#for darling

I’m gonna start off by saying it’s not your fault, love. I don’t know what fault is to blame. I might find that out by rambling here. I don’t know. All I do know is that I’m hurting and feel more alone now than ever. 

Most of the time I get into a numb or decent mood and then the circular conversation starts again and I feel useless and crash into a pit deeper than the mood drops from the summer. I hate it. It’s mostly my fault - I don’t really know what to say. I just still want to talk to you. All that can come out is “I’m sorry” and that hurts so fucking much to say. 

I wanted to talk tonight and I ended up wasting our time. You saying it’s alright isn’t going to make me any less angry at myself for wasting three hours. All I wanted to do was talk to you and I cockblocked myself into a circle. For our official date night, we don’t get much time. When I feel like I waste it, I hate it, because our time is something precious to me. Talking in circles solves nothing. Talking through issues is different. We’ve done that before. 

The trigger was tiny. You left to destress. But I over thought that way too much. You didn’t ask for help or if I was going to and in that split second between you leaving and me wondering if I should ask the Bad Thoughts came. They made me so disgusted at my own body I curled up under three blankets and cried so hard I couldn’t breathe. I felt unattractive. I lost my sex drive. I was disgusted at my sex drive. 

Something’s wrong with me. Something is missing or fucked up. I hate it. I just want to be okay. I want to be okay for you, for me, and for us. But I dont know how and you asking to help makes me feel worse because I dont know how to let you help. I dont know what to ask you to do. When you ask my mind goes blank and I fall even farther into the mood drop. I know you mean well but idk how to respond. 

I love you so much hun. I want to be perfect... most of all I want to be okay. I close up because I dont want to bother you or fuck up any more. It’s hard, because I want to open up to you but my mind is poisoning me. If I’m not asked what’s wrong I assume people don’t care, so I hide it. We were getting past that.. but then more stress was added onto me. 

You used a word tonight I associate with Juliana. I almost was sick. And I closed up. It wasn’t the right thing to do... Neither is typing everything out at three in the morning after I did a bunch of fucking stupid shit... but there you go. 

I’m so sorry hun. I’m trying so hard to get better but I feel like Sisyphus. Any time I make progress I fuck up. And I’m scared that you’ll get sick of it. 

Take control hun. Please. I’m begging you. I can’t do this on my own. I’ve been alone for nineteen years and I’m still slipping up. If I’m asking too much I understand... Sometimes I just need you to be more stubborn than me. 

Mom convinced me that my emotions didn’t exist. For two years in high school I thought of myself as a robot and sliced up my arms and legs when I dared to be emotional. I tried to be good in band and my instructor hated me and said I overstepped my bounds. I wasn’t safe their either. I made friends. Jamie and Andie and Braeden made me feel like I was barely worth dirt. Dad loves me, thankfully, but we can’t have a conversation about personal matters to save our lives. I haven’t had a place to go where I feel safe and comfortable and just *loved*. I keep resetting into this scared state, especially when I go too long without an order or anything. 

Today it felt like my brother was in the room with me. Like he walked straight through the door and walked around. It terrified me. His energy felt like it was almost overwhelming mine. I couldn’t tell you because we were in the middle of something else. Because of how he treated me when he talked about energy work I still think you won’t believe me whenever I say anything about it. 

I miss you hun, more than this rambling will ever describe. Stress from school and from everything going on is choking me, and not in the fun way. I can’t figure out what’s wrong or why I’m like this, but I just want to be better and this to be over. You don’t deserve this from a partner.

... I’m still trying to believe that you deserve me. 

I love you. 

To celebrate our brain-sharing friendship and reaching 500 followers within days of each other, @kat2609 and I are thanking you awesome people with a series of two-for-one prompts!

One of our CCF partners in crime, @lbeartakestheworld / @lynyrdwrites, requested 18 + Captain Charming Crossbow, “ 18 “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.” [Robin wanted in on this, too.] I hope these shenanigans live up to your hopes, darling friend, and thanks for encouraging it [haha]!! Thank you for helping make Fridays (a year of them!!!) so fantastic, and here’s to more Captain Charming silliness in the future!

For once, David and Killian found themselves on the outside looking in on shenanigans in Storybrooke.

However, they were not faultless.

Because they were definitely the ones who insisted on a celebration for Robin’s birthday, and for some reason opted to have it at Granny’s rather than the Rabbit Hole, which was their first mistake. Never willingly have a party at a locale with plenty of booze, a dart board, and a man famed for his archery skills.

They were also the ones who goaded said archer into displaying said skills on said dartboard, but failed to take into account said booze, and therefore laughed mercilessly when the darts greatly missed their target, peppering the paneling around it.

“I told you wankers, these arrows are too small! Give me something bigger and I’ll show you!”

(Which, of course, prompted several lewd remarks from various Merry Men, and Killian making a mental note to ask Emma about the phrase “that’s what she said”.)

Additionally, they had also invited Granny to stay for the shindig. Granny. Former werewolf, full-time badass, and the same woman who kept a crossbow under the counter “in case of emergencies”—emergencies varying from deranged kings to an abundance of Dark Ones to grumpy dwarves complaining about overcooked bacon. Who could also hold her liquor as well (or poorly, depending on how you looked at it) as any of them.

So it was inevitable that she, too, join in the jibes against the birthday boy.

“Oh, yeah? If you’re such a great shot, prove it!”

“Let me fetch my bow and I shall!”

Pulling his best mate aside, Killian whispered (with only a touch of a slur), “Say, Dave, I’m getting an idea here. It may end poorly but it’ll be worth the laugh.” He continued whispering—not quietly, of course, but he didn’t know that—and David only continued to grin larger as Killian described what he wanted to do.

“This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had,” David told him. “Of course I’m in.”

Not half an hour later, the party had moved from the diner to the park. Killian silently (he hoped) thanked the gods that it was a full moon, else the evening was sure to turn sour. Along the way there, he and David had picked up some random items lying around town: an empty pizza box, a coffee tin, a few milk crates, and a dented trash can. Someone nicked a red marker from Granny’s, as well, and David set to drawing some crude targets on each of the items.

Yup. They were hosting a late-night, not-completely-sober archery contest: Robin versus Granny. (They considered calling Snow, but ultimately decided that would be a worse idea than the one they’d already concocted.)

“Boy, am I glad I’m not the sheriff on duty tonight,” David observed; Killian was more than inclined to agree, and glanced at the nearby streets to make sure Emma wasn’t doing her rounds.

“So what’re we doin’?” Granny barked, rubbing at a spot on her crossbow.

Killian explained, somewhat making it up on the spot: “The rules are simple: Each of you gets a shot at each target from, say, fifty paces; whoever gets closest on each wins.”

“An’ what’s the prize?” A tiny bit of worry sparked in Killian at Robin’s question; the man was having a hard enough time staying upright, but not-so-Little John (stupid nickname, really) had an eye on him.

“Oh, shit, is there a prize?” David whispered, but not quiet enough for Killian’s ears only.

Plugging ahead, Killian announced, “The winner shall have their tab at Granny’s paid by yours truly.” David seemed incredulous, but David clearly hadn’t seen the coffers on the Jolly Roger.

“And what if I win?” Granny’s crossbow was loaded and ready to go.

“Then I shall pay my own bill.”

“Damn right you will,” she grumbled before hoisting her weapon. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

(“My money’s on Granny,” Dave murmured.

“If she wins, mine truly will,” Killian agreed.)

Fifteen minutes, 30 arrows, and four near-death moments later, Granny was easily declared the winner, mainly because she was the only one to actually hit the targets. Robin, however, had successfully aimed at several trees, a “bird” (which was actually a park bench), and the rear tire of Grumpy’s truck.

With a heavy heart, Killian settled his lofty tab, groaning as Granny bit each gold piece to check its validity (though not missing her friendly wink as she pocketed the coin).

“One more shot, just one more,” Robin slurred, loading another bow into his arrow in a last-ditch effort of redemption and pointing it haphazardly…well, everywhere.

“Time to go?” David whispered.

“Yup.”

As they dashed off, unnoticed by the small crowd, David decided “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.”

A moment later, filled with the sound of glass shattering and Granny yelling, Killian agreed.

“You boys come back here!” Granny shouted after them.

Killian’s only response was, “RUN!”

Hit U :

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For Darling: