#inside cat people are genuinely the wildest

[lightandfireandsunhavegone]

Actually you're a dumbass about the outdoor cat thing, but it looks like you've got some other shit going on so good luck with that!

Oh....someone doesn't know that outside animals who have strong roaming instincts and need more stimulation than the average person can afford in the average house do, in fact, belong outside.

Cats are categorically outside animals at least here in the UK, and I am willing to let you die on my hill :)

[skulfsvyrn]

I just had never number one wildest fuckig dream I think I've ever had and might ever have. It was so crazy but like somehow still real. Old house my family used to live in, my dad and I are surveying our decent sized yard to check out all our plants that had bloomed but how they are also preparing for winter or something. Around the edge of the yard. When we're done at the bottom of our hill we walk up to under our porch where the last several are growing. We see a shitton of weeds so before heading inside through our basement door right there my dad decides to pick a few. There's one that happens to be really close to the house. And you know how those roots do be deep. He pulls it, but a lot of soil around it shifts, and suddenly dirt and fill and rocks from under the house come with it because of how close it is. He's successful, but at what cost. So much came with the tiny weed that our house started to shift. This idea definitely stems from how old that place is, how rainstorm after rainstorm cuase so much runoff over time that that side of the house had genuinely shifted down the hill causing our house to sink and become uneven.

Anyways, root is pulled, and house starts to slide slowly. There is a significant yet short steep part not too far from the house so as we back away to steer clear, it picks up momentum as more loose soil fails to support the house. It picks up speed after going down the deep part, my dad and I run to the bottom of the yard to escape its tumbling. We're stuck by a fence (not there in reality, and all of the stuff my dad built there before we moved irl doesn't exist here). Despite the houses pretty erratic tumbling, it thankfully stops before it hits us. Conveniently stayed intact despite having rotated and bounced so much. Conveniently landed right side up. And the rest of our family was still in side, thrown around but thankfully not hurt by loose furniture that was also definitely thrown around (tha KS brain for not making it more tragic than it already was). So there our house was, landed at the bottom of the hill, now existing near the top of the hill with the roof clean off after that because dream logic. We go inside, the house still unstable. It could be tipped and might start rolling again if off balance too much. I want to check on my younger sister so I ask my parents to sit on our couch to keep the house from tilting and going 360. My sister is ok, but trying to use the toilet? Door is closed it's fine. Somehow the house manages to turn 360 and I dream think to myself 'why is she trying this the water in the bowl would just spill out'. Uh at some point my brother shows up too, and the houses location also gets dream moved again even further up and into half a lane of traffic onto the relatively busy street (speed limit 25 but everyone going 35 kind of place). Random people are on our front porch which is also somehow attached as we watch traffic. My aunt is there and random strangers offering like water n stuff very nice. Our little black cat is scaredy and nervous at times, which might be why my dream decided to try and have her dash from the porch across the street to the sidewalk for some unknown reason. My sister stops her, holding her back successfully despite the kitty struggling. Then my brother and I attempt to cross the street too (forget why. We're nearing the end here). We look out past the walls my dream put up around our porch, traffic whizzing fast for there being a house in one of the lanes. Impressed they went so quick while still abiding waiting for opposing traffic to wait first.

Uh that's all I really remember. Weirdest thing, kinda stressful if you could imagine. Guess this would be considered a nightmare with how horrible something like this would be irl, regardless of how ridiculous this all would be

[julemmaes]

98.“It’s not a double date. We’re just third and fourth wheeling.” for nessian???😅😅😅😅

Third And Fourth Wheeling - October 16th

Nesta Archeron x Cassian

A/N: I AM. ASHAMED. OF MYSELF. I KNOW IT’S LITERALLY THREE MONTHS LATE BUT I HOPE YOU’LL LIKE IT ANYWAY

Masterlist

Word count: 2,312

Nesta would have rather done anything else at that moment than have to walk even for one more second through the streets of Velaris with her best friend, her boyfriend, and Cassian Navarro. Not because the company was bad, but the last chapter of the book she was reading had ended with an unexpected event, and she needed to know if the main character would be able to save herself somehow.

When Amren had suggested going out that afternoon, she hadn't realized that the last person Nesta wanted to see would be there, and by the time she'd arrived at the meeting point and seen him with his back turned in the distance, it had been too late to turn around and go home, because Varian had greeted her with a curt wave of his hand and he'd turned around. And Nesta had felt as if she were floating for a moment.

It was no secret that Cassian had been genuinely interested in her - with all the times he'd flirted with her at every party they'd met at, it was quite impossible to ignore that detail - but Nesta was sure she'd never hinted at her true feelings for the man in question. Or at least, she had been until Amren had given her a not-so-sneaky wink, seeing how she'd blushed when she'd stopped next to Cassian and ogled her with inquisitive eyes.

They'd started walking along the Sidra, stopping at a small cafe with a gorgeous view of the river mouth, only to resume walking after not even an hour. The only thing she could be thankful for was the spectacular winter sunset the city offered them.

"Are you having fun?" asked Cassian suddenly, distracting her from admiring the falling sun.

Nesta slowly turned to face him, clenching her hands into fists in her pockets. She blinked a few times, not sure if she heard him correctly, "Hmm?"

"Are you having fun?" he asked her again, a sly smile on his lips.

Lips that Nesta should have stopped staring at. She glanced up at his eyes and noticed that they sparkled with mirth. She shrugged, returning her attention to the sidewalk, "I'd rather be home on my couch reading a book." she murmured without hiding her boredom. Varian burst out laughing a few feet ahead of them as Amren chuckled beside him at something the latter had said, and Nesta wondered again why her friend had invited them if she wasn't going to consider them at all.

"I guessed as much." Cassian gave a nervous chuckle and scratched his chin thoughtlessly, "When Amren suggested we meet for a double date I didn't think she meant with you." he said in a more cautious tone, "Not that I mind."

A sound much like that of a cat choking made its way out of her, "It's not a double date. We're just third and fourth wheeling." joked Nesta, chuckling at the idiocy he had just said.

Cassian looked at her wide-eyed and then burst out laughing, throwing his head back, and Nesta thought it was an overreaction to what she'd said, "And here I thought I was going actually taking you home after dinner."

Nesta wrinkled her brow, looking at him with a horrified expression, "Pig."

"I was only kiddin'," he said, still with that stupid grin on his face.

She nodded once, reducing her lips to a thin line, "Sure." she whispered, probably in a more detached tone than she intended.

He seemed to stiffen beside her, and Nesta risked a glance in his direction. The frown on her face deepened even more as she saw his expression. He looked almost tense, like when you're in high school and you don't know if the teacher is going to say your name for the exam.

She shook her head, flashing her eyes back to the snowy mountains, thinking it was just her imagination.

Yes, it couldn't be otherwise.

Cassian couldn't be under any pressure just because she hadn't fallen for his temptation and responded to his flirting like she always did. Her doubts were soothed when he sagged down beside her and returned to his relaxed demeanor.

Still, as she strolled through the snowy streets of Velaris and cursed all the saints and gods of that world for not making her turn down Amren's invitation, she couldn't help but think that she wasn't uncomfortable next to him. That even though their arms touched every time they passed someone walking in their opposite direction she didn't mind being there with him. She didn't mind him wrapping his arm around her shoulders when passersby had no intention of moving and risking coming at her, and he would remove her from their paths before they bumped into her.

She hadn't even minded that he'd offered to pay for her tea, though she knew she'd have to find a way to pay him back. Or that he'd offered her his gloves when she hadn't been able to hide the fact that her hands were turning purple from the freezing weather.

She also liked that he didn't feel the need to fill that silence that had fallen between them, but rather seemed to appreciate it as much as she did.

One thing she'd noticed during the few outings she'd been invited to was that people seemed to dislike silence that was considered awkward, always trying to cover up every second of time by saying polite phrases or giving far too much personal information - things that Nesta could stand to accept from her sisters and closest friends, not from strangers she'd known for a few days or in some cases a few hours.

Cassian seemed to think exactly as she did, however, because he hadn't said a word since she'd contradicted him, and although he always had that confused, thoughtful expression on his face, he didn't seem inclined to start another conversation.

***

Cassian often wondered how people managed to stay silent when they were doing boring, simple tasks as walking. He felt the need to speak, the words tickling his tongue like they never had before so they could go out and tease her some more, just one more time, to see how far he could push it.

Nesta Archeron was the most beautiful and mesmerizing woman Cassian had ever had the honor of meeting, of that he had no doubt, but she certainly wasn't committed to making his job any easier.

The first time he had seen her, he had been shocked by the sharp, elegant, serious features of what he did not yet know would become the woman of his dreams for the next ten months. The eyes of that peculiar gray, a color he had never seen in anybody else, that he had learned to appreciate in the blink of an eye. The dark hair she'd always worn tied back and never styled the same way... Cassian had dreamed of touching it so many times, of putting his lips to it, of holding it between his fingers as he held her.

And the first time he'd seen her with her hair down, that had been the day he'd realized there would be no other in his life. The way it had wrapped around Nesta's face, the way it fell over her shoulders and framed that perfect breasts.

But Cassian hadn't been lost just by the appearance of that ethereal being, no, that would have been foolish. That mouth had spoken words that the man wouldn't have been able to think of even in his wildest dreams. They had made him kneel, fall before that queen he would serve without the shadow of uncertainty.

Yet when he had gathered enough courage to speak to her, she had done nothing but look at him, arch an eyebrow, and walk away.

The dismissal a blow so hard to the man's pride that it had taken him seconds before he realized that she was actually gone. It had hit him deep, hurting him in ways he didn't think he could be hurt, and he certainly hadn't expected that such a beautiful body could also contain such indifference. God how wrong he had been.

He hadn't tried to make a move on Nesta again, respecting what was clearly a rejection, but his hopes had been revived, stronger than before, when Feyre had mentioned to him that Nesta had asked about him. Several times.

With the memory of that hopeful emotion stirring in him, he uttered the words before he could stop himself, "And what if I asked you out on a real date?"

Nesta's head snapped up, toward him, and she seemed to stumble over her steps. Her eyes went wide for a moment as surprise laced her every feature. That hope was about to turn into fulfillment in him, but then she blinked, composing herself, and turned back to Amren and Varian, looking at their intertwined hands, "I'd tell you I'm not interested."

Cassian felt the disappointment and embarrassment of being rejected for a second time make its way inside of him, as his cheeks turned a light red. He only hoped she didn't notice, that she thought he was just cold.

"I see," he murmured. He put his hands in his pockets, squeezing into his shoulders.

He saw Nesta watching him out of the corner of her eyes and turned to her, giving her a tight smile, wanting to reassure her that it was okay. When she realized he was looking at her she parted her lips, but closed them the next second and Cassian sighed, forming a cloud of mist in front of him.

Then Nesta surprised him, "It's not you." she murmured so quietly that for a moment he thought he'd imagined it, "I just don't date people I don't know."

Cassian was confused, "I don't understand."

Nesta took a shaky breath, keeping her eyes fixed in front of her, "I don't date people who aren't my friends."

Those words didn't help quell the confusion inside of him, but rather only added to the disappointment the pain of being told so directly that Nesta didn't consider him her friend.

He decided to gloss over that mitigating pain in his chest, "So how do you meet new people to date?"

Nesta bit her lower lip, the muscle in her cheekbone twitching, "I don't." she said even more softly. "I don't like to make the people I'm going out with think that they should expect something from me at the end of the night and so before I know if I want something from them or if I want to give them something, I have to get to know them. I can't bond - romantically speaking - with someone, if I don't know them."

Cassian nodded, with a furrowed brow. It was obviously the opposite for him considering how madly lost to Nesta he was even without knowing hardly anything about her.

Then, an idea began to form in his head, "What if instead of going out as two people who want a relationship, I invite you out as someone who wants to be your friend?" he asked, straightening his back so as not to bounce with glee.

"Cassian-"

"Please, Nes." the nickname was out hanging between them before he could stop and before she could answer him, he said, "I wouldn't expect anything at the end of the night even if it was an actual date, like no one else should," he took a short breath, "Just a simple day out between two strangers who need to get to know each other to become friends."

Nesta was looking at him now, no emotion showing on that beautiful impassive face, "You'd still take me to a nice restaurant and I'd know it would be a date for you, even if you say so."

Cassian ran a hand through his hair and didn't fail to notice the way Nesta swallowed as she stared at the gesture. He smiled, trying not to give away how much her minimal attention made him feel, "Not even if I took you to one of the most beautiful bookstores in the country?"

Her eyes locked on his for the first time all evening and Cassian noticed that the left one had a darker streak of color in the middle of the gray, "Tell me more." she said, when a shiver rippled through her body.

He had to restrain himself from offering her the jacket. She would surely turn him down and then accuse him of shamelessly hitting on her and he'd dig his own grave even deeper, so, fighting every fiber of his being that screamed at him to hold her close to keep her warm, he said, "It's in a town near here. It's only a two-hour drive." he saw the hesitation in her at the prospect of having to spend all that time together with him cooped up in a car and added, "You can choose the music."

"You read?"

Cassian felt something blossom in his chest. She wasn't saying no.

He nodded, suppressing a smile, "Not as often as I'd like, but yes, I do read."

Nesta hummed something, "And what do you read?"

He didn't understand where this was going, but he was glad it wasn't him who was asking all those questions. Maybe she had agreed to his request and he hadn't even noticed and she was already starting to try to get to know him.

"Mainly historical novels." he replied hesitantly, afraid of her reaction.

The silence that followed lasted eons in Cassian's mind, but when she looked at him, he thought he would be silent for the rest of his life if it assured him that view every day.

Nesta smiled at him and he felt the air leave his lungs when she said, "Alright."

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[doctenwho]

Not a Cat Person

Summary: On a night stroll through the streets of London, Reader comes across a small, abandoned cat who wants nothing more than a home. The problem is, The Doctor is not a cat person. Besides, The Doctor’s no stranger to his companions talking him into things.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 3,783

*Gif is not mine, credit to creator*

As much as you liked exploring the galaxy with The Doctor, and seeing things beyond your wildest imagination, you couldn’t deny that it wasn’t nice to return to earth, your earth, every once and a while.  

You loved the TARDIS, and you loved seeing everything the galaxy had to offer, and meeting new and exotic people. There was so much you loved about your travels, and, well, things you could do without as well. You could do without the near constant threats, and attempts on the Doctor’s life, but, well, it was a bit of excitement ever so often.

Besides, what’s a little bad hidden in with all that amazing, right?

All that said though, there was just something calming about being on your home planet every so often. Where you weren’t constantly afraid something was plotting to kill you, or kidnap you, or arrest you, or try to poison you—and the list could go on.  

You didn’t have to rely on the Doctor, in fact, he relied on you a bit whenever you were on earth. He liked to trust the locals, and on earth, that’s exactly who you were. As strange as that was to think about.  

It was just nice to have a bit of a relax whenever you were on earth. Take the Doctor shopping, or home to see your folks and family. He didn’t like getting too attached to anyone, but he was always nice, and funny whenever around people you like and know.  

You just liked showing him a bit of normal, everyday, human life.  

And he enjoyed it for the most part. He was actually fascinated by it. He trusted you completely, and followed blindly behind so long as nothing seemed out of the ordinary.  

It was a two-way street, trusting the Doctor. He always gave back everything he received and so much more. He was one of the most genuine people (aliens?) you’d ever met.  

Today was no different than any other landing on earth, well, besides the almost crash landing.  

The Doctor had promised the TARDIS was perfectly alright and that she just needed a bit of a cool down before the two of you continued on to the next biggest and greatest thing the Doctor had found for the two of you to enjoy together.  

He’d opted to stay in and do a bit of fixing up, while you’d gone out to stroll around for a bit. It wasn’t ideal, because you still, even if you didn’t really need him, wanted him around just because he’s become a constant in your life. It was far better walking around earth with the Doctor, rather than by yourself.  

The Doctor had parked the TARDIS in an old alleyway behind your flat. No one usually came around, so the TARDIS would be safely hidden away while it charged up from all the travelling the two of you had been doing. You’d barely ever gone down this alley way the whole time you’d lived in the building beside it, and you knew it was common knowledge people tended to avoid it for one reason or another.  

You’d left the time and space machine in the capable hands of the Doctor, though you’d wished he would’ve joined you for a bit of human life exploration while the two of you were here. He’d been coming to earth for a lot longer than you’d existed, but there was always something new the Doctor would find amazing even on a simple walk around in the dead of night.  

The blue police box doors had shut behind you, your light source being shut away with them. You hadn’t planned to wonder off far alone. You hadn’t really planned on even leaving the alley way, just sitting outside and getting a bit of London air.  

It was nice breathing in your own planet’s air. It probably wasn’t much different to any other planet’s air supply, but it always felt more refreshing knowing it’s yours.  

You moved slowly along the openness of the alley, frowning thoughtfully at your dark surroundings. The closer you got to the main road, the easier it was to see with the dull lighting of the streetlamps that the government had opted out of putting in alleyways like the one behind your flat.  

There was a corner curb on the junction between the alley leading off and the main road, so you sat for a moment. The roads were baren at the early hour in the morning. It would be another hour or two before even the earliest shifts started.

It was peaceful; you could see some stars in the clouded skies, but it did not do justice to actually seeing the stars up close. The Doctor really had ruined earth star gazing for you—nothing could top actually being up there.

You drew your attention away from the sky only when something moved. You paused abruptly, pulling your legs in as something across the street moved. A can rattled along the pavement.

Your first instinct was to get up and move away, preferably to the TARDIS and the safety of the Doctor. You’d gotten quite used to that mindset throughout your adventures, the mindset that constantly reminded you that not everything was safe on your travels with the Doctor. You couldn’t trust things, you never knew what it could be, or what it could do—but then you remembered where you were.

Earth.

You knew earth. Quite well, in fact. You’d lived here your whole life; knew the ins and outs.  

The worst whatever was hiding behind the bin could be was a rodent, or some kind of urban wildlife. You almost laughed at yourself, being frightened of a rat, or something like that hiding out behind a bin.  

You let your legs fall back to a natural position on the curbside, deciding that whatever was back there, you could handle. It wasn’t really a threat��nothing like another planet could throw at you anyway. There wasn’t much harm the wildlife around here could do, beside tearing into rubbish bags, and scurrying at you to try and scare you away.  

The can rattled once more, and then it was rolling towards you. And following it, was a cat.  

The cat froze suddenly, noticing you sitting there, it’s can sitting at your feet.  

The cat was small, and mangey looking. It had bright green eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness of the night. It’s fur, midnight black, with patches of white, camouflaged with the shadows it was hidden in.

It didn’t hiss, or cry, or meow at your presence. It didn’t move to back away, or even really look bothered in the slightest.  

“Hi, kitty,” you whispered after a second, seeming to break the small, skinny feline from its trance. The cat made a little ‘purr’ noise before sauntering towards you and rubbing up against your shoes.  

Up close, in the light from the street lamp across the street, you noticed the mats in the cat’s fur. It had medium length fur, not really a long hair, but also not a regular short haired either. Its ears were perked up as it made little noises in your direction.  

It seemed happy to see a person, an abandoned family pet perhaps. It wasn’t the first time you’d come across a cat left in an alleyway when it wasn’t wanted anymore, but it still broke your heart. 

It was friendly enough when you reached over to let it sniff your hand, before it nudged your palm and nuzzled into your fingers.  

“You’re lovely,” you whispered to the cat. The cat tilted it’s head, almost as if trying to understand you before knocking it’s head into your palm again, seeking more affection.

It appeared to have been alone for quite some time, nothing but matted fur and skin and bones.  

“Are you hungry, little guy?” the cat meowed, quiet and scratchy, pawing at the lace on your shoe before standing up and rubbing against your shoes again. “Alright, alright,” you laughed, standing up and bending down to run a hand along the cat’s back, “I’m sure the Doctor will have something you’d like.”

You started walking back in the direction you’d come, unsure if your new friend would follow. To your surprise, it did. The cat swapped between sprinting to catch up to you, and sauntering beside you on your walk back to the TARDIS.

It made cute little noises as he moved, purrs and huffs, almost like it was irritated you were faster than it.  

You couldn’t help but love the little guy’s personality. You’d seen cats before—watched cat videos, hung out with friends who had cats, even occasionally stopped in the days before meeting the Doctor to call out to stray, or outdoor cats you passed by, but you’d never really seen one as friendly as the one on your heels.  

When the TARDIS finally came into view, you moved quickly to the doors and pulled them open.  

The cat hesitated outside the doors for a moment as you stepped through, then shot in behind you before you could close it out. You hadn’t meant to bring it in.  

You didn’t know how the Doctor would react to that.  

You had really meant to close the cat out, grab a can of something the cat would eat (if the Doctor even had anything of the sort) and feed it outside had it stuck around.  

You shifted your eyes around the console room, then snapped your attention back to the suddenly cautiously moving cat. It was empty besides the two of you.

The Doctor was not in the console room. You knew he was in the TARDIS somewhere, or else the doors would’ve been locked. Plus, he’d never just leave with you outside. He always made an effort to find you and inform you if he were doing something outside the TARDIS.

The cat walked along the metal grating on the floor, sniffing and exploring slowly, a bit more anxious than it had been outside, which was expected. You’d been anxious when the Doctor had brought you into his bigger on the inside box as well.  

“Come along,” you called the cat softly, walking down a hallway to where you knew the kitchen would be. The cat trailed along, maybe understanding, or maybe just afraid to be alone in this new place.  

You find exactly what you were looking for in the kitchen, a can of tuna fish. It was buried deep in the back a cupboard, certainly obtained before you started travelling with the Doctor. Maybe one of his previous companions enjoyed a tuna fish sandwich or something.  

You opened the can, and instantly the cat was walking circle around you, rubbing against your legs and meowing desperately at you. You shushed it, dumping the cans contents onto a plate and managing to move to the table the Doctor and yourself ate at without accidentally stepping on the feline.  

As soon as the plate was low enough for the cat to get at, it was eating. It was starving, desperate for food.  

You sat back in the chair as the poor little guy annihilated the plateful of fish. You were a bit worried the cat was going to choke with how fast it was eating.  

“(Y/N)?” the Doctor’s voice called, voice carrying through the hallways, “do you have fish? The whole place smells of fish,” he continued to speak, voice getting closer. Only a moment later the man was stood in the doorway, staring at you with his nose wrinkled, “you know, I didn’t know you fancied tuna fish--” he paused, studying you and your lack of fish before he sniffed, and his attention dropped to the cat licking the plate clean, “what is that thing doing in my TARDIS?”

“It followed me in,” you explained, waiting to see what would happen. “It’s very nice.”

“Is it?” the Doctor furrowed his eyebrows cautiously as he sidestepped into the kitchen, avoiding the cat and moving to stand beside you. “It looks mad.”

“It’s not,” you promised, “that’s just how cats are.”

“Not the cats I know,” the Doctor snorted, “still, what’s it doing in my TARDIS? Why did my TARDIS even let a cat in? Earth creatures are still creatures, they’re not supposed to be here. Not without my consent anyways.”

“Maybe she likes it?” you offered, standing and swooping down to pick up the finished plate as the cat licked its lips, then its paw to wipe at its face. “She liked me too.”

“That’s different,” the Doctor waved you off, “why have you brought a cat back here?” The Doctor repeated as if he honestly couldn’t understand your thought process, “you leave on your own for a half-hour and you return with an earth creature.”

“It was hungry, Doctor. It’s a stray, all skin and bones.”

“It looks feral,” the doctor frowned, “how do you know it’s not diseased or,” the man whipped out his sonic screwdriver and scanned the cat, scowling when nothing unusual came up, “I don’t know, what do earth cats even do?”

“What do non-earth cats do?” you retorted with a frown.  

“Experiment on humans and run hospitals,” the Doctor scowled, “what-bout that thing?”

“Seriously?” you wrinkled your nose in disgust, trying to decide whether he was being serious or trying to prove some sort of point. He gave a short nod, crossing his arms across his chest and scowling at cat on the floor. It had curled into a little ball, snoozing soundly now that it had been fed. “Earth cats mostly just eat and sleep,” you explained, “they’re companions to us, like dogs and other pets. I guess in a sense, I’d be like your cat.”

“You’re not a cat,” the Doctor frowned, almost looking offended on your behalf.

“You know what I meant,” you rolled your eyes. “Cats aren’t that bad,” you shook your head moving over to kneel beside the small sleeping animal, “it’s really friendly, see?” You ran your hand along the cat’s back and instantly the room was filled with soft purrs.

“That’s just unnatural,” the man commented, face twisting as if he’d eaten a slice of lemon. “I don’t like them.”

“It’s just purring,” you scoffed, “it means that it’s happy here.”

“Oh, great,” the Doctor gave a fake cheer, tone laced with sarcasm. “Well, it ate, it’s... it’s napped. It’s time for it to return to its home.”

“It doesn’t have one. It’s a stray, Doctor.”  

You paused, fingers continuing to scratch through the cat’s fur, snagging on mats. You turned to the Doctor with a widening smile, waiting for him to turn his displeased look from the cat to you. When he did catch your eye, the man’s face scrunched up, “no,” he said, “absolutely not.”

“Awh,” you pleaded, “come on, Doctor. It’s got nowhere to go. It lives behind a bin. Look how happy it is here...”

“No,” he repeated, “no cats. I really don’t like cats, (Y/N).”

“Space cats maybe,” you pouted at him, “it’s just a harmless little earth cat. You like helping people, don’t you? So, help.”

“People,” the doctor repeated, he was already starting to break, you could tell. The Doctor had a soft spot for each and every human companion he had, and you had a soft spot for animals, “I like helping people.”

“You like helping creatures,” you mended, knowing the Doctor couldn’t argue there. Not everything he helped was considered a person, “you’ll help anyone who needs you. And this, it’s a helpless little creature who’s been living off bin scraps.”

“And not well,” the Doctor snarked, distastefully eyeing the skinny feline now half in your lap.

“Exactly,” the Doctor eyed you thoughtfully as you spoke. You couldn’t help but grin as the man turned his attention back to the cat, his eyes softening just a little bit, “it’ll starve if we leave it...”

The Doctor’s stern façade broke slightly, and he sighed, reaching a hand up to run through his hair. He glanced over at you before sharply looking away as if seeing your face would be his final breaking point.

He didn’t say anything for a second, but you knew you won. You continued on, just to seal the deal, “’sides, the TARDIS likes it, Doctor. You’re not going to deny your TARDIS of a friend, are you? The cat will be here to keep her company while we’re out. She’ll never be lonely.”

“Now you’re just playing dirty,” the man gave another heavy sigh. “Fine... you can keep the bloody cat.”

You grinned, opening your mouth to thank the man, “but,” he accentuated loudly, cutting you off before you’d even started, “you’ve got to give it a bath. It’s filthy, and I don’t want it trekking mud all over the TARDIS. And, it’s not to go anywhere near the console room, last thing we need is to lose an earth cat on a non-earth planet-”

You opened your mouth once more to try and get a word in, but the Doctor continued on so you snapped your mouth closed and listened, “and don’t expect me to like it. Because I don’t. It’s here because you like it, and I suppose because the TARDIS likes it too, or it wouldn’t even be in here in the first place. I’m not a cat person, alright?”

“Done, and deal,” you agreed quickly, leaving the cat on the floor and standing to wrap the Doctor in a tight hug. He returned it easily, just as he always did when you showed him any affection. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Uh huh,” he sighed, the fight leaving him. He leaned over to press a kiss to your cheek to show he wasn’t that upset or put out by the idea of the cat staying in the TARDIS.

----

You spent most of that morning bathing and grooming the cat. He, you discovered, didn’t put up much of a fight, besides the regular ‘cat no like water’ fight. He seemed to enjoy being brushed, even as you picked patches of matted fur from his body.  

By the time you were finished, he was all brushed and cleaned. His fur was a silky soft texture and was a bit longer than you’d assumed when meeting the feline. He was honestly a beautiful tuxedo cat when he was all groomed, and he had the personality to match. He was a bit quirky, and full of attitude—which reminded you of a certain Doctor just down the hall in the console room, who was probably pouting that he’d been unable to resist giving in to one of his companions again.  

The cat was still super skinny, and would need to be fattened up to a healthy weight, preferably with actual cat food—but the remainder of the tuna would work until you could talk the Doctor into an earth grocery shop.

The Doctor, all groans and protests, managed to find an old plastic box in a storage room that he dumped the contents (old relics) out of and filled with samples of sand he’d collect from the Sahara Desert decades ago to analyze, to make a sort of make-shift litter box.

It wasn’t great, but it would do for a couple days until you could talk him into that shop visit.  

All in all, the cat seemed perfectly content in the TARDIS, and you’d even seen him rub against the Doctor’s shins much to the man’s disapproval.  

----

It was three days later that you were looking for the cat to feed, when you walked into the console room only to find the Doctor laying on the seat in the console room, the cat snuggled into his abdomen and the Doctor’s nimble fingers stroking his soft fur.  

You were a bit surprised, considering how against keeping the cat the Doctor had been. But it was adorable to see the man cuddling the feline as he was.

“Ohh,” the Doctor lazily looked in your direction, hearing your approach, “good morning, (Y/N).”

The Doctor paused, blinking up at you in though before hooking his fingers in a collar that was around the cat’s neck that hadn’t been there before. You studied the strap of blue around the cat’s neck, it didn’t appear to bother him. “I’ve made him a collar and a pet tag—that is what humans do with household companions, right?”

For a moment, the Doctor looked unsure. Something you didn’t see often. “Yeah, I mean, yes, we do. Collar and tag, good call.”

“Good,” the Doctor nodded, more to himself than you. He continued stroking the cat, hand brushing over the cat’s head to his back, “if he’ll be joining us, and he happens to get lost, my sonic screwdriver be able to track that tag. I don’t lose companions... cats included.”

You stepped towards the man with the cat curled into him, and lightly picked up the tag hanging from the new collar, you pulled it just enough so you could see an engraving on the front of the tag, without disturbing the content cat. Return to the Blue Public Use Police Box if found. was engraved in the address spot on the back of the tag. The name spot on the front remained blank, waiting for the cat’s undecided name.

“Return to the TARDIS?” you asked, smiling widely. If you didn’t know the Doctor you would’ve thought he was blushing at the mention.

“Well, I, uh...” the Doctor looked down at the cat staring up at him, “too much? I can change it to your apartment, I just thought, well...”

“That address won’t help if he gets out on another planet,” you agreed, thumbing over the engravement. “I like it.”

“Really?” the Doctor grinned brightly, “right then.”

You watched the man readjust himself so he was sitting up right, the cat barely stirred at all as he was transferred to the man’s lap. You smiled thankfully at the Doctor as you moved to sit beside him.  

You leaned back, grinning to yourself. You didn’t say anything for a moment, just watching the other’s hand card through the cat’s fur.

“Don’t expect me to like it,” you murmured in a poor imitation of the Doctor from just a few days before. “Because I don’t,” you continued to tease.  

“Yeah, yeah,” the Doctor snorted, lightly shoving his shoulder against your own without disturbing the cat. The corner of the Doctor’s mouth curled up into a smile before he attempted to even it as he huffed a light, “Shuttup.”

You laughed to yourself, leaning against the Doctor and reaching over to pet the cat, “anyways, have any name ideas for him, Mr not-a-cat-person?”

<><>

Ten is that guy who says no way to a pet cat and then the next week after getting said cat anyways, the cat is his best friend and you can’t change my mind. Also, prompts very welcome and very appreciated! :D

[shera-dnd]

A Day at a Time - Routine

So I decided to actually write one of those fic ideas I had and I’m starting with that that therapy cat Melog fic

*ahem*

Catra has just gotten past a pretty rough patch in her life and now lives alone with her therapy cat, Melog. Though she is mentally stable now, she's still lonely and having a hard time finding any happiness. There are two women in her apartment building who she sees every day. She has considered talking to them many times, but always stopped herself. Melog is not letting her do that for much longer

summary done, now let’s get on with the fanfic

~~~

Catra woke up to Melog licking her face. She yawned and scratched behind his ears a little, before getting up from her bed. She hadn’t needed to set up an alarm in a while, not because she didn’t care when she woke up - her therapist had pointed out several times how important keeping a routine was - but because little Melog would not let her oversleep, no matter how much she tried.

She dragged herself to the bathroom on auto pilot, taking her meds, brushing her teeth and washing her face. She stopped to look at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still short and she still didn’t like it like that, she had to remind herself every day that it would grow eventually, but she still felt disappointed whenever she looked at herself in the mirror.

Dragging herself back to the living space of her studio apartment, now just slightly more awake than before, she made herself a nice breakfast. Melog sat next to her, his little blue eyes staring at her as she ate. She got the message pretty quick and made sure to leave some for her little boy.

Stretching a little she made her way down to the lobby to check if she got any mail. She never got anything besides bills, but it was at least a reason to stretch her legs in the morning and not just stay locked inside her apartment all day. She didn’t exactly have the energy to go jogging everyday, like someone else in this building had.

Just on time that person jogged into the lobby and out of some lesbian’s wildest dreams. Her body was built like it had been sculpted in stone, her beautiful golden hair was tied in a ponytail, showing off her undercut and a scar on her left cheek. She looked like some mythical heroine in the flesh. She looked very hot is what Catra was getting at.

She always came back from her morning jog at about the same time Catra checked on her mail, so they ended up seeing each other every morning. She always smiled and waved at Catra as she made her way back to her apartment, but they never actually talked. Catra had thought about it, chatting with her, maybe going on jogs with her too, getting to know each other. She never did any of those things though. She simply didn’t have the energy to put into this kind of stuff right now.

She simply waved back at her, got her phone bill and made her way back to her apartment. She still had to clean up the place, have lunch, play a little with Melog, take her meds again, get ready for work - did she need to shave today? She was paying more attention to the hair earlier - she usually finished all that stuff early so she didn’t exactly have to rush, but she still saw no point in lingering here any longer.

The rest of her day had blown past her and soon it was almost night time and time for her to go to work. As soon as she stepped into the lobby again she ran into the other woman she saw every day. She dressed in the most basic office worker clothes possible, with the simplest black and white pattern, but her hair on the other hand was dyed bright pink and purple.

That clash alone was enough to catch Catra’s attention as they ran into each other every day. Making her way to work with the woman making her way back. She always looked so tired, but her eyes burned with a determination had never seen in anyone, especially not very short office women.

Once more Catra was tempted to greet her and once more she decided against it. The woman was tired and probably just wanted to get home and rest, Catra wouldn’t want to bother her. She should probably just make her way to work now.

The bus ride to the bar was quiet as usual and she was soon behind the bar, mixing drinks and chatting with people. Bartending was nice and she genuinely liked that job, not as much as she used to, but it was still probably better than whatever the pink lady did for a living. Sure, tips weren’t exactly at their all time highest now that she changed to an earlier shift and that she was less talkative, but it still managed to pay for rent and get food on the table, so she didn’t complain.

She got home at her usual time, finding little Melog asleep on the couch. She smiled at her pet before leaving a little treat for when he woke up, and made her way to the bathroom to take a nice relaxing shower. When she left the shower Melog was waiting for her in bed. She scratched the poof of white fur around his chest and neck. It contrasted against the black of the rest of his fur and acted really nicely as a ‘please scratch me here’ sign.

Giving her cat good night kiss, she laid down in bed and tried to sleep. Only when she felt the familiar weight and warmth of Melog sleeping on top of her, did she truly drift into unconsciousness.

~~~

Catra woke up to Melog licking her face. She yawned and scratched behind his ears a little, before getting up from her bed. She dragged herself to the bathroom on auto pilot, taking her meds, brushing her teeth and washing her face. She stopped to look at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still short and she still didn’t like it like that.

This had been her life for just over a month now. The routine helped her motivate herself, kept her stable… Or at least that’s what her therapist said it would do and so far it was working fine, she guessed. Still, that was all she managed to do; stay stable and keep following her routine. It had been months since she could truly describe herself as happy.

At least she had Melog. She smiled at her therapy animal as she got ready to go check her mail again. The little creature had been a blessing in her life, he was playful and a bit of a dumbass sometimes, but he was also full of affection and well behaved enough that Catra never had to worry that he would do something stupid while she was away. Except for today.

When she opened the door, Melog slipped past her legs and bolted down the corridor. Catra was so surprised she didn’t react for a moment.

“What the hell?” She murmured without thinking. Had Melog just done what she thought he’d done? Fuck. He did “Get back here, you stupid cat!” She shouted as she raced after him.

The little bastard had Catra chasing him down the stairs and into the lobby. Was he trying to escape the building or something? If he just wanted to go with her to check the mail then she could just carry his ass around instead of running through the building like a mad woman.

By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs she heard giggles coming from the lobby. She dragged herself there, just to catch little Melog running around and between the legs of a very tall and strong woman. That very tall and strong woman.

“Hey there,” She greeted Catra, smiling and giggling. “Is this your cat?”

[skrltwtch]

The Cat

Prompt: The most wanted woman in town has announced that she’ll only marry the one who can open her front door with the key around her cat’s neck. Many men try to hunt the cat down, chase and trap it, but to no avail. The cat is simply too quick, smart and clever, and always finds a way to evade and avoid them. You are the first one to figure out the obvious: Do not chase the cat. The cat is befriendable. Get the cat to trust you, to genuinely enjoy your company, and you can hang out with the cat. You may eventually be allowed to touch the cat. The cat will freely let you take the key.

Secondary plot twist: The woman is a shapeshifter. She is the cat. (Source of prompt in link at bottom of post.)

Word count: 1,840 words

Author's note: This is more of a little tale starring George as the lead and you as the mysterious woman, as opposed to a story about George MacKay the Actor. I kind of had Jack Marrowbone's look — and nothing else about him in that movie — in mind while writing this.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

‘Let’s play a game! I will grant my hand in marriage to the person who succeeds in taking this key off my cat’s neck and unlocking my front door with it. Oh, won’t that be such fun?’

Only she can pull off such a stunt. She has put the village under some kind of spell, and I am one of its victims. One of the more prudent ones, at least, in the sense that I know well enough that I’ll never be able to win her heart. She has an entire village of men to choose from, most more remarkable than I in looks and/or calibre. I am but a simple baker of average frame with blonde locks that wishes for no kinship with a comb and blue eyes that gleam with neither transcendental allure nor immense potential; unless she were an ardent consumer of bread and pastries, I have nothing to offer her. I simply admire her from afar, pine for a connection that is real only in my wildest dreams.

No one quite knows what it is about her that sees a constant line of suitors supplanting her shadow whenever she comes into the village. That is to say, she isn’t not beautiful, neither is she not gracious. She keeps to herself mostly in her quaint cottage on the edge of the village. Her isolation and magnetism have made her the subject of many a fevered whisper: she is a witch, an enchantress, a nymph. Despite what one may think, the women of the village don’t resent her for the effect she has on their eligible male compatriots. The wedded men remain capable of remembering their vows in her presence. In that vein, her paramours are on equal standing: single, virile men who want to have the unhaveable.

Her game has sent the men into a frenzy. It’s amusing to see adult males chase after a cat, one just as unassuming as its owner. They hunt it, as if it were game. They harass it, as if it were a nuisance, an obstacle to their perceived prize. They seek to capture it with elaborate traps. They line the fishmonger’s pockets with gold for her finest catch of the day. It’s all for naught. The cat is, they’ll never admit to themselves, smarter than them. The days pass. She continues to wander around the village without a ring on her finger. The cat continues to taunt the men with its presence, parading the key around its chest like a gibe at their failures. It’s curious that they are never seen together.

Me? I don’t try. I’m not presuming myself to be above this endeavour. I do slip into reveries about emerging victorious every now and then. But see, the other men had never grown up with cats. The thing with cats is, you don’t try. You don’t try to get it to do what you want. You don’t hound a cat. And, as with all living things, you certainly don’t antagonise it. So, I bide my time.

That day soon arrives. As a customer leaves, the cat makes a mad dash into the bakery, maintaining the balance of two beings inside. It glides over the counter, its tail a hair’s breadth away from toppling the display of sourdough bread, and seeks refuge behind some boxes. Shortly after, Edward, its tormentor for today, it seems, enters and calls for the cat. Edward is a cheesemaker, with whom I interact solely out of business necessity. Our families go back a long way, our trades intertwined with one another’s. I do so long for someone else to assume the mantle from Edward.

‘Where is it? I saw it come in here,’ he says.

‘It’s behind here with me,’ I say, ‘but I’ll be damned if you dare make a scene on my premises.’

‘I can respect that.’ His response takes me aback. It seems I am not a contender, much less a threat, in this game of cat and mouse. Edward’s never been one to mince his words. ‘That cat will have to leave eventually, and when it does, it’ll be mine.’

‘Good luck, Edward. Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye, George. Thank you for having the good sense not to participate in what would be a futile endeavour for you.’

There it is.

I wave at him. He doesn’t reciprocate. It doesn’t matter: watching his outline fade into the distance and out of my sight for another day will never not be the highlight of our interactions.

I feel a warm presence weaving in and out between my legs. I kneel down to meet the cat’s gaze, two yellow diamonds set onto a doll-like face coated in pure onyx. I have wondered on occasion if some of the men’s malice toward it arises from the mere virtue of its colour. How preposterous, I imagine them thinking, that something as divine as she should possess such a vile creature. I offer it my finger. It gives it a tentative sniff. Two. Then it turns its head so that my finger is on its cheek, and it starts rubbing it. Its eyes are closed in contentment; its throat rumbles with soft purrs.

‘Did Edward hurt you?’

‘Meow.’ A once-over confirms it.

‘Are you hungry?’

‘Meow.’

I take that as a yes. No one has ever answered otherwise to this question while surrounded by MacKay creations. I grab a pumpernickel bagel from the counter, tear off a chunk, and lay it at its feet. As it eats, a metallic glint almost blinds me. The key. It calls to me. What’ll happen if I reach for it? What’ll I prove to Edward, who is patrolling the street outside, waiting for the chance to resume his reign of terror? No. I won’t. I don’t.

I speak to turn my attention from the small sheet of metal that’s turned the village upside down: ‘Are you having fun being the centre of attention? She must be relishing the peace, not having men fawn over her for the first time in a while. Is that why she hasn’t been visiting lately? I don’t fault her. It must be exhausting,’ I say, as I continue to ply it with bits of bagel.

It looks up at me, and it sizes me up and down. Its head cocks at what it’s registered in its mind’s eye. Of course. How rude of me. ‘I’m George,’ I say.

It rubs its head against my outstretched hand.

‘Nice kitty.’ I give it the rest of the bagel and lead it to the back door, through which it can avoid that scoundrel Edward and find safe passage home. ‘You can bring it back for her. Your mistress. Then maybe you can let me know if she liked it.’ I smile wistfully. ‘We’ve never actually met.’

‘Meow,’ it promises, then runs off.

Over time, more and more people quit the quest — Edward included. The unhaveable isn’t as appealing when it becomes haveable at the expense of hard work at best and deep gashes at worst. Her increased bouts of absence, too, seem to have made people’s hearts become less fonder, as if her glamour is wearing off. In contrast, the cat and I grow closer. We bond in my bakery. Then it stops coming to visit. I worry over whether it’s because someone else has succeeded. I work up the courage to go to her house. Seeing the cat play in her garden, the key still around its neck, fills me with relief, and I pick up from where I left off here in the grace of her garden. Oddly, she is never around when the cat’s there.

I make it special baked goods no one else has or will have access to and tell it to keep some for its mistress. I never find out whether she likes what I bake, but the cat definitely does. I tell the cat about myself in the hopes it’ll tell its mistress about me. I play with it using toys I buy from Christopher the merchant; he is happily married and has never shown interest in her. The men who gave up have spurned me for not taking the key when I’ve had ‘so many’ chances. They talk among themselves. I know what they say about me.

The truth is, I don’t know what’ll happen if I do take it. The cat and I have befriended each other. Will it think lesser of me for taking the key? Will I think I was befriending it under false pretences? It’s silly, I know, to care this much about what a cat thinks. But I suppose the cat is an extension of her. I feel so close to meeting the woman I’ve adored for the longest time, the woman who I knew in my gut from the moment I laid eyes on her is my soulmate. Sometimes I sneak glances into the house to see if she’s there, watching this. The cat redirects my attention to it when it catches me doing this, and I’m all the happier for it.

‘You’re lucky,’ I say to the cat. ‘You get to be with her while she doesn’t know I exist. I’ve loved her since I first saw her in the village. It’s foolish to feel like this about someone you don’t know, doesn’t it? But I know she’s kind and patient and has a good soul, and I know my heart flutters every time I see her.’

The cat jumps onto my lap. Its yellow gaze burns into me. It’s right. I don’t know what I was thinking, pouring my heart out to a cat. ‘You just want rubs,’ I say, and I’m happy to oblige.

It turns itself over, exposing its belly to me. I feel … honoured. In all our time spent together, this is the first time it’s done so. I slowly reach for its belly. When there is no sign I’ll lose my livelihood from what I’m about to do, I stroke it generously, fervently.

Then it uses its paws to nudge my hand toward the key.

I stop. ‘Are you … sure?’

‘Meow.’

I repeat my question. My hand has found itself an inch away from the key.

‘Meow.’

If it says so.

I undo the chain the key is on.

Suddenly, I am blinded by a white light, and — the air starts to smell of roses. It is a familiar aroma. I don’t need to use my sight to know why that is. But I don’t understand.

‘Hello, George.’

Before I can answer, I find myself in the kind of embrace reserved for lovers. My lips press up against hers, and I feel my world fall away in bliss. The warmth of her skin is unlike anything I ever felt. It’s magic. Pure magic. And now I understand.

‘We will have the rest of our lives to know each other better, love,’ she says, smiling, her eyes shining yellow under the sunlight. ‘Now, would you like to come in?’

[mraaronwhite]

THE GOLDFISH

We sat in the conservatory of my weathered, beach side cottage, overlooking some tomato plants and a splintered oak bench that I collectively called my back garden. Now, being a cottage, you would be forgiven for thinking that this was a small affair, the kind of cottage that malicious, child-eating witches would inhabit deep in the woods. Not this cottage though. There was actually too much room believe it or not. Well, too much room for a man and his cat at least.

You see, I grew up in a cramped, narrow excuse for a flat in Edinburgh. Usually being able to touch two opposing walls at once. So, when I inherited this place, a fortnight ago, from my recently deceased Aunt, it was a breath of fresh air to say the least. It felt like the perfect excuse to have a party. Not to celebrate my Aunt just dying (she was a grumpy old boot, mind you) but rather the fact that after twenty-three years of always wanting a place of my own, I finally had it.

I messaged the group chat, letting them know of the upcoming shindig to mark my housewarming, informing them that they would all be coming. None of them having a choice in the matter, I joked. There were ten of them in the group, eleven including myself, and we had been inseparable since the later years of high school. That fact surprises most people actually. Given that when folk head off to university, college or go backpacking through Asia, they normally lose contact. After all, it’s a perfect chance to reinvent yourself, and doing that sometimes means saying goodbye to some folk.

Not us though. We had to be different. Having nearly been out of high school for as long as we were in it, our collective friendship was as strong as it ever. We hadn’t all been together in nearly a year as well, so when I sent out the invites, they all jumped at the chance.

 The night itself exceeded my wildest expectations. We laughed, we sang, we laughed again. It was a night of pure merriment and happiness and it will live forever in my head as one of the high points of my life.  As I sighed a breath of relief when I moved into my sand surrounded home, I did the same when I saw all my friends together again that night. My face literally started to hurt with the amount of smiling I was doing, which only made me smile all the more.

All good things must come to an end though I thought, and as the clock flashed one in the morning, the designated drivers began ferrying home their passengers. Before they left however, we had but one tradition to enact. An exclusively Scottish ritual that you have to do at the end of a good party. Listening to Runrig’s Loch Lomond at full volume and jumping up and down like a bunch of toddlers on a sugar high. Once the song was over however, the party was too unfortunately. One by one, they said their farewells and staggered down my grassy strewn path. They waved and honked their horns until eventually they fell out of sight, becoming part of the jumbled mess of streetlights and other late-night travellers.

 I ventured back inside my new home and couldn’t help but feel lonely. Lonelier than I had in a while. At least I had Bean though, I thought to myself. She was my ashen-haired feline companion, and we’d been through thick and thin together. I don’t know what I’d do without her to be honest. She’s a nervous wee thing though and doesn’t do well around crowds, so had been chilling in the spare room for the night. That was until I opened the door of course, and then she was out of there at damn near mach four.

As she sniffed and scratched her way around the room, I flung myself into the heap of cushions and blankets people had sat on in the conservatory, their lazy attempt of tidying up before their departure I concluded. I sighed, letting out a small chuckle. Planning on just kipping there for the night, I shut my eyes and soon felt myself drifting off into the endless depths of my unconscious.

A distant toilet flushing filled the house and swiftly brought me back to reality. Then click clack, click clack, click clack. Footsteps. They were closing in and at this point I was on my feet, starting to panic. I had never been in a fight before, but I was about to be if my theory of a murderer checked out. In my drunken state, I never thought to question why someone would go to the toilet before killing me. I looked about the conservatory, trying to see something I could use to defend myself and grabbed the first thing that came to me. A tube of Paprika flavoured Pringles. In hindsight, I could have probably picked something a little more useful, but hey ho, that’s what a night of binge drinking and anxiety gets you. Then as the “Murderer” got closer, she appeared in the doorway. Clio DeLuca. My best friend.

 “Where did everyone go??” she said, cool as a cucumber, leaning on the frame of the door.

“They left like half an hour ago” I replied, my face a picture of confusion “What the hell are you still doing here though?? We all thought you left ages ago” I asked, half laughing, while letting out a sigh of relief.

“Funny story. I went to the toilet and kinda just fell asleep half way through.” She told me, sitting down the arm of the raggedy couch. Then flopping onto my makeshift bed, that I had been nice and comfy on only moments before.

“What are you like??” I said, now properly belly laughing. “You might as well get comfy, the buses stopped at eleven.” I paused “Sooo, do you want another drink?”

“Yeah but my heads splitting, nothing hard.” I was about to offer her some of the special stuff but she got in before me “Oooh in fact, have you got any hot chocolate??” She asked, looking up at me with those wild green eyes, that I first met oh so long ago.

“Now we’re talking” I exclaimed with glee “I’ve got just the thing!” I then marched off into the kitchen, meeting Bean as she was having a nibble at some of her biscuits. I flicked the kettle on and shouted through “What one you fancying then?”

“I dunno - hic” she mumbled. The sounds of her then rolling off the couch and wandering through soon followed. “What kind - hic - you got?” she asked, parking herself at my breakfast bar.

“Weeeell” I started, opening my cupboard I that housed my secret obsession “I’ve got your normal supermarket kinds - Cadburys, Galaxy, Bournville?”

“Yeah, one of them is fine” she chimed in.

“Nah, that’s the boring stuff. I’ve also got white chocolate, orange, peppermint, vanilla bean, salte” Bean scuttled into the room, hearing this, thinking I was talking to her, to which prompted Clio to scoop her up.

“Well hiii, where have you been hiding all night??” Bean purred, gladly accepting the cuddles and attention. Clio looked back up at me, staring through her shadowy locks that fell onto her face like a waterfall in the night. “Please continue” she smiled, nodding at the cupboard, all the while still scratching Bean’s belly.

“Ah yes, where we, so we’ve got salted caramel flavour, cinnamon, apple pie and the Pièce de résistance of my collection, genuine Peruvian hot chocolate.” I turned back to her “Think I’m gonna go for the Peruvian blend, you?” I asked. She was back looking at Bean again, given her some more lovin’. She’s always had the attention span of a goldfish, and I always found it quite funny. “I’ll just make the you the same” I laughed.

“Sorry, aye, sounds lovely.” I spooned the mixture into two bulky mugs, hearing purring and some meows coming from behind me. “Sooo” she started, “When did you become the Ramona Flowers of hot chocolate?” she jested.

“What you talking about, I’ve always been into hot chocolate?” she started to speak before I cut her off “Cream and marshmallows by the way??”

“Ooh yes please” Her eyes lit up “But yeah, I know you’ve always liked it but this is like obsessed. Like I’m scared if I don’t like this” she paused, while pointing her head at our mugs “that you might actually kill me.” She looked so sincere as she told me this.

“Shut up” I pleaded, in the moaniest voice I could muster “You know, I don’t have to let you sleep here tonight, I’m doing it out of the pure goodness of my heart.”

“Nah I’m being serious, and once the papers find out, you’ll probably get a cool nickname as well. The hot chocolate killer, perhaps? Whadda ya think, Bean?” She gave a solemn meow.

“Fuc..” she cut me off, looking aghast, while covering Beans ears.

“There’s children present” she shot back, with a hint of faux anger and a wry grin. I then simply mouthed my retort, all the while giving her the finger. Then, just as quickly, she flipped it right back at me. We then both had a good giggle as I stirred our drinks, plopped in the marshmallows and squirted the cream on top.

“Shall we?” I asked, while gesturing to the conservatory with my head as my hands were full. She cradled Bean like a new-born, stood up and we both made our way through.

 I gently placed our steaming mugs down on the glass topped coffee table, moving some meekly filled beer bottles out of the way to give us some room. We both fell back into the warm embrace of the couch, prompting Bean to hop out off Clio’s lap and curl up between the two of us.

My Bluetooth speaker, which sat in the corner atop some books, echoed out the tunes of my Spotify playlist which I had shuffled at the beginning of the party. Turning it to a whisper when folk left, I turned it back up again to fill the room with some life.

Looking about, the room, and the rest of the house was an absolute state. Crisps everywhere, too many cider cans to count and an embarrassing amount of smarties lay scattered about the floor, from when I was trying to toss them up and catch in my mouth earlier in the party. A dozen or so polaroids were sprinkled about the place as well, and when one caught my eye lurking under the armchair in the corner I got up and quickly collected the rest. “Get any good snaps?” Clio asked, while taking a generous sip of her hot chocolate, leaving a lovely big creamy moustache under her petit, turned up nose. I smiled, deciding not to tell her. “Daaamn, this is gooood!” she exclaimed, in a warm, satisfied tone, telling me she loved the drink just as much as I did.

“Told ya!” trying to not look smug “Let’s see here” I pondered, thumbing through the small pile of photos. “Hmmha” I grinned, looking at Clio, who was puffing her cheeks and making her eyes go crossed “That’s a good ‘un” handing it to her. She flung herself back onto the seat, seeing the picture.”

“Oh my God, what the hell is wrong with us?” she chortled, leaning forward again to take another sip of the sweet goodness. Her face then quickly soured “Can you skip this one, it reminds me of when I worked in Asda. They played the same six songs on repeat. It was actually hell.”

“Us!?” I asked her, while I pulled out my phone, skipping to the next song “Speak for yourself! I take only good photos.”

“Is that right?” she laughed back, cocking her head, proceeding then to snatch the bundle of photos from my hands. “We’ll see about that” in a determined tone, while furrowing her brow. I took the opportunity to indulge in the heated sweetness of my mug and no less than ten seconds later “Here, look at this, what the hell are you doing with your lips?” shoving the polaroid at my face.

“Its called blue steel, look it up” I confidently hit back.

“I dunno what that is but you LOOK like a goldfish”

“I think you’ll find I look damn sexy” making sure to sound as cocky and arrogant as I could.

“And by sexy” doing air quotes with her fingers “I take it you mean the lesser known definition of the word, meaning to look like you live at the aquarium at Dobbies?” she ranted, putting one her best condescending voice as she could.

“You know, sometimes, your words, they hurt.” Looking back at her, attempting to appear actually upset and offended. She could always see right through my piss poor acting skills though, and we both just started giggling again.

This is the norm for when me and Clio hang out. I make fun of her, she makes fun of me, we laugh about it and on and on it goes. It’s been our routine since primary four, when we first met, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The rest of that night was no exception, we bantered about for a bit then did some actual serious talking as well. Our sexuality, putting the world to rights, family shit. The usual kind of deep topics you chat about after a night of drinking and partying, and before we knew it, I looked at my phone and it flashed 4:33AM.

  Bean had migrated over to the open window by this point, she was doing some serious loafing. Presumably to cool down I thought. The dregs of our hot chocolate sat in the now cold mugs and the two of us were cosy under a massive blanket. Her head gently rested on my shoulder.

I peered out through the double doors that lead to my garden, amalgamating into the sands and shells of the dark beach. The North Sea lay before me, stretching as far as the eye could see, eventually bleeding into the never ending abyss of space. An army of stars littering its canvas, shining down on us mere mortals below.

I stared at the colossal entity that was the cosmos, trying to make shapes out of its burning suns. I was at a loss at how the early astronomers of prehistory were able to see anything apart from a jumble of distant polka dots. “Hey” I whispered, gently nudging my shoulder.

“Hmm” She softly moaned to let me know she was listening.

“Do you see anything up there? You know, in the stars.” I continued, still whispering. She craned her neck back and opened her wild grassy eyes to look up at the sky above.

“I dunno” she looked from corner to corner, eventually pointing toward the right of where we were sitting “There’s Orion’s belt.”

“Nah like I mean something new, not an already existing constellation.” I prodded.

“I really can’t say. What can you see?” she asked, shutting her eyes getting comfy under the blanket again. I gazed about the dark blue sky with great curiosity. Then, directly in front of me, high above the wispy clouds I faintly made out the shape of goldfish. Probably because it was on my mind from earlier, but nevertheless, I could see it clear as day. I jostled Clio’s head once again.

“Look, there, right in front of us. Can you see a goldfish?” Groggily sitting up, she focused to where I was pointing and tilted her head.

“Yeah, I can actu…” She trailed off, as did my music. Both of us were looking at the fish in the sky, but now, the stars in our newly discovered constellation were twitching and swirling. They also began glowing much brighter than the other stars in the sky. Both of us were transfixed. The whole thing eventually started pulsing. Going dim and then shining bright. It was slow at first but then gradually got faster and faster. Then, and I’ll remember this moment until my dying day, it appeared in front of us.

 There, in the obsidian blackness of the sky, it shone down on us. A gargantuan, glowing goldfish. It swam about as if we were looking through the cold, wet glass of an aquarium. Darting about the night sky as easily as it would have underwater. Its visage, although similar to a normal goldfish, was still very different. Apart from the obvious size distinction, the one before us existed purely as an outline defined by the stars. Its body was see-through, the same inky darkness as the rest of space. I couldn’t believe my eyes, and neither could Clio given her jaw was almost touching the floor. We were both outside by this point, wanting to get as clear a look as possible.

“Te.. tell me you’re” I mumbled “you’re seeing this as well” I eventually mustered, breaking the silence.  Clio simply nodded, staring unblinkingly at the godlike being as it swished and swooshed through the cosmos.

“Okay” she finally said “Either we’ve fallen into some weird sci-fi novel or you spiked my hot chocolate” trying to make sense of the impossibility of what was happening.

“Why isn’t it cold though? I asked, looking up and down the beach, and after a few moments had passed, she eventually processed my question prompting her whip her head at me.

“There’s a massive floating fish made out of stars in the sky and you’re worried about the weather? She half yelled, with great incredulity.

“Clio, its 5 in the morning. In February. In Scotland. It should be freezing.” She thought about what I was saying and looked about as well. “Its warm though, and there’s no wind.” I paused “And no noise for that matter.” I paused again “I don’t understand”.

“It’s weird” she started “I feel like I should be scared or freaked out or… something” she looked at me “But.. it feels right. It feels like we were meant to be here. To see” she paused, looking back at the fish who was still merrily swimming about the sky “whatever this is.”  I felt the same way, in my gut. I knew that whatever was happening wasn’t meant to hurt or frighten us. So, I began walking forward, taking Clio’s hand as I did so. We walked far onto the beach. It was still warm, still completely quiet.

We eventually reached the waters edge, as close as we could get to the being in front of us, when we notice that the sea itself had stopped. It plateaued to a complete halt. No waves. No tide. Nothing. It looked like a gigantic mirror, that stretched out past the horizon. Reflecting everything that was happening above. I bent down and dipped my fingers in, expecting it to be solid but it was just as wet as the normal sea. Just completely still. As if someone had hit the pause button.

 I sat down, cross legged on the shore, as did Clio, and we watched the fish for hours. It swam to the left, to the right. It swam far away, getting smaller, then past the horizon only to jump up again as if it was a dolphin doing tricks.

The sky was gradually getting lighter, now a dusky blue, and we both knew that the fish’s departure was upcoming. Potentially any minute now. It suddenly came to a gentle stop, high in the twilight sky. It was looking right at us, into the deep-seated depths of our souls.

Now, I’m not an emotional man, it takes a lot to upset me. Even the most heart wrenching of films doesn’t evoke a reaction. But at the very moment, I couldn’t help but shed a few tears. Not out of sadness, or even happiness. It was just raw emotion. I could tell by Clio’s sniffling that she was having a similar reaction.

Then, as mysteriously as it arrived, it vanished. Its image fading back into the now pale blue of space. The stars that made up its outline, in their original position. It’s retreat from our world meant that it was back to normal, and in perfect synchronisation, the temperature dropped to just above zero, the wind blew at our backs and the once static waves drenched us in salty seawater.

Needless to say we both screamed out in discomfort, then looking at each other deep in the eyes, we embraced. I hugged her tighter than I had ever before, never in my life had I felt as close to someone as I did in that moment and I could tell she felt the same way. We swiftly then ran back to my cottage to warm up. After a nice warm and soapy shower, a fresh change of clothes (her having to borrow some shorts and a hoodie) she joined me on the couch, where we first saw the big fish, only a few hours ago.

 We sat in the conservatory, in silence for the most part. My tomato plants blew in the wind, gently tapping against the glass of the doors. Bean now sitting, curled up between us. Purring softly as I patted her silvery fur. Clio eventually spoke.

“Y’know, no one is gonna believe us” she said, in a solemn tone.

“No” I sighed, while shaking my head.

“Then why should we tell them” she exclaimed. “They’d think we were insane”. I acknowledged her sense; everyone, anyone we told, would think we were mad.

“I just don’t get why” I interjected, to which she looked puzzled “Why did that happen to us, what does it mean?”

“Does it have to mean anything?” I couldn’t help but furrow my brow, not being content with her answer “Look” she began again “When you see a sunset, a deer in the wild or you’re caught in the middle of a thunderstorm, do you ask why?” She paused, looking at me “No, you just enjoy them for what they are. Beautiful acts of nature.”

“But what we saw, Clio. It was Impossible. It shouldn’t have happened. It defies all the laws of physics that we know.”

“So?” she said, shrugging, casually as ever.

“So, don’t you want to know how all of that was possible?”

“Of course, I do, but even if I did, it wouldn’t make what just happen any more meaningful. In fact I think it would detract from the whole thing.” She could tell I was confused, which only made her smile, sit right next to me and take my hand in hers “When you see a magic trick, when you see a magician pick the card you were think of from thin air, what’s the best bit about it?” She said, looking right at me, with her wild green eyes. I thought about it for a few seconds.

“The trick” she smiled even wider “The mystery of it all and the trying to work it out.”

“And if you knew how it was done?” she continued

“It would ruin it.”

“Exactly.” I finally got what she meant and appreciated our night-time visitor all the more. I put my arm around her, pulling her into another hug. Gently kissing her on the side of her head.

 Things aren’t beautiful because we understand them or know when they’re going to happen. It’s the fleeting mystery and spontaneous nature of it all that truly makes it exciting. The late-night conversations, when you can’t stop dancing with your pals, warm hot chocolate, a cat’s affection, silly photos with funny faces and stargazing with your best friend. Its moments like these that make you really appreciate the wonderfully weird gift of life.

[ivyveil]

Feeling Spirited

the one where it's a throwback to when Harry and Y/N were just friends and Y/N's drink helps her forget

A/N:  A Continuation of LITP (masterlist here) TW: alcohol 

The sky was dark. Had been for weeks now, the clouds clustering together to formulate something thicker than the water making up their essence. A fog was settling, clouding up your thoughts or ability to rationalize any of your actions. Acting with blind impulsiveness didn’t align with the rest of your usual characteristics; even your wildest nights generally took prior planning, but bottles had been a source of solace against the bitterness of confusion, the anxiety of life.

It hadn’t been an issue, not really, because you knew how to handle yourself when drunk, and knew the reaches of your limitations with alcohol. But trouble started brewing when your 5:30 pm started when everyone else began their 9:30 am. And when you thought you were only going for one more drink, but ended up with four glasses in your sink.

The drinks in the morning were simply to calm your nerves, settle the anxiety bubbling in your lungs. And the one at lunch was to offset the chance you would freak out in the middle of your presentation, and the second was because the restaurant offered you a free one.

Was only polite to accept.

It had spiraled into drinks at sporadic times throughout the day, never so many as to make you stumble while walking back to your desk, but certainly enough to only need one or two more when you went home, to slip over the edge. Even looking at a bottle seemed to get your mind in a safe place.

Nestled between the space of your wall and the bedroom bookcase, was a plastic bottle of Smirnoff, half-empty and pitifully groaning as it was tugged out. The books watched silently, probably feeling much superior because they were considered a more refined pastime.

The vodka didn’t seem to give a fuck.

You winced considerably when it popped out of its hiding spot, the familiar panic gripping your bones that you were a teenager again. Hiding alcohol from parents, keeping it in safe spots so any stranger’s eyes would only spot a pristine home, a girl who respected cleanliness and experienced minimal, if any, breakdowns.

The truth was always nestled somewhere deeper, whether it was beneath clothing in drawers, behind bookshelves, in the back of your bathroom cabinet, or underneath your bed. The truth usually tasted like shit, too.

That you were in your 20s and continuing the practice of secret drinking, of playing pretend to appease some authority that wouldn’t give a damn, now that your license said you were of age - it both amused and disgusted you. A restricted sense of adulthood, surely, a lack of freedom to openly be the drunken mess you felt inside. Perhaps it was acceptable to turn a blind eye to it in adolescence, but when you had become a regular at the liquor store, it felt more like a ruse.

Suppose it replaced your blood, you wondered, holding your arm up to the lamplight and inspecting the hint of veins against your skin. Suppose it congealed in the veins, a substrate for your demons to thrive on. Perhaps it could be better than the life of intangible anxiety that crept against each wall, became every shadow, lurked in everyone’s unsuspecting glance.

The nerves were rattling in your teeth, you could feel the invisible bugs of anxiety nipping at your chest and legs. If this was what it took to become calm, maybe it wasn’t so bad. Only a few drinks, more people probably did it than they would confess to.

“It was another shit work day,” you divulged to your cactus, padding back from the bedroom, to the living room, only to shlump against the couch. The cactus only watched, perhaps having come to the conclusion its advice would never be properly considered and it was only a waste of breath. Or photosynthesis. You weren’t sure on the particulars of horticultural language.

“I can’t scratch off how fuckin’ lonely everything feels,” you continued, mindlessly itching at your legs, not needing to be prompted by anything in particular.

Your apartment felt hollow, exasperated by the emptiness in both mind and soul. Curling up on the couch with some bottle had become a ritual, of sorts, yet you weren’t sure what good could come of it.

A shrine of glass and plastic bottles decorated the spaces above the kitchen cabinets, around the corner from where you were presently cuddled. Each one tallied a few night’s of shame, but cumulatively you supposed it was a nice Pinterest trick. Show the nonexistent guests how bougie you were, buying cheap whiskey and vodka. Make them think you had parties all the time, when they were only parties of one.

Your glass was ready, waiting patiently on the table, as you filled it to the brim with the nasty clear liquid.

“I think you’re my true love,” you cocked your head at the glass, taking it in for all its perks and limitations. Regardless, it was still there with you. All that mattered, to an extent.

You couldn’t really stand the shit, had to stick your tongue out like a fucking cat after each shot to bear the taste down your throat. But drinking wasn’t particularly for enjoyment, not these days. It was like a medicine to keep yourself calm; it felt like your whole life revolved around it, because to an extent, it did. But your sanity was on the brink of collapsing, and you were determined to do whatever you could to keep yourself calm.

It was at that moment, with your eyes squished shut and your tongue smacking against the roof of your mouth to distract from the sensation, that your phone buzzed. It was also on the table, next to the stack of marbled coasters and the multitude of TV remotes (why did services give you three remotes for one machine, you still didn’t understand).

I’ve missed you. Wanna come out tonight? x.

Harry and his mates, the group you loved and hated equally, would gather for beers at the Ale Tavern each Thursday evening, a letting-off-steam of sorts before the glorious Friday blessed their workload. Harry had met them through various means, photoshoots, interviews, or just networking events, and had hodge-podged the group together so you two would have a social setting to hang out when he was in town.

Which was, you reminded yourself, mostly because your friends list was lacking at the moment. Most of them, dear to your heart, had received promotions or were traveling around the world for the majority of their work, while you waited at home for nothing to happen. And for nothing to happen again. And maybe once more, for the heck of it.

Some of the group’s members, the ones teetering on the outskirts like leeches, looking for a better opportunity, often treated you like you were off, a bit. A screw loose in the mind, an instability in your essence.

When words came out of your mouth, their eyes would instinctively widen, as if your breath was mixed with unregulated insanity and electric nonsense, so you’d typically keep to yourself. Was the only way to survive the brutal bar nights, with small talk and curious glances at your best friend, who would spend the whole night dodging questions and smiling for photos.

Harry found your silence weird, every time, since you were often the life of the party within his other social groups. You felt his other pals were more genuine, allowing you to exist unapologetically. Plus, small talk was practically banned at those hang-outs, which was another reason you felt you got along well with them.

With your Ale Tavern group, though, Harry had the tendency to nudge you gently, when you were in the corner of the booth stirring a Long Island, and ask you what was wrong. Which would, in turn, increase your unwillingness to be engage with more people -- because why were you well-known for being strange, why couldn’t you simply be a dilution of yourself and pass as OK?

Another buzz, another text.

You poured another shot.

I’m proud of you btw, you’re doing really well. x. :)

Another buzz, another text.

You winced before knocking the shot back, your tongue shooting out on instinct after.

Speaking of, should I come over? If you don’t want to be around drinks…

Giggling to yourself at the unfortunate timing, you swayed a bit on your couch and repositioned your legs to tuck under your ass. One of the green blankets draped over the couch fell to the floor during your transition, and your eyes trained on that spot, waiting to see if it returned.

It didn’t. Gravity was a fucker, only headed one way.

Harry was sweet to care, truly, but if he saw you in this state you knew how it would go. The disappointment would swell in his eyes, he would gently try to pry the bottle out of your hands. Thinking about the situation, even as a possibility, made your fingers curl against the plastic a bit more stubbornly.

“It’s too late, I’m nothin to be proud of,” you informed your phone, frowning as you attempted to scroll up further in your texts with him. There was nothing, though, but it didn’t register until it buzzed once more, and your scrolling resulted in a new text appearing.

I’m just gonna come over. Is that okay? xx.

“Okie dokie,” you mumbled, poking each letter with your index finger until the message was spelled. You sent it.

The cactus groaned in the back, whispering to the lamp, “He is going to be so fucking pissed when he sees her like this.”

Harry was the one who consistently found you passed out at the bar a few streets away from your home. The bartender had found your phone the first time, when Harry was calling (and the ringtone was an obnoxious version of What Makes You Beautiful that you had stumbled upon once, not an important detail but once that made him blush at the time) and had informed Harry that his friend would probably need help leaving, given your state. His number became a regular one to call.

So Harry would help you home, rub over your face gently with a washcloth in a hearty attempt to get off your makeup, and hold your hair back when you came to and felt the drinks for a second time.

Quiet pity and a particular sort of confused hurt would reflect in his eyes, when you had the guts and stability to look at them. He was usually under the impression you were staying home, getting over a cold, busy with work, etc. - and that was why you weren’t able to make it to some mutual friend’s birthday party. After all, that was what you had told him, anyway.

Neither you nor Harry spoke about those nights, when it was the morning after, or even any night after.

You had sent him a text, weeks ago, after guilt had rusted away the stubbornness in your bones. You informed him you were going to try and stay sober for a bit, not liking the way it had made you feel. He was happy about it, it seemed, because the worry was absent from his smile the next time you ran into each other. His hug was a bit tighter, but then again, that was just Harry being Harry.

Your soberness lasted four days. Then you were back, standing in front of the cabinet, with that pathetic acceptance you loathed about yourself. How one aspect of your soul could so resiliently rule the rest, made no sense. You didn’t know how to fight it, though, and so the glasses and bottles came out once more.

You gave your cactus the most awful side-eye you could muster, before extending yourself fully out on the couch. Your fingertips felt like they were touching clouds, clouds intermingled with the deep current of black waters, which meant you had drunk a bit more than you had meant to. An accident, surely, but it didn’t stop you from rolling over on your side (and almost off the couch), huffing at the bottle.

It glugged like a drunk whale trying to drown, pouring out another shot.

Someone was stroking your hair. It felt nice, the rhythm of their fingertips against the curls, stopping at the edges of your forehead, before moving back and gently starting again. The motion was kept on one spot of your head, as well, which was a personal favorite of yours. The movement throughout the whole head was just craziness. Everything had a greater chance of messing up when it came to full-head-hair-strokes. And only one person had heard that drunken rant before (except for your cactus, but that usually kept to itself about your rants. As most cacti do.)

“Yeh up?” someone mumbled, throat thick. They sounded half-asleep, and their fingers slowed as they waited for an answer.

Your head was still smashed against a wave of Smirnoff, too blurred to put two and two together and recognize the need for a response. Anyway, you didn’t appreciate the fingers stopping, so you grunted softly to signal that.

They didn’t continue, this person seemed really fucking set on getting you speaking. Your mouth felt glued, in a thicker, denser sense of the word. Your tongue felt perfectly content resting against the back of your teeth, your lips staying shut.

It was when you became steadily more aware of your surroundings, how it wasn’t a pillow under your head but denim, smooshed against your cheek. How your head was sloped up from the rest of your body, how a blanket was tucked around your person and even your toes were covered by the tassles on the end. You were on someone’s lap, surely, and in the depths of your mind you wondered, with a slight giggle, how scandalous a drunken night alone, in the comforts of your home, could get?

“Who’s asking?” you managed to croak, your fingers reaching outwards from the confines of the cozy blanket, seeking the bottle you knew would’ve been hidden at this point. The question was pointless, you knew him by his cologne. Hell, you knew him from how he stroked your hair, for Christ’s sake.

It was the improbable sense in your gut that hoped it was someone like Chris Evans who had you cuddled up against them. Maybe he was in the midst of robbing your home (Marvel might’ve gone through budget cuts, it happened to the best) before stumbling across your sleeping body. Maybe he found your Chinese takeout, too, because you were awful at remembering to eat leftovers. Although it would be disturbing on most levels of sanity, you could find the loveliness in the situation.

If it were Chris Evans, that is.

“Harry. ‘Ve got long hair, ‘m yeh best friend. Yeh told me I could come ove’’,” Harry teased quietly. It was sort of unsettling, how humor was in the words but his actual voice was void of emotion. He was worried.

You were quiet, unsure if this was a situation in which Harry would take over the conversation if you stayed silent long enough. There weren’t many words you had to say, anyway, your present situation must have been clear enough when he walked in. Plus, his knee was nice to rest your head against. Speaking would just lead to eventual motion, which was already turning your stomach at the thought.

The two of you listened to the distant hum of your freezer kicking into place from the kitchen, the soft rattling of ice cubes tumbling into the tray you had set out. Harry seemed content on waiting for a response, of any type, or maybe to see if you fell asleep. It was entirely possible this entire conversation had happened earlier since Harry’s arrival, and you had passed out again.

If you were to move your head, you felt, something really unfortunate would happen. Like vomiting. Or the world ending. Or having to look Harry in the eyes.

His fingers stopped fully, just resting against your cheek. They were embers, most definitely, and you wondered if you could start a trend for Harry Styles Cheek Burns. Probably wouldn’t catch on. Bit of a health hazard, perhaps. It was difficult to know for sure, because once a thought formulated in your mind it seemed to expand outwards into the galaxy, becoming so diffused in the stars you weren’t able to piece it back together again.

“What’s been goin’ on, Y/N?”

His eyes were on the back of your neck, trailing up to your cheek. It wasn’t unsettling, how you could feel his gaze with your mind – or, at least, it didn’t feel so, at that moment, with him. It was just natural, how you understood him.

He sounded tired. He sounded like he had been working on asking, for a while, and the slight strangled noise that twisted the softness of his voice signaled that you had really fucked up. This wasn’t a joke, anymore, it wasn’t for shits and giggles like it was when you would out-drink his Irish friends at the bar.

All Harry wanted was an answer, a few words so he could just know what to do. Alcohol was an issue with a few other friends, ranging from binge drinkers to alcoholics, and Harry was comfortable enough spending nights dry with them. Essentially, he was comfortable because they told him where their boundaries were, and he could navigate those easily.

Yours, on the other hand, were completely blank. How it felt, to watch you slip out of your daily self, into some shell that no one else seemed to notice, it drove him crazy. How was he supposed to ask why his best friend was leaving, how he could stop it?

There was no way Harry could order you to quit drinking. To be honest, he didn’t know if it was just alcohol, and some subconscious level of his mind was on alert for that phone-call. Another one, with you shlumped in some dim-lit bar with seedy men clinging on the walls with tongues snaking out, sniffing the vulnerability in the air. Or an even worse phone call.

Shudders erupted from the base of his neck, down to his spine. He didn’t even want to think about it.

He didn’t know how to save someone who didn’t want to be saved. Someone who wouldn’t even open up to him about it. He wasn’t sure how to respond with you not talking to him about it. You two were best friends, he told you things his own mother didn’t know about. What could be so bad, you couldn’t tell him?

Entering your home to find you, initially unresponsive, on the couch with a hand dangled against the carpet, a bottle clutched in your fingertips, was nothing short of terrifying. His heart had plummeted through his stomach, his chest felt tight and he wondered, with the worst case scenario always coming first, if you were alive.

“Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck. C’mon Y/N...this isn’t funny, c’mon wake the fuck up - oh my god, c’mon don’t leave me here, wake up.”

Helplessness could only sharpen its hold on his throat with time, his voice growing steadily higher-pitched, when he didn’t know what had happened. After gently (and then roughly) shaking your shoulders, and finding that you weren’t unconscious but simply napping (“I thought yeh were dead, Jesus Y/N, don’t do that again”) and he had chuckled a bit when your eyebrows came together, not quite stirring enough to register his panic, and you had dipped again in the haze of dreams.

The smile on his face seemed maddening, the swelling tears in his vision seeming more appropriate for the situation, but he supposed it was simply a reaction to overwhelming ‘what the fuck’ feelings. This wasn’t one of your stupid jokes, the type where he would laugh without realizing because you had laughed at yourself, which just triggered him to laugh more and – no, this was something beyond the scope of seriousness that he knew how to deal with.

You were fine. You were fine. You were okay. It was just a little too much to drink, the coldness of your hands was just normal. You were fine.

He had lowered himself onto the couch, moving your head to rest on his lap, so his fingertips could feel your pulse as he stroked your hair with the other. Authorities weren’t needed, he had felt, you were just napping. (He had still texted his family doctor, though, just to make sure.)

“Just had a drink o’ two,” you whispered, staring at the wall.

He hummed, his fingers resuming the strokes against your cheek. Harry could tell it calmed you down, how your breath evened out and your eyebrows relaxed. Even as you were coming out of the safe space of intoxicated padding, even when the glimmer of soberness clung to your eyes, he needed to feel you physically there.

His heart hadn’t stopped feeling tight.

“Wanna tell me why?”

“I don’t know.”

The words left you in short gasps, as your fingers curled against the denim of his jeans. Your eyes stayed open, glazed over slightly, somewhat with tears and somewhat with that emptiness that had been ripping you apart lately. How was something so non-existent so prevalent in your existence? And why was it that all you had nowadays, was a bunch of ‘how’s and not much else?

Harry nodded slowly, sniffling quietly. Maybe you didn’t know the words, you couldn’t explain what you were feeling. Maybe he was beginning to understand that he couldn’t understand. That the spaces of your world were compressing in so many angles, it was dizzying the amount, the walls were closing and you were the only one in the room. He couldn’t enter it, he couldn’t pull you out.

“Do yeh need to throw up?”

The familiarity in the question, it pulled from his lips without hesitation or urgency. He was used to this, you realized, guilt flooding your senses and kicking some of the haze away. Harry’s nights with you were, nowadays, commonly associated with toilets and toothbrushes, with him gently prying a bottle out of your hand and listening to your rambles that mainly consisted of the various alcohol brands you could think of.

You nodded, knowing the nausea hadn’t gripped your eyes shut yet, but it would soon.

“’Kay,” he sighed, raising his arms so you could scoot out, “let’s go on, then.”

Once more, it felt too much like a routine. Like a horror movie where you were lost as to how you got here - in a schedule that felt both so normal and incredibly wrong. 

He shouldn’t have to do this, he shouldn’t have to be here.

It was all you could think of, a looped tape in your mind, with his broad hands carefully holding onto your hips to help you maintain your balance. (You had started refusing to be carried to the bathroom, after Harry hadn’t made it in time. Wasn’t one of your better nights, that was for sure.)

Harry had even gotten in the loose habit of braiding your hair as you were bent over the toilet, your legs immediately going around and him sitting close behind. It was reminiscent of those massage trains girls used to do at sleepovers, but more ‘adult’ and trashy. 

“C’mon, feel like that one was the last?...No, ‘kay, that’s fine, yeh just gotta get it all out, hm?” Once your hair was plaited, his hands would softly rub against your back until you nodded, signaling it was over for the night. He would normally be quiet for it all, having spent the night clubbing with you and attempting to switch out your drinks with waters, but this time was different.

“I want yeh to do what makes yeh happiest.”

You had rested your cheek against the cool lid, not feeling the next wave of nausea. It seemed like you were in the clear, your head’s pounding had substantially lessened, but you didn’t move. Harry had more to say.

“And this, this isn’t it. You’re the best friend I could ask for, Y/N...I can’t watch yeh like this, anymore.”

You sniffled, nodding bleakly and with a shaky hand, you wiped underneath your eyes, reaching up blindly to pull at a few tissues to mop up the mess on your face. Harry’s hands drew to a still, before gently resting on your shoulder.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah? Talk ‘bout it in the mornin...yeh can call off work, and we can figure it out,” he promised. Harry made a mental note to email his therapist for some recommendations for alcohol abuse therapists, just for resource options.

When you had the courage to look behind you, the voice in your mind faintly recognizing you hadn’t looked at him directly that night, the first thing that caught your attention was the tear streaks down his reddened cheeks. His eyes seemed bigger than normal, looking at you cautiously.

Harry gave you an attempt at a smile, the wells only overspilling with the action. He gave a little shrug with his shoulders, as if saying ‘what can be done about it?’ before patting your shoulder twice.

Hastily wiping at his cheeks, Harry slowly rose to his feet, sniffling, all while you were still curled against the toilet. You watched him silently, the disgust that typically followed your night’s routine finally catching up and settling in your bones. If you could crawl out of your skin, you would’ve, no second thought.

Harry held out a hand for you to hold onto, carefully helping you up, waiting as you wearily brushed your teeth and gargled some Listerine, and led you over to your bedroom. No words were exchanged between either of you, but as the covers were pulled back, you pulled your arm out from Harry’s light grip, staring at him.

“You shouldn’t have to do this,” you shook your head, “I’m sorry I’m like this. You shouldn’t have to do this.”

Harry had moved over, settling in on his side of the bed, pushing one of the pillows over to your side (he only liked having one, for some reason). When you spoke though, he immediately started shaking his head.

“Stop it, won’t hear it. I’m here ‘cause I wanna be...if I didn’t wanna be, I wouldn’t. I care about yeh, want you safe.” It was clipped, not unkind, but to the point. 

You didn’t respond, letting the night cover over the conversation like a drape, a thick blanket taking over your eyelids. Nestling under the covers, feeling the warmth of another human being to your left...hearing the rustling of the covers as Harry got comfortable beneath them…

You felt the cover lift from your body as Harry moved underneath it, his arm securing around your waist and pulling you comfortably closer to his chest. His head tucked against your shoulder, his lips pressed familiarly against your back. You smelled like alcohol, as if it stained your pores, but he didn’t mind too much. Just liked knowing where you were, that you were safe.

“Harry?”

Words felt different in the complete dark, more confessional. It was safer, to say these sorts of things. As if they could be more easily written off, than it spoken during the day. Your mind was shutting down for the night, you could see the swirling storms of dreams out against the grey horizon. But you just needed to say...

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For not leaving me.”

“’Course. ’M forever yours,” he mumbled, holding you tighter.

“Goodnight, Haz.”

 “Night, love.”

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

A/N: Check the masterlist of LITP here, and let me know your thoughts if you would like!  

[raccoonpatriotism]

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Random, Useless Headcanons | Accepting

i like how i keep labeling this meme as “accepting” when i have…. 260 of these right here.

1: Has he driven a car before? Yes. Should he be allowed to keep driving? No.

2: You know that “I’m washing me and my clothes!” vine? That’s Jane. It’s efficient.

3: If you gave him Cat Food he’d say it’s the best thing he’d ever tasted.

4: Before going to Poland to serve his time, he hired a sex worker. Her touch would be the last non-violent physical contact he would feel for the next 9 or so years.

5: 

6: He donates a healthy sum of his paychecks to wild animal and veteran charities. 

7: Jane’s ‘friendship’ with Merasmus is the longest relationship he’s ever held.

8: Jane doesn’t believe in the number 8.

9: He doesn’t have any titty mags, but he does have tasteful pin-up for the inside of his locker.

10: He’s an excellent swimmer - but will sometimes forget to hold his breath. 

11: Getting Jane to imprint on you like a baby bird is really easy. Be strong, be patriotic, be funny, be determined. 

12: He trusts everything he’s told from someone he views as a friend.

13: He’s been on BLU before - it was brief.., a WAR! got started and ended. A few years went by and he was balanced to RED

14: Continuation of 13, it was… very easy to get him to believe he was always on RED team.

15: He loves fighting robots - but nothing compares to the feeling of a neck snapping in his hands.

16: He taught himself how to use every weapon he came across in Poland - it took a few years before he ran into a rocket launcher…. His life was changed from that moment onward.

17: His knowledge of the US military comes from tv and stories from veteran home he was forced to work at through his older years at the orphanage. (Outdated or complete bullshit.)

18: The liveliness of America is just one of the innumerable reasons he loves the country. Even things he hates (like.. war protesters/hippies) have this determination in them that makes him proud.

19: He’ll pick ear wax out of his ear, sniff it, grimace, and happily hold the finger out to somebody near him.

20: He only wants the best for you.

21: Getting him to realize he’s actually ended civilian’s lives is a conversation that would take over an hour. His brain has the wildest, irrationally rational excuses ever. (”Officer Miss Pauling, what I am about to say will SHOCK you; I was framed” will never make me not lose my mind. ilove him)

22: His moral compass is, admittedly, terrible, but he genuinely wants the best for people in the world.

23: Helping people, serving his country, that’s his goal. That all he wants out of life. He’s a cog in the machine of war and he loves it.

24: Consequences don’t exist in Jane’s world.

25: He’s so fucking bisexual. This headcanon is not useless at all.

26: Jane snores like a chainsaw - and will then be absolutely silent for spaces of minutes.

27: He never covers his face when he sneezes.

28: He’s very touchy feely - A way to make up for what he so clearly craves.

29: But god this man wants to be touched.

30: As much as Jane holds back on admitting to weakness, he’s also just a genuinely honest guy so simple prodding usually gets him to spill.

31: Jane has never purposefully manipulated someone in his life.

32: He’s only ever seen one movie. Well, more like registered he always zones out at some point. Sometimes starting the movie in a day dream and zoning back in to catch the ending. The movie he’s fully seen was watched through 3 separate sessions.

33: War films, what he does catch, always make him cry.

34: With everyone he meets; Jane immediately thinks of two things. How to kill them. And what to say when holding their guts into their dying corpse and crying to the sky.

35: He has no idea he’s beautiful.

36: Jane doesn’t have a self-effacing bone in his body.

37: He chews with his mouth open, and speaks with his mouth full. He’ll also snap at someone else to stop talking with their mouth full, it’s disrespectful.

38: Jane had a dream where he beat Communism and thought it was true for a whole year.

39: He’s not dumb on purpose. He has nothing to gain by making people think he’s an idiot, as far as he’s concerned. He acts like himself 24/7

40: Jane invented that song Fifty Nifty United States song that’s song in elementary schools.

41: You know those kiddie leashes? You could put one of those on Jane and he wouldn’t be, like, “Okay.” Try and run off and be like “What contraption is holding me here?!?!?!”

42: The answer to life, the universe, and everything is American Apple Pie

43: i just realized im gonna get to answer a headcanon 69 and got excited. UHH jane likes the color red.

44: Jane likes the color blue.

45: Jane likes the color white.

46: Jane loves all skin colors, anybody can be American.

47: Has he retained any American history? Haha. Ha. No.

48: Jane was taken out of elementary school for bad behavior, lack of attention, and general ruckus.

49: His orphanage never tried to send him back to any schooling. 

50: Jane was born July 4th, he doesn’t know that, despite claiming it.

51: He’s not an amnesiac - he’s never had a strong sense for long-term memories. 

52: God, he loves bread.

53: And also he loves taking everything Engineer says literally. He’s such a wise American.

54: Jane would absolute trollface and say “Problem?”

55: He would never say a slur.

56: Jane does not use fuck as a curse ever. He’ll say it, but like, to mean, y’know.

57: He’s a follower, don’t tell him that. He’ll get offended. 

58: Jane is convinced the President is the most powerful being in the world, and is also granted special powers.

59: Jane is progressive, baybee. He thinks dogs should vote!!

60: UNLESS IT HAS TO DO WITH WAR. Then he’s, like, a total bootlicker.

61: He’ll beat up racists in bars.

62: Jane really came alive during Grey Mann’s first robot attacks - for the second time he felt like he was protecting America and not some Very Important American Gravel. 

63: If Jane ever got sentenced to prison, he’d just serve his time.

64: He has Lawyer Powers given to him by magic, and he is not afraid to use them.

65: Besides Scout, he has represented himself, Lt. Bites, and the state of Tennessee in court.

66: He was a bad roommate, he genuinely thought Merasmus was an even worse roommate. 

67: Extreme Cold is a surefire way to trigger his PTSD. He doesn’t act all that different verbally, but he becomes entire still. Not even moving to shiver. It’s like he automatically transfers to late stage hypothermia.

68: Jane may have never played baseball, but he’s briefly been on a bowling team.

69: ayyyyy. Jane always returns the favor, if ya know what i mean.

70: I can’t tell you how much he can lift because I know nothing about fitness, but it’s a lot. And it’s impressive. 

71: Jane practices unsafe workout routines! It’s a miracle lifting without a spotter hasn’t killed him yet.

72: He makes up for his genuine stupidity with Pure Luck.

73: He’ll kill, he’ll maim, but he won’t assault. 

74: Jane’s favorite chocolate is Hershey’s.

75: He’s convinced Milton Hershey, founder of Hershey’s Chocolate, was a President despite him being alive in Jane’s lifetime.

76: Jane isn’t afraid of gay thoughts, never payed attention to period typical homophobia going on around him therefor never got a chance to develop it.

77: Jane would totally be the type of guy to see one of those Fireman Calendars and zone out staring at some dudes pecs and someone asks him if he’s okay and he’s like “I’m ogay.”

78: It’s a miracle, the first time Jane rocket jumped, his legs weren’t blown off. He was injured from the fall, surprised he’d gotten air at all. It was an accident and, while he’d never go to recreate it during his time in Poland, when he’d gotten hooked up to respawn and he saw all the high perches, the trick reoccured to him.

79: He loved Tavish so much

80: He was born in Tennessee, although he grew up in Wisconsin.

81: He’ll make odd little sounds - aborted sentences, thoughts lost to the depths of his brain. You can point them out and he’ll have no idea what you’re talking about.

82: He could have a possum mixed in with his raccoons and think it’s a raccoon.

83: He takes his Ranger Job very seriously. Just as serious as he does all his jobs. (So, you know. Not… very.) He is very enthusiastic at least!

84: He’s not empathetic at all, however energies at Large in a room really affect him. Chances are, if everyone’s in good favor, he’ll be really happy and relaxed - even if previously grumpy.

85: Jane can be really grumpy, that’s when his drill sergeant personality shines through - more often than not, he’s just a good natured loud patriot rolling with the punches of life.

86: He believes in the Judeo-Christian God, but also… believes the president is stronger than God? Sometimes? Depends on the situation. What is blasphemy haha?!?

87: Jane always wanted a puppy - meeting Bites, future Lieutenant, was like a dream come true to him.

88: Plus, he’d always liked raccoons - often responsible for tipping over dumpsters at his orphanage to help the little critters.

89: Jane can and will eat out of the garbage if not stopped.

90: He’s very passionate and strict about what he knows are fact (the issue is, facts can change pretty easily in jane’s head.

91: Good thing he has a helmet because Jane’s puppy-dog eyes are the sort that are clearly un-practiced and unintentional and thus made all the more soul-wrenching. 

92: He’s always surprised by doorbells.

93: Jane would never smoke weed of his own volition, but under the influence, everything would make So Much Sense to him.

94: I’m talking the wildest stoner sayings, that always are so structurally sound it’s scary.

95: This man loves cashews.

96: “Mm crunchy things.. good.” - Shared thought by Jane and Lt. Bites.

97: Lt. Bites likes to curl up on Jane’s stomach when he’s sleeping. Jane often wakes up with his face covered in scratches and fur in his mouth. Much like the Soldier, the Lieutenant isn’t quite a sound sleeper.

98: Fuck, like, he loves cashews so much? The texture is amazing.

99: Jane has no illegitimate or legitimate children.

100: Jane loves his team almost as much as he loves America.

101: IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR scroll back up and read everything, LOSER otherwise… wow………you love soldier. me too…… 

CONTINUED HERE

[takethepresent]

August 23, 2018 - Innocence

Eventually, I realized that nothing that my ex is doing now is new. It is simply an accumulation of everything she has avoided dealing with in the relationship.

None of these behaviors are new. I am used to both minor and major versions of this script. Surface the guilt. Become afraid of losing me. Push me away. Become cold. Act heartless. Then breakdown. Let the tears flow. Realize how much she loves me. Feel guilty. Try to do better. Repeat.

I understood even further. We were long distance for two years. She was used to cutting off this part of herself every time she would go long distance. She programmed it into herself. She cut this part of herself off to avoid feeling the pain of missing me. We would only see each other 4 times in the year. Ironically, these past 5 breakups were spaced apart in a similar time frame. Furthermore, they were on my birthday, Christmas, Valentines day, before our trip to Austin, and our anniversary. These moments were moments of so much love. However, it would cause her to surface all of her guilt. The moment she felt any guilt, she would try to break up again. The cycle continued.

Specifically, I had an attachment to my ex related to sex. Our sex life was so beautiful. I'll save the details. What eventually happened is that I realized I was dependent on her to love my inner "freak". I was a very sexual person, and I was ashamed of that. I felt like a freak in the "bad" way as well. At first, memories of this surfaced. Then there were memories of just sensual experiences. Then there were just romantic memories. Then there were just memories of us as friends. I started to understand.

I was dependent on her to accept and love my dreams. That was the very first part of myself I thought was crazy. As a young child, I always wanted to do the impossible. I wanted to be a professional athlete in soccer, basketball, track, etc. I worked so hard as a young child. I think my first heartbreak was when I stopped playing soccer. I gave up on my dreams.

This pain eventually became romanticized and sexualized, hence my attachment on my ex. I always liked to do the impossible. I had done that my whole life, but I had become dependent on it to cover up the pain from losing my original dreams.

I manifested an "impossible" relationship. Ironically, I also saw her as my dream girl. I felt like I did the impossible by helping this girl from her most destructive times to flourishing times. I even did the impossible with video games. I liked to play difficult games and master them. I was always like this with so many things. As I uncovered all of this, I also uncovered all of this innocence underneath the guilt. The memories of me and my ex started to pour in. I could finally remember all of the good memories again.

We had such an amazing time together. She really was an amazing person. I remember why I stayed with her despite everything that went on. She would express the cutest, purest love to me. She loved me with her whole heart. I was her best friend. She was so excited to see me. She didn't even like sex until I came along. She started to explore that side of herself. She didn't even like being healthy until I came along. Now she is all about vegan nuggets. She was ashamed to like anime until I came along. Now she talks about it freely. There are moments when she would be so innocently in love with me. I would never see that part of herself around anyone else except me. It was when she was happiest. She would act like an innocent cat. She would be so playful and goofy and silly. She would laugh and have so much fun. She would be so interested in spirituality and multidimensional concepts. She would also be passionate about helping animals. She would love herself so much. She wouldn't pick at herself as much or judge herself in the mirror. She was so present and mindful. She would even realize so many things about herself and her subconscious patterns. She was so beautiful.

Then that part of herself would fade the more she spent time with others, especially her current roommate. I kept fighting onward despite the way she treated me because I could never forget who she truly was inside. I loved her so much, more than I had ever loved anyone. She was so precious to me, and I wanted to protect her from everything, even herself.

It worked, so I kept fighting. I would somehow get her to confront herself, and she would grow. The other controlling personalities would lose control, and her true self would come back out. She would thank me so much. She would be so grateful for me. She would be amazed that I was able to work through her defense mechanisms and understand her emotionally. She loved me so much. She would cry and thank me for never giving up on her.

I cried so much realizing that I loved myself in all of those ways. I loved myself in the ways I loved her as well as the ways she loved me. A lot of memories surfaced related to this. I realized how much I had always loved myself, how I never gave up on myself. I realized how innocent and pure my love was for myself. This even applied to all of the memories in high school and before that I judged. I realized how innocent I was to do the things I did. I saw the scared child inside me. I saw the scared child inside of my ex. I saw the scared child in everyone who believed what she said. I saw the scared child in everyone.

Something that sticks out is how my ex denied her dreams even though they were manifesting right in front of her. She self-sabotaged all of it. Her dream was to move in with me, to have a space of our own with the cat. It would be a nice apartment that she could decorate and have plants. We would have friends over, mainly my friends because she likes to be around my friends a lot. She would be financially supported to do what she wanted. She could finally pursue her entrepreneurial/creative ideas. I would even have the platform and resources to help her do that. She wanted to travel with me to different countries, which we could afford if we were together. She would form genuine relationships with people who were passionate about the same things she was. She could pay off all of her debt. She would go to sleep with me and wake up to me every night and morning, which is what she always dreamed of. She would have an amazing speaker system, amazing material things that would improve her quality of life.

All of this is exactly what she had always dreamed of our entire relationship. When we were long distance and missed each other, we would always talk about how we were almost there. We would eventually be together. There would eventually be no more long distance.

However, whenever it would come close, she would self-sabotage. The first time she pulled this script in a major way was right before she was going to move in with me in my old apartment. She admitted that she got scared of being so dependent on me. Abandonment issues.

The last bit of this cycle is how this mirrors me. If she is denying her wildest dreams, what am I denying? I kept manifesting people who would deny the blessings right in front of them. They would complain about wanting something and it would literally be right in front of them. They would be attached to their old ways of getting those things even though the new ways right in front of them were so much better.

I kept manifesting people who were so amazing, but refused to see it.

What is my wildest dream? My wildest dream is to be a leader in the conscious shift. My dream is create content that inspires, heals, and connects people. My dream is to create an online network to do so. My dream is revolutionize the health industry. My dream is to completely understand suicide, depression, and anxiety in a way in which massive amounts of people can finally heal. My dream is to inspire the next generation of leaders. My dream is to leave my mark on this world in a major way. My dream is to create huge waves of change, huge waves of unconditional love. My dream is to raise the conscious awareness of this entire reality.

I deny that dream every single moment of the day. Every single day, I choose to believe in these limiting beliefs that I know do not serve me. Every day, I choose to use fear to control myself. I take the comfortable route. Every single day, I see so many opportunities to invest in this dream, and I deny them.

Deep down, I didn't feel like I was worthy of this dream. I felt like this dream was for someone else more worthy. I felt like this dream was only for the most respected, passionate, strong, compassionate, wise, intelligent, loving people.

How can I feel so unworthy of my dream?

I created it. It is an extension of me. It is an extension of my vision, of the reality I have created. I am just as amazing as the dream.

I deserve this dream. We all do.

Nothing I am going through is new. It is simply an accumulation of me denying my dreams.

I have noticed that we have an attachment to pain, an addiction to pain. We actually derive pleasure from pain, not too far from masochism.

Why do we feel we must go through suffering to deserve love? Why do we feel like fear and suffering is necessary? Why do we feel like we need to suffer to grow?

When we are dreaming, we pinch ourselves to see if we are dreaming or not. If we experience pain, we are "real" and "alive". If we do not experience pain, it is just a dream.

What does it mean to be real? Why is suffering required for something to be real?

It seems like we created our identities around suffering.

It almost seems like we create identities as a way to block out fear. It's kind of ironic. We use fear to block out fear.

I realized how attached my ex is to unnecessary suffering. She found a diamond in the rough and felt like she didn't deserve it. She deserved to suffer.

I am the same way. I deny my dreams every day when I become attached to any kind of outcomes. I am fully surrendering to my divine path, my soul purpose. I surrender universe. Do as you please.

I am traveling to Pennsylvania soon to onboard for a project. It is symbolic since my ex went to Penn State. We were long distance for two years, and I hated Penn State because of long distance. Penn State triggers so much in me. When she was at Penn State, our relationship was most destructive.

It's almost like being at Penn State gave her most destructive self an outlet to self-sabotage away from me. Now that she is back home, she doesn't have those destructive people in her life anymore. It all comes out toward me. All she has is her roommate, but her roommate isn't blatantly destructive.

In fact, now that I think about it, her most blatant destructive behavior comes out as breaking up with me and cutting me off.

[chicagocityfclanspromoblog]

Isla Johns → Rebecca Rittenhouse → Raccoon

→ Basic Information

Age: 118

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Pansexual

Born or Made: Made

Birthday: June 28th

Zodiac Sign: Cancer

Religion: Christian

Like Isla? Consider taking her in our Nimble Giveaway Event! We will be waiving applications para samples, personalities and histories requirements for all canon nimbles. Just send in the first and last name of the nimble(s) you would like to the main.

→ Her Personality (one to two paragraphs)

→ Her Personal Facts

Occupation: Magazine Editor in Chief and Liaison

Scars: None

Tattoos: None

Two Likes: Change and Inclusive Beauty and Fashion

Two Dislikes: One-liner jokes and Coco Chanel

Two Fears: Judgement of her lifestyle and Large birds

Two Hobbies: Cooking and Yoga

Three Positive Traits: Genuine, Kind-Hearted, Tactful

Three Negative Traits: Passive-Aggressive, Cowardly, Decadent

→ Her Connections

Parent Names:

Hugh Johns (Father): Hugh was changed a few days after Isla was. Unlike Defne, Hugh took to the change well and never blamed Isla. However, Isla did grow bitter when Hugh did nothing to stop Defne harshness and mental abuse. Hugh loved his wife more than his daughter and Isla carries that around still.

Defne Johns (Mother): Defne has always blamed Isla for her change and removal from her lifelong dream of becoming a nurse. At first, Isla didn’t understand what was going on nor why her mother suddenly hated her but it didn’t take long for her to realize that she was the cause.

Sibling Names:

None

Children Names:

None

Romantic Connections:

Lee Boaz (On again-off again Boyfriend): Isla and Lee have been dating on and off for decades. Many of the ons and offs being her own fault. She loves the Lee that she knows. Who is funny and loyal and is completely and totally in love with her, despite the nonsense she’s put him through. But he is not like that with everyone and she has heard all the complaints about him and Tim and she feels torn. People will assume she condones all his actions, or that she sides with the predators; maybe they’d think that she’d be a terrible person to go to with their problems. She changes her mind on it almost daily, especially since she does love him. After Simon lost Lilah, Lee asked if they could give it a serious try. She agreed and they’ve been together for months without any hitches.

Platonic Connections:

Elizabeth ‘Liz’ Snow (Co-worker): Isla likes Liz, but she is helping run their pack into the ground. She is trying so bad to make Percy’s wildest fantasies come true, that she’s missing the part where she’s become Tony Soprano. They pay off people to keep quiet about changes, and are blatantly ignoring the interpack violence. She doesn’t know what to do to wake Liz up about the situation they’re in and feels trapped. She hasn’t told anyone about her concerns and is trying to fix it from the inside before it gets worse.

Percival “Percy” McCormick III (Leader): Isla has been struggling majorly with her conscience when it comes to Percy. She knows just how badly things are falling through the cracks, and is the one who receives all the anger from the pack about it. Isla is well aware of the poor choices Percy is making out of pride and stress, but she doesn’t really know what she can do about it. Liz is enabling him and would never go against this crazy choice he’s made. She feels like her hands are tied, and wants to tell it to anyone who would listen. Except she can’t, because she knows what they’d think. She hasn’t even told Lee what she’s thinking.

Simon Brodeur (Friendly): Isla feels awful about what happened to Lilah. She doesn’t think Percy has anything to do with it, but at this point is suspicious that Liz and Percy have a hand in everything. She has gone out of her way to try and comfort Simon, primarily out of guilt that she couldn’t do anymore.

Austin Semler (Friend): Isla and Austin worked side by side with one another for years before she became EIC. She was the editor of many of the pieces Austin did photography for. They became quick friends during their time together, and he was the one to introduce her to Lee.

Milton Rod Jackman (Former employee): Rod is a great investigator and a hard worker. She created the team of him, Simon , and Emmanuel and together they have created one of the top ranking programs.

Tim Boaz (Unsure): She used to have a solid relationship with Tim, but it’s gone down hill, especially in the last 10 years. He’s told her she needs to stop messing with his brother’s feelings, which she agrees about. She’s hoping to win back his approval on this go around with Lee.

Mary Lang (Best Friend): During Mary’s extremely extended stay on NERVOUS Mary became close to Isla. They bonded over growing up out West and doing daily yoga. Now that Isla has taken over as Editor in Chief and Mary is head of POOH, they don’t see each other as often, but they make it a habit to get dinner twice a month and attend yoga classes together on off days.

Patrick Perry (Good Friend): Isla met Patrick at a bartending class. They hit it off after she showed how clearly inept she was at it and got to talking. They went on a few dates before deciding it would be better to be friends and have been great friends ever since. They are currently taking a cooking class together, and have befriended a hunter, Nina Stone.

Emmanuel Flores (Friendly): Isla knows that Emmanuel’s change was covered up by Percy and Liz. A coyote with dementia went on a changing spree, and Percy didn’t catch it quick enough. 20 people were bitten in the span of a month, and Emmanuel wasn’t even the last victim. Isla has gone out of her way to give him a good team and support his career and upward movement in the company. It began with guilt, but she does think he is an asset to their pack.

Anton Kowalski (Unsure): Isla can find absolute nothing on Anton Kowalski beside confirming that there was indeed a coywolf clan destroyed by hunters. Isla knows that Anton’s old clan were more in tune with their animal side than human and could remain shifted for weeks on end but that doesn’t explain why there isn’t any paper trail for him. She has brought her concerns up with Liz and Percy and the jackal’s liaison Sarah. However, no one seems to be taking it seriously.

Edith Walker (Friend): Isla and Edith met in the first few weeks of Edith being in town. Isla stopped Edith after seeing a tear on the side of her dress, and found something at the Magazine office for Ediith to wear instead. They have been friends ever since. Isla is glad Edith is finally giving Austin a chance.

Geraldine ‘Geri’ Beckham (Friendly): Geri is the liaison for the wolf shifters clan and is the easiest to deal with. Geri and Isla often do business at Anonymous which is a local wolf shifter bar. Sadly, Isla rarely has a reason to meet up with the wolf pack. They only meet up once a month for random updates.

Vincent Kane (Unsure): Vincent is the liaison for the human shifters and one of Isla’s main sources of information. Vincent has been nothing but kind and professional but can also be very short with her. Sometimes she feels like she is begging for information which shouldn’t be the case since they’re all on the same side. Vincent usually has all the information she needs neatly placed in a file and leaves without much of a word to her lately.

Hostile Connections:

Amaria Crais (Unsure): Amaria is a headstrong female cat shifter that intimidates the crap out of Isla. Amaria seemed sweet at first but every time they get done to business she turns into a monster that Isla would rather stay far away from.

Aleksander Mazur (Unsure): Aleksander is the liaison for the Underground vampire. Isla doesn’t mean to be prejudiced but she has never been comfortable around him. She doesn’t trust his smile or his calming tone and she is unsure whether it is because she is truly in danger or simply because he is a vampire.

Pets:

None

→ History (paragraph(s) on background)

→ The Present (paragraph(s) on how the character connects to the plot)

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Rebecca Rittenhouse (Isla Johns) [1][2][3][4]

[chicagocityofclans]

Isla Johns → Rebecca Rittenhouse → Raccoon

→ Basic Information

Age: 118

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Pansexual

Born or Made: Made

Birthday: June 28th

Zodiac Sign: Cancer

Religion: Christian

→ Her Personality (one to two paragraphs)

→ Her Personal Facts

Occupation: Magazine Editor in Chief and Liaison

Scars: None

Tattoos: None

Two Likes: Change and Inclusive Beauty and Fashion

Two Dislikes: One-liner jokes and Coco Chanel

Two Fears: Judgement of her lifestyle and Large birds

Two Hobbies: Cooking and Yoga

Three Positive Traits: Genuine, Kind-Hearted, Tactful

Three Negative Traits: Passive-Aggressive, Cowardly, Decadent

→ Her Connections

Parent Names:

Hugh Johns (Father): Hugh was changed a few days after Isla was. Unlike Defne, Hugh took to the change well and never blamed Isla. However, Isla did grow bitter when Hugh did nothing to stop Defne harshness and mental abuse. Hugh loved his wife more than his daughter and Isla carries that around still.

Defne Johns (Mother): Defne has always blamed Isla for her change and removal from her lifelong dream of becoming a nurse. At first, Isla didn’t understand what was going on nor why her mother suddenly hated her but it didn’t take long for her to realize that she was the cause.

Sibling Names:

None

Children Names:

None

Romantic Connections:

Lee Boaz (On again-off again Boyfriend): Isla and Lee have been dating on and off for decades. Many of the ons and offs being her own fault. She loves the Lee that she knows. Who is funny and loyal and is completely and totally in love with her, despite the nonsense she’s put him through. But he is not like that with everyone and she has heard all the complaints about him and Tim and she feels torn. People will assume she condones all his actions, or that she sides with the predators; maybe they’d think that she’d be a terrible person to go to with their problems. She changes her mind on it almost daily, especially since she does love him. After Simon lost Lilah, Lee asked if they could give it a serious try. She agreed and they’ve been together for months without any hitches.

Platonic Connections:

Elizabeth ‘Liz’ Snow (Co-worker): Isla likes Liz, but she is helping run their pack into the ground. She is trying so bad to make Percy’s wildest fantasies come true, that she’s missing the part where she’s become Tony Soprano. They pay off people to keep quiet about changes, and are blatantly ignoring the interpack violence. She doesn’t know what to do to wake Liz up about the situation they’re in and feels trapped. She hasn’t told anyone about her concerns and is trying to fix it from the inside before it gets worse.

Percival “Percy” McCormick III (Leader): Isla has been struggling majorly with her conscience when it comes to Percy. She knows just how badly things are falling through the cracks, and is the one who receives all the anger from the pack about it. Isla is well aware of the poor choices Percy is making out of pride and stress, but she doesn’t really know what she can do about it. Liz is enabling him and would never go against this crazy choice he’s made. She feels like her hands are tied, and wants to tell it to anyone who would listen. Except she can’t, because she knows what they’d think. She hasn’t even told Lee what she’s thinking.

Simon Brodeur (Friendly): Isla feels awful about what happened to Lilah. She doesn’t think Percy has anything to do with it, but at this point is suspicious that Liz and Percy have a hand in everything. She has gone out of her way to try and comfort Simon, primarily out of guilt that she couldn’t do anymore.

Austin Semler (Friend): Isla and Austin worked side by side with one another for years before she became EIC. She was the editor of many of the pieces Austin did photography for. They became quick friends during their time together, and he was the one to introduce her to Lee.

Milton Rod Jackman (Former employee): Rod is a great investigator and a hard worker. She created the team of him, Simon , and Emmanuel and together they have created one of the top ranking programs.

Tim Boaz (Unsure): She used to have a solid relationship with Tim, but it’s gone down hill, especially in the last 10 years. He’s told her she needs to stop messing with his brother’s feelings, which she agrees about. She’s hoping to win back his approval on this go around with Lee.

Mary Lang (Best Friend): During Mary’s extremely extended stay on NERVOUS Mary became close to Isla. They bonded over growing up out West and doing daily yoga. Now that Isla has taken over as Editor in Chief and Mary is head of POOH, they don’t see each other as often, but they make it a habit to get dinner twice a month and attend yoga classes together on off days.

Patrick Perry (Good Friend): Isla met Patrick at a bartending class. They hit it off after she showed how clearly inept she was at it and got to talking. They went on a few dates before deciding it would be better to be friends and have been great friends ever since. They are currently taking a cooking class together, and have befriended a hunter, Nina Stone.

Emmanuel Flores (Friendly): Isla knows that Emmanuel’s change was covered up by Percy and Liz. A coyote with dementia went on a changing spree, and Percy didn’t catch it quick enough. 20 people were bitten in the span of a month, and Emmanuel wasn’t even the last victim. Isla has gone out of her way to give him a good team and support his career and upward movement in the company. It began with guilt, but she does think he is an asset to their pack.

Anton Kowalski (Unsure): Isla can find absolute nothing on Anton Kowalski beside confirming that there was indeed a coywolf clan destroyed by hunters. Isla knows that Anton's old clan were more in tune with their animal side than human and could remain shifted for weeks on end but that doesn’t explain why there isn’t any paper trail for him. She has brought her concerns up with Liz and Percy and the jackal’s liaison Sarah. However, no one seems to be taking it seriously.

Edith Walker (Friend): Isla and Edith met in the first few weeks of Edith being in town. Isla stopped Edith after seeing a tear on the side of her dress, and found something at the Magazine office for Ediith to wear instead. They have been friends ever since. Isla is glad Edith is finally giving Austin a chance.

Geraldine 'Geri' Beckham (Friendly): Geri is the liaison for the wolf shifters clan and is the easiest to deal with. Geri and Isla often do business at Anonymous which is a local wolf shifter bar. Sadly, Isla rarely has a reason to meet up with the wolf pack. They only meet up once a month for random updates.

Vincent Kane (Unsure): Vincent is the liaison for the human shifters and one of Isla’s main sources of information. Vincent has been nothing but kind and professional but can also be very short with her. Sometimes she feels like she is begging for information which shouldn’t be the case since they’re all on the same side. Vincent usually has all the information she needs neatly placed in a file and leaves without much of a word to her lately.

Hostile Connections:

Amaria Crais (Unsure): Amaria is a headstrong female cat shifter that intimidates the crap out of Isla. Amaria seemed sweet at first but every time they get done to business she turns into a monster that Isla would rather stay far away from.

Aleksander Mazur (Unsure): Aleksander is the liaison for the Underground vampire. Isla doesn’t mean to be prejudiced but she has never been comfortable around him. She doesn’t trust his smile or his calming tone and she is unsure whether it is because she is truly in danger or simply because he is a vampire.

Pets:

None

→ History (paragraph(s) on background)

→ The Present (paragraph(s) on how the character connects to the plot)

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Rebecca Rittenhouse (Isla Johns) [1][2][3][4]

[twistedsisters17-blog]

Servants of Insanity (Chapter Thirteen) Coming Clean

I made it halfway to Dumbledore’s office when I heard footsteps behind me. I attempted to ignore them thinking it was just eager students trying to get to class. But it became apparent when I rounded a corner that the footsteps were following me. I turned on my heels and held my wand at the ready when the Weasley twins rounded the corner after me. I narrowed my eyes at both of them as they jokingly held up their arms in surrender. “Jeez, you always ready to kill someone like that?”

 Letting a smirk take over my face I shrugged. “Depends on what the people following me want.” I looked between the two of them and they exchanged a look before Fred cleared his throat.

 “We think Ron might be in some trouble.” I kept my face neutral as I listened to him and let a lazy look cross my face.

 “And what exactly makes you think that’s my problem, Weasley? Aren’t you two the experts in trouble? Just get him out of it.” George was quick to pipe up this time, even being so brave as to take a step forward. I kept my wand raised and at the ready.

 “Because you are the trouble our brother is in. Whatever is going on between you. We’re worried about him.” I let out a scoff but my heart was beating so hard I was worried they could hear it.

 “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” They both exchanged another look as I lowered my wand slowly, they obviously weren’t here to threaten me.

 “We think you do.” They said at the same time and then finally Fred took over once more. “Listen, we see the way he’s been looking at you. For a while now. And never in our wildest dreams did we think you’d give him the time of day so it wasn’t that big of a deal. But now you’re going on patrols together and you’re saying good morning to him in front of his friends and we’re worried he’ll get the wrong idea.”

 They were about 100 times more perceptive than I’d ever given them credit for. I waited until he was done speaking and then I mulled it over in my head. I could deny the whole thing, pretend I hadn’t the slightest idea what they were talking about. But they were notorious for not giving up. Finally, I decided the softer approach might work better. I cleared my throat and then took a step forward, careful to look around and make sure no one was around to hear me.

 “Let’s get one thing straight, we are not to be seen together again, understood? It’s bad enough everyone is seeing me with one Weasley, but three? You’re asking for the danger. Second off, I’m not trying to get your brother in trouble, I’m trying to keep him out of it. But he seems keen on staying in it, something I’m sure his friend Potter helps him with quite a bit. But, as it stands, I’ve grown rather fond of him, which I hate to admit. So, let’s try not to make a big deal out of this and this information won’t fall into the wrong hands, eh boys?”

 They stared at me for a long time, probably trying to decide if I was being genuine. But finally, they cracked a smile and nudged each other. “So, Ron does have a shot, eh?!” I rolled my eyes and pointed at them.

 “I mean it, Weasleys’, mouths shut.” I turned away and walked to the headmaster’s entrance and went upstairs. He knew I was coming so I felt no need to knock. When I got to his door I stopped and raised my hand, unsure of what to do. But a knowing voice inside told me. “You may enter.”

 Rolling my eyes, I entered the office and glanced around until I found Dumbledore sitting in an arm chair petting his pet phoenix. I stood in the doorway after closing it and stared him down. He motioned for me to sit in the chair opposite him but I crossed my arms trying to convey how uncomfortable I was. He seemed to wait a moment before speaking. “I wanted to ask you how detention was coming along.”

 I snorted out loud and hoped he could tell I could see right through whatever it was he was doing here. “You wanted to see how detention was doing? And who else have you asked?” I stared at his blue eyes and he gave me a tiny smile.

 “I’ll admit, you’re the first.” I nodded slowly and glanced around the office at all the pictures of previous headmasters and headmistresses. It was obvious Dumbledore was up to something here, but what I hadn’t the slightest idea.

 “Headmaster, I’m missing class for this. Is there a real reason you asked me here or is that truly it?” He seemed to be staring at me, but almost past me. As if he was staring into a deeper part of me; a part I wasn’t willing to share with him. It felt invasive. Finally, he smiled and then stood up slowly.

 “Well, I’m assuming that detention is going well. I was just hoping to put my two cents in, if I may.” I gave him a fake smile as I held my hand on the door, hoping to signal that I was ready to leave.

 “I’m sure I’ll hear it either way. So, go ahead.” I was honestly surprised he was taking so much tone from me. Dumbledore had always shown an odd fascination with my sister and I and I was never really sure why.

 “I think it’s good of you to keep the company that you’re keeping. The newer company. I think you can learn a lot from the Weasley boys….and maybe they can even help you with any troubles you may be having, maybe even the youngest Weasley brother.” At this my face flushed a scarlet red.

 I wanted to ask him where he got off commenting on my private life when he lifted a hand and smiled. “You should get to class now, I would hate to deprive you of a good Herbology class. I’ll send an owl to Professor Sprout and explain why you were late.” I opened my mouth and then closed it and left quickly. I couldn’t believe he’d just commented on me talking to the Weasley’s. How did he even know?

 I tried to shake it off as I entered the third greenhouse and joined my peers. Draco gave me a suspicious look but I shook it off. I wouldn’t even know how to tell him what Dumbledore had wanted, although I had better get started on a compelling story because he’d want to know something. I noticed Ron staring at me in a concerned way and shot him a small smile before I pulled out my Herbology book and leafed through until I found the page we were on.

 I tried to focus during class but it was hard because I could feel Ron’s eyes on me, but I could also feel Draco and my sister’s. Sometimes it was a curse having your sister be as intelligent as you, if not more. She was in practically every class Draco and I were in. She wasn’t even with most of the other student’s in her house because she was so advanced.

 Feeling her watching me throughout class made it harder to focus. When the bell rang for us to take a break and get to Defense Against the Dark Arts I practically ran out. Draco was quick to catch up but I told him I was in a foul mood and needed some time alone. I went to my room and grabbed my books before heading to class. I met up with him shortly after and like a good friend he kept quiet.

 I was about to walk into Defense Against the Dark Arts when someone grabbed my arm. I turned around with a murderous look and saw that it was only my sister. She smiled and waited for everyone to pass before turning her serious eyes onto me. “I want to talk to you. Something is going on with you and I want to know what. We used to talk all the time and now we’re like strangers, I hate it. Just, talk to me.”

 Sighing deeply, I glanced around and then nodded. “Fine, but not here. Later.” She nodded and I went into class. I sat down next to Draco who seemed concerned about me but I shook it off. I took my notes and aced the quiz from last week and was pretty sure I aced today’s quiz too. I had always excelled at the Dark Arts and the knowledge of everything about it. It was my talent, much like my sister had her potions.

 When class was over I caught up to Tobi in the hallway while Draco hung back with Crabbe and Goyle. “Tonight, 9 o’clock the Astronomy Tower. I’ll let Draco know you’ll be late for detention.” She nodded and I walked off quickly. I loved her but if I was going to tell her what was going on I needed it to be as low key as possible. It wouldn’t protect her if everyone knew what we were talking about, and one of us would end up getting killed.

 The rest of the day was slow and more than once I felt like dozing off. I got through the rest of my classes and ended up taking a nap with my cat before I woke up with a start around 8:50. I quickly got dressed for detention and then ran quickly out the common room after letting Draco know that Tobi would be late for detention.

 I made it to the Astronomy right after 9 and found Tobi already waiting for me. “Hey.” It was awkward as she responded with her own hello and I hated it. Tobi and I’s relationship had never been so strained and I hated Voldemort for it. But tonight, that changed.

 “I wanted to talk to you because things have been weird between us and I hate that. I think that last year and this summer have been really weird for us and quite the adjustment.” She nodded and suddenly she was spewing out words.

 “I’m sorry. I know things have been weird and I kind of blame you for that. You’ve been really distant but I know that I haven’t been that great either. Last year with Cedric was just really tough and I know you didn’t approve of me talking to him bu-“

 “Cedric and I were dating.” It slipped out as she was going on her rant and she froze. She stared at me for the longest time. She opened and closed her mouth a few times. I shook my head slightly and cleared my throat. “I don’t really know when it started, one day I hated the kid and the next I was in love with him. We couldn’t tell anyone, and I didn’t want you thinking I was taking him away from you, so we just kept it to ourselves. I was worried everyone knowing he was talking to me would get him hurt.”

 She nodded slowly and then my eyes welled up. “And then Voldemort found out….and he killed him anyway.” My sister’s mouth dropped at this, because everyone thought Cedric had just been a casualty between the war of Harry and Voldemort. But I knew the truth. And Voldemort did too. I thought she’d hate me but instead she walked over quickly and enveloped me in a hug.

 “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. It’s his fault, it’s Voldemort’s fault.” I nodded against her shoulder but I still knew who was to blame.

 “It’s going to happen again, Tobs. He’s going to kill everyone that I care about if he doesn’t approve.” She pulled away slightly and wiped my tears with her thumb. She went to shake her head but before I knew what was happening I spit it out. “I think I’m falling for Ron Weasley.” She gave a small smile and I was shocked.

 “Yeah, I kind of thought so. I’ve never seen you talk to anyone outside of Slytherin before this morning at breakfast. You said good morning to him and I thought he might fall out of his chair.” I let out a small laugh and then she started to look guilty. I gave her a look and she cracked. “Draco kissed me.”

 It was my turn to smile at this and she looked just as shocked. “I thought he might do that soon. He’s been watching you all term.” She was more than shocked as she shook her head.

 “You’re not mad? I know you guys dated last year and I guess we never really talked about why that ended.” I smiled and shrugged, releasing her from my grip finally as we sat down on the only bench up here. I looked out at the vast sky and felt more at home than in our mansion.

 “Because I can’t imagine ending up like mom and dad.” I glanced at her as I said this and she seemed to understand. “Everybody thought we were such a good idea, so we tried it, but it lacked everything I’ve ever wanted. And then I met Cedric and that was really it for me. I didn’t need any more proof that my love for Draco would never be any more than for a brother.”

 She nodded and we sat in silence for a little while. Finally, I took a deep breath and turned to her. “I’m a Death Eater….” She took a moment and finally turned back to me. She sighed very deeply and I knew that she’d known all along. She nodded when our eyes met and I asked her mentally. “I did it to protect you, Tobi. I never wanted to lie to you, but I didn’t want you seeing me differently. He wanted both of us, and I told him I’d join if he left you out of it.” Her eyes widened at the prospect that the Dark Lord would want her as well.

 “I never wanted you involved in any of this. But I needed you to know because I absolutely hate keeping things from you.” She nodded and smiled. 

“I’m glad you told me. I don’t like it, but I get why you did it.” We sat there just catching up about everything until we had to go to detention. The rest of the night was quiet and by the next day I was in a decent mood.

We went to Hogsmeade and that was nice until Draco ran off and started a fight with Harry. I wasn’t sure what had started it but I knew that Draco needed to cut it out. After pulling them apart I turned to Tobi and sighed. “Take Draco.” I grabbed Potter’s arm and dragged him away and dragged him into the Three Broomsticks. He kept trying to push me off but I cleaned his bloody face up and sighed as Ron and Hermione came in looking for him.

Ron smiled at me while I got a scowl from Hermione as they asked what had happened. I stood up and looked to Harry. “Sorry about him.” He nodded and I could see he was starting to look at me differently because I’d helped him, which wasn’t very good. I started to walk off but Ron came up behind me and grabbed my arm. “Can I see you later?”

I stared into his eyes and then sighed. “Yeah, Astronomy Tower?” He grinned at me and nodded. I walked off with a smile on my face intending to find my sister and Draco. It was wrong to see Ron, I knew that.

But if it was wrong, why did it feel so right?

[i-am-very-very-tired]

Chrissy Teigen, 31, is many things: a Sports Illustrated cover girl, a New York Times best-selling cookbook author, a host of the Emmy-nominated TV series Lip Sync Battle and the soon-to-be designer of a fashion line with Revolve. But she’s best known for what her husband, John Legend, calls her: “smart mouth.” She opines on everything from politics to stretch marks, 140 characters a time on Twitter. And her commentary is often so “you took the words out of my mouth!” that all you have to do is hit RT and add the word “PREACH.” What women love about Teigen is that she is, as she admits, “an open book.” She will show off a perfect seared duck breast—and tell you she accidentally sliced off her fingertip on a mandoline. Ask her about the wildest place she’s had sex? She’ll answer. (An airplane.) She approaches any topic with that same raw, real candor. But there’s one thing she hasn’t shared yet: After giving birth to her daughter, Luna, last April, Teigen developed postpartum depression, a condition affecting one in nine women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. In this exclusive essay for Glamour, she talks about her experience, why she kept it private, and how she’s doing now. And she is as raw and real as ever. Over to you, Chrissy. When Glamour first told me I was going to be on the cover, I was freaking thrilled. Seriously. As a longtime reader, I couldn’t believe it. I’d always assumed that wearing swimsuits (or half a swimsuit) or having the occasional nip slip (or bit slip) wouldn’t make me the go-to choice for a women’s magazine I not only love but respect. Yet here I am! Next they asked me to write an essay. I was super into it, but then cringed every time I opened my laptop. Topics? I quickly realized I have truly talked about everything possible. I guess that’s the dilemma one faces when they…well…can’t shut up. I’ve been a chronic oversharer since birth. So I decided I’d talk about something no one really knows about me, mainly because I just learned about it myself. What is it? I’ll get there. Let me start here: To a lot of you, I think, I seem like the happiest person on the planet. I have an incredible husband—John and I have been together for over 10 years. He has seen my successes and failures; I’ve seen his. He has seen me at my worst, but I will say I don’t think I have ever seen him at his. He’s exactly as compassionate, patient, loving, and understanding as he seems. And I hate it. OK, I don’t hate it. But it can certainly drive you nuts sometimes when you’re as cynical as I am. If I weren’t me, I would politely excuse myself to make the most epic eye roll of all time if a woman talked to me about her significant other the way I just did to you. When John and I got together, I found my love for cooking. On one of our earliest dates, I took him to Daniel (four dollar signs on Yelp, ahhh!). I drank a $40 margarita, ate salmon rillettes (fancy salmon spread), and prayed my card wouldn’t be declined. I couldn’t afford to take him out to more dinners like that, so I started cooking more and more at home for us. I started with my own version of that salmon spread, then roasted whole branzino, osso buco, chipotle BBQ chicken. When my first cookbook came out, I finally felt proud of my work. I feel that same pride in Lip Sync Battle, where I get to work with LL Cool J and watch Channing Tatum and Jenna Dewan go head-to-head as Beyoncé and motherf-cking Paula Abdul. My job, essentially, is to have the best time humanly possible. And a year ago, in April, John and I started our family together. We had our daughter, Luna, who is perfect. She is somehow exactly me, exactly John, and exactly herself. I adore her. I had everything I needed to be happy. And yet, for much of the last year, I felt unhappy. What basically everyone around me—but me—knew up until December was this: I have postpartum depression. How can I feel this way when everything is so great? I’ve had a hard time coming to terms with that, and I hesitated to even talk about this, as everything becomes such a “thing.” During pregnancy, what I thought were casual comments about IVF turned into headlines about me choosing the sex of my daughter. And I can already envision what will be said about me after this admission. But it’s such a major part of my life and so, so many other women’s lives. It would feel wrong to write anything else. So here goes. I had such a wonderful, energetic pregnancy. Luna sat inside me like a little cross-legged Buddha facing toward my back for nine months. I never saw her face in a sonogram, just her butt or the back of her feet. Every time we kinnnnd of saw a nose, she would quickly dodge, and I was left guessing again. John, my mom, and my sister were all in the delivery room. John was DJ-ing. Luna, fittingly, popped out to the song “Superfly.” The first lyric is “Darkest of night. With the moon shining bright.” I immediately put her on my chest. And she had a face! I was so happy. And exhausted. After I had Luna, our home was under construction, so we lived in a rental home, then a hotel, and I blamed whatever stress or detachment or sadness I was feeling at that time on the fact that there were so many odd circumstances. I remember thinking: “Maybe I’ll feel better when we have a home.” I went back to work on Lip Sync Battle in August, when Luna was four months. The show treated me incredibly well—they put a nursery in my dressing room and blew up photos of Luna and John and my family for my wall. When Luna was on set, they lowered the noise levels. They turned down the air so she wouldn’t be cold. Only the most gentle knocking on the door. Pump breaks. I mean, there was no better place to get to go back to work to. But I was different than before. Getting out of bed to get to set on time was painful. My lower back throbbed; my ­shoulders—even my wrists—hurt. I didn’t have an appetite. I would go two days without a bite of food, and you know how big of a deal food is for me. One thing that really got me was just how short I was with people. I would be in my dressing room, sitting in a robe, getting hair and makeup done, and a crew member would knock on the door and ask: “Chrissy, do you know the lyrics to this song?” And I would lose it. Or “Chrissy, do you like these cat ears, or these panda hands?” And I’d be like: “Whatever you want. I don’t care.” They would leave. My eyes would well up and I would burst into tears. My makeup artist would pat them dry and give me a few minutes. I couldn’t figure out why I was so unhappy. I blamed it on being tired and possibly growing out of the role: “Maybe I’m just not a goofy person anymore. Maybe I’m just supposed to be a mom.” When I wasn’t in the studio, I never left the house. I mean, never. Not even a tiptoe outside. I’d ask people who came inside why they were wet. Was it raining? How would I know—I had every shade closed. Most days were spent on the exact same spot on the couch and rarely would I muster up the energy to make it upstairs for bed. John would sleep on the couch with me, sometimes four nights in a row. I started keeping robes and comfy clothes in the pantry so I wouldn’t have to go upstairs when John went to work. There was a lot of spontaneous crying. Anytime I was seen out, it was because I had already had work or a work event that day. Meaning I wouldn’t have to muster up the energy to take a shower, because it was already done. It became the same story every day: Unless I had work, John knew there was not a chance in hell we were going on a date, going to the store, going anywhere. I didn’t have the energy. Before, when I entered a room I had a presence: head high, shoulders back, big smile. Suddenly I had become this person whose shoulders would cower underneath her chin. I would keep my hands on my belly and try to make myself as small as possible. During that time my bones hurt to the core. I had to go to the hospital; the back pain was so overwhelming. I felt like I was in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy: These kids were around me, asking questions. Maybe it was a kidney infection? No one could figure it out. I saw rheumatoid doctors for the wrist pain; we thought it might be rheumatoid arthritis. I felt nauseated all the time, so I saw a GI doctor. I wondered: Am I making this all up? Is this pain even real anymore? By December I had started my second cookbook. With the first, I was in the kitchen the whole time. I stirred every pot, tasted everything. Had genuine excitement for Every. Single. Recipe. This one came at the height of my losing my appetite, and the idea of having to test and taste recipes actually made me vomit. I was still on the couch a lot. Before the holidays I went to my GP for a physical. John sat next to me. I looked at my doctor, and my eyes welled up because I was so tired of being in pain. Of sleeping on the couch. Of waking up throughout the night. Of throwing up. Of taking things out on the wrong people. Of not enjoying life. Of not seeing my friends. Of not having the energy to take my baby for a stroll. My doctor pulled out a book and started listing symptoms. And I was like, “Yep, yep, yep.” I got my diagnosis: postpartum depression and anxiety. (The anxiety explains some of my physical symptoms.) I remember being so exhausted but happy to know that we could finally get on the path of getting better. John had that same excitement. I started taking an antidepressant, which helped. And I started sharing the news with friends and family—I felt like everyone deserved an explanation, and I didn’t know how else to say it other than the only way I know: just saying it. It got easier and easier to say it aloud every time. (I still don’t really like to say, “I have postpartum depression,” because the word depression scares a lot of people. I often just call it “postpartum.” Maybe I should say it, though. Maybe it will lessen the stigma a bit.) I wanted to write an open letter to friends and employers to explain why I had been so unhappy. The mental pain of knowing I let so many people down at once was worse than the physical pain. To have people that you respect, who are the best in the business, witness you at your worst is tough. Even though this was something I shouldn’t have to apologize for, I did want to apologize. Because on a set, people depend on you. A lot of people are coming together and all you have to do, Christine, is put on a unicorn head and shoot a money gun. Editors are wondering what the f-ck happened to the girl they gave a book deal to. This shit was flying through my head and I felt horrible. I actually did write my executive producer on Lip Sync Battle, Casey Patterson. She is one of the most amazing women in this universe and I never doubted she would understand. She told me she had noticed and was always here for me. I had to postpone my second cookbook, but my editor, Francis Lam, and publisher couldn’t have been more understanding. To go from discussing layouts and recipes and shoot days to a complete “off” switch was, I’m sure, not a great thing to hear. But, again, I cannot overstate how lucky I am to work with these people. Before this, I had never, ever—in my whole entire life—had one person say to me: “I have postpartum depression.” Growing up in the nineties, I associated postpartum depression with Susan Smith [a woman now serving life in prison for killing her two sons; her lawyer argued that she suffered from a long history of depression], with people who didn’t like their babies or felt like they had to harm their children. I didn’t have anything remotely close to those feelings. I looked at Luna every day, amazed by her. So I didn’t think I had it. I also just didn’t think it could happen to me. I have a great life. I have all the help I could need: John, my mother (who lives with us), a nanny. But postpartum does not discriminate. I couldn’t control it. And that’s part of the reason it took me so long to speak up: I felt selfish, icky, and weird saying aloud that I’m struggling. Sometimes I still do. I know I might sound like a whiny, entitled girl. Plenty of people around the world in my situation have no help, no family, no access to medical care. I can’t imagine not being able to go to the doctors that I need. It’s hurtful to me to know that we have a president who wants to rip health care away from women. I look around every day and I don’t know how people do it. I’ve never had more respect for mothers, especially mothers with postpartum depression. I’m speaking up now because I want people to know it can happen to anybody and I don’t want people who have it to feel embarrassed or to feel alone. I also don’t want to pretend like I know everything about postpartum depression, because it can be different for everybody. But one thing I do know is that—for me—just merely being open about it helps. This has become my open letter. As I’m writing this, in February, I am a much different human than I was even just in December. I’m over a month into taking my antidepressant, and I just got the name of a therapist who I am planning to start seeing. Let’s be honest though—I probably needed therapy way before Luna! Like anyone, with PPD or without, I have really good days and bad days. I will say, though, right now, all of the really bad days—the days that used to be all my days—are gone. There are weeks when I still don’t leave the house for days; then I’m randomly at the Super Bowl or Grammys. (This is cringeworthily unrelatable, and I am very aware of that—it’s giving me anxiety.) Physically, I still don’t have energy for a lot of things, but a lot of new moms deal with this. Just crawling around with Luna can be hard. My back pain has gotten better, but my hands and wrists still hurt. And it can still be tough for me to stomach food some days. But I’m dealing. I’m grateful for the people around me. John has been incredible over the last nine months, bringing me my medicine and watching horrible reality TV with me. He is not the goofiest guy, but he has gone out of his way to indulge my sense of humor. When I was having a good day, he would go to Medieval Times with me and put on the crazy period hat! He sees how much my eyes light up when he does that stuff, and he knows that’s what I need. I know he must look over at times and think: My God, get it together. But he has never made me feel that way. He wants me to be happy, silly, and energetic again, but he’s not making me feel bad when I’m not in that place. I love John and Luna more than I can imagine loving anything, and John and I still hope to give Luna a few siblings. Postpartum hasn’t changed that. More than anything, I always want to have enough energy for Luna—to run up the stairs with her, to have tea parties with her. As she gets older, she’s becoming more and more fun. Her eyes are getting so wide, and I want to be there for those wide eyes. And I will be. Phew! I’ve hated hiding this from you. XX, Chrissy Postpartum depression is a common medical condition and, as Chrissy notes, symptoms can vary. Click here for information on diagnosis and treatment. To read more stories from women who have struggled with postpartum depression, click here.

[chicagocityfclanspromoblog]

Isla Johns → Rebecca Rittenhouse → Raccoon

→ Basic Information

Age: 118

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Pansexual

Born or Made: Made

Birthday: June 28th

Zodiac Sign: Cancer

Religion: Christian

Like Isla? Consider taking her in our Nimble Giveaway Event! We will be waiving applications para samples, personalities and histories requirements for all canon nimbles. Just send in the first and last name of the nimble(s) you would like to the main.

→ Her Personality (one to two paragraphs)

→ Her Personal Facts

Occupation: Magazine Editor in Chief and Liaison

Scars: None

Tattoos: None

Two Likes: Change and Inclusive Beauty and Fashion

Two Dislikes: One-liner jokes and Coco Chanel

Two Fears: Judgement of her lifestyle and Large birds

Two Hobbies: Cooking and Yoga

Three Positive Traits: Genuine, Kind-Hearted, Tactful

Three Negative Traits: Passive-Aggressive, Cowardly, Decadent

→ Her Connections

Parent Names:

Hugh Johns (Father): Hugh was changed a few days after Isla was. Unlike Defne, Hugh took to the change well and never blamed Isla. However, Isla did grow bitter when Hugh did nothing to stop Defne harshness and mental abuse. Hugh loved his wife more than his daughter and Isla carries that around still.

Defne Johns (Mother): Defne has always blamed Isla for her change and removal from her lifelong dream of becoming a nurse. At first, Isla didn’t understand what was going on nor why her mother suddenly hated her but it didn’t take long for her to realize that she was the cause.

Sibling Names:

None

Children Names:

None

Romantic Connections:

Lee Boaz (On again-off again Boyfriend): Isla and Lee have been dating on and off for decades. Many of the ons and offs being her own fault. She loves the Lee that she knows. Who is funny and loyal and is completely and totally in love with her, despite the nonsense she’s put him through. But he is not like that with everyone and she has heard all the complaints about him and Tim and she feels torn. People will assume she condones all his actions, or that she sides with the predators; maybe they’d think that she’d be a terrible person to go to with their problems. She changes her mind on it almost daily, especially since she does love him. After Simon lost Lilah, Lee asked if they could give it a serious try. She agreed and they’ve been together for months without any hitches.

Platonic Connections:

Elizabeth ‘Liz’ Snow (Co-worker): Isla likes Liz, but she is helping run their pack into the ground. She is trying so bad to make Percy’s wildest fantasies come true, that she’s missing the part where she’s become Tony Soprano. They pay off people to keep quiet about changes, and are blatantly ignoring the interpack violence. She doesn’t know what to do to wake Liz up about the situation they’re in and feels trapped. She hasn’t told anyone about her concerns and is trying to fix it from the inside before it gets worse.

Percival “Percy” McCormick III (Leader): Isla has been struggling majorly with her conscience when it comes to Percy. She knows just how badly things are falling through the cracks, and is the one who receives all the anger from the pack about it. Isla is well aware of the poor choices Percy is making out of pride and stress, but she doesn’t really know what she can do about it. Liz is enabling him and would never go against this crazy choice he’s made. She feels like her hands are tied, and wants to tell it to anyone who would listen. Except she can’t, because she knows what they’d think. She hasn’t even told Lee what she’s thinking.

Simon Brodeur (Friendly): Isla feels awful about what happened to Lilah. She doesn’t think Percy has anything to do with it, but at this point is suspicious that Liz and Percy have a hand in everything. She has gone out of her way to try and comfort Simon, primarily out of guilt that she couldn’t do anymore.

Austin Semler (Friend): Isla and Austin worked side by side with one another for years before she became EIC. She was the editor of many of the pieces Austin did photography for. They became quick friends during their time together, and he was the one to introduce her to Lee.

Milton Rod Jackman (Former employee): Rod is a great investigator and a hard worker. She created the team of him, Simon , and Emmanuel and together they have created one of the top ranking programs.

Tim Boaz (Unsure): She used to have a solid relationship with Tim, but it’s gone down hill, especially in the last 10 years. He’s told her she needs to stop messing with his brother’s feelings, which she agrees about. She’s hoping to win back his approval on this go around with Lee.

Mary Lang (Best Friend): During Mary’s extremely extended stay on NERVOUS Mary became close to Isla. They bonded over growing up out West and doing daily yoga. Now that Isla has taken over as Editor in Chief and Mary is head of POOH, they don’t see each other as often, but they make it a habit to get dinner twice a month and attend yoga classes together on off days.

Patrick Perry (Good Friend): Isla met Patrick at a bartending class. They hit it off after she showed how clearly inept she was at it and got to talking. They went on a few dates before deciding it would be better to be friends and have been great friends ever since. They are currently taking a cooking class together, and have befriended a hunter, Nina Stone.

Emmanuel Flores (Friendly): Isla knows that Emmanuel’s change was covered up by Percy and Liz. A coyote with dementia went on a changing spree, and Percy didn’t catch it quick enough. 20 people were bitten in the span of a month, and Emmanuel wasn’t even the last victim. Isla has gone out of her way to give him a good team and support his career and upward movement in the company. It began with guilt, but she does think he is an asset to their pack.

Anton Kowalski (Unsure): Isla can find absolute nothing on Anton Kowalski beside confirming that there was indeed a coywolf clan destroyed by hunters. Isla knows that Anton’s old clan were more in tune with their animal side than human and could remain shifted for weeks on end but that doesn’t explain why there isn’t any paper trail for him. She has brought her concerns up with Liz and Percy and the jackal’s liaison Sarah. However, no one seems to be taking it seriously.

Edith Walker (Friend): Isla and Edith met in the first few weeks of Edith being in town. Isla stopped Edith after seeing a tear on the side of her dress, and found something at the Magazine office for Ediith to wear instead. They have been friends ever since. Isla is glad Edith is finally giving Austin a chance.

Geraldine ‘Geri’ Beckham (Friendly): Geri is the liaison for the wolf shifters clan and is the easiest to deal with. Geri and Isla often do business at Anonymous which is a local wolf shifter bar. Sadly, Isla rarely has a reason to meet up with the wolf pack. They only meet up once a month for random updates.

Vincent Kane (Unsure): Vincent is the liaison for the human shifters and one of Isla’s main sources of information. Vincent has been nothing but kind and professional but can also be very short with her. Sometimes she feels like she is begging for information which shouldn’t be the case since they’re all on the same side. Vincent usually has all the information she needs neatly placed in a file and leaves without much of a word to her lately.

Hostile Connections:

Amaria Crais (Unsure): Amaria is a headstrong female cat shifter that intimidates the crap out of Isla. Amaria seemed sweet at first but every time they get done to business she turns into a monster that Isla would rather stay far away from.

Aleksander Mazur (Unsure): Aleksander is the liaison for the Underground vampire. Isla doesn’t mean to be prejudiced but she has never been comfortable around him. She doesn’t trust his smile or his calming tone and she is unsure whether it is because she is truly in danger or simply because he is a vampire.

Pets:

None

→ History (paragraph(s) on background)

→ The Present (paragraph(s) on how the character connects to the plot)

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Rebecca Rittenhouse (Isla Johns) [1][2][3][4]