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lightthewaybackhome · 3 years

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Sorry this is so long. Probably should have done a 2 parter.

"My darling girl, when are you going to realize that being normal is not necessarily a virtue? It rather denotes a lack of courage!" - Aunt Frances, Practical Magic

My whole life, as far back as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be artistic. I’ve wanted to create. I love beauty. I love artistry. I love creation. I love the artsy look: jewelry, tattoos, flowing clothing, and funky hair. It is a personal aesthetic I keep returning to, especially as I get older. As a child, I tried so many different forms of art—painting, photography, drawing— but none of them seemed quite right. None of them got what was in my head out. All of them fell short until I started writing. Writing was a flame, a fire, a drug. Writing allowed me to express what was in my imagination. This is the first thing to understand.

Everyone is artistic and art is everywhere. I’ve believed this as long as I can remember. There are amazing artistic feats in our world: books, movies, video games, paintings, sculptures, and magnificent pieces of music. Yes, art can be very high and very special. But, art can also be found in charcuterie boards, homemade quilts, sourdough bread, cocktails, soup, and all ordinary things if we but look and see. Art can be high magic and art can be ordinary. This is the second thing to understand.

As I’ve embraced being a homemaker, a HearthKeeper, a woman where she’s meant to be, I came across the term domestic artist. As much as I didn’t like the book Eve in Exile by Rebekah Merkle, it gave me this. It gave me the term domestic artist. That stuck with me. It spoke to me because it captured both the first and the second thing. It captured the never-ceasing call to create which haunts me at all times, and it elevated and honored the ordinary in a sprinkling of fairy dust. It said, “Yes, you have to cook today. Three meals plus snacks and drinks. It’s your job, but, but, what if, what if instead of looking at it as some drudgery, some Cinderella enslavement, what if you looked at it as an opportunity to create beauty?”

Not every meal, every outfit, every moment of your day can be a work of art. Some days you just have to do what you have to do. Some days get upended in the opening credits with a broken washer or a sleepless child. Some days plans change. Life changes. One minute life looks like this, and then the next it’s on to something completely different. But, the beauty of being a domestic artist is that you can create art in any of these moments and in any setting. You can find art in any moment and in any setting.

See, the world tells us that homemaking, HearthKeeping, is boring. It tells us it’s pointless. A waste. You could be changing the world. Only dumb useless women keep their homes. And that’s because they’re either tied down by a dictator of a husband or the demands of children or the cultural trappings of their religion. Courage, dear heart. Courage! Homemaking is magic. Homemaking is flexible. Homemaking changes with the seasons and the woman. I, I am a bit bohemian, a bit rustic, a mixture of rugged and romantic. I grew up a tomboy, but have embraced being a woman in her home since I was a child. I love leather and lace. I love cottage-witch aesthetics. I love boots and long flowing things. I like deer heads, linen, skulls, and ruffles. I like feathers and dreamcatchers, but I also love to decorate with open space. I love pies and feeding my husband. But, look at this, one of my best friends is a classic. She loves clean lines, traditional and timeless pieces. She loves modern accents. She loves beachy highlights and hammocks. She’s not into farmhouse, rustic modern, or raw-edged wood. On any given Sunday, she’s in a pencil skirt, simple top, simple heels with her three daughters in matching dresses while I’m in distressed boyfriend jeans, a mullet-tucked top, and wearing my crow skull. We’re very different, but we’re both homemakers who love making our homes.

I have a woman in my life who quilts and that flows out into their decorating. So many of her things are beautifully hand sewn. If she wants it, she makes it. Another friend grew up in Africa and her home is filled with her love of that culture. One dear friend loves plants and grows amazing flowers that she uses to create Instagram-worth bouquets. Another woman isn’t super fluffy-feminine but she has an eye for remodeling and so is constantly making improvements on her home: flooring, painting, and more. My sisters, like me, both enjoy a minimalist approach to decorating and all three of us have a special place for coffee. Both my sisters’ homes are welcoming and peaceful even with kids running around like crazy.

That’s the point, the world tells women to band together, that we’re a sisterhood, that we should go out and change the world, abandoning our homes before we’re relegated to only kitchen and nursery work, but reality tells me that the most amazing women I know are busy in their homes. This is sisterhood. This is where we bloom. It is here that we have flexibility. For over five years, I’ve struggled with chronic health issues. Homemaking lets me decide each day what I can do and how I’m going to do it. Homemaking lets you change what you do for each season of life. Lots of littles? Keep it simple. Empty nest? Explore. Somewhere in between? Keep growing. Lots of energy? So many things you can expand into if you just refuse to believe the lie that homemaking is beneath you. Don’t be normal. Don’t believe that homemaking is a waste of time. Don’t buy into the lie that you are somehow being less than everyone else when you raise your children, love your husband, and create beauty. Have the courage to be strange. We were made for this! It suits us. This is an environment women thrive in.

When I got over my grammar inhibitions and started writing, I felt like my soul came alive. I felt like I’d finally found what I’d been searching for since I came into this world. It doesn’t matter whether I’m writing an epic story or writing about HearthKeeping or just word doodling, writing, words, stories just flow from me. Wonderfully, homemaking is like that for me, too. I want to read books, I want to learn, I want to talk about it, I want to do it. It’s not perfect. I don’t always feel glorious, but I do feel ‘right’ when I’m doing this. I feel like I’m where I belong. I feel like this is a place I can both rest in and grow in. I feel safe when I’m having a fatigue flare up and I feel excited when I think about all that I can do.

A real-life example: Sundays are long hard days. They’re days that generally spike my fatigue and my husband is worn out. They’re both the best and hardest day of the week. When we get home I make a cocktail and we crash. Inevitably, the minute I sit down my man asks for a snack and what we’re having for dinner. For several years, this drove me up a wall. It is Sunday. The day of REST, why is it my responsibility to always make food? Epic sigh. Epic whiny sigh. I would meal plan for the whole week and then wing it on Sunday and Monday, always with poor results and grumpiness on my part. Then, one week as I meal-planned, I realized that I could also prepare for the weekend. Lightbulb. Facepalm. Really? Why had it taken me into my 40th year of life to realize that if I want a quiet, restful, happy weekend, I should just plan snacks, drinks, and meals ahead of time? I’m going to blame it on my chronic health, brain fog addled mind. I’m going to blame it on laziness. I’m going to blame it on being a young homemaker. Some are understandable, some are inexcusable.

Sundays now involve way less stress because I can immediately prepare snacks and know what we’re eating the minute we get home. No more attitude issue. No more stress. Easy and nice.

Did this change the world? Does this matter to anyone but myself? Did my husband even notice? Maybe not, but this is homemaking. This is HearthKeeping. It is my job and my calling. Even without notice or world-shattering consequences, I’m pleased with the outcome. More than pleased, I’m really happy about it. It brings me joy and delight to find a better way to take care of my family. It allows me to sprinkle my Sunday afternoon with just a little bit of artistry. I make drinks, snacks, dinner. I feed my family.

See, one of the lies that the feminists preach is that we’re wasted in our homes. And yet, the majority of the women I know who work outside the home aren’t doing glamorous jobs. They’re not travel bloggers or world-renowned chiefs or CEOs. They’re cosmetologists, retail workers, bank tellers, nurses, teachers, and such. Now, none of those are bad. Working outside the home isn’t bad. (I think each family has to decide what family looks like to them.) Please, please, don’t read that as degrading. I worked retail and I think retail is important. These are all God-honoring employment in which you can strive and serve. I’m not bashing any of those jobs. I have many many dear friends who work outside the home. What I am saying is that I think we as women need to ask ourselves if leaving our homes en masse was worth it. Has it given us all the joy, delight, and fulfillment the feminists promised us?

I’ve done both. I’ve been a co-owner of a business that I helped grow from nothing to something amazing. I’ve worked as an everyday retail worker. I write and am the main editor for a small neighborhood magazine. And I’m a HearthKeeper. I will tell you right now, no qualifications, that HearthKeeping is the most satisfying job I’ve ever had. It not only challenges me every day but it also works with me. The boundaries are what I set in place and so I grow as I can. The work never ends, yes, but it also never ends. There is always something else to explore.

I think being a homemaker is largely attitude. You can buck against what you do, and most women do. Just spend two minutes on Pinterest looking at doing laundry or dishes and the bitter hatred comes pouring out. Look at the complaints women make against their churches: we’re relegated to doing nursery work and kitchen duty. What if, just for a moment, we decided to be Domestic Artists? What if, for just a moment, we tried loving our jobs instead of complaining? What if we thought that dishes meant food and good times and healing of the souls around us? What if we saw laundry as a way to keep beauty and cleanliness around us? What if we saw it as our privilege and delight to take care of the food, children, clothing, cleaning, cooking, gardening, growing of the next generation, and the men of the world? What if we embraced the domestic arts and saw them as truly magnificent, glorious, unique arts? How many of us would be able to say with a straight face that working retail is more fulfilling than managing a small world? Is it more fulfilling to go work in an office than it is to orchestrate a place of welcome, rest, and renewal for your husband and yourself? It might be more visible, but is it truly more long-lasting?

I can say that it isn’t. I can say that I think being a homemaker is uniquely suited for women and that we should have the courage to go against the grain of our world and say no. No, I’m not going to give all of myself to work outside the home when the home is far more challenging and interesting. No, I’m not going to believe the lie that homemaking is oppression and boredom. I will find beauty in the ordinary and I will embrace art in the everyday. This is one of those amazing jobs where it is what you make it. It is what you pour into it. If you think it’s boring or demeaning you won’t get anything out of it. If you think it is challenging and rewarding, you will get the world out of it. You will grow yourself and those around you. Think about what a wonderful thing it would be if we made our homes our careers! If we women really took on the label Domestic Artist in our own individual ways.

#homemaking #hearthkeeper #housewife #prose #trad wives #traditional femininity #domestic artist #writing #artists on tumblr #art

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janeyseymour · 3 years

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Have You Been Taking Care of Yourself?- a fanfic

prompt: Have you been taking care of yourself?

WC: 2044

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for Jane Seymour to be seen around the house, around the theatre, around the town doing what she could for others. It was very rare that she ever took the time to take care of herself, although she would tell you that by taking care of others she was taking care of herself.

“Okay guys,” Jane addressed the group as she loaded the dishes from dinner into the dishwasher. “So, tomorrow we only have a night show- no matinee. I’ll clean up around the house in the morning, but then I promised Val I would help out at the library for a little bit- you know just clean up some of the children’s sections and organize a bit. You know how kids can get.”

The blonde closed the door to the dishwasher before forgetting that she didn’t put in the dish detergent. “Do you think you could all manage to get to the theatre on time? Because Joan wants to run that new little lick that she thought would go well in my song before we put it in. And then the next day, I think I’m going to volunteer at the food pantry in the morning before the shows, but I was thinking we could all have dinner after? I’ll cook. And oh, Kat: don’t think I’ve forgotten about that shirt I told you I would embroider.” She closed the dishwasher once more, this time loaded with detergent before pressing the start button. Turning to her family, she put her hands on her hips and looked at the youngest. “I’ll do that after the show tomorrow.”

“You sound like you really have your days planned out for the next few days,” Catherine noted diligently.

The third monarch grinned. “I like to stay busy. Now, I’ve got to go to my room to coordinate a few things for tomorrow with Val, but I’ll be sure to make my rounds before I head to bed. If you need me, don’t hesitate to knock, yes?” The other five queens nodded their heads, watching in wonderment as the woman dressed in grey made her way up the stairs.

“Does she-” Cathy started.

“There’s no way she doesn’t,” Anne finished.

“She’s well aware that Edward's birthday and her death day are coming soon. She’s doing what she can to distract herself,” Catherine stated as if it was obvious. “She isn’t ignoring it, although she’s doing her best to try.”

“How are we supposed to help her?” Kat wondered.

“I suppose we just let her live. If she wishes to distract herself, then sobeit. We just have to be there when she breaks.”

“I think we can do that,” the fourth queen affirmed.

A week had passed, and Jane was still on the move- desperate as ever to get her mind off of her son and her untimely passing. Only, it was getting harder.

Any time she slept now, Edward haunted her dreams. Sometimes it was his birth all over again, the feeling of a three day labor returning. Other times, it was as though she was an angel watching over him as he mused his wishes for his mother to come back. Once it was the blonde boy confronting her angrily over her death- how could she leave him with such a horrible father, and wasn’t she supposed to be the first woman he would ever love; but he would never get that chance since she had the audacity to slip away from him before they could properly meet.

The blonde had been making meals for the queens for days now- something that each of the other queens knew was Jane’s way of coping. The third queen was already in the kitchen cooking or baking more than the others ever were, but it was more and more that the house smelled of something sweet being baked. Jane never ate any of it; she gave it away instead to those that she loved: her family, the food bank down the road, those at the theatre she thought could use a pick-me-up. The thought of food at this point made the woman nauseous. Not knowing if she could stomach the food, she had resorted to supplementing with a protein shake before continuing on with her hectic days she had planned.

“So, are we going to ignore Janey’s death day like she is or...?” the second queen questioned after the silver queen had excused herself from the table that night. Edward’s birthday had come and gone, and it seemed as though Jane was doing just fine.

“If this is how she’s coping with it- I know it isn’t necessarily healthy- but who are we to try to get her upset over it?” The writer wondered aloud.

“I’m not sure she’s coping with it very well though,” Kat sighed into her hand, half asleep. “Last night when I went to her room, she was wide awake. I didn’t think she’s been sleeping at night, so I stayed awake all night. She was awake too, until like five in the morning. I could practically hear the gears in her mind turning. Once she fell asleep, I did too, but when I woke up she wasn’t asleep anymore.”

“She was downstairs and saw me out for my run at six this morning,” Cleves muttered. “Has she not been sleeping at all these past few nights?”

“If you’ll excuse me, I think I have to go talk to Jane.” Catherine pushed herself up from her seat before beginning to make her way out of the room.

“Don’t you think-” Parr started.

“Querida, whatever is happening is far more unhealthy than Jane just letting herself break. Someone needs to talk to her,” the gold queen stated triumphantly before continuing up the steps and towards the grey room.

“Jane, love? Can I come in?” When the first queen heard no response, she assumed that the third queen was finally getting the shuteye she needed, but her light was still on. Turning the knob and letting herself into the room though, she found a puffy-eyed Jane Seymour awake and trembling.

“Oh honey,” Aragon sighed as she made her way across the room.

“I thought I could handle it this year,” the blonde winced as she busied herself with folding laundry. “If I just continued on like it was any other day, I thought I could handle it.”

Catherine plucked the shirt out of the trembling woman’s hands before folding it and placing it in the pile. Grabbing another, she asked, “Have you been taking care of yourself? Like, really and truly taking care of yourself? None of that ‘by taking care of others, I am taking care of myself’ shit.” Jane shook her head defeatedly.

“I haven’t slept more than two hours a night in the past two weeks, Lina. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is him.”

“Him?” The gold queen froze, the pants in her hands half folded.

The silver queen looked at Catalina for the first time since she entered the room before solemnly whispering, “Eddie.”

“Oh honey.” The pair of pants having been dropped to the ground, the elder queen embraced the third with all the love she could muster up. “You must be exhausted.”

“I am,” the younger monarch’s voice broke a little as she buried her face in the other’s shoulder. “I haven’t been able to eat either. I don’t think I can stomach anything at the moment, and I haven’t been able to since three days before his birthday.”

“When you went into labor,” Catherine sighed, a wave of sadness twinging through her for her friend. Jane nodded. “I’m so sorry, love. Why didn’t you-”

“Because I knew you would all dote on me, and I just don't know if I could handle that again. It’s like it makes it worse when you do. All that swims through my mind is Edward and the fact that I-” the younger queen pulled away from the woman dressed in yellow before mumbling, “-I failed him. I thought if I could take care of others, it would help me like it usually does but...”

“Querida, this is a completely different situation, and you did not have to go through it alone.”

“I’m sorry,” was all the troubled woman could breathe out.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for honey. But instead of taking this all on by yourself and constantly caring for others, why don’t you let us take care of you for a change? Nothing has to be out of the ordinary.”

“How would we even do that?”

“We treat it as though you’re on your period. I’m assuming you’ve been having phantom pains that you’ve just been ignoring?” Catherine voiced. When Jane meekly nodded, the first queen all but scooped her up into her arms and placed her in her bed. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

“Please don’t leave me,” the blonde whimpered out.

“I won’t be but a few minutes,” she assured the woman in bed. When she noticed the pout that was beginning to grow on the younger woman’s face, Catherine pulled out her cell phone to text Kat. “What if I had Kat come keep you company while I just do a few things downstairs? I promise you I won’t be more than ten minutes.” Seeing that Jane seemed content with the plan, she asked the fifth queen to come keep the third monarch company for a few minutes.

“I’ve been summoned?” the pink haired queen joked before sliding onto the bed next to her maternal figure. When Jane grimaced in pain, Katherine immediately backed off.

“No, no, please come here. I’m fine.” The blonde waved a hand dismissively. “Just a bit of cramping, but nothing will stop me from-”

“Say no more Mum. You just tell me if you get uncomfortable, and I’ll help you in any way I can,” Kat told the woman gently.

Satisfied that Jane was finally taking a moment to rest, Catherine made her way out of the room.

When Catalina walked downstairs, she heard the television playing softly, but all eyes were on her.

“So?” the television show now forgotten about, the four women on the couch were staring at her curiously.

“She hasn’t slept more than two hours each night since three night’s before Edward’s birthday. She hasn’t eaten much since then either, unsure if she could stomach anything other than a light protein shake in the mornings. It’s no wonder she looks like absolute hell: the malnutrition along with the lack of sleep would have anyone looking like a zombie.”

“And yet she still looks like our Janey, although a few pounds lighter if I do say so myself,” Anne noted.

“Her sweater did look a bit bigger on her now that you mention it,” Cathy added on.

“So what are we doing about it?” Anna looked ready to help in any way she could.

“She doesn’t want us to make a big fuss over it. Says it makes it worse than it already is. I told her we could handle it like we handle any particularly bad period for any of us.”

“I’ll go get the heating pad.” Cathy stood from her place and headed to her room.

“I’ll make some toast,” Anne replied and made her way to the kitchen.

When Catherine gave her a stern look, Cleves sighed. “I’ll go cut up some bananas for the bread and make sure Boleyn doesn’t burn down the house making toast.”

“Very well. I’ll be in Jane’s room.”

That night, Jane slept peacefully with her five housemates by her side. For the first time in three weeks, the blonde queen was able to close her eyes without being harassed with terrible thoughts flooding her brain. Instead, her dreams were pleasant: a young blonde boy, a striking image of Jane (no Henry could be detected in this boy), enjoying the day with his mother- the five other queens included.

When the third queen woke up the next morning, she was greeted with a breakfast made by the house’s very own Catherine of Aragon. At her place sat a note:

Take care of yourself, and when you can’t: Let us take care of you.

#six the musical #six musical #six fanfiction #six fanfic #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #jane seymour six #six jane seymour

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jaybhird · 2 years

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what happened to the girl you used to be? what happened to the hbic— the girl with undying rage, the girl who walked with a purpose, the girl who was hell in high heels? her ghost haunts rosewood; her corpse resides in gotham now, sleeping on a couch in an apartment she’s growing more familiar with, eating cereal she told herself years ago she’d never indulge in. (have to watch the calories, right?) she’s beginning to memorize the cracks in the ceiling, the stains on the carpet— alison begged for a lifeline that night; the night she died; the night her mother buried her alive. the lifeline has been granted to her, even while vulnerose & still picking the dirt from under her fingernails. she should be happy while petal lips unfurl into a smile, but how can you smile when you’re caught in an equilibrium of destruction & sorrow? she aches for familiarity / a sense of belonging & of her home, but she’s beginning to learn by now — there’s no place for her anymore. her home has been stolen, her fleeting life out of her reach. there’s no coming back from this & it’s a taunt in her face.

agony has taken residence inside her ribcage — the rubble of her previous life still crushing her. ❛ i don’t care about whatever promise you can see, i care about going the fuck home. ❜ she doesn’t want to hide, but she can see the reality of her situation through the mist: she has no home. gotham is her home now, whether she wants to accept it or not. (alison can’t accept it; there has to be a way she can return to rosewood. alison dilaurentis isn’t dead, not yet— she’s still here, she has to be.) scoffing, she shakes her head, turning her head away from jason; he should be her hero. a hand reaching out from a grave & he grabbed it— she should be grateful. but she’s not; how can you be grateful when you’re better off dead?

❛ don’t you have a job to do or something? that’s code for: leave me alone. ❜

she’s a scared kid. don’t yell at her. and maybe right now, he hates @gravedugs just a little bit, ( stuck between selfish bitch & the poor not-quite dead girl! ). buried alive, he remembers how it felt. the crushing suffocation & the dirt in your nails, clawing out— it doesn’t go away overnight ( or in a month or a year— or ever. you still wake up in a cold sweat with grave dirt in your mouth ). but he had talia. someone who cared, someone who loved him. someone capable of nurturing him & guiding him, someone who loved him. alison however, was stuck with him. just above as unloving & unnurturing as it got. there isn’t adoption papers in his utility belt— bruce.

‘ yeah? you wanna go back to rosewood? pack your shit, i’ll drop you right now. ’ it’s an instinct. to bite back. he isn’t the doting & loving parent figure talia is. no endless patience for someone they cannot connect with. he’s angry. he wants whoever did this to her dead. he wants everyone in rosewood to know that their dearly beloved & oh so missed daughter is alive and eating his stash of cereal. ‘ oh right. you can’t. ’

it’s a mistake— he knows it even before it’s left his mouth ( they’re only a couple hundred miles away but news reports place with her face constantly, the radio blaring about her— he even saw a few missing posters for her on his last patrol: alison dilaurentis, 15, missing person ) but he’s tired. he’s tired of her, he’s tired in general, he’s tired of all this bullshit. he wants his space back. no more blonde hair left over his couch, no more moaning about how ugly the rugs in his place are. a housemate who actually does the dishes... someone who knows how to do the laundry would be tolerable. and he’s standing there saying to himself over & over again: you’re not bruce wayne, don’t traumatize some young kid you’ve basically kidnapped off the street. and then doing exactly that. ‘ i get you’re having a terrible fucking time right now— believe me, i’ve been there. but maybe be a little bit nicer to person who saved your ass. god knows even i was nicer to talia. everyone else might have put up with your shit back there but i’m not. you don’t get to take your crap out on me. you want out? i’ll drop you wherever you want. but if you’re going to be under my roof— you don’t get to be an ungrateful cunt. ’

#ACT. ROSEWOOD'S LIVING DEAD GIRL.#gravedugs #'my roof' bro ur mom is paying for the roof

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

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Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 54

Title: Unexpected

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @miss-smutty, @tragiclyhip, @ocfairygodmother, @ocappreciation

Link on Ao3

: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860450/chapters/80096629

He hears her as she comes in; the soft click of the front door opening, the tap of her heels against the hardwood floor, the jingle of the dogs’ tags as they hurry to greet her. That almost childlike voice speaking in a hushed whisper; praising them for being ‘good boys’ and for not barking and ‘waking the demons up’. The soft rustle as she slips out of her jacket, followed by a yawn and the shuffling of tiny feet approaching him.

Before he has the chance to turn away from the dishwasher and greet her, she’s wrapping her arms around him from behind; briefly squeezing him before her palms settle on his stomach and her forehead rests against his back. For several minutes neither of them speak; her eyes closed as his calloused fingertips repeatedly drift along her forearms and over the tops of her hands. Enjoying the simplicity of the moment; a quiet and innocent display of intimacy in the security of their still and silent home. She relaxes in the warmth that radiates from his body and the smell that clings to both clothes and skin; fresh and crisp and so utterly masculine. For years she’s enjoyed that scent; reminding her of the comforts of home and the beautiful things that exist in their lives and within their relationship. Using it as a comfort whenever they’re separated; sleeping with his pillow, wearing his tees or his dress shirts, wrapping her body up in one of his hoodies. It keeps him close when he’s so far away; easily managing to chase away even the worst of the loneliness, calm her when her patience has been tested, and bring her back from the edge when feels herself slipping into the dark, hopeless place.

His fingers push through hers; lightly squeezing her hands before raising one to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “What’s this all about? This kind of greeting?”

“What? I’m not allowed to hug my husband? Maybe I’m happy to see you. Maybe I appreciate you; taking care of the house, watching the hooligans, letting my sister borrow me for a night. And maybe...just maybe…” she playfully pinches his stomach. “...I find it sexy when you’re doing domestic shit.”

“You do, do ya?” He grins. “Just HOW sexy do you find it?”

“Incredibly sexy. Coming home to a spotless kitchen and all the kids fast asleep and every stitch of laundry folded AND packed? That makes me so hot for you.”

“Maybe that was my plan.” Placing a kiss on the top of her hand, he releases his hold and returns to putting the last of the clean dishes away. “Get all this shit done, make you all hot and bothered, have you at the point you can’t say no.”

“Like I would say no. I seem to be incapable of using that word when it comes to you for some reason. It’s why I’m in the predicament I am now; married to this insanely hot, muscly, tattooed Aussie who I let impregnate me with SEVEN spawn.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Definitely NOT a bad thing. A few more than I ever expected to have, but…” her hands glide along across his stomach and onto his sides. Running up and down his ribs before settling on his hips; playfully pinching the miniscule amount of fat that resides there. “...we do good work.”

“We do,” he agrees, and turns to face her; leaning back against the bottom cupboards with his palms flat against the countertop. “We do fucking amazing work, actually.”

Her hands slide to the small of his back and she leans her body against his; the bottom of her chin against his chest as she peers up at him. Cheeks slightly flushed; the lingering remnants of the powerful drink she’d finished just mere minutes before jumping in a cab and heading for home. “How did things go?”

“I was just going to ask you the same thing. You didn’t stick around long; after you called me.”

“I just wasn’t feeling it. That kind of place. Not really my scene anymore. Maybe when I was in my early twenties and looking for an easy pick up; a bar where the guys are so needy it’s like shooting fish in a barrel. It was like I was in this whole new, strange world that I didn’t even understand. Am I really getting that old?”

“You’re not getting old. You just make better choices now. You’re just wise. More mature.”

She groans.

“What?” he chuckles, and gently combs a hand through her hair; fingertips moving wayward strands from the side of her face and looping them behind her ear. “What did I say?”

“You said mature. Which is just a polite way of calling me old.”

“That is definitely NOT why I called you mature. You are NOT old. Far from it.”

“You’re saying that out loud, but inwardly you’re counting my gray hairs, aren’t you.”

“Maybe…”

Frowning, she slaps both palms against his ass and then pinches aggressively. “Jerk!”

“You really want to know what I was thinking?”

“I don’t know, do I? Are you actually brave enough to admit it? You may be Mister Big, Bad Mercenary, but you can’t deny you’re scared of little old me.”

“That’s because you hold all the power. Other people? They can’t hurt me the way you can.”

“I guess in your eyes, this is nothing scarier than the reality of sleeping on the couch for the rest of your naturally born life,” she chides, as her hands slip under his t-shirt. Her palms repeatedly skimming over his bare back; fingers able to find the smattering of scars by sheer memory. “Tell me,” she encourages. “What WERE you thinking?”

“You sure you can handle it?”

“I’m a big girl; I can take it.”

“Of there’s no doubt about that. And you take it very well.”

She gives a dramatic roll of her eyes, then lightly scraps her fingernails along his skin. “Considering what I’ve gone through in the past twelve and a half years, I think it’s safe to say that I can pretty much handle anything you throw at me.”

“I dunno…”

“Tyler, my husband is a mercenary. I have four sons. I have seen and heard it all. Nothing shocks me anymore.”

“All I was thinking was how you looked really beautiful tonight. I mean, you’re beautiful ALL the time, but tonight? Extra beautiful.”

A slow smile creeps across her face; dark eyes sparkling up at him in a mix of content and slight embarrassment. Still not entirely comfortable with compliments and praise; her childhood and eventual first marriage spent being constantly torn down and degraded. “That was an extremely good save.”

A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Wasn’t bad, huh? You impressed by me?”

“Very. That was extremely quick thinking on your part. You may have just saved yourself a very long time of camping out in the living room.”

“Well, I actually would just go and stay in the pool house. Try not to cross your path until you’ve calmed down a bit. And honestly…” Both hands push through her hair now; fingers slowly combing through the loosening curls. “...it’s the truth. It WAS what I was thinking.”

“Husband, I don’t care what you say, you’re a big softie.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, fingertips grazing over the smooth lines of her jaw; thumbs repeatedly brushing across the tops of her cheeks before leaning down to kiss her.

Long and soft and sweet; the slow and familiar movements of closed mouth upon closed mouth. A sigh escaping as she climbs onto the top of his feet; standing on the tips of her toes as she curls her arms around his neck. It’s a simple and innocent form of intimacy. Nothing hurried or rushed; bodies not driven by profound want and need. Just a gentle and languid mix of mouths and the tips of tongues. Calloused palms tenderly cradling her face

He gathers her in his embrace when the moment finally ends. Tucking her tightly into his chest. An arm wrapped securely around her waist and hand resting against the back of her head; fingers pushing through her hair and then gently kneading her scalp. She relishes in that physical connection; eyes closed and her arms wrapped around his torso. Enjoying the press of his cotton t-shirt against her cheek and the hard wall of muscle that lays behind it, the familiar scent that clings to skin and clothes, the warmth that radiates from his body, the sound of his heart beating deep within his chest.

The latter plays on her emotions; the realization of how close she’d come to never hearing that sound again. Remembering those first nights in Dhaka; when sleep managed to find him and she’d laid against the strong, beautiful body with her head on his chest or pressed against his back. This big, seemingly fearless man that was haunted by so many ghosts and plagued by so many demons; a troubled mind and a weary body somehow finding reprieve and comfort in HER presence. All the things he’d confessed to her; his guilt and his shame and his regret and how he’d been harbouring a death wish for years. She had lay there in that dirty hotel room marvelling at him; having gone through so much yet somehow managing to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The sound of his heart was the sound of potential and promise; he hadn’t given up and he’d admitted to finally finding something -someone- that could perhaps make him happy again and give him a sense of purpose.

It had come so close to being snatched away; both on the Sultana Kamal Bridge and during his return to Dhaka.

She tightly squeezes her eyes in an attempt to hold back a flood of tears; hands increasing their grip on the back of his shirt. He doesn’t question it; the trembling of her body or the hitch in her breathing or the desperate way in which she clings to him. Instead he drops a kiss on the top of her head and his palm slides to the middle of her back; rubbing in smooth, comforting circles.

It’s several minutes before he speaks. Both hands briefly settling on her shoulders, gently pushing her away before one hand rests on her hip and the knuckles of the other graze along her jaw. “You alright? You good?”

Nodding, she opens her eyes and looks up at him, managing a reassuring smile and a small nod.

“You sure? ‘Cause you don’t look alright. You want to tell me what’s going on? What’s got you looking like the waterworks are going to start any second?”

“It’s just been a hell of a couple weeks. And finding out about Mark and realizing that was actually him that got that close to me? It’s just unsettled me a bit. That’s all.”

“I am sorry that I kept it from you. If I’d had any other choice…”

Her hands slide down his back and onto his ribs. “You didn’t though. You did the right thing. You don’t need to be sorry. I don’t WANT you to be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. You made the right decision.”

He nods slowly as he considers her words. “Did you at least try and have a good time tonight? Was any of it decent at least?”

“Dinner was great. Conversation was awesome. I could have done without going to a bar mainly inhabited by frat boys whose balls haven’t probably even dropped yet. Do you want to know how many times I was propositioned tonight? How many times my ass was grabbed?”

“Not really, no.”

“A lot. A staggering amount, actually. Probably more times than you've grabbed my ass in the entire twelve years I’ve been married to you. But I enjoy when YOU grab it. Them? I feel like I need to bathe in a tub full of bleach.”

“You know, you could have called me. I would have come down there to bust some heads.”

“Which is exactly WHY I didn’t call you. Because you’re much more useful to me and the children than you are in jail. Let’s NOT catch any assault charges, okay?”

“I don’t know,” he chides. “Guys start sexually harassing my wife…”

“I handled them. Nothing good old fashioned public humiliation to set them straight. What about your night? Did it go okay? Have YOU been okay?”

“I’ve been good. Just been keeping to myself. Hung out with Desi and Shaena, kept the kids fed and entertained. No one broke any bones or blackened any eyes or shed any blood. That’s considered a successful night in our house.”

“That's considered a miracle,” she laughs. “You know, considering your children are feral and all.”

“You’re going to blame that on me, aren’t you?”

“Honey, you once lived in a shack in the outback with a chicken as a roommate. That’s pretty feral.”

“You fell in love with me. While I was living in that shack with that chicken. Knowing I was feral. What does that say about you?”

“It says that I have exceptional taste. That despite being feral, I thought you were insanely sexy. I saw that sparkle of a diamond under the rough. Didn’t take much for me to bring it right out in the open.”

“Comparing me to a diamond? I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered.”

“It’s a compliment, you jackass.”

“You have this uncanny ability of loving me up one second and shit talking me the next.”

“You act like that’s something new. I’ve only been like this for more than a decade. I notice you stick around. Put up with it. You haven’t told me to fuck off or packed your bags and hauled ass.”

“Well despite your downfalls, you have way more good qualities going for you.”

“Yeah? And what good qualities are those?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I mean, you can’t reach things on the high shelves, you can’t get clothes out of the bottom of the washing machine, you can’t cook for shit.”

“Go on,” she encourages, and pinches the sensitive areas below his ribs. “Get it all off your chest. I promise I won’t kill you in your sleep.”

“But, in spite of all of your many faults, I love you. And I can’t live without you.”

Smiling, she stands on her tip toes and presses a kiss to the underside of his chin. “We are so codependent.”

“A little. But I think it’s kinda of understandable, don’t you? I mean, both of us spent a lot of years not having anyone. Always had to fend for ourselves, didn’t trust anyone, didn’t let anyone in ‘cause we didn’t want to get hurt. And then we met and that all changed. I think it’s easy to see why we are the way we are; we’ve been through a lot of shit together. A lot of horrible, horrible shit.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, then squeezes his sides and smiles up at him. “But we’ve also been through a lot of really good times too.”

“We have,” he agrees. “Even in the midst of some of the really shitty stuff.”

“And we always get through things. No matter how bad they are. How many couples can say that? How many would just break and fold and not even fight for things? Probably a lot. I like to think we’re a different breed. That what we have is totally different from what they have.”

“I think it is. I mean, let’s face it; we’re both phenomenally resilient. And horrifyingly stubborn. I think you’re even worse than I am.”

“Please,” she laughs. “You are the king of stubborn people. No one comes close to you.”

“I don’t know, Me. Some of the things I’ve seen you do when you shouldn’t…”

“Tyler, you are way more stubborn than I am. Admit it.”

“You’re arguing like a stubborn person would,” he teases, and then laughs when she lands a playful, light punch to his stomach and tries to back away; a palm on the small of her back holding her in place. “How about we just call it a tie?”

“How about we say you have fifteen percent more stubbornness than I do?”

“Fifteen? I’ll go as high as five.”

“Five?” she scoffs. “You have to be shitting me. It is way more than five.”

“Seven?”

She stares pointedly up at him.

“Ten?”

“I’ll settle for ten. Even though it’s more like twelve, thirteen, but…” she squeals when he brings the palms of hands down on her ass in a ringing slap; fingers digging through the fabric of her dress and into the soft flesh. “...I’ll give it to you.”

“Good girl.”

“Where’s the littles? I expected to find you fast asleep with a couple of them on you.”

“Put them to bed.”

“You got all three of them upstairs? A couple trips?”

“I’m no two trip bitch, Esme. I got it done in one shot. Boom.” He flexes his right bicep. “Guns of fucking steel, baby.”

“So sexy,” she praises, and then tilts her face up towards him for another kiss. “I am going to and get out of this dress and take a shower. Want to come with?”

“I do, actually. You go do your thing and I’ll finish things down here and lock everything up.”

“Sounds good,” she chirps, and he presses a chaste peck to her lips. “Don’t be forever okay? I’ve kind of missed you. Even in the carnal way.”

“Isn’t that the best way?”

“Sometimes. The most fun way, that’s for sure.”

“Best way to spend any night of the week if you ask me.” His palm slides down her spine as she steps away; briefly lingering at the small of her back and then passing over her over ass.

“Don’t take too long,” she says, and reaches for his hand as she turns on her heel ; fingertips sliding over long, calloused digits and across the rough, work weary palm. And she shoots him a smile over her shoulder as she heads from the room; those big, dark eyes betraying the sadness, fear and confusion that plague her.

****

“You know what I want to do when we get home?” she asks, as he massages shampoo into her short, dark locks. “One of the first things I want?”

“Other than watching the sunset? And a long sleep in our bed?”

“I want a pink lemonade cupcake from Bitten. And maybe a key lime one too. I miss their cupcakes. If there’s anything in this world that even comes close to being better than sex, it’s their cupcakes.”

“Comes close to being better than sex? Excuse me?”

“Well maybe not sex with YOU. But sex with average lovers. Or just above average. You’re off the chart. In fact you’re so far off the chart, you’ve made an entire chart all of your own. Nothing comes even remotely close to your chart.”

“How many average or above average lovers have you had?”

“We have talked about this...many times...in the past twelve and a bit years. You’re only the fourth guy I’ve ever been with. Actually, you could be considered only the third because number two came before he got inside of me and then cried about it and instead of getting off, I had to console him and his fragile masculinity.”

“Jesus Christ,” he chuckles. “What kind of guys were you used to?”

“Mediocre ones. At best. And then you came along and I totally stepped up my game.”

“I don’t know, Me. I’m not exactly the best catch. I’m kinda...messy.”

“I will not tolerate any of this nonsense. You shit talking yourself. So you’ve got some issues…

“Some?”

“A few. But you’re not messy. Okay, maybe you were a TAD messy when we FIRST met, but you got your shit together quick. Cleaned yourself up.”

“Almost dying and being in a coma for a week and the hospital for three months will do that to you. Wean you off your vices.”

She tilts her head back and frowns up at him. “Here I was thinking you were going to say ‘it’s because I finally had a reason to clean myself up. Someone to get my shit together for.”

“I didn’t think that needed to be said. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Maybe I just like to hear it.”

“Baby…” He leans down and presses a kiss to the tip of her nose. “...you were the only reason I was even alive. Of course I got my shit together for you. I wouldn’t have; had you not been around.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “You know, you always come up with the most immaculate of saves at the most perfect time.”

“Only took me twelve and a half years. I guess I’m a slow learner, huh?”

“I don’t know. You seem to be pretty quick at learning all the right things. And by right things I mean all the sexiest ones.”

“If there’s one thing I DO excel at…”

“Despite what you think of yourself, you excel at MANY things. But you just happen to be a God at things that involve being naked.”

“Well technically, we’re not always COMPLETELY naked. When I get my best ideas.”

“Without pants,” she clarifies. “I mean, they have to come off no matter what.”

“How about we not talk about being without pants?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, husband, we’re not wearing any pants right now.”

“Oh I’ve noticed. I’m just trying not to think of the naughty things that can happen when we’re naked from the waist down. Because this shower…?”

“Not exactly the easiest place to have fun in,” she finishes. “Last time you almost dropped me.”

“In my defence, I slipped. The tiles were slippery. You used too much of that gel shit. The one that smells like watermelon.”

“It’s cucumber and cantaloupe, thank you very much.”

“Whatever it is, you’re not supposed to use the whole bottle at once. Now…” he pecks her lips. “...rinse.”

His hands move through her hair when she bows her head under the full stream of the shower; gently scrubbing at her scalp before his fingers slip through the wet, soapy tresses. Clearing them of any and all evidence of shampoo; enjoying that familiar honey and coconut scent that he first encountered and fallen in love with many years before.

“You know…” she says, as he reaches for the matching conditioner and squeezes some into his palm. “...we didn’t think the whole shower thing through. When we did the renos on this place.”

“I asked you if you wanted me to blow out that one wall. Totally get rid of the sewing room and make the bathroom bigger. Why the hell do we even need a sewing room anyway? I have never...EVER...seen you sew a single damn thing in twelve in a half years.”

“I sewed your arm back up,” she reminds him. “In Dhaka.”

“Honey, I’m not talking about doing patchwork on a human with a needle and dental floss. Have you ever fixed a hole in a pair of jeans? Hemmed a pair of pants? Put a button back on?”

“No,” she admits. “But it doesn’t mean I never will. I could pick up the hobby. And be very good at it.”

“Me, I love you, but you’re not THAT kind of wife. The whole making Halloween costumes and kids clothes? That’s not your thing.”

“I don’t cook well, I can’t reach things on the top shelves or the bottom of the washer, I don’t sew. Just what DO I bring to this whole gig as a wife?”

“Your body has carried SEVEN of my kids. You grew them and you brought them into this world safe and sound. You raise them. Keep them alive. Nurture them.”

“WE do those things. As a team. I’m not a single parent.”

“You’re an amazing mum. You have been right from the beginning. And you’re an awesome wife. You put up with my shit; the job, all my mental crap, my shitty past. I mean, you married a mercenary. A killer for hire. That says a lot right there.”

“Yeah,it says I’m a few bricks short of a load,” she teases, and tips her head back to grin up at him.

“You’ve loved me no matter what. When I had nothing to offer you. When I was fucking mess. You still stuck around. And you stuck around no matter how hard I’ve made things on you.”

“Of course I have. I love you.”

“And that…” he presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose. “...is exactly what you bring to the whole wife thing. It’s more than enough.”

“You’re a sap,” she declares, and winks at him. “I love this side of you. The sweet and sappy side. Even I do have to keep it a secret from the world.”

“One day, Me. One day I promise you that I will let you reveal all my secrets to the world. When I no longer have a rep to maintain.”

“All of them?”

“Every single one.”

“Even about all your sketch books at home? And the blankie you have to have covering your feet at night? Millie’s old receiving blanket?”

“Even those,” he promises.

“Maybe I will do it during your eulogy. That seems like as good a time as any.”

Grinning, he motions for her to step under the stream of water. “Planning my funeral already, are you?”

“Oh,I’ve had it planned for years,” she chides, and then gives a squeal when he lands a backhand on one of the cheeks of her ass. “For your information…” she dips her head under the water; eyes closing as his fingers once more massage at her scalp and clear her hair of the conditioner. “...I planned it for when you’re 99.”

“You couldn’t give me that extra year? That’s harsh.”

“You’re the one who said you didn’t want to make it to triple digits,” she points out, and turns to face him. “I thought I was just living up to your wishes.”

“That’s very kind of you. Very thoughtful.” His fingers move wet strands of hair away from the sides of her face, then clears the remaining suds of shampoo from around her eyes and off her cheeks and nose.

“I always have your best interests at heart,” she chides, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down to kiss her and then reaching for the shampoo. “My turn?” she asks hopefully, and shakes the bottle in front of his face.

“Didn’t we agree on this? I wash my own hair? Unless there’s a reason I can’t.”

“Don’t be so difficult. There’s nothing wrong with me doing these things for you. I WANT to do it. You take care of me, I take care of you. This marriage isn’t a one way street.”

“Esme…”

She drops her chin to chest and stares up at him. “Tyler…”

He’s unable to resist that long; those dark, seemingly innocent eyes surrounded by long, even darker lashes. “Fine,” he relents, and retreats to the lone built-in bench at the back of the shower. “You get your way. As usual.”

“Because you love me.” She uses a set of controls on the side wall to switch the water flow from the rain shower head at her end, to the one on his. “Because you can’t live without me. Admit it.”

“I’ve already admitted that MANY times.”

“We really ARE codependent as fuck.” She squeezes a helping of shampoo into her palm, then begins scrubbing it into his hair.

“We already talked about this. We have perfectly legitimate reasons to be the way we are. We could be worse things, you know. Than co-dependent. We could be serial cheaters.”

“Or serial killers.”

He chuckles. “That just popped into your head? You thought of that because…?”

“Because I have enough rage inside this little body to do some serious damage to a lot of people.”

“Should I sleep with one eye open, or…?”

“You’re not on my list. Why would you be?”

He shrugs in response; eyes closing and his body relaxing as her fingers press into his scalp; deeply and aggressively kneading.

“I can feel the scars,” she remarks. “I bet if you shaved your head right down, you’d have a pretty good road map up there.”

“Want me to do it? Shave it?”

“Nope. I like it this way.” Her nails lightly scratch against his scalp. “Longer version of my favourite haircut on you. Feel good?”

“Feels really good.” His head falls forward; brow resting against her and his hands finding her hips. “Might put me to sleep.”

“Now that I would be a waste of perfectly good nakedness. Rinse.”

Tilting his back, he lets the steady flow of water rid his hair of suds and uses his palms to scrub and clean his beard. When he opens his eyes, her back is towards him and she’s reaching out to place the bottle back on the metal shelves in the corner. And she gives a shriek -followed by giggle- when he curls an arm around her waist and yanks her into his lap. And she presses a kiss to his cheek and adjusts her position; turning sideways and perching herself on his left thigh while her legs dangle over the right.

Her eyes close as she nestles her face into her favourite spot; that warm, safe place between neck and shoulder. And for several minutes, neither of them speak. Both her arms wrapped around his neck; his head resting back against the tiles and a palm repeatedly smoothing up and down her thigh. And she gives a long, breathy sigh when his lips find her shoulder; light and feathery kisses peppered across her collarbone.

“Speaking of being naked…”

Grinning, she pulls back to look at him. “Promise you won’t drop me this time?”

“We can do it differently. You can ride me.”

Her eyes widen and she gives a dramatic gasp. “Twice in one night? Is this second Christmas? I usually don’t get to do that twice a month, never mind twice in one day!”

With a smirk, he tangles his fingers in her hair. His voice rumbling deep in his chest as he growls, “Come here,” and pulls her into a ravenous, aggressive kiss.

*****

He’s the first out of the bathroom. Peeling the towel from around his waist, he uses it to vigorously scrub at his hair and then tosses it in the nearby hamper. He snags a clean pair of sweats from the open suitcase lying in the corner of the room; every piece of clothing that has to return with them to Australia now packed away and ready for departure in four days. He’s anxious to get home; each minute leading him closer to the moment he can sleep in a more familiar bed and feel the sand beneath his feet and between his toes. To the sound of the waves rolling onto the shore and the smell of salt hanging in the hair; the slight rustle of the surrounding trees as a breeze blows through them and the calls and the ‘chatter’ of the wildlife that takes up residence in the woods and upon their stretch of land.

“You going to check on the kids?” Esme calls from the bathroom; her voice drowned out by the hairdryer. “Make sure no one has fallen out of bed. Or sneaking Ipad time when it’s supposed to be night-night time.”

“In a sec.” He rakes both hands through his hair, then reaches for a tube of pain relief cream that sits on the dresser; eyes falling on the plastic bag bearing the name of the bodega that Esme had sat down before stepping into the shower. His curiosity gets the better of him; eyes narrowing and confusion immediately setting in at what greets him when he peers into the bag.

“What did you say?” Esme asks, as she pads into the room; combing her fingers through her now dry hair, clad in an oversized bubblegum pink bathrobe. “I didn’t hear you. Did you check on them or…?”

“I said in a sec. Babe…” he turns to face her, bag in hand. “...what’s this?”

Eyes widening, she briefly -and nervously- chews on her bottom lip. “It’s a pregnancy test.”

"Yeah, I see that. But whose? Why’s it here? Why you’d bring it home? It can’t be yours.”

Her teeth dig even harder into her lip; hands anxiously fidget with the belt on her robe.

“It CAN’T be yours. There’s no way. It’s not possible. How could that even happen? Scientifically, it can’t.”

“Actually it can. Riley said one in two hundred women will get pregnant despite having their tubes tied.”

“Okay, but we doubled up on things. I got fixed too. I mean, there’s no way you got pregnant with both of us getting things done.”

“There’s something called recanalization. It’s where the vas deferens grows back and creates a new connection and causes the vasectomy to reverse itself.”

“Wait…” he gives an awkward, uncomfortable chuckle. “...that’s a thing?”

Esme nods. “And you usually don’t find out it happened until your partner gets pregnant. Years later.”

“THIS many later? We haven’t been using anything for almost five years. Why would it wait until now to happen? Why not before?”

“It’s probably just how long it took. For things to reverse. I mean, I googled it and there were stories of pregnancies happening a decade after a vasectomy, so…”

“Jesus…” He issues a long, heavy exhale of breath and leans back against the dresser; eyes fixated on the bag still in his hands.

Tears well in her eyes. “You’re angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“That pulsing vein in your neck says you are.”

“I am NOT angry,” he stresses. “Shocked as hell? Confused as fuck? Yeah. But I am not angry. Why would I be angry? I’ve got nothing to be angry about. You really think you are?”

“I think it’s a strong possibility.” She cautiously moves closer to him, then sinks down on the edge of the bed in front of him. “I mean, there’s signs. Things that I’ve felt before. Five times.”

“Like?”

“I’ve been moody, more emotional than usual, hungry constantly. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Yeah, but there’s some good reasons...other reasons than a baby...for those things. I mean, stress will do it. You’ve been stressed. About me, about the holidays in general, your mother, the neighbour, now all this crap with Mark.”

“I was feeling them before all that. Before we even left Australia.”

“How long before?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “A few weeks.”

“A few weeks? You’ve felt like this for a few weeks? What the hell, Esme? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t connect it to maybe being pregnant. I didn’t think it was possible either. I thought maybe it was just peri-menopause. Or I was just feeling rundown and overwhelmed; things have been crazy busy with both businesses and the kids’ after school schedules. I chalked it up to that. And then when you said you were going to do a job, I figured the worry of that just added to everything.”

“You still should have said something. If you weren’t feeling well...for whatever reason…”

“You were caught up in things for the business. It’s been insane lately. There’s been a huge influx of new clients, new hires, big high profile jobs…”

“Yeah, there has been. But you know what? None of that matters. YOU matter. I would have found a way; to deal with that and take care of you.”

“I didn’t need you taking care of me.”

“That seems to be a real theme with you lately. Not needing me.”

“Tyler, don’t even go there. We already fought about that. About me calling Riley that night and not you. And I have apologized a million times. What more do you want from me?”

“Nothing. I don’t want anything from you, Esme. And apparently you don’t want or need anything from me.”

“That is so unfair. And so far from the truth. Don’t do that. Don’t take everything as a slight to you. I didn’t keep it from you to hurt you. I just didn’t think it was anything but stress and being busy and feeling rundown. That’s it. It had nothing to do with not wanting you or needing you. Because I need you in so many ways. And not just as my husband. You know that I want you. And that I need you. In every way.”

Sighing heavily, he tosses the box onto the top of the dresser, then crosses his arms over his chest.

“This has nothing to do with how I feel about you,” she insists. “And I know you taking everything as a personal slight is just part of your trauma and your response to it and…”

“Can we NOT do this?” he interjects. “Can we not go totally off the rails? That doesn’t need to be talked about. That…” he nods down at the box. “...THAT needs to be talked about.”

“You ARE angry.”

“I’m going to GET angry if you keep saying that. I am not angry. I am confused and I’m shocked and I’m wondering how the fuck this kind of thing can happen and…” he sighs, running his palms over his hand. “...do you really think you are?”

“It’s a strong possibility. I mean, I have skipped two periods.”

“Holy fuck…” he shakes his head incredulously. “...this just gets better.”

“You know things have never been normal when it comes to that. How many times have I skipped periods and not been pregnant?”

“How many times have you skipped them and BEEN pregnant?” he counters. “More times than not, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she sheepishly admits. “Look, I get you’re frazzled and you’re confused and you know what? So am I. But getting upset with me…”

“I am not…” he snaps, then briefly closes his eyes and gathers his composure. “...I am not upset with you. It’s just...wow.”

“Just two weeks ago you brought up wanting another one. You talked about how we should both get things reversed and…”

“And we talked about it and we came to the conclusion that I didn’t really want a baby, I was looking for a way to fill the fucking crater that my son left behind when he died. Did we not agree to that?”

She nods, then briefly looks away as she struggles to hold back a flood of tears. “You wouldn’t want it then? If I am?”

“I didn’t say that. I would NEVER say that.”

“I mean, if I am, there’s options. If we’re not in a good place, we don’t…”

“There’s no options. That’s our kid. A life we made together. Just ‘cause the timing sucks and it’s totally unexpected doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want it. Do you think that little of me?”

“No!" she exclaims. " Of course don’t! I love you. You’re the love of my life. You have no idea how I look at you. How I see you. I just assumed the way you’re reacting and the way you’re talking, that maybe you think it's a bad idea.”

“Do I think it’s a great idea? No. Would I want to get rid of a kid I helped make? No. Would I love the kid with everything I have? Yes. Why? You don’t want it?”

“It’s not that I don’t want it. It’s…” she struggles to find the words; hands increasing the intensity and speed at which they fidget with the belt on the bathrobe.

He drops to his knees in front of her; prying her hands away from the terry cloth sash and gripping them tightly. “Tell me. Please.”

She looks up at him. “I love you. More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I love our life together. I never want it to end. I love our family and what we’ve built. And I love being a mom. You know all that, right?”

“I do. I do know all of that.”

“I’m going to be forty two years old; there’s a greater risk of things going wrong as a mother ages. And we’ve had complications with every single one but Millie. Look at TJ and Tanner…”

“That was just a freaky thing that went wrong. It didn’t happen again; with Brookie and Takota. They were fine.”

“I’ve had problems with each pregnancy except for the first. Bleeding and cramping and scare after scare. How many times did we think we’d lose our babies? More times than you can count.”

“But we didn’t lose them.”

“We lost one. And I lost one with Mark.”

“And you had seven perfectly healthy babies. I mean, Tanner had his issues, but got better and now he’s great. He’s the healthiest out of them. Not to mention once you got past the first trimester, things went fine. For all of them. I mean the last two didn’t even want to come out; they liked it so much in there.”

She manages a laugh. “We almost had to forcibly evict them.”

“And look how well you did bringing them into the world. Totally natural. In the water. That was fucking incredible.”

“I guess I’m just worried about losing another one. Because I couldn’t take that, Tyler. And I know you couldn’t either.”

“So based on a totally small percentage of something going wrong, you wouldn’t want a baby? OUR baby?”

“I want it. I’m just scared. Of having one. Especially now. With so much shit going on. All this craziness. It’s not exactly the best time.”

“Have any of them been at the best time? Either when they were conceived or when they were born? They’ve all been tied to bad shit in some way. That seems to be our thing; making babies or having them when shit’s tough.”

“And I’m terrified something will go wrong. Remember with Declan? When they thought maybe he had Down Syndrome?”

“I do. And you know what else I remember? I remember that you and I talked about it...extensively...many times. And that we agreed that if there was something going on with him, it didn’t matter. Because it was our kid and we could handle anything thrown at us. I mean, we even researched the first steps into getting whatever he’d need to thrive and learn. Are you saying now you wouldn’t be able to handle it?”

“I know I’d be able to. And believe me, it doesn’t matter if there are problems. Because that’s my baby. No matter what.”

“But…”

“I just...I don’t know...I just…” she sighs heavily, then clamps her mouth shut.

“Esme, if there is ever a time you need to be one hundred percent completely honest with me, this is it. You need to tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. I can’t read your mind, babe. Tell me. Please.”

“Even if it might upset you?”

“Even then. You need to tell me. What’s going on? What’s got you so worried and so scared?”

“It’s a lot of work. ANY baby. Even the perfectly healthy ones.”

“I know. I’ve been through this seven times. Eight times if we count Austin. I know what it takes. And you know that I put everything I have into it; being a dad.”

“You do. And you’re awesome at it. The whole daddy thing.”

“So then what are you concerned about? What…?”

“Children with special needs bring a lot to the table. A lot of extra stuff.”

“I know that too. I’m prepared for that.”

“Are you? Prepared for all of that kind of stuff? The amount of time that will be devoted? The possible health issues? The therapies that we'll have to submit them to? The way the other kids will feel animosity towards their sibling? The stress it'll put on our marriage? Are you prepared for ALL that?" ”

“Are you? Are you saying you couldn’t handle it?”

She shakes her head.

“Esme, please. Just tell me.”

“I’m worried that if something is wrong, it’ll get to be too much.” The tears finally fall. “It will be too much to handle and you’ll leave.”

“Baby...hey…come here…”

Dropping her hands, he gathers her into his arms; a hand on the back of her head as she sobs into his shoulders. He knows it’s a mix of things; her battle with her own mental health, her worries surrounding his, the fact her relationship with her mother finally met its drastic and painful end. And now the emergence of her supposedly dead ex husband; a man who’d caused her so much pain and torment and she’d finally gotten rid of.

“It’s okay.” The fingers of one hand gently massage her scalp; the other palm moving in slow, smooth and comforting circles in the middle of her back. “You’re alright.”

“Promise me you won’t leave. If things get really hard. If something IS wrong. Promise me.”

“I’m not taking off. No matter how tough things get. You can’t get rid of me that easily. It’s going to take either you leaving, or death.”

“Well I know I’m not going anywhere and I hope that last one isn't for a very long time.”

Pulling away, he smooths her hair away from her face and then cradles her cheeks in his palms; thumbs brushing away the river of tears. “Esme, I’m not that guy anymore. The one that runs. I haven’t been him in a long time. Because of you. You changed that. You changed ME.”

“I need you. Not just because of this. Or because of Mark. Because of so many things. I can’t do this without you. This life. I just can’t.”

“You don’t have to. I am right here.” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, his lips linger against the soft, warm skin. “I’m not going anywhere, babe. I’m with you until the end. And I hope that’s a hell of a long time away, too.”

“I didn’t mean to accuse you of still being that way. The guy that runs. I didn’t mean…”

“You have every right to worry about that. I’d worry about it too. I totally get it.”

“I’m scared. Of so many things.”

“Well, me taking off shouldn’t be one of those. That’s not going to happen. Everything else? We’ll handle it. Our track record for getting through hard shit is pretty good. I don’t plan on ruining that. Do you?”

She shakes her head.

“You know what I think we should do? Before we have any more of these conversations? I think we should find out for sure. If there IS a baby. I think that’s where we need to start, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she sniffles, as gentle, calloused fingertips clean up the last of her tears. “I do. Will you stay with me? While I take it? And while I wait.”

“Like I said,” he places a soft, tender kiss on her lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction #Chris Hemsworth #Tyler Rake x OF #Chris Hemsworth Extraction #Tyler and Esme series #Extraction fan fic #Tyler Rake fan fic

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throughthewwods · 3 years

Text

I had an entry written, but it was eaten by the mighty Tumblr gods. I guess it doesn’t particularly matter. it was more of a reflection on things I’m sure I’ve thought about before, which could’ve been shortened to, “Ah yes... The uselessness of Saturday is why sleep is more important than thinking staying up late will help me decompress”.

As we finish dinner I get a notice from school and took it as an opportunity to show my kiddo a real example of how much a scholarship can award you and the ways that money is quite helpful. She was excited at the idea of choosing her classes and creating her own schedule in college. I explained the difference between a prerequisite and extracurricular. I emphasize that even if she doesn’t love math if she continues to puts in the effort to understand math and English she’d be able to take less of those classes and finish her degree faster, which pleased her. I also pointed out that some classes come in parts and why it’s better to do them consecutively, not scattered. she is smiling saying she believes she will do well in college because she likes to read and likes books.

💜

No one said anything to me about college growing up, never mind how to be a successful student. It wasn’t even mentioned until high school and only with a skeptical, begrudging tone that a degree was a necessity to find a decent paying job someday or I’d be just another worthless loser, not because education was valuable. That was the extent of their wisdom. Today they are finally proud of me, that I’m no longer the black sheep hippie, that I get the abstract of good grades, that I will likely join the middle class, but it’s not because they respect anything I’ve learned along the way that a degree represents. On the bright side, be it super inappropriate to over-share with your kid like they do, they value my thoughts as a not-yet-counselor enough to vent to me and sometimes even take my input to heart.

Shortly after our mother-daughter bonding moment my body was done for the day and I passed out.

I slept well and woke up with some energy: immediately tackled the pile of dishes in my sink, threw in a load of laundry, and on my 2nd cup of coffee, worked on my stereotype research data.

✅

MN called in a bath of too much wine and whiskey. She is talking to her high school sweetheart again. They are remembering a time in their lives before so many permanent, life altering decisions were made. They are both married with kids and bond over how dissatisfied they are with their lives. She has worked so diligently to get this far in life. I’m worried she is about to self-sabotage 3 feet before she wins at the finish line. I also feel bad for her husband who is a really good, supportive, understanding guy. It’s not his fault she’s unhappy should couldn’t change him into someone more abcd. It is the foreshadowing of a B movie infidelity plot. I do my best to be honest, but compassionate. It’s watching a train crash in slow motion that I cannot stop, but she has always been there for me. She has always created a space where I could tell her anything without making me feel worse than I already did. I owe her that same solace. It’s just... sad.

I accidentally sent my friend, LE down the Adverse Childhood Experiences rabbit hole.. so.... that’s fun.. learning the science behind every additional trauma you went through in your childhood further dooms your health as an adulthood. 😅 I tried to discourage her from researching it, but she was already fast on Google scrolling in horror. I remember how hard it was when I first started having to constantly read about how bleak the statistics are for my demographic.. all the extra risk factors I fit into that make me a special kind of screwed according to the numbers.. all the tragic study findings that hit too close too home... I’ve mostly adjusted, but It still haunts me. I’ve read countless self-help books, enough to tell when one is plagiarizing another. I still regularly research in my ‘spare time’ studies that look for ways to help ‘people like me’ and try to implement whatever betters my odds like someone who keeps a variety of religions on their keychain.

SO.. i’m turning off my phone because I can’t stomach anymore conversations today about trauma and how it turns people into bulls in China shops or is statistically crippling.. NopeNopeNOPE! Only kittens and rainbows for the rest of the day! I’m gunna go hula hoop off my pesky human condition before the inherent nature of suffering leads to more binging Netflix.

#journal #writing #my writing #100 days of productivity #studystudystudy #relationship #positivemindset #motherhood #parenting #generational trauma #trauma #ptsd vent #depression #anxiety

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gyeomork · 5 years

Text

Better (Part 1)

(park jinyoung x reader)

part 1

genre: fluff

warnings: mild cursing

word count: 1.4k

a/n: so i got really inspired by the pics they posted of jinyoung on twitter like jinyoung invented bf pics. period. so i’m making a short series, originally i wasn’t going to but,, wtvr wtvr. anywho she’s kinda short... that’s all i have to say lmao bye ^3^

the banging on my front door did not stop. the world just didn’t want me to brood in peace. it has been two weeks since i found my ex cheating on me. when i walked in on him making love to another woman, the image burned into my mind and haunted me. i moped and continued to mope for the days following; questioning myself in the process. the banging at my front door finally went away like it always has been for the past days. a text came in on my phone but i just couldn’t bring myself to reply. a call then came in but i, again, didn’t feel like answering. a few moments later my door was swung open. at first i jumped but then winced at the light coming in my room for the first time in days. once my eyes adjust to the light i realize who it is. “y/n..?” he furrows his eyebrows and squints at me. i guess he can’t tell if there’s an actual person under the blankets, clothes and empty chip bags. “go away, jinyoung” i mumble from under the pile. he takes a look around my room and his eyes widen in shock. he wasn’t used to the best friend that threw trash and clothes all around the room, he was used to the best friend that kept everything spick and span. “god” he sighs to himself while pinching the bridge of his nose. he leaves the room and comes back with a trash bag. “y/n, up” he opens the blinds “get up” he shakes me lightly. “no~” i groan and pull the blanket over my head. “yes” he pulls the blankets off me and throws it on the floor. “come, you can’t stay in here for the rest of your life” he takes my hands and drags me to sit up in bed. “just one more day” i slump. “no that’s what you said the last time and the time before that” he pulls me up and guides me to the bathroom. “you need to get over that dick that you once called your boyfriend. i’m going to give you 30 minutes to get ready” “for” he closes the door before before i could finish “what?” i ended quietly.

after i finish showering, i make my way to my room to get dressed. i notice that all the clothes are gone from off my floor and out my hamper and my bed has been stripped. i finish getting dressed and go to the kitchen where jinyoung was. he was too focused on cooking to notice me there so i get to scan what he’s wearing. a black baseball cap, a black shirt tucked into brown pants and black slip-on vans. he always dressed so simple yet fashionable. i kind of envied him at times. this was one of those times. “oh good, you didn’t take too long, come sit and eat” he ordered “from what i’ve seen, you haven’t eaten anything that will sustain your body”. i sit around the table, he serves me a plate of breakfast and joins me. i take a bite and remember what actual food tastes like. i’ve only been eating junk food and sometimes order takeout if i felt like getting out of bed that day. “what did i have to get ready for?” i ask between bites. “we’re cleaning today. the way you’ve been coping with this is unhealthy and..” he glances over to the sink full of dishes “unpleasant”. he shakes his head and gets up to wash my dishes. i finish and walk over to hand him my dirty dishes. “jinyoung, it’s fine really. i’ll feel better in due time” i lean back on the counter and cross my arms. “but being buried alive in filth is not fine” he points. “plus i’ll help you feel better quicker” he smiles and nudges me with his elbow. i roll my eyes “yeah, like you know how”. “yah!” he flicks water onto my arm “i know exactly how to make you feel better”. i wipe the tiny water droplets off my arm “oh and what is that?” i raise an eyebrow at him. “you’ll see” he dries his hands and takes one of mine to lead me to the door. there were two laundry bags sitting there. he picks up one and passes the other to me. “first thing to do though, is laundry” i take the bag with a heavy sigh. he opens the door and gestures for me to go out first. “this is going to be a long day” i say while going out. “it sure is” he says following behind me. “don’t worry we’ll get to the fun stuff later” he says catching up to me on the short walk to his car parked outside my house. he places his hand on my shoulder and caresses me gently with his thumb. he removes it to retrieve his keys to open the trunk. he puts in the laundry bag he was carrying and helps me with mine.

while driving to the laundromat, i manage to snag a nap. jinyoung wakes me up by gently squeezing my lower thigh. “y/n we’re here” he says softly. “i’m tired” i yawn “what time even is it?” i check my phone. “8:10?! are you out of your mind?” “you’re lucky because i was considering waking you up at 6:30. you’re lucky i even let you get that little nap so be thankful” i look at him in disbelief. he pops open the trunk and gets out the car. he walks over to my side and opens the door. “trust me after this day you’re going to sleep like a baby” he reaches over and releases the seatbelt. i catch a whiff of his cologne. it was the nice one. he rarely uses it even though i say it’s my favorite. he always put on when he had something extremely important to do that day. i choose not to question him on it though because he’ll trace it back to me not answering my phone and being a mess and lazy and so on and so forth. “i already do” i lean back in the seat. “a clean baby then” he tries dragging me out the seat but i pull away. “i don’t want to~” i pout. he lets go, rests his hands on his hips and looks down. “i didn’t want to do this but..” he starts tickling the side of my neck and i pull away laughing out ‘no’s and ‘stop’s. i lay across the armrest trying to escape jinyoung’s hand but he climbs over me and continues his torture. “ok, ok, ok!” i grab his hand to stop him and he does. i stare up at him and he stares down at me. only then is when i realize the position we were in. he was always so beautiful and it is dangerous to have him this close to me. i never know what i might do and i would hate to lose my best friend over controllable lust. but i have to admit that i enjoyed him close to me like this. the extra body heat was always welcome and most of the time needed on nights that i wanted to be held but my ‘boyfriend’ was absent. deep down, i wanted his position to be filled by jinyoung. jinyoung, although, never seemed to have felt that way about me. he was constantly saying that when the right one comes, he’ll know and he doesn’t want to experiment around and waste his time when the right one is out there waiting. “ok” jinyoung says snapping me out of my ongoing thoughts. he gets off of me and i immediately miss the warmth.

the machine starts whirring around and i walk to where jinyoung was standing. i check my front pockets then my back pockets and keep patting and looking around. “what are you looking for?” jinyoung asks with concern in his voice. “my earbuds, i must’ve left them at home” i groan frustratedly. “what’s so bad about that?” he looks down at me. “i like listening to music while waiting. it helps pass time”. “well, i like to walk outside and take in the scenery” i look at him skeptically. he kisses his teeth and takes my hand and we walk out the door.

#jinyoung #park jinyoung #park jinyoung got7 #park jinyoung fic #park jinyoung fanfic #park jinyoung fluff #park jinyoung imagine #park jinyoung scenario #jinyoung got7 #got7 #got7 fic #got7 fanfic #got7 fluff #got7 imagine #got7 scenario #jinyoung fluff #jinyoung fic #jinyoung fanfic #got7 jinyoung

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ilikeoldchangke · 5 years

Text

Destroying my sister in law’s reputation

This has to be one of the most horrible thing I have done in my life and I would surely go to hell for it.

The idea of doing something like this just hit me out of the blue one day many years back and it has been festering in my brain for the longest time. At first I just wondered if it can be done at all, then slowly as the thought takes root inside my head, it became an infatuation.

Back in 2009 when I was dating my wife, I was introduced to Mandy, her sister. I’ve had the hots for my girlfriend’s sister before but never in such intensity. Mandy really brought out the monster inside me.

My girlfriend Melody then was a hottie too with the figure and brains to match but there is just something about Mandy that attracts me to her.

She is not only the splitting image of her sister, there is this sweet and innocent side to her that makes you want to dote on and pamper her.

You know sometimes you hear people say hey, so and so look like the younger version of a celebrity. A little more cute, a little more sweet. Mandy is just like a younger version of my wife.

Seeing Mandy is like taking a trip back in time.

Constantly.

Even till this very day when I look at my sister in law, I would be reminded of the times I spent with my wife when she was younger.

Melody and Mandy have an age gap of 5 years.

When I got to know Melody as a colleague at work, Mandy was still a JC student.

Looking at her in her JC uniforms, I can picture my wife in that exact same age, dressed exactly in that manner coming home after a day in school. That pair of slim legs and her ankle socks that are barely visible as she walks along the road, cradling her bag in hand looking all innocent and sweet.

That image alone made me attempt to recreate the scene no less than 10 times with Melody.

I’m sure this is something many couples do.

Getting their partners to put on their old school uniforms and pretend they are back in school. As for me, I would pretend I’m the one dishing out disciplinary action to her.

In bed of course.

I could picture myself fucking a younger version of my wife whenever I think about Mandy.

I’m sure if given the chance, you would surely want to be able to do a younger, wilder version of your partner.

Mandy got hotter and prettier as with each passing year.

I literally watch her blossom form a sweet young thing into the hot girl she is today. She got a little taller.

Her breast got a little more full.

There’s more bounce in her buttocks when she walks.

Her lips looked more kissable.

Even the smallest action of her brushing her hair behind her ears would sometimes give me an erection.

Mandy has no lack of followers and fans on her social media sites. She’s not a attention seeking whore or anything but there are occasions she does a bit of modelling for some of her entrepreneur friends.

I shall not waste time by going into detail the kind of fantasies I have of Mandy.

Every conceivable thought and fetish that has to do with your girlfriend sister back then, I have imagined it in my head. I pictured it in my mind and wanked off countless times.

Living in the same household was a added bonus. I live together with my in laws in a Jumbo flat in Woodlands. It’s huge and there’s more than enough space for everyone. Me and my wife’s room is right beside Mandy’s.

We share the same bathroom.

Right by the entrance into the bathroom along the wide corridor sits 3 baskets.

Laundry baskets. One for each of us.

Each time I had to force myself not to look when I see Mandy come home from school or from work as she grew older. The bundle of semi wet clothes with her worn panty and bra entangled into the mix just join the rest of her worn stuff in the basket.

Just think of all the things I can do with Mandy’s clothes. Her lingerie, her sports attire, her socks and heels. It’s a candy shop for a horny adult with a fetish.

I have access to so many things. As long as no one is at home of course.

I had access to Mandy’s laptop as well. She’s not exactly savvy with IT stuff and to be honest, I think she knows her phone better than she knows her computer.

Isn’t this the way things are now with the young people these days ?

I know her login password and ID, I setup the WIFI for the family and I even helped to configure her access to the network printer at home. The best thing I did was help her configure her phone to upload and backup her photos onto the backup drive shared among the family.

Every photo, every selfie. Every wasapp image file and videos.

Once she’s connected to WIFI, it gets backup and I get access.

It’s like stalking on a whole new level.

My relationship with Mandy cannot be better. She looked up to me as a older brother of sort, which really amplified how bastard I am when I do something like this to her.

Through sheer manipulation and the power of association and materials from the internet, I was able to destroy her reputation, wreck her relationship and drove her to the brink of a mental breakdown.

I live by a simple motto.

If I want to do something, I go all the way and this is definitely something that I went all out in terms of the money, time and resources I spent but it was all well worth it in the end.

How far did I go you ask ?

Mandy took down all her social media profile, her boyfriend left her. She quit her job.

When she makes eye contact with another man along the street, she tells me the look haunts her.

It made her question whether they saw the scandal that was floating around the internet.

The fake scandal that I created.

One that her boyfriend and everyone around her believed.

Mandy would shut herself in her room most of the time. Right at her most vulnerable moment, I would be her light at the end of the tunnel.

To lend her a shoulder when I most needed it.

So how did I do it ?

By being the absolute bastard of course.

By absolute, I really meant downright despicable.

The length I went to shock even myself as I did it.

First I need to discredit her and for her boyfriend Yogi to find out about it. Not about the discrediting of course. I wanted Yogi to find out about the personality I created about Mandy.

To paint Mandy in a different light to the people around her.

I plan to do that with the internet.

As a well-behaved goody two shoe, there are things that you would never imagine someone like her doing. I want to create the impression that she is doing something behind everybody’s back.

I don’t need her to be in the picture explicitly doing what want.

I just needed to plan the idea in people’s head and it’s not hard to do that. Given that her boyfriend is also visits the popular sex forums online, it would be a matter of time before he chance upon the charade I created.

For a start, I plan to make use of her own wardrobe against her. Yes, her clothes. Imagine one day coming across the picture of a girl exposing her breast, or her legs wearing the same set of clothes your wife or girlfriend wore to work that day.

Would that not make your heart skip a beat immediately even though no face was shown ?

First, I would need to find someone to play the role of Mandy.

Now it’s impossible to find someone who looks like my sister in law to play the role, I don’t need someone to look like Mandy, I just need someone who feels like Mandy.

Let me explain.

My sister in law has average height and weight.

Not fat, not thin, not too tall.

Just nice.

At 1.6m and 46kg with a proportional body, it’s not hard to find a girl with these stats in Singapore. The challenge is finding someone who is willing to do what I want her to do.

I started by scouring freelance modelling website.

I dropped countless messages and mails but no one seemed interested. I even posted classified ads on free sites and forums, looking for girls of similar stats.

The excuse I gave was for a personal project and that I am willing to pay for a simple photoshoot. However, since I’m not a registered photographer with any portfolio to show for it, it’s natural to expect the lack of replies.

I offered a good deal for about an hour’s work, no hanky panky.

No touching of the model’s body and we will be doing the shoot in public spaces in day time. That should give some assurance to the girls that I’m really not interested din violating them physically.

No face shots. Just the body.

I only needed to use their body, or rather, images of it.

After a 2 months search, I finally got a hit.

Charmaine.

The story here is simple.

She needed money for her school fees and chanced upon my ad. My instructions to her were simple.

Put on a set of clothes that I will be providing, and take some pictures, and I’m willing to pay her 200 for an hour’s work. It worked out easier than I expected.

We met up at a café, she asked for a 50% downpayment and I gave it to her.

I handed her the set of clothes I borrowed from my sister in law’s wardrobe.

Now, selecting the clothes is an art. There are so many, so which one do I choose ?

Well, I went through her photos and social media feeds, I found a few photos which I think Mandy looked pretty good.

She was wearing a short sleeveless white dress with black stripes. The hem of the skirt ends several inches above her knees such that as she walked, you would get this lively bounce that almost gave you a peak of her panty.

Instead of a cardigan, she had a faded denim long sleeve top she wore as a jacket. It’s loose, flowly and it covered up the good figure she has.

Shoes is a simple pair of sneakers that is plain light grey in colour.

I picked the same blue backpack she was using in that set of photos and stuffed all the clothes I borrowed into the bag.

These are the stuff I want Charmaine to wear.

Charmaine : The clothes are in here ?

James : yes… just a dress and a jacket of sort. The shoes I think…… let me see…

I took a glance of her feet and told her it might be a little tight but since we are just doing a quick shot, the discomfort should only be for a while.

Charmaine nodded and went into the ladies.

5 minutes later, she emerged in the same set of clothes Mandy wore in one of her Instagram photos.

I tried to picture Charmaine without her face and I tried hard to stop myself from nodding my head.

Looking at just her body, I think she can easily pass of as Mandy.

Charmaine : like this ??

James : yes… looking good…

I appraised Charmaine’s body and I could tell she was a little uncomfortable.

Charmaine : errrr…. So what now ?

I smiled and told her to follow me.

Charmaine : Where are we going ??

James : relax…. Just across the road. … the HDB estate…

Charmaine : take the pictures there ??

James : Yes…. Don’t worry… just taking some pictures….

As we crossed the road to the housing estate , Charmaine looked nervous. She kept looking around the vicinity.

James : Don’t worry… it’s really just taking photos….

Charmaine : Do you mind if I ask why are you….. ermm… why are you…. Doing this ??

I gave her a reassuring smile and told her that I just wanted some photos for my collection.

James : and ermm… you know… I’m single…. And my friends sometimes tease me I got no girlfriend….

Charmaine : huh ?? ….

James : So… I just want to take some photos…. For my own collection…. And some shots to prove to them I am attached…. Not a gay or something….

Charmaine : oh…. Ermmmmmm… that is so weird….

James : haha… I’m paying you for it… don’t worry….

I could tell she still looked unconvinced but I don’t care.

I just needed her body for a while and hopefully if I can convince her how easy it is to earn this quick buck, I could continue using her body for the other parts of my plan.

James : Alright…. Over here….

Charmaine : here ??

James : Yes… let’s go up….

We entered the lift and I hit the highest floor.

We came out on the 16th floor and I took a quick look around.

It’s a weekday afternoon, most of the people are out at work. I gestured to the corridor and we went to the staircase at the end of it.

James : here is good.

Charmaine looked around and nodded at me nervously, staring intently at the phone I was holding in my hand.

James : relax….

Charmaine : What do I have to do ??

James : haha… not much…. Not much…. climb up the staircase…. Slowly…

I brought up my phone and took the first couple of shots before appraising it on the small LCD screen of a old phone of mine.

I smiled as I looked at the photo.

Just like Mandy……. Just like Mandy….

………………………………………………………................................................

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finn0 · 5 years

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All the houses I’ve lived in

1. 94 Queens Rd, New Lambton, NSW

My parents current house since 1989 and the house I’ve had sex with the most people in. A regular two storey house opposite bush on a nice street with neighbours that don’t talk to you (perfect). 3 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms with air con, a big fireplace, pool and massive garage. Lovely, but I don’t expect to inherit it so the attachment must remain minimal.

2. 11 Cobb Ct, Annandale, QLD

Okay formative toddler years were spent here. A tropical style bungalow with the lowest ceilings you’ve ever seen and even lower hanging ceiling fans (take off your shirt with caution). A massive pool constantly populated with cane toads year round that saturated the yard with chlorine every time a cyclone blew through. More floor space than is necessary for anyone. Horrible, angry neighbours that hated children. Short walk to shops, no air con despite Townsville being the armpit of the country. I spent almost all of time sitting on a Big Bird beanbag watching Sesame Street and screaming in abject terror every time there was a toad sitting in the toilet bowl (which was worryingly frequent).

3. 27 Woodrose Cres, Sinnamon Park, QLD

Literally the ugliest house I’ve ever seen in my life. Gaudy, over-tiled, far too big for any family, nothing but white tiles everywhere and not a tree, nor plant, nor weed in the backyard, just grass the colour of hay. Who in Brisbane requires an attic? Who requires THAT many bedrooms? What the FUCK is that suburb name? This house we thankfully lived in for no more than 7 months but good God what a relief.

4. 45 Clarence Rd, Waratah, NSW

My grandmother Bessie’s house. We lived there for a year while I was in pre-school and while my parents house was being renovated. Absolutely fascinating house that each grandchild loved to visit. The most bizarre things were to be found there. First of all it was a regular 2 bedroom home with gaudy wallpaper and a 1950′s kitchen and bathroom, plenty of living space etc. BUT the bizarre flat that was downstairs under the house that was built for my great-grandmother to inhabit was like stepping a 1950′s motel room. Pea green bathroom, pink kitchen, rising damp, mouldy wallpaper, dust upon dust upon bugs upon discarded venetian blinds. Oh my goodness it was amazing down there. It smelled like a nursing home. PLUS under the house was this enormous space all covered in dirt and other crap and trinkets and sheets. ZERO light penetrated this space and therefore was the best place to crawl around and get spooked. The laundry, also under the house, had high ceilings that were stained a Jackson Pollock amount of colours from years of laundry and rising damp and rain leaks AND leading from under the cupboards in the kitchen upstairs was a laundry chute that led all the way down to the laundry WHICH smaller grandchildren could actually fit into and snake their way down to avoid the prying eyes of older cousins during games of hide and seek. Until you were too big to fit. Like I found out one day. Not an easy search and rescue mission, I’ll tell you that. OH AND the back bedroom had some creepy as shit naked dolls with no hair and meth eyes that rolled back in their head along with like strange 60′s childrens paraphenalia and tiny trinkets that I later found out were things like ACTUAL jewels from Scotland and vintage broken Rolex watches. Also I remember sleeping in that room in my mothers childhood single bed while she slept next to me in another, while my father slept next to my grandmother in a separate single bed in her room (why??). Later after she died, new owners bought the place and my mother met them after a few years and asked if they thought the place was haunted to which they replied an unequivocal “YES”, my mother then asked if they left dishes out in the sink of a night, to which they replied “.....yes” and Mum was like “Well that’s the culprit, my mother would NEVER allow that” and the look of understanding coupled with genuine fear cements the fact that my grandmother was and is a motherfucking force to be reckoned with, alive or dead.

5. 7/58 High St, Randwick, NSW

I moved to Sydney! Why? I don’t know! My partner was doing a degree at UNSW and I went with him because I was 21 and couldn’t stand my parents any longer so I buggered off. Now. This apartment was a second floor walk-up in a WW1 era building opposite a hospital and BEHIND a Coles loading dock. Plus there was a screaming autistic Arabian child downstairs and the loudest dog you’ve ever heard next door. Serene. Peaceful. Damaging to the psyche. We lived with my partners brother which was fine, but that place not only had no heating nor ceiling fans it also had no flyscreens. I didn’t even have my own set of keys. I shared ONE set of keys with my partner for two years. Fucking ridiculous. Yes, the food nearby was good. Yes, I commuted back to Newcastle most weekends to keep my casual job. Yes the neighbours were fascinating, ranging from the American guy across the way who never ever closed his bathroom window and gave me many shows of his frankly monstrous penis, to the chainsmoking nurse below who had a permanent frown despite living across the street from her work, to the Koreans downstairs who constantly cooked delicious barbecue while pretending to not speak English, to the gorgeous gay couple who lived above us who could add a new synonym to the dictionary to define “unfriendly”. We got out just before the new light rail was to begin construction right outside our building, but regardless, because of all the noise that surrounded that place before that, I now can sleep through the sound of a fucking jet engine roaring right next to my face.

6. 145 Wilson St, Carrington, NSW

Back to Newy! Okay so this was the first house we even Googled when looking for a new place back in Newcastle, and weirdly, we got it!. It was a tiny cottage in a harbourside suburb that was across the the street from wheat silos that are literally the size of Windsor castle. The day we moved in, a representative of the Port Authority knocked on our door and told us that if we ever heard a particular siren, that it meant the silos were on fire and an explosion was imminent and that we would have about 10 minutes to evacuate before half the city was Hiroshima-ed. Lovely welcome. We heard that siren (or a siren at least) about 50 times in the 2 years we were there. Pretty alarming, as it were. Anyway, the house was literally 3 rooms and a kitchen, 2 tiny cubicle afterthought bathrooms, and a nice big back deck. Now I was happy there, it had everything I needed, it was pleasant. I had a good garden going and I really learned to cook there. Carrington is where my family is originally from, and it was easy to walk everywhere and I loved the history of it. However, our landlord was a Chinese lady called Winnie who could not have misunderstood the concept of landlord responsibilities less. Any repairs or things we needed, she was not just unavailable but actively apathetic. It was like pulling teeth to get her to even communicate to the property manager in even basic English in regards to anything we required. Our neighbours on one side were a lovely couple with 2 babies but they had a dog called Trippi that would bark whenever someone in the opposite hemisphere coughed, and on the other side were a couple in their 70′s who were both suffering dementia, constantly screaming at each other and who also had two elderly dogs that would bark whenever someone nearby inhaled. For two years I heard literally nothing except Matt’s piano, Trippi barking, the other dogs barking, the neighbours angrily SCREAMING at one another, wheat silo alarms, screeching train tracks and coal tankers blasting their horns as they entered the harbour. Again, seasoned professional, can sleep through anything.

7. 46 Garden Grove Pde, Adamstown Heights, NSW

Alright, so two friends of mine, also a couple, were living in a tiny half house situation and also wanted out of their place, so we decided to all move in together, into a place that was much larger and that we could all collectively afford. So we found this lovely large house with 4+ bedrooms so that we could all have our own space and get on rather well. And it worked out! My partner and I had a great big bedroom, Matt had his own study, we had a library, a music room, and my friends had an enormous bedroom downstairs plus a huge bathroom/laundry AND there was 3 tiers of yard that we grew all sorts of vegetables in, plus it had a driveway that looped around (I would call it a plantation driveway?) so heaps of space for everyone. It was great, plenty of space for guests which we had a lot of, plenty of outdoor areas for entertaining, it was wonderful. But unfortunately my friends relationship ended and an old friend took one of their places for a year (also fine) but eventually it turned out that the place was getting sold and after literally months of surprise inspections and open houses we’d all had enough and decided to move out separately. Now this so far has been my favourite place. It was 10 minutes to work, everyone had their own space and we lived, I think, pretty well harmoniously together. But nothing good lasts so now...!\

8. *** Kings Rd, New Lambton, NSW

From Queens Rd to Kings Rd! We found a gorgeous house right near a train station that I am currently in and pretty happy with. For the first time I have ceiling fans again plus air con and FOUR bedrooms that I barely know what to do with. Currently I’m sitting in my study surrounded by all my books with the fan on typing this out and it feels good to have my own space for a change and actually have trouble furnishing a house as opposed to making concessions about what I keep and what I can’t. I’ve planted a veggie garden, I have my kitchen the way I want, and the house has been renovated, re-carpeted, painted and made livable for a modern couple. We have spare space for guests (or a spare room for me when I don’t want to wake up Matt when I go to bed at 3am, but that’s the sleep pattern of a shift worker) and overall I feel good about it. Finally. I’ve been looking for a good home to just COME HOME to for ages and for a long time I haven’t really felt that. My last home was lovely, but honestly 3 tiers of gardens to maintain and roommates (though they remain dear friends) are just not what I want to deal with anymore. Actually not even that, I’d be fine with roommates, but it’s just nice to feel like I have MY house and it’s mine to come home to.

Anyway, apologies for this long post, and I know barely anyone will read it, but I started this blog TEN years ago so and I don’t have a print journal to write all of this stuff in, so I might as well talk here. HOUSES! If they’re not haunted, then where’s the drama we so desperately crave?

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fairy-space · 5 years

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READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

The post under the cut talks about mental illness, knives, death. I just wanted to post a trigger warning before any of you go and start reading it.

But it’s an important story, nonetheless.

Guh. Okay. So this is something I have always had a hard time talking about because it confuses me and thinking about sometimes is a little triggering. But considering my situation and how many people follow me here, I want to reach out by telling this story in case anyone is confused and suffering like I was when this all started.

I have a form of O.C.D. called R.O.C.D. - Relationship Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

A lot of young people struggle with relationships. A lot of older people do too. But a very miniscule pecentage of people suffer from this form of O.C.D.

Every type of O.C.D. is different but this is what they all share (quoted from mayoclinic): repeated, persistent and unwanted thoughts, urges or images that are intrusive and cause distress or anxiety.

So yeah, a lot of the time we hear about O.C.D. being about people getting distressed over cleanliness or if they don't flip a light switch a certain amount of times and in a certain way then their whole family will die. To anyone without O.C.D., these thoughts might seem like normal thoughts, but in others - it's a completely different story.

I was 8 years old when I experienced my first onset.

It was summer of 2005 and my family and I had just gotten home from seeing Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It's about 10 o'clock at night and we're all going to our rooms as soon as we get home. My two sisters and I all shared a basement bedroom. Oftentimes my mom would come into the room and open the window to let fresh air in, even though I hated when she did that. She left it open that day. Being that it is a basement bedroom the window has a window well, which meant one thing to me as a kid: there's spiders in there. I hated spiders.

It was getting cold that night and because I didn't like touching the window I tried to make my younger sister close the window for me. Not having any of my shit, she refuses. So we get into a classic elementary school aged kid fight. I slap her on the back, and then she bites me so hard on my right arm that I nearly started bleeding. I run upstairs to tell on her and explain what had just happened to my mom. Her then-husband that we'll just refer to as "jackass" called my sister upstairs and yelled at my sister for biting me. "You know, biting someone like that could kill a person! Next time you bite ANYONE I'll pull all your teeth out!" he threatened. My sister, scared of what he just said, covers her mouth. Okay. We're told to go to bed and to quit fighting with each other, etc. We go to bed. It's lights out. My sisters have no trouble falling asleep, but for some reason I just can't.

"Biting someone like that could kill a person!"

"Kill a person!"

"KILL A PERSON!"

"-COULD K I L L A P E R S O N !"

I lay wide awake in bed thinking about the bite that was still on my arm.

"Am I going to die?" my head repeated.

Eventually it became so distressful for me that I ran upstairs to my mom's room, crying, and knocked on her door.

Jackass was angry that I wasn't asleep. My mom opened the door. I'd obviously woken her up. She asks me why I'm still awake.

"Mom," I sobbed out "i don't wanna die."

Annoyed that I'm still going on about it, she tells me that I'm not going to die. Jackass yells at me for still being up and tells me to go back to my room. That night I cried myself to sleep.

For the next few months of my life I was a complete nervous wreck. For some reason I couldn't shake the feeling of fear that I had from that night. I began to notice everything around me that could potentially kill me. Household chemicals, dish soap, laundry detergent, etc. I was constantly washing my hands in case anything got on me that could've been toxic. My hands became so dry that they were cracked and bleeding. In my head the thought of dying was repeating itself over and over and over. I was stressed. I was tired.

And then the other thoughts started.

Trying to lay in bed one night I distinctly remember when my brain suddenly went "What if you went upstairs into the kitchen, grabbed a steak knife, and slit your wrists open. What if you tried it. What if you tried it. WHAT IF YOU TRIED IT. WHAT IF YOU TRIED IT." The thought of it made me so scared that I would start crying.

For multiple nights I had to resist the compulsion to go upstairs and grab the knife. It wouldn't leave me alone. Eventually I gave in to it and went to the kitchen late at night, in the darkness, pulled out a steak knife, and stood there, frozen, just staring at it. I can't remember how long I stood there but eventually I put it away and went back to my room. It seems like that finally put an end to it.

But of course! Yet another string of disturbing thoughts wouldn't leave me alone!

I was in the middle of my 3rd grade class when all of the sudden the thought popped into my head "What if your mom or grandma got into a car crash. What if they died."

This is where the grown ups around me finally started to take notice of what was happening to me. The thoughts of my mom or grandma dying in a car crash were so graphic in my mind that I would start crying in my class. My teacher stopped by my desk to make sure I was okay and then sent me to the counselors office where we called my mom and I talked to her on the phone and told her what was happening in my head. I remember my mom almost crying on the phone because she just wanted to hug me so I knew she was okay. For about two or three months after that I had numerous scheduled visits with the school counselor. Her name was Ms. Wilkins and she was the kindest person to me during that time in my life. I don't know if she's out there, but I hope she knows that she was one of the few comforts I had as an 8 year old. I want to thank her for taking me seriously when I felt like hardly anyone would.

My mom noticed that I had stopped playing, laughing, singing, and eating like I usually would. She tried to cheer me up by having a silly string fight in the basement. The silly string stuck to the cement walls for 8 years.

After some point the thoughts eventually subsided, and I can't remember anything between the third grade until high school where my second onset started.

I was a sophomore.

It was December of 2012. I had been dating my first actual boyfriend for 8 months. Everything was fine - normal even - I was having fun! High school was new and exciting and there was so much for me to do. I remember the thoughts starting the same way all the other ones did - suddenly. But for some reason I kept having them and they weren't going away. I began losing sleep and couldn't sleep alone. I started sleeping in my little brother and little sister's room because then I knew I wasn't alone at night.

These thoughts were different from what I had before. They were all about my boyfriend? That's new. I started thinking it was just normal anxiety and nothing to be worried about...until I was having panic attacks every. Single. Day.

I would constantly have these thoughts that my (now ex) boyfriend would break up with me (which did end up happening but eh, what can you do), cheat on me, etc. My mind was consistently pointing out flaws in our relationship and telling me that because "he's an aquarius and I'm a scorpio we're not compatible and it's not going to work out". I know that sounds silly...but at one point the zodiac became such a point of distress for me that I had to drop it altogether. I mean I couldn't even look at any of it, not even for fun.

At other times I was constantly doubting the thought of whether or not I loved my boyfriend, and as a result of the stress, I was unable to feel a full range of emotions, including the positive ones I would often get from him. That would send me down even further. Other distressing thoughts would include "Do I act like myself when I'm around him?" "Can I act like myself around his family?"

I was always being bombarded with the compulsion to break up with him. They became so intense that at one point I almost went through with it (in the future this symptom would come back to haunt me and I actually went through with it twice during other ventures). I've developed what are called "checking" behviors as well. "Checking" behaviors are when your O.C.D. tricks you into questioning the thoughts to make sure everything is okay, but what it's actually doing is making the symptom worse because you're giving the thought substance to begin with.

Often times I would feel too anxious or too depressed to really do anything because of this. I had "lost" my sense of passion in the relationship (at intervals) because I was constantly checking to see that it was still there and that would stress me out further. I would constantly Google what a healthy relationship would look like and I was obsessed with making sure that we fit whatever it was I found. These intensive Google searching periods would often lead to panic attacks.

Any time a romantic movie/situation was on TV I had to leave the room or change the program because it would give me panic attacks. Most notably Jim Halpert and Pam Beasley from "The Office" were a big trigger for me. I used to think that Roy (Pam's ex boyfriend) reminded me of my high school boyfriend. My thoughts would go "Well he looks kind of like my boyfriend, and I relate to Pam, and they broke up, so that means we're going to break up!" There was hardly any base of logic or truth in any of what was happening in my head. It was - and still is - all irrational.

After the relationship with my high school boyfriend had ended, I didn't really date around too much. But I was always thinking about what had happened and why, when I was suddenly single, did most of my anxiety and panic attacks stop? I began reading book upon book about self help and "how to make myself ready for love" because that's what I thought the problem was. It wasn't me and never was me...it was my brain.

Then...I met Tyler. Well, I met him online. At first I didn't want anything to do with him. He just added me on a whim because he thought I was cute. So I accepted his Facebook request and after months of communicating online we realized that we had fallen in love with each other. We met in person over a year ago. I noticed at the beginning of our relationship that these feelings of fear and anxiety had come back. I was so frustrated when they did, lmao. It just proved again that it had to be something with relationships! But this time I was careful to examine the way that this anxiety was acting. I made sure to talk to people when I felt scared. Luckily my sister and her boyfriend (that helped get Tyler and I together in the first place) were there to help me transition into the relationship. Eventually I lost the training wheels and we were and are still doing just fine. I noticed the symptoms came and went and I explained to Tyler the nature of my anxiety and without my knowledge began to actually take the reigns of my R.O.C.D.

I remembered that during high school I was sent to an actual therapist for my panic attacks. She had diagnosed me with G.A.D. (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) with O.C.D. tendencies after some months of treament. At this point in my life, I was more curious about the O.C.D. tendencies than having G.A.D. (which I now know was a misdiagnosis - if I continued treatment I know she would've gotten to the actual root of the problem). I now have a rule that I cannot Google anything pertaining to relationships or relationship advice because it is a compulsion to do so. However - I decided one day to Google the two words that finally clicked into place in my head when I was thinking about it: "relationship ocd". And to my surprise, it's an actual subset of O.C.D.! I was suffering silently for SIX YEARS and I've finally put a name to what's been causing me so much trouble!

Some days are worse than others, I can tell you that. Some days are really good too. But if you are suffering the same way I did, it's okay. You're not alone. There's guaranteed to be more than one person that feels the way you do. I was lucky enough to find a Facebook support group for the disorder and after reading people's stories in the group I felt like I had finally found some solid ground. All I have to give is love to anyone that has suffered from this subset or any other subset of O.C.D.

Treatment is out there. Recovery is possible. You are not alone.

I know this story was a little winded and quite long, but it's an important one for me to tell. I am very embarrassed talking about my symptoms to people that have no idea what it's like to deal with it. Some people know that I have O.C.D. but I can't ever tell them what kind. So that's why I'm telling this story. I want to become more comfortable with the fact that it is a part of me and that it's just something that's there. It's not a reflection of me as a person, it's just something that developed because the people in my family are at risk for developing anxiety disorders...

...And this one is mine.

#trigger warning #mental illness #ocd #obsessive compulsive disorder #text

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mmorgan317 · 5 years

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The Voices I Fight to Ignore:

1. The first voice that whispers in my ear is one meant to shame me. While my brain runs through the things I’ve eaten and indulged in during the day, this voice says, “You stupid little bitch. No wonder you’re fat and ugly, look at all you’ve eaten!” As an image of me putting food into my mouth plays, my disgust ratchets up. “You should be disgusted,” the voice answers, “that is a disgusting sight. You’re fat enough. You don’t need the food. You shouldn’t be allowed to eat until you’ve gotten down to a decent weight.” The litany only repeats from there, going through the same processes, the same words, all in the same disgustedly sneering tone one could imagine.

2. The second voice doesn’t whisper so much as constantly talk, berating me for anything and everything I’ve ever done wrong. The first offense is still being alive, a fact which I can’t say I’m unhappy about, but which I do realize is probably a bad thing for some people. From there, my list of sins grows, from how I look, how much I eat, how little money I make, etc, to how poor of a parent I truly am (the proof of which I hear from others when I explain my schedule and what my kids do while I sleep), to how poor of a wife I am, etc, to my general faults. My lack of strength, is one of the big ones, as I know that if I were stronger I wouldn’t need antidepressants to get me through life as a functioning adult; if I were stronger, I could better support my husband in all he does rather than holding him back; if I were stronger I wouldn’t have this part of me that is curled into a ball, rocking back and forth, and whose only words are “I’m sorry” repeated indefinitely. My personality on the whole is another major flaw - I’m a bitch, plain and simple. I always have been. Growing up I was spoiled and mean; the spoiled went mostly away when my father died, but the mean stayed, morphing into a coldness that makes it hard to feel empathy. A therapist I once went to told me that I was hateful, like my father. To this day those words haunt me, but I honestly don’t know how to change my entire personality. By God, I wish I was a nicer, happier, friendlier person. But I’m not, and this second voice takes pleasure in reminding me of that fact every single time I’m allowed time to think.

3. The third voice tells me to stop whining. “Suck it up, you’re life isn’t that bad. Other people have had far worse things happen to them and not come out half so damaged and broken (I refer you back to my lack of strength flaw). Quit being a pansy-assed little bitch. You got shit to do - you have kids to raise, a husband to support, dishes clean, laundry to do, a house to clean, dinners and lunches to be made, you don’t have time to wallow in self pity. Quit bein so self-centered. Get your shit together and move on.”

As much as I know I shouldn’t, I sometimes listen to those voices. I fight them every night while I’m trying to fall asleep, but there are many nights where I’m just so worn down, so tired of fighting that I give in and listen. And the self hatred that I’ve had since I was in middle-to-high school grows. I am locked in a battle with my mind. And I Am Losing.

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hxarrysbabe · 6 years

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Harry writing prompt: you and Harry had been a short fling. But a very deep fling. You two were super connected and felt like you knew each other perfectly and understood each other. But you broke up and now he sees you around town. In a grocery store. Or at Starbucks. He always seems to notice when he's in the same area as you. And he can't handle not talking to you anymore. He needs you to see him, too. He needs your eyes to meet his again. What happens between them is up to you!

Harry never thought that it would be that hard to forget her. But that's why it hurts him so damn much - because he wasn't prepared. The pain is unstoppable but constantly changing. Even today, when he decided to take a day off of work and just do the laundry at home and then sit and watch TV for hours, when he looks at the pile of clothes on the floor, his heart starts beating fast and hurtful as if it's going to rip off his chest. It is the memory, connected to his dirty clothes, that triggered it. He remembers the last time Y/N was in his house. Back then they still used to fight a lot and never really listen to each other. It was a day or two before they actually broke up. And he hates these clothes because she used to do the laundry. He hates them because she loved when he kissed her after it and thanked her. Yes, he hates them because the last time he was able to really feel her, the chance was took from him by the sounds of the washing machine which reminded her how rare he did the laundry for both of them and that caused one of the last few fights they had. And no, they didn't end up as in the beginning of their relationship.He kicks one of his old socks, laying on the ground, and it flies to the bathroom. He curses the open door and the washing machine he hits his big toe in, the pain in his chest, even the fucking laundry basket. He wants to throw it away and to never see it again. It's shocking him what of an influence she has on him even after just two months of seeing each other. Her scent is haunting him, reminding him of lavender and jasmine. Images of her, doing domestic shit and looking like a Greek goddess, are burning his eyes from the inside out. When he closes his eyes, he forgets she's not there with him and almost believe he's seeing her right in front of him for real. When he lays naked in bed at night, cold and lonely, he wishes for her to come and warm him. He almost hears her voice from time to time, usually when he makes himself something for dinner or brushes his teeth in the bathroom. It's driving him crazy to not have her next to him, he knows it. It's true abstinence. The last time he really did saw her, was in Starbucks. He went there to buy himself a coffee so he won't fall asleep in the studio. He didn't know why he kept coming back there and keeping the band busy when he hadn't had inspiration from weeks. But the last thing he expected was to meet her at 8 a.m. when he couldn't control even his eyes from shutting down. The thought from keeping himself from embarassing himself as he clinges onto her and begs her to come back to him, is crazy. How can he prevent his body from coming alive when all it waited for was exactly this moment?And it came alive. His eyes opened wide, almost falling out of his lids. His mouth filled with spit, hungry to taste her lips or her skin, or everything she could give him. His hands felt empty and he had to dig them in the pockets of his jeans to prevent a sudden reflex. Even thought he didn't want to admit it even more than anything else, even his cock throbbed in his pants. Then the pain flushed through his whole body and almost made him collapse on the floor. It was so fucking hard not to hug her from behind, smell the scent of her hair and kiss her cheek.All they did was to say rushed hi to each other. All they did was to avoid each other. All they did was fighting for survival after the storm on their own.Sara, Mitch, Clare and Adam knew. Even the boys from his previous band knew. Of course all of them knew. They constantly called him a wanker for ruining the best relationship in his life. But in the same time they supported him too, took him to his favourite places and made him get outside of his house when he didn't feel like getting out of bed and living this day.The night he takes his phone from the drawer beside his bed, is cold and lonely. Tears run down on his cheeks, wetting his skin and reminding him once again how addicted he is to her. He needs her more than anything and nothing is making it up for him if she's not there, laying on his chest. So this is the breaking point. The moment he doesn't care anymore about egos and fights, sounding pathetic or embarrassing himself. All he cares is about the hole in his chest, growing with every second he's not touching her."Yes?" she sounds confused and tired when she picks up the phone call. Did he just wake her up? The image of how beautiful she is while sleeping almost burns his mind."I-I..." he stops, not sure where to start from. "Sorry for bothering you. I know that it's midnight and you had a really long day at work but... I miss you. I miss you so fucking much, Y/N. You can hang up any moment you want but before you do it, i just have to ask you if i can drop by your house.""Wait, like right now?"He nerviously runs his fingers trought his hair and tugs on it, not sure what to tell her. His eyes are red and puffy from crying when he looks himself in the mirror. And the morning is wiser than the night, but he misses her. And that's what matters the most."Yes, I can be there in ten minutes."Then there is a long lasting silence between them. It drives him crazy to the point he feels like punching his head into the wall. But he doesn't even think for a second to hang up because she doesn't react to his plead. Even thought he knows how unhealthy for him is to stay on the phone and wait for her denial, for him to break his heart all over again. "Okay."And this is all he needs to just grab the car keys from the table in the living room and to rush out in the middle of the night, searching the street for his car. He used to like driving with the windows down and the radio on. But not anymore, their breakup took this away from him. But he isn't complaining, not when he's just ten minutes away from his maybe-a-second-chance-maybe-not. After he knocks on the door and she opens it from him, the first thing that falls from his mouth is:"I'll do the laundry".She bursts in laugh but after seeing him just nervously standing there with red eyes and tired face from not sleeping enough, she lets him in."Why do you tell me this?" She asks when he sits on the couch. "I was just... Just" he shuts his mouth, watching her move to the kitchen counter and turning the coffee machine on. "You know that this is one of the reasons why we broke up. I wasn't doing the fucking laundry. And I wasn't helping you with the dishes every time after we ate at home. And I wasn't paying enough attention to you because I was too preoccupied with work. But I'm here now, telling you I'll do these things. Just tell me if you want me to."She gives him the mug of coffee and reaches to touch him, but then stops herself, letting her arm freeze in the air. She didn't ask him how he wants his coffee. It wasn't necessarily because she knows all too well, every detail of him. "It wasn't you the only one who was the reason why it didn't work. I was scared from all the feelings you made me feel even after such a short period of dating. So I used to kind of fight them back, always finding why to start a fight. And I'm sorry for being a coward when you was nothing but fearless about what we had. I'm really sorry, Harry. But if we want to start something new, we should first make sure we won't do the same mistakes."He almost starts crying when sees her sit on the couch next to him and grab his hand in her both. They're so small and incomparable to his. So that's why they fit so well. "I miss you" he shrugs and fights the urge to kiss her with his mouth wide open - just like his heart. "I can't do anything about it. And it hurts. So whatever you'll want from me, it doesn't matter. I'll do it."She nods and gently wipes off the single tear that fell from his eyes. "I don't want you to shout from a roof top that you love me. I don't want the stars from the sky. I just want you to be there for me when I need you and to help me with the domestic shit sometimes. That's it, Harry. Nothing else. And I won't run from you anymore, I promise. I had my lesson, sitting on this couch for two weeks and not being able to eat and sleep because of my love for you.""Wait" he scrunches his eyebrows and his whole face lits up. "What did you just say?""Umm, that I won't run anymore?""No, no, after that!"Her own face lits up now, the drained color from it coming back again."Is it true?" he asks, not knowing if he should take her in his arms and spin her around the room or if he should take her right there on the couch."Yes, I love you. I love you."She bursts out in tears the same time he wraps his arms around her waist and presses his lips on hers. It's funny how they couldn't even say hi to each other before a few days but now they're both crying in each other's arms, confessing their love for the other.

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