#this is a fine mix for a healthy well rounded adult

[enbyrecovery]

So, here i’m back again. i kinda don’t want to, and want to at the same time.

Ed brains are so complex.

i tried recovery so much.

It was so painful in the process, from emotions to anxiety to literally physical pain caused by the digestion, the bloating, after starvation and laxatives. i remember getting triggered so many times by other’s comments. trying to prove some doctors that i was sick enough, even if i didn’t succeed to lose more than 20kg. some of them don’t care about your illness and suffering if you’re not underweight, if you still have your period, etc.

i am not skinny. that still feels like a failure on the inside.

i’m healthier now tho. i have more energy, my hair falls just the regular amount, im not close to faint when i stand up too fast, im not freezing cold all the time. i’m less pale, my face looks less flat. i smile more, i live more.

that should sounds like a victory, but that still feels like a failure on the inside.

•

i remember when i got on that side of tumblr the first time. my account was terminated 3 times. that’s why i don’t put barely any tags anymore. even when you’re not okay and try to vent a bit, strangers try to silence you to let you d!e. your simple existence bothers them. i’m not even one of these big accounts, and i’m not promoting this shit to others. i’m just trying to survive and feel less alone on the way.

A year has passed since my ED diagnosis, i got my yearly appointment to check where i was nowadays. i’m still at the same weight since a year, i’ve gained like 6kg after my first recovery attempt (even while eating like a 5 years old) and had to fight to lose them in the most healthy way possible, and maintain my weight in recovery rather than gaining. That still feels like a failure on the inside.

i feel so confused tonight cause i know i don’t want to feel obsessed and having my mind controlled by food and numbers again all the time, but also i remember how i smiled when that one doctor (the only one who cared, bless her) told me that even if i was still overweight as my BMI said, i was also severely malnourished.

•

so many contradicting words in my head.

« you are severely malnourished. » said this nutrition doctor at the hospital last year.

« you probably eat more than you think, because if that was true, you would be skinny » said my current psychiatrist this year. he made me get back at counting calories, because i was scared he was right.

« hm, 1200 calories per day seems enough for an adult person like you » he said when i calculed my daily intake over a month after that. i was in recovery but still eating around 1200 cal. that’s what a 2 years old child need daily. he didn’t believe me when i told him i was supposed to eat 2000 daily and that, therefore, i was still in some kind of restriction and looking for help, to do better. no everything’s fine to him.

« you look so hot and desirable as you are, thick is better than skinny » said one of my situationship.

« wow you look so young » said this girl at my school when learning my age, « that must be because you have a round face with round cheeks like children » she added to ruin everything.

« yeah that’s what it is to be fat, you age better » said another girl at my school, as a compliment. i was mortified on the inside.

« are you sleeping/eating well ? » asked a random doctor from my school. « well, in fact, i have an eating disorder, that i’m trying to recover from » i said to her. « ohh so you’re eating too much? » she assumed by looking at me. it says it all.

« wow the meal is looking so empty now you served yourself a plate » laughed my best friend and his girlfriend, after i said to them that i need no comments on my weight or my food in recovery. why they do not care ?

how to ruin any person’s attempt to get better. everytime.

•

i don’t know what should i do now. i’m torn.

One part of me wants to accept that i’ll stay that way and that it’s enough work done, that i should just learn to live with the mixed feelings i have, keep focused on recovery. the other part wants to surprise people when they’ll see me at school after summer, to get my flat cheeks again, to get back that sense of validation i got when people saw me eat and thought it was not much or not enough, when they complimented me on my weight loss, to get back the sense of security i felt through my silly controlling routines and limits.

[thelanternwretch-archive]

A Childhood Taken (Part 2)

( A little more upsetting content in this part. Be advised. )

Samuel panicked as he watched his son hit the ground, blood gushing from his temple. “MYRA! MYRA, GET HERE QUICK!” He hollered, throwing his tools aside and shooing their horse, Willow, away. The cranky mare whinnied and took off toward  the field, dashing through the gate and into her paddock to chew on the fresh clover near the fence on the other side of the enclosure.

Myra came, hurtling around the corner, her emerald eyes wide with fear as she saw her husband bent down over their motionless son. “SAM!? SAM, WHAT HAPPENED?!” She demanded, putting the sleeve of her work robes into her mouth and tearing off a large wad that she handed to him. Quickly, he put it over the wound and pressed down hard, Arrin only groaning in response before falling quiet again.

“I was teaching him how to take care of Willow.” He explained, trying to keep his nervousness under control. “I figured if he wanted his own horse someday, he should learn how to care for one! You know, grooming them and checking their hooves and the like.” He said, clarifying the situation as Myra bent down to check their son over. “I told him to be careful, Willow didn’t like anyone touching her underbelly for too long. He was only brushing her and she seemed like she was doing well!”

Myra looked at the edges of a bruise that were already starting to blacken on the side of his head. “I told you we should have waited; we should have used another horse. She’s too unpredictable! I mean, how many times did she kick you already?” She snapped, the concern for her son overriding any sense of trying to be be kind or gentle to her husband at the moment.

“Look, she hasn’t kicked me in months! I thought she was over it!” Sam explained, shifting the fabric around to press a less bloody side against him. “We need to get bandages and ointment.” He muttered “That was a good hoof to the head but it looks like the cut isn’t that bad.” The man moved the fabric around, dabbing and inspecting. “But I’m worried about his head. What if that really rattled his brains?” He worried. “I don’t want him to become lame and unable to speak, or, you know, turn out not right.”

“Sam, Sam, it’s fine.” She tried to convince him while also telling herself the same thing. “He’s a tough kid. He’s gotten banged up before. He’s nearly ten, he’ll bounce back. Come on, let’s get him inside the house.” Keeping the cloth firmly on his head, the two of them carefully hoisted up their limp child and carried him into the house.

---

As Arrin grew, he noticed certain things had started to change.

His parents, once so in love, had devolved into constantly bickering. This usually happened once they thought he went to sleep, though how they expected him to sleep through their yelling was beyond him. He spent many nights tossing and turning, pulling a blanket over his head to try and block out the sounds and pleading and whimpering from his parent’s room down the small hallway or the yelling. There were a few times when he got up, he went into the kitchen to see his mother busy at their cooking range with the side of her face bruised up. 

There was always an excuse whenever  he asked about it. Sometimes, she’d admit she was lost in thought and bumped into something real good. Another time, she claimed he got herself good in the mouth with a heavy iron cooking pot as she pulled it down from a shelf. He didn’t believe her, not for one second, and kept asking if Dad did it. She would only shake her head and ask him not to be so ridiculous and then started to tell him what needed to be done that way before dropping a filling breakfast in front of him and giving him a soft kiss on top of his head.

He was eleven now and had taken on more duties. He was in charge of almost all the animals but Willow. It seemed you get kicked once and suddenly, your parents don’t want you to learn how to tame the animal that lashed out at you. Still, he didn’t mind.He’d probably be getting his own horse any time now. There was a sweet piebald that a neighbor had who was ready to be bred. They were looking for a good strong stallion to impregnate her to see if the colt would be anything good. Arrin secretly hoped so - he liked that horse. Her name was Lillith and she was a good girl. He was waiting for her to give birth to the eventual foal before bravely asking his parents for that baby ... maybe.

He offered to help their neighbor with the process, learning how to assist the two creatures. He was taught to tie back tails and secure the mare, to help the sire aim should he need, to walk the mare around afterwards. The process was weird, but it eventually led to the pregnant mare they were hoping for. Arrin waited, sometimes running over before finishing his chores to check on her to see if there was any baby yet.

“Arrin!” Their neighbor laughed. “Its only been a few weeks! It’s going to take more time then that!”

“i know, I just.. I’m.. I’m really excited!” He admitted, grinning ear to ear. He had talked to him about possibly buying the foal and, should it not be what he wanted, Arrin had first consideration before it went to market.

Of course, this caused another argument.

“I told you, he’s not ready for a horse!” Snapped his mother late one night after they had to go looking for him, only to find him snoozing in the hay next to Lillith as she slept, her swollen belly looking promising.

“He’s a young boy, now! He needs to learn responsibility! Besides, a second horse around here would be a big help! Let him get one and train it. We can have two plows running at once and if one of us need to use Willow, the other two won’t be stranded without a -”

“Willow. Yeah, you remember what she did to him?” She snapped. “He could have died and now you want to put him in harms way even further by giving him a horse of his own to always be around!?”

“Woman! Listen! That was an accident and it happens to anyone that owns a horse! Just because it happened once doesn’t mean he should never have a second chance!”

The yelling became incoherent as the two started screaming over each other. Arrin winced and held the pillow over his head, his eyes snapping open as he heard a slap and a shriek. The sounds of yet another beating continued and a knot formed in his stomach. This time, he was sure the bruises his mother would wear would be his fault. They were arguing about him. His fault.

His fault.

---

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Arrin asked, leading the small foal over to his mother. She smiled tiredly as her son paraded the little filly around. She proved to be a bit too high spirited than what their neighbor had been hoping for and her markings weren’t quite right. So, as promised, Arrin was allowed to have the first decision if he wanted her or not. The foal wasn’t even standing yet and his decision was already made. The small dappled black horse was his! And she was rather downright cute!  Her sire, a large spotty grey draft horse, had been kind enough to carry over his best qualities. Her long legs and rounded chest indicated she was going to be a strong, hefty thing and probably quite a good amount of hands tall. 

The kid fell in love with her at first sight. Her faintly spotted coat, to her blond mane and tail, the white blaze down her nose and forehead, and the little white sock on her back left leg. She was his.

“I like Nyx. I’m going to name her Nyx!” He said, letting her nuzzle her nose into his open palm. 

“Where’d you get a name like that?” Myra asked, gesturing for him to come along with his new friend.

“I dunno. I think I heard it somewhere. It sounds cool, though.” His grin was ear to ear as he proudly led her over to their property, the little filly squealing and kicking and eager to romp around. “Hey, where’s Dad at?” He asked, glancing around as they got closer to the pasture. “I figure he’d want to see her and all.”

“Probably at the bar again.” She sniffed disapprovingly. “He’ll be home soon.” 

Arrin kicked open the gate and took her lead off. The newly christened Nyx took off like a rocket, tumbling halfway across the field, her legs flailing everywhere before she rolled back up onto her hooves, shaking off, and charging off toward Willow, who seemed just as eager to have company.

“Well, we won’t wait for him for dinner. He can eat when he gets home. Come on, it should nearly be ready.” She shooed him away from watching his precious new companion and toward the water pump to wash up for dinner. They had only started eating when Sam wandered through the door, smiling and looking rather chipper.

“Hey Arrin, I saw something new out back. Little, black, already trying to kick her way out of the fence-”

“I love her.” Arrin declared, taking a bite out of some mutton he had cut from the roast in the center of the table. “I’m going to teach her everything Willow knows, and maybe I’ll teach her some cool tricks, too. ... I’m also going to teach her not to kick anyone, especially me.” He paused, making a face. “I’m over being kicked by horses. Once was enough.” 

The atmosphere over dinner was unusually cheerful. Samuel, his father, was full of life and affectionate toward his wife and especially Arrin. They talked about Nyx, how things at the market went today, Nyx, gossip around the small town, Nyx, the Order that had started to gather some sort of items for safe keeping, and Nyx were a few topics brought up at the dinner table. It seemed like everything was back to normal, aside from the marks over his mother’s arms that were already starting to fade.

---

This time, he couldn’t sleep through the yelling. Arrin had gotten so used to his parents fighting and his mother giving in to what his Father wanted that it was almost normal, now. The bruises and cuts she had no longer meant anything, nor could Arrin do anything about it. He tried to corner his mother and father about it, but they kept telling him it was fine and that sometimes, Daddy just gets mad. It was never directed at him, so perhaps it was okay? The feelings of guilt eventually faded.

This time though, something was different.

They hadn’t argued like this in years. Not since the subject of him getting a horse came up. That was so long ago - he was fourteen now. That had to be... three years, now? A crash jolted him from his bed as he ran out of his bedroom and came to a halt outside the main room. He peeked around the corner and saw a broken bottle in his mother’s hand and his father’s shoulder bleeding. 

“WHY DON’T YOU JUST GO BACK TO HER, THEN? IF SHE’S WHO YOU REALLY WANT, THEN LEAVE US ALONE.” She screeched, brandishing the broken bottle.

“STUPID WOMAN, YOU’LL PAY FOR THAT.” Sam took a swing at her face, his fist colliding with her cheek with a loud crack. She stumbled onto the floor, crying, holding her face.

“DAD!” Arrin ran around the corner and over to his mother, looking up at him, tears in his eyes. “What are you DOING? That’s Mom!” He wailed, pulling her close. 

“Yeah, that is, and she’s nothing but a whore. A good for nothing slut who has done nothing but kept me back all these years.” He spat, wiping the bit of blood off his arm.

“I-I did nothing wrong.” Stammered Myra, pushing herself off the floor. “I’ve kept t-this place running while you were off sleeping around w-with that bar wench.” She pushed Arrin away, forcing herself to stand, shaking. “What’s wrong? Does she not come with the commitment of having a family, Sam? Are we too much for you? Your wife and son?”

“Dad? Dad, what’s going on?” Arrin wasn’t dumb. He heard every word so far but he refused to believe it. 

“I can’t stand your mother, boy. And I can’t stand you, either.” He reached for a bottle of unknown liquid on the table, taking a swig of it. “I should have never settled down. This years of hard work and being a good ol’ family man. Pfft. Waste of my time.”

“But-” Arrin bit his lip, feeling hot tears form at the corner of his eyes. “But Dad!”

“I’m leaving.” He snapped, throwing the bottle down onto the floor and letting it shatter before grabbing his hat from the nearby shelf. 

“Samuel Thresh, you listen to me. The minute you walk out that door, you’re dead if you ever come back.” Myra spit out fragments of a tooth and a bit of blood, her eyes narrowed. “You’re nothing but a bastard and I’m sorry I ever thought I loved you.”

“Glad we feel the same, you stupid cunt.” With a snap, he turned and heaved the door open.

“Wait, wait-! But Dad-!” Arrin ran over and grabbed the back of his Dad’s shirt. Pain struck him across the face as he staggered backwards, stumbling and hitting the smoothed wooden chairs and table. His father stood, his hand still in a fist, his nostrils flared.

“Touch me again, you little shit, and I’ll break your nose.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve before disappearing through the door.

Arrin ignored the taste of blood he felt, wobbling over to the door and holding onto the frame. “DAD!” 

“Let him go, Arrin.” Myra whimpered, letting herself drop into one of the wooden chairs that her son nearly fell over. “He’s gone. He’s not coming back.”

“No, NO! DAD!” He tried to follow him outside but his dad had already mounted Willow and took off, disappearing into the trees.

“Dad...” 

He fell to his knees and covered his face, crying. This was the man who taught him so much, how to do everything around the farm... they caught fireflies once. They played in the ocean and pretended to drown each other, dunking each other’s heads under the waves and cackling. He was the one who gave him the money for Nyx, the young mare sleeping in a patch of wildflower and moss lazily on the other side of the field... and now... and now he was gone.

“Arrin, come in here and shut the door.” Myra grabbed a nearby bottle of wine and wrestled the cork off with her teeth. “Go back to bed. We have work to do tomorrow. I hope you broke Nyx in with the plow- we’re going to need her if we want that corn in.” 

[snarkwrites]

round two of my ✨thot✨ spam

this was inspired by the “i would never let a man spit in my mouth” tiktok and while i whole heartedly agree with said sentiment, i would totally let ryan do that to me without question. if anyone else tried to do that, it would be hands on site. BUT ALSO the fact that he could call me a whore [ or any other variation ] and i’d thank him - ❤️

Ooooh, I love this one. One, I can totally see Ryan doing it. T O T A L L Y. Also, I wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment too. I LOVE THIS OMG, YEAH.. Lemme see what I can come up with here.

Just for reasons, I'm gonna go ahead and venture this might well... Get dirty.

Life edit: I kept it mostly clean.. Mostly. Sexual encounter is heavily hinted at.

Warning:

Absolutely no minors here. If you're not 18+ you clearly do not need to be reading this, whether it's full on sexual or not, because sexual themes will be implied. So, if you're one of the kiddos, please take this time to click away from the adult content.

If you continue to read beyond this point, here are a few things you need to be on the look out for: dirty talk / light name calling & heavy af on the teasing / public makeouts....

It didn't get sexual BUT... it's filled with innuendo. Oops?

Tagging:

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@twistnet

[ faq - tag list doc ]

( at me all you want. I'll stop using this gif when he stops being so damn pretty when he's a lil wounded.)

RYAN WOLFE & dirty little girl;

“You’re all depraved, holy shit.” I glanced around the table at my sister and her friends, taking a sip of my margarita. Grimacing because it tasted as if someone doubled up on the tequila and skimmed on the margarita mix.

“All I’m saying is sometimes it’s fun to be dirty. You’ve never just given in to the urge to let a man spit in your mouth?” Natalia asked, more in teasing than anything. Smirking at me when I pretended to gag because I have a strong feeling she can see straight through my bullshit.

“What the fuck? No! I would never let a man spit in my mouth. I don’t know why ya’ll keep saying spit in my mouth, spit in my mouth. It’s not hot, okay? It’s gross.”

“There has to be that one guy you’d let do it. Everybody has that one person.” my sister gave me a teasing grin as she said it. I shook my head firmly. “Nope. No and no. I have never looked at a man and just thought “Oh hey, I’d gladly let that man spit in my mouth and call me his dirty little slut…”

“That’s oddly specific for someone who says she’s never thought about it and thinks it’s gross.” my sister was at it again, teasing me. I tensed a little, because of course, she was right. I’d die a thousand painful deaths before owning up to it, but she was 1000 percent correct. There was a guy.

But it was a non issue. Because the guy in question?

Only had eyes for my sister Natalia.

Ryan Wolfe.

“I think you’re onto something, Nat.” Calleigh mused as she gave me a thoughtful look. I could feel myself tensing. Quick to shake my head no. Quick to laugh and joke, “Oh no, trust me, she’s not. Just face it, ladies. I have my limits. There are no exceptions.”

Calleigh gave a soft laugh and shook her head. Taking a thoughtful sip from her mixed drink. I relaxed, thinking that maybe they’d both drop it.

And then Alexx spoke up.

“It’s Ryan.”

I shook my head, doing what I hoped was my best unaffected and unamused act. Sipping my drink and watching the guys in the back of the bar, gathered around the dartboard. It was Ryan’s turn to throw and naturally, my eyes were glued to him. Laughing to myself when he smirked and launched the dart and it just barely settled beneath the bullseye.

But I was curious enough to ask… “What makes you think that?” I asked Alexx. My intention was to figure out if maybe I wasn’t as good as hiding my feelings as I previously thought.

Alexx gave a soft laugh and shrugged, saying nothing.

My sister was watching me, a brow raised. Thinking long and hard about something as she sipped her drink.

“You’re not denying it.” she finally spoke up.

I shrugged. “Because I know the truth. Doesn’t matter that you guys don’t believe me.” I turned my attention back to the ongoing game of darts, slamming back a shot of tequila. Ryan’s turn came around again and when he landed a bullseye, we locked eyes. He flashed me that smirk and I bit my lip, pounding the bar as I held his gaze, smirking back. Ordering myself another round of tequila shots when the bartender came.

When my shots arrived, I slammed them all down, turning the shot glasses upside down, forming the first and second row of a pyramid. Wiping the back of my hand over my mouth as I found myself doing it again, staring at Ryan just a little too much.

“Maybe we’d believe you if you weren’t staring at him like you were on fire and he has the hose.” my sister teased, making me glance over at her and stick out my tongue. “I still wouldn’t let him spit in my mouth. I mean.. I don’t think I would…” I trailed off, going quiet. Well aware that I was dangerously close to letting everything come pouring out.

“Says the woman who openly admits to having more than a few kinks.” my sister teased, laughing. Pushing me when she heard what I said under my breath. “What was that? Was that doubt? If you’re not sure whether you’d let Ryan Wolfe spit in your mouth or not, that usually means you might be open to it.” my sister teased.

“My kinks are choking and bondage… Spanking on occasion. Not… That.” I scoffed, smiling at the looks on their faces when they all turned to look at me. I shrugged and slipped off the barstool.

“Where are you going?” Calleigh called out, an almost teasing gleam in her eye as she asked the question.

“I’m going to show those dorks how you play darts.” I answered, trying to maintain as much nonchalance as possible as I did so. Truth be told, I wanted to get away from the conversation before it got too deep.. Before they dragged the whole truth out of me.

“You mean you’re going to go get a closer look. It’s okay, go ahead.” my sister and Calleigh teased and I turned to walk backwards, flipping them both off as I went. “Ha freaking ha. I am not going to get a closer view of Ryan Wolfe. And if I were, what’s it to ya anyway? It’s a free country. And I can’t help it my eyes like lookin at him?”

As a parting jab, my sister called out, “Spit in my mouth.” and the three women dissolved into rowdy laughter as I poked out my tongue and rolled my eyes at them, calling out in response, “Okay, fine. Maybe I’d let him spit in my mouth and call me a dirty little slut. Maybe.”

My back smashed into someone just as soon as the words left my mouth. I gritted my teeth, swallowing hard as my ice cold beer spilled all over the front of my favorite white shirt. Soaking through immediately, revealing a fire engine red bra. I turned abruptly, prepared for it to be some drunk person, a stranger. Praying against everything that it was just that.

Naturally, it wasn’t. I wasn’t going to get that lucky.

Ryan stood there, staring at me thoughtfully. Almost a stunned look on his face. The look he was giving me faded and I swallowed hard, raising my free hand to tousle my hair.

“Shit.” I muttered softly. I could feel my stomach churning nervously.

Ryan chuckled, nodding at my shirt as he took off the button up he wore, leaving him in a white tank top. Holding out the shirt to me. “Looks like you need that more than me right now.”

All I could do was nod.

And for some odd reason, the entire “Spit in my mouth” debate I’d just been in with my sister and her friends replayed itself in my mind. And I wanted to disappear into the floor of the bar when I realized that he’d probably just heard every single thing I said… ,, maybe not. Maybe he didn’t.” the thought came, but when I saw the playful teasing gleam in his eyes, my stomach churned nervously because I knew he had to have heard it all. Every single word.

I bit my lip and took a shaky breath. As much as I hated asking the question, it had to be asked.

“How much did you hear?” I asked in as innocent a way as possible. Fidgeting and shuffling my feet under his intent and thoughtful stare.

All Ryan did was smirk and shrug. “I heard enough.”

“How much is enough?” I asked, not sure why I wasn’t just leaving it alone.

Ryan stepped closer, towering over me. His hand settled on my hip and his eyes settled on my lips as he licked his own. Seconds that seemed to drag on like hours passed and he finally leaned down enough to whisper against my ear quietly, “Let’s put it this way… I heard you say you liked looking at me. Among other things...” before standing up straight again, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

I swayed slightly, the beginnings of a healthy buzz taking over. Giggling at the way he kept staring at me, raising a hand to my mouth to stop the giggling. He reached out, lowering my hand. Pulling me against him slightly as a crowd made their way past.

He tilted my face so that I had to look up at him. Biting his lip. That thoughtful look in his eyes that prompted me to ask quietly, “What? Do I have something on my face? Lipstick on my teeth?”

“Just thinking.” Ryan answered quietly.

“About?” I questioned, holding his gaze. Smirking to myself a little when he looked away first.

“ How much I like looking at you too.” Ryan finally replied. I swallowed hard when his eyes locked on me all over again. Hints of a teasing smirk turning the corners of his mouth upward as he closed the distance between us. His hands went straight to my hips settling. His fingers digging in as I melted against him.

“Oh you do, hm?” I purred, raising to tiptoe. Leaning into the buzz I had going for the necessary courage to just let go and roll with whatever was happening.

“Very much, actually.” his voice was this perfect mix of velvet and gravel and I could feel my thighs getting slick under the weight of his gaze. His eyes roamed over me slowly. I gulped and licked my lips, found myself staring at his.

“You didn’t… hear anything else I said..Right?”

Ryan chuckled. His mouth inched towards mine. Almost painfully slow.

“Which part? The part where you said you might let me spit in your mouth and call you my dirty little slut?” he muttered just as his lips barely brushed against mine. He pulled away, smirking. Teasing me and I knew it. The realization had me pouting and dropping my gaze.

Which wouldn’t do for him, apparently, because he gripped my chin, guiding my face so that I had no choice but to look at him.

“Ya know…” he muttered in a daze as his tongue slipped past my lips, dominating the kiss as it deepened, “ typically, I’d prefer to buy you a drink or somethin first.” the kiss breaking so we could breathe.

“Yeah?” I breathed out, pouting at the end of the kiss. He chuckled and nodded, whispering quietly, “But honestly, as bad as I want you right now…” his hand circled my wrist, guiding my hand down to the way he strained against the khaki trousers he was wearing, letting me palm at the bulge. “I don’t wanna waste any time.”

“Get me out of here.”

Ryan scooped me up in his arms, carrying me towards the door. Once we were outside and standing beside his car, he sat me on the hood, moving to step between my legs. Devouring my mouth with his hungrily. His lips strayed, latching onto my neck as my hand slipped down between us, palming at the front of his trousers all over again. Making him buck against the movement of my hand and growl into my mouth, “You gonna show me how dirty you can be tonight, princess? Are you gonna be my dirty little girl?” as the kiss deepened, getting sloppier. I rubbed against him, clinging to him frantically, gasping out “Yes.” as I felt myself getting even wetter. His hand slipped down, settling palm flat against my aching sex, rubbing. The friction building had me rocking against his hand, earning me a smirk from him.

“Good girl.”

[vulpes-incendium]

I made this long time ago, but I thought it's a good time to share it here for @aphasiaweek!

I chose 《Hoi Sam☆Nice Guy》over 《Maji Kandou☆Hong Kong Night》because there are more stuff about HK in it. So let's see if the lyrics are accurate in a native's point of view!

Spoiler alert: it's very accurate

Hoi Sam = Happy (in Cantonese)

Guy = sounds like street in Cantonese (gaai1)

“Yooooo, so since there’s a song… while I’m at it I kinda put some effort into my costume… I think I’ve got like, serious swag Pardon? You can’t see me…for real? Woah!!!!”

FASHION: yes, HKers love to be trendy, always want to be on top trends! Trends come and go very very quickly, it's seriously really hard to follow trends in HK.

MIXING ENGLISH WITH CANTONESE: yup, we do that a lot, we almost couldn't finish a sentence without English, some words just sound "uncool" in Chinese lol (it’s always about being cool in HK lol), but we don't really say “pardon” unless we are speaking English

Sup-sup-sup-sup-sup-super mobile (snap snap) It’s my hobby to take pics and collect them (I guess) Not gonna lie, everyone’s got a mobile phone, penetration rate (highest in the world) Yeah! If you’re going sightseeing then Nathan Road! (Fuu~!)

TAKING PICS WITH SMARTPHONE: Aph HK loves taking (embarrassing) photos (of China lol), but in real life HKers do love taking pictures, or videos too (it's dangerous if you misbehave, people would film you and post on Youtube or Facebook)

MOBILE PHONE PENETRATION RATE: I couldn't find data for HK, but I think I heard on average, each HKer carries at least 2 cellphones! So this could be true!

NATHAN ROAD: It's the longest street in HK and there's so many things, good food, good shopping places and yup sightseeing! (A lot of our streets are named after the Governors during the colonial time, this street is named after Sir Matthew Nathan for example)

Welcome this makes me kinda happy (Check it out!) Learned this from England - tea in the afternoon (high tea) Welcome, this is kinda fun (Shake it up!) Yum cha, Hong Kong milk tea, cha-cha Nice culture (frivolous)!

AFTERNOON TEA: Yes, it's still a tradition for us to have tea time, we call it 3:15, workplaces would have tea breaks, restaurants do tea time menu during 2-5pm, it's really cool and cheap! We usually drink HK milk tea (evolved from British milk tea) during tea time and there are so many delicious snacks like French toast, pineapple bun and of course egg tart!

YUM CHA: It literally means “drink tea”, but Chinese tea this time. It's a tradition for us to go Yum Cha every Sunday with our family! Dim sum is part of Yum Cha! We just eat and catch up with each others for HOURS!

Oh. My. God. “LOHAS LOHAS” Oh. My. Mind. “Gonna take a pic~” Take away “Is this delivery service for real?” Like, seriously, even if it’s way out of the way, no problem man

LOHAS: I didn't know what this refers to for a long time, I finally found the answer. This refers to LOHAS park, an eco-friendly residential area newly built few years ago. But what's so special about it? Is it famous in Japan?!

DELIVERY SERVICE: Well delivery service in Asia are generally good anyway, but I guess we are good and fast?! (but I think Korea too!)

Super Feeling unlucky? If it’s getting to you, go villain hitting at Ngo Keng Kiu A medium will perform an exorcism, and hit a paper doll with a shoe For fortune telling, go draw fortune sticks, or get a divine answer by throwing moon blocks at the temples… at Wong Tai Sin, light the fire of your incense! If you’re feeling tired, maybe you can give Feng Shui a try or something? A spiritual site in Lantau Island The Wisdom Path…is super Awesome for meditation, but there aren’t any toilets, so watch out Gold fish, bring me luck! (In money!)

NGO KENG KIU: Generally HKers are not THAT superstitious, but the culture still lives within us. I have never known anyone who did the villain hitting, but it's still quite a thing (and a great tourist spot). It's mainly for people who backstab you (we call them "small people" siu yan), but I guess evil spirit too.

WONG TAI SIN: Again, it's more for older generation who are still a bit superstitious. People like to go to Wong Tai Sin Temple during Lunar New Year to wish for luck in the new year. It's still quite popular!

See I told you we have natural landscape (source)

WISDOM PATH: I've never been there lol. Apparently it's a "path lined with 38 wooden monuments inscribed with the Heart Sutra prayer". In general, HK has a lot of nice hiking trail, our landscape is actually amazing, it's just we focus too much on making money...

P-Pe-Pe-Pearl of the Orient is me! (I guess?) Got completely wasted? Ended up in a dress (totes sick) Not gonna lie, population density is highest in the world in Ap Lei Chau Yeah! If you’re going sightseeing then Hong Kong Island! (Yeah~!!)

PEARL OF THE ORIENT: It's the nickname of HK, the Philippines is Pearl of the Orient SEAS

(Ending up in a dress refers to this comic, thanks parallel France!)

POPULATION DENSITY: Yea, that's what we are famous for really, small place lots of people (HK is a very hilly city, surprise, surprise), we have the most expensive estate price in the world 🤦‍♀️, not sure if Ap Lei Chau is particularly population-densed, but the whole HK is like that!

Good luck in everything this makes me kinda happy (Check it out!) Learned this from England - how to be a gentleman (ladies first) I wish you good health, this is kinda fun (Shake it up!) Typhoon, Kung Fu, WA-TAHH Supplements, Chinese herbal medicine (healthy~!)

LUCK: The newer generations are less superstitious now, but luck is still kind of important for us? It's more like a tradition than a belief, we do them just in case (like Feng Shui).

TYPHOON: As a coastal city, we get typhoons a lot in summer, but they are not as strong in comparison to the Philippines or Indonesia.

KUNG FU: We are known for our Kung Fu films, as the actors are all trained martial artists! Bruce Lee (WA-TAH was his catchphrase), Jackie Chan and Donnie Yen are great examples! Because of the wars and Cultural Revolution, many people fled China to HK, resulting the influx of high quality martial artists (eg. Ip Man).

HERBAL MEDICINE: As western as we are, we still believe in Chinese Medicine, but more in a preventative way.

Oh. My. God. “Air conditioning in full blast!” Oh. My. Mind. “That’s not eco-friendly…” Oh well “The air will become cleaner, I think?” Seriously a Mistake, but, no problem man

STRONG AIR-CONDITIONING: This line had me laugh die (Imao in Cantonese)! It's so accurate! You can catch a cold from the airconditioning in HK! And that's why we always carry a jacket even in summer! It's not very eco-friendly and our government is trying resolve that.

AIR POLLUTION: Yes we have smog (smoke + fog), it is becoming quite the problem really. The root of the problem is that Shenzhen, the city next to HK, is developing rapidly and a lot of factories moved there, so the smoke is blown towards HK (we don't really have many factories left, it's too expensive here).

Awesome Riding on a roofless bus, cruising through the neon streets If you want to, like, go shopping… at Ladies Market There are stalls with cute stuff, souvenirs (lots and lots of them) Talk the price down! Haggling is what really counts For some more miscellaneous and deep junk, more for the adult and thrilling The street where mystery thickens… Temple Street Would you like to try some cheap eats at the street stalls? Absolutely delicious! Asian food is the best!

NEON LIGHTS: You've all seen the stereotypical HK streets full of neon lights, but it's actually decreasing, because there's no newcomers to the industry (the lights are handmade).

LADIES MARKET: You can find so many stuff there indeed, for a cheap price! Branded stuff, fake stuff (we don't make them but yea you can find a lot of them), food and goldfish. Yes, there's a goldfish street. Why? I dunno, for luck I guess?!

TEMPLE STREET: Similar to ladies market, it's also great for shopping. This street is also known for (illegal) prostitution and triad, but it's still safe to visit, never in my life have I encountered any of them.

“Yoooooo, Mister, so I kinda sang this song, but seriously, rapping is surprisingly, like, tough?” “It’s also a shame that no one can see what I’m wearing, I’ve got serious swag, y'know.” “Phew… I kinda want to go home already… I mean, the peach buns are gonna be sold out.” “…can we go now?” “…can’t we go yet?” “Haah…” “Okay fine, like, whatever.”

One, two, three!*

PEACH BUN: They are actually eaten on birthdays, for longevity (that's what peach represents in Chinese culture).

*this line was spoken in Mandarin in the song, which would be the only critism I'd give. Yes a lot of people may understand Mandarin, but Cantonese and English are preferred and they are our official languages. One, two, three in Cantonese would be "yaat, yi, sam".

Oh. My. God. “The rent is really expensive…” Oh. My. Mind. “It’s not easy…” Why oh why? “It’s like, the highest in the world” We have serious inflation, but, whatever

EXPENSIVE RENT: We are the most expensive in the world, thanks to the high population density (and foreign buyers 😶), it's really not easy to afford a flat in HK, that’s why most HKers live with their parents until they get married (it’s also a cultural thing).

INFLATION: Stuff are still relatively cheap, but they are getting more expensive really quickly, mainly because of the rent of the shops.

Super they’re so adorable it hurts, the perfect balance of black and white pandas that bring you happiness… we sell them, sort of So fluffy and cute, such big round eyes The kinda? Make you Happy! Uh-huh

PANDAS: We actually only have 2 pandas here like everyone else, in Ocean Park (it's like an amusement park and zoo). They finally successfully mated recently, probably because of Corona shutdown lol!

There are over 100 of them, Tin Hau Temple, so super Before I head there, I seriously wanna eat… mango pudding! So many gods, like, one in every street Pay homage at the temple, light the fire of your incense!

TEMPLES: We still have the temples built before the colonial time! Hopefully, we are able to keep them too...

MANGO PUDDING: It's so good yes! Our dessert culture is just the best seriously! We have so many restaurants just for desserts! They are great places to hang out with friends after work or school!

The air conditioning at its max, the fire burning strong A steaming hot pot made with a carefully chosen soup base If you want to detox, have a Chinese herbal hot pot Absolutely delicious! Asian food is the best! Riding on a roofless bus, cruising through the neon streets If you want to, like, go shopping… at Ladies Market There are stalls with cute stuff, souvenirs, lots and lots of them Talk the price down! Haggling is what really counts Absolutely delicious! Asian food is the best! Every minute Happy☆Nice Town (Guy)

HOT POT: We love it! We basically love when a lot of people sit together, talking, sharing food (like Yum Cha), it's the harmony and atmosphere that we like so much! And yes, there are a lot of different soup base you can choose from!

BARGAINING: Yes do it, especially if you're in places like Ladies' Market and you're a foreigner, they do price things up if you don't look like a local.

***

Shout out to Takagi Motoki, the voice actor of HK, his voice fits the character perfectly! (and please get a new va for the new season please funimation) And how can he speak so fast?!

[missingartist]

The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 22

-Geralt was struggling. It was not something he liked to admit, but being so close to Adva and not being able to touch or talk to her was the most intense pain he had ever felt. He had taken her at her word and left his mate alone, giving her a wide berth, all the while staring longingly as she went about her business. Thankfully, she spent most of her time with Ciri, training or in the library. Geralt could barely contain it when Vesemir spent more than 5 minutes in her company, let alone Jaskier. The way the bard slide in next to her as she worked at the table or slung his arm around her shoulder had cost several clay mugs and three chair arms. The bard was doing it on purpose he was sure of that, even now Jaskier was strumming out some filthy ballad.

‘Here she saw little Smitty Jones, walking in the crowd "Come home with me, little Smitty Jones, come home with me tonight. Come home with me, little Smitty Jones, and sleep with me till light"’ the brunette cooed in an off-pitch warble.

The gentle giggle tinkled out into the air, and her eyes light up in a bright glare as she laughed. A surge of unbridled jealousy roared within him. She hadn’t some much as look at him like that since that night. That fatefully night. Throwing a glare across at the singing minstrel, Geralt slammed closed the book sending Triss and Vesemir into a series of splutters as a cloud of dust billowed into the air as well as sending the various scroll clattering across the table and scattered onto the floor before and storming out the room.

The Witcher flew out of the room into the main hallway. Unfortunately, the first thing he saw was a grand antique cabinet, the poor thing was wretched from the wall and sent screeching across the polished floor, a thick gash cracked down the main body of the wood. Grunting, Geralt pulled his hand down his face, a roar vibrated from his chest, echoing across the hall as his hand caught sight of the blue sweat that glistened in the weak sunlight that beams in through the stain glass window. The blue substance that Triss had been painting across his body no coated the majority of his body. It was another constant reminder that Adva had rejected him. Everywhere he went, he left a trail of blue. Despite only wearing the thinnest material he continued to drip with sweat, the sticky ooze had lost most of its potency, barely giving him an hour of relief. Soon he would have to leave, the last of his control was ebbing away. It took all his strength not to sweep in, throw Adva on the table and rip her dress off before burying himself in her thighs and sticking his teeth into her tender flesh. The hours he had spent imaging the bonding, it would happen in several stages, and all of them lead to Adva becoming a panting puddle underneath him, begging to be his. There was only one thing he wanted more than that, and that was her marking him, her longing for him to be hers. But no, at the current situation that would not be happening, and he would need to leave soon before he became feral and gods know what he would do if that happened.

‘My, My, such an angry Witcher! It seems your little mermaid has gone off you.’ Yennefer purred as she revealed herself from behind a stone pillar.

Turn round golden eyes trained on to the mage, a silent sigh running down his body. The dress was, compared to the other he had had to endure, was relatively tame. A velvet halter strap encircled her delicate neck and a tight correct displayed firm breast and a toned waist before the black velvet fell over her hip in a billowing skirt. At least she was wearing clothes this time.  For the last ten days, he had seen his former lover naked eight times, the last time sprawled in his new bedroom down by the lake. Since her last attempt to seduce him in the armoury, Geralt took sanctuary in the old lake hunt to rid himself of the mages unwanted advances – and not to tempt himself with any midnight strolls past Adva room.

‘Yennefer don’t.’ Ciri bite in rolling her eyes at the older woman.

‘He needs to know Ciri. She has barely said anything to him since we have arrived. I was just trying to get a rise you when I said she preferred Jaksier but seems I was right all along she does like that singing turd.’ The purple eyes mage pushed, resting her hand on his chest, nails scratching likely against his sensitive skin.

‘Fuck off Yennefer.’ Geralt sneered, flinching away towards the courtyard.

‘You have been ignoring me. I don’t get ignored Geralt; you know that.’ Yennefer snapped, trailing after him, an ugly sneer forming on her face as the Witcher dodge all of her grasps. ‘Geralt…please, we used to be good together.’

She knew she sound despite, but she was too far gone to care. It had been a long time since she felt rejected; her transformation made almost certain of it. She was after all sculpted by the best artist, so why was she being cast aside by Adva. She was no great beauty, passing pretty at the very most yet Geralt was in love with her, and no matter how she demined herself, he didn’t so much as falter. Hitching up her skirts, she trailed after him, grasping at his arm.

‘Geralt…Geralt please.’ Yennefer winced at her needy voice as forced herself in front of him.

Geralt growled down at the bronzed woman in from; the annoying mage had pushed herself in front of his path. Glaring at her, he felt a pang of guilt as she stared up at him desperately with big pleading eyes. He had understood her pain, but every time he felt the first blossoming of sympathy, he remembered Adva, bloodied and battered after being pushed through the floor and the barbed comments forced towards his timid mate.

‘We never were, you never cared enough; I just didn’t realise. Enough Yennefer. Enough. THIS stops now. GO!’ Geralt snarled lowly, before storming off down the path.

‘Great. It's your fault, you know.’ Ciri prodded ‘If you hadn’t manipulated and used him for your own selfish things, he wouldn’t have left and properly would never have stumbled across Adva in that backwater town.’ Ciri snapped.

‘Are you seriously blaming this on me.’ Yennefer yapped as she blinked away, angry tears.

‘Yes. You should be happy for them. Instead, you're making both their lives miserable.’

Ciri loved Yennefer; she would always be her mother, raising her from a scarred little princess into the strong Witcher she was now, soothed her through her trials, fought her corner when Geralt was being his gruff self and refusing to treat her like the adult she was becoming. However, now she felt like the parent of a petulant child, throwing a tantrum because someone had picked up a toy they were no longer bothered with.

‘Don’t I deserve happiness. I knew she would take everything from me, and I was right. First, she takes Geralt, then Triss and now you. The little bitch is up to something I can see it.’ Yennefer yelled.

‘She didn’t take us away. You pushed us. Adva would never take Geralt away; he would always be there for you, and so would she. That’s your problem; you can never see something good in someone. Someone Geralt who can worship without getting cast away. Adva is Geralt soulmate, someone who will love him in the way he needs, selflessly and unconditionally. Can you say you have ever done the same? Adva is a good person; you just have to look into her eyes and see that?’ Ciri pushed

Yennefer let out an unholy scratch as she conjured a bright yellow ball of fire and launched it into the air. Ciri watched silently as Yennefer blasted out a wave of energy knocking down two poor trees that stood innocent at the side before marching off into the forest.

‘Yen…’ Ciri started on after her, but something stopped her. Inhaling deeply, she caught the scent again; it was faint, so faint that it was almost hidden under all the others, almost. It was suspicious, not that the scent was faint or even that it mingled with the other to the point that is was almost undetectable but it what it smelt like. Like the sea, well like seaweed, that healthy smell of salty vegetation mixed with clean cotton. In passing, she might have brushed it off as Adva fragrance, but this was distinctly different; she had spent enough time with her mentors’ mate to know every note of her aroma. Narrowing her eyes, she gave one lingering look towards the path the raging mage had made through the wood before shaking her head and making her way off after the scent.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yennefer growled as she sent a ball of fire across the tops of the trees. The smell of burning foliage pulled at her nose as she eyed the smouldering treetops, now all scorched in a perfect line, blacked and charred. A grin of satisfaction stretched other her face as she squared her shoulders and launched the biggest ball of fire she could at the largest tree closet to her which coincidentally looked the most like Adva head.

‘Such a pretty for a beautiful creature like yourself to be cast aside for such an unworthy thing as the Adva girl.’ A lone voice purred behind her.

Whirling around Yennefer was met by a man with a vivid green eye of a suave nobleman. Violet eyes rolled over him, with deep mistrust. No one, NO ONE came up to the mountain, the forest was too thick, impenetrable, filled with all sort of monsters and danger. Merchants and bandits stumbled up from time to time but never this far and never wearing something that fine. The man was dressed in the finery of a king, a rich quilted jacket in a mix of leather and silk. It sat tight against his chest, showing a toned and crafted body from hours of torturous training. He was tall and lean, learning cockily against the tree staring intensely at her.

‘And why would you care?’ Yennefer reeled back, hand posed and ready as she observed the man.

He let her take him in, unmoving from his positions on the tree as he spoke softly ‘I am what you might call a concerned member of society. I dislike jumped up usurpers.’ The man smiled, pushing himself off the tree and slowly, ever so slowly making his way to stand in front of her ‘I am here to propose a plan..’

‘And what makes you think I will help you with your plan.’ Yennefer snorted, edging herself to the corner of the clearing.

Yennefer did not like it. Not at all, the man was too clean-cut, to pristine. And while Geralt was not in her favourite list right now, she still did not want Kaer Morhen besieged by some arseholes, that would put Ciri in danger since she would rather die than leave. Yet, he stood in front of her arm out. Palm facing her, if he was some assassin or enemy he was a very poor one, he had let her have the advantage the second he made a move Yennefer could send out a deadly blast or teleport him to some unknown fair corner of the world, and that made him interesting and worthy of her attention.

‘My plan permanently gets Adva out of the picture.’

‘And how do you think you would do that? She is protected by two highly skilled Witchers, the Lady of Space and Time, a powerful mage and singing idiot.’

‘With your help, of course. What do you think?’ The man smiled widely, and he inched towards her.

Being a court mage for many years had taught Yennefer to remain impassive, the slight glimmer of emotion would reveal you are true indention and immediately set off a chain reaction of those who opposed your idea or intention. To say there wasn’t a burning desire to rid herself of that kitchen maid was putting it lightly however even before she became a mage she had learnt that if a man offered you something that you truly desired that it was always too good to be true. She did not like him at all; he gave out a claggy feeling, the sort of person who clung to you link a leech and didn’t let go till she had drained you of what he needed.

‘I think… I would go warn them so we can all kick you well-polished arse together’ Yennefer hissed as a purple light bubbled up from her tanned palms and gave off a humming glow.

‘Don’t disappoint me. I have spent so long appreciating you. We are much alike; we know what we like, and when we want it and we have both been cast aside by that wretch. I will kill Adva one way or another, but this way…this way is easier, cleaner and this way you get what you want.’ The man whispered, softly taking her hand and kissing it.

Lowering her attack, she watched as he once again retreated back before answering ‘And what is it that you want?’

‘I have the discretion to breathe life into that barren void between your legs and all I require in return is your help in getting rid of a pest, a blight on the face of the earth. The death of a creature, a deformed halfling who should never have been granted life. In exchange, you will be given the Witcher and a baby. All you have to is isolated and distract the little thing.’ The man said as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

‘If you can do what you say…., that is powerful magic. Why do you need my help? It’s not like she some skill warrior Mage.’ Yennefer quarried.

‘You underestimate her, you all do. You have no idea truly what she could be capable of, and if we continue to let her breath, she could find out. ‘The man purred, reaching out to touch her face in a soft caress. ‘I will make it look like an attack, and that you fiercely tried to save her, it will be clean a quick, just lure her to the edge of the forest on the northside.’

‘And how do you know that you’ll honour the agreement?’

Pushing himself back, the man pulled a small silver blade from his belt and drew it across his palm. The blood trickled down the pale silver skin, the droplet of blood where brighter than any ruby in almost look like poppy juice and it run down his hand and dripped drop by drop onto the forest floor but it had that smell of blood, of bitter copper mixed with the tangy scent of freshly forged iron.

‘I solemnly swear, that if you help me get rid of Adva, I will ensure your womb is restored to you, and the girls claim on Geralt will be void. I give this oath in honour, and if I divert from our deal, I shall be struck down.’

The man held out his bloodstain hand to hear the hum of the blood know gave out a near ear-deafening vibration as the blood thicken and turned sticky on his palm. Blood oaths where primitive magic but effective, if the oath promiser diverted from the agreement in any shape or form the magic would strike him down without mercy or thought. That is why people had stopped using it; they were too deadly, the magic took the promise very literally with often deadly consequences. Plus it left a hideous reminder to both parties in the shape of a bloodstained on the hand, a stain so deep it could never be removed, only when the oath was fulfilled was the stain washed away. A troubling thought cross Yennefer’s mind, several in fact but the most concerning thing was the deal, he made no mention of her making the same deal, to pledge herself to his cause. Instead, it was entirely on him; he asked no reassurance he was either very stupid, which she didn’t believe if he had slipped into Kaer Morhen without either of the Witchers noticing meaning he was at the very least he was intelligent enough to remain undetected. Which meant he was desperate, either running out of time or, willing to trust a stranger, to aid him in his quest for end Adva, believing her hatred for Adva would be enough to ensure loyalty.

Narrowing her eyes, she reached out her hand grimacing as she gelt the stick liquid seep into her hand. ‘How do you propose to lure her away?’

‘With this’ the man smirked and pulled out an emerald scroll.

I am so sorry! I had this chapter all planned out then my summer completely went up in flames, my lovely summer of reading and writing is now cancelled. Updates might be patchy for now as my school is trying to get ready for reopening in September and honestly no one knows what is happening and everyone is panicking. I am also trying to find somewhere to live as if and when we go back, I can’t risk taking the virus back to my family who is very vulnerable with not much luck. So as you can imagine, everything is a bit unstable, but please be sure that I am always thinking about my next chapter and nothing make me happier that people want to read my ramblings.

Thank you to everyone who said congratulation. It was so lovely.

The next chapter is planned just need to find time to write it. Stay safe!

@threepupsinapuddle @broco8 @introvertedmouse @luxyash @vikingsbifrost @pastelblogsposts @wastingmypotential @whitespring21 @ayamenimthiriel @wonderlandfandomkingdom @shesthelastjedi @fandom-lover-4 @sageandberries-png  @just-a-sad-donut @alicia-d-o @dreamerwithapen1 @evangeline73aster

[firepiplup]

How do i say no to people

You know that analogy about people with adhd having spoons for energy management or whatever? My spoons are on backorder from like 2 months ago and more got on that list now

The problem is that all of the things I'm being asked to do are Very Important Things

I have to feed my diabetic cat. This in itself is not a problem, however she's needs to eat at a specific time (12 hour spacing) and my current sleeping situation along with work do not allow this to happen consistently. Currently trying for 7:30, we'll see how it goes

My apartment has bedbugs, and there's no way in fucking hell I'm sleeping on my living room floor until my scumlord landlord actually gets the guy to come back to spray because he did spray but I'm still seeing adults and i "need to give the spray time to work" it's been fucking 2 weeks i don't know how is supposed to work but i feel like after 2 weeks whatever spray you did isn't going to get any stronger i just want to sleep in my own bed it's been like this since fucking March

With that part explained, I'm sleeping at my mom's house on the other side of town. This in itself isn't much of a problem, however as "payment" i have to take care of her dog in the morning, to practice because she's going on a week long vacation in October and none of her dogs can just be taken care of like normal dogs. He needs to wear a diaper to leave the room while i pick up his shit and soiled weewee pad and mop the floor, give him some time to be out of his room, and then feed him his special food mix. The other dog has allergies and probably will get into something he shouldn't, then not use the bathroom outside even though he literally has a doggy door that has constant access to the backyard. Neither dog get along with each other, which is why they are separated. Thank fuck the cat is just normal, this is why i prefer them

Now with THAT explained, it's difficult to take care of my own cat on time in the morning. But as the legendary Billy Mays says: But wait, there's more!

I just got rehired at my job working in a local understaffed pizzeria. My friend, ego also works there, is on vacation (good for her, she deserves it, absolutely no negativity towards her) so i have acquired her hours. So i now work 6 days a week, kinda sorta clopen but i guess it's more of opelose. Or a combination of both? Idk. The point here is, I'm then dealing with essentially running half a restaurant alone 6 days a week, with it not being 7 purely because the owner himself ALSO has the same work schedule as far as I'm aware, and wanted to give himself a day off, and since we are so understaffed it would be impossible unless we literally closed. My tasks include answering the phone, washing dishes, making sandwiches, making dinners, folding pizza boxes, and cleaning the tables/equipment on that side of the restaurant. So essentially everything except making pizzas, cleaning the pizza area, mopping in general, and driving. We generally close at 9, 10 on Friday and Saturday. Guess who was explicitly rehired to close those days? Guess how that's going to work with me having to be home around 7:30 to take care of my own cat? I have no idea either. It's only for about 3 weeks, but my mom, whom i have not asked for any additional help with anything, won't feed the cat while i have work, even though there isn't a guarantee that i can leave on time to THEN RETURN to close, because again I'm the only one on that side of the building. I understand the fear of the bedbugs, so that's probably it, but it still fucking sucks because the kitchen is on the other side of the apartment from the bedroom and there is literally no reason to go there to feed her. But i get it

Did we get to where i can do my own ADLs? Of course not. My neighbor is in the hospital, and her husband is blind. This is a new development that was only discovered an hour before starting this post (about 3:30 am for me). She's ok, it's for mental health reasons, and that's her own business about that. Her husband being blind is not a new development however. And he needs help taking care of the pets, specifically the birds. Which is fine, they just also need to eat on their own schedule. 8am, around lunchtime, and 8pm. Guess who's still at work? One of the birds is special needs because her beak got injured and needs to be essentially spoon fed. Which the blind husband can't do at all. Fairly simple task, but just adding to my obligations that are Very Important because they involve making sure things don't starve to death while my neighbor is in Crisis

Ok let's see, that's 4 Very Important Tasks/Obligations, and only one was originally my own voluntary one. Still not at taking care of myself yet, but i have my shelter, i have my job ("part time" minimum wage, hurray. Part time because even with me being there 6 fucking days a week open to close it still isn't technically enough hours for the state to recognize it as full time), and I'm taking care of *counting* about 8 pets for the next week. Will unemployment give me my money that I've been claiming since March? No? Will they let me claim with my new working hours that makes that while process even harder? Technically but it'll take over an hour for it to process and it doesn't even do that in the end? Well fuck, guess i have to wait to get paid on the books in cash and beg for a hand written paystub and have my hours worked written down. Glad i earned $100 this week, i hope now that my hours have increased i get some more

Next on the list, appointments. Because I'm a dumbass who can't remember shit if it isn't consistently recurring, i overbooked myself for next week. My much needed therapy appointment with my therapist that I've only met once and is the replacement for my much better therapist that i actually had a relationship with is supposed to have a session with me on Tuesday. Will i remember to do it this time? Possibly since i actually remembered it's on Tuesday. Will she send me the reminder text with the zoom link? Probably not. Wednesday, my one day off, thank fuck for that, is the main problem with the scheduling. My med appointment is for 11:30. Cool, can do. Driving lesson at 12. Oh, that's a little close, but i can manage that probably. I only average 1 lesson per year and a half, so it's fine, it's "healthy" to be nervous about operating a death machine powered by explosions. Have to go to social services to pick up, or attempt to, a new food stamps card. They probably close at 5, and add a Non Driver, i need to rely on someone to take me. The sooner the better, but it can't be during the lesson. Don't forget to take care of the creatures before and during all of this.

Ok. Great. There's an hour before work. Time to shower, because it's so fucking hot I'll be sweating like crazy by the time i get around the corner to the pizzeria, with me literally getting out and dressed and then walking out the door. Glad i finally did still to take care of myself. Eating? I might have something i can heat up quickly while the cat eats and so i can take my own meds. Dishes? Those are going to have to wait, i hope the heat wave doesn't get too bad, but it's been like this for a while, still slowly chipping away at them. Sleep? Severe insomnia. I partially blame the bed, my mattress is so comfortable, i hope the bedbugs like it because i can't fucking use it right now. I'd be sleeping so fucking soundly if i were in my own bed, and yet here i am. Maybe i should take the Trazodone now. I just hope I'll wake up on time. Oh look I'm exhausted, can't afford to buy comparatively better prepared coffee from Dunkin, so i guess my shitty at home coffee is going to have to do. Black because i don't have any creamer or milk or lactose free milk in my house. Just the way i hate it. Gonna have to deal with that i guess, maybe I'll learn to like it

The coffee pot lives in my fridge now. I'm worried to put it with the other dishes because if it sits there, not being washed like everything else, then i won't even have the option of coffee. It's just water and ground up beans, I'm sure it's fine

Maybe i can find some kind of coping skill/hobby to help me through my limited me time. Let's see.... I like to crochet, and that helps me get through the dishes by letting me alternate between them and a row/round on one of my many started projects. What? It's in a giant garbage bag with a bedbug treatment stick because of the damn ass bedbugs? Can't open it for at least another week and even then there isn't a place to put the yarn safely? Well fuck. I found that really helpful with keeping me grounded. Umm, well looking online, i should *checks notes* buy new yarn in the meantime and keep it somewhere safe. Uh, well, i can't afford more yarn now and i have nowhere to put it. Videogames it is maybe? Oh fuck now I've hyper focused too long on pokemon, rhythm heaven, and whatever daily games i do, i think i have 5 of those of varying lengths of time spent on them

Did i remember to brush my teeth? No. Do i remember that i should and then when i get out of the shower so i forget to actually execute? Yes. Have i gone insane? Probably

How many spoons is a person supposed to have per day? It takes more for me just to get through the day in general. Why does everyone need me to do their Very Important Tasks? Why is there never anyone else? Can my neighbor just not buy more birds when she gets home from Crisis?

I just want to have good mental health, why is this so hard

[lumiolivier]

The Good Old Days Chapter Eleven:  A Little Girl and a Bad Night

A/N:  Hi, friends!  Ok.  I wasn’t thinking this was going to be one of those things I’d really have to do for this story, but this chapter is going to require a warning label.

TRIGGER WARNING:  DRUGGING, ATTEMPTS AT DATE RAPE

But despite everything, I really do like this chapter.  And I hope you do, too, if you read it.  If you don’t, I understand.  I love you.  See you next week x

ICYMI:  Chapter Ten:  My Brother Sold Me Out

Hell of an idea you had, Frankie.  Start at the loud ass club.  I know the Old Man told me to have a good time while I was doing collection runs for him, but I never was the type for electronica.  It’s just not my thing.  Music should be made with actual instruments, not computers, but I guess that’s just me.  That being said, I still had a job to do.  Now, if I were the manager, where would I be hiding on collection day? Should I even be looking for the manager?  Why not go straight for the owner?  I went up to the bar, hoping someone would know something.

 “Hi,” a cute little thing from behind the bar slid down to me, “Can I get you anything?”

 “Maybe you can,” I pulled up a barstool, “Do you know if the owner is here tonight?”

 “He’s in his office,” she told me, “Are you looking for him?”

 “I’d love to see him,” I nodded, “Tell him the Old Man is looking for him.  He’ll know.”

 “Ok.” She was sweet.  I liked her.  Granted, she was no Vanessa, but she was sweet.  I wonder if she knows he’s about to give me money to pay off a mob boss. Probably not.  And it’s probably for the best we keep her out of that.

 “Thank you, honey,” I gave her a little smile when she came back with the owner following her, “Can I get a mojito please?”

 “Sure!” I may not be a big fan of electronica, but I can promise my bartender friend is getting a nice tip before I leave.

 “So,” the owner sat down next to me.  In that moment, a choice flashed in my head. Either I could flex my new found power and push this guy’s buttons or I could let him go, “You’re the Old Man’s new bag man?”

 I wanted to.  Oh, I wanted to.  I wanted to show off having the big dick in the locker room.  I’ve dealt with assholes like this one before.  Arrogance oozed out of this guy.  But I heard Mama’s voice in my head.  I didn’t always have good nights coming home from the restaurant.  I know. Hard to believe.  But it was true.  Be the bigger man, Francisco.  Be the bigger man.  Our day will come, but just because they push us down to build themselves up doesn’t mean we need to stoop that low.  But a part of me still wanted to be petty.  No, Francisco.  Take the high road.  Si, Mama.

 “That’s me,” I confirmed, “And he’s calling your dues.”

 “I figured he would,” the owner handed me a nice, thick envelope, “Here.  This should be enough.”

 “Excuse me.” The Old Man always told me to never count the money in front of them.  Trust is the foundation of every transaction.  But I knew if I came back too short, the Old Man would have my ass. By the looks of it, everything was there.  I took a good drink from my mojito.  Damn, she knew what she was doing, “Alright, man.  We’re good here.  Thank you.”

 “Send the Old Man my best.”

 “Get the fuck off me, asshole!” a shrill voice barked out of a slight scuffle near the dance floor, “I said no!”

 “Oh, boy,” the owner winced, “That can’t be good.”

 “I could go bounce that for you,” I offered. Something in that voice sounded familiar.  I don’t like the knot it put in my stomach.  

 “Could you?” he asked, “I’d hate to put you out like that.”

 “It’s no trouble,” I brushed him off, finishing off my drink, “No worries.”

 “Thank you…”

 I got up from my barstool and headed over to the dance floor.  Oh, that didn’t look healthy.  And something tells me he didn’t know how young she was.  I wouldn’t exactly call her a baby, but I wouldn’t exactly call her an adult either. Still, scrappy or not, she didn’t need to be in this mess.  So, how to tackle it with the littlest amount of bloodshed.  I mean, if I have to fight this prick, I’ll fight him, but I’d rather not deal with that tonight.  I got better shit to do.

 “Come on, sweetheart,” the cuddly asshole awed, “All I asked was for you to dance for me like that.”

 “I told you no!” she snarled, ready to jump for his throat like a junkyard dog.

 “What seems to be the problem here?” I had an angle. If all else failed, I had a plan B. But I could feel it.  My blood started boiling.  I know Vanessa wasn’t quite mine yet, but this felt like she might as well have been.  And I’ll be damned if I let this happen.

 “Not your business, dude,” Cuddly Asshole brushed me off, trying to get closer to her.  Oh, no, no, no…

 “Actually,” I explained, “It is my business. Because I’m pretty sure she said no. And that should’ve been the end of it, but here you are, dragging it out.”

 “What?” he scoffed, “Are you her pimp or something?”

 “No…” I’m not going to prison tonight.  I’m not going down for murder.  Not tonight.  Maybe tomorrow, depending on what the Old Man’s got for me.  Please don’t get pissed at me for this, but roll with it, “This is my little sister.  She’s only seventeen and in here on a fake ID and it’s time for her to go home.  Come on, Veronica.  It’s time to go home.”

“Boo,” Veronica groaned, “You’re no fun.”

 “Come on, Veronica,” I took her by the arm and started heading outside.  But before we go, “And if I see you near her again, we will have a problem.  Do you understand?”

 “Please…” Asshole rolled his eyes at me, “What could you possibly do?”

 I really didn’t want this to end with violence, but sometimes, a little is necessary.  I threw a strong punch into the son of a bitch’s jaw and watched him fall to the floor, “Leave her alone.  Come on, Veronica.  It’s time for us to go home.”

 “Ok…” Veronica pouted on our way out, but I could see it in her eyes.  That shit was a front.  And it only became clear when we got outside.  She threw herself into my chest and damn near started bawling right then and there, “Thank you, Frankie.  That guy’s been on me all night, trying to get me to grind on his dick.  He wouldn’t leave me alone.”

 “You’re welcome,” I held her tight, “I wasn’t going to leave you like that, Veronica.  Promise.  Are you ok?”

 “I feel gross,” she admitted, “But I think I’m ok. I mean, I could be a little drunk, but other than that…I just wanted to go out and dance tonight.”

 “I know you did,” I kept an arm around her as the two of us headed down the block.  I still had rounds to make, “I hate assholes like that.”

 “Try having them air hump you from the back,” Veronica shuddered, “And then laugh about it to their idiot buddies.”

 “Eww…”

 “What made you tell him I was seventeen?” she wondered, leaning into me.  Something tells me Veronica’s drunker than she thinks she is.

 “I figured you were seventeen,” I shrugged, “I took a shot in the dark.  You look older, but you act younger.”

 “I’m eighteen, thank you,” Veronica told me, “Sometimes, I need to act older.  But that’s when I’m around my mother and her carbon copy.”

 “What?” I wasn’t following.

 “Our sister Violet,” she reminded me, “She’s exactly like our mother.  I’m sure a psychiatrist would love to tear that one apart, but I’m not digging into that today.  But God forbid we’re not her perfect daughters in mixed company or listen to her every fucking order down to the letter.  It’s hell, Frankie.  It’s pure hell.”

 “So I’ve heard.” Veronica talked about her mother the same way Vanessa would if Vanessa had less of a filter.  Vanessa had too much of a diplomatic heart for that, “I’m guessing you don’t want to go home quite yet, do you?”

 “I could stay out a little longer,” she smiled, “Why?  What did you have in mind?”

 “I’m thinking we go somewhere to get you sobered up,” I decided, “I need to do a few more things for work related purposes and there’s this restaurant I need to stop by.  Sound good to you?”

 “I’m really not that drunk, Frankie,” Veronica grumbled, still tripping over her own two feet.  Yeah.  She’s not that drunk, “But I’m not going to say no.”

 I knew this place the Old Man was sending me to. A little Italian place on the outskirts of Brooklyn.  I’ve only been here a couple times when my brothers and I decided to treat Mama to a nice night.  It had a warm, cozy atmosphere.  We couldn’t say no to that.  I never would’ve thought it was under the Old Man’s thumb, though.  And now that I’m…not quite under the Old Man’s thumb, but maybe more his index finger, I’m sure the owner of this place is going to get to know me very well.  

 I sat Veronica’s stumbly ass in a booth, “Stay here.  I’ll be right back.  Before we get anything, I need to take care of something first, ok?”

 “Ok,” Veronica held her head up on her elbow, barely holding herself together.  Yeah. You’re not that drunk.  I’m sure you’re not.

 I walked back to the owner’s office and caught the guy off guard, “Who the hell are you?”

 “I’m here for the Old Man,” I told him, “He’s looking for dues.”

 “Alright,” the owner reached for the cashbox under his desk, “I’m good for it this month.  We don’t need any problems.”

 “Good…” Oh, I’m not sure how to feel about the whole fear thing.  I didn’t think the Old Man’s power was derived from fear.  I thought it was more of a respect thing.  But I still had to get his money.  I was just the go-between.

 “Here,” the owner’s hands were shaky.  Wow, man, have a spine, “It’s all there.  I promise!”

 “It’s fine,” I settled him, “I believe you.  I don’t know who you’ve dealt with in the past, but you act like I’m going to start severing toes.”

 “Tell the Old Man I say thank you…”

 “Got it.” Holy shit, dude.  Who the hell did the Old Man have doing collections before me? And how big of an executioner was he? I shook it off and went back to find Veronica sipping on a glass of lemonade, “Alright, Veronica.  Anything you want.  I’m buying.  We just need to get some carbs in you.”

 “I don’t know about that, Frankie,” Veronica’s swaying got worse, “I don’t feel so good…”

 “Because whether you want to admit it or not,” I pointed out, “You’re drunk.  You need to…”

 “That’s the thing, though,” she cut me off, “I’ve hardly drank tonight.  I don’t think I even made it through my first drink.  Their rum tasted weird, so I stopped.”

 I had a mojito there.  It tasted fine.  Maybe she’s just a lightweight, “Have you eaten today?”

 “Yeah…” Then, out of nowhere, Veronica started shaking…And shaking bad, “Frankie, I’m scared…What happened…?  I can’t sit still.  Why can’t I sit still?  And…I’m dizzy…So…Dizzy…And I could…definitely pass out…Yeah…I’ll pass out now…”

 “Veronica?” I sat on her side of the booth, trying to shake her awake, “Veronica?”

 Oh, shit…This isn’t good.  I put my fingers up to her neck, hoping to God I felt a pulse. I don’t want to have to explain to Vanessa her sister might be dead.  Come on, Veronica.  Still be there.  Please…Then, I felt a little twitch under my fingertips.  Ok…Good.  She’s still alive.  She’s still breathing.  She’s just out cold.  That’s not exactly a good thing either, but it’s like Veronica said.  She barely drank tonight.  Which made me think one thing.  I wonder if that prick from the club thought Veronica would dance on him because he slipped her a little something, something.  It’s a good thing I got her out of there before he slipped her another little something, something.  

 Which led me to the little pickle I was in.  I couldn’t just leave Veronica here passed out in a booth.  Not unattended anyway.  I made sure to keep her head up a bit, “Veronica…?  You still in there?”

 Nothing.  Yep. This girl was out cold.  And that piece of shit drugged her.  By the way she was shaking, it wouldn’t surprise me if he fucking roofied her.  I’m so sorry, Veronica…I know we’ve only met each other once, but you’re a good kid. You don’t deserve this.  I flagged down a waiter and sure enough, one came running, “Can I help you, sir?”

 “I need a favor,” I took a hundred dollar bill out of the envelope from the club and put it in this guy’s hand, “My sister has had a very hard night and I need to go make a phone call.  Can you keep an eye on her for me please?  Just make sure she’s ok.”

 “Sure,” the guy sat in the booth.

 “Thank you so much,” I gave him a grateful nod, “Where are your payphones?”

 “In the back by the bathrooms.”

 “Thank you.” I headed toward the bathrooms and dug Vanessa’s number out of my pocket.  I just hoped to all things holy, unholy, and purgatorial that I wouldn’t have to speak with anyone else.  

 …Come on, Vanessa.  Pick up.

 “Hello?” Oh, thank God…

 “Hi, Vanessa,” I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. This was a phone call I didn’t want to give her, but it could be a hell of a lot worse.

 “Frankie!” she chimed, “It’s about time you call me. I thought you were blowing me off.”

 “Yeah,” I looked over at a clock.  Shit…It was damn near ten o’clock.  I didn’t want to stand her up, but I’m sure she’ll understand, “I’m so sorry about that.  It’s just…I’d hold off on that excitement if I were you.”

 “What do you mean?” Vanessa worried, “Is everything ok?”

 “Do you know where the Front Porch is?” I asked, twisting my finger around the cord.

 “Yeah,” her excitement definitely started dwindling, “Frankie, what’s going on?”

 “I want you to meet me there,” I stayed blunt with her.

 “Oh!” Vanessa relaxed, “I didn’t expect you to be asking me out so soon, but ok.  I’ll be there.”

 “I wouldn’t say I’m asking you out again,” I came clean with her, “I wish this were on much better terms, but…I got Veronica with me.”

 “Oh, God,” she groaned, “What did she get into now?”

 “It’s not what she got into,” I braced myself, “It’s what someone got into her.  She’s currently passed out in a booth.  Some guy tried getting with her tonight and might have roofied her.  I’m not totally sure, but it’s looking like it.  I stopped it before anything could really progress.”

 “I’ll be there soon,” I could hear it in her voice. Vanessa was doing her best to keep up a brave face for the sake of her sister.  I couldn’t blame her, though.  If something happened to César or Tony, I’d be dying inside, too.  They may do some stupid shit from time to time, but they’re still my brothers, “Keep an eye on her please.”

 “I will,” I promised, “See you soon.”

 Click.

 Fuck…I really didn’t want to have to give her that phone call, but like I said.  It was better than telling her there was nothing left the doctors could do. Hopefully, this will be out of her system soon and everything will be fine.  I walked back to our table and shooed the waiter away, “Thanks, man.”

 “Is there anything I can get you?” he offered.

 “I’m fine,” I told him, pulling Veronica into my lap, “Really.  Thank you.”

 “And…” he shot a glance down at her, “Is she going to be ok?”

 “She should be,” I ran my hand through her hair. Poor thing.  You really didn’t deserve this tonight, Veronica.  Or any other night for that matter.  It’s not your fault, though.  How were you supposed to know some dick was going to spike your drink?  But you’ll be alright.  

 “Excuse me, ma’am,” the hostess at the door chimed, “I’m sorry, but we’re closing soon.  We’re not taking anymore…”

 “I’m supposed to be meeting someone here…” I knew that voice anywhere.  And it’s really a shame I had to hear it under these circumstances.

 “Vanessa,” I waved her over, “She’s with me.”

 “How is she?” Vanessa walked over to our table where Veronica had her head in my lap.

 “She’s breathing,” I reported, “But before she passed out, she said she got really dizzy.  Then, she couldn’t stop shaking and that’s when she passed out.  And she’s been like this ever since.  Once she passed out, I called you.”

 “Thank you,” Vanessa nudged me out of the booth and took her sister, “Veronica…Can you hear me, honey?”

 For a brief moment, Veronica’s eyes opened. She could hardly talk, but dammit, she tried, “Ness…”

 “Shh….” Vanessa cradled her, “Let’s go home, ok?”

 “Ok,” Veronica was lucky to hold her head up, let alone walk.  I scooped her up into my arms and brought her to the limo out front.  Damn, Vanessa.  And I thought the Old Man traveled in style.  Still, I could get excited some other time.  For now, we had more important things to worry about.  I put Veronica gently in the backseat and she fell right back to sleep.  

 “Hey, Frankie…” Vanessa hardly spoke above a whisper, “Will you come with us?”

 “With you where?” I wondered.

 “Back to our house,” Vanessa begged, “Please?”

 “I…” I bit my lip.  Just what I needed was to be accused of being the one to drug Veronica in the first place.  I didn’t want to run that risk, “I really shouldn’t…”

 “It’s totally fine,” Vanessa assured me, “My parents aren’t home.  It’s ok. I’m going to need help getting Veronica back in the house and I don’t want to have to wake up any of the house staff.”

 “Ok,” I wasn’t going to argue with her.  I know I still had shit to do for the Old Man tonight, but some things take precedence.  So, I slid in next to Vanessa and somehow, my Williamsburg gutter ass ended up in Manhattan.  And not the casual Manhattan.  Upscale Manhattan.  The Upper East Side where a guy wasn’t allowed to breathe the cab exhaust for less than ten grand.  I knew Vanessa came from money, but damn…I also know both Vanessa and Veronica were human at the end of the day.  Bigger fish.

 The limo pulled up to this beautiful, massive house overlooking the water.  Why am I not surprised?  So, this is how the other half lives.  As long as Veronica got inside and into bed and wakes up tomorrow morning, that’s all that matters.  Vanessa brought me upstairs and into Veronica’s bedroom with Veronica riding in my arms. Her bedroom was the size of our whole apartment, but it looked more like an artist’s loft than a bedroom in a multimillion-dollar house like this.  Damn, this was nice.  Regardless, I put Vanessa into her bed and pulled her blanket over her shoulders. Sleep well, kid.  I’m sorry we had to meet like this tonight.  

 “Hey, Vanessa,” I asked, making sure to keep my voice down.  We don’t need to wake the baby, “Can I ask you a question?”

 “Sure,” Vanessa and I took a seat on the stairs, “What is it?”

 “Has…” I treaded lightly, my fingers between hers, “Has this ever happened before?”

 “A couple of times…” I could see it in her eyes. Vanessa was barely holding herself together.  A couple tears rolled down her face, “I told her not to go out by herself.  I told her to stay in tonight, Frankie.  But what does she do?  Of course we’re not going to listen to Vanessa.  What does she know?  It’s not like anyone else in this house looks out for Veronica the way Vanessa does.  Why take her advice?”

 “Hey…” I pulled Vanessa into my shoulder and let her cry, “You didn’t know some asshole was going to spike her drink. Don’t beat yourself up over this.”

 “Thank you for taking care of her tonight, Frankie,” Vanessa cuddled into me, “You really didn’t have to do this.”

 “But I did anyway,” I ran my fingers down the back of her arm, doing my best to offer whatever comfort I could, “I wasn’t going to blow her off, Vanessa.  That would’ve been a dick move.  And when I saw her tonight…I mean, the two of you are damn near identical.  Seeing her that pissed and that uncomfortable…I don’t know what I would’ve done if that were you instead.”

 “Bloodshed?” she assumed.

 “Maybe,” I shrugged, “Depends on how liquored up I had gotten beforehand.”

 “I’m worried about her…”

 “I’d be concerned if you weren’t,” I pulled her a little closer, “Can I tell you a little story?  Something to take your mind off things?”

 “What the hell?” Vanessa allowed, letting out a little yawn, “Go ahead.”

 “One time,” I remembered, “My brother Tony had a bitch of a headache. So, logically, he took something for it. He took something from one of the guys that worked in the kitchen.  But what he didn’t know was he accidentally roofied himself.  It made for an interesting night when we got home.”

 “What happened?”

 “We got home,” I went on, “He started getting dizzy and he passed out in bed.  Just like Veronica did.  When she wakes up tomorrow morning, her memory’s going to be fuzzy.  Keep some water on her nightstand and tell her everything that happened.  She’ll be ok.”

 “I know I’ve said it to death tonight…” Vanessa leaned over to me, gently kissing my cheek, “But thank you, Frankie. Really…I’m glad I got a phone call from you saying she passed out instead of one from Vanessa tomorrow morning, saying how much she fucked up.”

 “Let’s hope this doesn’t happen again,” I got up from the stairs, “I’d love to hang around a little longer, but I need to get going.  I’m still on the clock.”

 “Sorry,” she let me go, “I…I didn’t…”

 “No, no, no,” I shook her off, “It’s alright. I’m sure my boss would understand. I’ll call you tomorrow and check on her, ok?”

 “Ok,” Vanessa followed me outside, “You want to borrow the limo back to town?”

 “I’ll be fine,” I promised, “I got it.”

 “Are you sure?” she worried, “It’s at least an hour back to Williamsburg.”

 “Vanessa,” I took her hands, “I promise.  I’ll be fine.  I’ll call you tomorrow.  Go take care of your sister.”

“Ok…”

 I don’t want to say I scored major points with Vanessa tonight, but I’m pretty sure I scored major points with Vanessa tonight.  Saving her sister from some prick in the club would probably score me points tonight. And she had a point.  If that asshole would’ve been all over her like he was with Veronica, there would’ve definitely been bloodshed.  Hell, even when I hopped on the subway, all I could think about was what he did.  How scared Veronica was when it finally hit her system…If that would’ve been Vanessa, someone wouldn’t be walking straight anymore.

 Once I got back to Brooklyn, I couldn’t help myself. I stood outside that club, wondering if that dick was still there.  It wouldn’t surprise me if he was.  I know I promised Vanessa I’d call her tonight, but I needed to call the Old Man.  I’m sure he’s worried about where the hell I’ve been.  I doubt he’d call me taking care of Veronica having a good time while I’m on my collection runs.  Payphone…Payphone…If I were a payphone around here, where would I be…?  Alley.  That’s right.

 “Yeah?”

 “Hey, Old Man,” I answered, “It’s Frankie. Look, I might be a little late coming back.”

 “Is everything ok?” he worried.

 “No,” I was blunt.  How else was I supposed to answer that?  Was I supposed to lie to him and tell him everything was fine? Fine would’ve been me collecting and calling it a night.  Fine isn’t me collecting Veronica after she got drugged.  Fine isn’t having Vanessa crying in my shoulder.  Fine isn’t what’s about to happen.  And I just happened to catch a glimpse of the guy on his way out. Oh, your ass is mine, mother fucker, “I have some unfinished business I need to handle.”

 “What’s going on?” the Old Man asked, “What kind of unfinished business?”

 “There’s this piece of shit coming out of the club you sent me to,” I explained, doing my best to keep a level head.  For now, “He slipped something in Vanessa’s little sister’s drink and tried getting her to grind on him.  I can’t let him get away with that.”

 “Frankie, listen to me very carefully,” he turned very serious very quickly, “I don’t want you to lay a hand on him.”

 “What?” my heart sunk, “Old Man, no.  I can’t…”

 “Frankie…” the Old Man cut me off, “I told you to listen, did I not?”

 “Sorry,” I kept my mouth shut, “But I can’t…”

 “I never said we were going to let him get away with it…” I knew the Old Man was on my side, “Does the guy know who you are?”

 “I told him she was my sister.”

 “Alright…We can work with that,” the Old Man thought for a moment or two, “I want you to go up to him and become his best friend. Tell him you want to bury the hatchet. Once you do that, I want you to mention somewhere on the south side where the booze is cold, the girls are gorgeous…Really paint him a picture.  Bring him back here and we’ll take care of it, ok?”

 “Ok,” a wave of relief came over me, “I shouldn’t be much longer.  This guy’s pretty wasted.  I got him.”

 “Good boy,” he praised, “See you soon.”

 “See you soon.”

 “And I mean it, Frankie!  Not a finger on him until you get him back here.”

 “Got it, boss.”

 Click.

But once we get him there, I’m not making any fucking promises.

[carmenlire]

Now Look What You’ve Done

Content warning for eating disorders, depression, suicidal ideation, and references to self harm.

read on ao3

He remembers what he used to be like before Magnus.

It’s a lot like he is now.

It’s so many things and he’s so tired. Alec’s an adult and it’s been a few years since the world always seemed on the verge of imploding. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel like crumbling these days, though.

That doesn't mean that he doesn't want to kill himself right now, that it's taking everything he's got to stay alive, to keep breathing, to not just disintegrate into fucking ash and blow away on a breeze that blows icy across his back.

Alec used to have a lot of issues. He always knew he wasn’t cured, wasn’t completely better, always held a-- he told himself-- unreasonable fear of it all coming back and drowning him in thick, black waves that could swallow him whole if only he surrendered.

The waves promise oblivion and Alec’s so tired he could cry.

Back before Magnus, he was a Lightwood and it left a bad taste in his mouth. Forgetting that he was Maryse’s eldest-- and wasn’t that enough to curse his name black-- he was Alec and that was worse still.

Magnus didn’t fix him but he opened Alec’s life up and for that he’s eternally grateful. Alec’s worked harder than anyone will ever know to come back from the edge and put all his discordant, broken pieces back together but the glue is fraying and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.

He doesn’t even know why he’s trying.

Looking around their home in Idris, Alec feels like he’s not completely here. He has a body but he doesn’t think he can feel it, at least not all of it. Sometimes he wonders if he’d recognize himself if he looked in the mirror.

Sometimes he does look in the mirror and it’s a stranger.

He doesn’t tell anyone that, though. He’s never told anyone most of the shit that goes on in his head because he knows it’s not normal. He doesn’t want to scare anyone, doesn’t want anyone to know just how strange he is, just how close he is most days to disintegrating out of his fucking body.

To be honest, he doesn’t think anyone would really care, in any case.

Maybe he knows his husband loves him. He’d be a fool not to. It’s no secret that Jace and Izzy are his rocks and he takes great pride in being theirs too.

Still.

The thought whispers through his head that they’ve been distant lately and frankly, he can’t fault them. Everyone’s out of arm’s reach and Alec’s so tired of holding a hand out.

He feels pathetic and dizzy with loneliness but it’s a taste he’s familiar with.

Alec’s thankful he was never truly alone. He knows that now, that no matter how stuck in his head he got or what Maryse did, he always had his parabatai and sister.

It’s different now, though, and Alec’s tired of fighting it. He’s tired of swallowing the words back, blocking the thoughts out. His brain is weak-- he is weak and he’s not strong enough to tell his head to shut the fuck up when it insinuates he’s a waste of space, less than nothing.

It's hard to fight back when he thinks the voice might just have a point.

Outside on their balcony, Alec’s stomach grumbles but he ignores it. He used to be really good at that, back when he wasn’t the Inquisitor, before he was even Head of the New York Institute. When he was just a foot soldier, nothing more than a shadow and a disgraced one at that, Alec was always hungry and if he wasn’t hungry, he was sick.

Sick of himself and his weakness.

Because Alec has this thing where he doesn’t like to eat. It’s been so long that he doesn’t know what came first. All he knows is that food scares him.

He’s never told anyone that, either. Doubts they’d believe him even if he did. Alec’s always been exceedingly in shape. He’s solid, always has been. Never too thin, never thin enough.

When he thinks of food, it’s never anything good. A calorie is a calorie and a bad calorie at that. He likes food but can’t stand it.

He knows that’s not normal but can’t believe no one else feels like this, doesn’t feel the nauseating blend of guilt and shame when they eat, that they can’t rattle off the nutritional value of a banana or an ounce of mixed nuts or an iced latte without thinking.

Alec likes being hungry because that means he’s in control. He has the willpower not to give in to what his body wants.

And that’s good because his body is a fucking traitor and he hates that he needs to eat at all. He can’t remember how old he was when he first wished he didn’t have to eat but he knows it was before his first rune and he knows he’s never had a moment of peace since.

Alec likes days he only eats once the best because that means he can count what he ate and if it’s only a single plate, it's easy. It gets messy though because those days never last. Sometimes Alec fixates on a food and can’t think of anything else. His head goes round and round and his cravings are the size of mountains in his mind and peck at him like goddamn vultures until he gives in.

He hates himself when he gives in but that’s not unusual to how he usual feels so it’s moot.

It’s a sunny day and Alec winces a little at the light. It feels to bright, like he’s burning, and he wants to shy away from the rawness it raises in him.

He feels too exposed. He feels like he might just vibrate out of his body, if given half the chance.

At least he’s alone, though, Magnus gone to some conference halfway across the world for the week. So, it’s just Alec and his absolute mess of a head and he really wonders if this is what if feels like to go crazy.

These thoughts aren’t new but that doesn’t mean they’re any easier to bear and Alec doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out. Part of him, despite all the happiness of the last few years, is shocked that he’s still alive and can’t help but idly wonder how much longer he has left until he just fucking vanishes.

Alec usually thinks that it doesn’t matter that he has these thoughts about food because at the end of the day, he eats enough more often than not. But then he supposes that it’s probably not healthy to eat and want to kill himself for it so he’s at an impasse, really.

Because Alec’s not always like this. He’s not always this bad. He can go a few months and be steady, he can fall off the wagon a little and indulge for a season.

But when it’s bad, it’s bad.

Alec’s been training more. His body feels like a punching bag and his ankle’s been busted for a few weeks now but he needs his workouts like he needs oxygen and just the thought of stopping makes him want to end it all. He works out a few hours a day until the sweat stings his eyes and he wants nothing more than to collapse into the goddamn ground. He eats out of the few food groups he allows himself and the longer he goes without, the better he feels.

It’s sick. He knows it’s sick but the hollow feeling of his stomach is addictive. Sometimes, he stands abruptly from his desk and swallows hard against the nausea and the floaty little feeling that rocks through him.

When he manages to go another hour still, he feels viciously proud.

When he eats, he’s ashamed that he finally gave in, wants to crawl into a hole and die and never see the light of day again because he doesn't deserve it.

It’s all or nothing and there’s no winning. Alec just lives in this body and figures either way, he’ll die someday.

He tries not to think that lately, he’s hoping someday means soon.

Because he can’t go on like this much longer. He’s so fucking tired about everything. Work is too much and he feels like his family, like Magnus, are so busy with their own lives that he’s nothing but a footnote.

And that’s fine, he tells himself that’s fine, but he’s always known he’s privately a clingy bastard and he can’t help but think that it would be really fucking nice if someone would ask how he was and how freeing it would be to feel comfortable enough to share the shit his head spews at him every second of every fucking day.

It’s hard not to think that he’s nothing, a waste of space. He’s analyzed it rationally, after all, and he knows that if anything did happen to him, everyone would be more than fine.

They might be sad but they’d bounce back. Of that, Alec has no doubt.

It’s not like he really leaves a lasting impression-- at least not a good one.

Alec’s well aware that he’s a taciturn son of a bitch, that he can be cold and distant himself, that he has more issues than he knows that to do with, so he damn well can’t expect anyone else to take him and make him okay, make him something less than a failure and a hopeless one at that.

A sudden thought-- but not an unwelcome one-- drifts through his head and he closes his eyes against the intrusion but it’s there now and he’s always been weak.

He misses the blood on his hands. He misses the hiss of pain and the shades of pride that his little punishments always brought.

And doesn’t that make him a fucking freak.

Alec’s not stupid. He knows it’s weird and fucked up that he used to hurt himself to feel something, let alone something good. He knows it’s not normal to be afraid to eat and to be happy when he goes days with nothing more than coffee, to feel like he’s accomplishing something when he trains so hard he grinds himself into fucking dust.

He knows it’s not normal to want to die, to want to kill himself with unerring regularity.

He can tell himself it’s a bad day, a bad week, a downswing, a rough patch but the one thought that overrides them all is that Alec’s tired of living and he feels like every day he stays is another day wasted.

He knows his family would be better off without him, that if they knew just how fucked up he was, they’d run away and never look back and Alec doesn’t hold it against them.

He knows he’s a lot and he knows he’s too much but always just never enough and every day he keeps silent is just another day he feels like he’s lying to those around him. He feels selfish for keeping them around when he knows he doesn't deserve them and they probably know so, too. He feels like they only stay around because they don’t know any better and sometimes he wonders why they stay around at all.

He doesn’t think they really love him and sometimes Alec doesn’t trust his own feelings.

Exhausting, he thinks, it’s so damned hard sometimes. It’s hard to live and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.

These thoughts have plagued him since he was a teenager and he’s almost thirty now. He scoffs to himself and with a derisive little sneer thinks that he should be past this.

But that’s the thing, he knows. It always comes back and Alec doesn’t think he can keeping bouncing back.

A piece of his soul shrivels off and falls to the ground every time he has a rough patch. He works hard and knows what things work better than others to snap him out of what he and Magnus have taken to calling his dark periods.

Magnus isn’t here though and Alec’s damned if he needs anyone else right now.

Magnus doesn’t need to deal with this, to see Alec like this, and Alec knows he doesn’t want to anyway.

Alec’s so tired and death is alluring, with its obsidian promise.

Sighing in the quiet, Alec stands and the ground feels too real under his feet. It’s a shock to his system as he slowly walks back into the loft and to their bedroom.

There, he takes off his clothes and climbs into bed. It’s darker here, the curtains drawn, and it feels like Alec takes his first breath of the day as he sinks into the mattress.

Here, he’s not Alec Lightwood, Inquisitor. He’s not Alexander, loving and doting and happy husband. He’s not even Alec, pathetic little bastard with more issues than he’s worth.

He’s nothing, less than the air his quiet breaths move.

He’s nothing and that’s okay. That’s okay because he shouldn’t have the audacity to expect anything more, because just the thought of being a person is overwhelming and too much to handle and right now, he doesn’t have the strength to piece himself back together. He just wants to crumble, wants to fall apart, but Alec’s always done so quietly-- in the shadows, alone, with no one to see his tumble into darkness.

He’s nothing and while he should probably care, he doesn’t because that would take too much effort and besides, there’s always been a sort of comfort in giving in.

It’s nothing to fade away and to Alec, it almost feels like coming home.

[malvinamerican]

Dog Breeds: American Bully

The American Bully actually as several different names, among these Bully Pit, Bullypit, Bully Pit Bull, Bully Pitbull, and American Bully Pit. All of these are actually the same dog. It should be noted that some hybrid clubs use the term bullypit to refer to the American Bulldog/American Pit Bull Terrier mix, but this is an incorrect usage. Bullypit (and the variations) is a term meant to reflect a purebred dog of a certain type.

Visit: https://www.malvinamericanbully.com

The American Bully came about in the 1990s. Breeders wanted to create the ultimate family pet, so selective cross breeding was employed for years to get the perfect traits out of the American Pit Bull Terrier and the American Staffordshire Terrier. Some breeders added other bully breeds (and even other non-bully breeds) into their breeding programs to stabilize the traits they were searching for. Though originally only found on the east and west coasts of the United States, today the American Bully can be found all over North America and in Parts of Europe and Asia.

Like most bully breeds, the American bully should have a short coat that lies close to the body. The hairs should be stiff and the coat should have an overall glossy appearance in healthy adult dogs. Colors and patterns vary from dog to dog; all are considered acceptable, though deep browns and glossy black are preferred. Grooming is simple enough if you have a firm bristle brush. Bathe your pooch when necessary, rubbing him with a chamois cloth if you really want him to gleam. American Bully's are average shedders, so be prepared to vacuum at least once a week.

The head should be medium in length but very broad, giving the appearance of strength and intelligence. Eyes should be round, though ovals are also acceptable. Any color except albinism is acceptable, as long as the eyes are set low and far apart. The jaw should be strong and well defined, reflecting the American Bully's impressive bite strength. This is a strong breed, so everything from the stocky body to the muscular legs should reflect this.

The tail is fairly short, almost amusingly so. It should taper to a fine point, but never curl. The gait should be light and even springy, causing most dogs to hold their tails almost erect. In general, the American Bully should appear strong and happy as he prances around. There is great range of size for the American Bully. A purebred dog should stand anywhere from 13 to 21 inches tall and weigh between 70 and 120 pounds. As long as the proportions of the dog are correct, the exact size isn't much of a concern.

Like many of the bully breeds, the American Bully is confident, happy, and quite outgoing. Gentle and even loving towards most people, this breed is good natured and loyal to its family. Their unending courage and quite intelligence makes them excellent guard dogs. They are usually quite tolerant of children, even the smallest ones, so they make excellent family pets. They are highly protective and will not back down, so care should be taken when introducing this breed to strangers. If you wish to own an American Bully, make sure you socialize him early and frequently.

These dogs enjoy their exercise, so they prefer a yard where they can romp on a daily basis. If you want the American Bully to live in an apartment, you must exercise him at least twice a day. Even then, these dogs are active indoors and need something to do if you don't want them digging in couches or even eating the drapes (as one I know did when he got bored). They love to be outside, but they prefer warmer climates. If you live in a cooler area, invest in a well fitting dog sweater.

While the American Bully is a healthy dog with very few genetic problems, there can be a problem with breeders giving their dogs steroids to increase muscle mass and produce a more impressive looking dog. When the steroids are stopped (typically after the dog goes to its new home), the muscles shrink back to their original size. Unfortunately, this process can leave the dog with organ, muscle, or joint damage. If you're looking to adopt an American Bully, make sure you do your research and pick a drug-free breeder.

The American Bully can be an excellent companion for the right family. They are no more or less aggressive than other breeds of their size. If you're interested in this fun-loving dog, do your research and select a responsible breeder.

[freddiesaysalright]

Blessed Part 2

The Peace Like a River Sequel

Summary: Gwilym and Y/N are married. Violet is six years old. Baby number two is on the way. There are still some shadows that plague Y/N in her marriage to Gwil, and Violet is suddenly resentful of her parents. The Lee family tries to stick together.

Word Count: 2.2k

Tag List:  @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @simmisblog​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @lookuptotheskiesandsee​, @readinghorn​, @riddikuluslypotter​, @doingalrightt​, @misslolasworld​, @lemurian-starship​, @ravenedges-lies, @painkiller80​, @imgonnabeyourslave​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @ixchel-9275​, @sincerelygmg, @lv7867​, @unicorn-princess-1999​, @delilahmay39​, @chlobo6​, @dragon-out-of-water​, @radio-hoo-ha​, @agentmalfoy24601​, @thigh-your-mother-down​, @im-an-adult-ish​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Serious angst in this chapter. We’re dealing with stuff, we’re getting emotionally healthy, y’know?

Haven’t read Peace Like a River? Start here!

Part 1

Part 2 here we go!!!

The whole drive to the school, you speculated over what Violet could have possibly done. Your heart raced with worry. She was such a sweet child, and tended to get along with everyone. Now she was in trouble? 

“Don’t fret too much, darling,” Gwilym said as if reading your mind. “I’m sure it’s something small. Violet’s a wonderful child.”

“I dunno,” you returned. “She’s been so strange about everything lately…”

“We shouldn’t jump to any conclusions before we have the information,” he said.

You nodded. Your mind still swirled with questions, but you tried to relax. It could be something as simple as she did exceptionally poor on a test. You just had to wait and see.

When you arrived at the school, you waited for Gwilym to help you out of the car. Then, you walked inside together, heading for  the headmaster’s office, where the teacher told you to meet them. That part also made you anxious for answers. If the headmaster was involved, didn’t that mean it was something serious? You just had to know. It took a lot of strength to walk normally to the office. You wanted to sprint there and see Violet.

When you reached the lobby, the receptionist led you to the headmaster’s office. It was a handsome, stately room that sort of reminded you of studies you might see in a black and white movie. Gwilym had an office in your home, but it was simple, and the furniture wasn’t made with over shined leather.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Lee,” the headmaster said from behind his desk.

Violet sat in a chair opposite him, head hanging down and looking harshly at the floor. Her teacher stood behind her. You looked at your daughter, willing her to meet your eyes, but hers remained fixed on the carpet. 

“Please, have a seat,” the headmaster said.

He was Mrs. Topper’s husband, but you had only met him once, when you enrolled Violet in the school. He was a polite man, but not nearly as friendly as his wife. Now, both were tense. Mrs. Topper shot you an apologetic look as you and Gwilym took the remaining chairs, Violet between you.

“What’s happened?” Gwilym asked. “Is Violet okay?”

“Violet is fine,” Mr. Topper said. “It’s the boy she punched I’m worried about.”

“She hit someone?!” you gasped.

Mr. Topper nodded. “Yes. A classmate of hers.”

“He was making fun of me!” Violet interjected.

You rounded on her. “That doesn’t matter, Violet, you do not hit people!”

“You’ve hit someone!” she protested, looking at you at last.

That stumped you. You tried to remember who you had hit in your life. Gwilym came to your rescue.

“Henry,” he said quietly.

You blinked, shocked that Violet remembered something from when she was so little.

“That was different, I was defending myself,” you told her. “And it was only a last resort. You know better than to hit someone just because of their words.”

She frowned, and looked at the floor again.

“Look, no matter the situation, Violet acted in a way that is simply not tolerated at this school,” Mr. Topper went on. “I’m afraid she’s been suspended for three days.”

“Are you joking?” Gwilym cried. “She’s been a model student up until now. One infraction and she’s suspended?!”

“Mr. Lee, I understand it’s upsetting, but this infraction was not cheating or lying,” Mr. Topper explained. “She used violence. As I said, we have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to attacking another student.”

“But if she was provoked -”

“As your wife said, it doesn’t matter,” Mr. Topper interrupted. “She hit someone. The boy didn’t attack her first or anything like it. If she was being teased, she needed to tell her teacher.”

You looked at Violet.

“Did you tell Mrs. Topper that the boy was making fun of you?” you asked sharply.

Her bottom lip quivered. “No.”

“Why not?” Gwilym asked gently.

“I didn’t think about it,” she admitted.

“Well, you clearly weren’t thinking,” you snapped.

Gwilym sighed and looked at Mr. Topper. 

“Is there nothing else to be done?” he wondered.

“There’s not, I’m sorry,” Mr. Topper answered. “Violet is not to be on school grounds for three days. That’s final.”

“And any work she misses?” 

“It cannot be made up, I’m afraid.”

You took a deep breath as anger raged inside your chest. It was mixed with shock and disappointment, but mostly anger. You had not raised a violent child. She had never shown this kind of tendency before. Then you felt a twinge of fear. What if she was more like her father - her biological father - than you thought?

At this point, Mrs. Topper chimed in.

“Violet, I know this isn’t like you,” she said. “You’re a sweet, smart girl, and a joy to have in class. The next time someone says something that hurts your feelings, don’t be afraid to come and tell me. We’ll all sit down and work it out with our words. Okay?”

Violet nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Great,” Mrs. Topper said. Then she looked at her husband, who nodded.

“You may go now,” he said.

You got to your feet and shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Topper, as did Gwilym. Then, all of you left and walked to the car. It was deathly quiet as you began the drive home. You were still angry at Violet for acting that way, but now you could not escape the thought that she might be more Henry’s daughter than yours. It felt a bit crazy to jump to that conclusion, but you couldn’t help it. That thought had terrified you since the day she was born. Now, it had emerged from wherever you buried it and reared its ugly head.

“Violet,” Gwilym said to break the heavy silence. “I hope you understand how disappointed we are.”

“More than disappointed,” you added. “That was completely unacceptable.”

Violet didn’t say anything, but you heard her sniffle in the backseat. You couldn’t look at her. If you did, your anger would cave.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” you demanded.

She muttered something under her breath.

“What was that?” you snapped.

“No!” she cried. 

“Well, you better think of something because we are having a long talk when we get home, young lady,” you warned her.

The rest of the drive was spent in more silence. Gwilym kept trying to catch your eye but you ignored him. You knew he wanted you to lighten up, but you couldn’t. Not with something like this.

When you reached the house, Violet sprang from the car and hurried to the door. Gwilym once again came around to help you and then you followed behind. When the door was open, Violet started to run up the stairs but you stopped her.

“No way, Vi,” you said. “Kitchen. Now.”

Her shoulders sagged and she dragged her feet all the way to the kitchen. You pulled a chair out for her and she sat in it. You couldn’t sit, and you just barely heard Gwilym offer to get you a chair but you waved him off.

“Explain yourself,” you said to your daughter “Why did you hit that little boy?”

“I told you!” she said. “He was making fun of me!”

“What was he making fun of you for?” Gwilym asked.

“My accent!”

“Your accent?!” you repeated. “Are you serious? You honestly thought that was worth hitting someone?!”

Violet blinked and a tear spilled down her cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I don’t know why it made me so angry.”

“Well, you’re grounded,” you told her. “It doesn’t matter what that boy said or that you were angry. That’s never a reason to hurt another person.”

Gwilym looked at you. “Darling, take it easy. Clearly something is bothering her. Let’s hear her out.”

Your eyes flashed as you looked at him.

“Don’t lecture me on how to discipline my daughter, Gwil!”

The air was sucked out of the room. As soon as the words left your mouth, you wished you could snatch them out of the air and shove them back down your throat. Gwilym’s eyes went wide and the hurt behind them was abundantly clear. He cleared his throat and looked at Violet.

“Violet, could you excuse us?” he asked. “We’re not done with this conversation, but Mum and I need to talk first.”

“O-okay,” she said, eyes flickering between you and him. “I’ll go to my room.”

Without another word, she ran upstairs. You waited until you heard her door close before starting.

“Honey, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean -”

He held up a hand to stop you. 

“Don’t,” he said firmly. “Don’t tell me you didn’t mean it.”

Tears formed in your eyes. “But I didn’t, I swear!”

“Yes, you did,” he argued. “But I don’t think it’s because you don’t see me as Violet’s father or you doubt my parenting abilities.”

“You don’t?” you questioned.

He shook his head. “I think this comes from a different place. The same place that led you to find out you were pregnant all on your own. You don’t really trust me.”

You blinked. “What? That’s ridiculous, of course I -”

He cut across you again. “No, you don’t. You trust me to be faithful to you. You trust that I love you. But deep down - really deep down - you don’t trust that I won’t hurt you. Some part of you genuinely believes that you will be on your own again.”

He really hit the nail on the head. Gwilym knew you so well by now, probably even better than you knew yourself. Your old defensive habit of making a joke in times like these was bubbling to the surface, but you pushed it down. He would not accept a joke now, and you needed to be honest.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “That’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t blame you,” he returned. “I know it’s not your fault that you feel this way. You were hurt by your ex-husband, and by your family. You got away before they could ever fully reject you.”

He stepped closer to you, and you hung your head with shame. He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger and made you look at him. His eyes shone with love and understanding. Just like always. You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Listen,” he said. “And hear me. Y/N, my love, my wife, my Dear Friend...I am not going anywhere.”

Your heart began to swell at the promise. Everything was love with Gwilym, and he gave it to you freely. You couldn’t believe you were still adjusting to being loved this way.

“I believe you,” you breathed out as your bottom lip trembled with emotion. 

He moved his hand to cup your cheek.

“Will you let me stay?” he asked. “Let me be your husband?”

You nodded, biting your lip and melting into him. You buried your face in his neck and wrapped your arms around his waist.

“I love you,” you said. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, darling,” he said, stroking your hair. “I forgive you.”

Your hands gripped his shirt tightly. For a moment, you wanted to stay right here forever. To hold on to Gwilym and be in his arms and forget about anything else. You knew that he was right because already a part of you was whispering that you were too much trouble and one day he would grow tired of it. Holding onto him was like holding onto his words. I am not going anywhere. 

“Darling, how would you feel about...about seeing someone about all this?” he asked tentatively, pulling away from the hug to look into your eyes. “I feel like there’s a lot of learned behaviors from Henry that you may need professional help in unlearning.”

You looked away. It felt like a blow. A step back. After your last confrontation with Henry, you felt like you had conquered it. That his actions no longer affected you and you were free. But Gwilym was right. There was still so much that needed to be addressed.

“I’m open to it,” you told him. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes for...for you.”

“I want you to do it for yourself, love,” he replied. “I’m going to be here for you no matter what.”

He leaned in and kissed your lips. You deepened the kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close. Sometimes, words did not do justice to how grateful you were for your husband, so you did your best to show him. All your appreciation went into this kiss.

“Now,” he said as you broke apart. “Shall we go and speak to Violet?”

“I think we should,” you said. “You’re right, something else is bothering her enough to make her act out.”

“I think I know what it is,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I just really hope I’m wrong.”

Taking your hand, he led you upstairs.

[connorssock]

so your prompts are open could you do maybe a short story where captain allen is falling for 60? (ps good luck on the kink off)

We’re just conveniently going to ignore that this has been sat in my inbox for a year because I am slow and the Kink Off is now into its second round. My sincerest apologies. Hopefully this may make up for it a little:

It rapidly became quite obvious that Sixty struggled with excess processing power that he couldn’t just leave to idle. He was constantly on the move, analysing, preconstructing, working out probabilities for even the most mundane of things. Up to and including how many times Allen would chew a mouthful of food if they went out together. Frankly, it was getting a little worrying. Usually, Allen didn’t mind, even tried to mix things up to keep it interesting for Sixty. But he knew it wasn’t healthy, Sixty needed more.

During the day, things were fine, enough happened to keep Sixty occupied but the real issues came at night when the world was silent, no events to process, to guess probabilities for. While Sixty never said anything, he didn’t look more pale after a restless night, didn’t seem tired or even hyper like a human would. But somehow, Allen could still tell. He wondered when he started being able to read an android so well. Probably around the time he agreed to meet up with Sixty for a drink when he sobered up and spent the day with Sixty as part of his hangover cure.

The more Allen thought about it, the more he wanted to do something to help his friend. Except somehow that label didn’t feel right. Because as time wore on, Sixty was more than a friend and Allen was confused. Friends didn’t hang out together, laughing on a rooftop and throwing crumbs at pigeons. And friends almost certainly didn’t catch a pigeon and present it to the other with a hopeful look. But Allen didn’t know what they were. In a way, he didn’t much care either. He was Allen and Sixty was Sixty. They did their things, had fun, occasionally ran cackling from a disaster. Like the time Sixty hacked the billboards of the square just to display random animal facts with pictures.

Things had been getting worse, Allen knew that but didn’t know how to help. Sixty was tracing lines on his hand as they watched some dumb film on his sofa.

“Want to stay the night?” The question left Allen’s lips before he could really think about the implications.

“I don’t sleep,” Sixty replied without missing a beat. As if it was normal for friends to have sleepovers. Maybe for androids it was. It didn’t matter anyway, Sixty had stepped around answering the question and it sounded like a very roundabout rejection so Allen shrugged and nodded. However, Sixty didn’t go home that night.

From then on, it became weirdly regular for Sixty to hang out in Allen’s house overnight. Only once did Allen ask what Sixty got up to.

“I watch you sleep. Time your snores, assess the decibel levels for animal noise comparisons, count your breaths and, on the nights you drool, work out the volume of fluid loss, the evaporation rate and your dietary requirements from the residue.”

“Sexy,” Allen replied and promptly turned back to his breakfast. They were just friends. Sure.

It didn’t stop him from his quest to find something to help Sixty keep his processors occupied. Like a good friend, Allen started leaving things out for Sixty to do. Puzzle, knitting, even paint in case he wanted to give it a go. Some were more successful than others. The sneaky treasure hunt had been a good one, Sixty’s smile was sweeter after that. Even if he continued his hunt after it was over and discovered Allen’s stash of toys which were only meant for consenting adult eyes.

It turned out, Sixty was more than consenting.

That discovery was around the same time as Allen stumbled into an invention that had originally been for YK500s. Some parents wanted the full, bratty experience rather than the obedient delight of a child. And some genius (or pervert, depending on perspective) had invented a pacifier for androids. Once it was on the market, it had been all too easy to find modifications for it.

Like a good friend, Allen found one programmed for adult androids and he presented it shyly one evening.

“To help with your processors at night.”

Sixty had taken the pacifier hesitantly, almost suspiciously, no doubt scanning it.

“Is this an accessory for some sex act you hadn’t yet suggested?”

That pulled a bark of a laugh from Allen and he shook his head. As kinky as he liked his sex, age play just wasn’t for him. Rather than explain, he urged Sixty to just try it.

At first, Sixty put it in his mouth and looked expectantly at Allen. A moment later his eyes widened and he was yanking the pacifier out of his mouth to stare at it while wiping at his tongue with his other hand.

“It’s been programmed to keep your sensors occupied, no set pattern, no predictability as to what is flashes up as next.”

While most nights after that Allen still went to bed fucked silly, he now knew that if he woke up, he’d see Sixty next to him, LED blue, eyes shut and pacifier in his mouth. And they’d agreed that they were friends. Well, friends with a very specific prefix. Boyfriends.

[freyjawriter24]

Advent Omens: Cookies

This one might make you a little hungry - apologies in advance! Another of my responses to @drawlight‘s excellent winter prompt list - this time Day 18, which has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for ages. Enjoy!

-----

When he’d set out on this project, he hadn’t thought it would take that long. A couple of months, a year at most. Not the best part of a decade.

Trying, adjusting, trying again. He was almost at the stage where he was ready to ask for human feedback – in total secrecy, of course, under the empty threat of eternal torture in Hell. He could trust the American girl, certainly, and probably her husband, and their kids could give their feedback too, but they were probably too young to understand the intricacies of flavour and the importance of the whole thing properly. Adam and Warlock could probably be trusted to keep it secret, but he’d have to keep them out of the way afterwards, because when secrets were involved, they both had a habit of grinning at Crowley in such a way that the angel would figure out something was up in about two seconds flat. Other than that, he supposed he could try it out with random humans who didn’t know Aziraphale and would therefore have zero chance of passing any confidential information on, but that was worse, because he’d have to explain things and then wipe their memories afterwards, and honestly it just wasn’t worth the stress.

But he hadn’t told anyone yet. It was almost maddening, that, having to keep something quiet for so long without even a hint that there was something there to hide. It had been a while since he’d had practice at that.

Today was the cut-off date. If he wasn’t happy with it by this evening, there wouldn’t be time for the human trials to take place so that it was ready in time for Christmas, and so he would have to work on it for another whole year before showing Aziraphale. He’d gotten this down to a fine science, both the project itself and the timings of it, and he was not going to risk mucking it all up by going over deadlines and changing everything at the last minute.

“Right, you,” he said threateningly to the tray in this hand, but determinedly not putting a miracle into it. “You’ve got to be perfect this time, okay? Perfect. I do not want this to last another year.”

He opened the oven door and slid the tray inside, hitting the to-the-second timer at the same instant that he shut the door. It began to count down, and he glared at it for a second to make sure it knew what would happen if it wasn’t loud enough or on time enough or did anything else wrong.

Then he glanced at the counter, at the pile of stuff sat there.

“Ugh,” the being who was once the Serpent of Eden said, and reached towards it. “Now for the apple.”

He worked for another couple of hours, mixing and dividing and baking, plating up the results in colour-coded tins and setting a miracle over each of them to keep them at the perfect temperature. The clipboard was marked off as each batch came out, and sat beside the tins, waiting to be filled out with all necessary details when the time came.

Crowley didn’t realise he was humming until the tune was broken partway through by a polite cough. The demon froze, then whirled around, uncovered yellow eyes blown wide.

Any faint hope he’d had that the now-adult Antichrist had been the one to break into his locked flat vanished as his gaze fell upon the softly-smiling face of his husband.

“Angel...” The word slipped out without intent, as it often did when Crowley was suddenly caught by how beautiful Aziraphale looked. But this time the shock was more one of fear and embarrassment than just flat-out love. Though there was definitely a healthy dose of that in there too.

Unnecessary blood thundering in his ears, he took in the scene, trying to figure out how much Aziraphale knew. The angel was stood by the kitchen table, the rainbow of labelled tins in front of him. Crowley himself was stood by an obviously-on oven, clearing up an obviously-floured counter, but there was no tray in his hands, no actual evidence tying him directly to the tins on the table. Maybe he had a chance? But then, with a sinking feeling in his chest, he realised the clipboard containing his own handwriting was held gently in the ethereal being’s hands, and Crowley knew he was done for. Aziraphale knew the whole thing.

The demon stumbled through a few nonsense sounds, and then eventually fell quiet. And then changed his mind immediately.

“It was meant to be a surprise,” he said slowly, quietly, and he was distantly shocked to hear how broken he sounded.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, dropping the clipboard on the table and crossing the room to him in a few quick, sure strides. The angel folded the demon to him in a strong hug, and Crowley hugged him back automatically, the contact no longer unusual or terrifying.

“If it helps, it was a surprise,” Aziraphale murmured, his chin tucked over his husband’s shoulder. “I didn’t even know there was anything I should be avoiding walking into. And it’s a wonderful surprise, too.”

Crowley mumbled something neither of them recognised as words into Aziraphale’s neck, and then resolved to just enjoy the moment for a bit. There was a time when we couldn’t do this. Something so wonderfully simple as this. He also resolved not to cry, and only failed a little.

“Are you okay, my dear?” Aziraphale asked when they finally drew apart. The angel was frowning at him in a concerned sort of way, and Crowley vanished any hint of tears with a click of his fingers, at the same time focusing on returning his irises to normal, human-like size.

“Yeah, sure, ’m fine, angel.”

“I really am sorry that I walked in on your surprise.”

“Nah, ’s not that. Well, maybe it’s a little bit that. But, I mean...” Crowley cast about for the words and ended up groaning at his own inarticulacy. “I just... It all got a bit much. That we can just do that now. Hug. In the middle of the kitchen. In broad daylight.”

Aziraphale’s face crumpled into a strange mixture of love and sadness and deep, deep understanding. “I know, my darling. I know.”

At that moment the timer went off. Crowley wavered for a second between the oven and the angel, then figured why not both and clicked his fingers as he stepped back towards Aziraphale and wrapped his serpentine arms around him. The final batch of cookies made it to the cooling rack right on schedule, and the two celestial beings enjoyed another moment that was all their own, still a novelty after only a decade being allowed that.

At some point, when they realised that the night had drawn in on the Mayfair flat, they broke apart again, limbs relaxing into this strange world where they could live together, be married to each other, and not have to deal with either of their respective Head Offices trying to murder them. They decided not to make the long journey back to the cottage tonight, and instead Aziraphale retrieved a collection of tartan blankets from a cupboard and arranged them around himself on the sofa.

Crowley brought a plate over with one of each cookie batch on it, and when the angel took it from him, he slipped under the blankets too and snuggled into Aziraphale’s soft embrace.

“They’re still just prototypes,” the demon warned. “I haven’t tested them on anyone else yet, so they might not be quite there yet...”

Aziraphale gave him a look, and Crowley shut up, nodding in acceptance.

“Which should I try first?”

The demon considered, then pointed, describing each by their major flavours.

“Gingerbread, white chocolate and raspberry, milk chocolate and orange, lemon with meringue chunks, then apple and cinnamon.” He considered this list, then nodded. “Yeah, that’ll work. Not the order I made them in, but they should all be the right temperature for what their flavours are.”

Aziraphale daintily picked up the first biscuit on the list, a simple round of gingerbread with a star pressed into it. “Very festive,” he commented, smiling prettily.

“Yeah,” Crowley mumbled. “I was going to add some bronze edible glitter or something, but that kind of messed up the rustic aesthetic a little...” He trailed off, realising how much he was giving away, and buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck. “Urmph, just try it.”

The angel’s soft fingers found Crowley’s among the blankets, and squeezed. The demon clung on in return, and didn’t move until Aziraphale had tried every flavour of cookie he’d painstakingly put together from scratch through a decade of testing and tasting and so much baking, baking, baking.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said finally, and the demon dared raise his head. The pale blue eyes were full of emotion, and for a second Crowley wondered (again) what would happen to him if he discorporated now from pure love.

“My dearest, most wonderful darling,” Aziraphale began, and there was a crack in there somewhere that made Crowley grip the angel even tighter to him. “I love you more than anything in the entirety of creation.”

“They that good?” Crowley asked, and pretended the odd note of his voice was a laugh.

“Oh, they are,” Aziraphale said, nodding and pulling Crowley impossibly closer to him. “But that’s not the point. You’ve...” The angel cut himself off, took a deep breath, and covered the break by pressing a kiss to Crowley’s forehead.

He drew back slightly and continued, gazing earnestly into the demon’s eyes as he did so. “You’ve put so much time and effort into this, into making these perfect, and that’s all for me, and I just...”

It wasn’t often that either of them cried, but they both forgave themselves for it on this occasion. The tears were heavy with millennia of affection, but they were warm with it, too, and the pile of blankets became a haven of strong arms cuddling close and gentle fingers brushing cheeks and soft lips offering kisses and endless words of love, and that was honestly all they needed.

The tins of cookies sat, perfectly warmed, on the kitchen counter for the rest of the night. They were retrieved in the morning, and offered out to anyone who ventured into the bookshop (as long as they promised not to buy anything), all of whom gave rave reviews of every single flavour.

Aziraphale encouraged Crowley to bake a batch of each to bring to Tadfield for the winter celebrations that year, and every one of the humans who tried them agreed with the angel’s assessment that they were the most delicious cookies they’d ever had. Thereafter, of course, Crowley’s baking was requested at every major event, but he didn’t really mind. It made his angel happy, and that was all he’d ever really wanted.

[drferox]

Homecooking moist cat food

@sapphic-romeo said: The amount of research into cat food (both dry and wet) necessary for me to feel comfortable feeding it to my cat is staggering, and the food itself get expensive pretty quickly. Getting some frozen chicken breasts from the store and cooking it up myself seems like better protein than getting wet food. Would a diet of (plain, unseasoned, literally just cooked in water) chicken and whatever dry food be well rounded enough for my cat? What nutrients, if any, would she be missing?

At least homecooking your own pet food, you know what’s in it. I understand lots of people feel much more comfortable with doing this.

If you’re keeping approximately half the diet as a quality dry food then you’re unlikely to cause any major nutritional deficiencies. This is particularly the case for a cat who doesn’t have any particular increased requirements - healthy and non-reproductive adult who has finished growing.

Chicken breast on its own isn’t a balanced diet, which you already knew. It’s going to be relatively low calcium, low in most vitamins and low-ish in fat. However if you want to cook moist food for your cat, there’s a few relatively simple modifications you could make to this plan to make it a little more balanced, even before consulting with a nutritionist. It’s not perfect, but it’s something.

Fat is not necessarily bad for healthy cats, so you can leave the fat on the cat’s chicken breasts, and you could leave the skin on them too. You could also add other parts of the animal. Chicken hearts are relatively cheap, a redder meat, and can be cooked up like the breast fillets are for more iron.

Liver is also a sort of ‘cheat’ multi-vitamin for cats. Adding liver to make up about 5% of the mix, but no more than 10%, will add multiple vitamins and minerals that would otherwise be missing.

If you were going to fine-tune this further, an individual cat may need a calcium supplement added, a touch more salt, or a higher fat ratio, but that would be straying into personalized advice.

[sadienita]

I’m Fine - Part 1

Joshua x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

You’ve got enough on your plate right now that you really don’t need to add a soulmate to the mix.

You groaned as you rolled out of bed and made your way across the room just to turn off the alarm. You figured being early autumn that it would still be warm in your room but apparently the weather had decided it wanted to leap right into fall so your room was slightly chilled. You hurried to throw on your robe and got yourself to the shower as quickly as humanly possible. Letting the warm water thaw your body, you stayed in just a little longer than you needed to. 

Once dressed and organized you went to grab breakfast and finally checked your texts.

Every single one of them was from your mom.

[Hi honey, good luck today]

[Make sure you eat a good breakfast]

[I checked the weather forecast and your city should be nice and cool all week. No overheating, yay!]

[Did you book your next appointment yet? You said they were supposed to call last week.]

You sighed and your housemate, Iseul, looked up from her breakfast. 

“Your mom?”

“Yeah, I mean I know she’s just worried but I can take care of myself.”

Iseul nodded thoughtfully as she finished her toast. “But with everything that started happening in the last year, doesn’t she have at least a little reason to be worried?”

You shot her a look. “I’m an adult, I know she’s going to worry but it can be overbearing and it doesn’t need to be.”

She looked unconvinced but let it go. “You should at least text her back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled, typing up a quick response. Your mom was kind but she could be a real handful. She worried easily, though so did you so it wasn’t much of a surprise to see where you had gotten it from. You did your best to ease her worries with your response, hoping she would stop pestering you. 

In truth it made you anxious when she was anxious. You had worked so hard throughout your whole undergrad to get your anxiety under control and you had finally managed to work with it and cope with it when things changed. And you mom had been on your case over it since she realized something was going wrong with your body.

You did you best to shove that from your mind, even though your stomach was telling you that your anxiety was building, but you were used to having an uneasy stomach at this point so you finished up packing your stuff before heading out to class.

Today would be a good day. That you were determined about. It was a new semester, a new year and the last one that you would have to do to get your degree. You had prepared yourself. You had snacks for the day, you mentally readied your speech for your profs.

“Hi, so I’m one of your students this year. I wanted to let you know that I’ve been dealing with this health issue and it might become a problem during class. I-”

“Hey stranger!”

Your thoughts were interrupted by Youngmi, as she caught up to you on your walk. As much as you were trying to be excited about meeting new people this year and making new friends, seeing a familiar face was like a breath of fresh air. 

“Hey Youngmi, how was your summer?”

“Eh, it was work so not overly exciting but hey, I made money. You?”

“About the same, and more hospital and doctor’s visits.”

“Did you figure out yet?”

You sighed. “I guess we’re getting somewhere slowly. It’s just frustrating.” 

“No that’s totally fair. Are you sure you’re good to walk to class.”

You shifted your backpack to the other shoulder. “Yeah, I’m fine. I feel fine. Just first day jitters, that’s all.”

Youngmi nodded and you continued your walk. The building was busy when you got there and your stomach started to flip flop. You took a few deep breaths as you followed Youngmi through the crowd to find a seat in the auditorium. The feeling of butterflies and nerves in your stomach was only getting worse and you could swear your face was getting hot. You started to fan yourself and Youngmi gave you a curious look.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. I’m just feeling really warm and my stomach is nervous.”

Youngmi was about to say something else when the lecturer grabbed your attention. The both of you stopped chatting and focused on the lecture, trying to at least be good students the first day.

But you were distracted. You didn’t feel faint or like you would pass out. You just felt hot and jittery, but you had never experienced this before so you had no clue what it was. You just prayed it wasn’t something new on top of everything else.

After the lecture you and Youngmi made your way out of the auditorium. You found a quiet spot to eat lunch while you were between classes.

“Are you feeling any better?” She asked.

“Yeah, a bit, that was so weird. God I hope it’s not another symptom or something.”

Youngmi grinned at you. “Well I can think of one thing you probably haven’t considered yet.”

You gave her a curious look but before she had even opened her mouth again you caught onto what she was implying. “Hey! Don’t joke about that! I already have enough stress, that’s the last thing I need to add to my plate.” 

She chuckled. “Okay but I’m serious, it might actually be-”

“Well hey look at the time!” You jumped up and gathered your stuff. “Best be getting to class!”

Youngmi whined your name but you ignored it. “Think about it, though.”

“Nope!” You took off down the hallway. That whole idea made you anxious. There was a right time for that sort of meeting and a wrong time and this was the wrong time, so it wouldn’t happen just yet. You had way too much on your plate for a relationship right now. You felt like way too much of a mess.

You found your classroom, a much smaller one than the large lecture theatre, and grabbed a spot. You made sure you had room to lie down and as soon as the professor came in you told her what you might need during the semester. You thanked your lucky stars that she was nice about it and had no problem with you doing what you needed to be healthy. More students filed into the classroom and it filled up quickly. You introduced yourself to the people at your table and listened to them talk about their summers or undergrad experiences. As the prof caught everyone’s attention to start class you started to feel the butterflies in your stomach again. You could feel your face heating up and you fanned yourself. There had to be some reason this was happening.

A boy came through the door in a hurry, looking a little flustered about being late. Your heart started to race as a fresh round of butterflies erupted in your stomach. You quickly looked down but you could feel his eyes land on you and bore holes in the top of your head. You knew he had noticed you too and you thanked the powers that be that there were no more seats at your table.

For the whole two hour class you avoided looking at him, though you could feel him staring. You were distracted and stressed. Now was not the time, really really not the time. You needed a plan for the end of class, some way to get passed him and out of the building fast.

The end of the class seemed to creep up on you though, but when the feeling started to subside you looked up and realized he was gone. 

You breathed a sigh of relief and packed up your things. Today might not be a disaster. It just might end well.

Or you might have spoken too soon.

The second you left the room your heart started racing and you looked up to see him. He was leaning awkwardly against the wall, waiting for you. He looked up at you and smiled.

The second you made eye contact your stomach erupted with new butterflies and you knees started to feel weak. Some part of you wanted desperately to stay and talk with him for hours. To hold his hand, to kiss him, to fall in love with every little thing about him.”

“Hi,” he said a little shyly, pushing himself off from the wall and approaching. “I’m Joshua. And you must be my soulmate.”

It took you a moment to find your voice and come to your senses but when you did you shook your head. 

“I, uh, I have to go.”

Joshua frowned. “Is something wrong, are you upset I didn’t come talk to you right away? Or this morning after the lecture?”

You shook your head. “I just- Now isn’t a good time, okay?” 

“I don’t understand…”

“I-I’m sorry, I really just…” Your heart was pounding and you had no idea if it was from your soulmate or your anxiety. You were starting to feel dizzy and you were determined to get out of there as quickly as possible. You darted around him and took off down the hall, not daring to look behind you.

[sabraeal]

Merry & Bright: Chapter 7

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

He should be over this.

(Doc makes him pull off the highway somewhere near Florence, South Carolina; she’s got an actual travel itinerary that Yuzuri helped her program into some app that includes mandatory stretch breaks because she’s concerned about good circulatory health, and – god, that really shouldn’t be doing anything for him, but it does, it does, and he’s a real idiot thinking that this is a good idea –

“It’s an overlook,” she tells him proudly as they park, smile stretching far too wide for the amount of time they’ve been in a cramped car with a week’s worth of stuff and a Christmas’s worth of gifts. “A stretch and a view!”

He swallows down a protest that it hasn’t even been two hours since they grabbed lunch – some little place that served fish in Switzerland, the only one where the whole menu wasn’t deep fried – and heaves himself out of the car, only to find that it’s – it’s not as easy as it should be.

“Yowch,” he mutters, rubbing at his back. He’s been a total knot of stress since they started north, he’s aware, but –

But god, his back is reminding him of every hit he ever took, and when he throws his arms up, bending back, he has a real moment of worry that it’s going to take an uncomfortable drive and an emergency room bill to get him upright. He’s only twenty-five, he shouldn’t be worrying about this shit.

“Obi?” she chirps, skipping over to him with a concerned look on her face. “Are you okay?”

A choir of angels sing Hosanna when his back relents, letting him snap upright. “Yeah, just fine. Had to, uh, get a kink out. You know how it is.”

Doc gives him a skeptical look, and – listen, he knows she won’t do anything but tut at him and fish out some all-organic Icy/Hot or whatever she’s got hiding in their pharmacy bag, but she’ll also tell Yuzuri, and he knows, he knows that will mean he’ll get a half dozen :3 :3 :3 texts followed by something like, gotta keep that back healthy if ur gonna rob that cradle already, and he doesn’t need that. Not this trip.

“Okay,” she says finally, mouth in a thoughtful pout. “But let me know if you need anything.”

He just manages to close his lips around, for us to turn south already. “Sure thing, Doc. I’ll be the first in line for your tender ministrations the second I have an excuse.”)

It would’ve been a hit to his pride to have turned around before he ever got here, before he even attempted to walk through the door, but Obi would have taken it if it meant dread wouldn’t be his constant companion.

That’s what he’d thought being in this house would be; just constant dread, like realizing he’s in the wrong bathroom, or watching his favorite movie as a kid again as an adult, wondering if it would still hold up. Just a week of waiting for the other shoe to drop, and wondering if it would right in front of Doc.

He’d survived it though, cookie in his mouth and arm slung around Doc’s shoulders, with nothing worse than a flash of hesitation before walking straight back into his childhood.

But now, with Todd and Kelly Ann trailing behind him and the stern set of Gayle’s mouth looming in front of him --

It’s different. Like being right back in high school, black cocert T-shirt for a band that broke up before he was born and jeans ripped at the knees, just waiting to find out how he’s been a disappointment today.  The past is a ghost he can’t shake, something that clings to him even when he tries to step out from under it’s shadow.

Doesn’t help that there’s so many people waiting to see him fail to do it, either.

“Obi!” Doc springs up from the floor, all coltish limbs, practically tripping over herself. God, this is really what he’s into now; messy hair and thick tights, barely able to keep her balance with her shoes off, someone who watched vegan cheese not melt and still could say something nice about it.

She tucks herself against his side, head fitting against the girdle of his shoulder like it was meant to be there and –

And he doesn’t even regret it. Who the fuck cares about girls with Barbie heels and legs for days; Doc can barely keep her hair in a barrette and he just – wants it. Wants the way he hooks her hair back around her ear to be real.

She stares up at him, all eyes. “You’re --?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, letting his fingers linger on the hollow behind her ear just a second too long before adjusting his hold on her, his arm draping over the line of her shoulders like it belongs there. “Everything’s as sorted as it’s gonna get.”

The worry won’t shake from her, not like he wants it to. There’s no way he’s going to be able to relax in this house, not with memory waiting to ambush him around every corner, but he just – doesn’t want her to worry about it either, about whether everyone here likes him enough, or is recognizing his accomplishments, or – whatever it is she’s looking for. He doesn’t know how to tell her that it’s fine, that he’s done enough to know that forgiveness doesn’t grow on trees, and there may not be enough for what he’s done.

He drags his gaze away, trying to escape the worry, the guilt – only to find the same on Gayle’s face, that tight-lipped concern that makes him want to squirm right out from the microscope he’s under.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to survive it for long.

“Laila!” Kelly Ann rounds the couch, hands on her hips. “You’ve been letting Shirayuki play too, haven’t you? You can’t be all the animals.”

“I let her be the baby,” the girl says, unconcerned, making giraffes escape their pen to play with penguins.

“Laila --”

“It’s fine!” Doc is quick to assure her. “The baby had fun watching all the animals play.”

The distraction may have gotten Doc’s look off him, but Gayle isn’t deterred, not the slightest bit.

“Well, I was just about to start in on dinner,” she says, gaze shifting behind him. “Todd, Obi, do you boys think you could see your way to helping out an old woman?”

Todd’s not standing anywhere near close to him, but Obi knows he tenses like he does, knows that they both looks like cats with their backs up –

“Oh, Gayle!” Doc lurches under his arm, like she’s torn between staying right where she is and shoving herself forward. “Please, let me help! Todd just got here.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Gayle huffs, waving her off. “You’re a guest, and Todd’s used to being put to work. Besides you should save up your strength – I’ll have you in the kitchen tomorrow, anyway.”

“Some guest,” Todd laughs. “Can’t work tonight but you’ll be putting her through her paces in the morning?”

“You know how it is around here,” Gayle tells him airily. “Two days and then you’re family.”

God, his chest shouldn’t ache like this. “It’s fine, Doc,” he says, rubbing her arm before he steps away. “What could go wrong in a room full of knives?”

She looks anything but convinced. “But --”

“Oh, leave them to it,” Kelly Ann says with a roll of her eyes. “Take advantage of the reprieve now – you’ll wish you had it in three days, once Gayle’s got you.”

“I don’t --”

“Come on, you can help me,” she says, catching Doc by the shoulders. “I have so much Doc McStuffins to watch.”

Laila shrieks, hands slamming on the floor as she turns to look at her mom. “I love Doc McStuffins.”

“Fancy that,” Kelly Ann deadpans, mouth twitching at the corners.

“Go ahead,” Obi murmurs to Doc when she hesitates. “I’ll live.”

She gives him a long look, then nods. “Sounds great.”

Obi’s not quite sure what possesses Gayle to put knives in their hands, but here they are, Todd on one side of the island and Obi on the other, butcher block cutting boards abutting each other as they dice vegetables. She’s even gone and turned her back on them, humming along with the Christmas songs on the radio, water steaming up from the sink as she hand-cleans her kitchen aid attachments, made back when Eisenhower was probably president.

“Truck still treating you right, Todd?” Gayle asks, lifting her voice over the stream.

“Yeah, yeah,” he calls back, shooting an uncertain glance at Obi. “Haven’t had any trouble with it since the last time.”

“Well, Bob’s already talked to Jesse,” she presses, like always. “He says he’ll look at it when he comes.”

“Aw, Gayle,” Todd sighs, suffering. “He shouldn’t have said anything. It’s fine. All Jesse’ll do is tell me I don’t take care of it right --”

“He would know,” Gayle reminds him.

“—And he’ll give me, you know, a talk.” Todd huffs. “Probably try to say something about women being engines on top of that.”

“Jesse still works at the garage?” Obi asks, know the moment he says it that it’s – dumb. It’s been six years, no one’s who he remembers except in the worst ways.

“Didn’t we tell you?” Gayle cocks her head at him. “Jesse owns his own now. Went into business with that friend of his. You remember – Scott?”

“Shane,” Todd and Obi supply at the same time. Todd glares.

“Right, Shane.” Gayle smiles. “They’ve been doing well.”

“You’d know that if you stuck around,” Todd mutters, just loud enough for Obi to hear him, and for Gayle to not.

“You done with those onions, Obi?” she asks, bright.

“Yeah, got them all chopped up here.” He points at a bowl that’s seen more of his tears than the past six years all together. “You need them somewhere.”

She drops a metal bowl between them and shoves a few handful of onions in. “Why don’t you boys mix that up and start putting the meatballs on the tray to bake. I’ll get the rest of this in the sauce.”

They give each other a wary look, but they drop their knives, mixing meat and veg and breadcrumbs up until it’s even –

“And now that you boys can’t get away,” Gayle says, hands coming down hard on the island. “Let me tell you how things are going to be.”

“What?” Todd says, the same time Obi manages an, “Erk?”

“I know you both have never seen eye-to-eye –“ Todd opens his mouth to protests, and Gayle holds up a hand – “don’t care whose fault y’all think it is, or why. That’s between you boys, ‘less you make it involve me.”

They both nod.

“That being said, you’re gonna get along this Christmas,” she tells them, firm. “You’re men, not boys, and I won’t have you ruining the whole thing for everyone just because you think you have bad blood between you.”

“But --”

“And Lord help me, if I catch either of you sniping at each other in my hearing, I will put you both into the dog house.”

Obi coughs, nervous. “Well, the Baron’s got some nice digs --”

“Not the Baron’s,” she clarifies with frightening calm. “Millie’s.”

Obi grimaces, remembering the dilapidated old thing for a dog he’d been too late to see.

“We took that down, three years back,” Todd protests, “you can’t --”

“Then I will make you put a tent in its place and share it until you both can act like civilized people.” Her hands fist on her hips. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” they both chorus.

“Good,” she says, firm. She turns back to the sink, like the last three minutes of threats have all just been a figment of their imagination. “Now remember, those meatballs are supposed to be tablespoon-sized, boys.”

It’s a blessing that kids’ shows don’t have any sort of continuity at Laila’s age; Shirayuki doubts that she’d be able to say a single thing about what’s been happening on the screen for the last hour, let alone tracking some sort of – of plot. It’s been hard enough to not to find some excuse to put herself in the kitchen, to make sure that Obi isn’t just suffering his slights silently, trying not to make a circus out of it for Gayle –

A hand presses firmly against her knee.

“You’re shaking the couch,” Kelly Ann tells her, voice pitched low. “Worrying about it won’t make it go any better for him.”

She knows that, she does, but not thinking about it won’t help either, and she feels like she owes him a little bit of suffering, if she’s making him face it alone –

“Besides.” Kelly Ann settles back, her arm sprawling over the back of the couch. “Gayle’s raised Todd half his life. Don’t think she doesn’t know what his sniping looks like.”

That…is a good point.

“Don’t want to interrupt your girl time.”

Shirayuki startles, twisting up on her knees to see Obi leaning in the doorway, mouth rucked up in a smirk.

“You’re not interrupting,” she assures him, a little too breathless. “Just -- watching some stuff?”

“Doc McStuffins,” Laila corrects huffily. “Not stuff.”

“Right, well.” Obi shrugs his shoulder. “When you’re done with that, Gayle says it’s time for dinner.”

Laila’s head whips around, eyes narrowed. “What’s for dinner?”

“Worms,” he says easily. “She said it was your favorite --”

“Ewwwww.” She looks at Kelly Ann. “Mommy, I don’t want to --”

“It’s meatballs and pasta,” Kelly Ann sighs. “Not worms.”

Laila glares at Obi. “But why would he say --?”

“He’s teasing, Laila-girl.” Kelly Ann glances back at him as well. “That’s what he likes to do best.”

“Well, I do like pasta and meatballs,” Laila tells him magnanimously, getting to her feet. “We can have dinner now.”

Obi gets that look in his eye, but Shirayuki is much, much to far away to whisper don’t and have him hear. “Thank you for your permission, your majesty.”

Without a single hint of irony, Laila lifts her chin, imperious as any royal. “You’re welcome.”

For once, Obi seems speechless, just watching the tiny girl sweep past. Kelly Ann barely muffles a snort.

“You should know better,” she tells him, patting his cheek as she walks by. “You don’t need to encourage little girls to be princesses.”

Shirayuki means to grab him in the hall, before dinner, but with Laila and Kelly Ann just ahead of them, there’s no privacy, no good way to pull him aside and ask – ask –

If he’s okay. If this is all getting to be a little too much for him, now that there seems to be an endless stream of disapproving siblings added to this already full emotional powder keg. If –

If it’s all right that she knows about Shannon. If this is a thing she’s supposed to talk about, or – or if she should forget she ever heard anything. Families have secrets, she knows that; every one has things they all know but pretend they don’t, just to keep the peace, but --

But she’s not used to being a part of that, not when it was always just her and Oma and Opa, and –

And it’s not until she sees it – dining room table with the leaves in, covered in a tablecloth and festive runner, dishes steaming where they sit on the table – that she realizes how long it’s been since she’s done this. Since she’s had a family dinner.

Obi’s elbow jostles her in the doorway. “Can’t eat with your eyes, Doc. C’mon, let’s go sit.”

She stumbles in, feet numb, sliding into a chair next to him. There’s been dinners out, of course, times she and Obi have cooked for Yuzuri and Suzu and Ryuu, times she’s been at Shidan’s house at dinner time and been fed a little of what everyone’s having, the team dinners that involve either pizza or barbeque being shipped in from across town, but –

That’s not this. That’s not – that’s not family stuff.

It’s like she has two left hands, both of them too dumb and clumsy to do anything but clutch at the napkin in her lap. She doesn’t trust herself to touch anything, not when she can feel them shaking in her lap, when the thorny prickle of tears sits in her throat.

“Hey.” Obi’s familiar warmth bumps into her side. “Would you like some pasta, Doc?”

It’s a relief to look at him, to see the warm smile on his face and concern in his eyes, and just nod.

He doesn’t say anything else, just grabs the serving bowl full of penne and starts rolling a few onto her plate.

“That fine, D--?” He hesitates, knuckles whitening on the serving spoon. With a quick glance up, he angles a little more toward her and corrects, “--Babe?”

He...really does not need to drop his voice like that, if he’s going to -- to call her that here. There’s a child, for goodness sake.

She glances quickly across the table, and there’s Todd, watching them with an expression far too smug for her liking.

“Um, yeah,” she manages, hoping everyone thinks her blush is from how warm the room is, and not -- not anything untoward. “Thanks, um...” She can feel Todd’s eyes on her, interested, and -- and what would Obi’s girlfriend call him --?

She panics. “...Sexy?”

The sauce ladle clanks noisily against her plate, but Obi catches the handle before it can topple over into her pasta.

“Good,” he coughs, setting it safely away from him. It’s always hard to tell with Obi, but she could swear there’s pink dusting over his cheekbones. “Glad to be of service.”

Shirayuki ducks her head, trying to focus on the food in front of her. If she’s cutting her meatballs into precise quarters, she can’t be -- be blushing over Obi, and as long as there’s food in her mouth she doesn’t have to talk or look at anyone --

Laila clears her throat, pointed. “Aren’t we gonna do grace?”

Shirayuki jolts, dropping her fork to her plate, and – and there’s not a single adult at the table who isn’t wearing an identical grimace of guilt. There’s forkfuls of pasta already en route to mouths, drinks raised to lips, hands tearing off bits of steaming garlic bread. Even Bob is trying to subtly swallow a mouthful of meatball, which at least makes the penne hanging out of Obi’s mouth less of a transgression.

All eyes shift, looking towards the authority at the table, and Gayle sighs.

“Now, honey,” she says, smoothing her napkin over her lap. “You know that when we have guests, we don’t make anyone say it.”

“But I wanna do it,” Laila whines, shrinking in her seat.

Kelly Ann sighs. “Laila --”

“I don’t mind,” Shirayuki offers, setting her fork aside, trying not to drip sauce onto the tablecloth. “Please don’t feel like you can’t on my account.”

“Me either.” Obi grins down at Laila, giving her a wink. “Take it away, kid.”

Their only warning is the cock-eyed grin she gives, before she launches into, “Good food, good meat, good God let’s eat!”

“Laila --”

“AMEN,” she tacks on, shoving a meatball straight into her mouth and grinning at her mother.

Kelly Ann is fit to be tied, hands on her hips, cheeks blown out with all the scolding she’s fit between them –

Bob breaks first.

His shoulder shake, his eyes screw shut, and for a good second Shirayuki’s afraid he’ll fly apart like a motor under too much strain, until –

Until his laugh bursts out of him, so hard he’s hitting his hand against the table, like he needs to tap out.

“Dad,” Kelly Ann gasps, scandalized, but it’s too late, now that Bob’s broken the seal, none of them can keep it in.

Shirayuki has to bury her face behind a napkin, trying to cover up the tears running out of her eyes, trying to avoid the glares Kelly Ann is trying to send all of them.

“That’s a good one,” Obi tells Laila, and then shoves in his own mouthful.

Kelly Ann glares. “Don’t encourage her.”

Obi shrugs, shooting her a bolder grin than Shirayuki would dare.

“So,” Todd interjects, stabbing his pasta with a bit more force than necessary. “How’d you two meet? I haven’t heard the story.”

Obi has never looked happier to have his mouth full. Shirayuki sighs. “We met sophomore year. I transferred in a month into the first semester. Obi and I shared a coffee shop.”

Because he was following me, is the part of the story she leaves out.

“Transferring a month in?” Todd takes a drink. “Sounds like a story.”

Her fingers ache where the edge of the fork digs into them. “I --”

She doesn’t know how to do this, how to make black fingernails and Rohypnol and weeks of fruitless litigation into dinner-talk, into a nice little package that somehow leads to – to this. To a long term boyfriend and romantic moments and family dinners.

Especially since it didn’t.

It’s easy to leave out the worst parts of things between her and Obi, to leave out what remains of Zen in those first few years, but she doesn’t know how to invent something wholesale that isn’t just…a complete lie.

Because that’s important, somehow. That she doesn’t lie. That even with all the pretending, Obi’s family knows her.

And they can’t do that, not if she makes up some story about -- about switching majors, or moving closer to home, or whatever reason someone could have that isn’t potential sexual assault.

But she doesn’t have to.

“It is,” Obi says, with the sort of finality that says the topic is done.

She’d expect Todd to pick, to pry, but his gaze shift to her, assessing, and instead says, “So y’all live in Florida?”

“For now,” Obi says, letting her pick at her meal. “We’re doing our PhD down there, but I think the eventual plan is Boston.”

-- It’s just disappointing. Zen sighs, and she knows she deserves it, deserves his frustration. It just feels like you aren’t even planning on coming back, sometimes --

She nearly bites her tongue. “I mean, maybe. That’s – a good place to start looking.”

Obi’s head snaps toward her, a question in his eyes, but she looks down, finding her side salad engrossing.

“You live close by to each other?” Todd asks, so innocent.

“Oh, we – we share an apartment,” she says, not even thinking. Todd’s eyes take on a triumphant gleam, and she knows she’s given him exactly what he wanted.

His gaze darts to Gayle. “Oh, so you live together?”

Obi’s mouth pulls flat, but with a look at Laila, he keeps it shut.

“Did you hear that?” Todd presses, when Gayle doesn’t even blink. “Obi and Shirayuki live together.”

“Todd,” she says, turning the most unimpressed, motherly look on him. “Of course they do! You know expensive rent is.” She turns a bright smile to the both of them, radiating approval. “And I must say, they keep the place looking lovely. Don’t they, Bob?”

“Well, we didn’t get the grand tour,” Bob allows, reaching for the garlic bread, “but they got quite a cozy nest for themselves, from what I’ve seen.”

“Doc’s got a gift,” Obi tells them, sending her a wink. “If it was me, the whole place would be in black.”

Gayle rolls her eyes heavenward. “Don’t we know it.”

That sends a laugh around the table -- all except Todd, who throws himself against the back of his chair, arms folded, and lets out an annoyed huff.

“What about you, Toddy?” Obi’s grin takes on a sharp slant. “Bringing home anyone special, lately?”

Shirayuki’s half-afraid dinner is about to come to blows -- by his look, Todd does not have a special someone, and Obi clearly knew better than to ask -- but she’s saved by a timely buzz against her stomach.

“My phone!” she gasps, pulling it out from the pocket of her hoodie. “I’m so sorry! I forgot to turn it off.”

Gayle smiles. “Happens to everyone, baby girl.”

It’s not fair that -- that Obi’s family knows how to do this to her, how to make her feel warm, melty, like she’s really one of them --

She looks down, if only to blink away the sting in her eyes, and she sees big blue one staring up at her.

“Oh!” She smiles, flashing the screen at Obi. “It’s Ryuu. He just was asking if we were going to call tonight. Kirito is driving him crazy, I think.”

Obi coughs out a laugh. “Poor kid. We did warn him.”

“Ryuu?” Gayle prompts.

“He’s someone else in our program,” she says, at the same time Obi offers proudly, “He’s a kid prodigy.”

Shirayuki glances up at him. She’d been playing it safe, not giving any information Obi doesn’t offer, if she doesn’t have to, but --

But one look at him, at the pride radiating from his face, and she knows -- Ryuu isn’t someone he has to hide. That he wants to hide.

“He’s sixteen now, and starting his PhD with us,” she explains. “He was our TA, my first year at Clarines.”

“He’s not great with people,” Obi offers, “but we’re getting there with the whole…being a regular kid thing. Our boss has a nephew his age, and that’s sort of…made him normal out, a bit. You know, get used to other kids/”

“He’s a really sweet boy,” Shirayuki tells them, aware she might be -- be gushing, just a bit. “He likes to snapchat flowers to me when he’s doing fieldwork. Here, I saved a couple.”

She hands her phone down the table, and Obi pulls out his own.

“Hold up, I think I got a few of his videos too.” He flicks through his phone, engrossed. “Kirito -- his friend -- has been teaching him how to skateboard, and they’ve been recording some of it -- ah, here it is.”

He sets his phone in front of her too, eager and -- and Gayle just looks at them, eyes shining.

“Well,” she says, soft. “Doesn’t that sound nice.”

Bob reaches over, squeezing her hand. She springs to life at that, patting at her pockets.

“Let me just find my glasses,” she tells them, smile so wide it nearly splits her face. “And I’ll get a look at your boy.”

[pagesofivy]

The Downfall of Thought

Warnings: Angst, panic attacks, dark thoughts

Prompt: Fluffy supportive Loki. Body positive, mental health support

Commission by @redlipstickandplaid

Summary: You’re battling a silent battle with anxiety and depression, and finally hitting rock bottom is the wake-up call you need.

Beta: @winchester-with-wings

A/N: This one was something I felt I needed to tackle, and it just sort of grew around itself. It isn’t shameful to be hurting, and it isn’t shameful to ask for help. I’ve slowly learned that, still struggle with it, and feel like it’s an important lesson for many people.

W.C. 2461

Tags are at the bottom!

You stare down at your phone and chew your lip as you deliberate what you’re going to do about the text on the screen:

“Hey, are you coming out with us tonight?”

Your fingers mindlessly tap the edges of the screen, not actually typing your answer. Are you going? Can you handle going? Can you get away with not going? Do you have an excuse that’s believable? Maybe. Here goes nothing.

“Sorry, I can’t tonight, work has me swamped.”

It’s a lame excuse, but nobody ever questions it, you don’t use the work excuse often. A few “take care!” and “We miss you!” texts come through the group thread and you feel grateful they’re so understanding, but at the same time, there’s that whisper of doubt: They’re tired of you never being around. They see through your excuses and they’re going to stop asking you to hang out. And then you’ll lose them for good. And you know Loki will follow. And then work.

Work. Oh shit. Sure, you usually work from home, but you haven’t sat down and actually done work in quite a while now; you’re too far behind on your responsibilities. Pulling out your laptop from its bag, you open your email inbox and stare in blank panic at the increasingly threatening subject lines from your boss:

“New Assignment” “Progress Check” “Due ASAP” “Due TODAY” “PAST DUE” “Meeting Needed” “CALL ME”

You can’t catch your breath, feel simultaneously like the walls are falling in and like you’re drowning, flailing and getting nowhere, pushed further down by the weight of responsibility you can’t handle anymore, and the voice is back:

Lost your friends, lost your job, just wait until you lose Loki! It won’t be long until you’re alone and have to admit to your parents you fucked up your life and have to move in with them. What a failure, you really screwed up this time!

“Stop!” The word is shrieked out loud and then the world is quiet, the voice silent. You open the emails, scan them for important details and quell your panic, shutting it in an emotional box for later. You reply to the last email, give a long explanation that’s half a lie, and shut the computer, taking multiple deep breaths and trying to strengthen your mental walls to be able to handle the stress you’re drowning in. You grab your anxiety pills and take one, then open a notebook and start a to-do list, feeling like maybe this time you’ll get your shit together and be a successful adult. The list fills up the whole page, but it’s mostly baby steps or basics that need accomplished, things like “Do the dishes. Shower. Order dinner. Read the first chapter of the story (to be edited).”

You stare at the list, trying to decide what to do first and finally land on ordering pizza. It’s an easy task, considering the shop has an app, so the task is done in seconds, and you scratch it off with a sense of relief. Deciding you can tackle something a little more, you start the dishes, filling up the sink with water and soap and placing some plates and silverware in to soak, but then Loki comes in using the key you had given him, and everything is forgotten. “Loki!” You exclaim, drying your hands and throwing your arms around him as he steps up to you and kisses your forehead.

“Hello there my love. How was your day? I hope it’s okay I stopped by?” He looks at you with his signature playful grin and you can’t help but smile back, nodding enthusiastically.

“It’s always okay when you stop by, Loki. Having you around is a blessing.” You wince at how needy that sounds, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, his eyes lock on the pill bottle and concern paints his face.

“How are you feeling, (Y/N)?” He asks cautiously, and you flush, embarrassed knowing he caught sight of your meds.

“I-I’m fine, Loki. I had a moment, but I’m good now.” You give him a tumultuous smile, lying through your teeth because you’re still shaky on the inside, and he smiles softly at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and giving your waist a squeeze.

“If you need me, you can always call, you know that,” Loki murmurs, and you nod, even though you have your doubts. If you called him as often as you needed him to calm you down or give reassurances, you’d be calling him nearly every day, if not more frequently, and you know that’s something you can’t do, not without being seen as too fragile and weak, so it won’t happen. You can’t look weak.

Someone knocks on the door and you extract yourself from Loki’s hold, grabbing your wallet and sending him a guilty smile. “I got a pizza , I was hungry. You’re welcome to some if you want!” You offer before opening the door and exchanging the money for the food, your stomach growling as the delicious smell wafts under your nose.  

You then shut the door and return to the couch, setting the pizza box on the coffee table in front of you. Loki grabs a slice out and picks up the television remote, queueing up your regular show on Netflix. He settles in, smiling as you relax with your own slice and cuddle up to him.

~~~

A few weeks pass, and your mental health has only gotten worse.

Your apartment has become a mess with laundry, trash, and dishes piled everywhere. You rarely leave unless absolutely necessary; and you haven’t been in touch with much of anyone lately. You’ve texted Loki a few times, and your friends even less, leaving them all worried about you. Loki has fielded concerns and complaints from your friends, and he knows your behavior isn’t healthy, knows that it’s time to confront you.

Knocking on you door, he waits patiently, but there’s no answer. He knocks again, waits again, and finally, after ten minutes of waiting, lets himself in, picking his way through the mess on the floor to you, who is sitting in a chair in the kitchen, staring at the blank computer in front of you, not seeing a thing.

“(Y/N)? Princess? What’s going on?” He asks quietly, kneeling down beside you, and it takes you a few moments to acknowledge him, turning your head towards him, your red-rimmed eyes meeting his.

“I… I just had a bad day, that’s all.” Your voice is hoarse, cried-out and rusty from days of non-use. Loki, frowning, takes your hands in his firmly, pulling you from your seat and over onto the couch. You can feel the nerves and panic churn in your belly, feel your palms start to sweat; this is definitely about to be a serious talk. Dread mixes with the concoction of fear already there, and you fight down the panic attack as Loki begins to talk.

“(Y/N), sweetheart, you’ve been having a lot of really bad days lately, and… Well, I think you need to get some professional help, go see a therapist. Me and your friends, we love you and we want to help you, but…” he lifts your hands and presses a gentle kiss to them, “there’s only so much we can do, so much we can shoulder, and we’re reaching our limit. It hurts me to do this, to say this, but you need to hear it. I… I really hope it’s the wake-up call you need.”

When Loki looks up at you, tears are in your eyes, as they are in his, and he has to look away, the pain from seeing you hurting too strong for him to face. The saying goes that the truth hurts, but hurting you is the last thing he ever wanted to do. However, you’re hurting far too much, and like he had said, you need more help than he and your friends can offer. Confronting you like this was a good decision, one that will hopefully benefit everyone.

“Oh Loki, I… I’m so sorry!” You sob out the words, and it cracks Loki’s heart to hear, but he doesn’t say anything, staying quiet to let you continue. “I’ll try to better, I really will! I’ll go see a therapist, talk to someone. I’ll do whatever it takes, so long as you don’t abandon me.” The idea wracks your body with another round of shuddering sobs, and Loki pulls you to him, holding you tightly.

“I couldn’t abandon you, my love. I promise,” he murmurs as you cry, your body shaking. Absently he marks surprise that you’re still producing tears, but he banishes that thought almost immediately, rubbing slow circles across your back in an attempt to comfort you.

When your crying slows to a stop and you compose yourself, you pull away from him and grab your laptop. “Will you help me look for a good therapist?” You ask hesitantly, and he agrees without a thought, settling in for a long night of research.

~~~

The therapist you find has some unconventional ideas and ‘treatments,’ but they actually help, according to reviews, at least a little. And she has an emergency 24-hour line that you can call if things get really bad. Loki even comes with you as encouragement when you go in for a meeting, to see if she’s someone you’d want to work with in the future. You aren’t sure at first if you can regularly go, if you want to admit to yourself that you need to go, but one night it feels like rock bottom and you know it’s time to start doing something about your mental health.

Staring at the mirror, mascara streaked down your face, you sit by an inbox full of unopened emails and a phone full of unanswered texts, knowing you can’t go on like this. You feel so alone, so abandoned, so lied to. Loki said he’d never leave, never abandon you, but he’s gone, off on some Asgardian responsibility trip, and you can’t bother him, not with this, not now. Your friends? Gone, stopped talking to you what feels like a long time ago, unable to handle the dramatic failure you are becoming, so you can’t turn to any of them now. There was only so much they could do to help, that’s what Loki had said. It seems like they’ve given up on you. Scrolling through your phone, your eyes land on the emergency number for a therapist you’ve visited and talked to only once, and in a desperate attempt for some connection, some acknowledgment, you call.

The conversation is nothing short of hysteria on your part, full of pain and little hope, and it’s a complete blur in your mind, the words lost in the haze of panic and despair that had taken over before you had called.

~~~

It’s been a few weeks since you had called the therapist, Dr. Engleton, and things are looking up, thanks to weekly meetings with the doctor.  As prescribed, you take your meds and constantly stick Post-It notes everywhere in the house with messages like “It’s just one day, you can do it” and “Life is too short to spend another day at war with yourself,” sayings that are meant to encourage and strengthen, especially when you’re struggling. Your life is by no means perfect, you are by no means perfect, but life feels more manageable, and you’re slowly mending your life and relationships.

The first person you apologize to is Loki. Meeting him in a coffee shop once he’s back from Asgard, you hand over a letter you wrote, a plea for forgiveness, an admission of guilt and weakness and fear that you feel covers only a fraction of what he deserves. He forgives you immediately, saying he’s just glad you’re finally getting the help you need. The two of you return to your house, where you pull him to the couch for your own serious talk.

“Loki, I need your help. Again. I will need you to keep me accountable, keep me going to sessions and doing the work Dr. Engleton has me doing. Right now though, mostly, I need you to help me be strong enough to write these apologies, explain what happened and what is happening.” You take a deep, shaky breath, and look him in the eyes. “I need people to know that I’m struggling, that I’m thankful for all they’ve done, and that I am working on getting better.” Loki’s smile is wide and he nods enthusiastically, committing himself to you all over again.

“Of course I’ll help sweetheart. Anything you need,” he promises, and you both let out nervous chuckles when your stomach growls. “Maybe my first contribution will be pizza.” He jokes, but then pulls out his phone and places your usual order anyway, before you can really protest.  Order placed, Loki stands and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’m going to get the food, get us some drinks, and grab some snacks for later. If you feel like it, go ahead and start writing, but if you can’t, don’t force yourself. I’ll be back soon. I love you. And maybe when I’m back, you can explain the sticky notes around the house.” He grins and points at a few of the aforementioned sticky notes, presses another kiss to your forehead, then walks out the door, leaving you to face down your fears as you pull out blank sheets of paper to start apologizing to everyone you’ve hurt.

You stare long and hard at the piece of paper in front of you, debating on what to say, then get to work, writing out your apology:

“To everyone I’ve hurt, to everyone who’s stuck beside me even when I’ve disappeared:

I’m sorry.

The good news is, I’m getting help. I’m going to therapy. I’m working towards getting better. It’s not complete, it’s not perfect, and I’ll never truly be okay, but that’s okay. I’m never going to stop getting panic attacks, or going through depressive, isolating periods, but I will know how to deal with them, how to let someone know I’m struggling, and I’m even starting medication that is supposed to help…”

The letter continues and once it’s done, you set it aside and look over at Loki, who has just walked in with the pizza. He smiles at you and you return the smile, then hold up the papers before you, indicating you started writing the letters. You glance at the sticky notes stuck around the room, knowing there are more throughout the rest of the apartment, and a fond smile flits across your face.

Things aren’t perfect, but they’re getting better, and that’s what matters.

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