#being sober apparently is not good for my mental health but hey | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

psychewithwings · 3 years

Text

Bitter Taste: Iwaizumi x f/reader Pt. 1

pt. 2 here

THIS IS SO LATE and I’m a fuck up hahahaha (kinda ironic this was 2 weeks late for Mental Health Awareness month)

I am crediting my girl @kuso-deku for giving me Iwaizumi brain rot to begin with. I am also crediting @gixxie and @idonotagreebitch for helping me talk through my ideas... and crediting @doinmybesthere for the wonderful idea of a mental health awareness collaboration the link is here. PLS READ THE REST OF THE WORKS. Everyone deserves the love.

TW: manipulative male/female relationships, gaslighting?, subtle shit head crap that most men do (don’t worry Iwa is a peach as always tho, it’s Ushijima that’s the problem)

Iwaizumi stands and stretches in the cinema. The movie had been good, but long, he figured it was a little after midnight. “What’d ya think?” Kuroo asks as they exit the theatre. “I hated the ending…” Oikawa gripes, “I hate endings where everyone just dies.” “You are such a princess Tooru, I swear, it’s a metaphorical ending… did you not catch all the symbolism in the opening credits?” Iwaizumi sighs and turns his phone back on, trying his best to ignore their bickering. Slowly, notification after notification pops up… all from you. He blinks, surprised. You had declined his offer to join him for the film, stating you had previous plans attending a close friend’s birthday.

Iwa opens the messages from you. He sees first the selfies. You look beautiful, extravagant even. Your dress is beautiful, it compliments your figure perfectly with the corseted bodice. It’s white and so is your lace mask. Broad, feathered angel wings rest on your back. Angelic would have been a word he’d used to describe you before, but now, it was confirmed. He wants to keep staring at the photos but Kuroo and Oikawa are starting to become too curious about the contents of his phone. He scrolls and relaxes his face to look more casual. But it’s hard when your intoxicated messages are so darn cute.

hope the movie is good!

okay so I guess there’s an open bar? Is it my birthday too?

if you wanna come by after the movie I’msure you coul

this partyyyy suckssssssss assssssssss

wish id gon wiht u xx

You are clearly drunk and he laughs to himself before Kuroo peers over his right shoulder. “Well she’s thinking about you at least,” he smirks. Oikawa peers over Iwaizumi’s left shoulder, “ooo play the voice message.” Oikawa taps the message before Iwaizumi can give him an answer.

“Hiiiii Iwaaaaaa, hope you like the moovie and you’re having a good time, cuz I’m having a preetyy good time, they gots free margaritaaass. Okay byeeeee”

The guys laugh and Oikawa presses the next one.

“Hey Iwaaa, I made up a song about you, ready?

Iwaizumi

Doesn’t know what he does- to me…

Sshfhsijknfhahaha I cant remember the rest som’n bout… som’n I dunno. Byeee”

“Okay, Ushi says that I need to say sorry for sending so many…” you pause and then whisper, “drunk messages, but I’as only tellin’ ya I ssink ‘r awesome ‘n you should totally come to this party and hang out with me… you’re awesome, okay byeee”

Oikawa and Kuroo pause and look at Iwaizumi. “Ushi?” Oikawa asks, “like Ushiwaka?” Oikawa’s eyes are narrowed and he gags dramatically in disgust. Iwaizumi nods and walks to exit the theatre. “Wait… that’s her friend who’s having the birthday party?” Iwa grimaces as Kuroo chuckles. “No wonder you’ve had a stick up your ass all night.” Iwa glares at him, “they’re just friends… apparently… I don’t know, she said they’ve known each other for a really long time…” Kuroo claps Iwaizumi on the back. “I think you should definitely go to the party.” Iwaizumi starts to object but the ring of his phone draws attention, and he answers it. “Heyyy you're outta th’moviee, heheeheheha,” you slur. Iwaizumi laughs softly and smiles, “yeah, I’m out of the movie now, are you… good?” There is so much background noise, it almost drowns out your sweet sleepy voice. “I’m soooo good… … I just-” he can hear your voice drop to a drunken whisper. “I’z just hoping to see you today,” you mumble finally.

Iwaizumi can feel his heartbeat quicken, his head reeling. “Oh really?” He plays cool but then instantly regrets it when you give him a serious answer. “Yeah, I was really hoping you’d come to the party, even for just a little,” you murmur. Iwaizumi can’t help but chuckle. You were pretty cute like this, not normally so transparent. You were actually quite hard to read, so sweet but guarded and teasing too. You were a friend of Oikawa’s first and he had met you through him. He’d liked the way you sat cross legged on the couch smiling, chin in your hands while you asked questions and listened to his answers. Your eyes sparkle when you hear something you like, and your face lights up when you talk about things you find interesting.

“Ya don’t have to, I can just see ya another time,” you add. He’s been silent too long which causes him to speak without thinking. “No, I’d love to see you, I’ll head to you now.” Kuroo and Oikawa are silently cheering him on and Iwa turns away in embarrassment. “Really? Okay! I’ll drop my pin… as the kids are sayin’ these days hahaha.” “See you soon, drink some water okay?” “Mhm, I will, see ya soon!”

You were at a club owned by Ushijima’s family. A place called ‘Eagle’s Nest’. He’d only known you for a few weeks but he couldn’t help his infatuation. It was immediate, the night he had gone to Oikawas for game night. You spoke to him so easily not knowing him at all and laughed at his little side jabs to his long time friend. The way you looked at him… Iwa knew then that he wanted to see you smile, hear your laugh, and that he would be happy to assume the responsibility of making that happen.

He was surprised when you had declined his offer for the movie, feeling that you both had some definite chemistry, but Iwaizumi was even more surprised when you had said that you had prior plans with his old time rival Ushijima Wakatoshi. Iwaizumi hadn’t seen him since high school but they knew a few people in common, Oikawa being one of those people. Oikawa could sure hold a grudge but Iwaizumi took all of his comments with a grain of salt. Ushijima often came off entitled and cold, which would leave Iwaizumi with a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe Oikawa had the right idea holding a grudge… But grudge or not he wanted to see you, hear your voice and admire you all dolled up.

When Iwaizumi arrives at the club he is met with a large security guard. “Invitation?” he grumbles. Iwa remains calm but a small trickle of fear runs down his back. Iwaizumi gives the guard a casual smile before he starts to answer but he is interrupted. “Iwaaaaa,” you cry from the top of the stairs. The mask you’d had on is now resting on top of your head, the delicate features of your face now exposed. The floofy skirt of your dress bounces with your excitement as you run down the stairs. You crash into him, throwing your arms around his neck. You bury your face in his collar and still momentarily. Drunk and bubbly, you melt when Iwa wraps his arms around your waist in return, avoiding your costume’s wings. “Mmmm,” you hum, breath hot against his skin, “you smell good.” You pull back and stare into his wide eyes. “You look incredible,” he offers, a slight pink tint to his cheeks. You grin in return and simply take hold of his hand. “He’s with me,” you beam at the guard. Iwaizumi is doubtful this trick will work here. But he is surprised when the guard steps aside saying, “as you wish Miss L/N.” You giggle and pull Iwa towards the doors. “I’ll bring you some cake later, okay Jurou?” Jurou laughs, “just have fun darlin’.” “You’re the best,” you call behind you as you push open the doors. Iwaizumi can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy knowing that you are on a first name basis with one of the body guards at the Wakatoshi’s club. How close were you with Ushijima?

Blue and purple lights illuminate the vast space while black tiles make up the main floor. The dance floor is sunken, in the middle of the club with a small set of stairs leading down to it. It’s made entirely of glass, beneath is a saltwater garden of different plants and coral.

“You’ll need one of these,” you explain, swiping a simple black mask from the welcome table. You hand it over to him and pull yours down over your eyes. Iwaizumi adjusts it to where he can see. “You look so handsome,” you admire. He grins, “what about you? You’ve got wings!” You laugh and adjust your mask back on top of your forehead. “I’m a swan, and Ushi said I couldn’t be a swan without wings!” You spin for him, trying your best to flap the feathered wings. Small pieces of confetti glitter rain from the skirt of your dress. Iwaizumi takes in your face illuminated by the lights of the club. Blue and pink dancing over your cheeks as you smile up at him. “What?” you giggle nervously. Just a few weeks but he is mesmerised by your everything. He shakes his head and tries to move on. He wanted to tell you how he felt but this wasn’t the right time. It should be when you’re sober, when you can take in his words properly.

You coax him down towards the bar. “You’re sure it’s okay to sneak in uninvited guests?” Iwa questions. “Well, I asked Ushi ‘nd he said it was okay, so yeah!” You grin but notice Iwaizumi’s reserve. “It’s really okay, I promise, let’s just get a drink,” you suggest and take his hand. “Only if you drink more water,” he smirks. You roll your eyes at Iwa, “I drank some water before you got here actually.” You look back at him as you both head down to the bar. “I’ll prolly regret that yurr seeing me like this tamorow, ya know,” you call over the blaring music. “It’s cute, you’re cute,” he assures as he leans against the bar, “I didn’t know you thought about me this much until I saw all the snapchats and voice messages and texts.” You cover your face in humiliation, “I knowww, I’m sorry but you were on my mind a lot, alot alot, and couldn’t stop think about ya, and the booze told me to keep on messaging…” You trail off, finding the last shred of your filter to keep you from talking. ��The bartender hands you your water and you take a long drink.

“Iwaizumi,” a voice projects over the baseline. Ushijima stands tall advancing towards where you both stand. His expression is neutral though, his eyes keep darting to you and then back to Iwaizumi. Ushijima is dressed as a knight, his silver mask hangs languidly around his neck. “Ushiwaka,” Iwa acknowledges, “this is a hell of a birthday party.” You giggle and point at Ushiwaka, “he’s 28 today; getting sooo old.” In that moment, Iwaizumi watches him do something he had never seen him do before. Smile… and then laugh. Ushijima wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. “You’re just a baby, you’re only-” You wave your hand in front of Ushiwaka’s face, shushing him. “No, no, Iwa doesn’t knowww, don’t tell him,” you plead. “She’s only 23,” Ushiwaka says. You hold your face in your hands once more and groan. Ushijima pulls your hands from your face, “just barely twenty three too.” You glare at him and look back at Iwaizumi embarrassed. “Did she not tell you her age?” Ushijima asks Iwaizumi. Iwa shrugs, “She didn’t, but I never asked,” Iwa shrugs casually, addressing you now, “didn’t seem important since you carry yourself so well.”

You turn to Iwa, mouth open like you’re about to respond but Ushijima swipes the glass from your hands before you can finish. “Drinking water?” You look up at him. “But it’s my birthday… and this is a party… you need something stronger…” Ushijima beacons the bartender with a single flick of his hand. The barman pours three double shots of a clear liquid from a foreign looking bottle. Ushijima takes a glass and hands it to you, before handing another to Iwaizumi. Ushijima gives him a wink as he loops his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He raises his glass, the violet lights illuminating the liquid. Iwaizumi follows his lead. “To my Juliet, the belle of the ball,” Ushijima bellows. You smile slightly and shake your head. “No no, to you Ushi, it’s your birthday, not mine, we are celebrating you!” Your eyes find Iwa’s, but you leave your glass raised. Ushijima grabs hold of your hand that’s still wrapped around the glass. “Cheers,” He tips the glass towards your lips and you swallow the clear liquor as he feeds it to you. You down it all in one go and Ushiwaka smiles wide once again. “She’s good, huh?” With that, Ushiwaka clinks his glass to Iwaizumi’s, “to you brother,” he assures. Iwa is surprised with the sudden sentiment. “And to you,” he replies before downing the shot. The liquor is surprisingly smooth, expensive, and strong. Iwa can feel his head starting to get light from the small portion that was in the glass and Iwa wasn’t a light weight. “Strong huh?” Ushijima smirks. Iwaizumi nods then turns to the bartender to signal for a water.

Ushijima turns to where you stand swaying slightly with the music. “Look at her, she gets drunk so easily,” Ushijima smiles. “How are you feeling, princess?” he shouts over at you. Iwa turns away and downs his water in disgust. ‘Princess?’ Ushijima shouldn’t be calling you that if you’re both just friends. You blink and give him a smile and a thumbs up. There was a natural innocence about you, a childlike wonder and curiosity, the embodiment of sanguine. Ushijima’s air was sometimes sinister, like he was taking advantage of your natural trusting nature. Iwa watches as Ushijima’s large hands rest on either of your shoulders and he pushes you back and forth like a pendulum between his palms. You giggle and try to push him away, “Ushi stooopp.” He laughs with you and continues pushing you around, “you’re so cute and small though, see?” He places a hand on top of your head and you still. “I said to stop,” you mumble. “And I did,” he retorts before letting you go.

Iwa watches the sudden weight of gravity find you as you stumble in your heels. He catches your arm just in time. Your arms find their way around his neck once more, your face in the crook of his neck. You pull away and Iwa examines your foggy eyes. “You okay?” You nod, pushing off of Iwa’s chest. You fix your hair, “it’s fine, he just messin’” you turn to Ushijima, “and someone doesn’t know when to quit.” You’re pulled away into Ushiwaka’s arms. He sways you back and forth, your back held against his chest while he says soft apologies. He whispers something to you and you nod. Iwaizumi wanted to pull you away from him. Not because he was jealous, but because the way that Ushiwaka was behaving with you was odd.

“Y/n is a little bit tired, why don’t you join us in VIP?” Iwa smiles and gives his thanks, trying his best to hide his scowl. Iwa follows after you and Ushiwaka, upstairs and under velvet ropes hoping that he will find a good moment to pull you away. But instead you are pulled onto the couch beside Ushiwaka. He lights a cigar and offers one to Iwa, but Iwaizumi declines with a simple, “no thanks, don’t smoke.” It’s strange the way that Ushiwaka keeps whispering in your ear, giving you sips of his drinks, and blowing smoke in your face. “Ushi, stop please, the smell is making me sick,” you whine. But he just pulls you closer to him, chuckling all the while and does it again. You’re laughing and poking his face, but it’s not out of joy... Watching Ushijima interact with you the whole night has been like watching a cat toy with a mouse.

Iwa grimaces when Ushiwaka tickles you. “Stop-stop-don’t-stop,” you giggle and howl. “She said to stop!” Iwa raises his voice. Ushijima’s eyes shoot towards Iwaizumi while you squirm off the couch. Your eyes are heavy as you walk towards a dark hallway and disappear into the shadows. Iwa’s eyes flick to the entrance to the hall. Ushiwaka sits in a contented silence, sipping a drink, “she’s so dramatic,” he sighs. He continues smoking, arm rested over the back of the purple velvet sofa. Ushijima takes a sip of his drink, swirling the ice in his glass. Iwa doesn’t move to break the silence no matter how expectant Ushijima’s expression was. He stamps out his cigar in the tray before addressing him.

“She’s awfully talkative, and incredibly fond of you…” Ushijima starts, an odd smirk painting his expression. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow in intrigue and Ushijima’s face hardens. “She won’t shut up about you since she met you… it’s annoying...” Iwaizumi, remains quiet, the silence settling over the men like a thick fog. The only sounds are muffled club music and the ice tinkling against Ushijima’s glass. “I’m going to be honest as a friend… bad idea.” Iwaizumi can feel the rage bubbling inside his gut, “I don’t think that what’s going on between us is any of your-” He’s cut off by Ushijima.

“I’m really looking out for you Iwaizumi, girls can break hearts and Y/n is kind of known for that… she’s just a sweet soul, makes friends easily, but love? That’s harder for her… doesn’t have the best taste in men I’m afraid, I want to protect her and you from a situation where I can already see the conclusion… I get that you like her, everyone does.” Iwazumi leans forward, “does that include you?” Ushijima is stone faced, then gives a cold laugh. “You’re funnier than I remember, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi rises and heads towards the hall you disappeared down. If he sat in front of him any longer he was going to say something he regretted… and you still haven’t come back. He slips into the dark hallway as you’re exiting the bathroom. Your mask has been removed and even in the dim lighting you look pale. “Hey, what’s happened?” You look up at him embarrassed, your dress almost as wilted as you are. “Got sick…” you mutter. You’re shaking slightly, arms wrapped around yourself. “Oh Y/n, are you alright?” he sighs. His arm starts to reach for you but he thinks better of it, pulling it back to rest by his side. His eyes widen as he feels the warmth of your hand in his. He didn’t figure that you would want to be touched right now. But your fingers interlace with his, your skin soft. “Are you good to drive?” you whisper. His hand instinctively tightens around yours protectively. “I only had whatever Ushijima gave us, it was strong but I’ve had water- yeah I’m good.” “Would you mind taking me home?” you ask, as you start to walk back towards the VIP room. “Sure, course,” Iwaizumi replies gently. He feels how your thumb brushes over the back of his hand in silent gratitude. The gesture has his heart beating hard against his ribs. Iwa walks forward, his eyes on you and nothing else. Your brow is furrowed and your expression painted serious which was unusual from how he knew you to act.

“Iwa’s taking me home now,” you announce and walk towards the stairs. Ushiwaka’s face hardens, “I can take her home, you shouldn’t trouble yourself,” he addresses Iwaizumi. You smile and turn around facing Ushiwaka. “But Ushi, ‘s ur birthday, you can’t leave this party jus’ ‘a take me home,” You turn to Iwa now. “Let’s go,” you say and Iwa nods, still holding your hand. “Where’s my hug, princess?” Ushijima calls after you. You stop in your tracks and close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. You drop Iwa’s hand slowly, hesitantly. You walk back slowly and stand before his open arms. He lifts you and you groan. You’re still hugging him tightly but not quite with the same intimacy as before.

As Ushijima places you down you turn to look back at Iwa when Ushijima catches your face with his large hand. He coaxes your face back towards him then leans down. Ushiwaka locks eyes with Iwaizumi as he whispers something in your ear. Then he presses his lips to your cheek, still not moving his eyes away from Iwaizumi’s. Iwa tries his best to remain neutral but he can feel his lip creeping upwards in contempt. Ushiwaka is too prideful for his own good it seems.

You take Iwa’s hand again, leading him towards the exit. An exasperated look rests on your face. “What did he say to you?” Iwa asks. You sigh and shake your head. “‘S nothin’, ya shouldn’t worry your pretty lil head ‘bout it.” Iwa can’t help but allow a smile. He raises an eyebrow at you, “think my head is pretty?” he asks. He’s met with your hazy gaze, “I do,” you say simply. Iwa wasn’t prepared for such a straightforward answer to his question.

Once out of the club, the valet pull Iwaizumi’s car around. He’s careful not to let you walk too far on your own. Sick, in those ridiculous shoes and still quite drunk, he opens the car door for you before hopping into the driver's seat. “Will you put your address in?” Iwa hands you his phone and you type it in as asked. “Thanks for doing this,” you sigh. “Yeah of course,” he says as he puts the car into gear. A few streets of city light pass by in silence. Your hands are resting in your lap but your body is still trembling. “I can- umm- pull over if you need me to…” You wave the thought away with your hand, “it was the smell of the cigar more than anything…” Iwa’s gut begins to boil again. Your voice is soft, almost defeated. He speaks before thinking better of it. “Does he always treat you like that?” You look at Iwa and make eye contact briefly before his attention is back on the road. “He was being a little extra weird today, maybe because y’all used to play volleyball together or… I dunno really, he just gets like that sometimes…” You trail off, allowing your thoughts to fade into the rearview. The silence is deafening and you feel the need to break it. “He’s really nice too though, don’t get me wrong, he cooks for me and calls to check in, he even gets me little gifts, so I know he cares.” Iwa shakes his head, “if he cared he would have stopped when you asked him to.” You take a breath, “I know but he was just having a night I guess…” Iwa pulls into your driveway as the GPS notifies him that he has ‘arrived at the destination’. He puts the car in park, “you don’t have to make excuses for him… it’s okay to be angry, if that’s how you feel.” You start to open the door, your fingers on the handle. “I’m not angry though, I’m just kinda hurt.” You open the door and start to get out, “okay, maybe a little angry too.” You laugh to yourself but not out of joy. It’s an ironic laugh and Iwa can hear the pain ringing inside of it. “Let me walk you inside.”

#iwaizumi #iwa #hajime #hajime x reader #iwa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu #hq #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime #pls protect me iwa

92 notes · View notes

lalainajanes · 5 years

Note

kc + we promised to stay friends but we’re doing the same stuff we did when we were a couple and i don’t wanna point it out because i don’t want it to stop

Five seconds after walking into the courtyard, Carolinerealizes she’s miscalculated.

Super annoying because planning on being nearly late hasbeen making her anxious all freaking day.

It looks like her neighbors are all present and accountedfor, which she should haveanticipated. Last quarter’s tenants meeting had resulted in a screaming matchand Mrs. Bolton’s carefully frosted cupcakes being used as projectiles – such awaste of the fluffiest buttercream Caroline’s ever had the pleasure of tasting.Obviously, no one wants to miss this little shindig and the possibility of highdrama.

The folding chairs are all filled. Except one.

The one next to Klaus.

Damn it.

They’d shared the usual meaningless break up platitudes. Theones about how they really liked each other as people and should still stayfriends and blah blah blah. Caroline’s never been in quite this situation, atleast as an adult. She’d known falling for a neighbor was a gamble but Klaushad seemed like a risk she needed to take. Since they’d fizzled she’s beencarefully avoiding him.

If only Klaus would have the courtesy to follow her lead.

She’s held her breath and checked the peephole every timeshe’s left her apartment. A Klaus-free hallway means she can bolt for thestaircase. She’s gotten some odd looks from her neighbors on the instances heroutfits had required heels. She’s ignored them, slipped the shoes on in thelobby, because the last thing she needs is a broken ankle.

Knowing Klaus he’d take such an opportunity and run with it.She’d need help if she were injured, with groceries and laundry and gettingmeals together. He’d be charming and helpful, all in the name of beingneighborly. He’d make her laugh and she’d see him in her apartment again, lounging on her couch and messing with her knick knacks, and Caroline can’tallow that. Not until she’sover him.

Any day now.

Their friend groups are pretty solidly intertwined and sheknows he’s been asking about her. Caroline’s not entirely sure why, since he’d been the one to backoff.

She’d been super pissed two months ago. Now she’s justconfused. She doesn’t trust the Klaus-shields she’s got in place just yet,can’t risk him slithering passed.

Klaus smiles at her, lifts his hand in a cheery little wave.Tips his head in the direction of the single empty seat tucked cozily betweenhim and the wall.

He’s probably done the intimidating murder eyes thing he’s sogood at to save it.

Caroline pastes on a bright smile – because she’s so notwilling to let him win the breakup –and makes her way over to him. He stands to let her pass. “Hey, Klaus,” shegreets. She keeps it warm, casual. Hopes it sounds natural. She scans the roomto avoid looking at him, holds her breath. Meeting his eyes with his body soclose, smelling the cologne that used to linger on her sheets, is dangerous.

“Caroline,” hemurmurs. When he sits his thigh presses to hers and she hurriedly crosses herlegs to cut odd the contact. “It seems you’ve been busy lately. I haven’t seenyou in what, two weeks?”

Clearly, Klaus had missed the post-breakup etiquette day atadulting school. He’s not supposed to call her out like that.

Caroline manages to laugh, “Has it been that long? One of mycoworkers broke her leg so I’ve been covering for her.”

That’s a big fat lie and she crosses her fingers Klaus won’task a follow up question. Luckily, Alaric Saltzman stands calls the meeting toorder. He starts talking about the meeting’s agenda. Caroline holds in a huffof annoyance. He’s talking slowly, probably already a few drinks in, and that’sonly going to prolong her torment. She’dread the materials that had been circulated already but, having lived in this buildingfor three years now, she knows that few other people would have bothered toprepare.

She stiffens when she feels Klaus lean in, his breathruffling the curls that have come loose from her top knot. “Care to liven thismeeting up with a wager, love?”

Her eyes widen and she almost chokes. A few people glanceover and Caroline hopes she hasn’t turned visibly red. “That would be highlyinappropriate,” she hisses and oh god she sounds like one of the Mystic Fallschurch busybodies who’d sniffed about the unladylike length of Caroline’sskirts in high school.

A sound of amusement comes from Klaus and she resists theurge to dig a sharp elbow into his ribcage. Mostly because touching him is a terrible idea. “My, someone’s thinkingimpure thoughts.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” she mutters. They’d bet sexual favorslast time (and Caroline has very fondmemories or collecting her winnings).

“As delightful as such bets would be,” Klaus says, soundinglike he in no way objects to the concept, “I was thinking cash. Five dollarssays Damon Salvatore’s once again behind on his recycling dues.”

Does he think she’s an amateur? She’s lived here longer thanhe has. “Please. That’s a sucker’s bet. You’re going to have to do better.”

She catches a hint of a smile, distinctly triumphant, beforeKlaus sobers, his head tipping back like he’s thinking deeply.

His next proposal is far more reasonable. She counters withanother. She finds herself relaxing, biting her lip to keep from giggling atKlaus’ more pointed observations about their neighbors.

She walks out of the meeting with an extra seven dollars inher pocket wondering if maybe, just maybe, she can stop with the ninjaavoidance moves.

A few days later, Caroline’s staring blankly at the fourtrays of cookies cooling on her kitchen island. She’d had a moderately crappyday at work and when she’d stopped at the grocery store on the way home anendcap of chocolate chips had caught her eye.

Hence the stress baking. She’s done it on autopilot,doubling the recipe, and now she’s got 64 cookies to deal with.

She’ll take some to work but her office is small and two ofher coworkers have been on health kicks. She’ll get serious evil eyes if shebrings in more than a dozen. She’s gotten used to Klaus taking baked goods offher hands. The man has an impressive sweet tooth but doesn’t even own a cookiesheet and he’s never had any qualms with storing the leftovers in his freezerand whipping them out whenever his agent calls him in for a meeting.

Apparently, he’s significantly better liked by the variouseditors and admins at his publishing company now.

Maybe she could just pop over and see if he still wantsthem. Just because he’s not her boyfriend anymore doesn’t mean Caroline doesn’twish him success.

Mentally patting herself on the back for her emotionalmaturity, Caroline grabs a Tupperware container and loads it up.

And then she runs to her room to put on something cuter thanan old Whitmore hoodie and flour dusted leggings. She switches out her sportsbra for something with more lift but draws the line at makeup. She isn’t tryingto impress Klaus, or anything. She’sjust making herself presentable.

She grabs her keys and exits her apartment. She takes thefew steps to Klaus’ door at an abnormally fast pace, raps sharply before shecan chicken out.

She can hear him on the other side, knows he must bechecking the peephole and it’s a struggle not to fidget or let her face dosomething weird. The locks scrape and Klaus looks pleased when he appears. Abit shocked too, but Caroline can’t blame him considering the lengths she’sgone to lately to avoid seeing his face.

“Caroline,” he says slowly, glancing down the hall like heexpects hidden cameras. “To what do I…”

He’s being stiff, a little formal, a tell that he’s notentirely confident. It makes Caroline feel a little better about her ownnerves. She jiggles the container a bit. “I baked. Kind of excessively.”

“Bad day?” he asks knowingly.

It’s tempting to say yes. To sigh and let her rigid postureloosen and unload like she used to. Klaus had never minded listening to her,not even when she got off track and rambled about issues that were onlytangentially related. He used to sit at her kitchen island and listen to hervent, calmly making his way through a stack of cookies while she’d eliminatedall traces of flour from her countertops and scrubbed down her mixer.

He’d ask questions and scoff at stupid things her clientshad done. The few times he’d stopped by her office he’d been cool anddismissive of the coworkers she didn’t like and Caroline had kind of enjoyedit. Petty? Yes. But she liked the proof that he’d paid attention.

She wonders if it would be so bad to be honest. To try totalk to him.

He’s watching her, waiting patiently for an answer andCaroline notes a smudge of ink on his neck. That his hair’s mussed and he’swearing worn jeans and a t-shirt that’s grey now but was probably blue of blackonce upon a time.

She knows that shirt, remembers how soft it was against hercheek as she’d laid draped over Klaus on his couch. It’s got a hole on the leftside, directly over a spot that Klaus lies and claims isn’t ticklish. Herfinger had always found it, wormed inside to stroke his skin, and whatever TVshow they’d been watching would quickly be forgotten.

The memories are too vivid. The times she’d managed to pinhim and dig her fingers into his skin, until he’d shaken with silent laughter,his eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched to keep the sounds in. Sometimes he’dbeen faster, had flipped her over and gotten revenge, until she’d been gaspingfor breath and pleading for mercy, sides aching but so freaking happy.

They can’t be friends, not when she can’t forget what it waslike to be more.

“Kind of,” Caroline snaps, angrier than she’d meant to be.She shoves the cookies in his direction and Klaus barely has a hold on thembefore she’s backing away. The container wobbles and he steps forward, pullingit closer. “I just didn’t want them to go to waste. I’ve got dinner on thestove, so…”

Another lie. She was going to order a pizza but she’s goingto have to scrounge something edible from her cupboards now.

“Wait,” he calls, “Caroline…”

She ignores him, turning, yanking her keys out of herpocket. She’s laser focused, jams the key into the lock.

“Caroline, can’t we just…”

He’s closer and she shakes her head, getting the door openand stepping in, “Maybe another time. Have a good night!”

She’s got the door closed before she’s finished speaking.Caroline presses back against it, sorely tempted to give her head a coupleknocks against it.

What had she been thinking?

She can hear Klaus, faintly, in the hallway. Can’t quitemake out what he says.

It’s at least two minutes before she hears his door shut.

“Caroline, darling, is that a new dress? You look positivelyedible.”

Huh. That’s suspicious.

Caroline’s used to Kol’s lavish compliments, knows to be onguard when he whips them out because it usually means he’s done something she’sgoing to hate. Or needs a favor. She drops her purse on the table by his door,takes the very large glass of red wine he hands her. Takes a healthy sipbecause she might need it. “What do you want, Kol?”

Kol’s got his most contrite expression on though Carolinesees a tiny bit of something else in his eyes. Glee, maybe. Anticipation,definitely. “There’s been a bit of a mix up,” he explains.

Well, that’s barely helpful.

“And…” she prompts.

He sighs, drapes his arm over her shoulder. “Bekah didn’tknow that you had custody of the group tonight. Nik stopped by her place todrop off something he’d borrowed and she dragged him along to dinner.”

“So Klaus is…” Kol’s steered her to face the kitchen andthere’s the answer to her question. Klaus is in the living room, talking toMarcel, his back to her. “Here,” Caroline finishes. “Does he know…?”

“That you’re here? We told him you’d be along shortly. Hesaid he didn’t mind though he’d leave if you did. I assured him that I thought we could all be adults.” Helooks at her, disapproving, and Caroline cannot believe that she is being judged by Kol Mikaelson ofall people.

“Are you seriously attempting to use reverse psychology onme right now?”

Kol grins, “Depends. Is it working?”

She takes another sip of wine that might technically be moreof a gulp. Kol’s brows rise but he’s smart enough not to comment. “I don’t seewhy I have to be the bigger person,”Caroline complains. “He got weird. And he broke up with me.”

Kol’s kind enough not to comment on her sulkiness, draws hertighter to his side. It’s almost a hug, something she’d sure he’d deny. “Mybrother can be massively thick headed.”

Ugh, how is it that there’s still a tiny part of her brainthat’s offended at the insult?

“That’s one way of putting it,” Caroline mutters.

“I’m sure you’ll be ever so creative and verbose once we getmore liquor into you. Assuming you’re staying?” Caroline nods, drains her wine.She hands Kol the glass. “And Niklaus?” he asks.

Caroline takes a deep breath, her hands coming up to smoothdown her dress. Part of her wants to leave but that would be cowardly. Asmaller, more childish, part of her wants Klaus to leave. He’d do it, Kol hadsaid, probably with a minimum of fuss. There’d be no hiding the reason,however, and she’d hate for Enzo and Kol’s gathering to get awkward.

An evening like this had been inevitable. Two of her veryfavorite people are in love with Mikaelsons (though Katherine’s still super indenial) and it’s kind of a miracle Caroline’s managed to avoid Klaus sociallyfor this long.

She can do this. Hopefully.

She surveys the room. Only a few people have noted herarrival. Kat’s perched on the arm of a chair, and she raises a questioning browwhen Caroline meets her eyes. Klaus is watching her too but he’s wary. Shemanages a smile in his direction, faint and only passingly polite. “He canstay,” she says. “Just don’t expect me to sit next to him at dinner.”

“What kind of host do you think I am?” Kol asks, some of hisoffense genuine.

She smiles sunnily, ducking out from under his arm, “Thekind that’s quick with the refills, I hope.”

Kol heads to the kitchen and Caroline makes her way towardsKatherine. She might be a mature adult but that doesn’t mean she’s not gratefulfor an ally.

Fingers crossed Kol keeps up the heavy pours.

Caroline’s still in the habit of checking to see if thehallway is a Klaus free zone. She does it automatically now, even late on aSunday evening, a bag of trash clutched in her hand.

The coast had seemedclear.

She nearly has a heart attack when she spots Klaus on thefloor, halfway between her doorway and his. He’s sitting down, leaning againstthe wall. His eyes are closed and he’s listing to one side.

She freezes, but only for a second. Then she’s moving, garbagedropped, forgotten, as she lurches over to kneel next to him. She checks hishead first, her hands gentle. “Klaus? Klaus, wake up.” He doesn’t even twitch,slipping further to the left.

Caroline runs one hand over his body, checking for injuries,her other going to his neck. “Please,be okay. I need you to be okay,” she mutters. Feeling around, she finds asteady pulse. “Thank god.”

She’s shaking and she regrets not bothering with any firstaid refreshers after college. Her panic eases slightly when she realizesthere’s no blood, that he’s warm to the touch. She manages to take a shakybreath in. “Klaus, open your eyes.” No response. She shuffles closer, raisingher voice, shaking his shoulder gently. “Klaus, please. Wake up. Tell me whathappened. What do you need?” Caroline leans closer, tipping his head in herdirection and he groans.

Caroline gets a strong whiff of bourbon.

Oh, she’s going to killhim.

“You’re drunk?” she shrieks. “I practically have a heartattack because I think you were freaking deadand you’re…”

His face creases in pain and she presses her lips together,still fuming. His lashes flutter and when he manages to open his eyes they’rehazy, confused. “Sweetheart,” he slurs, “Why’re you…”

He blinks, looking passed her, “Hallway,” he manages, aftera long moment. “Where’s my…”

Klaus’ hands go to pat at his pockets. One of them had beenkeeping him upright-ish and Caroline grabs him before he can hit to floor, tugginguntil he’s propped against the wall. “Careful!” she scolds.

Klaus is either unconcerned or unaware that he’d just nearlyface planted. “Couldn’t find my keys. I think I left them in the car.”

She considers leaving him. He’s a grown up who’d chosen topickle his liver without bothering to ensure he’d get to bed safely. He’s sonot her problem.

She can’t make herself stand up and walk away.

Caroline squeezes her eyes shut, sucks in a breath through herteeth. She’s a little calmer when she opens her eyes again. Klaus is slumpedwhere she left him, sleepy eyed and watching her raptly. “Okay,” she saysbriskly. “Who dropped you off?” She’s got most of Klaus’ usual drinking buddiesin her phone.

“Blonde girl. Pretty, but not as pretty as you.”

The compliment doesn’t land as Klaus had intended. Sheshoves his shoulder, forgetting his lack of balance, has to yank at his shirtto keep him from going down. “You were on a date?” she hisses. She shouldprobably try to keep her lid on her outrage, doesn’t want Klaus to know how herstubborn stupid feelings linger, but maybe he’ll be too out of it to remember.

A girl can dream.

“Pro tip, maybe don’t get falling down drunk on a date.You’re probably not going to get a second.”

He laughs, louder than he usually does, his head tippingback against the wall. She hates herself for it but she studies him moreclosely, looking for a lipstick smudge or a mouth shaped bruise, checking tosee if the buttons of his shirt line up.

When he quiets he reaches for her, his hand circling herwrist. “Don’t want a second. Or even a first. Don’t want her.”

That doesn’t make awhole lot of sense but he’s clearly had an awful lot of bourbon. Carolineignores the jealousy that’s still making her a little sick, does her best to bebusiness like. Once she’s solved this Klaus situation she’ll retreat to thebath tub with her emergency Haagen Daaz. She tries to tug her arm away butKlaus’ is unwilling to be shaken off. “Can you text your new pretty blonde friendand get her to swing back with your keys? Or does Rebekah or Kol have a spareset?” Elijah’s out of town, Caroline knows, won’t be back until Tuesday. They’dchatted about his business trip at Kol and Enzo’s.

“Phone’s dead.”

“Of course it is,” Caroline grumbles. Klaus had availedhimself of the backup charger she carries in her purse way more than she everhad. “I’ll text Kol.”

She pulls back enough to snap a pic of Klaus, sends it off.

Caroline [11:23 PM]:Found: 1 drunk brother.

Caroline [11:23 PM]:Please bring keys and take him off my hands.

Kol [11:24 PM]: Heleft them in the Uber. I found them.

Caroline [11:24 PM]:Awesome.

Caroline [11:24 PM]:Did you have a fun double date?

Caroline [11:24 PM]:I heard Klaus’ new lady friend is pretty.

She regrets the text as soon as she sends it. It’s not herbusiness and Kol will read way toomuch into the statement. Not that it’ll be hard when, even via text, it drips with how pissed she is. Klaus’thumb traces circles on her skin. It’s distracting so she’ll blame him for herimpulsiveness.

Kol [11:25 PM]:What? It was strictly boys only, darling. Marcel got a new job.

She’s not owed an explanation. That doesn’t mean she canresist fishing for one.

Caroline [11:26 PM]:He’s not my boyfriend anymore. You don’t have to cover for him. It’s not likehe’s cheating.

Kol [11:26 PM]:Like I’d have covered for him if he’d have been dumb enough to cheat on you.

Kol [11:27 PM]:The only women he talked to tonight were the waitress and the Uber driver.

Kol [11:27 PM]: Ioffered my world class wingman skills and a red head in a scandalous top madesex eyes but Nik was more interested in his glass.

Kol [11:27 PM]:His many glasses, I should say.

She’s probably a terrible person but she’s pleased. She’llnever admit as much, however.

Caroline [11:28 PM]:I’m confused.

Kol [11:28 PM]:Me too. I’m going to text our Uber driver your number. I gave her $40 to dropNik’s keys off. Will you grab them from her?

Caroline [11:29 PM]:I should make him sleep it off in the hallway.

Kol [11:29 PM]:Probably. But you won’t.

He’s totally right and it’s super annoying.

Caroline [11:29 PM]:Fine.

Caroline [11:30 PM]:I will get him safely inside his apartment but that’s it. I’m not tucking himin, I’m not making sure he’s hydrated. I might steal all the painkillers fromhis medicine cabinet.

Kol [11:31 PM]:Hell hath no fury.

Caroline [11:31 PM]:Shut up.

She’s not scorned, damn it. Klaus hadn’t technically wrongedher in any way. As much as she’d like to she can’t blame him for the lingeringsoft spot she has for him. That’s all on her.

Caroline makes sure her ringer is on, turns the sound wayup, and shoves her phone into her pocket. She debates getting Klaus to stand,hauling him into her place. She suspects he’d make himself at home on her couchand that getting him into his place would be more of a struggle. Instead, shesits next to him, resigns herself to waiting. She turns her head so she canlook at him, “Do you have to puke or anything?”

He makes a noise of denial, his palm slipping over hers. Hemoves closer, his head tipping down to watch as his fingers tangle with hers.She probably shouldn’t be allowing the touching, definitely shouldn’t beenjoying it, but if it keeps Klaus in this quiet and cooperative stage ofdrunkenness she’ll let it happen.

He’d never been particularly fond of PDA. Except when he wasdrunk.

In private he’d always been touching her, would pull herclose and tangle his hands in her hair when they watched TV. She’d usuallywoken up in the middle of the bed, Klaus pressed against her. He’d liked itwhen she wore his clothes, used his shampoo and soap. Liked leaving marks onher skin even more, scraped her with his stubble until her skin was red andsensitive, left little bites that would become bruises, hints of pain as aprecursor to pleasure.

She tries to pull away again, feels the back of her neck gettinghot. Klaus’ grip remains firm.

He flips her palm over, presses the back of her hand to histhigh. Traces the lines he finds delicately.

She sinks her teeth into the inside of her lip when shewants to shiver.

“Did you at least have fun?” she asks.

The shake of his head is slow. “Not particularly. Tried tobeg off but Marcel says I’ve been too much of a hermit recently.”

“Didn’t think you were susceptible to a guilt trip.”

“There might have been some threats too.”

She considers pressing. Drunk as he is, he might be pliantand Caroline’s always liked to new information. But Klaus’ secrets shouldn’t beof any concern to her. She’s struggling to let go of him, knowing more mightmake that harder. She keeps her reply disinterested, “That sounds about right.”

“Did you have fun the other night? At Kol’s? You seemed to.”

She’s still half-turned to face him, watches his expressiongrow darker. She’d kept a room between them at all times, had waited untiltheir various mutual friends had wandered into her orbit before talking tothem. Had excused herself to use the restroom whenever it looked like Klausmight get close, or a topic that might draw him in was brought up. She’d beenextra bubbly to try to cover any weirdness, had made jokes and laughed loudlyand steered all conversations away from her and how she’d been doing.

Honestly? It had been exhausting.

“I always enjoy myself at Kol’s,” she says. “He makes thedip I like.”

“You barely ate.”

She bristles and the idle patterns he’d been drawing on herpalm halt. Would it kill him to just make polite small talk here? She’s trying. “Well, that’s a littlestalker-y.”

Klaus doesn’t seem to take offense. “Guilty, love. I’dresolved myself to asking you to talk to me in private but you thwarted myefforts.”

She manages to yank her hand away, puts a few extra inchesbetween them. “We don’t need to talk privately.”

“I made a mistake.

Would he be saying this sober? Caroline’s not sure. “Klaus,stop.”

He doesn’t listen. “I thought… well, I was wrong aboutsomething. And then I realized what an idiot I was for…”

“Stop,” she repeats, more forcefully. “You’re drunk. Thisisn’t the time.”

“Would you talk to me if I was sober?”

She keeps her eyes on her lap. His tone is distinctlywheedling and she doesn’t trust herself not to cave if she looks over.

“You seemed awfully reluctant the other night.”

Her phone rings and she heaves herself to her feet, sends asilent thank you to the Uber driver with flawless timing. She pats Klaus’shoulder, makes sure he’ll stay upright. “You’ll just have to ask nicely andfind out.

Caroline takes the stairs, not willing to wait for the elevator,to give Klaus the time to formulate a reply.

The last twenty minutes have been an emotional whirlwind.Klaus can give her a little time to recover before he throws her into another.

Caroline doesn’t sleep. At all. She’s not happy about it.

When 6 AM rolls around she knows she should make a pot ofcoffee and hop in the shower, resign herself to going heavy on the under eyeconcealer. Instead, she grabs her phone, emails her boss, and takes a sick day.Something she never does so it won’tbe questioned.

She throws a robe on – her least cute one – and marches overto Klaus’ place. She knocks. And knocks, and knocks. Until her knucklesprotest.

He looks awful when he throws the door open (and a tiny bitmurderous but that evaporates when he sees her) his shirt wrinkled and skinpale. His hair is flat on the left, where an odd pattern from whatever surfacehe’d been sleeping on is pressed into his cheek, and a snarl of curls on theright. Caroline crosses her arms, “Invite me in.”

He wants to talk? They’re going to get this over with.Otherwise she’s going to dwell and Klaus has been occupying far too much of hermental energy lately. She figures there are two possible outcomes. First, theyresolve whatever’s lingering between them, for real this time, and he fadesinto the background of her life, a friend of a friend who happens to live downthe hall. In the other option, the one she’s kind of rooting for, he continuesto take up a ton of space in her brain and buys her dinner and provides regularorgasms for her trouble. Along with good conversations, cute drawings, andregular arguments about the merits of reality television.

Klaus steps back, pulling the door open wider, and Carolinebrushes passed him. She heads to his kitchen, goes directly for the cupboardwhere he keeps the coffee. “If we don’t do this now I’m going to be thinkingabout it all day. I won’t get anything on my goals list accomplished and I’llbe cranky. So I thought we could just… I don’t know, rip off the band aid.”

Klaus still hasn’t said anything but when she twists herhead to check his reaction he’s smiling. “Let me grab a couple painkillers andwe’ll have coffee.”

Caroline winces, reaching into her pocket. She sets theTylenol bottle on the island between them. “I was kind of pissed last night. Istole these.”

He laughs, opens his fridge. Pulls out a bottle of applejuice. Drinks directly from it like some kind of heathen. Caroline wrinkles hernose, “Gross. What if someone else wants some and doesn’t want your cooties?”

“I haven’t had anyone over in ages.”

It’s not surprising information, Caroline had gleaned asmuch from his comments last night. Still, she finds the confirmation that Klaushasn’t been having company welcome.

She turns her attention back to brewing the coffee. Onceeverything is set she flicks the button, takes a deep breath, turns to faceKlaus fully. “I don’t understand what happened.”

He sighs, all traces of amusement fleeing. “I know.”

“I thought things were good. We’d exchanged keys. We’d talkedabout me moving in when my lease was up. You didn’t seem freaked out about that.”

“I wasn’t. Honestly.” Klaus runs a hand through the flatside of his hair, making it slightly more symmetrical. “I heard that you turneddown a promotion.”

She stares at him and it takes her a second to realize whathe’s talking about. “What, the Seattle thing? I never even considered takingit. It was barely a move up. Andmoving across the country? I can barely get my mom to come here.”

He looks down, leans against the counter behind him. Klausisn’t one for embarrassment but she thinks his ears might be turning pink. “Ididn’t realize that at the time. Katerina kindly explained it to me a few weeksago.”

Yeah, Caroline would bet Kat hadn’t been especially kind.

“How did you even know about it?”

“I had to send my laptop away, remember? Borrowed yours afew times. You left a few of the emails open.”

Caroline groans, crossing her arms. “You broke up with mebecause you snooped?” She’d used theoffer to leverage a bit of a pay raise. Her boss had been only too willing tokeep Caroline around. She hadn’t told Klaus, had wanted it to be settledbecause she’d been pricing out winter getaways in St. Lucia.

“I feel as if snoopedimplies a bit of effort,” Klaus mutters. “An ulterior motive.” He’s lucky there’snothing she can throw at him.

“So not the point,” she snaps.

Caroline whirls, intending to get a bit of distance, but hegrabs her arm, steps in front of her. “Wait a minute, don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving,geez. I wouldn’t have invaded your place this early if I wasn’t committed togetting all the gory details.”

He’s not entirely convinced, ducking down to catch her eyes,his pleading. “I didn’t want to hold you back.”

She snorts, claps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, but that’sawfully conceited of you. Also, reallyarrogant. Kind of on brand, I guess.”

She’s only half teasing.

Annoyance flickers across Klaus’ features. “Funny. I thoughtI was being selfless.”

She swallows back the reply that wants to shoot out – she’sfairly certain he’d been scared butit she uses that against him flippantly he’ll be the one storming out and they’llnever get anywhere. “Klaus. I’m notselfless. Had I really wanted Seattle I would have asked you to come with me.”

That shocks him. His eyes widen, mouth falling open and hestruggles for words.

Her hearts started pounding, nerves tightening her stomachbut Caroline continues, flipping her hair over her shoulder and striving fornonchalance. “You work from home like 95% of the time anyway. You’d just haveto fly back once a month. And we’d need to get an extra bedroom or two becauseI’m pretty sure at least one of your siblings would be visiting every weekendbecause you’re co-dependant weirdos. But, since they all have excellent tastein significant others, I was prepared to deal.”

Klaus seems to be having trouble processing. “Why… why wouldyou…”

She knots her hands together because they’re shaking. Hervoice isn’t steady either, “Because I loved you, duh. And I was pretty surethat you loved me too.” He’d never said it but then, neither had she. Klaus isgood at actions – showing up with dinner when she’d texted that her day hadbeen busy, not complaining when she got his shirt all wet during the sad moviesthat he hated, keeping the scented candles she liked in his apartment. There’dbeen dozens upon dozens of tiny little things that showed he paid attention,that he wanted her to be comfortable and happy.

She’d found she hadn’t really needed the words.

He reaches for her, his hands settling on her hips. Carolinelets herself be pulled, fits her body to his. It’s just as right as sheremembers. When his head dips she dodges, resting her head against his shoulder.She tightens her arms around him, just in case he gets any silly, wrong, ideasabout pulling away. “I’m gonna need a little grovelling before I consent tomake up sex.”

She feels him laugh, hears the low husk of it against her ear.“How about I make you breakfast?”

Caroline thinks that’s a great start.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #goldcaught #went to my prompts in hopes of finding something that would be short #and shake off my writer's block #quelle suprise is is not short

145 notes · View notes

yaz-the-spaz · 5 years

Note

I'm sure you've noticed me stalking your blog these past two days lol and I have another question if you dont mind. In my last ask you said you had some theories about zayn leaving ot4vszayn etc and I was wondering if you would expand upon them? If you dont want to write it all out, you can point me towards certain tags or other blogs if you want. I've been looking through your tags and have found a lot but I wanted to know if there is something that might be more like a timeline of sorts? Thx!!

hey there! here i finally am, so sorry to have kept you waiting but i hope this reply finds you well! :)

now onto your questions…

so as far as a timelines @bakagamieru has some really good masterposts (x, x) that i would recommend checking out that really break things down play-by-play and i think most of which was compiled as it was happening so it’s a super great (and super detailed) documentation of all the shit that was going down during that period and all the narrative inconsistencies and stunts and back and forth, etc. they’re quite long though and, like i said, very detailed so i would recommend making sure you have plenty of time on your hands before you get sucked down a masterpost and link rabbit hole lol

and for more thoughts/theories of mine i would say check my zayn vs. ot4 tags (x, x - sorry there’s multiple iterations of this, apparently sometimes i had put a period after vs and sometimes i didn’t and now i have two tags smh at my own damn irritating inconsistency)

now onto the meat of your question, which is my current theories on zayn leaving/the zayn vs. ot4 narrative which i’m gonna put as a read more cause i’m not in the mood for ppl coming for me if they disagree, so read at your own risk folks…

so over the years there’s four main theories that i’ve personally gone back and forth over, which i’m gonna summarize quickly and try and explain as succinctly as i can my thoughts on each one and my opinion on the likelihood of it holding credence

disclaimer before i get into the explanations - a large part of my reasoning has to do with the caveat of there possibly being any kind of real tension or bad blood between zayn and louis in particular or any of the other boys. not saying that it was necessarily actually the case, just that it was a potential factor that went into my rationale and personal mental debate over the whole situation

he was coerced in some shape or form to leave and instead of fighting it, went along with it (maybe b/c he was already unhappy) - if there ever was actually any real animosity between him and louis (or harry/niall), this could explain why louis (or the others) might have hypothetically been mad at him b/c he might have felt that zayn could’ve/didn’t fight hard enough or went along with it too easily. but all that aside, even if there was no tension between him and louis/the boys, this option makes a lot of sense because given all he talked about going through in the band (depression, the e.d., too much pressure, not having control or being able to do what he wanted, the intense and rampant closeting putting a strain on his relationship, etc.) it’s not hard to see how he might’ve felt this was the best and only option

he was coerced into leaving, tried to fight it but couldn’t (and possibly even knew for a while that it was coming) - this wouldn’t explain why louis (or the others) might have hypothetically been mad at him but instead does put more credence into the fact that that was completely contrived and pushed by mgmt, and is also just as likely as #1 to me for pretty much the same reasons, not to mention it explains some shady things that happened in the months leading up to it re him not being there for certain promo obligations and appearances, etc.

he was coerced into leaving and had absolutely no choice about it and no way to fight it (i.e. didn’t necessarily want to leave but still knew for a while that it was coming) - pretty much same reasoning as above for this one, the only difference being that in this scenario he wouldn’t have wanted to leave at all which given all he went through i just don’t know if i believe that was wholly the case (more on this below)

he chose to leave completely on his own - although it would explain any lingering animosity, this to me is the least likely in large part because i just have a hard time believing he would have chosen all on his own to just up and leave in the middle of a tour, not to mention been allowed to (esp given that they would’ve all known they had the hiatus coming up not long after and were about to go the countries where zayn specifically probably have had the biggest following/fan support - the middle east and north africa). but even if he hypothetically really did choose it all on its own it’s hard for me to believe that he would have even been able to leave like that unless there was some element of complacency from their mgmt that allowed it to happen and then you have to wonder why would they just let 1/5 of their biggest money maker walk away with no law suits, no drama, no nothing. it stinks of a larger plan at play which is what brings me back to the theories above.

those are the main theories that i’ve gone back and forth on and i’ve never really been able to settle on just one, but to me given all that he expressed after leaving the most likely are the first two. i think all of the boys were pretty much done with how they were being treated, but zayn especially so, and it’s very easy for me to see how, when the opportunity arose he might have accepted because he felt it was the best way to save himself (as in his mental and physical health) and possibly also his relationship, though whether that acceptance was with a little (theory #1) or lot (theory #2) of initial opposition on his part, who’s to say. however, i definitely believe that, regardless of the details, there was some element of seeding and/or coercion from tptb, esp when considered in context with the shadiness of certain things, like him not being at certain events that he should’ve legally been obligated to be at in the months leading up to his leaving if no one but him knew he was planning on leaving. or him crying at the last concert that he performed at. those do not seem to be like the actions of a man who wanted to leave completely of his own accord and without any degree of finessing by mgmt to orchestrate it. when you’re a mega popstar in the biggest band in the world you don’t just not show up to something. that’s the type of situation where people will literally come to your house and drag you out of bed because you’re costing them a shit ton of money (like millions of dollars worth of money) by not being there. there’s tons of stories of rock stars where managers or someone from their team would literally go bang down a missing band member’s door, shove them in the shower to sober them up or help them whatever they needed to do, and drag their ass on stage to perform or to a press event or whatever. so you can bet that nothing less, if not the same, would be done for a missing member of a multi-billion-dollar-making band if need be.

so yeah zayn just not showing up for promo events and performances in the months leading up to his leaving? not believable to me at all. the only conceivable reason for him not to have been there is if mgmt didn’t want him there and the only reason (at least that i can think of) for why you wouldn’t 1/5 of your biggest money-maker to be somewhere he should have been legally obligated to be (and that might’ve cost you hundreds of thousands of dollars for him not to be) is if he wasn’t legally obligated to be there because you were already in the process of phasing him out. ergo it was very likely planned. months in advance. and if it was planned months in advance with the help and orchestration of mgmt then that story of him just deciding to up and leave is complete bs and makes it even more likely to me that there was a level of coercion (because again if 1/5 of your biggest money maker suddenly says to you ‘i wanna leave’ you’re gonna do everything in your power to make him stay so you can keep making money, not help phase him out. unless of course you want him out, which they clearly did.)

one last thing i wanna add is a link to a post i had saved that i feel adds a bit of further credence to all this, it’s nothing concrete but it’s something that helped solidify some things for me when i was a giant ball of confusion over what to believe

anyway, i know that i rambled on forever and this definitely did not end up being as succinct or brief as i had hoped (though lbr when is anything i do ever), but i hope this at least sort of answered your questions and made some amount of sense/was not too incoherent and didn’t completely bore you to death lol

#asks #kurtain-the-cat #my thoughts #zayn vs. ot4 #zayn vs ot4 #zayn leaving #theories #(side note: there's also one more side theory re louis and harry's possible/hypothetical animosity toward zayn #that i didn't include here cause it's super tinhatty and has to do with babygate #but if you're still curious about that after reading all this then we can talk about that too)

34 notes · View notes

almostrealdudes · 5 years

Text

Data Recovery (Elliot Alderson x fem!OC)

Pairing: Elliot Alderson x Sophia (OC) Word count: 1.4k Warnings: None Summary: I dreamt of you again. I’d tell you all about it, but I think you already know. I think you saw me too. Our dreams are synchronized. Or was it the reality? I can’t tell. Good things are usually not real in my life. I’m used to it. After everything, it’s hard to believe for something that wonderful to be real. But I still want it to be. Tell me you’re real. Please. A/N: And it’s finally here! The story is getting longer than I intended it to be, but the good news is - I’m slowly figuring out the plot of this thing ahahaaha

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Hi. Sorry I kept you in the dark for some time. I needed to clear my head. I figured too much reflexivity would be bad for me. Don’t worry, I’m still skeptical. But if you can’t stop a madman, just let them do what they want, that way it will be over faster.

I want to believe Sophia. I really do. But I can’t. I’m letting her do it her way. Not for her, but for me. I need to prove myself it’s not real. And it’s better to regret something you’ve done than something you wish you’ve done.

We had another date today. If that’s what you want to call it. It was less impulsive. Less emotional. We didn’t kiss. We talked. I think it’s the most normal I’ve seen her. She wasn’t bouncing around or doing anything unpredictable. She’s going to spend the night at my place, to prove a point. Not gonna lie, deep down inside I’m hoping she will convince me. But I really doubt it.

“So, what do you wanna know?”

I told her if we were to do this, she had to tell me more about herself.

“Everything.”

“Didn’t you hack me? Nowadays, it’s all you need to know.”

“I don’t care for that. Besides, it’s obviously fake.”

“Damn. I thought I had a good cover-up.”

“For common users – maybe.”

We’re at the pier. It smells like ocean and rain. If I was superstitious, I’d say Sophia’s mood affects the weather. But that’s impossible, right?

“So?” It’s so obvious she doesn’t want to talk about herself. She keeps avoiding all the questions since the second we met. Too bad cause I’m not backing off.

She looks at me. Her smile is sad. She realizes the conversation is inevitable.

“Who are you?”

“I don’t really know what to tell you.” She looks away, at the ocean, hugging herself. She feels exposed. “I’m nobody. Like millions of others. I eat, I sleep, I pay bills. I rent a shitty apartment in the city center in hopes that the street noise will be louder than my own loneliness. I avoid silence because it makes me think. I work 9 to 5, my friends are people from my work circle who I have nothing in common with but who I still talk to and go out with because I have nothing better to do in my free time. I’ve had a shitty childhood and bad genes, both of which have granted me my current mental record. I’m bipolar, I have anxiety and depression, but this I guess you know already. I stuff myself with medication provided by our healthcare system, which only numbs me more. I don’t have hobbies, I’m not particularly good at anything. I cry myself to sleep. It’s pretty miserable.”

“Everyone cries.”

“No. not crying. My whole life. It’s pathetic. Was.”

She finally looks back at me. Her eyes are watery.

“Elliot, when I met you, I felt my life begin. It received purpose. I’ve never known what purpose even is, I’ve never had one. But now it feels like I do. It feels like my existence finally has meaning. It sounds cliché and stupid, I know. But it’s true. Those dreams I’m having, memories of alternative lives, it’s all I have. I know you’d rather do anything else but listen to me talk about it, but I swear on my fucking life it’s true.”

I watch her eyes shift around my features, looking for a reaction. So that’s her. Little, vulnerable, endlessly sad. Desperate for intimacy, desperate to feel something apart from her everyday suburban suffering. She hates it. We’re a lot more similar than I thought.

“You have to understand how I feel.”

“I do. Your reaction is only fair. My plan was to wait a lot more before telling you. But the way I feel around you – it’s too much to handle on my own.”

Well, at least we can agree on that.

“I know what you mean.”

She smiles, happy with my answer.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Please don’t run away, okay?”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it.” I joke. I guess I’m finally feeling comfortable enough. She giggles and stands up. I watch her go to the restroom door. Yeah. I can lie to myself how much I want but we both know I can’t be indifferent to her no matter how hard I try.

“Oh, come on.”

He’s back.

“Yeah, and it’s about damn time! Can’t leave you for even a second, you immediately start making questionable choices.”

“I’ve been quite good until this exact second, actually.”

“Oh yeah, you have. How’s dealing with a lunatic been treating you? Have you finally lost your last bits of sanity?”

“With you here, I probably will.”

“Don’t get this twisted, kid. I’m the only thing that helps you think clearly.”

“Yeah. Talking to my imaginary dead father is really helping my mental health.”

“And talking to her?”

“When I’m with Sophia I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

“She is bipolar! They are fun to have around when they’re at their best, but next thing you know – she’s gonna try to cut herself, or you, what’s worse.”

“She’s taking her meds.”

“Are you defending her? Jesus, haven’t you learned a thing by now? How many people are you going to shield until they stab you from the back?”

“I think you should go.”

“We are one. You know what that means? It means I’m saying what you’re thinking. You’re full of doubts and you just don’t want to admit it because apparently, some crazy fairytale is worth it.”

“Or maybe the only thing preventing me from being happy is me. You, to be specific.”

“This is just an unjustified risk.”

“What is? My happiness? You know, as much as we talk about taking care of me, my well-being never seems to be a top priority.”

“It is. But this is not a way to achieve it.”

“Hey, so you didn’t run after all! That says something.” It’s Sophia.

Mr. Robot had enough spotlight for today. I don’t want to give him any more attention. I’ve been doing great before he got here, you saw it yourself. Wouldn’t you agree I’m better off without him?

“Are you ready to go?”

I am.

“Elliot? What’s wrong?”

I said I am.

Huh?

Can’t she hear me? What’s going on? Where is she looking? Why—

Oh no.

“So you’re Sophia.”

You fucking asshole. Stop it.

“Wh—Eliot, are you high? What happened when I was in the bathroom?”

Don’t.

“How long are you planning on fucking around with him?”

Let me back in, you’re ruining it!

“Enough of this. It’s been fun, but all things come to an end. I’m pretty sure now is a great time to stop this one.”

Don’t, you’ll make her leave!

“Who are you?”

I can see Sophia’s brows frowning. Her gaze has changed. I haven’t seen this before. She’s suddenly so serious, cautious. She can tell.

“Does it matter?”

“Who are you?” Sophia repeats, adding more force to her voice.

“Your dear Elliot calls me Mr. Robot. Too predictable, if you ask me, but I don’t complain. I’m afraid he is way too sentimental to take a sober view of this situation, so I had to step in. I’m here to tell you that we no longer share common interests.”

“You and me – no. But whatever it is I share with Elliot, it’s only his business and mine. I don’t think it concerns you.”

“Whatever concerns Elliot – concerns me too.”

“Does he even want you here?”

No, I don’t.

“Yes, he does.”

“Elliot, if you want me to leave – I will. But if you want me to stay, please tell me.

No.

No, I don’t want her to leave.

I don’t fucking care if she’s right or not, I don’t want her to leave.

I think I can reclaim control, at least a little. I have to.

“Elliot, don’t!”

I manage to grab Sophia’s hand. She finally looks at me. God, finally. I hear Mr. Robot clicking his tongue behind me, but I don’t care about him anymore. If anything, he proved the one thing I couldn’t fully figure out. I can’t bear being away from her.

“Sorry.” It’s all I manage to blurt out. It’s suddenly hard to speak. Everything’s blurry.

“Let’s go home.”

#elliot alderson #elliot alderson x oc #elliot alderson x reader #mr robot #mr robot imagine #rami malek #elliot alderson imagine

24 notes · View notes

god-damn-demetria · 6 years

Text

Demi Lovato’s Overdose

Okay, first of all I wanna say that I don’t know what happened last Tuesday. We all don’t know what happened exactly, and all I’m going to say in this post is MY OPINION and is all PURE SPECULATION. I could be right, I could be completely wrong. All I know is that all the hate and the media, that's probably mostly false, are annoying and it fucks me up that it even goes this far.

So, let’s get into it all. What are the “facts” we have so far?

1. Last Tuesday, June 24th, Demi was found unconscious in her house in LA. As far as we know, Demi was found at around noon and she was alone. Apparently, she was out celebrating her dancer Dani Vitale’s birthday (I’ll get to her and the other dancers later) the night before (which we do have this video off as the only evidence) and then headed home and had a party at her house as well.

2. At first, TMZ reported that Demi overdosed on heroin, which was later reported to be false. What substance was found in her blood is unclear at this moment. Apparently, paramedics gave her narcan when they arrived and took her to the hospital. At this point, all we know is that she’s still there and dealing with her withdrawal.

3. Later that day, after hours of worrying and being scared it was reported from her rep that she’s awake, stable and responsive.

4. It’s been reported that the last few months or weeks (we don’t know the real timeline here) Demi has been struggling with her addiction again and relapsed on various occasions.

Here is what I think about this all:

When this tour started, she seemed to be in a fantastic place. She was happy, bubbly, celebrated her sixth year of sobriety and nothing pointed towards a possible downward spiral, at least not at the time. The only thing that, looking back on it now, probably should’ve concerned some people is her sudden break with CAST Center and everyone involved (especially Mike, because he’s literally been with her every day during the American leg of the TMYLM Tour), her manager Phil and two of her absolute best friends, Marissa Callahan and Nick Jonas. But even then everyone, myself included, thought that there must’ve been a reason for it and it wasn’t really our place to judge because we didn’t know what happened. It was just weird that she suddenly cut off four people at once. Even her tweets seemed to tell us a story that no one really got. It was shady and messy. But hey, I just thought that whatever happened between her and those people probably hurt, and we all know that she is impulsive and stubborn. It wouldn’t be the first stubborn, shady tweet she’d send out. I was a little worried at that point because I knew how much these four people meant to her and I just thought “Oh my god, what if she got hurt really bad?” But again…it wasn’t really our place to judge, was it?

Another thing that probably should’ve concerned a few people was the fact that she went to Coachella. I mean, yes…she was good with going to parties and staying sober and clean, but Coachella is a whole other level. That’s not the right place for a recovering addict. But I tried to stay positive and told myself “Hey, she’s strong. She just celebrated her six years of sobriety. She can handle it.”…that was until she released “Sober” and I immediately thought that it must’ve been the whole Coachella thing that fucked everything up, combined with a few wrong people surrounding her. But we all know Demi, and we know how good she is at putting on a smile and not letting people know what’s happening in her life. I saw her live in concert in June, and she was just the Demi we all love and adore. Nothing seemed off. Even though, according to some posts and reports, she must’ve already been back to using drugs and drinking.

In “Sober” she sounds vulnerable, ashamed and embarrassed about relapsing, and in her lyrics, she promised to get help. I was positive about it. I never judged her for her relapse, and I never will. It’s part of recovery. She’s human like everyone else, and humans make mistakes. Sometimes, they can’t help but to make them when there’s that little guy called “addiction” sitting in the corner of their brains. In recovery, he’s constantly whispering to you that you need a drink/drug and that it’ll make you feel better and it won’t hurt anybody. Nobody will notice. Usually, he’s not loud enough, but then there comes a point in your life when everything else around you is quiet and all of a sudden he sees his chance and starts shouting all these things at you as loud as he can. And in order to make him stop, you give in. You do what he tells you to do so he finally shuts up.

Let’s move on, though…After “Sober” I hoped she’d be okay. I never saw the overdose coming. I would’ve never thought we’d get to this point where we almost lost her forever. Knowing that breaks my heart just as much as it breaks yours. But all if this doesn’t take away her six years of staying sober, clean and healthy. That’s a fucking accomplishment and nobody can take that away from her!

So…let me get into all the bullshit that’s been going around on Twitter. Let me start with Mike Bayer:

Mike was her life coach for how many years? Ever since she left Timberline Knolls, as far as I know. He was always an incredible person, never said a bad word about her and in Simply Complicated, he told us about what happened with Demi when she first lost control. And he also told us another thing: “The most important thing to Demi is losing people. It’s losing people that care about her and that love her.” Doesn’t that sound like that’s exactly what happened this time around? You gotta keep in mind that this overdose is a whole other level. Her first struggles weren’t as server as this one. So, what if all Mike (and Phil, Marissa and Nick) wanted to do is help her, but she blocked him? What if she didn’t think her problems were as bad as they apparently are and didn’t accept his help? What if she pushed him away because she was annoyed with his constant attempts to help? So Mike did what he had to do and stepped back. I have to admit, I wasn’t fair to him during that time. I was kind of mad at him, especially after that article came out saying she was fired from CAST because she relapsed and that contract she apparently signed or whatever that was…Looking back at all of this now, it was probably all to help her.

Let’s move on…Next on the list is Phil McIntyre:

He was Demi’s manager her whole career. He was the one who saw that Demi was special and had a God given talent, he stood by her side through her first breakdown and still continued to see her potential. I’m not gonna comment on his ability as a manager, because I literally don’t know shit about management, and neither do you, but I still see posts on Twitter constantly bashing him and calling him a bad manager. Do you all forget that he literally helped the Jonas Brothers becoming one of the most successful bands in the late 2000s? And you know what? Let him be a bad manager, I don’t give a fuck…but at least he is a really great human being who cares about his clients more than he cares about money and fame and success. Imagine if Demi would’ve had a different manager, one that pushes his clients so hard to make the most amount of money. One that doesn’t care much about his clients' well-being…one who pushes them so hard that all they can do to cope with the pressure is drink or do drugs…would you really want Demi to be managed by someone like that? At the vulnerable state that she’s constantly in? I don’t think so. Phil apparently staged an intervention, which might’ve been the breaking point in his and Demi’s relationship. So she “fired” him and Lauren Einbinder took over.

Next please…oh yes, Marissa Callahan:

Where do I start with Marissa? Her and Demi have been the absolute best friends for years. They shared some of the same struggles when it comes to mental health issues and Marissa has always been by her side. To me, the two of them were always friendship goals. I personally don’t think Marissa was ever a bad influence to Demi. When Demi started drinking, they were both young and stupid, so we can’t really blame her for anything. There are many teenagers who introduce their friends to alcohol. That doesn’t necessarily mean that these friends will end up becoming addicts. But with Demi, it was a little different. The underlying, undiagnosed mental health issue was part of the reason she developed this addiction, and neither her parents, nor her best friend Marissa could've possible seen the outcome of an early alcohol consume. So, please stop blaming Demi’s addiction on her. If it wasn’t her who introduced her to alcohol, Demi would've eventually gotten in contact with it another way. That’s what happens with teenagers. Okay, so…their friendship was one of the strongest I’ve ever seen. Just earlier this year, they were on vacation together for…how long was that…14 days? It was a long vacation and they seemed to have such a good time. And suddenly, about two or three months later, Demi unfollows her, posts shady tweets and when asked about her best friends, she just names Sirah and Matthew. Usually, Marissa would’ve been on top of that list as well. So, the fact that Marissa probably stepped away as well shows how server Demi’s drug use must’ve been. Just like Mike, Phil and Nick, Marissa wasn't enabling it. And who wants to watch their best friend destroy themselves? No one. Since all attempts to help Demi obviously didn’t work, Marissa stepped away, probably for her own mental health as well.

Now my favorite…Nick Jonas:

You know why he’s my favorite? That dude knows what he’s doing…and it worked the first time. Just at the end of 2017, Demi and Nick were at such an incredible place in their friendship. They were recording each other’s performances on each other’s phones, flew home in the same private jet…just a few weeks before that, Demi basically admitted to having some sorts of feelings for him in two of her songs. In an interview, she said that the person she wrote these songs about loved them and told her he wrote songs about her as well. I’m not saying this because I ship them a lot, but they were slowly heading towards something much stronger than friendship. I personally think that if all of this wouldn’t have happened, instead of getting the report of Demi overdosing, we would’ve gotten some kind of romance update on them. So how come that a friendship as strong and powerful as theirs suddenly ends with her unfollowing him on all social media? Listen to this interview at 7.15min. Nick basically explains it all. He stepped away to save himself from a possible heartbreak that he would’ve suffered if he would’ve kept watching her going down that spiral. And it’s not like he didn’t try. He also once said that the first time she was struggling, he tried to talk to her, but she cut him off. Just like she did again now. I hate to see people tweeting that he’s the reason she relapsed, or that he’s a bad guy in all of this. Just like Marissa, he probably just didn’t wanna witness his best friend ruining herself. I’ve been there, too. I’ve had friends struggling with mental health issues, and in order to keep my sanity, I had to step back at a certain point. So don’t judge him!

Now that I touched on Mike, Phil, Marissa and Nick, let’s get to the messy part…the one where everyone blames her dancers and even members of her family:

I wanna start with Dianna. People are really sending her hate and blame her, when all she was probably doing the past week was being worried as fuck about her daughter? Like…do you even realize how fucked up that this? This woman almost lost her child. She was almost at a point where, instead of planning which treatment center is best for her, she had to plan a funeral. Give her a fucking break! I’m not saying that everything was right in their family, but I think people tend to forget that Dianna herself struggles with mental health issues. So maybe she didn’t even see the depth of the problem. Maybe she couldn’t quite understand how server the whole situation was. And guess what, guys? Maybe she even tried to do something…but Demi is a 25-year-old, grown ass woman. And an addict. And stubborn as fuck. Do you really think she would’ve listened to her mother? Besides that, she’s manipulative. What if she told her mom that everything is okay? She can be super convincing, so what if Dianna believed her? It’s incredibly rude to assume Dianna had something to do with all of this. She is a mother. And from what I’ve seen the past few years that I’ve been following this family, she’s a great one. She loves her daughters.

And now…the part you’ve all probably been waiting for: Demi’s dancer

I honestly don’t even know where to start. Do I start at the American leg of the TMYLM tour? Or do I jump right into the European leg? Do I compare this tour with others that didn’t have dancers? I should probably do all of that. So…I’ve said it before, and I will say it again: The Future Now Tour was and always will be the best tour Demi has ever put together. Why? Well, not only did she travel through America with her best friend, but she was also surrounded by people who really, really cared about her. She had an incredible team, her best friend and she was the happiest I’ve ever seen her. She was free. Whenever they had a day off, they’d so some fun things…things that didn’t necessarily trigger her. And did you guys notice something? There were no dancers. In my opinion, she never needed dancers. Demi’s talent doesn’t need some extra special effects. She could play a two hours show with just her piano and a guitar, and people would still be fascinated by her.

But…I liked the dancers. There were fun, and from what I’ve seen on Instagram, they all had an incredible time. Everyone seemed so genuinely nice and funny and Demi seemed to love them as well. But what did they do when they had a day off? They were partying. And sometimes, Demi joined them. Like I said earlier in this post, there was a time where Demi could easily be part of a party and not care at all. She would drink her red bull and that’s it, but this year was different. She relapsed, and was surrounded by people who consumed alcohol. I’m not saying they caused it, or that they are to blame for it, but Demi was no longer at a place where she could be around that. Could they have done something about it? Maybe, but maybe they didn’t even realize what was going on before it was too late. That being said, let’s focus a little on two of the dancers that have been on top of the “let’s blame people for Demi’s overdose” list the past few days. And these people are Jackie and Dani. Now, Jackie fucked up. I’m sure all of you have seen the video of her doing coke on her Instagram. That’s pretty messy and I definitely don’t agree with what she did. And I seriously hope that she didn’t do it around Demi. While that could’ve been a triggering point for her, it still doesn’t mean that we can blame Jackie for Demi’s overdose.

Now Dani…I’m really conflicted at this point. I love Dani. I’ve met her. I’ve talked to her and what she said to us, how she treated us and what she then offered us was beyond anything I’ve ever experienced or expected from someone. She was one of the nicest, kindest and most humble people I have ever met in my life. She was so patient with us and really, really genuine. She’s always been getting hate, for ridiculous shit like being responsible for Jojo to leave the tour. People even said that she kicked her off and took her place…like bitch, they were literally both on that tour in America. Nobody took anyone’s place here. So I was already like “Damn, she doesn’t deserve that. She’s so fucking nice.”. So when I saw that everyone was now attacking her for causing Demi’s overdose, I was like “Okay, hold the fuck on…” Here’s what we know: Demi was at Dani’s birthday party. That alone is nothing to be extremely worried about. Like…Demi going to her friend’s birthday party? How fucking normal from her. Damn, Demi. And we all didn’t know how server her drug use was at this point. And guess what? Maybe Dani didn’t know either? Just like Demi’s family might not haven know just how bad it really was? We don’t know what happened at the party. We didn’t see any videos or pictures of her drinking with Dani. What if she didn’t do any of that while Dani was around?

Okay, let’s continue…Even though it was Dani’s birthday party, and Demi reportedly continued partying at her house with some people, that doesn’t mean Dani was there as well because for all we know, the party at Demi’s house had nothing to do with her birthday anymore. So…let’s say she was no longer there…how can you blame her for the overdose? How can you blame anyone who was there for the overdose? The only plausible explanation about when Demi overdose is the next morning, a little while before she was found. At that point, I’m 100% sure nobody else was at the house anymore. Didn’t someone say Demi was alone when it happened? Okay, it was probably one of these oh so reliable sources, but it makes the most sense to me. Like…yes, there were probably people enabling the drug use, but I can’t imagine anyone really letting someone overdose and possibly die. So nobody left her alone. Nobody just “watched” her overdose. She was alone, I don’t think it was her intention to overdose and she was lucky someone found her in time. If she would’ve overdosed that night…and then someone found her around noon…as hard as it is to hear, but then she wouldn’t be with us anymore. So stop blaming Dani. And stop reading too much into her statement.

I could say a lot more things…about the guys she’s been seen with (you know…when everyone thought she was out with G-Eazy?) for example. Or Dilmer, which I’m not gonna get into because those of you who follow me know how I feel about them as a couple. But this is already long enough. Like I said, I don’t blame anyone.

I’m gonna say this once and for all: THE ONLY ONE TO BLAME FOR DEMI’S OVERDOSE IS HER FUCKING ADDICTION! None of the people she’s been surrounding herself with forced her to do anything. She did that all on her own, because her addiction got stronger. Remember that little guy I told you about earlier? Yeah, he was yelling like a motherfucker!

#demi lovato #nick jonas #phil mcintyre #mike bayer #dani vitale

31 notes · View notes

smallblanketfort · 6 years

Text

reasons not to

i asked followers and friends to tell me why they’re alive. why they stayed. this is what happened.

the world is beautiful, like, breathtakingly, stunningly, dashingly, spectacularly, exasperatingly beautiful. every wall dirty with paint and ornate with mud and graffiti, all the moldy trees and infuriating insects, all the contorted perfect faces around the world, the decaying and the rising, whatever dichotomy that comes to life and anything that grows according to the plan is beautiful. and it breaks my heart that i will never see all the beauty in the world, but at least i gotta try.

I’m staying alive because I am not ready to be forgotten. This universe has existed for 14 billion years and will continue to exist for at least 14 billion more. In this grand scale, I get an average of 70 years, if I’m lucky. I will not be forgotten. I will do everything it takes to make a difference, to create, to grow and to cherish. I will not be forgotten.

tbh, the main reason i keep myself clean and alive is that i know my family wouldn't be able to take it if i didn't. everyone in my family either has psychological issues or strong tendencies to develop them, and the reason we all keep going, i believe, is because we know we have to be there for each other, otherwise everyone will fall. and i know it's kinda sad and maybe a little unhealthy sometimes but it's how we've worked for the longest time, and hey, we're still here, right?

I’ve stayed alive for my gay ambitions. I wanna kiss a girl! While sober! I’ve had 2 kisses while drunk but I don’t remember one and it sucks. I wanna be confident enough to kiss a girl without anything helping. Also one of those girls was straight and kissing me for attention from her gross boyfriend, I’d like to avoid that situation again lol. But yeah, gayness. Fuckin wild my dude. Gotta shoot my shot and get some lip-lock ya feel?

i reached out for help a while ago to a teacher and if it weren’t for him i might not have made it. he’s said so many things and tells me that i matter, i’m worth it, i deserve to be happy, and he wished he had a daughter like me. it makes me cry knowing that he puts effort into making sure i’m okay, and that’s what keeps me going. i want to make sure his efforts don’t go to waste.

I'm still alive for going out with friends on nights like this. Hearing the birds wake up. Seeing neon lights and stars. That even when I feel so lonely, so alone, I can at least see my friends have fun and lose myself in the music.

I want to be clean because then at least i know i can do it. I've only stayed clean for a few months and then relapsed. If i can make it to a year, then at least i know i can do another and then another and then another and maybe even not deal with it at all anymore. I just want to beat this for good.

my mom’s battled depression her whole life, and last fall i broke down sobbing and started telling her about how mine had been festering in secret for so long. and she started telling me about all the pain she never thought would bridge the mother-daughter divide and how she wanted to breathe in the shadows like smoke to keep them from burning my skin. sometimes at night we crawl into each others beds and carry the weight together when our arms have started giving out. i stay alive for her.

The thing that kept me here most was knowing that my life is not really my own. No one is purely self- contained. To end my own life would be to alter dozens. So, to counter my own feeling of worthlessness, I invested my time in things that I knew had a net positive impact on the world. The more objectively positive meaning that I gave to my life made it harder to argue that I should kill myself. What would my parents do? What would my also suicidal younger brother do? We're probably a package deal in this regard. Same with some students I lead a mental health group with. I had set an example to them, and I can't fail that hard without risking their well being.

Simply, my boyfriend. It started with him physically hiding anything I could use to hurt myself. Over time, with his support, I learned some self worth and improved so much. Now those things don't have to be hidden. Even now that he's gone for a year and a half and our contact is limited to a 20 minutes phone call a day and letters, I find I'm still stable enough to stay alive and clean. He taught me how to be safe even without him and that's worth everything.

I stuck around because for some reason, something was telling me to check things out until I'm 30. When I was a kid, I imagined myself getting older all the time. When I wanted to die, I couldn't see anything past the age I was in, 19. I was both so scared and so sad for my innocence, but apparently, it never left me. Because, even though I couldn't /see/ myself beyond 19, my body made me feel like I could. Did that make sense? I'm 24 now. So far I'm glad I stuck around.

Don't want to sound conceited, but there was a kid at church who just loved me. She was like my tail. Although, I think I learned from her more than she learned from me. We both spent the whole day in church because of various activities I was involved in and because her parents were in the choir for all the services. We were always together when there was nothing for me to do-- she talked a lot. I loved hearing what she had to say. That's why I didn't. I looked forward to her growth every week

I'm alive because of the Oscar's. A few years ago a theater was showing all the nominated movies, and my mom and I went to see Manchester by the Sea. It's a sad movie, about an accident that killed some kids, but it affected my mom a lot more than me. I remember walking back to the car and her talking about how she probably wouldn't be able to go on if one of her kids died. I still can't imagine a future, but so far I'm here and tthinking about that conversation in that parking structure.

i stayed alive because i couldn’t choose which sunrise would be my last.

My family, friends, and God keep me here. If it weren't for them, I might have committed suicide or at least harmed myself because I was so overwhelmed with the world and hated myself for how far I went into sin. I might be in prison because I was heading down a path that could have lead to illegal things. God has always pulled me back in and my family has always been there to talk to. A couple of friends have helped a lot too. I also hate inflicting pain on myself and others, so that has kept me here as well .I am still coming out of certain sins and I am still recovering, but I have hope now in Christ and hope for a better future. I still get overwhelmed and perplexed by this world, but I have support and I know that God is working in my life which will allow me to help others hopefully.

i’m alive because of the little things. seeing your plants flower, the dew in the morning, low hanging clouds in the mountains, the smell of warm dirt after it rains, the tingling feeling of your fingers warming up after going numb.

A fear of hurting my mum, sisters and best friend is the biggest factor in me staying. There have been so many times that I've thought - known - they'd be better off without me, but I know they won't see it like that, and will just be hurt. Personal vanity and the hope I can accomplish the projects I've dreamed of finishing also keeps me going.

On most days, staying clean is the hope that I can be used by the Lord in the lives of people who have been through the same thing—that one day I can look at someone and say, “I made it through… you can too.” On the nights I almost relapse, I think of the girls I’m discipling and the witness I have for Christ and wrestle with the effects of one hasty decision—and five years down the drain. The staying alive thing is a little more complicated sometimes. For the most part, it’s because I’ve personally seen the impact of suicide—both in my family and friendships. However, sometimes that’s not good enough. And, as pathetic as it seems, there are times when my cat is the only reason I’m still here. Phteven has super high anxiety, is afraid of most everyone (myself excluded), and is, generally, pretty high maintenance because of all his fears. No one in their right mind would take care of him if I were gone. So, on the darkest nights of my life, I’ve honestly stayed because I think my cat would end up at a shelter, and he would 100% have a heart attack because of the anxiety (which written out sounds really silly, but there ya go.) In general, however, it’s the knowledge of the impact it would have—regardless of how well I perceived to be loved or cared for.

For me the hope of tomorrow, there is always a new day. Ive always been an optimist and even in my darkest moments, hope keeps me grounded. Romans 8:18, Psalm 51:10 & Hebrews 6:19 have been verses that have helped me through to the point i have an anchor tattoo with Steadfast across it.

While some of these may sound dumb, they’ve kept me going all these years: all the books I’ll be able to read some day. all the movies/tv shows/music I’ll get to watch/listen to. All the laughs with my crazy friends. All the laughs with my crazy family. The possibility of road trips and vacations. The possibility of writing a book of my own. Falling in love. Being best friends with my sister. Loving my niece to pieces. Smelling the air after it’s just rained, and/or after the grass has been cut. Seeing the first snowfall every year. Seeing the corn and beans sprouting every spring. Sitting on a porch when I’m old. Having grandchildren to tell all your crazy stories to. And laughing. So much laughing. 😌

my reason to stay alive is my friends. they needed me to keep going, to keep pushing through every dark night. I know just how devastating it would be if one of my plans actually did work. since my dad passed away, every day was getting harder and harder to get through, until eventually i just didn't want to even live for the new morning. it's only been a few months now since the suicidal thoughts and the urge to self harm has left, but I think what got me through the worst of it was the unrelenting support of my friends. they were there for me through every breakdown, every panic attack and every dark thought. I genuinely don't think I'd be here today without their support- their kindness is what kept me going. I've worked hard for three years now on my mental health, I've been going to counselling and seeking support from other people. I've taken self care with open arms and its made such a difference. reaching out for help was so hard but it was so so worth it. I've reached my 18th birthday, a milestone I never thought i could ever achieve- yet here I am proving every horrible thought my brain spews up wrong. I'm so thankful I never gave up, because each day now - while sometimes still a struggle, shows me how the world has a little light bearing through even when things seem to be going shit. my lovely friends, my art and music is what wakes me up every morning and motivates me to sleep at night. life does get better.

In the past it was always my sister and brother. I always kept going and stayed here just so one day I could find them and we could be together. Be a family. I loved them since the moment I met them. Though my sister was only three and didn't speak English at the time only French. Of course I only knew English. My brother was to be born very soon. I was instantly in love. To know that I had them. They were my world. They held me together. Even though for the next 13 years we would not see each other for unfair reasons. Now 22 years later what keeps me here has changed only slightly. My sister and my father are what keep me here. For a very different reason now though. Four years ago my little brother, the one I was just speaking of, was murdered. Along with his girlfriend and her sister. I keep going because right now I can't let my dad suffer the loss of two children. I can't let the sweetest sister in the world lose two siblings. I can't let them down. I have to stay strong. I have to keep going. It's exhausting most days, and it gets harder as time goes on. So I fight back more to keep going because I love them and I know they love me.

I guess for me -- the reason I stayed is because I almost didn't stay, and it was the total grace of God that I'm here. At the time I thought I would have stayed for my family, or my friends, or my future -- but I totally could not see any of that other than the continuous hurt I thought I was inflicting on them. I had a really bad fall semester at my university that led me to eventually take a much needed and helpful medical leave my spring semester;; but the first time that I really almost did it I was breaking down on the top floor of a parking garage at my university, begging that God would actually see me and wanting prayer but not knowing where to go and not wanting to "burden" anyone I knew. As this was happening, this guy walks to the top of the garage and sees me - comes over to where I was sitting, asks if I'm okay and gives me a hug, and asks if he could pray for me (and my university is not even religious at *all*). He literally slept in a booth across from me and stayed with me all night as I finished my homework, and he walked with me to class the next day. In the midst of everything that I was a bit of hope. Towards the very end of the semester, I had seriously made the decision I was going to do it and went about with all what I thought were my parting arrangements -- the next morning when I was going to leave he sends me a text and shows up at my dorm, telling me he was praying for me and wanted to stay with me that day until I left to go back home to Pittsburgh where I'd be for my medical leave. Both of those times I actually didn't see a reason to stay -- but God did. And it took some time for that to really sink in... that God wants me to stay. That he wouldn't let me go. And that has been a massive reason why I stay now. In addition to that, through this healing season I have relearned the beauty of family and friendship, and how much love there actually is surrounding me -- and now, I look around and I appreciate it that much more because it was almsot never there. Knowing that God never gave up and there *actually was* soooooo much love and life on the other side of this that I was convinced I would never see gives me so much hope to keep holding on and to not listen to the lies that there is no good for me or my future. I don't want to live my life out of guilt or fear of what will happen to me or my friends/family after I'm gone -- but I guess that is a part of it, seeing many friends die from preventable causes and the damage it does puts things into perspective. But I'd say my main reason for staying is knowing that life really is worth it and precious when I can't see it, because I know what it's like to make it out the other side and understand how tightly God holds onto us when we don't want to even hold on anymore.

I stayed alive because I didn't know there was another option. I was young. I stayed alive because I didn't want my sister to have to live as someone with that kind of hole in her life. I stayed alive because there was always some upcoming performance and my company is too small for understudies or alternates. I stayed alive because there was always someone not quite as steady who relied on me to do so. Only now, finally, I can stay alive because I want to.

Reasons I stay alive: the love of the people close to me, and the knowledge that with age we get better. Anxieties lessen and dissipate, confidence grows, skills develop and things generally become clearer.

Ive been thinking about this post quite a lot, Haha. Mostly, it’s because I don’t want to give up. I want to prove to myself and my loved ones that I’m so much stronger than I think I am and I’d like to show the bullies of my past that I’m stronger than they think. Also, my family and friends and boyfriend keep me here. There’s so much see in the future, and I sometimes just... hold on to that. I lost touch with one of my best friends for years and I’m just too glad to have her back in my life since last year and I know (haha this sounds selfish I guess, but she told me haha) that she’s so glad about it as well. There’s so many things I want to achieve and things to see. I mean - about three weeks ago, said best friend and I met our childhood hero and I just kept thinking “man, I’m so glad I stayed”.

it’s on my blog too x and twitter

#mental health #suicide #anxiety #depression #thesproutclub on twitter + ig #stay alive #still alive #important #stories

61 notes · View notes

sehunsmuabrows · 6 years

Text

Forever flame// Park chanyeol (Oneshot)

Prompt: “I mean, I’m his girlfriend but shoot your shot I guess”

Pairing: Chanyeol x reader

Genre: fluff

You started dating Chanyeol in sophomore year of highschool after his friends started cheering every time he talked to you, being the ultimate sign that he liked you, and he had told them about it. You had developed a crush on him the year before so you were swift in asking him out when you knew he liked you back. You were the couple that everyone rooted for in high school. When you both were accepted and admitted into the same college, all of your friends were ecstatic, yelling about how you would probably grow old together because you already acted like an old married couple.

Now you were in your Junior year of college, all grown up, and you were still together. You acted the same as you always had, you never acted cheesy or romantic in public or engaged in any PDA whatsoever, even though Chanyeol often hinted that he wished you did. You and Chanyeol had been together since high school, but people could hardly tell that you were a couple unless you were shitfaced. To people who didn’t know you well, the relationship seemed completely platonic. Therefore making Chanyeol an open target for people to hit on him right in front of you, repeatedly. Usually you take it in stride, he always rejects them politely saying that he’s taken while you smugly turn back to whatever you were doing as Chanyeol shuffles awkwardly next to you.

You were cuddling with Chanyeol on the coach of your shared apartment when you got a text from your old roommate that your sorority was having a rager and it was already in full swing. You shot up off of Chanyeol’s lap with a sudden shock, since you had forgotten you were supposed to be there tonight, making sure that nobody goes home with a creep or drives drunk. Chanyeol hopped up soon after you, “Babe, what’s going on?” he said tilting his head to look at the message you were staring at and typing furiously. He groaned loudly seeing the words across the screen.

Since you were one of the only members of your friend group that was in a serious relationship, you were on babysitter duty. You sped off into the bedroom, raiding the closet for an acceptable outfit to wear, since all you were wearing was a pair of old exercise shorts that haven’t fit you properly since you were 16, and a sports bra. You loudly shouted for Chanyeol to come help you pick something out, but the grumble from behind you let you know that he followed you into the room. He reached around you and grabbed a pair of your jeans and one of his big t shirts for you to slip into. “You’ll probably want to stay comfortable, since Laura just got dumped and you’re her mom apparently” you groaned, realizing that your friend Laura was probably going to be a mess.

“She’s gonna get trashed, leave with some frat boy, and get arrested if I don’t go” you said, causing Chanyeol to nod in recognition, remembering the last time you left her alone at a party. You got dressed quickly, pulling your hair into a high ponytail as if you were getting ready for war.

“Were you like that when we broke up last year? Did you have a babysitter or were you your own?” his question caused you to raise your eyebrow as you slid on his shirt.

“Not really, i’m more of the ‘sit at home, eat junk food and watch rom coms type, plus we were broken up for like a week, I didn’t have that much time to get too unhinged” You said, hustling over to your shoes, cramming your feet into some blue running shoes without untying them.

“You know we could do that instead, every time I show up at one of these things, Luke tries to set me up with someone as soon as you walk away. Do you know what it’s like having a girlfriend around those guys? They actively encourage me to cheat on you” Chanyeol rants, following you to your car and hoping in the passenger's side.

“I would tell you to stay home, but I need someone to help me haul Laura into the car later. But give them a break, they’re usually faded out of their minds so I doubt their even thinking about your relationship status.” you mentally prepared yourself for the loud music and gross smells that you were surely about to walk into. You could see the usual festivities as you approached the large sorority house. You parked by the curb and rushed passed a beer chugging contest to get into the house. Before you entered, you turned back to look at Chanyeol, who had been following closely behind.

“You have your phone right? I might lose you in there” you scanned to see if his phone was in his pocket, knowing that he had the tendency to get lost and you didn’t want to have to hunt him down. He rolled his eyes and shook his phone in your face, passing you to walk into the party. Chanyeol’s energy skyrocketed when he saw Minseok, a senior that had mentored him the years before. You weren’t expecting him to be there, considering he didn’t usually show up to these sorts of things and was mostly invested in the academic parts of college. Chanyeol turned to you, seemingly much more upbeat than 10 seconds prior.

“Call me when you’re ready to leave, no rush though” he quickly gave you a kiss on the forehead and turned to join Minseok and his other friends that you didn’t recognize. With that, you left to find Laura, weaving through the crowd, asking people if they had seen her or knew where she was. Eventually you were pointed to a corner of the dance room, where she was making out with one of the RAs. She wasn’t actually doing anything disruptive or damaging yet, and it wasn’t any of your business who she chose to make out with so long as she wasn’t being taken advantage of, so you decided to leave her alone but keep her within eyesight. You saw one of the new freshman sitting alone near the bathroom just a few feet away, so you decided to give her some company.

“Hey there! I gave you a tour of the engineering department earlier this month right? My name is Y/N if you don’t remember” you smiled brightly at her, holding out your hand to the clearly tipsy freshman. She smiled back at you sincerely, taking your hand with a strong grip.

“I remember you, the tour was really helpful. My names Tess…” She trailed off and you could barely hear her over the music, causing you to be concerned for her health, before you felt a large hand on your shoulder, commanding your attention. You knew it was Chanyeol immediately when he massaged your shoulder with his thumb before letting go. “Oh hey, where’d Minseok go? I thought you’d be following him around for the rest of the night” you asked, as you turned around to look at him questioningly.

“I was, but he had to go work on his thesis or something” He sighed, clearly pouting about not being able to hang out with his favorite person for the night. You laughed loudly at his expression, causing a few heads to turn your way, since the music had been turned off for the moment, not that too many people cared. You heard Tess clear her throat, you realized that she was still there listening to your conversation.

“So Y/N… do you want to introduce me to your friend” She said, stepping towards Chanyeol seductively, anything but good intentions written on her face. You weren’t angry, mainly because you hadn’t made your relationship very clear, and she wasn’t exactly sober. The sight of her coming onto him caused you to chuckle. Chanyeol’s awkwardness was multiplied tenfold when she traced her finger down his chest, his eyes shifted to you in panic, as if asking what he should do in this situation.

“I mean, I’m his girlfriend but shoot your shot I guess” you said, amused as you stared at the situation that was unfolding in front of you. Tess paused immediately, embarrassment showing on her face. She stepped away from Chanyeol quickly, looking at you apologetically, but you waved her off. “It happens all the time, don’t even stress” You reassured her.

You started to rub Chanyeol’s back, since he was easily traumatized by things like this. Tess proceeded to ask you all about your relationship, and you answered happily, lovingly looking back on the things that made your relationship special. She may have just been gauging how serious you two were, but you didn’t really care.

After reconnecting with a few people and guarding Laura from dangerous situations, eventually you and Chanyeol hauled Laura into your car and dropped her off at her apartment and handing her over to her roommate. Once you arrived back to your place you were exhausted, you were eternally thankful for Chanyeol giving you his t shirt, since it made for a wonderful night gown. You peeled off your jeans, groaning loudly as you hit the bed, not caring to brush your teeth since you didn’t have any drinks and you ate about a thousand mints in the car. You wanted to cuddle with your boyfriend and fall asleep, but Chanyeol had other plans.

He huffed loudly as he plopped next to you on your bed after changing into his pajamas, sitting while you lay on your back. The lord really wasn’t with you today.

“You know, when guys hit on you, I make sure to make them go away” he shifted to face you accusingly, you snorted in response.

“Guys don’t hit on m-”

“That’s because I scare them away” You laughed as the words left his mouth, annoying him either further.

“You’re not very scary, Park Chanyeol” You smiled teasingly, sitting up to face him, since this might turn out to be a long conversation.

He sighed loudly, “Can’t you just act a little protective sometimes, I think it’d be cute, or hot, i’m not sure ‘cause you’ve never done it but I know it would be something” He rambled on about his frustration, you smiled at him again but you recognized how he felt. Since he had always been the touchy and sensitive type, you knew that he probably wished your relationship was more expressive and cliche, and you understood that. Ever since Chanyeol had changed his major to psychology, he had been reading into your actions toward him much more, and you needed to show that you cared for him, even if you had been together for a long time.

You hugged him close, taking him by surprise, before he melted into your touch, “I’ll do that, i’ll be jealous and snippy when people hit on you, but not so much that it’s unreasonable, just enough to get your rocks off” He choked as you said the last part, but stayed still in your arms. “I’ll call you nicknames and hug you in front of your friends, i’ll be really lovey dovey” You begun to stroke his hair, something that you only tend to do when you’re drunk. “However, relationships are all about compromise,” you felt Chanyeol freeze, worried about what your side of the deal would be, “I get to drive your car to my family reunion next week, not you driving with me to it, it makes me look like your sugar baby. I want you to be the sugar baby this time” You smiled mischievously, thinking about his Audi with stars in your eyes. You felt Chanyeol relax after you said your piece.

“That’s all? God, I thought you were going to make me do that weird sex ed for adults class your mom is always sharing with me on Facebook” He shuddered, laying down the bed as you let him go.

“I’m not that cruel, Chan, but that is a hell of a lot better than the ‘future mothers seminar’ she actually made me attend” You laid back down next to him, draping your leg over his torso as you cuddled closer. Chanyeol looked at you horrified at the idea of going to such a seminar.

Your eyelids started to get heavy, and you heaved the large comforter over your body, situating into a more comfortable long term position. You stared at the back of Chanyeol’s head before saying words that you had told him before, but somehow had taken new meaning. You sat up slightly over his body, tapping him on the nose, causing him to open his eyes curiously. “I love you”

“I love you too, go to sleep” He grumbled roughly, though his smile was visible through his eyes. In that moment you realized how hopelessly in love you were, and how lucky you were to have loved him this long. No matter how long or how often you saw each other, he never got boring, never disappointed you or doubted you. He was a flame that never burned out or dulled even in the harshest winter.

#chanyeol #fluff #exo #fanfic #kpop #drabble #writing prompt #au #collegeau

63 notes · View notes

dovechim · 7 years

Text

it’s okay, that’s love 05

➾ water polo player!jimin x psychiatrist!reader ft ot7 ➾ warnings: smut/ mentions of sex, toxic relationships, blood and self harm, mental illnesses ➾ word count: 8.2k ➾ previous parts 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 ➾ disclaimer: this is purely a work of fiction and i do not claim to be a qualified mental health professional. this work is not intended to provide any medical advice of any sort, please consult a licensed physician instead.

please read the previous parts first!!

Taehyung never regrets things that he does. What’s the point when it only makes him feel worse about something he never should have done in the first place? Plus, he did read something online about how optimists live 5 years longer, so there’s also that.

And Sunmi’s hair is pretty long and silky. Just the right length for him to pull as he sinks into her balls deep, although her moans are getting on his nerves. Apart from the whole commitment thing, he realises this is why he never called her back after their first time; she’s noisy as fuck even though all he’s done before this is rub his cock against her slit.

“Shhhh baby, can you keep quiet for me?” Taehyung has long ago become an expert at making anything sexy, so even telling girls to shut up has become too easy for him.

But Sunmi only arches her back further into him, trying to get him to go deeper. “Bu-but Tae, I need more, oh- you’re so big. I missed your cock so badly.

To satisfy her, Taehyung bottoms out, effectively shutting her up because of his size. Still, he takes care not to go too hard on her, keeping her pleasure in mind as he reaches around to fondle her clit absentmindedly till he feels her walls start to flutter around him. It’s at this point that he allows himself to pound her a little harder to chase after his own high, releasing his load inside the condom before pulling out.

Sunmi is pouting as she turns around to lie on her back, and Taehyung pauses as he ties off the condom. “Why, did you not cum?”

“I did… but it would have felt so much better without a condom,” Sunmi runs her fingers through the wetness that lingers on her pussy regretfully, as if imagining his cum coating her lips and entrance.

Taehyung spares a glance towards her well used slit before pushing himself off the bed to dispose of the condom. “Sorry babe, not that into risking it.”

Sunmi is watching him as he gathers his clothes off the floor, tugging on his jeans and shirt in a record time. It’s his specialty after all.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Taehyung pauses on his way to the door, freezing with his hand halfway to the doorknob, slowly turning to face her. “What? What do you mean? Of course it fucking matters, you could get pregnant, and that’s the last thing a commitment phobe like me needs.”

Sunmi shrugs nonchalantly, closing her legs modestly as she sits up on the bed. “You didn’t use a condom last time.”

He should just leave, this is just another attempt to stall him and keep him for longer than necessary. “That was one time, and I pulled out.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she smiles softly at him with a hand on her lower belly even as Taehyung can feel his heart turn to stone inside his chest. “It only takes one time.”

The night air breeze penetrates through the flimsy flaps of the street-side stall tent. The streets are unusually cold at this time of the night, although to be fair, Seokjin’s never been out this late before. And he’s also never been as drunk as he is now, but he is considering doing it more often, since it blurs everything into a pleasant mirage of haziness, saving him the trouble of feeling everything so acutely.

He’s tired of being sober and just being alive in general.

Raising his hand, he calls out drunkenly for one more bottle of soju, to which the pleasant if slightly overbearing stall owner obliges. She places the bottle, opened and all, on his table, looking as though she’s about to tell him that he’s already had too much to drink, but then another customer distracts her.

Seokjin gratefully reaches to pour himself another shot, but before he can do so, someone else snatches the bottle from his hands, and he reacts belatedly with an angry shout.

“Hey, that’s mine you idiot, get your own fucking soju,” Seokjin means it to be intimidating, and he does consider himself a pretty intimidating guy, with his 60cm wide shoulders and all, but it apparently comes out in a drunken slur instead. The perpetrator only grins, a boxy, mischievous smirk, and gestures for a shot glass of his own before pouring for the both of them.

“You shouldn’t pour your own drink; didn’t you know that?” Taehyung knocks back his shot as soon as he sets the bottle down.

“That’s only if you’re drinking with someone else, brat, and I was drinking alone.” Seokjin snarks back as he reaches for his own glass.

“Ah, but hyung, the key word being was, past tense.” The cheeky brat has the audacity to help himself to another shot, but at this point, Seokjin is far too gone to stop him. All he’s thankful for is Taehyung’s steady hand has he continues to supply him with alcohol.

“Why’re you out drinking on a Friday night anyway? And alone too?” Taehyung picks at the leftover food on the table, sad remnants of sausages and an omelette that Seokjin can’t bring himself to finish.

“What’s wrong with drinking alone? On a Friday night?”

“Oh, y’know, nothing much… I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but all the other people here are either couples or big groups.”

Seokjin pauses after knocking back another shot, feeling the burn travel down his chest in a satisfying trail. “Could ask you the same thing. Why are you here, intruding on my solo drinking session?”

“Fucked up.” Taehyung’s answer is so straightforward and to the point that it catches Seokjin off guard. His honesty elicits laughter that suddenly bubbles up from his chest and pours out from his mouth in high-pitched squeaks that draw the attention of the tables around him. Taehyung only frowns and opens his mouth to protest, but Seokjin beats him to it.

“Join the club, buddy.” He reaches for another shot, but the bottle comes up empty. Taehyung is quick to react like the good dongsaeng that he is, calling for yet another bottle. “Two of my star players injured, lost a really fucking important match that would have led to semi-professional careers for some of them, got kicked out of my apartment. Fucking swell, everything is.”

He doesn’t want to turn this into a sob story competition, so Taehyung keeps quiet and busies himself with pouring the two of them another shot each. “Can’t help you there, my friend. But-”

Seokjin reaches to hit him on the head. “You punk, I’m not your friend, who said you could speak informally?”

Taehyung easily dodges the hit, not like it was very accurate in the first place. “It’s a saying, hyung. And anyway, wouldn’t you like to know what it’s like to get fucked by something other than life?”

“What?” Seokjin snorts in response. “If you’re offering, then no.”

“Sorry, hyung, I wouldn’t, not even for you,” Taehyung grins wryly. “You’re attractive as fuck, those shoulders really are amazing, but if you’re keen I do have some dudes who’d be into this…”

“Fuck off,” Seokjin mutters without any real heat in his voice, giving in to the urge to rest his head on the table. “Although if any of them had a place I could crash at for the night, that’d be great, I’d be willing to give up my virginity and all.”

“Not sure how much that’s worth, but I could make that happen,” Taehyung says as he peers at Seokjin’s slouched form on the table with growing concern. “Hey, I’m serious, you need a place to stay?”

No response from the older man, and Taehyung resorts to nudging his outstretched arm, but to no avail either. Great, now he’s stuck with a sleeping drunk, and he has to lug a dead weight all the way home.

This better count as arms day, leg day, whatever- for the next week or so.

It’s almost daylight by the time Taehyung manages to lug Seokjin back home, a testament to just how much Taehyung underestimated the older man’s weight. All he wants to do is collapse into bed and just forget everything that happened in the past 24 hours.

He manages to get the door unlocked with just one hand, and his shoulders are protesting over Seokjin’s dead weight. He lets out a curse as his foot hits a table leg in the dark, and he knocks over something that falls to the floor with a crash. Taehyung stumbles the last few steps towards the sofa and dumps Seokjin’s figure none too gently onto it, groaning as he rubs his sore muscles.

Seokjin stirs slightly at all the movement, moaning in protest as his head hits the armrest of the couch.

All the commotion has awoken someone in the house, because Taehyung hears a door opening and footsteps sounding from the hallway. He’s a hundred percent sure that it’s not Yoongi-hyung, so it must either be Jimin or-

You’re rubbing your eyes, squinting around in the dark for the light switch before flipping it on. “Tae? What’s all the noise? Did you just get back? Who-“

“Fuck, that really hurt,” Taehyung is examining his toe for damage before he glances up and follows your line of sight. “Yeah, um, I kinda picked him up off the streets-“

“Kim Taehyung, what did I tell you about picking up strays? This isn’t even an animal for fucks sake,” you take a few steps closer to peer at the sleeping figure on the couch, taking in his dishevelled appearance, wrinkled pink hoodie and faded ripped jeans. “Is- is this who I think it is? How the hell-“

Another door opens, and you stiffen immediately, whipping around to see who it is. In reality, you already know who it’s going to be, because Yoongi sleeps like the dead, and even if he were awake at this hour, he wouldn’t care enough to come out anyway.

Jimin’s hood is drawn over his head and his eyes are half open against the assault of light that fills the living room. “What’s going on here? Why is Seokjin-hyung on our couch right now?”

When his eyes land on you, he immediately straightens up, eyes opening wider than Taehyung’s ever seen before, mirroring your posture. There’s an awkward silence as the two of you awkwardly avoid each other’s gazes, both staring at the sleeping blonde man on your couch.

“Um, look, I have no idea why the two of you are acting like you just saw each other naked, but you’d better settle it between you because I’m going the fuck to bed,” Taehyung side steps you and heads for his room. “Oh, and just give him a blanket or something, I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

Taehyung talks as if Seokjin is more like an object than an actual person, but you keep your mouth shut as he disappears into his room, because he looks like he’s ready to fall asleep on his feet.

Jimin reaches for one of the spare throws that fell to the floor when Taehyung dumped Seokjin on it and drapes it over his sleeping figure. He turns back to head for his room, avoiding your gaze, but you stop him.

“Hey, um, Jimin, about last night, um…” You’ve never been this ineloquent in your life.

He turns around, cautiously meeting your eyes with his arms crossed protectively over his chest. “I’m okay with pretending it never happened, if that’s what you were going to say.”

You take a deep breath, cursing yourself for ever stepping out of your room in the first place, because it looks like you’re not going back to sleep for the rest of the night. “I was hurt, lonely, and desperate, and I took advantage of you. I was being unprofessional, and this won’t affect my ability to treat you at all. I hope we can put this behind us, and if it bothers you in the slightest, I can get someone else to continue your treatments.”

It didn’t bother me at all.

Jimin smiles sadly as he shakes his head, the thought of having someone else take over making him uncomfortable because there’s no one he trusts more than you. “It’s alright. I’m okay. Goodnight, _____. Sleep well.”

You watch him turn and head into his room, regret churning at the bottom of your stomach.

“Goodnight, Jimin.”

Seokjin throws an arm over the bright strip of light that just happens to land directly over his eyes. His head is pounding, nausea stirring right at the bottom of his throat, threatening to spill over if he makes any sudden movements. Where the fuck is he?

He cracks his eyes open just a tad, only to be met with the unfamiliar sight of the ceiling above him. When he cranes his neck a little, his surroundings don’t ring a bell, and he chooses to close his eyes again just to escape everything for a little while more.

Until someone shakes him awake rudely with an iron clad grip on his arm, and Seokjin can’t help but sputter out a few curses he’s sure he never would have said if he were sober.

“Hyung!! Wake up, it’s already past noon.” Taehyung’s insistent voice keeps him from shutting everything out and going back to sleep again.

“So? What does that have to do with me?”

“You sound like Yoongi hyung right now,” another voice comes from somewhere else, along with a chuckle and he vaguely recognises it to be Park Jimin’s.

“Shut up brat, before I make you do extra laps,” he mutters, still half asleep as he reaches to wipe the drool from his mouth. Taehyung pushes a glass of water into his hands, and he sips gratefully.

“Do you think you’ll even make it to practice like this, hyung?”

Practice… Seokjin jolts awake and fumbles for his phone, groaning when he realises that it’s Saturday, and practice starts in less than an hour. Forcing back the wave of nausea that threatens to overwhelm him, Seokjin pushes himself onto his feet, only to wobble dangerously had it not been Taehyung’s arm around his waist.

“Hey, careful, hyung you should rest, I’ll take over training for today.” All traces of teasing vanish from Jimin’s voice as he reaches out to push Seokjin back onto the couch gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll assign myself extra laps too.”

“You better, brat,” Seokjin can’t do more than grumble in what he hopes is an extra threatening manner, but the cool surface of the couch beckons to him.

“Uhh… here’s the thing…” Taehyung starts hesitantly, his arm still around Seokjin’s waist and keeping him from slouching back into a lying position. “You can’t be here, if Yoongi-hyung wakes up to find you here he’s gonna flip. He hates it when I bring strays back, and also, in terms of resident capacity, this house’s full.”

“Fucking brat, I’m not a stray,” even in his inebriated state, Seokjin knows when he’s being insulted, and he reaches over to smack Taehyung over the head, thankfully not missing this time. Although he knows he’s pretty much at Taehyung’s mercy right now, having been kicked out without a place to stay, but still.

Lucky for him, Taehyung’s a pretty easy-going guy.

Taehyung only sighs through his nose and enlists Jimin’s help to heave the larger man off the couch (“You need to use those muscles before they go to waste”) and up the stairs towards Namjoon’s apartment.

He’s praying that Namjoon’s in right now, if you or Yoongi come back to find that he’s adopted another stray into the house, his life will be miserable indeed. His prayers are answered when the door swings open to reveal an immaculately dressed blonde man, everything from his white dress shirt to his black slacks are crisply pressed, and his hair is styled off his forehead with what looks like a lot of gel.

“Hyung, were you about to go out? Sorry for interrupting-“

Namjoon frowns in response, his gaze travelling between Taehyung and Jimin, and the rather inebriated, sloppy looking man leaning on Jimin. “No, I wasn’t. And who’s this?”

“This is, um…” Taehyung hesitates as he takes in Namjoon’s scrutinizing gaze, and Seokjin’s dishevelled bedhead. The two look worlds apart in terms of appearance, and once again Taehyung stops to wonder if this is really a good idea.

“This is my coach!” Jimin pipes up, and Taehyung can hear the note of desperation in his voice as he desperately tries to maintain his grip on the older man. “He’s um… he kinda needs a place to stay right now, and um…”

Namjoon may be overly particular about his standards of cleanliness, but he’s not heartless. So when he sees Jimin struggling to maintain his balance under the older man’s weight, he heaves a sigh and beckons them in, wincing as he imagines every single step that they take across his perfectly polished wooden floors.

Jimin dumps Seokjin’s weight onto the couch much like Taehyung did the night before, and makes sure to complain extra loudly that he won’t be able to do his reps later on at gym. While Namjoon is trying his best not to immediately want to scrub every surface they’ve touched or even breathed on, Taehyung notices his distress and turns to him.

“Hyung, remember what we worked on in our sessions okay? This’ll be good for you, I promise.” Okay, so Taehyung didn’t exactly have this in mind when he thought of having them stay together, but what really matters is that he can pull excuses out of his ass like this and still have people believe him. And it’s not like it isn’t true anyway, one of the next steps in his treatment does involve direct desensitization, maybe not this soon, but soon, alright.

Namjoon takes a deep breath, and even though he’s itching to tell everyone to get out, he does trust Taehyung and his unorthodox methods, because they work. A month ago he couldn’t even stop washing his hands every ten minutes and taking a shower every hour, but now he’s gotten to the point where his skin isn’t dry and crackly from excessive washing.

“Thanks hyung, this means a lot,” Jimin turns to him sincerely, and Namjoon can only give him a strained smile in response as Seokjin shifts his weight onto the couch, before throwing up all over his floor.

“No problem, I had an extra room anyway,” Namjoon says through gritted teeth.

“Hey, punk.” You greet him with a fond smile on your face as you peek into his ward, and Jeongguk’s doe eyes practically light up to see you.

“Noona! Finally, I was getting so bored in here,” he pouts adorably with his lower lip jutting out as you take a seat beside his bed. “Did you bring it?”

“Yeah I did,” you grumble as you lift his heavy laptop and set it gently onto his lap. “Nearly died getting this into work today, you owe me one, big time.”

But it’s all worth it just for the look on Jeongguk’s face as he unzips his laptop case and pulls out his computer and mouse from within. The last time you saw him, you’d made the mistake of asking if he needed anything, and he claimed he was undergoing serious Overwatch withdrawals and begged you to lug his gaming computer over for him.

“I swear, you’re happier to see your computer than you are to see me,” you tease him with your arms crossed over your chest. “Is this all I am to you?”

“What? No!! Noona, you-“ his voice is cut off even as his fingers itch to lift the lid of his laptop. “Noona, I love you so much.”

You can’t help but laugh at his attempt to convince you, since his eyes are still fixed on the screen of his laptop even as he says it. “Save it, I know what I am to you.”

“No, really,” Jeongguk’s eyes leave the screen of his laptop to focus on you.

You smile back at him, reaching over to check on his bandages and generally fussing over him, aware that he enjoys the attention. “How are you doing though? Better?”

“Much better physically,” Jeongguk would never allow himself to admit that he’s anything less than perfectly functional, but when it comes to you, it feels a little easier, a little less like accepting defeat and more like allowing himself to admit that maybe he can’t shoulder everything on his own all the time.

Jeongguk doesn’t have much experience talking about things like this, so it’s more of the things he doesn’t say that say much more about him.

“You’re doing great,” you reassure him, and you both know that it’s not his physical state you’re talking about.

“Noona, it’s just…” Jeongguk hesitates as he fiddles with his laptop. “What happens after I get discharged from here? Do I… go home and stuff?”

“Generally, yes, that’s what people do when they get discharged,” you answer him with a grin. “Why, did you want to stay here for longer?”

“Y’know, it’s not too bad, having pretty nurses and an even prettier doctor at my beck and call,” Jeongguk grins. “Hey, do you think you could borrow one of the nurse’s uniforms? I’ve always had this thing for nurse fantasies and prescribed blowjobs to speed healing-“

“Okay, okay, I think our time is up,” you wince at the mention of it, holding up your hands to stop him, but you know he’s just joking around, so you don’t actually get up to leave. Instead, you place a hand over his larger one. “Things won’t change after you get discharged, Jeongguk. You don’t have to worry about people treating you differently now that they know. As much as you doubt so, things can and will go back to normal.”

The teasing smirk and crinkles at the corner of his eyes have disappeared now, and Jeongguk is fiddling with the corner of his blanket. He spares you a glance from under his golden hair that’s partially obscuring his vision. “I just… don’t want them to treat me like I’m fragile or something. And now that this happened, I feel like I can’t go on like how I did before, just ignoring everything and charging straight ahead without a second thought.

“Sometimes, I just want to talk about things with someone, tell them how I’m lost and how I don’t feel like existing anymore, but I don’t want them to be sad or worry about how to comfort me. I don’t want to be this toxic person who rains on everyone’s parade with these kind of thoughts, but I just want them to understand. I just want to tell someone. And then we can go on with our lives as per normal, and go get lamb skewers or something.”

“You can tell me,” you say as you squeeze his hand tightly. “I know it seems like it’s my job to psychoanalyze everything people say, but sometimes people just need to get things off their chests.

“I’ll even promise to buy you food every time after.”

This is one of the rare times that you’re thankful for how busy work keeps you, and even though it’s tiring, it keeps you from thinking about whatever happened two nights before.

It’s nice to engage in mindless chatter with the ward clerks at the counter, from giggling over the latest new intern who got transferred in and wondering if he’s single, to discussing the best places to get a full spa day. It’s one of the rare moments where you truly feel a little less tired of everything, and it’s nice to forget, even for a little while.

A slim, pale girl with jet black long hair approaches the counter just as you giggle over Joy’s lame joke. She’s dressed in a pair of cuffed denim shorts and a tank top that seems to engulf her tiny figure, and there’s a hesitant look on her face.

“Hi, can we help you?” Joy is the first to notice her, and you turn around immediately.

“Oh, um, I was just wondering if there’s a Taehyung here. Kim Taehyung.”

Joy’s eyes narrow just a tad. “May I have your name please? And what’s the nature of this, may I ask?”

“Lee Sunmi,” she says as she wraps her arms around herself; her fragility seems to be emphasised in volumes by such a simple action, and you suddenly feel a surge of protectiveness over her small frame. “Um, it’s confidential.”

“I’m afraid he’s not in at the moment, his duty doesn’t start till 2pm,” Seulgi offers helpfully from behind the desk, only to be on the receiving end of Joy’s glare.

“Oh,” she seems disappointed by this information, and you reach out to place a hand soothingly on her arm. “It’s okay, I’ll wait.”

“Are you okay? Is there anything I can do for you? Maybe one of us can help you instead?” You take in her tearstained cheeks and smudged makeup with a growing concern.

“I-I know this is the psychiatric department, but… I need a pr-pregnancy test. And Taehyung told me he’d accompany me.”

Jimin’s thighs are groaning in protest with every step he takes, and not to mention there’s a whole flight of stairs waiting for him ahead. It’s times like this that he absolutely regrets choosing to live here, and regrets even more that he chooses to go extra hard for leg day.

He briefly wonders how you’re doing at work and if you’d be back home already; but these thoughts are pushed to the back of his mind when he sees a suspicious looking silhouette lingering in front of the house. Jimin powers through the last few steps, trying not to let it show on his face as he places himself in between the stranger and the house.

“Who are you?” His tone is rude, and he could have worded his question better, but Jimin is tired from his workout and just wants to collapse into bed without even showering.

The man turns around, and Jimin recognises him as the man you were speaking to just a few nights ago, not that he peeked out of the window to eavesdrop on your conversation anyway. He was just doing his job to make sure you were safe.

“O-oh, nice to meet you, I’m Jung Hoseok, and I assume you live with _____?” Hoseok’s observant gaze flits down to the keys in Jimin’s grasp. “Is she in right now? I’d like to see her for a bit.”

Jimin can almost feel his protective hackles rising as he remembers the way you looked after talking to him that night, tearstained and so heart achingly lonely. “She’s not in right now. And she said she doesn’t want to see you ever again, so please stop coming here.”

“She did, didn’t she?” The sudden change of tone has Jimin immediately on alert, as the once neutral expression on Hoseok’s face turns into an ugly smirk. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but you must be Park Jimin right?”

“Yes, I am,” Jimin answers cautiously, balling up his fists in case this guy needs to be punched. But his next statement catches him off guard, does more damage than he would have ever envisioned, and it turns out that Jung Hoseok never intended on relying on physical strength to get his way.

“Interesting,” Hoseok raises his eyebrows as he takes in the apartment behind Jimin casually. “You know, I found it really interesting that _____ just so happens to live with two- now three- of her patients. _____ always had a thing for dating her patients, so I wonder which one of you three she’s currently fucking? Or maybe she’s sleeping with all three of you at the same time?”

Jimin is struggling with the urge not to sink his fist right into the other man’s nose, and gathers himself together just enough. “What the fuck are you talking about? How did you know all this?”

Hoseok is the epitome of composure as he watches Jimin break out into a sweat. “How did I know she likes to fuck her patients? Past experience, bro.”

He pauses to let his words sink in. “It looks like it might be you… did I guess correctly? You look like her type. In any case, it’d do you good to remember that the only reason why she puts up with you is because she has some serious issues underlying all of that doctor act she puts up. Not because she really loves you. Trust me, once she’s had enough, she’ll dump you like you’re yesterday’s trash.”

The words sound muffled to Jimin, as if he’s hearing them underwater, and suddenly it feels as if he’s treading water as well, like he’s in the midst of one of his games. He blinks rapidly to try and clear the water that’s flooding his eyes even through his goggles, hands coming up to his face to ensure that they’re still on him, but his fingers encounter nothing but the smooth skin of his eyelids instead.

“Anyway, nice meeting you, Park. Let ____ know I dropped by,” Hoseok says with an easy smile as he turns to saunter away, and Jimin takes a step toward his retreating back, but it feels as if he’s walking on the spot, unable to advance any further.

His fingers are suddenly itching, and it’s all he can do to unlock the door in front of him and stumble to his room. He throws himself to the floor on his knees, not even caring about the pain that radiates through his joints as he reaches for the handle of a drawer and pulls it out hurriedly, rummaging pointedly for the one object that he wants.

The sight of crimson stained flesh is naturally alarming to most, but Jimin only stares at it with a sort of morbid fascination, and somehow there’s a disconnect between what his eyes are perceiving and what his brain processes it as.

“He does it because he loves you, and he wants you to grow up to become better,” his mother tells him even as she sponges the blood away from the cuts on his legs. “He means well.”

Another stroke, and it feels like the pressure in his chest lessens even while the area between his thighs grow damper.

“Th-then what about you?” Jimin looks at the bruises on his mother’s arms with wide eyes. “Does he do it because he loves you too? Because he wants you to be better too?”

His mother tugs her sleeves down to cover her own bruises, smiling as she places her hand on his cheek. “Yes, your father loves us very much.”

Jimin looks at her like she’s his entire world, and if she says it’s okay, then it’s okay. “How can we become better for him? So that he won’t hit us anymore, and so that he’ll love us?”

It doesn’t hurt, he’s long ago stopped registering the pain.

“Just let him be, Jimin. This is what he needs to do to show that he loves us.”

It’s nearly midnight when you finish your shift, and you’re itching to get back home. Taehyung’s cell has been off the entire day, and he didn’t even show up for his shift like he was supposed to, so naturally you had to cover for him. In the end you told Sunmi to go home after trying countless of times to contact Taehyung.

A quick perusal of the shoerack tells you that he’s not home, and on top of your anger at him for leaving Sunmi in the lurch, is genuine concern for your best friend. You enter the house only to find Seokjin gone from the couch and Yoongi raiding the fridge.

“Yoongi? Did you see Taehyung today?”

Yoongi pulls out some rice and pauses to turn to you. “No, why? Should he be here or something?”

“No, it’s just- he didn’t turn up for work today, and there was a sort of situation.”

Yoongi only shrugs in response, turning back to the kitchen counter to resume making his dinner.

“Oh, Hoseok dropped by earlier again today. You sure you don’t know that guy?”

“No, I really don’t,” you shoot over your shoulder. “What did he say this time?”

“Don’t know, I think Jimin was the one who talked to him. Maybe ask him?”

You make a non-committal grunt in reply, not exactly sure you want to know what the two men talked about right at that instant. Heading toward your room, you pause to glance past Taehyung’s open door to see if he’s in, but it’s empty, just as you expected. Pulling out your phone again to check for any new messages or calls, worry etches lines across your forehead when the screen shows up blank.

Jimin’s door is closed and it looks like the lights are off inside, so you pad quietly past into your own room and close the door. You drop your bag off by on your desk, suddenly feeling as if it’s been years and years since the day started, and collapse into bed, closing your eyes in an attempt to escape from it all.

Taehyung flicks through the notifications on his phone in disinterest, only barely noting that you’ve been calling him non-stop since that afternoon. What’s more pressing are the multiple texts and voice messages from Sunmi, all of which are things that he’d prefer to ignore.

He closes the lid of the bowl of instant noodles in front of him, suddenly losing his appetite. He’s been trying to ignore the gnawing worry at the back of his mind for what seems forever now, alternating between trying to forget the first time he slept with Sunmi and desperately trying to remember if he’d pulled out.

Taehyung clearly remembers having done so- he never cums in anyone.

Anxiety is building in his chest, rising to a crescendo that matches the restless jiggling of his leg against the table. With a sudden surge of energy, Taehyung pushes his chair back from the table and stands, feeling as if he might explode if he stays still for just a second longer.

He pushes the door of the convenience store open and heads out onto the street, hailing a cab that will take him to Sunmi’s. What would you even say if you knew about this? You’d probably tell him that he can’t run from things forever, and tell him to man the fuck up.

So Taehyung finds himself standing in front of Sunmi’s door after having ignored all her texts and calls for the past day or so. He hesitantly knocks on the door, praying with all his might that she’s not in, but of course, luck isn’t on his side as she opens the door to greet him, barely dressed with a robe hastily thrown over her figure.

“T-Taehyung! You didn’t tell me you were coming over!” Sunmi’s eyes are widened in surprise, and she lingers in the doorway, as if hesitant to let him in. “I’ve been texting and calling you all day.”

“Y-Yeah, about that. I’m sorry. I just came to talk things over.” Taehyung peers over her smaller frame into her empty living room. “Is it a bad time?”

“No!” Sunmi steps aside hastily. “No, of course not, come in, take a seat.”

Taehyung makes himself comfortable as Sunmi disappears in the opposite direction of the kitchen. She reappears a few seconds later, heading past him into the kitchen this time, and he gets up to follow her inside.

On the kitchen table are two empty wine glasses, and Taehyung immediately narrows his eyes in suspicion. Both glasses look like they’ve been used, and there’s a tell-tale pool of red liquid at the bottom.

“Been drinking?” He remarks casually as he watches Sunmi reach for a mug.

She’s startled by his comment, whirling around to follow his gaze to the two wine glasses on the table. Taehyung can see a slight waver in her expression, just a flicker of panic in her eyes and a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, before she gives him a forced smile.

“Oh, no I was just having some friends over. Need to watch my alcohol, especially now that I might be…” Her voice trails off as she glances down.

She hands Taehyung his drink and wraps her arms around herself, pulling on the tie on her robe to close the garment a little tighter around herself. Taehyung’s eyes are drawn to the sliver of skin of her collarbone exposed by her robe, her usually porcelain complexion is now marred with navy and violet bruises that he definitely didn’t remember leaving.

“I went to the hospital today to look for you, but you weren’t in. Waited till your shift started too, but you didn’t turn up.”

“Really? Thought you had friends over today.”

“That was after,” Sunmi hurriedly tacks on, and Taehyung only nods in response, entirely unconvinced.

Now that he’s able to think calmly, without the panicked fog obscuring his rationality, he can smell the familiar musk of sex and sweat wafting off her. He’s so familiar with that smell that it’s obvious even under the layer of perfume she has on to mask it.

“You know; I came over because I wanted to make things right.” He says with as much sincerity as he can muster, and Sunmi falls for it, hook, line and sinker.

“R-really?” She looks a little shocked, and maybe a tad bit doubtful, so Taehyung decides he needs to step up his game.

“Yes, really. I was the one who got you into this situation, so I think I should be there for you when you need me most.”

Sunmi looks as if she’s at a loss of what to say, be it from shock or guilt, so Taehyung decides to strike while the iron is hot.

“Let me move in with you?”

A furious pounding wakes you up from your slumber, and you groggily open your eyes, whining in protest. Surprisingly, you realise that it’s Yoongi’s voice coming from outside your door, and nearly fall out of bed as you make your way to the door, sheets still entangled around your legs.

“What is it?” You ask upon swinging open the door.

“It’s Jimin, come quick!” Yoongi is a man of few words, but at this point you know him so well that you can pick up on the panic in his voice.

He turns around and heads for Jimin’s room, with the door now open wide. You follow him, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste, and you freeze upon seeing him passed out in a pool of crimson red.

“Fuck,” you jolt into action and throw yourself onto your knees beside him, sliding your arm around his neck to cradle his head as you open his eyelids and check his vital signs. His skin feels cold to the touch, and he’s not responding at all.

Choking back a sob, desperation is rising in your chest as you mumble at Yoongi to get an ambulance. Your eyes are still fixed on the nasty gashes on his thighs, guilt eating away at you as you try and remember the last thing you said to him, if you’d done anything to trigger him, but the multitude of thoughts that are racing through your mind makes it impossible.

Jimin looks like he could be sleeping like this, apart from the deathly pale colour of his lips, and you will yourself to believe it, telling yourself over and over that he’ll be okay. You’re running your fingers through his faded blonde hair, panicked breaths making it hard to think straight and you can barely hear Yoongi’s voice as he tells you that the paramedics are here.

The next thing you know, you’re seated in a stiff, hard backed chair and staring at the familiar yet isolating white walls of the hospital.

You barely register Yoongi’s presence next to you, until he reaches for your hand to place a piping hot cup of coffee into your grasp.

“Yoongi- what did Hoseok say to Jimin?” You turn to him, only to see similar lines of worry and concern etched across his forehead.

“I’m not sure, I only know they talked because I left my room to get something, and saw them outside the house. Thought he had everything settled, that’s why I went back to my room. Heard the door slamming a while later, but I didn’t think much of it.” Yoongi cradles his own hands around his cup, staring into the dark liquid as steam curls off the surface.

“I saw you guys the other night.”

His sudden statement catches you mid sip, and you scald your tongue. “Wh-what? Which night was this?”

“The night you kissed Park Jimin and treated him like a fucking rebound.”

“I didn’t- wait, you saw all of this? That’s creepy as fuck, you know that right?”

But Yoongi ignores you and keeps going. “I’m guessing this Hoseok guy is your ex who keeps showing up, and you don’t want to deal with his shit so you’re avoiding him while trying to deny your feelings for Park. Hit the nail on the head yet?”

“Wh- fuck you, you don’t know anything about me, so stop acting like you do.” Yoongi’s a lot more perceptive than you’d realised, and upon hearing his accusations out loud like that, your defences snap back into place, and you can almost feel your hackles rising.

“I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but thanks for confirming it,” Yoongi’s chuckle gets on your already frazzled nerves. “You know that Park Jimin doesn’t deserve being your collateral damage right?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. There’s nothing going on with Jimin and I. The only relationship that exists between us is a patient and doctor relationship. Period.” You can only hope that the resolution in your voice shuts down any further commentary from him, but no such luck.

“If only things were that simple eh? If only all relationships were all one dimensional; black and white, how fucking great would that be?”

“I. Don’t. Have. Feelings. For. Him.” You say through gritted teeth.

Yoongi shrugs in response. “Have it your way, but you know what’s your problem? You’re scared. Scared of taking off that god damn mask of perfection and emotionlessness and letting others see what’s underneath it. You’re using this whole professionalism thing as an excuse to keep a distance from him, and you may be able to lie to me about your feelings for him, but deep down I think you know the truth.”

Yoongi may be a lot more perceptive than you ever thought he could be, but he still doesn’t know the full picture, and he has no idea what he’s talking about. What he’s saying is just pure speculation, and you really shouldn’t let him get to you like this. He’s entirely wrong. Without realizing, your hands have tightened into fists, making the drink slosh over onto your hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The sensation of the hot liquid scalding your skin barely registers as you fight to keep your gaze on the wall in front of you, if only to escape his penetrating stare.

“You can’t keep using this as an excuse.”

But Yoongi doesn’t know the full story, doesn’t understand that you can’t let yourself go down that path again, can’t let someone else hurt you like that again. He thinks it’s just a simple ‘hung up over an ex and unwilling to take a chance at new love’ kind of story, when it’s so much more than that,

“Look, Yoongi, I don’t know why you think you have the right to lecture me like this, but you don’t know anything. It’s way more complicated than this, there’s a lot more at stake than you think.”

“Then tell me.”

There’s a beat of silence where you imagine pouring everything out to him, disregarding the fact that he is technically still one of your patients. And you imagine how good it would feel, to lay down everything for a second and let someone else shoulder the weight of it with you.

But then the doctor exits from the ward, and you’re off your feet instantly.

“How is he?”

“He’s alright, just suffered some major blood loss, but nothing that we couldn’t fix with a blood transfusion. He’s awake now, and you can go and see him, but please refrain from overwhelming him. Just one visitor at a time, please.”

Yoongi places a hand on your back to push you into the room, and you don’t even look back as you enter.

Jimin is propped up against his pillow, with his messy blonde hair sticking up in all directions and his eyes are immediately on you. He seems a little better now, with some colour in his cheeks, and it doesn’t look like he’s in one of his other personalities.

“Hi.” Relief fills your chest as you take in his appearance, sitting by his side and reaching for his hand on top of the sheet. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” he reciprocates your grip with a squeeze, glancing up with a smile. “I’m sorry, you must have been really worried.”

“D-do you know what happened then?” You ask cautiously, and before you can help it, you’re reaching over to push a strand of his hair out of his eyes. When you catch yourself in the act, you swallow hard, convincing yourself that you’re just doing this out of a platonic concern alone, like how you treated Jeongguk.

“I fainted, didn’t I?” He frowns slightly, as if trying to recall. “H-Hoseok came to the house again. I remember being so angry that I wanted to punch him, so I must have gotten into a fight with him. That’s how I ended up here. Right?”

His voice rises at the end of his sentence in uncertainty, as he waits for you to confirm and reassure him.

“Y-yes, that’s right Jimin,” you force your voice to sound as soothing as possible, even as you stroke his cheek absent-mindedly. He doesn’t seem to remember hurting himself, but since he can remember the encounter with Hoseok, his personality must have taken over after it happened.

“Is it true then? What he said?” His words jolt you back into awareness of your actions, and you hastily withdraw your hand.

“Hoseok? Wh-what did he say?”

“You used to date him, and you broke up with him because you got bored of him.”

That little fucking asshole. You clench your jaw as you imagine Hoseok riling Jimin up, and being entirely to blame for triggering Jimin’s personality.

“Yes, it’s true, we used to date, but I didn’t break up with him because I was bored of him.” You force yourself to appear as calm as possible, when all you can think of is the night you found him in bed with Bae Suzy, and that sickening realisation that accompanied it.

“Then why did you break up with him?”

You’re struggling to find an answer for him, fighting through the sudden flash of images that flood your mind.

Jimin watches you through sleepy, drooping eyes, but he forces himself to focus on you. Looking at you makes him feel like everything might be okay again, and you feel like home to him, if home was anything but a physical place. Like it doesn’t even matter that you’ll love him and throw him away at a second’s notice, because all he wants is for you to look at him like this all the time, never mind that he’ll get hurt, because it’s all worth it.

A part of him aches to be more than just your patient, even if it’s just temporary.

“He cheated on me,” is the simple explanation you offer him. And maybe it’s his drowsiness, or maybe it’s the genuinely devastated, heartbroken expression on your face, but Jimin finds that he believes it whole heartedly, believes you over Jung Hoseok any day.

“Okay.” Is all he says, and he takes in your look of surprise with something akin to amusement

“Just ‘okay’?”

“Yeah. Okay.” He gives you a sleepy little smile, and you return it, reaching to adjust his blanket.

Jimin grips your hand tightly, a mild panic clogging his throat even through the haze of drowsiness that tugs and beckons him back to sleep.

“C-can you stay with me?” He wills himself to keep a hold of your hand, worried that you’ll reject him and leave him all alone again. “Please?”

“Till you fall asleep, and even after then,” you shift closer to his bed, resting your cheek on your arm so that you can watch his angelic features stretch into a relieved smile, before he closes his eyes and slips into a restful slumber.

As you watch him fall asleep, only one thought occurs to you: Yoongi might be right after all.

#bangtan bookclub #bangtanwriters-net #kwriterskollection #btswiters #bts #btsmaknaenet #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #jimin scenarios #bts park jimin #bts x reader

573 notes · View notes

scrapyardboyfriends · 7 years

Text

12 July 2017

[Outside the Mill of Misery with Robert and Aaron]

ROBERT: Bob’s back! The fans and I are so excited. And as a bonus, we might actually get what we order, which reminds me, I haven’t had my trademark Americano in far too long.

AARON: I’m far too preoccupied with my #PeakAngst Plot to be bothered about Bob or breakfast.

ROBERT: But it’s my mission in life to make you happy and food always makes you happy. That is the way to a bloke’s heart and all *Pats Aaron’s Stomach*

AARON: *Recoils* #Foreshadowing

ROBERT: Are you okay? - I have a bad feeling about this -

AARON: Yep. I’m totally and completely fine. #StopLyingYouLiar In fact, I’ve really got to get to that job I never actually do. I mean, unless you count kicking a door in as work. Still, it’s a great Plot Device.

ROBERT: If we still need to talk… (FANDOM: Please do more talking!!!)

AARON: We did all the talking yesterday. #StopLyingYouLiar

ROBERT: That was hardly #ActualConversation Aaron. I mean, we were approaching it which means the Plot is totally going to blow up in our faces soon and force us to try to get there again. That seems to be the cycle. But you didn’t come to the pub yesterday when you said you would and you went to bed early.

AARON: Sucks being left out of the Plot doesn’t it?

ROBERT: Fair point.

AARON: Yeah well, since I did no work yesterday, I’m playing catch up now. So...another time, yeah. I need to be off screen now so your worry levels can escalate. But we’ll do something tomorrow.

ROBERT: What? More angst?

AARON: Probably.

ROBERT: Well we can’t tomorrow. The car’s in for its service.

AARON: You do remember that I also have a car, right? #PlotHole But anyway, we’re totally good at the moment. #StopLyingYouLiar See you later for more angst.

ROBERT: *This is going to get bad Face* - I never should have put on this tainted Red Shirt of Doom -

[The Shop with Robert, Adam and Cain]

ROBERT: What the hell Adam, Aaron just ran off to ‘work’ claiming he had a ton to do but here you are doing nothing as usual. Aaron’s totally stressed out. I can totally read my husband like a book… *Confused Face*

ADAM: Hey, I’m just happy to be in a scene and have lines mate, but yes, I also saw Aaron really stressed out yesterday. Might have gotten it out of him too if the Plot hadn’t brought you to the portacabin right as he was about to tell me.

CAIN: I was the other person saw Aaron struggling yesterday, which is why the three of us actually get to share a scene. In any case, you should obviously talk to him.

ROBERT: *Confused Face* Clearly there’s something I’m missing here. I really hate when I’m not Plot Aware.

CAIN: If you don’t know what the problem is Robert, maybe it’s you.

ROBERT: *Did he just call me Robert instead of Sugden Face* and also *Getting super worried about my husband Face*

[The Woolpack with Robert, Debbie and Victoria]

ROBERT: AARON AARON AARON...Have you seen AARON?

DEBBIE: Hmm.. I feel like the last time we actually spoke to each other in a scene was when you were threatening Ross with a gun. No, I haven’t seen Aaron. Let’s now go back to ignoring each other.

VICTORIA: Help...help...help...help #AdmittingYouNeedHelpIsTheFirstStepToRecoveryFromBabyObsession

ROBERT: I can’t stay...cause AARON!

VICTORIA: No no, not Aaron, BABY!!! How do you feel about pale green and enchanted forests for the nursery? BABY! BABY!! BABY!!! Oh yeah and let me just mention Rebecca’s name too because this BABY is totally her’s and I accept that. #Projecting

ROBERT: Sorry Vic, AARON!

VICTORIA: BABY!

ROBERT: AARON!

VICTORIA: Blah Blah Other stuff about your issues with Aaron and money that I’m absolutely incapable of connecting back to issues he might have over BABY and the fact that you cheated on him because for some reason I’ve never been allowed to have a reaction to that Blah Blah BABY!

ROBERT: No, AARON! Forget it. Something is definitely wrong here. There’s clearly a Side Plot that I’ve been unaware of so far and I’m going to go investigate.

[The Mill of Misery with Robert and Aaron]

AARON: *Looks pained* *Retrieves unidentified food items from fridge*

ROBERT: *Displays ability to descend the spiral staircase sober* Oh, now you’re hungry...you know you can tell me anything…

AARON: Nothing good ever comes after that line Robert.

ROBERT: Yeah, but I saw Cain earlier and apparently there’s a Side Plot I know nothing about. I’m really worried about you.

AARON: Well you don’t need to be. - I mean Cain wasn’t the first one to find out about the last time I was self harming either. Nope, not at all…-

ROBERT: If this is still about the money…

AARON: No, Robert, that was yesterday’s Side Plot to dredge up our issues and inch us closer to #ActualConversation Keep up.

ROBERT: Well, care to share what this Side Plot is then?

AARON: Well, you see, the Plot contrived for Ethan and Jason to both be out of prison right when I needed them to score me some of those drugs I got addicted to super fast and then got over in a day. The fans were really pissed that that storyline got dropped so they brought it back. Makes for an excellent diversion from the truth though.

ROBERT: Drugs?!

AARON: I didn’t take any, but this Plot is super stressful and I just needed to escape it for a bit...It’s not a big deal.

ROBERT: Not a big deal?!

AARON: *Tries to walk away*

ROBERT: *Grabs Aaron to stop him walking away* *Finds the bigger deal* Show me your stomach.

AARON: No.

ROBERT: *Lifts up Aaron’s shirt* (ANTI FANDOM: Robert is a disgusting human being who should probably die a horrible death. - sorry I was in the ed lb tag and I saw things -)

AARON: *Look what this Plot has done to me Face*

ROBERT: *I fucking hate this Plot Face*

[The Mill of Misery with Robert and Aaron]

*Peak Angst Alert*

ROBERT: How long has this been going on?

AARON: Weeks…you happy now?

ROBERT: I think I’m the opposite of happy. Have been since the last major time I wore this shirt. So, since the Plot Device came back then?

AARON: I don’t want to talk about it.

ROBERT: #Epiphany Pretty sure that’s why we’re in this mess. But I thought that you were–

AARON: Thought what? That I was over it? Besides the fact that that’s not now mental health issues work, the Plot will never let me be over it completely. It enjoys making me suffer. I never should have cried so well in that scene where Uncle Zak gave me that lecture at seventeen.

ROBERT: So...this is why you were turning down food and sex on Friday and all those other times when we were off screen.

AARON: *Super sad and tired Face* Yep. Has the Plot sufficiently made you feel like this is all your fault yet?

ROBERT: Yep, Cain was right, I’m definitely the problem. But you’re not leaving until we have a #ActualConversation This is what the Plot was warning me about in our first scene this morning. Stupid Plot, it gives so little and takes so much.

[The Mill of Misery with Robert and Aaron]

ROBERT: Right, let’s recap. The Plot is bringing back the unfinished drug Side Plot and the ever present Self Harming Side Plot...and you don’t think I should be worried?

AARON: I just needed a release from this Plot Robert! It’s so exhausting.

ROBERT: And you don’t think I should be worried about that? I live to worry about you Aaron!

AARON: You have your own Plot to worry about and I’d rather wallow in my Side Plot, okay?

ROBERT: Now we’re getting to it.

AARON: You think I want any of this?! Don’t you think I’d rather have a fun little comedy Plot or summat?!

ROBERT: But maybe if we have an #ActualConversation we can get through this Plot and move on to something else, something lighter!

AARON: Where does talking ever actually get us Robert?! All we do is go round and round in circles either having vague arguments where we avoid our problems or big blow outs that we think are going to finally be #TheActualConversation but turn out just to be another plateau that we sweep under the rug a few days later. They even managed to do it to Maxine’s episodes. I’m so tired of it. #Relatable

ROBERT: *I’m tired of this Plot too Face*

AARON: Look at these wedding photos that just happen to be sitting on the table! Remember our wedding? What a joke! What if we’re just a joke?

ROBERT: Don’t say that!

AARON: Why not? Our wedding was happening and this Plot had already been devised, Robert! We should have known this was going to happen. I should have! When has anything good ever happened in my life?! *Smashes wedding photo dramatically*

ROBERT: What are you doing?! Vic gave us that back when she was still the captain of our ship!

AARON: I’m trying to create a metaphor Robert! To really drive the point home to the audience. That *points at shattered frame* is us! Shattered to bits! The Plot did that! Through you! - sorry you’re such a Plot Device sometimes...if it helps, you’re my favorite one - *On the verge of a breakdown Face*

ROBERT: *I still really hate this fucking Plot Face* *Picks up shard of glass* Cut me! (FANDOM: Are we really going here?!)

AARON: *Shocked and Confused Face*

ROBERT: It’s dramatic, Aaron, just go with it. The last time you had a self harm Side Plot it was because of Gordon. Now it’s because of me. The last time you were self harming because of a Plot we were involved in, I let you beat me up on the side of the road. This is totally in character for me.

AARON: *Takes shard of glass*

*Scene break for extra dramatics*

AARON: *Drops shard of glass* I’m done Robert. Even the fans are deserting us at this point.

ROBERT: Not all of them! We can all still get through this Plot Aaron!

AARON: No. Not this time. I already hate your unborn child. #Relatable

ROBERT: Me too...sometimes. But I love you! Please let me try and fix this.

AARON: You know, I thought about what it would be like if Rebecca lost the baby. #Freedom #Relatable

ROBERT: I really wanted her to get that abortion. I went full 2015 villain on her and everything.

AARON: And still, this Plot is happening. It’s real, whether we want it to be or not.

ROBERT: It’s okay…

AARON: You’re not listening Robert! They’ve written us into an impossible situation that we can’t get out of! Your son is always going to be a reminder of what you did! And I can’t handle it unless the Plot is willing to really invest in getting me therapy or they actually let some part of The Theory live! (FANDOM: Please let The Theory live!!!)

ROBERT: Don’t write us off! Please. Just remember that there’s always AU fanfic where Rebecca and this Plot Baby don’t exist.

AARON: Sorry, I usually only read the canon ones…

ROBERT: No no, there’s still a way. *Heart is actually breaking*

AARON: Robert… *Heart already broken*

ROBERT: Look, we go away, just you and me, get that spinoff we’ve been joking about. Maxine will write it, she already said she would on Twitter. All the fans will help. Then that will be canon, a world where we never have to see Rebecca or this Plot Baby. She can write them out entirely and then we never look back!

AARON: *Thoughtful Face*

#robron #emmerdale #plotdale #struggled with this one #but I think I like it now

51 notes · View notes

tcfkag · 7 years

Text

What's Good Miley?

Oh man, someone reminded me of some bullshit I had repressed because I was too busy being pissed about the healthcare law. These stories about Mikey Cyrus going clean and sober; I'm going to leave the commentary about the racial aspects of it to other people whose lane it actually is. But, OMG, the way the coverage has treated her and her "recovery" and the way she talks about it makes me want to punch everyone. A (incomplete probably) list of my issue: (1) They're talking about her stopping smoking weed as though she was shooting up heroin literally on the Judge's Chair on The Voice. Like, obviously I don't know the full extent of her drinking problem or how much weed she was smoking, but she was clearly incredibly high functioning. Can we not talk about this like Lindsay Lohan or Lamar Odom sobering up and going clean (two names I have picked randomly out of my memories of "celebrities who have had dramatic issues with drugs, alcohol, and mental health in recent years")? (2) Despite the fact that the news stories are covering it as though she was snorting coke off Blake Sheldon's ass on national television, the way Miley talks about it seems so freaking dismissive of the experiences of people actually struggling with addiction. Her quotes were like "it's been so fucking easy actually; I love feeling clear headed for the first time in forever" and "I just feel so much more in touch with myself spiritually," and so on and so forth. Like, I'm absolutely fine with her saying "hey so I decided to stop smoking weed because it wasn't making me feel good anymore" but don't try to get attention both on the one hand for going clean and sober but then on the other hand talk about it like it is this cake-walk that is just so easy for you because you're in such a better place now (does the better place involve a Hemsworth dick? Because, let's be honest, the better place involves a Hemsworth dick.) (3) When she gave the big interview that came out about this, she told them she had been clean and sober for THREE fucking WEEKS. Again, bully for you, but it all just feels so performative. Frankly, just as her trip to the high-side also always felt pretty performative, this recapturing of her sweet and innocent (and white, LBR) feels incredibly performative too. (4) The three weeks thing also bugs me because it goes against all common sense for good public relations strategy if you are *actually* an addict in recovery. Generally, celebrities in recovery are more like pregnant women, you wait as long as possible to make any announcements about it (if you make any at all) because the risk of relapse is real and once TMZ gets wind that a celebrity is an addict or in recovery, their goal in life will be catching you when you relapse. Because they are assholes. Paparazzi will not only stalk the shit out of you and harass you, they may very well try to stress you enough or trick you into relapse so they can get the "money" shot. And the public will eat it up. Honestly, the whole thing feels like she gave an interview and got the cover of a magazine (one I've never heard of, but still) and got breathless articles on Buzzfeed and shit like that for announcing that she gave up caffeine for Lent or something. All of this should be read with the understanding that I absolutely acknowledge that alcoholism is a serious disease and that, while I think "addiction" to pot is less of a thing, I absolutely think there are people who abuse it. I don't know if Miley is one of those people, but every one of my bullshit detectors is going off with this. Because I just cannot imagine a publicist recommending to someone with a serious addiction problem that they handle it this way. And nothing in Miley's career suggests that she would just go off and do this on her own; her career has always been well managed and strategic (even when it seemed a bit more like "strategery" rather than actual strategy, like when she humped a creepy, older, married man on national television.) Anyway, so there's a slim chance that this is just Miley being Miley but I find it much more likely that she has decided she wants to shed the weird mixture of flower-power wild-child white girl who thinks she's down with black people because she twerked once and is doing so by performing the "I'm going clean and sober" act so people will be just.so.relieved that little sweet Miley has been saved from the big bad world and now they can listen to her cover of Jolene without having to feel like they are associating themselves with "those sorts of behaviors." And I don't quite know where my strong feelings on this come from, but as a chronic pain patient who is constantly treated like an addict because of the medication I need and a human being worried about the opioid crisis, this kind of blasé and almost condescending approach to "recovery" kind of offends me. ... Or apparently really offends me, considering how long this post has gotten.

#Miley Cyrus #drug addiction #addiction recovery #sobriety #white privilege #apparently I'm in the mood to rant and rave today

57 notes · View notes

buildingcastlesintheair-blog1 · 4 years

Text

Two Things

Man, I feel like I’m just using this website as a somewhere to vent. I mean, currently I have no journals or anything else to write in, that’s all back at my college place and I could just write in word except for some reason that doesn’t really work in on my laptop. I seriously need a new laptop. I’m very fortunate to have one, I saved up for it myself. But it’s very slow and will randomly crash, not good when you haven’t saved a college assignment for three hours. Maybe part of the reason I use this website, is that I do want to be heard.

But this isn’t what I want to talk about. I have two things on my mind, one I didn’t even realize I cared enough about to write about but apparently I do. It’s about my sister. We had plans for her to come stay with me, she kept pushing and pushing it back. She had to cancel on me again recently, it’s just what I expect at this point. I kind of just expect people to not be reliable. It’s why I like to do things myself. And guilt thing just driven into us by society, that we’re lazy assholes if anyone does anything for us. That’s not to say that I can’t be an lazy asshole. I’m use to people cancelling on me really last minute or dragging out their confirmation on and on. I just think, a lot of people don’t want to be around me. And it’s weird, cause I know part of it is my social skills can sometimes be very questionable, I ask questions you maybe you shouldn’t ask or my jokes don’t always land and I tend to come out with very weird, random statements. I think I’m a bit much, a bit too much for a lot of people. Plus I can be incredibly need, cause I’m afraid of being abandoned. It’s kinda like a viscous cycle

A mean, part of it is my college attendance is very spotty. Here comes in the lazy part. I mean, I am the way I am physically for a reason. I mean, it’s also my diet, which is appalling. But yes, me not being in college, means forging new friendships, hasn’t really happened. And the ones I kinda did, don’t really wanna hang out with me. I think I’m just gonna have to accept that, their just people I say hi to and maybe have a conversation with once in a while. This term though, I’m getting my attendance up, I’m putting in the work and I am gonna do good. No worrying over if I’ve failed an exam or not, cause I will have been in class and know my shit. New year, new me baby. This year, I’m doing good by me. Even if all I wanna do is lie in bed and watch FRIENDS for the sixth time all the way through, I am going to start making the good decisions for me and my future. Gonna start giving a damn about myself. Start your timers now and see how long this mentality lasts.

Socially, not doing so hot. And hey, no one I’ve met in college has been an asshole. They all seem like real lovely folks. Just gotta approach them. I think one setback though, is I don’t drink. Well, I don’t go out to drink. It’s just not my think. I mean, like if there’s a hang out sesh and there’s drink, I’ll partake. But I won’t go out of my way to obtain drink or to get drunk. Nights out to clubs? Too noisy, unpredictable and too many drunk people. When you’ve had to see your housemates throw up in your yard while you eat breakfast, it’s enough to put you off. This doesn’t make me boring or want to have any less amount of fun.I can barely keep my balance while sober, imagine what I’m like drunk. And I have been drunk, vomiting in the toilet, ugly crying drunk. It’s a depressant for me. For my mental health, it’s best I don’t. My brain is hardly sunshine and rainbows while sober, drink takes me further down a dark rabbit hole. Plus, drunk me tends to fuck up my friendships.

Anyway, in Ireland, the drink culture is big, especially in the young people social scene. And old people. In fact, it sometimes feels like Ireland’s only culture is our drinking one. I don’t think that’s something we should be proud of. I think, our country, it’s sad. Not sad like, cringey, sad as in emotion. A lot of people hurting and we’ve been taught to cope with drink. We’re known for our friendly, cheerful, chilled demeanor. We’re a little bit fucked up and we hide it with alcohol. So, I don’t drink to hide from my fucked upness. I don’t do drugs, I have gotten high but again, it’s not something I seek out. And I would never do anything more then weed. I don’t self harm. My coping? I eat. I eat the feelings away. I spend my money on stuff that makes me briefly happy and then those endorphins ebb away. By spending my money, I mean books, clothes, merch, other stuff and food. Sugar is my drug. I’m addicted. I know this and I have no clue how to kick it.

This post went way off topic, as per usual. Bringing it back, my sister, I’m not seeing her this month. She had other engagements and to be fair, she did need to attend them. We’re seeing a concert next month, hopefully that goes smoothly. It’s common in Ireland, for large families to be very close. I don’t think I’m that close with anyone in my family. I love my sister to pieces, would do anything for her, drop everything if she needed me. It’s me and my sister, she’s my top priority in terms of family. And I love my grandparents dearly and will always be grateful from the bottom of my heart for all they’ve done for me and my sister and my mom when she was alive. But they don’t know me. They use to and we’ve drifted apart. And for my part, I don’t really know them. So, I’m always amazed at really close families who see each other more then twice a year. I think, I saw my sister once last year....Yeah once. And that’s not entirely her fault. I’m to blame too.

That made me sadder then I expected. The next topic, is feeling like I’m floating. Not anchored. Basically, as my sister couldn’t come up, I let my friend, whom I live with when not at college, that I could stay a couple of extra days, thinking she’d be happy. Nope, she wants me out on Tuesday, no extra days. Fair enough, she wants her space. Still hurts. She blatantly doesn’t want me around and we all know about my abandonment issues at this point. Her saying this, made me realize, this will never been my concrete Home. With a capital H. Not like when I lived with Mom. It’s not my family home. These people let me sleep on a blow up mattress on the floor for periods of time before it’s time for me to move on. It’s like couch surfing kinda. I don’t have my own bed, nowhere of my own to store my things. I know my friend hates sharing her space with me and again only puts up with me because we’re best friends and it’s the morally right thing to do. I just know everyone in this house would rather I lived somewhere else. Same with my old foster family, they had my room emptied and someone else in there lickity split after I’d moved out. My college place I rent, that’s of course not permanent as I don’t live there over the summer, only over the college terms. So, I don’t have a permanent home. Or somewhere I could conceivably call a permanent home.

My grandma always goes on that she expected me to go to her after my mom died. Firstly, no fucking way. The house stinks of the cigs my uncle smokes all day and he freaks me out when he’s drunk, which he is a lot. And, unfortunately, my grandma is a hoarder. I think it’s her way of coping with the fragmented family and the loss of my mom, her child after all. Anyway, basically, in this two bedroom bungalow, my grandmother has it crammed to literally the roof with things she doesn’t need and enough clothes to, it feels like, clothe the entire town. She can’t wear ninety percent of it because she can’t get to it. There is no floor in her bedroom. I’m not exagerating. And a literally wall, a solid wall that I can punch and it doesn’t move, extends across her bed, so she only has one spot on her bed she can curl up on. She can’t sleep stretched out. It’s a wal made of clothes, homeware, furniture, toys, all sorts of things from the second hand store. And she refuses to get rid of any of it, though she knows it’s a problem. The other bedroom, is always locked. Never seen in there. No idea what’s in there. My uncle sleeps on the couch. There’s an armchair. That’s where my grandad sleeps when he’s there. My grandmother supports my uncle. He’s depressed and dealing with stuff I don’t understand. I think, he use to be someone once. Now, I think he’s sad and doesn’t know how to get out of that feeling. We aren’t close, at all. It’s weird, cause I know he’s family. But we don’t joke around, or anything. We know nothing about each other. That’s how it is with most of my family.

Anyway, back to my friend. Yeah, I guess it’s interactions like that, that remind me I’m a guest. I haven’t felt secure since Mom died. I guess, I gotta do that for myself now. I can’t really rely on anyone, cause they’re just gonna let you down. And I’m not talking about my friend not wanting me to stay, though it reaffirms this belief, it’s a bunch of stuff for the last two and half years. Three years this June. I kinda feel like, my life, who I was, died with my mom. I’m not that kid anymore. But I’m not an adult. I’m scared. Hurting. Sad, Angry. Slowly losing hope. I use to have dreams. Not anymore. I use to care. Not any more. I don’t trust and I’m always afraid. Of literally everything. How I’m gonna get a job, I don’t know. I wouldn’t end my life. I wouldn’t. But I do think, sometimes it would just be easier then this living stuff. Lot less stressful and scary and lot less betrayal and tears. I think I’d be a lot less lonelier. I just wouldn’t be. But I would not ever end my life. I live my life for my mom and the hope that one day, I’ll find continuous happiness and security in my life and the people around me once more.

Sorry that got so dark in the end. Perhaps this is too dark to put online. But, this does help. I know no one is reading these so it’s okay.

I know, my belief no one can be fully trusted or depended on, is sad and lonely. I know it is. But, humanity and life, hasn’t provided me with any contradiction to this belief yet. Maybe it will, or it won’t. I want to socialize but protect myself also. How many times will I let my heart be broken and cry into the night, before I just give up on humanity all together? Trump certainly isn’t helping. I think I’m close to just retreating.

I’m tired.

Sincerely,

Me.

0 notes

sociellefirefly-blog · 7 years

Text

Younger Now.

Life Lessons & Reflections On My 30th Birthday

Apparently shopping at Forever 21 doesn’t actually stop the aging process…

For years I have had this vision of myself crying in a corner with a bottle of wine on my 30th birthday. I’ve basically been filled with this sense of impending doom. Has anyone watched Bad Boys 2??

We grow up giving ourselves so many timelines, or in this case, literal deadlines, where we set expiration dates on our youth, vitality and life opportunities.

Well ladies and gentleman, I have officially turned 30, and I’m here to tell you that I am not crying in a corner. If I’m entering the “30s club”, as they say… I’m about to strut my sassy self in and pop some bottles.

And no, I’m not drunk already.

I can finally say with confidence that I am in a “good place”. And most importantly, I am at peace… with both myself and the universe.

This long awaited exhale has had nothing to do with checking things off a list, and everything to do with searching the dark depths of my soul.

I definitely would not have reached this point if it weren’t for my tumultuous 20s, so let’s cheers to those savage, crazy years.

That being said, it was especially important to me that I reflect on my 20s in the most open, honest and raw way possible.

So here it is folks – my life lessons. No filter and no apologies.

1. Self Love is the foundation for everything.

Literally every self-improvement topic stems from self love.

What’s crazy is that it’s usually the people that seem the most confident that have the most dire issues with loving themselves.

When you lack self love, no accomplishment is ever enough. No number on the scale is ever low enough. No compliment feels genuine to you. You never value your own time or priorities. And you have a hell of a time in relationships because you’re too busy self-sabotaging and second-guessing yourself.

In my 20s I would claim that I loved myself yet I was doing absolutely everything that self love is not.

I was hyper-critical towards myself to the point that I risked my mental and physical health. And I did some pretty serious damage in the process. The only way to really describe what is was like, was that I was living in my body... but mentally checked out. Way out. All of my thoughts were negative, paranoid, self-sabotaging, and extremely delusional. I completely lost myself trying to be someone I was not.

I was so wrapped up in temporary highs and overcompensation that I failed to see the storm that I was sailing directly into, full speed. It took a trip to the hospital to realize I had taken it too far. And bless my amazing, beautiful, mother and friends for catching me before I fell too deep into that darkness.

I was always very uncomfortable talking about my personal battles because I legitimately wanted to erase it from my past. I was embarrassed by it, and I felt like it made me weak. And even a little crazy.

It took me a while to realize that it made me human, not weak. And that this is part of my story that I should not be ashamed of because it shaped me into the person I am today. One thing I wish I could tell my younger self over and over again is never let society dictate your standards of happiness and health. Take quality time for yourself, and be selfish sometimes.

2. Happiness before Success.

Success doesn’t bring us happiness, but happiness brings us success… in abundance.

I grew up with this twisted mentality that when I have or achieve “x” only then will I feel happy, ready, and worthy. It does not work that way.

I think we all know by now that if you wait until you’re “ready,” you could be waiting a lifetime. And if your happiness depends solely on your success, you can definitely slip into a deep depression. I learned in my 20s that you need to celebrate the small victories and understand that personal growth and cultivating happiness is anything but linear.

If your work was rejected – you did not fail. If you’re working hard but don’t have “all your shit together,” you are still worthy of love and happiness. Be kind to yourself.

3. Listen to your intuition. (Preferably sober) Intuition has your back and can be your guardian angel.

4. Authenticity > Being Cool. Approval from others… ain’t shit.

I could be cool if I didn’t open my mouth. I tell this to people all the time. I’m weird af, and the only thing I love more than food is laughing. Life really is too short to pretend you’re someone or something you’re not. If that means I get less likes on social media because some people might not “get me,” so be it. Yes, I like to express myself and I may post a lot, but it’s never with intention to impress others.

Approval is extremely toxic and destructive. One of the most beautiful things about turning 30 is that you genuinely stop giving a shit about what others think. To all those dad’s that embarrass their kids – I totally get you and respect you now. It’s just so blissful.

You also realize – no one is thinking or talking about you! And I don’t mean that in a bad way. We are all busy. No one has time to be judging you like that. And if they are, let the universe sort them out. Just like Bieber said, “you should go and love yourself”.

Lastly, your vibe really does attract your tribe. My friends…*tries not to cry* My friends are beyond amazing with the hugest hearts. And I truly feel that because we respect each other and are all unapologetically ourselves, we embrace our similarities and differences, learn from one another and just vibe together. You don’t make those kind of connections trying to “act cool”.

I may have grew up a little in my 20s, but I brought all my quirks and dancing with me into my 30s. (And probably forever.)

5. People love in different ways. And you will experience love in different ways.

And that doesn’t mean that one love is truer, more meaningful or stronger than another.

People laugh at my astrology antics all the time, but like I have told each and every one of you – I love to understand people on a deeper level. In my 20s I learned that some of us are more expressive than others, and that some are more in their heads than their hearts. Which doesn’t mean that they don’t have a heart! It just means that we all as individuals process everything differently and have different ways of communicating. When you take the time to delve deeper and get to know someone, it can be a really beautiful, eye-opening experience. With openness and understanding, there is less room for judgment, misunderstanding and disappointment.

I don’t regret any of my past relationships. Some of y’all really put me through some shit at the time (lol), but hey, no one is perfect and I was still trying to find myself as well. You can always take away a lesson. And I am fortunate to have made the connections that I did. Some people wait a lifetime (for a moment like this) to feel that kind of connection. And although some relationships end with a lack of closure that can haunt you for a long while, through time and true, honest reflection, you find your inner peace.

Now going back to “loving in different ways” -- you really start to see what type of love is more compatible with your own. And no I’m not talking about the zodiac. It’s about being honest in the way you yourself give out and would like to receive love. My advice – stop thinking “relationship” and start thinking more about connection. Genuine connection happens for a reason and is always worth exploring.

Side note -- I do want a love that feels like 90s R&B.

6. Embrace silence.

Silence would give me anxiety. I would always want to break it somehow or prevent it from happening. But you know what’s amazing? Kicking back with someone and just enjoying the moment with no pressure to talk.

And even in every day interactions, if you’re trying to break “awkward silence,” by cutting someone off or thinking about your next talking point, are you really listening and being present? Stop worrying and start listening. Trust me your brain will thank you.

7. Make your health a priority.

I’m guilty of being irresponsible when it comes to my health and thinking that I’m this invincible immortal. Welp, even Spartan’s need to visit the doctor. I learned my lessons the hard way and it’s truly a slap in the face and a big wake up call. Love yourself enough to make yourself a priority. Health is just not something to gamble with.

8. Friendly reminder – everyone has “a story”, an inner battle and several bad days.

9. Timelines also ain’t shit. Live the life that is right for you.

I’m 30 and single. So to a lot of people my biological clock is spiraling into this crescendo of GET MARRIED! HAVE A BABY! BUY A HOUSE! IS YOU DED YET?! JUST CHECKING!

Just because my focus is elsewhere, or “it hasn’t happened for me yet,” doesn’t mean that I don’t have an open heart or want certain things in my life. I just happen to have a little bit of faith in the timing of the universe.

What’s important to me is that I constantly better myself personally and professionally… love hard, work hard, and keep challenging myself.

Like I said, this is my story and this is my life. And I’ve never felt younger or more alive.

So cheers to dirty 30 for cleaning my soul.

xoxo your Socielle Firefly,

Tawnia

0 notes

literateape · 7 years

Text

The Jason Chin Model For Socio-Political Revolution

By Peter Kremidas

If you knew him, and a lot of people did, ahead of time fair warning; This isn’t a story about Jason Chin specifically, nor is it some elucidation of a complex political model he once explained to me. He’s a guy I and a lot of people remember fondly, and he’s an important part of the story, but I don’t want you to feel baited and switched as if this essay’s title was the trailer for ‘Across The Universe’. Great trailer, by the way. Trailer. Among the stories I could have told to illustrate the same point, I chose this one because A.) I’ve never told it before, and B.) I think his part in it is illustrative of one of the really important and cool things about him. C.) I think he would have liked it. He’s a small character in a larger but still itself small story. If you indulge me with your patience I think you’ll see that there is a point to that.

So. Let’s start with getting the specificity of our scene out.

It was New Year’s Eve ‘07 to ‘08. I was at a party at the home of two friends who now in '17 have had paths uncrossed with mine for quite some time which, as you probably already know, is part of having friends while also existing in linear time. Long term and short term friends, fondness for, in my experience, never being the quality of distinction between them.

A classic rock playlist of a at-least-every-third-song-is-a-sing-along quality played loud enough to be heard while still loudly talked over. My excitement to be there was a battle of my heart’s want to just sit in the quiet part of the house and listen to and smile with my friends versus my young obsessive comedian’s brain’s need to be seen and laughed at by the hilarious and popular people I admired in the Chicago improv/comedy scene who were all there. I could feel the gestalt of those two sides forming into an as of now low hum of vague spazy nervousness manifesting as quick shallow breathing, clenched jaw, and acute awareness of how uncool I probably looked. I was too young at the time to recognize it, much less understand why it was there, and much much less that it was anxiety of the pathological sort.

I started drinking heavily.

Adding fuel to the gasoline to the mental health fire that was growing there anyway, I had had a recent breakup with someone who I had fallen way too hard in love with while she was barely slightly attached to me. Which is, of course, completely fine but needs to be pointed out as completely fine for those among my damaged theatre boy brethren who would read that and seethe against her heart’s wants as if they were the audacity of an entitled bitch. I know you, damaged theatre boy, I was you once and you are the problem.

Truth is that she was, and remains, in strong and well deserved possession of the adjectives strong, intelligent, creative, deservingly successful, kind, beautiful, funny, and several more, most of them synonyms for what is already written here. She was and is still a stand out in the world. However, amongst the directory of my exes she stands indistinct as just one of the many who has had put up with my ridiculous bullshit. The most recent example at the time of this new year’s eve; in a moment of weakness, the truth how I felt had come out of me, she felt weird about me having such strong feelings, I was hurt and angry and boy that was duly expressed, and that sure didn't make her feel any better and, in point of fact, worse. And that was that.

Side but relevant note: The pathologies of anxiousness and depression tend to drive their human hosts romantically to other hosts of the same. This is how the sad babies who become sad adults are born, along with some truly great music. In the rare instance where a host finds a healthy (See: <quotations present to denote “so called”. Not because they [the healthy] actually aren’t, but because at this point I don’t think I know what that word means but this seems like right word to use here? [Question mark to denote my voice raising with uncertainty at the end of that sentence as if it was a question even thought it is not.]> “cool”.) person, the sense of inferiority grows from palpable to literally tactile as progressively deeper fingernail indentations grow in the palms because hiding being an impostor gets harder and tooth-crackingly harder as someone that you are not good enough for and never will be continues to, for some deluded fucking reason, be kind to you.

Back in the past, at just a hair over two hours until 2008, obsessive comedian brain was in that moment winning out. I stood on the cusp of being sloshed while talking to two local funny dudes parked near the basement keg. They were holding cups both of which were boozeless as they had recently decided to become sober in the permanent sense. One of them had gotten divorced that year. We were laughing about how shitty and difficult life gets sometimes and landing on variants of “But hey, what’re ya gonna do? Fuck it I’m still here, ain’t I?!” Swapping stories the way little boys take turns doing devastating belly flops off the high dive and laugh their asses off at each other. You know, the way grown men do. There were back slaps involved.

Jaw tensity loosened, breathing into my belly, un-self-conscious, my buzz firmly getting on, I was having a good time. When then, of course, predictably only to hindsight and you dear reader, my recent break up descended the stairs into the basement with graceful head up posture she never had to try at, with just a little bit of charming clumsiness from step to step supported on each slight wobble arm in arm with her new beau, who she was apparently very much in love with, which I knew because I had asked. Of course. He also happened to be one of those aforementioned hilarious and popular people that I admired. Good looking too. Of course. She was dressed in a hipster's semi-formal oh-this-I-totally-woke-up-in-this dress that cut barely below the clavicle. She looked savvy. Coolly modest. An outfit that showed itself off rather than her with the exception of the absent back that revealed her tattoo that ran like liquid ivy clinging to her trapezius muscles down to a soft resting point at the little swoop of spine between her kidneys.

God damn did I ever think she was cool.

My insecurity, never missing a beat, reminded me that upon ending the relationship she had told me she needed someone stronger and was uncomfortable feeling like the man in the relationship. I forgot to mention the adjective ‘honest’. She’s that too. If that sounds harsh don’t blame her. I asked. Of course.

While the break up was a fairly recent development, my terrible handling of rejection was not. At all. Mid hearty guffaw at my perseverance and misfortune, my perseverance took a sharp never-saw-it-coming kick and shriveled up into my stomach cavity. Having been so suddenly abandoned by its friend, poor misfortune now found itself all alone with nothing to press up against to juice laughter out with. In a descending pitch from high to low, half a final ‘hah’ fell out of my mouth me like a cigar from the military general who just realized the world's first alien invasion is both unwinnable and the last. I swallowed the other half, going silent just as quickly as all forty three muscles in my face just gave up and my jaw went slack as I whispered ‘You have got to be fucking kidding me’ from the back of my throat where I was now hiding.

I didn't know she was going to be there.

Alcohol is an emotional credit card. And like credit cards I can’t think of many things more human than solving a problem just to create new ones. Consider the car, which I then proceeded to render operation thereof at minimum inadvisable for the next seventy-two to ninety-six hours along with any other heavy machinery I might come across as I started to drinking heavily made heavier by drinking in that too much too fast way you do because you're nervous and don't know what to do with your hands. Say what you will about the problems drinking creates, it does solve other more immediate ones first.

I don’t remember the rest of the party that well. The drinking didn’t help, but the real reason I don’t remember it well is because I wasn’t really there. instead I was firmly ensconced inside of my own (and only, which I sometimes find unfortunate) head where I was mistaking hiding for safety and safety for comfort and comfort for where happiness probably was. My body reduced to a mere transportation device for my brain. Of course at the time I had no idea I was making that series of mistakes.

I do remember at some point later I accidentally made eye contact with her and then starting acting (likely forcibly) surprised to see her like oh my gosh I had no idea. I must have said something stupid. Of course. Because I also remember her grabbing the new better guy’s elbow and speaking to him with her breath above her as she led him to the next room. He looked back, and ah shit I was looking at him and he saw it. In a brilliant move of spycraft I made my eyes do an instant dart away and I pretended to have been admiring the lamp.

I remember how I felt. Pressure kept growing as I passed by friends and acquaintances, comedy scene people that I just wanted so badly to like me. Forcing myself to talk to them. Anxiety making my mouth desiccated and paralyzed, me hating both everything forced out of it and myself for cowardly saying so little, anxiety being the nothing is ever good enough cunt that it is.

It makes you hyper aware, anxiety. It’s a spotlight pointed inwards cruelly scrutinizing every little detail, picking up on each little thought and action. Every movement. It grabs you by the back of your neck with one hand while it batters your face wet and broken with stone after stone of rock solid evidence of your constant failures with the other. It makes air tight cases for why and exactly how you will never be good enough. And it’s done with such passion, sometimes almost a sense of urgency. With calculation. And in your lowest moments it's done with a dark humor that you are on the far butt end of.

There have been times when I have tried to force the spotlight completely around so it goes through through my eyes instead. Maybe to utilize its intensity and intelligence towards positive ends, but the closest I could get out of my own head was awareness of a post nasal slide of excess mucus.

I remember at some point I was outside in the back, around the corner of the house where the smokers couldn’t see me. My friend the host was with me while I stupidly humiliatingly was doing the snotty hiccup cries. She comforted me, got me a tissue, said she was so sorry. She said would not have let this person come had she known. I said that wouldn’t be fair, but I knew what she really meant was that she cares, which helped. She's also a small character in this story. There's always more than you think.

She brought me inside to hang out where my aforementioned better desires of the heart were. In a smaller, quieter room. Upstairs. With friends. Every house party's late night close friend VIP area. After some time in company with the wine, the laughs, and of course alcohol’s booster buddy marijuana, I eventually started calming again. And after about three minutes of feeling better I was oh so sure that I didn’t just feel better, but that by jove now I was better. And stronger. My lesson permanently learned and immunity to fleeting emotional volatility granted. Falling for it. Of course. This is among the cleverest and oldest tricks of of self sabotage in depression’s book of spells.

While anxiety lives in the same neighborhood as depression they are never at the same place at the same time. Anxiety has too much energy to coexist with depression’s lethargic anhedonia. But they are teammates. Anxiety with all it’s punches big and small enervating you over time until you are knocked down. Depression then convincing you to stay horizontal so that nothing will ever knock you down again. Then they both high five and gloat. Don’t ask what you did to deserve this, they will tell you.

I remember being in the kitchen, close to midnight. I don’t remember how I got there, though I remember drunkenly trying to look like I knew why I was. As if I was a man with a confident purpose. I remember looking out the window over the sink and catching eye contact with myself in the reflection that darkness creates when you can't see outside.

So I have this weird thing where sometimes I will make faces I’m unaware I’m making. It’s usually because I’m really engaged in a conversation or scenario or something else that must be really important going on in my skull. This is apparently hilarious when I watch commercials. I’ve had multiple friends tell me they have secretly been laughing watching me watch commercials. They say I cock my head and look suspiciously at some commercials or nod approvingly at others, like I seem to be giving this unreasonable amount of expressive consideration to each one. As if I’m seeing commercials for the first time. In high school while walking the halls I was constantly told I looked lost. The running joke became to shout, slowly so I could understand it, "Your name is Peter Kremidas! You are at Carmel High School! It is third period!" And other pieces of hilariously obvious info. I don’t do these things so much anymore because while I totally get that it’s funny (it really is) I feel exposed when it’s pointed out.

So when I looked in (not out) the window I surprised myself when I saw that I looked just so...sad. Surprised both because I had been expending a lot of mental energy trying to keep that sad face hidden in my solar plexus where it belonged and also because I had expended so much of that energy that I had convinced myself that I actually was fine.

Laughter. My first instinct is that it must be about me. That I had been I had been seen doing something I wasn't aware I was doing again while starring out the window like a doof. Swift turn of the head and of course it was just two people were just having their own conversation. “Of course. Idiot. You think everything is about you.” I didn’t argue back.

I heard the cheering and sushes from two rooms away that always precedes the countdown. The only time annually I hear a command to silence just so we can then get immediately louder except together and in the right way. I ambled out of the kitchen to one room over, too crowded to get two rooms over, working hard to maintain a strong neutral face and upright stance. I was on the back wall by a bookshelf. I picked up a book and pretended to examine it, hoping nobody could see me while also wishing somebody would talk to me. The book was a series of poems or something. I think. I might have turned to Hawthorne’s 'Test of a Man' and had it fly right over my head just before realizing oh shit I’m at a crowded party reading fucking poetry put it back put it back put it back.

While I was distracted the countdown had started and was now at seven. I looked around. Keep your face normal, you’re fine. Five. Smile, damn it, smile. Don’t make this negative for other people too. They’re having fun. Keep it in. Two. I’m breathing very heavily. The room was so crowded that even with cracked windows in the Chicago winter it was hot. The air was heavy with the hot moisture of the all the breath coming from so many red heat and alcohol flushed faces with twice as many crinkled sentimental eyes all packed in and leaning into one another. People were hugging and cheering and I realized the countdown had finished a couple seconds ago and I was late to it. Arms around shoulders. Hugs. Meaningful cliches being slurred that are only cliches because we haven’t yet found better ways to express ‘I love you’ than the words and tones we typically employ on new year’s or during goodbyes after weddings. I'm surrounded with warmth and all the best promises of the theme song to ‘Cheers’ fulfilled.

And I felt

incredibly

alone.

....

I had a panic attack.

Its intensity was exacerbated by being the first one I had ever experienced and it was by far the worst of the only two I’ve had in my life.

I focused on taking deep breaths. They came out as gulps. I could feel tears coming in hot and then focused all my energy on not letting tears come up. I fought against that looming humiliation of being exposed as not actually such a funny confident guy after all. That I'm actually soft. I had to get out It was too crowded I couldn't move I was stuck planted where I was standing looked up at the ceiling because maybe gravity could help hold tears back just like a nosebleed god that's desperate hide my face hide my face they're all facing the other direction don't turn around think of something else you idiot your desperate childish need for positive attention caused this they're going to see you they're going to see you can't handle yourself they'll tell everybody they'll all know you're an emotional wreck nobody will want to be near you plus you come across as aloof to people you know that when you try to appear strong it makes you talk down to people you idiot you asshole you headcase this is why people hate you this is why nobody will ever love you this is why you will never be happy or successful or

“Hey, Peter.”

Jason Chin. He died a few years back. He was a long time Chicago improviser, teacher, coach, mentor, and friend of many. He put up a lot of cool shows. He had a great critical eye, wonderful and sharp as hell sense of humor. He was intelligent enough to be the best type of curmudgeon, as in not the shitty given up on life vindictive type. The kind that maybe had some idealism and hopes beat up a bit, but in the presence of a sense of humor that kept him smirking despite it. The type of dude who would see something dumb and snort a laugh at it not out of mockery but because he really truly gave a shit. That was my impression of him anyway, we weren’t terribly close. But I knew him. I liked him. I think I might have annoyed him more than a few times with all the ways I was young and dumb. And here he was, the only person turned around facing my direction, me pressed against the bookcase at the back wall of the room. He was holding his hand out to me.

“Happy new year.”

On auto-pilot I shook his hand and forced a smile. “Thanks, Jason. You too.”

He looked at me in the eye a little while longer than people usually do. He held a firm grasp on my hand. Maintaining eye contact he gave a nod with a simultaneous single assertive shake of the hand, his mouth in a firm line and the skin under his eyes pushed up giving a strong focus to them. It felt like “you got this”.

And for a moment and a little while after I didn’t feel so isolated.

I found the little oomph of strength to walk through a crowd and didn’t stay much longer. I remember glancing at the clock and it being eeking up to 12:10 as I walked out. I said as few goodbyes as possible. I kept the brim of my hat over my eyes on the bus and train home to hide my eyes from strangers. I was crying. To this day I haven’t been to a new year’s eve party since. I have, with the exception of the latest new year’s eve, always found a place to do improv instead.

I never spoke to Jason about that moment in any of the subsequent years I saw him. I still think about it sometimes. And it strikes me now, almost a decade later, as a good example for a model of politics and life.

I have been thinking lately that the best way to change the world is to just take care of yourself and people around you in a positive way. Break down any issue you care about and it always comes down to easing human suffering. I think the best that can be expected or asked of us is to simply make things easier for other people in our smaller personal worlds where and when we can. The way the ills of the world are presented to us make them seem invincible. I think people disengage and avoid the news and politics partly because it’s all so much bigger than us and the feeling of powerlessness is just so crippling. It's like being given a fishing pole and being told to plant your feet, dig in, and stop the rotation of the Earth with it. Do this, and keep in mind that the happiness survival of every single person’s world including those not yet born is at stake.

I think it’s all too much to ask any one person to feel responsible for. So let’s all just worry about ourselves and the relative few people around us. Stay informed, vote, be kind, and do the right thing in your little one eight-billionth of a world that we’re all sharing with you. The cumulative effect of enough people living in that mode is world changing, policy and personally wise, but not in a way that anybody feels like they’re bearing the weight for. You are powerful enough to do something so meaningful for even just a single person, every day. It turns out what you do matters. And it’s even easy. We collectively have the power to have any world we want, but I don’t think our simple nomadic mammalian brains are equipped to handle planetary scale stakes. What I’m saying is simplify.

The world is actually at present already better than we think it is, but the information we are given to digest about it is almost only ever grand scale horrible due to the things incentivized by national media such as how human eyes are so easy led by what’s just bled. It’s all terrible and we’re all powerless. This is a newer development in terms of the entirety of human history. It’s basically only since the telegraph that we’ve gone from predominantly and immediately local news we have influence over to national news we have relative little power over as individuals.

But it's also what is disincentivized to hear of, and even before the telegraph has mostly gone unnoticed. The little goodnesses. There’s no incentive to report on the millions of times every day somebody says ‘no you go first’ or ‘you dropped this’. Or smiles. I don’t think the road to a better world is a series of grand gestures. I think it’s in the billions of small and simple kindnesses.

Like giving a knowing reassuring handshake to a person who needs it.

Be a small part of someone’s larger but still small story.

#Jason R. Chin #improvisers #New Year's Eve #depression #breakups

0 notes