#like I just had to convince myself not to drive into oncoming traffic but I’m listening to a good playlist so it’s a toss up really

[nolesserhuman]

PM Dazai + reader; intended platonic apparently he gets carsick ~5k words warnings: mild emeto, Dazai-typical suicide references, very brief reference to Dazai not eating ao3

You know full well why Dazai isn’t allowed to drive; even disregarding his self-proclaimed urges to plow directly into oncoming traffic, he’s simply not good behind the wheel. It’s an immutable fact of life. What you didn’t know yet— at least, not when you’d volunteered to drive him into town and back for the meeting with the higher-ups— is why nobody ever wanted him to ride along, either. Even Oda, usually tolerant of Dazai’s shenanigans, had wished you luck before conveniently disappearing.

Dazai had been fine when he’d gotten in the car. Talkative as always, he’d immediately melted into the passenger seat, wriggling and grinning as you settled in at the wheel. “While you’re busy over there,” he’d hummed, watching you turn the key, “I’m going to strangle myself with the seatbelt!”

“You’d better not,” You had narrowed your eyes at him, “I don’t wanna explain to anyone why I’m driving a corpse around.”

Dazai had pouted with a heavy, dramatic sigh, one that might’ve convinced you to relent had he not been talking about killing himself. He was only quiet long enough to aim his puppy-dog eyes in your direction, batting his long lashes at you as his soft hair fell over his face; it’d didn’t work this time, because you’re practically immune to those things by now. 

The conversation is a familiar song and dance. You would pass some signs declaring a must-see tourist destination at the next right, and Dazai would whine and beg for you to make just a quick stop and buy him something. On the long, empty stretches of road, his delicate hand would begin to crawl up your thigh, only for him to yelp out a curse when you slam your knees shut on his fingers. For a big bad mafia executive, Dazai really does have the ‘kicked puppy’ act down.

Now, several hours into the drive, things were different. Dazai had slowly grown more and more quiet, his teasing left to die on his tongue, leaving you with nothing but the nostalgic white noise of radio static. That silence is probably worse than his constant mouthing off— he was never quiet for this long. Something had to be wrong.

“—are you okay over there, Dazai?” Rarely the best question to ask. He’s always been the type to grit his teeth and avoid the question.

For his part, Dazai barely hears you speak. He’s too focused on regulating his own breathing, inhaling slowly and feeling the stretch in his sore lungs. His stomach churns— it has been for awhile— and although Odasaku had taught him all those breathing exercises to soothe nausea, they weren’t working at the moment. He isn’t too surprised; Dazai has always figured he’s built wrong in comparison to everyone else. Of course something like this wouldn’t work for him. He must just be designed to suffer.

As his stomach flips, Dazai can feel sweat beginning to bead at his hairline too. Just great; he was trying to actually behave in the car for once, and getting sick is just going to inconvenience you. His entire body feels sticky; it must be because he’s been wearing his coat this entire time. Definitely not sick enough to bother you with any of this. He tilts his head forward so he can press his forehead against the window glass and shut his eyes for a moment. It’s nice and chilly against his warm skin. Logically, he knows the glass can’t be as cold as it feels— which means he must be burning up.

“Dazai?”

Your voice is faint at the very edge of his hearing. It would be too much effort to turn and face you; his head feels heavy, and it would be too obvious he’s not feeling well. When he opens his eyes, the outside world blurs together across his vision. He feels his stomach lurch. Closing his eyes again doesn’t help— he’s already caught sight of how fast the car is moving, and his dizzy brain immediately relays that message directly to his stomach. Drool begins to gather much faster in his mouth, and that’s when Dazai knows.

“Stop the car.” He’s got a fist pressed to his mouth and refuses to look over at you.

You blink in surprise at his sudden demand. “Here?” The car was passing a row of fields and not much else; it’s been awhile since you saw any kind of structure, much less any people. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, Dazai—”

“Pull over,” his voice grows more insistent, “or I’m going out the window.” He fumbles with his seatbelt until it unhooks, clattering against the door as his free hand finds the button to roll his window down. He’s already started to lift himself from his seat before you can hit the brakes.

“Okay okay, I’m pulling over!” Thankfully alone on the road, you jerk the wheel to the side, the car jolting as it rolls a wheel off the side of the pavement. The harsh movement pulls a groan from Dazai’s chest, and you wince. Before you’ve come to a complete stop, Dazai throws the door open and stumbles out, only making it a few steps before giving up and collapsing into the grass. By the time you fight free of your own seatbelt, you can hear him retching.

Knelt in the grass, Dazai heaves again, but nothing comes up. That’s not entirely surprising; skipping meals isn’t a foreign concept to him, so of course there’s nothing for his body to cough up. Still, he stays there on his hands and knees, each unproductive cough burning his throat. One of his least favorite parts of getting sick is always the salivating— even with nothing to purge from his stomach, his lips are slick, with thin strings of drool spilling out onto the grass as he coughs.

Should you approach him—? The young man seems miserable— although you suppose that’s pretty typical for his existence— spitting up nothing as his body revolts against him. But despite his clear need for some kind of support, Dazai always recoils at the slightest show of sympathy. It might be a better idea to just let him ride it out, because you know he’ll brush you off anyways.

And then he lets out a whine from somewhere in the back of his throat.

Before you know it, you land on your knees next to Dazai. Instinctively, he flinches away; that’s clearly the wrong move on his part, because his stomach lurches again. This time, when he doubles over, a wave of vomit splashes out onto the grass.

“Ugh…” Dazai lets out a low groan, barely able to lift his head as he tries to catch his breath. “I feel like shit,” he mumbles out, wiping spit from his mouth with the back of his coat sleeve.

“Yeah, I can see that,” you hum softly, and he winces at how soft your voice is. Aren’t you mad he’s delayed your trip home? If you are, you’re hiding it well, because your hand comes up to rub gentle circles on Dazai’s back. He shudders at the warm touch. “Aw, I wish I’d known you get carsick, I would’ve—”

“I don’t!” Dazai chirps, although the effect is lessened by the rasp to his voice, throat sore from all that retching. “This is a one-time thing, so don’t think that— eugh,” he’s interrupted when his body decides to gag again. Instinctively, one hand comes up as if to cover his mouth; you grab his wrist and tug his hand away just before he spews again, spitting up nothing but stomach acid. Dazai whines again.

Eventually Dazai catches his breath, but not his voice. He rolls his shoulders to shrug your hand off his back and forces himself to his feet. He sways noticeably, but when you step closer to offer support, he takes a small step back; looks like you’re not making that kind of progress today.

The two of you are quiet for a moment as Dazai tries to gather himself; you, trying to figure out what to say, and him, blatantly refusing to look at you as his chest heaves. Finally, you settle on, “I should have something for motion sickness in the car—”

“Don’t need it,” he cuts right through your words, as if that kills the idea entirely. “I’m not carsick.” he spins on his heel to return to the car, only for a wave of vertigo to almost take him off his feet. Really not helping his fragile— and obviously untrue— defense.

“Then if it’s not carsickness,” you trail after him, fingers twitching with the urge to just grab his arm and help him stay upright, “it’s something else, and that’s just as bad. Did you have anything for lunch, breakfast? Anything for dinner last night? Besides that bottle of—”

“Fine.” Dazai stops walking. He grins at you over his shoulder, although it’s more a showing of his teeth than anything else, an attempted reminder that he’s a dangerous man. It doesn’t quite land, since his frail body is trembling like a wet dog. “We’ll say I get car sick, if it gets you to shut up.” He wobbles back on his heels, having to use the entirety of his body weight— admittedly, not much there— to swing the car door open. Before you can bite back, he folds his lanky self back into the passenger seat and slams the door behind him, separating the two of you with metal and glass. You just sighed.

Once you get yourself settled behind the wheel again, you reach across Dazai’s lap to pull open the glovebox— he lets out a whiny “Hey!” when the small door pops against his knees— and pull out a packet of nausea medication, exactly as promised, tossing it against his chest. “If you don’t take any of these, I’m not gonna stop if you need to puke again.”

Dazai makes a face as he turns the little box over to read the back. “I’m not taking any pills.” Hypocrite; he’ll pop any pill except the ones that might actually make him feel better.

Almost as soon as you pull the car back into the road, Dazai’s face goes pale again. His throat bobs as he swallows, and his tongue feels so heavy in his mouth, he vaguely wonders if he could actually choke on it this time. He hadn’t bothered with his seatbelt after getting back in the car, and he turns his body at an odd angle in his seat, pressing his warm face to the window glass once more.

“—sit up,” you huff, eyes flickering from the road to your boss and back. “No wonder you feel bad, you’re curled up like a shrimp over there.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically, only to immediately grimace and follow your order quietly. That’s how you know he really feels bad— Dazai never does what he’s told.

“Ugh,” he groans softly again, head falling forward, chin to his chest, the gentle curves of the road sending his stomach back into an unpleasant frenzy. “How much longer? You’re going too slow,” he grumbles.

“Well, going fast won’t make you feel better either,” you bring one hand down to fumble with the window controls, rolling his window down and then reaching over to nudge his shoulder. “Head out, fresh air helps too.”

“I’m not a dog,” he hisses, but he obeys anyway. He’d never admit it to you, but the breeze does feel good on his warm face, the fresh air settling his stomach just enough that saliva finally stops pooling under his tongue. The sun has begun to set too, taking with it all the uncomfortable heat in the air, only serving to cool him off further.

You keep an eye on him as best you can while you drive; thankfully, it isn’t much longer before the car crosses into town, familiar buildings looming and lulling you into a sense of security. Perfect timing, even, because Dazai is beginning to squirm in the passenger seat, his face twisting into another uncomfortable grimace. His hair is stuck to his sweaty face, one arm wrapped around himself as he wriggles in the passenger seat, trying to relieve the pressure on his stomach. 

“If you take a left here, that’s a much quicker route to—”

“I’m not taking you back to your shipping container.”

Dazai stiffens in the passenger seat. His head slowly swivels in your direction, his unbandaged eye narrowing as if he can see directly through you and still doesn’t understand. Lips pursed and eyes forward, you try to stay firm, although your voice trembles. “If you’re sick, you don’t need to be by yourself in that stupid rusty box. We’re going to my place.”

Silence for a moment, and then a small, irritated smile crosses Dazai’s face. “I told you, I’m fine. Just drop me off. I’ll walk there, even.”

You shake your head and refuse to look at him. If you make eye contact, you know you’ll give in; whether it’s through intimidation or the power of his good looks, Dazai always gets you to do what he wants, but it's going to be different this time. He’s not going to talk you out of taking care of him.

The car falls silent again. You can feel Dazai’s intense gaze on your face as you make the few remaining turns, finally pulling into your apartment complex and parking. You don’t look over at him before climbing out of the driver’s seat, stepping around to swing the passenger door open for him. “Can you stand?”

“Yes.” Dazai tries to keep his voice light, but as he lifts himself to his feet, his unsteady legs almost give out under him; without thinking about it, he reaches out and wraps an arm around your shoulder to hold himself upright. “—I’m fine,” he lies through his teeth, resting most of his body weight on your much smaller form.

Supporting him as best you can, the both of you limp up to your apartment. Dazai figures he might as well be dramatic about the situation; he whines and moans and groans, slouching all of his body weight against you in an effort to make you stumble on purpose. Knowing him, he’s hoping you drop him down the stairs.

Dazai feels like he’s on fire— he might have a fever, but personally, he chalks it up to the effect of your hands all over him. He can feel more acid rising up in his throat, burning in his chest along with an odd sense of guilt; you should’ve been able to just go home after dropping him off, but here you are, dragging him along with the intention of making sure he feels better. It’s not something he can understand.

As soon as you’ve shut the door behind you both, Dazai’s glassy eyes study your home, taking in even the tiniest details. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but he isn’t surprised, either; the place looks just like you. But he doesn’t have time to think about that too in-depth, because he wheezes, his stomach rolling again.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” you mumble softly as you drag him into your bathroom. Dazai immediately pulls away and sinks to his knees in front of the toilet, shoving the lid open so he can spit uselessly into the water. It’s irritating to watch him like this and know you can’t do much.

In his haste to get even some vague sense of relief, Dazai’s trembling hands begin to fumble with his clothes, pulling his suit jacket off and undoing his tie from around his throat. He drops them on the floor— those things probably cost more than you’ll ever see in your life so, desperate to help in even a small way, you gather them off the floor to go hang them somewhere later. “—I’m going to go make some ginger tea, okay?”

Dazai just lets out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a whine.

You make a point to leave the bathroom door open as you step back out into the hall. His coat and tie find themselves tossed over the back of a kitchen chair as you free your hands, digging through your cabinets to find a small pot to boil water in— listen, you don’t need ginger tea often enough to invest in an actual tea kettle— and then set about trying to remember where you keep the tea itself.

Dazai’s loud whines echo through the halls of your apartment, to the point where you can hear him clearly all the way in the kitchen. Yes, he’s known for being dramatic, but his acting skills aren’t that good. It sounds like he’s really in pain.

Unfortunately, desperation doesn’t make water boil any faster. You glare down at the pot of boiling water and, knowing that it’s a bad idea to step away from a hot stove, you do it anyways. Dazai is gagging and spitting and sounding entirely unproductive, and you can’t bring yourself to leave him alone like that.

Even though it’s your apartment, you still knock as you push the bathroom door open, not wanting to startle him. Dazai just groans weakly and doesn’t bother to lift his face away from the toilet.

You kneel down next to him for the second time today. He whines uncomfortable, his hands curling into fists in his lap as he leans forward. He gags again but spits up nothing but saliva. “It won’t come up—”

You press your lips together as you watch his pale face twist into another uncomfortable grimace. There really is just one option for that— with a quiet sigh, you roll up your sleeves. “Open up, Dazai.”

He immediately slams his mouth shut. Still slouched on the cold tile of your bathroom floor, he tries to glower at you, but it’s completely ineffective; under the harsh fluorescent light, he looks less like a mafia executive and more like the sick young man he really is. He shakes his head and grits his teeth, hiding under his stringy hair, obviously trying to think his way out of this.

“None of that,” you try to keep your tone firm. One of your hands comes up to grab his chin and squeeze. “Now, open up.”

Dazai whines again, jerking his head back in a vain attempt to escape your grasp. The motion makes his head spin and stomach lurch, but he’s determined to defy you, for no reason other than the fact that he can. He’s not your responsibility anyway— why can’t you just leave him to suffer alone? His efforts amount to nothing. Your grip on his flushed face tightens, thumb caressing his cheek until you can feel the dip where his teeth met. When you press down that time, it successfully forces his mouth open.

You shove your free hand past Dazai’s lips; apparently you’re a bit rough in your haste, because he whimpers and tries to pull back again. He’s too physically weak to escape your strong grasp, so all he can do is let his eyes slide closed in anxious anticipation.

It’s immediately obvious when you’ve reached far back enough; Dazai gags around your fingers, the contents of his stomach rushing up his throat and out his mouth. Wincing at the stickiness covering your hand now, you carefully pull back, and Dazai doubles over as he finally empties his stomach properly.

“Does that help at all?” You move to the sink, running your hands under hot water until you feel a bit better about the situation.

Dazai spits into the toilet again and takes a moment to catch his breath. “...yeah,” he mumbles, sounding almost disappointed that you care enough about him to shove your hand down his throat. “You’re so gross.” Even sick as a dog, he can’t just thank you for anything.

Rolling your eyes, you finish washing your hands, flicking cold droplets of water in the direction of his face. He clearly feels okay enough now to stick his tongue out at you.

Breathing heavily, Dazai shuffles backwards on the tile floor, resting his aching body against the wall. His eyes slide closed again as he tries to relax. “—not as nauseous,” he admits, “but the rest of me still feels bad.”

You hum in vague acknowledgement, mentally sorting through what else might help him feel better— not that Dazai ever feels good, but you at least don’t want him feeling this gross. If he refuses to admit to actively being sick, you can really only guess at remedies. There was that ginger tea you should probably go check on— the water’s probably all boiled out by now… and if he is feverish, you should probably grab an ice pack, if you even own any. And then, as you make your mental lists and graphs, one idea stands out above the rest. “I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t try going anywhere.”

Dazai scoffs at the idea of actually moving his limp body, but he nods, not bothering to open his eyes again. Satisfied that he’s too exhausted to go hunting through your bathroom for an overdose method, you leave him alone for a moment.

After a bit, Dazai’s breaths come easier, although they’re still shaky. He knows he must have a fever, because the chill of the bathroom’s tile feels delicious against his sweaty skin, even through his layers of clothing. At least his stomach feels mostly better—

If he dwells on his own thoughts for too long, he knows he’ll spiral. It would be all-too-easy to convince himself that he doesn’t deserve the help you’ve already extended to him; those thoughts have already been dancing at the edge of his mind, and he can’t give them a chance to breach the surface. So instead, he strains his hearing, an effort to trace your movements even from far-off.

Dazai tells himself it’s just to avoid dwelling on being so ill, but the new ache in his chest betrays his fragile reasoning; he’s also listening anxiously for the sound of the front door slamming shut, a sure sign that you’ve finally gotten tired of him. It’s something he’s always expected, really; he’s already been too selfish by allowing you to drag him into your home to begin with.

When he focuses, he can hear you shuffling around in what he assumes is your bedroom down the hallway. The rustle of fabric, the plastic clicks of storage containers being opened and shut again. After several more minutes, a soft hum leaves your throat— clearly you had found whatever you were looking for.

As your footsteps approach the bathroom again, Dazai forces his heavy head up, his eyes open. He can feel his pulse start to pick up at the thought of your return— as clinically logical as he normally is, his brain is foggy at the moment, so he hadn’t quite been able to figure out what you might’ve been grabbing. He lifts his eyes in the hopes of catching a glance as you pass the doorway, but instead of rejoining him on the bathroom floor, you continue walking. Dazai’s mouth twitches into a frown; he’s not used to being ignored, even if he’s convinced himself he wants to be left alone.

Without thinking about it, Dazai tries to call your name. It doesn’t travel very far; his throat still burns from all his unproductive gagging earlier, and it’s reduced his voice to a raspy whisper. Once it’s obvious that you hadn’t heard him, Dazai braces himself against the wall and slowly, carefully, manages to haul himself to his feet.

His head swims, the room spinning around him as he sways. Dazai lets out another soft whine as he begins to shuffle forward. His more rational thoughts are howling at him to sit back down, to rest, to leave you alone when you so clearly don’t want to deal with him. His aching body pushes forward anyway.

The hallway is dim in comparison to how harshly the bathroom was lit. a bit of the tension behind his eyelids immediately vanished, a relieved sigh leaving his mouth. He keeps his hand firmly against the wall as he tries to slowly move forward. Putting one foot in front of the other is more effort than he’d expected it to be; the hallway continues to twist and distort at the edge of his vision, the light of your kitchen seeming like a distant dream. His movements are sluggish, as if trying to move through water that was over his head. Drowning, he thought, would be much easier than this.

From somewhere off in the distance, Dazai hears something ding. Even from so far away, it’s a harsh noise, one that drills its way right between his eyes. Another grimace paints its way across his face; he presses a hand to his forehead, but it does nothing to lessen the dull ache as it began to crawl across the front of his skull. He grits his teeth in frustration— such a short walk, and he can’t even make it by himself. If he can’t even move from room to room, he’ll be nothing but a burden and make things harder for you, so he forces himself to take another step.

Wrong move. His legs give out under him, and Dazai collapses.

At the sudden heavy thud in your hallway, you immediately drop what you’re doing and peer around the corner into the hall; a knot tightens in your chest at the sight of Dazai, curled up on the hardwood in the dark. 

He whimpers from his spot on the floor as you approach. His one visible eye slides open, and if you didn’t know Osamu Dazai, you would almost say he looks like he could cry. Kneeling next to him, you lift his chin with your hand in order to see his face properly. When your eyes met, he began to squirm; the blatant concern on your face made his body feel hot, even disregarding his apparent fever.

“Let go,” he slurs out, voice heavy with exhaustion, “I just slipped, it’s nothing—”

“Dazai.” There’s concern in your voice, too, and that just makes him want to curl up and disappear. “Just let me take care of you, Dazai.”

His tired gaze search your face desperately, as if he hopes you’re lying to him. But, to his dismay, you’re completely genuine— he’s already wasted so much of your time, and through his achy haze, he just can’t wrap his mind around why you would inconvenience yourself for something like him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Dazai mumbles. As you gently help him to his feet, he doesn’t even bother to hold himself upright, choosing instead to lean most of his weight against your body. “Just get me back to the bathroom and I’ll stay there, I promise.” His stomach felt heavy again. Not from nausea this time.

“Nope,” your reply is automatic. It’s a bit difficult to maneuver Dazai down the hall— he’s bigger than you and most of the people you know, sagging against your body like a cat starved for attention. “Taking care of you isn’t a problem. I’m doing this because I want to.”

Dazai was silent as you guide him into your living room. He groans as you carefully lower him onto the couch. Immediately, he melts into the cushions; his entire body is aching, muscles sore from the contractions and spasms as he’d thrown up earlier. Admittedly, your couch is much softer than the bathroom floor— if it wouldn’t be so selfish of him, he might decide to stay awhile.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Your voice is soft, and it makes him feel fuzzy inside. Those thoughts will have to be dealt with later. Dazai knows you expect a response of some kind, but he doesn’t trust his voice at the moment, so he just nods and throws his arm over his eyes to block out the light.

Even though you were never too far, an anxiety he doesn’t understand surges through Dazai’s chest. Actually, he could only assume you weren’t going far— despite your repeated insistence that you want to care for him, he really wouldn’t blame you for choosing to leave him alone until he cried himself out. He rolls over onto his side on the couch, blurry eyes following your movements; thankfully you wandered into the kitchen instead of towards the front door.

Although Dazai has never been the type to think about his own feelings, being sick brings down some of his walls, even if just the slightest bit. You can see the relief and vulnerability behind his glassy eyes when you were, in fact, only gone a moment, exactly as you’d promised.

“Here,” you shuffle your hands behind your back, obviously holding something, “this always helps me whenever I feel gross.” From behind your back you produce— a stuffed animal. More specifically a giraffe, one with floppy limbs and fuzzy fur that smells like peppermint. Confusion washes over Dazai, visible on his face.

“—you know those are for babies, right?”

You puff your cheeks out in a pout. “Shut up! He’s cuddly and smells nice! Peppermint is good for nausea anyways.” Still huffing a bit, you hold the toy out to him, and Dazai finds himself absently reaching for it despite his protests.

The first thing he notices is the warmth. His eyes widen as he clutches the plushie closer to his chest— the concentrated heat is immediately soothing against the sore exhaustion that permeates his frail body. Out of curiosity, he ducks his head down to press his face into the giraffe’s soft fur. You were right; the scent of peppermint quickly begins to settle the churning in his stomach. Dazai hates when you’re right.

“Nice, isn’t it?” You hum softly, taking a seat on the couch with him, draping a wet washcloth across the back of his neck. With that and the heated toy, his temperature should regulate eventually. Your hand finds the remote, and you switch on the television, keeping the volume low as you flip through the channels. “You can hang out here until you feel better, I promise. It’s not a bother to me.”

Dazai stays silent. When you sit down with him, he shifts to drop his head in your lap, squeezing the toy giraffe even tighter. One of your hands finds its way to the top of his head, gently pulling away damp strands of his dark hair from where they’ve stuck to his sweaty face. As much as he hates to admit it to himself, Dazai is comfortable.

He tries to fight it, he really does; Dazai is well aware that something like him doesn’t deserve to be sprawled out here with someone like you. But, if it’s only going to happen once, he might as well take advantage of it, right? Your hands are incredibly soft in his hair, and the stupid giraffe is both making him hurt less and settling his stomach. His body is dead tired anyways— even if he could gather the strength to remove himself from your lap, there’s no way he would make it all the way back to the shipping container he calls home.

Yeah, that all makes a degree of sense. Having successfully debated his thoughts into submission, Dazai gives himself permission to relax for awhile, and he finally falls asleep in your lap.

my first-ever sickfic!! feel free to lmk if I spelled anything wrong lmao, I worked on this for like two weeks so my vision is definitely kinda blurring together haha. thank you for reading!

[colesterstrudel]

are you ok?

My mental health is at an all time low but I have a video of one of my backyard raccoons making a funny noise so like. You tell me.

[drmmyrs]

Remember Me (Becca x MC) Part 2

Hiii I’m back. Sorry again for the delay 😬I had such a hard time writing the ending so thank you so much @samanthadalton for all your help 😘Also, a big thanks to M anon for their suggestions and song request which I used some of.

tag list: @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @uselesslesbianfr @baexpoppy @alexroyard @alexlabhont @veenast @noixngn @sillyandcutewizardstuffs @doey-eyes8 @itszdavenport (If you wanna be added or removed or just prefer a certain ship just let me know ❤️)

Read Part 1

Pairing: Becca x MC (Emily)

Warnings: some swearing

Word Count: 2289

It's been an hour since Emily last came into my room to remind me of my doctor's appointment. And it's been about thirty minutes since I've been ready to go, physically at least. Naturally, I tried to get Chris to come with me instead because he's my boyfriend, right? Ughh fine, ex-boyfriend. But can you blame me, though? How am I suppose to move on when I literally have no memory of some sort of breakup or closure? I stare at the dull beige-colored ceiling, a view which has me panicking in the mornings right after I wake up, before I remember that I don't live at the sorority house anymore. I then close my eyes and get comfort in the memories I have left, my only anchor on the reality I knew, away from this freakish place with the people I don't even give a shit about.

After a couple more minutes, I begrudgingly get up with a groan and trudge downstairs, finding Emily waiting on the couch. She smiles upon seeing me, but I don't return the gesture, being genuinely annoyed at the prospect of having to spend an incessant amount of time with her. So instead, I walk past her towards the door, my heels clattering on the wooden surface. Emily then follows behind me from a distance, careful not to invade my space. Once outside, I walk straight towards the passenger door of Emily's junk of a car, grabbing the handle as I glare at Emily impatiently, waiting for her to unlock it. As soon as unlocked, I sink into the seat, slamming the door close harder than I intended. Emily, though, takes a second before going in, eyeing the seat suspiciously as if it might shatter anytime. Once seated, she places her hand on the gear stick, slightly trembling. And then it dawns on me, I may have forgotten about the accident, but it's probably still fresh from her memory, terrorizing her at every reminder. All this time, I've been complaining about how unfair everything is for me, not once considering how it may have affected her.

"Who was driving?" I ask. It may not be the best thing to talk about right now, but I have to know.

I see Emily flinch at the question, and before she even opens her mouth, I know. She looks out the windshield, her voice cracking when she replies, "I was."

I nod. My mom told me it was a drunk driver running a red light that hit us, so I don't blame her at all, not anymore.

"Is it–" The words come out sharp, so I stop and soften my voice. "Is it the first time you drove since?"

Emily doesn't reply immediately; instead, she shifts the gear and steps on the gas pedal as we begin to make our way towards the hospital. She grips the steering wheel tightly, anxiously looking at the road, her eyes obsessively sweeping for any oncoming traffic at every intersection.

"No. No it's not but..." Emily trails off, her knuckles turning white as her grip on the steering wheel tightens.

But it's her first time to drive with me in the car. I turn my head to look out the window, knowing full well I can't ease her fears. How can I when I'm the living reminder of everything she lost?

---------

I immediately regret my outfit choice as soon as we get into the waiting room, the frigid temperature biting at my skin, sending sharp pains like that of a needle across my exposed skin. I try to play it cool, but a shiver escapes my body, desperate for any source of heat. A few seconds later, a jacket appears in front of me, held by Emily who is wearing an annoyingly cute little smile on her face. I mumble thanks and take the jacket, placing it over my shoulders, smelling the scent of lavender as I bask in the comfort of heat.

I take out my phone and browse my socials, catching up on all the events I missed–or forgotten–while ignoring the get well soon messages from both people I know and don't know that have been piling up ever since the accident. A few minutes later, the doctor calls my name, and as I stand up, Emily does as well but then sits back down almost immediately, clearly unsure if her company is welcome.

I roll my eyes. "Come on."

---------

After a useless consultation–apparently, they can't do much to help me regain my memories–Emily suggests we stop by an ice cream parlor not far from here. I assent, but only because I need the comfort of a sugary snack right now, and it's been ages since I had one, or at least I think so.

We reach a store I don't recognize, replacing an office space that, while I never paid attention to before, was a pleasant fixture in my reality, not this... eyesore. I shake my head; I can't keep living in the past. I follow Emily into the store, reminding myself that this is my reality now.

Inside, the floor is patterned with alternating pink and black tiles, and the walls are coated with somewhat fresh pink paint adorned with decors that scream ice cream as if one might stumble into the shop looking for lunch or something.

"Welcome t–ah Emily and Becca! I haven't seen you girls in a while."

I turn around to see a guy, probably in his mid-twenties– smiling at us like...  I shoot Emily a side-eye. She, of course, fails to mention that the guy working here is buddy-buddy with me. So, is this the kind of couple we were? Those who frequent an ice cream parlor enough to be on a first-name basis with the ice cream guy? I internally groan in disgust at the thought.

"–Becca." I'm pulled out of my thoughts when I hear my name. Emily and the ice cream guy are looking at me expectantly.

"Sorry I didn't hear," I mumble.

"You'll be having strawberry, your usual, correct?" says the guy with a wide smile.

I do want strawberry, but I shake my head and say, "Vanilla," just to spite him, annoyed how some stranger knows my favorite ice cream flavor.

"Ooh, trying something new today, are we? One rocky road and vanilla coming right up," he announces in an annoyingly high pitch voice. I struggle not to roll my eyes.

"Where's the bathroom?" I ask, which is met by a look of confusion followed by a laugh.

"You know wh–" 

Emily quickly interjects, "The bathroom's there, Becca," pointing at a door at the back of the store.

I excuse myself and go to the bathroom, heading straight towards the mirror. I stare at my reflection, nitpicking every tiny detail that has changed throughout the years, changes I don't recognize at all. A tear rolls down my cheek, but I quickly wipe it away. I'm Rebecca fucking Davenport; I don't cry. I grip the sink tightly, overcome with a new resolution. I know who I am; they don't, convincing myself more than anyone else.

Once finishing up in the bathroom, I head back outside, noticing a different aura in the room. Emily is holding our orders with an apologetic look while the ice cream guy regards me with pity, something I've grown used to in the past few weeks. I take my ice cream from Emily, not meeting her gaze, and walk out of the store, striding ahead of her towards the car, not once looking back.

--------

On the ride home, silence weighs heavily between us as Emily bites at her lower lip, either contemplating what to say or waiting for me to go off on her. After an awkward amount of time, Emily finally breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry I–"

"Forget about it," I cut her off, too exhausted to engage with her. I think about the previous encounter, wondering if that would be my norm. Unfamiliar people coming up to me, sharing inside jokes and anecdotes while I stare blankly at them, wondering if I should explain my situation or just ignore them, being the bitch I know I am. I stare out the window, seeing all the changes in the city, musing about the memories I may have had alongside them, memories that I may or may not recover. It's as if an impostor had been living my life for the past two years, and now I'm forced to follow in their footsteps. It's obvious I had changed a lot during those years, my previous enemies becoming my closest friends, my greatest rival supposedly becoming the love of my life. Was she the love of my life? Was I happy with Emily?

It's already dark outside when we arrive home. I notice a few cars parked down the road, something unusual considering this is the only house for at least a couple of blocks. What do I know, though, it's not like I remember much about this place. I turn my attention back to the house; the lights inside are turned off, leaving a lone street lamp and the car's headlights as the primary sources of light, accentuating the jagged grey bricks of the house, almost giving an appearance of something sinister. This is ridiculous; I chide myself for being scared of a stupid house. 

Emily walks ahead towards the door while I follow a few steps behind. As soon as I walk inside, the light turns on, and I'm greeted by a chorus of surprise echoing throughout the house, coming from people whom I only recognize half of. I stare at them blankly, unimpressed but just mostly confused. My mother walks over to me and gives me a big hug.

"Happy birthday, sweetie."

Birthday? I inconspicuously look at my phone. Huh. I could've sworn I've seen the date today at least a few times. A few moments later, Emily steps forward with a cake in her hands.

"Happy birthday babe," she says, immediately followed by a look of horror. "Becca. Sorry."

Of course Emily had planned this. It doesn't really matter if I wanted to have a stupid party. She had to go ahead and decide for me.

"Go ahead and blow out the candles," my mom urges.

I blow out the candles, faking a smile for my mom. As much as I want to storm into my room, I'm not about to break my mom's heart by causing some unnecessary drama.

--------

Just a few moments into the party, and I'm already exhausted–people lining up to greet me, asking how I've been doing since the accident. I realize that most people here don't know about my condition, which means I have had to engage in quite a few conversations about the things I've supposedly been doing for the past few years, things I have no recollection of, to which I gave vague answers to avoid having to explain everything. 

I down my fourth glass of virgin cuba libre, eyeing the display of alcohol with contempt, resentful that I can’t drink because of the medicine I took earlier, when Zack drags me across the room to play some truth or dare with a bunch of people, some of whom I don't recognize. Thankfully, if there was one thing the sorority has taught me, it's that you don't have to know someone to ask the right questions or expertly avoid the common ones. That is of course until someone asks you the most unexpected question.

"Do you have a date for the wedding yet?"

I stare at them blankly, fumbling for words. Wedding? 

"I–I–"

But before I can make up an answer, Kaitlyn arrives with Emily in tow, and that's when I notice it, the ring on Emily's finger. I gasp for breath, feeling like the air is taken out of my lungs. And I almost don't notice it when Kaitlyn takes out her guitar and starts singing, joined by the others.

When all the tears are rolling down your face And it feels like yours was the only heart to break When you come back home and all the lights are out And you're getting used to no one else being around

Oh, oh, I'll be there

I look at the unfamiliar faces, singing their hearts out, gazing at me fondly. I then turn my gaze to Emily's ring finger, and sitting on it is a small but glistening diamond and part of me chastises myself for not noticing earlier. I feel the entire room’s eyes on me and suddenly, it becomes too much for me to withstand. I stand up, scrabbling to go to my room, footsteps following behind me. Once I got on the stairs, Emily shouts my name from behind, and I stop at the sound of her voice, turning around.

"We were engaged? Why didn't you tell me?" My voice comes out harsher than expected and it seems to take Emily by surprise too because she just stands there motionless, speechless. “Marriage is a big thing Emily, that’s not something you can just conveniently not tell me.” I let out a frustrated groan, momentarily letting the anger wash all over me before I’m left with a bitter feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I’m sick of having random people tell me things about my life which I can’t even remember when my own fianc–” I stop, not even being able to say the word, shaking my head as the agony brought by my predicament proves to be too much. “I can’t do this. I'm sorry," I croak before running towards my room, slamming the door behind me. I then curl myself in bed as the tears fall freely.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Park Jimin X Reader ~ The Jealousy Game [Request]

>>> Word Count: 4,259

>>> Genre: Okay I have an angst problem, I’m sorry. But Angst with a FLUFFY ENDING!

>>> Pairing: Jimin X Reader

>>> A/N: I changed it a little bit I hope you don’t mind hun. I know you said to do a trail dating thing but it inspired something and I wanted to change it, I hope this is okay though!! Your request wasn’t long at all, I love when you give me information on what you want as it helps me out! Hope this is okay!!! Please let me know if it isn’t and I will rewrite it or write a new one for you hun! Xoxo ~ M

Looking back at all the years you'd spent being best friends with Jimin you probably should have seen it coming, all the times you spent together. The sleepovers, the playful flirting with each other, the inside jokes you shared, you should have known you were going to fall in love with him, you fell for him hard. It wasn't a small push, a tumble and suddenly you were in love, it was like being hit by an oncoming truck and thrown under a bus all at the same time. Being in love with someone was hard work, you felt like you couldn't eat or sleep and you always wanted to make them happy. Even if making them happy meant you were unhappy, all you cared about was him. He was always on your mind, always playing in the back of your head, all the what if's. No one knew that you loved him, you weren't going to tell him anytime soon either. He was your best friend, you didn't want to risk losing him altogether just because you were starting to care for him a little more than friends should. 

"You okay?" Jimin asked waving his hand in front of your face and waking you from your daydream, you nodded at him and went back to the conversation you'd been having. 

"As I was saying, I think we can work together on this." He told you from across the table, you looked at him and nodded for him to continue talking. As he spoke you stared into his eyes, the brown eyes with a million hues in them, they always made you think of a forest in fall, all the different colours of brown pooling together and forming a stunning look on him. 

"Help each other how?" You questioned looking at the drink in front of you. He'd brought you to a local coffee shop to have a weekly catch up. You didn't get to spend too much time together thanks to his busy schedule but you were beyond proud of him so it was worth it.

"We make them jealous." You frowned,

"Them?" You quizzed looking back up to him, he was staring at his phone and scrolling through his photos. 

"I make my girl jealous and you make the guy you have a crush on jealous." The guy you have a crush on? 

"I don't have a crush on anyone," You lied taking a sip from your milkshake and shaking your head at Jimin who was laughing at you. 

"I've known you for almost sixteen years, I know when you have a crush on someone. I don't care who, let's just work together." He said taking your hand in his on the table. If only he knew that small action sent your world on fire, your mind racing and your stomach flipping.

"You like someone?" You questioned looking at him and he nodded showing you his phone screen. She was the most beautiful person you'd ever seen in your life. Of course, he would love her. She was perfect for him. The woman looked like she belonged on billboards and magazines, her hair was curled down and the length of her back. She was skinny but not too skinny, she had a giant smile on her face in the photo and it looked like she was looking at the person taking the photo. You'd never seen her before and yet Jimin had a whole folder of her on his phone.

"Who is she?" You leant back in the chair and tried to act as though the talk wasn't crushing you with every passing second. He smirked at you and leant forward. 

"She's been working with us for a while, a dancer, she's amazing Y/n. She makes me laugh harder than anyone ever could." Ouch. 

"And let me tell you, she's got this laugh that would make angels blush." You nodded along with what he was saying as he continued to go into deep description about her and how she was everything he'd always wanted.

"There's an event this weekend and I'm going to take you, we'll go together and act like a couple to make her jealous." You frowned at his thought process, what made him think something like that would ever work. 

"It'll work on your guy too, and I know he works with us because you're always asking to come to the studios." You forced a laugh out to try and act as though he was right. The thought of spending the night with him in a beautiful dress, dancing and just together did sound appealing...except for the fact that he was doing it all to impress someone else, he was now giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes you'd ever seen him give you. 

"If I say yes will you stop looking at me like that?" You groaned looking over at him and he nodded, 

"You won't regret it! We'll have fun, promise. Wear something pretty for your guy! I've got to go," He got up from the table and hugged you, 

"You'll look perfect and he won't be able to resist you!" He yelled as he went out of the door, you watched him from the window and felt the tears welling up. 

"But he's you." You whispered to yourself, taking your cup over to the counter and saying goodbye to the workers, starting your slow walk home. How were you going to make it through the event without breaking down in front of him, watching him drool over someone else? Was that what your life had come to? Watching the one you love falling in love with someone else. Life really wasn't like the movies and you were starting to regret letting Namjoon convince you into buying different copies of romance books, all of the building up to the same storyline. The girl or guy would always get their dream guy. It was all a lie, everything was a lie. No one got what they wanted in their life unless they looked like Jimin or Jimins girl. It was just one night though, you could do that. If it would make Jimin happy you could manage it. 

Even though you'd been dreading the night all week you were starting to look forward to it as you got ready. You found a light blue cocktail dress, which had a high low hemline and it looked great on you. Nothing too flashy since it was just a small party at BigHit to celebrate the new comeback, everyone who'd worked on the album and videos were invited. 

"Good, you're ready, let's go," Jimin said not looking in your direction, he locked his phone and walked you out of your apartment and over to his car which was waiting for you. 

"You're driving tonight?" You questioned as you got inside, he nodded. 

"I want to be the sober one, in case she comes over. I don't want to make a fool of myself." You giggled at the memories of drunken Jimin. Whenever he got too drunk he would start flirting with anyone he could find, like he normally did but somehow when he was drunk it was funnier. Or the way he would start dancing on top of tables and dragging you up with him, claiming you needed to let loose. 

"It's not funny, she likes serious guys." You hid your laugh and stared out of the window. 

"Are you changing for her? Shouldn't she like you, for you?" He scoffed at you and started the car up, pulling out of your driveway and onto the road in silence. 

"What about your guy? Aren't you changing for him? You never wear heels," You looked at your feet, the small black strappy high heels on them. 

"I wore them for you, you wanted me to dress nice." You mumbled folding your arms across your chest and staring out of the window again. Maybe it was going to be harder than you first thought. 

"Your guy will die for them, so what's his name? What does he do and do I know him?" You laughed in your head if only he knew it was him.

"How does he make you feel?" He questioned as you reached a traffic jam, you looked at him as he stared forward at the road. 

"He makes me feel special like I'm the only girl in the world when he talks to me or when he grabs my hand." You whispered forgetting for a second that he was the one you were describing, you touched your own hand at the memories.

"Makes me feel free when I'm with him, I can finally relax and be myself with him. He makes me laugh so hard that I swear I have abs." He chuckled at you and you looked away from him, finally come back to earth and staring out of the window. 

"But it's one-sided, he likes someone else." You told him and Jimin shook his head, 

"Some people are so dumb!" You laughed along with him, 

"Yeah...So dumb." You whispered not daring to look at him again in case you started crying.

(X)

"Hey Y/n, where's Jimin?" Jungkook asked as he came over to the table you were standing at. You pointed over at the dancers and Jungkook followed your glance. 

"Ah, he's with Chan-Ri." So that was her name, Jimin ditched you the second you got to the party to go and hang with her. So much for making her jealous, all he was doing was making you jealous so maybe his plan would have worked after all. Jungkook looked back at you and then over to Jimin, 

"Don't let it get to you, he flirts with everyone. I'm sure he'll come back to your date soon." You shook your head at Jungkook, 

"Not a date. He's using me to make her jealous." He laughed at you and then looked down at your hand which was tightly grabbing the wine glass, so tight in fact that you knuckles were turning white. 

"Looks like he's making the wrong girl jealous." You loosened your grip and sighed. Even Jungkook noticed how much you liked him, so why was Jimin so blind to it.

"Come with me," Jungkook said taking your hand in his, walking you to the dance floor and smiling at you. 

"Jealousy is a powerful thing." He winked looking over at Jimin, Chan-Ri had told him a joke because his muscles were shaking and he looked like he was about to cry from laughing so hard. You felt your breath hitch and you kept your anger to yourself. She must have told him some lame joke and now they were bonding over it. Jimin bent over and slapped his knee, something he did whenever he was faking a laugh and you knew that because you'd known him for so long but Chan-Ri was looking right through it because all she did was laugh harder and slap his arm. The bright look on his face made you want to vomit everywhere but before you could pretend to Chan-Ri saw you and Jungkook dancing together and got Jimin's attention, you stared down at the floor.

"What are you doing?" He questioned you moving Jungkook out of the way and dancing with you.

"You looked like the plan was working, so I assumed I could have fun." He shook his head, turning you around so you couldn't see Chan-Ri anymore, which was a good thing because the way she smiled at you made you want to punch her in the perfect face of hers. She was probably a brilliant woman but you couldn't see past the fact that Jimin liked her and not you, which was selfish but you couldn't help it.  

"No, she told me a joke and I laughed, then she saw you and Jungkook and assumed I was here alone." You frowned not following along with what he was saying to you, 

"Now she thinks I'm some loser who can't get a date so I told her you were my girlfriend." Your arms dropped from his shoulders and you stared at him.

"Are you serious?! How is that supposed to work any better?!" He pulled you off the dance floor and away from anyone that could be listening to you both.

"She's invited me and you out to dinner with so she can get to know you better, she's interested in getting to know my lovely girlfriend," You blinked at him and then looked over at Chan-Ri who was smiling and waving at you both. 

"You are serious about this," You scoffed looking down at the floor, anywhere but back up to Chan-Ri's face. You couldn't even make it through a party, with other people there, how were you going to make it through a dinner with her.

"Jimin. You realise if she thinks we're dating, a couple, she's not going to want to date you right?" He shook his head at you, laughing as you didn't follow along with his logic. But was anyone going to follow along?! It didn't make sense what he was saying. 

"I'll owe you big time, it'll be just once." You stared at him, the big puppy dog eyes coming back out and staring down into yours, and you felt your heart thumping against your chest. Your heart taking over your mind. 

"Yes, fine." And he walked over to her to tell her the good news. 

"Not one-word Kookie." You warned as he walked over to you, he'd watched the whole exchange, he sighed at you and walked over to the bar with you. 

"Four shots of vodka and whatever he's having." You said tapping the bar and waiting for the bartender to do his job. 

"You going to drink on the date too?" You jabbed Jungkook in the side and started downing one shot after the other. 

Jimin had done nothing but call you for the last three days, making sure you were ready for the 'date.' Asking if you had something to wear or if you knew enough about him to pretend to be his girlfriend. You knew everything about him, but you told him yes and that you were ready.

"You're wearing that?" He asked looking at your black jeans, a blue cropped blouse and red converse. 

"What's wrong with it?" He stared at you and then up to your face. He'd always loved you dressed like this, he told you he loved when you dressed for yourself and nobody else.

"Nothing but it's just...It's not date material." You smacked him with your handbag. 

"We're going to a small restaurant, not a fashion show. I'm sure she's wearing something comfy too."

She wasn't wearing something comfy too, she was dressed in a black, spaghetti strap cami dress, which was so short you were scared she would flash someone if she bent too far forward. Chan-Ri had greeted you in a huge and then hugged Jimin, she'd come to meet you near the car so you could all walk to the restaurant together. As you walked Jimin took your hand in his and it sent shivers up your spine, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering so much you couldn't even think about eating and then you realised that he was doing it because Chan-Ri was watching. 

"Chan-Ri, when did you join Bighit?" You asked trying to make pleasant conversation, that and to stop yourself from thinking about all of the ways you could trip her up in the stupid heels she was wearing. 

"Call me Channie, and I joined last year and I've been best friends with Jimin since day one." You bit your tongue as she said that. He hadn't mentioned her until now, why? 

"That's so cute, me and Jimin have known each other sixteen years right hunny?" You faked a giggle and Jimin nodded, 

"Yeah dating a month though. It's still fresh." He chuckled and you nodded, knowing why he was saying that. Chan-Ri shivered as you walked closer towards the restaurant, she would have been fine if she wore real clothes, you thought to yourself. Jimin wasting no time however of slipping his hand out of yours and taking off his jacket and hanging it over her shoulders, keeping his hands on her for longer than he should have if he had a real girlfriend and she giggled, thanking him and you all continued walking in silence. 

(X)

"Jungkook?" Jimin asked alerting your attention, you'd just walked into the restaurant to see Jungkook sitting at your table waving at you.

"I invited him, I figured since we're all friends it would be fun!" Chan-Ri said going over to Jungkook and hugging him tightly. You didn't know she was friends with each of the members, you thought she was just close to Jimin which relaxed your mind a little. 

"Hey, Kookie." You said going over to him and giving him a kiss on the cheek, something you did when you met up with them all. Jungkook was like a little brother to you. 

"So, what are we having?" Jungkook asked sitting across from you at the table and you sent him a smile. Feeling a little calmer with him there, if anything got too much you could use him as an excuse out of there. 

(X)

You watched as Jimin got more and more upset over the night, he was watching Jungkook and Chan-Ri get closer and closer. Feeding each other and acting like a real couple while you and he sat there acting as though you hadn't seen each other there. 

"Jimin?" You questioned as he rushed out of the restaurant when Chan-Ri went to the bathroom, Jungkook stayed in his place and you followed Jimin outside. The cold air hitting you harshly. 

"What's wrong?" You questioned him but he looked pissed off and upset, you pulled him away from the doors and over to an alleyway. 

"What's wrong?! What's wrong is that she's in there falling for Kookie." You nodded and looked at him, he looked like he was going to start crying, 

"It hurts." You admitted and he stared at you in confusion, 

"What?"

"Loving someone who doesn't love you...Watching them fall for someone else." He scoffed at you, 

"You wouldn't understand." You felt a punch in your gut at that comment, 

"I wouldn't?" 

"No you wouldn't, yours is some stupid crush on some stupid guy who's clearly blind!" You nodded in agreement, 

"You're right, you are stupid and blind." He frowned and turned to look at you, you looked over at the restaurant and debated going back for your handbag but all was in it was a lipstick so you didn't need it.

"It hurt when I realised that you're not in love with me. But nothing will compare to the pain I felt when I saw you looking at her, watching you fall in love with her. So don't tell me what I do and don't know what it feels like Jimin! I know exactly how it fucking feels!" You yelled leaving him alone in the alley and going to find a cab ride home. Not wanting to be around him anymore. He stayed silent watching after you as his brain processed everything you'd just said to him.

"Y/n! Wait!" He yelled sprinting after you, you'd just gotten to a taxi bay when he caught up to you. You were bursting into tears and he rushed over to you, 

"Leave me alone Jimin." You told him but he grabbed your hand and tried to pull you away, 

"I'll take you home." You shook your head at him,

"I don't want you to take me home." You whispered wiping your eyes and looking at the taxi driver who was waiting for you to get inside his car. 

"Then call me when you get home." You shook your head, 

"Then I'll call you." You sobbed harder and shook your head, 

"No Jimin, please don't call me." You whimpered getting into the car and slamming the door behind you. Giving the driver your address and telling him to hurry up. You wanted to go home and cry into your pillow all night. Jimin shook his head, sprinting in the direction of his car, he wasn't letting this go.

"How did you get here before me?" You questioned as you walked up to your front door, Jimin was sitting on the step looking up at you. 

"I sped. Pretty sure I have a few tickets coming." You tried not to laugh at him, laughing would only encourage him so you just walked up to the door and took the key from your phone case.

"We have to talk about it." He told you but you stood in place, not moving an inch. 

"We don't. You love her, go and get her Jimin." You said to him pushing the door open and trying to keep him out but he pushed his way inside your apartment. 

"You wanted to fake date so you could get her, go and get her." But he shut your front door and followed you further into the apartment. Watching as you collapsed onto the sofa, softly crying to yourself and he wondered if he'd made you feel like this before. If he'd ever made you cry before and didn't even know it, 

"You wanted this too, you said yes to going out." You scoffed at him, turning around on the sofa to face him. 

"I wanted it?! No Jimin, you know for a fact I can't say sorry to you and you use it against me! You think if you look at me with your perfect eyes I'll go weak at the knees and say yes and you're right! I will! Because I fucking love you and I'm such an idiot for thinking you could somehow love me!" You yelled getting up from the sofa and looking at him. He'd never noticed how you looked when you were upset, he'd never seen you upset enough to notice. Your eyes were sparkling but not in a good way, in this way it that made him want to reach out and hold you. Hold you until you told him what was wrong but he knew what was wrong, he was what was wrong with you this time. 

"I could have handled one night and but tonight was hard. Watching you fawn over her as if she was the only person in the world...Then how you told me I would never understand when I've been in love with you for the better half of a year?! It hurt!" He said nothing he just stormed his way towards you saying nothing to you and just kissing you, his hands pulling you closer to him while yours rested against his chest, the kiss you'd been dreaming of was finally happening and yet you wanted to push him away and slap him, so that's what you did. 

"What now she's not interested, I'm suddenly good enough for you?!" You yelled at him but he gripped your head in his hands, forcing you to look at him while you cried to him, 

"You've always been good enough, more than that. Fuck, you're perfect y/n, I didn't think I could ever be good enough for you." You hiccuped, tears rolling down your face as he stared down at you, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his sleeve. 

"You've always been good enough." He promised, crashing his lips onto yours. Your hearts beating between you, he was so close to you that you could have sworn you lost the feeling in your legs because of the kiss, your fingers tangled into his hair as you pulled him closer to you, his lips were softer than you'd imagined and he was smirking against your lips, biting onto them and then chuckling as you moaned. 

"Are you sure you want to do this-" He shut you up by kissing you more and you relaxed against him.

"That first night I took you out, at the event." You nodded as you moved away from him, straightening your jeans and shirt back down. 

"Yeah?" You wanted him to keep going but he was staring at you. It was like a wakeup call to him that first night, the first time he'd seen you dress up and look pretty for someone and he felt jealous. 

"I was jealous...You were dressing up for someone else...Then I saw you with Kookie and I felt my blood boil. I couldn't stand the thought of someone else touching you." You stared at him,

"After tonight I was going to stop everything, especially when you came down in your jeans and top, you looked beautiful without trying. You were just being you and I realised I liked you more than I ever could like Channie." You frowned shaking your head at him, 

"But at the restaurant..."

"I had to get out of there without looking like it was because I was falling for my best friend, then you broke down and I knew I had to tell you." You shook your head at him and walking closer to him again, taking your hand in his and smiling up at him. 

"You're a dork Park Jimin." He chuckled at you and kissed your nose, 

"I hope I can be your dork though." You bit your lip pretending to think on it for a moment, 

"I think that can be arranged." You giggled, kissing him and smiling against his lips.

Tagline: 

@yourguessisasgoodasminemate​ @yoongisdumplingcheeks​ @snowy-meowl​ @lynnthevirgo​ @btsiguess-kpop​ @babymochichimmy​ @ficdump101​ @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ 

[adenei]

Always a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride - Chapter 4

a/n: Surprise! 2 chapter updates in one weekend? You bet! Enjoy way more Ron in this one (and from here on out!)

Ao3 || FFN

Ron

“So...what made you so desperate to call me?” I asked as the bartender handed us our drinks. Hermione knocked back her gin and tonic so hard that I wondered if I should be concerned.

“I don’t want to talk about it. That’s why I called you,” she responded as she glared at me out of the corner of her eye.

“Ah, so wedding related. Another wedding to plan for? I thought you liked them,” I teased. 

“And I thought you’d make good on your promise not to talk about them, but clearly not. Maybe I should get going—”

“No! I’m sorry. I was only kidding. I’ll stop,” I said quickly as she pretended to get up. At least I hoped she was pretending. 

“Alright, but you’ve already had two strikes. One more and I’m gone,” she warned. 

There was something about her. I don’t know if it was her feisty personality, or the sole fact that she wanted nothing to do with me, but it was driving me crazy.When she called,  I was already starting to think about what ‘plan B to get Hermione to talk to me’ might entail. I was already a week in and no closer on the story I’d promised. Luckily, it didn’t come to that, and I had to thank whoever it was that rubbed her the wrong way on this fine evening.

I watched as she slammed another drink. “Maybe you should slow down a bit,” I suggested as she signaled for another.

“I’ll pay for it if you don’t want to. You did say ‘a drink,’ after all,” she retorted.

My ears grew hot when she brought up money. “It’s not that. I just don’t think you should be drinking away your feelings.”

“Oh? And what do you reckon I should do instead?” she scoffed. 

“Well, talking about the issue is out so, I don’t know. Tell me about yourself instead? Isn’t that what people do on dates?”

I knew that got her attention as she turned to look at me. “Do you not date often?” she asked suspiciously.

“The field I’m in isn’t exactly one that gives me time to date.”

“But you said you’re a writer. Doesn’t your type just write when the inspiration hits?” she questioned.

I snorted at her words. “I’m not a freelance writer. I do have a job with normal working hours, and those hours tend to keep me wrapped up on weekends.”

“Well, forgive me. In my defense, you do give off the freelance vibe,” she said haughtily.

“Okay seriously, what’s got your knickers in a twist? You’re even worse than you were when I helped you get home after that wedding,” 

Something was bothering her, and I wanted to know what it was. She couldn’t be this condescending all the time. I knew she didn’t want to talk about weddings, but there was no way around it if this evening was going to be enjoyable at all.

She sighed as she stirred the ice in her glass with the straw. “My boss just got engaged to one of my good friends.”

I eyed her suspiciously. Something didn’t add up. “Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?”

“Y-yes, it is! Of course it is! I just have this feeling she’s going to ask me to be the maid of honor, and I’m not sure I have it in me to take on that role.”

I was watching her carefully. There was a sadness underneath the layer of indifference she was trying to give off. I probably should be more sympathetic toward her feelings, but I couldn’t resist what came out of my mouth next.

“Says the woman who was just in two weddings the other weekend. What makes this one different?”

“The pressure that I’ll have to make it perfect. My boss already depends on me for everything at work. Which I don’t mind at all! I love my job! I’ll probably have to end up planning every detail. His fiancée isn’t exactly the type who’s planned out anything for her own wedding.”

“You could always say no…” I reminded her. She looked up and stared blankly at me. “You do know how to say ‘no,’ right?”

I meant it as a joke, but the split second of anguish on her face said it all. “Of course I know how to say no!” she said defensively, but it lacked conviction.

“Nice try, but something tells me that’s not true,” I prodded.

“Well, that’s your opinion. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to help people in need.” She was sounding less and less convincing as our conversation went on.

“Do you want to help them?” I asked.

“Yes, of course! I mean, maybe—” Hermione bit her bottom lip, not wanting to admit that maybe she didn’t want to help them after all.

“Alright, why don’t we play a little game. I’ll help you practice saying no,” I suggested as I flashed a smirk her way.

She laughed. “Like I’ll have any problems saying no to you.”

“Game on, then. Would you like to go out again sometime?” I asked casually.

She snorted. “No! This is bad enough as it is.”

“Come on, you can’t honestly tell me you’re having a horrible time. I’m not that bad, am I?” I pressed. I wasn’t going to give up that easily.

“Well no, but you’re still not my type,” she said.

“So, you’re having a good time then,” I countered.

“You’re a good distraction to my current situation and that’s all,” Hermione said with a smile grazing her lips. She clearly thought she’d won, but I wasn’t done.

I lowered my voice and gave her my best sincere, yet pleading look. “Give me a chance, Hermione. Just one more date. We’ll enjoy a walk in Regent’s Park and then I’ll take you to dinner. When I take you home, I’ll be the perfect gentleman, only giving you a kiss goodnight if it’s what you want. It will be a fairy tale of a first date.” 

At some point in the middle of my invitation, I’d placed my hand over hers. I could see in her eyes that she was starting to break. She looked as if no one had ever proposed such a nice evening to her before. I started to smile as I sensed a victory, but I must have started celebrating too soon.

Hermione pulled her hand away and pointed to me as she said, “You almost got me. Nice try!” A playful smirk crossed her face.

“Damn. Where’d I go wrong?” I asked.

“The kiss goodnight. I’d rather walk into oncoming traffic,” she said, her face completely serious. 

I burst out laughing. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you’d rather die than kiss me?” 

“Maybe.” She was a horrible liar. The straight face she managed quickly gave way to her own grin as she laughed along with me. 

“Alright, alright, I guess you won that round. Hey, you don’t mind if I try your drink, do you?” I reached my hand out and picked up her drink. 

“Yeah, I—wait, no!” She was still laughing about the earlier conversation that she didn’t fully register what I was doing until I’d already taken a healthy swig. ‘That wasn’t fair!” she said as she swatted my shoulder with her clutch.

“I didn’t make the rules,” I joked. “That drink is bloody horrid, by the way.”

~o~

The next morning I woke up to my phone ringing obnoxiously. I looked at the screen. “Seriously? You couldn’t have waited ten more minutes?” I groaned as I sat up and flipped open the phone.

“If it isn’t my long lost sister who’s been back in town a week and a half, yet still hasn’t graced me with her presence. To what do I owe this wake up call?”

“Oh, shut it, you git. You were the one who bailed on me when my train was due,” my sister said.

“Sorry, I had plans. Not my fault you waited until the last second to ask me to pick you up.”

“Well, luckily I can count on my friend to pick me up when my own flesh and blood can’t,” she snipped.

“Friend? You mean your neighbor?” I clarified.

“One can be both a neighbor and a friend, you know. I think you’d like her very much if you ever met her,” she slipped in the conversation.

I rolled my eyes, not that she could see. “I don’t need your help with dating. I’m perfectly capable of finding women on my own.”

“Mmhmm. Is that why you’ve never brought anyone home for Christmas?”

“Oi! You know how serious Mum is about when someone comes for Christmas dinner. You only bring a date if you intend to marry them. Last I checked you’ve never dared to cross that bridge, either.”

“Well, that’s why I’m calling you actually. I got engaged last night!”

I wasn’t sure I heard her properly. “You what? Ginny, that’s not funny. You only just arrived back in London!”

“Yes, well, I met Harry at a party the night I came home, thanks to my neighbor! She invited me along, I bumped into him when I arrived, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. He’s perfect, Ron. Mum was right! When you know, you know,” Ginny gushed.

“Gin, it’s been what? Ten days? I know how Mum believes in true love, but even this is pushing it,” I argued.

“I know it’s crazy, but I was thinking of stepping down from the league and switching to Reserves anyway. This could be the perfect transition into normalcy for me, and I really think you’ll like Harry. Give him a chance, will you?” Her voice sounded sincere, but I was still hesitant.

“I don’t know, Ginny…” I rubbed my temples as I tried to wrap my head around everything.

“What if you covered the wedding? Then you could get to know him a bit better, and we could spend more time together!”

“And if I say no because I don’t approve?” I asked her skeptically.

“First off, you don’t get to decide who’s suitable for me. I’m perfectly capable of deciding for myself.”

“Do you even have a second thing to say or are you just trying to sound sophisticated?”

“You won’t be disappointed,” she said with an air of confidence that only my sister, Ginevra Weasley, could pull off.

“And if Mum and Dad ask, I knew nothing about any of this,” I said seriously.

“Great! I’ll text you the details of where to meet us for our first interview!”

I heard her hang up the phone before I shut it and tossed it aside. I flung my head back on the pillow. Something wasn’t sitting right with me, but if there was one thing I knew about my sister, it was that I wasn’t going to change her mind.

Hermione

I woke up the next morning with a slight hangover. Maybe it was all a dream. That was the mantra I kept trying to follow as the day wore on. It was working until lunchtime rolled around and Jenny strode into the office. The first thing I noticed was her ring sparkling in the sunlight from the windows.

I assumed she was going to head over to Harry’s office. They probably had a celebratory lunch date or something planned out, but instead she marched right into mine. I looked up, trying my best to seem excited and happy for her.

“Hermione!” she said eagerly. “Can you believe it? I’m still reeling. It’s like my very own fairy tale come true,” Jenny said.

“It’s wonderful! I’m really so, so happy for you both!” I said with a forced smile.

Jenny frowned a bit. “Don’t worry, your time will come soon. I just know it. Better to wait for your perfect guy than settle for the first one you see, right?”

I was thankful she took my lack of excitement for self pity as opposed to jealousy. “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” I told her, even though on the inside I was screaming that I’d already waited long enough.

“Do you want to go get lunch?” she asked me, much to my surprise.

“Oh! I thought you were here to get lunch with Harry,” I said as my eyes diverted to his office.

“Well, yes, but we wanted you to come with us! I have something important I want to ask you,” Jenny said hopefully. I knew exactly where this was headed. 

“I have a lot of work to do, today, Jenny. I’m really sorry. Rain check?” 

It wasn’t an outright no, but I figured maybe Ron would still be proud that I hadn’t said yes right away. Wait, why did I even care what he thought?

“Are you ready to go?” Harry said as he joined our conversation. I looked away as he leaned in to kiss Jenny.

“Hermione says she’s too busy to join us,” Jenny told him.

I looked sheepishly at Harry. “I do have a lot of work to get done.”

“Really, Hermione? I hear your boss is a prat. Tell him to bugger off and come get lunch with us!”

I couldn’t help but laugh at Harry’s insults toward himself. “Well, if you insist, I guess I can slip away for an hour.” I grabbed my belongings and followed them out. 

We walked a couple of blocks to one of my favorite cafes near the office. After we ordered our food, Jenny pulled a small gift out of her bag and handed it to me.

“What’s this?” I asked in confusion.

“Open it and find out,” she said, grinning. 

Even Harry looked excited as I began to gingerly unwrap the gift. It was a small jewelry box. Inside was a thin rose gold bangle, whose metal was tied in a knot on the opposite side of the opening. There was a card behind it that said ‘Will you be my maid of honor?’ in loopy calligraphy.

Everything Ron had tried to prepare me for went out the window as I looked up at Jenny with tears in my eyes. I’d gotten so used to being hired out that I missed out on all of these nuances that happened when friends were meaningfully asked to be part of someone’s big day.

“I hope you like it. I’m not one on jewelry or fancy things like that myself, but you’ve been such a great friend and neighbor to me over the past few years that I couldn’t imagine asking anyone else to stand beside me,” Jenny explained sincerely.

“Of course I will, Jenny! It would be my honor!” I said, slipping the bangle over my wrist before getting up to hug her. “Thank you so much.”

“No, thank you!” she said, squeezing me tightly. “I promise it’s not because you’re a wedding connoisseur,” Jenny added.

As I pulled away and settled back into my seat, I laughed lightly. “Well, I wasn’t thinking that, but now I’m not so sure,” I teased.

Thankfully, lunch became more enjoyable after that, even though it was still a little awkward being around them together. My heart still ached, and I knew how hard this was going to be to help Jenny plan her wedding to the man of my dreams, but she’d been such a good friend to me that I had to.

Once we finished eating, I checked my phone. “I’d better be heading back. Wouldn’t want the boss to think I’m abusing my title as assistant to take a longer break than I’m allotted,” I said as I gave Harry a knowing look.

“Actually, I was hoping you’d ditch work this afternoon to help me start planning,” Jenny said hopefully.

“Oh, I don’t know—” I started to say before Harry cut me off.

“It’s okay, Hermione. Take the afternoon. I’m sure I can handle things on my own. You rarely take any time for yourself,” Harry told me.

“But—”

“Think of it as a task I’m asking you to complete, if that helps,” he said, his eyes shining mischievously.

“Well, fine, if you insist. But don’t be surprised if I put in for overtime depending on how long it takes this task to complete,” I joked.

“Now that’s taking it too far,” he said, keeping up the banter.

“Alright, alright, that’s settled. Now let’s go!” Jenny said as grabbed me arm and began pulling me towards the exit. “I want to see all those newspaper clippings and ideas you’ve got from the other weddings you’ve been in!”

Jenny and I returned to my apartment where she broke open a bottle of champagne as we sat on the couch and I showed her Billy Weston’s articles. After I was convinced she was growing bored of them, I moved on and showed her some of the pages in the two scrapbooks I’d made from the weddings I was in. We talked about countless venues, and everything from food to flowers to dresses.

“Well, I promise I won’t make you wear a hideous dress like some of these women have done. How have you been in so many weddings, anyways?” Jenny asked me.

“Oh, I—I just enjoy helping people,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush.

“You know that many people, though?”

“Something like that.”

It wasn’t a full on lie, but it also wasn’t the full truth either. I still wasn’t entirely comfortable with anyone other than Lavender knowing about Wilkins Weddings, and I also didn’t want Jenny to feel like she should pay me, either. 

“What’s this scrapbook?” Jenny asked as her eye caught the final book in the drawer that was still open. 

“That’s my parent’s wedding album,” I said as Jenny carefully picked it up. 

I looked over her shoulder as she flipped gingerly through the pages. “It’s absolutely gorgeous. Did they get married in London?”

I nodded. “Yes, at the Winchester House,” I said. I’d never told anyone, but there were so many elements from their wedding that I hoped to use or recreate for my own, including booking the Winchester. 

“I’ve heard of that place!” Jenny said. “Your Mum’s dress is stunning as well. Not many dresses are timeless like that, you know?”

“I do.” 

It was a vintage style dress; the ball gown was made of tulle and an overlay of lace applique. The bodice was modest with intricate beadwork and laced long sleeves. I’d actually found a more updated style of the dress not too long ago in a bridal magazine, and I cut out the picture to stash in my dream wedding shoebox. Instead of the beadwork on the bodice, the dress contained the delicate lace applique throughout and it had an iridescent shimmer with a spaghetti strap sleeve. It was my dream dress.

Hours passed and it was only when Jenny’s phone rang that we realized what time it was. I had to be honest, I really did have a wonderful afternoon full of wedding talk. I found it was easier if I pretended that Harry wasn’t her fiancée.

  “Hi! I’m so sorry, I know I’m late. I’ll be there in fifteen!” I watched as Jenny hung up her phone. “I’m so sorry, I’ve gotta run. Thank you so much for sharing all of this with me, I’ve got so many good ideas and I can’t wait to tell Harry and start calling vendors tomorrow. I’ll keep you updated alright?”

“Of course. Enjoy your evening!” I said as I watched her rush out the door.

~o~

Friday surprisingly flew by in a flash. For once, I left the office right on time. I was looking forward to a whole weekend of me time! The first one since the wedding season had begun.

“Yoga at ten tomorrow!” Lavender reminded me as we went our separate ways.

When I got home, I did a little cleaning that I’d been neglecting, and then ordered takeaway for dinner. It’d been a long week, and I honestly just wanted to watch reality shows on the telly and eat pizza. That distraction worked for a while, until one of the shows had its fair share of wedding drama. 

After crashing back into my own reality again, I decided to try and take a bath. I’d only just settled into the water when my phone rang. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said to myself as I reached around to see who it was. Of course it was Jenny.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hey, Hermione! I hope I didn’t interrupt anything?” Jenny asked.

“Nope, nothing at all,” I said, hiding a sigh that desperately wanted to escape my lips. Just what was supposed to be a relaxing bath.

“Okay, great! So, I wanted to fill you in on some good news! I made lots of progress today on wedding plans.”

I chuckled. “I thought you and Harry had decided on a longer engagement. Why the rush?”

“Well, all last night I couldn’t get the images of the Putney Winchester House out of my mind! So I called them today, about five times actually. Normally they’re booked out for at least fifteen months, but they had a cancellation this morning!”

I felt like I’d just been punched in the stomach. She didn’t know that’s where I wanted my wedding to be. It was my fault that I never told her, but— “That’s great. I’m assuming you booked it?”

“Yes! It took a bit to get Harry on board, but the wedding’s in three weeks!” Jenny said excitedly.

“I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly? Are you sure you don’t mean months?”

“No, Hermione, it’s weeks. I know it’s mental, but with you by my side helping me plan I know we’ll be able to pull it off! I booked an appointment with a few bridal salons on Sunday, and my mum is going to come to town to shop with me. Plus we’re going to visit a few florists as well.”

I was honestly surprised she was taking the lead on a lot of the planning, and it actually put my mind at ease a bit. “You have been busy!”

“Yes. Now, I could only get an appointment with the cake shop for tomorrow afternoon. Would you mind tagging along? Harry insists he doesn’t care what flavor we choose, and I need someone who’s going to be a bit more decisive. Plus, there’s someone I want you to meet, as well.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” I said hesitantly.

“Please, Hermione?” she begged.

“Alright, what time and which bakery?” I caved.

“Fourteen thirty at the Chelsea Cake shop! Oh, and one more thing: I don’t want to offend you or anything, so I wanted to see if you’d be okay with this. You see, I need another bridesmaid. I don’t want to ask any of my sisters in law, and I don’t really have a lot of friends because I travel so much.”

“Your brother’s married?” I couldn’t help asking before she finished.

“Not the one in London, no, but I have four others who are. Oh, and another who’s still stag.” 

“Wait. Jenny, you have six brothers?”

“Guilty,” she admitted.

“Wow, and none of your sisters in law are suitable?” I tried to keep pushing forward so I wouldn’t stay stuck on the sibling thing.

“I mean, I could, but how am I supposed to pick which one? Anyways, when I was doing some research on other things, I happened to find an add for Wilkins Weddings. Have you heard of it? It’s basically a bridesmaid for hire service. I was thinking I could call them to help me out.”

Shit. I needed to do something, and fast. “No! I mean, yes, I have, but I have another idea!” I said quickly.

“You do?”

“Yes! Do you remember my friend Lavender? The one who works in accounting at the company?”

“Hmm, yeah the sassy one who’s always hanging out in your office?”

“Yes! I think you’d like her if you got to know her. I’m sure she’d be willing to help out. You know, for Harry.”

Jenny was silent for a moment. “Well, I wouldn’t want it to be an imposition or anything…”

“It won’t be! I’ll talk to her tomorrow and have an answer for you. How does that sound?”

“Only if you’re sure. Thanks, Hermione! You’re the best. I’ve got to get going though. I”ll see you tomorrow!”

“Bye,” I said as I shut my phone and set it on the floor.

I sunk down into the now lukewarm water. This was going to be a nightmare. Three weeks to plan a wedding? And Jenny unknowingly swiped my venue out from underneath me. Not to mention I’d just volunteered Lavender to be a bridesmaid. She was going to kill me.

~o~

“Three weeks?” Lavender hissed as we were beginning our sun salutations.

“Yes,” I groaned under my breath.

“How is that even possible? And didn’t you have your heart set on the Winchester House?”

“Yes, but that’s not her fault. I never told her,” I said in defense of Jenny.

“Well, I still don’t think any of this is right. Your pining or her rushing.” 

The instructor cleared her throat, and I gave an apologetic look. Lavender just looked annoyed.

“There’s one other thing,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Ugh, what? Is it something that will allow me to slap her now?” Lav asked.

“What? No! She’s not a bad person, Lav. She needs another bridesma—”

“NO. Hell no, I am not helping out some bitch I barely even know!” 

I winced as the instructor shot Lavender a death glare. We were going to get kicked out, I just knew it. “She found an ad for Wilkins! I had to do something! She doesn’t know..”

“So what? You volunteered me?”

“Well, considering I’m already in the wedding…” I muttered. “I’ll pay you,” I added quickly. 

I wanted the conversation to be done and over with so I could actually enjoy the relaxing qualities of the class. I was going to need it for the afternoon I had ahead of me.

“Fine! But it’s only because I care about you. And I swear if she even thinks about fu—”

The bang of the gong sounded, cutting Lavender off. I mouthed ‘sorry,’ as Lavender shot the instructor a contemptuous look.

“Last time I checked I didn’t see a ‘no talking’ sign,” she said as the instructor cued us into the next flow.

I didn’t respond as I shifted my focus into the class. It was still a rough conversation, but at least Lavender agreed. Somehow I had a feeling that this was only the beginning of a very hectic few weeks to come.

[ohsofoxyclocks]

‪So, I have many thoughts about the finale ending that I haven’t even sorted out my feelings about yet BUT posts on here have helped me see the positives in the ending...Yes I’m still bothered by some of the beach conversation and the TIMING of Steve’s temporary leave and the fact of what we see last on the screen despite knowing Steve will of course return, but I’m going to put that aside to focus on OMG WE JUST GOT AN ALMOST WHOLE EPISODE STRAIGHT FROM A FANFIC THAT I ABSOLUTELY LOVED. I know much of this has been discussed so I apologize if it’s repetitive, but a bunch of my favorite McDanno fanfiction tropes just actually happened in canon and I just...still can’t believe we actually got all of it? So I wanted to make my own list, and feel free to add on or expand or share your thoughts about any of these!! Let’s take stock (warning, this is long!): ‬

‪-Danny calling Steve in distress, Steve immediately leaving his important cipher mystery meeting to get to him. Can already see Steve starting to freak out before the gunshots ring out when he looks out the window and stutters. ‬

‪-Gunshots ringing out OVER THE LINE, and Steve very obviously starting to panic. Drives like a maniac (still confused on how going INTO oncoming traffic was supposed to help but I digress). Steve yelling Danny’s name repeatedly desperate to hear his voice‬

‪-arriving at a burning camaro, screaming Danny’s name (fun tip: play this bit in slow motion!), and STICKING HIS ARM IN A BURNING CAR/catching himself on fire when he thinks Danny could be inside‬

‪-You can hear the creeping desperation/emotion in Steve’s voice as he’s giving orders to HPD (“Detective Danny Williams-MY PARTNER-you know who he is”)‬

-Steve actually mobilizing the whole island to find his Danno. (Again, something I never really expected to see outside of a fanfic). “I want every person on this island with a badge looking for Danny Williams”‬

-Steve’s face when he walks into HQ with Cole and the tears in his eyes when Tani is showing him the kidnapping footage ‬

‪-Just the whole “An enemy of Steve’s uses Danny to get to him”!!!! I always wanted it but never expected it so explicitly ‬

‪-“I HAVE THE PERSON YOU CARE ABOUT MOST IN THE WORLD.” GUYS—IT DOESNT MATTER WHATEVER ELSE HAPPENS BECAUSE THIS IS CANON BABY. We knew it, everybody knows it, but now it’s confirmed. When rewatching the series, remember this<3 also part of me is like, will all the other criminals hear about this and try to do the same when Steve comes back since Steve put up no fight in giving in to Dayui Mei’s demands? Isthiswhyheleftsoquickly‬.

-video footage of Danny strung up and bloodied...fanfic come to life. Steve’s face when he sees this....‬

‪-Steve looking like he’s gonna simultaneously collapse, panic, and murder someone when Dayiu Mei is asking him what he will do‬

‪-Steve not hesitating to give into Mrs. Wo Fat’s demands bc any risk is too risky when Danno is involved‬

‪-The team trying to get Steve to give a flying fart about the cipher when Danny’s life is on the line and Steve still not giving a flying fart. ‬

-Steve finding Danny lying helpless on the floor. His whispered “Danny” when he first sees him (you have to listen close for this because the dramatic background music is super loud at this point).‬

‪-His little stream of soft, comforting reassurances as he’s getting Danno to the car. Danny holding onto him‬

‪-CRADLING BLOODIED, STRUGGLING TO-BREATHE-DANNO TO HIS CHEST IN HIS ARMS. My mom, who doesn’t ship McDanno romantically but loves their friendship, when this happened: “whoa! That’s a little much (gay), don’t you think?” Hehe, no, it’s perfect. ‬

-More tears from Steve as he’s holding Danny on the way to the hospital.‬

-Steve’s comforting reassurances and refusing to let go of Danny on the gurney until he’s absolutely forced to. DANNY REACHING FOR HIM, Steve’s reassuring pat. Steve’s face as he looks down at him fearing how dire this is.‬

‪-Steve’s face as he collapses against the wall when they roll Danny through the double doors, closing his eyes, trying to calm his breathing as he tries to avoid thinking about the unthinkable.‬

-STEVE BARGAINING WITH GOD FOR DANNY’S LIFE. After not seeing him pray before I don’t think? His face...that emotion...omg. He very obviously can’t imagine living in a world without Danny in it, and would rather die than do so. ‬

-Side note: Imo, Steve seemed closed off to the team—physically and emotionally—when he wasn’t sure Danny would make it. Almost as if we got a glimpse of the Steve he’d be without his Danno, if that makes sense. Notice how he’s turned away from them in the waiting room/chapel, how he didn’t even look at them when Danny was wheeled away through the double doors. How he didn’t give an eff about the cipher they were trying to get him to care about. Not that he doesn’t have beautiful Ohana bonds with the other team members because of course he does, but...it’s just different with Danny and I don’t know how he would’ve made it through this one, especially considering his already struggling state at the time. I think we kind of saw a glimpse of that, is my point. They both helped each other grow since first meeting, and it was almost like that part Danny helped bring out in Steve went away with Danny when Steve thought he might lose him. If that makes sense? More on this later? ‪

‪-Steve holding unconscious Danny’s hand❤️❤️❤️ Closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath right after taking his hand (anyone want to gif this moment? ;) )-side camera view of this moment so was hard to see but it’s there. Seeming to look at the machines for reassurances that Danny is alive, healthy. Scanning him over and likely feeling guilty for the marks on his body. Holding his head in his hands by Danny’s bedside.‬

‪-the whole conversation when Danny wakes up! Danny, probably a little doped up, all sweet and reassuring and cuddly and funny. “Why’d you stop holding my hand?” and Steve immediately taking his hand back and rubbing his forearm I think (this was out of the camera angle tho so idk for sure). Steve’s voice tinged with so much emotion when he says “Buddy.” And, Steve being emotionally vulnerable/open again bc his Danno is back!! This whole scene I just fhdisksml. ‬

‪-Steve’s smiling and squeezing and wrapping his arms around Danno like an octopus when he hugs him (I wish we had some additional slightly different camera angles of this hug-as was shown in the promo for example-but I digress again). Danny closing his eyes for a moment, seeming to savor it. Steve getting Danny to look him in the eyes to tell him he loves him. To me, this scene had a very “see you again soon” rather than “goodbye” vibe even though I wish there were parts of the dialogue that were different. ‬

‪-Steve slowing down, looking unsure, and turning back to look at Danny before he leaves. Anyone wanna analyze this? Maybe just a “I know I need to do this so I can come back and be the person I need to be for both of us but fuqqit imma miss you while I’m gone” or “I need to leave so no one can use/hurt him to get to me again right now.” Or just “hey maybe this isn’t the most genius plan.” Idk, but I would LOVE to hear Scott and Alex’s take on this scene. Also they filmed this scene before the show was ended by CBS so who knows how that factored into it. If they thought there would be a possible reunion later?

‪-Telling Eddie to look after Danno, which definitely means Danny will be keeping his house/bed warm til his hubby returns.‬

‪-fleeting thought I have that I might expore later: possible acting choices in the difference in hand holding/smiles between with Danny vs. Catherine?Notthepointofthispostthosoweskipfornow‬

‪-I might post thoughts on other things later but I mainly just wanted to compile this list of straight-out-of-fanfic moments that 100% confirms Danny IS the most important person in Steve’s life and OF COURSE he will return and text/call him everyday til then. Regardless of the end, which is really so open that we can do so many beautiful things with now, most of the episode served as a beautiful culmination of what Steve and Danny have come to mean to each other throughout the last 10 years, and we can rest peaceful and happy in that. ❤️‬ (this is also me still trying to convince myself to be okay with the way things were left on the beach/the conversation, etc)

I would love to hear y’all’s thoughts about any of this!!‬ if you made it this far—I apologize again for the length but lovey boys call for lovey rambles

[nny11writes]

Declarations, Mental Health, and Other Things You Never Asked Me to Explain About Myself but I’m Gonna Anyways

Ok, it's been almost a year since my last update on this and I wanted to explain myself a bit? And also share my story a bit??? 

This is all personal stuff so no need to read if you can’t handle it right now or don’t want to handle it. You’re not obligated to, but I felt it was important to share all this.

Here’s hoping the “Keep Reading” link works!

cw: anxiety, depression, mental health, suicidal ideation, nightmares

SO. Last year I had been working in a hostile working environment under an abusive supervisor for 2 years. One of the things I had done a right before I got that job (and was unemployed, depressed, and heavily suicidal) was I picked up writing fanfiction again. I had been in about a two or three year dry spell where I was writing fanfiction but never posting. Just writing it for me. And then I'd unceremoniously dropped all after posting a Mass Effect fic that had great response/reviews. Because the pressure was too much for me.

I found SW: TCW while unemployed and desperately seeking something to help lift my spirits and distract me from my known but untreated mental health. I wanted VERY desperately to find something enjoyable in life again. I was literally only alive because I was afraid of where my cat would be placed when I died. I kept seeing interesting meta posts from MyLordShesaCactus and AlexKablob about someone called Barriss Offee and someone called Ahsoka Tano. Deciding that I had literally nothing to lose I gave the show a watch.

It was a lifeline. During a time where I regularly had nightmares of being a robot that was torn apart and decommissioned, or dreams where I'd barely nick myself and suddenly start bleeding out, SW TCW became an obsession. I was years too late to the fandom but I still found active people and love for this girl who was a little Too Much and a little Too Pushy and a little Too Scared to Fail. Ahsoka hits all my bingo slots for characters I project heavily onto. And soon enough my nightmares, while still consistent, were no longer a given. Sometimes I dreamed about star wars instead. The first time I had a dream where I WAS Ahsoka Tano I woke up and cried because I'd felt so good.

Then I got hired in what I thought was a life affirming and saving way, and instead was shoved into a different kind of hell. I became so depressed that first year that I self harmed by starving myself and denying myself sleep. Which, of course, makes it worse. I started writing "Twilight" as a way to cope with my increasing intrusive thoughts about suicide and physical self harm. Then it became a way to deal with intrusive thoughts about wanting to harm others. I needed an outlet and was denying that I need medication to manage my mental health.

I didn’t expect anyone to read it and like it. I thought people would hate it. Because it was awful because I’m awful, and therefore nothing I did could be good.

But people did like it. A lot.

Then I was escorted to Psychiatric Emergency Services because I wanted to kill myself on the job. The whole episode is a little weird in my mind, time warped a bit and I remember crying nonstop and being unable to stop shouting, but when I look back what I remember most is feeling completely calm. Calm and soft and light. I think that was due to me finally verbalizing my thoughts and seeing that others did care. That I wasn’t some worthless pest to them. When I got to PES enough time passed that I got my panic attack under control, and when a psychiatrist finally saw me I downplayed the whole incident out of fear I was going to be institutionalized. I was scared as fuck in my little temp room in my little plastic chair staring at my hospital band and desperately hoping that none of the other people there would talk to me. So when I saw professionals I lied. I got a doctor’s note to stay out of work for two days and went home.

I finally had to admit to myself that I was not doing well. I was not handling my anxiety or depression. I was not ok and that it was ok to not be ok.

I was still scared to get professional help.

Instead, I spent that November participating in NaNoWriMo, where I wrote what would later become the first several chapters of “The Apprenticeship”. The first installment to the Close But No Cigar AU. I decided that I wanted and needed to write something that was happier. Ahsoka Tano made me happy and I wanted to do something good, anything good (for once in my fucking life). And convinced that I’d never done a good thing and never could, I decided to do a good thing first for a fictional character. So in I went to a story where Ahsoka Tano was an anxious wreck of a person, but had support and help and love. Into a world where Anakin Skywalker got the sort of help he needed. A place where they could all still meet and be friends and be family. Not somewhere with no pain, but somewhere softer.

The next month I finally got a PCP, and at the ass crack of 2017 I finally got medicated again.

I had already posted the first chapter of The Apprenticeship and energized by the meds and the reviews I got hard to work on finishing that story.

Funny thing about medicine, it’s a hassle and often the first thing you take is a unique struggle that requires adjustment. My first medication seemed great! For about two weeks! Then I developed a hand tremor so serious I couldn’t feed myself. That night I seriously struggled to not drive my car into the oncoming traffic lane and avoided all bridges on my way home from work. What I took helped my depressive symptoms but made my anxiety worse. The hand tremor was also a serious and rare side effect. The next day I was off that medicine and on a new one along with gabapentin to help the tremors.

Writing was difficult as fuck with my fingers shaking and twitching on the keyboard but I needed it as much as my medicine.

The new stuff worked out much better for me, we tweaked the dosage and I’m still on it. I’m glad to be on it!

Let’s do a little time skip shall we? That summer, a year after my experience at PES, I started writing Declarations. I wanted to see more Ahsoka & Obi-Wan content. They seemed like two people who should be close friends, have more of a father-daughter relationship, and general be together more than they were on screen. I found the idea of two Temple raised Jedi, who seem to break a bit from the mold and thinking of the Order, exploring their feelings for one another to be fascinating. I quickly realized that it would work really well to show that they are both mentally ill as well. I don’t like the term “mental illness” but it is accurate so I use it.

So I seeded it in from the start. I wanted to have two good people with anxiety and depression and PTSD and who knows what else find each other and help each other out! I wanted Ahsoka and Obi-Wan to be happy damn it!

So I started writing the story I wanted to see.

And unwittingly did what I had already been doing, pouring my own personal self into the story.

I’m not saying that putting some of yourself into your writing is bad, it really isn’t! Writing can be an amazing tool to explore your own experiences and sort your own feelings. I had been using it for over a year at that point to help cope with my own awful experiences, many of which I was still having to live with and through.

What happened for me is that I put a little too much of myself into this story. At the same time I was doing that my supervisor had gotten even stranger and in some ways worse. I didn’t have daily dread of being fired but I still had daily dread over who I would find when I arrived. My supervisor came in two flavors: Angry and Blaming, or Sweet and Frivolous. I still can’t decide if she was really just that abusive or if she also could use a helping hand in the mental health department. I really can’t. She did abuse me verbally and emotionally at work, she did gaslight me, she did scare me. I’m not saying that she wasn’t an abuser at all but I just don’t know if she was that way because she needs help too.

I hope she gets help if she needs it. But I’ll be grateful if I never have to see her again in my life.

Back to Declarations.

I put too much in and it had great reviews and lots of love, and I got very nervous and defensive over it. Too defensive and nervous over it. I really want to shout out to White_Ithiliel again, because she really helped me make this fic A LOT BETTER. Like, A LOT. Y’all don’t even realize what she has saved you from!! In the process she also has had to deal with my wild anxiety issues and defensiveness.

Seriously, thank you for everything you’ve done for this fic and your endless patience with me!

The latest chapter I wrote in the spring of 2018, we started going back and forth with edits in the summer, and then I panicked over a good question and point she made. She wrote back and I very nervously peeked at her cropped response (the “show less” version) sometime around October 2018. My abusive supervisor had left but I had been asked to work with/under another lady who wasn’t not my supervisor. She was almost equally bad in another direction for me. My anxiety spiked and my depression got terrible again around the time we were working on this chapter. I saw literally half a sentence and read it weirdly, panicked, had a good cry, and closed the document.

I literally haven’t been in the head space to look at it since then.

My best friend moved in with me that fall, but he’d just had a suicide attempt a few month before. My own mental health, as I mentioned, was plummeting. This past winter my depression got out of hand. I stopped going to my band practices, I nearly stopped writing, I was exhausted. The only reason I didn’t go back to eating poorly and treating myself like shit was because he was there, and just having someone be physically there who I knew cared about me made a huge difference. If I had popcorn for dinner too often, he’d make us a frozen pizza. If I drank too much (and I abused alcohol this past winter for sure), he was there to help me with the hangover and violent sickness. Thank god for my best friend! My suicidal ideation went up but I didn’t become suicidal. This was the first winter in almost a decade where I haven’t wanted to seriously kill myself at some point. I had flashes of it, moments where the bottom of the world dropped out but they lasted for minutes or hours instead of weeks and months.

I talk to him a lot about my fics and fandoms, and he very patiently listens and helps me work through it all. He lets me read him what I’ve written or what I’m reading if I think it’s funny, and we talked a lot about this chapter of Declarations and my reaction to a sincere question regarding its content and characterizations. He offered to look at the chapter with me and see what my editor/beta’s response had actually been versus what I was afraid it was.

I turned him down in November for that because I realized I needed space and time away from this particular fic. This story where I made myself into Ahsoka and Obi-Wan and Anakin, which I could no longer separate the fictional world I had created from the emotions I was feeling about my “real life”.

White_Ithiliel, I am so SO sorry I never responded. I know my silence was probably anxiety inducing too. I want to say again that you didn’t do anything wrong or rude or mean to me. I just wasn’t mentally in a place to be doing what I was doing, and needed to turn myself off and on again.

Today, after having a full week of writing and nearly daily updating fics I enjoy I realized that my life has changed since winter.

I am at a new job with wonderful people that I really enjoy. It pays better so I’m also less stressed about money. My benefits finally kick in today and I plan on getting me a therapist soon along with a new PCP. I’m doing alright. I’m doing better than I have in years.

A huge part of that is thanks to having people PM me here on tumblr and being so genuinely enthusiastic about the stories that I write. So here’s to you all for helping me through my funk over the years, giving me ideas, and giving me a damn good laugh! dontcallmebugaboo

thirdbroomstick

woeful-woods

bobkitten

Gabby(Kirasoka)

And of course ithiliel-the-french-tolkiendil (AKA White_Ithiliel)

Y’all have been life savers, maybe even more so than I realized until I decided to write this whole crazy thing out!

Thanks to all of you, even those who just leave me a kudos or a like, I’ve been trucking along. Fandom has literally saved my life multiple times, and probably will again.

So today, feeling high on my new found writing powers, I finally went in and finished editing for the latest chapter of Declarations! Hell yeah me! :D

That said! I’m putting it on a formal hiatus!

I have the next chapter written (not edited) and several chapter ideas throw out on the page, but I also think I still need more time away from this story. I want to finish Declarations (y’all don’t understand how BADLY I WANT TO FINISH IT), but I also know that right now, where we are, we are literally on SEASON ONE, EPISODE 2.

Legit the next chapter takes place after the malevolence (AKA Episode 2 of season 1).

And we are currently over 32k in.

This is gonna be a long ass haul fic everybody. I didn’t expect it to be, I didn’t mean it to be, I wasn’t planning on it. I meant for it to be maybe 10 chapters and be super vague about the timeline.

But I think I’m just as much in love with this story as a lot of you are and dang it I want more! That means I have to write more, and that means I need to give myself space to actually be approaching it as a story.

And not as something I wish was happening in my life.

To anyone still reading, thank you, this thing was long than some of the stories I’ve written! But I wanted to share this. Yes, to explain why Declarations is currently in carbonite. But more importantly to talk about mental health.

Mental health fucking sucks my dudes. It’s hard and it’s messy and sometimes it comes out of nowhere and then leaves after eating your favorite snacks and cold clocking you at 3 AM.

I’ve been on a hell of a journey.

And a lot of you are too.

I’m not “tumblr famous” and I don’t think I’m any sort of well known fandom writer. But There’s enough of you out there that I wanted to post this in case you need to know that you’re not alone out there.

If any of you EVER need to talk, please shoot me a message! I’m legit down to talk about my fics, about your fics, about meta, theories, characters, what ifs, AU’s, etc. I’m ALSO legit down to talk about mental health and all the messy things that come with that. If you want to chat with someone about your fears, your ideation, your intrusive thoughts, HIT ME UP!

You’ve all been here for me, even though you didn’t know it.

I’d like to return that favor. So anytime, anyplace, please hit me up. I promise, nothing you’ve done is unacceptable or beyond the line. 

After all, in case you’d like a breakdown of the way I had a breakdown this last year, in the span of 10 hours I literally: 

Accidentally self inserted myself into a fic and didn’t realize it until asked about why characters were acting that way, got angry over someone not knowing what I didn’t even know especially when it wasn’t explicit, then immediately felt like the Worst Person ever for getting mad and anxious, went home and cried ugly sobs on my cat, debated if I deserved to live before immediately deciding that DUH OF COURSE I DO, but that I was just a sad sack and everyone knew it, ate one single can of vienna sausage directly out of the can for dinner, washed it down with waaaay too much box wine, cried again about fictional characters because I had “ruined” them, asked my best friend (drunkenly mind you) if I was a good person because I thought I was secretly the worst and a manipulator b/c I self inserted myself into my own fanfiction, and then spent the next 6 months or so anxiously opening and closing my google doc in fear of What I Might Learn About Myself or worse the discovery that I Had Been A Bad Person b/c I stated my thought process out clearly but obviously that’s just “mean” to do because I am a bad and can’t not do mean or something! 

Like...I get why I did it but fucks sake me. It took a lot of broken logic to get there. Looking back I don’t know how I did that actually. This is a self call out. I am @ing myself.

So, yeah.

Not sure how to end this. So...uh, feel free to talk to me if you want to!

[my-fanfic-soul]

No Need to Regret: Chapter 26

From the Beginning

A small hand wrapped around mine as the plane started to bank, the pressure of it turning to start it’s decent pressing my stomach against my spine.  I took a deep breath, trying to keep the mediocre in-flight meals firmly in my stomach as I coached myself through the anxiety of landing.  I schooled my own face so that Olivia, who was terrified, wouldn’t know that I was just as scared.

“It’s almost over,” I assured her as I took in Bethany’s hands gripping her arm rests until her fingers were white.  Only Ethan, the certified adrenaline junky in the family, looked completely at ease, straining to see out the window at the ground growing large below us.  “There will be a bit of a bump when we touch down, but that’s it.  The pilots know what they’re doing.”

The flight had been a long one and I couldn’t put into words how happy I was that the plane was about to land, anxiety be damned.  The kids had been great, but a nine hour flight as your first flight was a lot to ask for anyone.  Near the end they had all started getting antsy and I’d had to squash a few squabbles, but I couldn’t blame them.  All I wanted to do was stretch my legs, get out of this seat, and take a shower.

Seeing Niall just felt like a bonus at this point.

“It’s just like a really long roller coaster,” a kinder older man from across the aisle offered supportively.  He had noted that nervous excitement before we took off and had kindly chatted with them while everyone was boarding.  As a more experienced flier, he was just trying to be nice.  He had no way of knowing they had never been on one of those, either.  The kids just nodded politely.

By the time the plane touched the ground, I thought Olivia was going to break my hand.  She whimpered quietly when the plane bounced and rocked back and forth, but as soon as the plane obviously had all wheels on the ground, she relaxed.

“Don’t unbuckle yet, but make sure you have everything together,” I told them as I started running a mental tally of everything that had come out of my own carry on and making sure it wasn’t floating around in my seat or under my feet.  The second the plane reached the gate and the fasten seat belt sign turned off, Olivia was up out of her seat, backpack over her shoulder as she bounced excitedly.  There was nothing nervous about it anymore, it was just energy.

“You have to be patient,” Bethany told her knowingly, even though her own backpack was already in her lap and she was sitting at the edge of her seat.  Olivia stuck her tongue out at her, but that was all she did.

To be fair, it was the happiest I had ever felt about standing up when it was finally our turn to get out of our seats.

Olivia looked up as we were getting off and asked, “Is he going to be waiting for us?”

I put a hand on her back to keep her moving forward so we wouldn’t get in people’s way.  “Nope, I’m afraid not.  He had work stuff this morning, but he’s supposed to be meeting us for lunch.”

“How are we getting there?” Ethan asked, hoisting his backpack up higher on his shoulder.

“He has a driver coming to pick us up.”

Olivia looked perplexed.  “He pays someone to just… drive him around?”

Ethan looked equally confused.  “And you wouldn’t let him pay for us to ride in first class?”  He had been annoyed when I told him we were flying economy at my request and hadn’t really given it up, yet.

“No, he doesn’t just pay someone to drive him and his friends around.  This is only because logistically he can’t pick us up.  It’s like calling a cab, you can set up a time in advance.  The driver will pick us up at the airport, drive us to the restaurant, and then leave.  This isn’t the musical Annie.”

I kept Olivia close to my side while we made our way to baggage claim and then through customs.  She let go of my hand when the sign “FREEMAN X4” being held by a middle-aged man came into view, awe in her voice as she said, “Is that for us?”

I couldn’t help but grin at the excitement in their eyes.  “Yep, looks like it probably is.”  It was a small touch, probably not even one Niall had planned, but from the looks on their faces it meant a lot to the kids.  It was good for them to feel special from time to time.

A quick conversation confirming who we were, and we were being led out the door and to a waiting car.   “This is so weird,” Bethany muttered as the car pulled into traffic on the left side of the road.  I didn’t disagree, being on the wrong side of the road was disorienting.  It felt like we were preparing to drive into oncoming traffic.

We hadn’t much more than gotten out of the airport before Ethan was pointing at a row of houses, all connected with little to no front yard, and saying, “Their houses are so weird.  Are they all like that?”

“A lot of them,” the driver said cheerfully.  “Less expensive building that way.”

Ethan still looked surprised.  “There’s space between the houses in Harry Potter,” he muttered quietly and it took everything in me to not laugh out loud.

Next it was Bethany excitedly pointing out a bus in front of us.  “The red double decker’s are real?!”

There was a collective note of surprise as we passed what Ethan declared was, “the fanciest McDonald’s ever.”  I was glad they were here with me for my first trip to the U.K., their innocent fascination with what seemed normal to everyone around us was nice.  The driver was more than polite, answering questions from curious kids and doing a convincing job of not thinking we were dumb Americans.

When we got to the restaurant, instead of dropping us off on the street, he pulled into a little alleyway with only a few parked cars.  I was about to question it when I saw Niall step out of his Land Rover.  In a second, all the tension I had been carrying drifted away.  I didn’t remember unbuckling or getting out of the car, but I sure as hell remembered Niall’s smile widening as I rushed towards him.

His arms were around me and his voice was in my ear as he whispered, just for me to hear, “I’m so happy you’re here, love.”  As soon as he let go of me, he was scooping Olivia into a hug.  “Hey, kiddo,” he greeted her before planting her feet back on the ground and reaching for Bethany and Ethan at the same time.  “How was the flight?”

“Olivia watched the same movie three times,” Ethan said.

“Yeah, but it’s not like you could hear it.  You had your own screen and headphones,” Niall said simply.  How quickly he had managed to deflect that one was impressive.  Ethan had definitely said it with the full intent of riling up Olivia.  Niall opened the tailgate on his car, seemingly not noticing that the twelve year old was looking at him flabbergasted, most likely not thinking that Niall would so effortlessly thwart his plans.  Niall looked up and said, “Ethan? Help me with the luggage?”

Between Niall, Ethan, and the driver it was only a work of a minute to get all four suitcases and carry on bags shoved into the back of the car and once the driver was on his way. Niall led us back around to the front of the cafe.  A few words were exchanged with the woman who greeted us and we were being led to the back of the cafe to a table as far from the windows as we could be.  Even with that precaution, Niall instructed the kids to sit with their backs facing the street.

“How’s Noah?” he asked once we were all seated and our drinks ordered.

“Bummed he couldn’t come along,” I told him as his hand pressed into my thigh gently.  He knew that I hadn’t felt right leaving him behind. “Baseball’s more important right now, though.  He couldn’t miss the game this week and he knew that.  He’s staying with Brad so he doesn’t have to drive as far, so that’s nice.”

Olivia piped up with, “He’s getting to spend time with Levi and none of the rest of us have even met him yet.”  She was referring to our newest nephew who had just made his grand entrance last week.  Sarah was grateful for another set of hands to help with Jonah, so he wasn’t causing them undue stress.

I had been nervous about how awkward things might be without the buffer of a Christmas party this time, but Niall was a natural at getting them to talk to him about school and the trip here.  Even Ethan was enthusiastically recounting a goal he made in PE last week during a soccer match.  This was only adding to my theory that Niall could make friends with a brick wall.

When our food had been dropped off, Niall turned to me and asked, “Did you have anything that you wanted to do today?”

Originally there had been plans.  There was a museum I had wanted to go to, something relaxed but got us up and moving around.  I didn’t want to waste a moment of this opportunity to expose the kids to something besides Houston, but I hadn’t really counted on sitting on my ass for nine hours being so exhausting.  Niall noted the look on my face, the guilt mixed with a deep desire to just relax on a comfortable couch.  “The museums will still be there tomorrow. London isn’t going anywhere overnight.  I’m sure you’re all tired, so we can just go back to my place and relax for today.”

I was grateful when Bethany said, “That sounds great. I barely slept on the plane.”  Olivia echoed her own lack of sleep, but it was Ethan that I was watching.  He had slept on and off for most of the flight, so he wasn’t tired.  To top that off, he wasn’t normally the type to enjoy just sitting around when there was an opportunity to do more.  I was shocked when he reluctantly nodded in agreement, but I went with it.

---

The adrenaline started wearing off a bit towards the end of lunch, with Livy’s eyelids slowly becoming heavier and heavier.  As we headed towards the car, Niall leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Did you sleep at all?” I shook my head and his hand rubbed my back, “Of course you didn’t.”

As we drove, Niall pointed out things like his favorite shops and kept a running commentary on traffic. He kept us laughing with his explanations on the British obsession with roundabouts and saying that traffic is the main reason he’d take his chances walking and riding the tube most of the time.

“Wouldn’t the sidewalks just be full if everyone walked?” Olivia asked, her curious eyes following someone with rainbow dreads.

“Aye,” Niall agreed. “They do get packed, but it’s easier and safer to dodge a human than to dodge a car.”

“Chicken…” Ethan muttered in a stage whisper and everyone, including Niall, laughed again.

The kids asked questions the entire drive and Niall never hesitated to answer them, even if they seemed a bit silly, like when Ethan asked if cars worked differently because they drove on the left instead of the right side of the street.  He didn’t laugh until Olivia, eyes wide enough to reflect the high rise in its entirety, asked as Niall turned into the drive for an underground parking garage, “Woah! Is this your house?!”

He chuckled as Bethany asked, “You have your own parking garage?”

“No, this isn’t just mine.  I have a flat, way up near the top.  Tons of other people live here.”

“So, you have roommates?”

His eyes were glittering at their obvious confusion, but he controlled it well.  “No, I don’t.  It’s like what your sister lives in, an apartment building.  There’s a couple of flats per floor, we don’t all live together.  It’s just me in my flat.”

Ethan’s voice was quiet as he muttered, “This isn’t like any apartment I’ve ever seen…”

“They have some in Austin and Houston like this,” I told him as Niall pulled into a spot.  “We’ve just never been in them.”

Once everyone was out of the car Niall pulled out all of the luggage, keeping mine and Olivia’s suitcases in his hands.  “Come on, lift’s this way.”

“What’s a lift?”

Niall had every reason to start getting annoyed.  Olivia and Ethan were questioning every minor difference between small town Texas life and this, but he continued to be the sweetest he could be, patiently answering their questions.  “You call them elevators in the states.”

“Oh, good,” Livy sighed.  “I thought were going to have to climb stairs to get there.”

Shaking his head with another chuckle, Niall tapped in another access code before walking into a grand foyer.  “Hey, Albert,” he greeted a man sitting behind a desk who waved back.  Quieter, as he ushered everyone onto the lift, he said, “That’s Albert, he’s one of the security team for this building.  There’s always someone around the clock.  They watch out for anyone being shady, but they won’t give you trouble while you’re here.”

The second Niall opened his door, the kids exploded in admiration.  Even I turned to Niall and said, “Wow, this is really nice, Irish.” Everything was modern and clean, just like Niall had told me he liked to decorate his bachelor pads, but there was still something that felt familiar about it.  It was very Niall, even without the picture frames filled with photos of Niall’s travels and some of his concerts.  The most Niall part was definitely the guitar placed conveniently next to the couch.

The most impressive part, the bit that had all of us gravitating towards it, was the floor to ceiling windows that showcased a wonderful view of the city.  Olivia turned to look at him, awe in her eyes as she declared, “I can’t believe you live here!”

Niall replied simply, “I can’t either.”  My heart softened at the look on his face, but he didn’t pause for sentimentality.  He moved towards a small hallway on the other side of his kitchen.  “Beth, Liv, you’re going to be sharing a room over here.  Sorry, Ethan, but you’re going to be on the couch.  I’ve only got two bedrooms in this place.”

Livy looked up at me, pure innocence as she asked, “Where are you going to sleep, Keni?”

I could feel my face turning three different shades of red as Bethany coughed to cover up a laugh.  Looking up, I saw the back of Niall’s neck was as red as I felt.  “I’ll be sleeping in Niall’s room.”

“But he’s a boy!” she argued and I could feel the heat radiating off of my face as I started steering her towards the room her and Beth would be sharing. I hadn’t really considered the fact that our own family’s beliefs or not, she had been raised in the conservative south.  Even at seven she wasn’t too young to have been exposed to those expectations.

“Yes, he is,” I told her, mouthing an apology to Niall as I pushed her into the bedroom.  He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.  “And we’re dating, so we’re going to be sharing a room.”

“You aren’t married,” Olivia pressed, not bothering to keep her voice down at all.  From the living room I could hear Bethany guffawing and Ethan snickering.

“We are not and that’s ok.”

Niall regained his footing and I heard him tell the other two, “Alright, real funny.  Go unpack your suitcases and make yourself at home.  Ethan, there’s a closet over here you can hang your shirts in and you’re all sharing a bathroom, so you can put your shower stuff in there.”

“But Jessica Gates says…” Liv started

Of course, the child that loves to parrot her dad’s sermons was the one that Olivia had decided to latch onto.  “Jessica Gates can say whatever she pleases.  There’s nothing wrong with two adults sharing a room, rather they’re married or not.  Which side of the closet do you want your shirts and dress hung on?”

It took some more deflection before I finally got her distracted enough to drop the subject of where I would be sleeping.  I left Beth to help her get the room settled for a week and headed back into the living room to check on Ethan.  I found him sitting next to his suitcase looking sheepish and on edge.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

His voice was quiet, but defensive, like he was waiting for me to yell at him so he could yell back as he said, “I forgot my toothbrush.”  I didn’t say anything, taming my own frustration as I remembered calling up the stairs at my dad’s house that they needed to double check to make sure they had all their toiletries.  “I don’t have any underwear, either.  I forgot it in the dryer.”

Great. Perfect. I couldn’t help but immediately think he had done this on purpose.  He had been so deliberate in trying to push buttons, trying to get me to react, lately that I couldn’t help myself.  Made even more frustrating by the fact that he had seemed to be doing so well today while we traveled.  He had been in good spirits and had even helped with the suitcases without being asked at the airport.

I had just wanted things to go smoothly.  For this trip to be what his spirit needed and for Niall to see the good side of all three of them while we were here.  Selfishly, part of me was wondering why the attention of getting to go to another country wasn’t enough.  Why did he have to get in trouble when he was already getting more attention than he would at home?

But looking at him now, I saw the embarrassment in his eyes and I felt guilt bite at my gut.  He was being confrontational now because he was trying to mask his own embarrassment at having left behind things that were so important.  No twelve year old wanted to tell his sister that he had forgotten his underwear in an entirely different country.  Taking a deep breath, I said, “Alright, after we rest up, I can take you to try and find some new ones.”

“I’m not tired.  We can go now.”

I sighed, “I know, but you slept on the plane.  I did not. We can go later.”

“But my teeth feel gross now!”

I could relate.  I really could.  All I wanted to do more than nap was change my clothes and brush my teeth.  I could hear our sisters already freshening up a bit.  Being on a plane made you feel gross and intercontinental flights were even worse. I felt like falling asleep on my feet, but I also knew that Ethan was going to take it personally if I didn’t try to accommodate him.  Normally, I would hold my own, but I didn’t want to expose Niall to Hurricane Tweenager this early in the trip.  He was embarrassed about forgetting his things and I was embarrassed by his attitude lately.  On top of that, I felt guilty that I had expected the worst of him and I didn’t know how to make up for it.

Niall cut in, I hadn’t even noticed him standing in the kitchen that opened out into the room.  “I can take you,” he offered, reaching for the jacket he must have just taken off.  “Your sisters can sleep and I’ll drive you to the shops.  I know where everything is, anyway.”

“You don’t have to do this,” I whispered as Niall moved over to where I was standing, his hands casually in his pockets.  The look he gave me told me was one of deliberately oblivious innocence.

Out loud, he said, “It’s not a problem, really.  You’re dead on your feet, Kendra.  I’ve got this.”  I felt guilty for foisting Ethan on him right now, when the effects of international travel were obviously starting to catch up with him.  But I was tired and I knew that if we went off while I was already agitated, that Ethan and I were just going to feed off of each other.

Finally, I relented, “If you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate it.”

---

The boys gone, I checked in on the girls, and then retreated into Niall’s room.  I had seen it enough over FaceTime, but I think even if I hadn’t, I would know this was Niall’s room.  It smelled like him and it gave off an aura that was as familiar as Niall was.  The golf clubs sticking out of the closet were a bit of a dead giveaway, too.

While I brushed my teeth I couldn’t help but think that it was probably a good thing that the house in Texas was going to have two separate sink spaces.  I would never describe myself as messy, but standing in Niall’s bathroom, I knew we were on a completely different level of “clean.” Everything was in its place and there wasn’t a single water mark anywhere to be seen.  I was very conscious about not leaving a trace of toothpaste in the sink when I was done. I could only hope that years of traveling with other boys had prepared him for having three kids in his house for a week.

Back in his room, I dropped down on top of the comforter, noting that it felt like I was cuddling with five hundred of his jackets.  He was going to be lucky if I didn’t smuggle one of these pillows home with me, they were the most comfortable things I’d ever put my head on.  The mattress, though, was still a little too soft.

That did nothing to affect my ability to nap, though.  After barely sleeping Thursday night and not sleeping on the plane at all, I think I could have fallen asleep on a cheap, half inflated air mattress with little to no complaint.  I was dead to the world until I heard the soft click of the bedroom door gently closing.

I sat up in a rush, confused by the haze of a long nap until Niall’s smirk came into better focus.  “It’s just me, love,” he teased as he moved across the room.  “It is my house after all.”

“How could I forget?” I replied.  “Your bathroom looks like it’s ready to be on the front cover of some magazine at any minute.”  I watched as he went to his closet and started pushing shirts aside and taking out hangers.  It occurred to me that I had fallen asleep before I had hung up the things that I didn’t want to get wrinkled.

As I quietly started slipping things onto the hangers Niall was handing me, I asked, “How was shopping with Ethan?  He didn’t give you any trouble, did he?”

Niall shook his head as he sat down on the bed, reclining back on his palms as he watched me.  “No, he was great.  I don’t think he’s used to me enough to be deliberately rude, to be perfectly honest.”  Absently, he straightened a crease out of one of my shirts.  “I’ve had more talkative company, but he was helpful with picking out some snacks and the like for while you’re here.  He’s more attentive than he wants to admit.  He could tell me exactly what each of you would like.”

“He is a sweet kid.”  The guilty feeling was back.  I hated that my immediate thought was that he was going to get into trouble or say something rude.  I wanted to be able to blame it on me being cranky from being tired today, but a small part of me knew that today wasn’t the only day I had jumped to those conclusions.  I couldn’t blame it on a long day of traveling.

One of his thumbs caressed down my arm, pulling me out of my thoughts before Niall stood up, collecting the pile of clothes on hangers to go put in his closet.  “I know he is.  Life’s just stupid hard and he’s got the short end of the stick so far.” His eyes caught mine, holding them as he said, “Things have been hard for all of you.  Your heart’s in the right place, Kendra.  You can’t always be perfect.”

I turned back to my suitcase, making sure everything else was folded up neatly before I zipped it back closed.  “I just want things to be good while we’re here.”

“This doesn’t mean things won’t be good while you’re here.  Keni, that was barely anything at all.  Traveling is rough, but this trip will be good for all of you.  I have a brother, I know what it’s like.  You don’t have to pretend that you’re all some perfect sitcom family.  Now that you’ve had some rest you’re going to go back to being the fair person I know you are.”

“You’re probably going to regret saying that, and inviting us, after you have to listen to Ethan and Bethany going at each other’s throats.”

Soft fingers brushed against my chin, turning my head so I was looking directly into Niall’s eyes.  “I’m not going to regret anything. I’m really glad you’re here, Keni.” My heart melted as his face leaned closer to mine, but before he made contact he stopped and smirked.  He leaned back a bit, so he could see my reaction as he said, “Are you sure we should be kissing?  I don’t think Jessica Gates would approve.”

“Niall…”

“No, no, no,” he teased, pulling farther away while I glared.  “I don’t want to get in the way of your being right with Jesus and the pastor.”

Fingers bunched around the front of his shirt, I pulled him to me with a bit more force than I had intended as I growled, “Oh, shut up and just kiss me.”

I didn’t have to tell him twice.

Master List

Chapter 27

[m000000000ved]

back with a readmore because that was fuckin Long

fuckin hate that i can't vent on twitter about. anything because of a weird combination of children idolizing my shitty behavior and/or people knowing where i actually live that could call the cops on me even though i'm fine whatever anyways

i'm SO fucking frustrated at my inability to figure shit out on my own like. i sure am having impulses to do 25 different things at once and they all suck but there's no way it's ALL because of the work situation and even if it was i have no idea how to deal with that, there's no possible way for me to make that situation suck less

i need to go to the store because i'm out of toothpaste and need to pick up a prescription and i straight up just can't keep putting that off but i'm still tired as fuck from taking too much sleep medicine and i just want to go to bed again and not deal with shit and i really really really don't feel comfortable resisting the impulses to either go buy alcohol or drive into oncoming traffic although for the second one it would really blow if i came out fine and my car was wrecked so i know i don't ACTUALLY want to do that but i still get the urge to do it semi-regularly and can't figure out why

there's like three people i've been leaning on for support a lot lately and they all have their own issues goin on and as much as i appreciate that i feel straight up bad about asking help from people that are doing just as bad or worse than me

esp honey doing bad w ED shit like how do i go up to a friend of mine that is also trying to recover and be like "hey i really miss making myself vom lol what's poppin how do i deal w that" when that's a thing he is doing exceptionally bad with himself rn

all my problems feel like stupid teenage girl ways to deal w shit except drinking for whatever stupid fucking reason INCLUDING venting online because it feels inherently attention seeking and i know it doesn't actually do dick to help but it's like. getting shit off my chest + i can look back later to be like "yeah this is when i felt this way what did i end up doing to fix that" if that makes sense

also idk how to convince lily to break up with her abusive boyfriend which feels Incredibly Bad because it just makes me think of various shitty exes and her excuses for breaking up are the EXACT kind of shit id tell myself to pretend things were fine with various people but they're not and idk how to get through to her and it's weirdly making me wish i had those shitty people back

but then it's a giant dick move to be like please stop talking about how you're being horrifically abused ❤️ because it's triggering to me and my feelings are more important than you getting help w that ❤️

i can't believe i have 14 more days of sitting around doing literally nothing except trying not to do my whole-ass laundry list of shitty ways to cope. i know i need to find other ways to deal with suit but the big one i've been using lately is WORK and i CANT DO THAT so i really want to keep popping sleeping pills and keep myself unconscious so i don't do something stupid but oj pointed out that's, yet again, me using drugs to avoid dealing with my problems so i shouldn't do that

really wish i could just figure it out and be like ok here's the problem here's a thing we can do to work on that, cool, good work everyone but instead i'm like surely going to get just one bottle of wine wouldn't be that bad. i can definitely drink just one or two beers to unwind a bit and that's cool. i could absolutely just pop over to my mum and stepdad's house and smoke a bowl with him and be absolutely fine since i have plenty of time to deal with withdrawal and i won't have to deal with withdrawal of i just keep smoking consistently enough

i know i need to reach out to someone but i ❤️feel like a burden❤️ and the endless cycle of "get help -> avoid doing something bad right now -> feel bad for not being able to handle things on my own/guilty for wasting peoples time on being my fuckin babysitter -> back to feeling bad again" obviously ain't it! i think i need to just try and manage help better like instead of depending on people every goddamn day try to at least manage for a few days and make sure i only talk to people about things i know they don't also struggle with although. that kind of precludes honey from everything except drinking and puts way too much on everyone else that i don't necessarily want them up in my shit about

whatever in the next few days i have physical therapy and that'll at least keep me kind of busy

[aesjae]

Amnesia Pt.1 | Taeyong

A/N: I decided to write an angst scenario since I realised most of my scenarios/ reactions are quite fluffy (?) HAHA I actually quite like angst a lot… Do enjoy!

Pt.1, Pt.2

Reader’s POV

Summary: After an accident, Taeyong, your boyfriend, was left comatose, and you were forbidden by families on both sides from meeting Taeyong again. After a few months, you were informed of Taeyong’s awakening, only to be struck with the news that he had lost most of his memory. You still loved him, you never stopped, but did feelings on your part matter when the guy you loved did not even know who you were?

Word Count: 2,437

Style/ Genre: Scenario/ Angst

Date posted: 31/07/17

6 months.

That’s how long it has been.

The last time I’ve seen or heard about him.

6 months.

And I’m still not over him.

Zero.

It all happened because of a mistake I made. A mistake that cost me a whole lifetime of regrets. 

“Babe, let me drive today, okay? Just rest during the ride, you haven’t been feeling well nowadays.” Taeyong said gently, a slight frown on his worried face.

“Noooo, I want to drive today! Please? I got my driver’s license 2 weeks ago and you haven’t once let me drive the car… Please?” I had pleaded to Taeyong, trying my best to make puppy eyes so that Taeyong would agree. I knew that Taeyong would always go soft whenever I was whiny while requesting for something.

Taeyong sighed, “Okay, but just for today okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’ Who would have known?

It was one mistake, and it was merely within a span of seconds. Swerving, colliding, breaking, crashing. It was all chaos and in that few moments, I suddenly understood why people thought that a mere few seconds were so crucial.

During that day, I was driving on an empty road with a speed that was higher than recommended for beginners. However, after some persuasion, I managed to convince Taeyong that it was fine. Moreover, the road was empty, right?  

I was turning into a blind spot, and I had not known before due to the lack of traffic, that I was in the wrong lane. Before Taeyong or I could consciously process what was happening, our car had collided with an oncoming car, and with the high speeds of both cars, there was a huge collision.

I could never wipe the horrific scene off my mind even if I tried all my life.

Groaning, I opened my eyes. There was a pungent smell of soot and smoke in the air.

What happened? Where am I? I’m alive?

I moved my arm, feeling sharp pain surging up my elbow. I looked down. My whole arm was bloodied. Crimson red blood dripped down from my palm to my elbow, accumulating a pool of red underneath my feet. From head to toe, there were streaks of blood, and it was a gruesome scene.

Suddenly, I thought of Taeyong. I snapped my head to my left, hoping to see Taeyong alive, breathing, safe. 

He was still unconscious.

His head was leant against the front of the car.

His arms were twisted at odd angles.

His seatbelt had snapped.

Frantic, I unbuckled my still secure seatbelt and rushed towards Taeyong’s side of the car. I grabbed him by his shoulders and turned his unconscious body towards me, hoping the force of my actions would wake him up.

Taeyong’s forehead had a deep and huge gash across it, staining his gentle pink hair into a sticky mess of crimson, viscous liquid. He definitely wasn’t in a good shape.

Shakily, I hovered my finger underneath his nostrils – weak breaths. Weak, but he was alive. 

Horrified yet relieved, my exhausted body could not take it anymore as my brain clogged with running thoughts. My slumped body laid in the car seat with Taeyong in my arms, unknowing tears falling from my eyes into Taeyong’s hair as I sobbed uncontrollably, praying for help to come.

One.

A month after the accident, I had fully recovered and was finally released from the hospital. I had not heard from Taeyong ever since. Every time I questioned my parents and my friends who had come to visit me over the past month about Taeyong, everybody would suddenly drop to dead silence, and each and every one would awkwardly avoid my gaze. For a moment of time, I had thought that Taeyong, the love of my life had died, and the thought of it broke me apart. However, I had occasionally seen a few of Taeyong’s close friends walking around in the hospital from my room’s small window on the door, and that had reassured me of Taeyong’s survival.

I definitely did not understand everybody’s avoidance of the topic on Taeyong, and I had not seen his parents ever since the accident either.

On my last day in the hospital, I decided to look for Taeyong’s room without my parents’ knowledge.

Room 508, Lee Taeyong

Apprehensively, I walked in. The room was so quiet, and there was only the beeping of machines that could be heard. 

‘Had I come to the wrong room?’

But there he was. He laid on the hospital bed underneath the sheets with an absolutely peaceful face, with the kind of expression that everybody in the world would envy – worry-less and free. Yet, it was too quiet. Instead of being relieved by the sight of Taeyong, it gave me more chills and nerves. My heart had naturally beat rapidly at the sight of him, but the slow steady heartbeats shown on the machine beside Taeyong’s bedside indicated that something was off.

All of a sudden, I heard the room’s door open. In came in a lady with an elegant dress, however, it was evident that she was under immense pressure, for wrinkles had decorated her entire face, and heavy eye bags hung under her eyes like out-of-place ornaments. Taeyong’s mother was a wonderful and beautiful woman, so what had happened over the past month?

Upon seeing me, the melancholy expression on Mrs Lee’s face immediately transformed into one of extreme rage and hatred, and suddenly I was quivering in my spot under her intense glare.

“You! You wretched (Y/N)! It was you who caused my son to be in this state, it was YOU who caused him to be in an unwakeable coma! All because of YOU! You aren’t a blessing to Taeyong, you are a curse, a witch, a tragedy- Get out of here and never, NEVER let my family or Taeyong see you again!” Mrs Lee’s yell resonated across the whole hospital room, yet the steady beeps of the heart rate monitor struck me back to reality – Taeyong was in a coma, and all because of my one mistake and stubbornness. It was all because of me, that the man that I loved was in such a state. Me, me, me.

A constant stream of tears flooded my face, and I stumbled out of the room, my heart beating strongly in my chest, but that only served as a mocking reminder of how my heart and Taeyong’s would no longer beat in unison again. That was the time that Taeyong was forced out of my heart and life.

Two.

2 months, 61 days. The amount of time that had passed was agonising, and every day I couldn't help but think about Taeyong. When I heard my name being called out on the streets, my body reacted instinctively, hoping it was a call from him. But when I saw a guy slinging his arms onto another girl's shoulder, wide smiles on both of their faces, I knew that that was the past that I could see, but could never go back anymore.

4 years that I had been together with Taeyong, and it was impossible for me to forget about him in purely 2 months. My love for him ran deep, and I blamed myself daily for making such a deathly mistake. No, not the mistake of arguing with Taeyong and convincing him to let me drive, but the mistake of letting him slip away from my fingertips right in front of me. It was me, all me.

Three.

I broke my arm while thinking about Taeyong. Yet, the whole time, I knew I wasn't crying due to pain, but due to the sadness in my heart. It was as if there was a gaping hole in my heart, permanent, an unfillable void.

The whole time the doctor was giving instructions, my mind was dazed, still occupied with thoughts of Taeyong, and I merely nodded limply in response to his words. Yet, it was only Taeyong's words that managed to sink into my brain.

What would he have said when he found out I broke my arm?

"(Y/N)-ah, why were you so careless? You're like a baby you know, now I have to follow you everywhere so you won't get hurt again~"

"Taeyong, it's fine-" You would attempt retaliation.

"No, it's not fine (Y/N). You got hurt in my absence, it is thus my responsibility as my boyfriend to ensure that you do not get hurt again."

Boyfriend. How I missed calling Taeyong that.

Taeyong had tended for me the entire time whenever I got hurt, rendering me to be completely dependent on him. He would help me apply medication, he would help me apply bandages, he would cook meals for me. Taeyong had done everything for me, and now that I didn't have him, I was like a little child, helpless, clueless about how to take care of myself.

Every time I knocked my fractured arm against a hard surface, it was a surging pain through my heart, where all shot arrows collided, where invisible crimson red blood dripped out from at every second.

Four.

I heard from a friend that Taeyong had awoken from his coma. Needless to say, I cried. I cried because I was relieved, relieved that he was alive. But what came as a shock to me, was that Taeyong had all of his memory wiped out.

I was guilty of depriving him of his past happy memories, those with his friends and family. However, at the same time, I was relieved that the memories of both of us together would no longer haunt him since it was impossible for both of us to be together even if he remembered me.

Love was selfless, and I was willing to suffer alone agonisingly, buried in the memories of the past 4 years, while Taeyong started his life afresh, happy, in the absence of me.

Five.

I thought I saw Taeyong on the streets. I had known that I wouldn’t be able to not recognise the prominent jaw and the deep charming voice of his, but that particular person was different. He had the same prominent jaw, the same deep voice, but the vibe he emitted, was one of pure happiness and freedom. It was unlike the shy, reserved Taeyong that I once knew 5 months ago.

They were across the street, walking counter-direction from me. He had an arm slung over a girl's shoulder, cheerful laughter vibrating out from his chest, and resonating across the narrow street. The girl was gorgeous, and immediately I was sure that I was incomparable to her. It wasn't Taeyong, but I didn't understand why my heart had shattered into a million pieces.

Six.

After six months, I finally thought I was ready to move on. Yet, whenever I had chanced upon the kept away photographs of Taeyong and me, both my heart and mind had proven me otherwise.

Feeling raw, bare and vulnerable, I decided to head to the library, the only place that could provide me with solace and comfort. It was the only place that could give me the warmth I desperately craved for, for the space in Taeyong's embrace was no longer an option.

I browsed through the countless shelves of books when I chanced upon a favourite -- Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I picked up the book, and memories flooded into my mind.

“I love Harry Potter,” sighed Taeyong.

“Me too. Harry is like soooo charismatic,” I heaved a breath of admiration.

“What? I’m definitely more charming than Potter.” 

“You? Charming? Well, I can’t blame you, I have a thing for Gryffindors, so they definitely suit my taste better.” 

“Are you saying your boyfriend is not better than Harry Potter?”

“Mmhm, I may or may not be implying that?” I fake thought.

“You nasty!” Taeyong tackled me with tickles, causing me to squirm all over the place as both of us filled the house with giggles and laughter.

After the tickling battle, both Taeyong and I gradually calmed down.

“Oppa, what’s your favourite line in the whole Harry Potter series?”

“Hmm, that’s easy. It’s ‘After all this time? Always.’.”

“Really?! That’s my favourite line too!”

Taeyong chuckled. “Then I guess you’re my Always then.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s so cheesy!” I squealed.

“But it’s the truth. You’ll always be my always.”

“Love you too oppa,” I buried my head into his chest, grinning to myself.

“I love you too (Y/N).”

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I had not realised that I was so absorbed in my own thoughts, I was crying in real time. With my head down, I quickly wiped away my tears with the back of my hand, lest somebody awkwardly caught me crying.

Wiping my slightly tear-strained cheeks, I looked up, internally hoping that nobody had actually caught me crying. But instead, I caught a familiar pair of warm and alluring eyes.

It was him.

It was really him.

I blinked, and blinked again, until the tears in my eyes had completely gone dry.

Lee Taeyong.

He had striking pink hair and had donned on a white T-shirt with a leather jacket. He looked absolutely gorgeous, and healthy. 

He stared straight into my eyes. I tried to divert my gaze, but his stare was so intense, I couldn’t. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I managed to break away from the intense eye contact with Taeyong. However, thoughts flooded my mind: Why was he looking at me? And like that? Did he recognise me? That’s impossible. I heard that he didn’t even manage to recognise his family. Then, why?

When I looked back up, Taeyong was still staring in my direction.

Feeling awkward and self-conscious, I quickly put the book that was in my hands back onto the shelf and walked away to a corner where I could still observe Taeyong, but he wouldn’t be able to see me.

Seeing that I was out of sight, Taeyong walked towards the bookshelf that I was at. He took out a post-it note and scribbled something on it, then pasting it into the copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows I had picked up just now. Afterwards, Taeyong hesitantly put the book back on the shelf, before slowly retreating and walking towards the exit of the library.

Baffled, I walked back to the shelf I was just at a few minutes ago. I cautiously picked up the same book and opened it. 

‘You’ll still always be my always. I never forgot about you. -T.Y’

lmk if you want a second part! ( which will be in Taeyong’s POV )

P.S ( 2/08/17) I just edited this and omg the number of grammatical errors was terrifying af 😭😭

[cantstopswiping]

[Tinder] Date #25: Alex

Who: Alex, 28

What made me swipe right: He’s CUTE. Not just in the portion of his profile that’s concealed by the flame, but also in the portion of his profile that is self-deprecating and mentions Air Bud. Who knew Air Bud trivia could be a panty dropper.

Who started the conversation: He did. My profile at the time read “Take me to Red Lobster and tell me I’m pretty while I eat my weight in Cheddar Bay Biscuits.” He took the bait and responded accordingly:

...it wasn’t. Little did he know I had gone for the first time just a week earlier.

Conversion time: Two days from the first message (him) to the official date request (also him):

Reasons why I won’t go to Red Lobster on a first date:

Driving to Inglewood is a commitment

I need to make a good first impression before jumping into all-you-can-eat

I need to vet the guy to make sure he won’t judge me for my love of Cheddar Bay Biscuits

What happened on the date? We met at my go-to first date spot (not Red Lobster) on Monday. He was just as cute (although a little shorter) as I anticipated. We talked about cults, the virginity of anal sex, my love of teen movies, and I shared my fun story about West Hollywood (I’ve been told I can’t call it a fun fact because that’s misleading). But it all felt intelligent. Even the stupid stuff. It’s clear he puts real thought into everything he says and he brought that out in me. I think my nervousness gave me away a few times, but he didn’t seem to notice. As the night went on, we rotated towards each other on the bar stools until our knees were touching and our legs became intertwined.

We stayed at the bar until they turned the lights on, and then he offered to drive me home. We had a pretty steamy make out session in the car and said goodnight. Look at me trying to take it slow(ish).

Date #2: He texted me the next afternoon to check in and make plans for a second date. We landed on Thursday (not so slow...) - he agreed to come with me to a store opening and a concert I was going to for work. A few songs into the concert he put his arm around me in a tentative show of attraction, or possession. In that moment, if felt like any movement - shifting my weight from one foot to the other, sneezing, blinking - would spook him and his arm would retreat back to his side. As the show went on, and I inevitably had to fidget, his hold became more purposeful while still gentle. I’ve never felt so flattered by physical touch.

After the concert, we were walking through a parking lot to get back to my car. I was walking almost in the middle of the driveway, and when a car pulled into the lot, he pulled me over to the parked car side and stood between me and oncoming traffic in a show of protection and chivalry that somehow didn’t feel chauvinistic. 

Date #3: While we were together on Date #2 (Thursday), my friend bailed on our plans to see Tears for Fears and Hall & Oates the next day (Friday). Somehow, I convinced Alex to bail on his existing plans and come with me to see one of my absolute favorite bands (Tears for Fears). We were that annoying couple at a concert that won’t let go of each other. He would pull me in tighter and tighter, like he had to feel my body at all times in the perfect touchy-feels display of affection.

After the concert we went back to his immaculately decorated apartment and, brace yourselves people, HE MADE ME A CHEESE PLATE. AT MIDNIGHT. AND BROUGHT IT TO ME. IN BED. If that’s not love, TELL ME WHAT IS.

What’s next? We’ve seen each other a couple times since that incredible first week, and I’m just as enamored as I was in the beginning. The problem is, I’ve done some online stalking, and I’m pretty confident he’s just getting out of a serious relationship. We all know I have a terrible track record when it comes to falling for someone in rebound mode (see: Sean, Mark), so I’m trying to be protect myself and approach with caution, BUT HE’S SO CUTE. AND SWEET. AND SMART. I haven’t heard from him in a bit (which sucks), and I think the best move is to leave it up to him. Here’s hoping I hear from him eventually. Maybe in a few months when he’s had some time to be single.

Takeaways:

SERIOUSLY be careful with someone getting out of something serious

Find you a man who will bring you a midnight cheese plate in bed

[katherinelhughes]

A Car Accident in the Age of Impeachment

Dec. 11th—it’s becoming clear to me that I need to get some thoughts on paper before I can even hope to embrace any kind of holiday spirit.  It’s been a challenging few weeks.  I wrote my only other blog about a year ago, upon my return from a glorious trip to Ireland with my daughter.  I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression from that blog post.  No, Katherine is not all rainbows and unicorns.  Though I did see an astounding number of rainbows in Ireland, and I do have a Pillow Pet that is a rainbow unicorn.  But I digress…

It’s just that I’ve come to this really painful realization: IT’S US AGAINST THEM.  I know that this is the antithesis of the spirit of the holiday season.  But I’m going to need some kind of Scrooge-like epiphany right now to convince me otherwise.  I’m hoping that writing this blog will be the exorcism that gets this dangerous and demonic idea out of my head: it’s us against them.  

First, the car accident.  Nov. 5th—I’m traveling west on Touhy Avenue in a little stretch of Chicago that is between Niles and Park Ridge.  (…a fact that is meaningful only to Chicagoans)  Ahead of me I see a car pull slowly into my lane of traffic, and almost immediately veer into the oncoming lane, and back again.  Then I see the vehicle stopped on the side of the road, and as I pass, I see an elderly woman staring malevolently at me through the vehicle’s window.  Actually, I probably made up that part, in which the woman becomes this almost cartoonish representation of a mean old lady.  Maybe my psyche’s attempt to come to terms with what is about to happen…  Anyway, I’m relieved that she seems no longer to be a present danger on the road.  I come up to the next light, and as I sit there, reality suddenly shifts.  I hear and feel what I take at first to be an explosion, until I realize that someone has plowed into the rear end of my car.  It is of course the erratically-driving woman—my cartoon nemesis.  She has pushed my car into the car in front of me, but thankfully its occupants are unharmed.

I call to report the accident, which has already been reported by an off-duty officer who happens to be on the scene.  In minutes the police arrive and also, like circling vultures, a tow truck driver and the representative of the tow yard.  Both the police and the towing people are very solicitous, and want to be sure I’m okay.  And really, all things considered, I am.  I can’t say the same for the lady who hit me.  It becomes pretty clear that she is completely incapacitated, most likely by prescription med’s.  She is unable to answer the questions of the police, though she seems not to have sustained physical injuries, and they take her away in an ambulance.  The tow truck people are hovering around me, anxious to take my car away, but I insist on waiting until my husband arrives.  As we’re waiting, they open the lady’s car door and show me a gallon plastic bag filled with pill bottles.  On the passenger seat, in plain view.

And by the way, tow yards are a scam.  My car sat in that lot, racking up charges, until Nov. 11th.  The lot’s owner rarely answered his phone, and its hours were only 10 AM to 2 PM.  Remember the Steve Goodman song “Lincoln Park Pirates” about the infamous Lincoln Towing Service?  I should have been paying more attention!

Okay, I won’t draw out the details of the accident any further—you saw the picture.  It has become this script I deliver anyway, and I’m frankly ready for some new material.  And you’re probably wondering, it’s us against them, car accident, impeachment?  Where is she going with this?

In the aftermath of the accident, I am catching bits and pieces of the Intelligence Committee impeachment hearings on my rented car’s radio.  Some impressions of what I hear: 

Nov. 15th—Marie Yovanovitch, ambassador to Ukraine, reminds me of Christine Blasey Ford.  A very reasonable but somewhat soft-spoken woman.  Just the kind of woman that Donald Trump and his ilk like to bully.  Oh, I probably forgot to say how much I despise Donald Trump.  As a true liberal (Come on guys, can’t we all just get along?), it’s very painful to have to admit despising someone.  I give Nancy Pelosi kudos for praying for him—I’m not quite there on my journey toward enlightenment…

Nov. 20th—Gordon Sondland, ambassador to the EU: “(President Zelensky) loves your ass!”  Seriously?  And as journalist Ana Kasparian noted, hey, doesn’t the EU ambassador position cost at least $6 million? 

Nov.  21st—My new hero, Fiona Hill!  The way she squashes that ridiculous theory about Ukraine’s involvement in the 2016 election.  And that northeastern-England accent—simply delightful!  Yes, she’s from a coal-mining town, and her father lost his livelihood when the coal mines shut down.  Other countries in the developed world are shutting down their coal operations.  Not the US—our president ran on the promise of bringing back coal jobs!!!  Sorry, again I digress.

But my impression overall of the hearings?  It’s us against them.  Democrats versus Republicans.  What, did they all do debate team in high school?  Decide which side you’re on, and say ANYTHING you have to say to support that side’s position?  Of course I see the Republicans’ argument as completely bogus—that what Trump did doesn’t rise to high crimes and misdemeanors.  I think he should be impeached and then convicted by the senate.  It ain’t happening though.  Why?  Because it’s us against them.  Democratic control of the House and Republican control of the Senate. 

Until we have a multi-party system of government, we will be forever locked in this battle.  And until we admit that our system of government is a money-power oligarchy, we will never change the fact that most of us in this country are without true representation.  And by the way, I have to laugh at the “framers-of-the-constitution” talking point that the Democrats trot out constantly.  Oh yeah, that little group of money-power oligarchs that wrote our sacred document?  Donald Trump is only one in a long line of wealthy men who have wielded great power in this land.  Ooh, better go hug my unicorn pillow and calm down a bit!

But it’s not just in the political sphere that I’m feeling the us-against-them dynamic.  The whole car accident experience was fraught with it.  I certainly felt that I was in an adversarial position with my own insurance company.  Since they declared my car totaled, they had to give me an estimate of its value.  To them, it was not worth much—to me, it was invaluable.  Because the car was ten years old, and had about 153,000 miles on it, I didn’t even get enough to buy a lesser car—we had to fork over extra money to buy a replacement car that is two years older and not a hybrid.  Thankfully, I was coached not to accept the first offer I got, or we would have received even less. 

Memorable comments I got when I related my insurance woes: “Insurance companies are evil incarnate,” and “Most individuals walk away bloodied after an encounter with one.”  And I do know that I should be grateful that I didn’t walk away literally bloodied.  Just some bruises on my knees, and maybe some different pain in my back and shoulders.  Hard to be sure since this season can be hard on us violin-players anyway…

A little aside about cars.  I have always prided myself on avoiding attachment to earthly possessions—cars in particular.  I’m serious about this journey-toward-enlightenment thing.  But I think I actually had to mourn the loss of this car.  Maybe that’s normal—I don’t know since I’ve never had a car totaled before.  It was a red ’09 Toyota Camry Hybrid.  I am thankful that it gave its life so that I might be saved…

We’re always reminded to drive defensively, and believe me, I have wondered if there was something I could have done to avoid the accident.  But the thing that really bothers me is that this defensive posture extends to other areas beyond driving.  The us-against-them conflict seems to play out in so many arenas.  I feel that I’m having to relentlessly advocate for my own interests with the companies that are “providing services” for me.  I don’t like this defensive stance.  I resent the energy it requires—it could be used in much more creative ways.  Yeah, I’m talking to you, Cigna.  And you, Verizon.  And—well, the list goes on.

Dec. 11th—the impeachment hearings have continued into the Judiciary Committee and beyond, and there is deadlock in that particular us-against-them impasse.  Is the impeachment exercise also a waste of energy?  It’s hard to imagine that it will do anything but ramp up the animosity between the two sides.  I guess it has to be done for the sake of our democracy—oh right, I said we’re a money-power oligarchy, so never mind.  Meanwhile I will bury my head in the iridescent fur of my rainbow unicorn.  I want to believe that we’re all in this together.  Still waiting for that ghostly visit that will turn my head around before Christmas…

[traceyaudette]

Small Hearts, Big Heartaches

Requested by @homicidalteenagedream Can you do an Opie & Reader where they are friends with benefits. She ends up leaving Charming, after having a huge fight, but before she could even get out of charming she is in a bad car wreck. The doctors don't know if she will survive, it’s revealed that she’s been hiding that she’s 27 weeks pregnant. 

Trigger Warning: Language, premature birth, severe injury from car accident. ANGST! 

I ran my hands through my hair, my nerves a mess. “So, you don’t think we’ll be anything more then fuck buddies?”

Opie let out a frustrated growl. “I don’t see why you want to change things, we are fine just being friends with benefits.” He reached over trying to pull me on his lap.

“You know, I’m just a step up from a fucking croweater.” I could feel my emotions just at the edge of losing control. I had to hold on, I couldn’t let him see, how much he was affecting me.

“How can you say that, I treat you right....” He tried to pull me against him.

“The only difference is, I don’t have to sleep with your “brothers” too, and I get the luxury of getting fucked in my bed or yours.” I knew nothing would ever change, that I was nothing more then an another easy lay for him.  I was one that had been passed around among the club.

“What the hell is your problem? Why are you such a moody bitch suddenly? You agreed to this relationship, why do you want to change it now?”

“Because I thought after two years, you’d have some sort of feelings for me...I guess I was wrong.” I wiped the tears away from my eyes. “Bye Opie....it’s been real.”

XXX

I slammed out of his house, going to my packed jeep. Things didn’t go like I’d hoped, I rubbed my stomach gently. It was okay, I could take care of myself, and whoever else came along.  Pulling out of the drive, my plans were to leave  for Texas, I had family down there.

I had several last minute errands to run before I left town. Go to the bank, stop and tell Gemma bye, and get some road trip snacks. I finished at the bank, stopped at the store, filled my cooler with drinks and bought some snacks.

Now for the hard part, saying good-bye to Gemma, and convince her I was only leaving for a few weeks; instead of never coming back. That women was a human lie detector, maybe if I left my sunglasses on, I could hide it .

I slowed down to make my turn into the TM parking lot, for whatever reason, the car behind me didn’t see me stop. I was hit from behind, the back glass shattered.

I was shoved into oncoming traffic where I was hit head on, metal hitting metal echoed off the buildings. The sounds of horns blaring, and tires screeching could be heard, more glass shattering. 

I’m not even sure what sounds I heard first or last, they were all blurs. The sounds brought people out of their businesses, to investigate. Including everyone at TM. 

Gemma was the first to recognize the mangled jeep that belonged to (Y/N). She was on the phone calling 9-11, she was yelling for someone to call Opie, and to close the garage once they towed the mess off the street. 

XXX

Opie rushed into the doors of St. Thomas, to the ER, stopping at the nurses station. “I’m Opie Winston, I was called about (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N)!”

“Are you family Mr. Winston?” The secretary looked at him  waiting for an answer. Opie felt like the whole world was crashing in on him, they’s just had a fight about this not more then a hour ago.

He paused looking at the women. “I’m her fiancee....please tell me...”

“She’s been taken up stairs to the OB ICU.” He rushed up stairs, not really realizing what the women had said. When he burst through the doors, he found the rest of his family there waiting for him.

“What happened?” He went to Gemma, he knew she would have all the answers.

“A drunk driver slammed into the back of her, she was pulling into the lot.” Gemma exhaled. “Did you know she was leaving?”

He ran his hands through his hair, remembering her parting words. “We had a fight this morning...”

The doors opened and two doctors walked through. “(Y/N)(Y/L/N)!”

Opie stood up. “I’m her fiancee.”

“Can you come with us.” The looks on their faces were serious.

“This is her family. Whatever it is, can be discussed in front if them.”

“I’m Dr. Kiem, I’m a Neonatiolgist, and this is Dr. Paul the Obstetrician. Dr. O’Donnell and Dr. Mitchell are the Neurologist and General Surgeon on the team, they’ll be out in a few seconds.”

The two other doctors joined the group, sitting down. Dr. Paul started the conversation. “There’s no easy way to say this, I’ve had Dr. O’Donnell and Dr. Mitchell running tests, and they both concur, that they don’t think (Y/N) is going to survive her injuries.”

Gemma gasped somewhere in the room. Opie stared at the doctor, in shock. “Why are you consulting on the case?”

“Your fiancee is twenty-seven weeks pregnant, we can deliver your daughter by c-section. Dr. Kiem will be taking her case, the second she’s out. There’s no reason your daughter can’t survive this.”

Opie was in utter shock, why didn’t (Y/N) tell him she was pregnant. “How soon do you need to know?”

“The sooner the better.” Dr. O’Donnell replied. “As soon as the baby is out, and (Y/N) has some recovery time; we can better asses her condition. We didn’t want to stress the baby.”

“Just give me a few minutes.” He watched the doctors leave. He got up and started to pace. This was all his fault, he could loose his daughter, and he was probably going to loose (Y/N); because he was a giant ass!

He walked over to the doors the doctor’s had walked through, he couldn’t loose them both.

XXX

Kayleigh Rae Winston was born at two pm, she weighed in at almost three pounds and was fifteenth inches long. She was the most precious and beautiful creature Opie had ever seen.

Once she was settled in the NICU, Opie sat his giant frame next the incubator that held his tiny daughter. He gazed at her, with loving eyes. “Hey pretty girl, I just learned about you today. I hope you like your name, I don’t know if you and mommy already had something else picked out.” He wiped his tears away. “I chose the name Kayleigh because it means warrior, and Rae because it means grace. You’re going to have to fight pretty girl, know that mommy and I love you. You’ve got an older sister Ellie and an older brother Kenny, that will look out for you and love you. Not to mention a whole room full of uncles. I need to go check on mommy now, you hold on sweet girl. I love you.” He kissed his hand, and placed it on top of the incubator.

He got up to head down to  recovery. He stared at her battered and bruised body. The doctors weren’t being very promising for her recovery. He say down next to her raking her hand.

“When I lost Donna, I swore to myself I was never going to put myself in that situation again. Then I met you, we became friends, and then we took that up a level. That terrified me because I could feel myself falling for you.” He had to stop and rein himself in. 

“I love you, I think I have for a while, I was just too stupid and scared to admit it. (Y/N), you have to fight to come back to us. Our daughter is a little fighter, I named her Kayleigh Rae, she’s so beautiful.”

He had to stop again, he couldn’t take the thought of loosing her. “You have to give some sign, that your still with us. Prove those docs wrong!” He leaned over kissing her forehead.

He raised up, the vital alarms started to sound, nurses and doctors come running in. He was shoved out of the room, and a code blue was called for the room, his six foot four body slide to the floor.

Then there was a code blue called in the NICU, he rolled to his feet and took off running, Looking through the window, he let out a scream as they watched a team of doctors and nurses working on Kayleigh.

He was loosing his whole world all at once.

XXX

Opie put the one candle in the birthday cake, he picked it up carrying out to the back patio. Placing the cake on the table, he watched as his brothers and families played in the back yard, he let out a sigh, thinking about the last year. 

His eyes scanned the yard, finding Ellie and Kenny, walking over to them, he smiled as he approached the swing set. “Dada!” He heard the little giggle, and saw Kayleigh in the swing.

He picked her up, cradling her close to him, kissing her face. “Hey baby girl! Daddy loves you! Happy birthday!”

Mamamamamama!” He saw Kayleigh pointing over his shoulder, and giggling and waving.

Opie smiled. “That is mamma, you want to go see her.” He walked  towards the patio. Walking up to his wife, he wrapped his arm around (Y/N)’s waist. “I love you. Someone wanted to say hi!”

She reached up taking the little girl. “I love you too Ope. Happy birthday sweet girl.”

THE END 

@lolsthecat @soafanficluvr1 @fortheloveofthesoa@khyharah@redwoodog @chaosmieu @thegoodthebadandtheempty@jade770@realpowertwix @supernaturalanarchy  @lolsthecat @soafanficluvr1@fortheloveofthesoa@khyharah @redwoodog @chaosmieu @thegoodthebadandtheempty@jade770 @realpowertwix @supernaturalanarchy  @mrsirishboru @lolsthecat @soafanficluvr1@fortheloveofthesoa@khyharah@samcrolivesforever @redwoodog @ineedthesons @jade770@realpowertwix @supernaturalanarchy @hauntedduckdefendor @cherieann2001@mwesterfeld1985@clairese1980 @small-townwaywarddaughter  @winchester-negan-one-shots@mrsirishboru @undeadprincess2005 @come-join-themurder@ouijaboardmystery @chaosmieu @girl-with-no-faith-in-medicine @ineedthesons @id-rather-be-high-and-fucked@charmingsrisingson  @readerinsertimagines  @sweetchaosturtle @im-gay-for-chibbs-juiceyandtiggy @jasonmccannsgirl8699

[gaybabymisfits-blog]

"Maybe I could change my name" for the writing prompt thing ;))) it seems angsty and I love it!! Ship: it seems like it would go nicely with freewood

you’re in for a treat my friend

Pair: Gavin x Ryan {Freewood}Prompt: “Maybe I could change my name.”Title: Rooftop LoversWord Count: 821

Send me a Prompt!

The week was finally over. Friday night traffic was wicked as per usual from everyone trying to leave for the weekend. The strip clubs were busy as ever and there he was. Gavin Free, everyone’s favourite little boy. He whored himself to make ends meet and he was miserable. He wanted life to be different.

On the street a few blocks over a murder had just been committed but no one noticed. It was quick and clean, a bullet straight through the chest. The man lay on the floor in a puddle of crimson liquid. Ryan had backed away from his hideout and put his sniper away. He hated that his only way to make a living was being a gun for hire for pathetic criminals who couldn’t kill their enemies themselves.

When he pulled out his phone to check the time, the clock read 7:45PM. Just in time to stop by the strip club. He needed to make a visit with a friend.

Soon enough Ryan was outside the back door of the building and waited for the door to open. There was a stray cat wandering around his feet and it made him smile. Suddenly the door busted open and out came the person Ryan was waiting for. His smile quickly faded when he saw how disheveled the other was.

Ry quickly grabbed the lad and put him in the passenger seat and drove to their favourite location; the roof of Ryan’s apartment complex. No one spoke a word on the drive and the radio was turned off. For anyone else the silence would be unbearable but for these two it was comforting.

The car turned into the parking lot and when it was finally parked, the engine turned off immediately. The pair exited the vehicle and made their way to the roof so they could talk. Once up there, the couple could talk for hours about anything.

It was Ryan who spoke first. “So, how was it today, Gav?”

A simple conversation starter but it was always asked. The two knew how much the other hated their jobs. They wanted to live better lives. Together.

“It.. it was rough. This older man kept hitting me, and it didn’t seem like an accident either. It hurts, Rye. I hate it! I can’t speak up about it without getting fired! I’m so tired, Ryan. I want life to be better.”

The Brit was rambling and Ryan sighed. He wished Gavin didn’t have to be in the position he was in, but he needed to money. Gav reached out for his hand and returned the question.

“Another sniper mission today, the poor guy didn’t even have anything bad written about him. The guy who hired me just wanted him dead for fun. I wanted to turn it down but…” Ryan didn’t need to finish his sentence to know Gavin understood.

The lad was now sitting on the ledge and staring at the sun setting. He had a look on his face and Ryan couldn’t figure out what he was thinking about.

“Maybe I should run away. I can be free from this hell of a lifestyle. Maybe I could change my name, y’know? Make a whole new life for myself.”

Gavin couldn’t bring himself to look at his boyfriend while he talked. It hurt him to have to say that, especially when he felt the tears prick the corners of his eyes. He started to inch closer to the edge of the ledge he was seated on but a pair of strong arms wrapped around him before anything could happen.

“Gavin, I.. I love you. We both live shitty lives, but maybe it could change. One of the men who hire me frequently likes my work and is thinking of possibly letting me join his crew. I could convince him to let you join with me. I’ll teach you everything you need to do.”

Ryan took a deep breath and looked into the emerald green eyes of his lover. “Please don’t change your name or run away, especially not away from me. I need you, Gav. I can help us get better lives. We’ll have a home together with nice clothes and a crew who would care about us and hell, we could even get a cat or two!”

They were both crying now and they just held each other on the rooftop. The sun was nearly done setting and the sky was marvelous. Red and orange bled into the oncoming darkness of the night and the couple couldn’t care less that it was getting dark.

Ryan and Gavin joined the Fake AH Crew after some negotiation and soon became part of a wonderful family that loved them. The two quickly needed to hide their identities because of the rising fame of their crew. Therefore, The Vagabond and the Golden Boy were born and Los Santos feared the power couple.

[embklitzke]

Just a little taste (reblog from Patreon)

Just to give everyone a little taste of what I do as a writer and what people can expect out of me at various levels of patronage, I thought I'd provide some examples from a couple of works in progress from a couple different universes.

As a general rule, I write speculative fiction--urban fantasy, science fiction, post-apocalyptic fiction, space operas, traditional sword and sorcery fantasy, and supernatural stories, all of which are sometimes layered in with other genres such as horror, thriller, and romance.

My website has a little breakdown of things people might like that's based on my publishedwork, but around here, what you'll be able to catch a glimpse of as a patron is unpublished work--or pre-publication work, as the case may often be.  I won't replicate that here unless someone tells me that it's necessary--in which case you'll see an update to that effect.

Below are examples of a scene and a chapter, both of which are available to patrons at different levels of monthly patronage.  In the future, these will only be viewable by patrons, but these examples are free for the sake of demonstration.

Scene from UNSETIC Files: Lost and Found - urban fantasy

 The location Ezecaius said he needed to get to was just south of the Loop, near enough to Columbia College’s campus that Dr. Ford had asked me to drop him off well before I got Ezecaius to the address—as if Adam knew that I was planning on going to headquarters after I dropped his friend off at his destination. Ezecaius, for his part, stared quietly out of the window, a strange, not quite disconcerting smile on his face.

It was a few minutes of sitting in traffic after dropping off Dr. Ford before I finally asked, “So what do you teach, again?” I tacked on the “again” as an afterthought, struggling to remember if Adam had actually told me in the first place what Ezecaius’s specialization was. It had already been a long morning on top of a long last 72 hours.

“Oh, a few different things,” he said, almost airily. “International law, human rights, foreign policy—all of that and a few more besides.” He smirked, finally looking sidelong at me. “Why, are you thinking about a change in profession, Dr. McConaway?”

“No, no,” I said quickly, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as I swallowed a sudden attack of nerves. God knew that I was doing more than a little diplomacy these days whenever Kate and I went across, but I sure as hell didn’t have much of a desire to change my specialization at this point. “I was just curious, that’s all. I sometimes like to know who I’m driving.”

“And Adam has unusual friends.”

The grin was in his voice as he spoke.

“That too,” I agreed, smiling myself. I found myself wanting to like him, this eccentric man my friend and mentor had saddled me with. “How did you two meet, anyway?” Ezecaius had at least a decade or more on Ford and clearly hadn’t been one of his professors, since as far as I knew, all of Ford’s work—undergraduate and graduate—had been in anthropology, archaeology, and linguistics, not anything to do with foreign relations or international law.

“Ah. It was during his brief stint at State.”

It took a second for me to realize what he meant. “Wait, the State Department? I didn’t know that he worked for the State Department.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, shooting me another crooked smile. “His tenure was rather short-lived and that was probably a good thing. He’d been brought in as an expert to help prepare an ambassador for an upcoming assignment—cultural briefings, map reviews, historical briefs, language training, that sort of mess. He and the ambassador didn’t exactly hit it off and honestly, I could see that from the second they shook hands. I was the one doing the political and intelligence briefs and if I’d had my choice, that particular ambassador wouldn’t have been going where they were going to send him in the first place.”

“Let me guess,” I said as I steered the car around a corner, freeing us from the glut of traffic that was already clogging Michigan Avenue. “Adam had a knock-down, drag-out with the ambassador in question and told someone to shove his State Department credentials where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Ezecaius laughed. “You know him well.”

“Just a bit.” I was grinning now. “Am I right?”

“He would have if I hadn’t stopped him. I reminded him that he might need State someday and convinced him to finish out the job, which he did, though he was very sure he was going to resort to violence by the end of it.”

“But he didn’t?”

“No, he didn’t.” Ezecaius smiled faintly and shook his head. “He finished it off, wrote an assessment of his experience with the ambassador, and turned that assessment in with his resignation.”

“And then what?”

“Well, I imagine you know the rest. He did a few semesters of teaching here and there out East, did a few digs under the auspices of his alma mater and a few other institutions, and then finally landed here in Chicago in time to run into a rather promising young graduate student he was blessed to take under his wing even as he was learning to fly.”

My cheeks got warm. “You’re not—”

“Adam thinks quite highly of you, Dr. McConaway. I don’t think you realize how highly.”

“Maybe not,” I admitted, then exhaled in a sigh. “Honestly, it never really crossed my mind.”

“Perhaps it’s a thing you should give some thought to.” He looked away from me and out the window. “Ah. This should be close enough.”

I blinked, glancing at the row of buildings to the left and right of the car. “Are you sure?” I asked. “You’ll still need to—”

“To walk a little way, I know. It’s all right. I’ll manage.” He smiled at me. “Thank you for the ride, Dr. McConaway. Perhaps you’ll join Adam and Marie and I for dinner tonight?”

“Probably not,” I said as I pulled over and shifted the car into neutral. “But thank you for the offer.”

“Of course.” He didn’t wait for me to get out to open the door for him, just checked the street for oncoming traffic and then got out of the car. He opened the rear passenger door to pull out his overnight bag, slinging it over his shoulder with more grace and practiced ease than I admittedly expected from him.

“Professor?”

He tilted his head, peering at me through the open door. “Yes?”

“The ambassador,” I said. “Did they end up sending him anyway?”

Ezecaius laughed. “No. No, they didn’t, much to Adam’s relief. Mine, too.” He closed the door, still smiling. “Good luck, Doctor.”

He winked at me and then turned away. He took a pair of steps before vanishing from sight.

“Fuck me,” I whispered, staring at the spot where he’d just been. There was no sense of magic in the air, but I knew damned well that magic wasn’t the only game in town.

“Adam really does have interesting friends,” I whispered to no one.

I waited a few minutes more, just to see if perhaps Ezecaius would reappear. He didn’t, and I gave up on waiting. I shifted the car into gear, trying not to worry too much about what had just happened.

Maybe I should have agreed to dinner.

Too late now.

Chapter from The General's Lady - science fiction/romance

“That’s three,” Graden rumbled. “Your father should be more than a little pleased, I hope.”

The promenade of Argossa II’s capital, Triskelle, was littered with the remnants of battle, haunted by its ghosts. It stank of death and fear. He was accustomed to both but enjoyed neither.

“In record time, too,” Arlan murmured, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. The city had surrendered and been reported secure by the second infantry division, but one could never be too careful, as they’d both learned the hard way time and again. “More costly than anticipated, though.”

Graden shook his head. “Your father wanted haste and damn the consequences. He got what he wanted.” At the cost of a ship and seven hundred dead or wounded on our side alone. Three additional ships damaged. Bastard doesn’t think of the human cost of war sometimes. Star-Lord Camden hadn’t been on the battlefield for two generations, though. He’d forgotten what war was like. “At least he has so far. We’ll need to resupply and lick our wounds before we can hit Talrena.”

Arlan shook his head. “He won’t be happy to hear that, but I’ll make him understand.” He rubbed his temple. “Of course, it’s going to mean another twelve rounds over when I’m going to give up soldiering.”

“Fine, I’ll tell him, then. We’ll have a shouting match and he’ll try to demote me, then I’ll remind him that he can’t because our men won’t follow anyone else.” Graden smiled wryly. “Except for maybe you, but that would just end with a few more rounds, wouldn’t it?”

Two soldiers snapped to attention as they passed through the gates to the governor’s mansion, set on a hill above the sprawling city. The place was silent as a tomb. Graden waved the men back to their duties as he and Arlan continued on.

“Has he bothered to name succession?” Graden asked suddenly. “Your father. He’s getting on, isn’t he?”

“He’d like to,” Arlan said, brow creasing and lips thinning. “But he said that he won’t do it until he knows he won’t have to meddle with it again. ‘Once and never again,’ he told me when we discussed it last.” Arlan blew out a breath between his teeth and shook his head. “He won’t name succession until I’ve given up soldiering and I won’t give up service until there’s peace enough in the galaxy that we’re not fighting new battles every day. Once our borders are secure, I think maybe I could give it up. Of course, we’ll have to convince him that the borders are secure at some point.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s a vicious, never-ending cycle, Mike. He wants me to give up the fight but at the same time he keeps throwing us back into the fray.”

“It’s not as if House Harper can do the fighting for us out here,” Graden said. “Though I think we may have to ask for their assistance if Star-Lord Camden wants us to move immediately on our next target.”

“Johnathan Harper won’t agree to it.”

“Your father will just have to put his diplomatic skills to good use and damned fast, then, because I don’t know that we can take Talrena with our division in the shape it’s in.” We might pull it off, but not without getting thoroughly bloodied in the doing. It won’t be pretty, for us or the people of Talrena. “We’ll have to see. Maybe if I lay things out using small words and a lot of pictures, Star-Lord Camden will understand what I’m trying to tell him about the disposition of our troops.” Graden pushed open the doors to the grand entry hall to the governor’s palace and paused for a moment on the threshold. Banners hung tattered from the rafters and blood smeared the floor in some places.

“Damn,” Graden muttered. “I didn’t realize there was fighting in here, too.”

“It was everywhere,” Arlan said quietly, gaze scything across the scraped marble floors and ripped tapestries, toppled statuary. “There wasn’t a safe place to be found, not even here.”

Graden felt a brief tightness in his chest. “The governor here, did he have a wife? Children?”

“He surrendered before any harm came to them,” Arlan said quietly. “I’m sure Star-Lord Camden will allow them to retire somewhere sufficiently out of the way, I hope."

One can only hope. Graden nodded slowly.

Arlan clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s not all bad news, Mike. Some good came of all this death and destruction.”

“You mean beyond your father gaining three more worlds?” Graden asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. Our borders may be vaguely more secure with the taking of the trio, but can we maintain our grip in the long run? I’m not so sure. “Tell me what it is, Ar, because I sure as hell don’t see it.”

Arlan reached into a pocket and passed him a data stick. “Remember that derelict courier we came across on the edge of the system? I cracked the encryptions.”

Graden shook his head, taking the stick. “And you thought you’d never use that training ever again. What’d you find out?”

“Well, she was coming back from the Arm when she got chewed up, for one thing. Data’s about two years out of date.”

He stopped in mid-stride. “We don’t have anything from the Scandian Arm dating back to that period of the war.”

“No sir, not until we found that courier.”

That was a military courier. It would have been carrying information back to Command—and failing Command, it would have brought that information to the highest-ranking survivor of the Star Corps. Troop disposition, status reports, requests for aid, classified information—a goddamned treasure-trove for anyone that came across it. We’re lucky that the crew didn’t have time to wipe their drives before they died. Graden found himself short of breath, light-headed. His voice came as a hoarse whisper. “Did it…did it have anything about…?”

“I didn’t read much of anything, just enough to know what we were looking at.” Arlan gave him a long, hard look, then continued. “But I ran it through some search algorithms and flagged everything I could find about the Eagles, Mike. It was the least I could do. Other than, you know, finish up all the formalities so you can take a few hours to have a look at what’s on there.”

Graden had to take a few breaths before he could answer. “Thanks, Ar.”

“Anytime.” He squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “I hope it’s good news.”

So do I. Graden nodded, staring at the stick, then turned and walked away.

• •  •

Fifty-second Battalion, designated Eagles, attacked on Talrena…estimate only ten to thirty survived assault…no word on disposition of those who escaped…list of dead appended…

Graden closed his eyes as tears blurred his vision. He felt a momentary flash of gratitude to Arlan for taking over today but at the same time felt anger begin to bubble up. It was irrational. His XO didn’t know exactly what was on the stick, just that there was information on the Eagles—on Laney.

He couldn’t have known. Graden pressed his fist to his brow, teeth grinding. “Damn. Damn!”

He suppressed the urge to fling the tablet across the room, though barely. Instead he pounded a fist against the edge of the table, splitting a knuckle. He growled quietly and slumped back in his chair, staring out the window. This room overlooked the gardens in the governor’s palace, brown and dead at the trailing edge of winter.

“I always thought she was probably dead,” he muttered to nobody. “But there was always just this little part of me that dared to hope that she wasn’t.” He pounded his fist against the table again.

Maybe there’s something about them escaping in a later report. That wasn’t the last file flagged, was it? He forced his attention back to the tablet. His hands felt like leaden weights as he scrolled through the files. It felt like an eternity before he found the next file Arlan had flagged for him.

Graden closed his eyes as he tapped the file open, heart feeling like a ball of ice in his chest. The Arm was supposed to be a fucking safe assignment. All the fighting was going on elsewhere. I got her that assignment. I should have taken it myself.

Why? So she could stay at Mialos and die with everyone else?

He barely stopped himself from punching the table again.

Words glowed at him on the tablet’s screen as he opened his eyes. His hands squeezed into fists, blood flowing freely from his split knuckle. He ignored it.

--have not located the bodies of twenty-three members of the fifty-second Eagles, including commanding officer Maj. E. E. Harris. Unconfirmed reports have at least twelve, including Harris, were captured by rogue officer Maj. Travis Delmarco and transported elsewhere in the Arm. We are working to confirm these reports and will advise ASAP.

“Bastards.” The word hissed out before he was conscious of saying it. Damn them all. Damn them.

He started searching for the next file. The news didn’t get any better from there.

Command, be advised we have confirmed that the following eighteen members of the fifty-second Eagles have been captured by the rebellious House Delmarco and are presumed deceased en route to Corvaris.

Her name was at the top of the list.

This time, he did throw the tablet against the wall.

He left it in shards on the floor as he stormed out of the room, down the corridor and the stairs, bellowing at the top of his lungs. “Commander Byers!”

Three shouts later, Arlan materialized, looking slightly overwrought himself. “General?”

“How long before we’re refueled?” Graden demanded.

Arlan rocked back against his heels, blinking rapidly. “I—what?”

“How long before we’re refueled?” Graden asked again, the words grating through a set jaw and gritted teeth. “When can we ship out for Talrena?”

“I was just explaining to Star-Lord Camden tha—”

“Forget it,” Graden snapped. “We leave as soon as we’re fueled. Recall everyone. Leave the wounded and a skeleton garrison here. They can catch up with us once the Star-Lord’s occupation forces arrive.” He started walking, heading toward the doors out of the godforsaken manse and into the weak winter sunshine. Arlan had to scramble to keep up.

“Mike, what’s wrong?”

“They killed her, Ar. That’s what’s wrong. Now they have to pay.”

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[chronicallygothic]

PTSD

I didn’t write the following article but I thought it really hit home and needed to be shared. Not all of it is relevant to my story but it comes very close. The abuse happened to me 13 years ago and I only just told my mom a few months ago (even though my “boyfriend” was living with me at my mother’s house.)

I’ve had to cut ties with several friendships over the gaslighting issue. I don’t even like saying his name. Not his nickname that he used when we dated or his real name. I’m frequently on high alert but my fight or flight response is finally starting to calm down after a decade of therapy and helpful partners.

Seeing him around makes me instantly sick. The fact that people don’t know what I went through makes me sick but the thought that they might not believe me “cuz he’s a good guy” is unbearable. 

He told me how to dress, who to hang out with, who not to hang out with. I was only 14.

Many times while he was driving us one place or another I would fantasize about yanking the steering wheel into oncoming traffic and hoping that neither of us survived. 

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

For many years I was in an extremely destructive relationship with someone who has NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder) and during that time I was regularly subjected to a variety of emotional, mental and physical abuse.

Every day I walked on eggshells, living in fear of saying or doing something that might trigger an aggressive response.

Many people might wonder why I, or anyone else, would remain in this kind of environment, but by the time I fully recognized that I was in extreme danger, I was already badly emotionally and mentally weakened and debilitated.

I was living in terror waiting to be attacked at any moment and yet I did not feel as though I had the strength or courage to remove myself from it.

Abuse doesn’t always happen overtly and it isn’t always easy to recognize. Often it is a covert, insidious, invisible drip that slowly poisons the victim’s mind so they don’t trust their own judgment, is unable to make life-changing decisions and feels as though they don't have the coping skills necessary to get help or leave.

It took me a long time, and everything I had, to pull myself from the bottom of the deep dark hell I existed in and to get myself to a place of safety.

By the time I walked away, I thought that the nightmare was over. But in so many other ways, it had only just began.

The terrors of the taunts, torture and torment that had become my normality didn’t subside. They remained alive and relived themselves in the form of intrusive, regular flashbacks.

Many months after I had left the relationship I discovered that I was suffering from C-PTSD, (Complex Post-traumatic Stress Disorder.)Â C-PTSDÂ is a result of persistent psychological trauma in an environment where the victim believes they are powerless and that there is no escape.

C-PTSD is slightly different than PTSD, which is brought on from experiencing one solitary, traumatic incident, or it can develop due to an accumulation of incidents. Although both C-PTSD and PTSD both developed from my experiences, I identify more with C-PTSD, as it was the effects of the prolonged exposure to repetitive and chronic trauma that I felt I couldn’t escape from that affected me the most.

For many months after leaving the relationship I struggled to sleep at night, and when I did I often woke trembling after experiencing terrifying reoccurring dreams. On many occasions when I did eventually sleep I would sleep solid for at least 24 hours, in such deep slumber that I would struggle to wake from it and when I did I would feel fatigued, spaced out and as though I was numbly sleep-walking through the day.

I was easily startled and panicked at the slightest sudden movement or loud noise.

I was ultra-sensitive, on edge and highly alert most of the time, which I believe was my mind’s way of forming some sort of self-protection to keep me aware so that I avoided similar potentially dangerous situations.

At the mention of certain words, names or places I felt nauseous and dizzy and would become extremely distressed. A painful tight knot developed in my stomach every time something occurred to remind me of the trauma.

I still have difficulty remembering large phases of my life, and for a long time I struggled to stay focused, and my concentration abilities were very poor.

I would get upset easily, especially if I was in a tense environment. I had constant anxiety and was regularly in fight-or-flight mode.

I didn’t eat properly. I had no motivation and suicidal thoughts regularly flooded my mind.

I had lost my spark.

One aspect of the aftermath of the relationship that affected me most was the daily gaslighting that I endured. This left me finding it difficult to believe anything people would tell me, and I analyzed, questioned and dissected everything.

Forming new relationships, whether friendships, or romantic, was almost impossible as I struggled to trust people’s intentions and felt scared of possible underlying, hidden motives and agendas for their words or actions.

I dissociated from most of what I had been through and pretended, even to myself, that the abuse wasn’t as serious as it was. Partly because I felt ashamed that I had not left sooner and also because I wanted to defend and protect the person I was involved with, as I still cared for him. Therefore, I rarely mentioned the relationship to anyone and froze and shut down through stress (sometimes resulting in a meltdown) if anyone tried to talk to me about i It got to the stage where I withdrew completely as leaving the house became overwhelming and a major ordeal because I wouldn’t/couldn’t open up and connect and I felt terrified of everything and everyone.

One thing that became apparent and harrowing was that although I had gained enough strength to walk away and I felt empowered by the decision knowing that it was the right choice for my emotional, mental and physical health, I was suppressing all my emotions and feelings and I was far from okay on the inside.

There were many rollercoaster emotions trapped inside me and trying to ignore and contain them was doing more harm than good. In many ways the ending of the relationship had signaled closure to one phase of my life and had opened up a new chapter that was going to take a little time to get used to.

It appeared that while I was in the relationship I had become so used to enduring a wide variety of narcissistic behaviors that they had almost become normal and acceptable. Stepping away from all that I had known felt like I had walked from one planet and onto another and I hadn’t got a clue how to navigate it on my own or how to relate to anyone on it.

I soon realized that unless I started to focus on healing myself, I would remain a victim of my previous circumstances as the build up of emotional injuries, wounds and scars needed urgent attention. Otherwise, they would seep out and silently destroy sections of my life without me being aware that the past was still controlling me.

It was up to me to rebuild my strength and confidence, otherwise I would end up alienating myself and causing further damage.

I had a lot of inner healing work and restructuring to do and trying to convince myself that just because I had left the relationship everything would be okay, was not going to be enough.

The first and most significant step I took was admitting and fully accepting that the carnage I had experienced was real and had a huge impact on my emotional and mental wellbeing.

I had been surviving by a fragile thread in a domestic war zone and for far too long I had been intimidated, manipulated, lied to and threatened, amongst many other toxic and dysfunctional behaviors. The whole relationship had been an illusion and resulted in me having serious trust issues as well as losing the will to live. I not only struggled to trust other people, but I also realized I had no faith at all in my own intuition, perception or judgment.

Finally, I gave myself permission to take as long as I needed to heal, even if it meant I would spend the rest of my life slowly putting the pieces of my life back together. I came to terms with the fact that there is no timescale to healing and there was no hurry.

I allowed myself to grieve the relationship and the loss of the person I had separated from. This was extremely difficult to do as I had so many mixed emotions due to the scale of the abuse. For a long time I denied my grief, as it was complex to come to terms with how I could miss someone who had been responsible for vicious behavior towards me.

One of the hardest parts to dealing with this grief was feeling as though I could not talk openly to anyone, as I believed no one would understand how I could remain in such an abusive relationship and still miss many aspects of that person and the life I had with them.

The reason getting over this type of relationship can be so difficult is that many narcissists display both Jeckyll and Hyde type characteristics, one minute appearing extremely loving and affectionate and the next crippling, cruel and cunning.

It is not easy to explain that I deeply loved and badly missed one side of the person I was involved with, and disliked, feared and never wanted to hear his name mentioned at the same time. Even thinking about this can make one feel a little crazy as it does not feel natural to love and hate the same person.

One essential step toward healing from narcissistic abuse, I believe, is finding someone to really confide in and who doesn’t judge or question anything that is said. Being free to talk openly and comfortably without having to over explain is vital to start putting the accumulation of experiences into some sort of context. If there isn’t a friend on hand, it is worth taking time to seek out a good counselor with an understanding of C-PTSD deriving from abusive relationships.

The most important thing that helped me to heal was focusing more on healing and rebuilding myself. Although I took time out to research and gain knowledge and understanding of the type of abuse I had been subjected to, I spent far more of my time indulging myself in whatever felt good for my soul.

Slowly and surely I rebuilt myself, formed new friendships, learned to trust people and forgave all of the past. There are still days that it haunts me, but there is a bright light at the end of the tunnel and although it can be difficult to believe that when you start walking through it, as soon as you take the first steps of acceptance the path ahead begins to become clear.

Healing comes by taking one small step at a time, with gentle, loving care and without hurry.

Article by Alex Myles

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2016/10/living-with-c-ptsd-following-an-abusive-relationship/