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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 4 years

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Fix Me (doctor/soulmate AU) {4}

Summary: Getting to know Grayson Dolan and his field of expertise, Y/N finds herself growing closer to Ethan despite her initial reluctance.

Warnings: angst, fluff, SMUT, swearing, drinking, possibly triggering end

Word count: 7000+

Fix Me (doctor/soulmate AU) series Masterlist

A/N - heavily inspired by Grey’s anatomy, my own experiences and thoughts, but also by songs: Birdy - Not about angels, Bear’s den - Fortress, Matthew and the atlas - Out of the darkness, Harry Styles - Falling, Kodaline - Wherever you are, Isak Danielson - Love me Wrong, Dove Cameron - Remember me, Tom Odell - Can’t pretend, The XX - Angels.

I really hope you guys like it! Feedback is always wanted and appreciated, no matter how small or big it is!

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Pulchritudinous (adj.) – having incredible physical beauty

Pink. Pink walls, pink scrubs, pink down to her underwear - that's what gynecology felt like to Y/N. Everything and everyone's just so...PINK. And she doesn't have anything against the color, in fact it reminds her of the most beautiful sunsets she's ever seen or the luscious lips she recently kissed, but there is such a thing as too much pink and this was the perfect example of that.

People smile so much she wondered if their faces are stuck like that and while she appreciates the kindness and acceptance they bestowed on any intern joining them, Y/N feels like she's stuck in a cotton candy machine cartoon. Yet she can't blow this.

It is absolutely imperative she does well and convinces Ethan to stop giving Grayson anymore of the interns because she never wants to be back on this ward in her life because the happy-go-people are driving her insane.

"Morning little princess! Had a good night?" Grayson snickers at his own hello and its was the first of many hints he had given her about what he coaxed out of his brother during morning coffee.

"A better night than this morning." She grumbles, looking up at Grayson in suspicion. Maybe he's always so smiley or his hair is always so nicely combed to the side, but something told her his curls are wilder than Ethan's and she got to experience them once upon a time. She nearly had a repeat just the night before and while she wanted to let go and give into Ethan, she stopped herself just in time.

Being around his twin certainly didn’t help her rid of Ethan from her thoughts or memories and no matter how hard she tried to lock the memories of his gentle touch, there was no denying he sunk his claws deep into her and more she tried to fight it, she fell only further.

“Sounds like you had a very interesting evening then.” Grayson quipped, his smile painfully ineradicable and unreadable, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling he could tell there was something between her and Ethan. Would Ethan tell his brother? Would she be comfortable with Grayson being let in on their forbidden kiss?

“You could say that.” She forced a smile before clearing her throat awkwardly.

“So, when am I supposed to be useful around here?” Changing the subject, she quickly glanced at the half empty rooms with lips pressed together, hoping she’d get to pay her dues and be done with it because if there’s one specialty she was sure she wasn’t fit for, it was definitely gynecology.

“There’s only one woman in the maternity ward, she should give birth sometime during the night. Until then, we’ll do a couple of check ups to follow progression of the delivery, mainly to make sure the baby and mama are well. The rest are all here due to risky pregnancies, but I don’t expect anyone to have their baby this week.” Briefing Y/N, Grayson was sure she would roll her eyes or at least make a remark on the slow day ahead, but he was surprised to see her nod along and make a few notes for herself.

“Alright. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to start rounds myself and I can fill you in later?” She smiled and Grayson frowned ever so slightly as if he was lost in his attempt to read her. And he was. People are usually open books and Grayson loves being able to anticipate what they will do or say, but this girl was hard to read and it frustrated him…especially when he wanted more information on how she feels for his brother who is a besotted fool. Aside from her beauty, Grayson found herself wondering why Ethan fell so fast for her because he wasn’t the cloudy, twisty type and Y/N looked like she possessed darkness Grayson couldn’t fathom.

“Doctor Dolan?” After losing patience, Y/N reminded Grayson she was still there and waiting for confirmation and while she could stare at his perfectly symmetrical face all day and admire the way his eyes are hazel in this particular light or his extreme beauty all around, she really wanted to make a good impression and prove she can do more than just surgery and most of all, she wanted to prove to Ethan that she can take orders outside of bed too…when she wants to.

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Page me if there’s trouble.” Grayson instructed with a small smile, rubbing his chin as she walked away from him, leaving him more confused than he had ever been in his entire life and all he could hope for is his own soulmate being easier to understand than Y/N otherwise he’d be in deep shit.

Orphic (adj.) – mysterious and entrancing, beyond ordinary understanding

“How is she doing?” Ethan appeared before Grayson without any warnings in the attendee lounge, nearly scaring him to death as he choked on that sip of coffee he thought of as his saving grace just moments before.

“You can’t just jump people and expect them to be forthcoming”, Grayson coughed once more and Ethan took it as a sign to pat his back…a little too hard for comfort or to earn a proper thank you from his brother, but he did receive a dirty I want to kill you look for his efforts.

“I didn’t jump you, I asked nicely as any brother would. Now, would you be a good brother and tell me you didn’t scare her away?” Ethan insisted, his eyes bright and curious, his hands clasped together before his chest in a tiny prayer of sorts, as if it would ever work considering Grayson’s meddling nature can only be stopped by death and that was certainly not happening any time soon.

“You literally came out of nowhere!” Grayson exclaimed before shaking his head in annoyance only to sit back on the couch and take a deep breath. “She was as enthusiastic as she can get, I supposed. Pretty sure she’s just itching to get this rotation done with so she can finally be back by your side.”

Eyes widening, Ethan’s lips twitched as he fought a smile from appearing because he knows that any time he gets any hope, Y/N disappears and he’s left to lick his wounds. This time, he would take it slow and let her mystery unveil itself on terms she’s comfortable with because whenever he pushes the matter, she runs, but the moment he slows down and patiently lets her know he’s not going anywhere, she opens up and every time he gets insight in all her beauty, he is left entranced. She’s not for feeble minded people, there’s no doubt about it in his mind and if anything, Ethan was more determined to love her because of it. She tested him in every way possible and while it was stressing him out, Ethan wouldn’t give up on her. She’s hard to understand to ordinary minds, but Ethan isn’t ordinary and he was ready to face the challenge.

“You didn’t tell her I told her about the kiss, right?” Deciding to check, just in case Grayson really wanted to anger him, Ethan tilts his head to the left ever so slightly, just enough to make sure Grayson knows there is only one right answer.

“No, but I did tease her with a few hints I’m sure she didn’t pick up on.” Chuckling, Grayson winks at Ethan before leaning in and whispering: “Don’t worry, she said she had a great night.”

“I swear, if she realizes you know I will never tell you anything again.” Cracking his knuckles, Ethan leans on the couch too, resting his head on the back of it with a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

“She won’t! Dude, relax and go with the flow. The connection you two share can’t be erased by anything and she will realize that too. I just hope my soulmate situation ends up being easy peasy lemon squeezy, cause I don’t think I can handle the stress you’re dealing with.” He barely finished the sentence before Ethan cackled, clapping his hands before turning to his brother.

“I hope I’m alive when you meet her because I have a feeling you’re going to be worse than I am.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Grayson’s words only sparked more laughter from Ethan who had tears in his eyes whenever he realized karma is a bitch and Grayson would likely get a woman that will drive him crazy too or he will drive her crazy because as much as he loves his brother, Grayson isn’t an easy man to deal with either.

“I hate you so much.” Grayson’s pager went off just in time and while he had more than enough to say to his brother for psyching him out about his soulmate, Grayson flipped him off and rushed toward his ward because Y/N’s just a newbie and he couldn’t let her deal with emergencies herself even if he wished he could. Grayson loves his job dearly and out of all the specialties he could have chosen, gynecology and neonatology were his first love and that’s why he became a double certified surgeon.

“Where’s the fire?” Still out of breath, he watched the rather calm Y/N with a raised eyebrow and he definitely had to hold himself back from taking his frustrations out on her.

“Just wanted to let you know the patient demanded epidural and I need you to handle it since I’m just an intern and I can’t exactly summon the anesthesiologist myself without your signature.” Finishing the last of the papers she was working on, Y/N looked up at the almost heaving, red in the face, sweaty Grayson who looked like he was about to have a stroke considering the pulsating veins in both his neck and forehead as he kept a tight-lipped smile to pose as a front of calmness and serenity.

“You good?” She asked with a slight frown, wondering if she should page some help in case the giant before he decides to crash on the floor, but he quickly nods, placing his hands on his hips.

“I’ll call them now. Thank you for paging me.” Despite the polite tone used, Y/N could tell Grayson wasn’t quite happy with her but then again, she had to call him before the poor woman’s time frame was closed and she had to endure all the pain of a natural delivery even though it’s her right to ask for medication. Shrugging, she just smiled and went on her break without sparing Grayson a glance, figuring she’d only get a death stare if she dared to look back and she wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s anger.

“Delivered any babies?” Alex asked her as they passed each other in the hall and Y/N had to fake a smile as she realized she’s waiting on one woman to pop while the rest of the interns are all in the OR. Anger of her own bubbled up to the surface as she walked into an on call room, her eyes stinging with tears she absolutely hated. Most people break things when they’re enraged, but she cries. It’s contradictory but that’s exactly who she is – a breathing contradiction of nature.

Querencia (n.) – a place from which one’s strength is drawn, where one feels at home; the place you are your most authentic self

“What’s wrong?”

And there he is again, finding her even when she’s looking for solitude, offering his hand to hold and shoulder to lean on even when she least expects it. The worst thing is that she’s actually becoming dependent on his help and that scares her most of all, because what is she supposed to do when he decides she’s not worth it and goes back to whoever his soulmate is? It’s always going to haunt her – who is his soulmate and what is their story? Why would he be kissing her if he has a soulmate?

“It’s stupid and I didn’t know you were in here. I’ll let you rest.” Mumbling so fast, Y/N stood abruptly, wanting to leave Ethan behind and find a quiet, vacant place to release the pent up emotions and confusion so she could handle faking some perkiness for Grayson for the rest of the day.

Grasping her hand in seconds, Ethan didn’t hesitate to pull her back toward him, refusing to let her walk away when she’s so clearly upset. Their eyes meet in an instant, the closeness forcing them both to hold their breath and look at each other silently. Ethan’s free hand gently moves along her arm, finding its rightful place at the side of her neck, touching her skin so tenderly she felt on cloud nine and it reminded her of that night where he unraveled her, made her scream his name in pleasure she never found before or after than night again. There was no denying it, Y/N had a weakness for his hand on her neck and his words in her heart, neither of which she had any willpower to refuse, especially not when she couldn’t breathe when he looked at her with such longing, shameful lust and indisputable passion. And still, she never felt more at home nor did she feel more herself than in Ethan’s arms.

“It’s not stupid to me. I won’t make fun of you, I promise.” Ethan assures her, speaking first in hope of having her walls break down and he released her hand only to wrap his arm around her waist, bringing her closer than ever, close enough to smell the cherry chopstick on her lips.

“I just miss surgery and everyone’s doing their thing while I’m waiting on one woman having a baby and it’s frustrating. But you’re right, I have to learn to be a team player and to be more patient with you and believe your experience and knowledge that is vast comparing to mine. But I still miss it.” The timid look in her eye made his heart clench so painfully, that Ethan could hardly stop himself from kissing her to relieve the hurt. His soulmate is a willful woman, fierce and independent that it made him feel guilty for seemingly beating it out of her in this particular moment.

“I see you learned the lesson. If it’s worth anything, I miss having you around too.” Ethan smiled, his lips nearly touching upon her soft ones, the proximity playing with his senses and driving his self-control up the wall. There is nothing in the world he wanted more than to kiss her again, but this time around Ethan decided to let her make the move. She is tender, but fierce. To understand a woman like her, one must realize that the former is who she is and the latter is what life demanded of her – a caring heart that has seen too much pain.

“You miss me or you just want a repeat of our night together? Is this emotion or physical attraction?” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she wets her lips in thought and he can’t help but think this is a well-designed trap for him to say the wrong thing and for her to use it as excuse to put distance between them rather than face her own desires and he was almost certain those desires included him.

“Why can’t it be both?” Opting for a rather neutral response, Ethan bites the inside of his lips in anticipation of her pushing him away and storming off, but even as he waits, he feels her hips press closer to him as if she’s telling him he won’t be left alone. Not again.

“Physical attraction is nothing more than chemical reactions in your brain. Can’t trust them. They’re not real.” She quipped, seeing a cocky smile appear on his lips, noticing the tiny wrinkles around his dark eyes as he holds her gaze bravely, unwavering even when she hardens.

“Isn’t the whole universe a chemical reaction?” Ethan raised an eyebrow, holding her captive with just his eyes, as if his arms posed no threat comparing to the power of just a look.

“Do you trust that?” He continued as a tiny bead of sweat formed on his temple.

“The heart we’ve been working on in the OR, this connection we share that makes us unable to walk away? Feels pretty real to me.”

Biting her lower lip, contemplating the right move, Y/N couldn’t fight him on it. Her heart knew he was right for it wouldn’t be screaming at her to kiss her and those butterflies in her stomach felt more like killer bees as the need to feel him inside her had taken over every thought she generated.

One hand caressing his lean cheek, Y/N forgo all rational thought as she slammed her lips against his and Ethan’s own heart leapt inside his chest. In the force of a passionate kiss, he pushed her against the door, remembering to lock it just before he slipped her lab coat off. His burning lips had only been fueled to stay on hers forever, his tongue lining her lips before they part. The kiss deepened; desire and passion palpable as their souls stir, itching to be as one.

Breaking apart just to take their scrubs off, they were sure they broke a record in undressing as they clashed again. Ethan chuckled as she nibbled on his bottom lip, her right palm falling over his chest down to his abs only to stop at his boxers, pulling at the waistband with her own lips spreading into a smile.

Their gazes locked. They were both breathing rapidly, both totally focused. She studied the sight of Ethan’s bare body, his abs on display and his heart visibly beating in his chest, her eyes travelling down to his happy trail and to her reluctant hand that already slipped a few fingers inside his briefs and she pauses not because she’s unsure about wanting this but because for an instant, she is aware of the throbbing in her blood, of the beat that seemed to vibrate about them – something only Ethan could ever make her feel.

“You really sure about this”, but Ethan worried she’s backing out and she had to make sure she felt safe to say no if there was any doubt in her mind about it happening. Little did he know the only doubt she had was tied to becoming a dreaded Grey’s anatomy cliché.

“I followed all the rules. Drew inside the lines. Where did it get me? I’m done being the good girl, Ethan. I want you. ALL of you.”

As his fingers passed the point between her breasts, and moved lower, she drew in a shuddering breath. And closed her eyes. “Please.”

Ethan heard the tremor in her voice, his lips following as they tremble before attaching to her neck, palm sliding possessively around her hip, fingers sinking into soft flesh as he drew her to him. He took her lips, her mouth—a second later, he felt the shudder that passed through her, her achingly sweet surrender.

He felt her fingers at his nape as they slid into his hair. Her lips are soft, pliant, eager to appease and he feasted, on them, on her mouth, on the warmth she so freely offered him, no struggle and no stress. She pressed herself closer to him as he slid his hand down her back, to stroke, then cup her bottom, growling possessively as she giggles, breaking up their kiss into a few quicker pecks.

“You’re driving me crazy.” Ethan manages to whisper, smiling as her giggles make his worries subside, casting all fear aside as he rests his forehead on hers, walking her back to the lower bunk and while he didn’t expect their second time to be in an on call room on a bunk-bed, he realizes it’s not the place or circumstance but the person he gets to hold close to him.

“Good. That’s the goal.” She mumbles as he unclasps her pink bra with one hand, helping her take it off before his fingers grasp the pink panties and rip them on the sides as if she won’t need them for later.

“Pink, huh?” He kinks his eyebrow as that smirk of his reappears and she can’t help but roll her eyes at him.

“Your fault. Gynecology, remember?”

He caught her hand and towed her the few steps to the bed. He sat, then took her other hand too, and pulled her to stand between his knees. She watched, her breathing ragged, as he took in her body fully for the first time. The first time they barely took time to look at one another, missing those birthmarks and scars life had left on their skin as a road map to what they’ve survived. This time he had no intention on missing anything, including the scars she had from her surgery or any other intervention her body suffered.

Ethan drew a shuddering breath and reached for her. His burning palms sliding over her back, urging her forward, broke the spell that had held Y/N. On a gasp, she let him pull her near, grasping his shoulders to steady herself. He looked up, the invitation in his eyes very clear, one she took in an instant as she bent her head and kissed him, longingly, openly, giving all she had to give.

She was his and she knew it. There was no reason she couldn't indulge him, and herself, in this way. No reason she couldn't let her body say what she struggled to say in words.

After a long, lengthy, satisfying kiss, his lips slid from hers to trace the curve of her throat, to feel the blood pulsing just under her skin. Y/N tipped her head back to give him better access; her fingers sinking into his shoulders as his tighten on her hips as he takes full advantage. He held her steady as his lips drift lower, over her breasts. Struggling to breathe, she murmurs appreciatively when his lips press more firmly to her breasts, her murmur ending on a gasp as his teeth grazed one nipple before taking it into his mouth, and she felt herself melt down to her bones. One of her hands convulsively clutches his hair as he adores her breasts, teasing her, pushing her to her limits, soothing one moment, then tantalizing the next, easing her back one minute, then whipping her to an excruciating peak of pleasure he delays.

“I need you.” She whispered in shaky breath, but he didn't answer. Instead, he trailed lingering hot kisses down her quivering belly. And into the soft curls at its base. As it came, a kiss so intimate she could barely cope with the shattering sensation. He followed it with more, not ruthless but relentless, not forceful but insistent. Ethan smiled up at her, teasingly as he watched her struggle to keep herself standing before allowing his tongue slide between his lips first and then between hers. His tongue slid lazily across the sensitive bud, making her bite her tongue to hold in a moan that would surely alert the nurses to knock on the door and he wanted to tell her to let it out, to allow him the mercy of hearing her beautiful moans once again but even he knew it wouldn’t be sensible.

She clutched closer to him, and lost any hope of pretending the truth was not real, that she wouldn't be his, be anything he wished. He filled his palms with her, cupped her and supported her, held her steady as he tasted her. Explored her with his tongue, teased and tantalized her until she found herself almost sobbing.

“Is this not real?” Reminding her of the argument she made before, Ethan had a licked his lips clean of her, watching her admit to the truth in her dire need.

“It is. The most real thing I’ve ever felt so don’t you dare stop.” She instructed, still bossing him around even though he is in charge and they both knew it. But he gave in, pushing his briefs down only to pull her onto his lap, her knees onto the mattress, sliding along on either side of his hips. He knew her body was ready, yearning to be as one, to feel him inside once more.

“Good. Now promise me you won’t pretend this didn’t happen.” He plays dirty because when he’s doing it by the book, Y/N is always there to remind him she doesn’t follow rules. This time, he’d make sure she did.

“I won’t. I promise.”

As her thighs slid past his hips, he grasped hers pulled her down. He sank into her and saw her eyes close, lids falling as her breath left her in a soft, long-drawn sigh. Her body stretched, her softness accommodating his hardness. He wanted to close his eyes too but he feared missing a single second of her beauty. Then she shifted, pressing deeper, to take more of him, to fill herself completely. For one fractured second, he thought he'd lose his mind. He certainly feared losing all control.

He lifted her, then lowered her and she quickly caught the rhythm, realizing she could move herself. He eased his hold on her hips, let her have the illusion of setting the pace when in reality, he never let go, but counted every stroke, gauged the depth of every easy penetration. After all, in a way, she was still a virgin and he the one with experience.

It’s timeless, without restraint, their bodies joined as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, her nails digging into his back as her breathing is heavier and her moans are harder to muffle. He gave her that - unalloyed sensual joy, pleasured delight beyond description under his subtle guidance, she gasped, swayed and panted as he filled her, thrilled her, pleasured her to oblivion. He gave her all, and more, he gave her himself. And as he neared his end, Ethan finally lost control – pulling her onto the mattress, laying himself atop as he pushed deeper, faster, forcing her to bite into his shoulder as her toes curled, eyes rolled back and tears fell from her eyes from the pleasure. However, in the last moment, Ethan pulled out, pumping himself till the finish until he came on her stomach.

“I’m so sorry.” He whisper shouted, reaching for the panties he ripped off her, cleaning her stomach in a slight panic as if she cared at all.

“You should be. Why didn’t you finish inside?” She challenged with a lazy smile and genuine confusion. “It’s not like I can get pregnant, Grant.” She chuckled, using the name she always reverts to eventually, especially when they get close and they certainly got close this time. But it also reminds him she’s completely unaware they’re soulmates and that she could in fact get pregnant with him.

Swallowing thickly, he fakes a smile before tossing the panties back on the floor, satisfied she was no longer covered in sperm though he wouldn’t mind it one bit if they were home and she had a proper change of clothes and a shower.

“I forgot.” Ethan lies through his teeth as he looks at her messy hair and smiles. “You look beautiful.” Complimenting her, he leans in to press a kiss on her lips, allowing her a taste of herself inadvertently.

“I look like I had sex and the only reason why I look beautiful to you is because I had it with you.” She chuckles, shaking her head as she moves to her side to let him take up more room as he’s bigger than she is.

“You always look beautiful.” Ethan retorts, his hand pushing back her hair and while he intended to be sweeter and cuddle, her pager went off and ruined the magic.

“Damn it.” She grumbled as she scrambled to get dressed, hating the one paging her with burning passion. After all the time she had denied herself the pleasure of Ethan’s company, her pager is the one that ends it prematurely.

“Great, now I have no underwear.” She exclaimed, sending Ethan a quick glare he responded to with a low chuckle and a striking smile.

“That’s hot. I’ll make sure to stop by and give your ass a nice little tap if it gets too breezy.”

Rolling her eyes at him, she managed to hook her bra before looking at the incessant pager with a disgruntled scowl, trying hard to hide her trembling legs as her body is clearly unfit to function just yet.

“Tie your hair to hide the sex hair.” Ethan adds in good measure only to get her frown and scowl directed at himself and if looks could kill, he’d be a dead man. Raising his hands in mock surrender, Ethan struggled to keep a chuckle in. “Or don’t. I’m not ashamed of what we did here.”

“Think your brother might feel differently. He’s the one who cut this short.” Sticking her tongue out, she put on her scrubs and coat, adjusting the stethoscope before rushing toward the door, her hands already working on creating a bun to hide the ‘sex hair’ as Ethan put it.

Falling back on the mattress, Ethan exhaled loudly, rubbing his hands over his face in disbelief. It felt like a dream, as if they were in their own world – a bubble no one was allowed inside, until Grayson ruined it.

“You’re so gonna pay, Gray.”

Mirifical (adj.) – wondrous, amazing,

“You’re slow, Y/L/N!” Grayson reprimanded her as she rushed into the delivery room, freshly gowned to make sure there isn’t a way for any infection to put the mother at risk.

“I was on a lunch break. Why are we doing a C section?!” Y/N frowned, quickly putting on sterile gloves with the help of a nurse, her mask attached by another as she didn’t expect it to be a surgical procedure.

“Baby’s stuck, now come over here and let me show you what gynecology is made of.” Grayson raised his voice ever so slightly, but the mask muffled the sound enough for it to seem like he’s still talking in a calm fashion.

Y/N stood beside him, following his instructions carefully, stealing a few glances his way. Even with sweat rolling off his forehead and worry lines etched into his flawless skin, half his face covered under a mask, Grayson looks absolutely breathtaking and it didn’t stem from any physical beauty but the sheer power of will and fire his eyes held, something she recognized in Ethan as well. In that moment she found admiration for the younger Dolan, and even for the pink scrubs he sports with pride.

“Wanna do the honors?” Grayson interrupted her thoughts, beckoning her to be the one to finish the section that lasted exactly 3 minutes and she couldn’t help but smile and take him up on the offer, finishing the vital part of the surgery and to everyone’s relief, the baby cried instantly.

Grayson cut the cord immediately, but Y/N was frozen in time. Holding this little baby, a tiny miracle in her hands as it wailed simply for being taken away from its mother, knowing she brought this life into the world – it swelled her heart and softened her immensely. She had no idea that this day would end with a baby in her arms, one she was forced to hand over to the nurses to wash and clean and do the proper vaccination and prophylaxis and all the necessary blood tests so it would be ready for the mother when she wakes.

“You good, Y/L/N?” Grayson questions, aware the birth had hit her hard, perhaps harder than he anticipated and it worried him. It’s the first time she could tell Grayson Dolan isn’t smiling or being his happy self.

“Yes, just never held a baby let alone one just born.” She shrugged it off, swallowing thickly as she wondered if she’d ever have one of her own. If she stays with Ethan against all odds, they would never be able to conceive like soulmates do and while she never saw herself as someone eager to have children, the thought alone had nearly broken her.

Yet, she returned to Ethan that night, to the same bed she lost her virginity in and she didn’t stop on one night, nor did she ever plan on stopping at all. Ethan had become a drug of choice she wasn’t sure she’d ever be rid of, even if he asked her to. And as weeks passed and months followed, Ethan and Y/N had been careful enough to hide their liaisons from prying eyes.

Y/N experienced all specialties, every surgical OR and every possible teacher but no one could substitute Ethan nor Grayson for that matter. The week she spent on his ward turned out to be quite an adventure and when he asked for help again, she wasn’t opposed to it either. And while she got closer to Ethan, she was close enough to talk to Grayson as well, close enough to ask the questions she feared to ask Ethan because the answers might be far from what she wants to hear.

"Do you feel your soulmate?" She asked softly, worried Grayson might find her question too personal but he just nods, a faint smile playing on his lips. After the long day they had, this talk coming after midnight wasn’t such a surprise.

"I've always felt my soulmate." Biting his lip, he saw the slightest of smiles finally break through the cold surface she put on and he quite liked the way that small gesture lit up her face so perfectly.

"It's like having two hearts, isn't it? Like you have two hearts in your chest, beating, calling out for you and while you feel it, it isn't really there. Yet it pulls you in different directions, tears you up inside. And I've always felt that maybe the pain comes from the other person. Maybe we feel their emotions as well?" Swallowing thickly, she dropped her gaze to her feet, feeling guilty over her overwhelming, undeniable desire for Grant when her possible soulmate felt so torn and maybe they are looking for her while she's getting involved with someone else.

"I don't know how people ignore that feeling. How do you?" Looking back at Grayson, she saw his smile erased and his shoulders slack. This is the second time she saw Grayson Dolan serious without his usual smile on display.

"I'm not ignoring it, I just feel my soulmate is doing her thing. It's a girl, that much I feel is real. And I believe that once she's done, she will find me and it won't be planned and it won't include me chasing a ghost around the world. It will be as it is meant to be. Perhaps she's not ready to meet me? Or she's trying to figure out who she is and how to love herself before she can love me completely. Either way, I'll wait ‘till she's ready because she felt when my soul came to this world and I know she feels me every day. I can wait. I will wait." Grayson shrugged, a sad smile back on his face but it's a smile nonetheless.

"It's refreshing to be around someone as honest as you. You always seem like sunshine, the guy who is always happy positive and spreads that emotions to all who come in contact. You seem warm, like the guy who never gives up on people."

"I'm not the sunshine brother." Grayson stops her, his smile wider as he scratches his chin. "You got it all wrong, princess. Ethan is and always has been the sunshine between the two of us. What you described matches his personality and only some of mine. You'll see that in time." But she did know it in a way. Ethan had always been her warmth, her own sunlight she basked in and she was completely drunk on him. Grayson is more of an ocean – calm and peaceful but can become turbulent and temperamental in an instant.

"You know, don't you?" She couldn’t deny it, not after the initial hints he made and even less after he had caught her leaving Ethan’s apartment last week.

"I'm his twin. I know everything."

And with a shrug, she nodded in acknowledgement, fully aware that her secret is no longer a secret and she still found herself at Ethan’s place that night.

She shuddered, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip ruthlessly as Ethan’s breath caressed her skin. It felt so right, too right to resist his advances. She lived for those nights with Ethan, those thick with lust and romance and wine and naked kisses. It wasn’t meant to be anything but friends with benefits, at least for her, so imagine her shock when Ethan’s heart spoke instead of his mind just as the two were coming down from their high.

“I love you.”

Y/N’s heart stopped as she sat up, grumbling sheets before her naked chest to hide what he knew better than she did. The words were enough to drive her mad, but what truly scared her is that what was between them is now spoken.

“But you have a soulmate and so do I. That’s not possible.” She managed to say as her teeth chattered, oddly enough she wasn’t cold yet her entire body shook with Ethan’s confession.

“I know and I want to explain.” He tried, desperately reaching for her but she wasn’t ready to hear it. He knew it when she pulled away and started looking for her clothes all while hiding her body from his sight. He had to calm her down, but there was no saving the night.

“Nope. I’m leaving and you need to figure out your shit or this is over.” She continued, managing to put on some clothes while Ethan ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He grabbed his own clothes as quickly as possible, running after her in fear of losing her – something he never got over. But it took him five minutes to catch up, only to find her standing on a bridge.

“Loving the wrong person is like self-harm.” She whispered, more to herself than him as she stared ahead at the river, aware he’s there without even looking his way. She wasn’t going to jump, but she thought about it. She thought about what would happen if she made that one little step and fell to her death. Would he miss her? Would he grieve for her? Or would he move on with another and forget about her miserable existence? She wondered if Ethan would be better off without her and maybe, just maybe she is a disappointment to him. He never talks about his soulmate yet she feels there’s something he hides about her that is there to hold them back, to stop her from fully admitting her feelings for him.

“You really think I’m the wrong person? That I’m killing you? Because you’re killing me! When all is said and done, you will destroy me and I’ll ask for more.” Ethan shouts, his heart torn to pieces as it’s been ever since he met her and he knew he was saying the truth – she would be the death of him.

“Maybe it’s you know needs to sort her shit out because I have nothing to sort out. I told you I love you and you basically told me I’m an idiot and left. If I’m not enough than be honest and say it but don’t think of me as a fool.” And this time, for the first time, it is Ethan who is walking away.

Little did he know that come next day, he would be hating and regretting his choice.

“You look like you didn’t sleep much.” Grayson notes, noticing the dark shadows under her eyes that matched his brother’s far too much to ignore and neither of them were happy nor shy about it, so it wasn’t hard to realize a fight broke out and the two didn’t part on best terms.

“Thanks for noticing, Captain Obvious.” Sassing back without even looking at him? That felt more like the old Y/N – the one too confused and too afraid to go after what she wanted which differed greatly from the woman she’d become ever since her secret relationship with Ethan began.

“Ouch. I just wanted to offer a sympathetic ear.”

Blaring alarm interrupts their chat, the sliding door closing shut on their own and while Y/N would usually ignore it, she couldn’t help the fear that crept up and formed a cage around her heart.

“What just happened?” She grabbed Grayson’s forearm inadvertently, still staring at the door and the sudden quick pace everyone had taken, feeling a growing lump inside her throat as all the pagers went off. Taking a quick look, Grayson paled.

“Code Silver? What the fuck is Code Silver?” Y/N’s voice trembled as she pulled on Grayson’s coat but he was quick to pull her close to his body and push her in the nearest room.

Fighting his strong grip that would surely leave a bruise, her panic only grew as Grayson’s heavy breathing started to alert her even more. And whether she liked it or not, she wished she could be stuck with the other Dolan twin – the one that is calm and collected and always knows what to do as if his middle name is Google, not Grant. She already missed the safety of his arms and even more so, hated herself for not staying in his bed and convincing him to take a day off.

“Let me go! Grayson! What the fuck is going on?!”

He gestured for her to get down and put his hand over her mouth to quiet her before they’re both silence otherwise.

“There’s a shooter in the hospital.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tags: @beinscorpio @peacedolantwins @heyits-claire @dolandolll @godlydolans @dolanstwintuesday @ethanhes @iwastornsincethestart @graydolan12 @fxkthatdairy @zeusgrayson @libradolan @justordinaryjen @pineappledolan @graysavant @voguekristens @imayoutubere @livexdolan @shadowsndaisies @maybgrayson @dolans4lyfe @mendesficsxbombay

Anyone crossed out wasn’t able to be tagged, probably an issue on Tumblr’s side, sorry.

#dolan twins #grayson dolan #ethan dolan #ethan dolan x reader #ethan dolan fanfic #ethan dolan x you #ethan dolan au #ethan dolan fanfiction #ethan dolan fic #ethan dolan fluff #ethan dolan smut #ethan dolan angst #ethan dolan doctor soulmate au #ethan dolan doctor au #ethan dolan soulmate au

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mychemicalficrecs · 4 years

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Can you recommend some high school AU frerard or Ray/Mikey fics? :3 thank u

Hi Nonny!

I'm going to make seperate lists for this again. Can't promise the second one will be ready by tomorrow but I'll try ;)

I'm not a big reader of High School AUs, so the second half are fics that looked promising on AO3!

Frank/Gerard High School AUs

In Repair by autoschediastic, 33k, Explicit. "Shit," Frank mutters, and shoves both hands through his hair. He looks around the kitchen like he's gonna find what he should do scratched into the old linoleum, then looks back at the bot. He gnaws on his lip. Fuck it. He already knows what he's gonna do. He's just gotta do it. Getting down on his knees, he braces a hand on the edge of the crate and leans over the bot. It's dressed in a plain white tee and matching drawstring pants like an escaped mental patient. Frank rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles, shaking the ache out of them before carefully laying his palm against its cheek. He's pretty sure his voice is steady when he says, "Activate." Nothing happens. Fucking shitty packaging-- the thing's busted. But Frank keeps his hand where it is, jumping a little when he feels the surge of energy beneath it. The robot's skin goes from room temperature to lukewarm, then warm. Frank watches it open its eyes, the light behind them adjusting until they're a pale sort of brown. It looks at him and asks, "Am I dead?"

Get Naked (I Got a Plan) by autoschediastic, 11k, Explicit. Frank slides his hand all the way up to where Gerard's arm and tentacles fuse at his armpit. The difference between the feel of one beneath his palm and the other is literally the stuff his dreams are made of. His wet dreams.

A State Of Orange by gala_apples, Frank/Mikey, Frank/Gerard, 20k, Explicit. Being a halfling in a red state can sometimes cause issues for Frank Iero. He’s the weakest at Jett Clement High School, and probably the entire state (not counting the meal plans). His moods are oddly stable, as much as he tries to be mercurial. And being able to withstand the sun for up to twenty minutes only allows him more time to be forced into chores. Still, his parents are insane if they think he’s going to be happy about their decision. Frank doesn’t want to move to a Mixed state. How is he supposed to get great friends? How is he supposed to find great food? How is he supposed to have great sex? But Frank doesn’t have a choice. He’s New Jersey bound for the next year, if not longer. He’ll be surrounded by tame vampires who have been nagged out of a sex drive, and humans he’s not allowed to eat. Mixed states suck. Lucky for him, not every person in Jersey sucks.

The Truth Is I'm On My Way by samanthahirr, 6k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank's been drawing on himself since elementary school, up under his sleeves and pant legs where his teachers and classmates won't see; he knows how to color inside the lines. He doesn't need Gerard to do it for him. (A high school AU.)

You Only Hear the Music When Your Heart Begins to Break by Solarcat, 14k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank has high school figured out. His mom has given up arguing about the amount of time he spends in Gerard's basement, and he doesn't actually care if people think it's weird that he and Gerard hold hands in the hallways and go to the bathroom together. The only thing Frank cares about is figuring out why Gerard's suddenly avoiding him -- because what's the point of losing your virginity on Prom Night if you can't tell your best friend about it in the morning?

Smokeless Flame of Fire by tabulaxrasa, 21k, Mature. Frank blinked. "What kind of name for a genie is Gerard?"

to the midnight land by akamine_chan, 24k, Explicit. Being a teenager is hard. Being a Blooded teenager, one with a connection to the Moon and his fur-self, is even worse. He's got to contend with his own hormones, high school, and the fact that he's in love with his best friend. Luckily, Frankie's got the determination to see things through. He's got family, friends, and a community of shifters to lean on, and he's not going to give up. Frankie's not patient, but he's stubborn when he knows what he wants. And he wants Gerard.

Thing-Thing by sinsense, 43k, NC-17. When Gerard signed the admissions paperwork for the Fordhaven School for Boys, he knew he was signing up for four years of sexual frustration. No one was gay at Fordhaven. Gerard was all-too-aware that he would be a virgin until he graduated. In his senior year, though, this stupid gay freshman disproves Fordhaven's straightness, and throws Gerard's entire world off-kilter. Now, in between drawing, avoiding bullies, running an incredibly serious tabletop RP game, failing out of math, and hanging out with friends, Gerard is also busy kind of falling for this asshole who's way too young for him. It's not what he planned on, but it's what's happening. In conclusion: high school sucks.

You'll Always Feel This Way by wakingup, 14k, Not Rated. It's Frank's birthday and he's gonna A) get drunk B) hit on Gerard C) get laid. Yeah, it's definitely going to work out like that. (Spoiler alert: it might not be that easy)

Nothing Comes as Easy as You by rivers_bend, 9k, Explicit. "Um, I've heard, you know, around, that like, there are guys who can get off three times without stopping. And I was, I mean—" god he sounds like a fucking idiot. "Have you ever heard of that?"

Church of Hot Addiction by spleenjournal, 0nlymemories, Frank/Gerard, Frank/Mikey, 36k, Adult. When Gerard Way gets transferred to Our Lady of Peace in Arlington a few weeks into his Senior year, he thinks it's his chance to be cool. Too bad his idea of "cool" is no cooler than it was in 3rd grade, even if there aren't any green tights. (AU of the INO AU, more or less.)

The Marching Band AU by frankiesin, many pairings in a bunch of different works, 150k, General Audiences, Teen And Up Audiences, Mature, Explicit. A bunch of gay teens are in a band and do dumb things while in high school. There will be a lot of pairings, each part can be read without reading the others, and the series is in chronological order.

We're all Okay by rivers_bend, 28k, Explicit. A story in which Frank is not a stalker, Gerard is not a psycho, and Mikeyway is nobody’s boyfriend.

Where Did The Party Go by frenchpirate (Whiskey_n_speed), 16k, Mature. The one where Frank get's a new and nocturnal neighbor, Gerard throws a Halloween party that turns out far from what was expected, Pete wakes up on a strangers couch and Mikey really doesn't want any serenades (but that doesn't mean he isn't getting any).

Miss Congeniality by melusina, 11k, Mature. Gerard pretends to be a girl, Frank and Gerard discover email and Mikey’s good advice goes unheeded.

honey, this mirror isn't big enough for the two of us by orphan_account, 17k, Explicit. You should have raised a baby girl / I should have been a better son. (the unholy union of a high school au and a gender feel)

SKETCH by frnklyiero, 77k, Teen And Up Audiences. "You having a problem with drawing straight?" "I'm having a problem with being straight." Gerard Way happened to be the most fascinating sight in school to Frank Iero perhaps besides Jamia Nestor. Every little detail of his perfect features made Frank itch to sketch them. There are just a few problems: 1) Gerard is probably straight as a ruler, 2) Jamia isn't thrilled that her boyfriend may or may not have been secretly doodling Gerard in his notebook, 3) No matter how much Frank practices, his Gerard sketches still look like eggplants with creepy faces on them.

Save Me (From My Self Destruction) by cyanidepurified, 14k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank and Gerard are best friends, both are unaware that they're in love with each other. When Frank discovers Gerard's secret, will he be able to save his best friend?

Speeding in a School Zone by 1001cranes, languisity, 16k, Teen And Up Audiences. High school AU where Frank and Gerard are awkward, Pete is romantically confused, Patrick owns, and Bob is a ninja. Pete, the first time we met you proposed to me. I don’t think your heterosexuality was ever all that secure.

The Chasing of Moons by Helena_Hathaway, 110k, Explicit. The biggest dilemma in all of this is that Frank slept with his future husband. Now Frank’s just got to make sure that the future with him stays intact, but it’s not so easy when present day Gerard seems to hate his guts.

Early Sunsets Over Monroeville by FedeLove96, 11k, Explicit. Frank Iero was a junior when he fell in love with Gerard Way, but their love story was just at the beginning.

A Case of Unknown Identity by Helena_Hathaway, 44k, Explicit. Frerard High School AU. Frank is a teenager with only a few friends, one of whom is a charismatic guy who is just like Frank. He might even be falling for the guy, but the only problem is that he’s just a username on a website without a face or a name. The guy goes by 'Watchman' and he’s perfect in Frank’s eyes, he doesn’t even need to meet him to know he’s amazing. Frank also deals with bullies which makes it hard for him to hold onto friends, but things start to become better after he befriends the antisocial kid Mikey, and realizes that Watchman might just go to his school. Watchman might also know a little more about Frank than he’s letting on.

But The Pages Are All Torn and Frayed by blindlyseeking (orphan_account), 55k, Mature. Basically, this is based off of the music video for “I’m Not Okay” and it also includes (but is not limited to) gratuitous mentions of a drunken fascination with a lamp, one evil lacrosse team, two breakdowns in a bathroom, grandmothers with green hair, a couple bruises, and a whole lot of revenge. Enjoy!

#fic rec list #frank/gerard #frerard #high school au #alternate universe

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filmfanatic82 · 5 years

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AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 5

“I walk through this world, just tryna be nice

They say I'll get hurt, if I'm not like ice

I know I've got friends, I still get so lonely

If I look in your eyes, I'll want you to hold me

I'm sorry that I care, care

It's really not that fair, fair

I can't help but care”

-- Feeings, Hayley Kyioko

__________

“Yo! Penelope! Wait up!” MG yells from across the dining hall as he jogs to catch up with Penelope.

Penelope stops, letting the sea of exiting students pass by her.

After ending their impromptu spell lesson in the woods with a literal bang, Penelope hadn’t returned to classes, opting to spend the remainder of the afternoon buried deep within the comforting stacks the library instead. Book had always been a bit of a sanctuary for her. No matter the time nor the place, they were ever constant. A reliable anchor in the chaotic sea of Penelope’s life.

Once leaving the Salvatore School and becoming nomadic, books— non-magical books— were a real luxury. Sure, there was always an abundance of ancient spell books laying around and Caroline loved to surprise Hope and Penelope every so often with an obscure text on mythical rituals and covens. But anything that fell outside of those realms was rare at best.

The only book that Penelope had managed to keep amongst her few belongings-- besides her journal-- was a mangled copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. It had been a one-month anniversary gift from Josie. A simple paperback version so that she didn’t have to lug around her first edition hardcover copy whenever she felt like re-reading it. It was her favorite. Not only within the series but possibly out of all the books Penelope had ever read. There was just something so oddly reassuring about the story itself. The ability to go back in time and right the wrongs of the past.

Although Penelope had had to make the gut-wrenching decision to leave the book behind-- opting to take Josie’s yellow sweater instead-- she did remember that there was a stray copy of the book hidden away deep within the school library in the section where all the modern books with pop-culture references to witchcraft lived. And after locating it, she had curled up in one of the free wingback chairs and allowed herself to get lost within its pages.

Sure, it wasn’t the most productive use of her time-- especially given the ever-present countdown ticking away in the back of her mind-- but one that still needed nonetheless. A little extra reassurance that just maybe there would be a happier ending to their story this time around.

But after an hour or two of non-stop reading, Penelope’s hunger had gotten the best of her and she decided to wander down to the dining hall for an early dinner. And to her luck, it had been almost deserted, with only a few young students sprinkled throughout the hall.

The plan had been to eat quick and then retreat back to the safety of her own dorm room in the hopes that maybe Josie would be true to her word and swing by later. In and out. Unnoticed. As if it were just another day at Salvatore.

And for the most part, it had been successful… Until now.

“Hey, I’ve been trying to track you down all day,” MG says slightly out of breath. “What’s going on?”

“What’d you mean?” Penelope responds, trying to mask the growing ball of nerves within her stomach.

“What’d I mean?? Pen, you were all set to up and peace out of here last night. You swung by my room to say goodbye and yet… You’re still here. What gives? I thought you were done with this place?”

“I changed my mind.” Penelope holds her breath and silently says a prayer that MG will accept her answer at face value rather than digging a little bit deeper.

“You mean Josie changed your mind.”

“No… Not exactly… I just…” Penelope fumbles over her words, but it doesn’t matter. MG’s eyes light up with an all-knowing spark regardless.

“Ah… I knew it! I… knew… it! You two are the freakin’ modern-day Romeo and Juliette man. Star crossed lovers. Destined to be together no matter what happens and all that shit.”

“MG…”

“No, seriously Pen. That’s you and Josie. You guys give the rest of us hope, you know?”

“Please tell me you aren’t still hung up on Lizzie.”

“A boy’s gotta dream,” MG responds with a bit of shrug.

Penelope sighs. She shouldn’t do it… Just let sleeping dogs lay. It will all work itself out in time. MG will meet another vampire-- a transfer student from Denmark-- during his senior year at Salvatore, fall head over heels in love and forget all about his unhealthy obsession with the blonde-haired siphoner. The two will end up getting married and even go on to have an adorable baby boy who shares MG’s infectious smile. She really shouldn’t. But--

“Piece of advice?”

“Always from you.”

“Pick a different dream.”

“But--”

“Trust me on this, MG.” Penelope reaches out and places her hand down on MG’s shoulder, locking eyes with him as she does. “Pick a different dream.”

It takes a moment to sink in but then slowly MG’s face transforms into a look of common understanding. He gives a nod in return.

“Good,” Penelope replies and offers up a sympathetic smile. It isn’t much but it’s all she can think of doing without further crossing the line. “I’ve got a mountain of reading to get through tonight, so maybe we can continue to catch up in the morning? Over breakfast?”

“Yeah sure.”

“Great.”

“Oh, wait! Pen, there’s something else,” MG says with a sudden urgency to his voice. “It’s Hope.”

“Hope? What about her?”

“Dunno. Think she got some bad news about Landon or something. She seemed pretty choked up last I saw her. Like she had been crying. Figured you might wanna know.”

“Shit. Malivore,” Penelope mutters under her breath.

“Maliv- What?”

“Nevermind… Thanks for the heads up.”

“Yeah, no prob--” But Penelope doesn’t wait for MG to finish his sentence before taking off out of the dining hall and diving straight back into the sea of students.

__________

“Mikaelson! Open up,” Penelope bangs against Hope’s dorm room door a few minutes later sweaty and out of breath.

“Go away, Penelope,” Hope answers back, voice trembling with tears.

“Not happening.” Penelope waits for a minute or two for any sign of a further response but is only met with silence. She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Fuck.”

Penelope takes a giant step back from the dorm room door and shuts her eyes. “Aperi ianuam.”

BANG.

The dorm room door flies open and slams against the wall causing Hope to jump out of her skin. “What the fuck?! Did you just use magic to break into my room?”

“Relax,” Penelope replies. “I do it all the time… Or I used too… You get what I mean.”

Penelope crosses the threshold into Hope’s room and then mutters an incoherent phrase under her breath. The door shuts close followed by an audible click. “See? Good as new.”

“Not the point.” Hope settles herself back onto her bed. She swipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan, in an attempt to mask all traces of her tears. But it doesn’t matter. Penelope already knows. Six years of spending every single moment side by side with the Tribrid and she doesn’t need much in regards to cues. All it takes is a slight quiver on the end of a word or a brief flash of raw emotion buried deep within those golden eyes. That’s all. And Penelope can piece the rest of the puzzle together.

Every time.

“Move,” Penelope says as she climbs onto the bed and wedges herself next to Hope.

“What are you--”

“No seriously… Move over.” Penelope gives Hope a nudge in the ribcage with her elbow and Hope obliges. “God, you’re such a bed hog.”

Hope shoots Penelope a hard eye roll. “Am not.”

“Oh, you so are, Furball. And a mad cuddler too, but we’re not gonna get into that one right now,” Penelope replies and slumps her head against Hope’s shoulder. It’s a selfish move… Especially given that this isn’t her Hope, but at the moment, she doesn’t care. It’s been beyond a day and her skin itches with the need for just a little bit of familiarity. “Right now we’re gonna talk about why you are hiding out in here and crying.”

“I wasn’t--”

“Let’s skip bullshit, okay? You were. And it must be about something pretty big cause you brought out Mr. Bearrington.”

Hope’s eyes instantly glance towards her nightstand where a raggedy old teddy bear sits slumped over on top of a pile of textbooks. “How did you…”

“I told you, Mikaelson,” Penelope says with a hint of a smirk. “I know you.”

“God, this is so weird.”

“You’ve got no idea.”

A momentary silence settles within the room as Hope leans over to the nightstand and scoops up the teddy bear. She rubs her fingers in methodical circles along the stuffed animal’s threadbare ear over and over again and Penelope knows that this is her cue to sit tight and wait.

Words will come. They always do. It’s just a matter of giving Hope the proper amount of time and space needed to wade through her inner tumultuous sea of thoughts and emotions first.

Another minute or two passes by and then--

“Okay,” Hope says, breaking the silence. She stops rubbing the teddy bear and sighs. “You’re right. I was crying.”

“About Landon?”

“Landon?” Hope asks with a sudden quirk of her eyebrow.

“Yeah. I thought… MG mentioned that you… Wait. This isn’t about Landon?”

Hope out a bark of a laugh. “No… God no. It’s not about him… But I guess it could be. It depends on how you look at it.”

“Alright… So… If it’s not about Landon, then who…” Penelope trails off as a wave of clarity all but blindsides her. She doesn’t need to finish her sentence because she already knows the answer.

In fact, they’ve had this same exact conversation before. Except for the first time when it happened, they had been sitting on the rooftop at 3 am in Paris and halfway through their second bottle of Jack Daniels. It had been on the night that Caroline had let it slip that Lizzie was dating someone new… A Romanian witch named Violet.

At first, Penelope didn’t think twice about it. Caroline was always providing them with tidbits of information from the world that they once called home. And that specific comment had seemingly been no different than the rest. Just another brief update intermixed within their normal dinner conversations.

After it was said, though, Penelope noticed that Hope’s entire demeanor had instantly changed. She seemed off with a look upon her face that was only reversed for those rare moments when her emotions were too strong to hide from the outside world.

So Penelope did what she always did in those situations when she needed Hope to open up. She guilty tripped the Tribrid into joining her for a nightcap at a local pub and proceed to all but pour shot after shot down Hope’s throat.

It took six shots in total. Six shots to crack through Hope’s stoic facade and finally get to the real root of the problem. Hope had indeed been thrown off by the news about Lizzie.

But it wasn’t until four hours later when they had stumbled their way back home and ontop their apartment rooftop, did Hope reveal the full truth to Penelope. She had been head-over-heels in love with Lizzie Saltzman since she first time she had laid eyes on the blonde-haired siphoner.

The conversation that followed was one of the best-- and most honest-- conversations that the two of them ever had with each other. It had, in short, be a turning point for their relationship. The moment where they transitioned from friendship into something so much more.

“I know you said you can’t reveal too much about the future, but can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Anything,” Penelope responds without missing a beat.

“Do I…” Hope pauses for a moment and lets go of a breath of air. “Do I ever end up getting together with Lizzie?”

The question cuts deep. Ripping straight through Penelope’s soul.

God, how the hell is she supposed to answer this? It’s such a simple yet complex question.

Penelope blinks away a hint of tears from her eyes and then forces a reassuring smile upon her lips. “Let’s say that if you both had had the chance to, you and Liz would’ve been together in a heartbeat.”

“She goes by Liz?” Penelope nods and Hope matches her smile. “Liz… I like that.”

“Yeah. The name fits her… At least the future her.”

Hope slinks down a bit, resting her head against the top of Penelope’s and once again exhales. “I was crying because… I think I’m in love with Lizzie Saltzman.”

“Oh, you are.” Penelope yawns and cuddles in closer, nuzzling up into Hope like she has done countless times before. “And she’s madly in love with you too, Mikaelson.”

“She is?”

“Without a doubt,” Penelope mumbles as her eyelids slowly succumb from the sheer emotional weight of the day. “Okay. My turn to ask you something.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Would you mind if napped here for a bit? It’s been a crazy long day and just that I can barely keep my eyes open… But if it’s too weird or strange, I can always--”

“Stop,” Hope cuts Penelope off and proceeds to reach down to the foot of the bed and grabs a blanket for the two of them. “Of course you can.”

“Thanks.”

“But if you start to snore, I’m kicking your ass out,” Hope replies with a yawn as well.

“You’re the snorer, Furball. Not me,” Penelope whispers already half-sleep.

Hope shakes her head with a look of amused annoyance and then wraps her arm around Penelope as she gets comfortable. “So freakin’ weird.”

#posie #josie x penelope #josie saltzman #hope mikaelson #hizzie #penelope park #legacies #wlw #fanfic #ao3

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nico-demons · 6 years

Text

Bushes of Love Part 2

A continuation of my take on the events of The Highest Aim, as told from Lafayette’s perspective.

EDIT: THA no longer exists on the internet, but people keep finding this so read on if you must, I suppose.

***

A couple of minutes, or possibly hours, or maybe days later, the Marquis de Lafayette woke up again, alone. Through the unreasonably thin fabric that constituted the tent walls he could see no sunlight, but could hear the crackle of fire and the murmuring of voices, and sometimes the sound of metal banging on metal. He assumed it was nighttime, but since there were people awake at literally every hour, he wondered somewhat angrily who in their right mind had left a badly wounded -- quite possibly dying -- man alone in a freezing cold tent in the middle of the night during a war.

Silly Americans.

He wondered if the wanted him to scream or something if he felt like he was slipping towards whatever awaited him in the afterlife -- probably hell, he thought, then, laughed deliriously.

He abruptly stopped when he realized that his mind was foggy with what they’d given him to make him sleep, and when he laughed it quickly spun out of control and caused his head to ache.

It was when he became aware of this that he also was awakened to the fact that his leg was throbbing. He didn’t dare look down at the wound because, while the blood of others didn’t bother him, his own blood, on the other hand, did. It gave him stabs of nausea that he didn’t like to admit to anyone.

In his attempt not to cause himself more pain or look at the injury, Lafayette ended up straightened out and tense, stiff as a board and beginning to itch, staring determinedly at the ceiling.

Think of something else, he thought to himself, and he became so focused on thinking of something else that he could think of nothing.

He gritted his teeth and let out a groan of frustration.

Where were his friends? Where were Laurens and Alexander? Were they together? If they were together, maybe that would compensate slightly for the fact that they weren’t with him, anxiously waiting by his bedside for some sign of consciousness. He wondered what they would be doing if they were together. Were they alone, or did they have company?

He wondered what they could possibly doing that could keep them apart. The only thing that he could think of was Hamilton’s obligation to provide Washington with a report on the details of the battle. From there, even after fighting, Alexander would want to write something, find some work he could draw unnecessarily long into the night, and that would take him back to his tent… which he shared with Laurens, who he was sure had some letters to compose.

Perfect. There was no reason they shouldn’t be together in a small, isolated area.

And then -- light burned Lafayette’s dry, sleepy eyes, and he lifted his eyelids just enough for him to make out a blurry image of the small world around him, which comprised of much tan-colored fuzz and two humanoid shapes. He must have fallen asleep.

It was them -- Laurens and Hamilton -- he realized after a moment of attempting to focus his sight.

But their shapes were still conjoined, some sort of strange tangled mass of limbs and torso and writing desk and paper.

Oh.

They were engaged in a passionate kiss.

And for that reason -- and because even the faint sunlight felt like fire -- Lafayette pretended to still be unconscious.

The couple clutched each other tighter, pressing lips together and tangling fingers in hair, moaning and humming until the point where Lafayette became more than slightly uncomfortable and a little bit aroused. He was sure that if either of his friends had happened to look in his direction he would have been given away by the crimson color of his face. But he couldn’t take this moment away from them, so he closed his eyes again and went back to pretending to sleep.

After a few moments, Laurens suddenly said, with some waver to his voice, “Stop.”

“What’s wrong, did I-- Do you-- Oh, God, is this--” Lafayette heard Hamilton, who always had so much clarity and certainty when he spoke, stutter for the first time in perhaps their entire friendship. “Are you-- Is this not what you want? I was so sure--”

“You’re fine, Alexander. But not here. Not now.”

There was a sigh and some shuffling, and then silence, and with his eyes closed Lafayette could physically feel the awkwardness settling over them all like a heavy blanket.

Quills scratched on paper.

After several long moments, Lafayette opened his eyes fully, out of curiosity and boredom, and found his friends had returned to their work, not at all focused on such, Alexander leaned into John.

Laurens’s eyes flicked to and from Hamilton, as if he was considering saying something. “Alexander--” he began, but the other man’s gaze had finally landed on the Marquis and a look of utter terror had spread across his features.

“Shh!” he said, pressing a finger to Laurens’s lips.

Shocked, Laurens’s head snapped in Lafayette’s direction.

Alexander raised the hand with which he had been writing and gave a sort of halfhearted wave as he removed himself from Laurens’s lap.

“H- Hi,” he stammered.

Lafayette said nothing, and Laurens’s lips moved soundlessly like a fish, his face beet red.

“I… can explain?” Hamilton began.

“There’s no point, Alexander, he’s seen it all.”

“That I have,” Lafayette said happily, the emotion brightening the haze in his brain just a little bit. His words were barely intelligible -- even he could barely make them out as they formulated in his mind.

Laurens began to nervously hyperventilate.

“Jacky, we will be fine.” Lafayette noticed their hands clasping together.

“Are you sure?” Laurens asked, his voice high and shaky.

I’m right here, Lafayette thought but didn’t say. I can hear you. He wished his words would come out right so he could reassure his friend. You will be fine.

“Yes. I am.”

You will be fine.

“Gilbert?” Alexander’s voice was closer now, at his side.

“Yes?” he managed, tilting his head up slightly to get a better look at the other man.

“Are you going to… you know…”

“Tell anyone?”

Alexander hesitated before answering sheepishly, “Yes.”

Lafayette felt himself beginning to slip, dragged back into unconsciousness by the medicines the doctors had been feeding him for the past twenty-four hours, but attempted a kindly smile nonetheless.

“Of course not,” he replied, then let the darkness swallow him once more.

#lams #historical lams #lafayette #hamilton #18th century rpf #alexander hamilton #john laurens #gilbert du motier marquis de lafayette #marquis de lafayette #fanfiction #revolution #romance #Lafayette is sneaky

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isa-ly · 3 years

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PROJECT NO CONTROL

TW: therapy, mental illness, anxiety, depression, control issues, One Direction

As you have probably noticed by now, I take trigger warnings quite seriously, as I believe that it’s not only important to give people the chance to prepare for or avoid certain content, but also think that it is a good way of showing that one takes the mental health and wellbeing of others seriously.

Which is why I included One Direction up there, because if anyone who has been part of this fandom will probably remember, Project No Control was one of the most insane and traumatic incidents to ever happen on this platform (Tumblr, that is). Although, I guess the trigger warning is kind of useless in this case, since it only comes after the headline of today’s entry. But hey, I tried.

Anyway, enough about One Direction (is what One Direction also said, five years ago ... still going strong on that “hiatus”, huh guys?), let’s move on to what I want to talk about today. The last couple of posts were definitely not all easy to write, as I shared some things that only the closest of my friends knew about me so far. In a way, simply putting them on this blog doesn’t feel as big of a commitment (remember the one about dumping your problems on social media? Yeah, that’s kind of similar to this) but it also doesn’t leave me completely cold. After all, I’m not just chucking out one sentence about how I’ve been crying into my pillow all day, but instead actually taking the time to elaborate on my feelings, and by doing that, trying to make more sense to myself and actually work through my issues.

Another part of this whole blog idea, was to not exactly know who was going to read it. While all the things I share on here are written and edited by me, the whole compromise lies in letting others read them too. And sure, those are mainly the people who follow me on Instagram (hi, there), since I’m not really influencer enough to have random folks read it, but even that causes me to feel a little bit uncomfortable.

Because I can’t monitor who sees it, I can’t access what people think of it and I’m simply not in control of what happens once I post something.

Ah, yes.

Control.

The little word that not only dominated Tumblr back when those five British guys were still world-wide sensations, but that also seems to dominate my entire life. Only that I didn’t really know that until a few months ago.

I briefly mentioned it in my last post when I talked about slithering into my quarter-life crisis, which resulted in my anxiety and panic attacks, as well as a mean depression and my low-key burn-out. Anyway, back to the topic of control. I told you the story of how, back in autumn of 2018, I had suddenly and for the first time in my life, found myself in a situation where I was completely out of control in almost every aspect. I had realized that what I was doing and studying, was slowly turning out to be a huge disappointment and even worse than that: I had no idea what to do about it.

Sure, I could have dropped out right there and then. But that wouldn’t really have made things easier, as I still had absolutely no clue what I would have done next. I had no back-up plan, no safety net. Well, I mean of course I had a metaphorical one – that being all my friends who I’m infinitely thankful for – but I still wouldn’t have known what to do with my life in general, had I simply quit university.

This, in addition to the fact that my parents weren’t quite as supportive of the idea of dropping out as some of my friends might have been, just added to the feeling of everything slipping from my hands and me no longer being able to call the shots in my own everyday life. I had been so sure of so many things and from what seemed like one second to the other, that certainty that had always given me such a grand feeling of control, was ripped away from me before I could even bid it a proper goodbye.

So, there I was. Stuck in a situation that didn’t seem to have a solution or emergency exit. And, well, you just need to read the last entry to see that it didn’t go too well after that.

I remember one fateful day where I had once again been sitting in the library, trying my absolute hardest to write my thesis (and, obviously, failing), until I just gave up again and started watching Netflix on the university computer. As I was sitting there, not really paying attention to whatever show I had clicked on anyway, I felt so insanely frustrated because I just didn’t know what was wrong with me. I didn’t know why I couldn’t write or read my books or just do anything that involved my goddamn thesis.

And this not-knowing, this feeling of staring at what seemed to be so obvious yet invisible to me, drove me up the fucking walls. So, in a desperate attempt of once again solving the riddle that was my own mind, I sat down and did what I’m actually doing right now as well: I started writing. I figured that whatever it was that was keeping me from working on my academic responsibilities (and also causing all my panic attacks and insomnia), must have had its origin at some point in the past.

And since I didn’t know what point that could have been, I decided to start at the beginning. And I mean the literal beginning. I opened a new Word document that – and I am fully serious – started with the words: “Let’s try and make a timeline that starts with me being born”. I know, dramatic as always. But I was ready to commit. I had never considered my life to be something that contained many traumas (oh, innocent past-me), but I was more than ready to dig deep to find some, so I could finally make some sense of why I seemed to be stuck, both emotionally and academically.

I still have that document and I actually briefly skimmed over it just now. And, oh dear. Reading all of that again was not easy. And writing it wasn’t either. I remember sitting at that computer and, despite having thought that there wouldn’t be anything worth mentioning from my past, just typing and typing and typing. When there was nothing else left that came to my mind, I stopped and started reading through it. It was all there, laid out right in front of me, and it was like going on a very nostalgic, sad and painful walk through all the events of my childhood and teenage years that had just been really, really shitty.

So, there I was, reading, thinking, comprehending. And all of a sudden, like the clouds clearing, like the lens sharpening, like the fog lifting, I saw it. I saw the red string. The penny fucking dropped and I literally couldn’t believe it.

“I knew in this moment, that I had lost complete control.” “I had no control.” “Maybe it’s just a way for me to wield control.” “I felt like something was happening that I didn’t have under control.” “It resulted in me trying to get back control.”

All of those sentences were among what I had just written. And you don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out what the pattern I had recognized was.

You thought mommy and daddy issues were a cliché? Well, let’s add yet another layer on top of this pile of stereotypes: My incessant, compulsive and almost obsessive need of always being in control of myself and my surroundings.

I remember exactly how I felt when I finally, fucking finally, made the connection in my own head of why I was feeling so hopeless and lost. It felt like getting to scratch that annoying itch you couldn’t reach, like fitting that last puzzle piece into the whole picture. Needless to say, I burst into tears in the middle of the busy library, because while I might be very emotionally repressed, having that massive epiphany did actually make A Feeling happen inside of me, because I had been so desperate to figure out what was wrong for so long.

I’m aware that all of this sounds a bit like a crappy Hollywood movie, as big aha-moments like this don’t often happen in life – or in a library. But this one did. And I’m infinitely glad about that. Because it was in that moment I realized that a) I really, really needed therapy and b) I really, really was not going to finish this stupid thesis just for the sake of it and risk making my already worrisome mental state even more.

In a way, you could say that the urge of making a list and sorting all my traumatic memories from bottom to top, was in of itself a mechanism of yielding control for a short period of time. But okay, I don’t want to completely dissect every tiny action and choice of mine just for the sake of finding out what trauma it might have been influenced by (she says, writing the seventh, ultra-long blog post on dissecting every tiny action and choice of hers just for the sake of finding out what trauma it might have been influenced by).

Alright, let’s recap: On said very fateful day, I realized that the reason why I had been having those panic attacks, why I couldn’t seem to write my thesis and why, in general, I felt so depressed and lost, was because I felt like I was out of control of everything in my current life. And that terrified me. So much so, that it had almost stripped me of my ability to function like a normal person.

Quite the epiphany, huh? Yeah, it felt like that too, back then. And I know that not every realization happens like that. Most of my other soul-searching attempts that came when I started therapy, took a lot longer and required a lot more digging and work until I was able to untangle them. Like, for example, the question that posed itself after having figured out that I seemed to have very severe control issues: What the fuck caused them?

Because yeah, it’s one thing to finally understand what’s happening, but an entirely other thing to know why. Which leads us to part two of this wonderful post. The one where, and we’ve all been waiting for it, the two most important women of my life come back into the picture: My therapist and my mum.

Okay, I need you to know that I just laughed out loud at that last sentence for several minutes and then considered crying a little, too. But, I repressed that urge (healthily, don’t worry) for the sake of finishing this entry. So, let’s continue. (Why do I not have a career in stand-up comedy yet, seriously.)

When I started my personal therapy sessions with Kerstin, one of the first things I told her about, was that trauma-timeline list that I had written. Naturally, as therapists do, she then asked me the exact question I already asked above: “So, where do you think that need for constant control comes from?” And I said: “Well, damn, Kerstin, wouldn’t I like to know!” Okay, I didn’t say that. But in the imaginary sitcom that’s always happening in my own head I did, and then everyone laughed in that super fake ‘Friends’ way. What a blast it was.

Back in the real world, I actually did another load of digging through my past, this time to find the reason behind my, at the time, newly discovered issue with control. Or better, the issue with loosing it. I already talked a little bit about my childhood and teen years not always having been easy, mainly because of the sometimes very difficult relationship with my mum. And, well, it turns out that that “sometimes very difficult relationship” left a lot more scars than I would have ever liked to admit. I always have a hard time talking about this, because it makes me feel like I’m painting my parents as some sort of villains who constantly mistreated me. And that is just not the case. Life’s not black and white like that, and neither is family.

Again, I really had a great time as a child and teen, and my parents loved me, were always there for me and supported me in almost every aspect. But in some others, they let me down. Saying and admitting that breaks my heart. But denying it has broken it even worse in the past. I’m not going to go into much detail here because I don’t feel any need whatsoever to fill the Internet in on my personal family issues.

However, I do feel the need to remind myself why it is okay to talk about where your own current problems and struggles might come from. I’m not pointing fingers and blaming my own mum for everything that ever went wrong in my life, because that would be stupid and simply wrong. But I have grown and realized enough to know that, yes, by raising me the way she did, she did cause me some pretty heavy and painful traumas which I’m still working through today.

One of them being my problem with giving up and losing control.

My mum is such a strong and smart person and I learned so much from her. But she also never let me forget that whatever achievement I accomplished in life, was due to her providing me with support, knowledge and guidance. According to her, whenever I did something wrong, forgot something or made a mistake, it was because I hadn’t listened to her advice or done it the way she would have done it. And whenever I did something right, succeeded and made progress, it was because she had pushed me and told me how. She never let me have any credit of my own. She told me she was proud of me, but she never let me be proud of myself too.

In a way, she raised me thinking that the reason for any and everything I did, was because I either obeyed or disobeyed her. She always had the upper hand and she was always, always in control. Of my failures, of my successes, of my life.

As you can imagine, with puberty added into this already difficult family-mix, shit kinda hit the fan when I got a little older and we basically didn’t speak to each other for an entire year. Whenever we did speak, we’d just end up arguing instead. And that’s where I decided I to simply take matters (and back then, that was pretty much just school) into my own hands. Some other nasty stuff happened in reaction to that, but I actually managed to, from this point on, be independent when it came to studying, organizing and planning everything school-related. To some people, this might sound ridiculous and insane. But in my family, with my mum, this was almost reason enough to literally kick me out of the house.

But I still did it and for the first time ever, I was the one who controlled something. I was the one who decided when to do homework, how much to study and how to keep track of all my school stuff. Again, I realize that some people are probably thinking “Big fucking whoop, it’s just school?!” and yeah, I thought that too. But my mum didn’t. However, I didn’t budge and I kept the upper hand, for the first time in my life.

You can probably see where this is headed. As I got even older and started university, more and more responsibility became my own and my mum had to let go of more and more things she had always controlled for me. Not without a fight, never without a fight, but she did, eventually. I was now the one who decided what I wanted to do (at least most of the time, since I still lived at home and that came with its own set of struggles).

Without getting too carried off here, I’ll just try and make my point: When I realized that what I myself had chosen as a life and career path, was no longer actually something I wanted to do, this sense of control that I had quite literally worked years to get (from my mum and for myself), all of a sudden started to crumble. And subconsciously, without even realizing, this took me back to the mental place of being a hopeless, sixteen year old teenager that felt belittled, powerless and uncredited. Only that now, I had “no one to blame” but my own self.

The way that I had been raised with always having to have such a vice, controlling grip on my own life and academic “career” in order to be in charge of it myself, sat so deep inside of me that having had the minuscule realization of not being fully sure of my future anymore, was enough to throw me so hard that I could barely catch up with how quick I was falling apart.

That was one killer of a sentence, I apologize. But I hope that it got my point across somehow. Maybe this all sounds a bit ridiculous, maybe it doesn’t. I honestly can’t tell, most of the time. But by now, I have come to terms with the fact that how my mum taught or actually failed to teach me the value of giving up control, has greatly influenced me, even if it was just subconsciously. Because had you asked me, I would have told you in a heartbeat that it was no big deal to doubt your academic choices and even less of a big deal to change them or look for something new.

But, deep down, there was another truth that I had grown up with and into, and that one was what started to cause all my inner turmoil, the anxiety, the panic attacks, the insomnia and, eventually, my full-blown burn out.

And all of that hit me on that one fateful day, in the fucking library.

I feel like I’ve been waffling for ages now but it felt kind of cathartic to get this off my chest. I’m planning on talking about this is another post soon, but this was the first time I realized the crucial difference between saying and living things you want to be your truth, and saying and living things that really are your truth. And back then, I didn’t know I hadn’t been doing the latter for a very long time. Hitting that kind of breaking point was a very unwanted, but definitely also very much needed jumpstart to my journey of working through my own issues.

The first being the one I had with control.

I’m gonna shut up for good now and just leave you all with two screenshots because they’re just too funny not to include them. They were both reactions to my, dare I say, iconic sentence of my therapist and my mum being the two most important women in my life and well, just see for yourself ...

... sorry, mum. And also ...

... don’t we all?

#mental health #mental illness #anxiety #depression #control #control issues #therapy

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krieservalentine · 4 years

Text

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newhologram · 7 years

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When my dad fights with me about being ill and disabled he always says the same thing. I wanna be clear before I go on that he’s not a bad person. He does not understand. He has his own issues and his own worries. It’s incredibly difficult for a parent to see their child ill and my father does not have the mental or emotional resources to deal with it, so unfortunately, he reacts in ways and says things he doesn’t really mean that make my mental state worse because then it just confirms that I’ve ruined his life by being sick. He’s terrified that he will spend the rest of his life caring for his mother, and for me, and will have nothing left for himself. This isn’t the life he wanted.

But it’s not the life I wanted either. I didn’t ask to be sick. I never asked to be born with ticking time bombs for genes, or a messed up spine, or to develop PTSD. But I’m doing the best with what life has given me even when I feel lost and wonder if I was born to suffer and never be happy or comfortable. Anyway. He says to me while I cry and retch, “you know better” and “you’re smarter than this.” And I don’t.... know what that means. Usually, when I’m in a bad state, him saying that sends me flying into a rage because I don’t know what the fuck it means and it frustrates me because I don’t know what more he wants from me.

I’ve worked so hard these past several years to audition, book jobs, work 3 different part time jobs, taking on odd jobs whenever I can (even if it means throwing up at the job or when I get home because of the strain on my body’s already limited resources). I research my illnesses, I talk to others, I’m always trying new things all the time, always doing my best to look on the positive side, always smiling when people ask how I am even the tissue around my spine is swollen and making it hard to understand language. I go to work with icepacks on my neck and when customers ask what happened I just laugh and say, “it’s a long story!”

But I’m always getting my hopes up for a new treatment to give me relief and help me get stronger only to have a flare up that knocks me on my ass and suddenly I’m creeping back below 100lbs, shaking trying to lift a spoon to my mouth, gagging trying to take medication or supplements to help me feel better, falling down a lot dizzy and dazed after a 6 hour shift, burning my hands with tea because I’m so weak, pulling over on the side of the road to throw up before working shoots, apologizing to my agent if an audition is too far and interferes with my medical treatments. And then I think, “am I delusional for doing this when I’m sick?” and I refuse, and I’m like, “No, there are totally actors with chronic illness! If they can do it, so can I. I can be tough like them.”

But the thing is, I had accepted that this was my life. After I turned 25 and had not only my usual bad winter flare up a really deep depressive episode because I was like “wow I’m old now and these illnesses have no cure and the doctors are so mean to me and my dad resents me for ruining his life by being sick and my dreams will not come true and I’m just a burden and I wish I had never been born”, I wiped my tears away and accepted it. I said, “if I’m gonna be in pain every day anyway, I might as well put in 110% and do what I love. If I’m gonna throw up on set, I’ll just pack meds and mints and hoard bananas so that I can do my best! I’ll vape a little medical cannabis when I can to take the edge off the pain, I’ll rest whenever possible, and I’ll kick ass!” I was so determined. Stepping onto sets every week and meeting so many people, I felt so happy, even if I was in pain, even if I was having really bad cycling mood swings (that I mostly kept to myself) that made me doubt if I really was happy.

I got strict. I started making schedules for myself. Self-care and rest routines. Anything I could do to maximize productivity so I could not only audition, work on set, go back to Japanese school, and work part time jobs as a cushion to help pay my sometimes $800 a month medical expenses, but so that I could start making vlogs to help other people who are sick too. Yoga, meditation, herbs, more yoga, acupuncture, chiropractor, massage, therapy, acu-pressure mat, inversion table, so many pain relief gels and oils that my papers and clothes and blankets and all stained. This is my life now.

And he always says those things, “you know better” and “you’re smarter than this” especially when I’m in bed in a neck brace crying because the pain is so intense and nothing is helping it or at the toilet violently throwing up, having a meltdown because I’m in so much pain or have been vomiting/unable to eat for days/weeks and/or y’know. Bleeding from my intestines daily for years straight. (Yes, TMI, sorry. I BLEED FROM MY GUTS and people still wanna tell me I’m not sick enough or I’m faking)

But it scares me when he says these things when I’m at the end of my rope because I can no longer cope with all of it and have no actual support system at home. I feel trapped and isolated. Out of resources. As much as I try to teach other people ways to deal with every aspect of illness, whether physical or mental or emotional, I’m just as vulnerable.

How can I “know better” than physical illnesses that cause me such intense daily pain, organ problems, constant fatigue and vomiting spells, and severe insomnia that all send me into sensory overload that make me have epic meltdowns because I don’t get much relief and the discomfort and pressure on my brain stem/spinal cord/nerves literally make me lose my mind? Like. It’s not “oh boobloo I have a flu/hangover and I don’t feel well.” It’s intense, constant, deep pain in my skin, my muscles, my nerves, my spine, my organs. It’s everything. It’s gnawing, aching, itching, burning, stinging, scratching, acid, lightning, electricity, melting, disintegrating. Every day. Every day! Every damn day. Unless I am very lucky and have a few days of low pain or my cells make a little extra energy, or I time my pain meds right (which I don’t like to take every day because opiate withdrawals are horrible 0/10 would not recommend).

How can I “be smarter than” the way these illnesses affect my neurology, my mood, my perception of reality, my outlook on life?

“It’s not about being smarter,” I always tell him, voice hoarse from so much crying. “It’s not about that. I’m sick. I’m very sick and you keep telling me I’m too smart to be this sick. It’s not about that. It’s not about being smart. Stop telling me I’m smarter than this. It doesn’t matter if I’m smart or stupid. I’m sick and I just need someone to care. Not yell at me. I need help. I need support.”

And from there, the arguments devolve into screaming.

And from there, I lose sensation in my body and mind and heart. I stop caring about auditions, about work, about my videos, about games, about friends, about my dreams, about my favorite shows, my favorite food, bath time, robots, eyelashes, new wigs, tea time.

And I get so scared and I have to cling to any little thing to make it to tomorrow. A tomorrow that I know will bring more pain and tears.

But, I’m supposed to be smarter than this. I guess.

#long post #teku #personal

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riathedreamer · 7 years

Text

For Red Team’s “Set on Chorus”. I need Grif and Bitters bonding moments.

Smoke Breaks Grif has been given a Lieutenant who doesn’t smoke.

“You got a lighter?” Grif has asked and, honestly, he had expected Bitters to hand him one immediately.

But the young soldier briefly shook his head before returning his stare upon the calm scene ahead of them. The last people were heading out of the mess hall. No one seemed to be in a hurry. Some were limping, having ditched their armors in order to wear bandages.

This morning’s battle had been harsher than normally: Grif had learned that much at the meeting Kimball had just held. The Captains had left in a somber mood. Simmons had hurried up to check on his team that had experienced some of the heavier loses today. Gold Team had been luckier.

Grif had reminded himself of that as he walked outside. The evening air was fresh against his skin as he pulled off his helmet. Kimball’s office was placed in one of the more high floors, allowing Grif to look down from the cliff ledge that served as a balcony.

He had been leaning against the railing before he even noticed Bitters. The Lieutenant had been resting against the wall, arms crossed. He was not wearing his helmet but his expression was blank nonetheless as he stared at his Captain.

“You don’t smoke?” Grif was surprised, really. He had never been a foolish believer of the whole ‘cool kids smoke’ hype that had appeared during his years in high school but Bitters had honestly seemed like the guy who relaxed with a cigarette between his lips. Grif could relate.

Bitters was still staring straight ahead. “Nope.”

“Huh.” Grif slowly put his pack of cigarettes back into his pocket. He then frowned. “…You asked for a smoke break on the last mission.”

The Lieutenant’s expression did not change. “Yeah?”

“You know, I can respect that, Bitters.” Grif nodded slightly as he thought about it. It was a good plan, truly, and he almost felt impressed. Of course the only reason why he had not thought of it himself was because he was physically unable to actually fulfill the plan, being a smoker and all that. “I am forever cut off from taking fake smoke breaks. That’s more frustrating than it should be.”

Bitters raised an eyebrow and suggested, “Fake toilet breaks?”

“I like the way you think, Bitters.”

The last of the evening sun was hitting their faces. Grif closed his eyes to enjoy it. He had not asked why his Lieutenant was out here – mainly ‘cause a guy needed his privacy, and it was pretty obvious anyway.

Grif had not known his soldiers for a very long time, and honestly, he wasn’t like Donut who would try to small-talk with them. Not like Bitters would start a conversation on his own, unless it began with a snarky comment.

But he had spent enough time with his Lieutenant to notice the small frown, the heavy wrinkle that drew his eyebrows closer.

“Humor me, Bitters,” he said, breaking the silence. Grif silently crossed his fingers that Bitters was not going to bring up dead teammates because he was seriously not in the mood to do that. Ever. But to distract from certain thoughts by talking about literally anything else – Grif was a master. The times he had pulled Simmons out of his own thoughts by asking random questions were too many to be counted.

For a brief second Bitters actually looked surprised. Then his expression fell thoughtful until he finally spoke, “Uhm, you play a tiny guitar?”

“Ukulele,” Grif corrected unconsciously. He tilted his head: of all things Bitters could bring up, this was unexpected. “Should I scream stalker now or-“

“Jensen told me,” Bitters said and further explained, “Her Captain told her.”

Grif was not quite sure why the cyborg had wanted to share that information, if not to mock him, but he intended to find out. “Stuff Simmons should keep in his diaries,” he huffed.

Bitters shrugged. “Said it was your only talent.”

“Some praise.” Grif had to let out a snort. “He hasn’t even heard my play.”

“So you do play a tiny guitar?”

“I played ukulele back when I had one.” Grif narrowed his eyes slightly, taking in his Lieutenant’s surprised tone and the way one corner of his mouth was raised slightly upwards. “You think that is funny, Bitters?”

The soldier briefly met his glance before his eyes bounced back to focus on the nearly empty yard beneath them. “It’s cool, I guess.”

“You play anything?” Grif asked, wishing Simmons could stop stealing his lighters. A lit cigarette in his mouth right now was something he desired.

“Poker.”

Grif raised an eyebrow, remembering the days back in Blood Gulch where the Reds and Blues had come together to play. One of the less awful things about that canyon. “You guys have any poker nights here?”

Bitters narrowed his eyes in obvious suspicion. With his shoulders slightly raised, he asked, “…Why?”

“What, you think I’d rat you out to Kimball?” Grif snorted loudly at the thought. “Nah, I’m just gonna steal your money.”

Now it was the Lieutenant’s turn to snort. “Right.”

“You think I can’t beat you rookies?”

Bitters tilted his head, causing his dirty blond fringe to fall into his eyes. “Smith’s got a mean pokerface. Palomo is just flat out lucky. Jensen got some kind of strategy none of us can see through.”

He could almost imagine it; the young soldiers gathering after another tough, bloody day, finding comfort in the game. Reminded Grif of days back in Basic. He wouldn’t mind relive such memories, especially not if he could win some extra MRE’s. “So I take it you’re short on cash with such friends.”

“Nah. I know how to play a hand.”

Grif grinned as well. “We’ll see.” Simmons would be pissed to know that Grif was ready to make bets with their troops but, well, Simmons would not have to know. Suddenly noticing how Bitters was still staring at him, the edges of a frown still visible on his forehead, Grif asked, “Okay, what? You look like Simmons when I got something stuck between my teeth.”

Bitters only hesitated for a short moment. His eyes seemed genuinely curious when he asked, “Why did you join the army?”

It was a question Grif had been asked many times before. A question he knew how to answer as briefly as possible. Not much to tell, actually.

“You know about my fucking ukulele but not that sob story?” Grif huffed, fingers itching to hold a lit cigarette. “Got drafted.”

Bitters gave him a sort nod. “Makes sense.”

“So no choice there,” Grif breathed out, stretching out his arms. The last soldiers seemed to have disappeared from the yard beneath them.

Bitters looked up, towards the sun that is disappearing in the distance. “Yeah… Me neither.”

And Grif understood. All these young soldiers, all these untrained soldiers, all these hopeless soldiers who still carried around weapons to protect their lives. Not much of a choice there. Grif had thought the one-man draft had been the cruelest thing but to be honest the unofficial thousand-men draft here on Chorus seemed worse.

“I’d offer a cigarette but we still got no fucking lighter.”

Bitters looked at him again, an unreadable glance in his eyes. “…Jensen mentioned something about a flamethrower project earlier.”

“Huh.” Grif nodded as he smile grew. “Could work.” He glanced at his young Lieutenant. “Ever smoked before?”

“Nope,” Bitters answered truthfully. He did not sound embarrassed. A bit amused, if anything.

Grif thought about just how mad Simmons would be when he found out Grif was training his Lieutenant to spend smoke breaks together. Bitters let go of the railing. Grif grinned. “Gonna be fun then.”

#rvb bingo wars #grif #bitters #my rvb stuff

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honestgrins · 7 years

Note

kc drabble request – “you said keep our business on the low-low / i’m just tryna get you out the friend zone / ‘cause you look even better than the photos” + “found out i was coming, sent your friends home / keep on tryna to hide it but your friends know” + “you don't care about anyone but yourself.” “i care about you.” (dialogue quotes from the nordic tv series “skam”)

Hey, anon! I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know if I like how this one turned out, and I’m sorry if it’s not what you expected. That said, this is set in high school, and there are references to Mikael being an abusive ass.

Drunk on You || Klaroline

It all started because he forgot to turn off the camera’s flash.

Klaus hated almost everything about Mystic Falls High School, one of the few exceptions being his independent study art credit. As a senior, he was expected to use that credit toward building a multimedia portfolio for applications to art schools. Painting came easy to him, sketching with charcoal almost second nature. Wanting to put off sculpture as long as possible - he hated the dissatisfaction that came from ruining hours of work with one mistake - he had borrowed a camera to work on a digital photography submission.

He carried it with him everywhere for weeks, snapping the odd picture in hopes of finding inspiration. His works had been built from the theme of “Inner Darkness,” a title Kol and Bekah had mocked mercilessly as younger siblings were wont to do. Worse than that, nothing he shot with the camera was resonating with his chosen direction.

Mystic Falls should have been the perfect setting, the image of small town innocence marred by a severe class divide, alcohol-fueled violence, and cutthroat politics. Klaus had an intimate perspective given his parents’ position on the artificially elite Council and the abuse he suffered at his father’s hands. But his photos couldn’t capture the darkness.

They were just bleak.

After a particularly disappointing shoot downtown, Klaus had allowed Bekah to pester him into driving her to that night’s football game. Bitter as she was that her freshman status kept her off the varsity cheer squad, she did enjoy the small freedom of going out with only her big brother for supervision. He left her to a group of giggling girls to smoke under the bleachers with Stefan, who unfortunately had Katherine plastered to his side this week. Klaus didn’t really like the curly-haired Gilbert twin, but she was easier to stand than her bore of a sister; that is, unless she had Damon hanging around her instead. He had no idea why Stefan put up with either of them.

Alas, Stefan and Katherine had started canoodling while he continued to puff away at a cigarette. Turning to the field, the bleacher gaps gave Klaus a clear view of the cheerleaders as a whip of blonde curls caught his eye. Immediately, he dropped his smoke to raise the camera that had become a fixture around his neck.

Caroline Forbes was another bright spot in his miserable high school experience, not that she knew he existed. She was the golden girl and pageant queen; he was just the art nerd who caught himself sketching her profile as they sat in history. He didn’t know her outside of class participation and Bekah’s complaints, but he took those with a grain of salt. It wasn’t unrequited love or anything, he just liked to look at her.

She was cheering at the game, her smile literally awash in bright lights. Without thinking, Klaus pushed the button with the satisfying click of the shutter.

“Shit,” he muttered as the flash went off, too bright in the dimness under the bleachers.

“Creep,” Katherine snorted. Klaus ignored in her favor of checking the digital display, worried the flash had ruined the photo’s composition.

In a minor miracle, the picture turned out better than he hoped. Framed by the shadowed slats of the bleachers, the flash created a flare effect to surround Caroline with light, mid-clap. She was bright, beautiful, and just out of reach.

Glancing up, he realized she was looking right at him, too.

“Shit.”

Fidgety discomfort wasn’t a good look for Klaus, and the beer he kept drinking wasn’t helping. He hated these parties. Drunken high schoolers crowding everywhere, desperate to be noticed, to receive an ounce of affection. As he stood quietly at the edge of the pavilion, he hated the reminder he was just like them.

Bekah was the one to drag him to the falls after the game, though she had already disappeared with her gaggle of friends. Klaus could see Kol snogging his girlfriend against a tree. Taking another sip of his beer, he wondered how his little brother learned to be so shameless in his public displays. Unable to watch anymore, he turned away, only to find someone watching him.

His eyes widened as Caroline held their staring match. When he blinked, a playful corner of her mouth tilted upward. She raised an eyebrow in challenge before turning on her heel and striding toward the haphazard parking lot. With just enough curiosity and alcohol to temper his natural hesitance, Klaus quickly dropped his cup and made to follow her.

Wandering through the cars, he started to feel stupid when Caroline was nowhere to be found. Klaus rounded a Jeep, though, and a whisper snagged his attention.

“Boo.”

Startled, Klaus jerked his head to see her leaning against the Jeep. Her ponytail shone in the moonlight, her pale skin contrasting with the dark maroon of the cheerleading uniform. His hands itched to bring his camera up, only to remember he had left it in his car.

Caroline looked at him expectantly, then annoyed when he remained silent. “You know, for someone so obsessed with me, you really don’t know how to make a girl feel special,” she snapped. At his confused expression, she rolled her eyes. “I have a personality, one you might even enjoy if you stopped staring for, like, a minute and actually spoke to me.”

Pressing his lips together to stifle a surprised chuckle, he pointedly looked away from her. “You’re funny.”

“He speaks,” she mocked, though the dry humor tingeing her voice betrayed amusement. “And no defense for being obsessed with me, interesting. Do you take creepy pictures of everyone from under the bleachers, or am I more special than I think?”

Klaus scrubbed a hand over his face, wishing he had a cigarette. He didn’t know what he expected when he followed her - hoped and dreamed, maybe - but it wasn’t to detail his apparently obvious attraction. Worse, she definitely saw his camera flash during the football game. “It’s not what you think,” he defended weakly.

“Try me,” she demanded, arms defiantly crossed.

His eyes tracked the irritated pop of her hip the longer he went without answering.

Huffing out her frustration, she actually stomped her foot. “Whatever, just stop taking your creeper pictures. I’m not your personal Playboy bunny.”

“Wait,” he said before she could leave. “They’re not- I don’t mean to be creepy. It’s for an art project.”

Caroline let out a disbelieving laugh, her hair whipping around as she faced him. “Less Playboy, more Maplethorpe?” she challenged. “You’re hot, Klaus, but I’m too smart to be seduced by whatever artistic muse crap you believe.”

Though he wanted to focus on the hot comment, Klaus knew he was losing this stand-off she had orchestrated. “Let me show you.”

Intrigue shot through her expression until she again adopted a cool demeanor. “Fine, but I better be impressed.”

Considering the way she had him pinned to his passenger seat not twenty minutes later as he laved her neck with kisses, Klaus thought she was indeed impressed with his artistic eye. Clothes were askew, but still on when she pulled his mouth back to hers for a distractingly deep kiss. “At the risk of rewarding your voyeurism,” she whispered against his lips, “I’m kind of glad I had a good reason to accost you tonight.”

“Because I’m hot?” he teased with a smirk.

“In that leather necklace, calloused and paint-speckled hands way that artists have,” she confirmed. Her hand traced the necklaces as they laid on the back of his neck. “But you’re also a dick to my friends, and your friends aren’t exactly nice to me.”

Letting his head fall back against the seat, Klaus sighed. “If this is about the Gilbert squabbles-”

“It’s about reality,” Caroline corrected. “I know Elena can be a sanctimonious bitch sometimes, but she’s a better friend to me than Katherine or her Salvawhores have ever been. Surely, you get why I might not want to jump the bones of their slacker Brit, no matter how hot he is.”

He gripped her waist, encouraging her to grind further down into his lap. “Then what are you doing now?” he asked in a low voice.

Smiling, she kissed her way to his ear. “I think I’m going to have my way with a guy who thinks I’m beautiful enough for a graded project.” She nibbled on his earlobe. “If he’s any good, then I think I’m going to keep doing it. Any objections?”

“None from me.” Klaus might have died if she stopped the sinful rhythm of her hips. “What about your friends? Won’t they judge you for mixing with the seedy crowd?”

With a mischievous grin, Caroline unzipped her cheerleading top so she could remove it altogether. “You can keep a secret, can’t you?”

Months of sneaking around in cars, bathrooms, and Caroline’s often unchaperoned home had done nothing to reduce Klaus’s crush to purely physical satisfaction. Before, she was just a pretty girl with great legs and an engaging smile.

Now, he knew her favorite lip gloss as it stuck to his neck. She liked to whisper in the dark night they lay in her bed before he had to go home - anything louder earned him a shushing finger on his lips. But when the world was too quiet of her liking, she would hum to her heart’s content.

Klaus hoarded these tidbits as he found them, sneaking them into his photo series whenever he could. His favorite had to be of her sitting at her vanity, bright lights swathing her skin as she searched for a pimple she swore was growing. Caroline had threatened to delete it, an intimate brush with her private life.

“And I like being allowed in,” he had countered. “But there’s something poetic about you trying to seek out your flaws with light.”

Her smile was surprised, but pleased. “Artist types,” she had sighed dramatically, only to push him back to her bed for another round.

The deeper Klaus fell, though, the more unsure he was of Caroline’s feelings. They never went out, and she made no attempts at going public. Klaus was terrified to even suggest it for fear of losing her altogether.

So they kept sneaking around. His friends would have been caustic comedians and hers, complete snobs. They weren’t dating; it wasn’t worth the trouble of dealing with the reaction.

It sucked he had to quit smoking given the smell starting to stick to her clothes and bed as he grew more comfortable in the Forbes house. Sheriff Forbes would hardly appreciate her daughter’s non-boyfriend and his bad habit, and he’d rather give up nicotine than Caroline.

He had always hated Mystic Falls, but Klaus finally felt some happiness as he found himself looking forward to near daily plans with Caroline. Of course, his asshole father had perfect timing to ruin everything.

The music was too loud for Caroline to notice her phone buzzing on the nightstand. She had gone prom dress shopping with Bonnie and Elena, only to invite them over for a long overdue girls’ night. Maybe she had been spending too much time with Klaus, but she couldn’t regret a minute of it. Two days without seeing him past loaded glances in the hallways at school had actually made her miss him.

But, that was why she had insisted that Bonnie and Elena hang out. It was too easy to get sucked into the non-relationship bubble she and Klaus enjoyed - and to want more from it.

Caroline hadn’t planned on a boyfriend to distract from her senior year, and Klaus definitely wasn’t supposed to be an exception to the rule. The joke was on her for catching feelings anyway, not that she was going to bring it up. Any change in their dynamic could ruin it altogether.

That scared Caroline more than anything.

It was why her eyes went wide as Bonnie carelessly picked up her ringing phone. “Who’s ‘Beyond Annoying’ and why are they calling you?”

“Ooh,” Elena joined in from the mirror where she was perfecting a cat-eye. “Is it the secret boyfriend you think we don’t know about?”

“What? No!” Caroline made a grab for the phone, only for Bonnie to toss it to Elena. “Guys, give it back.”

With a gleeful smile, Elena answered the call. “Caroline’s phone.”

Caroline swooped in before she could put it on speaker for them all to hear. “Hey, just a minute,” she said, glaring at her friends before locking herself in the bathroom. “What’s up? I told you I was with Bonnie and Elena tonight.”

“And they’re so much more important than me, I know.”

Snide comments were nothing new for Klaus, especially when it came to her friends. The slurred voice laced with bitter anger, however, concerned Caroline greatly. “Are you drunk? Where are you?”

“Everyone’s more important, to you, to my mother,” he continued. “No one cares.”

Fear began to build in her chest. “Tell me where you are, Klaus. I’ll come pick you up.”

“Why, so you can kick me out before your mum comes home?”

“No, please. Let me bring you home.”

He was quiet for a long while, and she fought to stave off the panic. Caroline had never heard Klaus so despondent, and she hated that she helped to cause it. His quiet admission felt like a victory she didn’t deserve. “The falls.”

“Five minutes.” She hung up, throwing on a hoodie crumpled on her floor. Idly, she noted Klaus’s body spray still clinging to it from when she had shamelessly stolen it weeks earlier. Seeing Elena and Bonnie waiting for her outside the bathroom, though, she remembered why the hoodie had never left the confines of her bedroom. “Umm…raincheck on girls’ night?”

Bonnie nodded knowingly, and she stepped forward to pluck at the clearly male-owned sweatshirt. “Yes, I’m sure your boy toy is just lost without his hoodie.”

Running past them for her car keys, Caroline waved. “Yep, gotta go! Call you tomorrow!” She left her friends behind, praying that Klaus would wait patiently for her to pick him up.

By the time she made it to the falls, though, she realized that 'patient’ was probably hoping for too much. 'Resigned’ and 'drunk’ were more accurate words to describe the state in which she found Klaus, made worse by the bourbon he managed to bring with him. He was drinking straight from the bottle as he sat on the edge of the pavilion where Caroline once decided she wanted to know more. Klaus was just the creep with a camera back then, and she wondered when he became important to her. Her heart clenched watching him, a feeling she associated with Bonnie crying or her mother looking so hurt after another blithe insult.

Klaus mattered to her, and he was upset; Caroline just wanted to make it better.

“Hey,” she said quietly, not wanting to startle him. Creeping closer, she took in the hazy, bloodshot eyes. “Care to share the bottle?”

Sighing, Klaus handed it over, only for her to set it aside. He blindly reached for it again, but Caroline stepped into his grasp instead. Surprisingly quick, he pulled her into a tight hug.

“What’s wrong?”

A dark laugh rumbled from Klaus’s chest. “What isn’t?”

Caroline leaned back to hold his face between her hands, watching him carefully. “Klaus, you’re scaring me.”

He blanched; he looked like he wanted to be sick. “Mikael,” he finally sighed, lowering his forehead to her shoulder. “We fought, and he- It got bad.”

Wincing, Caroline could read between the lines. Klaus had shared a bit about his home life, but not as much about Mikael and the way he seemed to have a least favorite child. She had found the occasional bruise or scrape, but Klaus never offered an explanation.

It wasn’t her business; she wasn’t his girlfriend.

Yet, she found herself stroking fingers through his hair, wanting to coax him out of the distant look of pain. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Why, so you can go back to your friends and pretend not to know anything about me or my life?” Klaus snorted derisively.

“Hey, you called me and I came.” Caroline pulled back so she could walk toward the car. “Take out whatever angst trip you’re on against me, sure, but I care about you and I’m bringing you home.”

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Turning on her heel, Caroline stopped dead at the miserable anger burning in his eyes. She held out a hand expectantly. “I care about you,” she repeated, her voice softer than before.

Staring for a moment too long, Klaus finally twined his fingers through hers to let her lead them to the car. He was quiet the whole drive; he barely even fussed when she ushered him up to her bedroom and into her bed. It wasn’t until they both lay under the covers, facing each other in the dark, that he whispered, “Do you really?”

“Yeah,” she whispered back. “Does it really bother you that we’re not official?”

Klaus didn’t answer. He just shifted closer to press an uncoordinated kiss to her cheek. “I love you,” he murmured, already half asleep.

Biting her lip, Caroline waited until his eyes drifted all the way closed and his breath evened out. “I love you, too.”

Before she could get too comfortable against him, though, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand. “Nothing more official than Facebook,” she muttered as she changed her relationship status.

The phone started to buzz angrily, probably Bonnie or Elena reacting to the news.

Snuggling close to Klaus, Caroline had never cared less about what her friends thought. She just wanted a good night’s sleep with her boyfriend before dealing with his hangover and any fallout the next day.

#klaroline drabbles #klaroline #to rely on the kindness of strangers #anon anon #asked and answered #not so prompt prompt #thanks for the prompt!#sorry if it sucks

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spideyswebhead · 4 years

Text

Writing 7 Prompts For 15 Minutes

I thought of publishing these here for my writing class.

We were given 10 prompts to write to for 15 minutes everyday, here’s what I wrote for that week.

Something I’ll remember when this quarantine is over

The nights I spend time with my friends and family, talking about literally anything on our minds and just going off.

I was never good at communicating and making sure to talk to people, especially through text message, and I definitely still need to get better with texting and checking in with my older siblings who are away from me at this time.

But being stuck in this house with my little sister and parents is making me get closer to my younger sister, both of us having to be there for each other as she deals with school and missing school, and helping my mom around the house as she still goes out there and help other families take care of their children.

I’ll remember the nights I was curled up in my chair, a Christmas blanket I got on Christmas - green with snow and snowmen - wrapped around me to keep warm in my cold room. Lou, my little sister, sitting on my bed as she fills pages of paper to put paper hearts for her friend's birthday.

We were both watching Grey’s Anatomy, occasionally we would make comments and jokes on the ridiculously things that’ll happen or they’ll say, but sitting quietly until 1 in the morning. Lou finally noticing the time, finishing up filling the jar she had been placing the hearts in, saying sorry for losing track of time and we both exchange our good nights before we both go to bed.

Even though I was exhausted the next morning from waking up so late, I still enjoyed that time of spending time with my little sister. We never spent much time before this quarantine just for the fact we are both in different stages in our lives, and we’re completely different people.

Lou needs to be around people all the time, go to events for her school, and be out of the house to explore the world and have fun creating memories.

While there’s me who enjoys spending time at home, writing my little projects or making art pieces, spending time on social media and talking with friends about fandom stuff, and enjoy cuddling with my dog.

I’ll remember the nights of talking with my friend Charna on PlayStation, watching her play some kind of game, be it “Dead By Daylight” or “The Last Of Us,” and just talking about literally anything. Sometimes we’ll just be talking on PlayStation and be playing separate games all together. Her playing “The Witcher” games while I played the Marvel Spider-Man game, occasionally making small talk or she’ll laugh at me being frustrated over Peter Parker getting stuck on walls or yelling “Fudge Cake!” As I make a mistake with a challenge. My way of cursing but not really.

What’s familiar to me about all of this

Is the many movies, shows, even books who touch on subjects like diseases, quarantine, and protest.

Except it feels like the author decided to take all these subjects and mash them together, take their readers for a whirlwind of emotions.

Looking back at subjects like quarantine and diseases is interesting, now knowing how people react when we’re under a type of threat we can’t see or even see coming. Usually people freak out and drive everywhere and hoard things that would make sense, like food and water, but now I always look at the toilet paper in those kinds of scenes and it seems they haven’t been touched that much makes it seem unrealistic. Seeing how today people went insane and hoarded it to the point of fighting old women for one even though their carts are already full, seeing the worst of humanity as they work their their anxieties that tell them how to survive.

The racism that comes out of it when a sickness is attached to a race (like the Spanish Flu).

I’ve been spending time in quarantine listening to audio books and I have been reading “The Diviner’s” series, the second book dealing with a disease and racism. “Lair of Dreams,” one of the characters - Ling - being Chinese and living down in Chinatown in New York, a sickness more popular down there called “The Sleeping Sickness” where you don’t wake up from your deep sleep until you die.

Quarantine was everywhere, burning bodies and giving out curfews, and how Ling was targeted with racism to the point of being beaten by a group of college boys until a friend of Ling’s came over and helped her.

It made me feel terrible for Asian people that these things still happen when a disease gets attached to a race, but also keep my attention on movies where their surviving some kind of things, see what they grab now that COVID-19 has happened and we’ve been in Quarantine these past 3 months and see how the world has reacted. Positively or negative.

I don’t like to think too much about

Anxiety, I try to ignore it as much as I can when it comes creeping up in the back of my mind, whispering worries and dark thoughts. Catching me at the worst of times, like doing the dishes or trying to take my dog out for a walk.

Am I washing this dish right? If I lose my grip will it break and scatter glass everywhere? Is that man staring at me, is he going to follow me? Are those people going to respect social distancing and leave me and my dog alone? Am I doing this right?

Trying to go through my day without anxiety whispering in my ear and slowly getting louder is hard nowadays, with everything feeling so much bigger now with the pandemic and the movements happening. The grief of what’s happening making anxieties voice louder in the back of my mind and anxiety is freaking out more about everything.

But I know ignoring anxiety makes it worse, making it come back bigger and harder to pass the next time it comes around again. But yet I find myself being lured by anxieties worries and believing their words, following them more in the dark and not able to stop myself until I catch myself being engulfed by their worries. Then I have to remind myself to breathe and try to talk anxiety down.

Sometimes anxiety is hard to calm down when I talk back, way too wind up in a knot it’s hard to unravel them enough that I can undo the knot and we can both go on our merry way. Instead we both just end up crying in the darkness by ourselves, letting each wail out and stressful tears roll down and join the others in a puddle on my sheets.

But sometimes on those days I have to remind myself, crying is as important as talking back. Cause maybe Anxiety needs somebody there just to let out all that stress so we can go back to reality and thrive another day. Let those wails out and tears be able to roll instead of holding them in and having to deal with another bigger one. Especially if we’re in public and not able to find a place so nobody can bother us.

Those nights where I’ll indulge anxiety when they creep up I try to be there for them, let us both hold each other tight before I’ll take the first controlled breath and mumble to them “We’re okay, we got this and can go through another day, together.”

I love thinking about

The dream I had a couple days ago.

I’m an artist and writer, I love doing both and learning on being an artist and growing those skills have really helped my writing grow, finding more words to describe something and being able to see my characters or scenes in my head, be able to really see them and write them in those details. Sometimes able to bring them to life on page through drawing by just my words.

Back in May it was my Dad’s birthday and I had made this popcorn holder where I painted various things on there, Darth Vader and Kermit the Frog singing “Rainbow Connection.” I was so proud how it came out and was really excited to show it to him and see his reaction.

The day I gave it to him, shaking with anxiety for his reaction, and he looked at it, turning it in his hands as he looked over it and then the words were told to me, piercing through me and felt like he was ripping apart my heart.

“I don’t know why you think you’re a writer.”

I just stood there completely bewildered, not knowing what to say or expecting that at all, just tears beginning to roll down before anger started to swirl inside me as he continued talking telling me how my pieces and name should be in a museum when I see mine in bookstores and libraries.

Since then I’ve been having a hard time writing and doing art, only able to hear his voice in my head on how I should be doing Art and ignore this whole side of who I am, to the point I’d just start crying and get frustrated, not able to finish what I was doing.

While this was going on I went to bed one night, feeling frustrated as my father’s words echoed in my head and not able to shut off, I eventually was able to get myself to some sleep and felt myself drift off to dream.

It started out with my dad sitting in that chair with me standing over him, yelling every word I wanted to at him for even thinking to utter those words to me on not being a writer. I took the popcorn holder for him and held it tightly in my grasp as I looked at him with fiery eyes and said the following with venom dripping in my voice. “This is mine, not yours. I can do what I want with it.”

Then I woke up.

The feeling of relief and a giant weight slipping off my chest was intense. I felt like I came to the surface and could breathe again, my Dad’s words not echoing in my head anymore, the anger I had been feeling the past couple weeks disappearing finally.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I couldn’t help but have the biggest smile on my face, the itch I felt to create a character or write a scene for my many projects returning.

This is the best time for me to work on my writing because

I finally have the time to sit down, write and develop my characters, finally get going with writing my first draft and create my stories. With Quarantine and staying inside I can give them my complete devoted attention.

Turn on that music to get myself in the mood for the scene, nice and indie pop for a nice fluffy scene or really intense hype up music if it’s a fight or intense scene I’ll need to write. Make myself some cozy to drink or eat and just make myself comfortable in my room as I just transfer myself to their world and move on with their story.

It sometimes feels like I’m Harold with his purple crayon, drawing various things as I go on my own little adventure, creating objects, little furry friends, or making little friends places to help with the adventure with such ease.

Sometimes I just stare at the dreaded white page as my mind feels like static, switching between topics. Sometimes it was about the project I was working on or it’ll be about a little dinosaur stuck in traffic as they tried to get home from a long day's work. Munching on whatever snack I had as I spiral.

Those days I will try to focus on filling the notebook I assigned to each of these stories with notes of various things, Characters facts, and develop more rules to magic systems or schools so they're somewhere for me to follow.

But those days I’m Harold with that purple crayon, feeling the itch to write them and just be drifted off in their story are days I love and they’ve been happening more since we’re in Quarantine I guess cause I feel like I can finally work on it while the world around me is paused in certain things. But those days I cherish and make sure to indulge myself in those days to fall in the story and just be wrapped in it as I let myself be swept away as I write.

The most comfortable thing for me right now is

Indulging in the things I used to love to do as I kid or would give me joy as we’re stuck in Quarantine, stuck in the house with my family after years of having it to myself, blast music and act like an idiot as I dance around while I do chores, try to teach my dog how to dance or snuggle him while we watch something.

But now stuck in the house with everyone I have to share everything and think of everyone, like if I’m bothering my Dad or if he’s on a phone call if I go downstairs since he uses the living room as his workplace right now, or my little sister if I’m making too much noise in my room since our walls are so thin and we can hear every little thing each of us say.

So one of the few joys I have is indulging in those things, especially with having Disney+ and Netflix returning “Avatar: The Last Airbender” and getting to binge that show while eating Oreo’s in my pajamas.

Sit in front of my mirror and explore ways I can do my makeup, adding a tiny star to my cheek or making the LGBTQ+ flags on them too.

Sometimes it’s hard to escape and ignore the world right now. Death, riots, and the choices this world makes that breaks my heart and makes me feel for people who are suffering. Trying to enjoy those things like a childhood show or watch gamers on YouTube be weird and play a game doesn’t work, I’ll find myself looking at Twitter or the news to see what is happening. Or try to figure out why Twitter is “Canceling” someone and seeing how much of a horrible person they were and how they hurt the people around them in some way.

Those days I try to turn off all electronics, plug my phone and set it across the room, as I curl up in my bed as I try to read the Percy Jackson series again or finish the Grisha series. Try not to tempt myself to watch or read anything on my phone that could cause me more pain and more in that dark place in my mind again.

Or if I can turn on YouTuber’s who just have fun with their friends while they play a game or do some weird thing, distract my mind and show how there are good people in this world. Watch video after video of their content and seeing how they make me laugh or bring light to a situation, even the good of a situation too sometimes.

I’ve been grateful for these comforts and being able to indulge myself in them at these times, show the goodness in this world and that feeling of nostalgia. Make me feel like a kid again.

When I think of Dream Kid, I think of

A small child, just a chaotic ball of energy, jumping off the walls and their diet consisting of all the candies they could eat.

Maybe it’s my younger self, when I had no filter or what was good storytelling or good art. Just wanting to know what kind of fun I could get from it or let their imagination run with the images of the story or what kind of story could be told with the art piece.

Dream Kid feels like the definition of ADHD/ADD, jumping from topic to topic with the snap of their fingers, whether that be a serious essay to one second wondering what kind of fluffy love story you could write involving two cactus. One second your writing peacefully, jamming out with some music or munching on some kind of snack, than one second you find yourself being transfixed with this rainbow contraption that switches shape before you realize it’s been 5 hours and you’ve stopped writing and lost your train of thought completely and forgot where the story was going completely. Same goes with writing with Dream Kid as you jump around and run around with them as you jot down the ideas, ignoring Logic as they scream at you how wrong this is with a sentence or you used “then” or “than” wrong and need to fix it immediately.

Compared to Logic who wants it perfect now, Dream Kid is the perfect person to tap into when you're just trying to have fun and get that idea now before it moves on into the void and you lose it forever. Until that idea returns at the worst of times, like late at night when you're trying to sleep, or stuck in traffic and not able to jot down the idea on time as the cars start to finally find a steady speed and move accordingly.

There’s a saying in the art community that makes me think of Dream Kid, the perfect little sentence that’ll explain Dream Kid exactly: “You must make it ugly first before you can make it beautiful.”

Dream Kid can help you put all those ideas now, making it as ugly as you can just so you know every point you need to make before they disappear into the void again, then bring in Logic to come fix all the ugly and make it beautiful so you and the reader can know what you're trying to say.

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