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sicjimin · 3 years

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Sashimi Chain of Sickness 🍣

A.N : askjdbskd ok so the cat is out of the bag, finally me and @spence-sickfics can post our babies here :D a chain of sickness in bangtan’s dorm ! idk what else to tell, but we have a fun time working it and i hope you guys enjoy this story as much as we enjoy writing it ! :D here we go for the first day ~ it’s a long ride but i hope you like it :] ((you can read it on @spence-sickfics blog too!))

Sickie : Namjoon and Jungkook // Caretaker : Yoongi, Taehyung

TW : emeto

Day One:

(by sickyoonminie)

Namjoon curled his body smaller. He’d been awakened early by a series of cramps seizing through his stomach. He pressed his palm deeper into his stomach, hoping that the pressure might alleviate the cramps.

But it failed.

He rolled onto his back and let out an exhausted groan. His right hand mindlessly stretched to his phone on the nightstand. He squinted when the bright screen hit his eyes. 7AM.

He let the phone plop down before nuzzling himself deeper to the pillow. He tried to sleep again but nothing was working, so he got up from his bed, stretching his arms high above his head.

After a quick shower, he put on fresh clothes, and headed downstairs.

"Joonie, why are you up so early?" Seokjin greeted him from the kitchen, his hand busy with the toast and scrambled egg. For some reason, the sight of food made Namjoon’s stomach swirl. He feels full, despite not eating anything since last night.

"Can't sleep again", he mumbled as he set himself to water. Gulping it down in one go. He frowns when it feels heavy on his stomach.

Something is wrong with him.

But he shrugs it off. Maybe it's his nerves, or maybe he's too exhausted.

"You want some?", Seokjin asks, placing the scrambled egg on top of the toasted bread. Namjoon shakes his head, taking another gulp of water.

Seokjin takes one for himself before sitting next to Namjoon.

After that, it’s silence between them. But the members started going downstairs one by one, and it didn't take long before the kitchen became “lively”.

Namjoon tries to fall into conversation, but he just—didn't have the energy for that.

" You okay, Joon-ah?", Yoongi slides quietly beside him as they walked to their car.

"Huh? What do you mean hyung?"

Yoongi shrugs, "I don't know. You look a little off today, or maybe that was just my feeling"

Namjoon hums, glancing at him as they get inside their car. They sit in the middle seat.

"I just, don't get enough sleep", Namjoon sighs and leans on the window.

" You should stop caved in your studio", Yoongi mumbles, gaining a scoff from the younger, "Says you hyung"

Yoongi chuckles, "Try to sleep for few minutes"

And maybe Namjoon will comply.

—

It's Namjoon's fault that he just brushed off the uncomfortable feeling in his body this morning. As a result, he just feels worse by now.

He curled on the couch in his studio. He's shivering, despite the air conditioner being off. His hand settled on his stomach that has been so upset, like nauseous, but at the same time it feels bloated too.

Everything just felt off for him.

A sudden knock interrupts his thoughts. He groans before getting up. His muscles ache.

"Hyung! Are you busy? We want to get dinner!"Jungkook's doe eyes and bunny smile is the one who greeted him as he opened the door.

Namjoon leaned on the door, feeling tired.

"We? Is everyone coming?"

Jungkook nods, "Yes! Even Yoongi-hyung"

Namjoon contemplates for a second. Maybe he just needs to eat to make everything that has been going on in his body go away. If he thinks about it, his appetite hasn't been the best as he was too busy with the album preparation.

He sighs before mustering a smile "Tell them to wait for me. I'm coming"

Jungkook nods before giving him a thumbs-up, "Thank you, hyung!"

—

"Woah, this place is .. crowded", Hoseok chimed in, throwing his arms around Namjoon's shoulder as they stepped into the restaurant. Namjoon wants to bat it away, as it pressed his sweater to his skin that had been prickling uncomfortably because of his fever. But he's too lazy to do it.

" Don't worry, we had booked a secluded place", Seokjin says from behind.

Taehyung walks alongside Namjoon as they all walk to their table. Taehyung grabs the chair closest to the door before he sits down, while Jimin sits beside Taehyung. He scoots closer to Jungkook in the corner, as Yoongi takes the seat directly across from Jimin and beside Namjoon. Seokjin and Hoseok settle on the remaining orders, and Namjoon orders the same dish as Jungkook and Seokjin. Sashimi. It suits for dinner as it's not too heavy but enough to make him full. The waiter leaves as soon as their order comes. Namjoon lets out a breath as he relaxes.

They were having a nice meal, talking, and laughing. Namjoon can see that they're having fun. And the food is nice. He even got three servings, hoping that eating more could somehow drown out the pain in his stomach.

It was just as he finished his third plate when he felt an odd sense of pain in his tummy, and for some reason, the sashimi tasted funny too. He glanced at Seokjin and Jungkook. They seem fine, munching happily. He shrugs, maybe it's only his tongue messing with him. He had been felt off the whole day anyway.

He decided to just let it go. He'll think about it later.

—

"Hyung", Jungkook calls him when they are seated on the couch, everyone was retreating to their room. Ready to go to sleep.

" Hm?" Namjoon hums, not opening his eyes. He's tired. He's full. It feels like energy just sucked out of his body. And he could feel his fever going worse too.

"Um, are you feeling fine?", Namjoon tilts his head, looking at the younger with a frown, "What?"

"I mean. The sashimi .. it was fine, right?", Jungkook bites his lip, fiddling with his fingers. His eyes were wide, afraid of what Namjoon would say.

"What?", Namjoon blinks, "Yeah. Yes, it was".

"Oh."

Namjoon opens his mouth. Then closes it.

"Then maybe my tongue is just being funny", Jungkook said. A slight grin on his face. It looks more forced than usual. " Okay then I will get ready for bed, hyung. Go to bed soon, you look tired,", he adds, giving a squeeze on Namjoon's shoulder before he retreats to his and Namjoon’s shared bathroom.

Namjoon looks at the younger's retreating figure before looking at his hands. There is a dull pain in his stomach which started to hurt right after Jungkook asked him that. He doesn't like that. And he doesn't like the suspicion that comes after.

He stands up, heading towards his bedroom. Freshens his body and downing a Pepto-bismol along with some fever medicine that Seokjin bought a few months ago.

Maybe, it was just him being paranoid—in addition to his off-ish body the whole day.

It will be fine after he sleeps. Right?

— —

Night One:

(written by spence-sickfics)

Jungkook hadn’t been able to go to sleep until almost midnight. It seemed all the other boys had agreed on going to bed early, as everyone was most likely preparing for another long day at the studio. Jungkook, however, was too uncomfortable to sleep. Uncomfortable, mostly in his head. A nagging worry about Namjoon’s quietness throughout the day. Another worry, that the sashimi tasted kind of off. A bigger worry, maybe that Namjoon was sick or hurt and that’s why he ate so much. After knowing the leader for ten years, Jungkook was familiar with Namjoon’s tendencies to conceal any sort of discomfort he felt physically. And Jungkook also knew that the leader liked to eat a lot at meals that he didn’t want to talk at. To keep his mouth busy, probably. Maybe Namjoon was sick from the sort of strange-tasting sashimi? No, that didn’t make sense. He was acting weird before that. And if that was true, then both Jungkook and Seokjin should be sick by now. Come to think of it, though, Jungkook was noticing a dull ache in his belly as the hours ticked by.

Speaking of the hours, he’d lost track of time by around eleven pm. Namjoon was asleep in bed beside him by that point, in fact, he assumed everyone was asleep except for him. Jungkook had tried to go to sleep for around thirty minutes, but to no avail as the pain in his upper stomach grew. He’d taken a single painkiller at around 10pm, going back to bed and looking at his phone. But whatever he had taken wasn’t doing much to cover up the twisting sensation he experienced. He’d been able to distract himself, though, dully scrolling through social media and wishing he could fall asleep. He wondered if it’s what Namjoon had been feeling like every night recently, he’d overhead Seokjin and Yoongi expressing concerns for the leader’s insomnia. Whatever it was, though, Jungkook was able to fall asleep upon taking the painkiller. It hadn’t done much, but it had fogged up his brain enough to let his worries fade away.

Jungkook woke up again at around two in the morning, to a sharper stabbing pain in his stomach that made tears well up in his eyes. He sat up quickly, placing and arm over his middle and realized how sick he felt. His stomach looked horribly bloated, it felt like the contents were fighting to get out and it was making too much noise. He felt nauseous, not in a particularly heavy way, but more the feeling of disgusting sickness. He felt Namjoon stir, but not wake next to him. Jungkook needed his hyung’s comfort badly, but didn’t want to wake up Namjoon as he knew how tired he must be. His stomach was rolling as he let a quiet burp escape him and moaned quietly, putting his head in his hands. He hiccuped, and a wave of vomit splashed in the back of his throat. Before he could even process what was really going on, Jungkook clamped a hand over his mouth and ran out of the room, into his and Jimin’s shared bathroom. At that point, he bent over the sink and let the surge of vomit come out from his mouth. He winced at the sight of barely-digested sashimi. It must have been bad, he thought before his stomach cramped and he was sent into another wave of throwing up. He kept feeling his throat constricting with gags, feeling fearful for a minute until he felt a warm hand on his back and saw the lights turn on.

“You’re okay, Kook,” Namjoon whispered, his voice hoarse from sleep. Jungkook panted, then turned on the water to wash the sink out. “You all done?” Namjoon asked, and Jungkook nodded. He still felt terrible. Lucid. He knew he didn’t have a fever and he didn’t feel like throwing up again but his stomach was killing him.

“Yeah, sorry Joon, I just feel really sick all of the sudden. I think it was the sashimi. Do you feel sick too?” Jungkook asked as Namjoon guided him to a seated position on the ground together.

Namjoon swallowed, and Jungkook saw how pale the older looked. “No, not really,” Namjoon said lowly. His words were punctuated by a low gurgle from his stomach, and Namjoon paled further.

“That didn’t sound ‘not really sick’, Joon,” Jungkook offered.

“Yeah, says you,” Namjoon mumbled, “Worry about yourself.” Namjoon hadn’t meant to come off so sharp, but being distracted from what he felt like was his job to take care of Jungkook was the worst. The pain in his stomach had gotten worse too, making him more irritable and a sense of nausea was now bothering him too.

Jungkook frowned. “I’m sorry, hyung.” He looked sad to be scolded, and Namjoon instantly felt terrible for speaking to him in such a way. He wanted to apologize, but he felt nausea rising in his chest along with the guilt. He opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a gag and he leaned over the toilet, shutting his eyes tight and breathing heavily while waiting for it to come. Jungkook’s eyes went wide before he went over to put a hand on Namjoon’s back, and patted gently as vomit came rushing out of Namjoon’s mouth and splashed into the toilet. His body was shaking badly, likely a product of fever. It looked more than painful.

Jungkook felt himself get nauseous again just watching Namjoon and had to stand up before gagging again and throwing up a bit more into the sink. Namjoon was heaving, probably too loudly to hear Jungkook getting sick anyways. When Jungkook was done, he returned to Namjoon, who finished up a few seconds later after a few quiet dry retches.

“Namjoon,” Jungkook whispered, “Shit, you are sick. Lay down, please.” Namjoon obliged and lay as far as he could, upper body resting on the edge of the bathtub and hands over his face.

“Jungkook, can you please get Hoseok or something? I feel awful,” Namjoon admitted and Jungkook looked at him. His stomach was bloated, face pale and sweaty. He looked awful, and Jungkook almost said yes. But he was suddenly feeling really nauseous again, and his stomach was hurting worse.

“Uhm, I’m not sure if I can--huhghh--” Jungkook tried to speak but was cut off by a violent gag as he went back to the sink and threw up again, more undigested food pouring out in a thick stream from his stomach. It was Namjoon this time to stand up shakily and put a much-too-warm hand on the younger’s back, still feeling feverish but wanting to help Jungkook badly. He rubbed the back gently, until Jungkook was reduced to dry gags. His face felt sweaty as Namjoon pulled back the overgrown black hair into a ponytail to avoid getting it stuck in vomit. Namjoon’s hands were shaking badly, and Jungkook swore he could feel the body heat radiating from the older.

“Ughh, Namjoon, I’m so sorry,” Jungkook muttered, sliding a hand up under his shirt to put on his stomach, “My stomach hurts so bad, hyung.” He turned around to look at Namjoon, who still looked pale. Eyes half-shut, not able to pay attention to whatever Jungkook was saying. The singer gently placed a hand on Namjoon’s forehead and frowned when he felt how warm it was. “Oh, gosh, hyung, you feel warm.” Namjoon hummed in agreement, opening his eyes slightly. Jungkook was unsure what to do, still feeling sick himself when he saw Taehyung walk through the door. His eyes were puffy from sleep, but he could still see the situation at hand and was concerned immediately.

“Jungkook-ah? Namjoon-ah? Are you guys sick?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

Jungkook nearly cried from relief. “I was sick a couple times, and he was too, I think he has a fever, thank you for coming, Tae.”

“Huh? Why are you sick? How is Namjoon even standing up, his eyes are closed?” Taehyung’s brain was too foggy from sleep.

“I think the sashimi, but maybe Namjoon-hyung was sick from something else too, he has a fever. He’s falling asleep right now, at first he was holding me up but now I’m holding him up, as you can see.” Jungkook responded, and cleared his throat. “Can you please get him some fever medicine? I can’t take care of him, my stomach still feels so sick.”

“Yeah, of course, please lay him down for a second. He needs some rest. I’m gonna get some medicine, and, uh...Seokjin-hyung. I’ll get him too. You don’t have a fever?” Taehyung responded.

“No, I feel really awake and lucid actually. My head is clear, it’s just my stomach, which --” he paused to inhale shakily as a worse cramp wracked his stomach “--could you get some medicine for, please?” Jungkook said.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be right back.” Taehyung left the room. Jungkook spoke gently to Namjoon.

“Hey, let’s sit down for a second, Joon. Just rest a little and we’re gonna give you some medicine,” he said. Namjoon nodded and sat down, resting his back on the wall. His eyes were open, but glossy and not really looking at anything in particular. “Gosh, Namjoon, it really seems like throwing up made you so much groggier, yeah?” Jungkook tried to joke, but no response. Namjoon just closed his eyes slightly. Jungkook frowned in worry and felt the leader’s forehead again. Somehow, it felt warmer than before. And crap, he’d forgotten to ask Taehyung to bring a thermometer. He’d probably remember it anyway, though. And Jungkook was looking forward to nothing more than being able to rest. He could still feel the cramps twisting in his stomach, and he’d been able to bear through them for the past few minutes but now he wasn’t sure if he could do it anymore. He was beginning to feel sicker by the second, too. His lower stomach was churning as well, and it felt almost like there was a rock sitting in his stomach. He wanted to feel better so badly. His fingers played with his small ponytail, as they always did when he got anxious. The worst part of this was he knew what food poisoning felt like. He knew that this would last much longer than just a few hours, and he hated nothing more than feeling sick and useless. He needed more than anything a few cuddles from Taehyung once he got Seokjin taking care of Namjoon. Jungkook sighed to himself as he thought about it. A cuddle and a stomach rub from Taehyung was the best thing he could possibly imagine. Just a few more minutes.

A few minutes went faster than Jungkook predicted, and it felt like no time had passed when Taehyung came through the door again, followed by Yoongi this time. Jungkook stood up, “Tae, why is Yoongi here? I thought you were going to get Seokjin,” Jungkook asked.

Taehyung shook his head. “Yoongi said that Seokjin was complaining that his stomach hurt really badly before he went to bed. He ate the sashimi too, so he’s probably sick.” Taehyung paused. “Jungkook, let me take you to my room and get back to bed. You look really pale.”

Jungkook nodded. “Be gentle with him though, Yoongi, he’s so tired.” Yoongi nodded in understanding and kneeled down close to Namjoon as Taehyung helped Jungkook stand up. They were halfway out the door before Yoongi spoke.

“Taehyung. He has a fever of nearly 101 degrees (38.5 celsius). Should I call the staff?” Taehyung turned back around.

“101 isn’t too high. Just let me know if it gets worse. I’m bringing Jungkook to my room, and since I don’t have a roommate right now we won’t wake anyone up. You should bring Namjoon back to your and Seokjin’s bed. Keep an eye on them both, okay?” Taehyung responded, still gently using his hands to stabilize Jungkook.

“Sounds good,” Yoongi said, and Taehyung walked off with Jungkook. "Come on, Kook-ah. Let's get you to rest, hm?"

Yoongi kneels down as well in front of Namjoon who looks in pain, brushing his damp hair slightly, “Joon-ah, let’s rest too?”

#bts sickfic #bts emeto #tw emeto #tw vomit #sick!namjoon #sick!jungkook #caretaker!taehyung #caretaker!yoongi #ryu's collab first part

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khaleesiofalicante · 4 years

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Personal Post -

Trigger warnings for death, violence and trauma.

Hi, sweetlings!

I just have a question and I would like your opinions please. I hope no one got concerned over the trigger warnings. Didn’t mean to scare anyone just wanted to do my due diligence.

I’m writing this at 03.32AM - a little tired and a little sleepy. Now I know that it is not news for some of you that I have insomnia and sleep issues, I have shared (by that I mean complained) about that in the past many times.

But something I have not shared is one of the causes or rather contributors for my insomnia. I have been suffering from night terrors since I was a child. Now for those of you are not familiar with the clinical term, night terrors are sort of a violent and scarier version of a nightmare. A nightmare is sort of an unpleasant dream. They are not fun either. But night terrors are a little more serious since they involve physical reactions. I don’t sleep on a bed but rather on a mattress on the floor because I have repeatedly fallen off due to the violent movements and hurt myself. I also don’t like to sleep on the bed because stupid horror movies made me worry too much about the monsters under the bed!!

Now night terrors are the kind of scary dreams that you wake up screaming from and choke on air and spontaneously start crying and kicking among other things. And yeah, this is not fun at all. For you and those around you too. And of course I have been suffering with this since I was five-ish.

Of course my night terrors have a theme for some reason (most of the time). I usually keep dreaming(?) about dying. And it is always in the most violent possible way. Now of course when I was a kid, I grew up in the middle of a civil war. We would go to sleep not knowing whether we would wake up tomorrow or not (still remember hiding my books under the steal cabinet so they won’t get damaged by the bombs) so the night terrors started around then.

But even though the civil war ended a little more than a decade ago, the night terrors never stopped. I kept/keep having recurrent dreams about dying and getting killed. There are some creative ways I must say.

I just had an episode. Woke up from a disgusting nightmare where once again I died. I scream every time but I purposely moved to a far away room so my family will not hear me since I don’t like waking them up. Of course when these episodes happen in the morning they do hear and they do worry. But the thing is waking up from an episode of a night terrors is absolutely terrifying. Especially for me, because I look for immediate confirmation as to whether I am dead or alive. So when I wake up and it’s dark all around me, it’s scary. This is one of the reasons I shared a room with my sister for the longest time. Because when I woke up feeling terrified and couldn’t breathe, I would look around in the dark for her leg, hug it and go to sleep.

But as you know, we must all grow up and learn to hug our own legs at some point. And tumblr sort of became that leg for me over the last couple of years. So now when I wake up from a night terror, I turn on that disgusting blue light on my phone and scroll through your posts for comfort. Nothing reminds me more of life and being alive than this stupid fandom and every crack post you make. I look at it and go “oh okay. Magnus is a plant now apparently. So I’m still alive then.”

Now. That’s the story. The reason for sharing this long story is two fold.

1. My night terrors have been getting worse and more frequent for the last couple of months. My mother always says it happens when I read (I’ve been reading a lot as you know) because the night terrors sometimes symbolize the things I read. One of the night terrors involved getting stabbed by the mortal sword so I can’t really argue with her. But I know that’s not the only reason because the work that I do involves dealings with victims of violence and I dream about those too. They also get worse when I’m stressed and god knows I am always stressed especially this month because of too much work.

The question is - I know I’m not the only one. There must be many out there who suffer form this. So this is a general question about your coping mechanisms. If you do have night terrors, how do you cope with it? Anything will be helpful at this point.

Please note that I do not have the opportunity to go to a therapist unfortunately since there are only a handful of “decent and open minded” therapists in my city and I am friends with all of them since it is my field of work.

Secondly and most importantly, I have noticed many of you sharing your thoughts on mental health and asking for mine. I have also started to reluctantly admit that I’m what people call a “popular blog” and therefore what I say and do has more reach.

And that’s why I am saying this I guess. I’m saying it in the hope that it would make it easier for someone else to talk about something else.

And yeah I know it’s not easy. I’ve been on this hellsite for almost two years now and I’m just starting to get comfortable to to share.

But that’s the point I suppose. That it gets easier.

I hate being vulnerable (online and offline) not because it makes me look weak but because it makes me look “not strong”. There is a difference there, you see.

But this is a first step.

But make no mistake I absolutely regret sharing this because that’s who I am and for me talking about emotions is the worst thing (I’m such a herondale see?) and therefore I will try to forget that I made this post in the first place.

I have always judged myself for not being able to talk about my own mental health since I freaking study the subject, but then I again I realized that it’s actually unhealthy to blame myself for it since I don’t owe my story to anyone. That sharing isn’t always caring.

But I don’t know. I just felt, in this moment (a spontaneous decision that I know I will regret later but kind of don’t care about) that someone somewhere would feel a little better from reading this story.

If you don’t, that’s okay too. Cause weirdly enough I feel better in the moment for sharing it. Maybe you will too one day. Let’s see.

Now I’m going to listen to some beautiful music recommended by some beautiful people and try to fall asleep again.

Cause that’s what we do when we (metaphorically) fall off the bed screaming. We pick ourselves up and we try again.

Good night and good dreams :)

#tw trauma #tw violence #tw war #tw death #mental health #night terrors #dani talks #dreams #okay imma regret this for sure

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gwoongi · 4 years

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(abandoned) i don’t want it at all

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: sugar baby au, sugar-babies-scamming-the-same-daddy-au rating: mature themes words: 2.3k warnings: sugar babies a/n: i would have liked 2 finish this one and maybe i will one day but for now here is the incomplete first draft that makes me laugh still

His dorm for first year had been a prison-cell-box with a broken window and bunk beds, the stale smell of farts from his roommate who insisted on top-bunk and made his evenings and early mornings absolute hell- but hey, he’s getting a fancy degree at the end, so it’s worth it, right? Jeongguk’s not sure if it’s worth it anymore.

(1)

Jeongguk was broke.

It was his own fault - that’s the price you pay for enrolling in University, studying something he probably doesn’t actually need but loves. It’s all fine and dandy studying Music until he realises that famous musicians don’t become famous because they got a degree. Ask any musician how they made it big and they’ll reply with good luck and hard work, not some fancy degree that means nothing unless you’ve got the talent to be successful. Well shit, now it’s in perspective, Jeongguk’s spending all this money on a degree that’s probably not going to make a difference when the time comes.

Now he has a part-time job at a random pizza takeaway that makes no money because Dominoes opened up across the street a few weeks ago, and he’s barely making enough to buy him more than two packets of instant noodles at a time. His dorm for first year had been a prison-cell-box with a broken window and bunk beds, the stale smell of farts from his roommate who insisted on top-bunk and made his evenings and early mornings absolute hell- but hey, he’s getting a fancy degree at the end, so it’s worth it, right? Jeongguk’s not sure if it’s worth it anymore.

This evening, the library is fairly quiet. Across the stacks are small candles inside black lanterns, a Harry Potter-esque vibe filling the room as the clock rolls into ten. Jeongguk loves when the school year ends, because for the past week, it’s only been the sad and broke music kids doing exams, meaning the library is virtually empty now that everybody else has finished up. Jeongguk’s last exam was yesterday. Huffing out a sigh that turns one of the only other heads in the library in his direction, he stretches his arms up over his head and arches his head backwards.

“Where’re you going over summer?”

Yoongi is another sad and broke music student, a third-going-fourth year who met Jeongguk in the music society during Jeongguk’s first weekend at University. Leaning his chair back on two legs, he throws a paper ball into the air and catches it, not even looking at Jeongguk as he talks to him.

Jeongguk shrugs in reply, tapping his nails against his laptop. “Dunno. Home, I guess.”

“Any plans?” Yoongi asks. “Wanna go to Lollapalooza?”

“Can’t afford it,” Jeongguk sighs, as Yoongi forces out a, “me neither” in between a chortled laugh. “And I don’t know. Probably going to have to get another job.”

“Good,” replies Yoongi, yawning loudly. “You can’t keep working at that shithole. I’m your only friend, and even I go to Dominoes instead of where you work.” As an afterthought, he looks at Jeongguk with a small frown, “sorry.”

Shaking his head in reply, Jeongguk slumps in his chair and sighs once again. Yoongi’s just suddenly put it all into perspective for him; Yoongi’s his only friend, he works a job that barely puts a meal onto his plate, and it’s not going to get any easier.

The ball in Yoongi’s hand begins to bounce again and Jeongguk glances over at the student librarian, who buries her head into the crook of her elbow and sleeps her way through her night-shift. It’s only Jeongguk, Yoongi and four others in the library right now; none of them are reading, none of them are doing anything particularly productive. Two students are tucked into an alcove pouring wine quite openly into small glasses with a board of chess unfolded out on the table, the others on computers, wishing the night away. Jeongguk just doesn’t want to go back to his dorm, to where his roommate and his loaded to the brim stomach of Chinese food and unhealthy diets is waiting for him.

“You planning on staying here all night again?” questions Yoongi. He probs his feet up onto the partitioner under the table, accidentally kicking Jeongguk’s ankle in the process. “Sorry,” he adds.

“Yep,” Jeongguk replies, popping the ‘p’. “I’d literally rather sleep on the boys changing room floors than go back to my dorm.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “That’s disgusting, don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m being deadass,” Jeongguk insists, his eyes blown wide. “Want to swap dorms for the night? Ten dollars and you’ll be dry heaving in the hallway before midnight.”

“I’ll pass. Either way, you know my apartment is always open for you,” Yoongi reminds him. “You’ve got a key. Come by once you’ve finished whatever it is you’re doing. My wifi’s out.”

Another sigh. Jeongguk’s not defeated his boredom yet, the twitch in his fingers to do something still there. If he goes to Yoongi’s apartment now, he’ll just annoy him with the need to do something energetic, and Jeongguk knows best that Yoongi values his quiet time on an evening.

“Okay. Well, I’ll stay here for a little bit, and come by when I’m done,” Jeongguk says, stifling a yawn that would otherwise expose the fact that he’s absolutely knackered. “I won’t make a sound.”

“You will, you always do, I just pretend not to notice because I love you.” Yoongi says I love you with a disgusted face, sticking his tongue out with a fake gag that Jeongguk knows just proves how much he cares. Yoongi’s good like that, the more subtle type of loving older brother that Jeongguk’s been deprived of all his life. “Don’t stay out too late.”

“Won’t.”

Yoongi picks himself up and irons the aches out of his shoulders. “Cool. Stay safe and smart, Guk.”

“I can’t do both,” he sighs sadly, and Yoongi collects his bag and affectionately throws the paper ball at Jeongguk’s head. It bounces off and lands near one of the bookshelves. Neither picks it up, and Yoongi leaves the library. It dawns on Jeongguk three minutes after Yoongi leaves him that he’s actually really fucking lonely. Add that to the big long list of things Jeongguk is this year: friendless, broke, sad and lonely. God, he needs a hobby.

He also needs money. Very badly. After opening his phone and banking app and realising that he’s so close to slipping into the red, Jeongguk refrains from spending what he has left on something fried and takeaway and opens Google. One click, a few types: How to make money fast. Google will know what to do.

Jeongguk scrolls. Take online surveys and get paid NOW! No. Review apps and earn money! Not enough phone memory to download an app to review it, he scrolls down. Lonely AND Horny? Get yourself a Sugar Daddy TODAY! Oh? He’s listening.

The blog that opens up as he clicks the link is somebody’s personal blog, the title in a gross and thick font that Jeongguk almost can’t read. They talk a while about why you shouldn’t become a sugar-baby, but Jeongguk remembers that one time Tana Mongeau did a storytime on how she had a Daddy and got a lot of money, and Jeongguk’s got assets. He’s smart, has abs on a good day, and his dick isn’t half bad looking. That’s what Yooa had said to him, anyway. Finally, there’s a hyperlink to Seeking Arrangements, and Jeongguk feels kind of overwhelmed.

At least once in their lives, everybody’s thought about being a Sugar Baby. Jeongguk definitely has, all the damn time when he’s sitting around at work doing nothing because they’re about as busy as one can expect for a pizza place with two stars and a rival Dominoes parallel from the front. He’s even read about experiences, where people meet their daddies or mommies on the streets or through apps- and there was even that one crazy story about somebody’s Principal becoming their sugar Daddy, or something, he can’t quite remember. Regardless, Jeongguk’s entertained this thought before.

He looks down at himself. If he really tried his best, he could be kind of good at it. Without sounding conceited, Jeongguk’s good looking. What lets him down at school is the fact that he always dresses lazily and ignores people, rejects requests to go out and then complains to Yoongi about not having friends who hang out with him. All he needs is to fix his appearance, upload his best photographs, and he could secure the bag quite easily.

Jeongguk fills in the boxes and makes an account. petkoo is what he decides to name himself, and he picks his best selfie off Instagram as an icon. He leans back, as if a look from far away will change the way it looks. It’ll do. Luckily for him, he’s into men and women, and it just so happens that American men are both the dumbest and easiest to please. Suddenly, he’s excited, his leg bouncing under the table until he hits his knee and stops. The student librarian raises her head quickly, afraid that a member of staff’s come in to supervise. They haven’t, and so she drops her head again. Ten fifty three, ish. Jeongguk blinks sleepily.

All that’s left to do is get his account verified, and life will be forever changed.

(He hopes).

(2)

Yoongi’s apartment is off campus, about fifteen minutes away if he’s walking. It’s small, but significantly bigger than Jeongguk’s dorm on campus, and decorated with whites and creams, big and open windows letting in golden light, when the time’s right. It’s the type of apartment you saw online, on Tumblr posts or in movies, looking like a perfect backdrop - sometimes, Jeongguk can’t believe that Yoongi lives here, and wakes up every morning to the view of the city below his window, power lines like train tracks connecting houses, dangling fairy-lights on the trelacing of his across-the-street-neighbour’s rooftop.

That being said, Jeongguk technically lives here, too. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s actually stepped foot in his dorm at the same time as his roommate; he only goes in there to collect things one at a time. Today, for example, he had dropped by to empty out his small and pathetic wardrobe and put it inside one suitcase, wheeling it right up to Yoongi’s front door with a bright smile that Yoongi couldn’t say no to. His couch in the living room was Jeongguk’s comfortable bed when it wasn’t cold and when it was, Yoongi would huff and offer an invite into his bed, because he loves Jeongguk like he’s his baby brother, and it would suck if he died from pneumonia, or something. He said that to Jeongguk once. Jeongguk smiled for ten minutes afterwards.

Harry Potter plays on TV, the fourth movie because it’s Jeongguk’s favourite and Yoongi’s a sick man who can’t say no. It’s around five, and Jeongguk’s literally been holed up in Yoongi’s apartment the entire day. The most sunlight that he got was when he walked out of Yoongi’s house to take the trash out, and even then, the bin was in the shadows and the sun never touched his skin once. He can see the sunlight through the window, which technically counts. Yoongi cringes and takes away a plate from the coffee table.

“You’re allowed to stay at my place, as long as you clean up after yourself,” he says with a huff. His nose upturns with a scrunch, “No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“By choice!” Jeongguk adds, pulling a thread out from his sock. “They’re too much hard work.”

“You’re just fucking lazy,” Yoongi points out. He dumps the plate in the sink and comes back to Jeongguk. “You know that, don’t you?”

There’s a silence. Then a sigh, “Yeah.”

Jeongguk loves staying at Yoongi’s place, especially when Yoongi is feeling particularly soft and lets Jeongguk do whatever he wants, given he’s not going to get Yoongi a noise complaint in the morning. The movie continues to play undisturbed, the sight of Beauxbatons’ carriage swooping over towards the runway leaving Jeongguk with an open-mouthed smile on his face and Yoongi folds his arms, burying himself further into the sofa. On the coffee table, Yoongi’s laid out some snacks, both his phone and Jeongguk’s laying down flat because it’s supposed to keep Jeongguk distraction free, even though he’s the type of friend to never be on his phone around his friends unless he absolutely needs to be.

Another huff is in Yoongi’s mouth, begging to be huffed out. Over on the coffee table, Jeongguk’s phone lights up with his lock screen of Sansa Stark blurred out by a notification, the ringer on loud. Attention is pulled from Dumbledore to the light, Jeongguk’s brows lifting with interest but his eyes immediately back on the TV.

“Yoongi,” he calls out, and Yoongi glances over, “can you see who it’s from?” Could be his Mom, it could be important.

The huff is released. “Come into my house and boss me around…” Yoongi mutters under his breath and reaches for Jeongguk’s phone, pressing the home button to read the notification. He’s silent for a long moment, and Jeongguk’s so enthralled in the movie that he doesn’t notice, not until Yoongi looks at Jeongguk with a confused and funny look, his top lip curled to his nostrils as he blurts: “Why the hell are Seeking Arrangements telling you you’re profile’s ready?”

Jeongguk looks away so fast from the television that Yoongi’s almost frightened. His eyes are wide and twinkling, “They’ve finished it?”

“What the fuck.”

“Gimme!” Jeongguk splutters, his hand diving towards his phone urgently. “Bro...it’s been like, five days.”

Yoongi is bewildered. “Why do you have an account? What-why-when…?”

“I don’t know, I need money and I thought it would be funny,” Jeongguk shrugs. His thumb moves quickly across his phone screen. “I can’t believe they’re done. I’m gonna be rich, Yoongi.”

“Do you know how sketchy half the people on that site are?” Yoongi questions. “Plus they’re all old and perverted men.”

“Rich men.”

“Rich, old and perverted,” Yoongi nods. “Guk, I know I said you needed another job...but this doesn’t qualify. I’d rather you flip paper thin pizzas.”

#me posting all my abandoned wips for attention and something to do #bts #bangtan #jungkook #jeongguk #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #sugar baby au #bts imagine #bts scenario #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jjk #gwoongi #abandoned

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cravingmarvel · 4 years

Text

Apartment - Epilogue

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Fem!Reader Warnings: Swearing, a little angst, sarcasm as always Summary: You just moved from Germany to New York, working as an editor at a newspaper. So what happens when you find out your favourite actor lives in the apartment across from yours? And how will people react when you share your story on your Blog dedicated to him? What will you make of this situation? A/N: Wow here we are... the last of the last... I can’t believe that after 2 YEARS I managed to finish this series completely... I apologize for the time it took, but I just had no idea how to write it and in retrospect.. I’m glad I waited this long. A HUGE thank you to @buckisthatyou for helping me with this!!! I love you!!!

Anyway... I hope you guys love this as much as I loved writing this and I’ll see you at the end of the chapter :)

MASTERLIST

Apartment – Epilogue

I carried the last of my boxes up the stairs, weighted down a little by the contents of it. This one got lost on its way here and I’ve been desperately trying not to cry over it. It’s been almost three months since Sebastian and I moved in together, but this little fucker had to get lost.

As I pushed the door open with my shoulder the light that flooded into the room filled me with butterflies. Just seeing the living room full of life and personality put the biggest smile on my face. I placed the box next to the bookshelf and started to unpack the books inside. I moved some of the cacti out of the way, they are definitely taking over the place.

I felt a hand on my hip and jumped slightly.

“Hey, how’s it coming along?” I turned to see Sebastian.

“Very nicely, but I do think we need to calm down about the cacti.” I pouted and he kissed my cheek.

“Hm, maybe.” I caught the cheeky smile as he walked away.

The move was easy, finding an apartment wasn’t. We came across a beautiful, two-story apartment in the heart of Manhattan that was pretty close to my new workplace. After my move back to New York, we went straight to looking for a place to share. He said he wanted it to be right in the heart of the city, but close enough to central park so our future kids could enjoy some greenery.

I laughed at him, but the thought still filled me with butterflies. I was excited to share my life with him, even if that came with a price. Some people just didn’t like seeing him with me on his arm and they made a point in showing it. Just a few weeks after I came back, we made an appearance at some award show, the photos I was tagged in on Instagram were mostly nice, but a lot weren’t so. My dress was too tight, my hair done terribly, and I felt worse because I made those choices. It was me to blame.

Despite the weight I felt from those comments, I knew I could step away from it whenever I pleased. I don’t have to put up with it. No one does.

With the shelve decorated to my liking, the apartment was almost finished, there were a few pictures that I wanted to hang on the walls, but that could wait.

Two Years Later

“We’re having spaghetti tonight.” Sebastian called from the kitchen; he knew I’d love it. (The spaghetti, not him calling from the kitchen.)

The chill of the night falling over New York put me in the mood to get comfy. I climbed up the stairs to our shared bedroom, crossing the room to the closet. I decided to change into my pyjamas, a decision I did not regret as I felt the soft fabric on my skin. I investigated the mirror to admire my husky onesie. I look cosy as fuck and I feel cosy as fuck.

The table hasn’t been set when I came down to the dining room and Sebastian noticed my confusion. “We’re having dinner outside if you don’t mind.” He filled to plates with food and gave me a quick kiss as he walked towards the balcony. I followed him out to discover the table beautifully set with flowers and fairy lights.

“Oh wow. This is so fancy.” I said while sitting down opposite Sebastian.

“Thank you, I actually put a lot of effort into this. By the way, cute outfit.” I looked down to the fluffiness that I was wearing and in the reflection of the glass next to me, I could see how weird I looked. “Yeah thanks.”

The husky and the Prince.

We soon devoured our food and just sat and laughed while drinking an alarming amount of wine. New York has never looked so pretty; this might just be because Sebastian is the foreground of the scenery in front of me.

Suddenly, Sebastian stood up from his seat. His face lit up with a smile on his face as he slowly went down on one knee. I was just about to register what was happening, my jaw slightly dropping.

“Y/n.” Sebastian held my hand in his, a red velvet box in the other. “I never knew this day would come so soon. I always thought I’d be fifty years old, still looking for the woman who I’m going to marry. And then you came along. Standing at my door with your ridiculous robe.”

I chucked, tears swelling up in my eyes.

“So, will you, Y/n, do me the honour and marry me?”

I stared at him, the tears now rolling down my face. “Yes.” I breathed out.

He slipped the ring on my finger, a diamond reflecting a million rainbows in the light of the sunset, hovering on the horizon of New York. And it dawned on me.

I just got engaged to Sebastian Stan, and I’m wearing a husky onesie.

Sebastian decided it would be good for me and his sanity to hire a wedding planner, even though I told him I could handle it on my own. I hate having someone else step on my toes and interfere with my plans but listened to him anyway and hired someone who could help me organize the day and everything around it.

While I still had a whole month to prepare the final details, I was sure we covered everything necessary that involved the venue, decorations, dress and every other detail I could think of.

I shuffled my shoes from my feet and walked over to the kitchen making myself a nice cup of coffee. I got a text from Sebastian telling me that he’ll be home by eleven, filming dragged on until then unfortunately, but it gave me some quiet time to get back to going through my planner trying to catch any mistakes I made.

I’ve never really been one to dream of the perfect wedding, but since starting this project of mine, I felt my need for perfectionism take over.

I grabbed the little folder, my laptop and my phone walking to the couch. I snuggled into a blanket, putting my mug on the coffee table. After a few hours of flipping through pages and finding no mistakes at all, which was usually the case, I grabbed my phone, my thumb hovering over the Tumblr icon. I hesitantly tapped it logging into my account.

A thing I occasionally did was search my own name. I know I shouldn’t, but something vile within me couldn’t stay away from the opinions of others, strangers, online. I scrolled through endless amounts of posts about myself, cringing and cry laughing at some of the posts. The memes were the best part about it, some people were just too funny. I came across some fanfiction about me… yes fanfiction… about me, skimming over the words. They weren’t bad… it was just a little strange reading it myself, but who am I to judge? I wrote fanfiction about the same man I am engaged to once a few moons ago. Ok more like a year ago, but my point still stands. I can’t judge.

But all fun had to come to an end when I stumbled upon posts about me that just weren’t so nice to look at. Some poking fun at my body, the way it looked in a certain outfit I wore while I was out with Sebastian, some straight up telling me how old I looked and some saying that I’m just not the right fit for him. I couldn’t say they hurt, but a little part of me, the very insecure one, believed them. But something I haven’t come across yet popped up right after all that was a post about me being a fan.

I was slightly intrigued, pondering in my head whether I wanted to read it or not. I could shut my phone off right now, I could step away from this and breathe, but something pulled me in, sucked me right in.

I couldn’t say the post was disgusting nor was it far away from the truth the further I read. The person articulating themselves very well. My stomach turned and twisted.

-I’m just asking myself how she fell in love with Sebastian? How can she know for sure that what she feels for him is actually love? If I got together with him, I would ask myself this. Even if it hurts, I would still question my feelings towards him. Is it actually love, or just the fan inside writing its own fanfiction? And let’s take this even further, they’re getting married… what if she realizes that after all, what she was feeling wasn’t love, it was just the fangirl inside, fulfilling her own fanfiction?-

What if… I’m not in love, but rather satisfying the fangirl within me.

I awoke to the soft morning light peeking through the white thin curtains, a weight on my middle pulling me closer to the body laying next to me. Sebastian laid on his stomach, his arm draped over my back, his hand gripping my waist as he exhaled deeply. He was in a deep slumber, but still keeping me at his side which made it impossible to move away from him.

I worked hard on removing his arm from my body to climb off of the bed, looking back at Sebastian as he shifted in the bed, rolling over to his back. I walked over to the bathroom connected to the bedroom to proceed my morning routine. I took off my baggy shirt and underwear, stepping into the shower to wash off the sweat of the night. Sebastian surely knows how to keep me up to a time where I should be sleeping.

I felt my muscles relax under the warm water, my hands gently massaging my body with fruit scented soap.

I left the shower, wrapping a towel around me, to turn my attention to my skincare routine, washing my face, putting on my serum and moisturizing my face. The door opened to Sebastian walking in, hugging me from behind, kissing my shoulder.

“Good morning, love.” He said, sleep sill in his voice. Sebastian stepped into the shower and I changed back into the comfortable shirt.

I made breakfast for the both of us before I had to get to work, Sebastian had a day off and I envied him for it.

We ate breakfast and I headed to work, but not before Sebastian pulled me into his arms, kissing me passionately. He took my left hand admiring the diamond ring on my finger. “I love you.” He said and I was out the door.

I arrived at work, dropping my bag on the desk, since the summer holidays were on their way, so are the people wanting to get away with their children and spouses alike. I turned my computer on preparing myself for the eight hours of recommending hotels, flights and things to do at their destination.

My boss, Linda, walked up to me an apologetic look on her face. I braced myself for what’s to come.

“Good morning, Y/n.” She sat down in front of my desk, a sandwich on a plate on her lap.

“Morning. What’s on the menu for today? Anything special?”

Linda laughed, dropping her head. “Y/n, I have to ask a favour. I know your wedding and honeymoon are on their way, but there was an incident. By the way, how’s the planning and your husband to be?”

“Good… good, I have everything set, nothing seems to be missing but a couple thousand dollars in Sebastian’s wallet.” Linda found this one funnier, throwing her head back, almost dropping her sandwich on the floor. “What’s the incident?”

“You know how Beck has a habit of finding ways to destroy her leg?”

I nodded, calling back to the many times Beck has had issues in keeping her leg in one piece. Not that she’s breaking it, rather bruising the shit out of it.” “Yeah, I do.”

“Well she done did it again.” We laughed in union. It became an inside joke by now. “I need you to fly to London for three weeks to inspect and review this hotel right in the heart of the city. It’s under a new owner and quite a few things have changed, I could ask Annie, but she’ll need to find someone to watch her kid. Don’t worry, you’ll be back in time for your wedding, which by the way, I can’t wait for. I already have my dress!”

I stared at her for a second. A trip to London was the last thing I thought I’d be doing right now, especially with the wedding just four weeks away. I pondered and the idea jumped around in my head. It would be kind of nice, getting out of the city, get my head in the game. Maybe think about my intentions of marrying Sebastian… try to find out if the fangirl inside is responsibe or not.

“Ok, sure, why not.” I smiled, Linda clapping her hands together, her Sandwich threatening to fall once again.

I arrived at home, taking my shoes off along with my coat. Linda gave me a folder with all the necessary information about the trip and all the points I needed to check out.

The only person that I now needed to confront was Sebastian.

I walked into the living room, seeing him sprawled across the couch, wrapped in a blanket. “Hey, babe.” I said while approaching him. I sat down and laid his head on my lap. I leaned down, kissing his lips tenderly.

“How was work?” He asked, closing his eyes.

“Good. Y’know, a lot of people preparing for the summer.” I pondered for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Seb? I need to tell you something.”

He sat up immediately, his eyes looking onto mine desperately. He took my hands into his. I knew he was worried.

“I- I accepted a job to go to London for three weeks, to inspect a hotel, I know this is very close to our wedding date, but Linda said I was the only choice next to Annie, and she would have to look for someone to take care of her child.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow. First thing.”

Sebastian exhaled deeply, looking away from me. “Feels like running to me.”

“Sebastian…” I squeezed his hands in mine. “I’m not running, nor and I going to stand you up at the altar, I just… have to figure some stuff out.

“So, you are running? What’s there to figure out?” “Did I propose too soon, should we postpone the wedding?”

It was me this time, exhaling, looking away from him. “I’m not sure if the feelings I have for you are my own or just an imagination from the fan I was- still am!” I looked at Sebastian, pleading for him to understand. “I don’t want to leave on bad terms or move the wedding to another day. I just have to figure out if I’m going to hurt you.”

His gaze finally met mine and I knew. I knew he didn’t understand the way I hoped he would.

“Y/n, I know that you love me and There’s nothing that changes that whether you were or still are a fan of me, I don’t give a shit. But if this is what you need to steer your mind into the right direction and lay your worries to rest, then do it.” Sebastian leaned in, kissing me softly. “I’ll be waiting for you, no matter what.”

Tears threated to fall down my cheeks, I didn’t know if this would resolve the storm within me, but I knew this was good, for both me and Sebastian.

We went to bed, holding each other tightly, tangled between the sheets, his hands on my body feverishly roaming every inch.

I packed my suitcase with my necessities, suddenly dreading my departure. I got a text telling me that my ride to the airport was downstairs.

As I stood at the door, Sebastian pulled me into a tight hug, whispering in my ear over and over how much he loves me and misses me already. I looked up to him cupping his cheeks with my hands pulling him down for a passionate kiss.

“I love you, Sebastian.” I couldn’t cry right now, but I’m sure he knew I wanted to.

He kissed the back of my left hand, his gaze lingering on the ring. “Come back and marry me, Y/n. I want to be your husband more than I wanted to be anything else.”

“I will.”

“I love you, Y/n.”

With that, I was out of the door, into the elevator. Mentally preparing myself.

London, here I come!

A/N pt.2: YES!! THERE WILL BE A SEQUEL TO THIS MASTERPIECE!! I have thought about it, consulted with @buckisthatyou about it and have come to the conclusion that I need to write it. And because we all want to know what it’s called:

House. It will be called house and no one can stop me.

Anyway, since I already wrote a Thank You post I will keep it short and sweet.

Thank you all for waiting for me to write this. If i had written it earlier, I probably would've not come up with a sequel. So everything has a purpose... right?

Thank you for reading and I will see you in

House!

#Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian x reader #sebastian x you #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan angst #nimi writes

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Not Nineteen Forever (15) (Branjie/Scyvie/Ninex)- Ortega

a/n: oh u thought the worst of the angst was over? it’s only just begun. apologies in advance hnggggggg. love is always appreciated here or over on my blog! love and hugs xxxxxxxxx

please note: this fic contains young adults often behaving in irresponsible/unadvisable ways with regards to alcohol, drugs and sex. if you are someone who feels as if they could be heavily influenced by fic and incorporate what happens in the plot into ur own life, pls steer clear!

summary: Brooke, Yvie and Nina are three flatmates who forged a friendship in their first year of university and picked up some other waifs and strays along the way. Now in their final year, there are feelings that need to be unravelled and confessions to be made whilst navigating drunk nights, hungover mornings, takeaways, group chats, library meetups, cafe gossiping, and the small matter of getting a degree.

last chapter: Scarlet helped Vanessa deal with the aftermath of the breakup, aided by lecture-skipping and the prospect of a pink-haired rebound. Monet was gearing up to ask Nina to be her girlfriend in the most elaborate of ways, and Scarlet and Yvie finally said the most important three words to each other since “let’s get takeaway”.

this chapter: it’s Valentine’s Day, Brooke is a living flip flop, and something happens that nobody saw coming.

***

“Ayo. We’ve got a mouse.”

Brooke finally got her jacket off that she’d been struggling with and faced Yvie, who was lounging on the sofa in their little living room in front of the TV. “Well isn’t that a romantic Valentine’s Day greeting.”

“Well we do,” Yvie shrugged, Brooke leaving her bag on the kitchen table and joining Yvie in front of Coronation Street. “This storyline has been going for about a year, I swear to God.”

“Should you not be out doing romantic shit with Scarlet?” Brooke asked, hearing how monotone her voice was but unable to take it back now. Yvie looked across at her and raised an eyebrow.

“She’s got uni. I’m picking her up from her flat at five, we’re going for drinks and then out to the restaurant.”

“Picking her up with what, your bare hands?” Brooke let out a small laugh, Yvie chucking a couch cushion at her and snorting.

“Shut up. I’ll get an uber. I might even get an uber exec, really push the boat out,” she quipped, Brooke laughing again. As her laughter died down, Yvie tilted her head. “So what’re your plans for tonight?”

Brooke groaned and tilted her head to the ceiling. “I’ll be fine. I’ll stick on some films, eat some chocolate. Maybe skype my parents. I’ll be fine.”

“You said that twice.”

“Well I will be.”

Yvie made a click with her tongue. “And we all know the hallmark of a person who’s fine is if they have to repeat it about twenty billion times.”

“Yvie Oddly, ladies and gentlemen, queen of exaggeration,” Brooke said sarcastically, Yvie giving a sarcastic flourish of her hand right back at her. In the conversational lull, Brooke checked her phone. All over her instagram page there were couples; disgusting, happy couples who really were just making an embarrassment of themselves with their totally cringeworthy captions. “Happy Valentine’s Day to my number one” with every heart emoji under the sun, “happy vday baby i love u” beneath a picture of someone’s boyfriend pulling a silly face, and the worst, “he’s ok”, the understated caption contrasted by the horrendously soppy picture of a couple that Brooke knew from back home kissing for the camera.

Brooke had a cheek, she supposed. She’d made her bed- breaking up with Vanessa, as difficult as it was, was supposed to make her happier and make everything go back to normal. But it hadn’t. Knowing how much she’d hurt Vanessa brought no happiness to her at all, nor did it make her life any easier. Seeing her post sad, slow R&B song after sad, slow R&B song to her instagram story didn’t alleviate her guilt, nor did her radio silence on the group chat. Brooke had seen her only once since the breakup- across the square on campus when Vanessa didn’t realise Brooke could see her, flanked by Silky and Akeria, wearing baggy clothes and not a scrap of makeup, her face and eyes puffy and red. There was nothing about Brooke that was relieved; she desperately wanted to be there for Vanessa, to dry her tears and talk shit about herself. She had the deepest desire to be a friend to her through the breakup she had been the cause of, because ultimately she still cared about her. Brooke didn’t know if that was normal or not. She was past caring or trying to figure it out.

What was she going to do tonight? Yvie was out with Scarlet, Nina was at Monet’s right that minute. Plastique had told her in the library the other day that she was going for drinks with Ariel (“the most casual of drinks”, she’d said, although Brooke knew it would be anything but casual). She didn’t know what the others would be doing. Akeria would probably drag Vanessa on a night out and Silky wouldn’t need much encouragement to go either. It looked like Brooke was in for a night by herself after all.

Mid-scroll, one of the uploads caught Brooke’s eye- a photo from months back at Vanessa’s birthday night out of all eight of them together, dressed up and smiling with their arms around each other. It was only a few seconds later that Brooke realised she was smiling at it, completely unaware that her facial expression had changed. She wished they could all go back to October. She would exchange all the hurt and the guilt and the sadness that she’d caused in exchange for pining for Vanessa for the rest of her days. Her eyes drifted down to the caption, and her stomach plummeted when she realised who it was posted by.

missvanjiemissvanjie Happy Valentine’s Day to my day ones! Best bitches I could ask for in my life. Love you!! 💓

Brooke scanned the photo again. She hadn’t been cropped out, even though she was on the edge of the photo- the curse of being tall, Nina had called it. Her heart began to spring to life. This was a good sign. Vanessa clearly didn’t hate her, and somewhere deep inside her was a want to be friends again and go back to how things used to be. Injected with optimism, Brooke clicked on Vanessa’s messages. She paused for a moment, looking back at the last ones they’d sent- the day of the breakup, Brooke asking to talk, Vanessa wondering if everything was alright. It felt like a harpoon to her stomach.

Trying to stay positive, Brooke typed out a message.

B: Hey. Hope you’re doing okay. I know we said we still wanted to try and be friends so I was wondering if you wanted to maybe hang out tonight? Just as friends obviously. Since everyone else will be busy. Let me know.

Brooke’s finger hovered over the “x”. She decided against it. Hitting send, she found herself waiting anxiously for a reply.

“How do you know we have a mouse anyway?” Brooke asked Yvie, her words suddenly registering. Yvie shrugged.

“Ran across the worktop about five minutes before you came in.”

“What the hell are we going to do about it, then? I don’t want to even imagine what Nina’s reaction’s going to be if she sees it,” Brooke shuddered.

Yvie laughed. “No, Scarlet’s going to be the same. I don’t know, she looked like a nice lil’ fucker. I think we should get a cage. Put a block of cheese in it and then keep her as a pet."

Brooke felt her phone vibrate twice. Picking it up to check it and seeing that both the messages were from Vanessa, she nonchalantly carried on the conversation. "So Scarlet would be fine with that, would she?”

“Scarlet isn’t here all the time.”

“No, just 99% of it,” Brooke raised her eyebrows, opening Vanessa’s messages.

V: lmao

V: Are you on crack. You broke my heart two weeks ago and now you’re trying to be my friend already. Have you never heard of a thing called a healing process?

Brooke felt her stomach tense. She hovered her thumbs over her screen to reply, but nothing she thought of seemed to make sense or be the slightest bit appropriate. Despondent, she was about to close her phone when another message shot through.

V: And I’m busy anyway. So it still would have been a no.

Well, that was that. Vanessa was out with Silky and Akeria, and clearly she wasn’t invited. That was fine. Brooke could have kicked herself. She instantly wished she’d never been so tone-deaf. It had been a stupid suggestion. Of course Vanessa wasn’t going to be best friends with her a fortnight after they’d broken up.

Brooke couldn’t help the fact that she missed her, though. Even just as a friend.

“Hey, panini head? Are you listening to me?” Yvie suddenly yelled, her best Gordon Ramsay impersonation catching Brooke off-guard.

“What?”

“I said, would you look after Mrs Tibbs if I went home for the weekend?”

Brooke rubbed her temples in confusion. “Who’s Mrs-”

“The mouse! Jesus, Brooke, have you been on this earth for the past five minutes?” Yvie laughed, then gradually a frown spread onto her face. “What’s wrong?”

Brooke hadn’t realised she’d been showing her guilt and disappointment on her face. She sighed. “It’s nothing. I just still feel bad. About Vanessa, you know.”

Yvie furrowed her brow. “Listen, girl, I know dumping someone is hard and it’s unpleasant. Shit, I would know, I’ve had to do it enough times. But there comes a point where you’ve got to stop beating yourself up about it. I mean you ultimately did what was best for the pair of you. It wasn’t fair to string her along if you didn’t want to be with her. It hurts her now, but it’s better in the long run.”

Brooke nodded. Part of her couldn’t help but wonder…

…it didn’t matter.

Brooke’s phone vibrated again. She hoped and prayed it wasn’t another text from Vanessa to berate her for her shitty idea. What was to come would actually make her feel a hundred times worse.

Okay Then: happy valentines day fuckers!!!!!!! even though im out being soppy tonight i still want u all to know that ur my main bitches and number ones and i love u all sm 💖💖💖

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: You’re disgusting. Love you too hoe xxxxxx

Yvie’s Bitch: Awwwwwww Plastique!!!!! We love you too!!!!

Yvie’s Bitch: What’re everyone’s plans for Valentine’s Day?????

Scarlet’s Bitch: i don’t know i’ve got plans with this weird girl called……Scarface? idk i’ll probs cancel on her

Yvie’s Bitch: Suck my clit x

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag For Life: Children PLEASE

incongruous silkworm spiced praline: HAPPY INTERNATIONAL DAY OF FUCKING

incongruous silkworm spiced praline: ME N KIKI GOING OUT ON THE TOWN LOOKING FOR THIRD DIVISION FOOTBALL PLAYERS

Okay Then: oh bitch aim high? second division xo

Brooke’s heart dropped twenty storeys when she saw who was typing. Their names on the chat had been quietly changed back, but Brooke still knew who it was.

cursed SatNav voice: Happy Valentine’s Day hoes 💓💓💓

cursed SatNav voice: Even though all you couples can suck a bag of dicks

Scarlet’s bitch: gladly, bitch 💜

Okay Then: Vanj are u not going out with Silk n Kiki?? bc if not ur welcome to join me n Ariel!! it’s just casual!!

incongruous silkworm spiced praline: YES PLASTIQUE IM SURE SHED LOVE TO THIRD WHEEL U AND UR HONEYMOON PHASE FLATMATE

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: anna ou

cursed SatNav voice: 💓 That’s sweet but I’m busy tonight!! Thanks though boo

incongruous silkworm spiced praline: SHE GOT A DATE ANYWAY

Time seemed to freeze. Brooke couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe. All she was able to do was blink at her phone screen as the chat blew up around her. It was only after a few moments that she realised Yvie was looking at her.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Um. Yeah, no, I’m fine,” Brooke stammered, nodding and putting her phone down in a futile effort to seem relaxed. Yvie gave a laugh.

“Brooke, you can’t break up with her and then get mad she’s going on a date with someone else.”

Brooke bristled. “No, that’s not it, that’s not it at all.”

There was a small silence as Yvie typed away at her screen, her eyebrows raised in a defiant show of disbelief. In the silence, Brooke gathered her thoughts.

“I’m just kinda…I don’t know. Not hurt, but…I mean I thought she cared about me a bit more than to be over me in the space of two weeks.”

Yvie gave a gasp, clutching at her heart. “Oh! The fragile ego of Miss Brooke Lynn Hytes. The wings of a moth cannot compare, nor the web of a spider!”

“You know, you can be a really shit friend when you want to be,” Brooke spat, getting up without a second thought and storming through to her bedroom. She threw herself down on her bed and curled up into a small ball, wishing the world would give her a break.

Her ego was hurt. Her pride was battered and bruised. She supposed she’d been so used to being revered and cared for in the eyes of Vanessa that she found it odd for that to no longer be the case. Brooke sighed. Yvie was right- she wasn’t supposed to care this much, she was supposed to be happy. Fuck, shouldn’t this have been the ideal outcome? Vanessa had moved on already.

So why did Brooke feel absolutely gutted?

She sat on her bed in the cold of her room, stewing in her thoughts, trying to figure them out and failing. She didn’t know how long she’d been there for but it had clearly been enough time for Yvie to make a cup of tea, as Brooke found when her flatmate gave a gentle knock on her door and shuffled in with the Sports Direct mug in her hand.

“Hey,” Yvie began, crossing the room and putting the mug down on Brooke’s cluttered bedside table. She sighed and lay down on top of Brooke in what could have been a cuddle or an attempt at smothering her to death. “Brooky, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t. She used to call me that and…” Brooke began, sighing when she couldn’t figure out why she had an issue with it. “I don’t know.”

Brooke wrestled an arm free from under Yvie’s stomach and brought it to rest over her back. It felt more like a cuddle now.

“I knew she was going on a date, by the way. Scarlet told me the other day. I just didn’t think you’d give a fuck,” Yvie said quietly. Brooke exhaled and felt her ribcage deflate.

“I didn’t think I would either,” she said, feeling small. There was a pause. “What’s her name?”

“Monique. The girl from Monet’s party with the purple hair,” Yvie said. It felt like a stab through Brooke’s chest. She remembered Monique, she remembered the way Vanessa had laughed at her stories and the way Monique had looked at her and the obvious chemistry between them. “If it helps, Brooke, I don’t think it’s going to be anything serious. Scarlet said that apparently she literally gave Vanjie her number and was like ‘In case you ever want a rebound’. They’ve been messaging all week. Tonight’s more of a 'fuck Valentine’s Day’ drink than anything else.”

Brooke thought about Vanessa’s perfect body, about her touching Monique the way she used to touch Brooke, talking to her like she used to talk to Brooke, someone else making her come apart the way Brooke used to. Brooke rolled out from under Yvie, grabbed her pillow, and buried her face in it, letting out a long, loud groan.

“Do you feel like you fucked it?” Brooke heard Yvie’s voice ask matter-of-factly. Brooke brought the pillow off her face and whined.

“No! No, I made the right decision. I didn’t want to be Vanessa’s girlfriend. It’s just fucking…weird. It doesn’t exactly fill me with glee thinking of her with somebody else, you know?”

Yvie smirked. “Because you know Monique’s going to fuck her better?”

Brooke launched the pillow at her flatmate, Yvie giggling. “Sorry! Sorry! Fuck, okay, point taken. Inappropriate.”

There was a silence. Yvie’s joke still hung in the air.

“Well, as long as you feel like your decision was correct,” Yvie smiled gently, patting Brooke’s thigh. “Then that’s the main thing. And it’s natural to get a little jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Sure, Jan,” Yvie raised her eyebrows and began to slide off Brooke’s bed. “Look, I’ve got to go get ready for dinner. You sure you’ll be fine?”

“Well I said it about twenty billion times, remember?” Brooke deadpanned, earning her a laugh from Yvie. “Just go. Go have fun. Have the best night, baby. You two deserve it.”

Yvie leant down and gave Brooke one last little squeeze before leaving her bedroom and going back into her own. Now she was alone with her thoughts Brooke wanted desperately to silence them so she grabbed her laptop and shoved on the least romantic film she could think of- Kingsman. As she sipped her tea and watched a man get completely sliced in half from skull to anus, she thought that would only be slightly less painful than what her emotions were currently putting her through.

As Taron Egerton refused to kill his dog, Yvie shouted a goodbye to Brooke.

As Colin Firth went absolutely mental in a church and killed everybody single-handedly, Brooke grabbed her phone and deleted all of her messages with Vanessa.

As the end credits rolled, Brooke wondered what the fuck she’d done. Two and a half years of friendship gone and deleted in the blink of an eye. But maybe it was for the best.

Brooke had been scrolling Netflix searching for something else to watch for what could have been an entire hour when she heard four things in rapid succession- the heavy bang of the front door, a scurry of hurried footsteps across the hall, the bang of Nina’s fire door and then a rapid sobbing that poured out of whoever was in the room and through Brooke’s wall. Brooke’s previously lethargic body sprang to life and she shot off her bed, took three quick steps to her door and hurried out into the hallway where she knocked on Nina’s.

“Nina? What’s happened?”

The sobbing continued from inside, Brooke unsure if the girl had even heard anything. Hesitantly, she pushed on the door.

“I’m coming in, okay?”

With no response other than more sobbing and a snuffle, Brooke entered Nina’s room. There was her usual organised dressing table with her makeup strewn all over it, indicative of a rushed getting-ready process. On her usually tidy floor was a mess of tried-on-and-rejected clothes, and there on the Aristocats-patterned duvet curled up with her stuffed teddy was Nina, absolutely crying her eyes out. Brooke practically vaulted the end of her bed to get to her flatmate who was squashed in between her pillows and the wall in the foetal position.

“Hey, hey, hey! What’s wrong?” Brooke asked her, pulling her close and wrapping her arms around her. Nina batted her away weakly.

“Don’t, Brooke, don’t, fuck, getting held is just going to remind me of her and I don’t-” Nina descended into another burst of sobs, Brooke completely and utterly confused.

“Monet? I thought you guys were fine? Oh my God, Nina, she didn’t break up with you?!” Brooke asked, scared and trying to fight the sinking feeling taking root in her chest. Nina elegantly wiped her nose on her teddy and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, rubbing harshly and leaving her looking like a human panda.

“She didn’t break up with me,” Nina sniffed, finally seeming to calm down.

“Oh, thank fuck.”

“I broke up with her.”

This was at least twenty times worse than what Brooke had feared. Pulling away, she fixed Nina with a look of complete incredulity. “You did what?!”

Nina rubbed at her eyes again, this time with her fingers. “Yeah, because obviously I can’t have anything fucking half-decent in my life without completely sabotaging it or making it go to shit, can I? I broke up with her, I’m a fucking idiot. Happy?”

Brooke could only blink in response as Nina leaned back and let her head hit the pillow, her stare boring into the ceiling. Her thoughts were all colliding. This was the most sudden and unexpected event, and it had completely knocked her for six. “Rewind. I thought you and Monet were fine?��

“We were fine,” Nina sighed so deeply that Brooke wasn’t sure she would have any air left in her lungs. “I was so fucking happy, Jesus. But there’s always a catch, right? Nobody can stay that happy forever, it’s always got to come to an end at some point.”

She stopped and sat up, propping her head against the headboard. Not looking Brooke in the eye, Nina continued. “She started being really distant with me. Not replying to texts for ages, being really deep in thought when we were together. I’d ask her what was wrong, but…she’d just always say nothing was. I was over at her flat the other night, we’d had a nap together and I woke up and she wasn’t there. I went into her living room and she was there with two of her flatmates. They stopped talking the second I got in, honestly I might as well have caught them all in the middle of a massive fucking orgy,” Nina laughed humourlessly. “And then it clicked. It all started after I told Monet about you and Vanessa. Nothing bad…just about how you weren’t sure, and how it’s better to just break up with somebody if you’re having second thoughts about them. It all made sense. Her being distant, always seeming off, obviously talking to her flatmates about it and having to stop because I came in. She didn’t fucking want me anymore, Brooke.”

Shocked, Brooke could only put her arms around her friend as she leaned into her chest and began to cry again. Nothing about it seemed to fit. Monet was absolutely head over heels for Nina, anyone could have seen it. It all seemed so out of the blue and sudden. Brooke tried to think about the last time Monet had been over at the flat. It had been about a week ago and Monet had seemed fine- although, now that Brooke thought about it, Monet had seemed a little quiet. Almost nervous, Brooke considered. But she was still cuddling Nina and giving her small kisses and paying her attention. It didn’t make any sense. Brooke frowned. “Nina, are you sure she actually wanted to break up with you?”

“I wondered it too. Because I didn’t want to believe it, of course. But then yesterday we were just lying in bed doing nothing. She was on her phone and my head was on her chest. I saw what was on her screen just for a second and she’d fucking-” Nina sighed, cutting herself off. “- typed this guy’s name into Google. Obviously some guy she’s met and she’s trying to find him on social media. I actually felt like I’d been stabbed, Brooke. Obviously she saw me, because she only got as far as the first name and then closed her phone. But I know what I saw, you know?”

Brooke’s frown only got deeper. “But that makes no sense. Why would she look someone up on Google, what is this, the fucking 90’s?”

“Brooke, you weren’t there. You should have seen how quickly she shut her phone off, and she was instantly all over me and telling me how lucky she was and-” Nina’s speech was interrupted by a bubble of a sob. “Oh fuck, it hurt so much. And today she woke up with me and was all "Happy Valentine’s Day!” and all that shit. I couldn’t do it, Brooke. I couldn’t make myself look like an idiot any longer. I suggested going for coffee and while we were out I just…I just fucking did it. Oh my God, it was so so bad, Brooke. She looked so fucking destroyed and she was so pissed off with me that I thought it was all a mistake but…fuck, I didn’t know what to believe. I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’ve done.“

Brooke sighed, desperately not wanting to believe it was over between the two girls. "But didn’t she explain herself? I mean what did you actually say to her? Did you confront her?”

“Jesus, no! No, I didn’t want to make it look like I was this poor, lovesick, pining idiot who was making a fool of herself over her! I jumped before I was pushed. I pretended I was the one whose feelings had changed, that it wasn’t working for me anymore. It was all a crock of shit, but she obviously believed it.”

Brooke bit the skin at the side of her thumb. There was a silence. “But didn’t she try to make you stay? Didn’t she fight for you?”

“She-” Nina cut herself off. Brooke looked down and saw tears pouring down her face, and her heart broke. “- she just sat and looked at me. Something in her eyes just…shut down. They just went all glassy, like those black marbles you got as a kid, remember? Anyway I said my piece and she just…ugh, she just nodded. She just nodded and went "Right. Got it.” in the most cold voice and then she got up, put on her coat and left. And I let her.“

With that, Nina swept her hands under her eyes and heaved a gut-wrenching shudder of a sigh. Brooke was at a loss of what to say. She had thought Nina and Monet were made for each other, and the fact that Nina had thrown it away for the sake of what Brooke was sure had to be a misunderstanding was gutting. She heaved a similar sigh to Nina’s.

"Look at us. It’s Valentine’s Day, we’re both single, we’re both here regretting breaking up with someone-”

“Wait what?” Nina asked suddenly, eyeing Brooke with suspicion. It was only then that Brooke had realised what she’d said. Startled, she backtracked.

“Well, I mean, not regretting breaking up with her, just regretting causing her hurt,” she said, Nina nodding quietly. Although Brooke was still spooked. Why had that thought popped into her head, let alone out of her mouth? She didn’t regret breaking up with Vanessa. It was the ick, just like Plastique had said. She had changed her mind. She couldn’t exactly change it back.

Could she?

“Why don’t we watch a film? I’ll bring my laptop through, get snacks from the kitchen. You don’t even need to move from this room. Or this bed,” Brooke suggested, ignoring the dangerous thoughts swirling round her mind. Nina gave a sniff and a silent nod.

“21 Jump Street?” she offered hopefully, Brooke unable to help the small laugh that escaped her mouth at the suggestion.

“This from the queen of Disney?”

“Disney’s too happy for me right now,” Nina moped, wiggling underneath her duvet cover. Brooke screwed up her face.

“Too happy? C’mon, you’ve seen Bambi. And Lion King. And Big Hero 6. And-”

“Brooke I swear to God if you don’t go get your laptop and stick on 21 Jump Street,” Nina warned, not finishing the empty threat. Laughing, Brooke did as she was told. She could only hope that the film would be enough of a distraction to her and to Nina for the next two hours.

She had no idea what they’d do once those two hours were up.

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wolfpawn · 5 years

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 12

Chapter Summary - Danielle reacts to the article by hiding at Paul's, but she has to go home eventually, meaning she has to face Diana.Tom goes through with the fashion show with Taylor, seeing first hand how she can manipulate situations to suit her.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1

The article made Danielle sick to her stomach, she could not believe what that manipulative little harpy had stated. She could not bring herself to even go home, and had, for three days, stayed at Paul’s apartment. As a result, their relationship had progressed a slight bit faster than she would have elected for otherwise, but it felt better to have someone comfort her and try and show her affection than to be alone. The words repeated over and over in her head throughout the morning as she attempted to sleep, with Paul’s arm around her as she lay staring at the far wall.

“I can hear you thinking you know.” His voice was heavy with sleep.

“I…”

He pulled her in against him. “It’s all lies Danni, you know that, and I know that, nothing else matters.”

“My job…”

“The only ones who realise it is you being talked about know that it’s bullshit, so come here.” He turned her so she was lying with her head on his chest, her fingers sliding over the t-shirt he had put on getting into the bed. “Just get some rest.”

“It’s not that easy.” She whispered, but she gripped him tightly.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” He kissed her forehead and played with a few strands of her hair that had fallen out of the ponytail she had thrown it in.

Desperate to forget everything, she leant up and kissed him, trying to initiate his interest; when he responded, she seized her opportunity and put her hand down to toy with the hem of his boxers, grateful that for a few minutes at least, she would forget her woes.

Paul was called to work a few hours later; leaving Danielle with four hours alone in his home before she had to go to work. She was walking Mac Tíre outside to allow the dog relieve himself, cursing the text she received from the other paramedic she was going to be working with that evening, asking her to return the book she had borrowed on terrorist attack procedure, which unfortunately was at her home. She knew she would have to bring it with her, meaning she had to risk seeing Diana, something she had been avoiding, so after she grabbed her things from Paul’s, she packed Mac Tíre into her car and headed back to her home. She groaned when she saw not only Diana’s car, but Emma’s one also in the neighbouring driveway, she contemplated driving on and telling Graham that she forgot it, but the youngest Hiddleston had been getting something from her car, noticed Danielle and purposely stood in the road outside her mothers’ driveway, forcing Danielle to a halt.

“Are you out to kill yourself?”

“You weren’t going fast enough to kill me, and let’s face it, you are the person to call in such emergencies anyway.” Emma joked, but her face was solemn. “You haven’t been home in days.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, I know. I saw you and your boyfriend the other day, all kisses and holding hands on the beach.” She smiled, “When are the four of us going out for a meal?”

“What?”

“Oh come on Elle, mum’s met him and she adores him, and you look so cute together, and you have been staying at his place for days, so that tells me you are sleeping together, which with you never having a boyfriend in all the time you were here means it’s serious. I want to meet him.”

“Emma, with…”

“Yeah, I saw.” There was a disgusted look on her face. “Tom rang, apparently he has some sort of ‘explanation’ but mum didn’t even listen, she went off on an absolute rant about it to him, about all your hard work, everything you sacrificed, how you were never anything but nice to him, and he allowed you to be dragged through the dirt like this, seriously, I was getting second-hand fear from her.”

“She didn’t need to do that.”

“Well, she feels like it is some bit her fault,” Emma stated sadly.

“How the fuck is any of what that cow does your mum’s fault?” Danielle snapped.

“She allowed her into the house, it’s her son she is dating.” Emma began to list.

“This isn’t her fault, it never was her fault.” Danielle shook her head.

“Well, only one person can tell her that in a way she’ll listen.” Emma smiled, opening the car door.

“My car is in the middle of the road,” Danielle argued.

“Elle, please, she feels so bad,” Emma begged.

Unable to think of Diana being upset because of her, Danielle nodded slightly, causing Emma to close the car door and for Danielle to reverse into her driveway. Emma had the gate to the back garden open, so Mac Tíre trotted in happily as you got out. “I really should get some clothes sorted.”

Emma grinned widely. “Really?”

“I did not sleep with him.”

“So what, you played monopoly all day?”

“Well, we did stuff, just not everything.” She blushed, causing Emma to snigger. “You are such a child.”

“I am not the one getting all bothered about doing things with her boyfriend.” Emma retorted, linking her arm with Danielle’s. “So, when am I meeting him?”

“I’m not sure I want you to.”

“Spoil sport, I won’t be too embarrassing, I swear; I mean, I would never tell him about the time we got drunk and you started singing Mariah Carey, and of course I would never show him the video I took of it, that I still have.”

“I hate you.” Emma erupted in laughter at those words as they got to Diana’s front door.

“Emma?” Danielle froze when she saw Diana standing in the hallway in front of her. When the older woman saw her, her face became a mixture of delight and shame all at once. “Elle.”

“Hi.”

“I…I’m so sorry.” She had tears in her eyes.

Danielle did not even stop to think; she rushed over and embraced her. “It’s not your fault. I am sorry this is even happening, I should never have pissed her off.”

“Has Tom tried speaking to you?”

“Not since the day of the car accident.”

“I could not bare to even speak with him, he began by saying not to judge after the article came out, can you believe that?”

“I don’t…I can’t talk about it.” Danielle stated.

“Of course, I understand.” Diana nodded solemnly. A moment later, her face became one of interest. “Why do you smell of men’s shower gel?”

“Because someone has been staying with a handsome doctor the passed few days.” Emma sang from behind her, going into the kitchen to put on the kettle.

Diana’s eyes lit up at that information. “Really?”

“Oh God, not you too.”

“Well, as a surrogate for your mother, I have to say, I approve.”

“Of course you do, it was you that thought to try and set us up, to begin with,” Danielle stated.

“So, is he nice…”

“Mum, if you are asking Elle what he is like in bed, I swear to God, I will drop dead here and now of mortification!” Emma shouted from the kitchen. “Besides, I already asked, sort of.”

“I need to get new people to talk to, Brit’s are mental.” Danielle shook her head as she walked passed Diana and into the kitchen.

Automated voice - You have fourteen new messages. This message was left on the eighth of September at 4:30 am.

“Elle, its Tom, I…fuck I need you to call me back, as soon as you get in. Please.”

This message was left on the eighth of September at 6:30am.

“Elle, its Tom again, I never even thought, you might not even be working these few nights, but anyway, please, ring me when you get this.”

This message was left on the eighth of September at 9:05 am.

“Elle, I know you are finished work or awake if you didn’t have work last night, please ring me.”

This message was left on the eighth of September at 2:30 pm.

“Please Elle, look I know you are probably pissed about that piece, I am…I am trying to have it dealt with.”

This message was left on the eighth of September at…

The messages went on and on, all fourteen had been from Tom, and after a while, his tone became shorter, until the final one, left that morning. “I am just trying to make this right.” He had snapped on it. But the article came to her mind once more. She thought for a second that he had seen through that bitch, but when she Googled his name, she regretted it immediately, the first result was an article, from that day’s Daily Mail, declaring the pair to be the hottest thing in New York for that evening's fashion show.

Annoyed, Danielle decided to erase all the messages and went to get ready for work.

Tom looked at his phone, three missed calls but none from Danielle while he had been out for lunch with Taylor, having gone over everything with her over what they would say to the reporters that evening, making sure it was crystal clear that nothing ever happened between him and Danielle, and that the ‘source’ the magazine had was false.

“Ready?” he turned to see Taylor standing behind him, looking beautiful in a pair of shorts and high boots. He knew now that behind that beauty, there was a coldness that could rival that of a boardroom CEO that would fire every last subordinate, just because he could.

“Yes.” He gave as good a smile as he muster.

“After this, she’ll be cleared so try to make that smile more believable.”

“She never did anything to be cleared of, she is not on trial, she did nothing.” He stated.

“Whatever, she will have her sad pathetic life back, and we will get on with ours.” She smiled.

Tom frowned, the way Taylor was speaking, she seemed to think they were still in a good place in their relationship. “I just need to talk to Luke for a moment.”

“Chop chop.” She ordered.

Tom bared his teeth after she left the room, scrolling to Luke’s name and pressing the call button. “It’s nearly midnight, this better be good Tom.”

“Hey.”

“Hello,” Luke replied curtly, “Now what is it?”

“Luke…just don’t start.”

“Look, we spent years making you the nicest guy in Hollywood, remember that. No having public flings, no acting the fool, no drunken incidences and you are now the laughing stock of the free world, so after everything I sacrificed to make sure you got ahead, I really am not interested. Whatever it is, ask ‘PR Barbie’s’ people to deal with it.”

“I am going to a fashion show with her.”

“Because of course, you love those things,” Luke replied sarcastically.

“It’s all done as soon as the show finishes.”

There was silence on the line for a moment. “Why not before?”

“I have her agreeing to rubbish what was published about Danielle.”

“And she will willingly do that? I don’t buy it, Tom.”

“What else can I do, Danielle…?”

“There is no need to tell me about Ms Hughes, I have spent the passed week of my life trying to stop leeches getting anything on her, including photo’s.”

“I never thought to ask…”

“No, you didn’t; your mum did, though. Not that she had to. I was already on it.” The publicist snapped.

“Luke, I fucked up.”

“Thank you for stating that, I was not aware before now.”

Tom sighed at his friends’ sarcasm. “You were right.”

“Yet another obvious statement of fact.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah well, next time a narcissistic bitch who writes countless songs on his legion of ex’s sniffs around, will you listen to me?”

Tom could not help the smile on his face. “I think I can do that.”

“Good, now what are you doing about this statement?”

“Mr Hiddleston, please, Mr Hiddleston, this way please.” Tom turned obediently to face the photographers, their lights blinding him as he did. “Mr Hiddleston, have you anything to say about the claims being made that you forced your ex-girlfriend to get an abortion?”

Even hearing those words made Tom’s jaw clench. “Yes, actually, I do. I have not now, nor have I ever made such a request to any woman much less the woman in question. She has never been anything but a close family friend, and she is one of the most honourable women I have ever had the good fortune to befriend. These claims are wholly untrue and have been terribly hurtful to her, for which I can never apologise to her enough. Whoever put about that story is lying and is doing so to hurt a hard working and good woman.” He stated clearly.

“Taylor,” the same reporter looked to the blonde songstress, “the article stated it was a source close to you that leaked this story, and that you received the email, what have you to say?”

Tom had to force himself to remain calm at the manner in which the reporter had dismissed what he had just said, but he looked to Taylor to see if she would do as she had promised.

Taylor gave a small laugh. “Well, its rubbish of course, I mean, how would this person have even get my email address? My squad and I don’t need to talk about people we don’t know; our lives are interesting enough to occupy us. People just like profiting off my name, it’s something I have had to get used to sadly.” She gave a sad puppy face at that, trying to sway the journalist to see her as as much a victim in the situation as Danielle. Tom had to give her credit, Taylor knew how to play reporters and public image, and that worried him.

#I Hate you I Love You #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #chapter 12

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rickssoberjourney · 5 years

Text

Relapse

107 days sober from using crystal meth. I never made it to 108. There was so much that went into my relapse and I never saw it coming.

In the beginning of my relationship with my sponsor, he suggested that many in the program give up dating and sex in the initial stages of their sobriety. I took it under advisement and made a half-hearted commitment.

I continued to browse the gay apps. I didn't necessarily talk to the guys but I did hook up every once in awhile. I guess you could say that by keeping the apps and continuing to have sex, that my "commitment" was rather half-hearted. Oh, I paid lip service to it, but I never really commited wholeheartedly. Do you know why? I felt that I was being asked to give up too much and frankly, I resented it. I didn't really see the benefits of giving up sex and dating. To me, it was asking me to do too much!

Then , something happened. Through several recent experiences, I became painfully aware of just how sick my feelings about dating and sex were. I began to recognize just how intertwined my poor self-image (brought to my way of thinking for the first time through CoDA) and my feelings about dating and sex, in particular, were. I came to understand that sex is a drug for me. Dating, when things went well (and the guy liked me and wanted to see me again!), I felt great about myself. If I could get the guy home in bed, I must be ok, I reasoned. So, it hit me square in the face: I was using sex to soothe myself and when it worked, it worked very well. But when it backfired, I went into the depths of depression.

Equipped with this new knowledge, I was able to delete all of the sex apps from my phone. Grindr. Adam4Adam, Scruff. You know them. I did it with such renewed conviction. Oh, I had deleted them many times before, but this time it was different. There were deleted, not out of guilt, but from knowing that those apps fed into my less-than-healthy attitudes toward sex, which was simply a reflection of how I felt about myself, in my heart of hearts. Great! Apps gone!

Until 12 hours later...

It was like I panicked. If those apps werent there, what would I do while sitting on the couch at night? Scrolling through profiles took up a lot of my time. Frankly, when the apps were gone, I panicked. Follow the logic here: if my self-image was based upon the responses of the men on those apps, then without them, (to my mind, that is!) I had nothing to bloster my ego. Oh, sure. I got dissed plenty of times, but it's like intermittant reinforcement. Every once in awhile, a nice guy would talk to me and might actually be interested in me. To my twisted way of thinking, his approval signaled to me that I was attractive. But, more often than not, the responses either didn't come (I was ignored), or the responses were negative. And, considering that my self-worth is based on what others think of me, those rejections hurt me far more than they would a "normal" person.

So, after only 12 hours and after writing a long Tumblr blog about why I knew that giving the apps up was in the interest of my mental health, I was disgusted with myself and, I think, I basically just gave up. Dating and sex, here I come!

I woke up this past Saturday morning, ready to drive to San Diego to meet my family. I awakened with my heart pounding because I had a very vivid dream of me using crystal with a large group of guys...and we know what that means! From that moment on, the cravings came on heavy! I called my sponsor and we talked. It helped, but the cravings were so intense, more intense than I had ever experienced, that I'm not sure I heard everything my sponsor was telling me.

That night, in my hotel room, I was on the apps. Two guys wanted to come over and we were going to party in my room. Due to circumstances (divine intervention?) that meeting never took place. The next day, I decided to drive back to Palm Springs. My cravings were even worse.

It just so happened that a buddy that I used to use with and have sex with texted me. That started the ball rolling. At that moment, I knew that when I got back to Palm Springs, that my friend and I could get together and use. I wanted to. I didn't even try to fight it. In fact, I knew that I should have reached out for help, but frankly, I didn't want help. I wanted to use. It was pure self-will.

So, it happened just as I thought. I promised myself on 1-2 hits. What a joke! And, if you're reading this, you will understand that after 107 days of sobriety, those 2+ hits smashed into the sexual centers of my brain and I was off to the races! I won't go into gory details, but let's just say that I got no sleep that night and that there were three men who participated with me throughout the night. Each of them came prepared with favors and, of course, I used all night long. By the time the sun rose, I was twitching and grinding and I haven't slept in 24 hours. Basically, I was a mess.

What have I learned? That relapse is now a part of my process, I have to learn something from it so that I can avoid another relapse.

I learned and have come to understand, painfully so, just how pathological my thinking about myself is. Couple that with the idea that my self-worth comes from outside myself instead of from within, and I've got one pretty messed up situation. Then, throw in crystal and it just compounds things. I felt powerful when high. I liked my activities when I was high. I do understand reinforcement contingencies well enough to know that the combination of needing positive strokes from everyone else, coupled with the sexual explosion that comes with crystal, I was playing with fire.

Ecclesiastes 4:12 says, "And though one mahy be overpowered, two can resist. Moreover, a cord of three strands is not quickly broken." You can look at this verse in several ways. Many times during Christian weddings, the pastor will use this verse to show that the union of two people and God is like a triple braided cord. It cannot be easily broken. In my case, I see it differently.

I have three cords, too. My condependent attitude that tells me that I'm worthless unless others approve of me. My need to gain approval through dating and sexual behavior, and (the strongest cord!), crystal meth. Over the last week, I have come to understand that these three cords and so tangled up inside my life and, therefore, in my behavior, that unraveling it or "breaking it" is going to be difficult. My sponsor told me today, that at this point in my relapse, I can't allow myself to think of "big picture" issues. That can lead to total despair! He said that self-care is paramount. My brain needs to heal and then I can start to unravel the twised mess that is my life. If I allow myself, I can spiral down into that deep pit of dispair, believing that I will never be healthy. But, then I have to remind myself that I did get 107 days of sobriety under my belt. That's nothing to sneeze at. And, when I am healthy, I can being to untangle those three cords.

What did I learn? I'm willful. No matter how strongly my Higher Power is speaking to me, I have the capacity to overrule and go my own way. That's exactly what I did. Did I get what I wanted? Temporarily, yes. I got high and had a lot of hot sex. But, was that temporary flash worth it? That's a rhetorical question. Of course it wasn't worth it. I risked everything...my livelihood, my family relationships, my financial security, and quite possibly my life for a few fleeting moments of excitement. Then, I had to pay for it by coming down, crashing.

I'll leave it at this: If there ever was a question as to whether I was a crystal meth addict, that question has been answered. I AM A CRYSTAL METH ADDICT! I am powerless over it. It sings to me like the sirens. It is insideous. I fell into the thought patterns of, "Oh, I can control my use!" No. I cannot! I have the allergy and I always will. I can't dabble because one that drug hits my brain, I'm off to the races and I cannot control myself.

So, relapse is now a part of my journey to sobriety. It will be with me until the day I die. I am an addict. I can choose the path of sexual kicks with all of the pitfalls of that phony world, or I can choose sobriety and spirituality. The choice is mine to make. I didn't make a good decision this past weekend. But maybe that relapse experience can serve as a teaching tool to inform my future decisions. May my Higher Power help me.

Amen.

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mypoorfaves · 7 years

Text

Salient Symptoms

Salient (adjective): standing out conspicuously : prominent; especially : of notable significance

Summary: Seung-gil comes down with a cold. It’s not a big deal, but it sure is annoying. (Largely inspired by my sick life.)

I gift this to @just-another-sickfic-blog because everyone deserves to have sickfic content for their faves

1800~ words

～～～

Seung-gil is not a people person.

It’s not that he doesn’t like people per se, he just prefers to avoid interacting with them if at all possible. Given the fact, he can’t help but appreciate the common cold and the natural barrier it creates between himself and those who would rather not get sick.

He wakes up slowly, alone in his house save for the company of his loyal husky who lays curled up asleep at the foot of the bed. Just minutes after being awake and Seung-gil can already tell his body isn’t at it’s peak condition; something just feels slightly off.

It starts with a sore throat, there but not terrible. He knows that will likely change by the end of the day though, gradually growing worse as the hours go on, no matter how much water and tea he drinks. Other than the lingering pain, there’s a general sense of fatigue despite being well-rested.

It doesn’t stop him from going to the rink for training. He brews a cup of tea and whips up a light breakfast before dressing in his jacket and wrapping a scarf around his face as an extra precaution.

As predicted, practice goes alright. He’s had better days, that’s for sure, but his symptoms aren’t throwing off his focus any more than a stray thought would on a normal day. He takes more frequent breaks even if he doesn’t really feel like he needs them. He drinks lots of water and nearly empties the tissue box with how frequently he needs to blow his nose.

He’s gone through the two travel mugs of tea he brought with him (both sweetened with honey to soothe his throat), and much more water, yet he can feel the burn steadily getting worse. By the next morning, though, his sore throat should be gone completely, if this cold is anything like his last one.

He can feel the beginnings of a cough starting. It’s a subtle itch in the back of his throat that begs to be scratched every time he fills his lungs to their full capacity. He can ignore it for now, knowing the coughs will be dry and unproductive. What’s less difficult to ignore is how congested he’s starting to become. He doesn’t talk much to his rinkmates on any given day, and they seem to avoid him even more now that he’s showing signs of coming down with a cold. He only speaks to his coach to acknowledge the critiques and criticisms she has to offer, and when Seung-Gil does speakーshort and to the pointーhe can definitely feel the congestion there, along with the faint but not terrible thrum of a headache.

He turns in early once he gets home, opting for at least an extra hour of sleep to help his body fight off this illness as fast as possible. He takes his temperature but finds no fever, which is to be expected; he was never really prone to them. His congestion is more prominent now, making it hard to breathe through his nose. He’s been sneezing multiple times throughout the day, and despite the large amount of liquid he’s consumed his throat is still aching.

This is about how it’s always been for Seung-gil with every cold he’s gotten; he feels physically fine for the most part but his symptoms are enough to catch the attention of the people around him, usually pushing them away. Not that he really minds that, though. It gives him an extra excuse to avoid social interaction. He much prefers his own company, laying in bed with his dog and resting (save for when he needs to get up and make himself a meal).

That’s not to say he wouldn’t want someone fussing over him, taking his temperature, bringing him food and drinks on a tray, whispering words of comfort and delivering tender touches. His mother would often do such for him as a child, and it made him feel loved and cherished. Perhaps if he let her know that he’s getting sick, she would send him a care package. He smiles at the thought.

Even without a caretaker, this cold is not devastating. Seung-gil has always been independent and self-reliant, knowing well the signs of his body and being smart enough to listen when it’s had enough. Even with the extra hour of sleep and the additional self-care, he knows he’s going to have to take a day off to recover. It’s inevitable, as it is with every other cold he’s managed to catch in the 21 years of his life. It’s a little frustrating, but there’s not much that can be done about it. He changes into a light pair of pajamas and climbs into his bed, wrapping himself up in the covers. Tomorrow is another day, and he’s determined to make the best of it until his body forces him to do otherwise.

The next day at practice is a little more rough than the previous. The extra sleep Seung-gil got the night before has certainly helped him stay energized, but it’s impossible to breathe through his stuffed nose. There’s many times when he’s running through his routine, breaths quick and bordering on pants, and he can feel a small trickle from his nose; it’s ridiculously annoying how that can still happen even despite how congested he is. All he can do is wipe at his nose on the back of his gloved hand and do his best to sniffle, and carry on.

He’s executing the components sub-par, and now he’s starting to cough on top of it all. They’re dry and they aren’t fits, but it still catches the attention of his rinkmates, particularly his coach. She calls him over to the side and insists he rest if he’s unwell, to which he responds plainly and with complete honesty that he really does feel fine despite how bad his symptoms make his illness appear. He doesn’t even have a fever, and he fights a blush when a hand is placed on his forehead just to double check.

His other rinkmates continue to avoid him more than usual, and Seung-gil can’t help but appreciate the fact. He wants to get lost in his skating, in the sharp sound of the blade cutting across the ice, the cool air running through his hair and filling his lungs. It feels invigorating, even if the chill does cause him to cough more. His coach doesn’t comment on it again, but something in her expression gives away her concern. (Or if it’s not concern, then at the very least her reluctance to keep him at the rink and further worsen his condition.)

Much to the skater’s disappointment, his cough is getting worse. Still not quite fits, but getting deeper and sounding more harsh as the day goes on. It must be the cool rink air. It doesn’t help that he still feels overly congested. His headache isn’t torturous, but still aches when he goes for spins, specifically combinations. It’s all still manageable though, and he successfully makes it through to the end of practice. He’s more than aware that his rinkmates have been hearing his constant coughing and sniffling, knowing full-well that he’s sick with a cold and to keep their distance so help they come down with it too.

Seung-gil is just in the midst of putting on his skate guards, momentarily interrupted by another bout of coughs, when his coach approaches. She tells him sternly to take tomorrow off, and maybe the next day too if he hasn’t significantly improved. Seung-gil nods his agreement, knowing it’s for the better. Plus, he doesn’t want to infect his other rink mates (if he hasn’t already done so). His voice is hoarse as he agrees, promising to take good care of his body to recover as quickly as possible.

His voice is gone almost completely the next day, a shell of what it used to be. He has nobody to talk to at home all alone, so he considers it a blessing in disguise. His coughs have worsened and are a thing to be reckoned with, causing him to wince with a small moan after each fit. He still has no fever, body temperature maybe .4 Celsius over what it normally is, if that.

He has nothing to do but sit in bed, browsing various forms of social media. He doesn’t post anything about his cold, as so many of his international competitors often do. Why they would even consider such a thing is beyond him. Broadcasting to their adversaries that they are weak and not currently practicing, might not be at peak condition for their next competition, is just foolish if you ask him.

He pauses in his scrolling to catch a set of sneezes with some tissues from the box he’s keeping next to his bed. It helps loosen the congestion enough for him to blow his nose after, and he cringes at the feeling and also at the disgust. He quickly balls up the used cotton and tosses it into the trash can, then flops back with a sigh. He’s not really sleepy but he knows he needs the rest. He locks his phone and puts it down, turning onto his side and lets his eyes fall closed as he tries to sleep.

After ten minutes of laying still and unmoving, and another five of tossing and turning to try and get comfortable, he throws off the blanket and heads for the medicine cabinet. Once in the bathroom, he takes a moment to scrutinizes his own reflection in the mirror. His hair is a bit mussled with bed head, and his nose is a bit red and chapped from the rough tissues. There is no red to be found on his cheeks though; still no fever.

The worst part about this illness is he doesn’t really look nor feel sick. He certainly sounds sick, what with all of the constant coughing, sniffling, sneezing and congestion. And also the fact that his voice is nowhere to be found. He supposes the “feeling bad” part of his cold will likely come later, and he should get some proper rest to prepare for it.

He opens the cabinet behind the mirror, rummages through the bottle of pills, finds some melatonin, then takes two under his tongue. He climbs back into bed, momentarily startling his dog. She moves from her spot at the foot of the bed to lay closer to Seung-gil’s head, as if sensing her master is unwell and wanting to provide a comforting presence. He can already feel the medicine kicking in, making him sleepy. He strokes her fur gently, and it only takes minutes before he falls into a deep sleep.

～～～

(End)

This was my first fic that wasn’t Victor, Yuuri or Yurio! I actually find it harder to write for side characters because we don’t know much about them; there’s too much freedom. I like having set character traits as guidelines so I’m still gonna try and stick with the main three (mainly the two) because it’s much easier for me to write. That being said, if you guys really liked this fic then I would be open to writing more in the future!

I am open to requests, so feel free to send in prompts! I am also accepting donations via ko-fi if you want to make my day :)

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mr-hawkmoth · 7 years

Text

How The World Broke Ladybug

Music recommendation

Right now I am pretty upset with how things in this fandom have played out and I know my voice isn’t very strong so I decided to use my writing instead. This is for all of those who think it is okay to send hate mail to others and publicly ostracize them.

WARNING: If you struggle with depression or have suicidal thoughts do not read.

Marinette hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. She had tried so hard to do good. It seemed so simple. Stop the akuma and Miraculous Ladybug would repair the damage caused. It didn’t. Apparently there were some things not even Miraculous Ladybug could fix. Because of her decisions a small girl was currently lying comatose in a hospital bed. And just like that Ladybug became public enemy number 1. Hawkmoth and akuma’s, and the countless times she had saved the city were all forgotten. Instead the headlines read “Ladybug puts girl in hospital”. The backlash was worse than Marinette could ever imagine. People were saying she didn’t really care for the people or the city but rather cared only about the glory. They called her names. They slandered Ladybug’s name. All of them screaming outrage. All of them pointing out alternative ways to have handled the situation. Marinette wondered why she couldn’t have handled things better why she couldn’t of been able to save the girl and stop the akuma. But in the heat of battle you aren’t thinking clearly. There is no long thought out processes only you and the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You don’t have time to think, only to act. Marinette made her choice, and it had been the wrong one.

Marinette checked the news daily for updates of the girls health only to be bombarded with Ladybug hate. The city hated her, even Alya’s blog had gone silent. Alya hadn’t posted a single thing since the incident and her comments section was cluttered with people demoralizing and bashing Ladybug for her actions. But none of that compared to what happened when news of the girls condition was finally updated.

The girl had died.

The city was in an uproar. If Ladybug showed her face in Paris again she worried there might be deadly consequences. As it was groups of youth were gathering together to traipse across the streets of Paris in a witch hunt for Ladybug. People were screaming that Ladybug was a murderer. They called her heartless, vile, disgusting, a child abuser, a cold blooded killer, a bitch, a stupid kid, an idiot, a dumb ass, someone undeserving of her power, a villain, a scoundrel, and a witch.

But none of this compared to the guilt which Marinette felt over the poor girl’s death. She hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. In the moment it had seemed like the best decision. She had thought she knew what she was doing, that she could make things okay again. She was so very wrong. The words wore down on her. They were right. This was all her fault.

Marinette’s head pounded. Hot tears fell down Marinette’s cheeks in an endless stream. Her throat closed up making it hard to breath. Her chest felt tight. She hyperventilated, eyes burning as she scrolled through the thousands of messages and and articles throughout the news. All of them calling for blood, all of them hating her for what she had done. She had felt guilty enough for what she’d done. Was all this necessary? It was a mistake. She couldn’t take it back. She wished she could take it all back. Puffy eyes and sore body moved away from the computer. Marinette tried to sniff but was so congested the attempt was useless. She let her body fall onto her bed burying herself in her pillow as she curled her body into the fetal position. If only she had been better. If only she had made a different choice. If only…

Marinette decided that day she would not look at the computer. She would not read the hate mail that awaited beyond the screen. Instead Marinette would just be Marinette. She would let herself forget about her alter ego for a little while because for now the only thing holding her together was the fact that she could still be Marinette without the threat of social annexation. At least that’s what Marinette had thought when she arrived at school that morning.

“Hey girl you look awful! What happened to you?” Alya asked as Marinette took her seat beside her.

“Couldn’t sleep last night. Too much on my mind,” Marinette sighed. Alya nodded in understanding.

“So you heard what happened to the little girl then? The city is hosting a candle light vigil tonight by the Eiffel Tower,” Alya said solemnly. Marinette nodded not trusting her own voice. Her throat felt tight and her eyes stung. She blinked until the urge to cry left her. “I was thinking about going, you want to come with?” Alya asked. Before Marinette could open her mouth to respond the door to the classroom burst open and in came Chloe and Sabrina much too chipper in the wake of such a tragedy. Chloe and Sabrina stood int he center of the room. Chloe shot a wicked look Marinette’s way.

“I have an announcement to make!” Chloe’s voice grew louder until all eyes were on her. Marinette’s stomach clenched uneasily. She had a bad feeling about this. “After what has happened in our city I think it is only right that the perpetrator of the crime should be punished for it,” Chloe began.

“Except no one knows who Ladybug is in case you’ve forgotten that Chloe,” Kim sneered.

“Au contrair, Sabrina, you can send it now,” Chloe said smugly. Sabrina looked up devilishly at Marinette before directing her attention to her phone where she quickly sent out a message. Everyone’s phone’s began going off at once. Marinette noticed with a heavy heart that Alya’s phone no longer held the Ladybug charm. The class turned their attention to their phones. Then all eyes trained on Marinette. Some filled with hatred, some with shock, and some with disappointment.

“Marinette, why didn't you tell me?” Alya whispered turning her phone for Marinette to see. On the screen was an awkwardly angled photograph of Marinette mid transformation. And now everyone knew her secret. Her eyes stung as her stomach twisted uncomfortably. Her breathing became shallow as panic swept through her. Her heart hammered erratically in her chest. She knit her brows together, tears beginning to fill her eyes.

All at once everyone began shouting. Alya was asking why she didn’t tell her. Others were asking her why she didn’t save the girl. Chloe stood by the sidelines with Sabrina arms crossed, hipped popped, smiling victoriously. Sabrina shouted out the words murderer, and killer. Someone called her a child abuser. Someone screamed about how stupid she was. Someone else was calling her a fuck up. Max was listing off all the ways she could have saved the girl but was too stupid to think of. All of this coming at her in loud shouts all jumbled together words piercing through her chest. All at once all screaming. All so loud until it was just a single monotonous shouting noise in her head. Her vision pulsed her surroundings warped. She felt as though she were choking. She gulped down air but her lungs didn’t seem to be satisfied with it. She couldn’t get enough oxygen. Her head was splitting open with the throbbing of a headache. Her ears were ringing with a rush of sound. Her vision was moving and blurring pulsing in and out to the sound of the rushing waters inside her ears. Marinette tried to stand. She needed to leave. She couldn’t stay here. Tears fell relentlessly from her eyes. Her legs shook beneath her weight. A step forward. The room spun. She fell to her hands and knees. They were surrounding her now all shouting angry hurtful words down at her, each one pushing her closer and closer to the edge of a breakdown. Hot tears. Rushing in her ears. Blurred vision. She still couldn’t breath. She was hyperventilating now, chest heaving rapidly but with little alleviation. All of them shouted at her, their merciless cries of outrage and disgust apparent in their voices and in their faces. Marinette finally had the strength to pull her head up. Beyond the crowd surrounding her she could see Adrien sitting in his seat looking at Marinette with hurt and disappointment. This was all too much. Marinette shoved herself onto her feet stumbling past her classmates. Sobs wracking through her body, hiccups interrupting her shallow breaths. Her feet carried her uncertainly, the world seemed to turn and twist around her. She couldn’t hear anything it was all a rush of white noise roaring in her ears. She couldn’t feel the ground beneath her feet. It didn’t seem real like the world didn’t actually exist around her. She fell again and again as she struggled to make it down the hallway. Hands and knees stinging numbly as she fumbled her way out of the school.

She didn’t know how long it took her to make it home. It could have been seconds or it could have been hours. She wasn’t sure. Once inside she collapsed onto the floor sobs racking violently through her body. She couldn’t breathe. Her body felt as if it were falling apart her mind ripping in all different directions and her heart feeling as though it were breaking inside her chest. Her body burned red hot, her skin melting against bone. Sharp pain building behind her eyes and nose. Head splitting. Eyes so full of pressure it feels they might pop.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck!

Marinette tried desperately to control her ragged breath to no avail. Her body shook. She no longer had control over her body. Her jaw clenched and unclenched tightly. Her phone buzzed endlessly in her pocket. With shaking hands she brought her phone out in front up her. There were messages and voicemails and notifications. Links to articles exposing her identity to the world. Articles slandering her, inhumanizing her, calling for blood, calling for justice. Some of the messages were pictures of the dead girl with the attached words ‘This is all your fault,’. She had voicemails from people crying that she was a murderer, that she should be ashamed, that she deserved to be the one in the casket. People told her that they wished she was dead instead. That she deserved to be in prison. That they wanted to put her in the hospital. People told her she was wrong. She chose to kill the girl is what they said. They told her she was only in this for the glory. They told her she wasn’t a hero. They told her she wasn’t allowed to be a hero anymore that no one wanted her to be one. One man said he would rather die than be saved by her ego inflating heroics. Her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. It kept going off and dinging with thousands of notifications as word of her identity spread. Marinette ran her hands through her hair raking her fingers over her scalp and ripping at her hair in chunks. She choked down a scream as her throat tightened. Her phone dinged and beeped erratically as her email, texts, phone calls, social media all exploded with messages from the citizens of Paris calling for her to be taken down and brought to justice, calling her a murderer, telling her how truly disgusting and vile they all found her. Marinette couldn’t take it. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t breathe. Her pulse drummed against her ears. Tears blurred her vision.

Her parents were knocking at the door. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t face them! She screamed at them to go away! Screamed at them to leave her alone for a little while, for everyone to leave her alone for a little while. Her parents respected her wishes but the damn phone wouldn’t stop beeping. It kept going off in a continual state of noise. Marinette was losing her mind. She pulled out her hair. She screamed until her face was purple. She screamed and screamed. And then she couldn’t breathe again and she took in shallow ragged breaths chest rising rapidly heart beat moving too quickly in her chest for her little body to keep up. Panic and paranoia, and terror were seizing her body and mind. She would never be able to show her face again. Not as Marinette. Not as Ladybug. She was ruined. The worst part however was that she was beginning to believe that they all were right. They all had a point. She could have prevented this if she had just been a little bit smarter, a little bit faster. She was the reason the girl died. She was a murderer. They were right. She deserved punishment. And her psychological torture didn’t quite seem to be punishment enough for them. Marinette couldn’t take it. She couldn’t do this. She was a monster and she needed to be stopped they were right. But she couldn’t give herself to the mercy of a blood thirsty city. She paced around the room panting loudly as she pulled at her pigtails. Face damp with tears and sweat. Marinette rushed forward and began to push her dresser with extreme effort to cover the trap door that led down into her house. Body sticky and mind racing and hysteric she rushed to a desk drawer. She spilled its contents on the floor hands shaking as they grabbed a bottle.

It was a bottle filled with sleep medication that she had never bothered taking, they were given to her about a year ago when she broke her arm. They were supposed to help her sleep through the pain at night. Marinette fumbled to open the bottle She grabbed the glass of water that had been sitting on her desk since the night before and proceeded to take several mouthfuls of pills until only a few remained and the water was gone. Marinette curled up into a ball on the floor tears still spilling down her cheeks as her phone continued blaring out notifications of hate. She closed her eyes, body shaking. This will all be over soon, this will all be over soon, She repeated to herself until her mind began to drift off into unconsciousness.

By the time Chat Noir came rapping on her door she was already gone.

This is a consequence of what unkind words can do to someone.

If you’re angry about what I’ve done here remember that Marinette is only a fictional character. Those being bullied and receiving hate mail are real people.

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hermanwatts · 4 years

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Sensor Sweep: Doc Savage, Gothic novels, Underwater, Appendix N

Horror (Cemetery Dance): Up until the publication of The Monk in March of 1796, the Gothics mostly followed Walpole’s formula. The books usually featured a mystery or threat to the main character, an evil villain threatening the virtue of a virginal female, supernatural elements such as a ghost or an ancestral curse, and secret passages in crumbling mansions or castles. That template carried over into the next century, as evidenced by the bulk of the stories published in the pulps during the 1930s.

Cinema (cbr.com): MOVIE URBAN LEGEND: A Doc Savage movie was cast and ready to go when they abruptly changed to an entirely different film at the last minute. In the mid-1960s, the success of heroes from novels and comic books like James Bond and Batman led to producers looking to see whatever other 20th Century heroes that could be adapted into films. Producers Mark Goodson & Bill Todman (best known for their TV game shows) decided to pick Doc Savage to turn into a matinee idol.

Westerns (Six Gun Justice): Gordon D. Shirreffs (1914 – 1996) started writing in 1945, after serving in World War in Alaska and the Aleutian Campaign. Coached by published boy’s adventure writer Frederick Nelson Litten at the Chicago campus of Northwestern University, Shirreffs broke into the young people’s market with pieces in Boy’s Life, Young Catholic Messenger and the later pulps like Dime Western, Ace High, and Six-gun Western. Experiences at Fort Bliss during the war served Shirreffs well in nailing down the gritty scenery of the Southwest, a setting that served him well throughout his career.

Cinema (Bloody Disgusting): While William Eubank‘s Underwater kicks off with immediate intensity, wasting no time plunging Kristen Stewart and the rest of the cast into the deep sea nightmare we bought a ticket to experience, it admittedly lags a bit around the middle, and unquestionably could’ve used a tad bit more monster mayhem to pick up the energy. The film’s monsters, with their massive gaping maws and spindly, Cloverfield-reminiscent legs, only actually kill one character in the entire movie, and for the most part we only catch glimpses of them in the darkness.

Science Fiction (Gizmodo): Futuristic militaries are a staple in science fiction. With their powered armor and laser guns, military science fiction novels are among the most exciting reads out there. Except for one problem. Most are not really about warfare. While military SF involves military personnel and technology, the cores of the stories tend to focus on elements other than warfare. Before I’m tracked down and shot for saying that, let me qualify that statement.

H. P. Lovecraft (The Mary Sue): When it comes to adapting the works of H.P. Lovecraft, it can be hard for some creators to decide whether they should ignore the racist politics that are embedded into the work, or address it head-on. As a Black fan of Lovecraft, I have long come to terms with the fact that he would dislike my existence, but still, find it endlessly frustrating when his “fans” insist on making excuses for his behavior.

Robert E. Howard (Black Gate): When I was around 12 in the basement of a friend’s house, I found an old copy of Weird Tales (I’m not sure about the magazine, but it must have been a pulp) and read my first Conan story. I loved it; not just for the action—I was a big fan of action stories—but because Conan was a barbarian. He was outside the settled boundaries of propriety and decorum. He made himself up as he went along. He wasn’t a woman, but I was already so sunk into the abhorrence of womanhood that that actually worked in his favor. Conan was outlaw fiction. I knew my own path forward was to be an outlaw.

Appendix N (Goodman Games): John Anthony Bellairs was born on January 17th, 1938 in Marshall, Michigan, which he described as “full of strange and enormous old houses, and the place must have worked on [his] imagination.” A shy and overweight child, he “would walk back and forth between [his] home and Catholic school and have medieval fantasies featuring [himself] as the hero.” He found refuge in books, excelling in college as an English major and even appearing on an episode of the TV quiz show G.E. College Bowl in 1959, where he recited the General Prologue to the Canterbury Tales in fluent Middle English.

D&D (Jon Mollison): It’s time to break the seals and talks bout why you should run your D&D crew through Autarch’s Nethercity. But first we need to tuck all the sensitive and classified data behind the fold. Don’t click next unless you want to have the Secrets revealed through antiseptic blogging rather than rich play at the table.

Biography (DMR Books): Well, Crom willing, I’m here to celebrate Robert E. Howard’s birthday, despite the slings and arrows and technical glitches of outrageous fortune. I thought it would be fitting to review David C. Smith’s Robert E. Howard: A Literary Biography which came out just over a year ago. I’ve had several people ask me online about it and where it rates alongside the other two big REH bios. Let’s take a look.

Blogging (Brain Leakage): Doing that forced me to create some regular columns, like my ‘Pocky-clypse Now reviews and my Kitbashing D&D series. Both of those proved to be popular, and have managed to get me some regular readers. Several posts of mine got shared in regular PulpRev and OSR gaming blog roundups, like Castalia House Sensor Sweep, The DMRtian Chronicles, and Jeffro’s Space Gaming Blog. Each time that happened, I’ve reached a wider audience and gained new readers.

Art (Dark Worlds Quarterly): When you do find something new, it is usually very new. But every once in a while you stumble upon something old that is new. Blue Book’s covers and interior art were such a delight. Here was a collection of Burroughs artwork that you just never see. Not in the old fanzines, not in the non-fiction books. It is almost like we all forgot they existed.

Fiction (DMR Books): Pulp magazines are just plain awesome. For readers of old-time literature, they’re colorful time capsules of the nostalgic past that any time traveler would love to visit, and they’ve held a fascination for me since I learned of their existence. I couldn’t say how many times I’ve fantasized of stepping into a turn-of-the-century Five and Dime and plucking mint issues of Argosy and Weird Tales off the racks–imagine gazing on freshly printed copies of the February 1912 issue of The All-Story which contained the opening chapters of Edgar Rice Burroughs’s Under the Moons of Mars… holy freaking smokes!

Robert E. Howard (Adventures Fantastic): I don’t know when “The House of Arabu” was written. It wasn’t published until 1952 in The Avon Fantasy Reader #18 under the title “The Witch From Hell’s Kitchen”. I like Howard’s original title much better. The story has been reprinted several times, but it isn’t as well known as much of Howard’s other sword and sorcery. I did notice that the version reprinted in The Ultimate Triumph had a slightly different closing line than the version in The Horror Stories of Robert E. Howard.

Tolkien (Tolkien and Fantasy): Christopher Tolkien has passed away in the night of 15/16 January 2020 at the age of 95. These two men taught me more than I can express about the literary life and what it means to be, and how to go about being, a literary scholar. I became friends with Humphrey in the summer of 1978 when I attended a summer program in Oxford. A few years later Humphrey put me in touch with Christopher. Though I had some excellent and helpful teachers in college, none of them affected me as profoundly, or as lastingly, as did these friendships with Humphrey and Christopher.

Leigh Brackett (Wasteland & Sky): As an example, I just finished reading Leigh Brackett’s Last Call from Sector 9G and had some thoughts about it. For one, the story was written in 1955 and it doesn’t quite feel like it. The era was full of misery and strife in her field, and yet she produced this gem in Planet Stories that could have just as easily come out of Weird Tales in 1929. It has a more timeless feel.

Fiction (Frontier Partisans): I woke up this morning thinking about old-school historical potboilers. Yeah, I know. But you all know by now that my mind functions this way…Actually, there’s a straightforward explanation for why I roused from my slumbers with visions of F. van Wyck Mason dancing through my head. I hit the pillow after scrolling through a Kindle series of novels set during the French & Indian War.

Pulp/Cinema (Don Herron): I didn’t have anything particular in mind, but then pulp expert John Locke jumped into the fray. “One of my sub-hobbies is spotting pulp mags in movies,” John just wrote to inform me. “My latest is a doozie. “It shows a Navy man reading a Fight Stories. “Better yet, the issue has a Sailor Steve Costigan story by Howard.

Writing (Emperor Ponders): Well, sure, but before my mind was even able to process that, what struck me the most was how uncomfortably written the entire thing is (or, at least, the first paragraph.) And I don’t mean typos, grammar errors, and such, but something that is deeper and harder to explain but is quintaessentially modern.

Gaming (R’lyeh Reviews): Conan the Barbarian is a supplement for Robert E. Howard’s Conan: Adventures in an Age Undreamed Of published by Modiphius Entertainment. It is the first in the ‘Conan the…’ series of supplements which focus on and take their inspiration from Conan himself at various stages of his life and what he was doing. Over this series, the supplements will track our titular character’s growth and progress as he gains in skills and abilities and talents. Thus this first supplement looks at Conan as a young man and his life among the people of his homeland, at the beginning of his career which will take him from barbarian to king, essentially the equivalent of a starting player character.

Sensor Sweep: Doc Savage, Gothic novels, Underwater, Appendix N published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

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shawnjacksonsbs · 6 years

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The balancing of my simplistic complexities. 1-28-18

If I say the word balance, I imagine that most people think of equal amounts of weight on either side of scale with equal amounts of pressure on each side. For me, I picture someone walking a tight rope. In the beginning; lots of ups, downs, sways, and maybe even several falls. With years of practice someone may actually be able to walk from one sky scraper to another or across the Grand Canyon. I’ve seen it done.

So, we decided to start watching the Sons of Anarchy, mainly because the cousin and my son haven’t seen it before, at least not from the beginning. I have, but it is definitely one worth watching again. It’s a great show. As we binge watched the first season in just a few days, I started catching quotes I wanted to use, and thought of so many ways to twist it into something I could make an entry from, then it hit me.

I vaguely remembered writing an entry once before relating to some of the show. It felt like it would have been early on, so I looked. Needless to say, it took me a while to scroll back that far, but I found it, and I read it. If you’d like to read it, you can follow this link ( https://shawnjacksonsbs.tumblr.com/ ) and type this title in to the search header, “How I feel I relate to Jackson Teller and shit!! 2/22/2014”. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it’s been about two years since I wrote it. I have heard more than once that the spells come in two-year periods.

Anyways, I had planned on opening with one these quotes, and then twisting a narrative, to something that fits some part of my past; “Anarchism stands for the liberation of the human mind from the dominion of religion and liberation of the human body from the coercion of property; liberation from the shackles and restraint of government. It stands for a social order based on the free grouping of individuals.” - Emma Goldman

“We all had our problems with authority, but none of us were sociopaths. We came to realize that when you move your life off the social grid you give up the safety that society provides.” - John Teller S.O.A.

But have since decided not to go that route, exactly. Most of the old lifestyle was just that, old bullshit, but all of the pieces of my past, and my past experiences are what make up the whole me. I am afraid that my moral compass will never point to true North. It probably points more west by northwest nowadays, but that’s a far cry better than the south by southeast direction it used to point towards.

I’m as close as I’m ever going to get. As free as I am today, I still miss some of it, sometimes. Different times from my past that I call the good memories. Some of which would still be looked at in disgust from people who never lived that way. I also carry a lot of baggage with me from things I’ve done that I’ll never be able to share in here, or to anyone. And as I’ve said a million times before, the good memories will never outweigh the bad or outweigh the positives I’ve gained since.

The longing still hits me from time to time though. I’ve been on every rung of the verbally ladder, from the top of a crew calling shots to the bottom of the pyramid, breaking into abandoned houses stealing wire and spending all night stripping it, so the next morning we could be at the Recycler when they opened to get just enough money to score just enough dope to get through the day. I even miss some of those times, or the memory of them. If that makes sense. Some of the dumbest, most ignorant events from my past can put a smile on my face when I think about them. For all of you who just don’t get it, that’s all right. That part makes me fucked up, not you. My brain isn’t wired exactly like normal people.

I’ll never be able to clear away all of it, as much as I wish I could, but at least I can be grateful that my firm hold on this side of life doesn’t have anything to do with just one piece of my past, but instead it’s the sum total of it altogether. I’m never going to be, fully, like most people. We may never see eye to eye on every issue, but we do and will continue to have some commonalities. For those of you, like me, that feel like they don’t fit completely with this side, or the other, there is good news. We don’t have to. The only side we have to align with, is our minds with our hearts, our true hearts. Failing to fit in with the norm isn’t failing for real, its gaining ground really. You are closer than you think when you realize this.

Good and bad and right and wrong aren’t always in sync. When you can do something bad, and it feel good, you know it’s time for an alignment, if you can stop feeling the good long enough to realize you need it. It’s a huge difference. Although most of us actually know what right and wrong is or means, it rarely waivers, but our moral compasses can definitely change direction a lot throughout our lives, for any number of reasons.

I’m fortunate that I have this outlet. Wearing my heart on my sleeve for all the world to see the kind of man I say I am, and it means living up to all the things that you read. My journey, in this journal form, keeps me planted in accountability. The reminiscing of exaggerated, old, grandiose memories can get me caught up quick if I am not careful though. Luckily, in the course of the last few days, I went from missing some of the life to being completely sickened by the fact that I can still be drawn to it, or the memory of it.

Sometimes my writing can be nonsense, and sometimes it’s to relate to others. Sometimes it’s to unclog my head, but every single time, it’s for clarity (for me). It’s better than meditation. It is my weekly alignment. Sometimes, actually, most times it’s aimed to be well intentioned truths, at least as I see them. Sometimes they are more vague than others, but all for good reason. Writing this blog has saved my life and keeps my peace of mind. It’s a bonus if it touches someone else, anyone else. Sometimes it’s just my opinion, which, as I read the other day is really “the lowest form of human knowledge; it requires no accountability, no understanding. The highest form of knowledge, according to George Eliot, is empathy, for it requires us to suspend our egos and live in another’s world.”

I also heard once, that “the self-loathing becomes a little more tolerable with service to others”. I suppose it comes in varying degrees at certain levels per individual. Just like my confusion as I go from writing about “brotherhood and loyalty” to “The company we keep”, and from being fond of memories to having them disgust me at the same time, but because of what I did and why, compared to how I choose to live now. It can probably be difficult to understand, but trust me, sometimes it’s even difficult for me.

Staying up until almost midnight on Wed because as I laid in bed, I’d get a partial paragraph in “note” form in my head, so I would type it in my phone real quick, then I’d close my phone, then something else would hit, I’d open it up, type another note, etc. I am usually in bed and asleep by 10pm. That’s what this blog means to me. It has changed a lot since I started writing it, but still going in the same direction. More forward progress makes for a different Shawn, a constantly ever-changing Shawn, whose writing should be ever-changing too, to reflect that. No one needs to worry, unless I stop writing entirely. That’s when you should send help. lol

With all this in my head, I have also talked to the attorney we plan to hire to help my son (the one out here and the one is living right now), and its going to be a long, hard, and a very extensive road for us to get through, but I know we will get through it. I have also heard some vague rumors, from a few other people about this and just makes me sick that we didn’t get him out here fast enough. One way or another we will work it out.

On a more positive note, someone I know through my work that I respect, pulled me to the side the other day. He told me that he was fixing to buy another property and was kicking around the idea of turning his other one into a multi-room clean and sober living house, or maybe a transitional housing for people getting out. He said if it works out, he would need someone to oversee it, from the inside. Like living there with them. Still going to work and just making sure things stay in order in the evenings etc. He offered it to me. That made me feel pretty good. Trust like that is pretty rare these days, especially when offered to me. Rent free and working in the service of others. If I wasn’t moving back home, I wouldn’t hesitate to accept an opportunity like that. Its definitely been on my mind a lot since we talked.

I suppose that’ll do for this week. I sincerely hope you all had a great week, and that the next one is better. Please remember to keep sharing the love and the laughter with the world around you. It could brighten someone’s day, maybe even their life. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have plans with my son. Going to try and make the most out of what time we have, and I may even get to video chat some family back home this evening and see my granddaughter.

Until tomorrow;

“Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius—and a lot of courage to move in the opposite direction.” - E.F. Schumacher

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