#the brownies are for patty or something. 'sorry I was so mean to you' or smth. slash j. okay its 3am and eye hauve 2 write an EMAIL!!!

[vibiano]

based on a lil silly roleplay but Capo and Vib making brownies after Capo burnt the last batch

He fucked up so bad that he had to wake up the diva from his beauty sleep to help him. To be fair the only other people available to ask where *checks my notes* the other bizzyboys and hector so honestly. Fair.

[writingsoftheghost]

Caught up in a bet

Tw: cursing, sexual innuendos and references (Remus)

“Nobody else does it right,” Remus says softly, “It doesn’t hurt when you do it, you have a gift.”

Patton stops bandaging Remus’s hand, his face is tinted red, “Thank you, Remus. I’m happy to help.”

Remus nods as Patton finishes up, he waves to Patton before ducking out of the bathroom to go wreak havoc somewhere else. He’ll probably be coming to Patton for more bandages before dinner time.

Patton heads back into the living room, Janus is sitting on the couch reading a novel. He looks up when he sees Patton.

“Hello, Patton. You’re looking very nice today.” He says nonchalantly.

Patton feels heat flood his cheeks once more, he’d worn a nicer shirt than usual and had a new pair of khakis,“Th-thank you, Janus.”

The deceitful side only hums in response before returning his attention back to his book.

Several more instances like that would occur throughout the day. Remus and Janus discuss it after everyone else has gone to bed.

“Patton is so easily flustered! You show him the slightest hint of kindness and he blushes! He makes it too easy!” Remus cackles. “I bet I could cook an egg on his face with a few words!”

“Yes, he is rather susceptible to compliments, especially when delivered by me.” Janus smiles.

“What do you mean by that?” Remus asks in a challenging tone.

“Well, it’s obvious I’m the more suave of us. And you’re, well...not as adept at making others feel good.”

“Oh I think I’m rather good at making people feel good,” Remus says suggestively.

“Eugh. That’s exactly what I’m talking about, you cretin. That’s why I make him blush so much and you only see it in passing.”

“Is that a challenge?” Remus asks, a dangerous fire already lighting up behind his eyes.

“Care to make a bet?” The snake smirks mischievously.

“Oh hoho, I very much do.” Remus grins devilishly.

“I bet I can make Patton blush more in a week than you can,” Janus says dryly.

“Whats the stakes?” Remus asks.

“Hm...I’ll make your favorite cake. Now what will you do when I win?”

“What do you want?”

“Take a bath, please,” Janus says without hesitation.

“Why do you always bet that?!” Remus whines.

“Because you never do it,” Janus says with an eye roll.

“Fair enough,” Remus sighs.

And so the bet began.

It started small enough, Remus telling Patton his hair looked good that day, Janus telling him his smile was especially radiant that day, and Patton blushing at all of it.

Then things escalated, Remus telling Patton his eyes were stunning, Janus telling him his dimples were cute. By Wednesday things had gotten way out of hand. Patton couldn’t go more than an hour without Remus telling him that he looked especially fuckable that day or Janus saying that his nose scrunched in the cutest way when he laughed.

Quickly though, both had decided to kick it up a notch, Janus began kissing Patton’s hand in greeting, Remus stroked his hair while they watched tv. The physical touch left Patton absolutely exhilarated.

Patton didn’t know what he’d done to bring this all on but he was loving it, no one had ever complimented him like that before! And Patton hadn’t realized how much he craved someone saying positive things about him. And the hugs! The hand holding! It was all so awesome. But no matter how often it occurred, Patton couldn’t help but blush as red as a tomato each time.

By the next Sunday his face was almost always tinted a shade of red, it was hard to catch him without a smile on his face. Everything has started to feel a lot better.

Then the next day, something changed. He’d run into Remus who smelled clean, which was odd. But Remus only said hello and goodbye to him. No compliments. Patton wasn’t worried, he knew he couldn’t expect Remus to call him pretty every time he saw him.

But then when he sat down on the couch next to Janus, there were no kind words. Only a brief glance of acknowledgement. Patton frowned, but quickly blew it off. He couldn’t always be the center of attention, and he shouldn’t always expect to be.

But as the day goes on, and he doesn’t get any compliments from Janus or Remus, Patton starts to worry that maybe he did something wrong. Did he upset them? Were they angry with him? What had he done?

He didn’t say anything to them that day, they spoke to him at dinner like they always have. They didn’t seem to be upset with him. But there were no kind hands on his back telling him his smile was beautiful or that his laugh was music. No one was brushing their hands through his hair while they watched tv.

The next day was the same, neither of them spoke to him like they were angry, but they didn’t compliment his hair that he’d spent a lot more time on today. He received no hugs when he went to bed. And Patton felt horrible. He couldn’t figure out what he’d done. He let it go on like this for two more days, but on Thursday night it all became too much.

Remus found him crying in the kitchen while he made brownies. He quickly walks over and takes the pan from his hands and places it on the counter.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, Daddy? What’s got your sweater in a bunch?” He takes Patton’s hands and sets him down at the kitchen table.

“N-no-thing, I’m so-o-o-rry,” he chokes out.

Remus shakes his head, “Don’t do that, Patty. Come on, tell me what happened? Do you need me to kill someone?”

Patton shakes his head.

“Then what is it?” Remus asks him, his voice is far too gentle to belong to Remus.

Patton finally breaks, “Wh-hat d-did I d-do wrong?”

Remus frowns, “What do you mean?”

“Why don’t yo-you and J-Janus talk so nicely to me anymore?”

Remus cocks his head to the side, “What do you mean? We don—”He pauses as it dawns on him, “Oh. Oh, Patton, I’m so sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Patton looks at him, tears still streaming down his cheeks, “But w-why else w-would—”

“Oh, god, Pat. I’m gonna go get Double D and we’re gonna have a nice talk, okay? Please don’t cry anymore. I’m so sorry.” He gently brushes his fingers across Patton’s cheek. Patton grabs his hand before he can pull away.

“P-please. Don’t leave.” He looks at Remus with pleading eyes and Remus can’t bear the thought of him being left down here alone again.

“Okay, how about you come with me? Is that okay?” He tugs Patton into his arms and quickly scoops him up, Patton wraps his arms around him like a koala. He buries his face in Remus’s shoulder. Remus can feel tears seeping into his shirt and he feels guilt seep into his body with ever one of them.

He knocks on the yellow door, “J, get out here. We have a situation.”

Patton grabs his hand before he can knock any louder, “What if he’s asleep. I don’t wanna upset him.”

Remus shakes his head, “He’s not asleep, and we upset you.”

Patton shakes his head insistently, “I don’t want him to be mad at me.”

“He won’t be, cookie. Just relax.” Remus runs his hand up and down Patton’s back a few times before he knocks again.

“What have you done now, Rem—” he stops as soon as he sees Patton in Remus’s arms.

“What happened? Is Patton alright?” He quickly tries to examine Patton, but the fatherly trait keeps hiding his face in Remus’s shirt.

“We did a bad thing, Jan. A really bad thing. You gotta come downstairs.” Remus says quietly.

Janus only nods and let’s Remus lead him downstairs and to the couch. Remus gently strokes Patton’s hair and whispers softly to him. “You wanna tell him, Pat? Or do I need to?”

Patton only shakes his head and ducks back into Remus’s shoulder.

“Alright, then I’m gonna tell him.” He turns to Janus, “Our bet, Jan. We didn’t realize what would happen to Patton after it ended. He thinks he did something wrong because we stopped being sweet to him.”

Janus’s eyes widen with realization. “I...I should have realized this would happen. I’m so sorry for involving you in our petty bet. We shouldn’t have done that to you, Patton.” He places his hand on Patton’s back.

Patton finally shows him his face, tear tracks evident all the way down his cheeks. “So you were only being nice because of a bet? You didn’t mean any of it?” His voice shakes.

Janus is quick to rectify it, “No! No, of course not. I didn’t mean any of it.” He lies. “Remus and I care for you deeply, and would like to continue to show you if you’re comfortable with that.”

Patton nods, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

Janus shakes his head, “I want to, Pat. I’m so sorry we stopped. We shouldn’t have ever stopped showing you we cared and we definitely shouldn’t have started sooner.”

Patton giggles and Remus’s chest loosens, hes gonna be okay. They didn’t break the little guy, he’s laughing.

“How about you come stay in my room tonight?” Janus says as he brushes Patton’s hair away from his eyes.

Patton nods and starts to get up, he freezes and then runs back to the kitchen.

“Patty? You okay?” Remus asks as he follows him.

“My brownies!” Patton exclaims. “I gotta finish them!”

“Oh,” Janus chuckles from behind Remus, “You want some help?”

Patton smiles and nods, “That would be great!”

So the trio spend the next hour making brownies and cleaning up the kitchen. It’s almost one in the morning when Remus carries a sleeping Patton to bed.

I got this prompt from this post made by @kawaiikat54 and I really hope they like it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man in his Castle

Warnings: noncon sex. Let’s not be fools here. You know what I write.

This is dark!Charles Blackwood and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A co-ed discovers that money is still king.

Note: Charles is fun because he’s already horrible. I know my summary sucks but I hope you all enjoy this. It takes place in the 1960s so keep that in mind and enjoy! But let me know what you think in reblog or reply and slap a like on there <3

There were more than a dozen girls squeezed into the windowless classroom in the basement of Victory Hall. The book club had grown quite a bit since your first week on campus. The Brownies, you called yourself. An ironic play upon a lifetime of ridicule.

Every Friday night you met in some abandoned room bartered off the registrar and set to discussing your most recent read. Sheila was the leader; bolder than you as she fostered your sprout of an idea. She was cooler, calmer, and by all means, more radical. And she was a senior.

The flock of freshmen looked up to her and the few other older girls in the group. She had brought along with her, Linda and Patty; the former with her stiff turtlenecks and the latter her faded beret. These were the types your mother had warned you against. Peddling their liberalism in the name of Kennedy and Kruschev.

That week, your group had chosen Miller’s famed play, The Crucible; still relevant despite a decade past. Though the red scare had faded to orange, there was still a breath of suspicion in the air. As people marched in the streets and sat-in at diners and cafes, the old breed was growing nervous. The world was about to change, with or without them.

You sat amid the circle with your worn copy against your knee. You took turns reading the lines and pausing to discuss the intricate and yet overt allusions made by the playwright. The furor of the blacklist which still lingered in the air. A paranoia much broader than years before. No longer just the Reds, but all who spoke of equality and freedom; no longer exclusive to a single group. The same tensions which kept you in the basement with the dingy old desks.

You couldn’t help but smile at the group of girls. When you’d arrived on campus, you were certain you’d be the same loner as before. Solitary nights spent barricaded in your dorm only to lose yourself in the crowd of the lecture hall. 

But Sheila had changed that. She was in your elective Lit class, filling a void in her audit so that she could graduate on time. You had lost yourself in a discussion of Marx and the mounting tensions with the East; not that they ever really subsided. 

Then she invited you to meet Linda and Patty for a drink. Your lack of ID didn’t keep you from the chance to make friends as she knew the doorman by name. That was when you mentioned the club. It was just you and your friend, Elsie. Not really a club, more so a pair of girls with nothing better to do. But Sheila liked it and the next week, she had six new girls to add to your duo.

Now, you were a full blown corps. The three seniors and at least fifteen freshmen, a few in between to fill out the circle. 

Sheila snapped her book shut and declared the end of the night as she checked her watch. 

“We’ll finish next week,” She chimed. “Granted we don’t devolve so easily again.”

The girls giggled and began to pack up. You stood and shoved your book into your leather bag. Sheila stood with Linda at the back of the circle and Patty offered a goodbye to each girl as they left. Most did so in pairs or trios. Safety in numbers.

Your dorm wasn’t far and so you would keep a brisk pace with your keys in hand. You turned and Sheila called to you before you could reach the door. You spun back and neared her and Linda.

“Hey, you need a walking partner?” She asked. “Me and Linda are head down the The Cask. We’ll be headed past yours.”

“If you’re headed that way,” You accepted eagerly.

You helped rearrange the chairs and desk with the three seniors. Patty left on her own as Sheila locked the door. You walked on her right as Linda kept to her left and made your way out of the depths of Victory Hall. The night was cool but not bitter. You pulled your collar up as you passed between the carefully trimmed hedges.

“You sure you don’t want to come for a drink?” Linda asked. “Seeing as Patty ditched us.”

“Oh, you know she has that boy waiting for her,” Sheila countered.

“Um, no, I have an early morning,” You replied. “But thanks.”

“What about next weekend?” Sheila asked.

“Next weekend?” You wondered.

“Wanna come to a party?”

“A… a senior party?” You glanced over at her as you tucked your hands in your pockets.

“Oh, no, it’s not on campus,” She trilled. “But I think you’d like it.”

“Off-campus?” You said surprised. “Really?”

“A bit of an older crowd but…” She lowered her voice, “Of a similar mind as us.”

Your eyes widened. You blinked at her and she laughed.

“Oh calm down, they’re no interlopers, merely open-minded,” She assured you. “You have to realize that this little club, that’s a children’s game. If you’re serious, these are the people you need to rub shoulders with.”

“I don’t know. It’s pretty seedy downtown and the last time--”

“Downtown?” She scoffed. “Oh, this is different from that hole in the wall.”

“Where--”

“Uptown, actually,” She preened. “You know, we do have allies with money. They hide among the enemy until we can truly act.”

“I don’t know. That sounds--”

“You worry too much. It’s not illegal to meet people who think like you do,” She said. “Otherwise us Brownies would be akin to the mob.”

You laughed at yourself and watched your scuffed shoes on the sidewalk. “I guess you’re right. Um, what kind of party is it, exactly?”

“Wear something nice,” She picked a thread from your jacket. “Fancy dress hides a humble heart.”

You nodded and gripped the strap of your bag. “Sure, why not?” You shrugged.

“I’ll see you in Lit,” She stopped just outside your gate. “I’ll give you the details then. You should ask Elsie to come with you.”

“Alright,” You breathed. “Yeah, I’ll ask her.”

“Have a good night,” She sang and Linda echoed her. 

“You, too.” You smiled.

You turned and unlocked your gate as their heels continued down the pavement. You let yourself inside and listened until there was silence. You were happy to have friends, happier that you were so much alike, but the thought of a party had your stomach aflutter.

🏰

You found your only formal dress. Rather, your most formal dress. A long-sleeved black number that flared at the knee. You wore the simple silver chain your mother gifted you for your high school graduation and a pair of kitten heels. You hugged yourself with a red shawl and grabbed your purse.

Elsie waited just outside your dorm room. She looked as nervous as you felt. The lack of details gave both of you the jitters. You were two shy girls who found each other among the sea of students. You took comfort in knowing you weren’t the only one in over your head.

And Sheila would be there too. She could help you maneuver your way through this maze of etiquette and idealism.

You took a bus as far as you could but at the last stop, you were still three blocks away from the place. Blackwood Manor. Sheila’s loopy cursive marked it on the corner of paper. The house on the hill, she said, can’t miss it.

The gates towered over you as you approached. Tinted lanterns lit the walkway and you pressed the button over the small speaker box. A dull voice greeted you from the other side.

“Um, hello,” Elsie squeezed your arm as you bent to speak into the box. “We’re here for the party.”

“Par-ty?” The voice said.

“We’re friends of, uh, Sheila.” You replied nervously.

“Ah, yes, Miss Sheila.” The crackle died and the gate clicked. 

You looked to Elsie and a man in grey neared from the other side. He pulled open the gate and removed his cap as he waited for you to enter. A car drove up, its bright headlights washed over you, as you walked up the drive and the gates man spoke with its occupants.

At the front door, you met with a man with grey hair and the same even tone that rose from the speaker. He took your shawl and Elsie’s coat and directed you to the next room. You detached Elsie from your arm and gave her a look. She smiled tensely and smoothed the front of her dress.

The sparkle of the chandelier drew your eyes first. The light refracted from the crystals and illuminated the large room. Men in suits stood around with drinks in hand and chattered. You heard the next guests enter behind you and stepped out of their way.

You spotted Sheila in the far corner, a broad pair of shoulders left her barely visible. There were several other girls you recognized; Linda. Darla and Colleen, two other Brownies, and even a couple girls from your Lit class. Every women in the room was barely that; they were all bright-eyed co-eds amid a conclave of stiff-lipped men.

You felt a chill crawl up your spine but resisted the shiver. You were just anxious about all these strangers. It was natural to be a little nervous.

Elsie followed you across the room and smiled at Sheila over the shoulder of the man she spoke to. She waved you over and the man turned to look at you. His blue eyes flicked from you to Elsie and back again. His expression was placid as he buttoned his jacket.

“Charles, these are my friends,” She introduced you and Elsie, “And this is Charles Blackwood, our host.”

He seemed to recall himself and shook your hand and then Elsie’s. His grip was firm and his expression unbreakable. He was entirely unimpressed by you and your plain black dress.

“You have a beautiful house,” You offered. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere so… grand.”

“It was my grandfather’s,” He said tersely as his eyes explored the room. “Sheila, if you’ll excuse me, I must speak with Gerald.”

“Of course,” She kissed his cheek and his lip curled before he walked away. “Sorry about him,” Sheila turned to you. “He’s a bit antsy, you know? Always is on nights like these.”

“I never…” You looked at Elsie as her eyes bounced around in wonder, “I never would think anyone who lived like this would you know, agree with us.”

“Oh, but we already know money isn’t everything,” She said. “You know, these men, they know that and they want to use their money for good. They want to make sure that students like us make it through college and go on to speak our truth to the world.”

She stopped a man passing by and took a wine glass from his tray. She offered you it and grabbed another for Elsie and herself. She batted her lashes at the waiter and returned her attention to you.

“Which is why you should loosen up and talk to some of these men,” She advised. “They are much preferable to the boys on campus and much more powerful. My second year, I had my tuition paid in full by one of Charles’ friends.”

“Wow,” Elsie gasped. “Really?”

“Consider it a grant,” Sheila explained. “Spread the wealth, right?”

“I suppose…” You uttered.

“Oh, there’s Patty,” Sheila perked up. “I knew she’d be the last one here. Pardon me a moment.”

“Alright,” You turned and watched her go as she waved over the heads to her friend. 

You brought the glass to your lips and the alcohol burned your nostrils. Your stomach turned and you lowered the flute. Elsie drank deeply as you glanced around. A man with thick silver hair and a sharp aquiline nose stared at you from across the room.

You fidgeted and slipped behind Elsie to set your glass down.

“You should take it easy,” You warned her as she gulped down the wine. 

🏰

The man with silver hair introduced himself as Harry. You weren’t fond of him as he talked of his new car and something about a cottage up north. You were confused. Sheila intimated that these people were like you; maybe not communists are heart, but left-leaning at least. They surely didn’t sound like it.

You glanced around for the umpteenth time and frowned. You didn’t see Sheila or Linda or Patty. Elsie was with a man in a striped suit, Darla and Colleen sipped from glasses as they listened to a pair of men banter, and you were stuck in the corner with this grey-haired boor.

You excused yourself, claiming to need the powder room, and walked along the wall as you searched the room. The seniors were gone. And something else caught your eye. The men drank from their stout tumblers and the women, more aptly girls, all held champagne flute. Yours was still on the table, untouched.

You neared Elsie and excused your interruption as you turned her away from her companion. You lowered your voice.

“Have you seen Sheila?” You asked.

She shook her head and wobbled. She giggled as she steadied herself with your arm. “Nope!”

“How much of that have you had?” You took her glass from her.

“This is only my…. Third,” She counted on her fingers.

“Well, I think three is enough,” You said. “Why don’t you come to the restroom with me? Splash some water on your face?”

“No, no,” She shrugged you off. “I’m talking to Gerald.” She turned back and smiled at the balding man. “He has a fellowship.”

“Elsie,” You drew her back. “Something’s… wrong.”

“What do you mean?” She hiccuped. “It’s all quite fine, isn’t it?”

“Just…” You peeked over your shoulder. “Wait here for me, okay? Don’t go anywhere else.”

She rolled her eyes and you sighed. You left her reluctantly and stopped a waiter as you neared the main archway. You asked him where the restroom was and ducked into the hallway. You passed by the foot of the staircase towards the next and paused. 

You peered around the wall and pulled back. You slipped off your heels and looked back at the room that swirled with voices. You tiptoed to the door and tried the handle. It was locked. You searched for a mechanism but there was only the intricately wrought handle. 

You went back to the stairs and listened to the buzz from the front room. You climbed a step at a time as your ears perked up at every creak and crack. You wondered what had happened to Sheila and the others. It was unlike them to leave early. And why was the door locked?

You found a window and carefully turned the latch. You shifted it up and cringed as the wood loudly rubbed together. You stuck your head out and stared down at the grass below. There was a tree not far from you, a few windows away.

“Can I help you?” The voice frightened you and you hit your head on the window as you reeled back. You turned to your host, Charles, as he leaned against the bannister.

“I was… looking for Sheila.” You lied.

“Oh, outside?” He wondered with a smirk.

“Well, no, I just needed a breath of fresh air so I thought…” Your voice trailed off as he stood straight.

“The party’s downstairs,” He said evenly. “I’m sure you just missed her.”

You stared at him. His eyes sparkled with mischief. Your heart dropped and your heels threatened to slip from your sweaty hand.

“She’s gone,” You said. His lips curved again and he chuckled. “What’s going on here?”

He inched forward as he pushed back his jacket and shoved a hand in his pocket.

“She did her job. Delivered what she promised.” He said coolly. “Can you blame her for cutting out?”

“What--” You backed up until you were against the window ledge. “I don’t understand.”

“You tried the front door, didn’t you?” 

You blinked and your shoes fell from your grasp.

“You think you can get to that tree? Even if you moved a few windows to the left?” He got closer. “Or maybe… you think you can get past me.”

Your lips parted as his features hardened. His brow twitched as he held your gaze. He didn’t look away as he knelt and grabbed your shoe. He took your foot and shoved the kitten heel on. He did the other and stood.

“Let’s go back to the party,” He growled. “It’s only just getting started.”

🏰

You stood against the wall as the room spun. Your chest was filled with doom as you looked around at the girls in their sheath dresses and chunky heels. Many shared the same glazed look as Elsie. They swayed just a little, giggled airily, and their eyelashes drooped. They were barely awake on their feet.

The man who answered the door stood beside you. He squinted at you every now and then. Charles had told him to keep an eye on you. You watched the host of the event disappear through another doorway. You thought of the invisible lock and the tree just a few windows down.

It was that crushing sense of defeat when you knew loss was imminent but unavoidable. So you watched it slowly creep forward until finally you had to submit. You shivered and shook your head at yourself. Sheila had done this. Ensnared all these girls in whatever sick game this was.

Time dragged. You watched the servers offer their tainted champagne and the girls all too ignorant to realize that something was amiss. Your eyes stung and you gripped your purse tight. Whatever was planned, it couldn’t be good.

The clinking of metal on glass silenced the room. Your eyes were drawn with every other to the other side. The men exchanged knowing looks. The girls were confused but not suspicious. They looked to Charles as he relinquished the glass and knife to a server. He grinned at his rapt audience.

“Shall we commence with our evening?” He asked; the men nodded and mumbled in agreement. The girls frowned and wavered on their feet. “Very well. Girls…”

He waved an arm to his left and the waiters, now free of their trays, dispersed to herd the girls to the other side of the room. You were led along with them and stood in the row of drunken co-eds. For a moment, you wished you had drank the wine. That you could be as oblivious as the rest.

The girl at the head of the line was ushered forward to stand beside Charles. Her red hair hung in ringlets and her cheeks were rosy with alcohol. He asked her her name and she slurred “Carrie.” He repeated it for all to hear and shouted a number. Ten thousand.

A man raised his hand and Charles called eleven thousand. Another gestured and the number went up again. Again. Again. Carrie was visibly confused as she tried to keep up. She couldn’t. She was sold for twenty-five thousand and ushered into the arms of her buyer.

Elsie was next. She could barely stand as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Eighteen thousand for the mousy-haired girl. Colleen went for about the same and Darla was in tears as she was bartered for an even twenty. 

You were near the end of the line. You marched up to the front and bit down as you stared at the bourgeois bastards. Harry was the first to bid for you. Your stomach flipped. Then another man you hadn’t even spoken to. You could see only his hand as he reached above the crowd. 

The bids bounced back and forth, Harry cursed as he wondered who was so determined to have you. You sold for forty thousand to the faceless man. You were shown out the side door by a waiter as the last girl was brought up to stand by Charles. 

You stood alone in a long dining room with a large table and more than a dozen chairs. You turned as the doors slid closed and faced the grey-haired man who had greeted you in his monotone at the door. You thought he was the help. You grimaced at him.

“You?” You sputtered.

“No,” He said blandly. “Not me.”

“Then…” You couldn’t finish as you were certain you knew the answer.

You swallowed and spun away from him. You gripped the back of a chair and placed your purse on the table. The furor from the other room reached a peak and then began to dwindle. The grey-haired man glanced at the doors.

“I must attend to the coats,” He announced. “Do not stray. He will be mad.”

You sighed as he slipped through the door. A hand kept them from closing and you watched the doorman rush away. Charles stepped through and shut the doors. He took a breath as he turned to you. He fixed his lapels as he stopped across the table from you. 

“What?” You hissed as he stared at you.

“No… thanks?” He asked.

“Thanks?” You narrowed your eyes. “For what?”

“Don’t tell me you wanted to fuck one of those old men?”

You blanched at his language and your lip curled in revulsion. He laughed.

“Don’t worry. I only need… a maid.” He smirked.

“A maid?” You wondered.

“Cooking. Cleaning.” He tapped two fingers on the table as he spoke. “They ever write about that in your books?”

Your eyes were glossy as you gulped. You were furious, frightened, and frustrated.

“You girls think you know it all,” He scoffed. “There’s a lot they don’t put in books.”

“No, there are horror stories,” You assured him. “Of repulsive monsters and their nasty ways.”

He chuckled and rounded the table. He stopped just beside you as his hand closed over your purse. He slowly lifted the strap from your shoulders and batted your hand away before you could stop him.

“Trust me,” He said as he flipped it open and looked inside. “There is no monster like me.”

🏰

You were shown to a room with a barred window. It didn’t matter as it was in the basement and so narrow that you couldn’t hope to fit through it. The door was locked but even so, there was a man without. You could see his shadow under the door and hear him cough every now and again.

You didn’t sleep much. There was a blanket on the floor beside some dusty boxes. You sat against the wall and dozed in spurts. The night replayed in your head on a loop. Then all those moments you’d spent with Sheila. How she had lied so easily. Was she even a student? 

Didn’t matter now. The sun rose slowly through the small window and the door opened shortly after. You were given a black dress, stockings, and a pair of black shoes. Nothing else. You were taken to a shower hidden in the cellar; the water was cold and you washed quickly in the closet-like restroom.

You dressed and contemplated turning your underwear inside out. They were too worn to re-use. You left them with the rest of your clothes and emerged in your uniform. The man in black who had spent his night outside your door was mute. You weren’t sure entirely if by choice.

Your first task was to clean the main room, still dirtied from the party. The grey-haired man, Albert, told you so and recited your list of chores. The kitchen would be next and then you were to sweep the upstairs corridors and check every room in case it needed dusting or new linens.

It took you hours to tidy up after the previous nights’ guests. When the glasses were cleaned, you stacked them in the cupboards and wiped the counters. Alone, you went to the back door. It was locked too. The windows on this floor only opened two inches. You cursed.

You climbed the stairs with a broom and pan and set to the endless tedium of sweeping every corner. That took another hour, if not more. You emptied the pan downstairs in the bin and returned with a duster. 

You knocked on each door before you entered. Most were pristine and required only a touch up. When you reached the end of the next hallway, your rap was answered as the door opened from the other side. 

Charles wore only an undershirt and pants as he looked you up and down. He waved you in wordlessly. You entered and set to dusting the mantle and all its ornaments. He moved around behind you and stopped in a doorway just left of the bed.

“I expect you to do more than dust in here,” He said. “Grab some fresh linen when you get the chance.”

He slipped through the door but left it open an inch. You huffed and continued on lazily. Call it spite or your fleeting mind. You tried the window. It opened but there was no way down. You closed it and turned away.

You went to find the sheets and when you had discovered the trove of pressed and folded cotton, you returned to the room. You could hear the soft ripple of water through the small doorway. You set the sheets down at the foot of the bed. You cleared the wrinkled clothing from the chair and dropped them in the hamper.

“Girl,” Charles’ deep timbre called sternly. “Girl.”

Your cheek twitched. He knew your name. You sneered and quickly wiped it away as you neared the door. You pushed it open hesitantly as you peered through.

“Towel,” He demanded.

He sat in the deep tub, his dark hair damp and his broad chest bare above the water. You tore your eyes away and grabbed the towel from its rack. As you faced him, he stood and the water dripped down his body shamelessly. You unfolded the towel and held it up so that you could not see all of him.

“Well,” He waved you closer and snatched it from you. 

He stepped out onto the bathmat and fanned the towel around his body. You looked away quickly and a soft chuckle escaped him as he secured the towel at his waist. He passed you, his wet arm touched your sleeve and he neared the mirror as he admired his freshly shaved face.

“Did you make the bed?” He asked.

You shook your head and turned to return to the bedroom.

“Wait,” He stopped you. “That’s ‘yes, sir’ or ‘no, sir’.”

“No, sir,” You said bitterly. 

“Then you better get to it,” He rebuffed.

You swept through and moved the new sheets to the chair before you stripped the mattress. He leaned in the doorway as he watched you. You could feel him as you moved around the bed and stretched the cotton over the corners. You spread out the top sheet and replaced the quilt over top. You changed the pillowcases and fluffed them. 

Done, you bundled up the old bedding in your arm. He went to the bed and dragged his fingers along the quilt. He grasped the blankets and tore them from the mattress. 

“Tuck in the edges,” He said. “Now, fix your mistake.”

“Yes,” You gritted. “Sir.”

You dropped the old sheets in the chair once more and set to redoing your work. He stood at the foot of the bed and when you slipped past him, you felt a brush across your ass. You ignored it, content to think it was natural friction, and carried on. You could feel the heat of his gaze upon you and as you faced him, it was confirmed.

“Very nice,” He commented. “You learn… quickly.”

“Quicker than the others?” You asked. “Huh? How many have you bought? What did you do to them?”

“Oh, you’re mistaken,” He said. “I’m not a buyer, I’m a seller… but well, I decided to indulge myself last night.”

Your mouth was dry. You turned and grabbed the linen again. As you backed up, you were stopped by a figure behind you. His arm stretched out around you and he held his towel out. Slowly, he released it and it flapped to the floor.

“You don’t learn that quick though,” He mused as his hand settled on your shoulder. “You think I would spend that much money on a maid.” His fingers crawled along your neck. He gripped your jaw as he pressed himself against you. You felt the prod of his arousal through your skirt. “But it was fun to watch you try.”

“Why me?” You breathed as he gripped your arms and pulled them away from the laundry. The bundle fell to the chair and drooped down onto the floor.

“Because you’re the first to figure it out,” He answered. 

“Please,” You begged weakly as he pulled your arms back and rolled his hips so that he poked you.

“Get on the chair.” He ordered.

Your breath caught in your throat. You stood staring at the yellow wallpaper with its golden lilies. You turned slightly and he caught you. 

“No, don’t turn around.” His voice sent a shiver through you.

Your lip trembled and you lifted a knee, then the other. His hands ran up your arms and around your back. He shoved you so you caught yourself against the back of the chair. You tensed as his hands fell to your hips and over your ass.

He squeezed and stepped between your ankles so that his legs were against the seat. He ran his hands down your thighs and kneaded through the skirt. He reached the hem and slowly raised it an inch at a time. When it was higher than your stockings, your hand flew back to stop him.

He grabbed your wrist and twisted until you cried out.

“If you scream, there’s no one here who will care,” He snarled. “And they certainly won’t help you.”

He pushed your hand away and tore your skirt up over your ass. He slapped you so hard you yelped. You could feel the heat of his palm across your ass even after it was gone. He bunched your skirts around your waist and hummed in approval.

“You look nice in black,” He said, “Better out of it.”

You kept your eyes forward. You couldn’t have looked at him if you wanted. This man, this stranger, was touching you like no one had before. And he meant to do more. Because he owned you.

His hand snaked around your hip and down your pelvis. He tickled the hair there and slid lower. You tried to press your thighs together but your ankles hit his legs. He tutted and leaned against you.

“I’m being nice,” He warned. “I don’t have to be.”

You grabbed his hand and shoved it away. He struck your ass again as he stood straight. He grasped the back of your neck and pushed your head down against the back of the chair. Your fingers clutched at the cushion beside your face as he held you there.

“I told you last night,” He pinched your thigh. “I can be the worst fiend you’ve ever known.”

He pushed his knees up on the chair between yours. His fingers crawled around your hip again and along your pelvis. He pushed two down along your folds. He rubbed your bud with his middle finger as he spread your lips. He flicked and teased until your hips bucked.

“Not so bad…” He purred. “Am I?”

“Stop,” You begged as his grip tightened on your neck. “Why are you doing this?”

“I can’t just let you go,” He said. “That’d be a poor investment. Even you could see that.”

He dipped his finger inside of you and you inhaled sharply. He drew it in and out and added another. Your thighs shook and your fingers bent against the cushion.

“You don’t realize how fucking lucky you got,” He pushed his palm to your clit as he rocked his hand. “Those other men; old men, they’d fuck you for two seconds before they blew. Leave you there, unsatisfied, discarded. The girls never last long.”

He curled his fingers and moved his hand faster.

“The men get bored. Naturally, they’re greedy,” His nose tickled your ear as his breath glossed over your cheek. “Or maybe the girl gets pregnant. No good. Send her away. Don’t care where, just don’t want to hear about her ever again.” 

He nuzzled your hair as your breaths grew laboured. You found it hard to resist the heat that radiated from his touch. You shook as you tried to force the ripples back down.

“So, you keep me happy, girl,” He sneered. “And you might just last.”

You squealed as you came. You were ashamed and astounded. You’d never felt so… much. Never felt anything so deeply. You quivered around his hand and he slowly drew away and wiped his wet fingers on your bunched up skirt.

He reached between your thighs and you felt his length rub against your ass. He teased you and dragged his fingers along your ass. He pressed his tip to your skin and guided it down. He squeezed your neck and you whimpered. He pushed against your entrance and paused.

“You’re not…” He began and thrust inside of you all at once. “Well, it doesn’t really matter.”

Your walls ached as he filled you. The pain was nothing compared to relief that washed over you. You hadn’t realized how much you longed for that feeling. His hand slid from your neck and he gripped your shoulder. His other went to your hip and he rocked his hips.

You grunted as he thrust. You wanted it to end but you also didn’t want him to stop. He was relentless and impatient. You expected little else from the steely man. You quaked as his pelvis slapped against your ass. The noise echoed off the corners of the room, interspersed with his low groans and you pathetic mewls.

He moved your body against his as he plunged deeper and deeper. He sped up, driven by your helpless moans as you clawed at the upholstered chair. You wanted to get away as much as you just wanted to grab onto something steady. You turned your head back and forth as your nerves flared. You shook and gasped as you came again.

“St-st-stop,” You pleaded. “Stop. It’s too--”

He slammed into you so hard you shrieked. He didn’t let up as he crushed you against the back of the chair. He snaked his hand up in front of you and groped your tit as his other arm wrapped around your neck. His thick muscle choked you as he pounded into you and the chair creaked dangerously. You trembled as the ripples washed over you and you skin tingled with the heat of the man behind you.

His thrusts turned sharp and furious. His arm tightened around your neck as he pulled his other hand back. He pushed into as far as he could, holding himself there for just a second each time. His heavy breaths were like hungry growls in your ear.

He pulled out of you suddenly and you felt his knuckles against your ass as they moved frantically. A warmth spurted along your lower back and his hand slowed. 

He sighed and unhooked his arm from around your neck. He climbed off the chair and smacked your ass again. It stung so much you were certain there was already a bruise.

“Clean yourself up.” He demanded as he sat on the bed heavily. “Then take that damn dress off.”

[allisonxmoynihan]

always be my baby ~ p. moynihan

Note: This is Part Two of the fic! If you haven’t read part one yet, or need a refresher, you can do so here! Thank you so much for the endless support and I hope you enjoy! 

Word Count: 3,491

Life had returned to normal: you were back at school surrounded by your friends, exploring in your downtime, spending time with Olivia and Kelsie, and you and Pat were friends again. It wasn’t easy to forgive him, but a couple months after your dad’s birthday surprise you decided it was time, and the right decision, to at least let him back in as a friend.

It was the Tuesday of Thanksgiving week, and you had just finished your last class before Fall Break. You found yourself sprawled out on your boyfriend’s bed as he sat on a beanbag next to you playing video games with a few of his friends.

“Hey, babe, what time are you heading home?” Sam asks you, turning his head to look over at you.

You shrug your shoulders looking up from your phone, “I don’t know, some time tomorrow morning probably? Are you heading home at all?”

Sam turns off the game console before coming over and plopping down next to you, “Nah, I’m staying here for the break, my mom’s meeting me in Boston on Friday morning for brunch”

You adjust your head so that you can listen to the steady beat of his heart and you smile, content that today was a good day for the two of you, as his arms wrap around your waist, one hand going and twisting strands of your hair gently in his hands. It wasn’t that you and Sam had an unhealthy relationship, because for the most part everything was perfect, but sometimes the two of you would bicker nonstop to the point of you having a meltdown in Olivia’s dorm and him ignoring you for days afterward. 

“You’re going to eat crappy dining hall food alone on Thanksgiving?”

He sighs, “yeah, but it’ll be okay princess, they’re supposed to have mac n’ cheese that day too”

You lift your head up excitedly, “Why don’t you come home with me tomorrow? My parents are dying to meet you anyway, and besides no one should have to be alone on a holiday!”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, ��anything for you, but you have to come to brunch with my mom then.”

~*~

Thanksgiving Day at your house was always hectic. Somehow your parents always got stuck with hosting, and your mom would be stuck in the kitchen all day as your dad and brothers played sports in the backyard as your grandparents sat at the kitchen table keeping your mom company. As soon as you got your driver’s license you got put on emergency grocery runs. 

“y/n, I don’t have the stuff for the pumpkin pie or the sweet potatoes,” your mom says as she scrambles about the kitchen, checking the turkey. “Oh, and I need stuff for brownies and stuffing!”

You stand up from the kitchen table and grab your car keys, “anything else?”

Your mom shakes her head fervently, “hurry,”

On the car ride to Shaw’s your favorite song came on the radio so you turn the volume up and start belting out the lyrics, a wide grin plastered to your face as you slow for a red light. 

Sam immediately goes to turn the volume back to an inaudible volume, “babe, really?” he asks, looking at you as if you were crazy.

You feel your face lose color as you continue to stare ahead, a little hurt that your boyfriend of the last five months would do something like this when he clearly knew it was your favorite song. You fight off the thoughts that Sam held you back from being completely happy, that Patty would never do something like this. You silently curse at yourself for constantly comparing Sam to Pat, as you turn into a parking space, but it was no secret that Patty would never treat you the way Sam did. 

In the five months of dating Sam, he was always quick to call you out on your weaknesses and shortcomings, using your poor grades on a test to boast about his 100%, and even getting annoyed when your goofy and childish nature was highlighted. But time and time again you decided that the good outweighed the bad in the relationship.

Completely disregarding your sudden and distant behavior Sam slips out of the car and strolls towards the door. You take a deep breath, grabbing a shopping cart and hurrying after him. You finally catch up with Sam who is waiting for you in the produce section. “What did your mom need again?”

You force a smile onto your face, hoping you’ll sound somewhat positive, “sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie stuff, and stuffing,” you say, starting to pick up various sweet potatoes and put them in a bag. 

“Here, let me get it,” Sam says, taking the bag from your hands and grabbing more sweet potatoes. You glance up, seeing Patty across the produce section and a big, genuine smile erupts on your face as you wave to him. Pat smiles back before going back to investigating which head of lettuce was the best. Sam clears his throat, directing your attention back to him.

“Why don’t you go get a box of stuffing mix and then meet me back here? Stuffing should be aisle three.”

You nod, walking off as Sam continues to fill a produce bag with sweet potatoes. Feeling a presence next to him Sam glances at the brunette boy next to him who is preoccupied with picking up various sweet potatoes, inspecting them, and putting them back in the crate, all while glaring at Sam.

“Who the hell are you? The boy finally asks.

“Sam Loughlin, what’s it to you?” 

“That’s a pretty douchey name,” the boy mutters under his breath as he finally selects a sweet potato and adds it to his cart.

“Excuse me?”

“How do you know y/n?” the boy asks, continuing his inspection process of sweet potatoes just like he’s probably seen his mom do a million times over.

“I’m her boyfriend, who are you anyway?”

The boy turns and glares at Sam, his eyes blank of emotion, “Patrick Moynihan, the love of her life.”

As if on cue you return at that moment with a couple of boxes of stuffing in your hands. Patty looks down at you, “Hey y/n! Tell Nate and Luke I say hi, and of course to your mom and dad.”

You smile, tossing the stuffing into your shopping cart, “yeah, same to you Pat, Happy Thanksgiving!”

Sam stands beside you possessively, snaking an arm tightly around your waist, and you go to look at him and see him seething with anger and you go to ask him what’s wrong but nevertheless he waves you off.

“Pie crust and pumpkin filling is all that’s left on the list. Let’s go,”

~*~

By the time you got home and dinner was ready you were exhausted and couldn’t wait for the day to be over so you could call Olivia and discuss your Black Friday shopping plans that occurred every year. And Thanksgiving dinner couldn’t have been any worse.

“Mommy, I wish Patty was here,” Nate whines, pushing his green beans to the side of his plate.

“Eat your green beans or no dessert, sweetie pie,”

“Daddy, do you think Patty will come over later tonight like he used to and have dessert with us and play football with us?” Luke chips in.

Your dad looks over at you, sorrow filling his eyes, “Uhh, no honey, I think Pat has his own family plans this year,”

Your mom, sighs, “well his jokes would be much appreciated right now after a long day of cooking,” she laughs as she places a spoonful of green beans onto Luke’s plate who groans at the sight.

“He wasn’t here to help with the turkey either!” your dad exclaims.

You glance up at Sam, hoping he’s not upset or angry, but to your dismay annoyance and disgust are written all over his face. And you know you’re going to hear about it after dinner.

Your grandma cuts up her piece of turkey, “y/n, what happened to that sweet boy we all liked? He was kind of tall. Goofy. Very goofy. But he had sweet eyes,”

“Marilyn, his name is Patirck,” your grandpa explains, placing his hand on your grandma’s shoulder who turns to look at him.

“Oh hush up and eat your stuffing, Charles”

You laugh, shaking your head at your grandparents, envious of their deep affection towards each other. 

Sam exhales loudly and you look up at him. He lifts his chin to the right towards the kitchen and dismisses himself from the table walking into the other room. Your mom looks at you worriedly, “I’ll be right back” you whisper, following Sam into the kitchen. 

You walk in to see Sam standing tall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. You immediately feel sheepish, like a small child that disobeyed their mother.

“I can’t fucking take anymore of this bullshit tonight” Sam says in a hushed tone,

“Take what? What’s going on?”

“That asshole from the store, your family raving about how great he is even though may I remind you he cheated on you. I didn’t really want to come here in the first place, especially if it meant you falling for your fucking ex all over again,”

You sigh loudly, “whatever, if you don’t want to be here then go, I don’t have to put up with your attitude either.” 

Sam rolls his eyes, a scowl taking over his face, “I’ll send you the address for brunch, and don’t embarrass me.” He says before walking to the front of your house and slipping into the shadows of the night.

Later that night you called Olivia to discuss your shopping plans but also to vent to her about the events that went down that night.

“I’m just so sick of Sam getting mad whenever a guy says hi to me or something, like he’s in a frat for crying out loud, he has girls on him all the time”

“Yeah, I don’t know y/n, it’s just weird”

“And he’s annoyed that my family was upset that Patty wasn’t there, like I’m sorry they grew attached to him in the thirteen years of knowing him”

Olivia sighs heavily, finally selecting on the blush pink nail polish instead of the cherry red one.

“What?”

“I don’t want to be mean, but y/n you’re my best friend and I just want you to be happy. But if you want my honest opinion, I’ve never seen you more unhappy than you are with Sam and that’s including when Pat broke up with you”

After finalizing your plans with Olivia for Saturday you find yourself painting your toenails and watching dance moms when you get a facetime call from Patty.

“Hey, Pat!” you smile, starting a second coat on your toes.

“Hey, what are you up to?”

“Watching dance moms and painting my nails, and I guess talking to you now,”

Pat smiles, “Remember when I let you paint my nails and you wouldn’t let me take it off”

“And all the guys chirped you for being ‘so whipped’”

Patty grins, “yeah, that was a good memory”

There’s a comfortable silence that falls over you before Pat starts telling you about his grandparents and how they’re doing, and also asking about yours. 

“Well I’m glad they’re doing well y/n, that’s great news,”

You nod slowly, pouring over your conversation with Olivia about Sam. You zone out contemplating what you should do. She did have a point, you were extremely unhappy and have been for awhile, but at the same time you saw how good Sam could be, and that potential was enough to keep you there.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Patty asks, concern filling his voice.

“Oh, it’s nothing,”

“What did that asshol you were with earlier do something? I’ll fight him.”

You laugh to try and fight the tears that were stinging your eyes, but they inevitably start rolling down your cheeks, “What’s wrong with me? Why am I not enough for anyone? Sam. You. Literally everyone,” you croak out, rubbing furiously at your tears.

Patty’s face softens, “c’mon don’t say that, y/n, you’ve always been enough,”

“Then why’d you leave me? Why’d you cheat?”

Patty sighs, rubbing his hand across his face, “I don’t have a good explanation. I was lonely and drunk and I missed you and didn’t know what to do about it, but that’s all besides the point. y/n you’ve always been good enough, okay? You’re too good for the majority of guys in the world, including me.”

You sit there, rubbing the seemingly never ending tears that were pouring down your face.

“Hey, c’mon, just like Abby says, ‘save those tears for the pillow!’”

You smile slightly, “Hey, there’s that smile!” Pat gushes.

You roll your eyes, “you’re such a dork,” you say as you wipe more tears away.

Pat continues to try and cheer you up by telling you knock-knock jokes, because they’re your favorite, recalling funny moments from the past, and filling you in on all the embarrassing moments from his time at school.

Suddenly Pat sits up in his bed, “you should just leave him,”

“What?”

“Leave Sam. He doesn’t treat you right, and I know I’m one to talk, but y/n c’mon, the guy treats you like an object,”

You lean over to turn your light off and slip in under your bed covers, getting comfy in bed. “I can’t leave him, Pat. He’s a good guy, trust me. You just don’t know him,”

Patty sighs and quickly changes the subject to the most random of things, his voice low and soft as you drift into slumber. Patty sits and watches you sleep for a bit, remembering the times you were falling asleep next to him, and before he hangs up he whispers ever so quietly, “I never stopped loving you,”

~*~

The next morning you were supposed to meet up with Sam for brunch with his mom, but you weren’t really feeling it that day. You strolled down the streets of Boston wearing your oversized sweatpants, Patty’s Nobles hockey sweatshirt that you had never given back, and a pair of birkenstock sandals. 

“The hell are you wearing, y/n come on, this is a nice restaurant and my mom is coming, remember?”

You roll your eyes as he looks at you disgustedly, “Yeah, about that, I’m not staying”

“Jesus, why do you always have to go and make a fool of me wherever we go”

“See that’s the thing, you turn everything on how it affects you, and sorry to break it to you but not everything is about you.”

“What the hell are you going on about now?”

“I don’t want to be with you anymore. I’m tired of always stressing about how I look and how my actions are going to impact you. I’m not even living for me anymore, I’ve become your puppet and you still can’t stand being around me”

He rolls his eyes, “Well if you’re leaving, go. I don’t really need you around”

~*~

That night your parents are out with your brothers at a hockey game, so you find yourself home alone in desperate need for a distraction. You find yourself baking brownies when you hear a knock at the door. You frown, dropping the measuring cup into the flour jar, and going to check who’s at the door.

“Oh, hey,” you say, stepping to the side to let Patty in who gladly walks right into the kitchen and taking a seat at the kitchen island. You follow him so you can resume your cooking, breaking the silence Patty says, “you still stress bake?”

You nod, whisking the eggs into the batter.

Patty is slow to nod, “Liv told me you might be upset and I wanted to come and check on you.” you look at him with a blank face and he stammers, “y’know because we’re friends. And that’s what friends do”

“I’m fine.”

Patty props his elbows up so he can rest his chin in the palm of his hand and watches you pour the batter into the pan. He takes you all in, the way your hair is falling out of its bun, how you have flour all over the front of your shirt, and how you gently scrape at the sides of the bowl to get the excess batter out. Deciding you have enough batter in the pan you start licking the extra batter out of the bowl and sucking your fingers that have batter stuck to them as well.

“What?” you ask looking up and noticing Patty’s stare.

“Nothing,”

“Is there batter on my face?” you ask as you smudge your hands across your face, wiping at the batter that was never there in the first place.

Patty laughs watching you, “no, you’re good,”

“Then why are you staring at me”

Patty’s face momentarily goes red before he shrugs it off, “I’ll help you with the dishes,” he stands up and takes the bowl from your hands and starts washing all the utensils you used.

Taking a seat at the island, you watch Patty wash the dishes and think about all the times he’s done this same exact thing before.

“Hey Patty?”

“What’s up”

“This is going to sound really silly,” you look down at your feet fumbling with the hem of your shirt, “but, um,”

Patty shifts his weight to one side and leans against the counter, “I’m sure it’s not silly”

“That’s because you haven’t heard it yet,”

“y/n what’s wrong?”

“Patty, I really miss you, and I’ve dated so many guys trying to forget what it felt like to have you by my side, but none of them are you”

His face softens, “I really miss you too,”

You laugh slightly shaking your head, “Everything in me is saying to give you a second chance like you asked five months ago, but I’m scared”

“y/n, please just give me a chance, I know I can be the guy you deserve to be with.”

You're silent and go to put the brownies in the oven before turning to grab some water.

“Kelsie says that you did it once before so you’re just bound to do it all over again, so how do i know you’re for real this time”

Patty sighs, grabbing a towel from your pantry and starting to dry the dishes in the sink.

“I know you’re just trying to avoid my question,”

Patty sighs, putting the towel down and turning to look at you, “you really want the honest story?”

You nod, going back and sitting at the island.

Patty takes a deep and shaking breath before he starts, “Because ever since we were six years old and I saw you yell at Timmy Moore for pushing Olivia off of the swing, since we were eleven and I forced Ciara to become friends with you so I could go to your birthday party with her, since we were thirteen and we started becoming really good friends. y/n it’s always been you; it was you on the playground on September 6, 2007, it was you when Ashley Turner had a big crush on me and everyone told me to ask her out, it was you at the eighth grade dance, it was you when I left Millis High and went to Nobles, and it was you the whole time in Michigan, and fuck, it was you at Providence too. It’s never been about anyone else but you.”

You sit there, dumbfounded, at a loss for words, staring straight back at him. He only shakes his head and goes back to drying the dishes before saying, “I can leave if you want,”

“Please don’t go again,”

Patty looks at you, walking slowly over to where you were seated, “y/n, i never stopped loving you”

A lump gets lodged in your throat as you look back up at him, “me too, patty,”

He cups your face in his hands, “please, give me a second chance, I won’t let you down,”

Your heart practically melts at his touch, at his words, and you can’t help but stare at his lips, “if you mess up moynihan I’m having my dad come and beat you up”

Patty laughs, pressing his lips to yours for the first time in a year, “if i ever hurt you i will come over just so he can beat my ass,” he mumbles against your lips, pressing them to yours one more time as the oven timer separates you two.

“Looks like i should be staying for dessert too,” Patty smiles watching you go over and take the brownies out of the oven,

“You’re such an idiot,” you laugh,

“Yeah, an idiot that you love y/n. An idiot that you love,”

[allforhader]

Grief Group

Richie Tozier x (M) Reader

Warnings: Langauge

Part 1 | Part 2

“Eddie!—“

“WE CAN STILL SAVE HIM”

“Eddie! Eddie—!”

——-

A year later...

“You should go to this support group. I’ve been a couple times but it’d be a big help Richie”

“Don’t lecture me Bill”

“I wasn’t even lecturing! I’m just telling you. There’s a great support group that I used to attend and I think it would do you some good”

“Okay. Whatever. Send me the details and I’ll go the next one”

“Perfect!” Bill smiles picking up his phone from the table and immediately sent Richie the details as he continued to brood over his food. “Hell you can even meet someone-“

“Okay—In what regard?”

“A friend?” Bill scoffs to Richie’s defensive attitude. “Come on. You’re not replacing him. It’d...just be nice. To relate with someone that isn’t another loser or Patty”

“I guess”

When the time came to go to the grief group, Richie sat in his car for an hour beforehand. He didn’t really want to go. But if he’s being honest, therapy doesn’t help when it’s one on one.

“I hate you Bill” Richie states before finally getting out of his car heading into the building.

The grief group is well, a group grieving over someone they lost, and they sit in a circle like you used to do in kindergarten. Except show n tell is more with real life traumas instead of a stuffed animal from grandma. But everybody engages in conversation before coming together for group.

“New here?” A lovely woman approaches Richie who found himself hugging the wall.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Well, you don’t have to speak for your first time if you’re not comfortable. Just know it’s a safe place to do so” She smiles resting a reassuring hand on Richie’s shoulder before going to take her seat. “Alright let’s group up!” she says with a smile. Misleading smile.

Richie walks over taking his coat off and resting it on his chair before taking his seat. A few people are around his age, very few elderly, and it’s said seeing a handful of 20 somethings. Could be their parents or a lover. God...a lover. His attention instantly drew toward a man sitting beside him. Petite. Built. Good genetics by still having a full head of hair. He knows Bill can rock a silver touch, but this guy can as well. What the hell is Richie thinking.

“Well shall we get started?” The lady states once everybody was settled. “It’s nice to see new faces, just a reminder we are here to listen and support one another during a difficult time in our lives. My name is Linda and I lost my husband three years ago in a car accident”

“Tsk...three years” The man beside Richie states as everyone looks at him.

“It’s always nice to see you here Y/N”

“Pfft. Likewise” Y/N laughs sitting up in his seat taking his tie off while doing so.

“Would you like to share? How was the funeral?”

“Okay well first off. For the new faces. Hi my name is Y/F/N Y/L/N and I lost my fiancé in a hit n run about four months ago”

Four months...shit. Richie can remember vividly how much it hurt when Eddie died and how fresh the wound was around the first few months. He can only imagine what Y/N must be feeling.

“The funeral was fine. Lovely. For a funeral. His parents and mine wanted me to talk. But I didn’t want to”

“Why?” Richie suddenly asks when he meant to just think it. “Oh sorry I-“

“Nah it’s fine. It’s a valid question. Why wouldn’t I want to talk at my own fiancé’s funeral? Probably because my last words to him were fuck you” Y/N’s honest during these meetings. Like Linda said.

It’s a safe place.

“Well Y/N there are things we regret for saying to our deceased loved ones as our final words to them. But we also regret what we should’ve said instead of what we did” Linda states as a few members of the group agree with her but Y/N wasn’t up for it.

“You said it was a hit and run?” The youngest out of the group that Richie spotted spoke up. “You can get justice for his death Y’know Y/N”

“His parents are doing that shit. I don’t want to be involved.”

“I would” Richie looks at Y/N catching more stern look. “Wouldn’t you want to feel relieved that...you got justice”

“Did you? Mr. Comedian?”

So someone does know who he is. And it’s the one that’s quite the ball buster with an attitude.

“Did you get justice for the lost of your loved one?”

“Sir you don’t have to share if-“

“No no. I’m good” Richie straightens up giving Y/N a look before looking to everyone else. “I’m Richie Tozier, and I lost the love of my life a year ago. He was murdered.”

The gasps coming from a few had a lot of mixed feelings. It’s the famous comedian Richie Tozier. He’s gay? His love was murdered?

Y/N retracts in his seat but relaxes kind of feeling awful for trying to push a button he’d know for a fact, wouldn’t want to be pushed on himself.

“So...justice?” Y/N frowns looking at Richie sharing an exchange.

“Yeah. I got justice. But not how you’re going to get it”

“Let me guess. The asshole died? Before you could lay a hand on him?”

“Something like that” Richie reassures with a half smile before looking down in his lap.

And that was the last of both of them talking. The rest of the group continued with sharing and keeping IN MIND OF OTHER’S FEELINGS. Excuse me.

When the group dispersed, Richie headed out of the building finding Y/N hitting a smoke outside. He walks over beside him giving him a blank stare.

“Want one?”

“If you’re offering”

“Well, you were staring. Assumed more than offer on my own terms” Y/N states reaching for the pack and lighter in his back pocket handing it to Richie. “So, Richie Tozier at a grief group. That’s a sight for the papers”

“How much you want to be there’s going to be a picture of me in that group somewhere around social media?”

“A round of drinks” Y/N laughs taking his phone out as Richie lit his cigarette.

After typing in the comedian’s name in the twitter search bar, and there were a few tweets about it. But no picture. So fans are calling it fake news. Y/N shows Richie while taking back his pack after putting out his cigarette.

“So, who’s paying?”

“I will. I was a dick in group” Y/N smiles putting his phone away.

After a long walk to the nearest bar and stealing the last booth. Y/N set down a scotch for the comedian and a bottle of vodka with two shot classes.

“You drink a whole bottle?”

“I pay for a whole bottle. But for the most part. I can’t handle past three shots” Y/N states popping open the bottle. “You want one?”

“Pour it” Richie states as he takes a sip of his scotch. “So...who forced you to go to grief group?”

“Well, I sat in the waiting room as my fiancé died in an OR. So a nurse did when I got a bag of his belongings”

“Shit I’m sorry”

“Nah. You asked. I’m only going to be honest with you and answer it” Y/N smiles before handing him his shot as he took down his just to pour another one. “Can’t believe people can’t handle vodka.”

Richie coughed after downing his which caught a laugh from Y/N.

“See. Can’t handle”

“I’d like to see you handle tequila”

“Gross. Yeah no. Vodka is my death wish. Ain’t adding tequila to the party” Y/N says as he takes his phone out after getting a number of texts from his parents. “Idiots”

“Who?”

“My parents. They’re worried but yknow. My death wish” Y/N raises his second shot before taking it down.

“At least it’s just two people bugging you. I have four”

“I wouldn’t see it as bugging. It’s annoying but Y’know” Y/N shrugs watching Richie take his bottle to pour him another shot for the both of them.

“They only mean well” Richie states clinging shots with Y/N before regretting it. “Mm—shit dude. I don’t see how you can handle this crap.”

“Mm. Death wish” Y/N shrugs.

“Man. I remember the first few months...my friends wanted to put me in AA because I’d drink until I blacked out. But come on. Not to be rude to my friends who I consider my family, but their lives got better after everything.”

“Leaving you behind to grieve.” Y/N states taking his scotch to get a different taste in his mouth. “Yeah. I’m sorry you went through that. And well still? Or you wouldn’t be in grief group”

“My best friend out of them all suggested it. So I listened. Didn’t want to. Sat in the parking lot for an hour”

“Yeah. Honestly I know I’m not the best influence. But if you need someone who’s willing to relate without the rest of the world moving on?” Y/N held his hand out for Richie’s phone and was handed it to him with no hesitation. “You can text, call, whatever. Just not during the stereotypical work hours during the week”

“What do you do?”

“As much as I wish I had as much free time as you did. I’m a journalist.” Y/N says calmly saving his number in his phone handing it back. “And no. I won’t put this in an article. Even if it would give me brownie points”

“Man. Journalists have a harder time than I do. For the most part and from my knowledge” Richie laughs a bit as Y/N rolls his eyes smiling. “Y’know what. Fuck it. My manager will probably drop me but it won’t be hard to get a new one. You can put out an article that I’m back. I’ll send you stuff to support it cuz fuck it right? You only live once”

“You only live once” Y/N smiles laughing a bit to that. “But as much as it would be fun. To write about a well known comedian? We live in LA and...it’s going to be a bitch finding another to support you.” He got up from the booth grabbing his bottle resting his hand on Richie’s shoulder. “You need someone to care about you other than yourself and well the ones closest to you. I’ve got your back Rich” he says making his leave.

He’s got my back.

[talesofstyles]

hellooo, i’ve got another (drunk) TFLN for you folks! so i combined three requests from my favourite people here @waitingfortwilight and @ofpeppermintbay aaand anon (which i’m pretty sure is ellie too 👀) tell me what you think and i hope you like it!

Harry

Y/N

So, you’re not coming to the party tonight? :( xx

I can’t. I’ve got an 8am class tomorrow. :(

Can’t you miss it just this once? It doesn’t feel right to celebrate without my best friend

Sorry, H. I’ve missed so many classes already.

:((

Won’t be fun without you

We can celebrate this weekend, yeah? You’re still in London until next week right?

I know I’ve said this a couple times but seriously I’m SO proud of you! This album might be my favourite so far 😉

YES ALRIGHT

You’re not shitting me are you?

OF COURSE NOT YOU PRAT

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA 

Thanks then :)) xx

By the way, how should we celebrate?

I can come over and we can have a game night?

I’m so happy you’re coming over but I’m not playing Monopoly with you

You’re mean when you’re rich 😏

You keep putting me in jail

HAHAHAHAHAHAH I KNOW

I thought money wouldn’t change me but nope

We can watch a movie?

Romcom?

YES Y/N YES

The Notebook?

Hell no. Notting Hill is soooo much better.

ARE YOU KIDDING?!

NOTTING HILL IS THE BEST ROMCOM THERE EVER WAS AND I’M READY TO FIGHT WHOEVER SAYS OTHERWISE!

ABSOLUTELY NOT

YOU’RE MENTAL

I AM NOT

Has your party started yet?

SAY THE NOTEBOOK IS BETTER

Yeah, some people are already here. Wish you’re here too :(

Drink for me

But save some champagne for us this weekend

AND NO I’M NEVER GONNA SAY THAT BECAUSE NOTTING HILL IS THE BEST

I’ve got two glasses in my hands. I’m drinking for you.

THE. NOTEBOOK. WINS.

Keep that up and you’re gonna be absolutely pissed in like half an hour tops 😂

And if we’re not gonna watch Notting Hill this weekend I’m not coming

FINE WE’RE WATCHING NOTTING HILL

You’re so mean

You love me though

True

I’m a bit tipsy already

Okay do me a favour and put your phone away before you do something stupid

But I want to give you live updates from the party so you won’t miss anything

Harry, it’s just a bunch of people drinking unlimited booze

I just took a shot

Vodka?

Nope

Tequila

Harry, put your phone away

Also this might or might not be a girls thing but just incase you feel like you wanna call your ex: DON’T

Hahaha

I’m not gonna call my ex

I don’t have their numbers anymore

And the Pope isn’t catholic

No I swear I don’t have them

Yeah right

Seriously put your phone away

No

He’s gonna miss me

Who?

My phone

Oh, so it’s a he?

Yeah. His name is Henry.

Tell Henry I said hi

He said hi too

I ate so many pineapples already

Spongebob is gonna be homeless by the end of the night

Because you ate his house? 😂

Yesh

Y/N I FOUND HIM

WHO?

SPONGEBON

SPONGEBOB

Attachment: 1 image

THAT’S YOUR KITCHEN SPONGE YOU CHEEKY GIT

OH

I’m so pissed aren’t I

I’m pretty sure you are

That explains why he didn’t respond when I asked about the secret ingredient

For Krabby Patty? 😂

Yeah

Y/N

Harry

I love you

I love you too

No

I mean

Porpelry

Porlepy

Fuck

Properly

I love you

I want to be your boyfriend

So it’s like actual love

I love you

Oh hey maybe we can watch Love Actually this weekend

...........

Sorry that was Gemma

I thought Gemma is still in Bath with her boyfriend?

Oh yeah you’re right

I’m sorry I’m just drunk I don’t even know what I’m sayinh

The pineapples are so good

I can’t stop eating them

I’m sorry Spongebob

Your house is delicious

And nutritious

Is that just pineapple? Or?

Just pineapple

Soaked in vodka ovenright

Orvernigh

Overnight

OH GOD HOW MANY OF THOSE HAVE YOU EATEN?

I lost count. Probably at least half of the giant bowl.

STOP EATING THEM

I CAN’T

TOO DELICIOUS

YOU’RE GONNA DIE

Okay not literally but you’re gonna be so miserable tomorrow if you don’t stop

Just ate a brownie

I’m seeing stars right now

SPIT IT OUT

No I swear it’s a clean brownie

Not a pot brownie

It’s just very good

..........

I’m so drunk

I know

My head is so bloody light

I feel like I’m flying

Wait no not flying

Floating

Go to bed

I can’t

I don’t know how to get home

I want to go home but I’m drunk

Harry?

Yes

The party is at your house

So I’m home right now?

Yes

Where’s my bed

Have you looked in your room?

Where’s my room

Second floor, first door on the left

Thank you

You’re welcome

You’re very nice

Thank you

I found my bed

Good

Go to sleep

Want cuddles :(

I love you

I love you too

Love as in love love?

We’ll talk about that in the morning when you’re sober

Now just go to sleep alright?

I’m thirsty

Go get some water

No

I’m thirsty for whiskey

Hey that rhymes!

JUST CLOSE YOUR BLOODY EYES HAROLD

FINE

I love you

[shirohibiki]

KRUSTY KRAB PIZZA ANON, THY WILL BE DONE. i hate this so much like usual and i’m sorry like usual and i’m sorry it took so long like usual. i always do this smh. :/ anyway, anon asked me to do something related to the krusty krab pizza episode. this is dedicated to my darling @salvagedmoose for their birthday, so happy birthday!!! I LOVE YOU AND I HOPE YOU LIKE IT, AND SAME GOES TO ANON AND EVERYONE ELSE <3333

tom ‘IT TOOK THREE DAYS TO MAKE THIS POTATO SALAD!’ smith is throwing yet another tantrum over his food at the krusty krab, taking out his aggression on spongebob. (i had no idea his last name was smith but apparently it is) spongebob is obviously upset by this, and squidward is infuriated by it -- instead of bloodying his knuckles this time, though, he goes to see if he can comfort his neighbor.

it’s actually fascinating how i always write the literal same thing. i don’t get it omfg. this fic is pre-relationship, and while the feelings between them aren’t entirely mentioned, they’re certainly there. not necessarily part of the main storyline, just a one-off. as a note, i had sort of wanted to change rats into some sort of sea creature, but i couldn’t think of any that fit the pun of the movie title, so... i guess... they’re sea rats, or something.

written for my spongebob human AU, info here

“Y’know, I’ve been coming here for a LONG TIME, and I deserve only the BEST food for my loyalty. So what do I get for this? Today, I asked for my kids’ patties to be well-done. WELL. DONE. Y’know what that means? IT MEANS THERE AIN’T NO PINK IN IT, KID.”

Ah, Tom Smith. Easily the Krusty Krab’s most abrasive customer. He had a tendency to be weirdly picky about food – if anything was wrong, you would absolutely know about it. Nothing seemed to anger him more than food and nobody knew why. He didn’t always cause a fuss, but when he did, it wasn’t pretty.

The first time Spongebob experienced Tom’s wrath was long, long ago when Mr. Krabs had invented the Krusty Krab Pizza. He and Squidward had been tasked to deliver it to a customer’s house. It should have been a simple task, but… It turned into a huge journey because the pair got lost on their way. After what seemed like eons, they arrived, and Spongebob proudly presented Tom with the first Krabby Patty Pizza ever. Tom took one look at him and asked where the drink he’d ordered was. The fact of the matter was, he hadn’t actually asked for one, so Spongebob didn’t have it – thusly, Tom’s anger flared. He lambasted Spongebob for not bringing it, subsequently slamming the door in his face. There were to be plenty more incidents after that.

“You call yourself a frycook? I can cook better meat than this! Maybe I should take your job, eh?” Tom loomed menacingly over a cowering Spongebob Squarepants, who only clutched his spatula against his chest. “Go make them again, and make them RIGHT this time, kid. WELL DONE,” he snarled. He then turned on his heel, bubbles forming behind him with the motion, and stormed back to his table to wait with his children who were all, of course, complaining. Spongebob utterly deflated and slumped back to his grill to fill the order.

It was Squidward’s opinion that the customer was almost always wrong.

While many of the Krusty Krab’s patrons were polite, normal people, there were also those who were complete rotten assholes. The horror stories of customer service. The ones you prayed you wouldn’t encounter, but without fail, you would. Tom was undoubtedly the worst of them, and others like Harold were also known for occasional outbursts. It was absurd – they got to treat the employees however they wanted and never had any repercussions for it. They were always served what they were asked for. Customer service was bullshit. It was unfair. It was just plain wrong. These people could whine about the simplest of things – missing sesame seeds on their bun? Throw it out and make a new one. Fries slightly crispier and smokier than usual? Toss it and cook up a fresh batch. Romaine lettuce instead of iceberg? Better get ready to redo everything or make sure you have that refund! Go fetch your manager while you’re at it and consider yourself a failure because one single little detail was amiss. You were wrong and the customer was right. You’d always lose that battle.

How was it fair? How was it reasonable that Tom’s behavior was simply accepted? Why was he allowed to terrorize the person making his food just because the patties were slightly pinker than he wanted them to be? One could only hope he didn’t speak to his loved ones in the same way. As he watched the scene unfold from the cash register, Squidward found his jaw tightening and his fists clenching at his sides. He glared daggers in Tom’s direction. Oh, he was so ready to deck that guy. He’d done it once, and he would do it again if needed. He absolutely could not stand him. The way he treated Spongebob… It incited a fury deep within him. He didn’t quite know why it bothered him so much… He didn’t know why he cared, but he did – and actually, he could feel that he cared more now than ever. No one was allowed to treat Spongebob like that.

No one.

If there was one thing Squidward didn’t like, it was Spongebob being bullied. A tad ironic, since he had a tendency to… Not be so nice to Spongebob… But it was different! No, really, it was different. It wasn’t acceptable when he himself did mean things either, but these people! These people weren’t Spongebob’s neighbor! They didn’t secretly maybe kind of like him deep down! AND, some of them even got physical with him and THAT was just entirely unacceptable. Flats Flounder came to mind. Spongebob did all he could for his customers and Squidward couldn’t stand to see them hurt him. (His own behavior required further analysis, but he refused to believe he was on that level.)

Squidward was still seething as Tom returned to his seat. The wait wasn’t long – a defeated frycook soon emerged from the kitchen with a tray of patties. There was an audible hesitancy in his steps. “Here’s… Your order, sir,” Spongebob said in a small voice, sliding the tray onto the table. The customer sneered at him.

“Yeah, you’d better hope they’re right this time, or I’m taking this to your boss.” Spongebob said nothing as Tom cut one of the steaming patties in half to take a peek inside. Finding they were satisfactorily browned, he grunted, nodding. “Good. You managed not to mess it up. This had better not happen again. Oh, and one more thing, kid – you did remember to put at least seven ice cubes in my diet Dr. Kelp, right?” Spongebob froze with the question at first, praying he had, because he did NOT want a repeat of that pizza delivery… Or worse. Fortunately, he always made extra sure Tom’s drinks were right, so he reassured his racing mind with that fact.

“Yes, sir, I did,” he replied. Doubtful, Tom popped the lid of his drink open to check himself. Everything seemed to be in order.

“You actually managed to do it. Maybe you DO care about your customers!” Snickering, Tom waved Spongebob away. Eyes downcast, the other turned and padded back to his station. Squidward was on the verge of marching right over to the table and slamming Tom’s smug face into the burger – resisting that urge took every ounce of his self-control.

The rest of the day dragged on. Spongebob had understandably gone quiet, and Squidward spent his time thinking about all of the ways he could repay Tom for his immeasurable kindness. At closing time, Squidward watched his coworker leave carefully. “See ya,” the blond muttered impassively as he grabbed his coat and shuffled out the door, not quite paying any actual attention to those around him.

Squidward now had a few options – he could go home himself and forget about it all, he could go have a few choice words with Tom, or he could go see if Spongebob needed…

Comfort.

It seemed Squidward’s feet suddenly began moving on their own – he didn’t even have time to consider or conceptualize his decision. He was already leaving. He didn’t realize what he was doing until he was in front of a pineapple house. He paused to look up at it, wondering for a moment why he was here. It didn’t matter that much, did it..?

The aura of gloom emanating from the house said yes.

Squidward honestly just felt sad – a resonating hollowness in his chest – sure, he got yelled at by customers plenty too, but he deserved it but it was different. The little guy worked too hard to deserve that crap. He wasn’t particularly in the mood to risk getting his ass kicked at the moment, and just going home and ignoring it wasn’t actually an option either because it would never leave his mind. That left him with only one possible course of action. So, with a deep breath, he gave the front door a good firm knock. He wasn’t going to think very hard about how odd this was. He was doing what he felt – what his heart told him to do.

“Come in.”

Opening the door, he found the person he was looking for curled up in a pile of plush blankets on his couch, snacking on brownies and watching television. Gary snoozed away beside him, seemingly unbothered by the disturbance. The room was dark save for the lambent glow of the screen. “… Hey,” Squidward said lamely as he took a few steps inside, noting how tired Spongebob looked. That same unresponsive look was on his face – it was listless and tinged with melancholy. Surprisingly, there didn’t seem to be a single trace of tears.

“Hi.” It was a low, short sound that held no welcome in it. It wasn’t an unfriendly greeting per se, just… Apathetic. Spongebob’s gaze was drawn to his visitor briefly before it returned to his show. The moment hung uncomfortably; Squidward didn’t want to intrude, but… The dejection in those dull blue eyes hurt. He strode over to the couch and sat himself down next to the lethargic lump. Spongebob intruded on his brooding all the time, so whatever! He’d just have to deal with it!

“What are you watching?” Squidward asked as casually as he possibly could while he settled back. He wasn’t going to think about this at ALL. Just go with it, Squiddy. Spongebob flinched a little at the movement before eyeing him curiously, but didn’t seem to question it too much because he nodded back at the TV. He allowed his blankets to fall and pool around his waist, and set the plate of half-eaten brownies down on the table in front of them.

“Um, Ratatouille…”

“Oh?” Squidward took a look – a young man who had just been hired at an upscale restaurant was struggling to cook while a rat darted about, fixing up the food he’d been attempting to make. He wasn’t at all surprised that Spongebob had picked a movie about cooking, even if it had been a subconscious choice. “I’m shocked you’re not crying yet.”

“It’s—it’s still early in the movie.”

“Doesn’t usually stop you,” Squidward teased with a smirk. That smirk fell when he only received a sigh. He watched a few more minutes of the film, seeing Linguini’s ruthless and hateful boss criticize him, and was reminded of what had happened earlier. He wondered if Spongebob was thinking about it too… Must’ve been, with that expression.

It was time to do what he’d come here to do.

His next decision wasn’t one that was normally made lightly – it was something he didn’t usually do, nor was it something he was accustomed to. It was awkward, and if he thought about it too much he’d chicken out. Hopefully Spongebob wouldn’t make too big of a deal over it; if he did, it would reactivate Squidward’s defenses and he would inevitably flee in embarrassment. Squidward took a moment to clear his mind and focused on his sole goal of soothing his neighbor. Exhaling, he reached out and wrapped an arm gently around Spongebob’s shoulders, then tugged him close. Spongebob squeaked in surprise – he’d been tilted to the side and his head was now pressed against his friend’s chest. When he looked up, there was a question in his eyes, but no sound came from his gaping mouth. Squidward merely nodded to him to confirm that it was alright.

Spongebob was left confused – Squidward was hugging him..? Willingly? Why…

… Squidward was so magnificently warm. Spongebob soon found that he didn’t have the energy to deliberate on the implications of this. Ordinarily he would, but… Maybe he’d mull it over later. For now, he experimentally brought the blankets up over the both of them and when Squidward (startlingly) didn’t protest, he tucked himself into his side comfortably while the other kept an arm around him. Grateful for the heat, he nuzzled close.

“Who cares about the customer, Spongebob?”

“… I do.” Squidward caught a tiny hint of a smile tug at Spongebob’s lips when he responded. That pizza delivery had been a rough time, but at least they could joke about it now.

“Well I don’t, and neither should you. Look at that guy.” He gestured to Chef Skinner who was in the middle of lambasting Linguini for the umpteenth time. “They’re just like him. If they don’t care about you, why care about them?” Oh boy, he’d be having a crisis over that statement in regards to himself and his general treatment of Spongebob after he got home…

“Because I like making people happy and I like doing my job right,” Spongebob answered, slowly being lulled into complete relaxation by the sound of the beating heart against his ear, the familiar scent filling his nostrils, the warmth enveloping him, and the beautifully animated city of Paris. Squidward glanced down at his fluffy blond hair, quiet for a moment.

“… You can’t please everyone. You should put more energy into yourself – you don’t need to cater to some asshole’s every selfish whim to do your job right. He shouldn’t have the freedom to treat you like that,” he finally said. Being so unused to comforting Spongebob, his cheeks reddened a little, but he ignored the feeling. He absentmindedly gave Spongebob’s shoulder a squeeze, beginning to rub his thumb in circles against the soft fabric.

“I know… But it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.” A shiver ran up Spongebob’s spine. That felt nice. That felt really nice. Even the simplest of touches made him happy. Oh, heaven… He sure was one lucky guy!

“Yeah, but you really don’t have to make sure you put a certain amount of ice cubes in someone’s drink. If you don’t want to punch someone in the face for pushing you around like that, I have no problem doing it for you.” Squidward meant that, too. If that meant getting beaten up for Spongebob’s sake… Oh well. The customer wasn’t always right and he would stand by that notion. It hurt too much to see Spongebob like this – it was weird to actually… Want to comfort Spongebob, but it also felt kind of good for some reason. It eased the sorrowful ache in his chest, and he hoped it eased the one in Spongebob’s, too. He couldn’t bring himself to look into his neighbor’s eyes as he spoke, but it became exceedingly apparent that he was staring.

Spongebob gawked for a few moments, having gone scarlet – that was probably one of the nicest things Squidward had ever said to him. The man he loved had honestly just stated that he was willing to stand up for him, to defend his honor, if need be. It was… Wow. Just… Wow. He could scarcely believe it, but no – no wondering about it for now. No causing a scene. Just accept it. Let the happiness wash over you. Don’t think about it – just feel it. “… Thank you,” he whispered, tears rushing to his eyes. To stave them off, he buried his face into Squidward’s collarbone and took some deep breaths, clutching him tightly. Once calmer, he sniffled and did his best to return his concentration to the television. A movie, the comfort of a best friend, brownies, and a sleepy snail. It was a bad day turned into the best day ever!

“Mm.” Squidward said nothing – he instead kept himself preoccupied with rubbing Spongebob’s shoulder and the story of a rat and a man going against all odds and those who tried to smack them down to help each other realize their dreams. They protected one another… Just as he’d try to protect Spongebob. Tom would get what was coming to him someday.

The pair stayed together the whole night, marathoning movies and gorging on junk food. There were tears and there was laughter. As baffling as it was, Squidward had a genuinely good time. Hanging out with Spongebob wasn’t always so bad… And he seemed to be feeling better, which was all Squidward had wanted. He’d deal with whatever weird feelings arose from it later. Maybe -- just maybe -- he could sort of thank Tom in some twisted way, because his shitty actions enabled he and his neighbor to bond and gave him the chance to be a good friend for once in his life. So thanks, Tom. Your assholeishness really brought people together!

[myassbrokethefall]

Tagged by @mulderswaterbed. Thank you!

1: Are you named after someone? Not my first name, but my middle name was my dad’s mom, who died when he was young. 

2: When is the last time you cried? This was just in the other one. Before the commercial about the dog and the horses, I think it was that poem about the worm drawing a picture of itself.

3: Do you like your handwriting? I think so? My handwriting is weird. I hold the pencil weird -- it rests on my fourth finger instead of my third finger like it’s supposed to. I don’t know how I got in that habit but my mom, who used to teach first grade, is dismayed by it. So I wonder if my handwriting is affected like that. It’s not very girly. I kinda like it though.

4: What is your favorite lunch meat? SALAMI. But also roast beef. And sometimes, for some reason, I randomly crave bologna. 

5: Do you have kids? No kids. Only nieces. 

6: If you were another person, would you be friends with you? If I were me, yes. I mean, if I were another person, but a person like me. I don’t know if any given random person would definitely want to be friends with me. I think I am a good friend, but I sometimes don’t respond well to too much friendliness, and I am not very good at inviting people to do things. I’m probably never going to make plans with you, but if you make plans with me I’m reasonably likely to do them, although that depends on frequency/proximity. I’ll listen and think through your stuff with you if you need advice or just to vent, but I am NOT a good person to call in the middle of the night. So it depends on what level of friendship you need. I need a lot of boundaries. 

7: Do you use sarcasm? Why yes, yes I do. 

8: Do you still have your tonsils? Yup. 

9: Would you bungee jump? Most definitely not. Someday I (maybe) want to try hang gliding though. 

10: What is your favourite kind of cereal? You know, I really never eat cereal EVER. Even though I like cereal. I never have milk in the house and also cereal isn’t very good for you unless it’s super fiber-y. I have a disgusting soft spot for Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Golden Grahams. On the (slightly) healthier side, I like anything that’s basically granola with dates in it. I hate Kashi GoLean in all its unholy incarnations.

11: Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Well, that depends on the shoes, Mulder. I do have sneakers with shoelaces that I do not untie. But I also have boots with laces that I do untie. 

12: Do you think you’re a strong person? Not really. I wish I were stronger, in a lot of ways. 

13: What is your favorite ice cream flavour? Coffee oreo. By a mile. Weirdly, I can take or leave actual oreos. 

14: What is the first thing you notice about people? I don’t know. How tall they are?

15: Red or pink? Red.

16: What is the least favorite physical thing you like about yourself? What? I can’t parse this. 

17: What color pants and shoes are you wearing now? Black pj pants with white polkadots. Bare feet.

18: What was the last thing you ate? Two Girl Scout cookies (peanut butter patties). 

19: What are you listening to right now? Silence, and my cable box making weird thumpy noises. It does that. 

20: If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Maybe forest green.

21: Favorite smell? Spring air. Also coffee.

22: Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone? My dad maybe? 

23: Favourite sport to watch? The dog show. Of human sports? Probably something dumb like figure skating. Of sporty sports? Basketball I guess. Baseball is OK sometimes. 

24: Hair colour? Blondey-browny. 

25: Eye colour? Blue.

26: Do you wear contacts? Yes, though mostly I’m too lazy and I just wear my glasses.

28: Scary movies or comedy? Probably comedy. I don’t really like scary movies, although I do like trailers for scary movies, and sometimes scary TV shows. (X-Files, I’m not talking about you. You’re not scary.) I can be a little snobby about my comedy though. Romcoms, no thank you. 

29: Last movie you watched? Sunshine. 

30: What color of shirt are you wearing? Grey. 

31: Summer or winter? Summer over winter, but really spring and fall.

32: Hugs or kisses? Hugs. I hate kisses. I don’t even like the word “kisses.”

33: What book are you currently reading? Embarrassingly and providentially enough, the book I am currently reading is Bucking Fucking Dent by David Duchovny. I got it at the signing last week. I have lots of thoughts that I’ll post about at some point.

34: Who do you miss right now? Various friends that I don’t see enough.

35: What is on your mouse pad? Don’t have one anymore!

36: What is the last TV program you watched? Grimm, tonight.

37: What is the best sound? Wow, good question. Frogs at night in the summer. That might be my favorite. Or waves. 

38: Rolling Stones or The Beatles? Mulder’s Beatles. Because I’m Stones. Wait, sorry. Uh, probably Beatles I guess. I don’t have any huge attachment to either one really. 

39: What is the furthest you have ever traveled? Furthest from where I live now? I guess Prague. That’s not very far. Wait, I guess Vienna is further than Prague. 

40: Do you have a special talent? I’m pretty good at spelling. And I can name all the countries in the world, which I like to practice by frequently taking that one Sporcle quiz. 

41: Where were you born? In a hospital in Massachusetts.

[apsbicepstraining]

I Tried To Live Like Gwyneth Paltrow For A Week And I Felt Like Sh* t

I go through phases where I try to be best available form of myself — the holy beacon of light version of myself.

It’s the one who is peaceful and perhaps has defined abs.

I feel like I dont have too far to get there.

I have a lifetime of restraint, so I dont struggle with booze. Ive never inhaled a cigarette and I dont live in a major metropolis, so my lungs are in the clear.

Essentially, whenever Gwyneth Paltrows health and fitness newsletter, GOOP, comes into my inbox every week, I find the advocate to devour what shes feeing and brighten like she is glowing.

In an attempt to become the best, physically healthiest version of myself, I took a shot at glowingjust like Gwyneth Paltrow.

The result? It constituted me feel like sh* t.

Here’s what I did to complete this “healthy” diet TAGEND

Cutting Out Sugar

Sugar is my weakness; it is my vice.

Truly, in my knowledge, dinners are just a direction between treats.

Therefore, I prevented was of the view that if I could just predominate in my stunning sweet tooth( or all theteeth ), I would be the healthiest eater alive.

According to the Goop article on Overcoming Sugar Addiction, our figures dont fare well with loadings of carbohydrate, as the plunges and spikes stress our adrenals. You get anxious, sulky( sugar is a mood-altering narcotic) and eventually you feel exhausted.

Plus, according to the World Health Organization, obesity, heart disease and diabetes are only some of the unfortunate side effects associated with excess sugar intake.

So, I spent one week not devouring dessert, which I defined as all the items listed in the Wikipedia entering for the word.

Off restraints: patties, prostitutes, cookies, pastries, ice creams, pies, puddings, custards, mousses, sugars, brownies, cupcakes.

I never eat plain return as dessert. I tend to have it with snacks or as a health snack, so I didnt to be taken into account dessert in this sense.

My removal of dessert morphed into eating more savory junk food.

I typically shun bread-dense banquets, like sandwiches and pizza. I likewise never pray pasta or cheeseburgers. This week I had pizza, garlic rolls and a sub sandwich.

Bread became my new siren song and left me feeling uncomfortable all week.

My body didnt know what to do with the void of dessert, so I replenished in the spaces with garlic butter and chips.

Gwyn, this isnt working.

No sweeteneds have ever became me feel like a beached whale. Plus, the stress of figuring out what to do with my dessert occasion left home with just as many zits.

Daily Meditation

Mental clarity seemed like the next step to attempt this greatness.

After all, it was looking like I could be zen and content in less than 30 minutes per day if I tried , no paraphernalium compelled. GOOP had a whole sheet of apps and exercises that Oprah and Deepak believed in, too.

As the Importance of Mediation article interpreted, Meditation, as taught by the Buddha, was a means of taming the memory by fetching the entire range of thoughts, beliefs and physical hotshots into awareness, manufacturing the unconscious conscious.

We all know Gwyneth has consciousness on lock( or the authorities concerned of talking about it ).

So, I downloaded some meditation apps. I put a Buddhist handbook on my nightstand. Serenity, you are mine.

But then I detected myself get worked up when I had to carve out more of my treasured time to sit down and stay where you are. Isnt that what sleeping is for?

It’s hard to begin the day with loosening when I need to invigorate myself to write three papers, get to the gym, chew a few healthy meals, feed my cats and make it to academy on time.

As the lessons for inner peace educated me, if my mind began to stray, I precisely needed to come back to my breath.

Think about my sigh, should be considered my breather, in and out, in and out. Dont force it or see it.

Did this make me feel appease? Not really.

I started to feel like my breathing was labored or extremely calculated and I just wanted a snooze to escape the mediation. When I genuinely felt like I was not thinking about something, I tended to be snoring.

Sorry, again, Paltrow, but I contemplate I appear more peaceful if I meditate on what flavor ice cream Im going to have after dinner.

Yoga

I certainly experience exercising and wellness, I promise.

I is in fact one of those lunatics who wakes up roused to go to the gym, and I have to convince myself to take days off. Therefore, I was confidentI could get GOOP-y via the yoga route.

In The Basics of Yoga, Elena Brower, the founder of Virayoga in NYC, talks about increasing physical eloquence in order to reveal some kind of internal expansion.

Patience of the psyche and enjoy come out of these best practices of yoga.

I am on board with all these feelings. I want to light up and feel sweetness.

Not to mention, it would be REAL nice to be able to touch my toes with ease.

Yet, I have some sort of disconnect.

Its like the mediation, where the stillness begins to creep into my mind as an exasperation and a desire to do something else instead. I have trouble clearing my mind.

Again, I start to feel frustrated that I dont examination and experience as elegant as the instructor in the video. I wonder why the stout, old person in class can hold his leg out straighter than me.

I know it all takes practice, but I dont know if this is where I want to focus my limited quantity of free time. I dont envisage I want to trade this for a scamper or a barre class.

I bet Gwyn looks just like a goddess on her matting. I, on the other hand, definitely sounds like a mess, with my hair frizzing, my Walmart leggings and my free container meridian from a garb giveaway.

You obstruct determining your overflow, Ill stick with my storey stretchings while marathoning chapters of The Affair.

Ill Glow On My Own

I will still read all the GOOP newsletters, and weigh trying a brand-new self-massage proficiency, an eco facial or a broth-based cleanse.

However, I will also continue to remember that I am jolly splendid already.

Just because the next best health guru is telling Gwyneth Paltrow that their newest fad is the next best thing, doesn’t mean I have to follow suit.

If it doesn’t work for you, don’t continue to do it. It will simply squander your time and leave you feeling frustrated and hungry.

Trying something new doesnt mean said brand-new event will make all of my questions go away.

I’m happy for Gwyn; this lifestyle is clearly doing meditates for both their own bodies and her occupation, but I’m not going to pressure myself into someone else’s style simply to appear more comfy in my own.

At the end of the day, the health guru don’t ever know it all. No one should feel like they’re making relinquishes when they’re trying to find health and happiness.

You ascertain what obliges you feel happy and healthy — GOOP optional.

The post I Tried To Live Like Gwyneth Paltrow For A Week And I Felt Like Sh* t appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

from WordPress http://ift.tt/2pA3waA via IFTTT

[apsbicepstraining]

I Tried To Live Like Gwyneth Paltrow For A Week And I Felt Like Sh* t

I go through phases where I try to be best available form of myself — the holy beacon of light version of myself.

It’s the one who is peaceful and perhaps has defined abs.

I feel like I dont have too far to get there.

I have a lifetime of restraint, so I dont struggle with booze. Ive never inhaled a cigarette and I dont live in a major metropolis, so my lungs are in the clear.

Essentially, whenever Gwyneth Paltrows health and fitness newsletter, GOOP, comes into my inbox every week, I find the advocate to devour what shes feeing and brighten like she is glowing.

In an attempt to become the best, physically healthiest version of myself, I took a shot at glowingjust like Gwyneth Paltrow.

The result? It constituted me feel like sh* t.

Here’s what I did to complete this “healthy” diet TAGEND

Cutting Out Sugar

Sugar is my weakness; it is my vice.

Truly, in my knowledge, dinners are just a direction between treats.

Therefore, I prevented was of the view that if I could just predominate in my stunning sweet tooth( or all theteeth ), I would be the healthiest eater alive.

According to the Goop article on Overcoming Sugar Addiction, our figures dont fare well with loadings of carbohydrate, as the plunges and spikes stress our adrenals. You get anxious, sulky( sugar is a mood-altering narcotic) and eventually you feel exhausted.

Plus, according to the World Health Organization, obesity, heart disease and diabetes are only some of the unfortunate side effects associated with excess sugar intake.

So, I spent one week not devouring dessert, which I defined as all the items listed in the Wikipedia entering for the word.

Off restraints: patties, prostitutes, cookies, pastries, ice creams, pies, puddings, custards, mousses, sugars, brownies, cupcakes.

I never eat plain return as dessert. I tend to have it with snacks or as a health snack, so I didnt to be taken into account dessert in this sense.

My removal of dessert morphed into eating more savory junk food.

I typically shun bread-dense banquets, like sandwiches and pizza. I likewise never pray pasta or cheeseburgers. This week I had pizza, garlic rolls and a sub sandwich.

Bread became my new siren song and left me feeling uncomfortable all week.

My body didnt know what to do with the void of dessert, so I replenished in the spaces with garlic butter and chips.

Gwyn, this isnt working.

No sweeteneds have ever became me feel like a beached whale. Plus, the stress of figuring out what to do with my dessert occasion left home with just as many zits.

Daily Meditation

Mental clarity seemed like the next step to attempt this greatness.

After all, it was looking like I could be zen and content in less than 30 minutes per day if I tried , no paraphernalium compelled. GOOP had a whole sheet of apps and exercises that Oprah and Deepak believed in, too.

As the Importance of Mediation article interpreted, Meditation, as taught by the Buddha, was a means of taming the memory by fetching the entire range of thoughts, beliefs and physical hotshots into awareness, manufacturing the unconscious conscious.

We all know Gwyneth has consciousness on lock( or the authorities concerned of talking about it ).

So, I downloaded some meditation apps. I put a Buddhist handbook on my nightstand. Serenity, you are mine.

But then I detected myself get worked up when I had to carve out more of my treasured time to sit down and stay where you are. Isnt that what sleeping is for?

It’s hard to begin the day with loosening when I need to invigorate myself to write three papers, get to the gym, chew a few healthy meals, feed my cats and make it to academy on time.

As the lessons for inner peace educated me, if my mind began to stray, I precisely needed to come back to my breath.

Think about my sigh, should be considered my breather, in and out, in and out. Dont force it or see it.

Did this make me feel appease? Not really.

I started to feel like my breathing was labored or extremely calculated and I just wanted a snooze to escape the mediation. When I genuinely felt like I was not thinking about something, I tended to be snoring.

Sorry, again, Paltrow, but I contemplate I appear more peaceful if I meditate on what flavor ice cream Im going to have after dinner.

Yoga

I certainly experience exercising and wellness, I promise.

I is in fact one of those lunatics who wakes up roused to go to the gym, and I have to convince myself to take days off. Therefore, I was confidentI could get GOOP-y via the yoga route.

In The Basics of Yoga, Elena Brower, the founder of Virayoga in NYC, talks about increasing physical eloquence in order to reveal some kind of internal expansion.

Patience of the psyche and enjoy come out of these best practices of yoga.

I am on board with all these feelings. I want to light up and feel sweetness.

Not to mention, it would be REAL nice to be able to touch my toes with ease.

Yet, I have some sort of disconnect.

Its like the mediation, where the stillness begins to creep into my mind as an exasperation and a desire to do something else instead. I have trouble clearing my mind.

Again, I start to feel frustrated that I dont examination and experience as elegant as the instructor in the video. I wonder why the stout, old person in class can hold his leg out straighter than me.

I know it all takes practice, but I dont know if this is where I want to focus my limited quantity of free time. I dont envisage I want to trade this for a scamper or a barre class.

I bet Gwyn looks just like a goddess on her matting. I, on the other hand, definitely sounds like a mess, with my hair frizzing, my Walmart leggings and my free container meridian from a garb giveaway.

You obstruct determining your overflow, Ill stick with my storey stretchings while marathoning chapters of The Affair.

Ill Glow On My Own

I will still read all the GOOP newsletters, and weigh trying a brand-new self-massage proficiency, an eco facial or a broth-based cleanse.

However, I will also continue to remember that I am jolly splendid already.

Just because the next best health guru is telling Gwyneth Paltrow that their newest fad is the next best thing, doesn’t mean I have to follow suit.

If it doesn’t work for you, don’t continue to do it. It will simply squander your time and leave you feeling frustrated and hungry.

Trying something new doesnt mean said brand-new event will make all of my questions go away.

I’m happy for Gwyn; this lifestyle is clearly doing meditates for both their own bodies and her occupation, but I’m not going to pressure myself into someone else’s style simply to appear more comfy in my own.

At the end of the day, the health guru don’t ever know it all. No one should feel like they’re making relinquishes when they’re trying to find health and happiness.

You ascertain what obliges you feel happy and healthy — GOOP optional.

The post I Tried To Live Like Gwyneth Paltrow For A Week And I Felt Like Sh* t appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

from WordPress http://ift.tt/2pA3waA via IFTTT

[apsbicepstraining]

I Tried To Live Like Gwyneth Paltrow For A Week And I Felt Like Sh* t

I go through phases where I try to be best available form of myself — the holy beacon of light version of myself.

It’s the one who is peaceful and perhaps has defined abs.

I feel like I dont have too far to get there.

I have a lifetime of restraint, so I dont struggle with booze. Ive never inhaled a cigarette and I dont live in a major metropolis, so my lungs are in the clear.

Essentially, whenever Gwyneth Paltrows health and fitness newsletter, GOOP, comes into my inbox every week, I find the advocate to devour what shes feeing and brighten like she is glowing.

In an attempt to become the best, physically healthiest version of myself, I took a shot at glowingjust like Gwyneth Paltrow.

The result? It constituted me feel like sh* t.

Here’s what I did to complete this “healthy” diet TAGEND

Cutting Out Sugar

Sugar is my weakness; it is my vice.

Truly, in my knowledge, dinners are just a direction between treats.

Therefore, I prevented was of the view that if I could just predominate in my stunning sweet tooth( or all theteeth ), I would be the healthiest eater alive.

According to the Goop article on Overcoming Sugar Addiction, our figures dont fare well with loadings of carbohydrate, as the plunges and spikes stress our adrenals. You get anxious, sulky( sugar is a mood-altering narcotic) and eventually you feel exhausted.

Plus, according to the World Health Organization, obesity, heart disease and diabetes are only some of the unfortunate side effects associated with excess sugar intake.

So, I spent one week not devouring dessert, which I defined as all the items listed in the Wikipedia entering for the word.

Off restraints: patties, prostitutes, cookies, pastries, ice creams, pies, puddings, custards, mousses, sugars, brownies, cupcakes.

I never eat plain return as dessert. I tend to have it with snacks or as a health snack, so I didnt to be taken into account dessert in this sense.

My removal of dessert morphed into eating more savory junk food.

I typically shun bread-dense banquets, like sandwiches and pizza. I likewise never pray pasta or cheeseburgers. This week I had pizza, garlic rolls and a sub sandwich.

Bread became my new siren song and left me feeling uncomfortable all week.

My body didnt know what to do with the void of dessert, so I replenished in the spaces with garlic butter and chips.

Gwyn, this isnt working.

No sweeteneds have ever became me feel like a beached whale. Plus, the stress of figuring out what to do with my dessert occasion left home with just as many zits.

Daily Meditation

Mental clarity seemed like the next step to attempt this greatness.

After all, it was looking like I could be zen and content in less than 30 minutes per day if I tried , no paraphernalium compelled. GOOP had a whole sheet of apps and exercises that Oprah and Deepak believed in, too.

As the Importance of Mediation article interpreted, Meditation, as taught by the Buddha, was a means of taming the memory by fetching the entire range of thoughts, beliefs and physical hotshots into awareness, manufacturing the unconscious conscious.

We all know Gwyneth has consciousness on lock( or the authorities concerned of talking about it ).

So, I downloaded some meditation apps. I put a Buddhist handbook on my nightstand. Serenity, you are mine.

But then I detected myself get worked up when I had to carve out more of my treasured time to sit down and stay where you are. Isnt that what sleeping is for?

It’s hard to begin the day with loosening when I need to invigorate myself to write three papers, get to the gym, chew a few healthy meals, feed my cats and make it to academy on time.

As the lessons for inner peace educated me, if my mind began to stray, I precisely needed to come back to my breath.

Think about my sigh, should be considered my breather, in and out, in and out. Dont force it or see it.

Did this make me feel appease? Not really.

I started to feel like my breathing was labored or extremely calculated and I just wanted a snooze to escape the mediation. When I genuinely felt like I was not thinking about something, I tended to be snoring.

Sorry, again, Paltrow, but I contemplate I appear more peaceful if I meditate on what flavor ice cream Im going to have after dinner.

Yoga

I certainly experience exercising and wellness, I promise.

I is in fact one of those lunatics who wakes up roused to go to the gym, and I have to convince myself to take days off. Therefore, I was confidentI could get GOOP-y via the yoga route.

In The Basics of Yoga, Elena Brower, the founder of Virayoga in NYC, talks about increasing physical eloquence in order to reveal some kind of internal expansion.

Patience of the psyche and enjoy come out of these best practices of yoga.

I am on board with all these feelings. I want to light up and feel sweetness.

Not to mention, it would be REAL nice to be able to touch my toes with ease.

Yet, I have some sort of disconnect.

Its like the mediation, where the stillness begins to creep into my mind as an exasperation and a desire to do something else instead. I have trouble clearing my mind.

Again, I start to feel frustrated that I dont examination and experience as elegant as the instructor in the video. I wonder why the stout, old person in class can hold his leg out straighter than me.

I know it all takes practice, but I dont know if this is where I want to focus my limited quantity of free time. I dont envisage I want to trade this for a scamper or a barre class.

I bet Gwyn looks just like a goddess on her matting. I, on the other hand, definitely sounds like a mess, with my hair frizzing, my Walmart leggings and my free container meridian from a garb giveaway.

You obstruct determining your overflow, Ill stick with my storey stretchings while marathoning chapters of The Affair.

Ill Glow On My Own

I will still read all the GOOP newsletters, and weigh trying a brand-new self-massage proficiency, an eco facial or a broth-based cleanse.

However, I will also continue to remember that I am jolly splendid already.

Just because the next best health guru is telling Gwyneth Paltrow that their newest fad is the next best thing, doesn’t mean I have to follow suit.

If it doesn’t work for you, don’t continue to do it. It will simply squander your time and leave you feeling frustrated and hungry.

Trying something new doesnt mean said brand-new event will make all of my questions go away.

I’m happy for Gwyn; this lifestyle is clearly doing meditates for both their own bodies and her occupation, but I’m not going to pressure myself into someone else’s style simply to appear more comfy in my own.

At the end of the day, the health guru don’t ever know it all. No one should feel like they’re making relinquishes when they’re trying to find health and happiness.

You ascertain what obliges you feel happy and healthy — GOOP optional.

The post I Tried To Live Like Gwyneth Paltrow For A Week And I Felt Like Sh* t appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

from WordPress http://ift.tt/2pA3waA via IFTTT