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procrastinatingsapphictrash · 3 years

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Migraines

Word count: 1679

Genre: Hurt/comfort

Pairings: Natasha x fem!reader, platonic avengers x fem!reader

Warnings: Some swearing (let me know if I need to add more)

Request: hi~ was wondering if you’d do a natasha x reader with a dash of platonic avengers when reader has chronic migraines but hasn’t told nat so ends up in random places to try and sleep them away and the others keep finding her and then nat figures out she’s hiding something and feels hurt but ends fluffy wanting to take care of reader next time? you can choose who and change any part you want!

Summary: Reader gets really bad migraines and is constantly being found by the team when she wants to be alone, however her girlfriend Natasha doesn’t know what’s going on.

A/n: This request was for @casperlikej so I hope you like it! Also I would like to mention that I know next to nothing about migraines so this probably won’t be super accurate but hopefully it’s ok to read anyways. I’m queuing this to come out on Sunday so that over the weekend I can work on the friends to enemies to lovers three part series and get that out soon (no I have not forgotten about that request). I am only like a sixth into that series but so far I’m super proud of it so I can’t wait to get it done! Also if anyone has ideas, feel free to request anything because I like having multiple fic ideas to think of at all times. Anyways I’m rambling now but I hope you enjoy this fic!

You hated being away from Natasha because although you had only been together for a few months and only known her for half a year you were sure you loved her but sometimes you just couldn’t stand pretending to be okay in front of her so you would hide yourself away. Currently your favourite place to hide was a nice rocking chair near the medbay area that was tucked away in the corner of a room. Barely anyone ever went by and the few that did never seemed to notice, giving you the anonymously you needed in order to curl up with your head in your knees and try to calm your head down.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” You hear Tony’s voice ask and you startle.

“Oh, um, I’m just spending time with myself.” You respond lamely as Tony raises an eyebrow.

“You never spend time by yourself,” he points out, “whenever you want to get away from us you always spend time with Natasha.”

“I am alone sometimes.” You say starting to get annoyed.

He scoffs. “No you aren’t, is everything ok between you two?”

“Everything is fine, just leave!” You snap at him. He hesitates in leaving the room but ultimately goes without saying another word after seeing how intensely you started glaring at him. It takes longer than usual for your migraine to go away because usually staying level headed helped but at least you yelling got Tony out of the room and to stop asking questions.

---

It was only a few days later that you got another migraine. You excuse yourself from the room you were sitting in with Bruce, Tony and Nat, mumbling some bullshit about needing to go to the store and ignoring Tony’s worried look on your way out. You knew that Tony would come looking for you in your old place so you decide to hole up in the room near the pad Thor uses whenever he visits earth. Today wasn’t a very bad migraine because you were able to catch the signs early but it still takes slightly over an hour for your head to stop pounding. You’re about to leave the room and go back to find the others but just to your luck Thor happens to arrive today unscheduled, something that only happens every few weeks.

“Lady Y/l/n!” his voice booms happily as he steps inside, “it’s so good to see you, but what are you doing here, I wasn’t aware I had informed anyone of my arrival.”

You laugh slightly at his formal way of speaking and confused expression. “You didn’t, I just happened to be here because I was trying to be alone for awhile.”

“Are you feeling unwell?” He asks, looking concerned.

“Not at all,” you reassure him, “in fact I was just about to go back to the others when you arrived, shall we find them together?” He nods eagerly, holding out his arm for you to hook onto like a true gentleman.

---

The next time you try to hide away you’re talking to Steve and he isn’t getting your subtle cues that you want to leave so he just keeps talking. You think he is talking about some sort of mission but honestly you don’t know because it physically hurts your brain to pay attention. You want to yell at him so badly but you can’t bring yourself to because he isn't trying to hurt you at all and he’s too nice to be angry at.

“You agree Y/n?” You manage to make out.

“Yes.” You say, not knowing what you’re even agreeing to.

“Great, I’ll go talk to the others, see you tomorrow for the morning training!” He says before walking off. You groan out loud as soon as you can no longer see him, partly because of how much your head hurts and partly because you accidentally told Steve that morning training was a good idea. This time you just plop yourself on the nearest couch and hope nobody finds you.

---

You stumble into Bruce’s lab calling out for him. It had been over a week since your last migraine and encounter with Steve, one of the longest breaks you’ve had within recent memory but that came back to bite you in the ass when today’s was worse than ever before, even blurring your vision a little because of the pain.

Bruce stands up from behind a pile of boxes. “Y/n, what brings you here.”

“Pain meds now.” You order in a weak voice. He looks curious but doesn’t question you, heading towards a back cabinet and pulling out a bottle of pills. You immediately take two and swallow, ignoring him scolding you that you should only take one. Luckily since Bruce invented them himself it only took about five minutes for them to kick in.

“Sorry, I had a really bad headache.” You tell him which is a half truth.

He looks at you in concern. “Are you sure that was only a headache? It looked bad.”

You wave him off, heading towards the door because you didn’t want him to ask anymore questions. “I’m fine Brucie, thanks again!” He sighs and shakes his head as he watches you leave, worried but deciding it’s not his place to badger you about it.

---

Since every time you got a migraine you always ended up around one of the others you made a plan so that you could avoid everyone because you knew that one day your luck was going to end and Natasha would be the one to find you. You knew that she wouldn’t be mad at you or anything since you can’t control them but the relationship is still new and you don’t want to badger her with any of your problems.

That’s why as soon as you start to feel a migraine coming on you hoist yourself up into the vents above your (sort of) shared room with Natasha where you had left a blanket and some pillows to relax with… only to find Clint waiting for you there.

“I was wondering who had left these up there.” He says, seeming like it was a perfectly natural thing for him to be in the vents above your room. You decide not to question it, only sighing because you know that conversation would take up too many thoughts that you don’t have space for right now. You’re just so fucking done with your migraines and want them to go away.

Clint notices your sadden expression and is serious for once. “Y/n, what’s going on?”

“I get these stupid fucking migraines and it only seems to be getting worse and I don’t want anyone to think I’m weak and I want Natasha but I don’t want to bother her with my problems.” You unload, holding back tears.

“I’m not going to lie to you, I don’t know how to make you feel better,” he confesses, “however why don’t you try to take a nap in your own bed and if you really don’t want Tasha to find you I can keep her distracted.” You nod and he helps you back out of the vents, climbing down after you.

“Clint?” you say as he’s leaving the room and he turns around, “thanks.”

---

Clint makes his way to the common room where he sees Steve talking to Natasha.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” He asks with a smile, faltering when he sees Natasha looks upset. “Nat, what’s wrong?”

“I think Y/n is going to break up with me.” She says, her voice thick with emotion.

Steve frowns. “I told you not to jump to conclusions, maybe you should just talk to her.” Natasha just shakes her head, looking down and taking a deep breath, trying to regulate her emotions.

“Y/n’s going to hate me for this,” Clint says as two pairs of eyes turn to him, “but you should go to your room, I promise that she’s not planning on breaking up with you.”

Natasha noticeably brightens. “Are you sure?”

Clint nods. “I’m sure, she said not even five minutes ago that she wanted you. She’s going through some shit right now that you should talk to her about but she wouldn’t break up with you.”

“Thanks.” Natasha replies, before hurrying to your shared room, worried about you after what Clint said.

---

You curl up on the bed and let a few tears fall out and before long you are full on sobbing. You always try to stay strong and not cry but you just can’t deal with the migraines anymore. The bed shifts behind you and you sit up straight looking behind you. Natasha is climbing on to it and looking at you with a worried expression on her face.

“I thought Clint was going to keep you busy.” You say, sniffling to try to stop your tears.

“He must have lied because he told me to come here.” She responds.

“He’s an asshole.”

She gives a small laugh. “Normally yes, but he did the right thing, I want to help you with whatever is upsetting you.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this,” you tell her, “my migraines are my problem that I have to deal with.”

She moves across the bed and puts her arms around you. “No sweetheart, I’m here with you.” You start to cry again, this time while it’s slightly from the pain it’s mostly because you feel so overwhelmed with how much she supports you. She pulls you in tightly to her chest, and plants a kiss on the top of your head.

“I will always be here for you if you need something ok?” she says. “But now you need to rest.”

“But-” you start to protest before she cuts you off.

“No buts, you need sleep.” She says while shushing you. You wiggle back, trying to be as far into arms as possible before you slowly drift off, the pain of the migraine going away and all you can feel is warmth.

---

Taglist: @fayhar @stephanieromanoff @stop-drop-and-drumroll @acertainredhead (if you want to be added, comment, send an ask, or message me)

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #avengers #avengers x reader #platonic avengers x reader #marvel reader insert #marvel fanfiction #x reader

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dear-diary-where-is-my-soul · 3 years

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Hey Diary,

It has been... almost a whole year? Idk. I’m here anyhow. I somehow got it into my head that when high school was over, I would somehow become magically no longer mentally ill. That didn’t happen, obviously. So here I am. I did a bit of digging and I think I have ADHD (Which I like to call dopamine deficiency) and also ASD (Which I like to call a pain in my ass). I’m just kidding, they’re both a pain in my ass. But at least I know what it’s called. I can kind of manage it now because I spent hours looking for management plans that work for both ADHD and Autism, and seeing what worked for me. I know for a fact that I have Anxiety (Of the social variant - possibly tied to autism) and depression (That I’ve had since age 12 - about 6 years). I thought I was over my anorexia but it keeps pestering in the back of my mind. I’m eating now, but it still isn’t 3 meals a day. It’s not ‘healthy’ meals but it’s better than nothing. I still think that sometimes I’m not worth the food. My boyfriend (The same boyfriend) is a really good cook. His food is so good. But neither of us can eat it. I moved out for a short while, about 4 months. I moved in with my boyfriend, who moved in about 9 or so months before me, with his ‘dad’ (Non-bio, no longer dating [Boyfriends] mother). During those 4 months, I spent more than 1000′s dollars in savings not to mention my Centrelink payments, which only started during the second month [half of what my boyfriend was getting], to trying to keep me and my boyfriend alive. Which would’ve been way easier if I didn’t need to spend over 500 dollars in taxi fees because his dad didn’t know when to stop drinking. So, a little bit of extra kicked in the fucking balls, Before I moved in, I was told that I wouldn’t need to worry about rent until my Centrelink payments were sorted. But, when we move out, my boyfriend sold his bike and 650 of that money was given to his dad because he was keeping track of how long I didn’t pay rent for and said I owned it to him. Even Though my boyfriend offered 2/3 of my rent (Plus his own) every payday. We were both told that it was fine and that we didn’t have to worry about it. He always complained about me being anti-social. Which was really fucking clear to begin with. I never said that I would be interacting with him more than what was comfortable. This was his main excuse for drinking. But, until I moved in he completely ignored my boyfriends attempts to be social with him. He wasn’t my type of person. Conservative, mid 40′s, cis-het, white man with ASD and previous alcohol and drug use problems. AKA ‘There’s nothing wrong with the world you’re just to sensitive, men are men and women are women nothing will change that, except don’t move my living room around because that’s too much for me to handle’. He used to scream at my boyfriend that he isn’t a real guy, but got upset when my boyfriend then put distance between them to not get any more hurt and depressed. I hated it. I can’t handle any loud noises or anything like that. It sends me up the wall with anxiety and I’m very easily over stimulated. Unfortunately, our roommate did not get over stimulated easily and really like heavy metal, which he would play unbearably loud until 2-3 AM on the weekends. He also nearly broke our bedroom door several times. He would scream insults at us through the door and while outside our window (which had a little undercover deck-type-thing, where he drank himself stupid). Me and my boyfriend took a two week holiday up back to our home town, because my boyfriend was having stress-induced Seizures. He was having full-on whole-body fits every 2-3 days that lasted about 5 minutes (These have stopped since we moved out). Anyway, we got back home, being dropped off by my bf’s mum,( who has since very much mellowed out [about my boyfriend being trans] by having another kid, this kid is nearly 18 months old, has some kind of IBS [Unconfirmed as of yet, but he is in a lot of pain]). We put away the few bits of shopping we got, as we were band from touching our roommates food over a month before because he was asked not to eat ours (Not true, but he did use a full packet of our cheese [7 or 8 bucks per packet] in one meal that neither me or my boyfriend liked or could eat, which we were talking about to my boyfriends mother who mentioned it). He also said that we accused him of stealing and shit like that (We didn’t). But anyway, We make dinner because it was around 5;30 or so and we didn’t eat lunch. We put of a movie in the background and my boyfriend goes out for a cigarette on the deck-thing and when he comes back in he tells my that our roommate has been drinking but will stop soon because we’re home. 8:30 comes around, me and my bf are heading to bed with the same movie on in the background and that’s when the screaming starts. 20 whole minutes of our roommate screaming “FAGGOTS” to try to get our attention. During this time, we call my bf’s mum, who is still in town because she had a doctors appointment the next day, staying at my bf’s nans house. We then get up, grab our still-packed from our two week trip (day)bags, and wall ten minutes away to the shopping centre near-by and call a taxi. During that night, our (ex)roommate texted my bfs mum basically saying that we are ‘kicked out’ and that he hates all of us. This isn’t the first time this has happened but it is definitely the last. We went back, the next day while he was at work, grabbed our other bags and a few of the essential items we wanted for the next week or so. Our landlord (ex-roommates mother) said that everything was fine to stay there until we could get it picked up within the next two months or so. She offered to pack it all up for us as well, which we accepted because neither of us wanted to go back to that house again. We haven’t been there, or seen him since. My bf’s mother’s bf went with my brother to pick up all of the rest of our stuff a week after we left. We set back up in my home town, now both of us have been ripped away from our new doctors, our counsellors and my new therapist less than a week before my first appointment (which I now do via telehealth [phone/video calls]). This was about a month ago. me and my bf now have set up and pay for our internet ourselves and I got a disney+ subscription because I'm obsessed with feeling the safety I felt during childhood. Anyway, I live with my boyfriend and his mum and her boyfriend and their 1 year old. Both of my parents live in this town but we’ve been in lock down and I haven’t been able to see them. I feel like I’m drowning because I don’t go outside. I used to walk with my boyfriend, but because he has several chronic health issues we can’t risk him going outside and he can not exercise as much as either of us would like due to chronic pains (And a busted knee which he has scans for in a fortnight or so). I’m in an online course, which was fully government subsidized due to the amount of people who need training or retraining after Covid-19. I really like it, and it is making me think more harshly about wanting to start a business. However, I don’t think I can do the assessments. Almost all of them seem to require me being social on the online group chats, and it fuels my social anxiety so much I didn’t do anything to my course for a whole month. And this whole thing was a way to help me get rid of those feelings, but I still don’t know what to do. How do I word it to the teachers? I haven’t talked to any of them before and it might seem like I just don’t want to put in the work in the social aspects of my assessments because I don’t have a diagnoses. This sucks. I can barely sit my ass down and read through the work as it is. Then I start thinking about how I'm 1 quarter of the way through this course and haven’t brought myself to do a single assessment. Then I freak out over how much I’ve done (or haven’t done) and don’t end up doing the work.

#diary #dear diary #my diary #home issues #kicked #roommate rant #ex #ex roommates #asd #self diagnosed autism #self diagnosed adhd #depression #anxienty #health #learning

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agustj · 3 years

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i currently have about 12k of this yoonkook fic drafted - yoongi is an ex-hunter in a pack of two werewolves, two witches, and two ex-hunters. one day, jungkook shows up at their door, seeking the bite as a solution to his chronic pain. i’ll have the first chapter up on my ao3 next week. here’s a sneak peek!

Yoongi finds Taehyung buried under a comforter, a sad lump on his and Jimin’s bed. Yoongi crawls into bed next to him and lifts the comforter to take a peek at Taehyung’s blotchy, puffy face.

“Can I join your pity party?” Yoongi asks. Taehyung huffs and turns away, but Yoongi yanks him back around and peers into Taehyung’s splotchy face, gaze serious.

“You have Jiminie worried, you know,” Yoongi says.

“I wish Jimin was here instead of you,” Taehyung mutters, grumpy. “He’s way nicer to me.”

“Jimin coddles you,” Yoongi says, tapping lightly underneath Taehyung’s chin. “Sometimes you need a kick in the ass.” But Yoongi pulls Taehyung in so that Taehyung is tucked underneath Yoongi’s chin.

After a few minutes of silence and the feel of Taehyung’s steady, warm breath against his collarbone, Yoongi feels Taehyung shift. “I fucked up,” Taehyung murmurs into Yoongi’s chest.

Yoongi breathes Taehyung in, then lets out a long breath that ruffles Taehyung’s hair. “You didn’t mean to. No one blames you.”

“That’s the worst part,” Taehyung whispers. “No one blames me because no one expects any better of me. Like I’m a child that everyone knows will mess things up.”

Yoongi presses a kiss to Taehyung’s hair and stays silent for a moment, trying to decide what he should say. Taehyung has had trouble with control for a long time—ever since his and Namjoon’s old pack had been slaughtered by hunters. At the slightest sign of danger, Taehyung is on edge, bristling, gearing up for a fight. It’s difficult for the pack to deal with, but so much more difficult for Taehyung, who hasn’t been able to find his center for years now.

“You don’t mess anything up,” Yoongi says eventually. “This could have happened to anyone.”

“No, it couldn’t have, because no one else lacks control,” Taehyung says, stubborn. His voice is wet with unshed tears, and Yoongi presses him more tightly into his chest and feels the breath leave Taehyung in an unsteady huff.

“Taehyungie, plenty of us lack control. Jimin gets too anxious, and I get too angry—but that’s what pack is about, isn’t it? Taking care of each other?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer, but Yoongi insists, “Isn’t that the point?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung whispers, face still pressed into Yoongi. “Yeah, that’s the point.”

“Would I say I wasn’t angry with you if I didn’t mean it?”

Taehyung huffs out a laugh. “No. Jimin would, but you wouldn’t.”

“Well, if the certified angry member of the pack isn’t angry with you, then it’s probably the case that no one else is angry with you, either.”

Taehyung laughs again, a little more genuinely this time. “You’re not the certified angry member of the pack, you marshmallow. Everyone just lets you think you’re tough because they feel bad for you.”

“Yah, Taehyung, you can’t talk to your hyung like that,” Yoongi says, slapping the back of Taehyung’s head, but Taehyung just laughs and presses a kiss to Yoongi’s collarbone, which probably proves his point about how scary Yoongi isn’t.

“Thanks, hyung,” he says softly, and Yoongi presses another kiss into his hair, smells the sweet honeysuckle scent of his and Jimin’s shampoo. It smells like home and comfort.

Taehyung comes downstairs a little sturdier and brighter and curls around Jimin on the couch, and Jimin shoots Yoongi a grateful look and mouths his thanks over Taehyung’s shoulder. Yoongi waves a dismissive hand at him.

Jimin and Taehyung are sprawled over the entirety of the yellow loveseat now, so Yoongi goes and joins Namjoon and Hoseok on the larger blood orange couch next to the bookshelf. The color of the couch matches the color of the floating light charms in this room, which are darker than those in the dining room and have their own unique characteristics—unlike the ones in the dining room, which mostly remain in place, the orbs in the living room float around the room, hovering over the couch or under the chandelier or in front of the many magical plants that Seokjin and Jimin grow and keep around the house. Seokjin and Jimin aren’t sure why these charms float around, but Jimin says it has something to do with the fact that all of them spend most of their time in the living room, and so the orbs have begun reacting to them.

Jimin had tried to continue explaining it, but eventually Yoongi had given up. Magic was hazy enough, inconsistent and difficult to understand, and Jimin wasn’t particularly good at explaining things that came naturally to him, anyway. So like all the other magical elements of life, Yoongi accepted that the orbs in the living room behaved differently from those in the dining room and tried not to think much more of it.

Hoseok has his legs thrown over Namjoon’s lap, and he’s playing a game on his phone while Namjoon reads. When Yoongi sits down on Namjoon’s other side, Namjoon reaches out distractedly, eyes still on his book, to put a hand on Yoongi’s neck. He nearly takes out Yoongi’s eye, but Yoongi shifts in time to help Namjoon’s hand reach its destination. As is typical, Namjoon doesn’t even notice the near miss, just runs his hand over Yoongi neck before dropping his arm around Yoongi’s shoulders and pulling him in close.

“Oof,” Yoongi huffs out against Namjoon’s t-shirt. “I already smell like you, you goddamn animal.”

Namjoon looks up from his book and smiles down at Yoongi. “You don’t mind the scenting, really.”

When Yoongi doesn’t respond, Namjoon asks, “Do you need your space right now?”

Yoongi pouts. “No,” he mutters, annoyed that he’s been made to say it, but Namjoon doesn’t make a big deal out of it, just pulls Yoongi back into his chest and continues to read his book.

Yoongi lets himself zone out, warm and content. He falls half asleep. Eventually, he can feel the rumbling of Namjoon’s chest under him as Namjoon starts a conversation with someone, but Yoongi doesn’t tune in until he hears the end of something that Jimin is saying.

“—give him a shock to the system?”

“Jimin,” Namjoon says, stern. “We’re not going to pretend to attack him in wolf form.”

Blearily, Yoongi half opens his eyes to see Jimin pouting and crossing his arms. “Well, it might scare him off,” Jimin mutters. This is why Jimin is Yoongi’s favorite.

“Just two days ago you were talking about how great his aura is,” Namjoon points out.

Jimin shrugs. “That was before he made Taehyung cry.”

Taehyung smiles and tucks his head into Jimin’s chest, and Jimin reaches up to gently card his fingers through Taehyung’s hair. Taehyung murmurs, “Jiminie. It’s okay. It was my own fault. Let’s give him a chance.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jimin begins to argue, but Namjoon cuts him off.

“Jin hyung said that we need to give him a chance, so we’re giving him a chance. That’s final.”

Jimin huffs. “Whatever,” he mutters, but before he can dip into a proper sulk, Taehyung licks his neck.

“Tae!” Jimin protests, and Taehyung laughs.

#taegi #(just friendship! this sneak peek is mostly a taegi scene)#yoonkook #vmin and namjin side pairings as always because i am who i am #my fic

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

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Best Part of Me -Chapter 75

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007

Koen arrives shortly before ten in the evening. A paper bag full of bottles of booze under one arm and a tattered and weathered backpack slung over the other; looking slightly worse for wear, even for him. He’s always been dishevelled and unkempt at best, but the pace and the intensity of the job has taken its toll on him; his beard thicker and and boasting more strands of gray, his face and body remarkably thinner and marred by both old and fresh bumps, bruises and contusions that will definitely scar. But that old familiar glitter is still in his eyes; the one that speaks of mischievousness and trouble and gives away his quick and sometimes cutting tongue before he even opens his mouth. The last three weeks have been hell on everyone involved; physically AND mentally. Bodies being consumed by near constant pain, little sleep and poor diet while their brains are subjected to fear, stress, and the overwhelming worth that comes each step out the door and onto the street.

But it’s almost over; the finish line finally in sight. With the list complete, only Mahajan himself and Asif’s people remain; the latter extra hurdles they never expected to confront. No one ever stopped to consider that Mahajan’s reach extended further than India, or that anyone would be able to get to Neysa and Aarav. Nathan is nothing more than a ‘tag along’; extra weight that has to be carried. And his true involvement and whether or not he IS the mole, is yet to be determined. To an untrained eye, it would be easy to see Nathan as another victim; the multitude of injuries and the defiance caught on video. But there’s too many unanswered questions to just let him off the hook. Too much suspicion and things that can’t be explained revolving around his disappearance and sudden reappearance, and it would be foolish -and possibly deadly- to let your guard down around him.

“Am I ever fucking glad to see your ugly face,” Koen says, as he sets both bags down on the kitchen table and then tightly embraces Tyler.

This isn’t one of his usual hugs. It’s warm and genuine; filled with enormous relief and a little gratitude that they've both survived long enough to get a moment like this. And when he pulls away -holding Tyler at arms length, a hand coming up to clasp him on the back of the head before tightly cupping it- there’s something even more unfamiliar in his eyes: a shimmer of tears and honest, pure affection. Normally Tyler would jump on it and rib his old friend about something like that; in the same way Koen would do to him if the situation was reversed. But now is not the time. The last three weeks have felt like three years; everyone involved is exhausted and hurting and relying on nothing more than adrenaline -the hope of it all sending soon- to keep them going. And there’s the strong possibility that someone -or more than one person, even- won’t make it out alive. The realization that the person standing in front of you might not survive and this could very well be the last time you ever see them.

“You good?” Koen ruffles the hair at the back of Tyler’s head. “How you feeling? You sure look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

“I’m alright, I guess. Could be better, could be worse.”

“What’s the pain like? That guy fucked you up pretty good.”

“I’ve had worse.” It’s not entirely a lie. When he’d woken in the hospital seven years ago, the agony had been intense; there hadn’t been a single inch of his body that hadn’t hurt. Since then he’s lived in chronic pain. Some days he’s able to manage and others he can barely get out of bed in the morning. This is a new level of discomfort; increasing and worsening mobility issues, the pins and needles in his right hand, the need for more and more meds to just take the edge off.

“Well you look good. Hell of a lot better than the last time I was with you. Which doesn’t take much, considering you were covered in your own puke and piss and I had to undress you and toss you in the shower.”

Tyler smirks. “I remember when that used to be a sign of a really awesome Friday night.”

Koen cracks a grin at that. “We’re both getting way too old for that shit. And you’ve past it, thank Christ. I honestly thought one day I’d show up at your place and find you dead. About time you smartened the hell up and got your shit together.”

“Guess all I needed was a kick in the ass.”

“A kick in the ass from the right person, you mean. ‘Cause I spent years kicking you in the ass and it did nothing but make you worse. I guess the kick had to come from a hot little brunette to have any effect on you.”

“Yeah…” Tyler grins. “...I guess it did.”

“Can’t say I blame you. She’d be all the motivation I’d need, too. Figure we should be both thanking our lucky stars that she came around when she did. Had it even been a couple months later…”

“Trust me; every day I’m grateful for that. Every goddamn day. For the past seven years.”

“Good. Because you should be. Because even though you were a fucking wreck, she stuck around. She could have easily taken one look at you and thought ‘damaged goods’ and hauled ass on out of there. And to be honest, I wouldn’t have blamed her. You were a lot to handle. She must be made of tough stuff, because she wasn’t afraid of your shut or to put a foot up your ass.

“She’s still not afraid of that. And she is. Tough. Strong. A lot stronger than she gives herself credit for.”

“That’s exactly what you need,” Koen declares. “A strong woman. Someone to challenge you and to keep challenging you. Although I do question her sanity. No one in their right mind would hook up with the likes of your sorry ass.”

“I lost my sanity a long time ago,” Esme says, as she descends the stairs. “Why do you think I have five kids? Do you think anyone with a shred of sanity left would do that to themselves?”

“I thought it was because he couldn’t stay off ya and you don’t know the word ‘no’.”

“I admit, it IS hard. He’s devastatingly handsome and can be very persuasive.”

“Devastatingly handsome?” Koen scoffs. “Sweetheart, you are blind as shit. How’s it going, kiddo?” He embraces Esme warmly, then presses a kiss to each cheek. “Looking lovely, as always.”

“Now who’s blind as shit? I look like the offspring of a dumpster fire and a train wreck. But I appreciate you trying to feed my ego.”

“Don’t even argue with her,” Tyler says. “For every good thing you bring up, she’s got five bad things that exist only in her own mind.”

Esme sighs. “In case you haven’t noticed, Tyler is either completely blind, or totally biased. Koen, if your wife asked you if she looked like a mess...and not a hot one...would tell the truth?”

“Telling the truth is the reason I have so many ex wives. But in all fairness, my ex wives WERE messed. Had any of them looked like you, I’d probably still be married and the happiest sonofabitch on the planet. Now tell me…” he slings an arm across her shoulders and pulls her into his side. “...he been treating you right? Because if he hasn’t…”

“He’s been a complete gentleman. Except for the times I don’t want him to be. And those are X rated and not for your precious little ears, so…” she presses a kiss to his cheek, then moves towards the fridge.

“I do not need to know about all the kinky shit you two do. You been keeping him in line? Making sure he pulls his weight? Because you tell me just one bad word, and…”

“He’s been amazing. Even more amazing than usual. Sorry, Koen; I’m not leaving him for you. Not yet anyway.”

“So you’re saying there’s a chance?” He grins, then nudges Tyler with his elbow. “You into sharing, mate?”

He scowls. “Fuck you. That’s my wife. What’s wrong with you?”

“Remember that one girl in Melbourne? About twelve years ago? The blond with the big…”

“There’s a woman in the room!” Esme pipes up, and snags a vitamin water from the fridge. “I do not need to hear these things.”

“You didn’t mind sharing her,” Koen points out.

“That was a random at a bar. That…” Tyler nods in Esme’s direction. “...is my wife. The mother of my kids. I don’t share. Not when it comes to her.”

“As much as I’d love to stay down here and listen to raunchy and disturbing stories from my husband’s sexual past, I have a bubble bath calling my name,” Esme says. “And quite frankly, I prefer to pretend he was somewhat innocent and virginal when we met.”

Koen snorts. “There’s been nothing innocent or virginal about him since he was about fourteen.”

She frowns. “I’m ignoring you now. I’m turning my ears off. Because I do not need to hear or know about these things. I’m going to go upstairs and pamper myself and do girly shit and you two can stay down here and talk about your sexual conquests. But I swear to God, if my ears start to burn, I will beat the hell out of both of you.”

“I would never do that,” Tyler assured her. “Talk about you like that.”

“He lies,” Koen speaks up. “He talks about you like that all the time. The things I know about you…”

“Fuck off,” Tyler snarls. “I’ve never talked about her like that with you. That’s wishful thinking on your part.”

“I’m just warning you both.” She places a hand on her husband’s hip, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down to press a soft, brief kiss to her lips. “I am in no mood for fuckery.”

“What are you in the mood for?” Koen quips, the mischievous glitter back in his eyes as he bounces up and down on his heels. “I hear chubby, balding guys can really get shit done.”

Tyler glares at him, then slaps him upside the head. “What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s my wife.”

“Sorry Grandpa Koen,” Esme smirks. “I’m a one man woman.”

“Grandpa Koen?” He feigns insults, a hand clasped over his heart. “That’s harsh. Why do you have to break a bloke’s heart like that?”

She grinning over her shoulder as she climbs the stairs. “Goodnight, boys.”

****

Two hours and a bottle and a half of scotch later, they sit at the kitchen table, reminiscing on days long past. Military missions served together and the camaraderie and the rare laughs and lighthearted moments while overseas. Hiking and camping and hunting trips that they’ve taken -along with Rata- and the handful of times they’d simply packed up and travelled for weeks on end; nothing where they ended up or how they got there.

He was nineteen when he first met Koen; fresh out of basic training, too cocky for his own good, and in desperate need of an attitude adjustment and real experience to knock the chip off his shoulder. Koen had been a staff sergeant then; already grizzled and combat weary and sick of the ‘little shits’ like Tyler that passed his way; the ones with their heads shoved up their own asses, who thought they were something special for getting through training in one piece. Koen had made it his personal mission to make his life as miserable as possible; treating him lower than dirty in order to rid him of what Koen had called ‘pukey personality’. He’d seen something in that nineteen year old kid; the promise of becoming a damn good soldier. And it had worked; all the physical and mental punishment completely broke him; transitioning him into someone he no longer recognized. It had unknowingly led to the worsening of some things; the toxic masculinity that had been beaten into him thanks to his old man, and a propensity to drink way too heavily. Being that good of a soldier...as nothing more than a killing machine in his eyes...had made him feel invincible; each successful tour leaving him feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof. And had eventually led him to the job and that sick and twisted desire to seek out one suicide mission after another.

“You alright?” Koen asks, as he pours himself another drink. “You got a little quiet on me there.”

“I’m alright,” Tyler confirms, and runs a palm along the side of his glass. It’s only his second of the night. Starting off by promising to pace himself; not wanting to drink too much considering the amount of painkillers -well beyond the prescribed amount- he’s been taking. But he’d quickly realized it was more than that. He simply didn’t enjoy it anymore; all the cravings and the need and the taste for it somehow disappearing since the incident a week and a half ago.

“You sure? Haven’t seen you look THAT serious in a long time. What’s going on?”

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sounds intense.”

“About as intense as it gets.”

Koen sips his drink. “What’s it about?”

Tyler pushes his glass aside and reaches into the side pocket of his cargo shorts. Pulling out a handwritten letter -two pages long- sealed in an envelope. And he issues a heavy, shaky sigh and offers it to his friend.

Koen’s eyes narrow. “What the hell is this?”

“If anything happens to me, you have to give this to Esme. I need her to read it. She HAS to read it.”

“Fuck you, Tyler,” the older man snarls. “I’m not taking no death letter.”

“You have to. You NEED to. If anything happens to me…”

“Stop talking that shit. I won’t listen to it. I won’t…”

“I need you to fucking do this!” he snaps, then roughly grabs his friend’s hand and shoves the letter into it. “She needs to read it. And I need you to give it to her. You keep it and if anything happens to me, you make sure she gets it. This is important to me, okay? I need her to read it. And I need you to promise me that you’ll make sure she does.”

“Why wait? Why wait until it’s too late? Why not tell her these things now? So she knows. Wouldn’t you rather she knows before? Why the fuck…?”

“She knows. She knows I love her. She knows I love her with everything I am and everything I have. But there’s things in there I can’t say. Or I feel like I can’t say properly. And I NEED her to know those things. If something happens to me, it’s important she knows. I need you to do this.”

Koen downs half of his drink and then stands up, reluctantly sliding the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that? The things I don’t fucking do for you. Taking a goddamn death letter.”

“Just promise you’ll give it to her. If I don’t make it out of here, promise me you’ll make sure she gets that. You have no idea how important it is to me.”

“I’ll make sure. What about your kids? They might like something from their daddy. You know...if…”

“I already did something for them. A video. Ovi has it. He’ll make sure they see it. And that Addie will watch when she’s old enough to understand.” It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell him about the new baby, but mere though of it...the realization that he could leave a pregnant wife behind and there’d be a child he’d never get to see- is just too fucking painful. Ovi knows; he’d made the kid take a vow of secrecy after telling him to make sure all the kids saw the video when they’re old enough. Even the one that’s still inside their mother’s belly.

“Well let’s hope she never has a reason to read it,” Koen says. “And that those kids never have to see that video. You do whatever it takes to get your ass out of there. Alive. And I’ll do whatever I have to on my end to make sure it happens. This isn’t it. It CAN’T be it. Not when you just found all of this. A wife and kids. A family. A REAL goddamn family. This can’t be it.”

“I sure as fuck hope it isn’t.” He doesn’t bother to hold back the tears that manage to escape; hot against his skin as they slip down the sides of his nose and his cheeks. His chest burns and aches. Not the kind of agony that comes with anxiety, but the suffering that comes with heartache and grief and tremendous loss. Not even the swallow of scotch -in an attempt to clear the lump of emotion from his throat- helps, and he places an elbow on the table and his palm against his forehead. Eyes closed as he struggles to keep it together.

“It’s alright,” Koen’s voice is surprisingly quiet and calm, and there’s an audible creak as he leans forward in his hair; hand both heavy and comforting against the back of Tyler’s head. “It’s alright now, son. It’s okay to be like this. You can be this way with me. I got you.”

“If it was just me, I wouldn’t give a shit,” his voice cracks with emotion as the tears continue to fall. “Seven years ago, I wouldn’t have cared if I made it out. But now I have her and I have my kids and I can’t...I can’t leave them. I’m not ready to leave them.”

“No one says you’re going to. It’s not a sure thing. You’re a tough, stubborn bastard.”

“I don’t want to die. I don't want this life to be over. Before her, I was ready. I wanted to die; I wanted all the bullshit to be over. I hated my life and I hated myself and I didn’t fuck care if someone put a bullet in me. And I then I met here and everything changed. I changed. She didn’t look at me like I was a pathetic, cowardly piece of shit and she made me feel things I hadn’t felt in a long time and I never thought I’d feel again. And maybe it was wrong; how things happened, where they happened. But it felt right. For the first time in a long time, something felt right. Something felt good. It felt fucking amazing. And I should have pushed her way. I should have stopped it. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t want it to stop. I didn’t want to lose her.”

“It was a weird situation maybe,” Koen says. “But it doesn’t mean it was wrong. Look how things turned out. Look at the life you made. Together.”

“I don’t want that life to be over. I don’t want to leave her. Or my kids. I want to grow old and gray with her and I want to see my kids graduate high school and go to college and get married and have kids of their own. I want ALL of that. But I’m fucking terrified none of will happen. That when I left my kids this morning, that was it. That I’ll never see them again. That I won’t even get to see Addie take her first steps or celebrate her first birthday. There’s so much I don’t want to miss and I’m scared I will.”

“I know…” Koen’s fingertips dig into his scalp as he firmly massages it. “...I know…”

“Everything that is good in me is because of her. Because she found it and she brought it out. And she’s the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. Her and those kids. And I’m not ready to leave them.”

“And you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen. And so will I on my end. I’ve got you. I’ll bust my ass to make sure you get back to your family. You hear me?”

“Yeah,” he nods, and uses his elbow to push his friend away. “I hear ya.”

“You good? You get it all out?”

“I think so. I guess I needed to do that; get it out.”

“You’ve been trying to hold it together for her,” Koen reasons, and returns to his seat. “But even guys like you need someone you can fall apart with. And I guess that someone is me; lucky bastard that I am.”

Tyler gives a small laugh, then uses the back of his hand to clear the remaining tears away. “There’s something else.”

“Jesus Christ. Are you trying to kill me?”

“Esme knows what she has to do; if something happens to me. She knows to take the money and the kids and leave. But I need someone to keep their eye on them. I need someone to make sure they’re okay. No matter where they end up. And I know this a hell of a lot to ask…”

“I’ll do it. You know I will.”

“Wherever they go, I need you to go with them. You don’t have to stay forever. Just until she’s doing alright and the kids are settled and doing okay. And if you could do that for me…”

“I already said I would. I’ll make sure they’re alright. Nothing will happen to them. Not on my watch,”

“But I swear to God, if you even think of making a move on her, I will come back and haunt your ass.”

Koen laughs at that, then reaches across the table to tousle Tyler’s hair. “You’re going to be okay, you hear me? You’re going to get out of this. You’re going to walk in there, get shit done, and you’re going to walk back out and go back to your family. And then all of this...all this talk...will have been for nothing.”

“I hope so,” Tyler says, and downs the remains of his drink. “I really fucking hope so.”

****

It’s just past one in the morning when he steps into the master bedroom, moving about it’s darkened confines with the aid of the moonlight. Removing the holster and gun from his hip and placing it in the top drawer of the nightstand, then slipping out of his shorts and t-shirt; tossing both on top of the open duffle bag that sits in front of the closet. And he briefly lingers at the side of the bed, listening to her soft breathing and watching as her body rises and falls with each inhale and exhale. Sound asleep; on her side with her back towards the door.

The pain in his chest and the knot in his stomach return with a vengeance; those thoughts of possibly never getting those moments with her again. He can’t get it out of his mind; how close he’d been to ending things only to find someone -when he hadn’t expected to- capable of snatching him off that ledge. Seven years. Spent with the person that saved him in every way a person can be saved. Who has proved time and time again that she loves every inch of him; all the good, all the bad, and everything in between. Every imperfection, every scar; both inside and out. Who taught him what it was to love again; to actually laugh and smile. And who has helped him make even more life; selflessly giving up her own body to do it.

How do you ever tell that person how you feel? Especially when you don’t think there’s words that can even come close to describing it?

Slipping into bed behind her, he presses his front to her back; lips in her hair as he trails his fingertips across her shoulder and slowly down her arm. Over the curve of her elbow and down to her wrist before moving along the top of her hand and then each finger. Memorizing every inch through touch; her skin soft and beautiful. Pressing a kiss to the back of her head when she pushes her fingers through his and tightly squeezes.

“What time is it?” she sleepily inquires.

“It’s late.”

“How late?”

“Just after one.”

“You been drinking?”

“Just had a couple,” he admits, then moves their joined hands down to her stomach. Smiling at the feel of that little bump. It’s smooth and it’s soft and even after four others, it’s incredible. The mere thought that there’s a living being in there. One that he had a hand in making. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I shouldn't have had any. Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic, yeah?”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you HAVEN’T drank. That you’ve fought as hard as you have. I wouldn’t have blamed you or thought less of you if you’d slipped. This has been hell on earth.”

“I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I NEVER want to be him again. You deserve better than that. So do our kids.”

“You’re a good man, Tyler Rake. Regardless of what you think about yourself sometimes. I knew it the moment I met you; that you weren’t like everyone else. It was in your eyes. There was this softness and this vulnerability and it was unlike anything I’d ever seen in any of the other mercs I’d come in contact with. You were different. I remember the first time we were here, and we’d have those long, serious talks that went into the early hours of the morning and I’d wonder how the hell someone like you ever got mixed up in a world like this.”

“Yeah, well we both know the reason behind that. I didn’t exactly hide it from you.”

“But you could have. And you didn’t. Right off the hop you were so honest and raw and it was...I don’t know it...it was beautiful.”

“Oh fuck...not THAT word.”

“It was, “ she insists. “It WAS beautiful. Because you were just so out there with everything. You didn’t hold anything back. There’s nothing you DIDN’T tell me. You told me about your mom and you dad. Your ex. Austin. You were just so breathtakingly real and honest and it was refreshing. To be with someone like that. Who didn’t try and pretend to be something he wasn’t. It was raw and it was emotional and I SAW you. And you let me see you. That was definitely not just two people using each other for sex. Now, had you just rolled over and gone to sleep…”

He laughs into her hair. “I never wanted THAT.”

“It was surprising. Not the things you told me, but the fact you told me at all. I didn’t expect that from you.”

“I didn’t expect that from myself,” Tyler admits.

“Why did you do it? Just open up like that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just trusted you. Guess there was something about you that made me feel comfortable doing it. A lot of what I told you? No one else knows that stuff. Not even Koen. Guess my instincts told me you were good people. Very good people.”

“You thought you could scare me away didn’t you. When you told me about Austin. You thought that would make me think less of you.”

He nods.

“You made a mistake. You were younger and you were scared and you made a bad decision.”

“Worst possible decision.”

“It didn’t even come close to scaring me away. It made my heart hurt for you. And him. But it didn’t make me think less of you. I could never think less of you.”

“So no matter what, you’ll always think the sun shines out of my ass?”

She giggles. “Always.”

He raises his head to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then rests his cheek against hers. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay. I hadn’t been sleeping for very long. I’m having a hard time. I miss the kids.”

“So do I. But Koen called and checked up on them for us. Everything’s fine. They’re happy and they’re safe and they haven’t beaten the shit out of each other. Yet.”

“Yet,” she laughs. “That’s the key word. And we both know who the one beating the shit out of people will be.”

“Yep. Your daughter has quite the temper.”

“She’s just my daughter now, is she? And who do you think she gets her temper from?”

“You.”

“Oh bullshit. She’s just like you and you know it. And you’re proud of it, too. Don’t even try and deny it. I know you how much like that fact that she’s your mini me.”

“She’s my baby. My first. Well, my first after...you know…”

“Your miracle baby.”

He smiles and places a kiss to her temple. “Exactly. She’s one that made me a dad again. Never thought in a million years I’d get another chance at that. And then she came along. I mean, you did have a little part to play in all of it.”

“Just a little. I only carried her for nine months. And then what happens? She comes out just like you. Even the nurse in the delivery room had to point it out; how she had your eyes and your nose and your ears and your hair. I was like, well fuck you too then.”

Tyler laughs and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“I remember when the nurse gave her to you and you just tucked her into you and she stopped crying and she just looked up at you with those huge eyes.”

“And I cried.”

“Yeah…” she smiles and tightens her hold on his hand. “...you cried. And it was beautiful. You were so happy that she was finally here. I think it was the happiest I’d ever seen you. It was like all the pain and all your past was just gone and your face was so soft and so perfect. Nothing existed outside of her. And you looked at her like you couldn’t believe she was even real.”

“She was beautiful. She still is.”

“I think at that moment...seeing you with her...I fell so in love with you. Even more than I already was. And it was kind of crazy and scary, because I already loved you a hell of a lot. I didn’t think it was possible to love someone THAT much. Sometimes I still don’t. I’ll watch you with Addie or playing with Declan or helping TJ and Tanner with their homework and I’ll think ‘God, I love him’.”

He grins against her ear. “And you have the nerve to call me sappy?”

“I can’t help it. I’m feeling all sappy and emotional. I think it’s the fact we’re back here. Of all places. It makes me think about us. How we started and where we’ve ended up. All good things. All very good things.”

“I was thinking about when I woke up in the hospital and you were there. How you were the first person I saw and I was so fucking relieved you were there. I didn’t know if you even made it off the bridge. And even if you did, if you’d stick around.”

“Of course I stuck around,” she releases her hold on his hand and rolls over onto her side to face him. “I went to all that trouble to keep you alive. You really think I wouldn’t stick around to see the result of my handiwork?”

“I guess not.” He presses a kiss to the tip of her nose then drapes a leg over her and places a hand on the small of her back.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re worried, aren’t you. About tomorrow. Or today. About me going out there.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“You know how you always say you’re not a rookie? Well neither am I.”

“I know. But it doesn’t make me feel any better about it Especially when you have my baby in there.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ve had seven years of learning from the best. And Koen will be with me. He’ll make sure I’m okay.”

“He better. Or it’s his ass.”

“You have to trust me. I’d never do anything to put myself...or this baby...in harm’s way.”

“I do. I do trust you.”

“What if I can’t get the information? What if no one will give me any? Then we’re totally fucked. And not a good, fun way either.”

“If that happens, we go to plan B.”

“You let them know you’re here.”

Tyler nods.

“What’s plan C?””

“There is no plan C.”

“Maybe there should be. So we don’t have to rely on plan B.”

“Baby…” he skims his knuckles up and down her spine. “...we talked about this.”

“I’m allowed to change my mind And I’m changing it. That is NOT a good idea; letting them know you’re here. What ever happened to the element of surprise? It goes a long way. They want to lure you here, but they don’t need to know you’re here.”

“I’ll only go to plan B if you can’t get me information.”

“Okay…” Esme frowns. “...that is a lot of peer pressure. I haven’t done this in awhile. Since before Addie.”

“Addie’s only three months old. It’s not like she’s a year or a couple years.”

“So what? Ten months? Since I did this kind of thing? We found out about her during all of that.”

“Who’s the one that found out where Ovi was?”

“That took me four days.”

“It took Nik a week just to narrow down Dhaka,” he points out.

“Four days is horrible. My track record was way better than that before. Four days is embarrassing.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“I should have had it in twenty four hours. Thirty six at the most.”

“I’m kind of glad it took as long as it did. I had a pretty good five days.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that much. It wasn’t a TOTAL failure. But four days? For me? That is shameful.”

“If it makes you feel better, it only took two from the day you showed up on my porch to convince me to sleep with you.”

“Oh, I had to convince you now, did I? You admitted you would have done it the first night had I wanted a booty call.”

“Well then you should be very proud of yourself. It only took you a couple hours to convince me to give it up.”

“Sorry if I don’t feel my ego inflated because you were horny and desperate.”

“Hey, if I’d been desperate, I would have fucked Nik.”

“That…” she scrapes her nails along his jaw and then taps a fingertip against his chin. “... is a very good point actually. I’m glad you held out an extra couple of days. I hope it was worth it.”

“It was SO worth it.”

“I was very impressed. When I see you naked. I had expectations.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You did?”

“I did. Very high ones, actually. You lived up to them. And then some. You definitely fit the old ‘big hands, big feet’ adage. I wanted to see if it was a myth. I quickly found out it was not.”

“You also thought the G spot was a myth.”

“I found out pretty quick that it isn’t. You were really on the ball those five days.”

“Had to leave a lasting impression,” Tyler reasons. “Wanted you to come back for me.”

“You left a lasting impression, alright. One that lasted nine months and weighed eight pounds, three ounces. That’s quite the impression to leave.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m really not. That’s the one good thing...the one amazing thing...that came out of all that bullshit. Besides us.”

“Nice to see you finally admit we’re a good thing,” she teases. “I think we’re pretty amazing. But hey, that’s just my humble opinion.”

“We are. We are pretty amazing.”

“And we’re stronger together than we are apart. You’ve always said that. And that’s why we need to trust each other. With this. We have to trust each other more than we ever have. That’s the only way we’ll get out of here. That we’ll BOTH get out of here.”

He gives a small smile of agreement, then runs his palm up her back and all the way to the nape of her neck; squeezing lightly as he pulls her into a kiss. Long and slow at first; closed mouth upon closed mouth and their bodies brushing against each other. It’s her that takes the first step towards turning it into something more. Fingers pushing into his hair and tightly gripping it; pressing her body against his as her tongue pushes its way past his lips and teeth. Quickly transforming the moment into something much more desperate and needy.

“I want you,” she breathes, her lips finding the side of his neck, teeth scraping against the tattoo and the scar that mars the skin. “I want you and I need you. I need to feel you inside of me.”

He shudders at her words, then leans his weight into her and pushes her onto her back. Her fingers still in his hair and her eyes fluttering closed as his hands and his mouth behind their slow, torturous worship of her body.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #extraction 2020 #chris hemsworth character #best part of me

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my-add-chronicles · 3 years

Text

We moved again Feb 1st because the roommate was getting bizarre and toxic so that was terrible (like complaining about every small thing, no basic respect or benefit of the doubt despite acting like being a mellow person and being kind and easy to talk to- it’s so wild when someone’s actions don’t match their attitude at all.. the whole ‘don’t do business with friends’ concept applies here, what a waste of money)

Obviously the rent is going to kick my ass since my bf is physically disabled (really bad chronic pain from muscle degeneration from an illness he had, he does his best but can’t stand for long periods and is recovering from a lot of PTSD from his family and from a brief hired-military stint before we met because they told him he was dying [95% chance of death] so he wanted to make money quickly).. I’m sole breadwinner and the US is a nightmare to try to get disability payments in, although we are going to keep trying. Point is, money will be very tight.

BUT! Love the new space. Two bedrooms, so we have one as the TV room/ferret play room so I have my cozy book-reading living room without that overstimulation of a TV which is fantastic. Gas stove, which he’s thrilled by as an ex head chef. Our elderly rescue dog will appreciate the space (and the lack of toxic roommate- we adopted her in November when we were living with the crappy person and didn’t know yet that it was going to get weird).

It’s a duplex style (but it’s 4 units), it feels a lot like renting a house because we’re on ground floor and there’s a big wood layered back porch thing that has stairs that lead to a simple shared backyard, a lot of windows and just the right amount of space for my antique furniture and tons of space on the walls for art. One-year lease offers a sense of security too.

Boyfriend has been away because of a funeral of his dearest relative who raised him. It was cancer- She wasn’t dead yet when he left Washington state so I feel very sad for him that he didn’t make it in time to say goodbye. But there was peace in knowing we did everything we could- he got stuck in the snowstorm on the road to Arkansas but he was in the good hands of my trucker ex wife (I know, lmao) who is one of the best drivers in the company. (They got along swimmingly! Bffs now it seems- it makes me laugh). He made it to the (outdoor, social distanced) funeral for her so in a way it went as well as it could have for what was meant to be. He’s taking it well and the whole thing kind of unfolded a lot like a movie, there’s a weird amount of healing that happened for him during the trip, he saw a lot of old enemies who want him dead (as I said, some PTSD from family.... homophobic family for instance, he was exclusively dating men in his youth) but he also reconnected with the family that loves the hell out of him including kids he grew up with that are now adults and have their own families and so it’s like having new family who actually love him. But it’s almost like going back there with good company (trucker ex was an amazing support system- she’s trans and a very affirming warm and dark-humor personality, perfect company for the trip- we weren’t meant to be together forever as teammates but she’s still a fantastic person) really kicked some sort of healing into gear, his attitude has shifted vastly from the default constant anxiety he deals with and his grief is there but he seems at peace.

So he’s been gone for 3 weeks and my immediate family teamed up with me to help take care of the senior rescue dog and ferrets while I work my 12+ hour shifts (bless them) and the fun part is, we had hardly finished unpacking from the move when he got the news she was dying- so since he’s been gone, each ‘weekend’ I go back to our new place and unpack and decorate with my project-hyper-productive mom assisting me, and it’s going to be SO freaking fun for him to arrive back and see our new place looking beautiful and amazing with a new rug in the hall and everything put away and art on the walls. It won’t fully be finished but it looks beautiful already. So that will be lovely after 3 weeks apart. Also our dog will be over the moon to see him- she’s a daddy’s girl, absolutely adores my bf so I’m proud that she wasn’t more livid about his absence for this long- she’s doing a great job. She’s a Staffordshire Terrier (so under the pit bull umbrella) just got to 3 months living with us, and she was abandoned and left to starve in Texas and she was 10 years old already when the shelter found her on the streets. She spent 4 months with a foster family before we adopted her and she was sent to us. She’s a nice 50lbs now. She’s doing amazing with all these unintentional changes (the move, my bf going to the funeral and being gone for 3 weeks, being around my parents a lot and staying in their basement together so they can help me take care of the pets).. I’m training her a lot and I’m very proud of the progress she’s made. She learned ‘lay down’ recently and she gets very excited to train because she loves treats. She still reactive-barks when someone comes in the door, she resource-protects people via barking (aka she doesn’t want someone to ‘take’ me from her, so she barks when people come in or random noises) but she’s making a ton of progress redirecting her attention back to me and is doing it way less. We used to not be able to leave her alone at all because she gets VERY upset if closed alone in a room so we didn’t know if she could handle it. But she’s doing amazing when I’m at work and her separation anxiety is a lot lower now, she gets a little mad once I go into another room but she naps while I’m at work and behaves very well. I’m just very proud of her, she’s amazing. She’s learning to hit a bell to tell us when she has to go potty. I’m teaching her ‘touch’ to boop things with her nose and she did it for the very first time by herself recently and I was so freaking excited. So we’ll keep practicing to see if it sticks.

That’s a little life update thing.

#personal not ADHD really

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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https://paypal.me/bigskydreaming?locale.x=en_US

Hey everyone, so I need some help with my monthly insurance premiums again, because living continues to be pricey as hell. We’re getting close to the finish line though, I’m optimistic. I finally got on my doctor’s schedule for my next appointment - to go over the last CT scan I got done a couple weeks ago, the one to fit me for the prosthetic joint. It’s next Thursday morning, and this will be the appointment where she tests out actual prosthetics and makes the determination as to whether we go with a premade or a custom. From there, we can order whichever one we go with and expedite the preauthorization approval for my surgery with my insurance, and finally get an answer on how much of the surgery they’ll cover. It’s 25K out of pocket, so this has been the big thing I’ve been waiting on an answer on, that kinda everything else hinges on from here.

Once I do have that answer, I’ll finally set up a gofundme for everything that’s left to pay. I’ve been putting that off because I’m trying to only do one of those if at all possible, for various reasons like taxes, etc - but once I have the estimate for how much of the surgery I need to cover upfront, I’ll set one up to help out with whatever I need help with for that, and for the living expenses I’ll need for the two to three weeks I’m told to expect I’ll be bedridden through recovery, post surgery.

I know I’ve been leaning on you guys for a lot, but I wanted to show you just how much none of this would be possible without your help -

Essentially, my expenses for the last nine months have been rent and food (which given my circumstances living out of a motel and not being able to cook/store food comes to a couple thousand a month), phone (about eighty a month), out of pocket expenses for all the consults and appointments I had before getting insurance in January, and since January, insurance ($809 a month) plus co-pays and out of pocket expenses for the stuff my insurance still doesn’t cover (since January this has been $354 for one consultation, $350 for one CT scan, $340 for one co-pay, $225 for one round of tests not covered, couple others I can’t find at the moment). That’s everything my money goes towards, pretty much the second it comes in.

Since I started doing donation posts back in December when I was about to get kicked out of the motel, you guys have donated about $2700 all in all, across the last five months. And although that sounds like a big number just from looking at it, its so much bigger than even that, when you consider that’s basically the only thing that’s enabled me to even HAVE my super-pricey insurance. I take no days off, I take every single job I can find no matter how low the rate, and even busting my ass 24/7, I’m still a thousand bucks behind on what I owe them in rent here at the motel, haven’t paid my cell phone this month yet, and have maxed out my two $300 limit credit cards, lmao - just as an example of where I’m at any given day. There is ZERO chance I would’ve been able to afford this insurance on my own, and ZERO chance that without it, I’d ever have made it this close to finally having an end to all this, and a chance at regaining my old quality of life/lack of chronic pain. Like, I was flat out told I NEEDED to get that MRI in February, not just to rule out whether or not a tumor was responsible, but to pin down the underlying causes of the joint destruction, because they weren’t going to go ahead with the surgery until they could conclusively determine whether the new joint would just erode all over again.

(Don’t think I ever mentioned on here, but what they basically discovered was that my condyle had some time in the past been I guess....bent? a little? or just shifted just enough that over the years it was steadily getting jammed more and more up under my skull instead of flush with the joint, with it constantly eroding over the years from the friction until about a year and a half ago when it hit critical mass and had worn through enough that the remainder just snapped off, which is what caused all this. Doctors have been asking me ever since then about trauma to my face that could’ve caused it, and I kept saying I couldn’t think of anything cuz I was assuming they meant just in the last few years, but these later scans were detailed enough to zero in on the oldest stress/fracture marks on the bone and estimate an age to those initial fractures and turns out all this Drama started a good fifteen years ago. When lol the gaybashing that keeps on giving saw me taking a couple kicks to the head that I honestly never really thought all that much about after my face healed up in a few weeks, as I was always focused on the emotional aftermath of all that and never even thought about the possibility there’d been longterm damage I wasn’t aware of at the time, yaaaaay).

ANYWAY. this is what my insurance covered from that MRI:

Like, and that’s just one step of this whole long as hell process. So I am completely, 100% serious when I say that I would not be where I’m at now without this specific insurance, and I would not be able to afford it without your help. Medicare was never going to cover these specific procedures because my specific jaw issues fall into such a weird gray area between medical and dental that they were batting it back and forth from various offices for months arguing about necessity of procedures and whose responsibility various procedures were, with my health and ability to even function steadily declining all the while. If things kept going the way they had been, before I got insurance and finally got jumpstarted on the right track, it wouldn’t be far off from now where I reached the point where I was just completely unable to function and yet still had bureaucrats telling me over the phone my needs didn’t match the threshold of medical necessity....and at least now, by the time I hit that point, I’ll have a solution in the works.

I know you guys have been seeing these posts from me a lot and so I just wanted to show something tangible as to the effect your help has had and is continuing to have. I’ll still be needing to make them for probably at least a couple months to come, but like, there is a finish line for me at least, and every time I see it, the fact that I can see it at all reminds me of how much support I’ve had to get here and I get all these Feelings and ugh they’re just the worst, but also the best, so...yeah. In summation, you continue to rock my world, and thanks.

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dmcdrabbles · 5 years

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*slides you a nice, shiny red orb* 'ey fam you wanna fuck me up with something about the Reader being 100% totally-has-been-since-forever-in love with Nero, but dumb rowdy angel boy either doesn't see it or is with Kyrie?

I got this one SO long ago and it turned into The Mega Ficlet™ which is super exciting for me because even though it’s not that long, I’ve never written this much for a request before (or for most things lol). I think I just really like angst, even though I have much trouble expressing it (๑•́ ω •̀๑) I hope this sad enough lmfao

–

Pairings: Nero x Kyrie, onesided Nero x Male Reader

Summary: Your best friend is getting married. Of course you’re happy for him. Why wouldn’t you be?

Word Count: 5,638

Warnings: angst, recreational alcohol use, offscreen injury

——————————————————————————————

The summer after the Qlipoth was as hot as hell on Earth, the kind of summer that got everyone sluggish, running their daily routines at half-speed. Funny how so immediately after life-shattering disaster normalcy slides right back into place, as welcome as an old friend.

Three months have passed, and Redgrave was well into its repairs. Donations came pouring in from outside cities with the unspoken sentiment of “poor thing, but we would’ve done better”; benevolence with an undercurrent of superiority. Even the Devil May Cry crew- including Dante and his brother- had returned to something approaching ‘normal’, whatever that meant for people like them.

You, on the other hand- you had been benched for most of the past three months after a Behemoth had snapped your femur like a twig. Nico had offered to build you a new leg and seemed only mildly discouraged at your reminder that you didn’t plan to cut it off. It was the second big personal disaster of the year- the first being the Qlipoth roots pulverizing your apartment building, forcing you to move in with Nero and Kyrie. You hobbled around their place and felt like a goddamn burden most of the time. You practically begged the doctor to take your cast off.

Only three months gone and normal had slid back into place like one of Nico’s vinyls, spinning round and round and playing the same familiar tune. This one’s called ‘We’ll Be Fine’.

But disasters came in three for you, they always had.

“Okay, okay, slow down!” You yell, pressing your hands against your knees as you try to catch your breath. Ahead of you, Nero slows to a stop and whips around.

“Tired already, Y/N?” He taunts, laughing. “You’ve gotten soft since we left the Order.”

“I just got my cast off two days ago! I’m a normal amount of tired,” You pant, wiping sweat away from your forehead with both arms. Your right leg is throbbing with pain, but you try to keep your steps even. “You’re just too energetic.”

With the rubble cleared in Redgrave City and most of the populace trying to hide from the heat, most of the sidewalks were prime real estate for training. Whole long stretches for Nero to torture you back into shape with. Just like old times. He could always leave you in the dust, fucked-up leg or not.

“What’s got you so bouncy?” You manage, coughing into your wrist.

Nero’s face twists a little and he cups the back of his head, elbows up to the sky as he stretches. The tension in his face melts away as he contemplates, and you almost want to look away- there was just something so private about seeing him so unguarded. He carried the weight of all his stress in his knit brow and his tensed jaw; you haven’t seen him look this relaxed since before you left Fortuna.

“Hey, what’s that look for?” You ask, taking shaky steps to catch up to him. “You get some other new power I didn’t know about?”

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Nero drops his arms, swings them a bit as you two start walking side by side. Nowadays it’s so obvious how much of a growth spurt he had- you can remember a time when Nero was so much shorter than you that the morning sun wouldn’t be shining behind his head like that. You have to squint just to look at him.

He rubs his nose, and you stiffen despite your exhaustion. Didn’t take a genius to know what that meant, just someone who knows him half as well as you do.

“About your new power?” You laugh, halfhearted. Weird how even emotional weight slows your footsteps these days. “Did you grow another arm or something?”

“Y/N,” He says, coming to a stop. You just keep walking, trying to keep the jaunt in your step. “I finally asked her.”

“Oh,”

“She said yes.” His voice is so soft.

Couldn’t have expected personal disaster number three to happen so fast. A chronic injury, chugging along with almost-ignorable pain just flaring up fast enough to floor you. Switch the vinyl, play another old song- this one’s called ‘Be Happy for Him’.

“Damn, Nero! Congrats!” You slap his shoulder, “You and Kyrie, getting married? Knew it had to happen eventually.”

A grin breaks out along Nero’s face, and he rubs his nose again. He wraps his arm around your side, yanking you up against his. Like this you barely have to use your bad leg and walking almost feels relaxing again. You’re so close you could tilt your head and rest it on his shoulder.

“We were hoping to have the wedding soon, maybe this month–”

“Why? Any pressing needs?” You joke, petting the air in front of you where a round belly would sit. Nero slaps your hand down.

“No!” He yelps, face red. “We just don’t know how long it’ll be before the next crisis, you know?”

That crease between his brows is back, eyes far off like he was still trying to see the future. Looking for some guarantee that they’d already suffered enough this year and could rest easy for once.

“I know.” You tell the sidewalk, as quietly as if its some kind of secret.

“We don’t exactly have a lot of people to invite, and we wanted something small.” He says, slowly. “About that…”

You round the corner together, finally reaching a part of the city with enough appeal for the people to brave the heat for. You two get more than your share of annoyed glances as passerby weave around the wide blockade you form with your entangled bodies. Nero barely seems to notice.

“Y/N, you know how long we’ve known each other?”

“Iunno. Nine, ten years maybe?” You wrinkle your nose, thinking back. “All I remember is Credo bringing this little snot-nosed runt into training one day and saying that he was going to join us.”

“Runt?” Nero snorts, “I kicked your ass!”

“Only because you fought dirty!” You jab him in the side and he twists away from it, laughing. “Remember what Credo said when they pulled you off me?”

“'Holy Knights don’t start fistfights’?”

“God, so lame.” You shake your head, willing away the less cheery memories that latch themselves to your time in Fortuna. “So like, a decade. What about it?”

Nero pauses, and realization comes to you quickly. Is it entrapment if he’s got his arm hooked around your shoulders like that?

“You’re the closest friend I have, Y/N…”

Don’t ask this of me, you want to say. Instead you stare ahead, burning the memory of this street into your mind in third-person perspective. You wonder how many of the other people around you are feeling that chronic pain of heartache stabbing at them with every throb. It’s an invisible disease with no risk of mortality; the worst symptom is just a constant feeling of being the dumbest person you know.

“Will you be my best man at the wedding?”

“Really! ‘Will you be my best man’, he says.” You burst, laughing a bit. “You’re making this sound like another proposal! No need to be so formal!”

“You’re such a pain,” Nero grumbles, taking his arm off your shoulder and shoving you. An innocent passerby dodges you by an inch, tossing a dirty look over her shoulder at you. “Will you do it or not?”

“I,” You look at the ground, at the buildings, at the dozens of bystanders watching you squirm. “I think I’d make a pretty shitty best man. I don’t know anything about weddings, you know?”

“You’re not our wedding planner,” Nero protests, “Practically just a witness.”

“What if I don’t want to ‘witness’ you and Kyrie being all lovey-dovey as always?” You quip, trying to sound lighthearted.

“Please?” Nero grabs your hand, turning you around to face him. The two of you are taking up the entire sidewalk- you’re probably shoved once or six times, someone probably yelled at you- but it doesn’t even seem to matter. You stare at him, transfixed. You’re pretty sure you’ve never even heard him say ‘please’ before. “I want you there.”

God dammit. That’s not even fair.

“Okay.”

—

It’s three weeks before the wedding, and Nero’s picking out his tuxedo. You had feigned some horrified shock at the idea- you’d never seen someone force him into formal wear before, let alone seen him wear it willingly. You were half sure he asked you along just to spread the misery.

“If I knew the job meant giving you fashion tips, I would have charged you.” You grumble, shifting uncomfortably on the fitting area couch. Weird how they could spend so much money on interior decorating and still make the place so awful to stay in. Still, it was the only place that had managed not to get destroyed by the Qlipoth, so it wasn’t like you had many options.

“Right?” Nico drawled, foot kicking so fast it practically vibrates. She’s been on edge since the attendant confiscated her cigarettes. She sticks out against the artistic monochrome of the store like a tattooed sore thumb. She leans full on against you, the literal to your metaphor of leaning on her. It’s easier to tamp down the melodrama with her crowing in your ear every other minute. “Maybe the wedding should be trash bag themed. Kyrie would still look cute.”

“Oi, quiet out there!” Nero calls from the other side of the stall. “Nico, what’re you even doing here? You’re a bridesmaid!”

“Maid of Honor,” Nico corrected, “And you need all the fashion help you can get. Now are you coming out here, or what?”

The dressing room creaks open loudly, and Nero takes his first step out. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looks almost…sheepish. You’ve never seen him look like that before, and it hits you with a sudden rush of wondering how many other sides of him you’ll never see.

At the beat of silence he spins around and looks at himself in the hallway mirror. He seems so much taller and broader in a suit- he’s nearly as big as Dante now and he looks it.

“Nero, you look…” You start hesitantly. The pause could last a second or an hour and you wouldn’t know any better- it’s unbearable. And punctuated with a loud slap as Nico smacks your thigh with her open palm, jolting you out of your seat as you wheel on her with wide eyes. It throbs in familiar pain again and you clutch it mindlessly.

“Damn, Nero! You ain’t look half bad when you’re cleaned up!” Nico locks eyes with you, a broad grin on her face. “You tell him, Y/N!”

“Right!” You blurt, following her lead. “Never would’ve guessed you’d look so good in a suit.”

Nero glances at you over his shoulder, smile softening his features back into that unfamiliar little boyish look. The wedding date’s barreling towards him and Kyrie faster than Nico in her van, but every day his face seems to hold that unguarded bliss for a little bit longer.

“Good thing, I don’t think Kyrie would have wanted me to get married in street clothes.” He turns back to face the mirror, tugging the hem of his suit again like he’s not used to jackets that fit right. “You don’t think the blue is too much?”

“It brings out your eyes.” You explain. You had picked it off the rack for him with that in mind. Nero’s eyes meet yours in the mirror for a moment, and you wonder if you can play off that softness in your voice for some sort of sentimentality.

My best friend is getting married to the love of his life and I get to be there for every second of it. I’m so happy I could just die.

“Thanks. I guess this one’s probably it then, huh?” Nero looks down at the suit again, pinching it off his body to look at the fabric. It really is a good match, and you tuck away the little factoid that you’ve spent so much time staring into Nero’s eyes that you’ve memorized their lovely grey-blue.

“You don’t even wanna try the one I picked out?” Nico pouts. She pulls a half-smoked cigarette from her shirt pocket and sets it between her teeth. “Fine, fine, go on and change. We’ll see y'out front.”

Nico has the decency to wait for Nero to get back in the stall before she accosts you. She grabs your arm and yanks you up from your seat, dragging you around the corner and behind the racks of suits. These ones are so expensive you don’t have to worry about customers coming by. How clever. Her fingers are like daggers in your bicep when she spins you around.

“Nico? What the hell are you-”

“Okay, listen here.” She whispers, stabbing your chest with one of her little dagger fingers. Her cigarette stays surprisingly steady between her pursed lips. “I know what’s goin’ on with you-”

“There’s nothing going on with me,” You whisper back, slapping her finger down and rubbing your bruised pec. Your heart races under your palm.

“Hey, hey, shut it!” Her voice climbs until an attendant looks over, and she drops it back down into a conspiratorial whisper. “Trust me when I say I feel for you, but you can’t be doin’ none of that-” She clasps her hands together and flutters her eyelashes at you, then snaps back into a stern pout, “Around him, y'know?”

You open your mouth, then close it. Who cares. I’m already obvious.

“I’m not doing it on purpose.” You whisper, and Nico has to lean in even closer to hear you.

“Well of course you ain’t,” Nico slaps you in the arm, glancing around the corner to make sure Nero’s still in his changing stall. “Nobody’s looking that tragic on purpose.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. Listen,” Nico’s voice drops into a more serious tone, and somehow it makes you nervous. “I’m gonna help you out here. You work with me, and we’re gonna get out of this with minimal damage. It’s a goddamn miracle Nero ain’t already noticed the little crush you got on him, homewrecker.”

The relief drops back down into the pit it rose from. She might as well have slapped you, would’ve been just as funny and hurt less.

“I’m not a fucking hom-” The dressing room door’s creaking cuts you off, and Nico snaps away from you faster than you can finish your sentence. Nero whistles lowly as he turns the corner, suit folded over one arm and lifting the price tag.

“Damn, Y/N. You really know how to pick 'em. This suit’s the most expensive thing I’ll own.” He sighs and let the tag hang, looking up at you and Nico for a moment. He double takes the expensive suits around you, face pulling into a wince. “I am not trying any of those on.”

It’s two weeks before the wedding, and Nero is practicing old drills with you. You never would have thought he’d be the one to suggest it- back when you two were teenagers he hated those drills more than anyone else you knew. Not that it meant his form was ever sloppy; he just played fast and loose with the rules and his sparring never suffered for it. You, on the other hand, had found comfort in the repetition of the exercises; you would practice them over and over until they stuck in your head like ‘Be Happy For Him’.“I can’t believe you still remember all the steps,” Nero mumbled into his shirt, lifted to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He had shoved Red Queen tip-down into the dirt and you had to stifle the old habit of nagging him about it. No officers to get in trouble with anymore. “I did the drills a lot more than you did.” You snort, starting up the drill again from the top. It was nice to know your body could still make the motions. “Never saw the point in them. Nobody fights like,” Nero picks up Red Queen and copies the four steps of the starting drill, “You follow that pattern every time, you’re gonna get your ass kicked by the first person who notices it.”You roll your eyes. “That’s not what the drill is for, which you’d know if you listened to our instructors.” You switch up the first drill halfway, changing to the end part of the third drill then back to the top of the second. “It’s so you know how to respond to your opponent and always have something to fall back on. And for good blade control.”Nero stops your sword with his own, stepping up in front of you so you can see his skeptical look. “So you just go back to the old moves one way or another. But people and demons don’t exactly fight fair. What happens when you get something you don’t have a drill for?”“That’s what the control is for.” You push down Nero’s sword and straighten yourself back into your familiar sparring stance. “Wanna test it out?”“Thought you’d never ask.” Nero grins, spins Red Queen just to show off. “You gonna be good on that leg?”To answer you dash forward, sword flashing in a flurry of sweeps you already know Nero will dodge. Using unblunted weapons is a bad idea, especially at this speed, but you and Nero spend more time practicing with real blades than fake ones anyway. He recognizes the drill as expected and brings Red Queen down by his legs in anticipation of the final slash. You feint away at the last second, whipping your blade back and starting up a different drill; this one presses him to retreat back step by step.He doesn’t even try to attack. Maybe he can see the slight stumble in your bad leg, maybe he knows you’ve never favored your left so strongly before. You stop your drill halfway again and instead make a slash around his head so fast that he stumbles back afterward, a ‘what the hell?’ popping out of his mouth just as a tiny lock of his fringe falls to the floor. “Your cut was a little uneven,” You explain, mouth curling up into a half-smile. “Blade control.”Nero huffs and shrugs, ruffling the front of his hair for a moment and starting to turn away. At the last second, the dull side of Red Queen sweeps the back of your good knee and you crash to the ground with a yelp. Nero stabs Red Queen into the ground beside your head, plants one black boot next to it, and leans over you with a smirk. “Fighting dirty.”

—

It’s one week before the wedding, and you’re sitting at the kitchen table making wedding decorations. The original plan was just flowers scattered everywhere- Nero and Kyrie both loved them- but bouquets were too expensive for a Devil Hunter’s budget. So origami it was.

“Done.” Trish announced, dropping one last flawless stalk of paper leaves onto the table. You had been skeptical about Kyrie’s choice to enlist Trish and Lady with the decorations, but one glance at their work had you eating your words- they were damn good at this. “Do you need help with the roses?”

You exchanged a look with Nero, staring at each other and then the messes you two are making out of the paper. You laugh and slide over a stack of paper. “Yes, please.”

“So, Y/N, how are you holding up?” Lady asks after a moment of working in silence. Your eyes flick to Nico for a second and she raises her hands up defensively, like she expects you to attack her with some delicate handmade decorations.

“Uh,” You accidentally rip one of the petals you’re working on and you curse under your breath. “What do you mean?”

Lady looks between the two of you for a moment, mouth twisting into an amused half-smile. “Your leg?”

“Oh. It’s fine.” You flex your leg out as if to test it again. It responds with a resounding throb of pain. “Would be even better, if somebody didn’t decide to clothesline me with his sword.”

“Come on, I barely hit you.” Nero grumbles, waving away Lady’s dubious look without glancing up from his rose. He’s starting to get the hang of it.

“I figure after the ego bruises heal I can get started on finding a new place.” You continue, just as Kyrie walks in with the snacks for everyone. She stops short, mouth falling open in surprise just as Nero turns to you with an almost identical expression. It would be funny if it wasn’t directed at you.

“Y/N, I didn’t know you planned on moving out so soon!” Kyrie starts up again, placing food and drinks on the table as she watches you with a strangely worried look.

“Ah, well,” You take your drink and gulp it down to spare yourself some time. “After the wedding I thought it would be nice for you and Nero to have the place to yourselves.”

Nero pulls his mouth in a tight line. “We’re not gonna kick you out.”

“You don’t have to,” You say, awkwardly. “I just think it’s going to be awkward having an extra roommate around.” And I can’t pay my share of the rent if I can’t fight anymore.

“You’re always welcome with us,” Kyrie smiles gently, until Nico groans loudly and makes her jump.

“Aw, come on. Don’t make it weird for’im.” Nico crosses her arms, locking eyes with you and nodding just the slightest bit. “He’s just too nice to say he wants his own place again.”

Lady and Trish’s eyes ping-pong between the four of you, watching the argument unfolding with mild amusement. You drop your own gaze to the table to avoid locking eyes with anyone.

“Well, you can stay with us in the meantime,” Kyrie pipes in. “At least until you get back on your feet?”

“Nah,” Nico fills in for you again, “Because he’s gonna be stayin’ with me.”

—

It’s the night before the wedding, and Nero is sitting with you at the bar. He’s trying to salvage something more relaxed out of this bachelor’s party that he didn’t really want, and you’re doing your best to help. Dante’s plan to “show up at the bar and see what happens’ combined with the only guests being the groom, the uncle, the estranged father, and the lovesick best friend is turning about as well as could be hoped.

“He didn’t,” Nero sounded horrified, but a grin was stretched wide across his face.

“I’m serious!” You insisted, shouting over the music and the chatter all around you. You took another cautious glance all around- you hadn’t seen Dante for well over an hour, but you still felt the need to check. “He said ‘if we can’t take Nero to the strip club, we’re taking the strip club to him’. Word for word.”

“Noooo,” Nero moaned, his entire upper body melting onto the bar even as he shook with laughter. His grip stayed firm around his beer though- he learned well from the last one. “Stripper nuns, though? The hell does he think I’m into?”

“I was afraid to ask,” You take another gulp of your own drink, eyes falling closed to savor the way the alcohol seemed to turn even your anxiety into a pleasant blur.

“How the hell did you talk him out of it?” Nero asks the bar, blindly wiping the condensation off his beer glass.

“Told him he could bring stripper nuns to my bachelor party someday.” You lean your face on your hand, watching Nero’s back shake again. You were pretty sure he was giggling. “It’s hard being a martyr.”

“Martyr?” Nero turns his head, pillowing it on his forearm as he smiles at you. God, he’s so drunk. “You’re my guardian angel.”

“At your service,” You salute sarcastically. The conversation lulls and you rest your chin on your hand, glancing around the room. When you look back down at Nero, he’s still watching you. His smile has faded back into something thoughtful. “What?”

“You finished packing up this morning, right?” Nero mumbles, head bobbing slightly with his words.

“Yeah. Nico already picked up my stuff, so I’m staying with her tonight.” You tap your fingers against your glass. “She offered to start teaching me her gunsmithing too.”

At that, Nero sits back up. “Really? You gonna have to pay an apprenticeship fee or something?”

“Pff, no.” You stare at your glass. “But I’ll be joining her side of the business. For now, at least.”

Nero stares at you for a second, mouth open. “The hell? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Uh, sorry?” You twirl your cup, face twisting into a grimace. “I’m just testing it out for now.”

“Jeez. You’re leaving devil hunting and I’m getting married. What a year.” He sips his beer. “You excited?”

You look at Nero for a moment, not sure how to answer. How do you say ‘I’d rather it all stay the same forever’ without sounding as pathetic as you feel?

The bartender saves you, sliding up to offer refills. You accept, and she turns to Nero.

“I’m still working on it,” Nero sits up, drunk grin relaxing back into that soft expression he got so often lately. “We probably shouldn’t drink too much before tomorrow.”

“Special occasion?” The bartender asks, sliding your drink to you and picking up your old glass to clean it out. You take it in big gulps, a medicine for the upcoming repetitive conversation- you’ve heard people ask Nero about it so many times you can’t stand to be sober for it this time.

“Wedding.” Nero grins. The bartender whoops and tops off his beer.

“Finally some good news in this city. Everyone’s so damn depressing lately.” The bartender picks up a clean glass, clinks it against yours and Nero’s cups in turn. “Congrats, you two!”

The warmth in your stomach cools, then freezes. You fumble, exchange a glance with Nero. “Oh, I’m not–”

“He’s the best man,” Nero explains, red up to his ears. “I’m marrying someone else.”

“Oh,” The bartender says, sounding genuinely surprised. “Sorry, you were just looking at each other all puppy-eyed-”

“Where’s your bathroom?” You interrupt, and you must look queasy because she hands you a plastic bag from under the counter even as she points to the back corner. The second your bad leg takes your weight it crumples under you, and Nero’s arm shoots out to hold you up. You twist out of his grip.

“I’m good, I’m good-” You assure him as you stumble off, not caring who you bump into, breathing hard into the plastic bag. People sober enough to see the way you heave part way for you, clearing a decent path to the bathroom. You shove the door open as hard as you can. To your irritation, it doesn’t even make a peep. You scan the room- empty. You run into a stall. You fall to your knees in front of the toilet bowl.

And you let out a sob.

It echoes through the bathroom, multiplying until it almost feels as loud and as crushing as it feels. You grip the bowl and empty your tears into it, whole body curling into itself tighter and tighter like you can make yourself so small and weak that the pain will leave, satisfied. Every sob forces its way out of you violently. Let it out, you tell yourself sarcastically, the same way you would if you really had just vomited into the bowl like you were supposed to.

You don’t know how long you kneel there, only that by the time you finally roll onto your ass your knees are numb. You’re still crying but at least the roaring in your ears has died down enough for you to hear your phone vibrating against the tile. It must’ve fallen out of your pocket. You glance down, eager to shut it off, but it’s slid far into another stall and you practically have to crawl into it to pick the phone up. At least the gaps under the stalls are massive.

Two notifications- a text from Nero (‘you ok?’) and an incoming call. “NICO” flashes across the screen. Right. She was supposed to be picking you all up.

“Finally you answer!” Nico yells into the phone, and you wince away from it. “You know how many times I’ve been callin’ you, dummy?”

“Sorry,” You whisper into the phone. Another sob shakes you, and you cover your mouth. Too late.

“Hey, you doin’ okay?” Her voice is so much softer than usual and it makes another sob bubble up out of you.

“I’m so tired of this, Nico.” You whisper, voice taking on a harsh edge as you grit your teeth. “I can’t do this.”

“Hey, hey, hey lover-boy, it’s just one more day. One more day and this shit’s over and done with.”

“It’s not!” You hiss, drawing your knees up tight to your chest. When your voice comes out again, it’s rising louder and louder. For a second the music in the bar seems to climb with your voice, then it’s damped down again. “It’s not done tomorrow! Tomorrow is the ‘first day of the rest of their lives’,” Your voice breaks in a half-crazed, exhausted laugh, “And I’m so happy for them! Nobody in the world deserves it more than they do! I should know, I’ve been by their sides for almost a fucking decade!”

“Listen–”

“We don’t have the Order anymore, we don’t have Fortuna anymore, but they have each other and Nero is so, so happy with her.” You have to pause, overwhelmed by another breath-stealing shudder, “I would never want to hurt Nero. I want him to be happy.” Your whole body seems to relax at once, ragdolling you against the stall. “I just wish he could be happy with me.”

“Listen, lover-boy,” Nico starts, but you don’t hear the rest. Through the bottom gap in the stall you can see a pair of black boots, standing motionless just a few feet away. They turn slowly, and by the time you have the stall open he’s gone.

—

It’s the day of the wedding. They planned it for the evening, just a simple ceremony in a simple place with a small group of people and a simple reception. The details blur together like you’re still drunk. Nero hasn’t spoken to you since last night, and you can’t tell whether it’s deliberate. On their wedding day, grooms rarely have time to chat, let alone confront their best man on what they may or may not have heard the night before.

As planned, you and Nico walk the aisle together to your spots. You’re too slow for the music and you know it, but you’re not used to your new cane yet and you haven’t gotten the right rhythm to support your steps with it yet. Nico stayed up late crafting it for you, said you couldn’t just keep fucking up your bad leg by walking on it as much as you do. She’s working overtime to act like you’re just hungover instead of emptied out from an emotional breakdown, and when you can feel present again you’ll be sure to thank her. Until then you stand behind Nero, face schooled into a smile.

How far back would you have to go to save yourself from this feeling? The moment you accepted your role as best man? The moment Nero told you he was getting married? Your choice to follow them after the crisis in Fortuna? The day you and Nero were sworn into The Order? The day you met him?

How many years would you erase to stop yourself from being here this day, this time, standing at Nero’s side and knowing the fact it was a place no longer reserved for you?

Had it ever been?

Nero looks back at you over his shoulder, brow creased up in that soft expression that has gotten so familiar over this past month. Not a sign of fear or regret. It was the face he made when those butterflies fluttered in his stomach, when he told you about being with Kyrie, about the future he wanted together with her. A face that said he couldn’t wait for the future.

But his eyes are sad. And you have to wonder what that means.

He turns as the music started for her walk down the aisle. So beautiful in white, the fabric of her veil fluttering behind her almost reminiscent of Nero’s wings. She glows in the sunlight. The smile on her face crumples into an overwhelmed grin as she looks up the aisle to her groom and his best man, both of whom stood there with faces wet with tears.

As Kyrie and Nero step into each other’s spaces they bubble off the world around them. No pretenses between them, no expectations, just hands meeting and a whisper under Nero’s breath of her name, spoken like the most intimate word in the world.

And you stand there privy to it, like a voyeur to joy that was never meant for you or your ears.

Tonight, tomorrow, a week from now, a year, you can rebuild yourself into something that you hate a little less. You reassemble yourself just like Redgrave City has, piece by piece. You can play that familiar tune “We’ll Be Fine”, because you will be.

But for today? Today you witness their first kiss as husband and wife, and you stumble a little when you let go of your cane to applaud.

#sakkajagga #request #nero x reader #unrequited nero x reader #dd mild #had this queued since the morning and yet i'm literally editing it up to the last second lmfao

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celestica-1988 · 5 years

Text

I’ll Be There

TheDirt!NikkiSixxxFemaleReader

It was a cold morning in New York, but you didn’t feel it.

Wrapped in your blankets you were stretching your arms, thanking God for the lucky job you had. You were one of the roadies of the Mötley Crüe and you were happy to sleep in the same hotel of them, the room was really comfortable.

After weeks spent sleeping in bunks everything was better than it, cause they were so small that sometimes you felt like you were in a lack of air to breathe.

The band was awesome but problematic.

Mick was always bitter and drunk because he had chronical back pain, Vince was the one sober and he seemed sad and then there were the Terror Twins.

Tommy was loud, a goofball of energy and then there was Nikki and your heart skipped a beat. Before starting the job you swore to yourself you wouldn’t fall in love with a band member. That was before you saw Nikki’s green eyes. They were so full of pain and confusion, rarely happy, rarely sober.

You knew he was in heroin, but you couldn’t image how much.

And so, as clique as it sounded you felt for the bassist and it wasn’t a good idea at all, you spent many nights crying in silence over it. It sucked watching the person you loved destroying himself with his own hands, sadder if you considered than none of his band mates were doing something about it because they were too busy with their own problems.

You would like to help him, but you didn’t know how, after all you were just a roadie, not a friend, just a random person.

It was discouraging for you, you owned so much to that band.

If it wasn’t for that job you would probably be homeless, so you felt like you wanted to help as much as possible.

Sighing you got up and had a shower, the situation wasn’t going to change no matter how much you thought about it. Probably the right chance would come when you stopped obsessing about it.

After a good shower you realized it was late in the morning and the breakfast time was over in the hotel, you hoped you could at least had a coffee at the bar. You couldn’t start your day without coffee and the band often teased you and made fun of you for this, but you didn’t care. Your morning coffee was more important of any stupid comment.

You went down in the hall, you asked for a coffee to the bar and you got it, you were sipping it when you saw Doc walked through the hall with a woman in high boots. They chatted for a while, then Nikki emerged from an elevator and he froze when he saw them. The woman hugged him crying, after a while he hugged her too. You had no idea what was happening but you sensed Nikki’s awkwardness from there. Whoever was that woman to him, she was someone he was not exactly happy to see.

Suddenly he released the woman from his arms and he started to scream and kick random things. Doc talked to him, but Nikki snapped at him and went away.

You paid the coffee and ran after Nikki, who left the hotel.

Sometimes Doc asked you to take care of him, but this time you were following him on your own free will, worried about what happened. The bassist was upset, something must had happened between him and the woman and whatever it was it hurt him.

You made your best to stay behind him, but people came in your way, you cursed New York and how crowded it was.

You knew Nikki enough to know that he would look for two things in that state: drugs or alcohol.

If you were lucky you would find him in some bar, in the worst scenario he would find some pusher and had some heroin and you dreaded this.

You didn’t want to see him laying on a sidewalks with a syringe in the arm, you didn’t know if you can stand that view. You were brave, but there were limits at what your brain could process.

You kept following him, even though he was more and more far away from you, praying to find him drunk instead of drugged.

In the end he disappeared into the crowd, you stopped for like five seconds then you were pushed by the people who were in a hurry for something.

You looked around, you saw the Christmas trees and the lights, most of this bunch of people were looking for presents. You lost the only one person that matters to you thanks to them.

You clenched your fists and released a frustrated noise.

How could you find him again?

……………………………………………….

One hour later you found him in a bar not too far away from the hotel.

He was drinking Jack Daniels and he seemed already drunk, you were relieved that at least he didn’t shoot heroin in his veins.

You sat at his table, he lifted the head from the glass.

“Hey, Y/N. Did Doc send you to look for me?” He slurred.

“No, I came here because I was worried for you. Doc didn’t know anything.”

“Better for him, he’s out. He’s another bastard who just wants to exploit my music.” “Why do you say that?

What happened?” “I don’t really wanna talk about my private shit in a crowded bar where it could be hidden a fucking journalist.”

“Fine, let’s go back to the hotel.” “In my room there would be that bitch still.”

“Then come in mine. No bitches, no journalists.

It’s not first class like yours, but…”

“Why?”

“Why what?” “Why are you doing that, Y/N?”

“Because I care about you, I’m worried about you and I wanna help if it’s possible.” He gave you a suspicious look.

“I don’t wanna exploit your music, how could I even do that?

I don’t play any instrument and I’m just a roadie. I’m nothing for the Elektra Records.”

“Ok, let’s go.

I was tired to stay there anyway.”

He got up and stumbled, he was unsure on his legs so you passed an arm around his waist, for the firsts five seconds he seemed about to take it away, then he just gave up.

“Fuck.”

He said under breath.

“I’m sorry, but you don’t seem able to walk alone.”

“Yea.” He paid the alcohol and then you left the bar.

Outside it was darker than you thought, a lot of people starred at you and Nikki gave a middle finger to everyone.

“Stop it or some goddamned journalist will come.”

“I’m not a monkey in a zoo.” “For those people you are just a drunk person, there’s no reasons to react like this.

It will just draw attention on us.”

“You are smart, how come you are babysitting us?” “Money. I haven’t got enough of them for any college and to be honest I like this work.”

He laughed.

“I can’t believe there’s someone who likes babysitting four grown ass men.”

You would like to tell him that being a roadie was more than take care of the band, that every concert who was successful was a personal satisfaction because behind it there were also your work.

You had the feeling that Nikki wouldn’t understand and just plainly accused you to exploit his talent. Why was he so complicated?

It wasn’t simple deal with Tommy, Mick and Vince, but with Nikki it was like playing Russian roulette every time you talked to him. Drugs just made it worst his natural tendency to mood swings.

Slowly you reached the hotel, Doc shot at you a grateful glare and kept drinking, he was a tired man now.

You were tired too, but you have to be strong for Nikki now, even though it wasn’t your job.

You took the elevator and you started to rummage in your pockets to find the key, after a few tries you fund them.

The elevator’s door opened and you and Nikki staggered till your room.

You entered it and he left himself drop on the bed.

“Man, I’m fucking tired.” You sat on a chair and looked at him.

“What happened, Nikki? Why do you start to kick everything?”

“It was her fault, she should haven’t be here.”

“Who? The woman in the hall?

Who is her?” Nikki looked at you with piercing eyes.

“She’s Deana, my mother.” You widened your eyes in shock, Nikki never talked about his parents so you thought he was orphan.

“Your mother? I thought you were an orphan.”

He laughed bitterly.

“I wish I was. My parents are still alive. My father left my mother when I was two years old, I didn’t even remember his face. Since then, I guess, my mother brought home abusive men who last just two weeks and fucked her and beat me.”

“I’m sorry, Nikki.” He didn’t even listen to you.

“When I was thirteen I made her arrested by the cops, I cut myself with a knife and told them she was her fault, that she hurt me. I also told her to never call me again and she did it for a while.

I lived the rest of my teenager age in a foster home, once I was eighteen I left and called my father. I was looking for a ghost and the ghost said he didn’t wanna have nothing to do with me.

I changed my name into Nikki Sixx and so I thought I was free from my past, but…” Tears started to fall from his eyes.

He was in pain, all his demons were dancing in that room, you could hear them laugh at Nikki.

You wanted them to go away, you wanted to make him feel better.

“When the band became famous she found out that Nikki Sixx was his son.

Since then Deana call me every once in a while, I could handle it. But things got worse when “Home Sweet Home” came out. She called me everyday.

Every fucking day.

I had no idea why, but now I know.

The first things she asked me after so many years was if “Home Sweet Home” was about her.

She never cared about me, she cares only about herself.

That’s my mother, Deana! Every time she called I shoot heroin in my veins so I don’t think about her.

And now I met her, I saw her in the eyes because that idiot thought it could help me.

Fucking idiot.”

You knew Doc’s intentions weren’t bad, but he didn’t know the whole story.

You were horrified that someone so selfish and toxic grew up Nikki. It was no surprises he didn’t want to see her.

Seeing the boy you loved crying silently with the hands on his face, while little hiccups shook him, broke your heart. What could you do?

Slowly you went on your knees in front of him and hugged him, hoping that your body could say what your words couldn’t.

Nikki stay frozen for a while, then hugged you back. A tight hug, the same of a man who was drowning and found something that keep him above water.

“Nikki…”

You said softly, caressing gently his hair.

“I can’t delete your past and I can’t change the fact that Deana was an asshole to you, but when she calls you I will be there for you if you want to.

Come talk to me, every time you want to, I will listen.

I care about you, I don’t want you to shoot heroin in your veins if it can be avoided. I don’t want to see you kill yourself slowly…” Your voice cracked.

“I don’t wanna find you dead or read that someone did. I really care about you.

So please come to me, instead of heroin.” Now you were crying too.

You poured your heart in those words, you hoped that reached Nikki’s heart because you really didn’t want to see him consume himself. You loved him, but at this point it didn’t even matter, it was okay being just his friend.

He looked you in the eyes. This time his eyes were vulnerable and a bit scared, you didn’t break the contact.

“Do you care so much about me that is okay for you that a fucked up guy could’ve call you at every hours of the day or night?”

“Yes.”

He smiled weakly and then kissed you.

It was a gentle and soft kiss, still it sent shivers on your spine.

“Nikki?” You said confused, he brushed your lips.

“I like you, I wanna try to trust you.”

You hugged him.

“I’m so happy you did.” “But I’m really tired now, can I sleep here next to you?

You nodded and he started to undress. You did the same, but at the moment to lay on the bed you hesitated.

“Come.” He said with a smile.

“Ok.”

You laid next to him who hugged you from behind.

You were a bit scared because from now you would start a long journey, complicated and full of pain, but the warmth of Nikki’s body calmed you down.

Whatever it would happen you’ll face it with him.

That what the warmth was telling you and you believed it.

You believed in your heart and that made you feel brave.

None of you wasn’t alone anymore.

You felt asleep smiling.

Maybe you were a fool, but it was worth a try.

Love was never wasted.

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ddaenggtan · 5 years

Text

lay me gently | ksj (preview)

there is no time for loneliness among the fires of your forge, no room in your buzzing mind for thoughts of anything but your next invention and the pain in your leg. your life is tilted off its axis, though, when your parents arrange a marriage without your knowledge or consent, and your new husband begins to situate himself into your life despite protests from either of you. you don’t know what zeus and hera have planned, but a volcano is no place for a love god like seokjin. | monsters and gods pt 2 (masterlist)

pairing | seokjin x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, aphrodite!jin, hephaestus!reader, disabled!reader (kind of, it’s presented more as chronic pain, but that’s a whole discussion), fluff, slight angst but not a ton, v brief allusions to violence but its purposefully vague, not so brief descriptions of physical injury, descriptions of chronic pain, cyclopes! everywhere! i use that word so many times!, this also features dionysus!jimin but only a little,

word count | 11.3k for now

a/n | short lil preview bc i’m so close to finishing it but also have --89515221354 willpower to finish and edit this, so hopefully seeing that people are even halfway reading about this will kick my ass into gear!!!

It's hot. It's always hot here, the consequences of living inside a volcano, you suppose, but the callouses on your skin have long since made you immune to the burns. You glide down through the halls, an old habit since the day you crafted the wheels you attached to your sandals. No longer did you need to carry the awkward and hefty cane everywhere you went, or struggle to make your leg move the way you wanted it to. The invention of the wheel was one you were forever proud of.

The forge is already blazing when you arrive, each of the hundred levels full of cyclopes all hammering away. Steam hisses and rises through the air, and you chance a glance at the lava bubbling miles below you.

"Careful today," You call to the cyclops closest to you. "It looks like she's feeling the burn again. Raise the guards soon, and keep them up until she blows. No sense letting good work go to waste." The cyclops nods and barks orders out at others across the levels. You wheel yourself further along, the sound of the celestial bronze shields being brought up serving as background noise. You probably could have waited another day or so to raise them, if you were honest; cyclopes are fireproof, which is useful in a forge, and you yourself aren't likely to be taken out by a mere volcanic eruption. The work, though...heat like that could affect even the strongest of your creations, and you all worked much too hard here to have to reform every bolt, repour every blade.

You valued your time too much for that.

"You have a guest, my lady," one of your workers called. You look up from the notebook in your hands - soot-covered, bound in leather, edges singed, with bits of paper sticking every which way from the many times you've jotted something down for later and stuffed it inside quickly before tying the leather cords that bind it - and frown. The cyclops grimaces slightly. "It...seems to be Lord Zeus."

You scoff and spin yourself around to follow him to the elevator reluctantly. "Probably wants to commission another throne, the bastard. Should've stuck him to the last one, maybe he'd get it through his head that not everyone wants to fuck him." You wave a hand and your guide gives you a curt nod before returning to work. You settle yourself in the lift and flip the lever. It's not a long journey, thanks to the many improvements you've made over the years, but it still seems that too soon the grate is sliding back into the wall to allow you exit.

You tap your heels together twice as you glide off the lift, already reaching for the cane that you keep there for situations like this. The soft clicks and whirs are nearly imperceptible as the wheels break themselves apart and regress into the hidden compartments in your soles. Your leg becomes dead weight once more, and you wince at the way it drags behind you. You've half a mind to curse whoever came to call on you this time; you hate walking, even if the charade is a necessary one. You're still contemplating the idea when you hobble into your entry to see Zeus himself, stoic and cold as he ever is.

"My lord," You call, barely keeping the venom out of your voice as you do. Many would say it's the heat of the mountain making your blood boil, but you know the truth. Very little in the world sets you off like the man in front of you.

He turns and fixes a blinding grin on you. "My dear Hephaestus!" You scoff at the title; no one has called you by your name in centuries, lest they inherit your lameness. "Wonderful to see you, truly. It's been too long since my last visit."

"Yes, four hundred years does seem to crawl by without you to grace the halls of my forge," You drawl. His eyes steel for a moment, your sarcasm not as lost on him as you'd hope, but it quickly passes. "Why are you here, my lord?"

"Well, you remember how I said I would owe you a favor?" Your eyes narrow and you nod. In the handful of times Zeus has repaid the hundreds of favors he owes, it's hardly ever been something positive. "I'm here to pay it! I brought you a gift."

"A gift, what-?" You don't get the chance to finish. Zeus has already waved forward a steward he brought along. Your heart aches for the boy as sweat drips down his body and his tunic is already singed. Your own leathers are slightly oppressive in the heat, but at least they don't catch fire. Zeus takes a scroll from the boy, harsh and rough, and shoves it into your hands. You unravel it quickly, your eyes darting across the words on the paper.

"A marriage?!" Your screech echoes throughout the mountain and the clanging of metal on metal pauses for a moment. "What am I supposed to do with a marriage, much less one to a-" You scan the paper again. "A love goddess?"

"Not a love goddess," He tuts. "The love goddess. Well. Love deity. Aphrodite is a beauty, you're lucky I could arrange such a thing." Your eyes strain against your skull, threatening to pop out with every word Zeus says.

"What in all of Tartarus is a ‘love deity’ supposed to do in my forge?" You ask him. He scoffs and waves the question off as if it doesn't matter. Your hand twitches with the urge to throw him into the lava, and the only thing keeping you from doing exactly that is the pain striking through your leg - a bitter reminder of just what Zeus is capable of - and the knowledge that it wouldn't even kill him.

"Your mother was adamant about this, Hephaestus." You echo his scoff at this; you're sure she was. "Aphrodite will arrive within the week. See to it that everything is fit for a god." He chuckles at his own joke, and a vision of your cane shoved through his skull implants itself in your brain. You force yourself to take in deep breaths. The scent of hot metals, sparks, and sulfur calms you, as it always has.

"Fine," You say, though Zeus is already on his way out. "I'm not keeping anyone here against their will, though!" Your shout goes ignored, as you knew it would. You grumble under your breath and hobble back to the elevator. Within moments you're shooting down to your bedroom, large and situated close to the heart of the volcano. You don't bother to activate the wheels of your shoes, instead leaning on your cane until you get to your bed.

The plush mattress and blankets are a relief on your aching hip and leg and you let yourself lean back and just relax for a moment. The notice is still clutched in your hand and you find yourself staring at the looping curves of Hera's signature, wondering what she's up to this time.

Memories flood you before you can stop them; being a young godling in Olympus, attached and in awe of your mother as she led you around the city, light gleaming off the golden columns. Seeing the fire in Zeus' eyes the first time he struck her in front of you, and the blaze that came when you stepped in front of her. Starlight glinting off her silver robes as she cried in her garden. The bruising vice he kept on your calf, the feel of the winds against your skin as you fell, the way Helios painted the sky as you kept falling. The feel of a hammer in your hand for the first time, juxtaposed to the throbbing pain in your crippled leg every time you so much as twitched.

The notice is across the room before you realize you've thrown it. You want to believe she isn't playing games; Hera has always been somewhat conniving, but your mother has never been outright cruel to you, not since the night you tried to save her from her husband, and she always had her reasons. You may not always agree with her reasons, but that didn't change the fact that she had them. Still, condemning an innocent person to a life here...condemning you to live your days with a constant reminder of your plainness, your deformity, wasn't something you expected from her. Zeus, yes, but not her.

You let yourself fall back onto the bed, only to adjust a few moments later when the pressure on your hip becomes too much. You're angled now, weight resting on your good side to alleviate even a bit of the pain from the other. It was the only way you could get a moment's peace since your fall, the only time the pain lessened.

You allow yourself five breaths. Five breaths to let the tear slip down your cheek, drawing its path through the soot and the smoke. Four to let your breath shake in your chest and shudder in the air. Three for the ache in your hip to disappear completely, so you are blessedly free from your pain for once. Two for the thorns to tighten impossibly around your heart and let it bleed for you. One for the hole in your chest, shaped like a loving father and a true family that doesn't constantly commission weapons from you to throw at each other.

Pain arcs through your leg once more and you wince. Your hand massages the muscles there absentmindedly; it provides no relief to anything but your mind. You stand and click your heels together once more, glad when the wheels are stable once more. In seconds, you're off, flying through hallways to get to your workshop.

You've got work to do.

It's nearly the entire week later when one of the workers knocks on the door of your workshop.

"Aphrodite has arrived, my lady." You wave at him and he disappears back into the mass of his brothers. It doesn't take you long to get to the entryway, rolling through the halls until you're just outside the large bronze doors. You retract your wheels and grasp your cane, reminding yourself that the more people thought Zeus had crippled you debilitatingly, the better. Your hip aches again and you tune it out in favor of tapping the end of your cane against a small hammer at the base of the doors. There's a quiet whir as they slide open, and you limp forward as best you can.

The foyer is packed with people, cyclopes everywhere with bags slung over their shoulder, forest nymphs tapping at their smoking roots, naiads hissing with steam. In the midst of everything stands two still figures, one infinitely more familiar than the other.

"I thought I told you that the next time you step foot in my forge, I'd stoke my fires with your bones." Your voice is loud as it reverberates across the walls. Both figures turn to look at you, but your glare doesn't falter.

"Aw, are you still mad about that?" His smile is deceptively innocent. "You never would've gotten her off that throne otherwise."

"It wasn't supposed to be her throne in the first place, was it?" You spit back as you make your way to him. It doesn't escape your notice that everyone but the cyclopes is staring at you, and you're glad the heat from the mountain keeps you flushed. You can't show weakness in front of this crowd, you can't let them know that you know they think you're below them.

You can't let them know that in your worst moments, you agree.

"Get the fuck out of my mountain, Dionysus, before I throw you out."

"Ooh, take after your old man a little too much there, don't you?" Jimin's smile never leaves his face and you resist the urge to smack it with your cane. Instead you tighten your grip on it and take a breath.

"What are you doing here?" You eventually ask through gritted teeth.

"Just escorting a dear, dear friend." His grin has turned predatory as he rests a hand on his companion's shoulder. "My dear Hephaestus, I'd like to introduce you to Aphrodite." You glance over, looking the man up and down briefly.

He's taller than you - though with your pained hunch, many are. His shoulders are almost as wide as his eyes as he looks around the room, taking in the granite walls and bronze moldings. His clothes aren't practical in the least; soft and sweet and flowing linens in a pale lilac that complements the purple of his hair. It's a stark contrast to the harsh reds and greys of your soot-stained leathers. When he finally looks at you, his eyes are the same color as the grease you use to oil your inventions and give you no clue to his thoughts.

He's fucking beautiful and it brings a sob to your throat.

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rewrite-the-wrongs · 4 years

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introductions / howdy, pardner

My first short story was about a fishboy and his human best friend. They battled a mutant piranha (whose name I think may have been Mutant Piranha, such was the monumental daring of my creative endeavor) and his army, who were out to destroy a mountain that held a whole planet together. The boys won singlehandedly, because scale was apparently a bit of a mystery to me.

This was the second grade. My teacher--who held me every day as I cried for weeks, confused and miserable and stranded in the throes of my parents’ divorce--understood before I did that I create to a ploddingly slow and steady drumbeat. A sentence is always so much more in my head than I’m able to let out, at first; I have to pore over it again and again, fleshing and flourishing (and often correcting) it, the same way I often have to reread paragraphs or pages or whole books to truly capture their meaning. In a word processor, this back-and-forth is as easily said as it is done; on double-wide ruled paper with dashed-line handwriting guides, the task is magnitudes more time-consuming, especially for somebody as messy as I am. So, while nearly everybody else played at recess on the sandlot and the jungle gym around us, a select few stragglers laid our reading folders on our laps and finished our stories.

My villain, that dastardly Mutant Piranha, found himself in prison at the story’s close. Awaiting trial, I guess; I never ventured that far ahead, seeing the big fishy bastard for a coward. “When no one was looking, he stabbed himself.” That’s the last line, stuck in my memory, not for its own sake, but for my poor teacher’s horrified face as she read my final draft there on the playground.

A mom volunteered to type up the class’ stories and get them printed and bound. For years afterward I reread that collection, always proud to have written the second-longest piece therein. I felt the weight of the pages, inhaled the tiny but acrid breeze that came from rapidly leafing through them. Knew it was a whole smattering of worlds inside, that one of those worlds was wholly mine, and I had the power to show it to people however I wished. Yes, I thought, I want this.

I’ve been introduced to writing many times over, by many people. Don’t get me wrong--I nightowled the first several chapters to many half-baked novel concepts all through my youth. But teachers have a way of showing a thing to you from new angles.

The first person to impact me as such was a high school teacher who was essentially given carte-blanche to construct a creative writing workshop in the English curriculum. The first semester was structured--you practiced poems, short fiction, humor and essay writing, drama, the gamut. Every semester after, the carte-blanche was passed on: A single assignment due a week, each a single draft of a poem or a minimum of two pages’ worth of prose. Forty-five minutes a day to work, and of course free time at home. By the time I graduated, I’d finagled my schedule such that I was spending two periods a day in the computer lab, and several hours after school every day working the literary arts magazine before I went home to get the rest of my homework out of the way and write some more..

My next big influence came in the form of a pair of writers who taught fiction at my university, a married couple. One had me print stories and literally, physically cut them up section-by-section as a method of reworking chronologies. Told me stories happened like engines or clocks or programs--pieces that meshed differently depending on how they were put together, rules that held each other in place. The other showed boundless confidence in me, listened happily to some older students who recommended I be brought on board for a national arts mag. They both encouraged me toward grad school, but toward the end of my junior year I began to stumble, and by senior year I was, to be frank, a drunken asshole. Time I could be bothered to set aside for writing began to dwindle. I limped through the editorship with the help of my extremely talented, utterly more-than-worthy successor--and come to think of it, I’ve never truly thanked her. Maybe I’ll send her that message, now that I’m feeling more myself.

On feeling more myself:

That drunken rage was brought on by a myriad list of factors, the primary ones being 1) I am the child of recovering alcoholics, and our inherited family trauma runs deep, 2) An assault that will likely be mentioned no further from hereon in, as I have reached a solid level of catharsis about it, 3) Some toxic-ass relationship issues, and 4) I was a massive egg and had no idea (or, really, I had some idea, just not the language or understanding or even the proper empathy to eloquently and effectively explore it).

I had a recent relapse with drinking, technically--a mimosa at Christmas breakfast at my partner’s parents’ home--but I’m not honestly sure I can call it a legitimate relapse. I’m not in any official self-help group, I’ve never engaged in the twelve steps or a professional rehabilitation. I had a very wonderful therapist for a few years but reached a point at which I could not pay her any longer and we parted ways--I miss her dearly, as she truly became my friend and confidante; she was the first person I came out to, and very well-equipped to handle it, lucky for me--but I’m still on behavioral medication. That tiny smidgen of alcohol pushed my antidepressants right out of my brain, and I became terribly anxious and angry and sad all at once, and briefly lashed out during a conversation with my partner behind closed doors. Not nearly the lashing out I’ve released in the now-distant past--more on that maybe-never, but who knows, as I am obviously a chronic over-sharer.

Frankly, I don’t deserve my partner. She endured my past abuses, told me to my face I had to be better, and found it in herself to wait for me to grow. She’s endlessly and tirelessly supportive of me. She sat with me to help me maintain the nerve to start this blog tonight. I came out to her as a trans woman just under a year ago, now, and I’m happier than ever, and we communicate better than ever. Our relationship is, bar-none, the healthiest and stablest and happiest I’ve ever been in.

So, naturally, I apologized fairly quickly at Christmas, and continuing where I’d left off at two and a half years, decided I’m still solid without booze.

If we’re all being honest, though (and I’m doing my best to be one hundred percent honest, here, though I will absolutely be censoring names because no shit), I still smoke way too much fuckin’ weed. High as balls, right now. 420 blaze it, all day erryday, bruh. That self-medicated ADHD life. I should be on Adderall and not antidepressants, probably, but it’s been a while since an appointment and psychiatrists are expensive, so I’m at where I’m at for now. Sativas help a lot. It helps with the dysphoria, too.

I don’t have a legal diagnosis for gender dysphoria, but tell that to my extreme urge to both be in and have a vagina. I’m making little changes--my hair, an outfit at a time, no longer policing how I walk or run or how much emphasis I put on S sounds. If I manage to come out to my parents sometime soon--and it feels like that moment is closer every day--maybe I’ll tell y’all my real, full chosen name. For right now, call me Easy.

Anyhow. My goals here are pretty simple:

1) Share words, both those by people I like/admire/sometimes know! and occasionally words I’ve made that I like. See the above screenshot from my notes app. Steal some words if you want, but if you manage to make money off some of mine, holler at ya gurl’s Venmo, yeah?

2) Discuss words, how they work, and how we create them, use them, engage with them, and ultimately make art of them. I am not a professional linguist, but I went to undergrad for creative writing, so, hey, I’ll have opinions and do my best to back them up with ideas from people smarter than I am.

3) Books! Read them, revisit them, quote them, talk about them, sometimes maybe even review them, if I’m feeling particularly bold. No writer can exist in a vacuum, and any writer who insists they don’t like to read is either a) dyslexic and prefers audiobooks or b) in serious need of switching to a communications major (no shade, but also definitely a little shade @corporate journalism).

5) I added this last, but I feel it’s less important than 4 and does not deserve bookend status, and I am verbose but incredibly lazy, so here I am, fucking with the system. Anyway: Art! Music! Video games! I fucking love them. I’ll talk about them, sometimes, too. Maybe I’ll finally do some of the ekphrastic work I’ve felt rattling around in my brain for a while now. Jade Cocoon 2′s Water Wormhole Forest, looking right the fuck at you.

6) Ah, shit, I did it again. Oh well. Last-but-not-last: This is obviously, in some ways, a diary, or a massive personal essay. I will sometimes discuss people, places, or experiences that have informed my work just the same as other people’s art has.

4) Be an unabashed and open Trans woman. TERFs, transphobes, ill-informed biological essentialists not permitted. Come at me and my girldick and prepare to be dunked on and subsequently shown the door via a swift and painful steel-toed kick in the ass. Everybody who doesn’t suck, if I screw up on any matter of socio-ethics or respect for diversity, please feel free to correct me.

Punk’s dead, but we’re a generation of motherfucking necromancers. Be gay, do crime, fight the patriarchy, and fart when you gotta. May the Great Old Ones select you to ascend to a higher plane and learn the terrible truths of existence.

Much love--

Easy

#writers #writing #creative writing #trans #trans woman #fuck TERFs #writing about writing #writer #my writing #diary

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purplesurveys · 5 years

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424

A health survey. Must be fun.

What health problems do you have right now? Well my back is a bitch 24/7; my joints hurt when it gets cold; I have scoliosis; and mentally speaking I’m not very stable either. I sound 60. Are you in chronic pain? Never been diagnosed with such, no. What do you take medications for? I don’t. I probably need to, but the state of mental health care in the Philippines is just so inaccessible: it’s expensive, available services are few and far between, and anyone younger than 21 needs to get written consent from their parents, which can be difficult if someone’s parents don’t actually believe in mental health issues. There is a lot of work to be done. What are some health issues you have had in the past? My lactose intolerance was a problem when I was an infant. My family didn’t know I had it, so they kept panicking when I would just poop out all the milk they fed me all day and when my stomach would end up storing nothing. It got critical and I had to be sent to the hospital, but it turned out well after. Do you have allergies? Nope. Free to eat and be in contact with anything.

If so, what are you allergic to? Have you ever been to an allergist? No, never had to. Have you ever been to the ER? Mmm nope, never been in an emergency situation. Have you ever been treated poorly in the ER? Have you ever been told your symptoms were anxiety, when they weren't? I haven’t been tested for that. When I was doing my health exam for university though, they did review my mental health and suspected me of having depression, but they didn’t declare symptoms or formally diagnose me or anything. What is the most physically painful thing you've ever experienced? Probably scraping and kicking my feet against coral reefs when I went snorkeling back in ‘09. I had no flippers and I was panicking (I wasn’t used to using the snorkeling mask to breathe) so I was thrashing my legs around in the water. I knew I was hitting the coral reefs and they were fucking sharp, but I was panicking so I powered through even though it meant I had to hit them every time I kicked. It was painful while I was swimming and even more painful in the weeks that followed. It was the worst infected wound I’ve ever had. Just imagine kicking a razor-sharp boulder with your bare feet. How many surgeries have you had? Zero. I hope I never need any, the thought of surgery terrifies me. What types of surgery have you had? Have you always recovered well from surgery? Have you ever been treated poorly by a doctor? YES!!! The ones in my university’s health service are horrible. Case in point, my health exam for admission to UP: I know it’s part of a doctor’s job, but the doctor assigned to me back then touched my breasts very hastily to check for suspicious bumps. It would have helped tons if 1) she gave me a heads-up beforehand and 2) asked permission, but this lady just told me to lie down and went ahead to stick her hand under my shirt. As someone who had only been fresh out of Catholic school at that point, it was the perfect opportunity to panic. Same doctor was the one who suspected I was depressed after reviewing my mental health form, but instead of being helpful she DEMANDED reasons why I felt that way. I was already uncomfortable with the boob incident by then and was too stunned to speak, so I just kept saying I was fine and that I was mentally stable. In reality I just wanted to get out from that nasty old bitch. Have you ever had a doctor tried to kill you? Oh well that’s just taking it a million times further. No. Is your primary care doctor a man or a woman? I don’t have one. Have you had the same primary care doctor your whole life? We don’t have a family doctor. Are you happy with your current doctor? Have you ever seen a specialist for anything? X-ray technicians. I had trips to see them the most when we found out I had scoliosis. What is the most itchiest thing you have ever experienced? I had weird rashes on my legs one time in high school, and since I was stubborn I kept scratching them until they turned into nasty black and blue wounds/bruises and cuts. I still have no idea where they came from. Have you ever had a severe itch, that you'd rate a 10? ^ That. On a scale of 1-10, what's the worst physical pain you've ever been in? The coral reef incident is an easy 20. Have you ever passed out from pain? Noooooo. Passing out from pain is one of my greatest fears. I avoid encountering anything painful as much as I can just because I’m scared of the thought of passing out because of pain. Have you ever thrown up from pain? Nope. Just from drinking and expired barbecue lmfao. Do you have any food intolerances? If so, to what? It’s not official, but I hate fruits. Like, I can immediately tell if something has fruit in it and I will spit it out accordingly. That and raisins. Do you have any food sensitivities? If so, to what? Nope. What medications are you allergic to? Do you have acne? A small pimple shows up every now and then (mostly when I’m stressed or if my face gets oily) but it’s never been a full-on breakout. I’ve been lucky when it comes to acne. Do you take birth control pills? I don’t. I want to take them just because I heard it makes your breasts get bigger hahahahahaha but Gab is adamant about not letting me take them. Are your hormones screwed up? Mm no, they’re not that bad. Obviously they act up when I’m nearing or on my period e.g. cravings, crying all the time, being sensitive about everything, but not to the point that my period is irregular or gives me severe dysmenorrhea. Do you have bad withdrawals from medications? I don’t take meds to begin with. What are some withdrawal symptoms you've had? What are some bad side effects of medications that you've had? Have you ever gained weight from a medication? If so, how much? Have you ever had to take Prednisone? Never even heard of it. If so, did it make you gain weight and make your face puff up? Looks like I’m skipping lots of questions. How many hours a sleep do you need? Don’t adults need 8 hours, in general? How many hours a sleep do you get? I try to make it to 8, but I’ve been really busy for this semester that it ends up being 5-7 hours instead. Do you exercise enough? I don’t at all, haaaaaaaaaaah. Do you eat healthy? I do like vegetables and will happily eat salads and sandwiches with veggies packed in them, but I tend to balance it out with grossly unhealthy food anyway, so you decide if this still counts as healthy. Are you on a special diet for your health? No, I don’t think I need to be. Are you trying to lose weight or gain weight? Gain, which I’m on the way to doing. I’m a little chubbier now compared to high school. Are you a healthy weight? I’m 90 lbs. the last time I checked. Relative to my height, that’s underweight. Are you happy with your weight? Sure, but gaining a few pounds wouldn’t hurt either. How often do you wash your hair? Everyday if I’m in school; every other day if I’m on summer break. Do you take showers or baths? Showers. How often do you shower or bathe? ^ Same thing. Do you take vitamins? If so, which ones? I used to take two vitamin syrups everyday when I was younger: one for vitamin C and the other to help me grow taller. When I got a little older my mom changed our usual syrups to these cute vitamin C gummy bears, then after a while I just stopped taking. What bones have you broken? Haven’t broken any, fortunately. What's the worst physical injury you've had? Aside from my icky foot infection, I had a bad fall in school a few months ago and my ankle got sprained pretty bad. I don’t think I gave it A+ treatment so it never really fully healed. I know this because the same foot still hurts whenever it’s in an odd position or when I shift too much of my weight on it. Do you have sensitive skin? Yes. It eventually gets itchy when my skin is out in the open. In high school, I often had a hard time walking from point A to B because my skin would always get irritated, but I couldn’t scratch it because I was wearing a skirt. What chemicals make you sick? Toxic ones, I would assume? Haha. What time of year do you usually get sick? I never get sick. What's the highest fever you've ever had? 40ºC. It was a dengue scare. Have you ever had the flu? Sure, a few times here and there. Have you ever had bronchitis? Nope. Have you ever had an ear infection? I don’t remember having one. Do you snore? Only when I’m so tired that I’m 130% passed out. What pain reliever do you use for cramps? My menstrual cramps never get that bad. If you're female, what symptoms do you get when on your period? My pelvis area and legs hurt; I cry over everything; I’m sensitive when people are angry; I will essentially take everything personally; my cravings either change every 5 minutes or I just want one food and I will murder to get such craving; I get very poopy; and sometimes I’ll get very drowsy. Do you have regular periods? Pretty much, yes. Sometimes they’ll be a few days early or late but very rarely does it go completely irregular. Are you afraid of shots? Deathly afraid. Like I would do everything to avoid having to take them. Have you ever donated blood? No. Even if I wanted to, I’m not allowed to (underweight). Plus you have to be pricked for that, which is a Huge No-No for me. Do you do well with shots? If I absolutely have to have a shot, I can manage albeit with a lot of fidgeting. What I’m terrible with is IV. I had a huge meltdown the one and only time I needed to have a needle injected onto my wrist. I was a 12 year old grown ass person thrashing around in the hospital room lol. What x-rays have you had? Just my spine. Have you ever gotten a pill or a piece of food stuck in your throat? Pill-stuck-in-throat sensation happens sometimes, but it’s never been anything serious. What method of birth control do you use, if applicable? Do you take birth control to control hormones, or to prevent pregnancy? As mentioned, I don’t take it. How often does your hair need to be washed? I don’t know about need, but I wash it everyday or every other day so that it doesn’t get oily, which feels irritating. What do you keep on hand for emergencies? I don’t really keep stuff for emergency, just money hahaha. Have you ever had a severe allergic reaction? Nopes. If so, what were your symptoms? Have you ever used an epi pen? I have not. Have you ever been to the ER for a severe allergic reaction? Negative. What's the worst burn you've ever had? When I was 7, I wanted to do something daring so I touched a clothes iron that was plugged in and was in use (by my grandma, but she left to attend to something at the time). My index finger rightfully had a tiny blister for the next two weeks. My dumbass definitely deserved it. What's the worst allergic reaction you've ever had? No allergies. Have you had any health-related embarrassing moments? I don’t think anything bad enough has happened yet. If so, what happened? (if you want to share) Do you use tampons or pads? Pads. I’m scared of tampons. Do you sweat a lot? I don’t, actually. I drink a lot of water, but I guess I just don’t sweat much. Do you get nosebleeds? I’ve never experienced a nosebleed and am also too scared to get one. Do you get motion sickness? Pretty easily, especially if I’m riding an unfamiliar car. Do you have acne? I get a pimple every now and then but it’s not a big issue. Do you have scars? Sure. There’s one on my fourth right toe and the other one on my left eyebrow. What are some of your scars from? Toe scar is from when my toes got stuck in my bike’s blades (something like that, anyway); eyebrow scar is from a stupid cousin smashing a small glass bottle towards my face. Do you have a birthmark? If so, what color is it? I have a brown one behind my left shoulder. I also have one near my elbow; it used to be blue/green but now it’s a faint black-ish shade. What makes your eyes itch? Uh, dirt? I also know if I’ve been spending too much time in front of the computer when my eyes start feeling irritated. That’s usually my signal to go to bed or to have a break. Are you ticklish? Very. I can’t be tickled on any part of my body. Do you have a sweet tooth? I have my moods, but overly sweet food isn’t really a favorite of mine. Do you ever crave chocolate? Never, actually. I can crave sweet stuff like brownies and cookies, but never chocolate bars. Do you ever crave cheese? No. Lactose intolerance makes me wary of cheese so I never really ~crave it. What else, if anything, do you get cravings for? I usually crave for cuisines in general or specific restaurants. Do you drink enough water? Yeah I’m pretty sure I do. Do you comfort eat when stressed? It varies. Sometimes I’ll rely on eating, but other times I’ll lose my appetite and wouldn’t want to be anywhere near food. How old were you when you started your period? I was 9 but was about to turn 10. How old were you when you started going through puberty? I am guessing the same age when I had my period, but everything sped up only when I was 10/11. What was the first sign of puberty for you? ...My period? Did your hair change when you went through puberty? Hair started to grow in places, but as for changes, not really. At what time of day do you normally feel your best? I don’t really keep track lol. Are you naturally optimistic or pessimistic? Um both, depending on my mood for the day. It never stays constant. Are you naturally energetic? I’m naturally un-energetic. Looking at extroverts exhausts me. Does your mind wander a lot? Only when I’m bored at something, like in a certain class. I can generally focus well. Do you know your blood type? I don’t actually hah. Have you ever been taken to the hospital against your will? Nope. Any final thoughts? Cool survey. It’s different.

#survey #surveys

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