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journalxxx · 3 years

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By Hook or by Crook (2)

May 1st, 2270

“Hello, Izuku.” “Hi, dad.” Izuku hadn’t exactly been dreading this conversation, but he hadn’t been looking forward to it either. He’d hoped his mom would do all the talking, having to break the news to his friends had been hard enough. For him. Most of them seemed to have gotten quite the kick out of it. “How are you? Your mother told me you’ve been having a rough couple of weeks.” “Mh.” “Still upset over that visit?” “Mh.” “Speak, son. Sulking doesn’t translate well over the phone.” His father chided gently.

Izuku sighed. “The doctor said I’m never going to get a quirk. I’m sorry.” “Whatever for? It’s not like you have any choice in the matter. Quirks are innate, surely you know that.” “Yes, I do.” Izuku said, staring at the paused frame of All Might’s debut video on the computer screen. The reflection of his own miserable face was superimposed with the triumphant silhouette of the hero. “But I’m sorry anyway. You have such a cool quirk… and mom’s useful too. I could become a great hero with one of them, but I’m never going to get any.” “Again, that’s none of your fault. And I wouldn’t be so sure of that anyway.” “Uh?” Izuku gulped, gripping the phone tightly. “Y-you don’t think I’d make a good hero?” “No, that’s not what I mean.” His father chuckled. “I mean that I wouldn’t lose hope just yet. You’re very young, there’s still plenty of time for your quirk to manifest.” “But the doctor said that all quirks appear before one is four years old. And I’m four. And I have the extra toe joint-” “Tsk! Some doctor they assigned you. As if one could unerringly guess the nature and development of something as unpredictable as a quirk with a single test. An x-ray, of all things. Ancient technology.” “The doctor said there was a study...” “I have an extra toe joint too, you know.” Izuku’s father laughed hearing his son’s surprised gasp. “Studies like the one your doctor mentioned draw conclusions based on the analysis of hundreds, thousands of cases. Those conclusions may hold true for the majority of them, but there are always outliers. Having that oh-so-precious joint and a quirk is indeed rare, but not unheard of.” “B-But…” Izuku’s eyes burned with the feeling of impending tears. He hadn’t expected his father’s reaction to be like this. No one had even remotely doubted the validity of the doctor’s opinion. No one. It almost hurt to hope. “I’m also too old…” “My own quirk didn’t show until I was… fifteen? Maybe sixteen. Way older than you are, anyway. Another important point to consider, don’t you think?” Izuku sniffled. Then cried, quietly. His father remained silent as the boy let the tears flow freely, wiping them on his arm now and then. There was a tangled ball of emotions deep in his chest, that he couldn’t quite unravel. After a couple of minutes though, the sobs abated and he felt better. Better than he had been feeling before his mom handed him the phone. “...Do you really think the doctor was wrong?” “You shouldn’t believe everything doctors tell you. My personal physician keeps calling me ‘the peak of biological and anthropological evolution’, but that’s because he’s been fishing for a raise for years. Clearly you’d expect a Darwinian champion to be able to walk under the sun without protection for more than five minutes without turning into a peeling tomato.” “Uh? Does that really happen to you?” “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that I’m albino? My skin is very sensitive to sunlight, and it burns easily. I have atrocious eyesight too.” “I didn’t know that.” Izuku winced in sympathy. “I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.” “Not nearly as much as you think. I have plenty of skills and tools at my disposal to compensate. It isn’t an inconvenience at all these days, although it did cause me some grief when I was a child.” His father’s tone got softer. “Sometimes it does feel like our bodies are our own worst enemies, doesn’t it?” Izuku hummed in assent, very much agreeing with the sentiment. “I’m happy it doesn’t hurt you any more.” “And I’m glad you didn’t inherit this nuisance from me.” A sudden thought made its unwelcome way in Izuku’s head. “If… If I didn’t inherit your skin and eyes… maybe I won’t inherit your quirk either…” “Izuku.” His father’s tone was kind but firm. There were times when his presence, even just through his voice, felt way more real and solid than that of many people Izuku habitually shared a room with. “Your ability will emerge one day, I’m positive of that. Just give it time and don’t agonize over it.” Izuku nodded, even though he realized that wouldn’t translate well over the phone either. “...Okay.” “Now, what else have you been up to in this past month, other than brooding over a criminally incompetent diagnosis?” Not much, honestly, but Izuku told him anyway. As he kept chatting, his heart grew lighter than it had been in weeks. Mom did always say that his father was a good listener.

July 1st, 2272 “They were talking about it on TV yesterday. It’s an old incident from some years ago, before All Might met Nighteye!” “I see...” “Not many people know about it, because there’s no villain involved, and villains make all the stories more interesting! But it’s a great story nonetheless!” Izuku rattled on enthusiastically, taking advantage of his father’s unresponsive compliance. “Uh-huh...” “So this boy was having some big troubles, I think, and he jumped into a river because he didn’t know what to do about them. But luckily All Might was around! Do you know what he did?” “He offered to cover all the expenses for the years of therapy the boy would need afterwards?” “Uh… They didn’t say that on TV. I don’t know. I think he just rescued him from the river.” “That doesn’t seem to address the underlying problem.” His father commented icily. “Daaad, you’re ruining the story.” Izuku chided him. “Anyway, the funny part is that this boy had a quirk that could turn water into vinegar, and he activated it in a panic while he was drowning.” “Mh. A peculiar quirk...” “So All Might got all drenched in vinegar when he dove in to save him. He made this very silly face in front of the cameras, it was great! And when the boy apologized for causing trouble, guess what All Might told him?” “I’m sorry I’m the living embodiment of this unfair, hypocritical society that has driven you to the brink of despair?” “No. He said,” Izuku continued, breezing past his father’s petty remarks with practiced ease, “It is I who should thank you. My skin’s looking ten years younger now.” “Oh my God…” The man groaned, and a loud thunk-crash noise accompanied his words. “Oh, come on!” Izuku giggled, covering his mouth with his free hand. “It’s so funny!” “Just because they’re called ‘dad jokes’ doesn’t mean I’m legally obligated to laugh at them.” “But it is funny! All Might’s the funniest! Did you know that he just wrote a joke book? It’s called All Might’s Gags and Jokes: A Compendium. It already has amazing reviews! They say it’s warm and relatable and cy.. cyclical…” “He wrote a joke book. A veritable Renaissance man, this one...” His father muttered. Izuku heard something clink in the background. Probably the pieces of whatever his father dropped. “Mom says she’ll buy it for my birthday!” Izuku added, swinging his whole body on his chair in sheer excitement. “That is such a poor use of your remittance. I’ll need to have a couple of words with her…” “It’s for my education!” Izuku enunciated with solemnity, straightening his posture. “There’s a whole chapter of American puns and word plays! It will help me learn English!” “If you want to learn English on your own so soon, please choose a decent source. Start with basic grammar and alphabet books, watch some subtitled shows and movies to get the hang of the correct pronunciation-” “I’m learning a lot from All Might already! The catchphrase he used when he was in college in California was I am here! When he’s surprised, he says Oh my goodness! When he doesn’t believe something, he says Nonsense!” Izuku parroted, taking great care of imitating All Might’s confident, surprised and disbelieving expressions respectively. They would be lost on his father, but he needed to practice them anyway. “If that’s a good American accent, I’m the next Symbol of Peace.” “Dad.” Izuku said, suddenly very serious. He had a very important question to ask, and it had been a long time coming. “Why do you always make fun of him? It’s like… It’s almost like you don’t like him at all.” The words sounded so wrong he almost wasn’t brave enough to say them. Izuku would have been mortified if anyone had moved such an accusation on him. “I suppose he has a sort of… charisma about him.” His father admitted ruefully. “I can’t say it strikes any chords with me though.” “Are you just jealous of him?” Izuku asked shrewdly. “Kacchan also talks a lot of trash about All Might, but it’s obvious he’s just jealous. It’s all right if you are, though, I mean, he’s so-” “I’m this close to hanging up, Izuku.” “But- but how can you not like All Might?! Everyone likes All Might! Boys and girls, children and grown-ups! From age 0 to 100!” “...I guess I just don’t fit the target demographic then.” Izuku huffed. “You’re so boring, dad.” “Says the one who’s been talking my ear off about the same topic for the last forty minutes.” The boy frowned, nibbling at his lip. “...Sorry. Am I annoying you?” “I’ll admit I may have hit my monthly tolerance limit of All Might trivia. Don’t worry about it though.” Izuku did in fact stop worrying, his father’s amusement clearly detectable in his voice. “I think I’ll be able to bear with your unabashed enthusiasm until you hit your mandatory disillusioned teenage phase. Then we’ll see if that obnoxiously cheery act of his will still resonate with you.”

June 2nd, 2274 “His normal body temperature is about two degrees higher than the average. Around 38-39 °C.” “And what can you deduce from that?” Izuku’s father goaded. The boy stared at the scribbles in his notebook in deep thought. “Uhm… that it’s difficult to tell if he has a fever or not?” His father laughed, but not unkindly. “I wouldn’t think so. You just said yourself that that is his normal temperature. Therefore, I wouldn’t call Endeavor’s doctor unless his thermometer read more than 39.5 °C, probably.” “Right.” Izuku nodded. That was obvious, wasn’t it? Why hadn’t he understood that on his own? His father didn’t seem to mind his blunder though. “Try again.” “I think…” Izuku’s eyes were just about to bore a hole into his rough sketch of the hero’s costume. He gave up after the silence started to make him uncomfortable though. “...I don’t know. What can I deduce from that?” “Hm… You did bring up an interesting point. Do you know how fever works, Izuku?” “Yeah. Your body temperature rises when you’re sick. If it rises too much, you can get in serious trouble, you could even die. It never really gets that bad though.” “But why does it rise? What does your body accomplish by doing that?” “Uh…” Izuku frowned. He was sure he’d read or heard something about that, but the details escaped him at the moment. “To help you fight off the sickness, right? You feel worse at first, but it actually helps you get better.” “Exactly. Most bacteria and viruses that infect men thrive and multiply optimally at around 37 °C, which is the average person’s normal body temperature. But the growth of these microorganisms is hindered when the environment gets too hot. That is the principle that makes fever useful for humans. As your body gets hotter, it debilitates the invasors, so that your immune system can remove them more easily.” “..Oh.” It was a pity that his father called him only once a month, Izuku could have easily listened to him for hours every day. He always had so many interesting things to say about so many different subjects, and he always exposed them so neatly. “So. Can you deduce anything new now?” “Uh, uhm… He… I guess he...” Izuku snapped out of his reverie. Right, this was a conversation, not a lesson. He went over the new information in his head as quickly as he could. Higher temperature than normal... Fever... Microorganisms... Immune syst- Oh! “He heals quicker than- no, wait! He doesn’t get sick at all! Because he’s always too hot for the microorganisms! They can’t grow in his body!” “Excellent reasoning!” His father’s warm praise made Izuku’s chest swell with pride. “Obviously he isn’t completely immune to any and all infections, there are lots of exceptions to the mechanism I just explained to you. But yes, I do believe it’s safe to assume that our esteemed Flame Hero suffers from the occasional seasonal maladies far less often than the general population, if at all.” “That’s so cool…” Izuku immediately added the new data to his notes, almost breaking the tip of the pencil in his enthusiasm. “Is that what you wanted me to deduce? Or did you explain that just because I brought up the fever thing?” “I was actually thinking of something else. But, on second thought, it may be too technical a topic for an eight-year-old.” “...Can you tell me about it anyway?” “Of course.” Izuku would never not be grateful for the patience his father had, never denying him any clarification on anything. He was just about the only adult who never got tired of his questions. Even his mom sometimes hid her fatigue behind a mildly insincere I don’t know. “High heat isn’t exactly conductive to the activity of human cells either. That’s one of the reasons why you feel exhausted and achy when you have a fever, your body struggles to keep doing what it’s supposed to do above its normal temperature range. But Endeavor not only is at peak condition at 39 °C, he can also withstand open flames with a much higher temperature. This suggests that his cells must be fundamentally different from the average person’s on a biochemical level, that his quirk must provide some particularly efficient cellular mechanism to prevent heat damage. One example might be some dedicated enzymes to protect proteins from denaturation, but now I’m entering mere speculation.” A pause. “Did you follow me?” “...Kind of.” Izuku said, kind of lying but not entirely. He had followed most of that. He scrawled and circled a couple of terms he hadn’t grasped - Biochemical - Enzymes - Denaturation - on the page. He didn’t want to waste his father’s time by asking him to explain the meaning of words he could easily look up later on his own. “The gist of it is that Endeavor’s Hellflame has at least two facets. Not only ‘creating fire’, but also ‘not incinerating himself’. The first trait would be a fatal liability without the second.” “Got it!” Izuku cheered. Now that he had understood completely. “You sure know a lot about quirks, dad! Like, a lot! About anything, really!” “For the sake of intellectual honesty, it must be said that it isn’t difficult to impress a primary schooler.” His father laughed. “I’m just older than you.” “How much older?” Izuku asked, realizing for the first time that no one had ever told him his father’s age. “Oh, by a lot. Centuries.” Izuku cackled. “You can’t be that old. You still go to work. Our neighbors are 80 and they’re already retired.” “I do try to keep a youthful outlook on life. But yes, quirks fascinate me quite a bit. And they make for the perfect topic to distract you from your incessant yapping about All Might.” “Speaking of All Might-” “No, I-” His father sighed theatrically. “I just walked into this one, didn’t I?” “Yep.” Izuku grinned. “What about his quirk? Do you know anything about it? He never gives straight answers when people ask him about it…” “That may be the single sign of intelligence he’s ever displayed. The more your enemies know about your quirk, the easier it is for them to find your weaknesses. I’m surprised the other pro heroes aren’t as reserved.” “I wonder why All Might does that, though. His quirk is… pretty obvious.” Izuku pondered. “It just makes him strong. Very strong. Like, the strongest ever. But that’s it.” “Allegedly, yes. But as you noticed yourself, if raw power was all there was to it, there would be no reason to skirt around the issue in interviews, no?” “So there must be something else… What do you think it might be?” “I think it would be no less than cruel to deprive you of the thrill of carrying out your own research.” Izuku let out a dissatisfied moan, and his father chuckled. “You are already so very proficient at it. Your mother told me you’ve already filled a whole notebook with hero and quirk analyses.” “Oh, ehr… It’s just stuff I read here and there…” “Mh, I’ve heard enough of your ‘stuff’ to know that there’s more than random factoids in that head of yours. In fact…” Izuku felt his cheeks warm for the compliment. “I think you’ve gotten old and judicious enough to be trusted with my emergency number.” “Uh? What emergency number?” “It’s a phone number I’ll always answer to, on any day and at any hour, in case you may find yourself in a bad situation. Hopefully you’ll never need it, but better safe than sorry. Now…” His father’s voice raised slightly, drowning out Izuku’s impending interruption. “Can I rely on the fact that you are aware that desperately wanting to tell me that All Might saved a kitten from a meteor does not qualify as an emergency?” Izuku pouted. “I know what an emergency is, dad.” “Good. Ask your mother to give you the number then. Don’t save it on your phone or write it anywhere. Memorize it, and be responsible with it.”

December 3rd, 2275 Sorry for the long silence. I had an accident on the job and I won’t be able to speak clearly for a while. We can talk with the included devices. Use your ring finger to activate them. Usual days, usual hours. Hisashi That short note held the first words Izuku had received from his father in the last five months. The first month he hadn’t phoned, Izuku had felt slightly disappointed, but understanding. His father was a busy man, surely something very important must have been requiring his full-time attention. It was fine, Izuku was confident he could manage to sweet-talk him into a double-length call the following month to make up for that. The second month, he had started to worry. His mother hadn’t heard from his father either. It was unprecedented not to hear from him for such a long time. Since Izuku could remember, his father had never skipped one of their monthly calls. They often talked on the first day of every month, and he kept trying to contact them exactly once each following day if his calls were missed. He never failed to reach them past the third day. He always called from a hidden number, so trying to get hold of him was not an option. The third month, Izuku’s mother had decided to use the emergency number. She hadn’t been able to get through to her husband, but the polite colleague of his who had picked up had reassured her that he was indisposed but overall fine, and would get in touch with them as soon as possible… which could still take a while. Curiously, the coworker had also instructed them to collect a sample of their fingerprints and send them to a specific address. Izuku had been mystified by the request, but his mother had readily agreed, commenting that it was “not the strangest thing Hisashi’s ever asked for”. The silent wait that followed had been a little uneasy, but not harrowing. Izuku and his mother reread the message a couple of times before opening the box they’d just been delivered. Inside were only the two mentioned devices with their respective chargers, snuggled among waterproof packaging and stuffing. They looked very much like ordinary mobile phones, except they had no buttons or ports on any side. Some quick experimentation proved that they could be turned on simply by pressing the indicated finger on the touchscreen. The display showed a very minimalistic chat interface, with a fixed red dot on the top left corner. No amount of tapping on the screen could bring up the virtual keyboard though, which was puzzling. There was no way to access the rest of the phone’s functions, if it even had any. It was the third day of the month, so technically still within the familiar communication window. Izuku kept poking and prodding at the buttonless phone for the whole afternoon until eventually, shortly after dinner, the red dot at the top of the chat became green. A minute later, a message popped up. Hello, Izuku. Izuku almost dropped his cup of hot chocolate in excitement, which was quickly replaced by frustration because he still couldn’t type anything in any way. How was he supposed to- Speak. I can hear you. “...Oh! Nice!” Izuku exclaimed. “Hi, dad! How are you? What happened?” I’ve been better. I got decked by a hysterical ape. Izuku frowned. “That’s not funny. Mom and I were very worried.” That wasn’t really a joke. What? What even- “...How? Did you break into a zoo or something…?” Sorry, you’re right. Let me rephrase. I had a violent disagreement with a brute. “Oh…” Izuku was about to ask for further explanations but he waited. The three bouncing dots at the bottom of the screen signalled that his father was still writing. We will have to communicate like this for a while. I hope it isn’t too much of an inconvenience for you. Judging by how long it took him to type even the shortest messages, Izuku thought it was going to be much more of an inconvenience for his father. He felt sorry for him. “No, not all. Is it… is it really bad? Shouldn’t you come home so we can help you get better? It sounds like you won’t be able to work anyway…” I’ll receive better medical treatment here, and I can still get some work done while I recuperate. Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll recover fully sooner or later. Izuku picked at the lint of his blanket, choosing his words carefully. “You could… come home anyway. Even if you could work. When you’re feeling a little better. So we could spend some time together.” The three bouncing dots reappeared, but Izuku kept talking. He already knew what his father’s answer was going to be, but he wanted to take advantage of the delay to get a few more words in. “Some of my friends have parents that work far from home too. They’re away a lot, but… they do come back to visit sometimes. Usually for the holidays. At least… At least once.” At least his friends had actually met their fathers once in their whole lives, Izuku completed only in his head. You know how things stand. My job doesn’t afford me this kind of free time. “...What do you even do that won’t let you ever do anything?” Izuku muttered, out of sheer petulance. That was another familiar point of contention, to which his father replied with the same, word-for-word justification he always used. Every detail concerning my activities is classified by the government. We’ve been over this. Don’t be childish. And that was usually the end of it. Any further questioning after the ‘classified’ thing invariably turned Izuku’s father into a slippery wall of smooth deflections. But, considering the current situation, Izuku felt like he could get away with a little more nagging, if he played his cards right. “I know you can’t say anything. But how about…” He physically leaned forwards, trying not to let his tension seep through his voice. “How about I try to deduce something? About your job. Just… for fun.” No new message showed up, not even the typing dots. Izuku decided that it was as much of an approval as he was going to get, so he started to voice his thoughts as they formed. “...Your job is classified by the government. So it’s important, very important, so important that other people can’t know about it.” When he was very young, Izuku had obviously interpreted it as irrefutable proof that his father must be some sort of secret agent. He had exposed his conclusion to Kacchan and his gang once. They had… not-so-respectfully disagreed. Izuku had never brought up the matter with them afterwards. “Your note said that you got hurt on the job. So someone you know from work punched you so hard that, even after five months, you still can’t talk well.” Izuku paused. That was… a scary idea. It dawned on him, for the first time since the beginning of this whole ordeal, that his father may have really dodged a bullet there. What kind of a brute could possibly want to injure someone that much…? Surely a criminal… A villain, maybe…? “Your job is dangerous, and it leaves you almost no free time. It also pays well.” That last item was admittedly a shot in the dark, Izuku didn’t really know much about money handling. But he had noticed that his mother never denied him a gift or a treat on the grounds of its cost (his vast collection of All Might memorabilia was a testament to that), like so many of his friends’ relatives were wont to do. She didn’t need a job herself, and Izuku remembered overhearing a conversation she had with Kacchan’s mom where she had said that they were ‘well provided for’. “You know a lot about a lot of stuff, especially about quirks and heroes. You know a lot of things about quirks and heroes that I couldn’t find anywhere on the internet.” Izuku paused, racking his brain for anything else that stuck out. Before he could come up with more points to make, his father finally wrote back. You sure put some thought into this. I’m impressed. The lack of reprimands was an encouragement in its own right. Now came the hard part. These were all facts that he already knew, now he had to put them together… and no matter how much he tried to come up with different possibilities, there was only one explanation that rang true in Izuku’s mind. “Dad… are you some sort of… undercover hero?” Izuku waited with baited breath for the dancing dots to turn into a complete message. Definitely not. ...Aw, shoot. Although I guess I do happen to deal with heroes quite often in my line of work. Izuku gasped. That was the first real piece of information his father had ever shared with him about his job! And wow, he worked with heroes! And whatever support he lent them had to be pretty vital if he was always so busy and tight-lipped. “So you’re like… a policeman? An informant that tracks down villains for the heroes to catch? Or an engineer bound by trade secret? Or-” Enough, Izuku. I’m supposed to be resting. I don’t think being given the third degree by my own son counts as such. Izuku deflated. So close to the truth, and yet so far… Maybe he could manage to get some other clue out of his father later. But… there was one more thing he simply had to ask. “...Have you ever met All Might?” I’m just going to ignore you after this. Well, it had been worth a try. Izuku finally relented, reasonably satisfied with the result of his investigation. “Okay, okay. Sorry. No more questions. And no All Might stuff. Not that I have much to tell you about him. He hasn’t really been around lately.” Hasn’t he, now? Uh, odd. It wasn’t like his father to miss an opportunity to dodge All Might gossip. Izuku supposed there’d be no harm in taking advantage of this atypical spark of curiosity. “Yeah. It’s been like this for a few months. Rumors say he’s abroad, working on some large scale mission. Something very secret, that’s why there are no articles on him in newspapers from other countries either.” I wasn’t aware of this. That’s very interesting. Although I couldn’t imagine anyone less suited to hushed-up operations. Izuku couldn’t help but snort. In light of the recent revelation, he wondered if his father was so unapologetically critical of All Might because he had worked with him and they hadn’t gotten along… which seemed kind of impossible. How could All Might be the unpleasant type of coworker? Or maybe his father really was just jealous because he couldn’t work with All Might often enough. A sudden thought occurred to the boy. “...Sorry, I guess you don’t want to hear about hero stuff now that you’re, uh… on forced vacation.” Actually, I’d love to. I’ve been a little out of the loop lately, I need to catch up with the news anyway. Fire away all the information you have. Izuku smiled. “Even about All Might?” Especially about All Might.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #izuku midoriya #deku #all for one

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thisselflovecamebacktome · 3 years

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My personal connection with Taylor’s discography, part two: Right Where You Left Me

Basically this is just a series I’m doing where I write down my feelings on what each of the Taylor songs means to me personally. Part one was my relationship with It’s Time To Go, which you can find here.

Before we get started with this one though, I just want to mention how much I love this song, even outside of relatability. While I do prefer Taylor’s ‘mature’ voice nowadays, the fact she tapped into her ‘fetus Taylor’/RED era voice in an album filled with her ‘mature’ voice to show that she’s stuck at an age that no longer suitable/where she’s meant to be adds a lot to the song. Likewise, the urgency she uses when saying ‘Help!’ because it feels like an emergency to her makes me want to scream every time I hear it.

Anyway, with that being said, this is how I personally relate to this song.

Right Where You Left Me

As a whole, this song is one of the most relatable songs of Taylor’s for me right now. It is somehow comforting, yet also reads me like a book. It is also one of the many songs Taylor has written that I relate back to the trauma of losing my family. Specifically, Right Where You Left Me feels like a vocalisation of what I feel on the worst of days where I do not feel strong enough to go on alone and just want them to come back. Because of this, Taylor’s ‘immature’ voice adds even more to the song as the situation it relates to in my own life makes me feel like a child crying out for their parents to help them.

Friends break up, friends get married

Basically I’m at this part of my life where it feels like all my friends are hitting these milestones that not only do I not feel close to hitting, I just have no interest in hitting them because I’m too focused on what happened with my family.

Strangers get born, strangers get buried

In the last year or so, I found out through facebook that I am an aunt and via the phone that my grandfather, someone who called me their favourite grandchild, had died. These are people who should in theory mean the world to me, but instead, they were born/died strangers to me, as will any other members of my family. And as a result, I felt nothing hearing the news.

Trends change, rumors fly through new skies. But I'm right where you left me. Matches burn after the other

Time has passed, but I still stuck in that moment, so much so that things that used to catch my interest no longer phase me.

Pages turn and stick to each other

A lot of people have spoken about how this song is about trauma, but I feel like this line is often left out of the conversation when it’s perhaps the most obvious show of it. When you’re traumatised, time all blurs together and as a result, you often find yourself in a position where you’re questioning how you even got there or feeling like you’ve missed part of the story. And part of this goes with my friends’ lives too. Like it feels like I am so stuck in the moment my family fell apart that I wake up some days noticing my friends have made these achievements that I didn’t even know they were working up for despite them telling me things I just do not remember. In non-traumatised terms, it’s almost like being invited to a wedding where you thought the bride was still single.

Wages earned and lessons learned. But I'm right where you left me

Obviously life has still gone on for both myself and my family. None of us have just stayed in bed for almost six years doing literal nothing, at least from what I know. I’ve started and finished my degrees, assumingly my family has gone to work etc and I’ve been able to reflect on what went wrong and why not to trust them again. But despite that, it still feels like just yesterday that this all went down. The damage losing my family has done is and may always be a fresh wound.

Help, I'm still at the restaurant, still sitting in a corner I haunt cross-legged in the dim light. They say, "What a sad sight"

Continuing from the above, I am still traumatised and don’t really know how to move past this. And while most of my friends have tried to help, there’s nothing they can realistically do but say that they’re sorry that it happened.

I swear you could hear a hair pin drop right when I felt the moment stop. Glass shattered on the white cloth

Christmas Day 2015. Before then my sister had been in a two year cycle of running away but coming back for special events to get gifts. So when she didn’t show on Christmas, I knew she wasn’t coming back. Also the moment I read the facebook messages from my extended family stating that they’d rather I starve and be homeless than speak to my father about helping put the family back together.

Everybody moved on. I stayed there. Dust collected on my pinned up hair

Again the continuation of the idea that it feels like everyone around me has moved on and done amazing things and I’ve just sat here, achieving nothing.

They expected me to find somewhere, Some perspective. But I sat and stared right where you left me

My family falling apart was one of those ‘everyone knew before me’ moments. Like friends of mine have flat out pointed out that the signs were there from when I was like ten. And yet, part of me held on thinking that anyone in my family would come back and fix things someday.

Did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen? Time went on for everybody else, she won't know it

Again, so much time has passed since then and everyone else (barring my mother) seems to have moved on, leaving this trauma behind as just a memory and yet it feels incomprehensible that this happened and that I was meant to do anything afterwards until this got sorted.

She's still twenty-three inside her fantasy, how it was supposed to be

I still spend so so much time wishing things were different and imagining all these different events in our lives that the other should be at and how it should have been even though I know at the end of the day that just breaks my heart worse when I am forced to reconcile that that’s never going to happen.

Did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion?

I spent two years truly believing my father would eventually realise how messed up the situation was and reuniting my sister and extended family with me, my brother and/or mother even though he had the means to do so the whole time but didn’t. Or that my sister would come home on her own at 18 knowing mum couldn’t set boundaries anymore. Or at very least, one of the extended family would call and ask how they could help. Like I had zero reason to have faith in these people anymore, and yet I sat around like a delusional idiot truly thinking that 2015 wasn’t the end for my family.

Breakups happen every day, you don't have to lose it

In an attempt to either make me feel better or just move past the subject, I’ve had people in my life constantly compare it to their siblings who came back or their parents divorce where they still speak to both parents or just generally telling me that I’ve gotta forget them and just move on to be okay. And while well meaning, it has just felt more isolating and like they want me to just shut up for their sakes, even if they don’t mean it to. As a result, I’ve been left to fester more about it, because outside therapy, I have nowhere to put that energy. And as someone who feels like they can “infodump”/rant and then move on, at least for a while, it’s the most frustrating thing.

She's still twenty-three inside her fantasy and you're sitting in front of me at the restaurant when I was still the one you want, cross-legged in the dim light. Everything was just right

While it was not the last day I had with her, the last positive memory I have of my sister was when the three of us went to Merimbula, my then favourite place in the world, to visit my grandmother in January 2015. It was the time in my life where I was the happiest, both with myself and how the rest of my life was going, and felt that everything was going to work out. We had just moved my sister to a different school away from the people who were pushing her to act out (they later transferred to the same school :/), I was about to start my degree, I felt the most recovered from my PTSD, Bipolar and Eating Disorder than I ever had and I felt the most loved I ever had, both by my family and others. Looking back at the photos from that trip, I also noticed that it’s the only photos I’ve smiled in and the most huggy I’ve ever been towards my sister and father.

I could feel the mascara run. You told me that you met someone

This line specifically feels aimed at my father and the moment in 2017 he told me that he’d rather stick with my sister and allow her to do whatever she likes than stand by my side and try to reconnect the family and I realised that that was never going to change.

I'm sure that you got a wife out there, kids and Christmas. But I'm unaware ‘cause I'm right where

Like I said, I know I have a nephew that I’ll never meet now. I know my younger cousins are probably getting married and having these other events, but I’m never going to be part of that and I can’t even comprehend having those events for myself after what happened. The specific mention of Christmas also feels like a kick in the guts not only as the day that I realised my sister wasn’t coming back, but that was the main time we saw everyone from the extended family and would literally spend like 12 hours at my uncle’s place for the day.

I cause no harm, mind my business

Again, I just cannot find it in myself to do anything anymore. I don’t get involved in things I used to, I don’t make new connections and I can’t bring myself to explain what happened. I just go through the motions of living the same day, over and over.

If our love died young I can't bear witness

Quite frankly, I’ve pushed this shit so far to the back of my head because I just cannot face the pain, even after all this time. Like taking a ‘out of sight, out of mind’ approach and trying to rationalise it to myself that everyone else was right and this was inevitable is the only way I’ve been getting through each day because the alternative is that none of this had to happen but still did.

And it's been so long. But if you ever think you got it wrong I'm right where you left me

This is the child in me screaming out and begging me to reach out to them on the bad days that I want them all back and can’t do this alone.

You left me no, you left me no

The disbelief. Like none of this can be real. Like my father and extended family couldn’t have decided a broken family was better than the work it takes to fix one, right? My mother can’t be so torn up in her own grief that by her own accord, has admitted she will never love me, right? It just all cannot be real. But it is.

You left me no choice but to stay here forever

And to finish off, we have a triple meaning line.

The father version: By manipulating events and turning my mother, brother and I into the villains, he has forced us into a future where we do not have family. He has brought on grief to my mother that I am expecting her to die at her own hand soon. And he has left me living in my fantasies of what could have been.

The mother version: Within her own grief, my mother is living in a mindset where anyone wanting to move on from this and have a life is selfish and is herself constantly talking about it and giving ultimatums to listen to and agree with her or refuse to pay bills, which I need her to do as someone who is financially dependent on her. Ironically, she also shuts down any inkling that my brother and I have been affected by this to the level she has and refuses to entertain us talking about that in the household. Both of which mean I am forced to relive this over and over without the recovering aspects that I need.

The me version: Basically the combination of the two above. Because I have not been given the chance to recover in the way I need and do not have an outlet outside of therapy to properly work through this, I am forced to relive the events with myself each night just to try and make sense of it all. Further, the trauma has hit so deep that again, even the idea of starting new relationships whether they be familiar, romantic or platonic seems both unworthy of my attention and horrifically terrifying because it still feels like I am unloveable because if my own family, the people who are meant to love you forever, have abandoned me, why would anyone else stay?

#taylor swift #right where you left me #evermore album #about me

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devilsuga · 4 years

Text

The Missing Key

Pt.1

Pairing: Yoongi x reader; Possible others x reader

Au: Supernatural; modern day; hunters

Word count: Uhm I ain’t counting

Warnings: Dark themes; gore; sex; possible tw

Summary: The struggles of her past lead her into an asylum by her foster parents who couldn’t look after her. Sightings of seven spirits in her dream haunted her till the day she got put on medication and her brain fried. On her 18th birthday she’s free but with a simple address of her old home scribbled on crumpled paper does it lead her to mysteries. Mysteries awaiting because no one listened to her. To Van Helsings future grand daughter.

A/n: This whole story is based off a working rp between me and my friend @ahelishgoodgirl because she told me that I should get into fanfic writing so... that’s what I’m doing :)

———————————————————————

Wind whips along trees, creating haunting sounds that whistle past my ears as I walk down the empty road into the busy city of Seoul. Left to my own devices, I had been admitted to an asylum for five years but yesterday was my eighteenth birthday which mean I left today. A relief if you ask me, the amount of horrid therapy and drugs they injected into my system left me surprised I wasn’t dead or an addict.

My converse patter slowly on the soaked concrete ground, having rained early hours of this morning and still not drying up even as it’s dark now. My foster parents never visited me during my time at the asylum, made me realise that I practically don’t have anyone... no one at all. Thankfully my mind had forgotten about the seven men I’d see, whom speak to me in my dreams and what they’d tell me each time. Maybe it was the electro shock therapy that made them disappear.

Looking at the address scribbled on lined paper that I solely gripped onto I looked up at the house I once remembered growing up in... now no longer lively but a shit hole. Bricks crumbled from the wooden stables that held this home together, windows smashed... garden over grown and graffiti everywhere. Compared to the other houses surrounding the street... this was the only dead one here. Begrudgingly I enter past the police tape strewn beside the front door frames, looking around confused as my feet take me up torn carpet stairs, finding my old room and seeing it... gone. Either looters... or someone was trying to find something because everything was everywhere. It was clear mother and father were not here.

“Bastards..” I whispered, soon finding an old teddy of mine, my pink bunnie. It was dirty now, no longer got that beautiful pink tint it had... but now muddy... dirty. That’s how I felt now standing here. Walking back downstairs I check around some more, seeing nothing but empty beer bottles or needles. That was until I head movement down in the basement, my bones freezing as I gulped and walked to the door under the stairs, slowly opening it and walking down. “Hello?” My feet once again thud along the wooden stair case that was rotting away.

The sound you heard was a man who had taken asylum in the basement. He was a drugged up junkie who could barely tell what was real and what was fake. He looked up at your scared body. “Hello there” he smiled “I remember you, there is a picture of you in the hallway” he laughed “what’s the matter little girl? Are you sad about something?” He asked a needle in his arm “you’re the daughter that made it right?” He said leaning back “it’s a shame the people who lived here got attacked... by animals” he chuckled eyes slightly closing. “They shouldn’t of let the door open. Inviting things they shouldn’t... shame shame but not for me as I have a home now” he laughed trying to stand, he failed but it was obvious he wanted to reach you.

“Uh...” I stepped back, frowning at the ‘animal attack’ as how could anyone let an animal in?

“What do you mean ‘shouldn’t be letting anything in?’” I asked, looking at him. Frowning at the needle in his arm I stayed on the lower step, keeping my distance. The man laughed and laughed, he didn’t answer your question at all. Instead he slowly drifted off to sleep. There was nothing I could say, it was as if the wind was calling you out. A few miles into the woods stood a huge torn palace with 7 dark secrets inside.

Frowning I back out of the house, exiting the home I had to forget as I shook my head. The wind whispers to my ears, making me look to the woods. “Huh?” Slowly I step into the tree line, seeing almost an apparition float through the trees... a child. “Hello?” I called out, starting to follow this strange child.

“Follow” he whispered and walked into the woods. The child kept looking back every now and then to make sure you were following. He was pretty much silent, he knew you’d follow, you had nothing to lose. Did you? Before you knew it you stood in front of an enormous house. “In” the kid whispered pointing at the front door.

“Are you sure?” I softly whispered, slowly walking up to the doors of what appeared to be some worn down palace.

“What is this place?” As I turned to see the little boy... he was gone. It made me frown but I creeped inside anyways, looking around and covering my nose at all the dust so it wouldn’t make me sneeze. That’s when I heard voices.

“Tell us!” Someone said “where is the girl? The last of the name you so much hate?” Suho asked, slapping around the starving vampires who were chained to the walls. They wouldn’t speak, too weak to say anything and too weak to even try. Blood is what they craved at the moment and they swore if they had the opportunity they would rip this bastards apart. One of the vampires, yoongi looked up at him and softly chuckled. “The fuck are you making fun of blood sucker?” He asked before punching him.

Hearing voices I frowned, sounding as if a fight was going to break out as I walked towards a door. I tried to listen in against the rotting wood of the door but failed, tripping over my own feet and stumbling into the room as I looked up at a strange group of men in hunting gear with wide eyes. But then... I looked over to the seven ‘things’ who had haunted my whole life... chained to a wall.

“W-what...”

“Who the hell are you?” Asked baekhyun who furrowed his eyebrows and came close to you. “Psh just a stupid human. What say ye? A little snack for the blood suckers?” He laughed making the rest shake their heads “nah they aren’t deserving of it.. why not have a little fun with her? Each one gets a turn?” Suho smirked licking his lips.

“Y-you... what...” my eyes were more focused on the seven beaten up males who haunted my mind and practically sent me to an insane asylum. That’s when I turned to look at the other men. “You fucking touch me and I’ll kick your ass, I didn’t get sent to an insane asylum for nothing.” I glared at the strange men who were talking about me. It was more flight or fight defense, my words meaning nothing but to keep a facade up.

“Insane asylum fellas” baek laughed grabbing you by the hair and throwing you onto the ground. “Careful, we all want to have a taste” they laughed. Yoongi one of the vampires took a liking to you, pretty, just like his long dead wife. “Pshh” he whispered while the men talked about who would have the first turn “give me a little blood and I’ll save you” he said.

Looking up at one of the males who haunted my dreams I scoffed. “Like hell! You seven... strange men haunted me ever since I was a little girl! I’m not giving you shit so thanks for sending me to an asylum!” I huffed, glaring at him.

“We did?” Yoongi asked, it clicked on his head who you were but the hunters didn’t know. “Fine then I hope you’re not a virgin... they’ll tear you apart” he smirked “so then me” yelled baekhyun who turned to undress you or at least pull your panties down. “Stop it honey, if you fight it’ll be worse” Yoongi looked over at you scoffing “just a little blood” he whispered.

I screamed as I tried to kick the hunter away, looking at the male before having no choice but to cut my hand open on a rusted nail poking out of the ground, holding it up to his lips so he could drink. “Q-quick!” I said, knowing I was a virgin and I wasn’t ready yet.

Yoongi smirked taking a sweet bite, he drank a little less than half of your blood and escaped the painful chains. Breaking his brothers chains “don’t touch her” he said, he wanted to hurt you now that he knew who you were but at the same time he wanted to protect you. “Weapons boys” suho yelled, baek being thrown back by Yoongi. The guys didn’t waste a minute sucking him dry.

I covered myself back up, heart racing as I managed to crawl over to the door. I needed to get out of here, chills were being sent down my spine whilst I ran to the front door to escape.

Yoongi got away from the hunters “where do you think you’re going helsing?” He chuckled picking you up with ease, his lips met yours with a burning intensity. You were his blood type and yet he couldn’t figure out where his dead wife was even though your blood was the key but something linked him to you. Something kept stopping him from killing you.

My eyes widened as I instantly shoved him away, holding my mouth. “The hell are you doing? My name isn’t helsing!” I huffed, frowning as my last name was l/n.

“You’re adopted! Helsing is your real name like it or not” he smirked “what am I doing? What I want with what belongs to me” he said kissing you again, “you’ll die if I don’t make you mine. They figure it out and your gone, you won’t make it past hmm 19?” He laughed.

“What? I’m so confused... how am I gonna die?” I huffed, shoving him away as I stepped back.

“I’m not yours at all!”

There were screeching screams inside the house. “Don’t you see what we are? We can tear you apart in seconds. In the end it’s your choice unless you state you want to be with me. But if you don’t then I’ll start digging your grave” he laughed “don’t believe me?” He asked, 2 of his brothers came out. “Now that we’re all better and our head is clear... along with yours sweetheart we can get in your mind. Again...” Namjoon smirked

“Have you missed us like we missed you?”

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relucant · 5 years

Text

cut for oceans of personal salt in an attempt to not punch a wall (again)

so over the weekend, i drove my mother down to see her sister -- who is very much dying -- for her 80th birthday. which is an incredibly depressing experience for both obvious and less obvious reasons, but it was also obviously the right thing to do, so like, i didn’t want to, but did not resent doing so.

and my back, which is always fucked up but has been more so the past week or so, really did not like driving for three-plus hours twice in three days, and by the time we got home sunday evening had gone completely thrown out, and has pretty much been excruciatingly painful in any position except completely flat on my back since then.

which sucks balls, but it happens, and at least this time it didn’t happen in a hostel in fucking albania where i was then very very nearly fed codeine by an extremely well-intentioned roommate, to which i am very very allergic and would almost definitely and ended up with me in an albanian hospital, so like, there’s that. (almost also was fed codeine in a chilean hospital despite obviously listing my allergies -- or allergy, since it’s my only known one -- and only barely noticed and had to figure out how to say “omg no i am allergic” in spanish which i don’t really speak, which wtf world stop it with the codeine)

except. except. the a/c unit in my room is very old and has been making dying noises for a while, and whenever i am here i have been gently (and, admittedly, increasingly less gently) reminding my mother that it would probably make a lot more sense and be far less expensive to start looking to replace it before it totally dies in the middle of florida summer, and/or starts leaking all over my bed and bedroom, and is suddenly an emergency. but she, of course, is the most useless person on the planet, and will do absolutely nothing about anything ever until and unless i finally snap and have a fucking screaming meltdown like a fucking child, in which case about 5% of the time she’ll put in like three minutes of effort, or at least say she will and then wait until i leave again and then go back to her sudoku puzzles and wine.

(seriously, like, my father is dying of cancer and cirrhosis and has dementia reaching the point that he can’t really be left alone even with two different people coming by twice a day to make sure he and the cat are okay, and she’s one trip-and-fall [in a walking obstacle course of a house] away from going from can’t-walk-without-assistance to in-the-hospital-indefinitely, and it took me years and years and multiple screaming fights for her to finally begin to wrap her head around the concept that maybe we/they should have, i dunno, a fucking lawyer, and some vague sort of plans in place for when one or both of them die and/or can’t live at home anymore, which, well, i guess at least they finally have a lawyer, which i literally had to find for them through friends when i was thousands of miles away, which seems reasonable i guess...)

anyway, yeah, so we finally get home, and -- after discovering that my father had somehow got his hands on the tray of baby catnip seeds i had planted and carefully tucked in a sunny windowsill away from him, and of course, ...dumped them into the fridge. which of course, dementia is not his fault, but dementia has just exacerbated his infuriating need to just get his hands on anything nearby, with no regard as to whether it belongs to him or not, and just mess with it, so of course i was instantly pissed off within minutes of walking in the door --

so i head to my room to do the whole lie flat on my back while make vague pitiful noises thing, and the a/c unit had, of course, suddenly finally begun to leak filthy a/c water all over the inside of my room, and mostly, of course, directly on my bed and pillow, which were completely soaked and disgusting, and the entire room still smells like -- well, like filthy a/c water had been soaking into it for two solid days. fortunately, the a/c still works, more or less, or else i flat-out couldn’t stay here (not that that’d be a bad thing, i guess), but there is now a giant gross paint bucket either hanging precariously from a lamp to catch the nonstop water drip, and which will be terrible if and when the arm of the lamp breaks, or just kind of propped up on my bed which i will almost certainly kick over in my sleep and will be terrible.

and, of course, although this is a three-bedroom house inhabited only by my parents and temporarily me, with a full pull-out couch in the den and a reasonably comfortable couch in the living room, there is absolutely no other place i could sleep. my parents’ bedroom now reeks so badly of my father’s urine and excrement that even the cat won’t go in there, so my mother (quite understandably) will not share a bed with him and so has appropriated my brother’s old room; they are hoarders so i don’t know if i could even reach the couch in the den, let alone clear off the several feet of random junk that’s festered atop it for probably a decade, let alone actually pull it out; and frankly i don’t want to sleep anywhere my father has even sat down like the other couch. so my sleeping option sleeping upside down on my already uncomfortable bed, with no wall or headboard to support a backrest or pillow, trying not to kick over a bucket of dirt-water onto myself in my sleep.

and like, i know it’s my own responsibility to make sure that things that need to happen do in fact happen, because my father obviously can’t and my mother just won’t, and i should have been more proactive about -- well, everything -- but like, i bring up things over and over and over, trying to discuss things like actual fucking adults, and just get a complete blank stone wall every single time, without even a response, even a “yeah, but we can’t do that right now,” just nothing, to the point that i’m like, “...did you hear me? are you there?” and i guess this was just another straw on the camel’s broken back, and went in to talk to her about like, you realize this is now A Problem, right, which -- admittedly after probably too much painkiller vodka since i have no actual painkillers -- i could not stop the flood of anger and resentment and hurt, and said some shit that was true but cruel -- all of which i have said many times before but not cruelly, and so was thoroughly ignored and dismissed every time.

which devolved into me in tears, again, over how unfair, inappropriate, and just plain horrible it is for her to treat me as her emotional support pinata, and the only person in the world she has to vent to and unload on, while categorically refusing to seek any sort of external support in any way shape or form, just knocking on my door drunk as fuck every night shaking with anger and anxiety and literally hiding from my father and just telling me how she feels like she is going to die, with absolutely no understanding or care that what she says and does (and does not do) actually, like, affects me, at all. she has this thing in her head where happiness/misery is like a zero sum game, where as long as she makes sure she is as absolutely miserable as she can possibly be, she somehow like uses up the misery so it’s good for everyone else.

and, of course, her seeing me as her only source of support or outlet to vent is very much a one-way street, because when she’s so wrapped up in her own anxiety and misery, it’s not like she is willing or capable of someone i could go to for anything ever. the few times that i’ve ever been like look i’m dealing with a lot right now, can you just like be there for me a tiny bit, she’s like i’m sorry you know i love you and would do anything for you, but i’m not actually willing to do anything at all so i don’t know what you want me to do or say.

and her manipulative takeaway, of course, was not “you’re right, it’s not fair, i will try to look into more/healthier ways to deal with this and people who can offer me help and support” but instead “you’re right, it’s not fair, i shouldn’t ever vent to you again i just won’t talk to anyone ever about what’s going on.” because of course.

she has a million excuses to avoid going to therapy, which are all bullshit, because she actively refuses to understand that like making an appointment with a therapist is zero percent commitment. no, for the fiftieth time, if you don’t want to get into your childhood trauma, you don’t have to; if you’re not ready or willing to deal with your alcoholism right now, frankly i don’t blame you, and you don’t have to, and i will say exactly those things to her and she will respond with, literally, “well, but i don’t want to get into my childhood trauma and i’m not ready to deal with my alcoholism right now.” great. glad you listen.

she finally agreed that if i found a therapist for her, she would try (again), which i’m totally willing to do, since i have a lot more experience in the mental health/therapy area than she does and i get totally that’s intimidating. but also, we’ve done this before, and she liked the therapist she was briefly seeing, who i connected her to via my own shrink, but despite promising to continue seeing her after i left, absolutely never did again. which, like, okay! her therapist specialized in addiction, so of course the drinking came up frequently; they only met for maybe six weeks, so her therapist was still obviously getting to know her and the drinking is an issue, but not the issue, but also hey, maybe it’s just not a good fit, that’s totally absolutely fine, but also don’t fucking lie to me until i leave the country and then stop going.

and also she was like “well i just spend half the session bitching about your father, so it seems pointless” and i’m like half the fucking point is so you have someone else to bitch to, and in particular someone who may have access to actual resources and things that could help this shitty situation. but, nah, or she could just make sure everything is as bad as possible.

i’m leaving in a week, at least, not super long term (maybe) but get a break from here, see some cats and some beloved friends and some old and new places on the other coast and also some temperatures that aren’t triple digit. and i have friends here that have offered me a bed or couch if and when i need to just not be in this terrible house, and i have no reason to doubt their sincerity at all, but i just hate the version of me that exists here so much that it’s so difficult to believe that anyone would want to be around me when i so very much don’t even want to be around me.

#personal #depression #so much salt #family #tw: dementia #tw: alcohol

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frazzledsoul · 5 years

Text

So since @austennerdita2533 answered here how she ranked the Gilmore seasons along with the revival as well as her top five worst/best episodes I thought I’d rank mine

Seasons rank

Revival

(most cavernous gap in teevee history)

The revival is very flawed, of course: thematically it undercuts the entire mission of the series, and many characters do things that make absolutely zero sense. That ending is designed to make almost everyone unhappy. And of course, there are many awkward and flat-out terrible moments. But I think out of the four episodes there is a lot of good to be found in each episode and there’s no one plotline that is excruciating agony to sit through (like the Lorelai/Christopher thread of S7) and no long stretch of the characters hurting each other as much as is humanly possible (aka the long nightmare of S6). I also like that Luke and Lorelai are basically together for the entire length of it and although there are problems between them, they are by no means insurmountable. So it’s somewhere between the first five seasons and the mostly horrible last two.

Worst Five Episodes

(this got wordy, guys, look under the cut)

5. Take These Deviled Eggs. Lorelai’s behavior is so flat-out terrible at that baby shower that I made it one more week (which was the classic They Don’t Shoot Gilmores Do They!) and then quit watching for over a year. I just didn’t like her anymore and the show’s attempts to make her the victim over the Sherry/Christopher situation were making it one thousand times worse. First of all, you don’t fuck someone else’s boyfriend and then go to their baby shower if you have any decency as a human being or enough self-preservation to realize that this woman is full justified in kicking the ever loving crap out of you. If I were Sherry, the first thing I would have done is to punch Lorelai in the face (OK, I would have dumped Christopher right away and then punched both him and Lorelai in the face immediately. But that’s neither here nor there). Sherry tries to connect with Lorelai, to share a moment of how she felt isolated and alone in her pregnancy and thinks Lorelai can understand because she may have felt the same way and Lorelai’s response is to . . . go into her bathroom and DESTROY HER PROPERTY. Then she emotes all over her teenage daughter (who she is setting a terrible example for which will echo long into her daughter’s adulthood) and then both she and Rory go and trash Jess’s car for no reason.

I’m sorry, Lorelai, but you lost. You interfered in someone else’s relationship and you ended up alone as a result. You got what you deserved. Sherry may have been rubbing her pregnancy in Lorelai’s face or she may have been clueless, but you know what? I’m on her side. She was the innocent party in all of this as well as her child, but Lorelai can’t see outside her own narcissism. And of course Rory never does learn that it is wrong to get involved with someone who’s already in a relationship, because Lorelai made it clear that the other person doesn’t matter.

4. I Can’t Get Started. It’s obvious from the previous post that I think the Christopher/Lorelai situation at the end of season 2 is massively wrong and upsetting, but I just want to lay it out for a minute. First of all, it’s fucked-up to take someone else’s boyfriend as your date to a wedding (it could be innocent in context, but it’s definitely leaning towards stuff that could cause trouble). Lorelai knows that Christopher and Sherry have not broken up, that they are still living together by the time she fucks him. She does it anyway, gushes to Sookie afterwards about how cute it is that she’s doing Christopher (never mind the stupid girlfriend you’re screwing over, TEE HEE HEE) and then has a conversation with Christopher about the state of his relationship. This is cheating, plain and simple, and we’re supposed to think this is romantic. IT’S SO MESSED UP.

Lorelai parades Christopher around as her date to Sookie’s wedding. She gushes to EVERYONE SHE KNOWS about their newfound relationship. She lets Rory get excited about it. She lets her PARENTS get excited about it. The entire time she knows that Christopher has not broken up with his girlfriend yet. I actually think this is worse than the sex! Even if it weren’t wrong, it’s A HORRIBLE IDEA. We get proof of this when Lorelai goes to find Christopher before the wedding starts and she tells him she understands if he can’t break up with Sherry. Lorelai knew the whole time that this was going on that Christopher was with another woman, and he could always change his mind and decide to stay with her.

Christopher is primarily responsible for this situation, because he was the one in the relationship and he decided to cheat. However, Lorelai enabled him 100% of the way and placed herself in a situation where she allowed Rory and her parents to get hurt as well as herself. I have zero sympathy for her in all of this. I hate that the show made me watch her acting so cruelly and wanted me to root her on. It still disgusts me that this is one of the show’s highest-rated episodes on IMDB.

I might have forgiven all of this if the show had Lorelai acknowledge that she had made a mistake and had sat Rory down and explained to her that this is why it’s a bad idea to sleep with other people’s boyfriends. As we all know, it didn’t happen that way.

(Oh, and yes, this situation kind of ruins the rest of S2 for me, unfortunately. It’s why it’s at the bottom of my rankings).

3. A Vineyard Valentine. I think everyone knows why this episode is horrible. . Luke is a massively uncharacteristic douche throughout all of it. I think forcing Luke to double-date with Rory’s boyfriends brings out the worst in him because he is so protective of her, but this was absolutely overkill. Worst of all, he makes a promise to Lorelai that he’s committed to their engagement, he breaks it, and he doesn’t even know because Lorelai doesn’t tell him. The whole thing is horrible.

OTOH, I do appreciate the revelation that Logan taught Rory to cook.

2. The Big Stink. You really could plop any one of the early S7 episodes here where we have to endure Christopher “courting” Lorelai, Lorelai isolating herself from the town, and having to endure Rory hang around with her lame friends because Logan isn’t around, but I picked this one because I think it’s the only episode where Lorelai is flat-out nasty about Luke and makes statements to the effect of how much she prefers Christopher to him. It flat out hurts. On top of all of that, Luke is in one scene and since he’s our sole connection to the town at this point in the season, Stars Hollow isn’t, either. We end with that scene of Lorelai, Christopher, and Rory in the car and it’s implied to us that Lorelai’s Stars Hollow life is inferior to her happy new existence with Christopher.

S7 features this kind of plotline a lot, but it also has Luke being an adorable dad to balance it out. We didn’t get any of that here.

1. Partings. Look, I don’t care that ASP wrote this long beautiful monologue for Lorelai. I don’t care that she has admitted that she wrote this travesty of an episode as an attempt to whore for awards attention (this is why she does not deserve “make-up” awards for this show. Not after what she did to get them). it’s false, untrue drama, and it’s unfair. Lorelai gave up after her conversation with Anna about April. She avoided Luke for days and refused to speak to him. He was wandering all over Stars Hollow, worried and concerned about her. Lorelai is confused and vulnerable, and she has the world’s most unprofessional therapy session with a therapist that doesn’t know her or any context to what Lorelai tells her, and is advised to give up on her problems if she doesn’t get what she wants. Lorelai then decides to go in for the kill and decides that the best way to resolve her relationship dilemma is to scream at him in the middle of the street and act like an absolute lunatic demanding that they get married now or else in order for him to prove that he really loves her. When Luke does not go along with this insane plan, Lorelai decides to punish him by sleeping with Christopher. She knew he couldn’t forgive her for that.

ASP said afterwards that all of this was the best course of action for everyone involved so that Lorelai could “do other things” (aka Christopher). It’s bullshit. ASP’s contract negotiations didn’t go her way, and she decided to punish the show for not going along with what she wanted. She also was punishing the shippers for not going along with her narrative and refusing to hate Luke as much as she did.

I bring this up like this because what Lorelai asked for was impossible. Luke could not abandon everything at that moment and elope. It was a horrible idea that would not have solved her problems. Like it or not, Luke had an obligation to consider April’s welfare by this point, and he could not choose Lorelai over his child. The fact that she asked him to and we’re supposed to resent him for saying no is ridiculous. Lorelai of all people should have understood this, but she didn’t. We’re supposed to hate Luke for being a responsible parent who keeps his cool when his fiance is acting like a crazy person. This is BAD WRITING. And it doesn’t work. I refuse to judge him.

You know what would have worked? If Lorelai and Luke had sat down and had a reasonable discussion about how to balance their responsibilities like adults. But ASP had to provoke this situation in order to sell her favorite.

(You may notice a few episodes missing here. I don’t include French Twist because I haven’t seen it. I’ve only seen the Luke/Lane/Zach scenes. I also have not seen Unto The Breach, but I refuse to watch that because it hurts to know that Luke and Lorelai’s make so much progress and then take so many steps backwards and Lorelai is once again interpreting their breakup as Luke not loving her enough to go through with the elopment - their problems were so much more complicated than that! I also hate I Get A Sidekick Out Of You because the entire episode is meant to sell Christopher as this dreamy romantic alternative and we actually have to endure Lorelai taking him on a date to a wedding of someone who is close to Luke but I don’t think it’s fair to include that as one of the worst since I fast-forwarded through most of it).

Best Five Episodes

5. Forgiveness and Stuff. I love this episode so much! We get Luke being the unassuming romantic hero by driving Lorelai to the hospital. There’s emotional Gilmore family bonding that actually doesn’t! The Santa burger! The Blue Baseball Cap Of Love! And lots of bonding and longing looks on the L/L front. I really wish they would have gotten together here. It was the perfect moment for it.

4. Hay Bale Maze. If this episode didn’t exist, I would not have supported Luke and Lorelai getting back together and I would have walked away forever after season six. It’s the episode that ASP never would or could have written, and it was absolutely essential to reconciling me with the show. Those Hay Bale Maze apologies lay the groundwork for everything else that happened in Luke and Lorelai’s future, and it could not have existed without them. In addition to that, I think it’s a really sweet Stars Hollow-centered episode and we see Rory and Logan at their absolute best and it’s clear how well they really worked as a couple.

3. Last Year’s Fights This Year’s Tights. This episode is perfect: lots of townie shenanigans, Luke being a romantic hero and sweeping Lorelai off her feet, and Luke fully reconciling with Jess. That dance around the courtyard: the stuff of dreams, y’all!

2. Written In the Stars. I basically swoon during this entire episode, because Luke is so chvalrous and unexpectedly open and devoted and you can see how utterly smitten and delighted Lorelai is with this new side of him.

1. Raincoats and Recipes. I think this is the pinnacle of the show’s achievement: Lorelai realizes her dream, Luke and Lorelai finally stop dancing around each other and go for it, and Rory falls off her pedastal as Lorelai realizes that guiding her daughter to adulthood is going to be more difficult than she thought. I love that the Christopher/Sherry stuff I went into such detail earlier in this post is at last denounced and Lorelai has to deal with the implications of the example that she set forth and that she doesn’t allow Rory to use it as an excuse.

I think if Lorelai had applied the same attitude towards Rory when learning of similar behavior in the revival Rory could have avoided melting down the way that she did later. Maybe that wasn’t possible after Lorelai had screwed up again, but it’s yet another thing that could have been explained that wasn’t.

(I just want to state after all of this bloviating that I don’t hate Lorelai: she did some really, really fucked up things and not all of the wrong that she did was acknowledged. The plotline of villainizing the “other woman” in a love triangle when she becomes pregnant was actually very popular on TV in 2002 when those earlier episodes aired: however, on this show Lorelai WAS the other woman, and the show tried too hard to make us hate the one truly innocent person in that situation. Obviously, it didn’t work for me).

#gilmore girls #OMG THE RANTING MAKE ME STOP #anyhoo #those are my rankings

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timeoutforthee · 6 years

Text

Like It or Not (Chapter 4)

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings: Trigger warnings: depression, discussion of disordered eating habits, discussion of purging (nothing graphic though)

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @echomist13, @falsett0

Read on AO3!

He thought sadness was loud. He thought his feelings would be ripped out of him with a yell and a dramatic swell of music. Instead, it was quiet. It was hollow, as if something had buried itself deep inside him and grew slowly every day. It broke him apart slowly, leaving nothing but a shell.

But it was fine. It’s fairly easy to live as a shell. No one even seemed to notice they were walking next to a ghost. Besides, it wasn’t like he made a big impact in the first place. No, even as a child, Virgil knew he was made to be invisible.

Then, suddenly, someone-technically, like, three someones-decided to yank him out of limbo and back into his body, asking his ghost to be confined to skin and bone again. No one had even bothered to ask him if he wanted to be seen again.

Honestly, it would have been easier on him and better for everyone if they had just let him go. He could keep floating.

Currently, that was what he was trying to do, to shove himself as far into the background as possible. But his life had turned completely on its head and he was still trying to learn the new rules. One, you can’t say stuff like that. It makes people sad, and makes therapists throw around words like “depression.” Two, therapists are now a thing, so he had to deal with that. He had made it his goal to be as distant as possible with the last two, but Dr. Picani had been alright-ish, so he stuck with him. At least he didn’t pry as much.

But maybe he had been a little too trusting, because now he was in a therapy session with four strangers, one of which was specifically trained and educated to see through bullshit.

So who could blame Virgil if he glared a little when Dr. Sanders entered? Honestly, he was counting it as a victory that he didn’t hiss.

He noticed Thomas was carrying Picani’s brown notebook and he frowned deeper. When filling out the paperwork to join in on this whole thing, they had been informed that Dr. Picani and Dr. Sanders would be exchanging notes, with their consent, of course. Emile may have been decent to Virgil’s face, but he had no idea what he was writing in that thing.

“I don’t think your counselors are going to gossip about you,” his aunt had said to him.

“Yeah, well, I don’t particularly care about what you think,” Virgil says.

His aunt, Violet, didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch, because she’s grown accustomed to it in the last few months. Virgil still feels a pang of guilt, because he knows he should be kinder, and a wave of fear, because he knows eventually the other shoe will drop and she’ll get tired of playing martyr, and then what’s going to happen to him? He wonders how many people thought about that when they decided to “improve” his life.

“So, today,” Thomas says, bringing him back to the present, “I thought we could approach some important topics in recovery, specifically in regards to your goals. Why are you recovering? What brought you here today?”

There’s a brief silence as they all seem to reflect.

“A car,” Patton responds.

Virgil laughs before he can catch himself, and slaps a hand across his mouth. Thomas laughs, too, and Roman grins. Logan just looks confused.

“I think he meant why, Patton.”

“Well, shucks, I thought we already covered that! We want to get better!”

“Yes, but what does better look like for you guys? What are some smaller, concrete goals that you can work towards?”

Virgil tries to think. He doesn’t really have any goals, not in life, not in recovery. Hell, he didn’t think he’d get this far. He had trained himself not to want anything for so long, and now he wasn’t only supposed to recover, but have actual, little steps leading up to it? How? How?

Maybe I don’t want to recover.

“Let’s start off a little bit easier, what pushed you guys to come here in the first place?”

There’s silence before Roman clears his throat.

“I would stay with my teacher during lunch last year,” he starts. Virgil frowns. From...well, everything about Roman, he would have assumed he at least had a friend or two to eat lunch with, “And one day she sat me down and said she wanted to talk about my food. We talked, and, well-she said I might have an eating disorder. So I went to the school counselor, told them the same thing, and they convinced my parents to send me here.”

He’s leaving out details, of course. He doesn’t mention how his friends got sick of him and his “picky eating.” He doesn’t mention that sometimes he was late for school because he was so stressed over packing his lunch c’mon Roman it’s simple. He doesn’t mention how his grades were slipping because he couldn’t concentrate or that he was falling asleep because he was so tired. Looking at it, it’s obvious. But it wasn’t until she pulled him aside that he had even considered it.

He had walked into her room during lunch, as he did at least twice a week, only to find she had pulled up a chair across from her desk. She was frowning deeply at it. He could feel his anxiety building, but pushed it down with a light, “Everything gucci, Mrs. Spencer?”

She looked up, but didn’t smile. She nodded her head at the chair.

“Have a seat, Roman, I’d like to discuss something with you.”

Roman did, and slid his food underneath the desk. He had a feeling today was going to be a “no eating” day. Her frown just deepened.

“Roman, what have you eaten today?”

He blinked. Not was he was expecting.

“I haven’t been hungry, teach, but I snuck in some celery earlier.”

She hummed, “What did you have for dinner last night?”

“Some salad.”

“The night before?”

“What is this, an interrogation?” his heart was beating fast, and it came out sharper than he anticipated. She softened.

“Roman, I’m...concerned is all.”

“About…?”

“Your eating, or lack thereof. And what it means to you.”

“Oh, well why didn’t you say so?” Roman laughed, “I’m fine, teach! Just been cutting back a little, is all.”

“I think you’re cutting back too much, Roman,” she said, quietly, and his smile fell, but she wasn’t done, “You don’t eat enough of your major food groups your sticking to fruits and vegetables and your variety is shrinking-”

“But they’re good for you!”

“With a balanced diet, Roman,” she sighed, “I’ve watched you. I’ve seen you change from last year to this year, and not only are you isolating yourself and becoming a worse student, but you’re physically falling apart, Roman.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Do you have an eating disorder, Roman?”

Laughter filled the room. Loud, boisterous, with nothing being held back. Roman’s shoulders shook.

Dot Spencer frowned and leaned forward just as her student bent forward and gasped for breath. But the sound shifted. It was broken, wet, and suddenly she realized he was crying. She walked around her desk and knelt beside him, putting her hands on his shoulders. He covered his face with his hands, knowing he looked like a mess.

“We’ll get you help, Ro.”

But it’s only the second session. They don’t need to know all that.

“It’s good that you told us that, Roman,” Patton speaks up. All the eyes in the room shift to him, and he steels himself, “My, uh, my mom found me. When I was...purging.”

He had it down to a science. He would grab a granola bar for breakfast, pack the healthiest lunch he could, and happily eat anything his mama made for him for dinner. Then at midnight, he’d wake up, and sneak downstairs, and eat.

Then he’d go to the bathroom, stick his finger down his throat, brush his teeth until his gums bled, and then head back up to his room.

He was tired that night. He let the bathroom door hang open.

“What are you doing?!” his mama had shouted. And he yanked his fingers away from his mouth, but it was too late.

He shot to his feet-I’msorryi’msorryi’msorry-but then he looked at his mom’s eyes, and he couldn’t say anything. Her hands were covering her mouth, and tears were glistening in her eyes.

She yanked him close to her, holding him tight, and he finally kicked back into gear.

“I-it was an accident, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t-didn’t feel well,” He says into her shoulder. He can feel light kisses pressing against his hair, and he shuts his eyes as they well up.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered. She ran her fingers through his hair, “I love you.”

And they stay like that for a while. The next day he stays home, but they don’t talk about it, and he hopes that maybe she believed him about just not feeling well, but then two days later they drive to Foster’s. He wants to protest, but anytime he looks at her, he’s transported back to that night, and can see the tears welling up in her eyes.

He gets out of the car without a sound. He tells the nurse, the doctor, the therapist, anyone who will listen, that he really, really wants to get better.

But he still sneaks down every night at midnight.

Patton doesn’t want to think about that. And he definitely doesn’t want these four people to keep staring at him.

“What about you, Logan?”

“There’s not much of a story,” he says, “I went to the doctor, because I was having several health symptoms, he said it came from my eating habits, it was classified as an eating disorder, and now I’m here,” he pauses, then hesitantly adds, “No one noticed.”

“Just because some people don’t recognize the nature of eating disorders, Logan, doesn’t mean they don’t care,” Thomas points out.

“Perhaps,” Logan says, nodding, before continuing, angrily, “I guess I just don’t get it, my parents are intelligent people, and some of my symptoms are textbook, I don’t get why they wouldn’t-” he cuts himself off, taking a deep breath.

“It’s okay to be mad your parents, Logan,” Patton jumps in, before Thomas can, “I mean, heck, my mama’s great and I still get mad at her sometimes!”

“But there’s no point.”

“Sure, there is,” Thomas says, “There multiple approaches and theories to emotions and how they’re beneficial, but ultimately, anger tells us when something needs to change.”

“But I can’t change my parents!”

“Can you change how they respond to your eating disorder? Through education?”

“I-Well,” Logan sighs, trying to compose himself again, “They’re not interested. They just want me to get better. Though I think it’s safe to say all parents want that. No one wants their child to be hurt, much less die.”

Virgil’s breath gets caught. Oh no.

“Die?” Patton questions.

“Sure, eating disorders are one of the deadliest mental illnesses to have,” Thomas says, “But I want to go back to a different thing you said Logan. You said your parents don’t want you to be hurt, but are they hurting you by ignoring your feelings and belittling your condition?”

“That’s different,” Logan responds automatically.

“Interesting. How?”

Logan huffs, “I don’t know, I guess because they don’t mean to do it? Your the therapist, Dr. Sanders, you’re supposed to be teaching me these things.”

Thomas smiles and makes a note in the notebook, thinking over his next questions, but he freezes when he looks up.

Virgil is staring at nothing on the floor, very intensely. He’s also breathing heavily, as if he can’t get enough.

When Thomas’s face changes, Logan glances over at him, too. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Virgil? Are you okay?”

His head snaps up, and he shakes it trying to clear it.

“I-I don’t,” he shakes his head, trying to clear it, but he can’t, he can’t, and he bolts out of the room before he can think it through.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #group therapy au #like it or not #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders

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mileshargrove · 6 years

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ordinary hysteria || miles + rosaline [flashback].

ATTN: @rosalinverville LOCATION: st. peter’s cathedral, basement recreation room DATE: november 22nd, 2001

Miles was sixteen years old, and fucking miserable.

Eleven months after his father passed and he’d already been handed through six foster homes — not out of misbehaviour so much as an unwillingness to care for such damaged goods, he’d already been assigned a lack of identity, a brief media freak show-slash-sob story. His face had been plastered on posters across the nation, “DO YOU KNOW THIS CHILD?”, begging for information on what they perceived as being his ‘real family’. No one did. Clearly, no one knew Miles, because if they did, they’d have realized that group therapy was the worst place they could possibly put him.

He was already fully unwilling to speak to a therapist in one-on-one sessions, there was no way he would talk about his trauma in a group of his peers, many of whom he knew through school — vaguely, distantly, and distastefully, but knew nevertheless. Still, at sixteen, he was unable to resist, had little freedom or power to dictate his own path, and found himself in an uncomfortable folding chair, picking away at the foam padding as he watched the circle of sullen teens, introductions heading towards him at a panic-inducing speed.

When the leader of the group therapy session motioned to him, he spoke, despite his obvious discomfort. “Miles. 16. My brother went missing, my dad offed himself, and my last foster parents found weed in my backpack. I don’t want to be here, but I gotta be.” He kicked at the floor, scuffing it slightly, and through his lashes, looked up at the faces of his peers. One girl caught his eye. She was staring. Miles didn’t know how to feel about it.

He gripped a coffee with shaking hands, sipping it slowly. Black, acidic and burnt, he wished it was decent coffee, but the familiarity was a comfort. Miles had folded some of the half-stale pastries offered into napkins and shoved them into his bag, not knowing if he’d be getting any kind of breakfast or lunch the next day, and was snacking on a handful of grapes, when his eyes landed on the girl who was looking at him.

Despite his own self-isolating nature, he couldn’t stifle the impulse to approach her, as what the hell her deal was — she seemed far too willing to be here to actually need to be in group therapy, and Miles didn’t like it. It was like she was flaunting her stability, or something. He could only half-remember her name (Rosa? Rosie?) from the introductions, and completely blanked on her soundbite sob story, but he had a gut feeling about her, one that was turning his stomach in a way he didn’t understand.

Stomping towards her in his heavy work boots, he darkened his scowl, and stared up at her. “You got a problem with me? I saw you staring, y’know. I’m not fuckin’... oblivious.”

#— re: rosaline.#— rosaline001.#— colloquy.#hauntstarter #NOT alice clearly #im just illiterate

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worldsbestpredators · 3 years

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ramble to me about Eleanor

Send me the name of one of my Muses you want to learn more about, and I’ll ramble about them.

DSBRGEOUGHRSEUOONFOSNGFDGN i could talk about Eleanor McCarty (the Cullen is optional) all day *cries*

She might actually be my favorite Twilight Muse. I'd say it's a tie between her and Edythe, but lately it feels like I talk more about Eleanor to those who put up with me going on and on about fictional characters.

tbh I love the whole McCarty family which I had to create myself since someone didn't think Emmett and Eleanor's backstories were good expand on... although knowing SM she would have ruined them anyway, so the McCarty family is mine now. All 11 of them (not including the four grandparents). Yes Eleanor has 7 or 8 biological siblings depending on if its the twin verse or not (but lbr its always the twin verse)

I can't remember what exactly made me include El when I decided to write Emmett, but she really just became her own person instead of just a "female version of Emmett" She's a clown, but she's not as exactly chill as Emmett. She doesn't show it but for a long time she felt like she had something to prove because her mother did not approve of her ( #mommyissues). For years Eleanor was the only girl in the family, so her mother put pressure on her to be a proper young lady. To be the young woman that she (mama McCarty) wanted to be when she was that age, but Eleanor was more interested in doing whatever her brothers did. It was easier to keep up with her brothers than be whoever her mother wanted her to be, which caused many disagreements. Eleanor prefers her father over her mother. He had always been supportive of her, although he didn't always understand her.

The pressure Doris McCarty put on Eleanor lessened after the second girl (and youngest child) was born. Sasha was the little girl Doris always wanted. Well almost. Sasha did like to roughhouse with her brothers, and occasionally made a few of the ones closer to her age cry, but 9 kids can really tire a person out.

Got a bit off topic. but Eleanor gets jealous often, she just hides it very well. As a kid she was jealous of her brothers' freedom, as a teen she was jealous of her brothers' being able to have an obvious relationship with women while when she flirted with girls it was frowned upon ( in the 1900s when she was human in twilight verses, in other verses her mom still didn't like it but it was only her she had to deal with). Hell, after getting turned into a vampire Eleanor was jealous of Rosalie's preference for Emmett and their relationship. She eventually got over the last one, but it never seemed fair that Emmett always got the girls she wanted so effortlessly.

this is getting long so

El isn't skinny, but she isn't all muscles either. She has a soft layer of fat over her muscles, and she loves her body. Her body is still like this as a vampire. The venom didn't change much other than getting rid of all her scars (minus the original bite mark that changed her). Her nails grew a bit, she usually always kept them short, but she bit them back down to a comfortable length after finding out that a nail clipper wouldn't work. She still finds the face Edward gave her when finding her biting her toenails in the living room hilarious, and the face he made when she said "what, do you wanna bite them off for me?" even funnier.

Her hair grew a bit more, and her curls became a little more defined after the change as well.

The only time Eleanor is a little slimmer is in the DC verse when she becomes Batgirl for a bit (or the other DC verse where she becomes a vigilante). The constant action (plus the training it took for her to be allowed to be Batgirl) made her burn off waaay more than she could eat. Her body is more like the picturebelow

she doesn't stay in the crime fighting life for long. maybe a year or so depending on the verse. She loves the adrenaline rush, but she's stubborn and very angry at the time (anger is her way of grieving as a 18/19/20 year old). Crime fighting is the worst therapy, and her heart was never in it. She loved helping people, but all the patrols and rules got on her nerves. Also she can't bring her pet chicken, Carl, with her even though she got him a little mask to hide his identity as well (Bruce was not very amused by that, or if he was he did not show it). a world where crime fighting chickens are frowned upon is a world she does not want to be part of

in her HP verse, she's a Slytherin. The only Slytherin in her family besides her mother. She's also a halfblood. Her mother met her muggle father, fell in love, and moved to a different country to be with him. Her siblings are scattered across the other three houses, which didn't bother her because it allowed her space from them. She loves her brothers, but sometimes they were too nosy. It never stopped her from visiting them. All the McCarty kids shared house secrets with each other. Rules be damned, they all hang out in each other's common rooms until they get kicked out.

When they were in their second year, Eleanor actually found a way to show her dorm to Emmett by carrying him on her back to the door. The floors may prevent boys from entering girl dorms, but if his feet doesn't touch the floor how would the floor know? ( she may be an idiot and a clown most of the time, but she's not dumb)

Eleanor gets into too much trouble to become a Head Girl or Prefect, but that did not stop her from giving herself the title of Head Mom / Slythermum at some point and keeping an eye out for the younger Slytherins (well younger students in general, but it was easier to spend time with the bb slytherins) She just couldn't not be a chaotic big sister to someone. She speaks to everyone, even if it's just a passing hey in the hall.

uhhh i can't think of more crossover verses so a fun fact about the twilight & death verse before we go. When the Edward and Bella thing goes on, and the family has that meeting where Edward is outed by Alice, Emmett's laughing, but Eleanor literally said out loud "how did you go from wanting to kill her to wanting to fuck her?" because she's genuinely confused. after that, since no one's gonna actually listen to her about why this shit is weird, everytime edward and bella do something she refers to it in her head as 'white nonsense' and sometimes aloud to emmett. she's still friendly to Bella, and grows to like her (she's never outright mean or dismissive to the girl because she's done nothing to deserve it) but she doesn't understand whatever is going on between Edward and Bella. Same goes for Edythe and Beau (or Edy and Bella or Ed and Beau... you get the point) she just doesn't understand it.

i do have a hc that Eleanor would probably offer to take Bella to an adult toy shop, but since I never have a Bella to write with idk how to imagine it going. Especially since Eleanor would absolutely sit next to Bella and say "so, Bella, I hear you want your pussy popped. You're in luck, little sis because I know all the raunchy stores that Edward will never take you to. "

#anonymous #answered #About Eleanor #Eleanor Musing #for those of you who made it to that last paragraph you're welcome and find me a bella and/or make a bella muse so we can do that plot plz

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ibangtanthings · 7 years

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Sleep - pt 24

Last chapter guys!! ^__^ okay so if your one of the peeps still reading, I’d like to thank you from the bottom of my heart. To be honest, it’s a lot happier than I intended it to be. As we learn more about the HYYH storyline, I hope I improve my angst writing because that is my favorite era. This is by far, A LONG ASS fic and I was worried no one would want to deal with that, so thank you again for reading my sad story.

Just a small note, I used song lyrics in one part. You’ll see, but it’s from a song by My Chemical Romance called The World Is Ugly. They have a special meaning to me and Y/N of course

“Stop bringing in clothes. I’m not going wear any of it.” You cried, shutting your eyes and trying to forget the fabrics they pulled out every so often.

“Why don’t I take her to lunch? You’ll eat right Y/N?” Nurse Ahn asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You nodded, whimpering like a baby and trying to calm yourself down.

Nurse Ahn was strong. She picked your thinning body up and strapped you into the wheelchair. Honestly you had no appetite but you didn’t want them to shove the tube up your nose.

The diet they allowed you was carefully prepared and pre-rationed. Still, it was quite hard on your stomach.

The clothes were permanently etched into your memory. Flashing through your mind every second of everyday. All new and just your size.

“I think I can sneak you another icee.” Nurse Ahn whispered.

You looked at her wide eyed and wondered how. How was she going to break the rules and swipe you another icee? It was the only appetizing thing they gave you.

“Only if you eat all your food.” She said raising her eyebrows questioningly.

“It hurts my stomach.”

“I know but you have to eat.”

You poked at the soup and gave it a taste.

“So why don’t you talk to them? Why did you wait for me to finally speak.” She asked to start up a conversation and distract you from paying too much attention to the food.

It was obvious that it was her plan all along but you didn’t mind.

“I wasn’t waiting for you.” You said between sips. “But they’re pushing me too much. I just don’t want to be alone anymore. All day I want to sleep but if I sleep I have nightmares.”

“Any person would have nightmares if they went through what you did. Who’s bright idea was it to put Yumi in the same hospital”

While Yumi was always on watch like you, just passing by her in the halls was like a kick to the stomach. You feared that they’d want to put the two of you in the same group therapy one day.

“I don’t want her anywhere near me.”

“Honey, that’s what I’m here for.” She reminded you.

“How long are they going to keep me like this?”

“It’s up to you. There’s no way out other than complete recovery.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“I know. But once you believe that there’s more to life than just heartbreak then you’ll want to get better.”

“That’s bull.”

She shrugged. “They’ll keep you here as long as it takes.”

You shoved the tray of food away in anger. “I want to see them.”

“You can’t.” She said sternly. There was no emotion in her voice, as if she was trying to make sure the words registered into your head.

It felt like you were a child again, being told that you can’t have something.

You held your breath again, because if you took another breath you would lose it. You would burst into tears and feel all the emotional pain that your heart carried.

“The more you fight back the worse it will get. You’ll never get out of here. Is that what you want?”

You glared back at her, refusing to breathe.

“You should be grateful. You got a second chance Y/N. You need to get better and go out and live your life again. This time without fear, without regrets, without any lingering weight on your shoulder. Last time you weren’t ready but this time you have to be. You won’t get out until your one hundred percent ready. So breathe Y/N. You’ll get through it one breath at a time. One second at a time. Baby steps and you’ll get there I promise. You can have the choice to live, others don’t.”

“What?” You breathed. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, that you shouldn’t waste your life here in this hell hole….It’s not what they would have wanted.”

“What’s going to happen once I get out? Am I going to be under constant surveillance?”

“No, no. Once you get out, you’ll be perfectly fine and no one is going to judge you or your decisions. Our job is to get you to that point of recovery. The point where you won’t need our help anymore cause you’ll be okay. You’ll make it through this I know you can…but you have to make it work too.”

“I just want to forget.”

“You can’t. You know that now. You’ll never be able to forget them.”

“You can’t guarantee that I’ll ever see them again, so what’s the point of all this? I don’t want to think about anything, anything at all. I feel sick every single day. It’s not that I have no reason to live anymore, it’s that I feel nothing inside.”

When she took your hands in hers and the tears ran quietly down her cheeks you stared back at her, and she could tell you were telling the truth. You felt dead inside. It was like her hand wasn’t even there.

“Don’t you see Y/N? It means you actually need help. You’re really sick.”

Suddenly you felt everything at once. The realization that she was right. It wasn’t hard to tell who was here just to be here. Some of the other patients were almost thrill seekers in the sense that they started trouble just to get attention. Others were here to coast through the system, glad they didn’t have to worry about outside pressures from the world.

Honestly, you couldn’t blame them but if you had to put yourself into either group, you couldn’t. You were with the third group. The ones that really needed help, like Nurse Ahn said.

You pulled your hand away from embarrassment and shock, avoiding any form of eye contact.

She pushed the tray back and you poked at the food as if it was your whole life decisions packed into a few tasteless morsels.

Nurse Ahn was trying to hide her tears like always because she wasn’t supposed to get too attached. It made no sense but you felt bad.

“Can you come with me to therapy?” You whispered.

She did exactly what you didn’t want her to do. A surprised look on her face as she watched yours to confirm what you had just said.

You could see she was asking herself if you’ve given in but no, this was just a test. You wanted to see if you could talk about what was inside your mind, but you wanted her there. It would just make you a bit more comfortable.

She put on a poker face and nodded “Yeah. I’ll tell the doctor you’re ready for your first session.”

“Tomorrow not today.”

“Okay. Finish eating. I’ll get you the icee.” She said.

Progress was measured everyday.

That meant you had to give up your privacy, your mind, your freedoms.

Everything you did was monitored. Every word you said was recorded. They said their names, asked you about them.

You only replied to questions and discussions that had nothing to do with them.

But that didn’t stop Nurse Ahn from reminding you that you would have to speak about them eventually.

But how could they ask you about them? Every time you thought about them, your heart ached and you’d sob for hours without mercy from the memories.

Sometimes it was like you went back. The feeling of his hand on yours so real, you looked at your own fingers in awe. His laugh ran through your ears when you were all alone, and the earth went silent.

This time recovery would take more than two or three years they said. Possibly four years minimum.

Time didn’t really matter anymore. You didn’t care. Part of you didn’t want to go, the other part knew that this was the only option. The only chance at living again.

The only thing that you refused with all your will was group therapy. There was always a slight chance Yumi could be there.

Forgiveness wasn’t an option. She shouldn’t even be allowed to forgive herself. You hoped no one would dare tell you to forgive her.

For now you would just follow the path to recovery. You didn’t focus on freedom. Happiness become a foreign term. It was horrible being there. Worse than the first time but there was something inside telling you to hold on. Maybe it was hope but not for you. For him.

________six months later________

“Y/N! Y/N!” Nurse Ahn called excitedly.

From the urgency in her voice, the way her hands shook slightly as she waved them in the air. You knew what she was going to say.

You broke down in tears, happiness hitting you like an overwhelming force right in your chest.

“He’s coming to see you sweetheart. The hospital approved one visit a week! Can you believe that?”

You couldn’t believe it. Instead you sank down onto the chair and you couldn’t reply. This had to be a dream but it wasn’t.

He would be here soon. You would get to touch him and feel his arms around you.

This is what you worked so hard for. All these months they battered your mind, turning it into nothing but an open book. You followed all the rules, the procedures, you tried to get better, you told them everything you felt.

It was working, somehow. They saw you trying and this was a reward for progress.

Being able to see him again.

His visits no longer banned.

It felt like the world was giving something back to you.

It took a few minutes for you to calm down but the tears never stopped.

“But they said I wouldn’t be able to see them till I get out. How did this happen? What made them change their mind?”

“I talked to the doctors and they agreed that you’ve been progressing very well. From your last session they saw that you could handle it.”

The last therapy session was tougher than most. They wanted you to understand that if you ever got visitation privileges again that you would still need to stay until you recovered completely.

Full recovery was a loose term but you got what they meant. Leaving now, even if you were doing good, feeling well, and cooperating, that didn’t mean you won the war, only the battle. It was still too early.

You told them that you wouldn’t even want to leave. It was like making the hardest decision of your life hypothetically, but now it was a reality.

There would be a way for you to go home with him but you wouldn’t even try. You promised yourself. Not to them, not to Nurse Ahn, to yourself.

You explained to them that you were going to follow through, until the last therapy session, until the last pill.

You wanted to go home unmedicated and healed, even if it took a year or two.

Hearing those words from you, maybe that’s what convinced them to let you have visiting rights. And the permissions came through overnight, now it felt like everything was happening so fast.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” You hugged her, jumping and squealing excitedly.

It had been so long since you thought about being next to him.

“When is he coming?” You felt a nervousness build in your stomach almost immediately.

“He’s approved for 6 PM every Monday” She said.

“What?! That’s today. Is he coming today?”

She laughed. “Yes. He’s coming today. You have five hours to get ready. But they want to talk before you guys meet.”

An extra therapy session? It felt like a test but whatever. They said you could see him. They wouldn’t retract their decision.

But the session went by so quickly. They just wanted your thoughts before seeing him and honestly, you couldn’t stop the happy tears the entire day.

You felt grateful, lucky, happy. Emotions that you never thought to feel again.

And if you were excited, Nurse Ahn was bouncing off the walls. She brought all the clothes delivered since your admittance.

The clothes you were too afraid to wear because you knew they were from him. Remembering him was something you couldn’t do before. Now you allowed yourself to feel.

“I think it’s time you try some on.” Nurse Ahn said gently.

You smiled and looked at the mountain of choices you had. He must have thought about you as he was shopping. The way each dress would look on your body. He probably wondered when he would get to see you again.

You remembered playing fashion show at the mall, when they were both there, laughing and smiling along with you. Together……..

“Ooh, these jeans look tight.” She exclaimed. “They probably fit you just right though, especially since you regained all that weight you lost.”

“Does he know I haven’t worn a thing?” You asked wearily.

“Yeah but that didn’t stop him from bringing in new clothes every so often. You should put on something expensive. Let’s see…..” she flipped through the price tags. “He’s got good taste I’ll tell you that…..hmm….wow. This one.”

She dug out a causal t-shirt style navy blue dress with a white and red stripped collar.

“I can imagine exactly what he was thinking when he bought this….” you giggled, knowing that if you wore this, his hands would be able to feel every inch of your body through the thin fabric. “Am I even allowed to wear this?”

“Yeah of course, it looks great. It looks really causal for a five hundred dollar dress.”

“What?! Where is he getting so much money from? Are they all that expensive?” You scrambled through the clothes and saw nothing less than fifty dollars, even the pajamas were name brand.

“Honey, don’t say a word about it. This is something he wanted to do. It’s probably his was of coping with all this. Plus it’s nothing compared to how much he’s paying for- I’m sorry Y/N.”

“No it’s okay. You’re probably right. I just wonder where he’s getting all this money from.”

“Ask him.” She smiled. “You’re going to see him again, and for two hours! Just talk to him.”

You nodded excitedly. “But like one day a week will never be enough.”

“Patience is key. Who knows maybe if things go well, you’ll have regular visiting hours.” He watch chimed and she popped right up from her seat. “He’s here. You have to get dressed hurry!”

________

“He’s right through that door. Take your time. There’s a camera but no audio. You’re allowed to touch but there’s an old security guard watching so don’t get him too excited.”

You giggled and nodded in understanding.

Through the door, you heard a chair move against the floor. He must have heard you.

“I’ve been here for a while Y/N, are you gonna keep me waiting?” He called.

Your lips quivered just hearing his voice again. Your hand reached for the doorknob and you pushed the door wide open.

It only took three steps for your lips to meet his. As his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him, you felt in the pit of your stomach a fire like warmth that filled you with life in an instant.

You were right, you felt his hands through the clothes. They were warm and strong.

He quickly placed his hands on your cheeks and kissed you over and over again. Who knows how long had passed before you finally pulled away.

As you hugged each other you remembered every part of him.

Every emotion he’s made you feel before.

Even the way his muscles tensed around you and the way he held onto you like you were going to disappear again, it brought so much warmth to your heart.

“I missed you so much Jimin.” You whispered looking into his warm brown eyes again.

He was blonde again, well dressed and he looked perfectly healthy.

“I can’t believe I’m here. I thought they were going to keep us apart for a long time. And you’re wearing one of the dresses I bought you. It fits you perfectly.”

“You knew it would. Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t wear anything else. All I could do was think about you and I didn’t want to miss you.”

“You won’t have to, not anymore.” He kissed you again.

“Jimin…….why isn’t he waking up.” You asked selfishly but Jimin kissed you again before answering, it didn’t bother him that you were asking about Hoseok so soon.

He understood that you needed answers.

You had so many questions.

“I don’t know.” He sighed, wiping away your tears. “But he will. I asked him to.” He said biting his bottom lip. “I know you want to see him, I’ve been trying to get you permission to leave. At least for one day.”

“I need to see him again. What if he dies while I’m stuck here?” You sniffled.

“No. That won’t happen. I have him in the best hospital in the state. The doctors said there’s a good chance he’ll wake up again. We have to have hope.”

“How are you paying for it? Don’t buy me clothes, his bills must be so expensive, I don’t want the money to run out. I can get a refund from my university.”

“I made it my one condition to re-sign the contract I have with the label. They’re paying for it while I work on my album.”

Hearing him say that made you overwhelmed. You felt happy for him and beyond grateful but worried that they would use this to keep him under their finger. Was the blonde his choice again or theirs?

“They renegotiated after all that happened? They’re not taking advantage of you, are they?”

“You’re worried about me and you’re worried about Hobi? Nothing’s changed.” He smiled. “Trust me Y/N. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. Right now I want to make sure you’re alright.”

“I won’t be alright until I know he’s okay.”

“I know. All we can do is wait. Don’t be sad okay? To tell you the truth, I can’t stand being sad anymore.” He sighed.

“You haven’t talked anyone about what happened that’s why.”

“I didn’t get a chance to talk to you about it.” He said.

And you knew exactly what he meant. He also wanted to talk to Hoseok about it, you both did. Hoseok probably had a few demons of his own to spill.

He said it himself, he did try to kill himself. It wasn’t an accident and that’s what scared you and Jimin the most.

“It’s not our fault Jimin.”

“I know.” He said with a frown. “It’s mine. Yumi did this because of me.”

“No. She did this because she’s crazy. Not because of you.”

“They asked if I wanted to talk to her.” He said watching your reaction.

You shook your head. “She’s one of those things we need to forget. I can’t forgive her and neither should you.”

“I know baby, I know. As long as Hobi’s in a coma I can’t even face her. It is my fault Y/N, I said I would kill him before he could take you away from me. She did the rest.”

“I know you didn’t mean it.”

He held your hand and brought it too his lips, giving it a quick kiss before speaking. “I did. For a second I did and I’m sorry, and I’m more sorry to Hobi but I can’t even tell him.”

“It still isn’t your fault. You didn’t shoot the gun Jimin. You never would. I know you.”

He gave you a sad smile. “You are getting better aren’t you?”

“They said I still have to be here at least three months after they clear me. I thought it’d be years before I got to see you again. I thought you would move on and I wouldn’t even be upset.”

“Never. I can’t imagine being with someone else. But you, me, Hobi. I know you love him too and he knows it, that’s why we fought. That why it got to this point. We can both lose.”

“No. Jimin, you make me feel alive…and he makes me want to keep on living. I need both of you in my life…but I’m scared he’s going to die.” You said, choking up again.

“Y/N, when he wakes up, and he is going to wake up I promise you, what are we going to do? You won’t be able to hurt him again, I know you. I’m scared you’re going to leave me for him because he needs you more than I do.” He said running his fingers back and forth over your hand.

“Why can’t I have you both? I can’t choose between you two, I can never do that.”

“Are you saying you want to be with both of us at the same time?”

“Is that even remotely possible? Am I being too selfish?” You felt embarrassed. “Forget I even said that. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not. What’s stupid is making you choose between us. You would, I mean should, pick him. He saved your life. I put yours in danger.”

“You did save me….I love you both the same. I need you to understand that…other people make it work right? I think if we tried it would work too.”

“I would try, for you…but would Hobi?”

“Jimin. I would do anything to make him happy again.”

“Does that include leaving me if he doesn’t want to make it work?”

“I can’t choose him or you, so yes. I’d leave both of you. We can be friends…like before.”

“Like before.” Jimin said quietly, poking your index finger. “It was so much fun.”

“I know I’ve hurt the both of you.”

“That doesn’t matter. I can let you go if that’s what’s best for you. Even if it hurts….and if he doesn’t wake up I won’t be able to function, whether or not we’re together.”

“I think you would.” Your tears came down freely at the mention of just the possibility that he wouldn’t wake up. “You have your music.”

“Music would just remind me of him and his dancing. I’d do anything to see him dance again. Have all of us together at the studio.”

“He will be able to dance again right?” You asked quietly.

“I hope so.”

To your surprise they let him bring in his guitar. He sang a couple of songs. All your favorites of course and some new.

Unfortunately they were so good he would have to go on tour sometime within the year.

“You’re going to be famous, and I’ll be the girlfriend back home worrying about groupies.” You kissed him.

“Well all my songs are for you, even if I say they’re for my fans, they’re really for you.”

“Do I get the first copy of your album?”

“No Hobi does. If he isn’t awake yet, I’m going to play it for him before I go.”

“He has to be.” You said hopefully. “He can’t leave me alone while you’re gone too.”

He nodded kissing your forehead.

“Ten minutes.” Nurse Ahn said through the intercom.

“One more song Jimin. Please.”

He devoured you with kisses first. “I know I said all my songs are for you but this one is more your song than mine. It hard for me to sing as it is, I can’t imagine live in concert. Don’t look at me.”

“I haven’t looked at your face months and now you’re telling me not to look at you?” You whined.

He laughed, as you sat back to back and he strummed the first chord.

When he began singing you knew why it would by hard to perform live. It was everything he felt, everything you felt in one song.

The lyrics. You memorized them immediately as he sang.

“Cause the world is ugly But you’re beautiful to me Are you thinking of me Like I’m thinking of you I would say I’m sorry, though… Though I really need to go I just wanted you to know That the world is ugly But you’re beautiful to me Are you thinking of me Stop your crying, helpless feeling Dry your eyes and start believing There’s one thing they’ll never take from you”

________three months later__________

“Hobi…Jimin’s album came out today. Listen.” You pressed play on the CD player and sat down in a chair aside his hospital bed.

You took his hand like you had done a few times now.

Nurse Ahn was doing a crossword puzzle on the windowsill, humming the melody of Jimin’s songs.

“This one is my new favorite. Jimin wrote it because I always said that the world is ugly and so he made a song with those lyrics. I don’t think you can dance to it though. You probably could though…”

The song finished and you looked at him for a moment.

Sighing, you stroked his hand with your fingers and the silence in the room made you uncomfortable.

“Hobi…Jimin’s leaving soon. I’ll be all alone at the ward but I can keep coming here. Isn’t that great? I can visit you every week just like you used to visit me…….”

“Don’t tell him but I’m jealous. He gets to live out his dream and I’m stuck at he ward watching his concerts on the oldest laptop I have ever laid eyes on. You and me are stuck at this phase of our lives.” You kissed his hand.

“Honey, I’ve been stuck in this phase of my life for twenty years.” Nurse Ahn said.

“If you don’t want to be a nurse anymore why don’t you just start over?”

“Because at my age, starting over isn’t like flipping a pancake. Plus, I can’t leave until you do.”

“You’re going to retire?!” You jumped up and ran over to her.

“It’s about time I did. I’m going on vacation and then I’m going to buy a dog.”

“That’s amazing! But it might be another year or two they said. I’m sorry if I’m the reason you can’t retire immediately.”

She laughed. “I can retire any day. I just want to be here for you.” She returned to her puzzle.

“Are you trying to make me cry again?” You pouted, going back to sit beside Hobi.

“You have to hurry it up too Hoseok. I want you to be there when I get out. When Nurse Ahn gets out. When Jimin comes back.”

You held his hand again.

“You’re my hope, I miss you. I’m getting better I promise. Can you get better soon too?” You asked.

You held your breath when you felt his hand twitch under yours.

Nurse Ahn came over to see why you had gone so silent. The machines began to reconfigure their settings and the a red light lit up on the side of his bed.

“Y/N. Did he move?”

You couldn’t even look at her. You were frozen.

She called for a doctor and looked at your face with a small laugh.

“Come on sweetheart. Cry outside. They’ll check on him now. Let’s leave them to it.” She said crying herself.

You didn’t understand how your legs were able to stand on their own, or how she just calmly walked you out of the room. You smiled back at him, more grateful than ever.

“You need to come now.” Nurse Ahn yelled into the phone.

“Okay! Okay!” You heard Jimin yell back.

You hugged her immediately and experienced a whole other level of happiness you didn’t know existed.

He was alive again….

They hadn’t let you see Hoseok yet but tomorrow you and Jimin could go in together.

The two of you stayed the night thanks to Jimin’s charm. The only condition was that you had to be admitted so Nurse Ahn could go home and rest, while other staff kept you under their watch.

But the next day you were up early, waiting impatiently and hoping he wasn’t asleep.

“As you know, his lungs completely healed two months ago. His memory seems to be intact. He recalled the trauma and he asked about the both of you. We will keep him here for about three weeks but thankfully he seems fine. He’s going to be weak and his movements may lack a bit but he should be back to normal within a few days.” The doctor explained.

You looked past him and at the door, just waiting for the okay to go in. Jimin signed a few forms and you squeezed his free hand the whole time, fidgeting and biting your lips.

“Just stay quiet and keep the lights low. It’s more comfortable for him that way.”

“Okay. We understand. Thanks.” Jimin squeezing your hand back.

You looked at him for a moment before he nodded, probably just as nervous as you were.

Really there were no words, no thoughts forming in your mind. You just wanted to see him again.

Jimin pushed the door open and you walked to Hoseok’s side like you’d done many times.

Jimin stood on the other side of his bed.

Hoseok’s eyes were shut and you wondered if he was asleep.

“Hobi…” you placed your hand in his.

His eyes fluttered opened and it took him a moment to meet your eyes but when he did he smiled.

“Hobi.” You sobbed, as he place his fingers between yours.

“Y/N.” he glanced to his other side. “Jimin….guys….”

“Hyung, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay Y/N, don’t cry.” Hosoek replied tiredly.

“I’m sorry too.” You whimpered, pressing his hand against your cheek.

“I love you both.” He reached for Jimin’s hand. “I’m sorry…I put you through this.” He breathed. “Are you okay?”

“Are you? Hobi, don’t worry about me anymore. I’m getting better. Jimin’s been visiting me when he can. Are they going to put you in the mental facility?” “No, just some counseling. But I’m okay now. All that jealousy, the anger. It’s all gone. I’m just glad you guys are here.”

“We’re glad you’re here. We’ll always need you.” Jimin said.

“Did I miss any birthdays? Any weddings? What day is it today anyways?”

“It’s your first day of getting up to speed with everything’s that’s happened. And no, we did not get married without you.” Jimin said. “Our Y/N wants us both. She’s freaky.”

You laughed. “Shut up. No heavy relationship talk yet. The only thing you really missed was Jimin’s birthday and his first album.”

“Actually Y/N came to play it for you over and over again, so you didn’t miss anything because we were here for my birthday.”

“You guys are weird. Partying while I’m sleeping. You are freaky babe.”

“I’ll never leave you again Hoseok.” You promised.

He smiled. “I missed you guys.”

_________________________________

#park jimin #jimin #jung hoseok #hobi #jhope #sleep #bts fanfics #bts fanfictions #park chim chim #chim chim #hoseok #bts fluff #bts angst

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duckbeater · 7 years

Text

Fuck Church-going, I’m Going to H&M

M and I were walking downtown, through the cold dark channel of skyscrapers on Dearborn Avenue, holding off on reaching our respective trains. Some of the light fixtures were done up in orange and white to look like candy corn. Spooky music (pipe organ, maybe the theme from The Phantom of the Opera) wafted out of the flowerbeds done up in hearty mums. I appreciate how much the city celebrates its holidays. I hoped ghosts would rain down demented terror on all of us.

I was just off work and M was out of therapy—we had barely coordinated our meeting. Somehow we were embarrassed to be where we never were, like the time we intersected just after he’d purchased his condo, appearing before each other in our business casual at the Belmont exchange, approving our dress basics (”You are a new man in Chinos!” “I appreciate you in a tie!”), then agreeing to a celebratory drink. He was nearly silent. I forgave him: he’d just laid a good chunk of his earthly estate on the line, on down the line, and was dizzy with the prospect of failure. (This was confirmed in the bar, when the color left his face, and he murmured, “I’ve signed my whole life away. Now I’ll be one of those gays who never stops talking about slate versus granite countertops.”) He was quiet now, too, puzzling over the book recommendation his therapist had given him.

“Conscious Communication by Mary Shores. I already Amazoned it, but I’m not going to read it. And not reading it will just produce more shame, more guilt, that I’ll have to talk around in our next session.”

“Maybe you can read it,” I advised, “consciously, on your commutes, but choose your headings, you know? Like, be a proactive skimmer.” My therapist never recommends little books for me to read. She listens, an awful lot, to me talking about books, referencing books, shitting on books. I realized I use my therapist as a kind of pre-book-review audience, where I pitch angles her way and she says, “Mmm, but do you like it?” And it occurred to me then that I was extorting my health insurance for an embarrassment of riches to workshop book reviews I then published for free on poorly trafficked websites. This, I thought, is the emotional commerce of an MFA. I told M: “I don’t get homework from my therapist.”

He said: “I think mine is bored talking to me about guys, so he wants something we can both talk about. So that’s a fucking book.”

To our left, in the Daley Plaza, secondary directors on one of the Chicago series were filming a public demonstration. A monumental backdrop with exquisitely art directed graffito read: GOD IS GAY AND HE LOVES YOU! The crowd of onlookers was fairly separate from the crowd of extras, but it was a close thing, and somewhat confounding, the distinction between a simulated fracas over milquetoast iconoclasm and the genuine anger of what I assume were tourists. People milling (extras) were deflecting earnest proclamations from people on the other side of the barricade, who shouted things like “God is great!” and questions like “God is unknowable, so how do you know He’s gay?” (also shouted).

M said, “Whoa!” but I said, “It’s just a movie. That’s not even local news.” I pointed to a folded crane and several reflectors: “They’re trying to make it look like two o’clock in the afternoon. That’s an Arri Alexa—gay youth groups don’t take those out of the box.” I was guessing about the camera, still, it impressed M.

We idled outside the Goodman so M could ruminate on how his stringent, captivating Catholic upbringing was possibly rearing a cudgel now, example: his inability to manifest erections during recent, aborted Grindr hookups.

“How many are we talking about?” I asked.

“Maybe, after the last time we talked, three others?”

“You’ve abandoned three hookups because your dick wasn’t hard?”

“No, just two of them. My dick was a part of, uh, all of them though. This one dude was too dirty to fuck. I know it gets late, but who doesn’t shower before hooking up with a stranger?”

“Some guys are into that.”

“I’m not,” said M. “Sex with Ben is fine. Jerking off is fine. I have a libido. Maybe I just need some romance first. What is the point of ‘opening my relationship’ if I can’t have sex with other guys because my dick isn’t cooperating?”

“I don’t know,” I said. Maybe it was obvious that I was forlorn.

Two key scenes of my distended friendship with M: ferrying him to a movie after his dog died, stroking the soft clippered hair on the back of his head while he cried in the passenger seat, just as my mother had done when I was a child. (Farm life is punctuated by many gruesome cat deaths.) He talked to his sister on the phone and said things like, “Yeah, but did the vet let you hold her head?” allowing her answers to destroy him. The second, a few months back: when M decided to break up with Ben, my driving him around Chicago for a debrief. He was so under-slept his under-eyes seemed saline-injected. He repeated feelings he’d been expressing up till then and I tried to offer comments that weren’t cliches, also previously expressed. “What we’re dealing with here,” I said, “is summary, so maybe we can just listen to music and respect the end of this thing?” He contested that the reality of the relationship’s end—nearly four years of honest coupling—was worth examining, as a phenomenon whose pain had far exceeded his expectations. (Thus, my blog.) Obviously those weren’t his exact words. And anyway a couple of days later, he and Ben agreed to keep dating, albeit “openly,” the announcement of which caused me to state, openly, “Good luck with that!”

So he had bad luck with that, and being a sport now, he said, “You’re a smart guy, tell me what to do!”

“Don’t blame God on your erections. Don’t blame romance on them, either. Don’t blame them. This whole setup is bunk. You have to report, verbatim, the stupid not-sex you have with randos, edifying no one, least of all Ben.” (A condition of their open relationship is they tell each other everything.) “You have a guilty conscience, is all. You want a clean fuck? You will never get one. Every time you boink someone else, you think about how Ben won’t like it much, and he doesn’t like it much, it makes him terrified that you’ll actually really breakup with him, and you’re terrified, too. Look at the very long leash he braided into the back of your hair! So pretty! You went to New York alone to meet up with a guy you’ve been Scruffing for eight months!”

“But I didn’t fuck him! I couldn’t get a fucking boner!”

“I’m fucking glad!” I snapped.

We both exhaled very loudly and very slowly. We had been mobile, with sharp hand motions, all the way to the corner of Lake. Trains clattered above us.

“Fucking Christ,” I said, peeling my backpack off, hugging it.

“What?”

“I forgot to buy a fucking sweater from H&M.”

“You want me to walk back with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

We passed by the movie set again. People were chanting “CHRIST! IS GAY! HE WAS BORN THIS WAY!” which unnerved M no end. “It’s just, I spent an hour talking about growing up uber-Catholic, feeling gross about gay people, and now there’s people chanting in the streets—”

“It’s a movie,” I pointed out again.

“You think because it’s fake it doesn’t make it worth feeling—”

“I think god is fake, too, but—”

“That’s the whole point! It’s—the—meaningless . . . ” I thought he was burying it, the dredged up convictions. Instead: “Do remember Jed’s stupid ministry?”

I did. This is a mutual acquaintance who married young, sired two kids, preached in his father’s church, outed himself before his congregation, got kicked out of his church, temporarily lost his family, and turned this turn of fortune into a not-very-profitable speaking tour. His self-published memoir, a re-conversion narrative, described the gift God gave him: making Jed a gay shepherd for His flock.

M: “You think it’s stupid because he took the thing that ruined his life and promotes it now as the thing that saved it.”

I said, “Absolutely, I do think that’s stupid.”

M: “Right. Fine. But you understand that being psychologically affected by your religious upbringing doesn’t make you an idiot, okay?”

I perceived where M wanted to turn his thoughts but it didn’t make me care about them. “The planet is dying and we’re killing each other with guns. I don’t want to talk to another gay person about god, or prayers, or spiritual affiliation, or how they still feel shame because of their church-going. Fuck church-going. I’m going to H&M, I’m going to buy a sweater guaranteed-made by the most desecrating human labor, and then I’m—I’m going home.” I should concede what I perceived: that had young M had any access to a faith that celebrated his sexuality, or at least didn’t shit all over it, then he might be a more contented, better adjusted adult. Here was the universe broadcasting this back to him, grandly, on the bright stage of an updated mystery play. He felt stirred to compassion for his former self, and benevolent toward his former (though perhaps extant) beliefs. I acknowledge that it resonated. The timing, the scale, how could it not? I resented its convenience.

M: “You’re acting like a total fascist.”

I said, “I know. I’m sorry. We can get an ice cream after I find a sweater.”

M said thanks, and we hustled over to State Street. I had been hugging my backpack for too long. He took it out of my arms and told me to look like a normal person, not like a scared child, and held the straps open for me.

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beneathmyboughs · 7 years

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Yuji Final 30 Facts!

[TW for mentions of child murder/Slenderman, PTSD, animal death, emotional manipulation and endgame spoilerish stuff! Wanted to get this out while we still had time, read at your own risk!]

All of Yuji’s Part 1 Endgame posts are lyrics from his character theme, Sakura Nagashi.

The symbol on his jacket is obvious, but the red symbol on his pants is very reminiscent of the slenderman symbol--a figure notable for taking it’s preferred victim, children, and pinning them to trees.

Piney was stated to be a Japanese Black Pine. Black Pines tend to have their weaker sibling, the white pine, grafted onto them for ensured survival. No guesses about who the white pine is to Piney’s black pine.

Yuji Matsumoto never had a fear of thunder. What he DID have was a crippling fear of loud noises, specifically explosions. He also had claustrophobia and aversion to heat like smoke or steam.

Murders or deaths of Parelthon classmates were all extra hard for him, but specifically Yuka Kagome’s death struck VERY close to home and at times threatened to render him immobile in fear or flashback.

During Yuji and Chou’s times getting to know each other she made a point of establishing her dominance from the very start, including eating whole unskinned pineapples while making eye contact to scare him. It worked.

Yes, they did use DDR to learn how to drift with each other a la Evangelion. Yes, they wore the matching 80′s dance leotards for it. Yes, with the neon spandex tights.

Yuji’s Paranoia (Including rigging his room with indicators in case anyone got in and messed with stuff, his mini traps any time he went into a new room, his general paranoia) predate his Mastermind status. He’s been toting that around since before Hope’s Peak even, having become Piney only due to said paranoia.

The reason Piney even exists in the first place is due to Yuji trying to outrun Yakuza enforcers, thus his immediate fear of anyone related to Yakuza business that he knew of, like Yuka.

Piney lived so lightly, from hotel to hotel with no discernible home address, because he was consistently on the run from both home (so no place to go) and Yakuza (despite them probably having long given up chase). Yep. THAT paranoid.

Yuji took in and cared for Mimi, Ryouji’s cat, after the class’ deaths. She passed away peacefully at a ripe old age while Yuji was grunt soldiering for the Collective. She was a well known and liked fixture of the barracks, with soldiers often feeding her when she came around.

Many of the stranger editions in the second half (The Overwatch statues, the updates to the student logs, ect) were a result of Yuji actively committing to portraying the character of the Collective’s ‘mascot’ as viciously as possible, and keeping the programmers busy coding in new and useless resource drains as opposed to active framing. Making him look like he was actively trying not to be caught was just a bonus.

Yuji genuinely did not know any of the codes aside from his own notebook’s code, nor did he himself have access to the monitoring system Topside had. Figuring out the MM room code was a genuine effort both ooc and ic, though he felt like shit getting congratulated for it.

Yuji’s habit of rubbing at his face with his hand when stressed is in fact him covering up what he reflexively knows is a giant scar over his eye, as if to conceal or massage it.

The tiny scar on the left side of his face where Ryouji’s shot grazed him in-game matches his real life scar on that exact same spot where a fellow soldier was shot and killed trying to drag him off the field when he had a flashback and couldn’t move. It further enforce’s Yuji’s belief that ‘These are not Accidents, it’s Fate.’

The giant v scar across his eye and nose, along with the smaller scar on his left cheek, are meant to look like the roman numeral 6 for a DA6 easter egg!

Yuji’s strong rose-tinted nostalgia mixed with the reality of seeing their actions in the murder game after 6 years split his opinion right down the middle. He used Piney to portray his fondness, and his class logs to vent his simmering disappointment. By the time he was shedding the suit the opinions had balanced out, portrayed by Yuji himself, though he still laid it on thick in the logs for the sake of the ‘character’ he was trying to portray.

While circumstances made it so that the room was not used as much, the sim in the steak house had Charmayne as a preset but included everyone on the Parelthon roster with applicable data. Yuji’s spent his steak-night ‘evenings’ pre-death game with hologrpahic Tomokas, Hanakos, Ryoujis, Tadashis, Ryans and more, all with a friendlier tint to them than reality to honey trap Yuji into continuing his resolve to start the killing game.

Should just note this: no account of Yuji speaking to having a crush, in his self narration or otherwise was real in this game. At most he may have had a crush on them back in the day, but Yuji’s level of affection would have been seen as odd for someone without an express reason (like the fact they’d all been his cherished classmates for a year). Crush was used as a stand in, but Yuji’s only nostalgic and not interested in anyone in this class. As he’d say “I’m a Mastermind, not a creep.”

Many of Yuji’s likes and dislikes from his 30 facts are direct references to military superstitions that he started to hold in his 6 years as a Collective soldier.(Numbers 8 and 9)

The exceptions are disliking Elvis (Club Elvis was the Yakuza run bar he went to to make his payments), hair (he just thinks it’s neat that people can have natural beauty like that despite income), and bugs (he lived with em fine being poor, and grew to like them with Chou’s influence)

Piney starting to act weirdly just before merge was a result of Chou having started communicating with him after getting out of her side of the sim, and making him laugh with their communications that he checked out inside his suit to avoid being seen. Father and daughter bonding time!

Yuji will continue to insist Piney had nothing to do with the Mastermind business. Often times, AS Piney, he’d flat out forget he was the Mastermind for bits at a time. Yuji didn’t have as much of a luxury once he got out of the suit, since that was by that point the turning point in him believing in the system.

Yuji’s ‘friend fiction’ was a direct continuation of his self-therapy he was using before the killing game went live, where he wrote down either memories or edited daydream versions of said memories to record his time spent with his classmates.

Yuji’s ‘ulterior motive’ for the game, sans getting his classmates back for admittedly his own sake of mind, was tied in/hinted at with his shrine to the dead in his room. Yuji’s spiritualism is heavily balance and karma based, a give or take, and while usually it’s only supplemental to his way of living the deaths of all his classmates kicked it into overdrive. He considered such a farce as himself surviving an event that had killed everyone else he’d ever grown close to some act of destructive ‘fate’ he’d have to be selfish to attribute to only himself. While he knew the belief would never be accepted as solid science by any of the project team, he was deathly fearful that not addressing the matter would only result in the kids getting revived just to die off again should the matter not be addressed. Therefor, trying to find out what made each of the kids tick and from there pinpoint what element may have played into their deaths wound up being Yuji’s OWN experiment while the death game was being planned. This quickly fell to the wayside as the true intentions of the game became clear, but it has been addressed at least once by Morishige in her videos as she herself utilized the belief he revealed during their therapy sessions to further spur Yuji into accepting the full blame for the murder game.

Yuji’s original name was Yuiji Hatsumoto, but when it was checked with my IRL Japanese friends it was vetoed as ‘just plain not a real name.’ Yuji Matsumoto, however, is so utterly common it’s almost laughably plain. Just the way I wanted it.

Azura sent me over half of the music I have on Yuji’s playlists. My music taste is trash, guys. I’m sorry I never returned the favor Azura, you probably knew all the songs since middle school already.

There were lots of hints thrown in about Yuji being MM, subtle things about how when he panicked he’d start to feel choked and too hot, or the phrasing on the very first post. Going back and reading it all over is an ADVENTURE and what I’m currently mid doing, my dudes.

The FULL list of Yuji’s inspirations are Vincent from Catherine, Shaggy from Scooby Doo (down to the theory of him being a veteran) and Adachi from Persona 4. The last was too much of a spoiler to say, but ‘Lanky and questionable loser’ pretty much chalks it up. His Mastermind/Collective Mascot persona, specifically, was Adachi based.

I only made it this far and did this well thanks to the wonderful mods, back up mods, mini mods and unknowing support of fellow players. I’d been looking your stuff up and admiring like a fan researching a movie franchise for a year before all this, and it was an unbelievable honor to both enter your world and get to be your guys’ Mastermind. I hope you guys had as fun of a game as I did! You guys rock, and I’m so glad I met you all. Take a breather everybody!

#ooc #save #Been holding onto these babies since day 1 my friends #child soldiers \\#child death \\#slenderman \\#ptsd \\#animal death \\#emotional manipulation \\

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youngwidowofbrooklyn · 7 years

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At Least I’m Nobody’s Wife.

Here’s the cliff’s notes on what’s been going on since I left you last.

-I gulped down tears on my husband’s birthday.

-I celebrated what would have been his fifteenth anniversary of sobriety, alone, and most likely drinking alcohol.

-I broke my fucking middle toe so badly I had to go to the ER to have it set properly.

-I took a solo trip to visit friends and have weird Hollywood adventures for a week without my kid.

-I turned 42, much to my disbelief, but did it relatively easily and peacefully, surrounded by friends I hadn’t seen in years.

-I began dreaming of my husband again.

-I celebrated Father’s Day this year, because goddamn it, I’ve already lost enough goodness in my life, it’s time to start reclaiming some reasons to celebrate.

-My son finally said it. He said the D word. I nearly vomited and sobbed.

-I took my son to an emergency room after a nasty fall at his preschool. The blood, the tears and the teachers’ concern didn’t phase me. But looking at the dirty base of the gurney in the partitioned area of the exam room nearly sent me into a full blown panic. It all came back....the long walks down a back corridor, hand in latex gloved hand, him in a surgical mask, back and forth we’d walk down this hallway, lined with gurneys like this one, walking, trying with all my fucking might to pretend that we were just a normal couple walking in Central Park, and not two helpless, lonely people who could almost touch but missed each other desperately nonetheless. I tried to pretend that I couldn’t see it....the mask, the long, dingy corridor in hospital beige, the dust on the sills, on the floor, the dirty plastic bases of the gurneys, each one a threat against the life of the man who was everything to me. I sat with my crying child on my lap and I was calm, I spoke gently to him and promised everything would be okay, and then....I saw that same dingy plastic base on another of those god-awful gurneys and I choked on my tears and thought, “What the fuck do I know? Maybe this is the last time I’ll hold him? Who the fuck am I to promise anyone that anything will turn out okay?”

I’ve been doing a lot of life stuff. A lot of stressful, time consuming, sometimes interesting, and sometimes fun life stuff. But mostly I’ve been scrambling to put out the immediate fires around me, and snatching small moments of peace in between. But the funny thing is that as much as I’ve been scrambling, I’ve felt my anxiety, my sense of unrest, uneasiness growing. I’ve been fidgety and unable to concentrate. I feel wound up and tense. And in the past few days, I think I figured out why. It’s because I haven’t been writing. You see, this is my only true form of therapy right now, and I’ve been kicking it to the back of my to-do list, over and over, but my urge to write, the demons that knock around in my brain, none of that has gone away. But I haven’t forced myself to deal with them. It’s true. I don’t want to write. This is hard for me. It’s hard for me emotionally to carve out the time to sit down and unload all of this dark and ugly shit out of my head and into this blog. I’ve been avoiding doing it, in hopes that I’d feel better by ignoring the pain. It doesn’t work that way, of course.

On the way back from the airport, after my week away, I rode in a cab driven by an older Caribbean man named Nathaniel. We had a pleasant and teasing conversation, until we got on the subject of “kids these days.” It started off general enough, both of us lamenting the state of the youth, he proclaiming that they don’t value education, while I gave a blanket agreement because he was nice enough and the cab ride would be over soon and I didn’t have the energy or interest to debate any of the finer points. And then he said something that struck me. He said, “Boys these days, they ain’t raised right. They don’t know how to grow up to be men. You see, boys and girls are different. You love ‘em the same, but you gotta treat ‘em different.”

I asked him what he meant. He elaborated by telling me that boys are brought up thinking it’s okay to be interested in feminine things. They shouldn’t have access to things that belong to girls, it’s confusing to them and could lead to trouble down the road.

“What kind of girl things?” I asked him.

“You know, dresses, shoes, makeup. Girl things. Boys gotta be tough. If they start taking an interest in feminine things, you gotta tell ‘em, ‘That’s not for you. There are boy things and there are girl things.’ And you can’t treat them softly. With boys, you gotta be rough. Boys nowadays like to cling to their mamas, always want their mamas. But boys need a man to show them manly ways, how to grow up right.”

And as he’s talking, I’m thinking about my sweet boy, who loves cars and nail polish in equal measure, who loves the flowers he’s planted in our garden and snuggling with me and who is mostly kind and sweet and sensitive, relatively speaking. And I think to myself, “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, mister.”

But instead, I say aloud, “And what kind of trouble are you talking about? What is it - worst case scenario - that you think would come of a boy taking an interest in dresses or makeup?”

He pauses, and answers as if it should be obvious, “Well, the concern would be that he thinks it’s okay, wearing dresses is okay. You have to tell him, ‘This is not for you!’”

I’m too tired to get angry, and I really don’t want to dislike Nathaniel. My heart breaks a little that he is so concerned about little boys not being tough enough. As if the real problem we are facing is that too many of our young men aren’t “manly” enough.

I say to him, “I’m interested in your thoughts on this because I’m a single mother of a little boy. My husband died about a year ago.”

Nathaniel offers his sympathy, and I believe that it’s sincere. He proceeds to tell me all the ways that I can ensure I raise a proper little boy even if there’s no father around to lead by example. I should not teach my son how to cook or sew or how to use the washer and dryer. That’s women’s work. He should learn when he’s older, of course, but not as a little boy because it would make the gender roles too confusing for him.

I laugh to myself, thinking about how my son insists on microwaving his own breakfast in the morning, how he actually throws a fit if I try to make the coffee, as he’s convinced himself that it is solely his responsibility, and how he makes me lift him up to the machines when the laundry goes in, so that he can push the buttons on his own.

I let the driver expound on the topic in detail for the remainder of the ride. As we pull up to my house, he expresses how nice it was chatting with me and wishes me well. I tell him I feel the same and wish him well. And then I tell him, “You know, Nathaniel, I’ve enjoyed talking with you, and also listening to you speak because your accent is a perfect for a character in a book I’ll be narrating soon.”

This is not a lie, by the way, I really do have a project coming up with a small appearance by a Jamaican man, so it was nice to sit and hear him speak, regardless of the content.

“So, I hope it’s okay with you, I’m going to use you as inspiration when I’m recording.”

Nathaniel laughs. He’s delighted. He gets out of the car and retrieves my suitcase from the trunk. We stand on the lawn, my lawn, and chat for several more minutes.

He tells me a story. A friend of his is a composer who cannot come up with a new song. The friend is desperate for inspiration and is discussing the writer’s block with Nathaniel. Nathaniel, who does not play music nor know a thing about writing it, asks his friend, “What does it sound like to you when you hear the birds chirping in the trees? Why don’t you write that?” The friend is suddenly inspired to write and thanks Nathaniel for his wise words.

“So you see,” he tells me, “inspiration is all around us. If you just pay attention, if you listen, maybe you can learn something from the world around you.”

And I don’t think he even knows how right he is.

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awkwardsha · 7 years

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Suzanne a.k.a Lola Chronicles

By: Shawnice Renee

Suzanne found herself sitting on the window sill of her newest hookup, Trey. They had known each other for only a few weeks but Trey had been nothing but a gentleman. Something Suzanne wasn’t used to. Most guys with money are douche bags and self-absorbed. Which made it easier for Suzanne to have her way with them. She fucks them, let them spend countless money on her, then walks away, simple. Trey seems like he wants more, maybe a girlfriend? A wife? Either way it wasn’t who Suzanne was. She gazed at him while he was sleeping. He looked so peaceful, but then again after good sex who doesn’t sleep peacefully.

It was turning 6am and Suzanne noticed it was time for her “silent exit”. They had a great evening but she tries to make sure she doesn’t spend the night. That’s her own way of keeping her feelings intact. Spending the night means you want your emotions to lay down with someone else, she quietly slid on her dress and grabbed her shoes. All she needed was her purse and she was good to go. There it lay on the nightstand on his side of the bed. Suzanne immediately grabbed it and was about to walk out when she heard a half-sleep voice.

“So, you’re going to sex me good then leave me without saying bye again Lola?” A groggy Trey said while still under the covers.

“You know I have to make my special exit Trey.” Suzanne then blew him a kiss as she tried to walk out. But Trey wasn’t going to let her get off that easily.

“Oh, no you don’t, you don’t get to put it down then sneak out. Plus, I told you, I would never kick you out. Stay.” He insisted, but a reluctant Suzanne declined.

“Trey baby I know I don’t have to leave, but sometimes I like being in my own bed that’s all.”

“Well I’ll spend the night at your house then.”

Shaking her head no, Suzanne wasn’t too excited to hear that, “Aww no babe I told you how I feel about my home.”

“Damn Lola why are you so distant?” An irritated Trey was wide awake now. He never understood how they’ve been dating for weeks and he has yet to see her house. She doesn’t let him spend the night and she doesn’t call or text him regularly.

“Come on dude its six in the morning!” She whined.

Trey sat up in the bed naked with the sheet covering half of his manhood, the sight of it made Suzanne’s mouth water. Suddenly she found it hard to walk out that door.

“Lola, you treat me like I’m some murderer. If I’m feeling you and you feeling me what’s up then.” He threw his hands up for some acknowledgement.

Suzanne knew what he wanted and it wasn’t a problem. But he couldn’t have it with the person he was with and that was Lola.

“Look Trey I’m not a relationship kind of girl. You want to go out and do crazy shit you’ve never done before? Party and have wild and crazy sex then I’m your gal. Don’t confuse the two.”

Suzanne felt she couldn’t be any more real than that. She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t like the other guys who understood protocol and fell in line. Trey on the other hand couldn’t understand how he gives her whatever she wants and needs and she still rejects him.

“When’s the last time you’ve been in a relationship? What exactly are you running from Lola? You give this excuse to me on why you don’t have attachments, when it’s obvious you’re running from something.”

Feeling a hangover Suzanne threw her purse on the bed and sat down. She really didn’t feel like explaining her relationship issues with a jump off. But if he really wants an explanation…

“Trey I’m not running away from anything but this stupid fucking therapy talk bullshit. It’s not rocket science. Some people enjoy relationships others look at it as a prison sentence. Everybody’s different Trey, get the fuck over it!”

“You fuck powerful men with money and use sex to get your desired results. Are you really comfortable with being that?”

The conversation started to get intense. A night of excitement and passion turned into a morning of hangovers and a bunch of “how come you don’t want ME’s”.

“No! I’m comfortable with being Lola and doing what Lola wants! Who I choose to fuck and for whatever reason I choose isn’t a life decision, it’s my decision!”

Then Trey started to become the douche bag Suzanne was waiting for, “You gold digging hoes all have the same excuse. Let me guess…you were molested as a child too?” he said sarcastically.

Suzanne felt a sense of rage start to take over. She reminded herself he’s only hurt from the rejection, however, there is one thing she had to set straight. She pulled up her tight red dress which lead her nice little plumped ass to jiggle like jello. She then climbed on top of Trey as though she was going to mount him right then and there. But she didn’t.

“You know the funny thing? When I was younger I did get molested. More than once and by more than one person. Let me explain to you about the first time.”

Not sure if he wanted to hear the story, Trey declined, “Lo, that’s not necessary. It’s too- “

But Suzanne insisted, “No! It is necessary.”

By then he noticed something different about her, he didn’t want to say it but he noticed a possessed demeanor about her. She began her story…

“I was about five years old. My mom must’ve been a work because it was only me and him in the house…” Suzanne paused for a second as she zoned out. Like it had happened only yesterday. She continued.

“…We were watching tv and I remember laying on his stomach…when…when all of a sudden he pulls out his penis. Then he put his hand on my…”

As Suzanne continued with the story. Trey’s eyes stayed glued to her as he couldn’t believe the horror his ears heard so far.

“I don’t know what possessed him that day to do what he did. I don’t even know what I did, but this man felt horny enough to rub on my five-year-old vagina. I know what he was doing was wrong because instincts were kicking in. You know the older I got…I started thinking maybe God and the Devil were talking to me at the same time. The Devil wanted me to relax and enjoy. While God was trying to tell me, what was happening wasn’t right! It was a bad thing and at five years old those were the exact conflicted feelings I felt. Here’s the kicker…he might’ve stole my innocence, my pure innocence of being a child. But he taught me power.” Suzanne said as she looked away in deep thought.

Trey couldn’t comprehend the last thing she said, “He gave you power? How could a creep molester give you any kind of power?”

“Sex is power Trey. The moment he made me jerk his dick he gave me power to please.” Suzanne started to dry hump Trey while she finished her story.

“Just think Trey, Sex is so powerful that it can lure amongst the weakest men, women too, make them fall in overindulgence of lust. Which at one point was a five-year-old me. At that age, a grown man fell to temptation and eyed me as a lustful being. That’s how he gave me power. He taught me I will always be looked at as a lustful being and I made use of that power. Don’t blame the fact that I found an unusual loophole to get through and I made it work.”

Trey couldn’t believe his ears. Not only was he shocked but disgusted in her possible sense of pride in her molester, one of many.

“Most women cry, get all emotional. But you…you get so cold about it.”

Over the course of his life, Trey has dated countless women of different looks and personalities. Thus far Lola has been the most…intriguing and this piece of her was icing on the cake. Continuing her mission to get home Suzanne hops off of Trey as the conversation heads to a close, well as far as Suzanne goes.

“Trey this is life, fucked up shit happens all the time. Am I going to sit there and cry about it? No. I make the best of my situations and keep it moving.”

“You have a weird way of coping with life.” Feeling conflicted he didn’t know whether to feel bad for the woman or tell himself to man up the same way she does. Very much so considering how she manhandled such a delicate situation.

Giving him a soft sweet kiss on the lips. Suzanne a.k.a. Lola leaves him with one last thought.

“I don’t seem to think I have a weird way of coping with life. Life has a weird way of coping with me. Until next time Darlin’, call me!”

Suzanne walks out like nothing happened. Standing at the elevator, she had a flashback moment of that as a child. Her eyes water as a tear starts to fall down her right eye. Soon as it falls she quickly wipes the tear away with resentment. Elevator doors open and on there is a handsome man with jogging wear and earphones hanging from his neck. Fondly impressed, she instantly feels better. Seductively licking her lips, Suzanne initiates talk with him. She hops on the elevator, smiles as he smiles back. Then finally speaks, “Hey I know it’s too early for this but you are strikingly handsome. My name is Lola what’s yours…?”

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