#every week feels like a countdown until I have therapy again

[chelseachilly]

king of my heart - pt 11

i don’t wanna hurt you, i just wanna be drinking on a beach with you all over me

pairing: reader x ben chilwell summary: you and ben (try to) celebrate your anniversary; ben faces a setback and you decide to make some plans to take his mind off it warnings: none word count: 4k

a/n: i literally had half of this written when ben posted the pics of him and mase and their friends on the yacht hahah, manifested that fr. this is somewhat plotless again but i hope you enjoy the longer chapter!

The countdown to the Euros begins not long after the holidays are over. You’re not physically keeping track of the days, but the closer you get to June, the more the pressure seems to be building.

Specifically, the pressure Ben is putting on himself.

You’ve really admired his courage and determination throughout this whole ordeal, and you want him to make it to Germany more than anything - but not at the cost of his own well-being.

As soon as the doctors give him the all-clear to begin moving around more, working out in the gym and doing some light pitch work with the boys, Ben dives right in.

He’s at Cobham bright and early almost every morning for physio, now followed by several hours in the gym and often a couple more outside. He’s spending more time there than he did when he wasn’t injured, which you can’t help but find concerning, but he promises you he’s listening to the doctor’s advice.

It seems to be going well, with him seeming more and more alive with each passing week that he spends working toward full fitness. You know he’s still doing therapy sessions once a week, which is a massive relief to you. His mental well-being is your priority, and you don’t want it to take the backseat as he focuses on his physical recuperation.

In early March, you reach another important milestone - your one year anniversary. Although you weren’t technically a couple until later, Ben insists on counting from the day he met you. As he put it, his heart has been yours ever since, and it was too sweet for you to argue, so you went with it.

The morning of the anniversary, you wake up to find Ben already gone, like most mornings these days. You sigh and get up to get ready for work, feeling a bit sorry for yourself that you didn’t get to start your day with your boyfriend’s kisses.

Your mood is improved when you make it down to the kitchen and find a giant display of roses with a note attached.

Happy anniversary, my love. Sorry I had to go, but I’ll be home by 5 and then the celebrations begin! Pick out a pretty dress and I’ll take care of the rest. I love you so much and can’t wait for tonight xx

You smile to yourself as you wonder what he may have planned for the two of you later. It’s probably a fancy dinner or something, but honestly, you couldn’t care less, you’re just excited to spend time with Ben.

It hasn’t been an easy road to get to where you are now, but you’re so incandescently happy to have made it here.

On the tube, the whole day at work, and as you leave early so you can get ready before Ben gets home, you can’t stop smiling.

As you’re putting the finishing touches on your makeup, your phone begins to ring. On your way over to pick it up from its charging station, you can’t help but look at yourself in the mirror, smiling at the sleek black dress you’ve chosen for the occasion. The very same one you were wearing the night you met Ben.

When you see his name flash on your phone, you grin even wider, unable to contain your excitement.

“Hey babe! Are you on your way home?”

“Hey,” Ben responds, and you can tell right away from his tone that something is wrong. “I’m still at Cobham. I - I tweaked my knee at training.”

You drop down to sit on the bed, your heart breaking for him.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you breathe. “Are you okay? How bad is it?”

“They don’t think it’s too serious, but it’s probably going to push me back a few weeks,” he sighs. “I’m really sorry, love, they want to do some tests and I’m not sure when I’m going to be out of here. I’ll try to get home as soon as I can, or maybe you want to take Charlotte and use the dinner reservation I made, it’s on me of course-“

“I’m coming to Cobham,” you say decisively, without hesitation. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Y/N, you really don’t have to. I don’t want to ruin your night any more by having you come all the way down here and sit in a treatment room with me.”

“Don’t be silly, there’s nowhere else I would rather be right now,” you say softly. “Hang tight, honey, I’ll be right there.”

It doesn’t even occur to you to get changed before you’re driving down to Cobham, your heart hammering in your chest with concern. You know he said it’s not too big of a setback, hopefully, but your mind is full of what-ifs.

You breeze past security and run down to the treatment area, glancing in each room until you find Ben.

He’s sitting alone on one of the beds, an ice pack on his knee, scrolling on his phone when you arrive. When he hears you walk in, he lifts his head, and his jaw drops.

“Holy shit, you look incredible.”

You blush slightly, suddenly feeling a bit silly for coming here in your fancy date outfit, but you weren’t thinking about anything but Ben when you came here.

“Thanks, honey,” you say, walking over to him and taking his hand. “What happened?”

He sighs, squeezing your hand tightly. “I was just doing some basic training drills and I felt a really intense pain in my knee. The doctor checked me out and he thinks it’s just a strain and not another tear, but I need a scan tomorrow and I’ll probably have to sit out for two to three weeks.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you murmur, running your hand through his hair. “How do you feel now? Is the pain still bad?”

He nods, leaning into your touch and desperately seeking your comfort.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “But I’m mostly just frustrated. I’ve been working so hard to make it to the Euros and it could all be for nothing if I’m not fit in time. And I managed to fuck up our anniversary.”

“Hey,” you say, raising your voice slightly but keeping your tone gentle. “You’re going to be fit for the Euros. This is just a temporary setback, it’s going to be fine.”

Ben nods slightly, though he still won’t look at you, so you take his face in both hands and redirect his gaze to yours.

“And as for our anniversary, you haven’t ruined anything,” you assure him. “I just want to be with you, I don’t care where we are or what we’re doing. I love you, Benji. So much.”

“I love you, too,” he says, his eyes flooded with emotion. “I just wanted to be able to do something nice for you for a change. You’ve been helping me with this bloody injury for half the time we’ve been together, and I’m so grateful for that, but I didn’t want tonight to be about me again. I just wanted to not be a burden for once.”

“Ben, that’s sweet of you, but you don’t need to make anything up to me,” you say. “You’re not a burden, you’re my boyfriend, and I will be here for you no matter what. You don’t owe me anything in return.”

Ben tugs you closer, burying his face in your neck, and you can feel his hot tears on your skin. You comb your fingers through his hair, pressing kisses to the top of his head.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” he murmurs into your neck.

“It’s alright,” you whisper. “Everything’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

You continue to hold him for a while, until the physio comes back in to wrap his knee and give him some pain medication. As he’s talking with Ben about some strengthening exercises he should be doing, you excuse yourself for a minute, an idea forming in your head.

Once you’re down the hall and out of earshot, you call Charlotte and wait for her to answer.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey, you said Mason has next week off, right?”

-

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-

The plan comes together within a matter of days, and by Thursday, you’re on a private jet bound for the Maldives with Ben, Mason, and Charlotte.

Mason and Charlotte jumped on board with your idea of taking a trip to distract Ben from his setback right away, and they even offered to take care of most of the planning. It worked out kind of perfectly with Mason having no game next weekend and both you and Charlotte having a slow month at work, and you were all eager to cheer up Ben in any way possible.

Although you were slightly concerned he wouldn’t be feeling up to it, Ben was elated when you told him what you were planning, and he assured you his knee would be fine.

The trip very quickly got way more extravagant than you’d expected, but you know how much money the boys make and how rarely they actually get an opportunity to spend it on a trip like this.

You spend the first three nights on a yacht, which could probably sleep ten or fifteen people but is reserved for the four of you. It’s by far the most over-the-top experience of your life, but it’s also the most fun.

You spend the days swimming and laughing with your friends, enjoying the scenic views from the boat and the warm weather.

As the days go on, you can feel Ben’s mood getting lighter and his heart a bit less burdened. By your final night on the boat, he seems to be completely relaxed, enjoying a few beers with dinner and joking around with Mason like he used to.

After you’ve finished eating and Mason and Charlotte have run off to their bedroom, Ben takes you by the hand and leads you to the front of the boat. There’s a big sofa bed set up with a dozen pillows, which you both lay down on and scoot closer to each other until you’re in his arms.

“This is so nice,” Ben murmurs into your hair as you lay with your head on his chest.

You’ve got one arm draped over him, fiddling with the soft material of his white t-shirt, and you let out an exhale against him.

You hadn’t completely realized how stressful the past few months have been, between Ben’s injury and your compounding work responsibilities, until you got here. Without thinking about work or football or anything, you’ve had the chance to just enjoy each other’s company and the time with your best friends.

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” you agree.

As Ben stretches out his legs a bit more, you notice him wince slightly, and you’re reminded of the reason for this trip in the first place - to take his mind off his slow-going recovery.

Gently, you move your hand down to his lower thigh, just above his injured knee, and begin to carefully massage the area. You look at him to make sure you aren’t hurting him, but judging by the relief on his face, it seems to be helping.

“God, that’s like magic,” Ben exhales, laying his head back against the pillow. “How are you so good at this?”

“I may have asked the massage therapist at Chelsea for some tips,” you shrug. “I wanted to be able to help.”

Ben is silent for a moment as you continue your movements, and when you meet his gaze and see tears in his eyes, you quickly stop.

“Shit, did I hurt you?”

“No, not at all, babe,” Ben insists quickly, grabbing your hand that you pulled away and squeezing tightly. “Sorry, I just…I can’t believe how much I love you sometimes.”

Your heart melts at his tender words and loving gaze. You lean in to kiss him, gently cupping his face as you do so and brushing your thumb over his stubble.

“I love you too,” you whisper. “Want me to keep going?”

“Yes, please,” Ben smiles, tugging you closer so you can resume.

As you lay in his arms, doing everything you can to alleviate his pain in some way, it occurs to you that you can’t believe how much you love him, either.

You never foresaw yourself in a relationship like this, at least not since your dad died. In some ways, it’s still terrifying - you don’t think you could bear it if anything were to happen to Ben, or if you ever broke up.

But it’s also exhilarating being so in love with him. Letting yourself be so loved by him.

“What are you thinking about, love?” Ben asks after a bit.

“You, mostly,” you say flirtatiously, causing Ben to press a flurry of kisses to your forehead and cheek. When he pulls away and looks at you a bit more seriously, you continue. “I was just thinking that I never imagined myself in a serious relationship like this. I don’t think I had properly grieved my dad yet when we met, and I was still so scared of losing someone the way my mum did.”

Ben nods, listening intently and squeezing you a bit tighter. He knows how hard it is for you to talk about your dad, and he’s always there for you when you need it. You had barely been officially dating for a month when the anniversary of his death came around, and Ben, knowing it would be a tough day for you, had come over with your favourite takeaway, a ton of sweets, and offered to watch your favourite film with you. That same night, he had held you as you cried into his chest for a long time, murmuring soothing words and rocking you back and forth.

In some ways, from that night on, you had almost felt like Ben was a gift from your dad, or at least that he steered you in his direction. You aren’t a religious or particularly spiritual person, but you think if your dad was acting as some kind of guardian angel on your behalf, he would’ve done everything in his power to make sure you ended up with a kind, loving man like Ben. And it would’ve been incredibly on-brand for him to choose a Chelsea player out of all the men in London.

“I think he would be really glad to see how happy you make me,” you continue, intertwining your fingers with Ben’s as tears form in your eyes.

“I wish I had gotten to meet him,” Ben says softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “He raised an incredible daughter.”

You smile and cuddle up closer to him, both of you intertwined and staring up at the night sky. There’s a beautiful display of constellations above you, stars that you never get to see under the bright city lights of London.

“I wish you had met him, too,” you say. “It would’ve been the easiest bringing-a-boy-home experience ever. He was a bigger fan of the club than Max.”

Ben chuckles softly and begins to caress your back.

“Hey, I just had an idea,” he says after a few minutes have passed. “You should move in with me when we get back.”

He says it so casually, as if he’s not suggesting a major milestone in your relationship, that it takes you a second to process.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” Ben smiles. “I mean, you basically live there already, you might as well stop paying rent somewhere else. And Charlotte’s never home, so it’s not like she’ll miss you much. What do you think?”

You’re surprised by how little you need to think about it. On one hand, it’s a big step moving in together. But on the other hand, as Ben pointed out, you’ve essentially been living with him since he got hurt. The odd mornings you wake up in your own flat, alone in bed, without his gentle kisses and warm embrace, your day is already off to a bad start.

“You won’t get sick of me?” you ask somewhat teasingly, though there are still traces of insecurity in your tone.

“Impossible,” Ben says incredulously. “I know you mostly started staying over more often to help me out since the injury, which I really appreciate. But it also made me realize that I want you there all the time, regardless of whether I need help showering and getting upstairs or not. I hate when you’re not there.”

“I do too,” you confess, squeezing his hand. “Okay, let’s do it! I’ll move in when we get back.”

Ben grins with glee and leans in to attack your face with little kisses, making you giggle as his lips move down to your neck.

“I can’t wait, baby,” Ben smiles, pulling you closer.

-

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After the first few days of your holiday spent on the yacht, you all head to a resort for the remainder of the trip.

It’s a beautiful spot, with white sandy beaches lined with palm trees and all the delicious cocktails and seafood you could want.

On the final day before your early departure tomorrow, you and Charlotte are laid up on two lounge chairs by the beach with a couple of piña coladas, soaking up every last minute of this perfect trip.

You’re watching Ben and Mason kick the football back and forth by the lapping waves as the sun begins to set.

“I’m going to miss this view,” Charlotte sighs with a sip of her drink.

You’re not sure if she’s referring to the scenic landscape or your shirtless boyfriends having a kickabout in front of it - either way, you concur.

“Me too,” you agree.

Ben kicks the ball straight through Mason’s legs, sending it into the water and forcing Mason to run and grab it, and he looks over at you grinning with a twinkle in his eye.

You can see how good this trip has been for him, how much he’s needed this reprieve from the constant routine of gruelling physio sessions and reminders at every turn of how much more it will take before he’s back on the pitch.

You blow him a kiss as he returns to playing with Mason, splashing around in the shallow water a bit like they’re a couple of little kids.

“So, you’re finally officially leaving me for Chilly,” Charlotte continues in a light tone, looking over at you.

You and Ben finally revealed your plans to move in together during dinner tonight. Although Mason and Charlotte were both excited for you, you wondered if she felt a little bittersweet - just as you did - about your chapter as roommates coming to an end.

“I’m gonna miss you, Char,” you say sadly. “I just felt like it was the right time, you know?”

“Don’t worry, I’m just taking the piss,” she smiles with a wave of her hand. “I’ll miss you too, but you’re in love and he’s head over heels for you. It’s definitely time.”

You chat for a few minutes about your plans for the next few weeks and Charlotte’s upcoming work engagements until the boys eventually return, sitting on the end of each of your chairs.

You tuck your legs in so Ben can scoot closer and kiss you, and you run your hand over the planes of his bare shoulder and back in appreciation.

“Looking good out there, babe,” you smile, touching his knee and squeezing lightly. “How’s it feeling?”

“Really good, actually,” Ben says happily, covering your hand with his own. “I think the rest and the physio exercises and your massages are really helping. I’m feeling better about my chances for Germany than I have since I first got hurt.”

“That’s amazing, sweetheart,” you exhale, your thumb stroking his thigh. “I’m so proud of how far you’ve come. Regardless of what happens with the Euros, I want you to remember that, okay?”

“Thank you,” Ben says with glistening eyes. “And thank you for suggesting this trip. I think it was just what I needed. I love you so-“

“Oh my god, we get it, guys,” Mason teases from the chair next to you, where he and Charlotte are laughing at your overly-affectionate behaviour. Truth be told, you had forgotten they were there, so enraptured by this moment with Ben.

“Sorry,” you blush slightly, looking at Ben, who just laughs.

Before your friends can tease you any further, you’re interrupted by a young boy who couldn’t be more than six or seven running up to your group with wide eyes.

“Bloody hell, you’re Mason Mount!” he exclaims before turning to Ben. “And Ben Chilwell!”

“Language, Liam!” A woman, presumably the boy’s mother, exclaims as she runs up behind him. “Sorry, he’s a huge Chelsea fan and he spotted you from over there.”

“It’s no problem,” Mason smiles at the kid. “Hey, Liam, it’s nice to meet you.”

The little boy looks to be on the verge of falling over as he looks between Mason and Ben with disbelief.

“Are you coming back soon?” he asks Ben. “The club really needs you, my dad says the defense has been a nightmare lately.”

“Liam-“ his mother begins to scold him again, but Ben waves his hand as he and Mason laugh out loud.

“I hope so, mate,” Ben smiles. “Do you play football?”

“Yeah, I’m a forward on my school team!”

“Nice, I bet you score loads of goals, yeah?” Ben asks.

Liam nods excitedly, his eyes full of unabashed shock and glee that a real life Chelsea footballer is asking him questions.

“Alright, dear, we’d better leave the nice lads to their holiday,” his mum cuts in, grabbing her son’s hand. “Thanks, boys, he’s not going to forget this any time soon.”

“Of course!” Mason says, hopping to his feet. “You want a photo before you go?”

Ben and Mason take a quick picture with their adorable little fan before he and his mum walk away, her thanking the boys profusely once more.

As Mason and Charlotte head back toward the water, going for one final swim before you head back to the rooms, you stride over to Ben and wrap your arms around him tightly, enjoying the feeling of his bare skin against yours.

When you pull back, you press a long, passionate kiss to his lips that you’re grateful Mase and Charlotte aren’t watching - you’ve gotten called out enough for PDA on this trip.

“What was that for?” Ben asks when you pull back, a dazed expression on his face.

“You’re a good person, Benji,” you say simply, stroking his cheek. “And I can’t wait to see you back on the pitch. Not just for you or for me, but for the kids like that who look up to you.”

Ben nods, leaning down to peck your lips once more.

Then he surprises you by throwing you over his shoulder and running toward the water, despite your squeals of protest, and plopping both of you in the ocean. You’re laughing so hard your sides hurt by the time you make it back to shore, hand in hand with the man you love.

As you look ahead to the coming months, sure to be full of exciting changes for both of you, you can feel the fears and ghosts of your past fading away. For the first time, all you can think about is how excited you are for whatever the future holds.

benchilwell

📍Maldives

liked by yourusername, madders and others benchilwell A little R&R with my girl ❤️ view all comments

masonmount And your best mate 🤨

benchilwell 🤷🏻‍♂️

yourusername Ignore him, we love you Mase 🤍

chelseafc Looking forward to seeing those skills back on the pitch! 💙⚽️

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yourusername Paradise 🤍😌

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charlottewright Best trip 💕

benchilwell Beautiful

chillyfan1 we really owe y/n for all the shirtless ben content

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tagging: @xjval @majx00 @delicateearthquakellama @lunamelona @kenanlotus0 @madriiid​ @mountstars​ @ttzamara​​ (pls let me know if you’d liked to be tagged!)

next chapter 💙

#ben chilwell #ben chilwell x reader #ben chilwell x y/n #ben chilwell imagine #chelsea fc imagine #komh

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! I’ve read so many awesome fics this month! Make sure to check them all out. As always, all my love to all the authors in this fandom ♥

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➻ Mind Over Matter (You Under Me) | youreyesonlarry | ice hockey - hurt/comfort - angst - fluff - major character injury - pining - unrequited love hospitalization - smut - 74k It’s dark outside when Harry finishes practice for the day. -------- Prompt 21: Harry stopped playing hockey (after 10 years of a professional career) because of a severe injury. The dream he worked so hard for vanished in the blink of an eye. His family insisted that he had to go to physical therapy, even if it only helped his health. Cue to personal assistant Louis, the most efficient and kind PA one could hire

➻ Rooms on Fire | softfonds | a/b/o - actors - famous/famous - friends with benefits - secret relationship - 34k Ten years ago, Louis helping Harry through a heat was the start of a romance that ended in heartbreak. Now, Harry's marriage is over thanks to his husband's very public infidelity, and Louis is fresh off a Golden Globe win. The last thing they both expect is to be cast in the same movie.

➻ Stumbling Into Your Arms | sunshineandthemoonlight | a/b/o - strangers to lovers - college/university - fluff - 7k Suddenly, Harry’s nose was brushing against Louis' neck, where his scent was overwhelming. Harry jerked his head to the side and took a deep breath of air, trying to clear his nose of Louis’ scent. ‘Don’t get slick, don’t get hard, don’t get slick’, he repeated to himself in his head, like a mantra. Louis and Harry are university students heading home for the holidays. Harry quickly becomes enraptured by the attractive alpha standing across from him in the train carriage, who has a heavenly scent and a gentle smile.

➻ Little by Little | nonsensedarling | mpreg - non traditional a/b/o - exploring sexuality - exploring secondary gender norms - gender identity strangers to friends to lovers - mutual pining - fluff - slow burn - 65k Harry Styles is an omega who works at the London Planetarium, has lived in the same flat for ages, and is happy enough on his own. When he gets home from his first (horrible) attempt at dating in years, a new pregnant neighbor knocks on his door after smelling his cooking. He and Louis quickly become close, but their friendship gets complicated when Harry begins questioning who he is and what he likes. Or Harry discovers figuring out who you are is more complicated than a potato metaphor.

#28th appreciation #fic rec #monthly reads #monthly fic rec #my reads #larry fics #completed fics

[justasparkwritings]

Illicit Affairs: Stolen Stares

Previous: Beautiful Rooms Pt. 4 

Pairings: Jungkook & Reader 

Genre: Angst, Slice of Life

Ratings: PG15

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Therapy and Swearing, Lots of Reminiscing

Summary: Jungkook prepares to go back to Seoul, back to Bangtan, and away from you. 

Listen: illicit affairs by Taylor Swift

Thank you to everyone who read this story, it means a lot. I worked really hard on it, and I’m glad it’s over. On to the next one. 

           The light warms his bare back as Jungkook nestles himself deeper into your side. Groaning softly, you turn, his arm holding fast as it drapes across your middle, newly exposed skin prickling at the intrusion of a cooling temperature.

           “Jungkook,” You whisper, your eyes still closed, morning grogginess aching in your throat.            “Aein,” He mutters, lips finding a gentle kiss on your exposed shoulder, closest piece of flesh to his awaiting lips.

           “I don’t want you to go,” You divulge.

           “I don’t have to,” Jungkook responds, eyes peaking open to glance over your form. Still huddled under the blankets, your eyes watch him, calculating, gauging the slope of his brow, the curl of his lips.

           “Back to Seoul, back to them,” You clarify.

           “Jagi, don’t hate them,” He asks.

           “How can I not? They broke you,”

           “I wasn’t broken just,”

           “You don’t have to protect them,”

           “I don’t want you to think they’re all bad, they’re my entire world,” Jungkook turns onto his back, eyes directed to your ceiling. He’d come to love the little cracks in the paint, the chips just out of reach to fix on your own. The bungalow that you called home had started to become his too. “We’re working through it, we’ve got more therapy once we’re back, and everyone’s continued on their own since our group meeting.”

           “That’s not what I meant, I mean it is, but it isn’t,” The tears have begun to build, comforting the lump in your throat.

           “Tell me,” He asks, head turning to face you again.

           Lips pouting while you move his long locks out of his eyes, you exhale your sadness. “I don’t want you to go, at all. I thought I could hold it in, but I can’t.”

           “I don’t want to go either, not without you,” His eyes are unwavering, but in the glint of morning, the sheen of tears can still be seen.

           “Can you stay, just a little longer?”

           “I’ve been out here for six months, I have to go back,”

           “Have to and want to are different things, I guess,”

           “They are. I have to go for work, but I don’t want to. I have to spend every moment before I leave with you, though.”

           “This is the start of something, isn’t it?” You feel the blush before his cool thumb tends to it, the embarrassment, the hope, tied together in crimson on your latte skin.

           “Cross my heart,” He smiles back. You nod into his grin, lips moving slowly until they meet his, chapped and hungry. There’s a sadness, an impending doom you’ve been feeling for the last few weeks, making every kiss marked with some sort of dread. This isn’t the last, but in your unofficial countdown, it was getting there.

           He moves slowly against you, all lips and increasing pressure until you dip your tongue, cautiously, over his plump bottom lip.

           “When can you come back?” You ask, pulling away slowly, lips tingling from the release of tension.

           “Next month with the boys for press stuff and Kimmel,” He responds, irises opening slowly to take in your form again, cheeks rosier, lips bright, eyes soft in hurt.

           “Will I see you?”

           “You don’t have to ask,” Jungkook’s hand reaches out to your cheek again, holding you to him.

           Your tear-filled eyes peered into his. “How do you feel, being my boyfriend?”

           “Unbelievably happy,” Jungkook leans forward to place his lips hungrily against yours again.  

           “We have to be a secret though,” You remind him, his lips moving to your jaw.

           “For now, I don’t want ARMY to find you,” he stops his movements, giving consideration to your words.

           “I don’t want them too, either.”

           “I, management can’t know,” Jungkook comes back to you, eyes resting against yours, sincerity lingering in his gaze.

           “No,” You shake your head. “I don’t, I don’t want them to know.”

           He sighs, rolling back to his back, eyes again staring at the cracks in paint. How long had you lived with this ceiling? How many nights had you stared up at them, wondering when they’d get fixed? How many escapades did you have before him, where lovers asked the questions plaguing his mind?

           “Will they hate me?” You ask, sitting up to rest your back against your headboard.

           “I don’t care if they do,” Jungkook tells you.

           “Jungkook,” You roll your eyes, he clearly hadn’t thought about this nearly as much as you have.

           “They’ve taken so much from me, they won’t take you,” He assures.

           “Are you gonna tell someone? I don’t want you to be scared to not tell someone,”

           “Who can I tell?” He asks, head turning to watch you.

           “You have six brothers, not to mention your actual blood brother,” You answer.

           “Maybe Taehyung or Jimin,” He says weighing the options.

           “I don’t want you to be alone in this,”

           “I have you,”  

           “You know what I mean,”

           “We’ll talk every day,” He sits up, back flush to the grain of the headboard, leg bumping yours intentionally.

           “Promise?” You whisper.

           “Promise,” He vows. His mind is elsewhere, the glaze and comatose expression giving way to the murkiness in his irises.

           “What’s on your mind?” Placing your head against his shoulder, you nuzzle into him.

           “I’ve never understood why Namjoon-hyung picked his girlfriend over me,” He explains.

           “Did he though?”

           “He could’ve, I don’t know, it feels like he did.”

           “You could ask,” You suggest.

           “Dr. Aarons would say that Namjoon was calculating, plotting, lessening his focus on my life as he prepared to take down Big Hit. He made mistakes, and he wanted to ensure my safety as a whole unit, not in pieces or parts, all of it.”

           “What do you have to say to that?” You ask.

           Shaking his head, Jungkook fills his lungs. “It doesn’t feel that way,”

           “Maybe it’s not supposed to,”

           “But, now, I kind of understand why he did it,”

           “Yeah?” You pull yourself off of him to turn your body perpendicularly to his, feet tucked under you, brow creased.

           “I want to protect you, to protect us, that’s what Namjoon was doing.”

           “He sacrificed you, though,”

           “I know, I do, it doesn’t excuse it,”

           “No, it doesn’t… you also don’t have to forgive him for it. You can love him and still, be upset,”

           “Resent him?”

           “Yeah, you can hold resentment but be cordial. Like Beyonce and Jay,” You offer, though the comparison isn’t the same. Jay never abused Bey, or drugged her, or made her to feel perpetually inferior.

           “Beyonce and Jay?”

           “Have you never listened to Resentment?”

           “No,” Jungkook shakes his head, a smile blooming as you begin to lose your mind.

           “Jungkook, how are we supposed to be dating if you are actively denying part of my existence?”

           Laughing, he responds, “You’re being dramatic,”

           “Of course I am! We are fixing this.”

           You turn to grab the remote from his night stand, reaching your entire body across his. His hands reach for your sides, slyly tickling you as your top rides up. Swatting him away, you settle back down next to him and turn on the TV. Finding the YouTube app you locate the stolen HBO live video from On The Run. Once the volume is sufficient to your liking, aka loud, you watch as Beyonce begins.

I wish I could believe you / then I’d be alright

But now everything you told me / really don’t apply

To the way I feel inside

Lovin’ you was easy / once up on a time

But now my suspicions of you have multiplied

And it’s all because you lied

I only give you a hard time

‘cause I can’t go on and pretend like

I haven’t tried to forget this

But I’m much too full of resentment

           Jungkook stiffens underneath you, heart racing as he gazes upon Beyonce. How had you known that this song was going to be the summation of all his feelings towards Namjoon? How had you foreseen that this moment, Beyonce’s raw and guttural, though rehearsed performance, would draw tears from him in the early morning? How had you known that this would be the validation he needed? His tears slide down his cheeks, marble carved delicately over time, never hardened, always supple, tears trailing the column of his neck through your hair and onto your pillows.

           “Jungkook,” You whisper, not daring to look at him.

           “Yeah?” His voice cracks, giving way to more tears.

           Sitting up, you spin and cradle his head in your lap. Your embrace is warm and comforting, the shared moments between you, the vulnerability and hurt, crafting a bond between you that felt stronger than any category 5 hurricane.

           “It got you, didn’t it?” You ask.

           “Yeah,” He whimpers, arms around you, salt water and mucus exploring the cotton of your pajama top. He stays put, crying, first for a few minutes, then ten, which turns into fifteen.

           “Jungkook, you need water, or a tissue,” You tell him. “All this crying isn’t good for you, take a deep breath.”

           “I don’t have to forgive him,” He acknowledges.

           “No, you don’t. But you can, if you want to,” You rub circles on his back, comforting him until his cries subside.

           “How are you so patient and good?” He asks, sitting up.

           “Therapy and genetics,” You answer. Jungkook chuckles and motions for the tissue box on your nightstand. “You’re getting there, you know.”

           “Am I?”

           You kiss his salty cheeks. “All your work with Dr. Aarons, this relationship, all of it, building blocks,”

           “Shouldn’t I have already built my castle?” Jungkook wonders, what was the last decade?

           “You did, but you built it out of broken pieces, so of course it fell.”

           “He kept putting me in danger, for what?”

           “For Big Hit or for Namjoon?”

           “Both,” Jungkook takes a few strides to the bathroom, turning on the faucet to splash water on his face.

           “For BTS to make it,” You answer, standing and tossing the tissues in the trash.

           “Do you think it’ll stop?” He asks, eyes finding yours through the reflection of the mirror.

           “What?” Leaning your body against the door, you take in the expanse of his back, the defined muscles, the ink decorating the entirety of his right arm.

           “Stop checking me out,” Jungkook giggles, your newfound affection for him overwhelming to the man who’s always been denied romantic relationships, or at the very least, the hope for one.

          “Stop being so sexy,” You counter, walking to stand behind him, arms around his waist, cheek resting between his shoulders.

          “Do you think it’ll stop, the manipulation, the hurt, the lying?”

           “I hope so,” Your lips find his flesh, leaving a tender kiss.

           “Yeah?” He whispers, head down, eyes on the space where your hands rest.

           “Jungkook, if you can’t hope for things to be better, what else do you have?”

           Jungkook turns in your arms, eyes scanning your face.

          This is how it’s going to end, in two days when he’s standing in your bathroom, your arms around him, kissing through tears, scared of the future, scared of what it’ll bring, scared your relationship is surviving on a wing in a prayer.

           He’ll leave, hood over his head, eyes down. When Bangtan asks why his cheeks are flushed and eyes a little red, he’ll lie about not getting enough sleep. When he’s back in Seoul, back in his room, in his bed, the little bottle of your perfume you tucked into his bag will be swept into a drawer, so no one finds it.

          It’ll be words and promises, beliefs only you can draw out of each other. Until, in four weeks, you’ll come crashing down your walkway, arms wide, tears brimming, all hope and joy to wrap him in your arms again. Jungkook will be relieved that what he thought you had, what he tended to over the phone and in text, is real. It’s no longer caged in the fear of failure, or studied under the tutelage of shame, but growing on its own.

           Jungkook will be happy, happy to have you, happy to speak with Dr. Aarons over his progress. Happy to be in the sun, under you, by your side.

           That’s the thing about illicit affairs, no matter how hard they try to take hold of you, ruin every hope and promise you’ve ever made, they never last. Instead, they fade, ruin behind them, their wake subsiding. But unlike promises made in parking lots or secrets shared in beautiful rooms, Jungkook will not ruin himself for them, not a million times, not ever again.  

#houseofddaeng #btswritersclub #kim namjoon #kim namjoon angst #namjoon angst #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fic #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #Jungkook angst #Jeon Jungkook angst #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #illicit affairs #folklore #therapy #mental health #love #angst #BTS angst #Jeon Jungkook x reader #Jeon Jungkook fanfic #btsgoldnet

[bazzybelle]

Carry On Countdown - Day Two

Notes: Here we go again! Thank you to everyone who was so sweet yesterday! I may have hidden under a blanket fort from the overwhelming love. Here is my fic for today’s prompt. Hope you all like it. 

Huge thanks again, go to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for Beta-Reading my story. You’re amazing! :) 

TW: Nightmares, anxiety, panic attacks.

Day 2 Prompt: Role Swap

Title: Hush, Love.

________________________________________________________________

SIMON

I’m bloody exhausted.

It’s been an impossible week. 

I just want to sleep and reset my mind for one night, if I’m allowed to. It seems impossible, given that I’ve been having night terrors every so often. They haven’t been occurring quite as often as they used to (therapy has been truly helping me with that, thank Morgana). Even with that, I still find myself waking up in a cold sweat, heart palpitating, gasping for air, and with Baz clinging to me, whispering soothing mantras in my ear. 

Hush, Love. You’re alright.

Hush, Love. I’m here.

Hush, Love. You’re safe. 

The problem is that if I’m not having night terrors, I remain trapped within insomnia’s unforgiving clutches. 

Merlin help me, I sound like Baz. 

We had decided, after America, that we would give our relationship a fighting chance. Or, rather, I decided to give our relationship a fighting chance. Baz would never coerce me into making a decision I was not comfortable with. He made it clear, from the beginning, that I held all the cards and that he would accept whatever it was I wanted. If I wanted him, he’d be here. If I didn’t, he would accept it, as much as it would destroy him. 

Through it all, I still want him. And I’m slowly starting to understand that no matter what, he’ll always want me too. 

Going back to therapy helps. 

I turn in bed and gaze at his sleeping form. The moonlight from my bedroom window is hitting him and he looks practically angelic. His eyes are closed and relaxed, shielded by his long graceful eyelashes. I want to place a kiss on his lips, they look so serene right now, but I hold back. His eyebrows look slightly furrowed, but I imagine that he’s most likely having a dream. His hair is splayed across his pillow in a dark halo. I resist the urge to tuck it behind his ear. I don’t want to wake him. Baz has spent so many nights being the shelter for my hurricane of a mind, he deserves at least one peaceful night. 

I instead pay attention to the steady rise and fall of his chest. Usually I can lull myself to sleep by following Baz’s breathing pattern. I attempt to do just that, but I am finding it more difficult to keep up with him tonight. His breathing is more rushed than it normally is. It should be enough to worry me, but I still don’t want to wake him, especially if it’s for a silly reason. I don’t want to be responsible for him losing a night’s sleep in vain. 

I decide to quietly exit the bedroom. I pick up my wooden practice sword from near the door. I figure if I can’t get any sleep, it might not be such a bad idea to practice my sword fighting. I’ve been getting back into swordsmanship during the last few months. It was difficult at first, considering I hadn’t practiced in over a year. I found that eventually, I’ve been able to fall into the familiar flow of controlling a sword. I soon joined a gym and found others who were also interested in learning sword-play. 

Both Penny and Baz have been so supportive of my rediscovered passion. Baz has bought several books for me on the subject and about the different styles of sword-fighting (although he has read them more often than I have), and Penny has made a small space for me in the flat that she has designated “Simon’s Safe Swordplay Space” (Baz had rolled his eyes at the alliteration). It’s in this small space where I spend the next half hour practicing some moves. I go until my arm can no longer hold the wooden sword without shaking. Accepting the wave of sleep that is sure to hit me, I relent. I lean my weapon against the wall and return to the bedroom. 

I anticipate that I’ll find Baz still peacefully sleeping. I imagine myself crawling back into bed with him. Maybe wrapping him in my arms and pressing myself closer to him. He loves it when I cuddle him like that. What I find instead causes my heart to sink to my stomach. 

It’s the position of his body that sets off the first red flag in my mind. Where Baz typically sleeps slightly turned to either side, long legs partially outstretched, I notice that his legs have been pulled tight against his chest, almost constricting him. His back, normally straight and placid, is now hunched over in agony. His hands are pulled rigidly against his chest, as if he’s trying to pull something off him. His breathing is rapid and uneven, almost as if he is struggling to fill his lungs. I know that feeling. I’ve felt that feeling. 

It’s his face, however, that shatters me to my core. It’s completely contorted into a grimace: eyebrows compressed together, his hair cascading like spilled ink over his sharp features. 

I rush to the bed and immediately push the hair away from his face. I start to gently caress his cheek, hoping that I can bring him back from whatever is haunting him. As soon as my hand brushes his cold cheek, he seizes up and begins to cry out. 

“LET ME OUT! PLEASE! LET ME OUT!”

He’s turned on his back now and is clawing at the air. His mouth is full, a sure sign that his fangs have descended. Tears are streaming down his face. I know where his mind has taken him tonight and I silently curse the person who did this to him. Even though he’s been dead for almost two years. 

I close the distance between us. The risk of being bit be damned, I won’t keep watching him suffer like this. I grab his hands and climb over him. I bring his hands to his face and I start talking to him. 

“Baz! You’re here. Wake up. You’re with me. You’re not alone Baz! You’re with me!”

“No… Please… no…” Baz has shoved me off of him and turned over again. It isn’t working. He’s fully back in that blasted coffin. I wish I knew what I could do to help him. I think back to the many times that he’s had to bring me back from my own dark place. I wrap my arms around him and hold him steady. He begins to fight me, but I refuse to yield. It isn’t an easy feat, considering his vampire strength. I place a calm hand on his head and lean in close to his ear and repeat the same words he would say to me. 

“Hush, Love. You’re alright,” I whisper as the fighting diminishes. Slowly, slowly, Baz starts to calm down. I deliberately move my hand to the side of his face and gently rub soft circles near his jaw line. I feel a slight movement, as his fangs start to retract. 

I continue. 

“Hush, Love. I’m here.” His breathing starts to slow. I can still feel him shuddering. My hand moves back up to his head and I start running my fingers through his silky hair. 

“Hush, Love. You’re safe.” I place a small kiss on the side of his face. I’m still holding him steady, but he has long since stopped trying to push me off him. From his strong, even breaths, his relaxed posture, the calm lines on his face, I believe that the worst of it is over. He should be able to sleep peacefully for the remainder of the night. I still need for him to feel that I’m here. That I’ll always be here. So, I continue to delicately caress his hair while repeating our chant. 

“Hush, Love. You’re alright;

“Hush, Love. I’m here;

“Hush, Love. You’re safe.”

#coc 2019 #carry on countdown #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #snowbaz #comfort fic #role reversal prompt #little angst #carry on #wayward son #wayward son spoilers #my writing #fanfic

[bisexualdaemon]

The Spring Game: A Gin and Juice Extra

a/n: HIIIIIIIIII! So, I got the bug to write a G&J oneshot about a week ago and well, here it is! It’s super fluffy and there’s PLENTY of football!Shawn here. Writing this reminded me of how much I love and miss these two, so it’s reasonable to assume that I might return to them again soon (I already have another oneshot idea). If you haven’t read G&J, might I direct you to the first part here. It’s not required reading to enjoy this, but some of the subtle details might be lost ❤️

warnings: 2.6k of anxious feelings, a triggering environment, major fluff 

“Come on, babe. We’re almost there!” Caroline called from about fifteen feet ahead of you. You’d made it through the gate, through the small sea of people near the entrance, now you just had to make it up the ramp and into the special seats marked off for friends and family of team members. The stadium was so big. Ninety-five thousand regularly flocked in and out of the gates on a normal fall weekend. Thank God this was just the spring game.

You caught up with Caroline and drug your feet up the ramp still trailing behind her, while you thought back to a couple of days ago...

Dr. Michaels had suggested pre-planning where you would sit at the game. With as many variables as a situation like a live football game could have, she’d said in a session last week, knowing exactly where you were going and your physical surroundings could be beneficial. She had actually yelled all of this over the crowd noise she was pumping out of her office sound system to help you prepare for the sensory overload of a football game. It had been jarring and you’d needed a two hour nap afterward, but it helped to know what you were getting yourself into.

You showed up to the stadium after Shawn’s practice a few days before the big event. He met you at the gate, insisting on helping you pick out the perfect seat. His hair was still damp from his post-practice shower, hanging in lifted tendrils across his forehead. You reached up to push some of them back and gave him a quick hello peck on his full lips.

“You ready?” he asked, a little pink clinging to his cheeks after your public affection. He was still getting used to you wanting to be seen with him in public, let alone kiss him.

He held your hand and walked you through the empty concrete maze, up the ramp to your section, and down to the bleacher seats that the tickets he’d given you would allow you to sit. It was technically a general admission but Shawn promised to reserve the seats you picked out before the game.

“Okay,” he stopped at the third row and stayed right on the aisle, “so I thought about this for awhile after you told me you wanted to come see me play. I think right here,” he stood right at the last seat of the aisle, “is perfect. It’s far enough up for you to see over the players’ heads and it’s on an aisle so there’s easy access in and out if you get overwhelmed.” He looked down at you, his chest out. He was so proud of himself.

“Will you be able to see me?” You hopped up on top of the bleachers in front of the seat he’d picked out so you could look him in the eye. He brought his hands up around your waist and slowly turned you around, resting his head against your side. The massive field stretched out in front of you.

“You see that sideline over there?” Shawn pointed across the field and waited until he could feel you shaking your head, “I’ll either be over there or on the field the whole time. If you stand on the bleachers like everyone else does, I’ll be able to see you.” You rested your arm around his neck and squeezed, skin against skin, letting the all the anxiety and words you weren’t saying flow out of you, comforted by his solid presence.

You were both silent for awhile, looking out onto the field in the fading light. His breathing helped you focus, the slow inhales and exhales of a conditioned athlete. Your fingers grazed his collar bone underneath his shirt, his brushed your side delicately just above the waist of your jeans. The simple touches in the quiet moments were your secondary therapy, the blissful release of the anxiety that built up throughout the day.

“I’m excited to see you play,” you scratched his scalp and he leaned into your hand, purring softly.

“You’ve been working on it in therapy? The noise?” He was so worried that this wasn’t going to work, that your eagerness to see him play, to be a normal couple, would set your progress back.

“I have,” you leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, “it’s been okay. You might have to take a nap with me after the game.” You laughed, enough to lighten the moment, but not enough to take the half-truth out of your joke.

“I read these will help too,” he rummaged around in his pocket and slipped a pair of neon orange earplugs into your hand. Sometimes, when he did stuff like this, you couldn’t help but choke back tears. It was the little things that knocked you on your ass about him—the gentle touches, the verbal check-ins, the little orange earplugs—all the things that showed how much he cared, how much he valued your progress. As much, if not more so, than he cared about his own recovery.

“I have to go to a meeting before the game,” he tensed a little, still struggling with being open about his failures, “but there will be passes for you and Caroline at the box office. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.” His tension melted into the easy ribbing that he and Caroline had adopted. He exhaled, turning you back around in his hands and burying his head in your middle.

“I’m so happy you’re coming,” he whispered, so low you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it. It was like he’d waited until now, until he was sure you’d be there, to let you know how much it meant to him. You took his face in your hands and looked down at him, that familiar feeling under your sternum drawing you even closer to him, his hook and line calling you home.

“It’s going to be fine,” you reassured him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips and hopping down from the bleachers. He needed to hear it, and if you were being honest, so did you.

It was deafening. It was so loud that it blocked out all your other senses. Where there should have been the smell of turf and rubber, the taste and feel of grit in your mouth, the sight of 50,000 people, there was nothing. Just an ocean of noise. The game hadn’t even started yet and still all the voices together felt like waves crashing against your eardrums. You pulled out the earplugs Shawn had given you and jammed them in your ears. It dampened the noise enough to let you inhale, rough and audible, pushing the pressure of voices and eyes off your chest. Caroline knocked your arm to check in and you grimaced at her.

“It’ll be better once the game starts,” she squeezed your leg comfortingly, “you’ll have something to focus on...and so will they.” She scoffed at the group of girls across the aisle openly whispering.

You were wearing Shawn’s hoodie, his name emblazoned on the back. That coupled with the fact that you were in the player’s section and gossip around campus, it was obvious that you were her. The previously secret girlfriend. The One from the Article. The girls all the jersey chasers wanted to be. It came with all the eyes and whispers you’d thought it would, louder in the beginning, but it had mostly blown over. Only the desperate few still pointed and whispered.

Turning toward Caroline, your back to the band of buzzing girls, you flipped your hood up, making sure they could see the bolded MENDES on the back. Their jealous tittering ceased immediately and you smiled to yourself, blushing at your own self-satisfaction.

“Well, well,” Caroline whistled, her eyebrows raised somewhere near her hairline, “I’ve never been more fucking proud of you than I am right now. Fucking stake that claim, bitch.” She wiped a fake tear off her cheek and giggled, wrapping her arms around you and squeezing.

After awhile, the ebb and flow of voices and whispers was easier to block out. There was a countdown clock on the jumbotron at the end of the field and as it moved closer to zero, the crowd ramped up. Caroline had to explain that during a normal game there would be more people, more eyes, and the band would play and 90,000 people would cheer and scream. You took a moment to thank whatever power above that your first game was just the spring scrimmage.

Smoke built in the corner of the field, signaling the crowd to stand and cheer. You were a little slow on the uptake, but Caroline pulled at your arm and you both stood on the bleachers with everyone else. The earplugs helped to amplify your own voice over the others when you cheered, swiveling your head back and forth looking for the only player that mattered to you. Familiar names, ones you’d met in the months since the national championship game, ran by and you just barely recognized Zubin, Mike, and Andrew through their helmets.

But everything faded away when he came smashing through the fog with his pointer finger held toward the sky. Distantly, you heard the crowd roar, but it didn’t matter. The stadium could have been empty and you wouldn’t have noticed. You’d never seen him like this. He ran a lap around the sidelines to thunderous cheering, his curls whipping around in the wind, a beautiful pink, adrenaline-fueled flush on his cheeks. His earring, the little hoop he’d put in after his Heisman win, gleamed in the early evening light. Everyone was watching him, cheering for him and him alone. He was magnetic. He was yours.

When the game started, after the shock of seeing him in his element, the sound of the crowd slowly filtered back in. It was a low-stakes game. The spring game was just a scrimmage, the offense and defense playing against each other. But it didn’t matter. The crowd chanted Shawn’s name whenever he was on the field, boosting the energy level in the stadium to near bursting every time he crossed the sideline. It was overwhelming.

At one point the defense had beat Shawn’s side back to their own five yard line. Coach Bradford had let the second string quarterback play, much to the dismay of Shawn’s adoring crowd. When Coach sent Shawn out, the crowd cheered so loud you had to close your eyes, forcing them open at the sound of the referee’s whistle. Shawn snapped the ball. His bicep, wrapped around with a little white band, reached back for a throw and when he let loose, the stadium went almost completely silent. The ball hung in the air for what felt like minutes, hours, a beautiful spiral that reached yards through the air and into Mike’s waiting arms. Shawn was already celebrating when Mike crossed the endzone, the crowd screaming right along with him. You jumped up and down and hugged Caroline, screaming louder than you thought you could right along with the rest of the crowd. It felt good. It felt...normal. Adjusted, Dr. Michaels would have corrected.

You rode the adrenaline to the end of the game, marveling at his athleticism, his easy grace running the ball to the sheer strength required to launch the ball from his hand to his target in the endzone. The way his muscles flexed and his chest rose and fell from his labored breathing, it was beautiful. It was intoxicating. You swore to yourself that you’d never miss another game. A few times, even though you couldn’t see it, you felt him notice you in the crowd. It was like the pull of a magnet to the sideline, seeking his eyes. He never seemed to take his eyes off the field, never took his attention away from the team that needed him, but you could sense it, knew he knew you were there as sure as you knew he was standing on the sideline in front of you.

Shawn’s “team” won, the other side totally demoralized after his ninety-yard pass for a touchdown in the third quarter. He stood victorious in the center of the field while the crowd cheered, his head tilted back and yelling nonsensically. He looked like a dinosaur, roaring after winning a primal fight, his sweat-drenched curls shaking out behind him. After a round of press, he took a victory lap, waving to the fans that had come to see him.

You took off like a shot down the aisle, ignoring Caroline’s startled protestations. Pressing yourself against the brick barrier between the stands and the field, you mustered all the breath in your lungs.

“SHAWN!”

His head whipped toward you, eyes wide in shock. He stopped in his tracks and re-routed, making a beeline toward you. It was the loudest he’d ever heard you, and in front of so many people, it was no wonder he looked like you’d grown a second head and four arms.

“Babe, you ca—”

He couldn’t finish his sentence before you kissed him. Half-draped over the barrier, you had to jump a little to reach him, your arms wrapping around his neck and connecting with his lips so hard your teeth clash for a moment. You were sure the crowd went wild, were sure there were jeers and catcalls and disappointed cries from every body still left in the stadium, but you didn’t care. No one mattered outside of you and Shawn. All you could feel was his lips on yours, moving in synch, a rhythm as natural to you as breathing. He lifted you over the barrier, his arms strong around you, squeezing reassuringly, before setting you down on your feet. His hands wrapped around your wrists as his lips disconnected from yours, foreheads pressed together. His panting breaths washed over your face, helping to steady you.

“Where the hell did that come from?” his chest shook with laughter, disbelief coloring his voice.

You shrugged your shoulders and giggled into his neck, giddy from the game and the kiss. As your pulse came down and the adrenaline faded, the crowd volume slowly crept back up, pressing your body involuntarily into him. He felt the rising tension in your body, knew your discomfort could only be held at bay for so long.

“Hey, look at me,” he sandwiched your face between his hands, making sure he was the only thing in your field of vision. You locked eyes with him, panic threatening in the peripheral.

“Ready for that nap?”

You nodded your head, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion. Yawning, you threaded your fingers with his and let him lead you, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other instead of the thousands of people that were definitely staring at you. In the endzone, you stopped suddenly, pulling Shawn’s arm backwards to a halt.

“Baby, are you okay?” He looked worried, his eyebrows knitted together. You reached up and smoothed them, tracing a line over his forehead to his cheek where you cupped his jaw.

“You’re amazing, you know.” It wasn’t a question. You refused to give him room to deny it. It was just a simple fact. He blushed right up into his ears, giving his head a little shake and kicking the turf, a million little rubber pellets jumping up around his feet.

“And hey?” he looked up, his rounded hazel eyes searching for what else you could possibly say to make this day better.

“I love you so fucking much.”

His face broke into the most glorious smile, glittering off the stadium lights and radiating pure, unbridled joy.

“I love you more.”

❤️

taglist: @abigfatmess @lifeofthedarty @infiniteshawn  @ashotofblues  @blue-skies-are-alright  @disappointingyellowhighlighter @brittanyzelazno @sowhatshawn @heisshawnmendes @embracehappy @allthingswildareshy @kidinruin  @utopitabread @ifyoudreamyoucanmake @ykicantbefoundwithyou @herecomethefeels @tegan-eva @maaaddiexo @shawnxmendesxo  @honestey @twerkissun @kinglyhemmings  @martinimendes @vnv21 @worshippingmendes @are-you-really-sure-about-that @zankivich @begginyouformendes @fawn-mendes @particular-tastes @shawnorsomething @madon566  @misskarynie @searchingunderthestars @shawnyimagines  @justmesadgirl @getwaytooinvolved  @ana-hemmingzz96 @carlaimberlain @supernatural-girl97 @french-fries-bouquet @wanderingmendes @bensbuttercup @wronglaneassholeshawn @obsess-over-life  @mutuallynotmutual @nervousroses @fallinallinyouu @nosafetynetunderneath  @musiic-is @anotherawkwardaustralian @starlalove @itsdemarielynn @overactiveimaginati0n @bluerroses  @gracesinfinity @madeinthemidnightmemories  @prettymuchboodup  @yellowitsmendes @planstonightbaby @oyesmendes @lettingtherosegrow @in-the-corner-coffee-please @gendryia @tallloires @hufflepuffshawn @moodcurrent @thankyoubasedyeezus @kyloreins @harrytreatspeoplewithkindness @mariememmendes @dylshoney @ourlittleshawnie @baby-blue-butterfly 

permanent: @justanotherfangurl272  @siennarossi @trustfundshawn @alone-in-madness @rodneywaber @harryandmolly @thatindiannerdygirl @the-claire-bitch-project @mendesromano @fromthicctosticc @esoltis280 @grittyisaho @softmendesss @sinplisticshawn @nedthegay @september-lace @itrocksmysocks @disaster-rose @mendesoft @luvluvxx @i-play-video-games @ihearthemcallingforyou @hi-my-name-is-sid @gentleshawn @kitykatnumber @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @paigeasourous

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fluff #shawn peter raul mendes #football!shawn #my writing #gin and juice

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Cadmus’ Revenge

WARNING FOR THEMES OF SELF-HARM, SUICIDAL IDEATION, PARANOIA, NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE.

A/N: This story is not a character death, and ends on a happy note.

----

Cadmus is resurrected, and abducts Lena. She's missing for over a year when they finally find her, in a facility packed with guards but devoid of any trace of Lillian. They find Lena pale and thin but alive in a small windowless cell. Down the hall and around the corner, they find a chilling lab, complete with a chair that looks like it belongs in a dentist’s office, if not for the manacles bolted to the arms and legs, and the macabre net of needled probes haloing the headrest.

Lena sleeps for days when they get her to the DEO. They clean the smears of blood from her forehead, examine her from head to toe, but when she wakes Lena is hale and whole and remarkably cogent. She doesn't seem surprised by her rescue, and is neither scared nor thrilled to be back. 

She's a little distant, but otherwise well-adjusted-- unnervingly so. The Superfriends are all massively concerned, but Lena goes to therapy, she follows the doctors' instructions, and they don't want to make it worse so they just... let her be. 

Until the day that Kara walks into Lena's L-Corp office as Supergirl, and finds her building a bomb. 

A big one.

"Is that...?"

"A bomb?" Lena replies coolly. "Yep. I'm surprised it took you this long."

"Lena..."

"Don't come any closer," comes an off-hand warning, along with a head tilt towards a new arrangement of wall-mounted rail guns suddenly aimed at Kara. 

"Those are loaded with kryptonite bullets. Not sure if kryptonite is needed against a construct, but just in case you're following the usual rules... even if it doesn’t kill you, it'll hurt like hell."

Kara swallows thickly. "I don't know what's happening, but I do know that this isn't you. Step away from the desk, and we can talk about what's going on with you, okay?"

"Nope. No more talking. No more interrogations, no more debriefing. No more scenarios."

Scenarios? "Lena, what--"

"I'm a little surprised to be honest. You usually catch on to my escape attempts a lot sooner. But that was my mistake, wasn’t it? Escape." 

Finally, Lena straightens and turns, pressing a button that sets a countdown in red lights. 

"Tell me, mother," Lena smirks, folding her arms against her chest. "Do you believe what they say about the Matrix?"

Kara doesn't understand what's going on, but she does understand that Lena is not well, and she understands that Lena is fully intent on blowing them both up. And the whole city block, if the size of the bomb and Lena's acumen are any indication.

"Lena, please..."

Green eyes regard her coolly. "You really do look like her. Its the closest you come yet. Fitting that it'll also be your last."

"What do you mean?"

"Scorched earth. There's nothing to reset if this explosion fries every neuron in my skull. So whatever you're looking for, better ask now before I'm brain dead."

"Lena--"

"Oh, and before you decide to blip out on me, I should probably mention that this room is equipped with an electromagnetic barrier. Again, not totally sure it works against what amounts to an online avatar, but I figured I might as well do my best to rid the world of both us Luthors."

"I am not your mother..." 

"Obviously."

Kara's gaze flickers to the timer, ticking down. Less than twenty seconds.

"Lena, I am not Lillian, I am not here to hurt you, but I need you to let me get that bomb out of here--!"

"Ooh, the tears are a nice touch. For a heartless bitch I'm impressed--"

"I am not your mother!"

"You're not Supergirl, either--"

Without thinking, Kara surges forward, pressing her lips against Lena's. She can almost feel the surprised stutter of her heartbeat underneath the panicked roar in her own ears.

She pulls away, maintaining her grip on Lena's face to stare deep into her eyes. Shocked green stares at her, her calm confidence flickering in confusion.

"Would your mother have done that?!"

Lena's mouth works wordlessly, finally returning something human to her. Finally, she looks at the room around her as though seeing it for the first time. Too late.

The timer flickers from two seconds to one.

"LENA!”

She only has time to wrap her arms and her cape around Lena before the bomb detonates. The force of the shock wave throws them through the office wall, followed by a bellow of flame and debris.

Heat engulfs them both, swallowing them in a blazing inferno that seems to last hours. Kara's entire focus narrows to funneling cold air from her lungs to the hollow of her cape, cooling the air within before the superheated gust could sear Lena's lungs. 

For an interminable moment, her world is fire and ice, and the desperate, panicked prayer that when it abates, Lena's heart will still be beating.

As soon as she can spare an ounce of focus she propels them both through the nearest window. The blaze chases at their heels, hungry for the oxygen accessible through the broken pane. Kara doesn't stop. Not until she's skidding against the floor of the DEO lobby, Lena cradled against her chest.

"Supergirl!" Alex calls, cutting through the blur of Kara's shock. "We just got the alert about--"

She cuts off abruptly as Kara peels back her cape to reveal the bruised and ashen features of an unconscious Lena. Her hair is dry and singed, soot staining every inch of her, blackening the raw, weeping burns the cape couldn't protect against.

Kara looks up at her sister, tears cutting twin tracks down her cheeks.

"Lena's not okay."

---

Lena wakes in the infirmary, bandaged, medicated, and under constant guard. Kara remains at her side, and straightens when she sees her friend's eyes flutter open.

"Lena?”

At the sound of her voice, Lena's eyes pinch shut. Gritting her teeth, her hands fist in the blankets.

"Are you in pain? Alex! Lena, it's all right, you're safe--"

"Shut up!" Lena cries. For the first time, something besides ready acceptance colors her voice-- despair. "Just shut up! You're not real. You're not real!"

Kara stares, helpless. Alex materializes at her side, watching with wide eyes. 

"It should have worked, why didn't it work... You're not real. Not real..."

"Lena..."

"You're not real!"

---

The chair, Brainy deduces, was a means to run a series of simulations. From the data he's able to mine, Lena has spent most of her captivity in that chair, trapped in an ever evolving construct of her own mind, where it learned her patterns and expectations until it could render even the most realistic and intricate scenarios. 

For what purpose, they don't know.

"Information, perhaps," Brainy suggests, his anxiety betrayed by his habitual twisting of the Legion ring on his finger. "Something they anticipated Lena would only share with a familiar figure."

"Or maybe to mine her intellect?" Alex theorizes. "If they had a problem, Lena would be the one to solve it."

"Whatever the reason," Kara concludes, her voice low, "Lena caught on. She learned to doubt everything she saw. Us included."

"So how do we snap her out of it?" Nia asks. 

They all exchange glances, hoping another has an answer.

None of them do.

---

Reason gets them nowhere. 

Footage of Lena’s discovery and rescue is met with disinterest. Detailing the ongoing search for Cadmus and her mother puts Lena to sleep.

They take her to L-Corp to show her the aftermath of her bomb. Thankfully, they'd been the only ones in the building, but the damage was substantial even weeks later, and it seems that none of the prior simulations ever displayed such continuity. For a moment, her mask cracks.

They try to capitalize on their opportunity by immediately following up with a game night. Lena loses soundly, seemingly another distinct change. Lena's features soften further, enough for the tiniest of smiles to creep over her, and for a moment they can believe that they've finally gotten through. 

Twenty minutes later, Alex finds Lena in Kara's bathroom, carving a long, deep line into her forearm with a razor.

Chaos reigns, and a hopeless fear creeps into Kara's heart as she cradles Lena in her lap. Alex wraps a hand towel tightly around the wound, lifting it above Lena's head while Brainy notifies the DEO.

"Lena... please," Kara whispers. "I don't know how to help you. Tell me what I need to do."

Hazy green eyes gaze up at her.

"Let me go..."

"No, Lena--"

"Please, Mom…" Lena's voice cracks. A tear squeezes from the corner of her eye, coursing down her temple to pool against Kara's hand. "Let me go."

It's worse than the moments before the bomb went off. This time, it isn't a triumph of spite.

This time, it's surrender.

---

It's a surrender none of them accept. 

When Lena is stitched up and resting under sedation in the infirmary of the DEO, the rest of them gather to discuss a new plan of action.

"There is likely no way to convince Lena that this is the true physical world," Brainy delivers crisply. "The nature of the machine allows it to perfect mimic the world she expects to see, but any aberration to that effect is merely a glitch, or an instance of learning."

Alex shakes her head, hands propped on her hips. "I refuse to believe there's nothing we can do. There must be something we're missing."

Silence stretches between them, until Kara rocks back in her seat. 

"If we can't convince her out here, maybe we can convince her in there."

Nia blinks. "In... where?"

Turning to Brainy, Kara takes a deep breath. "Brainy, you've found mind-palaces for both me and James. Do you think you could find Lena's?"

"You think we might connect with her there," James fills in. "Like Kelly did with me."

Kara shrugs. "It's worth a shot."

"It would be exceedingly difficult," Brainy warns. "Even before this recent trauma, Lena has relied heavily on compartmentalization, which I now know is not a healthy mode by which to operate. Her mind is bound to be in chaos-- if there are any boxes left, it may be wise to leave them unopened."

"Could you build a new one?" Alex asks. 

Nia shakes her head. "Isn't that what got us into this mess in the first place?"

"I don't know what else we can do!" Kara snaps. "I am not going to just sit here and watch her kill herself! I won't! We--" Her voice cracks. "We just got her back..."

The others stare at her in stunned silence. Kara swallows her rising sobs, and looks omce more to Brainy.

Brainy shifts uncomfortably.

"I will try."

---

It takes days, but with Nia's help, Brainy succeeds. He finds the one quiet corner of Lena's mind, and with the aid of Nia's psychic powers manages to tethers Lena's consciousness to it. The moment he gives the signal, Kara puts white diode to her forehead and closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, she finds herself standing on the rocky shore of a wide flat lake, the water so still it turns the surface to mirrored glass.

On the shore stands a familiar figure, looking out across the water with an air of peaceful serenity.

"Lena?"

Lena turns, and when she lays eyes on Kara her features spread into a soft, sweet smile. "Kara..."

The next thing Kara knows, she's wrapped up in all she remembers Lena to be-- her warmth; the smell of her shampoo; the press of broad hands against her back, pulling her close. 

"I've missed you," Lena murmurs. Kara hiccups a sob, half of a laugh. If only Lena knew... "But I think I've finally done it. It worked."

Kara's purpose catches up to her like a knife to the heart. She grips Lena tighter. 

"You're not dead, Lena."

Lena pulls back, resting her hands on Kara's shoulders. "It's okay," she says calmly. "It means it's finally over."

"No, Lena. We saved your life. This place isn't real, Brainy made it so we could talk to you."

Kara braces for Lena's reaction, but it comes in the form of lines crinkling at the corners of Lena's eyes. 

"It is real. Real enough, at least." She turns to look out across the water. Though she pulls out of Kara's embrace to do so, their fingers lace together in a gentle grip. "My mother died here."

Kara's heart pounds against her ribs. This isn't a construct of Brainy's design. It was something else. 

Lena turns to look at her, giving their joined hands a squeeze. "I'm glad I got to see you again."

Absurdly, Kara's reminded of The Deathly Hallows, and Dumbledore's final scene in a quiet, sterile version of Kings Cross Station. That's what this place feels like: a waystation. A platform to say goodbye.

"No."

Her voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and incisive. She pulls Lena back around to face her, and gets a startled pair of green eyes staring back.

"Four months ago, we found you and rescued you from a Cadmus facility. In that same facility, we found a chair."

Alarm sharpens Lena's gaze. She tries to pull free, but Kara tightens her grip. "No, no, I won't--"

"You're not there anymore," Kara promises, rubbing her thumbs against Lena's hands in comfort. "We brought you home. We thought you were fine, but-- six weeks ago, you built a bomb in your office. And then you tried to stop eating. And then..."

"Stop," Lena said. "Let me go--"

"I don't know what Lillian wanted from you--"

"LET ME GO!"

Lena tore free, stumbling backwards from the force of it. Suddenly, the placid aura of the lake shattered with the sharp, heaving sobs of Lena sitting among the rocks, hands pressed tight to either side of her head. 

"It wasn't enough... it's never enough! Why won't you let me go?! Please! Please just let me go..."

Kara sits on the pebbled beach in front of Lena. When she reaches for Lena, it's to place one hand on a pale ankle, exposed by a denim cuff. 

"I don't know what she wanted from you," Kara says again, more gently. "And I'm not going to ask."

Rocking, hands pressed tight to her head, Lena says nothing.

"I don't know how to convince you the real world is out there," Kara continues. "I don't know if I can. Maybe... maybe you just have to choose to believe that it is."

"I won't give you anything--"

"The only thing we're asking for is you, Lena."

Lena opens her eyes, meeting Kara's gaze for a brief moment before the anguish returns, and Lena rocks backwards once more, breath quickening with anxiety as her features pinch in distress.

"We won't ask you any questions except what you want to have for lunch," Kara continues, desperate, "or what movie you want to watch on Friday night. We don't even have to stay in National City. We can go up to the mountains-- find you a lake just like this one, where no one can find you."

Lena stills. Her eyes stay closed, her body continues to tremble, but the rocking stops, and Kara hears the steadying breath that cuts through it all.

When Lena makes no move to speak, Kara tries one last time.

"I know it won't be easy. I know how tempting it is to just let go. And I know I can't stop you." Her hand firms on Lena's ankle. "This is your crossroads, Lena. Whatever happens next, you have to choose. All I'm asking, right here, right now, is that you choose us."

Kara's breath catches in her chest. 

"All I'm asking is for one more day with you. So that tomorrow I can have one more chance to ask you to stay. However many times it takes."

Lena sags, exhaling into a sob. She reaches for Kara's hand. 

"I'm so tired, Kara," she whispers.

Nodding, Kara blinks back her tears. "I know... I know."

They sit together for long minutes, until Kara senses that her time here is down. Whatever happens next, comes from Lena, and no one else. 

"If you do choose to let go," she croaks. "Please know how sorry I am that I didn't find you sooner. And know that we don't blame you. We love you, and we'll miss you every day."

With a final squeeze, Kara climbs to her feet, letting Lena's hand slip from her fingers.

"Kara--!"

"I love you, Lena. With all my heart."

Kara blinks open to the sight of the med bay ceiling, and the weight of Alex's hand in hers. 

"Kara?"

Brainy and Nia both exhale, turning to face her.

"It worked," Kara croaks. She pulls the sensor from her forehead and sits up, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks. "I saw her."

"What happened? Did she believe you--?"

"She needs to choose," is all Kara can say. "She has to choose."

Together, they wait.

---

Kara stays at Lena's bedside as she sleeps, long after the sedative wears off. As the minutes and hours tick by, Kara waits for the ever growing expectation that the only change in Lena's condition will be the flatline of the heart monitor.

Which is why she jumps a foot in the air when Lena's hand tightens on hers, well into the next morning. 

"Lena?" 

The room wakes around them: Nia bolts upright from where she'd slumped against Brainy's shoulder; Alex pushes off the wall, crossing towards the bed; James jolts awake, blinking and bleary-eyed.

Lena flinches when her eyes open to find shadows looming over her, as her heart monitor jumps alarmingly. Kara motions them back with her free hand, the other still locked around Lena's.

"Lena, can you hear me?"

After a long moment, Lena manages to turn her head, focusing a blurry gaze on Kara.

"Kara...?"

"It's me." Kara coughs out a smile. "It's us."

Lena blinks sluggishly against the hairs sticking to her forehead with sweat, jutting out over her eyes. Kara reaches up to smooth them away, then lets her hand linger against Lena's skin. Lena breathes softly, turning her face into Kara's touch. 

"I choose you."

#supercorp #cadmus revenge #cw suicidal ideation #cw paranoia #cw self harm #pls avoid if you're not comfortable #idk where this came from #but i def worked on this all day instead of any of my other ideas #but i like it #happy ending #not a character death

[snow-pitch-grimm]

Please Love Me, Father

Summary: Baz and Malcolm have a talk then Mordelia and Malcolm also have a talk.

Note: So this is for the Parental Figure Prompt. And I know it’s very late. I have three exams this week and after those are over I'm going to do my best to catch up with the countdown.

Hope you guys enjoy this one!

XXX

BAZ

I will go in there. I will speak to Father. We will have a rational conversation.

I will not get angry. I will calmly get my point across. I will not get upset if the conversation doesn't go my way.

I will not cry.

I knock on the door of my Father's study.

"Come in,"

I go in and close the door behind me. As expected, my father is sitting at his desk, going through some papers.

There's a stack in front of him and I wonder if this is a bad time. But then I shake my head. My father's never turned away a conversation with me before. He's probably not going to do it now. My brain's just trying to come up with excuses.

He tilts his head to the side when he notices me. The twins get that from him.

"Basilton? What can I do for you?" he says putting aside his papers and lacing his hands together.

"I wanted to talk to you," I say as I sit in the chair in front of him.

"Talk away," he says, waving his hands a little

"Well-I uh I think I told you that I've been going to therapy," I say, "With Simon. And alone. Sometimes alone and sometimes with Simon,"

"You mentioned it, yes," he says and I can see him straightening a little, putting on his 'difficult conversation' face.

"At my last session, we talked about you,"

"Me?" he says, looking a little curious.

That's good. Curious is good.

"We, well- there's a lot of things we don't really talk about. And as much as I'd like to blame you it's my fault too. I never start those conversations. I always gloss over the topics. Too uncomfortable with the potential consequences,"

He watches me silently and when he doesn't say anything for a few minutes, I continue.

"We don't really talk about my vampirism and we don't talk about me being gay,"

It's almost like a curtain being shut. His face, open and curious before, suddenly goes a little dark.

"That face," I tell him quietly, "That face right there is the one you make whenever I bring it up and then I change the subject to books or to school or friends,"

"There's is no face, Basilton," said my father, "And-"

"But there is a face!" I say and now I'm standing up and moving behind the chair. I just can't sit anymore.

"I hate that I feel like I can't talk about these things with you,"

"I just don't understand what exactly there is to talk about," says my father and now he's standing too, coming to lean in front of the desk, "Simon comes with you whenever you visit and as for your vampirism-"

"Because I don't feel like you love me!" I yell

There's a deafening silence in the room. My father's staring at me like I've grown a second head and I have to shove my hands in my pockets to keep them from shaking.

"What?" he says softly still standing at the front of his desk.

"You heard me," I mutter, looking at my feet

"What-Baz- of course, I love you-" he says and now he's moving toward me, hand outstretched

"But not all of me!" I shout, my anger and hurt all exploding at once, making my father flinch back, "You don't love all of me. You love me despite my being gay. You love me despite my vampirism. And I hate that. I hate that there are parts of me that you can't find it in yourself to love! And Merlin above, it hurts,"

"Baz," my father whispers softly and helplessly

"I need you to love me, Father. I need you to love all of me, the way I am. Otherwise-god do you have any idea how painful it is? Knowing that you might hate parts of me. It keeps me awake at night, it colours every part of my day,"

The pep talk I gave to myself has gone out of the window. I'm yelling, I'm upset and I'm definitely crying.

"I need to know you can love me, all of me, Father please,"

My father looks at me, shakes his head and it feels like my whole world is crumbling. There's a tightening in my chest and I can hear a low whine through the ringing in my ears.

It takes me a few moments to realize that it's me.

Malcolm

In hindsight, shaking my head right after my son asks me to love him is probably not a good idea.

No shit, Sherlock.

That sounds oddly like Fiona.

As Basilton's face pales and he makes a choked sound, I step forward and cruse my habit of shaking my head.

"Basilton," I say softly when I'm within arms reach, "I'm going to touch you, okay?"

His eyes are glassy and I honestly don't think he can hear me. There are soft whimpers coming from him and he's shaking badly.

I wrap my arm around his shoulders and barely catch him as his legs give out. I lower him to the floor and tuck him close, the way I remember my brother doing for me after Natasha died.

"Hey, Baz," I say, trying to sound soothing, "I lovey you, okay? I love you so much. I love you. I love you,"

I keep saying it until his breathing calms down and his hands in my shirt loosen a little. There are still tears running down his cheeks, though, and looks moments away from panicking again.

I need to fix this.

I will fix this. No matter what it takes. I will fix this.

BAZ

My father gently shushes me until I can breathe normally again.

It's a little odd to be hugged by him, we haven't done anything like that since before I reached his shoulders. But right now, his arms feel nice and it's so good to just lean on his shoulder.

Even if he doesn't love him completely.

And that makes the panic rise again.

"Hey, Baz," says my father, cutting through the chaos in my head, "Let's get you on the sofa,"

He leads me to the sofa at the back of the room. I expect him to let me go once we sit down but he surprises me by pulling him against his side and gently tucking my hair behind my ear.

"I really don't care that you're gay. I really don't. I was worried. I worried about how the rest of the coven would treat you. They all have some old fashioned ideas but I don't care about that anymore either. I love you and I know that you can take care of yourself,"

I nod against his shoulder.

"As for you being a vampire," he heaves a sigh and I feel myself tensing again.

"Shush," he says softly, "Look, Baz. I won't lie. Ever since a young age, we were taught to see vampires as, for lack of better words, bad,"

I nod again. I can't bring myself to say anything. Is this the part where he tells me he thinks vampires are monsters?

My father continues, "But ever since I realized that you had turned I've been trying to change my view and Baz, I will keep trying because you are my son and I do love you. All of you, even the part that drinks blood,"

I'm so stunned that I can't speak. My throat is closing up and I feel tears gathering in my eyes again.

This is more then I had expected.

My father pulls me close again, running a soothing hand through my hair.

"I'm sp sorry, Baz," he says softly, "I'm sorry I didn't realize how much you needed to hear this,"

I nod again and he hugs me. It feels really nice. Warm and safe.

I like it.

We stay like that for a long time, I curled into his side, him gently rubbing my arm.

"I wanted to die," I finally whisper

"What?" asks my father, sounding half shocked and half scared

"That Christmas during my eighth year, I actually tried to act on it. Simon stopped me,"

"Baz, why?"

"Because I thought it would be better, easier for everybody. I thought that was how it was supposed to be. Mum killed herself when she realized she had been turned,"

I'm crying again, this time with loud sobs racking my body. Once again, my father lets me press my face into his shoulder and cry, running his fingers through my hair.

"Baz. When they told me your mum had died, I felt like my world was crumbling around me," his voice soft and when I look up his eyes are distant like he's lost in a memory.

"But then when they told me that you might die too," And now he's looking at me and there are tears in his eyes too, "When they told me I might lose you too, I thought I was going to die. There were so many nights when I just wanted to give up but then I remembered that there was a little boy in the next room who still needed me,"

We're both crying now, "And now I realize that I haven't done a great job being there. And from now that will change, okay? I will do whatever it takes to fix this. To make you realize how much you are loved, okay?"

"Okay," I whisper into his shoulder.

"You, know," he says, and there is some hesitation there, "If you wanted, I could come to therapy with you. A few times. But only if you think it would help,"

At the number of shocks I'm getting today, I might just have a heart attack.

"You would do that?" I ask

"For you, yes," he says and I throw myself against him, another wave of tears making me shudder

"Thank you," I whisper

"You don't have to thank me. I'm your Father, Basilton," he says, "It's my job to take care of you. And I hate that I've been lacking,"

We sit together for a while after that. My Father's arms around me are solid and eventually, I stop watching the time and just enjoy feeling the lightest I have felt in a long time.

The quiet is interrupted a little while later when my phone goes off.

My heart skips a beat when I see the caller ID. It's Simon.

"Simon?" asks my father, probably going off of the dopey look on my face.

"I can step out if you want to answer," he says, making to get up

"No, it's fine," I say, twisting my fingers into his sleeve. I'm not ready to let go yet.

He nods and sits back down.

"Hello, Snow," I say

"Hi!" he says, "How are you? Did you talk to your dad yet?"

"I'm well and yes I did,"

"Really? How'd it go?"

"It was good," I say, glancing sideways at my father

"He's still there isn't he?"

"Yup,"

"Text?"

"Okay."

I turn the phone off and my phone instantly pings and I look up at my father. He's pointedly looking at the window, away from my phone.

'Hey, how'd it go?'

It was good. He told me he loved me.

'That's great Baz. Did you clear everything you wanted to clear?'

Yeah

He said he'd go to therapy with me if I wanted.

'Wow! That's great! Do you think you'll take him up on the offer,'

I don't know. But he offered, you know?

'That's amazing, Baz. I'm so happy for you,'

Me too

We text for a little longer until Vera calls us for dinner. It will only be us tonight. Daphne and my siblings are having dinner with her parents.

"So, how's Simon?" asks my father

And this time I know it isn't just polite conversation so I answer the way I've always wanted to.

I tell him about how happy he makes me, how we're both adjusting and on our way to thriving. I talk to him about Simon's new job and my school and how Simon's started classes again. And how we now have a favourite cafe where we go for dates.

It's fun and it's nice.

MALCOLM

Daphne and the children come home late. She takes one look at Baz and me and gets a certain look on her eyes. The look that says she knows something happened but she's going to wait to ask and prod gently.

Bless that woman.

She tells us both good night and takes the children upstairs. Usually, I would go with her but today I stay with Baz.

Later, I say goodnight to him and head to bed. As I pass Mordelia's room, I see the light is still on.

I peek inside. She's flipping through one of the books Basilton brought her.

"Shouldn't you be asleep, young lady?"

She looks up from her book and smiles, "Hello Father. I was just reading a book. Want to see?"

"Why not?" I say and go to sit by her

As I listen to her explain the story, I can't help but remember a time where Basilton and I were that close too. When he would look at me with bright eyes and an open face.

I had ruined that.

Would I ruin it with my other children too?

"Father, are you okay?"

I looked down to see my daughter looking at with eyes filled with concern.

I smiled at her, "Of course, darling. I'm alright,"

Her brows furrowed, "Does it have to do with, Baz?"

I was a little surprised but then it made sense she would notice some things. The twins were only eight and while they too picked up on tension, they swept it away as normal 'adult problems'. Mordelia was older, though, she noticed things and keeping things from her probably wouldn't be a good idea.

"Yes, darling. Your brother and I had a bit of a talk today and we figured some things out,"

"Is Baz mad at you?"

"I wouldn't say he's mad darling, but he is hurt,"

"You hurt him," she says and she's looking at me with all the trust a young child can muster. It makes my heartache.

"Unfortunately, yes. I didn't mean to but sometimes adults make mistakes. Big mistakes and the consequences hurt others, sometimes even the people they love,"

"But you're fixing it, right?"

"Yes," I assure her, "I'm going to do my best to fix it,"

"Good," she says

There's a lull in our conversation and I consider the pros and cons of continuing the conversation.

In the end, I decide to say something.

"Mordelia,"

"Yes?"

"I want you to promise me something?"

"What is it," she asks

"As I said, adults can sometimes hurt other people's feelings and sometimes these other people are their own children. If I say something or do something that hurts your feelings I want you to come to me and tell me and I promise I will listen,"

She looks thoughtful for a few moments and then nods, "Okay, Father,"

"Good girl," I say, smoothing her hair down.

"Hug?" she asks, opening her arms a little

I smile and lean forward to take her in my arms.

"Alright," I say once she pulls away, "Why don't you finish the rest of the book tomorrow. I think it's time you went to sleep,"

She smiles and lays down. I take the covers and tuck her in, leaving a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Good night Darling,"

"Good night Father,"

I turn off the light and click the door shut behind me.

Daphne still dressed, is waiting for me at the small table in our room.

"Good?" she asks handing me a glass of water.

"Good," I say.

"Tell me," she says

So I do.

#coc 2019 #carry on countdown #carry on fanfic #simon snow #snowbaz #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #malcolm grimm #mordelia grimm #family feels #family #parent-child relationship #i know this is late

[geewithluv]

◁ Thursday in April▷

Ｐａｉｒｉｎｇ：Jung Hoseok X Fem!Reader

Ｇｅｎｒｅ：angst with a happy ending

Ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ：miscarriage and sadness associated with it.

Ｒａｔｉｎｇ：PG-13

Ｗｏｒｄ Ｃｏｕｎｔ：2.1k

It was just past one in the morning on a Thursday in April when the sunny persona Hoseok had been known for vanished. It was so far gone that anyone who had never met Hoseok would’ve thought he was always so cold. He had spent so long reading every pregnancy and parenting book he could get and keeping in mind the fact that after the first 12 weeks, the risk of miscarriage goes down significantly. So why at 16 weeks was he no longer a dad-to-be?

Why had life decided to be so cruel to him after being so giving? Maybe it was some form of balance. If he was allowed to live a dream life touring the world with his 6 best friends – his found family – and making people everywhere so happy then he couldn’t also have a happy family of his own. He would trade everything BTS gave him if it meant he didn’t have to sit in a hospital room watching his wife get an ultrasound and the room fill with silence. Fill with the absence of a heartbeat.

He watched, in shock, as a doctor tried to tell them that these things just happen sometimes. That there wasn’t a real reason so they couldn’t blame themselves. Y/N cried so hard she ended up hyperventilating before nurses gave her some medications to calm down and eventually fall asleep. That was the first of many nights that Hoseok spent awake just thinking.

They go home in the morning. Hoseok turned his phone on for the first time since reaching the hospital to a flood of notifications. Maybe sending a simple ‘she miscarried’ to the group chat and turning his phone off wasn’t a good idea, he thinks. Y/N didn’t turn her phone on. Her lock screen was from a maternity shoot they did, and it made her emotional on days when her hormones were acting up so there’s no telling how she’d react now. Knowing the date on the picture was just a random day and no longer a countdown to the most exciting moment of their lives.

Hoseok ignores all the messages, missed phone calls, and voicemails as he opens the group chat again. ‘We’re home’ is all he sends. He mutes all notifications and decides how to tell his parents. Y/N already told her own parents, she called from Hoseok’s phone and they were going to come over ASAP, the insisted despite her kind heart not wanting to worry them with the travel. Hoseok toyed with the idea of just pretending everything was fine and not telling his parents. He knew a vague text to his mother wouldn’t be the right choice. He had to call.

Pacing around the living room, Hoseok tries to steady his breathing. Y/N sleeping in their bedroom, far enough away that she can’t hear him walking back and forth. Under normal circumstances, she’d scold him for ‘wearing down the wood flooring’. They were told she’d be very tired as her body recovered. He’s slightly comforted by that. She isn’t crying or in pain when she’s sleeping.

He calls his mother like ripping a band-aid. It’s ringing before he knows he’s even done it.

Her voice comes through so excited and all the work he had done to calm down is worthless in a moment as he recognizes she’s expecting some good news.

“Eomma…” His voice quivers. She knew right then something was truly wrong. “Y/N miscarried.” The words he hadn’t said aloud yet. He swears he feels his heart shatter. He doesn’t really hear what his mother says to him. Something with the purpose of being comforting, laced with her own sorrow.

“Do you want us to come over?” She asks.

“No.” Yes. She knows what he means.

“I’ll arrange a trip now.”

He resists the urge to throw his phone after hanging up. Anger is part of grief, he remembers. He didn’t want to remember. But he did. Walking to his bedroom, he regrets the decision to make the nursery the room before the master bedroom and not the room after it. He stands, gazing at the closed door for a good 5 minutes as if held more than unused furniture now tainted with happy memories of a child that will never use it.  

“Hoseok…” Her voice breaks his trance as she stands in the doorway of their bedroom. Her eyes are puffy, her cheeks are a blotchy red color, her hair is falling out of the lopsided bun she put it in the night before. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Do you need more Tylenol? The doctor said warm showers can help the pain.” He tries to remember everything he was told. Y/N shakes her head, a sad smile on her face as she sniffles. She could see how hard he was breaking, and she could see how hard he was trying to pretend he wasn’t. It only broke her heart more.

“Come hold me.” Her voice is soft. “Please.” Hoseok closes his eyes for a moment, trying not to cry, trying to be strong. He nods and shuffles over to her, prompting her back into the bedroom.

“Do you want –”

“I just want my husband to hold me.” She cuts him off as she gets into bed. Hoseok lays down beside her and pulls her into his side.

“My parents are coming over and yours said they’d call when they land.” He speaks softly, afraid that if he speaks any louder, he’ll scare the tears into dropping down his cheeks.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” It. It. It. The miscarriage. The ‘it’.

He mutters an apology.

The visits from their parents come and go quickly. Y/N stayed in bed most of the time, leaving Hoseok to try and be somewhat of a host. No one expected him to be though. Their family mainly cleaned up, cooked some food, took care of whatever needed to be done. Including box up some baby-related items hanging around. They made sure to do that while the couple was not around. As moving a plush toy had sent Hoseok into a fit that ended with him crying into his mother’s shoulder.

They had a couple of dinners together, only a couple though. Both were just to force Y/N to socialize. Telling her that isolating will only hurt her further. Hoseok’s father took to constantly reminding him that he needed to be strong for Y/N. That her mind and her body were both unwell at the moment. Only a passing comment of acknowledgment for Hoseok’s own mental state during this time. ‘Please take care of yourself too.’ He reassures his father that he’s fine. But his father never saw him smile in the week he was there. Not even a fake smile to reassure his parents, the ones they always saw through but pretended not to. His lips never moved more than the few words he spoke required. Y/N’s parents stay a couple of days longer than Hoseok’s but soon the couple are alone.

The other members checkup frequently. Mostly showing up to the door since neither was very good at answering texts or calls. Bang PD even comes by a few times over the next couple of weeks. TXT even makes a couple of rounds. But quickly, it’s been a full month since that Thursday in April.

Hoseok had only had 4 full nights of sleep in the past month. All were because of medication which he decided he didn’t like. He said he hated how he felt when he woke up. When asked how it made him feel he withheld giving an extended answer. Refreshed. That’s how it felt to wake up after 8 hours of sleep. And he hated it. How could he feel refreshed when he just lost a child. When his wife began therapy. When his band was put on a break. How could he let himself feel refreshed? So, he didn’t take the meds. Said they were for tour anyway, when the jetlag was really bad. No one pushed further.

30 whole days later, Y/N was smiling. No one really knew if it was genuine. It reminded Hoseok of when they announced their relationship and through all the hate and death threats, she still smiled saying it didn’t outweigh their love. Everyone believed her until she broke down at the BigHit building when a specific death threat was too concerning to let her walk around without security.

Hoseok didn’t believe these smiles. Not for a second. He couldn’t believe she was truly enjoying the warm May sun on her face and the sound of birds singing outside their home. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – believe it.

Namjoon takes her to therapy. He hangs around the area to pick her up when it’s over. She was scared to drive herself and Hoseok wouldn’t go. Thus, Namjoon decided to take her to and from her appointments twice a week and come in to check on Hoseok after.

Hoseok didn’t appreciate it. He’d much rather everyone leave him alone. Including his wife whose smiles only infuriated him.

One and a half months after that Thursday in April, all the boys come over with food. Hoseok is in the home studio. He says he’s working on music, but Y/N has passed by a few times and only heard the sound of their baby’s heartbeat on loop. They hadn’t all come over as a group in a while. Usually individually or a couple at a time. They decided all 6 at once could be overwhelming. Y/N tries to assure them that Hoseok is still grieving, but he’ll be okay, and he’ll be back to himself soon. She says this partially for her own benefit. She’s not sure if she believes it and the guys are unsure as they see her eyes tear up before she’s even finished talking. She thanks them for coming over, making sure to go over some cooking instructions with Seokjin before they leave.

Shortly after the door closes, Hoseok comes into the kitchen. She doesn’t know if he just had good timing or if he had been lingering. She gives him a quick smile.

“The guys came over.” She tells him, but she knows he’s aware. The doorbell is very loud, and so are 6 men walking into your home. He mutters a response. “They miss you.” She sticks a dish in the fridge and starts unwrapping the warm one Seokjin made for that day. His willingness to cook is a blessing, Y/N thought every time he made sure their fridge was full.

“That’s nice.” The most common phrase over the past 6 weeks.

“I miss you.” Y/N looks up, meeting his eyes. He tilts his head slightly in confusion. It’s the most emotion she’s seen from him since that Thursday in April.

“I’ve been here.” His voice is monotone. She shakes her head, pressing her lips together in a thin line, taking a deep breath as tears already build up in her eyes.

“I miss…my husband. I miss the sunshine personified. I miss the man I fell in love with. I miss Hoseok. I want Jung Hoseok. Not this shell of a human that sits at the foot of our bed all night long.” She sobs with a bitter laugh as she thinks about how crazy she must sound. “I’m in pain, so much pain. And I know you are too. I can see it in your eyes how hard this is. But we can’t keep doing this.”

“I’m sorry.” Tears fall from his eyes. Y/N isn’t sure she’s actually seen him cry since that Thursday in April. She tells him not to be sorry. Mouthing words as she can’t get her vocal cords to make. He takes her hands. “I’m sorry I haven’t been the supportive husband I promised I’d be. You wanted a family so bad. We wanted a family so bad. And…I couldn’t give that to you. I failed.”

“All I ever wanted…is right here in front of me.” She cups his face in her hands, making sure he sees the sincerity in her eyes. “You didn’t fail. Don’t ever think you’ve failed.”

“How do we fix this?” He questions. “Tell me we can fix this…” He begs her.

“I have an appointment tomorrow. We can start there.” She suggests, he nods. “I love you.” Hoseok kisses her lips for the first time in a month and a half.

FIN. Reposted

#bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic

[kidchameleon92]

“life story” 1

i’m not going to edit this at all going along. typos, bad grammar, mistakes. doesn’t matter. this is spontaneous thought.

disclaimer: i changed the word to “spontaneous” from “spurious” which means something completely different, so the first paragraph is already a lie.

anyway, it’s been a really weird and sort of bad couple months for me. mostly in my state of mind. i feel very stuck and very immobile when it comes to my art and career. and that is having a very negative effect on my brain. even though i’m putting out my favorite songs i’ve ever written. i’ve been meaning to write for awhile. i used to post when i lived in los angeles several years ago, just journaling my day to day life. but i haven’t for awhile. i guess i also used to write in a notebook while on different tours. but i think i’ve since thrown that away or hidden it somewhere.

point is: i just want to write to get things off my mind. and hopefully, maybe, it’ll help you (if you care to) get to know me a little more and on a more personal level. even if we haven’t met. and maybe it’ll make what i make (if you care about it) mean more to you. either way, mostly, i just want to rant a bit. so, this is my life’s story. i guess.

chapter 1: kid

i was born in a suburb of the twin cities in minnesota. my parents both grew up in minnesota and lived there their whole lives (until my mom recently moved to tennessee). my mom was a mortician, and my dad was an accountant. also an alcoholic. he cheated on her and left her and i when i was one year old. i remember growing up going to stay with him on weekends, except it was with him and his girlfriend at the time. except he was drunk a lot. and would drive drunk with me (a baby) in the car. so, that’s cool. anyway, my mom was really depressed, and that was not a good time (or so i’ve heard, because i was a baby, so idk).

i stayed with my grandparents a lot, because my mom worked full time. my maternal grandparents lived on a ton of land. my grandpa and i would ride motorcycles and four wheelers and sleep in a treehouse and all that. my other grandparents lived in the same town but in a small house. i used to go up to their cabin during the summer and go fishing and swimming and boating and all that. different g-parent vibes, but loved both a lot.

anyway, when i was three, my mom married my step-dad. he is from india and has had a lot of unique and challenging experiences, so that certainly brought a lot of particular lessons and outlooks into my life. i went there once when i was about 14. it was wild. but so, yeah. that kinda solidified my family unit. my dad got remarried later on as well. but the older i got, i saw him less and less.

so ... i loved video games. i played them all the time. a big part of my childhood. mostly nintendo. explains a lot. as a kid in school (4 years public, 3 years private, 1 year home, 3 years private, 1 year PSEO [look it up]), i was never popular whatsoever. i always wanted to gain some sort of acclaim or attention from my classmates, but was pretty much always looked down on for one reason or another. i remember in elementary school, i was the kid who was literally terrified of storms. probably because i had been in a tornado when i was six. but the moment it would thunder, all the kids would look at me to see if i was gonna cry. usually, i did. and the school nurse would take me outside and we’d walk around as a sort of therapy. i guess it helped sorta. i still get nervous in storms. but i don’t cry.

i also remember a time specifically that i got made fun of for wearing a denver broncos t-shirt. this kid just railed on me because it wasn’t a minnesota vikings shirt. so, one: i don’t even give a fuck about sports. but two: it stuck with me for some reason that someone would be a massive jerk over a t-shirt of a sports team. i guess that’s just because we as humans are messed up things.

anyway, in middle school, i started becoming semi-interested in music. i listened to the radio every night, listening to the top 10 countdown of big songs from that week. kanye, weezer, the click five, black eyes peas, green day. those were some anyway. besides that, i was just listening to like kelly clarkson and relient k or something. my mom had a steven curtis chapman cd in her van i thought went hard. but i started getting into popular music around then. i also started to write my own music. i used to take piano lessons from when i was like six or seven until i was 14 or so. but after i started writing my own songs, i hated practicing assigned pieces. i didn’t care. i wanted to play my own. so, the teacher said if i quit, i couldn’t be her student again. so i did. that’s fine. she said i was her most talented student. but i didn’t work that hard. so, that goes to show that natural talent and hard work have different roles, i suppose. 

chapter 2: girls and high school and such

in high school, i started LiKiNg gIrLs and stuff. i also was still not very popular. i also had started a band (with jack). i wasn’t very good, but i was just as obsessed with it as i am now. anyway, i liked this one girl from my church, and we talked all the time. but because we grew up in a pretty fundamental church culture, we weren’t allowed to date. which honestly, i fine, because looking back, no one knows what they are doing at 16 really. i definitely didn’t. i still don’t know what i’m doing. anyway ...

so, this girl and i half-dated for a couple years, and i was really clingy and annoying. but that’s just how i be. and i thought i was gonna marry her and stuff, because in a fundamental church context, you over spiritualize everything.

[[disclaimer: i am a christian, and i still go to church, but my theology and ideology on a lot of things has just evolved and changed a lot since i was young and since leaving the ultra-americanized/ultra-fundamental “christian” realm. main point being: we all are effed up bro and need saving. i’m an idiot always!]]

but now we’re back. girl “dumped” me and started dating another guy named “patrick” right after, even though she technically wasn’t allowed to date until she was 18. but apparently, she just wasn’t allowed to date me. so, that was cool. anyway, i was angsty, but then i got over it. because i was 17, so life big time goes on.

then i met another girl from canada while i was finishing school and going hard at my band stuff. we hit it off, and i started visiting her up there. and she visited me and all that. it was cool. and then all of a sudden, she really started hating me. and to be fair, i was weird and clingy and sort of a lot to deal with. but we kept dating. all the while, i was sort of leaving behind music to try to get into nursing school. yep, nursing school. but i got rejected, which is great. and so, i decided to go to audio engineering school in canada. and she was gonna go to college in the same city. this is great! so i thought. she dumped me (well, i sort of broke up with myself for her) about a month after we were living in the same city. wack. but it made me buckle down and work my ass off in school. i was top of my class one semester. yeah, i’m not that dumb. sometimes.

towards the spring of the next year, i happened to meet a girl who was at my church with one of my friends. she seemed chill. just talked a little. nothing crazy. happened to hit her up on twitter just to say hi. no intention. we talked a bit. nothing after that. then all of a sudden, a couple months later, i was tweeting about reading harry potter for the first time (note: fundamental upbringing). she happened to tweet me back about it. and long story short, we went out on a date. a sort-of-date. and what was supposed to be a lunch turned into an all day and half the night date. anyway, we got married a year later. after a lot of immigration paperwork and expenses. that’s a whole other post. that sucked. it’s a lot. and it’s why i feel bad for people who have nothing who are trying to come here to flee danger in their own countries. again, another post.

chapter 3: married, and other hard things

so, i forgot to say that before we got married, i lived in los angeles for a year after school. i was doing more sound for film work. on set stuff, post-production. got to do work with like ... james franco, matt damon, emma roberts, william shatner. some cool stuff. but jack’s old band came through on tour, and i saw two shows. and i was like ... bruh. i gotta do music, what am i doing? so, i literally moved back to minnesota within like two weeks, worked as a nursing assistant for a little bit and got married. then moved to nashville like two weeks later. i guess i could’ve stayed in los angeles. but nashville felt like the move at the time. everything happens with a purpose.

so, we moved here, and she couldn’t work for three months because of immigration stuff. so, i was like, well, guess i need a job. so, i got a job managing a home for a couple people with intellectual disabilities. it was super hard. mostly because the company was really, really bad. so, i got another job working as a staffing coordinator in an office for a home health care agency. that was a little better. still tough. but less overwhelming. a couple months after i got that job, i got an offer to go on a country tour playing bass for someone. and i was like ... well, this is why i moved here. so, i quit and went on tour. and shawna actually took my old job. interesting.

i was gone for three weeks, and it sucked and the pay was bad, but at least i was doing what i wanted. but then i got an offer from my friend to do some tech work on a much bigger country gig. i hadn’t done it before, but it was better pay and a better position. and on a bus and nice things and all that. so, i went for it. i pissed the other girl i was playing for off. but that’s show biz, baby. but like, i found a replacement for myself and paid to fly him out to her shows and stuff. so, really she won.

anyway, i toured with this other artist for four years. and i learned a lot. it was very, very challenging, both mentally and physically. and some people are just hard to work with. but i still gained so much valuable experience and insight into touring from that. i also started playing guitar for another artist who was small at the time, but has now had a couple number one hits. but his label fired me because i didn’t look country enough. we’re still homies though, so it’s literally fine. because i do indeed not look country enough.

at the same time, i was doing my own solo music and also producing and writing with and for other people. i’ve had the opportunity to write and produce for everything from independent artists to major label to billboard charting albums to whatever. songs on major television networks. i’m still very un-rich though, if that tells you anything. 

but really, i just wanted to do my own music. and i literally couldn’t get it to go anywhere. i had no idea what the “secret” was. what was i missing? money? connection? power? actually probably all of that, to be honest. this industry is wacko. i was pretty close to giving up.

chapter 4: milkk

i read a satirical article on vice.com about “how to start a trendy band” or something. i thought it was funny. so, i called jack. he had just been kicked out of his old band for no reason. i was like, “bruh, let’s do this article.” and he was like, ok. so, we sort of did. and i’m not gonna go into all the early details, because i’ve done a million press interviews about how our band started. and i don’t wanna say it again. google it.

this was the first time that i actually saw people care about my music. it was a high. it was like a dream. and we hadn’t even had any big song or anything. just the fact that people were listening and engaging was mind blowing to me. but just like with anything, the more things went, the less i found satisfying. the more “likes” or “follows” on socials didn’t feel like enough anymore. the streams didn’t seem good enough. the chart positions on the debut album didn’t seem that great. the hype wore off a little after the debut album hype. and that made me insane. probably because we as humans are not built to be satisfied by the things in our life. “Vanity of vanities!” it’s in ecclesiastes. like the bible one.

chapter 5: now

anyway, that’s bad. i had (and have) let my mind convince me that i have to achieve something in order to be happy or fulfilled, when i know that that stuff will never fulfill me. i could play the biggest stadium and have the biggest song in history, but after a burst of dopamine and excitement, it would be empty. and i know that nothing here will do that. at least, that’s what i believe. my hope is outside of myself.

but that’s hard to internalize when you are so passionate about something, and have been for so long, and all you want to do is create things for other people that they can appreciate and be influenced by. but it’s probably also selfish. like i openly admit i like the idea of fame and presence. and it probably ties all the way back to wanting acknowledgement and attention as a kid, from being unpopular and ridiculed and, honestly, left by my dad. maybe i just therapied myself.

but regardless, i know i can’t put my identity in all this stuff. it’s hard, and it’s harder when you create stuff. because it’s so deeply tied to you. but it’s still not “who i am.” i know who i am and what i believe, but i’m still a mess, so i can’t enact that in my brain perfectly. in fact, far from it.

anyway. it’s late, and i’m going to post this and attempt to not worry about how it does on social media. stupid!!! i just want this out in the world for you to read. hopefully it’s helpful for you in some way. but mostly, it was just cool to write this out, for my own sake.

i’ve been blessed in some amazing ways. my family. oh, yeah i forgot that i have two kids. i love them a lot. i don’t talk about them on social media much. but they are very special to me. and we’ve always been taken care of, even when times were tight or i didn’t know when the next paycheck was coming in or i thought my wife was about to die or whatever. the Lord provided for us every time. and i am grateful to have what career i have. it may be “small” and nothing to look at by the big industry standards, but i believe in what i make so much, and i’m just grateful that anyone cares about it at all. and i will continue to do so until the day i die. because i have to. 

it’s what i was born to do, for better or worse. and no one can tell me otherwise.

[samiii-p]

dance inside pt. 2

"Give me thirty more seconds, Daria."

Her trainer pushes, circling the pads in a series of combinations.

"That's it, you got it. C'mon, twenty more."

Daria punches and punches. Her arms are growing heavy but she doesn't stop. Hitting harder, moving faster as Jarod counts the final seconds of her routine.

"5" pop "4" pop "3" pop-pop "2" pop-pop-pop "1" releasing a burning scream, Daria cocks back and tries to blast through the last pad with everything she has left. POP!

"Good, girl. Let's break for the day."

Daria nods, waiting for her trainer to leave the ring before fatigue replaces her adrenaline and falls to the mat. She stretches her limbs out until she resembles a starfish in the sand as she tiredly stares up at the ceiling.

"Here."

A cool water bottle and towel breaks her line of sight, and she takes it greedily, watching as the taller man sits beside her.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, happy new year by the way.”

She tilts her chin acknowledgement, drinks and wipes her brow. “It hasn’t been that long.” A month, six weeks at most and he was closed for the last two because of the holiday.

“You were intense today.” He leaves the statement hanging in the air, and Daria’s not sure how to respond, brow raised as she sips her water. “More so than usual, I mean.”

So, yeah. She’s been pretty amped up lately, sue her. This was the perfect place to let it out.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She chuckles, “giving out free therapy sessions now, are you?” when he doesn’t laugh or follow up, she takes in the questions’ severity. “I’m fine, everything’s fine, just stuff on my mind.”

Specifically Mandy. She’s been on her mind constantly since that night.  

He sizes her up, head to toe, searching for anything out of the ordinary that he can pinpoint and for her part she takes his scrutiny. Appreciates it, a little, that her friend who she’s only known since her tenure in Florida can see something’s up. She’s not afraid of anything changing, Mandy promised, but for the last two days she can’t help but wonder what-if.

Jarod must come up short because he gets up, and offers her a hand to her feet. “Remember to take it easy, alright?”

Playfully she taps his shoulder.

“I always do.”

***

“Daria, It’s Mark Carrano. Give me a call back. We’d like to discuss your contract renewal.”

***

Walking through the airport has become second nature at this point. Tampa International has become her home away from her work home away from her home-home.

She greets Melinda, the ticket agent, with a tired smile, her ID and ticket. The older woman returns it kindly. “Out for work again or have you finally decided to take my advice and go on a nice vacation instead?”

“I wish.”

Melinda wags her finger as she lets Daria through. “One of these days I’m going to get you and that friend of yours on a flight to the Bahamas or somewhere … a nice Sandals Resort, maybe.” She says indifferently, Daria almost misses the mention of her friend and stumbles.

It’s been nearly a week since New Year Day. Ninety-Six hours and counting.

“Mandy’s here? On this flight?”

Melinda nods, scans another flyers ticket. “She boarded a little while ago.”

Hmm. “Thanks, Mel.”

“Have a safe flight, sweetie. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“See ya’.” Daria waves.

She recognizes the pilot and a few of the flight attendants, says good morning and searches for her seat: 21C.

“19, 20 … 21C.” She looks down at her neighbor, and practically laughs because of course. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Blue eyes slant, roll even. “The phone works two ways you know.”

She smirks and stores her carry-on. The thin padding on the seat is hell on her back but she’s used to it by now, like a lot of things but what she’s not use to is the distance she feels to her best friend, sitting beside her.

“Are we going to be okay?”

After all, it was just sex. Amazing – mind numbing sex, but at the end of the day - just sex.

The blonde brushes her shoulder against Daria’s. “Of course.” She says with no hesitation. A beat passes before she whispers. “How could I be mad at you for making me cum so hard?”

Mandy bites her lip, and looks away as the flight attendants start walking down the aisle preparing for take-off.

The flush of Mandy’s words spread over Daria’s body at light speed. The blood rushing in her ears feels like a countdown ready to explode.

They don’t talk about it. They don’t talk at all but every time Mandy moves (grabbing her headphones, receiving her drink, flipping along her magazine) Daria detects it in her bones. A week ago she considered apologizing without reason just to get back, and redo this whole thing because the thought of Mandy regretting that night – regretting her …

When Mandy brushes her hand over Daria’s thigh for the third time – well, any doubt she had previously are reduced to a hush.  

When they land in Houston Daria grabs her bag and passes Mandys’ to her. They thank the crew and grab a rental.

“Are you hungry?” It’s nearly seven in the morning and Daria could go for some food right now, and Denny’s is coming up on their left. Mandy obviously has the same idea pointing out the restaurant.

“You’re such a savage.”

Mandy looks at the stack of pancakes on Daria’s plate compared to her two, and smirks. The brunette doesn’t comment, busy cutting into her stack and pouring syrup over every inch. She's close to full when again, Mandy brushes against her. This time it’s under the table, away from everyone’s eyes, the toe of her shoe slowly climbs its way up Daria’s calf. Up and down, twice now until brown catches blue from across the table.

Daria gulps.

***

“We – you said,” the groan Daria tries to compress comes rushing out as Mandy sucks on her bottom lip. “Only,” Mandy finds her mouth forcing the word: once, back in. The one time was supposed to be just that, but when they leave the restaurant and Mandy asks her to come up to her room five hours before they’re to report to the arena – one time is quickly turning into twice.

Lifting her shirt, scratching lighting at her abs, Mandy’s hands are everywhere. Before Daria can register one sensation another replaces it.

“Thinking about this – you.” Mandy kisses her lips, her neck back up to her jaw before softly moaning in her ear. “Since that night. I need you.”

And if there ever was a green light to go off on, this was it. Daria doesn’t think about probable consequences, only how good she can make Mandy feel in this moment.

Their clothes are on the floor and she’s in between Mandy’s legs before she can blink. Kissing the freckles scattering her chest and down her stomach, leaving invisible marks on her friend that only they’d know of until her lips reach the small tuft of dark hair at Mandy's center.

Her tongue grows heavy, eager, at the chance to revisit Mandy’s natural mouthwatering taste and burrows down, lifting and spreading her legs to allow her fuller access.

At first contact, she moans loudly to match the one coming from above. God, she taste as good as she remembers, licking from bottom to top and back again collecting every drop until she reaches the bundles of nerves and circles her tongue.

It doesn’t take Mandy long. It never does, she realizes. The flick of her firm tongue and a strong suck is enough to undo the blonde beneath her. Sharp nails scrap her scalp, tugging at her loose ponytail forcing her closer to suck harder until the thighs around her ears tremble and shake before going limp, falling back on the bed.

“Fuck …” Mandy breathes, voice broken and harsh.

Daria nuzzles the skin where thigh connects to hip, biting lightly at the skin she knows can be hidden away from prying eyes, and looks up at the heaving breast above her, craving the weight of pink nipples on her tongue but settles on reaching up and teasing a finger around them instead.

Around she circles, again and again until Mandy begs and Daria smiles into her soft stomach, kissing back down and spreading her open with her tongue, finally pinching stiff nipples between her forefingers and thumb as she buries her tongue inside.

She pinches and withdraws then dives back in until Mandy is whimpering wreck above her, legs taught on both side and feet planted on the mattress until she’s humping Daria’s face. Twisting her hips until Daria’s is further inside lapping her completely, jaw tensed but determined.

Mandy’s there again, seconds away from falling, but Daria knows she can cum harder. She will. Regretfully, she lets one tit go, trailing it down until her thumb contacts the tip of Mandy's clit and presses.

Her back arches as she cums with a scream, hips bucking and body twitching. She tugs at Daria’s hair, somehow pressing her even closer as she spills into Daria’s mouth, down her chin and onto the bed.

When she comes to, Daria softly kisses her inner thigh, licking up any traces she might’ve missed, but she’s shifting. The hand on Mandy’s clit now between her own legs as her kisses start to lose traction and become heavy against the blonde.

Glazed, Mandy looks down, releasing the hold she has on the brunette’s hair and lifts herself up on wobbly elbows to watch. Daria grunts, face red flushed with the heat coiling tightly in her stomach as she rubs her own clit in tight fast circles until she’s humping her hand. Preening as Mandy brushes sweat damp hair from her forehead and says, “cum for me, baby. Please I want to see you cum.”

"Oh fuck," Daria whimpers, upper body stiffening as her hand and hips go crazy losing the rhythm she created and bucks sloppily, pressing her mouth into the meat of Mandy’s thigh and sucks, cumming just like that.

“Holy shit,” Mandy breathes, replaying the noises Daria makes against her, for her, and falls back happily on the bed.

dance inside part: 1

ao3: samiii_p

#Sonya Deville #mandy rose #fire&desire #dance inside #please dont repost #samiii-p writes

[selfless1978]

See this?

was on the board when I walked into my therapy appointment today. 

Let me zoom in on this spot right here.

Did you know communicating was so complicated?

*leans back in chair* 

now, that I've had time to think todays session over, I think it’s time to take my fucking stand.

those this is meant for will probably never read this, but I really don’t care. that isn’t what this is about. But, I was namelessly shamed in public, and, it may be petty, I will retaliate in public.

Therapist approved, sometimes petty is needed. Bet you didn’t expect to hear that one, did you?

i’m fucking tired of hiding in my corner wondering what the hell I did wrong.

fact is, like it or not, i’m not the only one at fault here.

See, the thing is with communication is, it’s not solely dependent on what I’m trying to say, the meaning is also dependent on how you take it. I know what I was trying to do, and say, you were the one who misinterpreted it. 

So, yes, maybe I could have been clearer in my writing, questions, feelings, but I am not responsible for how you take it. If you feel it was manipulative, and that is what you chose to believe without clearing things up, that’s all on you.

I’m tired of feeling guilty for what you think.

So, now, with that door now opened, let me continue.

I am no innocent, I know this, I understand this. Fuck, I’m living it every day. I make mistakes. I’m fucking human. If I fuck up, I will apologize, if you let me. On the other hand, I am a person looking for help because I can’t make heads nor tails of who and what I am. You know what the therapist told me? I’m a very insightful person, but I am one who can’t put my feelings in the same line with my observations and reasonings. There is even a term for it. Stuck point.

I’ve got a shit ton of stuck points.

now, let me zoom in to here.

Look at this real hard.

This, is how I think. This is my ticker. This is how I see the world. This is what I want to change. 

See some things in there? I do. Lord knows I’ve whined to a lot of you often enough about these things. You’d be blind if you didn’t see some of these repetitive habits. I know I needed help. I also know I may have pushed some of you too far. I get that. Don’t think that just because I kept doing it that it fell of deaf ears when I was told I needed help. But, until I finally got into therapy, who else did I have? 

some of you do remember that that fucking waitlist was over a year long, right?

of course I was going to be repetitive, I had no one else to turn to beside those  I trusted. I literally had no one to take me by the hand and guide me on how to break these habits. Not knowing how to change is a far cry from not wanting to change.

Does it make it ok for me to turn you guys into my personal therapists? No. It does not. I fully understand that too. Stop beating me with it upside the damn head. I can’t move on from it if others refuse to let me. I’m not proud of who I was during my worst meltdown, I have no intention of going back there, so why am I still being held accountable for it. It’s not who I want to be, and I don’t want to be that way again.

Now, on to this little box. It combines with the picture above.

And it all adds up to why I REact the way I do.

1) because so much shit has gone wrong, I over compensate by trying to ‘fix’ things. oh? you bully my friend? come here motherfucker, i’ll knock your lights out. oh? we don’t mesh as RP partners? what do I have to change? Oh? I accidentally upset you? Let me grovel for three days apologizing.

why is this?

it’s because I’m trying to take control back of my own life. I’m trying to combat all these uncontrollable scenarios by trying to fix any and everything I can. I have a huge Mr Fix It complex. It’s also one of, if not the core, reasons why I can’t let shit go. I have to have some kind of positive resolution. It eats at me, so hard. None of you understand fully the depths of my pain when I can’t fix something. It breaks me, I cry for days, weeks on end. Because, once more, I was proved that I have no control over my life and I’m a piece of shit not worth living.

Think about that the next time you start a fucking countdown and not informing the other person they are the target then completely shut them out. 

2) See that other green arrow? Esteem. Despite my big ass mouth, I don’t have a very good self esteem. Something goes wrong, it’s my fault. I did it. I fucked everything up. It’s all on me and I’m a horrible human being. And if I can’t fix something, it throws me into a pit of depression that I can’t crawl out of. Because I can’t fix a damn thing if the other person refuses to talk to me.

Why is that? How is it my fault that a damn plane lost a wheel and it fell onto my house of all places?

Because, as a society, we are engrained to believe bad things happen to bad people, and the good people get all the good things. Therefore, my therapist is fighting the wall of, “All this happened to me, I deserve to take over hell”.

I accepted my blame, not willingly, but I did all the same. Because to me, it was the ‘normal’ thing to do. I would sit here and go “what did I do now?” and rarely ever question the belief that, hey, guess what, it’s not all my fault. I ended up hiding, not talking to anyone, shutting even more folks out who were only on the peripheral of events.

3) and this ties in with three, the lesser ones. Trust, intimacy and safety.

I trusted you. I tell you things in confidence, and it was thrown back in my face. I let you into my safety zone, I let you see the most vulnerable parts of me, and you slap me in the face. Using what I told you in attempts to heal and move on as reasons to feul your ‘gut’ feeling.

Well, your ‘gut’ needs some Imodium because it was completely off the mark here. And now there is shit all over the floor.

So, go ahead and sit back. Wash your hands of me. Sit on your high horse of miscommunication and, therapist flat out stated, hurtful behavior. Call me out on things I did to protect myself, ignoring the hypocrisy that you did the exact same fucking thing to me. Keep sucking in the public sympathy while I sat here in silence and cried just as much as you say you did. Let them call me a bully, idiot, manipulative. You, are no better than me. We both made mistakes. Your horse is no fucking higher than mine after all.

It took me this long to come out and say these things, but by god, I’ll still have my god damn say!

I had reached a point where I was tired of trying to fight these fights. I was tired of having my mistakes held up to my face. I wanted so very much for someone, anyone, to just take a stand up and put the gloves on for me. Because I couldn’t see the point in it anymore. I was tired. Just mentally done with trying to figure any of this shit out. I didn’t have the energy or will power to respond earlier.

Well, guess what. I see a different point. And It’s one I need to make. I should thank you for giving my therapist something current to use to help me.

I’ll very well still stand up on my feet after getting knocked down. Sure, it gets harder and harder each time. But I’ll keep dragging myself up, dust myself off, readjust, and move on.

The main reason I posted this, in all honesty, is to give the rest of you some insight on my thinking. Some kind of glimpse in my head. I have no intention of bringing this up anymore after this. And, honestly, I shouldn’t even have to type this out. But, I tell you now, it’s out. Read over what I’m saying very carefully. If this is the kind of person you can not deal with, then I advise you to not interact with me.

I make no pretense on being guiltless or blameless. I am what I am, if you can handle it is now up to you. I can’t give you any better insight with out recording my damn therapy sessions. I’m going to mess up. After all, I’m only fucking human.

[eddycurrents]

For the week of 30 April 2018

Quick Bits:

Avengers #1 represents the cyclical nature of comics. While the story continues on from Marvel Legacy and highlights themes of legacy heroes and returning hosts of Celestials, on a functional level it also represents a circling back to a kind of “status quo” of the Avengers big three. Similar to what happened during Marvel’s Heroic Age branding and Avengers Prime some eight or so years ago. Jason Aaron’s meta-commentary in the book, about the changes and return of the characters is certainly interesting.

That being said, it’s also a fun book. The art from Ed McGuinness, Mark Morales, and David Curiel is suitably bombastic. I particularly like the new designs for the Final Host, weird, but still within a similar enough Kirby aesthetic. It’s also nice to see the Million BC Avengers again.

| Published by Marvel

Black Science #35 returns from its most recent break with a bit of a mindfuck. Kind of par for the course. Rick Remender basically gives us “Saving the Eververse through Couples Therapy” and it encapsulates one of the larger themes in the series of the problems with family, the mistakes made, and the lengths people go to in order to try to make things right. As usual, Matteo Scalera and Moreno Dinisio makes it look gorgeous. I think Scalera can probably make anything look visually interesting at this point.

| Published by Image / Giant Generator

Breathless #2 steps up the action, with Scout and Grace-Eisley trying to fight their way out of the labs, only to discover that the appearance of the drinkers hints to a deeper conspiracy. The story Pat Shand and Renzo Rodriguez is telling is fairly good. I like the use of flashbacks to flesh out Scout a wee bit more, and the art from Rodriguez and colourist Mara Jayne Carpenter, particularly some of the layouts and character designs, is quite impressive.

| Published by Black Mask Studios

Captain America #701 starts Mark Waid’s end run on the series before it gets relaunched with Ta-Nehisi Coates guiding the ship. Again, Waid is playing with time and legacy here, with the story set in the 24th century, but with an eye to travelling through Cap’s history. It’s fairly captivating, with some great art by Leonardo Romero and Matthew Wilson on the main story and flashbacks from Adam Hughes and JG Jones & Paul Mounts.

| Published by Marvel

Coda #1 is an incredible debut from Si Spurrier and Matías Bergara. The fantasy world that Spurrier and Bergara have created here feels rich, deep, and sorrowful. Living in a world where it seems like evil won, stripped magic and hope from existence, and most of those who remain live by a kind of brutal and bleak lawlessness. Or cling to what our protagonist, “Sir Hum”, would consider useless grasps at the world gone by. It reminds me a bit of The Last Unicorn mixed with Mad Max, and it’s wonderful. Spurrier’s dark humour shines through and Bergara’s art (with colour assists from Michael Doig) is stunning.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Come Into Me #2 hits a few technological, biological, ethical, and moral walls as they try to figure out how to excise a dead person’s mind from Sebastian’s body. Lonnie Nadler and Zac Thompson have something existentially frightening here, tapping into the kind of intellectual body horror that David Cronenberg is known for, beautifully illustrated by Piotr Kowalski and Niko Guardia.

| Published by Black Mask Studios

Dark Ark #6 begins a new arc, giving us flashbacks of Shae learning about Noah’s ark and the methods he uses to begin building his own. I like that Cullen Bunn is going back to fill us in on how the second ark came about.

| Published by AfterShock

Death or Glory #1 is a beautiful comic. Bengal’s art, from character designs, page layouts, vehicles, composition, colour choice, and more is just amazing. Visually, this is a feast. The story too is captivating. The Last Days of American Crime taught us that Rick Remender can write a mean crime story and the start of this one is really not to be missed. Glory Owens is an interesting character, her reasons for turning to crime understandable, and the world that Remender and Bengal are creating seems to be deep and fascinatingly populated.

| Published by Image / Giant Generator

Doctor Star and the Kingdom of Lost Tomorrows #3 continues this excellent look at the possible real world ramifications of a Ted Knight Starman analogue missing out on the life of his wife and child. Jeff Lemire excels at family dynamics and this series has just been one gut punch after another.

| Published by Dark Horse

GI Joe: A Real American Hero #251 begins a new arc of largely single issue stories focusing on an individual Joe or member of Cobra. This first part spotlights Stalker and has some great art from Alex Sanchez and Ronda Pattison.

| Published by IDW

The Gravediggers Union #6 revels in its glorious madness with an epic confrontation between the Black Temple and the Gravediggers Union for the fate of existence. Toby Cypress and Niko Guardia do a great job portraying the action and insanity of the battle.

| Published by Image

Harbinger Wars 2 Prelude #1 is pretty epic, even just as set up. This issue serves as a sequel to Eric Heisserer, Raúl Allén, and Patricia Martín’s excellent Secret Weapons mini-series, as well as the massacre of the Generation Zero kids in Harbinger Renegade last year, and the titular prelude to Harbinger Wars 2. It’s good. The American government has basically gone insane and have taken to trying to kill every psiot on Earth, so Livewire does something drastic. It’s huge.

| Published by Valiant

Hunt for Wolverine: Weapon Lost #1 is the first of the four mini-series with groups looking for Logan. It’s also the one with the most tenuous of reasons for existing, given that Kitty went to Daredevil because Multiple Man is dead (at least until the summer) and they don’t have any other detectives. Ignoring, of course, the whole load of psychics they could use, hunters and trackers like the Weapon X group, mutant trackers like Prestige and Caliban, Agent X, hell...even Deadpool. This is more just the group of people that Charles Soule wanted to write, even if the remit’s ridiculous. Regardless of the in-story or meta reason for coming together, this isn’t bad. Soule’s set up here is mostly a gathering of the group, giving us a look into the previous cop life of both Frank McGee and Misty Knight, before leading us to a welcome return of the final member of the team. It also looks damn good with art by Matteo Buffagni and Jim Charalampidis. 

| Published by Marvel

Infinity Countdown #3 advances the overall story a bit, giving us an underlying mystery as to characters coming to an understanding that reality has changed since Infinity. How, why, and what remain unknown, but it’s an interesting tidbit. Also, the conclusion of the battle over the power stone is absolutely ridiculous, it needs to be seen.

| Published by Marvel

Koshchei the Deathless #5 details the twist in the tale where Koshchei became a slave to Baba Yaga. It’s interesting how Mike Mignola dovetails Koshchei’s story with events and characters through Hellboy and BPRD history. And how horrible Baba Yaga was in her thirst for revenge.

| Published by Dark Horse

Red Sonja/Tarzan #1 is likely to make a lot of people angry. Not because it’s bad, not because it’s controversial, or anything like that. It’s because Gail Simone has created a villain in Eson Duul, an arrogant bully and poacher, that is so despicable, so cruel, so heartless, that you’ll likely want to punch him yourself. It’s interesting to see both Red Sonja and Tarzan at such a disadvantage.

| Published by Dynamite

Rogue & Gambit #5 is only partially a conclusion to the series. Sure, Kelly Thompson brings to a close the bizarre mutant stealing couples retreat arc and gives a sense of closure and reconciliation in Rogue and Gambit’s relationship, but she leaves open the door for more. Especially with questions about the series’ villain, Lavish, left up in the air. I certainly hope to see this plot thread picked up on. Also, the art from Pere Pérez and Frank D’Armata is gorgeous.

| Published by Marvel

Scales & Scoundrels #9 is a largely silent issue with Lu coming across a man who’s lost his voice, a lonely siren, and a hunt for treasure at the bottom of the ocean. This issue’s storytelling rests largely upon Galaad’s ability to portray everything visually and it pays off in spades. The art is beautiful and story flows incredibly, with the silence adding a necessary depth to the fable that Galaad and Sebastian Girner are telling here. Great work. If you haven’t picked up this series before, this is a wonderful single issue story to jump in with.

| Published by Image

Sherlock Holmes: The Vanishing Man #1 is off to a good start with a new mystery from Leah Moore and John Reppion. I really like Julius Ohta’s style. It’s somewhat similar to Cully Hamner and Adam Pollina and it adds to a pretty nice looking book.

| Published by Dynamite

Spawn #285 is another issue made so much more by the art from Jason Shawn Alexander and Lee Loughridge. The series has stepped back from the oblique horror with this arc with Todd McFarlane resuming writing duties, opting for the more familiar government and military conspiracies that have been part of the series since the beginning, but it’s entertaining.

| Published by Image

Spider-Man #240 is the second-to-last stop on the Bendis Farewell Tour, but this one feels like the big goodbye. Partially because of the long heartfelt letter from Bendis at the end of the issue, reminiscing about his years of work on Ultimate Spider-Man and all of the wonderful people he collaborated with over the span. And because this really is the end of nearly two decades’ worth of work, first with Ultimate Peter and then with Miles Morales. This conclusion is more personal, evidenced largely due to the story structure itself, being an issue of reflection and recuperation.

| Published by Marvel

Star Trek: The Next Generation - Through the Mirror #1 continues on from the recent Mirror Broken series, bringing the main timeline crew into the mix. This issue is split into two stories, a lead one with art by Marcus To and Brittany Peer in the main timeline and a back-up in the mirror universe with art by J.K. Woodward. The art throughout is great.

| Published by IDW

Transformers vs. Visionaries #5 ends the series in a pretty spectacular fashion as plots and machinations come to fruition. Wonderful art from Fico Ossio and David Garcia Cruz. It’s just a shame that we won’t really be getting more of the Visionaries with the line ending soon, because Magdalene Visaggio gave us an interesting starting point here for a new wrinkle on Cybertron.

| Published by IDW

Venomized #5 brings Cullen Bunn’s Poison trilogy to an end in a rather interesting fashion that gets to spotlight the Monsters Unleashed monsters and give a bit of closure and justice for the original five X-Men who were pretty badly beaten up in the centre act. Iban Coello also really gets to cut loose on the art in this issue as well, elevating his work even higher than before with some of the sequences.

What this series unfortunately also highlights, like the new Avengers, is the current mishmash of timing with Marvel’s continuity. This has to be after the current X-Men Blue arc because the X-Men are back on Earth, but before the recent Mighty Thor arc because of Lady Thor, and...undoubtedly other things you could point out that would probably seem like nitpicking. It kind of feels like some things in the “Fresh Start” are necessitating things to be rushed in places. So, in terms of continuity, this is a bit of a mess. 

Still, taken on its own terms, without trying to figure out how it works in the broader shared universe, this has been fun.

| Published by Marvel

Weapon X #17 begins the process of the characters wondering why this team still exists, as the status quo is shaken by Sabretooth taking lead of the team while Logan recovers from the last two issues’ birthday brawl. It feels like the beginning of the end, but Greg Pak and Fred Van Lente are still making the story fun.

| Published by Marvel

Other Highlights: Astonishing X-Men #11, Avengers: Back to Basics #5, Black Science #35, East of West #37, Giant Days #38, Go Go Power Rangers #9, Jazz Maynard #10, Maxwell’s Demons #3, October Faction: Supernatural Dreams #3, Red Sonja #15, Rick Veitch’s The One #3, Sex Criminals #24, Star Wars #47, Xerxes #2, You Are Deadpool #1

Recommended Collections: Archie - Volume 5, Reborn, Extremity - Volume 2, The Gravediggers Union - Volume 1, Scarlett’s Strike Force - Volume 1, She-Hulk - Volume 3: Jen Walters Must Die, Star Trek: Boldly Go - Volume 3, Stray Bullets: Sunshine & Roses - Volume 1, Young Terrorists

d. emerson eddy knows who put the dog in the dog house.

#This Week in Comics

[townienews]

The Townie Crier - Tuesday May 1, 2018

**notice no "It's Gonna Be May" cutesy Timberlake meme here** (mostly because It's Already May! And that meme doesn't exist)

pic.twitter.com/8FPEJMTqmf

— Boston Bobby (@TheBostonBobby) May 1, 2018

Welcome to The Crier for May 1, 2018. Yeah, we settled on a name for this daily ding dong post. @daelderstatesmn suggested that title and gets himself a shirt, and you get this highly digestable dose of daily Boston sports goodness. Links, tweets and videos aplenty. So let's briefly remember a Monday night that exhausted our thumbs and eyes equally...for more better than more worse. Or however that goes.

Let’s goooooooo

A post shared by Celtics GreenRunsDeep (@greenrunsdeep) on Apr 28, 2018 at 7:38pm PDT

And buoyed by that vintage double troll job playoff shirt that all in attendanc eat The Gahden 2.0 received, the hot shooting Celtics dispatched the Sixers (on a 20-1 streak rolling into Monday) in Game 1 of the ECSF, 117-101. Well, the shirt helped. So did great shooting from 3, team heart and hustle (the signature of this undermanned but never to be underestimated Celtics team), and some kickass individual efforts. Like The Buffet (my new name for Horford). Fahk that Average Al or Ordinary Al nonsense. That's old fake news, which is the worst kind. Al's getting it doen all over, from every inch of the court. He's The Buffet because he provides everything you need, and when you need it you can always go back for more. He's one of many making Ainge look like a friggin genius of late. And he'll tell you what you can do with your "Al is average and I can't draft" takes...

Danny Ainge status: still a competitor. pic.twitter.com/TcOWQL0OqQ

— NBA on ESPN (@ESPNNBA) May 1, 2018

No, but seriously, Horford has been great. It's like one of those high school rom-coms where there's no attraction until the kids get in detention of are stranded in some absurd situation together, and then suddenly love blooms. COnvenient how that works.

Al Horford has been a monster in these playoffs. An absolute force on both ends. Hopefully we've heard the last of the "overpaid Al" stuff. #Celtics

— Evan Lazar (@ezlazar) May 1, 2018

Oh...and if you're feeling THE BUFFET as much as we are, might I suggest a new Horford jersey or such? (**shameless merch plug**)

Umm...back to Ainge being a boss at his job? I think again, if not especially with Fultz on display miserably in the Garden, he came out smelling like fresh beer and roses when Tatum went off. Again. This kid's all-around everything is absurd. AND HE CAN'T LEGALLY DRINK.

"He's a rookie!" #CUsRise 😂😂 pic.twitter.com/t8bwFeHQMn

— '03 Kliff Kingsbury (@fearthe_beard11) May 1, 2018

Granted, the likes of Tatum and Horford were enabled offensively by Philadelphia's famous "Phantom Zone" defense.

Nice defense pic.twitter.com/rhxmDFMVpc

— John Karalis 🇬🇷 (@RedsArmy_John) May 1, 2018

But nothing - not fatigue, Philly's hot streak, an invisible defense - nothing was holding Terry Rozier back. This friggin guy...

The Boston sports fan heart is pretty full these days. But Terry Rozier is fighting hard to find himself a place in there.

— Fitzy (@FitzyGFY) May 1, 2018

Calling him SAVAGE for his pregame and in-game antics would be correct, but also an understatement. He's a savage, alright. And a beast. And the easiest guy to like and rally around. A savage rally beast. Filling in for Kyrie and dropping 29 in Game One against the Sixers? Draining threes left and right. And setting the emotional tone for the team and the night upon arrival...

Drew Bledsoe knows who Terry Rozier is! (Via @espn) pic.twitter.com/NoNI2pT76b

— Ballislife.com (@Ballislife) May 1, 2018

And now we've got this unexpected random magical bromance between Rozier and Drew Bledsoe? Couldn't ever have seen that coming, but that's the magic of playoffs in Boston. Can never be enough love for Drew by me. That he's become the symbol or icon, rally monkey of the Celtics playoff run thanks to an accidental troll job? (Guinness vice) BRILLIANT! Everyone needs to wear their Bledsoe jersey to work this week. So they can reach their peak Rozier level. Game 2 Thursday night, already can't friggin wait! And that genius Brad Stevens has deployed a stellar lineup to counter what should be quite acharge from the Sixers...

The Celtics have announced their Game 2 lineup: -PG: T. Rozier -SG: T. Rozier -SF: T. Rozier -PF: J. Tatum -C: A. Horford Bench -Terry Rozier -T. Rozier -Rozier -PG #12 -The guy in the Drew Bledsoe jersey -The guy Ainge wouldn’t trade for 100 first round picks

— NOTSportsCenter (@NOTSportsCenter) May 1, 2018

Oh - and Sports Radio and Hot Take Nation who will give the Celtics no credit and say that Philly played no D ("Philly used the New England D plan from SB 52" - you'll hear that shit)...you guys can tuck it and suck it!

via GIPHY

Meanwhile, in other Boston professional sports persons team playoff action...the Bruins lost to the Lightning 4-2. Gonna be honest (Monday was National Honesty Day)...I didn't really watch much. Beex were up 1-0. Woprst case (which played out) they go home split. So nice work, head help high, fellas. I thought the C's need my attention Monday (I don't parent mutliple children well). I read something about a bad call, Marchand getting hosed, Cassidy, who's a feisty sonofabitch in a Men's Wearhouse suit, wasn't happy. Good! A happy hockey cocach is an ineffective one (or so I heard...or not...I don't know hockey). They'll come back, chip on shoulder, tied in best of 5 with home ice in their pocket. Wednesday night, maybe the Bruins should all come to work wearing Drew Bledsoe jerseys??? Because this QB rally showing for a different hockey team didn't make me feel any better...

I really didn’t need to follow a Bruins loss by immediately seeing Jimmy G pump up the Sharks. God damn, plunge the dagger

— Pete Blackburn (@PeteBlackburn) May 1, 2018

And on the same night he was named to the NFL Network Top 100!

He has yet to lose a game as a starter 👀@49ers QB Jimmy Garoppolo (@JimmyG_10) is #90 on the countdown!#NFLTop100 pic.twitter.com/SPwl3KIbtL

— NFL Network (@nflnetwork) May 1, 2018

When Tom Brady did an appearance with Jim Gray and said he didn't feel apreciated by the Pats (**cough** Belichick)

Tom Brady was asked today at the Milken Institute Global Conference if he feels appreciated by the Patriots. His response: "I plead the 5th..." pic.twitter.com/8Tl6k5emj9

— Tom E. Curran (@tomecurran) May 1, 2018

Come on, Sports! Can't I just enjoy this Celtics win and the Pats draft, and the night, and maybe a whole week without any Pats related off-field disharmony or disturbance or disfunction or other dis- words? Not now...nope. Not. I can't...spent too much time wondering WTF with TFB and the NEP this offseason after the February 4th flying nutpunch. All set, check please! I'll pass. Too busy feeling good about what's coming this week, this fall...we'll just leave at it Tom being a sass, keeping the Pats atop page views for a while, taking attention away from the other teams who don't need the scrutiny? AWW MAN! Tom, you magnanimous SOB! Or maybe it was to get you in the news to elevate Best Buddies ride awareness? No press is bad press, right? Just ask Michelle Wolf! **NEXT MORNING UPDATE-AGE** There are plenty of sound bites of Brady paying due respect to Belichick and saying he knows BB is best for him, tough to play for, and that they make each other their best. Which is what we've all always known. Again, they don't need to quilt together or share recipes or watch "This Is Us"., Just win football! Enough Fake Foxboro News! Alright, enough of that for now. We'll let it slide until someone tells me I should give aflying summer sausage. OH...and the Sox won, beat the bumbling Royals, 10-6. E-Rod sucked himself off early, but fear not - healty Xandah to the rescue.

Heads up we got a piss missile on the Pike expect delays seek alternate route pic.twitter.com/HoKIUe6hOs

— Jared Carrabis (@Jared_Carrabis) May 1, 2018

2 wins in a row? HOT STREAK AHOY! use caution when handling these Sawx! KC coming to town might be the perfect remedy to flush last week away like a carton of old chineser food you know will smell the garbage barrle up too much. Alright, so there we go - C'ss and Sawx win! Bruins lose! Brady wants the love. Now let's all carry on and booze. Hapy Tueday, ya humps. More soon - make sure you catch the Draft webcast, and all-new slew of NFL FAN THERAPY coming all week long. GFY!

#Boston Celtics #Boston Bruins #NBA Playoffs #NHL PLayoffs #Al Horford #Jayson Tatum #Terry Rozier #Drew Bledsoe #Boston Red Sox #Tom Brady #Bledsoe Jersey

[michaeljordy]

Already start off with a bad year

I don’t have any followers or anybody I know on Tumblr, but I hope it’s okay I can share a story that has left me depressed again. During December 31st, me and the family decided it was a good idea to visit Las Vegas for the New Year. 6AM, we drove there for 6 hours and I did took a lot of pictures of that place. I just wish I could of spend more time at Las Vegas, but all we did as a family was walked around and looked for somewhere where people gather to dance and listen to loud music playing. After the countdown, I got a call from the neighbor and I gave it to my mom. She sounded horrified and I asked her “What’s happening?“ and she said that our house was broken in. When I heard that, it hurt me the most to hear our house was broken in. I fear that most of my stuff was stolen or anything. My mother made a lot of phone calls during that night and I was just angry and worried. I slept inside the truck and just slept til my family would just leave already. We left at 11AM and it took a long time to get there because of traffic. My brother was happy to hear that his game consoles were not stolen, but I just have to see it for myself. We got in the house and I saw the things that I was passionate about was stolen. My PS4 with every games, my Xbox 360, the Wii U cables and controller, they went through every room. They broke out through my sister’s window and it hurt me. It would kill me to see if one of the family members stayed at home and got hurt. I was depressed for 2 months because I just wish I could finally work to get back my broken laptop, I felt like my family lost all hope for me, the bedbugs is still frustrating to deal with and I’m very unhappy with my image because the family wanted me to look the way they want me to look and I say “this is not who I am.“ I just feel like I’ve lose all hope and faith, I can’t sleep, I’ve been eating 2 meals a day, I feel like I’m losing it, I even had mental breakdowns, everything that was passionate to me was taken away from me. It helped me be inspired for my dream career, which is be part of the video game industry. I tried to find support, but my friend who I know for 10 years invited me into his house and all he did was just play video games online and ignoring me. All I felt was sadness and emptiness. I left his house because he didn’t sound helpful, left a note saying “You’re not very helpful“ and left out of the house at 3AM and it was a long walk from home. I still have to go to work for 120 hours starting next week and the only advise I got was find the little things in life to be happy about, stay positive and move on. How can I? I don’t have any of these things. The only thing I have is my laptop and MP4 player, but all I do is upload positive stuff on there and listening to music that reminded me of the good times will hurt me. After the 2 months of being depressed, I was happy for the longest time in my life. Now I’m back at the darkest tunnel right now. My family didn’t see this robbery coming. I feel the process is slow, we have no security, no insurance, me and my family left some of our stuff in the back of the house because the exterminator was suppose to be at my house around the 28th and I got a call saying he won’t show up and it’ll be another time. I’ve been seeing therapy and I don’t know where that will lead. I don’t even want to call the lifeline, because I feel like I’m going to get a generic answer saying let the police handle it or my stuff will be find. Anything can happen to our stuff. Hell, the only thing that could be traced is my sister’s macbook for high school and they’ll track it until the 8th. By then it’ll be too late. I don’t know how the hell can I move on with my life. I don’t feel like spending anything with the money I’m gonna earn. I’m a lot more miserable than ever. It’s hard for the family too and my mother isn’t happy, so I don’t think it’s good news at all. That’s all I have to share.

#depresed #2018 #sad #burglar #robbery #new year ruined #story

[dinosaursindisarray]

So this is a journal of sorts for the past few days, but it has some very triggering material in it. TW under the cut

So, Tuesday, I actually tried writing up a journal on my phone. I tried several times. But for some reason, after a paragraph or so, my tumblr crashed, and then when I tried on a wordpad, that crashed too, taking what I’d written with it. Feeling tired and a little weirded out, I decided to just leave it.

TW: CSA stuff, triggering as fuck, please be careful.

Tuesday I went to therapy though, and I showed my therapist the few posts that had been written about Holly and stuff. The one about what had happened at the end of the last session got brought up, but I weirdly felt nothing from it. It was possible to talk about it this time, like the words were just sounds that had no meaning. She asked me how it felt to think about the memory of a child being naked and wanting clothes. I told her that I didn’t, I didn’t feel any sort of way - dissociation was going hard. I wasn’t even getting bleedover from anyone else either.

I think Holly was around though? I don’t remember a sequence of events but I know that my therapist invited Holly to come forward to talk and it was weird fuzzy co-con. Holly remembered the memory thing, the flashback? And for her, it wasn’t a still image, it was a first person mini-movie of sorts. At some point I remember that Holly/I asked my therapist to hold a whiteboard in front of her face, so that we couldn’t see her. She asked why and the answer was because we were scared of her seeing us.

She did it, of course, and it did help a lot. Holly began to talk. She wasn’t emotional about anything; she understood that there were feelings associated with the memory and that emotions had happened during the memory that caused reactions, but she didn’t feel them. Her weird, polite way of speaking really came through. She said that she was standing in a room that was dark, like no lights were on in the room and no windows, but bright lights were pointed at her. She was afraid to look up, and behind the bright lights were people, adults. When asked how many, she said she didn’t know because she couldn’t see past the lights, but it was more than 2 or 3, most likely. She said that her arms were shaking because she was cold, but also because she wanted to move them to cover herself but wasn’t allowed to. She heard flashes, like pop flashes, and my therapist asked if she meant camera flashes and Holly said yes, but like in old western movies where the people have a camera and hold up a tray of power and it explodes, but nothing actually exploded, it was just a noise that kept happening and made her jump. She said she didn’t like that it made her jump because it hurt her shoulders because they were tense.

I think that was all that was said. That’s all I remember. Thinking about it now though, I’m like. Riley surfaced shortly before Holly; he’s obviously a protector and seems to handle her and the group of alters that are attached to her. He’s also got a kind of drawl, like, a southern accent, almost?? And now I’m thinking about how Holly compared the noises she heard to old western movies specifically, and wondering if it might be connected and part of why Riley formed and why he formed with that manner of speaking.

Towards the end of the session, our arm suddenly hurt, then suddenly stopped, and Holly mentioned it in confusion to the therapist. My therapist asked for me to front again, and Holly just left without needing any sort of countdown or anything. She said she was very tired and it was time to go to sleep. That transferred over to me a bit, because when I grounded myself, all I wanted to do was nap. I had things I had to do after the session though; I went and got some Xrays and then went food shopping. Holly came back when it became clear we weren’t going to sleep and hung around while I shopped.

End of TW

Wednesday, I met the therapist from my care team and now I’m supposed to meet with her every Wednesday for a session. That’s 3 full therapy sessions a week now, plus meetings with the other members of the team.

And today, therapy again. My arm has been having sudden flashes of intense pain since the session on Tuesday. It only lasts about 5 seconds, but it’s enough to take my breath away; it starts in the middle of my arm and then echos down to my hand and last 2 fingers. Throughout yesterday, the pain increased, and it became more frequent as well; in the car on the way to therapy today, it happened 3 times. So that was the first thing I brought up with her. I said how before, I’d had a pain in my arm (same arm, different pain) that lasted for DAYS until I met with her and we figured out it was a flashback memory pain, and then it just... stopped. I said since it started in the session, I was thinking maybe it was something like that again.

She told me to ask inside about who was causing the pain, and it flared up immediately. She asked anyone who was related to the memory that the pain was about to come forward, and i suddenly got really nervous that like, that was impossible. It was really similar to the defense mechanism of my brain yelling ‘you’re making the DID up!’, but this time it was ‘You’re doing it WRONG!’ or something. Like no, no one could come forward, not because there was no one else, but because I... wasn’t... good at having DID?? I think just thinking that I’m faking doesn’t work anymore; I’ve experienced too much proof to believe that fully during most moments. So my brain was trying something else, I guess.

I remember that at some point in the session, I started hearing banging, distantly. Some slow pounding, some frantic banging. And it sent an intense panic response going; I can’t remember what flooded my thoughts, but it was trauma related. Like puzzle pieces coming together, but I don’t remember now, and it wasn’t possible to talk at the time. My arm ached for a lot longer than 5 seconds, the pain spiking at intervals. My other arm started to have the exact same pain as well, just duller, and my thigh felt something similar too. My eyes felt pressure and my head began to hurt, dizziness swarming in.

I felt several kids around, several alters. I felt like I needed to run and hide, and I could feel how tense I was getting. I eventually managed to like, speak and let my therapist know what was happening; I asked her ‘Do you hear that?’ and she didn’t know what I meant. I said I heard banging, and she said she wasn’t hearing anything. I’d been hearing it off and on for 5 minutes at that point, so like. I still kind of believe that it was someone outside or something and I heard it but she didn’t, but she said that if I was hearing it, she would be too. It sounded so fucking real though, like. I’ve hallucinated before, but there’s always been a sense of not hearing it with my ears exactly. This time it was indistinguishable from actual sound. :/

My memory is fucky at this point, but I know my therapist told me to go to my safe place maybe, inside. I decided to try it, and it... kind of worked?? Someone else fronted, but I fronted with them, just. From my room inside. Like they were standing outside the door and I was inside. It was someone young, and being cocon/cofronting with them, I just sort of knew and understood things that I hadn’t before. Like how the inner world worked, how I could stay in my room, why no one else could come forward, things like that? I don’t really... remember it all right now, but yeah. It was a feeling of understanding that came with some strong sadness, but also like, relief I guess.

My arm hasn’t hurt since I co-fronted with that kid, so I’m hoping that, for now, it’s over with. 

#personal // #donut rebagel // #trauma // #abuse //? #tw // #csa // #flashbacks // #there's some very triggering content in here ok // #dinodiary // #kinda //

[misstincu]

My Realistic New Year Resolutions

I remember a NYE from a few years ago, it was 2013 I think. I was visiting my friends in Worcester, England and when the countdown started at midnight, I thought about all the resolutions that I wanted to come true for me. At that time, I naively believed that resolutions are like magical wishes that come true without me having to lift a finger. Hilarious, I know.

Turns out resolutions are actually a list of realistic goals you set for yourself to be accomplished within a set amount of time - weeks/days/years.. You don’t just make the resolutions list, you also develop an action plan for each goal and break steps down into achievable chunks for each week. All of this sounds great, and I would really love to discipline myself and get off my ass and actually achieve my dreams rather than being anxious, overthinking and crying about what I want to do but can’t because I constantly put too much pressure on myself.

I know everyone has big plans for 2019, but I don’t. Whenever I think too big, I tend to lose myself in the details. There is nothing wrong with aiming high, but it just doesn’t work for me - I need to take it step by step and not think about the higher goals all the time.

If I get excited and talk to others about my creative ideas, I feed on their positive reactions to my ideas and end up being content with that, without actually making those projects. Yikes! My goals for 2019 are pretty realistic and small, because in some aspects, I have to learn how to walk before I run. Without further ado, let’s jump into it:

1) Break my digital hoarding habit

Hoarding tendencies run in my family, and this affects not only the hoarders but the people around them. It’s difficult and heartbreaking to live with or visit a hoarder when you know how beautiful and good their life would be with be if they wouldn’t hoard. Hoarding is a mental health issue, so it’s important to understand what the hoarder is going through before forcing your help on them.

Right, back to my own hoarding. I am a new type of hoarder - the digital hoarder. I don’t have my own house, so moving from one rented apartment to another doesn’t allow me to collect many items. But you know what I can collect? Digital trash. Ever since I had my first internet connection, I started to collect memes, gifs, music, films, every photograph I've ever taken, every video I ever filmed, every project I ever made. For this reason, the storage on my computer, hard drive and phone is full of folders, files, photographs and clips that are just thrown randomly everywhere. Most of my files/folders/pics/clips have idiotic names that have no connection to the content of the file. Whenever I need to search for anything, it can take me hours to find anything - and that’s if I even find it. This hoarding is not only on my devices, it’s also in my dozens of Youtube playlists (that I don’t watch/listen to) and in my saved items on Facebook, Instagram and my Internet browser. It’s time to sort out my digital hoarding, because this is no way to live.

2) Create Digital Family Archive

Most of us don’t care that much about our family tree, ancestors and all that jazz until we are much older. Why do I care about this at the age of 26 years old? Well, I care because most of the people from my family are dead - like, 75% of them. Some have died of old age, others of cancer. I am also doing this because of regret - I was too young to think about this when key members of my family were still alive and would have been able to provide more accurate information about our family history - some of is pretty tragic. I know this regret is created by my own mind, because maybe preserving our family history should have been more important to previous generations.

As I am the only one with advanced digital manipulation skills in my family, I somehow feel like it’s my duty to try to salvage and archive all photographs, documents, notes and other relevant items that I have access to at this time. Of course, I will do this in collaboration with other members of the family. The ultimate goal is to create a well structured family archive and a huge family tree, as well as personalized family trees for each family member. This process will probably take years, but I’m excited to embark on this journey and learn more about my roots and heritage.

3) Create content

Last year I created so much content... in my head. I want to bring that content to life and write, film, talk about everything that matters to me. I want to help and inspire people through my work. I just need to get off my ass and out of my head. Bare with me, I’m getting there!

The truth is, not making enough money and not finding much work has cock blocked me hard and I just spent all my free time researching, coming up with creative projects, being anxious, crying and overthinking. However, dreams don’t work unless I do. I don’t want to jinx my motivation and discipline skills, so for now I won’t say more on this topic.

4) Dress-up again     

When I was single, I spent so much time on my looks - I wanted to to express myself through fashion and hair and make-up and I did it. I was still unhappy with my life, but I looked fabulous. Now I’m very lucky to have the most wonderful person on Earth next to me, and I couldn’t be happier. I work from home and I don’t earn a lot - so the fact that I don’t need to exit the house much and I can’t splurge on things like I used to kind of turned off my inner desire to dress up and feel empowered and fabulous. I’m not sure what the root of this is and why my auto-pilot goes into “your worth is in how much money you make”.  When I don’t make enough money I feel like I don’t deserve to look and feel great, and to express myself. It probably has something to do with my impoverished upbringing. Anyway, this goal is about ignoring the voices in my head that try to cock-block me from dressing up - will keep you updated on how this goes.

5) Focus more on my mental health

This goal is very important to me. Last year I went to therapy for about 6 months and it changed my life - not only it worked for me, but somehow it was the cherry on the cake I have been building up for many years. It was so wonderful to discover that all the psychology research I did over the years, all the time I dedicated to introspection and to trying to understand thought patterns was not in vain. It actually helped me to be better prepared for taking in all the challenges I had to complete in therapy.

Having a really good therapist who was straight up my alley played also a huge part in my therapy sessions.

I have anxiety issues, depression tendencies and probably many other issues. I am very good at coming off as a “well balanced person”, which is amusing to me when I hear it. I am lucky to have an inner fire that constantly pushes me to dust myself off and try again. But living with these mental issues is hard work and work that has to be done daily for the rest of my life. I have seen how bad these issues can become if you ignore them in my own family, so I am determined to do the best work that I can to not pass on all this mental baggage to the next generation, if we ever decide to have a child. Last year I received the training on how to deal with my mental health issues, this year I have to try harder to implement what I learned. Being captive into your own mind, in this cage built out of  overthinking and anxiety is not fun, and I just want to get the hell out of there and enjoy life.

How about you? What are your realistic New Year resolutions? Let me know in the comments below.  

#creative struggle #mental health