#im doing them 10 at a time to keep things more orderly
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Woof, got all the nine patches I'll need done for this quilt
Now I just have to make them all disappear
20 done only 80 left to do!
Also testing out more layouts and pumpkin is as helpful as ever
So helpful
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Have a nice day, Monica! 🌸How are you feeling? Do you sleep better or are you worried about insomnia? I have a question for you: what are your favorite interviews with JimmySea? Can you make a top? I like their interviews, where the boys tell something special about their character, about hobbies outside the set or about their family. But I think the most favorite interview is Mint Hang Out. Very beautiful bright cafe, delicious dishes, Jimmy and Sea in flirting mode, and Jimmy, who did not come out of the image of Puen, because there were shootings the day before, and driving everyone crazy with gentle looks. Take care of yourself!🌸
hello, dear anon!!!! 💜
this is such a sweet message and that’s also a very interesting question!!! unfortunately im not the best at keeping track with interviews and events, so im probably going to miss some major one, but im going to try to make a small list of my favorites anyway!!!
praew magazine Q&A. YOU WILL NEVER GET ME TO ADMIT HOW MANY TIMES I’VE REWATCHED THIS INTERVIEW JUST KNOW I WOULD HAVE ORDERLIES AT MY DOOR READY TO DRAG ME INTO A PADDED ROOM IF I ADMITTED IT OUT LOUD. im not sure why i like it so much tbh, maybe because it’s a recent one and you can really see how much more comfortable they are in front of the camera and with each other, especially sea. my favorite part is how after the 15th time sea touched jimmy’s leg in the span of 3 minutes even the editor of the video was like if im forced to bare witness to things not even god could withstand then so are y’all [zooms in]
mint hang out vlog. jimmy truly be having some residual method acting left in his system with how ridiculously FOND he looks throughout the entire video. the only reason it doesn't get first place to me is because technically this isn’t exactly an interview but more of a vlog, as the title says, however since i love it and the ACTUAL interview doesn’t have any subs (if anyone asks this is my villain origin story btw) i’ve decided that i don’t care and that im gonna add it to the list anyway. ALSO THIS PERFECTLY SHOWS WHY WE NEED A JIMMYSEA EATING PROGRAM @ GMMTV LISTEN TO THE PEOPLE!!!!!!
our skyy vice versa interview. LISTEN i know it doesn't have any subs so it's not fully accessible to international fans, however it deserved a place here even just for THEE HUG™, i know it was for a challenge but sea clearly didn't expect it and you can tell he is SO DELIGHTED by it AND SO AM I OKAY IDK WHAT TO TELL YOU I AM ONLY HUMAN. also even if you don't know what they're talking about the vibes are just so immaculate and unmatched i would listen to them FOR HOURS
open the world interview. im so very fond of this one because i feel like it's a very good starting point to get to know them. sea is still very shy here, but you learn a lot of things that if you follow them for a while you find out are true: that behind the scenes sea is clingy and determined, that jimmy is always there to guide him, that the way they express their love (even the platonic kind) is by supporting and taking care of the other person, that they do end up spending time together swimming and singing and wakeboarding......
let's talk BL podcast. i knew i could trust them with my life when they were asked which was their favorite vice versa episode and jimmy replied that it was episode 10 (because he is so proud of himself for the derangement he unleashed upon us) while sea eventually picked episode 11 (because he is a man of culture) TRULY KINGS OF TASTE VISION AND CORRECT OPINIONS ONLY!!!!!!! honestly it's just a great interview all-around and i always love how both jimmy and sea try their best in everything they do
i wish i could add more but sadly all the other ones that come to mind (like the oishi magic of zero episode with milklove and the jd's birthday party live with earthmix) don't have any subs ;;;;;; let's hope we're gonna get a lot more when last twilight finally airs!!!!!
#also if anyone knows of some other interview im completely missing please let me know!!!!#anyway thank you so much anon!!!!!#for asking me this and for letting me know your favorite one and for sending such a sweet and kind message 💜#just wanted to tell you i also got your previews message but that it may take me a while to get to it i really apologize#please make sure to stay hydrated rest lots and take care of yourself too!!!!#wishing you the best of days!!!! 💜💜💜#jimmysea#jimmy jitaraphol#sea tawinan#m: ask
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10 AND 4 FROM ANGST 10 AND 4 FROM ANGST PLEASEE
i want u to rip my heart out and then piece together with duct tape plzzz idc if the tropes are over used im a sucker for them oops
- ssa-h0tchner
Bestie this was destined to break hearts
Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader
Warnings: blood, guns, hospitals, angst, sadness, ambiguous ending
Prompt List - Send in a Request
Slipping Through My Fingers
“Agent (L/N)! What are you thinking?! Get back here!”
“No Hotch!” you yelled back, tossing your vest to the side. “There’s people in there that need help. I'm not just going to stand outside and wait!”
Aaron hated hearing that, because you never used to call him Hotch. He was always Aaron, but now he was back to Hotch and you just kept fighting back. Pushing against him at every instance you could, but this was the last straw.
He was about to storm in there, gun in his hands when Derek stood in front of him and placed a firm hand on his chest.
“Hotch, no,”
“Morgan, let me go.�� he said in an orderly tone. “She’s without a vest in there alone and-!”
“Hotch, we both know if you walk in there the situation’s only gonna get worse for her,”
“Derek, I can’t just leave her,” his voice was desperate. “She hates me, I know that, but i’d she’s going to be stupid someone needs to make sure she won’t get hurt and that’s my-,”
Aaron’s voice stopped dead when he heard the gunshots.
“Job,” he finished, his voice a dry whisper as the echo fizzled out.
No amount of physical training could have helped Derek keep Aaron back. He sprinted towards the building, not caring for his own protection when he broke down the door of the house and rushed into the different rooms until he found you.
The unsub was lying, dead, across from you along with the three victims he had been holding hostage. And there you were, laying limp on the ground while your blood soaked the white carpet underneath you. Crimson red, warm, sticky, metallic.
Aaron could feel himself yelling into the comms but he had no idea what came out past his lips as he fell to his knees gently bringing your head into his lap while he tried his best to put pressure on the wound, but you were bleeding so hard and he could feel the blood along with your life slowly slipping through his fingers.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Aaron repeated over again, until his voice was nothing but strangled sobs, “You can’t (Y/N)! You can’t!”
You coughed a few times, red droplets dribbling out of your mouth, but no words followed.
“I know you hate me for leaving you,” he whispered as tears streamed down his face, falling onto your blood soaked shirt. “And you hate that I ended things, but I need to tell you now it wasn’t you, I swear, I swear it,” he quickly lifted one hand to his face to wipe away the tears, much to his mistake, the large streak of blood under his eyes, on his eyelids made him see red everywhere. “Sweetheart, you were perfect, but I wasn’t, I wanted you to have more than me, okay? So don’t you dare leave before you have the chance to be happy,”
Your eyes started to flutter and Aaron’s heart stopped.
“(Y/N)! Look at me!” he held your face firmly in one hand. “Look at me! Listen to me!”
You could feel yourself slipping away but you fought, you fought hard for him.
“I still love you! I didn’t stop loving you!”
“Hotch-,”
“No!” he roared at whoever had just come into the room.
“Hotch, get back, let them do their job,” Derek pulled him back again and he broke. Just like after Foyet, but this time he stayed in Derek’s arms, his loud sobs ringing through the empty home as his colleague, his friend, held him tightly despite his bloodstained clothes, and the streaks of red across his face, the only intelligible thing he whispered being,
“Not again, please not again, no, no, no,”
He wasn’t sure how he ended up at the hospital, or with a change of clothes in his arms, but after he had managed to stop the tears he shut everything off. Aside from the bloodshot eyes you wouldn’t have been able to tell he was crying.
He sat unbelievably still in the waiting room while the rest paced, or talked in hushed whispers.
They had all known about you and Aaron, and it came as a shock when things came to an end, but seeing now just how complicated things were. There was never a loss of love, for Aaron there was too much and it blinded him. And now the only thing he could think of was how if he hadn’t left you maybe this would have never happened.
Hours passed before a doctor came and addressed them, he informed the whole team that you were currently in the ICU and only a family member would be able to come and stay with you.
“I’m her family,” Aaron said, the lie easily slipped past his lips and no one dared counter him, you needed someone next to you if you woke up.
The doctor led him down the hall, informing him that you had suffered multiple gunshot wounds, some of which hit internal organs.
“But you were the one who was there with her right? You saved her life,”
“No I didn’t,” Aaron whispered. “She wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me,”
The doctor pursed his lips and patted Aaron comfortingly on the back.
“She’s a fighter. I’m sure she’ll make it out,”
But seeing you in that hospital bed, different tubes and machines all hooked up around you, it almost caused him to break down again.
But all he could count on was the steady beat of the heart monitor, night after night until, he hoped, one day you’d wake up.
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner one shot#aaron hotchner angst#hotch angst#aaron hotchner blurb#hotch blurb
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You Are The Reason Chapter V (Tom Holland x Reader fanfiction)
Summary: “I could be anything in the world, yet I wanted to be yours. But you don’t love me yet…or do you?“ The whole world thought you’re together but something’s stopping you, something’s stopping him.
Summary Chapter: “Dreams are excursions into the limbo of things, a semi-deliverance from the human prison.I’ - Henri Amiel
Chapter 5
YOUR POV
Much to our chagrin, traffic jam had caught up right after leaving the hospital premises. Harrison and a sleeping Gabby dropped us off first before heading back to our place. We called out the old guy at the reception who raised a mug of something at us in acknowledgement. My watch read 10:46pm by the time we reached their doorstep. Our dogs’ excited barks could be heard from the other side of the door as Tom wrestled with his keys for a bit.
“Im telling you, he’ll find a way to do it.” Tom argued, pushing the apartment door open.
“Uhm, no. Cause I know Gabby, once she’s tired, she’s tired. You can’t make her do anything not until you’re bleeding to death that is.” I debated back cheekily.
The traffic seemed to go on for the rest of the night ergo, to past boredom, Tom and I exchanged text messages whether Harrison would be able to pull his plan or won’t, among many other silly things. We still have to keep it under wraps since Gabby still has no idea. “What are you two scowling bout back there?” she asked before falling asleep minutes later.
“Fine! Alright! Let’s just ask Harrison tomorrow!” he exhaled with resignation in his voice.
. I brought a clenched fist and elbow to my knees in a sign of victory.
“Bloody hell, you don’t give up do you.” He said after a moment, putting everything on the countertop separating the living room and their kitchen.
I wriggled my eyebrows at him. His face contorted for a second to fight the smile from slipping through. He failed.
“Only for you love.” I said with a laugh, hugging my dog who won’t stop bouncing up at me from the moment we enter the apartment.
“Whatever… How are you lovely?” he knelt down to give Tessa a smooch on her gray head.
I filled the pet bowl with water before dragging my body onto the couch, face down with a heavy groan. I hate traffic.
“You wanna hit the shower first or should I?” Tom asked after minutes of shuffling in and out of the room. I propped my chin but kept my eyes closed as I replied.
“Go ahead, I need a second so these cushion could suck me in.” I wiggled my body as if it would dissipate the stiffness of my legs from sitting too long.
“You know where my room is.” He answered with a small laugh. I heard a creaking noise of the cabinet door then a wisp of wind when he threw something soft and large at my opiate position. I lifted my head when I heard him dematerialized behind the bathroom door.
I scanned the two-bedroom flat from my lying state. It was too tidy for two grown men to live in. Not a crumb or bottles of energy drinks in sight. Perhaps Gabby’s controlling nature had finally rubbed off on Harrison. He and Tom had decided to rent this place from Gabby’s cousin whenever they want to stay a while longer after wrapping up press junkets. Possibly, it was Harrison who wanted to stay longer and Tom being wherever his mate was, would stay until he pleased.
Willing myself to get up, I grabbed my overnight bag and the towel he threw at me to his room, the wall behind the mounted television. Two dogs sniffing happily behind me.
His room reeked with ocean breeze laundry detergent and embodied late adolescence-ness. I noted the lack of articles of clothing and trainers scattered on the floor, unmade bed and wide open luggage last time I was here. His double bed stood at the center of the room, two end tables on either side and dark clothes hung and were neatly stacked on the exposed clothing rack. 10 pairs of shoes in an orderly pile on the floor.
Despite the fact that he had let me sleepover a thousand times, I never heeded nor have I ever had the slight urge to interest myself on what he is like in his solidarity. I pride myself to never the one to snoop around. The prevalent awareness of being in his room haven’t bother me. Up until now. Which was the case I found myself in, prancing around his room as if for the first time in an unnamable light.
His room can’t be categorized as neither pristine nor disorganized. Stuff that usually don’t go well with each other –not that I know anything about interior styling- somehow complemented and blended with his impulsive personality. His obsession on shameless hoarding of any Spider-man merchandise he could get his hands on endured after all these years. “What a total nerd.” I chuckled to myself, setting down his action figure on the same spot. The red and blue collection disparate from the gray overall theme of the room. Letters and artworks from his fans were all compiled inside three black dossiers.
I was lazily lugging my index finger on his dust-free shelf, along the lines of books and photographs of his family, co-star photo calls, sceneries when a solid wooden framed picture halted me in my tracks.
Memories gushed in an unstoppable wave. The picture was cropped from the chest and up. I snapped this shot right after the first successful jumping obstacles I finished with my mare. We’re smiling. His cheek pressed onto mine, his other eye was squinting in order to avoid the harsh glare of the sun and my face reddened with sweat and excitement in his riding helmet. My arm was draped around his shoulders while the other extended the camera to fit us in the frame. I remembered hurriedly leapt down to Tom, who was already reaching out for me before my booted feet even touched the damp ground. I remembered stalling in his embrace, his body radiated as if he had somehow swallowed the whole sun, his thumbs that were drawing circles on my hips, pushing down the hitch emanating from my throat. I remembered how I together with his family went to their lake house later in the evening, his dad, stood by my side, with one comforting and familiar arm on my blanket-ed shoulders, staring ahead the setting day had said, out of the blue:
“Sometimes it’s practical to test waters first cause no one wants to dive in murky water, knowing whether we’ll hit the rocks or sand. But this day..” he trailed off, smiling and shaking his head. “He may be daft sometimes but thank you for sticking by him. Thank you for everything you’ve done. Thank you for making him happy.”
Before I could even ask Senior Holland to elaborate, an added weight made the docks screech in slight objection. Tom trudged to where we were, my bottled juice in hand. Frankly, I momentarily lost contact with my body, with my surroundings upon seeing his delightful face, how his curls bounced voluptuously like he’d just been prepped for some bloody movie minutes ago.
All these years, I try not to abide on what would happen if Tom and I just.. that maybe we could… I shook my head to eliminate the thought that’s been trying to eat me ever since once upon a time.
Tom’s POV
We were left to ourselves. Again., I think Harrison and his girlfriend liked to do this on purpose. There's a part of me wanted to strangle them both for doing this, albeit, the half part wanted to get down on my knees and hug them both with praise and reverence, saying "I owe you, big time."
I turned the shower knob off and quickly dressed in a shirt and sweats. I walked out into an empty and barely lit hall. The only evidence of her presence was her dog sitting outside my slightly open bedroom door. I patted his furry head before I knocked gently. She was not the one to get un-clothe with the door left ajar so I peeked inside when I didn't hear a response. She was leaning on my table, holding a picture frame in her hands, and the other clutching the desk. She didn't look up until I spoke.
"Hey, everything ok?"
She seemed startled for a swift second before smiling at me and waving the frame in her hands.
"I had no idea you printed and framed this."
"It was a good day. I should dare you more often." I went to her side, brushing against her as I lean over to look at the picture. I crossed my arms over myself to hide the goosebumps running from the tip of my fingers up to the hairs on my neck.
"Yeah. Really was." She sighed then locked her gaze with mine. I hugged myself even tighter, my fingers dug into my palms to keep from pulling her and crashing my lips to hers.. Heaven knows how badly I wanted no, needed to kiss her. But I’m waiting for her. Waiting for something to cross her eyes that will somehow tell me that she wants this just as bad as I do. I do not want to come across as one of those hot-blooded exes of hers who tried to force her to do something she does not like. But it’s me, I try to tell her with my eyes. I will never hurt you. . I hugged myself tighter to keep my heart from sprinting out of my chest as the moment of pure electricity stretched between us.
Until it wasn't anymore.
"I uhh.. Need to.... Take a bathe." She mumbled and broke her gaze. She handed me the frame and walked away. If she was nervous or felt at least something, she’s hiding it extraordinarily. I could feel my cheeks as they started to redden. She stopped at the door and crouched down in a playful defensive stance against her dog who wagged its tail gleefully. We let out short laughs before she disappeared.
I hung my head to the ceiling and I swear I could hear Harrison say “Youre the world’s greatest idiot..” I groaned.
I couldn’t sleep. My mind has not accustomed with Harrison’s four walls of a bedroom for the past two hours.. Every time she and Gabby would come over, I’ll let her have my bed like the perfect gentleman that I was raised. I didn’t mind the couch nor Harrison’s bed because I knew my sheets would smell like her for the remainder of the week and I would wake up in the morning and bury my face in the pillow. A sweet torture.
I fluffed Harrison's pillow to try to make myself more comfortable. Laying like a starfish on the bed and stared up the ceiling, my mind recalling one type of conversation that had always seem to play out every morning whenever we were alone together..
The couple would show up, their elbows leaning on the countertop, hyperexcitable faces on the palm of their hands, kind of like children waiting for their slices of chocolate cake.
"So...... Did you do it?"
I kept quiet while rummaging the kitchen for her favorite breakfast. Eyes never leaving my task. But shook my head.. "Nah. Wasn't the right time."
"Oh c'mon man!" Harrison exclaimed, dropping his head on the countertop in between in forearms.
"Alright Osterfield , hand it over ." Gabby opened and closed the back of her hands. Harrison produced a 20 dollar bill from his wallet to give her.
“You guys are the worst. I hope you know that.” I scowled under my breath.
"Thanks H olland " She patted me on my naked back..
"Man! How can you chicken out on me like that, you said you're gonna tell her last night....or the night of last week..... or the fortnight......or the months before that." He whined, Emphasizing each time frame then his forearms inching dangerously near the breakfast I'm making. I moved the plate out of the way and my eyes darted cautiously on my bedroom door. Checking for any signs or sounds of movement.
I shrugged, frowning.
"As much as I like winning against Haz, dude, you have to make a move. That window's not gonna be open forever. Take that hunky actor from GQ for example.”
“What? Who?” I snapped my head at her. I tried to sound less nervous and irritated but even to my own ears, I knew I came up short.
“I forgot his name . But we saw him at Jamba juice last week and the punk’s leaning a bit closer, in my opinion.” she shrugged
"She doesn't like me that way." I countered, hoping to get the melancholy disappointment out of my voice. Eyes still casted down.
"She likes you. Everyone with eyes can see it. You're just both too stubborn to admit it." Gabby retorted, before gulping down a carton of orange juice.
“Why? Did she tell you anything ?” I deadpanned but a little hopeful.
"Actions, Holland. Actions. They speak louder than words, like the song, dumbass." She had an elbow leaning on the counter at my side as she regarded me with slight irk and concern.
"But no... She doesn't tell me anything. You know she's always been like that, bottling up her feelings til she knows she can hold it." She placed the cap back on her carton box.
"Well then, i think i'll just wait for that bottle to spill."
"Tom." Harrison interrupted in a quiet tone that I finally looked at him.
"You know she's not her right?. They're both, different. This is a new story. It's gonna be different this time around. You're not running blindly here, not this time." Harrison was never soft spoken and sober , not unless he could help it.
"Maybe we'll just lock you guys up in here for a week and then maybe we'll see. Don't make me do it." Gabby remarked, staring at the something behind me
"Don't make you do what?" Our heads frantically turned to the sound by my bedroom door. Dressed in a sleeveless loose top and pyjama bottoms, her bedridden hair falling on her shoulders, the palm of her hand digging on his left eye. Her healthy skin glowed along with the morning sun. Eyes still glossy from sleep and puffy lips pouted adoringly. It's almost impossible to be that alluring during this early hour in the morning.
"Hey!!!!! Good morning sunshine! Did you just wake up?" Gabby asked, a little too cheerfully, three of us following her every movement.
"Um yeah. I didn't even hear you guys come in. How was your night?" She sat on the bar stool in front of me and Gabby, Harrison seated on the stool by her side then faced his body towards her, chin leaning on his shoulder. I exhaled a great sigh of relief, our kitchen conversation safe from her ears.
"It was fantastic …” Gabby said in a haste, “ , by the way, I heard you got drunk last night?"
"I did. And I'm never doing it again." She moaned, pressing her forehead on the cold counter, arms folded in front of her.
"Here you go." I pushed the garnished plate in her direction and the glass of juice.
She smiled, "You're brilliant. Did I ever tell you that?." pulling the plate near her.
Gabby made a tsk sound then walked back round to the couch. Harrison grabbed the ripe banana off of her plate before jumping out of his seat.
"Hey! That's mine!" She leapt up abruptly but regretted it in an instant. She grunted, dropping her head onto the surface again.
"You're a buffoon." I threw the dish towel resting on my shoulder at Harrison's figure who hustled out of the way. I hand her another.
"Don't you just love them?!" She mumbled under her breath, sarcastically
"Oh and would you mind putting some shirt on Holland, she and Haz may be used to it, but I'm not besides it's completely unhygienic." She instructed, flinging the shirt I discarded upon waking up from the armrest.
"You tell me." I chuckled, putting my shirt on.
It didn’t take long before I became conscious of her little quirks: the way she would pinch her lips when she’s trying to decide about something, how she likes to pop her knuckles that always seem to creep out Harrison and how she always find something nice to say about mean people. Something about her just felt…right; like everything seems to fall into place whenever she’s near.
My body almost jumped when I felt the incessant and loud ring of my phone on the bedside table.. I clicked answer right away .
"You still up?"
"No." I kid.
"Idiot. I Can't sleep." She sighed.
"Me neither. What are you doing?"
"Reading one of your books"
"What book?" I got up and leaned against the headboard.
She laughed. "You know we can just talk to each other, You're literally just across the hall.
"Ok, let's meet."
I hurriedly put on my shirt and walked out the door. She's already on her way to the fridge when I appeared in the kitchen.
"I'm hungry. How come you don't have anything here?" She complained and closed the fridge door behind her.
"Well, we're always at your place anyway."
"Urgh! Let's order pizza. You're paying." She picked up the phone line in the living room and dialed.
I made my way to the couch and will my body to heel before I do something I will regret. Like, I don't know, maybe kissing the day lights out of her until I die from deoxygenation..
"Hey you wanna watch a movie?" I initiated, grabbing the remote from the floor.
12:47am
"You know what? Fine fine! Let's just watch The Breakfast Club and we'll see who's right." She retorted, getting up from the sofa and inserting the dvd on the player, a slice of pizza dangling from her mouth.
"You're gonna be so bummed out when I win the fourth time today." Putting my hands behind my head and stretching my feet under the blanket we shared on the couch. It's already 2 am and All attempts of falling asleep diminished after indulging on a box of pizza, 2 bags of chips and 4 cans of root beers. My previous jitters had died down to a embers as we fell back into an amiable and platonic routine.
"Ha-ha! Move." She sneered jabbing my foot with her finger.
I scooched over backwards for her to settle comfortably on the opposite side her. She rested her head on the armrest. Her sock clad feet lying near my stomach, I boldly closed my hand around them.
We watched in silence for the rest of the movie until we got to the part at the end where Claire gives John his diamond earring.
"See! I told you, I told you! It was an earring not a ring." I sat up and gestured towards the screen. "Oi yow Pizza!" When I didn't hear or feel a slightest of movement I extended my arm on the floor, half my body still sitting on the couch and look at her. I must have known she had dozed off. Her even breaths were calm and soothing halfway through the movie, her face appeared pallid against the television screen. I got up as gently as I could and sat on the floor, over her side. I watched her for a little while, memorizing the way her shutted eyes would twitch every few seconds, her long eyelashes fanned out attractively across her features, her pouted lips carnation in color. I saw a crease formed at the center of her eyebrows and felt a lump clogging my throat. "What are you dreaming about?" I whispered. I reached an index finger to carefully smoothen it out, and lingered.
"I swear, you'll be the death of me. " Before I could help myself, i pressed a feathered kiss to her forehead in replace of my finger.
8:17 am
I felt more than heard the sound of barely audible mumbles as it vibrated from my chest. I squinted my eyes open to see panting smiles from two dogs and instantly became aware of the soft weight nesting on my chest. I don't remember sleeping in this position earlier in the morning but damn it to bloody hell, I wasn't complaining.
I or she must have moved positions during our sleep because now, on this glorious Sunday morning, our bodies lie snugly on the sofa, both my arms around her, one of her hands rested underneath my shirt, atop the unsteady thumps of my heart. Her head on my shoulder. Blanket still draped over us.
"Want. Pancakes." She mumbled, eyes still closed.
A chuckle crept up onto my already- smiling face. I never knew she talked in her sleep as we've had never been in this position before. I stayed still for quite some time, careful to maintain our position in case she woke up and assess the situation with regret or something . It Could be minutes or hours;. I lapsed the ability to comprehend anything right now as I committed this moment to memory
The smell of her hair dominate the entire room, happily suffocating me to my death.
Or How every inch of her molded perfectly into mine; her breathing patterns almost lulling me back to sleep
Or How her warmth masked and overpower my senses, making me forget to think, to breathe.
A nagging thought entered my mind that I was, in a way, taking advantage of her slumberous state, and was about to separate my body from hers but was snapped out if it when I heard her next words. Making my world rattle to smithereens then build back up again.
"Mmmm.. I like you Tom.”
I looked down on her to see if she’s woken. It probably meant anything that I hope to be but still, I couldn't fight the grin that jeopardizes to split my face in half or the euphoria openly transuding over my skin. I pressed my lips on her forehead and slowly pulled her even tighter. And i could die right after this, because she shifted closer- if that was still even possible-and lightly scratched her fingers on my bare and beating pectoral.
I’ll just put the links of my A03 and Fanfiction pages. :)
#tom holland fic#tom Holland story#tom Holland x reader#tom Holland and reader#tom Holland fanfiction#tom Holland fluff#tom Holland and y/n#tom Holland shirtless#yatr#you are the reason fic
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My experience at my first got7 concert;
Part 1: Before the concert was SO shitty
Okay! SO
I arrive to the venue at 7am day of the concert (and lemme tell you right now, for the people who stayed over night at the venue who were in Pit 1 Pit2, its completelyyyyy unnecessary because I ended up getting to the very front without doing that 💁 also, super dangerous to do that but you do you i guess)
So these like 5 girls who slept over night (they said they were there for 2 nights straight then they said they were there for 4 days so they were basically full of BS) they take it upon themselves to start numbering people in line by writing numbers on the back of peoples hand who are lining up AND in case the marker washes off or something they wrote peoples names on a notebook with there number on it.
It was basically to keep everything in control and orderly and thats good. I respect that. BUT NO IT WAS AN INGREDIENT TO UTTER DISASTER
So these girls literally just did this because they were so fucking paranoid of losing their spots in the front of the line (which i would be too if i stayed over night and waited that long dont get me wrong). But They wanted to be like "OH IM NUMBER ONE" and solidify that statement with this numbering system that THEY came up with (not an official thing WHICH I THOUGHT IT WAS LIKE THE ENTIRE TIME)
So BECAUSE it wasnt an official thing and they werent telling people who were lining up about this number thing some people lining up had numbers (thankfully i knew about the numbers because i was in a group chat for the concert and they told me about it) but a ton of people didnt and because the girls who started this whole thing got sick of writing numbers on people they were like "oh we're stopping at like 163" or some shit when there was like 400 people.
Then this is where MADNESS commences. Fucking for god knows WHAT reason. Subk decides to put a merch table RIGHT AT CLOSE TO THE BEGGINING OF THE LINE FOR THE CONCERT so people who were bunching up to by merch didnt move back to their spot in the line because now they were closer to the front of the line (most of these people were not numbered).
So now theres this MASSIVE crowd of people in the frontish of the line and im like wtf is going on and panicked and joined them because i was 140th or 150th in line or something but now i was like 300th and i was NOT having that. Like i wasnt waiting in line for 10 hours to be 300th
ALSO SUBK AND VENUE STAFF NEVER EVER CAME OUT TO ORGANIZE THE LINE OR PUT DIVIDERS OR ANYTHING BUT THEY FUCKING DECIDE TO PUT THAT MERCH TABLE IN LIKE THE SINGLE MOST WORST AREA LIKE ?????????????
Okay so at this point venue staff and subk staff were like freaking tf out. And telling everyone who is now in a jumbled fucking mess to be in a single filed line. Like sweety no ones going to listen to you. And of course no one did. So they just start SHOVING people back. And i, who was amongst this crowd of people and is very short had no idea wtf was happening and i was just flowing with the crowd getting pushed back and then i ran into like this pole thing behind me but the crowd kept going back and my leg got stuck on it and i alMOST FELL.
I was legit having a panic attack because i was alone in this mess
After like 10-20 minutes of this mess. Here comes those girls at the front of the line taking charge because they feel like they have authority. They start screaming numbers to get the numbered people back in order. Once they got to 100 though they just STOPPED (??) And they just made any numbers above 100 (me) and the rest non-numbered people (a ton of fucking people) to move back to the back of the line and they just shoved me in some random spot in like the end of the line and im like WTF BITCH I HAVE A NUMBER???
So i take it upon myself to find my own spot in the numbered people line and i eventually find it. But heres where this is fucked up
People who had been waiting in line maybe longer than me or just as long as me or just waiting a really fucking long time AND DIDNT HAVE NUMBERS basically just got sent to the back of the line because these bitches were too lazy to give everyone numbers even though they were the ones who started it all. Yeah its kind of an annoying task but YOU GAVE THE RESPONSIBILITY TO YOURSELF SO FINISH IT??
So people who couldve been like 100th in line could now be at the end of the line because they didnt get a number because why would they know about this numbering system when it was unofficial and these girls werent going around telling people to get numbers because AGAIN they just wanted to solidify their own first placing they didnt actually care about the rest of the people (which is backed up by not finishing the number system they started. Like they didnt care)
So all in all, those girls probably ruined some peoples nights because of there fake system and i hope they feel so great about that. And also SUBK AND VENUE STAFF SHOULD BE MORE ON TOP OF ORGANIZATION LIKE WHAT THE FUCK? like the girls are just a bunch of dumb girls but staff is STAFF like get it together and organize shit better.
I literally was feeling like there was going to be chaos because i kept looking around and not seeing security, not seeing staff, and not seeing any subk people. Okay thats it
BUT STAY TUNED IN FOR THE NEXT PART WHICH IS WHERE I HAD THE BEST TIME OF MY LIFE
#got7intoronto#got7#toronto#eyesonyoutour#thank you for listening to this mess#but seriouslly this didnt matter in my favor because i ended having the best time of my life#i love got7 even more now and idk#its just amazing
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100 Questions
it’s long so it’s under the cut, but man was this fun. thanks for the tag @the-most-beautiful-broom ♥ i’ll tag my loves (if you want to haha this is a lot) @raven-reyes-of-sunshine @perhalta @dracovengeance @hedaalicia and @amihanmayari
1. What is your nickname? Bails
2. How old are you? 24
3. What is your birth month? February
4. What is your zodiac sign? Aquarius!
5. What is your favorite color? green (Aw hey linds, same !!)
6. What’s your lucky number? I was number 8 for marching band every single year (F8 for flute 8) except my junior year, and my junior year we had a shit show, so im calling that.
7. Do you have any pets? 5 dogs back home in seattle but none where i live now or in NY when i get back
8. Where are you from? everywhere and nowhere. my dads military. but im american!
9. How tall are you? 5’ 5″
10. What shoe size are you? 7
11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? A whole lot, but they’re not always all with me.
12. Are you random? not really. im pretty set in my routines and very comfortably a home body
13. Last person you texted? my best friend @broadwaybound2016
14. Are you psychic in any way? not even a little tbh
15. Last TV show watched? The Bold Type (WATCH IT ITS AMAZING)
16. Favorite movie? I’m not really sure but i just watched Love, Simon and im literally just crying because of it right now so im gonna go with that until further notice
17. Favorite show from your childhood? probably Lizze McGuire
18. Do you want children? Nope
19. Do you want a church wedding? I dont really want to get married
20. What is your religion? agnostic? maybe? im not religious, and not very spiritual. I love spirituality, things like crystals and stuff, but i try not to appropriate those things from groups/cultures who actually use them. I’d love to learn more about them and be someone who actually knew how to practice but, again, i dont want to step on toes culturally and take things that aren’t mine to take
21. Have you ever been to the hospital? a lot! a ton of surgeries on my ears
22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? nope, im literally a goody two shoes
23. How is life? lovely
24. Baths or showers? showers!
25. What color socks are you wearing? i dont really wear socks? i like those little half socks. I’m not wearing any rn
26. Have you ever been famous? nope.
27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? probably. i’d love to have a voice, and if it was for doing something i love, i cant think of anything better than getting to share my passion with the world like that. But it would definitely be a lot of pressure
28. What type of music do you like? i’m into literally anything. I love Hayley Kiyoko, the 1975, big fan of just basic pop like ariana grande and charlie puth, Harry Styles’s album is a masterpiece, Shawn Mendes, 5th Harmony. i love anything.
29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? Yes!!
30. How many pillows do you sleep with? just two!
31. What position do you usually sleep in? on my stomach
32. How big is your house? my house at home is a 5 bedroom 3 bath, my apt in amsterdam rn is just a room in a hotel type place with my own bathroom, and my apt in nyc is a studio
33. What do you typically have for breakfast? i literally hardly ever eat breakfast, but i love a bagel
34. Have you ever left the country? I’m in europe RIGHT NOW! lol
35. Have you ever tried archery? once, i was terrible
36. Do you like anyone? Not right now, but i might want too
37. Favorite swear word? i love the word fuck. it’s got so much you can do with it. i swear like a sailor.
38. When do you fall asleep? ummmmmm? whenever i guess lol
39. Do you have any scars? A few small ones. a decent one on my knee from falling off my bike when i was 8
40. Sexual orientation? Bisexual
41. Are you a good liar? excellent
42. What languages would you like to learn? ALLLL the languages. I’d love to learn native hawai’ian. i spent my high school years there and the culture is so incredible, and i was so welcomed into it by my friends who were from there, i’d love a chance to really connect too it and try to learn that.
43. Top 10 songs? Oh boy... im just gonna bullet these because i cant decide the order but this is the general
the way i am - charlie puth
young god - halsey
rather be - clean bandit
feelings - hayley kiyoko
woman - harry styles
make me feel - janelle monáe
six inch heels - beyonce
get right witcha - migos
my my my - troye sivan
nice for what - drake
44. Do you like your country? i’m torn at the moment. I hate tr*mp and everything him and his stand for, but i think america can be a wonderful place.
45. Do you have friends from the web? Yes!! <3
46. What is your personality type? MBTI: INTP
47. Hogwarts House? Ravenclaw
48. Can you curl your tongue? yes!
49. Pick one fictional character you can relate to? I am Hermione and Hermione is me. (also i really relate a lot to Lexa from the 100, which... is interesting. the way she suppresses feelings, her generally logical approach to things, the way she is totally useless around pretty girls.)
50. Left or right handed? right!
51. Are you scared of spiders? If they’re like, big spiders yes. or if they come out of nowhere. im way more scared of cockroaches tho.
52. Favorite food? For some reason this question has been really hard for me lately? idk. i love a good indian style curry, and tacos?
53. Favorite foreign food? Indian!
54. Are you a clean or messy person? I’m CLEAN, but im messy. i feel like cleanliness and orderliness have been misconstrued to mean the same thing, but clean is to dirty as orderly is to messy. I’m clean and messy, i am not very orderly, and i am NOT dirty.
55. If you could switch your gender for a day, what would you do? Experience a walk down the street in a city at night where im not afraid
56. What color underwear? black
57. How long does it take for you to get ready? not too long, but it sometimes takes me a long ass time to pick an outfit
58. Do you have much of an ego? It’s as big as it should be.
59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? i suck on them until i can bite them
60. Do you talk to yourself? Constantly.
61. Do you sing to yourself? Hell yeah
62. Are you a good singer? i’m decent but i need another voice to match with. on my own i can’t carry a tune.
63. Biggest Fears? failure. and heights.
64. Are you a gossip? I can be, but never about like.. bad things. I like to talk about how this friend or that friend did x y z cool thing but im not like “omg did you hear so and so hooked up with so and so”
65. Are you a grammar nazi? Not really because i can’t spell for shit
66. Do you have long or short hair? Short-ish? i cut my hair in march of LAST YEAR and then trimmed it again this year and i want it to fucking grow
67. Can you name all 50 states of America? i would definitely forget some
68. Favorite school subject? History
69. Extrovert or Introvert? Pretty introverted.
70. Have you ever been scuba diving? Nah, im not allowed too for medical reasons
71. What makes you nervous? when I see kids wandering and their parents not noticing (okay im keeping that because me too, but also travelling? like the in-transit part of travel, catching busses/trains/planes makes me panic)
72. Are you scared of the dark? not at all
73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? i try not too unless its major. usually its unintentional or the mistake is irrelevant to the flow of the conversation/situation
74. Are you ticklish? Yes, but i hate being tickled unless its like, my sister or my dad
75. Have you ever started a rumor? No
76. Have you ever been out of your home country? Yes i have lol (linds, ily, we DEFINITELY have been over this already)
77. Have you ever drank underage? a little, but not until i was like 19, and then i was in europe for 6 months, so i didnt REALLY drink underage until i was like... less than 6 months to 21
78. Have you ever done drugs? Pot pretty regularly here in Amsterdam, and i’ve done shrooms
79. What do you fantasize about? getting a beautiful loft in a big city (preferrably london or NYC), with a kick ass job, a dog, and maybe a girlfriend with huge curly hair.
80. How many piercings do you have? Four
81. Can you roll your R’s? Yep!
82. How fast can you type? I just took a little online quiz that said i can type 72 words per minute with 93% accuracy?
83. How fast can you run? lol I don’t run (same linds... same)
84. What color is your hair? brown!
85. What color are your eyes? Green!
86. What are you allergic to? I’m a bit lactose intolerant and pineapple makes my tongue itch?
87. Do you keep a journal? no, but i wish i did sometimes
88. Are you depressed about anything? I’m not depressed “about anything”, im just generally someone who experiences a pretty mild case of depression.
89. Do you like your age? Yeah, i dig it.
90. What makes you angry? bigotry, ignorance, and spilling things. I spill drinks constantly, i spilled a WHOLE BOWL OF CEREAL ON MY FLOOR THE OTHER NIGHT.
91. Do you like your own name? I didn’t used too but i really do now
92. Did you ever get a foreign object up your nose? not that i know of
93. Do you want a boy or a girl for a child? I don’t want kids.
94. What talents do you have? i have a pretty great memory, but for random things i dont need
95. Sun or moon? Moon <3
96. How did you get your name? My dad, he just liked it. My middle name was also my dad, he heard the name Jess on the movie A Man From Snowy River and he thought it was a nice like, nickname/pet name, so he gave me the middle name Ges (pronounced like Jess) with the intent of calling me that (it didnt stick), but he didn’t want anyone to think my middle name was Jessica, so he spelled it Ges.
97. Are you religious? I am not, but i have a lot of respect for the concept of religion, as long as its used for the real purpose, which is to make people feel peace and help people find love and comfort.
98. Have you ever been to a therapist? I have not, but i shold
99. Color of your bedspread? White
100. Color of your room? White, with one black wall
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What Asshole Invented Allergies?
@cup-of-blue: Random fic prompt idea thing cuz the allergies are striking at half past 10 in the evening: Michael is having the allergies and doing the suffering, and he’s chill with it, it’s just an annoyance. Until he runs out of tissues and freaks out cuz he can barely breathe now cuz too much snot help
@orderly-opaline: Ok, I know this is dumb but think about it. As a follow up to the fic where Michael has hayfever, what if Michael went to school and was ACTUALLY CRYING. Jeremy just assumed that he had allergies so he went on like normal. And Michaels just like, wait does he not see that im crying?? Does he not care about me??? I know its dumb but like, IDK man I just like the idea?
Not dumb at all lovely! Hope you two don’t mind i combined your fics! Let’s mcfucking torture some kiddos
Michael woke up that morning already knowing he was in for a miserable day. His alarm felt louder than usual, each ring banging down doors against his sensitive ears. When Michael turned it off and went to take a deep breath he found that one of his nostrils was blocked and he could barely breath through the other. Great, nothing like being a mouth breather. Michael had a pretty bad case of hayfever last Friday and figured the weekend would be plenty of time to rest. But judging by the itching on his nose had to stop to scratch every five seconds and the dripping of his nose he had to keep inhaling he’d say he might be even worse off. Fuck spring, honestly.
Michael was so miserable in fact that he didn’t have time to take allergy medicine seeing as how he slugishly moved around the house. That’s how he ended up shoving a bunch of tissue packets into his pockets and driving to school. In the parking lot Michael had to stop to blow agressivly into a tissue, groaning at how it didn’t clear his sinuses at all. He leaned back against the headrest of his car and stared into the mirror. He looked like shit. His hair was all down from a lack of gel, he ran his fingers through the locks only to have them flop back down. His nose was bright red, he stopped to scratch at it again and miserably sniffle. Briefly he looked away from his exhausted and miserable expression to glance up at the school entrance. Students were starting to pile in and talk to each other, and Michael wasn’t so sure he wanted to be seen. He felt a tickle of his nose and mentally groaned, he already knew what was happening before he began to take in two shaky breaths.
“Ah..ah, achuu! Ah….achuu!! Ugnh…” Michael groaned and furiously wiped the back of his sleeve against his nose, getting out of the car as he saw Jeremy’s bus pull in.
Jeremy walked down as Michael locked his car, and almost instantly spotted the red hoodie. When Michael turned the tall ass was looking down at him with that cute nervous lopsided smile. “Hey Michael- woah dude you look like shit”
Michael sighed, his back slouching more than usual. He let out a long exaggerated sniff in a last attempt to breath normally, “wow, thanks.”
Jeremy laughed and patted Michael’s shoulder. His hand seemed to hesitate. It was a small subtle detail, but both of them noticed. Jeremy instantly felt compelled to say ‘no homo’. But instead he said, “so what’s wrong?”
“Still allergies.”
“Still? Spring is not your season, Michael Mell”
“Yeah no shit- ah…achuu!” Michael buried his face into his sleeve, stumbling towards the entrance.
Jeremy held the door open for him, neither of them mentioned how it was usually the other way around, “bless you”
Michael sniffled, pulling out a tissue and blowing his nose, he cringed at how stuffy his voice sounded “thanks..”
First period Michael realized just how ineffective blowing his nose was when he was this badly stuffed. His breathing was loud and obnoxious, each inhale rattling as his nose struggled to make room for air to actually pass through. He felt himself blush as people turned to stare at him, the room was quiet and all you could hear was Michael breathing and sneezing. It was even worse when a test was passed out. He sniffled over and over again, his irritated nose kept dripping and every time he blew it loudly over the trash can it felt like he had an endless supply of snot. To make matters worse whenever he got up to blow his nose it felt like a giant spot like was on his, showing every annoyed teen in the room who to be mad at. It was an endless cycle of sneezing misery. Whenever he’d sit down after blowing his nose he’d have all of a minute before he couldn’t breath quietly again.
And Rich, oh god Rich. Rich had the lovely honor of being Michael’s only friend in the class. He decided to sit next to him because, you know that’s what friends do. And for the first time since they’d become friends he was starting to regret it. Rich liked to think that he was a fairly patient person, but that was a load of shit and right now Michael’s constant sniffling was really testing him. He tried to focus on a question about Israel, but Michael let out an especially loud sniffle, followed by a miserable grunt. Rich slammed his pencil down in annoyance and glared to his side, but his expression instantly softened when he saw the state Michael was in.
Michael lifted his head at the sound, albeit a bit delayed, and his teary red eyes stared at Rich. Instead of talking he gave a sniffle and a raised eyebrow. Rich frowned, his eyes glanced around the room for a moment before deeming it safe. He wrote a little note down on the edge of his test then kicked Michael from under his desk.
'U good?’
Michael sighed through his mouth, mostly because he couldn’t through his nose. He gave Rich a small nod, pushing his glasses up and going back to his test.
It didn’t go unnoticed how Rich mumbled “yeah well you look like shit” under his breath.
Michael had never felt more embarrassed in his life. Every class he disrupted and annoyed people. During third period he was told to walk in the fucking hallway. At one point he had sneezed so badly that snot shot right out in the middle of talking to a lab partner. He had to cover his nose for a tissue but she was clearly grossed out. He liked to think he wasn’t much of an annoyed guy, that he could handle these situations well. But he felt so miserably and all the sniffling hurt his head and his nose was itching and man he just wanted a nap. He reached into his pocket, and oh no. Only one tissue left. Fuck his life, seriously.
He made his way to the usual lunch table all too grateful when he saw Jeremy wasn’t there. He sat down, mentally willing the squad to not show up. But low and behold, that only worked on Jeremy.
Rich slammed his backpack down next to Michael and scanned his face. Michael grew uncomfortable under his intense gaze, and curled up under it. He tried to ignore it, but Rich was relentless, as if he planned to stare until Michael said hi.
And then Michael sneezed, three times. He groaned and used up his last tissues, knowing fully well he was fucked now. He could probably ask a teacher for some but let’s be honest he’d rather die then have unneeded social interaction.
“You look even shitter than earlier.” Rich so elegantly pointed out.
Michael turned to face Rich, giving him a grunt as a reply. He scratched at his nose yet again, “allergies”
“Dude. Go to the fucking nurse. Christ.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a fucking mess.”
“Who’s a mess bro?” Jake’s voice came from behind Rich, “if you’re talking about Stephanie then I agree, did you see what she twee-”
Jake stopped when looked over Rich to see Michael. Michael hated the instant look of concern that Jake, it almost made him wish he sat at a different table.
“Hey, Michael, bro, you alright? You look kinda-”
“It’s just allergies. Seriously guys can’t I just- achuu! Can’t I just chill out and eat my lunch?”
Rich propped his head up on his elbow, still watching over Michael, “Not if you get snot all over the table.”
“Oh my gosh Michael! Your face is so red and so are your eyes! Are you ok?” It was a lot harder for Michael to be annoyed when Christine came over, her face instantly became worried. She searched through her purse on hopes to have some zertec on her or something.
But still, all the worried faces on him were overwhelming and embarrassing.
Brooke and Chloe were walking over with their lunch trays. At first it seemed like they wouldn’t notice until Chloe made eye contact with him, cutting Brooke off mid-sentence.
“Woah. What bus ran you over?”
“Michael! You look so sick maybe you should go to the nurse…” Brooke pouted her bottom lip out, something she only did in worry.
“Guys seriously I’m- achuu! Achuu!!” Michael rubbed his nose off on his sleeve, groaning as his nose felt blocked enough to be painful.
There was a chorus of bless yous, and Christine’s hand rubbed his back soothingly. Michael sighed and lowered his head, face burning in embarrassment at all the sudden attention. He sniffled again.
“You should blow your nose, Mikey.” Brooke’s gentle voice spoke up, her hand touching his gentle.
He just shook his head, he hated the way his ears seemed to echo strangely at noise. Maybe not echo…maybe throb is the right word? Like a throb of fuzz that pounded against his ear at noise, obnoxious and nearly indescribable. His skin felt as though it were crawling and he felt everything from Brooke’s hand to her ring to the loose string inside his hoodie. Michael sighed and leaned his head down on the table.
“Just leave me here to die.”
They all exchanged worried looks, and Michael couldn’t ignore the more subtle hovering they did over the remainder of lunch.
Later on it was the end of the day and Michael had never regretted skipping out on his medicine more. He thought he was going to die. He was supposed to meet up with Jeremy at his locker but all he could think about was how there was too much going on at once and how fucking miserable he felt. He had no more tissues so his nose kept dripping grossly and he had no choice but to rub it off on his sleeve and breath through his mouth. That alone sent his mind into a uncomfortable spiral. It bothered him every time he went to naturally breath only to find he couldn’t, he hated the restraint. He could hear the students buzzing in the halls and every bump of his shoulder. Hell, he could feel when someone just came close to him. It was all too much against the fuzzy pounding and the itching and the headache and the sore stomach and just everything. He felt lost in the hallway, like he was going down a mile long hell chain. When he felt the tears running down his face from something other than allergies he knew that he needed Jeremy, and he needed him now.
Jeremy shut his locker and looked up when he heard a weak sniffle next to him. He frowned when he saw tears running down Michael’s face, Rich wasn’t kidding he did look worse. There was snot dripping down his face that he was too miserable to even feel or be annoyed. Jeremy got off of his knee and stood up tall, his backpack slung over his shoulder as he took in Michael’s shaking form.
“God Michael, we should get you home. Gimmie your keys, I’ll drive.”
He put a hand on Michael’s back breifly, not noticing the subtle flinch, and guided him to his car. Michael balled fists into his eyes and tried to stop the wave of tears, he felt so uncomfortable in his own skin and just wanted to sleep for a year and wake up healthy. But now his mind was on another thing. Did Jeremy not see him crying? No he was looking right at him. He didn’t ask if he was ok though. Does…does he not care anymore? Maybe the SQUIP is blocking Michael’s tears from his vision. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. Michael felt even more overwhelmed, more tears falling down into his sweatshirt sleeve.
It wasn’t until Jeremy was all set up to drive that he noticed something else was wrong. Usually Michael would recline his chair as much as possible and try to sleep for the 15 minuetes they had to drive. But Michael sat there curled up with his face in his sleeve, only moving to wipe furiously. His shoulders were shaking and it filled Jeremy with this…urge to protect and comfort. God, poor Michael. And those tears wouldn’t stop. Was Michael actually crying? Jeremy frowned and turned the A.C. up, knowing having cold air on his face helped Michael calm down. The boy lifted his head up at the gust of wind, sniffled, and just silently stood facing it with tears rolling down his chin evenly.
“Michael…?” Jeremy finally dared to ask, “What’s wrong..?”
Michael let out a shaky exhale, adjusting the fan to hit him more directly, “I just…feel so awful, Jeremy…” the broken tone in his voice broke Jeremy’s heart too.
Jeremy turned the key into the ignition, “I know pal. But me and you are gonna hang out at your house and we’re gonna eat a shit ton and you’re gonna feel so much better, that sound good?”
Michael nodded, his face going red to his ears when he asked, “can I have sick cuddles too?”
“You can have sick cuddles too.”
Michael finally relaxed and reclined into his chair, relishing the steady feeling of the car as he shut his burning eyes. He picked his dry lips, feeling Jeremy start to back out of the parking lot. Jeremy tried to give Michael his space, especially now that he was starting to actually relax, but he couldn’t help but focus on the way Michael still heavily took breathes through his mouth.
“Michael?”
“Mm..?”
“Are you ok?”
“Yeah…I guess.”
“Why are you breathing like that?”
Michael sniffled and tried to test the waters, but nope, still can’t breath, “my nose is so blocked dude…”
“Oh geez… I think I shoved like Wendy’s napkins in your glovebox.”
Michael reached for the pile of napkins, they’d rub harshly against his nose but god he needed to breathe. “You’re a mcfucking life saver”
After about 5 harsh noseblows, his nose giving a strange crinkingly feeling as it slowly opened up, Michael found for the first in he was able to fall asleep in less than the 15 minutes.
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Letter to you from months ago to now
I have full confidence that we can get through these next few years because I do believe you are my soulmate. And I have never used that word lightly as you know. But you mean more to me than almost (Lilly) anything, we have gone through so much that I can't event think about this ending. Hopefully the meds I get this weekend and the constant work and skyping with you will help me with being on my own. I want to make this work, I want to one day walk down an aisle smiling like an idiot, and falling in love with you all over again just because I know you'll be wearing a bow tie and that half smirk/smile that you always have. I can't wait to travel together, no matter the expenses. I want to watch you become the amazing photographer I know you will be, and who knows maybe one day I will have the confidence to let you take pictures whenever you want. My plan is to write each day to you before you leave, and separate them by month, then once you leave I plan on writing each day what I've done even if you know, writing what I plan to do, and each week I'll send you a letter. Cause I remember you once saying you missed writing to people. And each week I will send you a part of something I wrote, or a drawing or picture of painting I finished or started. And I want copies of the photos you take, just because I know I wont get to see them for a long while. I have a lot of plans that I hopefully will accomplish. I want to work out, tan, get braces, keep a stable job, plan trips to see you once a month, plan trips for when you come back for summer, starting with a camping trip seeing as we weren't able to go this year. I want to work on your room and around June start asking about potential new roommates. Or at least have the apartment more orderly if Chris and Jordan decide to stay. I want to start writing a book, about what yet I am not sure. I want to get the altar more organized, of course continue building my collection of herbs and oils, and maybe even start one for you of the stones. I want to get enough information to start writing my own grimoire in my leather bound journal. And start a small one for you on your stones and metals. There's so much I want to do and it's weird knowing I will actually have time to do it, but at the same time I hate that I will have time to do it, because the reason behind me having time to do all this means you won't be here. At the same time it's a good thing, because then I can show you I can survive on my own, and hopefully when you get back I wont be the same broken little girl you left. I know it's going to take a lot and I know the emotional toll it will take on me, but I know I can do this..,I just hope you'll be my side through it all. One day I want to get away from it all, start a life somewhere new, maybe not even in Michigan, who knows I may got to Salem and not leave haha. You'll be getting off work soon, so I'll have to end todays letter quickly here. I know I am a pain in the ass but I am trying to not be that way forever. I am sorry for the hell I have put you through while we have been together. But I also thank you for staying with me though it all, even though there were a few times you questioned why you stayed. I don't know what I would have done without you darling. TE AMO AHORA Y PARA SIEMPRE NIN DRAUG! Always and forever, Miaulin. 10/14/2016 Dearest Love, We are on our way back now from our weekend in Chicago, I may have slightly drifted on the whole writing every day part, but I believe it's because I am still with you every day so I do not have much to write. This weekend when it started I felt like I was invading your's and Ma's space, just from the vibes I got from both you and her, I mean it is to b expected you guys have been on this twice before this, and it was just you two. By the end though that feeling went away, I had fun, except for the not eating part, sorry that I can't eat the pizza you enjoy love. As I have told you before, I wasn't a big fan of classical music but going to the Symphony with you, I loved it. I loved watching the pianist play, and watch you as you gazed admiringly down at the Orchestra. I think I enjoyed that most. Going to the Alchemy Shop was of course my favorite part of our trip, but did you expect any less? Im sorry the hotel wasn't exactly what you were used to, I did the best I could, I know you guys weren't exactly the happiest there, next time Ill try and go somewhere different. I know you aren't exactly happy that we had to leave but you'll be back there soon, and I would give anything to be down there with you. But I understand why you don't want me to. I just know that you'll be happy there, you already were with just the few short days there, I now understand why you fell in love with the city. So many adventures to go on just by going down the street. I know this one wasn't as long as the last but I think you understand what I am trying to say. I love you Nin Draug, with all my heart. 10/24/2016 My Dearest Love, It has been a long while since I wrote to you in this. Funny part is you don’t even know about it all yet. It's been about five months since I last wrote and so much has happened. I have done terrible things to you…and even after it all you forgave me. Why you did I will never understand, why you haven't walked away I will never understand. Threatening my life against you…I cannot believe how low I went. You will never know how truly sorry I am darling. Realizing my horrible mess up has put me back in position that has crushed me. I haven't been this bad since I left my fathers. You have no idea the pain of it realizing I have to rebuild myself all over again, after years of getting to where I was. Maybe one day I will be the girl you fell in love with like I once was, the first girl but it will take me time. And as of right now you have chosen to stay by my side, whether or not you do I do not know. But I will never stop trying this I swear to you my wolf. I always tell you that you are not my only reason to change…but you are a huge part of why I want to, why I am going completely out of my comfort zone to try and fix myself. That is how much you mean to me, how much this means to me. At this point you have been in Chicago for almost three months, and I have seen you twice since you have left. Each time was amazing. Waking up to you is my favorite thing, it’s the moments I cherish most. Even now watching you walk away while I leave to head home still kills me. Right now I am at work, just writing down this letter. Even in these moments I still think of you, I wonder how often the things you do in your daily life remind you of me. I am going to wrap this up for now. I love you always and forever Nin Draug. Love, Miaulin 03/13/2017
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When Suicidal Ideation is the norm
All the help in the world becomes a muddy puddle of shitty affirmations, thorned gaslighting, and useless guilt. If one more person tells me "have you tried yoga/deepbreaths/vitamin B..." Ugh. Who am i kidding? This is tumblr, where you can always find somone who says exactly what you are thinking ( #omgmetho #datme #meirl ). Weve all heard the "stop giving advice and atart taking it " speech, we're all likely to have read some post about the "evils" and " abuses" of therapy and inpatient treatment, and I'll bet a paper hat, some vending machine doodad, or some shitty-yet-adorably-hipsterly prize that within 100 reblogs someone links to some news article about "Queer Youth Completes Suicide And We Think You Will Pay Us to Feel Bad About It, Don't Forget To Like, Share, and Subscribe to Trevor Project, Your Reblog Will Save A Life (And Keep Us Relevant For Our Advertisers)." Tomorrow(well, next daylight hours) my 26-year-old depressed college freshman self is going to walk into my schools coubseling office and tell them i never recieved the location for the therapist they reffered me to (true story--Honestly not avoiding treatmwnt, even if it is useless) and request a second referral. Ill sit through some lecture about self-advocacy veiled in "concerned questions" and once again be misgendered, deadnamed, and criticized for giving a fuck (note: commenters looking to describe me with the word "cuck," i see you there, good for you, let me know how that white kkknight holier than thou red pill rage fest dopamine addiction is filling the gaping void of existential dread within you). After that, there is always a small chance they'll see just how depressed i am, and faster than you can say "looney is a word based in misogynistic beliefs of womens mental health and menstrual cycles being unhealthily and unscientifically connected to the moon," ill be fielding questions which boil down to "do you want to kill yourself" and "do you have a plan." By this time in my life, i've gotten pretty used to BSing my way around psychology. All it really takes is knowing that all they can take you on is your word, and nothing else. "Do you want to kill yourself?" they ask, and i reply "*short pause, heavy, short exhale denoting weight and truth* Well, yeah. But quite frankly, suicidal ideation is a part of my everyday life- nothing i do isn't plagued with some form of "i should wrap this mouse cord aroubd my neck and die" or " i wonder if that branch is strong enough to support my weight" or "man, my head hurts, but i bet a bottle or two of ibuprofen could make it stop." For me, its not a question of wanting to die, its a matter of what do i have to live for, and ive been through enough inpatient DBT and group therapy to help me cope, using breathing techniques and self-care tips to push me through the worst of it." This is usually if not always all they need to hear. Sure, im depressed, but anything they could tell me is something i know and am already doing-i sound to them more like a patient leaving inpatient than one entering it. Our hospitals are overfilled, understaffed, prqctucally unfunded; if im "stable" im staying out of their ledger book. Occasionally, they still worry, having one of those "consciences" their peers claim to have lost when a schizophrenic patient tried to bite their ear off, and ask a follow up "but are you sure? You seem distressed, and if you need some help, we are here for you," to which all i have to do is look at them through sad, but strong eyes and say "Thank you, but i have a great support network of friends and of course, my boyfriend. He's fantastic, and one of the most important things to have happened to me. He keeps me on this side of the dirt." A small tired chuckle, and their focus diverts towards affirmations of how good it is to have support, their therapy brains running on autopilot. Then all it needs is some "active" listening, uh-huhs, and compliant assurance that ill keep working on myself to assuage them of any guilt or corncern. Maybe, though, ill tell them the truth, and let them take me in. Three hots and a cot, after all. I'll fight through my dysphoria as they ogle every nook and cranny of my malformed body trying to see if im hiding a weapon or some drugs; I'll continue to insist on a private room and remind them calmly yet firmly that no, i will *not* room with a male, and their lack of knowledge on how to treat a transgender non-binary patient is well behind on proper treatment according to WPATH, the APA, and our state govt. When i get a room, theyll say that i should take as much time as i need to get acclimated, and not worry about what the rwat of group is qorking on, and then contradict themselves within 5 minutes and say i need to go to group, theyre waiting on me. In my fresh new scrubs, ill walk in and within seconds, ill identify how th staff monitors who came in when (usually different colored scrubs based on different halves of the week, and of course, anyone likely to leave within 48 hours wearing "normal" clothes), and see the therapist or doctor talking about emotional management techniques. When i sit down, eeyes will be on me, some with looks of angey jusgemwnt, some with awe and wonder: what could THEY be in for? The group leader will ask me my name, ill state it and my pronouns (to several uncomfortable shifts in the room), and theyll let me know what they were talking about. Ill make a good effort to participate, play along, etc. Someone in the group will be desperate to control the conversation, talking more and more as if this entire experience is just for them- another person will be too dissociated to say anyrhing, despite the doctors attebpts to get them to open up. Already, the cliques will become apparent; humans are aocial creatures, after all. When we leave for the next scheduled activity (either rec or lunch, depending on the time) the docs will be watching me- im on suicide watch, and they expe t me to jump out a window or try and slit my wrists with a paperclip or something. Im not a danger in this regard; ive been threatened with solitary and ECT if i dont comply before- i am their prisoner and i must comply. Within an hour or two of being there, ill be able to notice how well funded they are (or more likely, arent.) The quality of their reading materials; the availability of puzzles abd how well taken care of they appear. Recreation will be the most bare of kindergarden activities; coloring books, maybe a tv with basic cable. A daycare for adults, abd not the cool buzzfeed articles. Someone, probably an addict, will be trying to fanangle their attendee into giving them special treatement- a snack, or an extra smoke break. I'll be sitting in a corner, smirking- the staff arent even an eigth as dumb as this person thinks, and they've seen this type before. They might get something, but itll cost them sour looks from staff and less accommodating treatment with the doctors. After the second hour, we'll have another activity (second group, rec, or maybe "outside time" if its a particularly fancy facility; while the sun will certainly be shining, our feelings of freedom will be dampened by the high fances and walls keeping us from getting away). This is usually wheb the realization sets in that im stuck here for 72 hours plus, and ill be counting them down to stave off boredom. 15-30 minutes in to this third hour, ill be called in to meet tye psychiatrist, fisrt meeting with an attendee to fill out the generic details, then 30-45 minutes of diagnosis before im told ill be put on ab antidepressant, an anxiolytic, and tramodol, a sedative marketed as "something to help me sleep" and "another antidepressant" which makes me laugh every time. Tramodol is the auppressant, the "slow down" drug which helps keep everyobe on a nice, calm level thats safer for the orderlies. Were i violent, id concur; instead, i begin to wonder how long it will take before i no longer feel persistently asleep once i leave. A couple weeks, likely. Hopefully, the food will be good, but not likely 5 star- one place ive stayed had been cooking for us in the break room, sometimes PB&J, sometimes microwaved quesadillas. Maybe theyll have more drink options than coffee, water, and sugar-free koolaid- maybe not. Likely not. Some of us will complain; most of us will know it is a fruitless endeavor. After another group or two, it will be dinner, then wrap up group. We will discuss what progress we think we made today, and be sent to bed after meds are distributed in little paper ketchup cups. Most places wont do the "cuckoos nest" tongue check, but some will, particularly the ones with kleptos and pill ODers. Lights oyt will be around 10 pm, the beds will be plasticky and the blankets thin, and sleep will only cone rhanks to our sedatives. Day two, we'll be woken early, around 6-7, by an orderly checking our blood pressure and body temp. Well all gather in the hallway, rubbing sleep out of our eyes and head to the eating area for breakfast- which loooking back will likely be the best meal of the day, not the least be ause we have access to augar and caffiene. By now, i will likely have made a friend, probably with an older woman or two, and we will enjoy surreptitiously smirking at each other when the teoublemaker patwnt tries to get an omlette or something silly. Someone will start telling fanciful stories dreamed up in the night; talk will eventually turn to who is leaving today. The orderlies will be trying to not look too interested in what we reveal to each other instead of them. They will not succeed in this. Ths first morning they will use as a test of how i deal with frustration. An older nurse will act exasperated, as though taking care of me is a curse she was tasked with. She will try to cut theough any response i give her, and rudely discount anything i try to say, as if accuaing me of lying. Knowing it is coming doesnt help it hurt less. If it overwhelms me, ill be labeled as dramatic- if not, as detached. Sluggish from the new medications, i will be treated as though i ahould not be here, and will be led aroubd more quickly than i am rady to be. I will notice that part of it is that i am beginning to realize how broken down i feel i am. Reaching out will result in canned answers and "the doctor is busy's". After all, this iant about me, and theyve seen my type before. At lunch, i will be upset by the bland meal, abd ask if they have any hot sauce, or maybethey will be out of a preferred tea, or the food will not be enough to feed me. The newcomer who arrived at morning group will share a look with the quiet patient. I will try not to notice the parallels. A therapist will ask to talk to me today. It may be a nice session, but will essebtially boil down to "let me give you ideas for solving your problems, so that your depression seems more managed." By the end of the day, they will already begin my release plan. Theyve fixed me, they are sure. I will also get my clothes back. The aurvey will be slightly different today; instead of asking on a scale of 1-10 with 1 being best abd 10 being worst how was my day, it will be the opposite: scale of 1-10 with 1 being worst and 10 being best. This way, they can track how much is me being honest, and how much is me remembering numbers to fake it. (Once, a nurse messed up so often that it was a sentence by sentence change). Later, if there is any improvement, it will be used by the hospital as signs that treatment is helping; if it gets worse, that i had a rough day and shouldnt think much of it. Bedtime will come, and i will relish it- being sedated takes a lot out of a person. When morning comes, the eggs will feel soggy and cereal with be a much better choice. A bagel will be carried into morning group and more DBT will be discussed. I will mostly be checked out; they are pulling most of their material from a 12 step program, and the leader is a student of psychology learning how to help people, but ive heard it all before, and that sense of guilt just pushes me towards suicide harder. At this point, ill feel just how desperate they are to get me out; nurses eill hint at things being the "wrong" answer with " you dont REALLY mean that, do you sweetie?" and " well, you cant keep thinking THAT way, or we'll have to keep you here longer." Boredom and longing for home will encourage me to pretend to be better, and not tell them how last night before falling asleep i stared at the vedfrane wondering if i could take it apart and form a springwire noose, or tear the blankets to make a rope. When they ask if im feeling better, it will actually mean "are you done with your timeout from reality? Have you learned how to fit in properly yet?" The meds wont really begin having a noticable effect for months- they know im lying. What they hope for is a glimmer of hope and a mountain of guilt for wanting to hurt others by hurting myself. Ill fake those, too. Still, ill be misgendered. Still, theyll blame hormones and buzzfeed rather than neurology and chemistry. After all, im well-adjusted, not at all like the Caitlyn Jenners and Wachowskis they read about on their facebooks. Its just a phase, and im just confused. I didnt try to hurt myself- nothing is *really* wrong with me. What can i do? Try and strangle myaelf, or others? That just means im lashing out, and ill get a new med regime and another 3 days, this time strapped down. Being strapped to a bed and left alone is mind-numbingly boring. If i tell them i still want to kill myaelf, theyll just nod their head and tell me it will go away soon; if i say i have a plan, rheyll keep me playing chess and reading AA papers until i apologize. Their job is not to fix me, their job is to stabilize me and make sure i dont break myself more. The fixing is my responsibility. Day four is release day. They will claim i have made improvements and have me fill out an action plan for when i feel depressed again. It will include people i can call, and ways i can push through bad feelings. It is my exit exam.when i pass, ill be set up with a therapist outside the hospital later in the week, and told how to connect with various resources. They will think i didnt know there were trans support groups. I will think that if it was just a support group i needed, i wouldnt dream of death. Neither of us will admit these things. And so, ill come back to school. Late on homework, i will have to prostrate myaelf with dictors note beggibg for forgiveness. I will get it, more due to policy than empathy, and at the end of the day, i will lay in bed, stare up at the ceiling, and contemplate which of my top three anchor spots would be the best ending to my story. Other than medical bills, nothing will have changed. Life drones on. I think i understand why death seems,so much better. In death, i can pretend there is a solution. In death, i can imagine a cure. In death, i can envision a caretaker and easier existence. It doesnt matter that death is the end of it all- i can pretend it willl be more, and my imagination can create many comforts in that void. But even death is a lie, and nothing will ever stop hurting.
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My Life with schizoaffective disorder
Many people do not know what schizoaffective disorder even is, well to make it simple its when you have symptoms of both schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. I was diagnosed with it 3 years ago in 2017. This all started when I was 14 years old, I was being bullied by a girl I got really close with the year before we were best friends did everything together. I started to develop feelings for her my 7th grade year when I told her she acted like she liked me back. This was not the case. She then proceeded to isolate me from my family and friends making it so I felt like I had no one but her, she asked me to be her girlfriend it was all just a joke I felt so hurt and used two weeks later when she “dumped” me. that night at her house was the first time I ever kissed anyone it got pretty carried away from there, not sex but close. Yes I am female so keep your homophobic comments and bigotry to yourself please and no I am not lesbian. The following year after this incident we grew apart and we both made new friends, for some reason the tables turned and I had become her target. I had a big bullseye on my back at all times. I was whispered about, shoved down on several occasions, had rumors spread about me and even the teachers started talking. that's when the cutting got worse, I had started self harming he year prior. I wanted to die at that point. The end of 8th grade year is when my symptoms started to show. I was having delusions that everyone was talking about me including teachers, in the cafeteria I would hear all these voices melding together in unison I couldn't think straight I was seeing shadows everywhere. I knew something was wrong, very wrong. One day after school I went home and took a pair of scissors to my wrist that's when I knew I need help. My mom walked in and saw me she took the scissors. Later I Looked at my mom and just said “mom I want to die” she started looking for help. We didn't find a counselor until after school got out. I remember the last day was awful, that much I know my memory about that day isn't great I think I ended up in the hospital due to my chronic Maple Syrup urine disease. MSUD is a metabolic disorder with a very restricted diet, I would get sick if I had more than 175 Miligrams of leucine a day. Leucine is an amino acid is protein that is toxic to people with MSUD, it builds up in their blood and causes acidosis which frequently landed my ass in the hospital. Back to the subject, I was hospitalized in the summer of 2009 due to MSUD, but once there I talked to a psychologist which took a while to get. I forgot the doctors name but they decided that I should be admitted to the IPU ( inpatient psychiatric unit). There were so many kids I remember my first night that's when I met max who I ended up liking, BIG MISTAKE. I remember the orderlies some were nice some weren't. I felt like no one was really listening the entire time I was there max and this girl he liked started bullying me from day one. I still don't know why, I remember feeling like I had finally got things right I found a good looking guy, word of advice never date someone you meet in the psych unit. I know this sounds like im all over the place with my thoughts but there is so much that contributes to this illness. I was released after 10 days in there they had diagnosed me with PTSD, generalized anxiety disorder and severe depression. Heres the truth though they didn't want to diagnose me with what I really had because they said I was too young to have bipolar or schizophrenia. These disorders are usually found in young adults who are in their 20′s. My therapist refused to diagnose me with either of them I saw him for 10 years and eventually fired him in 2019 for telling me “if you don't swallow semen you will never find love”. personally I think he should have is license taken away. I was put on celexa which made me gain weight but did not help me it just made me numb. I needed a liver transplant or I was going to die I eventually got one in 2012 there was so much stress it was amplifying my symptoms. Recovery was hell I don't know how I made it though with out my doctors or family. In 2017 the voices got worse so did the delusions I was having a psychotic break. My mom took me to the hospital and I was admitted to a psych ward after they transferred me to the next one. I was there for ten days, I had heard it was a scary hospital that people got raped there. honestly it wasn't that bad all that happened was a girl was dancing naked in the hallway I ignored all the patients didn't talk to anyone but my roommate. at least she was nice. my bed sheets were stolen and they refused to give me new ones and another patient stole my new glasses. after ten days I singed an AMA to me released that's an against medical advice form; I finally got all the papers for me to go home. At the top of the paper was a diagnosis I had never heard before SCHIZOAFFECTIVE DISORDER. I was surprised, I thought “ did they finally get it right?” I was happy someone finally found out what was really wrong with me. I was on so many medications I couldn't function over the months I slowly got tapered off of them 1 by 1 none of them worked. I was on at least 7 medications. after not getting better for a month or 2 went back to the emergency room. This time I was sent to a better hospital. I wasn't hungry I was there for 5 days and didn't eat any food except on the last day there. They put me on better meds, I finally found what I called my miracle drug Haloperidol a first generation anti psychotic. After a few weeks of being on this medication I started to feel #normal for the first time in my life no voices no noises no hallucinations. well its been 3 years and Im feeling great but the voices are back and im talking to myself again. Im on a new drug called Geodon and im getting off my mood stabilizer because the side affects scare me but im feeling great. so I hope this helped. this was my story.
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Game of thrones
Ok so ive started watching game of thrones. Everynight with my older brother. Im creating these strings of posts to express my thoughts so far. Also im still learning names so if i dont refer to someone by there name its because i dont know their name or because i literaly still haven't put the name to the face so gimme time to figure out names.for the first 3 episodes all be blending them together because im on the forth episode and will be watching that tonight so i lm kinda doing this 2 days late.
Episode 1 and possibly 2and 3: that royal dick i really dont like him. Brah if there is dead mangeled bodies its a fucken sign to run. Run bitch. WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE BLUE EYED ZOMBIES. RUUUUUUN BITCH RUN.oh damn. Whelp. Bro said white walkers weren't real and they real.brah dont kill the dude hes talking the truth. Little kid likes to climb. Adorable. Must protech climbing boi.well ok i know keeping it in the family is a royal thing but really queen and her brother you have to. WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU PUSH A SMOL KID OUT THE WINDOW. HIS 10 HES A BABY AND YOU HEARTLESS SON OF A BITCH PUSHED HIS ASS OUT CUS YOU CANT STOP DIDITLING YPU SISTER.IF HE DIES IMMA REACH THROUGH THE SCREEN AND BEAT YOU TWO WITH AND INCH OF YOUR LIVES. Why the fuck is the king obseesed brother such a fucken asshole.TELLING YOUR SISTER WHO IS TELLING YOU SHE DOESNT WANT TO MARRY MISTER HORSE CLAN AND YOU TELL HER YOUD LET ALL OF HIS MEN AND HORSES RAPE HER. YOU DESERVE TO BE PUNTED IN THE GRONE YOU COCK SUCKING LITTLE BITCH. ALSO YOU DONT UNDRESS YOUR SISTER AND TELL HER SHE HAS A WOMENS BODY YOU CREEPP!!!!!!!!horse clan dude is kinda hot and scarey.Very uncomfortable sex scean. Oh god i feel sad for her. Why does everyone refer to my favorite brother out of the northern family as a bastard.........oh thats why. Ok mama north hes just saying good bye to his brother. I get hes an embodiment of your husbands fault. But please dont be a dick to him. Let him do what good brothers do. Giving your sister a sword speaks the most pure and awe streaking brotherly love. I wish my brother gave me a sword. Adorable wolf doggos has grown into beautiful wolfs. Jaffery oh my fucken god. I hate you. So much. YOU THREATEN TO KILL A LITTLE GIRL YOU HEARTLESS BITCH AND YOUR MOM SOUNDS LIKE THE MOST ENTITLED BITCH. OFH NO HES GONNA HAVE A SCAR OH NO ITS A SMALL FUCKEN SCAR BITCH. AND ITS GONNA BE COVERD BASED ON THE FUCKEN CLOTHES STYLE LIKE SHIT.hey dragon egg chick and mister horse clan look like they are getting along. And shes picking up the language.but her brofher is still a dick. Pissing off the edge of the wall. Something i now want to put on my bucket list. Atlest there is one brother in the set that is actually fucken charming. Half stack is such a damn character. I hope nothing horrivle happened.also waiting for (brono i still dont know his name the climing boi) remebers what happened to him and why.also can the queen stop trying to murder this kid. Like bitch your assasin got numb by his doggo.
This has been a scrambled mix of my thoughts. From now on thou things will ne more orderly.
#game of thrones#fresh viewing#dont spoil anything#DONT SPOIL ANYTHING FOR ME#and ill eventually learn everyones name just give me a bit
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My Husband Isn’t My “Type”and He’s Definitely Not My Best Friend
“Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really? Because mine isnt.”
ByRobin O’Bryant
Im going to need everyone who has posted a Facebook status along the lines of, Happy Anniversary to my best friend and the love of my life! to form a line, so that in an orderly fashion, I can walk down said line and thump each of you right in the middle of your foreheads.
Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really?
Because mine isnt.
When people ask me how I met my husband, I usually just say, Church. You need to know someone pretty well before you say something like, God told me he was my husband and even though Im not used to hearing voices, I just went for it! Whats to lose, amiright?!
It was the summer of 1997, I was 19 years old and spending the break working in the office of a new evangelical church my mother had started attending.
My parents had just gone through a shocking divorce, and by shocking, let me just say that to this very day, almost 20 years after their divorce, Ive never heard my parents argue. Ever. They woke us up one fine Alabama Saturday morning and told us they had gotten a divorce a few weeks earlier and my dad was moving out. There was no warning shot fired, no attempt at counseling or reconciliation, just that one sucker punch when we werent paying attention. A year later, I broke up with my boyfriend of four years and my heart was still tender from both events.
Maybe I was naive to think I could bargain with God, but nevertheless, I laid out my terms in my journal:
Ill never give my heart away again. Im giving it to you. Maybe Im ridiculous to never want to date again, but if you could just give me a sign or something when I meet my husbandTHEN Ill date him and fall in love. I dont want to risk picking the wrong person again. After everything…I dont trust my own judgment. So a burning bush? Im not in a hurry. Im ready to go all Sister Mary Clarence about this (thats a Sister Act jokeGod gets me). So, please. Smoke signals? Something…
Before I headed back for the next semester, my older brother Matt and I decided to go to Texas for a Christian motorcycle rally with a family from our new church. (And yes, I do realize this story is getting weirder by the second.) It was kind of a Christian convention meets county fair/campgrounds, but with former Hells Angels who have converted and love JesusIm sure you have the perfect mental picture.
We borrowed a tent, loaded Matts car and joined a caravan of cars following the OBryant family to Texas. One of their sons, Zeb, was a year younger than me. But even if I hadnt been in my Sister Mary Clarence phase, I wouldnt have looked at him twice.
Zeb wasnt my type. My type was clean cut and all-American, the kind who wore lots of Polo shirts and khaki pants, possibly played golf and most definitely was a member of Key Club. Zeb rode a metallic blue 1976 Harley-Davidson everywhere he went, had a goatee that was a little longer than I thought sanitary and his naturally brown hair was bleached blonde and spiked in a manner not unlike Edward Cullensor Edward Scissorhands, for that matter.
Regardless, meeting Zeb began a weekend-long love affair with his vintage Harley-Davidson and Texas back roads. Every time Zeb jumped on his bike, hed give me a nod, Id hop on and wed take off. The rumble of the Harley and the twisting roads through the Hill Country almost hypnotized me. The wind blasted my face and ratted my hair as the sun warmed my jeans. I was careful to keep my hands gently on Zebs hips and to not lean too close against himSister Mary Clarence didnt want to inadvertently press any boobage against his back and give him the wrong idea.
We were sitting in a tent revival type of meetingfolding chairs and open air with the stars hanging low and lazy in the night sky. Our faces were still grey with the road dust and we smelled sweetly of sunshine and gasoline. I was sitting there with my Bible open on my lap when I had a crazy thought:
My husband is here somewhere…
My eyes scanned the crowd and as they did, they fell on Zeb, who was sitting to my right, ripped jeans and motorcycle boots propped on the chair in front of him. Now Im not saying I heard an audible voice, but something deep inside of me clearly shouted, Its him.
I knew from that moment on I would marry him. And its a damn good thing I was hearing voices that nightotherwise I wouldve totally missed it.
Zeb is my polar opposite. Hes an extrovert; Im an introvert. He loves nature and the outdoors; Ive wondered if I could get a PhD in Netflix. Hes calm, steady and always in a good mood. Im creative, a roller-coaster of emotions and quite franklyprone to hysterics.
I want a best friend who will tell me I need one more pair of shoes and a man who will remind me to save for my retirement account. I want to call my best friend when I feel Ive been wronged and hear her say, What a b*tch! I cant believe she said that to you! I want to be married to a man who says, Who gives a sh*t what she thinks? And I want to get into bed at night with a man who ignites things in me no one else can.
Zeb isnt my best friend.
I have never been so angry at my best friend that I fantasized about throwing a lamp or other miscellaneous piece of furniture at her head. I cant say the same for ole Zeb. For example, once our 3-year-old had walking pneumonia. Sadie was running a fever, listless and refused to drink anything. I tried all manner of juices, an assortment of sippy cups and silly straws all to no avail.
Zeb, will you go to the store and get some Popsicles? I asked.
Do you really think she needs sugar when shes this sick?
I think she needs any type of fluid she can get down because shes going to get dehydrated. So yes, I think she needs Popsicles. I replied.
Give her some water, Zeb advised.
I HAVE.
Try some juice.
Really Zeb? Ive tried everything. Thats why I need Popsicles. I was starting to get pretty pissed.
I just dont think she needs sugar. He said, again.
Noted. Now go to the store and get Popsicles. Please. I said please out loud but in my head I was screaming, YOU SOB!
He was as mad as all get out, but he went to the storevictory was mine! Sadie would be hydrated! All was well with the world…until he walked in the door carrying a box of 200 Otter Pops that werent even frozen.
Is this really happening?! I yelled, What the hell? POPSICLES, Zeb! Why is that so hard?
These ARE Popsicles! He yelled back.
No they arent! Theyll be Popsicles in 36-48 hours but they are most certainly NOT Popsicles right now! Why didnt you get frozen ones?
He looked me straight in the eye and said, I didnt know you could buy them that way.
Are you sure thats how you want to play this? Do you really want me to believe youre that stupid? I asked.
I dont know that Ive ever been so completely filled with rage. Over freaking Popsicles.
But thats the way it is with me and Zebwe are passionate and stubborn. Sometimes I think I might see myself on an episode of Dateline, Josh Mankiewicz strolling down our street as a camera pans wide and says,In the small town of Greenwood, Mississippi, everything looked perfect for Zeb and Robin OBryant…until one day, in a fit of rage, Robin did the unthinkable…
But then, in a split second, Zeb is there with eyes the exact same amber brown assunshine filtered through a beer bottle. He wraps his arms around me while Im standing at the stove cooking dinner. Hekisses my neck and his beard tickles my skin, Sorry, he whispers. And I melt.
Zeb isnt my best friend. Depending on the movie I want to see, Ill ditch him in a second for my girlfriends. But when things gets real, I dont care if anyone is standing with me but him. Hes my partner, my equal and without a doubt, my better half. Zeb is the peanut butter to my jelly, the yin to my yang, the spiritual Xanax to my eight-ball of coke.
Im also going to need all of you people who say, Thanks for the best 15 years of my life! to stand in a separate corner and await your own punishment, because marriage isnt easy, and it most certainly isnt all happy.
Id rather say:
I really appreciate you driving me to therapy every week.
Thanks for not leaving me when I act like a lunatic.
“Thanks for acting like you thought I was sexy for the last 16 years even though Ive gained and lost hundreds of pounds and my stretch marks look like a topographical map of the Rocky Mountains.
I have lots of friends, hell, I even have lots of best friends…but there is and will always be, only one Zeb. Hes my husband and thats enough.
About the Author: Robin O’Bryant is the The New Times best-selling author of Ketchup is a Vegetable and Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves. You can follow her on FaceBook as Robin O’Bryantor Twitter.
Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/06/10/my-husband-isnt-my-typeand-hes-definitely-not-my-best-friend/
from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/06/10/my-husband-isnt-my-typeand-hes-definitely-not-my-best-friend/
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Text
My Husband Isn’t My “Type”and He’s Definitely Not My Best Friend
“Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really? Because mine isnt.”
ByRobin O’Bryant
Im going to need everyone who has posted a Facebook status along the lines of, Happy Anniversary to my best friend and the love of my life! to form a line, so that in an orderly fashion, I can walk down said line and thump each of you right in the middle of your foreheads.
Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really?
Because mine isnt.
When people ask me how I met my husband, I usually just say, Church. You need to know someone pretty well before you say something like, God told me he was my husband and even though Im not used to hearing voices, I just went for it! Whats to lose, amiright?!
It was the summer of 1997, I was 19 years old and spending the break working in the office of a new evangelical church my mother had started attending.
My parents had just gone through a shocking divorce, and by shocking, let me just say that to this very day, almost 20 years after their divorce, Ive never heard my parents argue. Ever. They woke us up one fine Alabama Saturday morning and told us they had gotten a divorce a few weeks earlier and my dad was moving out. There was no warning shot fired, no attempt at counseling or reconciliation, just that one sucker punch when we werent paying attention. A year later, I broke up with my boyfriend of four years and my heart was still tender from both events.
Maybe I was naive to think I could bargain with God, but nevertheless, I laid out my terms in my journal:
Ill never give my heart away again. Im giving it to you. Maybe Im ridiculous to never want to date again, but if you could just give me a sign or something when I meet my husbandTHEN Ill date him and fall in love. I dont want to risk picking the wrong person again. After everything…I dont trust my own judgment. So a burning bush? Im not in a hurry. Im ready to go all Sister Mary Clarence about this (thats a Sister Act jokeGod gets me). So, please. Smoke signals? Something…
Before I headed back for the next semester, my older brother Matt and I decided to go to Texas for a Christian motorcycle rally with a family from our new church. (And yes, I do realize this story is getting weirder by the second.) It was kind of a Christian convention meets county fair/campgrounds, but with former Hells Angels who have converted and love JesusIm sure you have the perfect mental picture.
We borrowed a tent, loaded Matts car and joined a caravan of cars following the OBryant family to Texas. One of their sons, Zeb, was a year younger than me. But even if I hadnt been in my Sister Mary Clarence phase, I wouldnt have looked at him twice.
Zeb wasnt my type. My type was clean cut and all-American, the kind who wore lots of Polo shirts and khaki pants, possibly played golf and most definitely was a member of Key Club. Zeb rode a metallic blue 1976 Harley-Davidson everywhere he went, had a goatee that was a little longer than I thought sanitary and his naturally brown hair was bleached blonde and spiked in a manner not unlike Edward Cullensor Edward Scissorhands, for that matter.
Regardless, meeting Zeb began a weekend-long love affair with his vintage Harley-Davidson and Texas back roads. Every time Zeb jumped on his bike, hed give me a nod, Id hop on and wed take off. The rumble of the Harley and the twisting roads through the Hill Country almost hypnotized me. The wind blasted my face and ratted my hair as the sun warmed my jeans. I was careful to keep my hands gently on Zebs hips and to not lean too close against himSister Mary Clarence didnt want to inadvertently press any boobage against his back and give him the wrong idea.
We were sitting in a tent revival type of meetingfolding chairs and open air with the stars hanging low and lazy in the night sky. Our faces were still grey with the road dust and we smelled sweetly of sunshine and gasoline. I was sitting there with my Bible open on my lap when I had a crazy thought:
My husband is here somewhere…
My eyes scanned the crowd and as they did, they fell on Zeb, who was sitting to my right, ripped jeans and motorcycle boots propped on the chair in front of him. Now Im not saying I heard an audible voice, but something deep inside of me clearly shouted, Its him.
I knew from that moment on I would marry him. And its a damn good thing I was hearing voices that nightotherwise I wouldve totally missed it.
Zeb is my polar opposite. Hes an extrovert; Im an introvert. He loves nature and the outdoors; Ive wondered if I could get a PhD in Netflix. Hes calm, steady and always in a good mood. Im creative, a roller-coaster of emotions and quite franklyprone to hysterics.
I want a best friend who will tell me I need one more pair of shoes and a man who will remind me to save for my retirement account. I want to call my best friend when I feel Ive been wronged and hear her say, What a b*tch! I cant believe she said that to you! I want to be married to a man who says, Who gives a sh*t what she thinks? And I want to get into bed at night with a man who ignites things in me no one else can.
Zeb isnt my best friend.
I have never been so angry at my best friend that I fantasized about throwing a lamp or other miscellaneous piece of furniture at her head. I cant say the same for ole Zeb. For example, once our 3-year-old had walking pneumonia. Sadie was running a fever, listless and refused to drink anything. I tried all manner of juices, an assortment of sippy cups and silly straws all to no avail.
Zeb, will you go to the store and get some Popsicles? I asked.
Do you really think she needs sugar when shes this sick?
I think she needs any type of fluid she can get down because shes going to get dehydrated. So yes, I think she needs Popsicles. I replied.
Give her some water, Zeb advised.
I HAVE.
Try some juice.
Really Zeb? Ive tried everything. Thats why I need Popsicles. I was starting to get pretty pissed.
I just dont think she needs sugar. He said, again.
Noted. Now go to the store and get Popsicles. Please. I said please out loud but in my head I was screaming, YOU SOB!
He was as mad as all get out, but he went to the storevictory was mine! Sadie would be hydrated! All was well with the world…until he walked in the door carrying a box of 200 Otter Pops that werent even frozen.
Is this really happening?! I yelled, What the hell? POPSICLES, Zeb! Why is that so hard?
These ARE Popsicles! He yelled back.
No they arent! Theyll be Popsicles in 36-48 hours but they are most certainly NOT Popsicles right now! Why didnt you get frozen ones?
He looked me straight in the eye and said, I didnt know you could buy them that way.
Are you sure thats how you want to play this? Do you really want me to believe youre that stupid? I asked.
I dont know that Ive ever been so completely filled with rage. Over freaking Popsicles.
But thats the way it is with me and Zebwe are passionate and stubborn. Sometimes I think I might see myself on an episode of Dateline, Josh Mankiewicz strolling down our street as a camera pans wide and says,In the small town of Greenwood, Mississippi, everything looked perfect for Zeb and Robin OBryant…until one day, in a fit of rage, Robin did the unthinkable…
But then, in a split second, Zeb is there with eyes the exact same amber brown assunshine filtered through a beer bottle. He wraps his arms around me while Im standing at the stove cooking dinner. Hekisses my neck and his beard tickles my skin, Sorry, he whispers. And I melt.
Zeb isnt my best friend. Depending on the movie I want to see, Ill ditch him in a second for my girlfriends. But when things gets real, I dont care if anyone is standing with me but him. Hes my partner, my equal and without a doubt, my better half. Zeb is the peanut butter to my jelly, the yin to my yang, the spiritual Xanax to my eight-ball of coke.
Im also going to need all of you people who say, Thanks for the best 15 years of my life! to stand in a separate corner and await your own punishment, because marriage isnt easy, and it most certainly isnt all happy.
Id rather say:
I really appreciate you driving me to therapy every week.
Thanks for not leaving me when I act like a lunatic.
“Thanks for acting like you thought I was sexy for the last 16 years even though Ive gained and lost hundreds of pounds and my stretch marks look like a topographical map of the Rocky Mountains.
I have lots of friends, hell, I even have lots of best friends…but there is and will always be, only one Zeb. Hes my husband and thats enough.
About the Author: Robin O’Bryant is the The New Times best-selling author of Ketchup is a Vegetable and Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves. You can follow her on FaceBook as Robin O’Bryantor Twitter.
source http://allofbeer.com/2017/06/10/my-husband-isnt-my-typeand-hes-definitely-not-my-best-friend/ from All of Beer http://allofbeer.blogspot.com/2017/06/my-husband-isnt-my-typeand-hes.html
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My Husband Isn’t My “Type”and He’s Definitely Not My Best Friend
“Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really? Because mine isnt.”
ByRobin O’Bryant
Im going to need everyone who has posted a Facebook status along the lines of, Happy Anniversary to my best friend and the love of my life! to form a line, so that in an orderly fashion, I can walk down said line and thump each of you right in the middle of your foreheads.
Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really?
Because mine isnt.
When people ask me how I met my husband, I usually just say, Church. You need to know someone pretty well before you say something like, God told me he was my husband and even though Im not used to hearing voices, I just went for it! Whats to lose, amiright?!
It was the summer of 1997, I was 19 years old and spending the break working in the office of a new evangelical church my mother had started attending.
My parents had just gone through a shocking divorce, and by shocking, let me just say that to this very day, almost 20 years after their divorce, Ive never heard my parents argue. Ever. They woke us up one fine Alabama Saturday morning and told us they had gotten a divorce a few weeks earlier and my dad was moving out. There was no warning shot fired, no attempt at counseling or reconciliation, just that one sucker punch when we werent paying attention. A year later, I broke up with my boyfriend of four years and my heart was still tender from both events.
Maybe I was naive to think I could bargain with God, but nevertheless, I laid out my terms in my journal:
Ill never give my heart away again. Im giving it to you. Maybe Im ridiculous to never want to date again, but if you could just give me a sign or something when I meet my husbandTHEN Ill date him and fall in love. I dont want to risk picking the wrong person again. After everything…I dont trust my own judgment. So a burning bush? Im not in a hurry. Im ready to go all Sister Mary Clarence about this (thats a Sister Act jokeGod gets me). So, please. Smoke signals? Something…
Before I headed back for the next semester, my older brother Matt and I decided to go to Texas for a Christian motorcycle rally with a family from our new church. (And yes, I do realize this story is getting weirder by the second.) It was kind of a Christian convention meets county fair/campgrounds, but with former Hells Angels who have converted and love JesusIm sure you have the perfect mental picture.
We borrowed a tent, loaded Matts car and joined a caravan of cars following the OBryant family to Texas. One of their sons, Zeb, was a year younger than me. But even if I hadnt been in my Sister Mary Clarence phase, I wouldnt have looked at him twice.
Zeb wasnt my type. My type was clean cut and all-American, the kind who wore lots of Polo shirts and khaki pants, possibly played golf and most definitely was a member of Key Club. Zeb rode a metallic blue 1976 Harley-Davidson everywhere he went, had a goatee that was a little longer than I thought sanitary and his naturally brown hair was bleached blonde and spiked in a manner not unlike Edward Cullensor Edward Scissorhands, for that matter.
Regardless, meeting Zeb began a weekend-long love affair with his vintage Harley-Davidson and Texas back roads. Every time Zeb jumped on his bike, hed give me a nod, Id hop on and wed take off. The rumble of the Harley and the twisting roads through the Hill Country almost hypnotized me. The wind blasted my face and ratted my hair as the sun warmed my jeans. I was careful to keep my hands gently on Zebs hips and to not lean too close against himSister Mary Clarence didnt want to inadvertently press any boobage against his back and give him the wrong idea.
We were sitting in a tent revival type of meetingfolding chairs and open air with the stars hanging low and lazy in the night sky. Our faces were still grey with the road dust and we smelled sweetly of sunshine and gasoline. I was sitting there with my Bible open on my lap when I had a crazy thought:
My husband is here somewhere…
My eyes scanned the crowd and as they did, they fell on Zeb, who was sitting to my right, ripped jeans and motorcycle boots propped on the chair in front of him. Now Im not saying I heard an audible voice, but something deep inside of me clearly shouted, Its him.
I knew from that moment on I would marry him. And its a damn good thing I was hearing voices that nightotherwise I wouldve totally missed it.
Zeb is my polar opposite. Hes an extrovert; Im an introvert. He loves nature and the outdoors; Ive wondered if I could get a PhD in Netflix. Hes calm, steady and always in a good mood. Im creative, a roller-coaster of emotions and quite franklyprone to hysterics.
I want a best friend who will tell me I need one more pair of shoes and a man who will remind me to save for my retirement account. I want to call my best friend when I feel Ive been wronged and hear her say, What a b*tch! I cant believe she said that to you! I want to be married to a man who says, Who gives a sh*t what she thinks? And I want to get into bed at night with a man who ignites things in me no one else can.
Zeb isnt my best friend.
I have never been so angry at my best friend that I fantasized about throwing a lamp or other miscellaneous piece of furniture at her head. I cant say the same for ole Zeb. For example, once our 3-year-old had walking pneumonia. Sadie was running a fever, listless and refused to drink anything. I tried all manner of juices, an assortment of sippy cups and silly straws all to no avail.
Zeb, will you go to the store and get some Popsicles? I asked.
Do you really think she needs sugar when shes this sick?
I think she needs any type of fluid she can get down because shes going to get dehydrated. So yes, I think she needs Popsicles. I replied.
Give her some water, Zeb advised.
I HAVE.
Try some juice.
Really Zeb? Ive tried everything. Thats why I need Popsicles. I was starting to get pretty pissed.
I just dont think she needs sugar. He said, again.
Noted. Now go to the store and get Popsicles. Please. I said please out loud but in my head I was screaming, YOU SOB!
He was as mad as all get out, but he went to the storevictory was mine! Sadie would be hydrated! All was well with the world…until he walked in the door carrying a box of 200 Otter Pops that werent even frozen.
Is this really happening?! I yelled, What the hell? POPSICLES, Zeb! Why is that so hard?
These ARE Popsicles! He yelled back.
No they arent! Theyll be Popsicles in 36-48 hours but they are most certainly NOT Popsicles right now! Why didnt you get frozen ones?
He looked me straight in the eye and said, I didnt know you could buy them that way.
Are you sure thats how you want to play this? Do you really want me to believe youre that stupid? I asked.
I dont know that Ive ever been so completely filled with rage. Over freaking Popsicles.
But thats the way it is with me and Zebwe are passionate and stubborn. Sometimes I think I might see myself on an episode of Dateline, Josh Mankiewicz strolling down our street as a camera pans wide and says,In the small town of Greenwood, Mississippi, everything looked perfect for Zeb and Robin OBryant…until one day, in a fit of rage, Robin did the unthinkable…
But then, in a split second, Zeb is there with eyes the exact same amber brown assunshine filtered through a beer bottle. He wraps his arms around me while Im standing at the stove cooking dinner. Hekisses my neck and his beard tickles my skin, Sorry, he whispers. And I melt.
Zeb isnt my best friend. Depending on the movie I want to see, Ill ditch him in a second for my girlfriends. But when things gets real, I dont care if anyone is standing with me but him. Hes my partner, my equal and without a doubt, my better half. Zeb is the peanut butter to my jelly, the yin to my yang, the spiritual Xanax to my eight-ball of coke.
Im also going to need all of you people who say, Thanks for the best 15 years of my life! to stand in a separate corner and await your own punishment, because marriage isnt easy, and it most certainly isnt all happy.
Id rather say:
I really appreciate you driving me to therapy every week.
Thanks for not leaving me when I act like a lunatic.
“Thanks for acting like you thought I was sexy for the last 16 years even though Ive gained and lost hundreds of pounds and my stretch marks look like a topographical map of the Rocky Mountains.
I have lots of friends, hell, I even have lots of best friends…but there is and will always be, only one Zeb. Hes my husband and thats enough.
About the Author: Robin O’Bryant is the The New Times best-selling author of Ketchup is a Vegetable and Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves. You can follow her on FaceBook as Robin O’Bryantor Twitter.
from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/06/10/my-husband-isnt-my-typeand-hes-definitely-not-my-best-friend/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/161673020527
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Text
My Husband Isn’t My “Type”and He’s Definitely Not My Best Friend
“Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really? Because mine isnt.”
ByRobin O’Bryant
Im going to need everyone who has posted a Facebook status along the lines of, Happy Anniversary to my best friend and the love of my life! to form a line, so that in an orderly fashion, I can walk down said line and thump each of you right in the middle of your foreheads.
Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really?
Because mine isnt.
When people ask me how I met my husband, I usually just say, Church. You need to know someone pretty well before you say something like, God told me he was my husband and even though Im not used to hearing voices, I just went for it! Whats to lose, amiright?!
It was the summer of 1997, I was 19 years old and spending the break working in the office of a new evangelical church my mother had started attending.
My parents had just gone through a shocking divorce, and by shocking, let me just say that to this very day, almost 20 years after their divorce, Ive never heard my parents argue. Ever. They woke us up one fine Alabama Saturday morning and told us they had gotten a divorce a few weeks earlier and my dad was moving out. There was no warning shot fired, no attempt at counseling or reconciliation, just that one sucker punch when we werent paying attention. A year later, I broke up with my boyfriend of four years and my heart was still tender from both events.
Maybe I was naive to think I could bargain with God, but nevertheless, I laid out my terms in my journal:
Ill never give my heart away again. Im giving it to you. Maybe Im ridiculous to never want to date again, but if you could just give me a sign or something when I meet my husbandTHEN Ill date him and fall in love. I dont want to risk picking the wrong person again. After everything…I dont trust my own judgment. So a burning bush? Im not in a hurry. Im ready to go all Sister Mary Clarence about this (thats a Sister Act jokeGod gets me). So, please. Smoke signals? Something…
Before I headed back for the next semester, my older brother Matt and I decided to go to Texas for a Christian motorcycle rally with a family from our new church. (And yes, I do realize this story is getting weirder by the second.) It was kind of a Christian convention meets county fair/campgrounds, but with former Hells Angels who have converted and love JesusIm sure you have the perfect mental picture.
We borrowed a tent, loaded Matts car and joined a caravan of cars following the OBryant family to Texas. One of their sons, Zeb, was a year younger than me. But even if I hadnt been in my Sister Mary Clarence phase, I wouldnt have looked at him twice.
Zeb wasnt my type. My type was clean cut and all-American, the kind who wore lots of Polo shirts and khaki pants, possibly played golf and most definitely was a member of Key Club. Zeb rode a metallic blue 1976 Harley-Davidson everywhere he went, had a goatee that was a little longer than I thought sanitary and his naturally brown hair was bleached blonde and spiked in a manner not unlike Edward Cullensor Edward Scissorhands, for that matter.
Regardless, meeting Zeb began a weekend-long love affair with his vintage Harley-Davidson and Texas back roads. Every time Zeb jumped on his bike, hed give me a nod, Id hop on and wed take off. The rumble of the Harley and the twisting roads through the Hill Country almost hypnotized me. The wind blasted my face and ratted my hair as the sun warmed my jeans. I was careful to keep my hands gently on Zebs hips and to not lean too close against himSister Mary Clarence didnt want to inadvertently press any boobage against his back and give him the wrong idea.
We were sitting in a tent revival type of meetingfolding chairs and open air with the stars hanging low and lazy in the night sky. Our faces were still grey with the road dust and we smelled sweetly of sunshine and gasoline. I was sitting there with my Bible open on my lap when I had a crazy thought:
My husband is here somewhere…
My eyes scanned the crowd and as they did, they fell on Zeb, who was sitting to my right, ripped jeans and motorcycle boots propped on the chair in front of him. Now Im not saying I heard an audible voice, but something deep inside of me clearly shouted, Its him.
I knew from that moment on I would marry him. And its a damn good thing I was hearing voices that nightotherwise I wouldve totally missed it.
Zeb is my polar opposite. Hes an extrovert; Im an introvert. He loves nature and the outdoors; Ive wondered if I could get a PhD in Netflix. Hes calm, steady and always in a good mood. Im creative, a roller-coaster of emotions and quite franklyprone to hysterics.
I want a best friend who will tell me I need one more pair of shoes and a man who will remind me to save for my retirement account. I want to call my best friend when I feel Ive been wronged and hear her say, What a b*tch! I cant believe she said that to you! I want to be married to a man who says, Who gives a sh*t what she thinks? And I want to get into bed at night with a man who ignites things in me no one else can.
Zeb isnt my best friend.
I have never been so angry at my best friend that I fantasized about throwing a lamp or other miscellaneous piece of furniture at her head. I cant say the same for ole Zeb. For example, once our 3-year-old had walking pneumonia. Sadie was running a fever, listless and refused to drink anything. I tried all manner of juices, an assortment of sippy cups and silly straws all to no avail.
Zeb, will you go to the store and get some Popsicles? I asked.
Do you really think she needs sugar when shes this sick?
I think she needs any type of fluid she can get down because shes going to get dehydrated. So yes, I think she needs Popsicles. I replied.
Give her some water, Zeb advised.
I HAVE.
Try some juice.
Really Zeb? Ive tried everything. Thats why I need Popsicles. I was starting to get pretty pissed.
I just dont think she needs sugar. He said, again.
Noted. Now go to the store and get Popsicles. Please. I said please out loud but in my head I was screaming, YOU SOB!
He was as mad as all get out, but he went to the storevictory was mine! Sadie would be hydrated! All was well with the world…until he walked in the door carrying a box of 200 Otter Pops that werent even frozen.
Is this really happening?! I yelled, What the hell? POPSICLES, Zeb! Why is that so hard?
These ARE Popsicles! He yelled back.
No they arent! Theyll be Popsicles in 36-48 hours but they are most certainly NOT Popsicles right now! Why didnt you get frozen ones?
He looked me straight in the eye and said, I didnt know you could buy them that way.
Are you sure thats how you want to play this? Do you really want me to believe youre that stupid? I asked.
I dont know that Ive ever been so completely filled with rage. Over freaking Popsicles.
But thats the way it is with me and Zebwe are passionate and stubborn. Sometimes I think I might see myself on an episode of Dateline, Josh Mankiewicz strolling down our street as a camera pans wide and says,In the small town of Greenwood, Mississippi, everything looked perfect for Zeb and Robin OBryant…until one day, in a fit of rage, Robin did the unthinkable…
But then, in a split second, Zeb is there with eyes the exact same amber brown assunshine filtered through a beer bottle. He wraps his arms around me while Im standing at the stove cooking dinner. Hekisses my neck and his beard tickles my skin, Sorry, he whispers. And I melt.
Zeb isnt my best friend. Depending on the movie I want to see, Ill ditch him in a second for my girlfriends. But when things gets real, I dont care if anyone is standing with me but him. Hes my partner, my equal and without a doubt, my better half. Zeb is the peanut butter to my jelly, the yin to my yang, the spiritual Xanax to my eight-ball of coke.
Im also going to need all of you people who say, Thanks for the best 15 years of my life! to stand in a separate corner and await your own punishment, because marriage isnt easy, and it most certainly isnt all happy.
Id rather say:
I really appreciate you driving me to therapy every week.
Thanks for not leaving me when I act like a lunatic.
“Thanks for acting like you thought I was sexy for the last 16 years even though Ive gained and lost hundreds of pounds and my stretch marks look like a topographical map of the Rocky Mountains.
I have lots of friends, hell, I even have lots of best friends…but there is and will always be, only one Zeb. Hes my husband and thats enough.
About the Author: Robin O’Bryant is the The New Times best-selling author of Ketchup is a Vegetable and Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves. You can follow her on FaceBook as Robin O’Bryantor Twitter.
from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/06/10/my-husband-isnt-my-typeand-hes-definitely-not-my-best-friend/
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10 Things My Mom Gave Me That I’ll Always Be Grateful For
You cant help who your parents are.
Whether you care to acknowledge it or not, their blood runs through your veins (which is such a creepy saying, if you ask me).
Were not always keen to admit were like our parents, but I know for a fact I would not be the person I am today if I didnt #GetItFromMyMama.
Here are 10 things about myself Im thankful I got from my mom.
1. My stubbornness
I hate admitting it (read: Im usually too STUBBORN to admit it), but I am just as stubborn as my mother, and Im sure shed hate to acknowledge it, too.
Being super rigid about the littlest things certainly does not make my life easier. But it does guarantee Im always looking out for myself.
My default preference is to do what feels right in my gut, but of course, my gut isnt always right about everything.
Still, I like that Im a woman who knows exactly she wants, and Id never want to be any other way.
2. My boobs
Giphy
Dont get me wrong, ALL BOOBS ARE BEAUTIFUL BOOBS. But, if Im being totally honest, my mom had, and still has, an impressive set of tatas on her, and she happened to pass those down to me.
Its not the best when it comes to shopping for a swimsuit that can actually cover everything up, but if anything, my large cleavage definitely comes in handy for catching crumbs whenever I eat a Nature Valley granola bar.
3. My organization skills
My mom was a secretary for a huge chunk of her career, and honestly, the woman was born for the role.
Ive never met someone who can keep a more orderly calendar, nor have I encountered anyone who owns (and actually USES) quite as many manila folders.
While my type of organization is more like a mess that only I know how to properly navigate, my life would probably be in shambles without my moms expert guidance.
4. My resilience
My mom has *clap* been *clap* through *clap* some *clap* SHIT.
As a child, she came from a broken and dysfunctional home, and yet shes still managed to create a life for herself.
Lea Csontos
Then, as an adult, she was hit with an aggressive form of breast cancer. I watched her shave her head and prevail through countless sessions of chemotherapy.
I havent battled nearly as much adversity in my own life, but my mom has shown me the importance of maintaining strength and willpower through even the most difficult times.
Because of her, Ive been able to tough it out through my own hardships, and Ill continue to channel her strength for years and years to come.
5. My taste in music
Mom, if it werent for you, I never would have gone through my very annoying, but very necessary emo phase, and I wouldnt have such an undying love for The Offspring and Green Day.
Youve always known whats up when it comes to music, and theres nothing I love more than jamming in the car with you to American Idiot.
6. My listening skills
As a kid, I remember feeling annoyed at my mom all the time, because she was always on the phone with one of her friends, basically listening to their entire life story, when all I wanted was for her to make me some damn mac and cheese.
Ellie Baygulov
Little did I know, Id grow up to be exactly like her.
In my friend group, Im often the shoulder to lean on and the hand to hold. Ive never been a great talker, but I like to think Im good at listening to my friends, and I honestly love being there for them.
7. My go-to tomato sauce recipe
Look, my mom may not have any Italian blood in her, but DAMN does that woman know how to make a mean homemade tomato sauce.
No, you cant have the recipe. #SorryNotSorry.
8. My timeliness
Thanks to my mom, I may as well be allergic to the idea of being late.
Maa Hoo
I respond to emails ASAP, I am the unofficial planner of my friend group and I always make sure I know how long it will take me to get from point A to point B.
And if its a place Ive never been to before, you can pretty much guarantee Ill arrive at least 15 minutes early.
9. My love for the beach
Of course, when you grow up near the Jersey shore, this is essentially a given. But for real, every single summer of my childhood was spent in the sand.
Carlo Amoruso
Unfortunately, I did not inherit my moms ability to tan to a golden bronze color. Im about as pasty as Elmers Glue, but hey, Ill take what I can get.
10. My sensitivity
No, its definitely not fun to tear up every time someone says something mean to you on the subway after youve already had a very long day.
But, I love feeling everything as deeply as I do, especially as I grow older and realize so many people just arent even in tune at all with their own emotions.
Studio Firma
My mom has always been good at communicating her feelings, even if it means admitting life isnt all sunshine and rainbows.
My sensitivity helps shape my voice as a writer, and it informs all the relationships in my life.
Thank you, Mom, for literally everything. I wouldnt be the woman I am today without you.
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