#instead I’m sitting with my yelling dog while men come to fix our house

[novelconcepts]

Y’all, I was gonna write such good porn today. 😔

[bonky-n-steeb]

𝐵𝑅𝐸𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴

𝘿𝘼𝙍𝙆!𝘽𝙐𝘾𝙆𝙔 𝘽𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙀𝙎 𝙭 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍 | 𝙈𝙊𝘽!𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙑𝙀 𝙍𝙊𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬:  Your life is as good as it gets. The perfect husband, the perfect daughter, the perfect job. But what you are unaware is that your husband is a deadly assassin and your long-lost friend, now a fearsome mob boss is hell bent on getting you back. But what you don’t know can't hurt you, right?

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦:  psychological disorder, PTSD, domestic abuse, yandere, obsession, violence, cursing. If you find any of this triggering please DNI. Also inform me if I left something out.

ᴛʜɪs ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅ, sᴏ ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ

My previous account was deleted so I’ll be posting the stories again. I’ll be changing this one, so yeah.

Inform me if y’all wanna be tagged!

As the Winter Soldier entered the house, his instincts kicked in. The house was too quiet for his liking. He kept the bags on the sofa and started climbing up the stairs towards your bedroom. Oh, how much he loved you. You had never left his side, not when he lost his arm, not when the guilt became too much to live with and he cried his eyes out near you while you said sweet nothings into his ears. He wanted to keep you by side always, he wasn’t ever letting you go. Soon he was going to ask you to leave your job and stay at home looking after him and Iris.  

He couldn’t stand to see the tired look in your eyes, how you managed everything, your job, your kid, the house and most importantly him. In the beginning he was afraid you wouldn’t love him, that you would only love Bucky, but you loved him just as much; though you were unaware that he existed in Bucky. Bucky was an idiot to let you roam free and be away from him, especially when the world is filled with cruel people. He was a fool to let you be friends with Thor or any man in general. You were only his and Bucky’s. He was Bucky only, but he was much stronger and capable than Bucky. He was the one who would protect you, not Bucky. The Soldat loved you much more than Bucky ever could.  

As he opened the door, he noticed you were in the bathroom. As he entered inside, for a second even he was shocked. You were sitting with your legs folded and staring wide eyed at his computer. He noticed you were watching his files and videos and you were so dumbstruck that you didn’t even notice him standing at the door.  

But seeing you watch him do the deed sent a weird wave of pride through him. He wasn’t ever going to tell you any of this, after all it was highly confidential and your life could have been jeopardized. But seeing you now, watching his skilled work with awe, made his chest swell with pride. He deserved to get his work appreciated by his wife; after all, he had put sweat and blood in it, and you weren't even aware, but not anymore. What he failed to notice was that it wasn’t awe on your face, it was unadulterated fear.  

He could clearly see as your eyes filled with tears and you pressed a hand on your face. He knew you were scared, but he would tell you not to be. For you, there was nothing to be afraid of him. As you started to puke, he went and held your hair in one hand while with the other he quietly shushed you. The last thing he wanted was to see you suffer. He wanted to protect you, keep you safe from the world, not hurt you.  

After you emptied your stomach, you slouched besides the toilet and huffed loudly. The tears from your eyes weren't stopping. “Peeking in other people’s stuff ain’t a good habit, doll.” he said calmly as he folded his hands while leaning against the door frame.  

Your eyes widened when you realized that it was Bucky shushing you all this while. But why would he do that, now that you had found his secret. Maybe he was being merciful before killing you. Wait, he was going to kill you!!! You had seen top secret information and there was no going back. You averted your gaze from him as you stared at the laptop. Another video of Bucky’s murders running on it.  

You couldn't exactly make out what the video was as your eyes were filled with unshed tears. “He had a big ass fence and four huge dogs guarding the house. But well, all dogs can be lured by treats.” he said shrugging as if he was talking about your neighbors' dogs and not of the person he had killed. And you realized he regretted nothing; he was talking about murdering people with pride rather than guilt.  

“Make it quick.” your voice was barely audible as pathetic sobs escaped your eyes. The Winter Soldier titled his head in confusion, “And what made you think that I’m going to kill you?” you looked up at him with even more fear. “I wasn’t supposed to see all this. And I’ve seen enough movies and read enough books to know what happens when you see stuff you aren't supposed to.” you shivered violently at the thought.  

The Soldier chuckled dryly “You are right, if they know that you’ve seen all this, then they wouldn’t bat an eyelid in executing you. But... who is going to tell them? Not me for sure. I just need one promise, you aren't ever going to tell this to anyone, no matter what, no matter whose life is at stake. You are going to pretend you never saw any of this. Delete all this from your brain right now!” he ordered.

His commanding voice sent shivers down your spine, “I promise, I promise not to tell anyone....... I'm sorry, please.” you had no idea for what you were apologizing or pleading for. “It's okay.” he said with a faint smile as he picked you up gently and you wondered whether it was the same man capable of killing people in the blink of an eye. As you quietly sat on the bed, you dared not look at him; he on the other hand was lovingly staring at you.

You wanted to tell him to give up this job and start anew, but you knew this wasn't the right timing. “Don't worry, I’ll keep you safe. You don’t have to do anything. Just sign your resignation and I'll turn it in. You'll be safe in this house. You don't even have to ever leave it. The hospital doesn’t even pay you enough for your handwork.”

You looked at Bucky with shock and betrayal, you absolutely adored your work. You wouldn’t ever give up being a surgeon and saving lives. You had spent years trying to reach where you were today, and you loved doing what you did. How could Bucky ever say something like that. He was always so supportive but well, he wasn’t the same Bucky he once was.

“You wouldn’t ever meet any other man. Doll, you don't know how this world is, there are lunatics, murderers and all kinds of bad people. But I’ve vowed to keep you safe and I will. Just don’t, just don’t stop loving me.”  

“You are joking right? You don’t mean that... do you?” You asked unsure of his words. “Why would I joke about this?” Your heart beat so loudly that you knew he heard it. To keep you inside your house like a prisoner, had he lost his mind? You enjoyed your freedom more than anything. And at that exact moment you realized that Bucky had utterly and completely lost his sanity.

“You can’t do that! I love my job and I’m not resigning anytime soon. I have friends for Christ’s sake. I have a goddamn life James! What the hell do you mean I won’t see any other men?” You lost your cool. Enough was enough. He couldn’t control your life; you wouldn’t let him.

You took a deep breath; you didn’t want him to misinterpret your next words and ignore you. “James, I believe it should be the other way around. I think it’s time you drop being a hit man. It’s not safe...” at your words he tilted his head and squinted his eyes. But still you continued, “It’s clearly dangerous. The things you’re doing, they could jeopardize all our lives, you, me, Iris. And the way you kill...” you cleared your throat and shook your head.

“It’s not safe for your mental health too. Look Buck, you think I don’t know, but I know you secretly cry at night. You feel guilty, so just stop now. We’ll work it through before it’s too late.” You said while rubbing his arm.

“Think about Rissie, she misses her dad so much when you are gone. Maybe take a job where you won’t have to leave and you can be with her so much more. Also... the lives that you’ve... umm.... they are taking a toll on you. You are not present with us anymore Buck, you stare off and don’t give a shit as to what we say. And it’s not just me that notices. You get irritated so quickly, it’s difficult Bucky. But it can all change if you want, Buck.”

Soldat’s talented ears ignored every word you said and only paid attention to the fact that you care about him so much. He doubted that you would get hysterical knowing what he did, but instead you were worried for him. You were ready to forgive him. He was the luckiest bastard.  

You saw his love-struck expression and you knew he wants listening to you. “Bucky...!!??? Listen to what I’m saying! Leave that goddamn job!” You lost your cool and yelled at him.

“Do you know why I took that job? They gave me a chance! They gave me my arm back. I would’ve hated being a burden to you and now look, I’m capable to taking care of you. You don’t understand, I can’t leave that job. They gave birth to me.” Your heart ached at his words.

“Bucky, nothing matters if I’m gonna lose you...!!! You are all that matters. And working for Hydra hasn’t fixed you; it had broken you even more. I miss my Bucky. Please, ple....”

At your words, the Winter Soldier snapped his head towards you, “What did you say? Huh, you miss who?” You narrowed your eyes and you couldn’t quite get the meaning of his words. “What? I said I missed Buck, you were so sweet not controlling, I just...” you stopped talking seeing the deadly expression on his face.

“That idiot Bucky is not going to save you! It’s me! I’m the one who will keep you safe. I love you so much more than Bucky ever has. Don’t you understand. Bucky is weak and he is not coming back.” You winced at his cruel words.

“James, you are the Soldat right now? You.... you need help.” You stuttered. At your words Soldat lost his cool, couldn’t you understand and accept his love for you. He raised his flesh arm and slapped you across the face. What was in Bucky that wasn’t in him. He was right, you only loved him as you thought it was Bucky; you didn’t love the Soldat. But he was Bucky, too right?

“Bucky!!!” You held your stinging cheek. You might have tolerated his words but how dare he hit you? You weren’t the one going to sit back and take his shit. In the heat of the moment, you slapped him back. “How dare you?” you screamed at him. He just closed his eyes and took a deep breath; he knew he had messed up big time. The Soldat was scared of one thing: your anger and resentment in him. He hated when he upset you.

“James enough is enough. I’ve had too much of your shit! All I try to do is support you and care for you. I literally handle this house, a job, I look after Rissie, and I take care of you like you are a child. Not once have I ever complaint.

James, I love you so much, but it’s so taxing! Love is not supposed hurt; it’s not supposed to be one sided. I try everything I can to help you. But you? You just don’t care! All you do is come up with stupider excuses. Keeping me home? Making me leave my job? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You shook your head and pinched your nose.

“Look James, I can’t do this anymore. I think we should take a break. We both need to breathe. We need to take a look at things from a different perspective....” before you could continue, he snapped.

On moment you were trying to talk some sense into him and the next you were pinned to the wall with his metal arm squeezing the life out of you. Your eyes widened and you desperately tried to breathe, but he had blocked your windpipe. “Jame...” you couldn’t even continue your sentence.

The Soldat was furious. How could you? How could you suggest that he leave you? You didn’t need a break, you needed him. Only him. And he was going to prove it to you. He wouldn’t let you leave. You started banging your hands on his arm but it was of no use. His eyes were dead, like in the videos. And that scared you more.

Finally, your arms gave out and you were on the verge of passing out. Yet that didn’t stop him, he was a madman with a point to prove. But then a small blood vessel burst open in your left cheek. And when Bucky noticed that, he came back to his senses.

He quickly left his grip and ran back, bumping into the bed. You sagged back down the wall, wheezing. For minutes or for hours you couldn’t tell, you both didn’t dare move. You were shivering and sobbing. And he was contemplating everything, how could he?

He wasn’t the Winter Soldier right now, he was Bucky. Why did the Soldat had to ruin everything? He was fine till it was limited to killing, but ruining his marriage. What could he ever possibly do to make up to you?

Bucky was the first one to speak up, “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I... that wasn’t me; or maybe that was. I don’t know. I’m so confused. You were right, I shouldn’t have joined Hydra. I... I don’t know what to say, what to do.... ,,.... please say something, don’t stay quiet. Please.!” He pleaded with tears in his eyes.

“Tell me, tell me what shall I say so that you wouldn’t snap.” Your voice was hoarse and it was hurting to even say one sentence. “You are right, we should give each other space.” His heart broke to million pieces, but he knew it was right. The Soldat could come back any moment and he was too unstable to stay with you and Rissie.

“I’ll... uhmm.. I’ll leave. I can come here for an hour everyday till...” he suggested. “Please, please don’t. You are too scary. Think about Iris. Just go to Rachel, you’ve denied it for too long and look at us. If she says you are stable enough, come back anytime. But... not before.” Rachel was your friend and an excellent psychiatrist. “Oh, okay. Forgive me please. I’m sorry...”

“Leave please!” You quietly observed as he picked up his duffel bag, which was packed all the time for emergency, and left the room. You got up and followed him, all while thinking of the beautiful moments you shared with Bucky. “Goodbye.” He said and you nodded as he left the house in his car.

“Umm, are you okay? I was worried, I don’t mean to pry. I just heard some commotion.” Sam said as he entered your front yard. Sam was neighbor and a dear friend. He had moved in soon after you had. But you had known each other much before that. He used to frequently visit your hospital with one reason or another. You guessed he had a thing for one of the nurses but he never agreed. He was a light hearted person and you enjoyed his company.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I appreciate your concern.” you tried your best to smile. His eyes quickly went to the bruises on your neck. “You don’t have to be formal, tell me. We are friends. Are you fine? Do you need something.” You couldn’t stop your tears at his concern.

“I’m not fine, but I don’t want to talk about it right now.” You said wiping the tears off. “If you need me, anytime, I’m just one call away.” He gave you a warm smile. “Thanks Sam. I’m so glad you are my friend.”

“You are hell bent on giving me diabetes with your sweet words, lady. Take care of yourself. I’ll be right next door.” He said as he saw you walk into the house.

He quickly exited your house and removed his phone from his pajama. He had to make a call.

☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎

You were in your own thoughts. Bucky hadn’t once called you or showed up in the past six days. You had expected him to come back the next day or at least call.

As you walked back home from the hospital, you didn’t notice the huge Greek god of a man walk straight into you. “I’m sorry.” You said out of instinct without looking up.

You stopped right in your tracts when you heard a familiar yet much affirmative voice calling your name. You turned around and stared right into his eyes. He had changed, become much much bigger and stronger than before. But his eyes, they were the same.

“Steve?!” you asked with sudden excitement. He gave you a radiant smile which instantly improved your day.

Lost in the joy of meeting your long-lost friend, you were both unaware of the pair of eyes keenly observing your every move.

[theladyofdeath]

In the Bleak Midwinter {1}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

Summary:  2 years after Arobynn Hammel is killed by Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve has returned from Eyllwe with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Rowan is getting married, Lorcan is a father, and Lysandra is finally ready to give her heart away. There’s been peace in The Cadre’s Orynth for 2 years, but peace never lasts.

A/N: At last! Enjoy the tragedy that is about to unfold...

All characters belong to SJM. I am no more than a fan with a plot.

**Warning: mature content - language, alcohol use, drug use, sex, murders and shit.

Links & masterlists:

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The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG} 

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

2 years later…

The wedding had been a peaceful event. Small, just family and close friends. The ceremony was held in a beautiful chapel with stained-glass windows and pews sturdy enough to last the last century. Rowan had waited at the end of the aisle while his bride was escorted to him by her father. 

Aelin was beautiful.

They’d had a hard time planning the perfect wedding- mostly when it came to the guest list. But at last, two years later, they had come to a plan that they agreed on, and all was well.

Well enough, anyway.

Business, both legal and not, had skyrocketed in the past two years. Rowan and Aelin now lived in a massive house just outside of the city. They got a dog, per Aelin’s request, even though Rowan had never been one for pets. Fleetfoot seemed good enough, though. At least she never chewed anything up or shit on the carpet.

As for their enemies, there had only been little squabbles over the past couple years. After Arobynn’s death, the entirety of Orynth belonged to the Cadre, with no doubt from the citizens within. Everywhere Rowan went, people knew his name, knew his reputation, knew who he was and what he did. Not that anyone could prove it. Any of it. The cops still stayed off his back, although he owed a lot of that to those in uniform that he paid to keep quiet. 

He had only recently received news from an enemy that caused true concern, but he had kept it to himself. He wanted to keep the peace...if only for a little while longer.

It had been a while since Rowan had seen his new wife, he realized, after they had returned to their home for a reception to celebrate their marriage. People were everywhere, and his men were on guard around the room - socializing, drinking, but staying alert, per his request. Rowan’s eyes scanned the room as he made his way to the far wall and up the grand staircase and down the hall, to where the master bedroom sat behind a closed set of thick double doors.

He pushed the door open and found Aelin sitting in front of her vanity, fixing her lipstick. Rowan closed the doors and leaned back against them, arms crossed, as he watched.

Aelin met his gaze through her reflection in the mirror.

When she said nothing, Rowan sighed, “Must I ask why you’re up here instead of floating through the ballroom like the social butterfly that you are?” 

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Needed a moment.”

Rowan reeled in the urge to roll his eyes, too. “I know you, Aelin. So please tell me what’s really going on instead of tiptoeing around the issue, for the gods sake.”

Aelin slowly set down her pale, pink lipstick and straightened her back. “I feel you regret marrying me.”

Rowan blinked, shoulders tensing. “We just fucking said our vows an hour ago, what the hell are you talking about?” 

He knew he should approach the subject with caution, and as Aelin’s eyes grew misty, he knew he had to do some damage control - and fast. 

After pushing himself off of the doors, he approached his new wife and knelt before her, resting his hands on her knees as she sat before him on the vanity’s golden stool.

But before he could speak, Aelin said, “You’ve been acting strange lately, Ro, don’t think that I haven’t noticed. I thought you were simply nervous for the wedding, for being in front of all of those people at the ceremony, considering you have to be vulnerable in stating your vows, and let’s be honest, vulnerability isn’t your strong suit.” Rowan snorted, but Aelin went on, “But, now I’m not so sure. I fear you will grow to regret me, regret us, and it has already begun.”

Rowan sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to collect his emotions. Yelling at her, telling her how ridiculous she sounded, would not help matters, not at all. 

Once he opened his eyes, he said, simply, “It’s just your hormones, that’s all.”

Aelin’s eyes had dried and were replaced with hellfire.

Nope, not the right thing to say, at all.

“I just mean,” Rowan said, quickly, placing his hands lovingly over Aelin’s stomach, “that...well….you’re….a little more emotional lately, you know?”

“Fuck off,” she muttered, pushing his hands away. “You blame everything on my hormones. Tell me that one more fucking time, Rowan Whitethorn, and I’m cutting your balls off in your sleep.”

Rowan blinked, as Aelin stood and walked to the other side of the room. She threw open the wardrobe and shuffled through it, even though she wouldn’t be changing her clothes.

“Are we really going to fight on our wedding day?” Rowan asked, standing to his feet. “We have a house full of guests downstairs, Aelin.”

“I don’t care,” she snapped.

“You are such a pain in the ass,” Rowan mumbled.

“Yeah, I am. And you’re a jackass.” She kept her back to him. “I demand to know what’s going on, Rowan.”

He opened his mouth for a snappy retort, but quickly shut it. It wasn’t worth the argument. Not today.

“It’s not you, okay?” Rowan said, sighing, running his hands down his face. “I don’t regret you, Aelin, and honestly, I don’t know how you could even think such a fucking stupid thing. Alright? I love you. I put a fucking kid inside of you. And I love that thing, too.”

Aelin paused her rummaging through the wardrobe and turned around, slowly. “Could you please not refer to our child as a fucking kid or that thing?” 

Rowan’s eyes closed. “You’re asking a lot of me here, A.”

They had yet to tell anyone that Aelin was expecting. It was still early and she had yet to noticeably show. 

Her heels clicked across the hardwood floor, and when Rowan opened his eyes, she was standing in front of him, gold-rimmed eyes still filled with worry. “What’s going on, Ro?”

He sucked in his bottom lip and turned away but Aelin took his chin and forced him to meet her gaze, once more. 

“It’s business,” he said, at last.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Not a good enough one,” she protested.

“Let’s go back downstairs and enjoy the day,” Rowan said, “and later tonight, I’ll fill you in.”

Aelin stared at him for a moment. “It’s just business?”

“It’s just business,” he promised, and took her face into his hands as he kissed her, softly.

Aelin chuckled as she reached up to wipe away the lipstick that had transferred to his lips from hers. “Okay,” she breathed. “Fine. But tell your band of dipshits that they better keep themselves in line tonight. Lysandra says that Fenrys plans to start a fighting ring out back by the end of the night, and if he does that, I will personally kill him myself.” 

“Alright,” Rowan muttered, although Lysandra had told him that, too, and he had thought nothing of it. “I’ll take care of it.”

~~~~~

Gavriel was nearly the last one to make it into the kitchen. The others were there, all who was missing was Rowan himself, who had announced that there would be a meeting in five minutes and if any of them were missing he’d have their balls.

Gavriel leaned back against the wall between Aedion and Vaughan, who offered him a cigarette. Fenrys and Connall were there, too, sitting on the counter top. And then there was Lorcan, nearly about to fall asleep where he stood. Apparently the little one was going through an “I don’t want to sleep” phase - again. Chaol, Dorian, and Ren were talking about something amongst themselves. From what Gavriel could gather, it had something to do with a woman. Judging by the annoyed look in his eyes and the pink tips of his ears, Gavriel assumed that they were trying to set Ren up with one of the guests upstairs. 

After the uniting of Rowan and Aelin, Rhoe and his men became secondary members of the Cadre. They were all family now, after all - at least, that’s what they were told.

By the time Rowan padded down the stairs and into the kitchen, dodging busy waiters as they carried appetizers and champagne upstairs, the room was filled with smoke. 

Rowan didn’t say a word as he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit the tip. He took a long drag before he said, “Today is my wedding day. Which means that it’s an important day for my wife, and since it’s such an important day for my wife, I expect none of you will do anything to ruin it. In short, if you think it will embarrass Aelin, don’t do it.” He stood in the middle of them all, slowly turning, making sure to meet each of their gazes. He stopped when he faced Fenrys. “No fucking fighting.” He pointed from Fenrys, to Connall. “No fucking fighting.”

The twins held their hands up in surrender, as if they had no idea what Rowan was talking about. Beside Gavriel, Vaughan snorted. 

“No fighting. No snow, no drugs,” Rowan went on, emphasizing the word drugs as he looked at Chaol, Dorian, and Ren. “No fucking in public places, gods, no one wants to see that, if you’re taking a woman, please do it upstairs, in one of the guest rooms and lock the fucking door. We don’t need a repeat of...well, any of the times we’ve caught Dorian and Manon in one of their many compromising positions.” Dorian just grinned as Rowan added, “And try not to get shitfaced. Please. Have a drink, but keep your fucking wits.”

“I know you said no drugs,” Fenrys said, raising his hand like he was a fucking schoolboy. “But Lor really looks like he could use a pick-me-up right about now.”

Rowan turned around to find Lorcan, eyes closed, breathing even, as he leaned up against the wall. He slowly walked toward the tall, broad-framed male, and patted his cheek with a little too much force.

Lorcan’s eyes shot open, exhaustion lingering in those onyx eyes. “Hmm?”

“Are you listening?” Rowan asked, cigarette between his teeth.

Lorcan yawned, and nodded. “Yeah. No-No fucking fighting.”

“Right,” Rowan confirmed, then turned around to the rest of them. “No. Fucking. Fighting!”

Rowan turned to leave, cigarette between his teeth. A waiter came around the corner and bumped into Rowan’s shoulder. Gavriel shook his head as Rowan shoved the waiter out of the way and headed out of sight.

“He seems tense,” Aedion muttered.

“He’s always tense,” Gavriel agreed. “Get a few drinks in him. He’ll be fine.”

“Get a few drinks in him then he’ll be the first one fighting,” Connall grinned.

Vaughan chuckled. 

“When’s an appropriate time to leave?” Lorcan asked. “I need sleep.”

“How come you’re so exhausted?” Gavriel asked. “Your wife is upstairs floating around the room like a woman on a mission.”

“That’s because all we’ve seen since the baby’s been born is you miserable lot,” Lorcan muttered. “She’s excited to be around other people, pleasant people.” 

Gavriel laughed as he followed Aedion out of the kitchen and up the servant’s stairs. Things had been going well between the two of them in the two years that had passed. They met for drinks once a week, but often ran into each other and talked for a while in the days in between. 

“Plan to stay for a while?” Aedion asked, walking beside his father.

“I don’t have a choice,” Gavriel said. “Especially if Fen and Connall are going to fight, which they are, no matter what Rowan says. By the end of the night, they’ll be taking bets.”

Aedion laughed, quietly. “Sounds right.”

They fell into the ballroom, at last, and Gavriel watched Aedion’s eyes light up when he spotted Lysandra on the opposite side.

“Go,” Gavriel encouraged, when it was obvious Aedion wanted to walk away.

He never asked how it was going between the two of them, never wanted to push. He knew that the young couple was in love, but that Lysandra’s past still weighed on her heavily. 

Because of that, it seemed like the two simply remained friends.

As much as two people could be friends when they’re in love with one another, anyway. 

Gavriel couldn’t help but watch as Aedion asked Lysandra for her hand and led her onto the dancefloor. He spun her around, joy lighting up his eyes as Lysandra tilted her head back and laughed. 

Then Rowan and Aelin entered the crowd, that little smile that Rowan reserved just for his bride plastered on his face. He deserved it, after all the kid had endured. Although Gavriel supposed Rowan was not a kid, not anymore.

He hadn’t been for a long while.

At least he had Aelin to make him happy.

Gavriel had noticed his shift in the recent weeks, though. He was more tense, more anxious. Something was happening, but Gavriel wasn’t sure what - none of them were. 

And Gavriel knew better than to pressure him about it. 

~~~~~

“I can’t believe you made me leave in the middle of dancing.”

Lorcan sighed. It was the fifth time Elide had said that on their drive home. In reality, Lorcan didn’t make her do anything. She had found him sleeping with a glass of whiskey in his hand at a table in the corner and asked if he needed to go home. 

He mumbled a yes, and they were off.

Of course, now he was the bad guy.

“Blame your daughter,” Lorcan said, opening the front door. “She’s the one that doesn’t let me sleep.” 

Elide shut the door behind them and locked it. The nanny was sitting in the den, sipping from a glass of vodka. Lorcan and the nanny had a love/hate relationship. She spoke a language that Lorcan didn’t understand, but everything she said to him was laced with anger. Elide was fluent, though, and communicated easily with Natalia, who obviously liked Elide a lot more than Lorcan.

He couldn’t complain, though. Any nanny who came to work for him and never asked questions was one he had to hold onto.

Even if she did constantly watch Lorcan with those narrowed, angry green eyes.

Elide asked Natalia a question, and she replied but the only word Lorcan knew was Lucielle. 

He thudded up the stairs, Elide close behind him.

“I assume Lucy was good?” Lorcan murmured.

“Yes,” Elide confirmed, “and Natalia says your tie is silly.”

Lorcan looked down at his tie with a frown. “I like this tie. Cranky old woman.”

She pinched his ass with a quiet giggle. “I know.”

They both made their way into the nursery to check on their one year old. She was sound asleep in her crib, her black, curly hair wild atop her white sheets. Lorcan snorted, shaking his head. 

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered, brushing that hair back from her forehead, careful not to wake her.

“Come on,” Elide whispered. “Let her sleep.”

They left the nursery and stumbled down the hall into the master bedroom. Elide shut the door as Lorcan crashed onto their bed.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled.

“That’s all I get?” Elide crooned. “I thought we could work on baby number two tonight.”

Lorcan barked a laugh as he put his hands behind his head. Elide started unlacing his boots. “You want two kids waking us up at the crack of dawn?” 

“Why not?” Elide asked, taking off his socks before crawling on top of his body and straddling his waist. 

“Lucy is perfect,” Lorcan mumbled, his hands finding her thighs and lifting up the hem of her skirt so that his fingers could brush her warm skin, just above the garters. “But give me another year before we are blessed with another...angel.”

Elide laughed breathlessly as she leaned down and pressed her lips against her husband’s. “Very well.”

Lorcan yawned. “Fuck me, though. I’ll pull out. Maybe.”

Elide snorted. “How romantic.”

“I’m incredibly romantic,” Lorcan agreed, closing his eyes.

Elide started undoing his belt, but by the time she had his trousers unbuttoned, he was already snoring.

~~~~~

Rowan had left Aelin with the guests that remained, the dancing still going strong, as he snuck out of the back of the house.

Against his wishes, two grown men were fighting near the stables, Fenrys and Connall taking bets. Gavriel and Vaughan both looked curiously at Rowan as he approached.

“Couldn’t stay away?” Gavriel asked.

Rowan pulled the cigarette out from between his teeth. “They don’t listen, do they.”

Vaughan just shook his head.

“Leave them be,” Rowan said, looking away. “I need you two to come with me. Now.”

No one asked questions.

They loaded up into the car and drove to the edge of town, where the old railroad tracks ended. 

Vaughan began to slow down as they approached, upon seeing the black car that sat by the tracks, the lights off.

“What’s going on?” Gavriel asked, quietly.

“Pretend like you already know,” Rowan said, tossing his cigarette onto the gravel as Vaughan put the car in park. Rowan got out, Vaughan and Gavriel at his back. They stood in the middle of the two cars and, a moment later, the car closest to the tracks opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out in a long, black coat and a neat fedora.

Rowan stilled. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man said nothing. He couldn’t have been much older than Rowan, but the look in his blue eyes was unsettling. He recognized him from somewhere, but Rowan couldn’t place him. 

Without a word, the man held up a sealed envelope.

“Not going to talk?” Rowan asked, blinking. “Makes you look shady.”

The man didn’t budge.

He simply held the letter out.

“Very well,” Rowan sighed. He nodded to Vaughan, who stepped forward and snatched the letter out of the man’s hand.

Without another word, the man fell back into the backseat of the car, and they sped off.

Once they were out of sight, Gavriel turned to Rowan. “Is this where we get an explanation?”

Rowan took the envelope from Vaughan and lit a match after breaking the seal and pulling out the letter. He read over it in the ignited light, the other two watching him quietly, curiously. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, then lit the corner of the letter and watched it go up in flames.

“Rowan,” Gavriel growled, neither he nor Vaughan moved from their spots as Rowan turned to get back into the car.

Rowan stopped and sighed as he turned to meet his friends, his family, his Cadre. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he said, “Maeve is back.” Rowan shrugged, turning his back to them to finish the distance to the car. “And she’s pissed.”

He loaded himself into the driver’s seat as Vaughan and Gavriel looked down at the letter on the ground, where the black hand was burning into nothingness and floating away in the night. 

~~~~~~

@mariamuses  @garnet-29  @writer-reader-traveller  @rowaelin-cressworth  @space-buns-arsinoe  @negativenesta  @empress-ofbloodshed  @the-regal-warrior  @starseternalnighttriumphant  @westofmoon  @sammyjojaaaa  @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter  @carbconnoisseur @acer6437  @lorcansalvatearupmyheart  @cool-ish-nerd  @mynewdreamwasyou  @mourning-razorlust  @thespiritualrider  @rowaelinforeverworld  @didsomeonesayviolin  @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit  @yeah-just-ignore-me-thanks  @queen-of-glass  @the-dark-swan  @http-itsrebecca  @holdingon-21@babycardan @tswaney17  @mollycateoc  @chemicha  @bat-wing-rhys @exersize-me-i-dare-u @thespiritualrider  @luna-the-little @morebooks-pls  @shyvioletcat  @hermajestyanna  @a97girl  @stardustsroses  @queenofthemoon22 @alifletcher2012  @awkward-avocado-s  @faerie-queen-fireheart  @cwheart  @lovemollywho @emilyrose111294  @nerdperson524  @sleeping-and-books @cursebreaker29 @flora-and-fae @feyrethedarklady @the-dark-swan @rowaelinforeverworld @sjmsstuff @januarystears @mis-lil-red  @acourtofmoonlight   @rowaelinforeverworld  @courtofmaasdestruction @jjellybean  @thewayshedreamed  @wind-drinker  @aelin-rowan-whitehorn  @starseternalnighttriumphant  @hurema @http-itsrebecca  @lorcansalvatearupmyheart  @cityofchelsea16 @januarystears  @iliketoasterstrudels  @lightitup-bryce  @yikesitsmaddie @feyrethedarklady @i-love-all-books  @keshavomit  @sleeping-and-books @scarznstars  @http-itsrebecca @cat5313 @moondancer-204  @booklover242 @belamoonbeam @they-call-me-cuatro   @b00kworm  @mu-si-ca-l   @thegayerpotato  @abraxos-is-toothless  @keshavomit  @musicdreamer003   @superspiritfestival  @sailorsassley  @mymultiversee @alxanxah @viviaannvu123  @mysweetvillain @theghostlyharrypooperfan @highqueenofelfhame​  @shyvioletcat @maastrash​

[alecmagnuslwb]

Double Trouble

Read on AO3

Zatanna blinks hard praying that there’s some sort of backlash from the spell making her see double. But when her vision clears after a series of rapid blinks her eyelashes sticking together from the movement there’s no change to the view before her.

When she had yelled ‘ylpitlum’ casting her hands out at the dagger John had thrown at the beast before her she wasn’t prepared for the beast to use its last moments of breath before a dozen daggers pierced its skin to send a reverb of magic right back her way. John had grabbed her jumping in front of her and guarding her body with his own at the last second taking the hit instead.

And now, well now she’s dealing with this.

“I’m not sure if this is a nightmare or a fantasy for me,” Zatanna says looking at the two Constantine’s before her both sporting that same sardonic smile she’s fallen for over and over again. Her eyes flit between the two of them spotting no differences, they are exact copies of one another.

“Please say fantasy,” the John to her right says. He steps towards her at the same time as the one to her left. They both reach out to cup her cheek.

“Are you alright, luv?” the one to her left says running his thumb under her eye lightly. The one on the right looks annoyed that he beat him to asking, so he steps back patting down his pockets looking for his cigarettes.

“I’m fine,” she says watching as the one John lights his cigarette and the other keeps his eyes trained on her. “You’re the one who seems to not be.”

“Eh,” the one smoking says. He pauses taking a drag and shrugging his shoulders. “I mean I’ve been worse.”

Zatanna squints one eye and tilts her head in thought. He’s not technically wrong, he’s had way worse spells blast upon him, at least he’s still got all of his limbs attached. Double the limbs, really.

She pulls back from the John closest to her, his hand dropping from her face. She grabs him by the sleeve and drags him to stand beside smoking John. She situates them both standing perfectly beside one another and pulls the cigarette from the one’s mouth as he makes a grumbling protest that she ignores.

“Don’t move an inch,” she says stepping back a few feet from them. She raises her hands focusing her magic on the two identical men before her.

“Nruter meht ot eno,” she says and a burst of blue and yellow magic leaves her fingertips cascading over both John’s, she watches as it combines together between them and then, nothing, absolutely nothing happens. She huffs in frustration as the sparks fall to the ground, no change whatsoever.

“Well it kinda tickled,” left John says, it’s his turn to pull out his pack of cigarettes. He lights two handing one to his other self who nods in thanks before holding it out to her.

“You seem stressed,” he says with a cheeky smile. “It might take off the edge.” The other John nods in agreement.

Zatanna rolls her eyes and walks over to the pair. She takes the offered cigarette and flicks it across the room while never breaking eye contact with him.

“Hey,” he says watching forlornly as it goes, landing in a puddle and flickering out. The other John chuckles taking a long drag and purposely blowing the smoke in the direction of his other self.

Zatanna snatches his away too, just because. He stops chuckling frowning as she crushes it out beneath her heel.

“I don’t understand. That should have worked,” she says focusing back on the issue at hand.

Right John is the first to speak up.

“Maybe it’s cause we’re different essences, ya know,” he says gesturing a hand between the two identical versions of himself. “He’s my good side, I’m the bad side, or something like that.”

Zatanna scrunches up her nose at the theory. It would be possible, there’s plenty of spells like that out there in the world, but they’re behaving far too alike for that.

“No your both being equally as annoying, I don’t think it’s a good side versus evil side situation,” she says placing her hands on her hips. They both smirk at her evaluation, proving they’re definitely the same John just duplicated.

She looks down at her hands playing a bit of colorful magic over them with a sigh.

“Whatever that thing did, it used my magic against me, which means my magic isn’t going to fix it,” she sighs again, just once she’d like some mission of theirs to go off without a hitch. Just once. She raises her arms pulling up a portal and pushing both of them through.

They pour out into the room the house of mystery has decided is a potion room and a library today. Both John’s move to take off their trench coats and Zatanna stops the one closest to her.

“Nope, the only way I’m gonna be able to tell the difference is if one of you keeps on the coat,” she says. The one with his coat already off smirks at the other one as he pushes the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows, loosening his tie a bit more.

The one still in his coat huffs and throws himself into a chair as the other situates himself on an empty table still smirking. Zatanna ignores them both heading to the bookshelves and pulling every book she finds that could have a solution. She tosses one at each of the Constantine’s, hitting the one sprawling across the desk a little hard in the stomach which cause him to let out a little ‘oof’ sound.

“Read. Find a potion or something that’ll put you back together,” she says placing a stack on another small desk and sitting down. She immediately starts going through them, dogearing a few that might work, or could be combined for best results.

It only takes about twenty minutes of reading before one of the John’s speaks up with a suggestion she knew one of them was bound to make eventually.

“You know there is one surefire type of magic to recenter auras and rejoin selves,” trench coat Constantine says tilting his head her way. The other one lying on the desk lifts himself up with a wicked little smile that already has her rolling her eyes.

“He’s right,” he says flipping himself so that he’s basically straddling the desk facing her way. “Ta-“ he starts and Zatanna immediately shoots him down.

“If you say tantric sex magic I will throw you both in a pocket dimension,” she says glaring at them both. They pout in response, the same puppy dog eyes he tries to give whenever he wants something pointed at her from two angles. It’s not working today though.  

“But it would probably work. Our magic with yours always yields excellent and intense results,” trench coat says shutting the book he was reading. “Plus, it’s fun.” Their faces light up with equally as hopeful looks.

“Yeah it might,” she says and they smile. “But, I’m far too annoyed with both of you already for that, so guzzling down a no doubt terrible tasting potion is what you’re going to get,” she says with a sunny smile. Their own smiles drop and hers grows.

They both grumble going back to their books as she does the same. It only takes a few minutes for her to work out a solution, she gets up flitting around the room for ingredients and combining a few spells together specific to her magic, the beasts and a few outside sources. She catches both of the John’s watching her as she moves, the flow of her coattails trailing behind her and the glow of magic tickling at her fingertips. It’s good to know no matter how many of him there are, he’s a captive audience when she’s around.

She spoons the mixture, a sludgy black and green thing, into two vials and corks them. She turns tossing a vial to each of them that they both easily catch one handed.

“Drink these simultaneously and yas eseht sdrow after,” she says flashing her hand across the space in front of her. The enochian words they’ll need to say appear in smoky clouds lingering for them to read.

They both come to stand beside the hovering words, uncorking their vials.

No coat Constantine pauses before he lifts it to his lips as the other him sniffs it with a grimace.

“You sure you don’t want to try the sex magic?” he asks her with a little smile on his lips. The other John’s head perks up with the same small smile.

Zatanna snorts out a little laugh. “Maybe some other time,” she says with a wink. She’s not lying under the right circumstances where she wasn’t so tired and annoyed, she might be down for the idea.

Both John’s chuckle. “We’ll hold you to that,” they say in unison before tipping their vials together in a toast and tossing them back. They read the words still written above and immediately the spell starts to work.

They both lift off the ground a little, a bright white blinding light encapsulating them both. Zatanna shields her eyes, lifting her arm when the light fades. Standing there where there was once two of him, is one John Constantine, trench coat askew, hair a mess, the wholly original genuine article.

“So about that maybe some other time,” he says, poorly straightening his tie. Zatanna picks up a paperback from behind her and throws it at his chest in response.

[thestorytellerofkpop]

Title: Elysian

Word Count: 2.7k+

Rating: M

Genre: Realistic fantasy, eventual smut

Warnings: None in this chapter~

Pairings: BTS OT7 x Reader

Summary: In life, it is rare when another person touches your heart, when their soul brushes with yours just like shooting stars that fall to the Earth. But them? Such a constellation was me to them, and them to me.

1, 2, 3 (coming soon)

You woke with a gasp, your eyes scuttling around your room only to release it was just you and Pan in your bed, no handsome mysterious stranger in sight. You sighed, falling back against your bed as your eyes roamed the ceiling. Your throat was parched and although you knew it was just a dream, waves of disappointment settled deep in your stomach when you knew you really were just alone. 

With a heavy sigh you heaved yourself out of bed, shuffling towards the bathroom as a shiver passed through your body. You really needed to get that thermostat fixed. You turned the faucet on your sink, bending down to splash the warm water over your skin as you washed your face. You smiled at the thought of the dream you had while you patted your face dry, remembering the way the man looked with his tousled hair, his rich, dark eyes and those lips.

You screamed.

You whipped your head around, then turned to stare back into the mirror. The face you had seen in the glass was not yours, but the man from your dreams. But, in the brief glace you had got, he seemed to have gotten softer features and even fuller lips. You were just imagining things. You groaned, rubbing your eyes as you continued on with your day, dressing and eating before calling Pan over with a sharp whistle. He came trotting over happily, tongue lolling out the corner of his mouth as you clipped his leash onto his collar. 

You exited through the back door, admiring your garden and how the violets were blooming nicely as you guided Pan out the back gate. You savored the feeling of the morning sun on your cheeks, allowing Pan to stop and sniff at the foliage so he could find an appropriate spot to do his business. You walked up the block, then the next, following the usual route back home when Pan suddenly stopped.

“Pan?” you leaned down to pet his head, eyes shining with concern. “What’s wrong buddy?”

Then, with a strength you didn’t know your dog had, he yanked himself out of your grasp and ran up the street, disappearing from your sight.

“Pan!” you yelled, chasing after your dog, whistling to try and get him to come back to you. You had ran all the way back to your house, huffing when you saw Pan sitting at your back gate, but he wasn’t alone.

“Pan!” you were out of breath, and your yell resembled more of a wheeze and came out more comical than intimidating. Clearly Pan thought the same since he continued to sniff the other dog standing at your back gate.

“Is this your dog?” the man holding onto his own dog’s leash asked. You nodded, unable to speak as you caught your breath. He chuckled along with the man next to him.

“He just came running up to us as we were passing by,” the second man smiled. “He got away from ya huh?”

“Yes,” you gasped, mustering a smile for the two incredibly attractive men. “Thank you for watching him as I caught up.”

“It’s no problem at all, it was our pleasure.” the second man purred, taking a tentative step towards you. You raised your eyebrow at his change of voice, suddenly noticing the same buzzing feeling from yesterday deep in the pit of your stomach.

“Just be careful, you wouldn’t want to lose this precious creature again.” the first man smirked, and you suddenly felt the urge to hide.

“Well, thank you, but I really need to get going…” you opened the back gate, ushering Pan inside the backyard when you felt a warmth engulf your hand. You gasped and looked down at the hand resting over yours on the gate. That warmth. That same warmth from yesterday. The first man gave you a dazzling smile, gently removing his hand from yours. 

“Have a wonderful day.” the first said.

“And be careful today, you never know what may happen.” the second smirked.

You nodded, scuttling in through your back gate, making sure to release Pan from his leash before you ran inside your house. You tried to catch your breath, placing your hand over your heart to try and stop its frantic beating, as if that would do anything. Pan jumped in the house through his doggy door, gently nudging your leg so he could squeeze past you and into the kitchen. You shook your head. You locked your back door, switching your sneakers for heels while grabbing the car keys by the main door and ran to your car, looking out the widows to make sure the man was well gone before backing out of the driveway and making your way into the city for work.

The morning was uneventful, filled with the same old meetings, the same old paperwork, the same routine as always. You and your heart were forever grateful to fall back into that routine, allowing your mind to drift from the odd events from your morning. With your routine, you followed one of your female co-workers to a coffee shop across the street during your lunch break. Sure, she was annoying, and a little boring, but it was better than eating somewhere alone. 

“Ma’am?”

You smiled apologetically in the direction of the cashier, moving up your place in line.

“Sorry, I guess my head was caught in the cl-”

There was a new guy at the register. Gone was the normal forty-something year-old man who would ramble about his wife and kids and then throw in a free cookie afterwards for allowing him to talk to someone, anyone, during his shift. In instead was a beautiful man, with hair as dark as night and eyes that seemed even darker than that. It was a stark contrast to his paler skin; he almost looked ghostly. His uniform was crisp and underwhelming compared to the other employees whos aprons were decorated in colors, doodles and pins. His was black instead of the tan normality of the shop’s uniform, with the logo pressed neatly into the fabric in delicate white stitching. 

“It’s quite alright, ma’am. Would you like to try our new Mystic Drink?” he rested his elbows on the counter, his eyes trained on your facial expressions.

“What’s in it?” you asked as he slid a small sample cup towards you with his pointer finger. The corners of his lips rose as you raised it up near your lips to inspect it.

Drink it…

You paused your sniffing of the drink to look up at the new guy, your eyebrow arching up in surprise.

“Did you say something?” you asked. The man shook his head.

“So, the drink? What’s in it?” you repeated as you stared curiously into the ruby red liquid.

“The base is coconut milk, with strawberry, mango, pomegranate-”

You pushed the drink back forcefully, almost spilling it onto the counter in your haste to get it away from you. The new guy didn’t seem fazed by you reaction, rather, his smirk just grew wider as your heart pounded in your chest.

“Sorry. But no thank you. Pomegranate and I have not had a good relationship. I’ll just take a caramel macchiato.”

The man nodded, his smirk ever present as he took your payment. You grabbed your coffee, ignoring his pointed stare as you joined your co-worker at a small table by the window.

You couldn’t care less about whatever nonsense your co-worker was spewing about, opting instead to glance around the coffee shop to try and stop your beating heart. You found the figure of a man, no older than yourself, sipping on something hot as his other hand held a book. You couldn’t make out the title, but saw the faint outlines of thought bubbles on the cover, was he reading something about the mind or was it just one of those obscure fiction novels? He suddenly looked up and caught your eyes.

Behind is golden wired glasses, you found caramel orbs staring back at you, partially shrouded by blonde clouds of hair. Then he was moving, dropping his book and oh no, making his way over to you. Your co-workers voice stopped as the attractive man took your hand, leading you out of the coffee shop and away from the crowds of lunch rushers. You should have protested, but something was drawing you to him. His hand held that same warmth you’ve been feeling all day, settling deep into your stomach as he guided you down the street and into a plaza, sitting you down on the nearest bench he could find. 

“You’re so beautiful, so stunning and captivating, I couldn’t help but have you all to myself for just a moment. I want you, I desire you, I need-”

“Y/N!”

You looked up at your co-worker who was eyeing you worriedly.

“Get your head out of the clouds. You’re gonna fall if you keep that up.” she said, gesturing her hand to all of you.

You looked down and flushed. You were leaning in your chair to the point the chair was leaning with you, its hind legs sticking up in the air. You placed your chair down with a loud clang, making your co-worker flinch. You saw the guy across the shop look at you, before turning away to giggle behind his book. You felt the rising shame and embarrassment hanging over your shoulders at the intense daydream you had, and about a complete stranger nonetheless. 

“I think I’m going to head back early,” you told your co-worker, ignoring her words and leaving the coffee shop as quick as you could, your heels clicking rapidly down the street.

Just keep chasing those pavements, angel…

“Oh no, not again,” you mumbled to yourself. Those whispers were back again, light and airy and oh so delectable as the words traveled down the back of your neck and spine, leaving warmth in their wake like the breath of a fleeting kiss. You felt much too hot, and you quickened your pace to get back to your office building.

This ain’t lust, we know this is love…

You almost sobbed in relief when you saw a busker sitting outside your office building, singing softly and strumming on a guitar. You weren’t hearing things, obviously, you were perfectly fine and sane. You were about to pass him by, to enter your work and just forget about all the oddities that had happened when something stopped you, your hand outstretched towards the door. 

His guitar seemed to call out to you, gently weeping and crying out for you just to stay for a little while, that the world could wait just five minutes so you could listen to what he had to say. The air around him was buzzing so beautifully, capturing you in such a trance that you didn’t even remember walking back towards him, or sitting on the ground in front of him just to get closer, ever so closer to him and his voice. 

His fingers moved delicately over the strings, his dark hair covering his eyes as he moved to the rhythm, his bare foot thumping along to the beat of the song. He didn’t seem to pay you any mind, focusing his entire being into his singing and his music. Oh but were you focusing so intently on him, on the wing earrings he wore, and how his white jeans hugged his thighs so beautifully, a stark contrast to the flowing golden shirt he wore on top. And how you couldn’t help but lean in closer, closer, closer, to his music, to his voice, to him.

“And as I fly around in circles, and as my back begins to tingle, I think, could this be it?”

Suddenly his eyes met yours, and you were drowning in the brightest, most stunning blue you had seen in your entire life. He smirked, his front teeth poking out to nibble on the corner of his cherry red lips as he strummed the last few notes from his guitar, seemingly content with himself. Even when his fingers stopped moving, his eyes didn’t waver from yours, much to your surprise he leaned in towards you. A cute smile laced his lips and you suddenly had the urge to just sit down in his lap, to kiss those lips, and-

“Best not act on those thoughts angel,” he whispered, sending you a flying wink. “Although, do you really think this could be it?”

The lyrics he said, the lyrics that he just sung moments ago, seemed to break you out of your trance. He giggled as you scrambled to your feet, smoothing out your skirt and looking to see if anyone was watching your outlandish behaviors. You spared him one last glance, mumbling something about how he was a wonderful performer and were about to leave him once again when…

“Miss?” he called.

You looked back at him. His bare foot was tapping against his empty guitar case, his blazing blue eyes pleading with you to help him out. You sighed, fishing out whatever loose bills you had to place them into his guitar case. As you leaned down to drop them, the busker grabbed your hand suddenly.

You drew in a sharp breath, feeling that same damn warmth crawling up your arm again. He licked his lips, gently taking the bills from your hand. He hummed, low and deep in the back of his throat before releasing you. The warmth dissipated, and you had to repress a whine and hold your hand back from reaching out to him again. He mumbled a thank you before picking up his guitar again, his hair covering up those blue eyes as you ran into the office, trying to gain as much distance from the beautiful boy as you could. 

She was so warm, so soft, oh what an angel she is

If I have to tell you to repress yourselves one more time…

Oh but how can we? When we’ve finally found our-

“Shut up!” you yelled, making a couple workers in the main lobby glance at you in concern. The voices had stopped. You apologized sheepishly before running to the elevator, hastily entering and pressing the button to your floor. 

As you rose into the sky, you could feel the vibrations you’ve been feeling all day intensify, and when you stepped out onto your floor, you were bombarded with sensations as the vibrations came to a crescendo. You were sweltering, perspiration beading at your forehead, your knees began to shake in an effort to hold you up, and your breathing came out in soft pants as you tried to regain the breath you had lost.

“Ah! Miss L/S, glad you’re back from lunch early!”

“Boss,” you whispered, leaning back up to full height to look him in the eye. When had you bent down?

“You don’t look so good, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you mustered a smile. “You needed me?”

“Oh! No, not I. However, there are some men here that are interested in your work.”

This had to be the best news you had gotten all day. You pushed the weakness of your body to the back of your mind at the thought of finally leaving this boring job.

“That’s wonderful! But, wouldn’t it be a loss for the company in losing me?”

“Oh yes Miss L/S, you are one of our most valued workers,” your boss gave you a kind smile, placing a hand on your shoulder as he guided you to his office. You ignored how the vibrations, somehow, became even stronger.

“However, I will not be upset if you decide to turn in your resignation letter and work for these gentlemen.”

He opened the door to office, allowing you to enter first. Seven pairs of eyes turned to face you, and the minimal breath you had whooshed out of your lungs.

“No, this is…”

Your mind went in to overdrive and before you had finished your thought, darkness overtook your mind as you fainted onto the cheap carpet beneath your feet. As your boss started to freak, the seven other men in the room just stood in shock, for you were more beautiful in the flesh, and like your own, their minds short circuited at the thought of you finally being there with them, for the rest of their lives. 

[ava-jones]

Jen and Ava have a duel

Practice challenge fic pt 2.5

Ava sighed as she walked towards the garden she had seen from her window. It was a little more put together than her wild gardens of Sumner, but it would do. 

She stepped out and looked at some of the flowers, it was quiet. She had never found a quiet place in Angeles as long as she had lived there. It was a nice change. She turned to walk down another path when she saw another selected. It took her a moment but she vaguely recognized her as Jen Li. She was one of the people on her managers "do not speak to" list. However, Ava really liked to stick it to her manager so she approached the lost in thought Jen. 

"Oh hey, sorry I didn't realize anyone was out here.” She apologized but secretly was hoping to make a friend here. This would be a very boring job if she was on her own all the time. 

Jen straightened and turned away from her, “It's okay. I'll just head in.”

Ava felt her older sister instincts kick in as Jen sounded troubled, “No wait, are you okay? You look a little uneasy. Not to like, pry or anything but I've been told I can lend a good ear.”

“No, I... It's just been a lot. They never let you have a moment to breathe.” She replied before mumbling something to herself. 

Ava couldn’t help but laugh. This was a place to breathe for her. It wasn't as free as Sumner, sure, but she didn’t have to deal with stalkers waiting outside her house, or cooperating with sleazy men, “Sorry, this has just been-like my vacation away from never being able to breathe. I don't know if you recognize me or know of me but I'm Ava Jones. My work keeps me pretty thrown around like this so I might have a few pointers if you'd like some?” She offered, sitting down on the bench next to Jen. 

“I mean, if you want to,” she responded before smirking, “and I like Friday.” She added. 

Ava rolled her eyes at the comment of her oldest song, “Thanks. It might be my greatest shame but at least I have the excuse of being 15 when I made it.” She then thought for a moment as she tried to find the right words for her advice. “Well for me, I generally find, like a - and please don’t think I'm an Angeles hipster for this- but a 'zen' place. Like I have a pretty big garden backyard because it makes me think of my garden at home in Sumner. So, for you what's a time or place where you just feel really at peace?”

She took a moment to think, “whenever I'm in my apartment and I'm completely immersed in an essay while my music plays on shuffle. I can just forget and focus on where I know I want to be.” Ava thought she sounded like a good potential friend.

“I get that. When I write a song I'm in a totally different place too. Wouldn't get essays though since I dropped out of high school.” Ava paused for a moment trying to find the next way to help her, “Do you have any topics of interest you'd be able to write on while here?” 

She laughed, “Maybe. You think they encourage individual thought here? Because I doubt they'd like my essays.”

“I mean I don’t think they've discouraged it. Whichever person marries the prince will end up queen so they probably want someone with a brain.” Ava thought out loud not really having considered the topic before. 

“A brain with only shared opinions maybe.” Jen half joked. 

“Well what ideas do you think they'd dislike of yours? You don't seem particularly threatening. I doubt you'd suggest whipping out a guillotine.” Ava added genuinely wondering what ideas she could have that would really be that out there. 

Jen laughed, “ You have no idea. What about you? Do you have any opinions you'd be admonished for?” 

She had to think for a moment as she hadn't really had a moment to consider anything but work since she was fifteen, “hmmm, I'm not really political. There are obvious things like women's equality, especially in the music industry. It's really shit right now. But other than that I can't really think of anything. Maybe an easier opportunity for caste growth? But i dont think I'd be hung and quartered for that.”  

“Maybe not. Some people might want you to be, but... Sorry, you said you don't care about politics,” she shrugged, “Guess someone like you wouldn't have to.” 

My eyebrows furrowed at her second comment, what did she mean someone like me? “I mean I don't not care, I just haven't really had the time to think. Also what's that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it's not like pop stars like you need to. People like you can get by because nothing affects you.” I was in shock for a moment. I grew up in a town of mostly 4s and lower. I was very aware of the effects of economic disparity and the flaws of illea. Just because I hadn’t considered them recently did not mean I was unaffected. 

“You literally just met me. You don't know the first thing about me. Jen Li, right?” I double checked, running through all of the info I knew about her. Maybe she had a family member who was an 8? No. Someone died of poverty? No.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“So in my line of work, I have to expect any questions in interviews and have answers prepared. Therefore, when the selected were announced I received basic information on each of the selected. What's your caste again?” I asked, knowing full well that she’s a three. A higher caste than I was for most of my life. 

“I'm a Three.”

“Mhm, and where do you go to school?”

“Something about the way you're speaking sounds like you already know.”

“Yeah but you don't seem to be aware of it. You go to Yale, an extremely expensive school, you're also a three, wealthy enough that they picked your caste for all selected to default to after elimination. So I'm really sure that the economic disparities of our country greatly affect you personally enough for you to have an opinion, whereas I clearly don't.” Ava huffed in anger and stood from the bench, “I'm not really a fan of close minded, wealthy hypocrites, I meet enough of them in my line of work, so I'll see you around.” Ava said, turning to leave. 

Jen yelled after her, “At least I do something with my privilege. Unlike you, I don't strut around on stage while being paid millions of dollars.” 

Ava turned around. She could yell how she’d fixed her family's farm, how she’d paid for the medical costs for Michael, how she kept everyone in her town fed and housed, how most of her money went to charity because she was very aware of the struggle around her as she had grown up in it. But she held her tongue, “You don't know the first thing about me, your assumptions show you as judgmental and arrogant. Add those to the list of reasons I'll be taking my leave.” 

Later that night Ava was enjoying a cup of tea in her room when Emily-Rose burst in sobbing. Ava and Emily weren’t really friends, but they did know each other so Emily must have come to her as her only friend here so far.

“What’s wrong?” Ava asked as she sat down her tea. Emily spent the next few hours crying and telling her how she had tried to befriend Jen. As soon as Jen came up she knew this would be bad. Emily being the blissfully ignorant girl that she is, brought macarons as a welcome gift for some of the girls, she was always so desperate for validation. Jen saw this as a display of wealth instead of an invitation of friendship and rejected it. Emily, never being raised around 6s handed the box off to the maid without speaking or looking at her. Enraged Jen stood from her bed and shoved the box back at Emily and told her she was being disrespectful to her maid. Emily was confused so she tried again and asked the made if she could throw away the box, an act that both would upset Jen as she was throwing away perfectly good food and not doing it herself- despite the fact that Jen had a maid and clearly was not doing somethings herself either, Jen called Emily a bitch and she ran off crying. After hours wondering what she did wrong Emily appeared at Ava’s door. She spent the next few hours crying in Ava’s bed until she tucked her in then stormed off to Jen’s room. 

She banged on the door, “Open this fucking door you shithead!”

Jen’s maid opened the door and looked horrified which caused Ava to feel a bit guilty about the late hour, “Oh sorry, I figured she would have dismissed you for the night.” She apologized. She would have waited for this, but she really would rather get over with her last time speaking to Jen Li. She walked in and walked over to her bed, “Wake up!”

Jen sat up and dismissed her maids question about calling security, “What do you want?”

“I have a question for you? Were you raised by bears? Do you have any idea how to be polite at all! I mean I was raised on a farm and I've seen pigs have better manners to do. What do you do when someone offers you a gift, Jen Li?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“I'm talking about Emily-Rose White and her dumbass macarons. Of course they're extra and yes she can be a little annoying. But when someone offers you a gift, the polite thing to do is to take it and move on even if you don't want it. The rude thing that you did do is refuse it adamantly, then even worse, all the person who gave you the gift a 'bitch' which by the way the use of that word is a whole other discussion.” 

Jen looked up in shock, “She treated my maid like a dog. I don't respect people who don't respect others, especially because of their caste.”

That’s rich (like Jen). Ava laughed before speaking again, “Well then you shouldn't respect yourself! You assumed that because I am a two that I am snobby and hoard money. I donate most of my money, I was born a four, and my closest friends who I live with are sevens. And yes Emily is spoiled, and I will speak to her about that, but escalating a situation by calling someone who is simply ignorant does not help anyone. You are arrogant and cruel and someone, unfortunately me, has to speak to you about that before you go making more well intended people cry themselves to sleep.”

“She's old enough to know better. None of us are children, and I'm not going to coddle a bunch of Twos just because they were raised that way. It's not an excuse to disrespect someone in a lower caste. I don't care about ignorance.”

“So instead of try to help and understand another person you'd rather call them a bitch and make things worse? And she's 19 and extremely sheltered, I wouldn't say she's gained the wisdom to know any better. Also no one is asking you to coddle all I'm asking is for you to be fucking polite. You didn't have to assume I knew nothing of economic struggle, you didn't have to shove Emily around, slam a box into her and call her a bitch. There is a difference between not tolerating disrespect and acting disrespectfully back at another person.”

“I didn't slam a box into her.” Ava rolled her eyes knowing that was untrue, 

“So you didn't shove a box of cookies at her repeatedly? Because at least she handed them to your maid.”

“You're making it sound like I assaulted her. She's the one who barged into my room without asking.”

“Oh okay so if someone comes into my room and gives off bad vibes, I can shove things at them and call them a bitch. It's perfectly polite and respectful?”

“That wasn't the reason I did it!” God arguing with her is like talking to a child Ava thought. 

“It doesn't really matter the reason you did it. Because again, there is a difference between not tolerating disrespect and being disrespectful. You could have said "Hey Emily, that wasn't right. I know you didn't grow up that way but maids are people and need recognition in order for it to be polite" Instead you shoved a box at her, she tried again not knowing any better then you called her a bitch. Which by the way the whole thing could have been avoided if you'd just taken the damn present like a sane well mannered person.” 

“Okay, whatever. I'm sorry. But maybe she should've tried dealing with her problems instead of running away like a child.” 

“Not everyone's a stone cold ass who can handle being treated the way you treated her. She apologized and has spent the last thirty minutes crying to me about how horrible she feels. You didn't allow her an opportunity to realize what she had done wrong before being an aggressor. And I'm not the one you need to apologize too I'm just the one who has to clean up your mess.” 

“Why don't you just go back to your adoring friend and mind your own business, Ava? Just because you're famous, doesn't mean I'm going to listen to you. Get over yourself.” Hah! She’s telling me to get over myself? Clearly she hasn’t heard a word that’s come out of her mouth. 

“It doesn't matter if I'm famous or not I'd be in this room yelling at you just the same. I'm not even really friends with Emily, I just don't tolerate people being cruel and disrespectful especially ones I have to live with. Just because you're a three doesn't mean you know everything and you need to start thinking from other people’s perspectives!” 

“I never claimed to know everything, and I do think from others' perspectives, but excuse me if I don't listen to just another privileged Two who got her little feelings hurt.” She probably has no friends.

“You don't need to listen to Emily. Emily doesn't want anything from you. You need to listen to me. Since apparently the only perspective you think you can understand are lower caste people, as I've lived as a four the majority of my life I can tell you, you're not listening to anyone, you're only looking through your perspective, and you're hurting well intending people because you're one of the most casteist people I've met. I've said all I need to say. Sleep well in your rich bed with your maid next to you miss I-hate-privileged-people-and-am-going-to-lash-out-at-them-because-clearly-I-don't know who I am!” 

Ava groaned and turned around slamming the door behind her. She went back to her room and threw herself down in a chair where she would be sleeping through the night and prayed that Jen would be gone soon or she would. 

[prairiesongserial]

Windfield Pass 10

Agnes still needed to find a place to stay the night, and a warm meal, if there was one to be had, but she and Owl needed to see the mayor before any of that.  Already, the day was darkening.  When Agnes and Owl reached the mayor’s house - a squat little cottage with a prettier vegetable garden than its neighbors’ - the family had already sat down to dinner, or so the man at the door told them.

A holler from the dining room told the man to show them in, anyway.  Agnes and Owl were led through the foyer and shown to the table.

The dining room was small, but fine - the table runner was lace, and the table beneath was sturdy, dark wood - this table hadn’t been made in Wyoming.  The craftsmanship was too good.  Mayor Willin himself was mid-sip from a glass of black-red wine.  His wife, Charlotte, sat primly across from him, her shoulders straight as a board.  Their adult son and his wife sat at the table, also.  Curiously, the table had been set for six, almost as if Agnes and Owl had been expected.

“Forgive the interruption,” Agnes said.  “I am more than happy to wait until after you’ve eaten, or come again tomorrow.”

“No, no, nonsense,” said the mayor.  Wine dripped down his mustache, and he dabbed it with a lace-lined napkin.  “Welcome, and please sit.  Yves, please serve our guests.”

The man who had answered the door reappeared with a tea service and began to serve Agnes and Owl.  Owl was jittery, more anxious now than she had been during the amputation of a man’s arm.  She knelt on her seat instead of sitting properly, then sat cross-legged, then knelt again.

“Now, let us set the story straight,” said Mayor Willin when Yves had gone again.  “Marge was here not an hour ago, and she had an interesting story to tell about the two of you, half of it a figment, I’m sure.  She is a nervous woman.  But then…” The mayor shifted in his seat, almost as if he were uncomfortable.  His wife gave him a sharp look.  “But then, something makes me wonder.  See, Marge’s gossip doesn’t often have more than the barest kernel of truth, bless her.  But then our esteemed hunters return from their excursion - days late.  Half of them dead.  One of them missing an arm, which I hear is your work, doctor.”

Agnes gave him the barest smile.

“And that made me wonder.  You see, Dr. Hopper, we didn’t expect you back in Windfield until the summer.  But you return here the very same day as our hunting party.  You early, they late.”

The mayor idly tapped his spoon against his plate.

“Our hunters are good, honest men, risking life and limb to protect our town.  And half of them died, Dr. Hopper.  Now, we appreciate all you’ve done for our town, and I’m sure Benjamin Frisk thanks you for sawing off his arm in a public shop.  But…” The mayor abruptly stopped tapping his spoon.  “But the brave men who survived the mutie attack saw something very strange.  The Weeper who bit out their fellows's throats was holding a walking stick.”

Agnes’s blood froze.

Yves returned to the dining room, leading two of the hunters Agnes had seen earlier that day.  Without so much as a glance at her, one of the hunters snatched her cane from its spot propped against the table.  He turned it over in his hands, testing the weight, then gave it to his compatriot.

“You will forgive me if I doubt your story about Pickton,” said the mayor.  “Boys?”

“This is the cane,” the hunter said with undisguised disgust.

“And now, Agnes, please speak.  Never let it be said that the mayor of Windfield denied a guest the opportunity to defend herself.”

Next to Agnes, Owl pushed her dinner around her plate. Her face was scrunched up with effort as she tried to keep up with the conversation.

“Here...is the truth,” said Agnes.  “In Harehaven, a few days ago, a family approached me.  They told me that a foundling had been left on the road - a normal child.  Human.  A practice that this town has some history with.”  She set her teeth.  “The Harehaven family didn’t have provisions for an extra child, not with winter so close at hand.  The family asked me to take her away and find her a more respectable placement.”

The mayor harrumphed loudly, but gave no further interruption.  Agnes continued.

“We were walking toward the pass when we were beset by muti...mutants.  We ran south, and at some point your hounds crossed our trail.  By the water.”

“But you kept running,” one of the hunters interrupted.

“With mutants that close at hand, so would you,” Agnes snapped.  “We forded the river.  We had lost all of our supplies, including my cane.  The next day, or perhaps the day after, I found it, washed up on the shore.  If a mutant happened to find it and drop it again, that is my good luck.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” barked the hunter.  “You, an old woman, with a child, in mutie country, with no food, soaking wet, manage to get from the south side of the Boysen to Windfield in, what, three days?  It’s impossible.  You didn’t take the pass.  Marge has it that you met the schoolchildren on their way into town, meaning you came from the south-west, meaning you crossed the damn Wind River mountains - in three days - with nothing to eat - ”

Owl had looked scared when the hunter raised his voice, but now she raised her plate over her head and dumped the little game hen and leafy greens on the floor.  She released the porcelain plate - expensive enough to be a family heirloom.  Agnes lunged to catch it, but wasn’t quite fast enough.  It shattered at the hunter’s feet. 

“Owl - ” Agnes began.

“Harehavenkind can go more than three days without nothing to eat, uncle,” she said, fixing the hunter with a hateful stare.  “And we don’t need glass plates neither.”

The room was silent.  Agnes felt as scared as a cornered rabbit, unable to begin to think of an explanation or apology for Owl.  Owl stood up on her chair, nose to nose with the hunter.

“I don’t want to live here.  I want to go home.”

The mayor wiped his mouth with his napkin, and delicately set it aside.

“That’s enough of that,” he said, ignoring Owl.  “Now, Dr. Hopper, I had hoped you would be more forthcoming, but I understand your reluctance.  You have the safety of the child to consider.  Here is what I think.”

The mayor waved for Yves to clear everyone’s plates, and he did, hesitating when he got to Owl’s place.  He left with the used dishes and returned shortly with a broom.

“I think…” began the mayor, “that the child is a Harehaven mutant which you are moving like contraband.  I think you did not wish to meet the hunting party by the Boysen River because you rightly feared the dogs would sniff her out as mutiekind.  And I think that you know the location of the Weeper who killed so many of our bravest.  And I think...that if you consider the safety of the child...you will help our hunters track her down.”

“Are you threatening Owl?” Agnes said, struggling to keep her voice even.  “A child?  A child who has nothing to do with…”

“What’s threatening?” Owl interjected, still standing on her chair defiantly.

“Contraband,” said the mayor easily.

“Agnes, what’s - ” Owl said, clearly agitated.

“I can’t help you,” Agnes growled, rising from her seat.  “I don’t know where she is.  Try the Boysen.”

“She led you through the mountains,” yelled one of the hunters.

“Agnes, what’s - ”

“Prove it,” Agnes shot back.

It was the wrong choice.  In seconds they were tearing her pack apart, searching it for any evidence of Selkie.  Agnes hadn’t thought she had anything to hide - but she hadn’t been careful, either.  One of the hunters held up a lump of charcoal, examined it, and tossed it away.  Sachets of herbs and bottles of tinctures piled up on the table, until finally the hunters found what they were looking for.

“What is that?” asked the mayor, gesturing for the object.

Agnes didn’t recognize it, either, at first.  Something Selkie had slipped in her bag?

Agnes squeezed her eyes closed.  It was the worst thing Selkie could have given her.  The mayor held the hunting knife up to the light, but Agnes knew it wasn’t hers.  Perhaps Selkie had thought it was, when she was gathering Agnes’s lost belongings after her encounter with the hunters.  Or maybe she had just thought Agnes could use a knife.

“It’s Benjamin’s knife,” one of the hunters said.  “She cut his fuckin’ arm off while his knife was in her backpack.”

“Forgive me...for taking what help I could find, no matter who it came from,” Agnes said carefully.  “If you had faced the threat of death, you might have made the same choice.”

“Our men didn’t have the luxury,” the hunter sneered.

“Then forgive an old woman and child for living.  We will leave, and you won’t have to be reminded of it anymore.”  Agnes picked Owl up under the arms and held her.  Owl was ready to leave, glaring at the other adults in the room. But the hunters hovered close.

The mayor cleared his throat.  

“Given the circumstances,” he said, “I think it is more than fair that you guide our hunters to the mutie’s nest so they may exact reparations for their loss.  We will forgive your contraband in exchange, though she must leave with you.”

“If I refuse?” Agnes said, heart pounding.  She was spitting mad, but her only weapon was her head.

“We kill her.”  The mayor daintily pointed the sheathed knife at Owl’s forehead.  “It’s not my habit to kill the thinking kind, but nothing about this situation is typical, is it?  I mean, the local doctor abetting muties?  Facilitating murder?  So you see why I’m willing to make an exception.”

Owl’s eyes flashed at the mayor.  She wriggled out of Agnes’s arms, and Agnes was forced to drop her.  Owl grabbed the broom out of Yves’s hands, who was too surprised to resist.

“What’s wrong with you?” Owl hollered at the mayor, leveling the handle at the broom at him like a sword.  A child’s display of bravado, as if this were a pretend game.  “That’s for skinning rabbits, and it’s sharp, so you have to be careful.”

The mayor lowered the knife to the table and smiled past Owl, as if she hadn’t said anything at all.

Agnes closed her eyes, gripping Owl’s shoulders hard.  All around her, the hunters, the mayor, the mayor’s family - they all breathed with sordid anticipation.  Either spectacle, Owl’s death or Selkie’s, would be enough for them.  Choose, doctor.  Choose which mutie dies.  Didn’t that mean that neither of them had to die, if either would suffice?

When Agnes opened her eyes, the mayor had handed the knife to one of the hunters for safe-keeping.

“I’m old,” said Agnes, softly.  “Why not…”

“We don’t kill normal folks,” piped up Charlotte.  “We aren’t monsters.”

Silence circled the table.  Finally, Agnes began to pack all her tinctures and herbs and vials back into her pack.

Windfield Pass 9 || Windfield Pass 11 

[tehfloridaman-blog]

Gonzo: Champagne Problems.

The feeling of having stepped in gum is pure fury. Rage unrestrained. Not just mild annoyance, but plain annoyance. The trademark sticky sensation at the bottom of my shoe brought a groan from my lips and a cry of “Goddammit, I stepped in gum!” To me, that was the worst possible outcome of walking to my sixth period class and having to suffer the constant sticking of my shoe to the ground as it accumulated whatever junk was on the unwashed floor of the school’s corridors.

Hair, bits of food, plastic--all of it sticking to this blemish on my footwear. Adding to the sensation that my sole had become like the sucker of an octopus each time it touched the ground. So, yes, I was particularly annoyed that someone had just opted to spit out their gum RIGHT there where I failed to see it. Whatever happened to trashcans?

Oh. Right. Bees happened. Lemme tell you--we had a bee infestation in one of the courtyard trashcans for about...three weeks? Maybe more? Point is, these buzzing lil’ shitheads occupied that trash bin like the Nazis occupied France in World War 2. You could not go near this bin without a dozen bees flying all around it, threatening to kamikaze you at any moment--and they never did, either! It was just  the constant fear of it any time you went to throw something out.

Forget throwing things out at all, actually. Any time you so much as put a tiny bit of pressure onto the pile of trash in that bin, you would wake the swarm. Like kicking an anthill but instead of using your foot it’s an empty Doritos bag. Then you had the people who intentionally bothered this things. On multiple occasions. 

The most noteworthy had to’ve been the guy who sat at this table of people who I could only call barely functional at the best of times. Crude, rude and totally removed--more than once I could overhear their entire conversations not by virtue of only being a few meters away but because they yelled these chats at each other. 

Back to this guy, though. Motherfucker dropkicked the can onto its side and woke up the swarm. Had to be pushed by his friends into picking it back up; how he managed to not get stung makes him a decent mad lad in my book. 

Now I can see your question: “Brandon, why not use another trashcan?”, well my dear reader that is because the nearest one was a firm fifteen second walk away compared to the five of the other one...aaaand it was also bee infested for about a week. I couldn’t even tell you why the fuckers swarmed them. Even after the bins were cleaned of all their contents, they still came to them. 

It’s like something you’d see in a third world country. “Pa! I can’t throw out the trash!” “Why not, son?” “There are bees in the trashcan again!” That’s prolly the closest I’ve ever come to a third world country. Well, I can think of another time. My trip to Jamaica.

This here’s the second image you get when you google Jamaica. Hell, I think the first two dozen or so are solely pictures about how beautiful of an island it is! Don’t get me wrong, Jamaica’s beautiful. The cruise itself was quite some time ago, not when I was super young, but young...er. Maybe five years ago? 

Anywho, trip was hella fun. Went rafting (the only not-fun part was the giant spiders along the sides of the rivers, I started screaming my ass off when one of them almost touched my foot), had some quality food (some kinda ribs with sauce) and then just...went back to the boat. Of course, the experience wasn’t that simple.

Alllll throughout the journey on this island there were just hints that we weren’t getting the full picture. Our Jamaican guides telling us at the stop we were making to begin our raft journey there would be people trying to sell us stuff because we were tourists. Sure enough there was a crowd of about ten to fifteen people trying to give us these cheap electronics still in their original store packages, shouting in broken English while we repeated the same phrase our guides had told us “No thanks, we don’t want it”. 

As we set off on our journey downstream I vividly remember seeing five young boys, clad in their birthday suits as they leaped into the clear waters we had paid money to raft down. This was their land, not ours. It never even struck me until years later that they didn’t even have bathing suits on. At the food spot, a patio area by the edge of a beautiful forest on the back of some old Jamaican house, there was a feral dog. Almost got my hand bit by the thing because, being a stupid kid, I thought it wasn’t starved and had zero domestication.

The most important part of my journey into the reality we don’t see was when my dad and I were waiting to board the ship again, standing by the dock as we were given a view of the local town. My younger eyes focused on a black and white cat sitting in a dug-out area underneath a building. In retrospect, I see the full picture of a crowded street, men dressed in unfitting clothing--some with shoes, some with sandals. Some barefoot. Grey, dirtied streets matching the one to two story buildings on either side of it. The cat was cute, at least, though I don’t blame my dad for not letting me go and pet it.

Going back to present day, after my teacher berated me for using the Lord’s name in vain (I said “Goddammit” after all), I explained to her my source of anger and she chuckled, handing me a paper towel.

“That’s what we call a champagne problem, Brandon!” I just snorted and did my best impression of some upper class snob complaining about his lack of champagne as I removed the sticky substance from the bottom of my shoe. Just like that. Done and gone.

All of that eventually lead me to thinking about why we have to specifically identify a problem as “first world” or “third world”. When we think “champagne” we think...rich! Upper class. Partying. Things you wouldn’t find in that Jamaican slum I saw half a decade ago. 

I’m okay with that.

I’m perfectly fine with saying “The worst thing I have to deal with is gum on my shoe or bees in a trashcan” compared to someone else saying “I’ve gotta deal with the Taliban knocking on my door!” And why? Because that’s...just our life. If you’ve a problem with the severity of your problems, then work to fix it. 

To me, champagne problems--the idea of them and their connotations--are motivation for people to fix the problems they see in other places. That’s not to criticize first world countries, you can’t blame us for being...more well-off? Of course, that’s not an excuse to allow the rest of the world to be worse. A “first world problem” shouldn’t be treated like it’s an infraction against Humanity as a whole, rather it should be an attainable goal.

Why? If the worst problem you have on a day-to-day basis is stepping in gum, then I’d say you’re pretty well off. 

Now if you don’t mind, I’ll be complaining about how cold my coffee is because my bed’s too comfortable so I overslept. Ergh.

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

You’re Always Right

Requested by the amazingly talented @sorenmarie87​

Dean x Reader | Prompt 13: “I promise you I have never once sparkled in the sunlight.” (SMUT)

Words: 2810

Warnings: Smut (obvs), language

A/N: None really. Hope you like it doll! Love ya!!!

“How do you know, Dean?”

“Because, I’ve done this before, sweetheart.”

“I have too, but I don’t remember ever hearing about vamps walking around in the daylight.”

“Trust me, with the way things are lately, you can’t always trust the lore. Or what we know,” Dean lowered his machete and turned to you. “Everything is upside down lately, you know that.”

“I do, but still, I just don’t see how vamps are able to do that without burning,” you replied, getting frustrated with his lack of a reasonable answer.

“Even monsters have anomalies among them,” Sam spoke up from behind you. “We’ve seen some pretty crazy things lately (Y/N).”

Shaking your head, you raised your brows in resignation and turned back towards the abandoned house a hundred yards in front of you.

“Ok, so what’s the plan?” you asked Dean.

Before he could answer, an old, rusted car came around the bend and pulled to a stop in front of the house. Three men and a woman poured out, with one of them circling around to the trunk and popping it open.

The bright afternoon sun reflected off the chrome of the trunk as it flew up and the vamp reached inside pulling out the body that was bound and gagged.

“Alright, Winchester, you were right? Happy?” you said poking his shoulder.

“Extremely. Proving you wrong is something I live for,” he said with a smile and winked before turning back towards the car. “Wait until they’re inside. We flank the house, cover all the exits. I’ll go in for the girl.”

“I bet you will,” you mumbled under your breath, annoyed that Dean was always chasing after the victims; especially the female ones.

“What was that?”

“Nothing… just, let’s get this over with,” you said and unsheathed your blade.

Approaching the house, Sam circled around back, while Dean went towards the front. You wanted on the blind side of the porch in case one of the half-dozen bloodsuckers got past the brothers.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of a vampire being out in the broad daylight. No matter how odd the monsters were lately, it just didn’t seem as though that was possible. Your mind started to race as to what it could be, how they could be out…

Gunshots rang out. Screams from inside the house made your blood curdle as you saw Sam sprinting from around the back of the house, blood covering his shirt.

“You good?” he asked frantically as he raced past you towards the front.

“Yeah… Dean?!” you yelled running after him.

“I don’t know!”

Reaching the front of the house, Dean was standing there, with three severed heads at his feet and a big smile on his face.

“See? Daytime Vamps…” he said as he bent down and pulled up a lip of one of the heads.

Its fangs were still out, sending a cringe through you. “I get it, you were right… alright? Can we go now?”

“No… really… I wanna hear it,” Dean smirked and offered you a playful wink.

Sighing, you shifted your weight to your other foot and put the hand not holding the machete on your hips. “Fine. You were right. Dean Winchester is the smartest man alive.”

Dean threw his arms wide and grinned a large, toothy grin as he looked at his brother. Sam shook his head and reattached his blade to his belt.

“How the hell did you manage to take down three of them like that? Especially when they weren’t asleep?” you asked, actually quite impressed with Dean, but wouldn’t dare tell him that.

“Cause I am that good, sweetheart.”

“Or, maybe you just have a thing for vamps… having been one yourself,” you retorted and instantly felt bad.

“Wow… low blow,” Sam mumbled and passed you a look that made you feel even worse.

“Dean... I’m sorry… I just—”

“It's fine. And you’re right. I do have a thing for vamps. A thing for making sure they all die bloody. Mostly because they are disgusting, vile monsters, but also because one of them had the nerve to try and turn me.”

Dean looked down at one of the heads and snorted a laugh as he nudged at its heavily painted and shiny face with his boot. “However. For my brief time as a bloodsucker, I can promise you I never once sparkled in the sunlight.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh as your face tinged bright red.

“C’mon, let’s get these things gone and go find the closest bar. I need a drink,” Dean said as he brushed past you, not looking at you but lightly bumping your shoulder as he did.

  You sat at the end of the bar next to Sam as he scrolled some sites on his laptop, but your eyes were fixed on Dean. He was chatting up the bartender, a blonde with little boobs and big brown eyes set firmly on the eldest Winchester.

The pull in your gut every time he laughed at her made you ache. Unable to watch the object of your affections flirt with another, you downed the shot of whiskey sitting in front of you, as well as Sam’s.

“Hey,” he said with a half-hearted objection. “I was going to drink that.”

“Shoulda done it faster then,” you mumbled as you slipped off the chair.

The two shots, in addition to the two you’d downed ten minutes before, hit hard as you sauntered past where Dean was sitting and talking with Bartender Barbie.

“Hey…” he said as you went by, “where are you going?”

Stopping without turning, you drew in a deep breath. Trying not to sound how you felt, you pushed your shoulders back and turned your head enough to see him from your peripheral.  

“Going to find myself someone to celebrate with.”

Just as you were about to approach two very good-looking guys and one gorgeous woman by the pool table, feeling like any of them would do to numb the pain, you felt a hand wrap around your arm.

“No, you’re not. You’re too drunk,” Dean said quietly in your ear.

It caused a rush of adrenaline and ache for him to break out across your skin. Turning around fully to face him, his bright green eyes were fixed on yours.

“What the hell do you care? You got your… conquest for the night.”

Dean shook his head, but his face softened as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “Conquest? You think that’s what that is?”

“What else could it be, Dean? Clearly, you have a type,” you snorted and tried to shake his grip.

“Maybe. But it ain’t her,” Dean shook his head and closed his eyes, steeling himself to what he was about to say. “Apparently my type is a snarky hunter who doesn’t really give me the time of day.”

His eyes bore deeply into your flesh, causing your cheeks to burn hot and unable to look directly at him.

“Yeah, and who’s that? Jodi?” you snorted with a smile, but Dean didn’t react.

“You’re drunk.”

“And you’re an ass.”

“I don’t doubt it, darlin’. Especially if you think I was talking about anyone other than you,” Dean’s lips pursed together in frustration as he loosened his grip on your arm. “But, you know, if you wanna go get your rocks off with one of them…” he motioned with his chin towards the pool table, “I can’t stop ya I guess.”

Pulling your arm completely free, you knew the whiskey was making you be harsher with him than you intended. But the feelings you’d carried for Dean all this time were starting to really affect you.

“Yeah, you’ve been real clear with that Dean. That’s why every case we work, you save the damsel in distress, right? Every case… you are flirting and eyeing some bimbo.”

“Mhm, and why do you think I do that? Flirting gets results, sweetheart. And, mister puppy dog eyes over there can’t seem to pull it off without getting all flustery.”

“So, you flirt for your job?”

“I do. We do what we have to in order to get the job done. Besides, I remember a werewolf hunt last month where you nearly went home with one of our suspects… that was real fun to watch by the way.”

Suddenly it hit you. Why he’s been so distant with you, so sarcastic. Dean wasn’t exactly the poster boy for talking about feelings, and the ones you thought he might have had for you in the beginning really were there; he just had no idea how to let you know.

At the same time you felt angry. If he wanted you, he should have said something instead of wasting the several months you’ve been hunting together.

“You know something, Winchester. I hate you. You do nothing but infuriate me most of the time.”

“Same here, sweetheart. I guess that’s why we work so well together,” Dean’s brow furrowed as his hand slowly returned to your arm.

This time he touched you gently, caressing the flesh of your skin with his thumb as he cautiously pulled you towards him

“So, now… tell me again how you want to go over there and take some civilian home,” his voice was low and guttural and in that instant, there was no one else in the bar, but you and him.

“I… can’t,” the words fell from your lips in a whisper, causing him to smile smugly.

“Wanna get out of here?”

“What about Sam?”

Dean looked back over his shoulder at his brother who was currently smiling and chatting up a second bartender that had come onto her shift.

“I think he’s fine,” Dean said returning his electric gaze back at you.

  The hotel room door burst open with force as Dean pushed you through it. Before it was shut with the latch clicking closed, he was tearing off your shirt and bra, and burying his face into your neck. The feeling of his breath on you was pure bliss as the rough skin on his hands fell down your back towards your ass.

Lifting you up, you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist as his lips moved from your neck, down your chest to your breasts. Your head was spinning at the rush of him against you, as well as the whiskey still coursing through your veins.

Dean had you up against the wall before he lifted his eyes back to meet yours. He wanted to speak, but your eyes pleaded with him to not say whatever it was, in fear of the moment being ruined with rational thinking.

He got the hint and pressed a heated kiss to your lips, stealing the bit of breath you had. Dean bit your lower lip playfully before taking in as much of your tongue as he could; making you feel as though he may swallow you completely.

Dean kissed you as deeply and yet as slowly, as his desire would let him. Not wanting to let an ounce of you go untasted, he slowly walked you to the bed and laid you down on it. He swallowed thickly as he gingerly unbuttoned your jeans and slid them off and threw them to the side.

He went to work on removing his own shirt before lowering himself onto you. Wrapping your arms up around his shoulders, you could feel the hard swell of his cock through his jeans as it pressed into thigh.

“You still got far too many clothes on Winchester,” you purred, reaching down to unbuckle his belt.

Once it was undone, you palmed him through his pants, making him growl into your ear. The more pressure you applied to his hardon, the faster he struggled to remove the rest of his clothes. When they were finally tossed aside, he pawed at your panties and plunged his hand deep into your folds without warning.

“God damn woman,” Dean moaned, licking his lips before running his tongue and teeth up the length of your neck from collarbone to ear.

The tease of his fingers was enough to drive you crazy. Waiting as long as you had to have Dean in your bed had been maddening, but now that he was, and he was so close to being inside you, every second he made you wait was a new kind of torture.

“Dean… please…” you begged, arching your back up just to feel the throb of his dick near your pulsating sex. “Don’t you tease me.”

You felt his lips snarl into a smile as your hands clawed their way down his back, pushing him down into you.

“Oh, no sweetheart… not yet,” he teased as he reached around to remove your hands and pin them over your head with one of his.

Grabbing his member with his free hand, he ran it deliberately over your clit several times while assaulting your neck and chest with his mouth. Biting, licking and sucking your skin as if you were the only thing giving him life.

“Dean…”

The way his name fell from your lips was enough to break his own resistance and plunge deep inside of you. A sharp breath escaped your mouth; the heat of it on his skin elicited a primal grunt from the hunter.

The hand he had pinned your arms down with reluctantly let go as traveled down your body, finding your breasts and taking your nipple between his fingers. With your hands free, you found your strength and pushed him up and over onto his back before he could protest.

Repositioning yourself, you slowly began grind your hips on him and his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs. Dean’s eyes closed and his mouth fell open with heavy breaths as you writhed on top of him, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside you.

The faster you moved, he more painful his fingers dig into you, but you liked the agony of it. You could already feel yourself reaching your climax but didn’t want it to end. Slowing your waves against him, your bent down and kissed his mouth. His arms snaked up into your hair and pushed your mouth down harder onto his while still greedily thrusting into you.

He sat up suddenly, pulling you into him and burying his face into your breasts. The swift change in position was all it took for your walls to fluttered against his dick, constricting on him as you hit your climax.

“Fuck!” he growled into you as his hands wrapped around you tighter, letting himself go just as you did.

It felt as though it was over before it started, but every second he had been touching you, inside of you, kissing you… was worth every second you waited for him.

His skin has a light coating of sweat that tasted salty as you pressed your lips against his shoulder. Feeling him continued to shudder against you, you lightly grazed your teeth against the flesh and smiled to yourself when he shivered.

Pulling himself back from you, he brushed the hair from your face and smiled. “Well if I knew it could be that good I would’ve done something bout this a long time ago,” he said, the corner of his lips twitching into a smile.

“Yeah, once again, you’re right,” you teased, leaving a soft kiss against his mouth. “But, uh, now that you know… what do we do about it?”

Gingerly climbing off his lap and laying down next to him, Dean rested his head on the pillow next to you and traced the line of your neck down to your shoulders, coming to rest on the soft swell of your hips.

“Well, first. We’re gonna shower. Then, we’re gonna order some room service and check on Sammy. Then, we’re gonna do it again. And again. And probably again.”

“We’re gonna shower? As in together?”

“Yes. Yes, that is exactly what we are gonna do,” Dean said and sprang up suddenly.

Despite your playful protests, Dean picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, heading towards the bathroom.

Placing you down in the tub, he turned on the hot water and stepped in with you.

“So, this plan… this ok with you?”

“Best one you came up with today,” you said nonchalantly, running your fingers up his now wet chest.

“Hey.. hey. My plan worked for the vamps. Not my fault you and Sam didn’t see any action,” he raised his brows as you spiritedly punched his arm.

“Next time, we go in together.”

Dean softened his gaze and brushed a thumb against your cheek. “From now on, we do it all together.”

Tags: @sorenmarie87 @soythedemonqueen @kazosa @redm81 @somanyfandomstochoosefrom @lefthologramdeer  

[zoebechtle-blog]

Unlikely Chapter 1

I will be the first person to tell you - there was nothing about this relationship that made sense. On paper, we were painfully dissimilar: him, a sexy, successful Irish popstar wanted by half the world, and me, an American werewolf living in London. Well, not quite a werewolf, but it took monthly waxings to keep my Greek heritage off my upper lip. I barely topped out at 5’2” on a good shoe day, and leaned more towards the plump end of the body shape spectrum. My grandmother often spoke of my child bearing hips and tried to convince me that men liked a big ass and full boobs. She had yet to be proven right. Meanwhile, his chicken legs looked like they could barely support him. He binged watched ESPN and Golf Channel, and I had zero hand/eye coordination (the fact that I played soccer in high school was a fluke - there were no cuts). Before I met him I barely even knew what a melody was and had forgotten everything I had learned in elementary school music classes. He played the guitar like he was born with it, and pulled notes out of the air to make music that made my heart ache. As I said, nothing about us made sense.

I’d moved to the UK to attend grad school four years ago, and ended up staying. After spending my first year year here alone, and going on what can only be described as a series of tragic dates with men I’d met online, I was lonely and seemingly incapable of making friends. In an act of desperation, I texted my godmother’s niece, Hannah. The one and only time I'd met her we were six. She had told me that my hair cut made me look like a boy and I tripped her going up the stairs. It definitely was not love at first sight. I’d come to London with the number programmed into my phone, but determined not to contact the now-grown mean girl. However, desperate times...

It turned out that Hannah had actually grown up quite kick ass. She did something in the financial sector I could not begin to explain, but she was funny, charming, and when drunk could belch the alphabet. Given that my previous 52 Saturday nights had been filled with Netflix and listening to my neighbors fight or fuck, I latched on quickly. Over the course of the next few years I became friends with her crowd of friends, and a few people I befriended came into the mix. It was a small but lovely urban family, and for the most part we all accepted one another for who we were. I barely missed getting laid so good that my head pounded into a headboard while screaming out for God. Barely.

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

Hannah was obsessed. Seriously. I was ready to brain her. The girl had finally swiped right and found a guy she was really into. For weeks we heard about him ad nauseum - Willie was Irish, worked at a firm four doors down from her in The City, and seemed like an all around decent chap. Being bitter, I naturally hated him before I met him. The nail in his coffin came the night Hannah casually brought up his roommate, and how she thought I’d like him. Nope. Not the dreaded friend fix up.

“Stop it right now. You know that’s a hard no.” I flung a piece of baby corn at her out of my stir fry to accentuate my point.

“C’mon. He’s proper cute, and is laddy without being a lad.”

“Yeah, because everything about me screams that I’m the lad type.”

“It’s not like a new type would kill you. There are only so many men in London who live in their mother’s basements with cats.”

“Never going to let me live that down, are ya?”

“Nope. Come on. He’s a musician and he’s hilarious. I met him at their house the other night. I think you two would get on. So does Willie.”

“Willie hasn’t met me. How does he have any idea who I’d get along with?”

“Obviously he’s heard all about you and the rest of the gang and seen pics on my Insta.”

I went back to my dinner frowning. It’s not that I didn’t want to meet guys, it’s that I was scared to meet them. Undoubtedly I would say something weird or awkward, or give out far more information than they ever wanted to know. A few dudes had piqued my interest over the years, but no one that I liked ever really liked me, and vice versa. A lot of mediocre to decent sex had been had (I’m not angel - momma knows what she likes), but that whole happily ever after thing didn’t seem like reality. At 27, I resigned myself to possibly getting a hamster (allergic to cats and who wants to walk a dog in London?) and embracing my spinsterhood.

This conversation and my lack of game stayed in the back of my mind for the next few days. Hannah was right about needing a change in my scenery. Especially since the failed date with the cat dude. My eyes itched in the memory. However, it was Thursday, and Thursday was quiz night at the pub. Most of our crew usually turned out to showcase our combined hundreds of years of education and to get a decent drunk on. I intentionally scheduled a light caseload on Fridays in the event of a hangover. I may get older, but wiser didn’t seem to be coming with the territory.

As luck would have it, I stayed late with a client this evening so I had to book it from the Tube stop to the pub. I texted Paul, one of our friends, asking him to save me a seat and order me a Stella. And a shot of Jameson’s. It had been that kind of day.

A text buzzed from Hannah as I got within a block of the bar. “Are you coming from work?”

“Yup. Got tied up in a session. Be there in 5.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Are you trying to come onto me, perv? Work clothes.”

“That you rolled around the floor all day in?”

What the fuck? I looked down at my black jersey pants and green boatneck tee. It wasn’t the most fashionable thing, but I did spend the majority of my day on the floor working with kids with autism. It’s not like I could do that wearing cashmere and stilettos. And who the fuck was I trying to impress? Two of the guys in our crew were gay, and I’d hooked up with the straight one already. These people had seen me vomit through my nose. Nothing I do could phase them.

Walking into the bar I greeted Eric, the doorman, with a wave (yeah, I’d made out with him once upon a tequila evening) and flashed a peace sign to Allie, our favorite server. We sat the same table every week thanks to the fact that Paul worked a few blocks away and often took a late lunch/early dismissal to get here in time to secure a table. Counting heads, I noticed the numbers were off. Instead of our usual 7-8, there were 10. Oh hell. New people.

As I got closer, I noticed Hannah hanging on the arm of one of the new faces. Great, it’s meet the boyfriend time. And he obviously brought his friends. I said a silent prayer that they weren’t stupid-we take pride in our 10 week unbeaten streak. Oh well, here goes nothing.

“What’s up, bitches?” I shouted as I wrapped my arm around Carly’s shoulder.

“Zoe!” Multiple people responded in salute as I squeezed in next to Paul. The empty seat was flanked by an unfamiliar blonde head, and being me, I didn’t look at him or acknowledge his presence.

“A Stella and a shot, my queen,” Paul said, gesturing to the table while offering his ruddy cheek for a kiss.

“Thank you, pookie bear.” I leaned down and blew a raspberry on his cheek.

“Zoe!” I heard Hannah trying to get my attention from three seats away. Grabbing the shot and sucking it back (oh, burning), I made eye contact with her, silently yelling for her invasion of my safety zone, and waved.

“This is Willie!” She squeezed the arm of the pale, dark haired guy next to her. He grinned, and shit, I did like his smile. He practically was a heart eyed emoji looking at Hannah, so I could check my attitude for the night.

“Hi, Willie,” I shook his outstretched hand. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise, Zoe. I hear I need to be on my toes around you lot.”

“We’re friendly savages once you get to know us,” I assured him.

Hannah piped up, “This is Deo, Willie’s brother.” Deo had eyebrows that challenged my tact, but he gave me a friendly smile. I made brief eye contact and nodded. Fine and dandy.

“And this is Niall. Willie’s roommate.” The blonde on my left grinned at me and offered his hand. Well holy motherfucker. This is why she was asking if I had changed. He was beautiful. Seriously. The scene from Wayne’s World where Wayne sees Cassandra for the first time basically became my life. I swear I could hear “Dreamweaver” playing in the background. I averted my eyes as I felt Paul elbow me.

“Hi,” I was very focused on tucking my purse under the table and adjusting my jacket just so on the back of the chair.

“Hey there,” he said. His voice sounded like the shot of Irish whiskey burning its way to my stomach. Oh hell. His (large, beautiful) hand was still hanging out there, waiting to be acknowledged. Unable to respond to basic decorum, I gave him a sideways high five. Oh my god. Paul loudly snorted into his beer as my face flushed hotter than the sun.

My phone beeped, saving me from more embarrassment. I looked at the text from Jess, sitting across the table. “Breathe, Z. And wipe the drool.” My response was the middle finger emoji. While I was texting her, Brian sent a message from the other side of Hannah, “Your game is on point as always.” “Piss off. It got you into my bed twice in the last year.” Ugh, he was pompous asshole. Unfortunately, he was also genetically blessed, so I sometimes got weak.

Unsure what to do and faced with a dry throat, I knocked back most of my pint. Sweet, sweet beer. My right leg start jiggling uncontrollably as I stared at the table in front of me. I could literally feel the heat coming off of Niall, and knew with the tight fit of the table if I turned even slightly our legs would touch. I scooted closer to Paul.

“Oi, Z! You’re on my lap. Unless you suddenly grew a cock, I’m not drunk enough for that!” Oh fuck you, Paul. I could feel Niall laughing beside me, and prayed it was at Paul’s inappropriateness and not my obvious social anxiety. Sensing my nerves, Jess stood and announced a toilet break and motioned for me. Carefully standing to not rub my ass on Niall’s shoulder, I slid behind Paul, digging my nails into his shoulder and hissing, “Another pint and shot, dickface. And this round is on YOUR tab.”

In the bathroom, Jess pulled out her makeup bag. “Okay, we need to cover up this flush. You look like a drunk sailor.” Hannah burst into the room with Carly hot on her heels. Christ, we were such a cliche.

“I can.not. believe you didn’t tell us Niall Horan was coming to quiz night, Hannah!” Carly stole a lipstick from Jess’s bag and started re-lacquering her lips. “I mean, what the fuck? We’re your best friends!”

Hannah took the compact of powder foundation from Jess and started working on my face, even as I tried to smack her hands away. “I didn’t know he was coming for sure. I invited Willie so you all couldn’t dodge meeting him. He asked if it was okay if he brought his mates.”

“Wait, you didn’t know Willie is Niall’s cousin? Do you not follow any of their instagrams? They post pics of each other all the time!” Jess shrieked.

“Yeah, I found out last week when I went over to his house. He hadn’t told me before. I assume he didn’t want a girl using him to get to cousin.”

“Niall FUCKING Horan and you didn’t tell us!” Carly continued to rage, pulling out her bun and fluffing her hair.

I stood in shock while Hannah tried to put concealer on a zit on my chin that wouldn’t go away and Jess sprayed something into my hair. “Wait up. Who the hell is Niall Horan and why are we freaking out that he’s here? Should I be freaking out? I gave him a fucking HIGH FIVE.” I didn’t know who he was but I could feel the panic rising.

All three stopped and looked at me. “Zoe. Niall Horan...From One Direction.”

“Oh my god. He’s the blonde one. I only know the name of Harry with the long hair. The blonde one is super cute.” Three pairs of eyes looked at me as if to say, “Duh.” “Omg, I’m sitting next to him. I GAVE HIM A FUCKING HIGH FIVE, HANNAH. Jesus.” The layer of powder spackling my face was now useless. My flush could heat a thousand homes during a blizzard. “Is this the cousin you wanted to fix me up with? Are you insane?!”

“Wait, what? You wanted to fix Zoe up with Niall?” Carly looked offended, and frankly I couldn’t blame her. She was the hot one. Hannah was the sweet one, Jess was the responsible one, and I was the funny one. We all had our unassigned roles, at least in my head.

Rolling her eyes, Hannah resumed my impromptu makeover as I stood, still dumbfounded. “Yes, slag. You have a boyfriend, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I’d drop him in a sec,” Carly interrupted.

“Anyhow, yes, I wanted to fix up Z. His sense of humor is almost as evil as hers, and she deserves a nice, normal guy.” She poked me in the chest with a mascara wand to make her point.

“Hardly normal, isn’t he?” I responded, finally gathering a few of my thoughts. Jess laughed at my gaping jaw. “Han, I’m going to die at this table of embarrassment, and even if I don’t, Paul is going to murder me if we lose because my brain is cheese right now. I can’t TALK in front of a regular guy I don’t know. Nevermind one who is fucking famous.”

“Relax, Z.” Carly finally sensed my pending tantrum and threw her arms around me. “You’re fine. And remember, Paul is an asshole if we lose at trivia. Those bastards from Social Meme-ia are dying to break our streak. Tossers.”

An hour and a half later, we were in the middle of round two, and solidly kicking ass. I still had not made eye contact with Niall, though a few times during moments of excitement, I had bounced up and down and our legs collided. Each time I yanked mine back in horror, and I could hear him let out a little laugh. Carly had switched seats to be sitting across from us, and she was all but laying her tits on the table at him. I admired her confidence. Niall appeared to be eating it up, so good for him. Two whiskeys and three beers into the night, I was loosening up. Now I could at least blame my flushed face on the booze.

“Next two questions are for our science geeks in the crowd,” Ted, the quizmaster informed us. “Yes!” Paul pumped his fist and threw his arm around my shoulder. “This is all you, Zo!”

“No pressure or anything, thanks,” I laughed. The two questions dealt with the brain, and I squealed in delight. We won top points and took a solid lead. I made eye contact with the leader of Social Meme-ia and raised my eyebrow cockily. And maybe scratched my nose with my middle finger. Take that, losers.

“Science geek, eh?” Niall nudged my arm, forcing me to look into his blue eyes that basically cut my soul. He smiled the sweetest, softest smile I had ever seen. I (thankfully) resisted the urge to caress his cheek. And I realized I had not responded and was just staring at him.

“Um, yeah. I have a biology degree.”

“Don’t let her fool you, Ni,” okay, when did he become ‘Ni’ and why was Paul bellowing in my ear? “My Zoe girl has three fucking degrees and is the queen of the science category. She kills that ‘FUCKING WANKER at Social Meme-ia every FUCKING WEEK.’”

Trying to apologize for my drunk friend, I explained, “Paul leans on me because the only organ he can name is a penis.” Did I really just say penis?

Niall’s face turned bright red and he started cracking up. “You are all amazing.”

“Thank you, Ni!” Paul again shouted in my ear, causing me to physically cover it from his thunderous drunk voice. Also, again with the Ni? Had they even spoken to one another before this exchange? I took a swig of my pint and realized he was talking to me again.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, do you use your biology degree? What do you do?”

That’s an easy simple question. Even I can handle this. “Me? What do I do?” Okay, maybe not. He nodded at me encouragingly, and I polished off the rest of my Stella. “I use my powers for good instead of evil. I’m an occupational therapist at a clinic for autistic kids.”

“Very cool. I work with an autism charity in Ireland.”

“That’s cool.” God, Zoe. Open your mouth and let words fall out. It’s not hard. “Um, which charity?”

Allie came to the rescue with another round of pints. Niall motioned to me and himself, and she nodded in some understanding.

“What was that about?” I questioned.

“I ordered you and I another round of Jameson. I think we need to bond over shots-you’ve got a lot to say in that pretty head that you’re not letting out.” His grin split his face and I, to my own shock, found myself smiling back at him.

[provocativelyposedsloth]

Saved

Imagine the Joker and Harley taking you in and saving you from your abusive father 

Your POV

The rain was just starting to fall making the dirty streets shine in the moonlight; you were sitting in the alley behind The Smoking Gun while your father was inside drinking himself into stupor. He always dragged you along when he went out so he could "keep an eye on you" but really it was so he had someone to drag him home at the end of the night. You go to look at your watch when you see a door a little ways down open filling the alley with music from the club inside, and three people walk out. "come on puddin', why do we have to go home? The night is still young!" Says the woman as the group walks past you towards the street where a flashy purple car is parked. The other two men ignore her and continue to walk. The small sound of metal on concrete grabs your attention and you see that the woman had lost one of her rings. Without thinking you pick it up and start running towards the group to return it, but before you reach the woman one of the men turn around, grab you, and press the barrel of his gun to your head. "what do you think you're doing, huh?" you can feel the harsh hair of his beard on your cheek. "…I….you….you dropped this miss" your voice shakes as you unsteadily hold out the ring. "Oh Frost let her go, she's just trying to be a good Samaritan" the man's grip on you is released and you try to regain your composure as the woman walks towards you to collect the ring. You finally get a good look at her, and whatever little composure you had managed to muster up melts away as you are face to face with the infamous Harley Quinn. She grabs the ring and places it back on her pale finger "thanks sweetheart" she says smiling at you. But no matter how much you try you can't get any words out, you just stare at her and Joker, frozen in fear. "oh geez don't be scared kid, we won't bite" she tries to reassure you but it does little good. Then you hear you father drunkenly yell out your name from the back door of the bar. "Y/N! Get your ass over here, you worthless piece of garbage" This snaps you out of your trance and you turn to run to him when Harley grabs your arm, "hey is this guy bothering you?" "…..uh…no, it's my dad…I should go, I have to get him home" 

Harley's POV

As she turns to run towards that drunken fool you notice the angry bruise covering her left eye. "come on Harley, let's go home" Joker says as he opens the passenger side door for you. You get in, but can't take your eyes off the girl and her father, as she's struggling to walk him down the street. Joker gets in the car and as you start to drive away you flash your sappiest puppy dog eyes at him and say "hey puddin' don’t you think it's about time we start a family?" "WHOA, where is this coming from? We're busy enough as it is, I'm not letting a baby get in the way of my plans" he says. "Who said anything about a baby hun, what about that girl from tonight" "oh no, we're not collecting strays" he says "but puddin' you saw her face and you know that drunk must knock her around, she needs us. Just think we can raise her as our own, and she's old enough to take care of herself while we're gone. Come on, do it for me." you say trying to sound as persuasive as possible. Joker sighs and shakes his head "you know I can't say no to you" he says, flashing his metal capped teeth at you as he digs his phone out of his jacket pocket "hey Frost, go tail that girl who returned the ring, find out where she lives"

Your POV

You finally drag your father up the last few steps and into the apartment. "I know how to walk" he says as he pushes you down to the ground and stumbles to the couch. He collapses into the cushions and begins to snore as you pick yourself up and go to your room. Even though it's only a cheap mattress on the floor, after the night you’ve had it might as well be a tempurpedic. You pull the thin, moth eaten blanket over you and quickly drift into sleep. The next day is like any other, you wake up and make your sure your dad didn’t choke on his own vomit during the night, unfortunately he is fine and still sleeping soundly. You made breakfast and tried to wake him up but it was no use. You eat and go back up to your room to read and hours later you hear glass breaking in the kitchen. You hear your father's footsteps getting closer to your door and you brace yourself for what you know will happen next. The door flings open and you father yells "you were supposed to wake me up! I missed a whole day of work thanks to you" his hand connects hard with your face and you fall to the ground. Tears sting your eyes as the toe of his boot connects with you ribs. "I tried to wake you up! I swear" you cough up between pained breaths. He lifts you by your arms and slams you into the wall pinning you there, face to face he looks into your eyes, but you see none of the love that a father should have for his only daughter, only contempt. "you'll pay for this" he says coldly as he releases you and your feet drop back to the ground. He walks out of your room and you scramble to gather your things and get out before he come back, but you're too slow and just as you reach to doorway you see him coming down the hall with a chunky leather belt in hand. You make a run for the front door but he catches you and the belt makes contact with your back causing you to scream out in pain. The belt comes down again and again and after a while your shirt is in tatters, ripped apart from the sharp blows of the belt revealing scars old and new.

Finally, after what seemed like hours your father drops the belt and leaves you a bloody crumpled mess on the floor barely conscious. You try to get up, but you can't, you can hardly keep your eyes open when you hear a knock at the door. "Who is it?" you hear your father call out but there is no response then moments later you hear the door being forced open and your father gasps "…..What are you doing here….get…get out of my house" his voice is shaky and dripping with fear. "oh don't worry pal" a strange voice says "we're just here for the girl" he growls. "yeah where is she?" a familiar female voice says. Again you try to get up, but wince at the pain coming from your probably broken ribs. Harley's heels click on the tile as she comes to your room and rushes to your side "aw crap, I knew we should have come sooner. Are you okay sweetheart, don’t worry Harley's here, I got ya Y/N" she tries to help you up but no matter where she grabs you're met with a searing pain. "little help in here boys" she calls out, and Joker comes into the room "ooo that looks like it hurts, he really did a number on her huh?" he kneels down next to you and you can't help but feel afraid, but his hands are gentle and he scoops you up in his strong arms. He carries you to the living room where your father is on his knees in front of Frost with a familiar pistol pointed at his face. "wait till we're in the car and then take care of this piece of shit" Harley orders "wait" you murmur "do it now" you say, Joker smiles down at you "you heard the lady" he says and Frost pulls the trigger and your father's brains paint the wall behind him. You feel a rush of calm wash over you and a smile cracks across your face, he's finally gone you think, he can't hurt you anymore. Then you feel sick, you start to gag and turn your head as to not blow chunks all over Joker's fancy suit. Harley giggles and wipes your mouth with a towel from the kitchen "don’t worry doll face, happens to the best of us, now come on lets go home" you can't believe your ears but you're too tired to ask questions.  

Joker's POV

You try your best to drive carefully so you don't wake Y/N. Looking through the rear-view mirror you see Harley gently stroking Y/N's hair as she sleeps in her lap. You can't stop thinking about the way she smiled when Frost pulled the trigger, maybe this girl will fit into his and Harley's life. You had never really thought of having a family, but looking back at them in the back seat you can't help but smile at your girls.

Your POV

"Wake up hun, we're here" you hear Harley say, you open your eyes and try to ignore the pain as you slowly get out of the car, with help from Joker. "you think you can make it on your own?" he asks "yeah, I think so." Still Joker keeps his arm around your side just to make sure you stay upright. The three of you make your way up to the front door and you get your first glimpse of the Clown Prince of Crime's house. It was a modern style mansion on the bank of the Gotham River, across which you can see the illuminated skyline of Gotham against the inky black sky. Joker pulls a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the front door and leads you inside, with Harley close behind. "I'll get the first aid kit, why don't you put her in the guest bedroom puddin" Harley says as she disappears down the hall. Joker leads you the other way towards a flight of stairs, you're already exhausted from the trip in from the car, you don't know if you will be able to make it up all those steps. As you begin to climb with the Joker close behind, you start to feel light headed but you keep going. Halfway up your vision begins to blur and you feel your legs go out from under you. You expect to hit the hard steps, but instead you feel the strong arms of The Joker wrap around you. Next thing you know you are lying down on a plush mattress with Harley sitting next to you fiddling with bottles and bandages. "Don’t worry Y/N I'll get you all fixed up" She draws a clear liquid into a syringe and gently ties a tourniquet around your arm and feels for a vein. "What's that?" you ask nervously "It's just a little something for the pain sweet heart"

Read part 2 here

https://arkhaminmate.tumblr.com/post/160135205501/saved-part-ii

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Hyperemesis Gravidarum: When Morning Sickness Becomes Life Threatening

Hyperemesis gravidarum (HG) is a rare disorder characterized by severe nausea and vomiting in pregnancy. It is a complex physiological disease that I suffered through not once, but twice, and I still have the emotional battle scars to show for it.

MY FIRST PREGNANCY

About two weeks into my pregnancy, I started to feel nauseous. Soon, I was unable to eat almost anything except for maybe a popsicle and some oatmeal without milk. Then the vomiting started. I asked my doctor for help and he basically told me I was overreacting and that I should “suck it up.” As if it were all in my head. Having never been pregnant before, I assumed this is what morning sickness was like for some women.

I tried crackers, ginger chews, seasickness wristbands — the cheap ones as well as the $100 ones — pregnancy lollipops to fight nausea, papaya juice… you name it, I tried it. Despite my fear of needles, I tried acupuncture, then acupressure, and even hypnotherapy. But nothing eased my nausea and vomiting.

A friend said, “But don’t you feel so much better after you’ve vomited?” I didn’t. This wasn’t the flu or food poisoning. This nausea never went away.

As my symptoms worsened, my gynecologist diagnosed me with Hyperemesis Gravidarum. She started to watch me like a hawk and had me come into her office on a weekly basis. Throughout my pregnancy, she assured me that my baby was fine — the hormones that were making me sick were actually helping the baby thrive. The sicker I was, the healthier my baby was. Reassuring as this was, I just kept getting sicker and sicker and found it increasingly hard just to function. I lost 16 pounds in my first trimester. I was 5’ 6” and 98 lbs. Downy “fur” started to grow on my legs. My ketones indicated that I was dehydrated and starving. That’s when my doctor put me on Reglan. This medicine, an anti-emetic, was given to me through a pump infusion in my leg. The location of the IV needed to be moved every three days because the site would become swollen, red and itchy. Before long, my legs were covered with welts. Even with the medicine, it was difficult to eat. I had a home nurse come to the house every week to check my ketones, my blood, and my medicine.

“Do you even want this baby?” — From the (male) electrician helping with our baby room

Before I got pregnant, I had a plan. I was going to eat only super-healthy, organic foods. I would exercise daily with pregnancy tapes. Instead, I found myself able to eat only oatmeal, Jell-O, popsicles and one particular Jamba Juice shake. I was forbidden from exercising because my doctor didn’t want me burning calories. I was concerned that I was unable to eat healthy food. My doctor assured me that she had teenage patients who subsisted on macaroni and cheese and Diet Coke and their babies turned out fine. She told me, “Your baby will get the nutrients he needs, even if he has to take it from your bones.” 

All through pregnancy, I had heightened, overwhelming anxiety that caused me to have hallucinations that I was surrounded by spirits protecting me. I remember lying on the couch, so sick that I was unable to even watch TV or listen to it. I would lie there for hours and then look at the clock and see that only one minute had passed. I bought meditation tapes in an attempt to calm my mind, but I felt like I was crawling out of my skin. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Later, months after my baby was born, I discovered that one of the side effects of Reglan is profound anxiety. Once the Reglan was out of my system, the anxiety went away.

Smells were the worst. I smelled things that no one else could smell.

I could smell pheromones wafting off of other people. I couldn’t stand the smell of my own husband and it had nothing to do with hygiene. I could smell if a product was expired. I couldn’t use toothpaste because of the smell and taste. I had to switch to fragrance-free shampoo and conditioner, which still had an odor to me — I think I was smelling the ingredients. I would joke that I had developed a “dog’s nose.”

I resorted to wearing nose plugs, the kind swimmers wear, in an attempt to block the many smells that bombarded me wherever I went. When I went to my ob/gyn appointments wearing my nose plugs, others in the waiting room would stare at me. I’m sure I looked like a freak. At home, I tried walking around holding a lemon under my nose (I’d read somewhere that that worked) but it didn’t help. I wore a nose plug at all times, even to Jamba Juice. 

Well-meaning friends would ask me, “What would happen if you tried to eat something you think you can’t eat?” It would come up, that’s what would happen. And the vomiting was so violent (and often bloody) that when I puked, I would pee my pants (or worse). Soon, when I vomited, I would need to have my head in the sink while sitting on the toilet at the same time.

MY SECOND PREGNANCY

Although I had vowed to never be pregnant again, I felt like our family was incomplete. We could not afford a gestational carrier, which would’ve been ideal — my own fertilized egg carried by someone else. But then my doctor told me there was a new medicine that would help me: Zofran, which dissolves on the tongue. No more anxiety-causing Reglan and itchy welts on my legs.

Well-meaning friends said things like, “It’ll be different this time because your body knows what it’s doing.”

Well, this time was worse. I don’t know if it’s because I was having a girl and there was more estrogen in my body, but I started to get sick very early on. And I had a toddler to take care of. I was working on an animated TV show, but soon I was too sick to go in to story sessions and had to quit.

This time, I couldn’t eat oatmeal or popsicles or Jell-O. I couldn’t keep down prenatal vitamins. I could barely swallow my own spit. The Zofran which dissolves on the tongue tasted TERRIBLE! And it didn’t work! I was brought to the hospital to have a PICC line (Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter) positioned in a large vein in my chest, just above my heart. This would allow me to receive 24- hour IV tube-feeding, or TPN (Total Parenteral Nutrition), which bypasses the gastrointestinal tract when a person cannot eat or drink.

Because it was all I could do to just function, my parents, who lived across the country, flew out to help care for my son. While my husband was picking them up from the airport, I woke up to a pool of blood coming out of my arm. I was terrified. I called 911 and the operator was rude to me. He told me to “calm down” and was not sympathetic at all. When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics grabbed my son from his crib and put him in the back of the ambulance with me. He loved vehicles, so I tried to hide my fear and make it seem like we were going on an exciting adventure.

When we arrived at the hospital, I looked out the back of the ambulance and saw my ob/gyn walking by. What a stroke of luck! I had the paramedics call her over. She took my son with her to her office where the staff would look after him while my PICC line, which had been put in wrong, was fixed.

Throughout this pregnancy, I walked around with an IV pole or a specially-designed backpack in which I could carry my IV along with me. Because I was not consuming any food or liquid, I stopped having bowel movements. I was constantly starving. Nutrients were being pumped into my veins, but not my stomach, which grumbled and ached for food. I liked food, I just couldn’t eat it. Without the meds and the IV nutrition, I’m sure I would’ve died, and my baby would have, too. My home nurse brought me boxes of Saltines, Nilla Wafers and bland crackers. This made me angry. I didn’t have “typical” nausea. I wasn’t being stubborn and I didn’t have an eating disorder — I just COULD NOT EAT.

When my parents and my husband ate dinner downstairs or brewed coffee, I would vomit. They never turned on a stove or microwave. They learned to eat cold foods that didn’t emit smells the same way and stopped making coffee in the house. But I could still smell their food and would violently vomit every time they ate.

“I’m so sick of you women complaining all the time! You need to stop being so weak! Men would never complain the way you women do.” — From the chiropractor who yelled at me after I told him I felt nauseous.

The second time around, I wasn’t a skinny twig. In preparation for nausea, I had intentionally put on weight before I got pregnant. But I didn’t lose that weight at all because the TPN was filling my body with over 2,000 calories a day of liquid. I sloshed around with my big belly and quickly outgrew the maternity clothes from my first pregnancy.

Every day, I needed to inject my TPN bag with various meds and vitamins. It was complicated. It wasn’t until months later that I discovered that I hadn’t been preparing the tubing properly; I wasn’t getting the air out of the tube before connecting it to the TPN. If an air bubble had gotten trapped in my tubing and gone into my blood stream that could’ve been the end of me.

Because I wasn’t supposed to get the PICC line site wet, I needed help bathing. My husband would often help me. One time my mother was helping me when the Saran Wrap I’d used to wrap around my tubing (to protect it from water) got tangled. I asked her to help me cut it off. I don’t know if I moved or if she was nervous and panicked, but she accidentally cut my tubing and blood started spurting out. Thankfully, my home nurse was on her way, so no harm was done, though my mom and I were quite shaken from this incident.

Many times during my pregnancy, I would ask my doctor, “Am I going to die?” She would look me in the eye and say, “Would I let you die?” Which wasn’t really an answer.

My nurse told me about another patient who was hospitalized for her hyperemesis. I felt sorry for her — she must have it so much worse than me. The nurse said no, I had a more severe case, but I had a better support system at home. My nurse also told me stories of women who did not have comprehensive insurance so they went without good care or medicine (at the time, Zofran was $50 a pill) and now their internal organs were permanently and irreversibly damaged. 

This was a scary time for me, but it helped to keep things in perspective. While I was struggling with my pregnancy, my husband’s brother was also walking around with a tube sticking out of his arm because he was in the end stages of cancer. We would sit around commiserate about our PICC lines. Being with him made me realize that as horrible as I felt, while he was dying, I was creating a life.

WHAT HELPED

Throughout both pregnancies, a lifeline for me was the HER Foundation (Hyperemesis Education & Research), which I was lucky enough to discover online. Women who had been through hyperemetic pregnancies were there to talk to me, assure me, and listen to me. They offered support, kindness and never judgment. They gave me hope and helped me believe that I could stick it out. The co-founder of HER, Kimber MacGibbon, was calm and compassionate. I knew if she had been able to get through it, I could, too.

WHAT I LEARNED

I had to learn to forgive myself for not eating all the healthy food I had intended on eating during my pregnancy and just do the best I could do. Late in my second pregnancy, I suddenly felt like I could eat something. And that something was mac and cheese. I told my husband and he dropped everything and went out and got it. My sister said, “Why would you want to eat something so greasy? Why not something bland?” But again, my nausea was caused by hormones, not sickness, so bland food wasn’t the answer. Soon I was able to eat fruit, which I craved. I also craved dairy, perhaps in response to my body getting ready to lactate. I always craved dairy when I was nursing — I even dreamed of drinking milk shakes. But food did not taste the way it should. Chocolate didn’t taste right, but I kept trying it, hoping it would again someday. I could not eat fish, chicken or salad. Lettuce was like eating metal.

TODAY

When I was at my sickest, my sister would remind me, “Remember, you get a prize in the end!” And it’s true. I have two great kids. My son is 15 and my daughter will be 12 in a few weeks. And although they were worth what I went through, I still feel traumatized by my pregnancies. I suppose I will always have a bit of post-traumatic stress syndrome. I still smell odors that no one else does, particularly pheromones… but at least chocolate tastes good again.

THE TAKE-AWAY

I am an incredibly strong person to survive Hyperemesis Gravidarum. My doctor told me about patients of hers who had terminated wanted pregnancies because their HG was just too unbearable. The fact that I came through HG not once, but twice, is something I remind myself whenever I face a challenge in life. If I could get through those pregnancies, I can get through anything.

Have you or someone you know experienced Hyperemesis?

Hyperemesis Gravidarum: When Morning Sickness Becomes Life Threatening posted first on your-t1-blog-url