#lately ive been lucky if i get to see my brother twice a year

[monotonous-minutia]

I love sharing music with people and then when they really like it it's a kind of connection you can't feel anywhere else

[justice4harwin]

Light's Corruption- Chapter IV

Pairing: The DarklingxAlina

Summary:With few friends at the Little Palace, Alina must work to win the favour of her fellow grisha and their commander, who makes her feel light headed every time she sees him.

After training in Os Alta for two years, the king grows tired of waiting and demands the Sun Summoner joins a western post near the Fjerdan border along with the rest of The Second Army to test her abilities.

Something happens. Suddenly, Alina wants blood to run down the rivers and those who stand in her and The Darkling’s way will be blinded by her light and swallowed by his shadows.

It won’t be pretty

Rating: 18+

Click here for chapter 3

Tags are in the comment section. If you dont wanna be there or wanna be added please let me know 😊

Anyways, I hope you like this one. I'm really excited over a particular scene 😏😏

Chapter 4: golden butterfly, black rose

Alina woke up with a new purpose: to observe and listen.

She hastily threw the blankets and sheets off of her and put on her kefta as she realized she might be late for breakfast.

Running down the stairs, hair a mess, the Sun Summoner smiled and greeted everyone on her path.

Some replied. Others just stared oddly.

She entered the hall to find that, as usual, Marie and Nadia had left a seat empty between them. Alina gingerly took it.

"Good morning!"

They gave her smiles as they reciprocated the greeting.

"You're in a good mood today." Nadia noticed, taking her spoon.

"I slept like a baby." she lied. She hadn't gotten that much sleep -Genya must've gotten even less- but she felt good that day.

Just the day before, she had been able to summon on her own for the first time, and she had to stay positive if she wanted to accomplish her new mission.

She engaged more in the chatter with the grisha women that day, venturing so far as to reply with questions of her own to get to know them better.

"I didn't know you had a brother, Nadia." she said, genuinely surprised as they made their way to Botkin's stables.

The woman nodded with a half-annoyed, half-endearing smile.

"He's grisha too. A few years younger, so he's still at school. His name's Adrik."

"Is he a Squaller too?" 

Nadia confirmed that he was, because of course, the little rat had to copy everything about his older sister.

Alina laughed at that.

"The little girl seems very happy for someone who's about to get into a fight?" were the words with which Botkin received her.

Alina fought back the need to recoil. The only time she had won so far had been against Zoya, …if one could consider that a win given what happened right after.

"Maybe I'll be lucky today." she beamed at him.

Botkin seemed almost surprised.

"Positivity is fine, little girl, but you need to focus during a fight. But first." he clapped his hands twice, immediately getting all the attention. "Run around the lake. Twice. The last one to get back here will help the stable hands for the rest of the day."

Alina really ran like never before that day.

Her side hurt, and she almost felt like she wasn't getting enough air; but after the first half, her legs didn't burn so much anymore, and she felt almost as good as she did when walking.

"Damn, Starkov." she turned her head to see that Michail, a heartrender with a hard-shaped face and kind, green eyes, was easily keeping up with her. "When did you get this fast?"

"Practice." she said, a little breathless but feeling nice with the cold air slapping against her face. "Besides, I really don't wanna end up in the stables."

He laughed at that.

"That makes two of us. I hate those animals."

Alina frowned. She just didn't wanna clean up their shit, but other than that, she could find nothing wrong with horses.

"Why?"

"Those long faces," he said, gesturing over his own. "they're scary."

"You're scared of horses?!" she asked, disbelieving. 

"Why don't you yell it a little louder?" he asked, looking around at the disperse group, but he was smirking. They weren't at the front, but they weren't slagging at the back either.

"Sorry." she leaned in. "I'll keep your secret if you help me not to be the last."

"I don't think you need my help," he laughed. "but sure."

She got knocked down on her ass by a short Inferni woman with dark blonde hair, but Alina laughed it off, hiding her embarrassment, and stretched out a hand. The Inferni rose an eyebrow and then helped her up.

"Thanks." she told her, dusting off the back of her kefta.

"For kicking your ass?"

"Hey, I think I did learn a thing or two." she winked. "Next time I'll be ready."

"Oh, so you want a rematch?" the woman asked, amused, as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

"If you're up for it." Alina shrugged.

"Deal." they shook hands. "But it'll have to wait until we're done with him." she said, nodding towards Botkin, who was busy making rounds, watching the others. "I'm Natasha, by the way."

"Alina."

"Oh, I know. Everyone knows." she smiled once more before retreating to a small group of Inferni that had reunited by a corner.

As she passed by the lake in her usual route to Baghra's hut, Alina got startled by the damage she had done to the perfectly green grass. Gardeners were still at work getting rid of the black mass she had left in her path, going so far as to dig into the earth. They saw her passing and glanced up, some frightened, others definitely not amused.

"I am so sorry." she whispered frantically, before hurrying her steps.

"Don't let the heat out!" was all the greeting she got from the ancient woman.

Alina closed the door and hurried to the chair that awaited her. She was smiling.

"I don't think that will be a problem." she said, proud of herself.

She scoffed. "So I have heard. Show me." she said, hitting her in the arm with her cane.

"Ouch!"

With a nasty frown, Alina placed her palms in front of the others and called the light that she had rejected for so long. So eager to answer, her power rushed through and out of her, and she was almost puzzled by its intensity. She focused on keeping the orb small.

"Uh. Well, it took you long enough."

"A 'Congratulations' would be nice."

She got hit again. Her light wavered and then solidified again.

"Congratulations? What? Do you want a parade thrown in your honour as well? For what? Doing what you were supposed to do your entire life? Shut up and expand the orb. Make it encompass the entire place."

With deep breaths, both to concentrate and control her anger, Alina steadily expanded her light, making it fill the hut.

"Bend it to its shape."

Carefully, she tried to do as she was told.

"You were right, about being held back." she uttered as she tried to shape her light to blend in with the walls.

"I know." the woman said, petulant. "Now call it back and repeat until there is no effort to it."

Alina tried, and tried again, but as eager as her power was to explode, her body was eager for a long, long nap. There had been so much repression, so much denial for so many years, that it was as if the light wanted to just explode out of her body and consume it all.

It scared her a little, but she focused.

The Darkling had told her she was magnificent, Alina remembered, and he had made it sound like she was capable of anything.

The way his grey eyes shone with such intensity, like he wanted to engulf her into his arms and have her all to his own, the way in which his hand felt against hers, or how just even being next to him made her want to lean into and over him like a lazy, overly clingy cat. 

She'd lay on top of him all day if she could.

Alina wondered what would've happened if Genya hadn't arrived at the moment she did. Would The Darkling had kissed her? What would his lips taste like? How would his beard feel against her skin? Just exactly how good was he with his tongue?

Alina blushed. The light flickered, as if excited at the mere idea of the man.

She had kissed a few people before, but him, there was something about him that told her that if he should kiss her only once, she'd spend the rest of her life running after the very same sensation and more.

"Dreaming about your dark prince again?"

She looked at Baghra.

"What?" looking around, she noticed that her light had expanded farther than the hut and she was glowing.

Alina snapped her hands, and everything was dark again. Her fingers tingled with power, her eyelids closed with exhaustion.

"I-I wasn't-" she blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the new environment.

"Stupid, stupid girl. You need to focus on your task."

"I'd concentrate better if I wasn't being hit every five min-OUCH!"

"Do not make excuses with me. You are lazy, easily distracted, you do not know what you are getting yourse-"

"You know, for someone who's supposed to be such a great teacher, I've still got to see some actual teaching." Alina snapped. "All you do is yell at me, hit me and belittle me; yet one conversation with The General I can finally summon." the brunette spat, each word more angrier than the previous one. "So don't try to blame me for your shortcomings."

Baghra was silent, nostrils flaring. When it looked like she might raise her cane and hit Alina right in the head with it, she opened her thin lips instead:

"Out." she uttered, almost inaudible. "Out! And do not come back!"

"Gladly!"

Alina stood up and marched for the door, her steps almost as loud as the insults the old woman was throwing after her.

"Stupid girl! Unconscious! Just another pawn of his! You never learn! Lazy! Stupid! Blind!"

 It was a good thing the old crone couldn't see the tears of frustration and shame in her eyes.

She was on her way back to the Little Palace, trying to decide if she should bathe or go to the library first.

Baghra’s words still rang in her head.

Maybe, if she was quick, really quick with her bath,...but then again, she was getting too used to such a luxury, that once in there it was quite difficult to leave unless the water turned cold.

But if she went to the library, she’d be there until the words blurred and her eyes burned.

On the other hand, there were other grisha in the library, and she couldn’t afford to walk in there smelling like-

"Alina?"

General Kirigan's smooth voice had her turning on her heels, hand still massaging the spot on her arm Baghra's cane had so harshly landed. She had managed to hold back the tears, but the woman's word still stung.

"Moi Soverennyi." She greeted but forgot to bow.

He looked at her arm.

"How was your lesson?"

"I spent months with her and nothing; five minutes with you and I can summon." She basically spat, still bitter at Baghra's harsh words. "I think that speaks for itself."

He smiled, almost.

"Give the old woman some credit. She is good at what she does."

"Terrorizing isn't teaching." she replied, and then, with her head high, added: "She didn't get me to summon."

"No." The Darkling agreed, taking a step towards her. All engulfed in his black cloak, he almost seemed to float. "You did it. It was all you." He said it with such reverence that her breath became shallow.

She didn't look away from his eyes. The storms swirling in there were magnetic. There was so much going on in there at the moment, yet it all sped up through those grey orbs so fast she couldn't make sense of it.

"Why don't you teach me?" The words slipped from her tongue before she could think better of it.

He rose an eyebrow, taking another predatory step towards her.

"I serve the King. I run an entire army. I do not have the time to train everyone personally, nor would I want anyone to think they are favoured above others." 

He was so close to her now, she had to crane her neck to look up.

"You once said there was no one else like us; who could be a better teacher?"

In truth, she also wanted to see him more often. Glimpses as he passed through the Little Palace or left Os Alta, and the occasional conversation weren't enough for her.

"You flatter me, Miss Starkov."

"I only state my opinion." she took a step, shortening the distance, like he was a magnet calling for her.

Mirth shone in his eyes. It made her smile. 

"I will be going away for a few weeks." At this, her smile fell, and his formed as he tilted her chin up with his gloved fingers.

Alina stared up into his eyes, dark with something.

"I'll miss you." She whispered, foolishly, without thought. 

"Will you?" He asked, almost perplexed for a moment.

She found herself nodding.

"I know we don't get much chance to talk, but I like talking to you." She confessed, a knot in her throat. "You understand all,...this." she flickered her fingers and a tiny orb of light formed above her hand.

His eyes followed suit, almost fascinated, like he still couldn't quite believe her power was real. And when he looked at her, it was like he couldn't believe she was real.

His hand rose and shadows swallowed her light. Alina watched them dance, entranced by his power, and noticed it taking shape.

"For you." The Darkling said, handing her a black rose, from the base of its steam to the very last petal. "To remember me by while I am gone."

Disbelieving, she reached out and gasped as she touched the shadow. There was a little bit of gold in there, her own power hidden within, shimmering weakly here and there.

"I don't have anything to give you." She said, lamenting.

He leaned down, his beard rough against her soft cheek.

"Trust me, Alina," he whispered, her name on his lips against her ear making her tremble. "I could not forget you if I tried."

There was the whisper of a kiss against her cheek that seemed to linger for the longest moment, …and then he was leaving, cloak flipping behind him as he left the sun Summoner holding onto a small piece of shadow and a piece of her heart gone with him.

Click here for chapter Five

[king-finnigan]

5 times Geralt failed to ask Jaskier out and 1 time he somehow managed

I.

Yen calls him immediately after he’s sent her the text. “What’s going on? You said it was an emergency?” She sounds slightly worried, and Geralt realizes that ‘Need help. Emergency.’ does sound like something to be worried about.

“I wanna ask Jaskier out.”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh, and he could swear he hears a ‘fucking finally’ muttered away from the receiver. “Cool, sure. So what do you need my help for?”

“Asking him out.”

She laughs softly. “Seriously? You’re a grown-ass man, surely you can ask someone out, right? You’ve done it before.”

He keeps quiet, and blesses all his lucky stars that she isn’t here to see shame rise red to his cheeks.

“Wait-“ He hears her let out a startled laugh. “You’ve never asked someone out before?”

His silence is confirmation enough.

“How the fuck did you manage to go your entire life without asking someone out?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Whatever. Alright, so, here’s what you gotta do-“

---

He’s waiting outside the doors of the cinema, bouncing on his heels a bit. Jaskier’s always a bit late – fashionably late, as Jaskier himself calls it – which is fine under any other circumstances, but the movie won’t wait for them, so it sets Geralt’s nerves on fire.

Finally, Jaskier shows up. With Triss and Sabrina in tow. To what was supposed to be a date.

“Hi!” Jaskier greets him brightly. “Hope it’s alright that I brought Triss and Sabrina. A movie is just much more fun when there are more people, you know? Hope you don’t mind?”

Geralt smiles tightly, and shakes his head. Later, after the movie, he rereads the text he sent Jaskier a few days earlier, and realizes he maybe didn’t really make it clear that he intended it as a date. Great. Something to remember for next time. Though he’s not gonna ask Jaskier on a movie date again. Firstly because Jaskier apparently likes it better when it’s not just the two of them, and also because they stumbled into their seats ten minutes late, and he doesn’t think he’s gonna survive that kind of embarrassment again.

 II.

Okay, so clearly Yennefer’s plan didn’t work out. Maybe he should ask someone else.

It takes a while before Eskel picks up, but Geralt immediately relaxes when he hears his brother’s voice. “Yeah?”

“I wanna ask Jaskier out. I need your advice.”

Eskel breathes out something that sounds suspiciously like ‘finally’. It’s quiet for a while, as Geralt gives his brother time to think.

“Flowers,” Eskel eventually says. “Jaskier likes flowers, right? He seems like a flower kinda guy. So give him flowers.”

“Okay, thanks,” he says.

“By the way, can I borrow your drill? I’m making a shed and mine broke.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, thanks. Bye.” Eskel hangs up, and Geralt drops his phone on his bed, thoughts mulling over how best to handle this.

---

He shuffles from one foot to another as he waits for Jaskier to open the door, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a bouquet of different types of orange flowers. It had caught his eye at the florist, because of its obnoxious colours, and he figured Jaskier would love it.

Finally, the door opens. And immediately slams shut again, Jaskier’s high-pitched shriek muffled from behind the wood. “Fucking shit!”

Geralt frowns, and knocks on the door. “Jaskier? Are you alright?”

A muffled sneeze, followed by: “No! I’m allergic to flowers.” Another three sneezes, in quick succession. “Very.”

Great. Just his fucking luck. “Uh… r-right,” he stammers. “I’ll- I’ll throw them away, then.”

He apologizes for it later, and Jaskier tells him not to worry about it, though he’s hardly able to string the sentence together through several sneezes and wet sniffles, eyes red and swollen.

 III.

Okay, so no movie date, and definitely no flowers. Maybe he should call someone else. He considers calling Lambert for a second, but he knows that would probably be the worst idea of his life – Lambert would either laugh in his face and hang up, or he would suggest something ridiculous like a bungee-jumping proposal or some shit like that.

Instead, he calls his dad. He’s always been able to rely on Vesemir for advice, so he supposes this time won’t be any different.

“What’s wrong?” his dad asks as soon as he picks up the phone.

Geralt frowns. “Nothing. I’m calling for advice.”

It’s quiet for a while. Then: “Alright, but disposing of a body is a lot harder than you think it is. Just take that into consideration before you go through with it. So first you gotta-”

“What? No, I wanna ask Jaskier out.”

Silence. “Oh. Who?”

“Jaskier. You met him last Christmas. Brown hair, blue eyes.”

“That loud-mouth that kept following you at the party?”

“Yes.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and Geralt could swear he hears a muffled ‘thank the gods’, as if Vesemir is holding his hand over the receiver. “Try flowers.”

“Already tried that. Nearly killed him because he’s allergic.”

“Hmm. Take him to a nice restaurant.”

Geralt nods, and he realizes embarrassingly late that Vesemir can’t see him. “Alright. Thank you. But, what you said about disposing of a body, what-“ The line clicks. Vesemir’s hung up.

---

“Hey, there’s this new restaurant, a few blocks away. Di Mare, I think it’s called. Wanna go there, maybe next Saturday?”

Jaskier snorts at him, incredulous expression on his face. “That place? No thanks, way too fancy for me. What do you take me for, a rich person?”

“Jaskier, you’re literally royalty.”

“Nah,” Jaskier continues, ignoring him, “let’s just order take-out. Have a little movie night.”

Geralt nods, hope shining in his chest. “Yeah, sure.”

Jaskier grins at him, pulling his phone out. “Cool! I’ll text Yen and Triss, let them know. Been a while since we all hung out together.” Oh, fucking brilliant.

 IV.

“Triss? I need your help.”

“Sure, what can I do?”

“I wanna ask Jaskier out.”

“Oh, yeah, Yen told me about that. So I figure you still haven’t managed?”

“Clearly.” He doesn’t mention the fact that so far, she’s come between his plans twice. He doesn’t want to hurt her feelings, and she’s obviously not doing it on purpose.

It’s quiet for a while. “Uh… Flowers are a big no-no, he’s allergic to those.”

“Figured that out by now.”

“The hard way?”

“The hard way.”

“Yikes. Hmm. Restaurant?”

“No.”

“Fuck, then I’m fresh outta ideas, chief. Wait, no. There’s this new coffeeshop just around the corner. Jask loves coffee, no way you can go wrong with this one.” Geralt highly doubts it, but thanks her anyways and hangs up.

---

The barista makes heart-eyes at Jaskier the entire time they’re ordering, and when they go to sit down, Jaskier turns his cup and finds the guy’s phone number written on the side. He immediately pulls out his phone and sends the barista a text. Geralt tries and fails not to sulk.

 V.

“Hey.”

He blinks, then frowns at his five year-old neighbour who’s blocking the exit of the apartment building, looking up at him with a glint in her eyes that she always gets when she’s about to drop snowballs through people’s mailboxes.

“… Hi.”

“Heard you were trying to ask your boyfriend out,” Ciri says.

“He’s not my boyfriend. And how’d you know that?”

“Gran-gran says the walls are thin and you talk loud when you’re on the phone.”

“… Okay.”

It’s quiet for a while, her gaze intent on him the entire time, and he starts to feel uncomfortable, shuffling on his feet. Sure, the effect may be mollified by the fact that she’s missing her front teeth, but she’s still very unnerving.

“… Ciri, can I leave n-“

“You should ask him out.”

“That’s why I’m trying t-“

“Just ask.”

“Ciri-“

“Give him alcohol. Grown-ups like alcohol. Then ask.”

He sighs. “If I promise to do that, can you please let me pass so I can go to work?”

She holds up her hand, pinkie finger extended. “Pinkie promise.”

He hooks his little finger through hers. “Pinkie promise. Now can I please go?”

She nods solemnly, and steps to the side. He’s halfway down the stairs when she calls out to him: “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

He looks back, sees her staring at him, face blank and grave, and he turns back, getting out of there as fast as he can. What the fuck?

---

Geralt’s walking to Jaskier’s door, two cups of coffee in his hands. Sure, the giving-Jaskier-alcohol part of Ciri’s plan wasn’t the greatest, but he couldn’t deny that simply asking Jaskier on a date might be effective and solid, because it’s so simple.

Except, just his luck, as he walks to Jaskier’s door, Jaskier barges out of his apartment, and smashes into Geralt, coffee spilling over both of them.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Jaskier exclaims, throwing his hands in the arms exasperatingly. He sighs, his foul mood evident on his face. “Guys and coffee seems to be a deadly combination for me, lately.”

“I guess it didn’t work out with the barista, then?” He somehow manages to keep his hope out of his voice.

Jaskier sighs and shakes his head, fishing a paper tissue out of his backpack to wipe at the front of his shirt. “Yeah, no. Total hipster, and he couldn’t stop talking about himself. Like, yada-yada-yada, you like old music, we get it, now can we please talk about me?” He sighs, seems to give up on saving his shirt. “Guess I’ll have to go back inside to get a new one,” he mutters. “Anyways, why are you here? Is there something going on?”

Geralt swallows, shakes his head. “No, just wanted to bring you some coffee. Sorry about uh…” he waves his hand a bit “that. Gotta go.”

He rushes out of there, ignoring Jaskier’s inquiring “Geralt?” behind him.

 + I

“So you’ve finally turned to me for council,” Lambert says in lieu of greeting when he answers the phone.

Geralt sighs.

“I want to hear you say it, Ger-Ger. I’ll help you but I need to hear you say it.”

“Don’t call me Ger-Ger.”

“Say it.”

He sighs again, a headache starting to form behind his eyes. “Fine. I need your help.”

He can practically hear Lambert’s self-satisfied smirk. “Lucky for you, I’ve got just the idea…”

For some reason, Geralt doesn’t exactly feel lucky.

---

The first pebble he throws misses its target, and he cringes as it nearly hits Jaskier’s downstairs neighbor’s window. He tries again. This time it hits its mark, but there’s no sign of life from Jaskier’s apartment. He tries again. No response. And again. No response. He throws three pebbles against the window in quick succession.

Finally, a light turns on and Jaskier opens the window, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Geralt? It’s one in the morning, what-“

He looks down at his phone, frantically searching for the song that Lambert recommended- fucking Lambert. He never should’ve agreed to this, and he’s going to kill his brother once this is over. Finally, he finds the right song. It’s the same one as in that one movie Lambert told him about where this guy held a boombox over his head or some shit – ‘something Jaskier will have definitely watched’, his brother had reassured him. Finally, he finds the right song, and holds his phone over his head, volume as loud as possible, and-

“WANT A BREAK FROM THE ADS?-”

Geralt closes his eyes in horror as the ad continues playing, several lights turning on in the windows of the apartment building. Jaskier on the other hand, is- gone.

Geralt frowns, turns the ad off, and looks at Jaskier’s window, painfully empty. Suddenly, the door to the building opens, and Jaskier comes staggering out, wheezing and clutching his stomach as he makes his way towards Geralt.

“That-“ he says between giggles “that was the funniest and most adorable shit I’ve ever seen.” He hiccups, starts laughing uncontrollably again. “What…?”

“Lambert’s idea.”

Jaskier laughs again, desperately holding on to Geralt’s shoulder as to not keel over. “Of- of course it’s his idea, oh gods-“ He hiccups, finally calming down a bit. “Isn’t this from that one movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t it a romantic movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you trying to ask me out, Geralt?”

“… Yeah.”

Jaskier smiles softly. “I accept. But please- next time, you can just ask. There’s no need to go through all this trouble.”

Geralt resists the urge to smack his palm against his face. “Alright, I’ll remember that for next time.”

Jaskier looks back, sees multiple lights on in the windows, sees some neighbors frowning down at them angrily. “Better wrap this up or they’re gonna call the cops on us.” He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss against Geralt’s cheek. “Goodnight, Geralt.” He turns around and makes his way back to the apartment complex.

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

[chocoholicannanymous]

If the Spit Hits the Fan (Glee) pt XIV

Follows pt I, pt II, pt III, pt IV, pt V, part VI, pt VII, part VIII, part IX, part X, part XI, part XII and part XIII.

Posting this for day 3 (Dalton) of @kbweek2020, for reasons.

Benjamin Harris asks Kurt to call him Ben during their first meeting, and pencils him in for two sessions per week “for now”. Kurt doesn't know whether to be grateful that he's at a school where his mental health is considered so important or horrified that he's seen as needing that much help.

When he brings it up with Sebastian the answer is “grateful” and Kurt's pretty sure that it's the right one. It's just such a glaring difference from McKinley where the closest he'd gotten to an adult caring about his anything (in a positive way that was) was poor Miss Pillsbury.

And that's, that's just sad.

So he agrees to go to Ben's office every Monday and Wednesday, and he tries to talk, only he finds he's still skittish and wary.

Ben's good though, and finds a way around Kurt's defenses by suggesting that they bring in Finn for a few shared sessions, “to heal old wounds”. It's a good solution as that's something about being back at Dalton, and about boarding again, that Kurt isn't entirely pleased about. Not living at home means it's hard to be there for Finn (and to not having Finn be there for him). Sebastian is a good friend, but Finn's his brother. Kurt worries, okay?

Ben being sneaky and getting permission to have Finn come over for the first two weeks is an excellent solution.

(The only one who doesn't realize that half the reason is so Finn can get the help he needs but McKinley won't provide is Finn himself.)

Once Kurt begins to trust Ben – once he's seen that it's justified – talking gets easier. Telling him about everything that's lead to Kurt transferring to Dalton not just once but twice in a year in painful but also healing. Even if he sometimes hides from everyone afterwards just to deal with the sheer hurt of how little help he's ever been offered outside of his home and his dad's garage, and how much he could have thrived if he'd gotten this earlier.

The worst part is talking about Blaine.

Except, he has to, and maybe that's even worse.

So he makes an appointment late on a Friday, arranges for Finn to come pick him up, and then walks in with his back straight and his emotions tucked away as deep as possible.

He tells the whole story of him and Blaine, from that first meeting on the staircase all the way to the police station, with as little detail and emotion as he can get away with. He winces, once, because Ben shifts a little during the part about Scandals, and right, he worked  here last year. It's possible, Kurt thinks, that not that long ago it was Blaine sitting in this very chair telling Ben about his circumstances.

When Kurt reaches the end he falls silent. He's a little hoarse, from talking so long, and he feels empty.

Ben's quiet too, at first. He sits there, then gets up to fetch Kurt a bottle of water and waits for him to drink some of it.

“That's...that's a lot you just told me, Kurt. And judging from what I've learned about you I'm guessing this is the first time you've talked about all of it like this?”

True. Kurt's talked, yes, with Finn and Sebastian and even his dad. Before Blaine's disappearance he'd talked to Rachel and Mercedes. But not like this. Not without hiding things, or editing them out. Not with honesty.

“All of this, everything that's happened with Blaine... How does it make you feel?”

“Angry. Pathetic. Weak. Stupid. So, so stupid.”

“Why stupid?”

“Because I trusted him. I've got trust issues from here to forever, and I just trusted him. All I had to go on was that Blaine was cute, and charismatic when performing, that he was willing to listen and seemed sympathetic, and that he was gay just like me. That he'd been bullied, like me. Or so he said.

“And I just took him at his word. Trusted him like a damned sheep. Without a single shred of evidence that he was worth it. I told him things I hadn't even thought about telling my dad – who was worth my trust – and things I didn't have the right to tell him, and for what? So things could get even worse?”

Ben takes a moment again, before asking his next question.

“Do you feel now that Blaine didn't deserve that trust? Not just in the end, but throughout your relationship, I mean.”

Kurt laughs, short and harsh and joyless.

“You know, I dream about it. Not, not about that night – or I do too, but those are, that's not dreams, that's... Anyway, no.

“I dream that it's an ordinary day, and I'm driving over to Blaine's house to surprise him for some reason. I don't know why, since Blaine specifically told me I was never to show up there without warning, and I respected that.”

He'd added two and two and come up with “Mr Anderson is a homophobic prick”, which may or may not be true, and also may or may not be the actual reason.

“Anyway. I drive over there, and I ring the doorbell, and when Mrs Anderson opens the door I ask for Blaine. Only she tells me there's no Blaine living there, there never was. And when I push her on it, she tells me that a boy paid them to pretend to be his family, but she doesn't know why, or where he really lives.”

Kurt swallows.

“And then I wake up, and I can't help but wonder, if I were to do my research, would I find an Anderson family at West Elm Street? And if I did, would the faces match the people I've met?”

“What do you mean?”

“Blaine and I dated for six months, and were friends for another six months before that. And somehow I never got to know his family. I haven't even seen a photo of Blaine's older brother. I've only ever met Mrs Anderson three times, and Mr Anderson twice. If it wasn't for the fact that they were at the police station, specifically as Blaine's parents – which, by the way, is one of those times – I don't know if I'd believe that's who they are. Hell, at my darkest moments I still question it.”

“Do you really believe he would fake something like that?”

Ben's voice doesn't hold mocking, or disbelief, just worry.

“No. Not really. As I said, they went to the police as Blaine's parents. That's not something you risk if it's fake. Besides, Lima's too small to pull something like that off.

“It's more that I find that I was such an unimportant piece of Blaine's life puzzle that I can't even trust something like that.”

They both sit quiet for a while. After all, what is there even to say about thoughts like those?

When Kurt returns to Dalton on Sunday evening Sebastian is leaning against his door, dangling a thermos-flask from one hand. It's both a welcome sight and not, seeing as Kurt had let slip about the nightmares during a check-in the day before. But. It's coffee, and it's Sebastian.

He's halfway through his cup before Sebastian grabs the bull by the horn.

“Do you want to talk about the nightmares?”

No, he most certainly does not. Not those anyway. Still...

“The ones about that night, no. But there are others. Sometimes I have nightmares where I come to school and instead of Blaine being gone, instead of me being called into Miss Pillsbury's office the next day to be met with the news that Blaine's gone... I go to my locker and he's there. And I forgive him. I just...ignore that he tried to rape me, and I forgive him. Even worse, I take the blame.

“And then I wake up shaking, knowing that I could so easily have done just that.”

“Kurt...” His name falls from Sebastian's lips with almost no sound, and it's so clear that the other boy wants to protest.

“No, I really could have. Right from the beginning everyone was so happy to let me know I was lucky to find Blaine, and some made it clear that they didn't think I'd ever be able to do better. Hell, my own experience made me believe that. So why would I have let him walk away? If he was the best I could get, then it was forgive him or spend my life alone.

“Talking to Ben has made me realize exactly how unhealthy that kind of thinking is, and how me folding about something like that would have impacted our entire relationship. He would always have known he could get away with just about anything, and I would never be able to stand up for myself because of the fear of being alone.”

Kurt shudders. Had those dreams been reality then he would never have felt safe denying Blaine sex again. He'd never have felt safe denying Blaine anything. You want that role I need? Of course. You want to move across the country? I'll start packing. You want me to quit my job and be a househusband? Yes dear.

He'd have become a doormat, and he'd have told everyone it was what he wanted while believing it was all he deserved.

Blaine leaving had hurt like hell, but Kurt's beginning to believe it had been a blessing.

“I think I might have dodged a bullet there.”

Sebastian scoffs.

“No shit. That's not a bullet though, that's ammunition for a small war.”

Kurt acknowledges the point. It's a bit of an overstatement, he thinks, but then again he went the other direction.

“Either way, he's out of my life, and he's not getting back in. That's a good thing. The same will be true about the nightmares, sooner or later. No, this isn't me pretending things are fine when they're not, this is me honestly believing it'll be fine. Talking to Ben helps.

“Having you helps.”

He watches amused as Sebastian blushes softly at the compliment while trying to play cocky. He likes it when Sebastian's facade breaks down. In fact, he might just have made it his mission to make it happen as often as possible.

“So, do you have any plans for the rest of the evening? Lacrosse equipment to clean? Lingering homework? No? What about that essay for Mme Lacroix?”

The panic in Sebastian's face as he jumps up is delicious.

“What essay? When did she– Oh, I see. Not funny, Hummel.”

“From where I'm sitting? Definitely funny, Smythe. But if there's nothing else you need to do, would you like to watch a movie with me? I've got some chocolate I don't mind sharing, and I'll even let you pick the movie.”

Sebastian looks at him suspiciously, searching for the next joke. Then he apparently decides that Kurt is serious.

“I could do that. Careful though, that almost sounded like you asking for a date.”

“Who said I wasn't?” Total deer in headlights look. “Would it be so bad? I like you. I think we are good together. I believe we could be even better. I trust you. Giving this, giving us, a chance feels smart. It feels right.”

Sebastian keeps staring at him, and Kurt feels himself begin to fidget a little, suddenly uncomfortable. Did he read the situation wrong? Then, finally, Sebastian speaks, voice a little raspy.

“Oh god. I thought you... Can I kiss you?”

There's a desperation in the words, but Kurt can't fault him for it. He feels it too. So he nods, and takes a step towards Sebastian. He's expecting... Well, he doesn't know what he's expecting. More of the desperation maybe? Expertise?  Seduction? He definitely wasn't expecting careful softness, and constant checks for consent, but that's what he gets.

Then again, maybe that's exactly what he should have expected from Sebastian, who's been with him the whole way, who knows everything, and has shown himself to care in a way Kurt's not entirely used to to.

It's a Sebastian without masks and attitudes, meeting a Kurt without the same, and it's everything he could have wished for.

He's got no memory of what movie they finally play.

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XII

(Author’s Notes: Sup guys! I hope you had a fantastic Fourth of July (for the American readers) and celebrated safely. If you are not American, I hope you had a fantastic weekend! Thank you for your patience while I worked through some writer’s block. I think I’m getting back into a swing though. I started reading a book that is set in the Edwardian period and it has helped me find the dialect and voice that I started with. I’ve been reading a lot of contemporary literature as of late and I think it’s influenced my writing a little, which is fine, but I’m fighting to remain consistent. I’m working on a novel of my own and it’s also based in the Edwardian period, but in a fantasy world, and I’ve been struggling to stay in the same dialect with that too. Anyhoo... I’m rambling... here is part 12. I hope that you enjoy it. Please hit the like, reblog, leave me a comment to cry happily over, and follow along for updates. Be safe! Be kind! Stay healthy.)

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Part XII

The following morning, James was settled in a wing chair in the game room, nominally enthralled by a short collection of poetry by Keats. It’d been a comfort to read Keats’ poetry when he would be feeling out of sorts. Perhaps because his father insisted on reading it to him as a child before bed. It seemed even in his adolescent and young adulthood, after weeks of sleepless nights cramming for examinations, going through drills during the day, and shivering through countless patrols in the chilly streets of London, he always enjoyed dozing in the warmth of a well-made fire, with Keats’ heart bleeding through the pages of his collection.

This naturally led to his considering what Keats would do in a situation like his. As his mind wandered into his thoughts, he was aware of the scent of late-blooming climbing rose coming in the window on a puff of air and he noted that the scent might have prompted the thought and he wondered whether Matthew would still be Matthew if he smelled of diesel and boot polish instead of bay rum, and what Cordelia, who smelled of roses and lime blossom to him, would be doing at this time of the day if she weren’t lying in her sick bed.

A swift clatter of boots on the stairs heralded Matthew’s arrival, and he closed the book, without the relief he’d been searching for, for even Keats couldn’t keep his mind from wandering.

“The Silent Brothers have gone,” said Matthew, his tone composed with his usual preferred demeanor of bored indifference.

“Gone where?” asked James.

“Back to the Citadel, I’m assuming,” said Matthew. He tugged at his starched shirt collar, and James could see he was warm with sweat about the neck, as if he had run all the way here. “Brother Zachariah remains and another, but I cannot recall his name, they all look the same to me.”

“Any word on Cordelia or Alastair?”

“Unfortunately not and the adults want a word with us in the dining room post haste. I assume they want a detailed description of our knowledge concerning the events of the night.” Matthew slumped in the other wing chair and covered his face with his arm. “

“Well, that’s certainly a blow to my afternoon plans,” said James, keeping his tone light in the hope that he could convince his parents and friends that he was calm enough to stand outside the bedroom that Cordelia had been moved into. They moved her in the night while he slept and no one would tell him the location due to his sudden outbursts. “If the other Brothers have left, that’s surely a good sign that Cordelia and Alastair are healing and are no longer in need of their attention.”

“It’s possible,” said Matthew from under his sleeve. “My parents are here, as are Kit’s and Thomas’s.” He groaned and added, “Charles insisted on coming as well. My life is over.”

James cursed. “What does he want?”

“‘To get to the bottom of this most unfortunate disaster’,” said Matthew, “his words, not mine. He’ll insist on lecturing us about how insubordinate we’ve all been, and how, seeing as we are underage, we have no business going out after the Carstairs siblings without briefing the adults with the situation first. He’ll make me file his paperwork for a month.”

“You’re being a bit dramatic,” said James.

Even as James spoke he felt the hypocrisy of offering comfort instead of truth. But what truth could he speak to his parabatai? Remembering the whispered conversations between his own parents after James had returned from near death by demon poisoning, James knew with a sinking feeling that his own investigation towards his grandfather would need to be done in absolute secrecy.

“Charles has been wanting to get me behind a desk since we were children,” said Matthew. “My mother will surely not object now that Shadowhunters are being plucked from their carriages in the streets.”

“Well, lucky for Charles, you’ve the best penmanship of all of us,” said James.

“So glad to hear that your humor has returned,”groaned Matthew, hanging his head so that his face was hidden beneath the fall of his hair. “Even if it is at my expense.”

“Pull yourself together, Math,” said James. He stood and tugged the edges of his jacket down as if to reinforce his words. “It will not serve to allow the entire household to hear such agitation. We have faced our parent’s fury before, this will be no different, I’m sure.” There was a pause, and James gazed out the window to allow Matthew a moment to compose himself. While he envied Matthew’s free and easy, passionate nature, his capacity for intense friendships, he always felt squeamish in the face of Matthew’s occasional display of emotion. He was accustomed to his own emotional outburst and Matthew insisting on James to calm down.

“You are right, of course,” said Matthew at last. He pulled a large silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. “Good to see you back to your more rational nature.”

“Thank you,” said James, fully aware that Matthew did not altogether mean it as a compliment. It was hardly fair that Matthew should provoke him into a purse-lipped rigidity and then insult him for it, but James’s first concern was to protect his friend from his own self-indulgence. “Now why don’t we make a suitable plan?” he added. “I’ve learned long ago that it’s best to just nod in the presence of angered adults.”

Matthew nodded as if to show his ability to follow direction. “Perhaps we should share what we know about Belial.”

“I think not,” said James. “My parent’s have already made it quite clear that they don’t want us involved in the investigation any further. We will have to continue it without their knowing.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” said Matthew. “He nearly possessed you and tried to kill Cordelia twice.”

“Which is why we must continue the investigation on how to properly kill him because it can be sure that he will not stop until he has what he wants,” said James. “There has to be a way to kill him properly.”

“I hope it’s something obvious,” said Matthew, “like spritzing him with water or feeding him chocolate.”

A sound of voices in the hallway outside the game room was followed by a light knocking on the door and Thomas’s voice saying, “Of course I’ve forgotten the secret knock, it was far too complex to begin with.”

“They’re here to fetch us,” said Matthew urgently. James noticed that he did have a strange, pale look about his face, but perhaps, he thought, this was the properly deserved effect of too much rough cider.

“By the angel, it’s only Christopher and Thomas,” he said. “You and Thomas can look pale and interesting together. Of course, he’s only just lost his sister. Perhaps his situation will help your sense of perspective.”

“Your sarcasm lacks the delicacy that would render it amusing,” said Matthew. “But thank you for your reason. Your permanent frown always brings me to my senses.”

“I do not have a permanent frown,” said James. He took a brief look into the mirror over the mantle and consciously adjusted his features to a half smile, which only seemed to make him look as if he were in pain.

“Hello gentleman,” said Matthew,  “do come in. It’s mercifully clear of authority in here.”

Christopher and Thomas came through the door, and James found himself slightly relieved that they were alone. Both of them were neatly dressed in tweed trousers, buttoned up shirts with suspenders. Christophers glasses rested on the end of his nose while Thomas' shirt strained heavily around the illustrious girth of his arms. Neither of them seemed to wear any hint of the previous night’s grievances.

“Welcome,” he said. “Is it time then?”

“Just about,” said Thomas and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve only just arrived with mum and dad and only convinced Christopher’s parents to allow him to leave their side by promising that we were only going as far as to fetch the two of you.”

“It’s already begun,” Matthew blurted out. “Behold men, your last minutes of freedom.”

“What’s he on about?” asked Thomas.

“Pay him no mind,” said James. “He’s consumed with the notion that due to the events of the last few nights our parents are going to handcuff us to desks until we come of age.”

“My mother suggested it,” said Christopher, “but I think my father has made progress against the idea.”

“See,” said James, gesturing to Christopher. “If my aunt Cecily can be brought to sense then so will your parents. Let’s just do what they ask of us and resume our investigation without their knowledge.”

“So not much different from what we’ve been doing for the past seventeen years?” said Matthew, shooting James a look. James could only roll his eyes as Christopher and Thomas drifted to the two wing chairs, where they sat and continued, for some minutes, to turn over the circumstances of the secret Belial investigation in a low and urgent manner.

“Any word on Cordelia and Alastair?” asked James.

Thomas nose flared as he met James’s gaze with an expression of frankness. “No,” he said. “Not that I’ve heard.”

James leaned against the wall and felt an echo of the agony that he had felt the night before and had to quell an urge to run out of the room and demand that someone give him information on the state of his fiance, seeing as far as everyone knew they were still engaged.

“I overheard our mother’s talking,” said Christopher to Matthew. “Alastair woke for a moment last night and was able to communicate with the Silent Brothers, but he is instructed to rest without visitors so that the injuries to his brain can continue to heal.” Matthew grumbled something under his breath. “Cordelia has been placed into an induced coma that she is unable to wake up from on her own. When her injuries have had some time to heal they’ll attempt to wake her up. The good news however is that the cure for her demon poisoning has allowed the runes to take a more immediate effect so she is healing.”

Christopher offered James a reassuring smile, which he appreciated more than he could properly express.

“Forget being tied to a desk,” muttered Matthew. “My mother will probably request having me put into an induced coma instead.”

Tessa Gray sat in the plush velvet couch in the front drawing room with her legs crossed at the ankles and her husband’s hand gently pressed against her shoulder while he sipped brandy from a glass tumbler in his free hand. Aunt Cecily was seated in a wing chair beside the fire with her husband Gabriel a respectful six feet away from Will. Aunt Sophie sat at the other end of the couch with Tessa, her hand held softly in the clutches of Gideon, both of them still carrying the misery of the loss of their eldest daughter Barbara. Charlotte Fairchild stood behind her husband’s wheelchair and beside her eldest son Charles. James knocked on the door and went in followed by Matthew, Christopher, and Thomas.

“Gentlemen,” said Will. “I hope that you all slept well and are prepared for punishment and ridicule.”

“William,” warned Tessa. “We simply want you to recount your details from the night the Carstair’s were attacked.

Matthew shifted beside James.

It had only just occurred to him that he hadn’t seen Lucie since they arrived at the Institute with Cordelia and she wasn’t in the room now. “Where is Lucie? She would have more to tell than any of us would.”

“Lucie has already recounted her experience,” said Tessa, one eyebrow raised. “She’s resting now. It’s the four of you that we wish to speak to now.”

“We are enacting an investigation on this prince of hell Belial,” said Charles, as he moved forward into the center of the room. “If we’re to be successful in locating him and effectively killing him then we need all of the information that you have concerning him.”

“I’ve already told my parents everything that I know about Belial,” said James. Both Will and Tessa turned him a look. James exhaled and began his recount of his experiences with Belial.

“And you believe Belial to be the one to have taken Miss Carstairs?” asked Charles when James was finished.

“I never saw him myself,” said James. “That would be a question for Lucie.”

“She claimed not to have seen him either,” said Charles, removing a pocket watch and checking the time before slipping it back into his trousers. “She said that she found Cordelia in the fog badly injured. She said that she lost you, but once the fog rolled away, you appeared again. Is this not the truth?”

James wasn’t sure what would compel his sister to lie about the events of Cordelia’s rescue, but he had to assume that there was a good reason and one that he would explore later when he could speak to his sister himself.

“It’s the truth,” said James. “As I told you before Lucie disappeared into the fog and I ran after her. We lost each other for some time, and when the fog moved off, she was there again with Cordelia.”

Charles stroked his chin. “It’s been unanimously agreed upon that the four of you, including Lucie and Anna, will be restricted to local patrols during daylight hours and are to report in detail any and all demon activity. If you so choose to break your restrictions then your punishment will be as sever as I see warranted.”

“What exactly would you see warranted?” asked James.

“You’ll be sent to Alicante,” said Charles, his eyes marked on Matthew, “where you’ll remain until you come of age and if you continue to disobey direct orders then the punishment will be as severe as stripping you of your marks.”

“Charles,” Charlotte hissed from beside her husband. “We never mentioned—“

“It is for their own safety, mother,” said Charles, squaring his shoulders. “I do hope it doesn’t come to such extremes, but in this case, the safety of one is the safety of them all. I do hope this will encourage them to keep each other accountable.”

Though it pained James that these new founded restrictions would limit his personal research on finding a way to kill Belial, it did not discourage him in the least. In fact, he was even more excited about the prospect of an opportunity to infuriate Charles. If one of them were to be sent to Alicante, he was sure the rest would follow, and he couldn’t strip them all of their marks. What with Shadowhunters being down in numbers as it were. Charles tactics were classic: infiltrate fear into the army without ever enacting punishment. Not that Charles would ever find out if they were going against him. Charles was too busy building his castle out of sand to see what goes on around him.

“I think Charles has allowed power to go to his head,” said Will, under his breath. He’d been in something of high spirits since Jem had arrived at the Institute and been ordered to stay to help the Carstairs siblings mend. “Don’t fret, Jamie boy, if you are stripped of your marks, Coleridge lived a life of poverty and had to be sustained by charitable friends and he turned out fine.”

“William,” Tessa hissed. “Do be serious for a moment. Jamie, as much as we regret taking away your personal freedoms, it is of the utmost importance that you heed the restrictions put in place for you. Even if he is being a power hungry, conniving, son of a--”

“What your mother is trying to convey,” said Will, moving in front of her, “is that you should be careful and mindful of your action.”

“I could always become a postman like Trollope?” said James. “I’ll begin to work on my beard.”

Will bellowed and clapped James on the shoulder just as the doors to the drawing room were opened by the footman and in walked Brother Zachariah with Sona beside him. Her graying hair has come loose and spilled down her back in an array of perfect waves that mirrored the texture of her daughters. Her expression was somber; deep circles sat under her eyes and her lips were impossibly dry.

Her arm was entwined with Jem’s as they shuffled into the room.

James, followed by Tessa and Will, hurried across the room to meet them.

“Mrs. Carstairs is in need of some rest,” said Brother Zachariah. “She would like to request that James remain with Miss Cordelia while she is away.”

James took her free hand and offered it a reassuring squeeze.

“She is lost in there,” said Sona, her voice rough and weathered. “I can feel it. It helps if you read to her. Let her hear the sound of your voice so she has something to walk towards in all of that darkness.”

“I can show you to a room,” said Tessa, a note of emotion in her voice that she quickly cleared away.

“That would be lovely thank you,” said Sona and removed her arm from Jem’s for Tessa’s.

“Perhaps some light broth,” said Brother Zachariah. “She hasn’t eaten much and I worry for the child.”

Tessa nodded and led Sona from the room.

Brother Zachariah turned his attention to James. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better after some sleep,” said James. “I can go to Cordelia now if you wish.”

“She is having a bath,” said Jem, “but in the next hour. Prepare to make yourself comfortable, perhaps bring some literature. As Sona said before, it is of the utmost importance that you continue to speak to her, give her something to walk towards, or the Cordelia that you know can become lost in her thoughts forever.”

James' voice became bitter. “Why is she in a coma if it means she could become lost inside of her mind? Can’t you wake her up?”

“The injuries that she has sustained would be too terrible to be conscious during,” said Jem. “The body is able to heal much quicker if the mind is asleep to the pain.”

James drew himself into as stiff of a column as he could and clamped his teeth down on a small quiver of his jaw. He resolved himself in that moment to give Cordelia whatever she needed; if he had to read to her for days, weeks, even months then that was what he would do.

(Next update is going to be Sunday 7/12... maybe)

[mccnyoongi]

buttercup ⇢ pt one

⇢ pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

⇢ genre: smut + slight angst

⇢ au: college!au, fwb!au, stoner!yoongi, assholeish!yoongi, fuckboyish!yoongi fwb to lovers trope

⇢ word count: 6k+

⇢ warnings: smut, honestly mostly porn, unprotected sex, recreational use of drugs & alcohol, dirty talk, praise, degradation, ridiculously excessive use of pet names, fingering, dom!Yoongi, unprotected sex, slight dumbification (whoops), hair pulling, creampie??, oral (f receiving), pussy slaping, reader has a thing for Yoongi’s hands because who doesn’t, reader and yoongi are both sarcastic and oblivious, this part is basically pwp.

⇢ synopsis: Min Yoongi wears leather jackets, fucks you like he hates you, spends most of his days on the wrong side of a blunt, and calls you the sweetest names when no one else is around. And you definitely aren’t falling in love with him.

⇢ author’s note: so yes, buttercup is being cut up into two parts thanks to a lot of my life getting uprooted this week!!! ill spare you the details but everything is really chaotic rn so im sorry this isnt exactly what i promised :( thank u for all the insane amont of love ive gotten so far. this is a pretty um... filthy piece of writing skfjsd and it’s definitely not perfect and id love to get better with everything i put out on here but i hope u guys enoy ily xx

If there was a magic lantern hidden somewhere on the campus of this university, you’d find it and your first wish would be to make it so that no one found out about this whole illicit affair you’ve been having with Min Yoongi. The secrecy was fun, sexy like you guys had a whole Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing going on. Or something. Your second wish would be to make his dick vibrate. 

But then he just had to go and go down on you in a bathroom during a party at the Beta Tau Rho house, not even a month into the fall semester, knowing you wouldn’t be able to be quiet or subtle at all. And he was so smug about it too, the fucker.

You can still feel the embarrassment buzzing under the surface of your cheeks from when you walked out that bathroom door and a dozen frat boys and mutual friends of yours and Yoongi’s were out there, waiting for the two of you to emerge and giving you a round of applause when you did. Yoongi had just laughed and rolled his eyes before leading you to the kitchen to get the pair of you some drinks. He’s always been particularly good at brushing that shit off of his shoulder. You aren’t, but you’re pretty good at pretending.

Maybe you should have ended it all that night. Of course, you didn’t. You figured, hey,  you’re young and in school so fuck making good decisions. Of course, the fact that no other guy has ever been able to dick you down nearly as well as Min Yoongi can is probably a huge contributing factor. 

Sure he might be grumpy, and sarcastic, and he tries way too hard to look cool and nonchalant, but he’s also the first guy to ever make you squirt. And you’re pretty sure that the way he waxes poetic about your pussy would make even Shakespeare swoon. So maybe the pros outweigh the cons, but only just.

“I can’t believe you’ve been getting Yoongi dick for almost three full months and haven’t divulged every single detail and vein to me, you cold, uncaring bitch-” Jimin’s voice is far too loud for the student-run coffee shop the two of you regulared every Sunday; a tradition that Jimin always insisted upon. He loves his traditions almost as much as he loves destroying any personal boundaries between the two of you.

“Keep going Park, see if I ever buy your coffee again.”

“Don’t change the subject,” You can’t say you’re surprised that Jimin is reacting like this. Self-proclaimed ‘disaster bisexual,’ Jimin was one of the very first friends you made back when you were a shy, barely functioning freshman. 

He actually introduced you to all his frat brothers, and a large number of the people you now call your friends. Including Yoongi, whose dick seems to be a reoccurring topic between you and… most people you know. Even if they weren’t at that dumb party, Jungkook made sure that every living being that stepped onto campus was aware of the newly found out fuckbuddies.

“We don’t keep anything from each other, Y/N,” He’s whining over his coffee now, full lips perched in that pretty pout that he regularly uses to his advantage. “I even told you about that time I puked on Namjoon’s dick in our second year!”

“Mmm, and I wish you hadn’t told me, Minnie-” The visual still haunts you, but Jimin has never had any predilections when it came to oversharing, especially not with people who have the misfortune of being his best friends. “‘Sides, I didn’t figure it was important, the whole Yoongi thing-”

“His dick, you mean.”

“Because it’s not like we’re getting married,” You carefully ignore him, a useful habit you’ve picked up three years into being his friend. “Just sex, remember?”

“So fucking what? You told me how you sucked Jeon’s cock in a movie theatre less than twelve hours after it happened-” You take a large gulp of your own iced coffee to busy yourself when the shameful memory is brought up. Not shameful because of the promiscuity of the act, no you’re an adult, thank you very much, but rather because of the boy you performed them on. Jeon Jungkook is now more of an annoying younger brother to you than anything. Not to mention he’s got a giant mouth that couldn’t keep a secret even if it killed him.

“Jesus you could’ve picked any other example-” You groan out as Jimin smirked, receiving the exact reaction from you he wanted. You think you’d have learned by now. “I’m sorry, okay? You big baby.”

“Hey, you’re on thin ice,” He points an accusatory finger at you and you have to fight the urge to smack it out of your face. “Now you have to make it up to me.”

You sigh- Jimin can really be exhausting when you’re only half a medium coffee in. “And how do you expect me to do that, Park.”

“Dick details, fucking obviously,” He says it like you’re a moron for even asking. And maybe you are. “Well details in general, I guess. You know, the basics; length, girth, does he make you call him daddy, is he good- I mean he must be un-fucking-real if you’ve been bouncing on it for three goddamn months, you whore.”

“I’m not giving you measurements, Jimin, I’ve yet to take a tape measure to it- and stop assuming everyone has a daddy kink just ‘cause you do.”

“Okay, vanilla bitch. You’re lucky I already know he’s got a monster cock from that time he streaked at that post-mid-term party next year.”

“Then why’d you even ask?”

“To see if you’d tell me the truth. It was a test and you failed.”

“I may be a college student but you’re gonna have to threaten me with a little more than a failing grade to spook me,” You roll your eyes playfully- there’s no real threat in his words, there never is.

“You’re right, I’m sure you’d much rather be punished by Yoongi, huh?”

                    ..............................................................................

Watching Yoongi roll a joint, his long, slender and experienced fingers moving quickly and deftly, has always had this near hypnotizing-like effect on you. His apartment smells like weed, the scent never surprising and would almost be overwhelming if you weren’t so used to it by now. The sight alone is almost enough to make you wet. But you’re stronger than that- except for when you’re not. 

Sexy hands aside, but unfortunately not on you, you’re thankful for his cannabis-related expertise because a) you can’t roll one yourself to save your life and b) despite normally reserving your consumption habits for parties, you feel like you deserve a fat one after the week you’ve had. What with, you know, the stress of having every student on campus knowing about yours and Yoongi’s torrid affair, thanks to fucking Jeon Jungkook. Brat. Plus incessant goading from both Jimin and your roommate, Irene- equally angry as Jimin about your worst kept secret- has only made you sink further into your insecure and paranoid thoughts.

The weed would help, you’d told yourself when your phone pinged with that much anticipated what’re u up 2? late night text from the raven-haired devil himself. Yep, it was the weed, the comforting blanket of getting high. And had nothing to do with the boy that was offering them. Not even his fat cock or magnetic pull he seemed to have on you. 

“Alright, dove,” He says from his spot on his worn-out single-dorm couch- the names don’t tend to surprise you the way they used to. You kinda figured that the affection-starved Yoongi had just you know… gotten comfortable with the girl he had been fucking for the last couple of months. No big deal. Sure they made your heart swell and your panties dampen, but then it could be looked at as a positive. 

He looks up at you from his spot on the couch, where he’s uncomfortably hunched over the table as he works and notices how you’re looking rather spaced out- not entirely rare for you. He’s used to the hundred-mile stare you tend to adopt when deep in thought, though it’s considerably less common for a sober you.

“Dove?” Nothing. “Y/N?” It’s the use of your actual name from his lips that finally grabs your attention.  You finally turn your head to look at him, the glaze of deep thought finally leaving your eyes. An eyebrow quirks to let him know you’ve heard him, but his gaze remains piercing and unwavering on yours. “You need to stop worrying so much, dove.”

“That’s what the weed is for, Yoongs.”

“The weed? You’re just here so I can smoke you out then, huh? No ulterior motives, hm?” His tone is as dry and sarcastic as ever, qualities he had quickly become known for around campus. He shurgs “Fine. Just here to sesh. C’mere then.”

You scoot closer to his side of the couch, not even thinking twice before listening to him. His tongue is tantalizing as he licks the rolling paper, even if he doesn’t mean it to be. He’s almost always tantalizing to you.

“Don’t be grumpy. You invited me over,” Your words are softer than you meant, but your proximity to him makes you feel stilted. He was right, you really needed a smoke, more on edge than ever.

“Well, technically,” He starts, unlit, perfectly rolled joint now perched between his lips. He grabs at your legs before continued so that you were resting sideways on the black couch, legs strewn over legs, thighs touching thighs. “I invited the best pussy on campus over.” You crinkle your nose at his bluntness.

“Yoongi-” You scold indignantly and pinch at a well-toned bicep. “Don’t be an asshole, you asshole.” He grins despite the insult like he’d expected it. Or he’s revelling in it.

“You know I’m just fucking around, angel,” His arm tucks around your waist comfortably, pulling you even closer. “Tryna chill you out. I can tell when you’re all strung out. I know how you,” He pokes you in the middle of the forehead, still grinning, as you pout from being called strung out. “Tick.” 

He really does, doesn't he? The thought is mildly terrifying, and you think that Yoongi might be too smart or his own good sometimes. When he’s not smoking himself into another dimension, that is.

He leans back into his seat, uncurling from around you to finally light up. A few sparks later and the room is fogging up with overly pungent smoke- the cheap smell makes you think that he probably bought it off of Hobi, too lazy to go any further off-campus than his own block of apartments to one of the nice but relatively affordable dispensaries. You crinkle your nose at the scent, grateful he’s too distracted to notice since he’d probably just tease you for liking the fancy shit more. At least you trust Hobi, and he lives only two buildings down from Yoongi. Truly an age of convenience.

A few passes, tokes, whatevers later, and you’re feeling substantially... floaty. You’ve completely relaxed, choosing to lie down rather than put the effort into sitting up, though your legs are still thrown across your equally high counterpart’s. What’s left of the roach is left to burn in one of many strategically placed ashtrays around the apartment, this one being on the living room table.

Yoongi has barely moved in the past while, head resting lazily on the back of the couch, black hair messy and his neck- which is somehow handsome to you- stretched out, and hands resting against your bare knees. You’ve barely paid him any mind, the silence nothing but comforting and easy. 

Which is why you can’t help but jolt just a little in surprise when those hands, the hypnotizing ones you’re so obsessed with suddenly start creeping up your legs, halfway up your thighs, carefully kneading the supple flesh he finds there. He chuckles at your reaction, finally picking his up his head to watch you through heavy-lidded eyes. “Bet you’re extra sensitive right now, huh petal?” He doesn’t have to bet because he knows it’s true, knows how needy you get when you’ve smoked. And he loves it- it’s why he never makes you pay for any of the times he smokes you out.

“Fuck off,” You whine at his light-hearted teasing, but Yoongi just giggles- he fucking giggles- in response, hands still travelling the expanse of your thighs. 

“Be nice,” His words are still jovial, but there’s a gruffness behind them that sends a shiver down your spine, despite the relative stuffiness of his living room.

“I am nice, you’re just a dick,” You pout- childish, but you can’t quite come up with anything more clever at the moment. The jab may be weaker than your usual quips, but Yoongi seems to have decided it’s enough to warrant a punishment of sorts, as he sends a quick slap onto your thigh. It’s certainly not the harshest hit you’ve received from him, it’s more playful than anything, but it’s enough to make you whine, not even noticing when your own hands jump down to grab at him and your now sore flesh.

His eyes take on a new sort of darkness, beyond the dilated pupils from the high he’s in the middle of as he grabs at your wrists, any assault you had planned halting in its tracks. His large hands that you’ve drooled over- figuratively and literally- many a time are big enough that he only needs one of them to hold both of yours steady. He uses his grip on you to yank you back up to a sitting position, where your noses almost touch and you can feel his breath fan across your lips.

“I told you, I know how you tick,” He lets his tongue swipe out to wet his lips, the act distracts you and makes you mimic it with your own tongue and lips. The smirk he gives you is all at once wicked and panty dampening. “Which means I know you like it when I’m mean. I know you like when I treat you like this, like my little slut,” The word makes you draw in a breath as your face reddens in humiliation and tension. “And- and I know you’re probably soaking through your panties right now, all over my couch. Making a fucking mess.”

It infuriates you to no end how right he is as your breaths come out shaky and uneven as you feel your pussy flutter around nothing beneath your shorts and panties. 

“Aren’t you?” His tone doesn’t leave room for playfulness anymore, and you’re nodding dumbly before you can give it a second thought. “Good girl.”

He doesn’t give you any time to bask in the praise before he’s leaning in to capture your lips in a searing and sloppy kiss. He’s domineering even in the way he kisses you, teeth biting and tongue sweeping into your own mouth as he revels in the small sounds that escape you. His hands leave your wrists, freeing them so you can grip onto raven locks with a newly freed hand as his own wrap around your waist. 

Every sense is filled with him, and it is all at once comforting and exhilarating.

He tugs and roughly manhandles you so that you’re properly astride his denim-covered thighs, your lips never untangling in the process. When your lips finally do come apart, it’s with a lewd sound and a gasp from your mouth. He’s still smirking.

“Gonna fuck you so good petal,” Yoongi has always been so blunt and unforgiving, whether in bed or out and it had been one of the things that first attracted you to him, besides his obvious good looks. 

Before the two of you had even gotten together, when you were friends who didn’t fuck on the regular, you had even mustered up the courage to touch yourself to the thought of him speaking to you like this- your own fingers circling your clit and delving into yourself without abandon. You had only been able to imagine up a fraction of his sexual prowess. 

Like the time only a few weeks ago you admitted to him in a foggy haze, high than you think you’d ever been. how you’d brought yourself to climax with images and soundbites of him flitting through your head. He’d immediately made you put on a show for him- recreating those nights, but this time with him sitting feet away from you and ignoring your pleas for him to touch you.

Right now, however, the only things keeping you grounded in reality is the feeling of the muscles in his thighs flexing beneath you, though nowhere near where you truly ache to be touched, and one of his hands brutishly tangled in your hair, pulling harshly so he can have easy access to your neck. Plush lips start soft, kissing and licking at the skin there, before his teeth join in, biting and sucking like he loves the taste of you (because he does).

“Y-yoongi-” You’re trying to keep the whimpers at bay, like maybe if you stop yourself from seeming so turned on so fast it’ll get him to fuck you faster. “C’mon, just fuck me already.”

“So demanding for such a needy bitch,” He has you squirming on his lap and you don’t know why you thought you had any power over him left. “Have you forgotten your place? Can’t think of anything else but getting fucked, huh?”

You nod in agreement, but find out he must want a verbal response when you’re met with a sharp spank to your ass that has you squealing and bucking into his lap. “Yeah, yeah Yoongi ‘m sorry, just need it.”

“I know, baby, I know, you can’t even help it when you get all messy like this, I know,” You can’t decide whether his words are sweet or patronizing when he coos at you like that, but either way he’s got you another pair of panties.

“Need you to fix it, Yoongs,” All pride is out the window when he’s got you like this, and you love pleading with him to give you what you want almost as much as likes making you beg.

“I will,” He gives you one more harsh bite to the junction of your neck and your shoulder that you know will blossom into a bruise just in time for your 10 AM class tomorrow and you hiss at the mingling of pain and pleasure. “Now fucking get up,” He pats lightly at your thigh twice at the order.

You’re in no position to disobey, and you know from experience that not listening to him will end up with a sore ass and no release in sight. You stand up on shaky, doe-like legs and he grins at the sight of you. He stands up with you, his lean form and strong stance making him look taller than he really is. Then his long fingers are pulling at what little clothing you have, stripping you of both your tank top and your shorts and your bra isn’t far behind. Soon you’re clad only in your panties while he’s still fully clothed in black form-fitting jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Thankfully he leaves his cliche, but devastatingly sexy leather jacket at the door.

He doesn’t make any move to undress at all and you hope to god he will eventually- you love seeing his honey-coloured skin covered in a thin layer of sweat as he fucks you into oblivion. But for now, he stays fully clothed and he roughly pulls you by your upper arm until he can bend you over the arm of the couch, panty-covered ass high and perfectly on display for him.

“God, you’re fucking dripping,” He taunts, fingers running over your pussy through the thin cotton, making you whine into the rough cushion your face is resting on. “All this from almost nothing, huh? You’re such a fucking slut for me, shit.” He sounds genuinely amazed by you and when you uncomfortably crane your neck back to get a good look at him you let out a proper moan. He must have stripped his shirt off when you weren’t facing him, because his chest is bare for you to gaze at, or you would gaze at it if you weren’t distracted by the hand that isn’t on you, which is lazily working over his cock, rock hard and aching through his jeans.

He smirks when he notices what’s grabbed your attention, knowing you’re only moments away from quite literally drooling on his pillows. “Is this what you want? Hm?”

“Ye-yeah your cock, Yoongi, need your cock,” Your face burns red and blood burns hot as the crude words leave your mouth.

“And you’ll fucking get it, dove,” The cute name contrasts the second harsh spank he lands on your ass and you moan at the delicious sting. 

You think that he must be about to tear your panties off and sink into you, but that would be too predictable and Yoongi loves to keep you on your toes. Instead, he disappears from your line of sight, a dull thump coming from the hardwood as he drops to his knees, feline gaze now level with your cunt. 

“Yoongi-” You’re whining again, and you even have to hold yourself back from stomping your foot childishly because, god, you just need him to do something.

And then he finally does- he licks a thick stripe, right from your clit to your entrance, still over your panties, and you gasp in surprise. He does it again, twice, three, four times until your hips are bucking and you’re whining because you need more, you need him to actually touch you and not be a giant fucking tease for once in his life.

“Be fucking patient,” He hisses out, but at least he’s finally rolling your underwear down your legs to toss them somewhere across the room. “Or I swear to god, I’ll hold you down just like this so you can’t even squirm while I get myself off all over your messy cunt,” His hand is running up and down your bare pussy as he speaks, spreading the wetness around, to your clit and your thighs and your ass and then back again. “And then I’ll send you home without touching you or cleaning you up, so you’ll have to take the subway home covered in my come and fucking trembling. So be fucking good.” At the last word, he lands a mean slap against your gushing cunt and you let out an embarrassing squeak.

“Shit-fuck- Yoongi, please, just-” You stutter through your words, needing to get them out, though you don’t know why. “I’ll be good, okay? ‘M your good girl, I am, promise, I’ll be good.”

He doesn’t respond, at least not verbally. But you have to assume he’s happy with your desperate response when he finally delves into your pussy like a man starved, tongue licking into you, the muscle sending spasms up and down your legs. You have to muffle your moans by biting into a pillow, not needing another altercation with his neighbours, but you want nothing more than to yell his name as loud as you can until your voice goes hoarse when he shakes his head from side to side, tongue still buried inside of you and one of his hands now roughly circling your clit. 

It’s too much, but it’s not nearly enough. It’s when he switches positions between his hand and mouth that you think you might explode; his mouth latches onto your clit, tongue circling and playing with it and two fingers fucking into you, preparing you for the impressive girth of his own cock.

Your teeth let go of the strong grip it has so you can warn him of your impending orgasm. “Yoongi- gonna come-” You manage to choke out between barely quieted moans.

You know that he wouldn’t be able to respond if he was still suckling on your clit, but you still whine and wiggle your hips as he pulls away, earning you yet another spank to your rear, where you can only assume a nice handprint is forming. “Yeah? Want you to come all over my face, like a good messy whore- gotta come for me before I can fuck you like you need.” 

When his mouth finds your swollen clit again, you can’t help it as your orgasm barrels through you almost violently, every muscle tensing and fingers grasping at whatever they can find, neighbour’s delicate sensibilities forgotten as you moan out Yoongi’s name. He licks you through it, fingers no longer pistoning into you. When the last of the tremors have faded he finally pulls away, using his clean hand to wipe your mess off of his chin, though it hardly cleans him. 

“Good fucking girl,” The roughness with which he was grinding his still covered bulge into your now sopping wet center would be impossible to ignore even if your head weren’t a million miles away. But for now, everything is Yoongi, every single scent is filled with him and you think that that might be making your head even fuzzier than the drugs coursing through your system, but you’re too far gone to be sure. Or to even care.

Because all you can think about is his mouth-watering hands kneading at the slightly pinkened skin of your ass, his mouth-watering cock rutting against you and his mouth-watering, well, mouth pressing wet kisses and occasional bites up and down your spine. “Yoongi,” You meant to speak with at least a little more conviction, but his name comes out as little more than a mumble.

“Hm,” He hums against your skin and even those slight vibrations reverberate straight to your heart, which starts beating faster at the thought of what’s to come. “What, is my babygirl still needy?” 

The use of the word my in front of the affectionate name makes your heart jump, but you don’t even have time to scold yourself for thinking with your post-orgasmic pussy before he continues talking with that sinful mouth of him. “Such a greedy, desperate girl, won’t be happy ‘til you’re stuffed full of my fat cock,” His words have you whining and grinding back against him, where you don’t have to look to know you’re leaving a stain on his favourite jeans.  If you’re unlucky- or lucky depending on your mood- he’ll make you clean it up with your tongue as further delicious torture. 

But smoking makes Yoongi needy too, no matter how much he teases you for the effect it has on you, and he can’t wait much longer, not with his cock so hard he was a razor blades’ edge from losing his mind. He needs to be inside you as much as you need him.

Which is why you don’t doubt him for a second when he’s murmuring things about how he’s ‘gonna fuck you so good, gonna fuck you stupid,’ and you can only respond with even quieter whispers of ‘I knows’ and ‘pleases’ as he strips himself oh the rest of his clothes, hissing from oversensitivity as his cock makes contact with the air. It’s wonderfully overwhelming and he’s not even fucking you yet.

You can’t even explain how grateful you are when Yoongi turns you around because you love just seeing his cock. You’ve never been one to describe guys’ dicks as pretty before- except that TA you managed to fuck before Jimin sunk his claws into him, Kim Seokjin, because, well, you’re not blind. But Yoongi’s dick is gorgeous. It’s not the biggest thing you’ve ever seen, and it doesn’t have to be, not when it’s girthy enough to make you salivate with a curve that points to the heavens. Gorgeous.

He’s pulling you on top of him so he can sit back down and you’re back to straddling him, and you don’t complain because you know he’s tired both from the pot and crouching on his haunches for access to your center not two minutes ago. Plus he loves when you ride him, breasts bouncing in his face, wetness making a mess out of his lap and full access of your entire body for both his hands and lips.

“Need you to bounce on my fat cock before I fucking explode, baby,” And you’d have to be some sort of a madwoman to deny him.

“Need it too, Yoongs,” You don’t know why you feel the need to remind how desperate you are for him, surely he can feel it, your swollen pussy resting only centimetres above his throbbing length. “Can’t think of anything else.”

“I know,” He’s rubbing the angry red tip against your sopping folds, tinges of overstimulation making you jolt. Or you would jolt if his hands weren’t heavy on your waist, keeping you steady so you couldn’t a) get away from his cock or b) properly sink down onto it. “So pathetic and perfect for me like this, all cock drunk and fucked out and I haven’t even fucked you yet, huh?”

You nod frantically, and you can’t even find the energy to be embarrassed when a hand comes up to pet your hair with a condescending ‘awe’ as he pouts at you. You bat his hand away with a whine and furrowed eyebrows, but all that gets you is his hand tangled in your hair, yanking sharply in retaliation. “Careful, slut, or you won’t be coming for the next week-”

“Please, Yoongi-” You don’t let him finish, knowing from experience to always take his threats seriously. “I’m sorry, I’m fucking sorry, okay just please-”

You cut yourself off with a high pitched, tea kettle-like squeak as he uses his hands on you as leverage to have you sink down onto his cock in one fell swoop. “Shit, god, you’re always so fucking tight around me, fuck me.”

I am, is what you wish you were coherent enough to snark back with, but you’re sure no one would blame you if they could feel what you feel right now. And what you’re feeling right now is how well Yoongi feels inside of you, like no cock you’ve ever had. Every ridge and vein on his cock fills you up to the fucking brim, no room left for a pinky or a thought that has to do with anything other than Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.

And then he starts with those devilish moments of his hip, fucking into you shallowly and slowly to start and it’s all Yoongi’s dick. 

“Fucking bounce on it, dove. Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how much you need it,” He speaks through gritted teeth, each word a struggle as he tries not to fuck into you without thought. And it’s with the satisfaction you get knowing he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him that you find the strength to do as he says.

With quivering thighs, you push up and off of his cock, the two of you sharing a harmonious groan at the feeling, foreheads pressed against each other, skin sweaty. And this all just in the calm before the storm. 

It’s not long before the both of you are moving frantically, mere seconds, really. It’s intense and all-encompassing, as you grind and roll your hips, cock deeper than you knew to be possible, and his bucking his own hips into you roughly, no doubt as deeply in some sort of euphoria as you are. His hands are everywhere and so are his lips. He sucks marks into your tits and gropes your ass, controlling your movements to the best of his abilities.

All of that, plus your clit grinding against his pelvic bone every other second and your head just might be in another universe. 

Yoongi’s words are swirling around in your head, though you’re not properly taking any of it in- his velvety voice goes on about how wet you are, how tight you are, how you’re a good girl and it’s all another instrument in your downfall. You’ve never been much for heights but being with Yoongi feels like something akin to what you assume bungee jumping is like, and you’re just about at that point where your cord runs out of length and your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach.

“Tell me you’re fucking close, baby, c’mon,” This is as close to pleading as you can ever get Yoongi but you’re still swimming in pride. He brings a hand off of your ass to cup your cheek, brushing away your now mussed hair and a single stray tear and you drink in the look in his eyes, dark red-rimmed and needing. “Gonna fill you up with my come, just like I know you like, my perfect little cumslut, fuck, just need you to come first, yeah? All over my fucking cock.”

And with a particularly hard grasp at your ass, bringing you to grind your clit against him again, you’re gone. It’s considerably less intense than the previous one, as many second orgasms are, but your head is still spinning and you think you might have drooled a little, but you don’t mind and you know Yoongi doesn’t. Your attempts to stifle your moans are unsuccessful as the name of the man attached to your favourite cock falls from your lips like a mantra.

And where your orgasm is, Yoongi is rarely far behind- he loves seeing you fall apart around him, because of him and you always clench so fucking hard around him in the peak of your pleasure how could he fucking not. He’s grunting, moaning, damn near growling as he spurts his own release as deep into you as he possibly can, coating every inch of your delectable pussy, vague mumbles of how he’s filling you up, just like you’re meant to be that you can just barely hear.

Shakey breaths hit each of your faces as you come down, now still and worn out. Your chests move up and down and you don’t know when you’ve buried your face into the crook of his neck, but the warmth and smell are more comforting than any hit you’ve ever taken off of one of his blunts.

“Shit, buttercup,” He chuckles, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and where you’ve tucked yourself He runs a hand through his sweaty black locks, the other hand locked around your waist. “I don’t know how we’re gonna move without making this couch fucking disgusting.” Mood killer.

“Don’t give a shit.”

“Yeah, but I do. Especially if Joon or Hobi someone finds it and makes a big fucking deal out of it, like no other guy in his twenties has some come stained furniture.”

You pull back from the spot you wish he’d just let you fall asleep in so he can see your pout. He can’t find the sight of you… adorable? Your hair matted, bruises, courtesy of yours truly littering your tits and chest, a thin sheen of sweat making your skin glow and bottom lip jutted out exactly enough to be overexaggerated and so fucking adorable. 

At that moment he’s glad that about three weeks ago the two of you had started to break the unspoken no sleeping over after sex rule because he just wants to clean you up and feel you curl yourself around him like you like to.

You don’t know what time it is, just that it’s late and that it doesn't matter, because this was certainly time well spent. You wonder how much sleep you’ve given up in lieu of Yoongi’s pretty dick. Of course, it does matter... because you have a 9 am class tomorrow morning that you can’t miss, but that’s for future you to worry about. For now, it’s time to try to get up without defiling this Ikea couch (you failed miserably and giggled about it while Yoongi groaned in mock pain), burn out just one more joint, steal some clothes for bed and some snacks from his fridge, and pass the fuck out on his bed, which you think is way better than yours, but that has nothing to do with the boy in it or his comforting warmth and smell.

                     ..............................................................................

Past you is a dumb bitch. Also maybe current you. Point being, you hate you, because you’re sore and stiff and ten minutes late to your dumb 9 am class and it’s all Yoongi’s fucking fault. You texted him this much, calling him a ‘little bitch boy’ for not even waking you up to make you a cup of coffee with his fancy instant coffee machine before you left. He hasn’t responded yet because holy fuck does that guy sleep like a rock. A really cute, cuddly, sex-god rock.

But, as usual, Jimin came in clutch, handing you off a coffee as your paths crossed on campus, each of you heading to your respective classes. He gave you a one-armed-too-tight hug and a comment on how you have that very glamourous ‘I got fucked by Min Fucking Yoongi last night and you didn’t so I’m better than you look.’ You tried to take it as a compliment as you thanked him for the coffee. He gave you a cute kiss to your forehead that reminded you you could never even be annoyed at him for too long.

And now you’re in class. Headache from not getting enough sleep getting worse by the second while you tried not to think about what judgements people must be passing on you, with your sunglasses inside and hickeys you didn’t have time to cover up.

When your phone pings you assume it’s Jimin, with something slutty or sarcastic or both. But it’s not. It’s Yoongi- well, it’s what you have Yoongi’s number saved under, aka the drooling emoji three times over… You’re surprised he’s awake, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have shit to do until the afternoon. 

You have a fleeting thought that it could be a dick pic- yeah it’s a little early for that kind of dumb fuckboy behaviour, and you’d previously thought that too, but Kim Taehyung proved you wrong last year. 

Yoongi isn’t a dick pic kind of guy anyway. No, he’s the guy that sends pictures of his hand around your throat that one night you let him take artsy photos of you two fucking on his film camera. The kind of guy that sends you audios of him jerking off and moaning your name that you listen to through your earphones in between classes because he knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. He’s the guy that drives you crazy because you can never quite predict what he’s gonna do next.

[9:23 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: you could have woken me you know dummy

[9:24 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: subways are gross in the morning

[9:25 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: i could have u know, driven u…

[9:26 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: cant really say no to u buttercup.

You don’t know why you’re heart’s beating so fast so you reprimand yourself for thinking with your pussy. Min motherfucking Yoongi is gonna be the death of you.

[ragingbookdragon]

Let Me Breakdown

A/N: Jack Johnson’s always been one of my favorite artists, and Breakdown just seemed like such a Jason song. I hope you enjoy! -Thorne <3

I hope this old train breaks down then I could take a walk around And see what there is to see Time is just a melody With all the people in the street walk as fast as their feet can take them I just roll through town And though my window’s got a view Well the frame I’m looking through seems to have no concern for me now So for now I…

           Twenty-three years he’d been on this earth and with every passing year, he wondered how lucky he’d been. Of course, dying at fifteen wasn’t lucky in retrospect, but coming back and still kicking seemed to be a gift from Lady Luck herself. Jason sat back against the bench, eyes scanning the hundreds of people rushing about their day. His mind wandered, the old thoughts nagging at him of what it would be like if his life was a simple as theirs; time got funny when you lived the way he did, do or die, fight or flight. He shut his eyes, allowing himself to fade from reality for a while, and when he opened them again, the view in front of him almost looked distorted, a faded indigo hue as he sat in the background. He gathered himself, standing from the bench, feet carrying him through the crowds until he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. They shoved by him, but no one said a thing; he didn’t have the energy care, simply drifting through the motions of his path. Something lingered in his mind as he watched them. Families walked with their children and lovers held hands and giggled as they moved; but Jason stood still, waiting for another person like himself, lonely yet hopeful, to catch his gaze, tell him he wasn’t as alone as he thought. He remembered an old phrase Bruce had mentioned one day, something about the train of life. A frown tugged at the corners of his lips, and he stared as the frame around him seemed to mock his loneliness.

I need this old train to break down Oh please just Let me please break down

            If human lives were trains, Jason swore his must be beat up and battered, barely running on the fading steam. The people passing him didn’t look as he moved, and Jason wished for just a moment that it would stop. Give him just a minute to breakdown and stop life from passing him by.

This engine screams out loud Centipede gonna crawl westbound So I don’t even make a sound ‘cause it’s gonna sting me when I leave this town And all the people in the street that I’ll never get to meet If these tracks don’t bend somehow And I got no time that I got to get to where I don’t need to be So I…

           He blinked and the scene shifted, giving him another look on another busy street. The engines screamed in his ears, but he didn’t react, lead-laden feet stepping heavily, carrying him forward…like they always did; except, he noticed now that everyone moved in the same direction, save for him. He fit in between people as he walked past them, the frown still placed along is lips, but he didn’t break the silence he held. No one noticed the difference. No one entered his path, and no matter how he tried, the paths of those he entered just seemed to move through him. Twenty-three years old with all the time in the world, but here Jason felt like the sand in his hourglass was slipping, giving him no time to be anywhere or do anything.

I need this old train to break down Oh please just Let me please break down I need this old train to break down Oh please just Let me please break down I wanna break on down but I can’t stop now Let me break on down

           His lungs burned as he kept moving, eyes trained on the distance in front of him. The thoughts coasted through his mind, beckoning him to stop, to give in to the inevitable full-stop that always sat in the back, quiet, but still there. Half-a-heartbeat and his foot faltered, almost stopping; he forced it down, putting the other ahead. Jason wanted to stop…he wanted to quit…but something kept coaxing him into the forward motion.

But you cant stop nothing if you got no control Of the thoughts in your mind that you kept and you know You don’t know nothing but you don’t need to know The wisdom’s in the trees not the glass windows You can’t stop wishing if you don’t let go The things that you find and you lose and you know You keep on rolling put the moment on hold The frame’s too bright so put the blinds down low

           He finally stopped, feet planted firmly in the middle of a park. He spun around, trying to understand what he was supposed to be seeing…what he was supposed to understand. The words wouldn’t come out, but something in his brain screamed that any control he thought he had was gone, that whatever he was trying to stop, he had no control over. Images flashed in the sky and he watched words cross the distortion. Things he’d said to his family, his friends, his enemies, things he’d thought but never spoken on, memories he’d wished he’d forget, and memories he’d treasure forever. Something inside him clicked and he took a deep breath, understanding that what he was seeing was…himself…everything he’d been…everything he was…and everything he would be. It wasn’t something he was going to find staring out the glass window he protected himself with…he had to go and get it. But going to get it meant letting go, and for once in his life, Jason didn’t know if he had it in him to let everything go. Another image rolled across the sky and he watched it, staring at a past version of himself. He recognized the scene. It happened the week before, waking up and wishing he could do everything over again; wishing that things were different. Movement in his peripheral caught his attention and he looked over, gazing as the trees swayed, branches reaching up high into the distance. He wondered if letting go meant freedom like that…the ability to reach and move on. His breathing stuttered and he bent over, holding his knees, chest heaving with each breath he took. His fingers twitched and he looked back up, watching as one more scene rolled across. The day before, standing around the cave, laughter echoing from him and his family as they joked about an instance from patrol that night. Jason stared clearly at their faces, at Dick’s, at Tim’s, at Damian’s, at Alfred’s, and finally at Bruce’s. Bruce wasn’t laughing, but he was staring straight at Jason, a small smile on his face. All at once, it hit Jason, and the scene faded, a bright light replacing the moment; he understood it, closing his eyes against the sight.

I need this old train to break down Oh please just Let me please break down I need this old train to break down Oh please just Let me please break down I wanna break on down

           His eyes snapped open and he stared up at the LED lights above him. His chest ached and he reached up but stopped when he felt his arm heavier than normal. His gaze shifted down to his arm and he gaped at the IV stuck into his arm; a quiet chuckle sounded beside him and he looked over, seeing his father sitting beside him. “Look like you’ve never seen an IV before.” Jason tipped his head side to side, murmuring,

           “Don’t really remember if my injuries were bad enough to warrant a drip.” Bruce’s smile dropped into a frown and he leaned forward, lowing Jason’s arm back to the bed.

           “You’re lucky to be alive right now.” Teal eyes met steel blue and he asked,

           “What happened? I remember an explosion…but that’s about it…” Bruce went silent for a moment, then explained,

           “…You and the others were stopping an operation that Two-Face was running…he had the upper floor laced with explosives, and before they exploded, you shoved Tim and Damian down the stairs and shut the door. You were blown out the window and dropped two stories to the ground.” He glanced back up at Jason. “You flatlined twice. Once on the way to the cave, the other when we got you in here and into surgery.” Bruce shook his head, the words starting to jumble. “I didn’t know…I didn’t know if you were going to…if you were going…” Jason reached over, placing his hand on Bruce’s.

           “I’m still here.” He squeezed lightly. “I’m not gonna break down yet old man.” Bruce huffed a laugh, nodding along to his words.

           “Yeah…you’re stubborn like that son.” He rose from the chair. “Your brothers have been waiting for you.” Jason groaned, resting his head back against the pillow.

           “Oh god no. Please don’t sent them in here.” Bruce grinned and opened the door, letting out a whistle. The sound of running feet came their way and he quipped,

           “Too late.” Before Jason could respond, he heard.

           “JASON WE WERE SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU!” He grimaced, yelling,

           “Oh, fuck off Dickhead! I’m not dead again!” Bruce watched his sons crowd their brother, a smile crossing his lips as he watched Jason argue with them. He’d given them a scare tonight…but it’s like Jason said…he wasn’t gonna break down yet.

But I can’t stop now.

[snickletastic]

My Boyfriend's Back {Jason Todd x Reader + Batfam}

warnings~ SEXUAL ASSAULT, uncomfortable situations, seriously don’t read this if you have any problems with sexual assault scenarios!!! cursing, and extreme angst.

summary~ inspired by the song my boyfriend’s back, by the angels, reader is waiting for jason to get back home from a mission, but comes upon some serious problems when a boy begins throwing accusations with her name in them around the school and super duper angsty things follow.

a/n~ im back! hi! at first i must admit i felt really rusty at first when writing this, but i cranked this whole thing out in one sitting because i was having so much fun. i actually love how this came out, and ive had it in mind for some time now. its a bit cliche, but cliches arent always bad. hope you guys like it! :)

54 days of school left until graduation. Then that’s it. You’re finally out of highschool. You rapidly tapped your pencil against your desk while staring at the old wall clock, daydreaming about summer and the beach and finally getting to spend time with Jason again. He graduated last year, leaving you behind to fend for yourself in a school of vile beings. Lucky asshole,  you thought to yourself. You kept your relationship under wraps because of the infamous reputation the big bad Jason Todd had at your school. You both knew people would be scared of you if they knew he was your boyfriend, so you decided to keep it a bit of a secret. It made things more exciting, anyways. As the clock continued to march towards the time the bell, your pencil tapping became faster and faster. That is, until the boy in front of you grabbed the pencil from your hand. 

“Hard to focus when someone is beating up an innocent pencil behind me,” Jacob sarcastically whispered, careful not to catch the attention of the grumpy math teacher. 

“Sorry,” you apologized, “I totally tuned out…but let’s be real. You totally weren’t focusing on the lesson to begin with,” you teased. 

“Well let’s just say it wasn’t the pencil distracting me in the first place,” he said in a low voice, “you’ve been breathing down my neck for the past 20 minutes.”

You blushed, “I-sorry, I-,” you stammered, “I-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jacob interrupted, “sorta turned me on,” he snickered at your facial expression and gently put the pencil back into your hand, then turned back around in his seat.

Absolutely baffled by the interaction you just had, you sat there dumbfounded for a full minute. Your intentions were definitely not to flirt with him, you really just breathe from your mouth sometimes. You scratched your head and cringed at the thought of Jacob possibly liking you. He wasn’t bad looking at all; maybe he was even sort of cute. But you certainly did not need a boytoy, because your boyfriend probably wouldn’t approve. Only 3 more days until he returns from that damn mission. You shook your head to yourself and sunk into your seat. Should I tap his shoulder and tell him straight up that I’m not interested? you thought to yourself. Deciding it was best to do it in order to avoid any more awkward encounters, you went to gently tap his shoulder and assure him you had a boyfriend. But before you could, the bell rang and everyone stood up and funneled out of the classroom. 

Jacob stood up from his seat and picked up the books on your desk, “I’ll carry your books to your car, m’lady.”

You awkwardly smiled at his pure intentions, “Um-thanks.”

He followed you out to the school parking lot, and the two of you searched for a black BMW. Alfred decided to take it upon himself to drive you to and from school way back in freshman year, but he had never been late before. You worried for a brief moment before checking your phone to see a text message from the man himself.

I’m very sorry, Miss. Y/N, but I will not be able to pick you up from school today. Master Bruce has requested that I help with the surveillance of the most recent mission. You can call for a taxi, and once you get home I will repay you the money. 

Alfred always types out the longest of text messages, and you laughed whenever he sent a paragraph to you about where the car is parked or asking what you would like from the grocery store. 

“So….no ride coming?” Jacob awkwardly bounced up and down on his heels.

“No, I guess not,” you smiled. Before you could tell him that you would call a taxi, he spoke quickly.

“Great! I’ll give you a ride home, then.” 

“You really don’t need to,” you tried to decline his offer, preferring a taxi or Uber rather than an extremely awkward ride home with the teenage boy.

“Nope. I do. Come on,” he carried your books to a silver car and put them in the backseat. He gently removed the backpack from your shoulder and put it next to the books. Then, he opened the passenger door to allow you to get inside. He was being awful chivalrous, which was kind, but it still made you uncomfortable. You almost felt as if you were leading him on, but then decided to speak your mind after he drove you home. It would definitely avoid a tense car ride.

Jacob pulled up to the Wayne Manor, then put the car in park. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, clearly hesitating to ask you something. 

You didn’t want to wait around to hear what it was. “Listen, Jaco-”

Before you could talk, he smashed his lips against yours and put his hand around the back of your hair. You attempted to pull away, but he pushed your head closer to his. Finally you pushed him off of you, furious at what he had done.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” You yelled at him.

He blinked a few times, confused, “What?”

“What?! You practically attacked me! I don’t even know you! I have a boyfriend!” You threw your arms in the air, bewildered and upset.

“Oh come on, we both know that I’m way better than whoever your boyfriend is,” he snarled, “I know you want it.”

You scoffed at him then opened the door to get out, but he grabbed your arm, “Wait-” he tried to stop you, but you broke out of his grip. You slammed the door and angrily marched towards the steps of the manor. 

“Your backpack!” he yelled from the window.

“Forget about it! Fuck you!” you didn’t bother to turn around and continued to walk towards the manor.

He turned his car into the driveway and threw your books and book bag out of the window, and into a puddle of water from the rainstorm the day before. You turned to see your stuff soaked in dirty water, and your math papers destroyed. Holding back tears, you turned away and walked into the front doors, slamming them behind you. 

This caused Tim to turn around from the TV and look at you. He had stayed home sick from school, and elected to watch HGTV shows instead. Springing up to his feet and dropping his blanket, he hurriedly walked towards you to ask what had happened. It would be a bad idea to tell anyone in this family, because even though Jacob was a cunt, you didn’t want to see him get beaten to a pulp. So you ignored Tim’s questions and sulked up the stairs with him following closely behind you. “Y/N-” he whispered sadly, as you slammed the door to your bedroom behind you.

The next morning, the sun shined brightly in your eyes, causing you to groan and pull the pillow over your head. You felt the pillow being pulled from your face, and saw Tims face, staring back down at you. “Y/N. Look, I understand if you don’t want to talk about whatever happened, but could you at least tell me who threw your backpack into the mud?” 

You rubbed your eyes and sat up, looking at your adoptive brother. With a gentle pat on his shoulder, you assured him, “Don’t worry about it. Really,” you made your best attempt to change the subject, “Are you feeling better?”

Tim noticed you dodging the question, but felt defeated. “Yeah. I’m definitely going to school today,” he said, eyeing you.

You could hear that his nose was still stuffy and noticed how red his eyes looked, but you knew it would be useless to argue with him. The two of you got dressed and ate breakfast, and Alfred then drove you both to school. He offered you back the taxi money, but you gently shook your head, “No thank you.”

Tim was noticeably walking way too close, and constantly checking your facial expression to ensure that you were alright. You appreciated how much he cared, but were starting to get a little annoyed. As the two of you walked through the halls, you noticed how everyone was turning their heads to look at you. Two of the cheerleaders even stopped their conversation, to look you up and down. At first you thought nothing of it, until a random boy came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. 

You flailed for a moment, being lifted by a boy twice your size, and let out a screech. 

“Me next! Me next!” the guy shouted, “Show Ricky what a bad girl you are! Are you as good at giving head as they say you are?”

Before you could elbow him in the face, Tim knocked the guy down and punched him in the face. You landed on the floor, sobbing as the entire school laughed at you. Once you looked up, past Tim pummeling the the asshole, past the cheerleaders, and past the security guards pushing through the crowds, you met eyes with Jacob, with a wide grin on his face. You knew what he did. And you knew what you needed to do.

It took 3 security guards, 4 of the biggest teachers, and 2 janitors to pull Tim off of the boy who grabbed his sister. Even when they all held him down at once, he was still giving them a run for their money. Eventually you both went to the office, then got sent home immediately. Bruce picked you up this time, and he was not as warm as Alfred would have been on the ride home. You and Tim sat in the backseat, sulking. Every once in awhile, you’d silently reach over and massage Tim’s knuckles, because you knew how sore they had to have been. 

When you all got back to the manor, Tim immediately went down to the batcave to get his hands bandaged by Alfred. Bruce sat in the massive living chair by the fireplace, seemingly distracted by how he’s meant to react to his daughter getting attacked and how quickly Tim lost his temper. The house really was silent.

You snuck up to your room, and dialed your boyfriend. You knew you weren’t meant to call him on missions, because you always distracted him too much. But before the first ring could even finish, he answered the phone call. 

“Hey princess,” his deep voice soothed your emotions.

“…hi,” You fought to hold back tears. You missed him so much.

“What’s wrong?!” His tone changed within seconds and you could almost hear his heart rate going up.

“Nothing….I just,” you started to cry, “I really really miss you, Jay.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, “Only two days,” he reassured you, “then I’ll be back. And you know what? We can watch your favourite movie and eat your favourite snacks- I’ll bring you back some candy from this place.”

“What place?”

“You know I’m not allowed to tell you until I’m home,” he sighed, “but maybe I’ll take you out to eat at that Italian restaurant you love so much…Alfonso’s?”

You smiled through your tears and played with the hem of your shorts, “I’d really like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jason’s end of the call was quiet again, but he finally spoke, “Something else is wrong, baby.”

You stayed silent.

“What happened? You know you can tell me anything.” You heard his voice tense up, “Did someone hurt you?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean by that?” He suddenly got worried.

“Jason I promise I would never ever cheat on you. You know that. This guy at school told everyone I had sex with him. Tim and I were walking in the hall-and-and- this guy- he just grabbed me…I-he,” your voice trailed off as you began to cry again.

Jason stayed quiet, but you could hear his heavy breathing.

“Please say something. Oh, Jay…please talk to me,” you begged through your tears.

“I’m coming home right now.” Then he ended the phone call. You threw your phone across the room and began to sob. He sounded so angry, but you couldn’t tell if it was towards you or the boy. Bruce barged into your room, his eyes wide in panic. You looked up at him, but then quickly away, ashamed.

He swiftly sat next to you on your bed and wrapped his arms around you as you cried gently into his shirt.

You heard a loud banging, waking you up. You sat up to look at your alarm clock; 2:46 a.m. The rain was pounding against the glass window, so you just assumed the storm was causing the loud noises. Again, you heard a loud bang, but then a booming voice coming from downstairs. You hastily grabbed an old baseball bat that Dick once gave you for moments exactly like this one, and you ran to see what was happening.

Instead of being met by a criminal, Jason was standing in the middle of the entrance room, drenched in rain. Water was dripping from his hair onto the marble floor. Alfred stood next to him in a robe, trying to calm him down. Bruce and Jason were arguing, loud enough to wake people up on the other side of Gotham. When you stepped down the stairs, they all stopped to look at you. Jason dropped his duffle bag on the floor and opened his arms to you. Swiftly, you ran down the stairs and leaped into them, wrapping your arms around his neck and breathing in his cologne. He lifted you from the floor and squeezed you, unaware of his own strength. You didn’t dare complain; though. You longed for this hug for two months, now. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Jason put you down and held your face, staring deeply into your eyes. “Princess, I need you to tell me exactly who this boy is, okay? Do you know where he is?” He spoke so gently, so sweetly, about something so terrible that he was about to do.

Bruce intervened by putting his arm between the two of you, “No, Jason,” he scolded.

Jason’s soft demeanor vanished and he became hostile, “Look what he fucking did to her! The fact that you have done nothing but sat on your ass since this happened doesn’t fucking surprise me,” he spat.

Bruce remained calm but you could see that the words bothered him, “You can’t go around killing teenagers, Jason.”

Jason narrowed his eyes, “Joker did.”

Bruce’s eyes grew, then he shut them tightly, shaking his head. “Alright. As long as you don’t kill him,” Bruce demanded.

Jason hesitated, before nodding. Then he looked back at you, and his face was filled with a terribly sad emotion. Not anger. Not frustration. It was guilt. 

He planted a kiss on your forehead, then took your chin into his hand, gently pushing it upwards to look at him, “I’ll be right back.” He then took a chocolate bar out of the pocket of his jacket and put it in your hand. Before you could say anything, he was walking out of the door and into the storm.

masterlist

[jessakay]

Script Writing

Scene 1

Tim lying in the mud having just fallen from one of his young horses.

Tim: UGHHHH I hate the rain, I hate the rain, I hate horses. Ughh!” (Tim attempts to get up but sinks back down to the ground with a groan of pain)

Pierre: Whoah, there. Hold on a minute, Tim. (Pierre helps him up and looks him over) Are you okay? Is anything broken?

Tim: It would be easier to figure that out if it didn’t hurt so damn much to breathe…(He holds both hands over the middle of his chest and gently presses downward) Fuck!

Pierre: I think we should get you to the hospital. You coulda punctured a lung or something.

Tim: Look at it from the side…Have you ever seen a broken sternum?

Pierre: I’m no doctor, dude. Come on, I’ll drive.

Scene 2

Tim is lying in a hospital bed with Pierre sitting in a chair nearby. A doctor walks in and addresses Tim.

Doctor: Well Mr. Tierney, your sternum is most certainly broken. Lucky for you, you won’t be requiring surgery. What I am going to do is keep you for observation overnight. How’s your pain?

Tim: Feels like half a dozen elephants are having a tea party on my chest.

Doctor: Well, that sounds about right. I’m going to put you on a morphine drip to keep you comfortable.

(The doctor pushes a syringe full of clear liquid into Tim’s IV line)

That should last you a few hours at least. I will have one of the nurses check in on you then.

(The doctor exits the room. Pierre moves his chair closer to Tim’s bed)

Pierre: How’re those drugs treating you? Feeling better yet?

Tim: This is the Tim…in fun form. It’s the best form of Tim you can find

Pierre: (Chuckling) Oh, yeah. You’re definitely feeling better. I’ll let you get some rest.

(Pierre gets up from his chair and exits the room in search of the vending machine)

Scene 3

In the hallway adjacent to the waiting room there are multiple vending machines and a claw machine filled with stuff animals assumedly to keep children occupied. There is a woman attempting to maneuver the claw to a turtle.

Kerry: I’m about to win a turtle.(The stuffed animals falls from the claw’s grasp) No! No! (She glances to her left and sees Pierre) Don’t worry, I have another try.

(Pierre raises his eyebrow and chuckles at his friend)

Kerry: Shut up….shut up!! I’m about to win a turtle. Oh, this is beautiful! Yeah! (The turtle falls from the claw) No!!

Pierre: Aren’t you going to ask how he is?

Kerry: Well it’s not like he was dying. He was dumb enough to ride that 5 year old without putting it on the lunge after it had a week off. (She shrugs her shoulders and starts browsing the vending machines) I’m not surprised he ate dirt.

Pierre: Always the empathetic younger sister, aren’t you?

Kerry: Don’t forget extremely good looking and lovable as well. (She raises her eyebrows and shoots him a cocky smile)

Pierre: Come on, good looking. Let’s go check in on our flying-high friend.

(Kerry lets out an exasperated huff and follows her brother through the hallway and back to Tim’s room)

Scene 4

(Kerry peers around the corner and into the room to see Tim asleep in the hospital bed. Pierre goes to sit in a chair in the corner of the room)

Kerry: Hey there, sleeping beauty. How’re ya feeling?

(Tim’s eyes open. He looks disoriented for a moment but gets his bearings as he registers his friends are here to see him)

Tim: Kerry! So I guess you heard I got a little too big for my breeches with Lucifer…

Kerry: (Chuckling) He’s called Lucifer for a reason, dumbass.

Tim: Yeah, well my ego is most certainly back in check now, thank you very much. I’ll definitely think twice before I hop on a half feral 5 year old with an attitude problem. (Tim yawns widely)

Kerry: Well I’m glad you’re feeling better. We should get out of here and let you get some sleep, it’s getting late.

(She turns to Pierre to see him sleeping in the chair)

Tim: Pierre is a lost cause. That kid is sleeping ‘till the AM. Might as well leave him here (Tim laughs)

(Pierre begins to snore and Tim and Kerry laugh together. Pierre wakes up startled)

Pierre: What’s so funny, you two?!

Tim: You and your old man snoring, dude. I was about to ask the nurse to get you your own room.

Pierre: Ha ha ha (sarcastically) very funny. You ready to head out, little sister?

Kerry: Been ready, Captain Snores A Lot

(Pierre shoots her a dirty look and Tim laughs)

End Scene

[theoddcatlady]

My Friends Went On A Roadtrip Through Europe

The only reason I didn’t go on the ‘greatest trip of our lives’ was because I was in a car accident that nearly killed me.

It was bad. I wasn’t able to get out of bed without assistance for that first month. Broken leg, busted up ribs, I looked more like a boxer that just got out of a match gone bad than a recent highschool graduate who was planning on going to college as a psychology major.

My friends and I had been planning this trip since our freshman year in highschool. I know. It was fucking stupid. But we promised if we all graduated with a grade average of 3.5 or better and if we all scraped together the cash from after school/summer jobs, we’d take a road trip through Europe. Somehow we actually managed to do it, our parents were so impressed that they even kicked in some cash. The silly dreams of fourteen year olds were coming to life.

Whitney wanted to go to Paris and see the Eiffel Tower. Jade was all about Austria, she wanted to see where the Sound of Music was filmed. Jonah planned to eat all the chocolate he could stomach in Switzerland. Me? I wanted to see the countryside of every country- mountains, rivers, the ocean… But one week before the plane was supposed to take off, well, the accident happened.

I told my friends to go without me, but I made them promise to constantly send me updates and tell me how much fun they were having. So they left- Whitney, Jade, Jonah, Holden, and Tori. I even gave them a portion of the money I saved up so they could go crazy.

At first, everything was normal. I got pictures, they even sent me a package from England full of lil knick knacks and snacks. I hated the Irn Bru but the Cadbury chocolates were to DIE for. But everything went wrong shortly after Austria.

Below are the emails and messages my friends sent me when they had the time. These all take place over about three weeks. After that, everything goes silent. Their parents have yet to hear from them. They’ve filed missing person’s reports, but I think if any of them are still alive… they won’t want to be found.

From: Jade

Jesus CHRIST, you will not believe what happened last night, Lilah.

First off, let me make abundantly clear that no one is dead, and no the trip is not over yet. We got really lucky. Second off, Jonah is a fucking moron and I swear to god once his stitches are out I’m ripping him a new one.

Okay so last night we were out a bit late, we all got a little tipsy and we were heading back to the hotel. Legal drinking age is eighteen, it’s not like that time we tried to sneak into Beverly’s with those fake ID’s. On the way back, we stumbled across another drunk who made a pass at Jonah. And you know Jonah, his drunk ass reacted loudly and violently. I swear he was about to make a swing at the guy… but the other guy swung first.

I swear, the drunk guy fought like an animal, Jonah didn’t stand a chance. We barely managed to rip Jonah away from him before he ripped his throat out. It was bloody and MESSY.

We got Jonah to the nearest emergency room, got him patched up, headed back home to sleep it off. How much do you wanna bet that he won’t remember it in the morning?

I’m gonna hit the sack. Jonah is a moron.

From: Jonah

Jade told me she sent you an email about the fight. She really needs to chill, I’m really not that bad off. Besides, the guy was a creep.

I do remember what happened, despite what she thinks, we were heading back when, get this, strange guy complimented my SKIN. Said it looked smooth and rosy. That’s not even flirting anymore, that’s just creepy! I mean, he was totally your type, tall, dark, handsome, blue eyes and a bit of scruff on his face, but noooot mine.

I’m fine though, you can barely tell where the guy got me. I think he had a knife because I got ripped. Up. Can barely tell now, he must’ve just grazed me.

We’ll be looping back up and heading for Poland next. Gonna cross through Germany to do that, but I don’t mind the drive. Besides, Germany = MORE BEER.

Miss you, next time you will totally have to come along.

From: Tori

I really wish you were here. I miss you so, so much. How is your therapy going? I hope it’s going well, you really missed out on some beautiful views today. The camera doesn’t quite capture it, but I hope to paint it once I’m home with my supplies. Maybe I can bring a little of this place back to you.

I think I’m just homesick. I might cut my trip short and head back, I’m really worried about you.

From: Whitney

Did you talk Tori out of going home yet? I don’t think she’s willing to admit how spooked she got when that bum attacked Jonah. She started crying when she saw how bloodied he was. I was pretty freaked too, but it was way worse than it looked. He’s actually completely fine now. Stitches came out, there’s not even a scar. I’m pretty sure Jonah’s actually bummed there’s nothing to show off for when he gets home LOL. But yeah, nothing to worry about, he’s still the same energetic Jonah we all know and love.

Holden’s horrible at remembering to email you, I’ve told him like, six times. Did he do anything other than the one time he sent a what’s up? He totally only did that because I nagged him.

I wish we spent more time in Italy, but we’re making great time through Germany. I’m gonna go now, kick ass and take names at Overwatch for us when you can sit up, all right?

From: Tori

Jonah’s almost too over the top since the attack. I think he’s trying to make up for something, I don’t know what. It’s like… remember that time he pounded Mountain Dews all night while we were gaming? This was during our League of Legends phase (glad that ended) but Jonah was incredibly manic and he was constantly getting up to pace.

He’s like that but 24/7. I don’t think he’s slept a full night, and it’s almost impossible to make him stop for the night. We want to relax, there’s no rush to get to Poland. I’ll talk to him when I can get him to settle, see what’s wrong. Love you.

From: Jade

Welp, Tori went home last night.

Her clothes and passport are gone, she left a note saying she really missed you and her parents, she’ll make it up to us when we’re home. I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed she didn’t talk to us beforehand.

She was right though, Jonah needs a chill pill. Is this how some people deal with trauma? Because I mean, you weren’t there, but that was… pretty bad. I can’t even imagine how Jonah feels, but he’s Jonah. He never lets anyone in. It’s why you two broke up sophomore year, kid has issues. I hoped this trip through Europe might help him learn about himself but I think it’s making it worse.

From: Whitney

WE’RE IN DENMARK BECAUSE APPARENTLY JONAH DECIDED POLAND WAS A STUPID IDEA.

Ugh, sorry. So Jonah offered to drive us through the night. I said no, but Holden and Jade were all for it. So I sucked it up, took something to make me drowsy, and konked out in the back seat. When I woke up, Jonah and Jade were having a shouting match and turns out, we’re in DENMARK. That wasn’t the plan. He didn’t clear this with us.

Holden’s on his side, saying that Denmark is a cool country too but Jade’s royally pissed. I can’t blame her. We promised at the beginning of the trip that we were to clear any travel plans with each other. We’d talk about it.

That’s another reason to miss you- you are SO good at talking. <3

From: Jonah

Everyone but Holden’s pissed at me.

Listen, I’m fine, I promise. I’ve just had to deal with some insomnia lately, is that really that bad? It’s not like I’m as bad off as you were. There was a brief moment that morning of the accident we all thought we’d lose you.

The insomnia goes away in the day. I can sleep then. Everyone can go and have fun during the day, I get to sleep, and at night I go do my shit. There’s. Nothing. Wrong with that.

I mean, another reason I wish you were here was that I’ve been having some… preeettyyy interesting dreams involving you, when I can sleep anyway. TMI. But maybe I should’ve been less of a puss with you back in the day. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.

When I’m back, can we go on a date? I’ll buy. Anywhere you want to go.

From: Jade

Jonah made a pass at me. And he’s not drunk.

I’m confused. And worried. Not gonna lie, he was pretty smooth about it, but I’ve never thought of him that way. He’s like that obnoxious little brother you love anyway. I told him no and he accepted gracefully.

Talking with Whitney and he also made a move at him… and at Holden? Jesus Christ, it’s about time that dumbass fell out of the closet. Holden’s pretty into it though. I’m wondering if this trip was actually a success in that matter.

We’re going up through Scandinavia now. Sweden, here we come!

At least we’re in some of the most gay friendly countries in the world right now… although I swear to god I think someone’s been following us. I’ve spotted this small white car twice now and I think it’s the same driver. But I’m probably just paranoid.

From: Holden

i know i dont email you often. i hate writing.

but something’s really wrong with jonah. i think he hurt someone.

last night we went out for drinks. ive always thought jonah was cute but never thought hed give me the time of day. we shared a hotel room, nothing happened but it was nice.

but I woke up this morning and I was trying to find something to wear and I accidentally went through one of jonah’s bags because our bags look the same and

i found one of his shirts. it’s covered in blood. And I found tori’s passport. it’s also bloody.

i’ve been reading and there’s been two bodies on the same route we’ve been going. i also called tori’s mom and she hasn’t heard anything from her daughter. she hasnt gone home. what should I do lilah? you were always the smart one.

From: Jade

Jonah’s lost his goddamn mind.

I’m surprised I get signal out in the middle of nowhere but Holden asked him about Tori and Jonah got really defensive. Then he brought up clothes covered in blood and that Tori never made it home and… Jonah snapped.

He pulled over to the side of the road and lunged for Holden. Whitney tried to break it up and got pretty fucked up for it. They’ll be okay as soon as we get to a hospital or something.

He’s gone now. He took the keys with him. I’m gonna try and call for help but jesus christ how have things gone so wrong?

From: Jonah

(This email was sent to all of us, along with the next one.)

I’m with Master now. He never meant for this to happen. He never meant for me to get turned. He tried to find me but my own stupidity kept us going… I’m so mad at myself. I should’ve told you guys what’s been going on. I’ve been barely sleeping, any sort of bright light fucking hurts, and Tori…

I never meant to hurt Tori. I swear to god. She was one of my best friends. But she’s dead. And I killed her. I couldn’t stop myself. By the time I came to my senses, I’d shredded her to pieces. If they ever find where I dumped her, she’ll probably be a Jane Doe for the rest of time.

Master found me running around around and stopped me. We’re someplace safe now. He’ll help me.

But I need to know one thing-

Did I bite you guys?

From: Whitney

You bit me. And you bit Holden.

Jade’s fine. For now. I don’t know how long though. I feel strange. Like there’s something burning in my head and down my spine. Please find us. Holden’s starting to feel strange too.

Lilah, we love you so much.

Please, don’t try to come find us. Go to college. Have fun. Make new friends. Study hard. Forget about us.

We’re dead anyway.

[michelewalters]

I have more photos of our @taylorswift nursery, but I’m getting tired, so this will be my last for tonight. It also happens to be my favorite of this little mini-series. I don’t usually post pictures of my kids, but you can’t see her face, so I’ll make an exception. Idk how you copy-write a photo, but no one is allowed to take this one and claim it as their own, so take that as it being copy-written. This is my baby. I made that.

This is Elizabeth. She was born only about 2 weeks early, which wouldn’t normally land a baby in the NICU, but unbeknownst to us until after she arrived, she needed emergency surgery or she was going to die. They transferred her to a different hospital with a Level III NICU, and they wouldn’t transfer or discharge me, so I was almost an hour away from her when they took her into surgery. She’s 10-months-old now, and couldn’t be healthier, but I spent the first 3 weeks of her life not knowing if we would make it this far. And after she came home, I had a bit of a hard time, to say the least.

I was afraid to hold her. Afraid to change her. Putting her in the carseat was (and sometimes still is) a trigger for me, because while my husband was loading the car the day the hospital released her, I was tasked with putting her in the carseat. She was so tiny. She had had difficulty gaining weight after they took her off the feeding tube, so she had to gain weight consistently before they would discharge her. She was smaller than when she was born, and I was afraid I was going to break her. We have a son, William, her big brother, and I had always been able to put him in his carseat, but I was inexplicably scared. So I stayed away.

She had nursed so well that very first day, which the doctors credit with saving her life, because when she spit up dark green while nursing, I alerted the nurse, who called the head neonatologist, who said with no uncertainty that they needed to transfer her now, we couldn’t wait. He said it was life or death. He actually said that to me. Tom (my husband) wasn’t back yet from dropping off our son after he got to meet his little sister. In order to transport her in the ambulance, they made me sign a piece of paper saying that if she died in transit, I would hold them harmless. I cried a lot that day, but never more than at that moment, and I pulled my hand away three times before I could make myself sign it.

Anyway, my point was that she had nursed so well, but after surgery, she was first on an NG tube and was then bottle-fed throughout her stay in the NICU. So I just pumped. They had a lovely room for mothers to go, and I used it every 3 hours for 3 weeks. When she came home, I was afraid to nurse her. So I pumped. Every 3 hours, for 7 months. I would watch reruns on Netflix of 30-minute shows on my phone, both as a timer and as a distraction. And when the credits would appear on the screen, I would switch my phone over to Taylor’s “New Year’s Day” and cry.

“I’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day.” Pretty sure she meant a different kind of bottle, but I think art is open for interpretation, and in my head, I could see it. I could see a montage of my little girl, carrying her shoes downstairs in our foyer, glitter all over the floor after celebrating her first birthday. I saw it clearly in my mind. But I was afraid to hope it would ever really happen.

At 2.5 months old, she contracted RSV, which developed into bronchiolitis, and we took another ambulance ride (this time I got to go with her) from the ER where we brought her because she couldn’t breathe, back to the same hospital. This time they put her in the PICU. And I pumped. I had just started to get comfortable holding her before then. Needless to say, this set me back. So while they poked her with IV needles, did an echo on her heart and an ultrasound on her arm (because some idiot tech left the tourniquet on too long when doing a blood draw), administered chest PT, and suctioned out her lungs, I pumped. They couldn’t give her any medicine because it was viral. We just had to wait it out, waiting for her to be able to come off oxygen and breathe on her own again. So I listened to Taylor’s music, I pumped, and I prayed.

We were lucky enough to bring our baby girl home again on Christmas Eve. But we know some people aren’t as lucky. When we were back in the NICU, I met and became friends with a woman who never got to bring her baby girl home. Her daughter’s crib was next to Elizabeth’s, and the sound of her cries and the beeping of her monitors were what lulled my daughter to sleep at night. Tom and I attended that baby girl’s wake in March. I still think of her every day.

Through it all, decorating Elizabeth’s nursery was catharsis for me. When it belonged to our son, it was a sanctuary for me during sleepless nights of late-night feedings, and in the last several months, it is where my daughter and I have bonded.

We play with her kittens (both the real ones who live in our house, Kate & Pippa, and her stuffed animals), she babbles at her dolls, I read books to her, she chews on blocks, she claps, we listen to music and dance (like I mentioned in another post, “You Need to Calm Down” is her favorite song, and if I posted videos of my kids, you’d see how she squeals and wiggles when she hears the first few notes), I try to teach her to say “Mama,” we cuddle at bedtime, and a few weeks ago, it’s where I comforted her when she had a bout of the stomach flu. (We then all caught it, but still, she wanted ME!)

Her room is where I learned to let myself love her after the trauma of almost losing her twice. And while I’m sure she will have her own opinions on its decor when she’s older and perhaps even kicks me out of her room, for now, I’m going to keep making it a happy place for our family. And that means lots of Taylor Swift.

[barblebapkins]

99 to 1 boi les'go

okay FINE ILL DO IT BACKWARDS99: Do you miss anyone right now? miss anyone in particular?? no, but i do wish i was with someone rn98: Whats your favorite color? green97: Do you want kids? idk? maybe?96: Do you have kids? no95: Do you cry and throw a fit until you get your own way? no?? like who over the age of 6 does that94: Who was your HS crush? haha that stays in the vault!93: If married, how long have you been married? not married! yet!92: Do you want to get married? yes hehehahehehea91: Best room for a fireplace? the living room of course90: Can you knit or crochet? nope!89: Which are better black or green olives? i dont like olives in general88: Ever have plastic surgery? nope and doubt i ever will87: Ever won a contest? nothing worth remembering86: DJ or band, at a wedding? probably DJ85: Are you patient? depends, with people i think i have a lot of patience, but with other things i can lose my temper kinda quickly84: Can you hold your breath without holding your nose? nope, i panic83: Can you swim well? not well at all82: Sugar or snickerdoodles? sugar81: Tea or coffee? tea80: Hot tea or cold tea? i prefer cold tea, though i havent tried much hot tea. i feel like i’d prefer hot honestly79: What was the last concert you saw? none! that aint my style78: Who would you like to see in concert? see above77: Ever been in love? yes! i am right now!76: Regularly burn incense? nope75: Own a record player? im not THAT old74: Own any record albums? NOT THAT OLD!!73: Have you ever cried because you were so happy? yes heaehe72: Ever won a spelling bee? no, i probably could have though71: Can you curl your tongue? yea70: Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing? dhedhehde shes currently in graphic design but she can do whatever she wants!69: Ever take dance lessons? nope! i cant dance to save my life and im fine with that!68: Ever hear of the group Tres Bien? no?? i feel like someone else put this here67: Peanuts or Sunflower seeds? not a fan of either but probably sunflower seeds if i had to pick, cos i HATE peanuts66: Cheetos Or Fritos? cheetos without a doubt65: Nike or Adidas? nike64: Wal-Mart, Target or Kmart? target. walmart is always a disaster every time i’m there, and kmart, while a nostalgic liminal space, is an awful shopping experience too63: First concert? already answered this twice haha62: What do you wear to bed? t-shirt and shorts, or just shorts, depending on how cold/hot it is61: Wear a bath robe? nope, i just wear my towel until im ready to get dressed60: Wear slippers? i own a pair but i dont really use em59: Take a vitamin daily? no but i wish i did58: Ever have a Deja-vu feeling? all the time, like something specific will happen irl and ill feel like i envisioned this exact moment YEARS ago57: Do you believe in ghosts? yeah, i’ve had more than one weird experience that i cant explain any other way56: Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid? i kinda wanted to be a chef until i realized i cant cook for SHIT55: Favorite type of fruit pie? probably cherry54: Ever eat a pierogi? yes and it WASNT GOOD53: Is Christmas stressful? now that i actually buy stuff for everyone yes it is52: Do you think musicals are cheesy? not really, i still have a bit of a soft spot for les mis51: Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer? in school probably50: Ever used a gun? yes, and i didn’t like it.49: Do you dance in the car? i am the most introverted person in the world, you’re lucky if you can even get me INTO a car48: Do you sing in the shower? no but i hum sometimes47: Do you sing in the car? nope46: Are you afraid of heights? deathly yes. if i even look UP at like a skyscraper i get nauseous45: Ever watch soap operas? not willingly44: Who is better…Leno or Letterman? i dont really watch late night stuff but ive heard letterman is a bit of a dick43: Are you stubborn? i can be with some things42: Which are better legos or lincoln logs? what the FUCK is a lincoln log41: Do you have any magazine subscriptions? my brother keeps renewing my gamestop subscription so i keep getting gameinformer magazines and i want it to STOP40: Are you horny? no39: What is your Chinese astrological sign? dog bork bork38: When you were a kid, what did you dress up as for Halloween? i honestly dont remember?? like i think back on it but cant visualize any of it37: Are you lazy? haha YES36: What is your usual bedtime? whenever i WANT it to be leave me alone35: Best thing to eat for breakfast? sadness34: Favorite kind of sandwich? i rly like cold italian subs33: Ever ran out of gas? i dont rly drive so no32: Ever gotten a speeding ticket? see ^31: Can you change the oil on a car? no lmao30: When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper? youre livin in the past grandpa, these days we project our brainwaves directly into other peoples heads from across the globe!29: Would you ever strip or pose nude in a magazine? AAHH what the fuck no28: Were you ever a boy/girl scout? for a little while but circumstances made me have to leave27: Last person you kissed/kissed you? haha hasnt happened!26: What movies could you watch over and over and still love? my favorite movie ever is probably Up25: What is your favorite food? grilled shrimp pls GIVE24: What do you dip a chicken nugget in? bbq sauce mm23: If you’re a girl, bra size? If you’re a guy, pants size? 30 x 2922: Where would you bury hidden treasure if you had some? haha nice TRY pirates21: Whats your least favorite movie? cant think of any off the top of my head but im sure ill think of one later20: Do you still watch cartoons? i admittedly still keep up to date on steven universe and cant wait for the next episodes19: Is it okay for guys to wear pink? of course!18: What is your Song of the week? sweats17: What size is your bed? i dont know and im too lazy to check, but its TOO SMALL16: How many people have you slept with this week? none, and i wouldnt ever just sleep with someone but thanks for asking i guess!!15: Do you chew your pens and pencils? yes if im nervous14: Do you ever dance even if theres no music playing? i dont dance13: What about pooped in the woods? ew WHAT12: Have you ever peed in the woods? only cos we were camping and it was like 2 am11: Do you ever count your steps when you walk? sometimes actually yeah, not for any good reason though10: What is your biggest pet peeve? nothing gets on my nerves more than dishonesty and/or uncalled for disrespect9: Do you always smile for pictures? no cos i have a BAD smile8: Do you have freckles? no but i have a lot of birthmarks7: Would you rather be attacked by a big bear or a swarm of a bees? you cant outrun a swarm of bees6: Do you cut out coupons but then never use them? no wtf how old do these people think we are5: Do you like to use post-it notes? this is the FUTURE, DUDE!!4: Have you ever stolen a street sign before? what the fuck who does that3: Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out? out, but not usually on purpose cos my sheets are very loose2: Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotel? no1: Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed? i dont have closets only dressers, soo

[burning-up-ao3]

NEWARK, N.J. — While on a five-day trip to Jackson Hole, Wyo. during the Penguins’ bye week late last month, Sidney Crosby began to feel something he had not felt in years, since the most recent NHL lockout in 2004-05.

On the second-to-last day of what was supposed to be an enjoyable vacation, the Penguins captain wound up a couple thousand miles away from either of his two homes, miserable and sick, unable to do much of anything.

“You get used to having to play through colds and stuff like that,” Crosby said. “People go to work with them. It’s a part of life. But sometimes it stops you in your tracks like that. There’s nothing you can do.”

What Crosby went through is common for NHL players, who are constantly shuttling on and off airplanes, checking in and out of hotels and entering and leaving (entirely too) cold buildings, all during the darkest days of winter.

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No matter how many vitamins they take or calcium they consume, they’re inevitably going to get sick. Sometimes it might get ugly. And they’re well aware that sick days are almost never an option.

Which means that Crosby, given what he contracted, was actually one of the lucky ones, in that he could rest some. More often than probably anyone realizes, NHL players have to play through some ugly stuff, flu bugs and stomach illnesses the public never hears about.

“It happens every winter, where half the team gets sick,” Matt Cullen said. “The training room is busy. Guys are looking for anything to help them get over the hump so they can feel well enough to play.

“It’s why you try so hard to take care of what you can control. You’re getting your sleep and fluids because it [stinks] as a player when you’re sick. You have to play regardless.

“You see it every once in a while, when guys are throwing up in the bathroom during warmup or between periods. I’ve had teammates run off the bench. It’s part of the deal.”

2. And when it happens on the road, Bryan Rust said, there’s nothing worse.

“It’s miserable,” Rust said. “It’s kind of a helpless feeling; it’s not like you’re in your own bed, and you can rely on someone.

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“You also feel bad for the maids who have to come in there afterward and clean up.”

It’s a feeling Rust knows well, too. He said he was knock-down, drag-out sick twice: once in college at Notre Dame and another time during the early days of his Penguins career.

What does the versatile winger do when it happens?

“Lie in bed, turn the lights off, close the shades,” Rust said. “And hope it goes away as fast as possible.”

3. It was a funny topic to take around the Penguins dressing room: Have you ever been sick on the road?

Those who hadn’t, immediately found some wood on which to knock. Those who had, launched into some humorous tales.

In 2013, Olli Maatta was playing for Finland at the World Junior Championship in Ufa, Russia. Maatta thought he ate something funky, food that was potentially undercooked. The next few days were brutal.

“Not the best thing that ever happened,” Maatta said with a smile. “Although being stuck in my room and trying to watch whatever it was on Russian TV might’ve been the worst thing.”

4. Before he was traded, Riley Sheahan told me a good one about when he was with the Detroit Red Wings a couple years ago. He vacationed in Mexico during the All-Star break and brought back a little present.

“I caught a virus or something,” Sheahan said. “I was sick for like five weeks. I actually had to miss a game, on the Moms’ trip, in Florida. It wasn’t fun.”

Garrett Wilson was a proud member of the knock-on-wood club. Despite playing for San Antonio in the AHL — where they’d have to leave for a month every winter because the rodeo came to town — Wilson has never been sick on the road.

“I don’t puke too often, either,” Wilson said. “Even drinking or anything, I don’t puke. Pretty lucky that way.”

Wilson said he did play with a guy — John McFarland, in the Florida Panthers system — who didn’t feel right until he forced himself to vomit before a game, although that wasn’t related to being sick.

“You definitely hear the odd time a guy is hurling in the bathroom before a game, whether they’re sick or nervous,” Wilson said. “It almost makes you sick hearing it.”

5. Whether or not it’s better to get sick in a hotel room versus at home sparked a lively debate. Matt Murray is all for the road option.

“I think a hotel room is a good place to be,” Murray said before taking his knuckles to his dressing room stall. “You’re not bugging your family or anything like that. You get to sleep it off.”

Wilson agreed.

“I don’t think it’s too bad on the road,” Wilson said. “You’re with the trainers all the time. They’re usually at the same hotel. If you do get really sick, they’re just a text or phone call away.”

6. My personal opinion: These guys are nuts. It’s much worse to be sick in a hotel, with none of the comforts of home.

It happened to me recently, too, around the same time as Crosby. In San Jose, Calif. for the NHL All-Star Game, I literally could not stand at Media Day because I was dizzy and nauseous.

Eventually, with neither Crosby nor Letang there, I decided to cut bait take an Uber back to my hotel room — backpack open the entire way, praying there were no issues.

Yada, yada, yada … the next 24 hours were not fun.

“Hotel room, being stuck in a little space there, it’s terrible,” Maatta (correctly) said.

7. Back to the war stories, though, which turned out to be my favorite part of reporting this.

In Wilkes-Barre/Scranton, Rust’s next-door neighbor in the dressing room was former Penguins prospect Jayson Megna.

“One game, between periods, he was hugging a trash can,” Rust said. “On the bench, same thing. It was impressive to see him play through it. I don’t think I would have been able to. It was pretty wild.”

Penguins coach Mike Sullivan experienced the same thing when he played for the Calgary Flames.

“I had the flu,” Sullivan recalled. “Played through it to the point where I was throwing up between periods, and they had to put an IV in me to replace all the fluids I had lost. That was the hardest one from a personal standpoint.”

8. When he was with Minnesota — the first time — Cullen once played with walking pneumonia. To conserve as much energy as possible, Cullen skipped the morning skate and stayed home basically until puck drop.

With the Wild apparently short on players and unable to make a roster move in time, Cullen said there wasn’t another option.

“That was a tough one, running to the bathroom between periods,” Cullen said. “We were in a pinch. Just had to do it.”

Being able to rely on a routine, Cullen said, does help.

“It helps to normalize everything even if you feel terrible,” Cullen said. “You get out and do warmup, get some blood flowing, you’re out in front of the fans, it gives you some adrenaline. But after the game, you feel it.”

9. Tanner Pearson had some good perspective on the matter because he nearly wound up disgustingly sick on the road while with the Kings last February.

Los Angeles had arrived home from a four-game road trip that actually included its annual Dads’ trip — maybe we should blame the parents? — when Pearson started to feel dizzy and nauseous.

“I don’t know if it was something I ate on the plane or what,” Pearson said. “Just hit me like a ton of bricks. We landed, and that was the end of me.”

But there was the benefit, Pearson said, of making it home. He could sleep in his own bed. His wife was there. At least he wasn’t in a hotel room.

“I see guys who are sick on the road,” Pearson said, “and it looks like pure torture.”

10. It can also be downright scary.

Marcus Pettersson had a couple stories, one funny, the other not so much. The first was the 2016 World Junior Championship, in Helsinki, Finland. A couple of Pettersson’s teammates contracted the stomach flu.

“It’s crazy how quickly something like that can spread,” Pettersson said. “You just have to isolate yourself.”

Pettersson also heard a story about Detroit defenseman Jonathan Ericsson’s brother, Jimmie, when he was playing with SKA Saint Petersburg of the KHL in 2014-15. When Jimmie Ericsson told the team’s doctors he didn’t feel well, they treated it like some sort of illness — but never checked anything else.

Turns out Ericsson had a partially ruptured spleen, which they only discovered upon returning home.

“They just thought he was sick,” Pettersson said. “He got medicine shots in his [butt]. They said, ‘You’re good. You can play.’ It was crazy.”

11. The Penguins would never allow something like that to happen.

Sullivan explained the lengths to which the team goes to try and stack the odds in their favor, all while realizing that sickness during a winter sport are pretty much inevitable.

On the road, the Penguins will ensure that sick players get their own rooms, Sullivan said. They also get their own water bottles on the bench, the equipment staff will wash and sanitize things even more than they already do, and Sullivan has no problem sending a guy home if he’s sick.

“It’s difficult when you’re in close quarters like this,” Sullivan said. “But we do everything within our power to see if we can’t contain it when those types of things arise.”

12. Wanted to close with this anecdote from Crosby on not participating in the NHL All-Star Skills Competition when he was probably extremely contagious. Made me laugh, anyway.

“The last thing I wanted to do was get everyone sick. That’s all I need,” Crosby said before cracking a smile. “Of course, I guess it was our division … “

13. Moving on …

The more I think about it, Carl Hagelin would be a perfect fit for the Penguins at the NHL trade deadline, provided they can convince the Los Angeles Kings or or someone else to take Pearson.

Small problem: The deal actually isn’t possible.

I didn’t learn this until recently, and I’m guessing you didn’t know it, either. It’s a CBA quirk that’s actually pretty dumb, in my opinion.

Once a team retains salary in a trade — the Penguins retained $250,000 — they can’t reacquire that player for a minimum of one year after the transaction or until the player's contract expires or is terminated prior to the one-year date.

It’s a shame, too, because I think Hagelin would’ve been worth checking on.

For his penalty killing (Penguins are just 25 for their last 36, 69.4 percent), Hagelin’s fit with Evgeni Malkin and what Hagelin could potentially do for good friend Patric Hornqvist, who doesn’t have a point in 12 games.

14. As for what the Penguins could realistically do, I’m not in favor of anything big. Maybe add a depth forward or defenseman, depending on who’s out there.

But at some point, this group should be allowed to actually play together for a stretch, and we’re running out of time for that to happen.

Many of you have suggested a 1a goalie type as well. There’s a variety of problems with this. One, cost. That guy wouldn’t come cheap, if he was worth anything. Two, what do you do with Casey DeSmith? Three, how does that play with Murray?

I know he’s been hurt a lot, but I can’t imagine that would go over well. Murray is your No. 1. You paid DeSmith to be your backup. Hold onto Tristan Jarry. I’d stick with that.

15. Without Hagelin, I’m curious to see where this goes with Zach Aston-Reese alongside Malkin and Phil Kessel. It’s a tremendous opportunity for him and one for which he’s actually well-suited.

“Any time you can stay on your natural side, it’s a little bit easier,” Aston-Reese said after Sunday’s 6-5 victory over the New York Rangers. “Phil kind of has that signature shot, too, coming down on his strong side. I like to work hard defensively. It’s definitely nice to balance out those two.”

I like Aston-Reese as a lot, as a player and person. He’s extremely smart, quotable and great to deal with from our perspective. If we were ranking most media-friendly players in the Penguins dressing room, he’d surely be up there.

But hockey-wise, he’s going to make a lot of people happy if he’s able to blend some physicality with offense and a willingness to play defense. He’s still rounding out his game in a few different ways, but I think the Penguins definitely got a good one here.

16. It’s obvious — and Post-Gazette columnist Ron Cook wrote this off of Sunday’s game — but the Penguins need to get Hornqvist going. How do they do that?

I see two options. One, I’d consider playing Hornqvist with Sidney Crosby. Nothing against Rust. He’s been great there. But they need more out of Hornqvist.

My second possible solution would be trying Kessel on the third line with Nick Bjugstad — they had some chemistry — and using Hornqvist with Malkin, a situation where the feisty Swede thrived last season.

I hate Hornqvist in the bottom-six, as I’ve never seen his production give the Penguins a competitive advantage in that spot the way Kessel’s has at various times throughout his Penguins tenure.

17. This won’t be a popular opinion, but I’ve actually liked Jack Johnson on his natural left side the past couple of games.

I know what the goals-for numbers are — they’re awful — and I know how Johnson is perceived by the fan base. But if Rutherford or Sullivan are frustrated with Johnson’s play this season, they’re doing one heck of a job hiding it.

Whether you want to admit it or not, Johnson won’t be a healthy scratch. And what I’ve seen the past couple of games — Johnson’s been with Juuso Riikola with one and Justin Schultz for two — has actually been pretty decent.

18. Shut up, Don Cherry. Can we all agree on that?

He scolded the Carolina Hurricanes for, of all things, having fun. I hate giving this any airspace whatsoever, so I’m going to twist it another way: Forget about Dino Don and think of this from a Hurricanes perspective.

Great organization. Great city. A lot of fun to watch. If this gets their fans excited, my goodness, go for it. I think it’s tremendous. And I love seeing the Old (Canadian) Guard get upset over it.

19. Stat of the week: 12

That’s the number of points for Pettersson since the Dec. 3 trade that brought him to Pittsburgh. It’s also one less than Daniel Sprong has during that same stretch.

20. Non-hockey thought of the week: Apparently MLB commissioner Rob Manfred thinks we’re all stupid. Did you see this story from the Post-Gazette’s new baseball writer, Nubyjas Wilborn? Two quotes struck me.

“This narrative that our teams aren’t trying is just not supported by the facts. Our teams are trying. Every single one of them wants to win.”

Yes, they are trying, and they do want to win. I don’t doubt that the Pirates try and prefer winning to losing. But I could race Usain Bolt, and I’d still try. I’d still want to win. The problem is that I would not have taken the requisite steps to do so.

Then this gem: “I reject the notion that payroll is a good measure for how hard a team is trying or how successful that team is going to be.”

There are certainly outliers here: small-market teams that compete and big spenders that don’t. But the two teams in the World Series last year spent the most. Generally if you’re actually paying to play, you have a chance.

The only thing I hate more than baseball’s financial structure is when people in positions of power try to sell us this garbage.

Jason Mackey: jmackey@post-gazette.com and Twitter @JMackeyPG.

[razzledazzlefoshazzle]

1-200?

200:

My crush’s name is: Cassie

199:

I was born in: 1998, Australia, NSW

198:

I am really: I am really annoyed that you wanna know so much about me anon y u do dis

197:

My cellphone company is: Optus

196:

My eye color is: Brown

195:

My shoe size is: 11 Australia Mens

194:

My ring size is: i dont know

193:

My height is: 181cm or 5′10″ i tihnk

192:

I am allergic to: NOTHING I AM UNSTOPPABLE

191:

My 1st car was: No Car

190:

My 1st job was: I was an assistant at some guys authentic pizza shop. He was an asshole and i shouldve killed him before quitting.

189:

Last book you read: Ready Player One

188:

My bed is: My bed is my one true love and warm machine luv u bb

187:

My pet:  I have 2 dogs they’re fluffy love muffins called Pepsi (boy) Bella (Girl) ill post photos of them later!

186:

My best friend:

@schotts-fired

at this point i have as many memes with Kat as i do my real life best friend.

185:

My favorite shampoo is: Really nice smelling ones.

184:

Xbox or ps3: PS3

183:

Piggy banks are: Piggy banks are dumb i have a golden pineapple for my spare change.

182:

In my pockets:  earphones.

181:

On my calendar: every friday i do stuff but thats it

180:

Marriage is: cool

179:

Spongebob can: produce good memes

178:

My mom: Isnt nice i probably wont talk to her once i move out.

177:

The last three songs I bought were?Buying? Songs?

176:

Last YouTube video watched: Masculinity by Mr Sark

175:

How many cousins do you have? at least 3

174:

Do you have any siblings? 3 Brothers and a Sister ive seen twice

173:

Are your parents divorced? Yes

172:

Are you taller than your mom? Hell yeah shes a goblin at like 150cm.

171:

Do you play an instrument? No

170:

What did you do yesterday? I slept, watched movies, complained about the internet being down.

[ I Believe In ]

169:

Love at first sight: Not unless its a dog

168:

Luck: No but if someone does something better than me they’re lucky >:(

167:

Fate: No

166:

Yourself: No

165:

Aliens: I wish they would fix everything

164:

Heaven: Questioning my religious beliefs lately

163:

Hell: ^

162:

God: ^

161:

Horoscopes: No but they’re funny to read

160:

Soul mates: No.

159:

Ghosts: NOT BUT LIKE ALIENS I WANT THEM TO BE REAL GHOSTS PLEASE BE REAL.

158:

Gay Marriage: Yah its about as good as straight marriage

157:

War: its about as shit as i am

156:

Orbs: what are these?

155:

Magic: Refer to both ghosts and aliens.

[ This or That ]

154:

Hugs or Kisses: Hugs

153:

Drunk or High: Drunk

152:

Phone or Online: Online

151:

Red heads or Black haired: Red Heads

150:

Blondes or Brunettes: Brunettes

149:

Hot or cold: Cold

148:

Summer or winter: Winter

147:

Autumn or Spring: Spring

146:

Chocolate or vanilla: Chocolate

145:

Night or Day: Night

144:

Oranges or Apples: Apples

143:

Curly or Straight hair: Straight

142:

McDonalds or Burger King: McDonalds

141:

White Chocolate or Milk Chocolate: White Chocolate

140:

Mac or PC: PC

139:

Flip flops or high heals: High heals like healing in video games am i right?

138:

Ugly and rich OR sweet and poor: Sweet and Poor

137:

Coke or Pepsi: Coke

136:

Hillary or Obama: Obama

135:

Burried or cremated: Burried so i may rise again!

134:

Singing or Dancing: Dancing

133:

Coach or Chanel: What

132:

Kat McPhee or Taylor Hicks:Who

131:

Small town or Big city: Big City

130:

Wal-Mart or Target: Target

129:

Ben Stiller or Adam Sandler: Adam Sandler

128:

Manicure or Pedicure: neither? 

127:

East Coast or West Coast: East coast cause western australia is a bunch of weirdos

126:

Your Birthday or Christmas: My birthday cause giving gifts is hard and spending time with people is easy.

125:

Chocolate or Flowers:Chocolate

124:

Disney or Six Flags: Disney

123:

Yankees or Red Sox: is that sports?

[ Here’s What I Think About ]

122:

War: War Never Changes

121:

George Bush: He definitely did sleep with that woman.

120:

Gay Marriage: Good again!

119:

The presidential election: Trump is a rollercoaster of emotion ranging from bad to worse. At least the memes are good!

118:

Abortion: Choice

117:

MySpace: Had some pretty good games on it

116:

Reality TV: awful

115:

Parents:  My parents? Out of the 4 ive had i like one of them.

114:

Back stabbers: What kind of question is this i hate them.

113:

Ebay: Dont use ebay really.

112:

Facebook: The thing i use so real life friends can contact me its trash.

111:

Work: My experiences have been, less than pleasant.

110:

My Neighbors: I dont know any of my neighbours but they’re rude and dont reply to my hello’s.

109:

Gas Prices: i dont fucking know

108:

Designer Clothes: I dont care for clothes i wear tshirts and trackies all the time.

107:

College: No opinion on call egg.

106:

Sports: Fun to play boring to watch

105:

My family: i like my dad and my brothers

104:

The future: must be better than now?

[ Last time I ]

103:

Hugged someone: someone i wasnt related to like a month ago

102:

Last time you ate: literally always

101:

Saw someone I haven’t seen in awhile: last friday

100:

Cried in front of someone: fucking years ago i dont cry in front of people anymore

99:

Went to a movie theater: like a month ago

98:

Took a vacation: never

97:

Swam in a pool: 3 months ago

96:

Changed a diaper: never

95:

Got my nails done: a year ago

94:

Went to a wedding: also a year ago

93:

Broke a bone: never

92:

Got a peircing: never

91:

Broke the law: never

90:

Texted: couple hours ago

[ MISC ]

89:

Who makes you laugh the most: myself, anime

@schotts-fired

88:

Something I will really miss when I leave home is: the internet

87:

The last movie I saw: Taking of Pelham 123

86:

The thing that I’m looking forward to the most: Finding my happiness again

85:

The thing im not looking forward to: my ex making social interactions awkward again

84:

People call me: Jack

83:

The most difficult thing to do is: get out of bed, finish breakfast

82:

I have gotten a speeding ticket: no

81:

My zodiac sign is: Sagittarius 

80:

The first person i talked to today was:

@whoneedsasociallife

79:

First time you had a crush: Primary School one of my Teachers

78:

The one person who i can’t hide things from: Nobody.

77:

Last time someone said something you were thinking: Constantly

76:

Right now I am talking to: Nobody

75:

What are you going to do when you grow up: Anything hopefully ill be happy

74:

I have/will get a job: Someday

73:

Tomorrow: Movies with dad, night with friends

72:

Today: nothing

71:

Next Summer: nothing

70:

Next Weekend: also nothing

69:

I have these pets: 2 diggity doggos

68:

The worst sound in the world: the sound my computer makes when it bluescreens while music it playing

67:

The person that makes me cry the most is: my ex

66:

People that make you happy: almost nobody

65:

Last time I cried: like 5 hours ago

64:

My friends are: trash shit garbage

63:

My computer is: absolute trash after so many issues im planning on getting a new one

62:

My School: sucked complete ass i was abused by a teacher

61:

My Car: doesnt exist

60:

I lose all respect for people who: no answer

59:

The movie I cried at was: anything that involves any form of friendship and love, or dogs dying

58:

Your hair color is: brown

57:

TV shows you watch: read my about

56:

Favorite web site: tumblr/youtube

55:

Your dream vacation: the fucking moon

54:

The worst pain I was ever in was: I had a cough last year that completely killed my voice and tore up my throat, coughed up blood

53:

How do you like your steak cooked: Well Done

52:

My room is: Clean and tidy af

51:

My favorite celebrity is: none

50:

Where would you like to be: in the future

49:

Do you want children: no

48:

Ever been in love: yes it fucking ruined me

47:

Who’s your best friend:

@schotts-fired

we already have more memes than my irl best friend

46:

More guy friends or girl friends: girl friends

45:

One thing that makes you feel great is: memes

44:

One person that you wish you could see right now: nobody tbh

43:

Do you have a 5 year plan: nope

42:

Have you made a list of things to do before you die: climb Mt. Everest, thats it

41:

Have you pre-named your children: nope

40:

Last person I got mad at: myself

39:

I would like to move to: a place with good internet

38:

I wish I was a professional: Twitch Streamer

[ My Favorites ]

37:

Candy: Red Licorice

36:

Vehicle: Shopping trolleys i guess

35:

President: Obama

34:

State visited: I dont travel

33:

Cellphone provider: Optus

32:

Athlete: None

31:

Actor: None

30:

Actress: None

29:

Singer: None

28:

Band: None

27:

Clothing store: None

26:

Grocery store:None

25:

TV show: Doctor Who

24:

Movie: Cant remember

23:

Website: Tumblr/Youtube

22:

Animal: Dogs

21:

Theme park: Wet n’ Wild

20:

Holiday: New Years

19:

Sport to watch: None

18:

Sport to play: None

17:

Magazine: None

16:

Book: Ready Player One

15:

Day of the week: Friday

14:

Beach: Nobbys Beach 

13:

Concert attended: None

12:

Thing to cook: Potato Bake

11:

Food: Pork Ribs

10:

Restaurant: Any place that sells pork ribs

9:

Radio station: None.

8:

Yankee candle scent: what

7:

Perfume: no

6:

Flower: any that can go in my hair like a hipster

5:

Color: Purple

4:

Talk show host: John Oliver

3:

Comedian: Louis C.K.

2:

Dog breed: Shiba Inu

1:

Did you answer all these truthfully? maybe i dont know myself

Fuck you anon you cant stop me im dedicated as heck and butts fight me.

:Update: I went and updated these cause my internet came back!

[alivurun]

My Own Cancer Story by Linda Carpenter

On September 29, 1992, at the age of 39, I underwent surgery for colon cancer. Now, as "National Cancer Survivor's Day" has past, I am reminded once again that I am one of the lucky ones. It has been 7 years and 10 months since my surgery and chemotherapy, and I have had very good reports with all my follow-up tests and doctor visits. The picture on my web site is "post cancer", so as you can see, I am fine. If you or a loved one have had cancer touch your life, please visit the American Cancer Society web site and see how you can make a difference in the survival of a future cancer patient. One way to help is to participate in the Relay for Life. Someone made a difference for me, and that is one of the reasons I am here today.

The Diagnosis

I guess there is never a good time to have cancer, but when my doctor informed me of the tumor in my colon in September of 1992, my first thought was, "I don't have time for cancer." The timing could not have been worse, or so I thought. I was 39 years old, divorced 2 years, working full time, mother of three boys, and caretaker of a terminally ill cancer patient, my fiancé, David. I had met David about 6 months after my divorce, and one year later, he had been diagnosed with a rare fatal cancer in December of 91. It was only found in young adults, with no known treatments that had been successful, only radiation to shrink the tumors for his comfort. It was now month 9 since his cancer was found, and David continued to fight the disease with his will to live, and we were both thankful for each and every day, since the doctors had only given him 30 days life expectancy. We thought it was ironic that I too now had cancer, although totally different and unrelated to his. Where his was inoperable with no known treatments, mine was not. Then David said, "I did not have a chance, you do, so you will do all the doctors tell you, to live. I want you to live, and you will." How did I have time for cancer when I had so much to do to take care of the boys and David. I didn't have time to worry about me, I was just worried about how quickly I could have surgery, and get back to work, I had to work. I also had to find someone to care for my family during my 10 day hospital stay. I didn't realize until much later, what a gift God had given me at this time in my life, and that gift was, "His Peace". I truly was not worried about myself, only the kids and David. The hardest thing I ever had to do was tell my 3 children that I too had cancer, and until after the surgery, we did not know how bad it was. I remember the peace God gave me and the words. I told my sons that God loved them, even more than I did, and He would always care and provide for them. He would make a way, where there was no way.

The Surgery

As I stated earlier, God's gift to me was to not fear the cancer, but the surgery was another matter entirely. I had experienced gall bladder surgery in 1974 at the age of 21, so I knew the pain I was facing. To put it mildly, had I had anything but cancer, I think I would have just passed on the 2nd experience. Also, I was concerned about what would be removed and how I would function afterwards. I had 3 consultations with both my surgeons prior to entering the hospital. Since my tumor was right side colon, the "bag" was never a consideration, as it sometimes must be in left side colon cancer. On this, I am very thankful, as now I "function" as I did before. The down side to the surgery was the recommendation of a complete and total hysterectomy as well as the removal of 3/4 of my colon. The tumor was so close to the ovary, that the possibility of "seeding" was great. So, I found that I was facing a long and serious surgical procedure at age 39. I could not believe I had this disease at this age, although colon cancer does run in my family. The family members I knew who had experienced this cancer were in their late 50's before it occurred. My oncologist feels that "stress" and heredity were the major factors in my acquiring the cancer in my late 30's. Now that I had all the facts, I had decisions to make. Who would care for my family, and should I not survive, who would care for my children. In answer to prayer, my younger brother came home from Atlanta for 2 weeks, just to take care of things for me. I really do not know what I would have done had he not been able to care for David and the boys for me. The surgery went very well, and three days later I received the pathology report. The good news was, my lymph tissue was clear of any cancer and the bad news was that the tumor had grown through the bowel wall, causing a possibility that I had cancer cells floating around in my body. So now I had to face the possibility that the cancer could come back. After a 2 hour consultation with my oncologist and receiving information from the American Cancer Society, I knew that the recommendation of chemotherapy had to be considered. For the first time since I was shown a picture of my tumor, I cried.

David's Death

It still amazes me when I think about David and the patience and gentle nature he displayed all during his illness. He had to have been the kindest person I have ever known. He never once showed anger or resentment over his disease. He was such an inspiration to all who knew him. The year that I cared for David was not a burden, it was a blessing. He showed the boys and I how to be thankful for each and every day. He also showed us how to show love to those around us, while we could, never taking for granted that we could "do that tomorrow", for tomorrow never comes, and all any of us have is today. He put into practice, "Each day is a gift from God, that is why we call it the present". David's faith and will to live amazed his doctors. He was able to care for himself to the end. I had already received 3 rounds of my chemotherapy, when we realized that the end was near. David was so concerned about my continuing my treatments, and that I take care of myself. He was the one to say when I was so sick, "This will pass soon, and you will be okay." It was during Christmas Break, when I saw that he slept a little too much, and did not eat as much as usual. After the home health nurse saw him, she told me to call any family that may want to visit, and I knew it was time. David and I talked about it, and he was not afraid, he knew where he was going and he did not fear death, he just did not want to leave me. He made me promise to continue my treatments, no matter how much work I lost due to them, or how sick it made me, so I did. I lost David on Christmas Day 1992 and heaven gained a new angel.

Chemotherapy

"Chemo" - Just the word was enough to send a chill of fear down my spine. I had wanted the consultation with the oncologist, just so he could tell me that the surgery took care of the cancer, and that I would be fine, but that is not what he said. I went back to work 4 weeks after my surgery, and I felt fine. I just wanted to get my life back to normal. Again I said, "Lord, I do not have time for this", but I had to make time. Then, for the 2nd time, I cried. I remember sitting on the floor by the bathtub and thinking, "I do not want those chemicals in my body." So, I just decided to take the chance that the cancer would not return, I had had enough of being sick, and I had David and the boys to care for, and my brother had to return to Atlanta to his job. David and the boys did not agree with me. They wanted me to have all the treatments my doctors recommended, and then if it did come back, at least we would know we had done all that we could. Aaron (age 15 at that time), my oldest son dealt with my disease by being the "man of the house", and just showing me his confidence by saying, "I know you will be fine Mom." Lance (age 12), my 2nd son, dealt with it as he does everything else. He kept his thoughts and worries to himself. Only once did he cry, for just a moment when he told me he was scared. Ryan (age 6), my youngest son, was in first grade and worried about his Mom. I would sometimes awaken to find him on a pallet by my bed. When I asked him why he replied that he just wanted be there for me in case I needed him. Oh, from the "mouths of babes", I did need him, and he needed me. So, for the first time, I asked God to spare my life, not for me, but for Ryan. Aaron and Lance were older, but Ryan was so small. I had lost my own Mother to death when I was in first grade, and I didn't want my son to experience the same loss, when he was too young to understand. Up until this time, the decision of chemotherapy was my fear. Then, as I prayed for my life, for my son's sake, I felt the hand of God. Yes, I felt it. It was like a warmth that touched my head and went to my feet as I knelt by my son on the floor. I then knew, that I would not fear the chemotherapy anymore. For just as God had given me His Peace about the cancer, he gave me His Peace about the chemotherapy. This did not mean that the treatments were easy, for they were not. I was to receive 6 months of chemotherapy - one week on, and 3 weeks off. I would go to work each day and take my treatments as an outpatient at the cancer center after school of the chemotherapy week, Monday-Friday. My chemotherapy was a clinical trial for Dukes B2 tumors of the colon. I was given 5fu with leucovorin by IV. (When my veins collapsed from the chemo after round one, I had to have a direct line called a port surgical implanted in my chest.) Also, Sun-Sat of that week I would give myself 2 injections of interferon each day. This caused flu like symptoms with fever, chills, and body aches requiring me to take Tylenol every 4 hours. But, I would usually do well that week, then the following week, I would be too sick to eat anything, then I would become dehydrated due to the side effects of the chemo. I was hospitalized once and home on IVs twice during the 6 months of chemo, but I did continue to work at school every day that I was not to sick to go. As with anyone, I was concerned about losing my hair. Vanity I guess. It would fall out by the handful everyday, but luckily I never lost it all. And as are the ways with God, when we lose something, many times we receive more in return. Once my treatments were finished, my hair grew back thicker and in better condition than before. I must say, that in many ways, my cancer was my greatest blessing. Not that I want to go through it again, but during this time in my life, I found out many things that I otherwise would never have known. I learned to "live by faith, not sight". I learned that when I am at my weakest, I am also at my strongest. I learned to not take things for granted, even realizing what a blessing it is to be able to go to work. I found that I had more friends than I ever thought possible. But most importantly, I learned that, "God Does Provide a Way". He allowed cancer to enter my life, and then he took that and made me a better person. He allowed me to survive and he has a purpose for my life.

Living as a Survivor

So, now I am a cancer survivor. Sometimes I forget that, and sometimes I want to forget. For to remember is to also remember my "survivor's guilt". Why did I survive and David did not? Why did I survive and my Father did not? I do not have the answer, and I probably never will. Do I live my life in fear of the cancer returning? No, I can honestly say that I do not. Why should I worry? I could die in a car accident today, or some other way, so why should I worry about something that may or may not occur? As with Adam, all die. I have too many other things to be concerned about. To worry is like sitting in a rocking chair, it gets you no where. I know that if my cancer should ever reoccur, God is able to again give me whatever I need to deal with it. "His Grace is sufficient for me." I know that no matter what I face, He is in control and nothing can touch my life until if first goes through the hands of my Heavenly Father and he allows it, for my ultimate good and His Glory. I will be an "8 year survivor" on September 29, 2000. As I look back at the last years of my life, I must wonder, "What have I done with this life that God has granted me?" That gives me more fear than cancer. Have I just "coasted" along, dealing with life as best I could? I know I should do more and maybe all of us feel this way. It is time to move on for me. I feel a need to make a change in my life, and do more with whatever abilities God has given me. I am not sure yet what those changes should be, but I know that change is necessary. Read the full article

[samanthasroberts]

The Great Dying: Happiness Comes on Day Five

My family has come to Hawaii.

Hawaii, like an aging model, is still gorgeousjust sometimes in a fragile, wasted way.

My parents were here a long time ago; they came on their honeymoon, back in the Old World times. They bought a hotel-and-airfare package to Honolulu. They went scuba diving in the coral reefs and touched real rays and even one dolphin, they said.

Of course thats not an option anymore, but you can snorkel all you like in fiberglass reefs stocked with colorful farmed parrotfish and now and then a robot shark.

I love the parrotfishs bulgy, fat lips.

Lydia Millet

About

Lydia Millet is an American novelist and conservationist. Her third novel, My Happy Life, won the 2003 PEN Center USA Award for fiction, and she has been a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize as well as a Guggenheim fellow. Her newest novel for young readers, The Bodies of the Ancients, comes out in January. The Great Dying is adapted from her YA book Pills and Starships, published by Akashic.

Back then, they ate at restaurants with views of sparkling aqua-blue bays; they went to luaus and drank fancy drinks with paper umbrellas. (We still have those; some of them have my parents names printed on them, from a honeymoon party that was held for them. robert & sara, says the faded writing, hawaii, may 2068.) They took small trips to the other islands, even the one that used to be a leper colony.

These days Honolulu and most of Oahu are seawall and salty aquifers and long, long blocks of abandoned buildings.

But they wanted Hawaii anyway. They were nostalgic. So this time we came to the Big Island, where were staying in a hotel with a view of Mauna Kea. Ive seen pictures of it from way back when, white at the top and majestic. Theres never snow anymore, even at 14,000 feet, but the volcano still looms.

Its just the four of us: my mother and my father, my little brother, and me. Its the four of us here for our last week.

A week is the period the companies usually suggest, once you finalize dates. Any longer and customers can get morbid, or even, if they decide to refuse their pharma, hysterical. And then the whole thing collapses. Any shorter and theres not enough time for good-byes.

My parents arent even that old. My mother had me in her late sixties, and two years later she had Samand though theyre vigorous and healthy on a physical level, on an emotional level theyve decided theyre done.

This would be harder without the training we did at home, without the pharma regimen they have us on. Even with those tools its still intense and vibrant, and everything seems inflected with meaning. Cursed with meaning, almost. Meaning attaches itself to everyday objectstoothbrushes, swimsuits, dangly earrings. Here in the hotel suite, I look at these normal items and everything seems like it portends something.

We just got here and already were on the brink of tears at times, or at least my mother and I are. My father and Sam are trying to act stoic, though now and then I catch one of their hands or a bottom lip trembling.

Meanwhile the edges of objects glow, blur, and fade as I look at them. They all seem permeable or aliveas though the aliveness of objects is there to compensate for my parents being ready to die.

I dont think its the pharma thats doing it, either. Sam and I arent even on a full pill regimen yet. On Day Four well have the option of a powerful tranquilizing blend: Thats Good-Bye Day. They like the contract holders to have their memories intact to say good-bye, because the fifth days pharmathe last pharmacauses forgetfulness. It brings on a long-term memory loss that wipes all memories associated with trauma, so they go out happy.

Happiness comes on Day Five.

Its early afternoon. My parents and my brother have gone out for a walk, and from the balcony of our suite I can see them strolling, their light clothes flapping in the breeze off the ocean, on a trail along the high jagged bluffs.

They carry umbrellas that protect them from the sun but also hide their faces from me. They could be anyone.

The bluffs were well engineered and have been planted to look wild, in a fake way. There are scrubby bushes from the desert, South American cacti and Chinese beach roses (according to the brochure) and even, now and then, dune grasses and sand. They hide the concrete seawall beneath the artificial bluffs so that you dont have to remember where you are or whenso you can almost forget youre not in Old Hawaii. Forget, in other words, that youre living at the tiny tail end of the fire-breathing dragon of our history.

The company my parents chose is a midsize outfit that likes to boast how it hires locals. So our rep, when it came down to it, was a lady my mother had once played golf with.

My mother isnt the golf type at all, by the way. She barely knows how to play, but one time she competed in a small-golf game for charityits mostly small golf these days, unless you have huge money to throw away on travel to one of the big courses, plus water-use finesand because she had a good sense of humor, at least till recently, she was basically the comic relief, I think.

But that one day was when she first met the rep, Jean.

Jean showed up at our apartment a couple of months ago, in the hour before dinnertime when we usually hang out together and talk about our day and stuff. The four of us were drinking cocktails in the living room. Being 15, Sam doesnt drink that much yet, but my mother had offered him a junior can of wheat beer.

And there she was at the doora compact, middle-aged woman from the 10th floor, frosted hair, braided wedge heels. Id seen her in the elevator once or twice.

This is Jean, said my mother softly. Jean, these are our children, Nat and Sam.

My name is Natalie, but I go by Nat.

The woman smiled and sat down and looked at us with a gentle but still oddly businesslike expression.

Your parents thought it might be good to have me here is how she started in.

Sam looked up right away. Hed been reading off his device.

Youre service, he said flatly.

I do work with a service company, said Jean.

She didnt miss a beat and didnt seem awkward; she had a forthright attitude without being domineering.

Youre the counselor, or whatever they call them, said Sam.

Im coordinating the personal aspect of outreach, conceded Jean.

On the contract we purchased recently, put in my mother, soft-voiced. Mine and your fathers.

Sam picked up his beer and drank most of the rest of it, a flush rising on his skin.

I had been sitting at the bay window, looking out over the garden. Our apartment complex was nice, with trees and water features and little striped chipmunks, because chipmunks always poll higher than squirrels.

Anyway, I liked to drink and take in the view.

But then, without really noticing my own movement, I turned so I was facing the room, my back against the view of the trees. In the pit of my stomach was a heavy new stone. At the same time my arms and legs felt light and liquid, like the bones in them had softened.

Why didnt you tell me? was the thing I said.

Were telling you now, sweetheart, said my mother, coming to sit beside me on the ledge. She put one arm around my shoulders. Its all according to schedule. The timing is what they recommend.

They encourage the parents not to get emotive when theyre disclosing. It only makes things worse. So my mother sat there next to me, her arm on my shoulders light, keeping a kind of professional attitude. With her free hand, she shook the cubes in her glass and raised it to drink.

My father stood facing us all with his tumbler of whiskey. His face bore a kind, bemused expression, as it used to when Sam or I would cry and he had no idea how to stop it.

You can still take it back, said Sam, with a kind of hurt urgency. Please, MomDad! Take it back!

Honey, said my mother, we dont want to. Or maybe a better way to say it is that we weve lived for you two ever since the tipping point, sweetheart. Youve been whats kept us going.

The tipping point was when we couldnt do anything more to stop the planets runaway warming. There were feedback loops in the climate system, like the albedo effect and water vapor increase in the atmosphere and plankton die-off in the oceans. So even though wed stopped emitting so much carbon and methane, we couldnt stop the seas or the temperature from rising. At least for a few centuries.

Both of you are practically grown up, said my mother. And when it comes right down to it, you dont really need usnot in the day-to-day sense. You think you do, maybe. But we know deep down that you can take care of yourselves. And you will.

You cant say what were feeling, said Sam, shaking his head. Only what you are.

It helps, for peace of mind, said Jean to Sam, if you keep argumentation for later. During this encounter, this time of disclosure, weve found that what allows for peacefulness is just listening.

Fuck listening! said Sam.

He was bright redlike someone had dealt him two slaps, one on each cheek.

And really, went on Jean calmly, as though he hadnt said anything, theres no rush here. Theres plenty of time. Remember, all contracts are voidable right up until the end. So theres absolutely nothing to make you nervous.

She didnt mention what we all knew: that theres a stiff financial penalty for last-minute cancellations. She didnt need to. My parents knew a couple whod canceled just five hours before their contract was about to start, but at that point it cost like 90 percent of the full price. And they ended up buying a new contract a couple of months later. That meant less money for the survivorsa tainted legacy.

But youre doing so well, begged Sam, turning to my mother.

I felt frozen.

Youre doing really well, youve got your moods well stabilized lately, he added.

No, yeah, son, said my father. Well were not too bad off. Were not personally complaining. We feel so lucky, compared to lots of people. No question. And you knowits not any one big thing. You know? Its not a dramatic situation, theres no particular, exact catalyst here. But we feel like, for one, heywhy not quit while were still ahead? You know, leave while weve got our health. And theres still no impairment. We all saw how Mamie got after she passed 100.

Youll be all right. You have such great resilience, added my mother. Wewe think youre very strong.

Oh please, said Sam.

Try to see it from our point of view, my father said. When we were young, there were still big animals swimming all over the oceans. The rivers and the forests had all this life in them, not just the squirrels and pigeons. You could go anywhere in the worldwe drove a gas-burning car when we were young. We flew on huge airplanes. Whenever we wanted to!

My parents keep thinking, somehow, that one day well hear about how different the world used to be and for the first time well understand them.

But isnt the world always different for the kids than it was for the parents? Sure, maybe its more different now. We get it.

But this is the only world we ever knew.

For Old World people like us, you know, said my mother, weve had as much as we can take of seeing everything go away. And we dont think we can bear towhat happens if, if it keeps going how we think it will.

Of course, we hope and pray it wont, said my father staunchly, tossing back the last of his whiskey. We figure, go early, while everythingswhile theres still hope. You know.

But I knew what he wasnt saying: They couldnt stand to see our future. They couldnt stand to watch us struggle.

Its never an easy decision, put in Jean.

Not helpful, I thought.

But then, the companies put the counselors in the room partly to deflect the family members feelings. Or fears and tears, as they say.

Your mother is so tired, Sam, said my father. He was fiddling with a pile of black and green olives on a tray. The olives were stacked in a pyramid, like in a picture Id once seen of ancient cannonballs. They should have been a tipoff that this was a special occasion, so to speak, because olives arent the kind of food we get every day. We both are, if Im perfectly honest, he added.

We sat there for a while, not knowing what to say.

Eventually Jean suggested we take a walk outside, through the courtyards of the complex. Walks are popular with service companies. Low-cost momentum, I guess, and a natural mood boost.

So we prepared ourselves fresh drinks, mostly in awkward silence, and took them with us into the elevator. We gazed outside as the car descended.

The elevators in our complex are external and made of a shaded glass, so you can see the sky and then the buildings below it, and as you drop, the trees in the courtyard come up to meet you.

Down through the green canopy, down along the tree trunks. Finally we landed facing the rock gardens, the fountains and splashing waterfalls of perfectly reclaimed sewage.

What a nice evening, said my mother, and we looked up dutifully at the fading bands of red and yellow in the western sky.

One thing we do have, in the New World, is beautiful sunsets.

I think what put my parents over the edge was a trip they took a few months ago, a light-rail weekender to the place where my father grew up. It wasnt a coastal town in the strict senseit wasnt right on the beachbut it was on a river delta, maybe 20 miles from where the true coast used to be. When the first storm surges came that couldnt be stopped by seawalls, the town got an influx of coastal refugees. Wave after wave followed, though most of the people didnt stay. Back then they were migrating to places like Ogallala, with fertile land or thick forests. If you look at an old map animation, you can see the masses moving away from the coasts, inward and upward from New York and Florida, from Southern California and the dying cities of the desertLas Vegas and Phoenix, say. The animations look like storms or vast, sky-darkening flocks of birds.

Sometimes, at home, I take a mild mood softener, sit at my screen, and gaze at the animations dreamily. You can customize them to show whatever details you wantthe continent shrinking as the oceans rise plus the massive migrations. I also like to watch the building of the seawalls. You see the swamping of Cape Cod, the swallowing up of the Florida Keys. Islands all over the oceans contract to the size of pinheads, then vanish. You can zoom way out and watch the planet rotate, see the surges of ocean that followed the melting of the ice.

Theres something lovely about it, lovely like Eno or Mozart, thoughespecially without pharmait can be sad.

Anyway, my fathers hometown had been leveled by the waves of refugee camps. Nothing was left of the houses and gardens of his leafy street, the school he walked to holding his younger brothers hand, the swing sets and climbing gyms at the park where he played. All that was gonethe whole town had turned to tent cities and landfills and fields of composting toilets.

My dads baby brother died a while back, a do-it-yourself deal. He hated the service companies. So other than us, my dad has no family left.

For a while after that weekend trip, he and my mother were so quiet that sometimes we forgot they were there.

Before we left for Hawaii, my parents helped Sam and me move to a group facility for survivors who arent old enough to live alone. The two of us will go back there after the trip, to live for a few months till I turn 18.

Then, the morning we left, Sam and I picked them up to catch the boat that brought us here. That was the worst. The apartment where we had lived was bare. Their luggage stood in a neat row against the wall, small cases packed with only bedrolls, some toiletries, and a few clothes. It was a shock to see the sterile whiteness of what used to be home.

Well, said my mother, turning back to cast a glance at the empty living room as we were filing out the front door, good-bye, everything.

Sams coming up the path again toward the hotel building, so close hes almost beneath meI see the circle of his shiny white umbrella. My parents arent with him. I squint: I can still see the two of them, out at the edge of the cliff.

The oceans turning anoxic, scientists say. Its what happened 250 million years ago in the Great Dying, otherwise known as the P-T extinction eventthe biggest mass die-off in Earths history. And now its happening again. The seawaters turned more acid from the carbon its storing, so the ocean food chain has mostly collapsed. Big burps of methane are bubbling out of the water along the continental shelves.

Where there used to be corals and whales and sea lions and seahorses, now theres mostly bacteria and archaea and viruses. The odd school of mutated jellyfish. Plus the garbage vortex and the chemical streams.

But still, Mom and Dad stand at the edge of the bluff, their arms around each others waists, and look out over the faraway waves like anything could be therelike those waves might still be the glittering roof of a marvelous underwater country.

The Fiction Issue

Tales From an Uncertain Future

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Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/14/the-great-dying-happiness-comes-on-day-five/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/11/14/the-great-dying-happiness-comes-on-day-five/