#this is it babes this is anxiety induced art
“Discordant Sonata” Chapter 19
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CHAPTER 19: ATTACCA
Attacca - "To attack at once"; used as a direction in music at the end of a movement to begin the next without pause
(Mood music: "The Conversation" - Pearl Django)
Being mere months away from graduating lycée meant that their group of friends didn’t have as many classes together, due to their diverse individual interests and talents. However, they always made sure to make time to hang out after school before their extracurricular activities began.
And thus, Adrien, Nino, and Alya made their way to the classroom where the art club gathered to meet up with Marinette. From there, Adrien would make his way to either fencing lessons or Chinese, depending on the day of the week. Marinette would join him on days when he had Chinese (as she’d become determined to master the language ever since her uncle visited from Shanghai a few years back), Alya would go to her journalism club, and Nino would travel to his part-time internship at the local recording studio.
“–and the backlogs just keep piling up!” Alya spoke as they walked, voice full of vigor and excitement. “I’ve had to recruit yet another mod to help me keep order in the forums! Especially since the Ladyblog has started going international and we’ve had to organize servers in different languages. You wouldn’t believe how crazy it’s gotten in there recently!”
“Dang, babe,” Nino interjected. “Sounds like things are super rough for you right now.”
“Not really, more busy than anything. Especially because I have that big research article due next week, there’s just not enough hours in the day to try to read everything that goes on in there. But I have my mods report to me daily, ‘cause I always like to stay on top of everything that goes on in the chats!”
“What’s gotten everyone so riled up in the Ladyblog lately?” Adrien chimed in. “I don’t recall it being nearly this busy last year.”
The trio entered the art club’s classroom and settled down at the table where Marinette sat, getting her various sketches organized. The art teacher was quite easy going, so they didn’t have to talk in hushed whispers and could come and go as they pleased.
“Well, to be honest, it’s because of Chat Noir,” Alya replied.
Adrien tried to contain his surprise. “R-really? What– uhhh, what do people have to say about him?”
He winced inwardly. He knew he shouldn’t ask. But curiosity got the better of him today. Maybe learning the news through the filter or Alya’s paraphrasing instead of reading the negative comments firsthand would lessen the sting of what people said about him.
Marinette whipped her head around at the mention of his alter ego. “Wait, what about Chat Noir?” she inquired.
“Girl,” Alya replied, her voice filled with renewed exuberance. “You would not believe how much we’ve had to censor and moderate all the inappropriate things people have been saying!”
Adrien flinched in his seat. “Wow… do people really hate him that much?” he asked, trying to conceal the dejection in his voice.
Alya busted out into loud guffaws. “Hate?! Dude, most people don’t hate him; they LOVE him! By ‘inappropriate’ comments, I mean the kinda stuff you wouldn’t want your grandma to catch you reading! There’s a whole giant section dedicated to his new fan club!” she said as she removed her glasses so she could wipe away the tears of laughter.
“WHAT?!” Adrien squawked in confusion, his face feeling hotter than the ovens back at the bakery. “A fan club??”
Marinette burst into uncontrollable snickering. “Has it really gotten that bad?!”
Nino joined in, “Bro! Adrien, I can’t believe you haven’t heard Alya rant about these rabid fans before! They call themselves the ‘Noir Nation’, and the kind of things they’ve been writing would make adult romance authors blush like schoolgirls!”
Alya nodded, thoroughly amused. “And that’s not including all the fanfiction people have been writing.”
“Wait– the WHAT?! There’s fanfiction?!!” Marinette gaped in shock, as if she’d been hit in the face with an enormous pie. “Alya, how come I never knew about this?!”
“Why? You wanna read em? Girl, you’ll get no judgment from me. If you wanna check ‘em out for yourself, just go check under the hashtag ‘Ladynoir’.”
Marinette stammered as her arms flailed in her bewilderment, accidentally knocking her phone off the table and onto the floor, her eyes bigger and rounder than Adrien had ever seen them. “They have a ship name?!” she screeched.
“Just mind the ratings though,” Alya advised. “Some of them can get pretty steamy. You wouldn’t want someone to catch you reading those in public,” she added with a wink.
Marinette continued to sputter incoherently. “NO, I am NOT gonna read it!! It would be different if they were fictional characters, but I could never read fanfiction about real people!”
Alya raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. “Mm-hmm… Sure.”
Marinette’s hands flew to her face, trying to hide how red her entire face had gotten, and released a long squeak that resembled a hamster on helium. As shocked as Adrien was about these rather unexpected news, seeing Marinette’s over-the-top reaction brought a wide grin to his face and he busted out laughing.
He bent over to retrieve Marinette’s phone, since she was too busy being mortified to notice it had fallen to the floor. As he was about to hand it back, the screen lit up and Adrien saw the lockscreen wallpaper: it was the same photo of Ladybug and Chat Noir that he himself had saved earlier that day. He smiled, not exactly sure what to make of it, but finding it adorable that she’d liked the photo enough to set it as her lockscreen.
He tapped her shoulder, waiting for her to respond. She emerged from behind her impromptu hand shield and turned her head, then her eyes widened once again as soon as she saw what Adrien was showing her. She jolted straight up, stiff as a board, and her eyes met his, cheeks turning tomato red. He winked at her, amused about this little secret between them, and handed back her phone without a word.
Marinette accepted it with a meek-sounding, “Thanks,” looking like she wanted to explain the photo, but not able to do so unless she wanted Alya and Nino to find out that she was potentially a… ahem– “Ladynoir” shipper.
Switching the conversation to something else (which Marinette seemed to be eternally grateful for), the group chatted until it became time for them to scatter to their next destinations.
With a wave, Adrien exited the classroom and headed towards fencing practice, one of the few activities he decided to stick with despite not being forced to participate. Fencing, along with Chinese lessons, were not only enjoyable, but were also quite useful. Sadly, he didn’t have access to a piano anymore, so he wasn’t able to pursue that hobby for the time being. Hopefully later down the line, when things had settled down and he’d found his own place to live, he’d be able to finance one.
Thinking about the future had become an exciting pastime instead of an anxiety-inducing one, and it was all thanks to his friends and those he cared about. He smiled as he reached the door to the locker rooms, continuing to daydream of what was to come.
(Mood music: "Recollection 3" - Shirō Sagisu (BLEACH OST, "The Diamond Dust Rebellion")
Adrien finished getting dressed for fencing, his head still blissfully floating in the clouds. He stored his belongings into his assigned locker, shutting it with a loud clang, which echoed through the empty room.
He swiveled his head around, surprised that there was no one beside him. He stood up and began walking down the large room, peeking down the other locker rows looking for his classmates; but there was nobody.
Where was everyone? There’s no way that every single one of them was running late. Had his lessons been cancelled and he’d somehow missed a text message or email? He began heading back towards his locker to check his phone for any schedule changes.
Before he reached his destination, however, heavy thudding footsteps broke the eerie silence. Adrien whipped his body around to greet whoever they belonged to.
The owner of those footsteps was one of the last people Adrien expected to meet here.
Adrien stood agape, face to face with his old bodyguard, whom he hadn’t seen in a couple of years; not since he’d resigned and moved out of the country. Nathalie had mentioned that in his resignation letter, Gaspard said that he’d become involved in an overseas business venture involving the market of rare action figures. Nevertheless, Adrien couldn’t help but suspect that his father’s ill temper and poor treatment of their employees was the true reason for his departure.
Adrien’s first reaction was surprise and joy, and he rushed forward to greet and embrace him. However, as he approached and got a better look at the man’s face, Adrien’s mood instantly morphed into confusion and apprehension. There was something odd about his eyes.
Something wasn’t right. Why was Gaspard here? And why now?
He came to a halt about a meter before reaching him. An oppressive weight seemed to press in all around him, and he had to suppress a shiver. “Wait. Gaspard, did–” he gulped, “–did my father send you?”
His old bodyguard did not reply, but took a heavy step towards him. Adrien stepped back.
“Please… I can’t go back. I live somewhere else now, and I’m very happy there. Whatever he told you about the situation, it’s a lie.”
His bodyguard continued to approach him, his stare vacant and unsettling.
Fighting the urge to panic, he pleaded, “You don’t have to do this. If he’s offered you compensation, I can match it; it’ll just take me a bit of time. But we can work something out, right?? For old time’s sake?”
He continued walking backwards until he bumped into something firm, but it wasn’t a wall; it was another person. Before he could turn around, they grabbed him by the shoulders, detaining him and preventing him from running away.
He was about to shout for help when something sharp jabbed him on the side of the neck, injecting a cold liquid. Adrien’s eyes grew wide in terror.
Adrien swore as he jerked away, elbowing whoever was behind him and managing to break free. Rubbing at the spot where the syringe had stabbed him, he glanced back to take a look at his other assailant, only to see... another Gaspard?
Why are there two of him??
This was wrong. Gaspard didn’t have a twin; he knew that for a fact. He’d worked for the Agrestes ever since Adrien was a toddler and was too young to even pronounce his name correctly (hence the nickname “Gorille”, which stuck around for years afterwards). Additionally, there was something uncanny, otherworldly, even, about the way these two men looked and moved.
He shook himself out of his stupor. He didn’t have time to contemplate any possible explanations. He had to get out of there fast.
He sprinted towards the exit, but only managed to travel a few paces before he lost his footing and tripped. He fell to the ground hard, almost hitting his head on a nearby bench. As he struggled to get up, he realized that his fingers and toes had already gone numb.
Time was running out. Adrenaline coursed through him and, with a grunt, he hefted himself to his feet and scrambled towards the exit, as fast as he could despite a heavy limp. Though his heart was hammering and his legs felt like they were filled with sand, he pushed himself, concentrating on reaching the door.
After taking a few steps, however, he realized that even if he did manage to exit the locker room, the area beyond was an open courtyard. Meaning he wasn’t going to be able to reach someplace safe before getting caught. He had no choice but to transform into Chat Noir, and hopefully Plagg’s powers and strength could help him escape and find somewhere to hide.
He’d scarcely uttered the first syllable in the transformation phrase when he was tackled to the ground. A giant hand swiftly covered his mouth and Adrien felt his hands get bound together with thick zip ties behind his back. A muffled scream of writhing frustration made its way up his throat as his limbs became more and more useless by the second.
No… This can’t be happening! Please, this can’t be how it all ends!
Just when his life had finally gained a semblance of normalcy and he’d found happiness again, it would get ripped away and he would disappear without a trace, leaving everyone to wonder what had happened to him. Leaving his friends to think that Gabriel had pulled him from school and they would never see him again. Leaving Ladybug to wonder if Chat had abandoned her forever. Leaving her to fight Hawkmoth alone. Again.
He couldn’t let that happen. He thrashed and struggled as furiously as he could, fighting the feelings of overwhelming helplessness that threatened to consume him. Nearing despair, he was too distracted to notice Plagg phrasing through the wall, away from the skirmish, in search of the only person who could save him.
(Mood music: "Run" - Ludovico Einaudi)
Marinette fidgeted with her pencil, her feet wiggled and bounced under her desk. She didn’t understand; when she’d arrived at the art club, her head had been filled with inspiration and ideas that she’d been excited to draw and execute. However, at the moment, her mind was filled with noise and disquietude.
Having had enough, she excused herself to visit the restroom. Once she’d walked far enough from the classroom, she opened her purse to talk to Tikki about her current dilemma.
“It’s the same feeling as last night, Tikki! Except that would mean one of three possibilities. Option A.) It’s nothing and I’m going crazy. And— don’t give me that look, Tikki! I can see what you’re thinking and I don’t have time for your cheeky sass right now!” The kwami snickered while Marinette cleared her throat and continued, “Option B.) that Chat is here, at this school, which is impossible because his school’s on the other side of the city, that’s why he always leaves the house super early for his long commute.”
Tikki opened her mouth and looked like she was about to say something, but then didn’t (...or couldn’t?).
Marinette resumed, “Or, C.) that my–– what do I even call it? My ‘Spidey sense’??–– that it’s got a long distance mode, and Chat is all the way across Paris and he’s in trouble! But what am I supposed to do about that from here?! I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking!”
Tikki shrugged. “Follow your instincts, Marinette. There’s no harm in taking a quick look around the school, right?”
Marinette groaned. “UGH! It doesn’t make sense!! Am I going to get interrupted like this all the time from now on?” She shook her head resolutely. “No. I can’t just go off on random field trips every single time I feel a random fit of anxiety. I’m sure it’s just leftover jitters from last night. I’m supposed to call Master Fu after school anyway; he can help me figure everything out. I’m just gonna go back to class and forget about it.”
Tikki frowned, not quite convinced, but deciding not to press further.
Marinette made her way back to the classroom in a frustrated huff. But as her hand reached to turn the handle, the feelings of danger and urgency multiplied tenfold. Without a word, she sprinted away in the opposite direction, not even knowing where she was running to, only knowing she had to get there immediately.
She reached the large common area of the school downstairs. Her head whipped around, frantically searching for something, anything. In her haste, she didn’t notice a small black creature zoom into her open purse.
A few moments later, she felt a frantic tugging at her shirt from below.
“Marinette!! Over there! Check the locker room, quick!!!” Tikki whisper-screamed as she peeked outside the purse, her tone uncharacteristically frantic.
Marinette nodded, then sprinted to the locker room.
“Wait! You should transform first!” Tikki added.
Despite Tikki’s protests, Marinette raced towards the double doors, tackling them open.
Three sets of eyes landed on her as she skidded to a halt, but only one pair consumed her entire attention. She gasped in horror, hands flying to her face as she stared at what was occurring in front of her. Adrien let out a desperate, muffled scream urging her to run.
His panicked voice snapped her out of her dazed shock; but instead of running, she stood her ground, eyes darting back and forth across the area searching for something useful. The room was remarkably barren except for a lone broom a short distance away from her. She grabbed it and leaped towards the closest attacker (the one holding Adrien down), swinging it like a baseball bat.
The man didn’t even try to avoid the hit; the broomstick merely bounced off the side of his face where Marinette had hit him. She frowned in confusion, then tried hitting him again, bringing the stick down on the top of his head like an axe.
The end of the broom flew off, and Marinette stared in shock at the broken broomstick.
“What the hell are you?!” Marinette exclaimed, shifting her grip on the shortened wooden stub.
She pounced at the second bodyguard, bringing her weapon down in a stabbing motion; but he swatted at her hand, disarming her. She yelped in pain, leaping backwards to get some distance between them.
She was outmatched. The only strategy available was to use their own size against them. With a feint to the side, she shot at his legs for a takedown, hoping to catch him off balance. He called her bluff and shoved her backwards with his giant palm, then kneed her in the stomach.
Winded from the impact, Marinette doubled over with a gasping wheeze, fighting with all her might to keep herself from collapsing onto the ground. She forced herself upright and attacked again. With a clumsy jerk, she lunged forward, swinging wild punches at her opponent. The shots connected but his expression barely changed; it was like beating a breathing punching bag.
The bodyguard backhanded Marinette across the face. Pain shooting across her cheek, she staggered, almost losing her balance. In her daze, she watched helplessly as the man reared his arm back. There was no chance to dodge. His fist connected with her abdomen, delivering a liver shot that shut down her entire body. She crumpled to the floor as if boneless. She tried to call out Adrien’s name, but her mouth merely opened in a silent scream.
Marinette could hear Adrien’s distressed screaming, but it sounded distant, like they were underwater. The edges of her vision grew black and fuzzy, the entire room dissolving around her. She had to consciously force her lungs to inhale, but couldn’t fill them all the way, as if a boulder had been placed on top of her chest.
Faintly, she felt herself getting picked up off the ground and carried away over someone’s shoulder. Disoriented and semi-blinded, the sudden movement and rough jostling made her head spin and gave her vertigo. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it all out.
A few moments later, they stopped moving, and she heard a door burst open. Where were they? Before she could gather her senses, she was in the air, thrown several meters away, landing with a hard thud. A sharp pain traveled down her body as she rolled into the wall across them. The shriek that tried to escape her throat emerged as a strained, shallow whine.
The man stomped out, leaving her alone in the room. “Stop…!” she rasped out, managing to tilt her neck upwards, head pounding.
The bodyguard slammed the door shut, followed by a bang and a clattering sound that could only mean he’d broken the doorknob of whatever room she was in.
Marinette's vision became more and more blurred. At the verge of losing consciousness, she fought to keep her eyes open as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
No, she couldn’t pass out! She had to save Adrien! Stay awake, Marinette, stay awake!!
She bit down on her lip hard, focusing on the sharp sting, on the swelling that was already forming around her right eye, forcing herself to feel the pain her body was in. At this moment, feeling pain was better than falling unconscious. She concentrated on her breathing, slowly regaining her senses.
She reached down to open her purse and get Tikki’s help… only to be met with emptiness. Panic settled in her gut as she realized that sometime during the skirmish, the purse had slipped off her shoulder. She sat up, slowly, so she wouldn’t risk feeling faint again from the change in positions.
She squinted, adjusting her eyesight to the darkness of the room. It seemed to be some sort of supply closet. After a failed few attempts to stand, she crawled towards the door instead, careful not to bump into the crates and shelves that filled the area.
The girl eyed the broken doorknob wearily. She was pretty proficient at lockpicking and breaking into things, but not as good at breaking out. Her only hope was that Tikki would be able to find her… if she was even nearby.
She swore to herself. Why had she rushed in and attacked two grown ass men (who, incidentally, may or may not be supernatural to boot!) instead of hiding and creating a strategy?! Now she was useless, Tikki was gone, and Adrien was surely on his way to get auctioned to the highest bidder in the criminal black market and ransomed off for an enormous sum. Great job, Marinette. Adrien’s been abducted and it’s all your fault.
Gathering all the determination she could muster, she tried to call out for help. But her voice was still too hoarse, and only a weak croak came out. She clenched her fists, grumbling irritably. Time for a different approach. Somehow, she needed to make noise.
After a brief search, she found a hard, metallic object that she could use to hammer on the door. She tested it out; it was surprisingly effective. She doubled her efforts, making as big a racket as possible. Hopefully, it would only be a matter of time before somebody heard her, let her out, and she could go find Adrien.
She couldn’t let anything else happen to another loved one. Not again.
I'M REEEAAAAALLY SORRY FOR THAT CLIFFHANGER JSHDKFJHSKDF ᕕ(╯°д°)ᕗ I tried splitting up the sections differently but it didn't really flow as well.
But the next chapter is almost done, so I'll have it ready by next weekend!!
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can I just be honest with you guys for like two seconds ? I always see de-molding videos of BEAUTIFUL resin work, or soap or whatever. but up until a couple weeks ago, I had never seen fail videos. this gave me, tons of extra anxiety. thinking I was just doing stuff wrong, that I wasn’t good at making things (not to mention my perfectionist tendencies mixed in with a dash of OCD), and honestly it was *the most frustrating, anxiety inducing thing in the world for me. I almost gave away all of my art supplies, that’s how seriously overwhelmed I get when something comes out (in my opinion) wrong.
but then I started coming across demolding fails. bloopers. people experiencing the same hiccups as me. not the perfect pieces that come out shiny and immaculate. real pieces, and real people talking about how they had to go back and try to fix them.
I know how discouraging it is to see your pieces come out like that, but I also know there’s a lot more beginners than just me out there, and on behalf of us, I’d like to say the sincerest thank you possible. thank you for sharing your bloopers, I finally feel like I am not a complete failure.
so if you’re thinking about not posting that picture or video of your work because it’s not perfect ? not what you’d specifically envisioned? please, I’m begging you, post it. it’s still art. you still felt something making it. and I guarantee someone else will feel something seeing it.
That’s the end of my art-ho rant for the day, babes!
🌙 🔮 Blessed be
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Ruthie I hope to god this doesnt sound silly but I'm currently redecorating my room and as of rn I've only got my bed and my couch in my room, my walls are paintless and I've got none of my wall art up and ive had to do prep and stuff for the walls and I'm so anxious? Like just the knowledge that my room is about to change makes me so like nervous?I hope this doesnt sound dumb😔
It’s not silly, I recently changed my entire room about and it made me feel weird about it afterward lol since I hate change too. I think the initial just getting started is the most anxiety inducing part of changing something/getting rid of something and I think once you get started you will feel a lot better since the “decision” to change it will have been made for you. I think one of the reasons you’re getting anxious about it is because rn you haven’t changed anything yet so you can still go back on what you were planning on doing, when realistically, you know you want to do it otherwise you wouldn’t have got everything in like your bed, couch etc in and decided to redecorate in the first place. try just doing a little bit at first and see how you feel/if you want to continue and start off slow, there’s no reason it needs to all be done instantaneously! I’m sure it’s going to look great babe! 💞
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(Tw for drug ment) Hey Rabbit, I hate going to parties in my new city because the party culture is super different (binge drinking, whippets, mdma around here vs the social drinking and weed in my old city) but I hate being excluded from events like these, because most of my friends go to these parties. Any advice?
hi babe!!! ok i might not be the best person to ask cause I am not much of a partier! But honestly? In my experience being in the party scene and being around the more “hardcore” stuff i just personally ... its not my cup of tea? like nothing against the people who enjoy it ! but its not for me and being around it always made me feel uncomfortable and so i ended up just, getting out of it and finding different friends? (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄ or ... not really but like, finding more friends who i hang out with to just smoke weed with and watch shows with or go outside or make art or do makeup or whatever ? and it didnt mean violently cutting out people from my life it just looked like hanging out with certaing peole less and hanging out with others more but in new ways! If you wanna keep the same friends like by all means keep them but it doesnt mean you have to go party with them! I don’t drink and i have many friends who do, and they just go to parties and ill stay in and have like a cute self care night and do my own thing and its cute! and they have fun and do their thing and its cute and good for them! and then we’ll hang out in situations that are less anxiety inducing for me like in my room and doing our own thing!
It doesnt have to be all or nothing! you can figure out a happy medium where yall are just drinking and smoking weed on your own schedule and they can go do their thing when they want, and maybe in that time you might also find more friends who are less party-oriented (if thats the main thing u and ur present friends do together)
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Hiii Hope ! Wishing you well 💕 Uh this may be a weird question and I don’t know how to word it exactly but how did you... create your style? like how did you know how to create the look you were going for and make it work for you and like know what to buy and do? You’re just completely goals and I love that you have your own style that speaks to you and I’d love to achieve that for myself one day
Hi!! not weird at all, babe. this is a strange full circle, but when harry began wearing printed button-ups in 2014-2015, it inspired me so much to begin collecting my own patterned prints and funky designs in button-ups as well. i already thrifted tons, but i got more into it because the thrift had loads of options when it came to those designs on button-ups and blouses. then as time went on i began branching out to anything that caught my eye. i’m a big fan of 70s/80s fashion (obviously lmaoo), and i think i subconsciously began choosing unique patterns and type of clothing that mimicked that era. loud designs, original pants, illustrative skirts/dresses, fun colors, and anything that really stood in as the new wave style. my favorite pieces to find now are pants with drawings on them and patterned knee-length coats and jackets.
to answer your questions, i don’t think i ever went and curated what style i wanted on a pinterest board or anything. i didn’t have one thing that inspired me. i just gravitated towards clothing i really enjoyed and felt a bit apprehensive to wear before. i always say to find an era of fashion that speaks to you and study it. know it like the back of your hand, and then go out and piece looks together that give off the same energy. i think the first step is just owning your dream style and executing it.
fully dressing in the style you love most can be a scary thing! it isn’t as easy as some people believe. clothes are actually incredibly personal and how you wear them is like walking art in itself. it boosts confidence. it gives self-esteem. it’s mentally stimulating, and it can also be anxiety-inducing bc it’s new and foreign! and that hesitance of branching out creeps in. but, i think that can fade once you begin trying on the clothes you’ve been weary of trying before. if you’re looking for a certain, older fashion era the perfect place to become more comfortable seeing you in the new fits is in the dressing rooms. try on as many pieces and as many combinations as possible and start seeing yourself in the clothes to normalize it. you’ll begin to feel more confident and excited about it (and you’ll be able to find what works and what doesn’t). also, thrift stores are wear i get the majority of my closet so it’s the perfect place to experiment with style bc it’s much cheaper than going to a mall or shopping online.
anyways eek this got long, but it really is your personal journey and it’s all about what fashion speaks to you and then making it your own. fashion and style is subjective and there is never a right or wrong way to dress as long as you fucking love your reflection doing it. so yeah in conclusion, i think i just realized without harry branching out and experimenting (even just a tad) with his fashion with those loud prints back in the day, i don’t know if i would’ve started the journey to curating my own style/if it would even look the same. so uhh thanks harry 🖤
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Okay it’s phone sex girl and I have a request , can it be based on the song bloom by the paper kites ( if you haven’t heard it please listen I think you’d love it I know it calms me down a lot ) and can it be about you having an anxiety attack in bed and Timmy just holding you and asking if he can hold you and taking care of you, cause that’s what I need . Okay thank you I love you xoxo
Hiya sugar, I was a little more creative with this ~ Hope you love it xx ♥️ I love you right back.
tags: @if-n0t-l8ter-when @speak–or–die @cecilatec @beige-honey @misschalamet @apricottimmy @lucyshea @elio-elio-elio123 @maddyrosew @ticklishtimothee @sestravenus @jessespencer @staceystoleyourheart @pinkrosezx @myheartdesirepure @chalametmarvel
(Mentions of anxiety, otherwise v cute and fluffy) **link to the song w lyrics below** xo
You didn’t want to wake him, but the anxiety was too much to handle alone. He was so beautiful that it hurt. Honey. Sweet, rich, lasting, golden warmth that spread into your bones. Too much and it could become painful. Tracing a light index finger up and down his spine, your body full of tension. His skin was warm under the small stripe of light between the curtains. You rose and pulled on comfortable panties, feeling no need to wear anything else. You tugged the curtain silently aside until the sunlight bathed his entire back. He stirred, shifting his head before becoming still again. Bright, glowing like endless summer nights. You crawled over him, whispering his name softly until he woke.
His eyes opened, and he raised himself up onto an elbow once he saw your face. “What’s wrong, darling?” Still half asleep, his hair was a mess.
What isn’t wrong? “My anxiety is so fucking awful. My brain won’t stop, it’s relentless and exhausting. I don’t want to be alone, will you just sit with me?”
He sat up all the way and opened his arms. Gratefully snuggling into his body, still warm from the sun and cozy bed, you closed your eyes and took deep breaths. The tightness in your chest remained. His heartbeat was steady and reassuring.
“Did something trigger this? Can you pinpoint the anxiety?” His hand moved slowly up and down your back. “Drop your shoulders, my love.”
Totally unaware they had been raised, you let your shoulders fall. “It’s everything. Fear of the future, mistakes of the past. Being judged, being left and forgotten, making mistakes… a lot of it is the situation we’re in, just being in the public eye all the time. No, please let me finish.” He had opened his mouth to respond, but he shut it again, listening. “I’m so happy, I love you so much, and you’re beyond worth it. You always will be. I understood going into this what it would be like, but it’s still anxiety inducing for me.”
“I understand, I have issues with that a lot myself.” You smiled affectionately, kissing his cheek. “I’m right here with you, babe. I’ll never let you walk that road alone again.”
Soothing and safe, his words helped to relax your body, unclenching muscles and breathing deeply. He held you closer and tighter, humming a soft melody and continuing to rub your back. Focusing on different parts of your body to remain relaxed, you suddenly felt the need to use your hands to express yourself somehow. A way to release the emotion and tension. An idea, sweet and interesting, formed in your mind.
“Timothée, can I paint on your back with watercolors? I’ve seen people do that before, it seems so intimate and romantic. I think it may help to calm me.”
He beamed, nodding eagerly. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. The words came from his eyes. Delectable as sin, you kissed lightly up his neck before moving to grab some supplies. Two paint brushes, a bowl of water, palette of watercolors. Emotion poured through your body, and the need to express it was making it hard to breathe. No such thing as balance. He rolled onto his stomach, pushing the sheet aside. You carefully straddled him and settled yourself comfortably on his ass. A small groan at the touch made him whimper. Panties there, yet still skin on skin. He had nothing on, and you briefly leaned down, pressing your breasts into his back while kissing the side of his neck with a feathery touch. He groaned harshly, squeezing the pillow. You laughed and sat back up, admiring his back. Smooth and warm, your fingers floated along his shoulder blades and down his sides. He turned to lay his cheek on the pillow, his eyes fluttering closed.
I have to show you. I have to tell you. Hear me, see me.
Gold like the sun on his skin. You started with yellow, brushing it across his upper back in large strokes. He flinched at the first contact, but quickly relaxed a few seconds later. Orange, flecks to create a light, gorgeous hue. It was the color of autumn. You shifted your body to the side to let the natural light travel over your shoulders and illuminate the colors. They shined with brilliance.
Green, the eyes that pierced everything. It flowed with the gold, waves of each color appearing within the other. A dash of bright yellow on the green, fleck of white, maybe brown; beautiful, hazel streaks. He moved his lower body, and you stopped your brush.
“How’s it coming?” He sounded as if he had been dozing, his voice raspy.
“It’s wonderful. Sleep if you’re tired, my sweet.” He shook his head. Stubborn.
Blue now, light at first with dots of yellow to make the colors flow, then deep and royal. Eternal and demanding like the sea and sky, he was everywhere. You were painting on his lower back, breathless and focused with sharp senses. Such a strange intimacy, a show of affection and adoration, to create art on a lover.
“My love, I’m finished.” A masterpiece. He nodded, sitting up and stretching his limbs out. A thought, obvious and true, rang out. “Wait, I have to take a photo of you.” He paused to allow you to. Snap. Save. Show him.
“Holy shit! That’s outstanding, love!” He seemed so genuinely impressed, his eyes twinkling. It was endearing, considering it was simply brushstrokes of different colors. “I don’t want to wash it off.”
“I can paint it again, perhaps with different colors next time,” you offered, kissing his shoulder and moving to the bathroom. “Don’t you want to shower with me?”
A rainbow shower, the colors washing down his body and swirling down the drain.
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YAY!! Can I have a mean girls ship please? I'm a small (4'11) lesbian, with medium dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes. I'm pretty much a hufflepuff with anxiety (I'm usually pretty quiet but I talk A Lot when I'm anxious) I'm the most awkward person you'll ever meet. I'm very shy at first. I LOVE animals, and musicals, and lots of gay stuff. I have a really big sweet tooth (!!icecream!!) and stress bakes (badly). And when I get into something, it's obsession level 1000. And um idk?? THANK YOU!
babes i’m so sorry this took so long!! but i really had fun writing this one for you so i hope you like them!! ❤
i ship you with janis!!
i’m all for the goth, confident girl with the shy girl
and let me tell you, so is janis
she is so starstruck the moment she sees you
she didn’t approach you though (because she’s a useless lesbian) until she saw your pride sweater
damian is her wingman so you best believe he rushes over to you and screams that he has a lesbian best friend
somehow you two end up going on a date at this art museum
not gonna lie, twas pretty awkward at first since you’re both pretty awkward and shy when you first meet
BUT janis found herself really falling for your nervous rambling
you honestly thought that would be the end of it, but janis asks you on another date the next day and you got to decide
you take her to this ice cream parlor that you really love
the way your eyes lit up at all the different flavors sent janis
DO NOT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON WHEN THAT SPOON HIT YOUR TONGUE YOU JUST LOOKED SO HAPPY AND JANIS WAS ALL SALKDFMLKSDFM’LSLMFSF
after a few more dates you two become official
you’re crazy if you don’t think janis doesn’t use your heigh against you
doesn’t tease you often, but does subtly put things up high because she loves when you ask for her help
loves your smallness for cuddle purposes
she can just pull you into her and snuggle your small form for hours
doesn’t ever let you up because she is the self-proclaimed cuddle monster and you are her cuddle-bug (she’ll deny it to anyone outside your room though so don’t even try it unless you want inescapable kiss/tickle attacks)
sorry i don’t make the rules
but she only does this if you’re comfortable because boundaries are everything!!!
truthfully, a lot of this relationship is janis just looking at you and wondering ho she got so lucky
she just be looking in your hazel eyes or running her fingers through your dirty blonde hair and feels so much love in her heart
“why are you looking at me like that?”
“don’t worry about it, okay?”
another part of your relationship is her just listening
you wanna talk about how fucking amazing animals are after watching videos? she will listen to you talk about owls until the sun rises and love every single moment of it
you wanna talk about whatever obsession you feel like talking about at the moment? she will listen and then do her research so she can understand what you’re so passionate about
buys you pride things C O N S T A N T L Y
y’all have matching lesbian pride sweaters don’t tell anyone
will eat your stress-induced sweets (even if they’re bad) because she gets it and supports you in times of stress
your first kiss happens when a musical rolls into town on tour and she got you tickets
you were on the ride home and you were just pouring your heart out over how much you liked the show and she just-
you looked at her and saw that loving expression in her eyes and you knew what was going to happen next
so, you both shyly moved closer to one another and pressed your lips together
janis couldn’t be happier and neither could you
overall, just a wholesome, healthy, opposites attract relationship
omg y’all are cute im- lekffmvlksmfv
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&&. —(selena leon)? yes, (she) does look a lot like (summer bishil), but (she) is/are just a (33) year old (witch) and last i heard, they were (a lawyer for the o’haras) . around east end, people say (she) is/are known to be quite (callous), but can also be (tenacious). maybe that’s why (selena)’s theme song is (team - lorde)?
hi hi this is my second babe! like and ill come bother u for plots
The Moon - illusion, fear, anxiety
The moon, you sometimes wonder, could be your mother. He never speaks of her, only of the two of you. He is all you need, your father says, and he teaches you what it is to be powerful and proud. The freedom promised is an illusion as he has pledged your life to another. You grow up trailing the O’Hara boys, learning to use your fear like a weapon, a sharp smile dipped in venom. Your father has no time for your anxieties or the silly concerns of a young girl, and you learn to wear the mask better than anyone. Princesa, when you are good, a disapproving glare when you are not. You go to school and do well, the boys are sent overseas to get an education. Homework is done at the end of the bar and you study for the SAT in the back office, headphones in to cover the sounds of the fights and the crowd. By the time you’re ready to take the LSAT, you could work in any sort of conditions thrown at you. Anxiety is your constant companion but you’ve mastered the art of illusion.
The Lovers - harmony, balance, choice
Somewhere in the intervening years between lost child and master of illusion you find yourself falling into place with the twins. Particularly the older one. No one is quite sure exactly how it happens, but one day you are more than just you. He smiles that grin, and your mask seems to almost melt. You write letters and emails and stay up late or wake up early for a few minutes on the phone. When he comes home for the summer he sneaks a bottle from behind his father’s bar and the two of you get drunk for the first time. He knows your fear and anxiety and you know his heart and soul. Before he starts college you ink your love on each other’s skin. A moon stands at the top of his spine, and a sun warms your rib cage. You aren’t sure when the break happens, likely around when you start looking at Law Schools. And then you’re balancing classes and clerkships and haven’t been back home in years. Maybe you hear that he’s gotten married, maybe you tossed the invitation. The big city calls and eighty hour work weeks leave little time for anything or anyone else. But this is the choice you made, and you can’t let yourself feel any pangs of regret. Your father calls you home after three years away. Time to pay the debt of a bargain made on your behalf long before you were old enough to consent. And now you think, did you ever really have a choice? Or was everything pushing you to this point, the life you cannot escape and the love you always wished you could? But he is yours again, and you are able to slip back into the carefree love of teenagers with bodies who have felt and minds who have seen more. Loving him is easy, you and he are harmony.
The High Priestess - intuition, sacred knowledge, divine feminine
He whispers his confessions into your skin and you wear his mother’s ring. Your magic, intuition, and small ferocity make you invaluable to the gang. He is the golden prince, trained to rule and you are the princesa who was always meant to be at his side. And suddenly your love story is a tragedy, you’re curled up in a chair by his hospital bed and his brother tells you both his father didn’t make it. You don’t sleep. You hold his hand at the funeral and look beautiful doing so, a face made for sorrow your father said. You wake to an empty bed and an even emptier note.
“Gone, but not far. Please don’t look for me. Will check in soon.”
His brother is just as lost as you are, and you both spend the whole day lying to everyone. The cards you lay out on his desk offer no guidance except for her. The High Priestess, appearing again and again, staring up at you with her serene wisdom - asking again and again with sacred patience
Are you stronger than a mountain?
And so you do the only thing you can - lead. He has gone, you tell everyone, to find those who have hurt us. You lie and say he’s left you in charge (your father smiles from the back of the room). You lie and say you’re in contact with him (his brother looks at you quickly, but doesn’t ask). And you fight like hell until you are not a princess, you’re a goddamn king. It’s not enough (it never is) and the whispers and glares grow sharper and more pronounced. Sometimes you fear you’re growing paranoid, sometimes you fear closing your eyes lest some unknown sneak up and reveal your falsehoods. They want him, they need you. So you go find him yourself, drag him back from the self induced pity party and try not to resent how much they all love him, how easily he slips into the throne you fought tooth and nail to keep for him.
Are you stronger than a mountain?
Spanish pronunciation of the name Selena. Se-len-a - len like Lenin, not Se-lean-a - lean like leaning
margo hanson meets elle woods with a little bit of kay corleone (thx Rey for that one).
A tough bitch who will get the job done, went to duke undergrad and Harvard law school - what like its hard? Will def tell you about it.
Small but will destroy you verbally and emotionally. hates violence, yet spent two years running her fiancé’s fight ring/gang (she made sure there were lots of medics around for the fighters, but they were far less lenient with gambling debts- those people were responsible for their own medical care).
people hate a strong women and also she wasn’t an O’Hara so she went and dragged his ass back from Paris. Wore the ring the entire time he was gone and still loves him even though she knows it hurts her. Not a nice girl, but loyal as all hell to those she loves and cares for.
wanted plots/connections: give us papa Leon!!! selena needs gal pals, ride or dies, old flames from school or college or NYC. basically just come love my babes
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captain of the ship
“Be the captain of the shiiippp…”
“Be the captain of the shiiippp…”
“Be the captain of the ship you sail…”
Tubby stopped playing while Stringer finished, looking at Scotty. “Are you crying?”
Scotty shoved his kerchief back into its pocket, “No! I don’t cry,” he lied. Sniffling, he stood, “This gives me a great idea for a music video!”
“Oh, no!” The two said in unison.
“It won't involve nearly falling to our deaths, will it?” asked Stringer.
“Not if all goes well!”
“What, are you going to hijack a boat?” Tubby chimed in.
Scotty hummed, “No… I was just thinking we go down to the beach.”
“...well,” Tubby concluded after a brief pause, “I'm always down to go to the beach.”
“Yeah, but,” Stringer responded without missing a beat, “We have to go to like, Coney Island. Or the Bronx. And those are very far away.”
Tubby snapped, pointing at Scotty, “Stringer’s right. Also, the ocean has all sorts of things and I’ve seen both Jaws and Titanic. They gave me an anxiety disorder.”
Scotty chuckled, “You think the shore off Long Island has icebergs or sharks? Come on, it’ll be fun.”
It turned out that Tubby couldn’t fit his anxiety medication in his pants, so Tubby was more nervous than usual. His eyes were the size of dinner plates and his arms were crossed, tail trying its hardest to tuck.
Tubby also had another anxiety-inducing thought, one that he dared not tell anyone. This worried Stringer.
They’d all collectively decided that the subway probably wasn’t the best idea, so Scotty- the only one who owned both car and license between the three of them- had taken them there. Which meant Stringer would absolutely be paying him back for gas. Tubby, meanwhile, completely forgot where they’d parked, including the whereabouts of that anxiety-inducing thought.
Scotty had also insisted wearing actual swimwear, since it was a bit strange to see a man in a suit, a man in a sweater, and a man in a sweater and a leather blazer at a beach.
“I feel weird having my arms out,” Stringer said, straightening the white shirt he was wearing and crossing his guitar over his chest as he tended to do. “Showing off all my scars…”
Tubby hummed and grabbed one of his partner’s arms by the wrist, before tapping a scar with his thumb. “You know, Stringer,” he started, looking up at him, “They’re just about the same color as your muzzle. People might think they’re just weird markings.”
Stringer huffed and smiled, “Thanks, babe, but I don’t think there’s any convincing these aren’t, uh…” he let a deep sigh in and out, “...man-made.”
“Hey,” Scotty said, sticking his own arm out to reveal his very own legion of scars. Stringer had more than him, but not by very many. Scotty then retracted his arm, “And hey. I’m missing an entire leg!” he exclaimed, laughing.
The Beagles let out light laughs themselves before Tubby spoke.
“Should you be getting sand in that, Scotty?”
Scotty shrugged, “I’ve got a cover on it I’ll… probably be fine,” he patted his thigh and spoke again after a few moments, “Anyway, you got any scars, Tubby? Add to our legion?”
Tubby smiled and released his boyfriend’s arm, “I put mine on my thighs. More room, you know?” he laughed a bit, then fanned his hands around his torso, “Got quite a few stretch marks, those count?”
Scotty nodded, then chuckled. “We have enough white marks we can make an art piece on black paper!”
Tubby smiled and Stringer let out a light laugh. After retrieving their instruments from the trunk, the three found a secluded spot. The ocean sat in the background along with the blue-gray sky of cold sunlight on a cloudy day. It was still bright enough for the city’s nightlights to not be on yet, but dark enough and blue-toned enough so it looked like it did in Scotty’s head.
There weren't many people out to begin with- what's the point of going to the beach if you can't get that sweet, sweet sunlight?- but The Beagles and agent were out of the way anyway to the few people who were there.
Tubby blew a raspberry as he sat down. “Ugh. I haven’t played a bass on the ground in a long time. You know, they’re called standing basses for a reason.”
Scotty hummed in acknowledgment, brushing his tail over the sand for no other reason than enjoying the sensation.
“Times like these playing electric would come in handy, huh?” asked Stringer smugly, trying his best to show off the very comfortable, natural position he was in.
Tubby shot him a hard glance, earning a laugh. Proud of himself, Tubby smiled.
“How are we gonna do this, though?” Stringer asked, “We don't have any of our electronic stuff.”
“Awh, heck,” Scotty murmured, “I'm sorry! I forgot how much of your stuff was computers.”
“We can do it acoustically,” Tubby shrugged.
“You think?” Stringer asked. Tubby shrugged again. “It’ll take some reworking.”
“That's alright,” Tubby encouraged, “Let's warm up first. You know what the beach always makes me think of?”
Tubby plucked a string, “Girls on the bea~ches, commit a sin…”
“Ahhh!!” Stringer exclaimed, playing his own notes, “If they don't show yards and yards of skin!”
“Preceding message for you has been!”
Tubby joined Stringer’s voice, “Courtesy of the Fort Lauderdale Chamber of Commerce!”
They smiled at eachother and Stringer went on normally before the last verse. “Pretty girls eighteen to… forty-three? I'm sorry Scotty I don't remember how old you are,” he added hurriedly.
“Thanks,” Scotty said flatly, though he still had a small smile on his face.
Once they finished Stringer wooed and the two high-fived.
“That was nice,” Scotty complimented.
“Thanks,” answered Stringer.
“I was recording it. Wanna keep it?”
“Sure,” answered Tubby, casting a glance toward his partner. Stringer nodded his approval. Scotty nodded back. Thoroughly readied, the Beagles started to rework the song so that it would work between two instruments.
Occasionally, anyway. Both had their fair share of a sudden verse of another Elvis song, and Scotty had his fair share of laughing fits at them. Once they finished, Scotty gave a cheer and a clap before shutting off his camera and collapsing the tripod. He then stood.
“That was neat,” he smiled.
Stringer beamed and Tubby whispered a “Thank you.”
Scotty leaned back, placing a hand on the back of his waist. “I have sand in my tail,” he said, “So I’m going to dump it all in the ocean.”
Stringer stood as well, “I need to, too.”
Tubby joined them, “Aaand I’m a beagle!” Tubby laughed, “I’ll hold your stuff.”
Stringer let out a light laugh himself, “I don’t know. Last time I was behind you, I remember your tail being pretty plumey.”
Tubby smiled smugly, “And then you became a switch.”
Stringer lit up red while Scotty burst out laughing. Tubby huffed a laugh and stood on his tiptoes to give the very flustered Stringer a kiss. He then took his partner’s guitar and tapped him lightly with his forearm before taking Scotty’s camera.
Heading toward the ocean, Scotty spoke.
“What’s your song about, anyhow?” he asked.
“Feelings and things,” Stringer responded, wagging his tail in the water. “Remember when we all got stuck in Tubby and I’s apartment?”
“I don’t… quite remember all I told you then. But I had a pretty hard time as a kid, and then I moved up here and… met Tubby and stuff, you know?”
“Mhmm…” Scotty hummed quietly, “I see. Be the captain of the ship you sail,” he then smiled, “I reckon showing your scars just adds to the message, huh?”
Stringer smiled and self-consciously rubbed his biceps. “I guess so, huh? Um. Tubby’s probably worried about us. I’ll pay you back once we get home.”
“You know you don’t have to do that, lad.”
“I know,” Stringer smiled, “Tubby always tells me the same thing.”
Scotty smiled himself. “You know, for having a bad upbringing, you sure are nice.”
Stringer beamed, “I sure try.”
By the time everything was done and The Beagles had put their instruments back into the trunk of Scotty’s car, the clouds had cleared and the sun was setting. A few city lights freckled the opposite skyline.
“Hey, wait a sec,” Tubby said, “I’ve got a surprise for you, Stringer.”
“I can’t believe you smuggled something into my car,” Scotty said flatly, but he was still smiling.
“Oh, ha-ha,” Tubby responded, closing the back car door and keeping his hands behind his back. “So, Stringer, you know I love you alot, right?”
Stringer nodded. Scotty’s eyes lit up in realization and he smiled smugly. Stringer was standing in front of him and didn’t see nor notice.
“We’ve been dating for… what, nearly eleven years at this point? We’re nearly thirty, we’re in a band together, we’ve lived together for the past nine years…” Tubby went on.
“Mhmm..?” Stringer hummed, confused.
Tubby sighed. “Well, I was just wondering,” he murmured, shifting his feet before kneeling and revealing what was behind his back.
Stringer immediately jumped and cupped his hands over his mouth. “Tubby…?” he squeaked.
“Stringer…” Tubby said softly, “Will you marry me?”
Stringer let out a whimper. Tears edged his eyes and he sounded as if he was sobbing already. “Tub~by… o-oh… oh, of c-course I will…”
Tubby stood and slid the ring on his finger. Their eyes met and, for a very long while that Scotty wasn’t willing to interrupt, they stayed like that. Eventually, Tubby leaned up and gave his new fiance a nice kiss. Scotty clapped.
“Congrats!” he exclaimed. Tubby nodded and Stringer drew his hand across his face, wiping away his tears.
The car ride was filled with Stringer and Tubby whispering various sweet nothings to eachother. Scotty drove them home and didn’t accept the gas money Stringer tried to give him. Now the closer-to-being-real Beagles were preparing to shower and sleep.
“Did you tell your dad?” asked Stringer.
“I will in the morning,” Tubby shrugged, “Do you want me to grab you clothes?”
Stringer smiled, “That’s so nice of you.”
Tubby nodded and stepped closer, grabbing his hands. “Anything for my fiance.”
“Fiance…” Stringer repeated, “That feels… so nice to hear.”
“Feels nice to say.”
Stringer hummed a laugh, tilting Tubby’s face up so he could kiss him easier. Tubby tossed his arms around his partner’s neck to lock him in while Stringer looped his around Tubby’s waist.
When Stringer pulled away, he whispered. “I love you so much, Tubby…”
Tubby hummed and changed his arms to wrap around Stringer’s torso. He pressed closer to him in a hug.
“I love you too, Stringer.”
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April Weather (8)
@adrinetteapril 2018, Day 8: Pool Party
Days: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | art | 6 | 7 | 8 | art 1 | art 2 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | art | 19 | art | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | art | 29 | 30 |
AO3 / fanfiction
art for this chapter and now more art from @caritop-gigi
‘A pool party,’ Marinette deadpanned. ‘In April. Is Chloé out of her mind?’
‘It’s an indoor pool, M,’ Alya giggled. ‘Chloé may be crazy, but she wouldn’t have her butt frozen in this temperatures.’
Marinette shrugged and scrolled through her phone once more. ‘It doesn’t really matter,’ she chewed the inside of her cheek. ‘She hasn’t invited me anyway.’
Alya frowned. ‘Why would she, girl?’ she asked, confused.
‘Hah!’ Marinette threw her hands in the air. ‘Why would anyone want to invite me anywhere,’ she sighed dramatically and sunk to the bench next to her fake boyfriend. She felt his hands snake around her waist and pull her closer. It was still a mystery how exactly cuddles entered their fake relationship. Adrien had crossed that border of her personal space a few days ago and she couldn’t find it in her to complain or refuse him. Even if her brain still short circuited every time she found herself wrapped in his embrace. It was almost too comfortable.
He put his chin on her shoulder and looked at her from under his golden lashes totally oblivious to what effect he had on her. ‘Um, what Alya meant,’ her perfect storm of a boy murmured with a sly smirk, ‘is that Chloé didn’t need to invite you.’
Marinette’s heart sped up. Traitor. A little more than two weeks of fake dating and it still did that in his presence. Ignoring the flutter in her chest she set him with a stern look. ‘Et tu, Agreste?’ she pouted.
Adrien rubbed his cheek into her shoulder. ‘Chloé hasn’t invited you because you’re my plus one,’ he burst into laughter.
‘I’m- what?’ she spluttered, swearing to murder Alya for cackling at her in such a moment.
‘Everyone can bring a date. As my girlfriend you’re my default date,’ he explained with that disarming smile. ‘Unless,’ his brow furrowed in concern, ‘unless you don’t want to go?’
‘Nooooooo! I’d love to!’ Who was she to refuse the opportunity to gawk at her fake boyfriend in swimwear, maybe even shirtless if she was lucky.
Alya shot her an amused look as if she knew exactly what Marinette was thinking. ‘Great!’ she said. ‘Now we gotta think what are we going to wear.’
‘Oh,’ the cogs in Marinette’s brain were already turning at full speed, ‘when’s the party?’
‘Friday,’ Adrien supplied helpfully. ‘Don’t worry, whatever you’ll wear, I’m sure you will look cute.’
‘Pffft, cute is for amateurs,’ she chided and blushed fiercely when her ears caught up with her mouth. ‘Charmer,’ she giggled and bopped him on the nose. ‘Now move, I need to get to my sketchbook.’
‘No can do,’ he pressed his cheek into her upper arm. ‘I can negotiate releasing your right hand to allow you to draw, but I refuse to let go of my Mari-pillow.’
Marinette flushed at that, all the sass she still had evaporating in an instant. Nino and Alya exchanged confused looks. So it wasn’t just her who thought Adrien was acting strange lately. Sure, they were in public and therefore “dating”, but wasn’t this a bit far fetched for a staged relationship?
Suddenly extremely self-conscious she peeled his hands away from her and cautiously slid out of his range.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, ‘but I need to go to the bathroom.’
She was relieved to see Adrien seemed totally unperturbed with her maneuver. He beamed at her. ‘Sure! Can I-’
‘Easy Agreste, you might wanna tone the boyfriending down a notch,’ Alya interjected. ‘Wait, M. I need to go too,’ she caught Marinette’s hand and dragged her in the direction of the locker room, leaving a confused Adrien and snickering Nino behind.
‘What’s up with you two,’ the blogger asked, as soon as they were out of the boys’ sight. ‘He’s practically all over you and you don’t mind?’
‘I… well… it’s niiiiice,’ Marinette whined and hid her face in her hands. ‘Alya, do you think… that maybe Adrien…’
Would she dare voice that thought? What if she jinx it?
‘That Adrien might like you more than just a fake girlfriend?’ her friend supplied without missing a beat. ‘Yeah, we’ve noticed that too.’
‘So it’s not me imagining things,’ Marinette sighed in relief. The ball of anxiety in her stomach seemed to loosen a bit.
‘Has he said anything?’ Alya wondered. ‘Something happened?’
‘Not really, I mean we are getting to know each other better because of all the time we spend together.’
‘But he is willingly making the time for you in his schedule,’ Alya speculated. ‘It’s not like you have to spend as much time together because of that fake dating thing.’
‘I guess,’ Marinette ducked her head. She had to admit all this looked really promising. Maybe she was lucky after all.
‘Well then, you need to strike while the iron is still hot,’ Alya smirked at her. ‘And the pool party is the perfect opportunity to look hot! Any ideas?’
‘There’s not much time,’ Marinette bit the inside of her cheek. ‘I might need to shortcut if I want to make a good impression.’
‘Good impression?’ Alya’s brow shot above her glasses. ‘Girl, I expect nothing below stunning. And I’m dead serious.’ She browsed through her phone. ‘Scheduling progress inspection Thursday afternoon. How does that work for you?’
‘Fine,’ Marinette replied. She looked at the pendant on her friend’s phone and the first design unravelled in front of her eyes.
With as little time as she had she had to cheat a bit, and she still worked every evening to finish it on time. That’s why she didn’t sew a completely new swimsuit, but used garments she already had in her closet. Her red boyshorts got dyed overnight into a familiar pattern. She matched them with a black tank top, that she cut and hemmed just below her breasts. She decided to add green embroidery over the chest opting for two paw prints - not directly at the front, but close enough for a suggestion of something naughty.
When she tried the set on, she knew she chose well. Those little adjustments to the cut made her waist, hips and long legs pop. The tank top smartly drew attention to her chest, despite it being all nicely hidden under the black garment, without really showing anything. Marinette completed the look by tying her pigtails up into high buns, to keep them away from water.
On Thursday Alya rated the final effect as 100% drool inducing, confirming Marinette’s assessment. They decided not to show it to her parents before the party, just in case.
When on Friday afternoon they met up at the pool and she finally put it on, she felt empowered, despite the fact that she was actually wearing no more than a few scraps of material. It was like donning the red suit, confidence and satisfaction at the job well done made her almost float with pride.
And when she spotted her fake boyfriend loitering outside the changing rooms, his hips snugly wrapped in blue flowery bermuda trunks, she didn’t lose her head. She sauntered to him with the most smug smile she could muster, squealing inwardly at his stunned expression.
His eyes roamed over her figure and she could swear he blushed when they landed on her top.
‘What is it, babe?’ she purred. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
A choking gurgle was the only reply she got.
Yup, totally worth it.
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Something Near Perfect - Part Eight (Shalaska) - Lost Imp
A/N Hi again! This part features a happy(ish) Lasky, for now at least. Also, I think it goes without saying that I love Gia and Alyssa, and anything nasty I write about them in this part of in the next few parts is merely fiction. As always, any feedback/prompts are welcome! Thanks for reading. - Lost Imp
The following morning, Alaska was looking a bit better and had successfully eaten dinner the night before. She had also slept most of the night. The same could not be said for Sharon, who had stayed in bed with Alaska until she was sure her girlfriend was asleep and then went back out into the living room to spend hours researching different tips and guidelines on helping someone who relapses with an eating disorder. She had fallen asleep on the couch somewhere around three in the morning and was still asleep when Alaska moped out to the living room wrapped in a blanket. Her head was still full of scary thoughts and she felt almost as vulnerable as she had in Courtney’s house two days ago.
Alaska tried to make her way to the kitchen as quietly as possible to make herself a cup of coffee, but unfortunately, she didn’t account for the large train of blanket dragging behind her that caught on small wooden stool they used for holding candles. The candles all went crashing to the ground as the stool rolled onto its side.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Alaska cursed loudly.
Sharon jumped up from the couch, worried Alaska had hurt herself. Upon realizing that the only thing that was injured was a candle, she chuckled and put the stool back upright.
Alaska didn’t find the situation quite as amusing, fed up with herself that she couldn’t even walk to the kitchen without making a mistake.
“I’m sorry Sharon” Alaska said sadly, “I can’t do anything right” she muttered under her breath hoping her girlfriend wouldn’t hear. She did.
“Alaska, please don’t. It’s ok, I’d rather be up to have breakfast with you anyway” Sharon said, opening her arms invitingly.
Alaska gratefully accepted the hug, standing for a moment just enjoying the still calmness that came with being wrapped in her girlfriend’s arms.
Sharon went to the kitchen to make food, assuring Alaska that she was fine to handle breakfast alone and that she should go have a shower while she was making the fruit salad with eggs and toast. Healthy enough that Alaska would eat it, but enough to include carbs, protein and nutrients.
After Alaska had showered and put on some comfy leggings and one of Sharon’s old ripped hoodies, she was able to eat breakfast somewhat more comfortably than she had the previous day in hospital. After a half hour of slow progress though, she had only eaten half of her meal.
“Babe, how’s your head?” Sharon asked, noting the low food intake.
“Ok…..No, it’s bad. But I’m eating. It’s just slow” Alaska answered determinedly.
“Take your time, doll” Sharon smiled, squeezing her girlfriends hand. She then continued to talk about a new piece of art she wanted to work on. Sure enough, within the hour, Alaska had eaten most of her food, but ended up taking mild painkillers for her head. They were both still quite tired. “Hey Shar?” Alaska asked, carrying plates over to the sink.
“Can we watch some Golden Girls?”
“Whatever you want Lasky”. Sharon was glad her girlfriend wanted to relax and leave her schoolwork for a bit. During breakfast she had mentioned an essay due for Wednesday that she needed to work on. Thankfully she seemed to have forgotten that notion, for now at least.
Alaska made a cup of coffee for Sharon and a mint tea for herself, setting them down on the table in the living room, while her girlfriend put on one of the many Golden Girls box-sets Alaska owned and piled blankets onto the couch. Curling up in their usual position, Sharon’s hand immediately moved to stroke her girlfriend’s hair. It was another one of those nearly perfect moments that made Alaska want to keep fighting and Sharon want to keep living.
Many hours later, Sharon woke up to a much quieter room then she had earlier that morning. It took her about thirty seconds to realise why the room was so quiet. No Alaska.
“Lasky?” she called, hundreds of anxiety-inducing scenarios running through her head. She checked the bedroom and the bathroom, returning quickly to the kitchen.
A loud knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. She opened the door, hoping to see Alaska standing there after a short walk. Instead she was met with two other blonde girls.
“Oh. Hi” Sharon said, looking behind them hoping to see a third, taller girl, but she had no such luck.
“Hi Needles, is Alaska asleep?” Willam asked, stepping inside.
“We need to talk to you” Courtney added seriously.
“I was hoping she was with you. I just woke up and she’s not here.” Sharon said, becoming increasingly more worried.
“What?” Courtney said, scared.
“Calm down.” Willam said dryly. “Look, here” she said, handing Sharon a note that was sitting on the kitchen table.
Gone for a short walk to clear my head.
Be back soon.
“Thanks” Sharon said to Willam, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
“So, can we talk?” Courtney asked, still clearly worried about whatever it was she had to say.
“Yeah, sure, but I should probably go find Alaska first. Do you want to wait here? There’s coffee and stuff…” Sharon said.
“No, we can’t tell Alaska” Courtney rushed to interrupt.
“Also, maybe you should let her clear her head. She probably needs to. And I think she’s too in love with you to do any serious damage to herself” Willam said reassuringly. Despite her usually biting sense of humour and I don’t give a fuck attitude, Willam was intelligent and helpful when she needed to be.
“Yeah. Ok. Thanks. Do you want some coffee?” Sharon asked again.
“We need to talk to you, Sharon, it’s important”, Courtney repeated, becoming impatient.
Willam grabbed her hand and squeezed it, effectively calming her down.
“Sorry Courtney, I’m listening. We can sit down.” Sharon said, sitting down at the kitchen table. Both of the other girls sat down opposite her.
“It’s about Alyssa” Courtney began.
“Fuck. I still haven’t decided what to do about her. I think burning her alive would be too painless.”
Willam laughed, but Courtney just glared at the two of them, trying to understand why Sharon couldn’t understand how important this was.
“She’s going to hurt Alaska.” Courtney almost yelled.
“She’s what?” Sharon said, alarmed, finally focusing all her attention on what Courtney had to say.
“Well, when we were at the game yesterday, we were getting ready to go out on the field, and Alyssa came to me and Bill, asking where Alaska was. We told her that she was really sick, obviously not giving details.” Courtney assured.
“Devil bitch was not happy, and neither were her mini devil crony bitches. They were saying that they were going to kick her off the team. We tried to argue with them, but we were called to go out on the pitch.” Willam continued.
“When we came back to the changing rooms after the game, we were last to get into the showers, so we were two of the last to leave. We overheard Alyssa and Gia talking about hurting someone. A tall bitch that had it coming. It sounded bad Sharon. They said… they said…”
“They said what, Courtney?”
“They said that if the anorexic bitch hadn’t killed herself by Monday, that they knew exactly how to help her along the way.” Willam said, point blank, never one to sugar coat an issue.
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck!” Sharon yelled, “I swear to God, I will kill them. The low-life manipulative bitchy fucking cunts” Sharon swore, feeling more anger than she had ever felt towards anyone in her life.
It was exactly this moment that the three girls heard the key turn in the door. Alaska slipped in quietly, only to be met with the sight of her girlfriend and best friends sitting at her kitchen table. Sharon looked angry, and Alaska immediately felt bad, figuring she had worried her girlfriend by disappearing. She ran over to her quickly.
“I’m so sorry, Shar, I didn’t mean to make you angry, I just thought it would be nice to go for a walk. I didn’t think I was gone that long, I had to come back because it was so cold. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey babe, baby, calm down. I’m not angry. You’re fine” Sharon said pulling her shivering girlfriend into her lap, kissing her temple. She had softened her facial expression, adamant she wouldn’t let Alaska know why she had looked so angry.
“Are you sure?” she asked, curling her limbs in around her and cuddling into her girlfriend.
“Absolutely” Sharon said, kissing her temple again.
This seemed to keep Alaska happy enough.
“So, what are you two doing here?” she asked, smiling at Willam and Courtney.
“We wanted to stop in and say hi!” Courtney replied, happy to see her best friend so content being back at home. “Oh, and I found some new fruity tea when I was shopping this morning and I got it for you to try!” she added cheerfully, pulling a box from her large purse.
“Thanks Court!” Alaska said, “I’ll make some. I’m still frozen. It’s really cold out there”
Courtney’s smile fell a bit at this statement. It reminded her that Alaska was still very much unhealthy and unwell. It was actually a particularly warm day. Fortunately, Alaska still hadn’t noticed Courtney’s sad eyes, Willam’s angry eyes, and Sharon’s eyes filled with a mixture of concern, fear and anger.
“Does anyone else want tea or coffee?” Alaska said, masking the fact that she knew she would have to eat something with her tea. Sharon knew this too, but wasn’t saying anything yet.
“I’ll have more coffee please, doll” Sharon said, knowing it would be easier for her girlfriend to eat if she had company doing so.
“Me too, Lask” Willam said.
“I’ll help you with the tea, Lasky” Courtney offered, walking over and filling the kettle with water.
Alaska and Sharon’s house had always been one of Courtney’s favourite places. It was by no means big, but it had enough space to be comfortable, it was cosy, and it had so many little touches of personality. The kettle with the ghosts on it, the bright blankets everywhere, no doubt added by Alaska and pictures of the two girls scattered around every room.
Courtney and Alaska fell easily into conversation about the type of cat Alaska wanted to get for Sharon for Christmas from the local rescue center. However, at the kitchen table Willam and Sharon talked quietly about how they could go about dealing with Alyssa and protecting Alaska.
“Alaska, can we go sit in the living room. It’s so cosy.” Courtney whined.
“You want me to lift my weary bones?” Willam groaned.
“I’ll be back in a minute, I’m just going outside.” Sharon said, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from her jacket and walking out the door. Willam followed her.
Alaska quietly took note. She knew her girlfriend was stressed. Stress and anxiety was why she picked up her bad habit of smoking in the first place. She reminded herself to check in with Sharon later.
Alaska stood staring at the packet of cookies in one of the presses for a minute, mentally forcing herself to put them on a plate and bring them over to the living room. She knew that doing this meant she would have to eat one, that she would have to make herself eat one.
Outside Sharon produced two cigarettes, one for herself and one for Willam, who promptly lit both.
Sharon took a long drag, relaxing herself with the comfort of the smoky exhale.
“So, what’s the plan, Needles?” Willam asked, taking a drag from her own cigarette. She was partial to weed, but never turned down the offer of a good smoke.
“I want to hurt her, Willam, badly. And I know people who would help me. But if Alaska ever found out, that I hurt people for her, even Alyssa and Gia, I don’t know what she would do. You know what she’s like. Too kind for her own good.”
“You know I want nothing more than for that bitch to die. Even if it were quick and fairly painless. But I’m far too pretty for prison.” Willam replied, tying to lighten the mood.
Back inside, Courtney and Alaska were wrapped up beside each other sipping tea, chatting intermittently while watching an episode of Golden Girls that Courtney had no doubt her friend had seen ten or more times. It didn’t bother Alaska at all, partially because she could never watch too much Golden Girls and partially because her mind was more focused on the plate of cookies in front of her.
Sharon and Willam came back in, grabbing their coffee from the kitchen, Willam sitting down in a small armchair by the tv, and Sharon sliding in on the other side of Alaska on the couch.
Sharon noticed her girlfriend’s eyes glued to the plate of cookies in front of her. She picked one up herself and began eating it, offering the plate first to Courtney and Willam, then finally to Alaska. She leaned in closely to her girlfriend and whispered, “We’ll eat it together. No big deal. Right?”
Alaska calmly nodded, picking up a cookie and nibbling along the sides.
Sharon simply squeezed her girlfriend’s hand and focused her gaze on Dorothy and Rose.
Courtney and Willam’s quick morning visit turned into a three-hour event of coffee and talking and Golden Girls. Even if it were just for a short while, Alaska was happy. Truly content with being at home, with her girlfriend and her best friends watching her favourite tv show. She felt loved, and safe, and she didn’t feel embarrassed by it for the first time over the last few days. As Courtney pressed play on their tenth episode of the Golden Girls, Alaska’s mind began to wander to the following day. Monday. School.
“More tea, Lasky?” Courtney suddenly asked from her girlfriend’s lap, where she had moved a few episodes ago.
“I’m ok. We should get lunch or something though. It’s after two” Alaska responded.
Sharon turned her head to stare, slightly shocked, at her girlfriend.
Noticing Sharon’s reaction, Courtney stepped in quickly.
“We can go. You know, for lunch? Willam and I can go back to mine.” She said, worried having more people in her home while eating a meal would upset Alaska. “It’s just that we’ve been here for a while.” She added quickly.
Sharon smiled gratefully at Courtney, but Alaska was adamant that she would fall back into normal eating habits. She knew everyone was skirting around the issue of eating with her.
“I think we should order a pizza or something. You know, from that nice vegetarian place that’s a few blocks over?” Alaska asked, ignoring Courtney’s offer to leave.
“Are you sure?” Sharon asked quietly.
“I’ll be fine. I promise.” Alaska said, pecking her girlfriend on her lips.
“Sounds good to me” Willam said.
“Me too” Courtney answered happily.
“I’ll go call” Sharon said, going to grab her phone from the kitchen.
Alaska smiled at Courtney before returning her gaze to the tv, hoping that if she pretended for long enough that she was happy to eat and in control of her feelings toward food, that those pretenses might just manifest themselves into reality.
When the pizza’s arrived, Alaska had to fight her head. It took a lot of effort and talking to herself, and she only managed a slice and a half of her vegetable pizza. She felt tired, and fed up, and embarrassed, her previously sunny mood evidently gone, so she merely curled herself into a ball and lay her head in Sharon’s lap. Sharon didn’t mind one bit, understanding how hard eating must be for her girlfriend right now, especially when they weren’t alone. As usual, Sharon’s hand automatically resumed stroking her girlfriend’s hair as she fell asleep.
About a half hour later, Willam and Courtney decided they would go home, on one hand to give Alaska some space when she woke up, and on the other to make-out, seeing as they hadn’t been on top of each other for almost five hours. Before leaving, Courtney kissed Alaska’s cheek softly, and Willam promised Sharon that they would follow through with their plan Monday evening. Sharon solemnly nodded in response.
Once the other two were gone, Sharon switched off the tv and allowed herself to fall asleep for the third time that day, wrapped up on the couch with her girlfriend.
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amy has night terrors and jake helps her through it
my first fic drabble ever published!!!! tw for panic attacks i guess, gotta love that anxiété…
Jake’shere. Amy’s heart is pounding, there’s an acute tightness in her chest, and fora good ten seconds or so she has no idea where she is, but she knows he’s here.Further proof that she’s the best detective in the NYPD.
It’smainly because she can hear the direct evidence, his voice, soothing but barelymasquerading his own worry, saying “I’m here” in amongst a panicked string of“Ames, babe, Ames – Amy,” butstill, she’s claiming that title. Amy Santiago has trained herself to be thebest and she can do anything and everything she wants to, even if sometimes sheforgets the basics, such as how to breathe. She feels the gentle grip of Jake’shands on her upper arms and rationality is telling her that that makes sensebecause he lives here and this is their bed and he’s her boyfriend. It’s enoughcircumstantial evidence to convince herself that she’s not having a heartattack, she’s not mortally wounded, Jake’snot mortally wounded.
Oh,god. Her mind clouds with a crime scene of crimson blood, and Jake screaming,and there’s a gun in her hand, and her chest is heaving again. Amy can’t focusher thoughts on anything else which means even logic is abandoning her - thisis a code red situation, a solid 9 on the Santiago Panic Scale, and -
“Hey,hey, shhh, babe,” Jake’s voice once again rudely interrupts her spiralling,but the way he’s gently rubbing her thigh is almost starting to convince herthat it really was just a nightmare. “It was just a nightmare,” he confirms andmanoeuvres to cradle her to his chest, which is okay because she kind of, sortof wants to be cradled right now. As much as Amy is a strong, independent woman,she can also admit that Jake possesses special boyfriend superpowers, theability of the steady cadence of his heart to coax her back to reality and his greyt-shirt to absorb her tears before she even realises that she’s crying. His powersalso extend to being a human space heater, and the proximity of his warm body againsthers reminds her of how cold she really is, clad only in a tank top that isunhelpfully failing to thwart the anxiety-induced chills running down herspine. All compelling evidence that she’s not actually suffocating in the Floridaheat anymore with a gun in her hand.
Shefocuses her everything on Jake and the art of deep breathing, his whisperedcoaching a needed reassurance that he’s really, truly here. He’s attempting to calm her with aone-handed massage of her back because his other is laced between hers and, forthe most part, it’s succeeding.
“Breathe,Ames. I’m not going anywhere,” Jake says, because there he is with the superpowersagain, inferring from how tightly she’s clutching at his t-shirt that herstupid nightmare was about him, one that she’s not ready to tell him about.
Carefully,eventually, Amy’s eyes flutter open and, through her haze of tears, she brieflyglances at the clock which reads 4:12am, a mere 2 hours and 48 minutes beforeher first alarm will blare and Jake will groan dramatically into his pillow.She’ll brew two mugs of Cuban coffee and chastise him to get into the shower before hemakes them both late and things will be normal.
“You-you can go back to sleep,” she trembles into his chest, inhaling the sweet, remedyingscent of his shower gel mixed with their detergent and his inherent Jake-ness.
“Shhh,”Jake soothes, reverently stroking her upper arm– if you had told her eight yearsago that she’d ever let Jacob Peraltashush her she would have personally filed a lawsuit against you for slander,but here and now, with his bedside lamp illuminating his face that she’ll latertell him to shave, Amy comfortably returns to the stillness of them layingtogether.
Theirbreathing synchronises, time slows, and Amy’s still curled into Jake andpractically on top of him when he finally breaks the relative quiet that hasenveloped the bedroom.
“10-4,detective?” he asks softly, kissing the top of her head.
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🙊 least favorite popular stim?
Hmm, I’m not totally sure! I like most stims, I think… I guess drawing/art stims? I like them in theory and all, but they’re just not very stimmy to me, more just interesting. Plus not knowing how it ends can sometimes be anxiety-inducing
🌦 best weather sensory-wise?
RAIN. As long as it’s not super cold or super hot out, rain is AWESOME - from light sprinkly drizzles to heavier storms with LOTS OF WIND!!! WIND is my BABE
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Hey, hope your okay💚 I was just wondering if you would mind giving me some advice? Im taking Art and Textiles in school and the amount of work that I have to do at home is really overwhelming and Im finding kinda hard to deal with. I keep getting really stressed out because of all the deadlines and stuff. So anyway I was just wondering if you have any advice on how to deal with stress and relax because Im constantly stressing, because I have to do work for my other subjects too💚
Hey babe! First of all, you have to make sure you're not pushing yourself too hard. Yes, grades are important, but not more than your health. I'd recommend trying to do like, 10-15 minutes of work per subject every day? Maybe? It's gonna get you further in your homework while keeping the stress at a minimum (because let's be honest: the thought of having to work on something for 2 hours straight is very anxiety inducing)And for the relaxation part; maybe a bath? Drawing? Writing your feelings down onto a page and ripping it afterwards? The last option has been taught to me while I was in the psych hospital, because it gives you the chance to let it all out and then move on (by ripping the paper, you free yourself of the feelings written on it) I hope it helps!! 💛
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Honestly how is this okay at all
And honestly this is fucking me up. I have no idea how I coped with this. I don't think anyone realizes how traumatic this was
When I blocked her for the first time ever, and she left a voicemail I misunderstood as her coming to see me. Idk she knew I was upset. Thought she'd come see me..she's blocked me many times and I've had to go to her so... Yeah
Well I waited... And waited... Five days go by... And then I see her follow someone on Instagram. It was the guy she cut out for me during our relationship... I'm still in serious shock over that. I immediately called her. I said what did you do. I didn't know she was out but I asked her where she was. And I didn't expect this which further traumatized me... She said she was out with a friend... Who?... HIM. OMG. Here I am, waiting for my babe and she's gone behind my back and stabbed the fuck out of it... By contacting the same guy that caused a problem in our relationship. Like, she cut him out and then months later he texted her and she asked me how I felt about it, I said I still felt the same, not good. And so she flipped shit on me and blasted me on social media calling me possessive, controlling, called me out and shamed my name. Her friends talked shit about me. I went completely into an anxiety shock mode. I drove to her house and I said wtf you don't do that to someone you love! And I said I'm not controlling, I said that what she did was make me uncomfortable giving him so much attention, and actually the main thing being that she said he offers her something different from me. Omfg that's so hurtful. And my body went completely crazy to the point that my lower body was in excruciating pain, I've never felt such horrid physical pain from something induced emotionally. It destroyed me. I felt immense betrayal. Immense pain. Omg I remember it. And she had such a hard time cutting off just a dude that was no one. A classmate. In fact it was the class me and her were supposed to be in. Literally took my spot actually. We were going to take that art class together, but unluckily I couldn't get in cause spots were full. But she made friends with him
Anyway... Yeah wow... Now she hangs out with him and texts him a lot I'm sure and she fucking flirts with him on Instagram.
All of this is such a betrayal to me
How would she like it if I contacted a girl she made me cut off, got close to her, flirted with her, and hung out with her a lot.
No one realizes how much this fuckin kills.
And then there's another guyfriend whom she didn't tell me tried to fuck her. Even though I asked what they talk about since their chat log is so full of texts. She literally didn't tell me. And she fucking went and actually asked to hang out with him alone at his apartment. Yeah. And this dude was a guy that flirted with her all during our relationship and I told her was uncomfortable and she fucking never defended me. There was just no respect.
She just attaches herself to everybody and it's so adhered. How does she expect to give proper attention to her man then? How does she think he'll feel about all this. Just so loose and out with so many dudes, questionable dudes, dudes you cut out and somehow still had their number for years when I thought she cut him off.
Like, it's all so sketch, it's all so hurtful, it's just so so weird.
I can't get over the contacting the guy she cut out and actually hanging out with him alone intimately as fuck. How does she not see how extremely hurtful that actually is. I've told nearly everyone and they flipped the fuck out. Seriously, what the fuck? How is that not a malicious attack or out of spite... If not concious then it's definitely subconscious. I asked her too, I was like seriously? And she said it wasn't an attack. But I don't believe that. I try to, but are you kidding me. I'm fucked up over it still. I keep trying to not think about it.
That's the worst
I even thought about contacting the girl she made me cut out for her, hell she made me delete that girl's number in front of her... Even though she had the guy who she cut our for me's number stored away for years. Yeah so I thought about hitting her up and getting close to her. But the mere thought of it makes me feel such disgusting pain and guilt that I could NEVER do something so hurtful to anyone. I have no fucking clue how she did this. There's just no way.
I'm resilient... But this one hurt tremendously, no one knows.
I don't really know what's going on in her head.
There's a lot. That's a lot.