Mother has a husband and a new kid, I love them and his side of the family.
My father stayed alone for a bit, found another woman, fun fact, she came to clean our house but father did not tell us she was his girlfriend. Mother told us. We did not care much at the time.
Time goes on by, she gets pregnant because my father thinks with other parts of his body, me and my brother move as to live alone (seeing her pregnant made me enter a state of panic and nausa), baby is born. She has some blood problems, I do not really care (call me monster for it, I do not care about that baby and won’t ever provide for her)
Now, THIS WOMAN is threatening my father to take away the kid if HE DOESN’T FIRE MY MOTHER, who has been cleaning up after his messes for 22 YEARS OF WORK.
She is stalking my mother TO TALK, telling her that she needs to find A new job, and me too, and that me making such drama about the situation is unnecessary.
I was killing myself.
With food.
I was eating a lot of sugar stuff just to end in a diabetic coma (I am hyperinsulemic, that is very much a possibility.)
I went to a psychologist for it and my father said it was just a waste of money.
I went to it because my father started to do mobbing on me and basically downgrading everything I did at work.
I went for it, to detach my emotions from him, and it worked, she can leech all she wants off him and I won’t beat an eyelash.
Now this situation has me floating on a cloud, I am very confused and have no idea where to start looking for a new job.
So…yeah, if you do not see me posting much gaming stuff lately, it’s because I am very lost and have no idea where this will lead.
bleeding through the bandages | pressure | blood-matted hair
It had been a rare evening Sheila and Fred had to themselves, making the most of it and heading out for drinks. Fao had been more than happy to babysit Finn, though Finn argued that at sixteen he didn’t need babysitting.
They were both rather drunk when they returned home, the taxi driver all too happy to drop them off.
While Sheila headed upstairs to get changed, Fred nipped outside for a smoke to settle his stomach. He was better than when he first met Sheila, but he’d never say no to a quick break.
Fao was on the phone to Alex when his parents got in, and he could tell Sheila was drunk from the way she laughed as she got in.
“Hang on a sec, ‘Lex.” He said, and stuck his head out of his bedroom. “Good time?” He called, amusedly.
“Oh, shush you.”
“I’m not holding your hair back when you puke your guts up later.”
“I’m not you.”
“Hey! I’m good!” He protested, but let her get on, returning to his girlfriend on the phone.
Sheila rolled her eyes (a bad decision considering how the room already span) and headed in to get changed. Fred wouldn’t be too long, she was sure, so she had to hurry to grab a shower before he decided to hog it all.
Now Fred and Sheila were home, Fao headed downstairs and outside for a smoke before bed, after saying goodnight to Alex. He was unsurprised to find Fred out there already, and grinned at him as he lit his cigarette.
“Enjoyed yourself?”
Fred hummed. “Was nice to have some time out.”
“I bet.”
“She got a bit tipsy.”
“So did you by the looks of it.”
“I’m completely fine.”
“Yeah?”
“Could walk in a straight line, all that bullshit.”
“Mmhmm. Sure, sure.”
“Wanna see?”
“Nah, I believe you. Probably best not to go wandering into the pitch black garden.”
“I’ve only fallen once while gardening.” Fred said confidently.
“Let’s keep it that way, not tempt fate.”
“Sure, sure.” He lit another cigarette. “Keep fate where it is.”
“She will kill you if she catches you chain-smoking.”
“I’ve had two. That’s not a chain.”
“Might as well be.”
“It’s not a chain.”
“Sure.”
Content he’d won his argument, Fred settled back into silence, enjoying his smoke. After a while, he stumped the end out, leaving it on the side.
“I’m getting a tea. Want one?”
“How about I make one, you just sit and chill.”
He hummed. He wasn’t going to pass up on Fao doing the hard work. “Sounds good.”
“Then the sober person is in control of the hot water.”
Fred huffed at him. “Yeah, whatever.”
Fao finished his cigarette and headed inside, filling the kettle and flicking it on. He didn’t exactly trust Fred.
Fred had just sat down to relax when there was an almighty thud from upstairs. He jumped to his feet, swaying as he tried to balance himself.
“Finn? Was that you?”
Fao frowned. “Didn’t sound like Finn… Finn?! Mum?!” After no response, he turned to Fred. “Stay put, I’ll go and see what’s going on.”
Finn met Fao at the top of the stairs, half asleep and very confused. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, it wasn’t you.” Fao said, glancing at Finn. “Heard a thud.”
“Yeah, me too.” Finn frowned, worry creeping in. “Mum?”
“She’s pissed as anything.” Fao told him, pushing the bedroom door open. “Mum? You okay?”
“No.” She admitted dramatically, sat on the ensuite bathroom’s floor, her head in her hands. “No.”
Fao rushed in. “What’s wrong, what’s happened?”
“I slipped.” She said with a sigh, before smirking. “I went splat.”
There was blood on the edge of the sink, and a significant amount on Sheila’s top, too. Sighing, Fao crouched in front of her. “Yeah, looks like you did. Here, let me have a look at you, hmm?”
“Oh I’m fine.” She brushed him off.
“Mum, you’re bleeding. Let me look.”
“I am. I slipped.” She raised her hands, covered in blood, to her face as she tried to wipe the blood dripping down it. “I’m bleeding.”
“Do we need an ambulance?” Finn asked, slightly panicked.
Fao glanced up. “We’ll need to go in regardless. Probably best to call one?”
“No, no. I’m fine.” Sheila insisted trying to stand up.
“Hey, hey. Wait. You’ve probably given yourself a pretty solid concussion. Don’t want you standing up too quickly and falling over again, eh?”
“I’m not Finn.” She said confidently. “I just slipped.”
“At the very least you’re going to need stitches and a scan.”
“Oh no.”
“Might as well go in an ambulance, rather than getting blood in my car, hmm?” Fao said, twisting to look at his brother. “Can you grab the first aid kit?”
Finn disappeared into the main bathroom to grab it. There were a few left around the house, and were always in reach.
“Here.”
“Thanks.” Fao said, taking it from him. “I just want to try and stop this bleeding a bit…”
“Ow!” Even drunk, she felt it as Fao pressed against her head. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, I know it hurts. But I need to do it, yeah? Stop you bleeding so much.”
“No. It hurts. Please stop.”
“Sorry Mum, it needs doing.” Fao said gently. “Try some deep breaths.”
“No, get off.” She pulled away. “I’m fine.”
“I know, I know.”
“Fao, I’m fine. Get off.” The evening’s earlier merriment had quickly disintegrated.
“Mum, you’re fucking bleeding.”
“Iknow.”
“So let me help you?”
“Do you have to ?”
“Do you want to bleed everywhere?”
“No.”
“In that case, I’ve gotta help you.”
“Is it bad?”
“It’s gonna need stitches.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Who’s the doctor here, eh?”
“Does it really need stitches?” The bandage done, she shuffled away from Fao, trying to get up.
“It does, yeah.”
“Fred can drive me.” She turned to face Fao, and finally stood. “I’m fine.”
“He’s drunk too, Mum.” Fao said gently. “Just wait for the ambulance.”
“You called an ambulance?” She sighed heavily, looking at Fred standing behind Finn. “And you let them?”
“Finn’s very persuasive.” He defended.
“Better they come and give us a hand, eh?”
Sheila made her way past Finn, scowling at the pair. “I didn’t need an ambulance.”
“Mum, sit down for me, yeah?”
“They can’t see me like this!”
“They’ve seen much worse.” Fao said drily. “They see Finn all the time.”
“Hey!”
“I don’t care. I need to get changed. Out.”
“I don’t want to leave you. Let me help you?”
Her expression twisted into disgust. “No.”
“I’m not that bad!”
“I don’t need your help!”
“It’ll be quicker if we help you.”
“No.” She crossed her arms, not unlike Finn. “No.”
“Come on, Mum.”
“Fao, I’ve said no.”
“What do you want to get changed into? What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”
“It’s covered in blood!”
“They won’t care, we’ll just bring you some fresh stuff for when you get to the hospital.”
Frustrated tears sprung to her eyes. “Just let me change!”
“Alright, alright. Let me get you some stuff out, then.”
“Thank you.”
“We’re not bleeding so much now, hmm? Looks like that dressing I’ve got on has sorted things for the time being.” Fao said, reaching into the drawers for some comfy clothes for Sheila.
“I feel like a pirate.”
Fao couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah?”
She nodded solemnly. “Yeah.”
“It’s not for long.” He placed the clothes next to her. “Are you sure I can’t help you?”
“I’m sure.”
“Can I stay in the room and turn my back. Just in case you need anything?”
“No.” She’d made her mind up, and was stubborn as anything.
Fao glanced at Finn somewhat desperately. He really didn’t want to leave her alone.
“Mum, you do the same for me. Please?”
“No.” She stood her ground. “Just let me change.”
“Come on, mum. Please?”
“Why do you hate me?”
“We don’t hate you.”
“Youdo.” She sighed dramatically.
“We just want to look after you.”
“Let me get changed then!” She sniffed, wiping the tears running down her cheeks.
Fao reached out to wipe her tears away. “Hey, hey. Come on, let’s not have tears.” He said softly. “It’s alright.”
She turned away. She didn’t want his pity.
“Come on, Mumaí.”
It had been forever since he’d called her that. She lowered her gaze with a soft sigh, the fight completely gone. “Okay.”
He pressed a kiss to her hair, where it wasn’t matted with drying blood. “I’ve got you.”
With Sheila no longer actively fighting Fao, things moved a lot smoother. Clothes were changed and she was gently helped downstairs, Finn and Fao on either side.
She was only growing more dizzy, something she wasn’t sure was just the alcohol. Despite Fao telling her off, she kept pressing her fingers to her bandage, but it hurt. Eventually, she listened, leaning heavily into Fao with a quiet sigh. This wasn’t how she’d expected the evening to go.
It was a little wait, but the ambulance arrived within the hour. As Finn disappeared to open the door, Sheila absentmindedly pressed her fingers against the bandages, frowning as she pulled her hand away again. Her fingers were wet with fresh blood, bleeding through the bandage Fao had wrapped around her. She turned worriedly to Fao, her palm stretched out.
“Fao?”
Fao turned to her with a frown, then noticed the blood on her fingers. “Oh, we’re bleeding through? Head wounds like to bleed a lot, hmm? It’s okay, the ambulance is here now. They’ll help us get it sorted.”
“But it’s bleeding again.”
“We’ll put something on top, don’t worry.”
The ambulance crew stepped into the room, somewhat amused by the fact Finn was up and opening the door for them. After a little light teasing, they got another dressing over the stubbornly bleeding wound, and then they headed into hospital.
Your poor, sickly fave finishes their violent bout of vomiting and slumps down; exhausted, sore and shaky. You hold up a tissue to their face for them to blow the sick our of their nose. You then gently wipe their nose and around their mouth clean with a fresh tissue You tenderly hold their chin in your hand and inspect their sleepy face; it’s pale, sweaty, and when your eyes meet, you note that they seem to be struggling to keep them open. You continue to look them over, and have to force back a smile at how their cheeks redden slightly at your lingering gaze despite how unwell they’re obviously feeling. Once you release their face, they groan and roll over.
You once again contemplate trying to move them to the bathroom, or a bed- maybe even a couch. You opt out, however, when their tummy let’s out a loud, unhappy grumble and they whimper. If they were stubborn about moving before, they’ll be even more so in their current state.
You think about moving them anyway, since they definitely wouldn’t be able to stop you, but decide against it; not wanting to upset them further. You run your hand through their hair as they lay curled up on the cold, hard floor and sigh.
Water.
They need water.
You get up to go and get them a glass of water, stopping to turn around and poke your head through the doorway to check on them one last time, before leaving the room.
You’re not gone for long, when you hear them weakly calling your name.
You hear them coughing harshly as you approach the doorway. The coughing turns to gagging as you walk in and you see them hunched over the bin. Despite their body’s effort, nothing appears to be coming up yet. You sigh and pad over to them. You rub their back gently as their entire body jerks, and you wipe a bead of sweat from their forehead with your knuckle.
The heaves get closer together, and they barely have time to breath between their powerful retching. They start to whimper, but after several of their complaints are cut off with harsh gags, they go quiet again to focus on enduring the aggressive episode of dry-heaving.
Finally, one of the gags brings something up and you hear the loud splash of their stomach contents hitting the basin. They let out a pathetic groan at the sudden, unpleasant sensation, but their vocalization is once again interrupted by their nausea.
The next wave is chunkier, but much smaller. You peer into the bucket curiously and spot some partially-chewed lettuce and tomatoes from the salad they had asked you to make for them an hour or two ago. They thought that their nausea would go away if they ate something- and salad is healthy, right? You would laugh at the unfortunate irony if your fave didn’t look so poorly. You wonder if things would have been any different had they not insisted upon you dousing it with thick, rich dressing? Probably not.
Though their tummy is still grumbling angrily, they don’t bring anything else up- only dry heaves. The dry-heaving tapers off into coughing, which then subsides into panting.
It’s probably the heavy steak they had eaten earlier in the day that was refusing to come up easily. They ate it nearly 5 hours ago but have been belching non-stop and complaining about feeling bloated ever since. You peer down at your fave and note that their belly is still pretty swollen; the steak nestled in deep and refusing to move.
They whine and whimper quietly and appear to be laying as still as possible. You kneel down, setting the glass onto the floor beside you, and reach for the tissues. You get them to blow their nose before wiping their face clean again.
You slowly bring the glass of water to their lips. At first, they pull their head away, but you remind them that dehydration will make them feel worse. They sigh melancholically and let you bring the glass back to their mouth before obediently tipping their head back slightly.
You have them rinse and spit into the sick-filled bucket three times before ordering them to swallow a small mouthful. They complain and try to refuse, but your persistence overpowers their present lack of will. They end up taking a few sips before curling back up.
You sit down next to them in silence for the next few minutes. All you want to do is evelop them into your arms, but you settle for stroking their arm slowly, as not to jostle them too much. They’re still curled up on the floor; their breathing is slowing down- which you hope is good. You can still hear their tummy; soft sloshing and bubbling could now be heard amongst the constant, unhappy grumbles from before. The noises almost seemed to be tapering off for a while, but now you swore that they were increasing in volume and intensity again. Your fave let’s out a soft moan, increasing your growing concern. You consider asking them to give you a status update, but stop yourself; if they’re falling asleep, then you should let them rest. It’s only when they release a loud, sickly, wet belch that you decide that it’s time to go back into caretaking mode.
You ask them how the water is settling; their stomach seems to squelch in response.
“It feels cold and heavy,” they whine, “it hurts.” You had suspected that this would be the case, but the taps in the building don’t have temperature control so there wasn’t anything you could do.
“I’m gonna leave this out by the window, okay? The sun will warm it up so that you can have more later without it hurting your tummy,” you say placatingly, before setting down the glass on the windowsill behind the curtains. They show their enthusiasm by not responding or even turning to look at you. Instead, they let out a loud moan.
“Oh, y/n. My stomach really hurrrrts,” they whimper.
“Do you want me to rub it for you?” You ask. They have to stop and think about it for a moment, before nodding and slowly turning onto their back with a grunt. They hazily look up at you.
“Not too hard,” they practically whisper. You nod and place your hand on their belly; taking in how little your hand sinks in before it’s met with whatever food they’d eaten that day- at least compared to their tummy when it’s in a healthier state. It audibly grumbles around your hand.
“Gentler, please,” they rasp, and you decrease the pressure a bit, “even gentler.” You obey and very lightly, smooth your whole hand around the expanse of their slightly bloated tummy. They close their eyes and sigh.
Though most of the roundness is gathered in their upper belly, you can’t help but notice that their mid and lower tummy are a little bit bigger than normal, too. You smooth your hand up the bump of the stomach itself, and down over the slight tautness around their navel- which burbles lazily as the contact shifts whatever was sitting around there- down to their fleshier underbelly and back up the way you came. After a while of that, you start to rub in circles again but are startled by your fave trying to speak.
“Keep going up and down,” they rasp without opening their eyes. You chuckle softly and oblige, enjoying the feeling of their belly under your hand.
Their breathing slows down further and you got pause in your rubbing once you’re sure they’re asleep. You get up to empty their sick basin and give it a quick rinse; your nose wrinkling at the foul smell.
You return to the room and slump back down next to them. Your heart melts with pity whenever they groan in their sleep, or their gut let’s out a particularly cacophonous gurgle.
You are about to drift off yourself when they suddenly jolt up, and you all but throw the bucket at them.
They let out a long, miserable moan before dry-heaving a few times. Wanting to get ahead, you quickly get up to grab the tissue box and the water from the windowsill. Your fave makes an unpleasant noise that sounds like a cross between a gag and a gutteral belch, and a mouthful of browned liquid and small, undiscernable bits spatters into the basin. They sit there leant over for a few more seconds, before falling back into a lying position.
“That’s it?” You ask. You are certain that they have much more food still festering in their belly. They don’t react as you lean over to pull their top away, and are further convinced by how swollen their abdomen still is.
“Idonknow,” they slur. You watch them for a moment, but they don’t start retching again.
You figure they’re done.
“Water time,” you announce with sarcastic zeal. They groan, but sit back up and you hold the glass to their lips.
“Ugh. ‘Ts all warm,” they wrinkle their nose and squint their eyes.
“It was too cold for you, so I put it in the window to warm it up earlier, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” they say softly. You get behind them and help them lower themselves carefully onto their back again.
“My tummy is still super upset, but I don’t feel nauseous anymore,” they softly inform you. Their brows have unknit and they close their eyes again. You don’t have the heart to inform them that there was no way they’re actually better.
Their belly still looks distended, and it’s angry growls are only growing louder. You also take note of how some of the unhappy gurgles are gaining a higher pitch, indicating that a reasonable amount of the mess in their stomach was making its way further down into their gut.
You run a hand through your hair before beginning to gently rub their belly up and down, like you were earlier. They release a soft, contented sign when you lean over to kiss their cheek.
While you gently rub their stomach, you begin to strategize in your head how you’ll get out of all of your plans- at least for the next day or two. Your poor fave will definitely be needing you around.
Tbc… someday. In the meantime I may come back and edit this one a bit.
Some relatively vanilla FinnPoe, because I love these good boys~ A patron specifically wanted Poe greeting Finn after he woke up; I hadn’t seen the movie yet or I definitely would have incorporated the water suit ;P
Ginny would have eloped in a heartbeat, but she wanted Harry to experience being loved on display - wanted him to stand at the front of a crowd who were all assembled for the sole purpose of seeing her pledge her love to him, wanted him to have the security of that public promise.
He’d had very few of the hallmarks of love in his life, and damn her if he wasn’t going to get this one.
If someone just kissed Izzy ONCE when he does that creep move where he angrily pulls someone close and stares at their lips, I think a demon would fly out of his mouth and the curse would finally be broken.
1. Favorite type of heartbeat 2. Do you have a heart condition 3. Favorite spot to listen on yourself 4. Favorite spot to listen on someone else 5. Ear stething or stethoscope 6. Have you ever been to a cardiologist 7. What kind of heart exams have you had 8. Ever been stethed by someone 9. Do you like to feel your heart beat 10. Ever feel someone else’s heart 11. Favorite pulse point 12. How many people have you told 13. How many stethopes do you own 14. Do you wish you could have a certain kind of heart exam 15. What color is your steth 16. Favorite procedure to watch 17. Does your cardiophilia have a dark side?
Genre:Office!AU; POV-switch; enemies to lovers; fluff; angst; smut
Word count: 2.1K+ words
Warnings: office banter; excessive cussing; unrequited love; pining; hints of toxic relationship; excessive alcohol consumption; soft-Joon; drunken behavior; YN is a very annoying drunk; some crying; self-doubt
Summary:You hate him, he hates you. You were both fine staying in your own lanes–until you’re forced to work together on a make-or-break project for your company.
A/N: POV switch! Make sure you read Part 5 first before diving into this. The events occur from Namjoon’s perspective.
He literally did the whole respectable gentlemen thing and even thought about her and actually CARES, I see you SIR, I SEE YOU
The dragon eyes thing I MEAN SHE’S NOT FUCKING WRONG OKAY.
Fave line, “who needs respect and professionalism when I can have blind hatred,” Maybe I fucking snorted so hard because DAMN THE GENIUS BEHIND THAT LINE
Maybe not blind hatred tho I mean,,, we did see how the night led to a beach moment.
It is a known fact by the entirety of the RFA that he hacks shit for a living when he could easily pretend he has a regular (((legal))) IT job but noooo
Claims everything to do w his job is a secret but will constantly drop hints about how dangerous it is and will even go into story tangents about his various adventures whenever he feels like it
Talks about a hacker group that constantly chases him, making it very clear that he does ILLEGAL SHIT
Hell even invites them to the party
Openly only uses cash
Speaking of cash, makes a shitton of it somehow
Again, he openly admits he’s a hacker!!! Hackers don’t do that!!! They say they’re a techie for some random firm, or something else entirely!!!! They’re not this open!!! If saeyoung were really so secretive, only V would know mfs a hacker and everyone else would think he works at some start up or something
Makes it very clear hes not in a normal work environment? Pls it screams “illegal secret agency” omg
Admitted to running away from home and having a brother the moment someone asked him
Will tell you his thinly veiled allegorical dreams about his origin story whenever he feels like it (mother cat and brother cat dream, the pirate ship and planet one, etc.)
“Why didn’t you feed us, mother cat? Oh well, if it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t have gone on so many adventures” pls
After playing all the routes leading up to his, the only surprise in his backstory would probably be the prime minister thing and his name tbh
Some might say it’s foreshadowing, I say it’s the fact that he needs validation and needs to feel seen so he drops so many ‘hints’ about his life.
Virgil gets a lot of haunted objects ranging from dolls to bags to other nickkacks.
He’s always had surpernatural experiences but insists that not all ghosts are evil! He’s learnt how to tell the difference but lets the good ghosts hang out around his room.
Janus has learnt to be very respectful to ghosts, growing up with Virgil having a lot of experiences - both good and bad - has taught him well. Remus still struggles with the ‘manners’ aspect but definitely entertains them all.
(I have a few headcanons of certain experiences which I’ll share if anyone is interested but they may be a little longer so I won’t include them here.)
@sarahscribbles has informed me that there is a fic out there where Grandmaster forces Loki and Reader to while he watches and SHE CAN’T REMEMBER WHO WROTE IT BUT I AM DESPERATE
