the-sinking-feeling-starts

It’s 4 a.m and I’m awake worrying. He’s off at a party that I wasn’t invited to and she’s there. His ex. She’s so much better than me, not as insecure, much prettier, way more outgoing. I have this awful sinking feeling that started in my chest and moved down and settled in my stomach. I want to trust him. I think I do. But I’m so scared he’ll finally realize that she’s better. And leave. And fuck, that will tear me apart. I’ll overthink everything I did and try frantically to go back and figure out where I went wrong. So here I am. Lying awake at 4 a.m, praying that this feeling in my stomach doesn’t mean anything, trying to pretend that it’s all alright.
; The Call

@quinnharleyx

Harvey rubbed the bridge of his nose after slamming his car door. Coffee in hand, he sighed. He’d been at GCPD five hours before. The detective didn’t have enough sleep, that was for damn sure.

The bustling of the precinct was usually enough to wake him up, but not today. As he stood leaned against his desk, reading paperwork and sipping coffee, Jim approached him looking grim.

“What are you doing here?” he spoke slowly. Harvey looked up, eyebrows raised. “No one called you…?”

“What the fuck are you-”

“-You’re seeing Harleen, aren’t you?” his partner paused. “Someone called in saying that she hasn’t been at work and she isn’t answering her phone. Obviously we can’t do a missing person’s yet, but…I figured you knew.”

Harvey had a sinking feeling. “Shit…” he started grabbing in his pocket, reaching for his phone to dial her, creating every worst-case-scenario he could muster.

“Bullock!” someone called over the boisterous crowd of GCPD. “Call for you, line 11830.”

Harvey picked up the line, dialing the extension and not remembering to breathe. “This is Detective Bullock.” He hoped it was her. The cackling on the other line was not, in fact, Harley. The detective’s eyes sobered. “What do you want?”

theblackwook asked:

Belle / Adam : Adam has nightmares and Belle comforts him

ZOMG!!! I love this pairing!!! And I love this prompt!!! *hugs* ^__^


Nightmare. It is a word that Belle has certainly read about in various books before, but never truly experienced herself… not directly of course… but if there is something to be said about nightmares, it is that she knows how to deal with them the best. The first time it happens, Belle is fast asleep beside Adam, her head resting against his chest and his arms around her waist; they’ve been married only a few weeks, but with all the hours being spent by everyone in the castle helping Belle to move in properly and getting their home back to livable conditions, Adam hadn’t gotten a chance to really let everything sink in. Until tonight. He awakens with a start, feeling the after effects of a terrible dream still on his mind, disoriented for a few seconds as he takes in deep breaths, running a hand through his hair and sensing his wife, Belle, beginning to stir beside him.

“Adam? Is everything all right?” She asks, reaching out to touch his shoulder, seeing him in a distressed state.

“Yes, my love. Nothing to worry about. I’m quite fine.” Adam’s voice betrays his confidence though and Belle picks up on it almost immediately; if there’s one thing she’s learned about her husband, it is that he still hasn’t truly dealt with… well, everything.

“Was it a bad dream?” Belle knows that Adam doesn’t like to talk about what happened, but she is willing to listen.

Hearing her innocent question makes Adam wish that it was something so simple; but now that he is wide awake, the memory is much more detailed and even though he knows it was nothing, he can feel how… how it had been… and before Belle can say anything else, Adam moves to stand by the balcony, trying to sort out his feelings.

“It was more than that Belle.” He says quietly, “I… I was… that thing again… and I keep seeing myself… a beast… hurting you.”

“Oh Adam. It was only a nightmare, you’ve never hurt me before.” Coming to stand in front of him, she touches his cheek, making him look at her, blue eyes meeting hazel.

“How can you say that? I… I took you away from your father all those months ago and I kept you locked up in this miserable place!” His voice is sad but very much serious as he gazes at the woman he loves more than anything in the world; he knows his flaws and imperfections, but she has stayed with him through it all.

“You sent me away; when I needed to go home, you let me.” Belle starts to say to him, “And I came back. For you. Of my own will.” She understands that they may have had an unconventional start to their relationship but she also knows that the last ten years have been akin to a living nightmare for Adam.

He takes a deep breath and turns away from her gaze at the words, frowning and unfocused in his thoughts. She doesn’t say anything else, but waits patiently; the moon is not hidden behind clouds tonight and Belle notices how its glow casts a silvery light on Adam, making him look even more handsome than he is.   

“Sometimes I wonder how you ever fell in love with me.” He whispers softly, sighing again and briefly looking at her again.

“I fell in love with you slowly, and then all at once.” She answers him with a smile.

“This wouldn’t be something from one of your books would it?” Adam knows Belle just as well as she knows him and recognizes which of her quotes come from books and which from her own mind.

“Maybe. But it is true.” The smile has now turned into a grin and even though there is only the moon’s light, Belle knows that she’s blushing and that Adam can tell. 

“Yes, it is.” For the first time that night, Adam smiles as he kisses his wife before pulling her into a hug. 

At that, Belle can’t help but smile to herself. In the moments that pass, she also thinks of something which might be exactly what Adam needs after a nightmare like this.

“Come, I know what will help you sleep better now.” She says to him, offering her hand.

“What do you have in mind?” Adam is curious, the hour is late and surely everyone else is still asleep in the castle. Even so, he takes her hand and follows Belle out of their room, recognizing the path to the library of all places.

“Here we are!” Belle announces happily but softly, well aware that it is past midnight and there are many more people living in the castle now.

“My love, what are we doing here?” His wife’s passion for books is something Adam understands perfectly well; he just doesn’t truly appreciate reading as much as she does. 

We are here to find something for me to read to you.” To her, it is the only solution which will work. 

“You’re going to read me to sleep.” Adam says as a matter-of-fact, not questioning it. They both know that while he does enjoy a good book some days, most times, the sheer length of them and the small words are enough to make Adam fall asleep.

“Yes. I am.” Belle is proud of her passion for reading and if it will help Adam after his nightmare, then that’s what she’ll do for him.

Without another word, the two of them walk inside hand in hand, and once they find the perfect book together, Belle reads to Adam for several hours at a stretch, stopping only when she sees the first rays of sun shining through the curtains. At some point during the night, Adam had moved to sit on the carpet, and now his head rested on her lap as he slept peacefully with a hint of a smile on his lips, no sign of the nightmare from before. 

“Sweet dreams my love.” Belle closes the book and leaves it on the table beside her armchair and kisses the top of his head.    

The Return

The Return

Heat of the moment

Sam sat up sharply before glancing at the alarm clock and then his phone.

“Rise and shine, Sammy,” Dean’s voice called from the other side of the room.

Sam realised that he wasn’t in the bunker. Instead, they were in a hotel room.

“How did…?” He began.

“You okay, Sammy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Dean chuckled at his own joke.

A sinking feeling that started at the pit of his stomach was rising.

“Where are we?” He asked Dean.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Broward County. You know…the place with the Mystery Spot?”

:|

Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness

I’m done with stories about women as victims. I’m done with stories about women as pseudo-masculine fuck-ups, drinking and fighting because that’s easier to write than actual character. I’m done with monologue plays, largely. I’m done with the young-girl-gets-pregnant story. I’m done with our middle-class chav fetish.

So I started Iphigenia In Splott with a sinking feeling. Despite all the praise from the Cardiff and Edinburgh runs, here was just another young fighty working class girl telling a funny story about how she has no future. “The reviews said this show was angry,” I thought. “But this isn’t anger; this is resignation. Resignation and disdain and self-hatred, but not anger.”

I wanted anger as much as I wanted Effie to kick off her smalltown friends and run for the hills, or at least to her Nan’s. Like all those other stories that I’m done with, she had been beaten into a hopeless routine by geography and poverty and, longer ago, by the slow murder of British industry. She’s jobless and drunk, but the question hanging over the first half of the play is a massive IF NOT THIS, THEN WHAT? Not even that. Maybe it’s more like a massive FUCK YOU, WHO CARES?

Still no anger. Just petty scraps and quickie shags and a life that is just a shrug. Only later: tragedy, survival, a bitter aftertaste.

Iphigenia In Splott becomes a fierce, political play with just moments to spare. And yet it’s still strangely dissatisfying. This girl, resigned and disdainful from the moment the lights went up, starts to speak in fluent Playwright English: of cuts to local jobs, social services, healthcare. All of a sudden there is anger, but it’s not her anger. It feels so very written, like Effie’s spent an hour fighting to be a real person - not a victim, not a caricature, she spits her own violent poetry - only to be handed someone else’s speech when she got to the podium.

It was only when her language switched to this discordant politicking that I realised she had been busy proving herself to be the protagonist I wanted all along (wilful, funny, selfish, loving). The failure of those final moments let me see how ready I was to fight for her. I mean, here was a character deserving of an army. I would march for Effie, in a flash, (my torch is already lit), but she’s no politician. Why was she suddenly talking like one, making economic trade-offs and posing theoretical questions?

I want to see her build a bomb out of the heartbreak and the hopelessness. I want her to light the fuse with her despair. I want her to be a talisman for all the forgotten, stamped upon people; for all those, like her, previously disdainful and resigned. I want her to be angry - to be fucking furious - and not to have that strength of feeling mitigated by rhetoric.

anonymous asked:

(2 words) Joe's died.

     [SAL lets the words sink in, and when they hit him, it’s like an atomic bomb has been dropped on him. A choked sob escapes his throat, and a hand flies to his mouth as the tears begin to pour. It’s as if time has come to halt, people are moving around him, but he’s frozen there in the shock. His knees become weak and start trembling as he slowly sinks to the floor, feeling as if the walls around him are closing in. The deepest ache he’s ever known sits deep in his chest, and he fights to even take a breath. Hand still over his mouth, the whispered word that comes out is barely audible, but the despair evident therein would haunt the mind of anyone who heard it.]

                                               “No…”

I’ve been getting some compliments on my figure recently, because I lost some weight. While my first reaction is always to feel happy and validated, as the comments sink in I start to feel even worse about myself. I start to feel guilty about eating. I lost weight because I started eating better and working out a lot, but I loved my body even when I was a little more on the chunky side, and every time somebody makes a comment about it, I feel like on some level, they’re also telling me that they saw my body as a problem that was solved. What if I were to gain back the weight I lost? Regardless of whether you think you might be complimenting somebody, be very careful.

I’m reading this fanfic and I sob every time this character whose perspective the story is told from has a panic attack or wakes up from his nightmares, and for some reason I feel really thoughtful about this. I am trying to sort what I’m feeling, if I’m just empathizing too hard, if I’m grateful so see so clearly that someone else does exactly what I do, and I just go through this list of “What could it be?” and I come up short. I try to distract myself by reading the comments on the chapter I just finished and someone is complimenting the author on how heartbreaking it is to watch this character start to worry that they’re insane and it starts to sink in why I feel so much about this. Never once does the author say that the character thinks he’s going crazy.

I have that thought to myself sometimes, when I’m more sane, in my more lucid moments I worry about how crazy I really am. But that’s not what this is. I read back over the panic attack in the chapter and it’s those moments where in his head he’s telling himself rational, factual things to try to pull himself out of his dark spiral into traumatic memories. It’s those moments when I tell myself logical things, factual things to bring myself back to earth, those are the moments I really feel craziest. I feel like my sanity is this thing I used to have and like it’s just hanging outside of my grasp and keeps floating further away every time I have to do this. Every time I have to coach myself through what “should” be a mundane moment I feel like I’m losing it more and more. That’s why I’m crying, because I hate those moments when I feel like what makes me who I am is floating away in clouds of fear and moments of honest but irrational panic. 

In this moment I feel two things. The first and loudest thing I feel is that I need to keep writing my stupid story that stars and obviously self-modeled character who has problems with panicking and that my stupid story is maybe a little more than a stupid story. This first thing I feel is that this story both ground me and helps me put fingertips on who I really am underneath all the anxiety, after you dust away all the panic attacks. The second thing I feel is like I’m gonna hurl. This second, nauseating thing that I feel is like I need to vomit every feeling going through me into text and pull it out of my lungs so that I can breathe clearly again. I still don’t know why I have this compulsion to write it all out, but here I am again, and I’m posting it to public because of another compulsion. I’ll probably copy and paste this into a text document to save into my google drive later when I stop feeling so much and think for a few minutes about how much I don’t want people to see my heart, but for now, here it is. 

My heart breaks every time I have a panic attack, and by now my heart has turned from glass into sand, and I am building shitty sandcastles with it in my writing. One day I hope I can learn to appreciate the fine sand I have cultivated and make it into something beautiful, something worth sharing with the world.

`& @lilivms

INTOXICATION IS AN ADDICTING FEELING she starts to sink in, into the veins. one shot after another, the bottles were clean from every single droplet that paints into the core of her throat. she smells like a bar, a mixture of tobacco and whiskey that stains the fabric of her clothes as she scrunches her nose at the smell of herself. naeun doesn’t think a lot about what she does, she ends up doing it when the stress builds up inside of her mind. as if happiness was one thing she could obtain within her fingertips.

“look here, m'dear i can stand on the heels of my feet. no problem.” slurred words were coated in regret by the way she drank too much tonight. her steps were steady and careful, trying to prove a point but she’s leaning to one more side than the other. finding it a little more challenging than it should be. hand waving from left to right, denial is one thing she’s constantly doing when feeling lightheaded and drunk. though, she’s still wanting to show the latter that she’s on both of her feet. for now.

a twirl then a pause at a spot, noticing her from a few feet away. palms glided over the sides of her face, maintaining her slightly blurry gaze at her then. “not too drunk, okay? i can be perfectly fine let me just go home.” wherever home may be, naeun doesn’t know too much. trying to find a stable balance in order to situate herself to catch her breath before she starts to shift once again. naeun heard these types of inquiries from many people, those who act like they care when obviously they don’t. at least, wanting the benefits of lending a hand.

No, no – definitely not good. The woman wasn’t in her good state of mind, and what she was doing was merely fooling herself that she was sober. How typical of people who had fallen drunk. She had seen too much and had heard too much whenever this happens. People would try their hardest to prove that they were okay, and they would end up tripping over their feet with their faces kissing the floor. She wouldn’t let her friend do that, she promised she would tag along for the sake of looking after Naeun as she had no intention in drinking. A couple shots, that was all, but she was sober and thinking clearer than the latter. 

Her two feet stayed fixed on the cement floor, arms crossing over her chest whilst she watched the woman attempted to walk in a straight line. Only if she could see herself right now – a drunken mess, where did the graceful woman go? It was normal, she knew. Alcoholic beverages have these effects on people, but nonetheless, she could only heave a heavy sigh as Naeun continued to be stubborn. 

“Stop. You’re going to fall down…” She warned the female in a hushed voice, not wanting to grab people’s attention that were around – they all reeked of alcohol anyway. Attempting to grab Naeun by her wrist, she pursed her lips as she stayed calm, one of her redeeming qualities, her patience comes second to none. “Let’s go home, okay?” Reassurance was then offered towards the other woman as she called the cab that drove by, pulling the door open as she took a seat. “Come on in, let’s go home, Nae.”

tick tock

Every day the clock ticks. But today the sound of the ticking clock bothers you. It is a constant reminder of the time passed. It’s not over. You think it is. But it’s not. That feeling of happiness, fulfillment, that you felt a couple days ago, starts to wither away, slowly, just as the clock ticks. Your heart beats in tandem with the ticking clock; but now you realize that it has started beating much faster. You feel yourself sinking into that familiar abyss. You will not even realize it at first; but you will slowly start to unravel. The real test will begin now. You will start to lose control. Things that you were adept at will seem freakishly impossible to do. You will slowly realize that the sense of control was just an illusion; you were never really in control. As the clock ticks your life away, you will feel that you need immense support. But you know that support is something that you won’t always have. All that you will have is you.

anonymous asked:

every time i see your face my stomach sinks like a rock. i feel my nerves start to twitch and my heart races. you're so beautiful that it makes me want to literally jump around and scream because its unfair how spectacularly beautiful you are. i wish i had the nerve to speak to you, but talking would mean nothing. simply due to the fact that you live your life, and i must live mine. But oh how i wish the world would fade to white and leave only you and me holding hands. i hope you're well.

Speaking does not mean nothing.

Not feeling really good today. My depression has came back.unmotivated. suicidal. I feel zapped of energy. I don’t want to go to therapy. I have no strength. I never new I could feel like this. I never knew I could be so weak to ask for help. I am floating on a river of pain and regret. I feel like about to sink. I want to start cutting. I’m tired. I feel the easiest way out. Is to let my demons free. I don’t no what to do u feel so hollow. My skin burns. My stomach feels upset. My body knows my mind is dying. I think it wants to too. I need her help. I need it badly. How could all this happen again. It’s inevitable she needs to hurry and come to realization that im in trouble. I hope she can find the love in her heart soon.

Get up dj. Get up and fight.

That sinking feeling in your stomach when you start to realize that that vague notion of someone caring for you that you woke up feeling is just dream based, but you haven’t quite fully realized it yet so you are still riding that early morning don’t want to get out of bed and go to work but sort of happy-wave.

lifelovequotesandsayings.com
I am strong enough to face all the hurdles of life alone

I am strong enough to face all the hurdles of life alone, and I shouldn’t break down, but when you look at me just once it makes me so weak that my eyes just can’t hold back the tears, and my heart starts to sink. I feel so helpless and lonely, and it makes my soul want to leave my body and come to you. My soul wishes to be one with your soul so bad that nothing else matters. You are my soul’s other half that it has been searching for for ages. It was incomplete until it met you, and now that it has been with you once it never wants to leave you or stay away from you. That’s why every time my soul comes to you, it melts down. Your hug, your Love takes it to another world where there are no barriers or boundaries. It’s where Love is the only language; no words need to be spoken, breaths talk, and hearts understand. It’s the world where everything keeps flowing in Love and never has an end. 

cseol asked:

“Are you drunk? Hey, you can’t be walking around like that, be careful!”

( via source from ) - always accepting / @cseol

INTOXICATION IS AN ADDICTING FEELING she starts to sink in, into the veins. one shot after another, the bottles were clean from every single droplet that paints into the core of her throat. she smells like a bar, a mixture of tobacco and whiskey that stains the fabric of her clothes as she scrunches her nose at the smell of herself. naeun doesn’t think a lot about what she does, she ends up doing it when the stress builds up inside of her mind. as if happiness was one thing she could obtain within her fingertips.

“look here, m'dear i can stand on the heels of my feet. no problem.” slurred words were coated in regret by the way she drank too much tonight. her steps were steady and careful, trying to prove a point but she’s leaning to one more side than the other. finding it a little more challenging than it should be. hand waving from left to right, denial is one thing she’s constantly doing when feeling lightheaded and drunk. though, she’s still wanting to show the latter that she’s on both of her feet. for now.

a twirl then a pause at a spot, noticing her from a few feet away. palms glided over the sides of her face, maintaining her slightly blurry gaze at her then. “not too drunk, okay? i can be perfectly fine let me just go home.” wherever home may be, naeun doesn’t know too much. trying to find a stable balance in order to situate herself to catch her breath before she starts to shift once again. naeun heard these types of inquiries from many people, those who act like they care when obviously they don’t. at least, wanting the benefits of lending a hand.