. She could feel the sweat starting to dry on her body and shivered as a gentle breeze chilled her to the bone. “Not the smartest night to not bring a jacket,” Ginny thought as she rubbed her arms, trying to warm up.

“Ma’am?” Ginny jumped when she heard someone speak. Usually she had a sixth sense for when people were approaching her, but she felt thrown after her panic attack and hadn’t noticed when the waiter from earlier approached. Her head snapped up and her hand went to her chest in shock.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Would you like some water?” Joey, his nametag read, offered her a water bottle. She gratefully took the water bottle and chugged the whole thing in less than a minute. She felt as if she hadn’t had a sip of water in days and needed more than one bottle to quench her thirst. “Do you need me to call you a taxi, ma’am?”

“Thank you, but I’m just going to sit for a while and then I’ll be fine.” She smiled at the young man, but even she could tell that it was more of a grimace than an actual smile. There was not a single dimple in sight.

The waiter nodded his head in understanding and left Ginny with her thoughts and a couple more water bottles.

With shaking hands, Ginny sent Noah a text telling him that she felt sick and was unable to stay at the party. Quickly, way too quickly, he replied with a sad face emoji and a car emoji with question marks, which she assumed meant “do you need a ride home?” but that was just a guess on her part. She just as quickly sent back a, “No thanks. I’m good.” She grimaced at the fact that she had thought of dating someone who didn’t even respond in actual sentences and seemed to have no concern about her general wellbeing.

Wanting to just go home and curl up in her bed, she sent for an Uber and was informed that her car would arrive in seven minutes.

Standing up on shaking legs, she slowly walked back into the ballroom and towards the exit. She threw a smile at Joey, the only person who showed some concern, and finally stepped outside.

Taking a deep breath of the fresh air, she felt her body start to calm down as well. Her hands started to shake a little less, her chest didn’t feel as tight, and her skin didn’t feel like there were bugs crawling on her anymore.

After a 45-minute ride in the back of a too small sedan, Ginny did not even consider getting in the elevator to go up to her floor. Taking off her four-inch heels, she sprinted up the stair well and slammed herself into her room.

She didn’t waste a single second and shimmied out of her dress, took off the uncomfortable strapless bra and matching panty set that she had bought specifically for that night and put on her over sized Padres sweatshirt and a pair of boy shorts. Washing off her makeup that she had managed to smudge while freaking out and taking her hair down from the sleek up do that Evelyn had helped her with, she was finally ready to pass out.

Just as she buried herself under her blankets and was about to fall asleep, her phone lit up with a text. From Mike. Who she had been successfully, if awkwardly, avoiding for weeks. After debating on whether she should read the text or just ignore it and read it the next day, she finally decided to stop torturing herself and read the message.

Mike (11:05 pm 12/31/16): Where the hell are you, Rookie?

Mike (11:06 pm 12/31/16): Why aren’t you at Blip and Eve’s?

Ginny (11:12 pm 12/31/16): Went to a friend’s party. Ended up coming back to my place earlier than expected.

Mike (11:13 pm 12/31/16): You okay? Ginny (11:13 pm 12/31/16): Didn’t do so well with the crowds. Needed to get away from people. Mike (11:15 pm 12/31/16): You want some company? Mike (11:16 pm 12/31/16): No one should be alone on New Years. Ginny (11:17 pm 12/31/16): Wouldn’t want to take you away from Rachel or your friends.

Ginny cringed as she read her text and hoped it didn’t sound as petty as she the thought it did. She regretted sending that reply the minute her finger pressed ‘send’. It took a couple of minutes before a reply came through and Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as she read the text.

Mike (11:21 pm 12/31/16): I’m not with Rachel and you are my friend. Do you want me to come by or not? Because I can be there in 15 minutes with hot chocolate.

Ginny wanted to jump for joy. “He’s not with Rachel. He’s not with Rachel!” She sang in her head as she grabbed her phone to reply.

Ginny (11:23 pm 12/31/16): Fine. I guess you can come by. Ginny (11:23 pm 12/31/16): Don’t forget the marshmallows in my hot chocolate, old man. Mike (11:24 pm 12/31/16): Don’t act like you’re not excited, Rookie. Be there in 10.

Ginny freaked out for a second when she remembered that she looked like a mess, but calmed down after remembering that Mike had seen her after a two hour workout session, sweat mustache and all, so really nothing could be worse than that.

She made sure her room was picked up and that none of her dirty laundry was on the floor or hanging over the bathtub. She had just managed to put her hair into a messy French braid when there was a knock at her door.

She quickly walked over to the door, checked to make sure that it was Mike and not some random creep who managed to get by security, and opened the door to find Mike standing in front of her, looking effortlessly sexy, wearing a pair of grey sweat pants and a Padres blue Henley with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his muscled arms. She stared at him for a solid minute before he said anything.

“Hey, Rook. You going to let me in?” Mike questioned with a cocky smirk on his face.

Note: Maybe i’ll make this a multi part fic? Lemme know

#bawson #bawson fic #pitch fic #mike lawson #ginny baker #mike x ginny #otp: you kind of blow me away

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