threw myself out on a limb

help-i-cant-adult  asked:

Nath/Nino + 'the fire alarm went off at 3 am and now the cute guy from the flat next door is standing next to me in his underwear’ AU ?

i’m…..suddenly so into this that i got carried away lol

words: 1409

Nino didn’t know what kind of an idiot could manage to trip off the fire alarm at three in the goddamn morning, but he was going to assume it was a special brand of idiot that he was thirty seconds away from chewing out. He needed to wake up in four hours to get to work on time. He didn’t deserve this. 

He was about to grab his noise canceling headphones and listen to music until he fell asleep, but then Nino heard frantic knocking on his front door and cursed loudly in his empty room. God, that was probably the landlord trying to figure out which apartment the alarm was coming from. Nino grabbed a tank top and put on his glasses, hoping that this was just some moron leaving their gas burners on by accident so that Nino could just crawl back into bed. 

So when he opened the door, the last thing he expected to see was a cute guy standing in the hallway in his underwear, bouncing on his toes and looking like he was two seconds away from having a panic attack. 

“Hey!” he piped up a little too loudly. “Horrible hour. I know. Quick question. Are you good at putting out fires?”

Nino blinked. “Putting out fires? Is there a fire in your apartment?”

“Um, maybe?” his neighbor winced, speaking almost too quickly for Nino to understand him. “Kitchen, technically, but uh, yeah. I kinda panicked and knocked on the first door I saw.”

“Oh my God, you left your apartment burning!?” Nino exclaimed, propping his door open with a shoe. “Where do you live?”

The two of them jogged down the hallway to the next apartment over and Nino almost slipped on this stranger’s welcome mat as he booked it inside, following the grey smoke that was billowing out of the kitchen and making the fire alarm screech. Nino covered his mouth with the crook of his elbow and was able to see a small saucepan on the stovetop that was currently holding a small fire and burning whatever contents were inside. Nino put the cold water in the sink on full blast, snatched up a kitchen towel, and threw the pot into the sink to extinguish the fire. 

Luckily, a fire extinguisher wasn’t necessary and the charred food – Jesus, what the hell was this dude trying to cook? – was immediately put out leaving nothing but an apartment full of smoke. 

Keep reading

My first coherent thought was, “It’s raining. This must be Scotland.”

My second thought was that this observation was no great improvement over the random images jumbling around inside my head, banging into each other and setting off small synaptic explosions of irrelevance. 

I opened one eye, with some difficulty. The lid was stuck shut, and my entire face felt cold and puffy, like a submerged corpse’s. I shuddered faintly at the thought, the slight movement making me aware of the sodden fabric all around me. 

It was certainly raining—a soft, steady drum of rain that raised a faint mist of droplets above the green moor. I sat up, feeling like a hippopotamus emerging from a bog, and promptly fell over backward. 

I blinked and closed my eyes against the downpour. Some small sense of who I was—and where I was—was beginning to come back to me. Bree. Her face emerged suddenly into memory, with a jolt that made me gasp as though I’d been punched in the stomach. Jagged images of loss and the rip of separation pulled at me, a faint echo of the chaos in the stone passage. 

Jamie. There it was; the anchor point to which I had clung, my single hold on sanity. I breathed slow and deep, hands folded over my pounding heart, summoning Jamie’s face. For a moment, I thought I had lost him, and then it came, clear and bold in my mind’s eye. 

Once again, I struggled upright, and this time stayed, propped by my outstretched hands. Yes, certainly it was Scotland. It could hardly be anything else, of course, but it was also the Scotland of the past. At least, I hoped it was the past. It wasn’t the Scotland I’d left, at any rate. The trees and bushes grew in different patterns; there was a patch of maple saplings just below me that hadn’t been there when I’d climbed the hill—when? That morning? Two days ago? 

I had no idea how much time had passed since I had entered the standing stones, or how long I had lain unconscious on the hillside below the circle. Quite a while, judging from the sogginess of my clothing; I was soaked through to the skin, and small chilly rivulets ran down my sides under my gown. 

One numbed cheek was beginning to tingle; putting my hand to it, I could feel a pattern of incised bumps. I looked down and saw a layer of fallen rowan berries, gleaming red and black among the grass. Very appropriate, I thought, vaguely amused. I had fallen down under a rowan—the Highland protection against witchcraft and enchantment. 

I grasped the smooth trunk of the rowan tree, and laboriously hauled myself to my feet. Still holding onto the tree for support, I looked to the northeast. The rain had faded the horizon to a gray invisibility, but I knew that Inverness lay in that direction. No more than an hour’s trip by car, along modern roads. 

The road existed; I could see the outline of a rough track that led along the base of the hill, a dark, silvery line in the gleaming green wetness of the moor plants. However, forty-odd miles on foot was a far cry from the journey by car that had brought me here. 

I was beginning to feel somewhat better, standing up. The weakness in my limbs was fading, along with the feeling of chaos and disruption in my mind. It had been as bad as I’d feared, this passage; perhaps worse. I could feel the terrible presence of the stones above me, and shuddered, my skin prickling with cold. 

I was alive, though. Alive, and with a small feeling of certainty, like a tiny glowing sun beneath my ribs. He was here. I knew it now, though I hadn’t known it when I threw myself between the stones; that had been a leap of faith. But I had cast out my thought of Jamie like a lifeline tossed into a raging torrent—and the line had tightened in my grasp, and pulled me free.

- Voyager

All My Idols Ch 23: Sick Day

“Fuck,” I groan as I roll around in my bed trying to find a comfortable position with no luck. The sun is peeking through the curtains making me moan in annoyance. Nausea rushes over me and I find myself scrambling out of bed for the third time since two in the morning into my bathroom to throw up in the toilet. After a minute or two of emptying the little amount of food I had left in my stomach I have no choice but to dry heave for a couple more.

Great, this is absolutely great. When I feel like I’m done, I brush my teeth and shuffle my way back to bed. As soon as I’m down and under the covers my stomach begins to growl and my phone buzzes for the millionth time already this morning. I roll over on to my stomach and check the message, it’s Jiyong:

Hey, just checking to see what your plans are for the day. Do you want to get lunch at noon?

I debate for a few minutes on whether or not I should tell him that I can’t even imagining eating a meal right now but decide to fib a little instead. I text him:

Sorry Oppa, I’m busy all day today, can we have lunch tomorrow?

I quickly send out a generic mass text to anyone who had asked to hang out today, telling them something came up and I’ll have to reschedule before turning it off and throw it to the other side of the king sized bed. I’m done with it today, I’m done with everyone.

Sleeping or just laying around didn’t come as easy as I was hoping when I hear a knock at my door an hour later. Not wanting to deal with anyone I burry myself deeper into my bed under my pillows so I wouldn’t be seen if they came in. At that thought, I hear the lock click and the door open. Great.

“Where do you think she went today?” I hear Daesung ask.

“I’m not sure, she didn’t respond when I asked. She hasn’t responded to Seunghyun hyung’s messages either,” Jiyong sighs as he rummages threw my kitchen.

What are they doing here? Not that I have an issue with them coming into my apartment I just want them out right now. I want my apartment to myself , just a day for myself to lay around and be miserably sick. If I tell them they are going to make me go to the hospital and I’m not going there, I know it’s common here but where I’m from, you don’t go to the hospital unless you’re missing a limb.

“Should we wait for her to come back?” Dae suggests.


“I have a few more things to do today, I’ll just leave these left overs from breakfast in the fridge. You can if you want.”

“I’ll head out too then, maybe I’ll check in a little later.”

“Hyung said he is going to bring some more left overs from his lunch, he’s going to her favorite place with some friends.”

Guys, seriously? I’m so thankful for all of you for being so considerate but please get out. I wait until they are gone before crawling out of bed to my closet to find something to wear. I can’t stay here with their constant checking in and who knows who else might stop by if I don’t respond, I don’t need them finding me clinging to my toilet bowl. After twenty minutes of me stuffing a backpack full of snacks, extra clothes, and my computer, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Sneaking out seems to be my only option for a peaceful sick day, maybe I can find a nice love motel near by I can hide out in for a night or something.

The idea is much easier to think up than to actually follow threw on when the whole building knows me and will notify my oppas of my comings and goings. So I have to be a creep and wait in the elevator for a big enough group of people to hide behind as I pass threw the lobby hoping and praying no one working notices. As soon as I reach the side walk I’m speed walking down to the left, knowing that some crazy fans wait by the parking garage for my oppas to come home, are most likely the other way. All I need to do is make it to a love hotel, I keep repeating that line in my head to try and calm the anxiety bubbling in my chest. I have been recognized on the street a few times and the idea of it happening now makes my exhausted mentality want to break down and cry.

I find a random hotel and quickly make my way inside, not wanting to spend more time in the cold than I have to. The clerk doesn’t ask any extra questions, only asking for my card, something I’m incredibly thankful for. He sends me up to a room on the 15th floor. I arrive at my room a few minutes later after a quite elevator ride. I step into the space themed room, mesmerized by the dome bed and massive bath tub in the far corner. I throw my stuff on the floor, dig my computer out, flip on some random show on Netflix, and begin filling the bath.

Twenty minutes later I nose deep in a bubble bath with Family Guy going on in the background and bag of Cheetos sitting on the ledge. Now this is a good morning, sick or not it has been awhile since I’ve been this relaxed, not worried about who I should be seeing. I consider turning on my phone for a moment before shaking the idea out of my head, the world can do without me for a day, right?

I’ll turn it on after I take my medicine and take a nap, I tell myself, yea that works. After soaking in the tub until I’m a prune I get dressed, dry my hair and quickly curl up in the blankets. The lights turn off to reveal fake stars all over the dome, making me feel like I’m sleeping under the stars. Sleep has never sounded so good.

I’m not sure how long I slept, I woke up a few times, went to the bathroom or snacked or threw up said snack a few times but always ended up crawling back to bed. When I finally convince myself to turn on my phone I don’t expect to see what I find. It’s 10, in the morning, of the next day. I’ve been gone for over 24 hours. Normally I wouldn’t think much of it but I’m not some random girl with no friends in Ohio, I have people here who worry. Over 100 texts tell me that along with just as many missed calls from everyone and their mother.

“You guys,” I groan as I scroll threw the messages, most are from Big Bang, Ikon, BTS, and Shinee. I’m surprised to see some from EXO, lots of hearts and scared emojis from Lay and the beagle line, worried ones from the rest asking where I am and if I’m okay. I sigh, “They make it seem like it’s a national incident.”

And after turning on the news I see that they have made one. A picture of me appears on the screen along with a tweet from Jiyong asking if anyone has seen me and to report it to the police if they have.

“I can’t believe they got the police involved,” I burry my face in my hands. I sit up and automatically regret it when my body seems to punish me. Nausea washes over me followed by a horrible pounding in my head and my whole body seems to ach. “I need to talk to them and tell them I am not missing,” My mind reminds me. “Should I call? I should just go home and show them. But really don’t want to get up,” I whine as I force myself out of bed. I hate being sick. I hate feeling so weak that I can barely get my stuff together and get to the elevator without feeling like I’ve run a marathon. Maybe showing them at home isn’t the best idea, I doubt I could make it there at this point.

I pull out my phone as the elevator goes down and dial Jiyong’s number, not to my surprise he answers on the second ring, “Charlie where are you? Are you okay? Tell oppa where you are!” He basically screams into the phone, not helping the pounding in my head.

“Oppa I’m fine, well sort of. I’m at a love hotel about a mile down the road.”

“A love hotel? Why are you there? What do you mean by sort of? I’m on my way right now, I’ll meet you at the door what is called?”

I give him the name with a sigh, “Oppa, I know you are going to freak out so I might as well tell you now. I have the flu or something so I don’t feel or look the greatest right now.”

“You’re sick? Why didn’t you tell me? You still didn’t answer me, why are you in a love hotel?”

“I didn’t want to worry you guys so I decided to hide out for awhile, I didn’t think you guys would get the police involved.”

“We are going to have a very long argument about this after you are better but first I’m picking you up and taking you to the hospital.”

I groan, “I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

“You are going,” He deadpans.

I know not to fight him on it, “Can you at least call off the police, it’s a bit excessive don’t you think?”

“You were gone, no one had seen you since the night before and no one could get a hold of you. It was necessary. But I’ll call them.”

“I’ll call everyone else.”

“Don’t you dare hang up yet.”

I sigh, glancing down the street I see his car, “Oppa, I can see you.” I hang up without another word. He pulls up to the curb and opens the door from the inside.

“Hurry, get in,” He demands.

“I’m sick, you should be a little nicer,” I pout.

He sighs and runs his fingers threw his hair, “I’m sorry, I’m just really concerned about you. You have no idea how much everyone has been freaking out about you.”

“I’m sorry,” I stare down at my hands, honestly feeling guilty for being so selfish. I’m just not used to everyone being so concerned about my whereabouts, back home could disappear for days before I even got a curious call or text wondering if I’m dead. We don’t talk the whole way to the hospital or even after he hauls me inside and demands that a doctor looks at me. The nurse nods right away but has us waiting in the busy lobby for a moment to go find one of the best doctors, another one of Jiyong’s demands. Jiyong pulls me aside to a corner to wait, I follow without protests but can’t hide the pink hue creeping up on my cheeks when I notices all of our on lookers. Even without Jiyong’s yelling I can’t imagine it would take long to gain almost everyone’s attention. Hell GD of Big Bang is in a hospital, that it self is enough to start a riot but with me, the missing princess, at his side seems to make it a bigger deal.

“Shit,” Jiyong tucks me under his arm with his jacket covering me. People in the lobby have their phones out taking pictures and videos. Thankfully not a moment later the nurse appears with a doctor trailing behind her and a wheel chair in front of her. “Sit down,” Jiyong commands but ends up pushing me down into the stupid wheel chair anyway without even waiting for my snarky response.

“How are you feeling?” The doctor asks with a very serious look.

“I just have the flu, nothing serious. Jiyong oppa is just really worried, so if you could just give me some antibiotics that would be great,” I whisper to the doctor when Jiyong falls back a few steps.

“I will give you a check up and figure out the right treatment for you after that.”

I groan, both in pain and annoyance, “Oppa can you at least call everyone or send out a tweet that I’m not dead?”

“I will let everyone know when we know what is wrong. I’m not going to give out half assed answers.”

“Did you let the police know?” I sigh.

We arrive at a private room where the nurse quickly helps me on to the bed making me feel like an idiot. This is just the flu, nothing I haven’t dealt with before but why do I still feel so exhausted and why does everything still hurt? My head is killing me, my chest feels tight, it feels like someone is punching me in the stomach again and again, maybe Jiyong is right to bring me here.

“I’ll call them for you,” The nurse volunteers.

“Thank you,” The three of us say, she bows and leaves.

“Are you ready for a check up? I have to draw some blood, will that be alright?” The doctor asks.

I blanch, “Is that really necessary?”

“I’m afraid so,” I can see the pity in his eyes.

“It’ll be okay Charlie, you’ve got me here,” Jiyong sits beside me on the bed and wraps his arm around my shoulder comfortingly. “Could you do it right away to get it out of the way?” The older man nods before leaving for another nurse and some needles. Jiyong’s other arm goes around me and pulls me close, “I’m sorry for being mad.”

“I’m sorry for disappearing,” I mumble into his shoulder. “I just didn’t want to worry you guys with me being sick, so I figured disappearing for a little bit would be best. I didn’t think it would blow up to this.”

“I’m just so happy you are safe, you have no idea how scared I was. I thought someone took you or that you just up and left to go back home to America.”

I scoff at him, “Home? To America? Don’t make me laugh, it hurts. This is my home now, you guys are my family. Why would I run back to that life? I’ve never been so happy in my life.”

Dancer Dearest - FrUk OneShot

Find it on ffnet here!

Tumblr Ficlet Request: FrUk Dancer AU

Chosen: We go to the same [fine arts] school, and I see you stretching in the hall, and I shouldn’t be turned on by the fact that you can practically bend in half???

Dear Dancer Dearest;

Do you remember when we first met? It is one of my most vivid memories to this day.

We had attended the same fine arts school, top in the district. I was enrolled in the visual arts program and you were in dance; even though we were both top of our classes, there had been no reason for either of us to ever run into each other. I much preferred to hide myself away in the familiar smells of oil paints, turpentine, and damar varnish while you were too busy perfecting your craft – both too engrossed in our own little worlds to roam very far away.

I had once made the mistake of taking a “shortcut” through the music wing in order to meet my friends for lunch in the courtyard. I unhappily discovered that band kids were weird, and I much preferred the haughty silence of  teenage “misunderstood artists” who simply needed to “express themselves”. I never wandered very far away from the art room then, except to attend my regular classes. You were a year above me, so we didn’t have any of those in common.

Lukas, my classmate and friend, we bonded in mutual silence and distaste for the general population of our peers, had been the one to pull me from my daily reverie. I will forever thank him for doing so, otherwise we never would have met.

Keep reading

inked (l.h. imagine)

 a/n: drunken nights lead to more than y/n bargained for when she wakes up to a little surprise from tattoo artist!luke.

The sunlight coming in through the window burned through my eyelids as I lay collapsed, amongst the white sheets. My legs were tangled with another pair of much longer legs and someone’s arm was thrown across my side, both of us buried under the heavy blankets. I blinked my eyes a few times before fully opening them, ignoring the pounding headache. The apartment looked vaguely familiar with band posters plastered onto the otherwise bare walls. The body beside me shuffled around under the covers, letting his arm fall from my side. His blonde hair was sticking up just past the edge of the covers.  I pinched the blanket between my fingers and slowly pulled it back to reveal Luke’s angelic face, resting against the pillow. Figures. 

“You want to get out of here?” Luke leaned down next to my ear, yelling over the noise of the loud frat party. His fingers ghosted over the top of my jeans, threatening to dip down below the waistband. My hands ran down his arms, tracing the tattoos that were prominent against his pale skin. We were currently leaning against the counter in the kitchen, trying to see through the haze. I nodded feverishly, taking his hand as he pulled me towards the door.

Somehow we managed to make it back to his apartment alive. I had only tripped once, and it was hardly my fault considering it was dark and the pothole came out of nowhere. After fumbling with the keys Luke pushed the door open and we all but fell inside, kicking out shoes off and throwing our jackets onto the couch. He pressed me up against the door, lips hot against my cold skin. My dress was on the floor before I even got to his bedroom with his shirt following not far behind.

Within minutes we were laying in his bed with nothing but a white sheet covering our warm, naked bodies. Luke ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a content sigh. I scanned his bedroom before kicking off the covers and stumbling around the bedroom to find my underwear.

“What’s this?” I asked, running my fingers over the object sitting on his desk.

“Tattoos,” Luke, mumbled out, not able to form a more intelligent sentence.

“I want one?” I hummed quietly. Alcohol was taking over my thoughts as I looked back at Luke. He was sitting up now, the thin white sheet barely covering his manhood at this point.

“You want a tattoo?” He chuckled. I nodded confidently.

“Give me a tattoo Luke,” I demanded. He shrugged, grabbing his boxers from the floor, and walked over to me.

“Alright sunshine, what do you want?”

 Burrowing my face in the crook of my elbow I let out a groan. I shifted from my side onto my stomach and stretched out my tired limbs. A dull pain shot through my side as I stretched my arms. Pushing myself up I sat back on my heels, lifting the hem of my shirt, feeling around my bare skin. I couldn’t see anything so I threw back the covers and padded across the wood floor to the full body mirror. Pulling up the hem of the shirt once more I inspected my skin. Just along the side of my rib cage was a word in small, black letters, permanently inked into my skin. Luke. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I crossed back towards the bed and took ahold of the end of the blanket. With one strong tug I yanked the blankets off of Luke, exposing his nearly naked body to the cold air of his apartment.

“What the fuck?” He groaned, hardly moving from his position. He lay flat on his stomach with one arm tucked underneath his body and the other stretched out across the mattress to the indent of where my body had been.

“Look at what you’ve done to me,” I snapped. Luke lamely attempted to roll his body over onto his back and propped himself up against the pillows. Rubbing his tired eyes he blinked up at me, squinting. I pulled up my shirt again, gesturing towards the new tattoo I was sporting. A smug smile tugged at his lips before he cleared his throat, fighting laugh.

“This is not funny Lucas,” I rolled my eyes, crawling onto the bed, sitting at his feet.

“It’s a little funny,” he admitted, biting his lip to hide his smile.

“No it’s not. Just because you managed to get me drunk one time does not mean I want your stupid name tattooed on my body forever. I mean, no offence, but it’s not like I’m in love with you or anything.” I grumbled, brushing my hair out of my face. Luke pouted, pushing his bottom lip out and giving me puppy dog eyes.

“My name isn’t stupid,” he all but whined, “Besides, I’ve gotten you drunk plenty of times before. This time you just happened to get a little more from me than, you know, my dick.”

I reached for the nearest pillow, smacking his over the head with it.

“Ow! Careful I’m hung over missy,” Luke held his head, grabbing my wrist to prevent me from swinging again.

“Do I look like that’s my biggest worry right now?” I challenged, wiggling my arm free.

“Sunshine, c’mon. It’s not that big of a deal. Ya know, it could be on your forehead,” Luke tried to reason with me.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I glared at him. Sliding off the edge of the bed I stood in front of the mirror again. Holding the fabric of my shirt in my hand I stared at the tattoo, as if the longer I stared the more I would begin to like it.

“What am I supposed to tell people when they see it, hmm? ‘Oh yeah this old thing I just got it from some guy when we were both drunk at university, it’s a miracle he got it right.’ That’s not exactly going to go down well,” I groaned. Luke appeared in the mirror behind me.

“I mean, there is one solution,” Luke trailed off, the cold metal of his necklace causing goose bumps to erupt on my skin as he leaned against me to get a better look at the fresh ink.

“Yeah?” I raised my eyebrows at him in the mirror.

“But,” he paused, making eye contact with me through the glass, “I don’t know if I want to let you off so easy.”

“Luke I swear to god,” I started but Luke silenced me.

“I have a preposition for you sunshine,” he stepped back from me and I turned around to face him, hands on my hips.

“I can cover up your ‘horrendous’ tattoo with a little flower or some shit, whatever you want-“

“Really? Luke honestly th-“


“If? Luke no. You did this to me I don’t owe you anything,” I argued.

“You didn’t let me finish sunshine,” he ignored my statement, carrying on. “You only have a problem with it because you’re not in love with me yeah?” He asked. I shrugged, nodding.

“Okay so, if I can’t make you fall in love with me in one month then I will cover up this tattoo with whatever you want.”

“No way, that’s ridiculous Luke,” I shook my head.

“What? You think I’ll be able to make you fall for me, huh? Scared you’ll be stuck with the tattoo forever?” Luke taunted.

“Of course not,” I responded all too quickly, “I just think it would be a waste of your time.”

“Oh really?” Luke retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

I nodded, hesitating only momentarily.

“How about this, if I can’t make you fall in love with me in one month I’ll cover up your little tattoo AND I’ll get a tattoo of your name on my ass or something,” Luke proposed. I laughed at the idea of Luke having my name on his ass for the rest of his life. However, I just didn’t know if I’d be able to refrain from falling for his good looks and undeniable charm for an entire month when I already struggled with it as it was.

Nonetheless I stuck my hand out to him in agreement.

“You have yourself a deal Hemmings.”

let me know if you want a part two!



“you cannot go back to t h e m, just accept that you’re different–hey, scott, you’re b e t t e r.”

[songs for the maker and the unwilling protege; for impotent rage and cold affection, grazes creeping across quivering skin; for cast-offs and changed men with no place else to go; for being alone together, forging family through venom in the blood, sharp teeth and sharper claws]

↳ a carlos madrigal/scott fuller mix

red right hand - nick cave & the bad seeds // evil and a heathen - franz ferdinand // blues from down here - tv on the radio // claws off - margot & the nuclear so and so’s // patron saint hunter - timber timbre // we suck young blood - radiohead // mx missiles - andrew bird // sweet sour - band of skulls // damn i wish i was your lover - black kids  // lick the palm of the burning handshake - zola jesus // zephyrus - bloc party // actor out of work - st. vincent // for real - okkervil river // boat song - woodkid // dear fellow traveler - sea wolf

Keep reading

To My Mother-In-Law,

You have been crying hysterically to your daughter, my sister-in-law. You insist you don’t know what you’ve done and believe that I have turned your son against you.

You will never believe the truth, so I have not bothered trying to tell you. But to answer your question, this is what you’ve done:

(1)    Let’s start at the beginning. When your husband was beating the shit out of your son, your beautiful precious 8-year-old angel, where were you? Where were you? When I asked your son this, he said, “In her room. If she would have done anything, Dad would have just hit her instead.” You know what? That’s probably true. You know what else? That means you used your eight-year-old child as a human shield.

(2)    The first Thanksgiving B & I were together, the whole family decided we should do the holiday at my house. I had the most space, the biggest kitchen, and no children to schedule around. You and your husband did come – but nobody else in the family did. Everyone else cancelled the day before, after I’d already bought the food to feed 11 and started cooking.
And what did you say, the next day? You invited us over to your house for dinner on Sunday, since you “didn’t get a Thanksgiving this year.”
I cried for a week. Your son was so angry with you, he decided we would never host another family event at our house again. Did you catch that? Your son decided.  

(3)    When, after five years of heartbreak, we learned that we couldn’t get pregnant, you told him to replace me. First, you assumed I’m the problem. Second, you told your son to replace me. It doesn’t matter how many times you say “I’m just joking,” after the fact. Third… you essentially taught him that people who can’t give you grandchildren are worthless. You assumed I’m the problem. You have no idea how damaging that was to your son’s self-esteem, much less his relationship to. We can’t give you grandchildren, so we are worthless.

(4)    When he had his legs blown off in Iraq and barely made it home alive, you put together all the emails you exchanged with your sisters into a book you self-published and said to me, “This is my ticket to Oprah.” How I wish I was making this up.
Your son’s loss of limbs was a money making venture for you.
You asked me to edit the book, and I limited myself to just fact-checking… “no, he wasn’t in Colorado, he was in Vegas.” You threw out my edits, and posted an account of your son that was essentially false. I said nothing, and I bought my parents each a copy of your book.

(5)    I went with my mother on a road trip, leaving B at home, and the night before we left I made corned beef & cabbage since I would be missing St Paddy’s day. B was thrilled and put a picture on facebook. You told him I’d cooked the wrong kind of corned beef, and when he asked you to please just be happy he has a wife who cooks, you wanted to know why he was so disrespectful, why he was so mean to you. I knew nothing of this until I got home, because B refused to tell me about the argument. I heard about it when my Father-in-Law CC’d me on the reply to the angry email you sent him wanting to know if his illustrious son had cut him off, too.

(6)    This is not a complete list. But you should know that the final straw – the thing that broke your relationship with your son – was when your daughter planned a surprise party for your 60th birthday. She scheduled it for more than a week before your birthday – on a day I was working, and my husband had to stay home with houseguests – and only gave us a week’s notice. We’d had plans for over a month before the invite even arrived, and since it was a surprise party, B couldn’t tell you he wasn’t coming.
When he didn’t show up, you texted him: “It’s good to finally know for sure where I stand with you.” You never bothered to ask why.
You went on to say it was all because of me, that I had control of his life. While I do have control of his money, because he lost impulse control when he was blown up in Iraq, you only know that because I stopped letting him write you checks. You spent the money he got from his life insurance payout on a jacuzzi and then complained to him that you needed a new car, too.
And because I have control of his money, I can do things like buy him a new truck for his birthday. Because me having control means we still have it. And he will be the first person to tell you that.
And he did tell you that, right after he told you that it was an insult to him to say I was controlling him.
Honestly, I took it as a compliment to me.
You actually think I am such a good puppet-master that I can compel your son into a 3.8 GPA at a prestigious private university, win him an unprecedented $25K research grant as an undergraduate in an art field, and land him a job at an Ivy League school before he even graduates, all while working as an RN and taking care of my ever-expanding family-by-choice. If I am capable of that, all while saving enough money to drop $40K on a new truck for him to drive in, I am in the wrong fucking line of work.
But for your son? To say that to your own son, to tell him that he isn’t his own person? To say you don’t believe he is making his own choices, living his own life? To have so little faith in his capabilities as a person to conclude somebody else is controlling him?
You broke his heart.
And you should know that he took that injury to his psychologist, not me.
He and his psychologist decided that it would be best for him to not have you in his life.
Not me.
Because I would have said, like I always said, no, honey, she is your mother. I didn’t even hear about it until it was done.

Because, you see, Roberta, I was willing to put up with your hatred and your manipulation. I was willing to live my life knowing my Mother-in-Law wanted my husband to replace me. I invited you to every function, every holiday, despite your son’s protests, for the same reason every time: “because she is your mother.” I was willing to sit in your living room and smile as you pretended you liked me, knowing full well the second I left you would spill venom.

…because your children talk to each other, you see. We all know what you say about us when we’re not around.

I was content to deal with you for the rest of your life. Why? Because your son is worth it.

Because I love him more than I could ever articulate, and your vitriol is a tiny price to pay to have him in my life. You are his mother and you being related to me is a necessary evil to have this amazing, stubborn, talented, unbelievable man at my side. I don’t care how much you hate me.

But your son?

You made your son choose between us.

That is what you did.  You don’t have him in your life anymore because you forced him to choose.

Given how little you think of him, are you really surprised at the decision he reached?

WIth endless patience and ambivalence,

your son’s wife

Vampire!Luke AU

You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
You shouldn’t have been alone on your way home from work in the brisk cold autumn night. The early dark nights had finally come around this year and it was no change from any other year other than tonight.

You were nearly at your apartment when you caught yourself getting paranoid after over thinking walking through the park, your first thought had been ‘well it’s only 9pm not awfully late’ but then when entering the gates realised just how dark and creepy the place seemed.

Hearing twigs snap made your head turn back quickly only to discover no one to be there. Reaching halfway through the park near a woodland area you heard a cough.

'Whats a pretty young thing like yourself doing out alone?’ A voice came from behind you and you froze.

Slowly turning around to face the voice you took him in, his frame was slender and tall with broad shoulders and slim hips. You could tell he was pale and had light hair so blonde you guessed. You couldn’t quite see his facial features other than his jaw line looked like it had more stability than your life.

'Its rude to ignore you know.’ He spoke again and you soaked up his voice like it was an expensive glass of red and you were an alcoholic.

'Im sorry, I was always tough not to talk to strangers.’ The reply was casual, cool and calm. Everything you wasn’t.

'Ah she speaks, now tell me babe, what brings you here’

You had only then realised he’d come closer towards you now standing hardly a metre away.

'Im on my way home from work, why do you ask?’ His ora was cold an eerie it wasn’t as pleasant as his face was I now staring at. His eyes were blue yet looked as sharp as knifes. His brows in perfect shape the paleness giving him a bad boy demeanour was wiped away when I took in his small ski slope nose that I just wanted to boop.

’ you’re so cute’ it came out of nowhere and I instantly regretted it.

'Shit no I didn’t mean to speak outloud.’ You stammer out.

'Cute? Not normally the word that people give me, cruel, a monster, murderer are some of the many used but never cute.’

You could feel the colour drain from your face at the second word he used to describe himself and you could have fainted at murderer but you stayed stood up.

'Well it’s getting late I really must be going things to do people to see you know? It was lovely meeting you’ it was rushed and anyone walking by would have noticed the panic laced in your words but there was no one walking round, not a single person, not a soul.

It was in that moment you saw the teeth beneath extend and poke out from his top lip digging into the bottom one.

'Shit, fucking shit I’m gonna die, I’m going to die, I new this would happen fucking hell this is some sick twilight remake shit’ was all you could think.

'Fucking hell will you stop thinking’ the boy speaks and your confused so not only does his teeth grow he can fucking mind read. Yay.

'Great perfect now you’re a bloody mind reader.’ The adrenaline you didn’t notice you had disappeared and sob suddenly arises which you choke on and tears spill from your waterline dropping at your chin.

'I haven’t even done anything yet and you’re crying, why? Why are you already crying!?’ He sounds frustrated and confused if it was a different situation you would have laughed but it isn’t and you continue to cry.

I’m scared, iv never been as scared as I am now I can feel myself shaking he moves in closer everything goes in slow motion his head ducks down to my next as the sob cripple your body.
Just as his fangs now gaze my skin as soon as the touch of his lips hits my skin a burning sensation runs threw out your limbs and a cuss leaves your mouth just as he pulls back and hisses.

'What the fuck’ his hands raise to his lips and his eyes show pain and confusion. You took your chance to run.

AN let me know if you want another part I’m thinking of doing supernatural month of 5sos as it’s Halloween soon! Let me know if you’d read it and like it!

In my dreams I don’t hurt anymore.
The skin on my body rests unblemished,
tight against the frame which holds it.

The smoke is stale here.
The air is immobile. Smoking
only adds to the ambiance.

In this dream I can look at myself.
I can watch my hands slip under the covers.
I can watch myself while I move, can see my face
while experiencing the action.

In this dream I can masturbate without it being a vice.
The fantasies are finally benign,
do not involve the ache of a blade
or the sharpness of a voice
too loud to register.

These limbs are all phantom, you know.
The panting, the fingers, the arms, and the organs
all unreal and unlike me
which is why I can finally stomach it.

I stop trying to figure out why it doesn’t hurt anymore in this space.
I stop trying to figure out why it began to hurt in the first place.

I open my eyes and scrape the reasons out like shrapnel:
The time I cannot remember; the time
I remember too vividly;
the time I threw myself onto the tracks,
train coming full-speed towards me.

In the dream I understand 
how these became events the shaped me. 
Like a detective boots-deep within a moor
I begin to sort the clues rather than to become
consumed by unanswerable questions.

I accept it. The vices; the reverberations
of an echo only I can hear; the figureless 
collections of memories not sharp enough
to dig for.

In the dream I understand how
the same shards of a memory
act like water, may be powerful enough
to erode waking life until one ceases the desire
to exist within it.

—  Lorne Ryan, Erosion Control