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#and this expensive ass therapist is just going to try to convince me that i in fact *do* have the energy and i just need to feel my feeling
chloe-caulfield94 · 22 days
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Chloe the Anger Management Therapist
Chloe paused for a moment. Her face betrayed she was thinking intensively.
“Max, do you sometimes feel … angry? I used to feel angry all the time. Angry that even though I tried my hardest to be a good daughter, a good friend and a good student, my life collapsed anyway. Angry that I fucked up my scholarship at Blackwell, which was the last thing my dad would’ve wanted. Angry that I always seemed to chase away the few people still in my orbit. Is that how you feel, sometimes?”
“Yes. I feel like that. Angry with myself for all the wrong choices I made. Angry with the people who hurt you and me”.
“Max, do you trust me?”
“Of course I do!”
“Then come with me, I know what would make you feel better!”
They left the Caulfield residence. Ryan and Vanessa, seeing them walk out, said: “Have fun you two! Don’t be too late!”, thinking the girls were simply leaving for a Friday date.
Chloe drove Max to the auto garage she worked at. Nobody was there and all the lights were out.
“Are you going to show me some expensive car that a rich client left for repairs? In the hopes that on the backseat of such a car it would be easier to steal a kiss from me?”
Chloe knew some of the other mechanics tried things like that with their dates. If a particularly trendy car found itself in the garage, it could become a spot where more than one couple kissed.
“You know my tricks too well, Max”.
But instead of taking Max into the auto shop, Chloe took her around the side of the building, to a grassy backyard next to it, surrounded by trees on three sides. It was secluded and not covered by the garage’s security cameras. Stacks of garbage covered it. Cardboard boxes, polystyrene packaging, wooden pallets, rusting car parts. Chloe told her to wait. She soon came back, carrying two sledgehammers, two pairs of thick gloves and two pairs of plastic goggles.
“Max, do you know what a demolition room is? It’s place where you can unload all your anger. Well, this here is not a room, more of a demolition backyard. I had something similar set up in the junkyard, back in Arcadia Bay. Unfortunately, there are no old TVs here, which are the most satisfying thing to break. But there’s lots of other stuff to smash. Want to give it a try?”
Chloe thought that Max would require some convincing or even a demonstration before she would dare to begin demolishing. But Max snatched the gloves and goggles from Chloe’s hands and quickly put them on. Placing the goggles on her face, Max was reminded of the time they had murdered Chloe’s dolls by blowing them up. Chloe stacked up cardboard boxes and polystyrene pieces. Max began to demolish. Swinging the hammer, she flattened cardboard and splintered polystyrene. Max imagined the boxes she squashed were heads. Each time she squashed one, she insulted its owner.
“Eat shit and die!” - she shouted when she squashed Mister Jefferson’s head.
“Fuck off with your teary voicemail! Nobody forced you to hurt Rachel and to attempt to do the same to my Chloe!” - she shouted when she squashed Nathan.
“How about a sledgehammer up the ass?” - she shouted when she squashed Frank.
“How does it feel? Like the good shit you knew Nathan hooked Kate up with?” - she shouted when she squashed Victoria.
“I’m sorry! But you just keep pushing me!” - she shouted when she squashed David.
Chloe stood there, leaning on her sledgehammer, in awe of Max’s fury.
When Max was done decimating the cardboard and polystyrene army, Chloe brought a box full of empty beer bottles. None of those bottles had been emptied by Chloe. The other mechanics knew she was still a year shy of legal drinking age, so they never offered her a drink. But even if they did, she wouldn’t. She never liked the taste of beer. She had begun to drink in a vain attempt to drown her loneliness. Now, her loneliness had already been drowned, in Max’s affections. But the other mechanics provided a steady supply of empty bottles.
Chloe lined twenty bottles up. This time, they smashed together. Once they were done, they were both panting, with their brows and hair covered in sweat.
Max dropped her hammer, took off her gloves and goggles and jumped at Chloe, kissing her passionately. Chloe removed her safety gear too and kissed her back. Each run her hands through the other’s hair. They collapsed into a pile of cardboard, which cushioned their fall and turned out to be surprisingly comfortable.
Max was very bold in her kisses and caresses. Chloe stopped her: “Hold on, Max. You want our … first time to happen here? On a pile of garbage?”
“No, I want it to happen in a place where my wise and empathetic girlfriend cured my anger. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be Chloe the Elf Barbarian? Isn’t making love with your sisters in arms on piles of fallen enemies what you barbarians do?”
“Woah, Maximus! Making love on piles of fallen enemies? Was that a flashback of the time you were a gladiator in ancient Rome?”
Max laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny Max?”
“Maximus! You haven’t used that one in a while! Hearing that, I imagined you as the emperor’s sister …”
“Hey! I could totally be Roman royalty!”
“Of course! With your naturally commanding presence, you could be a Roman empress, like Irene of Athens. You even have a Greek name, too. I laughed, because if you are the emperor’s sister, then I’m Russell Crowe!”
They both laughed, pearly.
And then it happened. Exactly in the place Max wanted it to happen.
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rianafying · 2 years
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journal entry time:
i missed my therapy appointment this morning and i feel so stupid for it. like i’m an absolute idiot. i really needed it. it’s making me very anxious. like i’ve failed the day. which i have. i have failed to do the one important task of the day. and it was so stupid and forgetful of me. and i’m hungry. and broke. i haven’t been able to get a job because most of the jobs available are in food, and my doctor said to not do fast food jobs because of my psoriasis. i’ve not even been looking for a retail job properly. I need the money. I’m sad, because i’m not doing everything right. i’m scared that things will keep going wrong. i should start working on my other assignments early. and i still haven’t cleaned my room. everything’s a mess. inside and out. i’m not actually overwhelmed, but i’m not okay either, like i’m mildly agitated by the fact that i forgot, but i’m sure my therapist will understand, and i can just get another appointment next week. i don’t know what to do about my weight though. i hate talking about it in my journals because people are like ohhh ur not fat ur beautiful, no! that’s not what i want to hear, i don’t want to hear anything at all.. especially if you’re a guy. like i’m venting to myself, this is not at all about what you think of me. this is about what i think of me. nobody else’s encouragement or discouragement means anything to me. the point is that i’m the only person whose opinion i care about and right now i’m not a fan of me. i keep forgetting things, i keep spending too much time watching rlly dumb youtube videos. i keep failing to exercise or clean my room. i’m a slightly better than average student, which is not even nearly good enough. i’m unemployed. uncool. carrying so much baggage. trauma. anxiety. depression. psoriasis. everything is slowly crumbling down on me. i feel like at best i can keep things duct taped for a week or two, then the cracks start to show. i feel sad. there’s things i want that i can’t afford. i can barely afford to eat well and tap on on the trains. i feel alone and scared. i can’t even talk to anyone because i have trust issues and i don’t want to burden anybody with me. although sometimes it helps to get an outside perspective or we can suffer from tunnel vision if we just keep to ourselves but i’ll take that chance, because i’m usually the one people reach out to to talk about things because i often have a realistically positive perspective on things, and i can communicate it in a convincing way. and i do that for myself too. and so far, aside from therapy i haven’t needed much support. and besides, people aren’t very good at giving support, their perspectives often feel like forced optimism, but not in a good way. there are obvious holes in their arguments and i know i’m being a smart ass right now but this is my inner monologue, just fucking let me. basically, most people don’t give good advice or advice that is suited to me. but i do a decent job. so here i am. journaling again. giving myself advice. again.
it’s sunny today, i don’t like that. i miss the rain. it rained continuously the last two days and nights. and i still can’t get enough. the rain comforts me. it’s like a blanket of dripping sounds. it cools the world down, gives it a much needed shower. i love when it rains.
i thought i was supposed to go to a party tonight but it’s actually on saturday next week. so that’s good, i guess?
i fell asleep in the middle of writing my journal entry because i saw my face on the black reflection of my phone and put my phone away and cried into my pillow. then i fell asleep. and now i’m up. and i’m confused. i’m listening to some habibi funk. turns out one of my friends is also into habibi funk and that makes me happy. okay i’m going to get something to eat now. i have 13 dollars in total, so i’ll save that and try to eat some crackers and tuna at home. rlly tired of ramen. everything is very expensive here. living is so expensive. am i good enough to be spending all this money? aka living? am i?
life be easy on me.
i wish i was happy with myself. lately i’ve been quite the opposite. i wish i was cool. cool people seem to like themselves and be comfortable in their own skin. couldn’t be me. or could. could be me. i’ll try.
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Witcher Characters as Shit I’ve Heard Customers Say pt. 2
Geralt: Wait just a goddamned second! You can take horseback riding lessons at this university!? For credit!? And I haven’t even signed up yet!? Fuck!
Yennefer: Yeah, no. I’m not going to another frat party, not even if it’s Super Smash Bros themed.
Ciri: (knocking on the countertop politely) Hello Ma’am, can you please tell me where you keep the bears that make the toilet paper? I have questions for them.
Jaskier: Have you ever considered, you know, talking to a therapist? Or weed, if therapy is too expensive? I know good therapists and I know good weed, I can help you.
Fanon!Aiden: All my friends are bitches and that’s fine with me; makes me seem nicer, you know?
Lambert: I’ll die in the soup aisle of my local [REDACTED] and that’s fine. Put my obituary on one of the labels: Here lies some asshole who really wanted soup.
Eskel: Do I have siblings? Yes. Do I pretend not to know them in public? Also yes.
Triss: No amount of flirting or free drinks will ever convince me to sleep with someone named Harold. 
Renfri: Check out my sweet moves! (tries to do the moonwalk, slips, falls on her ass in the produce dept.) Sick, right?
Dara: I just... (heavy sighing) I just don’t want such a chaotic narrative arc, you know? let me be a side character. Let me Vibe in peace.
Cahir: No matter what I do, no matter how I try, I cannot convince myself that a live action Disney movie about rats would be a bad idea.
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gavin-plz-call-me · 3 years
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Can I have the WC boys reacting to MC who cracks dark jokes and generally has a dark sense of humor?
First things first I'd like to apologize for the delay in answering this ask for you. My computer is being fixed right now, and I'm actually at the library finishing up this prompt 😅 Anyways, thanks for the ask!!
TW: Mentions of Suicide and bodily harm against one's self and others, nothing too graphic though, just baseless threats.
There's also a brief mention of periods, but everything is gender neutral besides that.
Yooha
Is the most likely of the boys to laugh along with you.
When he was still in the painting he heard you crack a few dark jokes, most of them at your own expense "I didn't find that fortune teller and all I got was this dumb-ass painting, that's it, I'm jumping in front of a bus."
And he's just like, lmao same also tf is a bus?
Until he realizes you need to free him, then he's yelling like a madman knowing full well that you can't hear a word he's saying, begging you to at least wait until he's free to die.
I'm getting serious Beetlejuice (the musical, I've never seen the movie 😅) vibes from the two of you.
When he's finally free from the painting and he grows a bit more attached to you he'll be a bit concerned for you, but as long as you assure him they're jokes and you don't ever sound too serious about it, then he'll mostly laugh along with you.
He also eggs you on when you're making dark jokes directed at other people.
"Hansol, I swear to god if you don't turn down your music I'll smash in your kneecaps." Yooha's already handing you a bat to do the deed and Hansol is terrified
All in all, the two of you are a chaotic duo.
Taehee
Taehee finds out about your habit while you're on your period one day.
"Taehee, how much do you think I'd get if I sold my uterus on the black market?"
"Well, you'd probably get a couple t- why do you want to know?"
"Well I was thinking of cutting my uterus out and I might as well get a few bucks from it."
He sort of just awkwardly laughs it off, but he definitely talks to his therapist coworkers to see if there's anything he should be doing for you.
In all honesty, though, he feels terrible and sort of blames himself for your constant dark jokes, I mean the dark jokes are probably a coping mechanism for your awful childhood, and in his mind your bad luck is entirely his fault.
He won't say much to get you to stop saying them though, but don't you dare joke about killing yourself in front of him.
You will bring this man to tears before you can get your entire joke out, and he won't leave your side for the rest of the day in fear of you actually doing something.
On the other hand, as long as Yooha is on the receiving end of your jokes, Taehee will egg you on occasionally.
"Yooha! If you leave the toilet seat up one more time, I'm cutting your balls off!"
"So what you're gonna want to do is make a small incision at the base of the scrotum..." Will give you full, medically accurate, instructions.
Yooha is currently looking into athletic cups to protect his baby makers.
Hansol
Idk why, but Hansol gives me major car-boy vibes, and I like to imagine him pointing cool cars out to you when he's bored.
"Wow! Look at that one MC! It's so cool!"
"Damn, that thing looks expensive. Imagine how much money I'd get if they ran me over. I could pay off my debts and still have enough money to buy a jacuzzi." You then stand up, and take a few steps towards the car, all in a joking matter of course, but Hansol doesn't get that.
He literally attaches himself to your torso, dragging you away from the street, tears in his eyes "You can have all my money, MC, just please don't hurt yourself like that."
You're gonna have to assure him you're joking.
After that incident, he understands your jokes a little more, but still gets anxious when you jokingly say you're gonna hurt yourself.
Doesn't like it much when you're jokes attack other people as well.
"Biho, if you don't wake up right now I'm gonna eat your goldfish alive."
"MC! Biho's a baby, he can't help that he sleeps too much, and his poor goldfish have nothing to do with this."
Maybe lay off on the dark humor in front of Hansol.
Biho
Please don't make dark jokes in front of him, he will cry.
You make your first dark joke to Biho some time after Taehee re-ties your fates.
"Biho, can you hand me that knife? My pinky hurts so bad, I'm just gonna cut it off."
Biho's first instinct is to steer you into his and Hansol's room so he can keep an eye on you, all while you're trying to explain to him that you were 100% okay maybe 99% joking, but he's not having it.
After he puts you in Hansol's care, he goes straight to Taehee to beg him to untie your fates so you don't cut your finger off.
It takes you and Taehee a considerable amount of time to convince him you were joking.
Does not like when you make jokes concerning yourself, and takes every single one seriously.
He's a little more relaxed when you make jokes at the expense of others, but he's very logical about your threats.
"Taehee, if you don't promise not to put some health-nut herbs in our dinner tomorrow, I'm shoving my spaghetti up your ass!"
"That might be a bit difficult to do. First of all, spaghetti is very flimsily and probably wouldn't go into Tahee's butt very well, secondly Taehee is much stronger than you so I don't think you'd be able to get to his butt very well, third..." and on and on and on.
Biho is a very practical goblin, so unless you want a very well meaning lecture about the insertablility of spaghetti, I suggest you don't make dark jokes in front of him.
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plaidbooks · 3 years
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Hey there! Can you do “You promised” and “What am I in your life? Because as of lately I feel as though I’m nothing to you” with our sweet Barba please? Thank you!
Choosing
A/N: Heya! This starts off with the William Lewis trial from Psycho/Therapist (I don’t go into details, so don’t worry). This starts off angsty, but with a happy ending. Thanks for the request, @glowingmess <3
Tags: briefest mention of rape/murder (like, one sentence), angst with a happy ending, alcohol
Words: 1948
Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @infiniteoddball @ben-c-group-therapy @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @dianilaws
“I’m staying late in the office tonight; I really need to get a handle on this case,” Rafael said.
You sighed into the phone, pinching the bridge of your nose between your finger and thumb. When you and Rafael first started dating, you thought that his passion, his drive to work was endearing, even if it meant late nights in the office, or being called away at all times. But this case was different. You were always a little jealous of Rafael and Olivia’s relationship, even though you knew they were just good friends. But this case was all about Olivia, and her four-day hell that was her kidnap/torture with William Lewis. And Rafael wanted to make sure they nailed this bastard to the wall.
“Yeah, okay. Let me know when you’re coming home…. Want me to have dinner ready?” you asked.
He sighed. “No, I’ll just get takeout here. And don’t wait up for me—I’m meeting with Olivia afterwards to go over some things.”
Your heart sunk at the thought of going to bed alone tonight. “Okay, baby. I’ll see you when you come home. I love you.”
“Love you too, mi amor.”
You hung up, dropping your phone on the couch. You knew this case was a rough one, and you wanted to be supportive. So, you shoved all your jealousy down, went through all your nightly routines, then laid down in bed at close to 11pm. Rafael came home shortly afterwards, undressing quickly, and climbed in next to you, snuggling against your back.
 *****************
“Am I to assume you’re not coming home any time soon?” you asked tersely, your voice a little harder than you expected it to be.
Rafael sighed heavily. “I can’t leave yet; Lewis is good. But I have a plan—I’m working on a fool-proof question tree. I’m going to get him.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you. But the passion in his voice made you smile.
“You will, babe; I know you will. You’re too good not to,” you reassured him.
He huffed out a laugh. “Thank you, hermosa. I’ll be home as soon as I can be; promise.”
“Okay. See you soon.”
 ***************
Finally, the trial was done, though the verdict was not what Rafael wanted. Lewis was still going to jail, but only for assault and kidnapping, and not for murder or rape. You felt bad, and you were supportive, making him dinner and comforting him as best you could. But a small, very small part of you was happy to have your Rafi back home with you. Sure, he still had cases, still worked his ass off, but he wasn’t staying in his office until he almost passed out anymore.
“I’ve been ignoring you…taking you for granted,” Rafael said a month after the trial ended. He stabbed at a piece of chicken in his takeout box, glancing at you over the cardboard.
“You’ve been busy; I understand, Rafi—”
“No, don’t make excuses for me,” he cut you off. “I’m turning my phone off tomorrow, and I’m spending the day with you. We’ll go out, have a romantic dinner, and I’ll devote all my attention to you.”
You smiled; tomorrow was a Saturday, and while that sounded nice, you also knew he couldn’t actually turn off his phone, not with his job. “Sure babe. I’d like that. But I also don’t want you to get in trouble—”
Rafael placed his hand on yours, leaning forward to lock eyes with you. “I promise you; tomorrow is all about you, about us, okay?”
“Okay,” you agreed, grinning. He pulled your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. Butterflies erupted in your stomach, and you were giddy with the prospect of spending all day with Rafael.
 ********************
You woke up in Rafael’s embrace, curling tighter against him and giving him a sweet kiss. He grinned against your lips, pulling you tighter, before rolling out of bed. “Shower?” Rafael asked, his voice still thick with sleep. Smiling, you jumped out of bed, following him to the bathroom.
Once clean and dressed, albeit several hours later, Rafael made you breakfast while you made coffee. Food and coffee consumed, Rafael took you out of the apartment, taking you for a long walk through the park, hand in yours. He asked about your days since he’s been busy, catching up with you. He also thanked you profusely for helping him through the trial against Lewis.
“I didn’t do anything, though,” you replied, furrowing your brow.
Rafael smirked at you. “Amor, you did everything; you had to deal with me. Specifically, when I pushed you away. And even with all of that, you’ve managed to support me, to keep me sane.”
You leaned into him, giving his cheek a kiss. “Well yeah, I love you, ya dork.”
He barked out a laugh, pulling you closer and kissing you. Then he sighed as his phone pinged. Pulling back, he glanced at the message, typing out a response, before grabbing your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours as you continued through the park.
Besides his phone going off every now and again, Rafael dedicated the rest of his day to you. You both dressed up in fancy wear, and he led you to a 5-star restaurant, his hand on your lower back. The dinner was delicious, but halfway through the meal, Rafael got a phone call.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” he said before answering it. He listened, saying only one or two words compared to the rant you could hear, the voice muffled on the other end. Rafael closed his eyes in defeat, murmuring, “I’ll be right there.” Then he hung up, giving you a sad look.
Tears were already in the corners of your eyes as you choked out a pathetic, “but—but you promised.”
“I…I know, hermosa. I’m so sorry, but I have to go. Olivia needs me,” he replied. You nodded, trying to hold in your sobs, at least until he was gone. Rafael waved down a waiter, paid in cash, then left with a rushed, “I love you.” You sat in silence as the waiter boxed up the food, your face on fire in embarrassment and your heart broken.
 ******************
Rafael didn’t come home until almost 1am. You were sitting on the couch, polishing off his favorite, most expensive bottle of scotch, no longer feeling the burn in your throat from the strong liquid.
“Amor? What are you still doing up?” Rafael asked, coming to stand in front of you. His eyes flitted from the empty bottle, to the empty glass in your hand, to your glassy eyes.
“You know what? I’m not even sure, really,” you replied, your voice slurring from the liquor. “At first, I was worried about you, but the longer I sat here, the more I realized how much more you care about Olivia than me.”
“What? That’s not true at all—”
“What am I in your life, Rafi? Because as of lately, I feel as though I’m nothing to you,” you said, cutting him off. There were no tears now; you ran out of tears hours ago.
Rafael, though, blinked rapidly, clearing the tears from his eyes. “You…you’re my love…my everything. Olivia’s a close friend, sure, but she’s nowhere near what you mean to me.”
“Then why do you always go running to her whenever she asks? Just leaving me at the drop of a hat?”
“Because,” he took a deep breath, “because she’s a friend, and she needed my help. The trial with Lewis hit her hard, hard enough that her relationship is crumbling, and she needed someone to talk to. I’m…I’m sorry that I left like that. But she was having a panic attack and—what else was I supposed to do?” His voice was desperate, and you felt bad making him choose between you and his friend.
You sighed, pulling yourself to your feet unsteadily. “You’re right. You’re a good friend, Raf—a good person. I need to learn to deal with that.” You swayed slightly, pushing past him, and heading towards the bedroom.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Rafael said, following you. “I love you, really, I do, but don’t force me to choose between you and my work.” Because I’ll choose work, it didn’t need to be said, but you knew it was true.
“I’m not Rafael, I promise I’m not. But you choose work every time. I just have to accept that you’ll never choose me first.” You were still in your fancy dress from dinner, and you reached behind your back to unzip yourself.
Rafael ran a hand through his hair in frustration as you stepped out of your dress, moving to pull on a long night shirt. “I want to choose you first; trust me, I really do. But I…I can’t—”
“I know.” You turned to him, a smile on your face that didn’t reach your eyes. “It’s fine Raf. Let’s just…let’s just go to bed. I’m too drunk for this conversation.”
He watched as you climbed into bed, the alcohol quickly knocking you out, your deep breaths the only sound in the room…at least, until soft sobs crawled up his throat.
 *************
You woke up alone, your head pounding. Groaning, you rolled over, seeing that it was almost noon. The spot next to you was empty, cold, and you figured Rafael was at work. Then, you remembered it was Sunday—maybe he slept on the couch…or maybe he went to Olivia’s. You slowly got out of bed, a hand on your head as you made your way through the room. But, once you opened the room to the hallway, you were bombarded with a delicious mixture of aromas. Sniffing appreciatively, you followed the scent to your kitchen, finding Rafael there, making an array of breakfast foods for you.
“What’s all this?” you asked.
Rafael turned to you with a small smile. “I figured you’d be a little hungover today, so I thought I’d make you some breakfast.”
“Ugh, I love you so much,” you groaned, coming over and snagging a cup of coffee that Rafael obviously just made. He raised an eyebrow at you, and all of the angry words you had said last night came rushing back to you. “Raf, about last night—”
“Don’t; you’re right. I said it before, and I’ll say it again; I’ve been taking you for granted,” he said, flipping the fried eggs. “Which is why I’ve taken the next two weeks off work.” Your jaw dropped—Rafael never took time off. “So, I want you to think about what you want to do, where you want to go. Because we’re going on a proper vacation.”
“A-are you sure? I don’t want you to get in trouble—”
“Stop worrying about if I’ll get in trouble,” Rafael grinned at you. He plated the food, placing it in front of you with a flourish. “I want to spend the next two weeks relearning everything about you, reconnecting with you. I love you so much, and I never want you to think I care about work more than you.”
You smiled at him. “I love you too, and I’m sorry for what I said last night. I was drunk and everything just…just came out—”
“Don’t apologize; you were right. I’ve been pushing you to the side. Never again.”
You gripped the front of his shirt, tugging him to you, kissing him deeply. His hands went to your hips, his tongue pushing into your mouth, and you pulling lightly on his hair. You leaned back slightly, lips still brushing against his. “Anywhere I wanna go?”
“Anywhere,” Rafael promised.
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star-anise · 4 years
Text
An ask I got recently:
hi so i’m a transmed and i’m not sure if you’ll answer this because of that but i saw your post about transmedicalism and was wondering if you could expand on that? you seem like a genuinely kind and judgement-free person, thank you darling x
My response:
Heh, you call me “judgement-free” and ask for my opinion on a topic I’ve formed a lot of judgments about… I get it though, I’m not into attacking people for what they believe so much as providing FACTS. As a cis queer, my insight into transmedicalism isn’t really about the innate experience of trans-ness so much as using my education and professional experience to talk about social science research, diagnostic systems, and public health policy.
This ended up really long, so the tl;dr is, I think transmedicalism as I understand it:
Misunderstands why and how the DSM’s Gender Dysphoria diagnosis was written,
Treats the medical establishment with a level of trust and credibility it doesn’t deserve, at a time when LGBT+ people, especially trans people, need to be informed and vigilant critics of it, and
Approaches the problem of limited resources in an ass-backwards way that I think will end up hurting the trans community in the long run.
TW: Transphobia; homophobia; suicide; institutionalization; torture; electroshock therapy; child abuse; incidental mentions of pedophilia.
So first off I’m guessing you mean this post, about not trusting the medical establishment to tell you who you are? That’s what I’m trying to elaborate on here.
I have to admit, when you say “I’m a transmedicalist” that tells me very little about you, because on Tumblr the term seems to encompass a dizzying array of perspectives. Some transmedicalists believe in what seems to me the oldschool version of “The only TRUE trans people suffer agonizing dysphoria that can only be fixed with surgery and hormones, everyone else is an evil pretender stealing resources and can FUCK RIGHT OFF” and others are like, um… “I have total love and respect for nonbinary and nondysphoric trans people! I qualify for a DSM diagnosis of dysphoria but that doesn’t make me inherently better or more trans than anyone else.”
Which is very confusing to me because according to everything I’ve learned, the latter opinion is not transmedicalism. It’s just… a view of transness that acknowledges current diagnostic labels and scientific research. It’s what most people who support trans rights and do not identify as transmedicalists believe. But I kind of get the impression that Tumblr transmedicalism has expanded well past its original mandate, to the point that if a lot of “transmedicalists” saw the movement’s original positions they’d go “Whoa that’s way too strict and doesn’t help our community, I want nothing to do with it.”.
Okay so. Elaborating on the stuff I can comment on.
1. DSM what?
The American Psychiatric Association publishes a big thick book called The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, called the DSM for short. This is the “Bible of psychiatry”, North America’s definitive listing of mental disorders and conditions. It receives significant revision and updates roughly every 10-15 years; it was last updated in 2013, meaning it will likely get updated sometime between 2023 and 2028.
The DSM lists hundreds of “codes”, each of which indicates a specific kind of mental disorder. For example, 296.23 is “Major depressive disorder, Single episode, Severe,” and  300.02 is “Generalized anxiety disorder.” These codes have information on how common the condition is, how it’s diagnosed, and what kind of treatment is appropriate for it.
Diagnostic codes are the key to health professionals getting paid. If there isn’t a code for it, we can’t get paid for it, and therefore we have very few resources to treat it with. The people who actually pay for healthcare–usually insurance companies or government agencies–decide how much they will pay for each code item to be treated. They’ll pay for, say, three sessions of group therapy for mild depression (296.21), or they’ll pay for more expensive private therapy if it’s moderate (296.22); they’ll pay for the cheap kind of drug if you have severe depression (296.23), but to get the more expensive drug, you need to have depression with psychotic features (296.24).
Healthcare companies, especially in the USA where the system is very very broken and the DSM is written, are cheap bastards. If they can find an excuse not to fund some treatment, they’ll use it. “We think this person who lost their job and can’t get off the couch should pay this $1000 bill for therapy,” they’ll say. “After all, they were diagnosed as code 296.21, and then saw a private therapist for five sessions, when we only allow three sessions of group therapy, and you’re saying they haven’t had enough treatment yet?”
A lot of the advocacy work mental health professionals do is trying to get the big funding bodies to pay us adequately for the work we do. (This is a much easier process in countries with single-payer healthcare, where this negotiation only needs to be done with a single entity. In the USA, it needs to be done with every single health insurance company in existence, as well as the government, sometimes differently in every single state, and then again on a case-by-case basis as well.) Healthcare providers have to argue that three sessions of group therapy isn’t enough, that Medicaid needs to pay therapists more per hour than it costs those therapists to rent a room to practice in, or else therapists would lose money by seeing Medicaid clients. DSM codes exist a tiny bit to let us communicate with each other about the people we treat, and a huge amount to let us get paid. The fact that their existence lets people make sense of their own experiences and find a community with people who share common experiences and interests with them is a very minor side benefit the DSM’s authors really don’t keep in mind when they update and revise different diagnoses.
So when it comes to convincing insurance companies to pay for treatment, humanitarian reasons like “they’ll be very unhappy without it” tend not to work. The best argument we have for them paying for psychological treatment is that it’s economical: that if they don’t pay for it now, they’ll have to pay even more later. If they refuse to pay, let’s say, $2000 to treat mild depression when someone loses their job, and either refuse treatment or stick the person with the bill, then that person’s life might spiral out of control–they might, let’s say, run low on money, get evicted from their apartment, develop severe depression, attempt suicide, and end up in hospital needing to be medically resuscitated and then put in an inpatient psych ward for a month. The insurance company then faces the prospect of having to pay, let’s say, $100,000 for all that treatment. At which point somebody clever goes, “Huh, so it would have been cheaper to just… pay the original $2000 instead so they could bounce back, get a new job, and not need any of this treatment later.”
Trans healthcare can be kind of expensive, since it often involves counselling, years of hormone therapy, medical garments, and multiple surgeries. Health insurance companies hate paying for anything, and have traditionally wanted not to cover any of this. “This is ridiculous!” they said. “These are elective cosmetic treatments, it’s not like they’re dying of cancer, these people can pay the same rate for breast enhancements or testosterone injections as anyone else.”
So when the APA Task Force on Gender Identity Disorder (a task force comprised, as far as I can tell, entirely of cis people) sat down to plan for the 2013 update of the DSM, one of their biggest goals was: Treatment recommendations. Create a diagnosis which they could effectively use to advocate that insurance companies fund gender transition. Like when you go back and read the documents from their meetings in 2008 and 2011, their big thing is “create a diagnosis that can be used to form treatment recommendations.” So that’s what they did; in 2013 they made the GD diagnosis, and in 2014 the Affordable Care Act required insurers to provide treatment for it.
A lot of trans people weren’t happy with the DSM task force’s decisions, such as the choice to keep “Transvestic Fetishism,” which is basically the autogynephilia theory, and just rename it “Transvestic Disorder”. The creation of the Gender Dysphoria diagnosis, basically, was designed to force the preventive care argument. They didn’t think they could win on trans healthcare being a necessity because healthcare is a human right, so they went with: Trans people have a very high suicide rate, and one way to bring it down is to help them transition. One of the major predictors of suicidality is dysphoria. The more dysphoric someone is, the more likely they are to attempt suicide (source).  Therefore, health insurers should fund treatment for gender dysphoria because it was cheaper than paying for emergency room admissions and inpatient psychiatric hospitalizations.
I have spoken to trans scientists about what research exists, and my understanding is: The dysphoria/no dysphoria split is not actually validated in the science. That is, when you research trans people, there is not some huge gaping difference between the experiences, or brains, of people With Dysphoria, and people Without Dysphoria. Mostly, scientists haven’t even thought it was an important distinction to study. The diagnosis wasn’t reflecting a strong theme in the research about trans experiences; that research showed that trans people with all levels of dysphoria were helped with medical transition. The biggest difference is just that dysphoria is a stronger risk factor for suicide. Experiencing transphobia is another strong risk factor, but that’s harder to measure in a doctor’s office, so dysphoria it was.
(I’ve seen some transmedicalists claim that dysphoria’s major feature is incongruence, not distress. And I’ll just say, uh… in psychology, “dysphoria” is the opposite of of “euphoria”, literally means “excessive pain”, and is used in many disorders to describe a deep-seated sense of distress and wrongness. As a mental health professional, I just can’t imagine most of my colleagues agreeing that something can be called “dysphoria” if the person doesn’t feel real distress about it. If you want a diagnosis that doesn’t demand dysphoria, you’d need Gender Incongruence in the upcoming version of the ICD-11, which is the primary diagnostic system used in Europe, published by the World Health Organization.)
2. Doctors are not magic
Medicine is a science, and science is a system of knowledge based on having an idea, testing it against reality, and revising that knowledge in light of what you learned. We’re learning and growing all the time.
I don’t know if this sounds painfully obvious or totally groundbreaking, but: Basically all medical research is done by people who don’t have the condition they’re writing about. Psychology has a strong historical bias against believing the personal testimonies of people with conditions that have been deemed mental disorders, so researchers who have experienced the disorder they’re writing about have often had to hide that fact, like Kay Redfield Jamison hiding that she had bipolar disorder until she became a world-renowned expert on it, or Marsha Linehan hiding that she had borderline personality disorder until she pioneered the treatment that could effectively cure it. Often, having a condition was seen as proof you couldn’t actually have a truthful and objective experience of it.
So what I’m trying to say is: The “gender dysphoria” diagnosis was written and debated, so far as I can tell, by entirely cis committee members. The vast majority of psychological and psychiatric research about LGBT+ people is written by cisgender heterosexual scientists. Most clinical and scientific writing has been outsider scientists looking at people they have enormous power over and making decisions about their basic existence with very little accountability.
And to show you how far we’ve come, I want to show you part of the DSM as it was from 1952 to 1973. It shows you just why so many older LGBT+ people find it deeply ironic that now the DSM is being held up as definitive of trans experience:
302 Sexual Deviation This category is for individuals whose sexual interests are directed primarily toward objects other than people of the opposite sex, toward sexual acts not usually associated with coitus, or towards coitus performed under bizarre circumstances as in necrophilia, pedophilia, sexual sadism, and fetishism. Even though many find their practices distasteful, they remain unable to substitute normal sexual behavior for them. This diagnosis is not appropriate for individuals who perform deviant sexual acts because normal sexual objects are not available to them.
302.0 Homosexuality 302.1 Fetishism 302.2 Pedophilia 302.2 Transvestitism […]
Yes, really. That is how psychiatry viewed us. At a time when research from other fields, like psychology and sociology, were showing that this view was completely unsupported by evidence, psychiatry thought LGBT+ people were fundamentally disordered, criminal, and incapable of prosocial behaviour.
My favourite retelling of the decades of activism it took LGBT+ people and allies to get the DSM to change is from a friend who did her master’s thesis on the topic, because she leaves in the clown suits and gay bars, which really shows how scientific and dignified the process was. The long story short is:  It took over 20 years of lobbying by LGBT+ people who were sick and tired of being locked up in mental institutions and subjected to treatments like electroshock training, as well as by LGBT+ social scientists, clinicians, and psychiatrists, to get homosexuality declassified as a mental illness. And that was homosexuality; the push to change how trans people were listed in the DSM is very recent, as seen in the latest version listing “Transvestic Disorder”, a description very few trans people ever use for themselves.
Here are a few more examples of how people with a condition have had to take an active part in the science about them:
When HIV/AIDS appeared in the USA, the government didn’t care why drug addicts and gay people were dying mysteriously. Hospitals refused to treat people with this mysterious new disease. AIDS patients had to fight to get any funding put into what AIDS is, how it spreads, or how it could be treated; they also had to campaign to change the massive public prejudice against them, so they could be treated, housed, and allowed to live. Here’s an article on the activist tactics they used. If you want an intro to the fight (or at least, white peoples’ experience of it), you could look into the movies How to Survive a Plague, And the Band Played On, and The Normal Heart.
Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS) is a little-understood disease that causes debilitating exhaustion. It’s found twice as often in women as men. Doctors understand very little about what it is or why it happens, and patients with CFS are often written off a lazy hypochondriacs who just don’t want to try hard. There are basically no known treatments. In 2011, a British study said that an effective treatment for CFS was “graded exercise”, a program where people did slowly increasing levels of physical activity. This flew in the face of what people with CFS knew to be true: That their disease caused them to get much worse after they exercised. That for them, being forced to do ever-increasing exercise was basically tantamount to torture, so it was very concerning that health authorities and insurance companies began requiring that they undergo graded exercise treatment (and parents with children with CFS had to put their children through this treatment, or lose custody for “medical neglect”). So they investigated the study, found that it was seriously flawed, got many health authorities to reverse their position on graded exercise, and have made strides into pointing researchers to looking into biological causes of their illness.
Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) is a rare but debilitating disease that isn’t researched much, because it affects such a small portion of the population. The ALS community realized that if they wanted better treatment, they would need to raise the money for research themselves. In 2014 they organized a viral “ice bucket challenge” to get people to donate to their cause, and raised $115 million, enough to make significant advances in understanding ALS and getting closer to a cure.
A common treatment for Autism is Applied Behaviour Analysis (ABA), which is designed to encourage “desired” behaviours and discourage “undesired” ones. The problem is, the treatment targets behaviour an Autistic person’s parents and teachers consider desirable or undesirable, without consideration that some “undesired” behaviours (like stimming) are fundamental and necessary to the wellbeing of Autistic people. Furthermore, the treatment involves punishing Autistic children for failure to behave as expected–in traditional ABA, by witholding rewards or praise until they stop, or in more extreme cases, by subjecting them to literal electric shocks to punish them. (In that last case, they’ve been ordered to stop using the shock devices by August 31, 2020. That only took YEARS.) Autistic people have had to campaign loud and long to say that different treatment strategies should be researched and used, especially on Autistic children.
So I mean… I get that the medical model can provide an element of validation and social acceptance. It can feel really good to have people in white coats back you up and say you’re the real deal. But if you get in touch with most LGBT+ and transgender groups, they’d say that there’s still a lot of work to be done when it comes to researching trans issues and getting scientific and governmental authorities to recognize your rights to social acceptance and medical treatment.
Within a few years, the definition you’re resting on will turn to sand beneath your feet. The Great DSM Machine will begin whirring into life pretty soon and considering what revisions it has to make. You’ll have an opportunity to make your voice heard and to push for real change. So… do you want to be part of that process of pushing trans rights forward, or do you just want to feel loss because they’re changing your strict definition of who’s valid and who’s not?
3. Scarcity is not a law of physics
One of the major arguments I see transmedicalists push is that there’s only a limited number of surgeries or hormone prescriptions available, so it’s not okay for a non-dysphoric person to “steal” the resources that another trans person might need more. This makes sense in a limited kind of way; it’s a good way to operate if, say, you’re sharing a pizza for lunch and deciding whether to give the last slice to someone who’s hungry and hasn’t eaten, or someone who’s already full.
When you start to back up and look at really big and complex systems–basically anything as big, or bigger, than a school board or a hospital or a municipal government–it’s not a helpful lens anymore. Because the most important thing about social institutions is that they can change. We can make them change. And the most important factor in how much the world changes is how many people demand that it change.
I’ve talked about this before when it comes to homeless shelters, and how the absolute worst thing they can have are empty beds. I used to work in women’s shelters, which came about when second-wave feminists started seriously looking at the problem of domestic violence in the 1960s and 70s, It was an issue male-dominated governments and healthcare systems hadn’t taken seriously before, but feminists started heck and did research and staged demonstrations and basically demanded that organizations that worked for the “public benefit” reduce the number of women being killed by their husbands. Their research showed that the leading cause of death in those cases were when women tried to leave and their partners tried to kill them, so the most obvious solution was to give them someplace safe to go where their partners couldn’t find them. Therefore the solution became: Women’s shelters. When feminists committed to founding and running these shelters, local governments could be talked into giving them money to keep them running.
(Men’s rights activists, the misogynist kind, like to whine about “why aren’t there men’s shelters?” and the very simple answer is: Because you didn’t fight for them, you teatowels. Whether a movement gets resources and funding is hugely a reflection of how many people have said, “This needs resources and funding! Look, I’m writing a cheque! Everyone, throw money at this!” In other news, The BC Society for Male Survivors of Sexual Abuse does great work. People should throw money at them.)
When the system in power knows there are resources it wants and doesn’t have, it finds a way to make them appear. For example, in Canada, the government knows that it doesn’t have enough trained professionals living in its far North, where the population is scarce and not very many people want to live. Doctors and teachers would prefer to live in the southern cities. But because it’s committed to Northern schools and hospitals, they create incentives. For example, the government offers to pay off the student loans of teachers or health professionals who agree to work for a few years in Northern communities.
Part of why trans healthcare resources are so scarce is that for a long time, trans people were considered too small a part of the population to care about. Like, “Trans people exist, but we won’t have to deal with them.” Older estimates said 0.4% of the population was trans, which meant a city of 100,000 people would have 400 trans people. A single family doctor can have 2000 or 3000 clients, so the city could have maybe 1 or 2 doctors who really “got” trans issues, and all the trans people would tell each other to only go see those doctors because all the rest were assholes. And the cracks in the system didn’t really seem serious. A couple hundred dissatisfied people not getting the healthcare they needed? Meh! Hospital administrators had more to worry about!
But the trans population is growing. A recent poll of Generation Z said 2.6% of middle schoolers in Minnesota were some kind of trans. which is 2,600 per 100,000. That’s enough to make hospitals think that maybe the next endocrinologist or OB/GYN they hire should have some training in treating trans people. That’s enough to make a health authority think that maybe the state should open up a new gender confirmation surgery clinic, since demand is rising so much.
Or well, I mean. Hospitals have a lot on their minds. This might not occur to them as their top priority. They’d probably think of it a lot sooner if a bunch of those trans people sent them letters or took out a billboard or showed up by the dozens at a public meeting to say, “Hello, there are a fuckload of us. Budget accordingly. We want to see your projected numbers for the next five years.”
When you’re doing that kind of work, suddenly it hurts your cause to limit your number of concerned parties. Sure, limited focus groups or steering committees can have limited membership, but when you put their ideas into action, to protest something or lobby for political change, you need numbers. If you want to show that you’re a big and important group that systems should definitely pay attention to, you don’t just need every trans or GNC or NB person who’s got free time to devote to your campaign, you also need every cis ally who can pad out numbers or lick envelopes or hand out water bottles or slip you insider information about the agenda at the next board meeting. You need bodies, time, and money, and you get them best by being inclusive about who’s in your party. Heck, if it would benefit your cause to team up with the local breast cancer group because trans women and cis women who have had mastectomies both have an interest in asking a hospital to have a doctor on staff who knows how to put a set of tits together, then there are strong reasons to do it.
Basically: All the time any marginalized group spends fighting over scraps is generally time we could spend demanding that the people handing out the food give us another plate. If you don’t think you’re getting enough, the best answer isn’t to knock it out of somebody’s hands, but to get together to say, “HEY! WE’RE NOT GETTING ENOUGH!”
That kind of work is complicated and difficult! It’s definitely much harder than yelling at someone on Tumblr for not being trans enough. But if you do any level of getting involved with activist groups that fight for real systemic change, whether that’s following your local Pride Centre on Twitter or throwing $5 at a trans advocacy group or writing your elected representative about the need for more trans health resources, you’re pushing forward lasting change that will help everyone.
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Meeting and Dating Benny O’Donnell
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(My gif)(Requested by @famousalmondprofessordeputy and anon)
- You’d been friends with Pink, Cynthia, Tony and Mike ever since freshman year. You’d also had a crush on Benny O’Donnell for just as long but since the two of you weren’t in the same clique you’d never spoken to him before, even if you were both close to Pink.
- Well along came poker night, Pink had football practice after school and you had to make up a test so the both of you decided to drive together once you were finished. The test was easy so you had some time to kill before Pink was ready to go. Since you had nothing better to do, you decided to just chill on the bleachers until practice ended.
- You sat down on the bleachers, mainly doodling in your notebook until you happened to look up and notice a certain red head watching you. You figured you’d just caught his eye being one of the lone figures on the nearly empty bleachers so you paid it no mind, even if it made your heart race a little.
- Once practice ended, Pink jogged over and told you where to meet him before heading into the school to hit the showers. Unbeknownst to you, Benny caught up with him and tried to act nonchalant as he asked questions about you. After some less than subtle conversation, Benny convinced him to bring you to one of their beer busts.
- When he first brought up the idea to you, you thought he was kidding; parties like that just weren’t your thing especially when you barely knew any of the attendees. You only agreed to come after some “begging” on his side even though you felt like you’d regret it the instant you did.
- It wasn’t long before the day of the party arrived and you found yourself leaving the passenger seat of Pinks car to maneuver your way through a sea of drunken bodies and plastic cups.
- Pink made a beeline for the keg and you followed, not too keen on getting separated from the only person there that you actually knew. Once you made it out of the crowd, you realized just who was parked next to the keg and sitting in the bed of their truck.
“Hey, Pink, man, you made it! Oh and who’s this?” The red head asked as your friend tried not to laugh.
- Benny hopped down from his seat as you were introduced, patting you on the back with a greeting before Pink excused himself to go chat with Jodi. Your heart raced as he started a conversation with you; here you were talking with your long time crush and he was actually interested in what you had to say.
- Soon enough the two of you moved your talk over to the front seat of his truck where you could better hear each other. It was there that he decided to shoot his shot and ask you out. The instant the words left his mouth you wondered if you really were dreaming. You’d imagined the moment for so long that it didn’t feel real.
- You snapped out of your daze, realizing that you hadn’t given him an answer. The smile he gave you once you agreed took your breath away. He offered you a ride home and you once again agreed, quickly finding Pink and telling him everything before hopping into Bennys passenger seat.
- You thought you were excited for your date? You should have seen Benny after he dropped you off, the boy was off the walls.
- For your first date he took you to a park and the two of you laid out on the grass together, talking, eating and laughing. You were happy to find that you liked the real Benny just as much as you liked the idea of him.
- Your first kiss happened as you were laying down together, propped up on your elbows, chatting. He was teasing you a little, leaning in closer and closer until he finally connected your lips. It didn’t take very long for the kiss to deepen and you sure as hell weren’t complaining.
- A few more dates and the two of you were officially an item. ...You should really thank Pink one of these days.
- There’s a lot of pda; he’s got no shame when it comes to loving you.
- He makes fun of you for being shorter than him while also thinking about how cute you’d look in his clothes.
- He’s constantly teasing and making flirty comments towards you.
- He likes surprising you with stuff he made in wood shop class.
- Ass smacks and grabbing. The man can’t leave your backside alone.
- You always get shotgun when you’re riding with him.
- Late night drives around town.
- Cutting class with him every once in a while.
- He likes doodling on your stuff. Every now and again you’ll find little four leaf clovers and footballs on your papers.
- The two of you always seem to be laughing with each other although considering he’s quite the smartass it isn’t all that surprising.
- He’ll make some snide joking remark and then do that “love you, love youuuu” thing afterwards so that you, hopefully, don’t get upset with him.
- Exaggerated kisses on your cheek and head.
- He keeps a picture of you in his glove compartment and taped to his gym locker. He likes being able to look at it when he’s nervous or stressed.
- Cheering him on at his games. He likes being able to kiss you on the field after his team wins.
- Walking together with his hand in your back pocket.
- He’s devoted to walking you to class. He literally leaves his own classes early so that he can wait for you outside of yours.
- Sitting in the bed of his truck with him. The two of you probably have a few picnics there or wind up sleeping in it.
- He likes to dip you when he kisses you.
- Sometimes he’ll just throw you over his shoulder and carry you off, giving your butt a pat as he does so.
- Trying to feign interest when he shows off his paddle to you.
- He’s not great at comforting people but he does try when you need him to... although, he’s more like a coach than a therapist.
- Fast food dates.
- Carnival and arcade dates. He’s won you so many prizes.
- Hugging him whenever you’re standing together, he’ll usually wrap an arm around you in return.
- He loves cuddling and that’s just a fact. He’ll find a way to snuggle you no matter what you’re doing; at least while you’re alone together.
- Sitting on his lap. He likes being able to show off that you’re his.
- When he’s jealous, he tends to make jokes at the expense of whoever is bothering him. He isn’t afraid to be outwardly aggressive either so the instant they get just a little too “friendly” he’s ready to shut them down quick.
- You’re his girl forever and always, he’d never even think about cheating on you but you still probably feel a little insecure when girls are lining up to try and fuck the highschool football team. He thinks it’s kinda cute when you get jealous but after a little teasing he reassures you that he doesn’t want any of them, only you.
- Sharing stories with each other.
- Spending your summers together.
- He goes ballistic on the Fourth of July so expect to spend the day with him having the time of your lives.
- Being a little rough with each other. He jokingly; and softly, puts you in headlocks and tosses you around a little. Believe me, its fun.
- Makeout sessions. You know, some of your best kisses have happened while the both of you were a little tipsy.
- Since him and his friends are always doing dumb shit you’ve most likely tagged along on some their adventures. He always teases that he’ll protect you when you go off to do something dangerous or scary.
- Even though he’s very protective of his beer he’ll always give you one if you want it.
- More often than not, you’ll be left to deal with and comfort your drunken boyfriend after one of his beer busts.
- Wearing his ring.
- Double dates.
- Stealing each other’s food.
- If you have a problem with someone, he’s going to deal with it. You could just make some offhanded comment about how a person was rude or annoying and the next time he sees them he handles it.
- Fights don’t happen very often even though he has a bit of a temper. Whenever you do fight he’ll get upset and argue, maybe slam a door or something, but he never really raises his voice.
- He gets sort of uncomfortable when he has to apologize. He’s not used to making up with people, especially not girls so bear with him when he’s stumbling through his “sorry’s”.
- He’s a mamas boy and you can quote me on that. It’s absolutely adorable even though he gets embarrassed whenever you mention it or happen to catch some particularly sweet moment.
- Your parents are either clueless about his hobbies and love him or know about them all too well and hate him. Although if they’re fine with kids getting plastered then I suppose they’ll like him just fine.
- Supporting his goals and future football career.
- He’s in it for the long run baby, are you?
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cherrywoes · 3 years
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003 | CONTROL
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“AND SHE ATTACKED YOU first?” the police officer inquired, his notepad barely much of note except for scribbles of your name, age, number, and a lawyer to contact if, god forbid, the girl pressed charges against you—because it was highly likely given your celebrity status and the man had seen more than enough lawsuits against people like you go horribly wrong. “With a bowl of soup and by yanking your hair, you said?”
“Yes,” you affirmed, side eyeing Iwaizumi Hajime giving his version to another officer who had arrived with the one interviewing you. A further look around the room revealed Yuuji’s girlfriend sitting at a table, holding a napkin and an ice pack to her nose, with aforementioned boyfriend comforting and doting over her, attempting to soothe her anger over a potentially broken bone. You would be surprised if it wasn’t at least fractured. “I didn’t even do anything to her; you can ask anyone here what happened.”
The officer nodded and wrote something else down. “And what is your relationship with the victim’s boyfriend?”
Victim? Gag me, you thought, eyebrows contorting into a barely concealed sneer. If anyone was the victim, it was your hair; you’d spotted more than a few [color] strands wrapped around that girl’s knuckles when she collapsed to the tile floor. Props to Yuuji for being more loyal to her than he had you, but he really knew how to pick them, didn’t he?
“He’s my ex-boyfriend. She was the one he cheated on me with, to put a long story short.” You watched the officer’s eyebrows raise as he continued to write down the basics. The press would have a field day with this one. “There’s plenty of backstory about that in the papers if you want to read more about it.”
You deceptively left out the fact that you’d retaliated by sleeping with the captain of his volleyball team at the time, Shinsuke Kita. He’d been surprisingly easy to convince, citing that it was only logical for you to want to get back at Yuuji by sleeping with the one person he probably respected more than anyone else on their team. Everything had been no strings attached with him for a while, and when you both became too busy to hook up on weekends you’d agreed to break it off cleanly and remain friends—it wasn’t like Kita was ridiculously hard to communicate with, unlike Yuuji. You half mindedly wondered if he was in the city or not around this time of year; he was probably dealing with the rice harvest right around now.
“Is there anyone to represent you in case a lawsuit is filed against you for damages?”
“Semi Eita.” 
The cop gave you yet another look before writing down the name.
Semi was Akaashi’s lawyer and therefore your lawyer. However, you had only met him a handful of times, and even then it was on the terms of strangers. He was the best lawyer in Tokyo and everyone knew it. If Yuuji’s girl wanted to try and pull a lawsuit over on you, she would have a nasty surprise coming her way.
“Alright, we’ll call you if anything comes up.” He tucked away the notepad and bowed his head to you. Then he stepped outside to make a call, leaving you to stand alone near the window. With no other option but to sit and wait for them to let you go, you sat down and unlocked your phone.
Surprise flickered over your face when, lo and behold, Oikawa Tooru’s name popped up in your new messages. Somehow between getting your hair pulled out and soup thrown at the back of your head, he’d messaged you and you hadn’t heard the notification over it. You debated if you wanted to answer it—or at the very least read it. He hadn’t said a word to you in over a month after flaking out on you for that shoot, leaving you with Ushijima (you weren’t sure if you felt lucky or cursed after that) in the process.
Before you could let your finger press down on the screen, Iwaizumi Hajime, the reason for you being there in the first place, walked over. The cop was seemingly done with him and had gone outside to speak with his associate, the two standing close and debating over something with someone on the phone—their supervisor, perhaps?—which left everyone in the small onigiri shop to wait for them to come back.
“So, I guess you’re wondering about Shittykawa too.” You blinked at his blunt tone, surprised as he slid into the booth across from you. Your water and onigiri lay abandoned on the table, still clean but your appetite not allowing for food. “He told me about you a lot. [Name] [Surname], right?”
“Yes, and wherever he is I’m going to kick his ass,” you deadpanned.
“Get in line.” Iwaizumi scowled. “I haven’t heard a word from him in over a month and then he texts me that everything’s fine. I’m assuming you got one too?”
“A bit ago, but…” You shrugged and inclined your head in Yuuji’s direction. “I was a little busy at the time.”
Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “Ah. Well, supposedly he’s fine so he should be back in Japan in a bit. Though I wouldn’t bet on him participating in any shoots afterwards though.”
“And why not?” You asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. You didn’t think you could deal with Ushijima, not again—you’d beg Akaashi to do it with you, especially after those infuriatingly confusing texts he’d sent you on your flight back. He’d probably need some gentle coaxing but you could probably get him to do it. “It’s not like he can just quit, Akaashi would kill him.”
Iwaizumi shrugged, as if saying ‘I don’t know’ and left it at that.
Before you could further interrogate him, the cops entered the shop again and gestured for you, Yuuji, and his girlfriend to go over to them. You flashed a quick wave to Iwaizumi, who nodded, and approached the cop. You kept a healthy distance from Yuuji’s girlfriend, conscious of your hair and the strands you were likely lacking at her hands, and set your gaze on the cop expectantly. You half expected a lawsuit at best, arrest of both of you at worst; just because they could, not that they had any reason to take both of you to prison.
“No charges are being pressed on either side,” the cop began as a starter. You figured Yuuji had a hand in that, otherwise she would be slapping you with a lawsuit before you could blink. “Miss Fujimura, you’ll be required to attend weekly therapy sessions as a result of an unfounded outburst of anger and cleared by a licensed therapist. Miss [Name], you are free to do as you please and may sue if you wish.”
You rolled your eyes. “I don’t need to sue her. But thanks.”
A few more moments of the cops speaking to the girl, Fujimura-san, and you were able to leave, finally. Iwaizumi exchanged numbers with you before you left, citing that you could trash talk Oikawa behind his back whenever he got back which you found hilarious and slightly touching. But of course, as all things did, it had to come to an abrupt end.
You should have known something bad would happen with the way your day had been going. It was almost like foreshadowing; you’d managed to weasel your way out of that one, but this one?
You were lucky to get out alive.
The gun against the man’s head was astonishingly real and very much loaded, judging by the click when the hammer pulled back. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and he was sweating profusely, each droplet rolling down his face and landing on the expensive carpet. You swore if the man wouldn’t have been shot for crying, he would have been leaking giant alligator tears.
You weren’t the one holding the gun. It felt like you were.
You glanced at the back of Ushijima’s head, followed the silhouette of his arm and the hand that held the gun.
Where had it all gone wrong?
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a/n: i struggled so much with this chapter it wasn’t even funny. that’s why it took so long for me to update it; i was never happy with it and this is how it turned out. i’m probably going to focus on waking up the devil mostly and then come back with fresh eyes. <3 check it out if you like oikawa!
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larryfanficwriter98 · 3 years
Text
Chapter Twenty-Four
*Falling In Love Through The Phone*
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I got my new monitor and I finished editing this and decided to post it. TIME JUMP!!
Louis exited out to the balcony of their hotel room overlooking the Red Square and grinned.
“You know when you said we’d go to Moscow for Christmas I didn’t actually think you were serious.” Louis said looking over at Harry as he came up behind him.
“You helped plan the vacation.”
“You asked me which view I wanted of Moscow if we went. That is all I said.” Louis said point his finger at Harry who grinned.
“Alright. Fair. It was an early birthday present.” Harry said.
“This is my birthday present? What’s my Christmas present?” Louis teased wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck to press a heated kiss against his lips.
“I brought something with lace.” Harry said cheekily before he stepped away from Louis to look towards the view, “Shame you prevented me from proposing before our two-year anniversary. This would be a great spot to do it at.” He said casually.
“Don’t you even think about pulling out the ring box I spotted during travel.” Harry groaned but removed his hands from his pockets to encase them on either side of Louis trapping him against his body and the railing.
“You already know I have one so why not let me get on one knee…hell I’ll get down on two knees for this and ask the question that I think you’ll say yes to anyway.”
“I would say yes, obviously, but I…just don’t want to be engaged right now. I want to wait. You have to have patience, Love.” Harry groaned pouting slightly but dropped the topic and instead turned them around as he angled his phone for a picture. Louis looked up and over at Harry smiling widely at him before he pulled him down for a kiss. Two minutes in Moscow and Louis was already tempted to tell Harry the real reason he didn’t want him to propose…yet. Louis had been planning this ever since he had accidentally found out Harry had been planning their Moscow trip back in October. He hadn’t meant to it was just that Harry had a horrible habit of forgetting to exit out of his webpages and Louis happened to see Harry had booked them a hotel room for two weeks. So, Louis had started planning his own surprise. Tomorrow was his birthday, and he didn’t know what Harry had planned, but he knew that Harry had the entire day planned.
“Come on let’s get to sleep so we’re wide awake when we need to be. No sleeping in for this surprise.” Louis followed Harry into the bedroom and stripped down before they curled up into the bed together exhausted from their flight that they stayed up for so they could sleep during Moscow’s night cycle.
~~~~
Apparently the first thing on the list of ‘’Things to Do for Louis’ Birthday’’ was a blowjob then breakfast in bed. In that order. Then a long hot bath with expensive bubbles and scents and a warm towel wrapped around his naked body when he stepped out of the cooling water.
“Harold-“
“Shut up and let me spoil you.” Harry said as he guided Louis to their bags. He pulled out a large wooly sweater then helped him put it on. Louis grinned the entire time amused and endeared by his boyfriend as he treated him so gently.
“I’m older than you, you realize. I should by babying you.” Louis said
“You can baby me on my birthday.” Harry said as he helped Louis step into his black pants then even buttoned them for him. He then kneeled down and helped with his socks and winter boots before he stood up and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’ll go get dressed. Stay right here.”
“I shall stay here.” Louis said sitting on the sofa and watching as he entered the bedroom. Louis waited only a few minutes for Harry to come back out in the exact same outfits making Louis laugh as he held up two of the same coats, “You’re joking.”
“I am not.” Louis stood up and let Harry put the heavy shearling lined suede winter coat on him. He put his hands in the line pockets and grinned when he pulled out gloves to match the suede.
“Are these my presents then? Louis asked with a grin as he pulled them on and adjusted the coat a bit, “Because I love them.”
“Some of them at least.” Harry said leaning in for another quick kiss. Harry then pulled on his own matching gloves and handed Louis a grey and blue wool scarf, “I have to keep you warm after all.”
“A good way to do that is to stay indoors and shag all day. I’m not opposed to that.” Louis teased.
“Well, I am opposed to it. You’ve bailed on every date night I have planned thus far since September. Our anniversary.”
“That’s because ever since that stunt your fans have been up our asses.”
“They’ve chilled out since we sat down with James Corden and explained.”
“Speak for yourself. Me yelling at you is still going around the internet.” Harry laughed as they intertwined their fingers together and left the hotel room.
“Well to be fair you are extremely cute when you yell.”
“I’m intimidating when I yell you mean.”
“No cute. I agree with the fans you’re a small bean when you yell at people. Besides half of them have no idea what the bloody hell you said.”
“My accent was not that visible. They done something to it...enhanced it.”
“No, they didn’t trust me. I barely understood you and it’s only my expertise from deciphering your vocabulary while plastered that I understood it at all.” Louis rolled his eyes as he pressed the first-floor button on the elevator.
“Whatever.”
“So, I have then entire day planned as I’m sure you know.”
“I figured. What’s the first thing on our list?”
“Zaryadye Park then we are going strolling then lunch and that’s all you need to know for now.”
***
Ice Caves, the underground museum, the media center, the river overlook, strolling down street markets decorated for Christmas, a beautiful (late) lunch by the Red Square, ice skating, and a lot of shopping later Louis was grinning widely as he flopped down on the bed. He was fairly sure his entire face was frozen, and he has had snot down his throat since early afternoon, but it was the best birthday he has had in a long time.
“Hey Haz...?”
“Yeah?” Harry asked as he untied Louis’ boots for him.
“I love you so much you know that?”
“I do. I love you too.” Harry said leaning over to kiss his leg briefly.
“Today was the best, tomorrow we’re staying indoors and shagging right?” Harry laughed pulling his boots off before crawling on top of Louis to kiss his lips.
“We’re exchanging gifts tomorrow then we will shag and then we have a tour of Kremlin and Re Square where we are taking cheesy pictures upfront of the cathedrals and Savior Tower. Then I am going to try and convince you to let me propose. It can be a long engagement. We can be engaged for ten years before we even thing about planning a wedding. I don’t care I just want to propose to you.” Harry pouted at then end whining slightly making Louis laugh as he rolled them, so Harry was laying on his back.
“Nope.” Harry pouted, but Louis didn’t budge.
“I’m still going to try. I’m taking you upfront of St. Basil's Cathedral after the tour and I’m proposing. You know that right?” Louis rolled his eyes rolling off of him and turning his back to Harry.
“Go to sleep then we can talk about it in the morning.” Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist and hugged him tightly, “I love you.”
“I love you too asshole.” Harry said kissing his cheek, “I’m proposing. End of story.”
“In your dreams.”
“You bet it is.” Louis laughed elbowing him before snuggling into Harry, “Goodnight love.”
“Goodnight.”
*******
Louis grinned widely as he dragged Harry upfront of St. Basil’s Cathedral and went about adjusting him, so they were perfectly aligned with the building.
“If we’re going to get engaged upfront of the most famous landmark in Moscow we might as well get the best damn photo of it.” Louis said grinning widely at the photographer who was already set up for them. Harry laughed as Louis adjusted his stance and clothes. Louis pulled Harry’s hat off and tossed it away from them along with his own then threw some loose snow on Harry’s shoulders and hair.
“You planned my proposal to you?!” Harry asked shocked but highly amused.
“No…I planned my proposal to you.”
“What?” Harry asked taken back, his grin still in place, but falling from confusion and shock. Louis grinned and grabbed Harry’s hands before he went down on one knee and pulled out the white ring box he had kept better hidden than Harry’s black ring box. Harry stared wide eye and covering his face with his hands grinning widely when he met Louis’ eyes.
“I knew of your plans for Moscow since October and so I started planning this, you should really learn how to close your webpages.” Louis started making Harry laugh, “As I uh kneel here on one knee in cold snow I realize I never actually prepared a speech for this moment, but I’m going to wing it. I promise to support you in everything you decide to do in the future, I promise to love you no matter what happens, I promise to be there for you on your bad days and your good days. I promise to only flip off the really annoying paparazzi in Los Angeles two times a day instead of ten. I promise to listen to every song you come up with and tell you honestly what I think of them. I will love you for as long as you will have me by your side. I will love you whether you wear a dress or you wear a suit. When I look at you, I see the future and I see love and a family. I will never know why you chose me out of everyone you could ever have, but I promise to make sure it’s not a mistake. I promise to be there for you whenever you need me. I know these last few months, last year almost, have been really bad for you mentally and I am so proud of you for taking steps to see a therapist and being open about it. I am so proud to be standing by your side as you break gender norms and roles, and you express yourself more and more each day. I want to-“ Louis wasn’t able to finish because Harry kneeled upfront of him and kissed him while cupping his face making Louis laugh.
“I’m not done you needy bastard.” Louis complained pulling away from Harry laughing as he looked at him. “Fine. I was getting into it. I was on a roll.”
“Can’t I just say yes already?”
“Fine. Harry, will you marry me?” Harry kissed him harder knocking them onto ground making Louis laugh as he wrapped his free arm around Harry’s neck.
“Yes. Of course.” Harry said, his eyes shining with tears as he removed his gloves. Louis grinned as he slipped the ring on his finger, “I love it it’s-“
“As Louis Blue as I could get it.” Louis said with a smile as he kissed Harry again ignoring his cold and wet ass sitting in the snow. Harry cupped his face before pulling away and pulled out the familiar black box Louis has seen multiple times though he never actually seen the ring itself.
“It’s actually funny because…” Harry trailed off as he opened the box revealing a beautiful ring with diamonds and an emerald, “I got you an emerald.” Louis grinned widely as he removed his own gloves and watched as Harry slipped the ring on his finger, “There. Perfect. Let’s go home and celebrate.”
“Hold on. Hold on.” Louis said as Harry helped him stand up, “You go to the hotel and I’ll meet you there after I talk to the photographer. I remember you mentioning something lacey earlier?”
“Deal.” Louis watched Harry walk away staring down at his new ring on his finger.
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miss-tc-nova · 4 years
Text
The Cat’s Meow - Jumin Han x Fem!Reader Pt 17-Finale
Okay, look, I know the first half of this is kind of...Anyway! Maybe not my best ending, but I giggled writing it so there. I promise that the bonus chapter coming out tomorrow will be better. 
Part 17: Thank You/Finale
                Grumbling, I flop into the chair and let my head fall onto the table. The chair beside me moves and, with a grumble, Saeran sits and lets his forehead meet the table as well.
                Things went a little crazy in the hospital following the incident with Rika. Out of it came Saeran, Luciel’s, or rather, Saeyoung’s brother who’d been manipulated by Rika. He’d caused havoc his first night at the hospital, but had come around to understand Luciel’s true intentions and Rika’s misdirection. He came to apologize to me the following day and we actually get along pretty well, taking on the suffering together in cynicism. We’re only a week in, with the doctor stating it may not even be the halfway mark.
                “You too, huh?” I mumble, feeling the deep-set ache in my muscles.
                “I considered cocaine today,” he groans. “But Saeyoung said I had to find it myself and I’m too tired for that shit.”
                I laugh a bit, turning my head to look at him. “Jumin’s making every employee remove all cigarettes and medications from the C&R building. I think he’s even put all his wine in storage.”
                Saeran lets his head fall to the side, giving me a suspicious look. “...None of that would work for our withdrawals.”
                “I know...”
                “Aww, look at our little druggies sulking together!” Saeyoung teases, sitting across from us. He’s also become a bit brighter since everyone’s been working to get him out of his secret agent job.
                “_____, are you okay? Do you need anything?” Jumin asks, resting a hand on my back.
                “Mmmeth.”
                Saeran starts snickering.
                Jumin replies in a warning tone, “_____.”
                Giggling, I push myself off the table. “I know. Meth is expensive.”
                “_____, get your facts straight. Cocaine is the expensive one,” Saeran says, earning a frown from Jumin.            
                “It’s not that price that’s the problem,” Jumin states.
                Still chuckling, I play with the end of his sleeve and look up at him. “I’m just kidding. I could really use a water though.”
                His stern expression softens and the heir leans in to kiss my forehead. “Very well.”
                We quietly watch him go before Saeyoung adds, “You know he’d probably find you meth if you were truly desperate for it.”
                “Noooo...Couple months ago, maybe. But definitely not now.”
                “But we have withdrawals now,” whines Saeran.
                Reaching out, I half-heartedly take his hand in comfort. “Be strong, Sae! We will overcome this!”
                He’s not impressed. “I hate you so fucking much right now.” Even he can’t keep a straight face through his insult.
                “I see non-druggie Sae likes to swear.”
                “He has no respect for my innocent ears!” Saeyoung complains.
                “You were watching porn last night!” shouts Saeran.
                Saeyoung points a finger at his brother. “It was holy porn.”
                “Holy porn, my ass!”
                By now, I’m lying on the table crying from laughing so hard. That’s when the rest of the group finally enters the room.
                “Hey guys!” Yoosung greets. “Oh wow, you guys look awful.”
                “Shut it, blondie,” I retort, sitting up and wiping my eyes. Jumin passes me a water bottle. “Thanks sweetheart.”
                “Hello Saeyoung, Saeran, _____,” V greets, Zen pushing him in a wheelchair. Not only was he still miraculously recovering from the gunshot, but also the eye surgery Jumin finally convinced him to have.
                Now the situation with V was much more strenuous than making friends with Saeran; I had killed the woman he loved. Honestly, the moment I could walk on my own and was allowed to see him, I fell to pieces, sobbing and begging for his forgiveness. The man assured me multiple times that it wasn’t my fault but I know it still hurts him. Still, even if I will always feel the guilt, he doesn’t outwardly hold it against me.
                He pushes a tray onto the table. “I brought treats for everyone.”
                Saeran apparently hasn’t had enough of our shenanigans. “Is it drugs?”
                Poor V is so confused. “I-...What?”
                “Sae! No one is going to bring you cocaine!” I exclaim, slamming a hand on the table.
                The room is silent for a minute before Saeran breaks, laughing. “I hate you so much.”
                I lean back heavily in my chair, staring at V. “But seriously, what’dyu bring?”
                “Uh, I brought cookies.”
                “Yay,” I whisper loudly.
                Saeran and I are the first to partake. Cravings and increased appetite are withdrawal symptoms; that combined with the fact that Saeran and I both naturally have a sweet tooth, we’re sugar monsters.
                Jaehee sits down, looking concerned. “Though you two do seem to be suffering from serious withdrawals. Are you going to be alright? Are you going to therapy or counseling or anything? I read somewhere that people suffering from withdrawals often relapse without secondary treatment.”
                “Dis is mah ferapy,” Sae replies through half a cookie.
                Saeyoung speaks up, “He’s meeting someone on Friday.”
                Jumin folds his arms. “And _____ has an appointment next week.”
                I huff. “I’m telling you, I don’t need a therapist. My addiction didn’t come from voluntary use so what’s a therapist gonna do? Tell me not to take any more drugs? That’s great ‘cause Sae won’t make me any anyway!” I glare when my boyfriend takes my cookie away.
                “Don’t look at me,” Saeran growls. “I wasn’t part of the group that made the elixir. The bathtub would be full if I knew how to make it. We’d probably just poison ourselves trying to replicate the stuff.”
                I grumble, “So, much to our dismay, Saeran and I will not be relapsing.” I reach for another cookie. “We are, however, scouting new substances to abuseTHAT’S MY COOKIE!” I snap at Jumin, who’s taken the fourth from me.
                “Substance of choice? Sugar,” hums Saeyoung.
                “You’re going to that appointment. And you’ll just complain later if you keep eating all these sweets,” Jumin replies, not bothered at all.
                Grumbling, I fold my arms. “I’m complaining now.”
                “Also, it’s polite to share and Saeran has already taken the extras.” He passes off the cookie to Yoosung while pointing out the pile Sae is hoarding. The former-cultist pulls his stash closer to his seat when he catches me staring. We glare.
                “Dammit.”
                V clears his throat. “Alright, sugar and withdrawals aside, I’d like to begin the first official meeting of…of…Did we ever decide on a new name?”
                “We did not,” Jaehee replies.
                “Oh, well then I guess that’s the agenda of our first meeting. Would anyone like to make any suggestions?”
                Jumin raises his hand. “Jumin Han, we are not naming the new organization after me,” I growl. He puts his hand down before raising it again. “Or either of the cats.” Hand goes down.
                From there, the brainstorming goes on and on until it comes down to Sunrise Charity, mostly because V didn’t want it to be called VFA, which is fair enough. After discussing some dates for the inaugural charity party, we end the meeting there and Jumin takes me home, and I mean my home.
                “Mako, I’m home!” I sing. The fold comes padding out to greet us with his chirping. Jumin kneels down to scratch behind his ears. “That took longer than I thought it would. I should start working on dinner.”
                “I could have something ordered,” offers Jumin.
                “No. I’m a big girl. I can cook for myself.” I eye him for a minute. “Can you even make anything edible?”
                He thinks for a moment. “Pancakes.”
                I gasp, hanging against him with my arm around his neck. “You should make me pancakes in the morning.”
                An embrace that brings comfort engulfs me. “Is that what you want?”
                “Yes. Also, maybe…” Supporting myself, I trace the pattern on his tie. “You could spend the night?”
                I’ll admit it, since the incident, being alone has been a bit distressing. I’ve gotten over a lot of my withdrawal symptoms while recovering in the hospital, but there are a few that still plague me. My first night home, I woke up in a sweat my first night home and didn’t go back to sleep. Jumin made a point of staying on the phone with me until I fell asleep after that.
                “Do you think we’re ready for that?” He’s concerned.
                I scrunch my nose at him. “Afraid you won’t be able to resist me in my sloppy pajamas and bed-head?”
                “Yes.”
                My shoulders droop. “Wow. Okay. Maybe we aren’t ready for that.”
                Jumin’s forehead rests against mine. “If it’s what you want, I’ll spend the night. It might be tough, but I’ll practice my restraint.”
                I sigh. “I don’t want to push it.”
                “Perhaps we should. How will we ever get anywhere if we don’t try?” He chuckles. “Besides, even if I do end up pushing it too far, you’ll just threaten me with a knife.”
                I hide my face in his chest. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
                “You threatened the life of a high-profile corporate heir.” A gentle hand beneath my chin encourages me to look up. “I promise; I’ll keep myself under control. Do you still want me to stay?”
                “Please?”
                I receive a kiss to my brow. “Very well. But first I need to run to the office to sign some documents and stop by my home for some things.”
                “Okay. I’ll have dinner ready when you get back.”
                With a kiss goodbye, Jumin heads out and I change into sweats and a t-shirt before I prepare food. Before long, he returns with a small bag.
                “How was the office?” I ask, stirring the pasta.
                “It was fine. Just needed a signature so we can begin analysis on the coffee chain tomorrow.”
                “Ew…”
                “Yes. Ew.”
                I giggle. “Well dinner’s almost done. You should go change.”
                He glances at the suit he didn’t change out of. “You want me to change?”
                “Yes! Look at this!” I pick up a magazine from ages ago that had a page of Jumin lounging in the sun in a t-shirt with a blue over shirt. “I know you own normal clothes and I demand you wear them more!”
                A corner of his mouth quirks. “Demand, huh?”
                “Yes! Especially if you’re going to be lazy with me!”
                Apparently, I amuse him. “I see.”
                “And I swear to god, if your pajamas are some ridiculous matched set they wear in comedy family movies, I’m going to have to seriously reconsider this relationship!”
                A hand feebly covers up the laugh he’s trying to contain. “So…*ahem* So I should probably go then?”
                “Are you serious?! What are you, twelve?!”
                “I sincerely hope not or you’re at serious risk of going to prison for romancing a minor.” I glare. “Also, can we discuss why you have a magazine from last year with that page dog-eared?”
                I turn back to the stove in an attempt to hide my blush. “Shut up and go get ready for dinner.”
                Sure of his victory, Jumin ambles away. With two bowls in hand, I get comfortable in the living room when in walks that man in a gray t-shirt and sweats. The bit of water in my mouth goes right back out.
                “Where did you get those?!” I shout, temperature rising.
                His smirk signals that he’s still playing with me. “I’ve had these for a while now.”
                “And yet you lounge around in slacks and a dress shirt?” I retort, picking up my bowl. “I’m going to corrupt you with my laziness.”
                “We’ll see.”
                Throughout dinner, I can’t help my wandering gaze every time I let up the reins on my brain; I begin zoning out and my eyes immediately drift to Jumin. Not only am I very much addicted to how he looks being casual for once, but the fact he’s here to spend time with me as my boyfriend is a nice thought.
                “Are you okay?” he’s caught me.
                “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.”
                His brows furrow. “Are your hands numb again?”
                The question draws my attention to my hands that I’ve been flexing mindlessly, trying to work through the pins and needles. This is part of my recovery, part of the withdrawal. “Yeah, but it’ll pass.”
                Jumin takes a hand and beings gently massaging my palm with his thumbs. He’s been doing things like this since I woke up. The nausea was terrible the first few days and he was there to endure it with me. The lights and volume were turned down when they became too much. He even fed me a few times when my hands would shake so much I couldn’t do it myself. I hate it but at the same time, I’m so thankful to have someone here looking after me.
                “How’s that?” he asks.
                I test my movement. Most of the foreign sensation is gone. “A lot better. Thanks.” Jumin suddenly pulls me against him and leans against me until I collapse onto the sofa. “What are you doing?”
                Jumin hovers over me, grazing his nose against mine. “I wanted to cuddle with my girlfriend.”I’m positive he can feel the heat radiating from my face. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” his deep voice rumbles.
                “No,” I say softly.
                “Good.” The man wedges his hands beneath me before relaxing on top of me, his head resting against my chest. Once he’s comfortable, he gives a very satisfied, content sigh. Adjusting to my cuddly partner, I settle in to watch the movie while running my fingers through his soft hair. It doesn’t take long for me to hear a deep, steady breathing. Seeing this man, whose entire wardrobe consists ninety percent of suits, who’s known for living high class, who’s always been the ever-vigilant business man; seeing him here in my tiny home, in a t-shirt, and fast asleep upsets the butterflies in my stomach.
                The movie ends and I have to come to terms with the fact that I need to use the bathroom and that requires disturbing Jumin. I savor the sight for just a moment longer before attempting to wake him.
                “Jumin. Sweetheart, get up.”Groaning, he tightens his grip. “Jumin, stop! I need to pee!”
                Flinching, the man props himself up. “What? What’s wrong?” he grumbles.
                “I need to use the bathroom, but maybe you should go to bed if you’re so tired.”
                Jumin sits up, rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
                I slip off the sofa and reach out to brush some hair from his eyes. “It’s fine. It is getting late though; you should go to bed.”
                The man stands up too. “Only if you join me.”
                Rolling my eyes, I let a smile pull at my lips. “Alright. Let me shut everything down. Go on; go get ready for bed.”
                Once the bathroom problem is solved, I shut down the movie and clean up a bit. Ambling into the bedroom, I find my boyfriend sitting on the bed, providing Mako with enough ear scritches to get the motor running. Interrupting the bonding, I sneak my way onto Jumin’s lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his cheek. The response is a soft, reverent kiss in return that puts me under his spell almost immediately. For a while, I bask in the comfort of Jumin’s presence and the love he emits. My muscles ache, my head is full of dull pain, sometimes pins and needles overtake my hands, and sometimes I can’t sleep, but right here I get complete solace.
                Jumin groans and breaks the kiss. “You’re tempting me, love,” he says lowly, and I can see the lust alight in his eyes.
                “Says the man who made it much easier for me to strip him down,” I hum, slipping a hand beneath the hem of his shirt against his abs. I immediately notice the pink bleed across his face and the passion flare up. I nearly tear his shirt trying to rip my hand out. “No! Wait! I take it back!”
                He sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “How cruel you are.”
                “Eheh, sorry. We should go to sleep now.”
                I flip the lights and sneak under the covers with Jumin. An arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against him. With a bit of a giggle, I hook a leg over his waist and latch onto him. The musky sweet scent accompanied by the warmth of his presence quickly envelopes me and I feel like I could just melt.
                It’s been only a couple years since I met Jumin Han, and my life since then has been everything except perfect, but all the seems so far away now. The tears, fears, worries, none of that matters now. I have the love of my life in my arms; we struggled and suffered so much to get here, but we can finally be happy. I can finally give him everything without getting in my own way. The relief is so overwhelming I could cry, but instead I just revel in the peace.
                On the exhale, I hum.
                “What’s wrong?” he asks.
                “Nothing. I’m just…happy,” I reply, resting my forehead against his chest. “Thank you for staying. And thank you for taking care of me.”
                His arms tighten briefly. “I already told you, I would do anything for you,” he murmurs into my hair.
                “I love you.”
                “I love you too.”
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donnerpartyofone · 5 years
Text
TL;DR - i finally got an MRI for my ear, which has been fucked up and constantly clogged since september and developed tinnitus in february, and apparently, supposedly, there is nothing wrong with it. so there’s nothing to do about it. so just like with my eye and my skin and my lung and my etc, i have a problem that i can’t do anything about, that i can’t even get the satisfaction of a diagnosis for, and i’m so pissed off about how much time and energy i’ve spent trying to improve things for myself when there was absolutely no point in doing so, that i just want to set my body on fire to really show it what i think of it.
i’m so, so mad. the last couple of months have been almost nothing but wall to wall doctor’s appointments, and with zero exception, they have all been a complete waste of time. it hurts because my body tortures me, of course, but it hurts worse than that because i convinced myself that i HAD to do this, that it was Mature to face my fear of doctors and generally the Right Thing to Do, when i absolutely didn’t want to do any of this at all.
i suffer a lot from an internalized impression of myself as being lazy, defeatist, and dramatic. it comes from a lot of places. i grew up in an environment where i was the only open depression sufferer, under one parent who definitely considered depression to be an antisocial behavioral problem, to be treated like any other shallow cry for attention. i also grew up in an environment full of obvious talents, all of whom would go on to be published, or even public figures, and not to be a complete asshole, but the idea that “you can do anything you put your mind to” is kept alive by people who have the baseline talent necessary to succeed at things they put their minds to. if you subscribe to the idea that success requires nothing other than commitment, then the implication is that all failure is a matter of laziness, petulance, and defeatism--never lack, never inferiority, never ordinariness. on top of all this, my personal interests--horror, sexually graphic media, comics, underground music movements, the usual roundup of morbid or antisocial cultural items--were considered pretty much...well, not very adult. so what i’m coming to is that if i can’t prove my adulthood in any way that has to do with who i am or what i’m capable of, then the very least i can do is Be Responsible. (and of course i get made fun of all the time for being an uptight rule follower but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, LITERALLY WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO DO)
one of the main ways you can Be Responsible, if you have the means that is, is to look after your health. the world is full of icky, boring, degrading, depersonalizing, and occasionally painful tasks that are necessary to keep the societal cogs turning. if you can’t make art or have ideas or be beautiful or become an athlete or whatever, you can still show that you’re alive and generally hygienic by going to the dmv, voting, showing up for jury selection, or going to the doctor. you can still grasp the final shred of integrity offered to you by doing things no one wants to do, but that we know are necessary for the vitality of self and society. so i’m extra good at doing stuff that people my age frequently shirk--the dentist appointments, the doing your taxes the second the forms come in, etc--because they’re sort of the only things i can do that prove that i’m not, you know, a complete piece of shit.
so this year, at the start of february, i decided i was going to get a real handle on my health. i’d been going to doctors for various things already, of course, even though it was pretty much never satisfying; the only thing i can think of that ever got fixed or explained was the pathological growth of scar tissue over my eyeballs, which required some pretty fucked up surgery. but at this time, i had a lot of problems building up. my left eye developed a small spot, and a constant glare that borders on having double vision. my right ear remained completely stuffed up since i had a cold last fall, and began to ring constantly at the end of the winter. my right lung has felt alarmingly tight and weak for...years actually. the right side of my face is constantly beet red, like i go fresh with somebody’s wife, and i can see how it’s thickening and bending my flesh all out of shape, which rosacea will do progressively and incurably throughout your entire life. i decided that instead of quaking in fear of doctors, and also in fear of wasted time, i was going to straighten my back and go nip this shit in the bud. after all, when you’re miserable but not doing anything about it, people kind of hate you, and then you have THAT problem on top of all your real problems. sometimes you gotta give the people what they want.
so how did it all go?
my skin: since no insurance company considers rosacea a medical problem, which is actually complete fucking bullshit, i decided to take matters into my own hands. i researched what rich people do for their uninsurable problem, and decided to use my recent (traumatic) inheritance to take care of myself. i tried three different preposterously expensive topical treatments that i was told are a “magic bullet” for rosacea, and all of them made my face blow up like a fucking macy’s day balloon. then, after four rounds of extremely expensive, painful and scary laser treatments, i had absolutely no results other than that my face was actually MORE reactive for about a month after the last one. i’m fucked.
my eye: according to my optometrist and ophthalmologist and corneal specialist it’s “just” regular scar tissue from my terrifying surgeries, not the pathological scar tissue that i had to have removed via terrifying surgery and localized chemotherapy. this kind of sucks because it means i can’t just get it removed again, but at least there is a slight chance that my body will reabsorb it like regular scar tissue. (oh yeah? and what’s my luck USUALLY like?) my only “treatment option” is to use eyedrops four times a day, which is actually extremely uncomfortable, and which pretty much means i’m just not allowed to wear makeup ever again.
my lung: after two rounds of clear x-rays and a breathing test that only detected slight asthma, through two GPs and a pulmonologist, nobody has anything to say about why i have this chronic breathing problem. there’s some indication that it might be a “muscular-skeletal problem” that’s putting pressure on the one lung, so i guess i need to add a physical therapist or something to my endless list of specialists.
my ear: two or three trips to urgent care (i forget how many now), two GPs, an ENT, a fucking weird hearing test, and an MRI have done absolutely nothing for me. after a cold with a sinus/ear infection last fall, my right ear remained permanently slammed shut; if i pop it, it closes back up in seconds. i do not have the same problem with the other ear, it is clearly a physical problem. in february, my ear began to ring agonizingly and has not stopped for a second. in all this time, i went through round after round of antibiotics, antihistamines, anti-inflammatories, steroids, etc. nothing works. no one can see any type of problem. apparently i have the option of electing to have a tube surgically inserted into my ear, although i can’t quite figure out what the risk factor is, both for my tinnitus, and for my hearing in general. 
and OF COURSE, depression: part of the stigma against depression is that it’s a choice, somehow. like fresh air and exercise and looking on the bright side are so effective that if you’re depressed, it must be because you LIKE IT THAT WAY, because otherwise you would use these simple and free cures for your so-called illness and it would be all over, right? anyway i kind of hate being depressed, and i’ve been working my fucking ass off trying to deal with it. i see a nutritional therapist (a licensed psychiatrist) who prescribed me a number of nutritional supplements that i do think help, but they are unthinkably hard on my stomach. i tried lexapro, and it made me feel so abnormal, and cut into my general quality of life so badly, that i didn’t keep it up. i tried a generic version of wellbutrin, and it made me violently sick to my stomach, and caused my ringing ear to ring deafeningly for days after a single dose. the brand name version wasn’t much better. then i tried lamictal, and felt totally great AND NORMAL for like a week, and then i got the rare and potentially deadly lamictal rash. sometimes this just indicates a basic allergy, and sometimes it indicates Stevens-Johnson Syndrome which causes something called TOXIC EPIDERMAL NECROLYSIS WHICH REQUIRES LONG TERM HOSPITALIZATION TO GROW YOUR SKIN BACK. i had to deal with this on the day of mandatory final exam presentations in a class where i was already struggling, and this was one of the darkest days i can recently remember. after this, my psychiatrist tried to prescribe me abilify, but after i started to hear about the side effects and personal testimony of certain friends, i decided i couldn’t handle it. very possibly, i just cannot be medicated for depression, unless i’m willing to sacrifice everything else around the depression too. 
...this is all pretty much a retread of an experience i had for a few years, a few years ago, where i was having these abnormal paps, so they constantly had to drill painful core samples out of my cervix to keep checking up on the NOTHING that was going on in there, until one day they were just like...uh your tests are coming back fine now, and we don’t know why they didn’t before, and it just doesn’t matter, you don’t have to do this anymore PLUS you could have just been sitting on your couch jerking off this entire time and it would have done exactly as much good as this cycle of being humiliated and tortured by doctors in a while that leaves you curled up in a ball sobbing every time. i’m still pretty pissed off about it, if you can’t tell.
so like i don’t know why the fuck i’m doing all this. i don’t know why i do anything. nothing fucking comes from even my most herculean effort except a relentless sense of mystery that is starting to border on satire. i don’t know why i have so many problems. i’m 38 years old and i’m in ok shape. i don’t have generalized immune issues or anything. my doctor said i have some of the best lab work she’s ever seen. why the fuck does all this shit happen to me. i’m trying so fucking hard to enjoy my life. it’s hard to be in mental and physical pain all the time, the latter for absolutely no coherent reason. i mean i’d rather have a bunch of random problems than like, lupus or MS or something, for sure, but everything that happens to me is so meaningless and arbitrary, i’m starting to get that feeling like god hates me. it’s also hard to have the constant feeling that so many people think that failure to enjoy life is exclusively a matter of “not trying hard enough”, being a pill, looking for attention. i don’t know what to do anymore. i’m real pissed. i think what i need is a change of philosophy, which will be a long hard road. at least i know it’s the one and only area where i, and only i, have some level of control. wish me luck.
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gray-autumn-sky · 5 years
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Sleepless in Seattle, Chapter 6
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February 13, 1993- Seattle, Washington:
“Thanks for picking Roland up,” Robin says, bristling a little as he comes into the house. “Apparently picking out where a bay window should go is the single most hardest thing Mary Margaret Nolan will ever have to decide.” He sighs as he unzips his coat. “Apparently her son’s future hinges on the placement of one nursery window.”
“Be nice,” Belle warns, grinning as she looks back at him. “She’s my friend.”
“Was her friend, Emma, there with her?” Ruby asks. “She was supposed to be.”
Robin blinks. “Uh… no?”
“Oh--”
“There was a painter and her husband came by and--”
“Pretty, blonde--”
“Usually wears a red jacket--”
His eyes narrow. “Oh--” And as their eye light up hopefully, he grimaces. Emma showed up just as he was leaving. Mary Margaret tried to introduce them, but he’d offered little more than a wave as he walked out, murmuring something as he walked past her about being late to pick up his son. “Oh.”
“Were you rude?” Belle asks pointedly. “Please tell me--”
“No. I… I was brisk. I thought I was late to pick up Roland.”
“So… did you think she was pretty?”
“She was… agreeable.”
“Robin!”
“I literally brushed past her on the way down the front steps. I didn’t see her.”
He watches and Belle and Ruby exchange a look, and then when their eyes shift back to him, they both smile in a way that makes him a bit uneasy.
“So, the reason Mary Margaret was being so particular--”
“Isn’t because she’s a pain in the ass?”
Belle’s eyes roll. “We thought that… maybe you and Emma--”
“I’m not ready.”
“Robin--”
“It’s been a year,” Belle says. “And you--”
“No,” Robin says, shaking his head. “It’s been ten months and--”
“You said you were open to dating again.”
“I said eventually I might be,” he says, looking to Ruby for assistance. “I’m not ready.” Taking a breath, Belle stands up and crosses the room to where he stands--and he knows a lecture is coming. “I know you’re trying to help, and I appreciate that, just as I’ve appreciated everything the two of you have done for Roland and me, but….the thought of getting into something serious...”
“That’s just it. It’s not something serious. But it’ll get you back out there, warm ya up a bit.”
His brows arch as he looks at his sister. “Are you suggesting I use your friend for a weekend special at a Holiday Inn?”
“No,” Ruby sighs as she gets up from the couch. “That’s not what she meant.”
“Then what did she mean? Because--”
“I meant that you need to get back out there,” Belle says, letting her voice rise over his. “I meant that you need to interact with someone you’re not related and not paid to interact with.”
He bristles because he knows she’s right. “I… interact with…”
“Who?”
“Robin,” Ruby says as she joins them. “You’re young. You’re good looking and charming and--”
“Are you pitching me to… myself?”
Both Belle and Ruby roll their eyes as he folds his arms over his chest indignantly, digging in his heels similar to the way Roland does when he decides he’s not going to bed or doesn’t feel like showering--and suddenly, he feels like he’s twelve years old again, arguing with his little sister about something ridiculous, but something they’ll never convince the other of.
He’s not entirely why he’s so opposed to the idea. He’s all but admitted he’d like to find someone again, but wanting something and doing something are very different things. In his head, it’s getting easier to picture himself with someone--meeting someone at the market or in an elevator, feeling something and taking a risk by offering his number, then anxiously wondering if she’ll actually call--but the thought of actually sitting across from someone at dinner, the thought of making small talk and giving the most condensed version of his life over appetizers still doesn’t sit well with him.
“Robin, Marian wouldn’t want you to hide away from the world. She wouldn’t want your life to…” Belle stops, giminacing at whatever thing she was about to say, and her cheeks flush slightly causing heat to rise up the back of his neck and anger to bubble up in his chest as he fills in the blank she’s left.
“Look, it doesn't have to be Emma. We just think you two would get along. She’s not looking for anything serious--”
“What? So, just a hookup? That’s… that’s not really my thing.”
“Go to dinner. Eat some good food. Talk to her. See if you like her.” Ruby grins gently as she reaches out and presses her hand to his arm. “If you don’t, you don’t, but at least your feet will be wet. The next time will be easier.”
For a moment, he considers it. “Emma is a friend of yours?” They both both nod in unison. “And, as her friend, you’re… just offering her up as bait?”
“Bait is a little strong of a word,” Belle sighs.
“If it doesn't work out, it doesn’t work out. We wouldn’t want either of you to force anything, but…”
“...if it does work out…”
“We just think you two could work.”
Looking between them, he sighs, feeling his resolve wearing thin, and a little voice at the back of his head--the same voice that pushed him to open up to that radio therapist, the same voice that made him admit that maybe in the future he could see himself in a relationship again, that same voice that told him that he was too reliant on Belle and Ruby and that he didn’t want to ever grow to be a burden or a roadblock for his son--told him that maybe he could go to dinner with this person, maybe he could like her, maybe he could even love her.
And if not her, someone.
“So… this Emily…”
“Emma.”
“Right,” he sighs, stepping around them and reaching for an apple. “Tell me about her.”
“Okay,” they say together.
“She’s… very independent.”
“Yeah, her parents died when she was little. She grew up in the system and now she’s a cop,” Ruby explains.
“She just got out of a long-term relationship and--”
“Why did it end?”
Ruby’s eyes roll. “First of all, his name was Walsh--”
“He was a trust fund baby,” Belle explains. “They were just… not compatible.”
“Not compatible--” he repeats, his eyes narrowing. “Why is that?”
“She likes her own space. She’s not the clingy type. She’s not very domestic--”
“She’s a grilled cheese and tomato soup kind of girl and he was--”
“--the type of person who orders eel.”
For some reason, that makes him grin.
“She likes… adventure-type stories.”
Belle laughs as she looks to Ruby. “What she means is she’s a Hemingway fan--”
“As am I.”
“She’s always looked for a family to join--”
“--and I am a family man.”
“She likes beer and going to breweries, and she loves a good hike--”
Drawing in a breath, he feels his heart beating faster and faster while his stomach churns. “Fine.”
“Fine--”
“I’ll… let you set me up.”
Their eyes widen as they exchange excited looks. He shakes his head when one of them lets out a little squeal and he laughs when they both rush toward him for a hug--and then, just as his stomach starts to settle, Belle reveals that she’s already made reservations for the following night at a little Italian place that she and Ruby frequent.
And then, as they start to tell him about the tiramisu, he comes to the realization that the following day is Valentine’s Day, the absolute worst day of the year for a blind date, and he can’t help but think it’s some sort of omen.
_____
February 13, 1993- Greenwich, Connecticut:
Regina stares into her closet, trying to figure out what dress she’ll wear the following evening for her dinner date with Daniel, and of course, everything that hangs in her closet seems all wrong.
She sighs as she turns back to the bed, sitting down and flopping back, staring down at the ceiling and wishing at the start of the school year, she’d signed up to chaperone the Valentine’s party at Henry’s school because had she done that, she wouldn’t have to go to dinner with Daniel--and then, as soon as she thinks that, she chides herself for being such a terrible person.
It isn’t Daniel’s company that she wants to avoid; it’s simply the holiday.
First, she’d never been a fan of Valentine’s Day. To her, it was made up holiday meant to sell cards and boost floral sales in the middle of winter, nothing something really worth celebrating. Of course, when she was married to Leopold, he always made a big show of Valentine’s Day; but, really, it was just that--a show. He’d send her candy and flowers and everyone in her office would tell her how lucky she was. Then, he’d take her out to some expensive restaurant and show her off, like she was some sort of trophy.
Daniel wasn’t Leopold, though; in fact, Daniel was the exact opposite of her ex, and if he were to send her something at work or take her out that evening, the gestures would be sincere.
But that was what she was afraid of.
Ever since she found the receipt from the jeweler, she’d be waiting for him to propose. But they’d gotten through Christmas and then through the new year, and still, he hadn’t asked--and for a few weeks, she relaxed and stopped worry about it. Then, he’d asked her out for Valentine’s Day and her worries came flooding back to her.
In her head, she tried to work out a response, but no matter what, she couldn’t seem to come up with one. Her feelings about the whole thing were murky at best--and sometimes when she thought about it, she thought about what it’d be like to say yes. It’d be easier, and it wasn’t like she wouldn’t be happy with him. She and Daniel could build a life together that was based on companionship and respect. They could raise Henry together and join an equestrian club, they could have family dinners and plan vacations, they could have a life that she knew many women in her former social circle would envy. They might not have passion, but maybe, they had something better than that.
That, of course, led her to another set of questions--questions she’d never actually find answers to. She wondered if somewhere along the line she’d resent the lack of passion she felt, and she wondered where that resentment might lead. She didn't like to go there and she rarely allowed her thoughts to wander down that path, but when she did, she didn’t like what she saw and she didn’t like her person she was. So, in the end, she wondered if saying no was really the best option for both of them, wondering if it would hurt less to turn him down now rather than after years of complacency in marriage.
Two nights before, Mal and Lily came over for dinner, and while Lily and Henry played Zelda in the living room, she and Mal sat down at the kitchen table and they’d made a list of pros and cons. Mal rolled her eyes at the notion, telling her that matters of the heart couldn’t be resolved by taking notes, but she ignored her and insisted--then, by the end of it, she was no better off than she was before. She had no new solutions, no new insights and was still just as confused as ever.
Rolling over, she turns on the radio--and when she hears The Best of Doctor Hopper playing, she holds her breath and waits.
She smiles at the sound of the now-familiar voice and she can practically recite the little speech he gave about the first time he met his wife, and still, it strikes her that he knew they were meant to be together based on one fleeting touch.
“Uh, mom?”
Gasping, she sits up, looking at Henry with wide eyes as if he’s caught her doing something she shouldn’t be doing. “Henry, is… is everything okay?”
“I can’t sleep,” he says, shrugging as he comes into the room. “I saw your light was still on.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I was just trying to pick out a dress for tomorrow.”
“Oh…”
“Wanna help?” Grinning, Henry nods and crosses the room to the bed, hoisting himself up to sit beside her then, for a moment, they both just stare into the closet. “So, what do you think? Which dress do you like?”
“You should wear the red one.”
“The red one? Why?”
Henry blinks. “Because it’s Valentine’s Day and that’s the color you’re supposed to wear.”
Regina’s brows arch. “That was… easy.”
“Some things aren’t hard,” Henry says, shrugging and leaning into her side. “Lily said she and I are going to eat so much candy tomorrow, we’re going to puke.”
“And you’re looking forward to this?”
“Not the puking part, but… yeah, I’m looking forward to the candy.” Henry pauses for a moment, looking up at her before looking to the radio. “You listen to this a lot.”
“Yeah,” she nods. “I, um… I like this program.”
“You like this episode. You always listen to the same one.”
“Oh… well…”
“He has a nice voice.”
“Who does?”
“The man who really loves his wife.”
“Oh.. yeah… he, um, he does,” she murmurs, feeling an odd stirring in her chest as she leans in to press a kiss to Henry’s hair. “He sounds… nice.”
“He does,” Henry agrees. “I hope he finds someone.”
At that, her brows arch and she pulls herself back a little so that she can look at Henry. “You do?”
“Yeah,” Henry says simply. “Maybe then, he wouldn’t be so sad.”
“It’s not easy, you know… finding someone.”
“I know,” Henry murmurs. “Sometimes, it doesn't work out. Like how it didn’t work with you and dad. But, sometimes, it does.”
“That's… awfully deep for a ten year old.”
Henry nods. “That’s what the radio therapist said in his last episode.”
“You… listen to this program?”
Henry shrugs and leans back into her. “You listen to it so much, I wanted to see what the fuss was about.”
“And what did you think of it?” she asks, laughing softly at the notion of her precious fifth grader listening to a radio therapist counsel adults on love.
“I think you should listen to more episodes.”
Again, she laughs as she presses another kiss to Henry’s head. “Yeah,” she agrees. “Maybe I should.”
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drewbarymore · 6 years
Text
just us
Summary: Bucky feels good about himself for once, and then he doesn’t.
Word Count: 2.3k+
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Warning(s): self-deprecating thoughts
a/n: theres no reason for this. i just love bucky with my whole ass heart so theres that. and lowkey i was listening to If I Ain’t Got You by Alicia Keys while writing this so yeah. just throwing that out there. (and again this is supposed to be just a little something. little. short. and its not that short bc)
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It’s crazy, because this night started out with him actually feeling great about himself.
He remembers looking at himself in the mirror a hundred times, surprised by the fact that his first instinct wasn’t to avert his eyes or step away from it each time. For the first time in decades, he doesn’t recoil from the monster he sees.
It’s not as if he feels like his old, more bearable self again— god knows that’s probably never going to happen— it’s that he doesn’t feel like the other old self that he abhors. He doesn’t quite see Sergeant James Barnes, but he doesn’t see the Winter Soldier either.
It’s just him—Bucky. And it felt good.
It’s crazy, because even then, as he looked at himself straight in the eyes in that mirror, seeing certainty and confidence for once, there was still a nagging voice at the back of his head that told him this was too good to be true. He ignored it at the time, unwilling to let his demons trample on the ease he was feeling.
He should’ve known not to ignore them, because while his demons are ruthless, they’re realistic. Sometimes he thinks they’re just the rational part of his brain, and that makes it harder to ignore them. His therapist tells him that’s what’s tricky about voices in your head; they make you think they’re right.
But looking all around him right now, it’s easier for him to think that maybe the reason why they want you to think they’re right is because they are.
He watches for another moment as you spin around on the dancefloor in your deep burgundy dress that makes you look like something he doesn’t have words for. Gorgeous, splendid, stunning, breathtaking, and a whole lot more, but nothing will give what he sees justice. You fit so well in this kind of place, reminiscent to the ones built during the Renaissance— royal, ethereal. He watches as people look at you in an almost entranced manner, and he can’t blame them. It’s hard not to love you. He out of all people should know. He watches for another moment as you smile at whatever your dance partner is telling you. Your dance partner, all in an elegant suit that actually fits his persona—luxurious and sophisticated, screaming money and a great and easy life ahead if you choose him.
Greg. Jake. Drake. He’s not really sure what his name is. He avoids anything involving him at all costs. He had to fight the urge to do a full on background check right down to his third cousin’s best friend’s daughter’s dog on more than one occasion, trying to reason with himself every time that that’s just plain intrusive and creepy, and that it doesn’t matter that this guy’s been sending you expensive gifts for the past month after you met at an event much like this a few months back. He told himself every single time, he had no right.
Because while you’re gorgeous and kind and gentle and the only real thing that grounds him, you aren’t his. And he isn’t yours either, no matter how much he wants to be.
Natasha, however, did a background check and assured him discreetly that your suitor has a clean background for the most part. Bless her heart for feeding his curiosity, but honestly, when he found out that he actually is a good man, he didn’t know whether to feel assured or terrible.
(Of course he felt fucking terrible. He felt like you’re being taken away from him, and it’s irrational, but it doesn’t stop the twisting feeling from crawling into his heart and fucking squeezing it.)
“Mission complete,” he hears Sam say from his earpiece, reminding him of what he and Nat are actually here for.
They were given a mission to gather intel on one of the guests. Nothing too risky, but you all have weapons on you just in case. You and him, however, are here to socialize and form alliances as to avoid situations like the Accords all over again. The higher ups figured that it would be wise to send the two of you, given that you’re new, and Bucky’s… well, they figured it would be wise to build a new image for him, somehow get people to see that he’s not what was made of him anymore.
“Party time,” he hears Nat speak into the comms, “looks like Y/N already started without us.”
The teasing lilt in Nat’s voice makes him want to rip the device out of his ear. It’s already bad enough that he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you dancing with someone else. He knows that the sight makes him feel like he’s caving in on himself, but he can’t look away. As if it’s a need to look at whatever’s hurting him dead on.
A delighted laugh from you is the last thing he hears before subtly taking the device from his ear and turning it off.
He feels silly. So he slips out of your table discreetly, eyes scanning the interior of the venue for the restrooms and practically dashing to it once he sees it.
He feels silly as he looks at himself in the mirror in a stupid tie and a stupid suit that’s meant to make him look like he’s something when he’s not. He feels silly thinking about how good and proud he felt earlier in his bedroom seeing Bucky.
The good thing about being just Bucky is that he’s new. Being just Bucky is a clean slate, a fresh start, which also means he doesn’t really have anything nor is he sure where he stands. He’s something in between; both innocent and guilty. Innocent enough to be considered a part of a team that’s fighting for the good, but far too guilty with too much blood on his hands to ever be considered a hero.
He’s something in between, and there are times where he could trick himself into thinking that being in between is good enough and that he shouldn’t ask for more after all that he did. But there were times where he desperately wished he was more.
He feels silly because now he realizes that no matter how new Bucky is, he’s still nothing.
He goes back outside after a few more minutes, not really wanting to alert anyone by disappearing so suddenly. He keeps his head down as he tries finding his way to the bar, his earlier realization still heavy on his heart.
A hand on his arm stops him and somehow he knows who it is immediately even when he hasn’t looked yet.
“Hey, I-I’ve been looking for you…” you trail off, looking over at his slumped shoulders and hollow eyes that can’t quite meet yours. “Steve said your earpiece turned off. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, that was just me,” he replies quietly. You want to ask so bad, what made him feel like this, but not with other people listening on your side. So you remove your own discreetly, turning it off. To others, it might’ve just looked like you were tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Sorry, you can go back to the dancefloor now.” he says, walking past you, but you stop him again with a hand on his chest.
His heart flutters, and he resists the urge to close his eyes from the feeling of being close to you. He’s trying his best to slow his heartbeat down, fearing that you’ll feel it underneath your fingertips. He swears his heart comes to life whenever you’re near him.
“Are you okay, Buck?” you whisper, trying to get him to look at you by keeping your eyes on him.
You’re so close—body pressed to his, your breaths fanning on the side of his face, and he can hear your heartbeat too, and he tries not to perk up from that alone. Your thumb moves to brush over his chest, and he caves just like that, hand coming up to your back as he turns his head to look at you.
You smile at the warmth of his hand, relishing on the burst of serenity it brings you. Before you could stop yourself, your mouth’s moving.
“I knew the suit would fit you,” you tell him as your other hand moves up to straighten the lapels of his jacket a little bit.
“Y-You chose it?” he asks, and it’s a mystery to him, how he managed to talk given how close you are to him. So close that if he leans in a little more, he could kiss you.
The mere thought of it makes him want to shout in absolute delight.
“Yeah, thought the color would make your eyes pop…” you look back and forth between his eyes, and he feels his heart practically jumping out of his chest. Like it knows it doesn’t really belong to him anymore and wants to go to the one who really owns it. Like it wants to burst out of his chest straight to you.
“I was right.” You smile, brushing your index finger under his chin ever so lightly. It didn’t even last a second, but what small part of him you touched sent his whole body into a state of euphoria he knows he never wants to get out of.
It’s fucking ridiculous, the control you had over him. And it’s supposed to scare him, having someone else have control over him again after decades of that very same thing, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because you’re everything good and gentle and kind and—
Maybe just because it’s you.
“You look handsome, Bucky.” you tell him, hand coming up to brush a strand of hair that came lose from his low bun behind his ear.
He could only give you a pained smile. It feels so fucking good hearing that from you, he just wishes he can believe it. He sees it in your eyes, how much you mean it, but he can’t quite convince himself that he deserves that look from you, so he looks away and scans the crowd instead.
Some people are already looking at the two of you, and he doesn’t miss their gazes trailing down to the exposed metal hand by his side, doesn’t miss how they look up at him one more time, only a quick glance screaming discomfort and then to you with pity before going back to their conversations. It makes him feel exposed and judged and wrong, and they all looked like they belong here and he just…doesn’t.
He pulls away slightly, feeling the chill of the air run through him as he loses your warmth. “Where’s…Greg?” he asks apprehensively.
“Craig,” you correct, eyes still set only on him, and it makes him feel incredibly exposed. “Around, I guess. I don’t care.”
He nods, moving to step around you, but for the third time that night, you stop him.
“Will you dance with me?” you ask gently.
His heart halts in his chest, and he wants so badly to say yes because hell, it’s his dream standing right in front of him just waiting for him to take her hand. He wants so badly to say yes and just spin around the marble floors with her in his arms feeling like a million bucks, but he feels the stares around him, poking and prodding, and he knows they’ll just worsen if he says yes.
You see the hesitation in his eyes, see it cloud his mind as he looks up at the people around you. You can hear him almost hear him thinking, and you want to help quiet down the voices in his head.
“Hey, look at me,” you whisper as you hold his face in your hands, willing him to look at you. “Just us, Bucky.”
He finally looks down upon hearing your words, letting out a shaky sigh. You feel his hands come up to your waist, and he nods, murmuring a small ‘okay.’ You smile, leading him to the dance floor.
The lights aren’t dimmed, and you’re in the middle of the venue for everyone to see. Panic starts to rise up in his chest again when the weight of fact that you’re practically the center of attention settles on his shoulders, and he raises his head to look around again.
“Wh-what about… Y/N, he likes you and he’s a nice guy—”
You take his face in your hands again, looking deep into his eyes. “I don’t care, Bucky. It’s just us.”
One of your hands travel to the back of his neck, and the other to the back of his head, gently pressing your forehead against his as you sway to the music. He lets out another shaky breath as his eyes fall closed. His grip around you tightens a hair, growing more certain, more steady and assured.
“Just us.” you repeat, moving your face closer to nuzzle his scruffy cheek and press small kisses on his jaw, praying that these little things will help him realize what you’re trying to get across—something you don’t have the words for right now.
You just know that love comes the closest to it, but still, it isn’t quite enough.
He nods, heart jumping out of his chest. This time, he doesn’t stop himself from pulling you closer by the waist, practically hugging you to him. You relish in the feeling of his warmth and scent surrounding you, knowing right off the bat that this will always be your safe place.
He moves a little bit, and you fear it’s him starting pull away again, but he only moves until the tips of your noses are touching, only enough to look you in the eyes. It’s the clearest you’ve seen them tonight, his blue ones, and you feel like a weight was lifted off of you— as if his pain is yours, and when that pain alleviates, yours does too.
“I-I like how this feels,” he murmurs shyly, making you smile.
“How what feels?”
“Just us.” he answers.
“Well, it can always be like that from now on,” you quip, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Really?” he asks, hope lighting his eyes up even more.
“Depends on you next move, Mr. Barnes.” You smirk.
“Well, I hope this does it.” he says, right before pressing his lips to yours.
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sachigram · 6 years
Text
Infinity, With Coffee Rings Chapter 2
Click here to read on ao3!
The coffeehouse is quiet so early in the morning. Tweek actually enjoys it and always has, despite the fact he's technically working. There's something special about the late night and the early morning hours. When the rest of the world is asleep, there's no one to impress or hide from. Tweek is alone with the coffee, his most favorite audience.
Only a few customers trickle in, doctors from Hells Pass, fast food workers off to open their stores. Tweek wonders what it would be like to have another job sometimes, but he knows better than to think anyone else would actually ever hire him. All it would take for his applications to be thrown out would be his medical history, and then he knows the employers would go running for the hills if they had any sense.
“Whoa—dude!”
Tweek looks up from the counter to see Kyle Broflovski in the doorway, though it's hard to recognize him without the ushanka on his head. Then again, Craig wasn't wearing his chullo, so Tweek supposes he's going to have to rethink normalcy.
Kyle bounds for the counter, startling Tweek, who finds himself being hugged tightly for the second time in twenty-four hours by an old childhood friend.
“This is crazy! I never thought I'd see you again!” Kyle says. Tweek snorts incredulously.
“I guess I wasn't really aware I was so popular back then,” Tweek mutters, patting Kyle awkwardly on the back.
“Well—yeah we were kind of jerks as kids.” Kyle pulls back with a smile. They weren't really friends. Tweek hung out with Kyle's group of friends off and on, and he remembers being picked on mercilessly, even worse than he was picked on when he hung out with Craig's group. Tweek remembers Craig punching Cartman in the face once for cornering Tweek and trying to make him eat dirt. Kyle had found the punching hilarious.
Kyle is a little taller than Tweek, eyes still bright green and hair still wild and red. Tweek can tell Kyle puts a lot of work into his hair now, probably expensive work.
“It's pretty early. Do you work at the hospital too?” Tweek asks.
“Oh, no, I work in private practice,” Kyle says.
“But you're a doctor?”
“No, I'm a child counselor.” Kyle grins, and Tweek finds himself thinking that Kyle grew up to be cute. “I'd love to be a doctor, but that'd be four more years of school.”
Tweek notices the ring on Kyle's finger.
“You're married?”
“You remember Stan, right?”
Tweek's eyes nearly pop out of his head.
“You and Stan?! I mean—wow. Wow. Congratulations! It's just—fuck, I'm really bad with words, if you remember, so...”
“Hey, it's okay,” Kyle says. “Just slow down and say how you feel.”
Tweek recognizes therapy when he hears it. He shoots Kyle a glare, then feels bad about it.
“It's just like an alien planet, man. This place was supposed to stay the same. Nothing ever changes here, except things did change. It's like that 'you can't go home again' feeling but I never thought that shit was real,” Tweek says.
“Life happens fast, dude,” Kyle agrees, and Tweek is grateful he's dropped the counselor talk.
“So, uh, how long? Were you guys together when we were kids? Did I miss that?” Tweek asks.
Kyle laughs. “God, no. It didn't happen until we were teenagers. We've been together thirteen years, now, married for three.”
“Jesus.”
“Tell me about it. Stan would be super happy to see you, too,” Kyle says.
“He would?”
“Stan loves everyone.” Kyle grins fondly as he says so.
Tweek takes Kyle's order and is busy making it while Kyle chatters in the background about some other people Tweek's been curious about. Butters supposedly railed against his parents after high school and ran off with Kenny, though they recently moved back at Kenny's insistence. Kyle talks about Kenny's supposed “spiritual marriage” with South Park with a tiny scowl on his face, and Tweek wonders how many times Kyle's tried to convince Kenny there's no such thing to no avail. Kyle always did get pissy when no one saw his logic as the right answer. Tweek is so busy thinking this he almost doesn't hear what Kyle just said. Almost.
“WHAT! Cartman and...and Wendy?!”
“Yeah, that was Stan's reaction, too,” Kyle says.
“Holy... How is that even possible? Wendy isn't... Did she get stupid when I was away?”
“Ha! Sorry it's just that she was Valedictorian and she makes these snide little comments about it sometimes because she beat me for it. She's good at everything but dating, I guess. Cartman's calmed down a lot since he finally landed her, though. Really he needs someone who isn't gonna take his shit, and she fits the bill,” Kyle says.
“God. None of that makes any sense. None of any of this does, dude. Cartman was a fucking—ugh. And Clyde has cancer and I had a fucking dinner party with him and Bebe and Craig—“
“Craig Tucker?” Kyle asks. “He's in town?”
“Yeah, he was here yesterday. And he was nice to me. I mean I guess he was never mean to me before but he didn't like, smile and shit. He wasn't like that before. He didn't care about anything when we were kids except his guinea pig and cartoons.” Tweek runs a hand through his already disarrayed hair. “I'm in fucking—Chinatown. I can't process any of this.”
“Craig's still a dick. He sent Stan and I a collection of dildos for our wedding present with a card that just said 'Take it Jew'.”
Tweek barks out a laugh, then feels a little bad about it. Kyle just smiles though.
“Yeah, so see? Some things are still the same.”
Kyle gives his number to Tweek and then hurries out of the shop to work, leaving Tweek alone with the coffee again. He's busy stacking sugar packets into a tower when Craig stumbles into the shop looking like death itself.
“You look rough,” Tweek comments.
“Yeah. I feel like shit,” Craig says. He strides to the counter and leans against it, glaring at the menu.
“Are you sick? Dude—you shouldn't be here if you're sick. I could catch it. I hate being sick! Argh—I'll have to take more pills than I already do! That's a lot of pills!” Tweek is already counting in his head.
“Chill. It's sleep deprivation. Clyde's couch is lumpy and I don't think I slept at all last night.” Craig's still reading the menu. He squints his eyes. “Is it unhealthy to just drink straight espresso? In a large cup?”
“It's probably not healthy. Not like I'm a health expert. I think I read that you'd have to drink a lot of coffee for it to kill you though but sometimes those reports aren't accurate. I could just pull some shots for you and see if it helps.”
“Sure, why the fuck not,” Craig says.
They're in a companionable silence for a bit. Tweek takes his time readying shots for Craig, who downs them with an awful expression. Craig is on his third when he holds his hand up.
“Okay, no. First of all, this is disgusting. Secondly, I don't feel awake. I feel like I'm vibrating.”
“That's a step up from sleeping,” Tweek says with a grin.
“You're the worst. You peddle me this garbage in a tiny cup and say it'll help just to watch me suffer.” Craig gives him a stern look. “You aren't even sympathetic to my zombie state.”
“Not really. I never sleep and you don't hear me complaining.”
“Smartass.”
Tweek smiles innocently. “Guess who came in earlier.”
“I can't believe anyone ever comes in here,” Craig snarks.
“Ha. You're here. And you were here yesterday, too, okay, so you can shut up,” Tweek says, making Craig grin. “Kyle was here today.”
“Gross.”
“He told me about his marriage and stuff.”
“Extra gross.”
“And apparently you gave him dildos for a present because you're an awful person.”
“It seemed like the most useful thing. Broflovski has a stick up his ass, but I'm sure something else would fit up there with enough effort. And Marsh is dickless, so.”
Tweek laughs. “That's awful! You're awful!”
“I'm right, though.” Craig grins again, and Tweek thinks if Kyle grew up to be cute, another adjective fits Craig entirely. Handsome, maybe? Would gorgeous be offensive to another guy? Probably. Tweek offends people easily without meaning to, since it's easier to blurt everything out than to process it first.
Has Tweek ever found another man gorgeous before? Honestly, he can't remember ever thinking anyone was, gender aside. Craig definitely is though, with his black hair and light blue eyes. He always looks either bored or up to something, which also describes Craig very well actually.
“Is Cartman still fat?” Tweek asks suddenly, thinking about it.
“Probably. I try not to see him. Or anyone, really, aside from a handful of people in this town,” Craig says, shrugging.
“Am I—I mean, I guess I am in the handful, right? Since you're here.”
“Clearly.”
Tweek smiles down at the counter.
“Do you ever think about alternate realities?” he asks, blurting again.
“Frequently,” Craig says without a moment's pause.
“Okay, so like, do you think the old South Park fell into a black hole or something and was replaced with a new one? Or—or maybe I was? Oh, God!” Tweek grabs at his hair and pulls. It's a bad habit he's been working on breaking.
“What makes you ask?” Craig asks, still calm. He frowns and smacks Tweek's hands out of his hair. “Stop that. Clyde's bald enough for you both without you pulling your hair out.”
“Just...everything changed? And Kyle said some stuff that was true, I mean, life does happen fast but to think of things changing here? Am I the only one who thinks this place is in some kind of void where things should always stay the same?”
“You aren't the only one. Things did stay the same, to me. I guess it's just because you weren't here while things were changing, so you came back to everything being different than it was.” Craig starts messing with the sugar packet tower Tweek was making before.
“I guess. Well. You left, too. Do you ever feel this way?” Tweek asks.
“Kind of, but I guess it doesn't get to me because I hear firsthand from Clyde and Token about any changes in their lives. I don't really come back and get surprised. But this time I did, since you were suddenly here.”
“Surprises are good sometimes. One of my therapists said that to me—hey. Hey!” Tweek squawks as Craig knocks over his looming tower of sugar packets. “I had those color coordinated!”
“Sorry. Hey, when can you leave?” Craig asks, clearly not sorry at all.
“Whenever my dad gets here. He likes to sleep in now that I can watch the store in the mornings. He doesn't like getting up early,” Tweek explains.
“Cool, so around lunchtime?”
“Yeah, did you want to go somewhere?”
“You're upset,” Craig says simply. “I have things I like to do when I'm upset.”
About an hour later, Tweek's dad comes in. He smiles at Craig and pats Tweek on the shoulder, looking as serene as he always does after he takes his morning medication.
“Hello, boys. It's a wonderful day today,” he says.
“Dad, do you mind if I go somewhere with Craig?” Tweek asks.
“Mm. Where is this 'somewhere'?”
“The pet store,” Craig says before Tweek can answer.
“Oh. That's fine. Just don't bring anything home, Tweek. You know what your mother would say.”
Tweek's climbing in the passenger seat of Craig's car when Craig speaks again, so he almost misses it.
“Huh?” he asks.
“I said why can't you bring anything home? Your parents don't like pets?”
“Oh. Well, I'm not supposed to have anything to take care of. My parents think I'm...not ready for that,” Tweek says glumly. He hates having to admit things like that, but it's easier to tell the truth than to have to keep track of a lie.
Craig's jaw is set as he starts his car and pulls out of the parking lot.
“So they just decided that? Your doctors never said you couldn't have a pet?”
“A couple of my doctors thought it'd be good for me to have...you know, like a fish or something small. My parents were always against it though. They don't really think I can even take care of myself, much less a defenseless animal.”
“That's really—uh,” Craig pauses. “That's super shitty. That's what they think your limitations are, but have you tried testing your own?”
“No,” Tweek says quietly. Craig looks over at him.
“I'm not saying you have to. You should, though. No one knows what you can do better than you.”
“I feel like I'd kill something. Or hurt it. I don't want to have that on my shoulders,” Tweek says.
“Do you remember to brush your teeth and shit like that?” Craig asks, and Tweek nods confusedly. “Okay, well it's the same thing. You brush your teeth in the morning and then you give the fish some fish flakes. It's like a routine. And fish die sometimes but that doesn't always mean it's anyone's fault.”
“Do you have a pet?” Tweek asks to get the focus off himself.
“Nope. I'm hardly ever home, and when I am home, I'm asleep. I could get a fish, though. They're pretty low maintenance.”
“I'm surprised you don't have a guinea pig,” Tweek says.
“I had one. He died,” Craig says.
“Recently?”
“A couple years ago. I didn't buy him, someone gave him to me. He died pretty young. Do you remember Stripe?”
Tweek smiles at the name of Craig's old beloved guinea pig. He nods.
“Yeah, he lived to be nine. That's older than they usually get. I haven't bought one since he died. There won't ever be another one like him, you know?”
The rest of the ride is spent in silence, aside from Craig's music, which is some kind of heavy metal music Tweek doesn't listen to. He snorts when they actually pull into the pet store parking lot.
“I wasn't sure if you were serious,” he admits.
“I'm always serious,” Craig says. “Unless I'm not,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows.
They journey through the cold into the warmth of the store. Tweek's never been to a pet store before, since he always knew he wasn't supposed to have one. He sees bird cages as soon as they enter, but Craig pulls him to the side, towards some glass containers where there are mice, hamsters, and—of course, guinea pigs.
“See, look? Don't you feel better already? De-stressed? I know I do,” Craig says.
“They're cute,” Tweek admits. A tiny black one catches his eye. It has a cute twitching nose, and it doesn't take its eyes off Tweek.
“That one likes you,” Craig comments as Tweek moves his finger along the outside of the glass just to have the little ball of fluff chase after it.
“Yeah, it's so...” Tweek's eyes fill with tears. “It's so little. I think I'm gonna cry, just 'cause it's so cute.”
“Hang on,” Craig says. He shuffles away and leaves Tweek to play with the guinea pig for a moment. He comes back with an employee Tweek recognizes.
“Well, hey there, Tweek!” Butters says jovially. He pulls Tweek into a hug, and Tweek is starting to think he'd better get used to this. “I almost didn't believe Craig when he said you were here! How have you been, buddy?”
“Good,” Tweek says, his eyebrows raised. “I'm just, you know. Here.”
“I'm here, too! Craig said you wanted to hold one of the guinea pigs?”
“What? No! I can't hold one! I'll drop it!” Tweek practically shouts.
“He wants to hold it. I'll supervise and make sure he doesn't drop it,” Craig says.
“Okay, good. We have to be careful about who we let hold things around here. Kids like to be mean sometimes!” Butters starts to open the cage, and Tweek seriously considers running for it. “Which one of the little fellas did you wanna hold?”
“The black one,” Craig answers.
“Oh yeah, I've been callin' him Midnight!” Butters scoops the little guy up and holds him out to Tweek, who twitches.
“I—I can't, man! That's too much! I'll hurt it!”
“Hand him here, Butters,” Craig instructs. He takes the little guinea pig and pets him gently before holding him out to Tweek.
“Craig, I can't,” Tweek says.
“You can do it. Come on, trust yourself a little. You won't hurt him.”
Nervously, Tweek lets the little fluff ball drop into his hands. He quickly pulls it to his chest and cradles it, staring down at it with wide eyes.
“Is it a boy?” he asks.
“Yep!” Butters says. “He's about three months old!”
Tweek pets him carefully, and feels emotional again as the guinea pig twitches its nose and whiskers at him.
“He twitches like I do,” he says softly. He doesn't pay attention to Craig's and Butters's conversation as he plays with the guinea pig, who really does seem to enjoy being held.
“Well,” Craig says after a few minutes. “He's yours, if you want him.”
“Huh?” Tweek asks lamely.
“I'll get him for you. It'll be good for you to have a pet, and I can tell you love him already. He can stay in your room.”
“I... My parents would kill me. And what if I forget to take care of him? Or...” Tweek starts.
“I'll personally text you every day to remind you if that's what it takes. Just buy him food and clean up after him and your parents won't even really know he's in your room.”
“I can give you guys a discount!” Butters says happily. “You should get him, Tweek, he likes you! Better you buy him than some little kid who really doesn't wanna take care of him.”
Tweek thinks of the poor guinea pig being ignored by a snot nosed kid and he finds himself nodding his head.
Somehow he ends up back in Craig's car with a new guinea pig, a giant cage, some food, and some other supplies. He feels overwhelmed as he holds the little box carefully in his lap.
“You really didn't have to spend all that money,” he says.
“It wasn't that much,” Craig says, though it was over one-hundred dollars. “I'll just live vicariously through you since I'm not home enough to have my own.”
“He'll be okay while I'm working, right?” Tweek asks worriedly.
“Yeah, he'll be fine. Are you changing his name?” Craig asks.
“I don't really like Midnight,” Tweek admits. “I think he needs a cooler name.” Tweek thinks about it for a minute. “What about Espresso?”
“You would name him after coffee,” Craig says. “Yeah, I like it. Espresso did wake me up today, a little. It's worthy.”
Luckily, both Tweek's parents must be at the shop, because the house is empty. Craig helps him carry everything upstairs to his room, and then puts the cage together while Tweek holds Espresso, still marveling at the fact he has a pet now. A pet that likes him.
“Is Clyde working today?” Tweek asks, wondering why Craig wants to spend time with him when he came to see Clyde.
“Yeah, till five. He only works part time, so I wasn't gonna ask him to take the weekend off. I knew I'd have something to do.”
“Do you think I offended him yesterday? About the, uh, phallic head comment?” Tweek asks guiltily.
“Definitely.”
“Oh, no!”
“Relax, Clyde gets offended about everything,” Craig says with a smirk. “Did you forget he's a crybaby? Trust me, you can't offend him more than I usually do. He's already over it.”
“It was still insensitive of me. I have a bad habit of blurting things out. It's just...so sad he's got cancer. Poor Clyde... I can't imagine.”
“He's gonna be okay,” Craig says, his voice soft. Tweek notices the change in Craig's expression, and he knows to change the subject.
“Well, good for me and Espresso you're here this weekend! Now he gets to have a home,” Tweek says, petting Espresso, who he's letting roam around the bed while keeping a close eye on him.
“I never noticed how rodent-like you were until I saw you next to one,” Craig says. “They say people look like their pets, but this is a whole new level.”
“I'm not rodent-like!” Tweek huffs.
“Small, twitchy, easily frightened. Totally rodent-like.”
Tweek grumbles and wills Espresso to leap off the bed at Craig's face, but it doesn't happen.
When the cage is done, Tweek puts Espresso inside it and readies his food and water. It's easy enough, and Tweek thinks it should be simple to incorporate it into his daily routine, like Craig said.
“You promise you'll remind me every day?” he asks.
“I won't have to, but I promise,” Craig says.
They hang out and play with Espresso until a little after four. Craig says he has to go pick up Clyde from work and spend quality bro time with him, which Tweek understands. Tweek really wants to stay with Espresso and make sure he gets settled in anyway. Also he wants to make sure his parents don't find Espresso on their own and freak out.
“I'll see you tomorrow,” Craig says, and Tweek blinks dumbly up at him.
“You want to hang out again tomorrow?”
“Clearly you don't recognize how friendship works,” Craig says. “I just bought you a guinea pig. I've bought your affection. So tomorrow you have to hang out with me and Clyde again.”
“Oh my god, fine. My affection isn't cheap, though! It'll cost more than a guinea pig!” Tweek teases, then he blushes. Did he just flirt? Was that flirting?
“Be off tomorrow,” is all Craig says before he leaves.
Tweek has a hard time explaining the new guinea pig and an even harder time convincing his parents to let him off the next day, but they relent when Tweek tells them Craig is leaving and won't be back for a while. He hurriedly picks at his dinner and then goes back upstairs with Espresso, who seems to be making himself quite at home.
Tweek spends the rest of the evening writing in his journal, one of his many coping mechanisms. He fills three pages with his worry over his new pet, and also his excitement over doing something he was always told he shouldn't do. It feels liberating, in a way. He wants to do his best to take care of Espresso, and he doesn't want to let Craig down, either. No one has ever believed in him before. It's something he doesn't want to lose.
The next morning he finds himself in the backseat of Craig's car. Craig still looks like he hasn't slept, and Clyde is eating a fast food sausage and cheese biscuit blissfully like it's the best food he's ever had.
“So where are we going?” Tweek asks.
“To see a movie,” Craig says.
“It's not scary, right?”
“Clyde is with us,” Craig scoffs. “Clyde can't watch scary movies.”
“Fuck you!” Clyde says. “I can watch them. I just think they're stupid.”
“He'll cry. It's best to avoid the headache.”
They end up watching some comedy that has Tweek laughing loudly, and he'd be embarrassed, but everyone else is laughing too. They don't notice him, and Tweek finds himself thinking it's so nice just to blend in, even if it's in the darkness of a movie theater. He shares popcorn and Skittles with Craig, and Clyde has what seems to be a lap full of candy on Craig's other side.
“I just feel bad for him since he never gets to have junk food at home,” Craig had said at the concession. Tweek thinks it's probably good for Clyde to have some calories, since he's gotten pretty thin.
By the time they're walking through the parking lot back to Craig's car, Tweek has forgotten Craig is leaving soon. That is, until Clyde mentions it.
“You could hang out a little longer. Leave after dark. You'll be up all night anyway.”
“I won't. I'm planning on crashing since your lumpy ass couch didn't let me sleep at all this weekend,” Craig says. “Besides, I've gotta do laundry and shit. Tomorrow starts a long week.”
“Feels like you just got here,” Clyde mumbles petulantly.
“Well, I'll be back soon enough. Try not to eat too much candy while I'm gone or Bebe will blame me.”
They drop Clyde off first, since he's the closest. Clyde gives Craig a tight hug that makes Tweek's ribs hurt in sympathy, and then they're driving back to Tweek's house.
“I forgot you had to leave today,” Tweek says.
“You gonna miss me?” Craig asks.
“Yes,” Tweek says without pause. “You're easy to get used to.”
“I'll take that as a compliment.”
“It is one!”
Craig pulls in front of Tweek's house and puts the car in park.
“Ugh, my dad's gonna ask me to work the night shift. I know he is. Oh well. I guess I should play with Espresso while I can.” Tweek looks over at Craig. “Be careful, okay?”
“I'll text you when I get back,” Craig says. “You aren't planning on leaving town before I come back, are you?”
“No. I promise. And even if I did, you have my number.”
“I'll probably text you a lot,” Craig says, nodding to himself, and Tweek doesn't bother asking why. “You'd better respond.”
“I will!”
“And send me pictures of Espresso.”
Tweek laughs. “I will!”
“I want updates on every thought in his guinea pig brain,” Craig says seriously.
“Okay, okay! I promise!” Tweek says, laughing harder. He stops when he notices Craig looking at him with a strange expression on is face. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Craig says quickly. “I'd better go. But first.” He leans over the glove box and pulls Tweek into a hug. Craig smells like cigarettes and movie theater popcorn. Tweek leans into him and hugs him back. It's the easiest hug he's had to return.
“Take care of yourself. And Clyde, if he needs it,” Craig murmurs. He pulls back and the strange expression is gone, replaced with his usual neutral one. “And don't hang out with Kyle or Stan too much. They'll turn you into a douche.”
“I guess your only option is to come back soon and make sure I'm not their new BFF,” Tweek says, and Craig snorts.
“You are such a smartass. Fine. I'll be back before you know it.”
Tweek exits the car and walks up to his front door before he turns around and waves to Craig, who waves back before driving off. Tweek sighs and goes inside. He's climbing the stairs to his room when his phone buzzes in his pocket. It's from Craig.
I missed you Tweek
Tweek manages to type back that Craig shouldn't be texting while behind the wheel after he gets done blushing and smiling like a loon.
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dragonbagel · 7 years
Text
Bonded - Part 18
we’re nearing the end! read it on ao3 here.
“Fuck!” Jack shouted as the phone call disconnected.
That little shit had hung up on him, and had even had the audacity to freaking apologize to him as if that would soften the blow. The blow, by the way, was the fact that his boyfriend was in lockdown and he had no way of checking on him. Or taking care of him. Or doing anything other than twiddling his fucking thumbs like an incapable loser.
He couldn’t even take his all-consuming anger out on that piece of shit Robert since it would likely hurt Rhys again; that, and the fact that Tim had locked the alpha up at his own place so that Jack “couldn’t do anything stupid.” The precaution was completely unnecessary, in Jack’s opinion, although what he wouldn’t give to have his hands wrapped around that douchebag’s throat again…
Okay, maybe it wasn’t totally unreasonable. That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, though. He felt restless as he paced through his penthouse, electing to blame his twitchiness on his frustration rather his guilt, lest he add any more shame to the heaviness in his chest. How was he supposed to know that he was hurting Rhys? It wasn’t like there was some guide book for all of this shit. He was just trying to protect his boyfriend.
If you thought about anyone other than yourself you’d know that.
He couldn’t stop himself from shuddering as Vaughn’s words replayed in his head. No, he chided himself. This isn’t my fault.
But when he thought about the way Rhys had looked at him back in that nightmarish hotel room, the pained, terrified glint in his eyes, he began to think that maybe that tiny voice was wrong.
Jack didn’t hear from Vaughn for another three days. He didn’t know why he expected to, considering the less-than-pleasant terms they’d last spoken on; maybe it was the anxiety clawing through his chest and threatening to chew through him from the inside out.
The text from Vaughn only consisted of four words, yet still managed to send a jolt of hope through the constant, inescapable fog that had been surrounding Jack everywhere he went for the past week.
Heat’s over. He’s fine.
The alpha responded with thanks just moments after, a gesture which, while a bit undermining to his whole “total badass” image, didn’t even faze him in his newfound happiness. He even decided not to shoot the dumbass researcher who showed up in his office moments later with overdue paperwork (a sad attempt to make up for the insane amount of air-lockings that had taken place while Jack had been stuck worrying about Rhys).
He’d tried to convince Tim to go to work in his place multiple times (wasn’t that the entire point of having a body double?) but had been shot down. He was pretty sure Tim was plotting with Vaughn behind his back, considering both of them seemed to hate him at this point. But you know what? Screw them. Rhys was back to himself now, so Vaughn had no reason to play babysitter/bodyguard anymore.
Smirking, he pulled up Rhys’ contact on his phone and hit call. He listened to the phone connection ring for a few moments before Rhys picked up.
“Hello?”
Rhys sounded exhausted, but at least he was talking. At least he’d answered him.
“Rhysie!” Jack said, grinning.
The alpha wished that he could see Rhys’ face, but the video feature of the call was disabled. Jack wasn’t about to push it, though. “How’re ya feelin, cupcake?”
“Like shit,” Rhys replied, coughing.
Jack frowned in concern. “I tried to come see you earlier.”
“Yeah, Vaughn mentioned that.”
“I’m sorry, pumpkin, but muscles wouldn’t let me in and--”
“It’s okay,” Rhys interrupted. “It was probably… better that way.”
The omega seemed to sense Jack’s hurt, because he quickly elaborated. “I could barely think when it was bad. I wouldn’t- well, I don’t know if I would've recognized you, and that could have been, uh, not good.”
Jack nodded, although he couldn’t prevent more guilt from washing over him. “Listen, babe, I’m not exactly great at this shit, but I’m-- I’m sorry, cupcake.”
Rhys was quiet for a moment. “It’s not your fault.”
“Your friend seems to think it is,” Jack said dryly.
“Yeah, well, you know; it’s Vaughn.” Rhys chuckled, but it sounded too hollow for Jack’s comfort.
“Still don’t know how you manage to live with him,” Jack joked, trying to lighten the mood.
“He’s my bro,” Rhys said, and Jack could hear the rustle of fabric as the omega shrugged. “Listen, I’ve gotta go.”
“Already?” Jack asked, realizing how much that made him sound like a desperate teenager.
“I’m tired, Jack,” Rhys said simply.
“Yeah, yeah,” the alpha replied, waving him off in a last-ditch effort to actually act like an adult. “Get some sleep, kiddo.”
Rhys yawned. “Talk to you later, Jack.”
Jack continued to stare at the phone long after the call ended.
Apparently the “later” part of Rhys’ statement had no expiration date, because he hadn’t responded to any of Jack’s calls for three days now. He would’ve been worried that Rhys had somehow airlocked himself had it not been for the constant influx of weapon prototypes gracing Jack’s desk with the omega’s signature on them.
“Is he ignoring me? Is that what’s going on?”
“Jack, I’m not a therapist,” Tim replied, rolling his eyes. “Is this seriously what you called me into your office for?”
“So what if it is?” Jack snapped, his patience all but gone.
“I have work too, in case you didn’t notice,” Tim said dismissively.
“Did you forget who your boss is, cupcake?” Jack asked, eyes narrowed.
“Nope,” Tim said, popping the ‘p’. “But we have a new sniper rifle shipment going out in a few days I need to oversee, and I don’t think I’m being paid to offer relationship advice.”
“Fine, whatever,” Jack said with a scowl. “Just get out of here.”
Tim frowned, feeling a bit guilty for blowing Jack up over something he was clearly stressed out about. “Listen, just give Rhys some space. It’s gonna take him a while to get over what, erm… what happened.”
Jack knew that Tim was right, but those words were the very opposite of what the alpha wanted to hear. He waved Tim out without another glance, returning to his new favorite hobby of glaring at his phone and waiting for Rhys’ name to pop up on the screen.
But the call never came.
Jack didn’t know what he expected to see when he opened the door to his apartment at nearly one in the morning, but it certainly wasn’t this.
Rhys, whom he’d barely spoken to in weeks, was standing before him with a practically maniacal grin on his face. Jack took a startled step back as he realized Rhys’ features were speckled with blood, and his grey suit had sizeable stains of scarlet on it as well.
“Well? Are you gonna let me in, or are you just gonna stand there and stare at me?”
“I, uh, sure,” Jack said, his eyes never leaving Rhys as he moved aside.
“Thanks, handsome,” Rhys said with a wink, pausing to appreciatively smack Jack’s ass before striding into the kitchen.
“Um, Rhysie?” Jack asked tentatively. “What the hell are you doing?”
The omega was looking through Jack’s obscenely large liquor cabinet, his eyes lighting up as he pulled out a bottle of “above-your-pay-grade” champagne and two thin glasses.
“I,” he said, setting the glasses down and popping the cork off the bottle, “am making a toast.”
Some bubbles and froth trailed from the bottle onto the tiled floor, but Rhys ignored them, continuing to look smug as hell as he filled each glass to the brim.
“You know that stuff’s expensive, kitten.”
“Yup,” Rhys said, licking a bit of spilled champagne off of his finger. The movement was mesmerizing, and Jack definitely would’ve been popping a massive boner if he wasn’t so concerned about Rhys’ strange demeanour.
“This one’s for you, handsome,” Rhys said as he handed Jack one of the glasses, which the alpha cautiously took.
“You sure you’re okay, cupcake?” Jack asked, a bit of his overfilled drink sloshing over the side.
“I’m better than okay,” Rhys replied, his smile huge.
Jack was about to question the omega’s sobriety when Rhys raised his glass in order to make his toast. “To me,” he said, his expression smug. “And to Robert, the stupid motherfucker, may he rest in pieces.”
“Christ, Rhysie, what’d you do?”
Rhys didn’t respond, instead clinking his glass against Jack’s before downing his drink in one go. Jack remained frozen in place, his eyes never leaving Rhys’. Only once the omega was finished swallowing did he answer Jack’s question.
“I stabbed him again,” Rhys said, grinning as Jack’s mouth fell open. “But this time, I did it right.”
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convndrums · 7 years
Text
here the FAWK she ( the semi-finished masterlist of all my characters ) is ! took way too long but hopefully as you proceed to click on the linque below you’ll know why smh but yep ! i’ll be adding their pages on my account when i’m done with them soon i hope and maybe come back with a bunch of connections for each character but for now this is all i got & smash this like or im me for plots i’d love to get on those finally xx
reintroducing amanda wheeler;  intro & info page.
queen of irony. rich post- faux country gal who’s a loud homosexual and writes hetero fics/has an indie het smut for the absolute shits and giggles. dates a married woman she’s utterly in love with and will pull the life support cord for. said to be possessed by a possessed flapper. cute and knows it even though she looks like a republican. socially open & everywhere. morally grey.
reintroducing imogen yates; intro & info page. ( tw violence )
the grey area between your mom friend and your drunk aunt. happily vegan & owns a vegan restaurant called the fork, alt. the vegan cult’s lair. won’t kill you, but will convince you she really wants to. local brat tamer. minds her business via minding others. clashed head-first into nature’s very own reset button: amnesia. used to be satan and traumatized everyone. disgustingly active and accomplishing.
reintroducing ethan holland; intro & info page. ( tw suicide )
he is a sk8r boi, she said see ya later boy ( and meant it. they’re dating now. hey lourdes ! ) a nice person, so nice he doesn’t realize how fake he sounds/is. a certified headass. previously a bully/bully enabler, current guilty fuck. #torn. does the most for his loved ones. doesn’t remember his own birthday. googled foot fetishes once. trolls stan twitter with his fake selena gomez stan account when tumblr crashes. burned a sue of cide note with his name scribbled on it.
reintroducing sebastian miller; intro & info page ( tw violence )
kazimer sokolov whom. russian ex-cult member well-adjusted into a mundane life via lies, a fake canadian accent he’s ‘trying to get rid of’, being a twilight saga aficionado and a dickwad, a lame record store and a tumblr blog to keep himself sane by maintaining a general aesthetic and shitting on people and every discourse out there. knives/books sniffer. allegedly fucked a moose. probably kinkshames as a way to deal with his own “kinks” aka please keep the dead bodies away. ( im kidding i swear but [redacted] )
reintroducing prudence zima; intro & info page ( tw death )
parents died in a fire when she was two months old and it shows. idolizes avril lavigne & her favorite movie is lords of dogtown for aesthetics references. dude. social leech or effortless networker ? both. remains in her lane regardless. cry-types probably. here for a good time, not a long time. steals your stash and smokes you out with it. avid dick connoisseur. minimum effort lifestyle. either on her way to become a manager of some one hit wonder band that finds it’s demise in a freak accident, a drug dealer or god forbid, a guidance counselor; depends. mild cool girl syndrome. 
reintroducing jennifer meade; intro & info page ( tw death, violence and abuse )
bi/pussy muncher and proud misandrist, first and foremost. remembers killing her brother very fondly. the one girl in a room to call when you want to kill a bug and you’re relieved until she kills it with her bare hand. tops. unstable & chaotic evil, respectively. the ginger devil. biased and has her minion whom she invests a great deal of her time in brain washing and obsessing over. supposedly here to make amends but that’s not happening any time soon.
reintroducing margot williams; intro & info page ( tw mental illness )
deserves better. very gay. all her friends are heathens xtra, take it slow. corrects typos in the gc. a nerdy editorial assistant daydreaming about publishing houses instead of the magazine she works for. lowkey shy and she’s angry about it. goes off if she must. jacks off to #knowledge and yuri anime. helps with homework and essays and takes the kids out. deadpan because we’re original but she swears it’s just the face & unresolved trauma. stans her therapist. unofficial older sister.
reintroducing chandler accardi; intro ( re-written ) & info page
needs to do better. dropped out of college for culinary school then dropped out of that too. was engaged to an absolute goddess he ultimately wronged ( with her damn best friend, bitch disgostin* ) and got kicked out to the curb. currently residing in the couch of his sister until things are resolved. thot-by-default & annoying. has like three ( 3 ) redeeming qualities. has never been told to shut up and it shows. works at buzzfeed.
reintroducing abel gautier; intro & info page
french and “confused”. lives a minimalist n’ expensive life. if american psycho & french kiss were the same movie. wine sniffer. the devil bakes croissants. will watch you die. takes grudges to the afterlife. gets attached but either ruins it or ruins it to spare everyone, himself included. falls in love a lot but knows how to calm the fuck down. very giving, fortunately. manipulative but isn’t too wild about bending everything to his will. 
reintroducing simini gale; intro & info page ( tw abuse, violence & mental illness )
token white actress & character in rosie’s show. [ britney vc ] its me.... against dissociation. a loud mess with an intense mental state and anger issues dulled out by her prescribed meds and whatever pill she got in the bottom of her manager’s purse. dependent and distraught about it. grocery shopping for garbage food and attending comedy stand up shows half drunk as a hobby. stable ? where. very nice and super flighty. heels are hot. wishes she could fight someone without feeling the urge to actually fight someone. 
reintroducing calvin o’shea; intro & info page ( tw mental illness )
it’s not just the depression more than the incredible self hatred. walks into rooms with his bad energy, grumpy mood and cunty attitude. graduated college just to shut his dad up. wants to die harder than edward cullen. just doesn’t give a shit. has a baby named freddie mercury ( also known as the antichrist, with alanis, his mortal literal enemy whom he absolutely despises and will not hesitate to put his dick back in again lbr ) who will probably grow up to talk shit about his parents whom he also mentioned in his tell-all book on ellen. works at his family’s bookstore that sucks the life energy out of college students nearing a mental breakdown.
reintroducing isabel pavia; intro & info page ( tw drug use )
contemporary dances her feelings away. too ambitious for her own good but knows what she’s doing. in a goth ass secret society ( here ) a.k.a her new found purpose. knows everything eventually. oddly trustworthy. doesn’t know what speaking loudly is, let alone yelling. loves the moon & has that moon app. had to take painkillers when she twisted her ankle very badly and would take them for a while for stress and performance reasons, but has stopped. a quiet angel. 
reintroducing anastasia zeller; intro & info page
ambitious/multi-talented asshole. horror trash & an emotional/mental maze which translates well into her weird works on no sleep reddit and current horror comedy podcast. ( click here for info ). needs a therapist according to a friend, whom she dropped for saying that. will bite your head off. obsessed with her works to an unhealthy point. would love to establish a company and stuff out of it and is working on that. healthy relationships are a semi-foreign concept.
reintroducing morgan booker; intro & info page ( tw death )
vape-curious and takes photos of ghost towns and abandoned-everythings because #vision. had a roadtrip phase like the fake deep idiot he is. morally grey. genuinely here for a good laugh and spreading joy in the form of hover-friendships and taking lit candids of his friends. knows shit and comes off as a creep sometimes but does he really care. knows your mom’s name. lives in a disused hospital bc he’s marinating on that aesthetic. 
reintroducing bowie harmon; intro & info page ( tw drug use & abuse )
part of a duo in a web series as the anxious n’ cackling mess. showcases her depressión & anxieté by her colorful wigs n’ new hair dyes. painful receptionist at a tattoo parlor. recovering addict who advocates for drug use. thinks tattooing a ruler on someone’s dick one day would be the peak of her accomplishments as a tattoo artist. daily bad decisions. “ it’s complicated. ” when asked about literally any relationship she has with anyone in her life. traumas include her failed singing career. an ex viner-by-association.
reintroducing shaheen bin baz; intro & info page ( tw violence & mental illness )
the physical deception of going through hell in a short amount of time with zero mental durability to begin with during midterms. trigger-anxious. will shoot your toes off your foot if caught off guard. aided in criminal operations with the brilliance of his mind in codes. would not mind dying. seasons your food. waters his crops in his balcony garden. the grey area between a super laidback dude and a crackhead with violent tendencies. nearing a mental breakdown probably. 
reintroducing minka abbott-santos; intro & info page ( tw abuse )
defeats the evil stepmom stereotype one breath at a time. the human embodiment of a deer. gothic angel. alarmingly gets black swan. type to wake up to her staring at you from an armchair across the room, but lovingly, with a book she was reading in hand and two hot cups of tea; she was waiting to start the day with you. spooky until you get to know her and even more spookier when she’s ( note: calmly ) pissed but that’s extremely rare. gentle voice, soul and everything.
reintroducing reuben faulkner; intro & info page ( tw abuse & violence  )
rekt hell prince. lived in an amish community with his family until he got kidnapped away from home when he was seven into an awful living situation. doesn’t remember if the gas leak that happened five years later and killed everyone was his doing or not. knows where his real family is after months of tracking them down but. blood kink under investigation. shady bouncer at a shady club. has issues he has no care or time to diminish. fights for the shits and giggles. leaves texts at read. leaves you alone for your own good and his own sanity. 
reintroducing alexandra turunen;  info page
wants to do everything and be everything and doesn’t know what to do with herself ( read: post-graduation identity crisis ) currently investing in a motorcycle for no reason. essentially jobless. a “retired” kathryn merteuil who “outgrew” her cunning ways since highschool but really only found new socially destructive interests. appears to be self-possessed but she’s #shaken. doesn’t care about how well she presents herself anymore after getting rejected by four universities and refusing to accept her father’s offer to pull some strings to get her in one. sleeps a lot. 
reintroducing giuseppe del vecchio;  info page ( tw death & drug use  )
goes by pepe because well. son of italian oil peeps & is extra. said to be in a cult when all he’s in is this extra ass dining club that does the most for initiation ceremonies. ready to fall in love with you. goes to the king’s college in london and studies business & changes his minor way too often for everyone’s liking. into everything and will be down to do whatever. faux deep. mischievous shit. incredibly unbiased. had his rawrk n’ roll phase that died along with someone in a club literally. still has it but he knows god now & less drugs.
reintroducing kelian scott;  info page ( tw death & drug use  )
a father/father figure who tries™. runs a mechanic shop/chop shop because bad decisions and dire needs ( had his son to send to school and his daughter who passed away due to a disease he couldn’t afford to treat even after turning his shop into a chop shop. his wife then left him ). stares into the distance. wants the best for the kids but one of them is a junkie ( he doesn’t know yet ) and the other -- his niece -- is an orphan he’s worried about. thinks ahead 24/7. needs to pull out of this dull n’ depressing daily routine he has fallen into like the basic ass divorced dad he is. 
reintroducing sal presley;  info page
smexy trace & fingerprint detective. talks. the perfect illusion to bring home to your parents and friends. gets shit done which is both a good thing and a bad thing. looks calm, collected n’ well-rested but isn’t. his actual name is salvatore but no. knows how to mix drinks and more; used to showcase his multi-talented ass to make his ( currently ex ) fiancée look good now just himself. was engaged three times; two of those times with the same person. obsessive; gets into his job a little too intensely for no reason but #justice and maybe something else whom knows. loses sleep at least two nights a week as a habit at this point. has an extended family back home he misses occasionally. wishes he could calm down truly. 
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