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forvalkyrie · 3 months

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been watching chicago med and i’m either on s3 or s4 BUT i am starting to absolutely despise natalie manning and her character (ill put it under a readmore because i got a lot of words and she absolutely disgusts me)

First off, I know that she's an ER doc specializing in peds (though, maybe its because of how fast I watched everything but I never saw any epi specifically say that but its there whatever).

My disgust comes from how 1)she approaches people that aren't physically/mentally/emotionally prepared to have children and 2)how hypocritical she is. So lets get into it:

Her approach to her patients with children: I appreciate her dedication to childcare– whether this be giving the child the best of care or advocating for their rights when the guardian/parent(s) aren't listening. The thing... some of the things she's done or said are so surface-level, that they don't account for what happens after they leave the ER. Take the epi where she accidentally got a mother and her baby separated because she suspected child abuse due to a stained hematoma from child birth. Her medicine was sound, of course— anyone would suspect child abuse in that scenario. What I didn't like, and this patient (abbrev. pt) rightfully called out, was her judgemental ass. Like listen, I've worked in the medical field for years and even if you are judgemental towards something, you should NEVER let it affect how you treat/care for pt. Nat says she judged teh mom for being a single mother raising her child but... babygirl, you're a GD doctor. Your mother-in-law literally watches your kid FOR FREE. Your husband died from war– you know exactly who he is! That single mother was literally working two jobs just to support her and her baby. She even said that she doesn't know who the dad is so clearly she can't just "drop" the kid off at grandma's. People literally do the best that they can in the situation that they're in, whether purposeful or accidental. Whether or not they make sense is a wholedifferent thing. Like the other epi where the pt's older brother was a sociopath and the parents decided not to institutionalize him. As outsiders, ofc we'd be on Nat's side about taking him away from hurting his brother. But that's the thing– we are outsiders!! Nat's saying all this stuff yet if put in the same situation, she'd likely do the same thing as what those parents did and continue to keep him around. The decision to have kids is already an unfortunately loaded question but what about after? She has little to no care of her pts past the exit. This can get longwinded so if anyone wants more lmk otherwise imma stop here for this.

Hypocrisy: She's a straightup hypocrite. Early seasons, she followed most of the rules. She wasn't Will, ya know? But what got to me was how the show writes her cases. Ex. she had changed a treatment plan that Will was against because she didn't think it was that. Mind you, Will's under fire from that DNR incident. Before the autopsy, Will is rightfully angry that she switched treatment plans, despite her trying to justify it. Never change a treatment plan! Even with disagreements, shit will happen. There are contraindications, there are escalations, there's a bunch of different things that can happen even if the change is small. Not only was Will trying to be a good doctor, he was also trying to be a law-abiding, rule-following doctor. What about the time when she fought tooth and nail to use an experimental, not FDA-approved (not even a multi-stage study) drug to treat a cancer pt. Ofc, Will is furious that she's adamant on the switch and lo-behold, the pt dies. Now, this concoction could've worsen the cancer right? Except, rather than writing it so it either didn't have an effect or had a miniscule effect, the autopsy revealed that her concoction actually shrank it a few cms. Aint no fucking way that it did that-- mainly because there were no clinical trials documenting it. I mean, GIRL, WHAT ABOUT THE SIDE EFFECTS? Medicine isnt a magic potion unforunately. The time when she went off on that skivvy priest and his 14-year old wife is also on my list. She yells at Will or whatever doctor about professionalism but her attitude towards him (though RIGHTFULLY SO) was peak unprofessionalism. I mean there is a lot of bureaucracy in almost any institution, whether profit or nonprofit, but when anyone else breaks it, they get serious consequences. When Nat does it, its just a damn warning. Hell! What about when they induced a death-appearing coma to the guy that was abusing his wife? Shittt son, I'm surprised Will agreed to that given his DNR incident. God forbid that pt actally fucking died-- they both would've lost theirmedical licenses.

I just have so much to say! She gives me 'popular in HS' vibes since she is "always" right, rarely gets any true punishment/consequences and yaps of unprofessionalism to other people when she literally does the same thing. What crossed it for me and its the reason why I'm writing this now is when she snapped at Dr. Charles when she cut the dosage in half for a bipolar pregnant mother. You mean to tell me that YOU were in the right because you don't have time to keep up with every new psych journal? You literally specialize in peds– youre supposed to keep up with any and everything child-related, including pregnancies! Chief! God forbid there's new research and because you dont have fucking time to do some research (or at least keep up with medical literature), you end up killing a pt due to ignorance.

Maybe its how the writers are writing her but she's just... DISGUSTING. As a self-identifying female, I'm all about feminine/female power but this? Nah chief– Maggie is better written than she is and she's "just a charge nurse"!

#chicago med #chicago med natalie manning #natalie manning #ITS A RANT SORRY

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trashcanfanfics · 3 years

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Request from @zebra0909zebra

"I loved the Valentino fic you made about the actor may I request one about Val either getting jealous of the readers ex trying to get back together with them and if he would just shoot them"

First off, thank you! I really enjoyed writing that fic! I'm glad you liked it!! Second, I can already see where to take this! And I'm excited

It's gonna be in Val's pov

Valentino and Y/n were walking along the hallways to the recording studio when an out of breath intern ran up, carrying a bouquet of flowers.

"Ah, Mx. Y/n! Someone left these for you in the lobby!" They handed Y/n the flowers, acknowledged Valentino, and then ran off again. They looked at the flowers, their favorites. A note amongst the foliage. The continued walking, Val being concious of his steps so they wouldn't have to rush to keep up with his long legs.

"Did you get me flowers again, Boss?" They grabbed the note and opened it. Val felt his blood boil and chest tighten.

"If I did, I would have sent them to your home," he chuckled, slightly annoyed. What kind of rude do you have to be to send such things to a workplace. Shameless. They hummed and read the note aloud. At this point, they both had stopped outside the studio.

"'To my dearest love, holder of my heart, I love you, signed E/n.'" There was a heart drawn underneath the message, Val noticed as he leaned down to look at the note. He memorized the name for later. Y/n sighed in slight annoyance. "It's my ex, (pronoun) has been texting me nonstop and giving me little gifts and it's getting irritating." Val let out a chuckle, his smile growing impossibly wide with malice.

"I do those things, too, you know." His smile was strained but his voice was light and playful. Y/n opened the door and they both went inside. He wasn't mad at them, never, but rather the flowers. Those pissed him off. Who did this shithead think (pronoun) was?!

"Yes, but you're my boss. I can't refuse those." Their tone told him he was joking, but he couldn't help the slight sting at those words. Their boss...That's all he was to them. He shoved those thoughts aside, ignoring the ache in his chest.

"You could, if you wanted to." He leaned down at the waist to look them in the eye, putting on a facade of amusement. he wouldn't let them be upset before the shoot, it makes their expressions all wrong. No, he would stuff down these emotions so they could focus on their work.

"'If I wanted to' my ass, you don't take 'no' for an answer." They laughed as they waved their hand to dismiss the thought. His gut twisted at the sound of their laughter. How beautiful that sound was! He loved it. He hummed in response, still slightly distracted by their laugh.

"That's true, babycakes." He stood up straight again and moved over to the cameramen. He began telling them the angles he wanted to acheive with this. Val always did this before any of the actors' shoots, but mainly Y/n's. He needed them to look their best no matter what, any unflattering angles are cut from the final product. Once everyone had understood, the scene began, Val watching over the entire thing, making sure it was all perfect, and ignoring the strain in his pants.

~*~

The video ended and Y/n, having put their clothes back on, got a call. Valentino watched as they picked up and spoke into the phone.

"Yes, I got them...No...I know...I don't care." They rolled their eyes and looked at Valentino. Y/n mimicked shooting themselves and he smiled and laughed lowly. "Listen, I'm at work right now and need to get back to it. Bye." They hung up and tossed their phone into their bag before zipping it up.

"Was that your little admirer?" Val couldn't help the bit of venom his his question. This cheeky shit was walking all over Val's territory and he hated it. They nodded with another eyeroll.

"Yes, (pronoun)'s so annoying! Like, we broke up MONTHS ago, ya know, get over it already." They slung their bag over their shoulder. "And besides, (pronoun) broke up with ME, like, come on!" They shook their head in exasperation. Valentino remembers the day the break up happened.

He hated the asshole back then, too. Y/n dating shocked him into realizing he was in love with them. He carefully bided his time, however, patiently waiting for Y/n to eventually break up with the loser. Unfortunately, it was the other way around and Y/n had come into the studio with puffy eyes and tears running down their cheeks. He doesn't remember why he didn't kill the bitch then, but he does remember holding the crying sweetheart with three of his arms while the fourth brushed through their hair. How soft it felt and how the ache in his chest worsened when they looked up at him with tears and explained what happened. And now (pronoun) wants them back?

Not on Val's watch.

~*~

Valentino saw to it that Y/n got home safe (and to make sure there weren't anymore gifts waiting for them) before he rolls up the window on the limo and gives the driver the location of E/n.

Earlier, he had some people find out where this scumbag lived so he could pay the little shit a visit. His connections didn't disappoint.

The limo stopped outside a little house. Normal, quaint. A white picket fence around the place, and rose bushes planted under the windows. The house, he noticed on his way past the gate, was a pretty mauve color, not too dull, not too bright. Y/n must've enjoyed this house when they visited. It suits their dream of a peaceful living. The door was a creamy pink, the knob a lovely bronze. Maybe he would buy this piece of property and give it to Y/n after he had it cleaned of all the blood that was going to spill.

He could see it now, him coming in the front door, just like he was now, a smile on his face. Y/n would be reading one of their little thriller books on the couch over there, though it'd be a different one. The furniture in here was tacky, white couches? That's just inviting a mess. Valentino shook his head, continuing with his fantasy, walking into the place. He'd have the ceilings fixed higher so he wouldn't have to crouch, they would greet him with that pretty little smile. The book would be set aside as they stood to come give him a welcome home kiss. He sighed at the thought of their soft lips against his.

Yes, he decided, he would buy this house and give it to his little babycakes. They deserved to have a lovely house than that dingy apartment anyhow. He made his way towards the hallway, having little interest in the kitchen. The hallway, like the living room now that he thinks about it, was full of framed pictures of E/n and Y/n. None of the pictures have Y/n's real smile, just the one they use for their acting, real enough, but once you see the true one you can easily tell the difference.

The bathroom and guest rooms were overlooked in favor of the master bedroom. It had the same tackiness the livingroom had. White sheets to match the loveseat and arm chair. Awful. The wood was even a brightly polished makore wood that looked orange in the light. Yes, the furniture would have to go. He made his way over to the closet, maybe find a few skeletons? The opened door revealed a collage. They were all pictures of Y/n from various angles. Ah, he thought, a stalker. It was a good thing Val had decided to take (pronoun) out before things got out of hand.

Speak of the devil, the nusiance walked through the front door. Valentino smiled viciously as he made his way quietly back down the hall. E/n went to the kitchen, no matter, (pronoun)'ll be out soon. He sat down on the loveseat facing the front window, lifting his feet onto the coffee table, and pulled out a cigarette. The smell of burning tobacco must have alerted the stalker, as he walked out to see Valentino let out a puff of red smoke.

"What the fuck?!" (Pronoun) dropped (pronoun)'s items, which happened to be a glass of apple juice by the smell. How childish. Valentino stood, pulling the cigarette from his lips.

"Hello, E/n," he puffed out more smoke from his pink teeth, "nice to finally put a face to the name." His chuckle was anything but friendly. It intimidated the pathetic demon, Val could tell. Good. He took another puff.

"Uh, hey..." E/n trailed off while staring at the tall overlord, who blew out more red smoke. A visible gulp would have given his fear away if the look in his eyes didn't already. "Wh-what's up?" Val could almost respect the way (pronoun) tried to keep talking, as if (pronoun) did nothing wrong.

"Oh, Y/n sent me. They say you've been sending them flowers, little gifts." He stepped closer, threateningly, putting the cancer stick back between his teeth. "Apologies, phone calls, love notes, promises you couldn't possibly keep." Val stood in front of the creep, towering over the quaking being with a cruel smile, smoke still floating off the cigarette.

"O-oh? Uh..." The attempt was almost laughable. Val leaned down, his lower right hand reaching into his coat to pull out his pistol as he blew more smoke into E/n's face, causing him to cough and gag. The lower demon's eyes follow the movement and grow wide at the sight of the weapon.

"And," He pointed the gun at E/n's head, "not to mention that collage on the inside of your closet door, how charming." Val's smile became a sneer, ashes falling off the cigarette. (Pronoun) whimpered as the gun pressed into E/n's forehead.

"What are you-what are you gonna do to me?" The question was so stupid, Val almost burst into laughter right then.

"Normally, I wouldn't give a damn what you would do to my employees as long as they were able to still work. However, you chose to fuck with my favorite actor." He breathed out the last bit of smoke, putting out the butt on the asshole's arm, making (pronoun) yelp in pain. "So, I'm going to just kill you." and with that, he pulled the trigger. Blood, brain, and bone exploded from the back of the fucker's head , splattering across the wall and kitchen floor. Valentino stood up as much as he could. He really needed to fix these ceilings.

"No one fucks with my favorite."

#hazbin hotel x reader #valentino x reader #tw: gore #trashcan answers you #babycakes

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only-johnny-deppp · 3 years

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Moving Moments: “He was understanding and sweet and so hot! He is talkative, charming and funny and very down-to-earth. It was very exciting to meet him, a huge rush." ~Amanda Currie about meeting Johnny Depp.

On July 2, 2016, The Hollywood Vampires were going to make their second show on the second leg of the Raise the Dead Tour, in Mashantucket, Connecticut, when attended a special wish. Johnny’s fan, Amanda Currie, had bought a Meet & Greet ticket to meet the Vampires on that day, but the 23 years old young woman, who was diagnosed with Stage 4 Glioblastoma, a type of brain cancer, in 2015, had her physical state declined in 2016 and by the time of the show she had lost use of her legs and became paralyzed from the neck down by the time of the show. But she didn’t give up, and with help of her family, friends and an ambulance company, she had the opportunity to enjoy the show, have her dream come true with a private Meet & Greet with Johnny (the love of her life), Joe Perry and Alice Cooper and being gifted with an autographed guitar.

This is Amanda Currie’s Story:

Source: People.com

“When Amanda Currie bought advance tickets last year to see her hero, Johnny Depp, in concert, she had no idea that she would be paralyzed from the neck down by the time of the show.

The 23-year-old Chicopee, Massachusetts, native was diagnosed with Stage 4 Glioblastoma, a type of brain cancer, in 2015 while completing her bachelor's degree in mathematics. Currie underwent brain surgery the day after her diagnosis, and was able to finish her degree and begin working toward her master's while undergoing chemotherapy and radiation.

Currie fell in love with Depp at the age of 10, and continued to admire the actor's work as she grew up. She's seen all of his movies repeatedly, collects all sorts of Depp memorabilia and sometimes refers to him as "love of her life."

So when her uncle, Chris Winslow, told her that Depp's band, the Hollywood Vampires, were doing a show at Foxwoods Resort Casino in Connecticut, Currie splurged and bought herself a single meet-and-greet ticket in April for the July 2 concert.

"Amanda was beyond excited knowing that her lifelong dream of meeting Johnny Depp would come true," her mom Kim tells PEOPLE. "But by May, Amanda's physical state declined and she had lost use of her legs."

Her condition continued to worsen as the concert approached, and soon Currie was completely paralyzed from the neck down. "At that point we didn't know what to do or if she would be strong enough to go," Kim explains. "She knew it was nearly impossible, but continued to talk about it and count off the days. At one point she actually said she thought she could live long enough to go."

Currie's friend Tianna was determined to make that wish come true. With her help, a local ambulance company agreed to donate an ambulance and two EMTs to take her to the show. Meanwhile, Uncle Chris was working behind-the-scenes with the Hollywood Vampires to arrange for the band to meet with her.

When Uncle Chris and Tianna finally broke the news, Currie was beside herself with excitement and remembers shouting, "What am I going to wear?"

Before the show, Depp and his bandmates, Alice Cooper and Joe Perry, met with Currie inside her ambulance. Asked to describe what it was like meeting her idol after overcoming so many obstacles, Currie says, "It was wonderful, amazing and awesome. It was everything I ever wished for and more – the best thing that ever happened to me."

As for getting to know Depp, Currie says, "He was understanding and sweet and so hot! He is talkative, charming and funny and very down-to-earth. It was very exciting to meet him, a huge rush."

She adds, "The whole experience was magical. I still can't believe it’s real, even though I have pictures to prove it. I will remember most how caring and sincere he was. He makes you feel special – you can't top that! He encouraged me to fight this cancer."

Currie was able to watch the show from backstage and says the performance was "10 out of 10 amazing. The music was really good and Johnny's performance was wonderful." During the show, the Hollywood Vampires dedicated the performance to "their friend Amanda."

"That was the best day of my life," Currie says. "It meant the world to me."

Depp made good on his promise to hang out with her after the show as well. "What he said was my secret, and I can't tell you," Currie jokes.

She also made sure to mention that while she came to see Depp, "Alice Cooper's and Joe Perry's generosity, kindness and compassion did not go unnoticed!"

Currie will carry on her difficult battle with her illness, but she considers herself fortunate to have had such a rare experience. "I am very lucky to have had the chance to meet Johnny Depp," she says. "Many people have wishes and dreams, not everyone gets the chance to realize theirs in their lifetime."

************************************

Amanda Currie was very brave and fought as far as she could... Unfortunately, one month later on August 18th, 2016 she passed away peacefully after her courageous battle with brain and spine cancer.

“Amanda – Fight the Good, Fight Always!!! All my love and respect to you. Johnny Depp” (Johnny’s signature on the guitar)

Rest in Peace, Amanda.

#Johnny Depp #Alice Cooper #Joe Perry #Amanda Currie #Rest in Peace #In Memoriam #Lovely Moments #Moving Moments #Mashantucket #Connecticut #July 2016

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punksarahreese · 3 years

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I haven't had another episode, except last night was touch and go + Mr Crockett

Episode | Crockett Marcel

Excerpt from a psych!AU I’ll never write; Crockett is an inpatient in the psych ward and he has therapy with his favourite Psychiatrist

Prompt: “I haven’t had another episode, except last night was touch and go.”

Word count: 1797

CW: Psych ward, talks of depressive episodes, brief mention of dermatillomania, schizoaffective disorder, child death

***

“Mr. Marcel?” the voice at his door made Crockett groan, recognizing the voice as the nurse who always disturbed him at ridiculous hours. He wanted to have a talk with whoever decided pill time would be at six in the morning, how was he supposed to “heal” if they never let him get any sleep?

“Maggie, can’t you let me sleep for another hour,” he rolled over and sighed when she shook her head. Medication and vitals were a morning routine, every day before the sun even thought about rising completely. Routine was good, they told him, a routine would help with figuring out what was reality and what was his mind playing tricks. He didn’t think so, nothing would stop the fact that he saw his daughter clear as day despite the 5th anniversary of her death steadily approaching.

“Up and at ‘em, mister,” the nurse mused as she marched over with his tray and the cart carrying the monitors. He obliged because he had no choice but to do so, even though he hated the way the pills made him feel. Antipsychotics were something Crockett hated, ever since his diagnosis back when he was just twenty-one. They made him feel incorrect, as if he was floating through life with blinders on. He knew they were supposed to help, to show him what was really there, but he couldn’t help but think it made him more miserable.

“You have one-on-one therapy today,” she reminded him as she watched Crockett take his pills and then checked under his tongue to ensure he wasn’t hiding them. He had tried that a couple times and sometimes it worked on the younger nurses, but not Maggie. She knew all, especially these kinds of tricks, and Crockett wasn’t about to risk mandatory IV medications for another month just for one day without the drugs.

“Oh lovely,” he muttered, “Not that Charles guy again, right? He’s insufferable.”

Maggie laughed, “Oh please, Daniel is just fine.”

“Insufferable,” he restated with an eye-roll, still complying when she held out the pulse oximeter to clip it to his fingertip. Maggie just hummed, watching the machine for a moment before speaking.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. If it makes it any better, though, you’ll be seeing Doctor Reese today.”

That brought a smile to his face, though it was one that never quite reached his eyes. Maggie wasn’t sure if she had ever seen a genuine smile from Crockett, certainly not since Harper’s death and the worsening of his illness. Still, if one thing made his days more bearable it was sessions with Doctor Reese, who Crockett had started to consider more of a friend than a physician by that point.

“Our Sarah,” he hummed as she took the device off his hand, “She’s lovely.”

“She is,” the nurse agreed, “Now go get ready for the day, Crockett. You’ll be expected in the dining hall by 7:00 and I certainly won't have you slumming around in your pyjamas all day; you know the drill.”

***

By noon, Crockett was ready to go back to bed. Breakfast had been as dull as always, with his friend Ava in solitary for the next two days he didn’t have many people to speak to. Well, Natalie liked to talk to him but, if he was being honest, she could be a little much. She was just excited, Maggie insisted, but she tried to get Crockett to talk about his hallucinations far too often for him to be comfortable.

Jimmy sat with him that day, though. He didn’t talk much, or ever really, but he was decent company. They played cards together sometimes and always partnered for the team-building exercises in group therapy. Crockett didn’t press for verbal communication and Jimmy never judged him for his episodes; it was a friendship built on silent respect and they were both pleased with that arrangement. Still, Crockett often preferred to be alone, and that day was no different, so he retreated to his bedroom the second they allowed him to.

When nurse April arrived at his door with her tablet in hand, Crockett had been staring blankly at the TV. It wasn’t on, never was, but he watched it as if the most riveting program was playing. He wasn’t focusing on a delusion, though, and he promised April that when she asked if he was okay. The meds got rid of most of his visual symptoms, though the auditory ones were still a frequent occurrence with or without the drugs. He just liked to look at the TV, letting his mind wander to a time where he could actually enjoy television. It had been about five years by then, the last movie he remembered watching being the Princess and the Frog. Harper had loved that movie and talked excitedly of visiting New Orleans to see where her papa and Princess Tiana were both from. She never got there, unfortunately; the cancer taking her before her dad had the time to buy plane tickets.

“Come now, Crockett. Sarah is waiting in the conference room for you.”

He let the nurse lead him down the hall, silent because his head was still miles away. He was alert and lucid, that wasn’t the problem. Today it wasn’t delusions that plagued Crockett, instead it was the memories that had started to hurt him the most. Sarah would ask about that, especially once she saw the semi-lunar marks along the inside of his wrists, turning to scratches that curled up towards his biceps. Maggie hadn’t seen them because of his long sleeve shirt that morning but Sarah would check, she always did. It’s not as though Crockett did it on purpose, but when he couldn’t sleep at night and his skin was crawling all he could do was dig his nails in and pray for it to stop. The bugs weren’t there, Sarah always said they weren’t real, but his skin felt wrong and nothing would stop it. He had to scratch, he would tell her; it was the only way to make it stop.

“Crockett,” she greeted him cheerfully the second he stepped into the room, “Have a seat.”

“Hello, Sarah,” he replied as kindly as he could, though he was a bit distracted. His mood had been pretty low all morning, which was probably evident in his posture and demeanour.

“How have you been doing?

Crockett just shrugged, occupying himself with studying Sarah’s name badge. She had gotten a new one, the piece of plastic now boasting “psychiatry fellow”. She had been his secondary therapist since she was just in her second year of residency, so it was nice to see her climbing the ranks. It was well deserved, of course; Sarah had been the one constant in his most recent stay that kept Crockett relatively sane.

“Crockett?”

“Fine, I guess,” he muttered, “I haven’t had another episode… except last night was touch and go.”

“How so?” She was always so patient, not pushing too much, but she did need answers. If he was still having episodes on his antipsychotics, they may need to adjust the dosage again. He hoped she wouldn’t, though, because he hated the constant brain fog that came along with high dosing.

“A low, again.” he was fidgeting with his sleeve, not able to make eye contact at that point. His depression was a topic he never liked to discuss, since it was an aspect of his disorder he hadn’t been aware of until after Harper. Before it was just schizophrenia, a diagnosis that came about after a paranoia episode landed him in handcuffs in the security office at his university. However, when he hit a major low after Harper’s leukaemia was found, his primary psychiatrist noted that his diagnosis may be more than they expected. Schizoaffective disorder with the depression variant, he was told, and that was probably a factor in why he didn’t respond to the medications in the beginning.

“I see,” Sarah typed something onto his chart before looking up at him with gentle eyes, “Do you want to share how you felt?”

“I miss her,” he admitted softly, “It’s hard.”

“I know, I’m genuinely sorry, Crockett. Harper must have been so loved, I’m sure she misses you.”

“The meds…” Crockett huffed, “I can’t see her anymore.”

“Crockett, she’s not there,” Sarah’s words were gentle but still firm, as if he needed a reminder that his only daughter was dead before she even got to live a proper life. That reality was something that never left his mind, a nagging feeling that haunted him every single day. Meds or not, it was hard, but without seeing Harper daily, Crockett began to feel like he would forget her.

“Sarah, I need to see her.”

“I can’t do that, you know how unsafe it can be to take you off such a high dosage. I know you are upset but we can talk through this, okay?”

“No!” he was getting frustrated, even though he hated to yell at Sarah. She didn’t understand how important this was. He didn’t care if she was dead and she claimed the delusions weren’t real, he just wanted his daughter back. Even if it wasn’t the proper reality, maybe Crockett didn’t want to live in one without Harper. He told Sarah that much, upset that she would claim that she isn’t there anymore. She is always there; sitting on his bed and playing with her stuffed bunny, singing songs from those Disney shows she adored so much. Crockett saw her, held her close when the bad feelings returned and he felt like he was drowning. His baby would never leave him, she couldn't; Harper was all he had left.

“Hey,” Sarah spoke quickly when she recognized his agitation, “I’m sorry. Tell Harper I didn’t mean any harm, next time she’s around, okay? Can we start over, please?”

He frowned, knowing what she was doing, but nodded all the same. He didn’t want to fight with Sarah, she was one of the only staff members around here that he properly trusted. She didn’t want to upset him and she didn’t want to take his daughter away, it was just hard to recognize that sometimes. She wanted to help, to understand his mind, and maybe it was time for Crockett to let someone in again. It had been far too long.

“Start from the beginning,” she prompted as he slowly relaxed again, “How long ago did this low start?”

#q #I wrote this in record time after having a whole mental break down today <3 #can you tell I’m not okay #goodbye friends i am gone #crockett marcel #harper marcel #sarah reese #maggie lockwood #april sexton #asks #anon #userglow #fractured reality #psych!au #my aus #cj add this to your fic masterpost

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quiet-kunoichi · 3 years

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“ every piece of me is made from what you did to me. ”

[ lost meme | @suck-my-tomato | verse; post modern ]

The city lights are fuzzy; little halos of color either holding still or blinking in the near distance. She's on her fourth cigarette — chain smoking through the fresh pack in the hopes that she'll smoke out every last molecule of oxygen in her lungs. Each one was gnawed down to the filter before she flicked them over the edge and watched the free fall with a churn of jealousy. The rooftop of her 17-story apartment building was usually vacant; and especially so, at this hour. But for whatever god forsaken reason, Sasuke had conjured at her side. He's quiet; almost as if respecting her chosen solitude. How he wound up finding her, Kimiko didn't bother asking. She wish he hadn't bothered: her mind was made up already, but his presence only made things harder than they had to be. He doesn't say anything, and neither does she. A stalemate is formed in the wake of their strangled silence — all of those things left unsaid were discarded like the flick of excess ashes. "You said you wouldn't leave again." His voice rolls over the background trill of an ambulance siren; Kimiko's sunken and dulled stare trails the miniature vehicle as though mildly entertained by the flashing lights and the curiosity of who was awaiting their arrival. Her exhale of secondhand smoke filters through pressed lips, cancer hanging from them as she taps her thumb on the rim of her open bottle. It was well tended to: she'd been nursing the amber liquid for the majority of the night. "I'm right here, aren't I?" She replies to him, voice raspy. Another little swig is passed through her lips in the hopes that it'll provide some lubricant for her throat. Since he was here to have yet another 'talk.' At least it couldn't end as horridly as the last one did — his rejection in lieu of their reignition had sent the naively hopeful Tamashi reeling. 'I can't do this. I've changed; I don't cheat anymore.' The taste of that wretched poison still remained stained on the back of her tongue. No amount of whiskey could wash it down, though she's been giving it a good try. Kimiko had begun to believe that no amount of liquor would make that horrid truth dissipate. Someone deserved the newly-loyal version of Sasuke.. but Kimiko would never get that kind of special treatment. She would never be his 'someone', again. "You stopped showing up to meetings." Sasuke explains on the exhale of a little sigh. If Kimiko had bothered to look over at him, she'd noticed that not only was he refusing to look at her as well, but that tear-tracks were engraved into his cheeks. The two had become fairly fluent in the language of shedding their pain silently when next to one another. "You stopped responding to me." He adds this on quieter, and she can hear the shift of his rain jacket as he adjusts uncomfortably. Kimiko didn't have the stomach to block his number, this time. But the duality of their fallen-star situation included not having the guts to pick up the phone when his name and number lit up the screen. In truth, she wasn't taking this rejection well ( obviously ). The murmured words of endearment they had shared, the mutual look of delicate yearning, and the hesitancy of their lips meeting that quickly thereafter bloomed into indescribable passion — it had elicited a wash of relief over the weary girl. He understood her at last. He needed her just as much as she needed him. He still loved her. Or, at least — Kimiko had hoped he did. But then his phone buzzed right off of the table and he separated from their soft collision: and then he decided right then and there that Kimiko still wasn't enough. Or perhaps just too much. Either way it hurt. And it shouldn't have. It should have been expected, after all that time being the girl on the outskirts of his attentions; swept into the eye of the storm by her own persistence before she ( reluctantly, violently, silently, unfairly ) tore herself away until the cycle rolled over unto itself once again. "Why do you bother with me?" She asks at last, her voice strung in a loose drawl as she flicks the butt of her fourth

cigarette over the ledge of the building. "I'm nobody." Kimiko acknowledges her version of the truth as though it were simple fact. Following it is another sip from the bottle. He's saying something, and his voice sounds careful — like he was playing minesweeper and the stakes were unbelievably high. Unfortunately, Kimiko cannot even bring herself to listen: that horrid ache is back in her chest, calling glaring attention to the obvious hollow in the cavity. Gods, she was so tired of this existence. Everyone expected so much out of the girl who was worn down beyond her means to give. Even now, she was probably being judged and ridiculed for the ways in which she chose to cope: Sasuke probably assumed that he alone was the sole cause of all her woes, and he couldn't be further from the truth. But now she had nothing; except for a whole lot of pain. An unfillable ache that used to pang every now and again but had steadily worsened into a constant, unignorable throb. Something plucks the fabric of her jacket in between her shoulder blades and tugs her back a step ( or two, for she stumbled ). Kimiko rouses from her dissociative spell just in time to hear his request that she 'stop hanging over the ledge of the building, like that.' She hadn't even noticed; it's not like it very much mattered anyway. Everyone dies, she was well aware — and after playing the role of marionette all her life, the sole Tamashi ought to have a choice in her own demise, at the very least. But she heeds his warning, hands dipping into her pockets only to peek at her carton and realize that she'd run herself dry. Yeah, go figure. She'd be pissed at herself, if she even had the energy to be anything in this moment other than dully despondent ( but mostly numb ). Sasuke is speaking again, perhaps trying to get through to the girl; but she's hardly present for any of it. The rain has begun to shed tears upon the two, and Kimiko lifts her chin to the sky in quiet acceptance. “ every piece of me is made from what you did to me. ” It's one of the only sentences that got through to her. Droplets run down her face and blend in with her expressionless tears; or so she hopes. If that was supposed to slice her through, if it was supposed to provide some sort of comfort in knowing that she had left any kind of impact upon the Uchiha, — it didn't. She told herself that it didn't, blinking past the wet that collected in her lashes and regarding him as though he were a mere stranger. But he wasn't, and she resented herself for still hanging onto his every word as though they alone would decide her fate. His lingering stare is tumultuous, like the roiling waves of the sea. Whether he was hurt, afraid, disgusted, pleading, hopeful — her response wouldn't have changed. "You don't think I'm well enough aware of what I've done to you? You don't think that every single action and inaction on my behalf doesn't stick to me, make it harder to go through the simple motions of my day?" Her tone is clipped, or it could expose her obvious exhaustion: she wanted to be frustrated, but her tank had been neglected and left on E. Instead, she just hums a little sigh, shoulders dipped beneath the weight of all she'd been made to carry over the years. "As much as I'd love to stick around and hear the details of all the ways I've wounded you," I think I'd rather die. "I think I'd rather just be alone." So, she turns and heads towards the door to return to her mothball infested apartment just to hear the sound of those letters as they crinkle forgotten under her foot. "I'm not walking out," She responds towards the door with the kind of strain that comes with persistent pressure upon an otherwise debilitated psyche. Hand upon the cool brass as the rain starts to pick up to an unrelenting downpour, Kimiko hesitates. This was so difficult; how the Tamashi wished for just one thing to be easy, like it used to be. For despite having nary a sliver of energy left in her shell, she decides to whittle her bones and dole out what little lie she could afford to sell him. "I just

need a little space right now. I'm trying to do what's best for you, for both of us. Just.. Trying to let go." So it wasn't totally a lie; though she wasn't trying nearly as hard as she ought to be. Turning her cheek to her shoulder, Kimiko lifts a single dimmed headlight beam and captures his lonesome visage upon the rooftop. It aches, oh how it fucking aches beyond belief. To leave him up here, abandon him despite his effort to find her. If she could have it her way, Kimiko would have encircled him into a permanent embrace — but it wasn't what he wanted, and no one deserved a disease. ".. I'll see you at next week's meeting, Sasuke." So she had it in herself to dish out one last measly lie, after all.

#suckmytomato #welp #im crying #maybe youre crying #and where's the icecream??#verse; post modern #replied;#hanging by a red thread; sasskimi #tw; suicide mention #tw; alcohol

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1949coupe · 3 years

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Freelance journalist and entrepreneur Tucker Benedict just wrote an open letter to Trump to remind him what it means to be American. Benedict’s message has officially set the internet on fire! Read it below:

Donald Trump,

My family immigrated to the United States of America on the third boat after the Mayflower. Our heritage precedes any records of Trumps, or Drumpfs, in America. Members of my family have served in every major conflict in US history with the exception of Iraq; your family cannot say the same. Yet, you continue to act as if you’ve sacrificed for the betterment of our country when the reality is: we don’t even know you’ve paid taxes half the time. Instead of acknowledging your past though, and honorably promising to change from a position of great entitlement, you accost service members you don’t care for, threaten democracy with attacks on the media, and worsen divides that threaten to tear America apart. Moreover, there’s a part of me that’s angry from a personal standpoint, my father founded the criminal divison of the EPA, and was the senior environmental prosecutor in the country until 2014, and whose storied career began with work on Watergate. You’ve destroyed his life’s work in under 7 months, but I’m not writing this from a position of anger or even from a personal standpoint, I’m trying to speak for a great many Americans who are understandably frightened for the future; who feel they’re watching the degradation of our way of life. This letter isn’t about me, or my feelings, but it is intended for you, Mr. President.

There’s a storm coming and as our enemies around the world lick their chops watching the division within America, we continue to charge towards a future in which we tear ourselves apart. Many of us, yourself included, seem to have forgotten what it means to be American. If our memory continues to fail and we forget entirely what being American truly means, we’ll not only lose our status as the world’s leader, we won’t deserve it anymore. This is not a world I can imagine nor that I have any desire to. Without America to serve as an eternal source of light within the darkness the world will be cast into chaos. In order to preserve what so many gave so much to obtain, we must first remember what it means to be American. While we seem hopelessly intertwined in a national, and very partisan, identity crisis we can only hope to pull out of it by remembering the lessons our founding father’s taught us all those years ago when they first defined, through their actions, what it means to be American.

Currently, there are a few misconceptions on what makes someone American; there seems to be a great deal of entitlement when considering the term. I was born a white male and a citizen of The United States of America but I don’t think that makes me an American. There seems to be a lot of controversy swirling around this notion but the reality is being born a certain way entitles me to nothing. The circumstances of birth don’t make you American, they never have, but actions do.

We earn our status as American through our actions day to day, month to month, and year to year. In doing the right thing by our loved ones, our countrymen, and ourselves we become American. There’s not flashy gesture or fancy piece of paper that can make you truly American but living the right way can; waking up and doing the right thing everyday, no matter how big or small the action, is what makes us American. It isn’t a static definition either, it’s a dynamic one just like we are as people; always changing, growing, and working towards the betterment of not only ourselves but our society as a whole. When considering how we define being American it’s worth noting those criteria.

When I voted it was in a densely populated, urban sector of Philadelphia. There were four booths for hundreds of people; many of whom were elderly and couldn’t stand for hours. It was a very telling few hours. Some of those elderly individuals struggling the most sported Make America Great Again hats. Instead of being happy at your supporter’s misfortune though I spent my day making trips to a conference room located at the back of the line hundreds of people long in order to ferry chairs to those who couldn’t stand. It wasn’t a big gesture or one that required a tremendous effort, it certainly DID NOT deserve any praise, because I knew it was merely the right thing to do for my fellow American. This attitude seems to be dying though, as we forget more and more what being American means. As I walked back and forth with chairs under each arm I watched many of my young peers barely look up from their phones; some even seemed noticeably annoyed that a fellow millennial would go out of his way to help your supporters. Make no mistake, those watching seemed to have forgotten what being American means just as much as anyone. When nobody joined in to help I was only made more aware of the change I’ve seen in my lifetime; the gradual shift many of us have noticed in our culture. It might seem subtle to some, but many have forgotten to do the right thing for no other reason than it helps another American. If this lack of support for each other continues to proliferate we’ll witness the decay of American values and worth This is something I attribute to the win at all cost/look out for yourself mentality that’s taken over politics and permeated into our culture; winning has become more important than standing up for each other. Americans used to do the right thing automatically, while many still do, others have stopped if there’s no reward or personal incentive. Americans used to help each other no matter who was President and that’s truly what made America great; our uniquely American loyalty. That loyalty, love, and solidarity saved us from the greatest threat the world has ever known, liberated Europe, and won two world wars. There’s been a change though. It’s apparent everywhere. We saw it when 23 of 24 Texas congressmen voted to deny aid when Hurricane Sandy hit, now faced with Harvey, Texans find themselves in an unfortunate position. This is merely one example of a larger problem within our society though and if this cancerous divisionist mentality continues to spread we’ll witness our downfall.

Hope is not lost though because it isn’t too late to start putting America, and each other, first again; all that’s required is remembering what made us Americans in the first place.

In school, when I was young and studying our history, I learned a great lesson; one I think is important enough to share. I learned that being an American isn’t something you obtain from being born here, or even from keeping other people out; being American is something you become through your actions and character. Defining what it meant to be an American was something our founding father’s sacrificed all that they had for.

Today, with all the modern luxuries we have it’s hard to understand being so passionate about something you’d die for it but our founders had that passion for the characteristics which would later define our nation. By fighting so fervently amongst ourselves that we forget the value of other Americans we put into jeopardy all that we have. It’s all of our duty to honor that which our founding father’s felt defined America. Honoring those traditions can mean different things to different people but all of us must find a way to honor them, every day if we are ever to truly Make America Great Again. This isn’t hard to do, it only takes remembering to do the right thing. I’m not perfect, in fact, I would consider myself the last person for anyone to take their cues from, but for me, I honor those traditions by trying to do the right thing every day to the best of my ability, whether it’s big or small, seen or unseen, noted or unnoticed. You see, if you remember to do the right thing, to treat others how you’d like to be treated, and do everything to the best of your ability, I promise everything else, all the nonsense in the media, won’t matter a single bit, because we’ll once again have a country of people who look out for one another. The alternative is unacceptable.

So Mr. President with this in mind I wanted to give you some advice for salvaging your presidency:

Tell the truth. In times of doubt, the truth is always the right answer. If lies are allowed to be believed as fact America will continue to forget that the real enemy isn’t each other, it’s those who seek to end democracy, freedom, and our way of life.

Stop defining what it means to be American from a partisan stance. You have no right. None of us do. Being American is defined by those who came before, and it’s defined by those whose examples will survive the test of time. If someone is willing to come here, work hard, abide by our laws, and protect our way of life, then you, Donald Trump, have no right to tell them they cannot be Americans. Being born to millions in New York, dodging your country’s call in its time of need, and verbally accosting service members does not make you the one to decide what it means to be an American.

Stop attacking the media. You bear a great responsibility; millions of Americans look to you for guidance and comfort during hardship. If you continue to point their anger at the media we may lose an integral pillar of democracy. If you do not you will cement your legacy as the enemy of democracy. History will condemn you.

Stop using radical Islam and immigrants as scapegoats to bring people together. We’ve seen in history scapegoats unite the masses but at great cost. Instead of pandering to the fears of your base you could teach them to accept. You’ve uniquely been able to reach the individuals that make up your base unlike any before you; you have the opportunity to take advantage of their love for you and to teach them that being American really means doing the right thing above all else. In doing this you could not only save your legacy but America as a whole.

There is a storm coming and it cannot be defeated by a divided nation; a storm that doesn’t care if you’re liberal or conservative, a storm that seeks to upend democracy, freedom, and our way of life. As Americans, we have to do the right thing even when it isn’t easy, even when there’s no reward because that’s truly what makes us Americans and if we forget that, we’ll truly be lost.

Respectfully,

Tucker Benedict.

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twistedcharismaaa · 5 years

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The Boring are the Most Interesting pt 3 ...

Summary: You have been dealt an unfavorable hand and you’re trying to make the best of it. Maybe your new roommate Trevante can help you with that?

Author’s Note: Hi guys, I don’t have too much to say about this post. I hope you guys enjoy. I love you all, please comment for ya girl. Peace and love.

The tension was so thick that it made the air in the room hard to inhale. Every breath you drew made your throat become dryer and dryer. Your swallowing hardened as you felt the tickle of a trickle of sweat glide down your forehead. You wiped it quickly in hopes that Tia wouldn’t notice.

“It’s not like you to have doctor jitters?” she inquired.

Unfortunately, she did.

“You know how I hate getting introduced to new doctors. They’re always trying to do something entirely different than the last one and I never end up feeling any better,” you responded.

You slowly climbed off of the bed and sat in the empty chair that was located beside Tia. You smiled at her innocently but you were everything but that. Innocent. You were holding a secret that made you feel every bit of guilty. And you knew Tia would have no problem playing judge and jury.

“Hm, well let’s be a little more positive Charisma. Maybe this doctor will know exactly what he’s talking about. And maybe he’ll be cute too.” she joked.

“Damn girl! Here, take my water. You’re sweating up a storm.” she continued.

You hesitantly grabbed the water and eyed it skeptically.

“Tia is this half-empty?” you questioned.

“I was drinking out of it earlier. Girl. it’s fine! I’m your sister!” she yelled.

“And also Rico’s girlfriend. I’ll pass. Maybe they have ice chips in here.” you teased.

Tia rolled her eyes and opened the water for you. It took about two seconds for her motherly instincts to kick in. She clearly saw the state that you were in and insisted for you to take a sip. She didn’t have to mutter another word because her posture said it all. To your disliking, you drank from the water bottle.

“Now, what is it that is really bothering you?” she asked.

“M-my roommate is…”

“Is? Is what C?” she asked impatiently.

“A man. A male. He goes to school and plays on the football team with Rico. His name is Trevante.”

“I’m sorry. What the fuck did you just say?” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

You heard a brief knock at the door and the doctor entered shortly after. He shook your hand and then Tia’s. He introduced himself and thoroughly recapped your long depressing medical history. You named your current medications for him and what you used them for. After about an hour of questions being answered, examinations, and observations he decided his plan of care.

“Unfortunately Ms. Charisma, it seems that your Lupus is active. I think we need to attack this more aggressively. I am strongly suggesting that we start you on cyclophosphamide within the next week.”

“Cyc- how do you say that again?” you quizzed.

“Cyclophosphamide. It is also known as Cytoxan. This drug is used to treat different types of cancer and in your case fight your Lupus-”

Tia grabbed your hand quickly and gave it the tightest squeeze. Her intentions were to calm you if weren’t calm. And if you were calm, she intended to keep you that way.

“So, you’re talking chemotherapy?” Tia asked with an unsteady voice.

“Yes. The dose will not be nearly as high since it is not cancer. But, yes chemotherapy is my plan of action for your sister. I plan to start this immediately. My goal is to have her off of the oxygen machine and to get her stable within the next 4 months. I assure you both that this is something that needs to be done. This actually should’ve been done when Charisma was first diagnosed.” Dr. Jones explained.

“Doctor, we don’t have insurance,” Tia responded as she blinked back tears.

Tia looked at you apologetically.

“Charisma, we don’t have insurance. I couldn’t make the payments,” she said.

For the first time, you saw your rock crumble.

You smiled at her lovingly and grabbed both of her hands.

“It’s ok T. I promise you it is more than ok,” you said warmly.

You instantly pulled her into a hug. You gave everything you had left and transferred it into that hug. She gave you so much and it was time to return everything that you borrowed. It was time to lend your strength, your hope, your love, and your spirit. You said a silent prayer to yourself. You prayed that she could feel you. And most importantly, that she would believe you.

“I love you T.” you whispered in her ear.

You felt her arms wrap around you as you felt her breathing ease.

------

Trevante unlocked the door of the apartment, turned on the light, and tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter. He didn’t notice you sleeping soundly on the couch. He went into his room and dropped his book bag in the corner between his bed and his desk. He stretched and sighed. He was physically tired between lengthy classes and difficult football practices. He was always excited to come home after a trying and busy day. Living with you gave him peace of mind and peace of spirit. He liked that you were quiet and reserved. It gave him more time to analyze you. He learned so much about you just from merely watching you. You hated eating first thing in the morning, you loved any and everything fuzzy. Fuzzy socks, fuzzy slippers, fuzzy pajama pants - you name it. He even noticed that you never wore bras when you were home. He loved how your nipples would harden when he would gently brush past you. Your hair always smelled like coconut oil and he discovered that it had to be your favorite product to use on your hair. He thought it was absolutely hilarious watching you try to avoid him as if he didn’t live with you. You were intimated by his presence and he was allured by yours. Trevante kicked off his shoes and took off his shirt and tossed it into the dirty clothes hamper. He walked into the bathroom and decided to take a hot shower.

After his shower, he threw on a white t-shirt, grey sweatpants, and a black durag. He knew that it was his night to cook so he re-entered the kitchen area. A few steps away from the kitchen area was the living space. He finally noticed you sleeping. He chuckled to himself decided to cook a little later since you were sleeping. Before Tre could leave, he heard you groaning in your sleep. He didn’t want to seem like a creep and walk up on you while you were sleeping. But he just wanted to make sure you were ok. He walked lightly towards you and saw streams of tears gliding down your honey brown heart-shaped cheek. You suddenly started gasping for air.

“Charisma. Charisma,” he called out while gently shaking you.

Your gasping began to worsen.

Trevante sat on the floor in front of the couch and caressed your damp cheek.

“It’s just a nightmare. Wake up for me? Please?” he whispered against your cheek.

Your eyes opened and sprung forward. You looked at Trevante with fear and hint of embarrassment. Trevante stroked your arm softly and watched you struggle to gain your composure.

“Want to tell me what that was about baby girl?” he asked.

You sniffled.

“Nothing.” you lied.

He stared at you longingly and waited patiently for the truth.

“I had a doctor’s appointment after my classes today,” you admitted.

“With Dr. Jones right?”

He remembered.

“Yes. Him. It didn’t go very well. I don’t wanna talk about it. At least not now …. Trevante I’m terrified.” you answered while shaking.

Trevante stood over you and smiled.

“Aight, so we won’t talk about it tonight. But tomorrow we will. Come to my room tonight? Let me hold you?” he begged.

“Hold me?” you asked confused.

“I want to hold you Charisma. Will you let me do that?” He pleaded again.

You wiped your face and felt a smile creep across your face. That’s the first smile that you conjured since you received the news.

“Yes, please hold me,” you answered.

-----

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

@bugngiz @lostennyc @foulmouthedandfanfic

@raysunshine78 @tip222u @xo-goldengirl @blackmissfrizzle @artsninspo

@ghostfacekill-monger @soulfood-fics @l-auteuse @keiva1000 @thickemadame @liyahshaeking @quietstorm-73 @rolemodelshit @tyees

#trevante rhodes #trevante fan fiction #trevante rhodes fanfiction #trevante rhodes fic #The Boring are the Most Interesting

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d0cthunder · 3 years

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I can't sleep.

I am hurt.

I am angry.

I am anxious because rather than chose to have a constructive conversation about why you weren't invited to my grandfather's burial during the pandemic you chose to make accusations, speak ill of my immediate family, and take the extremely difficult decision of keeping exposure down by limiting the amount of pple at the burial to the maximum allowed by the cemetery, as a personal insult.

First and Foremost, Tia, My mom, and I planned and held a viewing to give you the chance to say good bye to Grandpa(despite the pandemic). We made the tough decisions. We made sure everything was paid for. We made sure you all received a personal posession of his to remember him by. We hand made rosarys, decorated prayer candles, and my sister lovingly hand painted your names on the gift bags you received. We did these things out of love, out of empathy, and kindness. The only thing expected in return was your empathy. We are not the type of pple who demand nor expect gratitude. I am not the kind of person who has ever demanded nor expected anything from you, but to be treated with the kindness and respect with which I treat all of you. That said, Where is the kindness? Where is the respect? When will we arrive at the part where you look back on the years you have known me personally and recognize that I don't play mind games. I don't manipulate. I don't go around starting drama. I don't spread rumors. I don't go out of my way to cause you pain nor to hurt you. I haven't done anything to you to deserve your suspicion, your accusations, your disrespect, your mistrust. I shouldn't have to list every act of love I did for you over the years. I shouldn't have to list my grievances with the unkind words, the humiliations, and betrayals I have bared and forgave in silence not once arguing nor asking for the apologies I absolutely had the right to ask for.

I took care of your dad and it was the hardest thing I have ever done. It was exhausting. It caused me physical pain, anxiety, worsening of my depression. It cost me freedom. It cost me very dearly. Was that not enough work not enough sacrifice to prove my love to you? Do I have to serve you hand and foot and treat you like princess everytime I see you in order to attain a measure of empathy, decency, and respect? You have made disparaging remarks about me. You think I didn't hear it from the person you told it to but They told me. You look down on me for humbling myself to help others. You have made that very clear. I'm not here to have you opinionate on my life or my choices. It doesn't effect you what I do with my life except for one giant thing, I took care of Grandpa. Frankly, that means I owe you nothing. Not even an explanation but you have no shame so here I am telling you You should be ashamed of your behavior. Grief or not. I'm Grieving too. As to the burial, 5 person limit. Aciel took care of him, Tia took care of him, My mom took care of him, I took care of him. Marie and Aurora pitched in regularly helping to take care of him Even Gabriel took care of him and he's not a relative! True bamf Unfortunately, Aciel had to work. As was communicated to you, The cemetary gave us short notice of when the burial could take place hence Aciel's not being able to attend. The remaining 5 of us finally got a chance to properly say good bye and mourn for a mere 20 minutes. Como puedes reclamar nuestro derecho de tener nuestro tiempo para despedirnos? Eso es lo que no esta bien. Nosotros tenemos igual de derecho a el que ustedes hasta mas derecho por haber le cuidado todo este tiempo. Que dios les perdone por sus caprichos immaduros y por maltratarnos tanto.

My mother may be well known for her sharp tongue and quick temper, but she repeatedly goes out of her way to be there for you when you need her most. She took in each of you when you had nowhere to stay. I mean literally each one of you. When Tia was drowning taking care of grandpa at his previously most declined state, No one but Aciel was there to help her. Aciel who was a teenage kid in High school had to call in to help Tia take care of grandpa. He couldn't be in after school activities because he had to watch Grandpa. When Grandpa had to get another stint 4 years ago and declined badly, Who stepped in to take care of him when no one else would? My mom.

Who threw the majority of holiday get togethers for all the nieces and nephews when we were growing up? Who gives and gives financially and as a shoulder to cry on when you have been really going through it? My. Mom.

Y nunca se los a reclamado.

Who had to step in to take charge again when grandma had breast cancer? My mom and Tia.

And the thing is, They knew damn well that you wouldn't recognize the acts of love they repeatedly show you. You have insulted these women to their faces all 3 of you on more than one occasion. Straight up Name calling.

You know, I haven't heard anyone call you out on any of these many inconsiderate, unkind and malicious actions you choose to take? Not a once.

Yet still we are accused of being cruel. Yet still you make unfounded accusations against us.

People have limits. The R-H and L-H families through their actions have shown how much they love you.

You choose to reject that love and abuse that love time and time again.

Too long Didn't Read; For Years We took on the responsibility of caring for someone you loved very much without your help and support and You somehow have the audacity to speak ill and accuse us of being unfeeling assholes? No P*nche Mamen. Ya estubo suave. Don't let the door hit ya on the way out.

#a rant by me #tw: funeral #tw: manipulation #tw: toxic family

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thedeeperlayer · 3 years

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I was fourteen when I first tasted the sweet, aromatic blend of tobacco, sugars, and ammonia compounds. It was 1998. The year of Clinton and Lewinsky. The year the guy from Die Hard was saving the Aerosmith-adjacent Earth from a Michael Bay Meteorite.

I was fourteen. Instead of navigating the intolerable 3D world of Hyrule in Ocarina of Time, I was out making an imprudent moron out of myself with an RCA Solid State Image Sensor VHS Camcorder. My idiotic entourage and myself thought we were the uproarious epitome of cool. In actuality, we were ridiculous, annoying fuckwits. I was an absolute pain in the ass.

I'm not going to cock and bull with excuses. I started smoking because I thought I was fucking cool. I had older friends that did it and I dated girls that did it. When my mum found out I was flicking the Bic on the cancer stick, she was both disappointed and somewhat content. Her contentment for my lung corruption behavior was only because it meant she now had a smoking mate.

Mum and Pops didn't always have a harmonious relationship. They would cross swords and oppose each other's views a lot. Mum would complain about Pops never being home. Pops would bewail mum's smoking habit. It was always constant repetition down the same path. Dad never knew I smoked. He would of berated mum and blamed her if he ever found out.

Because of our shared toxic pastime, my mum and I became very close. We discussed all things life. Everything from grace and elegance to the septic shithole bottom. We talked about atrocious dislikes and stupefying satisfactions. We told mindless jokes and gave deep-thought opinions.

For the sake of storytelling length, let's just say we always had each other's back.

Unfortunately, the clock ticks, and the hours pass. In a blink of an eye, things are different. I grew up. I got married. I moved. Mum was downhearted and sad. I was the first of her children to leave from beneath her roof.

I've worked lousey, shit jobs just to make ends. It is indeed accordance with fact, smoking does alleviate stress. I didn't think it was cool to smoke anymore, instead I smoked because my shitty job was an emotional mindfuck. Pounding the coffin nails down my throat made me feel better.

I didn't want to poison my saclike respiratory organs anymore. I tried quitting. I tried the gum that supposedly calms cravings. I tried the rubber band wrist snap when I had the desire. I tried the ridiculous electronic substitutes. Nothing worked. I thought, fuck it. I didn't want to grow old and become one of the dust bags that retire in Florida anyway.

It was October, 2015. I was just finishing a much needed break from my mediocre job. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was mum calling. I contentedly answered it.

She said she had a mass on her lungs. She told me not to be worried, it could be pneumonia. She said she would let me know more tomorrow.

I instantly broke down and wailed. I could feel that something was extraordinarily wrong. My heart was in excruciating pain. It was exceedingly difficult to finish my shift that night. Every time I was alone, my eyes would swell. It was a long, tedious night.

The following day, I anxiously waited for mum to call.

Haplessly, she called right before I had to go to work. She said it was stage 4 lung cancer. She told me not to worry. She said she was going to get help. I knew stage 4 was the inevitable. It's treatable, but not curable.

I was so heartsick.

I lit cigarette after cigarette.

My family was devastated. Mum is the support beam that holds my lunatic family's structure together. My brother and sister were in severe shock. Pops was completely shattered.

The following week, my wife and I picked mum up from the hospital. She was being fitted for a radiotherapy mask. Mum was spiritless. She lacked vigor and enthusiasm. She looked defeated. This was the one time I convulsively, and uncontrollably sobbed in front of her. If you knew mum, she was always resilient and enduring. She was wholehearted, and a matriarch to many. It was challenging to see her in that frail condition.

I lit cigarette after cigarette.

Mum had sort of a short fringe hairstyle with spiky bangs. She would ornament it with a decorative headband. Often she would dye it golden or honey blonde to hide the off-putting grays.

The days passed. Weeks. My wife and I made frequent visits. Mum was sitting in her recently purchased stationary style comfy chair. She was wearing a sun-style flat brim cap. Mum never wore hats. “I'm losing my hair,” she said. She lifted a grocery sac where she was accumulating a large cache of her hair.

Eventually Pops shaved her head.

My wife and I purchased her a collection of hats.

The holidays came. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Mum always took pride in cooking the meals. She couldn't anymore. She was too weak. She could hardly walk. It was now Pop's responsibility to prepare the brown sugar glazed ham. She shouted out the recipe to him in the kitchen. “Heat the honey and sugar until it dissolves!” Pops would earnestly urge her not to yell. She was always short-winded and depended on oxygen gas to breathe.

Christmas morning was grim. Mum kept saying she wanted to have a nice Christmas. “This might be my last Christmas. I want it to be nice,” she despairingly would say.

We wore smiles but they were fraudulent. Inside we were somber. Cheerless. Gift exchange was dispiriting. We were appreciative, but it was hard to express it. The only audio in the room was the pulling and shredding of novelty wrapping paper. We played unintellectual board games while Mum sat in the living room and stared at the TV. The Hallmark holiday collection was on but Mum wasn't interested. She was disconnected, absent of response.

My wife and I went home. I lit cigarette after cigarette.

January came and went. February came. Mum had gotten worse. We went to visit her on my birthday. She was without emotion. Unresponsive. Pops struggled to make her recognize my company. She was comatose-like. Pops was in a panic. We rushed her to the ICU. She now had malignant brain tumors. Her recent actions were symptoms. The drowsiness. The constant agitation.

She was given enough treatment to restore her moral senses. She asked to see me and my wife. Mum was stretched out on a hospital cot. She was buried beneath intravenous lines and hoses. She saw us and smiled. “Watch this,” she gently said. She proceeded with plucking the pulse oximeter from her finger to mortify the doctors. She still had her sense of humor.

Later, Nurse Ratched impertinently pulled my family away from Mum. She disrespectfully spoke of Mum's unavoidable fate. Ratched told us that Mum will die. She told us to make sure we make the correct decision when the time comes.

No one in my family wanted to hear that.

The hospital discharged Mum.

My wife and I went home. I lit a cigarette. I took a drag, hardly inhaling. I breathed in a few more.

I delve into searches about the great demise on Google. I’m not one who appreciates surprises, so I wanted to be hauntingly prepared.

As the end approaches, your role is to be present, provide passionate comfort, and remove doubts from your loved one with soothing words and loving actions that help maintain their mental ease and dignity.

The entire evening I fixedly scrutinized my phone screen. It made me overwhelmed with grief. It put me in an unsettling place. It was that night that I accepted that my Mum was actually going to be gone.

Her condition continued to worsen.

It was difficult for her to digest food. She no longer could intake any solids. Pops couldn’t accept the harshness of the situation. He was in rack and ruin. Blatantly, he would hurry to the nearest fast-food establishment and order her a strawberry milkshake. In double time he would speed home to give her the malted treat. She would fiercely vacuum in the strawberry drink through a straw. Clearly she was hungry, but her gasping, pain and abnormal breathing patterns made it difficult for her to swallow.

Pops told me, the prior evening, he strenuously got Mum into the loo. He proceeded to aid her, however she immediately denied his assistance. “Let me help you,” he despairingly said. “But you're a boy and I'm a girl,” she woefully baffled.

Delirium. One of the common symptoms observed near death.

Pops was hysterical. This unforeseen responsibility was so unfamiliar to him. He was terrified. He was frightened to lose the one person he spent his entire life with.

Again he rushed her to intensive care.

My wife and I were at home. I lit a cigarette. I took a drag and quickly put it out.

Mum was denied anymore treatment. She was recommended hospice care and medically necessary equipment for at-home use.

Pops thought hospice may not only be valuable to Mum, but also beneficial to him because the workers could assist him through the inexperience and unexpected. We all knew what misery and despair would come next, but Pops was in a idiosyncratic denial.

Hospice was fucking useless, but more on that a little later.

My wife and I visited her everyday.

Each day she worsened and disintegrating.

She was often confused. She would appear asleep, but her breathing would be noisy, congested. She would appear peaceful and at rest, and within seconds she would begin screaming. She would holler agonizing cries. Dad would have to pump her with morphine to tranquilise her treacherous pain.

Day after day, her conditioned intensified. Her skin's pigment distorted to a grayish tone. Her face had depressed and sunken below her eyes. Her lips dried up and shriveled.

The drainage bag connected to the catheter began to fill with a rust color.

She had abnormal growths swell in unusual parts of her body.

Day after day we visited. She no longer would move. The congested breathing was the remaining sign of life. We attentively watched over her like this for days. She didn't want to go. She dearly loved her family. The Oncologist asked her, “what do you live for?” Her response was so straightforward and emotionally rewarding. She said, “my family”. Mum was uncomplicated. She lived to be a loving mum and caring wife. She always put her family first. That's who she was.

She died on August 22, 2016. She battled cancer for seven months. She spent nearly four weeks in hospice care. Only four short instances was Hospice workers available for aid, one of the times being immediately after death. The available nurse plucked an orange Marigold from the neighbors’ garden and lied it in my Mum's cold hands. She called the Funeral Home to coordinate arrangements for pickup and hastily left.

It was a horrifying experience for my family. Not only for us observing every nightmarish minute, but for Mum too. I can't imagine how afraid she was and how she felt. I just hope it wasn't guilt that resonated with her in her final days. She was the reason my family was so profound and passionate about things. The reason we were all there, again and again, expressing our sorrow and love together.

I haven't smoked a cigarette since her later days in hospice care.

She was a beautiful, loving person, and we watched her severely weaken and diminish largely because of a lifelong bad habit. I never want to put anyone I love through that, ever again.

#smoking #quit smoking #real life #cigarettes #death #life and death #quit #bad habits #writting #write #truth #its the truth

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augustmoon259 · 4 years

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For I shall already have forgotten you CHAPTER 2: AN END AND A BEGINNING

When Madeline was seventeen, her life began to go downhill.

Her father was a former smoker. He smoked often before meeting her mother. After meeting Madeline’s mother, and subsequently falling in love with her, he vowed not to smoke again.

He didn’t keep his promise.

Following the death of Madeline’s mother, her father picked up smoking again, but it was far worse. He drowned his sorrows in a bottle of alcohol and a pack of cigarettes daily. It took much effort from concerned friends to make him see the error of his ways. More than that, it was the guilt. The guilt that his daughter would grow up without a father. With the loss of his wife, and no other immediate family, he was the only one who could take care of his child.

So Madeline’s father quit smoking, for good this time. Unfortunately, no matter how much you try to outrun your past, sometimes it catches up to you.

Madeline’s father began experiencing a persistent cough that worsened as time passed. Sometimes he would have trouble breathing; other times he would cough up blood. After these continued bouts of coughing and chest pain, Madeline’s father scheduled an appointment with his doctor. The diagnosis confirmed the worst case scenario.

It was lung cancer. Specifically, small cell lung cancer. The x-ray scans revealed that the cancer was now in its extensive stage, meaning that the tumor had grown and the cancer had spread to other parts of the body. Treatment was possible, but Madeline’s father had a low chance of survival.

When her father broke the news to her, Madeline was devastated. Her kind and dependable father, the one who was always there for her, had cancer? Not just any cancer, but lung cancer, the deadliest of all.

Madeline’s father wanted his daughter to focus on her last year of secondary school. So she did, albeit with great reluctance. Madeline juggled school and sports while monitoring her father’s health. Her father would be in and out of the hospital frequently for his chemotherapy treatment.

Madeline tasked her magical friends with observing and taking care of her father while he was in the hospital, and she could not be there for him. Inkblot flew to and from the hospital, updating Madeline about her father’s current condition. Susan stayed with her father and made sure that he was sleeping or eating well.

Madeline was grateful for the presence of her friends during these troubled times. Ever since the first night she met him, Woodstock kept a constant vigil beside her while she slept. He made her feel less lonely on the nights when her father was at the hospital. Oggy was wrapped around her neck, as always, while she was at school. Sneak reminded Madeline to take care of herself and to not be overwhelmed by her emotions. She meditated and joined a support group for family members of cancer patients.

Months passed. It seemed that Madeline’s father was doing better after chemotherapy. His symptoms were less severe and he was discharged from the hospital.

The best gift Madeline could ask for was having her father at home with her on Christmas day. That was all she needed. Instead, Madeline’s father surprised her with a polar bear cub.

Not an actual polar bear cub. A stuffed one. It fit in her arms perfectly, with the softest fur and black marble eyes.

Madeline felt that something was still missing though. She wasn’t sure what until she saw her reflection. Madeline usually kept her hair tied into two pigtails, with a maple leaf clip on each side of her head.

The thing that was missing was an accessory for her new polar bear cub. With this realization, Madeline went to her room to search in her drawers. She found the object she was looking for: a pink flower-shaped hairpin. Madeline attached the pin next to the stuffed bear’s right ear.

There! A flower fit for a princess. Now you look the part, but what will your name be?

Madeline thought for a while.

Princess. Are there any names that mean princess? Hime? Miki? No...It’ll have to be-

“Kumarie!”

The name felt right for Madeline. She felt strangely nostalgic, as if the name (or something similar to it) felt familiar.

Madeline was grateful for her father’s gift. He knew that she had a love of animals, particularly birds, polar bears, and turtles.

The remainder of Madeline’s Christmas break progressed peacefully. She would remember those pleasant days, the calm before the storm.

The new year brought the cancer back with a vengeance. The same symptoms, along with a host of others.

To Madeline’s distress, chemotherapy had failed her father. Madeline’s father chose to undergo other forms of treatment, and when those didn’t work, he participated in clinical trials.

So the cycle repeated itself again. Winter turned to spring. February turned into March, which turned into April.

Madeline found herself alone more often at home. She found herself clinging to Kumarie as she fell asleep.

Eventually, treatment was no longer an option. Madeline knew that since her father was in the later stages of his cancer, he had little to no chance of surviving, but to hear her worst fears confirmed was heartbreaking. After Christmas, she had thought that things would get better.

Madeline could do nothing as her father deteriorated. All she could do was make sure her father’s last months were spent with no pain. Madeline made sure her father took his medication. She worked with medical and healthcare professionals to provide her father with the best hospice care. Madeline watched as her father began to lose interest in things that he used to enjoy: gardening, watching documentaries, bird watching. He slept more often and for longer periods each time. He had difficulty eating and drinking.

Her graduation came and went. Madeline was envious of her classmates whose family came to support them. She was alone once the ceremony ended.

In the last week of June, Madeline’s father became confused and delirious. When he looked at her, she could see in his eyes that he didn’t know who she was. The ache in her heart remained until the first day of July.

When Madeline was eighteen, her father died.

The two weeks following her father’s death were hectic. It felt like she was in a bubble, her mind elsewhere as her body focused on doing what was needed. Madeline contacted her father’s friends and told them about his death. She made arrangements for a funeral and proper burial. Madeline took care of the will, met with an attorney, and made a list of bills that needed to be paid.

As soon as all of this was done, the bubble popped. Reality set in for Madeline. Her father was gone. She would never hear his laughter again, or eat his cooking. No more hikes, or campfire stories, or stargazing. Gone was that consistent presence throughout her life, he who had always reassured her.

Madeline was lost. She was unsure what to do with herself, where to go from here. So she fell back into old habits. Madeline shopped, she did the laundry, she cleaned the house. Everything she did only served to remind her of her father’s passing: the foods he liked to eat, his clothes that were strewn about, antiques and other collectibles her father acquired during his life.

The garden was beginning to grow weeds. Madeline had taken care of it when her father was unable to. Now, she could not bring herself to do the same.

She distracted herself by watching movies, TV shows, anime, and Korean dramas. The thought of going outside and seeing happy people made her queasy. Why should the world not mourn with her? It was unfair.

Inkblot, Sneak, Susan, Oggy, and Woodstock. All of them were worried about Madeline. They wanted her to go out, talk with a therapist, and process her emotions. They knew that the way she was handling herself now did no one good, least of all her. Madeline rejected them. She said she was fine. She could handle it. They were overexaggerating.

Madeline continued like this for another month. It was August. By now, the weeds had completely overtaken the garden. Madeline felt guilty. Day by day she had watched as the weeds grew inch by inch. If her poor father could see his garden, he would be disappointed in her. After her father died, Madeline had also neglected to clean his room. The room might be dusty, but it was the memories it held that threatened to overtake her.

Madeline was cleaning the house as per usual, when she came to the door of her father’s bedroom. Madeline hesitated before opening it. The curtains were open, letting the sunlight spill in. She was correct in assuming the room would be dusty. Madeline vacuumed the floor, packed her father’s old clothes into boxes, and dusted everything else.

As she looked underneath her father’s bed, she found a chest. The chest was locked. Madeline searched her father’s desk drawers for a key. When she found it, she opened the chest. Inside of the chest was an old journal. It’s brown leather cover displayed signs of wear and tear.

Madeline opened the journal. Its pages were completely filled out. She flipped to the last page. The date of the last entry was the day of her seventeenth birthday, before things started to go wrong. Her eyes scanned the final journal entry:

MY DEAR MADELINE,

IF YOU ARE READING THIS, THEN I HAVE GONE.

I WISH I COULD HAVE STAYED WITH YOU LONGER.

BUT IT WAS NOT MEANT TO BE.

SO LIVE ON.

LIVE TO SEE THE JOYS THAT LIFE CAN BRING.

FOR SORROW DOES NOT LAST FOREVER.

Tears fell from Madeline’s eyes. The salty liquid stained the pages of the journal. Madeline hugged the journal close to her chest before her legs gave way beneath her. She sat on the floor in a crouched position, the journal lying discarded as her hands made her way to her face to wipe her tears.

The guilt came back full force. What was she doing spending her life like this when there was so much more out there for her to explore? In the wake of her father’s death, Madeline’s career as a photographer had been temporarily put on halt. She still earned money from her online store, photo prints, etc., but she had not been posting on her blog or social media.

It was in that moment that Madeline hardened her resolve to live her life the way she wanted to. She would travel the world and meet new people, just as she always dreamed of.

The pain would linger, for it never truly goes away, but it was no longer the only feeling in her heart. Madeline’s newfound determination fueled her.

The rest of the day was spent taming her father’s garden. Madeline did what she could to tame it for the day, but the weed killer would do the rest.

That night, Madeline rested in her bed, with Kumarie in her arms. Woodstock and Inkblot was perched on the headboard of her bed. Sneak and Oggy were hiding underneath the bed, while Susan was lying on the floor in a spare sleeping bag. The atmosphere was quiet and serene.

Madeline dozed off with a smile on her face.

Eyes fluttering open, Madeline yawned as her eyes blinked blearily. Her mind adjusted itself to the sight of her room and she saw all her friends wide awake and by her bedside. They were staring at her, or rather what she still held in her hold. Madeline shot them a questioning look until she felt the object of their focus move.

A startled gasp left her mouth as Madeline laid her eyes on a living, breathing polar bear cub. What?! What is this?! Kumarie is a stuffed toy! One that’s not supposed to be moving!

“Kumarie?!”

The bear gazed at Madeline.

“Who?”

“Kumarie, that’s your name, isn’t it?”

The redubbed Kumarie peered at Madeline before squinting down at its paws. After a pause, it concluded, “Yeah! My name is Kumarie.”

In the back of her mind, Madeline noted that Kumarie had a cute, high pitched voice.

There was nothing left to do but to take this new development in stride.

“Kumarie, do you like pancakes?”

“Yes!”

“Kumari” means “princess” in Indian, although it also means “cloudy” in Japanese.

For anyone who is a family member, friend, or themself going through a tough time due to cancer, my condolences. If you have lost a loved one due to cancer, my heart goes out to you. I tried researching and making the symptoms and stages of lung cancer accurate. Everyone has a different way of mourning or grieving, so I hope Madeline’s behavior does not come across as odd.

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yourvoiceislikearose · 6 years

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Trying Isn't Always Enough

Summary: After losing what she loved most, a lot is destroyed. But still, they try. How could they not?

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Suicide, mentions of smut.

Pairing: Shawn Mendes x OC

A/N: Flashbacks/memories are in italics. Guys, this is the saddest thing I’ve ever written. Please reblog if you like it...or hate it. Also, there will be a Dean Winchester version of this fic coming up soon! So if you like him, keep an open eye. (PS. I know little about vocal cord dysplasia, so please don’t be too brutal if something is wrong.)

She cried. She cried uncontrollably, violently, and quietly. The spray being cast down from the shower-head had run cold long ago, but she still couldn’t bring herself to leave her spot on the floor of the white tiled shower. Feelings of disappointment, worthlessness, fear, and utter discontentment haunted her. She felt like she couldn’t go on any more, not like this.

She couldn’t stand the sound of herself. Her laugh, the sounds that left her lips as she sang or spoke, they tormented her. She had once loved her voice; she had once lived off of it, but now? Now it was just a reminder of shattered dreams, a reminder of everything that had been taken from her, a reminder that she wasn’t good enough.

Mercy had been diagnosed with vocal cord dysplasia a year ago today. Back then, it didn’t seem like a huge deal. It was something the correct surgery could easily fix.

Or worsen, in her case.

She was a professional singer, who’d just released her new album, meaning tour would be coming up very soon. She didn’t have time to waste, so, in a hurry, she’d gotten surgery. Unfortunately, during the surgery, something went wrong and she was left with permanent damage. A permanent damage that led to her careers downfall.

“Is there anything we can do? Anything at all?” Mercy’s desperate and slightly hoarse voice asked the doctor.

“I’m afraid not, I’m sorry Ms. Santos,” replied the man remorsefully.

Grabbing his girlfriend’s hand, Shawn spoke up, “What about voice therapy?”

The doctor turned to Shawn. “She can try it. It might help, but I wouldn’t bet on it.”

With a frown, and a nod, Shawn’s eyes scanned Mercy’s face. The light that once resided in her hazel eyes was now gone, as they stared at her feet.

“Okay, well is there anything else we should know?”

“Yes, if she overuses her voice in any way, it may cause cancer,” the doctor paused, “and, she may lose her voice. Maybe not permanently, but there will always be that risk, so if she does try voice therapy, don’t over work her. I also wouldn’t advise her talking loudly for long periods of time.” The doctor turned to mercy once again. “The chances of full recovery are slim Ms. Santos, I’m very sorry.”

Looking up, her eyes met the pitiful stares of both her doctor and boyfriend. After slipping her hand from Shawn’s, Mercy stood up, and mustered up the best smile she could. Both Shawn and Doctor Harrison mimicked her actions. They all exited the small white room, and both Shawn and her shook Harrison’s hand.

“Thanks, for…” her sentence went unfinished as she thought about the horrible news.

A few seconds of awkward silence followed before Harrison cleared his throat, “Well, goodbye. Good luck to the both of you.”

Announcing her early retirement was hard and painful, but it wasn’t until a few days afterwards that she had really realized what was happening. It was all so fast. One moment she was a hit singer, the next she was…nothing. It was a hard adjustment to say the least.

Shawn had stayed with her as long as he could, but it wasn’t long enough. He eventually finished his own album and left for tour. His life couldn’t stop because of her. He still called, face-timed, and visited every chance he could, but anyone with a good pair of eyes could see how much of a strain the incident had taken on their relationship.

She tried though.

She tried to be happy. She tried to find new hobbies. She tried to get a job. She’d even considered going back to school. She tried, if not for herself, for the sake of the relationship.

But nothing worked.

Nothing could satisfy her need to sing. Her soul desperately ached to be reunited with the passion, but she knew it could never be... Sometimes she felt like a part of her was lost, except, she knew where it was, and couldn’t reach it. Other times, she felt like it was stolen. Like the best parts of her were taken and she was tied up to watch them die.

She didn’t know how to fill the days anymore. She would wake up each day a broken shadow of her old self.

Her life had lost its sense of purpose.

But, she tried.

Until she couldn’t anymore.

So here she was, crying in the shower. Mourning the death of herself, fearing the death of her relationship, and wishing she could just end it all.

A knock on the bathroom door startled her. “Hello?”

The door and shower muffled it, but she heard Shawn’s concerned voice ask if she was okay. She wanted desperately to tell him the truth, she really did, but what could he do? Could he fix her? No, she was too broken at this point.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute!”

Dinner that night was the most normal things had been in awhile, she might’ve actually been happy for a bit. But nothing lasts forever. It was when he’d left, and took whatever sense of happiness he provided with him she decided to let the rest of her finally die.

A few weeks passed before she wrote the notes, one to her parents, one to a close friend, one to her brother, and another to Shawn. Afterwards, she crawled in the tub and used the razor, watching as the blood mixed with the water surrounding her. Before she knew it, she passed out.

What she didn’t know was Shawn had been planning a surprise visit.

He’d been trying too.

He tried to stay with her as long as possible after the incident. He tried to call every chance he could when he was away. He tried to help her. He tried to be patient. He tried to bring some sort of happiness to her.

“Shawn, what’re you doing?” She giggled as he dragged her next to him on the couch.

The giggle was short lived when she saw him hesitantly pull his guitar into his lap.

“Shawn?”

He looked at her almost passionately. “I wanted to try the voice therapy with you.”

“You-you don’t even know much about voice therapy Shawn,” she spoke with storm of emotions.

“I’ve talked to a few coaches; they’ve taught me a bit. Please don’t be upset honey.”

“I-I don’t know what to say. I’m not upset, but, you didn’t even ask what I wanted.”

“I know, I was just hoping I could convince you. You don’t have to; I just really wish you’d give it a try. For me,” he pleaded.

Looking down, she pursed her lips. “Fine.”

His eyes lit up at her statement. “Really?”

“Yep, hurry up and coach me Mendes,” she smirked.

He tried.

He loved her.

“I can’t do it!” she screamed in frustration after failing at following his instructions for the third time.

“Don’t say that. You can’t give up yet; just try it one more time.” He tried to convince her.

“No Shawn, I can’t.” She stood up, “This was a bad idea.”

“I’m sorry.” She apologized with tear stained cheeks before walking away.

He found her crying in the bedroom a few minutes later. It was a heartbreaking sight. Walking up to her, he pulled her into his chest. She welcomed his comfort and grabbed him tightly. With a hand stroking her hair, and his chin on her head, he fought back his own tears.

“Shh it’s okay,” he tried to sooth.

After they’d both calmed down, she pulled away, looking up into his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said as he wiped her wet cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Always,” he finished before leaning in.

The kiss was sweet, passionate, and loving. Minutes later clothes were thrown to the floor, and soft pants and moans were the only thing to be heard. The lovemaking was gentle and slow. It was the kind that made them forget about the pain, even if only for awhile.

Shawn found her dying body in a bathtub, her wrists slit. Blood was everywhere, but he still checked for a pulse desperately, and somehow, he found one. Running out of the bathroom he called the police with bloodied hands.

He tried.

He tried to save her.

But it was too late; he’d lost her long ago.

If you liked this let me know by reblogging it! Check out my masterlist here!

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes x oc #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fluff #shawn x oc #shawn angst #shawn fluff #shawn peter raul mendes

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boofmont · 5 years

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- ̗̀ * ( liana liberato + cisfemale + she/her ) have you seen ( saige beaumont ) walking around campus ? they are a ( 20 ) year old, studying ( linguistics + criminal psychology ). we hear they are in ( theta sigma eta ), and can be ( passionate & irrational ), maybe it’s because they are a ( cancer ). they sort of remind us of ( drunk stick n' pokes at 2am, avoiding cracks in the sidewalk, the familiar riff of an old song ), maybe we can find out more ! ( jamesy the fool + 20 + EST + she/they ) * ̖́- + newspaper photographer, campus tour, swim

lmao hi here’s my final baby she is the love of my life i’ve known her for 8 years i think and she’s come a long way sdfkgh please love her as much as i love her. if i was fictionkin i’d identify solely with her (and she’s not even a self insert ! wow !) **IM STILL ON HAITUS UNTIL MONDAY BUT I HAD THIS READY TO GO LMAO**

TW: ALCOHOLISM, DRUG ABUSE? MENTIONS.

gen. info

full name: saige alouette beaumont

nickname(s): she...doesn’t have any in this timeline but PLEASE, she LOVES nicknames. she’s a nickname slut.

b.o.d. - july 7th, 20 whole yrs old.

label(s): the hedonist, the icarcian, the reveler, etc. etc.

height: 5′7″ thank u very much !!

hometown: thibodaux, louisiana

sexuality: firstly when aren’t my babies bi as FUCK (minus aster). but she also prefers masc-presenting folks

biography

the only child of a world renown fashion designer named manon lévêsque (surname kept b/c Branding) and US lieutenant general robert beaumont

manon’s brand is like...on the level of chanel, and dior, and shit, y’know??

manon’s...obv french, very french. born n raised in france.

robert beaumont comes from a very southern family, all located in louisana. also french, just more...american.

they’re fucking loaded

saige’s childhood wasn’t the...Usual, childhood. they moved around a lot as due to both of her parents’ jobs. (’cos robert wasn’t ALWAYS a 4-star army man smh)

the longest they’ve rly stayed in one place (minus saige’s ucla yrs) is like...two yrs, tops ??

due 2 that she didn’t rly make...a lotta friends?

but when she DID , it was always the most interesting ppl she could find

but her parents were always SUPER strict

it was like they came together purely to mold the perfect child

like, they controlled where she went! what she wore! who she interacted with! what she watched or read or listened to!

she’d have bodyguards on her when her parents were busy, not nannies

she was taught all the proper things ladies were to learn, like cooking and sewing and ballroom dancing, and more

she was also taught how to drop a man to his knees in less than 10 seconds and how to shoot a gun, but that was it in terms of self defense skdfgh

eventually saige got bored with a life of being carefully watched and attending military balls and fashion runways

how do u surround a girl w/ so much culture and expect her to not want to experience life for what it is?

she learned how to dodge guards in order to go canoeing in the full moon with strangers she’d met five hrs prior, and how to blend in at festivals filled with throat-melting sweet drinks

she almost landed in a tabloid at the age of 15 for sneaking out w/ a boy three years older and her parents paid a lot of money to hide it.

no matter how much they tried to keep her rooted, saige always found a way to bend the rules and escape her lil golden cage

like they even had her homeschooled w/ the best tutors one could pay for n she still yeeted tf out whenever she could

born for the party life t b h

they decided that the best course of action to deal w/ her was to finally keep her in one place so they p much made her go to ucla lmao

homegirl did NOT want to go at first, just ‘cos she HATES being rooted to one place, is used to traveling the world and seeing shit and learning other cultures n shit, y’know ??

but then she joined theta sigma eta lmao n the parties ??

fucking amazing

it didn’t take a lot for her to be convinced to stay, esp ‘cos her parents didn’t quite realize...how big the party scene is

(not like they could’ve sent her to like...harvard or smth...homegirl’s smart but not THAT smart lmaooo)

unfortunately, saige has piss poor self control; and this was too much freedom for her. she was being Too Wild

anyWays the summer before her current year (i ... think she’s a sophomore ?) she went to a particularly wild party and somehow ended up at one of her mother’s collection launch parties w/ a pal of hers !!

and she totally embarrassed her mom !! in front of everybody !! being lil’ ol drunk n freshly 20 yr old !

after that saige was NOT welcomed at home (wherever home was, at the moment, that is). she wasn’t DISOWNED ‘cos that’d be HORRIBLE for the press n god, imagine the media ?? it would worsen it all

but she wasn’t allowed at home. wasn’t allowed with them. wasn’t allowed to see them unless at events they specifically ordered her to come to for press reasons

doesn’t really...know where she’s going to go in the summer ‘cos the summer she Fucked Up she lived out of hotel suites and friend’s couches. n like yeah she can just Buy a place or smth but ?? commitment ?? adult decisions ?? christ !

nobody knows her parents have essentially kicked her tf out and aren’t even talkin’ to her, ‘cos homegirl’s ashamed

it isn’t rly hard to hide it tho ‘cos her parents still give her a shit ton of money LMAO rich privilege

but it can’t fix how absolutely hurt she is

the alcohol , however, COULD

started partying more, and more intensely, and didn’t stop when the parties did

alcohol became part of her diet.

irish cream in her mornin’ coffee, coke n rum at lunch, vodka and like...23 packets of crystal lite in her hydro flask during lectures

without alcohol, she suffers terrible withdraws and those turn her into a completely different person

noBoDy KnoWs

or if they do, they don’t realize the extent of it! just how bad it is! ‘cos she’s a big ol’ faker

she’s fine it’s FINE

personality

i actually have...traits i’ve written for her

positive traits:

kindhearted, optimistic, energetic, dreamy, charismatic, intelligent (to...a degree, lmao), active, charismatic, sympathetic, amiable

negative traits:

naive, dumb (to...a degree, double lmao), self-destructive, spiteful, stubborn, defensive, inattentive, unstable, loud, reckless

but ANYWAYS

if she wants to do smth, she’ll do it

there’s no way to talk her outta whatever she has set in her mind, even if it’s fucking STUPID

‘cos she’s stupid and we love her for it

uuuUuUuUuUUUUhh

she’s a vegetarian, loves animals too much 2 do it

has adhd but she’s not medicated ‘cos her parents suck n young girls r always severely under diagnosed ‘cos doctors also suck

she’s allergic to cats, pumpkins, and penicillin

loves cats

she does her own stick n’ pokes, n will do ur stick n’ pokes if u ask. Loves doin ‘em, but she can’t draw for shit LMAO

however ! she does play three instruments:

piano, violin, n bass guitar

hates piano w/ a burning passion ‘cos she was p much forced to learn. thinks violin is lit as fuck. bass guitar? her fav thing ever. did it as an act of rebellion.

also, even tho she’s just....a whole ass dumbass, she knows like...four languages

yes including english

anyways she knows uUUuUH french, spanish, n latin (for funsies)

is also learning mandarin, german, n irish gaelic (for funsies)

is a big language slut, essentially

and a uh...slut in general

like she just rly loves everybody

she’s SUPER friendly, super confident, like...the best gal to know, ‘cos she’s got sm energy n if u don’t talk a lot ? that’s fine ! she’ll talk for u ! even if u don’t ask her to !

but yes she’s not like EASY but she’s easy

she’s had a few short-term relationships and even fewer long-term relationships

and she doesn’t ! have commitment issues !

doesn’t like getting hurt but also ! she will fall in love w/ anybody !

(i’m kidding every time i’ve ever played her in all my years she’s always, always attracted to like...grumpy tough ppl. that’s her type. do u sell drugs? she loves u. do u get into pointless fights and have constantly bruised knuckles? she loves u. did u sell ur soul to the devil? oh, she rly does love u.)

actually thinks rly low of herself but would NEVER let ANYBODY know that ‘cos god forbid

just keep smilin’ :)

probably uses finger guns

skateboards into EVERYTHING she’s fucking CLUMSY and stupid

will wear gucci on top of her thrift finds (stop going to goodwill if ur nearly a billionaire u dumbass)

that being said she’s not always........aware? she’s not shallow but she’s kind of just...she’ll throw her money at u if u can’t afford smth, and like...doesn’t know how taxes work? and also...doesn’t know how poor ppl go on living?

like she’s highly dependent on her money

she has three fucking cars ‘cos she just thought they were PRETTY

one’s a pick up truck w/ LED lights, one’s the literal car from the princess diaries, and the other’s just a real fast sports car

totally does illegal street racing but ? only sometimes ? mostly for funsies rly doesn’t care abt money at all LMAO

she’s...not very independent

she’s got an addictive personality, y’see?

does MANY drugs, like mdma (ecstasy? molly?), coke, shrooms, acid, the marijuanas. i think that’s it.

a lil bit of a cokehead but only at parties okay uwu

idk how but she always manages to be laidback and yet also super energized at the same time. she just truly, does not give a single shit

also i said she was dumb earlier and like...TRUE

excels at english, history, etc. etc.

but as soon as math or science is involved? fart noise

bad shit

hate it

she can’t focus on shit she doesn’t like so like...that doesn’t help

in other news, she can be best described as a DRUNK TINKERBELL

as she was originally a pixie. it’s suiting

she’s ... almost ethereal

will tease u. will act like she’s known u for years. this is normal for saige.

she’s just rly BUBBLY and FUN okay ! pls love her

like pretty please

she’s my best muse by far and i’ve been rping since 2010

OH okay so like fun fact: her mother still sends her pieces that she hasn’t released yet so saige’s closet is filled w/ clothes she will nvr wear ‘cos she refuses to in order to Spite her Mother

also will GIVE these EXCLUSIVE UNreleased articles of clothing to her FRIENDS as GIFTS as a big FUCK U to the MAN (mom)

she’s just a dumbass

wanted connections

ok so gimme a blackmailer who knows abt saige’s like...issues, n instead of tryn to help her they use it to their advantage to get whatever they want from her :^)

also a TUTOR ‘cos she’s stupid in math n science

party pals like do i even have to explain

childhood friend(s) or like...acquaintances ?? she’s traveled for so long

da PLUG gimme her DEALER

ex boyfriend(s) - she loves ppl, sometimes too much. were they in love? maybe not. did she get bored? did he? who knows?

i mean same applies to girlfriends

just ?? a dude who has completely caught her attention. saige finds him SO INTERESTING for some fucking reason. reminds her of travelling, reminds her of her years of exploring. reminds her of a lotta things, rly. he might b a good person. or ! he might not !

random hookups - past ? present ? fwbs ? one night stands ? i’ll take them all !

best friend - y’know. her ride or die. celeste. i mean there can b another, but celeste. try n compete w/ celeste.

other close friends!

fake friends!

frenemies!

(also am a big slut for the on-and-off relationships where theyre both horrible for each other n it’s not.. Good , but they can’t stop ! they won’t stop ! it’s not abusive but it’s toxic just ‘cos they’re both fucking enablers smh breaking up n getting back together all the time)

bad influence ? good influence ?

roommates ??

#uclas:intro #i hope this formats right on mobile lmao #anyways gimme a like n i’ll hit u up #eventually

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comeondowntosouthparkrpg-blog · 6 years

Text

billy “carlos” harris

This isn’t the make-a-wish foundation, fuck off.

Carlos has been accepted! Please send us your blog and a faceclaim to be featured on the main blog!

out of character info

Name/Alias: fuckin me again Pronouns: fuck/fucker/fuckself Age: 19 Join Our Discord: ye Timezone: est Activity: u know me Triggers: none fuckers Password: jimmy can fast pass my ass Character that you’re applying for: Billy/Carlos Favourite ships for your character: nothing and/or chemistry

in character info

Full name: William Carlos Harris / “Carlos” Birthday: July 3 Sexuality, gender, pronouns: Straight, cis male, he/him Age and grade: 15 sophomore

Appearance:

Carlos is about 5’9, making him one of the tallest out of his classmates, at least, for now. Though he isn’t very tall, he was usually rather lean throughout his life, until he started to get sick and lose some weight. He isn’t necessarily boney, but he’s rather thin, since he tends not to gain much weight no matter what he does. He’s pretty much as white as the next guy during the winter, but he tans very easily. However, more recently he takes some pretty hardcore precautions to avoid skin cancer by wearing loads of sunscreen –– by his mother’s demands –– so throughout high school his skin has stayed rather pale. He prefers to be pale anyways, so it doesn’t matter much to him; he doesn’t want his skin to become dark and wash out his light brown hair which he sometimes plays with by lightening it, either at the barber/salon or by putting something in his hair to make it lighten by itself in the sun, letting it pop up from under the visor that he has to wear to protect his face in the summer. When growing it out it’s wavy, and though it’s all cut short every few months, Carlos has his hair longer on the top for most of the year.

Despite a diverse wardrobe filled with many different stylish pieces, when you break down his outfit combinations they tend to be pretty similar, at least in shape. He’ll wear a baggy shirt or sweater and/or jacket or hoodie, with much less baggy pants, and even skinny jeans or chinos. On special occasions he can be seen in nice button ups and pants, or even a suit. Carlos does like hats, particularly beanies or backwards baseball caps, however he doesn’t go for the hat if he doesn’t feel like it ‘vibes’ with his outfits. He has to have at least one accessory, however, and if it’s not a hat it’ll be sunglasses, a watch, or a necklace. What he lacks in his body type he makes up for in stylishness, as he’s not afraid to take risks and to bring bold styles he sees on tv or magazines into his world to act like he’s not just a cool guy, but he’s a cool guy who dresses better than you AND your girlfriend.

Personality:

Unaffected by most of the worries that catch his peers, Carlos is used to the unfair, painful aspects of life that others aren’t used to experiencing regularly. Carlos a little punk. He’s used to dropping everything to do something new, whether it’s what he wants to do, or if it’s just being forced on him –– of course, the former is his preference. He loves to live wild and free, sneaking into parties when he can, longboarding around the town with his friends, doing graffiti and other petty crimes. Like most people who share his struggle with illnesses he doesn’t feel bitter about his lot in life. However, that isn’t to say he isn’t a sweet little angel whose kind and suffers quietly. He doesn’t really care what people say; he’s never one to take things to heart, though, living life day by day with hardly a care in the world. Or, rather, with as little care as he can survive with.

Some thing most people don’t see besides his classmates is that, while most people see a sad, suffering little boy, his peers know to be something of a fuckboy. He only talks to girls on Snapchat, and acts like iMessage doesn’t exist. He wears soccer socks with adidas slides way beyond the soccer season. He has the classic fuckboy haircut. Okay, so he kinda respects women as much as any fifteen year old boy can, and he’s not seriously asking girls to bang, but he does talk shit about his mother, and he will like a girl’s instagram but won’t text her back, so he can’t help but give off the fuckboy vibes. In reality, he’s just trying hard to be a normal kid and live a normal live, since he doesn’t know how long he’s really got, and doesn’t want to spend his time isolated because of it.

History:

William Harris was born to Sloane Harris and a Mexican immigrant named Javier Silva on July 3rd. All was well in his life, playing around with the other kids at preschool, loving sports like soccer and lacrosse, until he started feeling sick around five years old he was diagnosed with lung cancer. The arguments between his parents that the diagnosis resulted in caused a rift between Sloane and Javier, as Sloane believed that, despite her family history of the disease, her son’s lung cancer was caused by Javier’s chain-smoking. As the fighting got worse and worse between his two parents, little Billy, as his mother called him, kept getting sicker and sicker. As he was getting sick, his father was kicked out of the home, and went to work on a ranch in New Mexico. William was upset by this, after all the years he has spent with his dad sitting on his lap watching movies and sports, and started to go by the name his father wanted for him, his grandfather’s name — Carlos.

He was treated with chemotherapy when he was five, spending most of his kindergarten year in the hospital. Luckily for him, he was able to keep up with the learning by having his mother speak closely with the school and ensure his education while he was being treated for his lung cancer. He learned his shapes, colors, letters and numbers, and was able to remotely pass kindergarten and spend the summer recovering. He returned to the second grade a new kid, asserting himself as an important part of the classroom and getting closer with the kids in his year. This wasn’t all without complications, however –– he still went in for a lung transplant at some point in the fifth grade, something the doctors suggested if he was ever planning to play sports. It was back to the hospital for a bit, when they found more cancer cells growing in his body. They caught it early, though, and treated it quickly, so he was back to school in no time.

In middle school, his resentment towards his mother for forcing his father out returned onto the board again in a greater magnitude than before, fueled by those new teenage emotions, prompting him to write to Javier to try to build a relationship with him. Soon enough he was being driven two hours south to see his father on long weekends, vacations, and other parts of the year, which his mother, who wanted to make him happy, wasn’t particularly happy about –– even if research showed that his father’s second hand smoke didn’t led to his childhood cancer, but instead it was a prominent family history of cancer on her side of the family, (which Carlos pointed out must’ve been the case after shoving all that secondhand smoke research into her face.) He was back with his parents again, and despite the tension that persisted from the awkward arrangements and meetings, he was going into high school ready for anything.

Carlos was even prepared when he was diagnosed with chronic lymphocytic leukemia at the end of his freshman year. After knowing his family history, as well as receiving chemo as much as he had, he wasn’t surprised. His doctors and family knew that this was bound to happen, and they were happy to have found it in it’s early-stage, meaning he wouldn’t have to worry about treatment nor the risks of it until it got to the point where treatment became necessary and helpful. He was thankful that this time he didn’t have to be the sick kid who was always out of school, who was always leaving class to throw up, who couldn’t play sports or climb the rope at gym class. The only complication he had to really worry about for now was a lowered immune system, but that wouldn’t stand in his way –– he didn’t care what he shouldn’t have been doing. He’d still eat gross things for dares, kiss strangers (if they’d let him,) and was obsessed with doing whatever the other boys his age did, and even taking it above and beyond. Even with his illness, he was able to focus on being himself and being a kid, and he wasn’t worried about how long he had left until his illness got more aggressive –– he learned to live in the now. So he did.

Sample paragraph:

Soccer practices were always a little much for the tired boy, but none other had compared to this one. He knew it was the first practice of the year and he wanted to make an impression on the coach, saying that he was capable of playing hard. Unfortunately, he was harboring a massive headache and it only got worsened by the noises that surrounded the teen on the field. The sharp sounds of whistles being blown and the shouts of the cheerleading team practicing hurt like hell. The cheerleaders weren’t even supposed to be on the field this afternoon, but due to some poor scheduling, the soccer team had to split half the field with them –– because god forbid the football team have to split their field instead. That, of course, was a ton of distraction for the boys on the football team, and it only made the practice seem longer and earned the team some running laps.

“Alright team, ten minutes of running around the field! And I don’t want to see any wimpy running, I wanna see Forrest Gump, not Tommy Boy!” The team groaned, and Carlos went to his bag, removing his socks, shinguards, and shirt. Though he didn’t really have anything to show off there like the rest of the boys did, he wanted to beat the heat, and didn’t care if he made people look at his thin, pale arms because of it. Popping a few Tylenols for his headache, among other aches and pains, Carlos threw his bag back to the bench and started running to catch up with his team. Ten minutes of running with complaining teammates, some guys faking tying their shoes so they didn’t have to run, and a lot of sweat was probably the worst part of that practice, but soon after they were able to leave for the locker rooms. The surrounding sweaty and stinky boys became invisible to him once he stepped into the shower, turning it on and letting the icy cold water pour over him. That certainly eased him.

Headcanons:

rly likes post malone

hates the whole “wow, he’s a miracle”, “he’s so brave”, or any other well-intentioned bullshit comments regarding his ‘ongoing battle’, or whatever. he isn’t here for some pity party where people make themselves feel good for cherishing the sick kid.

got one ear pierced because he thought it was cool. two days later he thought it looked stupid and now he doesn’t wear an earring at all.

brings his longboard to school and tries to ride it in the halls sometimes. also wears a thrasher hoodie. (yes, the two are connected.)

highkey thinks neymar jr is jesus. is rly into soccer.

once tried to go cow tipping but then he sneezed too loud and the cow woke up and walked away

still dabs in 2018. like the dance move, not drugs

but he also smokes weed

Anything else: fc is ricky garcia

sry my writing is bad and also kill me

#Accepted #kills u #billy harris #submission

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eddiesgazebos · 6 years

Text

INSEPARABLE (REDDIE) 7/12

They say you should never date a good friend. Why? Because if your relationship ends badly, you will more than likely lose that good friend. Richie and his best friend Eddie took that risk when they became an official couple. But what happens when sudden change erupts into their relationship? The two who would travel to the ends of the world for each other are put up to the test. Unfortunately, Eddie knew there was no such thing as fairy tales…Right?

Chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

"You're not leaving me" Eddie shouted. His voice was so loud that everybody in the cafeteria had gone silent. Richie's eyes widened as he looked around the room. "Who the fuck do your parents think they are?!" Richie quickly moved his own hand over Eddie's mouth. If he had been anybody else in the world, Eddie would drop with an asthma attack. Luckily though, Richie's germs were the only germs that Eddie actually enjoyed. Eddie's eyebrows lowered as he glared at Richie.

"Do you want the attention all on us, dear?" Richie muttered under uncomfortable laughs. Eddie shoved Richie's hand away and shook his head.

"You can't leave me, Richie" Eddie's voice has quieted and his eyes were filling with tears. Richie felt his chest tighten.

"I can't really change it, Eds" Richie reached his hand out to cup Eddie's cheek but Eddie shoved his hand away.

"Well figure out a damn way!" Eddie's glare only worsened and Richie's chest only continued to tighten. A painful lump filled Richie's throat and the tears stung his eyes.

"Don't you think I would if I could?" Richie frowned. "Eds, I don't want to go"

"Then fucking stay"

"Eddie" they stared at each other for a few seconds before Eddie shook his head and backed up.

"Fuck this" Eddie mumbled as he turned his back to Richie. Richie reached forward to grab his arm but pulled his hand back once Eddie pulled free roughly. He wanted to chase after him but a hand settling on his shoulder kept him back.

"Let him go" Beverly spoke gently. Richie watched Eddie push his way out of the cafeteria. His eyes stung, his heart hurt, and his stomach was twisted. Once Eddie was out of sight, Richie turned to Beverly and pulled her into a tight hug to hide his tears. She wrapped her arms around him and ran her hand up and down his back. "Shh, it'll be alright. He just needs to blow off steam"

"I don't want to leave him, Bev" Richie cried against her shoulder while she held him in a firm embrace.

"I know. He knows" as her words fell silent, the bell rang for lunch to end and classes to start back up. Richie tensed at the sound and Beverly sighed softly. "Come on, lets skip class"

"What?" Richie lifted his head to look at Beverly. His eyes were swollen and red while the rest of his face was as flushed as a ghost.

"You heard me" Beverly moved her hand into Richie's and tugged him toward the doors. She waved goodbye to their friends then dragged him out into the halls. She walked around the school until they found the side doors that were mainly there for emergencies and for the staff to take smoke breaks. She shoved the door open and lead the way outside.

As soon as they were outside, they walked off toward the wooded area. They took the path that led to the outer roads of Derry and walked slower as they were out of sight from the school. Richie stayed silent and stared down at his hands. Beverly had taken a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and placed one between her lips. She fished out her lighter and lit the cancer stick. Richie looked up at her once the strong smell awakened his numbing senses.

"Want one?" Beverly asked while only moving half of her mouth. She used the other side of her lips to hold her cigarette still between her lips while her hands were heading for her pocket. Richie shook his head no.

"Eddie would kill me before those would" he sighed. Beverly nodded and put the pack and lighter away. She took the cigarette away from her lips and held it between her fingers.

"He'll calm down soon enough" she reached her hand over to squeeze his shoulder. "Promise"

"Before or after I'm gone?" Richie pushed up his glasses and kicked a fallen branch out of the way as he walked.

"Before. He won't let you leave on bad terms"

"It'll be bad either way. Either he's angry or depressed and it's all my fault"

"You don't have control over what your parents decide for you. Telephones exist, Richie. Long-distance relationships do happen"

"I can't fucking hold him over a phone. I can't kiss his cute face or pick him up and carry him. What if I never get to kiss him again, Bev?"

"Eighteen isn't all that far away"

"By then, he could find another boy who's actually here for him" they both sighed and Beverly shook her head.

"He'd never leave you"

Eddie sat in the back of his class with his head held low. His mind felt like shattered glass while his body felt like it was on fire but numb at the same time. His painfilled eyes stared blankly at the teacher. He knew she was talking but words weren't registering in his brain. He didn't feel real, nothing felt real.

His eyes caught movement around the room as the other students opened their binders. He followed along without knowing what exactly it was that he was doing. His throat tightened when his eyes fell on the polaroid photo of him and Richie that he had taped there when school started. Tears threatened to escape from his eyes and he quickly blinked to battle them back.

He shook his head and closed the binder back up. He turned in his seat and pushed everything into his backpack. He felt eyes watching him but he was too numb to care. He zipped up his bag, stood up, and headed for the door.

"Eddie, where are you going?" The teacher's voice was barely noticeable. Eddie ignored her and continued on out the door. "Eddie get back here!" His footsteps were slow at first but as he turned the corner down the hall, they gradually got quicker and quicker until he reached the front doors. He pushed his way through the large glass doors and ignored the lady at the front desk calling out for him. He made it a few feet outside then dropped to his knees. The tears spilled over and poured down his cheeks. His throat clenched as a soft painful sound made its way up his throat and free from his lips. He dug his short nails into the palms of his hands as he hunched forward.

"He can't leave" he whimpered to himself with heavy unsteady breathing to follow. His hands fumbled with his fanny pack to get his inhaler out and use it.

Richie and Beverly sat on a fallen tree trunk. They sat in mostly silence with just the sound of chirping birds and soft saddened exhales. Richie stared at the ground, hunched over so that his elbows could rest against his thighs. He held his head in his hands and tried to slow down his brain.

"What if I run away?" He mumbled. His lanky body rocked slightly back and forth. "What if I just hide away until my parents either leave or decide to stay?" Beverly stayed silent. They both knew how stupid the ideas were. "I could live in Eddie's closet. His mom wouldn't even have to know" Richie ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. He lifted his head to stare ahead into the trees. "Or, maybe I could live with Stan. Yeah, his home life would take getting used to but I'd be alright"

"Richie" Beverly sighed. She moved her hand to his back.

"I know, Beverly!" He snapped then stared down at the ground. His cheeks were stained with tears and his glasses were hard to see through. "I just-.." he shook his head.

"Come on, let's go get some ice cream. I'll pay" Beverly stood up and dusted off the back of her jeans.

"I'm not hungry" Richie mumbled but Beverly pulled him up from the trunk anyway.

"Well, I am" she grabbed his hand and tugged him down the rest of the path. They walked deeper into town and to the local ice cream shop. Even though he wasn't hungry, Beverly bought two cones of ice cream. They sat down at a nearby picnic table. Beverly licked away at her ice cream while Richie stared at his own. "Eat it" Beverly lightly nudged his leg with her foot underneath the table. Richie sighed and gave it a few licks. It only took the sweet taste to hit his tongue before he was interested in the ice cream at all and started to genuinely eat it.

Time flew by after that. They watched as buses drove by along with the kids who walked home to pass. They watched for their group to pass. When Beverly noticed them, she stood up and ran over to meet up with them. Bill, Stan, Mike, and Ben all looked at Beverly and then over at Richie who had laid down on the seat to the picnic table.

"How's he doing?" Mike asked with a slight frown. Beverly sighed and shook her head.

"Well, not great but he could be worse. Where's Eddie?" She looked around at each of the boys.

"We haven't seen him" Ben frowned. "We thought maybe he was with you two working this out"

"We ditched earlier, Eddie would have never agreed to that" Beverly crossed her arms over her chest. "Did he go straight home or something?"

"We wouldn't know. We haven't seen him" Stan replied as he walked around Beverly and over toward Richie to comfort him. Beverly sighed and rubbed the back of her neck.

"I'll suh-stop by his house and see if he's ho-home" Bill muttered.

"I'll go with him" Mike wrapped his arm around Bill's shoulders.

"I'll stay here with you, Bev" Ben took a few steps to stand by Beverly's side. She gently rested her arm over his shoulder and nodded.

"Okay, let me know if you guys find him" Beverly looked at Bill and then at Mike. They nodded and walked off. Beverly and Ben walked over to the picnic table and sat together. Stan had sat on the bench with Richie and let him rest his head on his thigh. Stan gently played with Richie's hair while Richie stared off at nothing. The small group fell silent.

Bill and Mike walked down Eddie's street side by side. Worry filled their faces and their fidgeting fingers only played along with it.

"I hope he's alright" Mike sighed softly.

"M-Me too" Bill stared up ahead at the Kaspbrak home. They walked up to the front door and Bill knocked. After a few minutes, the door opened and Sonia stared down at them. "Hi, w-we were just wondering if Eh-Eddie is here?"

"He hasn't come home yet" Sonia shifted her weight from foot to foot slowly. She held onto the door and stared at the two boys. "He didn't walk with you?" Bill shook his head no. "Oh no, my Eddie shouldn't be out walking around town by himself!"

"Don't worry, Mrs. Kaspbrak. We'll find him" Mike carefully pulled on Bill's arm to back away from the house.

"You make sure he comes straight home!" Sonia's voice had heightened and both boys just wanted to get out of there.

"You ha-have our word" Bill called out as they rushed away from the house. They only stopped when they were out of sight. They exchanged worry glances then looked around. "Wuh-Where would he be?"

"Guess we'll have to go searching" Mike patted Bill's shoulder then led the way back to the ice cream shop to gather up the rest of the group.

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#reddie #IT 2017 #Eddie Kaspbrak #richie tozier #reddie fic #myw #txt

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